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tender-rosiey · 3 months ago

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I NEED SUKUNA AND HIS SHY BABY CUDDLING I BEG YOU🙏🙏

heartbound — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: loving your ideas for shy daughter fr guys (also i promise i am working on the gojo fic 🥹) also she is around like 3 years old here

sukuna is a man of destruction. a force that leaves ruin in his wake.

but now—now he is a man pinned to the floor by a bundle of warmth barely the size of his forearm.

you lean against the doorway, arms crossed, watching with amusement as your daughter clings to his chest like a particularly stubborn vine.

she is small—delicate in a way that contrasts starkly against the sheer scale of the man beneath her.

but her grip is unyielding, tiny hands fisting into the fabric of his robe as if letting go would mean losing the entire world.

sukuna glares at you, though the effect is rather muted by the tiny, sleeping body nestled against him. “say nothing.”

you press your lips together, biting back a smile. “I wasn’t going to.”

he narrows his eyes as if he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t argue.

instead, his attention shifts back to the little figure sprawled over him.

your daughter—his daughter—is not loud like him, not wild like him.

she does not command attention the way her father does, does not carve her presence into the world with the force of a blade.

instead, she is soft and quiet, her voice barely above a whisper, her movements timid, as if she fears being seen at all.

but for all her shyness, she clings to sukuna like he is the safest place in the world.

and he lets her.

you step closer, settling beside them on the floor. “what happened?” you ask, keeping your voice low.

sukuna exhales sharply, the rise and fall of his chest barely disturbing the little girl curled against him. “bad dream,” he mutters. “came crawling to me the second she woke up.”

a soft hum leaves your lips. “and she wouldn’t let go?”

sukuna clicks his tongue. “wouldn’t stop crying until I picked her up.”

your gaze flicks to the little face buried in his chest, the faintest trace of dried tears clinging to her lashes.

you brush a gentle hand over her back, fingers skimming the fabric of her sleeping robes.

“she must have been really scared,” you murmur.

sukuna doesn’t respond immediately, his brows furrowing slightly as he looks down at the tiny form curled against him.

one of his hands—massive in comparison—rests against her back, his claws careful not to press too hard.

a long silence stretches between you.

then, he scoffs.

“she’s too fragile.”

you arch a brow. “says the man currently being held hostage by a baby.”

his eye twitches. “she refuses to let go.”

you smile. “oh, I can see that.”

sukuna scowls at you but doesn’t move, not even when your daughter shifts slightly in her sleep, nuzzling closer with a quiet sigh.

the sound is soft—barely audible—but the way sukuna stiffens makes something in your chest ache.

your hand slides over his, fingers grazing against his knuckles. “you don’t actually mind, do you?”

sukuna exhales through his nose, his jaw working as if he wants to argue—but the weight on his chest betrays him.

his fingers twitch, then relax, his palm settling more firmly against her back.

you giggle. “I didn’t think so.”

he glares at you for that, but it lacks any real bite. instead, he shifts slightly, adjusting his grip so that your daughter’s tiny body is fully supported against him.

his other set of arms rests idly at his sides, unmoving, careful.

your daughter stirs slightly, her tiny fingers flexing against his chest before curling into a loose fist.

she shifts, tilting her face just enough for her features to be visible—round cheeks, soft lashes—as she breathes in the warmth of her father’s presence.

your heart clenches at the sight.

sukuna watches her, his gaze unreadable.

“you’re good to her,” you murmur, your fingers tracing absent patterns against the back of his hand.

his expression remains unchanged. “she’s mine.”

the words are gruff, almost dismissive—but the weight behind them is undeniable.

you hear it anyway.

your fingers curl around his wrist, squeezing gently. “she adores you, you know.”

sukuna huffs. “she clings to you just as much.”

“it’s different,” you say, smiling. “a girl’s love for her dad is different.”

sukuna says nothing more, only shifts again, his hold unconsciously tightening around her.

and then, without warning, one of his free hands reaches for you, fingers curling around your wrist before tugging you forward.

you blink, caught off guard as you suddenly find yourself pressed against his side, his arm wrapped securely around you.

his warmth envelopes you, and you don’t resist when he pulls you even closer, settling you against him.

you rest your head against his shoulder, your hand sliding up to rest against his chest, just beside where your daughter lays curled up.

she gently turns towards you, hand sleepily reaching out till she gets a hold of your kimono.

he doesn’t say anything, but his hold is steady, firm, keeping you right where he wants you.

you smile against his skin, your fingers brushing over his robe. “so, I’m yours too, then?”

a scoff, low and unimpressed. “was that ever in question?”

you huff a quiet laugh, closing your eyes as the warmth of him seeps into your skin. “no,” you murmur. “never.”

the night stretches on, the estate silent save for the soft sound of your daughter’s breathing, the steady rhythm of sukuna’s heartbeat beneath your ear.

and in that moment—beneath the weight of his family, beneath the quiet warmth of the ones who belong to him—

sukuna allows himself to stay still.

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do not copy or plagiarize or you will stub your toe

check out my buy me a coffee!

#jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk imagines #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #jjk fluff #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna ryomen x reader #ryomen x reader #ryomen x you #ryomen x y/n #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna x reader

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hot-patootiee · 1 month ago

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Steve’s parents running into Steve and Eddie with a gaggle of children.

They’re hanging off of both adults, calling them mom and dad.

“Steve, what’s going on here?” Richard Harrington asks.

“Co-parenting.” Steve replies in a deadpan tone. Max is actively pickpocketing him and Dustin is tugging on his jacket trying to get Steve’s attention, a never ending chorus of ‘Mom, come look’ leaving his mouth.

“Nah, at this point we’re just parenting.” Eddie corrects, fending off a grabby El trying to play with his wallet chain.

Eddie scoops up Steve’s wallet when Max tries to make her escape. She groans out a frustrated ‘Dad’ before retreating back to Lucas and Mike, who are hiding around the corner, poorly.

“Richard, I think this is the reason we only had one.” Martha Harrington stated blankly, wide eyed taking in the scene in front of her.

Robin nods from where she sits at an adjacent table, trying and mildly failing to braid Will’s short hair. Will sits perfectly still and disciplined as Robin works. A complete contrast to the wild children that Steve and Eddie are actively managing.

“I picked the best one.” Robin smiles condescendingly at Steve and Eddie, patting Will’s head.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #fanfic #robin buckley #platonic stobin #stobin #dustin henderson #will byers #eleven hopper #jane hopper #max mayfield #maxine mayfield #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #mr and mrs harrington #mr harrington #Mrs Harrington

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comatosebunny09 · 3 months ago

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carpe noctem [ falling action ] | sylus

— summary: he kissed you. you pretend it didn’t mean anything. sylus tries to show you it meant everything. — cw: reader is not mc, language, sexual tension, self-loathing, mutual pining, jealousy, blood & violence, self-deprecating thoughts, profanity, misunderstandings, romance, self-indulgent, wild caleb sighting, mdni — notes: thank you @subliminalwish for inspiring this part! and thank you all for reading! [ pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | pt. 7 ] — now playing: fuel to fire - agnes obel btbt - b.i

Their timing couldn’t be more impeccable—the twins. Your saving grace.

Sylus is a tempest. A storm ravaging the rickety foundation of your boat. He kisses greedy. Commanding, sipping from you like a fountain amid a desert. Swallowing the gruff little keens you make. You burn hot wherever he touches. His hands are like branding irons on your skin, amplified by the thin taffeta of your dress as they smooth up and down the curvature of your waist.

You’re dizzy when he snatches away, a growl in his throat. His lips are kiss-swollen. Burn a pretty red, stained by your lipstick. His eyes smolder like embers through the living room’s haze. Catch in the moonlight, gleaming a potent shade of scarlet. He reminds you of something beastly. Predatory.

You did this to him?

In contrast, you’re sludge in his hands, swimming, blinking, drunk, and trying to remember how to breathe. For a moment, he appears hesitant. Gaze flits between your eyes and mouth as he holds you by your hips. Rubs reassuring circles into your hip bones with his thumbs. He’s so pretty like this. Inebriated by passion, silken white hair mussed from your greedy fingers. Expensive, pleated shirt all rumpled, bow tie loosened, composure thrown to hell.

But his phone keeps ringing. An obnoxious chime that makes your lips quirk despite the vertigo sweeping over you. It cuts through the wispy film of the night. Cleaves through the nebulous cloud of desire hanging between you, and with a bitten-off sound, he finally tugs his cell free of his pocket.

He watches you as he brings it to his ear. Cups your cheek, brushing over your bottom lip with the worn pad of his thumb. Tugs it down, entranced by its elasticity. Its fullness. Your fingers clasp around his wrist. You nuzzle into the safety of his palm. Turn your mouth inward, blistering it with a kiss. Affection intermingled with amusement colors your eyes. He’s like a spoiled child, snatched off the playground before he was ready to leave.

“What,” he clips into the mic.

A hesitant voice peers through the low static. Luke. “Mission accomplished, bossman.” You imagine Kieran peeking over his brother’s shoulder in the background, wariness hidden behind that gaudy bird mask. “All cleaned up over here.”

Sylus sighs something weighted. Shaky. Relieved. His shoulders drop with it, then tense again. The agitation doesn’t leave his face. Something’s on his mind. Something more pressing than a few ornery goons trying to hunt you down. You nip at his fingertips to assuage the divot forming between his brows. The taut pull of his lips.

He hangs up without another word, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Draws you close, preparing to kiss you breathless once more.

But it seems fate is a cruel, mischievous mistress, intervening when she deems it fit.

Because, this time, your phone rings.

You stiffen. Sylus glowers at your—his—coat pocket. Studies you. He’s conflicted. Looks as if the world is descending into hell around him. Like he wants to take your phone and shatter it on the wall. You offer him a placating smile. Smooth a hand over his cheek before tugging your cell out. It’s only fair you leave him as on edge as he left you.

He doesn’t let it deter him, pulling you impossibly closer. Peppers your neck with kisses, drawing a soft huff of laughter from your chest. Your head falls back, and he cradles it with his fingers, baring your throat to him. Groans something appreciative, writing the most beautiful compliments of all against your skin with his lips.

You’re not thinking when you answer, too swept up in the moment. Dizzy from the needy drag of his lips over your carotid. Don’t think until a familiar lilt touches your ear, and a cold thrill shoots down your spine.

Little. Ms. Hunter.

Fuck.

Reality trickles in like the slow creep of a rainstorm, mooring you to the spot. You shove against Sylus’ chest. He ingests you with pinched brows, heavy lids, an open mouth. ‘What’s wrong?’ his expression reads. He’s desperate. Needy. Like you’re his lifeline, an IV drip.

You push against him again, chest so very hard and so wonderfully defined against the heel of your palm. You need space. You can’t breathe, but for an entirely different reason now.

His hands reluctantly drop from your waist, falling listlessly at his sides. He turns away, rubbing the scruff of his neck with a sigh.

“What’s up?” you bite. Try to mask the waver of your voice, your quivering tendons.

“Hey, how ya doin’?” She’s infuriatingly chipper. Happy for someone halfway across the world, as if she knows you’re up to no good.

You don’t bother with pleasantries. You’re caught between wanting to laugh and cry. Damn the universe for spoiling your fun. “What do you need?”

The hunter’s hesitant for a beat. You envision her shifting her weight between her feet. Fiddling with her nails, her gaze cast to the floor. It’s not often you’re terse with her, at least not these days. You worked through those kinks of your relationship months back. But forgive you for being a little impatient. A little snippy when you finally satiated the ache between your teeth.

“Sooo, I’m back earlier than expected. My ride cancelled on me. Would you mind picking me up from the airport? I’ll pay you back! Promise!”

“You can’t catch a cab?” You push back your hair. Peer over your shoulder, hand cupped around the mic as if you’re whispering a secret. Sylus is behind you a little ways off, hand on hip; silhouette suffused in amber as he examines some picture frames on the sofa table, pretending not to eavesdrop.

“Yeah, but it’s late! I don’t wanna get kidnapped, ya know?”

You suppress a frustrated sound, disbelieving. Not just of her, but the timing of everything. The reminder of what you’ve done and what you still want to do. One day, you’ll learn not to answer your phone. And one day, you’ll learn to tell your conscience to fuck right the hell off.

“Fine. Yeah, sure. Just…gimme a minute.”

“You’re the best! I don’t care what the twins say about you!”

The call ends, and you sigh, leaning into your palm, propped against the frost-bitten windowpane. It grounds you in a way, its crispness a welcome contrast to your fevered skin.

You jolt when Sylus emerges behind you in the form of artful hands melding to your waist. In the form of warm breath kissing the sensitive space behind your ear. His lips graze the shell of it. You snatch away as if scorched by fire, turning, spine acquainting itself with the window. Space. You need space.

He gives you no time to breathe, spilling over you like liquid fire. Cages you in with his arms. Angles closer, swaddling you in the dangerous warmth of his body. Bathes you in the bewitching scent he carries, in the lazy, lust-laden stir of his eyes. You shirk away from his touch when his fingertips graze your cheek. He bristles.

Your heart pinches at the wounded look on his face. At how his fingers twitch before curling into a loose fist and falling back to his side. You duck away from him, a nervous smile dragging itself across your face.

“She’s back,” you state plainly. It tastes bitter, acknowledging it aloud. Your belly swoops. You think you might be sick. “Asked if I could pick her up.”

His expression slackens. Gaze descends to the floor. “This late?”

You nod solemnly.

Shouldn’t he be happy his Aphrodite has returned?

It’s unnervingly quiet between you now, making way for the whisper of the wind threading through the leaves outside where the sticky click of your lips and labored breaths once lived.

Your throat clicks when you swallow. You want nothing more than to pull him against you again, to be wrapped in the possessive circle of his arms. To pick up where you left off before morality leaked in. But that call served as your reality check, and you’re both grateful and resentful it came when it did.

Sylus beholds you with beseeching eyes. Looks as if he might protest, lips quivering around an excuse to draw you back in. But he drops it. Instead, he opts for, “I’ll bring the car around,” sounding so uncharacteristically somber that you wince.

He brushes past you through the front door, swallowed by the dust-speckled night. Leaves you to nurse the violent thrum of your heart and battle the maelstrom in your head.

She’s back. Things will return to normal. This moment never happened. This night never happened.

Still, your lips burn with the remnants of the kiss. You unconsciously touch the trembling, distended things, deciding to tuck the memory into the furthest hulls of your mind.

He’s not yours, remember? Never will be. Never could be.

—

The ride to the airport was uncomfortably tense.

Sylus tried vainly to reignite the flames sparked by the night—little displays of affection, possession. Spindly fingers curling around your thigh, a peek at you through the corner of his vision, knuckles deftly brushing your cheek to bring you back to the present.

You inched away from his touch despite every synapse in your brain screaming for you to let it happen. He gave up after the third try. Gripped the gear stick, white-knuckled and radiating a silent dejectedness.

You forced out a shaky breath when the overwhelmingly bright, fluorescent airport signs panned into view.

“Heya!” chirped Ms. Hunter, pulling you into a tight hug once you dismounted the car. “You look all fancy. What have you been up to?”

You were stiff in her embrace, a tight smile pulling at your lips. She smelled of stale perfume and wet earth. Long hair tickled your neck. She radiated a warmth you envied as you rigidly returned the hug.

“Oh, you know. Nefarious things and all that.”

Ms. Hunter drew back, hands roosted on your shoulders. Her smile faltered when she got a good look at you. When the driver’s door slammed shut, and Sylus rounded the car to stand behind you, hands stuffed in his pockets. Her honey-dipped eyes flit over your face. She sensed something was up. Of course, she did. Anyone within a 50-mile radius could see the tension dangling off your shoulders. She looked like she wanted to interrogate you, but—

“Welcome back,” said Sylus, his tone easy. You were thankful for the save. Didn’t have to look back to know he was wearing that familiar cant to his lips. A look he, until tonight, only wore for her. “I take it your mission went well, given how early you returned.”

You would've tasted the faint notes of indignation there had you not been so swept up in your head.

“You have no idea,” she laughed, exhaustion lancing through her words. You pat her head, fondly ruffling her hair.

He helped her put her suitcase in the trunk as she animatedly regaled the details of her mission. He smirked and nodded, listening intently. You tuned everything out in favor of listening to your pulse drum beneath your skin.

Sylus held the passenger door open, watching you expectantly. Signaled for you to get in with his eyes as Ms. Hunter stood awkwardly behind you. The tension was tangible. Obvious. It made you sick.

He frowned when you forwent the passenger seat, sliding into the back. The front seat was always her place. You were merely squatting there, keeping the leather warm in her absence. You caught sight of the tense set of his jaw when he shut the door behind her. Your heart sank to your feet.

As Sylus eased the car onto the highway, they filled the stiff, blue-light-tinged air with small talk. Their conversation was seamless as if no time had lapsed between them. You propped an elbow on the door, watching the scenery fly by in a blur beyond your window.

And you shut your eyes against those scarlet irises occasionally observing you in the rearview mirror, a silent question brewing beneath bowed lashes.

‘Have I done something wrong?’

No. Never. It’s you who’s royally fucked up.

—

“Listen, sweetheart. You both seem like nice girls. But I ain’t budgin’.”

You roll your eyes for the umpteenth time. Scoff, a rigid set between your teeth. You’ve been like this for what feels like hours, propped against a wall, arms crossed, mind tumultuous.

A few days after the hunter returned, Sylus sent his two gems to reclaim some of his property. Thelma and Louis at it again.

You should be thrilled. You’ve been itching for a distraction since that night. When you let your emotions overwhelm you, and you gave into your selfish little whims. You can’t focus on much else, the pressure of Sylus’ lips still ingrained in your mind. The texture of his shirt sleeves between your fingers, the sound of his voice as he rasped his satisfaction into your skin. It replays like torn film reels in your mind, refusing to release you from its flimsy clutches.

Since that night, he’s been uncharacteristically attentive. Filling the space with errant touches and lingering gazes. Rare quirks of his lips, an affectionate, secretive undernote to his timbre whenever he speaks to you. And his eyes. They bear more emotion than what you’re accustomed to seeing.

It’s all been so very confusing, this new attitude of his. You don’t like it when things aren’t clear-cut and dry. Hate to beat around the bush.

You figured his attention would shift with the center of his universe back in rotation.

To your chagrin and surprise, you’re wrong. You assume he’s only being so disarming because he needs you. Not just as his pretty little violent marionette. His honeypot. When Ms. Hunter inevitably leaves again—the life of a hunter must be so taxing—he’ll need someone to fall back on. A failsafe to keep his loneliness at bay. You just so happen to fit the bill.

The notion makes you scowl. The butcher’s voice isn’t helping curb your vexation, his laughter obnoxious and filled with phlegm. His fat ass isn’t taking either of you seriously. Of course, if you were him, you wouldn’t, either.

Ms. Hunter’s been at this for a while, playing good cop to your bad. Trying to nice her way into getting him to sign the deed to his property back to Sylus. Really, it belongs to the latter man. He was just allowing the butcher to squat here while he carried out his work for Onychinus, slaughtering its opposition and packaging up their remains like fresh meat, shipping them off to anyone who dared utter the organization’s name in vain.

His use has run its course. He’s grown sloppy. Complacent. Disloyal. Been letting other faction leads buy him off, selling his knack of butchering to the highest bidder. He should be so lucky you’re not here to slit his throat.

Inwardly, you wonder if someday, you’ll suffer the same fate. If Ms. Hunter will be sent to snuff you out—your successor wiping you off the map like a blip on the radar.

Until then, you’ll make yourself as indispensable as possible. Prove your worth.

You push off the wall with a huff, face set with determination as adrenaline spumes through you. You close the distance between you and the hunter in four brisk strides. Snatch her pistol from the holster at her waist, barring her sentence in her throat. It’s weighted. Loaded. Good.

You rack a round. Release the safety. The butcher barely has time to register anything before you aim. Inhale. Exhale. Pull the trigger at the lowest lull of your breath. And it’s so gratifying, the sound of a bullet whizzing past his ear and embedding itself in the plaster behind him.

He’s petrified with fright behind his desk, mouth hinged open. Ms. Hunter blurs into focus beyond the front sight, turning incredulous eyes on you before narrowing them. The barrel’s still smoking, a satisfying, wispy cloud furling skyward. The leather grip squeaks in your hand, you’re holding it so tight.

“Was that really necessary?” she berates. She’s doing that whisper-yelling thing. You’re in for an earful later.

You shrug half-heartedly, reholstering her weapon. Push past, tugging the sleeves of your blazer up. “I’ve had enough of this,” you grate, snatching your leather gloves from your pocket and slipping them on with practiced precision.

Neither of them knows what’s coming until you step behind the butcher. Until you’ve taken a fistful of sweaty, grease-slicked hair and acquainted his face with the bubbling finish of his desk with a loud thwack!

Ms. Hunter watches the scene unfold with horror twisting up her features. She’s rooted to the spot. Something plops on the desk. Evolves into a steady, sticky drip. Blood. Corrupted speckles of red staining the deed you’re meant to get signed.

You lock eyes with your partner, bending at the waist over the butcher’s shoulder, grip unyielding on his hair. A show of power. Dominance, meant to convey, ‘This is how it’s done.’

A smirk twitches onto your lips. Your mouth brushes the outer shell of his ear, voice coming out deceptively doting. “Sign the fucking paper, or I’ll string you up like one of your little pigs and turn you into dog shit.”

His voice is wet. Strained, unflattering streaks of crimson leaking from his nose to puddle on the desk. “But—”

The hunter winces when you slam his face down again. He’s disoriented now. Swaying. If not for your iron grip on his hair, he’d fall into the arms of unconsciousness.

“Okay, okay!” he relents, garbled and wet.

You release his hair, shoving at his head none-too-gently, a facsimile of a smile rounding your lips. Perch a hand on his shoulder, squeezing with enough coercion to remind him of your potency. “Pleasure doing business with you, old man.”

The air thickens with fear. It’s quiet, save for the scratch of the butcher’s pen, as he shakily scrawls his signature on the deed, relinquishing his shop back to Sylus. You scrutinize the blood-flecked paper, satisfied.

“I’ll give you until midnight to get the fuck out of here,” you casually say, snatching off your gloves to smooth out the lapels of your blazer. “Otherwise, I can’t guarantee your safety after.”

You leave the butcher to nurse a broken nose and a nasty headache, pushing past Ms. Hunter with a cocksure grin.

“What the hell was that?!” she squeaks, rushing to keep pace with you as you step into the warm atmosphere outside, walking towards the sleek outline of your SUV.

“Business.”

“Yeah, but…did you have to threaten him like that? I mean, you could’ve killed the guy!”

With a scowl, you snatch the passenger door open for her to get in. “If you have a problem with how I do things, maybe you’re not cut out for this life, sweetheart.”

She scoffs disbelievingly. Haughty as she plops down on the passenger seat, crossing her arms. You’re being more venomous than usual. More pushy. You’re too far gone. You’ll apologize for making her your punching bag later.

“What’s up with you?” she pressures once you’ve settled on the driver's side, discarding your gloves in the center console. Leans closer, squinting. You ease back. “You’ve been more bitchy than usual. You and Sylus have been acting weird.”

She’s closer now, bursting your metaphorical bubble. Dangerously perceptive. You avoid eye contact as if doing so will reveal all the contents of your mind. Not that you have to. She’s alarmingly observant for someone who acts so naive.

“Did something happen between you?”

You side-eye her as you start the engine, unknowingly confirming her suspicions. She quirks a brow, catching onto your game. Falls back against the leather of her seat to sulk over folded arms. “I knew it. Unbelievable. Didn’t I tell you to play nice while I was gone?!”

“I’m always nice,” you counter under your breath, glaring at the console screen as you back up the SUV.

The steering wheel scrubs between your hands after you shift to Drive, and as you slide the vehicle into the steady stream of traffic, you catch sight of the blood mottling the cuff of your sleeve, begging to differ.

Maybe you’re being more ornery than you think.

—

The base is a network of paneled walls and glittering floors. Had you not been well-versed with its layout, you would surely get lost. But you’ve been here too many times. Once slept between these walls, laughed with the twins, and shared a glass of wine or two with your boss.

Sometimes, he’d let you lie in his bed when your head was too fuzzy, and you couldn’t stop smiling after the wine left you tenuous and dazed. Nothing ever happened, much to your dismay. He was a gentleman through and through. And you never questioned him on why it was always his bed.

Things changed once Ms. Hunter entered the scene.

This place used to be your asylum. Your respite from a world so vapid. For a moment, you could pretend the blood caked beneath your nails didn’t exist. And you could pretend you weren’t a weapon to be used at your employer’s disposal. But these days, you’ve avoided his mansion like a sickness, instead retreating to your own place in the city. You’re impeding. These walls no longer welcome you.

You feel like a specter with unresolved conflict as you round the hall where Sylus’ study sits at its center. Your heart hurls itself against your rib cage. You’ve been distant since that night, shying away from his attempts to disarm you. All half-hearted ventures to keep you dangling on a frayed string until he next needs you to fill the void the hunter inevitably leaves.

You tamp down your anxiety when the cool steel of the door handle bites into your palm. The voice inside is muffled. Deep. Resonant. Sylus is talking business. Orchestrating things that don’t concern you until he makes them your problem. You’ll be quick. Don’t want to stick around longer than necessary.

Pushing open the heavy mahogany wood, you’re greeted by a shock of white nestled behind his desk. He’s on the phone. Looks up upon your entry, scarlet eyes narrowing, then softening with recognition. Your throat thickens.

You try to ignore how his look makes your stomach somersault. How every crevice of his office smells like him—bourbon, raw energy, and all things safe. You’re thrown back into the memory of that dusky night. The seal of his lips to yours, his fingers easing over the contours of your body like points on a star map.

Ignoring your thoughts, you conquer the distance between the door and his desk in measured strides, looking everywhere but at him. It’s too risky to maintain eye contact. He has a hold on you without trying. Without the straggly pull of his Evol, without the smoky compulsion of his voice.

You plant the deed on the desk’s center with a muted thunk. His fingertips brush your knuckles, over the clutch of your hand. Static radiates between you. You reel back quicker than you mean to, bereft of the roughened slide of his fingers. Clear your throat, straighten your jacket. There’s a pinch between his brows, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.

Sylus peers down at the paper, an inquisitive brow lifting at the oxidized brown dappling it. You give him a half-hearted shrug. You did your part. How you got there is a story for another day.

You don’t wait for him to dismiss you, wordlessly stepping away with a curt nod. He continues his conversation over your shoulder, and your body swells with relief. It’s short-lived when Ms. Hunter brushes past you on your way out of the door, tight-lipped and side-eyeing you with all the vexation of the world.

Before you leave, you wait for the door to click shut behind you, catching wind of the hunter’s ire before thick layers of wood distort it.

“Hang up the phone. We need to talk. Now.”

—

It’s a pleasure to dance. To forget yourself.

Lux is lively tonight. Colored with mirth and strobing lights. Pounding music. You feel it in your chest as you move, a seductive, rehearsed smile crooking your lips. You rake your fingers through your hair. Drag your hands down the sweep of your waist, swiveling your hips, playing up your allure. You don’t have to do much to garner attention—it’s your job, remember?

You peacock about in the white metal birdcage you're housed in. Grab the bars, grinning down at the writhing crowd. It was your idea to give Lux a little umph, sweet-talking Sylus into having massive bird cages mounted from the ceiling. Fitting, given his obsession with pretty caged things.

Lux’s theme is ever-changing, courtesy of your eccentric mind. It keeps people coming in droves. Forces his enemies to rear their hideous mugs, lured to the nightclub by the promise of pretty women.

The air between you was still dense. Rife with pheromones and unbidden feelings. But you were back donning your playful, arrogant mask as if the night you shared never existed. Back to flirting and giving Sylus the piss.

The large faux wings you wear are surprisingly light. Stark, like the beautiful white tiger lounging on one side of the cage. The Bengal tiger yawns wide, giving you a show of pointed teeth. Teeth that could easily rip you asunder, yet he’s as docile as a house cat when you bend to pet through soft tufts of white.

He slow-blinks at you, his gorgeous eyes shining like emeralds uncovered in a cave. You smile as you smooth your thumb over his nose. A pink tongue darts out to lick your palm. He reminds you of yourself—capable of extreme violence, yet docile in patient hands.

Your skin prickles. You notice you’re being watched, but not in a way you’re used to. A way that typically exudes desire.

You turn to ingest a set of galaxy-infused eyes watching you intently through the throng of people. Youthful pockets of fat hang beneath his lower lids. A dark sweep of hair, thick brows. He towers over the crowd, a distinct cutout of virility and shrouded intentions. You don’t recall ever seeing him before.

When your gazes intermingle, he smiles something corrupted. It doesn’t reach his eyes. You’re all too familiar with that look—one of a predator scoping out its next meal. Prey it intends to take its time eviscerating, licking its bones clean.

You smile all the more wider, and you smooth your hands over your body, maintaining eye contact as you play up the theatrics. It’s ritualistic in a way, how you move. Like you’re provoking him. You don’t know who this man is, but he’s ballsy, stepping into your den, challenging you.

You tear your eyes away when the door to your cage swings open behind you, rocking it slightly on its hinges. A sizable hand peers in. You glance out, met with a riotous mop of white. Sylus. Gaze half-slit, relaxed.

“Take five,” he says above the thumping music.

You peer over your shoulder while taking his hand. The stranger you earlier locked eyes with has vanished, almost as if he were never there. You don’t pursue it. Not now at least. You allow Sylus to coax you down from the cage via hands at your waist. Stumble into him once on the ground, the air siphoned from your lungs. You're dizzy and breathless, being so close. He’s warm, smells divine, and you feel safe. Your palms press against his chest, his fingers wrapped about the crooks of your elbows to steady you.

He studies you with a reverent gleam to his irises as if he intends to kiss you, uncaring of any witnesses. Any questions. You shake away the thought, remembering yourself—your stance in his life. You offer him half a smile before retreating past him to the private bar for a drink. Something to ease your nerves, to cool your fevered skin.

Sylus’ expression hardens behind you as he scrutinizes the space you once stared at yourself. You don’t see the tenebrous threads of his Evol pouring from his body, licking the air. Don’t feel his aura bleeding a quieted malice, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

— tags: @unknown-ends, @viqlume, @nicohii, @beewilko, @lunebulous, @subliminalwish, @emneedshelp, @inkonparchment, @snowfall-jess, @bingbongchu, @greeenbeean, @shiorihoshino, @sillyfreakfanparty, @glamouroki, @midiplier, @kiri-tuk, @delulusimps, @moonlight-inthe-sea

climax 2.0 | masterlist | resolution

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus love and deepspace #sylus qin #sylus angst #carpe noctem series #limerence series #divider: adornedwithlight

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misswynters · 5 months ago

Text

Ambessa/Sevika ignoring you in public, affectionate in private

warnings. suggestive, ambessa lowkey crushing you on the bed but who cares,

requested by @schlagglovr (everyone thank them <3)

ambessa medarda

Murmurs and laughter spread across the grand. A sea of sharp-dressed politicians and councilors, their voices filling the room. Ambessa Medarda was in her element, towering over most of the crowd. With her presence commanding attention without even trying. You, on the other hand, were left to hover at her side, your hand occasionally brushing against hers. So desperate for a small chance of acknowledgment. But as always, Ambessa's focus was razor-sharp. Her words spilling out in calculated precision as she discussed trade routes and alliances. It was as if you weren't even there. Like a ghost.

She didn't glance at you, not even once. It caused a sting in your heart as her disregard grew sharper with every passing second. You swallowed your frustration, telling yourself it wasn't personal. That you knew her well enough to understand this was her battlefield, her war to win, and her affection couldn't bleed through here. Still, it didn't stop the ache in your chest as her laughter rang out. It was so warm and inviting but it was directed at someone who wasn't you.

Countless hours passed by and by the time the last diplomat was shown out, your patience was wearing thin. You slipped into your shared quarters ahead of her, fuming silently. But when the door finally creaked open, there she was. Discarding her armor as her gaze locked on you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. "Come here," she rumbled, her voice softer now, devoid of its earlier sharp edges.

You didn't hesitate, the fight draining out of you the moment her arms encircled your waist. Pulling you flush against her. "You ignored me all night," you muttered, your voice muffled against her chest.

"I know," she admitted, her lips brushing against your temple as she guided you to the bed. "I hate that I have to. However out there, I'm a general. Here.." Her hands tilted your chin up, her golden eyes meeting yours with a smoldering desire. "Here, I'm just yours."

She kissed you slowly with passion, her lips lingering as if to make up for every second of neglect. How much you missed her lips on yours.

Ambessa’s lips crushed against yours with an intensity that stole your breath, her hands large and possessive as they gripped your hips. The need between you was palpable, her every touch sparking something wild in you. With a low growl, she hoisted you effortlessly, your thighs wrapping tightly around her waist. The cold press of her armor against your skin was a stark contrast to the searing warmth of her body, and it only made you want her more.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” she rasped against your lips, her voice rough and dripping with hunger. Her teeth grazed your lower lip before she claimed your mouth again, deepening the kiss. She carried you toward the bed as if you weighed nothing, her presence utterly dominating.

“You’re the one doing this, Ambessa,” you breathed against her, your fingers tangling in her short hair, tugging hard enough to draw a soft groan from her. “I can feel how much you want me, right now.”

Her smirk was wicked, her lips finding the sensitive curve of your neck as her teeth scraped along your skin. “Oh, I don’t just want you,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “I’m going to have you, all of you.”

Your back hit the mattress, and Ambessa didn’t hesitate to press you down, her powerful body pinning you beneath her. The weight of her, the sheer strength in the way she handled you, made your pulse race. She leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear as her voice dropped to a sinful whisper. “Tell me, do you enjoy driving me to madness? Watching me lose control over you like this?”

“You’re the one who’s in control,” you replied, your voice trembling as her hands roamed your thighs, her thumbs digging into your skin to pull you closer. “You always are. Isn’t that how you like it?”

Her chuckle was dark and full of promise as her lips moved to your collarbone, her teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there. “Careful now,” she said, her voice dripping with suggestion. “Keep talking like that, and I might not stop at just kissing you.”

“Who says I want you to stop?” you countered boldly, your hands sliding over her broad shoulders, pulling her closer. The challenge in your voice made her pause, her dark eyes locking onto yours with a heat that stole your breath.

“Bold little one,” she said, her tone edged with a mix of warning warning and desire. Her hand slid up your thigh, gripping it firmly as she pinned you even tighter against the bed. "You're making it very hard for me to stay patient."

"Please don't," you whispered, your lips brushing against hers in a teasing kiss.

Ambessa growled, before claiming your mouth again with a ferocity that made your head spin. As her hands roamed your body and her weight pressed you deeper into the mattress, the world outside her chambers melted away. Here, underneath her, you were hers. There was no place you'd rather be.

Her hands roamed your chest, strong and steady. When you tried to pull away to tease her again, she caught your lower lip between her teeth, stopping you in your tracks. "Stop with the teasing, darling," she murmured, her voice low. "Just let me show you how much little patience i have."

sevika

Smoky haze filled The Last Drop. It was as suffocating as it was intensifying, the crowd's cheers echoed through the bar as Sevika sat at her usual corner table. Her sharp eyes scanning the room. She was stoic as always, her posture a mix of casual confidence and barely restrained menace. You sat at her side, nursing your drink in silence. Silently hoping for even the smallest flicker of recognition from her. But she didn't look your way. Not once.

Instead, Sevika was all business. Barking orders to her lackeys and exchanging brief words with Silco's former enforcers. The air around her was heavy and her mechanical arm was gleaming under the dim light as she tapped her cigarette against the ashtray. It was like you didn't exist at all. While you knew this was her world and her job, it didn't make it hurt any less. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying not to let the frustration show on your face. Unfortunately you hid it horribly. Much to your distaste.

When the meeting finally ended, Sevika stood and stretched, her gaze finally landing on you. "Come on," she said gruffly, motioning for you to follow. You bit back the urge to snap at her, deciding instead to trail behind her as she led you through the winding corridors to her private quarters.

The second the door shut behind you, the shift in her demeanor was quick. "Alright," she said, her voice softer now, her lips quirking up into a half-smile. "Let me have it."

"Let you have it?" you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "You ignored me all night, Sev. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?"

She stepped closer, her warm hand curling around your wrist as she tugged you toward her. "Embarrassing, huh?" Her tone was teasing, but there was a glimmer of something genuine in her eyes as she leaned in towards you. Her breath warm against your cheek. "Didn't seem to bother you when you were sitting all pretty beside me."

"Don't start," you snapped, but your voice wavered as she closed the remaining distance between you. Her metal hand rising to trail a cold line down your arm. Her touch sent a shiver racing down your spine, and she knew it.

"You're cute when you're mad," she murmured, her voice dropping lower as her lips brushed the shell of your ear. "But I think you're forgetting something."

"And what's that?" you shot back, even as your breath hitched when her warm hand slid to your waist, pulling you against her.

"That you're mine," she growled, her lips crashing against yours before you could respond. The kiss was searing, her teeth grazing your bottom lip as her hands roamed your body. Her touch overwhelming as she backed you up against the wall. "I don't ignore you because I want to," she rasped, her lips trailing hot kisses along your jawline. "I ignored you because if I didn't, l'd drag you into my lap in front of everyone and let them know exactly who you belong to."

Your breath caught as her words sank in, her hands gripping your thighs to hoist you up against the wall. Instinctively you wrapped your legs around her waist, locking them together. "Sevika..." you whispered, your voice trembling as her mouth moved to your neck. Her teeth scraping against the sensitive skin below your jaw. “You're such a-"

"Say it," she demanded, her lips curving into a smirk against your skin. "Go on. Tell me how much you hate me right now."

You groaned, threading your fingers through her hair and tugging hard, earning a low growl from her. "I hate how good you are at this," you admitted, your words barely more than a breath as she bit down lightly, soothing the mark with her tongue.

Her laugh was low and dark, her breath fanning over your collarbone as she pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. "You love how good I am at this," she corrected, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

You rolled your eyes, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

"Maybe," you conceded, your voice softening as she set you down gently, her hands lingering on your hips.

"Definitely," she teased, brushing her lips against yours one more time before pulling away slightly, her forehead resting against yours. "Now, let me make up for tonight in a more proper manner."

taglist. @blckbny @ch-bl0gsss @b-lossm @fortluocha @ekkosh @limereance @wolfessa @themostlesbianever @simonapietra @1-800-fantasy @saikikittykusuo @sevikaishot @sugarplumz100 @chaostudi @wxwrites @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 @robzo4 @puppyphia @xreadersarchive @boom58 @d3adbrainer @kylorey25 @slutmeoutfortoge @yaeil @sapphicarribean @randomperson291 @mvistl @hellokittyfeenie @literallyimthenerdemoji @nikaachuuuu @prettysupplicant @iamaboringrattat

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