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just-aake · 4 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.

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.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

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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syluslnd · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! Thank you for your service omg ur single handedly carrying Sylus nation‼️🙏🏼

Can I request a scenario where reader (who isn’t MC) has been a long term situationship of Sylus, like they’re very much in love but refuse to commit because of the dangerous nature of their work in the N109 zone, but reader really hopes they’ll end up together, only for all her hopes to come crashing down when suddenly MC shows up and Sylus becomes really neglectful towards reader, only prioritising MC until one day he doesn’t accompany reader to one onichynus’s deals and it goes horribly wrong with the reader getting hurt/abducted. Angst to fluff pls a happy ending with Sylus coming to his senses 😮‍💨

when you become his second priority

tags-angst with eventual fluff,mentions of violence

The night sky over Onychinus’s sprawling cityscape was studded with stars, casting a subtle glow through the towering high-rises.

Sylus had suggested the two of you head out for a mission, a deal with some Onychinus contacts. As usual, you couldn’t resist tagging along, always thrilled to be close to him in his world.

Sylus, tall and intimidating as ever, glanced down at you with a glimmer of amusement in his red eyes. You could tell he was ready to take control of the situation like he always did, exuding confidence and calm in a way that made you feel safe, even in the darkest parts of his world. He looked over at you, his eyes softening slightly as he murmured, “You ready, kitten?”

“Of course, I’m with you” you replied with a grin, bouncing a little as you slid into the passenger seat of one of his luxurious cars. Your bubbly energy was contagious; he always acted as if he wasn’t affected by it but you’d caught him smirking more than once.

Tonight, he rolled his eyes in mock exasperation but his hand settled on yours, holding it a little too long to be casual.

As he drove through the city, you admired the skyline, sharing random stories about your day and small, happy details about your favorite things.

Sylus listened, nodding occasionally, a slight smirk on his face, though his eyes stayed mostly on the road. At a red light, he finally turned, letting his gaze linger on you. “You know, sweetie, you’d be a lot safer if you didn’t join me on these things” he said, but there was a softness in his voice, a hint of protectiveness beneath his usual hard edge.

You gave a playful pout. “Then who’d keep you company and make you laugh?” you teased, reaching over to ruffle his hair lightly. Sylus gave an exaggerated sigh, though you could see his lips twitch, fighting off a smile.

When you arrived at the Onychinus base, the atmosphere shifted. The bustling headquarters buzzed with energy and you could feel the tension as the meeting began.

Sylus’s demeanor turned serious, his attention sharp and unwavering as he led the deal. You watched him, entranced by his confidence and poise. His eyes, intense and calculating, scanned the room, noting every movement and gesture of those around him. It was moments like these that reminded you why he was so respected—and feared.

The deal itself moved forward without any issues but you stayed close, offering your support however you could. Sylus kept one arm loosely draped around you, like a silent reminder that you were his, his “kitten” in this dangerous world. Every now and then, he’d murmur a soft “Stay close, sweetie” his voice laced with the quiet authority you’d come to adore.

At one point, the meeting wrapped up and you were alone again with Sylus in the hallway leading back to the car. As you walked side-by-side, you took his hand, squeezing it gently and looked up at him with a playful grin. “See? We make a great team.”

Sylus chuckled lowly, his fingers tightening around yours. “Careful, kitten” he murmured, his voice dropping to a tone that sent a shiver down your spine. “I might just start believing that.”

He leaned closer, brushing his lips against your forehead with a rare tenderness that he’d only ever shown to you. Moments like these made you wonder if there was something deeper between you both. But for now, you were happy in this undefined space, enjoying his closeness, his rare softness and the way he let his guard down just enough to show you how much you meant to him.

For tonight, you were his and he was yours in the only way he knew how to be and as you laughed and chatted on the drive back, you couldn’t have known how precious that laughter would soon become.

the next morning the café was small and tucked into a quiet corner of the city, with floor-to-ceiling windows that let in soft morning light and gave the place a warm, cozy glow.

You felt an excited shiver as Sylus guided you in, his hand on your lower back, a gentle but firm presence that never failed to make you feel special. The café wasn’t his usual scene but he seemed relaxed, perhaps indulging your love for quieter, more intimate places.

He glanced around, then met your eyes, his mouth quirking into a smirk. “This place…suits you” he murmured, pulling out a chair for you. “Sweet, but a little chaotic.”

You laughed, sticking your tongue out at him. “I’d say the same about you” you teased, settling into the chair. He rolled his eyes but took the seat opposite you, resting his elbows on the table, leaning in close. His gaze, as usual, felt intense, even as his expression softened.

“You’re in a bratty mood today, aren’t you?” he remarked, voice low and slightly teasing.

“Only because you make it so easy” you replied with a smile, reaching across the table to gently tap his hand. “So, what’s the plan? You’re the one who dragged me out here.”

His smirk grew, and without saying a word, he raised a finger to get the barista’s attention. When she arrived, he placed the most absurd order, one that left you wide-eyed: every single flavor of coffee they had on the menu. You tried to protest, laughing as you looked from him to the poor barista, but he only shrugged, looking unbothered.

“You said you always wanted to try them all” he said, leaning back in his seat, arms folded. “So go ahead. Indulge.”

“Oh my god, Sylus!” You felt a mix of embarrassment and excitement. “You know I was joking about that, right?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t joke about things you want, kitten. Not with me.”

The coffees started arriving, filling up your small table with an assortment of steaming mugs, each one a different shade and aroma. Sylus watched as you eagerly tried each, laughing when you made a face at the overly bitter or strangely flavored ones and taking note of the ones that made you hum with satisfaction. Occasionally, he’d reach out, taking a sip of one of the cups himself, then giving you his quiet, amused approval if he liked it.

After a while, you found yourself leaning across the table, sharing sips from the same cup, your laughter mingling in the cozy warmth of the café. You watched him, noticing the rare moments where his features softened, and his usual guarded expression gave way to something gentler.

“Did you always know you’d be leading Onychinus?” you asked, a little more curious now that you’d settled into the warmth of the moment.

He leaned back, tracing the edge of his cup with one finger, his gaze drifting. “I didn’t know. But it wasn’t like I had a choice.” His eyes found yours again, something dark but honest in them. “The things you don’t choose often become the things you’re best at.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t have a choice” you replied softly. “Otherwise, who’d be here buying me twenty coffees?”

He chuckled, a genuine laugh that you rarely heard. “You’d find some other poor fool, I’m sure” he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. But his hand moved to cover yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

Just as you were about to respond, his phone buzzed, and his gaze darkened. He glanced at the screen, and for a split second, his expression changed—hardened into something unreadable. He sat up, pulling his hand away from yours and the warmth that had been between you seemed to evaporate in an instant.

You tried to catch his eye, feeling a flicker of unease. “Everything okay?”

“It’s just an…old friend” he muttered, voice suddenly cool and distant. He stood up, turning his back to you as he answered the call, his voice low and strained in a way you’d never heard before.

You couldn’t make out much of what he was saying, but you heard the shift in his tone—calculated, restrained, almost careful. It was a stark contrast to the teasing, soft-spoken Sylus you’d been with just moments before. He kept glancing out the window, one hand shoved deep in his pocket, the other clutching his phone tightly. His words became hushed, tense, as if he was guarding some important secret.

Your mind raced with questions but you pushed them down, trying to respect his privacy. Still, a pang of worry settled in your chest as he finally ended the call, his posture stiff as he turned back to you. The usual warmth in his eyes was absent, replaced by a distant, almost guarded look.

“Sorry about that” he said, his tone flat, almost dismissive, as he pocketed his phone.

You forced a smile, hoping to ease the sudden tension. “No problem. Everything okay?”

“Nothing to worry about.” He gave a faint smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. He seemed distracted and as much as you wanted to believe him, there was a nagging feeling that something had shifted.

It had been days since you’d last seen Sylus. The texts you’d sent were sparse on replies—short, curt answers that only seemed to grow colder each time. You told yourself he was busy, wrapped up in some new mission for Onychinus but an uneasy feeling had settled deep in your chest. You remembered the way he’d brushed you off in the café after that mysterious phone call, the way he’d shut down, closing himself off as if you were suddenly a stranger.

With the next Onychinus deal approaching, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Usually, Sylus would be the one preparing you, going over every little detail so that you’d be safe. But this time, there had been nothing—no message, no warning, no instructions. The silence weighed on you, suffocating, until finally, you couldn’t bear it anymore.

You found yourself standing outside his office door, hesitating. The hall was eerily quiet, an atmosphere that felt darker than it had ever been. You pushed the door open slowly, your heart pounding with a mixture of hope and dread.

Inside, Sylus stood near his desk, leaning in close to a woman you’d never seen before. She had an aura of quiet confidence, her gaze sharp, as if she were sizing him up even as they talked. Their heads were close together, too close. She said something, her tone low and laced with a teasing edge and Sylus chuckled—a sound that sent a chill down your spine. It was the kind of laugh he used to share with you.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to step forward. “Sylus?” your voice cracked, the warmth you usually brought into his space muted by the weight of everything unsaid.

Sylus straightened, his expression darkening the moment he saw you. The easy humor that had filled his face just seconds before vanished, replaced by a cold, impassive mask. The woman beside him glanced at you, her eyes glinting with a kind of curiosity, as though she were sizing you up, wondering what your place in Sylus’s life could possibly be.

“You’re busy” you managed to say, fighting to keep your tone light. “I just thought—I thought we could talk about the next mission.”

He looked at you for a long, silent moment, his gaze empty of the warmth you’d come to expect, replaced by an iciness that felt almost cruel. “I didn’t ask you to come here” he said, his voice low and cutting.

You took a step back, stunned. “Sylus, I…I just wanted to help. You always said I could be useful—”

“You should learn to know your place” he interrupted, his words sharp enough to cut through your heart. He didn’t look away, didn’t flinch. His gaze was steely, indifferent, as though you were nothing more than an inconvenience, a shadow he hadn’t meant to let linger.

It felt like the floor had fallen out from under you. “My place?” you echoed, trying to keep your voice steady even as it threatened to break. “Sylus, what’s going on? You’ve been distant… I thought we—” You stopped yourself, swallowing back the words, but the damage was done.

Sylus’s gaze flicked to the woman beside him, who watched the exchange with an amused smirk, her arms crossed as if she were enjoying every moment of this. He turned back to you, his eyes devoid of any kindness, any of the softness he’d shown you only days ago. “You thought wrong.”

Your throat tightened and the warmth that had once filled your shared moments now felt like a distant memory, slipping through your fingers. You forced yourself to nod, to keep your head up even as your heart shattered with each second of his cold stare. Without another word, you turned and left, not wanting him to see the tears that threatened to spill over, the silent pain you’d carry alone as you walked away from the one person who’d ever made you feel whole.

The drive home felt like a blur, headlights and streetlights passing in a haze as you wiped away tears that wouldn’t stop. Your hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning white, as your mind raced with everything that had just happened. It was like you couldn’t make sense of it; every memory of Sylus’s familiar warmth and teasing words felt out of reach, replaced by his cold, indifferent face and that harsh tone. His words, “Know your place” echoed in your head, hitting you harder each time you thought of them. You couldn’t understand. Had you pushed him too far? Had he been pretending all along?

The question lingered, gnawing at you as the car rolled down the empty roads leading home. By the time you reached your place, you were exhausted, the adrenaline replaced by a deep, hollow ache.

The next morning, after another sleepless night, you found yourself staring at his contact on your phone, debating whether to call him. The memory of his sharp tone still stung but the confusion was unbearable. You couldn’t just let things stay like this.

Finally, you pressed call, holding your breath as the phone rang. When he picked up, his voice was casual, almost dismissive, as if the tension from yesterday had never happened.

“Yeah?” he answered, sounding distracted. There was no warmth, but there was none of that anger, either.

“Hey” you managed, your voice wavering slightly. “I… I wanted to talk about yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” he repeated, his tone barely interested. “Is something wrong?”

Your heart sank. He was acting like it hadn’t happened at all, like you were the one imagining things. “I just thought—after what you said, I thought maybe we could… clear things up.”

He let out a long sigh, almost like he was bored. “Look, I have things to take care of. If that’s all, I have to go.”

Your grip tightened around the phone, and you felt a chill run through you as he continued talking, casual, unaffected, as if he hadn’t torn into you less than 24 hours ago. He ended the call with a brief “Take care” leaving you standing there with the silence of the empty line.

It was like a stranger had replaced him overnight and the warmth you’d felt was now a painful memory, drifting further out of reach.

The night of the Onychinus deal was bitterly cold and a dense mist clung to the riverbank, muting every sound but the rush of water. You had been hoping—secretly, quietly—that maybe Sylus would show up, that his absence would somehow break and you’d see him standing there with that familiar smirk, ready to tackle the mission together. But the minutes ticked by and the waiting grew heavier, settling like a weight in your chest until the deal began without him.

but in an instant things went horribly wrong, spiraling out of control faster than you could react. You held on as long as you could, fighting with everything you had, but there were too many of them and you were alone. A sharp, searing pain was the last thing you remembered before everything went black, the sound of rushing water filling your senses as you were tossed into the cold, merciless depths of the river.

When the news reached Sylus, it felt like a blow to the chest, robbing him of breath. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing—the thought of you alone, vulnerable, facing the dangers he’d promised to shield you from. His mind raced, replaying every interaction, every cold word he’d thrown at you and the realization clawed at him with an intensity he hadn’t expected. Guilt twisted in his stomach, a relentless ache, as he thought of the way he’d pushed you aside, how he’d let you walk away, hurt and confused and for what?

He moved quickly, barely registering the world around him as he reached the river, scanning the dark waters until he found you, still and pale, lying half-submerged on the riverbank. His heart pounded, a surge of panic piercing through his usual composure as he dropped to his knees, pulling you into his arms with a desperation he hadn’t felt in years.

“Kitten…” His voice cracked, the endearments he’d so easily tossed at you before now carrying a weight they’d never held before. He brushed damp hair from your face, his hands shaking as he checked for a pulse. Relief flooded him when he felt the faint, steady beat beneath his fingertips, but it did nothing to quell the terror that gnawed at him.

“Why the hell did you go alone?” he whispered, his voice trembling with guilt and grief. “You should have known better than to… God, this is all my fault.” He held you closer, pressing his forehead to yours as if his touch alone could bring you back from the brink. Regret crashed over him like a tidal wave, every moment he’d ignored you, every cold word he’d thrown at you haunting him as he realized just how deeply he’d driven you away.

“I’m so sorry, kitten” he murmured, the words spilling out, raw and unfiltered. “I was stupid. I was a fool. You didn’t deserve any of it.” His fingers brushed over your face, tracing the lines of your features as if committing them to memory and he swore to himself that he’d never let you go again.

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

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myfictionaldreams · 11 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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stargazsblog · 12 days ago

Text

how to lose a girl in 10 days | ch.2 first move

ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

ʚɞ ryomen sukuna is tall, devastatingly handsome, and the campus heartbreaker. everyone knows his name, and his reputation for leaving girls with broken hearts. but then there's you uninterested and completely unimpressed by him. you're the only girl who couldn't care less about him. when his friends tease him about it, everything changes. they challenge him with a bet to make you, the one person who isn't affected by his charm, fall in love with him in just 10 days, sukuna accepts the challenge, thinking it'll be an easy win. it's just a game, a way to prove he can get any girl he wants. but the more time he spends with you, he finds himself wanting something he never expected.

ʚɞ warning/tags: angst, fluff, romance, use of cigarettes and alcohol, jealousy, asshole sukuna, heartbreak, inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days, college au, enemies to lovers.

ʚɞ now playing - no. 1 party anthem by arctic monkeys

note: and the game begins…

masterlist

You were still thinking about the party as you got back to your apartment, shaking off the strange vibe that lingered after your conversation with Sukuna. He wasn’t exactly rude, but something about the way he talked, the way he acted so sure of himself, rubbed you the wrong way.

You threw your jacket over the back of your chair, saying goodnight to Shoko as she walked into her room. You plopped onto your bed, pulling your phone from your bag.

You opened Instagram, scrolling through posts finally loving the peace.

Until a notification popped up.

Sukuna Ryomen started following you.

You sat up in shock, staring at your screen. Sukuna had followed you?

Your thumb hovered over the notification, the tension building as you debated your next move. Block him? Ignore him? Or… stalk him?

The smarter choice would’ve been to block him, but knowing yourself, you clicked on his profile.

His account was exactly what you expected.

Post after post of candid photo, Sukuna at some party. A drink in his hand and his arm slung casually around a girl who looked like she’d won the lottery. Sukuna leaning against his car, looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine.

He had thousands of followers. The comments were full of heart emojis and flirty compliments. He had only followed 20 people, mostly his friends and family.

You raised an eyebrow, fighting the growing curiosity. He didn’t follow anyone unless they were important, so… why was he following you?

Ignore it, you told yourself, he’ll get bored eventually.

As your stared at his profile, a second notification popped up.

Sukuna Ryomen sent your a message.

Your stomach flipped.

2:40AM Sukuna Ryomen: took you long enough to notice me

You scowled, your fingers itching to respond. He was so full of himself that it was almost comical.

2:40AM You: is this part of some weird social experiment?

His reply came almost instantly.

2:40AM Sukuna Ryomen: what me following you? nah just curious

2:41AM You: curious about what?

2:41AM Sukuna Ryomen: about what kind of stuff you post don’t worry i won’t judge… much

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against your headboard. the nerve of this guy.

2:41AM You: wow, lucky me

2:41AM Sukuna Ryomen: relax sweetheart i’m just here to see if you’re as boring online as you are in person

Your jaw dropped. He had to be kidding. You stared at the screen, debating weather to let the conversation die or put him in his place.

2:42AM You: bold words for someone who posts the same three poses over and over

This time, there was a pause before replying. When it came it was shorter than you expected.

2:42AM Sukuna Ryomen: touché

For a moment, you almost smiled.

2:42AM You: now that you’ve satisfied your “curiosity” you can go ahead and unfollow me

2:42AM Sukuna Ryomen: nah i’ll stick around

You sighed, swiping away from his message leaving him on seen. You stared at the screen, the notification still visible: Sukuna Ryomen started following you.

You glanced at his profile one more time. The same images, the same cocky smirk in every picture.

With a deep breath, you pressed follow back.

For a moment nothing happened, you set your phone down and let out a slow exhale, almost feeling dumb for replying to him.

Just as you were about to close the app and convince yourself it doesn’t matter, your phone buzzed.

2:50AM Sukuna Ryomen: i knew you couldn’t resist

You rolled your eyes, a smile hugging at the corner of your lips.

2:50AM You: don’t get too cocky

2:50AM Sukuna Ryomen: too late already am

2:50AM You: your unbearable

2:50AM Sukuna Ryomen: only when i’m around you

You stared at the screen, for a moment, unsure how to respond. He was good at this, good at getting under your skin, making you react, and you had to admit it was starting to feel like he wasn’t just messing around.

2:51AM You: we’ll see how long that lasts

2:51AM: Sukuna Ryomen: i’ll be around as long as you let me.

A little shiver ran down your spine at his words, but you pushed it aside. You weren’t ready to admit how much you were starting to look forward to whatever this way.

Sukuna was following you everywhere. You meant it everywhere.

It doesn’t matter if you were grabbing a coffee, sitting in class, or heading to the library, whatever you were doing he was there. Sometimes he would be leaning against the wall, staring at you as you walked by, other times he would be scrolling through his phone like he just happened to be in the same place.

At first, you thought it was a coincidence. After all, it wasn’t like you owned the campus. But by the fourth time in a single day? Yeah, no. He was definitely following you.

You were midway through highlighting your notes when the chair across from you scraped against the floor. The sudden sound made you glance up, and there he was. Sukuna Ryomen.

“Are you stalking me now?” you asked, glancing back to your notes.

“Stalking is a strong word,” Sukuna's voice drawled, too close for comfort. “We just happen to be in the same place at the same time.”

You sighed, as you spun back to face him, he’s leaning back casually on the chair, one arm draped over the chair next to him.

“What do you want?”

“To talk.”

You crossed your arms. “Pretty sure we already had that conversation. Last night.”

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Yeah, but you didn’t say anything interesting, figured I’d give you another chance.”

You let out a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.” there was something about the way he was staring at you, like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve. “Why are you even bothering me? you’ve got half of the campus eating out your hand, and i’m not interested in joining the club.”

Sukuna leaned forward, just enough to make your knees touch. “Because you’re the only one who doesn’t care.” his tone was softer now, the change caught you off guard.

“Wow,” you deadpanned. “how tragic for you.”

he grinned. “See that’s why I like you.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding harder than you wanted to admit. What was he even talking about? he didn’t know you.

“You don’t even know me,” you said, your voice quieter now.

“Not yet,” he said simply, as if the answer was obvious.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do.” you said bluntly, closing your notebook with a snap.

You stood up, gathering your things quickly, but Sukuna wasn’t done. As you walked away, his voice followed you. “See you around, sweetheart.”

“I’m telling you, he’s obsessed. First, he’s showing up wherever you are, second, he’s following you on Instagram. classic Sukuna move.” Shoko says as you guys are seated at a small table in the student lounge.

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, and now he’s everywhere I go. It’s like he’s trying to prove something.”

Shoko raises an eyebrow. “Maybe he is. I mean, it’s Sukuna. He doesn’t exactly follow people around for no reason.”

You scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean? He follows around half the campus trying to get in their pants.”

“Yeah, but those girls usually throw themselves at him. You…” Shoko gestures vaguely at you. “…don’t. He’s probably intrigued.”

you snort. “Well, he’s wasting his time. I’m not interested.”

Before Shoko can respond, Sukuna’s voice cuts through the chatter. “Ouch. That hurts.”

Both of you look up as Sukuna strolls over, his signature smirk firmly in place. He’s holding a small paper bag in one hand, the other resting casually in his pocket.

Shoko grins and leans back in her chair, clearly ready to enjoy whatever’s about to happen.

“Talking about me?” His voice carries just the right amount of smugness as he stops by your table. “I can feel the love from here.”

You glare up at him, unimpressed. “Love? please your delusional.”

Ignoring your sarcasm, Sukuna slides the bag closer to you. “Here. Thought you’d like this.”

You looked at the bag like it might explode. “What’s that supposed to be?”

“Open it,” Sukuna says, leaning back in his chair, watching you carefully.

You side-eyed him before reaching for the bag, you’re fingerings brushing against the paper as you peek inside. Your favorite snacks are in there.

You looked up at him confused. “How did you know these are my favorite?”

Sukuna shrugs like it’s no big deal, “I have my ways.”

You narrowed your eyes, a mix of suspicion and frustration bubbling up inside you. “That’s not an answer. Are you really stalking me?” It all felt too strange to ignore. First, he found your Instagram without you ever mentioning it. Then, he seemed to show up wherever you were. What was next—was he going to start lurking outside your house?

He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt. “Stalk you? What kind of guy do you think I am?”

You don’t buy it for a second. “The kind who’s trying way too hard.”

“Or the kind who pays attention,” Sukuna counters smoothly, his voice dropping a fraction as he leans forward.

The words hang in the air for a moment, and even Shoko raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the show.

You stiffen but recover quickly, crossing your arms again. “You really think this is going to work? Snacks and flirty comments?”

“It’s a start,” Sukuna says with a lazy grin, standing up. “By the way, there’s a party tomorrow night. You should come.”

You don’t hesitate. “Not interested.”

Sukuna shrugs, completely unbothered by the rejection. “I wasn’t asking. I’ll see you there.”

He winks, turning and walking away without waiting for your response

Shoko finally speaks, her tone laced with curiosity. “What was that?”

You rolled your eyes, stuffing the bag into your tote. “Nothing. He’s only doing this to try to get me into his bed. It’s his thing.”

Shoko studies you for a moment, her voice thoughtful. “I don’t know. That didn’t seem like that to me.”

You huff, shoving your drink away. “Whatever. I’m not falling for it.”

Shoko grins, standing up and grabbing her bag. “You don’t have to fall for anything. But we’re going to that party.”

Your head snaps up. “What? No, we’re not.”

“Oh, yes, we are.” Shoko pulls her chair back, already starting to walk away. “I need to see where this goes. Plus, free drinks. You’re coming, no arguments.”

You groaned, grabbing your things to follow her. “You’re the worst.”

“And you love me for it,” Shoko calls over her shoulder, grinning.

Sukuna didn’t realize how hard this was going to be. Day one of the challenge, and you were already proving to be unlike anyone he’d dealt with before.

It was frustrating and intriguing.

He had done his research, of course. Stalking your social media was step one, but even that had been harder than he expected. Your profiles were understated. No attention-seeking selfies, no overly revealing posts. Just snapshots of books, obscure playlists, and the occasional candid photo with friends.

“I can’t figure her out,” he had muttered late one night, scrolling through your feed for what felt like the hundredth time.

That’s when he realized he needed help.

“You really don’t know anything about her?” Geto had asked, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned back against Sukuna’s desk.

“She’s invisible,” Sukuna muttered, tossing his phone onto the table. “No parties, no drama, no clue what she’s into. It’s like she’s living on a different planet.”

Geto smirked. “Sounds like someone’s not used to working for it.”

Sukuna shot him a glare, but Geto just shrugged. “Relax. I’ve got this.”

The next day, Geto cornered Shoko during a break between classes. He made it look casual, of course just two old friends catching up. But Geto had a knack for reading people, and Shoko wasn’t hard to crack.

“She’s into the little things,” Shoko had said, blowing out a puff of smoke from her cigarette. “You know, stuff that actually matters. Like, she’s not going to fall for some big, flashy gesture. She likes thoughtful things her favorite snacks, a good book, stuff like that.”

By the time Geto reported back, Sukuna had a plan. It was subtle, sure, but he could work with that.

After handing you the snacks, He strolled back to his usual spot with Gojo and Geto, settling down next to them with a frustrated sigh.

“So, any luck with her?” Gojo asked, not missing a beat.

Sukuna set his drink down, running a hand through his hair as he slouched in his chair. “Not as easy as I thought. You guys are right—no amount of flashing a smile and throwing out my usual charm is going to work on her.”

Geto smirked, leaning forward. “She’s in your head, huh?”

Gojo chuckled, propping his chin on his hand. “This is new. Sukuna Ryomen, struggling to win over a girl? What’s next, you’re gonna write her a love poem?”

Sukuna shot them both a glare, his jaw tightening. “Laugh it up,” he muttered. “But I’m not backing down.”

Geto raised a brow. “You sound almost impressed.”

“Maybe I am,” Sukuna said, a glint of determination sparking in his eyes. “And maybe that’s what makes this fun. I invited her to the party.”

Geto and Gojo both blinked, momentarily stunned by Sukuna’s straightforwardness.

“You invited her to the party?” Gojo asked, leaning forward in surprise. “Bold move. What’s the plan there? Just charm her in front of the whole crowd?”

Sukuna shrugged, but there was something sharper in his expression now. “It will work. I don’t think she’s the type to fall for a big scene, but if I show her I’m not like the others, she’ll bite eventually.”

Gojo chuckled. “You’re really going for the slow burn, huh?”

“Exactly.” Sukuna’s lips curved into a confident grin. “She won’t see it coming.”

Geto raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “You’ve got, what, few more days to make this work? Good luck, man.”

Sukuna smirked, not looking away from you as you stood up, chatting with Shoko. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

Later that night, you were lying in bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, trying to forget the strange encounter with Sukuna earlier. Your mind kept drifting back to the way he’d smiled when he handed you your favorite snack, the way his eyes seemed to linger on you just a second too long.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glanced at the screen, and your stomach flipped when you saw his name. Hesitating for a moment, you opened the message.

11:30PM Sukuna Ryomen: hope i see you at the party tomorrow sweetheart wouldn’t be the same without you

Attached to the text was the party’s address.

You groaned, tossing your phone onto the pillow beside you. Why did he have to be so persistent? And You told yourself you wouldn’t go—there was no way you were giving him the satisfaction.

But as you stared at the message again, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go.

taglist: @clp-84 @ssetsuka @lymsfm @monic19 @bol0-de-morang0 @strxberryicecream @r0ckst4rjk @gojocumslut @elliebelliegi @kazuuhali @luna-v-roiya @sussiesushi @nakiich @mourart7 @neuvilletteswife4ever @rusted-dolly @blueyesuguru @lillycore @yourhornysister @bnbaochauuu @ferretsqueen @anonnieghost @boogiemansbitch @sukubusss @sterzin @miazzzma @silkija @blueemochii @number0netrash

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hederasgarden · 4 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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#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x you #tyler owens #twisters #scott miller x reader #scott miller x you #scott twisters

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deanbrainrotwritings · 6 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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pencil-n-pen · 2 days ago

Text

SPILL YOUR GUTS

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

practice boyfriend! eddie x fem! reader

summary: eddie’s your practice boyfriend. you’re positive he’s upset at you and you’re waiting for him to get mad. however, he has a different response in mind.

cw: references/allusions to past child abuse but extremely vague, references/allusions to bad relationships (also pretty vague), reader acts on a learned response and assumes the worst about Eddie, anxiety

tags/tropes: angst, hurt/comfort (my brand!) sappy sappy romantic idiots, they kiss and figure their mess out at the end

a/n: this came to me in a vision

summary makes this sound smutty but i promise it’s not. this accidentally became disgustingly romantic. read at your own risk :)

࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

You’re positive Eddie’s mad at you.

Okay. Maybe positive is a strong word. But still.

You’ve only been fake/pretend/practice dating Eddie for about two weeks now. He’s the one who approached you with the offer— when you were in the Upside Down together, you’d made an off-hand comment about how you might die without ever having a real boyfriend- not one that mattered, anyway. It’s always kind of been a sore spot for you for a good portion of your life. Growing up, you didn’t really have the best relationship with your dad (Robin likes to call that “The understatement of the year, and we almost died.”) and out of the incredibly small handful of guys you’ve gone out with, none stuck around longer than a month and all ended in such equally, specifically, and uniquely horrific ways, you finally came to the conclusion you had to be fucking something up. What are the chances of all them ended so completely horribly?

After you all had decidedly not died in the Upside Down, Eddie approached you with an offer: pretend date him. You’re popular and well known enough that it’ll help get people off his back about the whole Chrissy/murders thing —even though he’s been absolved of all charges, the people of Hawkins hold grudges— and in exchange, you get a trial run of a relationship that won’t end unless you both agree too— you get to figure out what you’re doing wrong.

You feel bad about it, because even though you spend so much time together, you feel like a nervous wreck. All. The. Time.

You’re constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop— waiting for him to tell you that you’re too weird, that you’re not considerate enough, that you’re selfish, or that you talk too much.

But he never says any of it. All he ever tells you is the good things. He tells you how sympathetic you are, how kind you are, how good you are at remembering little details that matter. He tells you that you’re a good kisser.

(Yeah. Your first kiss, even after those failed relationships, ended up being with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. You’re not quite sure you’ll ever forget how you felt when his lips —just a little cracked, but not rough— met yours; when his hair tickled your face and you could faintly smell the cigarette smoke that stubbornly clings to all of his clothes, no matter how many times he washes them. You didn’t tell him he was your first. That’s something you decided you couldn’t bear to share.

You kind of have a feeling he knows anyway, though.)

It all sets you on edge. You’re under no reassurance that you’re perfect. You’re currently questioning if you’re tolerable, from a romantic standpoint.

You know how you are. You’re clinging and you drink up reassurance like a dying man in the desert. You linger in his casual touches like it’s the first and last time you’ll ever feel them. You know you’re a lot. You know. You know that guys in a relationship don’t want ‘a lot’, they want a pretty thing to hang off their arm and laugh at what they say.

But you just… can’t.

You tried, and you tried, and you tried. But you always ended up being too much, or it didn’t work out for some other reason. You want more. You want to feel safe, and happy, and cherished and loved and all those things that only happen in the movies.

The ironic part of all of this is that when you first started setting out terms for your arrangement, Eddie had told you flat out: “This will only work if you are completely and one-hundred percent yourself. You gotta lay it all on me, angel.”

And so you had, and now you regret it because he’s upset about something.

You’d come over to his trailer at his request to ‘hang out’ while he went over DND stuff for his next campaign. Eddie does this a lot— he calls them ‘Neutral Dates’ where you’re not really doing anything in particular- most of the time, you’re both doing seperate things, but still just being in each other’s presence.

It’s nice. The majority of your friend circle consists of everyone involved with the Upside Down and that entire mess. You two are no Steve and Robin (you’re convinced those two have the kind of bond no one can replicate or break. Like the kind of bond stray cats get and then they have to be adopted together) but it’s still nice. To just be with someone.

Even if you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

It’s not always eggshells. Sometimes, for a a few moments, you forget. You forget it’s all pretend. You forget he’s just a friend helping a friend fulfill a goal. That’s all.

You’ve almost forgotten just now, too— you’re too concerned about what you might’ve done.

He’s not acting angry, per-se, but he’s definitely upset. You tend to pick up on this kind of thing: small changes in someone’s personality or body language. Most of the time it’s not a conscious habit.

Most of the time.

Right now, he’s run his hands through his hair about a million times. It’s become a frizzy mess behind him, and when you’d made an offhand joke about it —an attempt to lighten the mood— all he’d done was scowl. Not at you, really, but the message was there. You’d snapped your jaw shut so fast you’re pretty sure he heard your teeth click.

After that he’d frustratedly made tea for the both of you, which consisted of opening the cupboards faster than he usually did, closing them slightly louder than he usually does, and drumming his fingers impatiently on the stove-top while he waited for the kettle to boil.

All of this you observed from the corner of your eye while ‘reading’ on the couch.

And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, when you’d finally mustered up the courage to speak again, a little joke about a part in the book you were reading, all he’d said was a flat:

“That’s great, babe.”

You’re starting to get antsy. Nervous. Maybe you should go? Unless he gets upset at you leaving. That would be bad. But he’s clearly upset with you being here, so maybe you should go.

While you’re debating the pros and cons of leaving, you try to remain as still and silent as possible. No need to upset him anymore by moving too much or being too loud.

You flip a page in the book you’re no longer reading (he might notice you’re not paying attention to it anymore) and decide to test the waters again.

“The author just spelled restaurant wrong. That’s the third spelling mistake I’ve caught in this book.”

“Hmm.”

Okay. So that was worse. Talking to him is out of the question, then. It must be something you did, to warrant this kind of reaction.

You wrack your brain, trying to think of anything you could’ve done in recent hours to make him upset, but you can’t think of anything.

You glance slightly to the right— not far enough that he’ll see you looking at him, but far enough to get a better look at him in your peripheral. He’s glaring down at his campaign notebook. Shit, he looks so angry.

Unbidden, tears begin to well in your eyes and you try to shift, trying to angle yourself away from him enough that he can’t see the tears in your eyes.

But your hand shifts, knocking into his leg.

Fuck. “Sorry!”

You yank you arm back as if burned, jolting back on the couch so you’re in no danger of touching him. “I’m sorry!”

He sits up, immediately snapping to attention at the desperation coloring your voice. “Woah woah, hey. Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

You take a steadying breath. “Did I do something wrong?”

He blinks blankly at you. Oh shit, you’re supposed to know that you’ve done something wrong.

“I mean,” You hurry to correct, “I know I— Can you tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it?”

Understanding floods his features and you brace yourself, ready for the reprimand.

“Can I touch you?”

Now it’s your turn to stare with confusion. You nod once, briefly thinking about how weird it is to ask for permission first.

He sits up on the couch, facing you with his legs crossed, the couch springs squeaking loudly at his movement. You resist the urge to wince. He reaches out with a slow hand, taking the hand that’s still clenched, held away from him and up near your chest.

He stares down at your hand, holding it with his left hand and tracing delicate shapes on it with his right. His ringed fingers drag lines around your knuckles and veins, lingering occasionally over the odd, old scar.

“How long did you think I was upset with you?”

Your heart is racing, muscles tensed and ready to bolt. “Um. A few hours? Maybe?”

You’re hyper-aware of the grip he has on your hand, and how quickly and easy it could become crushing.

It doesn’t.

“Bug,” He says slowly after a moment. At first he used to use pet names as a joke— it was something you’d laugh at, between the two of you, since the relationship wasn’t real.

But recently, he’s been saying them with a different inflection in his tone. A little less teasing, a lot more fond.

“Have you spent the past few hours afraid that I was mad at you?”

He sounds… sad. Which is confusing. It doesn’t— he was. He was.

“But you were,” You say, suddenly unsure about anything and everything. “You were upset.”

“I was upset because I couldn’t work this part of the campaign out, and i’m dramatic. I was never mad at you, honey. I was never mad at you.”

You frown, gears turning in your head. “When I made that joke about your hair, you glared at me. And then when I tried to talk to you, you were upset. You didn’t want to talk.”

“I was jokingly glaring at you, I’m so sorry you thought I was serious. I wasn’t, I promise. I didn’t mean to be dismissive, I was really focusing on writing.”

You’re both silent for a moment. A beat too long. You want to squirm in the unwelcome space the silence has created.

“What did you think I was going to do?”

That is a loaded question.

“I don’t know,” You pick at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “I don’t— I don’t know. That’s the problem. You don’t yell at me, or get angry, or tell me when i’ve made you upset. I don’t know what you’ll do.”

He makes a wounded noise in his throat.

“I know you get angry,” You bulldoze on, “I’ve seen it. You’re so… loud, in everything you do. I know you get angry. But you never get that same kind of loud angry at me and I don’t know what to do because that means that I upset you and you don’t tell me about it and then I don’t know how to fix it. I have to fix it, Eddie.”

His eyes, deep and brown, search your face. He reaches up a hand, painfully slow, to cup your face. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you tip your head to the side, leaning into the job.

“I’m gonna tell you something, Bug. Are you listening?” He waits for you to hum in confirmation before continuing. “You’re not responsible for my moods. Or anyone else’s for that matter. That’s not your job. You don’t have to fix it.”

He reaches his second hand up to cup the other side of your face. “You know why I don’t get angry at you? Not all loud and dramatic like that? Because I’ve seen how you react when people do. And I never, ever want to be the reason you get that look in your eye. I never want to make you afraid. I never want you to believe, with proof and confidence, that I’ve grown sick of you.”

You open your eyes, eyes darting across the planes of his face. Searching for even the smallest hint, the smallest giveaway that he might be lying.

You can’t find any. In its place, you find eyes, shining with pure determination. You find lips parted ever so slightly, a sad-sort of smile being etched into being. You find two hands on your face, thumbs delicately sweeping across the skin of your under-eye, of your cheekbone. Smoothing away the steady tears that had begun falling, wiping away the hot trails they leave on your face.

And you realize all at once that love isn’t like the movies. It isn’t picture-perfect kisses. It isn’t ball gowns and dresses and kisses in the rain. It isn’t like the love you thought you were supposed to have: empty and hollow; a life of hanging off of arms and praying your next slip-up didn’t cost you your relationship.

It was this.

It was just being. Just being and knowing the other person is there for just that— for you. It was not raising your voice. It was carrying extra hair-ties. It was making two cups of coffee. It was steeping tea for an extra couple of minutes, just the way he liked it. It was playing your favorite music in the car, and looking over at each other during the bridge, belting the lyrics with the same, toothy-smile. So full and so happy you just keep screaming the lyrics, because you’re filled with so much you don’t know where to put it all.

Your tears begin to fall in earnest now. Your heart is thudding in your chest, but for a different reason now. You’re struck with the need to convey all of this to him— to tell him you understand, you know, you feel the same.

“These hair ties,” You shove your wrist up to his eye-line. “They’re for you. Because you always forget your own. And— and I steep the tea for a few extra minutes, because you like your tea strong, and you didn’t just find that tape in your van, I bought it ‘cause I know you lost the old one in the Upside Down, ‘cause it felt out of your pocket.”

You’re babbling, nearly choking on your tears and your words, rushing them all out of your mouth in an aching wish to be understood, in this very moment.

“I know,” He says, voice a little hysteric and eyes a little too bright. His lip wobbles. He presses your face tighter in his hands. “I know. I know. I see you. I see you.”

You stay like that for a little while. At some point, your hands find his wrists, and then you’re just two fools, smiling like idiots with tears streaming down your faces, staring into each others eyes.

Eventually, Eddie clears his throat. “The next time you think I’m upset at you, you tell me, okay? You can ask. You can ask me and I pinky promise I won’t get mad.”

You giggle wetly. “Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear,” He says, taking his left hand away from your face to hold up his pinky. You intertwine yours and his together, the both of you laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

He gets quiet for a moment; removes his hands from your face and instead clasps, your hands together, resting in your lap.

“You know why I never tell you when you’re being a bad practice girlfriend?” He says, his voice low and soft.

“How come?”

He smiles, full and good. “Because you’re not. You’re so sweet and kind and loving. And if you’d let me, I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

You furrow your brows. “The real kind? The I-love-you kind?”

Your face flushes over the words ‘I love you.’

“I’ve always kissed you for real,” He says, words laden with fondness. “Ever since the day we met and you slapped the shit out of me for being stupid. I’ve been hopelessly obsessed ever since. I’ve just been waiting for you to notice.”

You suck in a breath. “So all of this— the, the dates and the hanging out and the kissing— that’s all been real?”

“Every last bit.”

“Then in that case,” You say, squeezing his hands. “I would very much like you to kiss me.”

He leans in, slotting your lips together and everything just clicks. Like this is where you’re meant to be. Maybe it’s puppy love. Maybe it’s not.

All you know is that Eddie Munson is kissing you for real, and he always has been. You couldn’t ask for anything better.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

#girlblogging #eddie munson #soft eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #angst #angst with a happy ending #x reader #hurt/comfort #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie x reader #that’s such an ambiguous tag #which eddie??? eddie DIAZ???#maybe i should start writing for him actually

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years 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 · 8 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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snowysosturn · 6 days ago

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Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: MDNI, angst, bickering, mention of toxic relationship, aftermath of a toxic relationship that contains violent conduct (not toward a person), arguments, tension

Warehouse 79 had a raw, unfinished charm, white lighting, concrete floors, and currently, the faint echo of basketballs bouncing in the background.

I sat cross legged on a stack of unopened boxes, my laptop balanced precariously on my knee as I scrolled through mood boards and concept sketches. Chris sat nearby, flipping through sample swatches with one hand and sipping a can of pepsi with the other. His energy was infectious, even after years of working together.

“What about one last round of varsity hoodies?” Chris asked, pulling out a bright crimson swatch and holding it against a navy blue. “It’s been one of our best drops, and people keep asking for more.”

I nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear as I considered his idea. “It’s a safe bet, but if this is supposed to be the final varsity drop, it has to be more than just hoodies. You know, make it memorable.”

Chris raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.

“Think beyond hoodies” I said, gesturing toward his phone. “What if we added jackets? Maybe patches people can customize or swap out. Make it more interactive, more personal.”

Chris leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs like he always did. “Patches, huh? That could actually work. Retro but fresh.”

“That’s what I was thinking” I said, feeling a small surge of pride. Brainstorming with Chris always felt like a challenge, but in a good way. He was quick to shoot down bad ideas, but when he liked something, you knew it was solid.

He nodded, his fingers tapping on the table now as he started building on the concept. “We could package it as a set, hoodies, jackets, and patches. Maybe even limited edition duffle bags to tie it all together.”

Before I could respond, the rhythmic thud of a basketball hitting concrete interrupted us. My eyes flicked toward the far end of the warehouse, where Matt was casually shooting hoops at the makeshift hoop Chris had set up years ago for "creative breaks."

Matt had tagged along because, apparently, Chris wasn’t confident enough to drive alone yet. He hadn’t said a word since we got here, content to stay in his own world, his airpods in as he aimed for shot after shot. Until now, he broke his solitude, turning toward us.

“Have you gotten any further yet?” Matt asks us, like it's an inconvenience to him.

“Yeah, we’re thinking varsity hoodies and jackets for a final time” Chris replied. “Y/n came up with the idea to add patches.”

Matt raised an eyebrow, his tone clipped. “Patches? That’s..different.”

I rolled my eyes, the easy energy in the room immediately shifted. “It’s called creativity, Matt. You should try it sometime.”

He smirked, finally glancing at me. “Right, because nothing says groundbreaking like varsity hoodies.”

His tone was light, but it still set me on edge. There was something about Matt that always managed to push my buttons.

“Do you not have anywhere else to be?” I shot back, keeping my tone as even as possible.

Matt caught the basketball mid dribble and leaned casually against the wall, his smirk annoyingly perfect. "Nope. But if you two could stop dragging this since I’m starving. Unless you’re planning to serve snacks with those hoodie ideas?"

"Funny" I shot back, stuffing my laptop into my bag.

Chris didn’t even look up from his phone. "We’re nearly done. Chill out, Matt. We’ll grab food on the way home."

Matt let the basketball roll across the floor and spread his arms. "No rush, right? It’s not like I have a life or anything."

I opened my mouth to fire back, but Chris cut me off. "Y/n, have you heard from Nick today? We should see if he wants food, too."

I sighed, redirecting my focus to Chris. "I’m meeting him when we're finished here actually. I’ve got my six month landlord inspection going on now, so he’s coming over to help me redecorate after."

Chris raised a brow. "Redecorate? Didn’t you just move stuff around last month?"

"Yeah" I admitted, my voice tightening, "but now that I have the apartment to myself, it feels like a good time to start fresh."

Matt raised a brow, his interest clearly piqued. "Apartment to yourself? What, you finally realized living with your boyfriend wasn’t working?"

Chris groaned. "Matt."

"What?" Matt said innocently, shrugging. "I’m just curious. Everyone knew Ethan was a walking red flag. Figured it was only a matter of time."

"Thanks for the unsolicited commentary" I snapped, glaring at him.

"Anytime" he replied with a mock salute, his smirk widening.

“How did he take it? You breaking up with him?” Chris questions.

I let out a small sigh. “I mean he didn’t take it well it went better than I expected. He was angry, saying I was making a mistake and I’ll regret it.” I paused, shrugging. “But he agreed to have his stuff out before the inspection, so that’s a relief.”

Chris, oblivious to the tension, nodded. "Good for you, though. Ethan always gave me bad vibes. Nick’s probably thrilled to help you out now."

"He was practically bouncing off the walls when I told him" I said, trying to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks. "He’s probably more excited about display pillows than I am."

"Sounds like Nick" Chris said with a laugh.

Matt leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as his smirk turned wicked. "Let me guess, Nick’s going to pick some pastel theme, and you’re going to act like you love it because you’re too polite to say no."

I glared at him. "Unlike you, I actually appreciate someone’s help when they offer it."

He raised a brow. "Politeness isn’t going to make your apartment look less boring."

"Neither will your input." I snapped.

"Touche" he said, almost sick I caught him with that one.

Chris shook his head, "Alright, we’re done here” grabbing his keys from the counter, jingling them in his hand as he turned to me. "I’ll drive you back to your apartment, text Nick to see if he wants any food."

"Thanks" I muttered, barely masking my annoyance as I walked toward the door.

Before we headed out, I pulled out my phone, quickly texting Nick. Hey, I’m on my way back to the apartment if you want to make your way there. You want us to pick up anything for food on the way?

I hit send and slipped my phone back into my pocket, following Chris and Matt out into the parking lot.

"Nick will probably want sushi or something" I said casually, climbing into the passenger seat of Chris’s car. "You know how he gets about food."

Chris grinned as he started the car. "Yeah, he’s got that obsession with sushi, huh? Can’t blame him, though. I’m all about the ramen."

I laughed lightly, glad for the brief distraction. "He’ll probably text me back in a second, i'll let you know."

We drove in comfortable silence, I thought about what Chris had said earlier, about Ethan always giving him bad vibes. Chris wasn’t wrong. Ethan had been controlling, manipulative, and honestly, just a drain on my energy. Still, hearing Chris talk about it made me realize how little I’d talked to him about my relationship with Ethan.

As we pulled into traffic, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced down and saw Nick’s name flashing on the screen, wanting to FaceTime.

"Hey" I said casually, looking at his face show up on screen.

The line was silent for a beat before I heard his voice, shaky and urgent. "Y/n, where are you right now?"

I blinked, a knot forming in my stomach. "Uh, I’m on the way back to my place with Chris and your other triplet. Why, what’s going on?"

There was a pause, then Nick’s voice came through, thick with disbelief. "There’s an eviction notice on your apartment door."

My heart dropped. "What? No, that can’t be-"

"I’m looking at it right now. It’s taped right on the door. You need to get down here."

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I could feel the sudden heat rising in my face as panic started to set in. "This.. this doesn’t make sense. Everything was ready for the inspection, what’s going on?"

"Wait, what?" Chris pulled over to the side of the road, his face clouded with concern. "You’ve been on top of your rent, right?"

"I.. I have" I said, voice trembling.

Nick cut in, his tone soft but insistent. "Y/n, you need to come down here right now. It’s serious. I’m gonna try to reach the landlord, but you need to be here to figure out what’s going on."

"Okay. Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes."

I hung up the phone, the weight of everything sinking in.

Chris turned to me, looking torn between wanting to comfort me and knowing there wasn’t much he could say. "What do you want to do?"

I rubbed my temples, trying to clear my mind. "I don’t know. I’m just.. I can’t believe this is happening. Everything was fine yesterday."

Matt’s voice came from the passenger seat, snide as usual. "Well, sounds like your ‘perfect’ little life is falling apart, huh?"

I whipped around, eyes narrowing. "Really? Now?"

Matt raised his hands in mock surrender. "Just saying. Seems like you might need to start planning your next move. Maybe get a new place.. or a new boyfriend this time?"

"Matt" Chris warned, but it was too late.

I glared at him. "You don’t know anything about my situation, so don’t even start."

"Hey, I’m just here for the entertainment" he shrugged, his grin as infuriating as ever.

I wanted to say something back, but the lump in my throat made it hard to speak. I didn’t want to deal with Matt’s sarcasm right now, not when everything was crashing down around me.

Chris glanced at me again, his voice soft. "Let’s just get to your place first. We’ll figure it out, okay?"

"Yeah" I said, swallowing hard. "Let’s just get there."

But as we pulled back into traffic, my mind raced, trying to figure out how I could possibly fix this. The car ride felt like it took forever, and my nerves only grew worse the closer we got to my apartment. Nick’s voice replayed in my head: There’s an eviction notice on your apartment door. I could barely focus on the road ahead, my grip tightening on the seat as Chris drove.

When we finally pulled into the parking lot, I didn’t wait for Chris to park properly before hopping out of the car. My heart pounded in my chest as I rushed toward the building, Chris and Matt followed closely behind.

As I reached the hallway outside my apartment, I spotted Nick standing by the door, his arms crossed, his expression tense. The sight of him didn’t calm me, it only made the situation feel more real. Nick looked up when he saw me approach, his face showing concern.

My eyes briefly flicked to the eviction notice on my door. It was there, right in the center of the door frame, almost mocking me. The bold black letters stared back at me, and a wave of dizziness washed over me.

"Thanks for calling me" I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper as I fumbled with my keys.

I inserted the key into the lock, the sound of the metal grating in the keyhole too loud in the silence. The door creaked as I pushed it open.

The instant the door swung wide, I froze.

The apartment was trashed.

Paper scattered everywhere. Broken glass from what must have been the coffee table lay in shards on the floor. It was as if someone had gone on a rampage, tearing through every inch of the space. The once cosy apartment that I had been proud of was now completely unrecognizable.

“What the..” I whispered, my voice trembling as I took it all in.

It wasn’t just messy, it was deliberate. The TV was shattered, clothes thrown across the floor like a hurricane had ripped through my wardrobe, couch cushions were slashed open, foam spilling out like guts, and my framed pictures lay in pieces. My chest tightened as I moved further inside, carefully stepping around the shards of glass and debris.

Ethan.

It had to be him.

I felt my chest tighten as I took in the sight, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. It was like I was in a nightmare, but I couldn’t wake up.

My stomach twisted as I stepped inside, the mess spilling out into every corner of the room. Ethan had done it, trashed everything. It was too good to think he'd leave peacefully. I could almost hear his angry, self righteous voice in my head, laughing at how easy it was to tear everything down in one final fit of rage.

I should’ve known.

I heard Nick’s muffled curse from behind me. I could feel his anger building up, the tension in the air almost as thick as mine. "That piece of shit" he growled under his breath. "He did this."

I nodded, trying to process what I was seeing. The eviction notice on the door made sense now, it wasn’t just an arbitrary decision, the landlord had clearly seen the destruction, and now there was no turning back. I was out of my apartment.

I tried to breathe, to stay calm, but the sight before me, everything I had worked for, everything I thought I had built, slipped away.

Nick walked deeper into the apartment, kicking aside a broken chair leg. His voice was quiet but full of venom. "I’m gonna fucking kill that motherfucker. I can’t believe he did this to you."

Chris, still standing in the doorway, said nothing for a moment before speaking with a quiet tone. "Did the landlord know about this?"

I felt a stab of humiliation, and nodded. "Yeah, makes sense why I got the eviction notice now. He clearly walked into this when he came to inspect the place."

Nick turned to face me, his eyes full of concern. "You have to come stay with us."

Matt, who had been standing off to the side, his usual smirk nowhere to be found, finally spoke up, his tone laced with disbelief "Wait. Are you seriously offering for her to stay with us?" He looked between me and Nick with a disbelieving frown. "That’s.. insane. No offense, but we don’t have space for an extra person."

Nick shot Matt an exasperated look. "Come on, Matt. It’s not like she has anywhere else to go."

I glanced at Matt, feeling the tension between us rise instantly. I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, he didn’t want me there, I could tell.

I looked at him, shaking my head. "I can’t, Nick. That wouldn’t be fair to you guys."

Matt folded his arms and leaned against the doorway, his face set in a grim expression. "Yeah this is a terrible idea."

I chewed on my bottom lip, torn.

Chris stepped in then, his voice steady but full of concern. "Y/n, listen to him. I know it’s not ideal, but you need somewhere safe to stay. We’re just trying to help."

Nick focused solely on me. "Y/n, you don’t have a choice. You can stay as long as you need to. We have space, Matt’s just being stubborn. We can make it work. The podcast room is clear now, there’s room for a bed, it’s literally the perfect spot for you to stay, and it’s right next to my room."

I glanced back at Nick, feeling torn. The idea of moving into their place, especially having to live with Matt, wasn’t exactly ideal, but I didn’t have many options.

Matt raised an eyebrow, his arms still crossed tightly over his chest. "A ‘perfect spot’? Nick, it’s a tiny room with no door."

Nick turned to Matt, his tone firm. "We can pretend it’s a cute little loft."

Matt was visibly uncomfortable. "Yeah, but our place is a little cramped for four grown ass people, don’t you think?"

Nick didn’t miss a beat. "It’s not forever, Matt. Just until Y/n figures things out."

I felt all eyes on me, the weight of their stares almost too much. I hated this. I hated feeling like I had no other options, no choice but to accept their offer, but I was also too exhausted to argue. Too emotionally drained from everything that had happened.

Finally, I nodded, the decision feeling like it was being made for me. "Okay, fine. But just until I can figure something else out."

Nick smiled, relieved. "Good. It’s settled, then."

I sighed, trying to push down the swelling feeling in my chest. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t how I envisioned spending my time, living with Matt, of all people, but it was a place to stay, and for now, that was all that mattered.

Matt, still grumbling, shot a look at me. "Just don’t start stealing my snacks or leaving your crap everywhere. I’m not your maid."

I raised an eyebrow, giving him a sharp look. "I’m not the one who trashed a fucking apartment, Matt."

He rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make it weird."

"Not planning on it" I shot back, my voice flat but with just enough bite to make him pause.

For the moment, the tension between us felt like it could snap at any second, I was already starting to brace myself for the weeks ahead. I wasn’t sure how I was going to navigate living under the same roof as Matt, but right now, I didn’t have much of a choice.

a/n: eeeeek new series!!! im v excited for whats in store for this one! also theres 100 tags on this already and its only part one??? i love yous so much omfg

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

#snowy speaks #fire & desire #snowys sturniolo series #snowys series #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #enemies to lovers

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appledotfawn · 10 days ago

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you’re no good for me, but baby i want you // declan o’hara

cw•professor x student, angst, smut, fingering, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart and darling), infidelity.

summary•your favorite professor reads over an essay that you accidentally slipped too much truth into, revealing your feelings for him.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

declan o’hara, esteemed journalist and your best friends dad. which was always jolting to remember when you were sat on his desk watching him grade papers. you were his favorite student, everyone at the school knew it. what they didn’t know is that you were in a relationship with him. if that’s what you could even call it, you didn’t really know what you two were. there was flirting, occasional touching, and eye contact. or, eye-fucking, as caitlin once said when referring to maude, declan’s wife, and her newest eye-candy. “she’s eye fucking him,” caitlin had muttered in the kitchen as you helped taggie shuck corn husks for a party last month.

declan is concentrating on the papers before him, muttering things to himself like: “who the fuck says the pope is the epitome of righteousness?” and “oxford commas are being utterly abused.” while shaking his head in disbelief. this was your ritual, after the herd of students filters out after his last lecture, which you conveniently were in, you’d walk down the steps and take a seat in the chair across from him. it started off as him asking if you’d be coming around for dinner that weekend, or if taggie had mentioned a party. then it became a habit of small talk, keeping you there for longer than appropriate. and soon, your seat became his desk. his second chair was stolen by some “cunt” of a TA, in declan’s words. and he let you sit upon his dark wood desk. so it shouldn’t have come as a shock to you when mr o’hara invited you over for the holidays.

and as your feet peddled up the long driveway to the o’hara’s, you noticed a lack of cars in the driveway. taggie must be out, and maude must be too. you knock lightly, and a messy haired declan opens the door. you had seen him casually dressed, but this? he was without a shirt and with damp hair pushed back. you tried not to gawk at him while he swung the door open. “shit, forgot you were comin’. everyone else went ahead and fled the scene after maude and i got into it.” he explains and you continue to stare. unsure of what the next move is here. would it be too selfish to waltz right into the devils den? or is the appropriate thing to do here to cut your losses and head back home?

declan laughs with a shake of his head, “probably shouldn’t have told you that last bit.” and you shake your head quickly, jumping to ease his embarrassment. “oh god, no really it’s fine. i get an ear full about it from tag anyways.” you laugh and go wide-eyed at the slight confession. “all within reason of course.” you expand and declan’s smiles and opens the door wider. you step in, he shuts it behind you.

as you stand in the doorway, uneasy—you have been in this house often, in fact it was like your second home but without taggie… it felt like a strange foreign place. declan stalks into the kitchen, grabbing a button up from the kitchen chair, buttoning up quickly before coming back to you. “i’m sorry, i know you expected tag.” he sighs and you shake your head. “it’s no worries, honestly. the drive back is short enough,” you explain and declan’s smile drops. “oh you don’t have to do that? surely you could stay for a bit? i promise i can sometimes will myself to be slightly less of a dick.” his words make you laugh. he is a dick. half of his students hate him for his harshness and sarcasm, but that always seemed to charm you. “i’ll stay for a bit then.” you hum and he smiles warmly.

you find yourself on the couch, the fireplace roaring and crackling. a mug of tea in your hands while declan sips on rum. he’s leaned back, completely comfortable. you’ve never seen him like this, he’s usually so uptight, so tense from maude and her infidelity—which is most likely something you should be oblivious too, but the fact that you’re not only adds to the element of obscenity. “i read your essay earlier by the way,” he hums, his voice has grown raspy with the alcohol. you fight off the embarrassment. “oh,” you hum. you weren’t sure what to say. “it was brilliant,” declan murmurs and your eyes catch his dark brown ones.

“seriously?” you ask and he nods slowly. “i’ve never read anything like it, sweetheart.” you have no choice but to give in to the flushing of your cheeks. “that really means a lot,” you scramble to find words and declan grins while taking a sip of rum. “s’for that creative writing class, yeah?” he questions and you nod. “yeah, we were told to write about the grappling of morality.” you explain, and he hums in understanding. “and you chose to write about an affair?” he questions with a bit of humor and you nod slowly.

“yeah, i guess it’s just the first thing that came to mind.” you shrug and declan grins. “an affair between a student and a teacher no less. i bet that ruffled feathers.” he notes and you shake your head. “professor cauldlin was understanding of the topic.. even complimented me on the complexity of the situation.” you brag. declan cocks his head, “the complexity in the married man who’s wife cheats on him, and the feelings that fuel his side of the affair. i think s’brilliant.” he smiles again, and you feel your stomach flutter.

you always had a thing for that. the compliments. it was intoxicating hearing this from him. “thank you.” you hum. “so, you and maude aren’t in the holiday spirit?” you knew it was tricky to bring her up. you knew it might be wrong. might set the wrong impression, might set this beautiful delicate paper house you have on fire but you couldn’t resist it. “is maude marie in your essay?” you jerk back at his slow words. eyes wide. “the adulterating wife?” he continues.

his brows raise. and you sit in silence. your eyes communicating things your mouths can’t. do we want to go there? can we? “yes.” you sigh and declan nods his head. “and that’d make me danny?” you chew on the inside of your cheek while you think of a way out of this. because this humiliation.. it was cruel. “not exactly,” you fight back. and declan nods with a grin. “what’s that mean?” he leans forward. your eyes catch his. “i’m not the narrator.” you explain but it’s useless by now. he’s got you all figured out.

“but you are the writer, aren’t you, darling?” his voice is deep and gravelly now. it sent shivers down your back. “it’s fiction.” you explain and he nods its head. “i’m painfully aware of that.” he murmurs.

“declan,” you sigh and he looks down at you. “i’m sorry if i’ve offended you, and your marriage—i never in a million years would have wanted that—“ declan’s hand comes up over your mouth. a smug grin on his face. “do you have any idea how worked up those pages got me? reading about all of this filth you’ve conjured up?” your cheeks burn under his palm. “i’d sneak out of bed to go read those pages. my one and only vice. i’ve tried to stay loyal to maude and keep out of trouble when it comes to you but you sat this dirty prayer in the form of a manuscript on my desk and i lost it all that day. all of my will, all of my honor.” he mutters, almost furiously. it’s been eating at him, you can tell just how distraught this has made him.

your brows furrow at the confession. “i—“ you mumble into his palm as your hand wraps around his forearm, pulling his hand from your mouth. “i never meant for this to happen,” you explain softly while his eyes look at up at you servilely. his eyes beg for a release. “you did,” he whispers and you shake your head, refusing the truth. “i didn’t,” you counter and his hands come up to cup your face. “you did, for fucksake what else did you think would come from me reading it?” he puts you on the spot and you blank. christ, is this what you wanted?

“i… i don’t know,” you fumble over your words. “hey,” his eyes catch yours as he dips to your eye-line. your eyes catch onto his an this feeling of complete peace washes over you. if this is wrong, you don’t want to be right, ever. your hand rests on his cupping your face while you look into his eyes. “declan,” you sigh again and he smiles softly. you were some sort of drug to him. “what sweetheart, tell me.” he whispers.

“we can’t do this. taggie and—and maude.” you shock yourself with the guilt overpowering the intoxication of him. his eyes close and he sighs. “i know. i know.” he huffs. you nod slowly, your thumbs sweeping over the back of his palms. his eyes open and they’re soft. they’re warm and inviting. “you’re right,” he whispers, going to pull away but your fingers tightly on his hands, holding them to you. he comes back with force, his lips meeting yours in a rushed collision.

it’s messy, it’s heated. your hands paw at his biceps and shoulders, slipping to the back of his neck as you pull him in. his tongue swipes over your bottom lip and you groan, relaxing into him. declan guides you to lay down on the couch, your lips never leaving his. your hands climb into the back of his dark curls, tugging on the roots roughly. declan moans into your lips, and between your legs pulses with want and need. “we should stop,” he pants as he kisses down your jaw, your head tilting back as you nod, slightly agreeing. his lips drag down the side of your neck, his hands finding the hem of your shirt. “tell me to stop,” he pants into the curve of your neck as he sucks and presses kisses into the soft skin there. your back arches into him, gripping at his hair once again. “declan,” you whimper softly while his hands slip up under your shirt.

his rough hands scraping against the softness of your skin. “you’re so perfect,” he murmurs as he kisses down your collarbones. “i don’t know how i kept myself from you all this time,” he continues as he nips as the skin of your chest. your shirt lifts and gathers just above your chest as declan kisses down your navel. “i won’t be able to stop myself now that i’ve felt you,” you moan at his words.

his lips trail down your stomach, his facial hair scraping you satisfyingly. his lips and hands stop above your jeans. “tell me how to stop,” he whispers pathetically, desperately. you can see the struggle in his eyes. the conflict you so empathetically wrote about in your essay. your legs spread for him, and he groaned at the gesture. his fingers quickly undid your pants, slipping them off before he could second guess himself. he had thought about this more than once with his hand wrapped tightly around himself, but this moment didn’t compare to those.

his fingers traced the delicate lace of your underwear carefully before pulling it to the side. his fingers trace up and down your core slowly, causing your hips to buck ever so slightly. “christ, you’re wet.” he whispers, looking up at you with want-filled brown eyes. you whimper at the feeling of him. your arm hooks over his shoulders and you pull yourself up onto his knees. straddling his waist. the action makes his fingers hit your clit just right.

your head falls into his neck, whimpering softly. “jesus christ,” you sigh. declan’s fingers circle your clit slowly, applying pressure. “i can feel your cunt beggin’ for me.” he whispers into your hair and you grind your hips onto his fingers. “declan, please, i need you.” you beg.

his fingertips slip down to your entrance, circling there. you whimper and try to grind onto them but he pulls them back each time. “patient,” he hums. you whine, shaking your head. “you have no idea how much i’ve wanted this, i can’t—“ you beg pathetically and while you do, declan slips two fingers into you. your cunt immediately clenches around him, throbbing.

“holy fucking shit, you’re so tight.” he huffs, his fingers moving slowly inside of you. “gonna cum just thinking about that pretty cunt of yours wrapped around my cock,” he pants against the skin of your cheek as you grind onto his fingers. you moan in response to his dirty words. his fingers stay put for too long, far too long. you grind your hips but he stills them. “please,” you whine and he only presses a soft kiss to your jaw as he grinds his thumb roughly against your clit.

“declan,” you groan, getting impatient. you lift your hips and slide back down his fingers while whimpering. finally getting the friction you need. declan watches in amazment, staring down, watching your cunt take his fingers so perfectly. “jesus christ, baby” he moans. your hips keep riding his fingers, your back arching and hitting that soft spot inside of you.

your body tenses as you, and declan starts bouncing his knee beneath you. hitting that spot over, and over. “that’s it, baby” he taunts. “that feels good, yeah?” your eyes pinch closed as you whimper and moan breathlessly. your orgasm hits you in waves, your body clenching and relaxing against him as you shout his name. he pushes hair from your face as your come undone, murmuring how beautiful you are. how long he’s pictured this. it’s all a blur as you come down.

panting together, his fingers pull out of your slowly while you wince. your fall onto his lap, and you cannot ignore the bulge pressing against your sensitive cunt. you grind slowly against it and he moans roughly. “don’t,” he grips your hips. “not tonight, not now. i don’t want to rush this.” he murmurs. you nod your head, slowly coming to a stop with your hips.

his hands come up to cup your face again, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “that was incredible.” he murmurs while running his hands through the mess your hair has become.

#declan o’hara #rivals hulu #declan o’hara x reader #x reader #declan o’hara fic #rivals fic

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syluslnd · 3 months 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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aventurineswife · 2 months ago

Note

Can i request blade, sampo and feixiao (separately) with a cat-hybrid gn reader? (Its just catgirl but make it gn lol) thank uu ^^

Back to the kitty, 'cause they're kinda pretty

Tags: Blade x Reader, Feixiao x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Cat-Hybrid Reader, Fluff, Mild Teasing, Lighthearted Interactions, Sparring (Feixiao), Banter (Sampo), Hints of Angst (Blade), Comfort.

The Stellaron Hunter’s base was eerily quiet as you padded through the dimly lit halls, your tail swaying behind you. Blade had summoned you for a mission, though he hadn’t provided any details. You found him in his room, sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed, as if meditating.

“Could you knock next time?” he muttered without opening his eyes.

“I did.” you replied, crossing your arms and flicking an ear. He opened his eyes, one eyebrow arched in amusement.

“Did you now? I didn’t hear a thing.”

You rolled your eyes and sat next to him. “So, what’s the mission?”

“There’s no mission.” His gaze softened ever so slightly. “I called you here… because I wanted to talk.”

Your ears perked up, curiosity winning over. Blade wasn’t exactly one for casual conversation. “About?”

“I was wondering,” he started, his gaze flickering to the tips of your ears, “how you manage to find calm so easily. You seem… at peace, while I struggle to find it.”

You smiled, stretching out and curling your tail around yourself. “It’s easier when you stop fighting yourself. I accept my instincts, even if they’re different.” You flicked his bandaged hand playfully. “Maybe you should do the same. There’s a balance you haven’t found yet.”

His eyes narrowed, yet he didn’t pull his hand back. “Balance, huh? Maybe one day…” He trailed off, but the look in his eyes told you that perhaps, for the first time, he was willing to try.

The Xianzhou Yaoqing’s training grounds were empty, save for the rustle of your tail as you crouched, preparing for a sparring match with Feixiao. She stood across from you, her hands on her hips, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Think you can keep up with a General, kitty?” she teased, flicking her fox ears.

You narrowed your eyes, playful determination sparking in your gaze. “Only one way to find out, General.”

The sparring session started with a rush of speed. Feixiao was fast—faster than anyone you’d trained with—but your natural agility as a cat hybrid gave you an edge. Dodging her strikes, you twirled around her, even managing a quick swipe at her coat.

“Impressive!” she laughed, sounding genuinely delighted. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” She moved with ferocity, her eyes focused entirely on you.

You felt a sense of pride bubbling up as you narrowly avoided another strike, purring softly despite the intensity of the match. In one daring move, you swerved and managed to knock her slightly off-balance. She chuckled as she stumbled, finally calling a truce.

“Not bad. If we weren’t sparring, I’d be considering you for the Cloud Knights,” she said, offering a hand to pull you up. “Though next time, don’t hold back.”

Your grin widened. “Only if you promise not to either, General.”

It was a quiet night in Belobog’s Underworld when you found yourself wandering into Sampo’s hideout. You’d just slipped in silently when he called out, “Is that my favorite cat?” His voice held a teasing lilt, and he looked up with a wide grin.

“How did you know I was here?” you asked, tail flicking in surprise.

“Please, I always know when there’s a silent visitor,” he laughed, stepping closer with that ever-charming smirk. “Besides, you practically smell of curiosity.”

You rolled your eyes. “Or maybe you just can’t resist sneaking up on everyone.”

He chuckled, reaching out to scratch behind your ear. To your surprise, it actually felt… nice. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting out a soft purr.

“See? I’ve got the magic touch,” he said, clearly delighted. You playfully swatted his hand away, and he pretended to look hurt. “Alright, alright, no need to claw me.”

His voice dropped, taking on a softer tone as he met your eyes. “Hey, thanks for stopping by, though. It's been a while since I’ve had good company that wasn’t trying to rob me or arrest me.”

A warmth filled you at his words, and you smirked, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. “Guess even Sampo Koski has his soft spots.”

“Only for the right company,” he replied, giving you a wink that made your ears twitch as your heart skipped a beat.

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importantstudentbusinessspy-blog · 3 months ago

Text

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.

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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."

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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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