#Archer x Reader

[leggerefiore]

HCs for Giovanni, Archer, and Colress with a shiny charm S/O - they just have unreal luck with shiny pokemon they catch them bc they know they're rare and tend to just gift shiny mons to them (which I feel like for Giovanni and Archer that's such a bad idea those pokemon are getting sold or something) Bonus thought just rolling in my brain - Giovanni and S/O with matching shiny Nidos - or S/O having a shiny variant of the character's ace mon - I just think it's cute

cw: fluff, mentions of pokemon selling in Giovanni and Archer's parts

characters: Giovanni, Archer, Colress, Grimsley

🚀Giovanni🐈

🟥 He finds this trait quite valuable, naturally. Pokemon of any rare colouration will fetch a higher price even if they are common pokemon that most will barely register as important. Whether he believes you are a living shiny charm… He just assumes you are talented in seeking out these pokemon. There are many legends and rumours about things that make these genetic anomalies more likely to occur, of course. He had messed around with a few himself to see if it were at all possible. Unfortunately, he decided that was not the case. Or, perhaps the difference was not worth whatever it took to procure the supposed lucky items. Unfortunately, most of your gifts to him are passed along to his sellers, but he does keep quite a few nonetheless.

🟥 When you gifted him a blue, male Nidoran, you had somehow pierced his cold heart. A rare genuine smile crossed his lips as he regarded the pokemon carefully. It seemed you were aware of his tastes. He appreciated the gift thoroughly… The pokemon would join his team quite quickly, earning its place among his other pokemon. The blue Nidoking almost becoming something like an ace to him. Of course, your purple female Nidoran sparked a certain kind of joy in him. Something between a quiet claim on you and your obvious interest in matching with him. The green Nidoqueen almost represents a certain status you have within his organisation, even if you were not officially a member.

🐕Archer🚀

♦️ Your talent intrigues him, no doubt. Whether this is before or after Giovanni disbanded Rocket, he is always looking for a way to increase profits, and your generous gifts certainly give him a hand there. He is aware that he should feel worse about giving away the pokemon that you so lovingly gift to him, but he has dedicated his whole self to Rocket... Assuredly, you would come to understand. You give him so many since you seem to attract them. Part of him wants to study how you do it and imitate you, but even you seem unaware of just how you did it. It was frustrating, but he supposed it mattered little since you kept a nice supply to him. He is quite like his boss in many regards to this… There is a fake apology from him if you do seem hurt by his actions. The last thing he wants is for you to run off or lose your gifts.

♦️ He does keep some of them, though. Archer is not stupid enough to let things that clearly mean a lot to you slip away from him. And besides… Part of him does appreciate that you clearly adore him so much that you would give these gifts away. A green Zubat stays with him alongside a blue Houndour. The fact you gifted him such pokemon... He understood. They would even possibly join his team to reflect his position as an executive. (Though, only if Giovanni himself had a few shinies, too.) When you show him your bright blue Houndoom, he lets himself have a genuine smile. How cute. You wanted to match with him. Your love was clearly secured. He lets himself breathe and sends out his Houndoom. The two pokemon seem to reflect the relationship you two had in no time at all.

🥼Colress🛸

🧪 He is not necessarily sure he believes in your luck as a superstitious thing, but there is clearly something about you that does seem to attract shiny pokemon to you. Colress was fully aware of rumours about shiny charms and breeding pokemon from two different regions to increase the chances of hatching a shiny variation. There was scientific documentation even, but the increased chances were never something potentially high enough to warrant it if you were a normal person and not a breeder. He pondered what about you could attract these pokemon. Luck was something that was calculable and could be broken down, but he doubted it was just that. He is fascinated in your existence as a scientist, and he is documenting everything related to your outings. His current theory is a pheromone. Do not even ask how he got there.

🧪 Your gifts of shiny pokemon are thoroughly cherished. His research should naturally include multiple kinds of variations and variables related to pokemon and bonds, so having the chance to work with such rare pokemon gives him a chance to explore as many opportunities as possible. They are well taken care of, too, naturally. It is not in Colress's nature to be unnecessarily cruel. When you start gifting him shiny variants of his own team, his eyes light up. Even better to compare… He is utterly fascinated. When you show up with a beige-toned Klinklang, he is further elated. You chose one of his choices of pokemon species to keep as a partner. His bond with you must be quite strong, as well. There will be lots of data to observe… Prepare to be followed around by Colress and his tablet. You have entirely caught his heart and scientific interest.

♠️Grimsley❤️

♤ His intrigue is certainly up there. There was a certain theory he had about you being a good luck charm, but this was clearly some further expression of it. He fully believes that you must be some strangely lucky person due to the sheer number of shinies that you encounter.  Part of him wonders if he should strap you up with a shiny charm, have you do a certain pokemon breeding method, and see what profits are to be had. He starts internally betting your odds, wanting to figure out just what percentage you had to gather. Anything can become gambling for him, and your odds of finding a shiny Audino seem just as good as playing roulette. Really, he is simply astounded that his read on you had been even more correct that he initially intended.

♡ Your gifts of shiny pokemon are appreciated, and he takes the time to care for everything you give to him. Unlike some people, he actually enjoys gifts from his partner, and the fact that you trust him with these pokemon does mean a lot to him. Grimsley is aware of how shady he seems but feels glad that you saw through it. The shiny Purrloin you gave him was truly something cherished. He lets the blue kitten curl up in his lap any time, not caring about the fur that takes over his suits. Part of him wonders if your luck transfers over to the pokemon you gift… He supposes he could find out by training them. When you appear with a red Liepard rubbing into your side, his smirk becomes uncontrolled. Oh, is that it? He easily makes the cruel pokemon purr while meeting your eyes. It seemed you wanted to match. He was more than happy to do so. But… Well, his Liepard was a bit too jealous to do anything in the end. How unfortunate.

[cup1d-ends-here]

Nights Like This | Archer x Reader

Author Note: It has come to my attention that there is a lack of Archer love from Fate Stay/Night: Unlimited Blade Works. Imma fix that, please enjoy😙

Summary: Your childhood friend Rin Tohsaka had decided to stay the night at Shirou's again, leaving you and her servant, Archer, alone.

Genre: Smut, fluff, slight angst (playful)

Word Count: 6.1k

The Tohsaka mansion stood silent under the star-drenched summer sky, its silhouette etched in sharp contrast against the pale glow of the crescent moon. The cicadas' rhythmic hum filled the air, blending with the occasional rustle of leaves in the warm, restless breeze.

You sat cross-legged on a plush velvet sofa in the study, the mansion's only occupant tonight. The antique clock on the mantle ticked in deliberate defiance of time's passage, the sound growing louder as the night deepened. You weren’t expecting any disturbances tonight—until the faintest knock echoed through the air, reverberating down the empty hallways like a whispered dare. Your eyes flicked up from your book to meet a tall figure leaning against the door frame���arms crossed.

'Hello, Archer,' you say closing the book and placing it on the mahogany desk. 'I thought you and Rin were on another midnight escapade.' The archer servant scoffed.

'No. I'm on babysitting duty tonight while Rin frolics around with her boy toy.' The corner of your mouth twitched in amusement as you leaned back into the sofa, crossing your arms to mirror his stance.

'Babysitting? I didn’t realise I needed a chaperone.' Archer rolled his eyes, his grey gaze scanning the room with practised indifference. 'Hardly. I'm here to ensure this oversized house doesn't burn down while you're... distracted.' His tone dripped with sarcasm, though there was a flicker of genuine concern buried beneath the layers of his usual aloofness.

'How thoughtful of you,' you replied, your voice laced with mock sincerity. 'But I can manage a quiet night of solitude without burning anything down.' He pushed off the doorframe and strode further into the study, his footsteps silent against the plush red carpet.

'Solitude, maybe. Quiet? That depends. You’re alone in this place, and it’s summer at a time when all manner of creatures crawl out of the shadows. Let’s just say I’ve seen enough to know better than to leave you to your own devices.' You tilted your head, studying his expression. Despite his words, Archer’s eyes carried that familiar glint of challenge, as though daring you to refute him.

'Is that your roundabout way of saying you're bored and decided to crash here?" you teased, gesturing for him to take the seat opposite you. Archer hesitated, as though debating whether to dignify your remark with a response. Finally, he sighed and settled into the high-backed chair with the air of someone who owned the place.

'If I were bored, I’d at least have the decency to admit it. This,' he gestured vaguely to the room, 'is an obligation. And perhaps a touch of pity for you, sitting here with nothing but dusty books for company.' You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. "How considerate. Tell me, Archer, do you always treat your babysitting assignments with this much charm?"

'Only when they’re particularly helpless,' he shot back, his smirk deepening. The banter filled the room like a spark lighting a dim flame, warming the solitude you’d expected to endure tonight. Archer, for all his exasperating wit, had a way of making even the quietest summer nights feel alive with unspoken possibilities.

'I may not be a mage but I most certainly can handle myself.' I puffed out my chest and the grey-haired man scoffed. Archer leaned back in the chair, arms draped over the armrests with the kind of arrogance only he could pull off.

'Oh, really?' he drawled, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. 'Because sitting here surrounded by dusty tomes screams 'capable.' Should I fetch you a sword, or will you fend off intruders with your wit?' You shot him a glare, determined not to rise to his bait.

'I don’t need a sword or magic to defend myself,' you retorted, puffing your chest out just a little more for effect. 'I’m perfectly capable of handling whatever comes my way, thank you very much.' His scoff was almost theatrical.

'I’m sure. Let me guess—you’ll bore your enemies into submission with that speech of yours?' You picked up the nearest object, the leather-bound book from the mahogany desk, and aimed it at him without a second thought. It sailed across the room, but in a blur of motion, Archer caught it mid-air with a single hand.

'Nice try,' he said, smirking as he turned the book over, inspecting its cover. 'At least you’re resourceful. I’ll give you that much.' You crossed your arms, annoyed but secretly impressed by his reflexes.

'See? That’s proof enough I’m not entirely defenceless.' Archer leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and regarding you with a raised brow.

'Let me paint a picture for you. A servant breaks through the barrier outside; storms the mansion, and launches a weapon at you. What’s your move?'

'I…' You faltered for a split second but quickly recovered. 'I’d dodge, obviously.'

'And then what? Throw another book at them?'

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you stared at him. His smirk widened as he leaned back, clearly enjoying himself.

'You’re insufferable, you know that?'

'Perhaps,' he said, tossing the book back to you with surprising accuracy. 'But if I’m insufferable, you’re predictable. That’s why I’m here—to make sure no one takes advantage of your charming overconfidence while Rin’s away.'

You clutched the book, your grip tightening as you fought back a retort. Archer wasn’t wrong—not entirely, anyway—but there was no way you were going to admit it.

'Fine,' you said after a long pause, 'but only because I can tolerate the company.'

He smirked again, his crimson eyes softening ever so slightly. 'Glad to be of service.' Suddenly, Archer's face dropped and he groaned.

'What's wrong?' You tilt your head, your earrings tapping underneath your ears at the motion.

'Rin has requested I pack her an overnight bag and bring it to Shiro's residence...she forgot to bring anything to change in.' He sighed and rubbed his temple. He gets up off the sofa and heads into Rin's room, you trail after him. You lean in the door frame watching him hold a bag and search in her draws. An amused smile graces your lips as he opens her undergarment draw. Archer froze for a fraction of a second, his fingers hovering over the edge of Rin's neatly arranged undergarments. His eyes darted toward you, narrowing slightly as he caught sight of your amused expression.

'Don’t even start,' he said flatly, his voice carrying a warning edge that only made your grin widen.

'I wasn’t going to say anything,' you replied, feigning innocence as you leaned casually against the doorframe. 'Though, I didn’t peg you as the type to rifle through a lady’s… unmentionables.' Archer sighed, muttering something under his breath about how this wasn’t part of his job description. He pinched the bridge of his nose before grabbing what looked like a plain, practical set and tossing it into the bag with the precision of someone trying to pretend this was all very routine.

'Careful,' you teased, folding your arms. 'Wouldn’t want to pick the wrong ones. Rin might get upset.'

He shot you a look, his smirk returning. 'And here I thought you’d appreciate the effort I’m putting into this ‘babysitting’ duty.'

'Oh, I do,' you quipped, watching as he moved on to the wardrobe to pull out pyjamas and her usual clothing. 'In fact, I think Rin owes you big time for this. Maybe you should negotiate a better contract next time.'

'Noted,' Archer replied dryly, stuffing the rest of the items into the bag. He slung it over his shoulder with a practised ease and turned toward you. 'Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to play errand boy for the evening.'

You couldn’t resist one last jab. 'Well, don’t let Shirou catch you snooping in Rin’s drawers, or he might challenge you to a duel or something.'

Archer rolled his eyes but couldn’t entirely suppress the twitch of a smirk. 'I’ll keep that in mind. Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone, will you?'

With that, he disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone once more in the grand, silent mansion. The cicadas’ hum resumed as the door clicked shut.

-

The hours passed in a quiet haze, the ticking of the antique clock growing more pronounced in the stillness of the house. You were half lost in your own thoughts when the familiar sound of Archer materialising into the study. You glanced up from your book, meeting his tired gaze.

'Back already?' you asked, a teasing edge to your voice. Archer grunted in response, rubbing his temple as if the night had aged him by a few decades.

'Yes, unfortunately.' His tone was drained of the usual snark, but there was still a faint edge of humour lurking beneath the exhaustion. You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.

'What happened? Did Shirou decide to make it a challenge?'

'Hardly.' Archer dropped into the chair across from you, slumping with a sigh. You sat in silence for a moment, watching Archer’s weary expression soften as he let the weight of the night settle over him. It was rare to see him this worn out, and though you enjoyed the banter, it was clear he wasn’t quite himself. You had changed into your pyjamas; soft silk pink shorts and a baby pink cotton tank top with a little bow adorning the centre of the neckline lined with white lace.

'Hey, Archer, can I ask you something?' You closed your book and shifted your body to face him. Archer opens one eye to look at you.

'What?' He gruffs and you look down at the coushins of the sofa, avoiding eye contact.

'Do...Do servants have the same desires as humans?' You asked, a vague question indeed. He opened both his eyes and looked at you.

'You'll have to be more specific,' he hums.

'Do you...do you feel, you know, attraction?' The air between you grew still, the hum of the night outside suddenly distant. Archer’s gaze was sharp, probing, as though he hadn’t quite expected that question. For a moment, his usual confidence faltered, replaced with something unreadable in his eyes. You shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, your fingers nervously tracing the lace trim of your top. The question had slipped out before you could stop it, and now, you regretted the awkwardness that settled between you. Archer sat up a little straighter, his usual teasing smirk absent for once. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, as if weighing his words.

'You’re asking if I can feel... desire, like a human,' he said, slowly and deliberately, as if testing the very idea. 'I suppose that depends on what you mean by 'feel.' As a servant, I don't experience the same emotions that humans do. At least, not in the way you might expect.' You frowned, confused by his answer.

'So, it’s... a no, then?'

'Not exactly.' Archer’s voice softened, a flicker of something deeper in his tone. 'It's not that I can't experience attraction, but it’s more complicated. There’s a certain... detachment to my existence. Emotions, desires, they’re not something I chase, nor are they something I dwell on. I’m bound by a different purpose, one that doesn’t really leave room for things like 'falling in love.'' His words hung in the air, heavier than you anticipated. Despite his composed exterior, there was a subtle weariness to his voice, a touch of something unspoken beneath the surface.

'But you can still feel it, right?' you pressed, still unsure of where this conversation was going. 'It’s not completely gone, is it?'

Archer’s gaze softened, and for a brief moment, he almost looked... human. Not the servant or the hero or the idealised warrior, but just a man who had once known what it was like to live with those emotions. 'I suppose that’s a matter of perspective,' he said quietly, almost thoughtfully. 'Feelings can be buried, but they’re never completely gone. They just... change.' You swallowed, suddenly aware of how personal this conversation had become. The silence stretched between you both, the weight of his words sinking in.

'Do you regret it?' You asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. Archer's expression hardened slightly, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

'Regret is a human luxury,' he replied softly. 'I live with the consequences of my actions, but I don’t have the luxury of dwelling on what could have been.' You nodded slowly, understanding the hint of pain behind his words. For all his detached nature, there was still a part of him that had known love, desire, perhaps even loss. The silence between you both stretched on, neither of you quite knowing how to break it.

'Do you feel sexual desire?' You asked, inching closer to him. Archer’s eyes narrowed slightly as the directness of your question hit him. His posture stiffened, and for a moment, it was clear he wasn’t sure how to respond to such an inquiry. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the playful tension gone, replaced by something more serious.

'That's... a very blunt way to put it,' he muttered, his voice low, as if considering his answer carefully. 'But yes, I am capable of it. It's a part of being human... or at least, having been human at one point. But whether or not I feel it in the way you mean is another matter entirely.' You could tell by his tone that he was measuring his words, choosing carefully how to explain something so personal, yet so difficult to articulate. There was a certain distance to his words, as if trying to prevent the conversation from becoming too intimate.

'Why do you ask?' Archer's gaze flicked to you, his crimson eyes catching the soft light from the nearby lamp, assessing. 'Curiosity... or something more?' He leaned back in his chair slightly, waiting for your answer, as though he could sense the shift in the dynamic between you two.

'As a human, you are very pleasing to look at, your personality is insufferable- but I am a believer of speaking when something is on my mind,' your tone taking a sharp edge. Archer’s lips curled into a small, knowing smirk, though his eyes remained steady, unreadable.

'I can tell,' he replied, his voice laced with a hint of amusement despite the tension building between you. 'You’ve always been... direct.' You felt a flush of heat rise to your cheeks, a mix of irritation and something else—something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. His calm response only fueled the sharp edge in your tone as you leaned in just a little closer.

'I’m just being honest,' you continued, voice quieter now, more deliberate. 'You’re insufferable, but that doesn’t mean I can’t admit when someone has... certain qualities.' Archer studied you for a moment, his expression almost imperceptibly softening, though he didn’t break his usual guarded demeanor.

'And what qualities might those be?' he asked, his voice now more cautious as if sensing the deeper layers of the conversation beneath your words.

'Physical,' you said, eyes briefly flicking to him and then away. 'The way you carry yourself. The confidence, even when you’re being unbearable.' There was no denying the bluntness of your words, but at least now, you had his full attention. Archer’s gaze held steady, his lips twitching as if he were about to respond, but the words seemed to elude him. He glanced away for a moment, though you could see the subtle shift in his expression, as if trying to process what you had said.

'You’re strange,' he finally said, his voice quiet but with an edge of something else—something more complex than the usual teasing banter. 'But I suppose that’s part of what makes you... interesting.' You weren’t sure if he was mocking you or not, but you didn’t care. The conversation had gone further than you’d expected, and yet, there was a strange comfort in the rawness of it. Even if it left both of you standing on uncertain ground. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the tension lingering in the air, but unspoken understanding passing between you. Archer shifted slightly in his seat, his gaze locking with yours.

'So, you’re saying you like what you see?' he asked, the usual sarcasm in his voice now replaced with something less defensive. You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you simply met his gaze, your expression firm but unreadable. Finally, you gave a small shrug.

'Maybe,' you said softly. 'But that doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you.' Archer let out a short laugh, and for the first time in the conversation, there was a warmth to it.

'I wouldn’t expect anything less.' The air between you two shifted again, the conversation moving past its initial awkwardness, and you couldn’t help but wonder how far this unexpected honesty would take you. You inched closer to his spot on the sofa, sitting on your knees, his arm that was draped over the top of the sofa.

'It's just us here,' you whisper with a smirk on your glossed lips. Archer's gaze shifted slightly, his expression unreadable as you moved closer. The air around you both seemed to thicken, the quiet weight of the moment pressing in. His posture didn't shift, but there was a flicker of something—surprise, wariness, or maybe just the subtle awareness that this was a different side of you, one that had surfaced unexpectedly. You could feel the tension building as you leaned in a fraction more, the proximity making his usual nonchalance seem less certain. His eyes remained on you, though they seemed to be measuring the space between you, waiting for your next move.

'It's just us,' you repeated, your voice soft, almost taunting, as your lips curled into a playful, challenging smirk. The subtle hint of gloss on them caught the light, adding to the sharpness of your look. Archer let out a quiet breath, his gaze flicking to your lips before returning to your eyes.

'Careful,' he said, his tone still steady, but with the slightest edge of caution. 'You’re treading into dangerous territory.' You tilted your head, never breaking eye contact.

'Am I?' The question hung in the air, your confidence radiating. You could feel the shift in his demeanour, the tension between you both hanging on the cusp of something—unknown and maybe a little dangerous. Archer’s gaze softened slightly, though there was still a guardedness to it.

'You’re bold,' he said, his voice low. 'But you should know that doesn’t unnerve me.'

'You sure?' you whispered, inching even closer, your breath brushing against the skin of his neck. His jaw tightened, his hand subtly shifting from the back of the sofa to the seat, as if bracing himself for something—perhaps uncertain of whether to push back or lean into the moment.

'You’re playing with fire,' he murmured, though the words didn’t seem to carry their usual warning. You smiled, a faint challenge in your eyes.

'Maybe I like the heat.' For a long moment, neither of you moved, the unspoken tension building, as though both of you were testing the limits of this quiet standoff.

'But can you handle it?' Archer responds, his voice lowering an octive. The change in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, the deeper, more controlled tone carrying an intensity that felt all too close. Archer’s eyes locked onto yours, unwavering, and in that moment, the playful edge you’d been holding onto felt as fragile as glass. You could feel the air shift, the space between you narrowing with every breath. The challenge in his words wasn’t lost on you, but it only fueled the fire you’d already sparked.

'Maybe you should find out,' you replied, your voice equally low now, matching his tone. Your smirk remained, but there was a flicker of something more—something dangerous, something daring. You weren't sure what you were doing, but you were caught up in the pull of it. Archer’s gaze darkened, his jaw clenching as if he were trying to decide how far to let this go. The playful teasing, the edge of sarcasm—all of it slipped away, replaced by something more serious, more... intense. He leaned in slightly, close enough for you to feel the heat from his body. The electricity between you both buzzed, crackling with tension, leaving you caught between daring to test the limits and knowing exactly what it might cost. His presence, his confidence, wrapped around you like a challenge, and you knew in that moment that this was no longer just about words. It was something much more carnal. Archer’s hand moved faster than you anticipated, his fingers brushing against your arm with a surprising gentleness, despite the tension that thickened the air. The contact sent a ripple through you, the warmth of his skin against yours igniting something that was both familiar and unsettling. He didn’t break eye contact, his gaze steady and calculating, as if reading your every response. You hadn’t expected him to be the first to initiate, but the moment his fingers brushed your skin, something inside you shifted. His hand moved, slowly, deliberately, to rest on your waist, his thumb grazing the edge of your hip. The subtle touch was enough to make your breath hitch, a quiet pulse of heat spreading from where he touched you. His voice was low, almost a whisper as he spoke, his lips close to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

'Careful,' he murmured, but there was no longer a hint of warning in his voice, just a challenge, a promise of what might come next. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, the weight of the moment hanging between you. Archer’s hand was firm on your waist, but it was the look in his eyes that unsettled you—the intensity of it, like he was waiting for something, testing you, all while keeping himself in check. You could feel the tension in every breath you took, the space between words more powerful than anything spoken. And yet, his touch, though restrained, felt like a silent dare. You placed your hand on his toned chest, testing the waters. Archer’s breath caught slightly as your hand rested against his chest, the subtle pressure of your palm against his toned muscles sending a jolt through him. His body was still, but the pulse under your fingers was steady, like a quiet drumbeat—an unspoken challenge. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his chest rising and falling with each breath, the faintest shift in his posture signalling that he was fully aware of the moment. The distance between you two had all but vanished now, and there was an undeniable electricity crackling in the air. His eyes flicked to your hand for just a moment before locking back onto yours, his gaze intense, studying, searching for any hint of hesitation in you. His other hand lifted your chin to make eye contact with him.

'(Y/N). I'll show you fire.' With that, Archer's lips encapsulate yours in a hungry, carnal kiss. You moan gently as he grips you harder. He pulls you into his lap and you place both hands on his chest.

'Archer, please,' you sigh, gripping his black undershirt. His nose trails up and down your neck, peppering kisses along it, gently biting at the soft skin. Your hands slide down his toned body as they stop at his crotch, a hard mass forming underneath it. The grey-haired bowman chuckles at your desperation. He undoes his pants and you slide them down as you rid yourself of your shorts.

'My, in such a hurry.' He teases and you scoff.

'Shut up.' He chuckles and your face floods with red. His hands traces your body as they make their way to your needy pussy. He slids your laced panties to the side and dips his finger tips in the wetness. He chuckles again, 'needy already?' He teased. You blush again and bit your lip.

'Just get on with it, bowman,' you huffed. He places kisses along your neck as he guides your hips over his thick, long length.

'Are you ready, girl?' He hums in your ear and you nod desperately. He pushes your hips down gently, as the inches stretch your walls you groan with pleasure.

'Ar-Archer,' you whine as you bury your face in his clothes chest. He grits his teeth as he sheths into you fully.

'Fuck,' he groans in delight. You slowly move your hips before gathering more and more enthusiasm. His skilled hand moves its way to your pearl, gently massaging it- creating unspoken amounts of pleasure. After a few minutes of passionate kisses and moans, Archer's stomach tightens. 'Ngh-' he clenches his teeth and you suck at his neck.

'Are you close? Mmh-' you moan and he nods. 'Me..me too. Archer, I' gonna cum!' You whine as you both reach your high together. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and see stars as Archer releases his seed into your pussy. You both come down from your high and the bowman gently lifts you off his lap onto the sofa. Flustered, he catches his breath. The room felt different now, the quiet after the storm settling over the two of you like a blanket, thick with unspoken words. Archer’s hand was still on your waist as he reluctantly helped you off his lap, guiding you back to the sofa. His touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary, fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent a quiet pulse of heat through you. You both sat there for a few moments in the stillness, neither of you quite knowing what to say. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, his usually steady demeanour faltering, the tension of the moment still hanging in the air between you.

'That was...' Archer started, his voice trailing off as he caught his breath, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to regain some semblance of composure. His usual confidence was shaken, a rare sight for anyone who knew him.

'Yeah,' you murmured, glancing away for a moment, feeling the flush on your cheeks, still processing the rush of emotions. 'I didn't expect you to... well, to do that.' He looked at you, his gaze softening slightly, but there was still that edge of uncertainty in his eyes, as if even now he wasn't entirely sure of what had just happened between you two.

'Neither did I,' he admitted, his voice quiet, the usual teasing gone.

'Shall we get cleaned up?' You ask, tilting your head. Archer looked at you for a moment, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual, before he finally nodded. His usual self-assuredness seemed to be returning, though there was a softness in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

'Getting cleaned up sounds like a good idea,' he replied, his voice still carrying that low, steady tone. He stood up from the chair, pushing it back with a slight motion. The moment of vulnerability from before was quickly fading, replaced by the familiar sense of control, but there was still a subtle tension in the air, as if neither of you were quite sure where to go from here. You smiled faintly, already feeling a bit lighter as you moved toward the door, ready to take the next step and put some distance between the intensity of the moment.

'I’ll head to the bathroom,' you said, pausing to look over your shoulder at him. 'Meet you there?' Archer gave a small nod, his expression unreadable but his eyes flicking to you with a hint of something unspoken. 'Yeah. I’ll be there in a minute.' As you turned to head down the hall, you could hear the soft creak of the floorboards as he followed you, his presence still lingering behind you, the quiet hum of the night around you both. The air between you had changed, but the next step, whatever it was, still felt uncertain. And maybe, just maybe, that was what made it all the more intriguing. You made your way to the bathroom, the soft tap of your footsteps on the floor echoing in the hallway. The house felt unusually quiet after everything that had just passed, as though the silence was holding its breath, waiting for the next move. You could feel Archer behind you, his presence a constant, but the space between you both seemed more charged now—more aware. As you entered the bathroom and flicked on the light, you caught your reflection in the mirror. You paused for a moment, studying yourself. Your cheeks were still flushed, the lingering warmth of the moment evident in your expression. You exhaled slowly, trying to steady your thoughts, but there was no denying how your heart was still racing. The room seemed too small for the thoughts running through your mind. You heard the door creak open behind you, and Archer’s reflection appeared in the mirror. His eyes met yours, and for a brief second, neither of you spoke. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable but intense. He was watching you, and in that silence, it was almost like the world outside didn’t exist.

'So,' he said, his voice breaking the quiet, soft but still carrying an edge of that cool composure he always wore. 'You really don’t hold back, do you?'

You met his gaze in the mirror, the challenge from earlier still simmering between you.

'What can I say?' You gave him a small smile, trying to keep things light, but there was an undeniable charge in the air between you two. 'I like to keep things interesting.'

Archer pushed off from the doorframe and stepped toward you, closing the distance between you both. His movements were measured, deliberate, and yet there was a hint of something more uncertain in the way he lingered, just out of reach. His eyes searched yours, a silent question hanging in the air.

'You’re a dangerous one,' he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper.

'Maybe,; you said, tilting your head slightly. 'But then again, you’re not exactly innocent yourself.' Archer let out a breath, the barest chuckle escaping his lips as he took another step closer. The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken words, the boundaries between teasing and something deeper becoming harder to distinguish. For a moment, neither of you moved, standing there in that shared space of tension and quiet understanding. The silence spoke volumes, but the next words, or actions, would decide just how far the night was going to go.

After a steamy shower filled with sweet nothings, soapy massages and wet kisses, the tension in the air seemed to stretch between you as you both made your way to the bedroom, the house still holding its quiet, expectant breath. The bed loomed ahead, soft and inviting, but with it came a weight—an unspoken question of where this moment would lead, of whether the night would end with you both in the same space, or if you'd part with everything left hanging in the air. Archer was the first to climb into the bed, his movements smooth and controlled, though his eyes flicked toward you, watching for any sign of hesitation. You followed him, the soft rustle of sheets filling the silence as you settled in beside him. The space between you felt both vast and intimate, and the familiar tension still hung between you, though now it was softened by the quiet of the room. Archer wore a simple, yet effortlessly stylish outfit, even in the quiet of the night. His dark, fitted t-shirt clung slightly to his toned frame, the fabric stretching just enough to highlight his broad shoulders and defined arms. His pants were loose, and comfortable, but still fitted enough to suggest the lean strength of his build. Despite the casualness of his attire, there was an unmistakable air of confidence around him, his posture relaxed, yet purposeful, as if even in sleep, his composure was never truly shaken. You both lay on your sides, facing each other. The light from the nightlight outside the window filtered through, casting soft shadows across the room. Archer’s gaze never left yours, a steady, almost searching look, as if he was trying to understand what had shifted between you two.

'Do you always do this?' Archer's voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful, the usual edge gone. 'Test the waters and then back off?'

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you weren't sure how to answer. You weren't used to being questioned like that, especially not when things had felt so... raw.

'I don't know,' you replied slowly, shifting a little closer. 'Maybe I'm just trying to figure out where the line is.' Your voice was softer now, as if you, too, were testing the waters, even in this moment. Archer’s gaze softened, just a fraction, as if he was seeing a different side of you now. He didn’t answer right away, letting the quiet between you both settle again. His hand found its way to your shoulder, resting there with a surprising gentleness.

'You’re complicated,' he murmured after a beat, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. You smiled, a small, knowing smile, as you met his eyes.

'I think we both are.' With that, the tension seemed to ease, if only slightly, as you both settled in, the warmth of the bed enveloping you. It was still quiet, still heavy with what had passed between you, but for the first time that night, there was a sense of calm as you both allowed the pull of sleep to settle in. The sheets between you were a thin barrier, but for now, it was enough. And as the room grew darker, you closed your eyes, the sound of his steady breathing beside you the only thing you could focus on. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, the stillness in the room felt almost suffocating. The space between you, though physically small, seemed to carry the weight of everything unspoken. The bed felt a little too large, a little too empty, and you couldn't help but shift closer to him. Slowly, you moved, your body drawn toward his warmth, the instinct to be nearer to him taking over. Archer didn’t say anything at first, but his body tensed slightly, as if uncertain of what you were doing. Then, just as slowly, he relaxed, his arm shifting to accommodate you as you nestled against his chest. The closeness felt natural, even if the moments leading up to it had been anything but. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer, the heat of his body spreading over you like a shield against the quiet of the night. You could feel the rhythm of his breath beneath your ear, steady and calm, and for the first time since everything had shifted between you, there was a sense of peace. Archer’s hand rested gently on your back, his fingers lightly tracing over your skin, almost absentmindedly. The gesture was tender, yet held an underlying sense of care that hadn’t been present before.

'Comfortable?' he murmured softly, his voice still a little rough, but no longer carrying the edge it had earlier. You nodded, pressing a little closer, the warmth between you both enough to drown out the rest of the world.

'Yeah,' you whispered back, letting the quiet moments stretch on, both of you caught in the gentle pull of the night. And in that space, in his arms, everything else seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you. As the night settled around you both, the weight of everything that had passed seemed to dissipate, replaced by a peaceful stillness that was comforting and safe. The soft rustle of sheets and the rhythm of your breathing blended together, creating a quiet harmony between you. Archer’s arm around you felt steady, grounding, and for once, there were no unspoken words, no tension between you—just the warmth of being close. Outside, the night carried on, but within the quiet confines of the room, everything felt just right. You could feel the exhaustion of the day beginning to settle in, your eyelids heavy, your body finally allowing itself to relax. Archer’s breathing slowed, the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath you a calming lullaby. Without a word, you both drifted into the comfort of sleep, the night unfolding around you like a soft blanket, offering a promise of peace in the unspoken connection between you. The world outside continued on, but for now, in this moment, it was just the two of you, entwined in the quiet comfort of shared stillness.

And as sleep took hold, you let it, knowing that whatever came next could wait for tomorrow.

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Threads Of Freedom 15th Hunger Games AU Archer Brown x Fem!Reader: Chapter 5 - The Devil’s Bargain

A/N: I hope you enjoy the 5th chapter of Threads of Freedom—a 15th Hunger Games AU featuring Archer Brown x Fem!Reader! 🙌 In this chapter, Coriolanus Snow finally makes his grand appearance, and trust me, his presence is not going to make things any easier for our protagonist. 😈 Prepare for more tension, manipulation, and control as he takes centre stage in this chapter. I spent way too much time stressing over trying to come up with a cover for this chapter, but in the end, I decided to create my own quotes for it instead for Coriolanus 🤷‍♀️.

I can't wait for you to see how the story continues on—more twists are on the way. 💥 There will be another post in just a few hours or less, so stay tuned with a brand new AU being introduced for Billy the Kid... A Gladiator AU 🏛️💔. So stay tuned for more!👀

As always, thank you so much for reading and supporting me! 💖

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: Dark themes, control, abuse of power, intimidation, threats, manipulation, mentions of hanging, obsession, Coriolanus being Coriolanus, objectification, isolation, intimidation, possessiveness, coercion, dehumanisation, peacekeeper brutality, threats of violence, and grief.

As they led me through the darkened streets, the path to the Peacekeeper base felt endless. The streets were quieter than usual, the usual hum of District 12 silenced by the heavy air of tension. The flickering lights along the way cast distorted shadows, but it wasn’t the shadows that unsettled me, it was the Peacekeepers’ firm grip on my arms, their booted feet echoing with an unforgiving cadence on the cobblestones. My mind raced with frantic thoughts, trying desperately to keep my panic from surfacing. I had to remain calm. If they saw any hint of fear, it would only make things worse. I couldn’t afford to show them that I was scared, that I was about to crack under the weight of everything threatening to overwhelm me.

The sky above was cloaked in a thick blanket of clouds, the morning air unusually still, suffocating even. The darkness pressed in on me like a physical force, making it harder to breathe, and harder to think. 

We walked past the hanging tree. Its gnarled branches twisted like skeletal fingers, reaching toward the sky as if trying to escape the earth below or the district itself. The shadows it cast stretched long and unnaturally, dark tendrils creeping toward me. My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard, the weight of fear pressing down on me. The tree loomed like a silent witness to all the pain that had passed beneath it, its very presence a reminder of the Capitol’s unyielding control over us nooses hung along the main thickest branches.

The whispers of those who had met their end there seemed to echo in my mind. I could almost feel their souls lingering, the weight of their deaths heavy in the air. The tree mocked me, its presence a stark reminder of how little power we truly had. I tried to focus on my steps, but the fear bubbling inside me made it difficult to move. What if I didn’t make it out of this? What if the Peacekeepers didn’t believe my lies? The thought of being lost, forgotten, swallowed by that tree, made my stomach churn.

I forced myself to keep walking, my feet carrying me further from the tree, but its shadow remained, a silent reminder of the dangers that surrounded me. It felt as though my dreams of escaping, of freedom, were slipping further away with every step.

I swallowed harshly, trying to hold myself together. The sight of that damn tree of everything it represented was almost too much to bear. It was as though the air around me was thick with loss, and it weighed heavily on my chest. My thoughts turned to my father, and the way his health had worsened over the last few weeks, how he was now suffering from the same illness that had claimed my mother. The realization made my heart ache in a way I couldn’t put into words.

Regret gnawed at me like a slow poison. Why hadn’t I done more for him? Why hadn’t I spent more time easing his burdens, helping him carry the weight he’d been carrying for so long? I could have tried harder, I should have tried harder. Instead, I let myself get caught up in my own selfish dreams, the longing to escape, to leave District 12 and find something more. But I should have been here, by his side, making every moment count before it was too late. How could I have let myself get lost in my own desires, knowing how fragile he was? Now, the reality of his illness felt like a cruel reminder of the fleeting nature of time, and the more I thought about it, the harder it became to breathe.

The weight of my regrets settled heavily in my chest, a dull ache that only grew deeper with every step toward the base. The silence between the Peacekeepers felt suffocating as if the very air was pressing in on me, making it hard to breathe. I couldn’t help but think of Annie, her bright smile, and the laughter we shared that seemed so far away now. I longed for more moments with her, moments I had taken for granted. I wished I could turn back time, walk with her to the Hob like I used to, just to be near her, to enjoy the simplicity of our friendship. Instead, I had been so consumed with my desire to escape, to flee this painful place, that I had pushed her away without even realizing it. The time I could have spent with her now felt like a lifetime lost.

I regretted fighting with Archer—more than I cared to admit. Regretted the harsh words I’d thrown at him, the way I’d shut him out when all he wanted was to understand. I could still feel the weight of our last conversation, the anger and hurt hanging between us like a wall I couldn't tear down. I hadn’t given him a chance to explain, too wrapped up in my own frustrations to see what he was really trying to say. I had wanted to leave—wanted to escape this place and the suffocating weight of my life in District 12—but now, as I walked through the cold streets, it felt like those dreams were slipping away, dissolving into the night like smoke. The more the distance between me and the hanging tree grew, the more it seemed like I was running away from everything I wanted, everything I needed.

A part of me just wanted to turn around, run back, and throw myself into his arms. I wanted to feel safe again, to feel like I wasn’t carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. I wanted to stay there, in the warmth of his embrace, and let everything else fade away. Because, if I was honest with myself, I cared about him more than I had ever let on. More than I had allowed myself to admit. He had become such a quiet constant in my life, someone who understood me in ways no one else could. And now, with the possibility of losing him hanging over me, I realized just how much he meant to me. How much I needed him.

In my heart, I knew that if I could just find the courage to go back to him, to apologize, maybe things could be different. Maybe we could have a chance at something more than just the unspoken tension that had started to build between us. But as I walked further away, my steps growing heavier, the idea of turning back seemed impossible stupid even. I had always wanted to leave District 12 behind, to run away and start fresh. But now, as I thought about him, I realized the truth—I didn’t just want to escape my life here. I wanted to escape with him; it was something I had to do. I wanted to build a life where the weight of the Capitol and the fear of the Games didn’t hang over us. And if I didn’t have him with me, then all those dreams of freedom felt hollow.

I had been so focused on the idea of escaping, but now, I couldn’t help but wonder if the only thing worth running toward was him.

I glanced up at the sky, the clouds thick and oppressive, and for a moment, I thought I saw the faintest hint of light breaking through, only for it to vanish as quickly as it appeared. The sunlight that was supposed to come with the morning was lost, swallowed by the swarm of clouds. It felt like a cruel joke, the dark clouds mocking my desire for freedom. It felt like everything I had dreamed of—everything I had hoped for—was fading away with the light. I had been foolish to think I could ever escape this place in the beginning.

"Get moving," one of the Peacekeepers barked, his harsh voice cutting through the whirlwind of my spiraling thoughts. His tone left no room for argument, and I nodded silently, biting down hard on my lip to keep the tears from spilling over. I couldn’t let them see me break not now, not when they were looking for any sign of weakness. Every step forward felt like it dragged me closer to my doom, and no matter how hard I tried, the knot of fear in my stomach only tightened.

The base loomed ahead, a towering, angular structure carved out of stone and iron. It seemed to absorb the faint light from the sky above, leaving it cold and lifeless. It wasn’t just a building; it was a warning, a reminder of the Capitol’s grip on us all. As the Peacekeepers marched me forward, their boots echoing against the cobblestones, I tried to steady my breathing. But with each step, the weight of my situation pressed harder on my chest.

Inside, the air shifted cool and sterile, with a faint metallic tang that reminded me of blood. The doors slammed shut behind me, the sound reverberating like a final verdict. The halls were dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly overhead, casting uneven shadows that seemed to move as if alive. The stone walls were damp in places, their surfaces scarred and worn as if they had witnessed countless horrors over the years. The further we went, the quieter the world seemed to become, the hum of machinery and muffled voices creating an eerie backdrop that only added to my unease.

As I was dragged further inside the building, I noticed the Peacekeepers stationed throughout the halls. Some glanced at me with open disdain, their expressions twisted in disgust as if I were something foul that had wandered in from the seams. Their cold, judgmental eyes felt like a weight pressing against my chest. Others, however, looked at me differently, their gazes predatory and hungry. Their eyes raked over me as though I were something to be devoured, their smirks unsettling and dripping with malice. I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. The air grew heavier with each step, my stomach twisting with the realization that I was utterly alone here, a lamb among wolves.

I passed rows of heavy iron doors, each one marked with a number but no other indication of what lay behind it. From some, I heard faint sounds shuffling, the scrape of chains, or worse, muffled cries that sent a chill straight to my bones. The oppressive silence of the other doors felt even more sinister, as if they were holding their breath, waiting for something unspeakable to unfold.

"Move it," one of the Peacekeepers snapped, giving me a rough shove. I stumbled, barely catching myself before I hit the ground, and the cold sting of humiliation burned at the edges of my fear accompanied by the sting in my palms and cheek. I wanted to lash out but the icy knot in my throat made speaking impossible.

When we finally reached the end of the corridor, they pushed open a heavy door, its groan echoing like a death knell. The room inside was stark and barren, the walls a harsh, sterile white that seemed to amplify every sound. A metal table stood in the center, flanked by two cold, unwelcoming chairs. The surface of the table was scratched and worn, a silent testament to the countless people who had sat here before me, all of them helpless in the face of whatever judgment awaited.

They shoved me into the room, and I stumbled again, my legs trembling beneath me as though they were about to give out. My wrists were cuffed tightly to one another, the metal biting into my skin as I sank down into the creaky wooden chair, unable to stop my body from shaking. The air was thick, heavy with tension, and every breath felt like it dragged through my lungs. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the faint echo of my own unsteady breathing.

The walls seemed to press closer, enclosing me in a space that felt too small, too suffocating. My mind raced with the endless possibilities of what they might ask, of what they might do if my answers didn’t satisfy them. This wasn’t just a questioning; it was a reckoning. And as I sat there, staring at the scratched surface of the table, I knew there was no running from it. No escape. This was the moment when everything would change, and I couldn’t tell if I’d be able to survive it.

I tried to steady my breathing, forcing myself to think clearly. I had to prepare. Whatever was coming, whatever questions they hurled at me, I couldn’t falter. The truth wasn’t an option. I'd been at the mines late at night, trying to find a way out of this godforsaken district, and if they found out, my fate would be sealed. The hanging tree loomed in the back of my mind, its gnarled branches like fingers curling around my thoughts, threatening to drag me to my end.

I had to lie. I had to convince them I wasn’t the one sneaking around. Every story I told as a child to escape punishment, every excuse I made to avoid suspicion, it had all led to this moment. Now, my survival depended on how well I could spin my tale. My heart hammered as I rehearsed what I’d say, the excuses I’d give, the innocent look I’d force onto my face. I needed to seem frightened but not guilty, confused but not suspicious.

Lying was my only chance to walk out of here alive. I couldn’t let my nerves betray me, couldn’t let my voice shake or my eyes darted around like I had something to hide. The Peacekeepers weren’t stupid they’d see through anything less than perfection. If I wanted to avoid swinging at the end of a rope, I needed to act like I had nothing to hide. I clenched my fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms as I forced myself to focus.

This was it. My life depended on the story I’d weave in the next few moments. If I failed, the hanging tree would be waiting.

The metallic clang of the door opening made me jolt, my back snapping straight against the cold chair. I’d expected another Peacekeeper to barge in, maybe someone gruffer, someone who would demand answers with brute force. But the figure who stepped into the room was entirely different.

He carried himself with an air of authority that seemed to suck the oxygen out of the room. Every movement was deliberate, commanding attention without a word. He stood tall, well over six feet, his broad shoulders and lean frame exuding power. His iconic blood-red suit clung to him like it was made for no one else, the fabric pristine and untouched by the dirt of District 12. The color, so vivid and striking, seemed to symbolize both danger and dominance, as if he wore it to remind everyone of his control over their lives.

His blonde hair was slicked back meticulously, not a strand out of place, and his pale blue eyes—cold and calculating—locked onto mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, caught in the quiet storm that was his gaze. It was unnerving, like a predator locking onto its prey. The sharp, almost clinical precision with which he studied me made me feel as though he were dissecting me, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally.

I knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. His reputation had preceded him, as it did with everyone in the Capitol who wielded that kind of power. The mere mention of his name sent shivers down the spine of even the most hardened rebels. President Coriolanus Snow. The embodiment of fear, control, and manipulation. But seeing him here, in the flesh, was something else entirely.

And now, here he was, in front of me, like a storm closing in.

For a moment, I couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. My body felt frozen, as if the air itself had turned to ice around me. 

Why was he here? 

The president of Panem, in this forgotten, crumbling district? It didn’t make sense. My mind scrambled for answers, each thought colliding with the next in a tangle of fear and confusion. This wasn’t some routine interrogation. It wasn’t about the mines, the Peacekeepers, or even the Capitol’s grip tightening around District 12.

Could it be about me?

The realization struck me like a blow, stealing what little composure I had left. But why? What could I have done to warrant his presence? The weight of his cold, assessing gaze made my skin crawl, and my heart pounded so hard I was sure he could hear it. I felt exposed, like every secret I had ever held was laid bare before him. My attempt to flee, my fight with Archer, even the forbidden dreams I kept hidden in the darkest corners of my mind—it was as if he already knew.

Panic twisted inside me, but so did an unsettling sense of curiosity. Of all the people in District 12, why had Coriolanus Snow chosen to face me personally? What did he see when he looked at me? And why did it feel as though he wasn’t here to deliver justice but something far more sinister, far more personal?

“Leave us,” Snow ordered sharply, his voice smooth and cutting all at once, like the edge of a finely honed blade. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be; the authority in his tone was absolute. The two Peacekeepers flanking the door exchanged uncertain glances, their hesitation lasting only a fraction of a second before they stepped out, boots echoing faintly as they retreated.

The door closed behind them with a final, resounding thud that reverberated through the small room, sealing us in together. The silence that followed was deafening, pressing down on me like a physical weight. The absence of sound seemed to amplify everything else: the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance, the soft rustle of his blood red coat as he adjusted his stance, the steady rhythm of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Snow’s gaze lingered on me, his eyes dark and intent, studying me with a look that made my skin prickle uncomfortably. His lips curved into a faint, predatory smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, but somehow made the air feel heavier. Every movement he made was deliberate, calculated, as if he were savoring the moment.

He stepped further into the room, the soft click of his boots on the floor echoing with each measured step, his presence filling the space. It was as if time slowed down in his wake. He was in control of the room, of the situation, of me. He pulled out the chair across from me with deliberate care, the scraping sound of it against the floor loud in the stillness. As he sat, he folded his hands neatly on the table, his fingers interlocking with practiced precision. The way he settled into the chair was almost unnerving, as if he had done this a thousand times before, as if he had all the time in the world to break me down.

“Well,” he began, his voice smooth, like velvet wrapped around steel, every word dripping with an unsettling calm. “It seems we find ourselves in quite the predicament, don’t we?” His eyes never left mine, and there was something about the way he spoke—too measured, too controlled—that made my stomach churn.

I swallowed hard, the sound echoing in the silence between us, and tried to maintain some semblance of composure. But the weight of his gaze pressed down on me like a physical force, making it impossible to feel anything but exposed. Every inch of my skin felt like it was on fire under his scrutiny.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, his expression almost too calm, too patient. It was as if he were savoring the moment, playing some game with me I didn’t understand. He looked at me with genuine curiosity, as though he truly wanted to know what was going on in my mind.

I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice caught in my throat. My breath hitched, and I could feel the panic starting to rise, but I fought to keep it in check. He raised a single brow, as though waiting for me to speak.

“I—I’m not sure,” I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper, the words feeling foreign and weak on my tongue. The vulnerability of it hit me all at once, and I immediately regretted saying anything at all.

“Not sure?” Snow leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, but there was nothing casual about the sharp intensity in his eyes. His gaze never left me, as if he could see right through me. “You were seen near the mines last night. A curious place for a girl like you to be wandering about, wouldn’t you say?”

I could feel the pressure building in my chest, but I forced myself to speak with as much confidence as I could muster. “I wasn’t near the mines,” I lied quickly, the words slipping out before I could even think. My heart pounded so loud I was sure he could hear it, but I couldn’t let him see how much he rattled me. “I was at home. Asleep.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, low and smooth, though it lacked even the smallest hint of warmth. His lips twisted into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and the sound of it sent a shiver down my spine. “Asleep, you say?” He leaned forward then, his movements deliberate and slow, as if he were savoring the moment. His elbows came to rest on the table, and his fingers laced together, the tension in his posture making it clear he wasn’t buying my lie. “You don’t strike me as a very good liar, Y/n. But perhaps I’m wrong.”

The way he said my name sent an icy tremor through me. It was too familiar, too personal. My mind raced, trying to process how he knew it, why he knew it. It felt like an intrusion, like he had already dissected every detail of my life and was now toying with me, pulling at the threads to see how much I could unravel before I broke.

Snow studied me for a moment, his gaze sharp and calculating, as if he were weighing something far beyond the surface of our conversation. He didn’t speak immediately, allowing the silence to stretch, thick and suffocating, like a game he was letting me lose without ever needing to make a move.

Finally, he spoke, but the words came out slowly, almost as if he were choosing them with great care. "You intrigue me," he murmured, his voice softer, but it was no comfort. There was a subtle undercurrent to his words, like a predator circling its prey, and I felt every inch of that tension. “You remind me of someone... someone I once knew.”

His words hung in the air, and my pulse quickened as I tried to make sense of them. I stayed silent, unwilling to give him anything more than what he already had. The tension between us stretched, taut as a wire, and for a brief, terrifying moment, I thought he might break it with something that would shatter me completely.

"She was special, but no more than a means to an end," he continued, but this time, there was a flicker in his expression—something fleeting, almost disgusted, as though the thought of this 'someone' that repulsed him. The change was subtle but unmistakable like a shadow crossing his face. “But she lacked something. Something... I believe you so happen to possess.”

I felt a chill wash over me, and my stomach twisted in knots. I didn’t want to know what he meant, didn’t want to hear the unspoken things behind his words. But even as I refused to respond, I could feel his eyes on me—measuring, calculating, dissecting me in ways I couldn’t begin to understand. Whatever it was he saw in me, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

“You have potential,” Snow said, his voice smooth and coaxing, though his eyes narrowed slightly, studying me like a puzzle he was just about to solve. “But potential means nothing without control. Without loyalty.” He paused, letting the words linger in the air as if they were meant to sink into my bones.

I swallowed, trying to push down the knot of fear tightening in my chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, my voice steady, though I could feel the lie slipping from my tongue.

“Oh, but you do,” he replied, his smile widening, the corners of his mouth curling into something dark and knowing. He leaned in slightly, and the air between us seemed to thicken with each word. “You see, I don’t believe in coincidences. A girl like you, sneaking around the mines, dreaming of freedom…” His voice hardened, and the words became sharp, cutting into me. “Do you think you’re special? That you’re above the rules, above your place?”

His gaze bore into mine, demanding an answer, and I shook my head quickly, trying to swallow the panic that surged in my chest. “No, I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupted his voice a blade, slicing through the quiet between us. “I can see it in your eyes. You think you’re different, don’t you? You want to escape, to run from this district, from your responsibilities. And for what? Some fleeting fantasy?” He leaned even closer, his gaze never wavering, never blinking. “What makes you think you’re entitled to more than this place? To more than the life you were given?”

The weight of his words crushed me, the reality of my situation bearing down like a vice. I could feel the tears threatening to burn behind my eyes, but I fought them back with all the strength I had left. “I’m not trying to escape,” I said, though the tremor in my voice betrayed me, revealing a crack in my carefully constructed facade.

He smiled again, but it was colder now, something calculated in the way his lips curled. “You’re lying to yourself, Y/n. And not only that you’re lying to me.” His voice dropped to a whisper, almost sweet, but it carried a chilling undertone. “I know exactly what you want. You want to be free, but more than that… you want to be wanted. To matter. You want someone to take notice, to see you for more than the girl who has her head up in the clouds and whos nothing but a dreamer.”

The words hit harder than I expected, and I tried to push them away, but they stuck, digging into my mind like sharp needles. My heart pounded, each beat echoing in my ears, and I could feel the walls of the room closing in around me. “That’s not true,” I whispered, barely able to find the words to defend myself.

“Oh, but it is,” Snow countered, his voice low and smooth, as if he were speaking a truth only he could understand. “You’re searching for something bigger than yourself. You dream of escaping, but not just the district. You want someone to take you out of this life, to pull you away from all this... mediocrity. But here’s the problem, Y/n…” He leaned in even closer, his face inches from mine, the intensity of his cerulean gaze trapping me. “You’ll never be truly free, because you can’t even control yourself. You can’t control your desires and your impulses. And that—” He tapped the side of my head lightly, a mocking gesture that made my stomach twist. “—is where you fail.”

I felt like I was drowning in the weight of his words, each one heavier than the last. He was breaking me down, piece by piece, and yet I couldn't find the strength to fight back.

Snow leaned even closer, his face now mere inches from mine. “Do you know what happens to those who try to defy the Capitol?” he asked, his voice low and chilling. “They end up swinging from that tree you passed on your way here. Do you want that to be your fate, Y/n?”

I shook my head again, swallowing the lump in my throat.

I tried to stay calm, to keep my composure, but his presence was suffocating. He leaned in even closer, his gaze intense, as if he were reading me, dissecting my every reaction. His eyes flicked to my hands, still trembling slightly on the table, before meeting my gaze again. Snow’s lips curled into a twisted smile, his eyes glinting with amusement and malice. He leaned forward again, his voice lowering to a taunting, almost mocking tone.

“Now, tell me, Y/n," he said, his words dripping with disdain, "Were you out last night, snooping around the mines, sneaking along the district fence like a pathetic little bunny, desperate to escape your cage?”

He paused, letting the insult hang in the air, his gaze never leaving mine. The words stung like a slap to the face, and I couldn’t help but flinch, but I held my ground, refusing to give him the full satisfaction of seeing me break.

“And don’t you dare lie to me,” he said, his voice low and quiet, almost too calm. “You were near the mines last night, and I know you weren’t there just for a stroll.” He let the silence hang between us, each second feeling like it dragged on forever. “But I’m not here to accuse you—no. I’m here to offer you a choice.”

My heart skipped a beat. A choice?

He stood, circling me like a predator with no rush, savouring the moment. “You see, Y/n, you could walk out of here today, and pretend like none of this ever happened. But if you dare try to escape again, if you dare think you can run from this district...” He leaned in closer, his breath cold on my ear. “I will personally make sure your father’s neck is snapped, your friends are dragged into the dirt, and as for that lover boy of yours,” he spat the words with disgust, as though the mere mention of his name left a bitter taste in his mouth, “Archer? Do you think he’s your protector? I’ll have him begging for mercy, just like the fool he is.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing as if searching for any sign of weakness. “I won’t be made a fool again by some silly district girl. You’ll stay in your place. Don’t think for a second that you have any real power here. I control everything. Everything.”

I shook my head, trying to hold back the tears, trying to swallow the lump in my throat that threatened to choke me. The weight of his threats hung in the air like a thick fog. I wasn’t sure if he truly meant every word or if this was just part of his game. But it didn’t matter. His eyes, his tone—everything about him screamed that he was in control, and he would make good on his promises if I dared to defy him.

“Good,” he said finally, his smile returning, though it was darker, more sinister than before. It made my stomach churn. “Because I think you could be...useful to me. If you prove yourself.”

I didn’t trust him. I couldn’t. But I had no choice. He was holding all the cards. I had to play along, had to pretend I was on his side, just long enough to stay alive.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady.

He didn’t hesitate, his response sharp and cold. “Loyalty,” he said simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And obedience. You’ll find that I reward those who know their place. But cross me, and you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

I nodded, the weight of his words sinking into my chest like lead. My body screamed at me to run, but my mind screamed louder—if I did, everything I loved would be destroyed. Archer... my father... Annie... all of them. I had no choice but to obey, for now.

“Good,” Snow said again, his voice almost pleased as he straightened his uniform. “Then we’ll see what you’re truly made of.”

He turned to leave, and the door opened as the Peacekeepers stepped back in, their expressions as cold and indifferent as always. Snow paused in the doorway, his hand on the handle. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes locking with mine one last time.

“Oh, and Y/n?” he called out casually, his tone deceptively light. “Remember, I’ll be watching.” The door slammed shut behind him, and I was left alone in the cold, suffocating silence of the room. His presence lingered in the air like a thick, poisonous fog, and the sound of his voice echoed in my head. He had made his intentions clear. This wasn’t just about interrogation. He wanted me. He needed me under his control, and if I was going to survive, I would have to play his game if I wanted a sliver of a chance of leaving this hellhole.

[archerarchives]

New Girl Blues - 2

Sterling Archer x Fem Reader

((Part 1))

The new hire seems to have earned her place, proving her endurance and loyalty to the agency. She lives another day to get to know her team a little better, one blue-eyed man in particular.

TWs: Sedation, medical talk, medical violence, gun violence, Malory is problematic.

When you finally come out of your drug-induced coma, you're alone in a hospital room. You look over at your side table and there sits a small flower arrangement. The tiny card reads "Danger zone. -A" You narrow your eyes at it, confused. You don't know what it means, but you know they're from Archer. You smile, but it's quickly wiped off your face when you realize how beaten you are. Grinning hurts.

~~~Meanwhile at ISIS

"Where the hell is Sterling?" Malory yells to the entire upper floor.

"I haven't heard from him for a few days," Lana casually inserts, still keeping her distance from the situation.

"He's probably off getting black-out drunk on an island because he got Y/N killed." Ray shrugs, much to Cyril's discomfort.

"He only knew her for a day, could he really be that bent out of shape?" Malory raises a brow. "This is just another excuse to-"

"You were saying?" Archer seems to appear on cue, standing leisurely in the doorway of the elevator as he steps out.

"Where on Earth have you been? Just days of that god damned voicemail of yours!" Archer's mother stares daggers through him.

"I went to get Y/N," he states it like it's obvious. "I said that."

"You said you weren't going!" She rolls her eyes as far back as they can go. "Lana!"

"Nope," the tall, beautiful agent exits the room, extending the 'o' vowel of her one-word sentence.

"Mother," Archer speaks with a chuckle. "You couldn't possibly have believed me." He breaks into a laugh. "That's like, textbook me." He's still laughing as his mother's glare carves holes into his head.

"So," Malory straightens her stance. "Where is Agent Y/L/N?"

"The hospital, duh?" He sets his drink down.

"How is she?" Cyril asks, butting into the conversation.

"Not... Great." Archer shifts uncomfortably.

"Not great as in she's not gonna make it, or...?" Malory takes an "innocent" sip from her glass.

"Malory!" Lana exclaims.

"What? If she's going to live, we need her brought here before she's doped up on morphine, telling every nurse in the east wing where she's been for three days!"

"How are we supposed to get her out?" Archer wants to laugh at the ridiculous notion.

"That's the beauty of defying my orders, Sterling. You figure it out!" Malory slams her door, powerfully punctuating her sentence.

"So, any ideas?" Archer turns to the gang.

"Are we sure Krieger is the best... 'Doctor' for her if she's so beat up?" Cyril shrugs at the peculiar doctor's offended expression.

"Well, mother's right. It's better than letting her compromise the agency... More than I already have and do."

"And something about that weapon trafficking ring tells me they might go looking for an infiltrating witness staying in an unguarded, public hospital." Ray raises a valid point that no one seems to have considered yet. "What would you do without me?"

"Lana," Archer turns to his co-worker turned ex.

"No! Stop dragging me into-"

"Please, you owe me!"

"No, Archer, I don't owe you. Stop saying that." She facepalms. "Look, let's go get her out of there, but it's up to you to get her back here. I'm not risking my life for someone I've only known for less than a day!" She storms off to ready herself for the "mission."

"What about you two?" Sterling faces Ray and Cyril who sit at two unoccupied desks. They glance at each other and then back to him.

"I'm only coming because I like Y/N." Ray stands. "She's the most tolerable out of all of you so far."

"I... I don't know." Cyril rubs the back of his neck.

"Figures. Cyril's half a man, what else is new?" Archer taunts.

"Fine! I'll go. I'm not half a man," he huffs, standing to join the group. Each Agent pitches an idea of how to get you out of the hospital, each plan is shot down immediately by Archer.

"Oh, my God. Let's just get in there, get some scrubs, and wheel her out."

"Seriously? Like a fucking Weekend at Bernie's? They're not gonna let her leave unconscious." Lana rubs her temples, assuming you're in some sort of coma-like state.

"What if she's on life support or something?" Cyril asks.

"Well..." Lana doesn't want to have to say it, but the answer is that they'll have to pull your plug. Archer shakes the idea from his head.

"Good enough. Let's go." He leads the team out of the break room, storming ahead of them with a confident purpose.

"I don't like it when he's serious," Cyril whispers to Ray.

"Me neither. He hasn't been this useful since... Well, ever."

"Shut it, Elton Yawn," Archer snaps.

"Oh, because I'm gay and what? Boring?" Ray crosses his arms.

"Yeah, exactly that, actually." He chuckles at his own joke. Endlessly entertained by his own wit.

At the hospital, Ray acquires two doctors' coats and a few sets of nurse's scrubs. Archer returns to the group with various name tags and stethoscopes. You're dressed as a nurse, taking the set that just happens to be your size. Archer is a doctor, hanging the stethoscope around his neck. Ray slips into a nurse's outfit, self-proclaiming it'd be more appropriate should anyone ask him anything too medically specific, as he's watching the door.

"Oh, no you don't." Lana extends a finger to Cyril who's halfway into the doctor's coat. "Hand it over."

"What? Why?" The accountant turned agent asks, finishing slipping the jacket on.

"Because we're not doing the two lady nurses and a gay routine. It's not even your size." She points to the deflated shoulders.

"A gay?" Ray asks aloud, clutching invisible pearls.

"Honestly, Cyril. Lana's a lot broader than you are." Archer shrugs, earning a hateful glare from Lana. She snatches the jacket from him and slips it on, filling it out nicely.

"Ya' know..." She narrows her eyes. Lana struts inside with a confident demeanor, blending right in. Cyril lingers near the nurse's station, with his shoulders raised in an exaggerated, insecure posture.

It doesn't take long for Lana to acquire a wheelchair. She arrives at your room and Archer lifts you and all the necessary bags of fluids and medications into a jumbled heap on the chair. You look at them with a disappointed expression, too tired and sore to give input. "Archer," Lana gives a sympathetic look. "They're not gonna let us walk through here like that."

"I don't know where all these tubes go and, honestly? I'm scared to find out." The two agents begin untangling your equipment. You do what you can to help, but your body feels heavy in this early stage of the healing process. That is, until a burst of adrenaline courses through you.

"Hey, wait. What's happening?" You repeat yourself over and over until one of them answers. They glance at each other and then back to you.

"We're taking you back to ISIS. You're not safe here." Lana gives a half-comforting effort.

"Yeah, like ISIS is such a safe haven- ouch!" Lana punches Archer's arm with brute force.

~~~Back at ISIS

"Ouch! What the hell?" The resident doctor, Algernop Krieger, rubs the newly sore spot on his head where Malory has just swatted a rolled-up fashion magazine.

"This isn't another cadaver for your iniquitous experiments! You touch her with one of those godforsaken machines, and I'll have you peeled!" The silver-haired woman stands firm.

"Peeled?" Krieger squeaks in terrified confusion.

"What's the big freaking deal? You were just about to let her get tortured to death on Gun Island anyways," Cheryl interrupts, propping her feet up on a desk. Malory swats her feet away with the magazine.

"There are some things we can't fiscally risk at this agency. We can't afford to lose every agent we have. We can, however, lose one new recruit who got taken prisoner on her first mission."

"But it was Archer's fault wasn't it?" Pam appears, eating a bear claw. "Didn't he say that?" Malory stares fire through her. "... Inappropriate."

"Does nobody do their job? Or am I paying you all for binge-eating, glue-sniffing, Sieg Heiling social hour?" Malory slaps the magazine against the door frame as she exits. Cheryl gasps, staring with wide eyes at Krieger.

"So you are a Nazi?" She asks. He rolls his eyes and sighs.

~~~Back at The Hospital

"What? No!" You protest climbing into the back of the poorly cleaned cargo van meant to carry a gurney, but they realized when they arrived that they didn't have a gurney.

"Look, time isn't really a thing we have a lot of right now. Get in the van and as soon as we get back-" Lana's bargain gets cut short.

"We'll double your morphine." Archer chuckles. That's a deal. Almost instantly you climb into the back of the van.

The gang finally gets you agonizingly situated with your bags and IVs, speeding through traffic to get you somewhere stable. The reckless driving causes your stomach to turn, and you squeeze your eyes shut in hopes that it'll still the swirling in your eyes.

Suddenly, your eyes jolt open to the unmistakable boom of gunfire. The van is being shot at. You look at Cyril who has already hit the floor, covering his head. "Oh, you guys weren't kidding." You groan as you pry yourself up off the van floor. Scrambling, you reach under the seat and feel around for any stashed weapon in a van owned by a spy agency. You sigh with relief when your fingers graze the carrying box of a small Ruger .380.

Lana's shooting through the back window from the front seat, causing a few stray shards of glass to scrape you up, but you're indifferent to it. Ray's driving as fast as he can without flipping the entire vehicle and Archer is hanging out the side door, shooting and making a mental note of the faces inside the cars in pursuit. Cyril is... Well, he's still on the floor. You finally steady yourself to rise and you sling open the back doors. A bit of your medical equipment falls out, ripping a tube or two from your arms. You grit your teeth and start shooting as small streams of blood flow down your arms from the IV ports.

With razor-sharp focus, you successfully shoot the driver in the head and kill him instantly. His car quickly veers to the left, crashing devastatingly into a power post. One chasing vehicle remains. It's a man on a motorcycle. His bike zips around the van and tauntingly loops back into your field of vision. You aim at him and shoot a few times, only to miss as your adrenaline begins to slow, and you really notice the lack of painkillers in your veins.

The man on the motorcycle fires in your direction and a bullet grazes your already weakened arm. A gash is left in the wake of the bullet. You throw the gun down and slap a hand over the fresh wound, releasing a cry of frustration more than pain at this point. As if they took your scream as a cue, Lana and Archer speak at the same time.

"Cyril!" They bark and he snaps back into reality. For the most part. Without much more direction, he grabs the gun you've tossed and starts shooting.

"Suppressing fire!" He wails, aiming at nothing. To everyone's genuine surprise, he gets the perpetrator right in the chest. The biker's grip on the steering begins to waver, and he wrecks like a crumpled piece of paper due to how fast he is going. The man is long gone, but Cyril empties the magazine before opening his eyes again. "Did I... Did I get him?"

"Yes!" You yell, slinging yourself out of the opening to grab the door. The still-shaking hero of the moment does the same, helping you get the rear doors secured so you can tend to the ever-growing collection of wounds you're amassing. "God, I didn't fill out my insurance paperwork yet."

Inside the ISIS medical bay, Krieger, under intense supervision, has you right as rain in just a few hours. Once you're stitched up and filled to the brim with morphine, you sleep off the afternoon. Hours upon hours go by and you're sound asleep the entire time.

"It makes no sense that she's still alive. Even if she was meant to bait the team back to the island, she should've been long gone by the time you actually got there." Krieger says, fidgeting with some mechanical nonsense lying around the room.

"Yeah... Three days is," Archer hesitates.

"A really long time to be tortured and drugged on an island?" The doctor finishes his sentence and Archer narrows his eyes at him.

"Yeah, a really long time." The blue-eyed spy turns to leave, ignoring his own minor injuries. "Just keep an eye on her until I get back."

"Aren't you guys sort of at risk of being attacked after that car chase?"

"Yes," Archer huffs. "What about it?"

"Aren't you worried?" Krieger raises a brow, wondering if he should be taking precautions for an invasion.

"If I worried about a fraction of the stuff I should be worried about, I would never get anything done." He leaves to rest his aching body.

~~~Later, ISIS Medical Quarters

"And she didn't talk?" Malory looks down at your sleeping body with raised eyebrows.

"No, mother. She didn't. So we left her there for three days for no reason." Archer scowls.

"Oh, whatever. It's impossible to keep up with your fixations." She tosses her hands up. "Any other time you'd have suggested leaving someone behind before I ever had to say it!" She leaves the room, most likely looking for a drink. Archer knows that's true. He never sees it coming until it's there. It starts with a pretty face and he can't control where it goes from there. Or who this feeling comes out for.

When you finally awaken, the room is dark and empty. It's late at night, peeking into the dark morning. The peace and quiet remind you of how badly you missed it. You'd been beaten, borderline tortured, starved, and sleep-deprived. Yet your lips were sealed. A sense of pride washes over you as you blink in your surroundings. Where am I? You think to yourself.

"Oh, hey. You're awake." Archer enters your medical room and turns on one set of lights.

"I am awake. And, a little blind now." You squint under the sudden brightness. You raise a hand to block the light, but also so you can get a better look at him. You hardly realize you're smiling until it stings the split on your lip.

"I uh, went back for these." He holds up an absolutely wrecked version of the very flowers he left in your hospital room. Tiny card and all.

"Oh, thank God. I was worried about those."

"Really?" He furrows his brows.

"No." You flatten your expression. "What day is it?" Finally, the awkward silence is broken.

"It's the 6th." Archer takes a slouching seat in the nearest chair.

"Oh, wow." A silence falls over the two of you. "Took a while to get back, huh?" You ask, mostly indifferent. Several things could've held the team up.

"That wasn't- I didn't-" he fumbles with his words, reaching dependently for his flask.

"Shut up," you laugh, wincing as you do. "Name of the game." You swallow the lump in your throat that's begging to ask if you were supposed to be rescued at all.

"How many times did you get shot? Like in total?" He attempts to change the subject.

"Only twice. You and that guy on the bike." You rub your arm. "Same fucking arm too." You feel a devious smile spread across your face. "Thank God Cyril was there."

"What? Seriously?" His eyes widen in disbelief. "I chartered a plane back to a compound we had just ransacked-"

"Jesus Christ, I was kidding!" Your declaration silences his whining. "Thank you for coming back for me at all, Archer."

In the following weeks, he's by your side daily, helping you around your apartment or sending his valet to pick up your prescriptions. The whole office is all but disgusted at this strange behavior. After a while, your strength is back up and you're ready to be back in the field.

~~~Your First Day Back

"Thank you for letting me keep all my limbs, doctor." You shake Krieger's hand.

"Wait, was that an option?"

"Whatever you're talking about, shut up." Archer bursts into the conversation. "Y/N," he extends his arm out to you, eyes shining like a smitten puppy. You laugh, and link your arm with his. He guides you to his office, pouring you both a glass of whiskey regardless of the early hour of the day.

"What? No thank you, It's 9 AM." You laugh. "And I'm a vodka woman."

"Vodka at 9 AM?"

"No, nothing alcoholic at 9 AM." You laugh with a sigh.

"Y/N, I feel like I need to apologize, you know, for," he seems to search hard for the words. You roll your eyes, dumbfounded by his arrogance.

"For almost getting me killed? For being the reason my face still looks like I do roller derby?" You huff, crossing your arms. Sterling takes a comforting sip of his drink.

"Well, to be fair, I'm also the only reason you made it back," he shrugs smugly.

"Only? Was no one else coming back for me out there? Is that why it took you so long?" You feel a bolt of unchecked anger strike through your body, quickening the pulse in your chest. "I mean I guess I always knew deep down, but I didn't want to believe it."

"Wait, Y/N," his eyes widen. It becomes apparent he's said the wrong thing.

"Was it just you?" You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose with a macabre chuckle. How mad can you be in an industry like this? His shoulders relax at the sound of your laughter.

"No, well, yes- sort of. Ray was pretty enthusiastic about it."

"Love him," you whisper as you place a hand on your heart.

"Well I mean, come on. Don't be angry at me for saving you." He shrugs.

"Unbelievable," you toss your hands up.

"You didn't even know what the plan was if you were on life support-"

"Oh my God, please stop digging." You're only half serious by now.

"The rescue itself was me, so... You're welcome." He smirks, finishing his glass. You roll your eyes, internally processing how little you must matter to the agency at this stage of your career here.

"Well, thank you Agent Archer," you take the glass he poured you. "For cleaning up your own mess." You down the shallow drink in one graceful gulp.

"World's greatest agent," he proclaims, pouring himself another glass. "Now, the matter of repayment..." He swirls his newly poured drink.

"Repayment? No, I think your coming back for me just about covers it. Albeit three days later." You raise an eyebrow, flipping the script and reminding him not to push his luck.

"Sure, we'll call it your repayment." He leans back in his seat. "My house. Dinner."

"I thought you'd never ask."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Notes:

I hope the "finishing sentences with different scenes" trope is translating well on here. If not I'm gonna kill myself. ❤️ Thanks for reading!

Also!!! Next chapter will mostly likely contain smut, so if that's not your wave, keep an eye out for my next stories outside of this series!

((Part 3 coming soon!!!))

[dreamyblanket]

If it’s not too much to do, can u draw wind archer cookie with y/n cookie please?

I'm brain rotting over deceit legendarys atm

[eepy-cookies]

Fire Spirit Cookie and Wind Archer both flirting with reader please

Hmmm flowers and chocolates are not good….-wait… Where did they get the gems, cutters, star gummies, and cubes?!

[gingerbread-in-july]

Something that really sucks about Elle barely being on the show is the fact that we don't really see any fic scenes showing the friendship dynamic she would have with the reader like we do with all the other team members.

Like, she doesn't scream girl's girl at first glance, but once she lets her guard down, she'd be a total ride or die.

I'm imagining reader being upset about Spencer kissing Lila and Elle's ride or die bitch mode just a c t i v a t i n g.

Elle would absolutely let him h a v e i t.

She would definitely be the kind of friend who would take you out on the town and encourage you to get over Spencer by getting under somebody else (or on top if that's what you prefer).

She's also a hype woman. Even if all you did was mope all night, she'll be telling the whole BAU how hot you looked and that people could not stop checking you out.

And you know what?

It would work like a charm. Spencer would be such a jealous little bitch once he found out. Now suddenly all he can think about is you. Mission accomplished, all thanks to your girl Elle's brilliance.

(Or, because I don't know how to not be gay, you and Elle would end up falling for each other.)

[the-thing-withfeathers]

the archer’s arrow part 2 (w.a.)

are you hiding something?

part one | next part

a/n: teehee i am so sorry for the wait but i hope y’all enjoy this one <3

pairing: wednesday addams x female reader

warnings: mentions of blood & death

➶ ➶ ➶

thwip!

it was your arrow, definitely your arrow.

“go! wednesday! go!”

and your voice, definitely your voice.

wednesday gasped awake, sitting up instantaneously. she gripped her chest, bunching the fabric of her shirt up into a fist. her head turned to look at her alarm clock.

she was awake ahead of schedule but she was grateful she woke up when she did. she immediately got dressed, the stomping of her boots lining the walls of ophelia hall.

she reached your room, knocking thrice before stepping back.

you were already dressed, today was an early practice day.

“wednesday, you’re early.” you tilted your head, stepping aside to let her in anyways.

“i value punctuality.” she lied. she was getting better at coming up with them in her efforts to try and hide her true intentions from you.

a bit of her looked disheveled, like she had rushed to get there. you noticed her braid a little out of place and her socks mismatched— both black but definitely not from the same pair.

“right. well, let me finish this and i’ll be ready to go.” you took to your chair at your desk, settling back down.

wednesday noticed that there were a couple of envelopes littered across your desk. you were in the process of writing letters.

“you’re writing.” she pointed out.

“yes, wednesday. thats something i can do too.” you joked back, she remained stoic.

“what are the letters for?” she inquired.

“mainly family but also for some of my friends at the academy.”

“i understand your family lives remote but surely your friends have phones?” she furrowed her brows.

“they do, but we think letters hold more sentiment.” you clarified, scribbling more words onto the piece of parchment paper you had aquired. “and it’s always nice to receive things in the mail.” you shrugged.

“i suppose you might be right.” she agreed. you were surprised to hear her validation.

her eyes followed the ink that your pen left behind. it caught her attention particularly when you drew a heart next to someone’s name on the envelope.

you sealed the letter and then proceeded to stand, grabbing your gear from your closet. you opened the door for wednesday, allowing her to exit first.

you two walked side-by-side down to the practice range.

“did you have many friends at the academy?” she asked as you exited ophelia hall.

“many? not many. but a good handful. they were all very kind. i would love to know them forever.” you smiled, reminiscing at the memories you shared with them.

“any more than friends?” she asked, not looking at you. you looked at her with your lip curled. at the back of your mind, you questioned her curiosity about your romantic life.

“who’s asking?” you retaliated, a smirk plastered on your face. you glanced at her only to be met with a glare. you knew you would certainly meet your end if you left the question unanswered.

“yes, wednesday. i had a girlfriend.” you sighed, rubbing your eyes. it was a bit of a sore spot, this topic.

but wednesday cared not for sore spots.

“what happened?” she pryed further. why was she pushing those buttons so much?

the memories of her rejection flooded through your brain. she had no right to ask these things. you remember how the look on your face was probably the single most heartbreaking thing most of your fellow students have ever seen.

“why are you asking about this, wednesday?” you practically hissed at her.

“i’m not going to take advantage of your practice times and not get to know you.” she spat back.

“you… hm.” you paused. “i never thought i’d be answering questions from wednesday addams. you’ve changed too.”

“so answer them if my question intrigue you so much.” she continued walking at your pace.

“fine. we split up because i wanted to come back and we couldn’t do the long distance.” you answered openly. “but we’re still friends. she and i were very close, she helped me through a lot.”

you continued to stride towards the forest as wednesday simply watched you. you had someone, but were fine giving it all up to come back. the feeling opened a pit in her stomach, if only you had known what she was hiding.

—

she had taken a liking to your routines in the wilderness.

“i purposefully try to miss.”

you had told her that was the closest thing you could get to immersing yourself into your environment. murder of fauna in the nevermore woods was frowned upon, so you had to learn control.

“isn’t that counter productive?”

she asked back, but you proved her wrong. your control was incredible. nicking a squirrel by the hair of its tail, she watched the focus on your face as you tried to ensure it’s life.

“it’s harder to hunt down animals and make sure they live rather than die.”

today, she sat with a notebook. she said she just wanted to focus on writing up ideas for her novel while you practiced.

it was like she was your body double, just a shadow that lingered around while you did your thing. somehow, it worked. you felt more productive and so did she…

if she was working on her novel.

her pen glazed across the yellowed paper on her notebook. the ink morphed into the image of your bow. on paper, your body was facing the trees, arm reaching for an arrow from your quiver. wednesday captured your physique, how your body flexed with every move you made.

thwip!

wednesday did not flinch.

but she nearly did.

an arrow lodged into the tree trunk, directly above her head.

“i can literally feel your stare, wednesday. you’re making me nervous.” you teased. her eyes grew dark at you.

“try that again and you won’t have fingers to shoot an arrow with.”

you couldn’t help but smile at her empty threat. you knew wednesday more than either of you thought. you knew that she wouldn’t take your fingers, they would stay with you.

you drew your bow again, pointing an arrow straight at her jokingly.

“try me, addams!”

the statement made wednesday’s head shoot backwards, her eyes clouding over.

“try me addams!” you yelled at her. you were younger. your cheeks were fuller, you hadn’t quite grown into your face yet.

but there you were, back then, the object of wednesday addams’ affection. but she could never admit that then.

you were on your back, pinned against the ground with wednesday on top of you. she remembers this fondly, she was trying to steal back her hairties that you had stolen as a joke.

you were laughing. it was the most joyous she’d ever seen you. she didn’t know how she was getting that reaction from you.

she was reaching as you held the ties above your head, swinging your arm around to make sure she didn’t get it. she was growing frustrated.

she groaned and drove two of her fists down into your chest, robbing your body of air. you coughed as a response and caved in, handing her the hairties.

“okay addams!” you choked out, sitting up to be closer to the girl. you laughed softly, coming face to face with her. “i just wanted to play a prank on you.”

“pranks are a waste of your time. you have better things to do.” she said, standing up. “you’re going to be late for practice.” she looked down at you. you remained seated.

“they’re not a waste of my time if it means i get to spend time with you.” you said, honestly. sure, you were mildly flirting but you were geniune. wednesday didn’t know how to process the admitted desire for companionship. she returned the sentiment, but it wouldn’t come out of her.

“i’ll come to your practice then.” wednesday said, putting the hairties in her bag. “i’ll sit there and wait for you.” she held her hand out for you to take so she could help you up.

you grinned up at her from where you were.

that grin, she would have killed for it.

“deal!” you jumped up excitedly, a proud smile on your face. you took her hand to stabilise yourself.

and it was then she got her first vision of you.

you were older now. definitely older.

you were still in the forest, holding wednesday’s hand just like how you were in the real world.

your bow was in your left hand, like you had just come from battle. blood was dripping down from your ears.

you had blood staining your shirt. and it looked bad. something most people wouldn’t be able to recover from.

and it flickered between the image of your eyes crickling from how huge your smile was and the sight of you donning crimson in front of wednesday.

“wednesday!” you cried out to her, catching her in your arms.

and then she was back to reality.

“wednesday!”

a vision of a future in a vision of the past? that was new for her. her powers might have been trying to tell her something— something more urgent.

she remembers leaving you alone at practice that day, taking back her deal to you. she had to sit alone and process.

three days later, she broke your heart.

“you still get those often?” you asked, sitting her down against the tree trunk.

“of course i do.” she snapped, her conscience pounding from the double vision she just had.

“sorry, stupid question.” you said, regretfully. you sat in front of her, still holding her back to steady her. “do you want to talk about it?”

she hated how you cared.

“no.” she shook her head. “it was just… nothing. nothing important.”

“you and i both know your visions have saved countless lives, wednesday.” the way you said her name had her head reeling. “is there something we should be worrying about?”

“no… no.” she waved you off, pushing you away. you sat there nonetheless.

“okay well… are you feeling okay?” you worriedly questioned her.

“i would feel better if you stopped asking questions.”

you recoiled, knowing it was best not to provoke her like this. her heart twisted at your concern, they made her feel almost guilty for pushing you so far away.

she had broken you down slowly, she knew that now. you poured your heart into your affectionate manner, it was something that scared her.

you sat in silence, taking in your surroundings and letting her recover from the vision. you were around when she first started getting them, you knew how badly they affected her.

she almost wanted to apologise, tell you that she was sorry for snapping. but she couldn’t let you get close again.

“we should go soon, lunch is in 30 minutes.” you spoke up first, breaking the peace. she simply nodded at you, helping herself up. you followed suit, yanking the arrow you had previously stabbed into the tree out and putting it back into your quiver.

➶ ➶ ➶

you sat across from wednesday. she recalled a time you would fight for the seat beside her, but instead, you filled the space next to yoko.

“you’re already thinking about the rave’n?” you asked enid, munching away at your food in between sentences.

“of course i am!” enid jumped up. “it’s our last year here! we need to think about these things!” she turned to you and grabbed your hands.

“and it’ll be your first & last rave’n back! we have to make it good!” she squeezed your hands. you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hold back a smile.

“okay well, you’ll help me shop then.” you held your pinky up, which the blonde gladly took in her own.

“good! and you, wednesday?” enid turned to the shorter girl, tilting her head.

“my rave’n experiences haven’t exactly been pleasant, enid.” wednesday brushed her off. “maybe this is the year i skip out.”

“you shouldn’t. i would like you there if it’s my first one back and last one i’ll ever have.” you said, forgetting that such desires were usually turned down by wednesday.

but that was somehow enough to convince her.

“fine.” she grumbled, a contrast to the smile that was now stuck to your face.

“never thought that would be so easy. you must be the sentimental type, addams.” yoko commented. the mental image in wednesday’s head was her brutally bashing the vampire for saying that.

“do you know the theme?” you asked enid. the werewolf was finally asked to head the planning of the rave’n, she was perfect for the job.

“yup! since it’s halloween— we’re doing guts & gore!”

you swear you saw wednesday nearly crack a smile, this was right up her alley.

“and glitter!” enid added in, you were unsure if she was joking.

the joy on wednesday’s face faded slowly, you softly laughed at the change of expression.

“don’t worry, addams. i’m sure you’ll look fine bedazzled.” you joked, snickering. yoko laughed beside you.

she glowered at you, your smile persisted. did she no longer have an affect on you in these situations?

you really had grown.

“i would rather choke and die before covering myself in sparkles.” she took an angry bite of her food.

“don’t worry, wends, i’ll forgive you this once.” enid giggled. “gore is still your element, i’m sure it will be reminiscent of your first rave’n.“

“i heard about that.” you chimed in. “pig’s blood, right? maybe you can work with real blood this time, nobody seems to know the difference. and you’d probably enjoy that better.” you had said that almost too casually, it bothered her.

she was like an old book you hadn’t picked up yet still knew the insides and outs of.

“yes. maybe i will.” she answered briefly. you returned to your meal, finishing up and picking your bookbag up.

“gotta go, i have some botany homework to catch up on.” you said, turning to wednesday quickly. “did you want to join me for archery club later?” you asked.

she paused for a second, debating her answer.

“no, i can’t. i have homework i need to do in my room.” christ! why did she say that? she meant to say yes!

perhaps it was her defense mechanism, she wanted to keep you at arm’s length after what happened in the forest today. she needed some time to process.

“no worries. i’ll see you guys later!” you jogged off and waved as you left.

“is it weird hanging around her again?” yoko asked, she realised she hadn’t talked to wednesday about your return much.

“i suppose.” wednesday nodded. she had grown closer to yoko overtime, finding herself being honest towards her. “she’s changed a lot.”

“i mean, yeah. her entire environment changed in a whim. that makes you grow up.” yoko agreed. “you two seem to be getting along just fine.”

“indeed. but we can never go back to how we used to be.” wednesday tried to put up a front. “i’m sure she wouldn’t want that either.”

“given how you tore her heart in half last time you saw her? i wouldn’t put it past her.” yoko sighed, “but you can’t hold it against her forever.”

“i can and i will.” wednesday scoffed. yoko squinted at her.

“are you hiding something?” the vampire asked. yoko had an excellent talent for reading people, it infuriated the addams girl.

“no.” wednesday responded firmly, standing up abruptly and gathering her things. “i have to go. i’ll talk to you both later.”

enid and yoko shot each other worried looks.

wednesday stomped off to her room, a scowl evident on her face.

she hated this. all of it.

she hated that her visions were getting stronger, they were so loud that they were making her entire body hurt.

she hated that she would once again become responsible for saving someone, she was always thrust into the world of the weird. was it such a crime that she wanted some normalcy?

she hated you. she hated that she was forced to reject you in order to prevent your impending doom.

she hated you. she hated you for returning and making her feel things again.

she hated you. she hated that she was terrified of your death.

she hated you. she hated you. she hated you.

but she had to save you.

➶ ➶ ➶

author’s journal

okay i’m soooo sorry this took ages! and that this is relatively short! but i was in the middle of quitting my job and planning my christmas trip to see my family!

i’ll let y’all in on the reader’s powers more in the upcoming chapters but she is definitely a psychic!

i also am sooo excited for halloween!!! i’m going as wednesday this year and i also bought from the doc martens x wednesday collaboration so i’m so so keen on getting it in.

i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter & hopefully chapter 3 will be out before you all know it!

kisses xx

[versadies]

MY LOVE, MINE, ALL MINE (various x gn!reader)

SALUTATIONS. my love, mine, all mine

ADDRESSED. neuvillette, alhaitham, capitano, diluc, itto, tartaglia, kaveh, kaeya (x gn!reader)

STAMPS. what body part they kiss the most (sfw)

CONTENT. ooc (?), fluff/no-angst, established relationships, possibly cheesy (not sorry), possible grammar errors, mentions of battle, mentions of blood (capitano, childe)

POST-SCRIPT. all these characters are nothing but pokemons to me, i see one, i'll collect one in game. part two will come soon (with zhongli, wriothesley, ayato, thoma, pierro, and pantalone!)

LINKS. masterlist / taglist / part two

HANDS – Neuvillette, Alhaitham, Capitano, Diluc

NEUVILLETTE kisses your knuckles the most. To him, he believes that kissing you on the lips is far too intimate to be seen in public, preferring to do it in closed doors where it’s just the two of you alone, and so he often kisses your knuckles whenever he can. 

Whenever he does, one of his glove-covered hands would reach towards yours before lifting it to his lips, kissing each knuckle with care as though your hand is a delicate treasure, as if every kiss is a promise that he’ll hold your heart with care and unwavering devotion. 

It doesn’t help that you often find your cheeks warming up when his intense violet-shaded eyes look at yours, and no words were enough for you to explain the connection that you both have from just a simple stare. 

By the time he pulls away from your hand, you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Oh, do you have a fever, my dear?” He asks worriedly, removing one of his gloves to check on the temperature of your forehead after kissing your knuckles out of nowhere while the two of you were lounging on the couch in his office. “Fret not, I can make something that can ease your fever away.” He adds, before standing up and rushes away to make a drink that will help you ease yourself, unaware that he’s the reason for your flustered state.

Ah, the things you’d do for this sweet man of yours. 

The same goes for ALHAITHAM when it comes to kissing you in public. He believes that the two of you kissing on each other’s lips should be private with no one to ruin it or spoil the intimacy, and so you often find him kissing you in other parts instead – specifically, your hands or cheeks. 

It’s rare for him to kiss you in public since he’s not much of a PDA man, but when he does, it happens at a quiet or secluded moment when the world seems to be muted around you two. When Alhaitham finds himself staring at you for too long, he couldn’t help but smoothly put his hand on top of yours, and raises your hand towards his lips to kiss it. 

His turquoise-shaded eyes stay on yours when you look at him, never looking away as you feel his lips on your skin, bringing chills to your spine from the feeling. The way he stares at you is as if he knows your deepest secrets and desires, and knows what sets you off to make your knees become jelly-like.  

It doesn’t help that he’d casually act as if nothing happened after, as if it’s just a casual thing to do (it is, to him), leaving you staring at him with your mouth agape. 

“What? Cat got your tongue?” He asks, hiding a small smirk as he glances at you. 

He definitely knows what he’s doing. 

CAPITANO is a strong man with a physique that could make anyone intimidated – both vision-holders and non-vision holders alike. It’s no doubt that such a powerful man like him would most likely be found in numerous battlefields, bringing the Tsaritsa many victories that she deserves. 

So it’s a strange sight to see said strong man on one knee, holding your hand as he gives it an affectionate kiss. He does it in a way that’s as though you’re a deity worth worshiping. He’s a captain by others, but to you, he’s your knight in shining armor (that’s corrupted by bloodshed and death, but we don’t talk about that here). 

You cannot see the expression he makes, but the way he kisses your hand is enough for you to know how much this man, who had killed so many and left no mercy to his opponents, is soft and caring for you. He kisses with care, as if afraid that you’ll shatter if he doesn’t control his strength. 

It became a custom for him to be on one knee and kiss your hand whenever he comes home to you from another mission – which is perhaps more often than you both like to admit. Despite your insistence that he doesn’t have to do such things, he does it anyway. In a way, it’s his way of apologizing to you for the lost time, and will do anything to make it up to you.

And he always did, with gifts, comfort, and of course, love. 

“I’m home, my love.” He spoke, with a hint of affection in his gruff voice that usually holds so much authority, kissing your hand tenderly.

DILUC is a gentleman by heart, and although he’s seen as the epitome of perfection around Mondstadt, he is seen indoors as a vulnerable man who you dearly care for. For so long, the two of you have found comfort and love within one another in the dimly lit room that you both share in the manor. He’s your warmth, and you’re his pillar. 

In private, where no one could see underneath the aloof and courteous man but you, he’d tiredly wrap his arms around you as he sighed in contentment. It’s normal for a man such as him to be so tired from work, so tired from his duties, and so tired from everything outside of his manor, but he is never tired of you, his beloved spouse who he treasures. He’s a zealous soul who cares not for wealth and materialism, but for the people of Mondstadt and the ones he loves.  

Your hand is often intertwined with his, and he’d bring up your hand up to his lips in the quiet moments of your shared intimacy. To him, your hand is a canvas that he paints with his deep affection and adoration. 

You couldn’t help but soften up as a result, feeling cherished and loved by your beloved man who never fails to make you swoon. 

For Diluc, kissing your hand is more than some simple intimate gesture, but rather a way to honor your pure essence – to show you how grateful he is to have you who has captured his soul in a tight grip that he never wants to leave from. And so, he continues to kiss your hand more, each a testament with a silent vow to love you throughout your lives together. 

“A-Ah.. My bad,” He clears his throat, his ears turning almost as red as his hair, “It seems I almost got carried away.” 

LIPS – Itto, Tartaglia, Kaveh, Kaeya

ITTO is a kind soul at heart, with a fiery passion when it comes to his loved ones – specifically, and with no certain favoritism, you. The oni is not one to shy away from showing you how much he loves you with all of his huge heart, so expect lots of kisses from him! 

The most prominent part that he kisses is of course, your lips. 

For Itto, there is no greater joy than the taste of your lips, each kiss contains joy and love on his end. With his endless energy and passionate spirit, he approached each kiss and affection  with an infectious enthusiasm, eager to lose himself in the overwhelming warmth of your presence and affection. 

In the sweetness of your kiss, he finds it much better than the feeling of sweet victory from a beetle battle, and he couldn’t find himself to remove the pleased grin on his face whenever he gets a kiss from you. 

It’s as if your lips is a magnetic force to his, as he never hesitates to kiss you whenever he could – be it whenever he greets you, whenever he wins a battle, basically every moment with him (a bit of an exaggeration really, but you get what I mean!). 

“My boo boo bear!” He cheers when he sees you in his vision, running up towards you as he instantly gives you a bone-crushing hug, lifting you up with his immense strength regardless of your weight. “I missed you! How was your day?” He asks excitedly, giving you a big smooch! on your lips.

CHILDE is just as fun as Itto – if you excuse his battlelust, of course. Besides his need for an activity or someone to fight with, the prowess fighter is not shy when it comes to giving you what he believes you deserve, which is giving you his undying affection.

He’s an infectious man, who leeches off to your kisses and hugs. He’s a fighter by spirit, but a lover by heart. He’s attentive to your needs, very willing to give you tons of kisses if you ask for it. Of course, even if you didn’t, he’d snatch a kiss or two from you without you expecting it. 

His love is like an unforgiving ocean, often wild and untamed, yet it comes with a fierce and unrelenting passion. In moments between the two of you, he seeks to plant his lips on yours, as though your kiss is a battlefield conquered by him, a well-done victory even. 

With each kiss on your lips is a vow, a vow that he’ll see to it that he gets to see the light of day after every battle, to see you by the end of the tunnel and show you that you won’t lose him that easily. For in your presence, he found his salvation, the arm that reaches out to him to pull him out of the abyss he’s in, guiding him out of the unforgiving ocean that seems to drown him whole. 

And so, he’ll never stop kissing you, regardless of where you are and the circumstances. 

“Were you watching me?” He asks eagerly, running up to you before planting a kiss on your lips, his hands that are scarred from the numerous weapons he held and the battles he fought in find themselves cupping your cheeks. 

When he pulls away, he looks at your eyes with a cheeky grin. “I did great, didn’t I?”

Known for his works and talent, KAVEH is no doubt a respectable man around the land of wisdom and scholars. Many would sing praises to his masterpieces and his original ideas that bring potential to Sumeru. As what a certain scribe would describe him, he is the light of Kshahrewar and a master builder and craftsman. 

However, such a bright reputation hides a man whose heart is tender and emotionally fragile, with too much on his plate. Which is why he is ever so grateful to have you by his side through it all.

For every affection the two of you share, Kaveh feels like the luckiest man in all of Sumeru – no, in Teyvat even. He doesn’t feel like he deserves you, a person who loves him for all that he is. With you, he feels cherished and appreciated even, and you balance his emotional fragility with your presence that seems so encouraging and comforting.

He seeks refuge in your affection, often cupping your cheeks and giving you a kiss. His kisses are frequent, and his lips often find themselves on yours. Each of his kiss is full of love, and there’s no doubt that there seems a desperation laced in it, as if he’s scared that this kiss is his last, and you might be gone before he knew it – just like his loved ones. 

Yet, in the softness of your lips, he found reassurance. He’s reminded that amidst the struggles of his life, your relationship remains timeless and true. Just like how he does with his work, he pours his heart and soul into your relationship together, cherishing the bond that you both have towards one another with  tenderness.

“Thank you.” He said, kissing you on your lips with a look that threatens to crumble. “I know I’ve said it too many times, but I can’t help myself. I really am grateful.” 

When you ask for what he’s thanking you for, he could only give you a smile, a sight that shines far brighter than the sun itself.

“Thank you for staying.”

You’d be lying if you said you’ve always thought you’d end up dating the notorious Cavalry Captain, who is more than often a flirtatious man whenever you’re around. KAEYA is not one who shies away from something, and if it means reminding you every now and then that he’s into you, then so be it!

Every waking moment with Kaeya is a thrilling challenge, and you two often find yourselves in a dance of wits and flirts, with a few glasses of wine and other drinks that the tavern sells. The two of you know how to push the other’s buttons, often playing banters and all. Even when you two are now dating, things are still the same – besides the fact that the two of you are free to kiss one another and often crash at each other’s places. 

Yet underneath such playful flirting and bantering, there’s a deep and abiding connection between the two of you that remains unspoken but welcomed.

Unsurprisingly, Kaeya finds home in your lips. To him, it just felt right. Sure, he likes to kiss your hands and cheeks, but it’s a different story when it comes to your lips. For him, stealing a kiss on your lips is not just an ordinary gesture of affection, but rather a declaration of his unwavering love for you. 

And so, more often than not, he prefers kissing you more on your lips.

With a teasing look and smirk on his face, he’d pull you close towards him without warning, his lips finding yours with an urgency that left you both breathless. There’s often laughter and desire lingering around the privacy of your bedroom, and it was a safe sanctuary that Kaeya finds comfort in. 

His laughter would fade into a whisper of “I love you”’s as he traces his cold fingertips on your face that he loves to see at every waking moment. He cherished these kinds of moments, and he’d be damned if he doesn’t spend each one as if it’s his last. And so, he continues to give you more kisses to drown your sweet laughter, for in your warmth and embrace, he could only find his great happiness and peace. 

“Come on, give me another one.” He chuckles, urging you to let him give you one more kiss before the two of you can sleep in each other’s arms. “Just one more kiss, I promise.”

PENPALS. @scaraslover @saving-for-xiao @dawgimsohot @ragnvdnr @chiruru @aqualesha @renamichii @mrkamisato @shenhesl0ver @serami00 @serenareiss @hiqhkey @emperatris-rinaka @bystander36 @irisxiel @ladycoleigh @034ven @dear-dairiess @owozi8 @hadesaedes @chiro-chiro-kun @hersscherofyatta @mariusvonhangme @yuzuricebun @nejibot @hoshikistarlette @solaaresque @crowbird @lordbugs @flowersforayato @headintheclouddd @estelwrld @giyusimpsassemble @irethepotatosblog @moonlightaangel @alice0blog @shotosbrainrot @sniffoat @chihawari @mxsomn @kuni-kuzushii @jiminscarmex @mitsukii14 @ylimeprive @sachispet @loreleis-world @sn-owo @starforecasts @someonetookmynamelmao @ceylestia @astrequa @ymikkos @reallysporadicarcade @melodyyamino @dudufodd @somberrock @yevenly @lemontum @nghing @shaiah @miss-lady-witch @yashe @imkaaayy @badlywrittens @0rah-s @totallynotaraidensimp @garlicforthewin

[sumthinganarchy]

got back our cookie run fication and finaly got wind archer in crk, heres something i thoght of when he came out

og image

[harleyvaleska19]

Our Terror Twins 🖤⚖️🏹😈🔥

[leggerefiore]

Archer, Volo, and Grimsley reacting to the reader having a crush but not knowing it’s on them? In the mood for some silly miscommunication rn and I’d love to see them all be like “idc who you like haha” (actually cares very much)

I saw ur other ask so I got you lol

cw: confessions, jealousy, misunderstandings

characters: Avery, Archer, Volo, Grimsley

🎩Avery🥄

🔮 When you began seeming more out of it during your times out together, Avery first worried that you were no longer interested in being friends with him. He was fully aware of, while trying to ignore, the way he felt about you. But, it was soon obvious by the way your eyes lingered on your phone that it might be something else. He was quite a bit oblivious, in truth. The idea of you having a romantic interest in anyone did not cross his mind until you plainly said that you did to apologise for your absent nature while being together. For a moment, the psychic screamed in his mind for the abilities that the rest of his family had. Who? Who could you have interest in? He desperately needed to know – his heart raced in response to this, and his laser focus on telekinesis slipped.

🔮 “Well, there is someone I like… They've been on my mind a lot lately,” you told him simply while having tea with him. Avery's glasses could have fogged up from the temperature shift of his, quickly his face warmed. He nodded for a moment, taking in your words. Silently, he pleaded for you to continue on and tell him. For once in his life, he bit his tongue. Part of him desperately wanted to know, while the other half screamed for ignorance. You were too flustered, it seemed. He felt himself slipping. His feelings for you… Were they not obvious? His focus was almost entirely on you – despite his ego, he let you remain at his side so openly (granted, you did often feed said ego with compliments). He tried to think of anyone you could have mentioned that you would have feelings for. He even tried to turn back to telepathy, but he was still quite unable to read minds despite his desperation in that moment.

🔮 Eventually, you spoke again, seeing his intense reaction. His face shifted into an almost pitiful expression. Smiling at him, you shook your head. “I like you, Avery,” sublity was not an art best used on the blond. His slight inferiority complex did not allow for himself to put himself as your first option, despite wanting that most of all. His face became even more mortified for a moment… Pupils shrinking from the shock. Then, he felt his smug expression return. He blinked. Of course, it was him. Who else would it be? All his previous worries flew out the window in the face of this. Instead, he accepted your confession with ease. It was like he was never panicked in the first place. Avery knew everything would end up like this… A Future Sight told him, of course… He will never admit to his immense worry that you had feelings for someone else.

💫Volo📜

⭐️ The merchant is observant of everything. His eyes took note of every little thing – It was part of what made him good at being a salesman and his hobby of history. That eye for detail let him catch on quite quickly to who was a threat to his plans or who was not. You ended up being on the threat side – naturally, since you fell from the sky and seem to just have everything fall into place for you to dismantle everything he worked so hard to create. But, whatever bitter feelings were held mixed horribly with this strange affection in his chest. You were an outsider – like him. You both shared such horrible experiences of being othered. He felt this sick attachment grow deeper and deeper as he spent more time at your side. Your trust… He adored it more than anything. How you looked to him for aid… Which is why he felt himself pause when you suddenly exclaimed that you had feelings for someone.

⭐️ “I… I have this person I love so dearly,” you had told him, while staring into his eyes, “I don't think I can tell them. I doubt they return my feelings…” The first thought in Volo's mind is he certainly hoped they did not return anything you felt. Cruelty meant nothing to him – He did not want anyone else to be with you aside from himself. His new world… His initial intentions to remove you entirely had shifted into keeping you at his side. That was your place. It was with his usual amicable facade that he smiled at you and inquired simply into who that might be. He could give you advice, he claimed. He was familiar with a lot of different people, after all. You refused, saying it was too embarrassing. Volo sighed. Forcing you to admit it might ruin the precious trust he worked so hard to build with you.

⭐️ He then found himself stewing on it for days. Who? Who could it be? The Diamond Clan leader? He always seemed popular. That professor? It was unlikely, but he supposed not impossible. He found himself following you more often, trying to figure it out. Nothing came to him. Who could it be? It was rare that something was so well hidden from him. How could your supposed romantic interest be more elusive than Arceus itself? It was maddening. That was, until you caught yourself alone with him again. You shifted uncomfortably before declaring your feelings… for him. “I… I like you, Volo!” Those words… He felt taken aback for a moment before he could not help but chuckle. Of course… Right… He happily reciprocated your feelings. This was how it should be, after all.

♠️Grimsley❤️

♤ The gambler would consider himself a master of reading people. You, in particular, were an easy read for him due to your closeness. He understood you well. Which is why he noticed quite quickly when your behaviour shifted. It was not like he was intentionally paying too close attention, but whenever he invited you out, he quickly spotted how distant you seemed to be. The first few times, he shrugged it off as off-days, yet it was unchanging. He felt himself growing concerned before it hit him. Teasing you, he asked first, naturally. Though some part of it was definitely sick curiosity. He was well aware that he was straightforward in his attraction to you, but there was an obvious rejection of his advances on your behalf. He wondered who had caught your attention.

♡ “Who's on your mind, hm?” the gambler asked with a teasing lilt while he leaned against the table across from you. Your reaction was to shoot him a glare and refuse to answer. The subtle shift of embarrassment in your expression was noted by him. He wanted to chuckle. Really, who? He wanted to know. It would be a gambler to prove himself a better option, especially with his reputation and vices, but he would try. Giving you up would be a mistake that he would never forgive himself for making. His eyes narrowed as you simply denied that anyone was on your mind, despite it being obvious to him. He gave a smirk in reply.

◇ It did weigh on him despite everything. Really… He was trying far harder than he did for anyone else to charm you. He did not understand what would appeal to you. Truthfully, he was at a loss. Part of him needed to meet whoever interested you so he could grasp what they had that he lacked. (Integrity, he assumed.) But, it barely had time to fester before you caught him off guard for the first time in your time together. “It's you, Grimsley,” you said simply after he pushed you to tell him again. He stood stunned for a moment, mouth falling open and brows going up. Him? Really? Why had you…? He barely had time to consider it too much before chuckling. Well, whatever. He would figure out that later. It seemed that you were not immune to his charms, at least.

🐕Archer🚀

♦️ It was rare that he felt any kind of attachment towards anything unrelated to Rocket or Giovanni. But, you certainly had managed to keep his attention. An annoying rival – a nuisance to everything he worked so hard for. He only agreed to be around you to keep an eye on you. It was obnoxious, observing what you did and listening to what you said. He despised the idea of you pulling a fast one on you. Despite this, the Rocket Executive supposed it was not the worst experience. There were definitely worse tasks to be assigned, he knew. He knew you somehow had come to view him as a friend – how, he did not know. And, well, unfortunately for him, his own feelings began to make him react strangely to you.

♦️ “There's this person I'm interested in,” you told him during one of your various outings that you bad invited him to join you on. Those simple words had unleashed a strange sense of madness in his mind. Interested in? Who? Part of figured it would be good to use against you if you kept being a nuisance for Rocket, but the other half genuinely seethed at the thought of you liking someone. Why? Were they as good a trainer as you? He only wanted someone worthy to be with you. … And he only found one person worthy. Though, he dared not admit that to himself. He bit his lip and kept his cool facade to ask who it was. He simply needed to know.

♦️Your gaze shifted onto him as you smiled far too sweetly. It was not something that he often saw in his line of you. “… Well, it's you, Archer,” you admitted. He blinked. For a moment, he has heard your words but failed to process them. Yes… Him, right. That makes sense. Then it hit him. He blinked. Him? You were interested in him? It was like… a golden opportunity. He could hardly believe it, but he supposed you found him to be a friend despite everything, getting a crush was not so far off. He swallowed. The idea of being with you did not bother him as much as he expected, either. It was with a trained ease that he accepted your confession. This might prove fruitful in actually stopping you… And he supposed he was allowed to indulge himself now and again.

[devdozes]

GRAFFITI GIRL!!♥

reader is an archer, phainon the cutie patootie is a very famous basketball player

The sound of an arrow slicing through the air had always been familiar, comforting even. You had spent years perfecting your craft, mastering the bow until it felt like an extension of yourself. Every competition, every target practice, every moment spent under the sun with an arrow nocked had led to this: your undeniable rise in popularity as one of the best archers in the city.

It had started as murmurs online—clips of you landing impossible shots, slow-motion replays of arrows piercing bullseyes from meters away. People admired your technique, your precision, your beauty. And you had thought that was all there was to it. Until one morning, when your phone blew up with messages that had nothing to do with archery.

[Bro, when did you get into graffiti??]

[Check your socials. You’re literally everywhere.]

[You’re the ‘Graffiti Girl’ now lmao.]

Confused, you scrolled through your notifications, and what you saw nearly made you drop your phone. Murals—detailed, striking, larger-than-life murals—of you, painted on walls all over the city. They weren’t just random sketches either; they were hyper-realistic depictions of you mid-shot, bow drawn, gaze sharp and focused. Some were vibrant and colorful, others grayscale and hauntingly dramatic, but all of them unmistakably you.

“What the hell?” you muttered to yourself, staring at a particularly stunning piece where you stood against a stormy backdrop, hair windblown as you let loose an arrow.

The internet was eating it up. The hashtag #GraffitiGirl was trending. Speculations ran wild. Who was the artist? Was it a secret self-promotion? Some even joked that you had an unknown admirer with insane artistic talent.

“I swear, I have no idea who’s doing this.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you sat in the archery range’s locker room, still in your gear. “I hold a bow, not a spray can.”

Your coach chuckled, sliding their phone over to you. “Well, whoever it is, they sure captured your likeness. People love a good mystery. It’s only making you more famous.”

You groaned, scrolling through yet another wave of tagged posts. “Great. Because being known for my archery skills wasn’t enough, now I’m an urban legend.”

Still, as the days passed and more murals appeared, you couldn’t shake the curiosity gnawing at you. Who was behind this? And why you? The portraits were breathtaking, each one showcasing a level of admiration and effort that felt almost personal.

Little did you know, someone was watching from the shadows, amusement dancing in cerulean eyes. Someone who had been following your career longer than you realized. Someone who had a habit of leaving their mark wherever they pleased.

Phainon smirked as he capped a spray can, admiring his latest work. “Let’s see how long it takes for you to find me, Graffiti Girl.”

The next day, another mural appeared, this time on a massive billboard near the heart of the city. It was unlike the others—this one had your signature pose, mid-draw, but behind you was a flurry of painted arrows, almost as if they were frozen in motion, caught between reality and artistry.

You stood beneath it, staring up in awe and bewilderment. “Okay, this is getting ridiculous.”

A few people nearby were already snapping photos. A pair of teenagers whispered excitedly before one of them approached you hesitantly. “Uh, excuse me… are you really Graffiti Girl?”

You turned, exhausted. “I’m really just an archer.”

“But you’re the girl in all these paintings, right?” They held up their phone, flipping through dozens of pictures of the murals.

You sighed. “Yeah, that’s me, but I’m not the artist.”

They grinned, undeterred. “Can I still get your autograph?”

You blinked. “You want my autograph? I—” You looked around. A few more people had gathered, watching with anticipation. Clearly, they wanted one too.

With a deep sigh, you took the offered notebook and signed your name. “Here.”

“Thank you!” The kid practically squealed before rushing off. More people moved in, shoving out shirts, phone cases, anything they could find for you to sign.

You shot a glare at the enormous mural overhead. “Whoever you are, you better come out soon, because this is officially out of hand.”

Meanwhile, from the rooftop above, Phainon chuckled to himself, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, but where’s the fun in that?”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The steady rhythm of arrows striking targets filled the air as you exhaled slowly, eyes locked on your next shot. The world around you faded—the buzz of your rising fame, the endless stream of people calling you "Graffiti Girl," even the latest mural that had appeared overnight. None of it mattered when you were here, bow in hand, muscles tensed in perfect control.

You loosed the arrow. It cut through the air with precision, landing dead center. A perfect shot.

And then, peace shattered.

"YO! GRAFFITI GIRL!"

The loud, unmistakable voice of Stelle nearly made you misfire the next arrow. You turned just in time to see two figures strolling onto the archery ground like they owned the place.

Phainon, the city’s golden basketball star, walked with lazy confidence, hands in his pockets, his ever-present smirk firmly in place. Beside him, Stelle, the infamous baseball prodigy, balanced a bat on her shoulder, looking far too pleased with herself.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” you asked, lowering your bow.

Phainon tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “What? We can’t visit our favorite viral sensation?”

Stelle grinned. “Yeah, man, you’re, like, famous famous now. People keep saying you’re the face of urban art or whatever.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I am NOT an artist! I don’t even own spray paint!”

Phainon hummed, glancing at the newest mural painted on the outer wall of the training center. “Damn. Whoever this artist is, they’re crazy talented. Captured your whole ‘focused warrior’ thing perfectly.”

You shot him a flat look. “Don’t sound so impressed. I don’t even know who they are, and it’s driving me insane.”

Stelle whistled. “Must be a super fan. Or a stalker. Could be both.”

“Helpful,” you muttered.

Phainon chuckled, stepping closer until he was just within your space. “C’mon, Graffiti Girl, you have to admit—it’s kinda fun. The whole city’s obsessed with you.”

“I didn’t ask to be turned into a public phenomenon!”

Stelle shrugged. “Too late. You’re a legend now.”

You groaned, grabbing another arrow and nocking it, trying to drown out their teasing. You had a tournament coming up, and the last thing you needed was to be distracted by whatever graffiti conspiracy was unfolding around you.

Unfortunately, Phainon and Stelle weren’t exactly the type to leave you alone.

The next day, you arrived at school only to be met with another painstakingly beautiful mural of yourself—this time on the wall behind the campus.

It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

You stood in front of it, staring up at the massive artwork. It depicted you mid-tournament, bow drawn, eyes burning with determination. The shading, the details, the way your hair seemed to flow as if caught in motion—it was infuriatingly well done. And at the bottom, in neat spray-painted letters, was the artist’s signature: a tiny crescent moon with the words “For Graffiti Girl.”

You groaned. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Students passing by murmured in awe, some taking pictures, others outright staring at you with knowing smirks. “It’s her,” you heard someone whisper. “The Graffiti Girl.”

Clutching your books, you stomped towards your locker, praying for some kind of normalcy. But the moment you swung it open, you froze.

Inside, neatly placed on top of your books, was an assortment of your favorite snacks. A small bag of chips, a neatly wrapped protein bar, and even a chilled bottle of your go-to energy drink. Nestled beside them, almost too perfectly positioned, was an empty spray paint can.

Your eye twitched. “Oh, come on.”

Laughter echoed down the hallway, and you turned just in time to see Phainon and Stelle walking past, both of them grinning like they knew something you didn’t. Phainon lifted a hand in a casual wave. “Morning, Graffiti Girl.”

You glared. “I swear, one of you is behind this.”

Stelle snorted. “Us? Nah. We’d never be that subtle.”

Phainon only smirked, golden eyes gleaming with mischief. “But if we were, wouldn’t that make things more fun?”

You stared at him, trying to decipher his words, but he simply turned and walked away, hands still in his pockets, the very picture of nonchalance.

You looked back at the empty spray can in your locker.

ugh, who even were they man

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

You spent the rest of the day ranting to Phainon and Stelle about the unknown graffiti artist.

“I mean, who even does this?” you huffed, dramatically waving your arms as the three of you sat outside on the school’s courtyard steps. “They’re obviously super talented—like, I’ll give them that—but why me? Why not, I don’t know, a city landmark? A basketball star? A baseball player?”

Phainon, sipping his drink far too nonchalantly, shrugged. “Maybe they just really like archery.”

Stelle snorted. “Or really like you.”

You shot her a glare. “Not helping.”

Phainon leaned back, resting his elbow on his knee. “So, what’s your plan, Graffiti Girl? Gonna track them down? Challenge them to an art duel?”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know! But this whole thing is making me look like some kind of underground celebrity, and I just want to focus on my tournament.”

“Aw, c’mon, it’s kinda cool,” Stelle teased. “Not everyone gets a mysterious, devoted artist making masterpieces of them.”

Phainon smirked. “Yeah, sounds like someone’s muse-worthy.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “If I ever meet this artist, I have so many questions. Who are they? How do they know what I look like in such detail? And where do they get the time to pull this off?!”

Phainon hummed, the corner of his lips twitching. “Yeah. Sounds like a real mystery.”

You didn’t notice the way his fingers idly spun a tiny, dried fleck of paint between them.

The day of the tournament arrived, and you walked onto the competition grounds with your bow slung over your shoulder, mentally preparing yourself for the matches ahead. You had spent weeks training for this moment—blocking out distractions, fine-tuning your form, and ensuring your focus was razor-sharp.

And yet, the universe clearly had other plans.

The moment you stepped onto campus, five brand-new murals greeted you, each one more breathtaking than the last. They were scattered across different walls, but all of them had the same theme: you, in various moments of focus, determination, and skill, capturing your strongest moments in striking detail. And at the bottom of each piece, painted in elegant, sweeping strokes, were the words:

“Good luck on the tournament.”

Your stomach flipped as you took in the sheer effort that had gone into them. The shading, the lighting, the emotions conveyed—it was insane.

You were about to scream when your phone vibrated aggressively in your pocket. Pulling it out, your screen was flooded with notifications. Your name was trending.

#GOODLUCKGRAFFITIGIRL had taken over social media.

You scrolled in disbelief, seeing hundreds—no, thousands—of posts from people cheering you on. Fans from across the city, even people who had just seen the murals online, were hyping you up. Some were posting pictures of the new graffiti, while others were leaving comments like:

“She’s not just an archer, she’s an icon, a hella pretty one.”

“Whoever this artist is, they’re singlehandedly running a one-person PR campaign.”

“I don’t even know much about archery, but now I NEED to see Graffiti Girl win.”

Your face burned as you kept scrolling. There were even clips of your past competitions being shared with captions like “She’s insane at archery. Watch this shot.” Some posts even tagged you directly, wishing you luck.

Phainon and Stelle appeared at your side, both peering over your shoulder at your phone.

“Damn,” Stelle whistled, eyeing your phone with her golden eyes, “You’re famous-famous now.”

Phainon leaned in closer, resting his chin on your shoulder as he smirked. “So, how’s it feel to be the city’s most beloved archer AND street art muse?”

You groaned, stuffing your phone back into your pocket. “I—this—WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

Phainon chuckled. “The people love you, Graffiti Girl. Better give them a good show today.”

You huffed, gripping your bow tighter. “Oh, I will. But first—if I ever find this artist, I swear—”

Stelle nudged Phainon with a knowing grin. “Yeah, that’d be interesting, huh?”

Phainon only smirked wider, cerulean eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah. Real interesting.” ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The tournament grounds were packed, buzzing with excitement. You had expected a crowd, sure, but not this many people. And definitely not this many people holding up signs—actual signs—with your face on them. Some were even prints of the murals, and others had bold letters saying “GO GRAFFITI GIRL!” with little spray paint designs drawn around the words.

Your face burned. You had never been this flustered in your life.

As you walked toward the competition area, people waved at you, called out your name—or rather, your new nickname. “Graffiti Girl! You got this!” “We believe in you!” “HIT IT, Queen of Archery!”

You tried to keep your composure, but the overwhelming support made your heart swell. It was… kinda nice. Embarrassing, but undeniably nice. You smiled, even let out a giggle, feeling lighter with every cheer.

Then the tournament began, and you switched into focus mode.

Arrow after arrow, target after target—you gave it your all. The wind barely mattered, the noise in the background faded, and it was just you and your bow. The final shot came down to a near tie, and with one last deep breath, you let the arrow fly—

Bullseye.

The crowd erupted. Your name—no, Graffiti Girl—was chanted over and over, people on their feet, cheering, clapping, screaming. The wave of excitement crashed over you as the realization hit—you won.

Grinning, you lifted your bow triumphantly, beaming as you took in the cheers. Stelle tackled you in a side hug, shaking you back and forth.

“YOU DID IT! WINNER WINNER GRAFFITI GIRL PAYING FOR DINNER!” she cackled. (my friends used to chant this whenever I won)

You laughed, still breathless, before suddenly remembering—

Phainon’s tournament.

“OH, FUCK—” you gasped.

Grabbing Stelle’s wrist, you sprinted toward the basketball court, dodging through the crowd, ignoring all the people still calling out congratulations. You weren’t missing his game.

The moment you burst into the gym, the match was just about to start. Phainon stood near the court, spinning a basketball effortlessly on his finger, golden eyes glinting under the lights.

He turned just in time to see you practically skid to a stop in the front row, waving your arms dramatically.

“PHAINON! KICK THEIR ASSES!” you yelled.

Stelle cupped her hands around her mouth and added, “YEAH, SHOW ‘EM WHY YOU’RE THE BEST, PUPPY BOY!”

Phainon’s smirk grew as he caught your gaze. Instead of responding, he simply lifted his hand—then mimed shooting an arrow, as if mocking your earlier win.

Your stomach flipped.

Still catching your breath from running, you huffed, crossing your arms. “Just play, show-off!”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ The match was intense, fast-paced, and full of electrifying moments. Phainon moved like he was born for this, his fluid movements and precise shots making the game look effortless. Every time he made a basket, the crowd roared, and you and Stelle screamed the loudest.

“ PHAINON, YOU’RE A FUCKING MONSTER!” Stelle shouted, practically jumping.

You clapped your hands over your mouth as Phainon landed a perfect three-pointer, his sharp gaze flicking toward you for just a second. He was smug. He knew he was winning.

The final quarter arrived, and with only a few minutes left on the clock, Phainon’s team was ahead but not by much. The tension in the gym was thick as the opposing team tried desperately to catch up. But Phainon wasn’t having it.

With one last perfect steal and a smooth drive to the hoop, he launched into a jump, executing a flawless dunk just as the buzzer rang.

Game over. Victory.

The gym exploded with cheers. Phainon’s teammates swarmed him, patting his back, ruffling his fluffy white hair. The crowd was on its feet, chanting his name.

“PHAINON! PHAINON! PHAINON!”

You grinned, cupping your hands around your mouth. “LOOK AT YOU, MR. MVP!”

Stelle hollered, “GRAFFITI GIRL APPROVES!”

Phainon, drenched in sweat but still frustratingly attractive, turned toward you, shaking his head with an amused smirk. He made his way toward where you and Stelle stood, stopping just in front of you.

“You didn’t miss a second, huh?” he mused, his mischevious eyes glinting.

You crossed your arms, feigning nonchalance. “Had to make sure you didn’t embarrass yourself.”

His smirk deepened. “And?”

You huffed before breaking into a grin. “Not bad, Puppy Boy. Not bad at all.”

Phainon chuckled before reaching into his gym bag and pulling something out—a can of spray paint. He casually twirled it between his fingers, gaze never leaving yours.

Your heart skipped a beat.

…Wait.

What?

Stelle gasped dramatically. “OH—”

Phainon just grinned. “Funny thing about graffiti…”

The moment Phainon casually twirled the spray paint can between his fingers, the world seemed to freeze.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, as if everyone simultaneously pieced together the puzzle. People exchanged wide-eyed looks, pointing between Phainon, the can, and you—Graffiti Girl.

Even Stelle’s jaw dropped. “OH SWEET MOTHER OF TRASHCANS.”

Your brain short-circuited. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish as you stared at Phainon, completely speechless.

“…Wait. You—?”

Phainon, still frustratingly smug, simply lifted the can and gave it a little shake. The soft rattle of the ball inside felt deafening. Then, with the most innocent, playful grin, he looked you dead in the eyes and went:

“:3”

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

The crowd erupted. People were screaming, cheering, some laughing in pure disbelief. “PHANION WAS THE ARTIST?!” “OH MY GOD, HE WAS DOWN BAD THIS WHOLE TIME!” “GRAFFITI GIRL AND PUPPY BOY SUPREMACY!”

Your brain couldn’t keep up.

“You—you—you did all of that?” you stammered, eyes darting between him and the can. “The murals? The portraits? The ‘GOOD LUCK GRAFFITI GIRL’ everywhere?”

Phainon just shrugged. “Seemed like a fun way to support my favorite archer.”

Your entire soul left your body.

Stelle absolutely lost it. “OH AEONS, HE’S DOWN HORRENDOUS!” She grabbed your shoulders, shaking you like a ragdoll. “GIRL, DO YOU REALIZE WHAT THIS MEANS?! HE’S BEEN SIMPING PUBLICLY!”

The crowd agreed. Loudly.

“GRAFFITI GIRL X PUPPY BOY! GRAFFITI GIRL X PUPPY BOY!” The chant started slow but quickly picked up speed.

Your face burned hotter than the sun. “OH MY GOD, SHUT UP—”

Phainon just leaned in slightly, voice low enough for only you to hear, his cerulean eyes glowing with amusement. “So… do I get an autograph, Graffiti Girl?”

You wanted to throw yourself into the sun.

Instead, you grabbed the front of his jersey, yanked him down, and kissed his cheek.

The crowd went feral. Screams, camera flashes, Stelle wheezing in the background.

You leaned back with a smug smile, still holding onto his jersey. “I think this is better than an autograph.”

Phainon.exe stopped functioning.

For a second, he just stood there, blinking, before his entire face broke into the biggest, most lovesick grin imaginable. He looked like a golden retriever who just got told he was the best boy in the whole world.

Then, with absolutely zero hesitation, he picked you up, arms wrapped tight around your waist as he spun you around like some kind of rom-com protagonist.

“OH MY GOD, PHANION, PUT ME DOWN!”

“NEVER! YOU’RE MINE NOW, THE ARTIST HAS FINALLY GOT HIS MUSE!”

day 791683639 of wrting abt things which will never happen to me

[superson3oz]

First time requesting gulp.. I need literally anything wind archer related 💔 he is so underrated and ur art is so scrumptious

Forest Trip

Can you tell that i like him

I like him in a normal amount guys

[archerarchives]

Winner Takes it All

Slater x Fem Reader x Sterling Archer

Your ex-husband isn't thrilled to hear about your latest romantic connection.

(It's more about Slater than Archer.)

Drama, Smut, Comedy, Story-Driven.

TWs: !!Smut!! And maybe a lil angst, jealousy, physical violence, drunk sex, long read, not proofread, this is not a 3-way fic, sorry! They're just both gettin' bounced on!

You've just moved cities for a new, low-profile job with a well-known spy agency, ISIS. It's a change of scenery where you can still use the specialized skills you've honed over the years at your old job. The CIA was a prolific time in your career, but with your divorce newly finalized after a long, messy process, you're ready to uproot your life and start over somewhere.

Finding this job was something of fate in itself. You were drinking your thoughts away in a shabby pub on a mission in Ireland when a man, just as wasted as you, came crashing through the door, spouting off at the mouth about "top secret agent" this, "classified mission" that. Even at your drunkest, you've never compromised yourself in such a way. All's well, though, as it ended with a job offer and a very interesting hook-up.

Try as you may, you can't escape the memories of that first sexual rendezvous after a lengthy legal battle. Your cheeks redden with warmth as you remember the way he bent you over, sliding his hands up your spine as he guided your hips against his waist.

You giggle to yourself as your stomach flips. All this time seeing him in a professional setting feels silly, considering his drunken personality when you first met him. You're certainly not in love, nor are you looking for it. It's just nice to explore without moral compromise.

Working with ISIS is a dream, not to mention getting to step out with Archer to fuck in a supply closet nearly hourly. The scandal of sneaking around only adds to the fun.

Your marriage was just as passionate for years, but with that came an explosiveness that working together at the CIA ultimately killed. No time apart, you smothered each other until it felt like there weren't any feelings to save.

Keeping things light with Archer has been easy, considering if he's not fucking you, then he's definitely off fucking someone else. Often other members of the agency. It is vehemently not love, and you love that.

One day, after months of casual hookups, Archer mentions something about taking you to dinner. An awkward silence falls over the two of you as you lie naked in his bed. "It's not that I don't want to, I just," you search hard for your next words.

"Oh, no. It's fine. I just figured I owed you after, you know, all this." He gestures to your whole body.

"You don't owe me anything, handsome. It's a pretty equal exchange if you ask me." You wink at him, slipping away from his possessive grip so you can get dressed.

"By the way, don't tell Mother I told you, but we've got some CIA agents coming in on Monday. I'm not sure what for. Apparently, none of us are supposed to know." Archer's clearly looking for any way to change the subject after his invite went wrong.

"CIA? Did you happen to get their names?" You ask, with a lump in your throat.

"No, but they can't be much worse than those other two dick heads." Archer settles back against his headboard, covered by nothing but blankets up to his waist. His chiseled body shines in the sunlight like a painting. You almost hesitate to leave, but after that awkward date denial, you want to get far, far away. It's not all his fault, he has no idea about your situation.

"Sounds like fun. I'll see you there, princess." You chuckle, lingering in the doorway.

"For the last time, it's Duchess. And we don't get to choose our code names!" His spiral makes you laugh as you wave goodbye and head out his bedroom door. His valet, an elderly man called Woodhouse, always meets you at the door to send you off. You smile warmly at him as you make your way to your car.

~~~Monday Morning

"Good morning, Pam," you yawn, stepping off the elevator. She waves a tired hello to you and you make your way toward your office. After a small window of time, Archer knocks at your door, right on schedule. You both slip down the hall and meet up in one of your trusty 'spots.' You've opted for the supply closet yet again.

Archer pulls you inside with him, hungrily grabbing at your breasts and roughly fidgeting with your buttoned-up blouse. You let out a giggle, a bit louder than you mean to, but you quickly quiet back down. He grins at the sight of your breasts pressed firmly against his chest.

"Oh, my God," he breathes into your neck, positioning himself right against you. "I'll never get tired of this." He slips inside of you with ease. A low, breathy moan escapes his lips as he reaches his hilt. From there, he's thrusting into you rhythmically, gripping your hips while you prop yourself against the shelves of dusty cleaning products.

Archer's fingertips dig into your skin as he lifts you off the ground for a better angle. Each delicate moan that escapes your lips is met with a sensual sound of his own or a passionate kiss on your lips to silence you. He places a firm, but gentle hand around your neck as he picks up his pace.

"Harder," you whisper against his broad chest and he's happy to oblige. At this point, you hardly care what can and can't be heard outside the closet. "Harder." And he complies, slamming into you with a force that'd tell a stranger he must hate you.

A knot begins to form in your stomach, growing tighter as you near your orgasm. He's moaning your name into your ear, sending your eyes rolling back every time he opens his mouth. You're doing all you can to keep it together, and just when you finally give, he pulls out and finishes on your chest, careful to keep aim on your exposed skin.

Your blue-eyed hookup helps you clean up and you realize there's yet another awkward silence as he lingers for a little longer than usual in the closet, just looking at you. "Wow," he sighs.

"You weren't too bad yourself, handsome," you wink, playfully tapping his chest with your palm. Once you've both steadied your breathing, he leaves first, scoping out the hallway, careful to give a cough or some sort of signal if someone's around. It's silent. You give it a few minutes and then you step out as well.

"Y/N!" A painfully familiar voice calls your name from the opposite end of the otherwise empty hallway. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Slater?" You knew it, you just wanted to believe it could've been anyone else. "Are you asking what I'm doing or what I'm doing here?"

"Well," he's stumped. "Both, I guess. Did you just fuck Archer in that closet?" He sounds equal parts disturbed and livid.

"I work here now. And that's really none of your business anymore." You cross your arms defensively.

"Trust me, Y/N, you don't want-"

"Stop telling me what I do and don't want. Don't we have a meeting or something?" You stomp off, not allowing his ability to set you off cost you this new job.

Archer and the other agents have already been in the meeting. You're late and if you weren't on Malory's good side, you know she'd have something to say about it. Instead, she just gives you a sharp look, and you take the warning for the golden ticket it is. You take a quiet seat near the group and tune into whatever the other CIA agent is explaining.

It's tedious, tiresome, and boring. Some of the staff are falling asleep while others are zoning out altogether. Archer's distracted and his disruption goes unchecked as he messes around with an Operation game.

Suddenly, the door slings open and Slater angrily crosses the floor. Most of the room falls silent, besides Archer, who is still playing with the toy. Slater reaches his desk and slaps the game out of his hands, causing others around them to gasp in surprise.

"Are you fucking my wife?" Slater yells lividly through gritted teeth, placing one hand on the desk surface to stop himself from swinging at the ISIS agent.

"What?" Archer's surprise quickly turns to amusement. "No, I'm screwing-"

"I'm not your wife anymore, Slater!" You scold from across the way. The room fills with sounds of confused shock, but no one's as wide-eyed as Archer.

"You're married to this douchebag?" Your dark-haired situationship points to Slater.

"Not anymore!" You toss your hands up defensively. "Our divorce is finalized. What Sterling and I do-" you're cut off.

"Sterling?" Slater erupts at the intimate comfortability between you and Archer. Unhinged, Slater grabs the front of Archer's suit and lands a solid punch to the face. His biceps flex intensely under his casual T-shirt as he tightens his grip for another swing.

Now Slater and Archer are in an all-out brawl. The desks of the lecture room are knocked into disarray as the two men toss each other around. Cyril and Ray both try to intervene, but it's pointless. Archer, as usual, takes nothing seriously. He's almost laughing and probably would be if he wasn't ever so slightly losing the fight.

"Enough!" Malory throws a glass of cognac so hard, it slams against the wall right between both men's heads.

"Mother!" Archer looks distressed by her close quarters warning.

"If you two don't stop this childish nonsense this very minute I'll have you both sent wherever the hell I want for treason." Her threat is grand, but it's clear she means it.

"Look, fuck you, but she'll actually do that," Archer speaks with his eyes narrowed at his rival. Slater sighs, glaring at Archer for just a moment more before finally releasing his suit jacket.

"Good," Malory relaxes, somehow already equipped with another freshly poured glass of cognac. She redirects everyone's attention back to the boring speaker from before. "Now, you were saying?"

~~~After Work, at Your House

"That's not what I'm saying!" Slater yells, an all too familiar sound. One you thought you'd gotten rid of.

"Then what are you saying?" You toss your arms up in frustration. "Because from here, it's sounding like you're telling me who I can and can't be with. We aren't married anymore!" That last sentence seems to piss him off, or at least hurt him. He closes his eyes and furrows his brows, trying to find it in himself to calm down. Something he's never tried to do before.

"I know we're not married anymore, but seriously? Him?" He shakes his head. "And why move? Why leave the CIA?"

"Are you kidding me?" You ask, utterly shocked by the question. "This is why! This tantrum you're throwing as if you haven't been enjoying your own freedoms even before the divorce was finalized!" The truth causes Slater to avert his eyes. It's true, he was living his own bachelor lifestyle quite early on in the process.

"It's just," he takes a deep breath. "Could it be anyone else?"

"You act like I'm in love with the guy." You laugh. "I'm just trying to feel something."

"Oh yeah? Does he know that?"

"Of course he does!" You knit your brows. "Have you met the guy? I'm not exactly at the top of his roster."

"His people said he hasn't strayed outside your little meetings for at least two weeks. That's like a year for him." Slater crosses his arms.

"Two weeks, huh?" You take a seat at your table. Slater sits right across from you. You do the math and realize you've only been working at ISIS for about a month.

"Two weeks. Not even Agent Kane had him down that long."

"Agent Kane? Lana? Do they have that kind of history?" You ask. It's clear to anyone that they've fucked, but you had no idea what their history entailed until Slater filled you in.

"You have no idea what this guy's about, huh?" He asks, smugly.

"I don't. And I don't care. I'm not stepping on any toes and I certainly don't owe you anything." You wrangle any corner of your face that may show discomfort, adamant to not let him know he got into your head. "I think you should go. I have work in the morning."

"Oh, I know. You and I will be working very closely for a while. Just like old times." He sounds sickly sweet as he heads for your door, like you asked. Just before he leaves, he hesitates, almost like he intends to speak, but he doesn't. He doesn't look back at you or anything. He just finally exits and a cold silence follows in his place.

"Fuck," you huff.

~~~The Next Day, in The Lecture Room

"Psst," Archer garners your attention.

"What?" You whisper and he passes you a note like you're two kids in school. It reads: 'My office, 2 PM.' You stifle the smirk blossoming on your lips. Then, before you have time to blink, the note is snatched from your hand by Slater, playing the role of the bitch teacher. After that, there are suddenly mandatory training exercises being held for certain agents at certain times. You've been lovingly gifted the time slot of 1:50 PM to 2:50 PM with Archer going right after you.

While each agent waits, you spend time at Cheryl's desk with her and Pam. A little gossip to speed things along. Pam doesn't hold back in the slightest, diving right in as soon as you sit down.

"So were you Y/N Slater or...?" Cheryl wrinkles her nose, asking a question far less invasive than Pam's.

"I kept my last name. I didn't know how to navigate that either." You shrug.

"Okay, but this divorce is recent, right?" Pam redirects the conversation.

"Recent for a divorce, sure. But we've been separated for over a year."

"A whole year of working with your ex-husband at the CIA?" The round-faced blonde raises her eyebrows.

"There's a reason I jumped at this opportunity, Pam." You tilt your head forward, widening your eyes at her. A look that says, 'Don't even ask.'

"Mrs. Slater..." Cheryl repeats to herself. "Nope, doesn't have a good ring to it."

"Sure doesn't!" You exclaim, holding up your left hand and wiggling your bare ring finger. Right on cue, Slater approaches you where you sit in front of Cheryl's desk. She and Pam both excuse themselves to eavesdrop from a few feet away.

"Ready for some assistance training Agent Y/L/N?" He asks, a bitterness already biting in his voice.

"Absolutely, Agent Slater." You give a false sense of enthusiasm. "Anything to get you out of here faster."

"Then right this way," he gestures for the elevator. The firing range is on an entirely different level, and something about the usually short lift ride is excruciatingly long today. You stand next to each other uncomfortably for a while before you finally glance over at him. He doesn't look at you, but you get a good look at his chest and crossed arms. His seemingly permanent angry expression etched lightly into his features. "Like what you see?" He asks, smirking smugly.

"Shut up," you snap, facing forward and silently scolding yourself for being so quick to nearly forget why you left him in the first place. Finally, the elevator doors open to the shooting range lobby. It's empty until you and Slater step out of the elevator. After checking your weapons and loading up on ammunition, it's time to start shooting.

You've always been a pretty solid shot. These exercises don't meet your skill. You'd do better to practice with a course, but that's not an option right now. "Two in the head, one in the chest," Slater says, and you don't think twice about what he's talking about. You fire the three bullets you were instructed to fire. This goes on for a while and you begin to think an hour of this might not be so bad.

"Oh, hey. I was thinking, why not make this a group effort and save some time?" Archer, seemingly drunk, appears in the soundproofed doorway of the shooting range.

"Agent Archer, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." Slater smiles deviously as he shoves him back and slams the door. Once it's locked, he turns his attention to you. You missed the whole ordeal due to the quality of your ear protection. You didn't see or hear Archer's impromptu class suggestion or it's brutal rejection.

"Are we done?" You ask, assuming that's what he's come to tell you when he lifts the earmuff off your head.

"No," he shakes his head. "Your form is a little off." His comment makes you arch your brows.

"No it's not."

"Yes, it is. Here." Slater takes your arms and guides them up to point your gun at the target. With his body pressed against yours, he wraps your hands around the firearm and "shows" you the proper form. It's no different from how you were just standing, and you know that, but that's not the point. The point is, now he's flush against your body and you can feel his heartbeat in the heat radiating off his chest.

"Slater, come on. What are you doing?" You try your best to sound serious, but you fail. He takes the gun from your hand and places it on the counter before slipping off your ear protection and setting it to the side as well. You're still standing with your back to him, and he leans in to whisper.

"Why don't you show me how good your form is?" He slips his hands into your hair, pulling it back gently like a ponytail before suddenly wrapping one hand up and roughly pulling your head back so he can plant a heinous love bite on your neck. You let out a breathy moan as your eyes slip back into your head. This is why it took so long to get away. If it wasn't an argument that had you nearly throwing chairs, then it was this.

"I can't... Or rather, I don't want to."

"You don't owe him anything. He's drunk right now, probably already fucking someone else in a different tiny, filthy closet." His grip on your hair tightens. "Haven't you missed me? Just a little?" The raspy nature of his voice vibrates into his chest that's pressed up against your back. Your skin erupts into chill bumps as his grip loosens and then tightens back up again when he doesn't get an answer fast enough.

"Slater," you pull away, finally. Much to your disappointment. Listen. Regardless of Archer, you know this isn't a good idea." You straighten up your appearance and calm your reddened cheeks. "Training's over," you say as you speed walk out the door.

At the end of the day, you're back at your place, freshly walking through the door after a stressful day at the office. Who'd have guessed Slater would make an appearance so soon in your journey to figuring out the single life? Who'd have known how absolutely unprepared you were for it?

After a few drinks, at-home vodka cranberries with far too much vodka to cran, you stare at your cellphone. All of you wants to call Slater and cave as quickly as you turned him down earlier. You shake the thought from your mind, scanning through your contacts for Archer. You stare at the number for a moment, recalling his dinner invitation.

You wonder if it was really meant to be a "repayment" of your promiscuous meetings. It felt far too personal, though. So personal, you sit with his number pulled up for another twenty minutes before ultimately hitting the red button, and clearing out all the information. Slater's presence has thrown your entire dynamic through a loop and it's pissing you off. Defiantly, you dial Archer's number.

Your stomach ties in knots as imagine what kind of mental strain this may put on him. To know you don't want anything more than an orgasm to get your mind off of the divorce. Surely he understands, right? It's not like he's the sentimental type.

"Hello?" A voice on the other end of the phone doesn't match the contact dialed. It's a woman and she's clearly wasted.

"Um, Archer?"

"Oh, he's kind of-" The next part of the sentence is clouded with laughter and the scuffling sound of a phone being dropped. Finally the call ends. An intense wave of relief washes over you. Thank God, you think to yourself. The relief is short-lived as you realize you've lost your lover for the night. You consider a trip to the bar, but it feels too desperate. That's when your phone begins to ring.

You stare at the screen. Slater's name flashes on the small device and you roll your eyes, sighing heavily. Already preparing for the mental toll this is about to take on you.

"Hello?" You answer on the last ring.

"Hey," he starts. "I just wanted to call and um, apologize." He sounds agonized by his own words. An ego check he never asked for.

"Apologize? For what?" You ask with a giggle.

"My behavior today was... Less than professional. I shouldn't have put you in a situation like that." It's as if this apology is being forced out of him at gunpoint, but you're appreciative of the effort.

"Thanks, Slater." You roll your eyes, still chucking.

"Are you uh- You alone tonight?" He asks, hesitantly.

"Yes, but not by choice. It seems someone else has made their way to my benefit's bed." You laugh. "I'm having wine and watching that show I like."

"What kind of wine?" Slater asks. You roll your eyes. He's always done this when he wants attention. Just sparking up a conversation about any and everything.

"Oh, you know, the cheap stuff." You shrug. Slater's unmistakable laughter crackles through the line.

"You love cheap thrills," he sighs with a smile. Silence falls over the conversation for just a moment before his voice rings through the phone one more time. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Slater, I-" but you're cut off by the telltale sign of being hung up on. You groan, tossing your phone across the room and letting it softly land on a fainting couch on the other side of the room. You rub your temples, silently venting about the man you've spent all this time trying to escape. Not due to any kind of fear, but simply because you know it's not ever meant to work.

An hour or so passes since you've changed into a sill nightgown and settled in for the night. You even consider digging out your weed stash and rolling a joint in the peace and quiet. You're halfway through the process (didn't have to twist your arm) when there's a knock at the door. Three soft knocks. Instinctively, you dismiss your buzz with sheer willpower. You glance at the clock. It's late, too late for visitors. Gripping the neck of your wine bottle, you stealthily make your way to the door.

Knock, knock, knock. Again. You don't jump, you hardly react at all. Nothing but a blink. Taking your place tactfully, standing right next to the door, you begin to slowly lean in toward the peephole. Just before you catch a glance, you hear a sound outside. A sigh. "Oh, Jesus Christ," you nearly melt with relief.

You open the door, pale in the face. All you could imagine was the CIA taking back their word and sending someone to take you out in the middle of the night in your own home.

"What the hell?" Your ex-husband stands before you with something in his hand.

"God damn it, Slater," you sigh. "What's up?"

"You said you were drinking the cheap stuff, so brought you a bottle of Château Calon-Ségur," he says, eyeballing the bottle in your hand meant to be a weapon. "But I'm now realizing this is the cheap stuff."

"The pay at ISIS isn't too shabby." You shrug. A second of silence passes between you two before you finally step out of the way and invite him inside. He nods a thanks at you and takes a hard look around your home. His eyes narrow at the lack of evidence of ever having a life with him. It's just a staged house of anything that isn't from or about him.

"Nice place you got," he says, stifling any other comments he wants to make.

"Thank you. I figured you'd have something shitty to say." You laugh, raising your eyebrows in surprise at his lack of insult.

"Not a lot of pictures," he tosses.

"I don't have any to hang yet," you arch an eyebrow at him.

"Right," he says, recalling the endless amount of photographs of you two he still has in his attic. "You seem happy. You look," he leans back, shaking his head with a sly smile. "Great."

"Yeah?" You smile politely. You know you look great. You've done nothing but glow since the papers were very first served. It's then that you notice the scent of his cologne. A decade of forgotten feelings comes flooding back, and as aware as you are that it's the wine, you can't help the redness flushing your face. And that's all it takes, just like that, he knows he's in.

Slater crosses the living room and takes a place on the couch next to you. "What's all this?" He asks, gesturing to your half-rolled joint. "I thought pot was illegal around here," he chuckles, finishing the joint and lighting it.

"It's decriminalized, but I still usually step outside before lighting it."

"Whoops," he responds flatly, bringing the joint to his lips as he lies back on the couch, sinking into the soft cushions. You pass the joint back and forth until you're both in a haze, surrounded by lingering clouds of smoke. The TV plays a Western, and though you're both staring at the screen, it feels like you're focused on each other. Each stealing eye glances at the other.

"Wine?" You ask, breaking the comfortable silence. He nods and you disappear to grab another glass. In the kitchen, you can feel the moment of his hands running through your hair, pulling it back, and whispering in your ear the other day. Chills run up your spine. Quickly, you return to your ex in the living room. He's sitting up a bit straighter now. After pouring him a glass, you join him on the couch.

He'd be a piss-poor agent if he didn't notice how much closer you sat to him upon your return. He can't help himself. "You know, your little friend with benefits was getting pretty friendly with some escorts in a casino tonight." You roll your eyes.

"My God, Slater. Are you just stalking everybody now?" You laugh, shifting a bit away from him. "Besides, I already know. He was supposed to come over tonight, but he seemed a little busy." Slater's eyebrows narrow.

"So sorry you had to settle for me," he smirks.

"I didn't. You just showed up." You eyeball him as you sip your wine. "And that begs the question; What do you think would've happened if you showed up while I was reaping the benefits?"

"Ugh," Slater shakes his head. "I don't want to think about it." He's laughing, but the boiling in his blood is as present as ever when he thinks about you with that secret agent idiot. His "casual" grip on the back cushions of the couch ignites his knuckles white. "God, do you live to get a rise out of me?"

"What do you mean? I didn't even invite you here." You look around the room as if to look for who might've invited him, sending the message that there is, in fact, no one. He invited himself.

"Y/N, look. I know the divorce is finalized. I understand I don't really have a leg to stand on."

"Oh, god. No, please stop."

"Will you just hear me out?"

"I really don't want to." You look at him, eyebrows turned up. "That sounds like some really heavy stuff and I'm really high." Slater sighs with defeat.

"Fair enough."

"Why'd you come over tonight?" You ask, curious and figuring it can't hurt seeing as he already made things tense.

"Ya' know, I don't really know."

"Really? No cheesy monologue about missing me?" You laugh. He used to try too hard. Always phoning it in. No substance.

"Oh, please." His eyes narrow. "Like you haven't been thinking of my hands in your hair all evening." His bold statement causes you to nearly choke on your sip of wine. Slater's chuckling at you, looking pleased with himself.

"You're insufferable," you scoff and his giggle erupts into laughter.

"You're so much easier to read off the clock." Slater leans forward and toys with his glass for a moment before downing its contents in one swallow. The tension between you is palpable as you refill his glass, not once spilling a drop and maintaining eye contact the entire time.

You hardly realize how close you are to him when you return the glass to his hand. Your palm flattens against his broad, solid chest. You've unintentionally pushed the two of you into a lounging position where you lie on top of him, staring down into his eyes as they scan your face.

You want to tear his clothes off and climb him like a tree, but you're preoccupied by the possible repercussions. You ball up your fist on his chest and release a frustrated sigh before creating a gap between you once again. You're sitting up, but Slater is still lying down, looking confused.

"Whoa, what happened?" He holds his empty arms out like he doesn't understand how you got away.

"I don't want to be shitty to you, but," you swallow the awkwardness down. "I don't want to create a dialogue that isn't there."

"What the fuck are you talkin' about?"

"I'm not interested in fixing things, Slater."

"Fixing things? Y/N, sweetheart, we had a good run." He sits up. "But I'm not trying to marry you again. I hardly like you."

"Bitch."

"But if you're gonna be sleeping around anyways, you might as well give me a call sometime."

"Jesus Christ. I'm not just handing it out like a prayer pamphlet," you say, crossing your arms.

"Never said you were," he arches his brows, annoyed that his own words aren't landing correctly.

"You very much implied it."

"Of course, you're gonna do this. You always do this." He begins to shift like he's planning to stand and leave. You can't tell if that's what you want or not.

"Do what? You just came over and told me if I'm gonna be a whore, I might as well include you in my whoring."

"No one called you a whore, Y/N!" He runs a hand through his pushed-back hair and groans with impatience. Finally, he stands and so do you. "Look, I'll just let you get back to smoking pot and drinking while your Mama's boy boyfriend has sex with a bunch of hookers."

"What the fuck is your problem?" You raise your voice. "And that's not what they're called anymore. They're sex workers." He rubs his temples.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Y/N."

"Oh, fuck you. You're the reason this is so hard to navigate. You made that divorce as difficult as possible at every turn!" You shove a finger into his chest.

"Because years ago, when I was fucking stupid, I didn't want to lose you!" The confession is too heavy. Too sweet. Too real. You hate it.

"Lower your God damn eye brows when you're talking to me." You push away the sentimental nonsense and Slater notices right away.

"I don't love you anymore, Y/N. We're both over it."

"Then why the hell did Archer make you so angry? You beat him up in front of his own mother."

"I don't know. Still a little protective, I guess." He begins to cool down. After a criminally short moment of silence, Slater sighs and rolls his eyes before closing the gap between you and crashing his lips into yours.

Everything in you screams fucking finally! But instead, you wrap your arms around him and deepen the kiss. He starts to lead you to your bedroom, but once he realizes he has no idea where it is, he picks you up, wrapping your legs around him. It's an easy stroll to the couch where he drops you onto the cushions and makes quick work of removing your nightgown.

You glow beneath him. His eyes study your exposed form like he couldn't see until he saw you. One hand grips at the curves of your waist, and the other squeezes your breast through your bra. A breathy moan slips from your lips like a sigh. All feelings aside, it's as if your flesh missed each other.

Slater's breathing is heavy as he drinks in the image of you beneath him. All those years together, but neither of you has felt like this since the very beginning. Back when it was just harmless fun in an empty office at work.

You tug his shirt up and over his head before resuming the sloppy kiss. After unfastening his belt, you begin to unhook your bra, but his hands stop you. You erupt into chill bumps as his fingers trail up your back and effortlessly flick the clasps undone. It's one part the alcohol and one part the history, but you're nearly breathless with anticipation.

"God damn," he huffs.

"I know, right?" You smirk. He shakes his head with a chuckle, burying his face in your neck and biting down softly, but firmly. You gasp as his teeth drag over your skin. He strokes himself a few times, looming over you with sparkling, dark eyes. His free hand pushes a stray piece of hair back from his face. You wait with bated breath as he slowly pushes himself against your sensitive clit.

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss this," Slater sighs before slowly sliding into you. You release a low, sultry moan as he grinds himself against you. He pulls your legs up so that they're hooked up over his shoulders, giving him all the angles he needs to thrust himself entirely into you. His movements are rhythmic and steady as he savors every inch of you he can reach.

"Oh, my God!" You gasp, earning a pussy-throbbing smirk from the man inside you.

"Don't get the cops called again," he chuckles, still thrusting. He's speaking about a time during your marriage when he fucked you so well that your moans and screams not only woke but concerned the neighbors.

"Fuck you," you huff, speaking between the slamming of your pelvises against each other.

"It's what you needed," he winks, picking up his pace. He's broad, strong, and well-endowed. It's hard to compare anyone to the feeling of being with him. It's like fucking a really sexy brick wall.

After an eternity of him slamming into you, legs tossed over his shoulders like a ragdoll, he pulls out. You gasp at the sudden absence. "Why don't you show me that ass, sweetheart?" He says, his voice is taunting and dominant. You do exactly as he says, turning over and arching your back to put on a bit of a show. Nothing he's never seen before, but you'd hardly be able to tell by his reaction.

Slater grips both your hips with his open palms, hooking his fingertips into your soft flesh as he pulls you back against him with each thrust. He tosses his head back in ecstasy. "Oh, fuck," he sighs with heavy breaths. You wrap your arms around the throw pillows, hoping for some sort of leverage against the harsh bucking. He raises a hand and playfully slaps your ass, earning a light squeal of excitement from you.

Just when you don't think you can process anything else, he slides a hand up your spine and wraps it in your hair. With each desperate slam into you, he pulls tighter. At some point, he releases your hips and your hair is the only handle for leverage he has, using it to pull your body to meet his as he thrusts as far as possible inside you. It just happens to be pretty goddamn far.

"Have your fun, Y/N," he huffs, voice raspier than usual. "Fuck whoever you want. I don't care." The sound of him sliding in and out of you has evolved to loud, wet echoes. "You're always gonna be mine." He picks up his pace yet again, slowly losing his rhythm as his flesh slaps against yours.

You can't argue. You know he's not wrong. Sure, neither of you cares so much for the marriage aspect, but you know you'll be right back in this situation a million more times before you're ever truly done. For the last time, you're working toward another orgasm when he quickens his thrusts and with one final slam against you, he withdraws and finishes on your displayed ass.

Breathless, Slater slinks backward into the couch and you collapse where you are, flattening out on the other end of the couch. You flinch as he cleans you up, leaving you with a playful smack.

"God damn, Slater," you sigh, eyes still threatening to roll backward.

"Better than your Mama's boy?" He asks between breaths.

"I don't know. I think I need to run a few experiments first." You grin, flushed in the face.

"Fuck you."

*****

Author's Note:

I wrote this entire story based on one glance at that GIF and I can't even remember what episode that is or what's actually happening there.

Update: I watched the episode and I love the handsome cartoon men. That's all. (I love the women too, but I objectify men.)

[dreamyblanket]

Hello! I know you usually do ancient/ beast stuff, but if your okay with it I'd love some stuff for my love wind archer cookie!

"Borrow it, I'll be fine."