#and its not exactly a hard voice to do in english or anything...

[lila-lou]

✨Peanut✨

Summary: Stuck in a safe house with Soldier Boy is a test of patience—and nerves. He’s sharp-tongued, cocky, and impossible to ignore, pushing your boundaries just to see you flinch. You try to keep your distance, but he has a way of getting under your skin. You’re supposed to keep him in check, but the real challenge might be keeping yourself together.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Nickname, Shy!Reader, MENTION!Reader was touched without consent, Ben being as cocky as ever, some kind of fluff i guess

Word Count: 10523 (long ass shit here, lol)

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The room felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for him to make the next move. Soldier Boy—Ben, as Butcher had instructed you to call him—sat at the battered wooden table in the middle of the safe house. He was grinding pills into powder with the flat of his knife, muttering to himself, the motion aggressive and precise. Every scrape of the blade against the wood sent shivers down your spine.

You kept your eyes fixed on the television, not really watching whatever rerun was playing. It didn’t matter. Nothing could drown out the weight of his presence. The way he dominated the space even when he wasn’t speaking. Even when he wasn’t looking at you.

You didn’t know why he tolerated you. Out of all the people who’d tried to babysit him since Butcher hauled him out of whatever Russian nightmare he’d been buried in, you were the only one still standing. Maybe it was because you didn’t push him. Or maybe it was because you were too afraid to even try.

Two years ago, your fear of supes had been planted like a landmine in your chest. One night, one supe, one scar across your soul. That was all it took to change you forever. Now, being in the same room as one, especially him, felt like walking barefoot through a minefield. One wrong step, and everything could go to hell. Literally, in his case.

Ben scooped the powder into a neat little line, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “You don’t have to sit there like a deer in headlights, you know”, he drawled, not looking up. His voice was gravelly, tinged with a roughness that made you want to shrink further into the couch. “Not gonna bite”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the edge of the couch cushion. “I’m fine here”, you said quickly, your voice thin and brittle.

“Sure you are”. He leaned back in his chair, his shirt unbuttoned enough to show a glimpse of the skin of his chest. That chest. The one that could, and had, turned entire blocks into ash. He tapped his nose twice before snorting the line with practiced ease, sighing as he leaned back again. “You’re terrible at pretending, you know that?”.

Your breath hitched, and you cursed yourself for it. He noticed everything. “Pretending what?”, you muttered, eyes glued to the TV screen.

“That you’re not scared shitless of me”, he said, his tone almost amused now. “It’s cute. Kind of pathetic, but cute”.

Your stomach twisted. The urge to snap back at him rose like bile, but you shoved it down. Provoking him was the last thing you wanted to do. Instead, you focused on keeping your voice steady. “I’m not scared of you”.

Ben laughed—deep, low, and sharp enough to make you flinch. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart”.

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you tried to keep your breathing even. This was your job. This was what Butcher had asked of you. Watch over him, keep him in line, don’t let him blow anything up. Easier said than done when every fiber of your being was screaming to get the hell out of there.

Ben finally looked at you, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you”. His tone softened—just barely—but it still sent a shiver down your spine. “Not unless you give me a reason to”.

That didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but you nodded anyway, not trusting yourself to speak.

He reached for another pill, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You know”, he said, his voice quieter now, “it’s exhausting, being treated like a goddamn bomb all the time”.

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, his gaze fixed on the table as he rolled the pill between his fingers. For a moment, he almost seemed… human. Vulnerable.

But you didn’t know what to say. Didn’t trust yourself to say anything. So you just stayed where you were, curled up on the couch, watching him out of the corner of your eye and praying you wouldn’t be the one to set him off.

Ben tossed the pill back, swallowing it dry like it was nothing before reaching for the whiskey bottle on the table. He took a swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stood up. For one fleeting second, you thought he might leave the room, give you some space to breathe. But no—he grabbed a bag of popcorn from the counter, ripped it open with his teeth, and made his way to the couch.

You tensed immediately. There were at least three other places he could sit, but no, he dropped himself right beside you. Not just close—touching. His thigh pressed firmly against yours, the heat of him seeping through the fabric of your jeans like a live wire.

Your body locked up, your heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. If he noticed your discomfort—and of course, he did—he didn’t let on. He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth, his eyes flicking toward the TV screen before turning to you.

“Whatcha watching?”, he asked casually, his voice a little softer now but still holding that rough, unshakable edge.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just… whatever was on”.

He snorted. “Riveting choice”. Another handful of popcorn disappeared into his mouth, and he leaned back, spreading out like he owned the place. Which, let’s face it, he kind of did. Every room he entered felt like it bent to him, like the walls themselves were trying to make room for him and his ego.

As the minutes dragged on, he kept up the small talk. About the shitty popcorn, the weather, the ancient couch springs that squeaked every time one of you shifted. His tone was light, conversational, but his eyes… his eyes were anything but.

He wasn’t looking at the TV anymore. He was watching you. Really watching you. The way your shoulders hunched in on themselves like you were trying to make yourself smaller. The way your hands fidgeted with the hem of your hoodie. The way your legs were pressed tightly together, like you were trying to disappear into the cushions.

“You’re tiny”, he said abruptly, almost thoughtfully, his gaze dragging up and down your frame. “Like, seriously. How are you even a person? You’re what, a buck twenty soaking wet?”.

You stiffened, your face flushing. “I’m… normal-sized”, you mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, low and gravelly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Normal? Sweetheart, if I even looked at you wrong, you’d probably snap in half”.

Your stomach churned at the words, at the casual way he said them. Like it wasn’t a threat, just a fact. And maybe it was. He wasn’t wrong—he could break you without even trying. Supe or not, he was built like a goddamn tank, and you�� well, you weren’t.

His gaze lingered on you, sharp and appraising, like he was trying to figure you out. “What’re you so scared of, huh?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “You think I’m gonna hurt you?”.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The lump in your throat was too big, your fear too loud.

“Relax, doll”, he said, leaning a little closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “If I wanted to crush you, I wouldn’t need to waste my time sitting here talking to you, now would I?”.

That didn’t make you feel any better. In fact, it made your skin crawl. But you nodded anyway, because what else could you do?

Ben smirked as he leaned back, stretching his arm casually over the back of the couch. He popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly, his eyes never leaving you.

“So”, he drawled, cocking an eyebrow. “Got a boyfriend, Peanut?”.

The word caught you off guard, and you glanced at him sharply, your confusion momentarily outweighing your fear. “P-Peanut?”, you stammered, the nickname so unexpected it almost made you forget how close he was.

He grinned, his teeth flashing white against his scruffy beard. “Yeah, Peanut. You’re tiny, right? Probably weigh, what, eighty-five? Ninety pounds tops? I could pick you up with one hand, and you’d barely be a snack”. He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, like he found the whole thing hilarious. “Peanut fits”.

Your face burned with embarrassment, but you didn’t say anything. What could you say? He wasn’t exactly wrong, but hearing it said out loud—especially by him—made you feel smaller than ever. You tucked your legs up under you, trying to create some kind of barrier between his imposing presence and your body.

“C’mon”, he said, his voice lighter now, teasing almost. “You seriously don’t have some guy waiting around for you? Someone to take care of you? Feels like you’d need a bodyguard just to make it through the grocery store”.

You shook your head, your voice barely audible. “No boyfriend”.

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. “Huh. Surprising. A thing like you? I’d think guys would be lining up”.

His words weren’t comforting. They weren’t meant to be. They carried an undertone that made your stomach twist, a reminder of how easily he could take you if he wanted to. You shifted uncomfortably, pulling your hoodie tighter around yourself like it could somehow shield you from the heat of his gaze.

“What’s the matter, Peanut?”, he asked. “I’m just making conversation. You don’t have to look so freaked out all the time”.

“I’m not freaked out”, you lied, your voice trembling just enough to betray you.

He snorted, clearly not buying it. “Sure you’re not”. He leaned forward suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing himself closer to you. The smell of whiskey and faint cigar smoke clung to him, mingling with something sharper, something distinctly him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. Told you already, didn’t I?”.

You nodded again, but the tension in your body didn’t ease. If anything, it grew worse as his eyes traveled over you again, lingering in ways that made you want to sink into the couch and disappear.

“Man”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re wound up tighter than a fucking spring”. He reached for the popcorn bag again, the casual motion a stark contrast to the intensity of his words. “I don’t know what the hell Butcher was thinking, sticking me with you. You’re not exactly intimidating”.

You bristled at that, a tiny flicker of indignation breaking through your fear. “I wasn’t supposed to intimidate you”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just… here to keep an eye on you”.

He laughed—loud and abrupt, the sound startling in the otherwise quiet room. “You’re supposed to keep an eye on me?”. He leaned back again, throwing one arm across the back of the couch again and grinning down at you like he’d just heard the best joke of his life. “Fuck. That’s rich”.

You didn’t respond, biting your lip to keep the words locked in. You couldn’t afford to snap, couldn’t afford to give him a reason to escalate. Not with how close he was. Not with how easily he could overpower you.

Ben’s laugh faded into a low hum, almost as if he were talking to himself, but the words were loud enough to reach you. “You know”, he muttered, swirling the last of the whiskey in the bottle before setting it on the floor, “I could help you relax. You’re all wound up like a little bird that flew into the wrong fucking cage”.

The comment made your stomach tighten, your pulse spiking as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze wasn’t on the TV. It wasn’t even on the popcorn anymore. It was on you. Slowly, deliberately, like he was working through some kind of internal checklist, his eyes dragged from your face, to your neck, to the way your hoodie hugged your body.

“Yeah”, he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher.

“I’d probably crush you. Tiny little thing like you. But…”. He leaned his head back against the couch, as though considering something deeply. “I could figure it out. Work on my self-restraint”. He exhaled sharply through his nose, almost like a laugh, but it didn’t carry any humor. “Not sure you’d survive, though”.

Your throat went dry, and your mind raced for something—anything—to say to steer the conversation somewhere less terrifying. But the words wouldn’t come. It was like your brain had shut down entirely, overwhelmed by the weight of his presence and the dark, unsettling undertone to his words.

“I mean, shit”, he went on, almost lazily, like he was just idly musing. “It’d be a tight fit, no doubt about that. But I’d manage”. He turned his head toward you, one eyebrow quirking as though he was waiting for some kind of reaction. “What d’you think, Peanut? Think you could handle me?”.

Your heart felt like it might explode. You shifted slightly, trying to put even an inch of space between you, but the couch offered no escape. He noticed, of course he noticed, and the smirk on his face only widened.

“Relax”, he said again, though this time it sounded more like a command than a suggestion. “I’m just messing with you”. He leaned back again, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth like the last thirty seconds hadn’t just happened.

But the tension in the air didn’t dissipate. His words lingered, sinking into your mind like oil, staining everything. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe too loudly, your entire body coiled as tightly as a spring.

Ben glanced at you again, his expression unreadable now, the grin gone. “You really gotta lighten up, Peanut”, he said, almost absently. “You’re making me feel like a fucking monster”.

You wanted to tell him he wasn’t making it easy. That his very presence was suffocating. That every word out of his mouth only fed the gnawing pit of fear in your stomach. But you couldn’t. So you stayed silent, staring at the TV and praying that he’d get bored soon. That the night would end without him pushing any further.

Ben shifted slightly on the couch, the springs groaning under his weight. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as if lost in thought, but you could feel his attention still anchored on you, heavy and unrelenting.

“You know”, he started, his voice low and casual, “I heard Butcher and that cum-guzzler talking about you”. He popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly as though giving himself time to savor the words that would follow. “Something about why you’re so jumpy around supes”.

Your heart clenched, and you went rigid. You hadn’t realized Butcher had told him—why would he? What purpose would it serve, giving Soldier Boy ammunition? You glanced at him sharply, trying to gauge his intentions, but his expression was frustratingly neutral, save for the slight quirk of a smirk playing on his lips.

He chuckled, low and gravelly, shaking his head. “Can’t say I blame you”, he continued. “Sounds like you had a real shitty time of it. Some asshole supe gets a little too handsy, decides he’s owed something just because he’s got powers. That about right?”.

The knot in your stomach tightened, but you didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt like it was closing, the weight of his words pulling every horrible memory to the surface.

Ben didn’t seem to need a response. He let out a long breath, his smirk fading as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. “Here’s the thing, Peanut”, he said, his tone quieter now, almost contemplative. “Guys like that… they give the rest of us a bad name. Not that I give a shit about my reputation, but, you know, principle and all that”.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why… why are you bringing this up?”.

He shrugged, the motion casual, but the intensity in his eyes betrayed him. “Just thinking out loud. If that’s the only experience you’ve got with supes… well, no wonder you’re scared shitless. That’s the memory you’re stuck with”. His gaze slid to you, sharp and probing. “But maybe I could fix that”.

“Fix it?”, you echoed, your voice trembling. “What… what does that mean?”.

He smirked again, leaning back and stretching his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing just a hair’s breadth away from your shoulder. “I’m just saying”, he drawled, “maybe if you had a different kind of experience, you wouldn’t be so fucking scared all the time. Replace that shitty memory with a fucking awesome one”.

The implication in his words was crystal clear, and your stomach churned violently. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie, your nails digging into your palms. “That’s not…”. You trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper. “That’s not how it works”.

He tilted his head, studying you with a mixture of amusement and something darker. “You sure about that? Sometimes all it takes is one good memory to wipe out the bad. One moment to make you forget the rest of the bullshit”.

You shook your head, your pulse hammering in your ears. “I don’t think—”.

“Calm down, Peanut”, he interrupted, his voice dropping into that low, commanding tone again. “I’m not saying I’d do anything. Unless, you know, you wanted me to”.

Your breath hitched, and you pressed yourself further into the couch, as if the cushions could somehow swallow you whole. His gaze was piercing, unrelenting, and you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, suffocating.

“But hey”, he continued after a moment, his tone lightening again as he grabbed another handful of popcorn. “It’s your call. I’m just saying… I could make it worth your while”.

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. Your mind was racing, your body frozen in place.

The safe house was quiet except for the distant hum of the water running in the bathroom. Ben was in the shower, and you were stuck on the couch, your nerves coiled tighter than ever. It had been weeks since that first night, weeks of this strange, unbearable dance between the two of you. He hadn’t pushed things too far, but he hadn’t stopped either. The teasing, the lingering touches, the weight of his gaze—it was constant, suffocating, impossible to ignore.

And now, as you sat there waiting for him, you hated yourself for the stupid summer dress you’d chosen to wear. It was hot, unbearably so, and the safe house didn’t have air conditioning. The dress had seemed like a practical choice at the time—lightweight, easy to move in—but now it felt like a mistake. The fabric clung to your skin and you couldn’t help but feel exposed. Vulnerable.

You shifted uncomfortably, pulling the dress down as far as it would go and wrapping your arms around yourself. It didn’t help. The room felt stifling, and the faint sound of the shower only added to the tension. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering, couldn’t stop the little voice whispering in the back of your head: What’s he going to say this time? What’s he going to do?

The shower shut off, and your breath caught. You stared at the TV, not really seeing it, your heart pounding as you heard the sound of the bathroom door creaking open.

Moments later, Ben emerged, a towel slung low around his hips and his hair damp, water droplets trailing down his chest. He was a vision of raw power and confidence, and he knew it. The smirk tugging at his lips told you as much.

“Hey, Peanut”, he said casually, like this was the most normal thing in the world. He grabbed a second towel and ran it through his hair, his muscles flexing with the motion. “Didn’t think I’d keep you waiting, did you?”.

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting back to the TV. “I wasn’t—”, you started, but your voice faltered. “I mean, I’m fine”.

“Sure you are”, he said, chuckling under his breath. He crossed the room, tossing the towel onto a chair as he made his way to the couch. You felt his presence before you saw him, the heat of him, the sheer weight of him, as he sat down beside you. Close. Too close. Again.

His eyes flicked to your dress, lingering for just a moment before he leaned back, draping his arm over the back of the couch. “Nice dress”, he commented, his tone light but his gaze sharp. “Didn’t know we were getting all dressed up today”.

Your face burned, and you tugged at the hem again, wishing it were longer. “It’s just… it’s hot”, you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“That it is”, he agreed, his smirk widening. “But you didn’t have to go all out for me, Peanut. A little effort goes a long way, though, so… thanks”.

You clenched your jaw, your hands twisting the fabric of the dress in your lap. “I didn’t—”.

“I’m just messing with you. Don’t get so wound up”, his voice dropping into that familiar, teasing drawl.

You wanted to snap back, wanted to tell him to knock it off, but you couldn’t. You just sat there, frozen, your heart pounding as he shifted slightly closer, the edge of his thigh brushing against yours.

The problem wasn’t just that you were afraid of Ben anymore—though that fear was still there, lurking beneath every breath, every glance, every word. The problem was that, over the past few weeks, something else had crept in, something worse.

Attraction.

You hated yourself for it. Hated the way your pulse quickened when he smirked at you, the way your thoughts lingered on his voice, deep and rough like gravel underfoot. And now, as you sat beside him, that stupid towel slung so dangerously low on his hips, it was taking everything you had to keep your eyes on the TV.

But you failed. Of course, you did. Your gaze flicked toward him out of the corner of your eye, drawn like a moth to a flame. The towel clung to his hips precariously, the line of dark hair below his navel trailing downward, disappearing beneath the fabric. And lower—your breath hitched—the outline of him was visible, faint but undeniable.

You quickly looked away, your cheeks burning, your heart hammering in your chest. What the hell is wrong with me? you thought, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it almost hurt. This was Soldier Boy. Ben. The same man who teased you relentlessly, who could crush you without a second thought. A damn supe. And yet…

“You’re quiet, Peanut”, he said suddenly, his voice breaking through your frantic thoughts. His tone was casual, but you knew better than to believe it wasn’t deliberate. He always knew how to needle you just enough to get under your skin. “I mean, you’re always quiet, but today? What’s the deal?”.

You didn’t respond, your throat too dry to form a coherent excuse. You tried to keep your eyes locked on the TV, pretending to focus on the images flickering across the screen. But you could feel him watching you, the heat of his gaze sliding over your profile, lingering far too long for comfort.

“C’mon”, he pressed, his voice dropping an octave, rich and deep enough to make your stomach do an unwelcome flip. “You’re the only action I’ve got in this shithole they’re hiding me in. Least you could do is talk to me. I’m bored as hell over here”.

Your hands twisted in your lap, gripping the fabric of your dress like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not with the way his words made your skin flush and your heart pound.

“I don’t know what to say”, you mumbled finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben leaned back against the couch, his towel shifting just slightly. “You don’t have to say much, Peanut”, he drawled, his smirk audible in his tone. “Just give me something. Anything. Hell, even a complaint about how much you hate being stuck with me. I know you’ve got those”.

You glanced at him for just a split second, and that was your mistake. He was sprawled out, all lazy confidence, the towel still clinging low on his hips, the light from the TV casting faint shadows over his chest. The sight made your stomach twist, and you quickly looked away again, your cheeks burning.

“I don’t hate you”, you blurted out, immediately regretting it.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Don’t you now?”. His smirk deepened, and he leaned in just slightly, the arm draped over the back of the couch brushing your shoulder. “Could’ve fooled me with the way you can’t even look at me half the time”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers knotting into the hem of your dress. “I just…”, you stammered, unsure how to explain without giving away too much. “You make me nervous”.

Ben tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost curious. “Nervous, huh?”, he repeated, his voice quieter now, like he was mulling over the word. “Why? You still think I’m gonna hurt you?”.

“No”, you said quickly, though the fear still lingered at the edges of your mind. “It’s not that”.

“Then what?”, he asked, his tone deceptively gentle, but his gaze was sharp, unrelenting. “What is it about me that’s got you so wound up?”.

You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Your silence only seemed to amuse him further. He let out a low chuckle, leaning back again, his fingers lightly drumming against the armrest.

“Shit, Peanut”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re like a puzzle I can’t quite figure out. Makes me want to push, see how far you’ll bend before you break”.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you forced yourself to keep your breathing steady, to keep your focus anywhere but on him. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep this up, this fragile pretense of calm, but you knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going to let this go. Not tonight.

The tension in the room was suffocating, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands trembled as you placed them on your thighs, pushing yourself up from the couch. “I… I need some water”, you mumbled, not daring to look at him. You didn’t wait for his response—if he even had one—and walked quickly toward the little kitchen tucked into the corner of the safe house.

Your footsteps felt too loud against the worn wooden floor, the tiny kitchen offering no real reprieve from his presence. You grabbed a glass from the cupboard, your fingers trembling slightly as you filled it from the tap. You told yourself the sound of running water would drown out the pounding of your heart, but it didn’t.

The quiet click of his footsteps behind you made you freeze.

“Thirsty, huh?”, Ben’s voice came from far too close, his tone casual but laced with that ever-present teasing edge. He was right behind you now—you could feel him, his heat radiating like a furnace, the space between you barely a breath.

“I just needed some space”, you said, your voice quiet and shaky, gripping the glass like it was a lifeline.

“Space?”, he echoed, like the word was foreign to him. You heard him shift, his hand brushing lightly against the counter as he leaned against it. “Still can’t handle being near me?”.

You froze, the glass trembling slightly in your hands as you felt him step even closer. His body was right behind yours now, close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his chest against your back every time you shifted.

“You look really pretty today”, he murmured, his voice softer now, quieter, but no less unsettling. His words sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you gripped the glass tighter, your knuckles turning white.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your hair, playing with a loose strand like it was the most natural thing in the world. The movement was slow, deliberate, as if he were testing your reaction.

“Didn’t think a little dress like that could make someone so…”. He trailed off, his fingers gently tucking the strand behind your ear from behind, his touch warm against your skin. “Sweet. You do surprise me, Peanut”.

Your heart pounded, your breath catching in your throat. “Ben, please…”, you whispered, barely able to get the words out. You didn’t know what you were asking for—for him to stop, to step back, to leave you alone—but your voice carried the weight of your unease.

“Oh c'mon now”, he murmured, his tone dipping into that low, velvety register that always made your stomach twist. “I’m just saying you look nice. No harm in that, right?”.

His hand lingered for a moment longer, brushing lightly against your shoulder, before he stepped back just enough to give you a fraction of space. But it didn’t feel like enough. The air around you still felt heavy, charged with his presence.

“You don’t take compliments well, do you?”, he asked, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice as he leaned casually against the counter. “What’s so scary about me telling you you’re pretty?”.

“Nothing”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben’s gaze dropped, shamelessly traveling down your body. You could feel it, the weight of his eyes lingering on your legs. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and you caught the faint movement out of the corner of your eye. It sent a fresh wave of heat through your face, your stomach twisting into knots.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing, almost contemplative, “it’s been quite a while for me.” He leaned a little closer, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he rested it on the counter beside you. “And with you here, looking like that, acting all shy and innocent…”.

He trailed off, his smirk widening as his gaze dragged back up to meet yours. “It’s really hard for me, Peanut”.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and your breath caught in your throat. Your grip tightened on the edge of the counter, your knuckles white as you fought to keep yourself grounded. “Ben, stop”, you said softly, your voice barely audible, but there was a tremble in it you couldn’t hide.

“Stop what?”, he asked innocently, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him. He wasn’t innocent, not even close. “I’m just being honest. You don’t want me to lie, do you?”.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart pounding as you met his gaze. His smirk was maddening, equal parts charming and infuriating, and the way he was looking at you—like he was sizing you up, deciding just how far he could push—made your pulse race for all the wrong reasons.

“I’m not… I’m not doing anything”, you stammered, your words tumbling over themselves. “I’m just—”.

“Just standing there, looking all sweet and pretty”, he interrupted, his tone playful. He straightened slightly, his height and presence towering over you as he leaned a little closer. “You have no idea, do you? How hard you make it for me to keep my hands to myself?”.

Your breath hitched, and you stepped back instinctively, the counter digging into your lower back as you put as much distance between you as you could in the small space. But he didn’t move closer—he just stayed there, watching you, his smirk softening into something almost… curious.

Ben’s smirk deepened as he watched you, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he was peeling back every layer of your defenses. “You know”, he murmured, his voice soft but still carrying that teasing edge, “I think you actually like me, Peanut”.

Your eyes widened at his words, and you shook your head quickly, your back pressing harder against the counter. “That’s not true”, you said, your voice trembling with the effort to sound convincing.

But he didn’t seem fazed. If anything, your reaction only amused him more. His hand darted out, slow and deliberate, resting gently on your hip. It wasn’t forceful, wasn’t threatening—it was almost careful, like he was testing the waters, giving you a chance to stop him.

Your breath hitched, and your body tensed under his touch. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of your dress, the weight of his hand grounding you and overwhelming you all at once.

“You’re not pushing me away”, he said softly, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. His fingers flexed slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he was there. “That’s gotta count for something”.

You opened your mouth to say something, to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, but no words came out. You were frozen, caught in the weight of his gaze, the closeness of him, the way his presence consumed every inch of space around you.

His other hand came up slowly, brushing against a strand of hair that had fallen into your face. He tucked it behind your ear, his touch featherlight, his green eyes locking onto yours. “You keep telling yourself you’re scared of me”, he murmured, his tone quiet, almost tender. “But I think you’re scared of something else”.

“Ben, I…”. Your voice cracked, and you trailed off, your hands clutching the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“Shh”, he whispered, his hand on your hip shifting just slightly, his thumb brushing against the curve of your waist. “You don’t have to say anything, Peanut. Not if you don’t want to”.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your uneven breathing, the faint hum of the refrigerator in the corner. His touch wasn’t rough or demanding, but it was firm, grounding, impossible to ignore.

And then, slowly, he leaned in, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “Just… Push me away if you want me to stop. Promise I won´t be mad”, he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips so close to yours you could feel the ghost of their presence.

Your heart pounded, your mind racing with conflicting emotions—fear, confusion, and something far more dangerous bubbling beneath the surface. You hated how much you craved his attention, hated how much his touch made your body betray you. But even as you stood there, frozen, his words echoed in your mind: Push me away.

Would you? Could you?

The choice was yours.

Bot you didn’t push him away. You stayed still, your breath hitching as Ben’s smirk deepened. He took your silence as permission—or maybe just a challenge he was eager to win.

Without a word, his hands slid more firmly around your waist. Before you could even process what was happening, he lifted you effortlessly, like you weighed nothing. The glass of water slipped from your fingers, landing with a dull clink on the counter as he set you down atop it. The cool surface against the back of your thighs made you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him.

He stepped closer, pressing himself between your legs, his movements deliberate and unyielding. Your legs opened instinctively to accommodate him, the fabric of your dress sliding up as you shifted. The hem bunched high on your thighs, and your stomach dropped when you realized how exposed you were. The little triangle of fabric between your legs was on full display, and Ben’s gaze dropped to it immediately, his lips curling into a wolfish grin.

“Well, would you look at that”, he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, the faintest edge of amusement making it all the more dangerous. His hands trailed down to your knees, his thumbs brushing against the inside of your thighs, sending a shock of warmth through your body. “Peanut, you’ve been holding out on me”.

You squirmed, your hands gripping the edge of the counter as if it could anchor you against the storm of his presence. “Ben…”, you whispered, your voice trembling, unsure if it was a plea for him to stop or to keep going.

“Shh”, he said softly, his hands sliding higher, spreading your legs further apart. “I told you, I’m not gonna hurt you”.

But the way he looked at you—the hunger in his eyes, the possessive way his hands claimed your body—made your pulse race for entirely different reasons. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed his hips against yours, his body firm and unyielding.

“You have no idea”, he whispered, his voice rough and thick with desire. “No idea how hard it’s been. Watching you, waiting for you to stop running, stop hiding. But now…”. His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Now I’ve got you right where I want you”.

Your heart pounded, your mind spinning as his hands continued their slow, deliberate exploration of your body. You hated how your body reacted to him, how the heat pooled low in your belly, how your breathing quickened despite yourself. Hated how much you wanted him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

And Ben—he knew it, too. You could see it in his smirk, in the way his eyes burned with triumph. He was in control, and he knew it. You wanted him, and that he sure knew too.

Ben’s smirk deepened as his hands slid higher, his thumbs brushing teasingly against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His touch was firm but not rough, as if he were savoring every moment. He leaned back slightly to get a better look, his eyes darkening as they locked onto the little triangle of fabric barely covering you.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and full of heat, “I’ve been imagining this for weeks. But it’s even better than I thought”.

You opened your mouth to respond—to say something—but the words caught in your throat once more as he hooked a finger under the fabric. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, a wicked gleam in his green eyes as he gave you - again - just enough time to stop him.

But you didn’t.

With a sharp, controlled movement, he ripped the delicate material apart, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the quiet kitchen. The force of it sent a jolt through your body, but it didn’t hurt. It was more of a shock—both from the action itself and the way his eyes devoured the sight before him.

Your breath hitched as the ruined panties fell away, leaving you bare to him. His hands stilled for a moment, his gaze fixated on your glistening, perfectly shaven lips. A low growl rumbled in his throat, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on your thighs.

”Fuck peanut”, he muttered, his voice rough with desire. “Look at you”.

Ben’s grip on your thighs tightened as his eyes darkened, roaming over every inch of you like you were something he was about to own. He let out a low, gravelly chuckle, shaking his head with that familiar smirk—cocky and unapologetically lewd.

“Is this what chicks are doing these days? All shaved, all fucking spotless?”. His thumb traced lazily along your inner thigh, teasing just close enough to make you squirm. “In the ’80s, everyone had a damn jungle down here. Didn’t matter who you were, movie star or some chick at a dive bar—hair everywhere. But this?”.

His thumb slid lower, brushing over the seam of your closed, glistening lips. The slickness made his touch effortless, his rough hands stark against your softness. “This is a whole fucking upgrade”, he murmured, almost to himself, his tone filthy and raw. “Smooth as hell… fuck Peanut, you’re like a fucking dream”.

Ben’s eyes stayed glued between your legs, completely enthralled, like he was witnessing something unreal. The pad of his thumb pressed further, parting your slick lips with almost lazy confidence. He slid it down to your entrance, where he paused, testing the way your body reacted to him.

“Fuck me”, he muttered under his breath, his voice gravelly and thick with lust. “You’re soaked, Peanut. Look at this. Look at you”.

Your breath hitched audibly, your chest rising and falling as his thumb pressed lightly against your entrance, his other hand tightening its grip on your thigh to keep you exactly where he wanted you. His touch was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment.

“You’re fucking perfect”, he murmured, half to himself.

Ben’s thumb dipped just barely inside you, and the moment he felt how tight you were, he froze. His breath hitched, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips as he pulled his hand back. His grip on your thigh tightened, grounding himself as he muttered under his breath, “No fucking way. Not with my fingers. I’m not wasting this on anything but my dick”.

His green eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with a dark hunger that sent a shiver racing down your spine. He took a deep breath, his smirk returning as he dragged his hands up the outside of your thighs, pushing the fabric of your dress higher as he went.

“You’re something else, Peanut”, he growled, his voice thick and unapologetically filthy. “This body, this tight little hole… it’s all mine”.

He grabbed the hem of your dress, tugging it upward with slow, deliberate movements, giving you every chance to stop him. But you didn’t. Instead, you lifted your arms instinctively, your breath catching in your throat as you helped him pull the dress over your head. The fabric slipped away easily, pooling on the floor beside the counter, leaving you bare except for your trembling body beneath his gaze.

Ben stepped back slightly, just enough to take you in, his eyes roaming over every inch of your exposed skin with raw, unfiltered desire. He let out a low whistle, his lips curving into a grin that was both predatory and approving.

“You’re even better than I imagined”. His hands moved back to your waist, firm and possessive as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter, positioning you exactly where he wanted you.

“You don’t even realize, do you?”, he muttered, his hands trailing over your hips, your stomach, your thighs, like he couldn’t get enough of touching you. “How fucking perfect you are. How fucking lucky I am”.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he growled, “I told you, Peanut. You’re mine now. Every inch of you”.

With one swift motion, Ben pulled the towel from his hips and tossed it carelessly to the side, revealing himself fully. Your eyes widened the moment you saw him—huge, heavy, and impossibly intimidating. A gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you instinctively pressed your hands against his chest, trying to push him away.

But he didn’t budge.

Your heart raced, panic and uncertainty flooding your senses. You weren’t a virgin, but this… this was different. The sheer size of him made your stomach twist with both fear and something else you didn’t want to name.

“Whoa there, Peanut”, Ben murmured, his voice low and teasing, but there was a glint of smug satisfaction in his eyes as he glanced down at himself, then back at you. “Scared already? Thought you said you weren’t afraid of me”.

“I just…”, you stammered, your palms pressing harder against his chest, but he didn’t move. He stood there, unyielding, his muscles firm under your touch as he watched you with that same maddening smirk.

“Relax”, he said again, his tone dipping into that familiar mix of amusement and raw lust.

Your voice came out in a shaky whisper, your eyes wide and fixed on him. “This… this won’t fit. No way”.

Ben’s smirk deepened, the gleam in his eyes turning even more smug, like your fear only fed his ego. He let out a low chuckle, his broad chest rumbling under your trembling hands. “Won’t fit, huh?”, he repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. “You really think I’d let that stop me?”.

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling slightly against his chest as you tried to pull back, but his hands on your hips held you firmly in place. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. “Don’t sell yourself short, Peanut. You’ll take it. You just need a little… encouragement”.

Your stomach twisted at his words, a mix of fear and heat flooding your senses. “Ben, I—”, you started, but he cut you off, his hands sliding slowly up your sides, strong and possessive.

“I’ll make it fit”, he murmured, his voice low and dripping with confidence.

One of his hands moved between your bodies, and your breath hitched as he grabbed himself, his cock heavy and intimidating in his hand. His green eyes flicked up to yours briefly, watching your reaction.

“Just.. relax, Peanut”, he said softly, almost mockingly, as he positioned himself. “This is gonna feel real good. Trust me”.

You bit your lip hard as you felt the tip of him slide through your slick lips, the slow, deliberate motion making your body jolt with unexpected pleasure. The contrast of his roughness and your softness was overwhelming, your hips twitching instinctively as his thick head dragged against you.

“Fuck”, he muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on where your bodies touched. “You’re already soaking for me. You feel that, Peanut? That’s your body telling you it wants this. Wants me”.

A shaky whimper escaped your lips, and you hated yourself for the sound, for how much you wanted him. The warmth, the pressure, the way he moved—it was too much, too intense, too consuming.

Ben chuckled, his thumb brushing over your thigh as he kept guiding himself against you, letting his tip tease your entrance but not pushing in just yet. “Look at you”, he muttered. “Already whining, and I haven’t even given you the real thing yet”.

You bit your lip harder, trying to stifle another whimper. His free hand slid up your side, gripping your waist possessively as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Don’t hold back now, Peanut", he growled. “I want to hear every little sound you make. Wanna know how much you’re feeling this”.

The heat pooling low in your belly was unbearable, your body trembling as he continued his slow, torturous motions. He wasn’t even inside you yet, but the weight of him was enough to leave you breathless.

Ben’s cocky smirk softened just slightly as he began to nudge himself inside you, his movements surprisingly slow and deliberate. He pressed forward an inch at a time, giving you room to adjust to his size. His hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you steady as he worked himself in, his gaze locked on your face.

“Fuck, Peanut”, he muttered under his breath, the usual arrogance in his tone giving way to something deeper, rougher. “Tight as hell. I knew you’d feel good, but this? Fuck”.

You winced at the stretch, your body instinctively tensing around him as he pushed in further. The sensation was intense, overwhelming, and you couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips.

“Shh”, he murmured, his voice low and almost soothing as he paused, letting you adjust. “I know, baby. It’s a lot. But you’re doing good. So fucking good”.

Your hands gripped his forearms, your nails digging into his skin as he slid another inch deeper, the burn of the stretch making you gasp. “Ben”, you whispered, your voice trembling, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

“I’ve got you”, he said, his voice steady and firm, his thumbs rubbing small circles against your skin in a rare gesture of comfort. “You’ll get used to it. Just breathe”.

You tried to focus on his words, on the way he moved so slowly, giving you time to adjust to every inch of him. The stretch was still intense, still bordering on too much, but as he eased in further, your body began to relax, the pain giving way to a different kind of pressure.

“That’s it”, he murmured, his lips quirking into a small smirk as he watched you. “See? I told you you’d take it, Peanut”.

You couldn’t form a response, your breath hitching again as he pushed in another inch. He groaned softly, his head falling forward briefly, his self-control evident in the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

Your body trembled, the overwhelming fullness leaving you unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. He stayed still, his hands firm on your hips, his gaze softening just slightly as he gave you a moment to adjust.

“You’re doing so good, Peanut”, he said, his voice low and almost gentle, though the hunger in his eyes hadn’t faded. “Just a little more, and then I’ll make you feel real fucking good. I promise”.

Ben pushed in further, inch by inch, until he finally bottomed out, his hips pressing flush against yours. The sheer fullness, the stretch, was almost too much, and a breathless moan escaped your lips, mixed with a high-pitched whine that you couldn’t suppress. The sound seemed to drive him wild.

“Fuck”, Ben groaned, his head dropping forward to rest against your collarbone as his hands tightened on your hips. His breathing was ragged, and his entire body seemed to tense as he fought to keep himself in check. “You feel… Fuck, Peanut. You’re so fucking tight”.

You trembled under him, your hands instinctively clutching his broad shoulders as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely. He was so big, stretching you to your limits, and every inch of him pressed against places you didn’t even know could feel like this.

“Ben”, you whispered, your voice shaky, unsure if you were pleading for him to move or to give you more time to adjust.

“I know, baby”, he muttered, his voice gravelly and low, muffled against your skin. “I know. Just… fuck, just give me a second”. He groaned again, a deep, primal sound that vibrated through your chest, his hands gripping your waist like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You’re perfect”, he murmured, lifting his head slightly to press his forehead against yours. His green eyes burned into yours, dark with lust and something deeper, something almost reverent. “Fucking perfect. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me”.

You let out a shaky breath, your body slowly relaxing more around him as he stayed still, letting you adjust to the fullness. His hands moved to cradle your thighs, spreading you wider as he groaned softly again, his lips brushing against your jawline.

“Breathe, Peanut”, he said, his voice softening for a moment as his thumbs rubbed gentle circles into your skin. “Just breathe. You’re taking me so damn well”.

The praise sent a rush of warmth through your body, making you shiver against him. Slowly, he began to pull back just an inch, testing, watching your reaction with sharp, hungry eyes. The drag of him against your sensitive walls made your breath hitch, and his smirk returned as he groaned again.

“Yeah”, he growled, his voice thick as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re gonna love this, Peanut. I’ll make sure of it”.

Ben groaned deeply as he began to move, the drag of his length against your tight walls slow and deliberate. He pulled back just enough to make you feel every inch before sinking back in, his hips pressing flush against yours once more. The stretch still made you wince, but the intensity of the sensation was quickly mingling with something warmer, something almost unbearable.

“Shit”, he muttered against your collarbone, his breath hot and ragged. His lips grazed your skin, his teeth scraping lightly as he fought to keep his pace measured. “You’re squeezing me so damn tight. Like you were fucking made for me”.

A breathless whimper escaped you as he thrust again, a little deeper, a little harder. The fullness was still overwhelming, but with every slow, calculated movement, your body started to adjust, to mold to him. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and he smirked against your skin, clearly enjoying the way you clung to him.

Ben’s thrusts grew harder, his hips snapping into yours with more purpose, more force. The sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, raw and intimate, but you bit your lip, desperate to keep quiet.

But Ben noticed. Of course, he noticed.

“Peanut”, he growled, his voice low and commanding, roughened by pleasure. He angled his hips just slightly, hitting a spot that made your back arch involuntarily. “Don’t you fucking hold back on me”.

A soft whimper escaped you, and his smirk returned, wicked and dangerous. “That’s more like it”, he muttered, his hands gripping your hips even tighter as he thrust again, harder this time. “I want to hear you. Every. Fucking. Sound”.

You clenched your teeth, your nails digging harder into his shoulders as you fought to keep quiet, but it was no use. His pace was relentless now, each movement deliberate, dragging pleasure and desperation out of you with every stroke.

“C’mon, baby”, he murmured, leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear. “Don’t be shy. I want to hear how much you love this. Want to hear you beg me for more”.

You shook your head weakly, trying to resist, but when he thrust again, deeper than before, a moan slipped past your lips, raw and unrestrained. Ben groaned in response, the sound rough and guttural as he rocked into you harder.

“Fuck, that’s it”, he growled, his teeth scraping against your neck as he buried himself to the hilt again. “That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for. Knew you couldn’t stay quiet forever”.

Your breath hitched as he moved faster, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. His hands moved up to grip your waist, holding you steady as he claimed every inch of you, his lips grazing your skin as he spoke again.

“You feel that?”, he muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Feel how perfectly you’re taking me? That tight little body of yours was made for this, Peanut. Made for me”.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, your soft moans turning into desperate whimpers as he pushed you further and further. His words, his touch, the sheer intensity of him—it was too much, too overwhelming. And Ben—he soaked in every sound, every tremble, every gasp, his grin widening as he kept driving into you like he couldn’t get enough.

“That’s my girl”, he murmured, his hands sliding up to cup your face as his eyes locked onto yours. “Now stop holding back and let me hear it all”.

Ben could feel it—the way your body tightened around him, your walls fluttering as you approached the edge. His pace didn’t falter; if anything, it became sharper, more deliberate, each thrust angled perfectly to drive you closer to unraveling completely.

“You’re close, aren’t you, Peanut?”, he murmured. “I can feel it. You’re squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go”.

You whimpered, your nails raking against his shoulders as the pressure in your core built to an unbearable intensity. Your head fell back, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps, but Ben wasn’t about to let you hide from him.

“Uh-uh”, he said sharply, his hands gripping your hips harder as he slowed his thrusts just enough to regain your attention. “Don’t you fucking look away”.

Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze hazy and unfocused as you tried to meet his. His green eyes burned with intensity, dark with hunger and something possessive that made your stomach twist. He leaned in, his forehead pressing against yours, his movements deliberate and unyielding as he pushed you closer and closer.

“When you come”, he growled, his voice rough and commanding, “you look at me, Peanut. Got it?”.

You nodded weakly, unable to form words, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge. He thrust harder, deeper, his rhythm relentless now, each motion pulling soft cries from your lips that you couldn’t control.

“That’s it”, he muttered, his gaze locked on yours, unyielding. “That’s my girl. Let me see it. Let me see you fall apart for me”.

The final thrust sent you over the edge, your body clenching tightly around him as your release crashed through you. Your eyes locked onto his, your vision blurring with the intensity of it, and Ben groaned deeply, the sound rough and raw as he watched every second of your undoing.

“Fuck, Peanut”, he muttered, his voice strained as your walls gripped him like a vice. “You’re so fucking perfect like this”.

Your body trembled as the waves of pleasure coursed through you, and even as you came undone beneath him, Ben didn’t stop. His movements slowed just enough to let you ride out your high, his hands firm and steady on your hips as he kept you exactly where he wanted you.

“Fucking beautiful when you come. Told you I’d make you love this”, he murmured, his smirk returning as he leaned in to brush his lips against your ear.

Ben wasn’t close to being done with you—not by a long shot. After a moment of catching his breath, he scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to the couch and sitting down with you straddling his lap. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you as he eased you down onto him again. The stretch made your breath hitch all over again, but your body had already molded to him, making it easier this time.

“You’re not done yet, Peanut”, he murmured, his voice low and smug, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Not until I’ve had my fill”.

You didn’t know how much more you could take, but your body responded on instinct, your arms wrapping around his neck as he thrust up into you, slow and steady. Every motion sent shivers through you, the pressure building again despite how spent you already felt. His hands roamed your body, gripping, caressing, holding you steady as he moved beneath you.

Time blurred. You lost count of how many times he made you come—how many times your body tensed, shook, and fell apart in his arms. Ben took his time, alternating between hard, commanding movements and surprising moments of gentleness, as though savoring every second. His voice was a constant in your ear, filthy and possessive, coaxing every moan, whimper, and gasp out of you like they belonged to him.

By the time you collapsed against his chest, your body spent and trembling, you couldn’t even think straight. Your breaths came in soft, shaky gasps, your cheek resting against his chest. Ben’s hands moved to your back, stroking gently now, his touch grounding as you slowly came down from the overwhelming high.

“Shh”, he murmured, his voice softer now. “You’re done, baby. You’ve earned your rest”.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you securely against him as he leaned back into the couch. The tension in your body eased, and you felt your eyelids grow heavy, the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body lulling you into a daze.

Surprisingly, Ben didn’t push for more. He simply held you, his rough hands surprisingly gentle as they traced lazy circles on your back. His cocky smirk had softened into something almost content, his head resting against the back of the couch as he watched you drift off.

“Guess I wore you out”, he muttered, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he shifted slightly to make you more comfortable. “Can’t say I blame you, Peanut. You did good”.

You didn’t respond—couldn’t respond—as sleep overtook you. Completely spent, your body went limp against him, your soft breaths warm against his skin as you passed out in his arms. And for once, Ben didn’t press or tease. He just stayed there, holding you close, his gaze lingering on you with something almost resembling pride.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

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[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Butcher!Simon x gn!reader Part 8 continuation of your little date, I hope you enjoy! Also haven't proofread it because I didn't want to make you all wait another week for it. Sorry. You're welcome to point out errors to me. English words were hard this time, sorry if some of it is redundant. Part 7 | COD Masterlist | Part 9

Simon watches you from the corner of his eyes while you two walk alongside each other through the park. You’re tossing a ball for Wraith and the guard dog basically turned into an overgrown puppy at the sight of the toy.

It’s gotten late and after you spent the entire afternoon in the Café talking, Wraith needed a walk. Instead of saying goodbye you invited Simon to tag along. That’s a win, right? It’s a big step. You voluntarily decided to spend more time with him and Simon can feel himself vibrate with excitement.

“So an ex-soldier. What exactly did you do?”, you ask him while you toss Wraith’s ball for the thousandth time. You turn your pretty face towards him and he meets your eyes, puts his hands into his pockets and slightly shrugs his shoulders.

“Spec Ops.”, is his simple answer and you furrow your brows.

“Spe- what?” The confusion in your voice is adorable and Simon balls his fists, stuffs them deeper into his pockets so he doesn’t do something stupid (like pull you in and kiss you breathless).

“Special Operations. We weren’t really deployed somewhere permanently, instead they sent us wherever we were needed. Lots of stuff I am not allowed to talk about.”, he explains and wonders if you’ll be scared of him again.

When he looks at you, your eyes are wide. “Oh.”, you mutter and seem to think hard. It grows quiet for a minute and a small smile finds its way onto Simon’s lips. You’re chewing your lips again, seemingly troubled and who the fuck allowed you to look so adorable doing that.

“What is it, sweetheart.”, he asks, his voice warm and soft. He really hopes you can’t hear the lovesick undertone.

“I don’t know what I’m allowed to ask.”, you explain and grin self-conscious. He wants to lick the awkwardness off your lips (whoa okay, he really needs to get his thoughts in check).

Instead of doing that like a total creep, he tells you: “You can ask whatever you want, sweetheart. We’ll see what I can answer.”

You nod and think again. So far you haven’t protested his continued use of petnames. He enjoys it, enjoys claiming you with words in a subtle way. The only thing he’d enjoy even more would be you claiming him back. With words, marks, a collar, anything as long as he gets to be yours.

By now you’re walking closely besides him, and every now and then your arms brush against each other. It sends a shock up his arm every time, makes his neck tingle and his jaw clench in an effort to hold back, to not overwhelm you. The last thing he wants is to fuck up with you. As much as he wants to hold you he’d rather endure torture again than make you uncomfortable by coming on too strong.

“Why did you retire?”, you finally ask. “You don’t have to answer if you’d rather not!”, you immediately add in the same breath and Simon chuckles a bit at that.

The way you’re glancing at him seems nervous. It’s oddly endearing, like you’re nervous of misstepping with him. He quite enjoys that look on your face. Making you nervous in a way that doesn’t stem from fear is weirdly thrilling and he wants to keep doing it (would you be nervous if he pushed you up against a tree? If he used his height to his advantage and had you at his mercy? Would you be nervous if you had him at your mercy? God, he wants to be at your mercy).

“’s alright, sweets. Had a mission that went south, can’t really go into details. After that they set us up with a comfortable new life and told us to start over.” He can see the curiousness plain as day in your eyes and he wants to kick the officials who’re keeping him from just telling you everything.

Maybe someday he’ll do it anyway. Fuck if anyone can dictate him what to talk about. He’ll definitely tell you someday. Once he’s yours and sure you won’t run from him for revealing his past.

You cock your head at that. “Can you tell me about your team?”, you ask instead of prying and he could kiss you for that alone (he’s not sure he could have denied you, had you asked with your sweet voice and big curious eyes).

He nods at you and your face practically lights up with a big smile at the opportunity to finally get more info. He’s tempted to tell you every single confidential thing he knows, just to see you light up like that again.

“The lads are all in town. We’re four. Johnny, the fucker, owns a bakery. Flirts with everyone that comes in. People dig the accent.”, he begins and you perk up.

“Accent? It’s not the Scottish one, is it? What was his name…”, you seem to wrack your brain for it. “Mac…. Mac…”

“MacTavish.”, Simon supplies and you beam at him.

“I know that guy! His bread is to die for.”, you claim and Simon can’t really tell you that he already knows you frequent his friends bakery (he might have seen you there when he went to visit Johnny at work; might have worked out the times you go to Johnny’s and visited him more often around that time).

“He seems really nice but…”, you trail off and when you don’t continue Simon gently nudges you with his elbow to go on (you don't seem bothered by the contact, and he's surprised by himself for daring to do that so casually), curious what you might have to say about Johnny. You hesitate.

“Go on, sweetheart.”, he urges gently.

 “… he kinda intimidates me.”, you finally admit and suddenly Simon is grinning like the cat that caught the canary. Johnny intimidates you. Who would have ever guessed.

Johnny, who only recently teased him that ‘the cutie’ would never warm up to him because of his scary mask, intimidates you. Yet scary Simon is the one you’re taking a stroll in the park with. He desperately wants to rub it in Johnny’s face.

“Don’t tell your friend about it, but I can’t ever seem to remember his name. My friends and I refer to him as MacFlurry.”, you add, blushing but grinning mischievously.

Simon stares at you for a second and he can see the smile slowly drop and the apology forming on your lips when he starts laughing. He clutches his ribs, doubling over. Oh he’s gonna have so much fun with this information.

After a few seconds your laughter joins his as you’re helplessly giggling along, his booming laughter infectious.

“That…”, he laughs. “That’s great. Fucking MacFlurry.” He practically wheezes in laughter. Shit, he wants to marry you. Right here, right now.

Your giggle is beautiful and slightly bashful. Simon wishes he could catch it in a jar so he might listen to the heavenly sound again and again.

Finally he catches his breath and straightens up a bit, his eyes are twinkling, creases all around them from smiling so widely. He wants to tug you in close and thank you for existing.

“You know, sweetheart, I could always introduce you to MacFlurry and the others. We’re meeting up this evening. Wanna tag along?”, he blurts out before he can reconsider and your eyes grow wide and alarmed.

[iimplicitt]

WISHFUL THINKING | KA4

pairings: kimi antonelli x unnamed fem! character

summary: kimi has had a bit of a thing for ollie’s best friend for a while now, only issue is, is that she’s under the impression he hates her guts.

song inspo; drive by halsey

warnings: a sprinkle of angst

wc: 2.7k

request; maybe Kimi antonelli, but just like fluff, maybe a bit of angst

It was hard to keep his eyes off her when she came to racing events. No matter what could be going on, no matter what chaos that may be ensuing— she stood out. Not to sound cliche, but Kimi often compared her presence to how rays of sunshine cut through clouds. People couldn’t help but stop and admire her.

It was no surprise that Ollie had been friends with her for so long. When getting into professional racing, it was like friends trickled through a filter. It wasn’t through any fault of their own, really. Life gets busy, schedules don’t match up, and the calls or texts eventually stop.

No matter what life had thrown at Ollie, she was by his side. There was that annoying little feeling buried deep in his chest, just below his heart that felt a bit envious at their relationship. Although Kimi was technically friends with her, it didn’t feel like enough.

He wanted more, and he knew he shouldn’t.

For a whole array of reasons. The obvious being she was Ollie’s best friend. The second, though he might be getting ambitious, is that maintaining relationships is hard in this line of work. Not impossible, that was proven on numerous occasions. But what had also been proven is that they could get messy.

Plus, he wasn’t exactly sure what the full depth of Ollie’s feelings were. He knew the English man cared for her deeply, he knew they hung out all the time, Ollie invited her to races, she would even stay at his house sometimes.

God, those nights where Kimi was invited were the worst.

He could still recall the first night he realised he was done for. Kimi had an early morning the next day so he had called it a night before anyone else, crashing in a spare room Ollie had set up for him. He had found himself looking at her throughout the night. Sure, he had always found her attractive but his throughts typically didn’t expand beyond that. It was such a simple moment, it wasn’t anything to shout at the stars in reckless abandon. Everyone had been out in the back garden for dinner when a bunny had appeared. The way her eyes had lit up, carefully walking towards it. Everyone had expected the bunny to run off at any sudden movement, but it sniffed her hand with its pink nose before cuddling into the scoop of her palm. She refused to move for two hours as everyone talked, not caring her trousers were getting stained by the damp grass. The bunny keeping her company all the while and Kimi watched as the rest of the world faded away from her.

He laid in that bed wide awake for what seemed like hours. Her laugh echoing down the hallway from the kitchen, almost taunting him and he felt his chest constrict with the sound. It was strange, like he was breathing for the first time and his chest had been hallow up until that point.

Ever since then he had looked for her everywhere, sought out the sound of her voice. Part of himself hating that Ollie was the one to make her laugh like that. It was devasting, confusing, and pathetic.

The first day of a race weekend was wrapping up and sweat seemed to cling to him stubbornly no matter how many times he dumped water over his head. His eyes, as always stuck on her and how she smiled up at his friend. He didn’t know what made him ask when Ollie walked up to him, maybe it was the heat or the exhaustion but the words slipped out regardless.

“Do you like her?”

Ollie blinked at him, his cheeks red from the heat. “What?”

Kimi felt childish. They weren’t in primary school but the way his stomach was erupting in butterflies at the mere thought of even holding her hand made him feel like a kid. “You know,” he gestured to her.

Looking over his shoulder in confusion, Ollie spotted who Kimi was talking about and his eyes widened before whipping back around. “No, ew. I mean, she’s lovely. But no.” He then narrowed his eyes as he caught Kimi smile faintly. “Hang on a minute.”

The Italian’s face dropped, not realising he was grinning slightly but he couldn’t help the surge of relief he felt. “What?”

“Do you like her?”

Kimi laughed, trying to brush off the claim but his friend saw through the rouse easily and he wasn’t sure he liked the look that bloomed on Ollie’s face. Not a moment later, Ollie called her over and Kimi felt his stomach drop.

“Wait what—“

“I’m having to do some extra interviews after this, some stuff for Haas. Are you okay if Kimi gives you a ride back to the hotel?”

She nodded, patting Ollie on the arm. “Yeah, that’s fine. Go have fun.”

With a wink in Kimi’s direction, Ollie took off, leaving Kimi to fend for himself. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to thank him or kill him for throwing such an opportunity at him. But opportunity for what? He couldn’t just assume she was interested.

There were small moments he considered, but he was sure he was just being delusional. That she was just being nice. It would be presumptuous of him to think anything could take place, but that small voice in his head urged him to at least try.

Rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly, he met her eyes once before looking away. It wasn’t like she was necessarily intimidating, but he felt overwhelmed when he got to be close to her. “Let me get changed and then we can go, is that alright?”

She shrugged a shoulder impartiality, casual as ever and he wondered what mental training she went through to always be so calm. No matter what seemed to happen, she kept a level head. She was just…calm. Maybe that’s why the bunny walked up to her so easily, he saw somewhere that animals were really good at reading people and he knew she must’ve had a heart of gold.

“I’ll be quick.” He muttered, turning away and immediately kicking himself. Really? Was that all that he had? He had flirted with girls numerous times with a sense of ease that often surprised himself but he was suddenly robbed of all his language capabilities when it came to her.

She watched him walk away, feeling her heartbeat in her ears and every nerve ending felt on fire. If it weren’t for the wall she was leaning against, she was sure she would’ve fell to the floor.

Panic. She was panicking. And she was going to kill Ollie next time she saw him. The bastard knew she’s had a small crush on Kimi for the past year and then he goes and does this? No warning? Ollie was fully aware how she needed time to prep for things or else she would spiral.

Kimi was going to be giving her a ride back to the hotel. Her mind spun with hopeless longing and all the what if’s, not that there would likely be any. Any time her and Kimi were alone together he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. He wouldn't look at her, he’d barely utter a word, just…nothing. No inkling of interest beyond kindness and being friends by default through Ollie.

And it killed her. Even now, he seemed less than thrilled at the prospect of driving her. It was confusing, he didn’t used to be like this. He used to joke with her, be more carefree, let her in a little. Then one day she blinked and it was as if she was this thing he couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard he tried. His texts became few and far between, he never called on a whim anymore, he just stopped. She tended to over think in general but it sent her down a rabbit hole of what did i do wrong?

No matter how many times she thought over their interactions, she couldn't think of anything to make him take such a big step back like that. Her mind would wander; maybe she was being too annoying, maybe she was too much, maybe she was too loud, maybe she was too pushy, all these maybes and she felt like she was going insane.

She really shouldn’t be surprised though, she wasn’t necessarily his type. Which, as much as she told herself not to, she compared herself to all the girls he had dated. Having to ground herself in reality that of course it wouldn’t be her. Because why on earth would it be?

Snapping out of her depressing line of thoughts, she watched Kimi approach. Freshly showered and in a new set of clothes with a backpack slung over his shoulder. He met her eyes once before looking away, “Ready?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, suddenly not overly thrilled by the turn of events. Hopefully the car ride would be quick and the silence not too awkward. She wanted this over with so she could burrow in her hotel room to watch a rom-com and cry.

She followed Kimi to the car he had driven to the track that day, a nice sports car that she couldn’t even begin to fathom the cost of. It didn’t matter how long she had been friends with Ollie, she would never get used to the sheer show of wealth at these events.

Reaching for the door handle, she paused as another hand beat her to it instead, staring at Kimi dumbfounded as he opened the passenger side door for her. He still wasn’t looking at her, but he did gesture with his head for her to get in.

She reality checked the butterflies in her stomach quickly. He could not like her and still be a gentleman, there was no reason to look too deep into it. The leather was clearly expensive and the smell of Kimi’s cologne invaded her senses, smelling warm with a bit of spice and the way it made her head dizzy was a little concerning. No one should smell that good.

Sitting with bated breath, she watched as Kimi walked to the other side before sliding into his own seat. Not sparing her a glance as he got settled and the engine roared to life. Usually she was good with silence but for some reason when it came to the Italian race car driver, the quietness felt suffocating and the air was heavy,

Barely five minutes into the drive she tapped her knees and cleared her throat. Kimi didn’t do anything but raise a brow at her and kept his eyes on the road.

“Kimi?” He hummed in response. “Did I do something to make you hate me all the sudden?”

The way his eyes widened as he turned to look at her for a moment would’ve been comical if it weren’t for the way she felt nauseous as she asked.

“Che? I don’t hate you, why would you say that?”

Despite trying not to, the laugh that left her was painfully dry. “You act like you can’t stand me.”

“Why would you—“

“Kimi, this is the most you’ve spoken to me in months.”

His lips pressed together in a line as he drove, looking at her for another moment before forcing his eyes back on the road. After a moment he sighed, his voice coming out quiet. “I thought distancing myself would help.”

She stared at him, her mind not registering the words properly as she watched the street lights flicker over his face every few seconds. “Help?” Her own voice was a whisper, her heart beating too loudly in her ears and she barely heard herself. Kimi clenched his jaw, seeming to debate with himself as he thought about what to say next and she would’ve given anything to know what was going on in his head.

“Getting into things here is complicated,” he began, struggling a bit to communicate properly what he meant as if he was trying to tiptoe around something bigger. “And with Ollie I just thought it would be messy.”

“So you’ve been ignoring me because of Ollie?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.” The look she gave him screamed otherwise and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he pulled into the parking lot of the hotel. “No, non è quello che intendevo. Perché è così difficile?” He mumbled to himself before finally turning to look at her. He took a deep breath and she steeled herself for the potential blow to heart he might be about to deliver.

“I like you, tesoro. A lot, but with Ollie being your best mate and the way schedules work I didn’t want to fuck anything up.”

It was as if the world had been yanked from under her feet before the ground came rushing back again, her heart stumbling over itself at the confession. The pure shock of adrenaline and joy mixed with something akin to annoyance bubbled in her throat and she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. “Why would Ollie have anything to do with whether or not you could be with me? I like you too, Kimi. But I’ve been sitting here for months thinking you couldn’t stand me. Even if it was just as friends, that hurt.”

The look on his face made her want to take back all of her words but she knew she meant them. He looked in anguish, hating himself for putting up the walls he had been so keen on keeping in place. Taking it upon himself to protect everyone from any potential emotional damage. She understood the complexities of getting into a relationship with a friend, and how if they go wrong it could blow up in everyone's face. But to not even try? And to just drop off the face of the earth? It wasn’t fair.

“I’m sorry, tesoro.” Before she could register her next thought, Kim’s hand reached up and cradled the side of her face, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone as he looked her over like he was trying to memorise every detail. “I love being around you but it felt like torture knowing I couldn’t do anything.”

Leaning into his touch, she shook her head. “Who said you couldn’t?”

“Cara Mia,” his voice was low, as if in warning and he looked at her pointedly.

“Kimi you can’t focus on all the possible negatives, would it really kill you if we kissed?” At her words, his eyes flicked down to her mouth as his hand slid lower to cup the side of her neck, just slightly bringing her closer. She reached her own hand up to gently take hold of his wrist, eyes meeting his and they seemed to glow in the night. “Ti voglio, Kimi.”

His mouth met hers with such urgency one would think he was a man starved for her touch. The feeling of his soft but slightly chapped lips was enough to drive her to insanity and she could cry at the relief she felt. Finally. Finally, they were giving in. He didn’t need to be scared. All they had to do was take it day by day and she was willing to fight for this with him through the fires of hell if it came to that.

The kiss was messy, fueled by months of longing and miscommunication. Missed opportunities and second guesses. Two lonely, young people who wanted to find a sense of security in one another and they were finally getting a taste of what heaven was like. Teeth colliding and the feeling of his mouth against hers, his tongue exploring the inside of her mouth and her hands dug in his hair. Desperate and devastating and neither would ever get enough. They never wanted to. Each touch was electric and they kept chasing that high, shedding any restraints previously held.

It would be hell to deal with sometimes, but they’d make it work.

“Vita mia,” he said it against her mouth, against her neck, he’d pepper it between each breath and kiss as if she was the air that sustained life. “Mi dispiace, I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know, I know.” She kissed him again, expressing everything she wasn’t capable of saying effectively. Wishing she could talk to him freely in his native tongue. Ever since the first night she met him she started to practise. He was everything and more to her.

“Vita mio,” the words barely had time to swim in the air before he was all over her.

tag list; @theonottsbxtch @fortunapre @hearts4acemyluv

pls let me know if you’d like to be tagged in further work!

[emsgwenstan]

Personal or professional?

Chap 1 | chap 2

Larissa Weems x fem(carpenter/joiner) reader

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Violet Hastings is a feminine and strong willed woman, who also has a lot of secrets, from her unconventional job to her personal issues, Larissa may be the one who opens violets heart but what is the price?

Warnings: eventual swearing, self criticism, hurt/angst, body issues| this chapter, none?

There it’s a lot in store for this just bare with me it’s only the intro. <3

———

“Violet get in here!” My boss called out into the work shop. “Coming!” I yell back, setting down the sand paper on the bench. Quickly making my way to his office I manage to scrape my leg yet again on a protruding piece of timber, with no time I decide against cleaning off the blood that’s now dipping down the length of my leg, when he wants me he wants me now.

Opening the door my breath was caught in my lungs upon laying eyes on the most beautiful woman i had ever seen. “Violet this is miss Weems, she’s looking to have a few cupboards made.” He said half assed with a sigh as if he’s so hard done by. The woman gleamed up at me, uncrossing her legs and extending to her full height. She was tall, very tall but not to much taller than me, already so captivating.

“Larissa.” She said with a deep voice holding out a delicate hand for me to shake. ‘My Larissa you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever gazed at’. I thought as i took her hand and gently yet professionally greeted her properly. “Violet.” I breathed hardly remembering if that was right. The touch lingered a little long, but I’m aching to be eligible enough to feel her hand once again.

“So… what exactly are you looking for.” I asked after clearing my throat. “She wants to get some tall cupboards for classroom storage at that school outta town.” He interjected. I shot him a glare at his rude behaviour. “As I recall I believe I asked miss Weems.” I snapped with a smile, returning my gaze back to her. “Well that is correct, but I was wondering if you had any ideas for the design, I want it to match the interior of the rooms if possible.” She said timidly, her English accent clear and alluring. “Of course I’ll take you to the show room.” I said turning to hold the door open for her.

On the short walk, the air was filled with a comfortable silence, which was nice because I’m not one for small talk. “Here we are, go nuts.” I chuckled. Larissa paced about the room and went from each item on display running her finger tips along the edges. I admired her for doing so, sometimes feeling something is far more important than looking, although that to is quite necessary, but I also admired her, her posture and height, her beauty and kindness, Larissa seems to be the epitome of grace, to which I envy.

“Oh my goodness these are incredible.” she said turning to look at me over her shoulder. I blushed and tilted my head down slightly flustered. “Who ever made all of this is very good, just look at the detail.” smiling and saying nothing, Larissa faced me probably observing my silence. “Did- did you do all of this?” She asked. “Guilty.” I responded returning her gaze. “Well, you very talented, your skill is remarkable.” She said, making me smile in thanks.

“So anything in particular catch your eye?” I wondered. “All of it honestly, but…personally this is my favourite.” Larissa walked a few steps to a vanity i made a few years back, not one that goes in a bathroom but the free standing one’s that go in a bedroom or foyer. I could see how her face contorted into awe at its presents, her eyes scanning over the fine details scribed into marble tops edge and the vintage gold handles, the mirror frame also a painted embellished gold. Larissa looked at me and began to speak again. “You know, this is off topic but… it was quite refreshing to see you walk in before, I thought I would be dealing with another incipient man.” She said not bothering to care if it caused offence. It was absolutely taken as a compliment.

“Well, if I’m being honest, it was lovely to see you to, we get all sorts of different clients who may I say are a handful to deal with, especially since they get palmed off to me considering I’m the only worker.” I replied in hopes of showing my gratitude for her compliance. “Your the only other person who works here… apart form your boss?” She asked almost in a concerned manner. “Yes, no body else finds him tolerant enough to stick around, so really the only reason I’m here is because I have some freedom over what I do, a little blackmail of me leaving and him shutting down for good always seems to do the trick.”

Larissa grinned at my words understanding that you need to play a little dirty if you want to survive in the business industry, something Larissa knows very well. “I tell you what… It’s yours, I have no use for it, I just have to tweak a few things before I deliver it for you.” I said hoping she would like the offer. “Oh no… I couldn’t.” She muttered but her face said otherwise. “Cant or won’t?” I asked almost as if i were daring her just to say yes.

Larissa eventually accepted the offer with much reluctance, her blush didn’t go unnoticed when i grasped her bicep smiling at her when she obliged. “Well, when would you like me to come and take some measurements?” hoping it’s soon so i don’t die of anticipation. “Does tomorrow evening work for you? It’s probably best that you come when students aren’t in the way.” She spoke. “Tomorrow it’s just fine how is four o’clock?” I asked. “Perfect.” She said.

Larissa looked down at her feet for a moment to avoid her crimson cheeks being displayed, but quickly her eyes found my shin. “Oh what have you done? Your bleeding.” She uttered, a look of worry washed over her features. Looking down remembering that i had in fact cut myself. “It’s nothing look at all the other scars, I’m sure you can tell it’s not the first time.” I laughed, shrugging it off as no big deal. Larissa opens her purse and pulled out a plaster holding it out for me to take. “Here.” She said. I sighed and took it thanking her and saying it’s not necessary. “It’s absolutely necessary, you need to look after yourself darling, I have to make sure the woman I need is in good physical health now dont I?” She protested. ‘Darling!? her charm is going to kill me!’.

Walking back to the office I said goodbye and good luck dealing with my boss to finalise some paperwork, Larissa let out a breathy chuckle at the statement and bid me farewell also. I paced back to my bench and resumed the task with only one thing on my mind, a beautiful woman called Larissa Weems.

———

The next morning was a drag, it honestly couldn’t go any slower, excitement pulsed though my body as well as butterflies in my stomach, just thinking about meeting Larissa again I’m torn between nervousness and the trill of seeing her, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt so giddy just because of a simple conversation or over anything for that matter.

After securing a few shipments of board to make a wardrobe for another client and doing some required maintenance on machinery it was finally time to drive to nevermore, that in its self was exciting. Before I started the twenty minute drive, i went to the weathervane to get a hot chocolate and a pastry on the way and hesitantly bought another set to offer Larissa. I have never done anything like this before. ‘God is she going to think I’m weird for buying her this? Does she even like this stuff? Let’s hope she’s not lactose intolerant or a gluten free person. God Just. Calm. Down’.

The drive down the road leading to the school was in some way magical, the trees making a canopy was surreal, the sunlight creeping through the branches and casting flickering rays along the windscreen, the cool breeze that was gently blowing the leaves was a beautiful sight. Anything that wasn’t four walls and loud noises was remarkable, it feels like when i take a step outside of the work shop and back into the world I’m alive or regenerated again.

Arriving through the iron gates my face dropped at the sight of the imposing school, it was huge and the architecture was to die for, it had a gothic aesthetic yet a warm nature to it. ‘My kind of place’. Parking in the staff lot, i made my way out of the car taking the drinks and paper bag holding the food and walked to what seemed to be the front entrance.

It was very quiet the only sounds were light howling of wind through the stone halls and hushed conversations of students bathing in the sun sitting in what you assume is the quad, even if it shaped as a pentagon. Walking aimlessly through archways and openings I found myself In front of a staircase, my gut is telling me to at least try to see if I’m in the right direction of her office.

At the top of the stairs there were plenty of painted portraits of people who were obviously previous headmasters and important alumni, all seemingly men to, that was until my eye was caught by a flurry of light colour. Just as I thought it was Larissa, her bright hair pinned to perfection and blue eyes radiant, i give credit to whoever captured all of her beauty, especially that little scare above her lip that i somehow absolutely adore.

My staring was cut short when I heard a door open and heals clicking against the marble floors, whipping around I immediately remember she’s far more beautiful in person. “What a horrid experience that was.” She said nodding towards the portrait. “Looks pretty incredible to me.” I said giving her a grin. “Yes well, sitting in silence for six hours without a break wasn’t very ideal, not to mention having to go back the next day to do it again was dreadful.” She chuckled. She tilted her head to look at herself and grimaced at it. “To be quite honest I try so hard to avoid it every time I step of of my office.” She said softly and turned her gaze back to me. “You shouldn’t it’s beautiful.” I said. With a huff Larissa straightened her posture and regained her mask of professionalism. “Hello violet.” She said realising she hadn’t greeted me properly. “Hi.” I responded.

Larissa turned and placed her hand on my shoulder walking me to her office. As we stepped inside the amazement came back tenfold, her interior was impeccable every colour and material held a rich aesthetic, from layered curtains to thick rugs and simple yet eye catching memorabilia that was effortlessly critiqued into place. She has wonderful taste, the only downside was her desk, a small crappy little thing that I’m sure she has trouble fitting under.

Larissa rounder her desk and sat at her throne of a chair and wordlessly asked you to sit by motioning her hand. “Oh, by the way I wasn’t exactly sure if or what you wanted but I brought you a hot chocolate and and a croissant.” You said holding up the goods. “You didn’t.” She said a grin appearing on her face. “I didn’t know what you liked or if you could eat or drink it, but I just thought I shouldn’t be selfish and offer you something anyway.” You shyly stated. “No I want it, that’s my usual actually.” She said. “I hope Your not lying to not make me feel bad are you?” You asked. “Not at all.” She smiled. “Ok well I have one that’s just plain and one that has whipped cream and marshmallows in it so take your pick.” You said pointing to the designated cups. Larissa bites on her bottom lip as she inches toward the drink with the toppings. “Don’t tell anyone but I have the biggest sweet tooth.” She giggled, the sound alone was a melody you wished to hear forever.

“So tell me about the process of making and installing the cupboards? Is it difficult? How would you manage to trek them into the school? Especially by yourself, I’d help you but I’m afraid I’m rather weak.” Larissa asked after she let out a hum at the taste of the drink, getting lost in her own mind wondering about the questions. You chuckled at her slight concern. “Well we figure out what colour or patterned board your looking for, order it and manufacture it in the work shop and I deliver and install it, as for bringing it here I’ll figure that out.” I said taking a sip of my own drink.

Larissa nodded at my words and seemingly scanned my figure, her eyes ran over the expanse of my body from hair and eyes to my clothes, crossed legs and shoes. I broke the silence feeling a little self conscious under her piercing gaze. “I’m afraid my uniform isn’t nearly as impeccable as yours I’m sorry.” I laughed nervously snapping her back to reality. “No, I was actually admiring, I think florissant pink looks great on you and I adore the pink laces on your boots.” She said politely pointing at your feet. “Oh thanks I guess, I decided that if I were to work in this industry I wanted to look quite feminine, what ever that is right?” I chucked. “Yes I see.” She smiled taking another sip.

After a few conversations about little bits of information and other steps, Larissa guided me back down stairs to a classroom. The whole time I spoke with her I realised how easy she is to talk to, Larissa comes across as sweet and charming, charismatic and intelligent, I do feel like slowly she’s peeling layers of professionalism back and being a little more personable and vulnerable, but so am I, not once have i had someone so friendly and easygoing to work or deal with, Larissa seems to understand my opinions and does everything she can to be as simple as she can to make things easier for me. Although a part of me can’t help but wonder if she’s just only being friendly for the sake of it or if Larissa genuinely likes me as a person.

After discussing the materials and rough estimates for costs Larissa and I walked back towards my car. “I’m really looking forward to seeing the results once everything is finalised.” She said clasping her hands in front of herself. “So am I, I think everything is going to look and function great.” I spoke. For a moment she didn’t say anything and just looked at me, although my gaze was diverted to behind her, a car was backing out rather quickly and without thinking i grasped her wrists and pulled her flush against me to prevent her from possibly being hit.

Larissa was stunned at the sudden movement just as much as i was, the person who was driving stopped and wound down the window, a woman with red hair and glasses far to big for her face gave an apologetic smile “oh my god I’m soo sorry I didn’t see you guys there, forgive me principal Weems.” Larissa gave you a look before stepping back and composing herself. “That’s alright Marilyn, please be careful next time.” She said, you could tell she was slightly annoyed it was actually quite funny. With that the woman drove off leaving myself and Larissa in silence. “Sorry about that.” She said. “How is that your fault?” I asked. “It’s not but…” she began. “It’s fine, I just didn’t want you to be run over.” I stated. “I suppose a thank you is in order than.” “No problem miss Weems.” I said. “Please, call me Larissa, I get sick of hearing that name every waking moment of the day.” The woman asked me hopefully. “Ok than Larissa, I’ll be seeing you sometime soon, don’t overwork yourself, I need you in good shape to tell me your thoughts on things ok?” I half joked clearly mocking her for the previous day, but wished it entirely. “I will darling, take care of yourself as well.” Again with the darling. At that I slipped into the drivers seat of my work car and waved Larissa goodbye heading back down the driveway.

Larissa slowly walked back towards her office stopping every so often to absorb the sunshine’s warmth, before heading down the cold stone corridors. She stepped inside of her room and smiled at the empty cup on her desk, Larissa wrapped her perfectly manicured hands around the paper and went to throw it in the bin, however she stopped in her tracks at the delicate handwriting with a phone number and name marked with ‘vi ;)’. She grinned at herself and whipped out her phone.

‘Meet me at the weathervane in your lunch break tomorrow? ~Larissa.’

@sabraaabra

[aquamarine-oceanfront]

Unofficial Bunny Maloney FAQ

Since Saberspark's reviewing the show today, I figured it would be in everyone's best interests to write this up now - people new to Bunny Maloney can get answers to several common questions in one go, while people already familiar with it can send this to others whenever necessary. (For what it's worth, I honestly think even the biggest fans of the series might learn something new here.) I know the show's creator posted a short FAQ of his own about a month ago, but I figured it was worth treading some of the same ground while going more in-depth.

Disclaimer: I'm trying my best to be as factual as possible here, but I cannot completely rule out the possibility that I am wrong or misleading about something here. Please let me know if something's amiss, or if you've seen other common questions that could be added! Similarly, for authenticity's sake, all quotes are presented exactly how they were originally written.

I've divided this post into short and long sections - they cover the same questions, but the latter is more in-depth and is replete with source links. If you're in a hurry, then here are the brief answers:

"Was Bunny Maloney really meant for children?" No, not originally. Original creator Nicolaï "Méko" Chauvet intended for the show to be aimed at teenagers first and foremost (with some appeal to younger children), but MoonScoop insisted it be targeted solely at kids. Director Stéphane Stoll fought to keep true to the original intent, hence why the final product still has a lot of adult content.

"Does Méko have any missing English episodes?" No. All he has are 8-10 episodes of (an early version of) the French dub that MoonScoop gave him back in the day.

"What species is Charlotte?" While many sources (including her English voice actor and two lines in the show itself) assume she's a cow, Méko actually intended for her to be a goat.

"Is Jean-François's English voice actor the same as the main character in Hatred?" I'm not so sure about that. Tom Clarke-Hill was definitely part of the English cast, but the credits don't specify which characters he voiced, and I haven't found anything that would definitively prove he voiced Jean-François. (For that matter, Hatred uses a pseudonym while crediting its player character's voice actor - it's commonly believed Clarke-Hill did it, but I haven't found any hard evidence otherwise.)

"Will there be a season 2?" There's no definitive plans just yet (and please don't bother Méko about it). Not much to add here - he's stated many a time that he'd love to revive Bunny Maloney, but there's nothing concrete at the time I'm writing this.

Below the jump are my full answers to the same questions:

(V1.1 [12/14/24]: Lightly edited to correct some errors I missed)

Was Bunny Maloney really meant for children?

This is surprisingly complicated to answer in full, even if the short answer seems simple enough.

While Méko first came up with Bunny Maloney (the character) in 1998, the history of the TV series specifically began with L'attaque du poulpe rouge géant ("Attack of the Giant Red Octopus" in English), a short Flash animation he directed in the early 2000s. As he wrote in an email to YouTuber Li Speaks earlier in 2024:

l'attaque du poulpe rouge geant, and it's total freedom of speech, references and mature content was aiming only 2 targets in my mind : Internet of course, free content, like my friends pushed me to do, and anime conventions, where it have a big succes because it was clearly dedicated to all we loved in japanese pop culture.

He did not originally intend for it to be a pilot, mind you. Méko only decided to try and rework the concept into a full TV series after the short won the "Netsurfers Award" at the 2003 Annecy Festival, producing a pitch bible for what was then called Pinpin le Lapin. In the aforementioned email exchange, he clearly states twice that he intended for the show to target a teenage audience. (He does say at one point that "we wanted to keep an interest for the big brothers and sisters and make them watching buny too, like the simpsons at the beginning." Tying into this, the cover of the pitch bible gives the intended audience as "8 year olds and over" - Méko later explained that "'over' was more important than '8'" here.)

However, these plans were repeatedly challenged as the series entered production. According to the tweet I just linked, the primary investor insisted that they exclusively target teenagers & adults, forcing the bible to be rewritten accordingly. MoonScoop, the primary production company, had the opposite problem - their management was equally insistent that the series target kids and kids alone, watering down Méko's original intent. (He claims in the same email exchange as before that the company was "a real army of 40 years old parisian mothers at that time." They were also the ones responsible for renaming the series Bunny Maloney - they reasoned that English-speaking audiences would find it funnier, ignoring Méko's warnings about potential confusion with the singer of the same name.)

However, director Stéphane Stoll spent a significant amount of time and effort sticking to the original target demographic (according to Méko's emails). His work certainly paid off, as evident by the amount of adult humor in the final product. MoonScoop, for the most part, seemed to continue treating Bunny Maloney as a children's program - their official site billed it as being for ages "6 and up," for instance. (The lone exception is an official PowerPoint presentation that gives the show's genre as "adult-escent’ comedy, action adventure!") The tension between the disparate target audiences actually impacted its premiere in France: originally scheduled to debut on Canal+ Family near the end of March 2009 (specifically as part of Cartoon+, a then-new series showing episodes of various contemporary cartoons), it was pulled at the last minute because the channel decided it was unsuitable for children. (It ultimately premiered on the network three months later, albeit in the early afternoon instead of its original evening timeslot.)

I haven't examined every single non-French channel that aired the show, but all the ones I'm aware of were definitely meant for kids. The two most familiar ones definitely were: Kabillion (in the US) is dedicated to children's cartoons, while Kix (in the UK) specifically targeted 7 to 12 year-old boys.

Does Méko have any missing English episodes?

He does not. All he has are a few early French episodes (between eight and ten) that MoonScoop gave him back when the series was in production.

What species is Charlotte?

She's a goat. I don't blame people for getting confused, since Bunny and Candy explicitly call her a cow in two separate episodes - even Phillipa Alexander, her English voice actor, once described her as such on her website. However, Meko originally designed her with a shorter tail than in the show as produced - closer to a goat than a cow. (His own artwork also refers to her as a goat quite frequently.) But don't take my word for it - take his:

HEY, YANKEES : CHARLOTTE IS A GOAT !

Is Jean-François's English voice actor the same as the main character in Hatred?

I can't give a definitive answer to this either way. In case you didn't already know: Hatred is a video game released in 2015 that attracted massive amounts of controversy because of its extraordinarily violent content. Its player character, officially named "the Antagonist" but popularly known as "Not Important," is voiced by someone credited as "Clint Westwood" - a pre-release interview with the developers confirms the actor used a fake name to stay anonymous. Many people believe his real identity is Tom Clarke-Hill, but to my knowledge he has never confirmed this (perhaps unsurprisingly) - it's just speculation rooted in comparisons to his other roles. (As an example, this Steam forum post notes that "the Antagonist" sounds similar to Clarke-Hill's performance as Karl Fairburne in the Sniper Elite series.)

As for Bunny Maloney: Tom Clarke-Hill was 100% part of the English voice cast, as you can see below.

However, there's no mention of which roles these six actors took on. While some of them have provided that information elsewhere (like their own websites or, in Matt Wilkinson's case, a demo reel), I haven't been able to find a credible source saying that Clarke-Hill voiced Jean-François. (If you find or already know one, please let me know!)

Also, there's another, possibly more important question to consider: since Jean-François's lines sound exactly the same in French, does he even have an English voice actor? I'm genuinely not sure - he is the only character who always uses the French pronunciation of his own name (while the others tend to say it more like "John-François"), but that's hardly definitive evidence.

Will there be a season 2?

I think Méko answered this succintly in his own FAQ:

For now, i would be more than happy to do season 2, it has been in my dreams for years and i will do everything in my power for that, but there isn't anything official yet. Please don't ask me "when" […] but be sure i will do an announce when the time has come!

[goodnightbirdy]

Sticky Lungs

Chapter 1??? (idk if this is anything so we'll see if i keep going)

meeks angst? anybody??

There is a severe lack of steven meeks content within the dps fandom so i have taken it upon myself to torture the man.

Inspired by allelon ruggiero saying meeks dies in the vietnam war.

"Meeks reached forward and picked up the magic burning paper. He ripped open the envelope with the tip of his index finger like his father always had. 

“Order to Report for Induction” 

Meeks sighed. "

TAGS: Steven Meeks, Meeks-Centric, Angst, Post-Canon, Vietnam War, other poets mentioned

A/N: WE’RE FUDGING THE NUMBERS OKAY? 

I simply refuse to believe that meeks willingly went into the military and he would have been too old for the draft SO IM CHANGING THE NUMBERS.

allelon ruggiero has plagued my life with vietnam war angst, take it up with him.

1968

Sighing— it's a wretched function of the body when you really think about it. The lungs are wet, fragile things, they often stick together and make it difficult for oxygen to make its way through and touch the blood. A sigh is a deep breath that cleaves the lungs open, ripping them away from themselves and filling the cavity with an adequate amount of air.

Sticky lungs. It's a thought that needles its way into the brain only when a prevailing silence has made itself known. A thought that makes a shudder run down your spine and forces you to think too hard about the inner workings of oneself.

Steven Meeks sat alone in his apartment as he so often did these days. A sigh forced its way through his chest. That phrase— “sticky lungs,” bullied it way into his head making him shake in a desperate attempt to rid the words from his mind. He stood, and in an attempt to banish the silence responsible for the thought, he picked up a vinyl. 

Any record. Play any sound. Any sound would rid the apartment of the thick silence making it hard to breath and clogging his throat. 

Something Meeks vaguely recognized as The Velvet Underground played. He didn't know when he grabbed it, how he got from the shelf of music to the record player, or how long he was standing there listening, but the first song on the album was coming to a close. 

There was something of a routine becoming clear in his movements, he didn't realize he had one before but would his movements really be so automatic if he didnt? It didn't take much thought to place the english muffin in the toaster, or stir powdered creamer into a mug of black coffee.

Eventually he made his way back to the coffee table as I’ll Be Your Mirror began playing quietly  through the apartment. The bite of muffin tasted like ash and contrasted with the bright lilting voice of Nico filtering through his ears. 

An envelope sat in the middle of the table. When he first picked it up it felt as though it burned his finger tips. The letter was stiff and had large black letters reading  “[DO NOT BEND]” emblazoned on it; Meeks knew exactly what it was. He wasn't stupid, he watched the news, he listened to the radio. Men born between 1942 and 1950 were placed in the draft lottery. Somewhere in the base of his skull he wondered if any of the other poets had received a letter. He wondered if the paper burned the skin of Pitts or Knox. He imagined seeing Charlie or Todd in a military camp across the world, covered in dirt and grime. Was he the only one? Was he the sole victim of the lottery?

Lottery, what an interesting choice of words. In another life he would be writing a poem about it, tearing apart the meaning and ringing prose out of the simple word, but at this moment every eloquent thought was punched from him. His coffee grew cold and the apartment grew silent again, the record having reached its end some minutes ago. 

Meeks reached forward and picked up the magic burning paper. He ripped open the envelope with the tip of his index finger like his father always had. 

“Order to Report for Induction” 

Meeks sighed. 

Sticky Lungs. Lottery. Sticky Lungs. Cold Coffee. Sticky Lungs. Do Not Bend. Sticky Lungs. 

Sticky Lungs. Pitts. Sticky Lungs. Todd. Sticky Lungs. Cameron. Sticky Lungs.

A deep breath. It reinflates your alveoli and forces your lungs to maximum capacity, maintaining proper lung function. 

A sigh of relief. A sigh of exasperation. A sigh of contentment. A sigh of defeat. A sigh of relaxation. 

And a sigh of sticky lungs. 

%%%%%

Two weeks is a very short time. Sure it sounds long, 14 days, 336 hours, 20,160 minutes. Its nearly intangible when you break it down like that. But when you are given two weeks to get your affairs in order before you are shipped off to a place you desperately dont want to go to, its very short.

Thats what they give you. 2 weeks. To tell your landlord (“you were a good tenant Steven”), to quit your job (“I’ll be sad to see you go”), and to call your parents (“No.”)

Or maybe, two weeks is impossibly long. You have one million things to do, to wrap up, but they all seem to end with relative ease. Suddenly its been a week and everything is lined up. Suddenly in seven days, the life you’ve built has been torn down piece by piece. 

The job you stressed for and sweat bullets over the interview, given away to someone else. 

The apartment you searched for, for weeks, spent tireless hours decorating, empty and looking for a new tenant. 

The vinyl collection you’ve cultivated since highschool packed in boxes and placed in your fathers disused office.

Its frightening. How neatly it all is packed away. How simply it all falls into place. You open a letter and the world comes to a screeching halt, for you. For everyone else the clock kept ticking, the day kept going, and the world kept spinning. 

Either impossibly fast or agonizingly slow, two weeks pass. Meeks is off. His life packed into boxes and goals kindly tucked between his ribs for another day, year, decade. He thought to call his friends before he left, even going as far as dialling Pitt’s number before losing the nerve and hanging up the phone. He regretted it as he boarded the plane. He should have called, written a letter, something. 

The ground beneath him dropped and tears threatened to prick in his eyes, fear tumbled from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers. 

What if he never spoke to them again, would his mother think to call his friends from Welton if his body came home in a box? Or would she be to wracked with grief that she couldn’t remember he ever had them. 

Would he join the ranks as a dead poet or would he live as a simple pledge another day?

He should have called Gerard.

[misrepresentedmorallygrey]

PROPAGANDA

John

This fella is Fascinating. just trust me on this he deserves to be here

He tried so hard to do the right thing, he feels bad and says things would be better if he was never born. He thinks he should've just stayed acting like a monster and continued to act threatening.

(LONG PROPAGANDA INCOMING)

John. Milgram. Here's a short description of the fortunes and misfortunes of the guy. It gets worse before it gets better (probably).

While MILGRAM is a prison that judges a bunch of sympathetic killers, it doesn't consider him to be one – it didn't even exactly know he existed until too little too late, when it got its grabby hands on the brain of prisoner 009, who claimed to not know anything about any murder he'd have committed. Then, footage from his brain was extracted, as MILGRAM does, into a music video, and… that was MeMe. Ninth prisoner, Kayano Mikoto, was revealed to have DID, and what obviously who do you think actually Killed Someone?

Enter John. Well. Mikoto is half deeply unaware half subconsciously scared of his existence, so the MV painted him in a rather. Deeply disturbing way, bathing in bloody baths and all that (not a blood bath though! easy mistake). Adding to that him showing up in the first Voice Drama for five seconds to punch the "protagonist" and yell for a bit, and the result wasn't. Assuring. The fandom proceeded to treat him like a cardboard cutout and variously dunk on MILGRAM for having a cliché "evil" character w/ DID despite the overall well handling of complex characters.

Two years time skip: second season ending. We get to prisoner 009 again. The protagonist Finally gets to chat with John: and voila, he's admitting to the crime, he's apparently "killed a bunch of people because they annoyed him", which means, as he's saying, Mikoto has nothing to do with the crime at all! And he, as per the judging system, should be forgiven, right! Well, he's so full of shit. The music video immediately reveals how protective he feels of Mikoto (and well, he definitely doesn't rebuke That one), that the events of murder were somehow tied in to Mikoto's job at a black company, his continuous overworking and him being mentally on the brink of breaking; that any committed violence was For The Sake of Mikoto and that John feels deeply horrible for messing up his life in any way. By making himself into the image of a "monster" he's trying to make Mikoto look good in comparison and be forgiven and all. He also mentioned if Mikoto is voted innocent he's gonna try to go dormant since he's The Issue, right, and the audience/protagonist hates him, Right, and Mikoto Also Hates him, Right?

I'm underselling the sheer devotion of this guy tbh.

Yeah, the fandom results were kinda mixed on that one. Lots of people immediately started to love him dearly and kinda forgot any people were maimed or killed with baseball bats; lots also got sold on him "messing up Mikoto's life" and actually voted Mikoto innocent Specifically because of John's promise to eventually "disappear". There's more of the babygirlifying kind in the English side of the fandom that I've seen, to be fair. And that's around where we are!

Dazai Osamu

He did bad things in the Mafia. He's trying to get better. He abused people but he also saved other people. Fans portraying him as an unforgivable abuser are WRONG. He perpetuated an abused cycle on Akutagawa thinking he was right to do that, because of trauma, before he could leave. But he left. He's still treating Akutagawa wrong because he's trying to be a better person but doesn't realize that it will not erase what he did and that he can't just ignore the past. Fans portraying him as a pure angel who didn't know what he was doing because he was sad are WRONG TOO. He abused Akutagawa. He was traumatized but it doesn't give him the right to traumatize innocent people. He's trying to be a better person but he can't keep ignoring Akutagawa. He needs to apologize. And even that won't erase what he did. Dazai is a complex character in a complex situation. He left the abuse cycle and tries to be a good person but did unforgivable things while he was still in this cycle and refuses to aknowledge them. He's not a monster but he's not innocent either.

Dazai used to be a mafia executive until his best friend (a former assassin who remained in the mafia but refused to kill) died. As the friend was dying he told him "I know you don't care about whether you're a good or bad person, so if it doesn't matter to you, be on the side that saves people." Despite that, I've seen countless people insisting that Dazai is a good person/trying his best to be a good person when he really only changed sides by joining a detective agency, while still continuing to do the same things he did while in the mafia (including but not limited to: harassing his coworkers for fun, manipulating people, killing people instead of just trying to incapacitate them, and even torturing an innocent man in one of the side stories). That being said, he's not evil either. Even when he does cruel things, it's not for the sake of being cruel (even when he harasses his coworkers he still has limits), it's just a means to an end. I think most of the confusion comes from a scene where he's talking to a young girl, another former mafia member, who asks if he thinks people can change and he assures her they can, but what the anime left out was that he was thinking about his former assassin friend during that discussion, not himself. The entire series is themed around gray morality, to the point where it's even reflected in the main protagonist and antagonist's designs (mainly white with a bit of black, and mainly black with a bit of white), so I feel like insisting that he's a good person now completely misses the point of the story.

[differentcoloredcontacts]

Class 1-b reacting to you, their best friend (and/or lover), being the UA traitor.

Awase -

Completely shattered, that nomu that almost killed him and Yaoyorozu in the forest was caused by you feeding the Lov information. He starts questioning every moment you two have ever had together. He honestly gets pissed at himself and you and everyone around him because he doesn't know how to handle it.

Sen -

He loved taking pictures of the two of you. You two had an entire photo album dedicated to all the little moments, every time you beat him in your favorite card game or that little drawing eri did of you two being held up by you. All of those memories captured with the same camera you got him for his birthday are now being turned to ash in a fireplace. He cant help but be still while something once so important suddenly means nothing to him.

Kamakiri -

He was the loudest when he realized. He couldn't stop him self from screaming at you for what youve done. He hates you. Youve almost killed him and his classmates ten times over but that wont stop him from wanting you to stay. Deep down he wanted it all to be a cruel prank you were pulling. But it never was.

Kuroiro -

He tried to keep it together. He really did. But at the end of the day he was barely able to make it to his dorm room in time before he broke down completely. His nonchalant front, completely shattered. He sobbed to the point he was choking on his tears. You were one of the only people who he really cared for, so why did you betray him like this?

Kendo -

She tries to save you. She tries to understand why you did this. Were they forcing you? Are they keeping someone close to you hostage? Are you being manipulated or controlled? The more she tries to understand, the more questions she askes the harder it becomes to understand her as she starts to breakdown at your feet.

Kodai -

She didnt say anything but she truly wanted too. She wanted to yell, scream and cry. She wanted to hit you for what you put the class through but she wanted to hug you as you were dragged away in cuffs. She was so conflicted about what she wanted to do. Her brain and heart were arguing over you but in the end she just ended up doing nothing, which ended up hurting a lot more than it should have.

Komori -

She seems more confused and in denial than anything else at first. She starts to distance herself from people and holes herself up in her room while she tries to understand what happened. Was everything you two did together meaningless? She could never forgive you for what you did, she hated you but at the same time she wanted you to walk through her dorm room door ranting about your new favorite thing like you always did.

Shiozaki -

Shes not mad or even that sad about your betrayal. Just disappointed. She would try to understand and she truly wants to forgive you, but she cant bring herself to do that. She would distance herself from everyone and it would take a while before shes ready to move forward again.

Shishida -

He tried to keep it together but it was really hard for him to do that since he was feeling hundreds of emotions in seconds. His breathing became uneven as he tried to assess the situation from a logical perspective and his voice breaks as he simply asks you "why?"

Shoda -

He really values trust so when you betrayed all of UA he was never the same. He tried to recover but he keeps everyone at arms length. When you first left, he was on the more 'ok' side of things. But after a few weeks and what happened had time to sink in is when it hits the hardest.

Pony -

She cant stop herself from screaming at you while tears run down her face. She switched to english because its easier for her so no one knew exactly what she was saying to you. Even if you could speak english you wouldent understand what she was saying between the sniffles and gasps of air.

Tsubaraba -

Hes in denial for so long when it originally happened. When you were officially revealed as the traitor he thought it was a joke. He started to calmly talk to you with simple phrases like "jokes like that arnt that funny yk." But over the next minute it would turn in to him begging for it to be a joke while completely breaking down in front of you.

Tetsutetsu -

He does everything he can to get answers out of you. Some other classmates of his have to hold him back from running over to you and punching you square in the stomach. He ends up staying in the UA gym for a few hours after curfew, beating a punching bag in anger and confusion until eventually he wears himself out and collapsed from exhaustion.

Tokage -

She wants to know why you did it. If there was a reason she could find it in herself to forgive you but if not, it would become better for her to act like you never exist. For a long time after that she would leave when your name was mentioned or anything that reminded her of you would suddenly be destroyed or hated by her as much as she hates you. Deep down however, she still wants to be you friend

Manga -

He blames himself more than he blames you. Hes supposed to be a hero so why couldn't he save the one person he cared about the most. Youre gone forever now and he blames ever but of it on himself. He cries a lot for the next couple weeks and sometimes he can feel himself wanting to send you a funny meme he found only to remember and go through all the heartbreak all over again.

Honenuki -

Another that blames it all on himself but at the same time he is really depressed about it. He heals for the most part but part of him still gets a little wave of sadness whenever he walks past your favorite cafe or when someone does that very specific hand movement that you used to do all the time. Every part of the situation breaks his being completely, and he even becomes slightly more hostile towards the people he spars with.

Bondo -

He stays silent for the most part. His silence being a mixture of disbelief and hurt. He even tries to help the rest of the class through it. He becomes the class therapist while he ends up insisting hes fine and dealing with it alone in his dorm room. He cant bring himself to destroy the memories of you so he simply puts them in a box and hides them under his bed.

Monoma -

Incredibly angry about it at first but the more time that passes the more it hurts him. The more he starts to blame himself. If he had an inferiority complex before it definitely worsened now that you betrayed him. You helped him through so much yet he cant help but feel it was all nothing to you.

Reiko -

she handles it better when in front of the class, or at least she tries too. She broke down once you were revealed, she broke down when you left and she breaks down every time shes behind closed doors. She cant handle seeing anyone right now.

Rin -

He keeps calm at first and tries to rationalize. "Were you forced to against your will? Were you being controlled? Brainwashed?" With every 'no' to his questions he became more and more desperate to prove you werent evil. He started to lose his cool and break down in front of you while still begging for any sign that your not evil. At the end of the day he finds himself grabbing onto a random stuffed animal you left in his dorm and using it to muffle his tear filled screams.

Bro imma be honest half of these characters I had no idea what to write. So half of them are probably bad but im not gonna proof read or change this because we die like men.

[mischivana]

Hi, I know that you are new but can you do prompt #2 when Jason Grace say this to the reader to confessed his love. SORRY ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE

I Think I Might Be Falling in Love With You

Jason Grace x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Authors Note: hiiiii sorry this took so long!!! holidays have been hectic and I haven't had anytime at all to do anything. Semester finals are also next week so any other request will also be delayed until then so please be patient, I'll try to get things written asap!!

Jason Grace was a confusing person. Despite the fact that I'd known him for years in the legion, sometimes it felt like he was a total stranger. When he came back after his disappearance it was like I was looking at a new person even though he was the exact same before he left.

Currently, I was hunched over a table in the New Rome University library with him sat across from me. We were studying for midterms and he was helping me understand one of my worst subjects: Ancient Greek History.

Yes, we had won a war with them and yes some of our best friends were Greek but that didn't mean I knew their history as well as they did.

"Don't- don't laugh at me!" I said playfully as I watched him chuckle at me. I'd gotten an answer wrong and he laughed at me playfully. "It's not funny Jace! I'm gonna fail my midterm!" I said with another laugh.

"I'm not laughing- I'm not!" He said defensively, throwing up his hands playfully. "It's just-" He started again, tilting his head and looking at me "we've gone over Epictetus so many times now" he said, exaggerating his tiredness.

"can we stop....please?" I said with playfully pleading eyes. we've already been here for three hours and I was exhausted. We had a mini-starring contest before he let out a sigh. "Fine...it's getting pretty late anyway so-" he said, I looked out the windows and it was already dark.

"wanna stop to get food before heading back?" he said as he watched me put my stuff away. He threw his own bag over his right shoulder and got up. "Sure...there's that new Chinese place down the street from yours and Percy's apartment?" I suggested zipping up my own bag.

"Nah, I'm not in the mood for Chinese . Plus, it's Percy and Annabeth's weekly movie night so I can't go back for another 2 hours at least" He said as he checked the time on his phone. I was about to put my bag on my shoulder when he reached to grab it instead.

"Here, let me" he said grabbing my bag by its top handle in his left hand. "No- Jason you don't have to I can carry my own bag" I said as we started to walk slowly. "No, I don't mind. It's not like I can't handle it" he said as we continued to walk towards the front of the library.

He wasn't wrong about what he said. He was New Romes most trained soldier and was built like Michelangelo sculpted him out of marble. We started to walk on the side-walk towards me and Annabeth's apartment.

"what about that pizza shop next to your apartment building?" He said as we walked down the stairs. "We go there all the time Jason" I said playfully. "Yeah that's because they make really freaking good pizza" he replied without missing a beat.

"fine." I said dramatically with a laugh. We continued to walk to the pizza place on the corner next to the apartment building, talking miscellaneously until we reached the place. We ordered and sat down at a small two seater next to the widow and waited.

"I still don't understand, why was Nico upset when Will forced him into the infirmary?" he asked me confused. "Because Nico still doesn't understand that sleep is a basic human need" I said with a giggle. "right..." he said, confusion still in his voice. I just laughed again.

He looked at me with a certain look. One that I don't think he knew he was making. I couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. Jason's emotions were hard to decode. He was a very hard person to read. He also had a hard time expressing his emotions. Like I said, he's a confusing person.

"I think I might falling in love with you"

I froze when he said that. it was so sudden. I wasn't expecting it. It threw me for a loop. I looked at him keeping my smile but with a slightly more confused look. "...what...?" I said gently.

He looked at me with a simple but puzzled look, almost of longing. "I...I'm not very...good at...this" he said quietly looking at me with the same expression. "I...I don't know if Im doing this right or if this is even what I'm feeling but...yeah... I think I might be falling in love with you" he said with an expression of longing.

"it's just that, whenever I'm with you...I feel complete" he started speaking again. "your smile always makes me happy and your laugh somehow makes me the happiest I've ever been" he continued. I smiled at him wider.

I looked in his eyes with the same expression. "I think...I think I might feel the same way" I said gently as I laid my hand over his on the table. He smiled at me and I smiled at him. We sat in a comfortable silence, just enjoying each others presence until the pizza came. We started to eat and continued to talk miscellaneously, smiling abut what juts happened.

By the time we got back to the apartment Percy had texted Jason letting him know that Annabeth had fallen asleep and would be staying over. We stopped in front of the apartment door and smiled at each other.

"well uhm...I'll meet you at the library to study tomorrow? Same time?" I said cheerfully, looking up at him. "uh..yeah!... yeah that sounds- that sounds good" He said with the same tone, his cheeky smile warming my heart as always.

We stood in silence for a moment longer before I carefully approached him. I stood on my tiptoes and gently kissed his cheek. I pulled away and smiled while grabbing my bag from him and unlocking my door "goodnight, Jason..." I paused as I opened the door.

I looked at him again, he had blush across his face and a small grin. "Y'know...we could have our own movie night? Cause Annie is sleeping over at your place with Percy..." I said quietly, looking at him with a small smile, a gentle blush across my face.

He looked at me with the same loving expression. "yeah...yeah I'd like that" he said gently. He walked up to me in the doorway and we looked at each other lovingly. we both knew what we were thinking but we didn't have to say it.

he gently leaned down and kissed me, I kissed back and held his hands at his sides. Yeah...I think we might have fallen in love with each other.

Hiiiiii, again Im so sorry this took SO long to get out. I hope you like it!

[spirits-art-blog]

Redraws of some of my favorite Conan/Shinichi expressions so far! I'll likely be making more posts like this cus this show is filled with really good expressions and poses that I really want to draw. Honestly this show needs more moments like the ones above, its such a good visual gag.

For those who don't know, I'm watching this show completely blind so please keep spoilers out of this post; as of posting this, I have just finished ep 289.

Gonna get into some of my current thoughts and critiques in the read more cus I don't really want to make a separate text post so feel free to avoid all of that if you don't want to see it and I hope you enjoyed the art :)

Disclaimer: These critiques should be taken lightly as they don't really impede my enjoyment as overall the show is great! I just like to share my thoughts and ramble.

286-288 is actually kind of a good summary for some of the things I dislike about the show, like sorry if people like that case but Shinichi and Yukiko being there unfortunately did not make it less meh for me.

I usually try to keep in mind that shows like this weren't intended for an american/english-speaking audience but man, New York is such a bad setting for this show. Even if you ignore the actual voice acting, its jarring how the americans just, stop speaking english. I really wanna know what the bts situation was to make them decide that, like sure 3 episodes is a lot, but its hard to believe these new yorkers, besides 2 cops and a taxi driver, are speaking Japanese.

Other thoughts go to the end with the murderer of the case and the disguised killer. Not sure how to word this exactly but it kind of bothers me how this is, I think, the first time we've gotten a murderer who's backstory isn't about some misfortune that happened to them that was caused by the victim, like nah, she was just evil, and then later Shinichi and Ran stop a serial killer from falling to their death, like what? Especially with these two scenes practically being back to back, I just don't get why they did that. Idk just left a bad taste in my mouth.

Anyways on a lighter note, loved seeing Ran's thoughts throughout the episode, especially at the end, like I love internal conflict for characters, and it works for Ran as well since falling for that 'you helped cause this' fear is pretty consistent with her.

And lastly I wanna share some thoughts I've had about the show cus I don't know where to put them. That being said, I really wish they had some episodes early on that explored more of the dynamics between characters and Shinichi's transition into Conan. Like the idea of a rich 16-17 year old being stuck as a 6-7 year old who now lives with his not girlfriend and has to go back to first grade is such a dramatic change, no way that situation wasn't hard to get used to. Unfortunately, I'm more than far enough into this show to know they aren't going to do anything like that. And besides very small moments that spawned headcanons for me, there isn't much going on relationship wise either. After episode 3, the dynamics between the characters was set and hasn't really changed too much, which is a little sad imo.

I'll stop rambling for now, apologies with how discoherent this is, translating my thoughts into words has never been my strong suit.

[sweetbillwriting]

The Finer Things

The Last Chapter

Characters: Vincent De Garmont, The Marquis, From John Wick 4.

Setting: This story is set in my own universe, so not exactly the John Wick universe.

Warnings: 18+, so many I can't write them all out!

Notes: Thank you @b-afterhours for always helping me ❤️

His long body was stretched out on the bed, from head to toe. He was so tall that he almost touched the end of the bed. He was naked, naked like the day he was born; undressed of all worldly belongings that made him look like a wealthy man. Even his hair was messy from sleep, so not even that could tell you he was anything else than a regular John Doe.

If Ines killed him now, no one would understand that she lived with one of Paris’ richest men; he could just as easily work at the gas station. She weighed a hammer in her hand and looked at Vincent's high cheekbones; if she smashed his face in, no one would even see that he was pretty. He wouldn't even be able to use that to get the cops to care more for his corpse.

“Ines…” said Vincent with a sigh, and he moved his hands, irritated. They were locked to the bedpost with heavy handcuffs she had found among Mylan’s things. She looked at him, amused, with a gun in her right hand and a hammer in the other one. The hammer was that extra touch to it all, and she liked the thought of him getting killed the same way he had murdered his parents.

“I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry,” he said with an American accent, just a hint left of the Parisian aristocratic accent.

“‘I'm sorry?’ ‘I'm sorry’??” Said Ines, upset and hit the hammer hard against the bedpost by his feet. She made Vincent jump and then he laughed off nerves.

“You lied to me! You lied to me so fucking hard!”

Vincent swallowed hard but then cursed for himself. His arms flexed in an attempt to break the handcuffs. He had woken up that morning, handcuffed. He had slept naked because he had thought Ines would come home and would want to feel his skin against hers, but she hadn't just done the assignment he had asked her to do but clearly talked too much. As usual.

“I lied to protect you!” Vincent insisted and sat up against the headboard. Ines regretted at once that she hadn't tied his feet to the lower bedpost.

“Protect me?? You fucking just protect yourself! Fucking sociopath!” Screamed Ines while once again smashing the hammer against the bedpost.

Vincent didn't answer her because he had started to push with his feet against the bedpost, like he thought he could get it to move from the bed frame, but it didn't move an inch.

“Do you even listen to me??”

Ines suddenly pushed the pistol to his ear, and it made him stop his search for freedom.

“Of course, of course,” said he so calmly as he could and swallowed hard. It burned in his throat, like he had swallowed a match.

Ines stepped away but continued to point the weapon toward him.

“Lay down again, now.” She said, still with anger in her voice. Vincent sighed but did what she wanted and planting his feet against the mattress to hide his manhood. Ines gave him a pointed look and rolled her eyes.

×××

“Hello, I'm the new maid to Remy De Gramont.”

Ines tried to sound as professional and collected as she could, and she put her hand out to the man in front of her. The house and her prejudice about aristocrats had made her think the house and its staff would look like Downton Abbey, but the man in front of her had a simple dark blue suit and white shirt. He was in his forties, with blonde, thinning hair and a bored expression.

“Encore un Américain qui tiendra deux mois…” said the man, rolling his eyes. “Montez les escaliers et le vieil homme est là. Espérons qu'il porte son pantalon.”

Ines looked at the man with big eyes, trying to understand him. Pants?

“I'm sorry, I didn't understand. I don't know French.”

The man sighed loudly but then stood silent; it was obvious he didn't know English that well either.

“Gramont. Up. Up,” he said, pointing to the stairs.

“Oh, up the stairs?” Ines asked and pointed.

“Oui, oui. Up!”

Ines smiled and mumbled a thank you, even if she was quite sure he thought ugly thoughts about her. She corrected her black suit jacket over the gray pencil dress she wore. It was a boring outfit, but she didn't need to have a good outfit right then. In her handbag lay a loaded gun, and it was the only thing she needed to feel sexy.

She was nervous, really nervous, but still, a calmness had settled over her, and instead of panicking, she could take in her surroundings more vividly than she otherwise could. It felt like the time had slowed down and the colors were brighter. It was obvious Vincent was right, she would be able to sneak out without problems, the house was completely empty of people. She smiled to herself, she looked forward to this.

She could hear a television from the top of the stairs. Someone talked with an upset French voice, and a man answered even more upset. Then a man laughed, but it wasn't from the television; it was from the same room, but it was a real person's voice. He laughed again with an aged, wobbly voice. Ines walked towards the sounds and came to a smaller room where a big TV stood facing the door opening. It showed a soap opera where two men were deep in an argument. In front of the TV stood a burgundy velvet couch in old style. She understood Remy must be sitting there, but she couldn't see him.

Slowly, she took out the pistol from the bag and screwed on the muffler. She needed to do it fast. Just do it so no one would see her. She couldn't take a deep breath because she was afraid Remy would hear her, so she was forced to act instead of thinking. With three determined steps, she stood in front of the TV, looking at the man sitting comfortably on the couch with his feet on the coffee table.

He was old, far much older than she thought. His skin looked two sizes too big for his weak frame, and his ears and nose looked borrowed from someone much bigger than him. He had a bit of a patchy white beard but no hair. Ines was shocked, but it didn't matter, and she pointed the pistol directly at his face.

×××

“I thought he was younger! Not close to death!” Ines screamed and waved the hammer alarmingly. Vincent watched the hammer spin in her grip and unconsciously pressed his legs harder together, protecting the part that had given him money through life.

“I think I was quite clear about him being old. Feel sorry for me; instead, I was forced to-”

“You weren't forced! You're just a greedy whore!”

“So are you!” Vincent exclaimed without thinking and got a hard slap on his cheek as an answer.

“You're the whore! Say it! Say you're a whore!” Said Ines and laid the hammer on his stomach, pointing to the parts he so desperately tried to protect. "Otherwise, I will pop your testicles like two water balloons.”

Vincent made a sound—a desperate sound—and then looked up at the roof. “Fine. Fine! I'm a whore. Okay?”

“Say that you're a lying, manipulating little bitch-whore!”

Vincent's eyes moved fast from left to right, and then he pushed them shut.

“What did you say?”

"Oh, come on! Don't you try that shit!” Said Ines and sighed.

“I really don't remember! Fuck, I can't remember all the words!” He said it desperately and, by reflex, tried to get the handcuffs off.

“Hey! Lay still!”

He laid down again but made a pathetic whimpering sound that made her smirk.

“God, you've walked around here in your fancy little outfits and looked down on everyone, but you can't even learn five words! Silly little man,” she said, taking the hammer that now laid next to him. “But I should be kind... Just answer me: When did you plan to kill me?”

Vincent looked up at the ceiling with big eyes and clenched his jaw. He laid quiet until Ines snapped her fingers in his face.

“Hello? Hello? Suddenly, it's obvious what a fucking airhead you are. Did you spill out that brain to have more space for Hermes?”

Suddenly, he roared deeply and flung with his body so aggressively that Ines jumped. Even when being handcuffed, his size and strength were intimidating, and his zodiac animal seemed to want to jump out of his chest. For a few seconds, Ines stood in shock and terror until she remembered he was locked to a wooden bar with steel handcuffs.

“I will kill you as soon as I'm free from these bullshit handcuffs! You fucking little... Fuck!!” He screamed the last word so high that she hoped no one was on the same floor. The terror she had felt before slowly turned to amusement while looking at Vincent, naked, trying to make the steel break while flinging around in bed like he was possessed. When she started to laugh, Vincent stopped his movement.

“Shut up!!” He screamed but lost his bravery when Ines pointed the gun in his face.

“Lay down, bitch.”

Vincent was red in the face from trying to get free, and his hair hung down in his eyes. He sighed deafeningly and laid down again on his back.

“Answer my question. When had you planned to kill me?”

Vincent looked up at the ceiling, thinking about refusing to answer, but felt her push the hammer into his ribs.

“When I don't have any use for you.”

He looked at her, and she didn't answer. Without dropping the gun or the hammer, she mounted his narrow hips and sat down comfortably. She rolled her hips over him once before looking at him seriously again.

×××

The old man, Marquis Remy de Gramont, looked at Ines with big eyes and took his feet off the coffee table. He wore silk pajamas in a terracotta shade, similar to the ones Vincent wore. The man looked at her, confused, and then looked around like he expected to see more people.

“Are you a cop?” He asked and leaned back on the couch, like the thought of her being a cop calmed him down. He probably wasn't afraid of cops because they wouldn't shoot him unarmed, but Ines wasn't a cop. She was an assassin.

“Fuck no!” She said but felt her hand shake with nerves. Remy looked around again, confused, but raised his hands slowly.

“Are you here for Laura? Or the bald guy?” He asked but continued to look just as calm.

“What? No! I'm here for Vincent!” Ines didn't know if it was okay for her to say that, but watching that little man with his dry, old hands and cracked lips, she wanted to claim Vincent. Vincent said he wasn't a victim, that he had wanted to be with those men when he was just a child, that he was the one using Remy, but now that she looked at that sorry ass of a man, she felt different about it. Why would a handsome man like Vincent be with a man in his eighties? He was pretty enough to meet a rich, younger man if it was a luxury he wanted. For her, it was obvious Vincent had traits he wanted to hide from the world. Behind that rich, powerful facade, he was just a little boy—a little boy who didn't know his own value. He liked lying on her chest and being close, but it was rarely in a sexual way, probably because sex wasn't connected with love for him. Sex was business; it was a way to get Italian shoes and Russian caviar.

Ines looked at the man in front of her. Even if she didn't want to, she pictured Vincent with him. Vincent let him touch him the same way she did. He had kissed Vincent's soft lips, dragged his hands over his broad chest, and licked the underside of his cock.

“Vincent? What has he done now?” Said Remy with a sigh, like a disappointed father. He sat up better on the couch so Ines could see the white curly hair on his chest peek out from the neckline of the shirt.

“He has fallen in love.”

She said it confidently and calmly. It was not Vincent's plan, but she felt now that she had her own. She didn't just want to kill Remy; she wanted to crush him.

Remy looked at her, surprised, but it changed to another emotion Ines couldn't put a finger on.

“Vincent loves me,” he said, just as determined as Ines.

“Vincent has never loved you. He loves your money. Vincent loves me.”

She waved with the gun while talking, but the only thing that seemed to stress him was her words, but then he smirked.

“He may love you, but he loves you in the same way as he loved Mael. He loves me in another way…”

Remy shifted on the couch again.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You're fun, for now. You give him a short feeling of euphoria-”

“You mean our love isn't real?” Remy shrugged his shoulders with a pointed look. "Still, it's you he wants to kill.”

Remy shook his head.

“Don't you even try. This is your idea. You're like so many others I've met who believe they have a chance with my little boy.”

Ines gave him a disgusted face. It was just too much for a man old to be his grandpa, called him “my little boy” while abusing him.

“Your “little boy” wants you dead!”

“Then he would do it himself, not hire a silly girl to do it! The only one he will kill is you.”

Ines furrowed her brows in annoyance but was interested to know how it would continue.

“He probably told you that silly story about Mael getting killed in the war. He was, but they found him cut open with his heart in his own hand. The Taliban got the blame, but both you and I know who it is who likes to arrange his murders to artwork.”

×××

“You killed Mael??”

Ines slapped Vincent’s cheek hard. He let his face lay to the left with the cheek up she had slapped. She still sat over him, and the gun rested on his chest in a silent threat.

“Why did you do that??”

Vincent didn't answer, so Ines pushed the gun under his jaw, and that made him look up at her.

“He was just dead weight.”

Vincent talked coldly about his former lover, like he had just been a material thing weighing him down.

“No, you got bored. When you thought he didn't have anything more to give you, you killed him.”

“No,” Vincent sighed in irritation. “I lost everything when he died. I had a home, money-

“A partner? You didn't think about mentioning that?”

“You interrupted me! I-”

Ines pointed the gun harder at his jaw, reminding him of who had the power.

“So tell me. The truth this time! Did you mess up your own back?”

“Of course not!” When Vincent felt the gun push painfully against his Adam’s apple, he sighed and looked down.

“He was just so whiny and cried over dead people he didn't even know so, yeah I killed him. Then karma was a bitch, and I got shot right after. Some bullshit irony, but in the long run, it was probably good. No one ever suspected me.”

Ines took away the gun from his jaw, and it made Vincent look up at her.

“That's not true.”

Vincent furrowed his brows.

"Yes, it is?”

“No, I don't mean you're lying. I mean that you don't know everything.”

Vincent gave her a confused face.

“There were some who said Mael wasn't whiny or scared… Or not for the war; he was afraid of you. But they were also afraid of you, so they took back their statement.”

Vincent lifted his head from the pillow and looked at her, confused.

“How do you know this?”

“Remy said it. He said he protected you, out of love.”

×××

“I love Vincent with all my heart, and I know our age difference can be… problematic, but he loves me too, and he doesn't get bored of me. Like with Mael or you. Vincent is a complex boy and has needs that not all other boys need. You're such a need, and right now he needs to play. Then... You will also have your heart ripped out of your chest.”

Ines still pointed the gun at Remy but sat now in front of him on the coffee table. It wasn't like she could deny Vincent was a complex man, and he had been with Remy for many years, swimming in luxury, while they'd only known each other for a few months. That Vincent was just playing with her wasn't impossible, especially now that she knew he had killed his former lover because he wasn't amused by him anymore.

“He says that he loves me,” she whispered with a heavy heart, but Remy could still hear her.

“He probably said that to Mael too. Maybe he said it to his parents too, but he pulled their guts out anyway. Vincent is a disturbed man, and the love you offer him will never satisfy him. I can give him everything.”

Money. Power. Blood. Tailored fashion.

×××

Ines felt a movement behind her as she sat over Vincent. She looked back and saw his cock twitch. He had been hard for a while, but she ignored it as long as she could, but now that she could even feel his twitches against her bum, she felt forced to acknowledge his erection. His precum was smeared over his hip and thigh, and she probably got some on her dress too. She smirked to herself and looked at the blushing hard on, she had neglected for so long, but this was clearly what he liked. Getting death threats and slaps. He really was a disturbed man.

When she turned around, she had succeeded in putting on the same angry mask again and pressing his head down on the pillow by dragging his hair.

“You're such a little fucking liar, a little bitch,” she hissed, and once again, she could feel him twitch. Vincent looked at her with big eyes.

“So you believe him? That I will kill you?” He asked. Ines looked at him, examining.

“You said yourself you would kill me when you didn't have any use for me.”

“So? If you're honest, you would say the same about me.”

Ines looked at him and couldn't stop smiling. All of it was so cute. They would really be together to death do they part. She giggled a little, and Vincent furrowed his brows. He didn't have any idea why she laughed. In her euphoria, it became difficult to not look at Vincent's naked body and the erection that had softened a bit. She didn't want to see that happening, so she took his member in her hand, hot and wet of precum. He grew at once in her hand and made a sound like she had shot him.

“Does this cock belong to me? She said firmly while dragging her hand up and down his length. She moved so she could sit next to him, with the loaded gun resting on his thigh.

“Yes,” Vincent whimpered, and he made a deeper sigh when she rolled her palm over the head of his cock. “But…” he said, strained. Ines looked up at him, and when he looked down at her, she started to undress. He seemed to forget what to say; he just looked at her and spread his legs, inviting her up on his cock.

“But?” She asked and straddled his hips, standing on her knees. His cock lay against her pussy and instead of listening to her, he tried to drag his cock through her arousal. When Ines didn't get an answer, she slapped his cheek again, which made his cock twitch again. It was a nice feeling, even for her, and she longed to have him inside of her.

“Did you kill him?” He asked and now looked at her with big eyes. Ines looked at him for a few seconds before smiling. She dragged her hands over his hands, the handcuffs, and down over the backside of his strong arms.

“Of course I did. Because…”

Vincent laughed in euphoria. “Because?”

“He didn't know I'm just as disturbed as you. You will not get bored of me, because if that happens, I will force you to use your own ribs as hangers for your fancy suits.”

Vincent looked at Ines' big smile with a similar face, and then they laughed together.

×××

Three months later���

Ines and Vincent walked around in the big manor. For Ines, it was almost scarily big, but Vincent looked at home, in more ways than one.

The manor was decorated; big Victorian paintings sat on the walls, and even bigger Persian rugs were lying on the floor. Everywhere there were gold details and porcelain vases.

Ines looked at her boyfriend, who was walking around comfortably with a small smile on his lips. He wore a completely black suit with a longer jacket but a waistcoat with a golden brocade pattern. He was as handsome as always and contrasted so nicely with the snow that lay as a soft blanket over Paris.

It was his home they were in. His grandparents old manor. His uncle had died mysteriously, and his wife had let him sell the manor to an anonymous buyer. Vincent de Gramont. He was a wealthy man now, having inherited all of Remy De Gramont’s assets. His Little boy, like it had been said in the will, He even let him have the name. That would probably never have happened if he knew what Vincent would do.

“It was nicer when I was younger…” said Vincent with a sigh.

"Or do you just remember it differently?” His girlfriend answered while looking at a painting of a pig eating apples. Vincent stopped next to her with his thumbs in the small pockets of the peacoat.

“Maybe you're right… I guess we can redecorate it?”

Ines nodded with a smile. She loved when he said “we” but didn't want to make a too big thing out of it. Vincent had believed she would do something out of it and became a bit disappointed. He was amused by her enthusiasm for small things and liked that he could feel a bit of it too.

Vincent snuck behind her and laid his arms around her waist.

“Our living rooms, our dining rooms, our eight bathrooms… Our bedroom… Our dungeon…” he whispered playfully in her ear and made her giggle, both of his words and also because it tickled.

“Maybe grandma can sit here then?” She said that and looked up at him. "Pigs are not my thing and grandma is probably more expensive, even if she's ugly.”

Vincent raised his brows high up on his forehead, then smiled, crooked.

“I thought I had told you…”

Ines looked at him confused, especially when he scratched his forehead.

“It's not a Pivoine. It's fake.”

Ines turned around with furrowed brows in shock.

“What? Is it fake? But…”

“It's a good fake. Really good. But I know my art and the test I did in the beginning… The colors are way too cheap.”

“But… But… Why did you take me to Paris then?” She looked at Vincent's handsome face and telling eyes, and he looked down at her with a smirk.

“I knew I could fool some with it, but also… You're quite entertaining.”

Ines laughed and laid her arms around his neck.

“And you tell me this now?”

Vincent pulled down the corner of his mouth with a playful stare, and Ines giggled.

“I love you, Vincent Beaumont.”

“I love you too, my silly little American girl.”

They kissed softly in front of the pig, two murderers in the finest French fashion. When they released each other's lips with a smack, Vincent let her go slowly so they could walk towards the entrance door.

"So, when will Faith be here?”

Ines laughed and played with Vincent's hand.

“In four hours. Will you fix the dungeon before that?” She smiled darkly at him, and Vincent smirked. Before she had opened the door, he took her firmly around the waist and pushed her behind against his growing member.

“I love when you talk dirty to me.”

×

[wannab-urs]

Build Me Up, Buttercup | Professor!Joel Miller x Student!Reader

Summary: Reader confronts Dr. Miller about her grade in his class.

Warnings: Not much yet. Reader is of legal age, no less than 22 but not specified, she's about to graduate college. She’s an English major. This is grumpy x grumpy. Lots of snark, eyerolling, etc. Not-Quite-Enemies to Lovers. And no she doesn’t blow him to get a better grade! (I would, but reader is classy). 

Word Count: 1.1k

Why Do You Build Me Up

(Buttercup)

Dr. Miller’s Foundations of Architecture class was supposed to be a fun elective for you. You could learn a little more about architecture, something that has always been a mild interest for you. You like pretty buildings and you think it’s a cool subject. It’s your last semester of college and you deserve to take something fun to fill in that last elective requirement. 

You certainly were not supposed to fail the fucking class.

“He’s so rude, Cooper,”  you tell your friend. Coop looks up at you over their laptop, red curls springing in every direction and glasses sitting on the tip of their nose. They’re feigning interest while they hammer away at some graphic design assignment.

“One time he made a guy who said he liked 432 Park Ave leave the class. Like just kicked him out for the rest of the day! I mean that building is awful, but still!” Coop heaves a sigh and shuts their laptop. 

“Is this that hot professor you told me about or is it the one who always wears really weird outfits?” 

“No! The weird outfits guy is my Chaucer professor,” you choose to ignore the first half of that question. “I have words for him too, actually. He keeps-”

“Focus! Why are you failing Arc?” 

“His essays are insane! Like, this is not English class, my guy, why are you grading me so hard? I’m literally an English major! You’d think my writing would be more than acceptable for a freshman level class.” 

He had given you a D on your paper about gothic architecture. You’d chosen to write about the Santa Maria del Fiore in Italy and he took off THREE letter grades because they finished the construction in the neo-gothic style… which you had made a whole section of your paper about. It’s perfectly valid. It’s not like he really gave you much to go on. 

“Did you follow the prompt? Sometimes your brain takes you places the question didn’t exactly call for…” they give you a knowing look. 

“This isn’t a fanfic writing challenge, Coop, I can follow a damn prompt. He doesn’t give us anything to go on at all for these essays! Or for anything else, really.” 

He is the least verbose professor you have ever had. It’s honestly kind of refreshing for a man to not love the sound of his own voice, but you’re also paying him to teach you something. 

“The essay prompt was literally ‘Gothic Architecture’ and the guidelines were ‘12 pages, double spaced, due March 19th.’" You drop your voice into its lowest register, mimicking Dr. Miller's deep baritone. "And that’s what I wrote!” Someone shushes you from behind a bookshelf. You’re getting a little over excited, borderline yelling in the library about this infuriating man.

“Have you tried going to his office hours?” God why are they always so reasonable?

“Have you tried going to his office hours… No. I have not. He’s rude, remember?” 

“Just try it! What’s the worst that could happen?” 

“He could drop my paper down to an F.”

“And you could report him for unfair grading practices. Go. Shoo,” Coop starts pushing your books toward your bag. 

“Fiiiiiine,” you relent.

Twenty minutes later you find yourself standing in the doorway of his office. Dr. Miller is sitting behind a large wooden desk. It’s very neat, the only things on it a computer, a picture frame turned away from you, and a stack of books. Dr. Miller has one of the books open and is writing something in a notebook, brow furrowed and tongue poking out between his lips. 

“Dr. Miller?” you ask hesitantly. 

He doesn’t look up from his work, just lifts a hand vaguely in your direction for a second and keeps writing. You roll your eyes and look around the office. There are bookshelves lining the walls with architecture textbooks in neat rows. A few covers of Architectural Digest are framed on the wall. Is he in those?

Your eyes land back on him. He’s wearing a dark grey Fleetwood Mac shirt that looks old as hell. The collar is stretched, revealing a bit of his chest. Your eyes trace a line up the column of this throat… He has a nice neck. 

You had called him your hot professor at the beginning of the semester, regardless of how you felt about him now. There’s just something about that fluffy bed head he always has, like he couldn’t be bothered to run a comb through it. And the scruffy beard laced with grey he doesn’t seem keen on trimming. And the way his mustache frames his pouty lips. And his prominent nose that looks straight out of a painting. And okay that’s enough. 

“Dr. Miller, I need to talk to you.” 

“M’busy,” he mumbles out, still not looking up from the textbook. 

“Okay, well it’s your office hours, so technically you have to talk to me.” 

“Technically, little miss, I don’t have to do anything.”

“Excuse me? Let’s not speak to grown women like they’re children, sir.” Is he fucking for real right now?

He closes his notebook and looks at you for the first time since you walked in. Probably the first time all semester. He kind of pauses when he sees you, hopefully realizing he isn’t talking to a freshman. It wouldn’t make the little nickname okay, but it would make more sense at least. 

He looks you up and down and his jaw ticks, “Sit.” His eyes flick to the chair in front of his desk. You drop your bag on the floor and slide into the seat. “So. What can I help you with?”

You take a deep breath. “You gave me a D on my last paper.” 

He just stares at you. 

“And considering our prompt was all of 8 words, I think- I know I met the requirements and that I did a good job. It was thoroughly researched, structured well, copy and content edited, and turned in 2 days before deadline. I would like an explanation-” 

“Enough,” he cuts you off. “I don’t have to justify my gradin’ decisions to you.” 

You let out a frustrated puff of air. This man drives you insane. “Dr. Miller, I’m a senior. I took this class to fulfill an elective requirement and because I like architecture. I would like to understand what is so egregious about my writing that you would have me fail a class in my last semester of college.” 

He considers you for a moment, meeting your eyes. He lowers his brow, screws up his mouth from side to side, like he’s thinking hard about something. “I’ll reread it.” 

Not I’ll reconsider your grade, but at least it’s something. “Thank you.” You grab your bag, moving to leave, and he stops you. 

“Wait!” You pause, arching an eyebrow. “What was your name again?” He doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. 

“Seriously? I’ve been in your class since January. Figure it out.” 

You storm out, slamming the door behind you.  

A/N: This will be my first series! I'm really excited to try some actual characterization and plot, which I've never really played around with before. Constructive criticism in my DMs is always appreciated <3

Tag List: @beskarandblasters, @cutesyscreenname, @atinylittlepain, @wednesdayday, @whoiscaroline, @goldenhxurs, @northernwindd, @djarinxore, @worhols, @amanitacowboy, @silkiers, @4ueijos, @livinxdeadxgrl, @serenaxpedro, @huffle-punk, @elvn011, @thepriceofpepper, @lexic-22, @sunshinebtrfly, @strang3lov3, @virgogaia

[justferhere]

The Notebook | Lysander × Fem!Reader

My Candy Love HSL • Lysander’s birthday

Lys has finished his notebook, and reader has the best surprise for him. Inspired in the end of The Diary of Bridget Jones.

Word Count: 774

Warnings: non, just fluff, creative/crafts lover reader, Lysander and reader have an established relationship, smoking

I wrote this in a insomnia episode and English is not my first language so sorry for mistakes. Hope you enjoy!

“C’mon, Rosaa…” I approached her with my best pleading smile. “I really, really need your help.”

Lys’ birthday was right around the corner, and I had exactly one week to prepare a gift. But what could I possibly give to my Victorian dream of a boyfriend, who outright refused anything expensive and didn’t even want me thinking about getting him a present? It had to be special, something meaningful, something him. I kept thinking and thinking and nothing was as perfect as I wanted.

“Candy, I promise you,” Rosa said, her tone as reassuring as ever, “anything you give him, he’ll love it. He’s not even the kind of guy who cares about gifts. Don’t overthink it. Take him to dinner or something like that.”

...

“A gift for Lys, huh…” Castiel leaned lazily against the wall, cigarette in hand, exhaling smoke as he pondered. “You’ve got yourself a tricky one. He’s not exactly... giftable.”

I groaned and sat on the cold floor, utterly defeated. It’s just a gift, Candy. How hard can it be?

Castiel glanced down at me and chuckled before ending his cigarette. “Look, I’ll give you an advice, artist to artist.” His expression softened as he knelt closer. “Make something yourself. Lys would appreciate something you poured your time and effort into, more than anything money can buy. Something unique from yourself. Something that says, ‘you.’”

...

Castiel really helped you out but there was still a little problem.

What could I make?

"Are you okay, my love?" Big hands hold my waist, his familiar voice broke through my thought. "Yeah, just thinking. How are you? Want to get lunch together?" His lips kissed my head.

God he was handsome, he had me like the sea dreaming about touching the stars.

"Of course I do,” he replied with a soft laugh. “But first, I need my amazing girlfriend’s talent for finding my notebook. I wanted to show a new song to Castiel before leaving."

That's it.

“Well, your highly skilled seeker is on the case!” I teased, standing on my tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his lips.

The own Lysander himself have gave me the best idea ever and I couldn't be more excited about it.

...

I dropped all the bags with all the materials I needed on my bed.

Lys' notebook was like his entire life. Of the most important things of his life, containing almost every intimate thought from his heart.

His notebook was almost over, a bit damaged from the time used. It's cover worn and its pages threatening to fall apart. He would need a new one soon and the gift couldn't come better.

I got to work.

Took paper, leather, gold sheets, glue, string and all my crafting tools to get to work. For the next days I spended my free time stitching pages, lining cardboard with the deep blue leather and designing the cover.

Gold metal ornaments on the corners and his initials engraved with my most delicate handwriting. I even added a ribbon bookmark with a tiny rabbit charm at the end. It was exactly as how I saw him. Elegance and beauty, secrets and mystery but also sweet and pure.

I wrapped it up, and packed it in my backpack.

...

The day finally came and my nerves couldn't be worse. And after 10 times I tried to take courage and give it to him, I decided to leave it in his locker and wait hidden to see his reaction. I held my breath as I watched him approach.

I was nearly dying.

He opened his locker and left his book a side when he realized the funny rabbit wrapping paper. A soft smile curved his lips, and he chuckled under his breath before carefully peeling it open.

Yeah, I was definitely going to die.

I wanted to go and take the notebook off his hands. Maybe I didn't stitched the pages correctly, or maybe I should have chosen the green leather...

Or maybe it was... perfect.

He was mesmerized. He held the notebook in his hands, his fingers tracing over the gold details and engraved initials. He examined every inch, his expression shifting from curiosity to awe. When he opened it, he found the dedication I had written on the first page:

"I give you my heart for you to keep your secrets safe in it."

He froze for a moment, rereading the words, before pressing the notebook to his chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Definitely the best gift he ever received, and the purest expression of love I could have ever given.

[hrts4wook]

Forget me Not - JJ Maybank

Summary: Heartbroken and seeking a new life English girl Millie takes up a new adventure of moving to Kildare Island for a couple of months. After a rash meeting will JJ and Millies friendship blossom or will heavy feelings get in the way.

Warnings: fem!reader, wc: 1.1k

a/n: My first post! I have so many more ideas for this series so I hope you guys enjoy this little snippet and any suggestions or ideas I would be more than happy to hear! Im still figuring stuff out and can't wait to write more and talk to you guys! Any help in appreciated enjoyyyyyy!!!

🌊✮ ⋆ 🦈｡ * ⋆｡🌊✮ ⋆ 🦈｡ * ⋆｡🌊✮ ⋆ 🦈｡ * ⋆｡🌊✮ ⋆ 🦈｡ * ⋆｡🌊✮ ⋆ 🦈｡ * ⋆｡

The American Dream. That’s what they sold to me, ‘You’ll be living the American dream out there, in the sun all day!’ Still, I find myself unfulfilled in my own life and more isolated than ever.

I came all the way out here to the East Coast to find some type of miracle ‘new me’. Yet, I’m still just me. Heartbroken, broke, depressed and lonely. Nothing has changed since I discovered my boyfriend, was cheating on me with his Uni friend who was just ‘a really close friend’. I thought travelling halfway across the world from rainy depressing England to the sunny shores of the outer banks would bring new opportunities and new people. But the only people I’ve talked to are the airport security and the bus driver, and only new discovery I’ve made about myself is that I really don’t like hostels over the two weeks I’ve been here.

At this point I feel numb to everything and a need to push myself to do something, anything! That’s probably what led me to make this decision.

Siting on the sand its low-tide and the swell is consistently bringing in new waves. I sit running my hand through the sand watching a surfer, a boy my age with dusty blond hair, as he rips another wave. New people new opportunity’s is what I chant to myself as he departs the water and starts walking up the beach, his board tucked snuggly under his arm.

Now more dedicated than ever to riding my first wave I walk straight up to him and blurt out “can you let me ride your board”.

He looks up at me confused at first then surveys my outfit giving me a glance up and down. “That’s not exactly surfing attire” he says with a half grin as he roughly dries his hair with a towel. Looking down at my hoodie and shorts i sigh. With adrenaline filling my veins I start stripping out of my clothes until I’m left in nothing but my bright pink bra and a mismatching purple thong. He watches me the whole time, the towel now around his neck

“You sure now how to make an impression miss brit, do you even know how to surf?” he asks. I give him my hardest stare I could muster stuffing down the rising anxiety starting to bubble up in my throat. “Here. I’m all ready to go just let me ride it… I’m sure it’s not even hard” I say crossing my arms across my stomach realising how exposed I truly am In front of this stranger. He scoffs at my statement and puts his board out In front of him for me to take. Shocked he actually is letting me use his board I take it from him stumbling slightly at the unexpected weight of it.

He smothers a laugh with his hand as I unsteadily waddle into the water struggling to hunk the heavy board into deeper water. Once at knee high level I place the board down and clumsily lay on it stomach first. I start to paddle out into the swell, but before even making it all the way out a wave comes rolling foreword right In front of me. Desperately I try to turn but it’s no use. The wave comes crashing down on top if me and I feel myself roll under both the board and the wave, being sucked under the water. I battle to try and break free out of the water for a breath when I feel an arm wrap around my waist and hoist me up. I cough and clutch onto the thing holding me afloat wrapping my legs and arms around it like a pole.

Coughing I feel and hand stroking me on the back and hear a voice “That’s it, get all the water out, just don’t puke on me please” Shocked that my safety net is now talking and moving I push away from it facing none other than the boy I got the board from. He has one arm wrapped around the board while floating in the water, I instinctively grab onto the other side of the board.

“Get on let me take you back to shore” Mortified I make no eye contact and wordlessly climb back onto the board. He joins me, both of us straddling the board facing each other. He doesn’t move and neither do I, my feet dangle in the water as I look down at the board. “That was a nasty crash out are you sure you’re, okay?” His tone has changed, and he sound somewhat sincere instead of his previous sarcastic tone. “Yeah, I’m fine. I shouldn’t have attempted that I just thought… I thought I should try something new”.

The sound of the waves is the only thing that occupies the space between us. “What’s a British girl doing all alone on Kildare Island huh?” he asks. “It’s a long story you-“ I start. “Well, we’ve all the time in the world because you can’t get back to shore without me” I let out a breathy laugh and debate telling him the full pitiful story.

The silence is defining so I quickly begin to fill it. “I got cheated on by the person I thought I would grow old with, then moved back into my parents’ house, quit my job, dropped out of University and took all my savings and came out here” He doesn’t say anything and just stares at me. “I thought it would change my life, I’d meet new people, go on a self-discovery journey and go back to England a better version of myself… But I’m still just as sad as I was when I arrived” I say as I finally look up at him.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, we sit in a comfortable silence. “Oh, I’m Millie by the way” I say with a laugh as I offer my hand out to him. He looks from my hand to me and cracks a smile “JJ Maybank at your service” he says in a not so well British accent while clasping my hand in a handshake.

“Well Miss Millie I think it’s time you try something new and catch your first wave” “Oh no its ok I don’t want to be a bother we can just go back to shore” I say in a rush. “Nope no way, we’re catching a wave in. Here lie down on your stomach”

I do as he says and lay on my stomach as he does the same behind me and starts paddling out. “Let’s go baby big wave coming in! Hold on Mills!” He says as he turns and starts paddling toward the shore. We get picked up by the wave and are pushed into the shore. Feeling like I’m flying I let out a yell and start laughing as JJ also whoops from behind me. I feel the tension ease out my spine and allow myself to revel in the moment, feeling free and infinite on this board with a boy I just met for the first time in months.

[aweidlich]

Oblivious (Cassie Howard)

pairing(s): Cassie Howard x fem!reader

summary: reader is a musician who happens to turn Cassie on while doing the most mundanes of things.

warning(s): adult content, smut, fingering, oral sex, semi-public sex (?)

a/n: sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy this, it is my first writing :)

You are oblivious to how much your actions affect your girlfriend. Cassie is not sure whether this obliviousness annoys her or just turns her on even more.

The way Y/N would have to be touching her every second of the day or how you’d flex your arms and legs when stretching before running in those small shorts in PE class.

What made Cassie go truly crazy was watching her talented girlfriend playing instruments. It could be the piano or guitar or flute, any of the above would have the same effect: an ache between her legs and heavy breathing.

And that is exactly what is happening right now. You are both spending lunch period in the music room at school. You are seated in front of the piano trying to rehearse one of your pieces for the audition you will have a couple of months from now. You had been struggling with this particular one for a while now, but you wouldn’t give up, this was necessary to get into the Music Program for Music Therapy. This is what you wanted to do for the rest of your life, help people through music.

Cassie loved watching her girlfriend be so passionate at something, she knew how much this meant to you -- growing up with an autistic sister, you got to see how music helped your sister interact with the world around her, and you wanted to help other families see the same thing. This was the only reason why Cassie was trying to hold herself back from kissing you senseless, but when she catches the perfect image of you biting your lips in frustration, it is too much.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and a smile appears on your face.

“Cassie, I’m sorry I haven’t paid attention to you, but I really need to get this.” You tell your girlfriend, oblivious to her true intentions.

Cassy huffs, “C'mon babe, you have been practicing too much. How about I help you relieve some of the stress you’ve been feeling?”

The seductive tone in her voice was so heavy that even you could catch it, turning your head to watch your girlfriend.

“Uh- I- maybe?” You stuttered, “I don’t know Cass, you remember the last time something happened in this room?”

Cassie hums and sits on your lap.

“Yes, but I also think my girlfriend deserves a reward for all of the hard work she’s been doing these last weeks.” Cassie bites your lobe and continues, “Don’t you agree baby?”

At this point Cassie could say anything to you and you would say yes.

Cassie laughs as you nod. She brings her head back so she could look into your eyes and smiles.

“I love you.”

Hearing this, you smile back and lean in, pecking Cassie’s lips, “I love you,” you say, “and I love you more than you love me.”

Cassies throws her head back laughing, the image being classified as ethereal in your brain.

When your eyes meet again, the room gains back its sensual atmosphere.

Before you both can notice what happened your chests are nude to each other and your mouth is around Cassie’s nipple, her hands holding your head as close to her as humanly possible.

“I need more.” She gets out between quiet moans.

Your lips continue their attack on her breasts as your hand hikes up her thighs until your touch the place Cassie needs you most.

You will never get used to your girlfriend’s moans. You had heard the best symphonies and orchestras, yet none of them could compare to the sounds Cassie made when you touched her.

Your thumb circles her clit, getting it all wet.

“You are so funcking wet that I will have to clean you good before you leave this room.”

Cassie bites your shoulder trying to keep her moans in, making you groan around her nipple which only makes her more stimulated.

You get up with her legs around your hip and make her sit on the piano bench as your mouth goes down to her stomach and then skipping to her thigh.

Cassie is a whimpering mess, missing your touch already.

You laugh, “My love can’t even wait a little bit?”

Cassie goes to tell you to fuck off but is caught off guard when your mouth sucks on her clit. She arches her back releasing a moan and trying to hold herself on the piano hitting the keys and making a sound that would usually annoy you, but at this exact moment was not enough to take your attention off of your girlfriend’s pleasure and taste.

“Ah- Don’t stop. I- I’m so so close.” Cassie says in between moans.

You use your finger to help you stimulate her. Her legs close around your head, making you moan and that sets her right off the edge, her orgasm hitting her hard. You help her ride it out, cleaning her up and helping her put her panties and skirt back while she is still recovering.

As Cassie’s breath goes back to normal you laugh and tease her, “I thought you were the one that was going to get a ‘release.’”

Cassie rolls her eyes and goes to kiss you and your heart beats faster, but the bell rings just in time.

There is a glint of mischievousness as she says, “I guess you will have to wait for tonight.”

She gets up and starts walking, only stopping at the door to look back and wink at you.

You are left dumbfounded and horny in the room by yourself. You only regain consciousness when the Music teacher comes in the room asking what you were still doing there. You apologize and run to your chemistry class, which you had with your girlfriend.

Needless to say you didn;t hear a word the teacher said that entire period, only thinking about what would happen after school.

[terielle]

X Drake/ Marine! (First mate) Reader (pre Canon)

So this was a scene I wrote for my latest FF (which I’m far behind on translating) but then I changed a lot and I had to abandon it. But I actually liked it and thought I’d make it my first “reader” OS. Sorry for spelling mistakes, English isn’t my first language

 

“What is this about?”, Drake looked at the stacked paper you handed him.

“A transfer request”

He knew damn well what it was, it was written on the top of the first page, “I can see that. But what Am I supposed to do with it?”

“I want to ask for your recommendation”

He was asking the wrong questions, “and why?”

“Because it looks better, if you approve it”

He that as well, you dodged his questions, “[name], I’m wondering why you ask me for my approval of your transfer. Once again. What is this about?”

You avoided his gaze. You were nervous, agitated. You’ve been since you asked to speak to him in confidence.  Your facial expression was neutral, you stood at attention, your voice steady. But he could smell it. The odor reminded the predator, whose powers he used, of trapped prey.

“Because I want to be transferred”

We’re you serious? ” I can see that. Why do you want to be transferred?”

“Due to personal reasons, I don’t see a future for this corporation”

The blood left his face. Did you know? No, it was impossible, he has been silent, and how could you know what he did behind closed doors, when he thought of you? Or have his dreams been too livid and you heard something? He had to be sure.

His voice sounded empty, even in his own ears, “I don’t know of anything, that would cause trouble to our teamwork. Is there an occupancy, I should be aware of?”

“No, these are private reasons on my side”

“I can’t approve any transfer, if I don’t know its purpose”

“Rear admiral, Sir, I’m not asking for your permission. I’m just letting you know”, you still avoided looking at him.

“What do you mean?”

“In exceptional cases, if the cooperation is impossible to uphold, any soldier can request a transfer without the permission of his commanding officer”

He didn't ask you to quote the damn rules and standards, “And you didn't think it appropriate to talk to me first?”

“I am now. I thought it appropriate to inform you first”

“A Marine soldier shouldn’t lie to his superiors. So answer me: Has this anything to do with me?”

“Yes”, you swallowed hard and looked at the floor.

Damn. If you gave him a chance, he could talk his way out of this, “and what exactly are you accusations me of?”
“Nothing”, your voice was shaky

“[name]! I demand an explanation!”, it took him a lot of self-control not to raise his voice, “you can’t just inform my about your transfer out of nowhere, which you want because of me, and blame me for nothing!”

“I want to be transferred because of me. You didn’t do anything wrong. The further cooperation is impossible solely because of me”

“I’m not aware of any misdemeanor from your side. And if it has such consequences, I would be”

“As you tend to say yourself, you don’t know about everything happening in the crew”

“Then talk to me! I can help you. No matter what it is, I’m sure we’ll find a way”, carefully he took a step in your direction.

„That’s the problem. There is no way. You can’t help me”, your face crumbled more and more, not only your voice was shaking, your whole body was shivering by now.

“Then tell my what the damn problem is!”

“I approached this the wrong way. Let me start again, and please don’t interrupt”; you took a deep breath and steeled yourself to finally hold his gaze, “Readadmiral Drake, hereby I’m informing you about my transfer. Due to the previously good teamwork it is only fair, that you hear it first, before I inform the headquarters. I know it is sudden, because of this and because it is solely my fault I will stay until you have a replacement. I’m asking for your approval, because it would be to your and my benefit, if you do. Good evening, Sir”

You turned around and headed for the door.

We’re you serious? He didn't even get a say in this? Without any explanations? Paralyzed, he stood there and stared at the now again closed door. As your commanding officer, he had to accept our decision. Put private, as your friend, he neither wanted nor could. His gaze dropped to the documents in his hands, now crumbled. He wouldn’t accept this. He didn't hold back his feelings in favor of your professional relationship and friendship for this.

He balled his fist and crumbled the damned transfer request even further.

 

———————O.O———————

 

Finally, in your room, you dropped on your bed and hid your face in your hands. You fought the tears long enough, now they fell freely. Did he really think you liked to this? Did he think, this was easy to you? You didn't want to leave. It wasn’t only Drake, there was the whole crew, the ships, your work. You loved your life on board of the Liberal Hind. But you couldn’t continue. You had to go.

A knock shook you from your misery

“[name], open up”, Drake.

If you remained silent, he might think you weren’t here and would leave again.

“[name], I know you’re here. Open the door”

You pressed sour eyelids together, as if that would hide you from him and the rest of the world.

“Last chance”

Finally, he must have seen reason. Relieved, you released a breath. Until you heard the telltale sound of a key turning in the lock. Your eyes went wide. He didn't do that, did he? He was the commanding officer of the ship, of course he had spare keys in case of emergency.

“You’re overstepping”; you protested, when he entered and closed the door behind him.

“And what are you going to do about it? Leave?”, he seemed unimpressed, while he placed your transfer request on your desk.

You swallowed, he was right, there was not much you could do about it.

He leaned against the door, to block your only route to escape, “as your commanding officer I have to accept your decisions. But not as your comrade. And as such I won't leave, until you tell me what all of this is about”

Your hand gripped the bedsheet, “you wouldn’t understand”

“How could I, If you refuse to talk to me?”

“Even then, you wouldn’t understand”

“I think you’re underestimating me”, he crossed his arms and watched our every move, but you couldn’t read his face.

A dry laugh escaped your mouth, “O trust me, I don’t. I doubt there’s anyone with a higher opinion on you, than me”

“And if you think so highly of me, don’t I deserve an explanation?”

You took a deep breath and focused on the wall opposite to you, “Drake, feel more for you, than I should for a comrade or my commanding officer. Unrequited feelings would have negative consequences for our further teamwork. That's why I want to be transferred. I don’t want to leave, but I can’t stay either. That's what I meant by You wouldn’t understand”

The silence in the room felt heavy, you closed your eyes and hoped drake would just leave. Hoped, he’d never mention it again and acted as if nothing happened. Your shoulders trembled, while you tried not to cry even more. It was bad enough as it was. You wanted to keep a tiny bit of dignity.

You didn't expect him to carefully loosen your grip on the bedsheet and holding your hands.

“I do understand”, his voice sounded unusual insecure.

Confused you opened your eyes and blinked against the veil of tears. Drake was kneeling in front of you and holding your hands. His head was lowered, gazing at your hands in his.

“I’m… Not good at this but… Stay. Stay with me. Give me a chance. Give us a chance”

Unable to say anything you looked at him, was he serious? Was this is attempt to tell you, he felt the dame?

As he finally looked into your eyes, you could see a faint blush on his cheeks. In his bright blue eyes an until now unknown vulnerability, “Say something”

“I don’t know what”, you whispered

“Do you stay? D I get a chance?”

You didn't know what to say. You felt dizzy, your head was spinning. You tried to speak, but no sound left your lips. Trying to clear your thought, you shook your head. A move he took as refusal, he averted his exes again and let go of your hands.

“I see. I’ll sign your transfer request”, he took the few steps to your desk and flipped through the crumbled pages.

Like remote-controlled you got up, took the few steps to his side, opened the porthole and took the papers from his hand.

“What…?”, surprised he looked up, as you threw the part of the stack you managed to get, out of the porthole.

“I…didn't know where to go from here. Do we talk about how to continue? Do we go on a date? Do we kiss?”
“You’re the one reading romance novels”, the blush on his cheeks returned, stronger than before, “but I like last proposal”

A nervous laugh escaped you, your heart as beating fast in your chest. You wet your lips, “I never thought so much about something so simple”.

Hesitant. You placed your hands on his shoulders and stretched as far as you could. Drake leaned towards you, and you felt his hands on your hips. Carefully, as if he was afraid you could vanish in thin air. You could feel is breath on our lips and sunk into his deep blue eyes. You stayed like this a few seconds until you plucked up your courage to bridge the gap between you.

The cuss was carefully and soft. When one of your hands wandered to the nape of his neck, you felt his grip on your hip tightening, and he pulled you closer against him. You enjoyed how his lips moved against yours.

After a while drake loosened the kiss, “As much as I hate to end it here, but we’ll be missed soon”

“As long as we’re both missing, they’ll think we have something to discuss”

“Maybe we should do that”
“How will we continue from here?”

“I didn’t know”; you shrugged, “It may sound odd, but I’d like to keep this to ourselves for a while”

“So we’ll act like before, and when we’re alone”..., he gave you a quick but sweet peck on the lips.

“Sounds perfect”