#he spends a long time mentally kicking himself for thinking about her like that

[amoscontorta]

Wine time with Sylus | ao3 | other stories in this 'series'

Summary: Sylus invites himself over, helps himself to your first aid kit and your kitchen, manipulates you into tasting wine with him, discusses his latest business venture, and gifts you more than one present before he's good and ready to finally leave.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person pov, no use of y/n

This story contains: fluff, banter, angst, mc with obvious self esteem issues, grief, self-destructive behavior, profanity, alcohol use, criminal activity, allusions to violence, sleepy kissing, biting, inappropriate thoughts regarding kitchen tools, the mental gymnastics mc engages in to avoid acknowledging or recognizing feelings on either side should come with their own warning to be honest, one very thirsty mc whose thoughts are NSFW. This part ends with a misunderstanding that you can bet Sylus will not put up with for long.

In the days following Sylus’s latest little… visit, you’re called out more frequently than usual to counter wanderer attacks. You’re barely home, and the few times you stumble home late into the night, you peel your sweat and sometimes blood-stained hunter’s uniform off right in the entryway, promise yourself you’ll do laundry soon, and drag your aching body to the shower. Then you usually spend what little night you have left lying there with your eyes closed, carefully keeping your mind blank as sleep remains elusive. You have to admit to yourself that the few times Sylus kept you company overnight, you slept like the dead, but you refuse to go so far as admitting that you wouldn’t mind if it were more frequent. If you were to admit it to yourself, which you will not,  you only yearn for it strictly for the sake of your sleep schedule, and absolutely not because you’ve come to crave his warm, comforting bulk against your body.

Tonight is no different, but you’re both looking forward to and dreading the next few days, as Captain Jenna has ordered you to take some time off to rest and recover from the brutal schedule you’ve been keeping for months now, capped off by the recent spate of increased attacks. All of your wheedling to let you keep going, that you’re fine, that the people of Linkon need you, that you need the constant distraction, has proven useless. Apparently the frequency with which you are getting injured remains acceptable, but she is finally at the end of her patience reading your barely coherent, misspelled reports with unfinished sentences that you only manage to submit before Association mandated deadlines by the skin of your teeth.

“Go home, get your head on straight, and come back rested … and literate again, please.” She looks back down at the tablet on her desk, trying to dismiss you, but you stubbornly remain at attention at her desk.

“That’s discrimination, Captain. I can be a perfectly functional hunter without being able to read or write,” you protest, while Xavier winces behind you. “I mean, obviously I can read and write, I’m just a little tired, that’s all. Still able to destroy wanderers!”

Jenna’s already formidable expression begins to darken, but you’re not cowed. You open your mouth to helpfully point out that wanderers don’t care about how well you can spell, when you feel Xavier’s gentle hand on your arm. “Come on, why don’t we go together to get some snacks on the way home? I think they’ve started re-issuing that wasabi flavored chocolate bar we tried at the beginning of the year,” he says softly, and Jenna shoots him an appreciative look before proceeding to ignore you both.

You glumly follow Xavier out into the early evening. Rush hour is over, but the sidewalks are still bustling with life. You weave through the mass of humanity, resisting the urge to drop-kick anyone who cuts you off or brushes against you accidentally. I am a role model for the Hunter’s Association, even when I’m off the clock, I am not allowed to arrest someone for bumping into me…. I am not allowed to arrest someone for…

Xavier tries to distract you from your obvious frustration by describing the plot of the latest manga series he’s reading that he thinks you’ll like as you two make your way  home. You listen absently, feeling slightly calmed by his soothing voice, despite its graphic descriptions of violence in the manga that you are pretty sure you’re going to really like.

“Are there any hot guys in it?” you ask as the mass of people begins to thin the closer you get to your building.

“Hot… guys?” he blinks in confusion, his impossibly blue eyes flashing in the streetlamps that have just turned on.

“Yeah. Like that other one we read, Help, I, a lowly office worker, went to sleep and woke up as the Queen’s assassin in the book I fell asleep reading. The main guy in that was super hot.”

“Well, it is by the same mangaka, so you’d probably like the way they draw the main character in this one too,” he says uncertainly, but with a strange expression on his face, like he suddenly doesn’t want you to read it with him anymore.

“Okay, I’ll give it a try. Have you finished the first volume yet? Can I borrow it?”

You’ve reached your building, the trees surrounding the courtyard rustling in the soft end-of-summer breeze.

“…Great,” he says after a brief hesitation. He holds open one of the entrance's doors for you to enter the your building’s foyer. Your boots and his echo on the polished floor as you make your way into the lift. “I’ll be finished by tomorrow. How about we go the bookstore and afterwards you can come over and read since we have the day off? You can start volume one, and I’ll start volume 2. Does that sound good? We can make fancy ramen,” he says, his normally sleepy energy spiking with the idea of adding a boiled egg and some frozen vegetables to the normally plain ramen the two of you consume more often than not while on the go. Xavier’s idea of fancy has always been adorable to you.

The idea of not just sitting in your apartment alone on the first day of your forced leave is a welcome one, and you agree that he can come find you when he’s woken up, so that you don’t risk waking him up. He likes this plan, because obviously, you’re hardly sleeping at all, and he sleeps longer than you ever would have imagined possible for humans until you met him. As the elevator approaches your floor and the doors slide open, you’re about to step out when Xavier’s soft voice behind you has you turning to look back at his pretty face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours. “I know you feel like you’ve lost everything right now, and that the pain seems unbearable.”

You quickly turn your head—you were not expecting this sneak attack of sympathy and kindness from him. You nod jerkily, trying not to let his warmth sink into you, or else you might start crying.

“It sounds cliché, but with time, even this pain will fade. And you have so much time ahead of you. I can promise you that. One day you’ll wake up, and it will be slightly less unbearable. That doesn’t mean you forget about what you’ve lost. But you can think of it without… without feeling like you’re destroyed again, every time.” He’s looking at you, but you also have the feeling that he’s looking at something else, from a great distance. Knowing how secretive he is, it’s unlikely you’ll ever know what it is he’s seeing.

You nod again, and whatever he sees in you profile seems to satisfy him as he offers you a soft ‘Goodnight,’ and you scurry from the lift to your front door. You tuck away his words, and push them down deep. You know they’re well intended. But you can’t handle crying right now. Not yet. Not yet. So you focus on possible plans for the days stretching ahead of you.

There is a part of you that’s looking forward to possibly being able to rest, it’s true. But the stretch of empty days, without work and battle and the social interaction of colleagues, had been filling you with anxiety before your plans with Xavier were made. But even after tomorrow, you’ll try to make the best of it. You can… try to remember what hobbies you had, before your life blew up. Maybe you can take up a new hobby! Within the span of a few days. Yeah, you can teach yourself to crochet,or make stained glass art, in a day, right? Online videos are super helpful. Maybe you’ll even deep clean your apartment, and go grocery shopping, properly, for the first time in weeks. You’ll buy vegetables that have to be prepped instead of the hottest insta-ramen you can find and slurping packets of applesauce while telling yourself that it counts as fiber, right? You can cook, and bake! You just haven’t in… a really long time. Maybe you’ll bake an entire cake, and then eat the entire cake. Yeah. You have plans, you think to yourself, pressing your fingerprint to the scanner under your flat’s door handle and pushing the door open when it beeps.

As soon as the door closes with a soft whump, you carefully hang up your blades and pistol holsters on your wall-mounted weapon rack, and then you’re furiously undoing the laces on your knee high leather boots, hopping from one foot to the other as you try to kick them off without actually having to sit down and pull them off. You yank off your socks, then shimmy out of your pants, which you also kick off unceremoniously. You’re going to be positive about this little holiday! You’re so close to being comfortable and staying that way for days. You almost rip your buttons in your haste to remove your shirt, and just as you’ve gotten the last one undone, you finally notice the dark, looming figure in the shadows at the end of your foyer.

You’re in your fucking underpants, barefoot, and your weapons are out of reach due to your current strangulation by your own shirt sleeves.

Heart racing, you throw yourself backward against the door, prepared to make a strategic retreat and escape into the building’s hallway to buy yourself some time to free yourself from your shirt, no matter the cost to your pride at being caught out in your underwear, when familiar scarlet-ink tendrils of energy gently wrap themselves around your waist and softly lift you in the air. You find yourself kicking and squirming like a kitten picked up by the scruff of its neck.

“The fuck, Sylus?” you choke out.

“Why are you still struggling, when you can clearly see that it’s me? Cease, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Why are you using your evol on me without my consent?” you retort, wriggling some more for good measure simply because he told you to stop.

“To prevent you from giving your neighbors the show of their lives without even charging admission,” he responds languidly, eyes the color of sunlight filtering through a glass of wine drifting from your probably red, sweaty face down your barely clothed body.

“Oh, they don’t get a free show, but you do?” you sneer, continuing to struggle to no effect.

“Look at yourself,” Sylus commands, and turns his head as if bored. You note absently that he’s wearing a ruby stud earring in his ear... the one that matches the earring in your own ear. So you never bothered to take it out. That doesn’t mean anything—you’re just lazy. You refuse to think about it anymore deeply than that, and then notice that Sylus not only looks bored, but also looks almost… offended? You do as he asks, and see that his evol is wrapping itself around your body in such a way that its bright-dark tendrils are covering all of your exposed, sensitive areas like a fluid robe.

“Oh,” is all you can think to say.

“Oh, indeed.” He continues to look away from you, aggressively bored, but his evol gently lowers you enough so that your bare feet rest on the ground, and then it loosens, but remains swirling around you.

“Then I’ll… just go get dressed.” You begin making your past him, but stop when you see him nonchalantly hold up a large, elegant shopping bag. It’s black, with some brand name you don’t recognize written in flowy silver script. “What is this?” You look from the bag to his face. He deigns to look at you again. Your eyes drift to his other ear, and you see that where it is pierced is empty.

“Wardrobe options,” is all he says, jerking you out of trying to puzzle out this opaque maniac’s intentions. You take the bag from him and quickly walk to your bathroom. No way you’re going to put on new clothes while feeling filthy from a long day and night of annihilating wanderers. His evol dissipates the moment your bathroom door shuts behind you.

It’s becoming a pattern. Thinking the worst of him, only to be proven wrong. But you don’t know how to overcome the cognitive dissonance of Sylus from your first meeting, and this Sylus who seems intent on taking care of you better than you take care of yourself.

You rinse off as quickly as you can in the shower, towel yourself dry, and take a peek in the bag that he gave you. The first thing you see is a black…? You lift it out of the bag, and it unfolds into a very large sweater. It’s thick, the fabric obviously of high quality. You touch it gently, running your hands along a sleeve—is it cashmere? It’s unbelievably soft. It’s probably a nightmare to wash. On impulse, you lift it to your nose, and take a deep breath.

Your suspicion is confirmed. It smells like him. This isn’t a brand new piece of clothing. This is one of Sylus’s own sweaters that he has worn before. The scent of his clean skin, the sharp tang of gunmetal, the bright burst of citrus, probably from some ridiculously expensive shampoo or body wash. The mix sends a thrill through your entire body: after only a few encounters, you already have bone-deep associations with the way Sylus smells. Fear and adrenaline, yes, but also anticipation—and bizarrely, safety. Instead of feeling terrified, you feel the way you would before riding a roller coaster. Yes, you’ll be screaming and holding on for dear life the whole ride, but you are also inexplicably convinced that in the end, you’ll have your feet firmly planted on the ground, safe again. A part of you whispers that it’s safer to avoid the roller coaster altogether—bolts come loose, wheels pull free from the track, tragic accidents happen all the time. But standing here in your humid bathroom, bone-weary from the day behind you, sniffing Sylus’s unwashed sweater makes you feel more alive than you’ve felt in a very long time.

You pull his sweater over your head, and you’re basically swimming it, it’s so big. The collar is big enough that it threatens to fall off one shoulder. But it’s so soft. And cozy. You hug yourself, and peek into the bag again. There are a few more sweaters, each dark with varying degrees of dramatic flair. This is part of Sylus’s wardrobe, after all. But there are also little sleep shorts, like the ones you were wearing the last time he invaded your home. You pick up a pair—no way would they fit on his big ass. You try, so, so, so very hard not to picture his thick cake stuffed into these tiny shorts.

You fail.

Your brain short circuits for a few seconds.

When it comes back online, you lift out a pair, and the fabric glides silkily along your skin. You’re pretty sure these are silk. They’re black, because of course, but they also have little red … happy pomegranates? Dotted along the hems. They’re adorable. You pull them on over your own bare ass and the sweater-shorts combo is probably the softest thing you’ve ever had on your body. The sweater swallows the shorts and makes it look like you’re wandering around without bottoms on.

You look at yourself in the mirror, silently telling yourself that you shouldn’t get on this particular ride. You don’t know where the track leads, and it scares you. What if it ends over a cliff, and the last thing you ever see is Sylus’s triumphant, cruel face looking down at you as you fall? There are other, less risky rides, certainly ones without wanted posters, right? Right? On second thought, you don’t even have to go the amusement park at all. You’re just fine with trying to get some fucking sleep, with continuing to hone your combat skills, with just trying to be a good person despite really liking knives and being an enthusiastic hunter.

But maybe you can just. Be friends with the roller coaster? Like, you don’t have to ride him. IT. THE ROLLER COASTER. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO RIDE THE ROLLER COASTER. You can just, watch it from a safe distance. You might indulge in little fantasies about what it’s like to ride… the roller coaster. And honestly, fantasies are almost always a hell of a lot better than the reality ever turns out to be. Not to mention! Sylus has never directly expressed any desire to ride … your roller coaster. Sure, he shows up unannounced and cares for you in ways that no one ever has, and he touches you a lot for someone who has no physical interest in you, but physical isn’t necessarily sexual, right? Maybe it’s an evol thing, and the way he touches you has to do with why you both find yourself inexplicably connected for periods of time. Like charging a battery. The point is! There will be no tickets to either ride, thank you, you aren’t open for business and he definitely does not have the proper safety inspection certificates in order, so. No.

You nod firmly to yourself in the mirror. This should be fine. You can be friends with Sylus. You don’t have to let him drag you over a cliff. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from him—he seems to be pretty competent at a lot of things that might be useful for certain aspects of your job. Like intimidating people. And exploding people with a thought and twitch of his fingers. And convincing them to do things they don’t want to do by sheer force of obnoxiousness.

Having sufficiently deluded yourself into believing that your plan of action has a chance of success, you slip out of the bathroom and find Sylus in the kitchen, next to a pretty wine glass that you certainly do not recall owning on the kitchen island.

He’s slicing strawberries with a very sharp knife that you do recall owning, because you do spend quite a lot of time sharpening the set it belongs to. They’re not kitchen knives, per se; you actually have them for work and they are really nice to throw. You already had so many knives before you moved into this place that you didn’t see the necessity of spending more money on probably inferior kitchen knives. But the large, really nice butcher block-style cutting board that he’s chopping the fruit on is not yours. And neither are the delicately arranged variety of cheeses, thinly sliced meat, and savory tarts set in puff pastry that fill up most of the cutting board. And lastly, you do not recall purchasing two bottles of what look like red wine sitting next to the wine glass, nor cleaning your kitchen so thoroughly that Zayne could probably perform surgery in here without worrying about risk of infection.

Despite your presence standing at the island before him now, he continues to serenely slice the ever-growing pile of fruit.

“Sylus?”

“Have a seat,” he says, not looking up.

“Oh, why thank you for offering such hospitality to me, in my own home,” you mutter, pulling out one of the wooden bar stools at the kitchen island. You’re about to sit down when you realize that the repetitive chop of the knife has stopped, and you look up to find Sylus frozen with the knife mid-slice in a fat strawberry. His eyes drift from your neck and exposed shoulder, down the soft expanse of sweater, to your bare legs, and then back again. You’re suddenly self-conscious—he’s the one who gave you these clothes. And now he’s staring at you like a wanderer is about to burst out of your chest.

“Did I misunderstand the assignment or something?” you ask, plopping down on the bar stool in the hopes of breaking him out of whatever weird trance he’s apparently glitching in. He swallows, flicks a final look at your shoulder, and then goes back to slicing.

“I’m simply shocked that you actually did as you were told, for once,” he responds, seemingly unruffled again. “You should also put one of the sweaters in your go bag as a backup in the event that your uniform gets destroyed, again, which it does at an alarming rate these days. The Association’s overheads for keeping you clothed must be in the stratosphere.”

“Mm, yes I’m sure you’re very concerned about the costs of doing business for the Association.” You rest your head in your hand, propped up by your elbow on the counter. The two of you sit in companionable silence for a while, with only the snick of the knife filling the space between you. The lights underneath your cabinets are on, emitting a soft warm glow from below, but you notice that he hasn’t put on the harsher, brighter overhead lights. The city’s skyline blinks serenely like an endless fleet of starships in the dark expanse of space through your windows, and a cool breeze wafts in from time to time.

Finally, Sylus is done, and he carefully rinses the knife in the sink and sets it on the counter. He turns back to you.

“No interrogation regarding why I’m here this time?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a light sweater in a deep grey, of a style quite similar to the one you’re now wearing. He looks domestic, and delicious, and you tell yourself sternly that he is friend shaped, you will not ride the Sylus roller coaster, you will not ride the Sylus roller coaster—

You have to say something. “Oh, are you missing my very effective questioning techniques? Sadly, I left my handcuffs at the office,” you lift your shoulders in a what can you do? gesture, and his eyes follow your bare shoulder again.

“Handcuffs aren’t the only means of restraint available to a truly resourceful hunter,” he says, shaking his head as if disappointed.  “Your lack of imagination is boring.”

“Okay, Sylus. But only because you’re basically begging for it: why are you here?”  You lift a puff pastry and brandish it at him like a knife. “Answer honestly, or you’ll really get it this time!” You take a big, aggressive bite as if to illustrate what he’s got coming to him in case of his non-compliance, and then moan because what the fuck, this is so good, is it goat cheese and honey? And suddenly you’re devouring it, licking your fingers clean when you’re done because you can’t get enough.

“This definitely counts as an enhanced interrogation technique.” His voice is low, and has a rough quality to it that normally isn’t there. You glance up from slobbering all over your fingers and find that he’s staring at you in what is probably disgust.

“Ha, yes, and I’ll keep subjecting you to it until you tell me what you’re doing in my home, again. And how did you even get in? I never got you a key.” You finish licking yourself like an animal and reach for a strawberry. If he’s going to play chef in your kitchen, who are you to refuse to enjoy the literal fruits of his labor? You just live here and pay the damn rent.

He holds up the index finger of his right hand, which is sporting a band-aid that you recognize as one of the same kind you have in your first-aid kit. They’re super cute, with a design of sad little cartoon mushrooms. “I was at my accountant’s, which happens to be in this neighborhood, and I got a paper cut while signing some documents.”

You pause before biting into the berry. “You… came to my flat. With extra clothing, wine, wine glasses, and various appetizers, in order to get a band-aid for your paper cut. Is this a correct summary of events?” You decide you’re not going to wait for him to answer, and take a big bite of the strawberry, feeling some juice drip down your chin. You catch it with your index finger, and then suck the juice off after you’re done chewing.

There is a long pause, and you look up to find him staring intently at your finger. You widen your eyes and wave your hand in the universal gesture of hurry the fuck up, get on with it already? He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes deeply. Apparently you’re so horrifying to witness eating that he needs to seek some zen before he can answer. It’s not your fault that he brought you half of his wardrobe and wine glasses but didn’t think to bring any napkins. “Yes, that is a correct summary of events,” is all he offers.

You look at him.

He looks back at you, occasionally flicking his gaze down to your mouth and back to your eyes. You consider baring your teeth at him just in case he wants an eyeful of the strawberry undoubtedly stuck in them, but refrain because you’re polite.

“Okay. Do you care to explain the motivation behind these events?” you ask slowly, thinking that maybe you will brandish a real knife at him to hurry up this so-called interrogation so you can straight up devour the rest of this charcuterie board that this wanted criminal has inexplicably prepared in your kitchen.

Fortunately, you don’t have to go for the knife, because he begins to speak. “There was a wine merchant that looked rather appealing on the way to your place. Since you revealed a deplorable lack of discernment when it comes to selecting a good bottle of wine the last time you hosted me, I thought I’d do my civic duty for the week and educate the less fortunate on how to choose, and enjoy, a decent bottle of wine.”

“I see.” You nod slowly. “That’s very civic-minded of you. You’re truly a model citizen. And the food?”

“It’s not wise to have a wine tasting without something to eat. Otherwise, you might find yourself making questionable decisions. We wouldn’t want that, would we, sweetie?” he seems to have recovered from his nausea at watching you wolf down food, because he says this with a playful lift of a silver eyebrow.

“Because letting a man whose baggage includes a wanted poster into my home whenever he wants could hardly be considered a good decision, and I made that one while sober,” you sigh. “I see your point.”

“Exactly. Just imagine what kind of trouble you could get into after a bottle of wine on an empty stomach?” He tilts his head to the side, and runs a middle finger slowly over his brow.

You shudder, because his big hands. You can’t pursue this line of thought.

“And the clothes?”

“Now you won’t need to borrow your partner’s clothes in case of an emergency. And I’ll have something to wear at my safe house in case you decide to assault me with beverages again.”

“That was one time. And if you don’t show up, then there’s no chance you’ll be assaulted. Therefore, no need for a change of clothes. And, pardon me, but your safe house? I think you meant, my flat. But what you’re telling me is that the whole reason you were coming to my flat in the first place was to put a band-aid on your boo-boo.”

He lowers his hand and begins running his thumb along his lower lip. “Even a small cut can turn life-threatening if not treated properly. And I wouldn’t want a scar, now would I? It’s not much of a safe house if I can’t make use of it when in danger of lasting bodily harm.”

“Mmm yes, what with your evol that renders scarring impossible for you, we wouldn’t want your paper cut to cause you lasting bodily harm. And you couldn’t acquire a band-aid at a pharmacy, perhaps like at the one next to the wine merchant I’m pretty sure you’re referring to?” You refuse to look at his big thumb pressing into his thick, soft-looking lower lip. You stare up at the ceiling, and consider cataloguing wanderers in your head to stem the sudden urge to vault over the island counter separating him from you and pulling that damn thumb into your own mouth.

“They didn’t have a box containing such cute little designs. I never knew I wanted anthropomorphized fungus to decorate a bandage intended to protect an open wound until I saw your own box.”

It takes you a second to remember what the hell the two of your were discussing when you realize he’s talking about your adorable little mushroom band-aids.

“A wine snob, and a band-aid snob.”

“I prefer the term cultured, but yes, I’ve told you before. Life is too short to waste on the inferior. Your sad little champignons surpass all others.”

He’s done it again. He has hardly even moved this entire time, and has managed to exhaust you to the point of blissful indifference. He shows up unannounced, rifles through your first aid kit, decides what you’re going to wear both this evening and in the future when you need a spare change of clothes, and has prepared an hors d’oeuvre spread worthy of at least a mid-ranged restaurant for you to eat while offering you a wine tasting? Fine. “Okay,” you say, reaching for another one of those puff pastries.

He watches you steadily for a few moments, as if trying to sense a trap. “That’s it?”

You shrug. “Sure. I told you that you could use my house if you needed it. I’ve just learned my lesson: next time I’ll be very careful in drafting the conditions of any deal we make, since your interpretation of certain terms appears to vary wildly from any reasonable person’s.”

“I think I’m quite reasonable,” he examines his nails. “I come bearing gifts, and this is how you show your gratitude? By insinuating that I'm unreasonable?”

Another thought occurs to you. “How did you even get in, Sylus?”

“Ah,” he says, squinting and looking out the window, as if contemplating a very deep philosophical question. “While you were sleeping last time… I took the liberty of adding my fingerprint to your door’s fingerprint scanner.”

What. The. Fuck. “What. The. Fuck.”

“Again, it’s not much of a safe house if I can’t access it without your presence. I didn’t think you’d mind. It’s not like I can’t just use my evol to teleport into your place anyway, but I thought you’d appreciate me coming through the front door. Fewer feathers. You didn’t seem to like cleaning those up the last time I teleported out of your place.”

You just stare at him. How would he even know that you cursed him, loudly, as you were mopping up the mess of blood and feathers he generously left in your entryway after being shot? And then it comes to you. Mephisto. Of course. You pinch the bridge of your nose, and visualize violently shaking that bird until his circuits are rewired.

Sylus continues, ignoring your mounting rage. “Come to think of it, we should probably upgrade your locks, kitten. It was laughably easy to override the system and add my print as authorized for entry.”

Forget riding the Sylus coaster—you think that maybe he isn’t even friend shaped after all. He might just have slid right back to enemy shaped. Frenemy shaped? Where does a frenemy lie on the spectrum of “fuck his brains out” to “polite, but distant acquaintances?” But then you remember that it’s not a linear spectrum, and fucking his brains out is not mutually exclusively to being mortal enemies. You’ve read enough enemies-to-lovers romances to know that perfectly well, so even if he is enemy shaped… you shudder. Why are you like this? You redirect your self-disgust and deflect, like a true emotionally well-adjusted adult:

“Why can’t you be normal? Like, do you do anything like a normal person?”

“Why would I pretend to be normal when I’m so obviously extraordinary?” he scoffs, looking at you like you’re the unhinged one in this little situationship.

 “Sylus.”

“Yes, my heart’s delight?”

You stare at him, and he gazes back at you, leaning leisurely back against your counter, arms folded and long fingers slowly tapping out a rhythm on one bulky bicep. You know that if you remove his authorization on your locks that he will just teleport himself right into your place, and you’ll be endlessly cleaning up feathers. And you also really don’t want your neighbors to wonder who the hell the creep is loitering around your door at all hours of the night and then start asking questions if he actually honors your request not to simply appear in your place on a whim. You did previously offer him a key. Which he declined. Apparently because he was already planning this. You run your hand along the back of your neck in an effort to relieve some tension. “You can’t just let yourself into my place anytime you want. There need to be rules.”

“Fair enough. Provided that they’re not moronic, I can follow your rules.”

“And who decides whether they’re moronic or not?” you ask, knowing the answer.

He just smiles at you, radiating satisfaction.

“Okay. Rule number one—” you begin, only to be interrupted as he lifts a finger.

“I’ll follow your rules, if you promise to taste the wine I brought with me tonight.”

Even though you had already resigned yourself to whatever he had in store for you tonight, you can’t help arguing at this little added condition. “No, the deal is, you can use my flat, with your fingerprint, when you need it, if you follow the rules,” you huff.

He starts shaking his head. “I’m afraid not, kitten. You should have set rules at the beginning of our deal. You can’t just impose new conditions halfway through. A deal’s a deal. I suggest keeping that in mind the next time you have to deal with anyone else less… generous, than myself,” he intones, as if you’re a somewhat lacking student in need of instruction.

“So you’ll follow the rules if I promise to… taste wine tonight?” you ask, hoping that you can catch him out on a technicality and beat him at his own game. He considers for a moment, but must see something in your expression, because his eyes narrow and his smile widens to reveal his sharp canines.

“I’ll follow your reasonable, and not moronic, rules if you promise to taste the wine I brought tonight, with me,” he says.

You need to work on your poker face. You need to get Sylus to teach you how to improve it. Ugh.

“Fine.” If this means more food can happen soon, and honestly, yeah, a glass of wine, you’ll accept anything at this point.

He straightens from the counter and claps his hands once, looking more eager than you think you’ve ever seen him. “Excellent, let’s begin.”

“You didn’t even wait to hear what the rules are,” you protest, watching him fish out a wine corkscrew from his trouser pocket. It looks heavy, with a handsome wooden handle, and the stainless steel flashes under the soft lights.

“Send them in a text, I’ll redline them and return them to you, you can counter, and so on and so forth until we have an agreement. Like any proper contract negotiation. For now, it’s wine time.”

And with that, he sets to work opening the wine, humming a little tune so off-key that you have no idea what melody it’s supposed to be. It occurs to you that you’ve never used a corkscrew as a weapon, but as Sylus uses the small blade to slice through the foil covering the neck of the bottle, and then unfolds the lethal-looking twisted screw and begins expertly driving it into the cork, you realize that it could come in really handy in a fight. And there’s something else that’s really appealing to you—the combination of the contained savagery of the corkscrew, the assured movements of Sylus’s hands, the penetration of the cork—you feel a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the sweater you’re wearing.

“See something you like, kitten?” Sylus’s smoky voice drifts into your thoughts, and you look up, realizing you’ve been unabashedly staring at his beautiful hands, again, and the corkscrew, with undivided focus for the past few moments, and he has noticed.

You clear your throat, and then gesture weakly at the corkscrew. “That’s uh, a very nice looking wine opener.” You nod to emphasize your very normal approval of this very normal household item, because you are not thinking any thoughts about Sylus’s huge hands or screwing or penetration. None.

“Good eye. I’m rather fond of this model. I’ll have one delivered to you,” he says as he firmly pulls the cork from the bottle with a soft pop. He sets it on the counter, and picks up the other bottle.

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I’m sure it didn’t escape your notice that the kind of wine I drink tends to come with a screw cap instead of a cork,” you decline, shaking your head. You can buy your own damn self a corkscrew for tucking into your pocket if you ever find yourself at a wine bar that doesn’t allow patrons to be armed, but you anticipate needing some kind of weapon.

“Refuse me all you want,” he murmurs, and you feel like there’s an implied part of that sentence that he’s just not saying out loud. But then he’s repeating the opening process with the second bottle, and you suddenly find the night view outside your window immensely fascinating, because whatever is continuing to happen in front of you is just. Boring. Utterly sleep-inducing. You can’t look or else you might just pass out from the tedium of it before you even get to taste the wine. And a deal’s a deal, as Sylus is fond of repeating ad nauseum.

After hearing the soft pop of the other bottle, you sigh and turn back to find Sylus holding the wine glass and pouring the first bottle’s wine along the inside of the glass until it reaches the widest part of the bowl. For the first time, you notice that there’s only one glass on the counter. But before you can comment, Sylus begins to lecture.

“Now, if this were an ideal tasting, I’d have brought a decanter to let the wine breathe properly for an appropriate period of time before pouring. We'd also be using a container for spitting each mouthful out in between tastes, to avoid the intoxication and poor decisions I mentioned earlier and interfering with our judge of taste. But since we only have two bottles to try, and it’s just you and me here, I took the gamble that you wouldn’t mind if we were a little less formal.”  

You wait to see if he has any other fun facts to share, but he’s looking at you to confirm that indeed, you can live with not waiting even longer to taste this wine that better have gold leaf flakes in it or something to justify this amount of ceremony and can also live with not… spitting out said wonder wine after tasting it.

But you recognize that Sylus appears to be truly passionate about this, and he’s looking at you so earnestly—you do not have the heart to meet his sincerity with sarcasm, when he's so sweetly trying to teach you something new.

“Your gamble paid off. I don’t mind at all,”  you say, meaning it. He perks up and gives you one of his almost smiles, with just the corners of his generous mouth lifted. He then proceeds to explain, in great detail, what type of wine this is, where the grapes for it are grown, its signature characteristics, what year it was bottled, and how it was received by the international wine community. It’s all actually quite interesting, except once again, right now you’re at the end of a long day, you’ve run the gauntlet of interacting with this unpredictable force of nature walking around in the body of an extremely attractive man, and you feel like you should be taking notes to actually retain any of this information.

After he seems to have informed you to his satisfaction and is looking at you expectantly, you nod. “That is… very fascinating. So how do we go about actually tasting it?” You might be an uncultured heathen, but even before Sylus’s lecture, you knew there are rules when it comes to tasting wine. You just always had other things you needed to learn first, like the weakest spots on a wanderer or human body. Or the best method of sharpening knives for the sharpest edge. Or how to clean guns to prevent jamming. How to affix a scope on a sniper rifle and measure the effect of wind speed and direction on a bullet’s trajectory. Or whether you should use baking soda or baking powder as leavener when baking certain kinds of cake. You have priorities. But tonight, it seems, is the night for you to learn about wine.

Before he answers, he moves around the kitchen island to where you’re still seated on the bar stool and leans down, gently spinning your stool so that you’re facing him instead of the counter. He then pushes the one next to you closer and seats himself. Even sitting, you have to look up into his face. You suddenly realize that the way he has positioned the stools puts him so close to you that his long legs don’t have anywhere to go—he just spreads them so that one is stretched out on one side of you, and the other is between your own, his knee incredibly close to your lap. If you shift forward even a little, you could grind on him.

Why is he doing this to you? What does he want? But then it occurs to you that Sylus has never seemed to either recognize or respect boundaries like a normal person—maybe this is just how he interacts with his friends. Constant, small touches, no sense of personal space. You wonder if he and the twins huddle together on the couch, sharing a blanket, while watching something on television.

So maybe you’re the freak, imagining riding this poor guy’s meaty thigh when he’s only just trying to share his appreciation of a sophisticated beverage with you. You close your eyes. It doesn’t matter whether he’s playing this little game on purpose or not. You refuse to let him see how much his proximity is affecting you, because then he wins. You don’t know what he wins exactly, but you will beat him before you let him have it. You try to think about his big hand choking you, but instead of having the intended effect of reminding you why you should never even consider buying tickets to the safety hazard now wedged between your thighs, it has … unforeseen consequences instead. What has this man done to you?!

You open your eyes, reach across the counter and grab a handful of carefully cut pieces of cheese, and then promptly stuff them all into your mouth at once. When in crisis, cheese is always a good solution. Except for maybe the blue cheese you accidentally mixed in with the Manchego or whatever-the-fancy-fuck he brought with him. Aaaand now you’re going to smell like blue cheese for the rest of the night.

You stare at him defiantly as you chew with puffed cheeks, and brace yourself for whatever is coming next. He side eyes you, face impassive.

You’re expecting some biting comment, but “Well, that’s one way to make sure you’ve eaten enough to absorb the alcohol,” is all he says. He slowly slides the glass with two fingers along the base across the counter until it’s sitting between the two of you. “Whenever you manage to finish inhaling all that dairy, we’ll be sure that we’ve given the wine enough time to breathe.” He pauses. “It occurs to me now that while I was preparing the food, I didn’t think to ask if you’re lactose intolerant.”

You deliberately chew as slowly as you can, making him wait as a punishment for making you feel things that you should not be feeling. When you’ve swallowed, you shake your head. “Fortunately, not one of my many flaws.”

“It’s not a flaw.” He shrugs. “How can anything you can’t control about your body be a flaw? And Luke and Kieran are lactose intolerant, so I always have lactase enzyme tablets on me to avoid… unwanted consequences when they decide to have a cheese tasting contest.”

You cock your head. “A what now?”

 He rubs his middle finger between his eyebrows. “Yeah, they can’t help themselves from making a competition out of every single human activity, so on the nights the chef prepares a cheese board with dinner, they try to outmatch each other regarding who can identify the most flavors of cheeses without cheating by asking the chef or querying Mephisto or searching online. Or asking me, because I’m undefeated.”

You stare at him, and think if there’s ever any universe in which you voluntarily return to the base where Sylus kept you captive for days and touched you like he owned you, hand violently clasped in his, where you were terrified for your life, exhausted and confused… and if you ever have a friendly enough relationship with the chaos twins, you’re going to practice your ass off so that if you’re ever invited to such a competition, you can wipe the floor with them. Their cheese-off sounds fun.

Your train of thought is derailed as it registers how smug the last thing he said was. “You’re undefeated,” you repeat, giving him a chance to redeem himself. “At identifying cheeses by taste.”

“And smell, yes. So I’m not allowed to play anymore. My palate is too refined, and they know they don’t stand a chance.”

Oh, you’re definitely going to start sampling cheese every week. You cannot let this smugness stand.

“Ah yes, his royal snobness and his impeachable palate,” you roll your eyes. “Now, will his grace the Duke of Gouda please get on with the wine instruction?” You would give him a little mock bow, but that would put your face right in his formidable cleavage and you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from motorboating his unfairly huge pecs. Ugh.

He snorts. “Finally, you’re showing me some long-overdue respect.”

You nod gravely, thankful that the aether core in his eye is not currently delving the depths of your depravity. It’s time to focus. On wine.

“So why do you have to let wine breathe before drinking it?” you ask, because you’re focused.

He looks pleased that you’re interested enough to ask a question. “Much like people, it’s good to expose a greater surface area of the wine to fresh air for a while—it allows undesirable scents and flavors to dissipate, so that it tastes better when you do take a sip than if you drink it straight after opening.”

“Well aren’t you wise, philosophizing about wine and people,” you smile. You find yourself being surprised again and again tonight—at his presence, his bearing gifts, his surprisingly sweet attempt to teach you something, his kind takes on lactose intolerance and what people need to be healthy.

“Did you think I only consist of feathers and spite?” He lifts the wine glass by the stem with one hand, and your hand in his other. He gently wraps your fingers around his own.

“Let’s not forget hubris and violence.” You watch as he gently swirls the wine in the glass held between you. His hand is so warm compared to your own.

“If that’s all, then you still have a lot to learn about me,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t seem offended. Almost as if he’s simply determined. To do what, you’re not sure. “I’d tell you that you should always hold a wine glass by the stem so that the heat from your hand doesn’t affect the temperature of the wine through the glass itself. But your hands are so cold—I don’t think that would be a problem for you. But if you want people to think you’re a connoisseur, you should anyway if you’re ever on an undercover mission. Now, before you take a sip, inhale the scent we’ve just released by swirling the wine.”

You do as you’re told, and lean over, hovering just over the edge of the glass and taking a deep breath. The scent of the wine, warm and deep, fills your senses.

You look up at him and smile again. “It smells really good.”

“Of course,” he lifts the bottom of the glass with his free hand so that you can straighten, and guides your other hand to support the glass while slipping his own from around the stem and allowing you to hold it by yourself. Your hand immediately feels cold again. He leans one elbow on the counter, “I chose it for you. I’m not going to let you drink plonk.”

“Plonk?” What a cute word.

“Shit wine.”

“Mmm, not allowing me to drink shit wine, you’re truly a knight in shining armor.”

“I don’t need armor, kitten. Now that you’ve established that the wine hasn’t gone off by smelling it, you can take a sip.”

You’re about to lift the glass to your lips, when he reaches up and runs his fingertips along your wrist to stop you. “As you do, don’t swallow immediately. Roll the wine with your tongue in your mouth, and try to really think about what flavors you can taste: can you detect the oak from the barrels, earth, tannin, fruit or spices? Is it sweet or dry?”

You nod, mouth suddenly dry. But you follow his instructions and take a slow sip, rolling the rich liquid around in your mouth, and then slowly swallow. A familiar warmth spreads from your stomach, radiating out through your body. His blood bright eyes follow the movement of your lips, your throat. “I taste… fruit.” You pause, trying to appear very serious about finding the perfect description of flavor. You take another sip, close your eyes. “Yes, very fruity notes. Grapes, in particular.”

You open your eyes to find him scowling at you.

“Aren’t you the comedian?” he growls. “I’m going to revoke your wine privileges if you don’t take this seriously. How are you going to feel confident if you ever need this knowledge on a mission? Or on a date?”

You just laugh at him and try to turn a little on the stool, lifting your arm to keep the glass out of his reach, but his knee between your legs prevents you from moving, and he easily leans forward, fingers drifting up the length of your arm to then wrap around your own hand on the stem. He carefully pulls it back between the two of you. Your hand feels warm again. Safely wrapped in his.

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned my needing to know how to pass as a wine snob on a mission. What kind of missions do you think I’m regularly going on?” You gently lift the glass again, pulling his hand with you, and take another sip. It really does taste so good. You can’t tell if it’s wildly different than the wine you normally get, but you know it doesn’t taste like it’ll leave you with a headache in the morning.

He shrugs. “If we didn’t have to bring the place down when we were at the auction, people would have been watching you at the dinner banquet. What would you have done if people started to notice that you were clutching the wine and swigging it like a drunken toddler and started to suspect that your behavior wasn't matching your cover identity?”

You gasp. “Excuse me, you don’t know how I normally drink my wine!” Who does this bastard think he is? And here you were, thinking he was sweet, sincerely trying to share one of his interests with you. “I don’t need you patronizing me regarding how I’d manage at a formal event or on a date! I’ve been on plenty of dates where I was able to drink wine without driving off my partner.” You try to pull away from him, and the wine sloshes dangerously with your movement.

“Sit still,” he commands, holding your hand tight with his and placing one large palm on your bare thigh. You immediately freeze. “I watched you gulp wine from a mug the last time I was here,” he retorts.

“So you think that just because I don’t care what you think, I can’t read the room and act according to the demands of the situation?” The indignation coursing through you is amplified by the wine spreading through you.

“Then is it fair to say that you didn’t feel the need for any pretense between us last time because you’re so comfortable with me, and not because you’re as civilized as a cactus?” he asks, running his thumb gently back and forth along your inner thigh.

Your brain is being scrambled by his thumb, how close he is to you, his clavicle exposed by the V of his sweater’s neckline, the scent of his warm, clean skin, the wine going to your head after a long exhausting day.

“I’m saying I don’t feel the need to impress you in my own home when you show up uninvited and demand beverages and band aids,” you finally manage. You’re warm. Too warm. “And what’s wrong with being a cactus?”

“Did I say there was something wrong with it? Cacti can survive the harshest conditions on earth and still produce the most beautiful flowers. And they hurt when they stab you.” He smiles like the thought pleases him immensely.

You can’t process this. He says shit like this so easily—he can’t possibly mean it in the way you are trying so hard to deny that you want him to mean it. You refuse to be lured in, only to see the cruel lines of his face when he realizes you have pathetic feelings for him. The man who could as easily rip your spine from your ribcage as offer you a glass of wine, if you lose your usefulness to him. A usefulness you still don’t know the nature of.

You’re suddenly viciously aware of how close he is to you, how he is watching your face with an intensity that makes you feel like the use of his aether core is unnecessary: you’re afraid that he can see everything you’re feeling, and you hate it. You need space. “What are we even doing, Sylus?”

His eyes drift from your eyes to your mouth, and you try very hard to steel your expression, to conceal how utterly raw and exposed he’s making you feel. You can’t tell if you’re successful, when he finally lifts his hand from your thigh and runs the back of his knuckles with such softness along your cheek that it makes you ache. You resist the urge to turn your face and nuzzle his palm.

“We’re tasting wine, sweetheart.” He leans back, pulling the glass of wine you’re still holding with him. He inhales deeply, and then takes a sip, eyes glittering over the rim, watching you. “It is a good vintage. But it’s not the only one I brought.” He guides your joined hands to set the glass on the counter, and then gets up, rounding the counter to rummage in a bag on the floor on the other side. When he stands up, he’s holding another wine glass.

You do a double take. “You brought two glasses?”

He looks from you to the glass in his hand, then back to the glass still on the counter, and then lifts his eyebrows. “Is this a trick question?”

“Why haven’t we been drinking about of separate glasses then?” you demand.

He shrugs. “That glass is for that bottle,” he nods to the glass sitting next to you. “This glass is for this bottle.” He gestures at the other, untasted bottle sitting on the counter. “No need to rinse our glasses in between tastes.”

You want to laugh, and cry. You’re so fucking done with thinking for tonight.

“Okay, Sylus. Whatever you say,” you sigh.

“Oh, I quite like the sound of that,” he smiles, one canine peeking over his lip. “Then you’re going to enjoy the sorbet I brought for us as a palate cleanser.”

He proceeds to go to your freezer, scoop out some of the aforementioned sorbet that has apparently been in there all evening into a bowl, and takes the stool next to you again. This time, he situates one long leg on either side of you, caging you in. He takes a spoonful and offers it to you. “This will help rinse your palate so that you can taste the next bottle without any lingering effects of the other.”

You look from his seemingly guileless face to the spoonful of sorbet. Yup, you’re really done thinking for tonight. You lean forward and open your lips. He slips the lemon sorbet into your mouth. His eyes remain on your lips as he pulls the spoon away, dips it back into the sorbet, and brings it to his own mouth.

After he continues to trade spoonfuls with you until the sorbet is gone, he pours the second glass of wine, and you both take turns sipping it in companionable silence.

“Now tell me. Which one is your favorite?” he asks after you’ve finished the second glass, and return to the first to finish it as well.

“I like them both,” you shrug. “Sorry for not having a more sophisticated answer.” You’re feeling drowsy and loose. He can walk off a tall building for all you care if he doesn’t like your answer.

“They’re both excellent wines. Each one is suited for multiple situations or meal combinations. They’re versatile, just like you are. And I don’t require any particular answer, except your honest one. I think you already know that you don’t need to put on an act for me, ever.”

You rest your elbow on the counter, mirroring his position, and rest your head in your hand. “Why would I pretend with you, if you can just force the truth out of me?”

“I will never do that to you.”

You look away. “You’ve already done it to me once before. What else is there to hide, when you’ve seen the ugliest parts of me?”

“I will not do it again. Not unless you ask me to,” he says so solemnly that you’re tempted to be a fool and believe him. “And is that what you think? That what I saw was ugly?”

You sit up, take the glass from him and knock back the rest of the wine in one gulp. You can't do this right now. You can't think about the the violent hunger, the savage thirst, that his eye brought from the depths of your soul when he forced his way into your deepest, darkest desires the night you met. The extent of how much you wanted to kill him, and make it hurt, when you thought he had killed Caleb and your grandmother. How you still feel that hunger and rage, with every wanderer you kill, every time you hope some dealer in modified protocores resists arrest so you can put them down, with prejudice.

“I’m tired, Sylus. Thank you for the lesson. Now I can successfully fool rich assholes at upscale dens of corruption and unsuspecting dates into believing that I’m a sophisticated connoisseur of overpriced beverages, and swindle them all. And I’ll never horrify you again by swigging wine out of a mug like a drunken toddler. You should invoice the Association for your services. In the meantime, I’m going to try to get some sleep.”

“I see. You’re still on guard, and defensive, when you're drunk too. How fascinating.” He narrows his eyes, not seeming to get the hint that you want him to leave now.

“I’m not drunk. I’m maybe tipsy, and I’m fucking tired. I’m going to bed.”

“All right,” he says easily. He stands and begins tidying up the counter.

“All right,” you repeat, feeling a little dizzy, a little empty. “You know where the door is.”

“As you say,” he says serenely, pulling out food storage containers you also didn’t realize you own and packing the food away.

“Thanks again,” you say, because you are polite, dammit. You make your way into the bathroom and begin getting ready for bed. When you emerge, your flat is dark. The kitchen looks pristine in the streetlight drifting in through the windows. You stare for a moment longer, wondering if maybe he’s finally given up on whatever his agenda with you is after your little emotional display tonight, and he’ll stop coming by now. You’re fine with that. Maybe this is what you’ve needed to do all along. Get drunk and sloppy. Guarded, defensive, he called you. What an asshole.

You pad into the bedroom, yawning, pulling up your phone to look at it as you walk. Maybe you should try listening to audiobooks to try to help with the insomnia. Like, boring ones with deep, sexy voiced narrators who can bore you to sleep like Sylus did the other night. You crawl onto the bed, and then—

“The fuck, Sylus?”

He’s sitting in the middle of your bed, sweater off and replaced by… nothing. Just the expanse of his big, creamy chest. And he’s wearing a pair of silky looking loose, black pyjama pants. An impossibly soft looking line of silver hair drifts from his tight navel, disappearing under his waistband. His gold-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, like last time, and he’s scrolling through something on his tablet. He glances up at you, but then goes back to his… spreadsheets?

“Haven’t we already been through that little routine tonight?” he asks, and yawns. “I’m getting déjà vu.”

“What. Are. You. Doing?” you seethe.

“Going over the financials from the meeting with my accountant today.”

“Why?” You just sit there on your knees, on your bed, gaping at him like an idiot.

“To ensure that my next acquisition is suited to purpose.”

“What?”

His gaze flicks to you, and he pushes the glasses further up his nose. “Well, I made a promise that I wouldn’t change a thing about my latest business venture, so now I need to ensure that the next chain of businesses I acquire can serve one of the functions I had intended for the arcades.”

“What function is that?” you ask, curious now, despite yourself.

“Well, one of two primary functions,” he amends, tapping his temple thoughtfully with a finger.

“Okay,” you say slowly, inviting him to continue.

“Money laundering.”

You shake your head. “Come again?”

“Oh, I’ll be happy to. Thank you for the invitation. I wasn’t sure I’d ever receive one again, what with your heavily implied dismissal earlier.”

“Sylus!”

“Yes, my most precious gem?”

“What do you mean you intended to use the arcades for money laundering?” You want to cry even thinking about it.

“To be fair, after you asked me so sweetly not to change a thing, I immediately agreed. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But that’s why you wanted to buy them?” How many times can a heart hurt in one night?

“I said that was one of the two primary reasons I wanted those arcades,” he says, reaching out with one hand and softly stroking your knee.

You look down, watching his calloused fingers drifting so sweetly across your skin. How can this man be so cruel and so gentle at the same time?

“What was the other reason, then?”

“Guess.”

“I’m done playing games with you tonight, Sylus.”

“When was I playing a game tonight?”

“Fine, don’t tell me. Just promise again that you won’t change anything about my favorite arcade.”

He sets the tablet on his lap, and reaches over to grasp your hand. He links your pinkie with his, and lifts it to his lips. “I already promised. And I promise again.” He seals the promise with a brush of his lips, and then rests both of your hands on the bed between you.

You don’t know why, and you will probably never know why, but you believe him right now. It’s clear that no matter what you do, he will not be leaving tonight without great violence on your part, and once again, you’re just too tired to fight him anymore. He reads your body like a damn book, because he silently hands you the glass of water that was sitting next to him on the nightstand. "Even if you're not drunk, but only maybe just a little tipsy," he says, doing an awful imitation of your voice. "You should still drink some water so you don't feel terrible in the morning."

Perhaps because of your easy compliance with his reasonable advice by simply taking the water and drinking it, he seems to deem it safe to pull you into his side. You go down, resting your head on his thick shoulder, and let your gaze wander over his tablet.

“So what are you thinking of buying this time?” you ask, yawning.

 He shifts, lifting your head so that he can wrap his arm around you, repositioning you so that you’re tucked a little closer under his chin, cheek resting against his chest. “A chain of casinos.”

“Casinos?” you laugh softly. “That’s on brand, I guess.”

“Mmhmm.” He runs his fingertips absently along your arm, from wrist to elbow and back again. “Lots of money changing hands. Ideal for functioning as a washing machine for the dirty proceeds from the weapons business, which comes out clean in the pockets of lucky winners.”

“You make your living profiting off the worst in people, you know that?” you ask sleepily, the numbers on the screen blurring.

“They’ll continue being terrible, with or without my involvement. I don’t make them take the bet, or pull the trigger. And if I don't, someone else will put the chip or gun in their hands. Might as well be me collecting the paycheck.”

“Maybe, through the power of friendship, I can change your mind,” you murmur. You don’t think you’ll need that audiobook to fall asleep tonight.

“Friendship, huh?” Sylus asks, but when he looks down at you, he sees that you’ve already fallen asleep. He traces the long sweep of your eyelashes across your cheeks with his eyes, feels your measured, calm breath drifting across his skin. He gently touches one finger to the ruby earring you haven’t taken out yet. The thrill of satisfaction he felt when you answered the door still wearing it would sustain him for weeks. He is absolutely certain that it won’t be the power of friendship that’s going to change him.

He pulls you a little closer into his chest, snorts when he feels you begin to drool onto his pec, and continues scrolling through his tablet.

That night, you dream. You’re walking through your childhood home—but not your childhood home from before your memories, because you will never know what that home looked like. This one, the home from your earliest memories, with its wood panelling on the walls, old-fashioned lace curtains in the windows that you can’t see out of, because it’s pitch black beyond the glass. Hallways lengthening at the same pace as you can walk down them, boots echoing on the polished hardwood floor. You walk and walk, and you can never reach the end. Doors that won’t open, but you know Caleb might be behind them, because in your dream logic, his bedroom is behind every door you pass. You turn the handles, but they remain locked. Sometimes you think you can hear the sound of someone biting into an apple, crisp flesh giving way to sharp teeth, but the door won’t open no matter how hard you throw yourself against it. You hear your grandmother speaking, just around every corner, but you can’t understand what she’s saying. You follow the sound, and every time you think that she’s just around the next turn in the hall, the corridor stretches in front of you again, empty.

You have been in this empty house for years now, and you’re afraid that you’ll never be able to get out. But you’re more afraid that once you get out, you’ll never hear them making these particular sounds again, this slim proof of their existence echoing through the empty hallways.

Slowly, you wake up, and in that endless moment caught between your dream and reality, it’s just peaceful and black—you are coming from somewhere so far away toward something you know will hurt, and you’re not ready to feel that yet. But then a feeling of suffocation is overwhelming you, and you open your eyes to realize you’re literally being smothered by a very big, very warm body.

The relief you feel, the gratitude, that Sylus is still here, that you aren’t waking up alone, again, from the nightmare in your sleep to the reality that the nightmare is real, and you’ll never be able to see your family again, is more overwhelming than your current need for oxygen. Sylus is still here, and the yawning emptiness you were carrying with you for what felt like years during that long dream dissipates in the warmth of his body against yours. You can’t help yourself. Your throw your arm that isn’t being crushed by him over his torso and hug him tightly to you, giving in to the urge to nuzzle his chest and just listen to his steady heartbeat.

You lie like that for awhile, blissfully listening to his soft breathing, when suddenly you realize that pressed so close to him, you can feel every contour of his body, from your chest against his abdomen, his muscular, silk-covered thigh wedged between your legs, and his apparently very, very big dick pressing into your hip.

You freeze, feeling like the creep you have accused him several times of being. He’s just sleeping, and you’ve plastered yourself against him like a vacuum sealed burrito. You have absolutely no business being utterly thrilled that this part of him matches the rest of him in terms of size and intimidation. You will not be taking this joy stick for a test drive. You can get out of this. You’re a very good hunter, and you can evade detection and make a tactical retreat when necessary. And it’s very necessary right now, because you do not want him to wake up and find you attached to him like a love-sick leech.

Slowly, sooo slowly, you slide your arm from where it is slung over his waist, and begin to incrementally scooch backwards, his leg slipping from between both of yours, freezing when he seems to shift a little, and then continuing the slow slide away when he settles again.

You’ve managed to extricate all of your limbs from him, except the one that is currently numb and squashed underneath him. You slowly roll onto your back and contemplate how you’re going to get it out from under him without waking him, when suddenly his arm flops over your waist. You jerk in surprise, eyes flying to his face, but his are still closed. His hand slides from your waist to your hip, and then snakes around to take a big handful of your ass. He makes a little happy noise and then pulls your body into his again. In the process, he has managed to jam his thigh back between your legs. You stare at his face, trying desperately to see if he’s starting to wake yet—how did you even end up in this situation? Then he pulls you even closer, causing his thigh to press deliciously against you. You suppress a whine, because it has been so long since someone has touched you liked this. But of course the person who is touching you is a maniac and is doing so while still asleep. You reach up and pat his cheek to wake him up, simultaneously trying to to pull away from him, but tightens his arms around you again, dipping his head to your shoulder still exposed by his too-big sweater.  You freeze in shock as he inhales deeply and hums, and soft kisses trail from your neck down, and before you can push him away he bites into the meat of your shoulder. The pain, pressure, and warmth of his mouth on your skin have you trying to arch away and into him—you do whine this time, loudly, because it hurts but you want.

Suddenly, his whole body seems to tense. The pressure on your shoulder eases, and he sighs, his breath cool drifting along your over-heated skin.

“Good morning.”

You open your eyes, realizing you’d been squeezing them shut through the last few moments, and meet his sleepy gaze.

"Were you awake?” you demand, terrified of the answer. Because if he was, then what the hell was he thinking, pretending to be asleep? And if he wasn't, was he just dreaming? Was it you in his dream, or was he dreaming of someone else? You don't want to know. You have to know.

“Your rather loud response to my love bite woke me up, I think,” he smiles softly. "I didn't realize that I was... dreaming until then."

“So you didn’t mean to—” you start to pull away.

He tightens his arm around your waist. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Sylus, let go. I’m sorry for not waking you fast enough. I was just—I was just shocked. I know you wouldn’t have done that otherwise.” You struggle, but his arm is a steel bar holding you in place.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have,” he agrees, and you feel whatever fragile, tender root that had been growing in the cracks of your broken heart wither, the dry husk drifting away in an autumn breeze. Replacing that faint feeling of hope, you're livid that you do not share the same teleportation ability that Xavier and Sylus have. If you could, you'd teleport in a poof of glittering light or melodramatic feathers. To anywhere else but here.

You nod, and nod, and nod, because he’s not letting you move but you have to do something or else he’ll see it right on your stupid, open face, and you’d rather he slit your throat than see the pain his rejection is inflicting on you. You had lied to him earlier, about not having anything to hide, about always being honest with him. You've been lying to yourself, and to him, ever since you met him.

“What I mean—” he’s looking at you intently, and you want to cover his eyes with your hands, because as always they’re seeing too much, but suddenly, the doorbell rings through your flat.

You both turn your heads to look at the bedroom door at the same time.

Oh. Fuck.

Xavier.

Sylus turns to look back at you, so close that his nose brushes yours. “Expecting company, kitten?”

“It’s Xavier. Shit.” You try to roll away, and this time he lets you. You grab your phone off the nightstand and see that Xavier has already texted you a few times to see if you’re ready to head to the bookstore yet. The texts grow increasingly concerned the longer you don’t respond. The doorbell rings again. “You have to go. Now.”

You turn to Sylus, who is now lying leisurely on his side, head propped up in his hand, silky silver hair cascading across his forehead, occupying the bed like an imperialist force annexing a weaker neighbor’s territory, with no intention of leaving.

“And what are you going to do?” he asks, eyes drifting from your face, to your shoulder, down to your bare legs.

“I need to answer the door and tell Xavier that I’m running late.”

“Late for what?”

“Sylus, I don’t have time for this. You can’t be here. Xavier helped me get into the N109 zone, he spends a lot of time there—he’s smart enough that if he finds out what you look like, he might eventually be able to figure out who you are. You can’t be here,” you repeat, starting to panic. Sylus may not have any feelings for you beyond friendship or a predator toying with its food, but you still don’t want him to get caught because of you.

“You’re not working today. What plans do you have with him?” he asks, completely ignoring your distress.

“We’re going to the bookstore. We were going to spend our first day free just reading manga and eating junk food,” you rush out impatiently.

Sylus just looks at you for a few beats, the picture of lazy boredom on a weekend morning.

“Okay? Are you satisfied? Can you please leave now?” This is good. You can avoid the inevitable, It was a mistake, thought you were someone else, was dreaming about a giant amorous anthropomorphized ruby, you’re not exactly my type, because my type is someone who has their shit together, can identify what fucking region a certain grape was grown in and its exact soil acidity based on the year of the vintage, my type is someone else, anyone else—you reach down and hit yourself hard in the side of your thigh with a fist to get your head on straight, and start heading to your closet, intent on throwing on a robe or longer shorts so that you don't answer the door looking like you're not wearing any pants.

Sylus's irritated voice follows you. “Satisfied? No, I'm not feeling satisfied. But I would advise against answering the door wearing that.”

You jerk to a halt. “Excuse me?” You turn to find him scowling at you.

He waves a dismissive finger at the sweater and silk shirts you’re still wearing. “I think you should change before you answer the door.”

“I look that bad, huh? Thanks for the advice. You need to be gone when I get back.” You turn, hating everything and everyone, and make your way to the front door.

You throw it open, just as Xavier is lifting his hand to ring your bell again. His sky blue eyes, usually so calm and sleepy, widen when he takes in the dumpster fire that you are today.

“Hi, yeah, sorry. I overslept,” you rush out, hoping you can skip this part and go straight to the moving on with your day and your entire life part. “I just need like, fifteen minutes, and then I’ll be ready.”

“Did you get in a fight with a wanderer last night after we go home?” he asks, hand lifting again, this time toward you, as if he wants to touch you, but then thinks better of it and drops it back to his side. He’s wearing the white hoodie that Sylus stole from him. What even is your life right now?

“What? No, I just had some wine and was really tired.” He’s staring at you, brow furrowed now, and it takes a minute to realize that he’s staring at the sweater hanging off your shoulder. You suddenly get a really, really bad feeling. “Why?”

He lifts his hand again, and points, but in a kind of timid way, like a little kid who knows that it’s rude to point but can’t help himself anyway so just points a little so that his mom won’t get mad at him. “It looks like a wanderer bit you.”

You lift your own hand and touch your shoulder, and feel the too-warm skin there, the ache spreading deep into the muscle.

“Oooh, yeah. Yes.” You decide that you need to take acting classes. That is what you will do as your new hobby, on your few days off. You’re going to win the best actor award if it kills you, because if it doesn’t kill you, the embarrassment will kill you instead. And you’d rather die convincing everyone that everything is normal and you’re fine, and not from the embarrassment of the fact that your not-boyfriend, not-fuck-buddy, not-interested-at-all, probably not even your friend anymore Sylus accidentally bit you while fucking asleep and left evidence of it for all the world to see. “I did respond to a really minor alert in the neighborhood last night. It was only one wanderer. Hiding in a trash can of all places,” you laugh, not at all sounding unhinged. Convincing. “Bit me pretty good, but it really was nothing, I had completely forgotten about it. So, still on for the bookstore?” you ask, chipper, eager, well-adjusted!

Xavier stares at your shoulder for a few seconds longer, and then just nods. “Yeah, just text me when you’re ready.”

Bless him. You’ve almost put him back to sleep with your absolutely stellar performance. “Okay, great! See you soon.” You back into your flat again and let the door shut with a heavy click.

Xavier stands outside your door for several moments after you’ve scurried back inside. He thinks about how sharp his light blade is. He thinks about how he’s going to use it on whatever motherfucker thinks that he has the right to mark Xavier’s partner like an animal. And then he yawns, and meanders back to his own flat to wait for your text because he has all the time in the world, and the patience to match it. Xavier is your partner, and he’s not going anywhere, anytime soon. If he murders whatever asshole was in your flat last night right now, that might interfere with your bookstore plans with him.

You stand on the other side of the door for a moment, just trying to collect yourself. You lean against the cool surface, look up at your ceiling. Breathe in the smell of shoe leather, oiled metal. Absently you lift your hand to your shoulder. Why didn’t Sylus warn you before you went to open the door? He even admitted that he wouldn’t have … done that to you if he hadn’t been asleep. Why would he just… and then it hits you. He did tell you to change clothes before you answered the door. The asshole just didn’t tell you why. But he would know by now that you’d actually do the opposite of whatever he says, because he’s not the boss of you. He played you like one of his fucking records.

But why the fuck would he want Xavier to see what happened between the two of you? Does he enjoy your humiliation that much?

You have no idea if you’ll ever have the chance to figure him out, especially if he got the hint that you don’t want to see him anytime soon. You shake your head. Even though you should be exhausted after staying up so late and ending up on the human embodiment of a roller coaster with its wheels coming off despite all of your promises to yourself last night, you feel well-rested. You will survive this. You can survive anything.

You head back to your bedroom to confirm that Sylus is actually gone, because last night proved that whether he actually listens when you tell him to leave depends entirely on his own whims. As you enter, the late morning sunlight spills into the room. He really left. The room is empty. The books and various weapons on your nightstands have been stacked neatly and lined up just so. The clothes that had been left haphazardly hanging off your chest of drawer handles or strewn over the floor are nowhere to be seen. It would be the tidiest your bedroom has been in weeks, if not for the fact that your entire bed is covered in a thick layer of black feathers.

“This bitch,” you breathe.

It’s going to take at least two full size trash bags to clean this mess up.

You decide then and there that Sylus doesn’t have a choice about whether he’s going to see you again. You’re going to bag up these feathers and then tar and feather him with them the next time you see his gorgeous, petty fucking face.

[musubiki]

mochi doodle. coco hyping her up to switch to the short-skirt-with-shorts-underneath combo!!

[astonmartinii]

forever and a day | oscar piastri social media au

pairing: oscar piastri x fem long distance reader

nothing can separate them, except maybe 9,000 miles and a couple of oceans.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

oscarpiastri

liked by logansargeant, landonorris and 893,209 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri: finally back in the homeland and reunited with my girl

view all comments

user1: oscary/n nation we are so back

user2: australia always does us so well

yourusername: can you convince mclaren that they should keep paying for our dates

oscarpiastri: i think we were technically working

yourusername: were we? it never feels like work being with you

oscarpiastri: you didn't notice all of the people around us and filming us?

yourusername: i only have eyes for you osc, we know this

oscarpiastri: hehehhehehehee

yourusername: also i have to completely commit you to memory before you fuck off for another couple of months

oscarpiastri: you could always just come with me

yourusername: let me get my degree first, one of us has to be educated osc

oscarpiastri: i have my a-levels? lando doesn't even have gcses

landonorris: why am i catching a stray?

yourusername: because my boyf is smart

landonorris: i've got street smarts 😩

oscarpiastri: you've been catfished like five times already and nearly had your bank details stole?

landonorris: well ... i like to see the best in people?

user3: thank you mclaren for giving us the oscar and y/n content

user4: and the proof that love still exists

user5: terminally lonely girls block mclaren, oscar and y/n.- it's for your mental health

user6: or if you have commitment issues this is some good exposure therapy

logansargeant: oh who did you force to be your photographer this time?

yourusername: you never learnt reading comprehension in school?

logansargeant: i can read i just choose not to read the soppy shit you and oscar say to each other

oscarpiastri: leave us alone

yourusername: you have a problem with us no matter what 🤨

logansargeant: do NOT make me the bad guy for complaining about hearing your guys' sexy time

oscarpiastri: we spend A LOT of time away from each other

yourusername: and by the sounds of it, you could learn a lot

logansargeant: you know what WHATEVER

user7: they terrorise logan so much from opposite sides of the world, pray for him when she can travel with oscar

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 83,409 others

yourusername: i love any piece of you osc but the separation anxiety is kicking my ass

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user9: oscar gave y/n a plush of himself

user10: no cause he's literally such a black cat

yourusername: he blushes just like that as well

user11: oh really?

user12: want to share with the class

yourusername: that's for my eyes only

oscarpiastri: i'm glad he got to you safely

yourusername: i just about tackled the postman 😔

oscarpiastri: poor graham, we should get him a better christmas gift this year

yourusername: yeah sorry graham but you sprayed the kitty with your cologne and i can't be held responsible for my feral behaviour

user13: they get their postman christmas gifts?

user14: they have the same postman?

user15: yes, y/n lives with his family

user16: really?

yourusername: they can't get rid of me

oscarpiastri: they also love her as much as i do (literally, i have to fight my sisters to spend time with y/n)

landonorris: so this is why we were waiting so long for you at the airport

oscarpiastri: well, yes. it's very important i get y/n a souvenir

landonorris: i could've slept for like an hour longer?

yourusername: just because you don't understand true romance lando 🤨

landonorris: i know romance!

yourusername: maccies in a hotel room is not romance

landonorris: you guys are just freaks about each other that's not my fault

user17: y/n hanging out with oscar's sisters is so precious

user18: if they aren't married soon i will no longer believe in love

user19: they're 23?

user20: tbf i forget that because they've been together since they were like 15

logansargeant

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri and 351,904 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

logansargeant: oscar forced me to post this so y/n could 'remember how hot he is while he's away at war'

view all comments

user21: oh wow... thank you logan!

user22: this is not exactly what i was expecting when i opened instagram but alas i'm not complaining

yourusername: WOOF WOOF WOOF

oscarpiastri: 🤭🤭🤭

logansargeant: someone please remind me why i'm friends with you two

yourusername: because we're your only friends?

yourusername: wait sorry that was mean

yourusername: i just get protective

logansargeant: you're telling me 🤨

oscarpiastri: i'm swooning 🥰🩷

logansargeant: i give up

alexalbon: why am i a part of this oscar thirst trap? why are you posting a thirst trap of oscar?

yourusername: HE'S A GOOD FRIEND

alexalbon: i didn't consent to be part of your weird long distance lust

yourusername: oh girl ain't no one looking at you when oscar is there

alexalbon: you know what you're mean :( i want you to stay in australia

yourusername: i promise i'm a lot nicer when i'm with osc, the distance makes me cranky

alexalbon: i see, remind me to never take oscar out in a race

logansargeant: i think that's wise - i heard her yelling down the phone about carlos

yourusername: i had to block him to stop myself

user23: i am honestly so confused

user24: i think we just let them do it, we'll never understand

landonorris: do NOT ask me to do this @oscarpiastri

yourusername: booooooo you're such a debbie downer

oscarpiastri: he's just s fuckboy he doesn't understand

landonorris: i don't think i'll ever understand you two

yourusername

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri and 119,056 others

yourusername: one degree hotter xx

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user26: fucking finally now we can get y/n in the paddock every weekend

liked by oscarpiastri

user27: mclaren social media team seen celebrating just as much

oscarpiastri: and i didn't think it was possible for you to get any hotter

yourusername: maybe a piastri jersey?

oscarpiastri: and a ring?

yourusername: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

yourusername: you know i'll never say no to that

yourusername: do nOT propose through an instagram comment oscar - nicole

oscarpiastri: noted 😔

yourusername: but name the time and the place and i'll be there baby

user28: so we could defo get a y/noscar proposal this season

user29: i would be so insufferable it's unbelievable

user30: the way i just know it was killing oscar not being able to go

user31: did you guys see the kicked dog eyes in the paddock yesterday 😭😭😭

oscarpiastri: they had to force me on the plane

landonorris: no they legit were about to call mick or pato

user32: did y/n convince you to not run away to australia?

oscarpiastri: maybe ....

charles_leclerc: ummmmm who is this oscar? why hasn't your father been introduced?

yourusername: HI

oscarpiastri: y/n is the love of my life and you SHOULD be able to meet her next race weekend

yourusername: so have i also got another father-in-law?

charles_leclerc: you seem to terrorise the other drivers a lot so - yeah!

yourusername: at your service (unless it's you hitting oscar, then there's no MERCY)

charles_leclerc: okay you are kinda scary wtf

oscarpiastri

liked by alexalbon, yourusername and 1,203,677 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri: unbelievably proud of you and everything you've done darling. i'm so sorry i couldn't be there to celebrate with you, but i'll make it up to you before you know it xx

view all comments

user33: oh to be loved like this

user34: they make me feel lonely like the world apart i can only imagine how insane it'll be when they're back together 24/7

yourusername: i love you so so so much osc. you've done more than you could know by supporting me through my education. we have the rest of our lives to be together, so don't beat yourself about it now

oscarpiastri: but i'm so proud of you and just wanted to be there to celebrate you :(

yourusername: osc i can feel you pouting through the screen baby

landonorris: he really is and it's kinda annoyingly cute

yourusername: of course it's cute it's oscar 🙄

landonorris: right so i'll take back my congratulations then

yourusername: FINE BY ME

user35: obsessed with how y/n and lando already have this weird sibling bond

user36: it's the weird relationship that you kind of love between your gf and friend

user37: it's all cute until they actually fight

yourusername: if he makes any wrong step against oscar i'll crush that loser

landonorris: ahhaaha funny joke

yourusername: you're a 5'5 twig, i could snap you in half

user38: i need them to recreate the last photo when oscar wins his first race

user39: i think pinterest would explode

yourusername: no but no joke, i love you so much osc and i can't wait to start the new chapter of our life

oscarpiastri: i love you too xx

oscarpiastri: sorry to my sisters but they're losing their live in stylist because you're never ever leaving me ever again

oscarpiastri: that makes me sound like a possessive asshole but i just have attachment issues

yourusername: no these years since you started in f3 have been actual hell without you and i never want to leave your side again

yourusername: i just love watching you do what you love

oscarpiastri: i'll always love you more

user40: who's chopping onions wtf

user41: i'm invoicing them for my therapy

mclarenf1

liked by fredvesti, arthurleclerc and 1,256,046 others

tagged: yourusername

mclarenf1: don't tell oscar but we've got a surprise guest for him 🤫

view all comments

user45: take me out back and shoot me please and thank you

user46: so real of you

landonorris: is this why his phone is currently hidden in my drivers room?

mclarenf1: maybe ...

landonorris: if he fights me for it that's on you guys

mclarenf1: wait admin has just realised you definitely shouldn't be on your phone

landonorris: LOL

user47: mclaren you better not fuck this race for oscar because i need my big rom com ending kiss in parc ferme

user48: omg romance writers do i have a plot for you

user49: the way this would seem so unrealistic if i read it in a book but these fools really have been together for like eight years and are unbelievably in love

yourusername: heheheheh thanks for flying me out on such late notice xx

mclarenf1: no worries queen

yourusername: you guys better be on top form, you can't hide from me in the garage

mclarenf1: hahahaha 😅😅😅

user50: is y/n the reincarnation of nicole scherzinger? like a wag that goes fucking mental

user51: and wears team merch with pride

yourusername: nicole is a queen (thank you for one direction queen) but you guys do not want me on the microphone

user52: you and oscar karaoke? please?

yourusername: we once did breaking free together but you'll have to bother logan for that video

user53: OSCAR PLEASE WIN AND DO DRUNK KARAOKE

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 1,556,308 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri: i told you she was my lucky charm. overjoyed to get my first win, it's a dream come true and to have the love of my life with me makes it even sweeter. y/n, i'll love you forever and a day x

view all comments

user54: CONGRATS OSCAR 🧡🧡🧡

user55: i'm having such a proud mum moment

user56: tears in my eyes

user57: not as much as y/n that girl was going THROUGH IT

user58: we need her mascara, cause that shit didn't budge

yourusername: I AM SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU OSCAR

yourusername: I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

yourusername: AND THANK YOU FOR WAITING FOR ME TO BE AT A RACE TO WIN

oscarpiastri: i guess i just knew in my bones you were here and simply had to win

oscarpiastri: i just wanted to see you so bad that i drove the fastest to the finish line

yourusername: well tell them to hurry up and debrief so we can celebrate 👀

oscarpiastri: ON MY WAY

user59: maybe we will get that karaoke?

logansargeant: congrats bro! @landonorris i hope you brought some ear plugs, if not you might want to start drinking now

landonorris: SOMEONE GET ME A DRINK STAT

yourusername: i'll personally buy you a drink because i'm going to rock his world tonight

oscarpiastri: 😎😎😎

landonorris: and here i thought you were my little innocent teammate

yourusername: there's nothing little about him

landonorris: EWWWW GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE

yourusername: all celebrations aside, i'm so proud and i'll love you forever and always x

oscarpiastri: it's always been you and it will always be you

yourusername: i love you

oscarpiastri: i love you too

fin.

note: WOOOOOOOOOO OSCAR!!! (i'm ignoring everything else to do with the race, oscar is my king)

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

you had me at 'hello'

the sequel to daddy all along

pairing: dbf! leon x f! reader

cw: alcoholism, p in v, masturbation, oral sex

word count: 10k

a/n: "when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible" <3 (quote from when harry met sally, title from jerry maguire)

thank you to @thevirgincherry for your feedback!

Leon remembers when you used to call him on the phone as a child. You’d interrupt his work, and Hunnigan would tell him to hang up, but he’d ignore her for a few minutes. You were too important. You’d pace around the living room, telling him about your day at school, what you did at recess with your friends and the art project you’re working on. He loved to hear about it. Most days, it was the only good news he’d get.

It pained him to hang up, but he promised you he’d call to say goodnight, and he did. Even when he drank, he stepped outside the bar and tried his best not to slur his words.

“Do you have a daughter?” A woman he’d go home with would ask.

“No,” he’d say, but it felt like it.

When FaceTime was invented, it became your favorite activity. Leon would pay extra for an international phone plan and for wifi in every hotel room, so he could talk to you. He kicked a woman out of bed once to speak to you. He never saw her again and hasn’t thought of her since.

“It’s an important thing for work,” he told the woman.

She knew he was lying when she heard a little girl’s voice on the other end while she was putting her clothes back on. He didn’t bat an eye at her expression - confusion, distaste, bitterness, who cares? Not Leon.

You’re his favorite girl, the only girl he’s ever cared about.

The morning after your 21st, Leon gently shrugged you off him. He washed his face in the mirror, hoping to wipe away the previous night’s mistakes, but he was still the same old Leon. A fuck-up, an idiot, a pervert who slept with a girl he’d known since she was a baby.

When you woke up, he was in the shower. You’d go on to ask him if he jerked off, and he’d say no, but he did. It wasn’t lust, it was procrastination - five more minutes before he’d have to face you. He tried to think about Ada with one hand on the wall and the other on his dick. Your name slipped out when he came, and it felt like another violation, in addition to lying and then cumming down the drain with your shampoo bottles - the ones containing the sweet scent of you - scrutinizing him.

A long time ago, Leon promised he’d never lie to you. It was the one promise he’d kept - until that morning when he told you ‘something important came up, and he had to leave ASAP’.

You could see it in his eyes, but you took out your anger on your father, who deserved it more after he came home that afternoon with an obvious hangover. You screamed at him until he told you to go upstairs. You were already on your way.

Leon only knew how to deal with his problems in three ways: call his therapist, drink, or fuck. That day it was either drink or fuck because there was no way he could tell his therapist that his mental crisis was caused by fucking his friend’s daughter, a girl who was decades younger than him. It wasn’t an illegal act, but he still felt like he deserved to have the cops called on him. I should get the death penalty, he thought. Unfortunately, capital punishment was not allowed in D.C., but Leon considered the fact that his actions may have been heinous enough for him to be granted an exception. 

He decided on alcohol. He went to the ABC store, bought a handle of whiskey, got home, and dumped it down the kitchen sink. Nope. He promised everyone he was done with that. His therapist, Hunnigan, Claire, Chris, himself, and most importantly, you. He promised you.

Sex it was, then. He never promised anyone he’d be celibate. Leon was well over 40, so he didn’t use Tinder - though he had heard of it. He looked through his contacts list like a little black book, and his thumb hovered over a few names. He debated and picked Claire. Another idiotic decision.

“Hello?” Her voice already sounded suspicious. He didn’t call Claire on the phone often. They usually stuck to emails and texts.  

“Hey, how are you?”

“I’m okay, Leon. Why are you calling?”

“I just wanted to talk. Do I need another reason?”

“Are you drunk?”

“No.”

There was a long pause until she said,“If I promise not to bring it up again, will you admit that you’re trying to get me to hook up with you?”

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Goodbye, Leon.” She hung up on him. He should’ve expected it. He texted her an apology later, which she accepted.

Soon after, before he could make another mistake, he received a text from a number he hadn't saved. “Are you in D.C.?” It read.

“Who is this?”

“A.W.” She wouldn’t even sign her full name - didn’t want a paper trail. Classic Ada.

“Yeah, I’m home right now.”

“I’ll be there in an hour or so. I have some things to finish up.”

“K” Leon texted and left the door unlocked.

He knew it was her by the click of her heels.

“In the bedroom,” he called.

“Perfect,” she said when she reached the threshold, “Nice of you to be ready for me.”

He shrugged and smiled because he was tired and had been in that position for hours, but he’d pretend like he’d done her a favor by getting down to a pair of sweatpants before she arrived.

She worked on getting out of her dress. “Not going to help?” she asked, annoyed.

“Thought you could do it yourself,” he said, teasing her.

“Thought you treated your guests nicely.”

“I’m about to.” And he did. At least, nice enough. They didn’t talk during sex because they never do. They’d worked out the logistics of their arrangement long ago. It was a pretty sweet deal, especially since there were never any condoms involved. Leon didn’t mind paying the 40 or so for Plan B in the morning. He couldn’t give less of a fuck what the cashier at the pharmacy thought of him. 

“Can I talk to you?” he asked after round two. He used to have more stamina. 

“About what?�� She was slightly more interested and less suspicious than Claire was when he’d called her earlier that night.

“I need advice.”

“That’s new. I’m flattered.”

“You know that girl, my friend’s daughter?”

“The one you’re always gushing about? She’s practically your daughter.”

Yeah, you really were his little girl, considering even Ada had heard about you from Leon. 

“Don’t say that.” His defensiveness was a confession in and of itself.

“You slept with her,” she said, matter–of-factly.

“How’d you know that?”

“I can see the guilt in your eyes. She’s an adult, right?”

“Yeah, just turned 21.”

“Okay. Nothing illegal, then. Just… an interesting situation.”

“Yeah, I fucked things up pretty bad.”

She hummed in agreement. There was no pity, but no ridicule either. She cared enough not to laugh at his idiocy.

“What do you want me to say?” she asked.

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

“Either be with her or don’t. Don’t string her along.”

“You’re one to talk,” he mumbled. He wanted the remark to pass through the air as a bit of his dry wit and not his eternal bitterness.

“I’m not stringing you along. You know that this is all we’re ever going to be.”

“That’s what I told her.” 

“But she’s 21. You’re much older, and if you can’t wrap your pretty little head around this arrangement yet, then…” 

He was 21 when he met Ada. And she broke his heart without giving him any reason to think whatever they had was more than a kiss. Ironic. He wondered if she knew the way she was playing with his head at the time. He’d always liked to believe she had a good heart, it was just deep, deep, deep down under all the layers of mystique and her cold disposition.

He was supposed to be the good man, the hero, a beacon of morality, of all things just. But he was on Ada’s level now. Ada the heartbreaker.  

“Can you just tell me what to do?” He asked, pissed off at his own indecision. 

“Why? So you can blame me later when you don’t like the choice you make?”

She knew him well. He stayed silent. 

“I’m not going to be your scapegoat,” she said.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but thank you for your honesty.”

She laughed - almost, but it was genuine amusement because, despite it all, she did care. People never really stop caring do they? She left in the morning and didn’t need an excuse, not like Leon did with you.

You told yourself you wouldn’t call, but weeks went by, and you hadn’t heard anything. You were wondering if was alive at that point. And you missed him. So you called.

His phone vibrated on the bedside table; he picked it up, looked at the caller ID, and saw your name. A part of him still got that same warm, fuzzy feeling that he always felt when you called, and the other part was full of dread and guilt.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” you said.

There was a lull. Dead air, not peaceful silence. 

“How are you?”

“I’m okay. How are you?”

“Doin’ fine.” It was a lie. You missed him too much to be considered “fine.”

Your hands should not have been traveling downward, but they were. They had a mind of their own that lived between your thighs. You couldn’t help the fact that his groggy voice made you ache.

“What are you doing right now?” You suppressed the urge to ask him what he was wearing and where he was. You imagined him sprawled out in bed, naked and ready for you.

“Nothing. I was lying in bed, nodding off when you called.” He wasn’t nodding off, but he was in bed, mind filled with memories and stress per usual.

“Sorry to interrupt your relaxation, then.”

“It’s no big deal.”

He told himself that he’d keep one hand on the phone and the other fidgeting with whatever he could find so as not to reach any lower than his waistline. But there was something about your voice, the way you were talking - it was different than usual. He was probably just imagining things, but it sounded like you were touching yourself.

He was getting hard already, and it was distracting. He had to do something about it. It was either jerk off to the sound of your voice or think about something horrific and grotesque to make his dick go soft. He spent enough time thinking about dead bodies and parasites, so he indulged himself and decided to worry about the consequences later. It’s not like you’d know anyway. Leon could be stealthy.

“What are you up to?” he asked.

“Calling you.” Your little laugh was light and airy, and maybe he wasn’t just imagining things. It was the voice you used when you asked him, so coquettish, to kiss you.

You thought you heard him moving around, and then he dropped the phone. He was trying to hold the phone between his ear and his shoulder while taking his pants off.

“Sorry. Dropped you,” he said when he retrieved the phone.

“How’d you do that? It just slipped out of your hands?”

Fuck. She caught on quick. Too smart for her own good. 

“Guess so.” He didn’t have an excuse. All of the blood that was supposed to be in his brain was in his cock, which was now painfully hard.

“What have you been doing these past weeks?”

“Work mostly.” Thinking about you. I can’t get you off my mind, no matter how many other women I sleep with.

“Anything fun?” your question felt pointed even though it wasn’t.

“A little bit.”

“Like what?”

“Some things should stay a secret. I’ll tell you when you’re older.” He would never tell you about his escapades with Ada.

You thought you knew what he meant. You couldn’t decide whether to be jealous or not. You were too focused on remembering what he looked like during sex, and it was a glorious sight. Someone should paint him, sculpt him, anything to preserve his beauty, you thought. It was worthy of a new renaissance. 

“Have you been up to anything fun?” he asked, not sure whether he wanted to hear about any of your sexual escapades or not.

“No. Just lounging around the house mostly.”

“Hangin’ with your dad?”

“Can we not talk about dad right now?” Your dad really kills the mood.

“Are you guys not in a good place?”

“It’s not that, I just don’t wanna think about him right now. I’d rather think about you.”

The words came out more suggestive than you intended. You could hear his breath hitch, and it might have been arousal, or it might have been surprise, but he knows.

“Oh? You’re thinking about me?”

“What else would I be thinking about?”

“I don’t know.”

He coughed to hide a groan that wanted to leave his mouth while you were biting your lip to hold back any moans.

“Leon…” you said, and it was the same voice you used to call him daddy the night he found out what it felt like to be inside you. 

“Uh-huh?”

“How do you feel about me?”

I love you. “You know how I feel about you. I think you’re great. You’re a great girl.”

“A good girl?”

Fuck it. He’ll take the bait. “Yes, you’re a good girl.”

“Even now?” He could hear your pouty lips and dewy eyes. He could see the image of you coming undone beneath him. Angelic, soft, heavenly, ineffably so. 

“Why wouldn’t you be? Are you up to something… naughty?”

“Maybe. It depends. Are you?”

He didn’t answer because you both knew that you were in the same state - naked and needy.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“In bed.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Your shirt.”

The one he left there. It only aroused him more. It was a white t-shirt, and the fabric was thin enough that if Leon were there, he’d get a peek of your nipples hardening through the fabric. He could slip his hands under your shirt and play with your tits. He could, if only things were different.

“What else?”

“Nothing.”

Nothing. You are naughty.

“Nothing?”

“Are you wearing clothes?”

“Barely.”

“Why did you drop the phone before? Taking your dick out?” You were so flippant and crass that it should’ve sounded ridiculous, but Leon was too hard to care. 

“Might have been.”

“Did I catch you while you were already jerking off or…?” Or was it me?

“No, I wasn’t when I picked up.”

“But you are now.” It was not a question.

He took a deep breath. “I’ll admit it, as long as you admit you’re touching yourself too.”

“I am.”

“Is that why you called?”

“No, I wanted to check on you.” It was true. At least, in your conscious mind, but maybe your subconscious always knew that you wanted to do this.

“And what? You like my voice that much?”

“Yeah.”

Leon closed his eyes and allowed it to happen, giving himself this one little sin because he’d been good for so long, more than good - heroic.

“What are you thinking about, baby?”

“You, Daddy. I told you.”

Daddy? Jesus Christ. Leon was sure he was pushing his luck with God. He was getting more than he deserved in this bargain. Honestly, he never deserved anything you gave him. You were so perfect and he felt like he was ruining you. 

“Be specific, princess.”

“I wish you were touching me.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“I want your fingers inside me.”

“My fingers, huh?”

“No, more than that. I want your mouth, too. I want all of you.”

Your voice faltered mid-sentence like you were getting closer to your peak, but by the end of your statement, your confidence overrode anything else. You didn’t just want his fingers, his mouth, his dick; you wanted all of him. You wanted his fucking heart and soul.

“You have me.”

“I want you here, inside me.”

He needed to be inside you. Fuck his dignity, fuck his sensibility, fuck his morality. He needed to feel your warmth around him again.

“I want that too.”

“Did it feel good for you? Did you like the way it felt with me?”

You were begging for a yes, and it was easy for him to give it to you. The truth is easy.

“The best. You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“You’re lying.”

“I wish I was lying, princess.”

“Leon,” you whined, and it didn’t matter that you weren’t physically there; the sound reverberated through his dick, and he was dangerously close.

“I know,” he said, “Me too.”

“Can I? Please?” You didn’t have to ask, but it was hot when you did.

Leon wanted to make you beg, but he needed you to come first, and if he heard you say please again, he’d risk coming before you - no, he would come before you. He was already teetering on the edge.

“Come for me,” he said.

And you did. You were muffling your moans with your hand over your mouth, but you were close enough to the phone that Leon could hear it. He was lucky he was alone because he didn’t hold back when he moaned out your name. He shouldn’t have done that at all, though. Just another tally to add to the endless list of sins.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, meaning it two-fold. Please do not mention this.

“Am I going to see you again?”

“Yes, you’ll see me again.”

I’m never going to leave you, and you know it.

The next time you two saw each other, Leon picked you up from the hospital. You were not the patient, thank God. It was your dad. Drunk driving accident. Leon was more pissed than anything else.

The nurse asked if they should call your mom, and you laughed. Dare you to try, you wanted to say. They understood.

“Is there someone you can call?” They could see the loneliness behind your stoic facade.

“I can try.”

You called Leon.

“Hey,” he answered, not knowing his nonchalance was inappropriate for the circumstances.

You didn’t cry when you drove to the hospital. You’ve been your father’s emergency contact since you turned 18. Your heart was beating out of your chest, but no tears fell. You didn’t break until you heard Leon’s voice.

“I need you,” you cried into the phone.

If it weren’t for your tone, he’d think you meant, “I need you in my bed,” maybe even, “I need you inside me.”

But you were crying. He could hear the tears before they’d fallen.

“Where are you?” He masked his panic with sternness.

“Hospital,” you managed to say through your sniffles.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Leon was already grabbing his keys and jacket, imagining the worst.

“It’s not me, it’s dad.”

Leon was only slightly relieved. He doesn’t want your father dead, but you’re his girl; you can’t die on him.

“I’ll be right there.”

Leon didn’t drive fast, he drove safely. 

“Name?” The woman working at the front desk asked.

“Leon Kennedy.”

“Relationship to the patient.”

“A friend. His daughter called me. I’m here to come get her.” He knew they’d want more of an answer than ‘friend’, and he was more than just a friend. He spoke with such conviction as if it were his right to be there as if they had to let him see you.

You didn’t talk on the way home - not to your house, but to Leon’s apartment. You insisted. You couldn’t be in that house, and Leon knew precisely why. 

It was over a decade ago. You were at least 6 or 7, but no more than 10. It was one of those things that Leon tried to forget.

You called him on the landline and gripped the phone with both hands, slippery with sweat.

“Leon, I need you.” He swore he could hear a whispered ‘help’ at the end of your sentence, or maybe it was just his instinct.

Thank God you called his cell. He talked to you while he drove.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“Dad. I don’t know what happened.”

“Is he okay?”

“No. He’s in the kitchen. On the floor. He’s not moving.”

“Is he breathing?”

“I think so.”

“Did you call 911?”

“No, I called you.”

I can be your father figure, your guardian, or the one who tucks you in at night, but I am not a paramedic.

“You need to call 911. Tell them what you told me.”

And you did. Leon got there after the ambulance arrived.

“Sir,” they stopped him before he could enter the front door, “we’re dealing with an emergency. We need you to wait out here.”

“I can’t.” He brushed them off and called your name. You came flying out the front door.

“Who are you?” One of them asked.

“Leon,” he said because that was the only answer.

He slept on your bedroom floor that night.

No, he didn’t sleep. He watched you sleep, constantly checking to see if you were breathing.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Leon offered.

“No,” you said.

“No? I don’t have a guest room.”

“I wanna sleep in your bed with you.”

Do you want to sleep with me? Absolutely not.

He raised an eyebrow, not daring to say the words aloud lest he put them into your mind.

They were already there, and you both knew it.

“Not like that. I just don’t wanna be alone. And I don’t think you wanna sleep on the floor.”

“No funny business.” He held out his pinky finger for you to take.

“No funny business. Serious business only.” You took his pinky and cracked a smile that mimicked the one he was holding back. You shouldn’t be laughing at a time like this, but you have to if you want to avoid crying.

Leon let you wear his clothes to sleep because you didn’t bring a change of clothes. You didn’t stop at home. It wasn’t the same as last time.

He was about to turn off the lamp on his bedside table when you said, “Leon?”

He turned to see you lying on your side, facing him.

“Yeah?”

“One kiss?”

“I thought I said no funny business.”

“I’m not trying to be funny at all.”

“I know,” he breathed the words into your mouth as he accepted his fate.

You gripped his shirt for dear life and wrapped one leg around his hip. He expected your tongue to be in his mouth and your hands in his pants soon. But he was wrong. It didn’t go any further than that. Your lips left his, but you never entirely pulled away. You clung to him.

“I just want to feel loved,” you whispered, answering questions he didn’t have the words to ask.

“You are,” he said confidently.

You fell asleep on his chest. This time, he did sleep because he could feel your steady breathing. 

You found him in the kitchen, making breakfast in the morning.

“I have good news,” he said.

“Pancakes?”

“No. I mean - yes, if you want, but that’s not what I meant. Your dad’s awake.”

“Really?”

“Really. You wanna stop by your house on our way over to the hospital? For a change of clothes.”

“I can’t wear this?”

“I don’t think the hospital staff would appreciate you not wearing pants.”

“Why not? They make everyone wear those little hospital gowns anyway.”

“You’re not the patient. Plus, I think your dad would prefer you in pants, too.”

His expression told more than he was willing to say. He’ll think we had sex. We didn’t. But we did.

“I was kidding.”

“I know you were.”

“I’d like to see you in one of those hospital gowns.”

“I hope you never have to.”

“We could play doctor and patient.”

He turned to face you, mouth agape in surprise but holding back his laughter.

“If we did - which we won’t,” he held out a finger as he spoke, “you would be the patient.” Joking is a slippery slope.

Your dad went to rehab. Finally, it was a win in everyone’s book. Leon moved into your guest room during the months that your dad was away. It wouldn’t be fair to leave you alone when your life had been shaken up like that. Leon made it clear from the beginning that you would be sleeping in separate beds. He loved you, but not like that.

“You don’t wanna do it again?” You asked one night.

“Do what again?” Leon was tired from work. You were used to seeing the good version of him. He can’t hide behind the facade of the happy-go-lucky, charming guy 24/7.

“Have sex,” you said, making sure to enunciate, “with me.”

“No. We’re not doing it again.”

“Why? You said it was the best ever.”

“Why? Because this,” Leon gestured between the two of you, “cannot get more complicated than it is. I cannot take care of you and fuck you at the same time.”

You’d never seen him get so serious. Even on your 21st, when you were flirting with him, and he tried to brush you off, he was still being playful, still willing to let you try to win him over.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You stood still until Leon grabbed the remote control and un-paused the TV. Then, you turned on your heels and walked upstairs. You put yourself to bed that night.

You hadn’t realized the possibility that you were anything but an angel in Leon’s eyes. You were a burden to your father, a bigger burden to your mother - enough that she packed her bags and left, but being a burden to Leon - you’d never imagined it. Maybe he was just strong enough to carry the weight of you. Maybe your problems were too heavy for him now.

You didn’t cry. The wells had dried up. You cried them out over your parents. There weren’t any left for Leon. You fell asleep to the sound of the fan overhead.

You and Leon didn’t speak about it. He wanted to say, “I’m sorry for talking to you that way,” but he didn’t want to open the door for you to proposition him again. Maybe you’d just forget, he hoped.

Leon continued to be distant, and you had no one else you could talk to the way you did with him. You had no one but a few friends from high school who were home from college. You loved them, but you couldn’t relate to them a lot of the time. You knew they would accept you if you talked to them about your dad and his situation, but it always felt like there was some sort of wall between you and the rest of the world. One that was never there between you and Leon. Sometimes your dad managed to break through it, too. Sometimes.

As your father progressed in his recovery, you allowed yourself to let optimism back into your life. You went to visit him one weekend and ate lunch out in the yard.

“How’s Leon?”

“He’s fine, I think.”

Your father could see your attempt to evade further discussion.

“Is that it? You used to talk about Leon all the time when you were a kid,” your dad smiled as he spoke, “I’d come home, and you were always blabbing on about ‘Leon, Leon, Leon’.”

“Not much to blab about. He’s just Leon.”

Your dad accepted whatever you were willing to say and whatever you weren’t. He asked you about your friends, too. You’d spoken to him over the phone, and for the first time in a long time, he’d remembered what you spoke about. You didn’t have to retell the same stories because he was sober now. Your dad was drunk so often you thought you hated him, but sitting next to him on that sunny afternoon, you remembered why you loved your dad. He didn’t mention the tear that slipped down your cheek when he pulled back from his goodbye hug. He just gave you an extra “Love you, Kiddo” with a smile before sending you off.

Leon lived in your guest room, but emotionally, he was miles away. He had always been a workaholic, but it felt like he managed to spend even more time at the office than usual. One afternoon, when Leon was at work and you were sulking in your room, you got a call. 

Leon used to schedule his lunch breaks around you. When you were in middle school, struggling to make friends, you sat at a picnic table out in the courtyard on the phone with Leon. You cried on your first day. Your voice shook with every word, “I can’t do this.”

“You can do this.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’re you. You’re my girl.”

You told the mean girls who bullied you that you were talking to your boyfriend who went to a different school and they were stupid enough to buy it. Leon made you promise to stop, threatening to spill your little secret. 

One time, you went to the nurse after having a shitty third period, and subsequently getting cornered by the worst of the bully clique. They told you that you had to call your parents if needed to go home or you had to go back to class. You called Leon and lied, saying you felt too sick. He knew you were lying and he didn’t have to call you out on it for you to see that you’d been caught. You climbed into the passenger seat and he flashed you a look.

“So, what’s really going on?”

You dished out the gossip over milkshakes. You sang Sheryl Crow on the drive from the Burger King drive thru to the pond just far enough away from the school.

“This is a one time deal,” he said, “or Hunnigan will take the stick out of her ass and make me into a kebab with it.”

You laughed so hard that vanilla milkshake came out of your nose. At your expense, Leon laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes.

“You better not tell your dad about this either,” he said.

You pinky promised on it.

Middle school was long gone, but the days of you needing him were not. He was the one to break first. He needed you, too, it seemed. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, princess. I have an important question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“There’s a thing I have to go to for work… that I completely forgot about until Hunnigan reminded me… it’s an event with a bunch of diplomats and shit - point is, they’re sending me as the rep for the DSO and I need a date.”

“What’s your question?”

“Will you be my date?”

“When is it?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow? How formal is it?”

“Black tie-ish, maybe, I guess. I don’t know that much about dress codes. Hunnigan usually helps me with this.”

“I don’t have anything that formal.”

“That’s why I’m giving you advanced notice. So you can get something.”

Fuck it. “Okay,” you said. 

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll be home early tonight and we can figure out the plan for tomorrow.”

You were not Leon’s girlfriend, not his wife, not his daughter, but you were his date for the night. 

This wasn’t the first time you and Leon had danced together. He’d gone to a father-daughter dance with you when you were in kindergarten. Back then, you wore a little pink dress, cheap tulle fabric, and a tiara atop your head. Tonight, your gold dress was form-fitting around the hips with a tailored hem so you could dance without tripping over your feet. It didn’t quite brush the floor, the fabric stayed clean. The slit halfway up your thigh could only be seen when you moved. The classiest tease.

“Dance with me?” you asked with your hand out as an invitation, already inching towards the dance floor.

He thought about it for a good moment, and with an eye roll, he took your hand.

“For you,” he said.

It felt like prom night, in the awkward ‘where are we supposed to put our hands’ way. There was a novelty about it. Your arms around his neck and his carefully placed at your waist, no lower. You swayed back and forth, and Leon felt at peace for the first time in a long time. There was no pressure to be the father you never had and no expectation of the two of you sleeping together. It was just you, beautiful as ever, smiling as you swayed back and forth in time like you’d practiced.

“Did you take dance classes?” you asked him.

“No, why?” he asked.

“You dance effortlessly.”

“It’s not hard. You’re doing it too.”

“But you’re leading.”

“It’s simple,” he says, counting each step 1-2-3-4, slowly leading you through a box step.

Your smile made Leon smile. You made him giddy like no one else.

“Can you twirl me?” you asked because you knew he could unless he’d somehow forgotten how to in the years since he’d done it when you were a little girl.

“Of course,” he said with an unwavering grin as he spun you around, and to your surprise - and delight - he dipped you, too. He even dared to press a kiss to your cheek when he pulled you back up.

I love you. It was on the tip of your tongue, but you kept your mouth closed. Your smile said enough.

You and Leon made the mistake of getting tipsy on champagne, but the open bar was too tempting for either of you to refuse.

“I usually leave these things early,” Leon said to you around midnight. 

“You usually don’t invite me.”

“I should more often because you are a great dance partner.” It became effortless once you got the hang of it, so you both danced until your feet hurt, and then you danced a little more. 

“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed my dancing because I’ll probably never walk again after tonight,” you said, leaning onto him for support, “I need to get these shoes off.”

Wait until we get home, he tried to say, but what came out was, “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

Leon had complimented you a thousand times. This should not have felt so novel. You were always his pretty princess, right? But his smile was not light and playful like it usually was with you. The look on his face was so sincere. The redness rising in his cheeks was the confession. It was real. 

“Should we go home?” You asked, secretly hoping you could get him to crawl in bed with you when you got there. 

“We have to wait until one of us sobers up enough to drive unless you want to get a cab…” he said, “or, we could get a room.”

Leon’s face lit up, almost like he was proud of himself for coming up with the idea - a little giddy about it, too. 

You had an even better idea to accompany his genius plan. “Can you hold the glasses while I get us a bottle?” You whispered. 

“What?” He whispered back. 

“Here.” You thrust your champagne flute at him after you down what was in it. “I’m going to go grab us something.”

“Wait,” Leon said, stopping you. 

“It’s not like they’re going to miss it.”

“I didn’t say ‘no’, I said, ‘wait’. Let me book us a room first. Then, we'll come back to conduct your little ‘operation’.”

Leon made mistakes, but he wasn’t completely careless. He flashed you two room keys a few moments later. 

“Take this,” he said, handing you one, “and go up to the fourth floor, room 405, take the glasses. I’ll get the bottle.”

You nodded and snuck out. You were lucky that no one was in the elevator to catch you with stolen goods since you didn’t have a jacket or a big enough purse to hide them in. You opened the door to find a lovely room with only one bed for the both of you to share. 

“Perfect,” you said to yourself. You stepped out of your shoes and slipped off your dress. You were down to only a thong, no bra. Seducing Leon was a secondary motive. You really just wanted to get out of your clothes. 

You covered yourself with the sheets before Leon walked in. You wanted it to be a surprise, and you were freezing your ass off. He swallowed hard when he saw your dress pooled on the floor. 

“So?” He asked, holding up the bottle. “Want me to do the honors?”

“Yes, please.”

He poured one glass for each of you and said, “A toast?”

You nodded and held up your glass, giving him the go ahead. 

He hesitated. “A toast to you,” he said, “for being the prettiest girl in every room.”

You clinked glasses with him and tried not to look too emotional. 

“Like Celine and Jesse, right?”

“Hm?”

“Stealing the champagne. In Before Sunrise they steal a bottle of wine and wine glasses.”

“Yeah, I forgot about that. I think I’m Celine and you’re Jesse, though.”

“You do? Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have.”

You put your glass on the bedside table while Leon took off his shoes and his jacket. He left his glass sitting on the dresser next to the TV. Every rational part of his mind would be telling him not to do this, but they had all been lulled to sleep by the alcohol. 

He didn’t climb into bed next to you. He leaned over and kissed you. It was better than you remembered. You reached out and pulled him in again when he pulled away to take a breath. This time he didn’t argue, he leaned into the kiss. It was more passionate than the last time you’d done this. 

Leon murmured something about taking his pants off and you made no effort to stop him. The room was quiet minus the clinking sound of his belt buckle and then the pop of a button and the pulling of a zipper. You’d seen Leon’s dick before. You were eager to see it again, and yet, waited patiently while you watched him undress. His calloused hands ran down his torso, taking his shirt off button by button. He hung up his clothes in the closet, though he’d send them to the dry cleaners regardless. He wasn’t sexy, hot, DILF-ish. He was beautiful. You pretended you were watching your husband take off his suit after a long day at work. A familiar man, one you’d chosen to lie down next to every night. You longed for that choice. 

He returned to you in nothing but his underwear, matching you in his state of undress. 

“Wanna let me in?” He asked. 

You lifted the covers. When he got under the sheets, he lay down on his side facing you. Your bodies drifted closer to each other until your skin was touching his. His lips were on yours again. You weren’t sure whether or not to ask. You didn’t want to shatter the delicate moment. 

His hands roamed your body, ending up on your waist. 

“Can I touch you?” you asked. 

“Mhm,” he said. Not a reluctant yes, but a guilty one. If he didn’t say it, maybe it wasn’t so bad. 

He watched as you palmed him through the fabric of his underwear. His breath hitched, and you asked, “Can I go down on you?”

He didn’t respond at first. “Please?” You asked. 

“Yeah,” he said. His gaze was hazy and warm despite his icy blue eyes. He changed his position so that you could be on top of him. You kissed down his stomach, making your way down to the v-line of his hips. He pulled the covers down before you could dip your head below them. You thought it was a courtesy. So you could breathe. 

He said, “I wanna see you.”

You were slightly nervous for your performance, but he looked pleased with the show by the time you’d gotten his dick out of his pants. You licked a stripe up the side while you looked into his eyes. He rubbed your cheek and smiled. 

You took him into your mouth, slowly easing yourself down so as not to gag. You couldn’t go all the way down, but he didn’t mind at all. He was focused on trying to keep his eyes from closing and his head from lolling back. 

His breath was ragged and his hands ran through your hair. He didn’t dare move his hips. 

“Fuck,” he said, “C’mere.”

It was clear he was getting close. He pulled you up so that you were on top of him, your noses touching. He asked in a whisper, “Do you wanna do this?”

He was nervous. You could hear it in his voice. You’d had sex before. It wasn’t your first time doing this with each other. But, it was your first time making love. Something Leon hadn’t done in so many years it felt brand new to him, too. 

You nodded and he swiftly flipped you over, so he was on top. He was going to take care of you. He always took care of you. That was the one thing that never changed between the two of you.

He kissed you with such a passion that every other kiss you’d shared before that was put to shame. Every time he touched you, he did so with reverence. The last time you were naked and entangled, it was morally dubious at best, a cardinal sin at worst. This was something holy.

He slipped your thong down your thighs and you kicked it off, letting it disappear somewhere in the sheets. He’d peeled back the final layer that stood between your skin and his. Leon paused. Everything paused. All that was left was your heavy breathing, matching his, and the thrum of your heartbeat, hard, but steady in your chest. Sure of its own existence more than ever at that moment. Leon ran his hands over your entire body, making sure to learn the way every atom made up your physical form. He understood you more than ever when his hands grazed your inner thighs. Your breath hitched when he brushed his fingertips over your clit. 

Then, he began to finger you, getting you ready for him - which didn’t take very long. 

You felt the head of his cock prodding at your entrance, and he asked, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

It took you a moment, but you realized what he meant: I don’t have a condom. 

“Yeah,” you said, confidently as the thought of feeling him inside you without any barrier made you more aroused. 

He began with slow thrusts. He kept his body close to yours. He didn’t increase his speed, but you could feel him deeper inside you. When he was finally fully encased by your warmth, he groaned. You could feel his cock pulsate and it made you moan. He never pulled all the way out, he stayed deep inside you for as long as he could, rocking his hips slowly. You wished for your bodies to melt into one. This was the closest you’d ever get. 

It didn’t make you scream or cry or swear, but your breath quickened and your legs trembled. You got close to the edge faster than the last time. It took all of Leon’s willpower not to come when you did. You didn’t warn him, though he saw it coming. You arched your back and dragged your nails down his back. You could apologize later if you even remembered. He pulled out just in time to paint your thighs with thick white ropes.

There was the briefest moment of clarity. The duality of ‘this was a mistake’ and ‘I love you’ was at the forefront of both your minds. 

“Don’t think about it,” your eyes said when he returned with a wet washcloth to wipe you down. 

He got into bed beside you and pulled you close. 

You didn’t talk about that night, but things got marginally better. In some ways, it was like the sex had smoothed things over. You noticed the creases forming next to Leon’s eyes when he smiled at you - it wasn’t forced anymore. But that was all it was. When you brushed up against him in the kitchen, he walked past you, not thinking anything about it. You wanted his arms encircling your waist, his face in your neck, pressing kisses to your skin. Since that night, your thoughts were filled with wedding bands, baby clothes, watching Leon get dressed every morning from your shared bed. You wondered sometimes how well he remembered that night in the hotel. His credit card sure did. 

You started spending time with friends. You needed to get out of the house before you made yourself crazy. When you did go out, you stayed out late, and Leon gave you the typical “if you’re going to drink, don’t drive,” which was all too pertinent given your dad’s situation.

You didn’t drink that night, so you did drive home. Your friend had a family obligation the next day - oh, what it would be like to have one of those, you thought. 

You got home around midnight after having been out since the afternoon. You walked inside, took off your shoes, and planned to go to your room until you heard rustling coming from the living room. You walked into the living room, your living room, your father’s living room, to see Leon balls-deep in some woman you’d never seen before.

With messy hair falling upon his forehead and sweat beading on his brow, Leon locked eyes with you. The mystery woman was facing away. You could only see her brown hair on the throw pillow and her legs wrapped around Leon’s hips. You bolted upstairs, worried you’d be physically ill if you stayed in that room for one second longer.

This time, you did cry - after screaming into your pillow. This was worse than leaving you. There was no contract between the two of you about being with other people; rather, he’d specifically told you to find someone else the first time you’d had sex. It was a one time thing. But it was a one time thing that happened twice, more than twice if you count the time over the phone. Every act of love you shared, no matter how right it felt, was still a broken promise, still a foolish decision, just kicking more dents into your fragile relationship.

This was the greatest violation in all of human history. You wanted to tattle to your father, but what would that do? Yeah, fucking on his couch would get Leon a read of the riot act, but to truly explain the severity, the double backstabbing that he’d done, you’d have to tell your father that you’d slept with Leon. And you sure as hell weren’t going to tell him about that.

There was a knock at your bedroom door.

“Go away,” you yelled.

“Open up,” Leon called back.

“Go tell that to the stupid whore downstairs! I don’t want you anymore!”

She can have my sloppy seconds, you thought. But, in reality, weren’t you having someone’s sloppy seconds the whole time? Leon was your first, your only, but you were a notch in his bedpost.

Leon could scold you about calling the woman a whore, but he didn’t. “She’s gone. I kicked her out.”

“Pumped and dumped her, too?” Just like you did with me, Leon. Only you can’t leave physically.

“Excuse me?”

“Come and go, blow your load, and hit the road; how else would you like me to say it?”

“Open the door,” he said again, but you could hear the smile forming on his face. At least you were funny, even if you couldn’t be good enough for the true once-in-a-lifetime love you wanted from him. 

You opened the door, dressed in your PJs, which consisted of a tank top and a pair of panties. He didn’t deserve to look at you like that. You covered yourself with the door.

“What do you want, Leon?”

“To apologize.”

“For what?”

“For having sex in the living room.”

“Why?”

“You know why. All of the reasons why.”

He knew you about as well as you knew yourself. He knew all the ‘whys’ even if he couldn’t verbalize them.

You remember when you were little and got in trouble for a stupid thing you did as a child. You disobeyed Leon in some way - secretly ate a cookie while he wasn’t looking, snuck out of your room to watch TV, messed with his paperwork, etc. You drew him an ‘I’m sorry’ card in crayon.

He wasn’t going to pull out the crayons.

“What can I do to apologize to you?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing. It’s all wrong. It’s all gone. Everything.” Everything we were, everything we could’ve been.

When you were a little girl, you thought you were going to marry Leon. He and your dad both thought it was funny, so you had a fake wedding ceremony. It was innocent at the time. You had ring pops instead of wedding bands, and he kissed you on the cheek, not the lips.

You were going to be ‘Mrs. Kennedy’. Your brain persisted, and Leon only solidified the idea in your mind when he took your virginity. It was the last piece of you that you held from him. He had your soul but never your body. Now, he had that, too. You had an old t-shirt of his and tainted memories. Nothing more.

“What do you mean?” He asked. There was a partial understanding. Everything between the two of you was always going to be different. He’d warned you before you had sex with him. But there was more to it than that.

“I just saw you with that woman. I can never unsee that.”

“You’ve seen me naked before, and you know I’ve had sex with other women.”

And I promised you nothing.

“But, it’s like, you’re totally different now.” You gestured vaguely at his body, something that now held more meaning, a complex layer of disgust covering him.

“How?” I’m the same man I’ve always been.

“Not to me.”

He sighed and held the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“I think you see me as someone I’m not, someone I’ve never been.”

“That’s not true. You’ve always been good to me.”

“But you only know what I show you.”

“So you’re a dick to everyone else? You’re a fucking asshole every moment I’m not in the room with you?”

“I don’t think I’m that bad, but I’m not anyone’s knight in shining armor.”

“You were mine.”

“No, I wasn’t. You thought I was. I didn’t want you to see the bad parts of me. I still don’t. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Goodnight,” you said and closed the door in his face.

There was nothing you could do to forget. You felt something you’d never felt before. You wanted your mom - a woman you had no memory of, someone you’d never known. She left when you were a baby, but your dad never talked badly about her. His words were rare but had a nostalgic sweetness. You’d heard Leon say a few nice things about her over the years, too. You had a picture of her in a drawer in your bedroom. You pulled it out and looked at a face almost identical to yours. You wished, in some way, that both your father and Leon had left with her. Surely she wasn’t perfect - in fact, you should resent her for leaving, but you’d never heard anything to taint your image of her. She was just a woman who made a bad choice once, but you weren’t attached enough to be angry, and no one had cracked the facade you put up around her image. If you had her phone number, you’d call.

Leon was in the next room over, and somehow, he was further away than her and more absorbed in mystery. 

Your dad came home. He came home sober with suitcases in hand, holding his arms out for you. You ran into them. You sobbed harder than you ever had. Happy tears flowed easier than sad tears. There wasn’t anything holding you back from crying.

Your dad’s hand held the back of your head while you buried your head in his chest. You ate dinner at the kitchen table together. You felt lost without Leon. He left your house, you stayed, and yet it felt like you’d woken up in a completely different place than the one you’d fallen asleep in. It wasn’t bad, just different. You wished there was a way to put all of the parts of your life together. You’d have to put super glue on mismatched puzzle pieces. It would always be a futile effort. You had Leon, you have dad, you’ll probably never have mom. 

“What are you thinking about?” Your dad’s voice called you back to the present. 

“Nothing,” you said, faking a smile. 

“What are you really thinking about?”

“Mom,” you said. You were, you always got stuck when you thought about her because you were trying to imagine a woman who was a stranger to you. 

“Mom? Why?” You expected him to be somber, maybe bitter even, but he was intrigued, it seemed. 

“She’s been on my mind recently. I’ve been thinking about you, my dad, my parent, and- and I don’t want to sound greedy because I’m lucky to have you here, but I wish there was more than just us.”

“You’ve got Leon,” he offered. 

You scoffed, waving it away with your hand. “Don’t bring up Leon right now.”

“Is there drama between the two of you?”

“No, I wouldn’t call it ‘drama’.” 

It’s way, way worse than that, you thought.

“You’ll get over it, he’ll get over it. It always works itself out.”

“Who are you and what did you do with my dad? What’s with all this optimism?” You playfully nudged his shoulder. 

“What can I say? This whole therapy thing has given me a new outlook on life.”

He paused before taking on a more serious tone. “And, a near-death experience gave me a new appreciation for life. I didn’t care much about my own life. I could take it or leave it.”

“Dad…” You couldn’t find the right words. 

“No, no, let me finish: you are important to me.” He put his hand on your shoulder and locked eyes with you. “I remember going in and out of consciousness the day of the accident, and seeing your face. I hate to see you cry like that. I didn’t realize how much the things I do affect you.”

You raised an eyebrow. I’m your child, you thought, how would it not affect me?

“I’m serious. It sounds stupid. I was being selfish, and I always knew that, but I didn’t realize how much you needed me. You had Leon, and you always liked him better anyway. I figured you didn’t mind being left alone with him sometimes.”

“I don’t mind seeing Leon, but I still need my dad.”

“I know. I was making excuses for my own behavior. I know it’s a little late to say it, but I want to be a good father.”

“Better late than never. Better than mom…”

“No,” he said, “you don’t know your mother’s reasons for leaving. It wasn’t you. She loved you.”

“She left because of you.” You were blunt with him. You usually were. 

“She couldn’t take the drinking problem, my constant working. If she could’ve taken you with her, I think she would have.”

“If she wanted to, she would have.”

“No, babies are expensive, and I was always the breadwinner. I think she hoped it would be a wake-up call and I would get better. She thought it was the right choice for you.”

You sighed and tried not to roll your eyes. You wished he’d get angry at her for leaving. Shouldn’t that be easy? Shouldn’t that be right? Whatever, you thought, maybe he’s like you - good at making peace with people leaving. 

“I know it wasn’t due to my parenting, but you turned out pretty darn great.”

“I’m kind of a disaster, actually.”

“Blame the ‘disaster’ parts of yourself on me. You’re kind, you’re funny, you’re smart-”

“I’m not that smart, trust me.”

I’m such an idiot. You have no idea. 

“I’m not going to ask because somehow I feel like whatever you’re up to, it’s something I don’t want to hear about. Just promise me you’ll be safe, okay?”

“I promise. As long as you promise, too.” You held out your pinky. 

“Promise,” he said, interlocking his pinky finger with yours. 

You let yourself believe him. You decided to take a dose of his optimism, irrational as it seemed. At least let yourself fantasize, right? You’ve got something. Maybe not everything, but something. Maybe not Leon, but you’ve got dad, and isn’t that what you wanted the whole time? 

That same night, Leon went out with a woman he’d been casually talking to - it was time to move on from you, at least in the romantic way. 

You’d always have some sort of bond.

Leon sat through dinner, dissecting his steak out of boredom. It wasn’t worth the price. He could cook a better one himself. The woman sitting across from him was talking about something, but he wasn’t quite sure what due to the fact that he wasn’t listening. 

“Leon?” She said, irritated. 

“Yeah?” He said with the least fake-looking smile he could muster. 

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, why? What did I miss?”

“I asked you-”

“-have you seen the movie ‘Before Sunrise’?”

“Yeah? I never really understood the hype.”

“What? It’s a great movie. The sequel is great, too.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“You should. Maybe it’s unrealistic to think about that once in a lifetime love, but don’t you think we should try to find that? No matter how irrational it seems?”

“You do realize you’re on a date right now, and you’re talking about love and romance like it’s this lofty, unattainable concept.”

“I see your point.”

The waiter comes by with the check and Leon thanks him, and thanks God silently, too. 

“I don’t think you’re ever going to find it if you can’t even pay attention to a woman. I like you, Leon, and I’d ask you to come home with me, but-”

Leon knew he shouldn’t see you again, but when he got his credit card out of his wallet to pay for dinner, he saw your picture. He’d always kept it there. He’d change the photo about once a year and keep the others in his bedside drawer. It’s a picture of you in your cap and gown. He was so proud of you; he is so proud of you. He loved you then; he loves you now. The problem is that he’s falling in love with you now. It’s not just familial; it’s not lust, either.

He thought about When Harry Met Sally, which is your third favorite movie after Jerry Maguire and Before Sunrise. The woman asked him if he wanted to take this back to her place, and he was barely paying attention when he said ‘no.’ He gave her a half-assed excuse and dumped tic-tacs in his mouth so he didn’t have wine on his breath because he knew you hate the taste of red wine. He wasn’t drunk, though. If he were, he wouldn’t drive. Leon’s an idiot, Leon’s a fuck-up, but Leon knows he’s a shitty driver. He won’t risk his life on his way to you. This isn’t a tragedy, he hoped.

He forgot your dad was probably home, but fuck it. If he’s really in love, he’ll confess it in public.

“I’m in love with you,” he said when you opened the door. It wasn’t ‘Hello’. You couldn’t say, ‘You had me at hello’ because he began with, ‘I’m in love with you.’

You stared at him long enough that he started fumbling through apologies and excuses. You didn’t say anything. You pulled him into a kiss, which was to say what he should’ve known all along.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

[giorno-plays-piano]

Broken Boy

Pairing: soft!yandere!Midoriya Izuku x reader

Warnings: obsession, manipulation, past bullying, violence (against bullies), unhealthy coping mechanisms, implied stalking, one mention of hypothetical noncon, Izuku being a cinnamon roll and a menace at the same time, hurt/comfort.

Words: 3.2k

Summary: "Is someone... giving you trouble?" You ask cautiously, actually afraid he's going to say yes. You can't stomach thinking someone is bullying Izuku again. Sure, he bulked up considerably and is now so tall he literally towers over you, but he's still that shy compassionate boy inside, and he doesn't know how to stop people from being mean to him.

P.S. Just giving some love to our best boi.

______________

When you see him, it's almost like every other Friday night when you grab a pizza from that corner cafe and come home to Izuku choosing a movie for you two to enjoy. It's been your favorite tradition ever since middle school, and you can't imagine spending the evening anywhere else.

Though maybe you should, given the circumstances.

Midoriya keeps chatting about work and the new equipment in his gym while you struggle to keep the conversation going. There are a lot of things on your mind, but your best friend's mental health is on the top of the list. Has been for a long time when you two had been younger, but you actually thought he got better with time. That is, until your work friend pointed out how unnaturally clingy he seems to the point when it's almost creepy.

He'd bark for you if you asked, she huffed, but, to your horror, you couldn't even find it in you to argue. In the end, she was right. When you look back at it, Izuku has been getting more and more possessive and insecure despite nothing seemingly changing in the relationship between you two.

Has something happened to him, and you missed it completely? You are confident it isn't his mom - your friend would often FaceTime with you around, and nothing at all hints at Midoriya's mom being distressed, you know her well enough to be sure. Is it work, perhaps? Personal issues?

Has someone started bullying him again?

You shiver from anger at the thought, clenching your fists. You would fucking end anyone who's troubling your ray of sunshine - like you had nearly done in middle school.

When you first met him, he was a new kid in your class, all skin and bones, awkward and shy and with no communication skills whatsoever. Took him about a day to become a target of delinquents you school was full of. They mocked him, drew on his desk, and threw a bucket of water at him once, but, as always, teachers didn't pay any attention to the bullying. You feel bad about it now, but since you had never seen it happen with your own eyes, you didn't think much of it either.

However, when one of the kids punched Izuku in the face to the point his nose started bleeding right in front of you, something in you snapped at the view of blood trickling down Midoriya's face. He was crying, hands up to prevent the kid from hurting him more, pleading the bullies to stop as if they'd listen. To this day, it infuriates you that someone would beat up a child this defenseless and lost: he was like an injured puppy, sobbing and trying to hide in the corner with his arms up to protect himself.

Before you even realized what you were doing, you flew to the bully and strated throwing punches at him like your life depended on it, repeatedly hitting him in the head and chest and everywhere you could reach before the other kids intervened. You were so enraged, though, you ended up fighting them, too, despite getting kicked in the ribs hard. The pain didn't stop you: it was like you turned into a whole different being whose only purpose was to hurt the bullies of a crying kid.

The teachers barely got a hold of you before you grabbed a chair to smash it against the back of one of the other children.

To this day, you wonder how Izuku awoke this raging beast inside of you: you had rarely gotten into fights, and, given your politeness and overall sweet demeanor, neither you nor anyone else had suspected you had it in you. Nevertheless, from that point on, there wasn't a day when you weren't there for Midoriya to kick the ass of whoever had the gall to torment him. Hell, the next time someone punched him, you went batshit crazy and almost pushed the guy off the stairs. Worse, you aren't the slightest bit sorry even now when you think of Izuku's swollen eye after he got punched again.

Gradually, it became better after you showed every stupid boy around what would happen if they did anything stupid to that awkward skinny kid, and Izuku was finally left alone. Naturally, it was no surprise he got so attached to you he spent nearly all his time somewhere around, going to the same after-school activities, picking same clubs, doing same things as long as he was able to stay close to you. You felt sorry for Midoriya: he was so nice it alone was enough for people to pick on him. How was he supposed to find friends? He'd stay a loner forever if you didn't do anything.

He wasn't hard to be around. Getting to know him better, you realized he was genuinely a very gentle and smart kid despite his antics and a weird addiction to superhero movies. Izuku was sweet and polite, holding a door for you like a gentleman, carrying your books, always laughing at your jokes, and even giving up his rice pudding he claimed he didn't like just to give it to you. How could you not like him?

It's been years since you both graduated from college, and he is still bringing you a rice pudding whenever you feel sad. You heart clenches as you think of him going through hard times again when you have no idea what's happening.

"Are you alright?" He suddenly asks, and you realize you've been staring at the wall for a minute, not replying to anything he just said.

God, this is gonna be painful.

"Are you alright?" Turning your head to face him, you ask, equally guilty and concerned.

Even though he tells you he is, giving you his brightest smile, you don't believe it. Izuku is very good at hiding his emotions when he's hurt.

"Talk to me," you ask, grabbing his palms in yours, and he visibly reddens at the sudden touch like a schoolboy.

You aren't fooled by this as you patiently wait for him to open up like always does when you want him to be honest with you, but Izuku just shrugs and says he's unsure what you're implying. Things are the same. Nothing has changed, nothing at all.

"Is someone... giving you trouble?" You ask cautiously, actually afraid he's going to say yes. You can't stomach thinking someone is bullying Izuku again. Sure, he bulked up considerably and is now so tall he literally towers over you, but he's still that shy compassionate boy inside, and he doesn't know how to stop people from being mean to him.

Midoriya smiles and shakes his head. "No. My colleagues and my boss are very nice. You don't have to worry."

"I can't NOT worry!" You exhale, rubbing his hands in yours like you always do when you get nervous. "You seem so... alone. I don't even see your gym buddies anymore. Has something happened? Did you have a fallout or something?"

There it is, this gentle, heartbreaking smile he always gives you whenever you are worried. Izuku has never once told you that you are pushy and overbearing despite the fact that you were all that many times in the past. He just smiles at you like he's happy someone cares, and it makes you tear up at the thought. How could he be so sweet and kind and yet so unaware of his own worth? It feels like the world is so freaking unfair to him.

"I just don't spend that much time with them anymore," he says as he gets a little closer to you, cheeks blushing because he's such a pure soul, unspoiled and shy, "because you are my best friend. I wanna hang out with you. I thought you'd be happy about it."

It's nearly enough to make you freaking sob. What did you do to deserve this sweetheart? How could he stay such a warm, kindhearted guy after the treatment people gave him?

You draw a breath and look him dead in the eye. "Izuku, come on, I'm not going anywhere. Why on Earth do you think if you have other friends, I'll stop hanging out with you? Having more friends is a healthy thing! We can hang out together if you'd like."

It seems Midoriya doesn't like the idea, giving how he shakes his head, his expression darkening. You don't know what to make of it until he starts talking, not meeting your eyes, "No. What if you'll like my friends more than me? I've always felt like you liked those gym guys more than me. I hated it. Like they're better than me, and if they ask you to stop spending time with me, you'll choose them over me."

For a second, you're unsure if you've just misheard him. It takes you a moment to process his words. What the actual fuck?! Did he just suppose you like his gym bros you only ever met a couple of times more than him, your best friend who's been with you for years?

As you blink, a thousand questions form in your head in response to his accusation, but one thought prevails over others: Izuku is battling some serious demons inside his head. There is no way a sane person would ever suggest anything like that. He's really, really insecure. Insecure in a dangerous way. You can't believe you haven't realized it earlier, just blaming it on his weird social skills when Izuku clearly hasn't been alright. When did it even start? Has it always been like that, and you simply didn't see the signs? Is it because of his childhood traumas?

Of course, it's his fucking childhood traumas. Why else? You were literally the only kid around him. Of course, he's terrified of losing you, and that's why he's still glued to you like a child.

It hurts you thinking your best friend is struggling that much. He's such a good person. He could have been so much happier if not for the things he had to endure as a kid that damaged him.

"Izuku, I think you need help," you whisper quietly, heartbroken, clenching his hands in yours as he watches you with that soft smile on his face that only makes you more anxious. "Things you say, they're just... wrong. I'd never abandon you for someone else, but it's not normal to depend on anyone that much. You need help. What can I do for you?"

You are completely honest with him when you speak, wishing to do anything it takes to help him get better. Clearly, Midoriya needs therapy. You'll have to ask around and find him an adequate specialist, maybe even pay if Izuku's low on cash, but you can do it. He's your best friend. Even if your colleague is right and he'd do anything for you, you'd do anything for him either. That's what friends are for.

When Izuku lights up, you hope he'll accept your help, but instead, he says, "Just stay with me like this."

You blink again and sigh in frustration. Of course, he'll pretend like he's ok. He has always had.

Reaching out to him, you envelop him in a hug and bring his head to your chest despite how much bigger he is now compared to you. Izuku doesn't fight, eagerly wrapping his hands around your core like he waited for it to happen. You're fairly certain touch is his love language because he used to hug you almost every day when he was a kid. Sure, he did become more self-conscious once you turned older, but it didn't stop him from occasional cuddles.

"I'm not going anywhere, ok?" You repeat again to reassure him. "I'm here. I don't know why you're so fixated on the idea."

"But what if you're gonna meet some guy you'll fall in love with? Get married, have kids?" He mumbles, his breath warming your neck. "What about me then?"

Gently caressing his head to calm him down, you ask, "Well, aren't you gonna do the same? Don't you want to fall in love with some nice girl?"

He sighs loudly, head buried under your chin as he keeps clinging to you. "I've already had."

Eyes wide, you silently stare at him, but Midoriya doesn't stop cuddling with his face hidden from you like he doesn't want you to see him. What the hell? Is this a prank or something? What sort of a fucking rollercoaster is this evening?

You can't even believe he fell in love with someone. Seriously? And didn't even tell you? Who on Earth is this girl? Do you know her? How did they meet? Your head is ready to burst from the number of questions that only seem to multiple again and again with each sentence Midoriya says.

"But you never even hang out with anyone but me..." You start, furrowing your brows until Izuku is groaning in your chest, and it finally hits you.

He is talking about you.

You are the only girl he's ever cared about. The only person he's been close to. And he has always been nice, but also sort of exceptionally nice? Even your mom used to comment on how much he likes you, hinting at the evident crash he had for you, but you always thought it was just wishful thinking despite how much you'd liked him to be in love with you. Given how open he was, he would've already confessed, you thought. By the time you both turned into adults, you were pretty much convinced he didn't harbor any romantic feelings for you or no longer had them.

When in reality he might have fallen in love with you years ago and never fallen out of it.

It freaks you out that much your face is on fire. Fucking hell. How are you supposed to react? What are you going to say? You don't even understand how you are feeling about this. Do you like him? Sure, you absolutely do. But do you love him? Can you love him? He'll surely ask you to date now that the cat is our of the bag. And what are you going to say to that?

Instead, you try to direct your thoughts elsewhere and ask Izuku, swallowing a lump in your throat, "When did you f-fall in love with me?"

He mumbles something inaudible into your chest, and you have to grab his face and make him look at you despite how much you'd like the earth just to swallow you whole this very moment.

"When you first hit that kid for me, I think," he mutters with his face so red he resembles a ripe tomato.

Oh my god, you almost say to his face but manage to stop yourself, drawing a shaky breath instead. He's been in love with you all this time. All. This. Time. You are never going to live this moment down. Ever.

Your best friend had a crush on you for years, and you just blindly thought he was clingy for no reason aside from his loneliness. That he was just being moody when you went on a couple of dates in high school and talked to him about it. That he didn't date anyone himself because he's simply a very shy person and struggles to start a conversation with girls.

Were you being a huge moron to him all this time?

"You weren't supposed to find out this way," he grumbles, burying his head beneath your chin again. "I was preparing for a big reveal in a nice restaurant, and then we'd go on a trip, just the two of us."

You are so abashed you don't even have anything to say. Maybe you're actually dreaming right now on Midoriya's couch because only then it would all make sense. What the hell are you supposed to say? To feel? Your best friend has always been in love with you, and you had no fucking idea.

Again, not that you don't like him or anything. You do. Especially after he manned up a little, grew taller, and hit the gym, although you'd probably like him even if he still was 5"1 skinny as a rail guy with a baby face. It just feels weird to rapidly start developing these freaking intense feelings for someone you nearly considered a part of you.

While you're trying to somehow get out of this akward situation, your brain gives you the stupidest idea to make a joke, "Well, aren't we confident! Already planned a trip after confessing."

You almost feel him smile, but when he breaks the embrace to straighten and look you in the eyes, he has a sad expression on his face. "I'd try to convince you by any means possible I'd do anything for you. I was ready to grovel at your feet. I still am."

His words alarm you, and you immediately place your hands on his shoulders, causing him to smile again. You want to tell him under no circumstances he should do that to anyone at all, but Izuku keeps going before you can stop him.

"I mean it. I'd do anything. I'd let you hurt me. I'd let you rape me if you wanted to. I'd jump from the roof if you asked me. Whatever you want, I'll do."

Normally, a love confession would have made you happy, but the words he say break your heart instead, and your eyes are instantly wet before you even realize it. How could he say something like that? How could be so nonchalant about these things? Has he no regard for himself as a human being? No pride? No pity? How can he talk about being alright with you hurting him if only it meant you'd date him? How could be genuinely be fine with a thing like this?

'I'm sorry!" He apologizes immediately when tears start streaming down your cheeks. "I didn't mean to upset you, I swear! I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me."

You are fully sobbing now, clenching his stupid Captain America sweatshirt you got him last Christmas. This is so fucked up. How could he be okay with you doing these things to him? Why would he even go that far?

You can't stop yourself from embracing him once more, hugging him tight as your head rests on his broad shoulder. Midoriya doesn't protest, his gentle, warm hands already caressing your back as you sniffle.

"Izuku, you need help," you sob, soaking his sweatshirt, oblivious to his smile growing wide when you don't see his face.

Gently rocking back and forth like he's trying to calm down a child, he whispers to you softly in response, "Then will you stay and help me?"

It's such an innocent ask you have no second thoughts saying yes immediately because you better fall down the roof yourself than leave your friend in this state, and you don't even think about Izuku manipulating you into being with him. How could he? He's a cinnamon roll to the core. He's so good and pure it's dangerous for him to be left alone. Besides, you like him anyway, don't you? It's not like everything will change so much in a heartbeat. He's still your friend, still the closest to you. He'll always be. He just needs your help, and you can't say no when he's been so traumatized and really needs help.

Izuku knew you'd say yes, anyway.

__________

Tags: @yanderetodorokishoto @minshookie29

[anthurak]

Continuing my analysis and theorizing on Asmodeus, Mammon and the rest of the Deadly Sins of Helluva Boss and their backgrounds, characterization and where the show might be taking them, I’ve been thinking about what their expressions of their respective ‘Sins’ might truly represent for their characters. Both in the way they express it and even the whole reason they express a ‘Sin’ in the first place.

Now assuming that all of the Sins are Fallen Angels just like Lucifer, and their presence in Hell is a result of their expulsion from Heaven, and Hell being the new home they’ve built for themselves;

What if their expression of each of their ‘sins’ is a metaphorical or even outright literal trauma coping mechanism?

Like given what we’ve seen so far of how Vivzie and her team approach and interpret the ideas of Hell and Heaven, I think it’s all too easy to imagine them framing the ‘fall’ of the seven sins to be a truly horrific event that left all of them with massive emotional and mental scars and trauma. Like getting kicked out by the universe’s most controlling, rigid, conservative and violently judgmental family.

So what if the whole reason that Asmodeus, Mammon, Beelzebub and the rest started expressing and embodying their respective ‘sin’ was as a way of processing and coping with their trauma?

And of course, there are healthy ways of dealing with trauma, and unhealthy ways as well. Which I think is the true difference between the Sins.

Basically, Ozzie and Bee found healthy ways of processing and coping with their trauma, while Mammon DIDN’T.

More specifically, we see with both Ozzie and Bee that they are able to manage their ‘sin’ (ie; coping mechanism) so that it doesn’t become harmful to themselves or others: Bee is acutely aware of and concerned when someone is overindulging to the point of self-harm, while Ozzie strongly stresses the importance of consent when it comes to sex.

Mammon meanwhile, clearly has zero management or restraint over his ‘sin’. I think it’s all too plausible that Mammon’s obsession with wealth and attention for his ‘brand’ is deep-down a way for him to distract himself from some deeply repressed pain and trauma. Thereby showing how a coping mechanism can become harmful not just for oneself, but others as well.

And the best part is that even with the little we know of them at this point, I think we can already guess that Belphagor, Satan and Leviathan could display/represent other means of coping with trauma, either healthy or harmful.

We know that Belphagor runs Hell’s pharmaceutical business, so I think we can all agree that could easily be a way to show how medication can either help or harm in dealing with trauma. Satan being the Sin of Wrath could represent how anger can be used as a coping mechanism, while he apparently running a workout app could hint to him using fitness as a coping mechanism. And Leviathan being associated with social media of course has all kinds of potential to the show the good and bad ways THAT can be used to deal with trauma.

Over the course of its run thus far, Helluva Boss has shown itself to be in large part a story about dealing with trauma, with practically all of the primary and secondary characters having arcs heavily influenced or even outright defined by their struggles with past trauma. Blitzo, Moxxie, Loona, Stolas, Fizzerolli, Barbie Wire, even more minor or antagonistic characters like Octavia, Verosika and Striker. ALL of these characters have been shown grappling with past pain and trauma, with almost all showing that they are coping with their trauma in either a healthy or unhealthy manner.

Whether Moxxie recognizing that it is his father who is at fault for all the pain he went through and not himself, Fizzerolli finding a loved one who has helped him cope or Barbie Wire simply spending a long time in therapy to show the positive ways people can deal with their trauma. Or conversely, Loona’s closed-off, angry and generally anti-social defense mechanism, Stolas trying to throw himself into a relationship he doesn’t fully understand, or just… EVERYTHING that Blitzo has going on to show the harmful ways people can deal with trauma.

So I’d say it really only makes sense that with how the show has also taken steps to ‘humanize’ the Sins, that this theme of exploring how people deal with deep-seeded pain and trauma would likewise extend to them as well.

[ugh-to-love-a-boy]

DATING TAMAKI AMAJIKI WOULD INCLUDE

DATING TAMAKI AMAJIKI WOULD INCLUDE

• Mirio being grateful His best friend found someone who loves him for him and has patience for when he has his meltdowns.

• He freaks out over the top, so no long hugs or lingering kisses, which you’d be fine with because you don’t want to push him over the top.

But he also freaks out in crowds if he’s not holding your hand. The most he’s ok with in public on a normal day is just holding hands.

• Though in private is a different story, he will practically be attached by the hip to you, cuddling, kissing, and just holding each other.

• being an honorary big three member even if quirkless because they know how much you mean to Tamaki

• Late-night hangouts with the big three are one of the only times he would truly hold onto you and kiss you.

• The only other time possible would be if you got hurt during a villain attack. He would be on the verge of a mental breakdown the entire time and somehow blame himself for it.

• If you were to get hurt so badly you had to be in the hospital, he would now live in your hospital bed until they kicked him out.

• During mental breakdowns and panic attacks, you just try to keep calm and make sure he knows you are there and there is nothing to be afraid of.

• If he were ever to get insecure about your relationship, thinking you deserved better or someone more stable, you would just sit in a chair next to him, staring at the wall, and hold hands with him till he realized how much you loved him.

• Dates would most likely be at-home movie nights, game nights, or just spending quality time together, which honestly is way better than near people.

• being besties with Nejire and her always having a weekly hangout' day

• Forehead kisses are very rare during hangouts, along with neck kisses when you are alone.

• As someone who has many boundaries, he would never ever try to push past his s/o’s boundaries.

• In his absolute amazement, he found someone as great as you who loved him without any weird reasons, just because you loved him for him.

[rius-cave]

I just saw you mention Adam having PTSD from the exterminations and honestly it's so valid. He did enjoy doing them, he did have fun, yes, but I firmly believe he started it because of his unprocessed trauma that he wasn't even aware of. I mean, I see the way he's masking himself (literally and figuratively) as a way of protecting himself from people. Back when he was "born" he was literally rejected and betrayed by the very people he supposedly loved and who were supposed to love him, then he was practically abandoned and thrown out of Eden by the same people who mentally harmed him in the first place. This guy is badly damaged and no one can convince me otherwise. And he was damaged from the start so he couldn't possibly realize that something was very not okay because these were the very first people he knew. And we all know pushing down our feelings and ignoring them comes with concequences. In his case, the frustration manifested in violence, on top of that violence against his own descendants who chose the wrong path, who had tainted humanity with their acts. He also probably connects them with Lilith and Lucifer who caused it in the first place, bringing evil to the earth. I also love to consider the extermination as a form of personal revenge on Adam's side, since he isn't able to carry out a direct revenge it serves as one for him.

But he knows it's wrong. He knows either way that what he's doing is bad and cruel, and even if he actively avoids admitting that to himself, he subconsciously knows.

Then he gets to Hell. He most likely only used to visit Hell during exterminations, which means his brain most likely strongly connects the place with that. Hence, being in Hell is a constant reminder for him. On top of that, he actually sees what life is like in Hell. That all those "bad bad sinners who can't change and tainted humanity" aren't all bad actually. And perhaps he doesn't care about them, but I don't think he could just ignore that. He has to live among them, he sees the way they live and he's forced to realize that they're still human souls and not pure evil and rotten. It will add to the guilt which he probably also doesn't admit that he feels, because he didn't do anything wrong, right..? Everything was reasonable... But then why does it feel so bad?

Okay this turned our very very long but it just hit me and I could still go on about it lol, I'll spare you from that

First of all, thank you anon for putting into words this thing that I'm not smart enough to do myself.

I really wouldn't dare to say that "canon" Adam is this deep and has oh such big trauma and is only misunderstood by everyone and bla bla, because if I'm honest, the way he's written in the show doesn't lead me to believe that Vivzie really cares about fleshing him out to be a super complex character. And hey, fair enough, I'm taking him from her anyway lol.

But if if we stopped for a second to think about it, Adam definitely has the potential to be a much deeper and complex character that would be able to touch upon themes like this. I desperately need to know when did everything go wrong, was it really Eden? Was it during his time on Earth? Was it after he died???

I honestly think it's kind of a mix of all of them, but the biggest shift was after he died. He was the first human soul in Heaven, hey, it's not so bad in here!! Maybe his suffering on Earth was worth it after all if he was able to spend the rest of Eternity in a place like this! Now he just needs to wait for his family to get there as well so it can all be complete!

Except they don't, not all of them in fact. A couple of his sons, maybe or maybe not his wife, but it's definitely not ALL of them, where is everybody!? He's pretty sure his grandchildren would start aging by now too, where did everybody go!?

Of course, that asshole has them. It wasn't enough for him to steal his first wife and lie to them so they'd get kicked out of Eden, he also took a bunch of his children, his grandchildren, his great grandchildren and so on and so on.

Look at everything they do on Earth, it's disgusting, and it's all that fucker's fault. None of this would've happened if it wasn't for him, if it wasn't for the other sinners who kept repeating the same mistakes over and over again.

And he starts the exterminations after centuries of wallowing in that hatred. But of course, they're only the result of years of watching how everyone just eventually leaves him. And he doesn't realize when that violence starts becoming just a way to cope with his intense hurt.

I feel like I went a little off track there, forgive me I am a little scatterbrained right now. But in any case, I absolutely concur with you!

[mana-jjk]

BEATS VIOLENTLY ON THE SITE

i think toge was so happy to have the first-years join them 🥺 after yuuta left, i think he feels a little empty not being able to take care of him. so when the first years join they might not fill that void but they definitely act as a bandaid I PROMISE YOU

megumi likes to say that the only upperclassman he can openly respect is yuuta, but i think he has a soft spot for toge. he’s silly, and sometimes megumi has to do that emo kid thing where he forces himself not to smile because that would be losing the war. but more than anything, i think toge is one of the few that actively shields the first-years and tries to protect them. he tore his throat to shreds trying to protect megumi from hanami, but he also immediately stepped in when todo was giving him shit. and the fact that megumi is fluent in his safe words and understands him so well tells me that he’s known him for a long time so i just think !! little kid megumi practicing sign language by himself and then acting like he’s known it forever and it’s just by chance really ! but toge knows <\3

we haven’t gotten much yuuji and toge interactions but i INSIST they are cooking buddies who delight trying new recipes together. everyone else? incapable in the kitchen. yuuji and toge? certified chefs that have repeatedly talked shared recipes and methods together. i also think yuuji reminds toge of yuuta if yuuta was somewhat mentally stable, could sleep for more than 30 minutes, and wasn’t the shyest boy you’ve ever seen. knowing what it feels like to be a danger to your loved ones is so awful but it’s something they can share. plus toge cares so much about not letting yuuji know about his arm it makes me so ☹️ he’s so caretaker coded it physically hurts. but yuuji also sees him as so reliable, just like yuuta in his first year. i can imagine sometimes he sounds just like him when he’s gushing and praising toge during training that it almost feels like he’s there. toge is also a good source of physical contact. the other first-years ‘tolerate’ him (they love him but can’t show it) and maki would sooner kick him. panda is tolerant but it’s like hugging a stand-up mascot. so toge who ruffles their hair, bumps their shoulders together, and gives them gentle high-fives is like a balm over an open wound.

nobara… do not get me started here i swear to god they are so bestie coded and i died reading the light novel. i think they get so excited about fashion together because everyone else is boring and they make maki and yuuta come to dress them up, clap over their fits, and carry their bags. nobara always says that toge can do better than eyebags, but inwardly she’s just happy to see him happy and secretly looks up to yuuta too. she cares so much about toge’s opinion and he hypes her up and looks after her self-esteem. she felt so guilty getting toge hurt but he didn’t even hesitate !! she also started off not understanding a thing he said but ended up understanding him so well that everyone was surprised 🥺 and it always tears me apart that he stopped her from killing that guy so she wouldn’t have to live with it. especially with little hints from canon that suggest he’s either hurt or killed someone before. maki is 100% her favorite person ever because they’re girlfriends and they kiss, but toge is a close second because they’re besties. they gossip together and are on speed dial and watch crappy reality shows. toge is one of the first people she was vulnerable with and i think he reminds her a lot of saori and it GUTS ME.

then yuuta comes back and after spending so much time thinking about him as a first-year and then taking care of the other first-years, toge expects everything to go back to how it was. except it doesn’t, because yuuta is not only bigger now but he’s stronger too. he comes back, a head and a half taller and it’s a struggle to convince him that no toge doesn’t need to be taken care of that’s his job ?? toge stumbles and suddenly yuuta’s hand is on his arm, toge cooks dinner and yuuta already put his plate on the table and washed the dishes, toge takes a hit for him and not even a breath later he’s being carried like he weighs nothing. and it’s hard to deny him and it’s hard to push away because no one has ever treated him that gently before. like he wasn’t dangerous, like he was something precious. he still has the first-years to take care of, and yuuta was still the same pathetic boy in a lot of aspects. but when he was awake with phantom pains and nightmares, yuuta was there to soothe the worst of it and remind him that there was still a future for him, that he was worthy of being cared for, worthy of living, worthy of being happy.

y’all i have so many thoughts it HURTS someone ask me something before i explode

[loveing-eyes]

i NEED what dating tamaki would include

i love him so much you dont even know

dating tamaki amajiki would include

• mirio being grateful his best friend found someone who loves him for him and has patience for when he has his meltdowns

• he freaks out over the top PDA so no long hugs or lingering kisses which you'd be fine with cause you don't want to push him over the top

• but he also freaks out in crowds if he's not holding your hand the most he's ok with in public on a normal day is just holding hands

•though in private is a different story he will practically be attached by the hip to you cuddles kisses just holding each other

• being an honorary big 3 member even if quirkless cause they know how much you mean to Tamaki

•late night hangouts with the big three is one of the only times near other people he would truly hold onto you and kiss you

• the only other time possible would be if you got hurt during a villain attack he would be on the verge of a mental breakdown for the entire time and somehow blame himself for it

•if you were to get hurt so bad you had to be in the hospital he would now live in your hospital bed until they kicked him out

• during mental breakdowns and panic attacks you just try to keep calm and make sure he knows you are there and there is nothing to be afraid of

• if he was ever to get insecure about your relationship thinking you deserved better or someone whose more stable you would just sit in a chair next to him staring at the wall and holding hands with him till he realized how much you loved him

•dates would most likely be at-home movie nights or game nights or just spending quality time together which honestly is way better than near people

•being besties with nejire and her always having a weekly friends' day

•forehead kisses very rarely during hangouts along with neck kisses when your alone

•as someone who has many boundaries he would never ever try to push past his s/o's boundaries

•him in absolute amazement, he found someone as great as you who loved him without any weird reasons just you loved him for him

[im-just-a-mississippi-girl]

Birthday Surprise

Pairing: Nick Jackson x female!reader

Category: Fluff

Word count: 815

Summary: Nick spends all week secretly planning and preparing for his love’s surprise birthday party.

Warnings: None

A/N: Hope you had the best birthday @katries 🎉 Love you bunches!! 🫶🏻🩵💜

Masterlist

Taglist

Moodboard is made by me specifically for @katries 🥰

All week long Nick was on a mission. His mission? To throw the best surprise birthday party for his talented and gorgeous girlfriend. Despite having been together for such a short period of time, Nick wanted to go all out, to show her he cared and how much he loves her. Nick casually asked about what her preference of cake was at the end of last week. He wanted to be prepared ahead of time so he could make sure everything was perfect. He called up all her friends and some of his as well.

He asked for a few of her friends to get her out of the house for the day so he could decorate. About an hour into it Nick realized he needed help if he wanted to get this done on time. So called up the one person he could always count on — his brother Matt.

The two brothers worked together in hanging a banner and streamers. “Something’s missing.” Nick stated as he took in their progress. He went through his mental check list. Banner? Check. Streamers? Check. Balloons? Nick’s eyes darted around the room. No balloons. “The balloons are missing. Did you get them on your way here like I asked?” Nick spun on his heel to face Matt.

“Yes, Nick. I got the cake too.” Matt rolled his eyes. Matt wasn’t really that annoyed, he just liked giving Nick a hard time and what better way than stressing him out?

Nick froze. The cake! The most important part of a birthday party! How could he have forgotten? Thank God for Matt’s thinking because Nick’s was everywhere all at once. “Thanks. I can’t believe I forgot.” Nick mentally kicked himself for almost ruining the party. The party he was dead set on making perfect because his girl deserved perfection. To him, she was perfection.

“Don’t mention it.” Matt shrugged. “I’ll grab the balloons from the car. The cake is the fridge.” Matt called as he exited the living room and went out the front door.

Let’s have a look at this cake. Nick opened the fridge and there sat the cake on the middle shelf in a pink box with a clear plastic window to view the top of the cake. Nick set the cake on the kitchen island across from the fridge. Perfect.

Matt helped Nick place clusters of balloons in various places around the living room and move a few pieces of furniture around to accommodate for the guests.

The boys took a step back, admiring their work. The room looked ready for a party and the timing couldn’t have been any better. The doorbell rang indicating the first guest had arrived. “Thanks for helping me, Matt. It means a lot.” Nick thanked his brother once again, his hand on the doorknob.

Matt waved off the compliment. “It’s what brothers are for. Plus she’s a cool girl and makes you happy, and as mushy as it sounds, that’s all I want for you.”

Nick smiled at that and opened the door. A small group of her friends had arrived, gifts in hand. “Hey girls, come on in. The gifts can go on the kitchen island next to the cake.” He stepped aside and let them enter.

Soon the whole living room and part of the kitchen was filled with people and gifts. A text from Nick’s phone caught his attention.

From: Laken

On our way back. She’s getting suspicious.

Nick quickly got everyone’s attention and gave them go ahead to hide. He flicked the lights off and minutes later a car pulled in the driveway. He was beyond glad he remembered to have the guest follow the driveway on around behind the house to park. He could hear her asking about why the lights were off and getting the response that maybe he forgot to pay the light bill. Laughter followed and he couldn’t help but quietly laugh too, shaking his head.

Keys jingled outside the door, then the keys turned and unlocked the door. It opened and suddenly the lights were flicked on. “SURPRISE!!!” The whole room erupted with cheers and confetti fell from confetti poppers.

All the running around and pretending to forget her birthday was worth it when Nick saw that reaction, shock mixed with disbelief and overwhelming happiness. “Did you really think I’d forget my girl’s birthday?” Nick teased, wrapping her up in a tight embrace followed by a tender kiss. “Let’s party birthday girl! There’s a cake over there just waiting for you to make a wish and blow out the candles.”

Nick was pleased with himself as he watched the love of his life eat cake, dance, and open gifts. The only thoughts crossing his mind was how in this world was he going top this party next year but most importantly, how they would celebrate later, just the two of them.

General Taglist: @legit9thlunaticwarrior @plentyoffandoms-deactivated2024 @1dluver13xx @sunshinevirus @wwenhlimagines @crowleysqueenofhell @jackson-nickthedate @omg-im-such-a-masochist @kmc1989

Nick Jackson Taglist: @mrsmatt @morgan-bucks @rubyred1980 @breezyvk @writtingrose @jennifuz @writtingelite @katries @siriuslyblackonback

[thefallenangelsgang]

As always, only half finished and kinda edited (as most of my bg3 writing is)

This is the Weave Lesson scene. I'm playing with using game dialogue and my own for kinda the first time for this maybe fic. I can't tell how it's going quite yet.

the only context you need for this scene is Gale spends his evenings practicing his spellbook in early levels and he gets frustrated at the pace he's crawling at. I have a fragment of this earlier in this scene where he slams his book onto his alchemy table (cause my game Gale was our potion brewer extraordinaire) and Wynleth hears glass breaking. its a passing mention in this.

(EDIT: there is something else. Wynleth describes being percieved directly by Lathander. This is a reference to her encounter with the god during her Paladin vows. I haven't ironed it out but the gist is she has spoken directly with the god once before)

I'm gonna also try a new way of formatting these posts.

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

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Gale huffs and runs his hands through his hair. I can see the mental battle he’s losing behind his eyes. Eventually he gives in.

“I’ve been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember. It’s like music, poetry, physical beauty all rolled into one and given expression through the senses. Mastering it felt as natural as breathing air. So losing it now feels like another kick in a series of blows to my ego. I suppose that was half of it.” He brings up that projection again. “She meant to bring low again, to humble me.” 

Absent-mindedly, he begins to play with his earring and exactly who is hovering above his palm dawns on me like a crashing wave. 

“Mystra?” 

He nods an affirmative while gazing wistfully up at the goddess that spurned him. 

I don’t know what to say. 

“Her idols don’t do her justice.” The words leave my lips before I really think about them. It’s true though, they don’t. The ones I’ve seen depict a sensual woman, clothing and hair animated by the very Weave she commands. Sharp features and languid poses that reek of the male gaze and look nothing like how Gale presents her now. It’s almost shocking how simply he paints her. She could be just another beauty walking the streets of Baldur’s Gate. “They truly don’t,” Gale whispers back.

“I’m ashamed to admit, the way you speak of the Weave makes me almost jealous. It seems so infinite.” Poetry and music and beauty. He truly has a way with words if he can make me crave something when my magic feels like the kiss of sunlight after a dark winter. 

The light comes back in his eyes as I shift the conversation. “Divine power must feel almost… limiting in comparison. Being only allowed as much as your deity sees fit.” Mystra’s visage is gone again, momentarily forgotten for the time being. The “More than you know,” dies swiftly on my tongue. He does know and that is the problem.

He gets an idea. I can tell by the look in his eye and the mischievous smile on his face as he pushes up to rest on his elbow. “Would you like to learn?”

What?

“You could teach me?”

He’s actually grinning now which makes me feel better. He’s not hung up on all this bullshit that’s going on. “Oh yes. Here-” He shifts into a seated position and takes my hands. Together we stand and move to the open space in front of his tent. I can't help but laugh softly at how serious he looks as he positions me and motions for me to stay put.

He turns away and makes for the table he has set up for his alchemical pursuits to retrieve his spellbook, snapping away the beaker I heard fall earlier. Prestidigitation. Perhaps that’s what he’ll teach me. I’ve heard it's a very useful spell with many applications, quick clean up being one of them.

He thumbs through the tome until he finds what he’s looking for based on the way his face settles in a self-satisfied expression. “This is a simple spell for channeling the Weave. See here-” He says as he positions himself just behind me and runs his finger over the sigil drawn on the page.

It’s brain-bendingly complex for a “simple spell.” Even the most complex healing sigils or anointments I had to learn were markedly less intricate. But it’s beautiful the way the lines curl and intersect. 

“It is, isn't it?” 

I must have said it out loud. Gale’s eyes are shining, they're so bright. He truly loves this. “Could you explain this to me, what all of this means?” I say, running my finger across the same path he did. There seems to be a start and end to the figure that the movement traces.

He launches into an explanation I only half understand but follow with rapt attention. What I do glean is I was right about the beginning and end and the segments of the glyph refer to different parts of the spell. Somatic, Verbal, and Material. This one only has Somatic and Verbal.

“I hope that wasn’t too hard to follow. I’ll admit, some of this stuff requires prior knowledge of spell composition.” 

He looks sheepish as he pulls the book away and goes to set it down gently off to the side so he can continue to consult it from afar. It’s endearing, his concern.

“Some of it certainly went over my head but I’ve read political treatise and legalese so dense they make your head spin. I’m no stranger to asking questions and learning more.” 

That seems to assuage him. He shakes out his arms and gives a winning smile. “Are you ready?”

“After you master wizard,” I say with a playful bow.

He makes a gesture that is almost like theatrically flipping something over in his hands. I watch astutely as something seems to glow from between them. Then he gestures for me to mimic him. I try my best. It’s a lot less confident than his, but from the wideness of his grin I’ve done it satisfactorily enough. Then a shiver goes up my spine as a feeling begins to overtake me. Warmth and… something I cannot place. It’s different from the sunlight of Lathander, or Shadowheart’s healing, or the electric crackle when Gale casts something. I must rock back at the sensation because Gale’s hand is there to meet me at the small of my back. “That’s the Weave. Don’t be afraid. You get used to it.”

It does feel like poetry. It feels like looking up from prose that touches your soul and letting the words sink into your skin and bury themselves in the very marrow of your being. I close my eyes at the feeling and let it wash over me. “More things on Heaven and Earth…” I say as I open my eyes.

“Indeed,” Gale matches my conspiratorial whisper. “That was the Somatic component. Are you ready for the Verbal?” I nod. “Repeat after me. Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao.”

The words are strange on my tongue but then the feeling somehow compounds, doubling, tripling in intensity. Gale’s voice is hushed in my ear as he leans in and whispers, “Now I want you to picture in your mind the concept of Harmony. As true as you can.”

My mind wheels through various options. Things I’ve been taught are harmony. People living in peace together. Unwavering Devotion to the Morninglord. People singing different words and notes but bringing together something transcendent and beautiful. 

None of it seems to fit. 

Harmony is this. It’s sitting in a Druid’s Grove full of people who just want to survive, surrounded by nature and beauty and finding a moment of peace despite the hell of our reality. It’s taking precious minutes of our lives for an impromptu magic lesson in a discipline I am wholly unfamiliar with. It's Gale's patience and my eagerness and this feeling rolling over me in waves. 

My hand finds Gale’s as a pulse of energy issues forth. 

An energy field envelops us. It plays with our clothes like a breeze in the absence of any detectable current. Weave. Purple and blue and as fine as spun sugar. It tastes sweet and floral and electric in a good way. 

Poetry and music and beauty all rolled into one. Gale has never been more right.

“It’s beautiful Gale.”

“That doesn’t even begin to describe it.” He muses, his eyes reflecting the beautiful light surrounding us.

“No. No it doesn’t, I choke out around an incredulous laugh. I feel the urge to weep and laugh and dance all at once. This is incredible.

Instead, we stand like this- Gale’s hand pressed against my back and his other clasped in mine- breathing in what feels to me like the cosmos for some time. 

“Do you feel her? Watching over us?” A reverent tone has taken over his voice as Gale breaks our reverie. Calling attention to it suddenly helps me put the feeling into words. We are being perceived by Mystra of all things. It’s a strange feeling, different than it was being perceived by Lathander. This is less direct, more idle than anything. It’s the comfort of knowing she is there. She is watching over us and keeping us safe. Tangible reassurance that your faith is not misplaced. This is a prayer answered.

“Thank you,” I say with a squeeze of my hand. We are making the most direct eye contact we have this entire encounter. No more passing glances that happen to meet or gazing at the other as they experience the majesty unfolding around us. Connection, true connection this time. 

“For what?” Gale breaths, like he truly doesn’t know what a gift this is. 

“For teaching me. For giving me a taste of what you experience everyday. For opening my eyes to this.” My free hand gestures around us and I mean to follow with my eyes but find I cannot tear them away. Gale looks so alive when surrounded by magic, in a way he isn’t when he is pursuing other things. It suits him handsomely. 

It sinks in exactly how intimate this moment is, the two of us connected not only by touch but by the very Weave itself. I could take a thousand nights just like this one and never tire. And what I would do for a lifetime of conversations about subjects like this one! Strolling arm in arm learning from each other. I am half-convinced even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough.

As if in the same breath,  I am filled by an almost innate sense of how beautiful I look lit by the Weave. The way my green eyes compliment the hues of purple and blue and the copper of my hair stands out against the ethereal backdrop. It’s a strange and discordant thought. Not mine.

I think we both realize at the same time that they aren’t our thoughts, that perhaps the tadpoles have pulled a fast one on us or even the Weave has something to do with it. We both blush in unison and impressively. 

And then we laugh. 

Gale’s laugh is always loud and rapturous. Barking would be a good way to describe it. But it’s pleasant and jovial. It feels right every time I hear it. I get the sense mine is musical in the way horn instruments are. Not like peeling bells, but brassy and boisterous and unladylike. That makes sense, my grandmother hated my laugh. It was too masculine and unbecoming of a daughter of a noble house, my culturally masculine social position be damned. Which is a damn shame, it is a nice laugh. 

“I- Um- Well.” Gale clears his throat, still blushing. “Unexpected consequences. Not unwelcome ones! But unexpected all the same.” I’m still laughing, gently now. “There is no harm. I’m glad someone likes my laugh.” Gale blushes impossibly harder.

In a swift movement, like a breeze blowing smoke away, the spell dissipates. It’s almost frigid in it’s absence, or maybe it’s the act of Gale stepping away that brings the chill. I refuse to let him release my hand though.

“There it goes. As fleeting as the dawn, wouldn’t you agree?” He smiles at me, pleased at his metaphor. 

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

[kemendin]

Epilogue

Or, I finished my first playthrough of BG3 and had many emotions (still processing) and many thoughts (also still processing), so here are some Kem ramblings on chosen endings and what happens post-game in Dhamari canon. Under cut because major spoilers of course!

So, for anyone curious, here's how things turned out, and these are fairly unsurprising I'd imagine:

Astarion did not ascend. I tried it for kicks, and I hated his ascended self lol. And Dhamari wouldn't have gone for the 'replace one tyrant with another' idea.

Gale did not claim godhood, BUT nor did he actually give the crown to Mystra - it was left in the sea. As Dhamari said, "If Mystra wants it, she can damn well fish it out herself."

Wyll became the Blade of Avernus, and went romping back to the Hells with Karlach. Go be badasses, guys!!

Lae'zel became the new Comet, and went sailing off to be the saviour of her people.

Shadowheart turned her back on Shar and went off to explore Faerûn and her new faith in Selûne (and got custody of the owlbear).

As for Dhamari and Gale... I had to do a lot of pondering on their ending, both in terms of in-game choices and how things ACTUALLY play out in my brain. While I’m very entertained by the idea of ‘Professor Dekarios’ I don’t think Dhamari is cut out for city life. So the short answer is, I went with the ‘I’ll marry you but I won’t live in Waterdeep’ option and they go off adventuring again instead.

The long version is, of course, more complicated:

Initially Dhamari is all 'yes of course I'll marry you and go back to Waterdeep with you' because frankly he's got no idea what to do with himself post-Netherbrain destruction. But that goes kinda not too well overall, for several reasons:

a) He really has no idea what he's getting into with the whole wedding business, because drow don't DO that. So while Gale's making all these plans and sending out multitudes of invitations, Dhamari's list consists of Wyll, who can't come, and Jaheira, who probably could, and he's just very overwhelmed by all the grand ceremony notions.

b) He's jealous of now having to share Gale with Tara and Mrs Dekarios and probably half of Waterdeep, because Gale's of course rather well known, and even more so after saving Baldur's Gate. Gale knows everyone and Dhamari knows no one, and he feels like he's being perceived as this odd little drow blemish on the local wizard celebrity (whether or not this is actually true is up for debate).

c) After the relief of no longer having a brain death sentence and the pressure of saving the world wears off, and he's had a little chill time, he starts feeling incredibly restless again. He's never had a point in his life till now where he wasn't scared or in danger or both - he has no idea how to live a life that doesn't involve fighting to survive. Unfortunately, in absence of obvious threats, he ends up on some mental level fighting Gale instead - lashing out with confusions and uncertainties he doesn't know how to cope with.

So within a month or so things get very tense between them, because Dhamari is rather terrible at communicating his problems to other people, but eventually they're forced to hash all this out. The end results are: a much smaller wedding than originally planned, Gale declining the offer to take a teaching post at Blackstaff Academy, and soon after the wedding they pack up and go adventuring again for a while so they can spend some time together that's ACTUALLY just the two of them.

At some point - dunno yet if it's pre- or post-epilogue reunion get-together - Dhamari visits with Jaheira, and she invites him to join the Harpers. Dhamari's felt a sort of half-conscious connection with the Harpers for a WHILE now, since finding the executed patrol of them in Grymforge (that's a whole other ramble/fic in process lol) and so when Jaheira makes this offer he's like '...huh yeah I could do that'. It gives him a much needed sense of purpose in life, gets him out and about and not quite so latched onto Gale every hour of the day. So when he and Gale take breaks from adventures and chill in Waterdeep for a bit, Gale can be doing his wizardy stuff with his wizardy friends, and Dhamari does whatever Harper business needs doing around the city.

So things aren't always perfect between them, and frankly these two will always find something to argue about because they ARE such different people. But they love each other, and they learn from each other, and as far as they're concerned - it's a happy ending.

Random tidbit - I really like that in the route I chose, Gale retains the mark of the orb. I think that despite what it was - a death sentence - Dhamari's actually rather fond of it aesthetically, and even sees it as a reminder - to both of them - that Gale survived. That Gale chose Dhamari, chose life, and it was the right choice.

[kaminocasey]

As Luck Would Have It Part 3

Summary: Three years go by. You're now the head of Fisk Industries and you have a run in with Spider-Man. Old feelings get dragged up.

Pairing: Peter B. Parker x Queenpin!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI; Angst, guns, knives, Smut, Oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up), rough sex

A/N: Ah, here we are. Last (?) part (I may do an epilogue ch)! I really love Peter B Parker so much it's actually insane. I think I'll spend the rest of my days wishing he was real. (pics from pinterest)

Marvel Masterlist - Taglist Form - Marvel Sideblog: @stevengrantnotrogers

Three Years Later…

Mary Jane Watson. That’s the woman sitting across from Peter right now. She’s pretty, has a good sense of humor, and isn't an assassin… She ticks all of Peter’s mental boxes. 

But he knows he’s not going to call this woman again. Not that there was anything wrong with her… She just isn’t you. You were his best friend, the love of his life, and his entire world. He knows he can’t recreate that with just anyone. 

When Peter gets home, the same home that the two of you shared, he takes off his tie (the tie you got him for your 5th anniversary) and goes and sits on the couch, turning on the local news. Immediately, a high speed chase catches his eye. Perhaps this is what he needs to get his mind off of you again. A distraction. 

That’s how he’s gotten by the last three years. Distraction after distraction. He throws himself into being Spider-Man even more than he used to. It’s what keeps him sane. It’s what keeps him going. 

He’s not afraid to admit that he let himself go mentally and physically the first two and a half years but now… he’s gotten back into the swing (ha, get it?) of things again. He’s proud of the progress he’s made. Peter is already out the fire escape, mask on, swinging toward the commotion down near Throgs Neck Bridge. If he’s lucky, he can catch them in time and stop them from even hitting the bridge. 

You have no idea how the hell you even managed to end up in this fucking predicament. You don’t do car chases anymore. And you sure as hell don’t chase after thieves. But here you are, on your bike, chasing after Johnny’s cousin Mike. The idiot who stole 3.5 million dollars from you after he thought you weren’t treating him fair enough. He apparently thought you’d be a pushover and that you’d just let it slide. That was his mistake. 

Mike is on the bike in front of you, while Johnny is in the SUV behind you, prepared to take Mike down if he has to. You’re pretty sure he’s going to get caught in traffic on Throgs Neck Bridge before you all hit Queens. 

A place you haven’t been in three years… 

Shaking your head, you refuse to think about it. To think about him.

“Do you see him?” Johnny’s voice is in your ear piece.

Him? 

Oh. Mike. Duh.

“Yeah, I’m closing in on him.” You reply, smirking as you pull your gun out, aiming it. 

Out of nowhere, you hear a ‘thwip’ and your gun is being pulled away from you midair. 

“What the fuck?” You look around. 

That’s when you see him. The red suit… Of course he’d be here.

“Goddammit.” You ride near the rail, almost hitting it, clearly distracted. 

You kick away from it and speed ahead a little bit. 

“I think the Spider is here.” Johnny’s voice fills your helmet again. 

“Yeah, no shit.” You grunt, pulling your bike over to take him on if you have to. “Take care of Mike. I’ll handle this.”

“You sure-” 

“Don’t question me. Go.” You bark. 

“Got it.” Johnny’s SUV speeds past you toward Mike and you pull out your knife, prepared to take on Spider-Man. 

As if he was waiting for you, he drops down from the top of the bridge, releasing the webbing from his wrist, tilting his head. You take your helmet off and rest it on your bike. 

“Long time no see…” He seems nervous.

That voice… Unfortunately, it makes your stomach do somersaults and you feel like you could throw up. 

“Well, Parker… I wish I could say it’s a pleasure.” You glare, trying your best to hide your discomfort. 

“You say that like your last name isn’t also Parker.” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Haven’t been a Parker in a long time.” You stare at him.

He chuckles. “You look good.”

“I know.” 

You can feel him sizing you up and then he looks down and sees the knife in your hand. 

“You planning on using that?” He asks, planting his hands on his hips.

The same hips you used to wrap your legs around… 

Jesus. Get a grip.

“If I have to.” You shrug, smirking.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“And I’d rather you let me pass so I can handle my business.”

“Your business? The one you inherited from the guy you put into a coma?” “I think you mean ‘we’.” You tilt your head. 

“Sweetheart, you’re the one who shot him. Not me.” He shakes his head.

Your chest tightens at him calling you ‘sweetheart’ and you know you shouldn’t allow that. 

“Don’t call me that.” You step toward him. 

He puts his hands up in defense. “My bad. You prefer Queenpin?”

“That guy stole over 3 million dollars from me… I have to get it back.” You roll your shoulders slightly.

It’s been a minute since you’ve had to fight someone yourself. But you’re pretty sure it’s like riding a bike. Once you throw a punch, everything else will come back to you… You think. 

What if your body betrays you and won’t let you fight him?

Peter says your name and you nearly stop, afraid that your thought process might be right. Unfortunately, you know if you don’t do this, no one will take you seriously from now on. You’ve worked too hard to get where you’re at to throw it all away for Peter again.

“I have to.” You shake your head.

And then you throw your knife, knowing he’d be able to dodge it. It lands in a car behind him as he dodges it, just as you expected he would. Then you throw a punch, which he unfortunately catches so you rear back and spin and kick him in the chest, sending him flying into the side of a Prius. Which you can’t help but chuckle at.

“That yours?” You smirk.

He chuckles. “I wish. It handled that better than a bike would. Great on gas too.” 

You hate that he can still make you smile even after you shattered each other’s hearts. 

“Jesus, you really do talk too much.” You start to get frustrated.

More with yourself than him.

“You never said that when we used to-” 

You run at him and jump, landing with your thighs around his neck, spinning him so he lands on the ground with an ‘oof’. 

He’s breathless as he tries to talk again. “Have to say… missed these thighs suffocating me…”

Christ… That shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. 

“Shut. The fuck. Up.” You squeeze your thighs around his neck, trying to knock him out.

He says your name again and without meaning to, you let go of him, kicking him away from you, making him stumble. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He says, his voice soft enough to make you want to cry. 

“I think you and I both know it’s a little too late for that, Peter.” You murmur. 

With a shake of your head, you run back toward your bike, throwing your helmet on and speeding away. You just need to get away from this bridge… Away from him. 

Peter watches you go. He wants nothing more than to stop you and beg for you back. To tell you he made a huge mistake. He knows that you taking over for Fisk is his own fault. He should’ve been there for you… He shouldn’t have run away… 

Before he even realizes he’s doing it, he’s following you over the bridge toward the Bronx. If he could just… talk to you… one on one. Preferably without trying to kill each other. Maybe he could fix things… 

When you get back to your apartment in the Bronx, you do everything you can to not break down and cry.

Instead, you call Johnny for an update. 

“Money is secured. Mike is being dealt with.” Johnny replies.

You can hear Peter in your head to not kill Mike… that you’re better than that.

“Boss?” Johnny speaks into the silence when you don’t reply. 

Ugh. Goddammit, Peter…

“Turn him over to the NYPD. He can be their problem.” You sigh. 

“Boss… I don’t think-” Johnny starts but you snap at him.

“I don’t pay you to think, now do I?” There’s venom in your tone. But also exhaustion.

“Right. Consider it done.” Johnny clicks off and you toss your phone onto your bed, beginning to pace. 

Every word that was said between you and Peter starts to replay in your mind. Every touch, every chuckle, everything. It made you feel alive again, despite the heartache of it all. 

Would there ever be a possibility of you and Peter finding your way back to each other again one day? Maybe when you’re both gray and too old to be doing this shit anymore… Until then-

The sliding of your window pulls you out of your thoughts and you immediately pull your gun out and point it at the intruder. 

“Woah woah, hey! Just me.” Peter sits halfway in the windowsill, his hands up in surrender.

You don’t put your gun down until he takes off his mask, one handed, still keeping the other one up to let you know he’s not here to hurt you. It reminds you of when he’d come home through the window of your first apartment together and you try your best to push the memory out of your mind.

“You followed me?” You tuck away your gun in the back of your pants, shrugging off your leather jacket and tossing it into the chair in the corner of your room. 

He’s not subtle in the way his eyes rake over your form in your black t-shirt and tighter fitting black jeans. It makes your burn hotter than you’d care to admit. 

“I did.” He admits freely, stepping into your apartment. “Almost scared the 12 cats of the lady right underneath you.” 

You can’t help but shrug. “That lady’s rude anyway. Always vacuuming in the middle of the night.” 

He lets out a huff of a laugh and for a very small moment, things feel like they used to. But that can’t last long, can it? 

“So what do you want Peter?” You stand six feet away from him, your hands on your hips.

He’s quiet for a moment, clearly thinking of what to say. You give him a moment before interrupting him.

“Look-”

“I’m sorry.” His words make you pause.

“What?” “I’m… so so… sorry.” Peter steps a foot closer to you. “I shouldn’t have left that day. I should’ve heard you out… tried to understand your reasoning for things. I’m just… beyond sorry.”

His words send that familiar ache throughout your body and you feel like you’re either going to cry or throw up. Hopefully neither, but who knows.

“Peter…” You whisper, never breaking eye contact with those warm brown eyes you’ve missed since the last day you saw them three years ago.

He cautiously crosses the rest of the gap and takes your hand. “Can I-”

Not bothering to let him finish his sentence, you crush your lips to his, grabbing onto the spider suit as much as you can. His arms circle around your waist, pulling you against him. It’s messy and both of you have tears falling as his tongue begs for entrance into your mouth. You grant him entrance by deepening the kiss, suddenly not able to get close enough. 

“Not gonna need this.” He pulls your gun out of the back of your pants and tosses it to the floor and starts to unbutton your jeans.

“Haven’t decided yet.” You smirk against his lips, kicking your boots off somewhere, making Peter chuckle. 

He groans softly once he has your pants down on the ground and quickly drops to his knees, his hands sliding up your thighs around to the globes of your ass. He squeezes roughly before placing a kiss just above your pantyline. 

“Need to taste you again… please, baby.” He begs softly, looking up at you with needy eyes. “Been too fucking long.”

You can’t help the soft whimper that leaves your lips as you look down at your ex husband on his knees for you. Honestly, he’s never looked so good. 

When you used to have sex, you were more submissive but now… there’s definitely a noticeable dynamic change. It doesn’t seem like either one of you mind, though. 

“Can I please?” He whispers, begging for permission. 

You nod once and he wastes no time yanking your underwear down, tossing them away from your body, and diving his tongue right into your eager pussy. The sound he makes is just downright sinful, causing vibrations throughout your warmth. 

Fuck, how you missed this. 

“God, Peter…” You moan, running your fingers through his hair and gripping tightly. “Don’t fucking stop.”

He moans again and your hips buck against his tongue, the sounds of your soaked pussy filling the room. Unfortunately, your legs start to go weak. As if he can sense it, he pushes you back on your bed, his mouth never leaving your cunt. 

“Fuck…” He groans against you. “Better than I remember.”

When he pushes a finger into you, your back arches up off the bed and you look down at him with lust blown eyes. He’s smirking right up at you and you roll your eyes, both of you chuckling. It’s starting to feel like no time has passed. 

“Feel good?” He whispers, his free hand holding you down over your stomach so that you can’t go anywhere.

You nod, only being able to manage a whimper. 

“God you’re so tight.” He pushes a second finger in and you can feel your body starting to tense up, the desire for Peter coursing through your veins the way spider venom courses through Peter’s. “You think you can still take my cock?”

Your eyes roll back in your head at the way Peter speaks such dirty things to you. 

“I bet you can… can’t you, baby?” He practically coos before his lips and tongue attack your clit again at the same time that he curls his fingers inside of you, threatening to bring you to the edge. 

“I- I can.” You whisper. “Haven’t had anyone else since you.” 

He groans roughly at that and your body immediately goes white hot as you’re pushed completely over the mental cliff, coming loudly as your hands fly to his hair again, practically writhing on his face. 

It’s incredible that your body still reacts the same exact way to Peter as it used to. 

“Incredible. Fucking beautiful.” He moans before quickly sliding out of his suit and climbing into the bed with you as you pull yourself up to the pillows at the head of the bed. 

Peter’s lips find yours, causing you to taste yourself on his tongue. It’s been so long… you forgot what this felt like. You pull him down to you so that his long length slides along your pussy enough to make you both groan against each other’s lips. 

“God… it’s so hot.” He reaches between you and slaps your pussy a few times before dipping just the tip in. 

Your nails rake down Peter’s shoulders, your legs spreading eagerly for him. “Fuck me already.” 

“Impatient as always.” He smirks, resting his forehead against yours. “Good to know not much has changed.”

He looks down where he keeps dipping the head of his cock in and out, teasing you. 

“We have plenty of time to tease each other. Now is not the time.” You whine. 

“So you’re saying this is gonna happen again.” He teases. 

“Peter.” It comes out breathless as you give him a warning glare.

He moans. “God, I still love the way you say my name. Say it again, babygirl.”

He starts to slide his cock in further and all you can do is moan Peter’s name like it's a prayer to God himself. The stretch feels way too good, way better than you remember.

“God, I missed you.” He whispers breathlessly as he slides all the way in, bottoming out. 

You can’t help but clench around him. “I missed you.”

His large hands grip your thighs firmly, pushing them back to open you up more to him and you clench around his cock at the new angle. 

“Oh yeah… She remembers me.” He teases, referring to your pussy and the way it’s still made just for him.

“Jesus, Peter.” You roll your eyes, a soft breathless laugh leaving your lips before he kisses you lightly. 

“Tell me you didn’t miss this.” He laughs as he pulls out and then thrusts back in.

“I- I can’t.” You whisper against his lips. 

He continues pulling out and pushing back in, trying his best to savor the feeling, but you can tell he wants to lose control… to lose himself in you.

“Peter…” You moan to let him know it’s okay, that you’re not going anywhere. 

You can see the switch flip and he roughly shoves his cock back into you and buries his face in your neck, breathing you in with a low growl. As your hands find their way back in his hair, he ruts against you mercilessly, desperately. As if you could disappear again at any moment. 

“Fuck I love you…” His voice is raspy and low. “Never fucking stopped. Missed you so goddamn much.” 

All you can do is kiss him, a lump in your throat threatening to send you into a fit of tears. But he pulls away to look into your eyes, searching with a furrowed brow. He wants to know if you still love him, his thrusting never stopping or letting up. 

“Fuck Peter, I love you too.” The tears spill. “Of course I do.” 

Without a warning, his orgasm is ripped from him, coating your walls in that familiar come that you’ve missed more than words could even begin to describe. He growls against your lips as they collide with your own.

“I’m- I’m sorry.” He lets out a breathless laugh after a moment, his chest heaving against yours.

“Don’t be.” You let out a laugh with him, still unable to quite believe Peter is in your bed with you. 

He stays hovering over you for a moment, his eyes squinting with delight just to be able to be looking at you and holding again. 

“God, you’re just as beautiful as the day we got married.” He whispers, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. You roll your eyes and he grins, collapsing next to you. “You roll your eyes but I’m only telling the truth.”

“Shut up.” You push him onto his back, climbing on top of him and kissing him as he hands finding your hips. 

“Listen… I know we have a lot to discuss… but I’m in this. No matter what. If we have to keep our businesses separate…” He tries but you shake your head.

“That would never work…” You murmur, kissing down his chest, causing his back to slightly arch into your touch. “I’m giving it up. I’ll go work in actual publishing if I fucking have to.” 

He lets out a loud laugh. “Can we get a Prius?”

You groan. “Could you be any more annoying?” 

“Easily.” He winks. “Answer the question.”

You rest your head on his chest. “Fine. But I’m not selling my bike.” 

“I can live with that.” He pulls you back down to kiss you again and then rolls you over onto your back, already ready for round two. 

It’s going to take a lot of work, trust, and therapy… But you know that if you and Peter were able to find your way back to each other, you can find a way to make a better future. And as cheesy as it sounds, as long as you have each other, you know you’ll be okay. 

[lucky-lucky-duck]

Tokyo Debunker Match-up: Tasnim

Ahhhh, I'm sorry this took so long! I was having a week long mental breakdown over classes and then needed a day to recover a bit. c': But!! I really loved the one you did for me so I hope this makes up for the wait! Also, you wrote from the character's perspective so I responded the same way. Hope that's fine! @ithseem @courtofmatchups

Request:

Hey! I run the Court of Matchups blog. This is my main. I'm down to do a trade. Are you willing to do a Tokyo Debunker matchup for an OC? Her name is Tasnim. I'm gonna write this as if she's the one speaking so you can better grasp how they speak, for all intents and purposes, so... Here you go.

Appearance: I am a bisexual South Asian demigirl (she/they pronouns) with straight black hair and tan skin. I usually tie into a low braid because I think it looks cute, and I don't like the feeling of loose hair on the back of my neck. I also wear glasses. I am 160 cm tall and pretty scrawny. My favourite colours are pink and orange, and I present myself very feminine, but I do like to dabble in other aesthetics too.

Personality: I like to say I'm a pretty cheerful and upbeat person. I try my best to smile through tough situations, though it can be hard sometimes. I also like to say I'm a family person, and I will do anything to protect them, and my friends. I am perfectionistic, but sadly I am a bit scatterbrained, much to the dismay of my parents and older sister. Hell, I almost burned the eggs I was making for the first time (I have gotten better tho). I have been working on my organizational skills though, and I’m happy to say that I’ve come a pretty long way. I can be quite petty too. If someone wrongs me, I tell them either bad puns or horrifying facts for a period of time as revenge. I'm also good at math, so my friends come to me for help with that. Also, in almost every friend group I'm in, I somehow become a therapist friend. Lemme tell you, THAT really takes a toll on me. I also have a soft spot for unabridged fairytales (they high-key have me in a chokehold). Some more lil' factoids about me: I wear my hair in a low braid because I don't like the feeling of hair on the back of my neck. My friends and family often told me my hands get pretty animated when I talk

Likes: Anime, drawing comics, video games, unabridged fairytales, sweets (my favourite dessert is caramel pudding) and spending time with my older sister

Dislikes: Cruelty, confrontation (I will kick butt if I need to, literally or figuratively), anyone who dares to threaten my friends or family, arrogance when it gets out of hand, black tea or coffee (I cannot drink it unless it is sweetened or if I have it with a LOT of milk)

Here's the design:

I would match you with: Luca Errant☆

Luca is someone who can really appreciate your disposition, mostly because he's the same way. He's also a very family oriented person, so I think he would try really hard to mesh well with yours, especially if you spend a lot of time with them. He might make himself a little anxious trying to make sure they like him, so please give him a pep talk and maybe some advise.

I also think that he would find the whole scatterbrained thing very cute! Luca sees you as someone on the exact same level as him, like a partner. So, when he finds an opportunity to be the one to support you, he jumps at it. If you mention having plans, he writes it down and reminds you later. If you're cooking, he'll try to inconspicuously position himself close enough to react if you turn away and it starts to burn. (he cannot cook, though, so that's probably as far as that goes.) He wants to be everything you need, but he's very good about not overdoing it or overstepping boundaries.

Luca is very much an acts of service and quality time man when it comes to relationships, so there's not a chance in hell that you'd ever be forced into the therapist friend role. He'll probably have a problem with others treating you like that, as well. And unfortunately, Luca definitely doesn't shy away from confrontation when he sees if weighing on you. In the moments where the both of you are going through something tough behind closed doors, you'd be able the comfort the other in a way that doesn't leave either of you to take the brunt of the emotions.

Ask him to braid your hair for you! Please! I don't think he knows how initially, but he absolutely starts learning for you the minute you ask him about it. It's a small act that he can do for you, and it almost feels like he can braid in all of his affection and good will, which I think would make him feel better when he can't be around you for a while. He also keeps one of your hair ties on his wrist, just in case.

Also, how ironic is it that you're obsessed with unabridged fairy tales and then end up with the most Disney Prince lookin' ass in the whole franchise? He loves that you like telling him about your favorite things, and he'd get a lot of comfort just from listening to you ramble about it, even if it's the bloody and disturbing topic of unabridged fairy tales. All-in-all, I think this would be a really happy pair!

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

What examples did Scobie give that point ti William and his staff being bullies?

Ok, so you have to remember that this is Scobie/Harry's perspective of William and his staff.

William and his team, specifically Christian Jones, using the power of William's position to silence the press about the Rose Hanbury affair. (You can tell Scobie believes he thinks the affair happened and he walks you right down his evidence but stops short of saying those words specifically.)

Kensington Palace using Harry's mental health, or William's concerns of Harry's mental health, to bury negative stories about him and Kate being lazy in the aftermath of Megxit.

Kensington Palace excluding Scobie from their events, press releases, and briefings because he was spending more time reporting on Harry and Meghan.

William not talking to Harry, despite all of Harry's attempts to talk.

William not apologizing to Harry or making amends.

William not inviting Harry on the private plan to Balmoral when The Queen was dying. William refusing to answer Harry's calls, take his calls, or return his messages on that day.

Jason Knauf stepping into, and interfering with, Meghan's lawsuit against the Daily Mail over Thomas's letter. Scobie claims Knauf did this at William's request.

Kensington Palace leading the smear campaign to kick the Sussexes down a notch after the "successful" Australia tour.

Christian Jones hyping up the Cambridges' visit to see Baby Archie and making it sound like it was an hours-long visit when really it was a drive-by at William's request to make the Cambridges look better.

Kensington Palace leaking about Megxit and the Sussexes' plans.

William not investigating, or taking seriously, Harry's concerns about Christian Jones's connection to The Sun.

William awarding Christian Jones for his smear campaigns against the Sussexes by promoting him from 'Head of Communications' to private secretary.

William recommending Knauf for the RVO and doing his investiture.

Kensington Palace aides being sympathetic to the royal reporters who were being called racist by Sussex Sugars in their DMs/on social media.

The palace protecting Melissa Toubati instead of Meghan. (This one is interesting - I'll give you the quote at the end of this list.)

Kensington Palace pressuring ITV to remove Scobie's comments about how William was using Harry's mental health to create positive press for himself from a documentary they were making. The KP complaint was that Scobie's comments were defamatory. Scobie insists they were not. ITV did what KP wanted take these comments out of the broadcast and Scobie is still upset about it.

KP's involvement in a superinjunction about something involving Christian Jones and Dan Wootton/The Sun. (Quotes too, below. This one is weird.)

Melissa Toubati:

When I wrote in detail about [Melissa Toubati]'s departure in Finding Freedom, it was intriguing to see how quickly and thoroughly the Palace defended her, from the Palace's positive briefings all the way to a call I received in March 2021 from a senior Buckingham Palace communications aide, after I reported details of the Sussexes' side of the story on air. 'Omid, I need you to remember that there is a human being at the other end of these claims,' they said. 'Melissa has been very upset...Please remember that words have very real consequences.' Words do indeed have consequences, but it felt slightly rich coming from the same institution that tacitly permitted cruel nicknames and did little to protect one of their own from a deluge of hateful and damaging reporting.

There have long been rumors that Melissa Toubati's departure from the Sussexes' service involves a NDA and possibly a payout. The palace coming down this hard on Scobie for having written about her does give credence to yes, there really is a NDA in place and the terms are serious enough that Buckingham Palace (not Kensington Palace, not Clarence House, but Buckingham Palace) was concerned that Scobie writing about what happened - or whoever his source was - treaded dangerously close to violating it and Buckingham Palace was trying to reel that line of investigation back in to avoid the NDA being nullified.

In other words, Buckingham Palace was stepping in to protect the Sussexes but Scobie is so far up the Sussexes' ass that he missed the forest for the trees.

The Superinjunction--

In the lead-up to the quote below, Scobie is talking about how Christian Jones was offering Dan Wootton exclusives from Finding Freedom, which would lead to Wootton promoting Scobie and endorsing the work, in return for Wootton standing down on the Rose rumors. Scobie says Jones made this offer four times, he shut it down each time, and finally:

It was soon clear my book was not the only carrot Jones would dangle in front of his pal at The Sun. In late June the paper suddenly pulled reporters after the hunt and then dropped digs into the story entirely. "Christian helped make it end," one high-level courtier told me. Curiously, Wootton and the paper--which does not have a reputatino for giving up on potential scoops--shifted their focus to a series of revealing stories about the Sussexes. For Prince Harry and some other Palace staff, including one who was confiding in me at the time, the timing of this shift was dubious. And those suspicions reached fever pitch when, a year later, a report was published by a grassroots news outlet run by a team of media lawyers and former Fleet Street journalists that focuses on the activities of Britain's newspapers. Strict U.K. laws prevent me from repeating the details contained within it.

Why mention the superinjunction in the first place? There's no reason to, unless Scobie is trying to drop hints that he feels Kensington Palace is involved in it somehow. The way Scobie writes this section feels like he wants us to say those specific words so he doesn't get accused or sued.

*******

So some of these are legitimate complaints and I can see how one would think it's bullying, like using the power/prestige of the office to censor criticism (i.e., the 'bully pulpit'). But some of them -- particularly the ones centered on the interpersonal relationship between William and Harry (like William not taking Harry's calls) -- seem petty.