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ittybittyfanblog · 30 days ago

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Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 7

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, suggestive themes!, there’s some slight smut… but nothing too graphic (ion rly write smut haha), angst and comfort, this chapter’s brought to you by: a bunch of sad songs on repeat! A/N: 7k+ words what the fuck!! (this might actually be one of my favorite chapters. :’))

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9

“You don’t have a favorite color.”

“I… don’t, no.”

“But you’re quite partial to green.”

“I guess so—?”

“You’ve worn the same green shirt to bed thrice this week,” he notes lightly, pertaining to your Loki: Master of Mischief tee. The corners of his mouth pull into a faint, knowing smile. “It suits you, by the way.”

Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you glance at him, narrowing your eyes in slight embarrassment. “It’s a perfectly comfy shirt,” you reply, a defensive edge to your tone. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Nothing at all,” he agrees reassuringly. “Just making an observation.”

“What, are you keeping a dossier on me now?”

Sylus gives a noncommittal hum, but offers nothing more in response. He keeps watch on you from his usual spot in the corner between the monitor and the CPU box, chin resting on an open palm. His gaze betrays hints of smugness to it.

You eye him weirdly. With a huff, you turn back to your typing.

–

You’re cooking dinner—with Sylus supervising the entire thing like your very own personal sous chef. Something that has now been the norm for you two, since your–banging!–success with the tofu dish.

And for tonight’s menu: Butter noodles. Simple, foolproof, straightforward.

"Simple" is… well, it’s not entirely inaccurate. But the way that the boiling water hisses angrily through the small lid hole wavers the already shaky foundation of your developing culinary confidence.

(Just a little bit! You’re sure you’ve got nothing to worry about.)

A faint burning scent clings to the air; you forgot to stir the garlic early on, and now it looks dangerously close to a char. You rescue it just in time, cursing under your breath. Your sous chef, of course, catches everything. Even your nervousness.

“You know,” Sylus chimes in, watching the wooden spatula tremble in your hand. “This is quite the step up from your usual instant noodle packets. You should be proud of yourself, sweetie.”

“Gee, thanks. Really complex work for an extra half-hour of cooking time,” Your words are snide, but he doesn’t miss the way your grip on the spatula tightens ever-so-slightly. Steadies.

The smell stabilizes. You add half a stick of butter, squashing it to a melt, and he lets the subject drop—for now.

“Do you have siblings?”

“I have an older sister,” you answer distractedly, stirring the sauce and trying to scrape the edges of the sauté pan without having it splatter from the inside.

“How much older?”

“Uh—six years,” you reply, reaching for a pinch of salt. “She's got a family. Two kids. Another on the way.”

“Hm. You two are close?”

You pause, the question landing softly in the haze of rising steam. “I mean. S’ alright, I guess. We catch up over the phone sometimes.”

“Ah. Good.”

“... Yeah.”

You catch a glance of his expression in your peripheral, looking thoughtful.

It’s a recent development, his curiosity. Sporadic at first, like light rain on a windshield—little questions scattered here and there, easy to brush off. But over the past week, it’s grown into something more unrelenting. It’s almost as if you two were playing a round of twenty questions, only it’s just you in the hot seat being interrogated.

There’s also that habit of his to take it one step further. Hedging his questions strategically, acting like he already knows the little factoid he wanted to ask and just needs you to confirm it.

You don’t really get the logic behind it, but hey, who are you to judge? Everybody has their quirks. Even someone of his caliber, apparently.

… God forbid he gets blindsided by something he’s genuinely surprised to know about you, though.

“You know how to play the violin.”

You pause the video you’re watching on your laptop at its five minute mark to stare at Sylus through your phone screen. He sounds… terse? Like you’d intentionally kept this a secret from him.

“Wha—yes, I know how to play the violin,” you huff, incredulous by the show of attitude. “What’s up with all these weird questions?”

“You’ve given me explicit permission to ask them. Level the playing field,” he reminds you, eyes slightly accusatory. “What else are you keeping from me?”

You groan, collapsing onto your back on the couch. “Ugh, I don’t know,” you say sarcastically. “Do you wanna know my time of birth too?”

“Born at exactly twelve twenty-eight PM,” Sylus recites without missing a beat, his voice bored and unimpressed. “I saw it on your Co-Star app, sweetie.”

You freeze.

“…”

“That’s creepy,” you tell him, tone disapproving, giving him a scolding poke on the nose.

“Call it thorough research,” he counters smoothly, rolling his eyes at your feeble attack. “After all, a stubborn kitten’s been slacking on her side of the deal.”

The questions are, for the most part, harmless in nature. Anchored firmly in the mundane. He doesn’t stray too far from what’s comfortable, or what he deems safe to ask. And yet you can sense it beneath the surface: the burning curiosity. To know more of you, to take what he could—piece by piece, until he’s unraveled the puzzle of you entirely.

And you don’t get it. His world—filled with endless adventure, lore, and literal fucking superpowers—surely has to be more exciting than anything you’ve got to offer. What’s your life compared to that?

You said as much to him, mostly as an offhand comment. Although it did feel slightly more earnest when you put it into words, compared to how it sounded in your head.

“Honestly, Sy-Sy. Life here’s really not that interesting compared to all the stuff going on over there,” you told him matter-of-factly, in the middle of collecting your daily rewards. “You don’t have to keep this up, you know.”

Sylus didn’t speak for a moment. The easy nonchalance he wore so well shifted into something more reserved, almost somber. He didn’t challenge what you said, nor did he affirm anything—you're met with silence, loaded with thoughts unspoken.

“Don’t presume things on your own, little dove,” he said after a while, his voice low, a gentle reprimand.

Before you could even process what he meant by that, he smoothly changed the subject, his tone reverting back to his usual effortless calm as if to ease the weight of your words. “Now then, let’s circle back—what were you saying earlier? You almost drowned in a lake when you were eight? Because of a dare you made with your sister?”

And that was the end of it.

You tell yourself it’s exhausting—the way he keeps digging, prodding, asking questions like you’re worth the level of fascination he’s making you out to be. But there’s also the truth, hidden and tucked beneath your half-hearted protests, slowly unfurling. A part of you—cautiously hopeful, dreadfully fragile—that preens under the weight of his scrutiny.

So you let him press further; let him sift through twenty plus years of tiny, unremarkable fragments of your life like a beachcomber seeking treasures amongst the tide. And in return, he gives you his full attention, undivided and unyielding, as if your answers are the only ones that matter.

––––

He tells you there’s a new tête-à-tête feature in the game, so you check it out—not without giving him a slightly suspicious look.

“A microphone feature?” You snort, leveling him with a half-amused glare. “You already hear me talk all the time.”

Sylus blinks at you, his face a guilefully-crafted mask of innocence. “I’m just giving you the option, sweetie. You know, in case you’d like to put our conversations ‘on record.’”

“Treat you like some kind of… quasi-therapist or something? An online confessional?” You give him the stink eye. “Is that what you’re angling for now?”

He shrugs. “If it helps.”

You had no intention of using the tête-à-tête “feature” you’ve been so graciously offered, quickly dismissing it as just another one of his tactics to show off his capacity to manipulate the game’s code, or something along those lines.

It’s not the first time he’s done it.

But then, midnight comes on a deceptively ordinary Friday, and it’s suffused with an all-too familiar feeling of utter emptiness that drowns you. You’re crumpled on the toilet seat like chewed-up gum, knees pulled to your chest—the day’s wounds still festering. It's not anything new, but it leaves you feeling like shit all the same.

Yet another overtime shift. Yet another argument with your mom, over fuck all you know that you’re too damn old for, but still, still, finds its way to cut deep. Over and over, and over again.

Your phone’s blank screen stares back at you, just as mute and useless as the rest of the night. And you—

“Sweetie?”

You can’t speak. Not yet. But you don’t have to. One look at the exhaustion on your face is enough for Sylus to know exactly what you need.

Your mouth trembles open, then shuts again. He doesn’t say anything else, just waiting for you to make the first move. To start whenever you’re ready.

After a long moment, you finally exhale a shaky breath. That’s when you catch his gaze; fixed, patient, almost... encouraging. It’s a subtle invitation, urging you to take the plunge, to make use of him to an extent only he can provide–the only one he could offer to you at this time–

So, you talk. Tentatively at first, the words slipping out like droplets from your leaking sink faucet. But once the dam breaks, you can't stop.

It spills out. Every frustration, every ache, every moment that feels too much to carry for one person, especially for someone like you, and he… he just—

listens.

You feel drained. Every ounce of energy wrung out of you after unloading the day’s weight to your unexpected confidant.

“That helped, didn’t it?”

If it were anyone else—or if you didn’t know Sylus the way you do now—you’d only catch the smug notes in his voice. The teasing lilt and the airy pretense of someone trying to ease the heaviness out of the room.

But you do hear it. Beneath the surface, woven so subtly into the words… something vulnerable.

You hear the unspoken question behind it: he’s genuinely asking if it helped. If his presence, however small or inconsequential it might seem, was enough to pull you back ashore.

I helped.

Tell me I did.

“You did, Sy.” Your grin is tired, grateful, and a little lopsided. But it’s real. “Thank you.”

For a moment—just a split of a second—the red in his eyes betrays something achingly raw.

“Anytime, darling,” he says, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges, like it’s carrying more than the words themselves. “I mean it.”

And like a beacon of light slicing through the storm-tossed seas of your mind, you realize that he truly does.

____

You start giving Sylus the reins to select the music, trusting his taste enough to let him DJ for you. He picks the soundtrack for everything��cooking, errands, long rides—filling the silence with something that he knows the both of you would like.

The playlists grow. From one, to two, to almost an entire collection of carefully curated tracks to suit the mood and vibe of the day. He takes it seriously—so seriously that you can’t resist sneaking in a Megan Thee Stallion track onto his precious “Slow Evenings” playlist.

He finds it hilarious. Hilarious enough to loop Kitty Kat for all sixty-five minutes of your commute back home.

You laugh despite yourself. It’s exactly the type of shit you know he’d pull as petty retribution, already intimately familiar with his brand of humor. And if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine him beside you, sharing an earbud, smirking as he revels in your exasperation.

____

One night, you notice a weariness in his eyes. It’s an odd enough thing to see that it leads to a discussion on what he’s been up to as the shadowy leader of a notorious faction, deep in a lawless part of his universe.

“Just an operative gone wrong, sweetie,” he says with a sigh, rubbing a temple as though trying to physically push the stress away. “It happens.”

You press him on the details of the botched deal—and maybe, just maybe, a small part of you is excited to live vicariously through the tale. But it’s not about you this time, you remind yourself. So you listen as Sylus indulges every question you throw at him, giving you the play-by-play: what the deal was for (special, hard-to-get protocores), where the trade-off occurred (west of Charon), and how it all went sideways (he knew it was a set-up the moment he walked into the venue).

You don’t really know how to comfort him in a situation like this, but you want to try.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you joke, “Can you imagine clumsy, ol’ me there? I’d be dead before I even make it inside.”

Sylus freezes, his expression going still. Unreadable.

“No, you won’t.” He says in response to the second part of what you just said, his tone brooking no doubt. He says it with such intense conviction that you almost believe this exact hypothetical has already crossed his mind—more than once.

I won’t let you.

Before you can even think of what to say, he adds, quieter this time, but no less convinced: “And yes—I can.”

It’s a direct answer to your question, and it makes the words die in your throat. His voice is softer now too, but there’s no mistaking his tone. It has the same conviction from before, and it hits you that he’s had time to ruminate on this thought—more times than he’d care to admit.

And I do. You have no idea.

____

There’s another shift in the dynamic of your, well, relationship.

“Did you hear what I said, poppet?”

You snap back to meet his inquiring gaze, unwavering as always.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” You ask, the apology clear in your eyes.

He huffs, shaking his head in amusement—always patient, never annoyed—at your inattentiveness. “What’s on your mind, my sweet?”

Well. That.

Lately, Sylus has gotten into the habit of using possessive pronouns like they’re nothing. There’s also a notable increase on the variation of pet names too, each one more layered than the last.

It’s a little excessive, honestly. Like he’s trying to compensate for something—or maybe he sees it as just another natural step in whatever’s going on between you two. You’re still not sure what exactly goes in his head. He’s always been an enigma to you.

And yet, you never put a stop to it. How could you?

Little dove. Sweet girl. My darling.

When it comes off his lips like sunkist honey—each one brings a jolt straight to your heart.

You're quite partial to one in particular.

My love.

____

“Oh, my love,” Sylus tuts, feigning concern. “You’ve snoozed that alarm five times already.”

You groan, hitting the snooze button again—number six now—burying your face in your arms on the desk.

____

You’re attending a despedida party for a friend who’s flying abroad to study (For a PhD in Biomedical Science! You couldn’t be more proud.) and the venue’s going to be at The Penthouse, somewhere fancy up north. It even has an infinity pool on deck, something the celebrant dropped into the group chat with far too much enthusiasm.

So, earlier today, you’d ventured out to buy something nice for yourself. Nicer than what you have in the closet, which isn’t much of a stretch. Something different than your usual rotation of plaids and band shirts—not that there’s anything wrong with them. They’re just… you. Comfortable. Predictable. Not exactly the dress code for a rooftop soirée.

Now, you’re back home from a successful (!) trip to the mall, bags in hand: a small gift for your friend on one arm and a much larger shopping bag on the other.

You set the gift gently on the coffee table. Then, you head to the bathroom, the grosgrain ribbon of a paper tote held tight in your fist.

The pretty fabric caught your eye almost immediately, the moment you saw the garment; its sheen almost like woven liquid in the light. It felt like a risk, even on the rack. But under the unforgiving glare of your bathroom bulb?

Well, now, it’s looking less of a “bold choice,” and more along the lines of: “damn, what were you thinking?”

It’s not that big of a deal or anything. You like feeling pretty. But at the same time, you haven’t deluded yourself into thinking that you’re anything above average to look at, even on the nicest occasions.

It’s something you’ve grown used to, a definitive truth ingrained deep in your bones. You know this—like you know gravity tethers you to the ground, even when you’d rather be carried by the wind. You’ve gone through more than a decade to accept it as just another fact of life, to make peace with the reflection staring back at you from the bathroom mirror.

Even if it means you’ll never be on the receiving end of ‘interested’ glances from strangers on the street. Or that you’ve never known the feeling of someone doing a double take when they see you at your best, all dolled-up. More than once, you’ve sat across from dates whose eyes wandered—toward some other, someone better-looking, in restaurants, at parks, even outside the movies. Everywhere past your direction.

But that’s okay. You’re used to it, the same way you’ve grown used to everything else.

And still, there’s that impulse—a sudden need for someone else’s opinion. Someone close. Someone that matters.

There’s a pang of fear you can’t quite shake. You hear the small voice from the deep recesses of your mind, whispering to you that it’s one of your worse ideas. That you’ll fall short of any and all expectations, and that it’ll hurt more this time around. You’ll hear the polite, “you look nice” and you’re gonna have to live with the quiet certainty that you don’t, not really, and that you’ll never quite measure up to what he’s used to seeing. To her—

You swallow hard. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to you. Not outwardly, at least.

And if he did… Well.

“I bought something,” you say as an opener, the words tumbling out in a rush as soon as you get a glimpse of his form on the screen. You’re rocking back on your heel, a little awkward as you stand there in front of your small vanity table even with your phone laid flat, front camera pointing upwards. “You remember the going-away party I’ll be attending two days from now, right?”

“Of course, the one for your secondary school batchmate.” Sylus replies easily, voice reverberating through the tinny speakers. Even at an angle, you can see the confused tilt of his head. “Is it on the ceiling, sweetie? What am I looking at, exactly?”

“No, smartass. I—” You press your lips together, eyes flitting upward, as if courage might be dangling from the ceiling in question.

Fuck, this is a bad idea. I can’t do this.

“It’s–I bought something for myself. I mean, I bought her a gift too, obviously. But I also bought an outfit. For the party.”

There.

He blinks, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head. Realization dawns on his face, a knowing smile beginning to form. His voice dips, a teasing edge to it as he purrs, “Oh? Well then, save me from the suspense, sweetheart.”

“I–I’m getting to it, okay?” It comes out a little snappier than you intend, nerves flaring hot. You sigh, feeling your shoulders drop. “I’m just… Don’t be—ugh, just don’t make a big deal out of this, alright?”

You keep your eyes off the screen, unable to face him directly.

But when he speaks, his tone carries only a quiet understanding of your struggle.

Of course he understands. He always does.

He speaks; and it’s slow and measured—as if he’s coaxing a terrified, cornered animal out of hiding.

“Show me.” Trust me.

And so with a heavy exhale through the nose, you flip the front camera towards your direction, revealing the bare expanse of gooseflesh skin—

… And the flimsy one-piece that clings to your body like wet plastic.

It dips low between the valley of your breasts and stops short just halfway up your thigh. The material is a gauzy organza; see-through and light, in seafoam green. Barely leaving anything to the imagination as it reveals the dusky coral swimsuit from underneath the fabric and the hot flush that spreads across your chest like wildfire. Your fists clench and unclench behind your back – hiding the physical manifestation of your rising anxiety – while you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

There's a deafening silence.

The knots in your stomach grow tighter, creeping its way past your lungs. Your fingers tremble as cold sweat breaks out across your skin, chilling you from the inside. You feel horribly exposed. So exposed it’s almost unbearable.

And you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

Your thoughts stumble, desperate to cling to anything solid, and a faint memory surfaces—a passage from an org pamphlet you’ve skimmed through back in college, something that has to do with “self-perception.”

The flesh does not define you.

Your body is but a facet of who you are. You are as inconsequential as the earth beneath your feet, and as important as stardust in the universe.

A low, guttural sound cuts through the stillness, and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

You—

“Look at me.”

A searing heat laces the cadence of his voice. It sounds restless—like a flame unchecked, rapidly growing into a raging inferno. Stifling in the way it pulls the air from your lungs, like a suckerpunch to the gut.

Your primordial instinct is to flee. But right at that very moment, you're no different from a paralyzed insect caught in an inescapable web with the way you’re stood frozen in place. Every instinct to run is smothered by the mere inflection in his voice.

—are all. And that is all there is to be.

“My sweet little dove,” it’s almost a croon, the way the words curl around you like wisps of smoke. Sickly saccharine… downright serpentine. “Won’t you look at me when I talk to you?”

And like a marionette on a string, you obey.

Time seems to stop to a standstill the moment your eyes meet his.

Sylus’ gaze sinks into you. Loaded. Heavy. A crazed glint, almost—to it. Even to someone like you who's embarrassingly clueless about the nuances of attraction and wholly inexperienced in its depths can see it as plain as day.

Carnal desire. In its purest form.

Sylus looks at you as though you’re something to be coveted. Devoured.

A small, fearful noise slips past your lips, and the twin crimson flames burn brighter.

“You’d like to know what I think?”

Yes.

No?

He sees the war in your eyes, and a throaty chuckle escapes him—raw and breathy. “Maybe so?”

You give him the tiniest nod, and the grin on his face sharpens into something wanton, something far more licentious. It slinks in like a fever, stirring something deep within you. Something as old as time.

Sylus opens his mouth.

You brace yourself for the inevitable.

A ring slices through the room like a hot knife. Just like that, you can breathe again.

____

Your saving grace comes in the form of a phone call that grounds you back to reality.

It’s a friend, one of the party guests, asking for directions to the venue. You’re listening with one ear on the receiver, answering each question robotically—your voice a controlled calm on the surface, a stark contrast to the thoughts running amok inside your head.

The words blur into background noise, muffled and distant, like a TV commercial playing on low volume in another room.

The moment you hang up, a suffocating hush swallows the room whole. You’re left alone with nothing but heat kindling low in your gut. The ghost of the heavy exchange from earlier stays with you, thrumming beneath your skin, hot and pulsating.

You don’t know what to do with yourself. The abrupt suddenness of it all gnaws at you, its weight driving you toward an early retreat—maybe a long night’s rest will do wonders and help you get your shit together, who knows.

You slip between the sheets... but not before retrieving your, ah, trusty little companion from its hiding spot in the bedside drawer.

You didn’t want to assume… You don’t want to expect anything from him, but you have needs.

God, but you do.

Your body feels like flint struck against steel, sparked ablaze by just a handful of words. Words weaved into a vivid imagery from the mouth of your… friend??

(Something more?)

The uncertainty wrecks you, every nerve alight with tension. And yet it’s the same uncertainty that roots you there. Hesitating.

So. You lie back, pushing the sheets away from your fevered skin, and just—lay there. Staring at the ceiling. The plaster cracks form maps you trace with your eyes, as if searching for answers in their tangled routes. You count your breaths, one after the other, as though the repetition could calm your racing heartbeat.

It feels ridiculous, almost. You’re a grown adult, acting like a teenager with a demented crush. It’s more than that, though—it’s deeper, messier, and completely illogical.

But it’s not something you can figure out tonight, not in this state. So you stop trying.

Instead, you switch on your little toy, open an incognito browser, and let yourself succumb to what your body’s been screaming at you for the past fucking hour.

You feel… You feel weird about using anything Sylus-related to get yourself off. That’s not to say you haven’t, before, back when he was just another eye candy from a measly mobile game. When it was just another infatuation.

But now? Now it feels all levels of wrong, like you’re toeing some invisible line. Worse, it feels like you’re exploiting something fragile, testing the limits of a bond already stretched thin.

So, any content related to that man stays off the fap fodder. You’re not that far gone. You think.

Instead, you scroll through your bookmarks tab, a shaky sigh leaves your lips as you let the hard vibrations of your trusty rabbit glide from inside your thighs, up… up to your warm center, in between the juncture of your legs.

You pause on a Toji smut fic—one amongst, uhh, dozens in your folder. It’s not the same, you know this, but you’re settling for the next best thing in your current circumstance.

Since what you really want, who you’d rather much have, isn’t—

…

Your phone glitches.

The Chrome app crashes.

And what do you think you’re doing?

Your heart stutters a beat, and you stop breathing.

You can’t answer. The words don’t come. But he doesn’t wait for you to try.

Put on your headphones.

You’re done with that. Tonight, tomorrow, any other night. Do you understand me?

The uncharacteristic curtness of the message sends a jolt through you, and a blush overtakes your entire body. You hesitate, just for a second.

Now.

You scramble to obey, fumbling for your earbuds, slipping them on with shaking hands.

The moment the bluetooth connects, the game boots up on its own—straight to an irate Sylus, looking royally pissed-off.

“Sy-Sy—” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I—I don’t—”

"Oh, so back to Sy-Sy now, are we?"

The mocking lilt in his voice cuts sharper than the glare he fixes on your dimly lit face. Your mouth opens, then closes, words failing you entirely.

You want to explain, to defend yourself. To…

“I see what you read. What you watch,” he begins, voice cutting and mean. “In the dead of night, when you think you’re alone. When you think it’s safe. That no one hears the sweet moans spill so sinfully from your lips.”

His words pierce through the air like an arrow; you feel his overwhelming presence take over, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, every exhale grazing the sensitive shell of your ear.

“Oh, but I do,” he murmurs, the ambiguity in his tone somehow making it worse. “I hear everything. I know everything about you, kitten.”

A shiver races down your spine, your body betraying you as he speaks.

“What makes you tick,” he continues, his voice a sinister caress. “What leaves you writhing, desperate for more. The way your breathing quickens… the way your body trembles under the weight of your own pleasure.”

You’re struggling now—each breath harder to catch than the last.

“And the way that pretty little mouth of yours falls open in a silent gasp, right after you come undone.”

His words are a noose, tightening with every syllable. Your head spins as the air seems to grow heavier, saturated with the tension between you.

“But it’s never for me, is it?”

“I—I’m sorry… I don’t want to assume—”

“Assume?” His voice darkens, any hint of softness replaced with something colder, harsher. “Again with your presumptions.”

He leans closer, his tone dropping to a command that leaves no room for doubt. “From now on, the only thing you’ll need to believe is when I tell you you’re mine.”

You blink at him dumbly. His grin turns into something wicked—caustic and biting—as he cocks his head. Derisive.

“Do you understand?”

Your head bobs in a weak, reflexive nod.

“Words, poppet.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good.” His tone shifts, smooth like languid amber, yet no less imposing. “Now, my love,” he coos, savoring the way your eyes tear up with desperation, “show me how you touch yourself.”

____

“Shi–iit,” he hisses. “This wet already?”

You attempt to close your legs, shame rising like a tide, but freeze halfway when Sylus lets out a low, warning growl.

“Try that, and we’ll stop,” he warns. “I won’t repeat myself twice, pet.”

The weight of his words pins you in place, and you let out a helpless whimper.

“Don’t be afraid, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his tone gentler—coaxing. “It’s just me.”

His gaze burns into you, relentless, but something tender bleeds into it.

The glow of the screen casts shadows along the sharp angles of his jaw, the upward tick of his mouth a dangerous contradiction—part teasing, part command. His sanguine eyes gleam with a mix of hunger and control, a look that leaves no room for hesitation.

You give in.

Your body relaxes under the weight of his stare, the fight draining from your limbs. It’s not submission—it’s surrender, pure and unfiltered, the kind that leaves you bare and vulnerable.

Sylus watches you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Not soft, not kind, but triumphant—like a predator relishing the moment its prey stops running.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the praise dripping from his tongue like honey. “That’s better.”

____

Sade’s Smooth Operator starts to play in the background as you catch your breath.

You let out a tired giggle, swiping a hand down your sweat-drenched face, earbuds still in place. “Ugh—don’t piss me off.”

You hear a resounding chuckle.

Gently, he asks, “Alright, little dove?” There’s a beat of hesitation before he adds, quieter now, “Did I go too far?”

You curl onto your side, phone clutched in your hand like a prayer. Sylus’ gaze peers back at you through the screen, a dangerously soft expression on his face that you don’t want to identify.

“It's perfect, Sy,” you say, your grin tender and bittersweet, heart full of something you won't name.

____

It’s one in the morning. The dim glow of your laptop screen flickers across your face, spilling into the darkened room, casting shadows along the wall. You lean back against it, the end credits of Everything Everywhere All At Once rolling quietly in the background.

Silence settles between you and Sylus like a warm blanket.

“Do you think it’s… like that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, unwilling to shatter the stillness of the moment. “All versions of ourselves colliding and coexisting at the same time?”

The question hangs there; he doesn’t rush an answer, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s choosing not to.

When he finally speaks, it’s with the same quiet restraint, his voice threading softly through the air.

“I’d like to think that in this vast expanse of the universe, there’s something for you and me.”

There’s a trace of something dreadfully optimistic in his voice, and it makes your chest tighten. You blink a few times, glancing upwards.

The moment lingers, delicate in its quietness, until you instinctively reach for your phone. A quick swipe reveals a new addition to your shared playlist.

This Is A Life by Son Lux and Mitski.

A small, genuine smile tugs at your lips as you press play. The haunting strains of the song pour into the room, filling the spaces words can’t seem to touch.

“Sneaky,” you murmur, your gaze sliding back to Sylus’ face on the screen. His expression is unreadable, save for the faintest twitch of his mouth, the barest hint of a smile.

“Thought it fit the mood,” he says simply.

And it does. The music sweeps over you, soft and wistful, like the moment itself.

____

The balcony feels like a lifeboat drifting away from the chaos inside. The music, the chatter, the endless parade of tequila shots—it all fades to a dull hum as you step into the cool night air.

Out here, the world feels wider, the sky a little darker, and you can breathe without choking on the weight of the party.

She’s already there, of course. The friend of a friend. An acquaintance by definition, but someone who feels more of a comrade in these fleeting moments away from the crowd. You’ve seen her like this most times—leaning on the railing, a cigarette perched between her fingers, its faint ember glowing against the night. You don’t need an invitation to approach her.

“You mind if I bum one?”

She shrugs, silently offering the box to you. You take one.

“Fun party, huh?” you comment after two puffs, the lit end of the stick briefly catching the glow of the skyline. Your voice is loaded with the kind of irony only shared by those watching the world from the outside in.

“It always is with them around,” she snorts, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation. Her voice carries the warmth of familiarity, from an observation you’ve both shared before.

You exhale a soft laugh, the sound barely audible over the low hum of the city below.

The silence that follows isn’t just companionable—it’s necessary. A pause to recalibrate, to let the noise, and the lights, and the weight of too many people melt away. Neither of you feels the need to fill it. Words would only dilute the reprieve.

And then, unexpectedly:

“You look happy.”

The words land like a stone dropping into still water, rippling through the quiet. You glance at her, startled by the way her eyes narrow slightly, the way her tone suggests she’s already drawn her own conclusions.

“You ‘ave someone?”

You weren’t ready for that. You blink at her, surprised she’s noticed anything about you—surprised, too, that it’s written plainly enough for anyone to notice.

“...Yeah,” you mumble, looking away. The admission feels strange in its simplicity. “Yeah, I do.”

She smiles at that—easy but genuine, as if your happiness has spilled over and warmed her, too. “That’s good.”

There’s sincerity in her voice, unfiltered and direct, as she adds, “You look happier.”

You don’t reply, but her words settle somewhere deep, in the quiet places you thought were hidden.

And for once, you don’t mind being seen.

____

The party has left you drunker than you’ve been in ages.

As soon as the celebrant spots the two of you in the corner looking like a sad pair of eyesores, she quickly remedies it with copious amounts of Stone-Cold Stingers. You try to protest, but in the end, it’s futile against the cacophony of cheers and the face of societal peer pressure.

So now you stagger inside the condo building, looking every bit like a drowned rat dragged in from the storm. A weary guard from reception following closely behind, his patience visibly fraying as you giggle your way toward the elevator.

“‘m fine!” you insist, words slurring together as you attempt to shoo him off with a lazy wave. To emphasize your point, you pinch your fingers together, holding them inches apart. “Just this much to drink, see?”

He doesn’t respond, his expression coming across resigned and frustrated. You can almost hear the thought running through his mind: I don’t get paid enough for this.

With a long-suffering sigh, he finally relents, letting you totter into the elevator alone.

UG… P… 4…. 5…… Oh! Here you are.

Rivulets of water drip down from your rain-soaked hair, trailing icy paths down your neck as you stagger down the narrow hallway. Your vision blurs, making everything double—no, triple—as you fumble your way to the left, stopping in front of the door of 601—wait, no, 603.

You squint hard at the numbers, your head throbbing with the effort, but the stinging in your eyes and the stubborn clumping of your lashes make it way harder for you to make sense of it all.

Your waterlogged clutch feels heavier than it should, and your trembling fingers struggle to find the zipper pull that’s somehow become the bane of your existence. You huff, muttering incoherently to yourself, your throat tight and raw as a burning lump starts to rise. An annoyingly persistent buzzing from inside your bag adds to your mounting frustration.

With an angry yank, you finally manage to tear the bag open, water splashing off it in tiny droplets.

“Aha!” you exclaim, though the triumph is short-lived as your hands shake even harder when you pull out your phone. It’s the source of the buzzing apparently, the bright screen momentarily blinding you.

You try to unlock it—once, twice, three times—nearly getting locked out before the numbers finally click.

The notifications hit you like the mars lights of a freight train. Texts. Lots of them. You scroll through clumsily, the device slipping slightly from your grip as you snort gracelessly.

Sylus. Of course.

The words on the screen blur and twist, but you don’t need clarity to know the progression of each message—ranging from mild curiosity, to slight worry, to exasperatedly concerned.

The syllables of his pet name echo faintly in your muddled head, a small, fleeting comfort against the weight pressing down on your chest. Sy-Sy. Sy-Sy. Sy-Syyyyy—

Synchronous with your erratic breathing, you dig through your bag with a heavy hand, each failed attempt sends you spiraling lower.

Another ping jolts you from your drunken haze:

How are you feeling? Did you just get back?

“I can’t—I can’t find my damn keys!”

The words slips out as a frustrated cry.

Inner pocket, left side. Answer me, sweetheart.

His words flash across the screen just as your fumbling fingers find the keys exactly where he said they’d be.

A tear burns a path down your cheek as you let out a half-hearted chuckle, mumbling, “Can I even function without you?”

How long has it been since you could manage something like this on your own? Has he become an extension of your mind?

The door’s stubborn resistance only adds to your unraveling. After several failed attempts—your fingers too wound up to grip the key properly—you finally twist the lock and push it open, stumbling inside, into the darkness.

“I’m a mess, Sylus,” you whisper, voice thick with tears as your head spins, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.

The world feels heavy and muffled, like you’re trapped behind a fogged window. You know you’re a sight to behold—shoeless, drunk, drenched like some stray that wandered too far into the rain.

“I’ve noticed,” he says, his voice warm and steady, cutting through the quiet void of the room. It takes a second for the words to sink in, for your scattered mind to piece together that, somehow, you’ve already opened the game in the middle of all your fumbling. Automatic. Like second nature.

You stare at him, trembling and pitiful, like a kid lost in a crowd. Your bottom lip quivers, and you hate how small you feel under his gaze.

You see concern pooling in the depths of Sylus’ eyes. That and something… desperate.

You sniff, rubbing at your wet cheeks with pruning fingers, clinging to humor like a lifeline. "Don’t you do anything else?” you mumble, your voice fraying at the edges. “Like... live your own life or something? You spend so much time with me...” You force out a weak laugh, bitter and jagged. “It’s a miracle you haven’t gotten sick of me yet.”

Your laugh cracks halfway through, more like a sob than anything. It’s pathetic—you’re pathetic.

And yet, you can’t stop. Even if it stings your throat.

Sylus’ response comes, and his voice is solid—unwavering. He doesn’t flinch like you do. “I don’t get sick of you, sweetheart. Not in the slightest.”

Something in you cracks, spilling over. “I really like you,” you murmur, voice steeped with emotion. “You’re the brightest light in my life. You’re… you’re everything.”

A flash of lightning cuts through the room, illuminating your tear-stained face.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, Sylus calls out your name.

It’s quiet, reverent, and it feels like a tether pulling you back from the brink.

You crumple down the floor, clutching your phone like it’s the only thing holding you together. In the silence that follows, all you can hear is your ragged breathing and the quiet hum of his presence on the other end of the line.

“I’m here,” he tells you softly. “I’ve got you.”

____

This is a life

(Every possibility)

Free from destiny

(I choose you, and you choose me)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @nicora04 @blueberrysquire @love-anteros @fiyori @peachystea @slyfoxtsu @tinyweebsstuff @i2sannie (i spend so much time cross-checking the tags this is tiring lmao)

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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moonstruckme · 8 months ago

Text

Thanks for being patient with me! This is edited on about four hours of sleep so apologies for any errors <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.6k words

Water sizzles on the stove. You reach over to turn down the heat, your side heating from its proximity to the boiling water, before spinning back around to keep speed-chopping onion. This is a result of poor planning.

It’s possible that some of your nerves could be reinterpreted as excitement. Giddiness, even. You’re finally—finally—doing something to try and repay all the kindness James shows you. You’ve felt like such a mooch, eating his cooking and stealing his time with his friends, but last week had been too much for you to take. He’d discovered the stomach bug you were weathering, and James had completely devoted the next two days of his life to making sure you were looked after.

Your fever had gotten so out of hand he’d very nearly followed through on his favorite threat (going into your phone while you’re sleeping and phoning your mum), and though you’d done your best to downplay it at the time there are admittedly gaps in your memory wherein you think you were simply too out of it to know what was going on. It’s not a very comforting thought when you’re harboring a humiliating crush on your roommate; you may well have been just as talkative as James always is, you don’t know. At least he hasn’t said anything.

He had, thankfully, managed to avoid catching it. You’re not sure how he managed what no one on your shift at work did, but you assume it has something to do with all that kale he eats. Which is why you’re doing your best to make the thank-you meal you’re making him as healthy as might suit his standards.

You hear his key in the door, and a little frisson goes up your spine.

“You’re early,” you accuse as he walks in.

“Since when do you know when my training ends?” James asks. You sound like you’re sniping at one another, but as usual the joviality in his tone is unmissable.

The sounds of his entrance are familiar, perhaps more ingrained in your mind than they ought to be. Keys jingling as he hangs them on the hook, shoes toed off and left by the mat, heavy footsteps headed for wherever you are in the apartment.

When he finds you in the kitchen, you both speak at once.

“What happened to your shoulder?”

“You know how to cook?”

“Hurt it at training,” James answers, shrugging with the shoulder that doesn’t have an ice pack held to it. He’s probably too nice for it to occur to him to withhold his answer until you’ve given yours, as had been your first thought. “What are you making?”

“How did you hurt it?” Worry pries at your tone. Your hands have stilled on the cutting board.

“We had a scrimmage, and I got shoulder-barged.” He gives you a smile, a shadow of the real thing, but gentler. Reassuring. “It’s not bad.”

You frown. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Didn’t expect you to, love.”

“Why do you need to ice it if it’s not bad?”

There’s a look in James’ eyes that’s wavering between smugness and softness. You balk at the sight of it. “I need to be a bit careful with it,” he hedges, “but it’ll be good by morning. Now, you’ve distracted me. Do you mean to tell me you’ve known how to cook this entire time?”

“Yes,” you concede with a laugh. “I’ve always said I cook for myself when you’re not around.”

“And here you are, doing it right before my eyes.” James leans on the counter with his good arm. He looks immensely entertained. “I’m honored.”

“This isn’t just for me,” you say, looking down to resume chopping onion as your face warms slightly. “It’s for—” Another remonstrative hiss from the stove, and you whip around, moving the pot off the hot part entirely. You’re a bit relieved for the excuse to face away from him. “It’s for both of us. Also, I just want to provide a disclaimer right now that I never said I was good at cooking, only that I knew how.”

James’ laugh rumbles behind you, just as you knew it would. He’s too easy. You can practically feel the force of his smile hitting your back, like the sunshine brought inside.

“Here,” he says, taking a couple of steps toward you, “let me help.”

“No!” You whirl again, stopping him before he can actually enter the kitchen. “No way. James, I’m trying to do something nice.”

“And it is very nice,” he says, earnest. “It just seems like you could use a hand.”

“I’ve got it,” you insist. Your hands are up to ward him off, but you put them at your sides when you realize how close they’re hovering to his chest. “It doesn't count as doing something for you if you do it yourself. Anyway, you’re incapacitated.”

“I’m…” James looks confused, but then he glances down to his icing shoulder. “Oh, come on. I’m hardly immobilized.”

“For all intents and purposes, you are.” You do your best to infuse your voice with conviction. You’ve found that’s usually the way with James. If you show any hesitation, he’ll turn on the charm and have you eating out of his hand before you know what’s happened. You herd him away from the kitchen. “Go sit down. Dinner will be ready soon.”

You can’t help but be aware of him as you finish up, knowing he has to hear the sizzling when you accidentally spill things onto the stove or the one mumbled curse you’re not quick enough to bite back. All evidence that you’re not nearly as practiced a cook as James. You can practically feel his grin from a room over. Still, when it's done you’re fairly proud of yourself.

James is beaming as he accepts his bowl. He hikes his knees up so you can pass between the couch and the coffee table, making a show of sniffing the steam rising from the food.

“Is this risotto?” he asks, waiting for your little nod before his mouth drops open in astonishment. “You are so sneaky! I didn’t know you could cook at all, let alone fancy shit like this.”

“It’s not that hard to make.” You look down at your fork as you raise it to your lips, blowing.

“Sure it is! Loads of people have a hard time with it.”

“Do you?”

James grins, caught. You feel your own smile tugging at your lips as you take a bite.

He follows suit, forking a bit of the risotto and blowing to cool it before taking it in his mouth. His eyes dip closed, head lolling back, and he moans.

“Oh my god, this is good. I’m never cooking again, now that I know you can do this.”

You take another bite to avoid a response. You’re fairly sure the heat from your face could power the apartment for a month.

James makes a few more over-the-top compliments of your culinary skills, which you deflect as best you can. As always, you eat mostly silently while he chatters, but when you look over your attention gets snagged on his shoulder.

He’s only using the one hand to eat, bowl resting in his lap while you hold yours up closer to your face. His ice pack sits beside him now that he can’t hold it on anymore. You catch yourself gnawing on the inside of your lip.

“Does it hurt?” you ask.

James looks over, following your gaze. “Yeah,” he admits. “Nothing I’m not used to, though.”

You feel your eyebrows pinch. “You get hurt often?”

He smiles bemusedly. “It’s rugby, love. Getting a bit roughed up is part of the deal.”

This doesn’t sit right with you. Though you hadn’t pondered it much before, you realize you’ve sort of been thinking of James, with his muscles and constant smiles and easygoing manner, as somewhat invincible. He seems like such a source of light in the world, it hadn’t occurred to you that anything bad could happen to him. You don’t like the idea of him being hurt. In any capacity.

You realize this is likely playing out on your face when you notice James watching you. His eyes are soft. “As much as I would love to milk this for attention and maybe a sponge bath,” he says, setting his fork in his bowl, “it’s really not that bad. See?”

He pulls down the sleeve of his shirt, and the effort to placate you is wasted. You take in a quiet, horrified gasp at the deeply colored bruise on James’ shoulder. One of your hands raises as if to touch it. It hovers in the space between you.

“That’s not that bad?” you look at James in alarm. “It looks broken.”

“It’s not,” he laughs. It’s a bit awkward, as close to self-conscious as you’ve ever seen him. “Trust me, I’ve had a couple broken bones in my time. It’s only bruised, and the muscle’s a bit strained.”

The muscle, you’re noticing now, is quite substantial. Your focus is on the bruise, but the shoulder beneath it is eye-catching as well, hefty and taut-looking, presumably from the strain. That, or James is flexing.

You raise your gaze quickly to his. Brown eyes tinged with smugness.

“You’re worried about me.” His lips stretch into a grin. Not your favorite one in his arsenal. “Aw, sweetheart, I love you too.”

You direct your attention back to your food, face hotter than hot. “I have justification for worry,” you say, the teasing tone you were going for undercut by the unintentional softness of your voice. “You’re voluntarily participating in a sport that seems like it’s trying to kill you.”

James takes a self-satisfied bite of his risotto. “I don’t know, I was pretty worried when you fainted in my arms last week.”

You side-eye him suspiciously. “I didn’t actually do that.”

“Guess you’ll never know.”

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ghosty-writes-23 · 5 days ago

Text

After Office Hours. Leon S Kennedy.

!TAGS!: NSFW Content, Established Relationship, !UNEDITED!, Soft!Dom!Leon, Age Gap (both Leon and the reader are in their late 20’s) Taboo Relationship, Professor x Student, Power Dynamic, Pet names (Sweetheart, Darling, Good Girl.) Praise, Protected Sex, Spanking, Fingering, Desk sex.

Pairing: ID!Professor!Leon + Student!Fem!Reader.

Rating: Mature

Summary: Class is now in session....

Word Count: 3.6k

Ghosty's Notes: Hello beautiful people, I am back with other oneshot from the polls results, which I wanted to say a massive thank you to everybody that voted, this oneshot was based off an old JJK oneshot that didn't do so well so if you see a name that isn't Leon's, I'm sorry I have tried to edit it as much as I can and may have missed something.

----------

Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty :] ❤️🦝

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Sunlight filtered softly through the thin almost sheer curtains, painting the bedroom in a warm hue of orange, yellow and gold. The sound of the busy morning traffic people making their daily commutes to morning part time job, classes or even full-time job was almost mute in the cozy upstairs apartment.

Where the only sound could be hear was Y/n faint snores in the bedroom as she slept in soundly and her boyfriend Leon who had just recently showered was downstairs preparing coffee for the both of them, it was quiet and peaceful in the apartment.

Y/n face was buried in Leon’s pillow ever since he had left their shared bed, her hair was a tousled mess from tossing and turning last night as well as Leon playing with it until she feel asleep. Leon always found her ‘messy bed hair’ adorable even when she would whine and protest saying she looked like she had been pulled though a hedge backwards and upside down by her ankle.

“Wake up sleepyhead.” Leon softly whispered as he walked into their shared bedroom, holding a cup of her favourite coffee, Y/n could hear his footsteps coming closer towards the bed causing a soft unintelligible whine to leave her lips as she pulled the blanket over her head in resistance. Leon chuckled at the gesture as he placed the mug of coffee down and gently tugged the blanket down from her face. “there’s my girl, I made your favourite.” Leon says trying to convince her to come out of the blanket and drink her coffee before it gets too cold.

But Y/ was stubborn and kept the blanket over her head. Causing Leon to playfully sigh before a small smirk comes onto his face. “Well since your not going to put the blanket down I guess I will just have to eat the breakfast I made for you downstairs then.” Leon says in a joking manner, but it was enough to get her to drop the blanket. Y/n eyes fluttered open but she quickly squinted them at the brightness of the room.

“You wouldn’t dare.” She mumbled her voice was raspy from sleep, but Leon just chuckled and shock his head but there was still that teasing smirk on his lips. “oh, I will sweetheart.” Leon says causing her to groan and roll onto her side but there was a smile on her face. But soon she sat up in bed and reached over and grabbed the ug Leon had prepared earlier, she took a small sip and hummed softly just the way she liked it.

“Your too good to me, you know that.” y/n said as she sipped her coffee, Leon looked at her with a gentle smile and shook his head. “No Princess I am the lucky one I mean your willing to sneak around another’s back just so we can be together, and I know the last week has been stressful because of exams for you but I want to take care of you even if its as something as little as making you a cup of coffee in the morning.” Leon spoke making Y/n heart swell with affection.

“Your too sweet sometimes.” Y/n says with a small, embarrassed blush on her cheeks but there was some truth in Leon’s words, she had been so busy with exam this week and she had been sneaking around with him since he was her law and criminal justice professor, but soon she was snapped out of her thoughts when she heard Leon’s voice again.

“now come on, you need to get dressed then I’ll drop you off at the library just before the campus.” Leon spoke and Y/n nodded and pushed the blankets off her body, she grabbed her phone and looked at the time and saw she had a message, she knew it was from her best friend asking if they are meeting at the library before class because she needed Y/n help with some homework, since both of them had a few classes before Leon’s in the afternoon. After replying to her best friend’s message, she made quick work of getting dressed and gather her books for classes.

*Later that Afternoon.*

The Lecture hall way buzzing with chatter and laughter as student’s talked about what they plan on doing in this weekend, who’s frats were throwing parties and gossiping about who slept with who or any other drama that was circling around the campus this week, As Y/n shuffled into her seat she let out exhausted yawn as she sat down on the padded seats at the front, the lack of restful sleep had been starting to take effect, she was nearly falling asleep in her last class but that was because it was really boring, but it was a class her best friend convinced her to try at the start of the semester.

At least she knew Leon’s class was going to be chill hopefully because she don’t know if she could take any more formal writing after writing the 10k paper on how the criminal justice system works and analyzing policies and legislations, she had even tried to sweeten the deal with Leon to just give her a passing grade, but being the gentlemen he was he declined and told her she could do it and helped her.

Just as Y/n was grabbing her textbooks for class a coffee cup was slid over to her; she could smell the bitter coffee and sweet sugar. “You look like shit.” Her best friend comments causing Y/n to cringe ever so slightly because she knew she did, she had her hair in a bun and was wearing an oversized hoodie and a pair of Leon’s sweatpants, since she had ran out of clean clothes and couldn’t be stuffed going back to her apartment this morning. “I know.” Y/n agreed with her as she tried to get comfortable in the lecture hall padded seat, once she was comfortable she placed her hand on her chin and sipped her coffee.

Leon walked in soon after, today he was wearing his dark navy-blue suit set with an undershirt, he looked smart yet there was something undeniably sexy about seeming him in a suit. Y/n could hear some of the females in her class whispering about Leon, wondering if he was single or even married.

Sipping her coffee Y/n couldn’t help smirk slightly as Leon stepped up to the front podium, the summer afternoon sun filtered though the floor to celling windows giving the lecture hall a warm orange, yellow an golden hue that reminded her of when the leaves changed in autumn, she really missed the colder seasons.

“good Afternoon class.” Leon addressed the classroom, his voice cutting though the chatter and gossiping, most of the students started to settle while some where chatting in hushed whispers at the back of the class, most of the students gave him there full attention while there where a few like Y/n’s best friend that was mindlessly drawing in their notebooks, others were trying to make it look like they were listening when in reality, they were fighting against zoning out and class had only just began.

“Today we will be reviewing the last assignment I gave out, because it seemed like somebody people didn’t understand the assignment or didn’t even try.” Leon says causing some of the students to groan, even Y/n could feel a headache coming on at just the thought of the last assignment, Y/n spent most of the class spacing out to distracted by Leon to even really focus, the way when the sun caught his skin giving it a warm glow, or when he used his arms to further explain his point.

She was too busy staring at his forearms or listening to his voice to even really be paying attention, he could be explaining the store receipt to her, and she would hang off his every word like a puppy listening to its owner for a treat, but soon she was soon snapped out of her thoughts when she felt something tap her nose, snapping her train of thought and she looked up and saw Leon with a rolled up piece of paper. “Miss y/l/n zoning out are we, are my classes really that boring?” Leon asked with a slightly teasing tone and with a raised eyebrow, you couldn’t help but flush in embarrassment.

“Sorry Mr. Kennedy.” Y/n says with an embarrassed blush and she sank back in her chair as she could hear some of the girls giggling behind her, even her best friend. “See me after class in my office.” Leon said and Y/n gulped slightly and nodded her head. “Yes sir.” She said quietly as Leon went back to teaching the class and Y/n wished the ground would open up and swallow her.

*After Class In Leon’s Office.*

After saying goodbye to her best friend after class since she was heading to her part time job at the local diner, Y/n wanted to try and catch her before her shift finished she loved the black forest cake that the owner always makes. Reaching Leon’s office Y/n took a deep breath before she reached up and knocked on the oak door and waited for permission to enter his office because he would have a other student or a member of staff in there, Once she heard Leon’s voice telling her to enter, Y/n quickly entered the office and closed the door behind her.

“Lock the door.” Leon spoke as the door clicked softly closed, Y/n nodded her head and turned the lock and a soft click rang out through the dimly lit office, the only light that was-on-was Leon’s desk lamp. He beckoned her over and Y/n slid her bag off her shoulders and placed it on the couch by his door before walking over to him, her feet gently padding against the hardwood floor. Once she was within reach Leon gently tugged her closer so she was straddling his thigh.

“What had my baby so distracted today hmm?” Leon asked with a small teasing but loving smile, Y/n couldn’t help a small whine leaving her throat as she is reminded of what happened earlier today. “I know I know I’m sorry.” Y/n said before she rested her forehead on his shoulder, a shiver ran down her spine as she felt his touch as he gently caressed his back. “are my lecture’s really that boring?” he asks as he gently grabs her chin with his thumb ad index finger, Y/n could hear the playfulness in his tone and it caused her to roll her eyes.

“Maybe I should punish you, since you seem to be acting like a little brat.” Leon says smoothly as his voice dropped a few octaves deeper, as his hand trailed down from her back and to her hips then to her thighs before he grabbed the side a gentle squeeze through her sweatpants as a playful warning. “I’m sorry I spaced out in your lecture Leon.” Y/n said as she bumped her forehead against his as she tried to cute her way out this punishment, but she knew it was fruitless.

“Over my lap sweetheart.” Leon says causing Y/n to pout slightly, but she did as she was told and moved so now she was laying across Leon’s lap. She felt his hand gently massaging her ass through her sweatpants before carefully tugging them down to her mid-thigh, revealing her black lacy strappy thong. “it was the only clean pair of underwear I had at your place.” Y/n weakly protested as she felt him gently tugging on the top of panties causing them to ride up against her ass.

“And it just so happened to be the black lacy ones.” He says as he rubs his hand over the soft skin of her ass cheek, just before she was going to say another weak protest his hand came down on her ass with a firm but careful spank causing her to gasp in surprise and slightly buck her hips against his. “Count sweetheart.” Leon spoke as he rubbed his hand the pink handprint mark that was forming on her ass, as if he was trying to sooth the stinging.

“One.” Y/n said in a soft breath as the stinging in her ass cheek was slowly subsiding now, well that was until she felt another spank against her ass, causing her to grip the edge of his pants in her hands. “Two.” She called out softly this time a little more breathless, she could hear Leon humming to himself as she repeated the same soothing motion as before. “Such a good girl for me.” He softly praised before he softly lifted her chin and kissed the top of her forehead, the kiss causing a purr of affection to leave her lips.

“just a couple left princess, you okay.” Leon asked concern clear in his voice, it made her heart flutter at his concern for her wellbeing and safety. Y/n nodded her head giving Leon a small and reassuring smile, she knew he was punishing her for a reason and he has never spanked her more than 5 times, she would be a good girl and take them because she wanted to be his good girl. When the third spank came her grip on his pants tightened more, the stinging was a little more painful this time since the area felt as if it was already starting to bruise.

“Three.” Y/n called out this time a bit more pained then before, Leon must of noticed this because instead of rubbing to sooth the stinging he leant down and placed a soft kiss on the bruise that was forming on her ass. “Color?” Leon asked Y/n knew Leon never actually want to hurt her or frighten her, he wanted her to feel loved, safe and comfortable in his presence, and that just made her love him even more than she already did.

“Green.” Y/n says with a small smile before he spanked her over cheek causing a soft hiss of pain to leave her lips. “Four.” She says through her teeth before she gently tugged up and Leon peppered kisses all over her face, forehead, cheeks and lips as he knew she was at her limit even if she wouldn’t admit it.

“Such a good girl for me darling taking your punishment so well.” He praised her and before she could get a word out, she felt his middle finger and ring finger start to gently tease her folds, causing Y/n to catch her bottom lip between her teeth to muffle the soft mews that were begging to leave her lips at the pleasure she was feeling. “Leon, please.” His name fell from her lips like a sweet plea for more, she could feel her walls clench around nothing as she was aching for his touch, she wanted his fingers inside her, she needed him to touch her.

“Well since you took your punishment so well sweetheart.” Leon says before sinking those same two fingers inside her warm and wet silk walls, a soft groan like growl leaving his lips as he realized how wet she was, a mew like moan left her lips at the stretch of his fingers but it was soon muffled by Leon’s spare hand covering her mouth.

“Quiet love there are still some professor’s here.” He whispers softly as he slowly worked his fingers in all the right spots that could make her eyes roll back in her head, from the hours he spent exploring her body behind closed doors. Y/n nodded her head as she moaned into his hand, her eyes fluttered closed as she was melting at the sensations and her thighs started to tremble ever so slightly. Her back arched when she felt him use his thumb to gently rub circles on her clit.

She was melting under his touch and she could feel her climax fast approaching, but quickly she moved his hand away from her mouth, causing him to stop what he was doing in fear he was hurting her or making her uncomfortable. “What’s wrong? And I hurting you?” Leon asked worriedly but Y/n shook her head as she was breathing heavily. “No, I just want you inside me as I come.” Y/n said with burning cheeks and the request made even a small color flush on Leon’s face.

Leon cleared his throat and she could feel how hard he was through his pants, since his cock had been poking her in the stomach since he started spanking her. “There is a condom in my middle draw in a small tin.” Leon said as he tried to adjust himself, Y/n nodded her head and reached over to the middle draw and pulled it out, inside was a few files of paperwork and up and coming homework which Y/n knew was going to give her headache, but she didn’t think of that right now.

When she found the small tin, it looked like a small first aid kit with band aids in them and maybe some Panadol not condoms. “And what is a professor doing with these in his desk.” Y/n asked him with a slight tease in her voice, to which Leon gave her bruised ass a spank causing a stinging spark to run up her back, but she just playfully rolled her eyes and handed him one of the condom packets.

Y/n got up on Leon’s desk not caring about the files ad paperwork that where under her body, she heard Leon hiss softly the cold office air hit his cock as he unbuckled his belt, his cock sprang free with a small bead of precum on his tip.

“You might want to close your mouth princess; you might catch flies.” Leon now teases her causing a deeper blush to color her cheeks, she looked away but she could hear him chuckling before a soft gasp left her lips as she felt Leon’s tip gently poke her entrance, both of their bodies shuddering in pleasure.

“You ready Darling?” Leon asked her and she nodded her head and wrapped her legs around his waist, he reached down and grasped his cock, before lining it up and slowly and carefully pushing inside.

A sweet cry of pleasure left her lips as her hips arched off Leon’s desk, his cock stretching her out perfectly like it always does, her hands went to grip his shoulders but he pinned both of her arms above her head, caging her between his desk and his body.

“Quiet Sweetheart.” Leon shuddered as he was trying to stay quiet as well, but he was having as much trouble as she was. Y/n bit her bottom lip hard nearly enough to draw blood. But one of Leon’s hand came up to her mouth to muffle her moans so she won’t hurt herself.

Y/n couldn’t believe what was really happening, she was getting fucked by her boyfriend in a nearly headlock against his desk, and who also happens to be her Law and criminal justice professor, it also felt like a fever dream and that she didn’t want to wake up.

“you close darling I’m not going to last long.” Leon groaned as he rested his forehead on your shoulder, you nodded your head against his hand, you knew she weren’t going to last long either as her thighs where trembling around his waist. “Yes.” Y/n choked out in between her moans; her head was feeling foggy. “Cumming.” she cried out as she let out a hitch pitch squeal like moan and came around Leon and she felt him soon follow spilling into the condom.

After a couple minutes of them both breathing heavily but there was a smile on each of their face, Y/n reached up and gently cupped his cheeks and pulled his face to hers pressing a soft kiss to his lips, to which he returned with equal softness before breaking the kiss and leaning up to place a kiss on her forehead. “you okay, I wasn’t too rough.” Leon asked as he slowly pulled out causing a soft hiss to leave Y/n’s lips and then she suddenly felt empty.

“No you were perfect as always, but I don’t think I can feel my legs.” She say with a small laugh and even Leon chuckled slightly as he tied a knot in the used condom and tossed it onto the bin. “Well, why don’t we get dressed and I’ll take us back to my place and I’ll cook us some dinner.” Leon suggested causing Y/n smiled and nod her head and noticed he was fully dressed and only had messy hair and a slightly flushed face.

Now Y/n wasn’t with Professor Kennedy but her boyfriend Leon who made her heart race as he treated her like a princess making her always feel loved and cherished, not her professor that made her want to rip out of her hair because she has to read 5 pages of boring legislations for a stuipd assignment, She liked this Leon more.

“can you help me get dressed.” Y/n asked him, and he nodded his head and grabbed his sweatpants she had been wearing today and slowly pulled them up her hips then bent down to pick her up bridal style, he had her backpack over his shoulder.

Y/n rested her head on his shoulder while he walked out of his office and locked it behind them both, Y/n couldn’t wait to get to his place and have some food, watch some TV and maybe even go for round 2….

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©Ghosty-writes-23, 2025. all rights reserved. !I DO NOT! consent to translations or replications or reproduction of my work on any other social media platforms and or make AI Bots without my explict consent and permission.

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utilitycaster · 20 hours ago

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I referenced this in a longer post, but worth reiterating on its own: you do not need to hedge any statement that is a personal opinion, and you in fact strengthen your voice by not doing so. This is a core aspect of persuasive communication; I was taught this both in English class throughout high school, as well as in a public speaking course in college. In the latter, the lecturer advised everyone, but especially young women, to imagine ending every sentence that was not actually a question with an unspoken ", dammit!" to remind us not to uptalk.

You do not need to say "I think" or "this is just my opinion". You, in fact, should not say this if you want to construct a strong persuasive argument, as it's useless chaff meant to pacify people who want you to apologize for existing while holding a different opinion. If I see a post in which someone handwrings over how sorry they are that this might be different from what you believe I often stop reading. Why should I be swayed by someone who seems to be trying to convince themselves as well?

There are of course cases where hedging is useful: theories and speculation are among them. But in the case of an interpretation, presenting your opinion without fuss and faff and pleading for people to allow you to just speak for a moment (in an asynchronous medium where you can edit to your heart's content and cannot be interrupted nor stopped, specifically) is the only way to do so persuasively. Anyone who says differently is demanding an apology you do not and never will owe them for failing to say only words they like. They are not worth your time and they should not be your intended audience, and if they truly were upset by seeing your confident opinion rather than hoping you'd cave without them having to persuade you instead, they'd simply block and not respond. If they want you to agree with them, they can make an effort. Don't cede rhetorical ground that they've failed to earn.

#this is highly relevant to the current fandom discussions but also in general #if someone's scared by a strong persuasive argument that means they're a weak-ass loser and it's working #become more appallingly confident. and ungovernable.

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theresattrpgforthat · 2 months ago

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Mint Plays Games: Changelings, Trauma & Gaming

Over the course of October and November, I returned to one of my favourite ttrpgs of all time with @thydungeongal and my girlfriend: Changeling the Lost. About once or twice a year, I get the itch to run the 1st edition of this lovely, lore-heavy game, and every year I come away from it thinking about its potential. This is meant to be a quick break-down of my latest Changeling session, as well as a reflection on the parts of Changeling that really touch my heart.

The Game.

This game happened over three sessions, involving a character creation session, and two sessions of play. We had one character who was a Darkling Gravewright - folks who dealt with the dead in their time in Faerie (and can also see ghosts), and another who was a Fairest Flamesiren, whose entire deal is about burning bright, but also burning out quickly.

I decided to give these girls a murder mystery, with a mortal body found just outside a gate to a Goblin Market, and a missing changeling to track down. We’d talked about themes of grief and addiction prior to my planning stage, so I figured dealing with both a death and a place that offers your wildest dreams (for a price) might be a good place to start.

I don’t like planning out specific plot beats in my games, so instead I tried designing the Market like an adventure location, with various vendors to tempt the players with their wares, while dotting the landscape with NPCs in various states of distress. I figured the Changelings would pick something that resonated with them, and we could go from there. This process also generated a few different villainous characters who could be responsible for the murder, which I’m glad I did, because as usual, what the players decide to do always falls outside the bounds of what the GM plans for.

The story ended up being about saving a kidnapped changeling from a hungry Fae, and bluffing through a group of Privateers (read: mercenaries) and bringing the victim to safety. However, they didn't escape completely unscathed - coming face to face with a True Fae caused a cascade of terrible memories coming back to visit one of our characters right after she thought she'd made it to safety.

Our session was an introduction to the world and lore of Changeling, and I feel like I did a pretty good job on that front. On the other hand, I felt like it was just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the things I think Changeling can be about.

The Potential

When it comes to the World of Darkness in general, I think Changeling: the Lost has a relatively sleek amount of lore regarding the various Courts, Seemings, and faerie characters. Each Changeling’s durance can be typified, but ultimately what they went through can be up to the player who designs them, and the Hedge is limitless in its weird and strange creatures, which gives the GM license to create all kinds of goblins and monsters to fit what they want their game to be about - and the players aren’t really expected to know what’s going on in there anyways. Most Freehold history exists in rumour, because talking too openly about it feels like you’re inviting the Fae to your front doorstep, and in the same way, the true nature of the Fae is left up to rumour and superstition, allowing your group to decide what they really are, or leave their nature forever a mystery.

That being said, the toys that you can play with are still more numerous than anything that you can fit into any one campaign, even if you’re playing that campaign for 4+ years. You can very easily play Changeling as a magical urban fantasy game (and I’ve done this fairly regularly with my group), but C:tL also has a lot of poignant themes that can delve into themes about trauma, addiction, and mental health.

Disclaimer: CtL is not always graceful in the way it represents mental health. There are antagonists presented in the books that come across as “madmen”, some pretty gross Merits you can take that can feel bad to play at most tables, and characters that have lost what makes them human, becoming threats to the players. However, I think that the Clarity system does have some interesting ideas in it that, if treated with care, can still provide some interesting depth to the game.

Clarity

Clarity is meant to be a measure of how well your character can tell truth from Fiction - a high enough Clarity score, and you can sniff out a Fae even if they’re trying to hide themselves; a low enough Clarity Score, and you have a hard time differentiating colour and smell, and might even start seeing an overlay of your Durance infiltrating your weekly grocery trip.

Your Changeling moves up in Clarity if they’re able to keep a stable life with elements that help you ground yourself and give you a sense of identity - and mechanically, once you spend Experience points. Your Changeling moves down in Clarity when they suffer “sins” - moments that disrupt that hard-won stability. This sins could be something we’d consider morally fraught, such as stealing, assaulting someone, or murder - but they could also be significant life changes, like losing your job, buying a house, losing a friend or getting married. You also always suffer a Clarity sin when you come in contact with a reminder of your durance - particularly a True Fae.

The higher your Clarity score is, the harder it is to keep yourself there. Smaller and smaller things can trigger a Breaking point, like going a day without human contact, starting a new college course, or using a Faerie token. Furthermore, the lower your Clarity score, the more difficult it is for you to tell truth from fiction - think of the scenes in Mockingjay where Peeta has to ask Katniss “real or not real” and try to trust her answers.

It doesn’t help that so many pieces of the Changeling experience after getting out of the Hedge seems designed to Fuck You Up - like the doppelgänger that’s been living your life ever since you left, or the fact that mortals can’t seem to notice the ways that Faerie has changed you: you can feel the horns on your head, but all they touch is a well-coiffed hairstyle. In many ways it feels like your whole experience with Faerie is invisible - and you’re fairly certain that even if you told a mortal the truth, they’d never believe you. If they did believe you, they would never treat you the same again.

I like this system because it doesn't really measure how "good" or "bad" your character is - instead it's a representation of how your lived experiences can often trigger symptoms even if others get lucky enough to survive those events with their mental health intact. I'm not a bit fan of derangements - but I think dropping in Clarity is an excellent time to ask characters about pieces of their time in Faerie that haunt them, and perhaps saddle them with Frailties instead - what personal rules do you have to follow in order to navigate the world when you have a hard time telling friend from foe?

Other Themes & Metaphors

The Fae themselves are also exquisite boogeymen, mercurial abusers without the familiar human emotions that we might feel more equipped to understand. They act on their whims and follow their appetites - and while real-life abusers often have very human reasons for being that way, we need not feel such compunctions from the Fae.

We might have to feel some compunctions about their right-hand Loyalists however, changelings who have agreed to work for their Fae Masters in exchange for some semblance of freedom. These are enablers: giving the Fae a step into the mortal realm and throwing mortals and other Lost under the bus, just so the True Fae won't turn their abuses back onto them.

Much of the ethos of the seasonal courts in the first edition has to do with different strategies for preventing a day where you find yourself back under your abuser’s control. Do you pretend that everything is fine, because they won’t recognize their victims if they’re happy? Make yourself physically stronger so you can tell yourself that you’ll win next time? Amass magic rituals in the hopes that learning just the right order of steps will keep you safe? Or do you make yourself as un-interesting as possible in the hopes that they give up on you for other prey? (Yes, I think the Winter Court could totally be all about grey-rocking).

On top of that, the Changelings that your characters embody (and interact with) are far from perfect. They have vices, fears and trauma responses that pull and push them into a dance of backstabbing, power-grabbing politics, full of seeking the upper hand and possibly even selling out their fellows in a gambit meant to keep the Fae focused on someone other than them. (A political game or LARP with these themes in mind feels so juicy to me.)

Next is the metaphors of power and/or addiction. The higher your Wyrd is, the more Glamour you can hold, and the more powerful your magic is. At the same time, the more Glamour you can hold, the more you need to hold it: what starts as a fun magical resource can grow into an addiction, if you lean into it hard enough. Sure, your Contracts become easier to activate and you can Incite Bedlam if you get powerful enough, but are you willing to chance withdrawal if you can’t get your daily fix of goblin fruit? How much are you willing to play with human emotions in order to get that sweet sweet taste of anger or grief?

Then there’s the seeming-specific traumas. Beasts struggle with wondering whether they can be human after giving in to animal instinct; Darklings fell into Faerie because they crossed an invisible or moral line and have had to make morally questionable decisions in order to survive. Elementals are used to being treated as part of the scenery, moulded to fit the whims of their captors; Fairest are constantly pressured to be the prettiest or the best with the threat of terrible terrible things should they fail. Ogres have undergone terrible physical hardships, including physical mistreatment and deprivation, while Wizened have been told time and time again that they are only worth something if they are useful. Stepping out of Faerie doesn’t magically “fix” any of these complexes, and as a result each Seeming has to wrestle with stereotypes even amongst their own: if you need someone murdered, go to a Darkling, If you need something made, go to a Wizened. If you need a hot piece of ass, a Fairest is sure to oblige - right?

Lastly, there's the Fetch: a copy of yourself that was made to replace you when the Fae took you away. This other-you is often so much better or so much worse than the person they used to be - they can act as a foil to your character, haunting you or making your life difficult, reminding you of who you used to be, or never letting others forget how badly you may have screwed up. In Changeling society, killing your Fetch is at the very least a regrettably convenient way of tying up loose ends, and at the most, a rite of passage. But it's also a surefire way to risk losing Clarity. Kind of a catch-22 situation, isn't it?

My Experience So Far

Past Changeling sessions I’ve run have included NPCs getting kidnapped by misguided friends, stumbling across characters who were at an all-time Clarity low, trying to save other Changelings from their Faerie kidnappers, cannibals, Fetches, and antagonists who are set out to betray one or more factions of the Freehold that is supposed to protect them. It’s always bits and pieces of what feels like a bigger picture.

On the one hand, I think that's to be expected. There's so much in this game, and I doubt that any campaign can really dig in to all of its systems and complexities. On the other hand, I’m not sure if I’ve been able to really dig into the themes of Changeling: the Lost in the way that I’d really love to be able to do.

The subject matter can be so close to real struggles, that I’m nervous about making those struggles too bare-faced at my local table. Gas-lighting, torture, hallucinations, drug abuse and cannibalism are so very easy to drop into a Changeling game, but are also so very easy to hit uncomfortable moments for someone who's unprepared.

At the same time, I think that playing a game like Changeling with a high-trust table that uses robust safety features has so many interesting stories that can give power to players, even if the setting is technically a horror one. I’ve been having conversations with @psychhound about a lot of the themes that folks try to explore in ttrpgs, especially in response to this post he commented on back in April. To summarize that conversation: TTRPGs are a great way for folks to tackle personal struggles and traumas from a safe place, in ways that can give them a cathartic experience or that can give them a fresh sense of identity. Changeling has been a significant part of those discussions.

I came to Changeling: the Lost as a fairly new GM the first time I picked it up, and the more I learn about Safety Tools and a culture of care, the closer I feel to getting to that game that lives in my head that lured me into TTRPGS in the first place. Every time I come back to It, I think I'm closer to pulling together a Changeling game that sinks its teeth into the themes I’m interested in and hit some of the grime beneath all that glitter. So every time I come back to it, I’m going to create funky little goblins and design weird Fae bars and take the characters’ memories and ask them why they hurt - figuring out how I can twist the knife just enough to peel back the glamour, without opening any wounds that we’re trying to keep closed.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #changeling the lost #mint plays games #mint speaks #world of darkness

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spider-stark · 6 months ago

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LITTLE BRACKEN KNIGHT

Aeron Bracken x Blackwood!Reader

Summary - You sneak into Aeron's room at Stone Hedge.

Warnings - fem!reader, not edited, suggestive language, hints towards smut but there is none, secret relationship trope ig, blackwood!reader being a little shit

Word Count - 1k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

When Aeron Bracken opens the door to his bedchambers, the overly loud groan of Lord Samwell Blackwoods daughter is the very first thing he hears.

“Finally!” His heart in his throat, Aeron's scrambles to close the door. behind him. Over on the bed, you're completely unbothered by the idea of a guard overhearing you, saying, “I was beginning to think I’d be waiting for you all night, Bracken.”

Frustration is the first emotion to take hold of his mind.

Aeron knows that Blackwoods lack common sense, but he hadn’t thought you reckless enough to do something so asinine as sneak into Stone Hedge! He doesn’t wish to imagine the things that might’ve happened to you if the guards had caught you. Or, even worse, if Amos Bracken himself had caught the daughter of his sworn-enemy roaming through his castle halls.

It’s this—the fear of what might have happened to you if Amos had gotten his hands on you—that drives Aeron straight into a lecture. “You would’ve been waiting longer than a night,” he says, his voice stern as he secures the door, “if my uncle had found you and thrown you in the dungeon.”

“Well,” you drawl, watching with an amused grin as Aeron double—and then triple—checks the locks, “it’s a good thing he didn’t find me then, isn’t it?”

Aeron’s certain your insolence will be the death of him one day.

“The Gods were on your side tonight,” he says, sending a silent prayer of thanks to the Father for keeping you safe. “But you can’t make a habit of this. You might not always be so lucky and–”

His voice falters, words dying on his tongue as he turns around. For the first time since entering his chambers, the Bracken knight takes a good look at the reckless—and utterly breathtaking—woman that had snuck in to greet him.

You wait in the center of his bed, knees sinking into the plush mattress. Shadows dance across your form, chased by the soft, flickering flames of candles precariously placed about his room. Dressed in a thin, silken gown that clings to every peak and curve, Aeron can hardly decide where to look first.

A roguish grin tugs at your lips—and, at last, the boy decides it’s safest to settle his focus there. “Weren’t you saying something?” Your dark eyes narrow into a playful stare. “Let me guess—” you feign thought, tapping a finger against your chin once twice before turning it on him—“you were going to tell me that, should my luck run dry, you’ll be incapable of saving me should Amos Bracken wish to string me up from the gates of this very Keep. Right?”

Aeron hadn’t planned on using those exact words, but the sentiment was more or less the same. After all, while this was the first time he’d had to lecture you on breaking-and-entering an enemy Keep, this wasn’t the first time he’d discussed the dangers of you impinging upon Bracken land.

“And now,” you add, boredom permeating your tone, “you wish to lecture me on how much safer it is for us to meet in Pennytree, instead.”

“Because it is safer,” Aeron counters. It takes all the Bracken knight's willpower to keep his gaze locked on yours, knowing that if it veered south he would surely lose this argument. “I know it’s not to your liking, but meeting at the Tankard ensures that both of our heads will remain firmly attached to our body.”

The Gold Tankard is an inn lying just beyond the boundaries of both Bracken and Blackwood land, nestled in the heart of Pennytree. Ridiculously overpriced and riddled with rogues and swindlers, the place is no better than a gods-damned cesspit.

Pouting, you lean forward, pressing your palms against his mattress.“The Tankard’s beds are gross and lumpy,” you whine, rubbing your hands against the soft quilt covering his bed, “and yours is so clean and comfortable.”

Aeron swallows on a too-dry throat. “I believe you’ll find death to be far more uncomfortable than a lumpy mattress.”

“Possibly.”

You lift a shoulder in a careless shrug, one of your straps gliding down your arm. You don’t fix it, letting it pull the neckline lower, your cleavage spilling from it. Aeron’s resolve wavers, eyes dipping low.

You smirk. “But it seems my luck hasn’t given way just yet.”

Aeron wishes he was a stronger man. Wishes he was capable of resisting such blatant seduction—such manipulation!

But alas, strength has never been a virtue of his.

His boots scuff against the floor, abandoning his better judgment in favor of you you you—his most coveted possession and his most forbidden desire, the center of his universe and the bane of his existence.

When he’s close enough, you reach out a hand. A hand grazes his chest, clutching the fabric of his tunic and pulling him down. His knees are pressed to the edge of the mattress, your lips hovering before his. “So, what will it be, Ser Bracken?”

There’s a taunt there, a special brand of Blackwood impertinence that makes his very bones itch.

“Will you make me wait even longer,” you ask him, “with your wasted lectures?”

Your other hand lifts from the mattress. Thin fingertips graze up his thigh, inching closer and closer to where he most wants to be touched by you. His lips parts, his breaths coming shallow and fast as your touch drifts to his waistband, fumbling with the laces there.

Indeed—strength was a virtue lost upon him.

For you, Aeron Bracken would beg.

For you, Aeron Bracken would do more than beg.

He would put his titles and station on the line, let the realm question his honor as both a knight and a lord. He would disgrace and debase himself in the eyes of his House, let his uncle declare him a traitor to their line.

With you, there was no line he wouldn’t cross.

No threat he wouldn’t face.

“Or,” your lips brush against his and he forgets what it means to breath, “will the little Bracken knight grow a pair and fuck me in his uncles castle?”

a/n - wrote this in an hour because I was frustrated with my other work. can't write smut, so it ends where it ends 🫡 idk what this is honestly-but I'm posting it so I can delete it from my google docs lmao.

also my computer kept trying to autocorrect Samwell to Sawmill and I just thought you should know that

#aeron bracken imagine #aeron bracken #hotd imagine #house of the dragon imagine #hotd #house of the dragon #aeron bracken fic #aeron bracken imagines #aeron bracken x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd2 #house of the dragon fan fic #house of the dragon fanfic #amos bracken imagine #amos bracken fan fic #amos bracken #asoiaf #game of thrones imagine

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cry4mina · 9 months ago

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BloodRedRoses

(Chaeyoung x fem!reader)

Word count: 4.1k

Angst/Smut

Summary: Best friends to ???

TW: weed, blood, sex, cheating, Sana?, mentions of Jihyo. I think that’s it.

A/N: hey hi hello! Happy Chae day (early edition!) pls enjoy! :)

*edit* my dumbass forgot to tag @nr1chaedickrider for the pics! 🖤

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The couch is cold, leather against your face as you lay there numb, eyes freely releasing tears. Sniffling into the emptiness of your living room, reliving memories of you and your best friend’s last night of hanging out together.

—

“Chae! Let’s gooooo!” screaming from the edge of the sand. It’s 3 in the morning, humid as hell but she wanted to go to the beach. Her stress from her schedules made it hard for her to relax and you just wanted to see her smile.

God, her smile? She radiated diamonds when she giggled. Glowing and sparkling, refracting pure joy into everyone who saw it. It melted you instantly every time and she knew that.

Chaeyoung runs from your car, black sweatpants too big for her and your hoodie swallowing her whole, catching up to you and linking your arms together. Now she’s the one tugging you to the shoreline as you find your spot on the rundown lifeguard stand.

Studying the carvings of initials into the salt-soaked wood, taking your pocket knife out and getting to work on a new addition while Chae lights the joint carefully, taking a long drag and then passing it to you.

“Do you ever think about what the future holds?” exhaling the smoke as she stares into the waves from her seat on the rickety railing.

Joint hanging out of your mouth, looking up at her in awh, trying to actually hear what she just said. You were mesmerized by her, always.

“Y/n? You okay?” Glancing over to you with concern in her big brown eyes, knowing you had something to say and giving you the opportunity to speak your mind.

Panic flashes through you, pulling from the joint and then passing it back to her, trying to figure out what to say as she pokes you to tell her why you’ve been stuck in your own head.

“Yeah I’m okay.” melancholy laced in your words, continuing to carve a heart big enough to fit initials in, almost dissociating into the deepened grain of the wood. Imagining what life would be like with her as your girlfriend, you sigh heavily and she catches that too.

“You’ve been off for weeks…are you going to tell me what's up? I thought we told each other everything…” looking down at her hands and watching the smoke cascade off the joint before snuffing it out to relight later.

“Chae…” looking up at her again, immediately enthralled by her soft expression towards you. The care in her eyes visibly tracing your frame, waiting for you to let out what you’ve been holding in.

“I…like you.” immediately shutting your eyes and returning your attention to the carving trying to escape the discomfort of having just told your best friend of years that you had romantic feelings for her.

Through your peripherals you see her rotate to face you, expression dripping with grief, watching you chip away at the heart with your blade.

“Y/n…I’m kind of…seeing someone.”

—

Tear after tear falling from your eyes, face not even contorting at them anymore. The night you stopped speaking to Chaeyoung flashes in your mind at least three times a day, so the sting isn’t new but reliving that night definitely rubs salt into the wound.

It’s 2 in the morning when you decide it’s time to go to your favorite getaway location for the first time in about a month, wanting to create a new memory there by yourself so you can heal that part of you.

Rolling a joint for your adventure as you set off, trying to escape the sorrow of the wound that keeps reopening.

—

Arriving at the parking lot and parking in your usual spot, you sit for a second. Sniffling and ruminating in the disdain you were feeling for the crisp ocean air, taking in the changes to the setting around you.

Hedges still line the sides of the parking lot, a few palm trees sway in the breeze, beach roses consuming the foliage even more than before, blooming in the moonlight.

Stepping out of the car and walking over to the flowers, you smell the rich sweetness they give off and go to pick one for yourself, only to be pricked by the thorns immediately.

“Shit!” dropping the flower instantaneously, thorns sticking out of your finger. Pulling them out one by one under the moonlight, dripping blood onto the rose on the floor, staining it with the sanguine colored liquid.

Putting your finger in your mouth to ease the bleeding, you head towards the tranquility of the beach and the familiar place, the lifeguard shack, to be alone with your thoughts.

Climbing the slope and viewing the graffiti, more initials than before etched into the frame of the small shack that was raised off the ground to avoid the water.

The heart you chipped into the paint a month ago has someone’s initials in it that you didn’t put there…suspiciously, they’re your initials.

Perplexed by this, you try not to assume who added to your art installation as you light your joint, attempting to burn the ends evenly so it doesn’t canoe. Something you were never good at, that’s why Chae was always in charge of the weed.

Pulling on the joint as you stare into the sea and think about how much you miss her. The long silly conversations, the meaningful moments, the way she always got you a little snack when you were grumpy, her knowing your coffee order by heart, and it was understandable she did. She was your best friend.

Always showing you unconditional love, even through telling you about her new boyfriend, your memories slip back into the night you last spoke.

—

“Y/n…I’m kind of…seeing someone.” whispered to you through the waves, words causing a small wind within you, taking in the information that makes you nauseous.

Humidity sticks to every part of your skin, hiding the sweat from the rush of adrenaline when your hands start to shake. Seeing someone? Who? She hasn’t mentioned someone to you…

Spiraling at the thought of someone else taking that place in her life. Why hasn’t she mentioned her? Why wouldn’t she tell you about seeing someone? Weren’t you important to her?

“Y/n?…can you say something?” eyes shifting down at the floor. She knows what you’re going to say, just needing to hear it from your own lips before she assumes your next course of action.

“…I don’t have anything to say…” through soft tears you were hiding from her. They drip against your will, unable to hold them back when she gets up to hug you from behind. Hands on your stomach, cheek on your back and eyes closed, sniffling with you through the sadness.

“I don’t want to lose you…please say something…” the crack in her voice ruins you, reflecting the fracture she just chiseled into your heart.

“Who is it?” reverberates through your torso to her ears.

Chaeyoung can hear how shooken up you are, lungs quivering as you try to keep your breathing slow. She’s known for a while you felt this way, choosing to ignore it because she didn’t want you to vanish from her life because she wasn’t ready, only to assume you didn’t feel the same way now.

“I don’t think you truly want to hear about him…” replied coldly, still holding you tightly, unwilling to release you.

Heartbeat now racing at the pronoun she just laid out for you, realizing she was gripping you so tightly so you would run away from her.

“Him?! Chae I thought you we-” unhooking her from your body with some effort so you can face her, eyes drowning in your tears without your consent. You wipe the streams on your face, emotionally exhausted and sleep deprived.

She winces as you do. She knew this day was coming.

“Y/n, please just let me explain.” somewhat begging for you to hear her out, pulling on your sleeves and looking up at you, peering into your soul, framed in sadness.

“I’m happy for you…Can we leave?” flatly falls from your tongue.

“Y/n, please…” begging for another moment with you.

“Chae, I want to leave.”

—

It rings in your ears.

“Y/n please…”

Hearing it clear as day in your mind. You haven’t heard her voice since that night and thinking about it just pulls at your heart strings, playing the melody of regret for words unspoken.

Back against the front wall of the guard station, sliding down slowly until you were firmly seated on the ground. Pressing the filter of the joint to your lips and pulling a huge drag before you ash on the floorboards, watching the breeze sweep away the dust of gray and white.

Calm quiet waves and the weed comfort you through the ache of not having her around. Chest always swelling at the thought of her, wondering if she was happy, wondering if she remembered to eat that day…does he treat her right?

Sighing into the darkness, another pull, another ash, another gust as you sit in the depths of your emotions. Allowing your brain to take you through your thoughts of Chaeyoung without resistance.

“i was hoping you’d show up here eventually…Is this seat taken?” cuts through your mind's eye like a cleaver, startling you. Looking over to see a pair of familiar pajamas and an oversized hoodie, black hair flowing down from under the hood.

Those big brown puppy dog eyes glancing down at you, seeing your disheveled state, studying the faint tear streams down your cheeks and the small wet circular water marks on the floor beneath you. Pouting at you…Chae always hated to see you so sad. Especially because of the decision she made to date someone that wasn’t you.

Unsure of what to say, you just raised the joint up to her- extending an olive branch, a peace offering.

This made her absolutely beam at you, taking her place next to you and happily puffing away at the joint, giving a satisfied shimmy of the events currently taking place before plopping down next to you in the wooden floor.

Unable to contain yourself, you giggle as your body finally lets you relax. She was here, everything was going to be okay…right? Even with a false sense of security her presence gave you, you wished you could shake the feeling of missing her.

Exhaling quickly and turning to face you, making sure to make eye contact as she nudges your shoulder playfully.

“I missed you, dummy.” through the smallest smile you’ve ever seen, she was just too precious and you were completely wrapped around her finger.

“I missed you too…how are…things?” hesitantly questioning how her life was going, worried about the answer.

“Better now.” pulling the joint again before handing it back to you carefully. You wished she wouldn’t do that. Implying that you improve her life when you know who she’s calling every night before bed.

Shifting your focus to anything but what she just said, fixating on her hands, tracing over her finger tattoos with your eyes before grabbing the joint between your own fingers, lightly putting it out.

Feeling her energy was almost enough, the decompression of your muscles from just being near her was substantial enough to push the devastation away, even if it was temporary.

“How is he?” reluctantly flows through clenched teeth, oozing jealousy and spite.

“He’s…good.” tapping her fingers against her knees as she curls within herself, knowing you’re only asking because you feel obligated to. Knowing you’re hoping for a different answer.

Nodding your head and biting the inside of your cheek, fiddling with the ankle cuff if your joggers and trying to keep yourself seated. Discomfort sneaks in, thoughts of her being happy with someone else being a wave of nausea, imitating sea sickness as you wobble a little in the feeling.

The signs of your care for each other was always there, you were just too nervous to face her about them and she was anticipating you making the first move. There were plenty of moments to do so and you just couldn’t bring yourself to say anything sooner. Locked in your own fear, ruining your own chance.

“Can I ask you something?” Chae's curious eyes peeked up at you while resting her chin on her knees, a pout placed on her perfect lips.

“Yeah.” refusing eye contact out of a familiar fear, wondering if she was going to ask where you were or where you’d been.

“Why’d you stop taking my calls?” cheek now resting on her knees, you can see how she’s trying to calm her breathing through the difficult question. Never being one to ask them, hating confrontation but she had to know why you took so many steps back from her. She just need to hear you say it.

A deep breath, eyes shifting anywhere but on her. How were you supposed to tell her the truth?

“I…uhm…didn’t want to talk to you.” little lies through your clenched teeth, grinding away at your heart like sandpaper.

“Don’t lie to me.” Chae’s brows furrow as she lets out a little annoyed shriek. It’s hard not to giggle at her when she makes what she would call her “angy” face at you. It’s too cute to be considered “angy.”

“Fine.” Sighing heavily and turning to face her, hands roughly running down your face as you prepare to tell her what she definitely already knew. Swallowing roughly, deep breath, and go!

“I stopped talking to you because it’s hard to see someone else making you so happy…I wanted it to be me…and with how we are or I guess were, with each other I thought that’s what you wanted too.” attempting to not sniffle as the tears trickle down your cheeks again, stinging your eyes and adding to the salt on your face.

Feeling a warmth on your right side and the pressure of a head resting on your shoulder, you lean into Chae and continue to silently cry a little harder.

Tears staining her hoodie as they fall, a hand reaches around you and holds your waist, lightly scratching in an attempt to comfort you.

“You’re right, you know.” matter of factly uttered through the breeze of the early morning hours surrounding you.

“About what?” lifting your head to look at her while she elaborates on what she means.

“That is what I wanted…I just didn’t think you wanted to try because you never said anything or reacted when I dropped hints” nervously from her shaky lips while her own tears fell, her face now matching yours in the same sorrow.

“What? When did you drop hints?” confusion layered your words heavily, racking your brain for Chae’s attempts to show her feelings, completely oblivious to any hints she might’ve dropped along the way.

“Come on, don’t pretend like you don’t remember. I would always hold your hand, cling to you, cuddle with you…we even made out a few times over the years.” frustrated at your lack of knowledge, even though she never blatantly told you the level of what she was experiencing.

“Chae, we were young…I thought you were just an affectionate person or that it wasn’t serious. Like how Sana is?” a weak attempt to defend yourself from not making a move or telling her sooner.

“Sana likes you.” cold, flat tone, maybe a hint of jealousy uttered from her lips, body language shifting to show a little discomfort.

“What?!” complete shock consumes you, trying to take in the overwhelming amount of data you just received.

“Yeah, that’s why I never invited her to hang out with us after the first time…I didn’t want her to be that close to you” grief weighs her voice down to a whisper, the confession fresh even after years.

“Chae why would yo-” hands cupping your face almost immediately. She presses her lips on yours, tears mix into a painful spiral of what could’ve been between you.

Stiffening at the contact, you aren’t really sure what to do at the moment. Fighting to not lean into it, but not wanting to pull away either. She pulls away for a second to look at your face before placing one hand on your hip, pulling you into her, laying her lip on you again.

Not being able to help yourself after years of pining, you melt into it, quickly turning heated as she slides her tongue in your mouth. Her hands feel so comfortable on your skin, wrapping around your waist under your shirt, fidgeting with the hem of your pants laid on your hips.

Pulling away to press her forehead against yours, her hand descends down into your underwear before she whispers into your mouth.

“Is this okay?” eye contact is absolutely excruciating, completely drenching you in the dream you were living. Nodding your head aggressively and pulling her back into you for more.

The passionate make out session she started completely derailing into a full blown hook up, moaning into her while she’s gathering your wetness on her fingers to make small circles on your clit, eliciting more of the sweet sounds she wished she heard years ago.

There’s no way you’ll get caught here, it’s almost 3 am and the sounds of the sea will cover any noise you make so you allow yourself to be loud for her so she can see how badly you need her and how badly you want her.

Chae slides a finger into you, eliciting a gasp that she swallows whole. Curling her fingers up, you’re grinding into her palm and chasing the pleasure she knew she was giving you.

Breaking from the kiss, laying her lips down your cheek to your jaw and then to your neck. Biting down on your pulse point coaxing more whines from you.

“That’s right, baby, let me hear you,” softly spoken into your ear before she ran her teeth over your lobe, tugging at the skin, and resting her chin on your shoulder before whimpering when she felt your hand rubbing into her over her sweat pants.

Suddenly pulling her finger out and replacing it with two, she takes your hand and pushes it into her harder so you can feel how wet she is under her sweatpants.

“Can I..?” half moaned, clenching around her digits tightly, pressing into her so the seam of her sweats hits just the right spot.

“Not yet, gotta take care of you first” whined into your neck, still pumping her fingers deep into you at a steady rhythm, you thrust into her hands as you feel the knot tightening into your stomach.

“Fuck, chae…I’m gonna cum” hips sputtering, let out a string of obscenities and moans out, next to her ear.

Chae immediately removes her hands from you, kisses you and stands up, unable to look you in the eyes.

“I’m sorry.” walking away and down the slope of the life guard tower, leaving you to figure out your feelings and question everything that’s ever happened between the two of you and wondering why she would fuck you just to leave you here feeling unloved and unwanted.

—

“Do you think dinner will be weird?” Sana asks from the passenger seat of your car as you pull into the parking garage in front of Jihyo’s apartment building.

“I don’t think so. At least I hope it’s not. It’s been a while since I have seen her, so I can avoid her through conversation with everyone else.” putting the car into park and looking over at your lovely girlfriend of a few months.

Her eyes soften, she knows the details of what happened that night at the beach. Sana knows how detrimental that memory is to you, but it was Jihyo’s birthday and you were a good friend. You weren’t going to miss it because of Chaeyoung.

“Alright, Honey. But if you get uncomfortable, please let me know. I don’t want you to put your own mental health at risk for the sake of a small party, okay?” Placing her hand on your cheek to make sure you keep eye contact with her.

Putting your hand on hers, you move it over and kiss her palm lightly. She giggles at you, before leaning in to lay her lips on yours.

“Thank you, baby.” smiling at her after pulling away, getting out of the driver's side door and walking around the other side to open hers, offering your hand out for her to hold while she steps out of the car, intertwining her fingers with yours and squeezing softly.

—

“Oh my god! Y/n! It’s been so long!” Jihyo runs at you and envelopes you in a bear hug before giving you a once over, taking in how you’re glowing and happy.

“You look good!” knowing the last time she saw you was when a week or two after the beach incident. You didn’t have to tell her what happened for her to understand who it involved and why you were distraught.

“I’m so happy to see you and that smile of yours again. Thank you for dragging her out of the house, Sana.” giving a wink and then passing you off to the others, giving them a chance to greet you.

Everyone gave a similar reaction to seeing you as Jihyo, except the one person you expected to barely interact with. A small wave behind an even smaller smile.

“It’s good to see you.” eyes on the floor, hands awkwardly fiddling with themselves, feet shuffling and biting the inside of her cheek. Her anxious tells were showing in full force and you weren’t the only one to notice it.

Sana places her hand on your lower back, rubbing small circles to soothe you through this uncomfortable exchange.

“Good to see you too, Chae.” before stepping away to gather with the rest of the girls to start the birthday festivities, finding you and Sana’s seats next to each other with Chaeyoung placed at the complete opposite end of the table.

—

Stepping outside for a second to get some fresh air, being too full to even think about the discomfort of Chaeyoung being within such close proximity. You lean against the railing of the patio taking in the calmness of the night sky when the door opens behind you and closes softly.

Without even having to look, you already know who’s present behind you. A long sigh expels from your lungs, you know what’s coming.

“We broke up… I broke up with him…I’ve been trying to get into contact with you since the night after…the beach.” stated before you could even blink.

Finding a place next to you on the railing, she pulls out a joint and lights it before trying to hand it to you. Politely declining, she takes a few pulls and then speaks again.

“After that night…I couldn’t get you out of my head. Every time he touched me, I wished it was you.” Glancing to see what emotions were present on your face, finding stoicism where love used to be.

“I blocked you that night, Chae…can we not do th-” she pushes your shoulder to open up your stance and takes a step towards you, getting close to your face trying to initiate something more than she should.

Tilting her head lightly and leaning into you as you take a huge step back from her, you tell her the absolute truth.

“Chae, we can’t do this. More importantly, I don’t want to do this. You had the opportunity and you wasted it. You used me that night at the beach for your own selfish gain and then left me there…alone. Cheating on your boyfriend and ruining our friendship on the same night…I don’t want to date someone like you.” stern in your words as you relive the night in your mind, again and again. Still grieving the past.

“I thought the love we had was pure and I’m trying to keep that memory alive so please, don’t remind me of what you did.” Stepping towards the door, pulling it open as fast as possible. You needed to get away from her. Now.

“I’m sorry.” muffled by her tears and the creaking of the hinges as you try to run away when she grabs your wrist and places something in your hands, not bothering to look at it before leaving her outside.

Not wanting to show your emotions to Sana, you rush into the bathroom before she can see the state you’re in.

Closing the door behind you and flipping the bright fluorescent lights on, you look into your hand and see a dried up beach rose that’s stained with dark crimson. You stare at it as you remember the thorns, looking at the tip of your finger where the scars were from that night.

Into the garbage it went as quickly as you saw it. Splashing cold water on your face, arms locked, leaning on the chilled porcelain sink trying to collect yourself so you can be present for the rest of the party when you hear a knock at the door.

“Baby? Are you in there?” the sweet voice warms your heart, as you turn the knob and crack the door to let Sana in.

“Oh, honey” immediately grabbing you to hold you while you silently sob into her. Rubbing your back and telling you that you were safe but you couldn’t help but keep wishing it was Chaeyoung. Always wishing it was Chaeyoung .

#twice imagines #twice x reader #kpop x reader #sana x reader #wlw #twice smut #twice sana #twice fic #minatozaki sana #son chaeyoung imagine #son chaeyoung #son chaeyoung x reader #chaeyoung x fem!reader #angst4ChaePookums

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shawnxstyles · 2 years ago

Note

Omg! Panty stealer pt2 is sooooo gooood! Cocky and dom Peter absolutely blew my mind! Your writing is awesome!

Pleeeeease tell me that it will be third part to fulfill the panty trilogy! As humble suggestion maybe reader find out that Pete is SpiderMan and he will finally get head from her while he is in his spidey costume? Or maybe more than just blowjob?Hehehe Am I very bad and naughty that I'm typing this to you? 🥵🤤

Anyways love ya darling! You're smashing it!

in the suit

words: 3k

warnings: smut; (m- receiving [oral], dirty talk), language, and fluff of course. barely edited.

note: panty!peter blurb #1 coming up :D also, this is the way i believe y/n would have found out about spider-man, but i have another request for the same thing so i’ll probably do an alternative version!

—

you couldn’t stop thinking about it. how?

how does peter manage to get into your room every night? okay, not every night, but most nights.

most nights, peter magically and mysteriously sneaks his way up into your forbidden bedroom with ease. sometimes, you even wait and watch outside your window to try to get a peak at what he’s doing. but you never see him.

he’s just so slick. how does he do it?

you and peter have been together for over a month now, if you’re counting the day he broke in. the feeling isn’t necessarily new in your heart. you feel like you’ve known him your whole life. like he’s always just… been there.

through this month of stability yet craziness, you haven’t gone back to the frat house since the halloween party. you thought that after you guys got together you would stay there more often, but peter doesn’t want you to be ‘attacked’ by the guys. meaning, he doesn’t want them to ask a million questions when you guys are supposed to be private. you thought his excuse was dumb, but he was also just being a bit protective.

in reality, peter just didn’t know how to get you into the frat house without anyone seeing you. you both had agreed that your relationship was going to be kept private, very private. people could spread rumors and assume you two were together, but you weren’t going to show each other off. you guys liked it this way, it made your relationship more special because it was just for you two.

peter had a sixth sense, sticky fingers, and webs. it was pretty easy for him to crawl up into your room especially because you didn’t have security cameras (maybe you guys should get some at some point though…). you would constantly ask him how he does it since you live on the second floor and it was high up. but peter responds by not responding and instead laughs and kisses you. god, he was too good at distracting you.

but tonight, you were determined to find out.

peter had already texted you earlier and said he wouldn’t be able to stop by tonight because of overbearing homework. you completely understood, and sent him a good luck and goodnight to me then message. but truly, you were sneaking out and heading towards the frat.

you put on your sneakers and a hoodie, pulling the strings tightly around your head. the early december weather was no joke in massachusetts, and your thermal leggings were barely helping to keep you warm. as quietly as possible, you leave through the back door, making sure not to alert anyone or anything. not like you have a system to alert though.

you cut through some of the hedges until you’re in the front yard and the frat is staring at you from across the street. taking a deep, chilly breath, you cross the road with your frozen fingers tucked in your pocket.

all the lights in the top rooms were off, except one. you’re not totally sure which one is peter’s, but what other frat guy would stay up until 11 p.m. working on homework?

maybe ned, but he sleeps downstairs.

you walk until you’re under the window, the yellowish light taunting you. there was no latter, vine, rope, or magic hair to get you into the bedroom. the houses were built very similarly, and you know he doesn’t bring a latter with him.

so how does he do it?

you take a glance at your surroundings. the biggest difference of your houses was that the guys’ didn’t have large garden hedges. they just had a shit ton of messy bushes that they should probably trim once in a while.

having no ideas, you try to jump towards the window. great, that’s totally going to help you. maybe you’ll get some super jump that can spring you up and inside.

you feel stupid. yeah, peter may be the smartest person on campus and going to mit on a full academic scholarship, but how does he sneak into your room? with geometry? you didn’t think so.

wait.

what if… he’s hiding something from you?

that would explain why he’s so weird about it. letting the impulsive decisions take you over, you throw a rock at his window. hopefully, you’ll get his attention and he’ll come down, so you can see how he does it. or he’ll just go through the front door… whatever he does, you need to ask him this question right now. or else you’ll never be able to sleep again.

when throwing the rock gets tedious and noisy, you quit. just as you’re about to drop to the ground in annoyance, you hear a distant whipping sound. you hold your breath as if the person whipping will hear you.

fuck. it wasn’t a good idea for you to go out at night.

suddenly feeling anxious and scared, you slowly creep towards the sorority house. you don’t get too far before you see a body flinging through the air. the whipping noise gets closer and closer to you with every web on the streetlights. what the…

there’s only one person that could possibly be doing the impossible.

spider-man.

but what was he doing in your little neighborhood? this was one of the safest places in the area, so he didn’t need to check up here. there were so many more places in massachusetts that needed saving. feeling beyond curious, your feet scatter to hide you behind one of the untrimmed bushes.

you watch through crowded leaves as spider-man swings through the neighborhood, getting towards you. it’s like he can sense you and he’s coming for you. your heart thumps wildly in your chest, nervous about seeing him. you’ve never seen him before, and at least not in person. he was popular on the newspaper and television screens, but never on the street. unless you lived within the city.

with one long and final thwip, spider-man flings himself towards the frat house.

what. the…

you place your hand over your mouth, just in case your breathing is too loud. you intensely watch as the spider crawls up the white wall and towards the only lit window in the whole house.

no. fucking. way.

before you could fully register what you were seeing, you felt the gasp leave your mouth. you slap both of your hands on your face to shut yourself up. you nearly fall back on your heels as spider-man halts his movements. he scans his surroundings before jumping down the wall entirely.

your eyes are wide and your hands of shaking. you’ve never felt your heart beat so unbelievably fast, but you’ve also never been more afraid. what does he do to people that find out? what is going to happen to your relationship?

the body of blue and red stocks closer to the bushes with careful steps. you try to scoot away, but your back hits the fence. the wood creaks, your actions not quiet enough. his footsteps pick up speed as they rush to the bushes with determination.

spider-man jumps over the plant with grace, hoping to see a wild animal of some sort. but when he sees his girl with the most shocked and terrified expression in the world, he immediately falls to his knees.

“y/n,” he calmly says, slowly inching to you. he doesn’t hesitate to comfort you as peter. you don’t move, you just listen. “it’s okay. i promise.”

now that he sensed you, peter could hear your heartbeat overbearingly in his ears. he could hear your muffled breaths under your palm, and he just wanted to soothe your fear.

“baby,” he wanted to cuddle your body until you stopped shaking. you weren’t crying, you were just in shock. peter takes a quick glance at his surroundings before yanking off his mask and kneeling, so you could see his face reflecting off the moonlight. “it’s just me.”

“i…” you whispered as your hands fell from your face. peter doesn’t hesitate to grab them gently with his gloved ones. “…knew it.”

“you knew i was spider-man?”

“well… for like five seconds,” you flusteredly laugh while trying to recover. you still haven’t gotten used to this. well it’s only been a minute. “i knew you were hiding something.”

“what are you doing out this late anyway?” he stares straight up at the moon as it shines vehemently over you both.

“uh… well,” you start, “i was kind of curious as to how you always snuck into my bedroom without a latter or something, so i went to see? i don’t really know what i was looking for.”

peter chuckles. “but you found your answer, yeah?”

“yeah, i did,” you smile with sweetness as peter helps you up from the grass floor.

—

“it’s different breaking into your room rather than mine,” you say as you sit on the edge of peter’s bed. you watch as he tosses his mask inside of a box labeled books. “so that’s what was in the box. not dirty magazines.”

“surprise?” peter laughs and you giggle at his shyness. his cheeks and nose were red from the cold, but also from the slight blush that crossed them. you made him feel all warm and tingly inside, and even a little gooey.

his hand reaches for the button on his chest. it deflates, instantly becoming huge around him.

“wait,” you stop him before he undresses himself. he looks towards you. “can i just… look at you for a moment? in the suit?”

a small smirk creeps up his face. peter clicks the button again and his suit encloses on his body, outlining his muscles perfectly. every ridge and curve of him was being shown off by the spandex. you felt a spark of lust fire inside of you at the sight.

“like me in my suit, baby?” he teased as he trudged over to you. you stood up from the bed to meet his buff chest. you nodded with a bite of your lip.

he nearly growls before attaching your lips. it’s barely been a day since he’s last kissed you, but that’s too long for him. his gloved hand grips your jaw to deepen the kiss while your hands explore his messy hair.

the heat between you was undeniable. you were getting worked up over peter in his suit, and that’s something you never thought was possible. because you didn’t think peter being spider-man was possible.

is there a spider-man kink?

you take your shirt off after breaking the kiss, but resume it in no time. as he pushes you onto the bed, you stop him, having a new idea in mind.

“peter,” you sigh, spandex body hovering over yours.

“you okay?”

“yeah, yes. i just…” you swallowed, “can i…”

you didn’t really get your question out. you just slithered your body off the bed until your knees were digging into his carpet. peter’s eyebrows shoot up as he stares down at your figure, submissive below him.

“fuck. you want to touch my cock?” peter was already growing hard at the idea of fucking you in his suit. he found it hot that you found his suit hot. everything seemed to be a turn on right now. but now you were on your fucking knees like an angel and damn near begging to touch him?

how could he say no?

“go ahead then, sweet girl,” peter allows, but you stay still.

“how do i take it off—?”

“right—”

he unzips a zipper that you swear wasn’t there before. you barely take him fully out before you’re drooling at the sight. he was big and thick, and you don’t think you’d ever get used to looking at and feeling him.

your thumb drags over his weepy tip and he winces at your freezing touch.

“sorry!” you exclaimed with a funky smile. he forcefully laughs while you spit warmth into your hand.

“it’s okay, baby.”

your delicate hand wraps around him as you shift up and down. he sighs into the air, eyes fluttering back. your other hand scratches his thighs lightly. then, you fondle his balls until he’s groaning above you.

“fuck, darling,” he moans as his rough hand rests on your head. with his grip on you, you feel inclined to put your mouth on him. you’re barely an inch away, so what are you waiting for?

your lips pucker as you kiss his veiny shaft. you see from the top of your eyes how his face floods with pleasure, and your ego rises.

“if you look at me like that again, i’m going to explode, baby,” peter husks with his fingers laced in your hair for support.

with a hummed chuckle, you finally place your mouth on him. you suck on his leaky tip as a deep groan elicits from him. his noises always give you a bunch of reassurance, so you hum against him in satisfaction.

“takin’ me so well,” peter forces himself to stay still and let you do all the work. although, his hips just want to break free and ram into the back of your throat until you lose your voice. for another time… “love when you’re on your knees for me.”

you vibrated a moan against his cock as you took him deeper, a little more than half way. you were never the best at giving head because you couldn’t go that far down without gagging atrociously, but after peter showed you a better technique, for breathing and comfort, he thought you were a professional.

“you like being on your knees for me? or for spider-man?”

a groggy moan rippled around his cock from your filled throat, confirming his suspicions. you were definitely turned of the idea of peter as spider-man, and because of that, he was too. every time you were horny, peter was too.

you released your hands from him and braced them on his thighs. you focused and remembered the small notes he’s given you before. you take a long breath before sinking his cock deep in the back of your mouth. your thumb stabs your palm to eliminate your gag reflex, and it works. your nose nudges the base of his cock and you can see up close how his abs contract tightly.

“fuck! doing so good for me. going to make me come, sweet girl.”

hearing this, you bob and twist your head with a goal. your tongue swirls exploring around each ridge like it’s never tasted the plain before. peter was delicious; he was sweet with a pinch of saltiness that made you a fan of giving head. you would get on your knees any day for him.

his cock twitches in your mouth, warning you that he’s coming. you feel his hips buck into you as he strongly yanks your hair. you groan as he lets himself go.

“where do you want it? on your face? chest? or are you going to swallow it like a good girl?”

even when his dick twitches again, you don’t make an effort to move. you lick the underside of him, which sends peter over the edge.

a string of hushed groans fall from his pink lips as his muscles clench. ropes of his orgasm spurts down your throat, and you swallow every drop like a champ. well, almost all. parts of his come drip from the corner of your lip as he slowly pulls out of you.

the second he exits you, your jaw is instantly sore and achy, but it was worth it. to see the flustered and breathless peter above you was worthless everytime. peter was nearly disoriented by how fucking incredible your mouth was. how you were.

he tucks himself back into his suit as you remain on the floor. he leans down and helps you up, your knees popping in the process.

“how was it this time?” you croaked, voice cracking horrendously. peter tries not to laugh as he wipes away the nearly dried sperm on your face. you open your mouth without a thought, and he sticks his thumb in your mouth for you to lick it clean.

“it was good. fucking amazing. impeccable. exceeded expectations. outstanding performance—”

“okay, okay i get it. you’re a nerd!” you brokenedly laugh as you shove his chest. you got a sudden wave of chills because you were starting to get a bit cold. your body was still running hot because you were still, well, turned on.

“nerds are awesome, okay? they know everything.”

“like what? impress me,” you challenge as you throw your leg on top of his lap and get yourself seated. he smirks, feeling his cock chuff up a bit already. you were beyond soaked in your panties, and you just couldn’t wait for peter to destroy you.

peter knows you didn’t actually want him to say anything nerdy, so he made it a bit sexual. as always.

“they know how to… kiss.”

“you’re probably the one nerd that knows how to kiss.”

“okay, fine. i know how to kiss,” his hand cups your face as it leans closer towards his. he places a soft, longing kiss on your swollen lips before pulling away way too fast for your liking. “i know how to touch you, i know how to rile you up. right? i’m doing it right now. and you’re probably soaking.”

a warmth wave floods through your body at his words.

“i know how to talk to you too. bet these dirty words are going straight to your little clit, huh?”

“peter,” you whimper. he was right. he was beyond right.

his hand trails down your bare stomach and hovers over your clothed cunt. he can feel the heavy heat radiating from you through your leggings, begging for more.

“i can feel you. i can smell you, too. a perk of being spider-man,” he smiles, “guess this nerd is pretty great.”

“peter!” you shook his shoulders in desperation, but he didn’t move. you had a love hate relationship with his teasing. he indeed got you riled up, to the max, until you were begging him to touch you. he just dragged it on and on and on. he loved hearing you beg for it.

“okay, okay, sweet girl,” peter chuckled as his fingers fumbled down the waistline of your leggings. they were thick, so you helped him get them down. “just want to hear you say how awesome nerds are first. how do you think i made these webs?”

“you’re the hottest, super-nerd i’ve ever met in my life. now can you please fuck me?” you begged as your cunt ached.

“aw thanks, baby,” all he did was laugh at your misery with a smirk. “all you had to do was say please.”

—

note: not my best work, but i hope you enjoyeddd. literally posting this at 1 am :D

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