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brokenmenswhore · 3 months ago

Note

Omg sooooo true about all the Jace fics being so soft!! But did you see that man this season! The sass, the angriness, the hatred for his enemies. He finally had a voice and it was so fucking hot!! Please give me more rough sex with Jace!! Bonus points for choking pretty please!!

don’t gotta ask me twice, this isn’t super long but i think you’ll still enjoy it ;) i also have another ask that just says more mean rough jace so here ya go

if you don’t leave soon | jacaerys velaryon

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

warnings: choking, smut (MDNI 18+), wax play

────── ☾ ──────

Jacaerys was always handsome to you, but lately, he was hot. Like really, really, hot.

When you were present at council meetings, you noticed that Jacaerys would actually speak up and make his voice heard. He was becoming more vocal toward his mother as well, and was truly asserting himself as heir to the throne. Ever since his business in Winterfell, he wore his hair down, his natural dark curls framing his exquisite bone structure perfectly.

He was always frustrated as of late, and the veins on the hand that rested on the hilt of his sword would tense and flex as he gripped it tighter and tighter. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

You couldn’t get him out of your head.

Even just being in the same room as him turned you on, your legs clenching together in your seat as your body instinctively turned toward him.

He was consuming your every thought, every move, and every dream. It became unbearable. Your desire for Jacaerys was controlling your entire life.

You needed air. You needed to spend the hours in the dead of night distracted, rather than in your chambers with your hand between your legs and Jacaerys on your mind.

You tied your robe closed around your nightdress, taking a deep breath as you snuck out of your chambers and headed toward the outdoor overlook, in desperate need of the nighttime air on your face to calm your desires down.

You slowly creaked open the door to the council room, intent on just passing through to arrive at your destination, when you saw Jacaerys seated at the council table.

He was slouched in his chair, an elbow resting on the table as leverage for him to rest his head in his palm. He was inspecting the table, deep in thought. So deep, in fact, that he didn’t even hear you come in.

You were a mere few feet behind him when you broke the silence. “Jace?”

Jace’s body jolted slightly when you spoke, violently snapping him out of his trance. “Hey.”

“Are you alright? It’s rather late,” you asked.

“Just thinking,” he answered, his eyes still transfixed to the table in front of him.

“I do not wish to disturb you,” you said, unsure of what else to say, but you didn’t make an effort to leave.

Jacaerys lifted his head and finally turned toward you. “You are not disturbing me.”

You gave him a small smile in response. The air was thick between you two, the silence awkward and deafening. The flames from the candles on the table flickered, illuminating his features as they danced. He looked so pretty. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t speak, and most importantly, you couldn’t look away.

You had to say something. You couldn’t just awkwardly stand somewhat behind him and stare at him forever, but you desperately didn’t want to leave. “Want some company?”

Jacaerys smiled at you. “Sure.”

You sat down in the chair closest to him. He was at the head of the table, and you were seated beside him, slightly around the bend. You were turned toward him, allowing you to watch him even more.

You sat in silence for several minutes. You were in awe of his beauty, his appearance in the late hour driving your hormones wild.

Jacaerys finally spoke first. “I secured a partnership in the Riverlands today.”

It was not at all what you expected him to say, but you were happy that he was finally speaking to you. “On your own?”

“Mhm,” he responded, toying with one of the model towers on the table, “I didn’t alert my mother I was leaving. I just went and did it.”

“She must have been very pleased with your initiative,” you told him.

“And yet she still refuses to utilize my talents,” he sighed, knocking over the piece he was toying with, his voice slightly raising at the end of his sentence as his frustrations made themselves known.

You looked to the piece rolling around the table, and then to him. “I’m sure she only wants to keep you safe.”

Jacaerys threw his head back, leaning on the chair and letting out a frustrated sigh. “She needs me if she wants to win this war.”

“I agree,” you said, the words coming out before you could think them through.

Jacaerys tilted his head down just enough to see you. “You do?”

You adjusted your robe in your lap. “Of course.”

Jace stayed looking at you for what felt like forever. “What are you doing up at this hour?” he asked you.

“I could not sleep,” you admitted, and it was the truth.

“Neither could I,” he reciprocated, “I have not been sleeping much as of late.”

“If you need to speak of what troubles you, I believe myself to be a rather good listener.”

You exchanged yet another look in a moment of silence before Jacaerys sighed, asking, “Do you think me capable of ruling?”

The question caught you off guard. “What?”

“As it is now, do you think I could rule?”

You swallowed nervously. You didn’t understand why he was asking you, and you were worried that you would give him the wrong answer. You figured the truth was always best. “I think we are much too young to assume such positions, but if you continue to grow the way you have as of late, I think you will make a wonderful ruler.”

Jacaerys leaned forward and placed a hand on your knee. You flinched in surprise, and your breathing caught in the back of your throat.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Of course, Jacaerys. You know I’ll always stand behind you.”

Jacaerys looked at you through hooded eyes. The moonlight was streaking into the room, and the only sound was the flickering of the candle wicks.

You did not expect him to speak, and if he did, you expected it to be about more insecurities regarding his position as the queen’s son. What he said was the very last thing you expected, but along the lines of the very first thing you often dreamed of.

“I’m quite pleased to have you in front of me.”

You blinked, expecting yourself to snap out of this dream and see where you truly were soon, but nothing changed. He was in front of you, and this was reality. You shuddered as Jacaerys began to rub your leg with his thumb.

“I-“

Words completely escaped you.

“May I be candid with you?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“Of course,” you said, your voice shaky.

“If you don’t leave soon, I won’t be able to stop myself from fucking you.”

You inhaled a sharp gasp. You didn’t intend to make noise, but you couldn’t help yourself. Your cheeks flushed as you stared into his eyes, searching for any sense that this was a joke or a test, but to no avail.

“W-what?”

“You have to leave, or I’m going to fuck you.”

“Jace-“ your voice trailed off.

“Get up.”

You stood immediately, your chair shifting slightly backward from the urgency of the move, your body responding to his demands as if it was second nature. He followed suit, stepping toward you so that your bodies were touching as he gazed down at you, his body looming over you.

He pushed your hair behind your shoulder, his fingers grazing against the nape of your neck as they moved to the back of your head. He gripped your hair and yanked your head backward.

“I don’t think I can control myself anymore,” he nearly whispered, dipping his head into the crook of your neck.

He fought with all of his self-control not to touch you, nervous he would overstep if you didn’t consent. He simply inhaled your scent, watching you swallow in anticipation and nervousness.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

“Tell me to stop, Y/N,” he repeated.

You took a deep breath, Jacaerys placing a soft kiss on the side of your neck.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Jace lifted his head to meet your gaze. “I don’t have the self control to be nice to you right now. I’m too frustrated.”

Your confidence grew as he spoke. The assurance that he wanted you too made you realize that this was now or never, and you were way too horny to get in your own way.

“So don’t be nice to me.”

Jacaerys yanked your hair backward even more, exposing more of your neck to him. He took a deep breath, connecting his lips to your neck again. He sucked the spot he landed on, his unoccupied hand pulling your waist against his hips.

He then bit down on the skin of your neck, pulling lightly with his teeth. You whined at the feeling, and you could suddenly feel his clothed cock throb against your thigh.

Jace’s hands traveled down your body until they reached the back of your thighs. He pushed and prompted you to jump, your legs wrapping around his waist. You instinctively placed your arms around his neck for balance.

He spun you around, dropping you gently onto the table.

“Kiss me,” he instructed.

Your fingers tangled in the hair on the back of his neck as you looked at him. This was all you’d been waiting for.

You pulled him closer to you, connecting your lips in a desperate kiss. His lips moved in sync with yours, his hands grabbing at your waist. He pulled you closer to the edge of the table, so that his hips could rub against yours. He grinded against you as the kiss heated up, your mutual eagerness coming to light.

You tested the waters, catching his bottom lip between your teeth and tugging slightly, disconnecting the kiss as you watched his face to garner his reaction.

He growled and pressed his lips to yours again, kissing you even harder as he vigorously untied your robe, bunching up the bottom of your nightdress and pushing it up your thighs.

His lips trailed down your jawline to your neck, sucking the slightly bruised spot from before as he pulled your small clothes down your legs enough to allow him access to your core. He immediately began to rub you, running a finger between your folds and circling around your bud.

You threw your head back, which only made Jacaerys suck harder on your neck.

He pulled away, leaning over you and using an arm to swipe away everything on the table directly behind you.

“Lay down,” he demanded.

You shifted your body until you were laying on the council table, your legs dangling off the edge as your current location dawned on you.

“Jace, what if someone walks in?” you asked, trying much too hard to sound coherent.

“Stay quiet and they won’t,” he replied, nearly a threat, untying his breeches and grabbing the seam of his small clothes, pulling both down to free himself.

“But-“

“Sh,” he said, kneeling down on the floor in front of you.

You were staring at the ceiling, completely at Jace’s mercy, and you loved it. You couldn’t see what he was doing, you could only feel him prop your legs up onto his shoulders.

Without warning, he licked from your hole to your bud, collecting the wetness as he pressed his mouth onto you, licking and sucking at your cunt. Your back arched off of the table, a low whine leaving your lips.

You peered down at him, and he was already looking up at you. One of his arms was shaking slightly, disappearing underneath the table, while his other arm held onto your hips. He was touching himself.

Even though it was happening right in front you, just the thought of Jace touching himself as he watched you react to him tasting you was too much for you. He looked so fucking pretty between your legs, his nose buried in your cunt, and his hair soft against your inner thighs.

Your hand moved down to hold onto the back of his head, lightly pulling at his hair to keep his tongue in a steady rhythm. It made Jacaerys moan into your core, and the feeling sent a shiver up your spine, causing your hole to convulse around nothing.

You continued to release soft, high-pitched moans as his tongue moved faster and faster. Your back arched again, and Jacaerys pressed his forearm into your lower stomach, forcing you to stay still against the table, but the stimulation was too overwhelming.

“Jace, I can’t-“ you tried to bargain, but it only made him stop. He stood up and towered over you.

“Can’t what, hm?” he taunted you.

He had you wrapped around his finger. You swallowed in anticipation, and Jacaerys watched the way your throat tensed from the nervousness.

He couldn’t help himself. He brought a hand up to your throat, running his pointer finger along the center before grabbing it, holding slight pressure on either side.

He gazed down at you in amusement, his cock throbbing against his stomach at the sight of you, laying down ready for him, with his hand around your throat.

Jace leaned down as far as he could toward your ear. “You gonna be good?” he whispered.

You nodded your head up and down, but that’s not what he wanted.

He squeezed your throat even tighter, your breathing now slightly obstructed. “It would be rude not to answer your future king when he asks you a question.”

You nearly gasped, “I’ll be good,” the words strained and nearly a whisper from the pressure on your throat.

Jacaerys stayed close to you, holding your neck down against the table as he lined himself up with your entrance, watching your face contort as he slowly pushed into you. Your head tried to turn away from his gaze, but you couldn’t move.

Watching you struggle, unable to do much due to his hand around your throat, amused Jacaerys. He peppered kisses along your jawline as he began to move in and out, not giving you much time to adjust to his size.

You whimpered nonstop as he fucked you, only keeping a tame pace for a few thrusts before he began to ruthlessly snap his hips. You cried out when he picked up the pace.

“I warned you I wouldn’t be nice,” he said.

You tried to respond, but the pressure against your vocal chords had you coughing instead. Your walls squeezed Jace’s cock, any reminder of his hand around your throat instantly heightening your arousal.

“Aweh,” Jace cooed, “you like it when I choke you, hm?”

“Y-yes,” you struggled out, using all your power to speak the word.

Jacaerys growled, standing tall, but never removing his hand from your throat. His unoccupied hand gripped your waist, keeping you close to him as he slammed into you.

He let his pent up anger take over his actions, watching you writhe and grab at nothing as he fucked you and, subsequently, knocking anything and everything off the table.

You knocked over one of the candles closest to you, and the wax ran for a moment, the hot liquid hitting your upper arm. You gasped at the sudden sting of pain, and Jacaerys noticed it wasn’t just a normal moan.

He scanned your body and caught the wax hitting you.

“Did that hurt?” he asked.

You wrapped your hand around his wrist, hoping he would let up on your throat and allow you to speak easier, but he wasn’t budging. “Only a little.”

Jacaerys removed his hand from your throat and watched as you gasped for air, coughing for a moment before you finally caught your breath.

He lifted one of the still-lit candles over your breasts, slowly tilting it further and further to the side until wax dripped directly onto the flesh of your breasts. You hissed at the pain, but it cooled the moment a drop hit your skin. He moved the candle back and forth, covering your cleavage in the wax.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, placing the candle back down and wiping away the cooled wax with his finger. There were red marks all along your upper breasts from the heat.

“Christ, Y/N,” he moaned. His cock was still inside of you.

You became self conscious, thinking you did something wrong. “I’m sorry,” you said, hoping he would apply it to whatever you did wrong.

“For what?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he assured you, running his hand over your breasts, tracing your collarbone, and gripping your throat again, “except for plaguing every single dream I’ve had for weeks.”

He was dreaming of you?

He started to move again, immediately resuming his brutal pace. His hips knocked against yours with every thrust, and the tip of his cock hit the sweet spot inside of you.

“Jace- I-“

He could feel you beginning to squeeze him, your breathing quickening and your moans falling freely.

“Come for me, Y/N. You’re mine.”

You’re mine. That was all it took.

Your body jolted with release, cries of his name attempting to escape your throat but getting caught by the pressure from Jacaerys’s hand, which was now pressing even harder as you came, enhancing the pleasure of your climax.

“Fuck,” he cursed, feeling you squeeze him and further lubricate his cock, “you feel so fucking good.”

You were overstimulated, your body attempting to come down from one high while simultaneously chasing another as Jace continued to piston his cock in and out of you.

As dominant as he was being, you felt like you should do something to help him come, so you swallowed your pride and embarrassment and whispered in his ear, “Come in me, Jace, I wanna feel it inside of me.”

Jacaerys dropped his head into the crook of your neck, his eyes blown out with lust. He groaned at your words.

“Please, Your Grace.”

No one had ever called Jacaerys such a high-ranking title before. It was destined to be his, as he was the heir to the true queen, but it had never been spoken out loud. It added to his dominance, reminding him that he was in control over you.

He came on the spot.

His hips snapped harshly against yours a final few times as he spilled his seed deep within you. Your legs were shaking as he pressed his forehead to yours, catching his breath as he pulled out of you.

He stayed bent over for a while, enjoying being close to you.

“You alright?” he checked, disconnecting his hand from your neck.

“Mhm,” you hummed in response.

“You can breathe alright?” he continued.

“I can breathe just fine,” you assured him.

Jacaerys sighed and smiled at you. “Then I guess I didn’t do a good enough job.”

You blushed at his words, which only made his smile widen further. You covered your face with your hands, but Jacaerys grabbed your wrists, moving them away and kissing your knuckles.

He stood and clothed himself, holding out a hand for you to take as you jumped off of the table. You nearly collapsed, but Jacaerys wrapped an arm around your waist.

“What are you doing to me?” he asked genuinely.

“I could ask you the same question,” you replied, leaning upward to place a kiss on his cheek.

#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x y/n #jacaerys velaryon smut #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys velaryon imagines #jacaerys velaryon one shot #jace velaryon #jace velaryon smut #jacaerys targaryen #jace targaryen #house of the dragon #x reader #asks

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nariism · 11 months ago

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those words you spoke to me — i. sae

"i'm done waiting" + "i think i'm in love with you" + "don't look at me that way" + unrequited love

synopsis. you were always staring at itoshi sae's back. he was forever chasing something greater, not once turning around to see that look in your eyes.

wc. ~1.2k

— for @verysium i hope this is enough angst for you... | event masterlist ✉️

Hell comes in the form of Itoshi Sae.

He's too pretty for his own good, handsome and impossibly solid. He has this expression, too—cold and calculating, easy to admire so long as you aren't on the receiving end of his scrutinizing eyes.

Sae is a wonder of the world, a whirlwind of talent and fame and witty remarks and everything in between. He's the entirety of the word football, syllable to syllable, playing as if he were damned to do so. As if he were only ever born to decimate a soccer field. As if the universe had swallowed up the meaning of anything else in his heart long before he was even born.

Hell comes in the form of Itoshi Sae.

Your next door neighbour. The one who smacks you behind the head when you're being impolite to your elders. The one who makes sure your legs are properly tucked under the kotatsu so nonchalantly, as if he's incapable of telling you he cares any other way.

You're confident that he's this beautiful in every other life, in every reincarnation, in every world. That perfection could only possibly exist simmering in his soul.

Teal eyes that blink at you in confusion and annoyance, yet have an unmistakable fondness hidden beneath the stormy waters of his irises; soft hair slicked back because he couldn't be bothered to deal with his bed head; lashes that hug his waterline—you're not sure you'll witness raw beauty like this again in your lifetime.

Hell comes in the form of Itoshi Sae. You know that much for sure.

If you ever lost your memory you're certain you would know him still: the feeling of his back against you as he shields you from his screaming brother, the smell of his cologne permanently dancing under your nose. You would know the expanse of his skin, every light freckle on his nose, the firmness of his chest beneath your palms.

Hell comes in the form of Itoshi Sae. You could crumble to your knees and tell him everything—the love you harbour for him, the way he has devoured your heart. But truth be told, he's the devil. He could never love you back—not in this life. Not in any other.

You knew that. So why are you still standing on his front porch in the middle of the night?

"I'm in love with you."

He stares at you absently from his door, hand gripping the handle so tight that his knuckles are turning white.

"That's not funny," he scoffs.

"It's not a joke."

His gaze sharpens into a glare, head tilting back almost as if he's looking down on you. It's a foreign feeling, one that you'd witnessed a million and one times before but never felt for yourself—to be unwanted by Sae. To be without meaning.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" He hisses. It appears that he's bubbling with emotion, but you can't figure out which ones. "I'm supposed to get on this plane in eight hours."

Ah, Spain. He was leaving and you'd never be able to stop him if you tried. If you did, you're positive that he would rip through you like a bullet with no remorse.

"I love you," you repeat. He falters, eyes roaming your expression to try and understand what the hell you're doing.

What are you doing? You have to wonder that for yourself.

You were always staring at Sae's back. He was the one who stood between you and Rin when you fought, protecting you from his temperamental little brother despite thinking you were both being idiots. He was the one who sat in front of you in class, passing his eraser whenever you kicked the back of his chair. He was the one on the other end of the field, attacking enemy territories while you were left behind in the bleachers.

He was forever chasing something greater, not once turning around to see that look in your eyes. He was born to be more than a lover, a friend, a companion. Itoshi Sae was destined for perfection, to be out of reach despite being so close.

But you'd mistaken his rotten kindness for love too many years ago to take it back, never able to undo the knots he had tied in your stomach.

You wanted to be selfish, just this once. You wanted to be seen, to know that he knows. You've waited long enough.

If Sae was born to play football, you're sure you were only ever born into this world to chase after him. To love him so much that it ate your flesh.

"I just had to tell you. At least once in my life, I had to."

"Stop looking at me like that—"

"I've always loved you."

"—it's pathetic."

Silence fills the air and you suddenly become hyper aware of how many tears have gathered in the corners of your eyes; the heat of your sorrow streaming down your face.

For a moment, he hesitates. There's that familiar fondness glimmering in his gaze, soft and reserved for you. His childhood friend—the one who kept losing all his erasers and the one whose voice he could hear cheering for him from all the way down the field.

Then it melts away, and he looks at you with utter indifference. You think that he's unfairly good at hiding his thoughts behind a mask of apathy.

"I don't know what you want me to say," he whispers.

I want you to love me back. "You don't have to say anything."

He looks at you for a long time, just staring. There's conflict swimming in every part of his expression, lips parting then shutting again as if he can't decide how to respond.

"I think you should leave."

You blink at him, at the bluntness of his words. You've witnessed this before; the way he so easily pushes others away when he feels too vulnerable. To be loved is to be seen, to be known, and Sae wants none of that.

"If that's what you want."

Some part of you deep down knows that it's not what he wants. That there are words unspoken tangled up in his throat. But his apprehension is enough, telling you that his heart is devoid of space for another human even if he wished for it to be different.

"It is," he strains out, lying through his teeth. "I don't love you that way. You're like a sibling—"

"Don't do that," you interrupt, drawing away from him. "Just break my heart, please."

"I don't love you." And he leaves it at that.

Hell comes in the form of Itoshi Sae. It's a notion that follows you as you walk down the driveway toward your stalled car, left running because deep down you already knew his answer.

The beauty of his forbidden paradise drives you to turn around, too, and just like every other time his back is turned to you. His hand rests on the handle of his door, yet his body is frozen in place. You wait for a moment, eyes cast over your shoulder to see if he'll turn around and finally look your way.

He doesn't.

(You've driven off by the time he comes back outside, watching the back of your car pull away into the fog.

He's done the right thing, he thinks. He could never stand watching you cry.)

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matriarchjojo · 11 months ago

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-> TOKYO REVENGERS MASTERLIST

ふしだらな女クラブ ღ

GROUP♡FICS.

Hot Model Sex (toman ver)

Hot Model Sex (bonten ver)

Movie Night Gone Wrong

Movie Night Gone Right

Heads Rolling For The One I Adore

Breed Me Please!

Nasty, Icky, Filthy And Sticky

Daddy, I Can Feel It In My Tummy

I Think You Come From Another World

Bonten's Whore

Don't Cum Until Daddy Tells You To

Big Tr Men

First Times

The Shibas Pretty Step Sis

Enemies To Fuck-Buddies

I Got A Crush On You

Slumber Party

Shy Bimbo Reader

Sleeping Beauty

Knock, knock!

Tenjiku's Whore

SERIES.

Bonten's Baby.

Mikey

Dark Paradise (angst/dark fic)

Off To The Races

Motherfucker

Don't Cum Until Daddy Tells You To

Baji

Who Cares?

I Got A Crush On You

He's Right There!

Are You Scared Of The Big Bad Wolf?

Rindou

Watch Out, Little Kitty!

Ditch Your Bitch

Gold Digger

Fuckin' In The Back Of A Cop Car

Caught By Big Bro

Why Won't You Let Me Move On?

Deceiving

Ran

Watch Out, Little Kitty!

Stepdaddy Ran

Bratty Sub Ran

Sanzu

Innocent Little Slut

Sweet Mamas Boy

Caught Red Handed

Don't Cum Until Daddy Tells You To

Making Sanzu Watch You

Forever and ever mine

You Make Me Feel Like Heaven

Taiju

Like Bunnies In Heat

Inui

Better Swallow His Spit

Shinichiro

Bimbo Meets Biker Virgin

Koko

Tennis Outfit

Washing Maschine Heart

In My Leopard Limo

Mitsuya

Try On The Corset I Made

#jojo writes #tr smut #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev smut #tokyo rev #bonten #tokyo revengers smut

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rinhaler · 1 year ago

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𝖗𝖆𝖛𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜

would you fuck your high school bully if you got set up on a blind date with him? if he was hot, probably, right?? ... right?

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ ex bully!rensuke kunigami x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot Notes: a concept that has rotted my brain for weeks now. ty to @chososdoll for beta reading as per ♡ Warnings: 18+, alcohol consumption, pro player!kunigami, pleasure dom!kunigami, consent check, overstimulation ♡, multiple orgasms (duh!), pussy eating ♡, fingering, slight nipple play, dumbification, size difference, vaginal sex, dacryphilia ♡, enemies to lovers?, pool sex ♡, skinny dipping, morning sex ♡, wake up blowjob, shush kink?, praise, reader has pubes! (landing strip), calls your pussy 'she', bullying mention, pet names (baby, princess). Words: 15.1k

“This seems a little…”

“What?”

“Sad.” you laugh, repositioning yourself on the couch beside your best friend as you watch your fourth horror film of the evening. She tuts, but not before gesturing that she needed a refill on her wine. So, you reach over to the side table and start taking off the lid for her. “I don’t know. It feels a bit desperate, no?”

“No!” Maisie objects.

She can’t remember the last time she heard you gush about a guy. And honestly, neither can you. It’s been forever since you went on a date. And it’s been even longer since you got laid. You shake the thought away as you pour the red liquid into her empty glass.

You’re happy alone, for now, you think. It’s not like you feel lonely. Admittedly, it isn’t the best feeling when you have to listen to all of your friends talk about their date nights or cosy nights in with their partners. It isn’t the end of the world, though. Maybe happy is a strong word to describe how you feel.

You’re content being alone.

“I’m not saying you have to marry the guy,” she continues, lifting the wine to her lips when you finish filling her glass. “Just meet him. He’s so sweet, and he’s gorgeous!”

“You fuck him then!” you laugh. She takes the opportunity to flaunt her engagement ring that she hasn’t even had for a week yet. You roll your eyes, but laugh, grabbing her hand so you can examine it again. It is beautiful. Are you a bad friend? Because the stab of jealousy you suddenly feel is almost painful. “I’ve never been on a blind date. I didn’t even realise they were still a thing, why won’t you just show me him?”

“I promise he’s extremely sexy. Trust me, if I wasn’t engaged I’d definitely take him for a ride.” she giggles, and you laugh back at that. She has similar taste to you, so you’re sure you’ll feel the same way when you see him. It’s intimidating though. You’re putting complete faith in her that she won’t fuck you over. And then, you realise, you’re thinking about it as if you’ve already accepted. Maybe it’s a sign. You should just take the plunge. “I don’t want to tell you too much and spoil the fun, but—”

“I’ll do it.”

“Y- really?!” she wiggles a little closer to you in excitement, her wine sloshing in her glass as she approaches. “I’m gonna text him now! Eeeeeeek!” she squeals, putting her wine down and picking up her phone. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her fingers move so fast as she texts the mystery man.

You want to pry for more information, but you know her too well. She’s stubborn. And the blind date aspect for her is too exciting. There’s no use trying to get her to spill. Though it doesn’t stop you from attempting to extract even a slither of information.

“How do you know him?”

“He’s a client.” she pays you no mind, perfectly manicured fingers tap away at her phone as she formulates a text message.

You’re surprised, for multiple reasons. You hadn’t expected her to answer that truthfully, let alone with no hesitation. It came so easy for her to say; which means one of two things. Either, it’s true, or, she had a well-crafted lie prepared in case you asked that very question. But if it’s true… that’s interesting.

She’s a social media manager. And while her clients aren’t necessarily A-Listers, they aren’t exactly nobody’s, either.

“Oh my God, is he a footballer?” you smile, widely. She peers up from her phone and you find it hard to read her expression. She’s always had a good poker face, but you’ve known her long enough to recognise her tells. And when she licks her lips, you have your answer. “AH! Is he rich? Oh I bet he’s gorgeous, fuck, is he shredded? Like—”

“The horny jumped out!” she laughs, and you playfully hit her arm before laughing along with her. She doesn’t say anything else about it. Now, she is fully committed to the blind element of the date. “I’ll drop you off, I’ll tell him what you’re wearing so he knows it’s you. He said he’s free Thursday night, does that work?”

“Sure.”

“Great! So 9PM on Thursday.”

“Um…” you hesitate. Fucking 9PM? You know you aren’t that old, you’re in your mid-twenties for crying out loud, but that seems very late. You’re usually tired by 10 o’clock. But you refuse to risk her chastising you for being boring. So, you suck it up with a beaming smile, “Perfect.” it almost hurts to say.

She claps, enthusiastically, before picking up her abandoned wine glass again. You’re both silent, fixated on the movie. But you spot Maisie out of the corner of your eye finish her drink in a hearty swig. You don’t comment, though, still trying your damnedest to focus on the movie. It’s too late, though, you’ve missed most of the plot since she started plotting and preparing your upcoming date. You don’t dare break the silence, though. She looks utterly engrossed.

However your own attempt at concentrating is thwarted when you hear her glass land a little too harshly onto her coaster. It doesn’t smash, thankfully, but you’re both staring at each other after that.

“I haven’t got a fucking clue what’s happening in this.” she admits, and you laugh, agreeing. “Let’s go plan your outfit for Thursday!” she suggests, throwing the blanket you’re sharing off her body before walking hastily to your bedroom.

This is so her.

She’s more excited for this date than you are.

“Deep breaths, you look gorgeous!” she assures you, holding your hand as you squeeze it again and again to calm your nerves. “For what it’s worth, by the way, he’s my sweetest client. He’s really respectful and kind, a lot of them can be rude but he’s never been like that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! He’s really understanding.” she nods, eagerly. “Do you want me to come in and wait with you?”

“No, um… c-can you wait and let me know when he’s coming in? Or, just be here in case I get stood up.”

“Don’t even think that, he’s excited! He’ll be here. I’ll drop him so fast if he does, but I know he won’t.” she assures you.

You take another deep breath before smiling at her. She reaches over to give you a hug. It’s a tight, reassuring squeeze that makes you feel better for a fleeting moment. She waves like a child when you step out of the car, and she wolf whistles before you close the door.

If nothing else, at least you look good. You both agreed that there’s nothing like a little black dress, and your high heels accentuate your legs. They clack as you stomp across the pavement. And when you realise your steps are in time with your heartbeat you think it wise to slow down.

As the entrance to the restaurant comes into view, you look down the street and give your friend one final wave. Though, really, it’s meaningless. You know as soon as you sit down you’ll pull your phone out and start texting her in a panic. The maître d’ welcomes you with a beaming smile, checking the reservation list for the booking strategically made under Maisie’s name.

Still so committed to the blindness of the date.

It’s sort of exciting to think he doesn’t know anything about you, either. Though it’s scaring you slightly that he could take one look at you and turn around. And you won’t know until it’s too late. You won’t know until you’re being pestered to order after telling the wait staff that your date hasn’t arrived yet several times.

They’ll have to be polite despite how humiliating it is to tell you that other patrons need to be seated and seen to and you’re wasting their time. You’ll have to swallow your pride and leave. You can’t possibly eat alone after shouldering such a burning humiliation.

Oh God.

You text Maisie. And your fingers tremble as you type out the message. Telling her that you cannot go through with this and that you’re about to leave. A barrage of texts come through as she tries to give you a pep talk. But your anxiety flares and your leg begins to bounce as you try and shake the nervous energy from it.

Part of you thinks it’s best to stay sober, but your body is screaming differently. One drink won’t hurt, you decide, ordering two glasses of wine in case your date ever turns up.

And then you remember who he is. Or who he might be. He’s a client of your best friend, the social media manager. He must have some level of fame to need that representation. You’re pretty sold on the idea that he is likely a footballer. And through this thought process you manage to relax, if only a little. If he’s famous, he could be busy.

You decide to offer him some grace.

Though you should have given him the time to be really late before you got so worked up. You’ve only been seated for three minutes, after all. It’s not like he’s stood you up for an hour. You decide you’ll give him fifteen minutes before you leave. That’s a suitable amount of time to be able to leave and not look really foolish.

Every person that enters makes your heart race. Is it him? Only to realise it’s a couple or a double date or a family party in tow. You check the time on your phone, nine minutes have passed. Your cheeks fill with air as you puff it out slowly through pursed lips.

YOU: he’s not coming. MAISIE MOO 🐮: dw he just called me! he was stuck in traffic!!! YOU: rly? MAISIE MOO 🐮: yah! should be there any minute, have fun 😉

Your heart rate intensifies again as you see a man walk through the entrance and close an umbrella as he greets the maître d’. It prompts you to look outside, the windows are practically black save for a few lights on in the buildings across the road. But your eyes focus on the fat raindrops and their white outlines as they roll down the glass. How didn’t you notice the sudden torrential downpour?

Even from your seat at such a distance from the entrance you can see how large and well defined his hand is as he shakes raindrops from his orange hair. The colour makes you shiver, but you bat it away. It’s him, it has to be him. He’s alone, after all. And you see the maître d’ smile in your direction.

Hell, he might be happier that he showed up than you are.

You hear him laugh, and it’s deep, as he’s guided into the restaurant. And you can’t help but smile as you see him. He’s handsome, very handsome, and he has such a positive energy beaming from him. His face seems warm despite being chilled by the wetness of the rain. There’s pink in his cheeks and at the tip of his nose as he continues to smile kindly.

And, really, you’re speechless.

He smiles so sweetly, you almost didn’t recognise him, as he takes his seat opposite to you. And he thanks you for the wine. His eyes betray him as he looks at you with optimism. You know him, you’ve always known him. Those amber eyes that you’ve never seen in another man again since him. They seem so kind, now.

But you know better.

While he knows nothing.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” he grins, looking briefly over the menu. “I got stuck in traffic and then I had a hard time in the car park.” he laughs, his thumb indicating he’s referring to the multi-story car park down the road. The one notorious for its broken machines and confusing layout.

“Well, you’re here now.” you smile, weakly. Tipping the remaining contents of your glass until it flows between your lips. It goes down smooth and you almost feel it swim directly to your braincells, feeling slightly faint until your senses return to you again. You blink it away, and your eyes squint at him suspiciously. “Excuse me, I have to pee.” you tell him.

“Oh, sure.” he smiles. “Should I order for you if the waiter comes by? What would you like?”

“Are you paying or are we splitting the bill?” you wonder, taking his menu from his hand before he can even register that it’s gone. Your eyes scan the menu quickly, not looking for anything in particular.

“I’m old fashioned, so—”

“Great, then I want this.” you tell him, pointing to the most expensive meal on the menu as you place it back into his grip. He chuckles, gently, before looking up at you. Your smile filled with anger and malice as you turn on your heel to find the bathroom. “Oh, and an expensive meal should be paired with an expensive drink, right?” you tell him, leaving before he can respond.

He watches as you approach a waiter, asking where you can find the bathroom. They point you in the right direction. But before you go, you point towards the table your date is still seated at, telling them you’re ready to order. You ascend the staircase to the second floor and slip away into the bathroom and out of your dates line of sight.

Your heart pounds furiously.

Little hands shake as you search for your phone in your purse. Christ, you could use a cigarette right now. You feel light-headed as you take deeper and deeper breaths as you pull up your texts, your fingers tremble as you lean against the sinks.

YOU: do you hate me? be honest MAISIE MOO 🐮: ???? what’s wrong? Do u think he’s ugly? YOU: no he isn’t ugly. ANNOYINGLY. UGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! MAISIE MOO 🐮: … MAISIE MOO 🐮: what? YOU: do u remember me telling u about a school bully 😊 MAISIE MOO 🐮: stop it YOU: YOU SET ME UP ON A DATE WITH MY BULLY!! WHAT DO I DO?? MAISIE MOO 🐮: NOOOOOOOOOO MAISIE MOO 🐮: OMG OMG OMG IM SORRY MAISIE MOO 🐮: FUCK YOU: I told him to order me the most expensive stuff on the menu bc he’s paying.. so I might just eat and dip MAISIE MOO 🐮: stopppppp omg lmk when ur done I will pick u up im so sorry ily

You sigh, putting your phone back in your purse. Is that really the right thing to do? Maybe not right, it’s morally wrong, of course. But is it the best decision to make? Do you really want to sit and eat a meal you probably won’t enjoy with your former bully watching your every move?

“Fuck.” you whisper to yourself. You decide to pee while you’re here, and you wash your hands for longer than you intended. It’s distracting you from your worries as you stare at yourself in the mirror and feel the comfort of the warm water encasing your hands as you clean them. You shake them when your done, little drops of water landing back in the sink before you go to the hand dryer. Maybe you’re stalling. You’re definitely stalling as you realise you’re drying your hands for far too long.

With one final look into the mirror, you take a deep breath and decide to return to your date. He smiles as he sees you descend the stairs again. And instinctively, you smile back. It’s a habit you’ve developed, not necessarily a bad one. But in this instance, it feels like a betrayal to yourself. You tell yourself to remain straight faced as you sit down, pulling your chair closer to the table.

“I’m Rensuke, by the way. I realise I didn’t introduce myself.” he grins, beaming white teeth almost blinding you as he awkwardly holds his hand out for you to shake. “Sorry, been a while since I had a date.” he laughs as he puts his hand down.

“I know who you are.” you laugh in return, though it’s not because of what he said. You just can’t help but find yourself amused over the fact he doesn’t recognise you. He laughs, too, looking a little uncomfortable all the while. He scratches his head as he nods, coming to his own conclusion.

“Oh, right. You’re a football fan, then? Sorry, you didn’t strike me as the type.” he continues, assuming you’re familiar with him through his fame. You hold your eyes shut for a beat too long, an annoyed smirk creeping its way onto your face as you try to bite your tongue.

“Sure, let’s go with that.” you comment, taking a swig from your newly filled wine glass. He cocks his head in confusion, but drinks with you. “So, why are you here? In London, I mean. I assumed you’d be… not here.” you ask, unable to control your tongue. There’s venom in your words, but not enough to kill.

“Um, I—” he clears his throat, coughing into his balled-up fist. His honeyed eyes find yours again, an incredulous look appears on his face as he formulates his thoughts in his mind. “I feel like I’m being set up.” he chuckles, though you can sense the worry behind his voice.

You take another sip from your wine glass. A sip turns to a glug as you empty the red liquid from the crystalline glass. You refill it yourself; sensing things are about to go south very quickly.

“This wasn’t really a blind date, right? Maisie told you who I am and you wanted to meet me. Am I right?” he wonders. And at that, you do scoff. And now you’ve lost all interest in holding your tongue.

“Oh my God. You’re so full of yourself, you haven’t changed at all.” you tell him, crossing one leg over the other as you rummage through your purse in search of a cigarette that will never appear. “I had no idea I was being set up with you. If I knew that, I wouldn’t have agreed.” you tell him without remorse. Defeated, you throw your purse down to the ground by your feet.

There’s a sense of shame flaring within you that you couldn’t keep it together until the end of your date. Of all the people roaming planet earth right now, why did he have to be your blind date? You stare at him as you observe his confused expression, he’s utterly bewildered by your words.

“I’m… we’ve met before, huh? I’m sorry, I’m having trouble remembering. I— are you a fan? Or… were you?” he asks, trying to decipher your identity. You scoff, again, preparing to stand to your feet. He reaches across the table and grabs your wrist. You look down at his large, veiny hand and then into his eyes. Your own vibrating with a slight twinge of fear. You feel like that teenage girl all over again.

“Let. Go.” you warn him, voice quiet through your gritted teeth. He relinquishes his hold of you instantly, apologising profusely. He’s just confused about what he could have done for you to hold such disdain for him. But your warning replays in his mind like a record on repeat. It’s like his fractured memories are forming again, becoming whole as he hears your voice again and again.

Let go.

You sounded so much weaker back then. You’re more defiant, now.

“Are you Ryusei Shidou’s little cousin?” he asks, eyes widening and brows raising in excitement. You sigh, sitting properly in your chair with correct posture as your eyes look angrily at him.

“No, I told you—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not really cousins your families are just close. I remember.” he smiles. His eyes almost dazzle as he looks at you, all recollection of his past hits him like lightning as he repeats your name again and again like a mantra. “Is that really you?”

“It’s really me.” you repeat, sarcastically. “Cancel the food order, you can still pay for the wine.” you tell him as you pick up your purse and prepare to leave.

“What? Why? We should catch up!” he tells you, an expectant look on his face as he hopes to convince you.

“I don’t want to catch up with you?” you tell him.

“But… why not? It’s been so long since we saw each other.”

You signal the maître d’ when you finally catch his attention. Rensuke looks disappointed as you continue to ignore him. Instead, you alert the man that you’ll be leaving early and to cancel your orders. But you make sure to tell him that Rensuke will happily cover the bill. And he does, hastily pulling out a wad of cash from his wallet as you depart the restaurant. He hurries after you, he’s in slight disbelief when he realises how fast you are. You��re almost halfway down the road when he finally exits the restaurant.

“Slow down!” he calls out to you, running right up behind you until he’s walking at your pace. He opens his umbrella and holds it above your head as you carry on walking. “You’re gonna get sick if you keep this up.”

“Leave me alone.”

“At least take my umbrella.” he requests, “I’ll go to my car and leave right now if that’s what you really want. But at least take it while you wait for a ride home.”

You accept, not too proud to take something that might offer you a small comfort in the absolutely obscene downpour plaguing the city. How quickly you’ve transformed from a vixen to a drowned rat. He must be loving this.

“I really would like to catch up with you, y’know…” he smiles.

You look up at him as the rain soaks his gorgeous gingery locks dampening and sticking to his forehead. Maybe he has changed. It’s been years after all. He’s grown up, it’s plain to see from his chiselled jawline alone. And he was always big back then. One of the tallest guys in your class, and so big and beefy to boot from playing so much football and training in the gym.

He terrified you.

And now, he’s bigger. An inch or two taller and completely filled out into an even more muscular physique.

“I can take you home, too. You don’t need to talk to me if you don’t want to… but, it’s freezing. You’ll be waiting ages for a taxi or for Maisie to come get you.” he speaks softly. And unfortunately, he’s right. You know all too well how tough it is to get taxis around this time, but it would be worse if it was the weekend so at least you’re thankful for it being a Thursday. You want to decline. You’re so ready to decline.

But for some reason—

“Okay.” you nod. You walk ahead, though, leaving him behind as you walk to the parking complex you’re pretty confident that he used. He laughs, hurrying after you again and allowing you to lead the way. It seems you know the area way better than him.

He guides you to the elevator and to the top floor of the complex. You aren’t sure what you expected when you step out. It’s not like you’re familiar with cars. But you were expecting some kind of expensive sports model. A Ferrari or something. Instead, you’re greeted to a black Range Rover.

It’s definitely outside of your pay grade, but you can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

“I thought you’d have a nicer car, Rensuke.” you decide to goad him, thinking it’s the least he deserves at this point.

“This is my incognito car.” he smirks, looking over his shoulder at you as he unlocks it. Of course he has an incognito car. You huff a little as he helps you up and into it, closing the door behind you. He circles around the back and you see him looking around in the boot before he comes to the driver's side and sits behind the wheel. He gives you a towel, presumably used for his training days, and tells you to dry off. “My nicer cars are at home, sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, wait…” you snicker as a thought comes to you. “Were you gonna try and pretend you’re a nobody if I didn’t recognise you?”

His face fills with a pink hue as he feels completely caught out. And you can’t help but burst into hysterics. It’s tough for him, meeting girls who will actually like him for him and not his bank account. When Maisie suggested a blind date, he thought it was as good a chance as any to try and form a natural connection.

“Anyway, I’ll take you home now.” he tells you, trying to change the subject. “Sorry the date didn’t go to plan.”

You huff, again, as you try to dry your skin with the towel. Eventually you give up and use it as a horribly soggy blanket. “I can’t believe you even wanted to go on a blind date. Girls used to throw themselves at you in school. I told Maisie a blind date seemed really desperate.”

“Did we go to the same school? I was a virgin ‘til we left.” he informs you. You look at him, surprised, and he nods to clarify. “I was focused on football and shit, didn’t have time for girls.”

“Well, you had time to bully one girl.” you remind him, regretting saying it instantly. You thought confronting him would feel better than this, cooler. Like you can finally get closure and make him feel almost a fraction as bad as he made you feel back then. But instead, really, it just feels… cringe.

He offers a weak smile at you. The tension could be cut with a knife as he pulls out of his parking space and drives down each floor. He wants to say something, and really, so do you. Maybe you should just let the hatred go. It was a really long time ago, after all.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t a good guy back then, but I like to think I’ve changed a lot.” he speaks, eyes focusing on the road as the street lights and car beams blind him in the rain. “Your cousin bullied me, y’know. Dunno if he ever told you, but I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair though, so I’m really sorry.”

“He is not—”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it, princess.” he smirks, “I wouldn’t want to claim a relation to that blonde freak either.”

The insult towards Ryusei makes you laugh. You’re still close with him to this day, and ‘blonde freak’ is the perfect descriptor. But you don’t like to think of him as being capable of bullying. You had a feeling that was why you were subject to Rensuke’s torment each day, but you didn’t want to discover the truth. He always made it a point to vilify you for being related to Ryusei. Though you adamantly denied it each time.

“So, you were a prick to me for being related to someone I wasn’t even related to?” you respond, seriously. It’s a hard pill to swallow. Though you’re unsure any answer to his bullying would have made you feel better. It hurts to know you suffered so much, ultimately, for nothing. “Wish I told him you were picking on me, he would have fucking killed you.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that.” he laughs a little. It’s soft, but not weak. It’s almost like acceptance. As though he deserves anything and everything you’ll throw at him. “We’re good now, though, if we’re in the same place we’ll meet up for drinks. He’s a fucking good player, too. Always admired him. He kept me in my place for a long, long time.”

You stare at him as he speaks. How have you never noticed how soft his features are? He’s so relaxed, peaceful. He looks at you briefly when he notices you staring, but just as quickly looks at the road again as his cheeks fill with heat, reddened with embarrassment.

“I was immature…” you start, looking down at your shivering, wet thighs as you decide to accept your own faults, too. “It’s been a long time since then. And we were young, it’s obvious that you’ve changed. I didn’t give you a chance and I was childish.”

“No, no—”

“I’m serious. Ordering the most expensive stuff and going off in a strop, that was really immature so... I’m sorry.” you tell him, and he smiles at that. He can’t help but think you’re a great girl. He looks over at you again, smiling so widely his eyes close.

“You never gave me your address, y’know.” he reminds you, laughing when the realisation hits you that you’d let him drive off with no real destination in mind. “Is it too late for that catch up?” he wonders, looking at you with hopeful eyes. The orange and brown colour tainted with sparkles of red as the stop light reflects from them.

And you’re powerless.

You find yourself agreeing before your brain can even keep up with the way you’re shaking your head. No, it isn’t too late. And his smile is almost as blinding as the headlights of each car in the road illuminating the falling raindrops and deep puddles forming in the street.

“I know where we can go…” he thinks to himself

Bowling.

You never thought you’d be coming somewhere like this. Truthfully, you feel like a kid again. You remember skimming some money from your daily lunch allowance given by your parents to save up enough to go to the arcade every weekend with your friends. Saving the extra coins to use the DDR machine.

Let’s just say you mastered Captain Jack on expert difficulty.

“Another strike? You’re too good, puttin’ me to shame.” Kunigami laughs before picking up a ball and preparing for his turn. “You better not tell anyone you thrashed me; my reputation will be in tatters.” he warns you, jokingly.

You watch him as he takes a swing and hits all but two pins, leaving an awkward split between them. You hear him mutter under his breath but can’t decipher whatever it is he was talking about.

For some reason, you feel like he’s going easy on you. It’s not like he was a stranger to the arcade either back in the day. You always scarpered whenever he showed up with his friends, deciding it was the perfect time to grab a bite to eat and hope by the time you were done they’d be gone.

“I wouldn’t have invited you here if I knew you were gonna show me up like this.” he smiles, sitting next to you after completing his turn. “I didn’t know you liked bowling, thought you just liked using the dance machines.”

“You remember?”

“Yeah, uh,” he chuckles and scratches the back of his neck as he recalls the memories from way back then. “Me ‘n Raichi, remember Raichi? Anyway, girls on the dance mats… well, we were teenagers, so—”

“Oh my God you’re so embarrassing.” you interrupt him to put a stop to his stuttering.

“Look, it was a sexual awakening that’s all I’m saying.” he laughs. “And you were the best one, never missed a step. I remember we used to watch you for ages before we came in to scare you away.”

“Disgusting. Pair of perverts!” you lightly smack his arm as you continue to tease him. “I was good, though. Wonder if I could still pull it off…” you look at the machines in the distance as you contemplate restoring your former glory, you feel a newfound sense of confidence as you think about Rensuke finding you attractive back then.

You decide to go for it.

He follows you as you approach the machine, standing on the second player arrows right next to you.

“Always wanted to try!” he shrugs as you look at him suspiciously. “You can teach me.”

“No, I can’t.” you laugh, slotting two-pound coins into the machine so you can both play. “It’s just memory and hoping your feet will respond in time. Good luck, though.”

“Yeah, sounds like you have real faith in me.” he rolls his eyes, throwing his coat over the red metal bar behind him and rolling up his sleeves. You quickly kick off your high heels as you scroll through the songs. You hover over Captain Jack, and his face lights up as memories of you back then flow through his mind. “You always did this one. There was a different one I remember liking, though…” he tells you.

He starts to scroll through the songs, listening to them carefully as he searches for the one he remembers. Your eyes widen in horror as he settles on one, and he looks at you with pride.

“This one!” he exclaims, loudly.

“No, no way. I could never get the hang of it and I’m even more out of practice now. Afronova is too hard it won’t even be fun!” you warn him, but he wiggles his eyebrows at you teasingly. “Let’s do it la—” he interrupts you by pressing the select button.

“It can’t be that hard.”

“You put it on the hardest difficult, idiot. We’re fucked!” you laugh, but get into position. You’re both definitely going to fuck it up, but at the very least you’ll get a good laugh out of seeing him eat his words.

All colour drains from his face as he sees all of the arrows immediately come into view on the screen. He barely knows where to look let alone where to plant his feet. He looks at your side of the screen, though, seeing you miss a fair few moves yourself but you manage to keep up the pace enough to earn some words of praise from the machine.

If you’d know you were going to be doing this, you definitely would have worn a bra. You hold your arms across your chest as you continue to jump and follow along with the arrows as best you can. Kunigami, however, decided to give up and watch you instead. He puts his feet down a few times on ones he think he might actually be able to get.

You’re left panting by the time the song comes to an end and your final foot stomp leaves you breathless. Rensuke claps, proudly.

“Fucking hell.” you gasp for air, leaning over the red bar behind you. You think you might actually throw up. “You dick, you barely did anything either.”

“I was captivated by the master at work, you were amazing!” he praises you, and you can’t help but giggle. “I think we should do an easy one next.”

“Agreed…” you respond, flipping through the songs until you land on 5678 by Steps.

You both laugh and joke as you easily follow along with the routine on baby mode. And it’s easy to keep up a conversation with him like this. Discussing more memories of spotting each other in the arcade and what you got up to on weekends.

It makes you sad, in a way. Knowing how sweet he is now and what he was capable of back then. You could have been friends, great friends. Maybe even best friends. Though you’re sure Raichi wouldn’t have liked that.

He allows you to pick your favourite song for the final round. And, naturally, he can’t keep up with you. But this time he actually does his best. But for you, it’s like muscle memory. You don’t miss a single step through the whole routine and you don’t even feel out of breath when it’s over. Kunigami however is sweating and panting again, his already wet hair sticking onto his forehead again as the sweat clings to it.

“It’s getting late.” you tell him, “Should we get some gross bowling alley food and call it a night?” you wonder, moving to pick up your discarded high heels so that you can decide what to do.

He rushes by you and hops off of the step, snatching your shoes up before you can. You watch him, nervously, as he gets down on one knee while holding your black pumps. You’re too speechless to object when he helps you slip your feet back into them, so delicately. And he smiles up at you from his lowly position as you gain another six inches of height. He holds his hand out to you, helping you down the step after you take it.

You exhale, deeply, after feeling how unbelievably soft his hands are.

“I think I’ll get a hot dog.” he thinks, not letting go of your hand and he leads you up the small flight of stairs and into the eating area.

“Oh, the burgers were good last time I came here.”

“Ohhhh fuck you’re right, I’m getting one too.” he laughs, ushering you into a secluded spot to sit down. “What do you want to drink? I’ll run up and order everything now.” he smiles.

You quickly look through the drinks menu and tell him you want a strawberry and lime Kopparberg. He nods approvingly at your choice. You watch him walk up to the bar to order, unable to take your eyes off him. He’s chatty with the bartender, and you wonder what else they’re talking about. You see him grab a pad of paper and a pen from behind the bar, handing them over to Rensuke. And he smiles, happily, signing it for him. You see the man thanking him over and over before Rensuke walks back over to you.

“You only just got recognised?” you tease him.

“It’s rarer than you’d think, y’know.” he laughs, “he said his kid is a fan. No big deal.” he shrugs, sliding your drink over to you.

He moves on from the subject of his fame and status in favour of complimenting you again. Telling you how talented you are and how fun it’s been hanging out with you again. You end up telling him about your job. It’s nothing fancy but pays the bills. You tell him about how you pretty much fell into the job of doing admin work for a law firm and now you’re training to be a solicitor.

His face lights up as you tell him. Like he’s proud. Or maybe it’s a twinge of relief that he didn’t fuck you up mentally enough to ruin your life. Either way, his smile is contagious. It only grows wider when your two plates of food are put down in front of you. And you hate that you’re trying to eat politely. There is absolutely no way to eat a dirty burger in a ladylike manner. He laughs at you when a dollop of ketchup drops on your chest and tries to slither down your cleavage. But, ever the gentleman, he cleans it up quickly with a napkin.

“Sorry,” he hesitates after realising how intimate it is. He hands it to you and you finish clearing your chest. “Good call on the burgers, though, they’re so good.”

You smile as you chew your food, still doing all you can to appear polite and demure. But he doesn’t mind, or care. Canines tear his burger apart with ease, and he can’t seem to stop himself from smiling each time he looks at you.

“So,” you start, putting down the final bite of your burger in favour of taking a swig of your drink. “You perving over me, did that affect the bullying?” you wonder, laughing lightly as he almost chokes on his food.

“I wasn’t perving, it was, I— ugh. I always thought you were cute. But I wasn’t about to tell you that.”

“You thought I was cute?”

“Oh, like you didn’t have a big fat crush on me? I heard the rumours.” Kunigami laughs, drinking his beer as he leans back into his seat.

“No, no, rumours and hearsay. I told one girl I thought you were hot on our first day and it turned into a game of broken telephone and spread like wildfire. I hated you!”

“Sure, sweetheart.” he winks before taking another drink. “Don’t worry, I can keep a secret.”

You shake your head, opting to finish your burger instead of disputing it further. He does the same, leaning back and sighing with relief before taking another drink. He slaps his stomach, as if he’s gained a beer bellying rather than possessing the rock-hard abs that you know reside there.

“This was fun. Really fun.” he tells you, crossing his arms over his chest as he continues to get comfortable in the booth seat. You nod, agreeing. “What are we calling… this?” he wonders.

“What do you mean?”

“Was it just a ‘catch up’ or could it still have been a date?” he asks, smiling when your eyes widen and your face flushes with heat so much that you feel the need to fan yourself. You tell him that you’re just hot from eating, but another cocky eye roll tells you that he’s not buying that. “I’m hoping you’ll say it was a date, if you were wondering.” he speaks, low and gravelly as he leans across the table to tell you.

“Well, it was technically a date. Just not the location we’d planned.”

“I enjoyed this a lot more.” he tells you, looking around at all of the arcade machines and the people bowling in the distance. “I go to snooty restaurants a lot, I don’t get a chance to relax like this as much. So, thank you.”

“R-Right, no problem.” you smile, unsure of what to say. “I guess we should get going, then.” you finish, gathering yourself and clutching onto your purse as you prepare to shuffle out of the booth. He looks a little deflated, then, but he follows your lead.

He puts his arm around you as he guides you to his car, helping you inside again. He even gives you his jacket to wear when he notices you shivering. Though you opt to wear it over yourself like a blanket.

You look out of the window as he climbs inside and shuts the door. The rain stopped while you were bowling, but it’s still so dark out. It’s damp and dreary, it’s just miserable, really. But the cold chill of staring out into the black abyss leaves you when Kunigami turns on the radio. Some generic pop music you’ve never heard in your life, and it makes you feel old and out of touch. But the face he pulls says the same story, and he begins flicking through other stations until he hears something he recognises.

“S-So… do you live nearby?” you ask him, curiously.

“I do! Just got a new place a few weeks ago, I’m still unpacking.” he smiles as he envisions all of the moving boxes still piled up in each room. “So where am I taking you?”

“If you go to Maisie’s office I can direct you from there.” you tell him, clicking your seatbelt into place as he pulls up directions on his phone to the office. You look out of the front window when you hear raindrops begin to pitter patter again. “Um… Rensuke…” you start, hesitating to speak as you wonder what the fuck you’re even thinking of doing right now.

“What’s up?” he asks, eyes darting to you before he starts the car. The only thing that can be heard is the light drops of rain. It makes your skin jitter, you feel a chill as you look at Kunigami, the rain rolling down the windows in your peripheral vision and you feel thankful to be here and not out there.

You feel desperate. And you’re sure you’re going to humiliate yourself, but you don’t want the night to end. In a million years, you never would have pictured yourself enjoying the company of Rensuke Kunigami. He’s a busy man, you’re sure. He fit you into his busy schedule and you’re sure he has better things to do than spend all of his free time on a date. A date that is supposed to be drawing to a close.

But you don’t say that.

In fact, you barely say anything.

He can’t help but smile, though, knowing exactly where your next destination will be.

“I don’t want tonight to end, either.” he confesses. You feel your body become lighter as you realise he feels the same way. He starts the car promptly, and you note how sure he is about where he’s taking you. “Can I show you my new place?” he asks.

He’s so cocksure as he says it. His eyes don’t meet yours and you sense it’s because he knows you’ll say yes. And who are you to disappoint? You’re curious, anyway. You wonder if it will be as impressive as you’re envisioning in your mind. Footballers are rich, aren’t they? But maybe he isn’t a high earning player. Either way, you’re curious to see the home that your former bully has worked so hard for.

You lose track of time as you pull up to his house. Or mansion, you should say. He’s allowed through the security gate currently being manned by a member of staff, and he drives up and towards a three door garage. You can’t believe you’re visiting somewhere like this, it feels like a dream.

It’s something Maisie is accustomed to, Rensuke even tells you how confidently she strutted around and didn’t even bat an eyelid when she came over to discuss his contract. But you’re left speechless as more comes into view.

He doesn’t bother parking in the garage, pulling up directly to the stairs leading up to the front door. He’s out first, doing a little jog around your side to open the door and help you out.

“I didn’t bring you here to brag, by the way.” he insists.

“And here I was thinking you were trying to woo me into bed.” you laugh, and laugh harder the redder his face becomes. He holds his hands up defensively, waving them dismissively as he tries to assure you that was not his intention.

“I’ll take you home right after if you want! I swear I wasn’t—”

“Relax! I was teasing you.” you tell him, bumping into him as you enter the mansion. He offers you a drink, which you accept, happily. He pours you a glass of wine but gets himself some water directly from the tap. “You aren’t drinking?” you question, feeling a little uncomfortable that you’re drinking alone.

“I won’t be able to take you home if I drink more than I already have.” he chuckles, handing your wine to you.

He drinks his water, and you take a sip of your wine. His smile, that beautiful smile, it’s so disarming. You’re tottering on your heels to walk by his side as he encourages you to follow him. You feel as though time is flying when he takes you from room to room. There are still moving boxes in each room but it doesn’t detract from the lavishness of it all.

You laugh when he tells you there’s a tennis court out back.

“What are you going to do with a tennis court?” you giggle.

“Play tennis, I suppose.” he laughs back.

You don’t mind even a little when you feel his cold hand come into contact with the even colder skin between your shoulder blades. You mind even less when his hand snakes down your spine and settles in the small of your back as he guides you to the next room.

“Oh wow…” you express, hit by the warmth of the room. Your heels clack against the tiles with each step you take. You leave his side as you get closer and closer to your target. And you scream, smacking Kunigami’s arm as he rushes behind you and presses his fingers into your sides. “An indoor pool… you’ve really fucking made it.” you tell him, and he shrugs.

“There’s one outside as well.” he informs you.

“Now that was a brag.” you laugh.

“Shit, was it?”

“Absolutely.

You crouch down to the balls of your feet, letting your fingers swim through the pristine pool water. You aren’t quite sure how to describe the colour of it, but it’s mesmerising, as if sage and turquoise paint mixed specifically to fill this pool.

He takes your hand and encourages you to stand upright again. And he doesn’t let go as he leads you out of the room. The thought of going back to your poky apartment after being in here is harrowing.

It almost feels like he’s doing charity work.

There’s a rumble outside that causes you both to stop in your tracks. And once you enter the living room again, you see the heavy rain pouring down violently on the windows again. It’s louder than before. The raindrops are weightier.

He squeezes your hand as you yelp after seeing a bolt of lightning pierce through the sky. You look up at him, eyes full of grace as those honeyed eyes warm your soul for the umpteenth time tonight.

“There’s a weather warning from The Met Office…” he tells you as he checks the time on his phone. He lets go of your hand to look at you again, unsure of what to say. “I can take you home… before it gets any worse…” he whispers. His voice betrays him, though. You can hear the voice of a liar interspersed with his desperation to be a good guy.

He doesn’t want you to leave.

You don’t want to leave, either.

“It’s… dangerous, though…” you start, looking out of the window again at the gloomy weather.

“In that case…” he bends down, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “You should stay.”

You mewl, softly, as he not-quite kisses against your ear and the smooth skin behind it. And your head tilts, for him, so that he can press one final kiss against your neck. You don’t want it to stop, but he withdraws himself with a cheeky smirk while your eyes are heavy with lust.

It’s been so long.

Too long.

You might have lived your whole life up to now without being kissed like that.

He curls his finger, instructing you to follow him back upstairs. You put down your wine glass and hurry after him. He doesn’t wait, this time, leading ahead as he brings you to one of the bedrooms.

“Wait here.” he commands, and you do.

You walk up to the standing mirror against the wall and check yourself out. Trying to make sure you makeup hasn’t smudged or there isn’t food in your teeth. Your hair is still soaked, but that can’t be helped. When he walks back into the room you quickly back away from the mirror as if you’d been caught doing something wrong.

“The bathroom is just opposite to here.” he reminds you, pointing.

You look down at the pile of items he brought in from another room. There’s an unopened three-pack of toothbrushes and a brand-new tube of toothpaste. You can’t help but smile when you pick up the rolled-up ball of white, fluffy bed socks.

And you hate to admit how your knees go weak when you realise he’s gifted you with his football jersey to sleep in for the night. There are shorts, too, but you doubt you’ll need them. You want to keep your dress on for as long as possible. You’ll just sleep in the jersey and your panties when you’re ready.

“Thank you.” you smile at him. You notice the tips of his ears and his nose turn a blush pink as he sees you holding up his jersey and modelling it against your body.

He doesn’t say anything as he leaves the room, giving you the space you need to do whatever it is you’re planning on doing. You take the opportunity to freshen up, you pick up the dental hygiene products he’d thoughtfully left for you and head to the bathroom. You catch his figure slipping into his own bedroom and closing the door behind himself.

Your mind runs rampant now that you’re truly alone. Look where you are. You’re brushing your teeth and preparing to spend the night in Rensuke Kunigami’s house. Sorry, mansion. How the fuck did this happen? Your heart begins to race. Are you actually going to fuck him?

You can’t.

You can already feel your inner child cussing you out for letting him kiss you like he did, no matter how brief it was. It helps, slightly, to tell yourself you have a reason to spend the night. The weather. It would be dangerous to drive in weather like this.

But, Christ, you can feel your cunt throb with want as you think about him railing you in every room of the house.

“Stop.” you whisper to yourself.

You finish brushing your teeth and spit into the sink. And that is when an idea hits you. You splash your face with water and find some cleansing wipes in the cupboard underneath. You start getting ready for bed. Because that is what you should be doing. Sleeping, alone, until you can go home.

When you’re done clearing your face you decide to slip into the clothes Kunigami gave you to wear. Even the ill-fitting, downright hideous shorts.

You emerge from the room, and see Kunigami appear again with a wide smile.

“Hey—”

“I think I’m gonna go to bed.” you blurt out, awkwardly, and Rensuke stops in his tracks.

“Oh… really?”

“Yeah I’m… tired.” you lie, already turning back into your room. “Goodnight.” you call out, not bothering to look at him as you’re already shutting the door behind yourself.

“Goodnight.” he replies, the disappointment in his voice doesn’t go amiss.

You can’t.

You just can’t.

You can’t fucking sleep.

It’s closing in on midnight when you check the time, and you have a multitude of texts from Maisie blowing up your phone. You can’t bear to respond, though. Not after all of the horror stories you told her about Rensuke. The thought of her knowing that you’re spending the night at his house is just embarrassing. Even though it is innocent enough. You didn’t even kiss, really. You’re just sleeping until morning.

But you can’t sleep.

Your mind is racing with ideas of what could have happened if you didn’t say goodnight. What else could you have gotten up to if you hadn’t had your responsible brain hardwired in. You’re thankful for it, you are. But just because it’s responsible doesn’t mean it’s always right. Right? It’s been so long since you’ve gotten fucked.

Are you depriving yourself over something so trivial?

You throw off your duvet and prepare to leave the room. You’re not looking for him. In fact, you’re hoping he’s asleep, like you should be. But if he catches you roaming the halls, you’ll just tell him you were going to use the bathroom.

The corridors are cold. The chill in the air caresses your no longer covered thighs, you discarded the shorts barely any time after you said goodnight.

You aren’t sure where you’re going, you only have the flash from your phone to light the way. You’re sure he wouldn’t mind you turning the lights on, but you don’t want him to catch you if he is awake. And you don’t want the light creeping into his room to disturb him if he did actually manage to get to sleep.

When you find yourself in the same room as the swimming pool, you have no idea how you even got here. It’s like you were summoned. It’s a mermaid’s lagoon and you were drawn in by a sirens song.

You can’t remember the last time you swam. It’s not like the weather is ever nice enough for it, and you hate public pools. But this… it might even help you feel tired enough to sleep.

You look behind you and approach a set of loungers.

As you’re about to pull Kunigami’s jersey over your head, you screech. The sound of breaching water echoes through the room and you turn around, sharply, to see the source.

“Are you okay?” he bellows, his voice reverberating through the room. “Were you looking for me?”

“Jesus Christ,” you yell, laughing soon after. “I- I couldn’t sleep. You almost gave me a heart attack, I didn’t even know you were in here!” you tell him, truthfully, and he laughs. He swims under the water from one end of the pool to the other. You stand at the edge when he comes up for air again. “I just couldn’t sleep.” you confess, though it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself. Your voice is quiet and mousy so that your words won’t carry throughout the room.

“Me neither.” he tells you, looking up at you as he does. You notice his eyes stray, catching a glimpse of your panties under his jersey before he shamefully looks away. But he looks, again, as he admires you in his jersey. “Why can’t you sleep?” he asks, the sound of water pouring is boisterous as he raises his hand and pats the edge of the pool.

You look at it, his hand, and understand what he’s doing.

You can’t.

But you do. You crouch down, submerging your lower legs in the warm liquid while it ripples against the back of your thighs and ass. Your breath hitches when you feel his hand on your thighs and raking up the sides. He stands up, his forehead resting against yours as water cascades from his soaking body.

You can’t bring yourself to care when you feel it splash up against you.

The only thing on your mind is how close he is.

“Why can’t you sleep, baby?” he tells you in hushed tones. The weight of his words and the way he speaks them makes your body limp. But he’s there to keep you upright. He angles his head so that his eyes, those honey pot eyes, can focus on you. Your words die on your tongue as you try and formulate a lie.

One won’t come.

“Why did you say you were going to bed when you weren’t tired?” he whispers, again, and you feel your resolve begin to crumble. He’s like an archaeologist, meticulously brushing at an ancient relic that he has no business handling.

He should have left you be.

“I… I don’t know, Rensuke.” you lie. And it’s an awful lie. He’s grinning from ear to ear as he hears you struggle to think of anything better than that. He knows. You both know. That’s why you can’t object when he pulls you closer. His hands force your legs around his waist. How did you get here?

“You look good, princess,” he tells you, tugging gently as his jersey, looking down at the strip that drapes like silk over your cute tits and perfect frame. “Want you to have it…”

“But it’s yours.” you respond. You’re a little taken aback by how demure your voice is as you speak. It’s like you’re instinctively making yourself small for him. Your inner child is protecting you, still to this day. He shakes his head at your words, though.

“It’s yours, I’ve got plenty.” he assures you. He keeps a tight grip of your thighs as he begins to walk you further into the pool. You wrap your arms around his neck and will yourself to remain some semblance of control. But he smirks, his nose touching yours before he pulls away again. “You’re coming for a swim… do you want to take it off?” he wonders.

Your eyes widen in horror as you recall your decision to decision to forgo a bra, knowing it would ruin your outfit. You shake your head, defiantly.

You can’t.

“I’m not wearing anything underneath…” you inform him. He chuckles, at that. In his mind, he knows. And deep down, you know it too. If you don’t find your willpower soon, your bare-naked form won’t be an issue. He closes his eyes and holds them shut, laughing when you repeat his name a few times in an attempt to get him to open them again.

“Take it off, ‘m not looking. You can hide under the water.”

Your movements are halted but for barely any time at all. He has a way of making you submit to anything he wants and you aren’t sure why that is. You were so mad at him hours ago. You didn’t even want to have dinner with him.

But look at you now.

Your legs are wrapped tight around his waist and you’re throwing his football jersey away. It doesn’t land on a lounger, but near enough. And you hold onto his shoulders as he begins to walk you both deeper and deeper into the pool. You don’t want him to feel you, not like that.

It’s getting out of hand.

You can’t stop it.

You can’t help it.

“You can open your eyes.” you tell him, and he stops walking. His eyes slowly open and it takes an incredible amount of restraint for his eyes to not wander beneath the water. And, you feign innocence. You aren’t sure what is wrong with you, because you know you shouldn’t have. But you look away, pretending something in the distance has piqued your interest.

You give him the opportunity to leer at you.

And he’s so thankful.

Even submerged and obscured by the greenish, dithering water, your body looks like an oil painting. To him, you’re a work of art and he’s grateful that you’re even letting him experience you in the slightest. But this… you’re a masterpiece, he thinks.

“Hey,” he speaks, he moves a hand from your thigh to your chin and you cling to him instinctively. He guides your line of sight back to him, looking back at you with a serious stare. “You don’t need to fight me, you know.”

Your heart practically stops at that. At the very least you think it skips a beat. But you hold his stare, eyes vibrating as you look between his as you search for an explanation. Are you truly so easy to read?

He sees you wrestling with your conscience. He doesn’t want to intervene, but what else can he do? He pulls you closer to him, a surprised whimper leaving you as you feel your bare chest come into contact with his.

It doesn’t register to him, though.

You don’t fight when his lips begin to trail your own. No pressure is applied, but you’re breathing is heavy. And he can’t deny that his is matching your own.

“I’m not seventeen anymore.” he reminds you, quietly. Your eyes weld shut and your self-preservation begins to scream at you. Imploring you to have some fucking common sense.

You can’t.

“I know…” you confess.

You look at him briefly, giving him silent permission to proceed. And he takes it. Without hesitation he takes it as his lips capture yours in a sweet kiss. You feel like you’re in a romance novel as it continues. It’s polite but not entirely tame. And for you, it’s been entirely too long since you last kissed anyone. You feel him smile into the kiss when he hears the softest little moan crawl out of your throat. But it fades, fast, when he remembers how lucky he is to be experiencing this.

He doesn’t deserve it.

He doesn’t.

And so, he takes it seriously. He brandishes the plumpness and texture of your lips to the forefront of his mind as you allow him to continue. He implants the way your body arches into his as his fingers trace up the curve of your spine, and how your mouth parts ever so slightly when he reaches the nape of your neck.

You’re perfect.

“Has it been a while? Since you had sex.” he asks, quietly, like it’s some sordid little secret. You feel embarrassed when you register what he’s asking. The insecurity creeps in and you try to pull away. He doesn’t let you, though, pulling you closer and reaffirming his interest with another searing kiss. “You’re so responsive, baby, that’s all.” he tells you.

You kiss him again.

And you feel pathetic. Like a dog humping a stuffed animal as you begin to instinctively roll your hips against him as you beg for more.

“Feels like forever…” you confess, hiding your words into another kiss and hoping he’ll forget you even uttered them. You hear him grunt when you sensually slip your tongue between his lips. He reciprocates, licking at yours as he carries you to the edge of the pool again. “W-What about you?”

You regret asking. Of course, the answer won’t be the same for him. He’s gorgeous. Beautiful, in fact. He’s rich, famous, successful. You’re another in a long line of women who throw themselves at him when given the opportunity.

You certainly aren’t naïve enough to think otherwise.

“Since I had sex? Not too long ago.” he responds, and it’s effortless. You knew. You fucking knew and yet you’re still feeling hurt. And you feel ashamed of yourself in the same breath. It doesn’t matter, really, you know who came before you and who came before him are irrelevant to what’s happening right now in this moment. But still, the feeling of embarrassment lurks. “I don’t remember the last time I fucked anyone the way I want to fuck you, though.” he finishes.

And now, you’re ravenous.

Your lips find his again. And the politeness has died, drowned in the pool along with your morals and self-respect, you figure. Your fingers grab and pull at whatever they can find. One hand finds purchase on one of his biceps and digs and squeezes into the hard flesh. The other tugs and pulls at his hair residing just above his undercut.

And he moans when you yank his pretty orange tufts. He breaks the kiss, laughing, for a moment after he recognises what you just stole from the pits of his lungs.

You feel your ass come into contact with the edge of the pool as he sits you down in the middle of a kiss. He breaks it, sinking down further into the water until you’re looking down at him. Your heart rate quickens as you feel deft fingers hook into the waistband of your panties.

And you can’t control your body, moving on autopilot as you lean back and keep your legs together as he steals the black lace from your body. He has no regard for where they land, but you hear a faint splash as they float on the surface of the pool. You won’t see them again, you think. They’re soon to absorb the chlorinated water and sink to the tiles framing the pool.

You sit back upright but find yourself unable to meet his eyes again. Instead, you stare up at the ceiling as he gently pries your thighs apart one by one. He’s slow, and careful, as he parts them. Soaking in the sight of your intricate folds.

“Pretty everywhere, huh? So fuckin’ pretty…” he expresses. You feel his thumb drift along your inner thigh to your pubis. A soft, low chuckle escapes him as it comes into contact with your pubic hair. A perfect landing strip guiding his eyes to your scintillating cunt. “You did this for me.” he states. He doesn’t ask, he tells you. And your eyes snap back to look down at him, defensively splashing him with water.

“I didn’t know it was going to be you,” you remind him. “I wanted to be prepared in case I—”

“But it was me.” he interrupts, wrapping his arms around your thighs after wiping the excess water from his face. “You’re letting me see. So it’s all for me, princess.” he continues. You don’t have a response, despite his logic seeming broken at best. It’s for him, now. But had you known who would be walking into that restaurant…

His breath fans across your heat as he places his thumb at the top of your lips and pulls back the hood of your clit. You gasp, letting your head sink as you lean back on your hands and rest your weight on them. And he spits on it, sucking at it soon after.

“’h my God…” you start, moving a hand to his hair, threading your fingers through damp, orange strands as he continues to suckle at your clit.

You’ve lost the means to feel embarrassment anymore as he looks up at you with his head buried between your thighs. Though you can’t deny the hot flush you feel as he makes a holy show of flattening his tongue between your lips and licking upwards from your oozing hole to your still exposed clit.

But you lose him, again, as he decides to focus.

He didn’t think he could burrow any deeper between your legs until you feel his still hooked arm drag you closer to the pools edge. You tug at his hair again when he finds his rhythm, and he emits another grunt that vibrates throughout your sex.

You admire how his muscles flex as his grip around your thighs intensifies. He feels how your hips begin to buck, like you’re getting there. Like he’s helping you get there but you’re still trying to run from him.

You can’t.

Not anymore.

He looks up at you with golden retriever eyes as you begin to moan. It’s quiet, until it’s not. Quiet, secretive breaths begin to turn into sinful, saccharine moans that echo right back to you as they bounce from the walls.

His nose wiggles and nestles against the perfectly formed line of your pubic hair. It tickles, but he’s always had an affinity for landing strips. It’s nothing he can’t handle. And it’s something that drives him wild.

You clamp your legs around his head as you start to dance along the cliffs edge of your orgasm. But he parts them, easily, his veins bulge in his hands as he grips tightly into the doughy flesh of your thighs.

“Ren- Rensuke—!” you cry out, unable to even warn him before he’s already dragged you into toe-curling bliss. And he prolongs it, divinely, not altering his ministrations even as you begin to shudder and scream. “S’too much, Rensuke, f-fuck…” you pant, looking down at him as he finally begins to slow down.

“’m not done, though.” he warns you. He liberates your left thigh from his grasp, but his fingers lightly trail down your inner thigh and he can’t help but marvel at the sight of your sensitivity. You twitch and spasm from the lightest of touch.

Though the whine that rips through your vocal chords is just as delightful. You couldn’t help it, you couldn’t even predict it when you felt two thick fingers seamlessly slot inside of your clenching entrance and curl up against your g-spot.

“Fuuuuuck, no, Rensuke, c-can’t.” you warn him, partially succumbing to light headedness as you feel him hone in and target your squishy slippery inner walls without remorse. You’re shivering. You’d like to think it’s just the exposure of wet skin to the stormy air, but it’s too much. You know it’s too much.

“You think too much,” he tells you, head sinking low again to continue feasting upon your gorgeously ruined flesh. Your pussy pulsates through the recent orgasm and the overstimulation. He’s going to be disappointed when he realises you can’t even fathom the idea of cumming again.

You just can’t.

Your body goes limp as he nudges a particularly delicate spot and presses down on your lower abdomen. The moan that leaves you at the feeling is downright pornographic. You can’t see, you can’t feel, but he’s smirking. He doesn’t relent, but his ego and his cock swell with pride as that salacious fucking moan plays on repeat in his brain.

The hand applying pressure ventures up north of your body. And your cunt clamps down on his fingers as his adventurous hand grabs the fat of your breasts and gropes your flesh. You moan, weakly, with no energy left in you as he tweaks at your nipple with his thumb and forefinger.

You’re pathetic, you think.

It was this easy for him to reduce you to this.

But you can’t help it. Your body is spent and you can feel another orgasm climbing through your nervous system. And yet, despite being wrecked, your body still finds the energy to clench and groan as you feel pleasure surge through you. Your toes curl, again, before they spread and widen and you try and gain some sort of control over what Rensuke is thrusting upon you.

Another scream is torn from you as you fall, no, you’re pushed from what seemed like a higher cliff than the first. Your back arches from the tile and further into Kunigami’s titillating touch.

“Rensuke, I- I…” you aren’t even sure what you want to say when you begin babbling. You manage to rest your weight on your hands again and look down at him. He showers your inner thighs with adoring kisses, they’re sweet and loving and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were falling in love.

He pulls his fingers out of your spasming walls and looks up at you. Your jaw is agape, slightly, as you feel him spit a perfect glob of saliva onto your clit without even looking. He needs to stop. You shake your head as you see the gears turn in his brain and you catch up almost instantly. You try to pull his wrist away but you’re weak.

“C-Can’t, Rensuke… no more!” you tell him, despite trying to sound firm, you just sound pathetic.

He can’t stop.

So he doesn’t.

He rubs the two fingers that were inside you just moments ago repeatedly over your throbbing clit. The smile sprawling across his face is that of a menace. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He thinks he knows your body better than you do.

And, hell, he might.

You say you can’t.

But why are you moaning for him?

“Doin’ so good for me, princess.” he tells you, kissing your inner thigh again as he continues his assault. His eyes droop as he admires how tender and overstimmed your pussy is. You can keep going, though. He’s sure of it. “You moan really pretty when you cum… ‘n I can tell she likes attention.” he speaks, it’s gruff but somehow still soft. He doesn’t look at you right away after he speaks. Instead his eyes remain focused on your tremoring cunt.

“I’m— I c-aaaan’t. Anymore, no more, ‘mmm hmrmf…” you struggle to even make sense in your mind of what you were originally trying to say as the nonsense you actually spouted takes root in your brain. He laughs, shallowly, as you try to reason with him.

You can’t reason with him, though.

Not when he knows better and your cunt is betraying your weak will.

“Goin’ dumb for me ‘cause you feel too good, huh?” he chuckles, tilting his head as he tries to command your focus on him. The way every inch of your skin trembles with pleasure makes his cock leak like he could never imagine. He’s glad he’s in the water so you can’t see what a pathetic mess your pretty noises alone have him reduced to. Though he makes a mental note to get the pool cleaned tomorrow. “Don’t need to think when you’re cumming. Jus’ cum for me. Can tell she wants to… just let go, princess.”

“Haah, hn- hnnnnng—!” you finish with a cry, you can’t believe he’s managed to make you cum three times in such quick succession.

Even as an adult, Rensuke Kunigami has found a way to reduce you into a sobbing puddle.

He frees you, eventually, allowing your body to catch up to what has just happened. He finally lets you close your legs and allow your twitching quim to recover, alleviating the pressure between them.

He hoists himself out of the water, though. And he climbs effortlessly above you. And, really, you know he’s always been a big guy. It’s arguably his most defining trait. But fuck, like this, while you’re shivering and spent, he’s fucking massive.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks. The soft, caring voice contrasts completely with his all-consuming presence. He lowers his head to kiss between the valley of your breasts and down to your navel. But he stops short and looks at you again. “We can, if you want. But… I’m having fun with you.”

You should answer. He’s asking for consent, after all. Your lips part and reseal repeatedly as you try and decide on what to say. You’re having fun, too. But can you handle it? Can you handle more of this?

“You’re so… big.” you whisper, and you don’t know where that even came from. You giggle when you see him smile at your silly comment, and he immediately has a retort spring to mind.

“My cock matches, y’know. Why d’you think I made you cum so much?” he tells you. “Well… I like making pretty girls cum anyway, but you’ll thank me. If you wanna keep going, that is.”

“I want to fuck… want you to fuck me, ‘Suke.” you admit. He lifts your back away from the cold, damp tiles and pulls you into his embrace. You receive one final, show-stopping kiss from him as he pulls down his swim shorts. You keep your eyes on him, not having the confidence to look down below.

He grabs your chin, his thumb helping tilt your head and guiding you to look at his length. And, embarrassingly, you gasp. He chuckles, kissing your forehead and you look between him and the impressive size he possesses. It’s scary, honestly, looking at how thick and heavy his cock is and what it will feel like inside.

There isn’t a doubt in your mind that you’ve never seen a dick like this and you surely won’t again. He’s big, thick. And long to boot. His tip is prominent but soft. Like you could suck it into your mouth and hear a pretty pop sound once it’s in. You could run your tongue along the ridge and make him hiss from the pleasure.

The thickness is akin to an energy drink can. Eight long inches threaten to invade your apparently well-prepared walls, but still, you aren’t so sure. His veins aren’t prominent, but they’re there. You see them running along his shaft in different directions. And then you do find one. One throbbing, prominent vein as you admire each and every inch of his heavenly member.

You’ve never had an affinity for balls. Seeing them as a nuisance that are just there rather than anything you have any interest in pleasuring. But for him. For those. You could be persuaded. They’re heavy, God they look heavy but every inch of him does. He’s a large, imposing man and his balls are no exception.

It turns you on to no discernible degree to think about how full and aching his balls must be after you’ve teased him all night. How they’ll tighten and release as he floods you with his cum when he’s through with you.

“Need you, Rensuke, n-now.” you tell him, unable to function without feeling him inside of you for a second longer.

A brief panic shoots through your veins as he pulls you back into the water like a siren. But he stops short of pulling you to your death.

At least, in the literal sense.

You might experience your fourth little death as soon as he sticks his tip in you.

The water sloshes around you as you’re pushed into the pool wall. Your legs sit comfortably on his hips as he guides his still leaking cockhead into your greedy cunt. You moan in tandem as you become accommodated with each other.

“You’re so cute, s’fucking tight, princess.” he tells you, silencing any response you might have had with an ardent kiss. You try to pull away, but he doesn’t let you. And it’s calculated, of course, as he pushes further and further into your sticky walls.

It wasn’t enough.

Three wasn’t enough.

The thickness of his length would have you screaming if he wasn’t keeping a firm grasp on the crown of your head so you couldn’t pull away to voice how the stinging stretch was affecting you.

He doesn’t let go until he’s in. Fully in. You feel him kiss your cheeks and now you can finally moan, pant, screech if you so choose. But as your breathing comes out in hiccupped sobs, you realise he isn’t kissing your cheeks.

He’s kissing away your tears.

“Took me so well, gorgeous.” he mutters against your skin, still continuing to softly peck his lips against your damp skin. “You’re so good… such a good girl, princess. I’m so proud of you, bein’ so good f’me tonight.”

It makes you cry more, though you aren’t sure why. You can barely think about what he was like back then. When he was cruel and callous for no viable reason. But you’d never have heard such sweet sounds from him like you’re hearing now. You’re a good girl, and it’s for him.

Your tongues tangle into a clumsy fervour as he starts to move his hips. The sound water lapping at your bodies is deafening. He lifts you up, slightly, so that he can pound himself into you without restriction.

Both of you find it hard to keep kissing romantically and consistently the harder and faster he batters his cock against your insides. Your lips touch but your mouths hang open. And he’s looking at you. Really fucking looking at you as he drinks in every facial contortion you make from the feeling of his cock bullying itself against your self-destruct button.

He loves the way you bite your lip when you’re close. How your eyes cross and you look so damn wet and pathetic as he brings you to ruin again. It’s a sight he’d have tattooed on the back of his eyelids if he could. He’s been around the world and still couldn’t name a more beautiful sight.

Maybe you could be a porn star, he thinks. If both of your careers fall through, he knows what a good fallback will be if you were so inclined. You’re perfect. Every inch of you, top to bottom, is perfect.

You can barely hold onto consciousness as you feel his heavy breeder balls slap relentlessly against your ass. But you hang on, you have to when he grabs the lower half of your face and pinches your cheeks until your lips pucker.

“Is my good girl about to cum?” he asks, and you nod, dumbly. “That’s it… stay with me. Wanna watch your pretty face while you cum again.” he orders.

You breath faster, fighting against the crushing urge to close your eyes and let go of your body completely. But you’ll do anything he asks, in this moment, so long as he keeps calling you a good girl.

“Can I cum inside?” he asks, thrusts increasing in pace as he jackhammers into you. He’s close, too, but he wants you to cum first. It’ll tip him over the edge if you cream him like this. It’s all he wants. It’s all he needs. “Or should I p-pull out?” he struggles, the thought of spraying your body with his seed appeals to him just as much.

“D-Don’t pull out, Rensuke, don’t you dare…” you command. “Hnf, ah, I’m! Haaah, aah, f-fuck—!” you finish.

“Shit, shit.” he follows you right after. It seems that he would have came inside whether you wanted him to or not. “Ohhhh, fuck, baby. Fuckin’ perfect pussy… take it.” he finishes, too, his pace only slowing by a fraction as his cock spurts rope after rope of pearlescent cum into your cunt.

The sound of water calms after some time. The waves lap around you, carefully, as you breathe and sweat after such a vigorous workout.

It surprises you, a little, as he kisses you after the fact. You thought he’d turn a little colder after he got what he wanted. But you underestimate him again, clearly, as he kisses you sweetly.

“That… amazing.” you tell him, not possessing the energy to fill the rest of the sentence. The start and end are enough for him to figure it out, though. And he cradles your body in his arms as he walks you both to the shallower end of the pool with the staircase. “’m so tired.”

“I know, baby.” he hushes you, you feel like a child in his hold. You’re so little in comparison and you’re still surprised he didn’t break you. He manages to effortlessly pick up his jersey and walk you towards the pool room door. “Gonna get you cleaned up, ‘n we can go straight to sleep.” he promises.

You can’t remember the last time you got such a good nights sleep. Really, you barely remember even falling asleep. You remember Rensuke washing your body and your hair in a warm bubble bath. But you don’t remember him putting you to bed.

Waking up in his arms was a nice feeling, though.

So nice you felt compelled to wake him up with a reward.

He stirred in his sleep as you began to kiss down his bare chest and further down his body. He’s a light sleeper, you came to realise, as he woke up with a cheeky smile on his face and asked what you were doing.

You took his cock between your lips and showed him just how thankful you were for his attentive treatment and aftercare from last night. And you may have wanted to give him a reason to remember you if he wanted to consider going on another date.

He got close.

Really close.

Until he pulled you away to sit on his cock.

“’m not wasting my cum in your mouth when I can cream this cunt again.” he smirks, helping you straddle his hips before lowering yourself down onto that perfect fucking dick again. And he watches you ride him, his jersey riding up slightly with each rise and fall of your hips.

“L-Love your cock, Rensuke, s’fucking big.” you moan like a slut with no remorse. You can’t act coy anymore. Not after last night.

“S’all yours, baby.” he tells you. His attention is stolen from observing your enjoyment when he hears a buzzing on the side table. He reaches for it, and you don’t even notice while your eyes are screwed shut.

And he realises it isn’t his phone.

It’s yours.

He moves slightly, so that he’s sitting upright, covering your mouth as he answers the call. Your blood runs cold as you feel the cold glass of your iPhone screen pressed against your cheek and your ear. Your eyes widened in horror as you look down at Rensuke for help.

“Hello?!” Maisie.

He uncovers your mouth, allowing you to speak. “H-Hey, Maisie.”

“I texted you so many times, where have you been? Did you get home alright? I was so worried!” she yells at you. You can tell she’s in her office pacing back and forth on the tiles as her heels click with each step. She’s pacing. She’s furious.

“S-Sorry! I was just, it was a weird night!” you try and answer simply without lying or giving too much away. But your heart quick starts again as Rensuke holds onto your hips. You're mouthing and no no no! Butit’s ignored as he nods sadistically. He holds tightly onto your hips until your flesh spills between his fingers. And he fucks. You whimper pathetically as you seal your lips in a bid to keep quiet. He really is a sadist, he looks like he’s going to cum to the sight of you desperately trying to maintain your composure.

“I cannot believe I set you up with your old bully, that is so my luck.” she laughs. “Did you just get a taxi home?”

“A-Ah! Uh, yeah I know, c-crazy.” you struggle. “S-Sort of. Eliza was in the area so she picked me up.” so much for not lying.

“Oh, really? That’s good.” she replies, though the click clacking of her heels comes to a stop. “Weird, though, considering I rang all of the girls to see if any of them had talked to you. None of them did.”

“T-That’s… weird.” you reply, eyes rolling back as you try and maintain a level head and think of a way to get off the call. “Um, I uh—”

“I’m at work, just looking through some of my client's details. I’ve got Rensuke’s address up on my screen right now.” she starts. Oh fuck. “You know what else is on my screen?”

“W-What?”

“Find my fucking friend you little slut! Oh my God!” she screams, though you can’t tell if she’s actually screaming or if it’s melded into laughter. “Did you fuck your bully? You whore!”

“I— It’s complicated, nngh!” your free hand flies to your mouth as you spasm through another mind-altering orgasm shatters through you. Rensuke keeps a firm hold of your hips as you tighten around his cock. You hold the phone as far away from your face as you possibly can, though it doesn’t matter. Not when Rensuke cums in you again with no regard to his volume.

“Oh… my God.” Maisie speaks, though you barely hear it. You bring the phone back to your ear and sigh. You already know you’re busted, there’s no point in hiding it now. “I thought I heard a mattress squeaking. Have you just fucked?!”

“Hmph… yeah. Sorry.”

“I’ll pick you up later if you need a lift, I want all the details you absolute slut.” she laughs, sitting down in her office chair as she actually starts to do some work. “How was the date though, was it good?” she asks, knowing she’ll have to go soon.

You look at Rensuke’s pink, sweaty face and wide smile. You melt into the way his thumbs stroke into your sides so tenderly. And you smile back at him, a newfound confidence you’ve never felt before.

“It was… fucking amazing.”

#rensuke kunigami x reader #kunigami x reader #rensuke kunigami x you #kunigami smut #bllk x reader #bllk smut #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #kunigami x you #rensuke kunigami smut #tw alcohol consumption #tw dumbification #tw size difference #tw size kink #tw dacryphilia #tw praise #tw bullying mention

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miley1442111 · 5 months ago

Text

reams and reactions (part 1)- r.cameron

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a/n: HELLO! welcome to my new obx series, don't worry, if you follow me for cm or anything else I'll still be posting that, but i've just been on a obx binge recently so i cooked this story up in my head.

tropes: childhood bestfriends to lovers, enemies to lovers

pairing: rafe cameron x fem! reader (use of Y/n, and the nickname Bunny/ bun (but i promise not in a weird way there's a story to it i swear it's not just one of those weird smut things))

summary: how you and rafe fell apart, then finally meet again.

warnings: drugs, drug use, drinking, parental and sibling death, kissing, crying, violence, fighting, cursing, guys being creepy, misogyny, asshole dude. (i think that's it?)

not entirely proofread

2k+ words

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When Rafe was 5 years old, he ran with you in the garden of Tannyhill, chasing you in a game of tag. When he finally caught up to you, you both fell to the ground, limbs tangled in the way only friends did, giggling the way only friends do, and he pressed the sweetest kiss to your cheek.

When Rafe was 8, he came sobbing at your doorstep, on the verge of throwing up. He’d run all the way there. His mom was dead. He didn’t know what else to do. Besides his mother, you were the only person you’d ever been there for him like that, showing him that emotions were ok, and normal. When he felt you hugging him, and crying with him, he knew he would be with you forever. That he would stick with you through anything.

When Rafe was 10, he came back to your house after a particularly long day (aka you had no classes together) and you two sat on your couch with your family surrounding you, Romeo and Juliet on the screen. He felt himself blush when your sister made the joke that he was like your Romeo, since your dads didn’t get on. Though you both adamantly denied it, a few minutes later he felt your hand holding his under the blanket, your matching friendship bracelet brushing off each other's skin. He was smitten. A smile landed swiftly on both of your faces.

When Rafe was 13, he watched as you walked down the aisle of his father’s second marriage, a bunch of flowers in hand. He thought you looked beautiful, you were so beautiful. The pale blue dress Rose had picked and, of course, white roses in your hand. You shot him a small smile, one he responded to by blowing you a kiss. You laughed it off and went to stand where you were meant to. Rafe’s eyes were glued to you through the entire ceremony, almost forgetting to give his dad the rings. After the ceremony, you two ran off, away from Tannyhill. You went to your ‘little cove’ as you’d call it. It was a tiny beach just beside your house, but it led into the most magnificent field full of wildflowers, insects, and tall grass. It was beautiful. You and Rafe spent the whole night there, joking and talking. Then he finally mustered up the courage to kiss you. You kissed him back, but you’d both never speak about it again, too scared to mess up your incredible decade of friendship.

When Rafe was 15, he saw you for the last time. Three months earlier you had come to him, sobbing about the fact that you were moving to California of all places. More than a day's drive away. 42 hour drive. He promised you, no, swore to you that you’d keep in touch, that you’d be there for each other even with the distance.

He was wrong. After a few months, he’d stopped texting back, stopped calling back, stopped being there for you. And he never saw you again.

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Rafe woke up with a banging headache and an uncontrollable urge to vomit but swallowed it back and took the glass of water that remained on his bedside table for days at a time. Today was going to be shit. It was the 28th of July, the day you left him, and the day his world got turned upside down. This day was always hard. He was reminded of everything he’d messed up in life. What was he now? A drug addicted, drunk, piece of shit. He was barely getting by in college and he’d already had to repeat a year twice. Often, he’d go to your little cove and sit, thinking about what you were doing now. Were you a teacher, like you’d wanted to be as a kid? Were you an artist? He remembered how good you were at sketching. Were you even alive and he’d missed the funeral? What did you look like? What colour was your hair? Did you think about him?

Everything was too loud in his mind. He grabbed a beer, and set on his way. The cove was in full bloom, a sea of colours under the boiling sun. He sat in his usual spot, the spot where you two had kissed. You two had these small chairs that Rafe barely fit in then, and definitely didn’t fit in now, so he sat beside them. What time was it? Was the sun going down? He searched in his pocket for his phone, only to find it dead.

“Excuse me?” He turned to see a girl shouting from across the field.

“Yeah?” he called back, feeling rather inconvenienced by the whole ordeal.

“Do the Cameron’s still live in Tannyhill?” She asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Just an old friend, thanks!”

And she walked off. He tried to remember her physical features as best he could, but ultimately forgot them in his pursuit of washing his troubles away with the beer in his hand.

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“Y/n? Is that you?!” Sarah squealed as she leant out the window of the Twinkie.

“Sarah?” You practically ran into the road to meet her. The car was stopped at a stop-light, and she pulled you in to properly greet you.

“Oh my god! It is so good to see you!” She smiled. Despite you and Rafe’s falling out, you’d stayed in touch with Sarah, even though you were a little older than her. You even followed Wheezie on instagram and texted back and forth sometimes. But Rafe… static. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m here to teach, I just finished my 2nd year of college and I’m doing my work experience here!” You explained, as she pulled away from the hug.

“So you’re going to be here, like for the whole year?”

“Not just the whole year, I’m moving back once I'm done with my exams,” you explained. “I’m doing this programme that means I can work from here and do college from here, I’m so fucking sick of California.”

Both Sarah and Kiara squealed with excitement, and the three boys cheered. You’d been friends with the pogues, being a sort of pogue-kook hybrid.

Kiara pulled you in for a hug, then Pope, then Jj, then John B gave your hand a squeeze instead, since he was busy driving.

“So you’re back for good?” Kie asked.

“I’m back for as long as you’ll have me,” you smiled.

“We have to celebrate tonight!” Jj cheered.

“There’s a party down at Figure 8, I’m sure Y/n’s kook heritage will get us in,” Pope shrugged and you all agreed.

You spent the rest of the afternoon hanging around the pogues and Sarah and got ready at Kiara’s place for the party. Her parents welcomed you back with open arms, and then asked the dreaded question of ‘how are your parents?’

Your parents had been dead for 3 years. They’d died in an accident, and you’d been alone since then.

“They’re good,” you lied. “Working hard back in California.”

That satisfied them, and they stopped asking.

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The Figure 8 party was just how you remembered them to be. Loud, drunk, and almost too much. Even though you had been 14 at the time, Rafe had convinced you to come to one, since he was friends with some older kooks who wanted him there. Halfway through you told him you were going home, and instead of just waving you off, he brought you to your little cove, and sat with you for a couple hours. After that he brought you back to his house, and you had a sleepover.

When you’d asked him why he did that, he’d just shrugged and said ‘I prefer being around you.’

God, you could’ve married that man. You were supposed to, if your diary ‘ideal life’ had gone to plan.

Step One: Start dating Rafe

Step Two: Become highschool sweethearts and make it through college (even if it's long distance) and become a teacher!

Step Three: Work as a teacher and live on the mainland for a few years, have Rafe propose in the little cove, say yes, obviously and start wedding planning.

Step Four: Have the wedding at Tannyhill, move into a house on Figure 8 and start having kids, we’ll have 4 or 5 (Rafe wants 7 kids????? 4 or 5 is pushing it buddy), and live a long happy life as a teacher with Rafe and our family.

Step Five: Die happy.

Ok, it wasn’t exactly inspired, but come on, you were 13.

You noticed what looked like a grown version of Topper in the crowd and when he turned and saw you, a smile grew on his face. He ran over and scooped you up in a hug.

“Bun! You’re back!”

Bun was the nickname you were given as a kid because well, you liked bunnies. You had two as a kid, and for a year, you wouldn’t respond to someone unless they called you bun. It was ridiculous, but people obliged all the same. You'd never regretted anything more in your life in that moment.

“Hey Topper,” you smiled.

“Have you seen Rafe yet?” he asked.

“No, not yet,” you smiled slightly faltered, but you kept the smile up for good appearances. When you’d gone to Tannyhill yesterday, only Ward, Rose, and Wheezie were in, so your anxiety around seeing Rafe had grown. One day, he’d just stopped replying. Not one reason, not one apology. Nothing. One part of you wanted to say he didn’t even deserve to see you, and another missed her best friend/ supposed love of her life. “Is he around?”

“He is, but he’s high as shit,” Topper laughed. Rafe Cameron? Rafe Cameron was getting high?

“Rafe is high?”

“Oh yeah, he’s totally into all that shit now,” he laughed and you noticed the dilated pupils, the white residue on his nose, the red, irritated skin of his nose. He was high too. “It’s good shit too, you want some?”

“I’m good, just point me in Rafe’s direction,” you nodded, deeply uncomfortable with the drugs around. You’d grown up with a brother who did drugs, who’d died from drugs at the young age of 17. You didn’t want anything to do with drugs, but here you were, being led into one of the Figure 8 mansions to be led to Rafe Cameron, selling, and doing drugs.

“Gentleman, I present to you, the Princess of Figure 8, making her great return, Bunny!” he cheered as all eyes turned to you. The group of boys cheered, getting up to give you a group hug. Rafe stayed seated.

“How’s life on the mainland Bun?How was Cali?” Kelce asked, sitting down beside you as you joined the circle, trying to ignore the cocaine on the table.

“It’s fine, but I’m back in the Outer Banks for good now,” you smiled as another round of cheers rippled through the group.

“We’re finally good enough for you again?” Topper joked. “What’s brought you back home huh? Aside from the strapping young men?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m teaching here Top, I'm in my third year of college.”

“Shit no way, you’re a teacher?” Ryan, a sleeze you remembered from school. He was always the creepy guy, trying to look up girls' skirts and play kiss-tag at the ripe old age of 12. “You're way too sexy to be a teacher. You should be a pornstar or something.”

You felt bile rise in your stomach as a handful of the boys laughed at the joke.

“That’s not funny,” Kelce defended. “Fuck off asshole.”

“What? You and I both have eyes and we can both see her tits. Too bad Cameron has dibs.”

You froze and looked to Rafe who was looking at you through hooded eyes.

The silence was awkward, and you knew it was time to take your leave, even though you hadn’t said a word to Rafe, so you said your goodbyes and left in search of the pogues.

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“Gentleman, I present to you, the Princess of Figure 8, making her great return, Bunny!” Topper announced as all eyes turned to you.

Holy fucking shit. You were gorgeous, and it was you. Rafe’s Y/n. Rafe’s Bun. He was shocked to see you in the Outer Banks again, let alone in person again. You were here. In front of him. Then he realised, you were here. Here, where there was cocaine on the table, and he was the one selling it. Here, where there were about three guys looking at you like you were a piece of meat. Here, where he sat at the top of the table, stoned out of his mind.

“How’s life on the mainland Bun? How was Cali?” Kelce asked, sitting down beside you as you joined the circle. Rafe could see you trying to ignore the table, staring directly at Kelce, all your attention on him. He couldn’t help but feel jealous. You were his best friend before you were anyone else’s friend. He’d known you better than anyone. And here he was, silent as he watched you talk to everyone else.

“It’s fine, but I’m back in the Outer Banks for good now.”

His heart almost stopped. Back in the Outer Banks, for good.

“We’re finally good enough for you again?” Topper joked. “What’s brought you back home huh? Aside from the strapping young men?”

You rolled your eyes at him, but Rafe could tell it was playful. God, his life was so fun when you had been in it. Impromptu boat rides and trips to the mainland, spending hours just talking and laughing about nothing and everything all at the same time. He missed it. He missed you.“I’m teaching here Top, I'm in my third year of college.”

“Shit no way, you’re a teacher?” Ryan. Rafe often wondered why he even kept him around. He could feel the awful comment coming, but he knew he couldn’t stop it. “You're way too sexy to be a teacher. You should be a pornstar or something.”

Rafe felt the anger boil in his blood the second he said it. Ryan should’ve known better than to talk about you like that.

“That’s not funny,” Kelce defended, beating Rafe to it. “Fuck off asshole.”

“What? You and I both have eyes and we can both see her tits. Too bad Cameron has dibs.”

Rafe stared back at you as you truly looked at him for the first time that night. He couldn’t tell how you felt, something he didn’t like. Ever since you two were kids, he could always tell how you were feeling, what you were thinking. He could always anticipate what you needed. He didn’t know now and it scared him. He just looked back into your beautiful eyes, allowing himself to be lost in the fact that you were here in front of him.

The silence was awkward and he knew it, so he didn’t protest when you took your leave, even if he wanted to. He spoke when he knew you were out of ear and eyeshot, he didn't need you know what he was about to do.

“Ryan?” he scoffed. “You have ten seconds.”

“Until what?” Ryan chuckled.

Rafe counted down the seconds in his head, Topper and Kelce became more and more uneasy as the seconds went by.

Rafe didn’t even give warning, he just got up, grabbed a nearby beer bottle, and smashed it over his head. Nobody dared to stop him, not even when he started punching Ryan, promising to kill him if he ever spoke about you like that again.

People knew not to fuck with Rafe and, even after all these years, you were an extension of Rafe. Too bad Ryan forgot that.

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

obx masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron one shot #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader fluff #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x reader angst #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader

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dilf-docs · 18 days ago

Note

hii i just read ur eddie x young reader. And i LOVE ITTTT

Can u please do something similar but with young neighbor reader? Where the reader moves in an apartment beside eddie . They meet each one day and they hit it off? (nsfw )

(Ignore this if u don’t like the idea or u can change it)

Knockin' On Heaven's Door

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

summary: you're what people call a ray of sunshine, probably the most likeable person in the planet. so why is this hot idiot next door so mean to you?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (you know this blog lives by its name), smut, sunshine!reader x grumpy! eddie (cause his ass just got dumped lol), enemies to lovers (one-sided), kinda mean!eddie, porn with little to no plot, power goes out so they get freaky in the dark, use of pet names, p. in v.(use protection guys pls!!! don't be like this dumbasses fucking raw in the dark), oral (m. receiving), creampie, no venom :(

word count: 4,069 words (it's almost midnight again, me thinks I've forever messed up my sleep schedule cause ain't no way inspo only grows as per my eyebags lol)

side note: got my first request on tumblr!! (insert scarlett johanson dancing in marriage story gif). i love looove the neighbours trope so much (hey! if i had a hot older neighbour i would be doing the most to interact with them, bet); hope this lives up to ur expectations even if i tweaked a few things! also, this happens after eddie gets dumped by anne and moves out of the house lol so he's angry, moppy, horny and dry. what if i make this a series tho, would you like that? requests are open!

You're what people call a ray of sunshine. Ever since you managed to talk, all that comes out of you is happiness: the first sound to come out of your mouth was a laugh, your first word was smile, you have Love as your second name, you made friends on real time record, the profession you chose was that of a patissier and the first ink to grace your skin was a little heart tattoo.

Okay, maybe you've made it your whole personality to be likeable. So what? It's not your fault you light up every place you go, that people love you effortlesly and that life seems to smile your way.

It's the way the cookie crumbles, a fitting phrase for a pastry chef like you. Your friends often joked about it: you, a sweet person, baking little sweet goods to make other's lives sweeter.

And you loved it: your life, your job, your family, friends, cat and little apartment in San Francisco.

There was just one thing missing: because no matter how sweet you made other's peoples worlds by existing, no one was there to make it for you.

Alright, you had enough love and just loved love for the sake of it. Sometimes, a tidbit of romance through your screen or through the couple-d lives of your friends sufficed such desire, but its a lie to say you haven't dreamed of your own.

So when Johanna, the girl who lives across you, comes rushing with the newest gossip: "hot new neighbour moving next door!", there's something that tells you it might be time.

"You have to see him" she emphasizes, "a total eye candy"

That ignites the curiosity inside you, and after some weeks hearing through your walls grunts next door and a constant shuffle of things originally packed in boxes, you find yourself knocking on his door, tray of cookies in your hands.

Yes, you did bake them for him. After all, your chocolate chip cookies are a killer! People do lines to get them at your aunt's cafeteria, just to taste the warm soft dough, the chocolate melting on their mouths. You do this for every other new neighbour that comes around, it's just how you are! But the cookie choice is totally intentional though.

The door flinges open, and for the very first time in years, you find yourself at loss for words; speechless.

The stranger before you is a face you'll never forget. Handsome, of course, but there is something alluring in his beauty, one you can't exactly name, but comes along in a pair of thick lips, brown warm eyes and ink sprinkled across strong arms. Your heart hammers in your chest, and it takes all in you to not drop the tray in your chest right here and now.

"Hey!" you find your voice again. Clearing your throat, you proceed. "You're our new neighbour, right? I'm y/n, I live next door. Thought you'd like something sweet to eat after all that effort" you push the tray to the front, "I made this myself!"

He just stares back, blinking. You think he may be confused by your random act, but it's quite normal to do so with newbies. You love welcoming acts!

The awkward stiffness he radiates doesn't deter you away, though. "This are for you" you insist, "or just take one, if you don't want them all..."

"I hate chocolate" he finally says, with such a scowl on his face, you'd think you killed his entire family.

Oh! He hates chocolate? Who hates chocolate?!

You suddenly feel small and stupid. Without much else to say, you don't know how to proceed. You have your way with words, but no one has ever rejected you in the cold open before. It's left you baffled.

Then, a light bulb goes on in your head.

"Wait, I know you!" he quirks an eyebrow. "You're that reporter from TV, Eddie Brock" you gush, "I love helping others, but what you do is amazing... you're, like on other level, giving a voice to those who don't have one"

You admired him; he was someone who was brave and cared.

"Not anymore" and then the door slams in your face.

It takes you a while to process there, standing in the eerie silence of the empty hall, that Eddie Brock may be the very first person in the world who doesn't like you.

In the end, you'd given the batch of cookies to the homeless people living around your building. Even if it made you feel good, the pang in your chest didn't go away. You simply couldn't forget about the incident (because of pride and embarrasment in equal parts), plus, the fact that he lived next door and you couldn't go on about your day without hearing him pace around his apartment, made the task of forgetting about it difficult.

So in the following days you've avoided him, which has been pretty easy so far, since he barely leaves his apartment and you're busy with work and stuff.

It's friday night, and with the next week's groceries in hand, you take the elevator. The door's about to close when it opens again. You can't believe it: after successfuly evading him for five days, Eddie Brock is trapped with you inside the reduced space; you shouldn't been lazy and taken the stairs instead.

"'Night" he mutters, and you swear you've gone deaf because you barely hear so. You don't know what to do, so you just stand there, clutching your tote bag a little too hard. It could be an accident: he's too drunk out of his mind and doesn't know it's you.

It's not like he's been so nice, but after his asshole-ish move last time you saw each other, you don't expect basic courtesy towards you either.

You get a whiff of his scent, mixed with traces of whiskey. It's unfair how intoxicating it feels―how it's got you wanting more of what isn't yours.

God knows it's been long enough since you've wanted a man this bad.

It's not until the elevator dings again that you realize you've been holding your breath the entire time.

"Bye, pretty"

He casually exits out into your same floor never looking back, without realizing the effect his words have on you, hope slowly making its way through the creaks of your open heart.

Okay, maybe it's your fault for raising such high stakes based on two words and a silly little drunk interaction. Maybe you deserve it: because you've become a bit obsessed with the fact that Eddie hates you, but after yesterday, you've already traced a truce in your mind.

Even Johanna has told you to be cool about it. "It's time someone didn't like you" she joked, but you didn't find it funny. She insisted it's not important, but to you it is! How can he not like you? Maybe if he had a valid reason, you'd stop insisting, despite the let down. But he doesn't have one! And you've been nothing but kind! You think too much about it because it doesn't make any damn sense: you're loosing your mind and your friend just laughs.

The only reason you haven't talked to him again, is because work load has catched up to you.

But now you're here, out on the street, and the first person you see is him: on top of his bike, ready to go out.

"Nice!" you chirp. It may not be a top brand, but the black vehicle is as cool as its owner: the leather jacket, worn out jeans and beat up look is an insane combination that may or may not have you drooling.

"Huh?" he looks back at you, and you swear your cheeks reddened in embarrasment at his deadpan expresion.

"Nice bike, I mean" you nervously laugh, fiddling with a loose string of your sweater. "I love seeing them, but I don't think I'll ever ride one. I get scared too easily, you know?"

He puts his helmet on, "Alright"

Not even a thanks or an attempt of a small talk; what an idiot. Didn't he talk to you last time? Called you pretty? Why is he acting so curt right now?

"Hey, what is your pro-"

Your question doesn't get to be finished, because the engine roars and he's out of there, leaving you confused inside a cloud of smoke, the trail leaving with your last sparks of hope.

It's one of those nights where you just want to lay down and let sleep take control of your body. As soon as you get in your comfy pajamas and sink in the mattress, a noise erupts through the air. Startled, you raise on your feet, the slumber long gone.

Fuck. This hasn't been your week, has it?

The noise comes from outside, and you know who it is: the guy who lives in the corner, right next to the window; he who brings too many women home and plays his guitar a little too loud. It's late an he isn't getting the memo, clearly.

You swing your door open, ready to give him a piece of mind (and perhaps dump your accumulated stress from the week), until you realize you aren't the only one outside on the hall. It's Eddie, and he looks just as pissed as you do.

"Can't sleep?" he asks in a mocking tone, all while avoiding your eyes, rather focused on the common enemy's door.

"What do you think?" you reply, equaling his tone.

You both agree in silence, walking to his door. After some knocking, the guy opens his door: less thrilled when he sees Eddie and more complaint when he sees you.

"Sure, sweetheart. I'll keep it down" and winks. The nerve of this guy. Even Eddie is frowning, surely annoyed at his lack of etiquette. "You can knock anytime, noise or not".

The door closes, but it's Brock who did it, not guitar guy. You're too tired to ask, and after picking what's left of your dignity around him, you decide it's best to walk back to your apartment.

"You know what's funny?" you stop your tracks, laughing, but it's devoid of amusement, "I lost my sleep".

He just stares back, and you're tired of the way conversations have to run by your side, for the very first time. You keep on walking, but as soon as your hand touches your doorknob, he speaks up:

"Goodnight" a small truce, you think. But you're not falling this time.

So you do the right think: walk inside without saying a word, and just like him, never looking back.

You wake up agitated in the middle of the night. It's raining: not just a normal rain but a huge storm. You look over at your alarm, noticing its characteristically red numbers are as pitch black as the sky above you. It's also thundering, and God, do you hate noises and thunder.

You jump again at another one cutting through the sky, and decide it's for the best to just stay awake until it's time to wake up. According to your phone, you have about three hours until morning rises. That's enough time to watch a movie or two. Even to pet your cat, which is laying next to your bed, clearly unbothered―unlike his owner.

But there's a problem: when you try to turn the switch, no lights go on. Your incredulous laugh ecos in the room.

Not only a storm, but also a fucking black out.

Scare slowly creeps up, and the shivers you feel are definitely not only because of the temperature drop.

So you grab your phone and head out, without clearly thinking and obviously in panic, because the first thing you do is knock on your neighbour's door.

Eddie's.

"Oh!" it takes a while for him to answer his door, but when he does, his phone's flashlight burns your eyes. "Sorry" he apologizes, and you don't know if it's for that or the fact he didn't answer; maybe for everything too, "didn't hear the knocking with all the thunder".

You say it's fine, that you're just checking to see if you're not the only one without light.

He flicks a nearby switch to no avail, "I'm afraid everyone in the whole building too"

Eddie probably notices your frightened state, the way you shiver like a lost puppy, and feels sorry.

"Wanna come inside?" he offers, hands inside his grey sweater's pockets.

For the very first time since you met him, he looks at you, but really looks at you: eyes roaming over your body, an all too familiar feeling painted across his brown orbs.

You realize a bit late what you're wearing: a teensy short and top, a set of pajamas that happens to be your most comfortable. Favorite too. Appropiate for this emergency meeting? Maybe not.

"You want me to?" you asked, confused. "I thought you hated me"

The only sound across the hall is the droplets of rain outside, some tapping in the window next to you and his apartment.

He looks rather embarrased, "I don't".

"Then you're just an idiot" you counter back, and he doesn't fight you about it.

"Fair" he says, "I can make some coffee?"

Maybe he's pretty convincing or you're a people pleaser, but as soon as he proposes, you're caving in just like that.

"Fine, but you better let me bring my cat"

Truth is, Muffin plays hard to get, but now he's resting in Eddie's lap―purring, as you two sip quietly on your coffee. Traitor.

"I used to have a cat" he says, cutting through the silence.

"Oh!" you leave your mug on his table, next to the candle; the only source of light in the room, "didn't think of you as a cat person".

"Tecnically, it belongs to my fiancée. Sorry, ex-fiancée" he makes a pause, "bet that cat doesn't miss me".

"I didn't know you had a, uh-" you're not sure how to proceed, so you trail off. Muffin jumps from Eddie's lap to the kitchen, lost in the dark.

"Yeah, I had a fiancée, cat, house, and job. Then I lost everything" he dry chuckles, humorlessly, "guess that's why I'm so bitter"

"I'm sorry" you say on the most sincere tone you can muster. Eddie wonders how can you be so kind and forgiving, especially after he's been nothing but an asshole to you.

"Doesn't mean I should've been a douchebag for no reason. You didn't deserve it" he apologizes, embarrased.

You stay in silence for some more time but then he says: "Not an excuse, but it's been real bad days"

The candlelight is so flickering, you don't know if he's seen your eyes, but by the way he gulps, you think he did.

"Maybe... I could offer a helping hand"

Why had you said that? Are you out of your mind? You barely know the guy, who, by the way, had been a jackass to you like, five minutes ago. But he's hot! And you love to help!

Jesus, talk about dignity and boundaries.

"Y-you would?" he stammers, but the way his hand travels to your lap reveals nothing but security.

He's not asking if you've gone insane or what exactly you mean by that: he's just asking if you would do it.

Would you help?

"Don't you know, Eddie?" your voice drops a sultry octave, "I love to help".

You lean close enough for him to smell the cinammon scent of your skin. Soon, he's leaning too, playing along even against his better judgment. It's too soon, but he's so drawn into you and can't resist it no more; ever since he met you.

His cock twitches in his pants, "help me, then"

It happens too fast, one second you're sipping on your coffee, looking like the most warm and softhearted person in the world and now you're on your knees, deep into his carpet, tugging at his belt with your teeth, a hunger he hasn't seen before in your eyes and filthy needy mouth.

Sex with Anne was sweet and normal. Vainilla. You smell like it too, but there's a difference: you have the appetite of a siren.

Using your hands, you remove the leather your teeth had beggin with, moving them to tug his ripped jeans down, pulling the zipper too in the process. You keep using your mouth, now to get rid of his boxers, where the outline is tight over his cock. Eddie finds himself so aroused to the point he feels hot, even if there's a storm outside and the candle barely provides warmth.

"You sure have a mouth" he mumbles in ecstasy, drunk in the sight of your glimmering lips, coated in saliva. He's dripping too: everywhere.

His cock bounces out, almost hitting you in the face.

"Look at you" you coo, "already dripping for me. What a pretty cock you've got, Mr. Brock"

Fuck, he's going to hell after this. But you can't corrupt what's already corrupted.

"Then you better show me what you mean"

You lick the tip, already leaking with precum. He tenses momentarily, and then stiffle a moan when you take his balls into your mouth, a similar sound coming from you. You suck lightly at them, running your tongue along the sensitive skin.

His hips buckle into your face, and you have to chuckle at the fact it's probably the first time he's ever has his dick sucked this good.

"Don't stop" he huffs.

You obey, tongue tracing along the underside of his cock until you're back at his tip. Eddie's still inside his drunk haze when he feels you taking all of him inside your mouth in one single movement.

"Fuck-!" he chokes out, the thunder outside shutting the vulgar sounds coming out of his plush lips. "Think you can take more?"

His large hand touches the back of your head and pushes it forward with force. His cock presses deeper into your throat, tip hitting the back of it. You feel yourself gag, but the wet spot that's starting to form in your panties says otherwise.

He twists your hair tightly, holding you in place as he fucks your throat with his cock. You feel tears, and Eddie thinks he's never had a prettier sight than you: glossy eyes, looking up to him as you take all his cock.

"I know you can, baby" he presses, "help me like you said you would, yeah?"

His fat cock is blocking your air supply, but the subtle motivation and praise in his eyes is enough to keep you going, thought your throat ends up bulging from the size of his cock, stretching out to accommodate his size.

You said you would help, right? And even if you always do it for the altruist reward, something about being used in such a vulgar and rough way has your chest and panties feeling warm.

Brock groans, body sweating and muscles tense. He yanks you up by your hair, chasing the orgasm like an animal, every movement feeling almost primal.

"Stay there" he feels it coming, "don't move".

You gurgle something, spit rushing down your chin and dripping onto your chest.

"It's almost over, sweetheart" his eyes roll back, head resting on the coach he'd barely used until now, where he's fucking you in the mouth, "I knew that filthy mouth of yours could take me"

You open your mouth wider, anticipating. Tension releases: and he's pounding out his orgasm in your throat, hips banging into your face. You swallow it all, even if you can't taste it since he was so deep in you. He pulls out, a string of spit connecting his tip with your lips.

"Thanks" his voice comes out rough, "you do know how to help those in need"

You wipe your chin with your hand, voice hoarse, "I suppose"

There's some silence afterwards, and now Eddie is cursing he doesn't know what else to say.

"Power is still out" he speaks, "we've got some hours left until the sun rises again"

"So what's your idea?" you giggle, "tell scary stories in the dark?"

You both laugh, but you stop and deadpan. "Please don't, I get scared very easily" and you pout those pretty lips of yours out. How can you be such an adorable but greedy girl? It's hard to believe you're the same person.

"Not that" he swallows thickly. Why is he doing this? Was a blowjob (a fantastic blowjob, by the way) by a young insatiable thing like you enough to make him go mad? "I want to help you too".

Before you protest, he's pulling you and sealing your lips with a hot kiss. His tongue slips into your mouth, playing with it. He pulls out, biting your lower lip.

"Eddie" you whine, "b-bed, now"

He's supposed to be older and smarter, so why is his resolve melting away this quickly? Following your orders immediately, your back bouncing on the soft mattress of his bed. As soon as you lay, his lips trail kisses down your throat.

"God, you smell so good" you giggle, "bet this pussy will taste as sweet, huh?"

His cold fingertips grace the fabric of your tiny shorts and the touch gives you goosebumps, "look at you" he tugs your panties, nudging at your cunt. "So soaked... is this for me, baby?"

"Yes, Eddie" the way you say his name is enough to make even the strongest man fold, his dick jolting in response. "Take it"

Both of you remove your clothes in such a hurry, you hope you haven't damaged your favorite pair of pajamas.

"Let me see her" he demands, so you spread your legs, revealing your dripping pussy.

When you kiss again, the underlying carnal desire is mutual, saliva connecting in a silver thread as you both gasp for aire. Your hands wander across his chest, fingers playing with his tensing muscles.

"I promise to reward her, okay?" he lines his cock up with your entrance, the fat tip nudging against you, sticky with precum.

You're desperate with anticipation, practically begging, "please do".

He pushes inside you fully, balls slaping against your sticky clit hard. He’s so deep, pushing against your cervix and stretching you out with each thrust, making even the task of breathing painful and laborious.

Brock feels like he's ruined you, yet you look rather content. You've been used to giving; your kindness of a caretaker nature. You're used to giving your all and not receiving, so with every new thrust against you, his hips slamming, you know you'll never feel this pleasure again with anyone else, the delicious sense hitting you in waves that make you feel dizzy. So, in a way, he has ruined you.

"That desperate for me to fill you?" there's no answer, but the sound of rain and skin clapping against skin.

"Yes, give it to me” you sob, "Eddie, please!"

"Focus on taking it" he guides you. It may make him a pervert, but he isn't changing the sheets any time soon; they'll be covered in you and he'll smell them everytime he gets inside them. "I'm gonna cum"

You moan, lightly tugging at the strands of damp hazel hair. He chokes out a husky groan, heat pooling on his stomach.

Eddie's dick twitches inside you, cum filling your eager insides with the biggest load you’ve ever felt. Your pussy clenches, spasming, wrapping tighter around his length in a needy way, your high coming almost at the same time.

Both your breathes come out in ragged pants. He nuzzles against your neck, skins equally damped.

"Fuck"

As soon as those words leave his mouth, the power returns. You should go now, as this is the reason you stayed, but none of you make the move to leave.

"Stay?" he pleads, "It's still raining outside"

How can you say no to those brown puppy eyes? Does he think he can fuck you this good and then make you leave?

"Alright" you swear he smiles, and it's the prettiest smile you've seen in your life. Could you fall this easily in love? "But turn off the lights: I have work tomorrow and need some sleep"

"Whatever you say, baby" he nips at your lower lip, "you know I love to help"

#dilfistwrites #eddie brock #eddie brock x reader #eddie brock x you #eddie brock fanart #eddie brock imagine #eddie brock smut #eddie brock fanfic #venom #venom movie #venom symbiote #venom smut #venom spoilers #venom 3 #venom the last dance #marvel #marvel smut

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just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace · 2 months ago

Text

Reunion (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which your husband finally returns from his time in Númenor, and you make the most of the first moment you get him alone

Warnings: evil!reader, mentions of injury, hot and heavy make out, slight choking, heavily suggestive dialogue, mentions of exhibitionism

Note: same evil!reader as the others in the collection, but it should make sense on its own too.

He’s finally on his way to Eregion. And wounded. It’s been plain to see through your soulbond for days.

You can barely conceal your trepidation as you stand with Celebrimbor and Elrond, awaiting your husband’s arrival in Eregion. They do not know to expect it, of course—they believe Galadriel is long gone into Valinor, and they could never fathom that she is soon to ride through the gates with a man at her side, much less that he is the very darkness they seek to keep at bay. And that you, Celebrimbor’s trusted aid for so many years, are none other than Sauron’s beloved wife.

Had they known, they surely would not have asked you to assist in the task secretly entrusted to them by king Gil-galad—that of bringing into being some sort of creation that will save Elvendome from the dying of their light in Middle-Earth. That is what you are discussing now. Elrond laments that you have failed, and it is time to inform the High King of this. Celebrimbor looks at him, dismayed.

“We must not despair,” you intervene, working as much hopeful reassurance into your gaze as possible. “Surely, in another few days, the answers will come.”

And it’s not even a lie. Your husband shall bring all the inspiration needed and then some—but you must ensure the Elves do not leave this city before his arrival.

Elrond shakes his head. “I fear we’re out of time.” He places a hand on your shoulder, and you push down the urge to swat it away as he speaks very inconvenient words. “The Elves must prepare to abandon these shores. Forever.”

You return his sad smile with practiced ease.

Where are you? you reach out to your husband, sending the thought as far and quickly as you can manage—

A deep tiredness answers on his end. Swiftly and so very close.

The sound of hooves has never sounded sweeter than when Galadriel finally rides in through the gate. It serves you well that both Elrond and Celebrimbor are too stunned by her arrival to notice the slip in your mask when you see your husband following behind her, slumped against his own horse. Surely, the anguish written on your face is too great to be considered natural concern for a wounded stranger. You school your features quickly, but do rush to aid him in climbing off his horse—that much, any kind-hearted Elf would do.

For a short, beautiful moment, you are pressed against him as he staggers on his feet, and you manage to exchange the briefest of glances. His brow is slick with sweat, he is bleeding from his side, yet you feel through your bond how your touch fills him with elation. You would suffer the same wound as him, you think, if only it meant you could kiss him as you long to, then and there.

But a couple of guards are quick to intervene, taking what they must think is too heavy a burden off your shoulders. Pulling your husband from you, they sling his arms around themselves and all but drag him away when he fails to walk on his own, leaving you to strive not to follow as your heart slams against your ribcage.

“What has happened?” Celebrimbor asks.

“Enemy lance, six days ago,” Galadriel tells him. “We rode without rest.”

Galadriel. You take a moment to look at her. You’ve seen her before, of course, but not as a cog in your plans. That had happened quite accidentally—or perhaps by fate. Either way, your husband has returned. That is all that matters.

Well, that and getting him alone.

There is no plausible reason for you to stand at his side whilst your people’s artificers work to mend his wound. All you can do is sit and wait, gently nudging your husband’s mind through your bond to make your presence felt. A sense of content drifts back to you, though it is laced with the same impatience you feel.

If you were still loyal to the Valar, you would thank them for the haste with which Elvish remedies work, even if the hours they require to be applied feel like an eternity. Finally, the artificers leave your husband to rest his newly recovered body as you watch from the shadows of the corridor. It is past midnight, all too easy for you to slip into his room and shut the door behind you without anyone noticing.

Your husband, having sensed you were about to join him, awaits you in utter nonchalance, lying with his legs crossed and his arms beneath his head as if he truly were some graceless human man. He’s been given a new shirt, white and pristine. Pity. If you have your way, he’ll need a new one soon enough.

“The hour is inappropriate,” he greets you, and you don’t know whether you want to kiss or slap away his smug little smile.

For now, you answer with your own. “Good.”

You stride towards the bed with the determination of a demon chasing prey, and with swift, skillful movements, climb into it and straddle your husband’s hips.

“Gently, my love,” he warns, mischief dancing in his eyes as his hands fly to your waist, gripping your flesh greedily even as he keeps you at bay, “I am but a man recovering from his wounds.”

You give a slight, rueful chuckle. He is perfectly well now, and you both know it.

“I’m afraid you shall have to endure,” you threaten sweetly, and he abandons all feigned resistance as you dive in to finally claim his lips with yours.

The relief of being together again is instant, and you sigh into his mouth as you let his kiss consume you, sweet and slow. You surprise even yourself. You had expected a furious clash of teeth and tongues, the frenzy of swallowing each other whole after going too long without your beloved’s taste—like it was when you had finally nursed him from an amorphous black mass back into his form, and the two of you had been reduced to a tangle of thrashing limbs in the snow, as mindless and savage as animals mating in heat.

But that was after countless years of suffering in his absence. Compared to that, your time apart since the shipwreck separated you has been nothing at all—and what’s more, of your own choice, however it displeased you. Your husband had seen an opportunity in his meeting with Galadriel, one from which you could both benefit, and so he had entreated through your bond that rather than look for him, you must return to the false life you had built in Eregion in his absence, for he sensed you shall yet have use of it upon his return.

And now, here you are—reunited once more, in body as well as mind. This time, you wish to savour it. You relish each and every slide of your husband’s tongue against yours, every scrape of his stubble against your cheek, every inch of hair caressed by your fingers as they sink into it, tugging longingly at the roots. Your hearts beat against each other as you press yourself flush to him, his arms wrapped around you to somehow pull you even closer, and the might of the sheer adoration shared between you is almost too painful to bear.

“Will you stay this time?” you whisper, nudging his nose with yours as your lips part from his and hover close. “Or will I be made to wait for you once more, my love?”

His hand cradles your face, coaxing you to retreat only enough for your gazes to meet.

“The road goes ever winding,” he tells you. “Not even I can see all its paths.”

“Yet it seems ours so often tend to drift apart,” you say, frustratedly. “As though they are forced to be. That sea creature who attacked the ship, and the immense wave that carried us at such great distance from each other—that was no coincidence, was it?”

Your husband shakes his head.

“It is for us that I wish to reshape this world. Without you, the end I have seen so clearly since I first awoke withers away before my eyes. They know this.” Hatred sparks in his eyes, but it is only a flicker against the love with which he beholds you. “The Valar themselves may have attempted to part us,” he says, “yet the tides of fate only brought me back to you all the more fruitful in our endeavours.”

“Hm, so I’ve heard.” Now animated by more pleasant thoughts, you sit up slowly, sure to drag your nails down your husband’s torso with just the right amount of pressure that it draws a low groan from him. “King of the Southlands,” you proclaim, equal parts pride and amusement tugging at the corner of your mouth. “An old man’s trinket and a word from a gullible Elf and an entire people bow at your feet.”

“She is not gullible,” he says, almost absent-mindedly. His eyes are fixed on some tantalizing spot on your neck as he sits up as well and covers it with his mouth. “She is desperate to believe whatever suits her purpose,” he murmurs between languid kisses to your skin. “I all but laid back and allowed Galadriel to bring me right where I most needed to be.”

You’d be a helpless puddle of desire—and to an extent, you are—if not for the fire his words ignite within you. You grab a fistful of his hair and pull him away, pushing against his chest to throw him right back down against the pillows. That earns you a grunt and a wicked chuckle from your husband.

“It is not wise to speak another’s name,” you say with eerie calmness, gaze locked with your husband’s as you lean down until you’re nose to nose, “whilst your wife is astride you.”

He hums as if in contemplation, taking hold of your chin as his eyes roam over your face.

“She is hailed as the most beautiful of Elven maidens,” he reminds you, and you know it satisfies him when your brow knits in indignation. But then he goes on, ever so adoringly, “Those who say such a thing either have never laid eyes upon my beloved, or they are blind as bats.”

See, now... now you melt.

You catch his hand as it moves from your chin, and give the tip of his thumb the slightest nip.

“Beguiler,” you purr, a honeyed reproach. “No wonder you have them eating from the palm of your hand.” And that is exactly where you lay a lingering kiss. He seems transfixed by the reverence of your gesture, and his slightly parted lips are too tempting for you not to kiss them once more.

Your blood is still heated from your husband’s teasing, from being pressed against him so close, and you hunger for so much more than the gentleness from before. Your kiss grows deeper, more desperate, and soon enough you’re tugging at the hem of his shirt, signaling for him to aid you in lifting it over his head. With a frustrated groan, he takes hold of your hands to make them cease.

“My love, I would like nothing more than to have you, repeatedly, for the remainder of the night,” he says in earnest, breath heavy. “But you’ve already lingered here too long. Should someone come and see—”

“I’ve locked the doors,” you dismiss, and chase his lips once more. He lets you catch them, claims yet another kiss, only to turn away from you again.

“And if someone should unlock the door to find you here,” he retorts as you grunt in protest, “how shall we maintain our pretence?”

“I do not care!” you all but whine, the longing you have endured in his absence swelling painfully within your chest. It turns your voice into a quiet plea. “I want my husband.” You press an impossibly sweet kiss to his cheek, then murmur in his ear, “Don’t you want your wife?”

His breath hitches. Suddenly, he turns his head, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

“Temptress,” he rasps begrudgingly. Then, softly and subdued, “Beloved.”

He is the one to capture your lips now, any thought of restraining his desire long gone. You smile in triumph against his mouth, then plant your hands against his shoulders, push away and—fisting your hands in his shirt, you pull.

Elven fabrics are by no means fragile, but with a bit of your powers put into it, the shirt tears apart at the middle, baring your husband’s chest to your ravenous gaze.

“Perhaps we might be able to explain this, after all,” he muses while your lips attack his neck, quickly moving downward. “I could tell them what a merciless creature you are...” His hand comes to cradle the back of your head as he admires how you pepper urgent kisses down his chest. “...taking advantage of a poor mortal man when he finds himself in such a vulnerable state.”

You halt abruptly, eyes snapping up to his. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” you gasp with perfectly feigned innocence, even as you lay your sinful mouth on him once more. “Here I am—a kind, virtuous Elven maiden such as myself,” you speak between kisses, nips and licks at his skin, “seeking to bring aid to a wounded man...” Your lips venture lower, down his abdomen. “...only to be seduced into his bed...” His eyes are aflame with desire as you gaze up at him through your lashes, working open his belt. “...with shameless words of temptation and ruinous caresses. Imagine the scandal.”

It happens in an instant—you gasp as you are grabbed and pulled and flipped onto your back, your husband’s frame pressing you down into the mattress as he pins your wrists to the pillow.

“Imagine that, indeed,” he rasps out, eyes so darkened by hunger his pupils turn to their primal slit shape. “Imagine if they were to burst through the door...” He releases one of your wrists to wrap an achingly tender hand around your throat, leaning into your ear. “...and saw us joined as one,” he whispers into it, making you shudder, “and knew at once that we’re forever bound.”

You grip at his wrist, eyes fluttering shut, chest heaving, ready to beg for him to give you more. But he isn’t done, and tightens his hold on your throat with just the right amount of pressure to draw a wanton whimper from it. “Imagine,” he says, “if they saw this kind, virtuous Elven maiden you have led them to believe you are for all these years, ruined with pleasure beneath her husband.” He lifts his head, his cruelty to ‘them’ mingling with his reverence for you in his gaze. “Imagine their betrayal, their horror. Their jealousy—for they would know, deep in their bones, that no love of theirs will ever compare to that which binds our souls as one. Would you like that?”

You would not like it—you need it, you crave it with a force so great it feels as though his skin is made of flame, burning yours in sweet agony with every inch it touches. And yet, even breathless and desperate as you are, you lift your chin in challenge and fix him with your gaze.

“I would like you,” you murmur defiantly, “to put that wicked tongue of yours to better use than talking.”

Your husband grins. “How I’ve missed you, my love.”

There is nothing teasing about the way he kisses you then. He tastes your mouth with abandon as his hips dig into yours, and you whine impatiently, writhing within his grip. Obeying your silent wish, his hands release your throat and wrist in favour of roaming over your body, caressing and kneading all the spots of your soft flesh he knows to be most sensitive. You coil your arms around him, wishing him even closer, as his lips drift from yours to your jaw, kissing their eager way down your neck, and you shudder as he tugs down the shoulder of your dress, exposing your heated skin only to set it further ablaze with his mouth. You can feel the fabric straining, sure enough to tear apart in the same way his shirt had, and you want it, you want your husband’s skin against yours with nothing in between—

Someone is trying to open the door.

You pray with all your might that you misheard, even as your husband freezes at the sound as well, and lifts his mouth from your shoulder to look in the direction of the sound. But then whoever is on the other side, realizing that the door had been locked, knocks on it instead.

You don’t even bother making your voice quiet. “Oh, for the love of—!”

Your husband puts a silencing finger to your lips—and gives you a scolding look when you lick it obscenely.

“Sir Halbrand?” one of the artificers calls from outside. “Are you well?”

“That should be ‘your majesty’,” your husband mumbles.

“I’ll kill them,” you deadpan.

“Shh,” he coos, slightly amused. “Not yet. We still have work to do here.” Infuriatingly composed, his eyes roam the room in search of a solution, and land on one. “Why don’t you step onto the balcony for a moment whilst I tell them I locked the door myself? A man needs his privacy, after all.” He looks back to you, and finds a tragic blend of ire and yearning on your face.

“Oh, my love,” he says sympathetically, brushing a tender knuckle down your cheek, “how beautiful you are when you crave me to despair.”

“Then I must always look splendid,” you quip, lifting your head to reach his lips with an alluring whisper, “I never not crave you to despair.”

He curses in Black Speech, the foul words muffled as he gives into your kiss once more. But then there is another rap at the door, more urgent than the last.

“Go,” he grunts. Before you can protest further, your husband pries himself off you and leaves the bed altogether. You allow yourself a moment to plop down on the pillows and curse at the ceiling before you will your body into moving. Your limbs are still weak with desire as you get on your feet.

You decide then and there that your first decree as Queen of all Middle-Earth shall be the execution of whoever is now standing beyond that door.

Your husband has hastily discarded his ruined shirt, tormenting you further with an unobstructed view of his lean torso. There must be something equally irresistible in your disheveled state, however, because the moment his eyes land upon you, his apparent composure slips away and he surges to you like a man possessed, planting yet another searing kiss onto your lips.

“Get rid of them,” you pant out as you break away.

Your husband takes your hand, kissing your knuckles quickly. “As my Queen commands.”

Your heart flutters, easing the frustration as, finally, you go your separate ways: he towards the door, you to conceal yourself. You take comfort in knowing that this parting, unlike the others, shall be extremely short—and the reunion all the more delectable.

Previous fic with same reader -> Tides of fate

Next fic with same reader -> As one

#halbrand x reader #sauron x reader #the rings of power

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astroismypassion · 9 months ago

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Astrology observations 🌞🌞🌞

Credit @astroismypassion

🌞 Taurus Venus child in the family is known to be someone “you need a lot of money for”, they are the high maintenance of the family. They are also quite particular in how they want their things to be made, for example no homemade coffee, just Starbucks.

🌞 Aries Sun, Venus and Mars need their windows open for fresh air as often as possible. They feel as there constantly no air in the room.

🌞 Pisces Vesta women don’t compete with other women for male attention or approval ever. They also have a very “if you can steal him, then you can also have him” mentality.

🌞 Libra Vesta native has a lot of female friends.

🌞 There is a reason why Taurus Venus is actually really good at shopping (and it’s probably their favourite hobby as well). It’s because they find the best price.

🌞 I have not met a single Scorpio or Aries Moon that does not like rap, R’n’B or hip hop.

🌞 Aries Moon woman or man was often not picked as the crush or romantic interest when younger. That’s why some of them have player vibe around them when older. Because they want to know how does it feel to have options.

🌞 Also, for some reason Aries Moons often attract people that don’t want to commit or are scared of partnerships.

🌞 I noticed that Scorpio Venus often has very private partnership later with age. And the reason for this privacy was because when they were younger, their relationship was super public. Or other people got involved, had their opinions about the relationship.

🌞 I noticed Aquarius Suns really don’t have a lot committed partnerships when younger or may stay single in their younger years when their peers are dating.

🌞 Ceres being like a “second Moon sign” indicates also the traits of your own mother. But also how you might act as a parent yourself, most likely your parenting style.

🌞 Cancer Vesta is often found in a Natal chart of a native that is part of a family that has had daughters every family generation.

🌞 The beauty of having Scorpio Venus is absolutely transforming your lovers, but the downside is low self-worth and that’s when jealousy kicks in.

🌞 I think that the placement that often ends up thinking that they will stay forever alone is Aquarius Sun, Aquarius Jupiter, Sun Uranus aspects or Sun at an Aquarius degree, especially women. But the reason for this is often in younger years, they attract unserious people, that’s why they rather stay single. These people also have very high self-love! So it takes them a lot to enjoy someone else’s company.

🌞 Libra Ceres has a tendency for dramatic partnerships, they experience high highs and low lows.

🌞 Virgo or Gemini and Aquarius placement always find each other. Both live pondering on life. And often Aquarius Sun is found in a partnership with someone who has a Virgo or Gemini Moon I noticed. One celebrity example is Matthew McConaughey who has a Virgo Moon and his wife Camila who is an Aquarius Sun.

🌞 Sagittarius Mars women love a partner that is very very fun, but often end up attracting someone who doesn’t take life seriously.

🌞 I think Gemini and Virgo Venus, also Venus in the 6th house are the only people who get “impersonal” compliments, such as “I love how you take care of yourself” rather than relating something with their physical appearance, style.

🌞 Composite Capricorn Rising might experience either family supporting the connection or family being “open enemies” against the connection. Also, they deal with a lot of pregnancy scares.

🌞 I noticed Scorpio Moon or Moon in the 8th house and those with Moon Pluto aspects tend to develop feelings for whoever they spend the most time with! Because it takes them a long, long time to get truly comfortable with someone.

Credit @astroismypassion

#astrology #astroismypassion #astro notes #astroblr #astro community #astro note #astro observations #natal chart #astrology blog #chart reading #scorpio venus #aries moon

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 3 months ago

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Chapter 6: Best Friends Forever

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy.

Word Count: 9.9K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), derogatory comments, sexism, swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension, little bit of homophobia (It's Soldier Boy). Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

A/N: I know I said I was gonna be more angsty with this chapter, but I got distracted, the sun was in my eyes, and my hand slipped…

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The next morning Mike’s screeching begins all over again, but today he starts with "My Girl" by the Temptations.

He's getting warmer.

You think with a smile, singing along to the song under your breath as you prop yourself up on your pillows with a content sigh. The smell of gardenia wafted over your bed in a gentle wave as your curtains opened, allowing the sunlight to drift over your bed. The beautiful white flowers bloomed from the plant sitting on your bedside table, each petal frosted with mist from the mister hanging on the wall behind it.

Gardenias reminded you of home. They were your grandmother's favorite. There were several large bushes gracing the front yard of her home that rose almost as high as the second story. Whenever you were back home you would make sure that they burst into bloom so she could fill her home with the sweet smelling flowers. It helped you relax and sleep at night, though sometimes it didn't do much to keep the nightmares away.

You hadn't had a good night sleep in a while, but after Ben and you had been up late putting together the bookshelf that stood proudly in the left corner of your bedroom, you were exhausted. Now it was filled with your worn brightly colored paperbacks and covered with a healthy amount of pothos vines as was everything else in your home, but you loved it.

When the delivery men had arrived late yesterday evening and they had been more than willing to carry the couch up the three flights of stairs, but Ben had told them to leave and said "I'm not some kind of pussy that waits for her fucking husband to come home because she needs him to change a lightbulb."

And so they left, leaving Ben and you with the box your unassembled bookshelf came in and a giant three piece couch.

Mike's mother had set up a folding chair with her best friend Mary Ann outside on the sidewalk, drinking glasses of wine and giggling like schoolgirls each time Ben and you came back down to haul another piece of the couch back up into the apartment. He tried to make you sit upstairs and wait for him to bring it in, but you had cussed him out and held up the only finger that mattered.

Putting together the bookshelf hadn't been that much better. Ben had almost broken two of the tiny wooden pegs that secured the back panel all the while cursing under his breath when you tried to show him the instructions.

And being in the presence of the instructions seemed to trigger Ben. It immediately turned the two of you into the couple in the car that bicker over a map before they get murdered in a horror movie.

The shouting got so loud that Mike raced over hopeful that Ben had broken your heart and that he would there to pick up the pieces, while Mike's mother followed in quick pursuit hoping to console Ben.

But when Ben had answered the door sweaty and shirtless- because you'd ripped his shirt on accident when he tried to walk away from you muttering something about "women and their fucking instructions" and you'd grabbed him while shouting "say it to my face you geriatric asshat!"- Mike thought that he had interrupted something else and retreated back to his apartment in shame while his mother stood in the hallway waving a hand in front of her face to calm down.

As annoying as Ben was, you loved the bookshelf. It was perfect for your bedroom and looked a little whimsical, which was how most of your apartment looked with the mismatched vintage furniture, all the plants, and the crocheted blankets. What you couldn't figure out was why he bought it for you.

You had relented on his purchase of the couch, because it did make sense, he was spending the most time on it, but his purchase of the bookshelf confused you. He'd been in your bedroom all of five minutes a few days ago and had only looked at the pile of vine covered books once.

So why did it bother him so much that I had a pile of books on the floor of my bedroom? Why did he have to buy it for me? Why did he care enough to?

No one had ever done that before for you. Your high school boyfriend, Newton, had seen the same pile of books in your bedroom back home every time he came over and never did anything about it, but Ben had only seen it for a moment and remembered.

I don’t understand why he’s acting so nice. You stretch your hands up over your head and begin to get out of bed. Probably because he thinks if he’s nice I’ll sleep with him.

The thought was becoming familiar, but you weren't sure what other reason it could be for. The two of you had nothing in common. He was always angry, sexually forward, annoying, not to mention he was from another century and he didn't understand anything about the present time.

I mean sometimes it's kinda cute how clueless he is about stuff like that. He always gets that adorable frown and- Nope, nope, nope not thinking about that right now.

Bean purrs in agreement with your thought at the end of your bed, stretching his front legs and arching his back. His charcoal fur looks almost silver in the light from the sun that streams through the open window leaving behind the imprint of the brilliant square on your comforter.

Bean had enjoyed watching the two of you put together the bookshelves, well, he enjoyed playing in the box that the bookshelf came in. He ran in and out, back and forth through the openings on both sides of the box, using it like a tunnel all the while Ben complained over the small screws and even smaller pegs that never seemed to fit where they needed to.

Personally you just think Ben was jealous that you knew how to read the instructions and he didn't.

And last night you understood just how bad Ben was at receiving directions. He had ignored you when you tried to help him, which had lead to the yelling match that Mike walked in on.

But you still didn’t understand why he cared so much about the pile of books in your bedroom. They'd been sitting there since you moved in, because you hadn't found a proper place for them, not to mention the pile just kept growing.

At least he didn't look too closely at the titles. The last thing I want Ben to know is how many romance novels I read.

You grab a bundle of your clothes and open your bedroom door, while Mike continues to sing "My Girl." You creep down the hallway, intent on taking a shower, but your curiosity gets the better of you, so instead of going to the bathroom, you peek into the living room.

Ben is sitting on the new charcoal couch that you crammed into the room, reading a newspaper and you have no idea where he got it.

Maybe he already left sometime this morning? Guess he can be quiet when he wants to be.

Bean prances down the hallway behind you and jumps onto the back of the couch, kneading his paws in the soft pillows, before dropping down next to Ben. Ben smiles at the cat and folds the newspaper closed so he can scratch him under the chin.

"Hey buddy." You hear him mutter. "Y/n up yet?"

Bean only purrs and rubs himself further into Ben's hand.

"Don't know how anyone can sleep with that jack-off next door." Ben rolls his eyes, but doesn't raise them from the cat that has begun to crawl into his lap. "Why does she hate me so much?" He whispers to Bean with a sigh.

His question made you freeze where you were standing in the hallway. It was so open, so honest, so completely unlike Ben. It was the last thing you were expecting him to ask your cat, well, honestly you didn't think that he would talk to the cat at all. You suddenly wondered what other things he said about you when you weren't around.

And why does he care so much if I hate him? I mean I don't, he just gets on my nerves constantly, and knows how to press all my buttons.

You liked to think that you were an easy-going person, but Ben drove you crazy. You'd never met anyone who could do that to you before, never allowed yourself to get angry, not even when Poppy Mansfield who put chocolate pudding on your seat at lunchtime when you were in fourth grade and made everyone think you'd pooped your pants. You'd only shrugged and walked to the bathroom, it was Annie who lost it. Annie had grabbed a handful of pudding and smeared it on Poppy's face and earned her the nickname "Poopy Poppy" until she transferred to another school at the end of the year.

But not with Ben, he crawled under your skin and stayed there whenever he teased you . Usually you let insults and teases roll off your back like water off a duck, but not with Ben. He knew what to say to make you lose your temper. You didn't know how he did that.

Not all the time though.

The trip to IKEA had been kind of fun, well, fun until Ben had insulted your boss and when the two of you watched a movie together it was fun.

In fact, the more time you spent with him, the more you were starting to like him. You wish you didn't. It just made everything harder. You remember what he said at the plant shop, tried to burn it into your heart, that he didn't care about feelings or emotions and you did. You wanted to be with someone who cared about that, someone who understood everything about you, and loved you. You wanted love so bad your heart ached sometimes, and yes maybe you read way too many romance novels, but you wanted something like that to happen to you. You wanted to be so wrapped up in someone else that the world faded away, someone kind and sweet, who remembered little things like how much you liked gardenias or how much you loved pineapple iced tea from the place just around the corner and someone who would be okay with sitting on the couch or in bed, with you laying back in their arms while you read your newest book or tried to crochet.

Ben didn't care about any of that, probably what he would call "pussy shit." He just wanted sex, plain and simple, nothing more, nothing less.

And you didn't want just sex.

You didn't want to start something with Ben, develop strong feelings for him, and then only have him push you away as soon as he got what he wanted. You couldn't handle having your heart broken again. Newton had been enough and after him you told yourself you were going to try harder, were going to find someone who saw your self-worth. Of course that had been a few years ago and each year kinda felt like another nail in the coffin when you went on countless dates with people who never seemed to want the same things you did.

Plus, you were sure that Ben was only interested in you because you kept saying no and that made you "exciting" or whatever. So that just meant you were going to have to keep trying to find someone else.

You take a step back into the hallway, creeping further away as silent as possible. You didn't want him to catch you spying on him and you didn't want him to know that you had heard him ask Bean that. You force your door closed, before putting your clothes in the bathroom and shuffling down the hallway, purposely being as loud as you can so Ben can hear you over Mike's inhuman screech.

“Good morning.” You say as you enter the living room, as if it’s the first time.

“Morning Petals.” Ben looks over the back of the couch. He smirks as his eyes trace over your body. “Don’t you look delicious this morning.”

Your shorts were a little shorter than what you usually wore, hitting the middle of your thigh, and the oversized shirt you wore hung over them giving the illusion that you weren't wearing anything underneath it.

He is so confusing sometimes. Maybe he really just doesn't know how to talk to a woman in this century. Did that really work for him before? Does that work with all his dates?

“Thanks.” You say dryly.

Ben’s smirk twitches and something passes through his eyes that looks a little bit like regret, but it’s gone as soon as you see it.

You turn towards the kitchen. You didn’t know what you were looking for, truthfully you were just making conversation because you felt bad about what Ben asked Bean. You didn't know why that hurt you so much for him to think that you hated him, maybe it had something to do with everything that he'd been through. You wave a hand, perking up the plants in the box over the sink and the raspberry and blackberry vines covering the refrigerator to distract yourself.

“Um-“ You begin, but Ben interrupts you.

“There’s coffee in the microwave!” Ben suddenly blurts.

“What?”

Why is it in the microwave? Shouldn't it be in the coffee maker?

You sniff the air for the tell-tale smell of coffee, but smell nothing. A glance in the direction of the coffee maker reveals that the pot is still sparkling clean from when you washed it out last night.

Is he really lying about coffee? It's like he wants me to hate him.

“Um I mean-“ Ben clears his throat. “I got you coffee.”

“You got me coffee?” You parrot, surprised. “When?” You turn to look at him. He's watching you from over the back of the couch and he almost looks a little awkward, like he's not sure where to go from here as if he's not sure what to do when he does something nice for someone.

“I went to get a newspaper and I walked past a coffee shop.” He shrugs as if suddenly uninterested turning back around to face the jasmine covered wall, picking his newspaper up and opening it.

But you have a suspicion that he wasn't actually reading it, that he was just using it as a prop so he didn't have to look at you anymore.

“Oh. Thanks." You open up the microwave and withdrawal the still warm coffee mug taking a sip.

How in the fuck did he know how I like my coffee? You think to yourself, about to do a spit take you were so shocked, because the coffee was perfect. "How did you know-"

"I read the label on the one plant boy bought you the other day." Ben doesn't look up from his newspaper. "Is it… okay?" He asks it tentatively and a little awkward.

"Yeah. It's perfect actually. Thank you." You say it almost robotically. You couldn't believe that he remembered something like that about you. That he actually thought about you when he went to get a newspaper this morning.

He grunts a "You're welcome."

You take another sip and place it back in the microwave. Preparing to go back to take a shower.

"Do you…" Ben clears his throat again. "Do you work today?" He says it hesitantly.

"No. I usually have Friday's off because Annie and I make plans, but this week she cancelled because Hughie got tickets to some concert a few hours away and they're making it a day trip or whatever." You tried not to sound disappointed, but Friday's were usually you and Annie's day. You would plan random trips to shops in NYC, go to brunch, find ridiculous tourist attractions, try new restaurants, or you would go spend the day in Central Park reading. But Friday nights were wine, greasy pizza, sushi, Chinese food, snacks, and movie nights, had been since your parents died. It had been a family tradition before, Friday night films, but when they died Annie took it upon herself to continue it with you because your brother hadn't been willing to. Of course, when you were kids there wasn't wine, there also weren't movies with Glen Powell or Pedro Pascal, but as you grew so did the films and the conversations and the men, but your friendship blossomed with it.

"Oh." Ben leans his head back over the back of the couch, the smirk back in full force. "Well I've got a few ideas for what we could do today. Sounds like you're a little disappointed there Petals. I'm sure I could cheer you up."

You roll your eyes. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Great, I need one too." Ben jumps to his feet, leaving the newspaper on the couch as he turns to follow you.

"Ben." You sigh his name in frustration.

This is exactly what I'm talking about, he does something really nice and then he follows it up immediately by trying to sleep with me. Is that what this is to him? Do something chivalrous to make me like him and then finally let him fuck me?

It made you angry that he believed it would work.

"What? It'll save water and I just want to make you feel better Petals." Ben wiggles his eyebrows. "You sounded so sad when you said that Annie ditched you-"

"She didn't ditch me!" You snap. "She just had plans with Hughie that's all. And I can't believe you!"

"What the hell did I do?"

"You think that doing something like buying me coffee will get me to sleep with you."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about! You're trying to act all chivalrous and nice just so that you can get me to finally sleep with you. But I'm not going to fall for it Gramps! I am not going to sleep with you just because you do one nice thing for me or try to pretend to care about me." You turn and stomp down the hallway, leaving Ben absolutely speechless in the living room.

When you get in the bathroom you blast your ABBA Gold Album from your Bluetooth speaker to drown out Mike's singing and to drown out your insane internal monologue. And when the music doesn't work, you start to sing the lyrics to the familiar songs letting the melodies soothe you.

You’d liked ABBA since you were a kid. Your mom would listen to it when she was cooking in the large kitchen in your childhood home and when your father got home from work at the end of the day he’d creep up behind her and pull her away from the stove for an impromptu dance.

Your childhood was filled with so much love from two people that were absolutely head over heels. And it made you want that too. It’s why you wouldn’t give in to Ben, because the memories of your parents and the love they shared still warmed your heart years after you’d last seen them.

You dry your hair with a towel, continuing to sing as you dress in your jeans and t-shirt, hoping that you could just escape the apartment by going to Central Park and read on your favorite bench to avoid seeing Ben. You were maybe a little embarrassed that you had yelled at him again. You never intended to.

Maybe I can just creep past him.

You think to yourself as you open the door of the bathroom, but as you step into the hallway you trip over something big on the ground and begin to pitch forward with a started screech. The thing you tripped on catches you so that you fall directly into Ben's lap, your legs on either side of his thighs. You realize that it was Ben you tripped on, who had decided to lounge with his back against one of the walls of the hallway, his legs bent at the knee, directly outside of the small bathroom.

As you fall into his lap, your hands land on his shoulders grabbing tightly in fear and surprise, while his hands catch your hips, pushing up the shirt you had just changed into enough that his hands are resting on a sliver of skin that peeks between your shirt and your favorite pair of jeans.

You weren't expecting it to feel so damn good for his skin to touch yours, to feel the roughness of his hands against the soft skin of your hips. Your hands are still gripping his shoulders tightly, heart thrumming in your veins as you lock eyes with him, adrenaline from the fall still rushing through your veins. He looks as surprised as you do. His face is so close that you can feel his breath on your lips, his body warm and hard beneath yours, and it's making you have flashbacks of the other night when he kissed you in front of Mike, when Ben crushed you against him and kissed you with so much passion that you couldn't equate it to anything else you'd ever felt in your entire life.

You weren't about to admit that aloud, that the kiss you shared with Ben was the best one you'd ever had. And you weren't going to admit that if he kissed that good, you were betting that he would be the best you ever had at other things too. Newton hadn't exactly been a Casanova, and you'd hoped that Newton would have gotten at least a little better at some things the more you two were intimate, he hadn't. You'd also hoped that Newton would have been more concerned about you the closer the two of you were, but each time you were a little disappointed and he was, well, happy.

No. Not thinking about sex right now, not when I'm sitting on top of Ben for fucks sake.

That was a little detail that you were trying very hard to ignore, but it was difficult, not when you could feel everything that made Ben-ahem- Ben, beginning to get interested in your position on top of him.

Ben's eyes are dark, focused on your face, an emotion swimming behind them that makes something snag under your ribs and try to yank you forward, to close the distance between the two of you. His eyes flick from your eyes to your mouth for just a millisecond, moving his face an inch forward, just enough that you can feel the warmth of his lips, but they still do not touch.

"Ben what are you doing on the ground?" You say leaning back to lengthen the distance between your faces, but you can't force your voice into more than a hoarse whisper.

"Dropped my keys." He lies.

"Ben?"

Ben hesitates for a moment. "You've got a pretty voice, wanted to hear better." He admits under his breath, looking as if you caught him with a baseball bat outside your broken kitchen window.

What?

You could feel yourself flushing to the roots of your hair. You'd forgotten that he could hear you in the shower and forgotten that his hearing was so good that he’d be able to pick up what was Mike and what was you. “I’m sorry if it was too loud-“

“No. It was nice.” The end of his mouth twitches in half smile, eyes twinkling impishly. “I’d never tell a woman she was being too loud. I like that doll."

You roll your eyes at him, but his comment doesn’t annoy you this time. You wondered if that was because you were getting used to him and the way he was.

You wanted to kiss him so badly that your lips were aching. He always looked so good and right now was not an exception. Some of his dark hair had fallen forward over his forehead and your fingers itched to push it back, to drag your fingertips over his skin and feel the dips and grooves of his handsome face. The smell of his shampoo was everywhere, spicy and familiar in the best way.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” You whisper. Your hands hands have fallen from his shoulders to rest against the front of his shirt. You don’t really remember when you did that, just that now you can feel the warmth of his chest and the subtle beating of his heart in the palms of your hands. “I think I am kind of upset that Annie cancelled on me today.”

“It’s okay, I'm used to it." Ben's hands are still on you waist, firmly keeping you on top of him. “You always seem to yell at me.”

"Shut up I do not yell at you that much." You laugh, pushing back on his chest playfully.

Ben smiles, but then you watch it drop.

“Look I didn’t get you coffee because I thought it would make you let me fuck you. I got it because you always say you need it to deal with me.” The way he says it breaks something, because he sounds almost sad and you’d never heard him sound that way before. “And I figured that I would see you today and that you’d need it.” He drops his gaze to where your hands are placed on his chest. He’s watching them curiously, like he can’t quite understand it.

Honestly you couldn’t understand what was going on either. Ben was holding you gently, almost reverently on his lap. It was odd. You’d never seen him be this way with anyone.

“Ben-“ You sigh. “I need coffee to deal with everyone, not just you. You’re not special.” You joke to get him to smile again, but he doesn’t instead he continues to look at your hands.

“Hey.” You whisper and this time your hand drifts softly to Ben’s cheek holding his gaze on you. His eyes widen slightly with your bold touch. “Ben I don’t hate you. I just-“

There’s a loud frantic knocking at the front door that startles you off of Ben and on to the ground beside him.

“Were you expecting anyone?” Ben asks as he stands up and holds out his hand to help you.

“Um- no actually.” You reply taking it.

The frantic knocking starts again.

“Do you think it’s Mike checking to see if we broke up again?” Ben snorts.

“I think it might be his mom hoping you answer the door shirtless. Almost gave that poor woman a heart attack.” You start to walk through the living room.

“I remember you having a similar reaction a few days ago Petals.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Though I will say if you ever decided to walk around the apartment shirtless I’d be perfectly okay with that.”

“I did not. And I’m sure you would.” You roll your eyes. “But I doubt you’d be okay with letting me answer the door like that since you seem to be so jealous. Are all the men from your generation so possessive of women they can’t have? Or is it just you?” You tease, remembering how he reacted yesterday afternoon at IKEA in front of Jake.

You doubted that he was jealous. Ben didn’t have anything to be jealous about. He seemed to be plenty happy with the women he found on tinder and you thought it was ridiculous that he needed to have you too.

You glance back over your shoulder to look at Ben seeing if he’s preparing another insult. He’s gone stick straight, his jaw clenched tightly, eyes dark, frown deepening.

Shit I was just kidding but-

You turn back to look at the door but can’t fight the tight feeling that rose in your chest when he looked at you like that.

Get a grip.

You interrupt the next bout of frantic knocking by opening the door.

A man in a rumpled navy suit stands out side the door, a bright blue quilted baby bag covered in elephants hangs from his left shoulder, a little girl holds on to his left hand, while a little boy screams shrilly and hangs from his right arm.

“Mr. Wilson- hi-“ You stutter, surprised. “Are you alright? Here-“ You reach to take his almost one year old son, Josh, from his arms. Josh continues to wail loudly, shaking his head back and forth.

“Can you please watch the kids?!” He says eyes frantically looking around the apartment behind you and focusing on Ben.

Mr. Wilson was another one of your neighbors, but he and his wife lived on the fifth floor. You’d met the Wilson’s by accident when Martha, the five year old holding on to his left hand wearing a bright pink tutu, decided to ride the elevator down to the lobby all by herself and met you while you were moving all your stuff into your apartment. She’d declared you her best friend as soon as she saw the colorful assortment of flowering plants you were lugging through the lobby of your apartment building in a cardboard box. You’d babysit for the Wilson’s sometimes when they needed a few quiet moments alone and on date nights. Not to mention they had a ton of money and paid almost five times per hour the amount you made in an hour working at “Please Don’t Die.”

Josh wails, his face turning bright red, so loud that Ben flinches behind you. You remember what he said about the supe that blew out his eardrums and can't help but feel a little sorry for him. Your own hearing was only a little better than other people's, but not enough to be as bothered as Ben.

“Hey little guy, its okay.” You coo gently bouncing Josh on your hip to make him stop crying. He sniffles and wraps his arms around your neck, gurgling quietly as he catches his breath.

“Y/n!” Martha shouts putting your right leg in a choke hold.

“Hi Marty.” You smile down at her, adjusting your weight so you don’t drop Josh. You look up at her father. “Mr. Wilson, I'm just not sure that now is the right time."

You think about Ben standing behind you and how horrified he looked when the children descended upon you, as if they were ticking time bombs. You weren't sure if you wanted Ben around kids, or if he had ever been around children before. He wasn't the best influence, not to mention you didn't think that he would be able to filter what he said or what he did around the,

“My wife she just-“ He swallows brown eyes wide. “She just went into labor."

"Oh. OH. Well-"

They had been expecting their third child for a while now, something that had resulted from you taking care of Josh and Martha more and more, and Mr. Wilson's promotion at work. You had learned before Mr. Wilson by accident when you reached down to pick up Josh's binky that was on the ground and your ear brushed against Mrs. Wilson's almost completely flat stomach and you heard the heartbeat.

“Please! I’ll pay you triple the hourly rate and her mother will be here tonight to take over for you.” The man looks close to getting on his knees and begging you. "You won't have them for long-"

Have a heart she’s going in to labor. What else is this poor man going to do? Drag the kids there with him? A part of you whispers. But then they'd be stuck here with Ben all day long. Well, maybe he will leave.

“Okay.” You relent with a sigh.

“Thank you!” Mr. Wilson exclaims shoving the bag into your free arm and then disappears from the doorway without saying goodbye to his children, but you were going to cut him some slack. You understood that when a woman went into labor most men didn't understand what to do with that information.

Shit. You grit your teeth to avoid saying it aloud when taking the bag throws you off balance. With one kid still hanging from your leg and the other one hanging from your neck, it was difficult to maneuver with the bag too.

Ben’s hand appears in your line of vision and he takes the bag, practically with one pinky.

“Show off.” You mutter, but turn your attention to the little girl hanging from your leg.

“I want a flower crown!” Martha crows.

“Okay sweetie just give me one second.” You take another step with her holding on to your leg.

“Now!”

“Martha.” Your voice turns stern as you look down at her and she pouts. "Please let me get Josh situated first."

“Fine.” She pouts and lets go of your leg.

The relief you feel is quickly overshadowed by Ben standing there, holding the diaper bag out from his body like it’ll bite him. Honestly you wished you had your phone ready to take a photo of Ben holding the bag, and then use it as blackmail.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ben asks looking down at the two children confused.

“Shh language!” You snap, eyes widening as you look down at Martha and Josh. Josh has begun to pull your hair from the ponytail at the back of your neck.

"What language?"

You give Ben a death stare wincing when Josh yanks the hair tie out. Martha has let go of your leg and is looking up at Ben with the same fascination that you'd seen her look at Prince Charming from Cinderella.

Guess it works on girls of all ages.

You think about telling her that Ben might be charming from a distance, but he isn't anything like a prince. Honestly, you were more worried that Ben was going to act like a total dick and crush this little girl's heart.

"Hi." She waves her hand at him. "I'm Marty."

Ben stares down at her, as if he's deciding whether or not to say his name aloud. "Ben." His eyes flick back to yours. "What are you doing?"

"We have had the money conversation many times, but I guess you must be getting forgetful in your old age, so we can have it again." You smirk. "Some of us weren’t born with a silver spoon in our mouths or have a trust fund. I don’t have money, therefore, I babysit to get some extra cash sometimes. Hence the children.” You wave your free hand commanding the vines to open up the pantry and grab Josh's high chair out to set up for you. "I told you that I work several jobs."

"What do you mean several? You said that you worked for Butcher and plant guy." Ben huffs, still holding the bag.

"You know his name is Jake. And we live in America if you can't remember. You know? America home of the free, home of the brave single woman trying to make ends meet and pay for her crappy apartment by working fifty million jobs?" You begin to buckle Josh in to the high-chair. "But thanks for showing me how to fix the plumbing under the sink. Definitely going to add that to my job application.

"How many jobs do you have?"

"I mean it’s really what I do when I’m not working for Butcher. I works at the plant shop, I babysit, sometimes I’m a dog walker, oh and there’s this senior living facility a few blocks over that I run errands for when the people living there need me."

"You run errands for senior citizens? What kind of fucking person does that?"

"LANGUAGE! And this freaking person does that thank you. It's not all that bad. Plus I thought you were going to act like them when I first met you, but you are more h-a-n-d-s-y." You spell it out because you don't want the kids to say it. "Oh and I'm also a gardener."

"A gardener?"

"Sometimes." You shrug. "But now that you've met the kids, it's time for you to go."

“What?”

"I don't want him to go." Martha stomps her little foot enclosed in a bright pink sparkly flat.

You ignore her and reach for the table part of the high chair, strapping Josh in. He's wearing an adorable pair of overalls and a teddy bear t-shirt underneath. Despite his early hissy fit in his father's arms, Josh is smiling happily at you, his wild curly black hair sticking up in different directions. “I’m not going to let you be around a kid. You're barely on your best behavior around me."

“What do you think I’m gonna do?”

“I don’t know. Smoke a doobie, roll a doobie, make horrible life choices, drink, curse-“ You cross your arms over your chest and turn to face him, raising an eyebrow.

“You really don’t see me in a positive light.” He smirks at you. It's hard for him to pull off when he's still holding the bright blue bag covered in elephants. It was quilted, probably a knock off Vera Bradley, which only made you wish for your phone even more.

“No I do not.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Fine, just go watch TV in my room. But if you start going through my underwear drawer I swear I will cut off your D-I-C-K.” You spell the word and narrow your eyes, letting them flash bright green to emphasize your point.

Martha is still staring up at Ben, upset at the idea that he's going to go anywhere. "Wait y/n! Please let him stay, he can help me braid Betty's hair!" Betty was Martha's favorite doll, one that you were sure was in the sparkly backpack that hung across her back. Another photo opportunity you did not want to miss.

“I don’t want to go in there.” Ben states.

“Well that’s the first time you’ve ever said that. Usually you’re all for going in my room.” You huff, before turning to look down at Martha. "Alright, you want jasmine like last time? Or do you want some Lavender too?"

"Strawberries!" Martha exclaims.

"Strawberries!" Josh echoes, mashing his meaty fist on the tray not quite comprehending.

"Alright, but you remember. Our little secret right?"

Martha and Josh's parents didn't know you were a supe, they figured that you really liked plants and that Martha's occasional flower crowns came from you manually making them, not from you waving your hand and watching the stems weave together. You weren't sure how the Wilson's would react to finding out that you were a supe. They were more straight laced than you.

Probably also wouldn't like Ben hanging around if they knew who he really was. Actually I'm surprised that Mr. Wilson didn't ask more questions about Ben when he saw him.

Martha nods eagerly.

"Secret?" Ben asks.

"The Wilson's don't know I'm a supe." You murmur so only Ben can hear plucking a strawberry from the plant on your kitchen table. Secretly it was your favorite plant and it was much older than all the others in your apartment, encased in a hand-painted pot.

It was the first plant that you ever grew, sprouted from the chopped strawberries on your high chair tray when you were nine months old. Your parents had potted it inside the house and since then it had never wilted, and it never would. It meant everything to you, weird as that may be, strawberries were like a good luck charm and the plant that sat on your threadbare circular kitchen table was the symbol of your origin story.

"What do they think all the plants are?"

"They just think I like plants." Your eyes are glowing bright green allowing the strawberry in your hands begin to grow a stem and leaves, the stems weaving together to form a circle, sprouting small white flowers that ripen into red fruit, delicately intertwining to create the crown that Martha wants.

She squeals happily when you put it on her head and dances past Ben into the living room on tip-toe.

"You want one too Gramps?" You smirk at Ben.

"Tempting, but no."

"Alright." You look back at Josh, who has begun to chew on his chubby fist. "Are you hungry? I think you're hungry." You turn to look at Ben who is watching Martha do a mock impression of a ballerina with a horrified expression. "Ben can I see the bag?"

His head snaps in your direction. “Why?”

“Because it’s a magical bag with baby food in it.”

He holds it out and you snatch it away.

“Geez. Calm down Petals.” Ben leans against the counter behind you watching you methodically take out the jars. “Now what?”

“Well Sherlock, I’m going to feed the baby.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I know! I know!” Martha screams jumping up with her hand in the air. “Oh please!”

You bite back the urge to laugh. “Yes Marty?” You act as if you're calling on her in class.

“He can help me make friendship bracelets!”

Ben scoffs and rolls his eyes while crossing his arms over his chest. “Like hell I’m gonna-“

*Twenty Minutes Later*

“Please tie another knot for me.”

“No.” Ben grunts

"You're funny." Martha laughs and hands Ben the elastic string so she can start another friendship bracelet.

She was wearing the one that she had spent the last twenty minutes on, a string of bright pink, light pink, hot pink beads, and white pearly stars broken up by the name Marty. Ben had sat there the whole time next to her, pouting while occasionally throwing angry looks at you like it was your fault.

It's not.

You couldn’t understand why he stayed. You figured that he would leave to go on a date or try to escape as soon as Martha mentioned the words "friendship bracelet," but he hadn’t. He sat there at the kitchen table with Martha, whose little legs hung over the front of her chair, her face tight with concentration as she made friendship bracelets.

You’d taken two photos and you were very excited. But you’d been more focused on feeding Josh. He was still eating bits of strawberry and watermelon, but you would give him the occasional bite of teether.

Ben had looked like he was going to throw up when you broke off a piece for yourself.

It wasn't that bad. Kinda like eating a piece of flavored cardboard.

"You really like the watermelon huh?" You ask Josh taking another piece from the plastic container and cutting it up so it's small enough for him to eat.

"Waa waa." Josh mumbles picking up another piece. The red sticky juice was running down his little arms and each time you tried to wipe him off he would scream "No!"

You figured that he had learned that from Martha.

You hold out the circular Tupper-ware of watermelon out to Ben, who takes a piece, still frowning at you the whole time.

He's got to lighten up.

“Benny pick a color for me!” Martha says shuffling her fingers through the organized little boxes of her friendship bracelet kit, the beads rustling loudly against the plastic sides.

"It's Ben."

"Benny!" She whines. "Pick a color."

Ben sighs heavily as if she’d asked him to stab himself. He was probably considering that to get out of this hell. “Green.”

“Light green or dark green?”

“I don’t give a-“

“Ben.” You growl under your breath staring at him.

He sighs again sinking lower in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “Dark green.”

When Martha finishes the bracelet it has light green, dark green, and black beads with brilliant pearly white stars and the name Ben spelled out on the strand. She hands it to him. “This is for you. Now we’re best friends forever.” Her face turns serious. “Guard it with your life.”

Ben holds the bracelet between his thumb and index finger, frowning down at it. For a second you hope that he’s not going to throw it away in front of Martha. You noticed that she was trying to impress him the best she could and even you had to admit that her bracelet making skills were unmatched. You were also a little jealous. She didn’t make one for you.

But then Ben does something you didn’t think you’d ever see him do, but puts it on. “Thanks.” He grunts and Martha’s smile is so wide you’re sure it would blind anyone in a ten mile radius.

You’re surprised, so surprised that you drop the watermelon you had been holding on the ground.

What in the actual fuck is happening? He’s being so nice to her.

“Y/n, pick a color!” Martha shouts handing Ben another piece of elastic to tie a knot in.

“Um- light green.” You say, but you can't look away from Ben.

Am I hallucinating?

You were so shocked at his behavior. Yes he was still being a little bit of a dick, but he hadn't done anything that bad in the time that the children had been here, just occasionally curse.

The bracelet that Martha makes you looks a bit like Ben’s, except you have light green, dark green, purple, and black beads with white pearly stars broken up by your name.

"Thank you Marty." You smile at her and roll it on your wrist.

"Y/n?"

"Yes sweetie?"

"I have to go to the bathroom." She stands from the chair and hops from foot to foot. "I don't want to go by myself, the hallway is scary!"

"Oh okay." As soon as you get up Josh begins to wail, face turning bright red as he does, pounding his little fists against the tray of the high chair, sending pieces of strawberry and watermelon flying everywhere.

Oh shit.

"Hey it's okay Joshie." You unclip him from the high chair and pull him into your arms, bouncing him to make him stop crying.

"Y/nnnnnnnnnn!" Martha whines, continuing to hop from foot to foot. "I really have to go."

"Well I- um." Your eyes dart to where Ben is still sitting at the kitchen table, cringing slightly when Josh gives another particularly loud wail.

Am I really about to do this?

"Ben can you take him for just a second."

"What?" Ben's eyes widen.

"Please? I have to take Marty to the bathroom."

"She can't go by herself? Suck it up or whatever?"

"It's dark Benny!" Martha cries, peering around him down the hallway. "I don't want to go by myself."

"But-" Ben begins to say.

"Please Ben." You plead.

He curses under his breath. "Fine." He stands up and takes Josh from your arms, holding him away from his body in the air with both hands like Josh is a live grenade, which only makes him scream louder.

Martha grabs your hand and begins to drag you down the hallway, while Ben grimaces at the wriggling child in his arms. "Try holding him against your chest." You say to him as Martha continues to pull you towards your small bathroom.

I am definetly getting a night light for this hallway. Then again, she doesn't even like it when the lights are on. She said that the yellow glow looked "creepy." But I don't think I should leave Josh alone with Ben. What if he drops him or kills him or- shit why did I do this.

As soon as Martha is finished and has washed her hands you return to the kitchen prepared for the worst, but then you see Ben. His back is to you, but he's gently bouncing Josh in his arms who giggles happily over Ben's shoulder at you.

"See you just need to man up." You hear Ben say. "The ladies don't like a man who cries kid, take it from me."

You smile to yourself. And if you thought that Ben was gorgeous before, Ben standing with a baby making a baby smile, makes something primal at the back of your mind begin to stir and unfortunately makes every plant in your general vicinity burst into bloom. The smell of gardenia, hibiscus, honeysuckle, and lavender hitting you in a strong wave as they do. You weren't sure what instinct it was, all you knew was that the image of Ben and the baby would be very difficult to wipe from your mind.

"Did you miss me Benny?" Martha shouts coming up behind him, her strawberry crown still perched over her dark braids.

"Um." Ben turns around to look at where you're standing at the edge of the kitchen. He looks a little sheepish, like he didn't want you to catch him with a kid.

That's understandable. Hughie told me how he reacted to seeing a diaper commercial. The guy just doesn't seem to be the most gentle or really loving. And yet look at how he is with Josh.

"Of course he did Marty." You smile rubbing her back. "Right?"

"Sure." Ben sighs, but then he lifts his gaze back up to you. "You shouldn't call her that." Ben grunts.

"Why not?"

"You keep calling her a man's name and everyone is gonna think she's a boy."

You kick Ben hard in the shin.

"Ow. What the fu-" Ben snaps, eyes blazing.

"Marty, why don’t you pick out a movie you want to watch, anything you want." You smile sweetly at her, ignoring Ben's angry glare.

"Anything I want?" She exclaims, eyes bright.

"Anything you want."

She squeals happily and runs to the couch, disrupting Bean who had been watching with contempt from the cushions that line the back. He didn't like the kids as much as Ben did. Bean leaps off the couch and vanishes down the hallway before Martha can catch him.

"I call her that because she asked me to Ben. Don’t say things like that to a five-year old. In fact don't stuff like that at all. It's 2024 not 1920."

"What does that mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean." You frown at him.

"Fine." Ben huffs and rolls his eyes.

"Why are you still here? I thought that you were going to go on a date or whatever it is you do when you're not being forced to work for Butcher?" You say taking Josh from Ben, who fights you as you rub a wipe against his sticky cheeks.

"I didn't want you to be outnumbered Petals." Ben smirks.

"Uh-huh. Sure. Admit it, you really wanted a friendship bracelet."

Ben leans closer to whisper in your ear. "As soon as she leaves, this is going in the trash."

But for some reason you don’t believe him, but at the same time you didn't care, because you had photo evidence on your phone of Soldier Boy making friendship bracelets.

The opening song of Frozen begins to play from the tv behind you and you smile mischievously at Ben.

Now he's in for it.

"You're gonna wish you left Gramps." You snort.

"What do you mean-" Ben starts to say.

And then Martha begins to sing.

After a stunning and masterful performance of the Frozen movie done by Martha that included singing, dancing, and screaming the dialogue back at the tv, followed by Frozen 2, both Josh and Martha have fallen asleep just as the Aristocats began to play, leaving you and Ben to sit in the blessed silence of your apartment with the movie playing quietly in the background.

You were all sitting on the couch, Josh was sleeping on top of you, his little head buried in your left shoulder, while Martha curled up beside you, covered in one of your crochet blankets. Ben was sitting on the other side of Martha, leaning back and avoiding any contact with her feet that occasionally twitched while she slept, scrolling on his phone.

As much as Ben had hated the performance, you think that he might have actually liked Frozen. He'd noted that Elsa was hot, which Martha didn't quite understand and stated "No silly she's cold."

But then Ben followed up the observation by saying "You know, I knew this supe that looked exactly like her, who did this thing with her tong-" and you'd clamped your hand over his mouth and hissed "the kids are too young for that. Frankly I am too." Ben had only smirked at you and for the first time since you'd seen him do that, you smiled.

You didn't think that Ben had been paying attention, given that he had been scrolling on his phone through the entire movie, but he was. Because when Hans betrayed Anna Ben muttered "what a dick" under his breath.

Butcher had called during Frozen 2 and Ben had taken it in the hallway, filling you in quietly when he got back. Tomorrow Butcher wanted the two of you to infiltrate the party and see if the supe showed up to steal any of the cars.

It sounded like a solid plan, but it also meant that you were going to be on a mission alone with Ben, wearing God knows what. The last time Frenchie had stolen a dress for you wear on a mission, you'd practically had a heart attack when you first put it on and then made Annie go instead. You hoped that this time Frenchie got you something a little more, you. But you doubted it.

Plus the whole idea is to not be you genius.

“You’re really good with them.” Ben murmurs from his seat on the other side of the couch interrupting your chain of thought.

“You sound surprised.” You whisper back gently rubbing Josh's back with your hand. “And here I thought you were going to make a misogynistic comment about me having to be good with kids because I’m a woman.”

“I thought about it.” He shrugs shooting you an easy grin that makes you roll your eyes.

“Wouldn’t have expected anything less Gramps.”

You'd be lying if you said you weren't enjoying Ben try to act normal around the children. You liked watching him be all uncomfortable and awkward, especially because he prided himself on being a "big strong man." It was the same look he got in his eyes whenever Mike's mother cornered him.

“So have you been around kids before?” He asks.

“No. I never had any younger siblings, just my older brother. Were you ever around kids?”

You barely knew anything about Ben or his life before becoming Soldier Boy, just all the propaganda that Vought fabricated about his early life. He had called you guarded but he definitely seemed to keep everything closer to his chest. Sometimes you found yourself wishing that he would tell you more. You wanted to know more about him, but another part of you told you that it was a bad idea. You were getting too close to Ben, developing feelings for him, and you knew that it wouldn’t end well.

“Not people I knew. Vought used to send me on tours around America, talking to assemblies at schools.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Do you-“ Ben pauses considering. “Like kids?”

“I mean I like that I get paid to watch them but-“ You look down at the children quietly sleeping between the two of you. “I like these two. I think it kinda depends on the kid.”

He nods and turns his head back towards the tv. Thomas O'Malley has started his song, sauntering along to the tune.

Is it wrong that I think Ben has Thomas O'Malley vibes? Or Kovu from Lion King 2 vibes?

You thought about texting Annie that exact question, but you didn't want to tell her how you spent your day babysitting with Ben. You knew that it would only bring on another onslaught of photoshopped baby pictures and potential baby names.

“Do you want kids?”

“Huh?” You glance over at Ben who is watching you curiously. He was doing that thing again where he acted completely different than how he acted around the team, had been doing it all day long.

“Um-“ You contemplate. “I’m not sure. I’m kinda young or well in my head I am. I think I’d want to wait a little bit.”

“But you do?” He presses.

Why does he want to know that so badly?

“I kinda see myself as a mom.”

Ben’s eyes are studying you. “I think you’d be a good mom.”

The compliment makes you inhale in surprise. Ben had been acting weird all day long, being nice to Martha, wearing the bracelet she made him, sitting with her to watch a movie and listening to her recount the lore behind it. He was being uncharacteristically patient and kind. For another moment you see the possibility of Ben being more than just an angry, horny, jerk, and you try hard not to give in.

“Do you want kids?” You whisper back.

Ben’s expression darkens and he turns back towards the tv, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t say anything for a good two minutes, the silence awkwardly growing between the two of you. “I did.”

“With Countess right?”

He looks at you surprised.

“Hughie told me.” You bite the inside of your cheek. “I’m sorry Ben.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. You’re not the bi-“ He stops and looks down at the kids who are still sleeping silently. “You’re not her, Petals. You don’t have to be.”

“I know that, but still. What she did was shitty.” You whisper the curse word. “You didn’t deserve that. Any of it.”

It was the first time you’d said that to Ben. The first time the two of you would have a conversation about his life before you met him, the life that he seemed to want to forget. You couldn't blame him for that. In fact, the two of you had barely talked before these past few days other than the occasional tease or Ben’s attempt to get you into bed with him. And it was actually kind of nice, learning more about him.

Josh gurgles quietly and you adjust him in your arms, gently rocking him for a moment. Martha stirs but then leans further against your right arm cuddling up against it.

Ben watches you for a minute with the same expression he has when he seems to be unable to understand you and then the mask slips for just a moment, enough for you to see something genuine in his eyes. "Thank you." He murmurs.

"You’re welcome." You reply with a small smile as you turn back to watch the movie, aware of Ben's gaze on you. "Then again I should be thanking you. I couldn't have made it through today without that coffee."

Ben chuckles and leans back against the couch cushions. "You're welcome Petals."

Mr. Wilson's mother in-law shows up to take the kids just as the movie finishes. Ben and you stand there for a moment in the aftermath taking a breath and when you smile at him, Ben actually smiles back.

But before you can ask Ben if he wants to order a pizza or something, he states that he has a date and not to wait up for him as he shrugs into his leather jacket.

And when he goes you try not to notice how quiet the apartment is and how empty it seems without him in it.

A/N: Alright the angst will begin to come NEXT chapter, probably, I promise... I just couldn't get this silly little idea out of my head and I thought why not?

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist or if I missed you on the taglist please let me know :)

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#soldier boy x you #jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy/ben #the boys amazon #the boys fanfic #jensen ackles #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy fic

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lunar-lair · 2 years ago

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youre welcome its the leo fan and the analyst in me

some homosexual holding an umbrella

#i think the way the bandana is tied around the arm only highlights this btw #and the fact he has an umbrella but hes not completely under it?#the world is offering him protection and love and care #and the world says you are a child and a hero is not a sacrifice made and a child should not die #written in the rules of the universe written in the code of the world #here he stands exposed. here he stands with the world asking him to come here and be safe in their arms #here he stands as his family begs him not to do this.#and he takes off his mask and he stands halfway in the rain and he doesnt listen #even as the gods ask the hero of this world this *child* to shine forever to bask in protection and light #and here he stands. alone. alone with a powerful enemy and no hope of escape.#rottmnt #theres a poem i wrote actually. the kind that goes 'you know what if leo died in the prison dimension yeah'#it applies this same kind of thought. that the world mourns because...because hes too young. because hes a hero #rain falls for the gods weep. they ask darling love aoi. starlight sweetheart. why? when you had so much ahead of you?#when your heart was so big? do you not regret this? your home is so bright. but its not the same without you.#and he says...i dont. i dont regret it. new york is a beautiful place. with amazing people. and im glad i saved it.#there was duty and love and shame in that action.#a decision he made to make up for a mistake. a refusal to let them die. a refusal to let the world fall apart.#he...hes a hero. its what heroes do. and his family cant die like casey said they cant. and he caused this. he has to fix it.#regardless of how...horrific it is that a child should die for the world. regardless of the loss it would grieve.#he is four of his kind. a great hero. a savior of the world.#but all he sees is a face man and idiotic boy who caused his brothers pain because he was too self centered. (he was afraid.#afraid of fucking up and afraid of hurting them and afraid of this role. but yeah. ok. self centered.)#and the world cries out because hes so much more. because even if he werent he is 15 and he is one of his kind #and he has a heart bigger than his chest can hold and he loves and he cares so so much and he means so much #even if its only to a few people. and a boy from the future loses him twice and his brothers lose their fourth and final piece #and his sister loses her brother and his father loses his son. like i..#sorry i watched the rise movie earlier tonight and i have a lot og feelings abt.#'may you the beauty of the world always shine'...may children always be bright. may these heroes forever laugh and love and care.#may the boy who nearly gave it all never lose his hope. his spark. his too large love and heart and care.

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zara-renata · 2 months ago

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Sylus makes a deal | ao3 | part 10 of the Sylus series

Summary: Sylus answers some questions, receives dating advice from a dubious source, makes a deal you can't refuse, receives a birthday invitation, and plans to take you home for the night.

Notes:

Sylux x gn!reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV, some Sylus POV, 'wingman' is used as a gender neutral term in this story This story contains: increasing absurdity, an ongoing attempt by the author to fit every single trope into one fanfic series, an agreement to date where only one of the parties knows that it's not fake, an mc with self-esteem issues, mc in deep denial, a socially oblivious mc, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers slow burn, angst, banter, fluff, yet another oc (i'm sorry but i need plot vehicles, people), hyper protective!mc, soft!sylus, and a tank

“Who is Aidan?” you ask.

It takes a moment for you to realize that Sylus is staring down at the scarlet-gold wrist linkage tying his wrist to yours. His body, tense just a moment before as you were flipping the coin, seems to relax as you ask your question—he almost melts back into the couch, and as a result, into your side, his arm still slung over your shoulder, his thigh pressed against yours. You soak up his body warmth like a sponge.

You steel yourself for his answer. You can handle anything he says, because the coin and fate have decided that you will not ghost him forever but have dictated that you will be his friend, and you’re going to be the best friend anyone could ever ask for this morally grey hurricane of a human being.

“My legal counsel,” Sylus finally responds.

“Mister Toothpaste Commercial is your… legal counsel?” you ask, as if you hadn’t heard him perfectly fine the first time.

“Mister… Toothpaste Commercial?” Sylus repeats. He turns his head to look at you, and once again, your faces are so close you can feel his warm breath along your skin. It smells pleasantly of wine, and you would like to think your palate is sophisticated enough to recognize it as one of the wines you tried the other night with him. But maybe you’re mistaken.

You nod, a little embarrassed about blurting that just now.

“Care to share why you gave him that particular nickname?”

“You know… he’s generically beautiful. And his teeth…” You bare your teeth at him, as if he needs a reminder of what teeth are. “So unsettlingly white.”

“I see.” Sylus eyes your bared teeth, face impassive. “You think he’s beautiful?”

“Don’t you?”

Sylus tilts his head. “I think his face is useful for what I need him for.”

“Ah yes, Cryptic Crime Sylus only thinks in terms of cost-benefit and utility when evaluating other humans. Forgive me for asking.” You lean your head back, settling onto his pillowy bicep. If being friends with Sylus means you can still use him as a human pillow, you tell yourself that’s a pretty good deal.

“Yeah. Okay. So Aidan is your legal counsel… is that… all he is?” you ask, hoping Sylus will get the hint without you having to ask this embarrassing question out loud. You’re just curious, that’s all. Learning about your newest friend, and his friends—or lovers.

Sylus considers you for a moment, and then flexes his bicep so that your head is gently jostled toward his shoulder, and you slide even deeper into his side. “Well, he does wet work on occasion, but it’s not his primary function. Just don’t tell anybody I told you that. He would be… displeased.”

Your brain stalls out for a second. “You mean that guy kills for you?”

Sylus nods serenely. “When necessary. He doesn’t like getting his shoes dirty, though, so I rarely ask him. He thinks that because I can remove blood stains with a snap of my fingers, I should be the one to personally handle situations that require elimination, which is a fair point. He’s far better at drafting ironclad non-disclosure agreements and litigation than the other aspects of his position with me.”

You don’t even know why you’re surprised. Why would Sylus have anyone not homicidal in his inner circle?

“Okay… but is he.. anything else to you?” you look up at him expectantly. “Like, is he… your partner?”

Sylus tilts his head again. “Partner? No, he’s not a partner. I have him on exclusive retainer, so he might as well have shares in the business with how much he charges me, but it’s not technically a partnership.”

You grimace. Exclusive retainer? Is that some sort of euphemism? Like a professional, monogamous fuck buddy? Are you being insane by reading way too much into his answers? You can’t bring yourself to ask him outright yet. This line of questioning is getting you nowhere.

“And… the… woman… who was with Kieran and Luke? Who is she? For you?” You cringe internally, but do your very best to appear completely indifferent. You’re just chatting with a friend. Like at a sleepover. But you’re at your friend’s sexy exclusive nightclub and you’re so close to him that you can inhale the scent wafting from his neck and he smells like the safety and security of holding a loaded gun.

Sylus stares at you, and then a light bulb seems to go on in his head. “That’s Noah. She’s my newest hire,” he says slowly.

“Okay, and what does Noah… do for you?”

He narrows his eyes. “She’s a driver.”

“And is she… also on exclusive retainer for you?” You’re a bit squicked out. You don’t want to yuck anyone else’s yum but this is obviously a human resources disaster waiting to happen. And Noah looked so young .

“Kitten, if you have a question, ask.” You feel your leg bouncing up and down. Sometimes that happens when you’re wound up. Sylus lifts your linked wrists and puts his hand on your thigh. You stop jittering. “You can ask me anything.”

Fine. You take a breath. “That other guy kept asking about who your partner was… so I was just wondering. If your partner was in the room with us earlier,” you ask, the portrait of casual. Because that’s all this is. Casual interest in a friend’s romantic life. Tara bugs you enough about your own non-existent love life to the point of harassment, so you’re doing Sylus a favor by asking so discretely.

“So, the motivation behind this interrogation is your assumption that either Aidan or Noah is… my romantic partner.” Sylus finishes your thought. The relief of him guessing what you were thinking courses through you. He’s such a good friend. You don’t even have to say everything out loud, and he just gets you.

“Yeah, since you said you were dreaming about someone the other morning, and then with the guy asking about your partner tonight, I just thought—”

Sylus interrupts you. “I actually didn’t say I was dreaming about—” but then, another thought occurs to you and you interrupt him in turn. “Or is this a polyamory thing? Sorry, I’ll try to be better about not making assumptions. Are you guys in a crime-lord, wet-work, getaway driver polycule?”

Sylus tries to rub his forehead, but his movement pulls your linked wrist up with his. He lets both of your hands drop, which come to rest on his big thigh, alarmingly close to his lap. His lap that contains certain appendages that you will immediately cleanse your memory of out of respect for your friendship . “Kitten?”

“Yes, Sylus?” You look up at him and smile reassuringly. You’re his friend, and he can tell you anything . His secrets are safe with you.

“Let me clear up this unfortunate misunderstanding once and for all. I do not have a romantic partner right now,” he says with a gravity that’s endearing. “Do you understand?”

Your pleasure at hearing what he’s saying has nothing to do with the content of his words. You’re pleased simply because he’s fulfilling his end of the bargain and fully answering your questions and he doesn’t have a romantic partner in his life and he’s not taken and that makes you happy only because now you don’t have to feel guilty at all for the friendly position you find yourself in plastered against his big warm body and the nights he has spent with you away from, you now know, a non-existence partner whose feelings can’t be hurt by his strange fascination with interfering in your life.

That’s all. You breathe deeply in relief. Friendly relief.

But you don’t understand. Not yet. “Then why was that guy tonight asking about your partner?”

“I believe that Luke and Kieran may have given him the misinformation that he was to meet my romantic partner tonight to discuss an exclusive wine supplier deal he’s hoping to secure with us for the clubs. I then mentioned to him that you liked the bottle from his winery, and that you would be present during our discussion of the contract. He must have assumed that you were the romantic partner to whom my subordinates had alluded when you made your… dramatic entrance.”

You wince, but honestly? It felt so good to chuck the duffel bag full of feathers at Sylu. Like squeezing a cute little stress relief ball, or knocking some asshole out with just one punch.

“Maybe now you’ve learned your lesson about leaving me with feather messes to clean up,” you grumble.

Sylus plucks one such feather from his lap and lifts it with your linked hands, running it softly along your cheek. “There you go again—you assume I didn’t enjoy your little performance.” You shiver, turning your head to bite the feather. “Unfortunately for you, I’ll keep leaving them because it evokes reactions like the one from tonight.”

He smiles at you, and you jerk your head to pull the feather from his grasp with your teeth, and then puff an exhale through your lips, sending the feather into his face.

“Fine. Fill my place with feathers. See if I care.” You turn your head away from him, but don’t bother sitting up. He can talk to your hair.

“I intend to,” his voice, low and amused, sounds close to your ear.

You are so relaxed now, compared to earlier. You could almost fall asleep, right here and now. It’s late, and you’ve gone through so many emotions, just in the span of what? An hour? Hopefully with your newfound resolve, you can maintain this level of peace, even with Sylus in your life. The coin decided for you. You have nothing to worry about now, because fate has spoken. It’s out of your hands. You can do this job, the job of Sylus’s friend, as you do all the other jobs in your life so well.

Your thoughts drift over what happened earlier, and you suddenly recall why you’re here in the first place, and wonder who he was talking about, when he was describing his type. Maybe it was just… a theoretical description of a person he’d be interested in? Maybe they don’t actually exist?

“I can tell from your body that your mind has begun to race again, sweetheart. Is there anything else you want to ask me?”

You realize that your muscles have become tense again after his comment, and force your body to relax. It works, sort of. You only feel a faint pinch in your shoulders.

You still refuse to look at him. You try really hard to think of a subtle way of asking what you want to know. You frown. Subtlety is not one of your talents. You’re more of a sledgehammer than a scalpel. Zayne can attest to that.

You know what? It’s fine. You don’t need to know this. You don’t have to know every single detail about the inner lives of your friends. Even best friends are entitled to privacy.

“Or are you too scared to ask?” Sylus sniffs derisively.

You whip your head back around.

“What?”

He slides his hand into yours, your linked wrists pressing together.

“I asked…” he enunciates. “If you are too much of a coward to ask your questions. Are you too afraid of the price for the ones you’ve already purchased?”

You scoff. “Do I strike you as someone who’s afraid of anything?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re not afraid of wanderers, or a fight, or getting injured. And you’re not afraid of me,” he offers you a pleased smile. “But I think that there are things that exist that scare you.”

You let a mask of indifference settle on your face. “Bullshit,” you say, lightly. You don’t have a care in the world.

“All right, then ask your questions, if you’re not afraid of the answers.” He runs his thumb down your linked wrist, and back up again.

“Were you talking about anyone in particular tonight, when the wine guy asked if Noah was your partner?”

Sylus brings your linked hands up, and rests his cheek along the back of yours. It’s so soft along your skin, with the faint burr of his stubble causing goosebumps to rise along your arms.

“Ah, is my kitten curious about who may be my type?”

You scowl at him. “Obviously, or I wouldn’t be asking.” Your heart doesn’t ache. You’re just hoping that he can have a happy ending with whoever he has feelings for. That’s what friends do.

“Then I’ll answer. In fact, I’m glad you brought it up. It has to do with why I asked you to come tonight.” He lowers your linked hands again, but tightens his arm around your shoulder.

You look at him steadily in silence. You are prepared for whatever he has to say. You will listen, and keep his secrets, and help him in any way you can, because the coin decided that you will be his friend, and you will be the best friend he has ever had. He just doesn’t know it yet.

“I do have feelings for someone. I was describing that person when I was describing my type,” he says.

You remain very still. Your muscles remain relaxed, your breath steady. You will be his vault, for all the things he wants to tell you. Immovable, and safe. You nod, once.

His pretty, strange eyes drift from yours to your mouth and up again. “Ah,” you breathe. “I thought as much.”

“Of course. Because you’re clever, and observant, and highly attuned to the needs of other people, in most respects.” You can’t help it—you smile. That’s probably one of the nicest things he’s ever said to you. See? You can be of value to him as a friend. And in return, you get to enjoy his chaotic and weirdly comforting presence in your life.

“So what does that have to do with why you asked me here tonight?”

“I think this person may be able to reciprocate my feelings, but I’m worried that they won’t trust my sincerity if I simply tell them how I feel right now.”

You wince. You definitely know, from firsthand experience, that Sylus doesn’t always make the best first impressions. “Ah, I can see how that could be the case,” you say, diplomatically. Because you’re polite .

“I’ve spent most of my adult life singularly focused on my business goals. I haven’t had much time or interest in building personal relationships with anyone.”

“Mmm, yes, of course. Very busy with very serious murdery matters. Too busy for such weak nonsense as human connection,” you nod sagely. “As is normal.”

He lifts your linked hands and gently pokes you in the forehead. “You know, after just one week of rest, you’re a lot less nice to me than the last few times I visited you.”

“I think you mean the last few times you committed breaking and entering, and also less compliant, not less nice.” You poke his forehead in turn. “Don’t mistake being too exhausted to engage with you as me being nice. I was too tired to really spear you with my wit, but just wait. The longer we’re friends, the more you’ll learn that you need to be on your toes to handle me.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetie.” He catches your finger in his palm, bringing your linked hands back to his thigh. “I guess I’ll just have to ensure that you continue to get enough sleep, then.” He slips his fingers through yours again.

“Okay. So you’ve been far too busy being his highness lord of all shady shit. What does that have to do with what you want from me?”

He sighs. “As a result, I don’t have much experience… pursuing someone. Romantically.” He looks at you expectantly.

“Okay,” you draw out the word, waiting for the request.

“I have to admit, I’ve found myself distracted recently trying to puzzle out how to move forward with this person.”

“Okay, so you’re nervous.” You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes. Is he ever going to get on with his request for you? He looks at you, frowning slightly.

You sigh. “How about you take your own advice and just ask me directly what you need from me? It’s not like you to beat around the bush.”

“I find that my preferred directness may not be the best strategy with this person--they consistently suspect that I have ulterior motives when I show them how much I care for them.”

“Okay," you draw out the word, but he just sits there, watching you carefully. For what, you have no idea. "Sylus, what do you want from me?” You finally lose your patience. “Out with it.”

“I think we can help each other out. I want you to teach me how to date someone properly, in a way that can convince them that I don't have any ulterior motives. That I mean what I say when I tell them directly that I care deeply for them, and don't intend to let them go.”

You stare at him. He stares back at you. You glance out of the corner of your eye to both sides, but the room is still empty. You’re the only one in it besides Sylus. The only one he could possibly be asking to teach him how to properly date someone.

You can’t help it. You howl. This is the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever heard. How is it that this big bad crime boss is asking you, you, who has spent most of your adult life either studying, training, or working so hard that every romantic partner that you ever went beyond a one night stand with fizzled out in either you being ghosted, you being cheated on, or you just being straight up dumped for not being around enough to conduct a proper relationship and meet their emotional needs. Especially because, you can admit, you have about the same emotional capacity for caring for a romantic partner as you do for caring for yourself: which is to say, hardly any at all. To steal Sylus’s comparison, you probably have the emotional capacity to satisfy someone in a relationship as a fucking cactus.

You wheeze, your linked hand clutching Sylus’s. You’re laughing so hard you’re going to throw up. This is the funniest shit Sylus has ever said to you. Sylus, who is asking you for help in wooing some god or goddess, someone amazing enough to attract the attention of such a ‘life is too short to settle for anything less than perfection’ snob as Sylus.

“Are you done?” he asks, sounding slightly indignant, after you manage not to throw up all over him—from the laughing, dammit, and not from the idea of helping this man have a happily-ever-after with someone who is not you. You’re his friend. You can be his wingman if that’s what he needs. You can.

Once you can breathe again, you lean back into the soft leather of the booth. “I am now,” you laugh softly, clearly lying. He glares at you. “I promise.”

“So, what will it be? If you help me with this matter, you can have that favor. No restrictions. No conditions. It might be very useful someday for you, as a Deepspace Hunter, to have the leader of Onychinus owing you an unconditional favor.”

You laugh. “Sylus, that’s very tempting, but I don’t think you understand that you’re asking the absolute worst person on earth for help in this department,” you begin, but Sylus squeezes your hand before you can go on to describe why your romantic history doesn’t inspire much confidence in the odds of success of his little proposal.

“Hmm, I guess you’re not up for the challenge.” He looks down at your clasped hands and fiddles with his thumb. “How boring. Guess I’ll just have to find someone else who can help.”

Okay, you’ve had enough sleep in the last week to realize that he’s baiting you. But you realize that you do want something from him. It's just that that what he is offering in exchange isn't what you actually want. You had already resolved to help him, as his friend. But you can leverage this situation to your advantage too. And if your ‘help’ turns out to be useless because you have no idea how to catch someone’s interest and actually keep it, well, that’s his fault for not thoroughly vetting his chosen consultant. You’ll still get the favor. And absolutely none of these considerations have anything to do with the fact that the thought of him seeking someone else to help him in this, of him replacing you for this job, makes your heart feel weird.

“All right. How do you think I can help you with this little… problem?” You snort. “And just remember, lots of men have problems just like yours, there’s no reason to feel ashamed.” You blink at him with wide eyes, the dictionary definition of sincere reassurance.

“Oh, I can assure you, like the rest of me, this problem is rather extraordinary. I doubt most men find themselves grappling with this level of… difficulty, in acquiring the confidence of their beloved.”

You don’t flinch at the word ‘beloved.’ So what if his crush is not actually a crush, but a soul-deep yearning? It doesn’t affect your role in this. Best, wingman, ever. You smile. You smile, because what else can you do?

"Ha, fine, fine. But I don't want an unconditional favor from the leader of Onychinus," you say. Surprise flickers across his face, but fades quickly into his usual mask of amused indifference.

"Speak."

"I want the slate to be clean between us, when this is over. I took your life. And then I did my best to help you win over your... your beloved. I can't guarantee results. But I promise to try. And afterwards, we'll be even, yeah?"

He watches you closely, as if trying to detect some trap in your condition, without resorting to his aether core. So you poke him in the cheek, but can’t help yourself—you then draw your fingertip down, along his stubbled jawline. It’s late enough now that you can see the slightly darker sheen of silver in his version of a five o’clock shadow, much like his eyebrows are darker than his hair. What a beautiful creature. You’re lucky that you even get to look at him, let alone call him a friend.

He turns his head and catches your finger between his teeth, but doesn’t bite down. You think you feel his tongue ghost longer your fingertip, but it’s probably just your wild imagination. He releases your finger and you drop your hand back to your side.

He slips the pinky finger of his linked hand around yours. Even his pinky is big, for fuck's sake. "I promise, we'll be even. You won't owe me anymore for my generosity in letting you exact your revenge, if you do you best to help me convince my beloved that I care for them."

“Okay then." You take a deep breath. After this is all over, the scales will finally be balanced, and you'll be free. "How can I help you?”

“Be my dating coach,” he finally says.

You have to think very hard to remember what you were just talking about. Oh. What?

“Wut?”

“Allow me to practice dating with you. You can give me constructive feedback regarding whether you think my strategy will be effective in persuading the object of my affection that I mean what I say.”

Your heart squeezes. Damn, is your protocore syndrome acting up again? Maybe you need to visit Akso Hospital before your next scheduled checkup.

You squeeze your eyes shut against the pain, and then force yourself to open them. “Whether or not your crush will like how you date them is dependent on that particular person’s wants and desires. Just because you manage to make me like dating you, doesn’t mean your beloved can be won over with the same strategy. Or vice versa.” You shake your head at him. He can’t be serious. This is why he demanded you meet him tonight? You dismantled, cleaned, reassembled and packed your favorite bazooka for nothing. And you don't even like using the bazooka these days. Still too loud. Still too much like an exploding bomb. But you were willing to bring it, if it meant protecting Sylus.

“I’m pretty sure that your tastes and interests are similar enough to this person that your feedback will be reliable," Sylus interrupts your drifting thoughts.

Huh? He’s interested in someone like you? Impossible. But then a thought occurs to you. Maybe another hunter? Maybe this whole time he’s been getting close to you in order to get close to his crush, who you know?

Fuck. You really do need to make an appointment with Zayne. No healthy heart should feel like this, even one as damaged as yours.

You can’t think about this. You will not consider the possibility that all of his harassment has just been an elaborate ruse to get access to someone close to you. You will not.

Your brain clearly doesn’t get the memo, because your next thought hits you like a train.

What if it’s Xavier!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You blink.

What if the hunter he wants to get close to is Xavier? What if he actually has had a crush on your partner this whole time? What the fuck will you do if they fall in love and you never see either of them again except Xavier at work and Sylus at their wedding? That twisting feeling in your guts and the sensation of your stomach dropping into your shoes is simply the result of imagining losing two of your friends at once to each other, and nothing else .

Wait, wait. It might not be Xavier. Maybe it’s Tara? Has he seen Tara? Maybe he saw Tara through Mephisto’s eyes while you went to lunch with her? She’s so cute, you often have to suppress the urge to squeeze her little chipper cheeks, because that’s an HR no-no.

Or Nero? Nero and Sylus probably share similar interests—Nero’s obsession with dangerous creatures would likely result in him being thrilled that a dangerous creature like Sylus would be interested in him. You can almost hear the wedding bells. You heard bells the first time you met Sylus, and now you’re going to lose him to Nero. You are fine .

Wait, wait, wait, what if it’s Jenna? What if this is a star-crossed lovers thing, and Jenna won’t believe him because they’re supposed to be mortal enemies? Jenna is hot as fuck. You can totally see—

Sylus’s voice interrupts the high speed crash in your head. “Oh no. I’ve learned what that look on your face means.”

You cover your mouth, because you’re clearly having a hard time controlling your face.

“What are you even talking about?” you mumble through your hand.

Sylus’s eyes bore into yours. “Don’t play dumb, kitten. Something is happening in your head, and instead of just asking me directly, you’re making wild assumptions and coming to ridiculous conclusions. If you’re curious, just ask. I thought we’ve been over this. Twice. Tonight, in fact.”

You let your hand drop with a wince. His beautiful eyes map your face. He’s right. You should just rip off the bandage. No use torturing yourself wondering which one of your friends he’s been using you to get to.

“Is your crush someone I know?”

Sylus’s face goes blank. He stares at you for a moment, and then casually reaches up to brush hair from your forehead, and your wrist is pulled up awkwardly with his.

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asks.

You just look at him. He fiddles with your lock of hair.

And here he had told you that you could ask him anything. But he never promised to quit his habit of answering your questions with more questions. Suddenly you realize that he’s buying time. He’s trying to think of how to answer you. That means you do know the person. Maybe it’s asking too much of him, to demand that he tell you who it is. You can survive not knowing. You can survive anything .

You plaster a smile on your face and lean away from his touch. “Never mind. You don’t have to tell me.”

You gaze out the one-way mirror, sifting through possibilities. You can help him. You know your friends enough to know what they’d like, and can suggest dates that each one might like in turn. Going for a hotpot dinner, if Sylus likes Xavier. Going for cocktails, if it’s Tara. Taking Nero to the no-hunt zone for wanderer watching instead of bird watching. You wrack your brain for what Jenna might like. You have no fucking clue. You and your boss have a mutual respect for each other and maintain strict professionalism. You would probably be in danger of falling in love with her, if not. Maybe you’ll wing it: Jenna’s a warrior, and likely has similar interests as you. The shooting range? Oh, you totally want to go to the shooting range with Sylus. To be honest, all the dates you’ve just thought of are dates you’d also like, so you’re feeling even more confident that you can help him with this job. Who cares if you’ve been cheated on more than once? You’ll be judging his performance, not the other way around.

Sylus interrupts your thoughts. “Look at me,” he says softly. You obey. He covers your hand with his. “I can promise you that whomever you’re thinking my 'crush' is, it’s not the person you're thinking of.”

How could he possibly know who you think his crush might be? But he’s looking at you so earnestly, and Sylus doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. He has told you that before, and for some strange reason, you believe him. Okay. Maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe. Maybe he likes someone you don't know.

“Okay,” you breathe. He looks pleased. You try not to think too hard about how happy it makes you when he looks at you like you’ve pleased him. It’s only natural to want your friends to be happy with you, right?

But the thought occurs to you that Sylus might be approaching this whole dating thing the wrong way. What the other person wants is not the only thing that’s important in this equation.

“You know, it’s also not just all about what your crush likes.”

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

“It also matters what you like, and what you like to do. You don’t have to just please them—the point of dating isn’t just to make the other person happy.” You turn your hand so his is no longer covering yours, but your palms are aligned. You entwine your fingers with his and squeeze softly. “Don’t you want your crush to know what you like, and what makes you happy? And then if they like that, you can be assured that you guys will be compatible in the long run. Your happiness is just as important as theirs. And it will be more convincing, if you invite them into your world, instead of just trying to accommodate theirs.”

He squeezes your hand in return, and then runs the back of his knuckles along your cheek, your hand still clasped in his. “Is that so?” he murmurs.

You will not turn your head and kiss his knuckles, rub your cheek along the back of it, unfold his fingers and kiss his palm. Friends don’t do that. You can’t make this weird for him. He’s asking you for help, and you’ll give it without any ulterior motives.

“So you’re suggesting that I take you on dates that I’d like, as well.”

You nod. “Just be yourself, and leave your scary Onychinus leader mask at home, because they probably already know that part of you. Just be the Sylus who brings his friends wine and fruit and carries around stomach medicine for them. I would be willing to bet you that just being able to spend enough time with you like that will be enough to convince them that you’re really great to be with, and since you’re clearly putting in the time and effort to show them who you are, that you’re sincere.”

He pulls his arm from around your shoulder, but turns his body toward you, crossing one leg over the other, resting his head on his hand, elbow on the booth behind you. He sets your linked hands on your leg, and rubs soft circles with his thumb on your thigh. “So, it’s a safe bet for you to assume that another person’s feelings are sincere if that person doggedly invests a lot of time and energy in you despite constant discouragement?”

“Well, yeah. I feel like even the most stubborn people give up after a while if they aren’t actually serious in the face of disbelief or a repeated rejection.”

He leans forward, so close that your noses are almost touching. “I expect you to remember what you just said, when this is over."

Your heart does that painful limping thing again, imagining this being over, before it’s even begun.

A thought occurs to you. Because he's right. This will be over, someday. With how clever he is, how handsome and persistent, probably sooner rather than later. You don't want to find out that he no longer has a use for you once you realize that you haven't heard from him for weeks. You don't want to find out if you're in the N109 zone on a mission, and see him arm in arm with someone else. "Can you just promise me one more thing?"

He lifts an eyebrow. "It depends on what you're asking for," he asks, ever the shrewd negotiator.

Good, he's taking you seriously. "Once you shoot your shot, and no longer need my help. Can you just send me a text or something? Let me know that it's over? That you don't need me anymore, and we're even?" It's just the protocore syndrome, you tell yourself. You've lived with it for as long as you can remember. You can endure the pain that it's causing you right now, as you always have, as you wait for him to answer, trying to remember to breathe. His face is blank, as blank as the slate you're hoping for when this is all over. He looks away, and you realize that you've gotten so used to his wine bright eyes on you that it feels weird to look as his profile. You follow the line of his long nose with your eyes. Finally, he turns to look at you again.

"I promise that I will tell you clearly when this deal is over," he says quietly. You exhale slowly.

"Thank you." You mean it. You're grateful, knowing that you don't have to be anxious about figuring out the end. You won't have to guess, like you've had to guess so many times before, when someone you care about has walked out of your life without bothering to let you know.

Another thought occurs to you. “But let’s talk about this constant discouragement you mentioned. Has this person clearly and firmly rejected you?”

Sylus laughs, and there’s something in it that sounds just a little self-deprecating. “Like I said before, I haven’t even found a good opportunity to tell them my feelings yet. All of my efforts to show them how I feel through my actions have so far been… unproductive.” He leans back. “So, sensei. Speak. Where would you want me to take you on a date if I were your type, and you deigned to go out with me?”

“Where would you want to take me ?” you counter. You’re starting to look forward to helping him. Allowing him to practice with you will likely be the closest you’ll ever get to experiencing what it’s like to be cared for by Sylus beyond simply being useful to him.

“How about a trade—you tell me what you’d want, and then I’ll spend some time planning what I want. And then you can walk me through each scenario and preference, one by one.”

“Uh, okay. That sounds like a plan.” You finally give into your fatigue and yawn, widely, not bothering to cover your mouth because it’s just Sylus, your friend. “I’m starting to get kind of tired though. And since you clearly are in no danger tonight, maybe we can do the walkthrough another time.”

“All right, kitten. I’ll give you a ride.”

“And just how are you going to give me a ride home with this little problem?” you shake your wrist a little, and the golden-red shackles shimmers in the dim room.

“Did I say I was giving you a ride home?” he asks, gracefully rising to his feet and somehow pulling you gently along with him. He clasps your hand in his, and leads you to the door.

The feathers tumble from his lap and from the back of your pants, wafting up into the air and drifting down again. You wince. “I feel bad now. Some poor employee of yours is going to have to clean this mess up,” you murmur regretfully.

Sylus looks down at you, one sardonic eyebrow lifted, and snaps the fingers on his other hand. The feathers dissolve into scarlet-black cinders and disappear.

You stop, digging in the heels of your boots. “You could have done that. This entire time.”

“I told you sweetheart, I liked your gift. Why would I make it disappear, especially when there were so many people in the room to admire your handiwork?”

You hang your head, the embarrassment of acting like a nutcase slamming into you full force again. What is it about this asshole that makes you lose your mind?

Sylus just laughs softly, runs his thumb along the back of your held hand, and pulls you out into the club again.

As the two of you make your way down the packed, jet-black granite stairs, your gaze sweeps over the people along the way, cataloging facial expressions and body language, confirming locations of exits and potential obstacles to escape. You’re tired, but you’re still alert enough to be aware of your surroundings. Just because Sylus has a lot of security in this place doesn’t mean that all potential threats to the leader of Onychinus are one hundred percent under control. But you don’t detect anything out of the ordinary. Sylus leads you into the crowd at the edge of the dance floor, and even though you had been up in the VIP room with him for over an hour, dancers are still sensually spinning from hoops above the crowd. You pause, searching for the red-haired one who had smiled so kindly at you, but they seem to have disappeared. You can’t help but let your gaze drift amongst the others though, reminding yourself once again to research how one attains that level of strength and agility.

“As fascinating as the performance is tonight, you did say you were tired. Perhaps you’d be interested in returning on another night–I’ll buy you a drink and you can watch the dancers to your heart’s content,” Sylus’s voice in your ear, close to be heard over the deep bass, interrupts your trance. You realize that of course he had to stop when you did, and has been waiting for you patiently, holding your hand, while you were caught up watching the performances above you.

You turn your head slightly, and his nose brushes against your ear. You lean past him, so that your mouth is against his own ear. “That’s a kind offer, but this place isn’t really my vibe.”

He pulls away a little and seems to contemplate your face under the intermittent lights. Then he leans in again. “Kindred spirits, sweetheart. It’s not mine either. I’ll take you somewhere else instead.”

You’re about to ask him what he means, but you’re jostled from behind, and find yourself face to face with the leader of the club girls from your time waiting in line. Her face lights up.

“Hi again!” She bellows over the music, and sways a little on her feet.

You laugh. “Hi! Having fun?” You shout back.

“Totally! Your tips have already come in handy! It’s much easier to convince guys you’re just on a girls’ night out if they’re afraid of you!” She grins, and then she seems to notice Sylus, because her eyes widen briefly, and then she gives you a sly grin. “But you didn’t need those tips yourself tonight, did you? Nice.” She winks at you.

Sylus leans forward, a big hand sliding over your hip and pulling you close. He leans down and rests his chin on top of your head. “I see you made a friend.”

“That’s right,” the girl beams. She gives Sylus a once over. “We had a really enlightening conversation waiting in line for your club, Mr. Sylus Qin.” She says this like she knows him, and suddenly you stiffen.

Why would she know who he is? What if she’s his... beloved? Blegh, you're going to have to get used to thinking that word. Out of respect for Sylus's sincere feelings. You shake your head. Again, she seems a bit young. Like. As young as Noah. You try not to grimace. But something about the way she’s looking at him assessingly strikes you as an interest that isn’t necessarily romantic. What if she’s a threat? It would be the perfect cover–who would suspect a silly club girl of being a deadly assassin?

Are you being paranoid? Maybe. You decide to see how Sylus reacts before drawing your knives from your sleeve straps. If she is his beloved, it wouldn’t be nice if you put her on the ground when he’s trying to woo her.

“Enlightening?” he rumbles, somewhere above your head. He’s still draped over you like you’re a human coat rack. “Do tell, kitten.”

You shake him off. She will totally get the wrong idea if he keeps standing like that, but you try to subtly put your body slightly in front of him. If she goes for a weapon, you can take the hit.

“I was just showing her and her friends some basic self-defense moves. They were really fast learners.” You smile, genuinely. Because they were, and it was fun. Even if you do have to take her out now.

“I should have known that you’d use the time you spent in line improving the lives of the good people of the N109 zone,” Sylus sighs, pressing his chest against your back so he’s pretty much leaning on you again.

“Everyone should know basic self-defense,” you point out, because it’s true.

“Of course,” he says.

“I have to say, you’re not at all like how I pictured you,” the club girl says, giving Sylus a once over again. Oh, maybe she’s about to insult him? You perk up. You’ll throw your body in front of his if he’s in danger, but you’re more than happy to break out the popcorn if someone wants to throw verbal grenades at him.

“And how did you picture me, Miss Victoria Herrera?”

The girl’s eyes widen again, very briefly, before she smirks. “You’ve done your research. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected less, considering how doggedly you’ve been courting Mama. But to answer your question. To be blunt, I pictured you in far worse company.”

“Is that why I’m having such a hard time securing a spot in your mother’s agenda?”

Oh? You’re mentally furiously shoving popcorn in your mouth. Her mother? Maybe Sylus is into MILFs? Does he want to be Victoria’s new daddy? You wrinkle your nose. You will not think of Sylus and the word daddy in the same sentence ever again.

“Your reputation does precede you, after all,” she flicks her hair over her shoulder and scans the club with an alertness that belies how drunk you thought she was earlier.

“And something about meeting my date has you reassessing whether that reputation is reliable as an indicator of my character?” he asks, leaning further into you. He slips his shackled hand back into yours.

“I can’t imagine that your date would put up with you if all the rumors are true,” she returns her big, brown-eyed gaze to his. “I like your date. In fact, I like your date so much that I’d like to invite the both of you to the birthday party that Mama is throwing me this month. Perhaps you can find a quiet moment to discuss what you want with her before I blow out my candles.” She smiles, eyes narrowing, and you get the sense that this beautiful young woman is lethal in a way that has nothing to do with stomping feet with her stilettos or shiving someone in the carotid.

“We look forward to attending,” Sylus responds, and you jolt a little. He squeezes your hand again, as if to tell you to be still. You try to keep your face blank, but inwardly scowl. He has some explaining to do. You really, really want to know who mommy dearest is now.

“Excellent,” she grins. “Now, my friends are waiting for me on the dance floor. You guys have fun tonight! And I’ll be seeing you soon, badass.” She winks at you, wiggles her fingers, and melts into the crowd. Sylus straightens and looks down at you for a brief moment with a neutral look that you have no idea how to decipher. He then turns and leads you through the crowd to the back of the club and into a series of winding hallways. Finally, he opens a back exit that leads into the basement parking garage that is apparently underneath the club. As you approach the rows of vehicles, he reaches into his pocket. Flashing lights and chirruping sound draw your attention to... a tank. Taking up the equivalent of three parking spots at the front of the row of vehicles closest to you.

You stop. "What's with the tank?"

He pauses. Looks at the black monstrosity squatting before you. Looks back at you. "Do you need to get your eyes checked, sweetie?"

You scowl at him. "What else is it, if not a tank?" you demand.

"It's an armored vehicle."

"Planning on waging a single-man assault on the N109 zone tonight? That's a fucking tank. All you're missing is a roof-mounted anti-aerial assault cannon."

"Interesting, how you're assuming it doesn't have a retractable cannon. But how can it be a tank? It doesn't even have tracks. It has wheels and tires. Just because it's a well-fortified SUV, does not make it a tank."

You squint at him. "You realize that tanks can also have tires, right? Like, the difference between a tank and an armored vehicle is not if it has caterpillar tracks or wheels. You sell this shit, right? How do you not know the details of your own inventory?" Sylus just looks bored with this correction.

"It's an armored SUV, kitten. And it's your war chariot for this evening. Get in, General Nit-Picker." You roll your eyes at him. Amazing, you've just learned that he really doesn't like admitting when he's wrong.

Once you’re strapped into his tank—because that is the only term for this oversized monstrosity of a vehicle, no matter what he says—your wrists linked over the center console, Sylus starts the engine and soft classical music fills the space between you. Something soothing, with cellos. Or double bass? You have no idea. The sound is deep and beautiful. The car smells like him. You resist the urge to burrow your ass deeper into the plush black leather seat and to demand that he turn on the seat heating that you're sure this beast has.

He emerges from the subterranean parking garage underneath Amnesia and merges into the late night traffic of the N109 zone. The road is busy, in the middle of what you consider night. You are so curious about what the exchange between Sylus and Victoria was just about, and you’re curious about where he’s taking you with your wrists still cuffed together—you assume some hotel, to wait out the remaining time of the linkage, but you’re so tired, the music is so calming, and you’ve always had the tendency to fall asleep in the car. You’re out like a light in just a few minutes.

Sylus drives through the night, under the red N109 zone moon. His beloved sleeps in the seat next to him, head at an uncomfortable-looking angle against the glass. He reaches over, deeply grateful for the linkage chaining you to him, and gently moves your head from the window, settling it onto the headrest. You snuffle a little in your sleep and make a sleepy noise.

He hasn’t felt the level of fear he felt tonight in a long, long time, as you asked him for the coin, and the energy began to swirl around both of your wrists. He is infinitely relieved that his gamble paid off: you had asked which side of the coin comes up most often, and he knew you wouldn’t trust him, regardless of what answer he gave. So he told you the truth: tails. He had placed all his bets on the hunch that you’d hinge the choice you truly wanted to make, the fear-driven option of whatever you were debating in your head, on heads as a result of your lack of trust in him. And because he said tails, you were convinced that heads had better odds. And because you chose heads, the odds in his favor were slightly improved. He may not have any control over fate, but he will damn sure exploit every sliver of opportunity that appears in fate's facade to wrest a chance at happiness from it.

And the coin came up tails. You stayed, and you asked your questions. You agreed to ‘help’ him with his problem. It’s enough, for now. He feels satisfied, for now. He’s greedy, but he’s not stupid. He will have to maneuver his pieces carefully, much more carefully than he has up to this point. He has already made so many mistakes when it comes to you, and he can’t afford to make many more. During the three days he spent holding you captive, trying to deal with both his despair at your failure to recognize him and failed resonance, and playing the villain that he thought you so desperately needed, he was also inadvertently driving deeper cracks into what little armor you had left in this world. Every other version of you who he has known would have taken being called a disappointment as a challenge, an ignition to light your spite—such an insult would have ruffled your pride and incited you to fight twice as hard to prove him wrong. Every other version of you would have spit in his face for even daring to imply that there was something wrong with you, when it was his failure that resulted in the terror and disgust rendering you incapable of resonating with him. As he watched your face through the screen while you lifelessly told him that you were surprised that he hadn't gotten used to being disappointed by you—as he listened to your sorrowful, resigned laugh, a pale mockery of the joy he wants to fill your laughter, he wanted to fucking murder someone. But the only person to blame can only look back at him in the review mirror, as it is Sylus himself who had told you that you were a disappointment as he held you captive, and you had absorbed such a lie like a desert absorbing rain. He tightens his knuckles on the steering will until they go white. He had known that he would have to suture the carnage of your first meeting almost from the very beginning. But he hadn't realized that his initial treatment of you would have such awful side effects for you, your ability to trust him, and the end, for his aching heart. Sylus loves you, but he is self aware enough to admit that he is a selfish man. He knew, when he saw you again, that his whole world would change. That his luck would depend on your happiness. Tonight just proved that, again. Just your presence at his side tonight would secure him a business deal that would expand his empire beyond the shadows, and maybe, just maybe, allow him to step into the light with you at the end of everything. Because in the end, he's selfish enough to want to keep you, despite the pain he has inflicted on you. And his empire is the only avenue to secure a future with you at his side: his deepest wish, a wish plain to see if he were to turn his aether core inward and examine his own rotten heart. He will do whatever it takes, even to the point of absurdity, to ensure that future becomes a reality, until he either succeeds or you tell him to walk away and mean it.

Until then, he will deal with the fallout of his mistakes. He knows now, that you are not the same as the versions of you he has known before. Your strength in this life is threaded through with fissures like the gold used to repair broken porcelain. You, his lethal, lovely glass cannon. He will continue to stride forward, knowing this about you now. He will re-calibrate and keep you secured in his life by any means necessary, while he puts in the work until the day you're ready to hear the truth in his words when he calls you his beloved. For now, though, he forces himself to be sated simply by having you in the seat next to him, like a starving man convinces himself that filling his belly with grass is the same as filling it with steak. He will be satisfied, for now, as he drives through the night, on the way to his home with you for the first time since he held you captive for those heartbreaking three days at the beginning of this, your newest life together.

It will have to be enough, for now.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lnds #lds #l&ds #love and deepspace fanfiction #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #my fanfic #i'm sorry in advance #the slow burn is slow burning #communication ... so much talking... but is it effective?#we have many tropes to get through before this is over #i hope it continues to be enjoyable for some people

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