notyourhetloki

When you got home, everything seemed to be trying to irritate you on purpose, especially the moving truck next to your house.

Two men in uniform were unloading boxes leisurely into the house while your dad, beer in hand, stood quietly on the sidewalk, as if supervising strangers would be a beneficial contribution to anything.

You slammed the car door harder than necessary, slung your bag over your shoulder, and crossed the front yard without even pretending to be in a good mood.

"Thinking about helping does not count as actually helping, y’know?" You said, loud enough for him to hear.

“Not helping, just giving moral support.” Your dad didn’t even bother to turn and look at you.

“Moral support to the moving crew?” You said, already pissed off.

“To an old friend.” He finally looked at you, a smirk creeping from his lips.

His words hung in the air for a moment, and something inside you felt off. A strange curiosity stirred in your chest.

“Guess who bought that house back.” He said, hopeful.

“I have no idea.” But you had an idea, you just couldn’t believe it yet.

“You don’t remember Uncle K? My friend Keanu?” Your dad’s smile grew with every word he said.

If you’d been holding anything, you would’ve dropped it.

You stood frozen on the stone path leading to the porch, keys still in hand, staring at him as if your father had started speaking another language. The name struck you with the force of a memory too old to be fresh and too vivid to dismiss.

You were 10 years old when he left.

Ten years old, braces, scraped knees, and the absolute conviction that adult men fell into two categories: the boring ones and him. The one who would show up in your kitchen unannounced, steal food from the pot before dinner, let you pick the music in the car, and pretend to lose at video games just to hear you celebrate. Him, the one who promised to come back before you had time to miss him, and then vanished for long enough that you grew up completely without even realizing it.

"You're kidding." You said, but your voice came out quieter than you wanted it to.

Your dad shrugged. “Keanu told me last week. He arrived this morning.”

You laughed, unable to believe it. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Well, I’m telling you now.” A big smile splattered on his face.

You turned to look at the house next door. Your attention completely focused on the open garage, on the men moving boxes, on the shadow of someone crossing the entrance hall.

First, you saw the hand resting on the doorframe. Then, the watch on the wrist. The forearm. The rest of his body appeared a second later, as he stepped out of the house's darkness and into the golden late-afternoon light, as if that place still belonged to him.

Maybe it did.

His hair was longer than you remembered, and he had a beard now. His shoulders were broader, but he had that same relaxed posture. He was wearing a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his biceps and holding a medium-sized box in his arms, with no apparent difficulty, while saying something to one of the movers.

You should have recognized the face first. You should have thought about the past, about childhood, about the man who used to sit at your kitchen table and laugh too loudly at his own jokes. But that was not what happened.

What happened was worse.

Because, for a shamefully long second, all you could notice was that he was handsome.

Not in an abstract, distant way, like something from a poster or a movie screen. Beautiful in a real, jarring, solid way, the kind of beauty that takes up space, messes with your body temperature, and makes you hate your own lack of awareness. The kind of beauty that shouldn't, under any circumstances, be unloading boxes at the house next door.

As if feeling he was being watched, he looked up.

And saw you.

The movement was small, barely there; a split second of added attention, the box still resting in his arms, his face motionless as recognition slowly took hold of him. You had the distinct impression of watching something rearrange itself behind his expression: surprise, memory, and the inevitable comparison between the girl he had known and the woman standing in her father’s garden.

Then he smiled… enough to leave you breathless.

“I don’t believe it…” He said, loud enough to carry across the distance between the two houses. “Is that really you?”

Your father let out a satisfied, traitorous laugh beside you.

You could have said something clever. Something cool, indifferent, grown-up. A normal "hi" maybe. Any phrase that wouldn't make you look like an idiot caught off guard in her own backyard.

Instead, you stood there motionless, clutching the keys in the palm of your hand, with the uncomfortable feeling that something in your life had just gone off-kilter.

Because the man standing next door wasn't just a ghost from your past.

He was a problem.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You were halfway up the stairs when your father’s voice stopped you.

“Don’t disappear on me.” He called from the kitchen. “Keanu’s coming over for dinner.”

You paused, eyes closing for a brief second as if that might somehow change your current situation.

Of course he was.

And of course your father, oblivious, absurdly pleased with himself, had invited his oldest friend over as if the man hadn’t just reappeared in your life after ten years looking unfairly good.

“You could’ve warned me earlier.” You said, turning just enough for your voice to carry downstairs.

Your father snorted. “Why? So you could suddenly have somewhere else to be?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. He wasn’t entirely wrong. You gave him a flat look he probably couldn’t see from the kitchen and continued upstairs before he could say anything else.

Your bedroom door clicked shut behind you.

For a moment, you just stood there in the middle of the room, bag still hanging from your shoulder, staring at absolutely nothing. Then you dropped it onto the chair by your desk and walked to your closet with far more purpose than the situation warranted.

You were not getting dressed for Keanu.

You were changing because the shirt you had on smelled like sweat, and because the jeans suddenly felt too tight, and because there was no reason at all to sit across from him looking like you had just been run over by a car.

That was all.

It had nothing to do with the fact that the image of him standing in the driveway next door had lodged itself somewhere under your skin and refused to leave.

You pulled one shirt off its hanger, frowned at it, put it back, and reached for another.

Then another.

By the time you caught your reflection in the mirror, you were standing there in your third option with your hair half fixed and your expression bordering on pathetic.

Downstairs, the front door opened.

Your father’s voice carried faintly through the house, warm and familiar.

Then came another voice, deeper, rougher, quieter than you remembered, and somehow still immediately recognizable. Your stomach dropped.

You stood very still in the middle of your room, listening to the low murmur of two men greeting each other downstairs, and realized with a flicker of dread that you had to greet Keanu at some point as well.

You took longer than necessary to come downstairs.

Not enough for it to be obvious. Just enough to give yourself time to breathe, smooth your hands over your shorts, and pretend your heart wasn’t hammering in your chest.

By the time you reached the bottom step, your father and Keanu were already in the kitchen.

Your father was leaning against the counter with another beer in hand, grinning as if this were any other night, any other dinner, any other old friend dropping by. Keanu stood across from him with one hand wrapped around the neck of a wine bottle, sleeves pushed up, dark shirt clinging in a way that felt frankly unnecessary.

He looked up the moment he heard you.

The conversation between the two men didn’t stop immediately, but something in it shifted. A pause. A break in rhythm. Your father kept talking for another second before noticing neither of you was listening.

Keanu’s gaze moved over you slowly. Not rudely, not obviously, just enough to make you aware of every inch of skin not covered by your clothes.

“There she is.” Your father said, gesturing toward you as if he had personally arranged your entrance. “Finally decided to join us.”

You ignored him.

Keanu’s mouth curved in that small, familiar way you were beginning to resent.

“Hey.” He said.

Just that. One word. Low and easy and entirely too warm.

“Hi.” You managed, hating how normal it sounded when nothing about this felt normal.

He lifted the wine bottle slightly. “I come bearing peace offerings.”

Your father scoffed. “That’s for me.”

Keanu glanced at him, then back at you.

“Not all of it.”

Something in your chest tightened.

It was such a harmless sentence. Casual. Probably meaningless. And yet the way he said it, calm, amused, looking right at you, made it feel like the room had gotten smaller.

Your father, of course, noticed nothing.

“Sit down, both of you.” He said, already turning back to the stove. “And if either of you criticizes my cooking, you can get out.”

You moved toward the table because there was nothing else to do, and before you could protest, Keanu pulled out the chair for you. The same spot you claimed since you were a child.

The gesture was small, almost absentminded. Old-fashioned in a way that shouldn’t have mattered and somehow did.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second before sitting.

“Thanks.” You said, quieter now.

He sat down next to you, close enough that you could catch the clean scent of soap and cedar.

“Sure.” He said.

And God, this was going to be a long night.

—

Dinner started out harmlessly enough.

Your father talked most of the time, which should have made things easier. He filled every silence with stories about the neighborhood, complaints about the movers blocking half the street, and the kind of pointless observations men seemed to make when they were too comfortable in each other’s company to care whether the conversation made sense.

You mostly kept your eyes on your plate.

That would have worked better if Keanu hadn’t been sitting beside you.

He wasn’t doing anything wrong. That was the problem. He wasn’t trying to corner you into conversation or make you uncomfortable on purpose. He was just there, quiet, attentive, relaxed in a way that made you hyperaware of your own body.

He listened when you spoke. Really listened.

And every time you dared to look up, his eyes were already on you.

“You know…” Your father said suddenly, pointing his fork at you. “She used to cry every time you beat her at Mario Kart.”

You nearly choked on your drink.

“I did not.”

Keanu’s mouth twitched beside you.

“You absolutely did.” Your father said. “You’d accuse him of cheating, then lock yourself in your room for an hour.”

“I was ten.”

“You were dramatic.” Your father retorted.

You shot him a look sharp enough to qualify as a warning. He ignored it.

Keanu leaned back in his chair, a soft laugh escaping him. “That’s not how I remember it.”

You turned toward him before you could stop yourself. “Oh?”

He nodded, eyes warm with something dangerously close to fondness.

“You only cried once…” He said. “And it wasn’t because you lost.”

Your father frowned. “No?”

Keanu shook his head. “No. It was because she thought I’d let her win.”

The room went still around you.

Not literally. Your father was still eating, still muttering something under his breath about not remembering that, the clink of silverware still sounded against ceramic, and the dishwasher hummed softly from the kitchen.

But inside you, something paused. Because you remembered.

Not the game itself, not clearly. Just the shape of the feeling of being ten years old and furious and embarrassed because you’d rather lose honestly than be treated like a child.

You stared at Keanu.

He gave a small shrug, like recalling the moment was nothing. The fact that he remembered something so specific, something your own father had gotten wrong, meant absolutely nothing at all.

And maybe to him, it didn’t.

Your father pointed his fork again. “See? Dramatic.”

You rolled your eyes, mostly so you wouldn’t have to say anything else.

But the rest of dinner felt different after that. Sharper.

Because now you couldn’t stop wondering how much he remembered.

The foods you used to hate. The books you carried around for weeks. The chipped bike you insisted on riding without training wheels, even after falling off it twice in one afternoon. The stupid crush you had on a cartoon character when you were nine. The way you used to hum under your breath when you were concentrating.

And worse, what he was doing with those memories now, sitting across from the woman you had become.

—

Your father’s phone rang just as he got up to clear the plates.

He glanced at the screen, frowned, and muttered something about work before stepping out onto the back porch to answer it, leaving the kitchen door half open behind him.

The silence that followed felt immediate and unnatural.

For a second, neither of you moved.

You stacked your plate on top of his, then reached for your glass, your napkin, anything that might justify not looking at him.

Keanu picked up two empty bottles from the table and stood.

“I’ll help.” He said.

“Don’t worry about it.”

And yet he followed you into the kitchen anyway.

The space was too small for how aware you suddenly were of him.

You set the plates down beside the sink and reached for the faucet, only to realize a second too late that Keanu had stepped in behind you to place the bottles on the counter. Not touching, not even close enough that it should have mattered, but there all the same, warm and solid and impossible to ignore.

You turned too quickly. He did the same.

For one brief, stupid second, you were standing inches apart.

His eyes dropped to your face immediately, as if checking whether he’d startled you. Yours caught on the line of his mouth before you could stop.

“Sorry.” He said quietly.

You shook your head. “You didn’t do anything.”

A pause.

Then, because apparently your self-preservation had abandoned you entirely, you added, “No need to apologize for existing in my kitchen.”

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“I’ll work on it.”

You let out a breath that might have been a laugh, and just like that, the air changed. Softer. More private.

More loaded.

He looked at you for a moment longer than he should have, one hand resting flat against the edge of the counter.

“You’ve changed.” He said.

It was simple. No teasing. No hidden smile. Just the truth, spoken low enough that your father wouldn’t hear from the porch.

You crossed your arms before answering, though you weren’t sure if it was to protect yourself or to keep from doing something stupid with your hands.

“It’s been ten years…” You said. “I’d hope so.”

A flicker of something moved across his face, amusement, maybe, but not entirely.

“Yeah…” He said, still looking at you. “I know.”

The words landed with more weight than they should have.

You looked away first, reaching for a dish towel that didn’t need folding and folding it anyway. Behind you, your father laughed at something the person on the phone had said. The sound snapped through the moment like a match striking.

You swallowed.

“Did you honestly expect me to remember you?” you asked, aiming for lightness and missing by a mile.

Keanu was quiet for a second.

Then, “I was counting on it.”

When you turned back, his expression had softened into something unreadable.

And for the first time that night, you had the distinct, unsettling feeling that this wasn’t one-sided.

Not even a little.

By the time your father came back inside, the moment had already sealed itself over.

You stepped away from the counter. Keanu picked up the dish towel and handed it to you as if nothing had happened. Your father launched straight into another story, and dinner stumbled its way into dessert and then coffee, the rest of the evening passing in a blur of half-heard conversation and dangerous glances you kept pretending not to notice.

Eventually, though, even your father had to admit it was getting late.

He walked Keanu to the front door with all the ceremony of a man seeing off someone who would be back tomorrow anyway.

Which, you realized with a twist of dread, was probably true.

You hung back by the hallway, arms crossed loosely over your stomach, waiting for the polite part of the evening to end.

“Same time next week?” Your father asked, clapping Keanu on the shoulder.

Keanu huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re assuming I survived tonight’s cooking.”

“Watch it.”

They grinned at each other.

Then Keanu looked past him, straight at you. The smile on his face changed. Not disappearing, exactly. Just softening into something smaller, more private.

“Thanks for dinner.” He said.

It was clearly meant for both of you, but it didn’t feel that way.

You nodded. “Sure.”

Your father, blessedly distracted by his own need to continue talking, turned back toward the kitchen to grab the container of leftovers he’d insisted Keanu take home.

Keanu took it with a laugh, thanked him, and stepped outside into the cool night air.

At the top of the porch steps, he turned back.

Not to your father.

To you.

“Goodnight.” He said.

There was nothing unusual about the word. Nothing in the tone, either. At least nothing you could have explained out loud.

And still, long after the front door had closed behind him, long after your father had started loading the dishwasher and talking to you from the kitchen as if your world had not just tilted a second time in one day, you stayed standing there in the hallway with your heart beating too hard against your ribs.

Because now there was something worse than having Keanu Reeves back in your life. Now, there was the possibility that you were, truly, completely charmed by the man who basically helped to raise you.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

After coming home from work the next day, you took a shower and were ready to lock yourself inside your room for the rest of the afternoon, but heard your dad calling from downstairs.

There, on the kitchen counter, sat an abandoned half bottle of wine. The same one Keanu had brought over the night before.

Your father glanced at it, then at you. “Take that back to Keanu for me, will you?”

You looked at him in disbelief. “Why me?”

“Because I’m in the middle of something.”

He was sitting at the table in his pj’s, doing absolutely nothing except squinting at his laptop and pretending it counted as work.

“You’re not in the middle of anything.”

“I’m thinking very hard.” He said, waving a hand at the screen. “Go be useful.”

You stared at him. He stared back, entirely unbothered.

“It’s one house over…” He added. “You’ll survive.”

That, unfortunately, remained to be seen.

—

You told yourself it would take less than two minutes.

Walk next door. Hand over the bottle. Exchange a few normal, neighborly words. Come back.

That was the plan.

It should have been easy, except your body had apparently decided to react to the idea of seeing Keanu alone like it was preparing for a natural disaster.

By the time you crossed the yard, the bottle felt colder in your hands.

The house next door looked different in daylight. Less like a memory, more like a fact.

The front windows were open, a few flattened boxes stacked near the porch, and somewhere inside you could hear the faint sound of music, low and warm and old enough that your father would probably approve of it.

You hesitated at the door for half a second before knocking. Then immediately hated yourself for hesitating at all.

The door opened faster than you expected.

Keanu stood there in a black T-shirt and worn jeans, hair a little messier than it had been the night before. There was a smudge of dust near one wrist, like he’d been unpacking, and his forearms were on full display in a way that felt deeply inconsiderate.

For a second, neither of you said anything. He looked surprised to see you.

Then his expression softened into something warmer.

“Hey.”

It was ridiculous how much that one word had started to affect you.

You lifted the bottle slightly, using it as a shield. “You left this.”

Keanu glanced at it, then back at you, one corner of his mouth lifting.

“I was wondering where it went.”

“You were?”

“No.” He said. “But this is a nice surprise.”

You held the bottle out toward him, fully intending for the exchange to end there. It didn’t.

Keanu took the bottle from your hand, fingers brushing yours for the briefest second, and stepped back just enough to open the door wider.

“Do you want to come in?”

The question was simple. Casual. Asked with the same tone he might have used if you were still ten and standing there to show him a scraped knee.

Which only made things worse.

You should have said no. You knew that. Instantly.

Instead, you glanced past him into the house, at the half-unpacked boxes in the entryway, the lamp sitting on the floor without a shade, the musical instruments still lying inside their cases.

“Just for a minute.” You heard yourself say.

Keanu’s smile was small and unreadable as he stepped aside to let you in.

The inside of the house looked like someone had tried to rebuild a life out of cardboard and good intentions.

“It’s a mess…” Keanu said, following your gaze.

You wandered a little farther into the living room before you could stop yourself, taking in the familiar shape of the place beneath all the clutter. The same windows. The same staircase. The same worn wooden floors you used to race across in socks when you were little.

“It feels smaller.” You said.

Keanu leaned one shoulder against the doorway, watching you.

“You got taller.”

You turned to look at him.

His face gave away nothing. Maybe it was a joke. Maybe it wasn’t.

You crossed your arms. “You’re hard to read.”

“That’s not what your father says.”

“My father also thinks putting pineapple on pizza counts as a personality trait.”

That made him laugh, an actual laugh this time, low and warm and unfairly attractive.

The sound loosened something in your chest. For a moment, the room felt almost easy.

Then Keanu asked, “So what do you do now?”

The question shouldn’t have caught you off guard. It was normal. Harmless.

But something about the way he asked it, genuine, focused, looking at you like the answer mattered, made you suddenly aware that this was the first real conversation you’d had with him since he came back.

Not as your father’s friend. Not as the ghost of your childhood. Just you and him.

So you told him.

He listened the way he always had, quietly, with that unnerving kind of attention that made you feel like every word out of your mouth had been weighed.

You told him about work. About school. About still living with your father because rent was ridiculous and because, despite everything, home was still home.

Keanu nodded like none of it surprised him.

“And are you happy?” he asked.

The question landed strangely. Not because it was inappropriate. Because it was simple enough to be asked by anyone, and somehow still felt too intimate coming from him.

You looked at him for a second, trying to decide whether to answer honestly or politely.

“Sometimes.” You said at last.

He didn’t smile.

He just watched you with that same steady expression, like he could hear all the parts of the sentence you hadn’t said out loud.

“Sometimes.” He repeated.

You lifted a shoulder. “That’s the best most people get, isn’t it?”

A quiet beat passed between you.

Then Keanu said: “You always did hate vague answers.”

You blinked. “I just gave you a vague answer.”

“Yeah…” He said softly. “That’s how I know something’s not exactly right.”

You exhaled, deciding to ignore him, and turned back to the side table instead, absently flipping through old books and loose papers until a photograph slipped from between the pages of one of them.

It was old, slightly bent at one corner, the colors softened with time, but you recognized it instantly.

Your father stood in the middle of the frame, younger and sunburnt and grinning like an idiot, one arm thrown around Keanu’s shoulders. You were there too, small and gap-toothed and squinting into the sun, perched on the hood of someone’s car.

You picked it up before you could stop yourself. Keanu noticed immediately.

“Oh, wow.” You murmured. “Where did you even find this?”

“In a box I haven’t opened in at least eight years.”

You looked down at the picture again, smiling despite yourself.

“I looked terrible.”

“You looked ten.” Keanu stepped closer, close enough that you felt him before you fully registered it. When he spoke, his voice came from just over your shoulder. “You were impossible even then.”

You should have moved. Instead, you stayed exactly where you were, photograph still in hand, pulse beginning to throb in your throat.

“Funny.” You said, staring at the picture, because looking at him felt like a mistake. “I was about to say the same thing about you.”

A beat of silence.

Then, very gently, Keanu reached past you to touch the corner of the photo. Not taking it from your hand. Just steadying it. His knuckles brushed the inside of your wrist.

The contact was light. Barely there.

It still felt like danger.

When you turned your head, you were closer to him than you’d realized.

Close enough to see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. Close enough to notice the shift in his breathing. Close enough that if either of you moved, just slightly, just stupidly, the whole shape of the afternoon might change.

Keanu’s gaze dropped.

Not all the way. Just enough.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the photograph. Neither of you spoke.

The silence stretched, charged and fragile and impossible to pretend you didn’t feel.

Then Keanu stepped back.

Not abruptly, just enough to put air between you again.

He dragged a hand over the back of his neck and gave a quiet exhale, like he was annoyed with himself for something you didn’t understand.

“You should probably get back.” He said.

The words landed harder than they should have.

You looked at him, still holding the photograph, pulse uneven. “Right.”

He was already reaching for the wine bottle, for the counter, for anything that wasn’t you.

“Your father’ll wonder where you are.”

You almost laughed at that.

“My father sent me here.”

“Yeah…” Keanu said, finally looking at you again. “I know.”

There it was again, that tone. Low. Careful. Weighted with something neither of you was saying.

You set the photograph back down with more care than it deserved and moved toward the door before your pride could embarrass you further. Keanu followed.

At the threshold, you turned back, mostly because leaving like that felt too much like losing.

“So that’s it?” you asked.

His hand tightened around the doorknob.

“What’s it?”

“You ask me into your house, look at me like that for ten minutes, and then tell me to leave?”

The words came out before you could stop them.

For one long second, Keanu just looked at you.

Then his expression changed, something sharper slipping through the restraint.

“You want me to answer that honestly?” he asked.

Your breath caught.

He opened the door.

“Go home.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Keanu started avoiding you so subtly it took half an hour to realize it wasn’t in your head.

It happened in beats.

He looked at you when your father spoke your name, but never for long. He answered when you spoke to him, always politely, but never with the kind of attention that had made the air feel too thin in his living room three nights ago.

When you walked into the kitchen to grab another beer for your dad, Keanu stepped aside before you could get close enough to brush past him.

When you sat down at the patio table, he leaned back in his chair and angled his body toward your father instead.

When you laughed at something your dad said, Keanu smiled too, but at the bottle in his hand, not at you.

He wasn’t cold. He was worse than cold.

He was careful.

And after the way he’d looked at you in his doorway before telling you to go home, careful felt a lot like cowardice.

At first, you tried to ignore it.

Then you decided you absolutely would not.

If Keanu wanted to pretend nothing had happened in his house, fine. He could try. But he was not going to do it comfortably.

So you sat closer than necessary when you joined them outside.

You reached across him for the bowl of chips instead of asking your father to pass it.

You asked Keanu whether he’d made any progress unpacking, and when he said, “A little.” You tilted your head and said, “Find anything else interesting in those boxes?”

His eyes flicked to yours for the first time all evening.

Only for a second. But it was enough.

Your father, blissfully oblivious, kept talking about the neighbor across the street and his ongoing feud with the homeowners’ association. Keanu gave him the appropriate noises of agreement, but you could feel the shift beside you all the same.

Good, you thought.

Let him squirm.

Your father stood with a grunt, collecting two empty bottles from the table.

“I’m getting more beer.” He announced, disappearing into the house still talking to himself, the screen door slamming shut behind him.

The silence that followed was immediate. Not awkward. Not empty.

Worse.

Charged.

You could hear the low hum of the porch light, the distant bark of a dog somewhere down the street, the clink of ice from inside the kitchen as your father rummaged through the freezer.

Keanu kept his eyes on the label of his beer.

You looked at him openly.

“You know…” You said at last, “If you’re going to avoid me, you should at least do it properly.”

Keanu went still, just enough that you noticed.

He lowered the bottle from his mouth and turned to look at you, expression unreadable in the soft yellow light spilling from the kitchen window.

“I’m not avoiding you.”

You laughed under your breath.

“That’s almost insulting.”

His jaw tightened.

“I’m sitting right here.”

“Sure.” The word came out sharper than you meant it to, but not by much.

Keanu looked away first, out toward the dark shape of the fence, the neighboring rooftops, anywhere but you.

“That’s not fair.” He said quietly.

You stared at him. The audacity of that nearly made you laugh again.

“Not fair?” You repeated. “You invite me into your house, look at me like that, tell me to go home, and then spend the next three days acting like I’m radioactive. But sure. Let’s talk about fair.”

Keanu set his bottle down on the table with a quiet thud.

“You think I don’t know that?” he asked. The softness in his voice was almost worse than anger. “You think I haven’t been thinking about that?”

Your pulse kicked.

“About what?” You asked, because if he was going to make this difficult, you could too.

His eyes snapped back to yours.

For a second, you thought he might actually say it.

Instead, he dragged a hand over his jaw and exhaled hard through his nose.

“This.” He said. “Whatever the hell this is.”

You closed your hands into fists, partly to keep yourself steady.

“And what exactly is ‘this’?”

Keanu gave a humorless laugh.

“That’s not a conversation we should be having in your father’s backyard.”

You leaned closer.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have started it in your living room.”

That did it.

Keanu stood so abruptly that the chair scraped against the patio stones.

You should have stood as well.

You didn’t.

Now he was right there, leaning down at you yet taller than you by enough to make the air feel different, one hand braced against the back of your chair, the other hanging uselessly at his side like he didn’t trust it anywhere near you.

“Lower your voice.” He said.

The command should have irritated you.

Instead, it sent a hot, humiliating shiver down your spine.

You tilted your chin up. “Why?”

“Because your father is twenty feet away.”

“And?”

“And I’m trying very hard not to make a worse mess of this than I already have.”

The words hit you in the chest.

Not because they were cruel, but because buried under the frustration in his voice was something far more concerning: restraint stretched thin enough to snap.

Keanu stared at you. Then his hand closed around your wrist.

Not hard. Never hard.

Just firm enough to stop you from moving away, or maybe from moving closer. You weren’t sure anymore.

The contact burned straight through you.

His eyes dropped to your mouth.

Once.

That was all it took.

You stopped breathing.

Keanu swore under his breath, the sound low and wrecked, and for one impossible second you thought he was going to kiss you right there in your father’s backyard with the kitchen light still on behind him and the screen door ten feet away.

Instead, he let go.

Stepped back.

Dragged both hands through his hair like he was trying to physically pull himself together.

“This is exactly what I was trying to avoid, kid.” He said, voice rough.

You were still staring at him, pulse everywhere.

Kid.

The word made you gasp out loud, but the screen door banged open before either of you could say anything else.

Your father stepped back onto the patio carrying three beers by the neck and stopped short when he looked between the two of you.

For one awful second, you were sure he could see it.

The tension. The flushed silence. The fact that Keanu was standing too close and you were still trying to remember how breathing worked.

Instead, your father frowned at the empty spot where Keanu’s chair had been.

“What happened?” He asked. “Did I miss a fight?”

You cleared your throat and forced your voice into something that almost sounded normal.

“Uncle K thinks I’m being unfair.”

You decided to call him by his nickname because, after all, two could play the same game.

Your father snorted. “Well, don’t need to hear the context to know he’s right about that.”

Keanu let out a short laugh that sounded nothing like amusement and took one of the beers from your father’s hand.

“See?” He said, finally looking at you again. “Your old man gets me.”

You held his gaze for half a second too long.

And knew, with a certainty that made your pulse jump all over again, that if your father walked back inside right now, this conversation would not end politely.

Later, lying in bed with the lights off and the window cracked open to let the night air in, you replayed the conversation too many times in your head.

You weren’t being delusional.

You were making a mess out of that man.

And you didn’t want to stop it.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Sleep was a lost cause.

You lasted maybe forty minutes in bed before giving up entirely, kicking the sheets off your legs and staring at the ceiling for far too long.

Every time you closed your eyes, you felt Keanu’s hand around your wrist again. Just firm enough to stop you. Just careful enough to make it worse.

By one in the morning, the house had gone quiet. Your father was asleep, the TV downstairs finally off, the kitchen dark except for the faint yellow light above the stove.

You slipped out of bed, put on a hoodie over your top and shorts, and headed downstairs barefoot.

You told yourself you just needed air.

That was probably true.

It just wasn’t the whole truth.

The night outside was cool and quiet, the kind of suburban silence that made every little sound feel amplified, the chirp of crickets, the rustle of leaves, the creak of old wood under your weight as you stepped onto the porch.

You almost missed him.

Keanu was sitting on the front steps of his house next door, elbows braced on his knees, a beer bottle dangling loose from one hand. The porch light above him was off, leaving him mostly in shadow except for the faint spill of moonlight catching the line of his jaw.

For a second, you just stood there.

Then he looked up.

Even from across the yard, you could feel the exact moment he recognized you.

Neither of you spoke.

Keanu lifted the bottle slightly in a silent acknowledgment, like this was a normal interaction.

It wasn’t.

You crossed the yard anyway.

“You always make a habit of wandering around barefoot at one in the morning?” Keanu asked quietly as you stopped at the bottom of his steps.

You folded your arms against the cold. “Only when the neighbors are being psychologically destabilizing.”

That earned you the ghost of a smile.

“Right…” He said. “That’s on me.”

The honesty of it threw you off balance.

You glanced at the bottle in his hand. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Keanu looked down at it, then out at the empty street.

“No.”

“Me neither.”

A beat passed.

Then he shifted, moving over just enough to make room beside him on the step.

The invitation was small, and you took it.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

You sat shoulder to shoulder on the steps, barely touching, listening to the neighborhood breathe around you. Somewhere far off, a car passed. A sprinkler clicked on. The beer bottle in Keanu’s hand knocked lightly against the wood when he shifted.

Then he said, “I shouldn’t have told you to go home like that.”

You turned to look at him.

The apology was so unexpected that it took a second to land.

“No…” You said. “Probably not.”

Keanu exhaled through his nose, something almost like a laugh.

“I was trying to stop myself from doing something stupid.”

Your heart kicked hard enough to hurt. You looked away before he could see it.

“And did it work?” You asked.

He was quiet for so long you thought maybe he wouldn’t answer.

Then, very softly, he said: “Not even a little.”

You turned back to him slowly. “Then why are you still trying?”

Keanu’s jaw tightened.

The question hung there between you, simple and impossible.

“Because I should.” He said.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

You stared at him, anger and want and exhaustion tangling together so tightly you could barely tell them apart.

“I see...” You said quietly. “The only answer you’ve got is the safe one.”

Keanu looked at you then, really looked at you, and whatever he saw on your face seemed to undo something in him.

“You want the unsafe one?” He asked.

Your pulse stuttered.

“Yes.”

Keanu stared at the dark yard ahead of him when he spoke, as if saying it while looking at you would make it too real.

“The unsafe answer…” He said slowly, “Is that I’ve been trying not to want you since the day I got back.”

The world seemed to narrow. Just the steps. The night. His voice.

Nothing else.

Keanu swallowed once, hard. “And I’m getting very tired of failing.”

You should have said something that would let both of you survive the moment with a little dignity left intact.

Instead, you asked, barely above a whisper: “What happens if you stop trying?”

Keanu turned his head.

You were so close now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips.

His eyes searched your face like he was still hoping to find a reason to walk away.

“You really want to know?” he asked.

You nodded once.

That was all the permission he needed.

He kissed you like the restraint had finally broken all at once.

One hand came up to your jaw, the other bracing against the step beside your thigh as he pulled you in, and then his mouth was on yours, warm and rough and devastatingly sure, like he’d been imagining this for long enough to know exactly how it would undo him.

The sound you made was small and helpless and immediately swallowed by the kiss.

Keanu’s thumb slid along the line of your jaw as he kissed you deeper, slower now, like the first impact had knocked something loose in both of you and neither of you knew how to stop.

It was nothing like the almosts.

Nothing like the glances, the restraint, the silence stretched thin between houses and dinner tables and backyard chairs.

This was worse.

This was the thing underneath all of it. The thing he’d been trying not to do.

The thing you’d been wanting him to.

Keanu was the one who broke the kiss.

Not because he wanted to. You could tell that immediately from the way he stayed close, forehead resting against yours, breath unsteady, one hand still cupping your face like letting go would cost him something.

“Jesus.” He muttered, eyes closed.

You were still trying to remember your own name.

He kissed you once more, shorter this time, but somehow even more dangerous, then pulled back just enough to look at you.

“If we keep doing this out here…” He said, voice rough, “I’m not going to stop at kissing you.”

Every thought in your head dissolved at once.

You looked at him, still half-dazed, mouth tingling, pulse completely wrecked.

Then you said the worst possible thing.

“Then don’t.”

Keanu went very, very still.

And in the silence that followed, with his hand still warm against your face and the whole sleeping neighborhood wrapped around the two of you like a secret, you had the distinct feeling that you had just changed everything.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Keanu stared at you like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you again or save both of you from yourselves.

The hand on your face slid down slowly, fingertips brushing the line of your throat before settling, almost reluctantly, at your waist.

“You don’t mean that.” He said, but there was no conviction in it.

You held his gaze. “I do.”

His jaw tightened. “This stops being harmless the second I choose to believe you.”

“It stopped being harmless a while ago.”

Something in his expression darkened at that, not anger, exactly. Recognition. Defeat.

He looked back toward the dark windows of your house, toward the sleeping quiet inside, then back at you.

“If I take you inside…” He said, but didn’t finish the sentence, voice low enough to disappear into the night. “I need you to understand that I’m trying very hard to give you one last chance to walk away.”

You stepped closer instead.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The pause that followed felt endless.

Then Keanu stood.

He offered you a hand, and you took it.

The walk to his front door felt unreal in the quiet dark, your pulse loud in your ears, his fingers warm around yours. Keanu unlocked the door with one hand and glanced once toward your house before ushering you inside, the gesture so quick and instinctive it made something tighten in your chest.

The door clicked shut behind you.

And just like that, the whole world narrowed to the sound of both of you breathing.

The first thing you noticed was that Keanu didn’t touch you right away once you were inside.

He turned the lock with a quiet click, then stood there with his back to the door for a second, eyes closed, like the simple act of bringing you into the house had cost him more control than he could spare.

When he looked at you again, there was nothing casual left in his face.

“I need you to be sure…” He said.

You stared at him.

“I’m not doing this if you’re just angry at me. And I’m not doing it if tomorrow you get to wake up and hate me for it.” His voice slightly failed him at the last sentence, vulnerability showing through the cracks.

Your throat tightened.

“I’m not angry.” You said quietly. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You’re his daughter,” Keanu said at last, the words rougher now, dragged up from somewhere he clearly hadn’t wanted to look too closely at. “You grew up in that house. I’ve known you since you were nine. He trusts me.”

Every sentence landed like a fresh bruise.

You folded your arms tighter around yourself, not because you were cold, but because suddenly you felt too exposed standing there under his gaze.

“And what?” You asked. “You think I don’t know any of that?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“I know what this looks like. I know why it’s complicated. But I’m not ten anymore, Keanu.”

His eyes shut for half a second, like hearing that out loud hurt.

“I know.” He said.

Keanu crossed the room in two slow steps, stopping just close enough that you had to tip your head back to keep looking at him.

“I know you’re not ten…” He said quietly. “Believe me, that’s part of the problem.”

Your pulse stumbled.

He lifted a hand like he meant to touch your face, then stopped halfway, fingers flexing in empty air.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you again…” He said, each word deliberate, like it hurt to let you have them. “And I hate how much.”

The room went silent around the confession.

You looked at him for one paused second, then reached up and took his hand before he could change his mind.

“Then kiss me like you mean it.”

Something in Keanu’s face gave way.

He kissed you, but this time it was different from the steps outside, slower, deeper, stripped of the shock and sharpened by intention. One hand settled at your waist, pulling you carefully against him, while the other slid into your hair, tilting your head just enough to make the kiss feel devastatingly unhurried.

You could feel the restraint still in him, even now. In the way he paused every few seconds like he was checking whether you’d pull away. In the way his thumb kept brushing your jaw, your neck, your cheek, as if touching you too quickly might break something fragile between you.

It only made you want him more.

When he finally drew back, both of you were breathing harder.

“Tell me to stop.” He said against your mouth.

You shook your head once.

Keanu kissed you again, and this time it felt like surrender.

The kiss deepened until it turned messy in the best way, all heat and breath and the soft scrape of his beard against your skin. While his big hands were still all over you, one of them was anchored to your waist.

You tentatively ran your fingers through his hair, eliciting a low groan from him. The sound echoed through your body, down to your core. You couldn’t help but moan in return.

His grip on you tightened.

Your other hand carefully lifted his shirt up, making space for your fingers to touch the skin of his abdomen. You traced his happy trail, tugging at his pants before one of his hands stopped yours.

“Christ…” Keanu retreated, but only slightly. Looking at you with those dark eyes, he slowly took his shirt off without breaking eye contact. It was as if he did, you would vanish.

Licking your lips instinctively, you ogled his toned torso so hard he let out a small laugh.

“You’re making this way too hard on me.” His voice was low as always, controlled, but full of something darker underneath it. Desire.

You smirked at him, deciding to take your hoodie off as well. Left with only the short shorts and flimsy tank top, you caught his expression as he finally looked at your body without restraint.

And oh, he looked at you. Really looked. Took in the sight of your skin, your thighs, your nipples peeking through the fabric, your undone hair.

Keanu let out a shaky breath. “Come here.”

You obliged, leaning closer to the taller man in front of you. Sliding your hands over his forearms, his biceps, and finally resting over his chest, you didn’t dare to look away from him.

Then his hands were on you again. He touched you like he’d been denying himself the right to for too long, and now that he finally had it, he didn’t want to waste a second of it.

Keanu guided you to his bedroom, making sure the blinds were closed. You got on your tiptoes to kiss him again, sloppier, sexier. He couldn’t help groaning again, caressing your back under your top, smoothing your skin with his calloused hands.

“Keanu…” You breathed, then ruined it on purpose, feeling the heat from his fingers drawing circles on your skin. “Don’t tease me, Uncle K.” You let the nickname slip out and immediately felt him tense up.

“God… this is a bad idea.” His eyes were closed, head low, hands still gripping your waist.

“Why?” You knew plenty of reasons why, but wanted to know from his point of view.

“I remember you as a little girl. Do you have any idea how wrong this makes me feel?” His tone was a little bit more desperate, but never out of control. “I’m double your age, I’m supposed to know better…”

Keanu was still looking down when you reached for his cheek, slowly dragging your thumb up and down his beard. Careful, gentle.

The softness of your touch caught him off guard, granting you a look from him. Keanu stared at your eyes for a moment, then at your lips. He traced your bottom lip with his fingers, analyzing you as if trying to memorize your features.

“But I’m not sorry enough to stop.” He said, barely above a whisper.

Something hot and reckless tightened low in your stomach.

“Good.” You murmured.

Then you kissed him.

Keanu made a low sound against your mouth, half groan, half sob, and his hands came back to your waist with far less hesitation this time, pulling you into him until there was no space left between your bodies. The kiss turned deeper almost immediately, rougher around the edges now, charged with the kind of need that had finally stopped pretending to be restraint at all.

He backed you toward the bed without breaking the kiss, one hand spreading over the small of your back to steady you when your legs hit the mattress. You felt his mouth leave yours only long enough to drag a line of heat along your jaw, your throat, the sensitive spot just below your ear that made your breath catch hard enough to embarrass you.

Keanu stilled at the sound.

“Jesus.” He muttered, forehead dropping briefly to your shoulder like he needed a second to survive the effect you were having on him.

Your fingers tightened in his hair.

“Keanu…”

His hands flexed at your waist.

“Tell me to stop.” He said again, voice rougher now, mouth still close enough to yours that every word brushed your skin. “Tell me now, because I’m not sure I’m going to ask a third time.”

Instead of answering, you pulled him back into a kiss, deeper this time, needier, impatient with how careful he was still trying to be. You reached for his pants, undoing them before pushing them lower.

The effect you were having on him was impossible to miss, and the sight of it sent a sharp, dizzying thrill straight through you. You could feel his breath when he exhaled, his hands stopping you from touching him just yet.

Instead, he ran his palms over your waist, your stomach, the curve of your breasts, still separated from your skin by the thin fabric of your tank top. You took the hint and pulled it over your head yourself.

His hands hesitated in midair, breath catching, but his eyes never left you. So you reached for them yourself and guided them back to your body, pressing his palms to your skin until the hesitation gave way to something hungrier. The first real squeeze of his hand over your breast pulled a sharp, humiliating little moan from you.

“Fuck, baby…”  The words sounded dragged out of him. Then Keanu nudged you gently backward onto the mattress and followed you down, bracing himself above you with one arm while the other settled at your waist again, like he still needed somewhere to hold on.

It made your heart pound even faster.

You kissed some more, and Keanu got comfortable enough to explore your body with his hands as he slotted himself between your legs.

One hand stayed firm at your jaw, holding you there while he kissed you in a delicious, deep way. With the other hand, he traveled your body, touching, squeezing.

When that hand finally found the hem of your shorts, lowering them past your thighs, a shaky little gasp slipped out before you could swallow it back

Keanu stilled immediately, eyes lifting to your face. “You okay?” He asked, voice rough but careful.

You nodded, a bit too enthusiastically, making him smile softly.

He pulled your shorts and panties down your legs, tossing them to the side of the bed. His mouth parted on a rough exhale as he looked at you, like the sight of you had knocked every coherent thought out of his head.

Then his hand found the inside of your thigh.

Not hurried. Not uncertain, either. Just warm and deliberate as it slid higher, his gaze lifting back to yours like he needed to see the answer there one more time.

“You tell me if anything feels wrong.” He said quietly.

Your throat tightened.

Nothing about this felt wrong. Complicated, yes. Dangerous, absolutely. But not wrong.

So you reached for him again, fingers catching at the back of his neck, pulling him down into another kiss, and felt the last of his restraint go with the soft, wrecked sound he made against your mouth.

“God…” He muttered, forehead dropping briefly to yours. “You’re going to ruin me.”

The words should have sounded teasing. They didn’t. They sounded like a confession.

When Keanu kissed you, it felt intoxicating. You couldn’t think of anything else. All that existed in that moment was your bodies together, the taste of each other, and the sounds you were making.

Your legs wrapped around his hips, inviting him closer. When you finally felt him rocking against your core, you completely dismantled.

“Ohh, hmm…” You moaned as you rolled your hips to gain more friction against his still clothed member, making a mess on the fabric.

“Christ…” His voice appeared shaky against your ear. “You’re already so wet…”

While kissing and sucking on your neck, Keanu took the opportunity to lower his underwear, revealing his hard cock to you. He pumped it a few times before sliding it between your folds, up and down teasingly.

“Oh, p-please, K…” You ran your hands over his back, massaging his skin before grabbing the sides of his face, forcing him to look at you. “I need you…”

He closed his eyes for a stabilizing moment, but when he opened them, you could see the desire mixing with desperation before he let out a breathy “Fucking hell.”

But to your surprise, he didn’t move his hips. Instead, he lowered one of his hands to your most sensitive spot, gathering some slick with his fingers before drawing circles on your clit.

You practically saw stars at that, throwing your head back in absolute bliss as you moaned out loud.

Keanu just watched you. Mesmerized at every single expression on your face, every movement of your body while you writhed underneath him.

He hummed in approval when you opened your eyes at him, observing him as he observed you. His lips were slightly parted and swollen from kissing you, eyes completely dark with desire, and hair disheveled. “Good girl.” He said, his voice lower than usual.

Damn. That shouldn’t have hit you the way it did, spreading a tingling sensation down your body that even made your vision go blurry. You were so turned on.

“Keanu, please… I-I’m going to… ah!” And you weren’t lying, your climax took over your body in waves of pleasure so strong it made your legs shake. Thankfully, his big hand was there to steady you, the pad of his fingers still moving slowly through your aftershock.

“Shh, I’ve got you.” Leaning down to give you a quick kiss, Keanu noticed your eyes were still closed from the orgasm. “Look at me.”

You opened your eyes just so he could watch your reaction as he pushed himself inside you.

His dick slowly made its way up inside your cunt, stretching you out deliciously. Keanu was a big man, but so gentle that it almost hurt. The grip at your waist tightened, holding you in place while a rough exhale left him as he looked at you.

“Oh my God…! Hmm, feels so good…!” Your trembling voice giving you away.

At your reaction, something in him seemed to click. You could pinpoint the moment he realized that was a point of no return.

So he gave in.

Keanu started rocking his hips slowly at first, indulging in the feeling of you. His rhythm was erratic, but soon turned relentless as he watched how good he was making you feel.

“You have no idea what you do to me, baby.” His voice almost a growl beside your ear, now. He had adjusted himself so he could kiss your mouth, ears, and neck.

“Please, fuck me, Keanu…!” Your plea didn’t go unnoticed, because with one swift movement, he had lifted your thigh with one hand and grabbed a fistful of your hair with the other. The action made you squirm, eyes almost tearing up from absolute pleasure.

A sound almost like a deep purr came out of his mouth as he fucked you, hard, fast, and desperate.

“Agh…! My girl…” He sobbed.

His grip on you tightened, sending electricity down your spine. He didn’t dare to look at you anymore, so you knew he was close.

“K… It’s ok…” You breathed out.

You could feel him inside and around you, could feel his thrusts reaching your sweet spot, his breath on your neck as he grunted one last time before cumming in you, could feel him muttering your name over and over until he was done.

Keanu collapsed by your side, and for a long moment after, neither of you moved.

The room was quiet except for the sound of breathing trying to steady itself, for the faint rustle of sheets as Keanu shifted just enough to pull you closer. His arm stayed wrapped around your waist, heavy and warm, his hand resting against your stomach like it belonged there now, like letting go too soon would make everything that had just happened feel sharper than it already did.

You kept your face tucked against his shoulder, listening to the uneven rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

It was strange how quickly the urgency had dissolved into something softer. Not less overwhelming, just quieter. The kind of quiet that made room for everything else. For reality. For consequences. For the fact that the world outside this bedroom still existed, and your father was asleep in the house next door.

Keanu’s fingers moved against your side in a slow, absent stroke.

“You okay?” He asked, voice coarse.

The question might have made you smile under any other circumstances. As it was, all it did was tighten something warm and painful in your chest.

“You ask that a lot.”

A small pause.

“Yeah…” He murmured. “Get used to it.”

That actually made you laugh, softly, the sound muffled against his skin.

His hand slid up your back, smoothing over it once, twice, in a gesture so instinctively gentle it nearly undid you more than anything else had. When you tipped your head back enough to look at him, his eyes were already on you.

There was no distance in them now. No restraint, no carefully arranged indifference, none of the practiced composure he’d been wearing for days.

Just exhaustion. Heat. Something almost unbearably tender.

Keanu brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his thumb lingering at your temple.

“You sure?” He asked.

You held his gaze. “I’m sure.”

He nodded once, but it didn’t look like relief. It looked like he was trying to accept an answer that only made things more complicated.

Silence settled between you again, not uncomfortable, but full. His eyes dropped from yours after a while, drifting up toward the ceiling. His hand, still resting against your back, had gone still.

You felt the shift immediately.

“What?” You asked quietly.

“Nothing.”

You pushed yourself up onto one elbow, enough to see his face properly. “That’s not true.”

Keanu let out a breath through his nose, the ghost of a humorless laugh, and dragged his free hand over his face.

You waited.

For a second, you thought he might keep pretending. Then he looked at the dark ceiling again and said, very calmly, “Your father’s going to kill me.”

You stared at him.

Of all the things he could have said, somehow that was the one that made you want to laugh and kiss him at the same time.

“That’s what you’re thinking about?”

Keanu turned his head on the pillow to look at you, one eyebrow lifting.

“Should I not be?”

“You probably should.” You admitted.

“Glad we agree.”

There was something tired in the dry edge of his voice, but it didn’t hide what was underneath. You could feel it in the way his hand tightened faintly at your waist. In the way he kept looking at you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your face before morning had the chance to ruin everything.

You studied him for a moment.

“That’s not the only thing you’re thinking about.”

It wasn’t a question.

Keanu’s mouth flattened slightly. He looked away again, jaw tightening once before he spoke.

“No.”

You shifted closer without thinking, the sheet slipping against your skin as you moved. “Then what is it?”

He was quiet for long enough that you wondered if you’d pushed too far. Then his gaze dropped to you again, slower this time, more careful.

“I’m thinking…” He said, “That I should probably feel worse about this than I do.”

The honesty of it hit you harder than you expected.

He didn’t say it like a joke. Didn’t say it lightly, or with any trace of self-satisfaction. If anything, he sounded frustrated with himself. As if he’d expected guilt to come rushing in and wash the whole thing cleanly into regret, and instead found himself here, still holding you, still looking at your mouth like he wanted to do it all over again.

You swallowed.

“Do you?”

“Feel worse?” Keanu’s expression changed, something raw and tired moving beneath it. “No.”

The word landed between you with a weight all its own.

He reached up and touched your face again, his fingers warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing once under your eye in a gesture so gentle it almost hurt.

Your chest tightened.

For a second, neither of you said anything. The room seemed to shrink around the silence, around the shape of his hand against your face and the confession sitting bare between you.

You looked at him carefully. “Do you regret it?”

Keanu’s eyes searched yours as if he were trying to figure out whether you really wanted the answer, whether either of you was ready for it.

Then his hand slid into your hair, cupping the back of your head as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Slow. Deliberate. Almost helpless in its softness.

“No.” He said quietly against your skin. “And that scares the hell out of me.”

You closed your eyes.

Something about hearing it out loud made the whole night settle more firmly into your bones. This wasn’t a mistake he was already trying to walk back. It wasn’t a lapse in judgment he’d dismiss in the morning and bury under guilt and good intentions.

He actually meant it.

You opened your eyes and looked up at him. “You know that doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”

Keanu huffed a laugh, but it didn’t quite become one. “Wasn’t trying to make you feel better.”

“No?”

“No.” His thumb traced the line of your cheek once more. “I was trying to be honest.”

That shut you up.

You watched him in the dark, taking in the tired lines around his eyes, the way his hair had fallen loose over his forehead, the tension still lingering in his mouth like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you again or start panicking properly. He looked older like this somehow. Not in a bad way. Just unguarded. Stripped down to something more honest than you were used to seeing.

It made your chest ache.

“What happens now?” you asked.

The question was barely louder than the sound of the sheets shifting beneath you, but Keanu heard it anyway.

His expression turned rueful.

“Now?” He repeated. “Now I spend the rest of the night trying to figure out how I’m supposed to sit across from your father tomorrow without looking guilty.”

Despite everything, you smiled.

“You already look guilty.”

“That’s because I am guilty.”

“You know what I mean.”

Keanu’s mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed serious.

“Yeah.” His hand slipped from your face to the back of your neck, holding you there gently. “I know.”

You waited, because it felt like there was more. Because with him, there usually was.

He exhaled slowly.

“I don’t want this to turn into something we pretend didn’t happen.” He said it carefully, like each word had to be chosen before it could be trusted. “And I don’t want to treat you like a mistake I made in the middle of the night because I couldn’t keep my head straight.”

Your breath caught.

Keanu’s gaze held yours, steady and unflinching.

“But I also don’t know what the hell we do with it.” His fingers tightened lightly at the nape of your neck. “Not with your father ten steps away. Not with me knowing exactly how bad this could get.”

You should have had something clever to say. Something light, maybe. Something that would ease the pressure building in your chest. Instead, all you managed was the truth.

“I don’t want you to pretend it didn’t happen either.”

Something in his face softened at that.

He pulled you closer until your forehead rested against his chest again, his chin brushing the top of your head as he wrapped both arms around you. The embrace was warm and close and a little desperate, as if he needed the contact as much as you did.

“You make this very hard on me.” He murmured into your hair.

You smiled faintly against his skin. “You’ve mentioned.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

That earned you a quiet exhale that might have been a laugh if he weren’t still so tangled up in his own head.

For a while, neither of you said anything else. You lay there listening to the night outside the bedroom window, to the occasional creak of the house settling around you, to the slow return of Keanu’s breathing as his hand moved lazily up and down your back.

It should have felt strange, lying there in his bed after everything, wrapped up in him while the rest of the world slept just beyond the walls.

Instead, it felt troubling in a much quieter way.

Not because of what had happened. Because of how little either of you wanted it to be the last time.

Eventually, Keanu pressed another kiss to your hair and said, so softly you almost missed it, “You should probably go before sunrise.”

You lifted your head to look at him. “Trying to get rid of me already?”

His expression did something complicated.

“No.” His hand came up to cup your jaw again, thumb brushing over your cheek with maddening tenderness. “If I were trying to get rid of you, I’d be doing a much better job of it.”

You laughed, and this time he did too, though the sound was quieter than usual, frayed at the edges.

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth.

The laughter disappeared from both of you at once.

“You really need to stop looking at me like that.” He muttered.

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t understand how much trouble you’re in.”

Your pulse kicked.

You tilted your chin up. “Maybe I don’t.”

Keanu stared at you for one dangerous second, then leaned in and kissed you again, slower this time, with the kind of reluctant hunger that felt even more intimate than before. When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his voice low enough to disappear into the dark.

“That…” He said, “is exactly the issue.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You woke before the sun did.

For a few disoriented seconds, all you registered was warmth. The weight of a heavy arm across your waist. The slow rise and fall of someone else’s breathing against the back of your neck. The unfamiliar mattress beneath you, softer than yours, and the lingering ache low in your body that brought the entire night crashing back with humiliating efficiency.

Keanu was awake.

You felt it before you saw it, the subtle shift of his fingers against your stomach, the way his breathing changed when you moved. When you turned carefully onto your back, he was already looking at you.

In the gray half-dark of the room, his face was softer than usual. Sleep-rumpled hair, beard shadowed by the dim light, one arm still thrown over your waist like some part of him had forgotten he was supposed to be more careful than this.

“Hey.” He said quietly.

Your throat felt strangely tight. “Hey.”

For a second, neither of you moved. The room was still, heavy with the kind of silence that only exists after something irreversible.

Then Keanu’s hand slid up your side, slow and absent, like he was checking that you were real.

“You okay?” He asked, voice still rough with sleep.

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “You ask that like every twenty minutes.”

“Yeah.” His thumb brushed your waist once beneath the sheet. “I’m not planning to stop.”

—

By the time you’d found your shorts somewhere near the foot of the bed and pulled your tank top back over your head, the room had started to pale with the first warning signs of morning.

Keanu stood from the bed and reached for your hoodie from the floor before you could.

“Thanks.” You murmured, taking it from him.

He didn’t let go immediately.

You looked up.

The expression on his face was unreadable in the dim light, too tired to be guarded, too conflicted to be calm.

“You should go now.” He said at last, quiet enough that the words almost didn’t sound real.

You huffed a soft laugh. “How romantic.”

Keanu’s mouth twitched, but the look in his eyes didn’t change.

“If your father sees you leaving my house at sunrise, I’m gonna have to fake my own death.”

That pulled a smile out of you despite yourself. “So dramatic.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

He exhaled, dragged a hand through his hair, then stepped closer without warning and tucked a strand of yours behind your ear.

The gesture was so gentle it made your chest ache.

“I’m not trying to get rid of you.” He said, gaze fixed on your face. “I’m trying very hard not to make this worse before breakfast.”

—

Before saying your official goodbyes, Keanu leaned down to kiss you again, soft and modest, completely bittersweet.

You left his house like you had entered, barefoot. The cold underneath the soles of your feet grounded you, waking you up from the dream-like state you were in.

Before entering your home, you decided to look back. He was still there on the porch, waiting for you to go home safely. He waved, and you waved back before finally going inside.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Sneaking back into your own house felt significantly less dignified than leaving it had.

Every floorboard seemed louder than usual. Every shadow in the hallway looked vaguely accusatory. By the time you made it back to your room and shut the door behind you, your pulse was still hammering hard enough to make sleep impossible.

You managed maybe an hour of it anyway.

When you came downstairs later, freshly showered and trying very hard to look like someone who had spent the night in her own bed and not in the house next door, your father was already in the kitchen making coffee.

He looked up as you walked in.

“You look terrible.” He said cheerfully.

You stopped short. “Good morning to you too.”

He took a sip of coffee. “Rough night?”

You nearly choked on absolutely nothing.

“Why would you ask me that?”

Your father gave you a look over the rim of his mug. “Because you look like you got hit by a truck.”

You opened the fridge mostly to avoid having to answer. “Maybe I just didn’t sleep well.”

“Mm-hm.”

You hated that sound.

Before you could think of a safer subject, he added, “Keanu texted me, by the way.”

Your entire body went rigid.

“What about?”

Your father either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Said he found one of my old records in his garage and wants to bring it over later.” He reached for the sugar. “I told him to come by for dinner if he wants.”

You stared at the orange juice in your hand like it had personally betrayed you.

Of course he did.

—

You lasted until mid-afternoon before giving up on pretending you could stay away from the house next door.

Not because you had anything useful to say. Mostly because the silence was making you insane.

Keanu was in the garage when you found him, half-hidden behind a stack of unopened boxes, sleeves pushed up, reading the back of an old vinyl record.

He looked up at the sound of your footsteps.

And froze. Just enough that you noticed.

For one stupid second, neither of you said anything.

Then Keanu set the record down on top of a box and wiped his hands on his jeans, already looking wary in a way that annoyed you on sight.

“Hey.” He said.

You crossed your arms. “Don’t ‘hey’ me.”

One corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. “That bad, huh?”

“You tell me.” You leaned against the open garage frame and looked at him properly. “Are you going to avoid me again?”

The amusement disappeared from his face.

“No.”

You held his gaze. “Good. Because if you slept with me and then decided to go back to acting like I’m a problem you can solve by not making eye contact, I’m going to key your car.”

Keanu stared at you for a beat, then let out a short laugh and scrubbed a hand over his jaw.

“That’s fair.”

The garage fell quiet around you.

Sunlight spilled in through the open door, catching dust in the air between you. Somewhere down the street, a lawnmower started up. The normality of it felt vaguely insulting.

Keanu leaned back against the workbench behind him and folded his arms.

“I’m not going to pretend last night didn’t happen.” He said. “And I’m not going to insult you by calling it a mistake.”

Something in your chest loosened, just slightly.

“But…” You said.

His eyes flicked shut for half a second. “Yeah. But.”

You waited.

Keanu looked at you for a long moment before continuing, and when he did, his voice was quieter than before.

“I meant what I said last night.” He glanced toward the side yard, toward your house beyond it, then back at you. “I don’t know what the hell we do with this. I don’t know how to be in the same room as your father and not feel like I’m lying to him every time I open my mouth.”

You swallowed.

“And I don’t know how to look at you now and pretend I don’t want to do exactly what I did last night all over again.” The words came out rougher than the rest. More honest. “So yeah. That’s the problem.”

You stared at him, pulse suddenly unsteady.

“What are you saying?”

Keanu pushed off the workbench and took a step closer, close enough that your body reacted before your pride could stop it.

“I’m saying…” He said carefully, “That if this keeps happening, it can’t be careless.”

Your breath caught. “If this keeps happening?” You repeated.

Keanu’s jaw tightened, as if he knew exactly how much he’d just admitted.

“You know what I mean.”

“No.” You said softly. “I want to hear you say it.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and whatever he found in your face seemed to cost him something.

“I don’t want last night to be the only time.” He said.

The air left your lungs all at once.

Keanu exhaled hard through his nose, like the confession had physically hurt on its way out.

“But I need you to understand what that means.” His voice dropped lower. “No games. No doing this because you’re pissed at me. No pretending this is just sex when it clearly isn’t. And absolutely nothing in your father’s house, or where he can walk in and murder me with a beer bottle.”

Despite everything, a laugh escaped you.

Keanu’s mouth twitched. “I’m not joking.”

“I know.”

He took another step closer. Now there was barely any space between you.

“I’m serious.” He said again, quieter this time. “If we do this, we do it carefully.”

You tilted your head. “That sounds suspiciously like a confirmation.”

Keanu’s hand came up to your waist before he seemed fully aware of moving it there.

“It’s not a confirmation.” He murmured. “It’s me trying very hard to be responsible for at least five consecutive minutes.”

You looked down at his hand, then back up at him.

“And how’s that going for you?”

Keanu let out a breath that sounded a lot like defeat.

“Not great.”

You looked down at his hand still resting against your waist, large and warm and very much not helping his argument, then back up at him.

Keanu’s jaw tightened. “You really need to stop looking at me like that when I’m trying to make good decisions.”

A smile tugged at your mouth. “And if I don’t?”

That was all it took.

Something in his expression shifted, subtle but final. Like the last thread of restraint had snapped without either of you hearing it happen. His hand slid from your waist to your hip, fingers tightening just enough to make your pulse jump.

For one suspended second, neither of you moved.

Then Keanu swore under his breath and pulled you into him.

The kiss landed hard enough to steal your balance.

One second you were standing there pretending this conversation was still about rules and caution and being sensible, and the next his mouth was on yours, warm and rough and utterly at odds with every careful word that had come out of him in the last five minutes.

You made a small sound against his lips, startled more by the force of it than the kiss itself, and Keanu’s hand tightened on your hip as if to steady both of you.

It wasn’t like the night before. That kiss had tasted like surrender.

This one tasted like frustration. Like wanting. Like a man who had spent the entire conversation trying to build a wall with his bare hands and had finally gotten tired of watching it collapse.

Keanu backed you up two short steps until your lower back hit the side of the workbench. The sound it made against the wall was embarrassingly loud in the garage’s quiet.

He pulled away just far enough to look at you, both hands braced on either side of your hips now, his breathing already uneven.

“This…” He said, voice rough, “is exactly why I said we need to be careful.”

You were still trying to catch your breath.

“And yet...” You murmured.

His eyes narrowed.

“And yet…” He repeated, leaning in just enough that his mouth brushed yours when he spoke. “You keep looking at me like you want me to forget every smart decision I’ve ever made.”

“Maybe I do.”

Keanu closed his eyes for half a second like that answer physically hurt him.

When he opened them again, there was something almost resigned in his expression. Not defeat exactly. Something worse. Acceptance.

“Jesus Christ.” He muttered.

Then he kissed you again.

Slower this time, but somehow even more urgent.

One of his hands came up to your jaw, thumb sliding along your cheek as he tilted your face back, kissing you with a kind of deliberate restraint that felt far more intimate than if he’d just lost control completely. Like he was trying to keep this small and failing on purpose.

Your fingers curled into the front of his T-shirt before you could stop them.

Keanu made a low sound against your mouth and pressed closer for one treacherous second before tearing himself back with visible effort.

He rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“Go home.” He said.

You let out a breathless laugh. “You really need a new line.”

His mouth twitched, but he didn’t move away.

“And you…” He said quietly. “Need to stop making it impossible to mean it.”

The words settled somewhere deep in your chest, warm and dangerous.

Keanu lifted his head just enough to look at you one last time, and whatever he saw on your face made his judgment shift, his expression soften in a way that almost undid you.

“Tonight.” He said after a beat, voice low. “Come over after your dad goes to sleep.”

Your heart kicked so hard it physically hurt.

He stepped back before you could answer, putting a sliver of air between you again, though his hand lingered at your waist for one last second before dropping away.

“Now go.” He said, rougher this time. “Before I stop pretending I have self-control.”

You stared at him for half a second longer, pulse racing, mouth still tingling from the kiss.

Then you turned and walked out of the garage before your legs could embarrass you.

You made it all the way across the yard before allowing yourself to look back.

Keanu was still standing exactly where you’d left him, one hand braced against the workbench, watching you go like letting you leave had cost him something.

That should have made you nervous.

Instead, it made you smile all the way back to your front door.

—

Imagine meeting Thomas Anderson through work, firmly shaking his hand as you first meet. You two worked next to each other in your respective cubicles, hardly ever talking to one another.

Imagine catching glimpses of him whenever you stood up to go somewhere, unable to contain the ever-growing crush you were developing. He was just too handsome and smart, you know?

Imagine being oblivious to the fact that Thomas was obsessed with you. The way you dressed, talked, walked, smelled… everything enticed him in a way he couldn’t resist. But he was just too shy, too awkward to approach you. He felt doomed.

Imagine becoming so worried about Thomas’ sudden disappearance that you began asking your coworkers if they knew where he might be, only to be met with “I dunno”s. You finally gave up after a while, but he never left your thoughts for one moment.

Imagine Thomas thinking of you when he finally exited the matrix, not being able to let you go. He had to tell you the truth, bring you to reality with him. It took months of planning, of observing you from afar, but he would make it work… he had to have you.

Imagine starting to grow paranoid. You felt like you were being watched, taking notice of shadows in the corner of your eyes. Sometimes you could swear you saw Thomas in the crowd, but he would vanish whenever you double-checked. It was driving you crazy.

Imagine having to take shelter in a phone booth on a rainy day, only to encounter Thomas already standing inside. He looked different, all black outfit and cool sunglasses that matched his confident appearance. Damn, he looked hot.

Imagine being so fucking confused when he started talking. Something about a matrix and how reality wasn’t what it seemed. But when Neo, as he now reintroduced himself, offered to show you what he meant, you couldn’t say no.

Imagine Neo being so gentle with you, offering you the blue and red pills respectively, and explaining everything you needed and wanted to know before you took the red one. You seemed so curious, and that was already a good sign.

Imagine finally waking up. You yanked the cables out of your skin, trying to scream but failing as your atrophied lungs tried to breathe for the first time. A giant claw grabbed you from the pool of goo you were drowning in and pulled you up towards the light.

Imagine feeling ashamed of your naked form, although Neo quickly covered your body as he explained why you were infested with needles. You were so scared, absolutely terrified, yet he never left your side.

Imagine recovering completely and being able to walk again. Everything felt strange, and part of you was still in denial, but you had Neo by your side which made things easier. He would hold your hand, guide you through the ship while introducing you to the crew.

Imagine having so much knowledge downloaded into your brain. Neo insisted on having you by his side whenever he entered the matrix, and that resulted in you having to know all basic combat skills to advanced martial arts. He would have fun while seeing you try your best at kung fu, but you both knew he would always win.

Imagine getting caught off guard when, while you were both alone, Neo caressed your face and whispered in your ear: “I’m so glad I finally have you all for myself now.” ; He had a look in his eyes… it made you shiver.

Imagine joking with him about the fact that you were now bald. You still had hair in the matrix, of course, but in the real world you were still a newborn. Neo would brush your scalp, telling you how beautiful you were nonetheless.

Imagine Neo being so patient with you, respecting your time and boundaries. He would flirt occasionally, but never impose himself on you. He would wait for you to come to him, finally confessing your feelings… to which he responded with “Yes, I know, my love.”

Imagine kissing Neo for the first time. It was so tender, but full of need. He had lots of self-control, but when it came to you, his discipline went out the window. Neo would grab you by the waist, pulling you closer and closer until your bodies fully collided, causing you both to moan in each other’s mouths.

Imagine making love to him, taking your clothes off desperately until you were naked on his bed. The space was small, but it wasn’t a problem, he stayed on top of you the whole time. Neo would grunt about how much he needed you, how long he had been waiting for that exact moment. You were special to him, and he made sure to make that very clear to you.

Imagine being his favorite, and everybody knew that. No one dared to mess with you because it meant they were messing with him, and they weren’t stupid enough to do that. Bothering you was never a reality, though, because the crew liked you and they were happy for you two.

Imagine having Neo as your partner. He was warm and caring and sometimes overly protective, but you loved him… and he loved you too. Neo loved you so much he saved you from a world of lies, bringing you to life to make you his companion, and you were forever grateful to him. From then on, you’d be his, and he’d be yours.

—

When you arrived in Erid, Ryland Grace didn't know whether to thank the heavens or pretend to be dead so he wouldn't have to deal with it all. He hadn't seen a human in so long, so he was thrilled but obviously wary.

You and your colleague Dan were sent on a mission to gather information about the planet and its inhabitants, but also to bring Grace back. That idea did not please the middle school teacher at all.

Grace thanked you profoundly, but ultimately decided to decline your offer. He had found a home in Erid, and all eridians had already welcomed him on their planet.

"What do you mean?" Dan said with a look of complete confusion on his face. "You don't want to go back? To your home planet? We came all the way here to bring you back!" Confusion turned into indignation as you suddenly found yourself in between the two, putting a hand on Grace's shoulder.

"Dan, it's alright... that's not our only objective here, remember? Grace can stay, if he so chooses." You looked at Ryland, offering a smile that he shyly offered back. "It's ok."

"What do you mean it's ok?!" Dan continued, now fully screaming at you. That was the queue Grace needed to scoot away, leaving you to deal with the angered pilot.

The touch on his shoulder, the smile you gave him... that was enough to make him like you, thinking about your calmness and how understanding you were to him.

At that point, Ryland concluded that You = Good and Dan = Bad, so he gave up on trying to befriend the other astronaut and focused on you instead. He found himself craving your attention more and more, and that scared his timid heart.

"Hm, so... you're a scientist?" Grace asked while you were collecting samples from the beach the eridians made for him.

"Yes! I'm a biologist, just like you, Dr. Grace."

Dr. Grace. That made him blush for some reason. It had been way too long since someone gave him any type of recognition, and you were just so... nice to him.

Ryland showed you all of the environment Rocky and his family had built, explaining to you about the atmosphere and how they managed to mimic Earth's fresh air. You found all that very fascinating, but had to admit Grace's presence was, to say the least, very endearing. You were captivated by him.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

A couple of months had passed since your arrival, and your friendship with Grace had only grown with time. You, Grace, Rocky, and Adrian hung out so much that it turned into a routine!

The thing was, you and Ryland understood each other without even saying anything, just your expressions were enough to communicate that something funny (Rocky telling a joke) or annoying (Dan saying something stupid) was happening.

It was a breath of fresh air to finally be understood, to finally be seen.

In the meantime, Dan got himself occupied with your ship, calculating the trip back and making adjustments on the panels... things you didn't quite understand.

One day, the three of you had to reunite. Dan was grumpy as usual, but Rocky was there next to Grace to cheer things up.

"And that's how Grace Rocky saved stars!" Rocky concluded the story, retelling all of their journey.

You looked at Grace in absolute awe, to discover that he was already deciphering your expressions. You smiled.

"That is amazing, Rocky! Whoa, you both are so brave... you are heroes." You claimed, noticing Ryland looking down at his fidgeting hands.

"Rocky gave me hope... a reason, y'know?" Grace seemed nervous when he looked at you again, and as you were about to reassure him, you were cut off by your colleague.

"So humanity wasn't a reason enough?" Dan had a sarcastic tone that irritated you profoundly. Before Grace could speak, you had already formed a sentence.

"Not if he was surrounded by pricks like you." You got up and left, suddenly triggered by your coworker's insensitivity.

"Bad. Bad. Statement." Rocky said to Grace as they both watched Dan roll his eyes and leave in the opposite direction you did. "Grace fix. Question?"

"Yeah, I'll try, buddy." The teacher stood up, taking a deep breath before going after you.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You were at the beach next to Grace's house, sitting on the sand as you watched the waves crash by. You seemed like you've been crying.

"May I?" He calmly said.

You nodded before Grace finally sat next to you.

"What happened? I mean, I appreciate you defending me, but you seemed really upset." He continued, adjusting his glasses.

"It's just..." You contemplated telling some ridiculous lie, but ended up telling him the truth. "I didn't have a reason either. Don't have a family, a loved one, friends, nothing. It's just me. And sometimes it gets lonely, but we have to do what we need to do, even if it makes us scared."

You paused to look at him, his pretty blue eyes shining bright through the lenses, blond hair messy with the fabricated wind. He never looked so beautiful.

"Then why did you come here? Don't get me wrong, I really appreciate that you did, but it had to be a big sacrifice for you... You lost what, 10 years of your life on Earth?"

"Yeah... I mean, Stratt said I was best suited for the mission. Dan disagreed, but I was chosen anyway."

"Wait. Stratt? Like, Eva Stratt?" Grace said in disbelief.

"Yes! She's a little older now, but her leadership is still admirable. She also said..." You paused, finding the best words to say. "She said I reminded her of you. She told me to take good care of you."

A smile formed on Ryland's face before tears started shedding from his eyelids. He quickly wiped them up, sniffing a bit as he did. "T-Thank you, (y/n). I really—"

"Grace! (y/n)!" Rocky came running in your direction, seeming agitated. "Dan left with rocket! Statement!"

You and Grace looked at each other in horror, getting up immediately and running towards the base Adrian had made for your research. Upon arriving there, you found the place completely empty.

"He... he took all of my stuff." You whispered in disbelief. "That son of a bitch!"

"Wait, did he actually leave you here?" Ryland said, holding both of your arms to steady you.

"Y-Yes... I'm, I'm so sorry, Grace..." You mumbled, eyes filling up with tears.

"Wait, no. No, don't be sorry, (y/n), it's ok." He pulled you into a hug, whispering affirmations into your ear. "It's going to be ok, hm?"

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

After you calmed down, Grace took you into his house and made you some tea, sitting right next to you.

"I still got the original Hail Mary ship in orbit, it's fueled and everything..." He said to you, and something in his eyes seemed a bit sad. "If you'd like to go home, which I would understand, you can... just so you know."

You contemplated the idea, but at last decided to express something you wanted to say since you met Grace. "If it isn't an inconvenience for you, I would like to stay here."

His eyes brightened with joy, and he couldn't help but laugh at your statement. "Inconvenience?! You?! (y/n), you're the best thing that could've happened to me."

And then you both laughed, the skin of your fingers touched each other's as sizzling energy rushed to the contact. You felt like teenagers again, nervous at the connection.

"You're also the best thing that could've happened to me, Dr. Grace." Your brave heart decided to turn the modest contact into a full hand-holding situation, and for your delight, he reciprocated.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Rocky and Adrian had expanded the house so you could live with Grace, everything was going great, but you still had nightmares.

You woke up with a mixture of a scream and an inhale, trying to breathe as you recovered from the bad dream. Three knocks were heard from your door shortly after, it was Grace.

"(y/n)? Are you alright?" Ryland was wearing his pj's, barefoot, and no glasses.

"Y-Yes, I'm fine. Just a nightmare." You said sitting up in bed, trying to catch a glimpse of his expression in the dark. "Sorry I woke you up."

"No, no... that's fine. Wanna talk about it?" Grace sat by your side, tucking his feet in the covers.

"Hm..." You were a little embarrassed, but trusted him enough to tell him about what was bothering you. "Since I was drafted to my mission, I keep having this dream. I go to space, and I end up outside the ship in my suit, all alone. There's no one there to save me, no one there to help me get inside the ship again. I'm stranded, helpless, and lonely..."

Grace listened to you carefully, holding your hand while you poured your heart out.

"That's the way I felt before I met you. Now, I don't feel so alone, but... I still get these nightmares for some reason." You squeezed his palm as you smiled half-heartedly, hoping he would understand.

A few moments passed in comfortable silence before Grace spoke timidly. "Maybe if we slept next to each other, y'know... in the same bed?" It was too dark to analyze your expression, so he quickly proposed another solution. "Or I could watch you sleep, as eridians do! Wait, that's a bit creepy, isn't it?"

You laughed, leaning in to give him a little kiss on the cheek. "It's not creepy, but I still prefer sleeping by your side."

If you had night vision, you would be able to see him blushing profoundly. "Ok, ok, I'm happy with that conclusion! Scoot over."

And so you did, lying on your bed facing Ryland as he made himself comfy. The tips of your noses were almost touching, and you could feel each other's breath as he found your hand under the covers.

"Good night, (y/n). I'm... I'm glad I have you here with me..."

You could tell he was already half asleep, but it didn't matter.

"Good night, Grace. I'm happy I have you as well. You're... very special."

Drawing circles with your thumb on the skin of his hand, you slowly drifted to sleep. But before you closed your eyes, you could faintly tell the outline of a very big smile on Ryland's face.

—

Your father wasn’t a bad man. In fact, he treated you like a princess, and that was what pissed Lex off so much—that and the fact you didn’t share the same mother, making your half-brother that more resentful.

Lex was the favorite; he was the firstborn son and, of course, inherited all of dad’s empire. You, on the other hand, were the younger daughter… and that granted you all the affection.

But because you were a girl, you were looked down upon. Dad’s sexism transferred into Lex like a virus, who underestimated your potential and treated you like a spoiled brat.

Unfortunately for them, you were also a genius. You followed your brother’s steps, went to the same university as him, worked the same shifts… and that infuriated Lex.

In fact, Lex hated you. Hated how spoiled you were, how your dad gave you so much attention, how successful you were turning out to be…

Something in him wanted you gone forever, yet he couldn’t live without you. Who was he supposed to irritate? Making your life a living hell was what motivated him, after all.

So, to his delight and demise, when you came knocking on his door one particular night, he didn’t think twice before answering.

“What do you want?” He spat in a stressed tone, looking you up and down. You were dressed in a short dress and a coat, your hair was tied back, and you were wearing makeup. You looked stunning.

“My date ghosted me. Do you have wine?” You entered his flat without waiting for his invitation, tossing your purse on the sofa and click-clacking your heels all the way to the kitchen.

The tension was palpable. You were always a little nervous around him, not because you were afraid, but because you admired him so much… in ways you tried hard to repress.

You admired his genius, his strength, his looks… everything about Lex Luthor transpired power. He was magnetic, and unfortunately, even though he was insufferable, you were drawn to him. You may have had your dad's regard, but you always needed more... you needed Lex.

Meanwhile, Lex was occupied thinking of all the ways he could hurt you. He couldn't admit he was attracted to you, so he transformed all his sick desire into hate. His obsession grew darker each passing day, to the point he spent his free time fantasizing about you in the most dire and humiliating scenarios... it turned him on.

“You came all the way to my home just to piss me off, like usual.” His voice came out like venom while he followed your steps, unable to resist the temptation to tease you. “Besides, since when do you have a romantic life?”

“Oh, Lex… we’re both adults here, c’mon.” You searched for wine, but didn’t find any. “You know I’m trying.”

It was then that Lex couldn’t help but confess his secret little knowledge. “That guy only wanted to have sex with you, anyway.”

You slowly turned to look at him, incredulous at the fact that he probably had hacked your phone… again.

“And maybe I wanted to have sex with him too.” You said, crossing your arms and staring at him.

“My dad didn’t raise a slut.” He harshly retorted, walking closer to you.

“Your dad? Fuck, Lex. What if I am a slut, huh? What does that have to do with you?” Your voice grew louder suddenly as you got angrier.

“Unfortunately, your reputation is tied to mine.” He said through gritted teeth, growing closer until you were basically trapped between him and the wall.

“And why do you care so—!” His big hand was suddenly on your throat, cutting you off mid-sentence.

“I don’t care.” He lied. “I couldn’t give less of a shit about you, so don’t throw a tantrum now.”

He only squeezed hard enough to be a warning, but that changed once you started talking again.

“I despise you, Lex. You’re a perverted asshole!” You started to choke by the end, as he put more force on your neck.

“And you are a pedantic little cunt.” Lex smiled maliciously, one hand choking you while the other caressed your face.

You tried to move his hand away, but it wouldn’t budge, so you started laughing.

“And what is so funny?” He angrily asked.

“Nothing you could do would actually harm me, Lex… maybe our dad didn’t raise a slut, but he sure did raise a masochist.”

To endure all of your dad's and brother’s bullshit, you had to grow quite a thick skin. You began to resignify humiliation into something more twisted, something more satisfactory.

"Why don't you choke me a little harder, huh? I bet you can’t hurt me more than what you already had." You finally said, looking right into his eyes.

That last sentence made him fume. Lex held your neck with both hands now, practically raising you to his eye level.

"Oh, but I can definitely try." Finally choking you, he put almost all of his force onto your body.

It hurt really bad, and you couldn't fully scream... but you also couldn't help but smile and squeal in pleasure. You finally had all of his attention on you, his fury in all of its glory... his hands on you.

No previous argument between you two had gotten that heated, so you kept wondering... why now?

Lex only got angrier at your reaction, squeezing harder until you grew red in the face. You gasped for air, and when he thought you were almost passing out, he released you abruptly. You fell to the ground with a thud, and after you gained some breath, you let out a quiet, hoarse laugh.

"You are a freak..." Lex slowly said, emphasizing the last word like he meant it.

"We have that in common, brother." Your voice was still rough, but you managed to say 'brother' in a way that sounded like a slur.

"Don't call me that!" Lowering himself to point at you in rage, Lex seemed disgusted at the reminder that you were related by blood.

It haunted him. How you managed to steal his dad from him, be just as successful as him, be so goddmamn beautiful and smart and absolutely irresistible... it made his skin crawl with envy and desire, made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Whatever... you're wasting my time." You nonchalantly said, and before you could realise, the next words had already left your mouth. "I could be having the fuck of my life right now, you know? Instead of being here with you and your pathetic little attempt to traumatize me."

Lex was leaning down, towering over you, when you could watch his blue eyes growing darker. It was then that you knew you had made him snap.

Suddenly, he grabbed you by the hair and lifted you up so you were standing. You yelped in a mixture of surprise and pain before his hands quickly traveled to your waist and raised you up over his shoulder, manhandling you like you weighed nothing.

"Lex!" You screamed as you kicked your feet in the air, heels falling down to the ground while you hit his back with your fists. "Put me down!"

In reality, Lex didn't know what he was going to do with you once he reached his bedroom, tossing you onto his bed violently as he stripped you of your coat.

"You want to have the fuck of your life, huh?!" He practically growled, furious and crazed with jealous desire. "You want me to hurt you?!" Lex quickly undid his belt and unzipped his pants, not fully aware of his own actions. "I can give you both."

Your eyes widened in shock as you understood what was about to happen. Absolutely horrified, you realized you should be hating this... but you weren't. Not completely, anyway.

Lex must have seen the look in your eyes, because now he was smiling at himself as he freed his hard member from his underwear. "Don't be afraid... little sister." He spat the last words sarcastically, full of disdain and disgust.

You tried to get up, but he shoved you down again with all his force before reaching underneath your dress and yanking your soaked panties from your body.

Before you knew it, he positioned himself between your legs and shoved his cock inside you. You let out a loud whimper, still trying to push him away.

"Fuck, you're wet..." Lex groaned, inserting himself fully in you before starting to thrust his hips in and out. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? You sick fuck."

"Get off me! Ah- Lex! Get off!" Tears started to build in your lids involuntarily, falling down your cheeks due to all the guilt you felt from actually liking him inside you.

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them up so you couldn't push him anymore, trapping you underneath him. His pace was merciless, in and out aggressively, pounding his big cock into your pussy.

"You wanted to go out with that guy... and the guy before... just so they could use you..." Lex said between breaths, voice tremulous with emotion. "Well... I couldn't let that happen. You don't need them... because you... you belong to me, (y/n). This cunt belongs to me..."

His eyes never met yours, looking down instead where your bodies connected. Lex was ashamed, completely disgusted at himself, but he couldn't deny... he was loving every second of it.

Tears kept escaping from your eyes from pure bliss. All you wanted was to have your brother's attention, and you managed to get much more than you could imagine. Deep down, you always knew you wanted him, even if it was sick... and now you knew he wanted you back.

"Ah! Lex- Fuck! Please...!" You moaned his name obscenely, granting you a moan from him as well. He kept fucking you hard, sex sounds filling up the room and echoing through the halls.

Lex breathed through his mouth, still not looking at you while he grunted and concentrated on his thrusts.

"P-Please, look at me, Lex...!" You pleaded, but he didn't move. Your hands were still trapped above your head, his grip on you was so strong it made your fingers numb, but the pain only brought you closer to the edge.

"Look at me, please...!" You begged once more, and after a deep exhale, he looked into your eyes.

His pupils were blown wide, mouth agape with a wild expression. Lex seemed conflicted, but when he saw the lustful look in your eyes, filled with tears, he knew he had reached a point of no return.

"Rgh...!" He reached down to bite on your neck, swallowing the need to kiss your lips. Fucking you was one thing, but kissing? That was too much for him still.

He bit you like a starved animal, while you were in so much pleasure you could scream if your throat wasn't so sore.

You came without warning, moaning and throbbing around his member as your body shook in ecstasy... and oh, he had noticed.

Lowly laughing on the side of your neck, Lex seemed quite happy with himself. "Made you cum on my cock, hm? Didn't know you were this desperate..."

Suddenly, he slowed down his rhythm to a cruel leisure pace. Hard but slow, very slow...

"Fuck, Lex..." Your neediness came through your voice, and he looked at your face once more.

Lex then let go of your abused wrists to play with your hair, untying it and grabbing it with one of his fists. His other hand found one of your breasts, squeezing it hard as he examined your expression.

"Hmm- Ah!" You couldn't help but moan again, taking your hands to his back and smoothing the fabric of his shirt.

"You're right... I can't hurt you..." He admitted, drawing closer to your face in an intimidating way. "But I bet I can fuck you like no other man."

Nodding rapidly, you agreed to his statement while caressing his face. "Yes...! Fuck, you feel so good, Lex..."

In... out... in... out... It was a torturous pace, leaving you breathless and needy and completely turned on.

"Say it." He demanded, his piercing eyes never leaving yours, now that he fully threw his shame aside. "Tell me who you belong to."

"I belong to you! Only you!" Tears kept falling while your shaky voice confessed your darkest secret. "I've always been yours!"

The hand that squeezed your breast moved up to your neck, lightly choking you once more. Lex seemed quite content with your answer as he kept his relaxed pace, biting his lip in anticipation. "Open your mouth."

You were a bit confused at that, but obeyed anyway. The moment you darted your tongue out, he spat inside your mouth. You swallowed without hesitation, observing how big his smile grew.

"That's my girl." He provoked, making you shiver.

When he took his cock out of you, you whined in disappointment. One of his big hands slapped the side of your thigh, leaving a mark and a stinging sensation.

"I made you cum already, don't be greedy." Lex warned, sliding his dick between your wet folds up and down. It stimulated you even further, and you couldn't stop moaning his name.

"Lex, Lex, Lex...!" You cried out, hands on top of his grip on your neck.

His hips began to falter and he was basically panting, meaning he was close. "Fuck, (y/n)... You have no idea how bad I needed this..."

When he came, his grip on you tightened and made you lose your breath momentarily. Lex finished all over your cunt, smearing cum on your folds while grunting in pleasure.

Embracing each other, you both tried to regain your breath. Hearts beating fast and shaking with emotion, you two finally stared at each other... fully realizing what you had done.

Lex quickly got up, tucking his softening member inside his underwear as he walked to the bathroom. You laid there in silence, still in shock, before having a towel thrown at you.

"Clean yourself." He said quietly, and so you did.

Shame hit you like a brick, taking over your body in waves of disgust and doubt. You had just fucked your brother... and you enjoyed it.

You sat up with a sigh, unable to hold back tears again. You started sobbing involuntarily, guilty and disturbed.

Hiding your face in your hands while you cried, you felt Lex sitting next to you. He didn't touch you, he couldn't. Lex was busy having his own turmoil of emotions, a glimpse of empathy trying to break through his cold heart.

Making you company until you stopped crying, your brother stared at the wall, contemplating. You turned to look at him, but he didn't dare to look back.

"Stay the night." Lex simply said, and you knew you had no other choice.

"Ok... I'll go to the guest room." You stood up to leave his room before you could feel his grip on your wrist.

"No." Biting his lip, Lex seemed jaded as he looked down at his feet. "Stay."

You knew he was a mess just from the monosyllabic answers, but you could also know from the look on his face. He was still sitting on the bed, looking defeated and lost.

Turning back to fully face him, you embraced his head onto your belly, expecting him to move away... but he didn't.

Both of you stood there in silence, a quiet agreement to keep some peace. It never failed to amaze you how calm Lex could be in moments of crisis.

After a good amount of time, Lex got up and helped you fully undo your dress, stripping you and himself naked before lying down to sleep.

You were initially facing away, but as you felt him playing with your hair from behind, you rolled to face him.

He finally stared back, in the dark, but you could still see how conflicted he looked. You caressed his cheek tenderly, making him sigh.

You simply nudged your face to his chest, being able to hear his rapid heartbeat as you kissed the skin there.

Lex kept playing with your hair, smoothing one hand on your back in such a way that it made your heart falter... he was gentle.

It all made sense then. If all his aggression was actually repressed yearning, of course he would turn soft once such desires had been dealt with.

Even though it was wrong, even though it was a horrible way to think about the whole situation, you now knew exactly what to do to appease him.

And now that you were his, that you had tasted the feeling of having him just for you, you knew you couldn't deny your growing appetite. Your feelings could be dealt with in the morning, but for now... now you had him in your arms, and that was enough.

—

Clark had mixed feelings about Lex Luthor.

The billionaire was an interesting fellow, he couldn't deny that. And after a few stimulating 'interviews', Kent became quite allured by the man.

But there was one small detail: Luthor hated Superman.

The CEO had always made his opinions quite clear. He wanted to take down the hero, and that worried Clark.

How to explain to the man he was having sex with that he, in fact, had a secret alter ego? And that his alter ego happened to be Superman?

His plan was to eventually bring Lex to his side, softening him up to the idea that Superman wasn’t his enemy… and then he could think about revealing himself to him.

But in the meantime, he would spend time with Luthor, talking and having some fun.

He had scheduled another evening meetup at Lex’s penthouse, and he was nervous at the thought of being interrogated. Clark promised to give information about Superman, but he hadn’t thought of anything he could actually say.

But arriving at the place, he was met with a well-humored Lex Luthor. The billionaire pulled on Clark’s tie and kissed him hello, grabbing him by the waist as he guided him to the kitchen counter.

“H-Hi, Mr. Luthor.” The brunette smiled between kisses.

“Hello, Clark.” Lex responded, stopping the make-out session to talk to the other man. “Have any questions for me?”

“Hm… to be honest, I didn’t come prepared for this interview.” Clark blushed at his realization.

“Good, I wasn’t planning on talking much.” They crashed into each other in a hot, passionate kiss. This time, Kent grabbed the other man’s waist while Luthor ran his fingers through Clark’s hair.

The kiss was so intense that Kent didn’t realize his glasses had been taken off, and when Lex’s eyes widened at him, he knew he was in trouble.

“YOU!?” Luthor screamed at the top of his lungs, looking absolutely horrified. “This gotta be a fucking joke.” And then he laughed, completely nervous and crazed.

“Lex, I can explain-“ Clark started to say, but was immediately cut off.

“You of all people! I can’t believe it… you absolute piece of shit! How could you do this to me, huh? Thought you were really clever, huh?!” Lex went on a rant.

“Lex, please-“

“You disgusting alien. Think you’re better than anyone else? Think you could fool me?!”

“Lex!”

“You will NEVER be one of us, Clark. You will always be an it!”

And then Clark grabbed Luthor by the sides of his face and… kissed him. Forcibly, in the beginning, as Lex tried his best to punch the hero off him… but to no avail. The kiss slowly deepened, and Luthor finally gave in after a few moments. He grabbed Clark’s arms with all his force, enough to hurt if the man were human, and kissed him back with rage.

After they kissed plenty, Lex yanked Clark’s hair backwards so he could look into his eyes.

“I hate you.” He said with a growl.

“I know…” Clark responded, caressing the other man’s cheek. “But that will change soon.”

“Oh yeah? And what makes you think-“ Clark interrupted Lex again by giving him another kiss, this time accompanied with a squeeze on the man’s ass.

"Shh, let me do the work..." Clark whispered into Lex's ear, still in disbelief that he had gone around that situation.

They ended up in Luthor's bedroom, clothes long gone while they kissed and grabbed at each other.

Lex was rough, Clark knew that. But now that the big secret was revealed, he turned much more aggressive. Pushing Kent into the bed, Luthor climbed on top and pressed on the man's shoulders, trying to keep him in place.

But that didn't work. Clark decided it was best if he had control, so he rolled on top of Lex, trapping the CEO underneath him.

"Ha, now you want to be dominant." Lex mocked. "Is that part of your secret identity?" He seemed furious, but somehow was letting everything happen naturally.

"Something like that." Clark played, positioning himself between Luthor's legs so he could rub their cocks together.

Lex closed his eyes in a frown, not wanting to admit how good it felt. It seemed like he was in pain, so naturally, Kent stopped.

"Are you alright?" The journalist asked.

"Yeah, you idiot. Didn't ask you to stop." Lex simply added, and that was the fuel Clark needed to get going.

Clark wrapped his hand around their cocks, rubbing them together as he rocked his hips back and forth. Lex let a moan out, immediately turning red with rage.

"I never would've fucked you in the first place if I knew what you were." Luthor spat out, grabbing the sheets.

"But you did... and you liked it." Clark teased, kissing Lex's neck.

"You fucking bastard." Lex said before pulling Kent into a kiss, rough and deep.

Clark kept rocking his hips, moving his hand to tease the heads of their dicks. They were moaning and groaning together, biting at each other's lips and necks... like famine animals.

When they finally came, it was a complete mess. Luthor's stomach was smeared with cum, and Clark took the opportunity to lower himself and lick on the man's skin.

He could feel Lex shaking beneath him, probably overstimulated with all the recent events. Kent couldn't blame him; he indeed had lied to the man, something he hated doing. But now, everything was settled... right?

After Clark had cleaned up the mess, he licked his way up to Lex's mouth, but was stopped before he could kiss him.

"I still hate you." Lex calmly said, regaining his breath. He looked so handsome like that, sweaty and serene.

"Well, I hope that changes someday..." Clark started saying, kissing the man's jaw. "Because I don't hate you, Lex... I really don't."

Kent could feel Luthor's heartbeat fasten, but he didn't know exactly why. "I'll be here for you if you need me. No matter what you think of me, I'll be here." Clark finished off, finally looking into Luthor's eyes.

Lex had an indecipherable expression, like he was pondering his next move. So he decided... to kiss the brunette. Slowly, calculated and precise, testing the waters.

"Let's see about that." The billionaire teased after they broke off, examining Clark's face. "Maybe you could give me an interview..."

—

Luthor never thought for a moment that pleasuring another person could bring him such satisfaction. Still, seeing you squirm in a mixture of bliss and pain… that was exactly what he needed at that moment.

“Lex..! Lex- ah!!” You trembled by his side, lying on his bed while he propped himself on his elbow, paying attention to your every move.

“Shh… yeah, I know you can do it.” He whispered in your ear, trying to calm you down.

“N-No, it’s too much! Too much… hmm!” You protested as he continued to rub circles on your swollen clit, trying to give you your third orgasm of the night.

“Give me another one and I’ll let you rest.” Lex insisted, not stopping his fingers for a moment.

“Ah… Ah! P-Please…! Lex!” You felt it coming, and when it finally crushed onto you, you screamed as your orgasm hit you in sensitive waves of delicious pain.

You breathed through your high, opening your eyes to see a very proud Lex Luthor… but his fingers were still moving.

“Lex, please… s-stop..” You urged him, reaching for his hand.

Luthor finally left your abused clit, raising his fingers to his mouth and tasting you.

“That's it, that’s my girl.” He soothed you, lowering himself to kiss your neck and mouth.

My girl. As time passed by, Lex got more and more affectionate. You started noticing how he would smile more often, drawing you closer each passing day with kisses and hugs and sweet words in your ears. It warmed your heart, knowing he could still have good in him.

It all started after the deal you made, you would stay as long as he pleasured you more often… that proved to be quite an interesting challenge.

Lex discovered a new passion: watching you cum while begging him to stop. It invigorated him, made him feel like a god… and turned him on more than he could ever imagine.

Besides, you always ended up satisfied. So, of course, you couldn’t complain. It might’ve been painful when you arrived at your second or third orgasm in a row, but seeing him so determined and focused on you felt so good.

So you started getting more comfortable with him, calling him ‘love’ and ‘babe’ and curling up next to him to sleep every night. And you know what? He seemed to enjoy it.

Maybe pleasing you made him realize the importance of empathy, who knows? The only important thing is that he felt closer to you, more vulnerable, even.

But on one particular night, he was very stressed out. Superman had done another big act of heroism, and now everyone wanted to talk about it… Luthor hated how popular the alien was.

Lex was pacing back and forth in the living room, completely fuming.

“Babe, please, come here…” You calmly said, urging him to your bedroom.

“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?” Luthor spat out, finally stopping his steps to sink into his fancy armchair. With a deep sigh, he closed his eyes and threw his head backwards in defeat.

You slowly made your way towards him, kneeling between his legs and smoothing your palms over his thighs.

“Let me make you feel good, hm?” You said while undoing his trousers.

“(y/n), dear… I’m-“ He tried to say, but you contested.

“You’re stressed out, let me help you.” You offered, taking his member out and promptly spitting on it, watching how fast it got hard.

Lex only looked at you with tired eyes, lowering a hand to your hair and playing with it.

You jerked him off with your hands, squeezing him with the right pressure just enough to make his breath hitch. You teased the head of his cock, kissing and massaging the sensitive area while always looking at his observant blue eyes.

He hummed in approval when you picked up the pace, your hands working up and down his shaft… fuck, he looked so sexy.

“Hmm… gonna cum soon.” Lex warned after some time… but then you had an idea.

You slowed down your rhythm, smiling at him mischievously.

“…What are you doing?” He seemed too tired to be angry, but confused nonetheless.

“Let me take control for once, I think you might actually enjoy it!” You proposed enthusiastically, and he gave you a sarcastic smirk.

“Ha… silly girl. And what makes you think- agh!” Luthor groaned as you picked up the pace once more.

He grabbed the arms of his armchair firmly, almost ripping the leather. When you thought he was getting close to his orgasm, you slowed down again.

“Ah… baby, don’t do this to me…” The billionaire pleaded, but to no avail.

“Oh, Lex… you look so good when you beg.” You teased, knowing it would get to his nerves.

Surprisingly, he didn’t scold you. Luthor only stared at you, pupils blown wide and mouth slightly agape.

“The things you do to me, (y/n)… I can’t- hmm.”

He couldn’t finish a sentence before you picked up speed, his precum oozing from the tip and making a beautiful mess on your hands.

He started breathing rapidly, eyes closing in ecstasy. You knew he would cum if you continued… so you slowed down once more.

“Aagh…!” Lex protested. “Please…”

“What did you say? Couldn’t quite hear you, babe…” You couldn’t help but tease the man more and more, probing him to your whims.

“Fuck, I said please, (y/n)…” He finally looked at you, eyes watering and chest heaving. “Please… please…”

“Good boy.” You smiled as you started jerking him off again, taking note of how good his cock looked at that moment… rock hard with a rosy tip, smeared with precum and spit.

It was like magic, those two words you said made him cum almost instantly. Luthor moaned out loud, not able to control himself once he finished.

His thick load landed on his stomach and your hands, making a beautiful mess. You licked your fingers, tasting him while admiring his afterglow.

His eyes momentarily closed in pure bliss, but when he looked at you… he seemed feral.

“Are you alright, Lex?” You asked, fearing you had crossed a line.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m alright.” And then he pulled you into a kiss, hungry and passionate. Pulling you up on his lap, he grabbed at your waist and gave a good squeeze on your ass.

You moaned against each other, loving how good it felt to have such closeness. You caressed his head and face while he still held your hips for dear life, squeezing the plush skin.

He broke the kiss only to bite your neck, leaving marks on his way down your shoulders. “Fuck, I adore you, (y/n)…”

That made you freeze a little. You never expected him to confess like that, but it made your heart extremely happy anyway.

“And I adore you, Mr. Luthor.” You grabbed his face, guiding him to look directly at you. His pretty blue eyes had softened, and he smiled the most sincere smile he had ever given.

—

Louis Lane was beautiful, witty, and incredibly intelligent... all things you were insecure about.

And to put a cherry on top, she was one of your boyfriend's best friends. Great.

Honestly, you weren't the type to get jealous... but she was different. She had that sparkle in her eyes every time she saw Clark, which made you extremely mad.

After a night out with his friends from work, you both headed to his apartment. You were off-puttingly silent during the way there, and when you were inside, Clark confronted you.

"You don't like them, do you?" He said with a sad frown.

"What? You mean your friends?" You jumped at his straightforwardness. "Of course I like them, it's just..."

"Just...?" He repeated after the pause, which maintained itself for too long.

"Don't you think Louis might be getting way too close to you?" You gained the courage to ask, looking down at your fidgety hands.

"What? Louis? What do you mean by that?" He stood with his hands resting on his hips, utterly confused.

"I don't know, Clark. Maybe it's the way she looks at you, or... or the way she keeps leaning by your side, and you don't even seem to mind!" You looked up at him, heart beating way too quickly.

Kent looked offended at that, crossing his arms in defense.

"You are seeing things where there is nothing, (y/n). She's my friend, and that's what she'll always be to me." He said with a serious look on his face.

"I know she's your friend, but maybe that's not enough for her." You argumented. "I can see when a woman is interested in a guy, Clark."

"Oh, and I can't?" He raised his voice a little, and that only made you worry more about the situation.

"Apparently not! Or you simply don't want to see, and I don't know what is worse." You said, your voice trembling with nervousness.

"Honestly, (y/n), you don't know her. And I'm sure that if you did, you wouldn't be saying such things." Clark rapidly said, clearly bothered.

"Why are you being so defensive?" You shouted without thinking.

"Because you started this whole argument implying that my friend is interested in me, which she is not! She's just my friend, and I like her company!" He shouted back.

"If you like Louis so much, why don't you go and date her?! I bet she would like that!" Tears threatened to fall from your eyes as your voice kept trembling.

"Oh, gosh. Is this what it's all about?!" Clark laughed nervously, apparently sore. "You don't trust me anymore?"

"I don't know, Clark... I truly don't know. You seem way too upset for someone who doesn't care." You gathered your purse and coat and headed for the door. "I need some space."

He used his super-speed to appear in front of the door, not ready to let you go just yet. "No, you don't."

"Clark, please..." A tear fell from the corner of your eye, and he looked heartbroken at that.

"(y/n)... listen to me." Kent started to say. "I'm sorry I was defensive, it's just... I don't have many friends, and I don't wanna lose them."

"I know-"

"Just listen." He interrupted. "Louis might be interested in me for all I know, but I don't care! I have you, and I couldn't ask for more... you're the smartest, most beautiful woman I have ever met."

He held your face tenderly, holding you in place while reassuring you. You felt yourself relaxing for the first time you arrived there, his words enough to appease your nerves.

"I love you..." He finished off, a soft expression on his face.

Your heart ached for him, and you felt yourself wanting to cry even more at that. "I love you too, Clark... that's why it hurts, y'know?"

"I understand... I'll see what I can do." He promised, cleaning your tears from your face and kissing your forehead. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

Looking up so you could kiss him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him closer. He seemed to enjoy that.

You were in his bedroom in no time, clothes flying across the room as you readily prepared yourselves for the night to come. He kissed you oh so slowly, taking his time to savour you.

"I love you, I love you, I love you..." He kept repeating between kisses, laying you gently on the bed.

"Love you so much, Clark..." You moaned as you both intertwined, deep and soft. "I'm yours..."

"Yeah, you are..."