#but i know deep down i didn’t start this and its not my place to end it

[dracolilhoe]

To Love Again (Severus Snape x Y/N)

Severs Snape x fem!reader

Main Masterlist here -> DracoLilHoe

Harry Potter Fandom Masterlist here -> HP Masterlist

Warnings: Starts off a little dark but becomes more light hearted, soft/out of character Snape, mostly fluff, female reader, use of Y/n

Words: +7.5k

Summary: (Based off a request <3)

If you find mistakes please tell me! I'm not a perfect writer so please just let me know. Happy reading! :)

A/N: So this took a lot longer to write and was wayyyy longer than I expected it was gonna be lol but I really enjoyed how this turned out (other than the fact that I kind of gave up toward the end. my birthday is on the 4th bro I was js trying to get this shit completed 😭) and this was a my first request so tyms!! (Im really sorry if this didn't turn out how you envisioned i tried my best! <3) -> Request

1995

As I stir awake, a sliver of sunlight slips through the dark curtains and lands right in my eye. Somehow, this is the best sleep I’ve had in months—and I’m not even in my own bed. With the news of Voldemort’s return and the Ministry scrambling to cover it up, Dumbledore decided it was time to bring the Order back together. He even added a few new members. Myself included.

The house is quiet, which is strange considering how many people are packed into it now. I hear faint movement downstairs—probably Molly making breakfast or Moody pacing like he always does, paranoid that the place will be ambushed any second.

Joining the Order wasn’t something I planned, especially so close to Christmas. But when you see what I’ve seen—what he’s capable of—you don’t stay on the sidelines. You pick a side. And I’ve picked mine, even if that means being a double agent with my husband and putting our lives at risk. I sit up slowly, removing Severus' arm wrapped tightly around my waist, the old bed creaking under me.

I ease out from under the blankets, careful not to wake him. He rarely sleeps this soundly, and I know better than to steal that from him. War has carved deep lines into all of us, but with Severus, it’s in the way his jaw never unclenches, the way he listens to silence like it’s saying something. Right now, though, he looks almost peaceful. Almost.

My feet touch the cold wooden floor, and I shiver. This house, Black’s ancestral home, feels like it’s holding its breath. Grimmauld Place is nothing short of oppressive, but it’s the safest place we’ve got.

I pull on my sweater and head for the hallway, avoiding the floorboard near the door that always groans. The air smells like dust and old wood. Downstairs, I hear a pan clatter, followed by Molly’s low murmur.

There’s a tightness in my chest I haven’t shaken since Dumbledore brought us in. Every morning feels like a countdown. To what, I’m not sure yet. A raid? A betrayal? A message that someone didn’t make it through the night?

I reach the landing and glance back at the room, at Severus. He’d never admit it, but he’s scared. We both are. But fear doesn’t mean you back down. It means you move forward anyway, and I’m already halfway down the stairs.

The stairs creak beneath me, old wood groaning like it resents being walked on. Every sound in this house feels amplified like the place itself is watching, listening. I pass the umbrella stand with the decapitated troll leg and the row of portraits that used to scream every time someone so much as coughed. Someone, probably Tonks, finally found a silencing charm that sticks. Small victories yay!

In the kitchen, the air is warmer. Molly’s at the stove, wand in one hand, spatula in the other, humming something soft and familiar. Her shoulders are tense, though, and she keeps glancing at the clock with all the moving hands, none of which point to “Safe.” She brings it with her everywhere and it's starting to freak some of us out.

She turns when she hears me, a tight smile already on her face. “Morning, dear. Hope we didn’t wake you.” “You didn’t,” I lie. “I slept fine." She studies me for a beat too long, like she knows exactly how heavy sleep has been lately. But she lets it go. “Tea?”

“Please.” I slide into one of the worn chairs at the table, the wood cool under my fingers. There’s a plate of toast already laid out, and I realize just how hungry I am, not just for food, but for something normal.

Voices echo from upstairs, Remus and Arthur, maybe. Something about a meeting. Another day, another strategy session, another list of things we can’t control.

Molly sets a chipped mug in front of me. “Are you managing all right?” It’s not just small talk. It’s the kind of question people ask in war when they want to know if they need to start preparing for grief. I give her a nod and take a sip of tea that’s too hot. "Yeah. I'm managing.”

She pats my hand once, gently, like she knows better. The door creaks open behind me, and I hear the heavy, uneven footsteps of Moody. “Meeting in fifteen,” he growls without looking up. His magical eye swivels toward the corner, “Dumbledore wants everyone.”

Molly sighs and starts clearing the stove. I drain my tea and stand, feeling the weight settle back onto my shoulders. This is what it means to be part of the Order, quiet mornings laced with tension, polite conversation sitting beside secrets, and always, always the knowledge that we’re just one step ahead of darkness.

"I'll fetch Severus."

I head back upstairs, hoping to grab my wand and maybe splash some cold water on my face (and to wake Severus). I pause at the top of the stairs. The hallway is dim, lit only by the pale morning light leaking in through dusty windows.

Our bedroom door is still cracked open. I step inside quietly. Severus hasn’t moved much. One arm still rests where I left it, the other now tucked under his head. His brows twitch like he’s already halfway back in a fight. I get it. Sleep doesn’t come easy when you're always watching for betrayal, even in your dreams. I watch him for a second longer, then turn to the dresser and grab my wand.

The silver handle feels cold in my hand. Familiar. Steady. I tuck it into my sleeve and catch my reflection in the mirror: circles under my eyes, hair pulled back in a lazy knot, an expression I don’t fully recognize anymore. There’s a version of me before all this before the meetings and the lying and the long, quiet looks exchanged over war maps, but she feels like someone I used to know, not someone I still am.

I walk over to the bed shaking Severus awake. "Sev. Sev!" He groans rolling over his eyes opening slightly. "Moody needs us for a meeting in fifteen." "At this bloody hour?" He groans sitting up, a bit of his hair falling into his face.

"Yes, unfortunately. It must have something to do with the children coming for Christmas." I walk over to the dresser grabbing a pair of jeans and a sweater. I jump as a pair of arms wrap around my waist.

"We could just stay a bit longer up here darling, they wouldn't even notice we're gone." I chuckle as he plants a few kisses along my neck. "Put your damn clothes on we are here because they need us Sev."

-

The kitchen is louder now, more voices, chairs scraping, the familiar hum of wizards and witches trying to sound normal in a house built on bloodlines and curses. Sirius leans against the fireplace, arms crossed, jaw tight. He barely acknowledges me. Not out of rudeness, he’s just locked in his own storm.

Remus nods at me as I slip into a seat. “We’re just waiting on Alastor and Snape.” I give a short nod. “He’s coming.” The door opens again, and Moody limps in, muttering to himself. “Too quiet out there. I don’t trust it.”

“When do you ever trust it?” Sirius says dryly. “Exactly.”

I glance toward the door just as Severus walks in, silent and unreadable, cloak billowing slightly as he takes the last empty seat beside me. His eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second, no smile, no nod, just a flicker of shared understanding.

There’s a soft pop, and Dumbledore appears near the hearth, robes trailing, eyes sharper than usual. The chatter dies instantly. “Good morning,” he says, voice calm but firm. “We have a lot to cover.”

And just like that, we’re back in it, talking names, safe houses, coded messages, wand movements, Ministry leaks. Everyone contributes, and everyone listens, but the air hums with the knowledge that everything we’re planning could fall apart by nightfall.

Kingsley runs a hand down his face, looking like he hasn’t slept in days. “We’ve confirmed sightings near Ottery St. Catchpole. Three Death Eaters, possibly more. No casualties, but they’re testing the perimeter spells now.”

Murmurs ripple around the table. Molly stiffens at the mention of her village. Arthur reaches out, touching her arm just briefly. Dumbledore raises a hand. The room stills again. “We’ll need to rotate guard shifts more frequently,” he continues. “We can’t afford to let our protections go stale. Severus," his gaze shifts, “any updates from your end?”

Severus leans forward, elbows on the table, voice low. “They’re looking for something. He hasn’t said what. But there’s movement in the Inner Circle. Lucius is growing reckless. Bellatrix… worse.”

I feel his words like a draft through a crack in the walls. Everyone does. No one asks what “worse” means. No one wants to know. Sirius snorts from the fireplace. “So we’re still dancing blind while they’re planning gods-know-what?” Remus shoots him a warning look. “We’re doing what we can. That’s more than most.”

Dumbledore’s expression doesn’t waver. “We’ll hold ground where we must. But we have another matter to discuss.” A rustle of parchment. A name appears in glowing ink on the air, suspended like a ghost: Draco Malfoy. My stomach knots. Not out of surprise—but because I’ve been waiting for this.

Severus doesn’t move, but I see the way his jaw tightens beside me.

“He’s being watched closely,” Dumbledore says. “Lucius is desperate to keep him protected, but Voldemort has begun to take interest in the boy. If Draco is drawn in, we risk losing whatever leverage we have left with the Malfoy family.”

“And what exactly are we supposed to do about it?” Moody growls. “We’re not babysitters.” “No,” Dumbledore agrees. “But we need eyes on him. Discreet ones.” There’s a silence heavy enough to choke on. I speak before I even know I’m going to. “I can help.”

All eyes turn to me. “Lucius knows me. He trusts me or did. Enough to talk. I can get close to Narcissa.” Severus turns to me, his expression unreadable but something behind his eyes flashes sharp, alarm, maybe. Or something closer to fear.

“I’ll be careful,” I add. “I know how far I can go.” “You’re already too close,” he says under his breath, barely audible. But Dumbledore catches it. He watches us both, eyes thoughtful. “You wouldn’t be alone,” he says gently. “And I trust you to know the difference between risk and recklessness.”

That’s the thing about trust in this house, it’s not a gift. It’s a burden. You carry it like a second skin. The meeting drags on, plans stacking atop each other like unstable towers. Assignments are given. Timelines drawn. When it ends, it does so abruptly, and we’re all left trying to remember how to breathe again.

"Oh and one last thing," Dumbledore says as all eyes turn to him, "Severus, Y/n, Remus, and Sirius when the children come I would like you four to teach and aid them in their dueling skills," We all nod exchanging glances.

Chairs scrape back. Sirius disappears into the hallway without a word. Arthur and Molly exchange quiet words near the sink. Tonks fidgets with a broken spoon. And Severus... Severus doesn’t look at me I just follow him up the stairs.

Inside our room, he closes the door and just stands there for a second. Silent. Still. His back to me. “You shouldn’t have volunteered,” he says finally, voice low. Controlled. “Not for that.”

“I can handle them,” I answer, just as quiet. “And you know it.” He turns slowly. “That’s not the point.” I meet his gaze. “Then what is?” He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at me like he’s measuring something—distance, maybe. Risk. What it costs to love someone in wartime.

“They’ll use you,” he says finally. “The way they always do. And when it comes down to it, Dumbledore will sacrifice you if it means tipping the scale.” “I know,” I say. And I do.

But I also know that I’d do the same if it meant saving even one of those kids who’ll be walking into this house later with their trunks and their scarred hearts, pretending it’s still Christmas. “I picked this side,” I remind him. "Your side."

He steps toward me, slow and deliberate like we’re back on a battlefield. Maybe we are. “Then let me protect you,” he murmurs, voice almost breaking. “You already do.”

And in the silence that follows, in the quiet ache of the room, I let him pull me in because out there, it’s strategy and secrets and sacrifice. But in here, for just a breath, it’s something else. It’s what we’re still fighting for.

-

The front door creaks open sometime after noon. Laughter echoes down the hall—too loud, too bright for this house—but welcome all the same.

I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear Harry first. “Same miserable wallpaper. Same creepy elf heads.” His voice is tired but dry, amused. “Glad to see nothing’s changed.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Ron mutters behind him, dragging his trunk over the threshold. “Mum’s already got a to-do list longer than my arm. And Moody's breathing down everyone's neck like it’s a sport.”

Hermione follows just behind, trying to wrangle Crookshanks back into his carrier with one hand and hold her bag with the other. “Honestly, Ron, it’s not about comfort. It’s about safety.”

“Comfort would be nice too,” Ginny cuts in, brushing snow out of her hair. “One Christmas where no one gets cursed, cursed at, or nearly killed would be an improvement.”

From the landing, I catch Harry’s eyes. He blinks up at me, then offers a small smile. A tired one, but real. “You look taller,” I say, stepping aside to let them through. It’s something to say, something normal.

“Not sure about taller,” he replies. “Just older.” He’s right. They all are. You don’t come back from this fear-stricken world like this and stay untouched. Even Ginny, always quick with a quip, has a shadow behind her eyes. I've only ever met them all once before, so we aren't that familiar with each other, but they all seem like lovely kids.

Molly rushes in from the kitchen, apron on, arms open. She gathers them up one by one, fussing, scolding gently, hugging too long. The hallway fills with warmth and voices, boots thudding, trunks scraping.

Severus appears beside me silently, eyes sweeping the chaos with practiced detachment. But I catch the way his fingers twitch near his wand when Fred drops something with a loud crash.

“Relax,” I murmur. “That was just a box of—” “Exploding Snap cards,” Fred calls from the floor. “No actual explosions this time, promise!” Severus doesn’t smile, but the corners of his mouth twitch just slightly. “Merlin help us all,” he mumbles and vanishes back down the hall.

By dinner, the long table is packed, mismatched chairs pulled in from other rooms. The kids eat like they haven’t had a full meal in weeks—which, judging by the state of Hogwarts, might not be far off.

There’s laughter again, real this time, layered over the clink of plates and the smell of roast chicken. For a few brief moments, it almost feels like Christmas.

But underneath it all is the quiet hum of what’s coming. Dumbledore hasn’t said it outright, but we all know this is the calm before another kind of storm. The kids are safe, for now. But safe is a temporary state in this war. And Grimmauld Place, for all its wards and silencing charms, can’t keep the world at bay forever.

Later that evening, Remus gathers them in the drawing room. “Tomorrow, we start dueling lessons,” he says, voice calm but direct. “Not because we want to turn your holiday into homework, but because the world outside these walls won’t wait for you to grow up.”

“Too late for that,” Harry says under his breath. Hermione nods. Severus steps in from the shadows. “You’ll be paired. Rotated. Watched. No improvising.” He casts a look at Fred and George. “No fireworks.”

“Who, us?” George grins.

Sirius lounges in the armchair, legs kicked out, watching everyone like he’s not sure whether to feel proud or protective. Maybe both. I take a seat on the edge of the sofa and pull out my wand. “Tomorrow, we’ll test your reflexes. For tonight, just don’t hex each other over the last mince pie,” I tease. Ginny raises a brow. “No promises.” They laugh. It’s light, but underneath, I feel it again—that tightness.

-

The dishes are mostly cleared, the fire’s burning low, and the rest of the house is beginning to settle into a wary kind of peace when I feel a tug on my sleeve. It’s Harry. He doesn’t say anything at first, just jerks his chin slightly toward the hallway. Away from the others. Away from the low murmur of Sirius and Remus arguing softly about training plans. Away from the way Severus is pretending not to listen from the corner of the room.

I nod once and follow him. The hallway is dark and cool. The only light comes from a lone, flickering candle floating near the ceiling. Harry leans against the wall, arms crossed, the worn fabric of his jumper stretched tight across his shoulders.

“I didn’t want to ask in front of everyone, and I since we don't know each other that well I know you won't lie or try to protect me like everyone else does,” he says, voice low, a little rough around the edges. “But... how bad is it?”

I exhale slowly. There’s no point pretending. Not with him. Not with everything he's seen already. “Worse than the Prophet says. Worse than the Ministry will ever admit.” He kicks the heel of his boot against the floor once, a sharp, frustrated tap. “I figured.”

There’s a silence between us that isn’t awkward. It’s heavy. Real. He looks up at me then, green eyes fierce under the mess of his hair. “Are they going to come for us here?” I could lie. It would be easy. Safer, maybe.

But I don’t. “They might.”

Another beat. He absorbs it like someone learning to live with a wound that won’t heal. “Good,” he says finally. It startles me a little, and my eyebrows raise. I frown. “Good?”

He straightens off the wall, jaw set. “I’d rather they come here. Where we’re ready. Where we can fight.” There’s something in his voice—not bravado, not anger exactly. Just a grim certainty. A kind of steel that shouldn't belong to someone so young, but here it is anyway.

“You’ll have to be smarter than them, not just braver,” I warn. “Dueling lessons aren’t about flash and showmanship. It’s about surviving. It’s about finishing the fight before they even know it’s started.” “I know.”

And I believe him. God help me, I do. I study him for a second longer, the stubborn line of his mouth, the tension in his shoulders, the bone-deep tiredness he wears like armor. “You’re not alone in this, Harry.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Doesn’t always feel that way.” “No,” I agree. “It doesn’t. But it’s still true.” A shadow crosses his face, something raw, unspoken. I think he wants to ask something else. Maybe about Voldemort. Maybe about the parts of this war, no one wants to say out loud.

But instead, he just nods and says, “Thanks,” before slipping back toward the drawing room, shoulders squared against whatever comes next. I stand there a moment longer, alone in the hallway, listening to the fire crackle faintly behind the door.

-

The next morning breaks cold and grey. No surprise there. Grimmauld Place never really feels like it’s breathing, even on good days. By the time I make it down to the drawing room, most of the others are already there. The furniture’s been shoved to the edges. Rugs rolled up. Floor cleared. It looks less like a home and more like a dueling arena. Which is exactly what we want.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione are lined up, wands in hand, faces set. Fred, George, and Ginny flank them, fidgeting with nervous energy. Molly’s hovering at the doorway, wringing her hands until Arthur gently steers her away with a whispered, "Let them be."

Severus is standing near the fireplace, black robes sweeping the floor, arms crossed like he’s already judging them. Which, to be fair, he probably is. Sirius is pacing. Restless. Coiled tight like a spring.

“All right, listen up!” Sirius says, clapping his hands once. “First rule of a real duel: you don’t wait for your enemy to bow. You strike first.” Severus’s mouth curls into a cold smirk. “A philosophy befitting a reckless Gryffindor.”

Sirius turns, already ready to bite. “And what's your tactic, Snape? Bore them into submission?” “Enough,” I cut in, stepping between them before either one pulls a wand. “This isn’t about you two chest-thumping your old grudges. It’s about them.” I jerk my chin toward the kids. “And whether they survive what's coming.”

Sirius’s jaw flexes. Severus’s eyes narrow. But both stay silent. “Pair up,” I call. “Two across from two. Wands at the ready.” Harry and Ron square off instinctively. Hermione and Ginny trade a quick look before taking opposite sides. George hesitates until Fred claps him on the back and steps into position.

I walk the line, pacing slowly like Moody taught me. "Spellwork first. Control before power. If you throw a curse without discipline, you're not just endangering your enemy. You're endangering yourself."

Sirius snorts quietly but doesn't argue. “Stunners to start,” I say. “Basic shield spells allowed. No counterattacks until I say.” They nod, faces tightening with focus.

“On three. One… two… three—” The room explodes into motion.

Bolts of red light crisscross the room. Shields flash up. Shouts echo off the high ceiling.

George’s shield charm shatters instantly under Fred’s hit, and he goes sprawling backward with a yelp. “Get up!” Severus snaps from the fireplace. “You think a Death Eater will wait for you to dust yourself off?”

George scrambles up, face burning.

“Focus, George!” I say, softer but firm. “You’re better than you think.”

Harry’s already adapting, side-stepping Ron’s stunner and sending one back with a twist of his wrist that would’ve made Moody grunt in approval.

Hermione’s quick too, blocking Ginny’s shot neatly—but she hesitates a second too long to counter. In a real duel, hesitation kills. “Don’t wait for permission!” Sirius calls. “If you’ve got a shot, take it!”

Severus tenses visibly. "And get yourselves hexed into oblivion by lunging like amateurs? Typical." "Better to fight like hell than cower behind a textbook!" Sirius barks back. "Better to win," Severus hisses.

The kids freeze between them, caught in the crossfire of something that has nothing to do with today's lesson and everything to do with a history they can't see but can definitely feel.

"ENOUGH!" I snap, my voice ringing off the stone walls. Silence crashes down. Sirius glares at Severus. Severus stares back, cold and cutting.

I look at the kids. Their faces are pale and tense. This is not what they need.

“This is real training," I say, voice steady. "Not a pissing contest. Learn from both styles, because out there, you’ll need every edge you can get.”

I turn back to them fully. “Again. Harder. Smarter. And this time, move like your lives depend on it.”

I shoot a sharp look at Remus. He catches it, understands immediately, and steps in front of the kids. “All right, pairs switch!” he calls out smoothly, clapping his hands to break the tension. “New partners. Keep your guard up!”

The kids hesitate, glancing at us, but Remus waves them on. Slowly, they shuffle into new pairs, wands up again, throwing cautious spells under his steady watch. I grab Sirius and Severus by the elbows and haul them toward the far corner of the room, out of earshot.

The second we’re out of range, I round on them. “What the hell was that?” I snap, keeping my voice low but lethal. “Are you both mad?” Sirius opens his mouth, but I cut him off with a glare sharp enough to slice.

“No, you don't get to explain. You don't get to excuse it.” I jab a finger at his chest. “This isn’t about you and your teenage grudge against Severus. This is about them—” I jab toward the kids, where Harry just barely blocks a hex from Fred. “—learning to survive a war!”

Sirius’s jaw works furiously, but he doesn’t speak. Good. He knows he’s on thin ice. I turn slightly toward Severus. “And you,” I say, voice cooling but still hard. “You’re not off the hook either. If you can't keep your disdain on a leash, get out of the room.”

Severus inclines his head stiffly, dark eyes flashing once, but he says nothing. No argument. No excuse. I whirl back on Sirius, stepping in closer. “You're supposed to be better than this, Sirius. You're Harry’s godfather. Do you think he needs to see you losing control like some first-year who can't take a slight? You think that’s what will keep him alive when Death Eaters are throwing real curses at him?”

He flinches slightly at that—barely—but I see it. Good. Let it sting. “You want to protect him? Then act like someone worth following.” Sirius stares at me, breathing hard, hands clenched into fists at his sides. But he says nothing. And that's the only reason I don't rip into him even worse.

I step back, my chest tight. “This is bigger than your pride,” I say, voice quieter but sharper. “Bigger than your hate. You don’t have the luxury of grudges anymore.” Severus shifts beside me, mouth twitching in something quite like a smirk, but I barely catch it.

“And you,” I add, giving him a pointed look, “don’t mistake his mistakes for your permission to be a bastard.” A faint raise of Severus's eyebrow. A very slight, almost imperceptible, nod. Across the room, Remus calls out a correction to Hermione’s footwork, completely ignoring us. Bless him.

“Now,” I say, voice cutting final. “Get your shit together—or get out. I won’t let you two tear this place apart.” I hold their gazes for a beat longer, daring either of them to argue. They don't.

Without waiting for a response, I turn on my heel and walk back toward the kids. They need focus. They need strength. Not whatever bloody mess Sirius and Severus have been dragging around like a ball and chain.

Behind me, I hear Sirius mutter something under his breath, but it’s low and bitter and meant for himself, not for me. Severus follows a second later, silent and dark-eyed, slipping back into the shadows near the hearth. The kids don’t even look up. They’re too busy ducking and blocking and casting.

Remus gathers them back into a circle after another round of sparring, his voice calm but carrying weight. “All right,” he says, lowering his wand. “Change of plan. You’ve practiced defense. Now it’s time for offense.”

The kids straighten instinctively, a ripple of energy moving through them.

I cross my arms, watching.

Severus stays leaned against the wall, silent but alert. Sirius lingers near the fireplace, brooding, but at least keeping his damn mouth shut. “New exercise,” Remus continues. “You’ll work in pairs. Your goal is to disarm or disable one of us—me, Snape, or Y/n—before we disarm you.”

A few eyebrows shoot up. “Wait—us against you three?” Fred asks, incredulous. A rare smirk flickers across Severus’s mouth. “If you find that unfair,” he drawls, “you may want to reconsider your odds in actual combat.”

Remus only smiles, patient. “You have surprise on your side. Use it.”

Ginny’s eyes spark with something dangerous. Harry’s jaw sets. They’re ready. Or as ready as they’re going to be. Remus and I exchange a quick nod. He moves to the center of the room.

Severus shifts lazily from the wall, his wand sliding easily into his hand.

I roll my shoulders once. Let’s see what they’ve got. Remus gives a sharp whistle. “Begin!”

At first, it’s cautious — they scatter, dodging between broken chairs and rolled-up carpets. Whispered plans. Quick glances. But then Harry moves—fast. A sharp flick of his wand sends a bright stunner toward Remus, who parries it easily.

Ginny dives low, rolling behind an overturned settee. Fred and George create a distraction, hurling smoke bombs that erupt with a loud bang and a cloud of purple mist. Typical. But clever.

I raise my wand, clearing the smoke with a slicing spell—and that’s when I see her: Ginny, darting from the side. Before I can fully block, a hex hits my wand hand—not strong enough to disarm me, but enough to jar my grip. Impressive.

I fire a mild shield charm in return, forcing her back, but out of the corner of my eye— Harry. Moving like a shadow. I pivot, readying a block—too slow. His Expelliarmus hits me dead-center. My wand flies from my hand, clattering across the floor. For half a second, the room freezes.

Then Sirius lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “Well, I’ll be damned!” Remus smiles, lowering his own wand slightly.

Severus’s face is unreadable, but his black eyes flicker toward Harry and Ginny, calculating. I retrieve my wand with a small bow of my head toward Harry and Ginny. "Well played." Harry looks stunned for half a breath like he hadn’t believed he could do it.

Ginny just grins fiercely, panting a little, cheeks flushed. Fred whoops from across the room. “That’s our girl!” "Oi!" George elbows him. "And Harry!" Remus raises a hand for quiet. "This," he says, voice steady, "is what survival looks like. Not bravado. Not reckless spells. Strategy."

Harry and Ginny glance at each other, something solid and unspoken passing between them. Severus speaks finally, voice soft but cutting. "Next time, aim for the throat."

I laugh, and Sev cracks a smile. It’s brutal. It’s honest. And exactly what they need to hear. The room stays still for a moment longer, the fire crackling in the silence. This isn’t about winning practice duels. It’s about preparing for the night they won’t be warned first.

"All right let's take a quick break and meet back here in about an hour." The others break off —Fred and George tossing mock insults, Ron rubbing his shoulder and muttering about “bloody insane stunners”, Ginny and Hermione chatting low and fast.

I’m gathering the leftover dueling mats when I feel someone hovering behind me. “Can I—uh—can I ask you something?” Harry says, voice a little rough, a little awkward. I straighten, nodding once. “Of course.”

He hesitates, running a hand through his already-messy hair. His wand is tucked loosely into his belt; he looks younger now, out of the heat of the fight. More unsure.

“It’s about... Snape.” He says the name like it tastes strange. I stay still. Careful. Neutral. “What about him?” Harry looks around once, making sure we’re alone. Sirius and Remus have disappeared into the hallway, voices low. Severus is nowhere in sight. Good.

Harry shifts his weight. “You trust him." It’s not quite a question. Not quite an accusation either. Just raw curiosity. And something sharper underneath hurt maybe. Fear. I don’t answer right away. I slip my wand into my sleeve and lean back against the table, crossing my arms.

“I trust him with my life,” I say finally. “I trust him with yours, too.”

Harry’s brow furrows, suspicious, almost wounded. “But why?” His voice cracks just slightly on the last word, and I realize this isn’t about Severus. Not really.

It’s about everyone Harry’s ever trusted letting him down. He wants a reason not to hate. He wants a reason to believe. I meet his eyes fully. “He’s not your friend, Harry. He’s not here to make you feel safe. He’s not here to like you. But he is here to keep you alive. And in the end, that matters more.”

Harry’s mouth twists like he wants to argue but can’t quite find the shape of it. “He’s risked more than you know,” I continue, voice steady. “More than he’ll ever tell you. And he’s still risking it. Every time he steps back into that world, every time he sits at a table with monsters and pretends to be one of them, he’s betting his life that we’ll win.”

Harry looks away, jaw tight. “It’s not about liking him,” I say, softer now. “It’s about understanding the price he’s paying to stand here on this side of the line.” He drags a hand through his hair, rough and frustrated.

“I just... it’s hard to forget everything.” “I know.” I pause. “You’re not supposed to forget. Just don’t let it blind you.”

He looks up at me, and for the first time I see it—the crack running down the center of him, the fear underneath the anger, the hurt underneath the defiance. He’s still just a boy.

But he’s carrying the kind of burdens grown men would break under.

“If I didn’t believe he was on our side,” I say quietly, “I wouldn’t be here either.” Harry lets out a shaky breath.

"Okay," he says finally, voice low. Not quite convinced. But willing to try.

It’s the best anyone could ask for. I reach out and squeeze his shoulder once, brief but firm. “You’re allowed to be angry, Harry. You’re allowed to hate what he’s done. Just don’t hate what he’s doing now.”

He nods again, sharper this time. More certain. Without another word, he turns and heads toward the stairs, shoulders hunched against everything still waiting for him. I watch him go, my chest tight. One day soon, he’s going to understand just how much Severus has sacrificed for him. And one day soon, it’s going to cost all of us more than we want to give.

But not today.

-

The hour flies by faster than expected. The kids trickle back into the drawing room, looking a little more rested—and a little cockier after their earlier success.

Fred’s juggling two cushions with a Wingardium Leviosa charm, George is trying to distract Ginny with a fake wand that keeps sprouting daisies, and Ron looks suspiciously like he’s hoping to skip this next round entirely.

I’m adjusting the ward lines along the floor when Severus sweeps in, black robes billowing, a fresh scowl already carved into his face like he’s thrilled to be doing this again.

“Ready to embarrass yourselves?” he drawls, voice slicing the room neatly in half. Sirius lounges against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You know, Snivellus, you could try encouragement sometime. Might stop people from ducking when you enter a room.”

Severus doesn’t even look at him. “Your continued breathing is encouragement enough.” Fred snorts loudly. Hermione coughs to cover her laugh. I roll my eyes and step between them before it escalates.

“All right. Same drill—defense first, offense later. And no funny business,” I add, staring pointedly at Fred and George, who try to look innocent and fail miserably.

We spread out. Remus waves his wand, conjuring more padded mats across the floor. “Standard stunners and shield charms to start. Nothing lethal, thank you.” We pair off. Ginny with Harry. Hermione with Ron.

Fred and George.

Severus is stalking the edges of the room, wand drawn, barking sharp corrections. "Elbow in, Weasley!" "Stronger shield, Potter!" "Granger, less hesitation—your enemy won’t be patient."

I stand off to the side, arms folded, letting them get into a rhythm before I join in. That’s when it happens. Fred and George—because of course it’s Fred and George—start sparring a little too wildly. One of them fires a rogue hex that ricochets off Hermione’s shield, bounces off a mirror, and slams into me and Severus simultaneously.

For a split second, there’s a blinding flash of white-blue light. A sound like a rubber band snapping through time. When the smoke clears, the room goes dead silent.

Because standing where I had been— —and where Severus had been—

—are now two very confused-looking teenagers. Severus is skinny, sharp-angled, with a mop of greasy black hair nearly falling into his narrowed black eyes. His school robes are rumpled and his wand arm tensed like he’s ready to hex first, ask questions later.

I glance down at myself. I’m 15 again too. Brilliant. “What the—where the hell are we?” I snap instinctively, patting myself down for my wand (still tucked in my sleeve, thank Merlin).

Severus whirls toward me instantly, all tension bleeding out of him in one second flat. "Y/n?" he says, voice shockingly soft compared to the venom he just spat at Sirius minutes ago. "You okay?" he asks, stepping toward me, frowning like the world might actually end if I’m hurt.

The kids look like they’ve been hit with a Confundus Charm. Harry’s jaw literally drops open. Hermione makes a tiny squeaking noise.

I blink at Severus. He looks... young. And worried.

And very much not the terrifying man everyone knows him as. "Yeah," I say, breathless with surprise. "I'm fine. Are you?" He relaxes fractionally at that, lips twitching into what could almost be a smile.

"Wouldn’t leave you alone in this dump even if I was bleeding out," he mutters under his breath, voice so low only I hear it. Heat creeps up my cheeks.

Because fifteen-year-old Severus Snape is ridiculously earnest under all his prickly armor. And I’m realizing with horrifying clarity that this is how we must've fallen in love the first time.

Meanwhile, Sirius is staring like he’s seen a ghost—and he does not like it.

“What the bloody hell is this?” he demands, pointing at us. Severus instinctively steps half in front of me. Protectively. I glare at Sirius, stepping up beside Severus.

“Maybe if you weren't such a reckless idiot, we wouldn't be standing here, Black, and god did you not age well!” Sirius bristles instantly. “Oi—”

“Touch her and I’ll hex you into next week,” Severus says, deadly calm.

Sirius actually looks offended.

Harry tugs at Remus’s sleeve, whispering frantically. “Is he—? Are they—? Friends?” Remus looks absolutely delighted. “More than friends, if you ask me.”

Meanwhile, Hermione is scribbling notes on a scrap of parchment like she’s documenting a rare magical phenomenon. Ginny nudges Harry. “I think she just made Snape smile. I didn’t even know he had the muscles for that.”

Severus scowls at the room at large, still staying close to me like he’s ready to throw curses at anyone who looks sideways. I nudge him lightly with my shoulder, forcing a teasing smile onto my face to hide my complete and utter panic at the situation.

“Um, what exactly is happening?” Ron asks, looking wildly between me and Severus like we’ve sprouted extra heads. “It appears,” Remus says, with the kind of forced calm that only makes it funnier, “they’ve been turned back into their fifteen-year-old selves. They seem to remember some things, but I think the longer they stay like this... the more they’ll forget.”

“Oh, brilliant,” Harry mutters. “So, what—are we supposed to just pretend everything’s normal?” Across the room, Severus glances around, unimpressed. “Is this some kind of pathetic club meeting?” he sneers, arms crossed but still hovering a little too close to me like I might vanish if he blinks.

“No,” I cut in before he can get more acidic. “It’s dueling practice, genius.”

He perks up immediately at that, dark eyes lighting with interest. “Finally. Something worth my time.”

Fred nudges George. “Ten Galleons says he forgets he’s supposed to teach and just hexes someone for fun.” George snickers. “Make it twenty.”

Remus, wisely, just sighs and raises his hands. “Carry on, then.” Severus spins toward me, tilting his head with mock seriousness. "Partners?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Obviously." He offers me a dramatic little bow, smirking the whole time. It’s stupid and its so out of character for him but it's still adorable. It’s very much not the Severus Snape these kids know.

I can feel the students gaping behind us. Hermione whispers furiously to Ron, "He bowed to her! When has Snape ever bowed to anyone?" Ron just makes a helpless, strangled noise. "Alright, let's begin before these two start to forget everything," Remus announces.

Sirius stiffens, about two seconds away from launching himself across the room. I shoot Sirius a razor-edged grin. “What’s wrong, Black? You finally met someone who doesn’t find you charming?” I say sweetly.

Ginny loses it, barely muffling her laughter into Hermione’s shoulder. Even Harry looks like he’s struggling not to smile. Sirius scowls like he’s been personally insulted by the universe. Fred whispers to George, "I love her."

George whispers back, "Same."

“Enough talking!” Severus snaps, but there’s no real bite to it. “Wands up!”

He faces me, and for a second there’s nothing but fierce, electric focus between us.

Then—wham—he fires a nonverbal hex that I barely block. “Ooh, dirty move, Snape!” I laugh, countering with a spell that sends him staggering back a step.

He grins—grins—and lunges right back at me, fast and graceful and clearly holding back only because he doesn’t actually want to hurt me.

The kids watch, stunned, as we spar.

It’s fast. Fluid. Almost like a dance. No hesitation. No cruelty. Just two people who know exactly how the other moves. “You know,” Hermione whispers to Harry, “this is the least miserable I’ve ever seen him.”

Harry watches Severus, who ducks a hex from me with an easy, boyish laugh—completely different from the rigid, scowling professor they know. “Yeah,” Harry mutters back. “It’s... weird. But kinda cool.”

Meanwhile, Sirius keeps grumbling under his breath, “He’s showing off. He’s absolutely showing off.” At one point, Severus ducks behind me to dodge a fake curse from Fred.

Sirius, meanwhile, looks ready to hex a wall. Through all of it, Severus just gives me a look—half dare, half devotion—and I feel my stomach flip the way it hasn’t since I actually was fifteen. We’re a disaster.

We’re going to be an even bigger disaster the longer we stay like this. And Merlin help everyone because neither of us is anywhere near ready to admit it yet.

The next half hour is absolute, glorious disaster. Fred and George keep "dueling" each other, but really they’re just trying to sneak closer to eavesdrop on me and Severus.

Hermione’s still trying to organize actual drills, bless her, but Ron keeps getting distracted every time Severus "accidentally" brushes his hand against mine again. Ginny’s full-on cackling now, pretending to duel Harry but missing half her shots because she keeps looking over her shoulder and whispering, “Did you see that?! Did you see what Snape just said to her?!”

Harry, to his credit, is trying very hard to be mature about it. He mostly fails. Meanwhile, Sirius is about two seconds from combusting. He stands off to the side, arms crossed, glaring daggers at young Severus like sheer force of will might turn him into dust.

“Unbelievable,” Sirius mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Absolutely unbelievable. He's flirting. Snivellus is flirting.” “And doing a better job than you ever did,” I shoot back without thinking.

Dead silence. Severus outright laughs at that—sharp and rare, the sound surprising even him. He flashes me a grin so quick, so private, that I feel it like a hook behind my ribs. Sirius looks personally offended.

Remus just sighs deeply like he’s aged ten years in two minutes. “All right, enough,” Remus says, stepping between us with a forced, strained smile. “Maybe... maybe we should take another break.”

“You said that an hour ago,” Fred points out, trying to keep a straight face and failing. “This time I mean it,” Remus says through clenched teeth.

He pulls out his wand and mutters a diagnostic spell under his breath. Golden threads of magic swirl around me and Severus, flickering slightly at the edges. "Hm.”

“Hm?” Hermione asks sharply, lowering her wand. Remus hums again. “The age-reversal spell is... strengthening. They’re slipping more into their fifteen-year-old selves the longer it holds.”

“Meaning?” Harry presses, stepping forward. "Meaning,” Remus says, looking slightly pale, “we need to reverse it. Soon. Before they forget everything—including the Order, Voldemort, and what side they’re supposed to be on.”

Severus perks up at that word. “Voldemort?” he repeats, frowning deeply. “What’s he got to do with anything?” I frown too, my forehead creasing. The word sounds familiar, important. But it doesn’t click the way it should.

Remus scrubs a hand over his face. “Right. Right. Definitely time to fix this.”

He pulls Sirius aside, murmuring rapid instructions about fetching some old counter-curse tomes from the Black family library. Sirius grumbles but stomps off, clearly glad to have an excuse to leave the room before he says something that’ll start a duel of his own.

“Are we... are we sure we want them to turn back?” Ron whispers to Hermione. Hermione looks torn between horrified and fascinated. Before any of us can say more, Sirius bursts back in, slamming a huge, dusty spellbook onto the table. “Found it!” he snaps, flipping through pages aggressively. Remus leans over his shoulder. “Hurry.”

Sirius flips through the spellbook with the kind of frantic energy normally reserved for full moons and house fires. “Counter-curse, counter-curse, bloody hell, where is it—?” “Page 394,” Remus says calmly without looking.

Sirius glares at him but flips anyway—and sure enough, there it is.

Meanwhile, Severus has moved closer to me again, shifting nervously from foot to foot like he’s working up to something he’s never said out loud before.

A blinding flash of golden light erupts from the table where Sirius and Remus finally cast the counter-curse. I feel it hit me like a tidal wave—yanking me forward, back, spinning through a lifetime of memories slamming into place.

The Order. The war. The betrayal. The blood. The love. The weight of everything we fought for. I gasp, stumbling, catching myself on the edge of the dueling mat.

Severus staggers too, clutching his head for half a second before straightening—taller now, leaner, sharper. Older. Haunted. He blinks once, twice—and his face slams shut like a vault. All softness gone. All vulnerabilities locked away.

The room is dead silent. I stare at him, heart still racing, memories crashing over me like surf. I remember. He remembers. Everything.

Severus exhales slowly through his nose, cold and composed again, tugging his robes straight like a shield.

Behind me, I hear someone—Fred, maybe—whisper, “Merlin, that was brutal.”

Harry looks stricken. Hermione bites her lip so hard it goes white. Sirius, bless him, mutters, “Still the same miserable git.” But I see it. In the flicker of Severus’s dark eyes.

“Right,” I say briskly. “Practice is over. Everyone out. Now.”

The kids scatter like birds, even Fred and George not daring to joke right now. Sirius lingers just long enough to shoot Severus a filthy look before Remus drags him out by the elbow, murmuring something about giving them space.

Finally, it’s just me and Severus again. And the vast, bruised silence between us.

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[cybrasigilism]

hear me out, the wet dream drabble you did, PLEASE MAKE A FIC like where hes over for the night and reader falls asleep and has a wet dream abou him, but hes still awake and when readers asleep he hears her like faintly moan his name and like she wakes up and they ykkkk

Sweet Dreams (Nam-gyu/Player 124 X F!Reader SMUT)

warning: smut, well no shit | NOT PROOFREAD | lowercase intended | wet dreams | nipple play (if you squint) | oral (m! receiving) | dom to sub, kind of? | this is my interpretation of this character, please be respectful even if my opinion on the character differs from your own

character: nam-gyu (player 124)

A/N: holy moly, i’m so sorry for my lack of activity! i recently got a new place and i’m in the process of moving, life’s been hectic! i can’t promise that i’ll be posting a whole bunch but i’m definitely going to try :)

MDNI! 18+ content beneath the cut, reader’s discretion is advised

finding yourself having a sleepover with nam-gyu of all people was not something you expected out of the night, but here you were— cozied up in your own bed, scrolling on your phone while he took a drag from his cigarette.

“hey, asshole. did i say you could smoke in here?” you scoffed, looking him up and down in exaggerated disgust as nam-gyu blew his smoke in your face.

“funny, you mistake me for someone who gives a fuck.” he chuckled, before bringing the butt to his lips once again, maintaining eye contact with you as he did so.

you weren’t sure what it was, but in that moment, there was something about nam-gyu that made you press your thighs together. you had never seen someone look so damn good while smoking, and here he was; as if he was putting on a show for you.

there was no possible way he knew what he was doing to you.

was there?

————————

as you slept that night, your mind couldn’t help but circle back to when nam-gyu was blatantly ignoring your aversion to his smoking habit. the way he retained your gaze as he slowly exhaled trails of smoke from his mouth, slightly agape; dark brown eyes flicking from your own eyes to your lips quickly.

you couldn’t trust if that last part had actually happened, or if it was just a trick your brain was playing on you as some more… lewd thoughts began to circulate through your brain.

it was impressive how quickly your mind took things from slightly suggestive, to downright dirty, in a matter of moments. before you knew it, visions of nam-gyu dicking you down were playing on repeat in your mind. it all felt so vivid, down to the sensation of the sheets beneath you moving in tandem with your bodies.

you must have been deep in this erotic trance, because you didn’t notice that the noises you were making in your blissful fantasy were carrying over to the real world.

it started out as nothing much, a light moan leaving your throat that could easily be explained away as a sound you made due to changing your position. although stirred awake by this initial sound, lord knows how, nam-gyu didn’t think much of it… until he heard it again.

this time, it was more than a light sound; you straight up moaned his name. not overly loud or obnoxious-like, but airy enough for nam-gyu to piece together that you were definitely dreaming about him.

part of him wanted to let you carry on, he wanted to see how far you would get— if you would actually cum in your sleep. but another part of him wanted to wake you up, and fuck you for real.

to hell with dreams, to hell with fantasy. he wanted you to feel him fuck you good, real this time.

against what may have been his better judgement, nam-gyu reached over and shook you awake. you rubbed your eyes, squinting up at him confused. but, before you could say anything, his lips crashed into yours; his tongue pushing its way into your mouth as a desperate moan left his throat.

you brought your hands up to his neck as he crawled on top of you, you felt his bulge rub up against your side as he did so.

“fuck, you knew what you were doing.. didn’t you?” nam-gyu gasped, breaking the kiss as he rolled your shirt up your body. “i don’t.. i don’t know what you mean—“ you were confused, but you definitely did not mind your current situation.

had you known letting your subconscious take control would end up getting you in bed with someone like nam-gyu, this may have played out earlier. but you didn’t have the time to focus on ‘what if’ scenarios here. you were quickly snapped back to the present when nam-gyu rolled his tongue over your nipple— shooting a sharp shiver up your back.

“oh shit! ah, s-so, so..” “shh…” he interrupted, running his hand up and down your body, occasionally cupping your tit when he reached your chest. “don’t need you to say anything.. just lemme do this, please..”

his breath against your skin made you tremble, and each time he brought his mouth back onto your tits, you felt your pussy clench around air. he knew exactly how good his tongue felt on your chest, and he was going to drag that feeling out as long as he could.

“mh, so good… need more of you…” you were slurring your words, like you were drunk on this wave of pleasure— and of course nam-gyu was going to take advantage of this. “yeah? need me s’bad, huh? you just want to get your needs met, don’t you?”

the mix of your tired state and the sheer sense of euphoria you were riding boiled you down to a mumbling mess, the only coherent response you could give him was a loose nod. nam-gyu chuckled, bringing himself away from your breasts and falling back onto his side of the bed.

“well, you’re not the only one.” he stated, pulling the waistband of his sleep pants down; exposing the tent in his boxers. you may have been a loopy mess, but you knew exactly what he was getting at here. without command, you positioned yourself between his legs and started to free his dick on your own.

“i’d say it’s only fair, since you were practically begging for me before— ah, fuck..” what would have been more of his douchebag rambling was cut short by your taking his cock between your lips. with no warning at all, you cut the shit and started bobbing your head up and down his dick. now, he was the one who was becoming incoherent— rambling nonsense as he took a fistful of your hair in his grasp.

“ah, f-fuck.. your mouth feels.. s’good— yeah, j’st keep sucking me like tha— fuck” he was so fucked out already, you would have guessed that he was the one having the wet dream.

each time your tongue swirled around his shaft, you felt nam-gyu buck his hips up into your mouth like you were planning on abruptly stopping anytime soon. you were sucking him like a woman starved, like you planned on sucking him dry. his moans only egged you on as you dug your nails into his hips; deepthroating him all the while.

“mmh, f-f-fuck me, oh g-od, ‘m gonna cum soon if you don’t… don’t—“ you almost felt bad, with how pathetic he sounded. but you wanted to pull more of these sounds from his lips, you craved hearing him whimper and whine like a cheap slut for you.

poor nam-gyu, he doesn’t know half of the monster he’s created.

══════════════

hey chat! i’m alive! i can’t believe it’s been 18 days since my last work, i promise i didn’t mean to leave it that long!

i’m sure you all understand that life gets busy, but i don’t want anyone to think that i’m losing interest in squid game. well that could just never be possible.

have a fantastic night/day lovelies! 💋

as always, thank you so much for reading! if you have any constructive criticism/advice on how i can improve my writing, please feel free to dm me! 💌

🏷️: @namsgyu @gongyoosgf @kouzih

[rav1377]

Wipe Those Tears

John Price x fem!reader

Intended for the But Sir! universe

tw:fluff!!! sweet sweet fluff, yelling(not in text), reader “messed up”, etc etc

it was another simple day on base today. no missions or major paperwork to do. just a lazy day to do what the boys wanted. so Simon and Gaz went to the gym, Johnny went to the mess hall, and John stuck in his office, smoking a cigar while tapping at some little report on his computer. his eyes perked up, wide open, when he heard the fast paced click on your heels down the hall. you opened the door, sniffling, and John immediately put down his cigar.

“love? what’s wrong?” he asks and you shake your head, locking the door behind you. his arms open for you and you straddle him, pushing your teary face into his neck. John relents, letting you do whatever you need. a heavy hand rests over your spine as a sob racks your chest. “love…i want to help. can’t do that if you don’t tell me.” his deep rumble soothes you and you sit back, still perched on his lap. a shaky sigh leaves your throat and John’s waiting patiently. “nothing..i just messed up something and some guy got pissed.” you murmur, allowing the last few tears to fall down your pretty cheeks. “what got messed up?” John asks, using his thumb to brush over the tear stains. “i was doing an armory thing. kinda like a spreadsheet to account for the stuff, especially what you guys use and what other men are using. kinda just inventory.” John nods thoughtfully, attention fully on you. his cigar sits unused and wilting in its ashtray. “then this guy came in, saw what i was doing…i had to move some stuff around. nothing big, just three ammo boxes so i could see how many there were behind that….and then i saw a rifle put back wrong an-and it just pissed me off so i put it back in right.” you say, hands trembling as they go to hug your shoulders. “it wasn’t even loaded! and ‘m not stupid…know how to handle one.” you blubber. John hums. he knew that out of place things had a way of pissing you off. “no. you’re not stupid.” he says, rubbing your thighs. him and his boys made sure you knew how to handle the weapons that were oh so present on the base.

“then the man started screaming at me! he was just going on and on about the armory stuff and how civilians aren’t meant to touch anything in there, how i messed it up and it’d need to be redone now. he took my inventory sheet too…said it was all wrong and threw it away!” you whimper. John’s pissed at it all. not you, you didn’t exactly do anything wrong. you had a pass to be in that room and you were certified to handle weapons. no, he’s pissed at whoever had the audacity to even think about raising their voice at you. he’s going to might actually kill them. “just calling me all these horrible things, saying i was stupid and couldn’t handle it, that someone else should’ve done it and i needed to stick to desk duty. called me a whore too, like who are you to even?!” you cry, sentence cutting off with a frustrated groan. “anything else?” you shake your head. “no…i left after that. wanted to come here. knew you’d be around.” your voice warbles again and you plant your hands on his chest, smoothing them over the uniform he wears. “hmph. always around for you, love.” he says. you nod and lean into him again, his beard rubbing against the side of your face. “can’t i just stay here for the rest of the day.” you ask pleadingly. John chuckles. “course you can.” he murmurs back, keeping you on his thighs.

your eyes feel heavy and wet from all the crying you did. you needed it though. sometimes crying about stuff, no matter how little they may be, makes you feel better. and you do. Johns rubbing your back soothingly as he turns back to his desk to click away on something on his computer. he feels your lips press to his neck, they’re sucking light marks onto the skin and he sighs. “what’re you doing?” you ask, voice somewhat muffled by his skin. “playing minesweeper.” he says simply and you laugh, finally shutting your eyes.

you’re good and out by the time Simon and Gaz return from the gym. “Soap’s back at his office, more paperwork he forgot about.” Gaz says, plopping down on a chair. “what’s with the dove?” Simon asks, stretching his arms above his head. “someone yelled at her today for doing her job. messed up all her bloody work, and then thought it’d be a good idea to say that she didn’t know how to do her job and call her a whore.” John says, eyes narrowing. “who?” Gaz asks. “well i know who it is.” Simon says. “that god awful captain in the other wing.” John nods. Simon sighs and stands. “we going to hurt him or humiliate him?” John shrugs. “that’s up to you lieutenant.” Gaz stands. “bit of both might be in order.” he says coolly, opening the door for him and Ghost. John nods before resting his hands on your back, keeping you snug in his arms before shutting his own eyes. “I’ll always be here to wipe your tears.” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

[biscuits-and-gracie]

Lights, Camera, Action

summary: "you know I can't make it on my own"

characters: diretor! rafe. movie star! reader

warnings: dark. toxic! controlling! rafe

word count: 1.2k

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

The warehouse breathed old Hollywood-if old Hollywood had died and been taxidermied. Velvet curtains bled from exposed rafters, their color a bruised red that lingered somewhere between desire and danger. The concrete floor, long buried under faded Persian rugs, smelled like dust, antique perfume, and something sweeter-like a secret left out too long. A single spotlight buzzed above you, humming like a warning. Its heat clung to your skin, making you sweat even though the air was otherwise still and cold, the kind of cold that felt curated.

Nothing about the room was accidental.

At the center sat a couch-pink velvet, faux vintage, cushions worn down in all the wrong places. Behind it, a projection screen flickered with static, soft and persistent, like ghosts murmuring just out of reach. A camera on a tripod stared you down, its red light blinking. Watching. Recording. Already choosing which version of you to remember.

Rafe stood behind it, unmoving. All black. Sleeves pushed to his elbows, forearms smudged with ash and quiet authority. He didn’t posture-he didn’t have to. There was a stillness to him that pulled the whole set taut. Like the breath before the curtain rises.

“You’re early,” he said without looking up, his voice deep and deliberate, smoothed over like whiskey poured in a quiet room. “Good girls show up early.”

You stood beneath the spotlight, the only soft color in the room besides the red. He’d put you in a baby blue slip dress-thin and wrong for the weather, for the occasion, for anything but this. It caught the light just enough to make your skin look unreal. Like something he’d conjured. Not clothed, not bare-just exposed.

He looked at you then. And smiled.

“Let’s begin.”

Your nod felt practiced. Not rehearsed, but inevitable. Lips painted pink, trembling at the edges. You couldn’t remember when the part started, only that he’d given it to you. There hadn’t been an audition. Just a choice. His.

“Sit,” he said.

You did. Movements neat, quiet. The couch whispered under your weight. The camera adjusted with a soft whirring sound, its lens narrowing in on you like it already knew your lines. Rafe stepped forward, movements slow, deliberate-artist or architect, it didn’t matter. He was building something out of you.

“Lights,” he murmured, and the set turned gold and low-lit, like dusk caught in a jar.

“Camera.” The lens blinked, then blinked again.

“Action.”

You swallowed. Voice thin, airy-just how he liked it.

“Put me in a movie.”

He didn’t respond. Just watched. Boots heavy on the rugs, he approached, a silhouette split by shadows and light. Not touching. Not yet.

“Again,” he said, his tone softer now, but charged. “Say it like the world ends if I don’t.”

You licked your lips. Met the lens.

“Put me in a movie,” you whispered, with just enough breath to make it fragile.

He tilted your chin with two fingers, angling your face toward the light like a sculpture. Studying you.

“You can be my daddy,” you breathed.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty-it was full. Waiting. Holding its breath.

Rafe smiled, slow and satisfied.

“That’s my little star.”

The camera didn’t blink. The red light didn’t waver. And still, he never called cut.

You sat exactly as he wanted-knees together, hands folded, gaze wide and practiced. The spotlight pulsed overhead, its hum growing louder. The kind of sound that settles in your bones.

He circled you, steps soft. Measured. Like a wolf pacing the perimeter of its own invention.

“You’re stiff,” he said. “Too aware. This isn’t a recital. You’re not here to be polite. You’re here because I made you something more than forgettable.”

You didn’t answer. The space between you stretched, quiet and taut.

He knelt in front of you, elbows on his knees, hands steepled like he was about to pray-or confess. The air between you smelled faintly of smoke, cologne, and static. Something heavy clung to the room. A stillness pretending not to be a threat.

“Let’s try something else,” he murmured, almost kindly. “This is the scene where you ask me to never let you go. Because if I turn off that camera…” His voice dipped, “you disappear.”

Your breath caught. That was enough for him.

Behind you, the projector blinked to life. Footage from earlier played in grainy loops-you, in the same dress. The same posture. But in that version, your voice cracked more. Your desperation looked prettier.

“You were better then,” he said flatly. Not cruel. Just factual.

You flushed cold. Humiliation crawled low and slow through your belly.

“I can do it again.”

He finally turned toward you. “Then do.”

You stood, hesitant. The rugs shifted beneath your feet. The camera followed your movement, the sound of its motor a quiet purr. The spotlight cast your silhouette long across the back wall.

“Put me in a movie,” you tried, voice cracking like old film.

Rafe didn’t blink.

“Again.”

“Put me in a movie. I-I can’t make it on my own.”

He inhaled through his nose, slow. Pleased.

“Now,” he whispered. “The secret.”

You took a shaky step closer, the lens swallowing everything else in your view.

“You can be my daddy.”

The light above flickered.

“Again,” he said, almost reverent. “Whisper it. Like it’s just for me.”

Your breath fogged the lens.

“You can be my daddy.”

He smiled like a magician proud of his best illusion.

And somewhere in that moment, you forgot the scene had ever begun.

The camera never stopped. Rafe never called cut. And still, you stayed-because you weren’t sure there was anything beyond this stage. He blurred the lines too well. The role too tight. The spotlight too warm.

Rafe stepped into view, shadows stretching behind him like spider legs. His presence didn’t need to be loud to be consuming. He moved like someone used to rearranging reality to his liking.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked, voice low as velvet.

You nodded.

“Say it.”

“To be in the movie.”

He tilted his head. “Wrong.”

A pause. Then, closer:

“You’re here because I see you. And no one else ever did.”

You flinched. He smiled.

“I built this stage. This light. That dress. I built you.”

He brushed your jaw, not to comfort-but to claim. Then moved behind you again. One hand grazed your spine, just enough to correct your posture.

“You need me.”

The words sank in like wet concrete.

He flicked the projector again. This time, the screen showed the set without you-empty. Lifeless. Colorless.

“That’s the world without me,” he whispered. “You only exist because I said ‘action.’”

Your knees weakened. He stepped forward, took your hand-not to hold it, but to mold it. He lifted your fingers to your lips.

“Everything you want is yours,” he said. “But only if you remember who made you worth watching.”

The camera blinked red.

Still recording.

Always recording.

You didn’t cry.

Good girls don’t cry on camera.

[mycomori]

every time i think things have gotten a little better they just get even worse and this is why i can’t stay fucking sober because everything sucks all the time endlessly and how in the FUCK am i supposed to not wanna drink about it and of course ive got other coping mechanisms but ive lost so so so many over the years either by recovering from something like ed or self harm (kinda) or not being able to look at things that used to mean the world to me without a painful aftertaste and im tired dude. i’m fucking tired of loosing all my friends and my supports and everything i had to cope. and it’s not really that i ever lost the friends, it’s that none of them are okay w each other and only okay w me and i can’t even mention my best friends in front of my other best friends without second guessing mentioning their name and how it will make the vibe and i just. i didn’t have anything to do with ANY of this. all these conflicts happened outside of me and only involved me because it’s between two people o love. but i guess it wouldn’t be the first time this shit happened to me, or the second ,or the third, or th

[syluses]

father figure

sylus x female reader

he takes you in, he feeds you, he gives you a home when the world around you can no longer make sense of the word- and yet you’re just as much of a grounding force in his life. when the frenzy hits, though, he can’t make heads or tails of anything; all he knows is that you’re a pretty, fleshy thing and he aches to sample it.

content smut/nsfw, daddy kink, dilf/guardian! sylus, so by a stretch it can be pseudocest, noncon, soft! sylus but turns into frenzied! sylus, yandere themes, piv, rough handling, loss of virginity, some angst because of guilt/disillusion, codependency, age gap (but both parties are 18+), biting, dark content, almost 10k words

sidenote i could only resist the catch-22 sylus agenda for so long. it’s not fully canon compliant but its heavily based around it. so yes sylus has his iconic mullet and he’s a lil baby crashout in this. also no this isnt even the sylus bday fic i had in mind but if i dont get that one out in time then this will be the substitute 😣 anways, i hope u enjoy my friends <3

You don’t remember much, growing up. Beyond him, at least.

The world goes to shit with the predators and your parents fade out of the equation- and you’re left alone for much of your youth until an ominous man comes along and takes you under his wing— but only reluctantly.

For a while afterward, you think he still grudges you for the day you, in one way or another, managed to fall under his custody, becoming a knot in his neat web of plans and purposes. Deep down, you got the feeling that he didn’t need you as much as you did him; despite his choosing to keep you around, it was likely more out of guilt than any genuine affection- but you’d decided that was okay.

He saved your life, pulled you from the fire before you could really feel its burn, and you’d be the last to make complaint for your circumstances.

There’d be no circumstances if not for him.

But he tenderizes. It turns to be an open thing, his fondness.

He takes you in when you’re fifteen. Since then- throughout the course of around six years, he’s become softer. Less ambiguous to you. There’s things he keeps under wraps and always will despite the harmless pestering on your end (like questions regarding his work, the silhouettes that trail you both constantly— and the curious glances thrown to the blood on his collar after he returns late in the night). But he’s not longer as obscure to you, his person.

Trust blooms in the parts of you where an impoverished lifestyle of scraping by carved out gaps. And you’re used to hiding- that’s not much different now- but instead of diving for shady alleyways, you find refuge in him.

He’s dangerous. That was established early on; since the first moment you met him, really, knelt before him in fear after grabbing his pant leg for help (an action he mistook for a foolish attempt at pickpocketing), that was obvious.

He’s threatening.

Never to you. Not now.

Sylus is a man of impressive decorum and somehow all the blood coating his hands doesn’t take away from his class— he extends those hands to you, callouses and all, and gives you a patient look as if he’s expecting you to take them.

At sixteen you start calling him dad (more of an accident than anything else- it’s not a conscious thing that compels you to view him as something paternal).

He doesn’t object to it.

Things fall into place in weird ways.

When all the pieces settle, you find yourself looking at a semblance of a home— a safe place that the self-proclaimed beast curated with his own paws through painstaking efforts. (Whether you were fully cognizant of them or not didn’t matter: he tried his damnedest to be what you needed, and could only hope it was enough.)

The two of you are always on the move. He barges into your room panting at night and tells you to hurry and pack a bag, or just outright scoops you up in his arms and tucks you into the car’s backseat seconds before you hear the tires revving off. Your surroundings are perpetually changing around you and yet he remains the same; a citadel, a rock in your life.

Sylus provides an air of safety. Despite it all, the abrupt ‘field trips’ (at least, that’s what he called them when you were a bit younger) taken to ward enemies off your location, the bullets that fling by your periphery on furtive nights out and the red threads that coil behind him like talons- destroying anything before it can so much as harm a hair on your pretty head- you feel safe with him.

Predator or not- he’s good to you, a lighthouse fixed firmly amidst rolling smog and cyclones.

You can’t count a time he’s lost control or been unprepared for a frenzy, and he’s taken the proper precautions to keep you from him whenever he suspects one is coming on. The broken activator just solidifies his vigilance. And he’s instructed you plenty on what to do if he does lose it, God forbid, albeit your agreement to it was utterly uneasy.

He figures he’ll spare you the little horror show, he’d joked just to smooth out the worried crinkle in your brow.

Yet- Figures he’ll spare you your life, is what he doesn’t say, despite it being a shared thought between you both.

He teaches you how to wield a gun early on.

You’d told him you didn’t wanna use it, but something as trivial as guilt had no place in Linkon as it collapsed into decadence and carnal ruin. And something like sympathy, he’d also added, was stupid. An invitation to get yourself killed.

(Silly, that. Silly and hypocritical of the man who takes pity on runts.)

Conversation is kept at a minimum at first, and clipped, but he sprinkles in tips and tricks at self preservation— life hacks in the most literal sense— and he keeps an eye on you. Watching always. He makes sure you’re holding up well and even lets you hold down the fort while he’s gone doing God knows what. It feels like a privilege when he entrusts things to you, no matter how seemingly small.

Sylus is special to you. You love him as a teacher, a protector, a warm chest to snuggle up to on the sofa when you’re restless and can’t sleep but you know he’s downstairs with a cushion waiting—

You love him as a father, too.

Not everything about him is clear to you, though... You learn many things but one you have more difficulty understanding is the way he perceives you.

You don’t know if he loves you as a daughter, or a welcome nuisance, or a stray (because he has a penchant to root for the underdog). At first, you questioned if he even loved you at all.

But you’re older now,… and you see it, the heart he wears on his sleeve to bleed for you. He cares for you. And he’s there for you.

And when he asks you to leave with him- less of a hurried demand now and more of a gentle, imploring breath amidst chittering sounds of crickets and night bugs as he stands as a single shadow against your bed frame—

You take his hand.

✦

Boxes piled in every other corner, the building feels less like a home and more like a warehouse- a very tiny, cozy warehouse, with each of your scents intertwining in the unassuming spaces where you meet.

It’s no feat of architecture- just a small apartment nestled in the innards of the southern district, and it certainly isn’t a product of exorbitant spending (the place is deceptively… humble, for what Sylus can afford), but for what it is, you like it.

You’ve dwelled at several different addresses before, and you expect this arrangement will be more of the same. You stopped mourning over the loss of houses that could’ve been homes some time ago; you bounce between streets and domains like rabbits. However, there’s a strange comfort that builds in your chest as weeks pass and, for this reason or that, your guardian shows no signs of jilting the flat.

One day, he calls you to the living room after you’ve showered, and he sits you down.

You lie in a makeshift cage between his long legs as they hang over the couch, one hand smoothing over your damp hair while the other brushes it through.

He’s never in much of a hurry to speak, so when you reach for the TV remote to fill the silence, and he stops you- you concede to the quiet, knowing whatever he’ll say to break it will be worth some thought.

Still, he seems more contemplative than usual. It warrants pause on your end.

Internally, you consider your belongings- the deliberate choice you made to keep most of them boxed- and find relief in the fact that you’ll have less to pack if Sylus were to inform you right now of another move.

It’s a little sad, but it’s just the way things are. You won’t cry over the hand that you were dealt. If nothing else, you’re just thankful, what with the squeeze this city of sin has on its people, that somewhere along the way, Sylus came to loosen you from it.

You owe him. But he never names his price.

Long, rough fingertips meticulously weaving through your hair, gentle despite the callouses as he twists it into braids, you fall into the belief that he won’t.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but you can’t find much in you to debunk it save for the tiny, deep-rooted fear that one day you’d wake up, and- just like your parents on the day of outbreak- he’d be gone. There was plenty of doubts in your head, but most if not all were born from an old trauma, and Sylus seemed… content, weirdly enough, at your side.

It becomes an easier and easier thing to believe that’s where he’ll remain.

“Sweetie,” he eventually says, “I wanted to… discuss something, with you.”

You perk under his hands, spine straightening. You give him a sidelong glance over your shoulder and find his eyes, a sharp red, surprisingly mellow as they flit across the bridge of your nose, reading your expression carefully.

“What’s wrong?”

That (the instinctive response to believe something’s gone amiss) almost brings a wry smile to his lips, but he wets them a moment later and opens them to speak. “Nothing. Not this time,” he explains smoothly. “You… You’re used to moving around, the both of us are. I’m sure it’s been… tiring, at the best of times.”

“Well,” you start as a reply, but find your speech cropped short because you’ve no real way to deny that: it was exhausting. Of course it was. But wherever he went, you’d follow. That’s just how it’s always been.

Besides, if not fixed firmly at his side- you’d be choosing the hell that is overrun, lawless Linkon; to be tossed back into its maw for the predators or, if you’re more fortunate, a not as brutal death by starvation.

Noting your silence- your agreement- Sylus continues.

He ties off the end of the tuft with a colorful band and moves to work on the other, surprisingly deft. He’s only done your hair a million times- but still, his odd expertise in it was as surprising as it was endearing. The fact that you’re twenty-one now doesn’t change this common arrangement- or the mutual fondness the two of you have for it. You like when Sylus dries or does your hair, and evidently, he does too, for whatever reason.

Maybe it’s just therapeutic for him to feel something soft in his hands. He’s better acquainted with the opposite.

“So what if we were to stay?”

The words take a moment to click.

Because you don’t stay anywhere. You don’t stay, you just run and drive and hide. Live life perpetually on the down low. On the run.

Sylus does not settle.

Still, his voice, thoughtful and velvety, rumbles behind you in a continuous, comforting sound and forces you to take what he’s saying seriously.

“This place- you don’t dislike it, do you? It’s nice. Nothing gaudy or impressive. But it’s… homey,” he muses aloud. “Off the books. You’re safe here. Safer than what the other addresses had to offer, at least.”

You ponder it for all of five seconds before answering. And to be fair it’s not actually hard to; an inner part of you assumed you’d be on the move for all your life, but you’re weirdly pleased at the idea of… not being on the move for all your life.

Some anchorage sounds nice.

You tuck your head to your chest. “I… I think I would like that.”

He perks a bit. You feel it in his hands when they pause, done with their task, and one shifts to rest on your crown.

His knees, flanking either side of you, close in. Without thinking, you latch onto one’s calf and lean into it as you grab the remote. This time he lets you.

“Yeah?” He goes, a little breathless. “Are you sure? You realize it’d be a little more… permanent.”

“Okay.”

Sylus looses a sigh somewhere behind you.

“What I’m getting at is that you’re no longer a little squirt in desperate need of me,” he clarifies in a more pointed tone, and you resist arguing that- you have no time to, really, “so if you want to leave, you can feel free to. Don’t think you’re being shackled here by me.”

For as genuine as his words sound, you quickly cotton onto the expectancy that undercoats them- the mite of something that almost makes you believe he’s waiting for affirmation on your end. A rare thing. Usually it’s the other way around.

It pulls a huff from you, though. Peels of laughter rattle from the screen in front of you (he managed to unpack your TV, but as it stands, most of the house is still pretty bare) but you ignore your favorite show for the moment to turn and frown at him.

You grab his knee while you do, saying, “Of course I don’t think that. If anything, I feel like I’m holding you back.”

Scarlet eyes blink and widen, but just slightly. White hair falls over his brow (his locks loosening from gel after a long day) when he gives his head a tilt. After a beat, he laughs at you, a deep, rumbling sound- and pats your head directly after to fix the flustered knot in your brow.

“Well, I guess we’re both wrong then, hm?

He stoops forward to kiss your cheekbone- a chaste, quick thing- and then he gets up with a grunt to head for the hall.

You watch him with a strange flutter in your chest (one that you label affection; not a wrong guess but it also fails to fully encompass just what he means to you) and stare at the wall even as he disappears behind it.

But he calls over his broad shoulder to you, “Don’t sit too close to the screen, by the way. Someone tends to get headaches when watching cartoons.”

Crossing your arms with a pout, you lean your back into the seat of the couch and splay your legs out on the fluffy rug. You’re glad for that being unpacked, but quickly find yourself planning for the following days and all you’ll have to take out and assemble- which admittedly wasn’t much, but it was still enough to trigger your lazy streak.

Sometimes you just want to lounge around all day and do nothing: a fantasy that feels more possible after your guardian’s suggestion.

You holler back, “Oh, just go to sleep, old man.” Distantly, a door opens, but it doesn’t close.

He’ll be out later.

✦

He doesn’t come out later, contrary to your belief, but his open door does make a little more sense to you when it’s deep into the night and you emerge from your own room, scared, and traipse down the hall.

The remnants of a nightmare that felt too-real grip you. Five fingers on, they don’t let go.

But Sylus- the quasi foreboding man who took you in- knows how to pull you from a pinch.

You seek his warmth as the swath of wooden tiles cooling the balls of your feet blends into carpet- that of his bedroom- navigating in total darkness as you enter.

“Sylus-?” You can’t even get the word out before he startles upright and you hear the clink of something steely and dangerous—

“I-It’s me, daddy!” You assuage quickly, voice a frail, shaken sound that’s made even smaller by the dregs of a bad dream that still hangs fresh over your mind.

Even as the images peter out— claws wrapping around your throat, a dumpster rattling as you and other ragamuffins brawl over veritable trash as food, the roar of a predator as it holds you down, saliva dribbling into your ear— the emotions are harder to shake.

You feel dizzy and a little out of place as he lets out a deep sigh of relief, flicking on the lamplight, and blinks heavily at you.

The fingers that have dipped beneath the mattress retract and return to his lap. You observe it with a relaxing of your shoulders.

Some of the tension fades from him too, but not all of it.

He asks, concern entangled with gravely bits of exhaustion, “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

You say nothing, your own voice failing you as you mentally struggle to not only find your thoughts but string them together in a coherent way.

Everything around you was blurry. Felt unstable. A cold, clammy sweat licks up your palms and forehead. The ground beneath you grows a mouth and threatens to swallow you whole- the shadows in the corner ominous and great, watching.

Of course, it was only a nightmare, an unpleasant dream that you’d laugh about and forget easily enough come morning. But right now, it’s not. It’s vivid and horrifying and amalgamating into the atoms of reality to create a special kind of paranoia. It won’t let you sleep tonight.

…Not unless something’s there to hold you, at least.

Sylus’s own voice is groggy, a bit confused. Almost unthinkingly, though, he extends a hand to welcome you.

“C’mere,” he lifts the blanket and you’re instantly drawn to the empty space beside him.

You assume it with eagerness and all but barrel into his chest, punching out a grunt from him before he chuckles faintly, reaching over to pull on the thin, beaded chain. Darkness paints across your surroundings but a small highlight swims in cherry-red eyes as they soften at you.

Strong, lean arms wrap around you, helping you burrow into him without objection.

“Was it a nightmare?” He murmurs just above a whisper, voice warm but rough as the fluffy comforters, the same ones he tucks you both under, hug him back in. “Haven’t had one of those in a while, hm?”

He feels you jerkily nod under the dip of his chin and makes a sighing response. Callous finger pads close around your back and rub little circles there meant to soothe. “S’okay, kitten. It’s over now,” he breathes, languidly pecking your temple with open lips, smearing away the part of your fringe that’s been pasted there by a cold sweat.

He has this weird habit of taking you under his wing despite his serrated edges and the natural intensity of his stone face; right now, you curl up closer to his breast, finding a tenderness he perhaps only reserves for you, and he exhales overhead.

Fears are fast to flee, wrapped up by him. As moments pass, and your erratic heart rate resumes a more normal pace, you sound your gratitude in a low murmur. Vaguely, you wonder if you’d also stirred Sylus from a nightmare of his own upon stumbling into his room, because his own pulse- typically extremely slow- undulates in his sternum.

It thumps against your ear, creating a cadence almost considered fast. A touch uneven and a lot loud.

“…Thank you, daddy,” you mouth against him, nuzzling into his pajamas- a thin, linen shirt that oozes a domesticity you’re hard-pressed to come by.

Beneath your ear— a skip.

“For… for always being there for me.”

It sounds a little sappy, but in the moment, none of that phases you. Evidently- with a low, contented hum emanating from deep within his chest- it doesn’t phase Sylus, either.

You wonder if it’s your imagination or a real, bonafide smile that curves against your head.

“Well, that’s where I belong, isn’t it? At your side,” he murmurs, and after a beat you feel his lips press a kiss to your crown, mild but lingering. “And you belong at mine, if you want it. I’ll always be here for you, sweetie,” he promises, “no matter what.”

Finally, you let your eyes flutter shut.

✦

Weeks pass. They do so pleasantly; slowly, but not in a bad way.

The quiet- mainly the lack of wandering from point A to B all for the sake of anonymity- is a welcome reprieve. Some doubts linger surrounding the agreement you and Sylus came to, but it becomes a more solid idea in your head as days pass without interuption:

This can be home.

So you start acting like it.

When noon hits, you don’t go with Wolfe, Sylus’s most trusted contact, for the usual training session when he swings by- bidding him farewell with a small wave- but instead stay back to work on the house.

Noon comes and goes. The sky turns dusky and your belly howls for food but you pay none of it any mind, too engrossed to care.

Because this is exciting.

You decorate all throughout the day, unwrap furniture from cardboard and feel anticipation swell inside you. You sing and twirl.

Before Sylus returns, you buzz with excitement while picturing his face upon walking in- not to a barren space but to a cozy one- and the rare show of his surprise. It’ll probably be nothing beyond a flare of his eyes or a soft sound of acknowledgement, but you pine for it all the same.

You’d like to make him happy. To make him feel more comfortable, at home. Especially after a long day spent weaseling throughout the blind spots of the city. He’s only allowed so much time to kick off his shoes and relax, and you want to highlight those moments for him.

It’s the least you can do, you think with a small smile, stepping down from a stool to appraise a photo you just hung (one with his hand around your waist, pulling you to his side— a would-be perfect photo if not for the crow that blurs in the corner of the lens).

Focused, you stick your tongue out and square your fingers, closing one eye because that’ll definitely help you make a better judgement on whether or not the frame is straight enough—

It slants sharply when the front door opens and slams.

You jolt, ripped from your small trance as you spin your head towards the entryway, only an iota prepared to run for the hallway and bird dive into the closet- that’s if you even make it in time. Bullets will always be faster than your little legs and if you’re correct in your belief that it’s those shady men who hate Sylus, come to retaliate against him, then there’s no way they’ll deliberate and give you a chance to escape—

Sock-clad feet halt on the floor. The stop in momentum hurls your head inches beyond your axis of balance, but the figure that freezes in the threshold, familiar, tall but hunched over, somehow seems more surprised.

Not at the new touch-ups on the walls and the neat, embellished rooms- no, but at you.

Trudging into the apartment, he looks worse for wear and you take the sight of him in with a different, growing kind of alarm.

Your shoulders ease up, just slightly. It’s not an intruder, a pack of big, unscrupulous men barging in to avenge some grievance related to the assassin who took you in- which is relieving, but the concern is tight in your brow all the same.

When he speaks, his voice is ragged. Half man half animal.

“Sweetie- what are you-?” He cuts himself short to make a sound of displeasure that comes from deep within his throat. Raw, brutal.

“You shouldn’t be here-!” You give a little flinch in response to the ferocity in his tone, phlegm catching in his trachea before he looks down, shakes his head with a hard blink, and stomps into the bulwarks of the apartment.

“Dad, you-?”

Ignoring your startle (perhaps blind to it; you think his mind is on other, more inward matters as something wild glints in his eye- paired with a conflict that worsens with each heaving breath), Sylus grabs your wrist, and he does it tightly.

“There’s no time- I need you to hurry. Help me with my suppressants- now!”

Something clicks in you, then, a distant memory lighting itself from a foggy space of remembrance.

“And kitten, listen to me. If I ever… lose control,” he starts, words a gentle, almost resigned mumble against a backdrop of city sirens and a snarling engine as the car veers into a more secluded road. You stare at his profile with a flicker of unease. But he remains composed, saying as if it’s a topic as simple as the weather, “I need you to handle me,” he glances at you, gaze steady, a brilliant, solid red, even as your mouth opens to bluster out a denial of that possibility.

“But- your suppressants- We can use them—“

“Maybe,” he turns to look out the windshield, at the road ahead. Dust and debris scrape in the wind. Even for the southern district, the place was ratty, but this is where the deal was to be had, and Sylus needed those vials before morning. “But things don’t always go as planned, you know that, sweetie. So… If something ever fails, or I become immune to the dosages— I taught you how to shoot.”

“I- I wouldn’t shoot—!“

He snaps his head over and barks, fingers whiting around the wheel. “You would! You would and you will.”

Startled, your vision blurring despite the hand you close firmly over your breast- as if balling your emotions in your palm, holding them at bay- you swallow. Scarlet eyes ripple, irises dancing around a black orb as it shrinks and becomes frantic. Unease flutters in your chest as his cold instructions turn over in your mind- but for all his hammering of them into you- you don’t bite the hand that feeds. It’s just not in your nature.

You don’t even bite the hand if it asks you to.

Begs.

Noting your shock, the stunned expression that barely masks a confused kind of hurt, your guardian blinks. Sighs and looks away.

Exhaust blows out from the back of the vehicle; you catch it in dark tails from the rear view mirror, in whiffs as the air around you becomes sour and noxious.

“I taught you to shoot,” he says again after a beat. Softer, this time. “When it gets to the point where it really matters,… don’t let your daddy down, okay? Please, sweetie. Just… agree on this one thing.”

For once in a handful of years, not considered easy by any means- but enjoyable at his side- you stare at the man who took you in and find him cruel.

You dip your chin, more out of hurt than anything else, highly uncertain as dread contricts your lungs, and nod.

It does what it was meant for: It placates him. You think it even convinces him.

He’s putting all his faith in it, in that wordless assent you’d given him years ago, for the sake of the present.

Though, Sylus still thinks it’s manageable. That there’s still a shot that this frenzy- triggered by an enhancer after a gloved hand squeezed glass to the point of bleeding, vindictive and bent on getting the last laugh- can be resolved. So you hurry to lay him on the couch as his breathing picks up, scuttling towards his room before coming back with arms full of a briefcase.

You crash to the rug and prop the case on the coffee table, fishing out a syringe before sidling up to him and taking his arm.

With some resistance- and a grunt that sounds more wolfish than man- he lets you, and you line up the needle with his arm. You say a curse under your breath when tears smear across your lids and make fuzzy the room around you.

“Hurry,” he rasps.

Shakily, you dig at the crook of his arm with your thumb to plump up the vein before- with little coordination- you feed the needle in with a sharp breath.

It mingles with Sylus’s as he makes an uncomfortable noise, the glittery fluid disemboguing into his bloodstream.

Split seconds feels like eons.

Time moves slow as molasses and you chew on your lip until something like metal sours your tongue.

Between fingers that tremble wildly just to keep it inside him, steadily injecting him with the suppressant, and a heart that pounds with uncertainty in your ears— given no assurance whatsoever that you’re not too late to pacify him— you don’t realize all the gawking on his part.

The ardency in his gaze, fleetingly tender, as it remains fixed to you. Some unspoken battle happening behind it.

…The darker thing, with a name you can’t assign, is winning out.

He feels it, too; conscious thought lending itself to his baser person— instincts, ugly and primal and overwhelming— all against his will.

“You were supposed to be with Wolfe,” He forces out with great difficulty, sweat beading his temple. He’s hot to the touch, skin like a kiln, baking your fingertips as they hover over him.

Light as feathers, you still feel the burn.

“I would’ve never came.”

Thickly, you swallow, rubbing his forearm soothingly even as the veins there bulge and glow, putting a fright in you that you do well to ignore.

He needs you right now. He needs you and you won’t fail him.

“Shh, shh,” you hush, folding your upper half over the sofa to plant your head against his shoulder.

One hand, between your bodies, gradually plies him with the suppressant; the other slips to the nape of his neck and intwines with his mullet, tugging softly.

He lets out a soft sound at that, temporarily appeased.

“It’s okay, daddy. It’s okay.”

You need it to be true.

For what it’s worth, he does seem just a touch comforted by that.

It’s not lasting.

He’s dangerous, and he knows. He’s losing out to the predator instinct, and he knows and he’s terrified but he remains rigid. Has to.

“I want you to inject all of it into my veins,” a sonorous voice rings at your ear, dry, open lips moving against your head as he smushes a kiss there. You think it’s more subconscious a move than anything as the cognizant trace in him fades out, albeit you still appreciate it.

A large hand, hanging off the couch- shaking not because it’s weak but because it’s trying its best to be- shifts to rest over your back.

He continues, “And then I want you to leave me. If we’re lucky, I’ll pass out and ride it through that way…”

Clenching your jaw, you nod against his neck, under his chin, and bite down on a whimper.

“You’ll be okay, daddy. Tomorrow morning, you’ll be all better. The suppressants w-will make you sleepy, and—“

Something surges in him, then, a growl cutting through your eardrums as you flinch back and he- before the second little vial even reaches the halfway tick- knocks it from your hands.

It collides with the coffee table and shatters.

The rug- the fluffy one you’d happily picked out with him some months back- darkens with a splotch you can’t easily scrub out.

Like an animal in a cage he’s revolted. You’re not naive enough to not see the movement for what it is; no matter how watered down, it’s still a version of it: a beast lunging.

Whatever’s left of his conscience is just barely barring that monster off, but as you fall back on your ass and gape at him, you realize with horror he will not turn out as the victor.

Fear brews in your belly. Butterflies swarm the pit of it, leaving nausea in the wake of their wings as they make quick work of your bravery- or the pretense you held of it.

A drop of blood pricks from the crook of his arm, the syringe made useless as it lay broken on the carpet: you watch it with shock, numbness almost, before looking up to him.

He forces himself to go recumbent, five fingers splayed over his face. The gaps in them, though, reveal grimacing, pearly teeth.

Canines bared no different than a hungry predator, defensive and bold.

Unlike you, very real in their display.

For a number of seconds, you do not breathe. Eyes wide and scared.

“Go,” he croaks out after a moment.

It takes longer than it should to register.

When it does, you gasp as if stirred from a bad dream. It’s precious- the sign he gives that he’s still in control- and you don’t take it for granted. You rise to wobbling knees, frenetically glancing between the dazzling shards and his heaving chest.

You extend a cautionary, worried hand, something in you utterly wrecked at the sight of him- your savior, your shield, your father figure- crumpled in on himself.

“Daddy—“

“Go!”

Silence strobes across the living room, but just for a second. It bites into you where it settles.

Unthinkingly, you turn. His words and their grating tone cut better than any knife ever could. Tears clinging to your lashes, you steel your legs (because they’re gelatinous beneath you), whip around, and start for the front door.

You don’t know where you’ll go apart from Sylus tonight, but that’s all to be figured out later after you calm your nerves down a bit and convince yourself it’ll all be fine—

The couch groans atop its wooden frame.

Suddenly, a hand snatches around your wrist, scorching hot, and when you swirl around, his head is bowed.

A whit of hope strings you along—

“D-Dad?” You breathe, “Are you okay now?”

Scarlet eyes peer up from a silvery curtain of hair, aflame, near glowing, and you let out a gasp.

—And drops you.

“I thought you wanted to help little old me? So…” he muses darkly, “where are you going?”

The reality of your situation takes a second to catch up to you.

Something that can accurately be called fear clamps in your chest— not for what he could be but for what he is now. Some change has happened in him, some sickness taken root, and until it passes, you’ll be victim to the beast that wears your savior’s face.

Stunned, you listen. “Has your father ever left you hanging? Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same?”

“Sylus-“

He tuts, a belittling sound. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. C’mere, kitten, sit.” Long fingers entwine around your wrist and you’re reminded of wolf paws trampling over twigs in forests. It’s not unbearably tight a grip, not yet, at least, but he’s certainly applying more pressure than what he generally does.

You wet your dry lip, dread wringing you from the inside out. You feel oddly parched.

“But Sylus- you’re not-“

“Sit,” he suddenly growls, something undeniably dark glittering in his eye.

You’re without opportunity to argue or even try to reason with him, because he yanks you into his lap and loops his arms around your middle.

You liken yourself to a bird in a cage. His limbs your bars and your soft sounds of fear like twittering.

Using the last of your rational thought- your brain losing ground to fight or flight instinct- you try to think back to his instructions (funereal as they were), but find yourself creating other options. Even if you did want to shoot Sylus like he’d made you promise all those years ago, it’s not like you’ve got a gun lying around for it… No, the one he gave you (the one you keep as a token of him, like a locket) is sandwiched between your mattress and its framework.

A-And that’s where it’ll stay. No matter what.

Because you don’t bite the hand that feeds. You don’t bite the hand that feeds even after it pleads to be.

You decide, right then, that it’s better to play dead.

Sat perfectly still in his lap, your plan succeeds for all of half a minute before a hitch appears. To begin with, it was one born out of desperation, with low expectancy- but damn it all you still flinch when you become aware of his teeth and your proximity to them.

Fangs brush against your throat, uncomfortably sharp. It raises alarm in you, but it’s quickly lost in the other warning bells clanging in your skull.

You shiver. To your horror, Sylus chuckles.

“Are you scared I’ll hurt you?” He murmurs, breath searing your neck where it fans against it. It’s labored and fast; the depravity amplified against your earlobe.

Somewhere in you, you find the courage to answer. “A- A little,” you feebly admit. “I couldn’t get all the suppresants in.”

Sylus hums, low and satisfied, but you don’t quite miss the undercurrent of decadence in it- as much as you might want to.

“Good,” he quips. “Frenzies feel so much better without the pushback. You shouldn’t have injected any in me in the first place.”

“But you said-“

“It’s in my DNA to want to bite. It’s a little cruel to keep me from that… don’t you think?”

A debate happens within you, short-lived but tumultuous. You deliberate on answering because really, how can you? What is there to say that can temper him when he’s like this? A predator in the flesh.

And the thing about predators is that, somewhere in the equation, there must be prey—

But no. No- you refuse to believe he’ll succumb to that animalism, not when he’s more or less like blood to you. Your trust for him runs as thick as it, anyway. Blood is thicker than water, and poison, too- so the toxic lilt in his voice means nothing. Nothing at all.

You swallow, unable to offer any real reply. “I- I-“

“No,” he snips, a palm drifting lower. Positively impatient. Ever the obliging, albeit sometimes brusque man, the Sylus you know is nowhere to be found.

“Tell daddy what you really think of him. Think he’s a monster, don’t you?”

Finally, he nips at your neck, cutting himself loose from the self restraint he stubbornly moored himself to, groaning at the softness. Seamlessly, he suckles a hickey into your throat and you mewl.

The single thread of whatever the hell it is that’s keeping him at bay- his buried conscience, perhaps- snaps.

He makes a hot, ferocious sound, pawing at your breast now, drawing a startled yelp from you that his gums throb at. “Should he act accordingly? Hm? Use your words, kitten.”

Words? No. No, you think actions would suit you better- he’s not in his right mind right now and you need to leave like he’d ordered before your image of him, the one you’d put on a precious pedestal, collapses.

Daringly, you get up to try and bolt out again, mind single as your eyes dart to the front door.

If you can just leave the apartment, maybe you can lose him in the weaving, shady paths that are labyrinthine Linkon. Surely, he’ll find someone else, someone deserving (culpable men are not hard to come by here), and make them his glorified plaything instead.

By the time the sun rises, he’ll have woken from this awful, twisted trance—

He lets out a roar, angrily snatching you back onto the couch.

This time, though, there’s no semblance of freedom as he pins you under him, hovering close enough to bump his long nose against yours as he grips your hips tight enough to bruise.

“Nawh, you wound me, sweetie… And here I thought…” he rasps, ruby eyes glossing as the lid droops, blatantly ogling your jostling breast, “You had daddy’s better interest in mind.”

That’s unclear. But yours? Your better interest?

There it is again- blitzing across your frazzled conscience, stark against the dreadful haze: Play dead.

You do.

The blow will come, that’s definite. But if you play your cards right, maybe, a small hope in the back of your head says, you can lessen it.

You go limp beneath him and his hands. Even as they grope your tits through your shirt before he quickly foregoes that charade in favor of ripping open the collar, you remain still. You clamp your eyes shut and bite down on a pathetic sound.

Each and every one of your intentions evade riling him up, and yet your mere presence, pliant but shivering beneath him, does a good enough job at that on its own.

Still, as his energy builds into a devastating force, you’re quietly thankful for the amount you did manage to get in with the syringe. Likely, you realize with a heavy swoop of your heart, the determining factor in your life.

H-How much was it again-? Two vials? Or a vial and a half-?

Briefly, you glance over to the table where the case lay, open but half empty, and contemplate something stupid before the man- beast- above you laughs. Asserts himself in your face.

He’s all you see when he says, “I guess you don’t have your better interest in mind, either. Hm, kitten?”

And you’re all he smells, feels, knows, as he ruts his clothed cock against your thigh and you feel the swollen bulge. You shiver again. He’s really, really hard and is he actually planning to fuck you with that-?

You?

The pleasured, but not close to satisfied, grunt he makes says yes. Yes, absolutely he’s going to fuck you.

Rip off your panties after uncivilly pulling off your shorts and stuff his flushed length inside with a—

—“Fuck, kitty!”

He’s met with resistance.

And you forget your plan completely, terror taking over entirely as you begin to wriggle and plead for him to hold off, to reconsider— you’re a virgin and he’s mean and given your relationship, you two were never supposed to end up parallel to one another on the couch, desire brewing between your naked bodies. Well, you’re naked- or growingly; but Sylus isn’t.

Scraps of leather cling to sturdy, lean muscle, but he’s broiling in them still, skin licked with sweat. Evidently, heat has fried his neurons- his memory of himself- too.

“Please, daddy, I- I’ll—“

Oh, break. You’ll one hundred percent break but you keep from saying it aloud because you suspect it’ll warm his blood all the more. A correct guess, but it’s a little late for taking back what you did say. Sylus cottons onto it and groans.

“Don’t do this, Sylus,” you try to remind him of who he really is, even if your voice is small and untrustworthy. “Y-You don’t have to. J-Just remember who you are- who I am!”

His precious girl.

Once, he’d even said, his treasure.

Your heart stings.

Taking out the engorged, weeping head of him and rubbing it at your mostly-dry entrance (in hopes to prime it after failing to push his way inside), he’s hardly lucid as you babble.

Cute… But unimportant, he decides.

…Yet, he does somehow find it in him to look up, and you do find a trace of… something in him, human-like and guilty, when he does. It’s quicksilver. Gone when you blink.

Your pussy lips try to spit him out but it just works him up further.

The darkness in his gaze returns in tenfold.

He manages a scoff. “Oh, c’mon. Of course I remember~ You’re daddy’s little girl, aren’t you?” He hums meanly, suddenly immune to the wide, kicked look you send him. It’s always done wonders on him before, but you’re met with failure.

“So how come you can’t take his cock? I know you could, if you just tried a little harder. Relaaax. Ease up. From now on, someone’s gonna have to be the calm one between us when I get into my frenzies. You can be that, right?” That sentence instills dismay in you for many reasons, but you have no time to think on them.

He husks, “Now, go on. Help guide me in.”

You don’t reach a hand down between you two like perhaps he wanted, but you do hear a faint squelch right then as he cants his hips forward an inch, and it does make you gasp. Despite yourself, you slick up for him- for God knows what reason, maybe just as self preservation or some deeper, pitiful attempt to please him- and it becomes obvious.

Sylus notes it with a shaky breath that blends with his other labored, ragged ones, and a grin that’d better suit a bastard.

He delves inside, by a small miracle, but you can’t stop from crying when he reaches halfway in and blood rings around the thick base of him. Inwardly, you try to separate the sin from the face, telling yourself between strained breaths that he’s not in control, that this frightening, terribly unfamiliar side isn’t the real him.

You whimper more when you realize you’ll be squinting at him for months to come, losing sleep over the question of, was he helpless to the beast, or hiding it in him all along? Was he a mere victim to the predator instinct forced onto him? or willfully steering it—?

No. No. Because he’s like blood to you. And blood is thicker than water, and poison, and the niggling doubts you feed on until gluttony.

“I-It hurts,” you try when he bottoms out with a resounding groan. Shameless and frenetic. He stoops over you after pressing your legs all the way back to the couch, rough as he purrs in your ear.

“You say it hurts, but your pussy just squeezes tighter around me… So you’d understand why I’d be getting mixed reactions, don’t you?”

He whispers. For the second documented time, you find Sylus cruel. Very, painfully, cruel.

It’s hard to argue with him, even when you know he’s wrong. You think if he was more awake right now, more him, then he’d side with you as well. And yet he’s completely untrustworthy right now, morally black and mean. So, so mean.

That devilish smirk on his blissed-out face might bring on an even sharper sting than his cock as it spears inside you and starts a brutal pace.

Well.

Not quite.

Your eyes flare. So do his, want and pure, unadulterated need zipping between your bodies as his perspiration dribbles onto your collar. He hangs his head into your shoulder and you feel droplets slip between the valley of your breast.

It doesn’t take long for the heat to feel sweltering; sweat running like the Nile between you both.

“Silly little bird. You just- hah, fuck- have no clue, do you? How tempting you are?”

You ignore it all because it’s better to. Maybe ignorance won’t shield you from his hands as they clench around the fat of your hips, but it’ll certainly help you later on down the line when you want to forget and are thankful for the kickstart.

You try to focus on the ceiling, but even that blurs behind him when he leans back some just to stare, moaning at what he sees.

Even beasts can appreciate beauty, he distantly observes.

Those eyes on you, not gentle per usual (albeit sometimes tinged with a harmless tease) but ravenous and sharp- are even harder to ignore. You can’t stop your hands from lifting to push at his face to try to block him out.

All for naught, of course.

With a choked moan, he chuckles. “Ugh- look at you. These little hands keep swatting at me, even though your face is full of pleasure. Fuck,” he curses, his face handsome but a bit unnerving as it dons a more perverted look, eyes half closed, “You feel…. good. I always knew you would.”

No. No. Shut up, shut up—

“You wanna be good for your daddy?”

Yes.

Not like this.

He gathers your unruly hands and cuffs them above your head. “Then lie down and take it. If it hurts as much as you pretend, I’m sure it’ll… feel better that way, if you give in.”

There’s a very small window in between Sylus hovering over you and then Sylus dipping down to bite the fleshy bit between your neck and shoulder: in it, there’s no time to prepare.

Ice tingles in your veins, shock stealing your breath.

It’s the pain, first dull and uncomfortable as his teeth sink in, but then quickly all-consuming, that helps you find the scream.

The scream— a small, broken cry.

It doesn’t make much noise, not enough for any possible neighbors to hear- in Linkon, none would even bat an eye to it, anyway- but he covers your mouth regardless. He eats up the pathetic sounds with rough lips and hungry groans.

You don’t know how much blood he’s drawn, but there’s a little on his teeth that he makes you taste.

“Ngh, you’re delicious,” he heaves after a break. Saliva connects you both in a fleeting strand. “I’m sure your pussy tastes even better- but kitten, I really don’t have the time right now to try it. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” He chuckles in your ear. You know he does not care for the answer. It’s deep and mean-spirited.

This side of Sylus- this rotten caricature of the man who took you in— All the hurt for it turns to loathing.

“For later,” he decides after a beat, resolved as he ignores your sneer.

You’re used to ambition on his end, but not greed: right now, his goals gravitate more towards selfishness than anything else.

All of it nears its end and quickly.

As he ruts into you, though, frenzied thrusts reaching their mark with loud grunts, it feels more gradual for you… Painfully slow. Seconds might as well be minutes, or hours, even.

It’s feral, the glint in his eye as he reshapes your walls to fit the outline of his massive cock, your virgin pussy spasming around him. Responsively, he gives a twitch, and you swear you feel his balls jump when he pauses- just for a moment- and they rest above your ass.

Sylus looks down at you, breathless and wild, and you shake at the lack of familiarity in his gaze. Ruby red eyes survey you almost frantically, with one intent only- to fuck you within an inch of your life, undoubtedly. Full of need. It’s a bottomless gaze. You think right then that you can’t give him what he wants because he’ll always be left wanting for more.

You’re not an ocean— if he reaches his hand in, he’ll inevitably reach the bottom but that clearly doesn’t stop him from trying to pull everything from out of you anyway.

It scares you. You feel small, mouse-like, but when he snatches your jaw into a sultry kiss, all canines and spit, you realize that even amidst the tumult of his predator state, you still mean something to him.

You’re all he sees. Feels. Understands to want for.

He burns inside you, the juncture of your thighs becoming sticky, gross. He ploughs inside without care for it, chasing his end and choking out moans along the way.

He coaxes some out of you, too.

Maybe it’s out of fear but you suckle on his tongue experimentally and he shakes, damp skin shivering under your finger pads as you dig them into his forearm.

Maybe you can’t play dead, but if all else fails, you can still play nice.

That’s in your best interest.

“F-uck, sweet thing, you’re gonna make me-“ a primal noise rips through his chest and rings in your ears. He lowers himself to your neck again and suckles at the orbs of blood that prick at the surface, lapping away at the small mess he made.

You wonder if after all this is over, you’ll be able to pretend it was just a love-bite, a hickey or something minor. Healable. Something able to be forgiven. Even if that would also be hard to reconcile with, considering you’d never thought he do something like this to you, the precious girl he’d flip Linkon upside down for—

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He’s classy, but not now. Cursing up a storm at your clavicle and pounding into you without thought, blunt nails embedding into your hips. Aching to brand himself wherever he can.

There’s no ceremony to it all (though there is a build-up, his pelvis quickening but stuttering against the underside of your bent thighs) when he comes.

He shouts and you scream, holding onto him for dear life as a torrent of something hot and thick floods you. Your legs shake, poor cunt desperately trying to push its intruder out but it flutters when he throbs inside you and quivers. A wisp of pleasure paralyzes you- it’s so good.

Warmth trickles between you; all along the seam of you when he withdraws until only the tip remains, his cheeks flushed, eyes unfocused.

You let your head bounce against the cushion when he slides it all out with a wet ‘pop’, squeezing your eyes shut in shame. But relief joins it, too, your jaw (that had went slack only to howl with delight) closing as you catch your breath.

It’s done. It’s over. You went through the hard part and now you just have to wait the aftershocks of it out until morning, when you’ll finally be given the chance to recuperate and forget the monster your daddy was acting the night before—

Something thick, straightening back to life, nudges at your sopping hole again as it clenches around nothing. Your eyes snap open.

A large, callous palm holds you down, bracing you by the collarbone. He tuts, leaning over you with a dazed but wholly vicious grin.

Far from satiated.

“Ah-ah, kitten. It’s a little early to tap out, isn’t it? I’m far from done with you.”

He drives himself back home, slamming into you with a moan you brokenly mirror.

✦

Morning birds tweet outside the window. Bickering back and forth to one another.

The sheer curtains glow with sunlight as the onset of dawn makes its way in. Rays of it slur together in blocks on the floor.

Sylus’s room, you realize groggily. Not the living room with its new sofa stained with sweat and sex or the rug with its shattered, neon vials.

A strong arm holds lazily to your waist. Warm breath at your ear tickles you into slight wakefulness. The body slotted behind yours isn’t scorching hot like your nerve endings remember, though, almost flinching in response, and his sounds aren’t ragged. No, it’s…

Peaceful.

The events of the evening before come back to you in increments.

Your mind, with the natural want to protect you, chalks it all up to a bad dream.

The ache between your sticky legs and the fat cockhead that sits limply above the cleft of your ass- appeased- says otherwise.

You let out a soft gasp. The man behind you grumbles out a low, noncommittal sound before his lashes flutter over the blade of your shoulder.

“…Baby? What’s wrong?”

He untucks himself from there and is given great pause when his nakedness- and yours- clicks. His limbs harden around you— horrified and confused as every fresh memory from last night comes barreling into him as well.

Stunned, he lifts his head from its perch at your shoulder, but his hand remains above your hip, feather light and hesitant.

Wearily, you turn to meet him when his other hand gently steers your chin to look his way.

He looks tired. Fucking exhausted, the fine wrinkles in his face emphasized under the weight of the night prior. He looks—

Devastated.

“You-…” A sharp, shallow breath beats from his chest. His eyes, wide and unsteady, flit between yours, searching desperately for something he can’t quite find or recognize as you wet your lip to speak.

“Yesterday, I… Started decorating the house. I was excited to show you,” you say without really knowing why. Sylus’s shoulders sag ever so slightly at your apparent calmness, but the fear in his eye remains as he surveys the bruises- all the discoloration in your otherwise supple skin- and blinks.

You inhale shakily, looking down to his chest and all its striations, put on full display in the afterglow of what transpired however many hours before.

It feels wrong to call it a night of love-making, or even a term more raw, unfeeling, as sex. No, it was…

He fucked you within an inch of your life and that was all you really knew. He fucked you until you passed out and then sometime afterwards, apparently snapped out of his trance just enough to carry you back to his bed and sleep the remnant of his frenzy through.

But it wasn’t his fault. Couldn’t have been.

(Whose, then?)

You murmur, “I should’ve went with Wolfe.”

“No,” and there it is again, that fucking snarl, searing you through to the core but before panic can settle, he’s cradling your cheeks and pressing his forehead to yours.

His eyes are intense, but not scary. No, they’re tender and beaten and lovely as his chest shudders and he shakes his head. “No, sweetie. What happened…” he starts, just as unsure of how to label it, “had nothing to do with you. Don’t ever blame it on yourself. Do you understand?”

Blearily, you nod.

You see him in double when he sighs and carefully thumbs away a tear you didn’t realize had formed and fell.

…But Sylus appears a mite uncertain with himself when his eyes fall to your breast before quickly averting, self aware to the point of near pain and definite discomfort. “I’ll clean us up,” he ventures, glancing at you again.

For permission, you realize. To scoop your jelly limbs up and carry you to the shower, bridal-style, where he’ll wash the both of you naked, intimate and-

And should-be alarming.

But it’s not. Not now when you’re still dazed and bruised and his dried cum is caked to your thighs in white rivulets- and he’s just as wounded, but ready to fix. Ready to repaint over the peeling bits of you both in the aftermath of it all. Hang a picture over the hole in the wall of your heart.

“…Okay.”

He wastes no time in picking you up, but he’s gentler than ever when he takes you with him to the bathroom adjoined to his room. It’s awkward: you note that even in the bone-deep fatigue. You can tell he’s trying not to look at all the places instinct tells him he should, and you do well to blot out the sight (and memory) of his softened cock as it dangles between his legs.

The shower starts. Sylus keeps you upright so you don’t fall because your joints will literally fail you otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” he laments as the water pours overhead, holding you against him. He means it in more ways than one. And yet, before you can voice your acknowledgement, and an unsure forgiveness, a small hope stirring in your gut that says this can be moved on from—

His lips press to yours. Chaste but searing; somehow even more world-shattering than last night.

It’s different. He’s… awake.

Jaw slack, you blink at him, water clumping your lashes both. He’s as handsome as a wolf is hungry but- for the moment- domesticated. Even his crow’s feet seem to soften.

“I’ll help you unpack the rest today,” is all he says as he reaches behind you for the soap, gaze unwavering even as you latch onto him and your perfect tits jiggle, his hand dipping below to carefully lather at your marks.

“This house can still be a home. I’ll show you.”

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

[chastiefoul]

love and deepspace men when you (playfully) reject their kiss ft. zayne, xavier, rafayel

fluff, fluff, FLUFF

zayne

his kiss landed on the outer corner of your lips instead as you turned away at the very last second as he leaned in

he just stared at you for a solid five seconds.

“was this because i left you on read this afternoon?” his voice was soft, uncertainty danced across his feature. you just shrugged, turning away from him to hide the smile you’ve been trying really hard to suppress.

he grabbed a hold of your waist first, keeping you in place. he saw the shameless smile on your face, couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle of his own. “should’ve known.”

you laughed, “but you did left me on read, how dare you?” his thumb moved up and down on your side as he made no change on his expression, like doing a gesture he didn’t even realize doing it. “alright then, i apologize for not replying within twenty minutes, since i did give you a call as soon as i was available.”

you put your hands on either side of his cheeks, he leaned into the touch. of course, it didn’t bothered you one bit when he didn’t reply right away since you knew very well how demanding his job was.

you planted a sweet kiss on his lips, you could feel his little smile as you pulled away. “good work today, zayne.”

“hm, then surely you would indulge me more of that for a moment longer?”

xavier

he’s quiet for a moment; he did kiss you, but he didn’t know why you’d turn your head on the last second like that as he kissed you on the cheek instead.

he casted his gaze downwards, looking like a rejected kitten in a pouring rain searching for its owner.

your heart squeezed at the adorable act, lifting his chin with your palm. he tilted his head questioningly, the words was obvious on his face. did i do something wrong today? were you mad?

xavier stared at you as he recalled today’s events, but he reached his wits end pretty fast since he still had no idea why you’d reject his kiss.

you then giggled at his clueless expression, and xavier immediately understood that you’re being playful. he let out a little sigh of relief, embracing you. his neck deep at the crook of your neck, his soft hair tickling you in the best way possible.

“you’re too playful at times,” he mumbled, he looked like he had all the peace in the world. “sorry, will you forgive me?” you ran your fingers through the back of his head. “i’ll forgive  you if you promise not to reject my kiss ever again,” he said.

you laughed, “okay then, if you insist.”

rafayel

oh. he looked so offended beyond belief. you’d think someone had insulted his painting; a product from his passion and effort. but to think it’s just a face he made because you didn’t want him to kiss you.

“i see what this is,” he started, the dramatic side of him just wouldn’t let this slide. you challenged, “yeah? what is it?”

“you tell me. this is just the beginning isn’t it. first you reject my kiss, next thing i know you’d be packing your bags, telling me you’ve fallen out of love.” he crossed his arms in front of his chest, his pout was the most exaggerated as it’s ever been.

you had to hold your laugh so hard, you covered your mouth with your fist. “it was just a kiss rafayel, i wasn’t feeling it.” you replied, trying your best to sound serious.

“wasn’t feeling it?” he gasped, like you just insulted his whole entire bloodline. he put up a palm in front of your face, like refraining you to say more controversial things. he took a deep breath to calm himself, “it’s fine, it’s not like i was eager to kiss you either.” he mumbled like he was talking to himself, although it’s obvious he’s being a little loud on purpose. also, lies. he practically bounced on air when he approached you.

finally a laugh escaped you, rafayel looked at you and he just fumed. “just so you know i expect you to make up for all the emotional distress i just went through.” you laughed a little more as you grabbed a hold of his face. “i would kiss you many times to make it up but i think someone just said he wasn’t really that eager to kiss me?” you raised an eyebrow.

his eyes lit up for a moment at the mention of a kiss, and next second he looked around frantically to make an excuse. “it’s okay i understand, fighting that many wanderers who make a lot of strange screeching noises? it’d disturb your hearing a little. i said i was eager to kiss you.” he smiled, nodding to himself. you laughed once more at his ridiculousness.

“sure, let’s go with that excuse.” you kissed him and when you pulled away he held your head, giving you multiple kisses before he let you go with a grin.

[everlastingserenitys]

POSIONOUS LOVEE

summ. oh no! the flower must’ve been infused with something else! now you both had to deal with each other.

featuring (separate). zayne, caleb cw. sex pollen, p in v, creampie, very needy men, some grammatical issues, kissing, NOT BASED OFF THE TRAILER!!!!, fingering, rocking chair oral sex (zayne), oral (f receiving from zayne), cunnilingus, public sex (caleb), 2k wc a/n. don’t mind my horny ass writing these 2 I'm sorry for no xav, raf, and sylus (thats for another time hehe) also the flowers have no significant meaning to them…totally

ZAYNE - JASMINE ݁˖ ❀ ⋆

"does it smell good?" zayne whispered, dangling the jasmine between both of your faces, the petals tickling against your nose for the second time already. you took another whiff, taking in the scent like it was your first time smelling it.

well, thats what it felt like. because this jasmine didn't smell like any usual jasmine zayne would give you.

you nodded and tried to lean in for more, but zayne pulled the flower back, placing it against his nose. you watched as he took a deep breath, letting the sweet aroma rush through him.

and suddenly, in a quick second, his eyes twisted from that dull look to something brighter, a glint of something you just couldn't tell what it was.

you bob your legs up and down and watch zayne's every move, your heart starts to thump louder and louder, the air in the room suddenly feels suffocating, your body is burning up.

god, what was in that flower?

you eyes darted from zayne's shaky look, to the flower still dangling around his fingers. he was feeling the same way too, and now since you both were on the same boat, you had to fix each other somehow.

before you could say anything, zayne got up from his seat and stumbled towards you, caging you with his arms as he stared down at you with a lustful look.

"I dont know what was in that flower, I swore I bought it off a safe si-"

you couldn't handle his voice anymore. your fingers slid against the collar of his shirt and you pulled him close to you, just being mere inches away from each other, his hot breath tickled against your skin and you looked up at him one more time before crashing your lips on his.

"I don't know what it was either," you mumble between kisses, pulling away and catching your breath to look at zayne's hungry stare.

"but it feels so good."

that caused a reaction out of zayne, cause the next thing you knew, you were getting pressed down against the chair, hard. the back of your shirt raising up as zayne slightly lifted you up on the chair.

the impact of the rocking chair was sending you into a spiral. your head kept hitting the back as the chair shook faster and faster. zayne's body weight pressed against you, and the rough leather of the chair scratched your back, you were too much in a daze to even process that zayne's lips already found its way to your neck.

he planted rough, desperate kisses along your neck, lightly nibbling on the skin, his breath was getting ragged, more louder, all you could do was slide your fingers around his neck and pull him closer than you could.

his warm skin made contact with yours and zayne pulled his head back to look up at you, desperation filled his eyes. you trace his jaw and lower your finger further down, staggering it finger against his adams apple.

a shaky breath escaped his lips and zaynes fingers grabbed onto your waist, toying with the waistband of your pants which were already slipping off.

“i’d never let myself near these types of things…” he mumbled, staring at your bare legs on display for him.

“i didn’t think it’d feel like this.” he said in a shaky voice, eyes rolling back at the impact of the aroma still lingering through your bodies, you can’t help but tilt your head back, bucking your hips forward.

zayne inched closer, his nose just lingering on your twitchy clit through your panties, he nuzzled his head deeper between your thighs and glanced up at you before darting his tongue on the wet lace.

you hold back a moan and watched as he practically was sucking out every juice out of you. his fingers—that had been caressing your sides the whole time, slid under your panties and he swiftly removed them.

his hands cup your knees and he slowly spreads your legs apart, taking his time with you like the day would last forever.

“d-do you know how long it—ngh?!”

zaynes tongue made its way back to your leaking cunt, he shoved himself deeper inside you, curling his tongue inside you, trying to hit every right spot.

“hey!” you moan, instinctively thrusting your hips deeper against him, causing the rocking chair to do more than just one thrust.

“hmm?” a groggily hum escaped zaynes lips as he continued his work on you, the drug had completely changed him and you, and fuck it felt like too much.

“zayne ‘m gonna-”

your chants filled the room and zayne kept his grip on your thighs, purposely ignoring every plea that’s escaping your lips, continuing to work his tongue against your already sensitive folds.

you slid your fingers through his hair and gripped on it like there was no tomorrow, a shaky moan left zaynes lips and you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“ah- sorry!” you mumble, lifting his head up to watch for his reaction but his face was the exact same. flushed, and his eyes were still filled with that glint of desire.

“it’s not often i ask this but…”

“hm?”

he let out a sigh and slid his fingers further down your legs, “more? i need it.”

CALEB - BLUE LOTUS ݁˖ ❀ ⋆

“it’s not often we go flower picking, pips.” caleb said, his voice laced with enthusiasm as he walked through the grassy meadows, hands brushing along every long stem that poked out the grass.

“yeaaahh, we’re totally going to find flowers in an area like this..” you say in a low voice, looking at the scenery around you.

there was nothing but grass, maybe a few flowers here and there but it just felt so empty, too empty to even find a decent flower around.

“c’mon have some hope, will ya?” caleb chuckled, grabbing onto your wrist as he started to jog along the path.

“wh- caleb!” you giggle as your legs quicken at the pace he was going at, and too caleb was just aimlessly running along the field.

a few minutes passed and the two of you got tired, neither of you had an idea where you were but the sounds of birds chirping nearby, and the smell of water nearby made you get an idea.

“this way caleb,” you point to a hidden path, covered by the grass and caleb’s gaze follows the direction where your finger was pointed.

he nodded and dragged you through the path. eventually, after walking for a bit you ended up at a beautiful pond, birds flying everywhere and this, this was where you could find nice flowers.

“caleb the pond has pretty flowers!” you walk over to the glistening area of water and sit along the edges, toying with the grass sticking out the water.

“pretty, right?” he said, picking up a flower from the pond and swirling it around his fingers, a small smirk rested on his lips before he pressed the flower against your nose, sifting it left and right.

the petals tickled your nose, you leaned in closer taking a quick smell of it…and it smelt sweet.

too sweet.

in a quick second, your mood changed, it was like you needed more. you lunged at the flower again and took a deep breath, letting the sweet pheromones rush through your body again.

“pips..?” caleb asked, a hint of amusement and curiosity filled his voice, he pulled the flower away from you and rested it against his nose, taking in the smell of the intoxicating flower.

“smells good..” he mumbled, taking more of the scent as he stared into your dazed eyes. you nod and lean in closer, both your lips being centimeters away from each other, it’s just the flower that was in the way.

you look at the flower and back at caleb whose eyes are locked on you. you rested your fingers on his hand that was holding onto the flower and subtly grazed your fingers along his hand, and soon, pushed the flower away.

the second the flower fell on the ground, caleb grabbed onto your face with fierce force and crashed his lips on yours, his tongue darting at the small open space between your lips.

he was devouring you.

devouring you like a fucking animal.

you didn’t realize that you both were on the ground, caleb’s hand rested on the back of your head as he continued pressing himself against you.

“what is this pipsqueak?” he mumbled, sliding his free hand along the curves of your body, soon making its way to the waistband of your pants, lightly tugging at it.

you let out a low hum and grab the flower, twirling it between your fingers as you stared at caleb who was already removing your pants, he was practically ripping them off like it was something he strived for survival.

once your lower half was exposed to Caleb, he slid a finger against your twitchy clit, rubbing and pressing on it, a wave of pleasure washed through you as you slightly lifted your hips, silently begging for more.

whatever it was doing this to you, felt too good, way too good. his fingers felt like it was the first time he's doing this to you. after a bit, Caleb pulled his fingers out, watching the mess drip down on the grass and on his fingers.

he lifted your legs above his shoulders and pressed himself against you. the rough fabric of his pants made contact with your exposed, leaking pussy and a spark of shock went through you.

Caleb continued to dry hump himself against you, to get the tension up but his hands were rejecting him to stay put, he slid a hand off your ankles and placed them on his belt, removing his pants in a quick movement.

"it feels good pipsqueak..." he mumbled, pulling out his cock and pressing his leaking tip against your stretched out cunt. you whine in response and Caleb pushed himself deep inside you without warning you.

"so good, it feels–ngh so, soo good"

whines and moans echoed through the secluded forest, there was no audience around but it felt like anyone could walk in by now. you nod repeatedly thrusting yourself deeper inside him, not caring that you're outside, the butterflies in your stomach started to beat faster and faster.

"gonna come..." Caleb groaned, grabbing onto your ankles tighter, as he thrusted himself deeper. the feeling of you getting filled up by him felt too good, he continued to fuck in your leaking pussy, drooling with his cum which was seeping out of you each thrust he gave.

Caleb grabbed onto the flower which was resting on your chest and gave it a quick smell, again. he then took his other hand off your leg and plucked each petal one by one, scattering it all over your body.

"im close ca-" before you could finish your sentence you felt his soft lips make contact with yours, except something was in the way. you winked open an eye and noticed the plucked out flower resting between the two of your lips.

"let it out..." he whispered between kisses, wrapping his hands around your neck as he pulled you closer than ever, letting you savour every second of this unexpected desire.

a/n. so sorry you could tell who the favorite was, I will practice on my zayne smut later

[metranart]

— HAWKS + DABI + BAKUGO + SHIGARAKI || THINGS THIS LOVESICK BOYS SAY WHEN IN BED WITH YOU

-----------HEADCANONS-----------

HAWKS

“Oh, my darling...fuck, keep doing that.” 

“You're so beautiful, I'm so glad we found each other.”

“I know I’m a mess-… what else was I supposed to do while waiting to make you mine?” 

“Lay back and let me do all the work. I’ve dreamed of eating your pretty pussy all week.”

“Hey, don’t shy away from me. C’mere-”

“You’re so fuckin’ soft. Shiiit…”

“Hey—no teasing the feathers.”

“I n-need to-... I just-…-I’m going to start moving now.”

“Arms around my neck and legs around my hips— ngh! Gravity is a bitch, I don’t want you falling on me, at least, not literally.”

“What a good mate, you respond to me so well."

“I’m so fuckin’ deep, my pretty girl-”

“Fuck—I can’t... I’m not gonna last-”

“Don’t be embarrassed. I love when you squirt on my face.”

“God I’ve wanted this for so long. I’m going to breed your pussy every day, all day long, even after I’ve knocked you up.”

“We're both getting older, babe, and if we want to have more chicks than stars in the sky, then we need to get started.”

“Tell me you love me-… tell me again.”

“I do get ahead of myself often, but I can’t help it. I just know we belong together-” 

“What do you say we try for a baby this time?”

"You’d be adorable, so swollen and full that you can't walk, that you'd have to rely on me for everything...”

“Touch yourself, c’mon. Let me see how you play the right notes.”

“You're going to be a wonderful mother for my chicks.”

“Let me help you move pretty, put your hands on mine.”

“No one’s gonna hear if I put my hand here… no biting, hun.”

“I’ll make it quick, darling... just—let me… let me go again.”

“Need a hand or a finger?”

“Just wait, baby... Fuuuuck—give me a damn minute.”

“Keep your eyes on me.”

“Arch your back, there you go, such a good girl.”

“Fuck, even after cumming you aren’t ready to accommodate my size. Don’t worry, baby,” he kisses your creased forehead, “—then just the tip this time.”

“Shit, I can’t help it—” you can feel him twitching excitedly inside you. “I just like you so damn much!” He grunts and snaps his hips again, diving deeper. 

“Just bear with me, I swear I’ll eat you for hours after…. Please, pretty, pleaseeeee…” He kept his pace, practically purring with his throaty groans. 

“No matter how much you didn’t want to admit it, I know how to fuck you well, ain’t I, beautiful?” 

“C’mon let me hear you, I can feel you getting tighter… my cock’s rubbing those hard-to-reach places…. Fuck! I- slid in so easily.”

“I’m painfully close-…. Fuck, I don’t want to cum yet…”

 “Is this your sweet spot I’m bullying?” 

“Each thrust is inching you closer… should I slow down or go faster?”

“Deeper? Okey-… just try to keep it together, I have neighbors.” 

“Give me one more. please, just one more baby.”

“Try to keep your eyes open, I know it’s hard…b-but try for me beautiful.”

“Go ahead and sleep, honey, I’m not going anywhere.”

NSFW ART OF THIS HEADCANONS IN MY PATREON

DABI

“What’d I did to deserve such a pretty thing like ya?”

“I’ve barely touch you. You really that hot for me, sweetheart?”

“Open your legs, not gonna say it again.”

“Doesn’t hurt, its already scarred skin.”

“If I have to kiss your tears away again, you are gonna get it— I’ve already told ya, it doesn’t hurt anymore-”

“Bury your hands in my hair, yes... Just like that.”

“Stop pushing me away. You’re gonna take it all, don’t make me shove it down your throat.”

“You love to play the feeble act, but your moans give you away, princess.”

“Nuh-uh, you haven’t cum yet.”

“I said ass up.”

“You want it so bad? beg.”

“Take them off before I rip them off of you, doll. Don’t try me.”

“Harder,” he mutters, not a minute after you started. “Harder,” he demands again.

“Could you go any slower? Ride me like you mean it, princess. I know you can.”

“Can barely feel that shit. You gotta do better than that, princess. You know I like it rough.”

“Fuck,” he bit out. “Yes, fuck…. Just like that.”

“Come on pretty girl. Ride me till you’re numb, yeah? Want you to fuck yourself stupid on my cock today.”

“Move my hands again and see what happens-”

“Fuck—” 

“Sorry, baby-… I just had to jump at the opportunity to sink my cock deeper.”

“Sit on it.”

“Worried it won’t fit? We always make it work just fine—”

“I don’t have condoms, they’re annoying.” He grunts the reply, inwardly absorbed with impatience. 

“Don’t move—Just gimme a minute… F-Fuck…”

“You fuckin’ genius, dammit, I love you so damn much! Not even I knew that spot— …” He shakes his head, in disbelief of the pleasure, even more so that you been the one to give it to him.

“Did you do that on purpose, princess? ‘cause now we are doing it every time.” 

“Fuck that. Don’t know if you heard sweetheart, but you were made for me to fuck and breed.”

“Stop it, no more whining—I’ll do my best to be…. gentler.” 

“Really? resist me all you want. I know you love being treated like this.”

“Ridiculous, I could stare at your pretty cunt all day long.” 

“Fuck Yeah! I adore the way your thighs tremble like jelly after you cum.”

“Should I pull out? Nah, better give me a daughter to spoil.”

“Unless you were playing with yourself before I got here, I’m guessing this is because of my pretty face?”

“Over my knee, now.”

“Sure, I love ya— but you are not in charge here, princess. Fuckin’ spread them for me.”

“Want me to spank that pussy? lay on my lap then-”

“One’s never enough, I know my princess’s pussy and its begging for another.”

NSFW ART OF THIS HEADCANONS IN MY PATREON

BAKUGO (NSFW art teaser here!)

“Do you want me to fuck you harder, cutie?”

“You can be loud, I love to hear you, (Y/N).”

“I’ve waited so long for this...”

“That’s it... slow and easy—” 

“How much longer you gonna make me wait, baby?”

“You ever take it raw? Get a big load of cum in your pussy? —don’t shy on me, I know you love when I talk dirty to you.”

“Take it off before I tear it off.”

“Baby... please...I hate to beg-”

“Make me wait much longer and I’ll have to fuck you in an alley somewhere.”

“What a naughty little girl I have just to myself.”

“Ugh, so hot and wet.” 

“I said I wanted to eat your pussy, didn’t I? Just sit back and enjoy it, baby girl.”

“I’d hate to stop teasing you right before the fun part.”

“It’s so warm...”

“Who do you belong to?” 

 “Whose pussy is this? Say who you belong to.”

“God, what a good fucking cunt. It keeps clenching on my cock like it’s hungry for more milk. You want that? You want me to fill you up?”

“As you wish, princess.”

“You gonna cum?” 

“Go on, gorgeous. Cum on Daddy’s cock.”

“Fucking take it... take every drop...” 

“Nice and stuffed... all mine... my little slutty girl...”

“I said spread those fuckin’ folds.”

“So wet and tight, but my cock just slides right in. It’s like you were born to take me inside of your cunt.”

“Aren’t you a sight. All blissed out when we aren’t even done.”

“That’s right, darlin’. You didn’t think you could tease me for so long and get away with just one little fuck, did you?”

“Oh, did you think we were finished?”

“Did I stutter or somethin’?”

“Alright, baby girl, you asked for it. Just don’t come crying to me if you can’t move after I’m done with you.”

“Don’t move—Just a sec… F-Fuck…”

“No, this is-this is fine. This is beyond fine. Keep doing it, please.”

“Shit, darling, don’t-” 

“God, you make me so needy. Please.... fuck, please...”

“You feel so wonderful, I might go crazy—"

“More... please, more...”

“Fuck, I’m stretching you so good.”

“God, the thought of you ever doing something like this to anyone else... I can’t stand it.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. You’re my precious BABY, now and forever."

NSFW ART OF THIS HEADCANONS IN MY PATREON

SHIGARAKI

“It isn’t even a ‘might’. I can tell you right now with the utmost certainty that you are MINE.”

“Keep looking into my eyes, don’t you fuckin’ look away…”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” He coos in a demeaning tone. “I’ll be your first and your last. Not any of these other NPCs.”

“I can hardly keep my hands to myself, your room or mine.”

“I can do whatever I want to you, I’m player one!”

“I know, I’m keeping track of my digits, don’t worry your pretty head.”

“You are too precious to me to turn to dust, my love.”

“I can’t- I’m dying to breed you, to bury my cock in your wet pussy. Don’t move, I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

“My pants are uncomfortably tight, the fabric’s straining against my throbbing dick, I told you not to put on that dress, dammit” Shigaraki’s practically scratching at the wooden table, surges of arousal shaking him to his core. “Can we go now? Like right NOW?!”

“MY girl, so pretty and needy for my cock.”

“You want him dead. You got it.” Ruby eyes stare through his bangs up at your face in some sort of silent promise. “—Of course, I will. You are my everything.”

“It hurts. I need you to- FUCK, just like that.”

“Fuck, how-how are you this fucking wet and warm inside, fuck, fuck…!”

“Please fuck me.”

“H-hey, I know a fun game we can play together… It’s called ‘how many times can I make you cum all over my cock?’” 

“One point, five points, ten points—Cumming again? Are you shooting for a new high-score, sweetheart?”

“Now... care if I use my mouth on you?”

“Just be good for me, and I’ll take very, very good care of you.”

"Look at you, so worked up over a few couple of fingers, did you miss me that much, sweetheart?" 

“Just looking at you is enough to, oh fuck, drive me wild.”

"So desperate for my cock to stuff you-say it, say you want my cock—ngh!”

"S-Shit,"

"Needy girl, I'll let you have it, be fucking grateful." 

"What? Fainting on me already?"

"Don't let me see you doing this again, or else."

“Just fuck me. I need you, (Y/N), please. Please just fuck bury on me already...! I want it...! I want YOU..!”

“Have it your way then.”

"Keep licking my balls, oh fuck! I’m gonna die—"

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-!"

“You look so pretty choking on my cock.”

“Where do you want it, baby? Mouth, breast, face, pussy… take your pick-”

"Are you close, sweetie?" 

“My feisty little girl. Aren’t you just adorable?”

"Good girl. Give me a minute and I’ll clean up that mess you made." 

“Cum for me. Cum on my cock and show me that you’re mine.”

“I just... wanted to cuddle a little more, is all. Didn’t want to... you know, waste the moment.”

“Don’t you worry, my love. I’ll be sure to give you anything you could ever want and more.” 

“You don’t have to take me all the way into your esophagus, but I expect you to make me cum, and yes, I do want you to swallow.”

“Go on, get on your knees.”

“Ngh, that’s it, keep going...”

“You look so wonderful like this, with your lips wrapped around my cock. I wish I could take a pic for Dabi to swallow his words.” 

“I want you all to myself.”

“H-here it comes...Be sure... to drink... every.. last... drop...YOU ARE FUCKIN’ MINE!!”

I MADE SOME SICK NSFW ART FOR THIS HEADCANONS, YOU CAN CHECK THEM OUT IN MY PATREON. (Along with more MHA nsfw artwork)

[littlelamy]

Teach Me

nerd!rafe x experienced!reader

Rafe Cameron wasn’t usually this quiet.

He wasn’t the loudest guy by any means, but his nervous energy tonight was new. Usually, his shyness came with a sort of clumsy charm, a stammered compliment or a soft laugh that always made your heart ache in the best way. But as he sat stiffly on the edge of your bed, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie, he looked like he might bolt at any moment.

“Rafey,” you said softly, stepping closer and leaning into his line of sight. “You okay?”

His head snapped up, blue eyes wide behind the smudge on his glasses. He pushed them up his nose, his hand shaking slightly, and dropped his gaze back to his lap. His long fingers twisted together, pale from how tightly he was holding them.

“Y-yeah,” he mumbled, though his voice betrayed him with its unsteady wobble.

Your lips curved into a soft smile as you reached out, fingertips brushing his jawline. “You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”

Rafe swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing, but didn’t meet your gaze. “I just… I want to talk to you about something.”

“Okay.” You perched beside him on the bed, close enough that your knees bumped. “I’m listening.”

His lips parted, then closed again, as though the words were stuck in his throat. Finally, he managed, “I want to… I mean, I need to… be better for you. Better at, um, pleasing you.”

Your chest tightened at his vulnerable confession. “Rafe, you’re already amazing. You don’t have to—”

“No.” His voice came out firm, but he winced at his own abruptness. “I mean, thank you. But I want to do more for you. I want to know how to… touch you the way you deserve.”

The raw sincerity in his words made your heart swell. His cheeks were stained with a deep blush, and he looked like he was fighting every instinct to hide his face in his hands.

“You’re so sweet,” you whispered, lacing your fingers through his and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “We can take our time, baby. I’ll show you everything you want to know.”

Rafe relaxed slightly as you guided him to sit cross-legged on the bed. His hoodie lay discarded nearby, and his glasses perched crookedly on his nose, slightly fogged from the heat in the room.

“First thing,” you said, settling in front of him, “is to pay attention. My body will tell you when something feels good—whether it’s my breathing, the way I move, or the sounds I make.”

His eyes widened, and he nodded quickly, his gaze flickering nervously between your face and your body.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I can do that.”

You reached for his hand, gently placing it on your thigh. “Start here. Gentle touches, nothing rushed. Feel how warm my skin is? That’s a good sign.”

Rafe’s fingers were warm and hesitant, but they began to explore as you encouraged him. He let his hand glide up slowly, his breath hitching when his fingertips grazed the hem of your shorts.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low and strained.

You smiled, running a hand through his messy hair. “That’s perfect.”

As his touch grew more assured, his fingers dipped under the fabric, skimming the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The softness of his movements contrasted with the heat pooling in your stomach, and a quiet sigh escaped your lips.

“Like that?” he asked, his brows furrowing slightly as he searched your face for affirmation.

“Exactly like that,” you murmured, your voice catching.

You shifted back against the pillows, tugging him down beside you. “Now, from here, you can explore more. Don’t overthink it. Use your hands, your mouth—just do what feels natural.”

Rafe’s blush deepened, but he nodded. His hand skimmed up your stomach, pausing when he reached the curve of your hip. His fingers trembled slightly, but the reverence in his touch sent a shiver through you.

When his lips brushed your collarbone, warm and tentative, you let out a soft moan. His head snapped up, panic flashing in his eyes.

“Was that too much?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You cupped his cheek, pulling him back down for a kiss. “Not at all. That was perfect. Keep going, Rafey.”

Encouraged, he pressed his lips to your skin again, lingering this time. His kisses grew bolder, trailing down to the swell of your chest. His hands followed, brushing over you with featherlight touches that left your skin tingling.

“See how my body reacts?” you whispered, your breath hitching as his hand grazed a particularly sensitive spot. “That’s what I mean by listening.”

Rafe’s lips quirked into a shy smile, and he leaned into your touch with newfound confidence.

Rafe’s hand hesitated at the waistband of your panties, his fingertips brushing the soft fabric with a touch so light it sent a shiver up your spine. His wide blue eyes searched yours, filled with nervous anticipation, his lips slightly parted as though he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to take the next step.

“Can I?” His voice was barely above a whisper, trembling but threaded with yearning.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice soft but certain.

His exhale was shaky as he focused his attention fully on you, his hand dipping beneath the fabric with deliberate slowness. The first brush of his fingers against your bare skin sent a jolt of electricity through your body, your breath catching audibly. His touch was tentative, his movements almost reverent, as though he couldn’t believe you were letting him do this.

“Rafey,” you murmured, your voice a mix of encouragement and need.

His fingers explored with unsteady care, tracing the slickness pooling there. His thumb brushed experimentally against your clit, and your body responded instantly, arching slightly under his touch. The sensation was almost too much yet not nearly enough, a delicious pressure that made you gasp softly.

“Is that good?” he asked, his brows furrowing in concentration as he watched your reaction.

“So good,” you managed, your voice a little breathless. “Keep going, just like that.”

The reassurance made his shoulders relax, and his movements grew bolder. His thumb pressed more firmly, circling that swollen bundle of nerves with a rhythm that made your thighs clench instinctively around his hand. The quiet whimper that slipped from your lips seemed to spur him on, his other hand coming to rest on your hip to steady you as his fingers moved with growing confidence.

Your body was alive under his touch, every nerve alight as he adjusted his movements, clearly paying attention to how you squirmed and sighed beneath him. The hesitancy from earlier was melting away, replaced by a kind of focused eagerness that made your chest tighten with affection.

“That feels good,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his messy hair. “You’re doing so good, Rafe.”

His lips curved into the smallest, shyest smile, but his fingers didn’t falter. He leaned down then, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck, trailing lower with every press of his lips. His hair tickled against your skin, the sensation adding to the whirlwind of pleasure building inside you.

When his kisses reached the hollow of your throat, you tilted your head back, giving him better access. He took it eagerly, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. The combination of his mouth and his hand working together was intoxicating, a steady rhythm that had you biting your lip to stifle the moans threatening to spill out.

“You like that?” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and velvety. The rare confidence in his tone sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you couldn’t help but nod, your fingers gripping his hair tighter.

“I love it,” you whispered, your voice trembling with pure pleasure.

His movements stilled for a moment as he shifted, his glasses slightly askew as he glanced up at you. “I… Can I try something else?” he asked, his voice softer now, more uncertain.

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation, your heart racing as his hands gently eased your panties down your legs.

Rafe paused, his breath catching as he took in the sight of you fully. His cheeks flushed a deep pink, but his gaze was captivated, reverent. Slowly, he settled himself lower, his shoulders nestled between your thighs.

“You don’t have to—” you started, but the determined look in his eyes stopped you.

“I want to,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

The first press of his lips to your inner thigh was soft, almost hesitant. He lingered there, kissing a trail upward, his breath warm against your skin. Each kiss was tender, deliberate, until he was just where you wanted him most.

His lips brushed against you then, soft and unhurried, and the sensation sent a gasp tumbling from your lips. He hesitated, his blue eyes flicking up to yours for reassurance, and when he saw the way your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, he pressed another kiss, firmer this time.

The wet warmth of his mouth and the softness of his tongue as he tentatively explored made your entire body tense with pleasure. He was careful, almost shy, but each touch carried a sincerity that left you breathless.

“Rafey,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need.

The sound of his name on your lips seemed to embolden him. His hands gripped your thighs gently, pulling you closer as he deepened his movements, his tongue finding the rhythm that made you gasp and arch beneath him. Every flick, every press, was deliberate, his sole focus on making you fall apart under his care.

“Is this… okay?” he murmured between kisses, his breath hot against you.

“Perfect,” you managed, your voice breaking on the word. “Don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

Rafe’s mouth was insistent now, his shyness giving way to a careful confidence as he listened to every sound you made, adjusting his movements to match the reactions he drew from you. Your hands found his hair, tugging gently as you lost yourself in the overwhelming sensations he was giving you.

Every kiss, every caress, was a revelation—an unspoken promise that he was there to learn every inch of you, to cherish you completely. The pleasure built steadily, an intoxicating crescendo that left you breathless, your thighs trembling as he found just the right rhythm with his mouth. His lips latched around that sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking softly at first, then with increasing determination as your whimpers turned into desperate cries of his name.

“Rafey,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as your hips pressed up against him, unable to control the way your body chased the peak he was bringing you toward.

His hands gripped your thighs firmly but gently, holding you in place as he gave it one last, deliberate suck. The sensation sent you spiraling, your body arching as the climax washed over you in waves, leaving you shaking and completely at his mercy. Your breath hitched, the room filled with the sound of your soft cries and his satisfied hum against you.

When the intensity finally began to drop, Rafe eased his touch, his mouth leaving a final tender kiss against your skin before he pulled away. His lips were parted, his breathing ragged, and his face was flushed with both pride and nervousness. His lips and chin glistened, a mix of his efforts and your release, and the sight alone sent another shiver through you.

He climbed back up the bed, his gaze locked on yours as if silently asking for reassurance. Leaning over you, his hands braced on either side of your head, he pressed his lips to yours in a tentative kiss. The taste of yourself lingered on his lips, and the sound he made—low, guttural, and almost shy—vibrated against your mouth.

“Did I… Was that okay?” he asked softly, his voice trembling with vulnerability. His blue eyes searched yours, his glasses slightly askew, and his lips glistening as he hovered just inches from you.

Your heart swelled at the nervousness in his voice, and instead of answering right away, you pulled him into another kiss. This time, it was deep, lingering, your fingers threading through his hair to pull him even closer. When you finally broke away, his lips were even more swollen, and his breath mingled with yours.

“You did amazing, sweetie,” you whispered, your voice full of affection and awe.

The words flooded him with relief, his shoulders relaxing as a shy yet proud smile tugged at the corners of his damp lips. Unable to resist, you reached up to wipe your arousal from his chin, your thumb grazing his flushed skin before leaning in to kiss him again.

Rafe melted into you, his earlier hesitation completely gone, replaced by a quiet confidence that had your heart racing all over again. And as he buried his face in your neck, his breath warm and shaky against your skin, you knew this was just the beginning of something even more beautiful between you.

a/n: last post of the day🥵

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[marylxvrr]

" BOUND TO THE THRONE "

𐙚 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐑 — an all-powerful sovereign who bends entire empires to his will but becomes dangerously unhinged when it comes to you, stopping at nothing—manipulation, imprisonment, or war—to ensure you never leave his grasp . . .

𐙚Trigger Warnings: Obsession, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, implied captivity, threats of violence, and possessiveness.

The grandeur of the imperial palace was breathtaking, with its golden halls and ceilings that stretched so high you could swear they touched the heavens. But you weren’t here to admire its beauty. You were a lowly palace worker, tasked with cleaning and maintaining this vast kingdom’s heart.

Your role was simple, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Or so you thought.

It started innocently enough. A glance here, a word there. The emperor, revered as a god among men, seemed to have a habit of lingering near you. His piercing gaze, sharper than any blade, often found you in the crowd of workers, no matter how much you tried to blend in.

At first, you convinced yourself it was paranoia. Why would someone as powerful as Emperor Kael, ruler of the largest empire in the world, take an interest in someone like you?

But then came the gifts.

An expensive bracelet placed neatly on your work desk, a necklace far too extravagant for a mere servant, and silken robes fit for royalty—all delivered anonymously. You didn’t need a note to know who they were from.

It was unnerving. You tried to refuse, even leaving the gifts in your quarters untouched, but it didn’t stop. If anything, the emperor seemed to grow bolder.

One day, while polishing the marble floors of the grand throne room, you felt it—that familiar, suffocating presence.

“You work harder than anyone else here,” his deep voice echoed, making your hands freeze mid-scrub.

You slowly turned to see him standing there, his imposing figure framed by the grand throne behind him. His regal robes flowed as if the very air bowed to his presence, and his golden eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of amusement and something... darker.

“Your Majesty,” you stammered, quickly lowering your head. “I’m simply doing my duty.”

“Is that all you think you are to me?” he asked, his tone calm but carrying an undercurrent of something dangerous.

You dared to glance up, confusion etched on your face. “I’m not sure what you mean, Your Majesty.”

He stepped closer, each stride deliberate, until he was towering over you. His gloved hand reached out, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his.

“You’re more than just a worker,” he murmured, his gaze intense. “You’ve captivated me in a way no one else ever has.”

Your breath caught in your throat, panic bubbling up. “Your Majesty, I—”

“Do you know how many nobles have tried to win my favor?” he interrupted, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “How many have offered their lives, their wealth, their everything to stand where you are now? Yet none of them matter to me. Only you.”

His words sent a chill down your spine. This wasn’t admiration—it was possession.

“Your Majesty, I am unworthy of such attention,” you said, trying to step back, but his grip on your chin tightened ever so slightly.

“You don’t get to decide what you’re worthy of,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “That’s for me to decide.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but his other hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Don’t you see, Y/n?” he said, his tone softening, though his eyes remained as intense as ever. “You’re mine. You always have been. I’ve watched you, admired your dedication, your kindness. And now that I have you, I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized the full extent of his obsession. This wasn’t love—it was control, a twisted desire to claim you as his own.

“You can’t force me to stay,” you whispered, though your voice trembled with fear.

He chuckled softly, his hand moving to cradle your face. “Can’t I? I am the emperor, Y/n. No one disobeys me. No one touches what is mine.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his words sank in. You were trapped, bound to him not by choice, but by the sheer weight of his power.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead. “I’ll take care of you. Protect you. You’ll never have to lift a finger again. Just stay by my side, and I’ll give you the world.”

But all you wanted was freedom.

As he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you like a cage, you realized there was no escaping him. He was your emperor, your captor, and in his eyes, your savior.

And he would never let you go.

[buckysfaveplum]

her weakness

summary: you’re an enhanced individual with strong abilities and one moral code- you only fight with them when your opponent is also enhanced. during the fight with john walker, that code gets broken when bucky is hurt

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: violence, blood, fighting, it’s a fight seen so yea expect things relating to that

a/n: i rewatched tfatws and this fight always makes me so worried for my bbs so yea this was born. I typed it up helllllla quick so I'm sorry if its trash, I'm not too proud of this one idk.

masterlist | send requests

Your feet followed closely behind Bucky as you approached the warehouse. Your limbs were stiff and your skin clammy. Your hand stayed firmly in Bucky’s grasp as you approached John Walker. Sam had tracked him to a storage warehouse near the square you had just witnessed brutality in.

He murdered him, in cold blood, with Steve’s shield. You couldn’t get the screams of the public out of your head, the sound of the vibranium as it slashed into the flagsmasher’s body. You would’ve thrown up if Bucky hadn’t pushed you behind him. You had seen much worse, much more gruesome violence in your line of work. But something about this was sickening, rotting away in your stomach as you tried to grapple with the truth that the shield your friend once carried with honor and pride was just used by an unhinged soldier who found joy in the worst parts of the job.

Bucky stayed ahead of you, following Sam as they entered the building. Your hand trembled in his vibranium grasp. His thumb gently brushed across the veins and bones of your hand, trying to bring you comfort before the scene he knew was about to play out.

As you walked into the large space, you saw him. He was too composed and stoic for what had just taken place. His tall and slender figure loomed as he casually walked up to you all, barely acknowledging Sam as he tried to get him to listen.

“Walker,” Sam started. The soldier brushed Sam’s stern tone off, hopefully delaying what he knew was coming.

“You guys should see a medic, you don’t look so good,” He said, walking past you.

“Stop, Walker,” Sam took a few steps closer, trying again to get him to focus.

Your jaw tightened as you watched the man pace erratically in front of you. He was muttering quietly before responding as if trying to convince himself what he was saying had any truth.

“What?” He asked, coming closer. “You saw what happened. You know what I had to do.”

Your grip on Bucky tightened, sensing Walker’s anger began to boil over. You knew a fight was coming, it always was. 

“I killed him because I had to! He killed Lemar!” Walker shouted, his arms waving now and revealing how off the deep end he had gone. 

You knew the moment you saw him in that fight. He stole the serum and took it for himself. This behavior just confirmed it. But the serum only enhanced what was already bubbling under the surface. The same John you meet on the highway. The same John who waltzed into the police station as if he had the authority or right to control Bucky and call him an ‘asset’. It was always there. 

“He didn’t kill Lemar, John.”

Bucky’s smooth and deep voice cut through the tension in the room. You felt his grip on your hand squeeze for a moment, making sure you were okay. He could always sense your anxiety in the field. Your powers made keeping your calm difficult. You would never use them in battle unless your opponent was enhanced as well. You were a skilled fighter and agent, you didn’t need them. And it didn’t always seem ethical. But keeping them at bay, in check, could prove difficult- especially in heightened situations such as this.

Walker scoffed at Bucky’s words, dismissing the truth like it was nothing.

“Don’t go down that road. Believe me, it doesn’t end well,” Bucky said.

“I’m not like you!” Walker’s voice was full of disgust and resentment. From the moment you met him, you could sense his quiet disdain for your best friend. Looking down his nose at him like he was some scum left over from Steve's life, something he’d always have to deal with. Yet at the same time, resentment. Jealousy over his power, control, and abilities in his enhanced body. As if that’s what made him an excellent fighter. Or a good person.

Your spare hand moved between Bucky’s shoulder blades, giving him a subtle and quiet support as you prepared.

“Listen, it was the heat of the battle, okay?” Sam said, taking a step closer to Walker. That shield danced in your vision, taunting you as he paced back and forth. “If you explain what happened, they may consider your record.”

Walker’s distress spread across his face, his brows furrowing and eyes scrunching as he tussled with Sam’s words.

“We don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” Sam said.

The warehouse went silent as Walker stared at the ground before him. Bucky gave you a soft, tight-lipped smile before begrudgingly dropping your hand. He slowly took a step towards the man, joining Sam.

“John…” Bucky said, calmly. 

“You gotta give me the shield, man,” Sam said.

That did it. You could feel the room shift that second.

A disturbing serene aura washed over Walker at that moment. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to you all. His eyes were dark, lacking a certain warmth and compassion you had grown so used to seeing through that blue cowl. A certain warmth that left when he hung up the shield.

“Oh…. so that’s what this is,” Walker said. “You almost got me.”

You could see his grip on the shield tighten, the leather straps twisting between his fingers.

“You made a mistake,” Sam said.

You slowly took a step forward, your hands flexing as you prepared for what was to come. Walker finally turned his gaze to you. His eyes roamed you up and down. You could’ve sworn you saw Bucky’s jaw clench, that familiar muscle tightening in distress. Walker smirked at you before glancing at Bucky. He could read the protectiveness radiating off of your supersoldier.

“You don’t wanna do this,” Walker said to him.

Bucky didn’t meet his gaze. His fists balled at his side, practically shaking with anger. He never took pleasure in a fight, every punch or kick felt like a necessity rather than enjoyment. But he couldn’t deny how much he desired to rip that shield from his grimy hands.

“Yeah we do,” Bucky said.

Sam lurched forward first, Bucky soon following suit. Your feet moved quickly, moving behind Walker as your friends attacked from the front. The man moved with a speed you had yet to see from him, a brute force you could only get from the serum.

With a harsh kick, Walker sent Sam flying away, leaving you and Bucky alone. You tried to knock Walker down from the back as Bucky grappled with the shield. As you sent a harsh kick into the back of Walker’s knees, he spun quickly and sent a jab into Bucky’s gut sending him backward in pain and knocking him off balance. Before you could back him up, Walker slammed a harsh punch into Bucky’s jaw. Your heart raced and your hands shook as you watched him drop to the ground. You sprung into action, pulling the shield back in your hands and keeping Walker from smashing it into Bucky’s face. Sam leaped in, kicking the shield up and drawing attention to him.

You slammed a kick into Walker’s back, sending him stumbling forward as Sam slashed at him with his wings. Bucky leaped up, his arm aiming to come down on the faux Captain America’s back hard but was ultimately blocked by the shield. 

You were growing frustrated. Walker never packed this much of a punch. The serum raged through his veins, lacing each kick and swing of the shield with force and hate. As you and Sam continued to trade blocks at Walker, Bucky attempted to pull him down but was quickly met with the shield swinging into the side of his face. Your legs shook. The longer this dragged out the more difficult you find keeping your emotions in check. The longer you watched your favorite person in the world become decorated with blood and bruises, the more your ethical code began to look like a suggestion. Walker deserved a swift blast to the face and more. But you held off. 

Walker slammed the shield into Sam’s back, sending him down. As your two friends recovered briefly, it was just you and him. You surged forward at the man, dodging as he swung at you. Being smaller than the two Avengers alongside you made it much easier to evade Walker’s sloppy attacks. You sent a firm kick into his chest followed by an uppercut into his chin. As he spun and tumbled, Bucky was back on his feet and meeting Walker with punches. Bucky’s attacks quickly led the pair into a tight spot, backing Walker up into a heavy piece of machinery. The pair spun in circles over the shield, yanking the vibranium disc back and forth and trading beatings in between. Sam quickly followed you over, diving in for aid, but quickly was sent flying back by Walker’s attacks. His body slammed to the ground with a grunt.

While Bucky worked, you glanced at Sam. He pushed himself to his feet slowly, preparing to dive back into the fight. In your moment of distraction, the fear and care for your dear friend overriding your common sense to keep fighting, you heard Walker’s voice pull you back. Bucky was trapped between the shield and a machine. You rushed over to help but it was far too late.

“Why are you making me do this?!” Before you could register what Walker was saying, you watched as Bucky went flying. 

Walker’s forceful swing of the shield sent him hurtling across the warehouse. Your body froze as if someone had filled your veins with cement. The dramatic scene Walker had created came to an end with Bucky’s body smashing into an electrified pole and crashing to the ground. The might of his impact snapped the pole in the middle, sparks cascaded from the steel and flooded onto the floors; leading your eyes to Bucky. 

“Bucky!” You screamed.

His body lay limp and splayed out on the cold dirty floors. His face was smushed into the cement. His limbs didn’t dare to move. Except for his vibranium arm, which twitched and spasmed under his body; blue and white sparks burst out from the plates adding to the horror.

Your breaths were heavy and shaky, your hands trembled at your sides as the vibrating blue of your powers began to spark at your fingertips; mirroring the sight of your best friend’s arm. The room was spinning, at least that’s what made sense to you. Your balance was unstable, your knees threatening to buckle at any moment. You turned to spare a look at Sam, begging him for permission. But he was already back on his feet and rushing towards Walker. 

“Go!” He shouted.

You had never been faster. Your abilities never gave you the gift of flight but in that moment they very well could have. Your legs became weak and your steps messy as you neared Bucky. You crashed to your knees beside him, pain radiated up your thighs from the impact but you couldn’t care. It couldn’t be worse than the expanding tight pain in your chest as you struggled to breathe.

Your hands quivered as they hovered over his body. With him lying so still you could finally take in the damage Walker had done to his face. Blood was splattered all over, deep purple and blue hues bloomed across his cheekbones, and a nasty split had opened on his lip. Worst of all, his nose was broken.

The sparks continued to burst from the plates of his arm, his hand jerking and spasming with an unsettling sound of grinding metal. Quickly, you placed your hands firmly on the vibranium. A deep blue beamed from under your palms, cascading the metallic golds and blacks of his arm in your glow. The excess electricity from the crash moved in waves through the arm up into your hands. You focused as all the veins in your body became electrified, an aqua glow shone through your skin as the energy you. Your once y/e/c eyes were quickly overtaken, the cool energy overriding your iris’ and leaving an intense indigo shine. With a sharp gasp and breath, you let go. His arm had stopped moving, now lying as still and motionless as he did. 

“Bucky,” you said, giving his damaged body a soft shake. “Bucky, wake up.”

He didn’t move, his face slack and limps heavy as you struggled to turn him to his back and off of his arm. Your hands rushed to his face, cupping his cheeks and holding him close as if you could shield him from more of John Walker’s savagery. If someone had the power to take your abilities and trade them for the ability to heal, you’d offer them anything they wished just for the potential to spare Bucky from his pain even for a moment. 

“Buck… come on wake up,” the fresh blood from his injuries spilled into your fingertips, the crimson caked into your cuticles and threatened not to leave.

“Plum, please,” His body twitched; your lungs finally filled with air. 

His breaths were labored but there, his chest rattled as he sucked in much-needed air. Your fingers moved to his neck, their shuddering finally stilling as you felt his pulse return to a firm and strong pattern.

The sounds of Sam’s grunts and Walker’s cries swiftly pulled your attention back to your friend. He was up in the air, a long metal cord pulling on the shield and attempting to free it from Walker’s venomous grasp. To no avail, as soon Sam was flung back to the floor and across the room. The shield clattered to the ground, equally laid between the two men. The smug and determined look on Walker’s face enraged you, the blue glow returning to your eyes. Sam glanced over at you before rushing for the shield. He needed you.

You turned back to Bucky, still unresponsive to your touches and voice. He was breathing, his pulse steady. Taking in the broken state of his body, his face battered and bloodied, you couldn’t hold back your rage any longer.

It was as if something had possessed you. Gently, you laid Bucky back to the ground, pressing a trembling kiss to his forehead.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, your voice monotone yet determined. The expressions of concern, fear, and horror that had played upon your face just moments ago were now gone. You were cold and still, as you rose to your feet and walked over to the two men fighting behind you.

Before Walker could grab the shield, a harsh blast of blue energy sent him flying back in the opposite direction. The man was studded, confused by how he could have been knocked down. He looked up to see you rushing towards him. You were steady in your movement, not running but with each step winding up for the next blow. Your hands were baked in a fierce glow of aqua as you channeled more energy through your fingertips. 

Walker scrambled to his feet, preparing for the offense. Before he could even take a step he was back on the ground with another blast from you. A loud cry fell from your lips as you slammed him down with force from your power. As you ran up to Walker, he quickly sent a firm hit to your jaw. You stumbled back, regaining your vision to see him coming at you. You jumped up, knees to your chest and feet pressing on his as you blasted him once again. 

He was on the ground with you towering over him. His face was coated in shades of black and blue, mirroring the face you were trembling over just seconds ago. Good, he deserved that and more.

You blasted him again as he struggled to crawl away. You followed him, hot on his trail as energy overflowed from your hands. The shield was long forgotten by you, only driven by your need for revenge. Bucky couldn’t even answer you, couldn’t move. He needed to pay.

Walker’s body slammed back into machinery as you surged more energy at him. He was done, hands shaking above him as he prepared for your next blow.

“We’re better than this right? Captain America doesn’t do this,” Walker said through his split lip and shaking jaw.

You scoffed; if only he had thought that way an hour ago. You wouldn’t be here. Bucky would be okay.

“Good thing I’m not Captain America,” you said. Walker shielded his face as you wound up your aim. Energy radiated from your fist up your forearm as you pulled it back to deliver one last shot.

“Y/n, stop!” Sam shouted.

Your blast was halted by a firm hand on your upper arm. You recognized the stillness and coolness that held onto your body. Turning you saw Bucky behind you. He was shaking as he stood, breaths labored and heavy, but there he was. Sam ran up behind the two of you, shield in hand as he looked at you. But all you could focus on was Bucky.

Bucky stepped forward, shaking his head softly as he lowered your arm. 

“This isn’t you, you don’t do this,” he said. Your nostrils flared as you breathed heavily, struggling to reel your rage back in. You glanced back at Walker who lay on the ground, glaring at you smugly. Your eyes shone brighter, your fists clenching as the glow intensified. 

“Hey,” Bucky said, taking your face and turning you to look back at him. “You’re not him.”

The energy overtaking your body began to fade as you relaxed under his firm touch. The uncontrollable blue glow began to fade back into your body, leaving you panting as you tried to calm your emotions. Bucky stood before you, vibranium hand stroking your own.

“You’re okay,” you said.

“I’m okay. Hey, hey, I’m okay. It’s over,” he said, pulling you away from the scene you had created. He walked you slowly back towards Sam, you shook in his grasp. Walker struggled to stand as he watched the three of you leave. The shield taunted him as it hung off of Sam’s arm, finally back with its true owner. The Captain America.

“I’m sorry,” you said, looking at Sam. “I just….” you glanced at Bucky, once again seeing the battering of his beautiful face. Your throat swelled as you lost your words, choking on your fear.

“We got it back,” Sam said, giving your shoulder a firm squeeze before heading out of the building. His limp as he walked didn’t escape you.

Bucky gripped your hand tightly, pulling you with him as he walked. He didn’t make it far before his knees began to buckle, his body slipping as he fell. You were at his side in a heartbeat, arm hauling him back up beside you; refusing to let his body crash to the filthy ground again. 

“Hey, hold onto me,” you said. You wrapped his arm around your shoulder and his other gripped at your waist as you began to pull him from the warehouse, his feet limping and tripping as he struggled to walk. Walker’s body began to fade in the distance as you left.

“Why did you do that, doll?” Bucky asked as you walked, his voice slurred and low. Each wince and suck of breath stabbed at your side like a pecking bird, refusing to let your wound heal. 

“I don’t know, I’ve never done that. I….” you paused, stopping your feet as you gave him a moment to catch his breath. “When I saw you hit that pole, I lost it.”

“I’m okay, Y/n,” he said, yet his words seemed to hold no weight as he struggled to stay upright at your side.

“Your arm was sparking, Bucky. You weren’t moving. I-I thought that you…” You couldn’t finish, gripping him tighter as your voice shook. As if letting him go would give the world a chance to tear him from you once again. Your fingertips dug into his tact suit, determined to embed yourself in him.

“Hey, babydoll,” he said, hoisting himself up just enough to take your face in his hands. He swayed on his feet as he stood, intent on holding you close as he spoke. Your hands held him steady at his side.

“I’m here, I’ll always be here. But no matter what happens to me, I don’t want you to lose yourself,” he said, stroking your cheek. “I can’t have that.”

“I don’t wanna lose you,” you said.

“You won’t. I’m right here, I’m always coming back to you.”

You nodded softly as you rested your head on his chest. His hands moved to your hair as he held you close. Your hands wound around his center, keeping him safe in your arms. As long as you were around, no one would take him.

“You’re so good, you’re so special, Y/n. You need to be strong, even if I get hurt. You can’t drop your morals for me. They mean too much to you,” he said.

“I think you may be my weakness,” you said, your voice muffled in his chest. He tucked himself closer into you at your words, his head resting upon yours. His lips pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head.

“You’ve always been mine,” he said softly.

---

taglist:

(comment to join <3)

[lifeasadorkwithnolife]

Jealousy (Azriel x Reader)

Word count: 3200

Mor and the reader have a plan in place to make Azriel jealous, but it backfires instead.

               You sighed, resting your elbows on the kitchen counter and placing your face into your hands. “Mor- please, don’t start this.”

               “I’m not starting anything, Y/N.” Mor disagreed, stirring the tear in her mug with a spoon. “I think I’m finally ending this pining game that you are putting yourself through.”

               “I don’t pine.” You mumbled, hesitating before peeking through your fingers. Mor rolled her eyes, taking a sip. “Fine, fine. Maybe I do, but can you blame me? He is the perfect male.”

               “I don’t blame you, but I also don’t know what you see in him besides his looks.” Mor teased, reaching out and pulling your hand from your face. “I’m just kidding, and you’re beautiful, Y/N. Any male would be lucky to have you.”

               You gave her a small smile, feeling the blush start from your chest and snake its way to your cheeks. She laughed, grabbing your cheek and giving it a squeeze. “But seriously, my plan is perfect. Watch this.”

               “What do you mean?” You asked, but she gave you a look and leaned back down on the counter, stirring her tea.

               “I just really think you should shoot your shot.” Mor giggled, and Azriel walked into the room, not even looking between the two of you. “Maybe you should do it at Rita’s tonight, you know we always see him there.”

               “Mor-stop!” you blushed harder, slapping her and looking down. Azriel didn’t even stop as he strolled through the room and out the other door. “See I told you, he wouldn’t care.”

               Mor gave you a devious smile, “this plan has multiple parts my dear, planting the seed of jealously is only part one.”

               “I am not wearing this!” You screeched, looking in the mirror. You were wearing one of Mors signature red dresses, but the slit went so far up the leg you couldn’t even wear proper undergarments. “Seriously-no.”   

               “Seriously, yes.” Mor sat on her bed, her own dress on and hair done. “We are going to go out, have a good time, and maybe find you a new male to flirt with.”            

               You stared at yourself in the mirror, feeling ridiculous but also… hot. You turned, looking at yourself over your shoulder as Mor smiled from behind you, leaning back and crossing her long legs. “Are you sure?”   

               “Duh, lets go!” Mor grinned, hopping off the bed and grabbing her clutch and your arm. You tried to keep up with her quick pace, but in your heels that was never going to happen. You nearly fell, but caught yourself just in time for Azriel and Cassian to walk into the hallway.

               Their gazes landed on you, Cassians eyes grew wide and both males physically stopped in their tracks.  “Boys- don’t wait up for us, the adults are going out.”

               “Y/n!” Cassian whistled, causing you to turn a deep scarlet. “Have fun out there, where are you going?”

               “None of your business, this is a girls only event.” Mor teased, grabbing you and pushing past the two large males. Azriel’s eyes locked on yours for only a second before glancing away, no expression on his face. “But if you need to know- we’re going to Ritas!”

               You two arrived at Rita’s not too long after, grabbing a drink and sitting in a booth. You watched everyone dance around you, you never really did this with Mor, you were more of a reader, not a dancer. You sipped your drink, your eyes darting around nervously. “Soooo…is this a part of your plan too?”

               Mor sipped from her drink, finishing it off and setting it down. “Come on, lets dance!”

               “I don’t dance.” You argued, regretting leaving the house. This was so silly, this was not your scene.

               “Look who just showed up.” Mor grinned at you, raising an eyebrow. You turned, watching the dark figure walk in through the door. You were surprised, Azriel was here without being forced? That was a first. You smiled, going to wave at him but then realizing that he… someone was grabbing his arm, pulling him away and towards the bar. Not just someone, a beautiful fae with long blonde hair and a huge smile.

               Your heart fell into the pit of your stomach as you watched Azriel give her a small smile back, not pushing her away but instead following her to the bar. Your smile fell and you could feel a wave of nausea flowing through you. “Mor, he’s with someone.”

               She frowned, eyes squinting at the pair at the bar. She quickly picked up her drink and put the straw to your lips. “Take a drink and lets get your mind off him. He’ll be out of here before we know it.”

               You nodded, numbly grabbing the straw and sipping the rest of your drink and setting it down on the table. You followed Mor out to the dance floor, and after a few minutes of awkward swaying, you could feel the alcohol kick in and your nerves give way.

               “See, aren’t you having fun?” Mor laughed over the loud music and crowd, grabbing your hand and giving you a twirl. You spun easily, laughing as you felt the dizziness wash over you. You grabbed the clip from your hair, shaking out the loose waves that you had done before.

               “I think I am having fun actually.” You smiled at her, twirling her back. “Let’s get another drink!”

               You two made your way over to the bar, and you gave a big smile to the bartender as he poured you another drink. He slid it across the bar, leaning over and placing his hand on yours. “You come around here often?”

               “No, I definitely do not.” You laughed, not pulling your hand away and instead brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “What about you?”       

               “I do work here, so I would say so.” He retorted, a smirk on his face. You looked down in embarrassment, but his warm finger reached under your chin, forcing you to look up into his brown eyes. “What’s your name?”

               “Isn’t that a little personal?” You teased him, pushing his hand away playfully and grabbing your drink. You took a sip, looking up at him through your lashes. As you did so, your eyes drifted to the left, where you spotted Azriel and the girl sitting next to him.

               Azriel’s hands were clenched at the bar, his drink untouched. The girl next to him was still talking, but Azriel gave no inclination he was listening, his eyes boring into yours. Dark, dazzling, angry. “It’s just your name, doll.” The bartender stepped into your view of Azriel, giving you another dazzling smile. You physically had to shake your head, trying to get the thought of Azriel out of your mind. You were here to get over him!

               “Y/N.” You smiled, “I’m going to go dance, but I’ll be back.”

               “You better be.” The male winked at you, making you smile again as you found Mor again on the dance floor.

               You danced your heart out with Mor, swinging your hair around until you were covered in a light sheen of sweat. You laughed so hard your abs hurt, but your heart still felt a pang every time you saw her sitting at the bar with Az.

               Eventually the night came to an end, and you walked up the bar, Azriel and the girl had both left, you wonder if you would see her at home. The thought made you sick to your stomach. “It was nice meeting you.” You smiled at the male; he smiled back as you sat in one of the stools. He took a rag and was cleaning the inside of a glass when you spoke again. “I…I think you’re very attractive, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think I am ready for any type of relationship, even one for the night.”

               He looked at you, nodding in understanding as he placed one glass down and picked up another. “I admire your honesty.” He answered, “I don’t know if I’m in the right place either for that type of relationship, Mor got me this job to help me move on from my past life…including my ex. I’ve been trying to do things the right way.”

               You nodded, and he sighed, looking around. “Speaking of her- where is she?”

               “I think she left.” You replied, “She was talking to someone, and I think I saw them walk out only a few minutes ago.”           

               “Figures.” He snorted, placing down the last glass and looking around. “I can’t let you go home alone, grab your coat, I’ll Walk you.”

               “I’m really fine.” You laughed, grabbing your coat and putting it on. “I can defend myself pretty alright.”

               “Oh I’m sure.” The male chucked, grabbing his coat from under the bar and shrugging it on. “I’ve heard the stories about you, I heard a rumor that you once killed someone with just one finger.”

               You laughed out loud, bending over to contain to hold your stomach. He turned off the light, chuckling to himself as you both made your way to the door. “I totally did not do that.”

               “I don’t know- It did sound like a pretty convincing rumor.” He teased, you were met with the cold blast of air outside and the earliest signs of dawn in the sky. You heard the door lock, and he turned back to look at you. “I heard one minute the guy was standing, and the next, you were standing over him, finger in the air.”

               “Oh shush!” You pushed him, laughing again. “What finger was it? I need to know.”

               “That’s the best part.” He grinned down at you. He leaned down towards you, his lips coming close to your ear. “Your pinky.”

               You pushed him away, smiling and blushing. “No way!” you pushed your hair back from your face again, a grin on your face as you looked up at the male. In the light, you could see his sharp cheekbones and pointed ears, and the boyish blonde hair that was neatly combed on his head. “Thank you, for tonight. The drinks were great, and I had a lot of fun.”

               “I can seriously walk you home.” He offered, pointing in either direction. “What way are you?”

               “Seriously- I can do it.”  

               “I can’t let you walk home alone.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, “now are we going left or right?”

               “That won’t be necessary.” A gruff voice replied, you jumped, turning and watching Azriel come out the alleyway.

               The male immediately took three steps back from you, looking between you and the shadowsinger. “Got it, I’ll…I’ll see you next time, Y/N?”

               “Of course.” You smiled at him, giving the male a small wave as he quickly walked down the alley. Once he was out of eyesight, your eyes turned to glare at Azriel. “What was that for?”

               “You said no, he didn’t respect that.” Azriel said flatly, “Let’s go home.”

               “I don’t need to be walked home!” You angrily stomped, arms flying to your chest in annoyance. “And why did you have to be so mean? He was nice and just wanted to make sure I got home safe!”

               “I can make sure you get home safe, Y/N.” Azriel rolled his eyes, his shadows moving around his frame. His wings were tall and spread, blocking the view of the alley behind him. “And, let’s be honest Y/N, you would be protecting him more than him protecting you. That male was useless.”

               “Us-Useless?” You raised your eyebrows, “Okay Mr. Judgemental, thank you for your opinion that I did not ask for. He was fine, he was great actually, thank you.”

               “Oh really?” Azriel’s eyebrow rose, “You met him while he was bartending at Ritas, what do you know about him that makes him great?”

               “He makes good drinks!” You shouted, angrily balling up your fists and bringing them to your side. “And…And he was nice! And honest!”

               “Oh honest hm?” Azriel rolled his eyes again. “let’s go home Y/N.”

               “I’m not walking home with you.” You seethed, trying to walk past him but he held out his arm. “Get out of my way.”

               “He wasn’t the type of male you want, Y/N.” Azriel moved, stepping in front of you and looking down. “His family has a history of being abusive towards females, you could do better.”

               You froze, eyes narrowing as you looked up at him. “How would you know that? And how is that any of your business?”

               “I make it my business to know the males that you make company with.” Azriel’s eyes grew darker, and he moved out of your way. “Let’s go home.”

               “What type of male should I look for then?” You countered, crossing your arms again and leaning, one hip out. You could feel the cold air on the slit on your dress, but maybe it was your anger, but you didn’t care. “Tell me, what kind of male should I look for?”

               “Not someone like him!” Azriel’s hand flew in the direction that the other male had walked off, “You need someone who can protect you at the very least!”

               “Oh protect me?” You laughed, you started to walk past him, slightly pushing him. “Get a hold of yourself, I can protect myself just fine.”

               “Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should have to!” Azriel countered, grabbing your arm and pulling you back to look at him. “You need someone that has your back, someone that will always take your side.”

               “or maybe I need someone nice.” You replied, trying to rip your grasp from him. “Nice and honest.”

               “You don’t want nice, you don’t care about nice.” Azriel’s eye darkened, you could feel his shadows moving around his arms.

               “Tell me what I need then.” You ripped your arm away from him. “Since you seem to know it all, just spit it out already.”

               “You need someone that will fight for you, someone that would wait for you, someone that would kill for you or do anything you wished. Someone who would fly across the the fucking courts just to be able to see you.” Azriel seemed out of breath, his eyes boring into yours with intensity.

               You stared back at him, eyes narrowing and a frown forming on your lips. You thought of the girl he was with, at the bar, and felt your heart drop back into your stomach. “So you’re saying I need someone like Cassian?”

               Azriel’s eyes went wide, and he backed up a few steps, running his hands through his hair. “Do you…do you feel for Cassian like that?”

               “Of course not!” You shouted, crossing your arms. “I just have no idea who else you could be referring to-“

               “Me!” Azriel shouted, pointing towards himself. “I am referring to me!”

               “You don’t mean that.” You whispered, your hands started to shake slightly.

               “I do mean that.” Azriel replied, his scarred hands coming back to his sides as he stared at you. “I had a hard enough time watching you with that useless male, please do not make me watch you and Cassian.”

               You stared at him, a million thoughts racing through your head at once. There was no way, Azriel..Azriel was with that girl.         “Who were you with tonight?” You placed your hand on your hip, trying to ease the shake. “You two seemed awfully close.”

               “I don’t even know who she was.” Azriel rolled his eyes, “I was outside Rita’s for nearly an hour before she grabbed my arm and told me that she was a friend of Mors and brought me inside.”

               “Why did you go to Ritas?” You countered, and he looked around, shrugging almost like he was embarrassed.

               “I…fuck Y/N.” Azriel grabbed the bridge of his nose again, “Mor had told you to shoot your shot, then you’re putting on this scrap of fabric and telling everyone you’re going to Rita’s, of course I’m going to go.”

               You stared at him, the sun was beginning to rise behind him, casting him in a glow. “You… you were jealous?”

               “Yes, I was jealous.” Azriel growled, “I wanted to rip that males hands off when he touched you.” Your heart pounded in your chest as Azriel glared at you, he still seemed angry. “When you first came out here, I thought you were going to go home with him. I think I might have actually killed him.”

“I was jealous too.” You admitted, slowly walking the few steps over to him so you could look up at him. “When I saw you with that that girl… and she was touching you, and she was so beautiful, I thought I would be sick.”

               His eyes shone with honesty and a bit of emotion that you had never seen from him before, vulnerability. “I don’t think I looked at her.” He whispered, his hand slowly moving to tuck the piece of hair that fell in front of your ear. “I just spent the whole night wishing I could dance with you like Mor was, or flirting with you as easily as that male was.”

               You grabbed his hand, feeling his calloused one under your own. “I don’t ever want to feel that way again Az.” You whispered, and he nodded. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted another male, I compare- I compare them all to you.”

               “As do I.” He replied, leaning his head down slowly. You could feel the words he spoke on your lips, “You were the only one made for me.”

               His lips met yours, slowly and deliberately, and you didn’t pull away from the kiss until you needed to get some air. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and you couldn’t help the blush that spread from your neck to your face.

               “I’ve been waiting for you to blush like that for me.” Azriel teased, using a thumb and stroking your face. “Now, let me walk you home.”

               While you and Azriel spent the day making up for lost time, Mor got out of the house and went back to Ritas. She smiled at her old friend Jason, who placed a water in front of her and smiled back.

               “That little plan of yours almost got me killed, you know.” Jason grabbed a towel, cleaning a glass as he normally did when making conversation. “Who was the girl you had come in with Azriel?”

               “Someone else who owed me a favor.” Mor smiled, sipping on her drink.

               “Well…did the plan work?” Jason asked, setting the cup down.   

               “Unfortunately, I think it worked too well.” Mor scrunched up her face in disgust. “They were at it all night long.”

[kateschi]

chef's kiss is not enough

synopsis: a simple night out for good food changes when you meet the chef behind a dish that leaves you speechless.

pairing: chef!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

the restaurant is cozy, the kind of place that doesn’t draw much attention from the outside but feels like a hidden treasure once you step inside.

soft lighting casts a warm glow over the wooden tables, and the low murmur of conversation mixes with the occasional clinking of plates.

you’re here with friends, seated at a corner table, menus spread out in front of you.

it’s the kind of night where you’re just looking forward to good food and laughter.

the waiter approaches, balancing several plates on his tray, and sets a bowl down in front of you. you thank him absentmindedly, but the moment your eyes land on your dish, you can’t help but pause.

it’s beautiful in its simplicity—steaming ramen served in a deep bowl, the broth shimmering under the restaurant’s soft light.

thin slices of pork rest delicately on the surface, alongside a soft-boiled egg, its yolk a vibrant golden color. green onions and a sheet of nori top it off, each detail deliberate and precise.

when you take the first bite, your eyes widen. the broth is rich and savory, the kind of flavor that seems to envelop your entire mouth.

the noodles are perfectly cooked, springy but not too firm, soaking up just enough of the broth.

each topping complements the next—the pork is tender, the egg creamy, the green onions adding a fresh, sharp contrast.

it’s the kind of dish that doesn’t just taste good; it feels like someone put their heart into it.

“oh my god,” you mutter, setting your chopsticks down for a moment. “this is incredible.”

your friends laugh at your reaction, one of them nudging you with their elbow. “you always get like this when the food’s good.”

“no, but this—this is different,” you insist, leaning closer to the bowl as if it holds some sort of secret. “this isn’t just good; this is like…life-changing.”

the comment earns a round of laughter, but you’re already distracted, glancing around the room for the waiter.

when you catch his eye, you raise a hand. “excuse me, who’s the chef here?”

the waiter looks surprised by the question. “our head chef is bakugou katsuki. would you like me to—”

“yes, please,” you interrupt, a little too quickly. realizing how eager you sound, you backtrack. “I mean, if he’s not too busy.”

the waiter nods and disappears toward the kitchen, leaving your friends to give you a variety of amused and curious looks.

“what?” you say defensively. “it’s not every day you eat something this good.”

a few minutes later, the kitchen door swings open, and the man who walks out is…not what you expected.

you were picturing someone older, maybe with a few gray hairs and a soft smile.

instead, this man—bakugou katsuki, apparently—is tall and broad-shouldered, his chef’s coat fitting snugly over a strong frame.

his spiky blond hair looks slightly damp, like he’s been working hard, and his expression is one of mild irritation.

he looks more like a professional athlete than a chef.

“what?” he says, his voice low and rough, as he strides up to your table. his crimson eyes sweep over the group before landing on you.

and for a moment, bakugou freezes. he didn’t know what to expect when the waiter said someone wanted to meet him—probably some pompous critic or a customer with a laundry list of complaints.

but you’re not what he expected. at all. there’s something about the way you’re looking at him, your eyes wide with a mix of nervousness and awe, that throws him completely off balance.

you’re…really pretty. too pretty, actually.

it’s annoying, how much it catches him off guard. his chest tightens, and he suddenly feels hyperaware of himself—his hands, his posture, the faint dampness of his forehead from the heat of the kitchen.

damn it.

“I, uh,” you start, faltering under his intense gaze. you weren’t expecting him to be so—well, intimidating. “I just wanted to say that the food is amazing. like, really amazing.”

for a moment, he just stares at you, his jaw tightening slightly. then he rubs the back of his neck, glancing away as if trying to compose himself. “thanks,” he mutters, his tone less gruff than before.

the way he looks away almost makes you smile.

he doesn’t seem like the type to take compliments well, and you can’t help but find it endearing. but at the same time, his presence is overwhelming, and you feel heat creeping up your neck.

“well,” he says abruptly, his eyes snapping back to yours. “if that’s it, I’ve got stuff to do.”

“right, of course,” you say quickly, nodding. “thank you again.”

he nods once, almost curtly, before turning and heading back toward the kitchen. you watch him go, your mind racing with thoughts you can’t quite organize.

the rest of the evening goes by in a blur.

you and your friends continue to chat and laugh, but your thoughts keep drifting back to bakugou. his sharp eyes, the way he looked almost flustered when you complimented him.

it’s distracting, and you can’t quite shake it.

as you’re leaving, stepping out into the cool night air, a voice calls out behind you.

“hey.”

you turn to see him standing in the doorway, still in his chef’s coat. he looks like he’s debating whether this is a good idea or not, his expression tight with something between determination and reluctance.

in his hand is a paper bag with the restaurant’s logo. “here,” he says, holding it out to you.

you blink, confused. “I didn’t order takeout.”

“it’s on me,” he says, shoving the bag toward you. his crimson eyes flick to the side, avoiding your gaze.

“oh, but—”

“just take it,” he interrupts, his voice firm but not unkind.

you hesitate for a moment before taking the bag. your fingers brush against his, and the brief contact sends a strange warmth through your chest. “thank you,” you murmur.

he nods, and for a moment, it looks like he might say something else. but then he just steps back inside, the door closing behind him.

when you get home, you open the bag to find a perfectly packaged serving of the ramen you raved about earlier. sitting on top is a small note, written in slightly messy handwriting:

xxx-xxx-xxxx the name’s katsuki. text me.

a smile creeps onto your face, and you find yourself thinking that maybe, just maybe, you will.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[omgeto]

☆ R U GONNA STAY THE NIGHT? — fratboy!GETO SUGURU

summary:geto suguru, 'top dog' on campus, is used to ploughing through all the ditzy little freshmen without any concern for their feelings. but now his biggest challenge, is you, and it's not getting you in his bed, its getting you to stay in it.

wc: 4k (look guys I did it)

cw: afab!reader, all types of fucking, masturbation, you ride his dick, you ride his face, he gives you like two spanks, he's kinda whiny but then at the same time not. you both think you're the boss of this situationship and you are both wrong. MDNI slight angst if you squint, or maybe angst angst idk

an: first fic in 10 days, is this what you call a comeback? idk but I hope you enjoy whatever this is I TRIED OKAY I TRIED! Also thanks bae @kazushawty for betaing some and bullying me in our chats

sleeping with a frat bro wasn’t on your to do list during your freshman year, but there is something about geto suguru that you just can’t shake. you thought that you were one of many, after hearing all the rumours about him that spread throughout campus and that didn’t phase you as long as he could get you off, you didn’t care what else he did. but little did you know he is all about you and he is finally gonna let that be known tonight.

"excuse me," a whisper brushes against your ear, a deep, low hum that sends shivers down your spine. hands press lightly on your waist, shifting you ever so slightly. you glance over your shoulder, eyebrows furrowing when you realise there is more than enough room for the person to pass. it's geto suguru, and you shoot him a withering glare.

"what's the problem?" he asks, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he observes the hard look you're giving him. but instead of answering, you simply turn away, refusing to acknowledge his presence.

geto, undeterred by your cold response, takes a step closer. his presence is magnetic, and you can feel the heat of his body inches from yours. the music pulses around you, the crowd dancing and laughing, but all you can focus on is him.

“y’know me” he leans in, his breath warm against your ear, and his voice drops to a seductive murmur. "can’t resist the opportunity to get a little closer to you."

“oh fuck off geto,” you hiss, but your words had no real bite, you move your elbow to try and deter him but his stance remains fixed behind you.

“you’re a hard woman to please,” he sighs, with mock sadness, “but as frat president i can’t have one of my party guest having a bad time at one of my parties can i?”

“maybe you just aren’t trying hard enough,” you retort quickly, finally turning around to face him head on, a teasing smirk appearing on your face, “what would you know about pleasing me?”

“i think we both know what i know about pleasing you,” he offers his hand out, “c’mon let me show you a good time.” you hesitate, seeing the spark in his eyes and he puts his hand out further, urging you to take it. you close your eyes swiftly, taking a deep breath before letting him drag you into the crowd of people.

geto hand remains a reassuring hold as he drags you through the sea of intoxicated dancers. he pulls you into him, his dick already bricked up as brings it to your ass, your turn your head and raise your eyebrow, and he flashes a smile in return his hands sliding down to hold your hips as he starts to gyrate against you. you quickly match his pace, throwing back your ass, your hips swaying in time with geto and the music.

he places his hand at the small of your back, forcing you to bend slightly, as he widens his stance and forces his body into your further. your mouth parts, at the contact, and you smile at the feeling — geto suguru actually has rhythm. he’s quick to pull you up, peppering light kisses against your face as he grinds into you.

his arm hooks around your neck in a gentle but firm hold, as he bends down to your ear, his lips whispering words only meant for you, as he continues to rub his clothed dick in the crook of your ass. geto manoeuvres his hands up and down your body, his fingers teasingly toying with your tits, as he explores all you, right on the dance floor.

you could feel the heat between your legs grow, so you pull away from geto turning around to face him, his hands coming down to hold you close to him as if he was afraid you'd run away. “not bad huh?” he asks, knowing that you feel the exact same as he does, you both didn’t even notice all the eyes on you, as the crowd of partygoers just witnessed you almost fuck on the dance floor.

before you could even respond, you could feel the wind being knocked out of you as a broad chest collides right into you. geto keeps you upright, so you don’t fall on your ass and places you behind him as he steps to the person responsible for almost knocking you over. 

as the fog of the moment clears, you see the cause of the commotion—gojo satoru, geto's best friend, is in a blissful state of drunkenness, a wide grin plastered across his face.

"heeeeyy, suguru," gojo greets loudly, his bleary eyes darting between the two of you. "is this you, yeah?" his words slur slightly, but it's clear he's trying to figure out the situation. geto doesn't respond verbally, but the subtle smirk on his face and the bashful look on yours speak volumes. "you know what we could do to make this night greater," gojo announces with an exaggerated flourish.

geto sighs, on a usual day he’s all up for entertaining his friend but tonight all he wants to do is entertain you. “what is it satoru?”

“shots!” he cheers, looking around the room to be completely ignored, in too much of a drunken state to even notice, “c’mon sugu, you love shots, you can even bring this pretty little thing you’ve got with you.” he finishes, gojo’s eyes linger on you a little too long as he sizes you up, his bottom lip pulling into his teeth and all you could do is raise your eyebrows up at him, puzzled.

“bro,” geto commands, and gojo’s eyes snap to his friends as he raises his hand in mock surrender, “just take us to the fucking shots.” the subtle tension between the two guys didn't go unnoticed by you, but you brush it off, chalking it up to frat boys being frat boys. 

it was soon forgotten anyways, with you sprawled across a table of the frat house, drunken partygoers jeering at you as your shirt is half pulled up just stopping at your breast and gojo is cheering as he’s sprinkles salt on you and lines your stomach with shots.

“care to do the honours,” gojo taunts geto as he finishes pouring the final shot. geto sends a glare his way ignoring him as he makes his way over to you, giving you a long stripe of his tongue down your stomach, before quickly downing all the shots on your stomach, his eyes stuck on you. gojo offers him a lime, which he snatches straight out of his hands. gojo tuts, shaking his head, “someones touchy.” and just to add fuel to the fire, gojo has his own lick at your stomach, more slower and sensual then geto’s was, and he pours himself a shot, giving you a wink as he drinks it.

“what the fuck man?” geto interrogates, stepping to his friend, slightly wobbling as the shots he just backed in swift succession, hit him quickly.

“what’s wrong suguru?” gojo teases with a playful grin, he wasn’t dumb he knew who you were before he even saw you, geto talks about you all the time. so when gojo finally saw you with him, with geto still downplaying how he hard he actually fucks with you, he couldn’t help but fuck with his friend a bit, “you jealous?”

“don’t even start with me ‘toru,” geto warns, and you begin to sit up with an eye roll, you couldn’t deny you were a bit tipsy, but no amount of alcohol could make you bear to see this lame exchange of fray boy bravado. 

“oh whats your issue man,” gojo brushes him off, going to pour himself another drink, but geto is hot on his tails. “bro we literally always share the hot freshmen, what makes her any different.”

“because she just is,” geto snaps, in an attempt of a hush tone but you hear him loud and clear.

“i think i’m going to go,” you say out loud, and geto hears you pausing, slightly panicked. forgetting all about gojo his focus back onto you.

“no no, you don’t have to leave, we were having a good time right?” he stammers, rushing to persuade you stay. you couldn’t deny that you were having a good time, geto suguru is actually fun to be around, and the way he was staring at you, begging for you just stay with him, hits you right in your core. he pulls you close to him as he murmurs to you, “i know you felt what i felt when we were dancing, just give me a chance and like i said earlier i could really show you a good time. if you let me.”

geto just wanted to get you alone, he could see that the heavy noise of the club was clearly not your vibe, but he couldn’t let you leave just yet. he offers out his hand just like he did at the start of the party, but this time you didn’t hesitate to take it. letting him cart you off upstairs as you both ignore that wolf whistles coming from gojo, “you better get some suguru, go and get some for the both of us!”

when you get up into geto’s room, you try to disregard the slew of people strung out in different rooms across the house. but geto was confident, he had no reason not to be with you in his arms, wanting him just as badly as he wants you.

“c’mere,” he beckons you, as he sits down, patting down his thigh. you happily skip over to him, perching yourself right on his thigh, your arms hooking around his neck, your hands clasping together, locking him in. you face inches closer to his, your lips part ready to taste him but he halts you, smirking as he says “you're cute, y’know that right?”

“how so?” you ask, entertaining him with an eye roll.

“you always sit in class with me, trying to act all bothered by my presence,” he comments, “but turns out all it takes is for you to come to one of my parties, and for you to dance with me, to get you cumming in my lap… literally.”

“are we gonna fuck?” you say bluntly, catching him off guard, “or are you gonna continue to talk nonsense.” even though he wasn’t talking nonsense, he was right, tonight really did change your perspective on geto. but you weren’t dumb he was the president of the frat, and his best friend gojo’s comments earlier only further cemented the type of people frat guys are.

you press your lips against his before he has a chance to respond, your tongue darting in his mouth as he moulds into you. one of his hands works its way down your body whilst the other stays caressing your face. you groan against him, driving yourself against his thigh, your clothed cunt, already dripping just from the friction alone. 

“you getting off on my thigh yeah?” he teases between kisses, and you nod, desperately pushing yourself into him. he hikes you up further, his lips still moving in tandem with yours, and he spreads you into lap so you could properly straddle him. you both had quick movements, both of you are needy and wanting of the other. geto’s hands slide down your back and keep your ass in a firm hold as you begin to rock against him.

geto pulls away from you, his lips already plump from the way you’ve been gnawing at them. you pout at the removal but he laughs, “patience, princess.” but you ignore him your hands darting into his pants, ready to free his dick and land it, but he places his hand on your wrist, his eyebrows raising in warning, “what did i just say?”

“to take out your dick and sit on it right?” you shrug coyly, chuckling at your joke, and he smiles, but the warning in his eyes doesn’t leave.

“strip,” he commands, the single word having you folding like a chair, as you fling off your clothes leaving you in your underwear. he pulls you by the waistband of you panties, ripping them off you in one swift motion, biting his lip as he’s met with your wet pussy. “she’s so pretty,” he comments, flicking at your clit and as he slides his finger down your slit, just about to enter he pauses, putting his finger in his mouth instead of in you. he swirls it around his tongue, “sweet.”

“suguru,” you whine, at his teasing, “this isn’t funny.”

“play with yourself,” he says, disregarding whatever you were saying.

“what happened to you giving me a good time,” you argue.

“c’mon show me how bad you want it,” he persuades with a grin, leaning back, waiting for you to put on a show for him, “i’ll make it worth your while.”

despite everything, you could just never tell geto, no. it’s the way he looks at you, the way he talks to you, how he carries himself. with how he is just leaning back in his bed, his eyes low in anticipation as he waits for you to pleasure yourself for him, exciting you to do whatever he wants.

your hand works its way down to your pussy, your thumb landing on your clit rubbing against it as your finger part your sobbing cunt, letting geto see how wet you really are for him. “f-fuck,” you moan out, as you push your fingers inside of you, your eyes clenching shut at the contact.

“oi,” geto calls out to you, your eyes opening and landing on him, “keep your eyes on me. okay?” and you nod, as you quicken your pace, watching as geto palms his dick at your performance.

“this is boring,” you complain as you continue to rub at your pussy, trying your best to reach your climax on your own, “need your fingers, need your di—”

“keep going,” he orders, smirking, he could tell by the way your stance weakens and your legs tremble, that you were close. you were predictable and even though you were hungry for his dick, he knew you’d be able to cum with just your fingers and his eyes on you. call him cocky, but the influence he had over you was unmatched.

you roll your eyes at him, but you listen, continuing to finger yourself as he told you. your mouth parts, and you exhale feeling yourself about to cum, you push your digits in you harder, and your eyes stay fixated on geto and he shrugs his shoulders letting you do as you please—for once. you moan loudly as you cum all over your fingers, releasing hard as you spill out all down your thighs.

“see wasn’t so hard was it?” he taunts, pulling out his dick that has been hard from the moment he saw you at the party. he gives it a few strokes, pre cum oozing from the tip and you hungrily pounce on him, your pussy still dripping with your cum as you hover over his dick. you pause before sliding down on him, hissing at the feeling of you stretching you wide. “fuck man,” he groans out as he feels you clench over him, “your shit’s so tight.”

you bounce up and down on him, as he thrusts up into you, his hips hitting yours in a hard flurry of repeated connections. you press your hands flat on his chest, as his hands stay cupping your ass, keeping you upright as he drills into you.

his pace is unmatched, as you try and keep up, grinding your pussy down on him, desperate to have him stuff you up even more. “sugu ‘ts too much, f-fuck you’re relentless.”

“c-cant help it,” he stammers, still maintaining his merciless strokes, his dick twitching inside of you, “your pussy is just too good, or should i say my pussy,” he finishes with a wink. 

“y-your pussy?” you retort, laughing at his seriousness.

“yeah it’s mine right?” he interrogates, sending a slap to your ass to prompt further confirmation, “tell me it’s mine.” you don’t respond, a teasing smile spreading across your face, as you stare down at him, still riding his dick. but geto pauses, halting your movements and he slightly eases you up off of his dick, “what was that?” he prompts.

“it’s yours,” you give in quickly, not even bothering to entertain it any further with how needy you are to cum, “of course it's yours.” satisfied, geto charges his dick back into you with no warning, and you immediately go back to pushing your ass down on him, spreading your legs wider to straddle him more, taking him in deeper.

“t-that’s all i needed to hear,” he stutters, feeling himself about to cum, so he gives you a few sloppy thrusts before easing you off of him, cumming all over your stomach. you're quick to follow, your cum spraying his sheets, as you slump over him, dripping down on his body. “i made sure to not cum in you this time, i know how angsty you get over that shi.”

“oh how gentlemanly of you,” you deadpan, “all gives love a stomach covered in salt and semen.”

“well what would you prefer? your pussy filled with my cum,” he taunts, smirking as you still, “i know i would.” you didn’t answer pulling your sticky body away from his, as you come down off of your high.

“are you gonna stay the night?” geto asks with a grin it was like clockwork, everytime you finish fucking he’d always ask the same question, never getting bored when you mutter the same tired words.

“you know i don’t sleep in frat houses suguru.”

he shrugs casually, propping himself up on his elbows and admiring your naked figure. "you fuck in them though," he remarks, as if that justified everything, "so what's the difference?"

rolling your eyes, as you begin to do the laborious task of trying to locate your underwear—geto always had the habit of throwing them across the room. "the difference is," you pause, looking over your shoulder at him, "I can wake up tomorrow in my own bed, feeling just a little less gross for even fucking you in the first place."

a mock expression of hurt crosses his face as he crawls up behind you on the bed, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. "oh, how you wound me, princess," he coos, his breath sending shivers down your spine, "just stay."

“no, i shouldn’t” you argue, letting out an exhale as his lips attach to your collarbone, sucking against your skin, pulling and nipping at it with his teeth. 

you try to distract yourself by putting on your bra but geto is quick to fling it off you, his mouth trailing down to your tits peppering kisses all over your nipples, murmuring “stay” between each kiss. 

he takes your boob into his mouth, sucking on its flesh as his other hand toys with the other, massaging your nipples with just enough roughness to have you writhing in his palms. your back arches involuntarily, your tits pushing further into his touch, aching to feel him further, “see,” he smirks as he toys with you, “you do wanna stay.”

“i won’t, if you keep talking” you warn, gritting your teeth as he pinches your nipples, rolling them between his fingers. “now c’mere, convince me on why i should stay,” you lift his head off your tits with your fingers, eyeing him down as he stares back at you with pure lust in his eyes. you press a kiss to his lips before steering his head down towards your pussy.

“since when do you run things?” he doesn’t budge, his eyebrows slightly raise as he chuckles.

“you’re the one that wants me to stay, no?” you counter, your eyes locked with his.

“well what i want is for you to come sit on my face and my head can stay sandwiched between your thighs, how about that?” his grin widens as your mouth parts, speechless. he tugs you by the arm close to the head of the bed, you climb up his body your pussy still wet from he fucked you before, leaking out your juices all over his chest. “so hop on girl, a man’s gotta eat,” he mutters impatiently, smacking your ass to urge you onto his lips.

he takes you in hungrily, his mouth enclosing on your pussy with such greed that he is practically drowning in your scent. he laps at your cunt, his tongue giving such long, deep strokes which have your hands pressing against the walls, grinding down on his face. 

geto grips and claws at your ass, he grins, his nose burying into your pussy as your thighs clench tighter around his head. “s-sshit suguru,” your hands slap against the wall as you squeal out, trying to grasp at something to keep you afloat, as the way geto is working your pussy and how his fingers dig into your ass cheeks, has you buckling over about to topple off of him. 

he hums against your pussy, the vibrations jolting right through you, having you moan even louder. his tongue darts against your clit, swirling at it vigorously, nipping at it lightly with his teeth. 

“sugu i—” you pant, trying to ease off of him, the pleasure getting too much for you, but his hands stroke both your thighs keeping them in place. “bout to cum sugu.”

you could hear him mumble something, you didn’t care what, but the two taps he gave to your thigh let you know you could release all over him. you cry out as you cum, feeling yourself spill out all over his face. geto continues to eat you up, drinking in everything he can take, his chin getting covered by what he couldn’t swallow.

 “you are way too good at that.” you gasp as you slowly come up off his face, your breathing still laboured.

“only the best for you princess,” he jests with his eyes half open, a blissful smile on his lips as his tongue swipes at the remains of you left on his face.

“yeah me and all the other freshmen you fuck,” you mutter, to yourself but he heard you loud and clear.

“what was that?” he urges, wanting you to repeat your claims. before you started fucking geto, you knew he was and what he was about and technically you didn’t care, you only wanted him for his mouth game—which proved to be very useful. but when he tries to sweet talk you you couldn’t help but be reminded of what kind of guy he is.

“i think you heard me,” you shrug, “i’m saying it to insult you or anything, i'm just telling the truth. you like to fuck everbody and everything.”

“wait? is this why you won’t stay the night?” he says, sitting up, staring you down. 

“you must be only a pretty face, if you thought otherwise,” you laugh at his shock.

“no it’s just i think its crazy that you just won’t stay,” he complains, glaring at you as you put back on your clothes, “we could get to know each other properly.”

“like we agreed when we first started messing around,” you cringe, pitying the pouty look on his face. “let’s just… keep this casual”

“but that was ages ago,” he tries to reason, “some may say you’re just using me for sex.”

“suguru we use each other for sex,” you respond quickly, you step towards him pressing a peck on his pouty lips, with a smirk on your face as you see his lips chasing yours as you pull away, “well i'm gonna go now, i’m sure i’ll see you at one of your many lame parties you and your people always throw. it’s been fun as always” geto raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement, blowing out a hard breath, as he watches you strut out of his bedroom.

“she’ll stay the night eventually.” he murmurs to himself, maybe it’s wishful thinking, but a guy can dream.

AN: she’s only gone and done it. but yeah how was it guys 🥺? There’s only two lines in this whole fic that I actually thought “damn I cooked here” if you guess the lines you win a reward. ALSO IDK WHY I WAS DROPPING HINTS AT SOME GOJO ON SOME MR STEAL UR GIRL TYPE SHIT but I just went with it. But geto is sooo sweet HE JUST WANTS U TO STAY and you don’t even fuckinnn stay 😭😭 looool aren’t u mean. Technically I wrote the fic backwards it was meant to start with the “r u gonna stay the night” AND then gojo and geto would have a a conversation about you AND the it would end w the party and u tucking but I wanted to keep if one continuous flow and ANYWAYS this an is becoming a diary entry so LMK UR THOUGHTS PLEASE CAUSE THIS HAD ME STRETCHED

[kathaelipwse]

The Fan Who Got Away - C.Seungcheol

Warnings: Angst, Comfort, Self-Doubt, Secret Relationship Genre: Drama, Romance, Idol!cheol x Former.Carat!F.Reader Word Count: 3.9k (reading time 14 mins-ish) Synopsis: Years ago, you were a dedicated Carat, attending concerts and collecting albums—until life got in the way, and you drifted from the fandom. One night, at a random bar, you bump into Seungcheol in disguise, hiding from the public. You don’t recognize him at first, but he recognizes you. Turns out, he remembers you from old fansigns. "You stopped coming," he says softly. "Why?" What starts as a simple conversation turns into years of texting, stolen glances at concerts, and a secret relationship that neither of you can walk away from. Author's Note: This story is for everyone who has ever found comfort in an artist but felt like they had to leave that love behind. I hope this brings warmth to your heart. 💙

The bar, a dimly lit haven of forgotten dreams and lingering scents of whiskey and regret, was a stark contrast to the vibrant, pulsating world you once inhabited. It was a place where the weight of daily existence was palpable, a tangible entity that pressed down on your shoulders. You, a ghost of your former self, sat at the counter, a drink swirling in your hand, its contents as stagnant as your life.

The years had been unkind, stripping away the joy that once defined you. The echoes of roaring crowds, the frantic energy of ticket sales, the sheer, unadulterated happiness of being a part of the SEVENTEEN fandom—all of it seemed like a distant, almost fantastical memory. Now, bills piled high, relationships crumbled, and the sheer exhaustion of survival had transformed you into a shadow, a hollow echo of the person you used to be.

"You stopped coming."

The voice, deep and resonant, cut through the haze of your thoughts. It was a voice you knew intimately, a voice that had once filled your life with joy. You turned, your heart pounding against your ribs, and found yourself face to face with Choi Seungcheol.

Even under the dim lights, concealed beneath a cap and hoodie, his presence was undeniable. The leader of SEVENTEEN, the man who had been your beacon of happiness, stood before you, his eyes holding a knowing, gentle gaze that sent a shiver down your spine. He recognized you.

"What?" you managed, your voice barely a whisper.

"You stopped coming to concerts. To fansigns. You used to be there—front row, every time." His voice was soft, laced with a hint of disappointment.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. "Didn’t think you’d notice."

"I did."

Those two words, simple yet profound, were enough to shatter the walls you had meticulously built around yourself.

The stale air of the bar hung heavy, thick with the unsaid, the unspoken regrets that lingered like ghosts. You stared into the swirling amber of your drink, the liquid a distorted reflection of your own fractured emotions.

"Life happened," you repeated, the words sounding hollow even to your own ears. It was a cliché, a dismissive phrase used to brush aside the complexities of existence, but it was the only explanation you could muster.

Seungcheol remained silent, his gaze fixed on you, unwavering. He wasn't judging, wasn't offering platitudes. He was simply present, a silent witness to your unraveling. The weight of his attention, the intensity of his focus, was almost unbearable.

"Bills piled up," you continued, your voice barely a whisper. "My job… it barely covers rent. I'm constantly working, constantly exhausted. There's no room for anything else."

You paused, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "And then there's my personal life. Or what's left of it. Relationships fell apart. Friendships faded. It's like… I'm slowly disappearing."

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a raw, vulnerable pain. "It's not just about the money, Cheol. It's about feeling like I've lost myself. Like I'm just going through the motions, existing but not living."

You looked back down at the drink, unable to meet his gaze. "I used to find so much joy in being a Carat. SEVENTEEN was my escape, my happy place. But… I couldn't reconcile that joy with the reality of my life. It felt like a betrayal, almost. Like I was pretending everything was okay when it wasn't."

You took a shaky breath, the weight of your confession pressing down on you. "I felt guilty. Guilty for spending money I didn't have, guilty for taking time for myself when I should have been working, guilty for feeling happy when I felt like I had no right to be. And then… I just stopped. I stopped going to concerts, stopped buying albums, stopped watching your videos. I just… shut it all out."

Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, fighting back tears. "It wasn't that I didn't want to be there. It's just that I couldn't… I couldn't bear to see you all, to see the happiness I used to have, knowing I couldn't reach it anymore."

You closed your eyes, the memories flooding back, each one a sharp pang of longing. "I remember the first time I saw you perform. The energy, the passion, the sheer joy radiating from the stage. It was like… magic. And I wanted to be a part of that magic. I wanted to feel that happiness again."

"But I couldn't," you whispered, your voice thick with unshed tears. "I couldn't pretend anymore. I couldn't keep up the facade. And I didn't want to be a reminder of what I'd lost. So, I just… disappeared."

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze, and found them filled with a deep, unwavering empathy. He wasn't offering solutions, wasn't trying to minimize your pain. He was simply acknowledging it, validating it.

"I used to love SEVENTEEN," you admitted, the words heavy with a bittersweet nostalgia. "I still do. But loving something doesn’t always mean you get to keep it. Sometimes, life takes things away, and you have to learn to live without them."

You paused, a wave of exhaustion washing over you. "I didn't think you'd notice. I thought I was just another face in the crowd, another fan among thousands. I didn't think I mattered."

Seungcheol's silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of your inner turmoil. He was absorbing every word, every nuance, every unspoken emotion. His eyes, dark and intense, held a depth of understanding that made your heart ache.

He didn't interrupt, didn't offer empty reassurances. He simply listened, his presence a silent acknowledgment of your pain. It was as if he was creating a space for you to unravel, to lay bare your soul without fear of judgment.

The silence stretched, heavy and charged. It was a silence filled with unspoken words, with the weight of years of unspoken emotions. You felt exposed, vulnerable, yet strangely comforted by his unwavering attention.

You looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. "I'm sorry," you whispered, the words barely audible. "I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I stopped being a Carat. I'm sorry I disappointed you."

You felt a tear escape, tracing a path down your cheek. You didn't bother to wipe it away. "I just… I didn't know how to be happy anymore."

You closed your eyes, the image of SEVENTEEN's joyful performances flashing through your mind, a stark reminder of the happiness you had lost. "I felt like I was betraying myself if I was happy. I felt like I was pretending and I couldn't do it."

You opened your eyes, finding his gaze still fixed on you. "I didn’t want to be a reminder of what I lost. I didn't want to be a ghost in the crowd."

Seungcheol’s silence wasn’t indifference; it was a profound respect for your pain. He was allowing you to express the depths of your despair, to acknowledge the wounds that had festered for years. He was offering you a space to be vulnerable, to be broken, without judgment or interruption.

His silence was a testament to his understanding, a silent promise that he was there, that he was listening, that he cared. In that moment, his silence spoke volumes, conveying a depth of empathy that transcended words. It was a silence that held your pain, a silence that offered solace, a silence that promised understanding.

He let you finish, and when the last of your words faded into the murmur of the bar, he took a deep breath. He had heard you. He had truly heard you. And he understood. He understood more than you thought possible.

---

The glow of your phone screen became a familiar comfort in the quiet hours of the night. After that initial, raw conversation at the bar, the texts from Seungcheol were like a lifeline, a gentle reminder that you weren't alone. They started with simple check-ins, a way to ensure you were taking care of yourself.

Cheol: Did you eat a proper meal today? Not just coffee and a stale pastry, I hope. You: Okay, fine, you caught me. But I promise I’ll make a real dinner tomorrow. Cheol: That's what you said last week. I’m starting to think I need to send you a meal prep service. You: Or you could just cook for me. ;) Cheol: Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.

The playful banter was a welcome change from the heaviness of your earlier conversations. It was as if Seungcheol was gently coaxing you out of your shell, reminding you that laughter and lightheartedness were still possible.

As the weeks turned into months, the texts became more frequent, more personal. He would share snippets of his day, the behind-the-scenes moments that fans rarely saw.

Cheol: Rehearsals were brutal today. But we got a new choreography down. I wish you could see it. You: I’m sure it’s amazing. You guys always put on incredible performances. Cheol: It’s not the same without you in the audience. You: Are you trying to make me blush? Cheol: Maybe. ;)

The subtle flirtation was a delicate dance, a push and pull that made your heart flutter. You found yourself looking forward to his messages, eager to see what he would say next.

One night, he sent you a picture of himself, a candid shot taken during a break from filming. He was smiling, his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Cheol: Thinking of you. You: You look good. Even when you’re tired. Cheol: Only for you. You: Smooth. Cheol: I have my moments.

The late-night calls became a regular occurrence, a way to bridge the distance between your worlds. You would talk for hours, sharing your thoughts, your dreams, your fears. He listened with unwavering attention, his voice a soothing presence in the darkness.

"You know," he said one night, his voice soft, "you never talk about yourself. You're always asking about me, about the members. But I want to know about you. Tell me about your day."

You hesitated, unsure how to articulate the mundane details of your life. "It's nothing special," you murmured. "Just work, errands, the usual."

"Try me," he insisted. "I want to hear about it."

So, you started to share, recounting the small moments that made up your day—a funny interaction with a coworker, a beautiful sunset, a new book you had started reading. He listened intently, asking questions, offering his own observations.

"You have a way of seeing beauty in the ordinary," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "It's one of the things I admire most about you."

You blushed, surprised by his compliment. "You're just saying that."

"I mean it," he said, his voice firm. "You have a unique perspective, a way of finding joy in the little things. It's refreshing."

The compliments, the gentle teasing, the genuine interest in your life—it was all so unexpected, so different from the distant idol you had once admired from afar. He was human, vulnerable, and undeniably charming.

One night, he called you late, his voice a little breathless.

"I just finished a concert," he said. "The energy was incredible. But all I could think about was you."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Me?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice soft. "I kept looking out into the crowd, imagining you there, singing along, cheering us on."

"I wish I could have been there," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

"Me too," he said. "But next time, I promise, you'll be there. Front row, center stage."

The promise hung in the air, a tangible expression of his desire to bridge the gap between your worlds. It was a promise that filled you with hope, a promise that made you believe that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to the joy you had lost.

The texts and calls became a constant in your life, a source of comfort and connection. You found yourself sharing more of yourself, opening up about your fears, your dreams, your insecurities. He listened without judgment, offering support and encouragement.

"You're stronger than you think," he said one night, his voice filled with conviction. "You've been through so much, but you're still here. You're still fighting. And that's something to be proud of."

His words were a balm to your wounded soul, a reminder that you were capable of more than you thought. He was slowly piecing you back together, helping you rediscover the strength you had forgotten you possessed.

One late night, after a particularly long conversation, he sent you a final text.

Cheol: Sleep well, my love. You: You’re so cheesy. Cheol: Only for you. You: Goodnight, Cheol. Cheol: Goodnight. And dream of me.

You smiled, the warmth of his words spreading through you. You closed your eyes, the image of his smiling face filling your mind. You were falling, slowly but surely, and you knew that you were falling for him all over again.

2 years had passed by since you both had started texting and you had become a carat all over again; developed feelings for cheol but knew you had no chance with him. Or thats what…you thought.

The phone rang, a sharp intrusion into the quiet of your apartment. The name 'cheolie' flashed across the screen, and your heart pounded in your chest. His voice, when it came, was strained, a raw edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I can’t do this anymore i need to tell you something, And sorry to this over a fucking call i wanted to see you talk to you- this idol life is a fucking mess-" he said, the words heavy with a desperate sincerity.

Your stomach dropped, a cold knot forming in your gut. "Chill out cheol its fine- And you can't do what anymore?"

"Pretend you’re just a fan. Pretend I don’t—" He paused, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. "I don’t want to see you in the crowd. I want you beside me."

The words hung in the air, a declaration that shattered the delicate balance you had maintained for so long. You were silent, your mind racing, trying to process the weight of his confession.

"Say something," he pleaded, his voice laced with a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

"Cheol… I don’t think I’m—"

"Don’t." His voice was sharp, cutting through your doubts like a knife. "Don’t say you’re not good enough. Don’t say you don’t matter. I swear, if you say that, I’m coming over just to knock some sense into you."

Tears pricked your eyes, a mix of fear and longing swirling within you. "I’m just me. I’m nothing special."

"You’re everything," he countered, his voice softening, filled with a tenderness that made your breath catch in your throat. "And I want you to be mine."

You swallowed hard, the words echoing in your mind, a declaration that felt both surreal and intoxicating. "Cheol… I don’t understand. Why me? I’m not… I’m not pretty. I’ve gained weight. I’m just… ordinary."

A low growl rumbled through the phone, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you ever say that again."

His voice was firm, laced with a raw intensity that left no room for argument. "You are beautiful. More beautiful than you know. You have a light inside you, a warmth that radiates from your soul. It’s in your eyes, in your smile, in the way you care for others. And yes," he continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "you've gained a little weight. And honestly, it drives me crazy. You look so damn good, so… edible. You’re soft, you’re real, and you’re absolutely stunning."

Your cheeks flushed crimson, a wave of heat washing over you. You had never heard him speak like this, with such raw desire, such unfiltered adoration.

"I don’t care about the superficial things," he continued, his voice filled with conviction. "I care about your heart, your mind, your soul. I care about the way you make me feel, the way you make me laugh, the way you understand me without me having to say a word."

He paused, a heavy silence settling between you. "You’re the only person who sees me, truly sees me, beyond the idol, beyond the leader. You see the man beneath it all, the man I keep hidden from the world. And that… that means everything to me."

"Cheol…" you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

"I know I’m asking a lot," he said, his voice softer now, laced with a gentle vulnerability. "I know this isn’t easy. But I can’t keep pretending. I can’t keep watching you from afar, longing for something I can’t have. I need you in my life. I need you by my side."

"But… the fans…" you stammered, the reality of his world crashing down on you.

"We’ll figure it out," he said, his voice filled with determination. "We’ll find a way. We’ll be careful, we’ll be discreet. But I won’t hide you. I won’t pretend you don’t exist. You deserve to be seen, to be loved, to be cherished."

He paused, taking a deep breath. "Please," he whispered, his voice laced with a raw vulnerability that made your heart ache. "Please, say you’ll give me a chance. Say you’ll let me love you."

You were silent, tears streaming down your face, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. You had never felt so seen, so cherished, so loved. His words were a balm to your wounded soul, a testament to the depth of his feelings.

"I… I don’t know what to say," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Just say yes," he pleaded, his voice filled with a desperate longing. "Just say you’ll be mine."

You closed your eyes, the image of his smiling face filling your mind. "Yes," you whispered, the word barely audible. "Yes, Cheol. I’ll be yours."

A sigh of relief escaped his lips, a sound that was both shaky and filled with joy. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for giving me a chance. I promise, I won’t let you down."

The phone line went silent, but the connection between you remained, a bond forged in vulnerability, in honesty, in love. You were his, and he was yours, a secret whispered in the darkness, a love that defied the odds.

Your relationship, born in the shadows of fame and fueled by a deep, undeniable connection, became a delicate dance of stolen moments and whispered affections. It was a world of late-night phone calls, coded messages, and clandestine meetings, a world where every touch, every glance, was charged with the thrill of forbidden love.

Backstage at concerts, amidst the chaos and adrenaline, they would find fleeting moments of intimacy. A quick, stolen kiss behind a curtain, a lingering touch of hands in a darkened hallway, a whispered "I miss you" amidst the roar of the crowd. These moments, though brief, were precious, a reminder of the love that bloomed in the midst of their busy lives.

One night, after a particularly grueling concert, Seungcheol found a way to slip away, his manager covering for him. He arrived at your apartment, a figure shrouded in a hoodie and cap, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I couldn't stay away," he whispered, his voice hoarse from singing.

You pulled him inside, locking the door behind him. He shed his disguise, revealing the tired but happy face you had come to adore. He pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your neck.

"I need you," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

He showered you with neck kisses, each one a tender expression of his longing. The touch was electric, a reminder of the raw desire that simmered beneath the surface of their relationship.

"I missed you so much," he whispered, his lips tracing the delicate curve of your ear.

He pulled you to the kitchen, where he proceeded to make a late-night snack. He moved with a quiet efficiency, his movements fluid and graceful.

"I've been practicing," he said, a playful grin spreading across his face. "I wanted to impress you."

You watched him, your heart swelling with affection. He was so different from the charismatic idol the world saw. He was a man, vulnerable and loving, eager to please.

They cooked together, a silent dance of shared intimacy. The kitchen, once a place of solitary meals, became a haven of shared laughter and whispered secrets.

After they ate, they settled on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms. They put on a movie, but neither of them paid much attention to the screen. They were content to simply be together, to feel the warmth of each other's bodies, to lose themselves in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

"I wish we could do this every night," he murmured, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm.

"Me too," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Movie nights became a regular occurrence, a way to escape the pressures of their lives. They would cuddle on the couch, sharing popcorn and whispered jokes, their laughter echoing through the quiet apartment.

Sometimes, they would simply talk, sharing their dreams, their fears, their hopes for the future. He would tell you about the challenges of being a leader, the pressure to always be strong, the fear of disappointing his members and his fans. You would tell him about your own struggles, the loneliness of your past, the joy you found in his love.

He listened with unwavering attention, his eyes filled with a deep understanding. He never judged, never minimized your feelings. He simply offered his support, his love, his unwavering belief in you.

One night, he surprised you with a handwritten letter, a declaration of his love that brought tears to your eyes.

"My dearest," he wrote, "I never thought I would find someone who understood me so completely, someone who saw me for who I truly am. You are my light, my strength, my everything. I love you more than words can say."

He signed it with a simple "Cheol," a reminder of the man beneath the idol, the man who loved you with all his heart.

Their secret relationship was a tapestry woven with stolen moments, whispered affections, and unwavering love. It was a world of hidden kisses, late-night cuddles, and heartfelt confessions. It was a world they built together, a world that was theirs and theirs alone.

He would send you goodnight texts every night without fail, no matter how late he was working.

And in those quiet moments, when the world felt too loud, he reminded you of one thing:

"You won’t leave me again, right?"

You smiled, fingers tracing the words on your screen.

"Never."

The secrecy was hard, but it made their moments together all the more precious. Each stolen kiss, each whispered "I love you," was a testament to the strength of their bond, a reminder that their love was worth fighting for. They were building a world within a world, a haven of love and understanding in the midst of the chaos of their lives. And in that haven, they found a love that was both extraordinary and deeply personal, a love that was theirs and theirs alone.

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