Hope youβre doing well Mona!! ^^ if ur taking requests, could you write Nyon fic where reader accidentally punches/slaps him and it causes him to become obsessed and in love with reader. Leads to some lowk stalker/voyeuristic behavior from him *w* Miss your Nyon fics badly π
Kiss or Slap? | Nyon
β· Paring - Nyon x GN!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]
β· CWs - masochism, sadism, dry humping / grinding, degraditon, mention of drug use (weed ofc), nyon is down bad
a/n - this is fun because i tried to focus more on Nyon's perspective so let me know if you'd like more fics like that. he's a bit (maybe a lot you decide) ooc but i don't give a rats ass. he's so pathetic here. also, nyon is fucking perfect for dry humping he's almost never in hole sorry. love yall
You hit him because he startled you.Β
You were tired, on edge, and he materialized in the doorway like some ghost suddenly, and before you could stop yourself your hand was already swinging. Your fist connected with his cheek, hard, so much so that the sound of it echoed in the hallway.
He stumbles back a bit, a hand coming up to his face, and he lets out a sharp breath through his teeth. There was a moment where his eyes squeezed shut, and you could see the pain flicker across his features before he smoothed them out again. Doubtedly, one of the unoccasional times shows expression on his flat face.
"Shit," you curse, "That wasβ"
You step closer, reaching for his face without asking, turning his chin to examine the mark on his pale skin. He lets you, but his jaw was tight, and you could feel the tension in his slouched shoulders.
βThankfully you'll live," you say, dropping your hand back. "But you need to stop sneaking up on people like that. It's weird. You're lucky I pulled back, it couldβve been worse. Imagine if I broke your nose!"
Nyon doesn't respond. His eyes were watering slightly, and he looks away, trying to hide it.
He was imagining it. His nose all swollen and bloody, he could almost taste the blood that would drip down to his lips. Nyonβs face flushed red, partially masked by the redness of the impact on his skin.
You give a half-hearted sigh, aware that Luther can get upset if you actually hurt his catmen too badly, βYouβre fine right?β
He can only focus on the heat radiating from his cheek, the sting slowly blooming across his skin. His mind circles on blood dripping, about how it would feel to have you that close, to have your hands on his face again, even if it hurt. Especially if it hurt.
He wonders if you'd feel bad. if you'd touch his face again, gentler this time, just to take a look at how badly you hurt him. He wonders if you'd even care.
"Hey," you say, and he blinks, realizing he's been standing motionless for too long. "Did you hear me? Are you fine?β
He nods, lying.
-
Nyon has always been good at being invisible. It's a skill he learned long before Luther found him, before the Ivory house, before he had a name that wasn't borrowed from something else.Β
If he stood still enough, he might as well not have existed, only when Master beckons him to appear and listen. Itβs useful, when he gets to use it how heβd like.
Nyon stands in your room now, watching you sleep. The rhythm of your breathing is steady, calm, and he feels something twist in his chest. You hit him three days ago, and he hasn't stopped thinking about it since. The impact, the hurt, the way your hand felt against his face.Β
The pain has long since faded now, his regeneration hadn't even left a bruise. His body has been through far more, but this is the one thing he wished lasted forever.Β
Nyon doesn't leave your room until early in the morning.
A habit is birthed from what happened. Standing in doorways. Not just yours β any doorway within the Ivory house, just anywhere you might be.Β
His plan is to to startle you again, to see if your hands swing again and connect with his body. He positions himself carefully, just out of sight, waiting for you to round a corner or push open a door.
It's been a mixed success. Most of the time, it's another housemate who he surprises. Sebastian yelped so loud once that Master had to punish the ginger for causing a ruckus so early in the morning.
But sometimes it does work (marginally). Sometimes it is you that flinches, or curses, or shoves past him with that exasperated expression he's starting to crave. But you don't hit him again. Not yet.Β
Nyen shoves him against the wall one afternoon when it's him that walks through the doorway, sharp and mean. Nyon barely registers it. His eyes are closed, and he's imagining itβs you. Nyen scowls at how weird his fellow catman is being.
He starts taking things from your room. Small things you probably wouldn't notice at first, like a hair tie from your nightstand or a crumpled gas station receipt from your pocket.
It escalates quickly, he's so drawn to your smell. Your shirt was a favorite. He presses his face into it, breathing deep, imagining you were still wearing it. He takes it to his room, folds it carefully, and keeps it under his pillow. Heβs also keen on the bottle of lotion on your dresser and takes that too, not even using it himself. Rather, he opens the cap and smells the fragrance, enjoying how chemically it starts smelling after half an hour.
Nyon doesn't feel guilty despite knowing he's slightly inconveniencing you everytime he swipes something. Part of him enjoys the furrow of your brow everytime you complain about misplacing something. No, he doesn't feel anything except the need to be closer.Β
When he gets to be alone in his room, with the door closed tight, weed smoke curling in the air, his favorite pastime is to fantasize.
Fingers trail his body, gripping him tightly, your voice telling him he's pathetic. He pulls your shirt out from under his pillow and presses it to his face again. His hand drifts down, careless and desperate, not even bothering to fish his hard length out his pants. Please, his mind begs. Pin him down, make him hurt, do whatever you want to him.Β
He murmurs something in Russian, soft and broken, and when he comes apart, it's your name on his lips.
-
Of course, you're bound to catch him.
Too much time in, he was in your room again. The door was unlocked, as he learned you usually kept it. He slipped in silently, careful with the floorboards as he crept towards you.
The room was dark. Moonlight barely cut through the curtains, enough to cast pale shadows across the room. He could make out your body in bed, blankets pulled up, turned away from him.Β
Nyon liked the nights when you were facing him better, but he was constrained to this side considering your corner bed. He did consider trying to merge into the wall, or perhaps give the vent above your bed a try β but he preferred the thrill of being able to get close to you. He stood at the side of the bed for a long while, just watching.Β
Then, almost as if it was calling him, Nyonβs attention drifted to your dresser. The top drawer was slightly ajar β he'd noticed it earlier when you'd been digging through it. He moved over, slid it open without a sound, wide eyes looking at the fabric inside. His fingers found a pair β cotton, he couldn't make out the color in the darkness, but he imagined they were blue, maybe like his hair. These were for him.Β
The fabric was soft against his fingers, clean and unused β a disappointment, but he'd take what he could get. He pressed them to his face again, inhaling the faint laundry scent, imagining the warmth that should be there.
Heβs too entranced, barely noticing that the floorboard creaks. Not the one he carefully avoided β but one behind him.
Near the bed.
He turns, but too late. Something collides with his chest, hard, sending him stumbling backward. His feet tangle and he hits the floor, the air knocked out of him. Then weight is on top of him, a knee digging into his ribs, hands shoving his shoulders down into the carpet.
"What the fuckβ" Your voice is sharp, panicked.
He doesn't struggle, rather he just lies there, dazed as you pin him. Your knee is digging into him so roughly that it feels like stabbing. The weight of you on him isn't enough, he wants you to press harder.
You begun reaching for the standing lamp just a foot away β he can feel you shift β but then you stop. Maybe you think better of giving away your position. Instead, you stay on top of him, trying to make out his face in the dark.
"Who are you?" you hiss. "What are you doing in myβ"
Then you feel it. The headband. Your fingers brush against the fabric of his ears as you try to grab his hair. You pause, eyes focusing through the dark, the moonlight helping you stare back at wide, red rimmed, eyes.Β
"Nyon?"
You sit back slightly, still straddling him. In the dark, "You've got to be kidding me," you say, your voice dropping from panicked to more of a whisper.
One of your hands still press into his shoulder, though softer now. The other is still touching the fabric of his headband, but you quickly let go when you confirm it's him. Then your hand moves down, brushing against his chest, his abdomen. He flinches β not from pain, but from the contact. Then your hand reaches his hand, the one still holding your underwear.
"What do you have?" You stared, his fingers tightened around the fabric instinctively, like he was afraid you'd take it.
You did, reaching down and prying his fingers open, yanking it from his grip. He didn't fight like he hoped he would, his hand falling limp at his side.
"Seriously?" You held it up in the moonlight, examining it. "You broke into my room to steal my underwear?"
Nyon didn't answer, feeling his face was burning, red spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. He was sure you could see it even in the dim light.
You dropped the underwear onto the floor beside him, dismissing it. Then your hand moved, brushing against his lap as you shifted your body, perhaps to get off, it was a bit of a struggle without light.
But very quickly, you halt, fingers pressed against the hardness there, unmistakable through his pants. A small sound escaped him β a whimper, high and broken β and your eyes widen.
"Are you�" Your voice trails off.
Nyon was so so hot. He couldn't look at you, eyes darted away, fixing on the wall. He was so embarrassed. This is all he'd ever dream of.
You pressed down harder, and he bites the inside of his mouth, hips bucking involuntarily. His hands twitch at his sides, wanting to touch you, but he didn't dare. He just continued to lay there, stilted even on the floor, body rigid with tension.
You laugh β a short, dry sound. Then you move, grinding down against him, and he practically shakes. His head fell forward, his eyes squeezing shut. The friction, the sensation, the warmth of you β it was too much. His hands found a purpose, gripping the carpet, fingers digging in.
He wants to tell you he'd do anything for you. He wants to tell you he'd let you do anything to him. He wants to tell you he's yours, but his mouth stays shut. You grab his jaw, squeezing hard, forcing him to look at you. His mouth opens in a gasp, his eyes wet and wide. He doesn't blink, gazing back at you in the dark.
"Look at you," you said, grinding down again. "Sneaking into my room and stealing my underwear. Hard just from me tackling you."
His breathing hitches, his chest heaving. Nyon can feel himself getting close already, something tightening in his abdomen. There's no coherent thought left, just the need, just the feeling of you, just the pressure of your hand on his face that he wish would come. Then, as if youβve read his mind, your hand leaves his jaw and comes down across his face β a sharp slap, only a bit softer than when he first scared you. Nyons head snaps to the side, a choked sound catching in his throat, the pain spreading hot and immediate. His eyes water, but he doesn't make a sound beyond a shaky exhale. Thank you, echoes in his skull. Thank you for touching me.
You slap him again, and again. Each impact sends a jolt through him, the sting spreading across his face. His cheeks are on fire, his eyes streaming tears that he doesn't bother to wipe away. He just takes it, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Every part of him is focused on you, and he wished he could see you better through the darkness. Maybe you can hit him harder.
Your hand comes down one more time, hard, his body trembling beneath you. His face hurts in a feverishly good way, sweat beading on his temple. "You're pathetic, Nyon." you say, rolling your lap against his hardness, pushing him to the edge. "A creep.β
He nods frantically, his hips still moving against you. A creep, he repeats, you think heβs a creep. He can feel himself getting close, so closeβ
He lets out a whine, a questioning sound, his eyes silently pleading. "Go ahead," you answer, like an angel.
He comes, harder than heβs ever had with just your shirt and lotion. His back arches off the floor, a strangled moan tearing from his throat. His hips buck against you, riding out the wave. His face is red, tears still on his cheeks, his eyes squeezed shut. He's yours. He's completely, utterly yours.
And then he collapses, gasping, trembling.
You get off him, standing up, and he feels the cold immediately. The absence of your weight is almost painful β a hollow ache spreading across where your body had been. His hands are still curled into the carpet fibers, not ready to let go.
You walk to your bed, and he hears the rustle of sheets as you crawl back into your mattress. The covers shift as you settle in.
"You can come back tomorrow," you say, voice already muffled by the pillow. "Don't take anything else."
He stays on the floor for a long moment, trying to remember how to breathe. Then he pushes himself up, slow and unsteady, his body stiff and slouched as always. He walks to the door, his steps shuffling.
Nyon pauses at the threshold, looking back. The moonlight catches your silhouette under the covers, already facing away. He slips out, shuts the door behind him, a wet patch on the crotch of his jeans.Β
Tomorrow. He can come back tomorrow. He's already counting the hours.
