#and man. Man. fun angle to have with their relationship

[cosmicaces]

something something rody has a crush on deku and is scared that it'll affect their friendship if he finds out

[deathsmallcaps]

I enjoyed Moana 2.

The beginning, before she actually set off on the voyage with friends, was rushed. Like there was so much squished together they didn’t even let any appropriate dramatic pauses occur. However, from there on it was smoother sailing. I think it *barely* needs a sequel bell curve at that point.

I really like that the first people Moana meets are so visually different than her. I cannot tell off the bat, but I think they’re Melanesian*? They aren’t as visually represented as other Pacific Islander cultures, so I’m happy they made an appearance :D

*if there’s a preferred term over Melanesian, please lmk. I feel like I’m missing something/using an old term

Matangi *WAS* interesting. I think she could’ve been sharper/more grey, but that’s just me.

I really really like how in Moana’s new songs, Auli’i Cravalho’s voice sounds so much more mature. Neither movie was worse than the other in that sense, I just really heard the adulthood in her voice.

Heihei can fuck off. Screaming animals were funny for about 2 weeks (semi quoting a tweet I think). The pig is far more my style. Which is funny because irl I like chickens a lot more than pigs, they unnerve me. Pigs are cute! I just used to farm both and I was never as nervous about chickens knocking me over and biting me.

Idk why but the thunder god looks like a college football player who is really funny and nice and loud. His character is NOT shaping up to be like that but he just reminds me visually of some guys I know.

I liked Chee-Hoo! I didn’t get it when my movie theatre emails kept using that but it’s really growing on me!!! Also they definitely aged up Maui lol

BUT MY BIGGEST THOUGHT IS

IS MOANA A DEMIGOD NOW

BRO?????

I’m excited to see the fanart

[grimmsbride]

▒ ❀ ̭͡⠀ ❛Blackout. Mohawk! Mark

summary.. you thought you had found some alone time with you, and your mighty little vibrator. but of course, all fun is always short-lived

tags.. canon-divergence (i have never written for mark or any of his variants nor have i read the comics, so, mohawk will be a little ooc and i apologize for that. also this ofc doesn’t really follow the plot of his dimension) / rough sex / overstimulation / he’s lowkey a dick / multiple orgasms / lowkey pain kink / reader is into everything ofc / light use of pet names / unrealistic descriptions of sex(?) /

authors notes.. i want to start writing for invincible and truthfully this is the first thing that came to mind. between mohawk mark and cap(?) mark, they will be written for the most cause imo they are the finest 😔. also please excuse any typos or grammar mistakes.

The mental checklist cycled through your brain quickly as your eyes peered about your room. Door locked? Check. Music playing from your tv a little too loud? Check. Your fully charged, pretty blue vibrator waiting patiently on your bed? The final and most important check of all. Between work, school, and juggling a relationship with your beloved boyfriend; finding time for self-pleasure was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Of course, most of your sexual needs were satisfied by your partner— however, there was nothing like taking the time to yourself, easing towards your orgasm in solitude.

You tugged the bottoms you wore down, thumbs hooking onto the elastic of your panties in the process. In one fluid motion you tossed them off your body and onto the ground, dropping to your bed back first with excitement brewing deep within your tummy. You reached down for the little vibe, examining the hollow opening that allowed the most perfect suction.

You remembered getting the device randomly one night, even paying extra for expedited shipping— a clear indication of your own desperation.

A finger flicked out to press against the button, holding it for a moment before the little toy revved to life. Little, yet so powerful; varying in several modes that tailored to your needs perfectly.

You always started slow, lowering the vibe to your breast and allowing the suction to flutter over your nipple— it slowly hardening from the attention. Your lips parted, along with your legs, allowing your free hand to lower to your folds, petting the soft skin slowly. A breath escaped as that familiar feeling danced across your body, warming you up inside at a gentle pace.

You spread yourself open, lowering a finger over your bud and slowly rolling it into tight circles. Your hips instinctively caught onto the rhythm, twitching at every special turn of your finger pad on your sensitive clit.

Soon enough you were growing impatient, knowing at any moment family could knock at your door for some random inconvenience. With that said, you lifted the toy from your breast, lowering it down between your legs. It always took a moment for you to align the hole with your clit, eyes squinting as if trying to visualize the perfect angle.

But the moment you got it, the moment you felt those delicious vibrations right against your sensitive bud, you let out the softest moan, legs opening more as the pleasure grew.

Your finger pressed into the button, amping the power up to its second level, strong vibrations thrumming right against your clit. Your legs began to squeeze shut, hurried breaths falling from your lips as you began to etch closer to your orgasm.

You wanted to personally thank whoever thought of vibrators. As pathetic as that sounded..

Your head knocked back against your pillows, the tightening cord in your stomach nearly snapping when a familiar sound entered your ears.

“Babe, oh man— I gotta tell you what this gu—..”

In a flash you felt that pleasure melt from your body, your eyes peering open to spot your one and only Markus Grayson standing in your bedroom in all his glory. His glory being that godforsaken supersuit and the stupidest grin on his features.

Which only seemed to deepen the moment his eyes trailed down your body.

Curse you for forgetting to close and lock your window.

“What’s this?.. Having fun without me?”

You opened your mouth to speak, yelping as wind flew past you far too quickly. Mark was a blur for a moment before he stood still beside your bed, currently inspecting something in his hand.

You quickly realized that it was your vibrator, under his inspection.

“The fuck is this..”

“It’s—“ You moved to your knees, reaching out for it, only for him to hold his hand higher, cackling to himself. You gave an aggravated huff, hands dropping to your thighs.

“— a vibrator.. It’s a vibrator.” You murmured, trying to ignore the tinge of shame invading your form. Of course, the two of you have talked about masturbation, but toys were a different story. You’ve heard plenty of horror tales of men growing angry at their women for using them in the first place.

All that ego man stuff.. blah, blah, blah. And as much as you loved Mark, he was a man.. with a ridiculously big ego.

Your eyes slowly trailed up his body back to his face, watching the way an unrecognizable glint developed in his dark eyes. His gloved fingers tapped against the toy, fiddling with the settings, turning it off and on completely.

“A vibrator huh?..” Mark hummed, more to himself than you, gaze switching between the vibe and your features for a moment before a devious smirk pulled his lips.

Before you could think Mark was moving closer, using a hand to push you back onto the bed whilst the other went for your legs, tugging them open.

“Let me try.” The grin on his face deepened, reaching down with the toy towards your center. Clumsily, he forced the hole upon your swollen clit, eyes flicking back to your features as he amped up the vibrator.

Your hands clenched, lips parting once more to release a sharp moan. You weren’t alone anymore, released from the mercy of slowly building yourself up. No, Mark had selected one of the highest setting without a care, pressing it right against your already sensitive clit. Your legs threatened to close, hands falling to the bed and gripping your bedsheets tight.

“Ma—mark.. baby please— turn it down..” You whined out, gasping the moment you felt him twist the toy a little, the vibrations hitting your swollen bud at a different angle. Droplets of arousal trickled from your hole that fluttered around nothing, sliding down to your taint.

“Aww.. can someone not handle the little toy?” Mark mocked, twisting the little machine once again and giggling to himself at the high-pitched moans that escaped you. He rose himself high, face hovering close to your own whilst resting on a forearm.

“C’mon baby, you’ve had bigger! Don’t wimp out on me now.”

You couldn’t even dare to reply, far too focused on that band ready to snap in your stomach. Struggled gasps and moans continued to escape, as your legs tightened around his arm— as if trying to decide to push him away or keep him there.

Your decision was null the moment you came, hips rising into the air as you made a mess of his hand and your beloved toy. Your stomach ached, clit feeling raw from all the attention. Your body rested back onto your bed, attempting to calm yourself after your release.

Only to realize the vibrator was still stuck securely to your clit, not having moved an inch despite your orgasm.

You quickly back to fuss, reaching down at your partner’s wrist whilst a strangled, “Ma—mark, let me breathe..” escaped you.

But he didn’t budge, even pulling himself back to his haunches, keeping his one hand steady on the toy whilst the other went for your wrists, securing them into a tight single-handled hold right against your stomach.

“Oh, [Name], I’m not done. I wanna see what else this little thing can do.”

With two more presses, the vibrator was now thrumming at its highest setting, the sound of it on your sloppy cunt nearly echoing over your music— second to the whines and moans that you released.

Your mind was going blank, the pleasure teetering between bliss and pain in one fluid motion. Unlike the Viltrumite before you, you were only human— your stamina not being able to keep up at all. It was growing torturous the longer the toy played at your clit, yet you couldn’t escape. Even as you attempted to move your hands, Mark wasn’t budging an inch— nor was he fazed by the twitching of your legs, eyes so trained on your pussy he was currently tormenting.

It’s not as if Mark had an issue with you using the toy. Not at all, he found it quite amusing actually; you attempting to find pleasure in such a measly device— that couldn’t even began to compare to him at all. It was truly entertaining watching you struggle to keep yourself together, your moans and cries for mercy music to his ears after an already eventful day.

The man had things to share with you, like some idiot that tried to attack him from behind— however that could wait, until after he was satisfied with examining the limits of this little device.

“Such a fucking mess, you’re ruining my gloves, babe.” As cocky as ever, voice clear and loud so you could hear through the blur of your mind. You wanted to cuss at him, maybe tell him to fuck off and wipe that little smirk off his face. But you couldn’t— physically anyway, given any words were turning to jumbled mush that the man couldn’t make out.

Mark even had the nerve to tilt his head, pushing his ear a little closer towards you.

“Huh? What? You say something— I couldn’t hear it over all that moaning and whining of my name.”

If your hands were free you would smack him, but now you could only whine louder, trying your best at an annoyed pout, eyebrows clenched close together.

Mark quickly caught on, laughing to himself as he slowly moved the vibrator in circles on your clit, watching that anger dissolve from your face so quickly. Your eyes were glossy at this point, even rolling back to meet your skull as the pleasure thundered through your body.

And as quickly as it started, your second orgasm came even quicker; erupting from your body in shaky spasms. Your voice was etching on hoarse at this point, seeing white for a moment as you came undone so harshly it began to ache.

Your lover let out a boisterous sound, eyes trained on your messy cunt, your arousal trailing down to the bed, making a little pool of slick.

You panted heavily, struggling to keep your eyes open as they slowly lifted to Mark.

“Mark..” You were able to release, attempting to move your arms again, only to feel his hold tighten. You cried out, wiggling about in desperation.

“Ma—mark! Turn it off— fuck!” Tears of overstimulation were threatening to spill at this point, and in one swift motion you somehow were able to flip onto your stomach, scooting away from the man quickly.

Your face pressed against the bed for a moment, before turning to the side, releasing heavy breaths as your heart pounded against your chest. So focused on calming down, you couldn’t hear anything behind you at all.

Not the sound of Mark chuckling to himself.. his hands moving against his body, or even his clothes falling to your carpeted floor.

You hadn’t realized a thing until a familar hand was locking around your ankle, basically dragging you towards the edge of the bed and up onto your knees.

You rose to your hands, mouth open and ready to practically yell at him until you felt two things. His length prodding at your entrance, and that blasted toy finding your abused clit once again.

In one swift motion Mark was thrusting inside, leaving you unable to adjust with the vibrations buzzing against your swollen bud. Your hands nearly give out, nails digging into the fabric as tears began to stream down your chubby cheeks.

You could no longer form a single coherent sentence, voice switching between hurried gasps and a mush of his name, tangled with the loudest moans. Soon enough you felt his hips move, a bruising pace being set inside you, with little care for your overly sensitive pussy.

You felt Mark move, coming to rest his chest against your back whilst wrapping his arm around your body, leading his hand to gently grab your face— a completely contrast to how he has been ruining you for the past forty-five minutes.

“What a crybaby.. can’t even think straight can you, huh?” His lips pressed right up against your ear, hips flicking back and forth as he fucked you with no remorse. The corner of his mouth twitched, truly entertained by your reactions. The sweet wails you were releasing, the way your pussy clenched and clenched around his length, and how shaky your entire body was overall.

You sniffled and whined, hearing your love cooe as he slid his thumb over your skin. Once again, the only gentleness he’s shown you since he flew in.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? All this attention you’re getting, greedy little pussy..” Mark began to drill into you, now being the only thing keeping you sitting upright at this point. “Can barely handle me, yet you go out and buy this toy— isn’t that funny, baby? Hm?”

The man spoke to you so easily, fully expecting you to reply to the best of your ability. But you were only releasing whimpers, completely lost to the feeling that flipped between pain and pleasure.

Mark chuckled at this, pressing the toy just a bit harder against you.

“Guess you’re too fucked out to speak, huh?”

That was an understatement, truly. The word itself didn’t exactly describe how you felt. Your entire body was trembling, the two sensations of his dick and your toy eliminating any logical thinking inside your brain. You couldn’t care less about being too loud for your family or even neighbors, no, your entire focus collected into a single point, the orgasm that was rushing towards you extremely fast.

A mix of encouraging words and mockery was being purred right into your ear, followed by quick laughter with every cry you let out. Mark always enjoyed pushing your limits, especially in the bed room.

You were human, sure, but he didn’t care. He simply loved watching you struggle to keep up with anything he did, acting so cruelly only to praise you later on. A never ending cycle that he didn’t plan to change anytime soon.

“Clenching me like a fucking vice, you’re about to come aren’t you?” He questioned, fucking into you so deeply, his tip prodding against that spongy spot that caused stars to intrude your vision. The man listened to your whine, deciding to take it as approval to his previous question.

Mark grinned to himself, pulling back and allowing your body to land on the bed. Instead his free hand gripped your hip lifting you just enough to drill into that same spot perfectly.

“Go on then, come— soak the sheets while you’re at it.”

Your fingers dug into the bed, reduced to babbles as your sheets became soaked from your arousal, sweat, and tears. With blurry vision and muffled hearing you came undone, a prolonged bellow of his name escaping your aching throat. You jerked and jolted, making a mess of his cock and the bed beneath— just like he hoped.

The man’s hand smoothed across your ass, clearly soothing you as those sweet praises from his lips, continuing to chase his own orgasm. Moments passed before his hips stuttered, his load spilling into you, some trickling out from your stuffed hole.

You breathed heavily, feeling your body relax the moment the man pulled out and removed the still buzzing vibrator from your clit. You melted into the bed completely, caring less for the smell of sex and soaked blankets beneath you. Your legs trembled from the aftershocks, eyes closed as you attempted to catch your breath— and with that being your entire focus, you basically jumped out your skin the moment Mark’s hand fell to your thigh.

The man laughed, smoothing his fingers across your heated skin.

“Relax, I’ve finished my little test.. for now.”

“You’re..” You struggled to say, moving your head a little to glance back at your boyfriend. “— such a dick.”

The man grinned back at you, hands gliding up to your ass to grip whilst coming to hover over you, planting a kiss against your shoulder.

“I know. And I’m gonna be an even worse one the moment you catch your breath.”

[the-original-skipps]

|| Abs! Abs! Abs! || Honkai Star Rail Reactions II

anaxa and his lightcome came home so imma drop this and scurry away i know some people are gonna come at me like sunday and anaxa don't got abs theyre lean yeah well stomach, abs whatever man lol

When you ask them for an ab pic.

: Aventurine. Sunday. Phainon. Mydei. Anaxa.

cw: suggestiveness. established relationship. gn!reader. possible oocness. half naked men. art used does not belong to me but credited to it's rightful owner.

❥ Aventurine can feel his smirk growing as he reads your text. You're way too predictable. He's heard about this fad trending nowadays on social media along with a bicep pic? He's not surprised you jumped on the trend too. The blonde is a definite tease so he'll have his fun teasing you by saying maybe or asking you for a picture back. You were on the verge of giving up until he suddenly sent the picture.

Aventurine is very casual about the whole thing. He knows he has a good magnificent body and he knows how to take a good picture. He takes some pictures, checking them for a moment to find the right one before pressing send. What he's looking forward to now is seeing how you'd react to it. Oh, he can't wait to tease you more.

The picture he sends is of him sitting on some lavish sofa. His signature turquoise dress shirt unbuttoned all the way showcasing his abs. A wine glass in one hand while the other angles his phone down so that his abs are fully captured on screen. 

"Mhmm I don't know, what do I get in return for sending you such a picture?"

❥ Sunday tilts his head in confusion. Ab pic? A picture of his abdominal muscles? The request came out of nowhere and it surprises and confuses him. What could you use such a picture for? He sighs, shaking his head. There's no use mulling over its purpose. A small smile graces his face. He could never deny you, no matter how strange your requests may be.

Sunday spends quite a while a few hours on taking the perfect picture. It's not his fault he keeps finding faults in every single picture he has taken. He needs it to be perfect for you! Until he realizes how long you've been waiting for the picture. After what seemed to be forever, he finally settles on a picture he's satisfied with. He hesitates on sending it until he wills himself to just do it. His feathers could fall off with how nervous he is for your reply.

It's a picture of him reluctantly/shyly holding his dress shirt up. His eyes looking away while his wings cover half of his face in embarrassment. If you look closely his cheeks are dusted pink. 

"Abs pic? I'm not sure what that is but if it will delight you...I'll do my best to fulfill your wish, my love."

❥ Phainon smiles in glee at your request. His invisible tail is wagging as he reads your text multiple times. With each read his invisible tail wagging harder. Ask and you shall receive, of course!

Phainon doesn't waste any time, he's already pulling out his phone to open his camera app. Then quickly discards his shirt - carelessly tossing it aside. He doesn't think much about the pose or what angle the picture should be taken. He claims he just knows how the picture should be taken - it's all in the feeling. He aims the camera so that his abs are in frame and spams the capture button. After a while, he does change poses. Despite how carefree he looks he's actually taking this very seriously. He needs to send the most perfect picture to you.

He doesn't just send one but he sends all the pictures he has taken. The more the better or so he claims. Your phone is ringing non stop from notifications because he sent around 24 pictures. They're all in different poses, angles and expressions. One is zoomed in on his abs while the other shows his entire very toned body. Wait, is that a rose in between his lips?

"Are you sure you're happy with just these? I can send you thirty more...!"

❥ Mydei raises his eyebrow in confusion but it is quickly replaced with a smirk on his face. So, you want a picture of his abs. Very well, he supposes he can make that happen. Only you would dare ask such a thing from the Prince of Castrum Kremnos. He finds your boldness both amusing and attractive at the same time.

Mydei doesn't waste any time. He pulls out his phone, snapping a picture before immediately sending it back to you. The golden lion knows he doesn't need to worry if the picture is good or not. He knows it's good no matter what angle it's taken from. You'll definitely be pleased, he knows it. Though, a mere image made up of pixels would never be able to beat the real thing. He thinks about asking you to come over or maybe he can go to you. The picture is great don't get him wrong but he wants you to see how much better it is in person.

He only sends one picture but it gets the message across. His abs are magnificent as if the gods themselves had sculpted them. He doesn't wear a shirt so he doesn't need to teasingly lift it up. No, he shows it in all its glory. He sits on a throne-like chair, his chin resting in his hand while the other holds the phone.

"Why want a picture when you can come see the real thing."

❥ Anaxa has to resist the urge to scoff when he sees your text pop up. Another one of these nonsensical trends he assumes. He quickly dismisses the thought, deeming it a waste of his time and effort to do - setting his phone aside in favor of grading test papers.

After a while, he finds himself thinking back to your text. He's supposed to be finished grading these test papers by now but all he can think about is your disappointed expression. He nearly slams his pen down on the table before letting out a defeated sigh. Dammit, the things you make him do for you.

Anaxa finds himself irritated at having to do such a thing. He tries taking different pictures but none of them are satisfactory enough for him. He's not very good at this. He knows he shouldn't be wasting so much time and effort for a simple picture but the thought of your lackluster reaction makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He takes a few more before finally settling on a picture. Angle? Good. Lighting? Good. Overall, not bad. He clicks the send button. Now he has distracted himself enough to not think about your response.

The picture is relatively simple. It's a picture of Anaxa sitting in his office but it's angled so that you can only see his lower half. His gloved hand lifting up his shirt revealing his abs. Might as well frame it because he might not do this for you again. He will.

"By the law of equivalent exchange, it's only fair that you send me one back too."

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

THE PRANK THAT BACKFIRED (sort of?)

drew starkey x fem!reader

SUMMARY: reader and drew decide to play a prank on the obx cast for her youtube channel. they do the “asking to have another girl over” prank, which results in a very angry obx cast who are out to get drew😅

based on this ask !! i hope this is what you asked for @xoxosblogsblog !! i had so much fun writing this and it was ADORABLE, i hope you like it :)) <3

WARNINGS: pure tooth-rotting fluff, slight angst (not really), like one (?) curse word, insinuation of cheating (the prank), chase & rudy threaten to “throw hands” with drew lmao. (lmk if i missed anything!)

WORD COUNT: 1.25k

THIRD PERSON +

Y/N adjusted the camera, angling it perfectly to catch the cozy backdrop of the apartment she shared with Drew during her surprise visit to the set of Outer Banks season four.

The faint hum of laughter and chatter outside hinted at the cast heading out to grab food, giving her the perfect opportunity to set her plan into motion.

"Hey, guys!" she began with a bright smile, wiggling her fingers to the camera. "Welcome back to my channel. Today, I've got something hilarious planned. You've seen those TikTok pranks where someone asks if they can bring another girl over while their partner's friends or family are listening, right? Well, I'm doing it today—with Drew."

She smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I've got the cast in on this. Well, not really in on it—they think I'm at a friend's place for the night, so this is going to be pure gold. Let's see how much they love me and how far they'll go to defend me from Drew's, um... betrayal."

She turned the camera to Drew, who sat beside her on the couch, half-smiling, half-shaking his head.

"I can't believe I'm agreeing to this," Drew muttered, running a hand through his hair. "They're going to kill me."

"Kill us, you mean," Y/N teased, poking his side. "But it'll be worth it. Trust me."

"Uh-huh," Drew replied, arching a skeptical eyebrow. "When JD and Rudy show up with pitchforks, you're taking the blame."

Y/N laughed, her grin widening as she leaned into him. "Oh, come on. You know they love me too much to actually hurt me. You, on the other hand..."

Drew sighed dramatically but couldn't hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

A few minutes later, Y/N tucked herself behind the camera, keeping it trained on Drew. Drew pulled out his phone and dialed JD's number, putting the call on speaker. The phone rang twice before JD answered, his voice lively with the sounds of clinking plates and background chatter.

"Yo, Starkey!" JD greeted. "What's up, man?"

Drew exchanged a quick glance with Y/N before diving in. "Hey, would you guys mind if I invited someone over?"

The line went silent for a beat, then JD's confused voice came through. "Uh... sure? Who?"

"Just a friend," Drew said casually.

"Cool, yeah," JD replied, his tone nonchalant. In the background, Madelyn could be heard asking, "Who's he inviting over?"

"Oh, she's just someone I met recently," Drew added, making his voice as nonchalant as possible.

Madelyn's voice sharpened. "Wait, she? Did he say she?"

JD stammered for a moment, then said, "Uh, Drew, man, what are you talking about? You have Y/N—why are you inviting another girl over?"

"It's not that deep," Drew said smoothly, earning a wide-eyed stare from Y/N as she struggled to keep from bursting into laughter.

"Not that deep?" Madelyn's voice rose an octave. "Are you fucking insane? Y/N is literally the best thing that's ever happened to you. You're just going to, what, throw her away for some random girl?"

"Yeah, Drew, what the hell?" Rudy's voice chimed in. "Y/N's gonna find out, dude. She always finds out."

"She's not even here," Drew argued. "And I just want some alone time with this girl. Is that so bad?"

Madelyn's voice was nearly a shriek now. "YES, IT'S BAD! You're in a relationship, Drew! A really amazing one, with an incredible person who, by the way, loves you more than anything!"

"And we love her!" Carlacia added. "You're crazy if you think we're not calling her right now."

"Right?!" Chase's voice joined the chorus, sounding equally appalled. "Drew, what is wrong with you?"

JD sighed loudly. "Man, I'm so disappointed right now. Y/N's, like, the nicest, funniest person ever. She's practically family. I don't even know what to say to you."

Y/N clamped a hand over her mouth, tears forming in her eyes from trying not to laugh. Drew, ever the actor, kept his tone neutral but shot her a playful glare.

"You guys are overreacting," Drew said, feigning exasperation. "I mean, Y/N doesn't have to know, right?"

The collective gasp from the group was loud enough to make Y/N choke on her laughter.

Madison started a rant so fierce it almost made Drew break. "First of all, how dare you? Second of all, Y/N deserves so much better than this! She's gorgeous, sweet, funny—literally the whole package! And you're just going to throw that away? For what?!"

"I can't believe you right now," Rudy chimed in. "If you're serious about this, I'm calling her. Like, right now."

"No, don't—" Drew began, but Y/N couldn't hold it in anymore.

Her laughter burst out like a dam breaking, echoing through the room. Drew immediately broke character, laughing along as he waved his hands at Y/N’s camera.

"Wait, wait!" Y/N called out, coming into view of her camera. "Guys, relax! It's a prank!"

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line, followed by a cacophony of voices.

"Are you serious?!" Madelyn exclaimed. "You scared the crap out of us!"

"You both are the worst," JD groaned.

Rudy's laugh boomed through the speaker. "I was about to knock some sense into you, man."

Chase chimed in with mock indignation. "I was ready to drive back and throw hands, Drew!"

Y/N giggled, holding her stomach as she leaned against Drew. "I'm so sorry, but I couldn't resist! I saw it on TikTok and knew you guys would freak out. And you did not disappoint."

Madelyn groaned dramatically. "You two are so lucky we love you."

JD sighed. "I'm not speaking to you for a week."

"Okay, that's fair," Drew said with a grin.

Eventually, after more playful scolding and laughter, the group hung up, leaving Drew and Y/N alone again. Y/N turned off the camera, still giggling as she leaned back against the couch.

"That was amazing," she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

Drew shook his head, his expression somewhere between amusement and exasperation. "You're lucky they love you. If it were just me, they'd probably disown me."

Y/N smiled, sliding closer to him. "Well, can you blame them? I mean, look at me. I'm kind of a big deal."

He laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You really are. They adore you, you know that? It's one of the things I love most about us—how easily you fit into my world."

Her teasing smile softened as she gazed up at him. "It means a lot to me, too. They're like family. And so are you."

Drew leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "You're everything to me, Y/N. I hope you know that."

Her heart melted as she cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing against his jawline. "I do. And you're everything to me, too."

They stayed like that for a moment, wrapped up in each other. The laughter, the teasing, the chaos—it all melted away, leaving just the two of them in their shared little world.

"You think they'll forgive us?" Drew asked after a moment.

Y/N smirked. "Oh, they'll forgive me. You, on the other hand..."

Drew groaned, burying his face in her shoulder as she laughed.

"Totally worth it," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple.

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was so so adorable and so much fun to write !! i hope you all enjoyed, and please please please like and reblog, it means the world when you do <3

my asks are still open so please don’t hesitate to send any in !! i’m in the mood to write some angst, hurt/comfort if you have any requests for drew or rage <3

[agreeewrites]

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart | S.R.

feat. Steve Rogers x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You and Steve broke up, but life as an assassin for SHIELD goes on, no matter how grueling. little did you know, Steve was suffering too, and reality is far from how it appears.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, breakups, protective!Steve, assassin work, mentions of blood and death, Steve is a bit of a munch (but he still tops you), happy ending

AN: inspired by "I Can Do It With A Broken Heart" by Taylor Swift from her album The Tortured Poets Department.

divider by @saradika-graphics

Steve left you on a random Tuesday afternoon. No fanfare, no warning, no discussion. He barely even looked at you when he shattered your heart.

In the two years you'd known him, and the six months you loved him, you'd never seen him so callous. He'd looked at motorcycles with more affection than he looked at you in that moment.

You didn't understand, couldn't understand, but it didn't matter. Your relationship was over, and your life felt like a held breath ever since.

He said he'd love you all his life, but for a man that's been alive for a century, six months was barely a blip. You were barely a blip.

But you couldn't dwell, couldn't break down like you wanted to, because you were one of the top assassin's at SHIELD, and missions didn't care about your feelings.

So you were sent out into the field, day after day, week after week, with a smile on your face and your shoulders thrown back, never ever missing your mark. And still, SHIELD demanded more of you.

Fortunately, you could do it with a broken heart.

“Agent L/N, report to Fury’s office for assignment,” the earpiece in your ear crackled to life, jarring you from the workout you were pretending to do.

“Another one? Seriously?” Nat said, looking up from the squat rack, sweat glistening along her hairline.

You shrugged. “The fun never stops,” you said with a half-hearted smile, and she rolled her eyes, returning to her reps.

As quick as you could, you pulled an oversized hoodie over your sports bra and retied your ponytail, which has fallen into sweaty disarray during your workout.

Normally, you'd change into your suit, but when Fury called, he didn't like to be kept waiting.

You take the elevator direct to his office, and when the doors roll open, you're greeted by Nick Fury, Sergeant Barnes, and, of course, the back of Steves head.

His hair has grown a little longer since you were together, and your fingers itched to run through it, to scratch his scalp in the way that makes his dark lashes flutter, to tug on his roots in the way that makes him groan low in his throat…

You shook yourself and slapped on a smile. “Good morning, Nick,” you chirped, sauntering into the room.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said, offering as close to a smile as he could manage. “Have a seat.”

You perched on the edge of Bucky’s table, and he gave you a stiff nod in greeting . Steve didn't look up from the open file in front of him, but you could tell by the angle of his shoulders that he wasn't happy.

Nausea twisted in your stomach, your heart splintering a bit further, but you kept your expression pleasant.

“Would it kill you two to be a little more cheerful?” Fury quipped, and Bucky snorted. “Could all use a little more sunshine around here.” Fury winked at you, and you winked back.

Steve’s fingers tightened on the file, but you chalked it up to its contents.

“Little Miss Stabs-a-lot seems to be managing just fine for all of us,” Bucky said, his voice dry even though his eyes were smiling.

That's you, managing just fine.

Fury chuckled and passed you a similar file to Steves. “Your target is Lugoff Isaacson, HYDRA weapons director.”

You flipped through the file, finding a laundry-list of diabolical misdeeds, as well as a number of altercations with the two men beside you.

“Dinosaur’s couldn't hack it?” You teased, but only Nick laughed.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Isaacson lives like a hermit, and the only people allowed in his company are fellow HYDRA agents—” Nick paused, bracing his hands on the desk. “And pretty women.”

You heard Steve's teeth grind together, and Bucky glanced over at him, but you kept your eyes on your boss. “When do I leave?” You asked, already rising.

“Nick, she can't go in there with Isaacson alone,” Steve snapped, pushing the file away from him. His voice was rough and low, menacing, and it sent a chill up your spine.

“She certainly can,” Nick rebuffed. “Unless you want to go with her?”

Steve glared at Nick, so sharp it was practically lethal, but didn't say another word.

You felt like he stomped your heart beneath his boot, and were seized by the urge to fall at his feet and beg for a reason why he would do this to you. But instead, you flipped through the file, finding your orders in the back. “Flights at 2:30. I need to pack and get a blowout. I'll update when I land.” You tucked the file under your arm, blew Nick a kiss, and flitted back to the elevator, not sparing Steve a second glance.

He certainly wouldn't look back at you.

“How many is that this month?” You heard Bucky ask as the doors started to roll closed.

“15,” Fury answered, pride clear in his voice. “She's our most productive assassin to date.”

Steve's POV

“Don't give me that look, Rogers,” Fury droned, avoiding Steve's eye.

“She's not some goddamn chess piece you can just play however you want,” he bit, barely contained anger simmering underneath the surface. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep his mouth shut during that meeting, to not grab you around the middle and run for the fucking hills.

The thought of Isaacson, that slimy rat laying a hand on you—it made Steve's mind bleed red with rage. He knew you could handle him, knew you'd make quick, clean work of the kill, but the things you'd have to endure to get that perfect opportunity…

He couldn't bear it.

“Thats exactly what she is,” Fury said, snatching the file from in front of Steve. “It's what you all are.”

Bucky scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, and Steve rose from his chair, bracing his hands on the table to lean into Fury’s smug face.

“I'm done playing your fucking games. And if you think I won't take her and leave, then you don't know me very well,” he growled.

Bucky got to his feet, metallic arm flexing as tensions mounted.

“Oh, I know you, Cap. I know you'll do whatever you need to do, move wherever the fuck I want you to move, so she stays on the damn board. Right?”

Steve grit his teeth. “And when we leave, whose going to come after us? Him?” He gestured to Bucky. “Nat? Thor? Quill? Whose it gonna be?”

Fury narrowed his eye.

“Because here's the thing you've never understood. Without us, there is no fucking SHIELD. You broke us up so she'd be free to your dirty work right? Without my interference?”

Fury scoffed and went to back away, but Bucky was standing directly behind him, blocking any escape route.

“She likes it—”

“It's killing her.” Steve cut him off. “When's the last time she had a day off? A vacation? A job that wasn't too hard for another agent, but too low profile to send us? Hm? Call her fucking sunshine while your burying her alive.”

“Steve,” Bucky warned, and the table cracked beneath Steve's hands.

“It ends now. Either SHIELD takes care of her, or I do.” Steve pushed off the desk and stormed out of the room, taking the stairs to get to the control room faster.

Nat was already there. “She just got to her apartment. Steve, she's—”

“I want eyes on her 24/7, and a team waiting to deploy within twenty miles of Isaacson bunker,” he ordered.

A chorus of ‘yessir’s’ answered him, and he sunk down in the vacant swivel chair, steepling his fingers as he watched the entrance to your apartment building, a SHIELD van idling just outside.

“Cap, listen.” Nat leaned against the control panel beside him. “This has to end, before she fucks up.”

“I know—”

“No, you don't. At this level of burnout, one misstep and that's it.”

“I know!” He barked, and the surveillance workers all jumped. “I'm fixing this. I just need a little more time.”

“She might not have time.” Nat pushed off the panel. “It might not be this mission, but it could be the next one, or the next. Stop being a fucking coward and fix it before it's too late.” She stormed off, leaving Steve staring at the monitors, his heart in his throat.

He was going to fix this. He had to fix this, before he lost you for good.

You hurried out of your apartment, dressed in slacks and blouse, wrapped up in a leather trenchcoat. The driver jumped out to greet you and took your bag, and you slipped into the backseat.

He flipped the camera to the car feed, a wonky fisheye from the dashboard, and saw you check your mascara in the mirror, faint smudges of black under your eyes, your nose kissed pink.

You'd been crying.

“I'm gonna fix it, baby,” he muttered to himself, wishing you could hear him somehow. “I promise.”

Reader's POV

You took out Isaacson without any issues, just smiled and tried to ignore the way he groped your thighs, ogled your tits. He made it too easy to slit his throat.

And as soon as you returned, there was another assignment, and another, and another, until you didn't even bother going home anymore. Which was well enough for you. You didn't care to sleep in the bed Steve held you in, or the couch you'd watched his favorite black and white movies on. Didn't care to eat in the kitchen where you taught him to make your mother's signature recipe, or shower in the stall he'd washed your hair in when you were sick. It was better to stay away from all the little reminders that you didn't imagine the whole thing.

You pretended to love being busy, treated every mission like a birthday gift, and pushed forward. Until, you were assigned to work at the Winter Gala.

SHIELD hosted the annual event as an excuse for the team to rub elbows with politicians, diplomats, and executives. You'd be masquerading as a guest, of course, but in reality you were on intel duty, eavesdropping on conversations and flirting trade secrets out of the most powerful people in the world.

One of the few perks of still being anonymous to the world.

You were dreading it. A night filled with romantic music, dancing, and drinks, watching Steve schmooze with women twice as wealthy and twice as powerful as you? You'd rather choke on your own dagger. But you were determined to look fabulous, a young woman in her glittering prime, and maybe you'd feel something besides emptiness.

Tony had a gorgeous ball gown sent to your apartment that probably cost more than your annual salary, and you spent three hours on your hair and makeup for the occasion, mainly because you kept crying it off. But at the last minute you steeled yourself and carpooled with Nat to Stark Tower.

She wolf whistled as you climbed into the car, looking downright stunning herself. “I know I'm not supposed to comment, but that fossil is going to lose his fucking mind.” She chuckled, tearing off down the street.

“Lose his mind?” You snorted inelegantly. “I can barely get a ‘hello’ out of him.”

Nat looked at you sidelong, the expression sharpened by her eyeliner. “And why do you think that is, babe?”

You didn't dare comment, didn't dare think about it. You'd never get through the night if you clung to a razor thin thread of hope.

The party was in full swing when you arrived, and you came in separately from Nat to forgo any suspicion. With a glass of champagne in hand, you circled the party, trying to tune out your own thoughts so you could absorb all the conversations going on around you.

But the noise completely stopped when your eyes met Steve's across the room.

He was dressed in an immaculately tailored Navy blue suit, with a crisp white shirt and brown leather loafers. His hair was styled back from his face, his beard freshly trimmed, and he was staring at you like hunter through a scope.

“Y/n, sweetheart, come with me for a moment,” Tony appeared to your left, startling you out of your reverie. “There's someone I want you to meet.” He winked, and you flashed a toothy smile, even though you felt like screaming.

“Lead the way, Mr. Stark,” you cooed, for the benefit of anyone in earshot.

Tony led you away, but you could feel Steve's eyes burning a hole in your back, tracking you through the crowd.

“Alex, this is Lydia, the daughter of a colleague of mine. You both attended Stanford!” Tony lied through his teeth to a handsome, dark haired gentleman, and you picked it up without delay.

“Oh, of course! It's such a pleasure to finally meet you!” You gushed, sliding onto the stool beside the stranger. “Tell me, what was your favorite time of year on campus?” You brushed your fingers along his forearm, noting the model of the Rolex on his wrist, the designer of his suit.

“Fall, of course. Can't beat those colors,” Alex grinned, and you fawned like it was the most ground breaking thing you'd ever heard.

Tony left you to it, and twenty minutes later you were tucked into a booth with Alex, his arm slung over your shoulders, and his phone face up and unlocked right in front of you. Oblivious to the way you scanned every message that came through.

Alex leaned closer, his nose brushing the shell of your ear, and you had to swallow a shiver of revulsion. His hand came up to cup your cheek as you wracked you mind for a way out of this—

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Trevais, but I need to steal Lydia for a moment.” Nat appeared suddenly beside the table, looking smug, and Alex scowled.

“Right now? Really?” He argued.

“I'm afraid so.” Nat batted her lashes and Alex immediately caved.

“Fine, I'll see you later then?” He winked, alluding to the room key he slipped into your bag a few minutes prior.

“Perhaps.” You winked back, playing coy, and he grinned like a fool. “What's going on?” You hissed as Nat led you out of the party and down an dark, empty hall. "I was in the middle of something—"

“You'll see,” she whispered back, stopping at a door and doing a quick sweep before pulling it open and ushering you inside.

The door slammed shut behind you.

“Nat, what—”

The lights came on in the room, dim and golden to reveal the luxurious study you were standing in, all black leather and granite, shelves of books and expensive furniture.

But you barely registered any of that, because Steve Rogers was waiting for you by the window. Moonlight kissed his face, highlighting the flawless angles on his bone structure, and your mouth ran dry, your heart falling through the floor.

“Uh, is there a problem, Captain Rogers?” You asked, propping up the professional barrier despite the urge to launch yourself at him, the need to kiss him, or strangle him, pushing against the underside of your skin.

When he looked at up you, the air was sucked from the room. His eyes were stormy, fogged with sorrow, water collecting on his lower lashes.

“You really have turned espionage into an art form,” he chuckled, his voice thick with emotion. “Like you're having the time of your life.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded.

“But that's not true, is it? You're as miserable as I am.”

You shook your head. “I—I’m fine.”

He huffed a laugh, pushing off the window sill. “You put on a good act, honey. But I can tell when you're performing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, indignation flaring in your gut. “What do you want, Steve? You haven't spoken to me in months.”

He grimaced, a look of genuine pain crossing his face. “Y/n, I—”

“You disappeared for two weeks after dumping me out of the blue. You refuse to take missions within a hundred miles of me. You won't even train at the same time." You were yelling, unable to stop once you started. You'd kept it all bottled up for so long, there was no forcing it back now. "You've barely looked at me, Steve! It's like we never happened, like I made it all up in my head!”

“Because it was killing me!” He shouted back, and you flinched, tears pricking behind your eyes. You could count on one hand the amount of times Steve Rogers raised his voice, and it was never at you.

“You left me!” You yelled, your voice cracking at the edges.

“Because I had no choice! They gave me no choice.”

Your stomach dropped. “W-what?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to regain his composure. “Fury, SHIELD, they threatened to send you overseas if I didn't. To some desolate base in Russia.”

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. This couldn't be real. “Steve, that doesn't make sense—”

“You really think I would leave you like that? That I would just throw away what we had? I was trying—” his voice caught in his throat. “I thought I was protecting you. But they lied to me.”

You were shaking your head, backing away. You couldn’t take any more empty words, any more bullshit—

Steve rushed toward you, catching your face in his large hands before you could turn away. “Baby, listen to me,” he said, softening. “They wanted me out of the way so you would be more likely to do whatever they wanted. When we were together, we were working less, we were happier, we cared about something that wasn't SHIELD, and they couldn't stand it.”

“But Fury—”

“Is a manipulative fuck that took advantage of your broken heart.” You gasped at his language, usually reserved for sex or intense fighting. Steve lowered himself to his knees, his hands gripping the curve of your waist and shaking you. “I need you to believe me, honey. I'm begging you. I would never have done this if I knew the truth. I'm so sorry for hurting you, and I wish I could take it back. But I can't, all I can do is tell you the truth.”

“You didn't want to leave me?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course not.” He rested his forehead on your belly, drawing a shaky breath before looking up at you again, pleading with big, blue, watery eyes. “I-I love you. And I agreed because I was terrified to lose you completely but then I—I did anyways because I'm a fucking coward.”

You wiped a tear from his cheek with your thumb, the last of your trepidation falling away. “I love you too, Stevie,” you said, and he surged upwards, slamming his mouth to yours in a ruinous, bone-melting kiss.

He parted your lips with his tongue, possessing your mouth in a display of dominance you rarely saw from him. He licked along your teeth, groaning low in his throat as you dug your nails into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He tasted like black coffee and something sweet, like he'd hit the dessert table instead of the bar, and it made your heart flip.

God, you'd missed him.

Your lungs screamed for air, an affliction super soldiers didn't contend with, and you were forced to break the kiss to breathe.

“Cameras?” You panted, craning your head back as Steve planted wet, open-mouth kisses down your jugular.

“This is Fury's personal study. No cameras,” Steve mumbled against the peak of your shoulder, his hands all over you.

You scoffed. “Of course, because he can have priv—”

“Forget about him.” Steve captured your lips again, and you nipped at his lower lip for cutting you off. He backed you against the desk, breaking the kiss to toss you up onto it.

“Forgotten,” you replied, breathless as you looked into his eyes.

“I haven't told you how beautiful you look yet, have I?” He asked, leaning back a bit to take you in, your chest heaving against the deep plunge of your dress, lips kiss-stung and eyes bright.

You shook your head, tossing your hair over your shoulder with a smirk.

“I love this color on you,” he murmured, rubbing the hem of your dress between his thumb and index finger. And your makeup—”

“Steve.” You grabbed him by the lapel and tugged him closer, bringing his face down towards yours. A flare of arousal twinged between your legs, you loved when he let you manhandle him. “I know you're trying to be a gentleman and not fuck me without some proper flirting, but it's been months. I need you.”

Steve smiled, leaning forward to lay you back on the desk. “You don't need me, honey,” he hummed, kissing down your sternum while his hands moved your dress up your legs. He looked up at you when he settled between your thighs. “You've proven that you're a force all on your own. And that's okay, you don't have to need me, as long as you want me.”

You nibbled your lower lip, processing his words. He was right, you'd proven that you could live through heartbreak, that you didn't need him to carry on. And as much as it hurt, and as much as you missed him, there was something liberating in that knowledge.

“So, do you want me?” He asked, grazing his thumb over the gusset of your panties, maddeningly light.

“Yes, I want you,” you answered, threading your fingers through his blond hair and urging him forward.

He chuckled, smiling up at you, then pulled your panties to the side with his middle finger and flattened his tongue against your slit, licking a firm stripe up your pussy. Your head fell back onto the desk when he sucked your clit between his teeth, wasting no time in his pursuit of your pleasure.

Steve, for all his propriety and politeness, loved nothing more than feasting on your pussy. He was sloppy with it, rough and self-indulgent, as if making up for the decades he went without it. He often stayed until you were overstimulated and orgasmed-out, weakly trying to push his head from between your legs while he lapped up the mess you made for him.

“Missed you so damn much,” he mumbled against your pussy, eyes fluttering closed as he drove his tongue into your entrance.

“Missed you,” you whined, your hips bucking up into his mouth as he devoured you, lashing every one of your sweet spots with expert precision.

His hands tightened on your hips while he massaged your clit with his tongue, and even that fraction of his real strength was enough to leave a dull ache. The reminder of his true strength made your head spin, your mind empty. You may not need him, but there was something thrilling about being able let go while you were with him. Trusting that he would keep you safe and you could just be.

He licked one last stripe up your pussy before pulling back, kissing his way up your body. “Baby, I need you,” he mumbled, nosing into your neck. You could feel just how badly from the ridge beneath his trousers, his hips rocking slightly into yours. “Please, can I fuck you?” He asked, unlatching his belt with a flick of his wrist, and a shiver rolled up your spine at the desperation in his voice.

“You want to fuck me?” You repeated, toying with him. You reached between your bodies and pulled out his cock, thick and long and flushed, and pumped it once, twice, smearing precum down his shaft.

He moaned, hot and breathy against your skin. “I know I hurt you, and I still have to make up for that, but I just—fuck, I need to feel you. Please, please let me make you come on my cock.”

“Just start slow,” you cooed, petting his cheek when he lifted his head in excitement. “Been awhile since I took you.” You glided his cockhead through your folds, his breath hitching when you notched it at your drooling entrance.

Gently, he eased his hips forward, sliding in one inch, then another. "Shit, honey. Have a little mercy," he panted, his muscles bulging against the fabric of his shirt, tendons in his neck flexing.

You groaned, releasing his cock to grab hold of his shoulders, nails biting into his shirt at the stretch, bright and burning.

“Gotta relax, baby. Let me in.” He gently guided you thigh up and around his waist, squeezing the fat of your haunch in reassurance. He moved a little deeper, and you both gasped when your walls clenched around him. “So goddamn tight,” he rasped, drawing his hips back a bit, assuaging some of the discomfort before easing back inside, coaxing your muscles to loosen for him.

“Fuck, Steve,” you panted when he pushed a little deeper, your eyes rolling back in your head when he grazed your g-spot.

“Almost there, doll. You can do it,” he encouraged, reaching up to hold your face. He caught your gaze, smiling a little when your eyes struggled to stay focused, lashes fluttering. “Starting to feel good?”

You nodded, pleasure spilling through you as your body accepted him inch by inch, until finally, you felt his pelvis press against yours.

“There we go,” he purred, leaning down to kiss your forehead, your cheek, giving you a few more seconds to adjust. “Good girl, takin’ all that cock.”

He ground into you, stifling a fractured moan against your shoulder when your pussy made an obscene squelching sound, dripping wet for him. You were on another planet, tingling head to toe as waves of pleasure crested. Every beat of your heart had you clenching around him, full to splitting, and you wanted more.

“Please, baby, need more,” you whined, trying to rock your hips against his, but he was too heavy for you to do much.

He braced his hands on either side of your head, sweeping his eyes down your body as you squirmed beneath him. He chuckled, the sound low and almost malicious. “Need more?"

He drew his hips back and delivered a punishing thrust, two, three, five, until you were all but screaming, unable to do anything but lay there and take everything he gave you.

"How's that for more?" He asked, his cock brutalizing your cervix and stretching you beyond your limits, molding your pussy to the shape of his cock. Ruining you with a fervor that made your head spin.

Your peak was rapidly approaching, winding tighter and tighter with every thrust until you were half-mad with desperation, clawing at his forearms by your head and leaving pink, raised lines across his flesh.

“Gonna come for me, baby? God, I missed this little pussy—feels so good,” he grated, bringing one of his hands down to circle to your clit, firm and deliberate. Exactly what he knew you needed. “That's my good girl. C'mon, I’m right there with you—” Another thrust and he sent you both flying over the edge, sparks exploding behind your eyes as the orgasm ravaged your body, flaying you open.

You grabbed onto his arm, desperate for something to ground you as you soared, his hips still thrusting erratically as he pumped you full of his release.

Crack!

The desk suddenly tilted beneath you and Steve whisked you up into his arms, still buried inside you. You clung to him in shock as the desk collapsed to floor, sending all of Fury's belongings scattered across the carpet.

"Are you alright?" He asked, searching your face.

You nodded, easing your grip on him.

Steve adjusted you, lifting and lowering you onto his cock, and you gasped, still sensitive from the lingering orgasm, and mildly shocked by his lack of reaction to what you'd just done.

“Steve, we—”

“We did,” he hummed, kissing along your neck as he caught his breath, lazily working you over his length to wallow in the last dregs of pleasure. “And if he has a problem, he can take it up with me.”

“I think he's going to have a problem,” you snickered, and Steve smiled.

“And I'll deal with it.” He eased himself out of you and set you on your feet, straightening your panties and pressing a tender kiss to your lips. You felt like you were floating in a dream, in disbelief that you had your Steve back, that he never really was gone in the first place.

“How are you going to deal with it?” You asked after righting your dress and he had tucked himself back into his trousers.

Steve pulled you back into his arms, like even that moment of separation was more than he could bear. “Depends on how much of a problem he has,” he replied, smirking. “I told you, forget about him. I'll handle it for us.”

Us. Your knees went a little weak at the word. “Yes, Captain,” you replied rising on your toes to kiss his cheek.

Thank you so much for reading!

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[lover-of-mine]

Okay, welcome to Anna writes a framing meta for the first time in who knows how long. This got long as hell, so strap in.

Okay, first up, first buddie scene of the episode, the locker room, at no point you can see both of their faces clearly at the same time, either one of the faces is out of focus or they have their backs to the camera (tiny images for me to stay within the image limit, but you should be able to zoom in).

And if we get a wide shot, they have something separating them in the frame.

The not allowing the camera to focus on both of them really works to highlight how they're not seeing eye to eye, and helps the scene feel awkward because they are obscuring their real feelings, Buck doesn't Eddie to move and Eddie doesn't want to move, but they are both trying to act excited about it. And the physical divider between them highlights the way the move is getting between them. Literally. The show did this the other 2 times they fought. If something really is getting between them, we end up getting a physical display of it.

And before you get all "oh but the show is not that deep" on me.

Okay, moving on, something very interesting that I've seem a bunch of people point out is this shot specifically, they are very close, some would say within kissing distance *wink*, but the glass is between them, but the lafd logo is only obscuring Buck's face.

Since the logo is backward when we look at if from inside the locker room, it almost makes it seem like the only thing stopping them is Eddie not being in LA with Buck.

At the house showing, there's always a few steps between them, at least, but the way Buck starts the sabotage by peaking over Eddie's shoulder, to fully stepping in front of him to the point that the camera stops focusing on Eddie is the fun part here for me.

Because that's when Buck fully takes over, the meth lab story is the most intentional part of the sabotage, at least in my opinion, and the way Buck takes over when he sees someone he thought would actually go for it, the little "man, I thought we had her" before Eddie calls him out gives that impression, it really shows the way Buck escalates inside his own feelings. It also highlights the way the scene is in Buck's pov. It's pretty obvious when we consider the way we see Buck talking to the potential renters alone, but we only hear Eddie talking to them alone.

Not really relevant here but love that Buck is the only person we ever saw in that back door. New angle of the Diaz kitchen too.

Love that painting of waves behind Buck, both for the symbolism of the way this is about to crash into him and his relationship with water and life-changing stuff, the tsunami, the well, the lightning, y'all know what I mean.

Okay, before I move on I need to take a detour to fully explain why these next two scenes had me going fucking insane.

Oliver is a pretty big guy, right? He's the tallest main, he is built like a fridge, he is a person who will usually be the biggest person in the room. That ends up giving Buck the power. So when Buck is emotionally distressed, they usually exaggerate that. Like when he is yelling at his parents and everyone is sitting down but him, or when he's standing up when telling everyone about Daniel, when he's sitting on the stairs talking to Maddie about being the one who's always left behind, or how they gave Buck the literal high ground when he's waiting for Taylor so they can breakup.

There's also the way that Buck likes to sit on top of stuff that will make him taller, the counter, the top the firetruck.

They play with that a lot, Maddie conversations when she's actually getting through to him tend to have both of them sitting down, since Jennifer is that much smaller, or talks with Bobby have them both standing up since Peter is the closest in height to Oliver.

But since Oliver is really tall, Buck doesn't look up at people a lot. It usually happens with love interests in emotionally heavy scenes that, like the breakup with Ali, when he tells Taylor he cheated, the breakup with Tommy. There are a few scenes with Bobby and Maddie.

And then there's Eddie.

The gym scene and the 204 scene, well, 201 Buck is about to get up and puff out his chest, try to look as big as possible, so it doesn't count in this, and 204 is being there for Eddie, but the rest he's looking for guidance. Something I used to talk about a lot is that Buck's admiration of Eddie clouds his judgment, it forces him to this space of following Eddie's lead, it put him in a position where he was literally looking up at Eddie when he needs reassurance or validation. Which is not really good for healthy relationship, it would make Buck bend to what Eddie thinks it's best and that's not good in the long run in a romantic relationship. The conversations they had about Buck's feelings, they were on different levels in the frame, and Eddie was always higher, and Buck is putting Eddie in a space where he needs reassure him. Funny enough, if they are talking about Eddie's feelings, they are usually both sitting down, so they are equalized there.

They broke that pattern with the coming out scene. In fact they broke it so hard they have Eddie looking up at Buck while wanting Buck to reassure him that hes not being unreasonable and he can hide in the loft.

But they are both sitting down for the part of the conversation that is about Buck, and Buck needs reassurance from Eddie there, but he is not looking at Eddie for guidance, he’s looking at Eddie for acceptance. And he would only get that if they were on the same level. So monumental moment. (read more about my freakout about the coming out scene here)

Now that we are all caught up, the station scenes, they're unleveled again.

In fact, Buck is so low he's on the fucking floor. But he's not looking up because he needs guidance or reassurance or because he thinks Eddie has the answers, he's on the floor because he's about to throw a low blow. He's being unfair and he knows it.

It is about Eddie having power over Buck, but it is also about how at that moment Buck doesn't want to accept that, he wants to land a punch that's gonna put Eddie on the floor with him.

He doesn't start the first scene on the floor, but he is on the floor once he tells everyone about the move.

And he is sitting on the floor when he says the "I don't need you either" so he is physically as low as he can be as he goes for the hit that's gonna hurt Eddie as much as he's hurting.

That had me SALIVATING. Buddie will never work if they keep assuming they can read each other's minds, it is why I was so adamant about the need of another divorce era, why that's the core of half the fics I write, they need to talk when they are hurting. And this was messy, they're being intentionally hurtfull but it all ends up equalizing in the biggest show of how they have the it's you and me vs the problem not you vs me down to an art if you just let them talk.

But moving on, at the end, when he realizes that he is succeeding in hurting Eddie but it's not gonna make feel any better, they're on the same level.

Side note, they tend to be on the same level when they are talking about them. (Yes, I'm counting the cemetery scene, this convoluted breakup that went nowhere is about their relationship, I don't care).

And that obviously leads up to the final buddie scene of the episode.

Just to get this out of the way, they are positioned the same way they were when Eddie tells Buck to leave the showing, but from the other side, because now we're on Eddie's pov.

The giveaways from that for me is the fact that the house is back to the usual warm lighting, and we are learning the information with Eddie, in contrast to the cold lighting and the way we learn the information with Buck in 808.

So our running joke to put a light on Buck if we ever got a scene from Eddie's pov? Yeah.

The 2 lamps almost give Buck a glowy aura.

Anyway, the thing with this scene is the way there's a lot of space between them at first, at some point Eddie is even holding onto the door and Buck even starts adding more space, the couch between them is a nice touch too.

And Eddie keeps his distance while they're fighting, up until when the crew arives and he steps back closer to Buck. It's not really necessary, they could walk around him the same way Buck did to get in the house.

Through the whole thing, Buck is in the same place he in the center of the room.

And then Eddie is the one to close the space, because even when Eddie is going in for the hug, Buck is not moving. Eddie has full control of the movement with them even though he was the only one who didn't have the full information.

And it's fun because there are 2 other scenes like that, where one of them is stationary and the other is doing all the movement, but while here Buck is letting Eddie make the choice to come to him, the other one Buck is forcing Eddie to let him in. Coincidentally (read absolutely intentionally), it's the other times they are clearing the air, 306 talk at the station and 309 kitchen talk. In both scenes Eddie is in a spot and Buck is doing all the moving closer.

And I think that indicates a lot of the way their relationship grew since s3, it's almost exemplifying the way Buck knows he doesn't need to force his way in anymore, that that door is already open and he can let Eddie come to him.

Well, I guess he already did in season 5 breaking the door down, but like Eddie says, Buck doesn't to break the door down, he wants to let Eddie open it. If he lets Eddie know he's there, Eddie will make the choice to let him in. And it is what happened. Eddie was upset because he thought he couldn't count on Buck and not being able to count on him always get Eddie off balance, it's why Buck fully disarms him telling him about renting the house, he was ready for anger but Buck just reminded him that he's got him. And I think that's beautiful.

This adds nothing to nothing but I need to say that "if you need to be pissed off at me to make it easier for you then be pissed off" most romantic thing I've ever seen. "Be mad at me if you have to, but stop faking it", you don't need to pretend with me on crack, had me screaming crying throwing up.

Some random things to point out, with the 2 fist bumps and the hug this is the episode they touched intentionally and without of them being mortal danger the most.

Also, the last scene has the same color pallete of the coming out scene.

In the still, the blue of Buck's jacket looked a bit too light, but when I put them side by side, that's Buck's blue. But the fit is a bit too big and the black shirt and the black color offset that. There's also the way that in 809 both of them are in the warm background. The yellow elements aren't that intense, but Buck mismatching is making me 👀 because while Buck is pulling the ultimate grand gesture as a clinger can do by doing that thing that will allow Eddie to leave him, I don't think living in that house alone is going to be easy for Buck. And Eddie stays in the warm background with a black shirt. So yeah, that's fun. Buck is in his color but in the wrong fit, Eddie is just no color at all yet but it keeps looming behind him.

This is long as fuck already and I just hit the image limit so I will shut up now, but I'll be back at some point about colors. As always, if you read this I love you.

[pedroscowgirl]

The Lie Detector Test

Hugh jackman x reader!actress

Warnings!!!: minors dni!!

mentions of: daddy issues , age gap (reader is in their 20s), smut (duh), oral!receiving, p in v, creampie (wrap it up), semi-public sex?, pet names (baby,princess), fluff at the end and lots of romantic kisses

lmk if i missed some!!

Words: 4.3K (i went a little crazy cuz I'm so down bad for this man omg)

A/N: This is the first time in years that I've written a fanfiction so pls be kind 🙈

You had just finished filming the latest blockbuster, and the studio had arranged a promotional event to build hype for the movie. The concept was unique and promised to be a hit: a lie detector test featuring you and Hugh Jackman, your co-star. The aim was to show a fun and candid side of both of you, offering fans an intimate glimpse into your personalities.

You remembered your first day on set with Hugh vividly. It was a sunny morning, and you were a bundle of nerves, excited and anxious about working with such a celebrated actor. Hugh had approached you with his trademark warmth, extending a hand and offering a reassuring smile.

“Hi, I’m Hugh. It’s great to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about your work,” he said, his voice carrying a genuine note of friendliness.

You shook his hand, grateful for his easygoing nature. “I’m thrilled to be working with you, Hugh. I’ve been a fan for a long time.”

From that moment on, your chemistry on set was undeniable. Hugh’s professionalism and charm made every scene enjoyable, and your natural rapport translated effortlessly on screen. Between takes, you found yourselves sharing stories and jokes, the lines between your characters and real life blurring as you formed a close friendship. But behind your confident exterior, you felt a tug of nerves whenever he was near. Hugh Jackman wasn't just any actor; he was the embodiment of the older, charismatic figures you'd found attractive for as long as you could remember.

You had always known you had some form of daddy issues. Growing up with an emotionally absent father, you had a tendency to be drawn to older, authoritative figures. Hugh fit that mold perfectly, and being around him made you acutely aware of your attraction to him. His deep voice, his kind eyes, the way he carried himself with such ease...it all made your heart race.

Fast forward to the day of the lie detector test, the studio was buzzing with excitement. The set was designed to look sleek and modern, with a large, imposing lie detector machine at the center. Cameras were positioned to capture every angle, ensuring that no reaction or subtle expression would be missed by the audience.

You took your seat across from Hugh, who was already connected to the machine by Lou, the lie detector specialist. The studio lights reflected off his charismatic smile as he settled in, ready for the challenge.

“Ready for this, Hugh?” you asked, trying to hide your amusement and the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Just go easy on me, alright?”

You picked up the first question card, the icebreaker questions designed to set a light-hearted tone. You both took turns answering questions about your favorite movies, childhood memories, and behind-the-scenes antics from the movie set. The atmosphere was relaxed, filled with laughter and playful teasing, showcasing the easy relationship that had developed between you two.

Then, feeling a mischievous urge, you decided to go off-script.

“Okay, Hugh,” you said, leaning forward with a twinkle of mischief in your eyes. “How do you feel about people on the internet calling you ‘daddy’ or 'father'?”

Hugh raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the unexpected question. He took a moment to think before answering, “Well, I do have kids., so technically , I am a father.”

You tilted your head and smirked, not letting him off the hook that easily. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Hugh chuckled, a deep, genuine laugh that filled the room. “Well, I don’t mind i guess” he admitted, glancing at Lou for confirmation.

Lou looked at the lie detector’s readings and nodded. “Truthful,” he confirmed.

“Good to know,” you said with a playful wink. “That was actually not a question on the cards. I just wanted to give the people with daddy issues what they want. You're so welcome.”

Hugh laughed again, biting his lip as he looked at you with a newfound appreciation. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You felt a thrill at the way he was looking at you, the playful banter taking a more intimate turn. “Just keeping things interesting,” you replied, your voice softening. Your heart pounded harder, realizing just how much he affected you. You could feel your palms sweating and hoped he wouldn't notice the slight tremor in your hands as you reached for the next question card.

The rest of the session continued in a similar vein, with flirtatious comments and lingering glances exchanged between questions. Each time Hugh's gaze lingered on you a bit longer, your heart raced a little faster. You tried to focus on the questions, but your mind kept drifting to the way he looked at you, the way his voice seemed to wrap around you like a warm blanket.

----------------------------------------------------

As the interview came to an end, you both stood up, removing your microphones. The studio crew began to pack up, the hustle and bustle of the set slowly fading into the background. Hugh caught your eye and gave you a small, knowing smile.

“Hey, why don’t we head to the dressing room? We can talk more privately there,” he suggested, his voice carrying a hint of something more.

You nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. “Sure, sounds good.”

You both made your way through the winding corridors of the studio, your footsteps echoing in the quiet halls. As you approached the dressing rooms, the anticipation grew, every glance exchanged between you filled with unspoken tension.

Hugh opened the door to his dressing room, allowing you to step inside first. The room was cozy, with comfortable chairs and a small table with snacks and drinks. You took a seat, trying to calm your racing heart as Hugh closed the door behind him, shutting out the world outside.

He turned to you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “You were great today,” he said, his voice low and sincere. He walked over to the small table and picked up a bottle of water, offering it to you. “Here, have some water. You’ve earned it.”

You accepted the bottle gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. The cool water was refreshing, helping to steady your nerves. Hugh sat down across from you, his gaze never wavering.

“You know,” he said, his tone turning playful, “I think you might be even more captivating off-screen than on. It’s quite a talent.”

You choked on your water, caught off guard by his flirtatious comment. Coughing slightly, you set the bottle down and tried to regain your composure. “Thanks, Hugh,” you managed to say, your cheeks flushing. “That means a lot coming from you.”

Hugh chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m glad to hear it. I was hoping I wasn’t being too forward.” He paused, letting his eyes sweep over your outfit. “That dress, by the way, is incredibly sexy. It’s been hard to concentrate all day.”

Your pulse quickened at his words, the compliment sending a rush of heat through you. “I—thank you,” you stammered, feeling your cheeks grow warmer. The tension between you crackled like electricity, the air thick with unspoken desire.

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense and unwavering. “You really do look stunning,” he murmured, his voice low and husky with that sexy australian accent. “I’ve been wanting to tell you all day.”

You felt a thrill at his words, your heart pounding in your chest. The way he looked at you, the sincerity in his voice, made it hard to breathe. “You’re not too bad yourself, Hugh,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Hugh smiled, a slow, seductive curve of his lips that made your stomach flip. “I’m glad you think so,” he said, his voice a soft rumble. “Because I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

The way he looked at you, the intensity of his gaze, made your breath catch. You could feel the tension building between you, the unspoken attraction simmering just below the surface. His hand moved from your hair to your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt yourself leaning into his touch.

"Hugh," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

He didn't reply, but his eyes said everything. He was as caught up in this moment as you were. His other hand came up to cup your face, holding you gently but firmly. You could feel his breath against your lips, warm and inviting. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this moment.

His lips hovered just inches from yours, the anticipation almost too much to bear. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the magnetic pull drawing you closer. His eyes flicked to your lips and back to your eyes, seeking permission, waiting for a sign.

You gave the slightest nod, a silent invitation. That was all he needed.

Slowly, as if savoring every second, he closed the distance between you. His lips met yours in a soft, tentative kiss, testing the waters. The contact was gentle, almost feather-light, but it sent a wave of heat through your body. Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

The kiss deepened, growing more confident and demanding. His lips moved against yours with a perfect blend of passion and tenderness, igniting a fire within you. You responded eagerly, your body pressing closer to his, craving more of his touch.

His hands slid from your face to your waist, pulling you closer still. You could feel the strength in his grip, the possessive way he held you making your pulse quicken. The kiss was everything you had imagined and more, filled with unspoken promises and undeniable chemistry.

When he pulled you closer, you could feel his bulge pressing against you, the sensation igniting a fire deep within. A rush of heat surged through your body, making you aware of how much you craved him. Every nerve seemed to tingle with anticipation, and the space between you crackled with unspoken desire.

His hands roamed your back, pulling you even closer as his lips captured yours in a heated kiss. The intensity of it made your knees weak, and you pressed yourself against him, desperate for more. You could feel the evidence of his arousal, hard and demanding against your stomach, and it only fueled your longing. A soft moan escaped your lips, and you couldn’t resist the urge to touch him, to feel every part of him.

Your breath quickened, each inhale filled with the intoxicating scent of him. Your hands moved with a mind of their own, sliding down his chest, over the taut muscles, until they reached his belt. Your fingers fumbled in your eagerness, trembling with the intensity of your desire. The thought of what was to come made your heart race, and you could feel the slickness between your thighs, a testament to how badly you needed him.

Just as you began to loosen his belt, Hugh’s hand covered yours, halting your movements. His grip was firm yet gentle, and the dominance in his touch made you shiver. He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged.

“Nu uh, not yet, babygirl,” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper that sent a delicious shiver down your spine. His eyes bore into yours, dark with desire and filled with a fierce determination that made your pulse quicken even more. “I want to please you first.”

The promise in his words made your heart skip a beat, and the anticipation of what he was about to do was almost too much to bear. Your breath caught in your throat, and you let out a soft whimper, the need inside you growing more insistent.

His other hand slid down your body, fingers tracing the curves of your waist and hips, igniting a trail of fire on your skin. His touch was both soothing and electrifying, and you arched into him, silently begging for more. The way he looked at you, with such intensity and focus, made you feel like the center of his world.

“Hugh, please,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breathless plea.

He smiled, a slow, seductive curve of his lips that made your stomach flip. “Patience, sweetheart,” he whispered back, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I want to savor every moment.”

Hugh's hands were firm but gentle as he gripped your thighs, lifting you with an effortless strength that made your breath hitch. He set you down on his desk, the cool surface contrasting with the heat radiating from your skin. The room felt charged, every second stretching out as his intense gaze bore into you. Your heart raced, anticipation and desire coiling in your belly. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Can I take a look at your panties and take them off?" he asked, his voice husky and dripping with intent.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you bit your lip, your body responding to his every word. You nodded, eyes wide and lips parted, but he wasn't satisfied with your silent answer. "I need words, baby," he murmured, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. His eyes held a command that you couldn't ignore. "Yes," you finally breathed, voice barely above a whisper. "I want you to take them off, please."

A slow smile spread across his face, sending a thrill through you. He slid his hands under your dress, fingers brushing against your thighs as he lifted you slightly. With deliberate, teasing movements, he peeled your black lace panties down your legs, letting them pool around your ankles. The air felt electric, every touch sending sparks along your skin. His eyes roamed over your now-bare form, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

"Did you plan for this to happen?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful challenge. The question made your cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. You met his gaze, a shy smile tugging at your lips. "No," you admitted, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. "My granny underwear is in the washing machine." The confession hung in the air, vulnerable and oddly intimate.

Hugh's grin widened, his eyes darkening with amusement and desire. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "I think I prefer the lace," he murmured, his voice sending a shiver through you. The tension between you was unbearable, an unspoken promise of what was to come.

He knelt before you, his eyes dark with hunger and intent. The anticipation made your breath quicken as he placed his strong hands on your thighs, gently parting them and lifting them onto his broad shoulders. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through your body, and you couldn't tear your eyes away from his, filled with a confident, almost predatory desire. He paused for a moment, giving you a sexy look that sent shivers down your spine, before dipping his head between your legs.

The first touch of his mouth against you was like nothing you'd ever felt. You gasped, your body arching towards him as his warm breath and skillful tongue explored your most sensitive spots. He started slowly, teasing you with soft strokes, his lips and tongue moving with practiced expertise. The sensation was incredible, each flick and swirl driving you wild. When he began to suck on your clit, a moan escaped your lips, the pleasure so intense it felt like fire coursing through your veins.

You'd never been with an older man before, and the thrill of his experience, his confidence, heightened every sensation. His touch was commanding yet tender, a perfect balance that made you melt under his ministrations. His tongue moved in amazing patterns, drawing you closer to the edge with every motion. The excitement of this new experience mixed with the raw pleasure, making your moans louder and more frequent.

Then, without warning, he slipped two fingers inside you. They filled you perfectly, curling just right to hit that sweet spot. The sudden intrusion made you gasp and clutch at his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands. As you tugged, a deep, primal groan rumbled from his chest, the sound vibrating against you. The sensation was intoxicating, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

His fingers worked in rhythm with his tongue, and you felt a building pressure, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter. The combination of his skilled mouth and the fullness of his fingers was overwhelming, pushing you towards the brink. You could feel his own enjoyment in the way he groaned against you, his voice low and resonant, spurring you on. Every touch, every movement, felt deliberate and precise, as if he knew exactly what you needed, where to touch to make you come undone.

As the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, you couldn't hold back. Your hips bucked against his mouth, your hands gripping his hair even tighter. His fingers and tongue moving faster, more insistent. The feel of his mouth and hands on you, sent you over the edge. Your body tensed, and then you shattered, waves of ecstasy crashing over you. The release was overwhelming, leaving you breathless and trembling. He continued to pleasure you through it all, his touch gentle but unrelenting, until you were spent and utterly satisfied.

As you came down from the high, your breaths ragged, he finally lifted his head. His eyes met yours, dark and satisfied, a smug smile playing on his lips. The sight of him, lips glistening with your pleasure, sent a final shiver down your spine.

You were still catching your breath, your body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure, when Hugh pulled back and licked his lips, savoring the taste of you. His eyes darkened with desire as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, searing kiss. The sensation was intoxicating; you could taste yourself on his tongue, a delicious reminder of the intimacy you'd just shared. His fingers trailed back to your core, seeking to reignite the fire, but you pulled away, breaking the kiss with a gasp.

"Please, Hugh," you panted, your voice laced with desperation. "I'm begging you, I need to feel you inside me right now, or I'm going to go crazy." The urgency in your voice was undeniable,your body aching with unfulfilled desire.

He chuckled softly, the sound a dark, velvety caress that made your skin tingle. "Oh, my poor princess can't wait to have Daddy inside her," he teased, his words dripping with amusement and lust. The nickname sent a shiver down your spine, making you bite your lip. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he watched your reaction, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

"Oh, so you really like being called Daddy, huh?" you purred, a teasing edge to your voice. "Well, I can arrange that for you." Your words were a playful challenge, a promise of more to come.

Hugh's lips curled into a wicked smile, and he pulled you into another heated kiss, his mouth claiming yours with a possessive intensity. As he kissed you, his hands deftly moved to unbuckle his belt. The metallic clink of the buckle and the rustle of fabric sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. You watched with bated breath as he stripped off his pants and shirt, revealing the chiseled muscles beneath. When your eyes fell on his impressive length, a gasp escaped your lips, louder than you'd intended. The sight of him, so big and ready, made your heart race and your core throb with need.

Hugh noticed your reaction and smirked, a dark, knowing look in his eyes. "It's okay, baby," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "We'll take our time." He reached out, his fingers gently caressing your cheek, the touch tender in contrast to the raw passion between you.

As he stood before you, your eyes roamed over his body, drinking in the sight of his defined abs and broad, muscular chest. You couldn't help but stare at how well-built he was. "God, Hugh," you breathed, your voice filled with awe. "You're so sexy. I can't believe how ripped you are for your age." Your hand traced the lines of his muscles, feeling the hard planes of his torso. "These abs, this body... it's incredible." You looked up at him, biting your lip, the admiration in your eyes unmistakable.

He laughed and positioned himself between your legs, his hands sliding under your thighs to pull you closer. You felt his tip graze your entrance, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through you. You couldn't help but moan, your body arching towards him, craving more. He paused, his eyes searching yours with a mix of concern and desire. "You okay?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

"Yes," you breathed, barely able to form words. "Keep going, please." Your voice was laced with anticipation and desperation, the need for him overwhelming.

With a slow, deliberate thrust, Hugh began to push inside you. The stretch was intense, a delicious mix of pleasure and pain as he filled you inch by inch. Your nails dug into his biceps, your fingers curling around the hard muscle as you adjusted to his size. "Oh my god, Hugh," you moaned, your voice breathless. "Fuck, you're so big."

A wicked grin spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Call me Daddy, baby," he murmured, his voice a deep, commanding growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Daddy," you whimpered, the word slipping from your lips like a plea. The sound seemed to fuel him, his hips snapping forward, burying himself fully inside you. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect mix of pleasure and fullness that left you gasping.

As Hugh began to thrust in and out, setting a rhythm that drove you wild, the intensity of the moment heightened. The pleasure was almost too much, your back arching, head tilting back. Hugh noticed, concern flickering in his eyes. He reached up, cradling the back of your head with one strong hand, his touch gentle and protective. "Easy, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Don't want you hurting yourself against the wall." The tender gesture made your heart flutter even as your body surged with lust.

He continued to move, each thrust deep and deliberate, his eyes locked onto yours. The connection between you was electric, every movement synchronized, every breath shared. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he set a slow, torturous rhythm. The pleasure built with each stroke, an intoxicating crescendo that left you breathless and begging for more.

Hugh's thumb found your clit, and he began to rub tight, precise circles, sending jolts of pleasure through your already overwhelmed body. Your breath hitched, the sensation pushing you closer to the edge. His name fell from your lips in a breathless chant, a plea and a prayer. He picked up the pace, each thrust harder, more demanding, driving you wild with need.

"Come for me, princess," he urged, his voice rough with desire. "I want to feel you come around me."

The combination of his deep, commanding voice and the skillful movements of his fingers and hips was too much. You felt the tension in your body coil tighter and tighter, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. With a final, powerful thrust, you shattered, your body convulsing around him as the orgasm tore through you. You cried out, the pleasure so intense it left you shaking.

Hugh groaned, the sound low and primal, as he felt you tighten around him. His movements became erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as he chased his own release. With a deep moan, he followed you over the edge, his release hot and deep inside you. The sensation sent a final wave of pleasure through your body, leaving you breathless.

As the aftershocks of your orgasms faded, Hugh leaned down and kissed you softly, his lips gentle and tender. The touch was a sweet contrast to the raw, passionate encounter you'd just shared. His hands caressed your skin, soothing you as you both came down from the high, the connection between you lingering in the air.

The room was silent except for your labored breaths, the intensity of the moment leaving you both in awe. Hugh pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. The warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart, and the soft whispers of comfort and affection made you feel cherished and adored. It was more than just a physical connection; it was a moment of pure, unadulterated intimacy that left you both craving more.

Just as you were catching your breath, a loud knock echoed from the door, making you both jump. You barely had time to react before you heard Ryan's voice, muffled but clear. "Hey, guys, next time be more subtle, okay?" His tone was teasing, but there was no mistaking the hint of amusement. You blushed furiously, burying your face in Hugh's chest as he chuckled softly, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Noted," Hugh called back, his voice laced with humor. He looked down at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Guess we'll have to be quieter next time, huh, princess?" He stroked your cheek tenderly, his expression softening. The playful moment broke the tension, leaving you both laughing softly, the bond between you stronger than ever.

[remlionheart]

NSFW Alphabet: Osamu Dazai Edition ♡

♡༊·˚ mdni. ((dedicating this to my pretty gf @bratbby333 since she's the dazai to my chuuya and some of these situations were in inspired by our unhinged 5 hour long facetimes calls, *cough cough* "blood-chilling" *cough cough* ♡)) this was honestly so much fun to write. dazai would be SUCH a diva in a relationship but he would also be so loving and protective ugh. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ♡༊·˚

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Dazai's almost always the first one out of bed after the fact. He already has a shower running for when he comes back into the room to hand you a towel and a glass of water. You tell him that your legs are too tired to walk all the way to the bathroom so he scoops you up into his arms. The two of you laugh as he carries you into the steam-filled room. He lets you get under the water first, squirting a generous amount of shampoo into his palm as he instructs you to turn around. "Suppose your hands are too tired to wash your hair, hm?" You bite back a smile, giving him a pitiful nod in response. "My poor girl." He hums. His long fingers massaging into your scalp feel like heaven. He leaves light kisses along your shoulder, running a washcloth over your body while whispering sweet little nothings like "How'd I get so lucky?" into your skin as he cleans you off. It's hard to believe this was the same man who was making you beg on your knees for him just twenty minutes ago.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Aside from his body's infuriating aversion to death, there aren't a whole lot of things that Dazai doesn't like about his appearance. Aesthetically speaking, he finds himself fairly attractive so it's hard to narrow down one thing he likes best. If he had to though, he'd probably go with his hands. He's always gotten compliments on them, but after seeing what strong reactions they're able to coax out of you so easily, he's realized they're one of his most valuable assets. As cliche as it may be, your eyes are his favorite feature. He finds it adorable how they always tell him what he needs to know without you ever having to say a word. They tell him when you want more, when you want less, when you're about to hit your breaking point. They guide him in the right direction every single time. Plus, they're just so fucking pretty to look at.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

The only thing more blissful to Dazai than hearing or seeing your orgasm is tasting it. His head is buried between your legs, his fingers pumping in and out of you deliriously as your thighs start to lock around him. You're spasming for him again, your voice breaking as you call out his name and your hips buck up towards him. "Dazai, I can't -" You whine. "'m so... sensitive -" "C'mon baby, please." he groans, "Just one more f’me." his tongue swirls against you with fervor, his digits still greedily plummeting into you. "Lemme taste it, lemme feel it. You’re sooo close." His fingers curl at just the right angle, his tongue faithfully lapping against you as you finally fall apart for him. He moans at the sweetness that spills down his chin. "You taste like fucking ecstasy, you know that?"

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It's not necessarily a secret because in his defense, if you were to bring it up or ask him about it, he'd tell you the truth. But Dazai can't help it that you've never inquired about his exes and he's certainly not going to offer up the fact that he knows every single person you've ever been with going all the way back to the boy you kissed on the playground when you were 4 years old. Or that he just so happens to know all of their current addresses and their moms’ maiden names and where they work and their social security numbers. I mean, does it even really matter anyway?? He just got a little curious, that’s all!!

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Dazai had been with his fair share of partners before meeting you. Sex wasn't something he was ever shy about. He did a lot of experimenting, especially when he was spending the majority of his time drinking. He's always felt comfortable in his body and never saw the big deal about sharing it with someone. It wasn't until the two of you started dating that he realized just how binding sex could be. That it could transcend well beyond the simplicity of skin against skin contact. Being inside of you was the closest thing he'd ever felt to a religious experience. It felt like coming home after a long day. No matter how many hookups he'd had in the past, there was nothing that could've prepared him for how good you'd feel.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes any position that allows him to see your face. His favorite is probably fucking you from the side though, both of you facing each other with his arm hooked under your thigh, letting him go as deep as he pleases. He gets lost in the way your pupils dilate when he plunges into you. The security of your arms wrapped around his neck as you whimper and wriggle against him. There's something so intimate about watching you come undone from this view. Feeling you drench him while he kisses you over and over. "Let it out, baby. I've got you. Doin' so good - fuck, baby you're doin' so good f'me."

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

As passionate as Dazai is when it comes to being inside of you, he's still able to find a level of a humor in just about anything. He's a Gemini, after all. If he's too serious for too long, he'll simply die. You're on top of him with your hands tangled into his for balance as you grind against him. Your hips are rocking back and forth at a pace that's making his breathing uneven. You feel proud, thinking his reaction is a sign of you doing a good job until you watch his head roll to the side, a stupid smile suddenly visible as he tries to bury his face into the pillow. You quickly realize it's not a moan that he's holding back, but a laugh. Your movements come to an abrupt pause. "Dazai." He tries his best to keep it together, but the scolding tone in your voice coupled with the stern look you're shooting him is only making it worse. “Wait, listen -" he tries to explain himself, but he's powerless to his own thoughts. A burst of suppressed laughter fills the room as he covers his face with his hands, still feeling the weight of your glare on him. "R - remember -" he struggles “Last week? When you were telling me about that book you were reading and...." he nearly snorts. "And you described it as -" Your lips press into a flat line, your eyes glazing over as you realize what he’s getting at. You knew the second you messed up that phrase, you'd never hear the end of it. "Are you seriously still laughing about the fact that I said 'blood-chilling' instead of 'bone-chilling?'" "BLOOD-CHILLING!" He repeats with the most obnoxious cackle, narrowly dodging the pillow you throw at him.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Dazai spends more time grooming himself than you do. Hours in front of the mirror looking at himself from every angle to make sure what he's done is up to his standards. He's subscribed to one of those manscaping services where they mail him out a surprise bundle each month of new products to try. When you go down on him one night, he asks "...Does it smell like teakwood?" Your head pops up immediately, unsure if you even want to know what he's hinting at. "What?" "Nothing... it's nothing."

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

In love, Dazai worships you. He has every inch of your frame memorized and knows exactly what each tiny movement and whimper mean. He's studied your body like it's his lifelong passion and he's learned how to make it respond so well for him. Your hips just barely buck up while he's on top of you and he smirks, his hair lightly brushing against your forehead. "You sure can handle the whole thing? Figured you'd still be sore after last night." You shake your head back at him with the poutiest expression, your core aching for more. "I can take it." you insist, "I can -" He challenges your sureness, giving you another inch only to see your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your hand gripping onto the sheet above you. He'd never deny you of anything you wanted, but especially not when you looked this gorgeous. He grabs your hand, tangling his fingers into yours before drawing back and burying himself into you. "That's my girl." he groans, reeling in the way your walls so eagerly swallow him. Your breathing is erratic, your composure completely gone as you writhe and clench around him. He knows you're right there. You start to close your eyes, but he stops you, bringing his free hand under your chin to redirect your attention back to him. "Let me see it, angel. Show me." He slams into you again, giving you every inch of him this time. "Show much you love this." And you do. You show him three times in 20 minutes how much you love it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Dazai's the first to admit that he has a high libido and if the mood strikes, he's going to do something about it. He gets bored easily, so he has a variety of different mediums to get the job done - the 'hidden' folder on his phone that's filled with pictures and videos of you, romance mangas, fleshlights, audio porn, hentai. He's not afraid to experiment even when he's alone.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Dazai is a true switch and will really fall into either being dominant or submissive depending on the situation. There are nights he gets off work and starts throwing out demands like, "On the bed. Now. Legs apart f’me." as he strips out of his jacket and pushes you down further onto the mattress. But, the are other times where he's dying not to be in control anymore. Where he's had to make too many decisions and he revels in the way you take the reins. The way you climb on top of him and whisper "good boy" as he grows hard beneath you. The only thing he loves more than making you beg is begging for you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Dazai has a bit of a thing for voyeurism and recklessness so when Kunikida hires a driver to pick the two of you up to take you to a dinner for the ADA, Dazai has no hesitation on hiking up your dress in the back of the limo. Peeking up every so often to see if the driver has even noticed the way your tits are pressed up against the window for passing cars to see as your vehicle speeds down the highway. You arch your back perfectly for him, giving him full control as he plunges into you. Your walls are so snug and gushy, he knows he won't last long. But you're enjoying this just as much as he is, playing with your clit as he grabs your hair and pulls you up to kiss him. "You like knowing that people can see me fucking you?" he whispers, biting down on your bottom lip. "Your cunt’s drippin’ alllll over me.” "Fuck - yes.” You moan, feeling your legs beginning to shake as you let out a strained. “I’d let you fuck me anywhere.” His smirk deepens, his thrusts becoming more frantic. "Don’t make promises you can’t keep, angel.”

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Dazai's pretty easy to wind up in general, but he definitely has a thing for asphyxiation. Perhaps it stems from the lingering effects of suicidal ideation, but the feeling of something cutting off his airways makes him feral. When you're on top of him and you reach for his throat, he nearly fucking melts. If he could choose any way to die, he'd request for it to be at the mercy of your loving fingertips digging into the side of his neck.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There aren't many things that Dazai wouldn't do. Not just sexually, but in general. His curiosity almost always gets the better of him no matter the situation. The only time he's ever told you no was when you were being too hard on yourself. He walked in on you picking at your body in the mirror. Pulling your skin in different directions to see what you'd look like if your arms were thinner or what you'd look like if your nose leaned more to this way instead of that way. His heart sank. All of the post-work fantasies he had built up over the day disappeared the minute he saw how frustrated you were. "Hey," he whispered, coming up behind you and gently wrapping his arms around your waist as his chin rested on your shoulder. "Please stop being mean to my girlfriend. She doesn't deserve that." You tried to brush it off as a joke, leaning up to kiss him while he held you, but he pulled back. "I'm serious." he ran light fingers over your stomach, his eyes locked with yours in the reflection of the mirror. "We're not doing anything until I hear you say at least five things you like about yourself." He could see past almost any crime or murder, but he drew the line at you degrading yourself.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Dazai's all about both, but if he's being completely honest with himself, he loves the feeling of your mouth around his cock. How cute you look when you struggle to take the whole thing. The way your eyes widen when he thrusts into your throat. How thorough you are, turning the act of going down on him into a work of fucking art. Even though you’re the one submitting to him when you get on your knees, he still feels like he's at your grace. You feel so good, he'd do anything to keep your lips wrapped around him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Just like anything else, pacing could go one way or the other. The thing about Dazai, is he wants to do whatever you want to do. Even when he's in more of a dom role, your pleasure is still his main focus. There's no such thing as wrong time or wrong place as far as he’s concerned. If you wanted him to fuck you slow and sensually in the club bathroom, he would. He'd dim the lights, lock the door, lay his jacket down for you to sit on as he propped you up onto the sink and kissed you passionately. If you wanted fast, rough, filthy sex by candlelight on a bed of roses, he would. He'd wrap his hand around your pretty little throat, mocking the way you're struggling to breathe as he bullied himself into you while you’re surrounded by romantic ambiance. Whatever you want, he does too.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If there was a tornado approaching your house at a reasonable speed, Dazai would still find time to have a quickie with you. Especially if he thought it was the last thing he might ever do. He wants to feel you as much as he possibly can. The construct of time really means nothing to him. You have to log onto a work meeting in five minutes? "I can fit under the desk, baby :((( they won't even see me. Just spread your legs and keep a straight face, okay?" Your parents are on their way over? "They drive so slow anyway, angel and the door's locked. Promise we won't get caught." You're waiting for food to be delivered? "Bet I could make you cum twice before the doorbell even rings." Getting to spend five minutes in you is always better than spending five minutes out of you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Dazai isn't just willing to take a risk, he's usually the one pushing for it. Any time your phone rings, his hands are suddenly roaming along your body, his fingers dipping into the softness of your underwear as he starts to kiss your neck. He knows you're on the phone with your boss, that makes it even better. He wants to see how long you can keep your composure while he torments you. Your eyes are like daggers when you look back at him, but your cunt betrays you entirely, grinding against him needily while he smirks. He picks up the pace, reeling in the subtle way your thighs shake. You're trying so hard to sound so professional and coherent, but your thoughts are everywhere. You're having to hit the 'mute' button every few seconds just to let out a whimper. Dazai nips at the nape of your neck, slamming into you with an extra finger this time causing you to nearly drop your phone. "Ahh ~!" But there's no time to hit mute with how he's suddenly plunging into you. Your boss asks if you're okay and you have no choice but to hang up. "Dazai -" you try to keep your voice firm, but you can barely see straight the deeper he sinks into you. "What - the... fuck -" Each word is a moan, your hand grabbing desperately onto the collar of his shirt. "Dazai," "Somethin' wrong, baby?" "Dazai, you can't -" But he already is. He already is so bad. "Dazai, please." You're not even sure what you're pleading for anymore - if it's for him to stop or continue. Your walls are squeezing him so tight, your heart slamming into your chest as more uncontrollable whines fill the room. "Dazaaiii ~" you whimper again, soaking his hand as his thumb brushes across your clit. "Ohmygod, fuck. You can't keep doing that." "No promises." He smirks, carefully pulling out of you before bringing his fingers to his mouth. "It's not my fault you taste so good."

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

It all depends on the mood, Dazai's pretty versatile. Could he fuck you for hours? Yes. Has he? Many times. It's no secret that he loves watching you struggle to walk the next day after having your legs pinned against his shoulder. But he knows he can't do that every time. He generally tries to follow your lead and give your body what it wants - whether that's 20 minutes of gentle, deep, intimacy or an hour of a mating press followed by overstimulation. As long as you're getting off, so is he.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

His nightstand is filled with an assortment of silicone stimulants for the two of you. Cockrings and vibrators and bondage kits. Out of all of the subscription services he has, getting a bundle of mystery toys delivered to his house each month is by far his favorite. He always waits 'til you come over to open it. Pouring you both a glass of wine as you divvy them out and argue about decide on who gets to use what on who.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Osamu Dazai lives to tease you. As far as he's concerned, the only reason the sun rises each morning is so that he can find new and exciting ways to make you grovel for him. He'll tie your hands together above your head, slowly unzipping his pants in front of you. Forcing you to watch as he strokes himself above you, groaning out lewd little nothings like, "Oh fuck, 'feels soo good." while he smirks at your pouty little face and the way you begin to squirm underneath him impatiently. “See how hard I am? God, just imagine what it'd feel like inside you." His hand pumping uppp and doownnnn tortuously out of reach. "Tell me baby, would you want me to go hard and fast or reeaall slow and deep?" He fucking moans while you writhe helplessly against the mattress, your neglected cunt throbbing. "Dazai, please." "Poor thing." He mocks, still jerking himself to the sight of you looking up at him with pleading eyes. "You can do better than that though, can’t you angel? C'mon, make me believe you.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

There's no denying that Dazai's loud. You make him feel so fucking good and he wants you to know. He'll have a fistful of your hair, groaning out your name while your tongue swirls around his tip. "Fuuuck.” He whimpers. "Oh - my… god." Tiny hearts cloud his vision as he watches your throat fill with his length, the heavenly sounds of you gagging on him echoing across the room. Your eyes gloss over, spit pooling down your chin when you look back up at him, your tongue still pressed firmly against his base. "S'fucking gorgeous when you suck my cock." His praise only make you go faster, drawing out the prettiest whines from him. "Nnngh ~ don't stop, baby.” His grip tightens in your hair. "Don't. Fucking. Stop." His hips buck up with each syllable, his rhythm unrelenting as lecherous tears begin to spill down your cheeks. You keep going though, drowning in the noises he's making for you. "Right there, right there. 'm gonna - oh fuck. 'm -" You feel him twitch inside your mouth before a flood of warmth suddenly coats your throat. "Swallow f'me, angel." his voice is so heady and delirious, it comes out as more of a beg than a command, "Fuck... Yeah. Just like that, mmm, god, just like that." You take it all in, not letting one drop go to waste. "You're sucha good girl, you know that? Sucha good fucking girl."

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Dazai gives the illusion that he's not jealous. That it doesn't bother him in the slightest when you go out with your friends or when you stay at the gym longer than you said you would. He does trust you - completely, actually. He knows you'd never do anything to jeopardize your relationship with him. It’s the outside world he doesn't trust. When you're driving home from work, he's watching you through the location sharing on your phone. He stares at the screen intently until he hears you pull into the driveway. When you’re at the bar, he knows the importance of girls’ time and he’d never spoil that. He simply wants to make sure no one is bothering you. He shows up, stealthily lingering in the background, watching his pretty girl laugh with her friends and dance with a drink in her hand the way she should. He loves seeing you have fun, he doesn’t want to take that away from you. He just follows behind your Uber to make sure the driver gets you to where you're going safely. He's seen too many tragedies between working for the PM and ADA, he can't take the risk of letting anything happen to you. So, he doesn't. There's absolutely nothing off limits to you. The entire world is yours. You just... might see a man in a suspicious looking jacket that bears an eerie resemblance to your boyfriend trailing behind you from time to time while you're out. It's only because he loves you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Standing at a solid 5'11, Dazai's decently tall and slender - surprisingly muscular underneath all of those bandages. His waistline is so pretty and his hands? God, those long beautiful digits have brought you to your breaking point more than a few times. Besides excelling in dexterity, he's also packing. A perfect blend of length and girth that curves ever-so-slightly as if it was made for the sole purpose of hitting your g-spot.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Dazai would bend you over in in front of the Pope if you'd let him. He's unapologetically ready to go at any time. He can't help that you're just so gorgeous and that his eyes are always glued to the way your hips sway when you walk in front of him. He yearns for you constantly, even when you're not around. If he could have a 10-hour loop of you moaning his name that's what he'd use as white noise to fall asleep to each night. He can't help that his dick twitches at the thought of you. It's not his fault you're so pretty :((((

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Rest has never come easy for Dazai. He's tried every natural (and narcotic) sleep aide he could get his hands on. Put down multiple bottles of Pinot Grigio and still found himself up for days on end. Up until he met you, he didn't think it was possible for him to sleep for more than two hours at a time, but the first time you invited him over to your apartment changed everything. The two of you had been talking for hours - laughing and debating and sharing secrets over a bottle of cherry whiskey. He could've stayed up long past sunrise with you but when he noticed how tired your eyes were getting, he offered to take you to bed instead. Both of you stripped down into lazy pajamas. You, in an oversized t-shirt with nothing underneath. Dazai, in his boxers. You looked so peaceful when your head hit the pillow, he was sure that you'd be out soon, but to his surprise, your body had other plans. Your lips were soft against his, your hands gently roamed along his body as you pulled him on top of you. You smiled at the way his hair tickled your forehead. The sun was just barely creeping through your curtains, grazing your face as he slid into you, highlighting the pleasure that had taken over your features. It was all so hazy and comfortable. Your room filled with heady mid-morning noises while his body thrusted generously into yours. There was something so intimate about it that it nearly brought you to tears. You felt full in every sense of the word. When you were both good and spent, the two of you laid in the middle of your bed with your head nestled into his chest. He played with your hair, watching you fall asleep in his arms. He'd never felt more human than he did in that moment. His eyes closed, his mind turning off for what felt like the first time in years as he drifted off with you.

ㅤ ೀ ㅤ۫ ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ

‎♡‧₊˚ here's chuuya's version if you're new here ‎♡‧₊˚

[fafodill]

The exact wording of the ask I got was: 'what if someone was asking deprived!Snape (read my whole essay about him) to "break them off a piece of that KitKat bar?" How would they go about it?'

So today we're going to discuss this. Buckle up people.✨

SO his reaction will largely depend on the context and their current relationship but one thing that will happen FOR SURE every time before anything else is that he's going to think they're messing with him.

What else could it be? This man had been so heavily bullied as a teen his self-esteem is buried and has its own tombstone.

"Here lies Snape's self-image. Spit to pay your respect."

We don't have any canon proof of it happening but many people headcanon that some of the bullying might have been people being dared to come up to him and fake attraction or compliment him (so funny omg) only for him to realize they were just messing with him. It's totally the kind of immature stupid shit kids will come up with (speaking from personal experience here). Not funny but deeply scarring for one's self-image. So being told he's attractive would trigger him in his adult life. Any potential suitor asking him out would be welcomed with him immediately closing up and getting angry at them. They'd need to find a way for him to believe them first.

If you're thinking "this already sounds like a pain", yes it is. Welcome to deprived!Snape. Welcome to Snape, basically. If they want a piece of him, they have to brace themselves for the long run.

He will get angry and leave a lot. Fleeing the situation - since it's a very vulnerable subject for him - will be his go-to move. The whole ordeal will require patience. So what should this person do?

Friend or Stranger?

If it comes from a DE he'll think it's an angle. If it's from a member of the Order, he'll think it's a joke. If it's from a colleague at Hogwarts, he maaaay be a tad less suspicious? In any case, it will depend on how close they are. The more time they have spent together, the closer he'll be to not flip out... too much.

I'm a bit torn about his reaction if it was coming from a stranger. Either it's easier because he can lean into the idea that maybe they're lying about their attraction and he doesn't care (and if he's horny then why the fuck not, it won't affect him as much since they both now they're here for physical release) OR he might not be into it at all because he actually needs a real connection (and I think this is more realistic). Severus is a feral cat, he needs time to trust people.

What else? He could also maybe open up faster with someone not from his usual inner circles (a foreigner or a muggle) as the interactions wouldn't be charged with the same deep-rooted habits and expectations.

I also believe he'd unconsciously feel way more at ease with someone coming from a modest background. A pureblood aristocrat hitting on him would have little chance of getting past his natural distrust of them (unless he knows them very well).

So what should they do?

Build trust

The quality of their interactions and conversations will have a huge impact. Do they have an interesting personality? He needs someone capable of taking him on and keeping up intellectually. Can they keep up with him and challenge him?

Severus has a temper. Can they deal with his bullshit and not give up on him at the first scowl? Argue with him? It doesn't mean they can't be nice, but I don't see him get worked up over someone cowering under his gaze.

They need to be stubborn. He's a Capricorn and he's got the horns. He's hard-headed. They need to not back down when he bites or dismisses their attempts at flirting. One of Severus's classic tactic is to hurt people so they leave him alone, so they need to be able to dodge the attack, make fun of him or retaliate.

If they manage to deal with his temper, they will start to see what's on the other side of the snarky exterior. Then, they'll be able to start kneading the dough (Severus is the dough).

Convince him the attraction is real

That person could go the gentle/honest way, assuring him they're not kidding and explaining what they find attractive about him (he'd be super wary and need days to digest it - if he can). Genuine compliments could work quite well as he's good at reading people but it would be a process and it shouldn't be too much at once. He's NOT USED to compliments so if the person goes too hard, he's going to get overwhelmed, distance himself and reject it. A good trick would be to compliment his intelligence and magical skills alongside physical traits. A 2/3-1/3 ratio would be a good start. He would trust compliments about his big brain way more than anything regarding his cute butt.

Complimenting his presence, aura, voice might be good too as it's not directly related to physical traits. Else, physical starters could include hands and eyes. But I also love the idea of taking him by surprise and complimenting his nose. Might weird him out in a good way.

Or they could go the blunt way (or what I now refer to in my mind as the @maxdibert way) and be like "dude, I really think you're hot, deal with it" and leave him to sort his feelings out like a big boy.

The two strategies can be mixed of course. But at the end of the day, the real problem is that Severus as approximately a thousand confirmation bias in his mind telling him this is not happening. So what could they do to help ease this process?

Make him horny

Less overthinking = more chances to get this piece of ass.

Severus Snape needs to be warmed up. And as stated in my previous essay, he's plagued with the core beliefs that he's ugly, ridicule and undeserving. These beliefs need to be kneaded and challenged enough (not healed, this would take decades and it's not their job), so that he can relax and open up to the idea of intimacy.

Here are a few strategies to do so.

First, de-dramatize the subject. Making the topic less taboo by talking about it in a lighthearted way (no flaunting! certainly not!). A good move would be to joke about it. Deprived!Snape isn't comfortable with the subject but it's because it's evaded him and then he convinced himself he wasn't concerned or interested.

-> Here are some of the things he could benefit from hearing: that sex is not a big deal at all and we can laugh about it. It should be fun, a shared moment, trials and errors are part of it and there should no be judgment about experiences and preferences. People with a high 'body count' aren't necessarily good lovers, it's all about presence and intent etc.

His potential partner could share funny mishaps that happened to them and - when there's an opening - ask him what he would expect from a pleasant intimate moment (that's a very advanced move, don't forget he's bad with words)(it would only work in my opinion if they're both drunk and have been going at it for a while).

Also sharing experiences is a great way to build trust and intimacy (and arousal). He thrives on knowledge so learning more about his potential partner might ease his mind in some way (and give him some free intrusive thoughts). See it as added ingredients to make him simmer.

Though they shouldn't talk too much about the number of partners they had and said partner's skills. This might make him retreat. Again: low self-esteem and always on the lookout for an excuse to sabotage it.

Wait what about drunk!Snape you say? That's a trope we enjoy around here. Although I headcanon him as not being a heavy drinker (if a drinker at all because of his father) it would be a great way to lower a bit his inhibition. A DE would have a hard time sharing a drink with him, same for an Order member (he never stays after meetings but could be coerced), but a colleague could maybe drag him to the Three Broomsticks with other members of the staff and then leave early with him. wink wink Come on, rub his foot under the table and look at him choke on his ale. He'll skin you alive with his eyes and you can just raise a suggestive eyebrow back.

Persistence, persistence.

Of course a bit of physical baiting could help with his dusty libido. After all, they'd kinda be dealing with an teenager, experience-wise. Nothing too bold (though I headcanon that his sooty Cokeworth self would get way more worked up over unabashed desire than delicate courting but he's buried a bit too deep at the moment) but a nice cleavage, some leg showing, a fitting pair of pants or robes might not be a bad move. Since he might be uncomfortable with words, they could flaunt the goods in his face! The man has eyes, let him look and scold himself for looking. Also a few heavy looks, biting a lip and lingering fingers could go a long way for such a deprived man, especially if it's directed at him.

At the end of the day, the trick is to make him able to put his worry aside (or snap, if you find the word sexier).

They could go the provocative way, being insufferable and making him want to shut them up.

They could try some endless teasing until he's a lost hot mess, unable to express what he wants except by going 'fuck it' and going for it.

They could go slower and create a safe space with a weekly ritual (every Friday night meeting for a drink/to grade essays/to hang out) which can lead to a late night snog (floating candles optional).

They could be blunt and go 'I want to kiss you so bad right now' as they leave Hogsmeade together and are walking on the dirt path towards the castle. A gust of wind will prevent him from hiding himself behind his hair and they'll see the flush creeping on his face.

They could hammer the compliments and validation, because Severus craves recognition (is there a praise kink in there? yes). So first it could be his mind, his work, his skills... then the way his cape suits his frame so well, his silky voice... and then bam, hitting the nail on the head with complimenting his mouth. Blabbering mess guaranteed. Might flee but blush deliciously. Or might stop dead in his track and then it's time for them to claim these lips.

Kissing

Clumsy. Tentative. Awkward.

But earnest.

He might freeze at first. Wait, these lips knew how to do that once upon a time... how does it go again? He'll need a bit of time to remember but the best way to (re)learn is practice.

It will be a lot for him. As he's extremely touch-deprived he'd be literally rediscovering human contact. So much to feel, the supple of the lips, their shape, the softness, the wetness.

Honestly, deprived!Snape could get really worked up just from kissing.

(They could honestly make him cum just from this and some grinding. Amen. If he does he'd need reassurance after and still might flee and hide and snarl for a few days because male performance blahblahblah. Hopefully they'd be able to skip this step at this point in the relation.)

But I believe he'd enjoy it greatly and this might be a step he'd want to stay at for some time before going further.

Undressing

I headcanon deprived!Snape as being very self-conscious about revealing his body so it might only be possible with someone he really trusts. It might be painfully difficult for him (might require dimmed light if not obscurity but I mean come on, they're here to look at him and it'd be better for him to rip the bandaid... but giving him the option might help).

Either he'll be too aroused to care (or act as if he doesn't) or he'll feel very self-conscious and look for cues to confirm his belief that his partner will find him disgusting. It's the right moment for them to express their desire.

If for some reason he gets too triggered and leave, they wouldn't be back to square one but again, patience is key. He needs time. Or maybe they could convince him to stay and try to resolve the situation by stopping the intimacy and just talk about something else. It could be good practice to show him this isn't a big deal and that everything is fine.

But at this stage, complimenting him sincerely (no coddling) whilst not hiding their arousal could work nicely. Sprinkling some of the fantasies they had about him as well. ('I've been dreaming about these hands on me', 'You have no idea how much I've been wanting to kiss these lips to make you shut up', 'I laid awake at night thinking about touching this part of you'). Showing appreciation with touch could convince him more though and it has the advantage of preventing him to think too much.

But really, he won't like to focus on his appearance as it's something he has no control over so they should -unfortunately- bite their tongue and keep the flood of horny compliments to themselves at first. A new one might be fed to him once every two weeks to slowly build his confidence.

In Bed

Deprived!Snape is: prideful, yearning for control and very sensitive.

Now honestly I could make a whole other post with the different scenarios where he'd be more top or bottom. Instead, I will focus more on what would happen either way.

He'll want to learn. Because Severus is nothing if not a scholar. He's got a very curious nature regarding topics that interest him so if his partner is showing him how they like something, he'll get super serious about it. He will try to touch them in the exact same way at first and he's a fast learner so once it's mastered, he'll experiment. And he's going to be good at it.

That man got dexterity and an inventive mind. And that's canon.

But his focus on his partner might also be a way to keep control during this highly new situation. Depending on how self-conscious he is about his inexperience, shifting the focus on him might be a challenge. Maybe letting him take the lead could be a good idea. But maybe shoving him against the mattress and seizing control is the way to go here.

Now, he will be very sensitive, won't he?

Yes, he might. He might be a whimpering mess in no time. His partner should be cautious and gentle with him. Severus letting his guard down and letting them touch him is a very big effort coming from him so they should savor it and be sure to make it feel safe if they want this to happen again. Help him relax, let him breathe, don't hesitate to pause if he gets nervous. The walls will be destroyed, moan after moan.

But what if he isn't sensitive?

That's a possibility as well. He's been by himself for years and his wariness of intimacy and people is wired in his cells at this point. He's disconnected from his own body and never pays attention to it. He might also tense heavily once in bed with his partner, the vulnerability of it accentuating the disconnection. He might not feel pleasure, might get frustrated and feel angry or inadequate.

This situation - which I find very interesting and seems like a realistic follow-up to him wanting to kiss for a long time and struggling with undressing - is tricky and will require diplomacy and more patience.

But maybe this could be a dealbreaker for him. If the payoff isn't worth the discomfort, he could easily take it as a confirmation bias that intimacy isn't for the likes of him. The best course of action could be to focus on non-sexual aspect of intimacy.

But this essay is way too long already so I'm going to stop here.

What should I write about next? Is there something you wish I had addressed here? Is there something you'd like me to discuss next?

UPDATE: so a few people seem to be mad at me, demanding I keep on elaborating SO. Let's say I'm done here for the 'how to bed him' part (which was the premise of this essay) and I'll do another one following thoughts and possibly... focusing on the different roles in bed (top/bottom/switch) for our dear Severus. See you there.

TLDR: He's gonna be a pain, his partner needs to have calming draught for their nerves but in the end it will be very rewarding because he's starved and inventive.

[quixoticprince]

Yayyy!! Yippee!! I finally get to make one of these!! Art without the text under the cut and some long-winded elaborations:

How long I've been playing: well, it hasn't been a straight 11 years, rather off and on - but I have drawings of these guys dating back to when I was 14, so I'll give it to me. And man I had no business reading the fanfics I was reading back then It's also crazy how this was a super influential media for me in so many ways. It's the reason I ever made a tumblr, it changed the direction of my drawings for a long while, my broken sense of humor (gmod animation memes and yt poops were the brainrot back then), tf2 Sniper changed my god damned gender (rather, it was the inspiration for me to start socially transitioning at 15). This is part of my personal lore that I tend to not admit to 😓

Your main: I've always been completely ass at the game, and I can play flexibly, but I enjoy playing Sniper, and more recently as Heavy. Whenever I'm sitting around somewhere, occasionally throwing sandwiches and attracting Medics, I feel like this:

Favorite character: When I was younger it was definitely Medic, and I think you can tell that he's still up there based on how much I've drawn him! However, since getting back into it, I've felt quite a shift in focus towards Heavy, very strongly. It's unfortunate that he's side-lined in a lot of fanwork, and I think I'm also complicit in this so far - but for me it's cuz, how tf2 works is that it's going to prioritize humor over character and consistency haha, and Medic is just so loud and insane that he's really easy to make fun stuff with. Heavy is a more serious and grounded character, not to say that he's not funny or that he doesn't have his own cartoon slapstick moments! But that aspect of him is what is really really intriguing to me. I love his quiet, stoic, and intimidating character, I like how loud and boisterous he is when filled with bloodlust in contrast! I love his bird story and him getting into wrestling as a child from Poker Night. I love his back story setting, there's so much to extrapolate from a young boy in Russia growing up during WWII, what his parents must have been through before that from the aftermaths of the revolution, all the way to his fathers execution and his imprisonment. I love his strong relationship with his family, his role as an older brother, as a protector, as a man - the way that he performs these roles - and because I personally see him as bisexual - how his orientation intersects with all that! He is incredibly fascinating to me and I wish that he was played around with more to see a lot more corners and angles of these things that I listed! There's way more that I want to say here too but this is getting very long 😅

Character I relate to: It's so interesting that a lot of the characters have very strong, tho maybe dysfunctional, families. Heavy, Demo, and Sniper in particular really speak to me in that relation. From Heavy being an eldest brother (I am also an eldest sibling) the parentification that comes with that, especially with him probably being like 10 years older than his sisters from the looks of it. Demo and Sniper both struggle living up to their parents expectations (although there's a lot of love there from everyone), being disappointments in one way or another (not gonna deep dive into that lol), and the general alienation both of them feel. From Sniper not knowing why he's not like other Australians to Demo being "a black Scottish cyclops." And well, I'm Filipino, I'm queer, and mentally ill so - there's a lot to project there!

Class you want to play as: I find Medic incredibly stressful to play as but I find the idea of battle medics incredibly funny. However I usually find myself rushing around madly trying to cater to everyone, and I'd like to just not give a shit and just start stabbing people with a saw lol

Favorite ship: "I just like the dynamic" - The dynamic:

No but fr, they're really compelling to me, I'd probably need a longer more thought out post as to what I like about them and I was already going crazy up there ^ Overall tho I like that they're practically built for each other in terms of mechanics, really plays into my desire to spiral into intense codependency haha. I also think that Medic's drive to cheat death and hide behind meat shields plays really well into Heavy's desire to be a meat shield and a protector, and how nice it is in turn, that Medic can grant this man who's been around death, starvation, and war invulnerability. (He outsmart boolet, yknow?) They're also depicted together a lot and I like how much they enjoy each others company, and bring a lot of joy to each other. It's beautiful to me :'^)

Character you like to draw: What can I say! Medic is handsome! He is very fun to draw and easy to make memes and shit posts out of!

[aleksatia]

You're at his place. Pre-relationship stage. Taking a shower, you decide to have a little fun—entirely his fault, by the way. But… how could you forget to lock the door? Of course, he walks in at the exact wrong (or right?) moment. What happens next? 😈😱🤭

My sketches ended up a bit longer than what I usually write. The question is—how decent is my English? (It’s not my native language.) I’d love to write a midi or even a maxi, but right now, I’m not too confident in my skills.

🍎🚀🏋️ Caleb – "You're Actually Gonna Kill Me, Pip-Squeak"

Caleb walked in without a second thought, his fingers tugging at the zipper of his uniform, his boots moving over the tile in the familiar rhythm of a man who lived in motion.

He was halfway through his question, something about his damn flight log, when he saw you.

And his entire system crashed like a fighter jet hitting turbulence.

A strangled noise escaped his throat—not a gasp, not a groan, but something more like a hiccup crossed with a yelp. His ears turned bright red first, then his neck, then his face, color flooding upward like a thermometer about to burst. His limbs seemed to forget how joints worked, his body suddenly all awkward angles and frozen panic.

It was disastrous. Catastrophic. Mortifying.

His heart didn't race—it stuttered, tripping over itself like his brain tripping over thoughts. He didn't feel heat so much as he felt like he'd been ejected into the atmosphere without a pressure suit, simultaneously burning up and unable to breathe.

Because there you were—drenched, flushed, utterly lost in pleasure, oblivious to the fact that you weren't alone.

And him?

He was dying.

The way your back arched beneath the stream of water, the way your lips parted on a breathless sound that hit him like a goddamn missile to the chest, the way your fingers trembled, the way your body—

Fuuuuuck.

He didn't clench his fists—his hands actually flailed, one grabbing at the back of his neck while the other patted frantically at his pockets as if searching for emergency protocols that didn't exist. His pulse didn't roar in his ears so much as it zigzagged erratically, matching the chaos of his thoughts.

And then—you shattered.

A sharp gasp, a tremor rolling through your limbs, the kind of pleasure that stole the breath right from your lungs, leaving you wrecked, undone—

And completely unaware of the fact that you had an audience.

Caleb felt none of it.

Because he was too busy having what could only be described as a full-body short circuit, his brain officially offline, all systems failing simultaneously.

And that was the exact moment he realized he needed to get the fuck out.

Now.

He turned so fast he nearly tripped, nearly walked into the door instead of through it, nearly left without remembering to breathe.

By the time he made it to the bedroom, his body was vibrating with nervous energy, every single system in fight-or-flight mode with no enemy to confront except his own catastrophic embarrassment.

And Caleb? Caleb needed to do something before he lost his goddamn mind.

So he dropped to the floor.

And started doing push-ups.

Hard. Fast. Like his life depended on it.

One. Two. Three.

Fuck.

His arms burned, his core tensed, sweat already breaking out along his skin—but it was better than the alternative.

Because the alternative was thinking about what he had just seen.

The alternative was acknowledging how fucking hard he was, how tight his flight suit had become, how his body was screaming for something that had been denied for far too long.

He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth as he pushed through another round, determined to sweat this out of his system.

But then—

"Caleb?"

Your voice. Soft. Confused.

His entire body seized.

And in that exact moment, he knew.

He was so screwed.

His arms gave out.

He hit the floor with a heavy, humiliating thud, his forehead pressing into the cool tile, his entire body refusing to function like a normal human being.

Silence.

Then—footsteps.

And then—your feet were right in front of him.

He slowly, painfully, lifted his head.

You were standing above him, wrapped in a towel, skin still damp, still flushed, still the living embodiment of everything that had just wrecked him.

Your eyes flicked over him—sweating, panting, looking like he'd just run a marathon inside your bedroom.

"Are you—" You gestured vaguely at the floor, brows furrowed. "—doing push-ups?"

Caleb blinked. Licked his lips.

And, because he was apparently determined to make this situation worse, he said—

"Working out."

You stared at him.

He stared back.

And somewhere in the universe, a god was laughing at his suffering.

"—You decided to work out in my bedroom?" you asked flatly.

He pushed himself up onto his knees, breathing hard, trying desperately to look like a man who wasn't dying inside.

"Yeah." His voice was rough, wrecked, a fucking disaster. "Needed to burn off some energy."

Your gaze flicked over him again—at his sweaty mess of a body, at the way his muscles were visibly tense, at the way he refused to meet your eyes for more than half a second.

"You're acting weird."

"No, I'm not."

"You are definitely acting weird."

He let out a strained laugh, dragging a shaky hand through his hair.

"Yeah. Well. Must be the altitude."

You narrowed your eyes.

"Caleb."

His jaw locked.

You took a slow step forward. "Did you—"

"Nope."

"…See—"

"NOPE! Didn't see anything." He shot up to his feet so fast he nearly lost his balance, pointing at you with zero confidence, zero stability, zero chance of making it through this conversation alive.

"Didn't see a damn thing. I walked in, realized I was in the wrong place, and I left."

Your arms folded.

"Then why are you sweating?"

"I told you, I was working out!"

"In my room?"

"Yeah!"

"You hit the floor like you lost the will to live."

"That's just my face!"

"You're breathing like you just had a near-death experience."

His lips parted. His eye twitched.

And then, just when you thought he couldn't look more like a cornered animal, your gaze drifted lower—

To the very obvious, very undeniable, very tragic outline of his problem pressing against the fabric of his flight suit.

Your lips parted.

His entire soul left his body.

Caleb squeezed his eyes shut, his hand scrubbing over his face, dragging down to his jaw, and finally—finally—

He groaned.

Long. Rough. Wrecked.

"Fuckin’ hell, Pip-squeak." His voice was pure suffering. "You're actually gonna kill me one of these days."

🩺☃️👓 Zayne – "The Scientific Method, Apparently"

The door swung open with effortless ease, his movements precise, automatic—just another task in the relentless march of routine. His mind was elsewhere, dissecting case files, treatment plans, the intricacies of molecular degradation in Protocore patients.

And then, he saw you.

His analytical mind cataloged the scene instantly—temperature, humidity, body position—a clinical assessment that lasted precisely three seconds before his brain simply... stopped.

A statistical anomaly. A total system failure.

For the first time in a very, very long time, he had absolutely nothing to say.

His pupils dilated slightly. His fingers twitched at his sides.

Because you didn’t know he was there.

And yet, he could see everything.

The way your back arched beneath the steady pulse of water, the way your lips parted on a breathless, broken sound. The way your fingers trembled, moving over slick, flushed skin with a kind of helpless need that made his jaw tighten in ways he was absolutely not going to analyze.

He did not move.

Did not clear his throat.

Did not announce his presence.

Instead, he just stood there, and—completely against his will—felt his entire body react.

Heat coiled in his spine, sharp and insistent, something visceral curling low in his stomach. His pulse kicked up, a slow, heavy thrum beneath his skin, and when his gaze drifted lower, he was unpleasantly aware of just how little control he had in this moment.

Annoying. Inconvenient. Predictable.

And then, you came.

Right there in front of him.

His fingers twitched again. His breathing went perfectly silent, a conscious effort at regulation. But his body wasn’t regulated. It was tight, hot, a slow burn of frustration and something far more dangerous.

Zayne had spent his entire career maintaining impeccable control—over his body, his emotions, his mind. But standing here, watching this, a deeply inconvenient realization settled into his bones.

He was so incredibly screwed.

Your eyes met his.

Shock. Horror. Disbelief. A textbook example of "Oh my god, what the fuck" played out in real time.

Zayne exhaled, slow and measured.

Then—he smiled.

Lazy. Knowing. Absolutely infuriating.

"Well," he murmured, voice deceptively even, "that was… educational."

Your entire soul left your body.

He reached up, fingers sliding over the silk of his tie, adjusting it with obscene patience, as if marking the conclusion of his observation, as if filing away his findings for later review.

"I’m almost impressed," he continued, as if this was some casual afterthought, "but your breathing pattern could use some work. You keep holding your breath. Not ideal for long-term endurance."

Your face caught fire.

His did not.

Instead, he just tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something wickedly smug.

"My office," he said, gaze lingering for a moment longer than strictly necessary. "Ten minutes."

And then, without another word, he turned and walked away—far too aware of just how difficult that was going to be. In every possible way.

🧜‍♂️🎨🐚 Rafayel – "A Brushstroke Away"

The door creaked open, and he stepped inside like he belonged there—because, let’s be honest, he kind of did.

His mind was tangled in a half-finished painting, a battle between color and shadow, between chaos and control. But all of it—all of it—disintegrated the second his gaze landed on you.

And just like that—he forgot how to breathe.

Oh.

Well, this was interesting.

A slow, lazy grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, fingers flexing at his sides as his artist’s brain caught fire. Not lust. Not at first. Inspiration. Colors bled behind his eyes, unbidden, uncontrolled—the gold of candlelight against damp skin, the way water kissed every curve like a lover, the sheen of heat on your collarbone, the stray droplets tracing the delicate dip of your spine.

He should leave.

He absolutely should.

Instead, he stayed.

Because how could he not?

You were a living masterpiece.

He watched as you turned, stretching with lazy, unaware indulgence, fingertips pressing idly into your shoulders, tilting your head under the water, exposing the curve of your throat like a careless offering to a watching predator.

Mischief curled in his gut.

Oh, this was tempting.

Not just the sight of you—no, that was its own kind of agony—but the delicious, forbidden idea of pressing a hand to the fogged glass, of murmuring something sinful just to see you startle, to watch your skin flush for an entirely different reason.

Would you gasp? Would your breath catch? Would you curse his name, flustered and furious, or would you bite your lip, pulse jumping, a shiver betraying you?

The possibilities were endless.

And then—you sighed.

Not in frustration. Not in exhaustion. In something soft, warm, content—a sound that slipped under his skin like oil paint on canvas, soaking deep, impossible to erase.

And just like that—he lost the game.

His fingers twitched, his own body answering in ways he really didn’t have time to unpack right now. Heat coiled, heavy and hot, something annoyingly persistent pressing against the constraints of his pants. Well, fantastic.

He rolled his eyes at himself, exhaling slow and controlled, dragging a hand through his hair in frustrated resignation.

This was not the time.

With one last lingering glance, he stepped back, slipped soundlessly through the door—and left you none the wiser.

Later That Evening...

The scent of oil paint curled through the dimly lit studio, mingling with the distant hum of the city outside.

Your fingers ghosted over the canvas.

Over the impossible painting.

The one that should not exist.

Your face wasn’t visible—and yet, you knew.

Your stomach flipped, heat curling low, sinking deep, the weight of realization pressing into your ribs.

He had painted you.

Had captured that moment with such aching precision, such devastating intimacy, that your skin still burned, still tingled with the phantom sensation of his gaze.

"You found it."

His voice—low, smooth, too damn close.

Warm hands slid over your waist, a slow, deliberate drag of fingers that knew exactly what they were doing.

You exhaled sharply, your head tipping slightly as heat crackled between you, thick, unbearable.

"You were there," you whispered.

His lips brushed your ear. "I was."

A slow inhale—his breath against your skin, his fingers tightening just enough to make your knees weak.

"You should have said something," you managed, voice softer than you intended, barely a sound.

A quiet hum rumbled in his chest, his nose trailing along the curve of your jaw, slow, teasing.

"And ruin something so perfect?" His lips finally touched skin, a barely-there graze that sent a violent shiver racing down your spine.

"You—" your voice caught as his hands moved, trailing lower, firmer.

"You looked exquisite," he murmured, voice dipping lower, darker. "Like a vision I should never have been allowed to witness."

His lips brushed your pulse—lingering, feeling the way it pounded beneath his mouth.

"And yet," his voice was barely a whisper now, each word deliberate, molten, "I was."

Your breath shuddered.

His teeth grazed your skin, a slow, deliberate promise.

"And now, Cutie," he exhaled, his fingers finally slipping beneath the hem of your dress, a whisper of heat against your thigh—

"Tell me… did you think of me again?"

⭐️⚔️☀️ Xavier – "A Flicker in the Light"

He stepped inside without thought, the quiet murmur of his music still pulsing in his ears, his mind occupied with calculations, reports, and a dozen unfinished tasks. The shift in temperature barely registered—warm, humid air pressing against his skin like an afterthought. His hands were already moving, reaching for his cuffs, adjusting the crisp edge of his sleeve, his focus still half elsewhere.

Until it wasn’t.

Until you.

His first reaction wasn’t shock. Wasn’t arousal. It was assessment.

How much had you noticed?

His pupils contracted slightly against the steam, filtering out distractions, recalibrating the room. His brain clocked angles, escape routes, probability factors before his body had even begun to process what he was looking at.

And what a sight it was.

The way the dim glow of the light kissed your skin, highlighting the delicate rise and fall of your breath. The faint prickle of goosebumps that chased the lingering heat along your arms, the subtle tightening of your nipples against the cool air, a response so instinctive, so unguarded, that it sent something sharp and insidious curling low in his stomach. The slow, absentminded way your fingers grazed over your collarbone, down your ribs—trailing lightly, thoughtlessly—completely unaware of the fact that you were no longer alone.

His stomach tensed. Damn.

Heat curled low, insidious, something that burned slow rather than surged. It was unfair, really—the way his body betrayed him so easily, so completely, while his mind still lagged behind, stuck in logic, in planning, in the painfully unhelpful realization that he needed to move.

Because if you turned now—

If you looked at him with those wide, unsuspecting eyes—

If your lips parted in shock—

That would be a problem.

A flicker of light. A shift in air pressure. And just like that—he was gone.

***

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

The air carried the faintest trace of lavender and warm steam, the evidence of a moment now long passed. A moment you still weren’t entirely sure had happened.

And yet—something felt off.

Your fingers ghosted over the doorframe.

The smallest shift of energy, the faintest pull in your chest—like something had just been there, and yet, when you looked, the space was empty.

You frowned.

"Xavier?"

Silence.

Your gaze narrowed. Suspicious.

You turned toward the bedroom.

And there he was.

Sprawled out perfectly, suspiciously, on the bed. One arm slung lazily behind his head, the other resting lightly over an open book, his breathing so perfectly even that it immediately set off every internal alarm bell in your brain.

Sleeping.

Or rather—pretending to.

Your lips pressed into a thin line.

You took a slow step forward. Then another. Crossing the room until you were standing at the edge of the bed, arms folded, staring down at him with growing suspicion.

"Xavier," you said flatly.

Nothing.

Your gaze flicked to the book still precariously balanced on his lap.

A test.

With zero hesitation, you reached down—

Fast. Too fast.

Before your fingers even brushed the cover, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist in a firm, unyielding grip.

Your breath caught.

His eyes snapped open.

Dark. Steady. Far too awake.

"Touch that," his voice was low, smooth, unreasonably calm, "and we’ll have a problem."

You blinked, pulse hammering beneath the press of his fingers.

"So you’re not sleeping," you muttered.

He exhaled through his nose, the barest flicker of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Observant as always, Princess."

You rolled your eyes, tugging at your hand. "Let go, Xavier."

His grip did not loosen.

Instead, his thumb brushed against your pulse, slow, calculated, considering.

His gaze flicked up. Sharp. Knowing.

"Tell me something."

You swallowed. "What?"

His head tilted slightly, the smirk deepening, dark amusement flickering in the depths of his eyes.

"When you called my name in the hallway just now—" He shifted, stretching ever so slightly, his body so unfairly relaxed despite the fact that you were burning.

His fingers flexed against your skin.

"Were you hoping I’d still be in the bathroom?"

Your breath caught.

His eyes gleamed.

"Or were you just disappointed when I wasn’t?"

🐦🖤😈 Sylus – "How Generous of You, Kitten"

He was already inside before he realized he shouldn’t be.

Not because of caution—he never gave a damn about rules. Not because of hesitation—Sylus didn't hesitate. Ever.

No, the realization came only when he saw you.

And just like that—his entire world tilted.

Something dark and violent snapped through him, searing, immediate, like a live wire hitting water. His entire body seized with it—an impossible, infuriating rush of heat so intense it made his jaw clench so hard his teeth ached. His vision blacked out at the edges, the pulse in his throat pounding, his muscles locking as desire—no, something far worse—slammed into him like a damn freight train.

The sound that left him was low, guttural—more growl than breath.

Possessiveness crashed into his ribcage, molten and unforgiving. His skin felt too tight, his leather jacket suddenly suffocating, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he forced himself not to move. Not yet.

Because oh, kitten, you had no idea.

The fogged glass blurred details, but not enough—not enough to spare him the sight of you.

Your hand slid lower, disappearing between your thighs, the other squeezing the soft swell of your breast, fingers rolling, teasing, your lips parting on a quiet, wrecked sigh. Sylus didn’t blink. His pulse slammed against his ribs, his cock hard and aching, body locked in place, trapped between fascination and pure, seething need. That hand between your legs? That should have been his. His jaw ticked, teeth grinding, vision tunneling to the way your fingers moved—slow, indulgent, unknowing. And fuck, if you only knew.

And then—you broke.

Your thighs tensed, a sharp tremor rippling through them as your breath hitched, your spine arching, muscles tightening with the unbearable, sublime release. A soft, shattered moan slipped from your lips—his name. Barely a whisper, barely a breath, but undeniable.

Sylus stopped breathing.

Heat slammed through him like a fucking bullet, brutal, consuming, rage and arousal twisting, fusing, detonating. His fingers curled into fists, his entire body wired tight with pure, vicious hunger.

Because that? That wasn’t just pleasure.

Fuck.

A sharp, helpless exhale ripped from his throat, his control snapping thread by thread. His entire body was torn apart, his nerves frayed, raw, his pupils blown so wide they swallowed color.

And you had no idea he was there.

You sighed, tilting your head, exposing your throat like a careless offering.

Sylus stopped thinking.

And stepped forward.

Right into the shower.

In full fucking clothing.

The heat hit him instantly, steam curling around him as water soaked through fabric, clinging, molding to every inch of muscle and tension and hunger.

You gasped—shocked, unguarded—whipping around so fast you nearly slipped. But he was already there, hands snapping up, caging you in before you could even think of escaping.

Cold glass at your back. The heat of him at your front.

A trap.

And Sylus? He wasn’t letting you go.

His breath brushed your ear, slow, mocking, entirely too knowing.

"Well," he murmured, voice dripping with amusement, "that was quite the performance."

Your entire soul left your body.

Panic. Embarrassment. Arousal so sharp it made your fingers tremble against his chest.

"Get out," you hissed, mortified, pushing at him with zero success.

He didn’t budge.

"Get out?" he echoed, mocking. "Kitten, you’re the one moaning my name in my own damn house—and you want me to leave?"

Your face burned.

"I was not—"

His laugh was pure sin.

"You were." His nose dragged along your jaw, lips hovering just close enough to make your skin prickle. "And if you're going to be so generous as to put on a show for me—"

His fingers trailed down, slow, deliberate, water slinking down your skin in their wake.

"—don’t you think I should return the favor?"

Your breath hitched.

His grip shifted, pressing you into the glass, wet fabric clinging between you, his body unyielding, a wall of tension and heat.

"I hate you," you spat, voice shaking from everything but anger.

He exhaled, long and slow, drinking in your frustration, your resistance, your reaction.

"You keep saying that," he murmured, his fingers skimming up, teasing over slick, sensitive skin, "but somehow—"

His thumb brushed your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his predator-dark gaze.

"—I never quite believe you."

You clenched your jaw. You would not give him the satisfaction of squirming. Would not.

His smirk sharpened, gaze raking over you like a conqueror surveying his territory.

"Tell me something," he drawled, voice thick, deep.

Your stomach dropped.

"Did you come thinking about my mouth?"

Your lungs stopped working.

His lips curved. Wicked. Unfair.

"Or was it my hands?" His grip tightened just slightly—just enough to make your thighs press together on instinct.

"Maybe," he exhaled, his lips barely grazing your ear, the hunger in his voice dripping through every syllable,

"…it was my voice?"

You wanted to scream. Wanted to shove him away.

More than that?

You wanted to know if he was right.

And that? That was unforgivable.

So you did the only thing you could.

With a sharp tug, you yanked your wrist from his grip, snatched the towel from behind him, and shoved it hard against his chest.

"Go to hell, Sylus."

He caught the fabric before it could hit the tile, shaking his head with a mocking sigh.

"Now, now, kitten," he murmured, watching you wrap the towel around yourself, too smug, too satisfied with himself.

"Run along," he said smoothly, stepping back just enough to let you slip past him, his voice velvet-dark, dripping in amusement.

But before you could make it through the door—before you could breathe past the goddamn tension clawing at your throat—

His voice followed you, low, ruined with restraint.

"…You really think I wouldn't walk into your shower?"

You froze.

Turned to glare at him.

And his smirk? It fucking disappeared.

Because he was wrecked.

The way his chest rose and fell too fast, the way his fists were clenched at his sides, his entire body tight with restraint, the way his pupils were blown so wide despite the smirk still clinging to his lips—

You had never seen him this close to losing control.

Never.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

And then, before you could push it—before you could push him—

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head like he was trying to snap himself out of whatever firestorm he had just walked into.

"Get out of here," he muttered, dragging a wet hand through his hair, turning away, jaw tight, voice strained in a way that sent something dark and electric through your bones.

"Before I change my fucking mind."

[nosyp]

Like a Deer Caught in Headlights

Warnings = rape/noncon, polyamorous relationship, promiscuous reader, mentions of death, mentions of self harm, starving yourself

Pairing = Dark! LADS men + mc x bratty fem! reader

Summary = You come back to the city where you've left all of your memories. But it's sad to say that the memories wanted to do more than welcome you back.

Word count = 9.4k words

A/N = Can you guess what I used as inspiration for this? *wink*

⚠️Remember pressing "Keep reading" means that you chose to read this on your own discretion, don't attack me.

“She’s back.”

“Y/n’s back.”

“Oh my y/n.”

You surely got the whole town talking huh.

TheArchivist07 Post #001 April 13th. 7:11AM. She’s spotted at the train station, perfume still as usual. Smile still stitched with silk and sin. But don’t be fooled by the innocence in her eyes. We remember. And we saw what she left behind: the boy with bruised knuckles, the girl who never spoke again, the photo that went missing from the dorm wall. Welcome back, sweetheart. Let’s finish the story. XOXO, The Archivist

A fresh new blog for a fresh new girl. Nobody knew who was behind the infamous blog who documented your every move, but if keeping their identity anonymous is what it would cost to get news about you, everyone would take up that offer.

After all, you’re the one who decided to cause havoc and suddenly disappear. Why come back? Here to finish what you’ve started?

Pictures of you at the train station from multiple different angles pretty much spread around the whole city. Speculations started— actually, way before you even came back. People made theories that you were sent to a troubled girls camp, that you were sent to jail for underage drinking or you were finally caught by the mafia.

The story wasn’t like that at all though, or maybe it was? Who knows? Only you do.

Anyways, you disappeared 8 years ago, now everyone is out of high school and at their own jobs.

“Hey MC,” you said into the phone.

“...” you hear nothing from the other side… besides really heavy breathing. Then you hear her swallowing her saliva. “Y/n?”

“Missed me? I bet you did. Can we meet tomorrow at that famous cafe? I’ve been dying to go there and I already booked a reservation so if I don’t see you there… Anyways, see ya!” you say, hanging up the phone.

You [8:49 AM]: Oh and bring your friends too. See you~

“Is she really back?” MC breathed, staring at her phone. She’s pale white at this point, seeming like she'd just seen a ghost.

You still have some time, might as well spend it doing what you did best: create drama.

Later on that night, you’d visit the one club you’ve always loved to go to ever since you were in middle school actually. People used to call it a “whorehouse” since that was where all the hookups were stationed. You still remember it as clear as day. That was also the place where you had your first time— with a random man that you’d just met but it was spectacular nonetheless.

You just had to hope it was the same as you’d remember— or maybe even better.

Arriving at the place, the music at the party was just as loud as usual, practically beating inside your ears, and you can see a cute guy hustling between his friends on the side. He’s wearing a suit and tie with… a ring on his finger. It wasn’t just some sort of friendship ring or nothing, it had a decently sized diamond and you could’ve sworn you saw it at one of the fancy jewelry stores around town. 

So you decided to go up to him and try your luck. “Hey handsome,”

“Hey beautiful,” he replies, wrapping his arms around your waist as you wrap yours around his neck. “What are you doing here~?”

“Nothing… just looking for… some fun is all.” you giggle. Then, you whisper into his ears: “Some fun with you maybe?”

“Alright, why don’t we—” you interrupt him with a rough kiss on his lips. Your tongue swirls in his mouth, trying to desperately taste him as he lightly pulls you in closer.

“Y/n?” a guy’s voice calls you out, rapidly pulling you two out of the kiss. 

“I-I’m sorry… who are…” you turn around, to be met with one of your other childhood friends— Caleb.

“Who’s that…?” the older man behind you asks.

“N-nobody… just some guy I know. Give me a second.” you drag Caleb to somewhere more quiet.

You finally let go of your tight grasp around his arm and the first words to come out of your mouth was, “Caleb what the hell?” 

“No— you what the hell? You disappeared for how many—? That’s right, 8 years ago. Now the first impression I have of you is you fucking a much much older guy. Do you even know how old he is?” his voice is scary. He’s practically screaming silently at you.

“I don’t know— I’d guess 40? But why do you care anyway? It’s not like you even cared when I disappeared.” you replied.

“Y/n. This is like your first week in the city— heck— it might even be your first day. So why are you already messing around like this? I thought for 8 years, maybe you’d have gotten better but… maybe you haven’t.” he asks.

The words hit you like a slap. Nobody back in your old city, where you were at for 8 years, dared to even talk back to you, not even try to go against you. So it’s unfortunate for you to cross paths with a guy who wasn’t even a tiny bit scared of you. Yes, you were mean back then too but not mean enough to him to make him shiver in your presence.

“Caleb, you know NOTHING about me so why are you acting like my parents? Me leaving for 8 years made you a good for nothing loser who spends time complaining rather than making something of his life?” you angrily respond.

“What the fuck?” he then angrily storms out of the club. 

TheArchivist07 Post #002 April 13th. 8:00PM. Careful y/n, you can’t be making trouble on your first day back.

—

You’d woken up the next day in a really really sour mood, not just because of that stupid argument with Caleb but also because you didn’t even get a chance to continue your rendezvous with the guy since he disappeared the moment you came back.

Oh! But today was the day you were supposed to meet up with MC and her supposed new friends. 

TheArchivist07 Post #003 April 14th. 7:00AM. Good morning y/n, We hope you have a better second day. Don’t start too much drama today. XOXO, The Archivist

You got up from your bed and immediately started putting on the new outfit you had just bought for yourself. A pleated, short white skirt with a matching white long-sleeved button up which all came together with a baby pink cardigan. For the accessories, you wore some small pieces of jewelry, a headband and a pair of black, mary jane shoes.

You’ve been trying different styles ever since you came back from that old city. It was a rural city that had basically zero to no shopping districts so you’d just had to rely solely on the clothes that you had already— which was much more than what the local kids had.

You had to move there because your dad got an offer to stay there for a few years and take care of one of the newer company facilities. It was honestly pretty futuristic, it’s just a bummer you weren’t really allowed to spend time there. Also, your parents said that it was a good place to “humble” you, that you had to see the reality of some people’s lives. But really, there is no humbling you.

You were a bitch: a bitch that can’t be stopped.

Enough of the backstory, you got inside the luxurious black limousine that you had missed for the longest time and took it to your next location, the cafe.

The cafe is new, and pretty much went viral. So you were excited to have two new experiences in one.

Arriving at the cafe, you could already see a huge line in front of it. People were eagerly waiting for a seat or even a chance to buy something… but all you did was just brush past them and make your way to your seat.

“Hey… y/n is it? Delighted to meet you.” the white haired guy beside you spoke up. His voice was deep, and… kind of teasing if you heard it correctly.

“Hey— yeah… are you one of MC’s friends? If so, nice to meet you too.” you say cheerfully. “By the way, where’s MC?”

“She’s a bit late so we’ll have to wait a while for her and the others,” he answers.

“Right, and I also brought one of my friends.” you say, feeling her presence coming. “This is Selina. She’s not gonna stay so this might be the only time you do talk to her.”

“Right. Good morning, Selina.” he says.

“Good—” she tries to say back.

“Yeah— you can go now. I’ll see you later at 5? At the place?” you interrupt her, rolling your eyes dramatically.

“S-sorry… yeah…” she quietly murmurs, then walks out of the cafe like nothing happened.

“Sorry if she was being annoying, she just likes to do that sometimes. Anyways, what’s your name?” you finally ask the question.

TheArchivist07 Post #004 April 14th. 9:43AM. Watch out, [Your initial] You can’t treat people like your minion… or maybe you can “I’m Sylus. What’s yours?” he answers. “I’m y/n. Nice to get uhh… acquainted with you…” you respond.

After some time, they all started to gather. There was Zayne, Rafayel, Caleb, and MC in exactly that order of where you were looking from (aka across) while you were in between Sylus and Xavier. 

“So… nice to meet you all. I hope we can all get along for the next few… days… weeks… months… or years of my stay here.” you awkwardly say.

“So, what are you getting y/n?” Rafayel asks.

“Uh— nothing really. I just… don’t feel hungry but you guys can order freely. I’m offering.” you reply.

Zayne looks up from the menu. “Have you eaten anything before this?”

You look back at him. “No… not exactly.”

He seems disappointed when he says,”Then it’s not wise for you to skip breakfast. Might do more harm than good.”

“Why should I listen to you?” the words slip out before you can stop them. Shit. You were supposed to be nice. Luckily for you, he isn’t one to be easily offended. But you can definitely see the way MC raises her eyebrows and gives you a confused look.

“I’m a doctor,” he replies.

“Y/n— just eat, please.” MC finally intercepts. “You haven’t changed much these past few years.”

TheArchivist07 Post #005 April 14th. 9:59AM. You’d better watch what you say, y/n Or else you’d might actually end up in a troubled girls camp

“I-I’m sorry…” you murmured quietly. “That your life is so fucking sad that you have to order people around.”

“...” The silence is uncomfortable. Everyone’s just waiting to see what happens rather than making the first move.

Then Zayne exhales softly through his nose before calmly setting down his menu on the table. “You done?” he asks, tone unreadable.

You open your mouth to say something but your dear friend MC cuts in. “Let it go.”

Her voice is soft but firm. That practiced kind of kindness that always feels just hinted… at something else.

“Cuz you’ll deal with it huh?” you say, resting your elbows on the table and leaning closer. “You’ve been saying that…since when? And I haven’t even changed a bit. Give up.”

The fiery-ness was always something MC adored about you. Something about the way you had no respect in the way you talked to her flipped a switch inside her. She had somehow made it her life mission to “tame” you as if a million other people didn’t try.

“Keep talking and see where you end up.” she also starts leaning towards you. “I might not be so nice.”

You can’t lie. Her words sent shivers up your spine, and sent rushes of heat to your cheeks. “F-fuck you.” Then, you leaned back onto the soft cushions. 

TheArchivist07 Post #006 April 14th. 10:03AM. The scoreboard is now 0-1 You lost this round y/n, Better catch up

You couldn’t pick a fight with them, you know why. You know your evol never managed to bloom ever since young, you were much weaker than most. Still grateful you even had an evol though, you felt bad for those poor peasants who weren’t as blessed as you so you never messed with them. 

Without even getting the chance to order, MC just ordered a bunch of food despite not knowing what you wanted. 

Frustration is bubbling to the surface now and you’re so close to blowing up on her but you decide not to. You hadn’t even realised your fingernails had started digging into the flesh of your palm until Xavier asked if you were okay.

Suddenly, MC spoke up. “She’s fine. She’s just salty about this— just like how she is with evol.” 

“Y’know… I think he asked me, not you. So shut up would you? Plus, you’re not even paying for any of this so stop ordering so much.” you spat.

She looked at you, then at the waiter, then back at you. “I am actually paying. Waiter, finish up the order and I’ll pay right now.” she says, taking out her card.

You have a very visibly disgusted facial expression plastered all over your face now and everyone can see it. Unluckily for you, you’re in the public eye so you have to be careful… because the archivist will document everything.

The drama that you didn’t cause made the whole mood sour and none of you bothered to talk even a single syllable. The atmosphere was still tense between you and Caleb, now it’s you and everyone.

It wasn’t until when you all bid farewell that MC talked to you again.

“Hey… I’m sorry for before. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you and I just can’t help but feel… infuriated that you didn’t even change for the better. You said the reason you moved was to improve yourself? So where is it?” she started.

How was she saying nothing and everything at the same time? Every part of you ached to get closer to her, and the other portion begged for you not to even entertain her.

“But that’s what you like about me… You were smiling the whole time it was happening. Don’t lie MC.” you reply, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Maybe it is… dinner at 5 later?” asked MC. 

Dinner at 5? You had already promised to go to a party with Selina at 5, what are you supposed to do now?

TheArchivist07 Post #007 April 14th. 10:47AM. So now the real question was: Who are you choosing? Your dear friend MC or Selina? Take your pick We’ll be waiting y/n

MC's POV

I watch her closely, standing there with her arms crossed with that same guarded look she always used to have. But her eyes. God, those eyes still have that spark. The spark that makes you wanna pin her down and teach her a lesson until she’s begging for you to stop. It's like nothing has changed but at the same time everything has.

She’s older, smarter, cooler. It feels like she just left me behind to pick up the pieces.

I couldn’t stand it. Every part of me wants to break through the walls she’s put up to guard herself. I can’t describe how much I want to yell at her, to tell her how messed up this whole situation is. How much it hurt when she left, how much it still hurts now. But I can't. I just stand there, waiting for her to talk.

I wanted to believe she’d changed oh so desperately. That she’d grown into someone better. But now, seeing her here again, it feels like everything is the same. She’s still her. The same girl who knows exactly how to twist the knife at the right angle to make me hurt people. But she’s also the girl I’ve always loved, the light of my life.

“Dinner at five?” I ask before I even think. It’s stupid. I don’t know why I said it. Maybe because I’m clingy. Maybe because I’m scared what will happen to her if I’m not there. Maybe I’m just trying to hold on to anything I can. But all I know is, she’s never getting away ever again.

“N-no! I-I’m very sorry for today but I already had plans with Selina.” she says.

Selina? Who the hell is she? What kind of importance does she have for you to reject my offer like this?

Questions ran through my head at the speed of a million miles per second, and yet the name still rang in my head. Who the fuck is Selina?

But nonetheless, I calm myself down and reply calmly with: “Oh okay, see you next time then.”

And we bid farewell. Curse you Selina.

TheArchivist07 Post #008 April 14th. 10:50AM. Well Selina’s got [MC Initial] fired up

Back to your POV

TheArchivist07 Post #009 April 14th. 6:13PM. Wake up sweet y/n You’re late for your plans with Selina

Holy fuck. It’s over an hour past the time you agreed to meet with Selina. Shit shit shitttt… Why didn’t your maid, Dorothy, remind you? You already told her to remind you so many times but why didn’t she?

You hurriedly put on your dress and ran into the car that had been waiting for you. Why didn’t anybody wake you up? Oh— wait— Dorothy stayed back in that small town, city, whatever you called it. 

Maybe it was your fault on your end, but at the same time it wasn’t, you just haven’t gotten used to not having assistance 24/7. 

Selina doesn’t even look up when you enter, her fingers scrolling through her phone with the occasional faint click of her nails against the screen. The lobby is empty, everyone’s already up at the venue you’d figure.

“You’re late,” she says, her voice flat, absent of any surprise. She doesn’t even bother to look at you yet.

You stop in your tracks, narrowing your eyes. “I’m late? You’re lucky that I even bothered to show up at all after your little stunt yesterday.”

Finally, she looks up at you with a blank, unreadable stare. “You’ve always had a… habit of overestimating your position, haven’t you? You can’t just trample over everyone and expect nothing to happen y’know.”

The words sting more than they should, but you don’t let it show. Not in front of her.

You sit down, placing your bag on the table, still seething. “I don’t have time for your games today, Selina. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

She shrugs before resting her hands on her side with her hands, finally giving you her full attention. “If you’re going to want to keep your ‘queen bee’ title here, then I’ll let you. But don’t expect me to fall for it again. You don’t have the luxury of making mistakes anymore.”

Her gaze is cold, cutting through you like she’s already decided what your worth is. And you hate that she’s right. Because the truth is, you did make a mistake. You did let her get the bullet this time.

“Careful,” you warn her. “You’re getting way too close to the edge of the cliff.”

Selina doesn’t flinch. Instead, she relaxes her back and a subtle smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “You always did like pretending you’re the one in control. But deep down, we both know it’s always been me.”

You hold her gaze, resisting the urge to snap. She wants a reaction. She wants you to crumble. But not today. Not now.

“Well,” you say, your voice smooth, threatening too. “If you want to keep this little game going, I suggest you remember one thing. I made you. And I can unmake you just as easily.”

You can hear her swallow the lump in her throat as she retreats back to being your silly little minion. 

“By the way, before trying to put me down, you probably shouldn’t be using an out-of-season dress. It doesn’t even look good on you. I’d suggest you take it off but really… no dress looks good on you.” you mention because how did you look better when you only had 10 seconds to change out of your pyjamas?

She looks unimpressed, and used to it. “And your hair looks like a mess. I’d rather you wear a cheap wig off of the street rather than the bundle of whatever is going on with the top of your head.”

“Yet it looks better than yours. You only talk when spoken to.” you firmly state, sending shivers up her spine.

“R-right… sorry. What could I ever do to make it up to you?” she asks you. An idea pops up in your head.

—

You drop the keys into Selina’s hand, giving her time to mentally prepare to do what you told her to. What did you tell her to do? 

It’s nothing serious… only a few years in jail if she doesn’t mess up too much, no? 

She twists the key, opening the door to the… art museum. It was a pretty famous exhibit of artworks made by the one and only, charming prince Rafayel. You did your research. 

When nobody was looking, you took the liberty of “borrowing” Rafayel’s keys. The one you got was to the art museum and you left the house key with him, can’t play with him too much yet. You also knew that it took exactly 7 seconds for the alarm to start ringing as soon as it detected an intruder… or she could just be caught by Thomas. It was one or the other; only fate can decide it.

Once you saw that she was out of your sight, you fled the scene and started walking in the direction of where you came from. 

“Y/n?” someone calls out your name.

Fuck.

“Yes?” you twist around to see who it is. It’s Rafayel, one of MC’s friends. You didn’t really remember him at all because you were way too busy with MC.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, confused.

“Nothing… just… I got lost. The city is so big y’know.” you mention, giving him the most innocent eyes in the world. “Actually, can you help me home? I’m scared to go by myself.”

“U-uh… sure I can,” he agrees.

The walk home was way too awkward for your liking, most of the time it was you two bathing in the silence but then there were the occasional small talk starter questions: “Soo… how was your day today?” or “What do you think of the city so far?”

Anyways, you were successful. You managed to distract him from the fact that his museum’s alarm is going crazy right now and the police have started to arrive. You know because there is a really odd amount of spam calls coming into your phone the whole time you spent with him.

“Don’t you need to go get that…?” he finally asks.

“Hm? What are you talking about?” you play dumb.

He looks at you confused, isn’t your phone the ones that have been buzzing and ringing the whole time? He replies with,”Y’know… your calls or messages? It seems urgent.”

Suddenly, you had a feeling. You were bored; you had time. God forbid a girl has hobbies. “Nothing’s more urgent than you…” you say, hands snaking up his chest to his shoulders.

“W-what? Y/n, are you okay? Do I need to call Dr Zayne?” he asks.

“Ughhh… that guy… I would much prefer it if you were the one giving me the checkup tonight.” you whine, starting to close the distance between you two. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and you waited for him to reciprocate.

“Y/n, are you okay?” he asks again, still not returning your embrace.

You look up at him. “Yeah, I feel great— as I usually do.”

No words come out of his mouth for a while, then his lips crash onto yours. His lips were urgent against yours, like he’d been holding back for far too long. His hands finally settled on your waist, reluctant at first, but getting less and less slowly.

The kiss was desperate, both of you pulling each other in as if the other would disappear if you even loosened your grip a bit. Neither of you knew what the hell you were doing, but still chasing it anyway.

It tasted like heat and adrenaline and guilt. The flashing red and blue of police sirens barely visible in the far-off skyline, the chaotic ringing from your phone echoing through the hallway of your apartment… none of it mattered in that moment.

It was just you… and him… and the secret between your teeth.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless.

“Wow,” Rafayel mutters, almost to himself. “I… I didn’t think you actually…”

“You think too much,” you whisper, brushing your lips against the edge of his jaw. “That’s your problem.”

But inside, you’re already calculating.

Because while he’s melting in your hands, you know what he doesn’t. Because that museum of his?

It’s either been wiped empty by Selina, or completely infiltrated by cops.

And the real show hasn’t even started yet.

TheArchivist07 Post #010 April 14th. 7.02PM. R clearly doesn’t know who he’s dealing with

Seeing how the phone calls stopped, you’d figure it’s probably best to go back home rather than deal with the mess. 

—

You close the door behind you with a soft click, kicking off your heels. The silence in your apartment is almost too loud. There’s no music, people talking or fights. It’s just the soft hum of the air conditioning and your own heart still racing from… everything.

Your lips are still tingling from the kiss. Rafayel’s kiss. You never caught feelings for a guy, so why do you feel like this?

You don’t know if it was a mistake, a game, or just another distraction for you. You don't even care right now. You toss your phone onto the couch, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Then, your phone lights up with a soft ding.

MC [8.08PM]: Can we talk?

Your stomach turns. You stare at the message. It’s short. Too short. It’s either the start of something serious… or the end of something worse.

MC [8.30PM]: I’m not mad. I just need to understand. Please.

Your fingers hover over the screen, debating. Should you respond now? Or do you leave her waiting?

You sigh, head falling back against the couch. You’re tired. You’re wired. And now… MC wants to talk? Perfect.

Without even responding or replying or leaving her on read, you just go to bed, totally ignorant. 

—

The morning sun slices through your blackout curtains like it has a personal vendetta against you.

Your head’s pounding. Your throat’s dry. Your eyelids feel heavy.

You groan, dragging yourself off the couch. The glass of water you meant to get? Untouched. The unread texts? Still there. The questions clawing at your brain? Louder than ever.

Ding dong.

What the hell?

You blink at the door, not fully processing it. Another ring. More impatient this time. You shuffle over, still half-asleep, and pull it open with zero grace.

And there your dear friend MC is standing in front of your door, looking… annoyed. Like she hasn’t slept either or something happened.

You stare at each other in silence for what feels like an entire lifetime. 

She’s the first to speak. “I figured you wouldn’t answer if I tried to text you again.”

You rub your eyes, trying to make sense of reality. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Not until I saw you.” she replies.

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. Not yet.

“I just need to know,” she says, voice much quieter now. “Do you even want to stay friends with me?”

You’re clearly shocked by the question by how you flinch back, and start thinking for a second. Do you even want her as a friend? Or just some puppet that you can summon wherever and whenever you need her to?

Nevertheless, you just say the most satisfying answer that comes to mind. “Yeah… I do. What is this about? What happened?”

“I heard you and Rafayel kissed last night… and you can’t even bother to talk to me. I’m not here to argue, I just wanted to ask why you don’t even want to talk to me.” she plops down on your couch.

“I’m sorry, okay, I didn’t mean to kiss him. Do you ahem—… like him…?” you inquire.

Quite different actually, she likes you. There’s just some things that we keep hidden to ourselves that you don’t need to know.

“No. Just wondering why you’re avoiding me— like I said.” she answers.

“Well, since you’re complaining about all this… would you like to come to a party with me next week?” you immediately regret it. But it’s her answer that shocks you even more honestly.

“Actually… Why don’t you take Zayne?” MC proposed. “He’s been tense, so he really needs to loosen up.”

You roll your eyes for what feels like the umpteenth time and reply annoyingly, “Why don’t you wanna go? I mean he’s a good for nothing los—”

Then, she puts her hand on top of yours and squeezes tightly. Being the touch-starved you, you didn’t shove her hand away.

And, that’s how you end up bringing Zayne as your plus one for the masquerade. You had no idea how you were so easily bamboozled by MC but at the same time, she’s got you wrapped around her finger so easily that it would be weird if you didn’t take her advice.

With the assistance of Selina, you ensured that both you and Zayne were dressed perfectly for the event. You had also briefed him on what is supposed to happen in a masquerade and what he’s supposed to do. Although he said he gets it, you still feel anxious about it. I mean, what could you expect from a loser who hangs near sick patients all day— how do you know he’s not sick?

“Zayne, you don’t get it— you have to look perfect or else you’ll ruin both of our reputations in one go.” you explain to him to which he only replies with a soft hum.

“Sure… sure.” and that’s it. He didn’t even bother to look into your eyes.

You couldn’t ever express how frustrated you were but as long as it ended fine, you did great.

You were on your way home from picking up both of your outfits, then you saw a particularly familiar white-haired boy. You didn’t slow down, didn’t stop either— actually, he was the one who stepped into your path like the sidewalk was his personal runway.

“Hey,” he said, like he wasn’t the exact kind of person you didn’t want to deal with right now.

You should’ve ignored him. Should’ve rolled your eyes, kept walking.

Instead, you smiled sweetly and scanned his outfit. It wasn’t particular interesting aside from the fact that he looked like a mess— a mess you didn’t want to deal with.

“You look gross,” you said, tilting your head. “Fresh out the dump?”

He laughed at your words—because of course he did. He wasn’t the type to get offended. He was the type to enjoy it.

“Aw, is that your way of saying you missed me?” he asked, eyes flicking down to the bags in your hands. “New outfits? You buying stuff to impress me?”

You scoffed. “You think anyone would shop with you in mind?”

“Just calling it like I see it,” he said, stepping a little closer, too close. “Besides… I think it’s cute. You pretending not to like me and all.”

You leaned in just slightly and got closer to his ear. “I’m not pretending.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, smile sharpening. “We’ll see.”

And the worst part? The absolute worst part is that you let him walk beside you for the next block.

He wasn’t super annoying but annoying enough to make you have to sigh ten times in a second.

“Shouldn’t you be going now? Maybe getting a life— oh wait! You don’t have one.” you finally say.

He looks amused, he was expecting that from you. “As usual, you have no filter.”

“Ugh whatever, just get far away from me.” you say, giving him a disgusted look.

He chuckles lightly. “Okay okay, see you around y/n.” he says, waving goodbye at you as he walks away.

You don’t wave back. “Finally that bitch is gone” you murmur to yourself, picking the bags back up to start walking again. Selina’s already on the venue’s decoration duty so you had to take care of yourself this time. Oh how it sucks to be independent.

—

The limousine had stopped in front of the grand venue, only the low hum of its engine mixing with the chatter outside. People were flocked outside the door, waiting for you to come out to pounce at you with questions.

“Are you ready?” Zayne extends his hand out to you and you take it, going out of the limousine.

Flashes of cameras flood your vision, but Zayne’s there to guide your way. He swore he was so close to using his evol to cataclysm everyone on site from the way he was death staring everyone.

One part of the crowd was cheering stuff like:

“AAHHH Y/N L/N LOOK HERE!!” 

“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S YOU!!”“YOU LOOK FANTASTIC!”

“WHO’S THE HANDSOME GUY?!?!”

“I’M A BIG FAN!! PLEASE AUTOGRAPH”

While the other part of the crowd could be like:

“Y/n, do you mind answering a few questions about politics?”“What is your opinion on the archivist?”

“Why did you disappear for so long?”

“What happened when you disappeared?”

“What are your plans for the future?”

TheArchivist07 Post #011 April 22nd. 7:35PM. Y/n’s got the crowd excited After all, what do you expect from a queen bee's return?

They’re all similarly just looking for their turn to get their biggest scoop on you, but you don’t allow it. They have to earn it, and it’s not by shoving a camera into your face when you’re vulnerable.

Making your way into the safety of the venue, you put on the mask and started greeting everyone… with Zayne on the side just following around but did occasionally greet them too.

“Ooh, who is this handsome guy?” a woman teases. “Mind if I have a turn with him?”

Her tone is clearly joking, and you can tell she’s an older woman just looking for some fun so you don’t take offense.

“For all I care, go ahead.” you reply… jokingly? But you can’t help but feel conflicted about your relationship with him. You really thought you had no feelings for him, but something formed during the time you spent together preparing. 

Like that time you asked him to zip up your dress when you brought him dress shopping. And when you almost tripped, he caught you right on time. You don’t know if it was just admiration or romantic feelings but you definitely had something for him, even if it was platonic.

Sad that he doesn’t think the same way.

At the same time, no matter how hard you tried to forget, he was still there— buried in the corners of your mind, the boy you had loved for what felt like forever… right up until the moment he vanished. Why did he have to leave? Why you? Did he ever stop to think about what that did to you? Did he ever feel an ounce of regret?

But deep down, the truth gnawed at you. It was your fault. You were the one who ruined it. You were reckless. You were selfish. You were stupid.

And the worst of all? You’d do anything just to feel close to him one last time.

You spent years trying to deny it even happened. Sometimes people even felt scared that you were “talking to yourself” but you were really speaking to the ghosts of him. 

Then, after some time, it shifted to forgetting it ever happened. It worked for a while before it started to come up again; everything reminded you of him. Everytime you’d see a guy with even one simple feature that looked like him, it felt like your whole world shattered when you saw them turn around and it wasn’t him.

Then, it changed to hurting yourself in the forms of starvation, wounding yourself, and even sleep depriving yourself. Nothing ever made you feel better. You felt like you deserved nothing while he deserved everything, you just couldn’t give it to him.

Finally, your parents sent you to therapy. Out of all the methods, it probably worked the best. They were glad when they saw you improving and just kept sending you there. Your last session was 1 hour before the flight back to the city, and you’ve never bothered to find another.

Enough of the sad, boring stuff, parties are for fun. You’re supposed to be all hyped and jumping up and down, excited for the activities. You can’t sour the mood.

Zayne— being the boring man that he is— just stayed on the outskirts of the party, alone. So you took responsibility and tried to bring him to the dance floor. But it ended up with you staying with him with the bartender.

“One neat whiskey for you sir, and anything for you ma’am?” the guy behind the counter asks.

“W-what… you bought a drink? Didn’t think you were the type to even drink.” you say. “Anyways, I’ll just take water, thanks.”

“Just that?” He raises an eyebrow. “She’ll take a whiskey too then.”

You suddenly feel your heart stopping. He was super insistent to getting you a drink. “Why’d you do that?”

“You need to relieve yourself. You look stressed.” he says.

“Ugh whatever. I can do that by doing something else.” you complain, leaning on the counter.

“Then, go do it.” he responds.

He’s so boring and stoic and dull. You were hoping you could change him but he wouldn’t even comply with one of your requests, it was probably you complying with his actually.

Once the drinks arrived, you felt your heart skip a beat again. You didn’t want to drink so early into the party; You didn’t even want to drink again.

Something about drinking in front of him seemed so terrifying, like there was a gut instinct telling you not to. 

“Y/NNNNN! DRINKKK!!!!! TAKE THE SHOTT!!!” a person shouts from the crowd, and everyone turns their head towards you. 

In less than a blink of an eye, everyone’s attention was on you now. It’s not like you weren’t used to it though.

“Ugh… sorry guys, I can’t… I really really shouldn’t…” you sigh, earning a disappointed whine from the crowd.

“Oh come on y/n, just drink a bit. If anything happens, I’ll be here.” Zayne says.

You haven’t drunk around people for a long time, terrified that it would happen again. That you would lose another if you lost yourself around someone else. It was the whole reason that you never dared to get too close to someone ever again: the world practically ended when it happened to you.

“Drink y/n!” the people all cheered in unison. 

“Zayne please don’t make me do this, tell everyone to stop.” you beg him.

“Silly girl, just listen to everyone. It’ll work out just fine, trust me.” is what he replies with.

Reluctantly and apprehensively, with Zayne’s approval, you take the shot, chugging it all down in one gulp. You forgot how strong the burning feeling that followed was. After all, it had been a long time since you’ve taken shots.

For the rest of the time you spent at the party, you limited yourself to only 5 shots but you ended up drinking around… fifteen? You couldn’t remember, but Zayne was barely affected after ten of them. 

Once you decided you wanted to go home, you told Zayne and he agreed. Then, you two went out of the party to see…

“Zayne, give me your phone.” you demand of him.

“Why exa—” he stops mid sentence as soon as he sees you take the phone out of his pocket.

With a quick flash of his camera, you take a photo of the scene before you. For some odd reason, you just felt really awakened once you realised what was happening.

“Hey— what the hell!” the guy screams… then his eyes widen when he realises it's you. “W-wait… nonono, what did you just do?”

“Took a photo of you— since I’m just… ugh… such a big fan and all… I bet your girlfriend would be a big fan of this too.” you say, holding up the photo of him kissing another girl. 

“Wait.” he tries to grab your wrist before Zayne intercepts. He places himself in between you two like a barrier. 

“Z, don’t.” your tone is firm. You can do it yourself, you don’t need a stupid man to take care of you and he knows that. He silently sends the guy a death glare and then moves out of your way.

“How much?” he asks.

“Oh—! Finally you’re asking the good questions. I knew that brain of yours was more than just for sex.” you smile at him cheekily. “10k maybe?”

“Done.” said the guy, the girl pretty much long gone from the scene. 

Scanning his face, you see he’s glad. The price you set was probably pocket change for him so you did what any other sane person would do. “Actually… let’s bump it up… 100k?”

“O-one hundred k? That’s a bit of a stretch isn’t it?” he asks in a shocked tone.

It’s getting good now.

“No— not at all actually… but maybe you think your girlfriend isn’t worth 100k… Might as well tell her if you don’t value her enough to not hurt her feelings.” you reply.

“F-fuck! Fine… 100k. No more, no less.” he admits defeat.

“That’s more like it. I better get that transfer by 8 PM today or else… you know. Ta-ta~!” you bid him goodbye.

Hooking your arm around Zayne’s, you walk away with him. 

“Weren’t you a bit too rough with him, my love?” he asks.

Honestly, mentioning it now, you do kind of felt like you were a bit too hard on him. But, cheating on someone isn’t exactly a good thing either. “I-I don’t know…”

“...” he says nothing.

“Be honest, do you think I’m a whore?” you suddenly start interrogating him.

TheArchivist07 Post #012 April 22nd. 11:27PM. As the saying says, “Don’t bite off more than you can chew”, y/n

He thinks for a second, looking up at the sky as if it had the answer. “Hmm, do you sleep around a lot?” asked Zayne.

You think for a second, knowing you couldn’t say no to the question. Despite trying to stop it, you never really stopped. “M-maybe…”

“Then there’s your answer.” he states firmly, with his usual stoic calmness.

Without even realising what happened, tears just started welling up in your eyes— droplets sliding down your cheek and onto the hard, concrete pavement. 

Zayne seems visibly shocked as soon as he sees you crying. He didn’t say anything for a while, just rubbing the tears off with his thumb. To him, you looked beautiful crying— but not for this. He’d much prefer for you to be crying from pleasure rather than actual sadness.

“Z-zayne… everything hurts…” you manage to mumble in between sobs. “E-everything feels so— so— so hot… please make it stop…”

‘Did the drink I gave really work this fast?’ was what went through his mind, but you don’t know that. You never will. Using his hand, he feels your forehead for a fever. “No fever, you don’t feel hot from the outside at all.”

But on your end, you felt hot— flaming hot. You didn’t know what was happening; everything just hurt really bad. It was as if someone was burning you from the inside with a torch. 

“Can you walk?” he questions. 

“Y-yeah…” your head is spinning in circles now; there was a high-pitched ringing sound in your ear that wouldn’t stop either. 

In a panic, he slips an arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back before picking you up bridal style

“W-what are you doing…?” you breathe out, a bit startled but too much in a haze to care.

“Bringing you home,” he replies, voice low. He’s resolute, he thinks this is the only way.

—

The first thing he did as soon as you two arrived at his place was to put you down onto his bed… and get on top of you.

“Z-zayne… what are you doing?” you try to push him away, but he quickly grabs hold of both of your wrists.

“S-stop! Let go of me!” you scream.

He doesn't flinch. His pupils dilate and there’s a flash of something dark in his eyes… but it’s not angry. Just... intent. He’s intended for this to happen. He’s planned this to happen. It’s the inevitable now.

“I’ve been thinking about this for so long,” he murmurs. “You don’t understand what you do to me.”

You squirm beneath him, desperately trying to break free from his grasp which only tightens. There’s no malice in his expression— only a filthy, dirty obsession. Like he’s grateful you're here. Like this moment is something he’s been dreaming of. Like he’s been reciting this exact same scene in his head multiple times he could act it out to a T.

“Y’know you’re so perfect for me,” he gets closer to your neck, giving it a long wet kiss before starting to bite into the skin, leaving semi-permanent marks. You knew you were going to remember it, even if it faded away. 

“You were made for me, molded for me, shaped for me. Don’t you get it? This is fate. I know you don’t see it yet, but you will by the end of this.”

“Z-zayne… please… you don’t want to do this.” you beg him, but they just go in one ear and out the other.

“No, my love… I do want this. And you’ll want it to. I’ll make you beg for it.” he added, his voice in a dark tone. “You keep letting other men have sex with you— let me in too.”

“S-stop! Stop or I’ll tell mc!” you shriek.

He freezes in his spot, but not out of fear of being snitched… but out of disbelief. “My beloved… She helped make this happen… Wasn’t it weird when she told you to come to the party with me rather than her?”

That’s the moment it all seeps in for you. Everything that has happened with all of them just snaps into place. 

You didn’t know how long you were zoned out of it, because when you came back to reality… Zayne’s shaft was already disappearing into your body, kissing the deepest parts of your hole with every snap of his hips.

“Ugh… you’re so tight…” he mumbles in your neck, hand fondling with your tits.

Your dress was pulled from the top all the way down to your waist while your underwear was now resting at your ankles. Your bra was pushed up so high, it revealed the soft flesh that laid beneath it.

You couldn’t think anymore… you couldn’t feel anymore. The only thing that was able to process in your head was the feeling of his cock buried deep inside you. It was passionate… slow… deliberate…

He wasn’t rough, he didn’t hold you as if you were going to disappear. He was loving. His touch was soft, caring to not to break you, as if you were a fragile piece of art. The rhythm he started with was gentle, letting you adjust to something more comfortable before going rougher. He knew you were still out of it, so he decided to be lenient.

If it were any other day, he can’t guarantee he would be as lenient.

TheArchivist07 Post #013 April 22nd. 8:12PM. Look out y/n,  You can’t underestimate the determination of a sex-deprived man.

—

“So, you couldn’t find an actual proper way to have sex with me so you decided to poison me with whatever the hell you poisoned me with… and raped me? I don’t think you reali—” you turn around on your seat… to see… your parents?

They look disappointed in you, as if you’d just done something wrong… this time, it’s super wrong. 

Slam!

The loud bang woke you up. It was just a dream… phew. You can’t describe how relieved you feel honestly. 

You let out a shaky breath, but something feels wrong. It’s all off, everything’s eerily weird. The ceiling above you isn’t yours. The faint scent in the room, the sheets, the dim lighting… none of it is familiar.

Your pulse quickens.

This isn’t your room.

You sit up abruptly, looking around in a panic. The bed you’re on is way too soft, you usually liked it a bit hard and the room was too nice, everything was quite neat compared to the mess you usually had. You’re in a whole new set of clothes too. Who the hell changed you? You don’t see your bag or your phone either. 

What the hell?

That’s when your eyes land on the phone on the nightstand. Definitely not yours. The wallpaper shows a not super blurred photo… like it was taken accidentally. But you know that phone. You’ve seen it in his hands.

Zayne.

Your breath catches.

You hesitate, then reach for the phone. You know it’s wrong, you know it’s invasive, but you can’t help yourself. Your thumb hovers, and to your surprise, the screen lights up. It’s unlocked.

Why is it unlocked?

You glance over your shoulder like someone might burst through the door, then quickly swipe through the messages. Most are boring. One’s from Sylus. Another from Xavier.

But then—

A message from a group chat named… “The y/n project.” There were practically thousands of messages sent in the group chat starting from… April 13th? Wasn’t that the day you came back?

You started reading the chats from this morning. The first one was sent from Zayne.

Zayne [6:36AM]: [Image]

Zayne [6:36AM]: She looked so peaceful sleeping. I could’ve kept her forever.

Sylus [6:37AM]: What if we just told her… maybe she wouldn’t run. But maybe I don’t want her to have a choice.

MC [6:40AM]: Bad idea… she’d run away, like the little bitch she is.

Caleb [6:42AM]: Let her run. I’d enjoy chasing her.

Rafayel [6:43AM]: We all know how this will end. She stays. She’s going to stay.

Caleb [6:44AM]: I don’t think she remembers what happened when she disappeared but we can’t let it happen again and that’s probably for the best.

Sylus [6:46AM]: Then we don’t let it happen. Do anything and everything it takes to keep her where we need her to be.

Zayne [6:48AM]: She’s already halfway there. She wants to trust us. She always does.

MC [6:49AM]: It’s cute how she thinks she still has a choice.

Xavier [6:50AM]: So when do we do it?

Then, nothing… You felt sick to your stomach. They’d been stalking and talking about you ever since you’d arrived.

Your breath hitches, fingers trembling as you place the phone back exactly where you found it. You swing your legs off the bed, trying not to make a sound.

You need to get out of here… like now. But then, why leave when things are getting good?

TheArchivist07 Post #014 April 23rd. 7:59AM. Nobody messes with a bitch and expect nothing in return What’s your move y/n?

You pick up Zayne’s phone again… and press the on record button. “Ngh~ It hurts… stop it Zayne… A-ahh…” you moan into the phone, anddd… sent.

You had no idea where Zayne even was, he could literally be anywhere in and out of the house. 

The phone flooded with texts and calls but you couldn’t bother. Seeing how messed up they were, they’d probably be better off in solitary confinement.

Speak of the devil, you look up and see the doctor. He has a breakfast-in-bed table all prepared for you in his hand and the other holding the door open. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Zayne says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His gaze flicks to the bed, then to the phone on the table, and back to you.

You put on your most convincing smile. “You didn’t have to do all this for me,” you say, voice sugary sweet, even though you're internally screaming at yourself to punch him right across the face… but oh well.

He sets the tray down gently in front of you. “Well, after everything, you deserve to be pampered a little. Rest, food, peace…” He pauses. “Safety.”

You can tell he’s watching you carefully now, like he’s trying to figure out if you know something you’re not supposed to. Which you do. Of course you do.

“Oh, I feel very safe,” you say, grabbing a piece of toast and taking a bite like nothing is wrong. Like you didn’t just find out he and everyone else have been planning to trap you in some psychotic group project.

He sits beside the bed, fingers steepled in thought. “You’re shaking.”

You glance down. Dammit. Your fingers haven’t stopped trembling since you saw that chat. You quickly tuck them under the blanket and chuckle, “Just cold.”

He leans in slightly, close enough for you to see the shift in his eyes. That softness? Gone. “You were snooping, weren’t you?”

Your breath catches again for a second. Then you smile and tilt your head. “Is that what you think?”

He doesn't answer right away. His eyes move to the phone. He saw the notifications. He knows something’s off.

“I just want what’s best for you,” he murmurs.

“Funny,” you reply. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

And just like that, the game resets. You're not just surviving anymore. You’re playing.

“Y’know… when you’re snooping, you’re not supposed to leave traces.” he says, showing you his phone screen with the voice message you sent. 

You giggle awkwardly, then you make a break for it, but Zayne moves fast, slamming the door shut with his body. His eyes don’t even blink.

“You think we didn’t know what you’d do once you saw the chat?” he says, voice low.

Footsteps echo down the hallway outside the room.

“Zayne,” a familiar voice calls. MC. “She saw it, didn’t she?”

Zayne smirks slightly, he’s full on smiling if you were to squint. “Mmhm. Just like we planned.”

The door opens behind him, and in walk Sylus and Xavier, followed by Caleb and Rafayel, all calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that feels like a trap shutting. MC is the last to enter. 

“You always think you’re the smartest in the room, Y/n,” he says, slipping his phone into his pocket. “But you read the wrong messages.”

Sylus crosses his arms, eyes switching between you and Zayne. “The real plan wasn’t in that chat. That was just… insurance. We knew you’d look.”

“Honestly, I’m impressed. That voice message? Bold move.” Xavier joins in. 

“But you know what’s bolder?” Caleb steps forward, eyes glittering. “Thinking you could play us.”

“You’re not the only one with games, sweetheart,” Rafayel says smoothly. “So go ahead. Make your next move.”

You glance at the door, then at all of them. You’re surrounded, trapped by five men who know your tells, your past, your fears. And MC, the one who started it all, standing at the center like this was her little trap and you’ve just fallen into it.

“So,” MC says, eyes dark. “Wanna tell us why you’ve been acting so rebellious, so naughty? Or should we show you what it looks like when we all want to teach you a lesson?”

TheArchivist07 Post #015 April 23rd. 8:28AM. Looks like this is gonna be a long discussion for you y/n

[hookedonhuge]

Write a story about a man so muscular, huge pecs, that makes a straight man cross over!!!

Falling For His Chest

I love being straight. It’s not just about being attracted to women, I’m very comfortable in my sexuality but I am not some fuckboy. What I love about being straight is the relationships I have with other guys, my bros. Without sexuality in the way, I can forge pure friendships with my bros. Friendships that are deep and vulnerable, yet are fun and boisterous; unafraid to be our most masculine selves.

It may come as no surprise that the gym is essentially my second home. One thing I care deeply about is growth. I have no interest in being friends with guys who aren’t interested in personal growth. My bros and I, we share a dedication to personal development, especially with our bodies. I don’t care where any guy is at with their life, what matters is the desire and the willingness to keep improving themselves every single day. That’s the difference between a guy and bro to me.

I mention all this because there is this new guy in the office. First thing I notice as he walks in is his huge manly chest that is straining against his shirt. This guy is a total bro with his big chest, big arms, big legs, big glutes; all stretching out his tight work clothes.

We hit it off immediately. We talk about the gym and what workouts we do as well as dieting. It isn’t long before I tell him to let those big pecs breathe and he unbuttons his shirt revealing his amazing chest. He starts grabbing his own pecs, so proud of his body. As he should be, he worked hard for them. After that exchange we lock in a workout together at the gym after work.

I can’t focus on my work for the rest of the day. My thoughts are filled with the image of him groping his own pecs. There was something really sensual about the way he was so focused on feeling the mass of that thick chest of his. Completely in the moment, admiring his own greatness. I can’t help but grab own large pecs under my shirt, and I feel a warmth in my crotch as I think about how big I am.

After what felt like an eternity, the work day ended and it was finally time to meet up with my co-worker at the gym. It's chest day for him and I’m happy to join him in that. I get to spot him as he bench presses like a god. I stare at his massive chest while he methodically moves the heavy weight up and down. I don’t even realise as my crotch slowly begins to obscure my view of his face.

After we both finish up, my coworker gives me a strange cocky look. “You clearly like what you see,” he says with a grin.

“Of course bro, you are a work of art!” It’s true. He is standing there glistening with a heavenly glow like some combination of super model and god.

“Go on, have a feel. I know you want to.” He takes off his gym shirt as he says this.

I don’t hesitate to reach for his chest. The friction I feel as I glide across his chest hair is at odds with his sweat which helps my hand slide over his chest even more smoothly. As I reach the end of his expansive chest, I stop to give one of his pecs a grab. I shake that beefy pec in my hand, feeling the hard strength of the muscle which also has a soft cushiony quality to it.

My whole world is zoned into his chest and I’m shaken out of it when he grabs my crotch. I had not realised the tent that had formed in my shorts during this exchange, but he had realised and took the opportunity. It feels weird to have my cock stroked through the thin fabric of my shorts by this man, but at this moment I don’t question it.

“Shall we go to my place?” I nod at his proposition.

Fast forward a little bit to where I am now, where I have the perfect view of him. His defined six pack abs are like a road which my gaze journeys up to the underside of his perfect chest. His mountainous pecs frame his gorgeous face with his hands behind his head, angling that face towards me. This also gives me a view of his large arms which have a tuft of dark pit hair peeking out underneath them beside those glorious pecs. His is mouth slightly agape and eyes twitch as he basks in the ecstasy of having his fat cock slide in and out of my throat.

The next day at work, I greet him with a passionate kiss on the lips for the whole office to see. This is my bro and I’m his bro. I am not ashamed of this despite the shock and surprise of those around me. I struggle to imagine a time without him or his chest, even though I just met him yesterday.

[mamawasatesttube]

pondering the issues tim and kon would have to work through in their relationship... like. kon's thing for attempting so earnestly to be what his partner wants him to be that it impedes his ability to communicate, vs. tims constant struggle with the hero/personal life balance.

imagine: kon shows up to pick tim up for date night, but tim forgot about it bc he's so wrapped up in a case. he's crunching numbers he's deep in a research hole he's in the zone. so kon taps at the window and he's like hey :) you're welcome to hang out but i really won't be any fun for a bit, im so close to cracking this. it's not anything urgent right it can wait an hour or two?

and kon thinks about reminding him they have reservations for dinner. but even if tim goes oh shit and gets changed real fast, his brain will be on the case the whole time and kon knows it. so he pastes on a smile and goes oh yeah no it's nothing important, i was just saying hi on my way to metropolis :). and he knows tim Really Is in the zone bc tim doesn't even notice how fake that smile was

and the thing is, kon really thinks he did what he was supposed to do here. if he feels hurt, it doesn't matter because he did what A Good Boyfriend Should Do. besides, helping people is more important than his feelings. so if he feels hurt about this he should simply get over himself and stop it.

except like that's not actually how feelings work. oops

but tim realizes kon showed up for date night the next day when he glances at his calendar. and he's like FUCK. and then immediately Why Didn't He Tell Me???? Why Did He Just Leave Again???? ? ???? kon???? and he tries to apologize to kon but kon's like no you didn't do anything wrong ! and tim is like. uh. yes i did? (holding flowers with immense confusion)

he's trying to get kon to tell him what he can do to make it up to him, if there's anything kon particularly wants to go do, what's a date idea kon wants!! and he doesn't understand why this seems to be making kon shrink in on himself a bit because he's?? trying?? to fix it???

but he hasn't realized that the issue is that kon thinks, on some level, that prioritizing himself in a relationship in any way is how he gets dumped. like he wouldn't consciously say that's what he thinks. he'd deny it out loud. but that's how he secretly feels on the inside: that having needs or wants, that expecting reciprocity from his partner, leads to him being left behind.

and so finally tim has to drop the "no really what do you wanna do??" angle to just sit on him and cup his face like hey. hey. i don't know what's going on in there but i can tell you're like Genuinely Upset (kon Haha what no I'm not!!!) but for some reason you keep saying i don't have anything to make up to you. which is Not True, Kon. can we accept that. i DO have something to make up to you and i WANT to make it up to you.

gotta cup kon's cheeks and gaze earnestly into his eyes like he's a sad lil puppy dog. listen. kon. i have a bad habit of letting the hero stuff in my life eat away at the rest of it and i am trying So Hard to be aware of when im doing it, but sometimes i fuck up because it's a hard habit to break. but i Will, because, like, this is the kind of thing that's ruined Every relationship i have ever had and i refuse to let it ruin us!! im Gonna be better for you bc you deserve better. and also because i know the rest of my family will be single until the day they die but I Refuse, okay. bruce and dick have fumbled every single relationship they've been in and i Won't be like them kon, im gonna do right by you or die trying, but you gotta talk to me for that, okay.

and kon's like. wow way to drag literally everyone in your family but i do actually feel a little better now. and tim's like fuck yeah B) was it the throwing dick and bruce under the bus that helped? i'll do it again anytime. especially bruce. listen bruce fumbled wonder woman do you know how bad that man is at relationships??? the fumbler for REAL.

and kon giggles despite himself and then manages to finally let go of some of that tension in his shoulders, heaves a big ol puppydog sigh, and plonks his face into tim's shoulder. he needs a minute but he finally admits, okay. yeah. it didn't feel great, and i should've told you it was date night that night itself. as for what we could do now, um... i'm not entirely sure... and tim's like not to worry! in my infinite wisdom i have ☝️ made a date night idea spreadsheet.

and like, the point is kon realizing that actually a good partner would like him to talk about his feelings and needs and wants. and tim realizing once again that He's Not Gonna Be Like Bruce He Refuses To Be Like Bruce. Rip To Bruce But He's Not Gonna Fumble A Bad Bitch. finally they go to the aquarium together or something and take a lot of silly fish selfies, and tim buys kon like 5 gift shop plushies. yippee!

[juletheghoul]

father figure III

a/n: So I've watched the movie like 6 times at this point and I just really love Clint lol. I have some things planned out and I cannot wait to write them, hopefully you all love what I come up with. Shout-out to @just-here-for-the-moment for encouraging me and for putting up with my endless questions and voice notes! 💕xoxo

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, pornography (watching while getting freaky) POV sex (wrap it up) Clint not pulling out, oral sex (male receiving)*swallowing*, dirty talk, nipple play, shitty dad (neglect), absent mother (abandonment issues), allusions to illegal activity, domestic violence, daddy kink, secret relationship, **DRAMA** Hurt/comfort, period piece - takes place in 1987, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Clint Flood x F!Reader

Ko-fi link 🥲💕

word count: 5.4k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series Masterlist

---

Thursday morning finds you in a very different mood than the previous week.

You huff about it on your way to the bathroom, pout through the daily rituals with unwanted thoughts of Jen’s words. You mentally shove them away for the hundredth time, lock and bar the doors but they slither in regardless, like smoke. 

You take a deep breath and sigh a deep sigh, drying your face off before continuing with your routine. His smile is there too, along with the blood and the violence, the soft slide of his fingertips across your neck, the plush press of his lips against your mouth, the toe-curling stroke of his tongue, his cock. Surely a man who pleasures you like that would never hurt you?

Your fathers voice is raised, argumentative over the phone hanging on the kitchen wall, enough so that he doesn’t register your presence until he slams the handset onto the receiver. 

“Everything okay?” You ask him despite yourself, it’s not as though he tells you anything. He grunts in response. 

“You working today?” He shoves different papers into his pockets, grabbing his keys from the counter. 

“No, it’s Thursday–”

“Okay, I’ll be back later, probably late.” He huffs, shaking his head in annoyance, at what—you don’t know, don’t entirely care. He leaves, thankfully taking that annoyance with him. 

Clint shows up a couple of hours later with a tape in his hand, and a mischievous look on his face. For a split second, Jens words echo, they project blood onto his clothes and splatter it onto his face. He smiles bigger though, leans in and kisses you soft and sweet, the vision dies and it seems almost absurd to even dwell on what may or may not have happened so long ago. 

“Hi baby.” Cigarette smoke and his cologne mingle and flood your nose as well as your panties when he pulls you in close, when his mouth captures yours. You don’t respond, only pull him closer, wrap your arms around him tighter; enjoy the comforting strength. 

“I’m not dressed–” Your eyes fall to your ratty old sweatpants, the holey t-shirt. 

“I think you look very cute, very comfortable.” He steps inside and shuts the door. “I thought it might be fun to watch a movie, stay in, order a pizza. How does that sound?” The idea is perfect, after standing on your feet for hours on end at the store, a quiet night in is just what you need. The tape clutched at his side draws your eye but he slips it behind his back. He smiles, one eyebrow raised. 

“What did you rent?” You try to peek again but he tsks, angling himself to keep it hidden. 

“You’ll know when you know.” You huff, pouting and it only makes his smile grow. 

“You’re such a little brat huh? I said you’ll know, when you know.” He taps the tip of your nose, laughing at the way you narrow your eyes, at the way you scrunch up your nose. 

“Fine, so bossy–wait, are we watching here?” 

“I think it’s best we go back to my place, and why don’t you go ahead and pack a bag.” Your heart skips a beat, your stomach drops down to your socked feet. He must see the shock on your face.

“Or, I could bring you back if you don’t feel comfortable staying over—“

“No! No I’d love to, give me a few minutes!” You surge forward, pulling a smiley oomph out of him before running up to get yourself together.

Your hands shake. 

The soft, comfy pyjamas you usually wear don’t seem right. They sit in one hand, while a silkier, newer pair sits in the other. You toss the silky set into the open duffel bag. Clean, cute underwear join the bag, along with your basic toiletries, a clean pair of jeans–and your video store t-shirt, just in case he ends up driving you directly to your shift tomorrow. 

He’s leaning against the counter when you jog back down the stairs, tapping the mystery tape against his leg. Wordlessly, he grabs the duffel from your hand and leads you out of the house.

-

A fluffy, grey thing winds through your legs, almost tripping you. 

“Louis, manners.” Louis meows back, and you laugh. 

“Hi buddy.” He butts his head into your hands when you crouch down. He’s so soft, so sweet, purring and chirping at you. “You’re just a little softie aren’t you?” 

“Just shamelessly flirting with my girl huh? You little monster.” The casual way he claims you makes your face hot. It's not overt, or aggressive and when he smiles and makes his way inside you’re sure he’s unaware of what it’s done to you. The feeling is so foreign. No one has ever called you theirs before, not in this way, not with such a quiet certainty.

The smile lingers, aches in your cheeks when you pick up the big cat and carry him with you towards his cozy living room. 

“So, can I know what we’re watching now?” He grunts on one knee, says nothing as he slips the tape into the VCR. There’s a gleam in his eye when he turns towards you. 

“I think it’s best if we put Louis into my room, I don’t want him interrupting us.” It’s hard to work out what he means by that, but you make yourself comfortable on his couch regardless. My girl, you think, snuggling into the well-worn leather of his couch. Dustmotes dance in the shafts of light coming in through his window, a vision of slow afternoons with him float through your mind–what would it be like to live here? To have a life with him?

“Okay—“ there’s an energy about him, something electric, excited, eager, “I can guarantee it’s not a movie you’re expecting, but it’s something I really wanna watch with you.” He settles into the sofa, pulling you from your corner, and from your thoughts. 

The smell of his cologne pulls your face into his neck, the warmth of it melds with the cigarettes he smokes, makes him completely irresistible. He hums to himself when you kiss just below his ear.

“I think you’re gonna like it.” There’s that undercurrent again, a knowing, a plan—

The tv screen flashes blue before the movie starts. Music you don’t recognize plays, FBI warnings flash across the screen and you watch, confused as to what it might be until you see her. 

“Clint… is this…?”

“It’s porn.” His nose skims up your neck, his hands tighten around your thighs, your eyes remain glued to the screen though. It’s a little jarring how much she looks like you. Your heart races, your stomach drops and despite how confused you are over what you actually think about this whole thing, arousal pools in your belly; a deep pull, like something tugging behind your bellybutton.

The image of her, bubbly and laughing, flirting shamelessly with the single dad, the much older man holds almost all of your attention.

“She’s pretty…” he whispers in your ear, his smile is sharp when your head whips around to face him. “Nowhere near as pretty as you baby, but it could be you. You see it right?” His eyes turn to the girl on the screen, the scene has shifted dramatically, from flirting, to kissing and groping, you cannot help but watch.

“Same eye shape, same cute little smile, and look at him—could be my brother.” And it could, the man on the screen is nowhere near as hot as Clint, but he’s the same type, greying, handsome and broad as hell.

“And doesn’t she just love it when he touches her…look how wet she is…” the scene has shifted again, both of them are naked now and she really does seem to like the way the older man touches her, you can’t really blame her—

“Just like you huh? Your pussy gets so fucking wet when I touch you doesn’t it baby, I bet it’s wet right now.” A moan slips out and he laughs low. His voice, the images on his tv, his hand slipping between your legs to cup your cunt, it all drives you mad. Jealousy burns hot within at the thought that he’d want to watch this at all, but it’s tempered by the resemblance, it’s spiced with the possessive way he holds you to him. It’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced.

“Talk to me, pretty baby, what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” he pauses the movie, “I—it’s a lot, my heart is racing right now.” You let out a nervous laugh, his fingers press softly to your chin and turn your face to look him in the eye.

“Do you want me to turn it off? I won’t make you watch it if it’s not turning you on. We can stop this whole thing and do something else.” The smile curls your lips up. 

He would turn it off if you told him to, he’d probably take you right back to the video store and let you pick out another movie if you expressed any discomfort at his plan. Embers burn in your chest at the thought, a sticky heat that feels like genuine care, genuine feelings for this man fill you to the brim. 

The paused image of this alternate version of you shines on the screen, frozen in absolute pleasure, a hand on her breast, a tongue on her clit. 

“I wanna keep watching, but I want us wearing less.” It’s hard to get the words out without trembling, or feeling awkward but you do it anyway. 

He smiles, presses play, and pulls you closer.

Clothes come off, your shirt and your jeans pile up alongside his shirt and slacks around you. The older man is feeding his cock into her mouth by the time you’re both naked. He was right about the state you’d be in, your panties shine with the clear, slippery evidence, his cock stands at attention. 

“No, I want you facing the tv. We’re gonna watch.” You’re halfway to straddling him when he stops you and turns you around. A sharp bite to the meat of your ass makes you squeal, and then he sits you in his lap, and not on his cock.

“Look at that. She’s good at sucking dick… I bet you are too, aren't you baby?” His chin rests over your shoulder, “I bet you would look so fucking pretty with daddy’s cock in your mouth.” 

The thought makes you squirm, makes you rub your thighs together in his lap. His hands slide across your belly, slide up to hold the weight of your breasts and then focus on your nipples. It’s a torture the way he touches you, soft flicks at the sensitive peaks, slow circles that end with them pinched gently, and then not so gently between his big fingers.

“Does that feel good?” His lips press against your shoulder while his fingers continue to pluck at your nipples.

“Yes.” It really fucking does, he knows it does. Your arms rise to thread through his slicked back waves, gripping while he continues to tease your breasts.

“He’s going to give it to her, you want me to give it to you? You want me to fuck this pretty little cunt?” One hand slips down, he lets out a laugh when your legs fall open. “Oh honey, just as eager as her huh? Answer me.”

“Yes daddy, I want it so bad—“ your voice shakes with anticipation, the words barely coming out as his hand hovers at your mound, those deft fingers slipping through the soft curls there. 

“What do you want baby, tell daddy what you want—keep watching the movie. I want you to watch her get fucked while I have my way with you.” You let out a shaky breath, swallow thickly. She’s on her back now, legs spread while he plows into her. You moan at the sight. Clint’s cock is so fucking hard under you. 

“Is that how you want daddy to fuck you? Hard like that—?” His fingers slip inside you, two, thick and long. A moan escapes, your head tilts back with the pleasure of it but he tuts.

“Eyes on the movie sweetheart.” With a whine you focus, or try to. His fingers start to thrust in sync with the man on the screen, your brain blanks. The girl moans on the tv, just as you do, both of you being filled. For a moment, that flash of violence fills your mind's eye again, that the solid, gorgeous man underneath you could inflict such pain on someone makes your heart race. 

Shamefully, it makes you wetter. 

“Oh baby, listen to that.” Heat floods the whole of you, your pussy sounds soaked–every thrust of his fingers rings out louder, messier. A breathy daddy comes out of your mouth, and he laughs, an earthy, low tone that only adds to your considerable arousal. 

“You want my cock don’t you baby, just like her huh? You want me to fuck you just like that?” God you do, you want him to hold you down, you want him to bruise you, claim you roughly, make you take his dick until he says you’ve had enough. “I need words, sweetheart, those pretty moans won’t get you what you want.” He pulls his fingers out and you whine, desperate, feral. 

“Open.” His word is law, and your mouth falls open while you writhe in his lap. His fingers rub your own arousal onto your tongue, a vulgar blessing, an anointing. Sweat beads on your skin and in your hairline, on your lower back. 

“How do you want it?” He pinches your nipple again, already so sensitive from his earlier teasing. 

“Hard.” You mumble around his fingers. 

“Put your hands on the coffee table.” He taps your leg and for a moment you don’t really understand what he means, your brain is too full of the girl getting fucked on the tv, on how you aren’t getting fucked, too full and not full enough of his dick pressing into your back. 

“Don’t make daddy tell you again. Bend over, and put your hands on the coffee table. Now.” He’s such a good man, the best man who ever fucking lived and there’s no way you aren’t going to obey the best man who ever lived. 

Smooth, solid wood under your hands holds most of your weight, it’s a little awkward for a moment to stand bent over, until you finally feel the blunt head of his cock slipping through the mess between your legs. Those deft fingers ghosting over your skin.

“Watch her.” It’s the only warning he gives you before he bottoms out in one, deep thrust. That bruising grip you were fantasizing about finally rears its head, that firm feel of his fingers gripping your hips while he gives it to you exactly how you want it. 

Your head drops with the force of his thrusts—

“Eyes up baby, don’t make me tell you again.” He pants, voice clipped with authority, exertion and passion. 

“Yes daddy, yes, god yes.” Your whole body is on fire, the pleasure is so sharp, laser focused in that spot he’s hitting with every push in, but spreading like a wildfire through your veins, inching you closer and closer to that peak. Your head drops again.

“What did I say?” Your hands come off the table, one hand holds your throat and for a moment your heart races with something close to fear. 

“Daddy told you to keep—“ he thrusts harder, shoving the air out of your lungs and making your pussy weep rivers of arousal, “watching, the screen—“ two fingers hook into your mouth, pulling at your cheek. He holds you to him, caught, subdued. Dominated.

You come all over him, hard and sudden.

Your body tenses with the force of it, arching sharply, ass pressed against his groin, breasts jutting out, half standing, half bent over. Half moaning, half sobbing. 

“Oh I know, I know baby, so good huh? You gonna be my good girl and take this fucking cock until I come? You gonna take all of daddy’s come in that ruined little cunt?” He sounds frantic, animalistic. His fingers slip out of your mouth, dragging your spit across your chin, across your breast when he holds it. The girl on the screen laughs as she bounces on the man’s dick, flirting and teasing while your brain melts out through your ears, leaks out around Clint’s dick.

“Fuck, here it comes—“ you wince, feeling the way he grinds deeper, the warmth of his come, the humid pants against your neck. 

You try to catch your breath for a minute, he does too. Your whole body aches when he pulls out and lets you straighten your spine. There’s a dark thrill that lights you up from the inside at the feel of his load dripping out. 

“Give me a second and I’ll grab something to clean you up with.” Tender, soft, relaxed. He tilts your head back to press a soft kiss to your forehead before shutting off the tape, and walking over to his bathroom. There are scars on his back too, you can’t help but notice.

He's wearing a soft t shirt, and an old pair of sweats when he comes back. Gently, he wipes away the mess he made between your legs before slipping another one of his shirts over your head. It smells like his skin, like that tender spot behind his ear that smells like him and soap. Emotions swell within, an intensity, a vulnerability you can’t quite explain. You almost want to cry. 

Methodically, he opens your duffel and roots around for a clean pair of panties, slips them over your trembling legs as you silently fall apart. 

“Get cozy, I’m going to let Louis out, and then grab you some water.” He places another tender kiss on your forehead before walking away and again, the threat of tears lingers. 

By the time he comes back, by the time he presses the glass to your mouth they fall silently. He frowns, but you shake your head. 

“I’m sorry It’s not you, I don’t even know why I’m crying, it’s so stupid–” He tsks, puts the glass down and then settles back, pulling you half into his lap in the process. 

“It’s not stupid, and you have nothing to be sorry about. Happens sometimes.” He pulls you in, reassuring you with his tone, with his hands and his warmth.

You snuggle closer, bury your face into his neck. He’s so fucking solid, so warm. His big hand does a soothing sweep on your back, it melds the line between boyfriend and daddy, your face shoots up. 

“What’s wrong?” His other hand cups your cheek, “Oh god, you must be hungry, let me order a pizza–” he groans, his whole body tensing up to rise but your fingers grip onto him. “What is it baby?”

“Um. I just had a thought, maybe it’s dumb, or the wrong time to ask but, are you my boyfriend?” His eyebrows rise up into his hairline and immediately you want to backtrack. Leave it up to you to have the most amazing, mind-blowing sex of your life and top it off with crying and interrogating him. 

“Well–” He starts, but you don’t let him finish.

“Oh my god no, I’m sorry, forget I asked.” You bury your face into his shoulder again, clench your eyes together and let the embarrassment overflow like a broken levee.

“Enough with that, hey–no more saying sorry for asking questions or telling me how you feel. I’m not trying to dodge the question, or avoid the topic. You just caught me off guard is all.” He tilts your head up, presses a kiss to your lips. “I want to be with you, I want you in my life, preferably not secretly but I understand you not wanting to deal with your dad. I am happy to be your boyfriend, or partner, whatever you want to label it.” 

Your face heats, the whole of your body floods with warmth at the sound of those words. 

“I’ll tell him, I don’t want you to be a secret.” Your nose connects with the warm skin of his neck again, he smells so good you sigh. 

“We can do it together.” The sweep of his hand continues to work its magic as your heartbeat slows, comfortable, safe. Is this what it feels like to be loved? Is that too strong a word? Too fast?

“I think I should do it on my own, but thank you for wanting to be there with me.” He says nothing, only nods, presses his lips to your forehead.

-

The rest of the night was just as perfect as you’d hoped it’d be. He ordered pizza. You cuddled on the couch and watched other movies he’d rented, not that you’d actually paid attention to anything. Laughs and cuddles morphed into a soft makeout session, which then morphed again into a heavy makeout session. Soft sex on the couch. Longer, more intense sex in his bed. He laughed about needing to hydrate, teased you for being insatiable, made self-deprecating jokes about his age and keeping up with you. Your birth control was going to have to put in work. 

The morning finds you awake before he is. Louis meows softly at the door, no doubt hungry for breakfast. You knew where he kept the food, and so quietly and quickly, you crept out and fed him. 

Clint is still asleep when you slip back inside the room. He’s always the most relaxed right after he comes, but even that doesn’t hold a candle to how he looks while asleep. He looks a little younger, the lines in his face are a little less defined, that constant furrow in his brow is gone.

He shifts onto his back with a deep breath, settles, eyes still closed. Completely at ease. You study the freckles littered across his neck and shoulders. Your finger absentmindedly follows each little silvery scar you come across. Theories, or more accurate still–your own imagination fills in a little story for each one. A scratch from Louis, a cut from the sharp chef's knife in his kitchen, a fight. The scar on his nose is the hardest to rationalize, so you don’t even try. 

His chest rises and falls with each even breath, a sparse little patch of hair, soft under your fingers when you trace them down from between his pecs. The sheet covers his belly, you move it out of the way to continue your soft exploration. A darker happy trail leads down from his bellybutton, towards his groin, ending in the darkest patch at the base of his cock. 

You let out a sigh at the sight of it. It’s half hard, resting against the junction between his torso and his thigh. There’s an intimidation that grips your chest in regards to this part of him. He easily has the biggest dick amongst all of the guys you’ve been with. Thick and slightly curved, a prominent vein that makes your head buzz. In the short time you’ve been together you’ve slept with him a handful of times, he’s gone down on you, seen every inch of you but this is the first time you’ve come face to face with it, so to speak. 

Despite being naked, despite having wiped the trickle of his come away every time you’ve used the bathroom, you somehow feel almost shy. His eyes are still closed when you shimmy closer. Your stomach jumps when you get really close. Slowly, tentatively, you run your tongue across the head. The nervous flutter in your belly is still there, but it’s tempered with how his cock twitches, you take a hold of it loosely and continue. 

He lets out a soft sigh, half asleep, half dreaming while you let your saliva pool and drip onto the head. It’s an unhurried exploration, a slippery kiss of the shaft, a tentative lick from root to tip until it’s swollen and hard within the soft grip of your palm. The intimidation swells along with his cock in your hand, your heart races at the size of it, your cunt leaks.

He wakes up while you’re licking at his balls. 

“What are you doing down there, Princess?” He smiles, his voice deep and morning-raspy. 

You smile, responding with another kiss at the tip. It’s slick with your saliva, slipping through your grip with ease. His hand finds your throat, long, thick fingers curling around your neck when you take him deeper. There’s no pressure in his grip, only a gentle encouragement, a reminder of his strength. You moan onto him, take him deep until he hits the back of your throat, until your nose presses against his groin. He smells like himself only deeper, earthier. Clean. Masculine.

“Good Christ, baby–” The fucked out tone of his voice only motivates you to swallow around the tip, pull out all the stops, make him moan just how he makes you do. His thumb presses only slightly into the base of your throat–how can those hands ever hurt anyone? How can the thought of that strength turn you on so much?

“Fuck, that’s it Princess, swallow daddy’s cock.” He breathes, his other hand caresses your cheek. Up and down you bob, stroking his shaft while you suck, twisting your wrist on the down stroke. 

“You’re gonna make daddy come, you want that pretty baby? You want daddy to come in that pretty mouth?” You pull away to let more saliva drip out onto your fist, moan a yes daddy, smile at the way he looks at you before dipping down to lick at his balls again. 

“That’s my good girl, go on then.” He guides himself back into your mouth, the hand at your neck tightens a fraction, enough to make your cunt clench although deep down you know it really shouldn’t. 

You focus, suck the head and stroke, twist your wrist and let him touch your throat with every bob. Steady rhythm, firm, wet grip, an aching jaw and determination pay off, and within a few minutes he’s panting; hips moving, balls tightening. 

“Fuck, yes baby, yes baby, oh fuck, I’m coming–” He floods your mouth with a deep groan, hissing when you squeeze his balls softly and swallow every salty drop. 

He drops onto his back, pulling you up with him. Your jaw aches, and another sort of shyness creeps in while he takes deep breaths. There’s a need for approval that threads like a network of veins that connects with your nervous system. The longer he stays quiet, the longer he lays there, the more the need grows. A wholly independent hunger that claws at you, separate from the overwhelming desire for him to love you with his body. 

“Was I good?” Your head settles onto his shoulder lightly, muscles tightly wound, barely letting yourself fully rest onto him.

“Pretty baby, you were more than good.” He pulls you closer, sighing into the kiss he presses to your mouth. Your neck relaxes, all of you does, his reassurance is the relaxant, the special sauce that lets you loosen up.

“That’s one hell of a way to wake up.” He laughs, hugging you tighter, he’s just as loose as you feel. His heavy arms are comforting, his mouth at your neck feels like a light somewhere deep inside has been turned back on. When had it been shut off? Was it even there at all before him?

“My turn.” His voice carries the smile, fills your heart to bursting with it.

-

Anxiety creeps in, just as his car creeps down your street. It’s a heavy weight that keeps your mouth shut, clenches your jaw tightly at the thought of just how differently the light shines through your windows, as opposed to his. 

“You okay?” He presses the back of your hand to his mouth. 

“Yes.” You give him a tight smile, he raises his eyebrows. 

“You sure?” His big hand squeezes yours hard enough to warm you up from the inside. 

“No.” You huff out a breath, sinking further into your seat. 

“I don’t want to go home, I don’t want to see my dad, I don’t want to go to work, I just want to hang out with you and Louis all day.” Heat floods your face at the confession. It's unrealistic, obviously. You know he…well, you know he’s out making money. 

“I would love that. Can you take a few days off in a couple weeks? I’ll rework some stuff, give you my undivided attention, or at least as much as Louis will let me.” He laughs, and suddenly you feel lighter. The thought of being sequestered up in his apartment, a Princess in her tower, only she’s already been rescued.

“That sounds amazing, I’ll talk to my boss.” You scoot over, burying your face into his neck before pulling his face towards you. He lets you kiss him for a few seconds before facing the road again. 

Your house dims some of the light he’s lit inside, but the thought of a tiny vacation with him keeps it on. 

He carries your bag in one hand, holds onto your shoulder with the other as you step through the doors of your house. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Your dad speaks, his tone cuts through the quiet–your stomach drops to see his expression change, his eyes flit between Clint and you, realization dawns. Clint takes a deep breath. 

“Dad–”

“So this is where you’ve been? This is why you’ve been distracted, not taking extra shifts at the store, head in the fucking clouds. You acting out like a teenager? Trying to get my attention by fucking around with my business?” 

You scoff at him, this was not how you wanted him to find out. 

“Acting out? I’m an adult. I haven’t been taking extra shifts because I don’t want to, it has nothing to do with your business.” You shake your head, part of you always knew it would be difficult for him to accept this. 

“Don’t give me that, I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing? Living my life? Dating someone who treats me well?” It’s not fair how he can strip you of your good mood so easily, how quickly he can corrupt your happiness without even trying. The cruel judgement in his eyes shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does. It almost makes you want to laugh, how unsupportive, how selfish he’s always been.

“Just like your fucking mother–” It’s a smack across the face without ever having to lift a finger.

“Hey!” Clint’s voice shocks him for a moment, the warning tone of it, “Cool it. Don’t speak to her that way.” His shoulders are square, part of you preens, revels in his protection. 

“Do me a favour and stay the fuck out of it, she’s my daughter and I’ll speak to her however I want. If she wants to go around acting like a fucking slut then I’ll call her a–” He doesn’t finish his sentence. The sting of his words, of his insults don’t feel like anything compared to the shock of seeing Clint’s fist connect with your fathers face. 

Time slows down, a slow motion shot of your dad falling back, of Clint rushing him. Wordlessly, calmly, animalistically, Clint’s fist pummels. Blood splatters, bones crunch, watery gurgles shake you from your frozen state. Your heart races, your stomach drops to the floor, time moves at its normal speed and your feet bring you to them.

“Stop! Please!” You pull at his shoulder, yank him away from where he beats your father into the ground. With shaking hands, you shove him towards the door. “Go! You need to leave!” 

He seems almost drunk while he stumbles back, confused and disoriented. You cannot help the tears, you cannot help the fear of what might happen and so you push him, get him away from your father before he kills him. He cannot be here, he needs to go, he needs to get away before the police are called, before he’s taken away from you. That image of him in his bed with you this morning flashes, something in his eyes, something you have to shut away for now.

“Go!” You sob at him again, closing the door in his face to deal with the damage.

---

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