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just-aake · 2 months ago

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A Feline Connection Part 2

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha has an unexpected reunion while on a mission.

Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Warnings: light fluff, slight angst, mention of gun

Words: 4703

Natasha sits at a small outdoor table, blending effortlessly with the weekend crowd outside a nondescript café. Dressed casually in a simple jacket, jeans, and sunglasses, she appears to be just another city dweller enjoying a quiet morning coffee.

Beneath the surface, however, her sharp eyes remain focused on the apartment building across the street, subtly monitoring every individual entering or leaving.

The team had received a tip suggesting that one of the building’s occupants might have ties to the city’s criminal underworld and could possess some information about an upcoming weapons deal they were investigating.

Natasha’s mission is to uncover more, though the lead is vague. They only know that the target supposedly resides in this area, leaving Natasha with little to do but wait and watch for anything suspicious.

Maintaining her undercover guise, Natasha casually lifts her coffee cup to her lips. Just as the rim touches her mouth, she feels a gentle nudge against her leg.

Startled, she frowns slightly and glances under the table to investigate.

Wide, familiar yellow eyes stare back at her, unblinking.

For a second, Natasha considers the possibility that it’s just a coincidence.

There must be dozens of black cats in the city, but when her gaze shifts to the sleek gold tag hanging from the cat’s collar, she reads the ironic name engraved on it.

Widow meows, placing her paw on Natasha’s leg and nudging her again, this time with more insistence, as if greeting an old friend.

Natasha can’t help the small smile that tugs at her lips.

“Hey, it’s been a while,” she murmurs, lifting Widow onto her lap. She gently scratches behind the cat’s ears, feeling the soft, familiar fur beneath her fingers.

“Did she lose you again?” Natasha asks the cat with a slight chuckle.

Before Natasha can react, a soft, amused huff appears near her ear, followed by a low voice.

“Is that really how you think of me?”

Natasha starts slightly, momentarily caught off guard by the fact that she hadn’t sensed your approach. She turns her head to find you standing beside her with an amused smirk, your eyes gleaming with playful mischief.

You reach out and gently push the bridge of her sunglasses up, fully covering her eyes.

“Does this disguise really fool anyone?” you tease.

Natasha clears her throat, recovering her composure quickly, though she still feels a slight heat on her face caused by your close proximity.

“It works well enough,” she replies smoothly as you move to the other side of the table.

You chuckle, casually resting your hands on the back of the empty chair across from her, raising a brow in question.

“Mind if we join you?” you ask, your voice carrying that familiar blend of ease and flirtation.

Natasha hesitates, her eyes flicking toward the apartment building she’s been watching all morning. She knows she should stay focused on the mission, but the unexpected reunion with you and the cat resting in her lap has thrown her off balance.

Noticing her hesitation, you lean forward, your voice dropping to a whisper.

“You know,” you say, glancing around dramatically before locking eyes with her, “it’s a lot less suspicious if you’re sitting with someone.”

Your knowing grin makes Natasha sigh, but still, the corners of her mouth twitch upwards in amusement. She gives a small nod toward the empty chair across from her.

“Alright,” she concedes. “But Widow stays with me.”

The black cat meows as if in agreement, her body brushing more snugly against her lap.

You grin wider, pleased at her acceptance, and pull out the chair to settle in across from her, the faintest glint of fondness softening your gaze at the two of them.

“I wouldn't dare argue with either of you.”

As Widow curls up, her purring reverberates softly in Natasha’s lap as she strokes the cat’s fur.

After a long morning of heightened vigilance, this unexpected visit brings a strange but welcome sense of calm. The tension in her body unravels as she savors this brief moment of normalcy, an unusual pause in her otherwise relentless routine.

“So,” you begin, your voice pulling her back from the quiet comfort of the moment, “who are you watching?”

Natasha’s gaze sharpens, but she keeps her tone casual, taking a sip of her coffee before responding, “Who says I’m watching anyone? I’m just here for the coffee.”

You raise a brow, your smile growing.

“Right. Because the Black Widow spends her weekends blending in with civilians, sipping coffee, and definitely not on a mission.”

“Exactly,” Natasha replies smoothly with a smirk.

Releasing an exaggerated sigh, your expression turns mockingly disappointed as you remark.

“And here I was, thinking you sought me out specifically.”

Widow lifts her head at your words, releasing a chastising cry in offense.

“Sorry,” you amend, glancing at the cat with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. “I mean, us.”

Natasha chuckles at the exchange, allowing herself to indulge in the banter to steer the conversation away from her mission.

“Isn’t it more likely the other way around? After all, you approached me first,” she counters with a teasing smirk.

You scoff playfully. “Ah, I see—someone’s pretty confident in herself.”

Raising a brow, Natasha gestures pointedly to the cat nestled comfortably in her lap.

“I’m just basing it on facts. Why else would you name your cat after me?”

You narrow your eyes, a playful glint returning.

“Who says she’s named after you?”

Natasha’s smirk widens as she leans back, clearly enjoying the upper hand.

“You’re not denying it.”

“And I’m not admitting it either,” you shoot back, leaning forward with a grin, resting your chin on your hand as you meet her eyes.

“It’s alright,” Natasha teases with a nonchalant shrug. “I’ve had my fair share of admirers. There’s no shame in being a fan.”

With an amused scoff, you gesture toward the apartment building as you reply with a sarcastic tone.

“Yes, you’ve caught me. My apartment is filled with Black Widow merch,” you smirk at her, adopting a playfully serious expression.

Your words make Natasha pause in her playful banter, her brows knitting slightly at the casual mention of your home. She glances briefly at the building she’s been watching, remembering the intel she received.

“You live here?” she asks, her tone more curious than accusatory.

Widow raises her head at her and lets out another indignant meow, clearly displeased by the oversight.

Natasha pets the cat’s head gently, an apology in her touch.

“Sorry,” she corrects, “the two of you live here?”

“Yep, third floor,” you answer. “We were just on our way back when Widow spotted you.”

Widow meows again, almost as if confirming the information, nuzzling Natasha’s hand affectionately.

At the new information, Natasha taps her fingers lightly on the tabletop, humming in thought. She wonders if the intel the team received might have been about you—or perhaps someone from your past.

Before she can delve deeper into the idea, your hand slips over hers, gently stopping the movement.

“I’m not the one you’re looking for,” you say, your voice serious enough to catch her attention.

There’s a knowing look in your eyes that Natasha recognizes but can’t fully understand. Yet, instinctively, she feels she can trust you—at least for now.

Natasha’s gaze drops to where your hand covers hers, feeling the warmth of your touch seep through her skin. The contact sends a familiar stirring through her, the same unexpected feeling that often rises whenever you’re near.

She’s still not sure whether to welcome it or resist it.

Natasha looks back into your eyes, her curiosity piqued, ready to probe deeper with questions.

But before she can speak, you gently turn her hand over in yours, your fingers tracing light, random patterns across her palm.

“At your ten,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha’s pulse quickens, both from the delicate sensation of your touch and the subtle way you’ve pointed out something she missed.

Despite the distracting warmth radiating from your fingers, she discreetly shifts her gaze in the direction you indicated.

Sure enough, a man walks toward the apartment building, his posture tense, clad in a plain jacket and a cap pulled low over his face, clearly trying to avoid attention.

Widow’s body tenses in her lap and her ears flatten against her head as she lets out a low hiss in his direction.

Natasha attempts to soothe the cat’s nerves with gentle strokes.

“He moved in down the hall a few weeks ago,” you continue casually, not looking up, still focused on tracing her palm. “Seems normal enough, but I’ve recognized his type before.”

After calming Widow to the point where her tail is no longer lashing, Natasha’s eyes return to you.

“You’ve been watching him?”

With a faint sigh of exasperation, you reply, “Didn’t have much of a choice. He’s taken an…unwelcome interest in me lately.”

Curious, Natasha glances back at the man, her eyes narrowing as she observes him. As if sensing her attention, he pauses mid-step, his gaze locking onto your table—specifically, onto you.

His body language shifts, stiffening with barely concealed interest and tension.

Before Natasha can react, your fingers slowly and deliberately intertwine with hers. With a playful smirk, you lift her hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss against her skin.

Natasha snaps her attention back to you, eyes widening in surprise at the unexpected gesture.

"Maybe that'll finally give him a hint," you remark nonchalantly, lowering your entwined hands back to the table as though the intimate moment were perfectly ordinary.

Natasha blinks, momentarily thrown by the shift in dynamic.

A now familiar warmth rises in her cheeks, and she's grateful her sunglasses hide the flustered look creeping across her face.

Natasha clears her throat softly after a beat, regaining her composure. Glancing subtly in the man's direction, she's relieved to have a reason not to meet your gaze.

He’s no longer standing there—storming away instead, his frustration and confusion apparent in the hurried way he vanishes into the building.

Before Natasha can fully process everything that just happened, Widow hops onto the table. Her little paws rest on top of your joined hands as if wanting to be part of the moment.

That touch settles her as she returns to her previous cool demeanor.

“You were using me,” Natasha accuses, her voice carrying a mix of mock indignation and dry amusement.

You grin, utterly unfazed.

“And in return, I gave you valuable intel to move your little operation along.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow playfully with a slight huff.

“You could’ve just told me from the start.”

Your smirk widens, your eyes gleaming with mischief.

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Natasha shakes her head, her lips twitching upward in a reluctant smile. Despite your methods and actions, you did give her a new lead on her mission.

Though, now she has to handle this new situation—the tension between you two.

Even though the man is gone, you haven’t released her hand, and she doesn’t pull away either.

Something else lingers in the air between you, something unspoken but undeniable.

Widow nudges her head against your hands as if offering her approval of the unfolding moment.

Natasha’s gaze drifts to the cat before her eyes return to you, her expression softening.

“You two never came by the Compound after that night,” Natasha comments softly, her tone casual but tinged with a hint of disappointment.

You shrug lightly and reply with a sly grin, “I’m sure Stark didn’t appreciate how easily I bypassed his security system.”

Natasha chuckles lightly at the memory.

“Telling him about that was the best part. You should’ve seen his face.”

You let out a soft laugh, the moment lingering in comfortable silence.

Eventually, you slowly release her hand, your fingers trailing against hers before pulling away completely.

Standing up, you adjust your jacket with casual ease.

“Well, now that you know where we live,” you say, nodding toward the building, “feel free to drop by whenever you’re not too busy saving the world.”

You gesture to the little cat, who’s now swatting lightly at Natasha’s coffee cup in a playful manner, adding, “I’m sure Widow wouldn’t mind your company.”

Natasha’s eyes twinkle with amusement, catching the cup before it could fall and giving the cat a tiny scratch on her head before returning her attention to you.

“Just her?” Natasha raises a brow, the question hanging between you with playful intent.

You don’t answer directly, but the slight smile on your face says enough.

“Good luck with your mission, Miss Black Widow,” you say softly, your tone shifting to something more sincere before turning toward the apartment building.

Widow gives her a soft meow goodbye before hopping off the table and climbing into your arms.

Natasha watches you walk away, her gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. Eventually, her mind returns to the mission but not without a fleeting thought of you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha leans against the rooftop's edge, her eyes fixed on the target’s apartment in the building across her. The cool night air brushes against her face, but her focus remains sharp.

You were right. The man you pointed out is involved with one of the organizations suspected of orchestrating a major weapons deal. His hidden familial ties and shady movements had confirmed it.

After bugging his phone and tracking his movements for days, Natasha discovered that tonight would be crucial—a drop-off containing the specs for some of the weapons in the deal and where they came from.

She watches patiently as the man opens his door to receive a small package from an unknown figure.

The exchange is brief, and once the door shuts, the man places the package carelessly on his counter.

As Natasha considers a plan to obtain the package, something causes the man to tense, and he cautiously turns back toward the door.

Her hand instinctively moves toward her own weapon, prepared to intervene when she spots him pull a gun, keeping it hidden behind his back as he cracks the door open again.

The man’s posture relaxes as he realizes who’s on the other side of the door, and he hides his weapon in the back of his waistband.

Natasha observes as his overly confident bravado takes over, and it becomes clear he’s trying to impress someone.

Natasha’s view of the visitor is blocked, but judging by the man’s lowered guard, she assumes this person doesn’t pose an immediate threat.

Whoever they are, though, they seem to hold some influence over him.

After a brief conversation that results in the man turning off the lights and slipping out of the apartment, led by the unseen visitor, Natasha seizes the opportunity to retrieve the package before he returns.

With practiced precision, she shoots her grappling hook across the gap between the buildings and swings silently onto the balcony outside the man’s apartment. Carefully picking the lock on the window, she slips inside without making a sound.

But as she steps into the room, she quickly realizes something is wrong.

The small package, which had been resting on the counter moments ago, is now gone.

Natasha scans the area, her eyes darting around the room.

Had it fallen somewhere?

A faint sound reaches her ears as Natasha walks around the room—movement just behind her.

She whirls around, gun raised, ready to face whatever threat is lurking in the shadows.

But the only thing she’s met with is darkness.

Her eyes narrow as her instincts scream that something is off. She’s sure she heard something.

She focuses on the shadows for a moment longer when a pair of familiar yellow eyes suddenly blink open, glowing softly in the dark.

Natasha lowers her weapon, momentarily caught off guard by the sight.

Widow emerges from the darkness, its head tilted curiously as she approaches Natasha. The corner of the small package is clutched tightly in her mouth.

Natasha lets out an incredulous huff.

“Really?” she mutters in disbelief as she kneels and waves the cat closer.

Widow trots over and jumps into Natasha’s arms without hesitation, the package still firmly between her teeth.

Standing up, Natasha tries to pry the package from the cat’s mouth gently, but each time she reaches for it, Widow swats at her hand and shifts her head, making it impossible to grab.

“You’re not serious,” Natasha sighs, exasperated.

But Widow only stares up at her with those wide, innocent eyes, completely unfazed by the situation.

Before Natasha can try again, she hears footsteps approaching from the hallway.

Instantly, she reacts, slipping out of the window with Widow still in her arms, her movements quick and silent. She carefully closes the window behind her, ensuring everything looks untouched, before flattening herself against the outside wall.

The light flickers on inside the apartment, and Natasha hears voices. She listens closely, picking up snippets of conversation.

“Thanks again, I don’t know what I would have done without your help,” your voice floats through the window, laced with exaggerated helplessness.

It’s not like your usual demeanor and tone. You were clearly playing a part.

“Anytime,” the man responds, his tone gruff, but Natasha can tell he’s trying too hard to sound confident. “You know, if it doesn’t work out with—”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I really have to go!” you interrupt quickly, your voice fading as you move toward the door. “Have a good night!”

Natasha hears the door close with a soft click, signaling your exit. She waits a moment longer before making her own move, descending silently into the nearby alley below.

Landing with ease, she looks down at Widow, still cradled in her arms.

The cat is now lazily gnawing on the corner of the package, completely unbothered by the chaos of the situation.

Her claws grip the package tightly, almost possessively.

Natasha shakes her head in disbelief, her lips curving into a small, amused smile despite herself.

“You two have a lot of explaining to do,” she mutters, glancing at the apartment building.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The moment you open the door, your eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Natasha standing there.

“A bit late for a visit, don’t you think?” you tease with a playful grin, leaning casually against the door frame, trying to mask your surprise.

But Natasha doesn’t return your smile.

Instead, she tilts her head slightly, one brow arched with an unimpressed expression and pulls her jacket open just enough to reveal the black cat nestled comfortably in her arms.

Widow is still clinging stubbornly to the small package in her claws.

Your grin falters immediately, your gaze dropping from Natasha’s face to Widow and the damning evidence she’s holding.

Realization hits you like a wave, and your once-confident smile dissolves into a look of sheepish acknowledgment.

“Oh,” you murmur, awkwardness settling in as you glance between Natasha's unimpressed stare and Widow's innocent eyes.

“Well,” you sigh, stepping aside to open the door wider, “you might as well come in.”

Natasha steps past you, her eyes sweeping the room in quiet observation.

Your apartment is neat, save for the scattered cat toys littering the room. Natasha takes it all in quietly, her gaze eventually falling back on you—specifically, your night attire.

You’re wearing a black oversized t-shirt and shorts, casual and comfortable, but it’s the symbol on the front of the shirt that grabs her attention.

“Nice shirt,” she comments, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

You glance down and immediately realize what she’s referring to—the iconic red hourglass symbol of the Black Widow emblazoned across your chest. Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms defensively over the logo.

“This doesn’t prove anything,” you remark. “I’ve got shirts with the other Avengers symbols too.”

“Sure you do,” Natasha teases, clearly enjoying the moment before her attention shifts to the cat in her arms. She nods toward Widow, who’s still gripping the package as if it were a prized possession.

“How do you get her to let go of things?”

A proud grin spreads across your face at the cat’s actions.

Walking to the kitchen, you rummage through a cabinet, pulling out a small tube of cat treats before returning to Natasha’s side.

Tearing it open, you hand it to her.

Widow’s sharp yellow eyes instantly zero in on the treat. Natasha, intrigued, waves it in front of the stubborn cat.

“How about a little trade?” she offers.

The cat’s eyes follow the snack in contemplation. Slowly but surely, her grip on the package loosens, her claws retracting as she reaches a paw toward the treat.

Seeing the opportunity, Natasha quickly snatches the package and shakes out its contents—a USB drive, which she tucks into her jacket.

When Natasha still has not promptly given her reward, Widow yowls in protest, having already upheld her end of the deal.

Natasha huffs lightly at the exaggerated behavior but relents and offers the treat to the eager cat, who devours it with delicate bites.

“I guess that means mission accomplished,” you quip, attempting to bring some levity back into the room.

But Natasha doesn’t laugh. She glances up at you, her expression shifting as her playful demeanor fades.

“You said you didn’t do this kind of thing anymore,” she says, her voice edged with accusation.

You shrug, hands raised in defense.

“Technically, I didn’t,” you reply, though Natasha’s piercing stare cuts through your weak deflection.

With a tired sigh, you rub the back of your neck before continuing, "Remember that post I asked you to take down?"

Natasha nods slightly, her eyes never leaving yours, silently urging you to continue.

“Well, some of my old associates saw it before you did. And let’s just say…we didn’t part ways on the best of terms.”

Natasha places the finished snack on the table, her fingers moving to absently scratch behind Widow’s ears as she processes the situation. Her eyes narrow, her tone shifting to something more serious as concern creeps into her voice.

“So, they’re forcing you to steal for them?”

You lean back against the counter, exhaling a heavy breath.

“They have leverage,” you reveal cryptically. “If I don’t cooperate...things get complicated.”

Her fingers pause in Widow’s fur, her expression hardening as the situation sinks in.

“Then why help me? Wouldn’t that put you at risk?”

You manage a wry smile.

“If the Avengers get involved, they can’t hold it against me, right?”

You gesture toward her, adding teasingly, “I mean, what can one simple thief do against Earth’s mightiest heroes?”

Natasha shakes her head, frustration and disbelief mixing in her features.

“That doesn’t guarantee they’ll leave you alone.”

“And like I told you before,” you say, voice soft but resolute, “let me handle it. You’ve played your part. Now go be a hero to someone else.”

Natasha huffs, more in disbelief than anger.

“So you used me. Again.”

Her tone has no malice, but the sting of truth lingers.

You step closer and reach out to adjust the collar of her jacket. Your fingers brush her skin, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“Like I said,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, “you shouldn’t get involved with someone like me.”

Widow purrs contentedly in the stillness, oblivious to the tension in the room, nuzzling against Natasha’s hand affectionately.

Natasha’s gaze softens slightly at the sight of the cat—remembering what you once said about Widow being a good judge of character.

If this little creature, with all her instincts, trusts someone with a past like hers, then surely there must be a similar reason she chooses to be with you.

When Natasha looks up, her eyes lock onto yours, steady and unwavering.

“What if I want to be?” she asks quietly, her voice laced with something far more than just concern.

Your breath catches, the vulnerability in her words taking you by surprise. You quickly school your expression, forcing neutrality even as your heart pounds in your chest.

Natasha steps closer, the heat of her body brushing against yours as close as she can, her gaze piercing.

“Do you want me to be?” she asks softly, the challenge clear in her tone.

For a moment, you meet her gaze, steady and unrelenting, but your eyes betray you. They flicker, just briefly, to her lips.

Natasha catches it. Her lips part slightly, and the air between you thickens with tension, both of you standing on the precipice of something neither can quite name.

But you break first.

You step back, clearing your throat as if that could dispel the weight of what just passed between you.

“As tempting as that is,” you say, your voice thick with the emotions you’re trying so hard to suppress, “I can’t let anyone else get caught up in this.”

Natasha doesn’t move, her eyes searching yours for more explanation.

However, you reach for Widow instead, gently lifting the cat from her arms, using the small creature as a shield between you.

“This one’s already enough trouble,” you joke weakly.

Natasha’s gaze lingers, watching you with a mix of exasperation and something deeper—something you refuse to name. She tilts her head, her voice soft.

“You know my job is to help people, right?”

You swallow hard, the playful smirk returning, though it feels hollow.

“And I’ll let you know if I ever need it.”

Natasha narrows her gaze, unconvinced. “Really?”

Rolling your eyes, you offer a small concession.

“Fine. Check in whenever. You’ve got my number, remember? And I’ll even send you cute pictures of Widow often to keep you from worrying too much.”

Widow chooses that moment to let out a soft meow, raising her paws beside her face as if on cue.

Natasha’s stern expression falters, a tiny smile tugging at her lips at the sight. But even as she shakes her head in resignation, the tension between you both lingers, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

With a small sigh, Natasha accepts your decision and steps toward the door. As she reaches for the handle, she pauses, her hand hovering there momentarily before turning to look at you again.

“If you ever decide that you don’t have to handle everything on your own,” she says softly, “you know where to find me.”

You nod, your mask of indifference slipping back into place.

“You’d be the first one I’ll call,” you promise playfully.

Natasha lingers for a moment longer, her eyes searching yours for something that never comes. She finally opens the door and steps through, pausing briefly before turning back to you.

“Take care of yourself. Both of you,” she whispers before leaving, the door clicking softly behind her.

The room feels emptier in her absence, the warmth of her presence fading.

Widow stirs in your arms, hopping onto the counter and letting out a soft, sad sound as if sensing the change in the air.

You lean heavily against the counter, exhaling a deep breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Natasha's words replay in your mind, sinking deeper into your heart than you will admit.

But as always, you push it aside. There’s no room for doubt, no space for second-guessing—not in your world.

Uncurling your fist, the USB falls from your hand—swapped from Natasha’s pocket with another containing misleading data.

Widow trots over to the item on the counter, nudging it with her paw before turning to you, letting out a sharp meow, almost as if scolding you.

“I know,” you sigh, guilt settling in as you scoop her back into your arms.

You stroke her gently, your hand brushing over a slightly raised patch of fur. The reminder of what's beneath fills you with concern for the little feline and your position.

Widow meows again, tilting her head curiously, oblivious to your worry. You force a reassuring smile, though it never quite reaches your eyes.

As your gaze drifts toward the window, your expression falters. You watch Natasha’s silhouette disappear into the shadows, a heavy sigh escaping your lips.

“She really shouldn’t get involved with someone like me,” you whisper sadly, giving Widow one last scratch behind the ears before turning away.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

a/n: I have decided to make this into a series. It's probably not going to be like my other one with extensive plotlines and such (I don't think). But maybe leaning more toward light-hearted adventures and interactions between the two (and Widow). Thanks again for reading! I hope you'll enjoy this series too!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff

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myfictionaldreams · 9 months ago

Text

Today's Lesson: Don't Catch Feelings // James Potter x Fem!Reader

PART 1 (Dry Hump) // PART 3

Summary: It was meant to be a one-time moment. A friend helping another friend who'd never been kissed before. So now, when your best friend finally gets the girl he's wanted to impress, why are you filled with such jealousy.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst, jealousy, friends w/benefits, can be interpreted as cheating but there's no official relationship, kinda love triangle, sex education, fingering, mutual pining, arguing, regret, kissing, drinking, fake orgasm (w/ other m character), dry humping, voyeurism, loss of virginity (James), praise kink, creampie, riding, cliff hanger! -- sorry if I've forgotten any tags

Words: 6.4k

Tags list: @bellathethirstybitch, @kenqkii, @ghostlycrystobalove, @anehkael, @1-800-ididurmum, @imdoingbetternow ~ Y'all asked to be tagged in the comments. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write a part 2! Thanks for your support.

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

"Move your thumb to the right. Yes, that's it! Right there - fuck James, don't stop! Yes! Yes! Oh-!" Even with the silencing charm around the room, you were sure the entirety of Hogwarts could hear you cumming hard around James' fingers curling inside your cunt as his thumb - now in the right place - circled your throbbing clit.

The tips of your fingers ached with how firmly you were digging them into his muscularly toned shoulders, probably bruising him, but he never commented on this. The messy-haired man just continued to listen to your instructions, putting more enthusiasm into these moments than in any lesson here at Hogwarts.

Even as your walls clenched tightly around his digits, he didn't stop. However, you were now quietened as he sloppily made out with you, swallowing your cries of euphoria until there was nothing left to give, and your moans turned into a laugh.

James groaned as you pulled away from his swollen lips, gently tugging on his wrist to ease his fingers out of you. "Woah there, Tiger, that was plenty good enough. Any more and I'll probably collapse", laughing as he pouted with his lower lip, his hazel eyes half-lidded and pupils blown in a clear display of arousal.

"So it was good?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, not moving his face away from hovering over yours.

"It was more than good, Potter. You're very good at listening to instructions, and your skills are improving with each orgasm, that's for sure", you praise whilst pushing his glasses up his nose as he smirks handsomely in response. James turned to kiss the tip of your fingers as you couldn't help but giggle once more at the action, your feet hooking around the backs of his knees as you tried to pull him closer to the edge of the desk.

But, like everything perfect in your life, you became your own worst enemy as you couldn't help as the words slipped out, "You'll have Lily orgasming before her underwear's off". It was meant to be a joke, but it only reminded you why you were even in this situation.

The smile faltered for a split second on James' face as he dipped his head to look at the floor, his hair now curtaining your view of him. "That's the plan", he chuckles as he begins to casually suck on his still-soaked fingers as your jaw drops at the sight.

"James!" you exclaim as he returns his gaze to you. His look of innocence for the act only added to the desiring pulse in your core.

"What? Sirius said that there's nothing more tasty than a pretty girl. Seems he was right", he casually remarked with a shrug of his shoulders. All air seemed to rush from your lungs at the compliment that quickened your heart's beat and warmed your cheeks' skin.

You were once more captivated by his eyes as he inched closer, and the hardness still contained in his trousers poked your inner thigh. "Need some help?" you asked curiously, teasingly, reaching between your bodies to palm him.

James' eyes lowered to focus on your lips as he licked his own, wetting them, and all you wanted to do was taste him, but then he took a step back, your legs and hand stopping away from his warmth.

"Nah, I'll sort it later, don't worry", he explains whilst beginning to smooth the uncontrollable mop of black hair on his head.

A heavy sinking feeling settled in your chest as you realised you'd probably overstepped the thin line between what the two of you had been doing for the last couple of weeks.

James Potter, your best friend, had been since the first year at Hogwarts. Both were thick as thieves and when he'd previously admitted to never having kissed someone before and had finally convinced his long-time crush to date, he needed the practice as the fear of Lily turning him away for any bad kissing skills. As the good friend that you were, you offered to teach him how to kiss, which promptly ended with you both dry-humping to orgasms.

After, James had been on his date and returned, particularly thanking you on his knees as his kiss with Lily had been everything he had ever wanted. However, after this, it was like a drug you both couldn't get enough of. One lesson turned into another and another. How to touch a girl with and without clothes, t the right way to touch and kiss breasts, and now how to use his fingers.

Nothing penetrative yet, and it had all been about teaching him about pleasing girls, so you'd yet to touch him because that would mean you were both hooking up for satisfaction rather than education.

You were unsure where the lines were becoming blurred in your heart and mind. James had always just been your goofy best friend. Mr Popular at Hogwarts would go above and beyond to make you laugh or protect those he cares for, and he continued to be like this for you. However, the rooms felt too small when you were both in them. You spent way too much time fantasising about the feel of his hands or the taste of his lips that you'd yet to look at any other man since that first kiss in the Shrieking Shack.

Then, there came the added complication of Lily. Lily was also a close friend, and even though James and her were not officially boyfriend or girlfriend yet, the way he pined for her and the more dates they went on, the more you were filled with dread. It felt as if you were betraying her with your want for James. Even with the lessons, you knew if ever caught; it was almost impossible to explain that it was all for Lily's benefit in a fucked up sort of way.

You were essentially teaching the man you were falling in love with how to pleasure your friend for their future. All the while, you were becoming more emotionally involved than you'd ever meant to be. I mean, you had casually slept with numerous people during the last year at Hogwarts; sex and feelings were two things you were able to separate.

So now, you were unsure what had changed for you to fall for the man who was so evidently in love with someone else.

"Are you coming?"

His deep voice drew you out of your spiralling thoughts as you blinked at him in confusion. "Coming?"

"Yeah, to class?" he asked, picking up his bag and pulling the strap over his shoulder.

"Oh, yes, I just need a minute. You go without me anyway; we haven't got the same class next", you say whilst standing and trying not to wince at the dampness between your legs that had spread your thighs.

"You sure? I don't mind walking you", James ensured as he pulled on the tight area of his trousers around his crotch, but then gave up and covered his erection with his bag.

"I'm sure we're on opposite ends of Hogwarts anyway. I'll catch you later, Potter", you confirm whilst straightening your tie and shirt.

"Alright then, Sweetheart, catch you later".

With one more beautiful grin', he's off. Then you're by yourself and left to slump back onto the desk and rethink your life. However, you couldn't dwell on it as the clock tower bell began to ring, indicating the start of lessons. As you cursed to yourself, picking up your wand from your bag and waving it over your body, your clothes instantly corrected yourself, and the wet mess between your legs vanished.

You were utterly breathless by the time you'd arrived at potions, and it took a great deal of effort to ignore the lingering ache in your pussy as you attempted to sneak into the room.

"Ah, at last. Welcome miss! Please take a seat; we haven't started without you, dear," Professor Slughorn declared as he held his hand out toward your usual classroom seat as everyone stared at you.

Trying to ignore everyone's eyes, you rush to your seat beside Lily, that heavy, unwelcomed feeling returned to your stomach as she smiles at you, leaning close to whisper, "I told him you were in the bathroom, so he said he'd wait for you before starting the lesson".

You return her smile, however forced as you thanked her and turned your gaze back to the professor. Before long, Lily's sweet perfume drifted into your senses as she leaned in closer once more to ask, "Who's the lucky guy?"

A sharp pain shot through your neck with the speed with which you looked at her, "I don't know what you mean; I was actually using the bathroom".

She tilts her head to the side with an all-knowing look. "Mmm hmm, sure, sure. So why is your lipstick smudged then, huh?"

Your fingers quickly moved to the corner of your lips, frantically wiping away any residual lipstick when it dawned on you that you'd not put any make-up on this morning and had fallen for her trick.

Glaring at her, Lily gave you a brilliant smile whilst moving some of her luscious red hair behind her shoulder, declaring, "I can read you like a book; don't forget that".

Rolling your eyes, you playfully nudge your shoulder against hers, deciding to ignore the previous question. For some reason, unbeknown to yourself, you couldn't help but ask, "So how's it going with Potter?"

Internally, you were criticising yourself for even asking and showing interest in it, already knowing that the answer was something you honestly didn't wish to know.

Lily's grin softened until her lips pursed, and she began to write down the instructions from Professor Slughorn in the book on her desk. "It's going ok; I mean, he's definitely more of a gentleman than I thought he was ever capable of. I also think the exams are getting to him a little; he seems distracted at the moment".

This piqued your interest as you began arranging your ingredients before you, chopping whatever was closest to you without the slightest attention as you asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well, we were on head boy and girl duty two nights ago, and he always used to joke that he wanted a quiet corner away with me in a classroom or something, but now that you know, I'm more open to that. He seems distracted. He still holds my hands and gives me compliments and a kiss or two that makes me want more, but by the end of the duty, he will either find his friends or go to bed".

You swallow thickly, asking, "Oh really? So you guys haven't - I mean, you haven't done anything other than kissing?"

Lily's cheek blossomed with colour as she continued her prep for the potion before her. "No, not yet; I mean, I want to; he's a great kiss, but nothing so far. It still feels strange not to be cursing at him to get out of my sight, like I never pictured myself to be in this position, and maybe it's also taking him some time to get used to".

You were only half listening to what your friend was saying as your thoughts screamed at the fact he was only a good kisser because he'd practised with you. Also, the tiny part of you that was cheering her heart out at the fact that you were the only girl he'd touched intimately, for now.

"Psst. Oi! Goldie! Pea! Turn around. I know you can hear me", came the annoying whisper as you and Lily both glanced over your shoulders to Sirius, who was leaning across his desk, grinning from ear to ear, his shoulder-length hair tied at the nape of his neck.

You huffed, glaring at Sirius as you reminded him, "I've told you a thousand times not to call me that!"

The Marauder sarcastically sticks out his bottom lip, "But it's an endearing name, Pea!"

"No, it's not! It's bullying!" you remind him, turning further towards where he and Remus sat, the latter politely declining the conversation to continue with his work.

"It's not my fault you vomited peas in second year", Sirius pointed out with a cocky smirk.

Thankfully, Lily cut off your retort as she snapped, "Stop reminding her of that. I've told you that my hair is red and not gold!"

"Meh, semantics", he shrugs and appears eager again. "What are you both doing after this? We were thinking of getting a group of us together and heading down to Hogsmeade. Do you both wanna join? I'm sure James would want you there".

That nauseous sensation returned as you knew he wasn't referring to you as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively towards Lily. One part of you desperately begged not to go, not wishing to see Lily and James acting all lovey-dovey in public, and another part of you knew it would look suspicious if you weren't to attend. Who else were you expected to hang out with on a Friday evening other than your best friend, James?

Lily answered for you as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders, "Of course, we'll both be there, but not to hang out with you; we don't need boys to have a good time".

You smile at her, forgetting all of your woes for a moment, watching as she adds a sprig of Rosemary into your potion and watching it change from the awful shade of red to a soft caramel colour to match hers.

"What would I do without you?" you say with admiration.

"I don't know, crash and burn?" she jokes, pulling a genuine smile from yourself.

Later in the evening, the two of you were true to Lily's word as you made your way there, joined with Marlene, and, not wanting to go with the boys, gave yourself some time to dress in something other than school clothes, opting for jeans and a warm jumper.

The three of you wandered through Hogsmeade, stopping in Honeydukes for a sweet treat before deciding to rest in the Three Broomsticks; however, you found what seemed to be the rest of your school year in the same place. There was hardly a free seat as the three of you pushed through the crowd to the bar.

"Evans! Over here!" James' voice shouted above the noise of everyone else from the corner of the room. Lily giggled as she waved over at him, and you tried not to wince with jealousy as you pushed her and Marlene in his direction.

"Go over there, I'll get the drinks". Thankfully, they didn't need much convincing before making their way over to the other Gryffindor. "Three butterbeers, please. Oh, and a large fire whiskey as well", you say, slipping the barmaid Rosmerta an extra galleon so she wouldn't question your age. You were old enough to drink, but there was a swift ban on students at Hogwarts being sold alcohol, but an extra galleon here and there, and no questions were asked.

As you waited for your drinks to be poured, you observed your surroundings and noticed a certain Ravenclaw watching you over the rim of his glass, a smirk flirting on his lips. You smiled back, holding his eye contact briefly before looking away from Quirinus. He was in Ravenclaw and relatively bright, if not a bit of a nervous nelly if he didn't have any alcohol in his system, which, by the looks of things, he was a few drinks deep and clearly in a flirtatious mood.

You were ready to make bad decisions when a hand on your lower back snapped your attention. The touch burned through your clothes to your skin as James appeared by your side. His face lowered so that he whispered into your ear as he questioned, "Is it bad that I can still smell you on my fingers?"

You swallow harshly, fighting to keep your face neutral as you couldn't help but quip back, "I'm sure your girlfriend would love to hear you say that".

James leans away to study your face, a frown adorning his expression, "She's not my girlfriend".

"Yeah, sure", you retort, turning away from him to nod at Rosmerta as she placed the drinks in front of you at the bar.

"Well, if she were my girlfriend, my fingers definitely wouldn't be smelling of you now, would they?"

The fire of jealousy that was being stoked in your heart was only being fueled further by his words. "I'm sure she could teach you a thing or two, Potter. You don't need me to taint your fingers".

"Maybe I do", he quickly responds but then corrects himself, "I mean, I don't think she has much experience. Anyway, you didn't mind it earlier when you were begging for more".

You turn to him with a glare that had him relaxing his stance as he realised he was on the threshold of overstepping. "Don't be so sure of yourself, James, and with the lack of experience you both have, wouldn't it be better for you both to be inexperienced together?"

Picking up the fire whiskey, you began to take heaving glugs of it, savouring the painful burn as it slipped down your throat. James eyed the drink as he leaned closer once more, his body half crowding around yours as he harshly whispered, "Where the fuck is this all coming from? I thought you were ok with what we were doing. It's nothing serious, just one single friend teaching another single friend, right?"

Yes, you answer in your thoughts, having not taken the fire whiskey away from your mouth, but then he's grabbing the glass and trying to take it away from you as he demands, "Hey, slow down, alright? You'll be pissed with the hour".

Giving him a shove with your shoulder, you spitefully say, "You aren't my boyfriend, Potter; stop telling me what to do. I want to drink, so get lost".

The concern in his hazel eyes drops as he looks at the two butterbeer, asking, "Are these McKenna and Evans? I'll take them and leave you to calm down".

"Thank fucking Merlin", you exclaimed with one final glare before he stormed off with the two drinks in hand.

You blew a long breath through your mouth, trying to ignore the overwhelming urge to scream, cry, or storm out. However, a brush of an arm against yours stole your attention as Quirinus now stood next to you at the bar, his Ravenclaw-coloured jumper vibrant in the candlelight.

"Fancy another firewhiskey?" he asked, and you nodded, not trusting yourself to be able to talk without crying.

The drinks came at a steady pace, and before long, you were feeling the effects, the anxiety that had hit you like the Hogwarts Express train from your argument with James had fizzled into anger. It only made matters worse when you would glance over the Ravenclaw's shoulder to see James wrapped his arm around Lily's shoulder, the two of them whispering to one another without a care.

A lump formed in your throat as the world tilted for a second. Quirinus noticed your glare as he, too, looked over his shoulder and assumed you'd prefer to sit with your friends as he offhandedly mentioned, "If you'd rather go and sit with them, I wouldn't be offended, you know".

"What?" you say, snapping out of your staring contest as you realise James is now staring right back at you with just as deep a frown behind his glasses. Giving your attention back to the man at your side, you quickly grabbed his arm, not wishing to be left alone, "Sorry, Quirrel, I really do want to stay with you. In fact, why don't we find somewhere a bit more quiet?"

The alcohol was definitely speaking on your behalf as his eyes lit up, his teeth nipping at his lower lip as he stood to his full height. "Ye-Yeah, I want to do that", he stammers enthusiastically as you grab his arm and head towards the back of the pub and climb the stairs, ensuring no one is following.

Sneaking past the bathrooms, you ascended even further into the depths of the pub until you found a spare living room with a sofa in front of the fire as you claimed, "This will do perfectly".

Turning around and before you could ponder any further on the man you really wished was here and deciding you needed to have some fun of your own, you grabbed the collar of Quirrel jumper and pulled him in for an eager kiss. However, the door barges open as you both spring apart.

You release a nervous laugh as you see no one is there, quickly rushing over to it and shutting the door, locking it properly with a wave of your wand. "Oops, must not have locked it".

Turning back towards Quirrel, he eagerly eyed you up and down. Not giving yourself time to regret the decision, you ran over to him, your arms moving around his neck as you pulled him into a quick snog. It was sloppy and distracting as he kissed you back with just as much eagerness.

It seemed Quirrell wasn't in the mood to wait as he soon fumbled with the button to your jeans. You silently have to give him some credit if he was going straight to the good without even touching your tits or kissing your neck. You wanted a distraction, and the fingers slipping into your underwear were definitely a distraction.

Especially as he began to vigorously rub your left labia rather than your clit. Attempting to shift your hips in your favour, he kept his fingers in the same dry spot, assuming your hip movements were a sign that he was doing a good job.

Great, you thought. Your love life was now just as dry and useless as your friend's life. Just fantastic.

Deciding there was still some hope left, your fingers moved into your jeans, your hand cupping the back of his fingers and moving them to finally circle your clit. However, the dryness and eagerness that he was moving made you feel overstimulated and ready for it to be over as fake moans began to spill from your lips.

"Fuck, you're so pretty", Quirinus moaned against your lips as he suddenly pulled back, but only so he could turn you on the spot and lean you awkwardly against the back of the sofa. Two things then started. One, his fingers shifted again back to the poor labia and away from your clit and two, he began to hump into your arse like a dog in heat.

Your eyes closed as you continued to fake the moans as his lips found the side of your neck as he nuzzled into you and continued with his pleasurable humps. You knew you could push him aside at any time, but for now, he was distracting you, even if you weren't finding any pleasure in it.

"Fuck you're so wet. Do you like that?" he asked, biting your neck like a vampire as you refrained from rolling your eyes.

Instead, you faked your seductive voice as you moaned, "Mmm yes, feels so good", even though you were pretty sure the wetness he was feeling was just sweat, as there was no way you were wet for this guy.

Matching the eagerness of his moans, you pretended to be close to orgasm just as his thrusts increased in speed, and your thighs began to ache as he pushed you harder and harder into the back of the sofa.

"Fuck!!" he cursed loudly into your ear as he came, and you two pretended to also orgasm, breathing heavily whilst bending over slightly to put some room between the two of you. As his fingers removed from your underwear, he proclaimed, "That was so good, wow. Hey, do you want to go on a date or something-".

His abrupt stop in the sentence has you turning with a questioning gaze but stopping short, seeing his face turn a pasty shade of green.

"Are you ok- Shit!" you quickly move out of his way as his hand covers his mouth, eyes bulge in panic, and he runs towards the door, wordlessly waving his wand and dashing out of the door with the promise of going to vomit.

You're unsure whether to be worried for his well-being and sudden turn or offended that he had suddenly become so unwell. Either way, you were well and truly finished with the day. Buttoning up your jeans, you began to move towards the open door and back down to the loud mass of students downstairs, but the door slamming in your face and audibly locking had you halting.

"What the fuck?" you question under your breath, rushing towards the door and twisting the handle, but it was thoroughly locked. "Alohamora" with a wave of your wand, you'd expected the door to unlock, but even this didn't work as panic slowly began to set in as you started to wonder if this was some trap in the room for people who sneak in. "Shit! Please open, please, please, please!" you repeat with more urgency as you continue to try and spell the door open, but then a low behind you in the empty room has you screaming and turning until your back is pressed against the door.

"He didn't make you cum”, James stated with venom laced in his words as he revealed himself from underneath his invisibility cloak.

"James?! What the fuck- have you been there the entire time?!" you hissed in rage, your body becoming hot all over as realisation dawned on you.

"Why did you fake an orgasm with him?" he asked, repeating the same subject as before as he stepped closer to you from where he was leaning against the desk at the opposite end of the room.

"You can't just follow me around, James! That's so fucking creepy, and wait - did you hex Quirrell? Is that why he was sick?"

"He fucking deserved it for not making you cum”, he declares as his body trembles with the restrained anger flowing through his veins, the vein in his throat bulging as he takes a step towards you.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you begin to pace in front of the fire, rubbing your hands over your face as you go through about every emotion humanly possible. "I don't understand you whatsoever! Who are you to judge who and how I spend my time? You never cared before, so why now?" Turning to face him, you see the anger that seems to have disappeared from his body as he slowly steps towards you, his eyes unblinking as they bore into yours, full of rich emotion that you were too frightened to name.

You felt breathless as he stepped into your personal space. The fire crackled to your side and illuminated half of his handsome face, reflecting off the glasses already beginning to slide down his nose as he peered down at you, and you had to clench your fist to stop yourself from pushing them back up again.

James was still wearing his school uniform, you noticed, giving yourself the slightest distraction from the anger and confusion pulsing through your body.

Your mouth suddenly felt dry as you asked quietly, "How did you know I was faking it?"

James breathed in through his nose as his eyes scoured your face. "There were a few obvious signs". You became utterly captivated with every word he had to say as he lifted his fingers, gently held your chin, and began to tilt your face further up to his as he lowered his own so there was only a breath width between the tips of your noses.

"One, you always hold your breath just as you're tipping over the edge. Two, your eyes were open; you usually close them as you become lost in the moment", he numbered off whilst gently kissing the corner of your lips and like every other time recently, your body reacted instantly to the touches, pulsing and begging for more but then he listed the final sign. You truly became wholly lost to James Potter. "And third, the reason I know you didn't orgasm was because you weren't saying my name".

A soft moan escaped your parted lips as he had you hypnotised and, blaming it once more entirely on the alcohol, closed the gap between both of your mouths.

The kiss was everything you could have ever wanted for a first romantic kiss with someone you had a crush on. However, it meant so much more. Barriers were being broken, friendships snapped for potentially a lifetime, and yet it was what you needed—more than the air in your lungs, than the heat blazing from the fire. You needed James, and he evidently needed you.

The gentle and tentative touch of your lips lasted for a single breath, and then all restraint keeping you back was released as both of you gripped each other fiercely. Your fingers wove through his soft hair, pulling him down firmly as his arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you until both of your chests were pushed together.

Where you'd once been overheating with rage, now you were ablaze with lust. The clothes were too tight and claustrophobic against your skin as you needed to touch his. Thankfully James had the same idea, as both of your faces tilted, the kiss deepening with longing strokes of tongues and swapping of saliva, just like you'd taught him those weeks ago, his hands began to move beneath your clothes frantically.

Before long, your jumper was carelessly dropped to the floor, the same with his tie and shirt. Your fingers explored his toned chest and stomach, enjoying the little hitches of breath that he moaned. However, it was your turn as he moved your bra straps off your shoulders as his nimble fingers unhooked the band at the back with a simple flick, another trick you had taught him last week.

Before you could compliment him, his lips were trailing down your neck, sucking and licking on the sensitive areas until you were mewling with need. However, he didn't stop lowering his face until his lips were wrapped around your nipple, pulling the sensitive bud into his mouth and pressing the flat of his tongue against it.

"James!" you keened, rising to the tips of your toes to press your chest harder into his face, and he loved it from the deep groan he released, his fingers flexing on your lower back.

The Marauder moved from one breast to the next, teasing and nibbling until you were a desperate mess. Gripping onto his hair, you tugged on it, forcing his face away from your tits so that you could go back to kissing him deeply whilst also pulling on his shoulders towards the direction of the sofa.

Catching onto the direction he was being pulled in, James took over the lead as he sat down and pulled you into his lap, where you straddled his thighs. You couldn't help but contemplate how the position mirrored the one that started this entire situation, except now you weren't teaching. He was more leading and dominating the situation.

The hand on your lower back pressed more pressure until your crotch was flush against his. It felt somewhat wrong to have your chests both naked and pressed together, but the rest was still covered with jeans and trousers. However, it didn't stop the moans from escaping either of you as his hands moved your hips so you were grinding on his cock.

"Sweetheart, I need these off. Right fucking now before I combust", James pleaded as he undid the button of your jeans.

"You two then, Potter, off!". Once more, the clothes were off of your body within the blink of an eye until you were both only in underwear. Returning to finding your pussy against his cock, now you could genuinely find some real pleasure as the fabric of your underwear and the shape of his erection pressed against your clit, causing your insides to clench with the need to be filled.

James began to chuckle as his lips wandered down your throat, causing you to sit back and ask, "What's so funny?"

Moving his face closer to yours, he confidently stated, "I can feel how wet you are, even through my boxers". The two of you looked down to see a wet patch had formed over the grey material of his underwear where you'd been rubbing yourself as you realised you'd soaked through your lace material. The smile soon drained from your face as you both looked at one another.

"I need you", you dared to whisper as your hands moved from his shoulders to cup his cheeks, skimming the edge of the metal frames of his glasses.

The Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he repeated the words with just as much passion, "I need you too".

It was almost like an out-of-body experience, your lust and arousal dictating your movements as you both held eye contact as you raised on your knees, pulling aside your underwear as James pushed the waistband of his underwear down to the mid-thigh.

Nothing separated the two of you now, and you could have cried as you positioned the head of his cock at your entrance. His arms moved around your body, hugging you close as he rested his forehead against yours.

"Oh Sweetheart, you feel - holy shit - you feel so good", James gasped as you lowered yourself to his length.

You were shaking with the overwhelming sensations pouring through your body, making just as pleading praises to the man currently stretching your cunt. For once, it wasn't about teaching him anything but just following instincts and responding to each other's bodies. You both took a second to adjust to the new sensations and then you couldn't wait another moment before rolling your hips, easing your body up and down.

The room echoed with the fire crackling and the sound of your drenched cunt being filled with James' cock over and over as he began to find more confidence, meeting your hips midway with his own thrust.

"Yes! Just like that!" you praise, tipping your head back and allowing him to move with his vigour as he fucked into you desperately.

"I- I feel like we're made for each other", he grunts as he looks down at where your bodies meet.

"Me too! James, please don't stop!" You could feel it, that tightening in your core that gave you such pleasure. You felt as if it was too much as it continued to build in the moment, as all you could do was cling to the man beneath you.

"That's it, Sweetheart, I want you to cum for me, say my name and cum”, he demanded as he fucked you as hard as he could, holding onto your shoulder to keep you in position. All air escaped your lungs as your eyes closed, and the tightness in your pleasure exploded in a flurry of clenches as you squeezed his cock through your orgasm, screaming his name like it was the only thing that mattered.

Through your overwhelming pleasure, you were half aware of the shivers and grunts coming from James as he couldn't contain himself any further and came with his shaft buried entirely within you. The thick seed spilt into you, mixing with your own juices and pooling into his lap as it began to slip out as his cock softened.

Heavy breaths and the stink of sex suffocated the small room as you both clung to the tendrils of hope that had bloomed from giving in to temptation.

But like most things, the happiness had to end as his grip loosened on you and the reality of the situation dawned on the both of you.

No more kisses were shared, no more longing looks as you clambered off of his lap, and the two of you began to dress, ignoring the fact that both of your underwear were now coated in bodily fluids.

Just as you pulled your jumper above your head and turned towards the door, James' hand circled yours. "Please don't shut me out, you're my best friend, I can't lose you". You don't say anything, and the emotions that had been threatening to spill all day finally surfaced as tears lined your eyes and your nose became stuffy. James looked devastated by your reaction as he stepped closer, his hands cupping either side of your face. "Did I hurt you? Please tell me you don't regret this".

"I should regret this", you begin to explain, letting the tears slip free, but James' thumb was there to swipe them all away. "But I don't, never with you. The only thing I regret is that this was your first time in this shitty little room and-. And your virginity wasn't meant for me".

James frowns at your words as he kisses your temple for a long second, "I'm pretty sure it's my virginity, and I can do whatever the fuck I want with it and give it to whoever I like. Also, side note, speaking about my virginity like this makes me sound like some virgin sacrifice".

You laugh tearily, leaning into his touch for a moment before stepping out of his grip and moving towards the door, turning the handle but finding it still locked. You couldn't turn around to face him, knowing it would break you to see the sadness in his eyes.

"Please don't go", James pleaded.

"Let me go, James", you whispered, meaning the sentence in more ways than one.

"I can't, Sweetheart", he admits, sounding almost broken.

"You have to. I don't want to be your bit on the side".

"You aren't my bit on the side; I mean, I can't do that to Lily; that's why I haven't asked her to be my girlfriend yet because of what we were doing".

Your heart sank at his words even though you knew he wasn't necessarily saying it to be cruel. "You can't do that to Lily, but you could do that to me? Please, James, please just let me go".

You were greeted with pure silence, and just as you're about to turn around and ask again, the door unlocks, and you're out the door in less than a second, rushing down the staircase and away from what you'd done but not before you're out of earshot as James screams the word "Fuck!" like a broken man.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter smut #james potter one shot #hp smut #hp one shot #mine*

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hederasgarden · 3 months ago

Text

On the Horizon (1/?)

Summary: You've been pining over your coworker for a while now. He might not have realized but someone has. Pairing:Tyler Owens x F!Reader (with minor Scott x F!Reader) Word Count: 2.5K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Angst, flirting, and asshole!Scott. Future chapters will be smutty. Not all themes are tagged. A/N: Thanks to @writercole for the summary and @ryebecca @mermaidxatxhear @clairewritesandrambles and @a-reader-and-a-writer for their beta help. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist ♡ Glen Powell Character Masterlist

It’s sweltering in the midday sun and you wipe the sweat from your brow as you surreptitiously watch Scott work beside you. He doesn't seem bothered by the heat, typing away on his computer despite the stagnant air. It makes you yearn for the cool, controlled environment of the labs you used to work in before Javi recruited you. Although he'd likely tell you this weather was perfect for a storm, you're miserable. Meteorology isn’t even your specialty; you’re here for your engineering skills to manage the specialized equipment the team relies on for their data collection.

Perched on the tailgate of the Storm Par truck, you have a clear view of the other storm chasers clustering around Tyler Owens' red truck. The man in question emerges with a brilliant smile, and beside you, Scott scoffs, annoyed. He hates Tyler, and you're pretty sure the feeling is mutual.

"Ass," Scott mutters, returning his attention to his computer.

When you look up again, you catch Tyler watching the two of you. You know he’s more than likely looking for a chance to provoke Scott, but to your surprise, he offers you a wink and pulls down the brim of his hat in acknowledgment. Before you can react, he's turned to speak to one of the young women on his team, giving her his full attention. A hand rests casually on her shoulder.

You wish Scott would acknowledge you like that. You thought things would be different after the night you shared weeks ago, but he quickly dashed those hopes the next morning, ignoring you completely. He only seemed to look at you when he needed your tech skills or when you made a mistake. Your cheeks still burn from his last reprimand in front of the team, the sting of his criticism lingering.

Clearing your throat, Scott’s eyes briefly land on you before returning to the computer screen.

"What?" he demands.

"I was going to get something to eat. Do you want anything?”

"Yeah, you know what I like," he says dismissively.

When it's clear that's all you're getting from him, you push off the truck onto the dusty road with a soft exhale and head into the gas station. The air conditioning inside practically makes you groan with relief, and you take a moment to appreciate the cool air.

"You're not melting on us, are you, city girl?" You jump at the unexpected voice, surprised to see it belongs to Tyler. "MIT got you all wound up, huh?” He questions, amused.

"What?"

"Your boss," he clarifies.

"Oh, he's um...he's not my boss. Javi is."

"No?" he asks, brows raised. "Well, he certainly barks at you like he is."

Heat rushes to your face as you realize Tyler must have overheard Scott reprimand you yesterday after you miscalibrated one of the sensors.

"If you worked with my team, I'd be a lot nicer," he says.

You stare at him, unsure how to react to his comment and the suggestive tone. Before today, you’d barely spoken to him, although you get the impression that his flirtatious nature is just a normal part of his outgoing personality. Thankfully, you’re spared from having to figure out how to respond when the doorbell jingles and someone calls your name.

It’s Scott.

"Owens," he bites out.

Your lips part in a surprised inhale as he places a hand on your shoulder and stands so close that you can feel the fabric of his shirt brushing against your arm. Tyler's gaze drops briefly to your mouth before returning to your face with a knowing smile.

"Well, I enjoyed our chat," he tells you, not bothering to acknowledge Scott. "We should do this again, sweetheart."

Once he’s gone, Scott moves to stand in front of you "What did he want?" he demands.

"Oh, nothing. Just...saying hi."

Scott tenses, and he steps into your space, cupping your elbow. "You shouldn't talk to him," he advises.

When he tilts his head to stare down at you, something flickers in his blue eyes that looks an awful lot like jealousy. You glance over your shoulder at Tyler, only to have Scott say your name again, more forcefully. Turning back, you find his intense dark blue eyes locked onto yours. For the first time since that night in the hotel room, you realize you have Scott’s full attention and that sends a thrill of excitement through you.

You bite your lip, the beginning of an idea coming together.

An opportunity arises to put your plan into motion later that night. Nearly everyone has descended on the only motel in town, but no one seems interested in staying in their rooms. Music pumps from Tyler’s red truck and another group grill burgers nearby. Alcohol is flowing freely as different teams mingle.

You spot Scott busy inside the Storm Par command van, completely absorbed in his work. From experience, you know any attempt to pull him away would be pointless, but spending time with Tyler just might. You linger at the edge of the parking lot, trying to muster the courage to approach the Tornado Wrangler crew. They’re sharing beers and laughing, but when you look closer you realize a lot of them are still working in some way or another. Lily has the inner workings of her drone exposed, tinkering while Dani and Tyler look like they’re securing something to the side of his truck.

Suddenly what felt like a great idea earlier now seems silly. So does your sundress and the time you spent making yourself look nice. Any attempt to enact your plan would mean intruding on their little bubble. Besides, you’re not even sure this hairbrained idea would even work on Scott a second time.

You turn to head back to your room when Tyler calls out, “Hey city girl, you want a beer?”

You freeze, eyes closing briefly as you realize there’s no turning back now. You’ve been spotted. When you face him again Tyler is watching you with a casual, expectant smile. He leans against the hood of his truck with one arm draped over it.

“Come on, we don’t bite,” he encourages.

“Not unless you ask us to,” Boone chimes in, earning a collective groan and playful slap to the back of his head from Dani.

Someone tosses you a beer, and you fumble to catch it. It’s icy and slippery. Tyler watches you with a raised eyebrow as a slow, amused smile spreads across his face. You’ve never felt less cool in your life and you end up looking anywhere but him.

“Hey…you’re an engineer right?” Lily calls out. “You wanna take a look at the wing here? She’s giving me some trouble.”

You glance at the Storm Par van, half expecting Scott to come to scold you for even considering helping the enemy, but he’s still inside.

“Tin Man seems pretty tied up with his work,” Tyler observes. “I think you’re safe to join us, Dorothy.”

You blink, both surprised and a bit embarrassed to realize just how obvious you must be. “Uh, yeah, I can take a look,” you tell Lily.

She grins, shifting back on her heels. You follow her over to the truck to examine the drone. Lily talks you through everything she’s already tried so far with Cairo and you ask her a few questions in return. After a bit of trial and error, you identify the issue. Thankfully it's a quick fix.

Boone lets out a low whistle, impressed. “You know, if things don’t pan out with the corporate overlords, I bet Ty would offer you a spot on our team.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply, watching Tyler round the truck and draw closer to you.

“I’m a much nicer boss than Scout,” he promises.

“He’s not my boss,” you remind Tyler. “And his name is Scott.”

“Oh, I know, sweetheart,” he intones, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes it hard to focus on anything but the way he’s looking at you.

You let out a nervous little chuckle, realizing that you hadn’t actually planned for anything beyond capturing Tyler’s attention. Glancing down at the beer in your hands, you fiddle with the label until Tyler takes the bottle. He twists off the cap and hands it back without a word.

You offer him a quick, “thanks,” and take a sip. The lukewarm, hoppy flavor tingles on your tongue. You make a face.

“Not a beer girl?” Tyler asks, drawing back to give you a thoughtful once-over. He hums consideringly. “No, you strike me as a rosé-all-day type.”

“Actually, I’m a whisky girl,” you lie, grinning at the surprised blink you get in response.

“I must be losing my touch,” he confesses, leaning into your space and letting you catch the faint scent of his cologne or deodorant—something sharp and clean like the ozone that lingers in the air after a storm. “Unless, of course, you’re just messing with me,” he continues. “But you wouldn’t do something like that, would you, city girl?”

The way he stares at you suggests that he’s not just talking about your choice of drink. Before you can stop yourself, you look over his shoulder, searching for Scott. Tyler doesn’t turn to see what has your attention. He doesn’t need to, you realize.

“A lesser man might take that as a blow to his ego.” His tone is teasing as he uses two fingers under your chin to gently guide your gaze back to him. “Lucky for you, darlin’, I’m a big boy.”

A prickling warmth spreads across your body, and your jaw muscles tingle with a mix of embarrassment and anxiety. You must have been horribly transparent in your attempt, you realize.

“I’m not…I didn’t,” you stumble over your words as Tyler’s smile grows.

“The decent thing to do is ask,” he encourages. He cranes his neck behind him and you see Scott’s finally noticed the two of you together. “Better make it quick, he’s on his way over here now.”

“What?”

“You know what,” he replies, tapping your nose.

Panic settles in, your reluctance to admit what you were trying to do warring with your desire to get Scott’s attention. “Okay, okay, fine,” you relent. “I’m trying to make Scott jealous.”

You can see Scott over Tyler’s shoulder now, his expression dark. He’s second away from being in hearing range. “Tyler. Please.”

“Well since you said the magic word.”

He turns and in one smooth motion throws his arm over your shoulder to draw you in close. That seems to surprise Scott whose pace slows as he approaches. Your heart flutters wildly in your chest as you gaze up at him, acutely aware of Tyler’s body pressed firmly against your side.

“Hey, Scooter,” Tyler greets. “Want a beer?”

Scott’s cheek ripples in annoyance. “No,” he says curtly.

“Suit yourself.” Tyler shrugs. He grabs the bottle in your hand and takes a long drink from it before handing it back to you. “Nothing better than a cold one after a day of chasing storms.”

Scott’s nostrils flare and he utters your name in a clipped tone.

“Uh, I better go,” you tell Tyler. “Thanks for the beer.”

“Well, I hope to see more of you later, sweetheart,” he replies with a wink.

The second you’re within reach, Scott’s hand is on your upper back and quickly moves to rest at the base of your neck. You feel a little like an errant school child with the way he guides you past the rest of Tyler’s crew, whose goodbyes are decidedly less enthusiastic than their welcome. Boone glances between you and Scott, making a face that you can’t quite decipher.

“I thought you were headed to bed early,” Scott accuses as soon as you’re out of earshot of the crew. He’s tense beside you, fingers flexing against your skin.

“I was but then the Wrangler crew invited me to join them for a beer.” He doesn’t need to know you sought them out for your ill-conceived plan.

Scott scoffs, moving in front of you. He stares down at you. “You shouldn’t be wasting your time with those hillbillies.”

“They aren’t so bad,” you defend until he pins you with a quelling look. You know Scott well enough by now to drop the topic, even if his words don’t sit quite right with you. Tyler and his friends were nothing but kind to you tonight.

“Storm Par can’t be seen spending time with those amateurs. It’s bad for business. You should know better.”

You realize, with a sinking feeling, that he’s not jealous — he’s just angry. He’d probably be just as upset if another member of your team was seen mingling with the so-called enemy. How could you have been stupid enough to think talking to Tyler would make him want you again?

“Come on,” Scott urges, seemingly intent on walking you back to your hotel room.

At the door, you wave the card over the keypad and shoulder the old, warped door open. Before you can turn to bid Scott a good night a hand on your hips pushes you forward and he follows you inside. The door shuts and he plucks the keycard from your hands, thoughtlessly tossing it on the bedside table.

His mouth is on yours before you can speak, his hands grabbing at the hem of your sundress. The shift in his mood is enough to disorient you and you don’t resist when his tongue invades your mouth. The back of your knees hit the bed and then he’s on top of you, warm and solid. He pulls roughly at the strap of your dress, his teeth nipping at the exposed skin. When you feel his hand land on your inner thigh you push at his chest.

“Wait, Scott,” you breathe. This feels nothing like your last time together.

He pulls back, a tick in his jaw as he stares down at you. “It's been a long day,” he says, “and we both know you want this.”

You do want him, more than anything, but there’s something about his tone and words that dredge up an uncomfortable feeling in your chest. It makes your skin prickle, and you avert your gaze, suddenly uncertain. Above you, Scott sighs, and you feel his fingertips gently touch your jaw. You think of Tyler suddenly, his teasing tone and the amusement in his green eyes. When you look back at Scott, his unreadable blue eyes meet yours.

The bed creaks as he shifts back. “I can just go,” he offers.

“No, please don’t.” The words escape your lips before you even realize you’ve spoken. This is what you wanted, you remind yourself. Scott’s the kind of man you always dreamed about, handsome and intelligent – one of those Ivy League boys who never looked twice at you in college.

“Good answer,” he says with a smile.

You pull him closer, and as his lips find yours once more, the lingering discomfort fades away. You’re finally getting what you’ve wanted.

Aren’t you?

Part 2

♡

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syluslnd · 1 month ago

Note

hello! can i request heavy angst with sylus and mc? like them never officially being in a relationship but clearly belonging to eachother, keeping a love-hate slowburn dynamic so it's nothing knew when they fight, but one day they get into a really bad, heated argument. out of anger sylus says something he immediately regrets and mc leaves (also out of anger) but something happens and they don't come back. (you can decide if it's happy ending or not)! thank you in advance!

house of cards

word count 5.6k

tags- angst no comfort,verbal insults ,death,dead dove,grieving

──── ୨୧ ────

The night was cool and the dim streetlights of Onychinus cast long shadows over the pavement. You waited outside one of Sylus’s known hideouts, a secluded bar where his lieutenants often gathered. It had become routine—waiting.

You leaned against the rough stone wall, arms crossed, trying to calm the growing frustration. He hadn’t reached out in days and when he did, it was for one thing—hooking up, nothing more, nothing less. Every time you tried to talk about something real, something deeper, he deflected with that arrogant smirk or one of his quick dismissals.

It was driving you mad. You wanted more than the casual, heated exchanges. But how could you demand more from someone who wouldn’t even admit what you were to him?

Footsteps echoed behind you and you straightened, turning to see Sylus approaching, his tall frame cutting through the dim light like a shadow. He looked as composed as ever, eyes sharp and calculating. You couldn’t deny the way your heart raced at the sight of him but the growing anger inside kept you from softening.

“You’ve been busy” you muttered as he stopped in front of you, crossing your arms tighter over your chest.

Sylus raised a brow, his expression unreadable. “What can I say, sweetie? I run an empire. It keeps me occupied.” His tone was casual, indifferent, like he wasn’t fazed by your clear annoyance.

“That’s the problem” you shot back, your voice edged with frustration. “You’re always ‘occupied.’ When was the last time we spent more than an hour together without it turning into some… thing? It’s like you don’t even care unless we’re in bed.”

He chuckled softly, though there was a sharpness behind it. “You’re upset because I’m busy? You knew what this was.”

His dismissiveness was the last straw. “Is that all this is to you?” you asked, your voice rising. “Just something casual whenever you feel like it?”

Sylus’s expression darkened slightly, his calm demeanor still intact but there was something colder in his eyes now. “You’re making this bigger than it is.”

Your chest tightened. How could he be so dismissive? You weren’t asking for the world just… something more than this half-life with him. “Bigger than it is? Sylus, you barely talk to me unless you want something. I’m tired of feeling like an afterthought. I deserve more than that.”

For a moment, his expression softened but it was fleeting. He stepped closer, his hand reaching for your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. “What do you want from me?” His voice was low, almost dangerously calm. “I’m not the kind of man who makes promises. You know that. But you’re still here.”

You pulled away from his touch, the sting of his words echoing in your mind. “I don’t know how much longer I can be” you admitted, your voice quieter now, the weight of it hitting both of you.

Sylus watched you pull away, a flicker of something passing through his eyes—annoyance maybe or something deeper that he wasn’t about to show. He sighed, running a hand through his hair before dropping it back to his side.

“Fine” he said, voice laced with irritation “I’ll make it up to you. Let’s go out. Will that make you happy?” His words felt more like an obligation than a genuine apology, as if he were doing you a favor by even suggesting it.

You scoffed lightly, the apology clearly lacking any sincerity. “Really, Sylus? An apology and an offer to go out, just like that? You think that’s enough?”

He rolled his eyes, the sharpness of his usual calm starting to crack just a little. “You’re not making this easy. I’m trying here.” There was a slight edge to his voice but his gaze softened for a moment. “So, where do you want to go?”

You bit back the retort that almost escaped, knowing pushing too far too fast wouldn’t get either of you anywhere. “The arcade. I want to go to the arcade” you said, watching him closely.

Sylus’s expression shifted and for a second, the irritation returned. He didn’t hide the slight frown tugging at his lips. “An arcade?” he repeated, like the idea was absurd for someone like him. “You want me to take you to a place full of flashing lights and teenagers wasting time?”

A small smile crept onto your face despite the tension. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I want. It’s fun, Sylus. Or have you forgotten how to have fun?”

His eyes narrowed, clearly not amused by the teasing. But then, after a pause he sighed again this time more resigned. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”

It wasn’t much of an apology and you could tell he was annoyed but there was something in the way he relented that caught you off guard. Sylus was many things—cold, ruthless, always in control—but every now and then you caught these small moments where it seemed like he was trying, even if he didn’t fully understand why.

“Thank you” you said, keeping your voice soft but not letting the gratitude carry too much weight. You didn’t want him to think everything was forgiven just because he agreed to one date. “We’ll go tomorrow, okay?”

He glanced at you, something unreadable in his gaze. “Sure. Tomorrow.”

You nodded, the awkward silence hanging between you like a thin thread. You didn’t know if you should say more or if this was one of those moments where you just let things settle. Sylus turned away but just before he walked off, his hand brushed yours—light, almost hesitant. It was a fleeting touch, gone before you could react but it lingered all the same.

The neon lights from the arcade spilled out onto the busy street, reflecting off the windows as people moved in and out, laughing and shouting over the sound of the games inside. You stood near the entrance, arms crossed, glaring at your phone. Sylus was late again. It wasn’t like this was a surprise—he was always late—but today, it stung more than usual. You had put effort into this. You wanted to have fun, just once, without all the complications. But, of course, Sylus had to ruin that by being Sylus.

You checked your phone again. 30 minutes late.

Your jaw clenched, anger boiling just beneath the surface. This wasn’t just about tonight—it was about all the other times he brushed you off, made you wait, or treated you like something he could pick up and drop whenever he felt like it. You were tired of being patient, tired of pretending it didn’t bother you when it did.

The sound of footsteps behind you caught your attention and you didn’t need to look to know it was him. Sylus always had a presence—a certain energy that shifted the air around him. Still, you didn’t turn right away, letting him stand there for a moment while you seethed in silence.

“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart” Sylus’s voice came smooth as ever, carrying that casual arrogance that drove you mad. You could feel his gaze on you, waiting for you to respond. “Business, you know how it is.”

You slowly turned to face him, the anger barely contained as you stared him down. “You’re thirty minutes late, Sylus.”

He tilted his head, his smirk teasing. “I thought you’d be used to it by now.”

That infuriating smirk—it was enough to make you want to scream. But this wasn’t the place. You were surrounded by kids, teenagers, people who didn’t know the kind of world Sylus lived in. You couldn’t make a scene, not here, even though every nerve in your body begged you to let loose.

“I’m tired of it” you said quietly, your voice sharp but low, careful not to draw too much attention. “You’re always late. It’s like you don’t even care.”

He stepped closer, his height casting a shadow over you but it wasn’t his size that had your heart racing. It was the way he looked at you, like he could see through every wall you put up and worse like he found it amusing. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

You narrowed your eyes, refusing to let him distract you with his charm. “Don’t start with that. You think showing up late and calling me ‘cute’ is going to make this better?”

Sylus’s eyes glinted and he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering just enough that only you could hear him. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

There it was. That casual confidence the way he twisted every situation in his favor and the worst part? He was right. You were still here. But it wasn’t because you didn’t have enough self-respect to walk away—it was because, despite everything, some part of you still wanted this. Wanted him.

“You think I’m just going to let it slide every time?” you shot back, your voice barely above a whisper, trying to maintain your composure in public.

He chuckled softly that rich, deep sound that sent a shiver down your spine despite your anger. “You’ll let it slide because you want to be here with me. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

Your pulse quickened as his words hit deeper than you’d like to admit. He wasn’t wrong but that didn’t make it any less frustrating. You swallowed, trying to keep control of the emotions that were bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

“I wanted us to have a normal night” you muttered, glancing away to avoid his piercing gaze. “Just one night where we didn’t have to deal with your… business. But you couldn’t even show up on time.”

For a brief moment, something shifted in Sylus’s expression—something softer, almost like regret. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by that familiar teasing smirk. “I’m here now. Isn’t that what matters?”

You looked at him, searching for any sign that he really cared, that he wasn’t just saying what he thought you wanted to hear. But Sylus was a master at hiding his true feelings. He could be teasing one second and dangerous the next, always keeping you guessing.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you said, shaking your head in disbelief. “It’s not about you being here now. It’s about everything. About the way you treat me like an afterthought, like I’m only here when it’s convenient for you.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered by your words. “You’re making this way too complicated, sweetheart.”

You clenched your fists, taking a deep breath to calm the storm brewing inside. “Maybe it’s not that complicated to want someone who actually gives a damn.”

Sylus smirked again, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “I give enough of a damn to be here, don’t I?”

His closeness was overwhelming, his presence suffocating yet intoxicating at the same time. You hated how easily he could pull you in, how his words—no matter how frustrating—always had a way of making you second-guess yourself. But you couldn’t let him win this time.

“Being here isn’t enoug” you whispered, your voice tense with emotion. “I need more than that.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face, as if considering his next move. Then, with a soft, almost mocking chuckle, he brushed a stray piece of hair from your face, his fingers barely grazing your skin. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You didn’t respond, biting your lip to keep the tears that were building up from spilling. You weren’t going to cry—not here, not in front of him. But the way he looked at you, like he could see every crack in your armor, made it hard to keep your emotions at bay.

After a long pause, he sighed, though it sounded more like annoyance than sympathy. “Alright, fine. I’ll make it up to you. We’re here now, let’s just enjoy the night,okay kitten”

You wanted to scream at him, to tell him that ‘enjoying the night’ wasn’t enough to fix what was broken between you two. But instead, you just nodded, knowing full well that this wasn’t the time or place for a real argument.

“Yeah” you muttered, your voice hollow. “Let’s enjoy the night.”

You stood in front of the claw machine, gripping the joystick harder than necessary, your eyes narrowed in concentration. The bright, colorful stuffed animals inside were taunting you, mocking your every failed attempt to grab one. You had already wasted several coins and each time the claw just slipped off the prize at the last second, your frustration only grew.

Sylus leaned against the machine behind you, his arms crossed and a smirk dancing on his lips. You could feel his gaze on you and it wasn’t helping your mood. You were still pissed—at him, at his nonchalant attitude, at the whole situation.

“Having trouble sweetie?” Sylus asked, his voice laced with amusement.

You didn’t answer, your jaw clenched as you maneuvered the claw over a plush toy that looked easy enough to grab. You hit the button, watching as the claw descended… only for it to fumble and drop the toy yet again. You cursed under your breath, stepping back from the machine in frustration.

Behind you, Sylus chuckled softly, clearly entertained by your struggle. “You know, you might be better at this if you weren’t so mad.”

“Shut up” you muttered, glaring at the machine like it was somehow responsible for your anger.

Sylus pushed himself off the wall, coming to stand beside you. “Let me try.”

You hesitated, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but eventually stepped aside with a sigh. Sylus slid a coin into the slot, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he wasn’t in any kind of rush. He tilted his head, studying the plush toys inside with a cool, calculating expression—like this was some kind of challenge he needed to win just to prove a point.

He moved the joystick with ease, barely paying attention and then pressed the button. You watched as the claw descended, grabbed a stuffed bear and successfully lifted it up, dropping it neatly into the prize chute without a hitch.

You stared at the bear in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Sylus grinned, reaching in to grab the prize. “What can I say? I’m just lucky.”

You rolled your eyes still too annoyed to let it go. “It’s not luck when you don’t even care.”

He handed you the bear, his smirk softening just a little. “Here. Something to remember me by when I’m not around.”

You took the bear reluctantly, not sure whether to be touched or even more irritated. There was something in the way Sylus looked at you in that moment, though—a fleeting softness, like he was enjoying being here with you, even if he didn’t say it outright.

For a few minutes, it was almost… normal. You grabbed some drinks from the concession stand and you found yourself relaxing—just a little. The arcade lights, the sound of people laughing and playing games and even Sylus’s teasing remarks all blended into a strange sense of calm. Maybe it wasn’t perfect but it was something.

You took a sip of your drink, glancing at Sylus. “You think you can beat me at air hockey?”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Sweetie you really want to challenge me?”

You shrugged, smiling for the first time since he showed up. “I’m just saying, you won’t win twice in a row.”

Sylus chuckled, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

The banter felt easy, natural even and for the first time in a long while, you were actually having fun with him—laughing, teasing, almost forgetting how mad you were earlier.

But just as you were starting to think the night might turn around, Sylus’s phone rang. You watched as his playful demeanor vanished, replaced by that familiar cold detached look that always came when something serious was happening.

He answered the call, turning away from you slightly but you could still hear bits and pieces of the conversation. It was business, obviously—Onychinus business.

You sighed, already knowing where this was headed.

After a few minutes Sylus hung up, his jaw tight. He didn’t look at you right away, as if he was bracing for your reaction.

“Let me guess” you said, your voice bitter. “You’ve got to go.”

He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at you apologetically. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You stared at him, your earlier frustration flooding back in an instant. “Make it up to me? You said that last time and the time before that.”

Sylus opened his mouth to respond but you cut him off your anger spilling over. “You know what? I’m done hearing your excuses. Every single time we try to do something, you end up bailing. I’m not an afterthought, Sylus.”

His gaze flickered but he remained calm, almost too calm. “It’s not like that—”

“Then what is it like?” you snapped. “Because it sure as hell feels like I’m just something you deal with when it’s convenient.”

He sighed, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You know how this works. I don’t get to choose when I get called.”

“You don’t get to choose?but you also don’t seem to care how it affects me” you shot back. “You always have time for business but never for me.”

Sylus’s jaw clenched and for a second you thought he might snap. But instead he just took a deep breath his voice low and controlled. “I’m trying to keep you out of this. That’s why I don’t bring you into my world more than I already have.”

You laughed bitterly. “Oh, so this is you protecting me? By making me feel like I don’t matter?”

He stepped closer his voice dropping even lower. “You do matter. But I can’t always be there when you want me to be.”

You looked up at him your anger mixing with something else—something closer to hurt. “I don’t need you there all the time, Sylus. I just need you to act like you care.”

For a brief moment his expression softened and you could see something flicker in his eyes—guilt, maybe or regret. But just as quickly as it appeared it was gone, replaced by that same cold distant look he always wore when things got too close, too real.

“I’ll call you later” he said, his tone clipped.

You stared at him in disbelief. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

Sylus hesitated but eventually turned and walked away leaving you standing there your heart sinking as the sound of the arcade faded into the background.

It had been a week. A whole week without so much as a call or a message from Sylus. Each day that passed made your frustration grow until it morphed into a bitter, burning anger.

You knew this wasn't a relationship-he had never promised that. But still, the silence gnawed at you, his dismissive attitude felt like a slap in the face. All the excuses about his work, his responsibilities-none of them felt like enough anymore.

So when you heard a knock at your door and opened it to see Sylus standing there like nothing had happened you felt your blood boil.

“Hey kitten” he said casually, as if the past week hadn’t happened. He leaned against your doorframe his sharp eyes scanning you with a cool detached air. “Haven’t heard from you in a while. You could’ve at least called.”

You stared at him your anger simmering just beneath the surface. How could he be so nonchalant? So unaffected?

You tried to stay calm to hold it together but the way he stood there acting like everything was fine like he hadn’t disappeared without a word set you off. “I could’ve called?” you repeated, your voice shaking with anger. “Are you serious right now?”

Sylus shrugged, his usual smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah sweetie I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?” You felt the anger bubbling over and before you could stop yourself you stepped closer your fists clenched at your sides. “You disappeared for a week, and now you just show up like it’s no big deal? Do you even realize how pissed off I am?”

His gaze flickered with mild amusement as if your anger was some sort of game to him. “You’re always pissed off.”

You glared at him your chest tightening. “Because you give me every reason to be! You act like you don’t even care.”

Sylus chuckled, his eyes softening just slightly as he watched you fume. “You’re so adorable when you’re angry.”

His words were the final straw. You felt tears welling up in your eyes and you hated it—hated that he could make you feel like this, like your anger didn’t matter, like you didn’t matter. He had come here for one thing, and you knew it. That much was obvious by the way he was already moving closer his hand reaching for your waist as if he could just sweep all your anger away with a touch.

But you stepped back, stopping him in his tracks. “No.”

Sylus blinked, surprised by your sudden resistance. “No?”

“I’m not doing this” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m not just going to let you walk in here and act like everything’s fine.”

He stared at you his brow furrowing as if he didn’t quite understand why you were so upset. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you don’t give a damn about me” you snapped, your voice cracking as the tears finally spilled over. “You show up when it’s convenient for you, when you want something and I’m just supposed to go along with it? I’m not some toy you can pick up and put down whenever you feel like it, Sylus!”

For the first time Sylus didn’t have a clever comeback. He just stood there his smirk fading his expression hardening into something unreadable and for a moment, just a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of guilt in his eyes.

But then, his phone rang.

Of course.

You watched in disbelief as he pulled out his phone, glancing at the screen with that same detached expression you had grown to hate. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked back at you. “I have to take this.”

“No.” Your voice was low, trembling with barely-contained rage. “You’re not doing this again.”

He paused, his hand hovering over the phone. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice” you spat. “You just never choose me.”

Sylus’s jaw tightened but he remained silent his fingers gripping the phone as if it was some kind of lifeline. The phone kept ringing the sound filling the tense space between you like a countdown to something inevitable and that was it. That was the moment you snapped.

“You’re a cold-hearted bastard, you know that?” you said your voice rising as your anger reached its breaking point. “All you care about is your damn job, your stupid mafia game and yourself. You don’t care about me. You never did.”

Something in Sylus’s eyes darkened at your words but you were too far gone to stop now. “You act like you’re so untouchable, like nothing and no one matters to you. Well, guess what, Sylus? You’re not untouchable. You’re just a coward who can’t handle real emotions. You’re pathetic.”

His hand clenched around the phone, his calm exterior cracking just enough for you to see the anger brewing beneath the surface. “Watch it” he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

But you didn’t back down. “No, you watch it. I’m done pretending like this is something it’s not. You show up when you feel like it, you leave whenever you get a call and you expect me to just wait around for you like I don’t have my own life. Well, I’m done. I’m done being your damn convenience.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed, his voice a deadly whisper. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about” you shot back. “I’m talking about how you treat me like I don’t matter, like I’m just here for your amusement.”

The tension in the room was thick, suffocating and for the first time Sylus didn’t have his usual cocky, unbothered expression. He looked… furious.

And then, in a moment of weakness, you said the words that changed everything. “You know what’s worse? We’re not even a couple. We’re not anything. I’m nothing to you, right? Just some girl you hook up with when you’re bored.”

Sylus’s expression turned cold, ice spreading through his gaze. His voice was quiet but sharp as a knife. “You’re right.”

The air was sucked from your lungs. You stared at him, feeling like the ground had just been ripped out from beneath you. He didn’t even hesitate. He didn’t deny it. He just… confirmed it.

“We’re not a couple” Sylus continued his voice brutally calm. “We never were. You knew what this was from the start.”

You took a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. His words cut deeper than any knife ever could. You had known of course you had known. But hearing him say it out loud, hearing the cold finality in his voice—it broke something inside you.

Tears welled up in your eyes again but this time they weren’t from anger. They were from heartbreak. You couldn’t even look at him anymore. “I hate you” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Sylus flinched, just slightly but he quickly masked it. “Go ahead, hate me all you want. It doesn’t change anything.”

You stared at him for a moment longer then turned on your heel and stormed out of the apartment. You didn’t care where you were going. You just needed to get away from him, from the pain, from everything.

The night outside was dark and cold the streets of Onychinus dangerous as ever. But you didn’t care. You were too hurt, too broken to care. You just kept walking, your tears blurring your vision as the world around you faded into nothingness.

And Sylus… didn’t follow.

Sylus had been drowning in work. The weight of Onychinus bore down on him heavier than usual. One of his trusted men had been leaking information—details of transactions, routes, even the inner workings of their operations. It was enough to shake the entire foundation he had built over the years.

He couldn’t afford to let this weakness show. Weakness in his world meant death. So he buried himself in the chaos, his mind constantly racing through strategies to tighten his grip on Onychinus, to snuff out the traitor, to keep his empire from crumbling. It consumed him, and every decision he made carried the cold, calculating precision of a leader who couldn’t afford to let his guard down.

But amidst all the chaos, one thing gnawed at the back of his mind—he hadn’t heard from you in days.

Two days. It wasn’t like you to be completely silent, not after the argument that had ended with you storming out, leaving him standing alone in your apartment. At first, he chalked it up to your stubbornness. You were angry.

You had every right to be. He hadn’t cared enough to check in, hadn’t thought to chase after you when you left. After all, that was how it had always been. You would blow up he’d brush it off and eventually things would return to the way they always were.

But something about this time was different. It lingered in the back of his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Something was off.

On the third day, he finally caved. He sent Mephisto, his crow, to find you. It should’ve been easy—Mephisto never failed him. But when the bird came back, empty and restless a knot of dread settled in his chest.

His irritation mounted. He called his men, ordering them to find you. You couldn’t have gone far. He didn’t doubt your ability to survive but Onychinus wasn’t the kind of place you wandered alone for long without catching the wrong kind of attention.

As hours turned into days, his frustration grew. His men scoured the city, checking the places you frequented, talking to the few who might have seen you. But each report came back the same—nothing. No sign of you. No trace.

Until that first discovery.

The message came late in the night. One of his men, pale-faced and visibly shaken approached him in the office. Sylus didn’t look up from the mountain of paperwork, his pen scratching across the page.

“Sylus… we found something”the man stammered.

Sylus’s eyes flicked up cold and unbothered. “Spit it out.”

The man hesitated, shifting on his feet. “It’s… her fingernails, sir.”

A sharp silence followed those words. Sylus stopped mid-sentence his pen freezing in place. Slowly, he set it down, his jaw tightening. He didn’t like what was being implied. He refused to acknowledge it.

“Don’t play games with me” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “What are you saying?”

The man swallowed stepping forward with a small bag in his trembling hands. Inside, nestled among dirt and blood, were pieces of fingernails—yours.

Sylus stared at the bag, his expression unreadable. Something dark flickered behind his eyes but he didn’t move, didn’t react, except for the faint tightening of his jaw. “This doesn’t prove anything” he said coolly, his voice sharp as glass. “She could’ve broken them off herself.”

The man flinched. “Sir… you know that’s not—”

“I said” Sylus cut him off, his eyes narrowing dangerously “it doesn’t prove anything.”

The man fell silent but the air in the room shifted, thick with unspoken dread. Sylus’s mind raced, the tension creeping into his chest. He refused to believe it. You were too strong, too smart to fall into something like this. But doubt gnawed at him. He crushed it buried it under layers of ice, refusing to let it take root.

Days passed, and more pieces were found. Little by little, pieces of you scattered across Onychinus like breadcrumbs leading to a nightmare he didn’t want to face. A lock of your hair. A fragment of your skin. The reports kept coming and Sylus’s temper grew colder, sharper. He snapped at his men at anyone who dared to mention what they all knew but didn’t dare say out loud.

“She’s fine” Sylus would say whenever another part of you was found, his voice as hard as steel. “You’re all idiots. She’s playing a game. She’ll show up.”

But he knew. Deep down, he knew.

Then came the day they found your head.

The moment Sylus laid eyes on it, something inside him snapped. Your lifeless face, pale and bloodied, with a twisted smile carved across your lips, stared back at him. His hands clenched into fists, trembling with a fury so raw it threatened to consume him. His men stood back none daring to approach knowing full well the storm that was brewing inside their leader.

And then they found the message. It was simple, scrawled in blood across a torn piece of your clothing:

“I’m always watching.”

One of his enemies. The very traitor he had been hunting lurking in the shadows had taken you from him. They had taken the one weakness he never admitted out loud not even to himself. But now, looking at your head—at the cruel mockery of your death, the message taunting him, daring him to act—he couldn’t deny it anymore.

You were his weakness. The one thing that made him feel something other than cold, ruthless control.

And now… you were gone.

For the first time in his life, Sylus felt guilt. Genuine, gut-wrenching guilt. Regret settled in his chest like a poison, choking him, making it hard to breathe. He had pushed you away. He had let his pride, his work, his goddamn arrogance get in the way and now, because of him, you had suffered. You had died. Alone.

His blood boiled, the rage building inside him, so powerful it felt like it would tear him apart from the inside. He wanted to scream, to tear the world apart with his bare hands. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Sylus couldn’t afford to show that kind of weakness.

Instead, he stood there staring at the message, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt. His fingers twitched, longing to crush something to destroy the people who had done this. But he didn’t move. He was still. Cold. Dead inside.

“Clean it up” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper but it held a lethal edge. “and get out.”

His men moved quickly, gathering the remains and clearing the area their eyes downcast, none daring to look at him. They knew better.

Sylus stood there, alone, his hands still trembling. For the first time he didn’t feel in control. He didn’t feel like the unshakable, unstoppable leader of Onychinus. He felt… lost. Empty.

He had always told himself that you didn’t matter. That you were just a fling, a distraction. But now, staring at the empty space where your head had been, he realized how wrong he had been.

You had mattered. You had mattered more than anything else in this godforsaken world and now… you were gone.

And it was his fault.

Sylus’s fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms until they bled. His vision blurred with rage, the weight of his mistake crushing him from all sides.

He would make them pay. Every single one of them. He would tear them apart piece by piece, just like they had done to you. He would make them suffer. But no matter how much blood he spilled, no matter how many bodies he left in his wake, it wouldn’t change the truth.

He had lost you and he would never forgive himself for that.

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #sylus x reader #sylus #sylus x you

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deanbrainrotwritings · 4 months ago

Text

— mattel

SUMMARY : “it’s been a few years since tfw got out of the life, dean and reader are married, etc. dean’s been a little self-conscious lately—he doesn’t look like how he used to; he’s put on a few pounds. just dean with love handles (PLEASEEEEE dean with love handles lives rent free in my mind) body (dean’s) appreciation, lovey dovey stuff like that. reader taking care of him :))))) dean smut fic!!!!!” - anon

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : Alison (OFC)

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluffy, little angst, shameless horniess, dirty thoughts, size kink ngl

WORD COUNT : 2.9k

A/N : title from an avenged sevenfold song. this fills the square for sex shop on my @jacklesversebingo card. there will be a second part, hehe. xx

“Wow,” you looked around with your lips parted in astonishment at the hundreds of sex toys that covered the wall from top to bottom. “I’ve been missing out.” They had cute names and cute ‘mascots’ stamped on the boxes that held the toys within. You saw bunnies and panda bears and pretty colours like pink, purple, and sky blue.

Dean chuckled behind you and you turned to watch him roll his eyes as he looked to the side. You followed his gaze and you were bombarded with lewd sex books. One of them was open on a bookstand to a page with a man and woman having sex in a position that seemed too acrobatic to actually be pleasurable. You blinked, jaw dropped in shock, and turned your eyes to Dean whose cheeks turned deep red when he met your gaze.

“I’d break something if we tried this!” You exclaimed to make things worse for Dean, and took the same book that resided next to it to quickly flip through it, not nearly as excitedly as you’d hate to admit you were. “This can’t be purely for my enjoyment. Although this one looks hot! Imagine if you did tha- hey!” Dean snatched the book from your hands when two women giggled as they walked around the two of you.

You looked up at him innocently, but mostly seductively when he pulled you into the lingerie section. He shoved the book he’d forgotten about into one of the shelves. Now you knew why he decided to take you this early in the morning. The shop was practically empty after two hours of being open. And Dean, the grumpy morning person he was, hurried you into getting dressed so you could arrive ‘early’ after checking his phone a couple of times. (You imagined he checked the hours and days the shop was less busy and it amused you further.)

“You need to take this seriously,” he murmured, his attention mostly focused on one of the sets above your head. You bit your lip to hide your smirk, but failed and grinned mischievously at him.

“I am!” You pouted, subtly looking at the lingerie set that caught his eye. He gave you a look and you defensively crossed your arms over your chest and turned away from him. “Fine! I’ll pick something, go ask one of the women what they recommend for us, you know, something we can share-”

“What?” Dean suddenly sounded more embarrassed and in disbelief at your request. You could feel him get closer and your skin prickled with foreshadowing excitement.

“Oh, come on.” You turned to punch his arm gently, but he still rubbed the spot. “It’ll be cute to them, just let me look around some more… Please?” He bit his lip thoughtfully and you did the same to hold back a moan at the sight of him in a plain black t-shirt and the same sweatpants he’d abandoned the night before when he made you choke on his dick and beg for him to-

“Okay, baby.” He leaned down to peck your lips and then kissed your forehead as your stomach lurched with elation and your breath bubbled in your chest. You smiled softly at him, your dirty memory evaporating like a puddle in the middle of summer.

You tried to act as casually as you could after stepping out of the dressing room at the back of the sex shop and looked for where Dean was. The same woman—Alison—who’d helped you get away with your secret, winked at you as she talked Dean’s ear off about the toy you figured one of the other employees suggested to Dean.

You carried a small bullet vibrator Alison suggested—for discrete purposes—and a lingerie set. Not the one Dean was staring at earlier, you were currently wearing it beneath your lavender dress. Alison was clearly devious and not judgmental about your request when you’d approached her about it.

Dean visibly relaxed when he saw you and you smiled at him as he thanked Alison. Your eyes dropped to the box and you quickly read Tenuto Mini and you lifted a brow inquiringly at Dean.

“Well, if you have any more questions, I’d be happy to help!” Alison chirped and smiled wide as she walked off. You pursed your lips and watched her long brown hair sway across her back. Suddenly, you began to second-guess your daring move.

“Sweetheart.” Dean’s hand finding yours pulled you out of your flight-freeze state.

“Hey,” you breathed and attempted to smile normally at him, “find something good?”

His eyes slowly moved across your face and you felt your cheeks become warm. Could he read your mind, suddenly? You forced yourself to think of food and your favourite places to have lunch in order to push away your sexual thoughts. Fear is never good for you.

“I dunno,” he murmured unenthusiastically. Your smile fell and concern wrinkled your forehead as you traced the beautiful features of his face to get a read on him.

“What do you mean?” You laughed softly.

“I just… don’t feel…” he trailed off.

“Yeah?” You managed to utter past the knot in your throat.

He stepped closer to you, his gentle hand tapped under your chin in what you think was an attempt to comfort you, and opened his mouth to finally get the moment over with, but he shut it faster than you’d like.

“Dean, what’s-”

“I don’t feel hot… anymore,” he blurted out under his breath.

It was like a cold bath, icy water that killed the fire of both your anxiety and your arousal. You frowned hard, feeling deeply troubled and somewhat hurt by his admission.

“Oh…” you whispered. You watched him bite his lip and longed to be the one who sank your teeth against the plushness of them. You had no idea what to say to him, to comfort him, or even to change his mind about it. You never really considered that he felt that way about himself and part of you wondered when or why he began having those feelings.

“Let’s just go.” He attempted to take the things you were holding, but you felt more confident now about what you were planning. Have you failed as his girlfriend? You were more than happy to prove him wrong by going through with your dirty plan.

“No,” you asserted, “I don’t know when you started feeling that way, but I don’t agree.”

“Let’s… not do this here,” he said quietly, his hand slid up to your elbow. A small group of people entered the store, the bell above the door announced their arrival, and you huffed petulantly. He pulled you closer and you felt agitated—by his words—and wondered how you were even going to play your game out without making him uncomfortable.

“Fine, but we are buying these.” You plucked the toy from his hands and turned away to pay for them yourself before he could argue against it.

The car-ride back home was tense and awkward.

You were horny, upset, troubled, and deep in thought.

Your eyes occasionally drifted over to where Dean sat, his hands wrapped lazily around the steering wheel, legs slightly parted—relaxed. He was deep in thought himself, you could tell by the way he bit his lip and occasionally tapped his thumb against the steering wheel.

You could feel your frown deepening the longer you stared at him and the deeper you fell into the black hole of your thoughts, the more troubled you felt.

How could he not feel hot when you currently wanted to jump his bones and he wasn’t even trying to be sexy? But that was just you. And you had no idea how to comfort him. Or what to say. Just in general, you didn’t know what to do. Would he believe a word you said? Just because you felt it, doesn’t mean he did, too. And that was clear from the way he expressed he felt unattractive, despite the way you were clearly more than pleased to even lay your eyes on him.

He was so beautiful.

For the most part, in the past, you did feel slightly insecure. So you understood how he felt now. But once you started dating, your insecurity went down significantly. And now that the two of you were married, you didn’t doubt for a second that he thought you were beautiful.

Nearly every morning, it was normal for you to express how displeased you were to see him walk out the door for work or having to walk out earlier than him to work yourself. How could it be that he somehow felt not hot when you shamelessly drooled over him in a t-shirt and sweats? You worshipped the ground he walked on and more than loved to be at his mercy.

You hoped at least what happened last night would prove something to him. If the way he had you on your knees, barely allowing you to touch yourself as you took his cock down your throat meant anything to him. Or if the way he made you beg and cry for him to let you orgasm after teasing you with his tongue, fingers, and cock proved anything. You hoped the memory of all of that proved him wrong, basically.

He was all you could think about, always.

Now, your mind was filled with ideas of what you’d do to watch him beg and whimper for you, too. To make him get grabby and rough with you from how much you teased him. To make him delirious by keeping him from his orgasm. To tease him with slow strokes of your hands, your mouth, or your pussy, whatever would make him pound you into the mattress until you came too many times to speak or think coherently.

You wanted to feel him all over your body. You wanted to feel his warm cum inside you. To see the bruises of his fingertips on your hips. To feel the sensitivity and puffiness of your nipples from his mouth. To feel raw and tender and wet between your legs from whatever he decided to use to please you. To feel the soreness in your muscles of having been fucked.

You wanted to see the fierce possessiveness in his green eyes. To kiss the red blush on his freckled cheeks. To hear the arousing sounds of his pleasure rumbling deeply through his chest. To watch the mind-numbing pleasure contort his beautiful face. To see and feel the way his body became taut and tense as it moved with yours.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“What?” It was when you turned to look at him that you felt your thighs relax slightly. They were slick with your arousal and you were only half-ashamed about it. You felt hotter than you already were and shifted your hips shamelessly, only to feel the Impala’s air-conditioning cool the wetness of your neediness against your cunt. Your eyes fell to his hand as it wrapped around your thigh, his fingers squeezed the sides and you instantly imagined him doing it to your neck. You felt a rapid jolt of pleasure on your clit and pressed your lips together as you caught yourself imagining the look on his face if he dared to sneak his fingers higher to feel the dampness of your arousal against your inner thighs. You attempted to remain composed. “I’m fine,” you smiled, then bit your lip to save yourself from smiling too much or not enough.

He looked at you for a few moments and your heart only began to beat faster with each passing second. Dean turned slightly to face you and you realised that you were home when you caught a glimpse of your neighbour’s lemon tree out of the corner of your eye.

What you’d give to ask Dean to steal some off the branches that hung over on your side of the yard. Just to watch his shirt ride up, to reveal his sun-kissed skin, with his sweats hanging low on his hips, his arms flexing to reach the juiciest and perfect lemons for you-

“You’re not mad are you?” Dean’s hand slid up your thigh to grasp your hip and you held your breath—hoping he’d pull you into his lap.

“What? Of course not!” You breathed out when he squeezed gently, awaiting your response. He sighed softly in relief and smiled, his hand moved away and you frowned at the loss of his touch. “I’m… horny,” you admitted bravely and watched his eyes widen and his face turn red.

“Really?” He chuckled breathlessly. He suddenly looked more confident and relaxed. He leaned forward, brushed your hair off your shoulder with his hand, and let his nose tease your jaw as the scent of your flowery perfume made his brain foggy.

You shivered and knew you were already too far gone to play any games with him. You felt his lips ghost against your neck, one of his hands held your elbow, and his other hand moved your hair out of the way on the other side of your face. You somehow felt wetter than before and unbuckled your seatbelt to climb into his lap.

Dean’s laugh died down to a moan when you kissed him and his hands found your waist on instinct. “I really need you to fuck me,” you breathed against his parted lips.

He had the audacity to smirk at you and brought his hands back up to your face to kiss you again instead. He was gentler, slower than you could handle at the moment. His thumb brushed against your warm cheekbone and his fingers tangled in your hair and you wished he would pull on it—hard—as he made you ride his cock.

You whined against his mouth, so he shut you up with his tongue sliding in between your lips to meet yours. Your arousal felt uncomfortable between your legs and your skin began to heat up even more the harder your heart pounded in your chest. You ached for him. Your body ached for him. You wanted to feel him where he’d been a million times before and your body tingled excitedly at the thought of his touch.

You moved his hand from your face and guided it between your bodies so he could feel just how desperate and serious you were about your request. He continued to kiss you, allowing you to guide him. Your lips tingled with endless desire and he soothed your need by sucking on your lip and nibbling possessively on your reddened flesh. He gasped against your mouth and nearly choked on his whimper when his fingertips grazed your lace panties, now completely soaked in your wetness.

You pulled away slightly to catch your breath and he pushed your underwear to the side to feel your slippery folds and entrance. It was embarrassingly easy the way he slipped two of his thick fingers into your. He moaned appreciatively when you panted hard against his flushed cheek and he squirmed, biting hard on his lip.

You began to undulate your hips when he perfectly curled his fingers against your walls and thumbed at your swollen clit, keeping your wet folds spread apart with his index and pinky finger. “Make me finish, Dean. Fuck, I need to cum so bad,” you begged shamelessly, practically fucking yourself on his fingers, in his car, in broad daylight, of all things.

On any other occasion, you’d be utterly ashamed, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to end the pleasure of finally having Dean’s touch right where you needed him. He was so good at making you feel hot and bothered, and you were so ready and wet, you could even hear the abundance of your arousal with every movement of your hips.

You released his wrist and sneaked your hand into his sweats, tried to find the waistband of his underwear, but instead you felt his hardened length ready against your fingers. You inhaled sharply, felt the way your pussy pulsed excitedly around his fingers, and brushed your own lower to feel the already-smeared precum on the tip of his cock.

“Oh… fuck,” Dean murmured, wavering before his fingers slipped out of you, “not here.”

You expressed your complaint with an irritated moan, but removed your hand from inside his pants despite feeling only minimally motivated to obey him. “You’re not wearing anything underneath… And I’m somehow supposed to contain myself?”

His laugh was breathy and quiet against your mouth. “I don’t remember this being what you wore under your dress,” he attempted to change the subject with his accusatory tone. He bit his lip, gazing at you through those beautiful lashes of his when you forced yourself away from him. He wasn’t fully capable of hiding the mischief in his green eyes and you inhaled deeply, smiling, hoping to resist the urge to ask again for him to claim you in his car.

“I think we are both equally surprised at what we’ve found beneath each other’s clothes.”

Dean’s playful grin was followed by laughter he couldn’t contain, a glorious sound that made the millions of dormant butterflies scatter in your stomach. You exhaled shakily and admired him, before making the wise choice of taking the bag containing your new merchandise before escaping the warmth of his car.

Dean called your name happily, but you ignored him when you heard the sexy rumble of his engine die. You stole the key from the pot containing yellow daffodils as the Impala’s door creaked shut with that same sound that brought hope to you whenever he came back home to you again.

-> mon cœur s’ouvre à ta voix

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#jacklesversebingo23 #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean x female!reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Note

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually.

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body.

You pretended to be dead.

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky.

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly.

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands.

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it.

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.”

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up.

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening.

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest.

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort.

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.”

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character.

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it.

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up.

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood.

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?”

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull.

Missions were rarely a failure.

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.”

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?”

“None. Just us.”

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.”

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway.

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it.

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it.

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation.

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room.

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly.

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off.

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin.

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction.

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.”

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue.

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in.

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight.

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends.

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore.

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him. “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh.

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why.

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden.

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions.

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them.

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too.

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue.

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch.

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined.

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you.

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like.

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse.

This couldn’t continue.

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side.

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.”

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air.

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met.

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires.

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?”

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?”

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up.

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.”

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth.

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas.

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless.

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds.

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up.

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though.

On the second week, it got easier.

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area.

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over.

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table.

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally.

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails.

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind.

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you.

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces.

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair.

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse.

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up...

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring.

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!”

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp.

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor.

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers.

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated.

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug.

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly.

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air.

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure.

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.”

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly.

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward.

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game.

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching.

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet.

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table.

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?”

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.”

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you.

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss.

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.”

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it.

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking.

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second.

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos.

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint.

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat.

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages.

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out.

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.”

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?”

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room.

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out.

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently.

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.”

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation.

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back.

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat.

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney.

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly.

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful.

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand.

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing.

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.”

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair.

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back.

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine.

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts.

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high.

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river.

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask.

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare.

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it.

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh.

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge.

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already.

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk.

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…”

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be.

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.”

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip.

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able.

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second.

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table.

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion.

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?”

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer.

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix.

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob.

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.”

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality.

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer.

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.”

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own.

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies.

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep.

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.”

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though.

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect.

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt.

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you.

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back.

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw.

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms.

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile.

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.”

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting.

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial.

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action.

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot.

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad.

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you.

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute.

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

@emerald-valkyrie , @anna-banana27 , @blueoorchid , @cryingnotcrying , @writeforfandoms , @homicidal-slvt , @jade-jax , @frazie99 , @elmoees , @littlemisstrouble , @alpineswinter , @phoenixhalliwell , @idocarealot , @lavalleon , @facelessmemories , @h-leigh, @20forty9 , @glitter-anon-asks , @emily-who-killed-a-man , @neelehksttr, @aeneanc , @escapefromrealitysm , @i-d-1-0-t , @pparcxysm , @hawkscanendme , @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney , @sanfransolomitatm , @maelstrom007 , @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet , @pheobees , @glitterypirateduck , @uselsshuman , @fan-of-encouragement , @halfmoth-halfman , @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger , @kopatych11 , @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop , @knightofsexyness , @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons , @330bpm-whiplash , @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu , @tiredmetalenthusiast

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rbfclassy · 6 months ago

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STILL IN LOVE! #1 — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...after still messing around with your ex husband, you began to wonder if you’re still in love with him after finding out about his new girlfriend…

INFO...ex husband!toji x fem!reader, reader & toji have two kids, megumi is readers bio son, jealousy, smut, angst, arguments, alcohol, drinking problem, family problems, arguing in front of kids, toxic behaviors, crying, mentions of divorce

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

ex husband! who stops by your house to drop your kids off after their weekend with him. He’s walking your daughter, Naya, and Megumi to the front door, smiles adorning their chubby little faces. “Hi, mommy!” Naya giggles, running to hug you. Toji is walking slowly behind Megumi, ruffling the little boys hair.

“Hi, baby.” You smile, kissing her cheek. “You two have fun with daddy?” You hug Megumi as well, kissing the top of his head.

“Yeah, we met dad’s new girlfriend,” the little boy casually says as he walks past you and into the house to place his stuff down. Your raise your eyebrows in surprise, eyes following your sons figure before he disappears into the house.

“She’s in the car! Her name is Yoko!” Your daughter giggled before following her brother. You awkwardly clear your throat as it was only you and toji standing outside.

“Girlfriend, huh?” You force a smile, rubbing your palms on your jeans as you stare at him.

“Yeah, those two beat me to it before I could say anything,” he chuckled. “How was your weekend, though, mama?” He tilts his head slightly. The familiar nickname now a normal thing between you two ever since you gave birth to your two kids. From the looks of it, it seems like Toji won’t break out of the habit of saying it.

"Wow, well...congrats." You smile. There was a burning sensation in your chest, a ringing in your ears as you stared at the man in front of you. It was wrong of you to feel this way about the situation, to feel jealous. Toji was your ex husband, you two cut ties over a year ago.

"Yeah, thanks." He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. The thing about you and Toji is that there was still something there that neither of you wanted to confront. The sex that you both still had with each other wasn't just casual sex, him whispering in your ear how much he missed you. How he'd hold you after and gently kiss your lips reminded you of the times you were still together. The nights he slept over and stayed for breakfast, bonding like one big family. How he still brought you gifts for your birthday and valentines day despite not being together. You weren't sure what to make of it, but knowing Toji, you knew not to take him seriously.

He was a player before you met him and you wouldn't be surprised if he ended becoming a player again. And that was the case exactly. As much as you told yourself not to fall for all his little tricks, you still found yourself doing it anyway. He was your husband for over five years, he was the father of your children. How could you not? It's why you feel so jealous now. It only seems that he was using you and playing you before he found himself another girl to entertain him. Of course, what more could you expect?

"Okay, I'll see you next weekend, mama." He turned around so effortlessly, walking off of your doorstep with a small wave.

"See you," you nonchalantly replied. Your eyes followed his figure as he got into his car, watching him kiss the new girl he had eyes for. Would it be wrong for you to say you were still in love with your ex husband?

series masterlist

tag list (comment to be added):

@sweetpo1son @lovebittenbyevans @ryumurin @he4ts444mi @cherrypieyourface @lemonintrovert01 @ladysi0 @avanly @chilichopsticks @tananaxx @akusrider @irlbungee @my-anime-garden

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importantstudentbusinessspy-blog · 25 days ago

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Academia - Turmoil

Masterlist

Pairing: Aged up Damian Wayne x f reader

Tags: academic setting, rivals to lovers, friends with benefits, angst

Trigger warning: The reader is attacked, tied up, and given Scarecrow's fear toxin, thoughts of dead loved ones, blood - Damian is vengeful and goes after her attackers.

For the past couple of weeks, you'd been trying to explore your new relationship with Nikolas. He was everything a boyfriend should be - kind, considerate, fun to be around. You'd gone on the typical dates: dinner and a movie, a casual walk through the city, lazy afternoons hanging out in your dorm. It was easy. But there was one problem.

Every time you studied his face for too long, the same sad realization crept in. You weren't as attracted to him as you were... to Damian. Fine. You admit it.

Nick was the sweet, sunshine type. The kind of guy who would make you laugh and take care of you. But Damian... Damian was bad. Brooding. Sharp edges and quiet intensity. The kind of man who made your pulse race and your mind wander to places. You could picture Nikolas holding your hand, but with Damian, you saw someone who would take control. There was a thrill in the idea of letting go, handing the reins over to him, not having to think for once.

For days, you'd been teetering between the smart choice - Nick - and the one that made your heart beat faster, the one you couldn’t stop thinking about, no matter how much you tried. Especially at night.

It didn't help that the three of you came across each other on campus often. There were many times when Nick came to meet you after class and walk you to your research lab, and you would catch Damian glaring at the two of you, his arms cross and his eyes narrowed. He didn't even have the decency to look ashamed when you caught him looking - ironically, you were the one who redirected their gaze to the floor in shame. It was all backward.

Meanwhile, Damian had buried himself in his routine. His training, his classes, his late-night patrols, and of course, his fellow elites; heiresses, models, and children of Gotham's 1%, who he was always captured with at night clubs, as your roommate helpfully showed you on her twitter reccomended.

In reality, Damian tried anything to drown out the thoughts of you in his head, the memory of you looking up at him with your soft, vulnerable eyes. The moment he rejected you replayed more times than he wanted to admit.

He didn’t need distractions right now. Not while you were off with Nikolas Hill, laughing at his jokes and letting him kiss you, hold you, touch you whenever he pleased. Damian scoffed at the idea. Hill was a decent guy, sure, but nowhere near your match. But if you wanted to waste your time, that was your right.

He was in the middle of his evening workout when his earpiece beeped, drawing him from his train of thought.

“Robin?” Oracle’s voice filtered through.

“Hm?” he responded, still lost in his own head as he lowered down and pushed up with one hand.

“Are you on campus right now?”

Damian stilled, suddenly alert. “No. Why?”

“There’s been an attack.”

His blood ran cold. “Where?”

“Maddison Hall.”

His mind flashed to you. Maddison Hall was where you spent most of your time working with Professor Kace and the other researchers. Before he even had time to process the rest of her words, Damian was on his feet, every nerve alight with tension.

“I’m on it,” he said, already moving.

“Wait, Robin, I don’t have all the—”

Her voice cut off as Damian turned off his earpiece, barely taking time to grab his gear before he was out the door.

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

The sight before him nearly made Damian drop his father’s "no-kill" rule on the spot.

You lay crumpled on the cold floor of the lab, hands bound behind your back, duct tape muffling any scream for help you tried to make. You were shaking as if trapped in some nightmare. Your eyes, which he was used to always being filled with curiosity about the world, were wide with terror, streaks of black mascara ran down your cheeks. It wasn’t just the sight of you restrained that twisted his insides but also the fear he saw on your face. A look he never wanted to see again.

His instincts screamed to go to you, to comfort you, to pull you into his arms and shield you from whatever horrors had been forced into your mind. But a darker instinct also conflicted within him the instinct to find whoever did this and end them along with their entire bloodline.

He freed your wrists and removed the tape from your mouth, but his gaze was already scanning the room, searching for the coward who had done this to you.

"Oracle," he growled into his comm, barely containing his fury. "Do you have any visual on the perp?"

"Damn it! Nothing yet. They must have disguised themselves as a student," Oracle’s frustrated voice crackled in his ear. "Damian, is she -"

“Yes," Damian cut her off, pulling a syringe from his belt. “It’s Fear Toxin.”

You whimpered, still lost in the hellscape the toxin had built in your mind. Damian injected the antidote into your shoulder. Watching you writhe in pain made his blood freeze. He lifted you into his arms as gently as he could and moved toward the door, but the growing crowd of students outside only irritated him further.

“Move,” he barked, his voice low and dangerous. “She needs a hospital.”

Halfway to the nearest emergency center, he changed his mind. He wasn’t taking you somewhere filled with people who would ask questions, who could poke and prod at your fragile state. Instead, he shot a grappling hook to a nearby rooftop, pulling both of you up and away from the crowd.

As your vision started to clear, you groaned, your body trembling in his hold. “R-Robin…” Your voice cracked, laced with panic. “My parents... they z please, you have to save them.”

“It’s not real,” he said softly, kneeling and holding you as close to him as he dared, providing a warmth that helped ground you. “The toxin made you see things that weren’t real. Is that what you saw? Your parents?”

You nodded, tears filling your eyes once again. “I saw them die. Please, you have to - ” You fumbled with your pockets, desperately trying to find your phone, anything that could help you reach them.

Damian’s hand gently wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. His white lenses stared down at you, and for a moment, you wished you could see his eyes, see the real person beneath the mask. “Your parents are fine.”

His voice, deep and calm. There was something about the way he spoke - so sure, so steady - that made you believe him.

“It’s not real?” you asked, voice trembling, trying to keep yourself from breaking down completely.

He nodded. “Call them. You’ll see.”

Your hands shook as you fumbled with your phone, which was now cracked. You dialed the number, waiting for what seemed like forever for each each ring. Then she finally picked up.

“Honey, thank God!” Your mom’s voice came through. “Are you okay? I’ve been watching the news - what’s going on over there?”

Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to sound normal. “I’m fine, Mom. I’m just… in my room. Is everyone okay?”

“We’re fine, sweetie. Just worried sick about you.”

“I’ll visit tomorrow,” you blurted out, tears stinging your eyes. “I’ll come home tomorrow.”

Your mom’s voice lifted in relief. “That’s great! Be safe, honey.”

After hanging up, your body gave out. Your knees buckled, and a sob you’d been holding in finally broke free. You fell onto the ground, unable to stop the tears. He caught you, lowering both of you to the ground until you were sitting in his lap.

In his hold, you didn’t feel the fear you expected from someone like him. You’d heard stories, read articles about this Robin. How he wasn’t like the others - scarier, more brutal, more dangerous. But here, in his arms, you felt safe.

The tears wouldn’t stop. Your mind kept replaying those awful images, the sound of your parents’ screams still echoing in your ears.

“I thought I lost them,” you sobbed, shaking uncontrollably.

Damian’s heart clenched. He had seen people cry before - mostly because he caused them to. But seeing you like this, broken and terrified, was something else entirely.

Damian’s first instinct was to say, "I thought I lost you," but he bit back the words, instead holding you close, his gloved hands cupping your cheeks gently. "I'm so sorry," he whispered hoarsely, barely audible over the city's noise. "I'm sorry."

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

You were not the same after that night. Trauma clung to you with every thought. What happened in that lab left you scarred, destroying your sense of safety.

The last time Damian had seen you, he was still in his Robin suit. You’d been shaking, eyes glassy with the aftereffects of the fear toxin, but you insisted on going home to your dorm. Damian’s instincts screamed at him to take you somewhere safe, to keep you in his apartment where he could protect you, but he complied with your needs.

And as much as it killed him, he had to let you go.

What stung worse was the sight that awaited him at your dorm. Nikolas was already there, pacing anxiously by the entrance, his hair still wet from his swim meet. The moment he saw you, he rushed over, pulling you into his arms as though you were fragile enough to break. Damian’s fists clenched as he watched Nikolas cradle your face in his hands, checking you over with concern.

The sight of Nick’s resting possessively staying on the small of your back as he led you up the stairs twisted something deep inside Damian, but he pushed it down. He had no right to feel that way - not after he had pushed you away first.

You didn’t show up to physics the next day. Or the day after. A week passed, and still nothing.

He wanted to reach out - every part of him screamed to check on you - but that wasn't his job anymore.

Then, one day, his phone buzzed.

Nikolas Hill: Damian, hey. It's Nick Hill.

Nikolas Hill:Just thought you should know, y/n broke up with me. Got me flowers and chocolates. It was... pretty sweet, actually 😅. It's the nicest way I've ever been dumped for sure.

Nikolas Hill: Anyway, I’ve seen the way you look at her, man. You should go for it. Really.

Nikolas Hill: And you might wanna check on her... she dropped out of Kace's research project. Not answering anyone’s calls or messages. We’re worried.

Damian stared at the message, his stomach tightening. You dropped the project? And now you weren’t talking to anyone?

He didn’t wait. The next day, he was at your parents’ house, knocking on the door. A middle-aged woman half his size answered, her eyes widening as she took took him in - her gaze flickering between him and the sleek, black Camaro parked outside.

"Hello?" She said.

"Hello, ma'am. My name is Damian... Wayne." He flashed her the best smile he could summon, as his gaze flickered between her and the home behind her, searching for you.

Her eyes widened further. "Wayne, as in...?"

"Yes, Bruce Wayne’s son."

"Oh my!" She nodded, her eyes still studying him. "How can I help you?"

"I’m a friend of y/n’s." Damian explained. "She hasn’t been to class for the past couple of weeks, and I wanted to check on her. Is she alright?"

Her surprise grew, her lips parting slightly. "She never told us she had... a friend like you." There was a slight note of disbelief, as if the idea of you being close to someone like Damian Wayne didn’t quite compute.

Damian raised a brow. Why wouldn’t you tell them about him? Were you... ashamed?

Before he could respond, she stepped aside, inviting him in. "Please, come in. I was just finishing up dinner. Would you like to join us?"

"Is your daughter home?" Damian asked, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was an urgency behind his words he couldn’t hide.

Your mother nodded, turning around and calling you downstairs. "Honey, you have a visitor!"

Just then, you appeared at the top of the small staircase, and the breath caught in his throat. You were a ghost of the person he remembered. Dark circles rimmed your eyes, your cheeks hollow and your body frail. The t-shirt you were in drowned you as it slipped off your shoulder, revealing how think your collarbone had become. Have you been skipping your meals?

Your usual spark of curiosity was replaced with something far darker—sadness.

You froze when you saw him before forcing yourself to recover and quickly make your way down the stairs, grateful for the 5 minute shower you decided to take just before you were called down. Damian may see you in a bad state, but at least hell be smelling 'coconut sunshine' bodywash. As you came to stand in front of him, barefoot, and without your high heels, you were even shorter and had to look up at a less comfortable angle. Your hand came up to rub the opposite arm, Damian's heart ached when he saw the bruises circling your wrists from the rope that was used to restrain you.

"Hi." You spoke softly.

"Hi," he replied, voice dripping with what seemed like disappointment. "You haven’t been to class. I wanted to check on you."

"I’m alright," you lied, your voice weak and shaky. "Just... spending some time with my family."

Damian tool a quick sweep over the room, the small, homey space that felt miles apart from the opulence of Wayne Manor or his apartment. It was cozy, filled with the scent of warm food, a stark contrast to the sterile, minimalist world he was used to.

But that wasn’t what was on his mind. He couldn’t stop staring at you, trying to reconcile the person in front of him with the one he knew.

“Do you want to go out? Get some air?" Damian asked.

"No," you answered quickly, then paused. "I mean... you can stay for dinner, if you want."

Damian tucked his hands into his pockets, fighting the growing frustration inside him. He didn’t want dinner. He wanted answers. “I was hoping for some privacy.”

You eyed him warily, a look of distrust flashing across your face, and it hit him like an insult. You didn’t trust him anymore? You ungrateful brat. If you only knew who was under the mask that day you were rescued. It enraged him, though he didn’t show it.

“Nikolas told me you broke up with him,” Damian said, lowering his voice. “And dropped Kace’s project.”

You shrugged weakly, your shirt dropping lower down your shoulder, which you didnt notice as you avoided his gaze. "Yeah. I did."

Damian’s arms itched to touch your bare skin. He took in a deep breath. "You’re also about to lose your scholarship," he pressed, his tone more insistent now.

Your brow furrowed. "How do you know that?"

“It’s a research scholarship. They won’t keep paying you if you’re not involved in research.”

There was a flicker in your eyes. Either anger, maybe annoyance. But it wasn’t indifference. And that’s all Damian needed. You were still there under this facade. He wasn’t going to leave. Not without you.

"Damian, thank you for visiting. But right nows not a good time." Before you could open the front door for him, his hand shot out, stopping it in its tracks.

“That’s not very nice,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Your mother invited me for dinner, and I accepted.”

"Damian - " you started, but your mother’s voice interrupted.

"That’s wonderful!" she exclaimed, oblivious to the tension. "I was just finishing up the potatoes."

The scent of dinner filled the air, but Damian couldn’t focus on anything except you. You were trying to slip away, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.

After dinner, when your parents went to bed, Damian asked you again to walk with him. You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper when you spoke.

“I’ve tried,” you confessed. “I can’t get past the door. Every time I do, I... panic. I shut down."

The vulnerability in your voice was enough to shatter whatever resolve he had left. You were hurting, deeply, and it killed him to see it.

He stepped closer, his voice restrained. “I'll help you.”

But you just shook your head, pulling away. "I'm tired."

“It’s late,” Damian agreed, his voice soft but commanding. “You should go to sleep.” He nodded toward the stairs.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. "Thats not what I meant. I dont what to sleep."

But your body betrayed you, and before you could say anything else, you yawned. A small, defeated sound that you tried to hide but failed miserably.

Damian grinned, raising a brow as he looked down at you. “You sure about that?”

Your shoulders slumped in defeat. "I... I can't go to sleep," you admitted quietly, the words trembling on your lips. "The nightmare comes back when I do."

Damian sighed, his expression softening, though the fire in his eyes never wavered. He understood - he had his own problem with nightmares, demons that lurked in the dark corners of his mind. “Try again now,” he said gently, leading you to your livingroom couch. “I’ll wake you up if it happens.”

You shook your head, the fear bubbling up inside you. But his unyielding gaze stopped you.

“Y/n,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something raw, “you need to rest. I can’t stand seeing you this tired anymore.”

His words hung in the air, the concern behind them tightening something in your chest. You hesitated, searching his face for reassurance. "You'll wake me up?"

“Yes.”

You sighed, knowing you couldn’t argue with him. Not when his eyes held so much insistence. Slowly, you lay down on the couch, your head sinking into the cushion. The moment your eyes closed, sleep washed over you.

But it didn’t last long.

Within minutes, you were tossing and turning, whimpering softly as the nightmares clawed their way back into your mind. Damian watched as you struggled even in your sleep. Then, gently, he reached for you, pulling you into his lap with ease. You felt so small in his arms as your back came to rest against his chest, his lips brushing your hair.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, “Youre okay, your alright.”

Your eyes fluttered open, wide and panicked as you gasped for breath. You looked around frantically before your gaze landed on Damian. “Damian, my parents - they’re - ”

“Upstairs, sleeping,” he said, his voice firm. “They’re okay.”

You blinked, your eyes darting toward the stairs as if you needed the reassurance for yourself. You made to get up to go check on them, but his grip stopped you, pulling you back against him.

“Yes.” Damian spoke quietly but with intent. “I’m right here. Nothing will happen to either of you."

You nodded slowly, the tension draining from your body as you rested your head against him. The warmth of his presence was enough to lull you back into sleep, though it didn’t last. The nightmare came back, and so did Damian’s voice, pulling you out of it every time.

It happened a few more times throughout the night. Each time, you would whimper, trapped in your dreams, and he would wake you, then hold you until you fell asleep again. Halfway through the night you began clinging to him, your arms snaking around him to hold him closer, sensing the safety he provided even in your sleep.

Not minding one bit, he could still see the toll it was taking on you, the way you couldn’t even get through one night without being haunted by what Scarecrow had done. It made his blood boil. It fueled a dark, vengeful fire that burned hotter with each of your nightmares.

He swore to himself, as he watched you sleep restlessly, that he would make Scarecrow pay for this - for the pain, the fear, and the nightmares that took you from him.

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

On his third night of patroll, Robin cornered the man in the Scarecrow mask, ripping it from his face with such force the strap snapped. The man trembled, backing into the alley wall, his eyes wide in fear.

"I'm not him! Please!" The man’s hands shot up in surrender, sweat pouring down his face as he eyed the rest of his team, who were knocked unconscious. He hoped.

"Where is he?" Damian’s voice was low, dangerous. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"I-I don’t know!" the man stammered. "I swear! A different one of us is made to wear that thing every night in case you show up!"

Robin’s jaw tightened. His eyes were cold and merciless. He didn't care if this man knew or not. He wanted an outlet, something to absorb the endless rage boiling in his chest. He sighed, cracking his knuckles slowly, deliberately, like a predator preparing for the kill. "Then you'll have to do."

The thug whimpered. "No, no, no-"

The Red Hood arrived on the rooftop, surveying the scene below. His eyes narrowed as he saw Robin beating the life out of the cowering henchman. The tension in his youngest brother's posture was unmistakable. Jason eyed the rest of the henchman team, laid out and bleeding in different spots on the ground.

"Uh, I’m gonna need backup here," Jason said into his comm.

"Why? Too much for you to handle?" came Dick’s teasing voice over the line.

"Nah, but someone’s gotta protect these poor bastards from Robin."

There was a pause. Then Bruce spoke up. "...on my way."

Damian couldn’t hear anything but the pounding in his skull, his vision narrowing to the terrified man in front of him.

"Robin!"

The first punch landed hard in the guy’s gut, causing him to double over, gasping for air. Then the fists came, rapid and unrelenting, from left to right. Each blow was calculated - not enough to kill, but enough to inflict the kind of pain that lingers, that leaves a mark deep under the skin.

The man’s blood splattered against the wall, his groans turning to pitiful whimpers as he weakly tried to shield himself. But Damian was relentless, his fury a tidal wave, drowning out any sense of restraint. This was for you. The helplessness he felt when he couldn’t save you, the guilt for letting you go, for not being there when you needed him most. Every punch was a punishment, a way to exorcize his own demons.

"Robin!"

By the time he stopped, the henchman was barely conscious, slumped against the wall, gasping for breath through cracked ribs and bloodied lips. Robin stood over him, panting, his chest heaving. His hands, covered in the man's blood, twitched. He wanted to keep going. Needed to keep going.

"FUCK!" Robin roared, the sound reverberating off the brick walls.

"ROBIN!" He was grabbed by a pair of strong arms, slamming him against the wall. "Jesus, what the hell’s wrong with you?" Jason's voice chastised him behind his mask.

"Back off!" Damian shoved Jason hard, his eyes wild, untamed.

"How about fuck no?" Jason growled, pressing his forearm against Damian’s throat, forcing him to stay still. Over the years, Damian grew taller than Tim, matching Dick in height, but Jason still had maybe an inch on him. The elder stuggled to hold his brother back. "I need you to calm the hell down!"

Before Damian could retaliate, Batman arrived, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "What the hell happened?"

Jason shot a look over his shoulder. "Your kid happened."

Batman’s eyes fell on the battered man, then on Damian, still shaking with fury, fists clenched, ready for more. "Damian," Bruce said quietly.

"Its what he deserves." Damian’s voice was low, venomous, each word dripping with barely contained rage. "He hurt her. He broke her."

Batman’s expression shifted as he understood. You. The girl who Damian was bringing home from school. The one who’d been ripped apart by what happened to her.

"And how is killing this nobody helping her?" Bruce asked, his voice steady but firm.

Damian’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "It's not." His eyes glinted with a dark amusement as he stared into his father’s unflinching gaze. "But it sure as hell makes me feel better."

Bruce sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He knew this wasn’t about justice. This was about catharsis. Damian was unraveling, and if Bruce didn’t stop it now, there’d be no pulling him back. "You’re off patrol," Batman ordered, stepping toward him.

Damian sneered, shoving him back. "Like hell."

"It’s not up for debate."

Damian’s glare intensified. "I’m not stopping until he’s dead. I’ll bury him - "

"Robin." Batman’s voice was calm, controlled. "You’re going home."

Before Damian could react, he felt a sudden sharp pinch on the side of his neck. He staggered, his vision blurring as his hand flew to the dart embedded in his skin. "Wha - " His legs gave out beneath him, and darkness closed in before he could reach for the antidote.

Batman caught him as he slumped forward, unconscious. "Get him home," Bruce said to Jason, his voice heavy with regret. "Ill take care of this mess."

Jason nodded. "You know he's not gonna forgive you for that."

Bruce glanced at Damian’s unconscious form. "I know."

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

Damian woke up groggy, his vision blurry as he blinked against the harsh lights of the Batcave. His arms were strapped down to something cold and unyielding. "Damn it. Let me go!" His voice was a snarl, filled with rage and frustration.

"Negative," Bruce's calm, gravelly voice responded. He approached from the shadows, no longer in his suit but in a sweater and jeans, the cowl replaced by the face of a father. "You killed someone tonight. Did you know that?"

Damian gritted his teeth, pulling against his restraints in fury. "Who gives a shit?" He thrashed, his breath coming in sharp gasps. "Let me go, now! She's alone - "

"She's fine," Bruce interrupted firmly. "Oracle is monitoring."

Before Damian could spit back another response, the Batcave’s voice system activated with Oracle’s voice. "I have visual on her right now. She's at home, watching TV with her family. Safe."

Damian's chest heaved, but the confirmation did little to ease the burning tension in his veins. He didn’t care that she was safe. He needed to be there with you. Protect you.

"How long are you going to keep me like this?" Damian glared at Bruce, eyes flashing with anger.

"You're too worked up to be set free," Bruce said, his tone unwavering. "I don't want you making decisions you’ll inevitably regret."

"I won't regret jack shit!" Damian roared. "Scarecrow's overdue for a visit to hell!"

"'Overdue for a visit to hell,'" Jason's voice echoed from somewhere in the batcave, but Damian couldn't see him. "Goddamn, this kid's more dramatic than you, bats." Jasons chuckle echoed alongside his footsteps as he entered the batcave.

"Thank you, Jason." Bruce said sarcastically.

"Youre welcome."

"Damian," Bruce's tone was deadly serious. "I don't think you heard me clearly. You are a murderer."

Damian's jaw clenched before he spat, "Bruce, do you even understand what 'League of Assassins' means? I've been a murderer. Since I was ten." His voice cracked slightly, the anger mingling with something deeper - something broken.

The tired lines of his fathers face grew more pronounced. "And when I took you in, I made both you and myself a promise to end that cycle." His voice was softer now, but no less firm. He stepped closer, his presence towering over Damian, not as Batman, but as a father. "You were a child, Damian. You didn’t know any better. But you do now. You don’t get to decide the outcome of human lives. When you do, you become the very thing we fight against. The very thing she fears."

Those words landed hard, and Damian stopped struggling.

The very thing she fears.

He pictured your face, pale with terror, your haunted eyes. Damian swallowed hard, his throat tightening. "Fuck."

He hated it. Hated that the old man was right. His whole life had been about violence, about using pain to solve problems.

He glanced up at Bruce, anger creeping out of his voice. "I don't know what to do."

Bruce’s expression softened, the hard edge of Batman fading away as his fatherly concern surfaced. He sighed, his own guilt simmering beneath the surface. "Be there for her. That will be enough."

Damian stared up at him, resisting the urge to punch him for that unhelpful advicr. He didn’t know how to be that. How to be anything but the weapon he was trained to be.

"I don’t... want her to fear me," Damian whispered, his voice barely audible. At least he didn't think he did.

Bruce reached out, his hand resting on Damian’s shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. "You can't solve this one as Robin. Nor the League’s heir. Just Damian."

For a moment, Damian closed his eyes, letting his father’s words sink in. His breath slowed, and the fury that had been burning inside of him all night began to fade into something else - epiphany. He had to fix you himself. He had no qualm playing therapist, whether you wanted him to or not.

When he opened his eyes again, he met Bruce’s gaze, still defiant but quieter now. "I know what I have to do."

"You do," Bruce said with a firm nod.

Damian had a new goal in his mind now, bringing you back. His jaw was tight, but his breathing was steady now. "Untie me," he said quietly. "I’m calm."

Bruce hesitated for a moment, and then he slowly unstrapped his son’s hands. Damian sat up, rubbing his wrists, though his mind was far away - thinking of you and the promises he had made to himself.

"Not so fast." Bruce spoke up. "You're still in trouble. Tomorrow, you will bring in... 10 juvenile delinquents into the station -" Bruce knew Damian especially hated dealing with kids - he had to hold back with them - "to make up for the shithead you killed tonight. And you'll do two hundred push-ups now."

Damian scoffed at the easy challenge. "Fine,"

"Jason, sit on his back."

"What?!" Damian spat out in protest as Jason rolled his head back in laughter.

The next morning, Damian barely made his way to your doorstep, limping over sore limbs. He had his work cut out for him with you, and he would start with getting you alone.

#batboys #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x reader #dark academia #damian wayne #eventual smut

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naeviskz · 9 months ago

Text

WHIRLWIND ๑‧˚₊ ─── HHJ

synopsis ; you overreact just a teensy bit when you see hyunjin talking to another girl, but when you find out the actual reason why … you try everything you can to make it up to him.

genre 숌 non-idol au, boyfriend!hyunjin x girlfriend!reader | established relationship

words - 3.6k tags/warnings 숌 fluff, (some) angst? pwp, smut, reader gets very jealous easily/has possessive tendencies, small mentions of insecurities, v v v clingy & needy gf, marking, dry humping, dirty talk, oral (m), lowkey daddy kink, hj has a big cawk, breeding kink cause that’s my fave tehe. i will preface that oc kinda has a toxic way of thinking and it’s def not healthy to act this way irl !!

now playing 🎧 : cool with you by newjeans, streets by doja cat

☆ 彡

[ this my first ever writing that has smut in it so bear w/ me pls ;-; i’m still learning how to do this right haha, but lmk if you enjoyed this at all <3 **not proofread btw ! ]

“Let’s go on that one next Jinnie!!” You squeal like a giddish teenager as you point to the ride up ahead, violently pulling on Hyunjin’s hand his entire arm might just fall off.

It’ll be your 1 year anniversary in approximately a week, and what better way to pre celebrate than going to the amusement park and watching fireworks at night? You haven’t been to one in years, reminiscing all those times you were a kid innocently frolicking around, not having a single care in the world. Since you’re a fully grown adult now it’s an altered experience, you’re able to pick up on social cues and no longer need parental supervision. You forgot just how thrilling it was to let loose and have fun, all while spending it with your lovely boyfriend.

The current ride you’re both getting on is essentially a giant wooden pirate ship that swings in a horizontal motion, elevating you high up in the air. You don’t do heights very well but Hyunjin’s a little daredevil who gets off on the adrenaline rush. He’s tried convincing you to do skydiving but that’s just something you refuse to compromise on. Before going on the pirate ship ride you went on the teacups, which was probably your favorite one of today. You couldn’t stop giggling and teasing Hyunjin over how incredibly fast he was spinning the turn-wheel, almost forgetting that you were also supposed to contribute. Spending quality time with your boyfriend like this means everything to you, he makes you feel like you’re floating on a pink cloud whenever you’re together. Like nothing else matters but you and him.

As the day progressed, what was once a milky, pale blue sky has now become a smoky dull atmosphere. Night was approaching any minute, making the temperature drop dramatically— you regret leaving the house in just shorts and a crop top. Your limbs shaking and trembling involuntarily from gusts of cool air the wind casually blows, Hyunjin seems to take note of this and takes action immediately.

“Want my hoodie babe?” Hyunjin asks out of concern, ready to yank it off the minute you agree.

You profusely nod at his offer, unable to withstand the frigid weather for another second. He pauses momentarily to grab the hem of his Versace sweatshirt with his free hand, swiftly drawing it over his head and handing it to you. Underneath he wore a thin plain white tee, now suffering from the cold— but any sacrifice is worthy of making for his precious babygirl.

Quickly putting it on, your body feels instantly warmer from his body heat still embedded into the soft fabric. “You saved me Jinnie, I almost turned into a human popsicle!” Were you exaggerating a bit? Maybe, but that’s beside the point. You’re all cozy now in Hyunjin’s oversized hoodie, loving the fact that only you get to wear his clothes.

His eyes shape into crescents as he flashes an adoring smile, “my diet would only consist of peach flavored ___ popsicles for the rest of my life then.”

You swear he’s just the cutest, most adorable, sweetest thing to have ever walked this earth. Sometimes you wonder how you got so lucky to end up with a person as charming, and perfect as Hyunjin. He’d say the same about you too but there’s another layer to how you feel. You’re often very over protective and territorial over him, needing to know exactly where he is at all times and who he’s hanging out with. Most of the time he’s with you, either at your place or at his. There was a set routine you two had at this point, after he’s done with work he’ll call and let you know he’s on his way to yours. Hyunjin knows how paranoid you can get when he’s gone for too long so he makes sure to communicate with you as much as he can throughout the day. It’s hard to deal with someone as high maintenance as you but he makes it work, he likes that you’re always worried and concerned about him — he’d rather have a girlfriend like that than one who doesn’t care about him.

“Looks like the sun should be setting soon.. won’t be much longer ‘til the fireworks start!” You cheer out of excitement, part of the reason you wanted to come was to see them.

He nods in agreement, “you’re right, is there anything else you wanna ride before they start?”

As if your brain answered before you could even think, “You.”

His doe eyes widened at your bold reply, never quite getting used to your subtle dirty mind. “I’ll give you that in due time, don’t worry mamas.”

A little bit later on you challenged Hyunjin to try the ‘test your strength’ game and of course he couldn’t pass up a moment to impress you. He gets into a competitive sports stance, gripping the hammer tightly before he swung hard at the puck. The meter flew straight up and hit the bell on his first try, able to win whatever prize he wanted from the largest section. He lets you choose whichever plushy you wanted, a giant fluffy pink stuffed unicorn that you held in your other hand that wasn’t occupied with Hyunjin’s.

“Hyunjinnieee, ‘m getting kinda hungry,” you childishly whine in hopes of getting him to buy you both food.

Before he could even get a response out your eyes were already fixated on something. The glowing neon lights of a food stand selling mozzarella corn dogs, you’ve always wanted to try those as you see them all the time on TikTok. Without hesitation you make a mad dash for the line as you drag your innocent boyfriend along for the adventure. As you got closer you realize the lines pretty spread out, there was at least 20+ people waiting but you were willing to stay as you really wanted one.

Hyunjin detaches his hand from yours, making you question his sudden intentions, “be right back babe, m’gonna go to the restroom.” He politely excuses himself, “here’s my card just in case I don’t make it back in time.” Pulling his credit card from his wallet to hand you before venturing off.

“Don’t be gone for too long please, or else I’ll come find you myself.” You were dead serious too, honestly speaking you didn’t necessarily want him out of your sight but you trust that he’ll come back in a reasonable amount of time. Hopefully.

“I promise babe.” He reassures, giving a quick peck to your forehead before vanishing into the crowd.

After what seemed like an eternity, you manage to secure the corn dogs and pay for them with Hyunjin’s card. Realizing now that your boyfriend is still gone, it’s been a good 15-20 minutes and he promised that he’d be back. Now you have to go looking for him like a mother who’s just lost their child. Scanning every area of the park you came across, you begin to feel anxious when you don’t see him anywhere. A range of negative thoughts intrude your mind with possibilities of where he could’ve gone. What you weren’t expecting was for your intuition to be exactly spot on.

There he was standing in front a taco truck, talking and laughing with another girl. A girl you absolutely do not recognize and have no clue why or what she’s doing even having a conversation with your man. You couldn’t move at all, frozen in place as you watched the scene fold out in front of you, making you more livid as it continues. The mystery girl was pissing you off by the minute, the tiny skirt she wore barely left anything to the imagination and her body language was way too close for comfort for your liking. You had to put a stop to this immediately.

Slowly you make your way up to them, examining the situation further. The blonde girl tries to loom even closer to Hyunjin but he backs away a bit, a sheer look of fear and paranoia in his eyes. She keeps talking to him but he doesn’t really say much back, only half smiling and nodding. What makes you pick up your pace at lightning speed was when he pulls his phone out from his back pocket, as if he’s about to ask for her number.

You’ve seen enough, it’s time to intervene now.

Practically sprinting up to them you see the girl perk up when she sees you, giving a friendly wave and inviting smile as if she wasn’t just trying to steal your man a second ago. You’re ready to rip this bitches hair out and show her that she’s picked the wrong one to mess with today.

“Oh hi, you must be ___, it’s so good to finally meet you!” Her voice was so squeaky and high-pitched, not even in a cute way, just obnoxiously loud and annoying.

…How the fuck does this girl know who you are?

“Who the hell is this?” You snap at Hyunjin, completely ignoring the girl’s presence, “How does she know you?”

“I’m— ”

“I believe I asked my boyfriend, not you. Who is she?” You rudely cut her off to reiterate the question.

Hyunjin looks like he’s just witnessed a murder, his own murder to be exact. “This is Valerie, we went to high school together, I was just showing her your freelance work and all the cool designs you make ‘cause she’s looking for graphic designers and I think you’re really talented babe.”

Your heart just sank to the pit of your stomach. The balled up fist your right hand was clenching soon released itself, no longer in fight mode but flight mode from the sudden embarrassment you’re internally battling.

“Oh..”

“Uh, well it was nice talking to you Hyunjin! I’ll go find my husband now, but your graphics are incredible ___ and I’d love to hire you for a couple projects I have lined up. Here’s my business card!” She hands you the flimsy card stock and leaves in an instant.

Now you feel totally ridiculous for almost causing a scene and cursing out the girl and your boyfriend for just wanting to promote your work. You owe him an apology big time.

“I thought you were…”

“Flirting with another girl, seriously? You think I have a death wish or something? Of course I’d never try something like that. The first thing she saw was you as my lock screen when I checked the time. Plus she’s married, I don’t think she’d be that dumb.” Hyunjin further proves his case, making sure not to leave any details out.

“M’sorry baby, please forgive me.” You plead for forgiveness, regressing back to your softer, more gentle side “lemme make it up to you daddy.”

“Nngh! Hyunjin-” you keen into his ear as you rub your clothed heat against his toned thigh, holding onto him for stable support.

You seriously felt bad for acting out like that earlier, all you want to do now is make him feel so good he forgets all about your previous unhinged behavior. Lord knows what you’d do if you ever lose someone so important to you. You can’t think about that right now though. Right now was all about him and making him feel good, but you can’t help but get something out of it as well.

The backseat of his car was a bit cramped as he decided to take his smaller convertible instead of the SUV, not exactly bargaining that later on you’d be getting freaky in his vehicle. Nonetheless you enjoy each other’s company, not needing much space anyway — if anything you wanted to be as close to him as possible. If you could get inside his skin you probably would. You love Hyunjin more than yourself, often feeling like you aren’t good enough to be with him. Maybe the reason you’re so protective and jealous is because you fear he’ll leave you for someone better.

Lazily trailing your lips down further, placing small pecks here and there until you land on his neck, adorned with a dainty silver chain, nuzzling your face into the crook of it. He smells so good, the cologne he’s wearing along with his natural pheromones is an intoxicating concoction. You stick your tongue out, gliding the wet muscle over his bare skin, still feverishly rutting into him while listening to his ethereal moans.

“Mmm.. I love you.” He murmurs under his breath, slipping his hands underneath (his) your hoodie to feel you up. His hands travel upwards to find the valley of your breasts, still covered by the bra you’re wearing he slides underneath the cups to lightly squeeze them.

You nibble on his neck in response, harshly sucking on the flesh to leave visible love bites, you want to make it abundantly clear to the whole world Hwang Hyunjin belongs to you.

“I love you more Hyunjinnie,” you stop for a brief moment to say, “gonna prove it.” Which you will once you’re satisfied with marking his entire neck and chest with dozens of purple and red hickeys.

Even though he’s touching you, grinding his hard length into you and purring out your name, you need more. Craving to see and feel more of him, you tug at the hem of his t-shirt in hopes he catches your drift.

“Off. Now.” You demand sharply, getting more impatient by the second.

He obliges instantly, stripping the garment off his body to reveal the most gorgeous set of abs you’ve laid your eyes upon, he’s so unreal it makes you constantly question if you’re dreaming. You went from his neck to kissing his plump lips, his hand cupping the side of your face to deepen the kiss, both so desperate and horny for each other. Running your manicured hands down his beautiful body, just the tiniest flexing Hyunjin does with his muscles makes you go crazy. You need him to manhandle you, have you bent over and get fucked senselessly.

“Lie back Jinnie, m’gonna suck you off.” You command him to move, getting up from him so he can pivot into a more comfortable position.

He shuffles around, leaning into the leather seat before quickly undoing his pants and sliding them down his ankles. You get on your knees, disappearing between his legs to come in contact with his stiff erection. Tracing figure eights on his thighs, he hisses from your delicate touch. You couldn’t resist planting a chaste kiss to his stomach, leaving another wet kiss to his v-line. Any little touch makes Hyunjin’s heart beat out of his chest, he can’t get enough of you just as you can’t of him— high off each other like an addictive, psychoactive drug.

As you finally free his cock from the last barrier, his boxer briefs, you’re in awe from just how much precum he’s leaking already. His length stood straight up resting on his stomach, faint veins protruding around the shaft. You kiss his pretty pink tip while looking up at him with innocent eyes, grabbing the base of his cock, opening your mouth just a little to provide a few kitten licks. You’ve only just started but he feels like he’s going to come undone already.

“Shit-” he lowly grunts, feeling his cock pulsate in your tiny hand.

Taking him further in your mouth now, you manage to fit half of his length, bobbing your head up and down while keeping a tight suction on his cock. Hyunjin involuntarily rocks his hips into you, making you gag just a little from how big he is. You could never fit all of him (except for that one time you were super drunk and magically forgot what a gag reflex was) but you still try your best and that’s all that matters to him. He loves that you’re always willing to give him random blowjobs whenever and wherever, you both love public sex and the idea of possibly being caught. You take a short break to collect more saliva, spitting on his cock and spreading it with your hand to make it even messier. His mouth was permanently agape, staring down at you with lust filled eyes, not knowing how much longer he can last. When you start pumping his cock much faster along with swirling your tongue around it , he thinks he might just lose it. Panting heavily, he shifts underneath you in attempt to get you to stop but you keep sucking like the cock hungry slut you are for him. He’s seriously going to nut any minute if you continue at this rate.

“Babe.. you’re gonna make me cum if you keep this up…” he closes his eyes, almost giving in to what’s inevitably about to come.

“Isn’t that the goal?” You ask quickly before going back.

“No,” he says, slightly frustrated with you for not obeying, “fucking this tight little pussy is.”

You’re confused when he’s pulling you away from him, moving you from the floor and back onto his lap all in one swift action, manhandling you for real this time. “What’re you doing!” You raise your voice at him like a brat, to which he spanks your behind in response.

“Shh.. relax.” He shuts you up by pulling you in for a slow, sensual kiss.

You moan into his mouth, melting right into his touch like always. “Need you so bad please..” you whine for to feel more of him.

“Tell me what you need, I’ll give it to you baby.” He promises, lacing his fingers in your hair, looking at you with pure admiration.

“Your cock.. need your big fat cock inside me now,” you beg like a good girl, “please daddy, i’m literally soaking for you.” Shameless at this point with how you talk, but you know the dirtier you get the more Hyunjin likes it.

He can’t say no when you ask so polite that. “I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you whatever you want princess.”

And he does.

Once he rids you of your shorts and underwear, you’re back on top of him, lining yourself up with his thick cock that slides right in from you being so ready.

“Fuck you’re so wet baby.. you take this cock so well cutie,” he praises you in the hottest way possible. You’ll never get tired of hearing him talk like this to you, hence why you love to have sex so much.

“Only for you daddy.” You breathlessly spoke, getting used to his length for a moment before beginning to move. Slowly bouncing up and down his member at first until Hyunjin slams his cock into you, walls clenching as you feel every inch of him. You shifted from grinding on him in slow motion to picking up your speed, placing both hands around his neck. Hyunjin throws his head back in pleasure, wrapping his hand around your waist as the other grips the soft flesh of your ass.

“Mine… your cock is mine,” you’re going faster and faster, crying out as he matches your movements, thrusting back into you hard. “Only I get to ride this everyday.”

He doesn’t hesitate to agree, letting you know exactly who he belongs to. “I’m all yours babygirl, can have this cock as much as you want, use me to get yourself off..”

You feel like you’re about to come soon, legs shaking and spasming from his girth splitting you open. “Yes baby..” you couldn’t think straight anymore, “love your cock so much Jinnie..” You mewl from being so full and cockstuffed “mmph.. wanna have your babies.”

“Yeah? Want me to fill your little cunt with all my cum and get you pregnant, hmm ? That what you want pretty girl?” He sounded so pussy drunk he couldn’t even blame you for wanting to any of this.

One more thrust was all it took for the thread to unravel inside of you, seeing white, glowing stars as you get closer to your orgasm.

“Jinnie kiss me.”

He does as he’s told, grabbing your face to kiss you roughly, entering his tongue in your mouth to intertwine with yours. He’s so good at everything he does it’s insane. Maybe if the dick wasn’t so damn good you wouldn’t be half as crazy.

“I’m so close princess..” he announces, slipping one of his long, slender digits onto your clit, coaxing your release.

“Me too.”

Everything feels ultra sensitive to you as you approach your climax, whimpering as Hyunjin sucks on your perked nipples while you continue riding him. A sudden rambunctious crackling sound startles the both of you, but what you weren’t expecting to see outside were fireworks lighting up the night sky. You’d completely forgot how excited you were to see them, watching in amazement as all the vibrant colors morph together. Leaning in to tenderly kiss your boyfriend who was also momentarily distracted, you get back right to business, chasing after your highs. Hyunjin finishes inside you like you wanted, feeling his hot seed spill into your aching heat. You came undone shortly after, holding onto him while your bare chests collide. Fireworks detonate inside your body as they do outside.

As if the universe had orchestrated the perfect 1 year anniversary pre celebration just for the two of you; a perfect moment to seal your love with the glittering magic of romance and fireworks combined. Hyunjin’s so happy to have met someone like you, someone who loves him so passionately and so deeply. He may not understand why you think the way you do sometimes, or react with such brash methods, but he knows that you do it out of pure love. It’s a whirlwind of emotions dating you but he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world or have it any other way.

- 完 ♡︎

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chlix · 2 months ago

Text

sharpest tool

bf! chan x fem! reader: chan doesn't love you like you love him. you're not planning on doing anything about it

genre: angst, suggestive (but not actually very fun or sexy)

word count: 2.9k

warnings/tags: toxic relationships/situationships, arguing, self-worth issues

a/n: this fic is inspired by "sharpest tool" off sabrina carpenter's new album! i heard it and immediately knew i wanted to write for it. i also plan on doing other songs off the album with other members but we'll see if i get to that before the album loses all relevance 💀

“What’s new with you then?” your coworker Seohyeon asks once the lunch rush dies down. You’re wiping spilled coffee off the bar and she’s pretending to reorganize the stacks by the till, but really, you’re both just trying to look busy while you recover from the last round of customers. Seohyeon has already bitched about her evil landlord and snitched on your manager for critiquing the way the new girl set up the cup display. Now, it’s your turn to overshare. Unfortunately, your life is scant of any juicy details.

“Nothing. You know I have no life outside this job,” you say.

“So not true,” she says. “What about that guy who keeps hanging around waiting for you to get off every day? How’s that going?”

You stiffen. “It’s going.”

She hums sympathetically. “That bad, huh?”

You drop your rag in the bucket of sanitizer water and take a long breath.

“It’s not bad. It’s not really anything right now.”

“You know, I mentioned how he’s always waiting for you, but I haven’t really seen him in a couple of weeks.”

“You and me both,” you mutter. Unwittingly, your hands drift to your phone in your apron pocket, hoping it’ll buzz and you’ll get a text from Chan, as if he’d sense you thinking about him and give you the attention that you’ve been craving. When you first met, the two of you had that kind of psychic connection. It was like you were of one mind. He was everything you wanted in a guy. He still is.

That’s what makes this all so difficult.

The idea of Chan using you as a warm body isn’t inherently distressing. Or, it wouldn’t have been, if he’d posed the idea initially. Maybe if he’d asked you for that up front, then you would’ve known better than to catch feelings. Or at least if you had, then you could take all the blame unto yourself for being softhearted, overly optimistic. He could be blameless. This would be easier if he was a bad person. Or maybe he is, and you just love him too much to care.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m all ears,” Seohyeon says.

“There’s not much to say. We weren’t really even dating. I think. I mean, he doesn’t owe me anything.”

Seohyeon gives you a knowing look, and it makes anything else you were planning on saying stick in your throat.

“Get well soon, girl,” she says, and turns back to the till. You swallow, pick up the bucket of dirty water, and go to dump it out in the sink in the back.

Chan does not come in at the end of your shift and wait for you. Of course not. He does text you, though.

Hey, he says. It’s the first time he’s spoken to you in a week. The casual nature of it swallows you alive.

Hey

Busy tonight?

Never for you <3

My place? 8?

It’s almost pathetic of you to keep falling for the same old trick. Can it even be called a trick if you’re neither fooled nor impressed? You always knew you were just a placeholder, filling in the gaps for when he can’t have the girls he really wants. He doesn’t have to make it so obvious, though.

Placeholder. It’s one of those thoughts that as soon as it crosses your mind, you know you’ve already lost. You’re not sure if Chan realizes that’s what he’s turned you into. You can’t really blame him. You only recently realized it yourself. You’ve been hooking up for months, you’ve been hanging out with his friends, you’ve been posting each other and having cozy nights in with long conversations that last until the early morning. He’s your baby. You’re his girl. But you’re not his girlfriend. Six missing letters and suddenly, you’re the crazy one.

You wonder if Chan knows how these periods of long silence make you feel like a cheap lay, like someone he doesn’t even know. Maybe he does, and this is all an elaborate manipulation tactic that’s working distressingly well. Maybe he doesn’t know, and you’re projecting malice onto his thoughtlessness.

It doesn’t matter either way. You know it, and you’re still going to go.

Ok <3

You put your phone away and start walking to the bus. You need to go home and get ready.

You arrive at his apartment just before eight pm. He hates it when people aren’t punctual, and you hate it when he’s upset, so here you are, shaved and showered and dressed all pretty. You’ve developed a scarcity mindset around him- you need to make sure every time he sees you is perfect because the incidents are so few and far between. You need to look irresistible, so enticing that he’ll be begging to come see you again. It’s so pathetic that you piss yourself off on a daily basis.

You fix your hair and clothes, ring his doorbell. He answers the door, all smiles and muscle tees, and it almost makes you forget that you haven’t seen him since the last full moon. It’s like a thirst that doesn’t make itself known until that first drop of water.

“Hey, baby,” he says, drawing you into his arms. He kisses you deeply, not lustful but loving and you let yourself fall into it.

“Missed you,” he says, low in your ear. He smells like aftershave, like sandalwood and pine.

“Missed you more.”

He pulls you into his apartment and closes the door behind you so he can press you up against it and kiss you again. He licks into your mouth, and you let him, bringing your own hands up to cup his face. The barest bit of his stubble tickles against your palms. His body is warm and solid against you, it makes your knees weak, makes your heart race. For the moment, you forget every grievance you’ve ever had with him. You forget how upset you were at work today, and Seohyeon’s pity, and how empty your phone has been lately. The world outside the two of you might as well not exist.

Chan’s hands slide up under your shirt, pressed against your stomach. Your gut twists.

The illusion shatters.

You pull your lips away from him.

“Chan,” you say, trying to be authoritative, but you’re breathless. He moves away from your mouth and latches onto your neck, and your body reacts without your permission, arching into the touch, but you pull your hands away and press on his chest.

“Chan, stop.”

He lets you push him, taking a step back and looking down at you with blown wide eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just…not feeling it.”

“Right, sorry. Didn’t mean to pounce on you. We can move to the bedroom if you want?”

“No…” That sticky feeling is building in your throat again. “I’m just not really in the mood for sex at all, right now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Awkward silence stretches between you. He’s just looking at you, unsure how to proceed, and you want to die a little more every minute.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I’ll just- I’ll go-”

“No, wait!” He catches your arm as you go to turn away. “You don’t have to leave. I’m the one who’s sorry. You shouldn’t have to apologize for something like this.”

“Okay…”

He kisses your forehead again, affectionate and chaste. “I’m glad you came. I wasn’t lying about missing you, yeah? Let’s just have a chill night in.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ll order in. It’ll be nice.”

You let out a long breath and pull him into a hug. He embraces you, and your ear ends up pressed against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat thrumming under his ear, soothing, reassuring.

Okay. Okay okay okay.

You try to have a good night, you really do. You want to be happy when you’re around him, but it’s like a switch has flipped in your head and it’s impossible to truly relax. He orders food from your favorite place without you having to even ask.

“You want your usual?” he asks.

“You still remember my usual?”

“I remember everything about you, love.”

You think about earlier, how he’d known to text you as soon as you got off work yet hadn’t made the effort to actually show up like he used to. You tell him your usual is fine and kiss him on the cheek.

When the food arrives, you curl together on the couch under blankets and put on some show as background noise. There was a drama you were watching together, but he doesn’t bring it up and neither do you. As he pulls up Netflix, you notice the title card in his Recently Watched, but you haven’t been over in so long that you know it can’t be from the last time you were together. He doesn’t pause, skipping over it completely to select another random thumbnail.

“This okay?”

You hum an affirmative and the Netflix logo appears on the screen, signaling the start of the episode. You eat your food and try to focus on how good it tastes instead of how leaden your stomach feels.

As the night wears on, you realize that he’s being cagey. He asks you questions about your life and your job, about your sister and her baby and your plans for the holidays. He’s always been a good listener, always attentive and empathetic and curious. He’s been good at getting secrets out of you as long as you’ve known him.

I’ve never told anyone this before, you would start sentences, but I feel like I can trust you.

You can, he’d respond. I’d never judge you. I care about all of you, even the parts you might not care about yourself.

Always so welcoming, so loving. It had you spilling your guts after only the third date.

I’m rambling, I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear about all my baggage.

Y/n, I want to know anything you’re willing to tell me. Communication is important in relationships. It builds strong foundations.

And yet here he is, only a few months later, dodging all your questions about where he’s been or what he’s been up to.

“How’s work?”

“It’s been alright.”

“You’re pretty busy around this time of year, aren’t you?”

Chan shrugs. “Yeah, but I’m used to it by now.”

You nod around the fork in your mouth, unsure how to continue the line of inquiry. You try again, another topic this time.

“Did you hear about that giant pile up downtown? There were like ten cars involved.”

“I haven’t been watching the news much lately.”

“Well what have you been watching?”

“I’ve kind of had other things going on. Not much time for leisure.”

“Right. You said you were busy with work.”

He doesn’t reply to this. You want to shrink into the couch cushions and coil inside one of the springs.

You eat in silence for a while, eyes flittering between the screen and his face. Once or twice, his phone will ding, and he’ll pick up and scroll through it, shoot back a quick reply. You don’t ask who’s contacting him. When he’s done, he sets his phone face down on the table, out of your reach.

When you’re both done, he takes the empty containers from you and goes to dispose them. His hair bounces as he moves, curling around his ears and the tops of his brows.

“Your hair’s getting long.”

“Is it?” He pulls at a loose curl, stretching it out in front of him critically. “Guess I should get it cut.”

“Nooo, I like it. It suits you.”

He glances at you shyly. “You think?”

“I know. You look adorable.”

“I can’t be walking around adorable. What would that do to my image?”

“Right. Mr. Tough Guy Bang Chan, who always has short hair and thick biceps. There’s a brand image to consider.”

“Exactly! I knew you’d understand.” His cheeks dimple in his smile, but it’s shaky, and it disappears as quickly as it came. “And anyway, I just don’t think…” He trails off.

“Don’t think what?”

Chan stays quiet for a while, lost in thought. You’re unsure whether or not to push, but before you can say anything else, he snaps out of it. He shakes his head as if to clear it and throws an apologetic look your way.

“Never mind. Just getting too into my head.”

Concerned, you rise from the couch and cross the room to his kitchen.

“Is everything okay?”

“Of course. Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I worry about you. I care about you.”

Chan isn’t meeting your eyes. “Just leave it alone, y/n. It’s stupid anyway.”

“Something bothering you could never be stupid.”

“I said just leave it alone.” His voice is harsh now, face hardened in the way he does when he’s not being nice anymore. He’s putting his walls up and you don’t understand why, and it’s tearing at you, the cumulative weight of all this distance.

“Okay. Whatever then.”

You turn around and start walking back towards the couch.

“Whatever?”

The audacity to sound offended after the way he’s been treating you.

“I can’t make you talk to me. If you don’t want to tell me anything then why keep asking?”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’ve been talking to you all night.”

“No, you haven’t. You’re shutting me out.”

“Shutting you out?” He sounds genuinely confused. You stop halfway back to the living room and turn to look at him.

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

He lets out a short laugh and pushes his curly bangs away from his forehead, hands alight with anxious energy.

“Y/n I invited you over here. We’ve been talking and watching the show. I thought we were having a good night. Now I want to keep one thought to myself and I’m ‘shutting you out’?”

That same twisting in your gut starts up again.

“You’re making me sound so unreasonable.”

“I mean, can’t you see how this looks from my perspective?” He turns away from you and pinches the bridge of his nose, like he’s developing a headache. Like he’s the one being tormented. “Sometimes I feel like you and I are living in different realities.”

It’s like a dagger in your chest. All your indignation leaves you, leaking out of you and pooling at your feet in a sad little puddle of self-respect.

“Don’t say that.”

“I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

You set out of your ring of self-loathing and approach the island where he is, still turned away from him. You reach out a shaking hand and turn him to face you. When you meet his eyes, you see frustration, confusion, and helplessness.

You’re a placeholder. You know it, Seohyeon knows it, the girl he’s been texting all night knows it. It’s possible Chan doesn’t.

That’s fine. You know it, and you’re in love with him anyway.

You press your hands against his chest, leaning up so you can look right in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “You’re right. I’ve been on edge lately; I didn’t mean it.” You smile, self-deprecating, embarrassed. “Forgive me?”

Chan lets out a long breath. He grabs your hand and kisses it, then keeps holding on to it, his grip strong and secure.

“Nothing to forgive. I’ve been all over the place too. But we’re here now, together. So let’s just relax, yeah?”

You nod. He leans down and kisses you. The twisting in your gut persists, but you don’t pull away until he does.

“Let’s go finish this episode,” he says, and goes to lead you both back to the living room.

The night feels like a failure. You can’t figure out why, but the thought of just finishing your show and then putting your coat and boots back on and leaving feels like accepting defeat. Your legs are unstable underneath you, but not in the way they were earlier, when Chan was kissing you like his life depended on it. Now, you are standing at the top of a very tall hill, fighting against gravity to remain upright on the slope.

Get well soon, girl.

You close your eyes tightly, then reach forward and grab the back of Chan’s shirt. He jolts, surprised, then turns back to you. You release his jacket as he turns and grab his hand instead, lacing your fingers together.

“Forget the show,” you say. “Take me to bed.”

His eyes widen. “Are you sure? Earlier you said-”

“I’m too in my head. You’re right. I should try to relax. I haven’t seen you in weeks.” You get on tiptoe and lean up to his ear and whisper. “You can make me feel better, right Channie?”

Chan’s fingers tighten around yours. When you lower yourself back onto your heels, he’s looking down at you with dark eyes. You push down your unease, leave it abandoned on the floor with your anger and ego and heartbreak.

“You’re sure.”

“Never surer. Unless you don’t want-”

He effectively silences you by sweeping you into his arms, lifting you up like you weigh nothing.

“Baby, you have no idea the things I want.”

You laugh, shocked at the display of strength, and wrap your arms around him as he carries you away. The last thing you see before he shuts the bedroom door is his phone on the table, vibrating with an unanswered call.

#skz x reader #skz angst #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagines #bang chan angst #skz imagines #short n sweet album series

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yohanisnothere · 2 months ago

Text

I just wanna be the girl you like!

⋆˚✿˖° Geto Suguru loves bullying and humiliating you, making your college life hell. But he doesn't know, that you secretly likes it.

⋆˚✿˖° Pairings: Bully! Suguru x Fem! Reader

⋆˚✿˖°Tags: Smut with plot, slight angst, doggy style, spanking, masochist, rough sex, masturbation (in front of Suguru :0), spitting in mouth, choking, hair pulling, oral sex (m receiving), face fucking

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆°°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆°°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆°°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡

You step onto the campus grounds, the early morning sun casting long shadows across the bustling courtyard. With a deep breath, you clutch your bag a little tighter, bracing yourself for what you know is coming. It’s become routine by now—college life should be a fresh start, but for you, it's an ongoing battle. And that battle has a name: Suguru Geto.

You spot him almost immediately, leaning casually against a lamppost with his friends, his dark hair falling lazily across his forehead. He’s smirking, as usual, already exuding an air of authority. His gaze sweeps across the courtyard until it lands on you. Your heart skips a beat despite yourself, and you can feel the familiar rush of adrenaline and nerves.

As Suguru pushes off the lamppost and starts walking in your direction, his friends snicker, already anticipating the show.

“There you are, loser,” he calls out, loud enough for those around you to hear. His voice is casual, as though this were just another day of teasing, another moment of him singling you out.

You swallow hard, the butterflies in your stomach doing somersaults as he approaches. Your cheeks burn, not from embarrassment, but from the strange thrill of seeing him up close. There’s something about the way he moves, the confidence in his step that has you unable to look away—even though you know what's coming.

Suguru stops just in front of you, towering over you with that trademark smirk. “Didn’t think you’d make it today. Thought you finally got smart and dropped out.”

His words are sharp, cutting through the air, but they don’t sting like they should. Instead, your heart pounds in your chest, betraying how much you crave his attention, even if it’s through insults.

“I—I’m here,” you manage to mumble, trying to keep your voice steady. You lower your gaze, hoping he doesn’t notice how flustered you are.

“Of course you are,” he scoffs, stepping even closer. You feel the tip of his shoe nudge yours, a clear power play. “How could you stay away, huh? Always following me around like a lost puppy.”

His friends laugh, and you know you should feel humiliated. But instead, all you can focus on is how close he is, how his scent—a mix of cologne and something uniquely Suguru—fills the air between you. If only he knew how much you looked forward to these moments.

Suguru’s hand reaches out, flicking the strap of your bag just enough to make you lose grip, and it tumbles to the ground. “Oops,” he says with mock innocence. “You’re so clumsy. Can’t even hold onto your stuff.”

As you bend down to pick it up, you hear him chuckle under his breath. Normally, being treated like this would have anyone seething with anger or sadness. But not you. In some twisted way, this is the only interaction you get with him, and it’s enough. Your secret crush on him is a guilty pleasure, one you know you shouldn’t have, but can’t shake off.

As you rise, your eyes meet his, and for a brief second, you wonder if he sees it—if he can sense that you’re not like the others. That you don’t mind. That, in a way, you look forward to these encounters.

But then the smirk returns, and he turns to leave. “See you around, loser,” he throws over his shoulder, his friends following behind him. You watch him go, your heart still racing.

Even though you’ve just been humiliated, part of you can’t wait for the next time.

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You were sitting in the corner of the campus café, absentmindedly stirring your coffee as the hum of student chatter filled the air. It was supposed to be a quick break before your next class, but then you heard a familiar voice.

Suguru.

Your heart skipped a beat as you saw him sitting at a nearby table with his friends. You hadn’t planned on paying attention, but when you caught the topic of their conversation, your curiosity spiked.

“So, Suguru,” one of his friends said with a teasing grin, “you gotta tell us. What’s your type? You’re always brushing girls off like they don’t exist.”

You felt your ears perk up, and instinctively, you shifted in your seat, trying to make it look like you were still minding your own business. But your attention was laser-focused now, every fiber of your being tuned into what Suguru might say next.

“Yeah, come on, man,” another friend chimed in. “There’s gotta be someone who catches your eye. Or are you just too good for everyone?”

Suguru leaned back in his chair, that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips. He seemed unfazed by the question, his eyes lazily scanning the room as though thinking it over. You couldn’t help but bite your lip, anticipation gnawing at you. What if you fit his type? What if you didn’t?

Finally, Suguru spoke, his tone casual. “I guess I like a girl who’s not too easy to figure out.”

Your heart sped up. Not easy to figure out? What did that mean?

His friend raised an eyebrow. “That’s vague, man. You gotta give us more than that.”

Suguru chuckled softly. “I mean, someone who’s not all over me, you know? Confident but not in my face about it. Someone who’s got her own thing going on.”

You subtly grabbed your phone, opening a blank note and typing down his words as discreetly as possible. Confident…has her own thing going on…not too easy to figure out…

Suguru’s eyes glinted as he continued, leaning forward slightly. “She’s gotta be tough, but not loud about it. I don’t need someone who constantly tries to get my attention. I’ll notice her when she’s just doing her thing.”

Your fingers hovered over the screen, digesting his words. Tough but not loud. Someone who doesn’t need to try too hard. You wondered if you could be that kind of person. You certainly never tried to get his attention on purpose—but then again, was that what kept him bullying you?

His friend laughed, shaking his head. “So, basically a girl who can handle your attitude, huh?”

Suguru shrugged, smirking. “Something like that. And maybe someone who can surprise me.”

Surprise him? You furrowed your brow. That was a tricky one. What would surprise someone like Suguru, who always seemed so unfazed by everything?

The conversation drifted after that, but you were already lost in thought, replaying his words over and over. You couldn’t help but wonder—could you be that girl? Could you show Suguru that you had more to offer than what he saw when he teased you? Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to catch his attention without changing too much of who you were.

You glanced back at him, his confident posture and careless expression still making your heart race. One thing was certain: you were going to try.

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The next morning, you woke up before the sun had even fully risen, your heart already racing with a mixture of excitement and nerves. Today was different. Today, you had a plan.

You tiptoed into your sister's room, gently nudging her awake. She groaned, rubbing her eyes as she propped herself up. "Why are you waking me up this early?" she mumbled, still half-asleep.

You smiled, trying to sound casual. “I just thought… maybe you could help me with some makeup? You know, just for fun. I kinda want to look pretty today.”

Your sister raised an eyebrow, still a little groggy but clearly surprised. “Since when do you care about makeup?”

You shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “I dunno. Just felt like changing things up.”

After some teasing and half-hearted grumbling, she eventually agreed. You sat in front of her vanity, letting her work her magic. As the brush swept across your cheeks and the eyeliner flicked along your lashes, you couldn’t help but glance at yourself in the mirror. It was subtle, but enough to make you feel… different. Maybe even confident.

By the time she finished, you barely recognized yourself. You looked put-together, polished, like someone who could easily fit into Suguru’s idea of a girl who “had her own thing going on.”

Your sister stood back, admiring her work. “There. You look amazing. Who’s this for, anyway? Anyone special?”

You shook your head quickly, laughing nervously. “No, no one. I just wanted to do it for myself.”

She gave you a knowing look, but didn’t press further. “Well, whoever it’s for, they’re gonna notice you.”

That’s what you hoped for, too.

Arriving on campus, you felt a little more self-conscious than usual. Every time someone’s gaze lingered a little too long, you wondered if they noticed the makeup, if you looked different from your usual self. Your heart pounded as you scanned the courtyard for Suguru, anticipation swirling in your stomach.

Then, you saw him—leaning against the same lamppost as yesterday, his familiar group of friends surrounding him. You took a deep breath, squaring your shoulders and walking in their direction, hoping that maybe today he’d see you in a new light.

But as soon as you came into view, his eyes found yours. A flicker of something—was it surprise?—crossed his face before it quickly turned back into his usual smirk.

“Well, well, look who it is,” Suguru said, pushing off the lamppost as he strolled toward you. His friends snickered behind him, already sensing something was coming. “You trying out a new look today?”

Your throat tightened, nerves buzzing under your skin. You nodded slightly, not trusting your voice. Maybe—just maybe—he’d say something nice. Maybe he’d notice the effort you’d put in, even if he didn’t say it outright.

Suguru stopped in front of you, his eyes scanning your face with an expression you couldn’t quite read. For a second, hope bubbled in your chest.

Then he laughed. Loud, sharp, and cruel.

“What’s this? You think a little makeup is gonna change who you are?” He stepped closer, his voice dripping with condescension. “You look pathetic.”

The word hit you like a punch to the gut. You blinked, feeling your face heat up—not from the flustered crush you were used to, but from the sting of his words.

“I mean, come on,” he continued, still smirking. “Who are you trying to impress? Me? That’s just sad.”

You couldn’t move. Every word felt like it was tearing through the fragile confidence you’d built up that morning. His friends laughed along with him, their voices a distant echo as you stood frozen, your heart sinking.

Suguru tilted his head, as if waiting for a reaction, but all you could do was stand there, cheeks burning, your gaze fixed on the ground. You had hoped—no, expected—something different. But now, you just felt… humiliated.

With a final scoff, Suguru turned away, his interest in you fading as quickly as it had come. “Better luck next time, loser."

As he walked off, you stayed rooted in place, trying to keep the tears from welling up. You had tried so hard to get his attention, but now, you weren’t sure it had been worth it at all.

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You barely made it to the bathroom before the tears started spilling over. The second the door closed behind you, you rushed into one of the stalls, slamming the lock shut. The cool metal felt grounding under your fingertips as you pressed your back against the door, sliding down until you were sitting on the floor.

The floodgates opened, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. Your chest ached, the humiliation twisting and knotting inside you. Hot tears streamed down your face, your vision blurring as you buried your head in your hands.

Your makeup. The hours spent preparing, the hopeful glances in the mirror that morning—it was all for nothing.

You felt the sting of your eyeliner and mascara mixing with the tears, smudging and running down your cheeks. You wiped at your face furiously, only to make it worse. Black streaks stained your fingers as your sobs grew louder, echoing in the empty bathroom.

Why had you thought this would work? Why had you convinced yourself that Suguru would see you differently, even for a second? He had laughed in your face, torn down every bit of hope you had built up.

Pathetic. The word echoed in your mind, replaying over and over.

You weren’t tough. You weren’t confident. You were just the same person he bullied every day, and no amount of makeup or effort could change that.

A sharp sob escaped your throat, and you pressed your hand against your mouth to muffle the sound. You hated how vulnerable you felt—alone, broken down by the person you secretly admired.

You sniffled, feeling the wetness on your cheeks, smearing the once-pristine makeup your sister had applied with care. There was no use trying to fix it now. Everything was ruined.

As the tears slowed and the sobs quieted, the rawness in your chest remained. You didn’t know how long you’d been sitting there, but the cold bathroom stall felt like a strange refuge, a place where you could fall apart without anyone seeing.

Maybe you should just give up liking your own bully.

After that day, you made a decision—you weren’t going to waste any more time on Suguru. It wasn’t easy to let go of feelings that had been festering for so long, but his cruel laughter and the sting of his words were more than enough to finally shake you awake.

Since then, you’d managed to avoid him. You memorized his usual routes around campus, always taking another hallway or exiting through a different door. Even if you caught a glimpse of him from a distance, you turned your head or ducked into the nearest building. For days, you managed to keep out of his line of sight, and for the first time, it felt like you had a sliver of control.

No more Suguru Geto. No more being his punching bag.

But on one particular afternoon, just as classes had ended and you were gathering your things, you felt a sharp tug on your arm. Startled, you barely had time to react before you were yanked backward, stumbling as someone pulled you out of the crowd. Your heart jumped into your throat when you saw who it was.

Suguru.

Without a word, he dragged you down the hallway, his grip tight and unyielding, his expression unreadable. You tried to pull away, panic rising in your chest, but his hold on you only tightened.

"Suguru, what the fuck are you—" you started, but he cut you off with a harsh glare, his jaw clenched, clearly not in the mood for explanations.

He pulled you into one of the campus’s old, rarely used classrooms. The door slammed shut behind you as he shoved you inside, trapping you in the space with him. The classroom was dusty and forgotten, with old desks piled up and dim light filtering through dirty windows. It felt claustrophobic, and your heart pounded as you turned to face him.

Suguru looked furious. His usually calm, smirking demeanor was gone, replaced by something colder, sharper. His eyes bore into yours with a strange intensity, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Why the hell have you been avoiding me?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

You blinked, caught off guard. Of all the things you’d expected, this confrontation was not one of them. "What—what do you mean?"

“You know exactly what I mean," he snapped, stepping closer. "Don’t play dumb."

His anger was palpable, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. "I—I just... I needed space. You made it pretty clear how you feel about me."

Suguru’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he seemed taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

You clenched your fists, suddenly finding the courage to say what had been boiling inside you since that day. "You called me pathetic, Suguru! You humiliated me in front of everyone, laughed in my face! What more is there to say?"

For a brief second, his expression faltered, but it quickly hardened again. "That’s no reason to just disappear."

You stared at him, disbelief washing over you. “Why does it even matter to you? I thought you didn’t care.”

Suguru’s gaze darkened, his frustration evident. "It matters," he said through gritted teeth, though his voice was quieter now, almost as if he didn’t want to admit it. "And I don’t like being ignored."

Your heart pounded in your chest as Suguru’s words sank in. The sheer audacity of his anger—his claim that you had no right to avoid him—boiled something deep within you. For days, you had dealt with the sting of humiliation, replaying his cruel laughter over and over in your head. And now, here he was, angry because you had taken control, because you had the nerve to walk away?

Suddenly, something snapped inside you. Without thinking, you swung your hand, and the sharp sound of your palm connecting with his cheek echoed through the room.

Suguru’s head snapped to the side from the force of the slap, and for a moment, everything was still. You stood there, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your hand trembling from the adrenaline. It was the first time you had ever fought back against him.

But that moment of silence didn’t last.

In an instant, Suguru’s rage flared. His eyes darkened, and before you could even blink, his hand shot out, gripping you roughly by the hair. You gasped as the sharp pain radiated through your scalp, your head forced back to meet his furious gaze.

"You really shouldn’t have done that," he growled.

Your heart hammered in your chest, but despite the fear coursing through you, a flicker of defiance still burned. You glared back at him, refusing to let him see you cower.

Suguru’s grip tightened, and he leaned in, his breath hot against your face as his voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "You think you’re brave now? Pathetic," he spat. "You’ve always been pathetic. And what’s worse is that you actually thought putting on some makeup and acting like someone else would change anything. Like I wouldn’t notice."

His words cut deep, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t escape the hold he had on you. His hand tugged harder at your hair, and you winced, biting your lip to keep from crying out.

"You think I didn’t know?" he continued, his sneer twisting into something crueler. "It’s obvious you’ve had a crush on me this whole time. You practically throw yourself at me every time I walk by. It’s pathetic how you thought you could hide it."

Your stomach dropped. The blood drained from your face as the reality of his words hit you. He had known all along. Every glance, every small interaction you’d thought was hidden… he had seen it. And worse, he had mocked you for it.

"Is that why you’re always following me around, huh?" Suguru’s voice was laced with contempt. "Thinking you’d have a chance? You’re delusional."

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Your heart pounded in your chest as Suguru's grip on your hair tightened, his eyes burning with a dark intensity. The sharp sting against your scalp made your breath hitch, but it wasn’t just the pain that had you reeling—it was the look in his eyes, the way his lips curled into that familiar smirk, but now, there was something more dangerous behind it.

"You really like me, huh?" he sneered, his voice low, almost a purr. His face was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension crackling between you like electricity. "All this time… trying to get my attention."

Your heart thudded painfully, but before you could muster a response, his smirk deepened. His thumb brushed against your cheek, rough but deliberate. "If you like me that much, you need to prove it. Show me how much you really do."

Before you could even process his words, Suguru’s lips crashed against yours. The kiss was rough, almost punishing, as he claimed your mouth with an intensity that left you breathless. There was no softness, no hesitation—it was fierce, filled with the pent-up tension that had been building between you two for so long.

You froze for a moment, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of sensation, but then his hand gripped the back of your neck, pulling you closer. Your body responded instinctively, melting into the kiss despite the chaos in your mind. His touch, rough yet possessive, sent a shiver down your spine.

Suguru’s lips moved against yours with a desperate hunger, as if he had been holding back for far too long. And even though his actions were far from gentle, there was something undeniable in the way he kissed you—as if he was proving something, too.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to catch your breath. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, and the ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips.

"You wanted my attention," he said, his voice low and dripping with arrogance. "Well, now you have it."

"Get on your knees," he said, his voice firm as he pushed you down. "I want to see those pretty lips wrapped around my cock."

He towers over you, slowly undoing his pants. His cock springs free, already hard and ready. "Come on, baby," he coaxed, his voice laced with desire, "Show me what you've got." He grabbed your hair again, guiding your head towards his cock, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

You can feel your pussy clenching, body begging for his cock. Your tongue darts out, licking the tip of his cock, the taste of his pre-cum making your mouth water.

Your lips part, and you feels your body betray you as you take the head of Suguru’s cock into your mouth, tongue swirling around the tip, savoring the taste.

Suguru let out a guttural moan as your tongue flicked against the tip of his cock, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through him. His grip on your hair tightened, his fingers threading through your strands as he watched you take him in.

"Fuck, baby, that's it," he praised, his hips bucking slightly, as if trying to push deeper into your mouth. "Keep going, let's see how far you can take me." He could feel the heat of your mouth, the wetness of your tongue, and he knew he wouldn't last long.

He wanted to fuck you, to claim you in every way possible. "Now, I want you to take it all, deepthroat my cock, baby," he commanded, his voice gruff and demanding. He wanted to see how much you could handle, how much you'd submit to his will. "Show me how much you want my cock inside you."

You swallow your saliva, before you slowly took him in deeper, hollowing your cheeks. He groaned, the sound deep and primal as he felt you take him deeper. But it wasn't enough, not nearly enough. He needed more, needed to control this, needed to make you submit to him completely.

"Fuck, baby, that's not gonna cut it," he growled, his grip on your hair tightening even more. He started to thrust his hips, fucking your mouth with abandon, his cock sliding in and out, deeper and harder each time.

"Take it, baby," he commanded, his voice harsh and demanding. "Take my cock, all of it. Show me how much you want it." He could feel you gagging, feel your body struggling to take him in, and it only spurred him on more. He wanted to see you choke on his cock, wanted to see you completely at his mercy.

Your eyes are started to get watery, you are out of breath. "Mmf..!" your voice muffled. Your hand tap his thighs, signaling that you really need your oxygen.

The sight of you submitting to him like this only made him harder, his cock twitching in your mouth. He could see the water in your eyes, but he didn't let up.

He wanted to dominate you, to show you who was in control. He pulled your head back, slamming his cock into your mouth, face-fucking you mercilessly. "That's it, take it, you little bitch," he growled, his hips moving in a frenzied rhythm. "I want to see you gag on my cock."

He didn't care about your need for oxygen, only driven by his desires. He could feel your throat muscles clenching around his cock, the sensation making him even more aroused. "Fuck, you're loving this, aren't you?" he snarled, his grip on your hair never loosening.

He continued to face-fuck you, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth, the sound of wet slapping filling the room. A cruel smile spread across his face as he pulled out slightly, allowing you to gasp for air. Suguru’s hand land on your left cheek, his slap a stinging pain. But for some reason, you love it.

"H-hah..t-that's enough..please.." you begged, already breathless.

Suguru released you and watched as you tried to catch your breath, the sight of you gagging and struggling turning him on even more. "Alright, baby, you've earned a break," he lied, his smirk returning.

He pulled you up, standing you in front of a table in the corner of the room. "Bend over," he commanded, his voice firm. You hesitated, but he didn't give you the chance to refuse. He grabbed your hips, turning you around and pushing you down onto the table.

"Keep your legs spread and your arms on the table," he ordered, his hand already hovering over your ass. "Now, count, starting from one."

Suguru brought his hand down hard on your ass, making you yelp in surprise. "One," you said, voice shaky. He spanked you again, this time harder, making you cry out. "T-two!"

He continued to spank you, his hand connecting with your ass with a loud smack each time. "Three, f-four..ah! Five.."

You could feel the sting on your ass, the heat building with each spank as you counted until.. "N-nine..ten," you said, and his hand pausing for a moment. "Now, I want you to spread your legs wider and touch yourself, baby," he commanded, his voice a cruel mix of desire and control.

"W-what?" You hesitated. but he tightened his grip on your hair, pulling it enough to make you whimper. "Do it, slut," he growled, the use of the name making you wetter.

You obeyed, spreading your legs as wide as you could, your fingers finding your wetness. "Good girl," he praised, his hand sliding down your back to cup your ass, squeezing it gently. "Now, play with yourself while I watch."

Leaning against the table, Suguru’s eyes locked on your fingers as they moved to rub yourself through your cotton panties. The sight of you touching yourself, the sound of your whimpers, drives him insane.

He stepped forward, his cock harder than ever, and ripped off your panties. "Enough playing, baby," he growled, his hands gripping your hips.

He positioned himself at your entrance, his cock pressing against you, teasing you. "I'm going to fuck you now, and I'm going to fuck you hard," he warned, his voice laced with promise and threat.

Without waiting for your response, Suguru thrust into you, his cock filling you completely. "H-hngh..!!" you let out a loud moan as he began to move inside you. He pulled your hair back, his grip tight, and started to fuck you with a rough, animalistic fervor.

Suguru slammed into you, his hips moving in a brutal rhythm, your body bouncing on the table. His other hand came around, gripping your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp for air. "Fuck, you feel so good. Too good for a loser," he growled, his thrusts growing harder, more desperate while his hand moves to pinch both of your nipple, making you yelp in surprised.

"Open your mouth," he demand. Suguru, in the heat of the moment, decided to spit into your mouth. He pulled your head back, your lips meeting his in a rough, sloppy kiss. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, mingling with his saliva.

The act only seemed to fuel his lust further. He let go of your throat, his hand sliding down to your ass, gripping it tightly. "You like that, don't you, hm?" he growled, his voice deep and possessive. "You like being treated like this?" Your pussy clenches tightly at his treatment, you feel your mind going numb, dumb, in a haze.

He started to spank you again, his hand connecting with your ass with a loud smack. The sound echoed through the cabin, the sting of the spank making you cry out. "Tell me you like it," he demanded, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

"O-oh fuck..yes..I love it-!" you moaned, eyes rolling back. "P-please..I'm gonna cum-!" you moaned, almost a scream.

Suguru leaned down, his lips pressing against your ear. "Cum for me, baby. Cum on my cock," he commanded, his voice raw and needy as he rubs your clit with his thumb in a tight circle. He felt your body tense, your walls clenching around him, and that was all it took.

With a loud groan, he let go, his seed filling you as he continued to thrust. He held you close, his grip tight as he rode out the waves of pleasure. "Fuck, baby, take it all in," he whispered, his voice heavy with lust and possession.

Suguru pulled out of you, his cock glistening with your juices and his cum. He let out a low whistle, looking at your fucked up state. He didn't miss a chance to took his phone out, taking a picture of you before he wore his pants back.

“Well,” he said, his tone teasing, almost indifferent. “I’d say that’s more than enough for you to remember me by. Consider it a gift for all that hopeless admiration of yours.” He chuckled softly, the sound cold and dismissive, making your chest tighten.

You sat there, still catching your breath, your body weak from everything that had just happened, but his words stung. You had just shared something so intimate, something that had felt so intense in the moment, but to him… it seemed like it was nothing. Just a way to toy with you.

Suguru turned away, adjusting his shirt like this was just another moment in his day. “Don’t go thinking this means anything more,” he added, his voice casual as he headed toward the door. “This was just… for fun. And now it’s over.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a painful lump form in your throat as you watched him. Part of you wanted to shout at him, to ask why he had done this, why he had kissed you and touched you like that if it meant nothing. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you watched as he reached for the door, pausing for just a second before looking over his shoulder, his gaze sharp.

“Take care, yeah? I’ve got better things to do.” And with that, Suguru stepped out of the classroom, leaving you alone in the dim, quiet space.

For a long moment, you didn’t move. Your mind was spinning, your emotions tangled in a confusing mess of anger, hurt, and… something else. You knew you should hate him for how he treated you, for the way he had used your feelings against you, but as you sat there, your body still tingling from his touch, a realization crept in.

Despite everything, despite his cruelty and the way he had just dismissed you—you couldn’t stop yourself from falling for him all over again. The way he looked at you, the way his touch had made you feel alive, like you were the only person in the world for just that moment… it had reignited something in you.

You pressed your hand to your chest, feeling your heart pound. How could someone who hurt you so deeply also make you feel so intensely?

Even after everything, you couldn’t deny it. You were still hopelessly in love with Suguru Geto.

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#jjk x reader smut #jjk smut #jjk #geto suguru #jjk suguru #geto x reader #jjk geto #jujutsu geto #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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sailorholly · 7 months ago

Text

Between Us Pt 5

Summary: You and Spencer had a casual relationship. A misunderstanding ruins it all.

Pairing: Spencer Reid × F. BAU Reader

Warnings: Friends with benefits. Angst. Pregnancy.

See my Masterlist Here

Part 4

“Pregnant? How did this happen? I mean, I know how it happened but - Wow!” He runs over to you, placing one large had on your nonexistent bump. “I can’t believe we are pregnant. How far along are we?” Anger and disbelief surge through you.

“First of all, I am pregnant. Me, not you.” Spencer’s smile drops, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” You sigh, this was a better reaction than you were expecting. You thought he would freak out. Although, you aren’t sure why. Spencer loves kids. He was never mean to you before. He wasn’t like the guys you normally dated.

“No, I’m sorry. These hormones are ridiculous. I know what you meant. And to answer your other question, the doctor said about six weeks. But, that was over a week ago. I’m probably almost eight weeks now. I have an ultrasound scheduled for the end of the week if you would like to come with me.” He looks hopeful, nodding his head as his smile widens. “Of course I would love to go. This is great. I gotta call my mom. I’ll clean out my spare bedroom so we can turn it into a nursery. I’ll need help moving some of my things into storage so we will have room for your stuff too. Maybe Morgan will help.”

“Wait, my stuff?” You ask, interrupting his rambling. “Yeah, you’ll be bringing your stuff too. You can put what we don’t have room for in storage with my things.” You cross your arms, preparing to argue. “Why would I bring my stuff to your place?” Spencer scrunches up his nose, “Because you’ll be living there?” He looks just as confused as you are.

“I’m not moving in with you, Spencer. Your spare bedroom is too small for me and the baby. There’s not enough room. Plus, you don’t need me there with our baby. That would be so hard to explain when you bring women home.” You mentioned other women because you were fairly certain his relationship with Ashley wouldn’t last. You place your hands on your hips, trying to understand his silly logic.

“I thought you could sleep with me, and the baby would have their own room. Why would I bring women home when I’m dating you?” Your eyes feel like they are going to pop out of your head. “Spencer, we aren’t dating.”

“But, I thought we would be a family now that you’re pregnant.” He explains. “We will be a family, but one that coparents. You’re going to be a great dad, Spence. I would never keep your baby from you. But, this doesn’t change anything between us. You didn’t want me before, and I don’t like that you only want me now because you got me pregnant.”

“But that’s not why I-“ “I don’t want to argue about this. We are really good friends and I would like it to stay that way for the baby.” “Okay.” He agrees, but you can tell you hurt his feelings, so you change the subject to what you will need for the baby.

You make a list, putting double the items down since Spencer will keep them at his apartment too. He’s going to ask for a leave for the first two months after the baby is born so he doesn’t miss anything. He will be staying at your apartment during those months. When he’s comfortable enough to have the baby alone, you will work out a new schedule.

Spencer orders some parenting books for the both of you online. He is so excited. You’re thankful that he’s the father, he’s a great guy. You just wish it could have worked between the two of you. “How are you going to tell Ashley? I don’t think it will go well.” You tell him, scrunching your face up. His face falls, “I forgot about Ashley.”