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amoscontorta · 6 days

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The fuck, Sylus?” you choke out.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” is all you can think to say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fail.

Your brain short circuits for a few seconds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sylus?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And the clothes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A wine snob, and a band-aid snob.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What. The. Fuck. “What. The. Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sylus.”

“Yes, my heart’s delight?”

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

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

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

He just smiles at you, radiating satisfaction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cock your head. “A what now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Plonk?” What a cute word.

“Shit wine.”

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

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

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

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

You open your eyes to find him scowling at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will never do that to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The fuck, Sylus?”

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

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

“What. Are. You. Doing?” you seethe.

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“Money laundering.”

You shake your head. “Come again?”

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

“Sylus!”

“Yes, my most precious gem?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What was the other reason, then?”

“Guess.”

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

“When was I playing a game tonight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Fuck.

Xavier.

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

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

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

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

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

“Late for what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This bitch,” you breathe.

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

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

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #my fanfic #love and deepspace fanfiction #this is over 13k long so if anyone actually reads this you're a goddamn hero #i've already written sylus's pov of this mess but it needs fleshing out #absolutely self indulgent over the top comfort food #which is what sylus is to me

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axoluxy · 6 months

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Hmmm.... How would Alastor realize he has begun to feel a sort of... affection for a reader? (Basically he's developing feelings and he realizes it).

hii this is my first work for alastor so forgive me if it's a little ooc and if you guys have any tips or requests, please let me know :))

Alastor Falling For the Reader

pairing; alastor x (gender not specified) reader warning; ooc alastor (probably), a little bit of angst if you squint, cannabalism (its alastor what do you expect), blood, no dialogue (is that a warning?) perspective; 2nd person, in the eyes of alastor though if that makes sense?

so you first joined the hotel because of charlie

you weren't a parent per se to charlie, but you stepped up after lilith left to god knows where

(literally, god knows.)

and when lucifer was quite neglectful

so after getting you settled into your own room charlie wanted to introduce you to everyone

she had called a meeting to everyone in the main parlour

the reason alastor was so interested at you at first wasn't your kindness, or charisma, or even your charming smile

as much as he thought it was nice

it was your colour pallet

yes, as weird as it was, you were the only one in the hotel with blues and purples in your hair, outfit and makeup.

since the vision spectrum of a deer was limited to cooler colours and hell was filled with reds, blacks, and pinks it was refreshing for him to see something other than black and white

after a deft introduction from himself and quite a sloppy one from the others should he add, you all were spread around the bar drinking your respected drinks

and after a solid and quite warm welcome, you headed to your room and off to bed

the reason you and alastor grew close was because of your shared love of jazz music

there was no one else in the hotel who enjoyed the genre so it made you a bit more tolerable to him

as the weeks turned into months, you had grown close with most of the original people in the hotel

though, you couldn't find yourself getting close with angel

nothing against him of course, it was just hard to find common interest with him

personally, i don't see alastor falling easily, so it would take a lot, and i mean A LOT so idk what you did but congratulations

as yours and alastors platonic relationship grew, so did the want to be even closer with you

he was very up in your personal space and you couldn't say that you didn't like it

when he realised he wanted a romantic relationship with you he short circuited

let me expand, you two were enjoying dinner in one of the dinning rooms that had come with building up the new hotel

alastor was enjoying his weekly venison heart and you were indulging in some red wine and VERY MUCH COOKED deer

you had told him something about texture issues but he wasn't really paying attention to the words that came out of your mouth

he was more so just watching the way you slightly smiled while talking to him

anyways, as you had finished your meals, you had realised alastor had some blood dribbling from his mouth

you had tried to get him to wipe it off but he couldn't quite get it

so you had walked up in front of him and wiped it off with your thumb

not just that you had licked your thumb clean

in a twisted way, that was just really attractive to him

as soon as he realised his attraction to you he had to quickly excuse himself

after these newfound emotions that he had registered as love he ignored you

yeah, probably not the best move on his end but to be fair, he had never fallen in love before so that was his immediate reaction

he saw his affection for you as a weakness

you tried to talk to him?

oh apologies he has that thing he has to do since he's an overlord

and it was frustrating you, a lot

after a full week of him ignoring you, he decided to get advice from the best person he knew

rosie

when rosie had told him off for ignoring you, he knew he fucked up

not sure why that's would it took

she had told him that love shouldn't be seen as a weakness but a tool that he could utilise to make himself stronger too

basically out for love but in rosie's style lol

so when he came back to the hotel, he went to your room and knocked on the door

you had reluctantly let him in to explain himself

and while he didn't outrightly admit his feelings for you, it was pretty obvious

after a kiss on your hand, and a very long spiel of how sorry he was, (bro is down BAD i swear) you had forgiven him

now the next hurdle was trying to bring himself to ask if he could court you.

AHH FIRST HAZBIN HOTEL POST!!! PLEASE LEAVE MORE REQUESTS I LOVE THEM <3333

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #charlie morningstar #hazbin alastor #fanfic #x reader #headcanons #hcs #ooc alastor #alastor hartfelt #the radio demon x reader

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rheya28 · 1 year

Text

The Bluewind Inn ♥ The Sims 4: Speed Build // CC

♥ Hi guys, Today I present to you the Bluewind Inn and Suites located in Brindleton Bay. This build was inspired by the sea, the sand, and the sky. The Bluewind Inn sits near Cavalier cove and is owned by retired Marine Biologists, Rio and Jane Clarence. 5 years ago, this beautiful seaside manor was transformed into a Inn to be enjoyed by both locals and tourist.

The Bluewind inn is a multifunctional lot as it could be set as a rental lot, a restaurant, a pool, or a spa.

ATTENTION: This is a huge build and is very cc heavy, so beware. If you’ve downloaded my other builds, you should have majority of the cc’s I used…But there’s more cc on this than usual.

Please make sure to turn on bb.moveobjects on!

SPEED BUILD VIDEO

0:02 Intro

1:25 Speed Build

30:22 Photos

♥ Lot Details:

Lot Name: The Bluewind Inn

Lot size: 40x40

Location: Brindleton Bay [Cavalier Cove]

♥ MODS:

TOOL MOD by TwistedMexi

♥ CC LIST:

Note: I have all parts of all sets in this list, so I highly recommend you guys dl them since I frequently use them in all my builds!

[awingedllama] Boho Living, Blooming Rooms

[greenllamas] The woodwind collection

[Joyceisfox] Cruel Summer, Simple Live Collection, Summer Garden

[QICC] Sleek Hallway Set

[S-imagination] Notal Living Room, Rutland Kitchen

[Sooky88] Coastal Wallpaper, Leaning Framed Posters (4 frames), Seashore Framed Prints (panoramic)

[Aroundthesims4] All Plants and pots

[House of Harlix] Bafroom, Baysic, Harluxe, kichen

[Thecluttercat] Busy Bee, Mellow Moods

[Charlypancakes] The lighthouse collection, Dinna, Lavish, Maple&S Construction, Miscellanea, modish, Soak,

[FelixAndre] Chateau, Fayun, Colonial, Grove, Kyoto, Paris, Florence, Livin Rum, Orjanic, Shop the look

[Max20] Cozy Backyard Pack, Garden at home, Happily Ever After, Poolside lounge pack, Precioujs promises

[Thecowbuild] My home

[Harrie] Brutalist, Coastal, Country, Kwatei, Octave, Shop the look 2, Spoons

[Illogical Sims] Home office

[Kaiso] Rustico Living

[Kiwisim] Blocklhouse Dining, blockhouse study

[Leafmotif] Calliope Bathroom, Sunny Corner, Willow Porch set

[Littledica]Chic Bathroom, Rise & Grind, Delicious Kitchen, Delicato Lounge

[MadameRia] Back to basics, Mayaken Cozy Kitchen

[Mechtasims] Office Set

[Miiko] Harmony set

[Myshunosun] Garden Stories, Dawn Living, Midsummer eve, simmify

[Peacemaker] Alesund, Bowed, Caine Living, Adirondack Love, Creta, Futura, Hamptons, Hinterlands Dining, Kitayama

[Ars Botanica] Peonies Bouquet

[Pierism] Auntie Vera, Coldbrew, David apartment, Domain Du clos, Maison Meuliere, MCM, Oak house, The office, Winter Garden

[Littlecakes] Rustic Romance

[PLumbobteasociety] Cottage Garden

[Ravasheen] on cloud wine bottle, sit sip hooray bar cart

[Sforzinda] Clutter Ep12, GP06, Cabin Slats

[Simkoos] Tiny living Small tv, Tiny living small tv wall

[Simplistic] RH Area rugs II, Cotswolds Rug

[Sixam] Stylish Wood Nursery, Stylish wood Fancy Dining, Stylish wood Living room, Boho Bathroom, Hotel bedroom, small spaces pantry

[Sims4luxury] McGee&Co Callahan Rug, McGee&Co Goldie Rug

[Simsnetwork] Clapboard brush siding set #1

[Sundays] Kediri “rug only”, Medewi “deco surfboard only”

[Syboubou] Fency, Fitness

[Taurus Design] Angela Bedroom, Elize Bedroom, Lilith Chilling Areas

[Tuds] IND, NCTR, Rope lounge, SHKR, Wave

TS4; Wimborne Siding by Tilly Tiger

♥ Tray file

♥ Origin ID: Applez

♥ Twitter: Rheya28__

♥ Tiktok: Rheya28__

♥ Tumblr: https://rheya28.tumblr.com/

#showusyourbuilds #sims 4 cc #scenery #sims 4 #thesims4 #sims #ts4 #photography #sims 4 builds #thesims #coastal #architecture #interior design #aesthetic #ts4 build #builds #build

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itsonlydana · 2 months

Text

Sailing Under the Sun | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader x Bard 👑 [king's special]

You're in the middle of the ocean when the wind dies down and leaves you stranded on Bard's sailboat. Thranduil's mood sinks but surely, though, there's a way to lift his spirits.

warnings/tags: NSWF! THIS IS ADULT CONTENT ✋️| [modern!AU], rich!Barduil, oral (m receiving), hand jobs, (guided) masturbation (f), dirty talk, i guess public-sex bc they're on the ocean? [reader is described with hair & wearing a bikini, no use of y/n]

word count: 4k

an: just a short little something, a treat for Thranduil as well as for you.. also.. Luke on that boat? Mhm-mhm yes yes. Best enjoyed listening to lana's 'born to die' because that's what i did xx // divider by @drinkthesky

+ masterlist + rules +🌿 reposts and comments are much appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

“I’m just saying,” Thranduil slides his gigantic pair of dark Prada sunglasses up his nose after one annoyed look at Bard, “if we’d taken my boat, there wouldn’t be this issue.”

You can’t stop the snort you let out at Thranduil’s less passive, more aggressive jab and since your face is pressed into the curve of your elbow, the sound is much louder than anticipated.

“Thranduil, that yacht of yours burns through hundreds of liters of fuel. You can’t expect me to drop this baby –” The sound of Bard’s hand patting the wooden rail of his boat underlines the defensive bite in his answer, “so that you can destroy the ocean some more!”

“Have you not literally bought a new car last month?”

“It’s electric!”

“You had it flown in!”

“Boys!” You lift your head to stare at the two men – children, by the sound of their argument over boats like it was a cock measuring tool – and purse your lips, “Can’t a woman just nap on a boat, no matter what boat, and enjoy the sun a bit?”

Thranduil opens his mouth to answer but you see that twitch in his eyebrows, the tell-tale sign that nothing good will come out so you cut him off before by shaking your head. “No, Thran. I really don’t care what or whose boat. All I want is for some relaxation. Maybe a drink.” You think back to the bottles of red wine cooling down in the cabin and sigh, “Or two.”

“You could’ve had one now,” Thranduil says and adds in a faux-whisper directed at none but heard by all: “Could’ve had a whole bar of drinks if we’d taken the Ferretti.”

Immediately, the groans of Bard and your inhale shut him up and Thranduil flips his hair back. “What? What?” his eyes fix you over the sunglasses and there’s a sharp edge to his low voice, a threatening edge of true annoyance. “Darling, you can’t tell me you’re happy that we’re stranded here.”

Stranded, because Bard’s prediction of a smooth sail went overboard as soon as the wind died down and he realized you’re mostly out of fuel.

Here, as in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by endless hues of blue. The glittering pacific blue ocean goes over into a cloudless light sky. No other boats, except yours, a peaceful human-less quiet that’s only interrupted by the gentle lapping of white foam-topped waves breaking against Bard’s sailboat and the breeze that makes the hot rays of the sun bearable if not enjoyable.

And Bard’s been working on the sails wearing nothing but his swimming shorts so whenever you decide to look up from the towel you spread on the deck to sunbathe, you see his tanned muscles flexing in his back or his broad shoulders, and more than often he pulls on something or squats down which gives you a view even better than the ocean. The playful wind ruffles his hair now and then, dishevelling the locks of dark brown, salt and pepper and he looks – just right; balancing on the railing, his cinnamon-tanned chest splattered with freckles all up to his cheeks and a carefree easiness on his face. That’s the appearance of someone glad to be out on the water.

“Thranduil,” you pronounce the name like he’s a six-year-old who refuses to wear sunscreen, “I had the time of my life until you two whipped out your dicks.”

And that’s the complete and honest truth. You have no need to suck up to Bard because Thranduil’s spoiled and rather spends the time on water acting like he’s not actually on water and sitting in the pool on his yacht, and you really like Bard’s sailboat. There’s a small bar downstairs, a hammock strung between the two masts, and plenty of room to lie down and do nothing. That’s all you need; he provides that and adds the naked-chest-view.

What are you going to do? Complain?!

“Yes, but imagine –” Thranduil stands up from his towel and saunters to you like a cat on a mission. The baby-blue linen shirt blows open in the sea breeze and shows the blush of pink that the sun has kissed onto his chest and the soft, slightly curled platinum strands of long hair brush your naked arms as he sits back down on the edge of your towel to lean down, his lips passing your temple to mumble hid deep vibrating voice into your ear, “The things we could do, the places we could play. The pool, the beds, the jacuzzi. I could tell the staff to leave the bar so I could taste my favorite drink –” his hands slide up your sunscreen sticky legs, rubbing the flesh of your thighs and part them slightly to play with the string of your bikini bottoms, “and that isolation means you, Darling, honey, can decide however – I – should – fuck – you.”

A word, a kiss, a finger darting over the black bikini but never dipping in.

“Mhm,” your throaty hum is partly faulted to his hands caressing the warm skin of your inner thighs though his voice does a fantastic job of planting the seeds of imagination into your mind.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Bard calls and points his finger at Thranduil, “You’re playing unfair! Our girl has a right to her own opinion and doesn’t need your devilish tongue.”

The smirk is on Thranduil’s face before Bard realizes the double meaning of what he said and while he groans, Thranduil licks over his lips. “She could have it, though.”

Bard jumps down from the railing, throwing a rope to the wooden floor. “You need a spanking,” he says, which not only leads to another smirk but to a low: “Yes, please, Sir.”

Your bikini straps dig into your shoulders as you support yourself on your elbows, giving both men a view of your breasts pushed together in that black top they bought last month on the Monacco Trip. You catch Bard’s eyes, exchanging a shrug and tilt of the head, an unspoken discussion on how to deal with Thranduil’s behavior which, if unhandled, will only get worse the longer you sit around and try to ignore the crease between his eyebrows.

The last time Thranduil had been forced to a dinner he had zero interest in being at, he made off-handed comments about everyone like he was absolutely counting on getting thrown out and when that didn’t happen he faked multiple phone calls (Bard and you ignored him the entire time, chatting to investors and walking arm in arm through the private gallery) before he stood up and left. Right before dessert was served. Like a cunt – There had been strawberry shortcakes and layered tiramisu, the perfect cream-to-berry ratio on the afternoon sweet clock. Bard had his chocolate eyes on the tiny glasses the entire time you were circling the room but none of them made it into your hands there.

You stole two in your tiny handbag, had sacrificed a lip balm and condoms to make room for the glasses to sneak them back to your hotel where you and Bard had watched a movie and pretended Thranduil didn’t sit next to you looking thoroughly pleased that he was finally back in his silk pajamas and freshly pampered.

“Soo,” Bard starts slowly, dragging out the ‘o’ that sounds more like a low throaty hum in the end. His hands wander up Thranduil’s shoulders to massage the twirly thin hair on his nape, “how can we make this day more enjoyable to you, Your Majesty?”

“I could blow some winds into the sail to bring you back into port,” you suggest light-heartedly.

Thranduil lifts one hand and nudges the glasses up into his hair. A few strands escape, falling down the side of his temples and fluttering in the breeze. While Bard has this look that places him on a sailboat, hands dirty and tanned like he spends his life up in the masts and ropes, Thranduil belongs on the yacht. Dirty-Shirleys, loosely buttoned shirts in white and blue, discussing galleys and standing on a glass floor to safely look down on the cerulean water underneath without ever getting even a bit of wave spraying up to the expensive clothes.

You dabble in both these lifestyles. There are days when you love to sit around in tight dresses and hang around Thranduil’s arm, watching him gamble or play pool, whispering dirty thoughts like secret tactics into his ear but you would never say no to a day like this one. Lounging in your bikini, listening to the waves, and flying whenever the winds bless you.

“Or you could blow me.”

Thranduil doesn’t blink or twitch a muscle while you cough the devil out of you. Unfortunately, his proposition came when you reached for your bottle of water for a refreshment. The cooling drops roll down the curve of your breast and sink into the bikini and towel, leaving behind nothing but a darkened spot instead of the reanimating of your dried-out mouth and you’re spraying the water in more directions than Thranduil's yacht, barreling through the ocean at 40 knots.

At your sputtering, Bard pats your back compassionately. “There, there,” he chuckles and reaches down to wipe some of the water away, his fingers innocently brushing past the seamline at your breasts. The skin is warm, calloused, rough, and yet lovingly; he’s the summer cocktail that leaves you wanting more after one sip. “He got you this wet already?”

“Bet that little number is drenched as well,” Thranduil adds mockingly and to prove him wrong, you raise your ass up.

“Check your facts,” you grin and slightly wiggle your butt, knowing full well that one more comment from either of them or one more touch would disintegrate the composure brought on by the sun and relaxation to leave another sea in the black bottoms. That thought brings more laughter, one that dusts your cheeks pinker than Thranduil’s chest. “Sea for yourself, huh?”

Even Thranduil laughs at that, the first real smile that isn’t conceited or shameless flirting like the one he gave you as you showed off your bikini; this one’s deep from his soul and you’re proud that it’s one thoroughly bad dad-pun that cracks the shell of his mood.

“Well, Captain,” you blink up to Bard, “does the boat need you or can your loyal crew borrow some of that time?”

Sitting on one knee, Bard scratches the scruff of his beard, drawing his chin between two fingers. “No,” he says after a moment of thought and turns to Thranduil, “I’ve got time to help our Majesty out. One might say I’m quite handy at raising the mast. What? Oh, don’t look at me like that,” – that, being an eye roll and a huff – “so when she–” he nods his chin at you, “says it it’s fine but me? I’m getting castrated by the looks of ya!”

“Tze, I don’t need your help masting me up. I’ve been lounging around blue-balling ever since our Darling girl showed that ass of her in that skimpy string bikini.” Thranduil makes himself more comfortable, sitting back on the small bench and leaning against one of the cabin windows so that you’re directly situated in front of him. As soon as you scoot closer on your knees, he opens his thighs and pets them. “C’mon, honey. Show me what that mouth of you can do.”

Bard, following his own, mischievous agenda, moves as well to sit next to Thranduil on the bench, one foot stemming up behind Thranduil to pull him into his opened legs. Their mouths crash together in a kiss that starts up fast, a colliding of teeth like a continuation of their earlier discussion that neither one is willing to lose. One of Bard’s hands finds its way into Thranduil’s neck, the other one moves to one of his perked-up nipples and playfully flicks it.

You shuffle closer and undo the string that holds up Thranduil’s cream linen pants with fast nimble fingers – pulling on one end and watching, your cheek resting against one thigh, as the bow falls apart just like you plan on unraveling Thranduil.

Without breaking away from Bard’s opened and moaning lips, Thranduil lifts his hips, aiding you as you pull the fabric over his legs to find a wonderful surprise waiting for you.

“Seems like you weren’t lying,” you hum. There’s certainly one part of Thranduil that enjoys the view; ocean be dammed if you can have a good pair of tits in front of you, right? Thranduil’s cock stands proudly against his stomach, the tip red and weeping. You kitten-lick up the side, alternating to a soft kiss when you reach the head. “How did I not notice this?” you ask and lick up a bit of precum.

The taste spreads salty on your tongue yet sweeter than seawater.

That does bring Thranduil to break away from Bard and his gray eyes find yours, his pupils dilated by the lust taking over. “I guess it's because you didn't spare a glance at me during the whole journey. You were too busy drooling over Bard's a – ahh– ss.”

“Is that so?” Bard asks cheekily, pausing his administration of marking up the junction Thranduil’s neck with his teeth, bruises that’ll remind Thranduil for a long time how, in the end, he enjoyed himself on Bard’s boat.

“No?” you lie. You did, but who wouldn’t stare if presented with such a good arse and muscles? Anyway, he’s your boyfriend and spent the morning between your legs so that must cancel each other out, right?

“Mhm, she did.” Thranduil grabs for Bard and pulls him into another kiss.

You spit in your hand, knowing full well by now a dip into your bottoms would be enough but the flutter of Thranduil’s lashes at the sound and what comes next is a high reward, and give his cock one testing stroke.

“I don’t think you’re in the place to tease,” You use your thumb to smear his precome that dribbles out of his slit over the head and down, mixing it with your spit to wetten his cock further. A helping hand comes from Bard and he gatherers your hair. With nothing in your way, you lean forward and swallow Thranduil’s cock right to the base, licking up the veins.

Thranduil groans and his head slumps into the crook of Bard’s neck. He’s already too gone to answer in typical Thranduil-fashion – which is a snarky comeback –, a few licks and the slight pressure from your tongue against his balls is all it takes.

Swirling your tongue around the base, you sigh heavily, breathing in and taking him a bit deeper into your throat in the delight of finally having his weight in your mouth again. Thranduil’s hand flies to your head when you start bobbing, going down further and further every time, and his fingers wrap themselves around some strands, nails digging into your skin.

“Fuck, that’s right,” Bard groans. You look up and see that Thranduil has his other hand around his cock, though he went right into a steady pace. Through lowered lashes, Bard nods at you. “C’mon baby, I know you’re drenched as well,” his hips lift, following Thranduil’s tug on his cock, “Just – fuck, just listen to me and I can take care of you, alrigh’?”

You nod around Thranduil’s cock, the tip now bullying the end of your throat in a way that nearly constricts your breathing but pleasurably lets just the tiniest bit of air through so you’re not yet lightheaded. Unconsciously you rub your thighs together, searching for some friction with one of your heels digging into your cunt.

“That’s good, baby, but y’know what’s going to feel real good? Give Thranduil those fingers.”

While you continue to hold Thranduil’s cock down, nose pushed against the waxed skin, you let the blonde swirl his tongue around two of your fingers and watch as he coats your middle and pointer in enough spit that it drips when you pull them back with a ‘pop’.

Bard groans in approval. “That’s right, good job. Now go ‘head and slide them into your bikini. Leave it on, ‘s not like there’s much to pull off anyway.”

Thranduil laughs and moans at the same time, nearly choking you on his cock at the sudden movement and you quickly lift your head. A mix of your spit and his precum drip down your throat and onto your breasts.

“Can you fuck my throat?” Your question sounds sweet but it’s Thranduil’s turn to choke on his laughter. The hand in your hair tightens.

“Fuck, of course, Darling,” Thranduil wastes no second and pushes you back on his cock immediately, giving you barely any time to inhale enough air before he’s lodged in your throat again. Without further ado, he starts thrusting up, first slow as he’s figuring out how he would like it today, then faster.

Gagging and shifting for a better stance, knees spread apart, your wet fingers slide past the tight stretch of your bikini, finding it practically glued to your cunt. There’s not one single cell in your body that isn’t strung to vibrate in lust and desire, all that goes through your flesh and mind is the siren song of pleasure, luring you closer into her trap but is it truly a trap when you surrender all you are willingly? You don’t think so and sink your middle finger into yourself, finding that there’s little resistance yet plenty of slickness that makes it easy for you to rub the pads of your fingers over your throbbing clit.

The squelch is loud and evokes groans from all three of you, only yours is stifled by Thranduil’s cock spearing through your mouth.

“Oh, you’re such a good girl,” Bard smirks down at you, taking in the tears that gather in your eyes and the spit drooling out of your mouth, dripping uncontrollably and smearing over the hand you’ve been using to fondle Thranduil’s balls. “What a sight, you messy messy girl. Look how you’re pleasing Thran – shit,” he breaks into a moan as Thranduil twists his hand.

Blinking away some of the tears and rubbing your clit harder, it’s an effort to focus your twisted view to look up at Thranduil but when your eyes focus, he’s glorious. Both hands occupied, one holding you down and the other fucking Bard’s leaking cock, knuckles glistening with precome. He’s leaning to the side, moaning open-mouthed against Bard’s throat that bobs at each sound, the blush on his cheeks dark and a beautiful contrast to his light yet disheveled hair. No painter could capture that wanton pull of his face, the color of his lips, and the fan of his lashes.

“I – Love, Bard, I don’t think – ah fuck yesyesyessogood – I’m not gonna last long,” Thranduil manages to say, his hips speeding up in that blind chase after pleasure, grinding his cock into the back of your throat.

The lightheadedness kicks in with the rush of adrenalin and you hum, sending the vibrations along Thranduil’s cock. He can’t hold himself back longer, there’s no reason or thought behind his actions as he hammers his cock into you, using your mouth as a wet sleeve just like you had wanted him to and his size and width will probably bruise you enough that speaking will be something to avoid but there’s no reason for your voice if your body sings that beautifully like it does now.

Your hips move against your own hand, rutting into the fingers rubbing your clit furiously, the heat in your stomach tight.

“Fuck if you could only see yourselves,” Bard grunts, twitching in Thranduil’s firm grip one last time before he shoots his load all over his heaving chest. Breathlessly, he sinks down, falling to his knees and you don’t even notice how close he is until rough fingers shove yours aside.

For a second you whine, a useless sound blocked by Thranduil’s heavy cock, but Bard shushes you. His frame blocks the sun that beats down on your back and he curls around you. “Let me, love,” he murmurs. There’s another burning light, stronger and hotter than the sun. His fingers find your clit with a knowing ease and you go tense up completely, thighs shaking to hold yourself up somehow.

The gentle bob of the boat does nothing but heighten the sensations, the exposure to everyone who might pass or get close a knowledge that sits in the back of your neck and rolls down your spine hot like molten silver.

A narrow breath trips out of Thranduil’s lips, a pretty little sound that leaves you dripping all over Bard, who shoves two fingers of one hand inside you and rubs your clit with two of the other. A string of moans follow and then, shooting directly down your throat, Thranduil comes with one last raise of his hips, his hand stilling in your hair and his cum bittersweet.

“Good fucking girl,” Bard praises, his fingers sending you into oblivion straight after you finish swallowing and choking on Thranduil, one ‘come-hither’ motion that lights up your body like fireworks on the fourth of July though instead of rocketing up into the sky, you clam down on Bard’s fingers and let the flaming orgasm whip you into another sphere.

Your sight clears and both men are there, rubbing your back and gently rolling you through the shaking aftershocks that leave you to fall trembling into Bard. He catches you, hands sticky with your combined arousal holding you up. Thranduil reaches for your forgotten water bottle, tipping it to your mouth and you greedily flush down the remaining taste of his cum.

An orgasmic bliss clings to the edge of your being and you’re more than satisfied.

Since you don’t seem like taking control over your body, Bard man-handles you to lay down on another towel, one that’s free from cum. Thranduil stands, if not sways, and pulls on the open sail to bathe you in a cooling shadow.

“There,” Thranduil pulls off his shirt, the baby-blue darkened by his sweat and carelessly throws it into the cabin, “I could go for a swim now. All that blowing and there’s still no wind.”

And with that he swings himself over the metal railing, hair flying through the air and the water spraying up as he dives down.

You mumble a question and – yes, speaking will definitely be limited to the bare minimum and only if truly necessary.

Bard understands you nevertheless and slips behind you again, pulling your tired body against his – cleaned – chest. “Let’s join him in a bit,” he mumbles between the rain of soft kisses into your neck, his nose nudging your skin gently, “and then I’ll them him I’ve got a full enough tank to sail us to every port he wants to.”

You snort, rolling your head back to give his wandering lips more access to your sun-kissed warm skin. Spots dance in front of your closed eyes and seagulls screech in the distance. The water sounds inviting and you can’t wait to dive into the cooling wet, joining Thranduil. You’ll climb on his back, letting him drift around with your arms around his neck holding on, the water lapping over you and Bard tugging on your feet, tickling you until you swallow water from laughing so much.

But now, his breathing is as constant as Thranduil’s low hum next to the boat, and his arm’s heavy around your stomach and you promise yourself you’ll just close your eyes for a little bit.

taglist: @crouchingapple (if you want to be added: just inform me via the inbox or under my posts)

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flowerbetweenfangs · 7 months

Text

Caged

(This is a longer one and will be put under read more. CW: There is slavery, but the reader is looking to free/dismantle the system in their own way)

You came across the caged people in the middle of the day. There were no code words or secret passages to get to the displays. It was like any other booth at the bazaar.

Most of the cages were filled with beastmen. Unlike the creatures who roamed the forest, they would walk on two legs. Some could even speak.

Lionmen, Tigerladies, Avian Sapiens, "Not Deer", Chimera, and even a few Phoenixes all stared at you as you walked. Some grabbed the bars and strained their faces to look at you. A small flicker of danced across your eyes. Maybe a spark of hope that they would be freed.

"How long has this been going on?" You asked your companion.

"What do you mean?"

"The slaves?"

"Ah. Well, my dear blue blood..." Their voice trailed off as they stared at the cages. "Surely you heard about the market for this? They're not slaves..." They wiggled their fingers, brows furrowed as they attempted to come up with an explanation. "Merely.... Indentured servants."

"Why not put an offer up on the boards in town?" You raised a skeptical brow and ventured closer to the cages.

A walking stick slapped your chest. The impact smarted. Wincing, you stepped away to rub the sore spot.

"You shouldn't question this so much." Your companion hissed next to your ear.

"How much are the contracts?" You asked. There wasn't much left in your purse, but surely you could at least free one.

"Sorry?"

"We offer a wide variety of specimens and creatures." A well dressed figure stepped out from behind one of the cages. He ran a walking stick of his own across the bars, causing many who had come forward to retreat and whimper.

"We've broken them in ahead of time," His smile made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. "So they should already be obedient."

"Broken in?" Your brows raised more. So they had beaten or tortured these creatures into compliance?

"Don't worry, little Blue Blood." The man bowed. "We would not want a client to be harmed by the merchandise. If one does harm you or run away, we will send in our own parties to capture and return them, and give you a new one."

Your companion must have seen your scheming expression. The waling stick slammed down on the top of your foot and a quick throat clear was all the warning they could offer while being discreet.

Your eyes went to the Lionman again. They'd shorn his mane. Nicks and a few notches in his ear and surrounding fur showed how gentle they'd been. Dried blood and dirt clung to his body.

Your stomach churned at the fetid stench and sight. The sign declaring his price seemed insultingly low for another life. But considering how much the sellers had damaged the "merchandise", perhaps that was why.

You put down the coins.

The merchant slid over papers. The sloppily applied seal at the bottom hinted at their legitimacy, or lack thereof. Clenching your jaw, your eyes flicked to the top of the page. The spot next to "Name" was blank.

"He's your property, so you get to call him what you want."

"I'll... Think about it."

***

When you arrived home, the newcomer's nose wrinkled, sniffing his new environment.

Setting the papers down, you waved over one of the notaries, who came over with blank pieces of papers and writing tools. While you could read and write, the palace preferred the people they paid to be the ones who crossed the Ts and dotted the Is, along with minding the Ps and Qs.

"What is your name?" You asked the creature once your companion left to the servants' quarters. Laughter and cheers erupted shortly after.

The sudden noise had the Lionman's eyes wide, what little fur he had standing on end.

"They're always off by the seventeenth mark." You explained.

His eyes remained focused on the door. A chalice fell over as his thrashing tail struck it. As red wine sloshed across the table, the notary screeched, trying to save the paper.

Fabric tore and in a golden blur, the Lionman's fist slammed down on the table in front of you.

A filthy rag was clutched in his hand. And he was wearing less clothing than before.

"Forgive me." His hand trembled as he attempted to wipe up he rest of the wine.

"It's okay." You tried to keep your tone gentle as your heart became a battering ram against your chest. He'd moved so fast. Tore off his clothes, just to keep some wine off yours.

"And what is the name of my savior?" You tried again, now that you had his attention.

"I... Do not have one."

You inhaled sharply. Perhaps releasing him back into the wild wasn't the best option, just yet.

"Well... I paid a gold piece for you. You have golden fur. And you clearly are showing you will be worth every piece." You looked to the notary.

"What's another word for gold?"

"Well, an old word for gold piece was "Aureus."" The notary explained as they spread the papers across the tables.

You turned back to the Lionman.

"Is that acceptable?"

He dropped to one knee, arm across his abdomen.

"Of course, Master."

#monster love #monster lover #monster romance #monster x human #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #monsterfucker #lionman #lion man #cw slavery

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kasakokos · 1 year

Text

RUSTIQUE WEDDING BARN

Wedding season is here!

Download below the cut

Details:

Lot 50x40

A wedding suite with en suite bath

2 toilet rooms

A kitchen for the chef

An outdoor bar

Download includes tray files and some CC

(Should contain most of the wedding necessities, the lot is not playtested, but I think one can do a decent wedding here anyway!)

!! The CC that are not included in the download:

(Just click the creators name and it will direct you to their respective download pages. If there’s no link it means I have used most items from the certain packs, so I recommend getting the whole set)

Harrie & Felixandre collabs

Orjanic

Jardane

Baysic

Harluxe - Make up vanity + Nectar Perignon (Link)

Harrie:

Coastal Collection (You really oughta have this in your folder anyways!)

Felixandre:

Grove - Part 1 + Part 2 + Part 4

Florence - Bouquet (Link)

Myshunosun

Vanity nook - Faux fur rug (Link)

Freja - Suitcase end table (Link)

Pierisim

Precious promises (collab w/ Charly Pancakes)

Auntie Vera Bathroom

Domaine Du Clos (Recommend all parts here, it's just amazing!)

Mcm house - Narrow short rug (Link)

Calderone - Pedestal (Link)

Winter garden - Rug + candles (Link)

Oak House part 2 - Kitchen tools (Link)

Oak house part 5 - Wall painting (Link)

Charly Pancakes

Dinna - Mirror (Link)

Lavish - Cloth dress (Link)

Littledica

Countryside cabin - Fence (Link)

Tudtuds

NCTR

Ind - Decor Wine rack (Link)

Download here (Google Drive)

If there is anything please let me know - enjoy 💍

#sims 4 cc #sims 4 #ts4 download

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penvisions · 11 months

Text

garnish {chapter 5}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: A busy Friday night always has its ups and downs, but never this bad.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: triggers associated with the food industry, workplace tension, language, argumentative dialogue, degrading language, power dynamics (due to job rankings), attempted assault, man on woman violence, shoving, pushing, non con touching, non con manhandling, mentions of eating disorder, vomiting, reader has a lot of panic attack symptoms, reader goes nonverbal for a moment, symptoms of shock, minor injuries, smoking, cigarettes, alcohol, alcohol consumption

A/N: i realize this chapter has a lot going on, i've tried to tag it appropriately, if i missed something please let me know and i can add or alter.

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

Tommy’s smile was bright as you approached, the hum of the dining room fading out as you looked from him to the young woman across from him.

“Well look who it is, the only girl brave enough to call Joel a meanie to his face!”

“At your service.” You tipped your head, going along with the banter from the jovial man. He had cleaned up rather nice, a dark button down and slacks in lieu of the plain t-shirt and jeans he had worn to the bar all those nights ago. “Chef sent this over.”

“Name’s Tommy, not sure if we actually got acquainted the other night in all the chaos. And this lovely young woman is my company for the night, Sarah.”

“Only because you had a reservation and dad would’ve killed you if you didn’t make it.” The young woman had the same dimple that Joel did, a decoration on the right cheek. Same furrowing brow, now aimed at her uncle across from her. She was beautiful, from the carefully arranged kinky hair atop her head to the caramel of her skin.

“It’s not my fault my date bailed.”

“Of course, of course.” She waved him off as smiled at you in a conspiratorial way, pulling you effortlessly into the conversation. One you weren’t too sure you even wanted to be a part of. There was a heavy weight that had settled in your chest, insecurity and anxiety such a familiar feeling as it flared. “My Uncle Tommy doesn’t have the best luck with the ladies.”

“You’re Chef Miller’s daughter?” You asked for confirmation as politely and professionally as you could, setting the wine glasses down in front of each of them. Introducing yourself as you watched her nod enthusiastically. While using the wine tool, you felt Tommy’s eyes rove over your expression, a collected smile on your lips as the feeling in your chest began to gnaw and move up into your throat. Nausea was rolling deep in your stomach, and you wanted nothing more than to excuse yourself. But you were a professional and had been tasked with delivering them their drinks.

Tommy must’ve clocked the slight shift in tone, definitely the way you referred to Joel. His smile faltered a little, but he was aware enough not to ask you anything too personal in present company. Hell, even in the restaurant setting, not wanting to cause a stir with whatever was going on with you.

“One and only!” She chirped as lifted her now full glass to her lips and took a sip. The saccharine sweet scent of the wine did not help to settle your stomach as you poured the appropriate serving into Tommy’s glass. “Well, by blood at least.”

You hadn’t responded, unsure of what to say. Not knowing what to say to the daughter of the man who had begun to fill the void in your life you had let form. So you fell back on the practiced skills that allowed you the job you did. You prattled on about the wine, from the notes that should be detectable to the perfect pairings on the menu that they could consider.

The universe seemed to take pity on you, because someone was sidling up next to you as you set the bottle of wine on the table. Millie placed a hand on your upper arm, leaning in to speak to you quietly.

“Need help on expo, Mary’s orders.” Her words were a blessing and you quickly excused yourself from the table.

“Appetizer for 38, chef.” Someone announced as a dish slid onto the expo line. Joel turned from where he was tending to a steak, keeping it braised with the butter that was browning in the pan alongside sprigs of rosemary.

“Run it.” His eyes locked with yours through the line.

“I’m here to expo, not run dishes.” You focused on wiping the edges of the dish with a towel, ensuring no sauce or herbs or fingerprints tarnished the ceramic. You double checked the hanging ticket and when it looked good to go you were calling out. You projected your voice, keeping it professional. “Can I get hands please?”

“You have hands.”

“I’m on expo, Mary said.”

“And I’m tellin’ you to run it, what’s your problem?” The cast iron skillet in his hand clunked to the burner, flat as he disengaged the flame, and turned his full attention on you.

“Think your daughter would like it if you brought the appetizer out, chef.” You shot back at him, aware that eyes were shifting from you both at the exchange as the servers flitted around grabbing refills for drinks and plates to preset tables. Something flickered behind his eyes, but he reigned it in as quickly as it appeared.

“Expo helps runs dishes.”

“I’m well aware of my job responsi-“

“Apparently not. The dish is dying. Run. It.”

Locked in a heated glare with the man across from you, the tension of the kitchen and the dining room and having to sneak around, of your professor coming back to the restaurant, to the feeling that you didn’t want to think about every time you saw the crinkle of his eyes when his lips pulled into a smile.

Chest hurting, panging in such a harsh way you felt your breathing begin to deepen. Full breaths expanding and exhaling visible moving your chest. His eyes softened the slightest bit but whatever he was about to say was drowned out by the dining room door opening with more force than necessary.

“I am so sorry! I thought Mary said to get you for expo, she said to get you back on the well and I run expo.”

“This needs hands.” Was all you said to the flustered girl before setting the towel down and rushing out of the kitchen.

“Somebody run the goddamn dish!” Joel’s raised voice had you picking up your pace and you tried not to burst through the door as you entered the dining room.

The bar was busy, a line of tickets stuck together where the printer didn’t tear them completely and they hung down to the floor mats at your feet. Making quick work of them and running them to their respective tables to help out the swamped looking servers, you were just about to the bar when you noticed that Joel was out in the dining room. He was standing beside table 38, with his family. As you passed by on the way back to the bar, you caught a snippet of their conversation.

“Congratulations, baby girl, I am so proud of you.” Joel leaned down to wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her into his side as he stood beside her. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, flattening the kinky curls there with the action. She swatted at him, though her easy laughter sounded in the air. Another young girl had joined them a beer you vaguely remember pouring in her grip. She was fairer skinned than the rest of them, but it was family, their dynamic too familiar and jovial with each other to be otherwise. You ignored the table completely as you passed it, pretending it was just another happy father and their child, a good evening to be surprised at work by family. The bathroom door slammed behind you and you beelined for the nearest stall and locked it with shaking hands.

You vomited the breakfast you had managed to eat and the bites of recipes you had tried while prepping earlier that day. Coughing as the acid burned in your throat, you tore far too many sheets from the toilet paper roll and raised them to wipe at your mouth. Breathing heavily through your nose, your chest felt tight, and the phantom feel of a man’s large hand on your back had you holding back sobs. Eyes stinging as you fought off tears, you tried to keep as quiet as possible as the bathroom door opened, and the click of heels could be heard from the newcomer. The scuff of boots on the tile signaled another.

“So who do you think it is? The old man could not stop smiling the other day and he does fuck all except work so it has to be somebody here.”

“I dunno, maybe another manager? Everyone here is so young.”

“Yeah, but age is just a number. You’re dating someone older.”

“But dad doesn’t know about that.” Her tone sounded vaguely threatening. But a cackle decorated the air and then giggles. The two girls dissolving into easy going laughter before exiting the room.

After making yourself presentable, you exited the bathroom and made your way back to the dining room. As soon as you were back behind the bar one of the girls who had been waiting for a date must’ve come to terms with being stood up, she was tracking a ride home on an open app on her phone. She waved at you to close out and you took the card from her offered hand, checking the way she was a little too loose in her movements.

“Hey, Mary!” You called out, seeing the woman walking along the length of the bar and helping to refill water glasses for the nearby tables. “I’m gonna run someone out for a ride pick up, that cool?”

“Of course, I’ll let the servers know there will be a wait for drinks.”

“Thanks.” A grateful smile and a signed receipt later, you found yourself waiting on the curb outside the front door with a chatty girl.

Someone was standing to the side, smoking a cigarette but the minimal light didn’t allow you much of a hint of who they were, probably just a patron waiting on a table or stepping away from dinner for a moment. Just as you were helping the girl into her ride, double checking that the person and car matched the description the person put out their cigarette. Making sure the car was driving safely through the parking lot you and taking a moment to enjoy the fresh air, you heard the steps of the person as they made their way back toward the entrance.

Suddenly a hand was grabbing you while another was ushering you away from the immediate front of the building, back by where they had been standing to smoke. They were too strong, causing you to stumble on your feet as you were swept away.

“Yo, what the actual fu-“

“You need to shut up.” Your blood turned cold, and you let out a shout as your back collided roughly with the brick of the building. The action caused the clip your hair was being held in to snap and break apart, the jagged pieced of plastic tangling in your hair and pressing into your scalp. Another shout pulled from your chest at the pain.

A hand was shoved over your mouth and you tried to kick out at the man in front of you and swipe your hands out at him, but he pressed the entirety of his body up against yours. Your nails caught on his figure, tangling in his jacket as you tried to push him away. His own hands yanked them free, breaking two of your nails in the process. Grunting in pain at the throbbing that stemmed from them against his hand.

Through the blood rushing in your ear and the blurry image of blonde hair clouding your vision you bite down as hard as you could on the palm of the hand against you. The man cursed, stepping back in his shock and you pushed at him again with everything you had.

He stumbled, the light catching his face and allowing you to see that it was the man from the bar all those nights ago.

“Fuck!” Your voice squeaked out as you rushed away from his reaching hands. You reached up and brushed what was left of your hair clip away, not wanting to draw attention to anything amiss as you neared the door, for once you were through the threshold. His steps and presence were heavy behind you but the second your hand gripped the handle for the door he seemed to collect himself.

Trying to keep a composed air about you, you weaved your way through the dining room, eyes focused solely on the swinging door that led into the kitchen. Everything was a silent hush around you, mind not picking up on the absent chatter of the dining room or the clinking of silverware as people continued their nights like normal. As soon as you were through the door, you let go of your composure.

You were rushing toward the office with quick steps, your heart beating painfully in your chest and your ears roaring with the sound of blood rushing. Ignoring the way Joel’s head followed you as you sped through the kitchen, you pushed through the way your skin felt like it was itching, too tight over your body. You reached for the closed handle and turned it, stepping inside without thinking and the door clicked behind you as you leaned back onto it. Your breathing was heavy, and your hands were shaking and when you looked up to see Mary in her desk chair, a bite of food frozen midway to her mouth you let out a stuttering gasp.

“Oh no, honey, what’s wrong?” Food forgotten, she stood up and ushered you into Joel’s chair beside her own.

The words you wanted to say wouldn’t come out, stuck in your still burning throat and you feared you would throw up again in the middle of the small office. The longer you tried to force the words, the more your chest hurt, the more strangled noises sounded into the air. Reaching up to lay a palm flat over your chest, you could feel the rapid pace your heart was beating at, and you just shook your head as your skin continued to feel too tight and your temple began to throb in time with your rapid pulse.

“Oh, oh gosh. Okay, just, honey please calm down.” Her hands were on her knees as she knelt down in front of you. She took your hands in her own, pausing slightly at the sight of your broken nails, and urged you gently, “Just breath, one deep breath for me okay?”

A knock on the door startled you so bad you nearly jumped out of the seat. The grip Mary had on your hands tightened as she watched your breathing take on a hurried staccato, her eyes holding so much worry as she looked over you before turned to face the door.

“What the hell is goin’ on? I got the barback running from expo because the lead server said there was a commotion at the bar and-“ Joel’s deep baritone was too loud in the small office as he hadn’t waited for an answer and shouldered his way through the now open door. His words cut off abruptly as he took in the scene before him. You couldn’t bear to look at him, too focused on not tipping over into full panic attack mode.

“We have a bit of a situation, Joel.” Mary reached out and smoothed a hand down one of your arms, having picked up on the slight trembling your body was doing with the door open. “Please close the door, she’s overwhelmed.”

“What’s going on?” His voice was tempered, arms coming to cross over his broad chest. He was trying to take control of the situation, trying to figure out what had upset you so much you basically abandoned the bar. You could feel his eyes on you even as you kept your head down and gaze focused on your hands tangled up with Mary’s.

“I’m trying to figure that out, she’s frozen, can’t get any words out.”

“Spit it out.”

“Joel!”

“Well! She’s the one with the problem, so she’s the one who had to let us know.”

“Honey, please talk to us. You can tell us, we won’t judge you. Did something happen? Was it a customer?”

You shook your head, tears hot as they trailed down your cheeks. The spike of fear you had felt when the man had reached for you had you scrunching your eyes shut as you took a shuddering breath. Joel was there last time, he had helped you then. Wrestled the man to the bar top and away from you, it had been so easy for him. It wasn’t fair, you could only do so much, you didn’t have the same intimidation factor that Joel did merely existing.

You lifted your head and met Joel’s eyes, the brown dark in the way that displayed how angry he was, unsure of what was going on and falling back on his gruff nature. But your words softened them, something that flashed too quickly for anyone else to see.

“The man from the bar, he’s here.”

He was gone in the blink of an eye, steps loud as he stalked through the kitchen. The sound of the swinging door creaking on its hinges audible even in the office. If Mary thought anything of your words she didn’t let it show, focusing her attention on helping to calm you down. After a few moments, his steps could be heard as he made his way back to the office. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, face set in a scowl as he tried to process the situation.

“Did he touch you again?” Joel’s voice was dark, his words a dangerous thing that cradled a threat in every syllable. You shuddered as they washed over you, even if the sentiment wasn’t meant to be aimed at you, it was because of you. For you, he spoke with such ferocity.

You could only nod, unable to get any more words out. Mary’s hand tightened over your own before she stood.

“Joel, we need to call security and give them a description. I want whoever it is out of the restaurant. I know you’re the owner, but this-“

“I want him out, but I’m calling the cops. Not just security.” Thick fingers already digging his cell phone from a pants pocket. He brought it up to his ear as the line began to ring, having punched it in quickly.

“Everything is going to be okay, we’re going to keep you here in the office until the police get here and then one of us will take you home.” She was trying to continue to sooth you, but half her attention was on the phone in her hand as she contacted the security company employed by the restaurant. She was messaging them, letting them know there had been an attempted sexual assault on the premises.

Those words burned into your retinas, bright as if they were a neon sign even when you clenched your eyes shut. Joel’s steps were solid as he left the room, phone still to his ear as he waited on the line until officers arrived on site, wanting as clear communication as possible. He returned a few moments later with a steaming mug.

Mary detangled her fingers and let you know she was going to go and manage the front of house, to ensure that things were still running and let the girls know to not go outside on any breaks for the time being. Joel took up her abandoned seat, putting the phone on speaker and setting it down atop the desk.

Using his feet to maneuver the rolling chair closer to you, he carefully removed your hands from where you had begun to grip the fabric of your jeans. He molded them around the warm mug, his own around them and he just looked at you. His concerned eyes took in the way your hair was mused, no longer contained in the clip you had showed up to work in. The way your eyes were rimmed red, cheeks stained with tear tracks, the way you were trembling slightly, eyes unfocused as you stared at your lap. You wouldn’t raise your head to meet his gaze head on, no words were being spoken, it was…disconcerting to him to see you so locked up.

“Darlin’,” Was all he said as he raised the mug up toward your lips. “Please take a sip of this, it’s bone broth, it’ll help ease your nerves a little.”

You only intended to take the smallest sip to appease him and get him to back off, still mad about finding out he was a father and that he didn’t tell you his daughter would be coming to the restaurant. Sending you to her table without a thought in the world how you would feel or react to such a revelation. But the second the warm liquid washed over your tongue, you were taking consistent sips until the mug was empty and placed off to the side on the desk beside his phone.

He sat with you in silence, not sure what to say that would break the spell you were under, the shock you were under. He hadn’t seen this side of you, knew that everyone reacted to these things differently, that it wasn’t an easily overcome thing, if overcome at all. You wanted to reach out and take his hands in your own, to feel the warmth of him but you fought back the urge, the happy face of his daughter flashing in your minds eye.

You reached a hand up to press against a pain on the back of your neck, as soon as your fingers touched the skin there underneath your hairline, you hissed out a deep breath. Your hand came away bloodied, shaking as you looked at it with wide eyes. Joel was on his feet instantly, one hand cradling your face as he moved your hair carefully from your neck. You felt his warm exhalations on your shoulder as he leaned in, the faint scent of an earlier cigarette on his breath mixed with the spearmint gum he chewed while on the line. His fingers gently reached for something you couldn’t see, flinching slightly as something tugged at the back of your neck. In his hand was a broken shard of your hair clip, blood bright on the turquoise of it. Fresh tears welled up and blurred your vision as they fell over your lash line and over his hand still cradling your cheek.

“Fuck, you’ve got some pretty deep cuts back here. I’m so sorry, baby.”

“D-don’t call me that.”

Anything he was about to say was cut off as a voice trilled over the phone call still going on his phone.

“Mr. Miller, sir? Dispatch here, officers are pulling up right now.”

He removed his hands from you, a weird look about him as he moved to pick his phone back up, “Thank you, I’ll go meet them out front.”

“Will you-“

Nodding your head, you couldn’t bear to look up at him.

“Okay.” He nodded at you, his eyes trying to catch yours to make sure but you had ducked your head again. He reached over to get the small first aid kit from where it was stashed atop the shelve over the desk. It wasn’t as stocked or official as the one in the kitchen, but it had stuff you could clean your injury with. “I’d offer to clean it, but I don’t want to push you. Please, at least drag some antiseptic over the back of your neck.”

The rest of the night was a blur, the restaurant closing two hours earlier than posted hours. Mary insisted on driving you home, some of the girls from the front of house parroting her offer. Joel had silenced them all with thanks for being so kind and willing to help, but as the owner and the one who was ultimately responsible for everyone’s safety. He put his proverbial foot down and said he would be making sure you got home safe. A good cover, you thought bitterly to yourself as he walked back into the office sans apron.

“Alright, Mary is gonna close up once everyone is finished cleaning. Do you have your keys? Figured I’d drive your truck so you have it there at your apartment. My brother can meet us there and bring me back for mine.”

He kept his distance as he walked with you toward the staff parking lot at the back of the restaurant. He was quiet as you stopped by the lockers to get your bag, his own on his shoulder he had swiped from the office. You had stayed there while the cops had talked with Joel, with Mary, to security. The man had been long gone, rushing away from the security guards that had quickly rounded the front of the building when you had shouted out. But they had been seconds too late and you paid the price. The cops had asked you for your statement, Joel standing behind you the whole time, providing details from the night at the bar as well.

The truck was silent as Joel held the door open for the passenger seat, making sure you were situated before he closed it as gently as he could. Once he adjusted the driver’s seat from your settings, he climbed in as well, the cab of the truck tense as he looked over at you and you looked out the window.

“I’m sorry.” Your words were so low, a whisper barely heard over the running engine and hush of the other cars on the road.

“For what darlin’?” Not answering him right away, you reached into your bag and pulled out a cigarette, moving on to dig into your pockets for a lighter. You froze when you couldn’t find it, realizing it must’ve fallen out when… punching a finger to activate the lighter built into the dash you chanced a look over at him. He was focused on the road, his large hands around the steering wheel and his brow furrowed. His bottom lip looked a bit irritated, like he had been worrying at it with his teeth.

“All those reservations, all that business.” Was your quiet response, reaching for the lighter when it jutted out from the dash to signal that it was ready to use. You lifted it to the end of your cigarette, inhaling deep once the ember glow encompassed it. He looked over, but you had already turned toward the cracked window, watching the smoke billow out in wispy curls.

“I ain’t worried about a few hours lost. The most important thing is that you’re okay.” His fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel, you could hear the crinkling of the leather in the small space. He flicked the turn signal on and reached up to hit the gate control you had attached to the visor as your building came into view. It was easy enough for him to pull into one of the spots that ran parallel to the building. It was only two stories, four apartments on each floor. Two more exactly like it on either side within the secure gate. He watched it close completely before he turned the truck off, turning to face you.

“Look, about the table, it was supposed to be for Tommy and a date of his.”

Shaking your head, you made to open the door and get out. With a sigh, he followed suit, rounding the bed of the truck to hold the door open for you while you stepped out. With one last pull, you put out the spent cigarette and dropped it into the bed of the truck. Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you began to walk across the small parking lot toward the outdoor stairs that led up to your apartment. Joel was behind you, your keys in his hand as he made sure the vehicle was locked, the beeping sound loud in the quiet of the early evening.

“I was going to tell you, it’s just-“ You watched as he opened the security door and then the front door, shouldering past him you dropped your bag on the couch underneath the window. The click of the security door deadbolt echoed between you, but all you felt was exhaustion being back in your space.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now, not – not tonight, please.” Walking away from where he stood just inside the door, into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He followed you further into the space, into the living room, closing the main door behind him, locking it to make sure your space was safe and sealed away from the world.

“Joel, I was so scared.” The words were a quiet confession as they left your lips on a shaky exhale, hands clenching at your sides as you tried to fight the urge to reach for him now that you were back in the living room beside him. He was so close already, but it wasn’t enough. You needed, no, wanted him to be the one to pull you for once, to let you know that he cared. You looked up at him, bottom lip trembling.

His arms were enveloping you, pulling you into his chest. He buried his face in your hair, and you could feel the way his own breath was shaky as you. You turned so your cheek was resting right over his strong heartbeat, a faint slightly delirious chuckle shaking your body before you were crying into his chest. His hold on you tightened and you reached your hands around him to hold him in return, hands digging into the fabric of his shirt at his sides.

You silently guided him towards your room, needing to get off your feet and melt into the full embrace of the man you were already entangled with. He followed you, kicking off his shoes to leave in the living room. He let go of his hold long enough to turn around and let you change without his eyes roving over you, not wanting to overstep anything. You were grateful, still too worked up to do much else other than hold each other. Once you were in a baggy shirt and a soft pair of sleep shorts, you reached your hands to grab ahold of the back of his shirt.

He turned around, the fabric twisting up, allowing you a flash of the dark trail of hair that ran from his belly button to disappear down below the belt holding up his work pants. Scrunching your nose at the idea of his dirty pants on your clean sheets, he ducked his head to make eye contact with you.

“What’s that lil bunny nose for, huh?” He boldly kissed the tip of your nose, pulling a surprised huff of laughter from you around soft sniffles as your fingers latched into his belt loops and weakly tugged at them. He made a sound deep in his chest, hands coming to wrap around your own. “Darlin’-“

“Just don’t want them on my sheets, that’s all.”

“Okay, only if you’re comfortable. That’s all I want right now, okay?”

You helped him, rather uselessly, to unbuckle the belt while he shucked the fabric down his legs. He stepped out of them, clad the clean shirt he had changed into at work and a pair of dark boxer briefs. He let you run your hands underneath his shirt and grab at him, he let you push your face back into his chest. And in return you let him wrap you back up in his arms and guide you to the bed. It took a few moments of shifting to get comfortable, but you ended up laying your upper half over his, his arms on your lower back and your legs tangled together where they stretched out. Your face was pressed into his neck, and you were sure he could feel the wetness of your lashes against his skin.

“I’ve got you, you’re okay, darlin’.”

He was reassuring you as much as he was himself.

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dividers by the lovely @saradika

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iinafarawaygalaxii · 6 months

Text

Star Wars | One Shot

Captain Rex x f!Reader

A Ghost For Prospect

Okay guys honestly, this just popped into my head while I was writing the fanfic and watching the newest episodes of bad batch (OMG! cries internally*) Soooo I thought Id share with the public, this will contain a couple small spoilers if you havent watched the bad batch yet and its a lil spicy so... read at your own discretion (:

MINORS DNI 18+

Summary: Captain Rex needs information for the sake of Omega and the remainder of the clones being tapped and tortured. He had no choice but to search for you, one of the most dangerous bounty hunters in the settled systems and best information brokers in the galaxy. Knowing he didnt have the money to pay you off, he offered other ways to get the information he needed to save his family...

Warnings: 18+ Minors you should've stopped reading at the red

Word Count: 5.3k

Notes: I totally didnt proof read, my apologies. I left it on a cliff hanger because Im still debating on a part 2. Let me know if thats something yall would want!

Enjoy :D

After Omegas escape from Tantiss, the situation to save the clones and the galaxy from the empire grew more desperate. With the Captains headquarters destroyed from the enemies pursuit and now has lost more of his brothers- even the ones he saved that were killed by the blast, EVERYTHING started to crumble. Though because of this deadly sacrifice he now had evidence of the tests being administered to the clones, along with the mention of project 'x' and the need for m-count individuals, but still... no dots were connecting. What he needed was information, which made the finest soldier from the clone wars feel uneasy.

Ever since order 66 the universe didn't make sense anymore. The lines drawn between good and evil became blurred when he learned what it was like to live free from a shackled organization, making his job... just that much harder. There was too much of a grey area with who or what to save, when or where to be- for instance, what he's doing now, bargaining with one of the most dangerous bounty hunters and information brokers in the galaxy.

You

The Captain stood with two other troopers before you, each their own unique persona. The soldier in blue with golden hair aged like the finest wine in the Corellian systems nearly made your mouth drop. Even just a glance at his build meant he cared for his body as much as his mission, standing stoic and resolved.... The way he looked at you with those honey brown eyes in caution though his gaze remained soft and calm left you curious for more than wear. His look was formatted by a subtly of fearlessness that almost felt intimidating, showing you he meant business. Though, you did have to admire the man... tracking you down was not an easy feat and the way he waltzed in without hesitation unafraid of the deadly figures around him, turned you on.

The other troopers however, despite being clones, were extremely different. One in black armor had a socket arm in replacement of his own. The weird tubing and wiring attached to his head and neck meant he was either an experiment or a tool. His original color completely faded to a sickly white making you wonder if death itself stood at your door. Either way, he looked extremely sickly which was bad for business and the other well- he shared the captains same demeanor standing with the same amount of caution as they approach you, awaiting your recognition as you take a long gander at his slicked back hair and his muscles nearly protruding out of armor that seems like it lost its touch a while ago. He looked as standard as the clones come when first created nonetheless his sculpted brawny chest and shoulders meant he could probably lift you with ease, amongst other things.

Though you wouldn't doubt it,

As you sat on the edge of the bar with a bottle of whiskey in hand basking in the warmth of the two suns that lit the planet dry. Your hideout or what the other women call the 'safe house' on Tatooine was directly built on an oasis. A towering open dome for natural lighting with the oasis itself directly in the middle that supplied not only water but bared fruit enough to feed the lot of them. Plants from all over the galaxy were found climbing the walls as if they'd been here for ages, thriving in an unfamiliar home just as much as the women you've brought and saved. It almost seemed like a vacation coming here after your missions and bounties. Surrounded by the finest women bounty hunters and the girls you've graciously saved across the galaxy. All in one spot enjoying the fruits of your labor. The women there looked up to you not only as a leader but as a dangerous figure not to be trifled with- filled with the upmost respect a single person can recieve.

You were praised and well guarded.

So when clones show up at your front door asking for something as trivial as information, it made you and the others laugh- hysterically. The eruption making the three soldiers look around in confusion, postering as if they missed something hearing the laughs grow into silence as you spoke up, "Do you know who I am trooper?”, You asked the man in blue hopping of the bar, regretfully, treading closer to him with the bottle of whiskey still in hand. "I do. If I'm not mistaken... They call you Ghost?"

You smiled

Taking a long swig of the bottle in hand before passing it off to one of the bartenders walking past. Your crew had their eyes glued on the men, ready to whip out their blasters on your command should anything or one cause trouble, leaving you worry free as you approach the soldier in your tipsy state. Most of the time, men crumble under the pressure each step you take towards them.... But not this man. Standing inches from him without a single reaction and although he had some height on you, 6 inches give or take, You favorite phrase came to mind...'The taller they are the harder they fall'. You leaned in with a flirty smile admiring his tenacity but with caution as you whispered, "Do you know why they call me that?", in his ear. You wanted to make him nervous as any man or creature who came in asking for the same things- to really test how badly they want that information and for a slight jest of play to assess them as a whole. You began to trace your fingers up his chest piece watching him, watch you. "No...", He uttered lowly and to your surprise he didn't react your touch at all. The gravity of his situation may be more intense than you thought, though it still didn't change anything. You were known as not only the most nefarious but the most devious of all hunters, next to Cad Bane. Using not only your charm and body to get answers but your mind and bronze to create beautiful plans to execute, to get the best rewards out of your missions and to be honest given his demeanor?

It made you want to break him

In a blink of an eye you were gone, as if your presence there was just a illusion, tracing your finger alongside his back tck-ing from the disappointed response. "Its because the people I deal with seem to just.... disappear with me...". Though the words did not shock him. He knew what he was getting into the moment he ended up on your doorstep. Even with this in mind he still came which made you admire him more. You knew he was here to do business. You giggled trotting off to a large black velvet chair in the center of the room, a couple of twileks bringing you a martini made from one of the finest alcohols in the system. "Please... Help yourselves..." you waved your hand towards the soldiers, the twileks bringing them the same drinks who cautiously accepted them. The captain however… had little time for such niceties placing the glass on the table next to him as he made his way to the edge of the steps before you. "Thank you but ill decline. I came here seeking information. Can you help us or not?", He firmly asked.

There was something about him- fearless, that turned you on. A malicious grin rose on your face as you tilted you head to announce that, "Everything comes with a price.", sipping the delicious drink that was made for the event, wondering what the man truly had to offer to be worth your time. "Im aware, name it." The troopers in the back finished theirs, bringing a suitcase full of credits up to the captain awaiting for their next order. You nodded for the twileks to check and count them ensuring their validity. After a moment of silence and a quick nod to you, you smiled asking what he needed “go on then…” you replied as you rested, listening to his request.

"The Empire is taking and torturing clones across the galaxy. They’re also after M-count individuals and my sources say youve hunted them and work closely with a man named Royce Hemlock. I need to know… where hemlock is stationed, what project X is, and the need for the m-count individuals”

Your face remained calm pausing between his request as you process whether it was worth* giving him that information. On top of that, what he requested could lead to dangers down the road which, in turn, would effect you and your... business as a whole. You didn’t want that type of attention. "What you've given does not suffice for the information you requested”, You sipped your drink again twirling the orange liquid in your glass with a snide smile wondering how much you could squeeze out of him before you give anything as you watched his brows furrow with anger. In truth, he didnt need to know about project X, in fact no one does not even you because A: it doesnt concern you and B: no one knows about it....except maybe the man in front of you. But since you already knew his true goal from the spies you had under your thumb, it wasnt a sprise for him to ask such questions. However it wasnt worth the risk. Not to mention… information these days are just- expensive. It was wiser to get your moneys worth if you accept the risk. "Besides, thats not what youre really after…. You want to know the locations of the bases your brothers are free them and build an army large enough to ‘free the galaxy’, right?”, Your response sent a shock wave through the troopers. How did you know their plan? Not to toot you’re own horn but- youre well… you

"I imagine Omega is the prime target for the empire at the moment as well... considering how high her bounty is. My guess is... the m-count individual their after is her-" You paused tapping your cheek with curiosity grinning maliciously, "-Almost took it myself actually..."

The captain placed a hand over his blaster forcing all the other bounty hunters to bring up theirs as everyone stood in a standstill waiting for blood to spill, "Calm down... Calm down-", You gestured your hands for everyone to sit and relax as you went to lean back in your chair with your legs crossed. "Theres no need for violence... Right, captain?", You raised your glass watching him slowly move away from his gun as you nodded finishing off your drink. "Right....", he uttered looking around to the other hunters who took their seats ready to pounce when the word is spoken. "Right. Anyways. I cannot give you what you offer.", You smiled, placing your glass on the stand next to you, getting up to take your leave before you heard footsteps behind and was captured by the wrist tightly, unable to move.

The action pissed you off.

You slowly turned back; the hunters who already captured the other two troopers are at gunpoint, had them on their knees behind making you glare up to the captain in pure rage. His grip grew tighter as the other hunters waited for your order for execution with over 30 blasters pointed your way. To kill or not to kill. "Please...", He begged and though you felt the sense of urgency you couldn't just let him go after that. It was time to make it very clear who you are. You quickly captured his arm bending it backwards. The action making him fall to one knee as you quickly grabbed his blaster at the same time, pinning it at his throat. You traced your lips across his neck hearing him groan from the pressure you were putting on his arm till you reached his ear growling to, "Never...touch me like that again….", and thus.... you had a choice, shoot the ignorant man or let him go. Though you didn’t want unnecessary death on your hands so the latter was chosen, flipping the blaster back into his holder and releasing your grip on his arm as he went to rub his shoulder. You nodded to the hunters to release the men having them thrown the heavy weights on the ground before you next to the captain. Their state? Pathetic. Their mission? Understandable. You weighed your options understanding that this war is what actually fuels you, enabling you to havee what you had today. If you stopped giving information now that would destroy your whole purpose. Plus...

Money

The devious smile returned to your face as you look down to the Captain whos eyes were set for murder, not making any action until you. Like a good boy. You kneeled down to him, cupping his cheek- inviting him to your office for being able to stand up to you which no ones ever dared to do. simple reward really, gesturing for them to, "Follow me...” gesturing for them to trail behind as the twileks grabbed their helmets setting them at the entrance of your hideout, leading both you and the troopers to the upper floors. Upon entering the Captain was met with a sight to behold. The finest furniture some even lined with gold, in a giant open room. A wall area facing towards the sunset completely gone leading to an outside to a deck to overlook your resort. The beautiful trees sprouting from the crystal clear water in the center almost touched the deck itself allowing people to pick the natural fruits that grew. Your bedroom was attached to the office as well as the bathroom in an open concept layout with the ability to walk anywhere freely without a door.

The twileks offered them seats though the captain preferred to stand watching you lean against the front desk as he waited for everyone to get comfortable. It was mentioned of your beauty across the star field but... not to this extent. The way your skin color highlighted the beauty in your eyes and how your hair waved from the light breeze coming in... it was hard for him not to be attracted to you. Considering you were in your leisure wear, a thin, airy dress that had no problem revealing your curves made the captain almost think it was a mistake coming here. Though you'd made sure he'd think otherwise before he left. After all amongst all the troopers you had seen and killed he was the finest of them all.

You folded your arms learning against the front of the desk as you informed them that "What you paid.... is very little but because im feeling... generous-" You smirked answering his question sparingly as you walked slowly towards your desk tracing your fingers along the guest chairs that sat in front. The long pause leaving the captain in suspense as he follows captivated by your movement, “I will give you this... Yes Hemlock wants Omega but thats because his project cannot be completed without her or someone with a similar m count. Though Im not sure what the project is for, its practically...necromancy."

"necromancy....what do you mean?"

"I dont know. Not my field of expertise but i will tell you that they will find omega with whatever or whomever it takes. Even me. Though my prices are high..." You checked your nails panning a malicious grin to the troopers who were all glaring from the comment ready to put the infamous ghost out on the spot, even if it meant risking their lives... "Don't worry boys, Just a joke. I don't hunt children...." One of the twileks handed you a pad gesturing them to bring 2 others from your safe. "This, however, Is what I can give you. Everything else....-“, you nodded over to the suitcase full of credits, “-You gotta pay." You winked as you handed the captain a slate with all the troopers under hemlocks experiments seeing not only the survivors but the ones who succumbed to the villainous torture.

He closed his eyes and sighed, sad he couldn't free them from suffering before they passed making his mission much more critical. Even you could see that. He continued swiping through the data realizing that this only contained information about the troopers with non disclosed locations and nothing else. "Where were these troopers stationed..?" He asked you, raising an eyebrow. Though it was trivial to continue the conversation... a part of you genuinely wanted to help but you remained silent. "Ghost...-" he took a step forward, his troopers looking to each other as they watch the situation unfold with you perched up on your desk. Your hands bolstering you forward, presenting the strongest qualities of yourself. You tilted your head watching him inch closer to you, "Yes...?"

“Tell me…”

You saw a man solidified in his ideals, desperate for answers as anything beyond what he had would suffice at this point- and you knew that. As devious at it sounds, the real question was… payment. You opened your legs, scooting to the edge of the desk to get a closer look as you slide your hands up his chest piece to test his morals, wondering how you could slither past those values and take them apart...piece by piece. He watched your every move, wary but oddly turned on by the interaction waiting for you to make your next move as the troopers behind stood ready to shoot inching closer in fear for their leader- begging for a fight with one of their biggest enemies-

You.

Bitting your lips, you gaze up to his eyes seeing them low and curious which was the perfect time to incite the siren in you. You slid your leg up the captains watching his walls break one by one as you felt his heart beat through the chest piece, “and… what will you give me?”

“Anything”

He responded instantly bringing that same grin to your face recognizing that he was falling into your spell and like the vixen you are… it was very much obliged. “Anything?” You raised an eyebrow, reaching for the clip to his chest piece to pull yourself forward, whispering in his ear as you felt his hands creep up your thighs sending waves of electricity throughout your body with the hidden slit in your skimpy now revealing your soft skin below, his thoughts began to capsize making him get that much closer to falling into your trap.

“Anything…” He uttered low and slow as he panned back to his troopers nodding towards the door to indicate that they leave with you ordering the twileks in their language to treat the clones with 'upmost hospitality'.... and a room for the night. The girls mischievous grin matched their leaders as they delivered the clones out of the room, flirting and offering drinks downstairs at the bar with the rest of the women fully igniting the sirens nest as it became fully active with new toys to play with.

As the blaster door closed behind the captain redirected his attention to you as you patiently analyzed the man gripping your thighs. It had been long since youve been with someone and the moment you first laid eyes on him he had already been caught in your web of desires. There was something about him that seemed dominating.... like- every other man you came across who failed to live up to your expectations left you blue and disappointed but, this one? Seemed much different.

"Take off your gear"

You ordered watching him finish unclipping his chest piece you so graciously started followed by his shoulder pads and gauntlets pausing before he set his twin blasters on the table next to you. Him purposefully reaching past you at close proximity to give you a good look of who you were messing with, making you smile with determination- admiring his tenacity to front you as if it were childs play. The man was experienced. Things just kept getting better and better, keeping you much incited watching him take the rest of his gear off down to his blacks. You crossed your legs bringing your hand to your jaw as you inspect the man before you.

You pointed to him twirling your fingers in circles to indicate he take off the rest but was only met with half a response. He never left your eyes throwing his shit to the ground revealing his worked muscles and battle scars. This wasnt the body of just any man. It was a warriors. Chiseled down to the smallest fiber of muscle, he was extremely built for his size and you could tell from the scars and healing wounds that it wasnt for show. Compared to your body, each scar you carried had a story... making you wondering more and more what his were. 'Hes intriguing...-'

You scoffed

Amazed you could be so into someone within hours of meeting. Most men was out of lust, or a result of the drunk in you and never really meant anything nor have you ever cared. But this man...clone- he was the type of different you didnt know you liked and now? It was time to test how just how strong he is. You hopped off the desk, this time pacing to him as both your eyes locked in a dance, treading carefully around him. You first look at his chest, seeing 2 or 3 scars and a couple wounds, but the one that intrigued you the most was the one over his heart, raising your hand to touch the withered scar. "A near death experience I see?", You raised an eyebrow smiling but was not returned in kind. "It was a long time ago.." He stated averting his eyes forward as he delved into his memory of the blast that left him incapacitated for a few weeks. Not something he enjoyed reflecting on as you continued patrolling around him bringing yourself back to where you started. You had counted 10 scars in total, most of them new but the one that intrigued you the most was the one on his chest. Though, getting that story out of him would be complicated given his state.

So to spice things up; Since Tattoine's suns were now at the horizon... leaving the planet in its evening golden state, it was the perfect time to return the favor. You faced towards the balcony, your back against him, feeling the warm breeze swoop in as you inhaled the gentle smell of fruits and fragrances that inundated the room. You slid the straps of your summer dress down making it drop to the floor with ease. Beneath revealed your secrets. Dark blue lingerie built into a harness carrying various versions of knives on your thighs, upper arms, and waist band. The rest? Open skin and to his shock? A multitude of deep, penetrating scars across your body some that looked extremely deadly and others... The burn on your thigh covered by a krayt dragon tattoo, revealed your finite curves and breasts. Though you were wearing a bra and panties that are see through (if you close enough) wondering which area he would choose to look, noticing his eyes carrying to the burn on your thigh and the tattoo that shields it.

"Nal Hutta..." you uttered as you start to disarm yourself. The captain put his hands behind his back still holding composure as he listened- watched as you place your weapons on the desk lined up neatly next to his blasters and when you turned around you could feel his eyes burning on you. No doubt on the thong that revealed your toned appendages to him. Large and jelly like- it was what most men went for making you wonder if he was an ass or tits type of guy. Nevertheless... you finally drop the harness on the dress below your feet leaving you only in your underwear and panties. "I was releasing some twileks who were illegally traded, actually those two girls who were here are from that raid. Tanker blew up during rescue, barbecued my thigh-", You paused briefly, slapping your thigh to make it jiggle. The action making the captain raise a brow as he continued to listen with anticipation as the blood started rushing through his body watching you jiggle before him. You folded your arms and continued,"-Lucky for me, I had hired a bounty hunter who knew how to tattoo. The Krayt Dragon here on tattooine-?" You paused again turning around to see his regain his composure, making you grin at the sight of him losing it. "They're ferocious creatures not to be trifled with but hunted for rare pearls inside them. Kinda like all of us here..."

The malicious grin that sprawled on your face. Officially warning him of where he is though it didnt phase him at all. He remained still, listening...waiting. Now left in your undergarments you slowly walked up to the captain tracing your fingers along his chest while looking up with lewd eyes to get him to break. "So captain...whats your story?", your traced your finger along his chest scar only to be captured by the wrist yet again, as he grew tired of the stalling.

"And whats your game?"

He asked, as you furrowed your eyebrows and was caught by surprise when he lifted you onto him slamming you onto the desk behind making some of your knives fall to the ground. You looked up to him, your arms around his neck as he growled in your ear, "If you want me to fuck you just say it" You were stunned seeing this type of impulse come so randomly and out of the blue. It was unexpected but to your surprise you liked it and it turned you on. "Say it...", the lust now oozing from him, seeing the bulge in his blacks grow larger and larger. But you were still caught up in the moment, wanting to be absolutely dominated by this man at all costs and to be honest....you think he already caught on as rash as he has been these last couple of minutes, he started by ripping your bra off to reveal your hardened nipples, his tell sign to continue. He looked down, cupping your breast in his burley, hands squeezing hard. A moan escaped your lips, "Say it...", he utters squeezing again.

His order turned into a demand

Now controlling the mood and the situation as you throw your head back enjoying his touch. Feeling yourself pool below, begging to be ravaged. You shot your hand up to his. stopping him in place as you brought a vicarious look to shadow his own, "If you want all the information requested... You're going to have to do a lot better than this... Captain", and though they weren't the words he needed, you had spoken. Rex pushed you down and slid your panties off, throwing your legs over his shoulders. The hand holding your breast now sliding down to meet his other at your hips as he kneeled down in front of the desk and started to devour you. Swirling his tongue over your jewel suckling at the sensitive flesh. Each circle of his tongue sent waves of pleasure throughout your body. An ecstasy you hadnt felt in so so long. He spread your thighs with his finger tips for better access as he feasted on your juices known to be every gentleman’s favorite until you unraveled.

"C-captain!"

You gasped, now gripping his head while furrowing your brows trying to maintain whatever dignity you had left, feeling the walls inside you begin to tighten and pulse. When he shoved two fingers inside of you, pressing on your special spot over and over you began to coo his name over and over, now holding your breath- closer to climax, "Don't stop..." You ordered only for him to refuse it, stopping directly in his tracks as he hovered before you. "If were going to do this, we are doing it my way...", He flipped you around aggressively. The shock forced your hands to slam against the desk for stability, enjoying how rough he was getting with you as you panned back to see him pull his bottoms down revealing his throbbing shaft pulsing for release. "Whatever you say..." you groaned, the juices dripping down your thigh as he spent not a second to waste shoving himself inside.

"Mmmm-ssss" It was slow at first, his brows furrowed in tune with the moans escaping his lips as he threw his head back starting the thrust little by little. He felt enormous, filling all of you inside not regretting a second as he continued thrusting against your tight walls pressing against your cervix. He lifted your hips now pile driving you into the desk. Each thrust sent never ending jolts through your body making even your cheeks jiggle. The wet sounds from both your skin and juices now filled the silence as the ecstasy starting to grow uncontrollably. Between his grip, feeling all the pent up anger that had built since the clone ways ended, and the way his hips rocked against yours the devilish scene carried into carnage. He started panhandling you, whipping you around and fucking you in the air with only the slaps of your skin and moans filling in the silence.

-Sounds that can be heard from all over the dome

hearing you call his name over and over again, fucking you as if you were the last peerson on earth available to him. You could tell its been a while for him too but seeing that face, the anger and the lust lost in translation of each other, blending into this perfect moment you were sharing until his beautiful brown eyes met yours. Just the way he looked at you, like a lion ready to feast on its pray made your walls tightened again, the climax almost at its peak as the captain started pulsing inside you. "Where...", he asked slamming you back down on the desk throwing one of your legs around him as he continues thrusting. "Anywhere....", you managed to slip out only for him to pump into you three more times before he shot his seed all over your body. Thread after thread of warm white liquid graced your skin, sending goosebumps in contrast of the cold air between. He collapsed above you, using a arm to hold himself up as you both took a moment to capture your breaths.

It had been a while, a very long while since Rex got to feel someone so amazing. It had even been so long since he touched himself, all that cum thats been building... He wanted to leave his mark somewhere elsee too. He reeinserted himself saving the last beads of white for you as he cuppeed your lower back bringing you in for a kiss "Yeah Captain?" still feeling him pulse while his eyes were closed, riding out his high as the pace slowed putting one last pump before pulling out watching the reeaminder drain out of you.

"Yeah...", He said, now locked into your eyes seeing he wasn't quiet done. He looked over seeing the bed in the open concept room and panned back to you. The devious look in both your eyes led to a night full of ambition and lust. You tried to get up only for him to throw you over his shoulder and drop you in the bed. "Who said we were done?"

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