#how...do you even..start talking to people?

[mia-fey-needs-a-drink]

It's so annoying that to so much of the fandom Mia is just "boobs" or "girlboss", she's got so much more going on:

-She really struggles to remember people's names which often causes people to doubt her engagement despite genuinely caring and engaging with their situation and the case (she's just like me fr I really struggle with names (for probably autism reasons) and people really don't like that).

-She has a tendency to just not talk to people about things, especially about herself or her life. depending on when you think Mia actually started mentoring Phoenix he was a significant part of her life for at least a year and probably since 3-1, yet he only meets Maya and learns about spirit channeling after Mia dies, she never mentioned Lana either, or Diego, or DL-6, and this isn't just to Phoenix, she never told Maya about Diego either and it's vague how much Lana actually knows about her, hell it's vague how much Diego actually knew about her, maybe Grossberg only told him about DL6 and the Fey clan after he wakes up from his coma. Ultimately she isolated herself from everyone in her life to some extent and it's kinda part of how she died, no-one knew the danger she was in and she didn't want people to know.

-Her ineptitude with technology. Phoenix and Maya also have this, but I feel like Mia's and Maya's are so linked to their background in the fey clan, they were raised in a society and culture where they didn't have access to these things and integrating into broader society comes with difficulties.

-Her entire life and career is just things repeatedly going wrong and her being fucked over: DL-6, her disaster of a first trial, Diego being poisoned and just as she's about to try and finally put Redd White behind bars he finds out and kills her. She had shit hand after shit hand and was basically doomed from the start, but yet she persisted and she fought for what she believed and for the people she cared about and to make the world a better place, and everything good that Phoenix manages to do throughout PWT is thanks to Mia and everything she worked for, she laid the foundations for a better world for the ones she loved that she wouldn't get to live in and yet I think if she knew that it would all end this way from the start she'd do it all over again. I think a little part of me thinks that some part of her hoped White would kill her so there was something definitive to pin him with (which comes with some darker implications for how well she was dealing with life).

-Mia has such an interesting relationship to the legal system and her own sense of justice. So much of her experience with the law is with it failing her, repeatedly. DL-6 is a disaster that stripped her mother from her, her first trial ends in the clearly guilty party that murdered her client getting away with it, her boyfriend's murder goes unsolved from the same murderer who she dedicates the next 8 months to taking down, and then there's 1-2, her own murder trial. Mia has again worked for years to try and get this man convicted, the deeply corrupt legal system making it a near insurmountable task, then in the last stretch he murders her. The police immediately just try to brush it under the rug, blame her sister and get the trial over with. Grossberg is too afraid of White to defend Maya and Edgeworth is a slimy piece of shit the entire trial. When Phoenix finally finds the clearly guilty White, he simply makes a few calls and her understudy is the prime suspect. White goes up on the stand and just repeatedly comes up with any old blatant nonsense and excuses and no matter how many times and how much work goes into Wright picking apart every mistruth and detail and how many pieces of evidence he shows nothing will convict White, the court is completely corrupt, you'll never be able to defeat him within the system. So, what happens? Mia and Phoenix have to work outside the established rules, even working outside the rules of death itself. White is only defeated after Mia straight up blackmails him into confessing, and yet this is more justice than working within the law ever would allow them. Mia also only gets Dahlia through pushing the law to it's breaking point, she was a step away from being disbarred. I feel like it's easy to see her as a strong believer in the law but if you really look at it, to her, the law is not sacred or worthy of much reverence, if something is unjust, to hell if it's legal, she will try and reach justice no matter what.

-Look I may be projecting my woke onto the game a little bit but I can't help but feel the routine misogyny Mia faces in both the cases we play as her in T&T is more than just "a product of it's time" and more showing misogyny as an extension of the system being rigged against her.

Loooong post but there's so much going on with Mia.

[botanicsoul]

Behind the Screen

Pro Hero | Bakugou Katsuki x (fem) Blogger Reader | Aged Up

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧. 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

—

You post it as a joke. Kind of.

It’s late, and you’re curled up in bed with your fanfic draft open and half a Twix in your mouth. Your followers are going wild in the replies, and you’re riding the high of being the “unofficial Dynamight smut queen” of the timeline. You’ve been known for your over-the-top thirst tweets, but this one? This one’s feral.

—

@/blastyourbackout

“Dynamight wouldn’t even take the suit off. He’d fuck you with the gauntlets still on, breathing heavy through gritted teeth, all ‘Shut up and take it—this is what you wanted, right?’”

—

You toss your phone. That’s enough unhinged behavior for the night. Until the morning comes—and you wake up to hell.

Your tweet is trending. His name is trending. People are tagging him.

—

“this is NASTY and i love it.”

“@Dynamightofficial please read this and confirm or deny.”

“If Dynamight didn’t do this, I’d be shocked.”

“SOMEONE CHECK ON HIM”

“@Dynamightofficial thoughts??”

Then it happens.

—

@Dynamightofficial :

“Who tf is behind this account.”

“If you’re gonna talk like that, be brave enough to show your face.”

You nearly throw up. Your DMs? Melted. And sitting right at the top.

[Private Message – @Dynamightofficial]

“You write a lotta shit for someone who hides behind a screen.”

“You really think I’d leave the fuckin’ suit on?”

“Show me your face if you’re gonna say it like you know me.”

Your heart is pounding. And you shouldn’t. But you do. You send a selfie. Just a soft one. T-shirt, messy hair, bare face. You look like someone who absolutely shouldn’t be writing the filth he just read.

There’s a long pause.

He starts to finally type:

“…fuck.”

“You’re cute.”

“like super fuckin’ cute”

“You don’t look like someone who says I’d blow your back out against a fuckin’ window.”

You:

“I mean… would you?”

Him:

“You really wanna know?”

“You clearly think you know it all, writing the way you do.”

“So what—wanna let me show you what it’s really like?”

You pause. Breathless. Fingers trembling.

“Yes.”

⸻

A few days later, the meet-up actually happened.

You gave him your address—half-joking, half-panicking when he immediately replied with a thumbs up and a “Bet.”

You spent the next two days spiraling.

Cleaned every inch of your apartment. Shaved, exfoliated, moisturized places you didn’t even know needed it. Practiced how you’d open the door without looking like you were seconds from passing out. Told yourself it was just casual, just fun, just… whatever. you totally weren’t about to get fucked dumb by your fav pro that you write smut about.

Except it wasn’t. Because now. He’s at your door.

And he’s in the fucking suit.

Mask off. Jaw set. Gloves still on. That big, broad chest rising and falling.

Black and orange, thick with tension and sweat and that sharp smoky scent that clings to him after a patrol. His hair’s a mess. One gauntlet is attached, the other dangling from his hip. And he’s just standing there—broad, massive, silent—like he owns the whole building.

You freeze. Your heart slams.

“…Hi,” you manage to say.

His eyes drag over you—down your legs, over the shorts you probably could’ve made smaller and the tank top that wasn’t technically meant to be seductive, but absolutely became that under stress.

“Damn,” he mutters. “You look even better when you’re nervous.”

You try to laugh but it comes out breathless. “You really wore the suit?”

“uuuh yeah? did you think I was gonna show up here in a hoodie after all the shit you wrote about this thing?” He steps closer. “Thought I’d let you see it up close before I ruined your sheets.”

Your knees go weak.

You try to respond—something witty, something smug—but your words get caught somewhere between your throat and the fact that he’s already inside. Pushing the door shut behind him. Glancing around like he’s checking for cameras, or exits, or maybe just where he’s gonna lay you out first.

“You ready?” he asks, voice low. Rough. Already undoing the gauntlet from his wrist with one hand, tossing it aside.

You nod, dazed. “Yeah.”

He smirks—steps in closer until you’re backed up against the nearest wall, breath catching.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’ve been losing sleep over the way you said I’d fuck you in this suit.”

You stare up at him, completely wrecked just by his presence, and whisper, “Was I right about some of this stuff I wrote?”

He dips his head down, lips brushing yours—barely.

“I’m here to fact check it.” he growls.

You shudder.

He pulls back just enough to smirk, eyes dragging down your body like he’s mentally ripping off every layer.

He hasn’t even touched you properly yet—but your back’s against your door, your legs are trembling, and Bakugou’s towering over you like he’s already won.

“That tweet got me thinkin’ about you all fuckin’ day, baby. Let’s see if you write better when you’re sore.”

His hero suit creaks with every breath. Heavy-duty gauntlets still locked around his wrists. His undersuit clings to him, black and orange and unforgiving across his chest, his thighs—everything.

“You scared?” he asks, voice low. His hand comes up—gloved fingers trailing under your jaw, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Or just nervous I’m actually gonna live up to that filthy little imagination of yours?”

Your breath catches.

“…both.”

He smirks. Then his mouth is on yours.

It’s not sweet. It’s not careful. It’s everything you wrote about—demanding, rough, obsessed. He kisses like a man starved. Like he’s been reading your tweets on loop.

And god, when his hand slides down your waist—those big gloved fingers gripping your ass, hoisting you up—your back hits the wall and you let out a soft, stunned whimper.

“That the sound you make when you’re not behind a screen?” he growls, lips dragging along your neck. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re even better in person.”

You try to answer, but he’s already slipping one hand between your thighs, dragging his knuckles over your heat—still covered by your shorts.

“Wrote that I’d be mean with it,” he murmurs. “That I’d tease you. Make you beg.”

His gloved finger presses just right over the damp spot in your underwear.

“So beg.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders. You feel insane.

“P-Please.”

He groans. “That all I get after all those filthy paragraphs?”

“Dynamight—”

His eyes flash. “Katsuki.”

You pant, skin burning.

“Please, Katsuki.”

“Atta fuckin’ girl.”

He carries you to your room practically kicking the damn door down. Your back hits the mattress, but he doesn’t follow right away. He stands at the edge of the bed, breathing heavy, gaze dark and hungry.

His suit’s half-unzipped now—exposing his chest, glistening with sweat and tension—but everything else stays on. That thick black material clings to his arms and thighs like sin. The gauntlets drop to the floor with a heavy thud, but the gloves? Still on. And he flexes his fingers slow—just to watch you squirm.

“You’re fuckin’ dangerous,” he mutters, eyes dragging over your body like he’s trying to memorize it. “Sittin’ there on your little blog, makin’ people think you’ve got me figured out.”

Your thighs squeeze together. He notices. Smirks. “Lemme show you how right you were.”

He crawls over you like a storm. Muscles shifting under his suit, voice dipping low, filthy, as he shoves your shirt up, lips ghosting over your stomach.

You arch when his teeth graze your hip. “Katsuki—”

“That’s right, baby,” he mutters, pulling your shorts off slow. “Say my name when you write about this later too.”

He pushes your thighs open, and he goes down. Tongue eager. Desperate. He eats you out like he’s proving a point—like he’s got something to prove to every single tweet you’ve ever posted. Groaning into you, gripping your thighs tight like he wants to leave handprints. You’re moaning, shaking, gripping the sheets, and he’s just eating it up—literally.

He comes up with his mouth slick and eyes wild. “Not even close to done with you.” And he isn’t.

He flips you. Presses you into the mattress. One hand on your hip, the other grabbing your wrist and dragging it up the bed.

“Hold that headboard, princess.” You feel him line up—still in the damn suit—and your breath catches as he sinks in.

Slow. Deep. Bruising.

“Fuck,” he hisses, jaw clenched. “You feel like I imagined. So fuckin’ tight, so wet—shit.”

You cry out. He starts moving. Harder. Deeper.

Every stroke is a claim. His hand slides down your back, then back up to wrap around your throat—not choking, just holding. Just letting you feel it.

“Write about this next time” he growls into your ear. “Write about about me makin’ you cum multiple fuckin’ times.”

You whimper—high, breathy, wrecked.

“That’s right. Take it. You wanted this.”

“I did,” you gasp. “I wanted you—”

“You fuckin’ got me now.”

When you fall apart—completely, wildly, back-arching and moaning his name like a prayer—he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow.

Because he’s obsessed now. Addicted.

Your thighs are trembling. Your voice is hoarse. Your sheets are a mess—twisted, damp, clinging to your skin like the heat of him isn’t already enough.

He’s still going.

“One more,” he grits out, thrusts snapping into you slow and deep. “C’mon, baby—just one more for me.”

You’re barely hanging on—nails dragging helplessly down his back, vision blurry with overstimulation, body trembling under him as he rocks into you, all tight grunts and low, broken groans.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temples. “Takin’ me so good—fuck—you feel like you were made for me.”

You moan, shattered.

He growls, fucks you harder, chasing his release like a wildfire. And when he finally gets there—when you clench around him, gasping out his name in a breathless sob— He snaps.

“Knew it,” he groans, hips stuttering. “Knew I’d fill this pussy the second I saw you.” oh, and he does. Deep. Warm. Heavy. Flooding you.

He keeps moving—shallow, deep rolls—just to push it in. Just to feel it drip. Just to make it last. His head drops to your shoulder, lips brushing your skin.

You barely register him pulling out until you feel it—messy, hot, dripping down your thighs.

“fuuuck you’re beautiful” he murmurs smirking down at you. Wrecked, ruined, glowing. He lays down beside you, just looking at you like you were a fucking trophy.

He then reaches for his phone.

—

[New Tweet – @Dynamightofficial]

“Just fact-checked one of your little fantasy tweets. 11/10 accuracy. Would reread. Would re-enact.”

—

You see what’s he doing and it snaps you out your daze, your eyes go wide. “You didn’t—!”

“Too late,” he shrugs. “Let ‘em guess which one it was.”

You grabbed your phone just as quick to quote it.

—

[New Tweet – @blastyourbackout]

“Just know the gloves stayed on.”

—

The internet breaks.

You can barely feel your legs.

And Katsuki Bakugou? THE pro hero Dynamight?

He’s already rolling over, tugging you to his chest, muttering in your ear, “Hope you’re not tired, princess. I’ve got a lot more tweets to prove right.”

[luv-lock]

ֹ ⊹ # TRASH BELONGS TO TRASH CAN .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Conner Kent x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It starts with panties.

Yeah.

Conner is that kind of guy.

It’s not romantic.

It’s not fate.

It’s not some world-shaking love story.

It’s a pair of stupid pink cotton panties peeking out when you bend over to tie your shoe outside a Metropolis strip mall.

That’s it.

He’s flying low, bored, looking for something—someone—to kill time with, when he sees you.

Barely a flash of pink lace and thigh, and something in his brain just short-circuits.

Like a dog catching a scent.

He drops out of the sky without even thinking.

You don’t see him.

You don’t even notice him.

You just stand up, brushing your skirt down, humming some silly, happy little song under your breath like you don't have a single brain cell to rub together.

And when you turn around—

Christ.

Your face.

Your stupid, perfect, sweet face.

Big wide eyes.

Soft mouth.

A face like a goddamn Disney princess, all sunshine and innocence and "golly gee whiz" plastered on you like you stepped straight out of a coloring book.

He stares.

Like a moron.

Mouth slightly open, sunglasses slipping down his nose.

You blink up at him, confused but not scared, tilting your head like a puppy.

"Hi!" you say brightly, like he's not the one who just fell out of the sky like a lunatic.

Conner almost laughs.

Almost feels sorry for you.

You're obviously dumb as a bag of rocks.

Sweet and soft and easy to rip apart.

Like tissue paper.

Pathetic.

Perfect.

God, you’re exactly his type.

Short skirt. Tight top. Pretty tits. Even prettier lips.

The kind of girl who’s either too good for him or stupid enough to fall for the first smile.

And God, he wanted to fuck you.

Not love you.

Not know you.

Just fuck you.

Another notch on the belt. Another story to brag about to Bart or Tim or whoever the hell cared.

Because that’s what Conner did—

Pretend he was the king of the world so nobody noticed he felt like garbage underneath.

Trash.

He always felt like trash.

You just happened to look like heaven.

You end up talking.

Well, you talk. He mostly stares at your mouth and imagines your panties again.

You tell him your name.

You tell him you're new to the city.

You ask him if he wants to be friends.

Friends.

Nobody ever asks him that.

Not without wanting something.

Not without the cold gleam of "what can you do for me?" behind their eyes.

But yours—

Yours are so soft.

So fucking trusting.

Like you really think people are good.

It’s laughable.

It's pathetic.

It makes him want to punch a wall and hold you under his jacket at the same time.

He plays it cool.

Shrugs, smirks, tosses some dumb line about "showing you around sometime."

You giggle.

Actually giggle.

Like a cartoon bunny.

He wants to fuck you stupid.

He wants to keep you on a leash.

He wants to smash your stupid, trusting heart into pieces.

But instead—

Instead he finds himself offering to fly you home.

You accept without blinking.

No fear.

No suspicion.

You just trust him.

Superboy.

The clone. The lab rat. The trash.

And somehow, it’s worse than if you hated him.

It spirals.

He doesn’t mean to get attached.

Really.

He tells himself it’s just a game.

Just a quick fuck.

Just another dumb girl who’ll cry when he forgets to call.

But then you're smiling at him.

Waving at him.

Bringing him stupid little homemade cookies wrapped in pink napkins because "you thought he might get hungry after patrol."

You don't ask him for favors.

You don't drool over him.

You don't flirt like the girls at the clubs.

You just exist.

Soft and warm and good.

So fucking good.

And it drives him insane.

He watches you when you sleep sometimes.

Just to make sure you’re safe, he tells himself.

He learns your routines.

The cafe at 9am. The bookstore at 2. Home by dark.

He memorizes your smell.

Sweet. Something like strawberries and chocolate.

He catches himself smiling at nothing sometimes, just thinking about you.

God, he's pathetic.

God, he doesn't care.

He thinks you’re the last pure thing he’ll ever touch.

He thinks you’re an angel who was dumb enough to fall into the mud with him.

It’s subtle, at first.

Like the way a vine wraps a tree—

Slow.

Gentle.

Inevitable.

Conner doesn’t notice when it happens.

He doesn’t notice how he stops spending nights with random girls.

Doesn’t notice how he starts flying lower, slower, in case he spots you in the crowd.

Doesn’t notice how the inside of his head starts filling up with your voice, your laugh, your tiny hands shoving a paper cup of hot chocolate at him like you’re offering him a crown.

It’s stupid.

It’s pathetic.

He knows it.

But when you smile at him, he feels—

God.

He feels good.

He feels real.

Like he’s not just a science project wearing skin.

You treat him like he's normal.

Like he's better than normal.

You look at him like he’s a superhero.

You look at him like you believe he's good.

It gets addictive.

You get addictive.

It creeps up on him during the little things.

He starts waiting outside your favorite cafe before you open the door.

He pretends it’s a coincidence. You pretend to believe him.

He starts asking if you like the way he styled his hair.

You tell him he looks "sooo handsome," and he practically preens.

He picks fights just to hear you fuss over him.

He lets villains punch him a little harder because he likes the way you patch him up after, scolding him with trembling hands.

He hates it when you frown.

He hates it even more when you go quiet.

The first time you don’t text him back, he almost levels an entire city block.

Not because he’s mad. Because he’s scared. Scared he did something wrong. Scared he lost you.

Because somewhere along the way, without him even noticing—

Your approval became his leash.

He doesn’t realize it yet.

He just knows he feels like a good boy when you smile.

And he’ll do anything to make you smile.

You’re careful.

You’re so, so careful.

You make him think it’s his idea.

You make him think he’s the one leading.

When you pout and ask for little things—

"Would you carry my groceries for me? You're sooo strong."

"Would you help me put up my bookshelf? I can't do it alone…"

—he practically falls over himself to please you.

When you laugh at his jokes—real, big, stupid laughs like you're absolutely delighted—

he feels like he could rip the sun out of the sky and gift it to you.

When you pat his head and call him "my hero"—

he fucking glows.

He thinks he’s protecting you.

He doesn’t realize he’s sinking into you.

Molding himself into whatever you want.

A dog with too many teeth and too much violence, just waiting for you to snap your fingers.

A broken, pretty boy who was just dying for someone to scratch behind his ears and say:

Good boy.

And the best part—

the part that keeps you warm at night, humming to yourself in the dark—

is that he still thinks you’re just a sweet little thing.

He still thinks you’re innocent.

He still thinks he’s the dangerous one.

Poor Conner.

Poor dumb puppy.

He has no idea the real monster is the one holding his leash.

Then come the tests.

Tiny. Harmless.

You don’t mean it, not really—

You just flirt a little.

Bat your lashes at the barista. Laugh a little too sweet at the grocery store clerk.

You even hug one of your classmates a second too long after class, right where you know Conner's flying overhead.

You peek from the corner of your eye and see him.

Standing across the street.

Fists clenched.

Eyes burning red for a heartbeat before he crushes it down.

Poor baby.

He doesn’t come over.

Doesn’t make a scene.

He just watches.

Takes the knife you're plunging in and buries it deeper in himself.

When you finally catch up with him later—acting all clueless, all bright-eyed and soft—you ask if he’s okay.

You look up at him with those stupid, glittering eyes like he’s your whole world.

Conner cracks.

Not in a big way.

Not yet.

Just a little.

His hands shake when he touches you.

He laughs a little too hard at your jokes.

He won't stop looking at your lips.

He clings.

You’re so nice to him.

You let him.

You lean into his touch.

You beam when he picks you up like you're made of spun sugar.

You whimper when you scrape your knee, and he nearly tears the concrete apart.

You make yourself so soft for him.

So small.

You know exactly how to slip your hands around his throat and make him say thank you.

It festers inside him.

A need.

A sickness.

He’s never needed anyone before.

Not really.

Girls were just girls.

Things he touched and threw away.

He was trash. He knew it.

But you—

You feel like home.

When you call him your "best friend," he swears the world stops spinning.

When you slip your little hand into his big, calloused one—smiling up at him like he's your knight—

he thinks maybe he can be someone.

Maybe he deserves you.

Maybe he’s worthy.

You watch it happen.

Watch him rot for you.

Bloom like some ugly, beautiful weed, all tangled and desperate.

You know the cracks in his armor now.

You know he wants to be loved.

Wants to be wanted.

And you know you’re the only thing keeping him together.

You turn the screws.

You start making sad little comments.

"I bet you’ll get tired of me someday… everyone does."

"I know you’ll leave me too. It’s okay. I’m used to it."

"I don’t really matter, right? I mean, you're Superboy. you have real friends."

Conner loses it every time.

"No! I won't!"

"I swear— I swear to God, I’m not leaving you!"

"You’re all I want— all I need— please don’t say that—"

He’s practically begging.

Choking on it.

You hide your smile in his shoulder when he hugs you too tight, like you might vanish if he lets go.

Poor baby.

Poor broken boy.

You’re poisoning him with kindness.

Feeding him a steady diet of guilt, fear, and worship.

And he’s drinking it down like salvation.

Sometimes you catch him just staring at you.

Like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face.

Like he’s trying to brand you into his brain.

Sometimes you pretend not to notice.

Sometimes you catch his gaze and tilt your head, all concerned and soft:

"Are you okay, Conner?"

And he always looks away, ashamed, ears burning.

He mutters something about you being beautiful.

About you being the only good thing he’s ever had.

You are not good. You never were. But you smile and kiss his knuckles like he’s your hero anyway.

You’re rotting together.

You’re just smart enough to know it.

You’re pulling him down into the same darkness that hollowed you out years ago.

Making him a little sicker, a little sweeter, a little more yours every day.

It’s not fast.

It’s not violent.

It’s slow.

Tender.

Patient.

Like two animals bleeding out together in a beautiful, quiet room.

And when he finally realizes it—

when he finally sees that he can't breathe without you—

it’ll already be too late.

You’ll already have your leash tied around his throat.

And he’ll be smiling through the choke.

It starts stupidly.

A guy you barely know—some loudmouth from your psych class—tells you you’re “too pretty to be walking home alone.”

Offers you a ride.

Winks at you.

It’s harmless.

A mosquito buzzing in your ears.

You giggle, play dumb, say "thank you."

Smile sweet and empty.

Because you know he’s there.

You know Conner is there.

Watching.

You always know.

You feel the air shift before you even see him.

Conner’s behind you the next second, tall and tense, his whole body coiled tight like a spring about to snap.

He doesn’t touch you.

He doesn’t say anything.

But the look he gives the guy—

the sheer, crushing rage behind it—

it’s enough.

The guy blanches.

Mumbles something about being late.

Slinks away like a kicked dog.

You stand there.

Batting your lashes.

Feigned confusion painting your face.

"Conner?" you whisper, small and sweet, reaching up to touch his arm.

"What's wrong?"

He looks down at you—jaw flexing, fists curling and uncurling at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

You can feel the way he’s trembling.

Not fear.

Not sadness.

Something worse.

Something primal.

"Don’t," he grinds out. His voice rough. Raw. "Don’t ever smile at guys like that."

Your breath hitches.

Soft. Perfect. Vulnerable.

"I—I didn’t mean to upset you," you whisper.

You sound like you're about to cry.

You even let your bottom lip tremble.

And that's it.

That’s what breaks him.

Conner’s hands snap out—

one gripping your waist, the other fisting into your hair—

and he drags you into him like he’s drowning.

The kiss he slams in your lips isn’t sweet.

It isn’t careful.

It’s filthy.

Starving.

Possessive.

Like he’s trying to mark you.

Bite you.

Make you bleed love for him.

He kisses you like he hates you.

Like you’ve ruined him.

And you—

you kiss him back.

Soft and syrupy at first.

Little whimpers into his mouth.

Clutching at his shirt like you don’t know how to breathe without him.

You give him everything.

Everything he wants—

everything he’s too scared to ask for.

You let him take.

Let him devour.

When he finally pulls back, you're both panting.

Your lips are swollen, your eyes big and glassy.

Conner’s chest heaves like he just fought a war.

His pupils are blown wide—so dark you can barely see the blue anymore.

He looks wrecked.

Broken open.

He stares at you like you hung the stars just to have something pretty to look at while you destroyed him.

"I—"

He chokes on it.

The words are too big, too much.

You reach up.

Cup his stupid, handsome face in your gentle hands.

Smile that soft, doomed smile you know he can’t survive.

"It’s okay," you whisper.

"I like you too, Conner."

You don't.

You never did. Not really.

Not the way that he loves you.

But he doesn’t know that.

And he never will.

Because he falls to his knees right there.

Buries his face against your stomach like a man praying to a god that doesn’t hear him.

And you—

you just thread your fingers through his hair, humming sweetly.

Like a mother comforting her sick little boy.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[supern4turelle]

older boyfriend!dean x reader (mdni, +18)

warnings/tags: sweet dean! fluff! ure his soft spot <3, age gap, smut, oral (f & m rec), p in v, unprotected, dom!dean, cumplay, a lot of dirty talking!

older boyfriend!dean who's extra protective of you. if you think he's over protective of his little brother, oh boy. you're his baby, and he'll never let anything happen to you.

older boyfriend!dean who tries to include you in cases/missions even if he doesn't allow you to hunt with them. he knows you like to feel part of it so — you help with other things be it researching, etc.

older boyfriend!dean who still teaches you how to load up & fire different types of guns for safety purposes, and to learn how to defend yourself in situations he hopes will never happen.

older boyfriend!dean who only ever sets his eyes on you. ever since he saw you, other women were practically non-existent; invisible. it's got sam shocked every time a gorgeous woman interacts with them and dean is genuinely nonchalant.

older boyfriend!dean who sits through your fave films with you, lets you take aux when taking a road trip. (which does not sit well with sam) & he's in love with the way you talk about things you love!!!

older boyfriend!dean who's sure you're the only definition of an angel. the realest ever than all those he's ever met. he can't help but gawk at you with adoration and awe every time he's with you.

"dean! look at the road!" you yell out at your boyfriend driving.

instead of looking front he's too busy being captivated by the way the sun casts light onto your face in the impala.

he just laughs, hands reaching up from your thigh to caress your cheek to your chin.

"can't help it baby, s'too hard to focus on driving with you beside me,"

older boyfriend!dean who hates sappy shit but hell, he'd do anything you ask him to. moments where he used to cringe at; he finds himself happy to be going through with you.

you wanna put couple plushies to decorate the impala? done!

you wanna have his and hers toothbrush? done!

you wanna talk about wedding plans? he's got the meal course plan and honeymoon planned down to the T. so sure that he wants to spend forever with you.

older boyfriend!dean is tough on people around him, but he could never raise his voice at you & could never stay mad at you. you're the only person at the receiving end of his soft side.

"dean; stop raising your voice at him, you're scaring me too," you raise your eyebrows, cheeks puffing out.

dean looks over, hands rubbing frustratingly over his stubble.

"baby, you're supposed to be on my side!" he pouts, and sam is bewildered.

older boyfriend!dean who learns how to embrace vulnerability with you. talks to you about his emotions and learns how to find ways to cope other than his trusty bottle of whiskey.

nsfw! ver

older boyfriend!dean who loves taking care of his girl in all ways he can.

older boyfriend!dean who loves going down on you. loves gripping onto your thighs as he looks up at you, gauging every bit of your reaction as he licks a stripe up your folds. groans when he gets a taste

he gets right into it, letting his tongue push through those gummy walls of yours, flicking around. tall nose of his pressing onto your swollen clit.

brings up his tongue to swirl around and play with that bud, while his fingers start to make their way into your cunt. he starts slow, pumping one finger before two.

you moan out, whining out his name as his tongue and fingers worked in tandem, your cunt gushing out juices and pulsing around his fingers.

"dean, oh my god,"

"yeah? feels good baby?" he groans. "you taste so fuckin' good, pretty cunt so tight 'round these fingers huh?"

you cry out his name til he brings you to a high, your orgasm washing over you, back arching as you clench around his fingers; eyes seeing white.

older boyfriend!dean who loves when you go down on him. holds your head down when you're on your knees. occasionally likes to hold your hair in a ponytail.

"that's my good girl. taking all of it like a goddamn champ huh?"

"yeah that's it, that's it. fuck. so pretty when you're so full of my cock,"

older boyfriend!dean who loves to have you whiny and desperate for him. he'll have you sat on his lap, fully clothed while you're naked.

"come on baby, show me how much you want it yeah?"

he plays with your tits, hands messily trying to grab on to every inch of you he can. you love to give him a show, arching your back and grinding down on his lap, friction from his pants making you cry out his name.

"how cute, i love when you're like this babe,"

you whine, "please," but he's cruel. he sits back with his arms behind him, "nah baby, i think you're doing a hell of a job — cum for me like this,"

he gives in though, rubbing your sensitive nipples while roughly playing with your tits, knowing it'll push you over the cliff.

"fuck, dean. i'm there i'm there — i'm gonna cum, gonna cum for you," you cry out, voice cracking while at a higher pitch before you scream out his name, cunt pulsing as a gracious amount of juices pump out.

"that's a good girl. look at you — so pretty and capable hm?"

older boyfriend!dean who loves when you take charge occasionally too.

you always take the opportunity to tease him, having him under you as you slowly unbutton his shirt, nails playing around with his chest and abdomen. all while your hips start to slowly rock against his groin.

when his hands approach, you take his wrists and slam it above him. "no touching, baby," you smirk, knowing how obedient he is when he wants to be.

he bites his lip, nodding as he lays back, letting you continue. his eyes hazy and hooded as he watches you take off his pants, teasing around his leaking slit and licking around the red and swollen tip.

"let me — let me fuck you baby — need to touch you, feel you," he groans, "fuck" you suck harshly, hands squeezing his balls lightly.

"we go at my pace today baby,"

older boyfriend!dean loves using the mirror. be it the standing mirror at the corner of your room or the in the toilet.

in the comfort of your room, he has you on your knees, hands clutching onto the sheets while your back is arched so prettily for him. he loves to look at the way your face scrunches when he smacks your ass while inching his huge cock inside of you.

he moans, "pretty cunt takes me in so fucking good," he stares at you through the mirror, increasing his pace. enjoying how fucked up you look as he pumps his cock in and out of you at an unforgiving pace.

when he's feeling needy, he'll take you on the toilet's counter. one hand bruising your hip as he inserts his cock from behind, the other across your shoulder to hold you in place. his eyes never leaving yours the whole time as he whispers filthy words in your ear.

"looking so pretty out there i just had to remind you who you belong to,"

"yeah you feel that? that's me marking you up as mine baby," he groans

"wanna be loud and let 'em hear? hm? naughty girl, you want all of 'em to know who's making you cry?"

"gonna cum a thick fucking load into you, and you're gonna keep it in yeah? tuck it in with that panty of yours and walk around the whole day with it — fuck — inside you,"

"and when we're back home i'm gonna fuck it in more deeply inside of you — fuck baby you like that huh, clenching me so fucking tight,"

"cum with me, come on baby, cum,"

older boyfriend!dean who pushes his cum back into your slippery cunt, making you spend the whole day with soaked panties and feeling smug that his cum stench is probably following you every where you go, marking you up.

A/N: hope you guys liked this first piece of work i've put out! will be working on the other requests now too! feel free to like/comment or reblog if you liked it ⭐️ sending love n kisses 🫧

[bbokicidal]

[SKZ] Being their stylist

Could you imagine? God, I'd die.

Notes: I've heard rumor that you've gotta be married to be an idol stylist because,, obviously they don't want dating shit happening but we are DISREGARDING THAT HERE. i couldn't find the recolored vers. of seungmin & innie so... oh well ig. Genre: Fluff Pairing: OT8 x NB!Reader Warnings: Extra fluffy cuteness I guess

Chan:

Sits so patiently and tells you to take your time

You're his favorite stylist. He loves when you're the one who does his makeup so sometimes he requests specifically you

You're just so gentle with him and it feels like he's really being pampered

He loves the way you make his eyes so smokey for stage looks

Keeps his posture good in an effort to impress you

Does that little :] face with his eyes closed because you're just so pleasant to him

Minho:

Falls asleep every time you do his hair

You tell him to keep his head up only to figure out he's sleeping so soundly and you just don't have the heart to wake him when he's on such a tight schedule lately

Jeongin has a LOT of pictures of you bending at funny angles to style Minho's hair while his head is tipped back or to the side

(And one of you pretending to kiss his cheek as he's mid-waking up)

He wakes up feeling so pretty every time you style him

Sleeps with his mouth open like an idiot (me too)

Changbin:

Likes to make you laugh while you style him in outfits

He poses each time you put him in a new jacket and maybe it's just an excuse to flex in front of you oops who said that

He's giggling right alongside you until he accidentally rips a shirt open

The buttons fly right off and he screams, covering his bare chest as you burst into laughter at how silly he sounded and how he scrambled to cover himself up

You get him a new shirt but he's extra careful after that and his ears are beet red

He'll never forgive himself for embarrassing himself in front of you

But he's also an idiot and will forget about it, and probably does it again the next day because he can't help himself

Hyunjin:

Likes to ask what you're doing while you do it

Has not a CLUE what you're talking about when it comes to makeup but listens intently anyways because it's interesting

Any form of art is interesting to him and that includes makeup !

His brows furrow and he nods and he stares at you while you talk which can sometimes be intimidating

Also kind of sucks at sitting through makeup because he's so talkative with the boys

He's also very loud but he tones it down when he talks to you and uses a softer voice with you

Is very happy to listen to you explain makeup to him but also ,,, tell him what contour is again?

Jisung:

He likes to give you complete freedom when it comes to his outfits

Put whatever you want on him; mens, womens, any clothing you think would look good

You were the one who put him in that grey cropped long sleeve a while ago and people went CRAZY so since then he's trusted you with everything

He loves the outfits you make!!

And the ones you wear because he totally checks you out ALL the damn time!!

Sometimes he even asks if he can take pieces home so he can incorporate them into his daily wear and if he does, he tags you in his insta pics - to which you have to tell him 'I didn't make this, tag the brand!!!' and he just laughs

Felix:

Please tell him makeup tips, he's so curious and he wants to start doing his own makeup too

Sometimes he does, for airports and stuff. But that's just a cushion and some powder

Tell him what color eyeshadows look pretty with his eyes, tell him how blush placement changes the shape of his face and the tone of his look

He's going to be asking questions and, if he has access to one, looking at the details up close in a handheld mirror he keeps hold of

It's intimidating to be honest but he's so smiley and chatty with you that your nerves fade away pretty quickly

He also just thinks you're really really gorgeous so he might use it as an excuse to look up at you more. He's examining the makeup you're wearing, that's all !!

Seungmin:

He's got this horrible habit of staring at you through the mirror while you do his hair

He loves the haircut, don't get him wrong, but it looks like he's feeling everything BUT that because of the way he sort of glares

Well - not glares. He just has this RBF that is untouched by anyone else in the world

If you look at him, he looks away and scrolls on his phone, but shortly after he's back to staring

You're just really attractive is all. And he likes your hair, too - so maybe some day he'll take inspiration from that if you allow him

Also the type to fall asleep while you cut his hair because the spray bottle and little scissor cutting sounds are just so soothing

Jeongin:

Is very compliant when you do his makeup

He sits still, he's patient, he only turns his head away when he knows you're changing something up on the table

He keeps his head up and knows when to close his eyes, when to look up, when to part his lips for balm and tint

Very well behaved, one might say

But it's because when you're doing the other's makeup, he's paying close attention. He's always watching you and trying to find ways to impress you without actually making it obvious that that's what he's trying to do

He starts bringing you your favorite snack because he notices it sitting on your makeup table while on tour

He likes to talk to you while you do his makeup but he's a little bit shy about it - he's not openly chatty like Felix or Hyunin

And the day he calls you his favorite stylist you swear your heart almost explodes

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna @skzophreniic

@silly250

[alagaisia]

Also, your voting registration is public. In states where you register for a particular party, this is also public information. Also, if you tell someone canvassing for a candidate who you plan to vote for, this will often be noted in a database accessible at the very least by that candidate’s campaign team, but quite possibly passed on to other campaigns.

None of this is illegal. Obviously it can be annoying (wish to g-d that telling one text bank volunteer that I’m voting for a socialist-leaning candidate in one race would get me off of every automated text list for moderate dems in every race forever, but alas), but a canvasser coming to your door who might have or seem to have information about your political leanings or voting history is not breaking any laws, your Secret Ballot is absolutely still secret, they only know information that is either publicly available or that you have chosen to reveal.

(Ideally some of this voter information is used by campaigns to avoid bothering (or wasting time on) voters who are not likely to be interested in what their candidate has to offer, but it’s not a perfect system, and the person knocking on your door this week for your city council race has no way of knowing that you already shouted at the state senate canvasser from the week before.)

I’ve been a canvasser. It’s absolutely not a problem to move on from someone who lets you know they aren’t interested (however rudely they might do so), but sometimes when you get yelled at it’s from someone who is clearly upset because they are afraid that their privacy has been violated. It’s a reasonable thing to worry about! We live in an age with tons of surveillance, and a lot of people have a lot of fear when an institution they’ve placed trust in doesn’t seem to be behaving the way they expected it to.

Of course, in the moment and while being the trigger for that fear is not a great time to correct those people, so we would always just apologize and move on. But if you’re one of those people who might worry about that kind of thing, please rest assured that there is literally no way to tell what ballot belongs to who once it is submitted. Nobody has access to that information because it does not exist. But there is other information that people do have access to, and it’s helpful to know ahead of time what that is so you’re not caught off guard.

Federal election in six days guys. Time to actually look up the sixteen billion tiny parties and figure out which ones are white power christofascists employed by billionaire mining magnates and which ones aren't.

[kekewrites]

Tw. dark content, noncon, obsession, toxic, possessiveness, abandonment issues, sloppy blowjob, throat fucking, manipulation, size kink, overstimulation, name calling (cock-sleeve/warmer/bitch), multiple creampies, cunnilingus, slapping (baby slap though), baby-trapping, angst(?), coercion, dead dove do not eat

***

Thinking about being the manager of a yandere!Idol

You found him wandering in the streets, empty eyes and blank expression on his pretty face. If you didn't look hard you might've missed his tall figure. Being a newbie, you were finding it hard to recruit people but as you were about to go home, you caught sight of his attractive yet hopeless face.

The first time you approach him, he was wary and suspicious of you. Naturally so. But you persevere, introducing yourself as an agent recruiting handsome guys like him in the streets for a chance to become a trainee and become an idol.

"Fuck off. Scram."

That was the first words he said. Harsh. But he was all bark and no bite, like a puppy being defensive. After scuffling for a few minutes you managed to give him your card and phone number, convincing him to at least try.

Then a week later, he called and said yes. His voice was low, hesitant—like he didn’t fully believe in what he was doing, but was too tired of the streets to keep saying no.

You met up with him that same evening, in the same place you first found him. He looked cleaner, but still lost. You took him in without question, gave him food, a place to sleep, and most importantly, a reason to wake up.

For the first few days, he barely spoke. He just slept, ate, and stared at the ceiling like he was trying to remember who he was. You didn’t push. You just stayed nearby, gave him space, but made sure he knew, he wasn’t alone anymore.

Weeks turned into months. Slowly, he started coming back to life. You took care of him, through the bad days when he’d lock himself in his room, through the training sessions where he’d collapse from pushing too hard, through the nights he’d wake up in a cold sweat and pretend he was fine.

And you were always there. With water, with snacks, with a shoulder to lean on.

You watched him grow. From that broken boy on the street into someone who sang with soul, danced with fire, and spoke to crowds with a confidence he never had before.

He became an idol. And every time he stood under the lights, every time fans screamed his name, he always looked for you in the crowd.

Because you didn’t just recruit him.

You saved him.

And that’s when it went wrong.

At first, it was subtle. His smiles came more often when you were around, his tone soft and sugary. He’d cling to your side during breaks, crack jokes, brush your hair out of your face with that charming little smirk. You thought maybe he was just grateful, maybe he was trying to show affection in his own awkward way. After all, he’d been through a lot.

But then, it turned into something else.

He started showing up unannounced. Hovering around your office when he had no schedule. Getting visibly annoyed when you spoke too long with other trainees or staff. The sweet words never stopped, but they started feeling… off. Like they were laced with something heavier. Something darker.

The possessiveness crept in like a slow poison. At meetings, he’d glare at anyone who tried to sit next to you. He'd interrupt your conversations, redirect your attention, cut in with sharp remarks masked as jokes.

You tried to keep it professional, gently reminding him of boundaries, of roles, but he didn't like that.

"Why are you always talking to him?"

"Do you really need to be with them all the time?"

"I'm the reason you’re even doing well now, aren't I?"

And you saw it, in the way other staff avoided him, how they started whispering when he walked by. He was getting harder to work with. More demanding. More unpredictable.

But in front of cameras? He was perfect. The golden boy. Smiling, dazzling, every fan’s dream. But behind the scenes… the boy you once saved was slowly becoming someone else. Or maybe this was who he had been all along, buried beneath the brokenness.

And now, you weren’t sure if you had saved him…

Or created something you couldn’t control.

As his fame skyrocketed, managing him became nearly impossible.

He was everywhere, magazine covers, variety shows, drama cameos. His schedule was packed from sunrise to well past midnight, and you were running yourself ragged trying to keep up. But more than the logistics, it was him. His moods became harder to predict. Some days he was gentle, clinging to you like he used to when he was scared. Other days, he’d snap, throw things, or go cold for no reason.

You were still new to the game. Everyone could see you were trying your best, but it wasn’t enough, not for the industry, and definitely not for him.

The company made the call.

“We think it’s best to assign him a senior manager. Someone with more experience managing top-tier idols.”

They dressed it up as a strategic decision. And honestly? You agreed. Things had gotten too messy. Your once-close relationship had turned into something twisted, confusing, and emotionally draining. You told yourself it was for his own good, that maybe distance would help him reset.

“I’ll still be around,” you told him, forcing a smile. “But someone else will be taking care of your day-to-day.”

He stared at you. Didn’t say anything for a long while. Just stared.

Then, softly, too softly, he said, “You’re leaving me.”

You shook your head. “No. I’m just stepping back. This is better for you. For both of us.”

But he didn’t believe you. You could see it in his eyes. Something in him snapped that day, not outwardly, not immediately but you felt it. Like a quiet storm gathering behind the clouds.

You thought giving him space would help him unwind. Hoping he can finally indulge in the fame he had, probably get a secret girlfriend

You didn’t expect it to be the thing that finally made him unravel.

***

After that, you finally left.

Your first real break in years. You cashed your paycheck, packed your bags, and disappeared for a while, far from rehearsals, stress, and the boy you once pulled off the streets. It felt… weird at first. Empty. But you told yourself it was needed. Long overdue.

You didn’t keep in touch. Not because you didn’t want to but because it felt like the cleanest way to let go. Still, everywhere you went, there he was. His face lit up LED billboards with that same smile the one from when he had just debuted. Back when things were simpler. Sweeter.

You’d stop and stare sometimes, stuck between nostalgia and guilt. Wondering where it all went wrong. Was it the fame? The past he never healed from? Or… was it you?

But even through the ache, you hoped he was doing better. Independent. Stable. Happy. He wouldn’t have a hard time finding a girlfriend, not with that face, that charm, and a fanbase that worshipped the ground he walked on.

You were walking home from a quiet dinner one night, city lights buzzing around you, when you passed another ad of him huge and perfect lighting up the side of a building. You paused without meaning to, lost in your head.

That’s when your phone rang.

You didn’t even check the caller ID. Just answered, out of habit.

“…Hello?”

Silence. Then a voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

“I missed you.”

You froze.

And then, a shadow stepped up behind you.

A cap pulled low, sunglasses covering most of his face but you knew. You felt it.

He leaned close, his breath warm against your ear.

“You think you’re gonna escape from me?”

Your heart dropped.

Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, firm, but not violent. Still, it sent your pulse racing. People were around, but no one looked twice. Just a couple under the lights.

“Wait—what are you doing?!” you whispered, trying to pull away.

He smiled, too calm, too practiced.

“Let’s talk. Somewhere quieter.”

***

He didn’t say a word as he dragged you through the maze of streets, only tightening his grip whenever you slowed down. You wanted to pull away, to yell, but something in his silence kept you frozen.

Eventually, he led you into a sleek hotel, one of those high-end discreet places celebrities used when they wanted to disappear. You were too stunned to resist, your mind racing with every step.

The elevator ride was silent.

He pushed the door open, guided you inside, and shut it behind you with a soft click. The curtains were drawn. City lights barely filtered through the fabric.

He finally let go of your wrist and walked ahead, pulling off his cap and tossing it to the couch, glasses following. You watched as he ran a hand through his hair, agitated, pacing the room like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I looked for you,” he finally said, voice tight. “Every day.”

You said nothing. He turned to face you.

“Why didn’t you call? Text? Anything?”

“It wasn’t my place anymore,” you answered softly. “We needed space. You needed to grow.”

He laughed bitterly. “Grow into what? A product?”

You flinched.

He stepped closer. “So that’s all it was, huh? A business deal? Get the pretty boy off the streets, polish him up, sell him to the world then cut him off once he gets too hard to manage?”

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. “It was never just business. I cared about you. But things got—”

“Complicated?” he snapped. “Yeah. You left when things got complicated.” His voice cracked, the anger just barely covering the hurt underneath. “So your life with me,” he said, slower this time, like each word hurt, “was really just a job?”

You took a step forward, your chest tightening.

“No. It was real. I-I just... you changed.”

“And you didn’t?” he whispered, eyes shining with something fragile anger, betrayal, desperation. “You walked away like I meant nothing.”

"You matter to me—"

“That’s what it felt like. You gave me everything, then took it all back the second I started needing you too much.”

“I didn’t take anything back,” you said, stepping back instinctively. “I was trying to help you. You were becoming... unstable. You needed someone more experienced. I just wanted you to be okay.”

His hands balled into fists.

“Okay? I was only okay when you were there. You made me." His voice rising with desperate anger. In a flash, he grabbed your wrists and dragged you towards the bed, forcing you down onto the plush mattress. Before you could react, he climbed on top of you, straddling your waist and pinning your arms above your head.

"G-Get off me..." you gasped, struggling beneath him. But he was too strong, too determined. His eyes burned into yours, wild and unpredictable.

"No," he growled, one hand still gripping your wrists while the other tugged at his belt. "You don't get to leave me. I won't let you."

He yanked his belt off and tossed it to the side. Then his fingers were at your pants, popping the button and dragging the zipper down. You tried to close your legs, but he forced them open, settling himself between your thighs.

"No, wait-" you started to protest, but he silenced you with a brutal kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, claiming you. His cock was hard and insistent against your stomach, and you knew he wouldn't stop.

"Please," you whimpered when he let you catch your breath. But it was a lie and you both knew it. He'd never listened to your pleas before.

"Shut up. Shut up... Shut up."

He grabbed your hair and pulled your head back, forcing you to look up at him as he undid his jeans and shoved them down just enough to get his cock out. It bobbed in front of you, angry and hungry and so fucking hard.

"Open," he commanded, his grip on your hair tightening painfully.

You hesitated, your lips pressed firmly together. He cursed and slapped your cheek lightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to sting.

"Open your fucking mouth," he snarled.

Tears stung your eyes at the sharp crack against your cheek, but you parted your lips just as he slammed forward, shoving his cock past your teeth and into your mouth. He didn't wait for you to adjust, just started fucking your face with hard, brutal thrusts.

Hurts... He's hurting me...

You choked on his cock, gagging and sputtering as he forced himself deeper and deeper down your throat. Saliva flooded your mouth and spilled out over your lips as he used your mouth like a fuckhole, grunting and groaning above you.

Why is he always... mad at me?

He fucked your face hard and fast, not caring about your comfort, only chasing his own pleasure. Tears streaked down your cheeks as you gagged and choked around him, your throat constricting around his pistoning cock.

He used your mouth ruthlessly, slamming into your throat and pulling out just long enough to catch his breath before plunging back in.

You knew he wouldn't stop until he was satisfied, until he'd emptied his balls down your throat. All you could do was try to breathe through your nose and pray it would be over quickly.

Mine. Mine.

He chanted it desperately under his breath, eyes glazed over with lust and obsession as he continued to viciously fuck your face. His hips slammed against your chin with each brutal thrust, your neck bulging obscenely each time he hilts inside you.

"Gonna...fucking...ruin this...cunt of a mouth..."

He was breathing hard, sweat dripping down his face, lost in his own manic pursuit of release. He needed this, needed to take back control, to reclaim you. You had left him, abandoned him, but now...now you were his again. His to use, his to ruin.

Always wanted...to fuck this...painted whore mouth...of yours...

He could feel his balls tightening, his climax building from the base of his spine. He was going to come, going to fill your belly with his seed, mark you from the inside out. You were going to choke on his cum, swallow it all, and maybe then you'd understand. Maybe then you'd realize you belonged to him, and him alone.

"Fuck! Take it all, you...cock sleeve!"

His fingers tightened in your hair, yanking your head back even further as his hips slammed forward one last time. He hilts inside you, his cock pulsing and jerking as he started to come, flooding your throat and mouth with string after string of hot, thick cum.

Manager... Manager. Manager. I fucking love you.

He groaned long and low, his eyes rolling back in his head as he emptied his balls inside you. His cock jerked and spasmed as he pumped load after load of semen directly into your stomach, your throat bulging obscenely.

"Fuck!" he roared, his voice echoing in the room. "Fuck, yes! Take it all, you fucking...cock warmer!"

He held you in place, forcing you to swallow every last drop, his grip on your hair almost painfully tight. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he pulled out, his softening cock slipping from your abused lips with a wet pop.

He collapsed next to you, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling. You turned your head to the side, gasping for air, your throat sore and raw. Tears and saliva and his own essence coated your face.

"I...I'm sorry," you whimpered, voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to leave you. Please...forgive me..."

He turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. But his eyes, ah his eyes...they were haunted, desperate. Lost.

"Forgive you?"

He reached out and grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, smearing his own cum back into your mouth. You flinched at the taste, but he held you firm.

Forgive you?

His other hand slid down your body, over your breasts, your stomach, to cup your mound possessively. He squeezed, fingers digging into your tender flesh.

"You'd have to do more than that if you want me to forgive you. I won't let you go again. Ever."

H-Huh?

Before you could catch your breath, he yank your hips up and pulls down your pants and panty. You felt the cool air on your exposed ass and pussy.

"No, wait-" you started to protest, trying to crawl away. But he grabbed your hips in a bruising grip, pulling you back onto his still-hard cock. He rubbed the thick head up and down your slit, coating it in a mix of your spit and his own cum.

"Shut up," he snarled, voice ragged with lust and desperation. "Stop fucking fighting me. Stop resisting!"

With one brutal thrust, he slammed forward, spearing your cunt on his throbbing shaft. You screamed at the sudden intrusion, your walls clamping down around him like a vice. He was too big, too hard, splitting you open.

Hurts... He's being... cruel.

"Fuck!" he roared, starting to piston in and out of your helpless pussy. "Take it! Take my fucking cock!"

He set a punishing pace, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Each thrust jolted you forward, your tits swaying beneath you. Tears poured down your face as he used you, brutalized you, his hips slamming against your ass with every stroke.

But then, he slowed. His grip gentled, fingers kneading your ass almost lovingly as he rolled his hips into yours. He leaned down, lips brushing the nape of your neck, breathing raggedly against your skin.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he murmured, voice hoarse. "So tight. Like you were made for me..."

He peppered kisses along your shoulder blades, his touch almost tender. You shuddered, confused, not understanding the sudden change. He rocked into you, each thrust measured, deliberate, like he was savoring the feeling of your tight cunt gripping his cock. Fuck, so fucking perfect.

"Manager... You're mine, ok? No one... No one can touch you but me!"

But just as suddenly, he changed again. His hips started moving faster, harder, the room echoing with the slap of skin and the creak of the mattress. He hooked an arm under your waist, hauling you back onto every stroke, forcing you to take every fucking inch.

"Yes, fuck!" he bellowed, sweat dripping onto your back. "Gonna...fucking ruin this pussy. Gonna make it mine."

He was panting harshly, his rhythm faltering. You could feel him growing even harder inside you, his cock throbbing erratically against your battered walls. You knew he was close, that he was going to come again.

But then he paused, buried deep inside you, cock pulsing urgently. He gripped your hips, fingers sinking into your skin hard enough to bruise.

"Gonna...fucking...knock you up," he growled. "Breed this cunt. Pump you full of my fucking seed."

You shook your head frantically, a strangled cry escaping your lips at the thought. "No! No, please...don't..."

He ignored you, starting to move again, thrusts growing more intense, more desperate. "Yes," he hissed. "Yes, gonna make you...mine. Gonna keep you...swollen with my child..."

His voice rose with each word, until he was nearly screaming. You could feel his cock jerk and twitch, his climax approaching. He was going to do it, going to come inside you, maybe even...

"Take it!" he roared. "Fucking take it, you bitch! Gonna...fucking...breed you!"

He slammed into you with a last, brutal thrust, his cock erupting deep inside your unprotected womb. You screamed as you felt the hot flood of his seed gushing into you, painting your insides with his come. He groaned long and low, body shuddering, emptying himself inside you.

He panted against your neck, sweat-soaked and sated.

"Manager... You won't be able to run away from me now."

You lay still beneath him, tears leaking from your eyes, a sense of dread washing over you.

He rolled you over, cradling you against his chest, your tear-stained face pressed to his sweat-slicked skin. His arms wrapped around you, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe.

Tilting your chin up, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart clench. Gone was the wild, crazed look from before. Now there was only a solemn, almost reverent expression on his handsome face.

"Manager, you're the only one for me," he murmured, voice low and intense. "My heart, my soul... it all belongs to you. Don't leave me again, alright? All the luxuries, all the fame and wealth... it's meaningless without you here with me."

His thumb brushed over your cheek, catching the tears that still leaked from the corners of your eyes. He leaned in closer, forehead pressed against yours, breath mingling with your own.

You want to refuse. Want to push him away, but you're eyes gets blurry with tears, getting overwhelmed. Why you?

He pressed open-mouthed kisses along your neck, your shoulder, your spine, worshipping every inch of your skin like the devoted disciple he claimed to be. Tears leaked from your eyes at the tenderness of his touches, the heartfelt sincerity in his tone.

It's like the old him...

But even as you lost yourself in the gentle glide of his lips, you could feel the desperation radiating off him in waves. This calm, this tenderness...it was a fragile thing.

He's always been such a fragile boy.

His hands roamed your body with a hunger that was almost painful in its intensity. He was trying to memorize you, to burn every dip and curve into his mind.

He hitched your leg up over his hip, opening you to him. You could feel his cock, already hard and ready again, nudging against your thigh, making you freeze.

He... He's still ready?

He was insatiable, this man. He would never be satisfied, would never have enough of you.

His eyes were wild again, pupils blown wide with renewed lust. He notched himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pushing demandingly at your folds.

"Feel this, Manager?" he whispered hotly, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers. "Feel what you do to me? How much I just want to... Fuck you, need you..."

"I-I'm still sore... Please, I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that and just let me in your cunt, ok?"

He surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You cried out, back arching off the bed, your nails digging into his shoulders. He was so deep, so hard, stretching you in ways that made you see stars. He's deeper this time?

"Wah... Your cunt still so tight, you're squeezing me dry~"

He started to move, hips rolling into yours with a force that shook the headboard. Each thrust punched the air from your lungs, left you gasping and mewling beneath him. He was lost in the heat of you, in the way your cunt gripped him.

"Tell me you need it, Manager," he urged, his cock slamming home and stilling, pulsing urgently inside you. "Tell me you want this... want me... as much as I need and want you!"

He pumped harder, faster, chasing his pleasure, his release. The room filled with the crude slap of skin against skin, with your choked cries and his grunts. He was going to come again, you could feel it in the erratic jerk of his hips, in the way his cock pulsed and throbbed inside you.

"Fuck!" he roared, slamming into you one last time. "Fuck, Manager, fuck!"

"N-no! Don't do it inside again!"

You bit your lips, muffling your ecstasy as you felt the hot rush of his come flooding your womb, your own orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your vision swam, your body shaking with the force of it.

He's gonna come inside... I'll get pregnant at this rate...

And then, with a long, guttural groan, he was coming again. His cock erupted like a fountain, pumping spurt after spurt of his hot cum deep into your hungry womb. The sensation was too much... too intense... and you felt yourself plummeting into oblivion, the darkness claiming you as his release seemed to go on and on.

The last thing you heard as you drifted off was his ragged voice, panting your name like a prayer.

"Manager... Manager... Manager! I love you! I love you! I fucking love you!"

***

You stared up at the ceiling, the memories of the past playing out like a movie reel in your mind. You could see him there, a young and nervous pop sensation, gripping your hands tightly as you offered him words of encouragement and support.

"You've got this," you had said, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. "Go out there and give them the performance of a lifetime. They're waiting for you."

"Okay," he nodded, squaring his shoulders with newfound determination. "Okay, Manager. I can do this. With you by my side, I can do anything."

He stepped out onto the stage. The crowd had gone wild, their screams and cheers a tangible force that seemed to lift him up and carry him forward. He had shone under the hot lights, his voice ringing out clear and strong, his movements confident and sure.

And you had watched from the wings, your heart swelling with pride and love as you beheld the man you had helped to create. He was more than just your client, more than just your star - he was your greatest achievement, your crowning glory. You had taken a scared and scrawny boy and molded him into a god among men, a king among the elite.

But now, as you lay there in the dim light of the bedroom, you could feel the weight of that responsibility crushing down on you. It was your fault, after all, that he had become this twisted and broken creature, this monster who would dare to touch you without your consent, to hold you against your will.

His arms tightened around you, crushing you against his chest, his breath hot and heavy against the back of your neck. He was saying all the right things, murmuring all the right words, but you could feel the dark intent behind them. The gentleness was a lie, a mask he wore to hide the cruelty that lurked beneath.

"Shh, it's alright," he cooed, his lips brushing your ear. "Don't cry, I'm here now. I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

But you didn't want him here. You didn't want his comfort or his affection or his twisted version of love. You wanted him to let you go, to release you from the nightmare that had become your life. You wanted to be free of him, to run until you couldn't run anymore, to disappear and never be found again.

But you knew it was impossible. He would never let you go, would never allow you to leave him. He needed you too much, depended on you for his every breath and his every heartbeat. And as long as you remained by his side, as long as you stayed in his life… he would never stop hunting you, never stop pursuing you until he had claimed you completely.

It was a bitter realization, a cruel twist of fate that left you feeling hollow and empty inside. You had once believed that you could save him, that your love and your guidance could be enough to keep the darkness at bay. But now… now you knew the truth. You knew that you had been the one to nurture the seeds of his madness, to feed the flames of his obsession until it had grown into an all-consuming inferno.

And so you lay there, trapped in his embrace, tears leaking down your face as you prayed silently for a miracle, for some way out of this nightmare. But deep down, you knew that there would be no miracle, no divine intervention to come rescue you from the man you had once called your star.

You had been his manager, his guide, his friend… and his downfall. And now, you would bear the consequences of your choice for the rest of your days.

With a sob catching in your throat, you closed your eyes and surrendered to the darkness, praying that when you opened them again… you would be somewhere, anywhere else. But far away from here, and far away from him.

Though, you only have yourself to blame.

You were the one who scouted him after all~

Stupid manager.

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 08. A state of dreams

PREV PART trigger warnings: mental + physical + emotional neglect, Reader is in a ‘limbo’ of nightmares, grief, shouting, I am a bit unsure on what trigger warnings suit this chapter so if you think I missed anything pls do say so main m.list        series m.list

Sleep is supposed to keep pain away from you, it’s supposed to give you a break. But your sleep has been haunted by nightmares from the day of the attack to today, your nightmares filled with violence and the Gods are punishing you. Punishing you for not fighting back, that’s what these dreams have to be.

Nightmares that talk about the ‘what if’, the nightmares that kill your soul. You’re stuck in them, you’re stuck in a river of pain and you don’t know how to get out of it. You don’t want to be asleep, you don’t want to sleep.

“Come on, (Nickname),” your mother chuckles as she opens her arms, no she isn’t. “you don’t want to keep me waiting, right?”

You don’t, you want to rush into her embrace, cry as you wish for a better life. Cry as you ask her why Bruce hates you, cry as you beg for a reason why your family doesn’t love you. But you can’t.

You can’t run into her loving embrace, because before you’ll reach her the scene will change, it will be Bruce holding your shoulders in a crushing grip. Asking you why you couldn’t just stay silent, asking you why you just couldn’t be a good doll and stay in the corner to be forgotten. So you’ll make her wait. Just to see her face.

“Baby,” your mother gasps dramatically, putting her hand on her heart. “did mama do something wrong? Is that why you don’t want to give me a hug?”

You shake your head as you ignore the shifting scene, oh how you hate being aware. “I just want to keep looking at you, mama,” you whisper. “you look so beautiful.”

Your mama laughs as she takes you in her arms but then she disappears. Leaving a younger you behind in a hospital gown, a gown that you remember all too well. It was from the hospital you almost died in. It was the last time you remember being comforted by your mama. “You vowed to stay healthy,” younger you whispers in anger. “you broke that vow!”

“I did,” you admit, not even trying to placate them, not even looking them in their eyes. “health isn’t something you can control. We were destined for this, we are destined for pain. But we’ll find our people through that pain.”

“It’s not fair!” younger you shouts, clenching their hospital gown in their hands. “It’s not fair! It’s not fair! We did everything right!” Younger you was sobbing, sobbing to the point you could feel their tears in your own hearts. “Why can’t we be happy?!”

You look at the ground, the scene was shifting again. It was the manor, and this time it was Alfred in front of you. His nose flaring as he raises his arm and starts shouting at you, you can’t hear him but it scares you. You feel threatened, you feel unsafe and most of all you feel like you’re in danger. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, but it wasn’t enough for him. He grabs your shoulders as spit flies from his mouth as he shouts, your heart just becoming numb. “it’s not my fault… I didn’t do anything!”

Exactly, a voice whispers in the back of your head, you were complicate to your own abuse. You kept the key of your own jail for so long, so can you fully blame Alfred?

You close your eyes and shake your head. That voice is wrong, you weren’t complicate in to the neglect that they gave you. It was never your fault, it never will be. You just need to ignore Alfred, both in dream and when you are awake, just because he wants you a certain way doesn’t mean you have to be that way. You know that right? You just need to wake up for now, can you do that for me?

Can you open your beautiful eyes? (Oh, is that Duke you hear or someone else? Is your mother calling for you?)

But for now you will continue to stay in state. A state of grieving what you could have had, a state where in you experience all the fear that you have ever felt once more, a state where you see your mother but barely can remember her face and voice, a state that reminds you of the hell that awaits you once you open your eyes.

But that hell is your story, and you can take it to another road. You’ll try and try, and you’ll fail. Don’t get me wrong. But after all that failure you are bound to learn, and you are bound to grow. So take the hands that hold out to you, you’ll never have to walk this path alone.

NEXT PART Heard my grandpa is the hospital while writingso updates might be slow for a while, or a bit darker and more chaotic. I have also closed the taglist since whenever I add new people in the editor it shows up but not in the post??

taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret,

[lovetreats]

what's wrong with my boss!?

pro-hero!boss!bakugou x fem!assistant!reader

LOVETREATS .ᐟ navi. bnha m.list.

content .ᐟ think "what's wrong with secretary kim?" (sorta) but with this blond menace, ur his personal secretary, he's annoying, he's a yearner, you don't notice shit, kirishima knocks some sense into him, pretty fluffy, did i mention he's a yearner? you two argue, reader is 27 ? bakugou is 29 ? #idk oh also swearing, ur both awks but its part of the plan trust

word count .ᐟ 5.7k+

you’ve been working as bakugou’s personal assistant for as loooong as you could remember.

when you first applied, you were ecstatic! you managed to snag an extremely high paying job with little problems. it honestly felt like it was too good to be true.

… well, it sort of was.

you knew that bakugou was hard to deal with—it was always apparent in the few interviews he had with tv hosts, reporters, and especially with paparazzi. but you thought that it was probably because he disliked the fact that most of them always tried to get their hands on some information in his private life. he rarely attends events, and if he did, it was only an extremely short appearance—so naturally a lot of people, including you, thought that he was just an extremely reserved person.

and sure, he has a temper, and he is a reserved person, but he’s also just. quite hard to deal with. more than you thought he would be.

he wanted everything to be organized, he wanted you to be extremely organized. he expects you to know all the specifics of his work life: all of the events and interviews and meetings and photoshoots and whatnot. when and where, why do it in the first place, who will be in the same room as him, how long do you estimate it’ll take, take care of the ones that he deems “unnecessary”, etc.

at first you thought you were doing everything right, but apparently it wasn’t good enough in his eyes. he told you off for getting certain information wrong (it was right, it just wasn’t as detailed as he wanted), he told you off when he had to attend a “stupid, unnecessary event” (it was a pro-hero ball), and he told you off when you couldn’t catch up with the amount of emails and calls (it was literally your first week on the job).

still, you stayed and put up with it all.

at first, you talked back because of your pride. after those moments, you would always go home crying and scared, thinking that you might’ve lost your job for good this time. but he never fired you, even when you called him an “ungrateful asshole” one time.

bit by bit, you just got used to it. you start to smile, nod, and apologize when you did something he didn’t like. it surprised him at first, and sort of bugged him, but he never told you about it. bit by bit, day by day, you would perfect his wants and needs with work, leaving him with nothing to complain about.

“oi, did you cancel that stupid ph—“

“did it yesterday, sir.”

“… the pro-hero meeting tod—“

“8:30am, the meeting will be about catching a group of villains that have started to cause more and more damage everywhere they go. i’ve asked deku’s secretary, and they’ve told me that the villains had some sort of power-up that’s made them stronger and more dangerous.”

“..? who am i meeting wi—“

“pro-heroes deku, shouto, red riot, pinky, uravity, mirko, ingenium, best jeanist, lemillion, phantom thief, cellophane, and grand.”

he just stares at you after that. his eyes bore into you, but you paid him no mind. you continued fixing his schedule for the week and answering some emails. he blinks once, he blinks twice, and he blinks another couple of times before grumbling to himself.

“anything else, sir?” you ask without looking at him, busy with typing away on your laptop for the report he wanted done by 2:00pm. the only reply you got was him opening and closing the door.

and this was how your days would usually go. your short replies were either met with grunts or closed doors instead of the fighting the two of you were once used to.

but you started noticing something.

he’d make coffee for two instead of one, making sure that the other cup was just right, just to your liking. he would tell you to ‘take a damn break’ more often than not. he would walk you to your car and would watch you leave the parking area from the side before going in his own vehicle. he would ask for your advice on more things than before, and most of the time, it’s the one he’d always go with. when there’s events, he would always make sure you’re there as his plus one (and in these cases, he stays longer than he usually would).

but you never really put more thought in it. you just assumed he was more lax now because you knew how to do the job right in his standards, and this is him being grateful that he didn’t need to waste more time arguing with you and correcting your mistakes.

you never really thought about finding another job or even just taking a long vacation, until one of your friends mentioned how you rarely went out and would always be busy with work. well, they always do, it’s just this time it… made you think.

“c’mooooon! just this once! and you don’t even have work tomorroooow!” one of your friends cried as she shook your right arm. you sighed and tilted your head, thinking.

they were right. every day your only focus was to ensure that the work you did was to bakugou’s standards. every day you ensured to be the very best out of spite and for that sweet, sweet paycheck. but… you didn’t live. you didn’t party, didn’t go to clubs, and you barely go out for dinner with your friends.

“we should go out and meet some people! you’re 27, girl! we should be out and enjoying liiiife!”

you chuckle and playfully shove them away from your arm. “fine, fine. let’s go out tonight.”

you went on to buy a dress just for tonight, did your make-up and hair all pretty, and had a fucking blast with your friends at the club. you danced and danced and drank and drank, going back home when the sun was already up. sure, the morning after was unbearable and annoying, but you still had a ton of fun.

you wanted to live for fun rather than for work. you wanted to hang out more with your friends. hell, you wanted to travel the world! but you couldn’t do any of that if you were still going to be stuck as bakugou katsuki’s personal assistant. because every day, every waking moment, you would be focused solely on your work and nothing else, like a programmed machine that does not know anything but what was coded in it to do.

you didn’t want that anymore.

you have enough money, more than enough if we’re being real honest. if you want another job, you could probably go on and open a nice little book café. but working again was far from your concerns at the moment.

right now? it’s telling bakugou that you want to quit.

“what’s the event later tonight?” bakugou asks with crossed arms. he glances at you, quickly typing something on your laptop before pushing pushing your specs up on your nose.

“it’s a charity event, sir.”

“you’ll be with me f’ tonight,” bakugou states, like it’s a matter of fact.

you fidget with the buttons on the sleeve cuffs of your blazer, taking in a deep breath to mentally prepare yourself to break the news to bakugou.

“of course, sir. but tonight will be the last time i accompany you to such events.”

“huh? and why is that?” he asks with a raised brow.

here it goes. you stand up from your desk and walk over to him. you bow low and long, which made bakugou clench his hands into fists. he already had a feeling.

you stand up straight and look him dead in the eyes.

“i would like to quit as your personal assistant. i believe i’ve given more than enough of my time here. i will ensure that your next assistant will be able to manage everything according to your standards before i put in my notice.”

a moment of silence passed. you didn’t move or speak another word. another moment passed, and he still didn’t say anything. it was like time froze, and you started fidgeting with your fingers, feeling a drop of sweat drip from your forehead even in the cold room.

another stupid moment of silence passed and you felt antsy. he wasn’t saying anything, he wasn’t reacting. you didn’t know if he was mad or what, you couldn’t read him this time. he just stares at you blankly, not a single shift in his expression.

“… sir?”

“do you need a pay raise?”

now that just ticked you off.

“… no, sir, i don’t.” you say with a forced smile.

“ya know you can take a vacation, right?”

“yes, sir. but i’d like to try new things, too.”

“like?”

you try your hardest to maintain your professionalism, it honestly looked like you had that little angry emoticon on your forehead right now. you didn’t expect him to be so hardheaded about this, you assumed that he would shrug it off and tell you to ‘do whatever the fuck you want’. you didn’t understand why he was being so stubborn with this.

“i don’t understand why you need to know, sir.”

you swore you just saw his eye twitch.

“well, since yer still stayin’ to get another assistant—“

“a new assistant,” you interject.

he grumbles, his expression forming into a scowl. “—another assistant, why can’t you accompany me for future events?”

“that will be the new assistant’s role, sir.”

you could sense his growing frustration. it was obvious with his scowling expression, one of his legs jumping up and down over and over, and his arms crossed together tightly against his chest as he leaned back on his chair.

“i don’t want or need a new damn assistant!” he yells as he stands up and smacks his hands palms down on his wooden desk.

“well i! want! to live! my life!” you shout back, your tone was sharp, jabbing each word at him. you had one hand on your hip and the other on your chest, breaking away from the professionalism you tried to maintain so as to not turn this into a heated fight. well, too late! good god he was being more stubborn than usual and it felt irritating.

“i want to travel the world!—“

“take a damn vacation!”

“that’s not the point, oh my god!”

you pant slightly before covering your face behind your glasses with your hands. you took a moment to gather yourself, to bring back the ‘you’ that you worked so hard to create for this stupid job. you lost all of that in this moment, and it felt like the two of you reverted back to when it was all still new and fresh. the bickering and arguing and complaining—

“i want to live, sir. i want to enjoy life. i went out with my friends a couple days ago and it was fun—i hadn’t done that in years,” you chuckle dryly.

“in all these five years, i focused on my work; i focused on you.”

his eyes slightly widen, as if slowly realizing that you were right. you’ve always tended to everything that was related to him. he would sometimes notice that you would even sleep on your breaks. he didn’t bother with changing anything because you changed yourself for it, and because of that, you probably grew tired of it. tired of him.

you’ve spent five long years dedicated to him, and was too content with your presence to even realize that if you left, it would never be the same again. you knew everything about him, how he liked his coffee, how he liked to organize, how he liked to dress, how he liked to relax, his favorite food to calm him down, and even his favorite fucking shoe brand. but he barely knew anything about you. sure, he knew how to do your coffee, but that’s only because he watched you make it one time. you didn’t talk about your personal life, your feelings, when you were at work (it was work, after all).

but still, he felt like he took you for granted.

again, it was silent. neither of you broke it, your eyes were locked on each other as the both of you waited for the other to speak with bated breath. after a while, bakugou clicks his tongue and closes his eyes.

“do whatever the fuck ya want. ya don’t have to join me later tonight, go rest.”

you didn’t reply—not like he wanted to when he turned his attention back on the papers on his desk. you bowed your head before walking back to your own desk, already planning on putting up the role on a site to find good candidates to be bakugou’s assistant.

“what’s up with you, bro?” kirishima asks as he puts on arm around and on top of bakugou’s shoulder. the blond grumbles, his annoyance extremely apparent on his face, which made kirishima even more curious and concerned.

after yesterday, bakugou took a quick glance at his schedule and cancelled meetings for the day. he practically forced you to take the day off. he was due for patrol later tonight, so he, surprisingly, told kirishima to come over. he’s slowly regretting it.

“fuck off ‘f me,” he mutters with little venom in his tone, but still shrugging off the arm on his shoulder.

“is it your secretary?”

bakugou’s head whips around to face kirishima. he squints his eyes and, once again, scowls. kirishima sighs and pats his back. “c’mon, you can tell me.”

“… she wants t’ quit.”

kirishima accidentally pats his back a little too hard after hearing that. “OI!”

“sorry! sorry! i just—i didn’t expect that…,” kirishima says, smiling sheepishly and rubbing the nape of his neck.

“what did ya expect?” bakugou grumbles.

“y’know, you’re finally admitting to yourself that you like her.”

“what the fuck are ya talkin’ about!?” bakugou throws a cushion right to his face. kirishima lets out a slight yelp and pouts as he hugs the pillow

“bro, it’s obvious!”

“i don’t have any feelings for her, shitty hair,” he spat, glaring daggers at his red-haired best friend.

kirishima sighs deeply as he scratches the back of his head. “don’t you realize the only reason why she’s the only secretary you’ve had for so long is because she practically pushes through all of your bullshit? and because of that, you basically don’t have anything to complain about and have it as a reason to push her away.”

this is another one of those moments where kirishima would keep him grounded, where he’d talk some sense into him. for how proud bakugou can be, it blinds him too much sometimes and kirishima’s the only one who practically smacks him back into reality. kirishima knows that deep down, bakugou needs someone to ground him. he wasn’t as bad as he was when they were still students at UA, but he was still quite headstrong.

“you told me before again and again how personal assistants were too annoying to deal with because you already had your own way of handling things, but she was able to do it all and more.”

“the only reason i kept her around was because she knew how i worked. i don’t want to have to teach another new fuckin’ person my standards.”

“then tell her she should do it.”

“she already said she will.”

kirishima raised an eyebrow. “… then why are you so worked up over it?”

bakugou only grumbles, turning his head away from kirishima, as if feigning ignorance. kirishima had to hold back in a snort so as to not annoy the short-tempered man beside him.

“and you keep telling me you don’t like her, huh?”

bakugou doesn’t reply. kirishima sighs before standing up and walking over to the mini-fridge bakugou has in the living room. he grabs two beers and tosses the other one to bakugou. he catches it swiftly, opening it up with no hesitation. this practically proved to kirishima that he’s stressing out over losing you. he knows his friend more than enough to know that when he doesn’t complain of drinking ‘too early’, something is amiss.

“why don’t you go on and take her out to dinner?”

“are you fuckin’ insane—“

“just do it, man. go to a nice restaurant! you can do other stuff too, just tell her it’s your way of thanking her for those five years. you can’t exactly force her to stay, that’d be messed up. so just, y’know…,” kirshima shrugs. “show her how grateful you are.”

kirishima plops down beside bakugou and takes a big gulp of his beer. “no matter how much you wanna try to deny it, you like her. this is practically a wake up call for you to make a move on her before you lose her to someone else.”

“you fuckin’—“

“don’t try to deny it, man. i know that you know that i know you better than anyone else. it’s why you invited me over in the first place.”

bakugou doesn’t try to retort this time. he can’t, anyway, not when kirishima’s right.

“i’m—i’m sorry?”

“dinner. tonight.”

you blinked. you blinked again, and again. it’s been a few days after you announced that you’d be quitting. he was distant for a while too, so him telling you that he wanted to have dinner with you tonight obviously shocked you.

he just stares at you and waits. tick tock tick tock goes the clock. he clicks his tongue and turns his head away as he feels his embarrassment creeping up on him. “if you’re too busy or you just don’t wanna, that’s fine too.”

“no, it’s fine. i just, um, didn’t expect it from you… is it—is it work related?”

he fully turns away, making you look at his back. he was in full hero gear because he was going out for patrol for the afternoon. you quirk an eyebrow, confused enough with his sudden behavior, but your eyes widen when you realize his ears had a pinkish hue to them. ‘was he blushing?’ now this just made you even more confused.

“i wanted to thank ya for the five years… for puttin’ up with an asshole like me.”

the way he said it sounded different from how he usually is. it was like he was trying hard to find the right words with how he spoke slowly, deliberate. you’ve never heard, or even seen him, like this before. it was… endearing?

“ya don’t hafta find another assistant, i’d much rather work on this shit by myself.”

“i doubt you can. after all, you have been relying on me for the past five years.” it can be interpreted as you teasing him, but you also kinda did say it like it’s a fact. and, well, it is.

bakugou huffs, he was ready to retort, but stopped himself from doing so. he walked towards the door instead; he didn’t really want to ruin the mood today and for tonight, he’d rather just let you be.

“i’ll pick ya up at eight, go on ahead an’ clock out at two, there’s not much to do today anyway. that ‘nuff time for ya t’ get ready?”

you just hummed in response as you scroll through the list of candidates carefully. “it is.”

you were nervous. so nervous that you were ready two hours before the actual time of him picking you up. how could you not be nervous? he already told you that the dinner wasn’t work related. he wanted to thank you for your service, and yet it felt like something more was there. why else would he turn around as if he was embarrassed? as if he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings?

wait. his feelings? there shouldn’t be anything, right? it would be sudden anyway, you’re sure of it. that’s what you keep telling yourself as you scroll through your instagram account. one picture caught your attention: it was the one where he invited you to one of the events he attends for the first time. you smiled politely at the cameras with your hand on his bicep, it made you chuckle how awkward looking you looked back then. you didn’t think anything was odd when you first posted this, but when you inspected it once more… bakugou was looking at you.

your heart skipped a bea—

NO. no way. no fucking way. no shot.

you saw this picture before, but why did it feel different now?

you closed instagram and stood up from your couch, gently tossing your phone on it. you paced around the coffee table, arms crossed against your chest. you were probably just overthinking things, probably just overcomplicating shit for yourself. it didn’t mean anything, he probably just didn’t want to look at the cameras and they just got the perfect shot where he’s looking at you—

you grabbed your phone and plopped down on your couch with a heavy sigh. you opened instagram again, this time you were on his account. you scrolled through his pictures as you hug one of your cushions. this was insane. why were you scrolling through his instagram? it wasn’t like you were gonna find something else to feed your assumptions—

oh. one of his posts had a couple of pictures that were just you. you and no one else. all those pictures were of you laughing and smiling. this post was when there was a fun little event for agencies and their heroes and staff to have fun. the pictures weren’t all you, but there was enough that made your mind get all messed up with unrelenting thoughts.

but there was one post that nailed it in the coffin for you. it was one picture of the sunset, but on the bottom right of the photo, there was a silhouette of a woman. it was dark enough that it wasn’t obvious it was you, but you know it was.

the caption?

beautiful.

you closed out of the app.

why were you having assumptions anyway? it’s not like you like him in that way. you never really thought about it, too busy meeting with his demands. you never thought of him in any other way other than him being your boss, and why would you? he was a stubborn ass who always tried to find something to tell you off about. this shouldn’t change anything, it’s just dinner with him. it’s not like you haven’t eaten with him before. it’s just dinner.

nothing more, nothing less.

bakugou has never been this nervous his entire life. he didn’t know why he was nervous, it was just dinner with you. it’s not like this was any different from eating lunch with you at work. so why the hell did he feel so antsy? like he couldn’t shake this shit off of him.

(he knows why, but like you, he doesn’t want to admit it.)

he was parked right in front of your place. he taps on the steering wheel while he stares at your front door. he shakes his head after a few moments, grumbling incoherent words to himself. his mind suddenly goes back to all the things kirishima told him a few days ago, it was all repeating in his mind over and over again. he grits his teeth before clicking his tongue in annoyance, checking his wrist watch for the time.

7:58PM

he leans back on the headrest and closes his eyes as if to mentally prepare himself. what for? he doesn’t know (he’s scared he might look like a fool in front of you).

he gets out of his car and walks towards your front door, taking a moment before pushing the button on the intercom.

“who is it?”

“it’s me.”

not even a second later, you opened the door. and god you looked fucking gorgeous. you wore a pretty little black off-shoulder dress that went down below your knees, your hair was styled perfectly, and your make-up made you look like an angel. he liked how you still wore your glasses even when you dresses up all fancy and pretty.

“sir?”

he shakes his head slightly to snap back to reality. “bakugou. bakugou’s just fine. we aren’t at work anyway,” he states absentmindedly.

“you… you look nice. beautiful.” he murmurs before quickly turning away and walking towards his car. “c’mon.”

you follow him quietly, your fingers gently pushing up your glasses. the walk to his car felt way too long for some reason, long enough for you to shoot a glance at his ears, wanting to see if they changed to a certain hue. a corner of your lips quirked upwards when his ears were in fact, pink.

bakugou opens the passenger front car door for you, all the while avoiding eye contact. you thank him softly as you bend down to get in the car. you try to make yourself comfortable, fidgeting around the car seat as bakugou goes on to get in the driver’s seat.

“before we go on ahead, i wanted to… give you something…” this was the second time he talked slowly, hell you’d even say softly, to you. you were too busy staring at him that you didn’t notice him reaching out to open the glove compartment and taking out a dark red velvet box.

bakugou shows the box to you and opens it slowly. it was a bracelet—a ruby and diamond bracelet to be precise. it was intricately designed and it looked so delicate, so elegant. the rubies were cut like teardrops while the diamonds were cut rounder, six rubies circled around one diamond, forming a tiny flower. it repeats all around, and it danced around the warm light of the car, shimmering like the stars above. you couldn’t help but let out a gasp with one hand hovering over your mouth.

“sir—bakugou, you didn’t have to—“

“none of that shit.” he tutted as he gently grabs the bracelet out of the box. he motions for you to lift up your hand while he unclasps the bracelet. you can’t help but catch how bakugou katsuki looked small, which is probably an insane thing to say, but you couldn’t find any other word to describe how he looked right now.

he was waiting for you to lift up your hand, but his eyes still haven’t made contact with your own. you swear to yourself that he looked like he was pouting, in a sense. his shoulders slumped, his head slightly lowered, he looked as if he wanted to make himself look small. bakugou katsuki is a proud man who is sure of himself most of the time, so seeing him like this—so vulnerable and even shy, it was enough to surprise you.

you finally lift up your hand, palm facing upwards. he wordlessly snakes the bracelet around your wrist, fastening it with ease. he watches you admiring it; took note of your eyes getting bigger, even seemed like they were shining prettily.

after a moment, you finally looked at him, and thankfully this time, he doesn’t look away from you. he notices the shy smile forming on your face as you bow your head slightly. you opened your mouth and said:

“thank you…”

in the softest way imaginable.

he mumbles a ‘yer welcome’ as he turns the keys to his car, letting it start to life.

he drove for about thirty minutes, and the whole ride was slightly awkward, but bearable. bakugou put all his focus on the road, and you were just looking out without really thinking of a way to start a new conversation with him—not that he minded all that much. when you finally arrived, he told you to stay put when he saw you gathering yourself to get out the car. he quickly gets out and speed walked his way to your car door, stretching out a hand for you to take.

now you’re the one who keeps avoiding his eyes.

you take his hand and get out, clutching your purse tightly as a way to ground yourself to what’s happening. though you’re out of the car, he hasn’t let go of your hand, he actually holds it tighter as he led you to the restaurant.

it was so quiet between the two of you now. silence wasn’t all that uncommon, you would be too busy focusing on your work to talk to him, and he’d be busy with his own. when you managed to practically surprise him with how well you work as his personal assistant, everything was peaceful. the only time it went back to the way it was was when you told him of your plans of quitting.

but it was back to quiet after that. the one the two of you were more than familiar with. but this quiet? this silence? it’s different, it has tension.

bakugou talks with the host for the reservation he made for the both of you, your hand still in his grasp. after a few moments, the host tells the both of you to follow them so they can lead the way.

the host leads you to your table which was located pretty deep into the area. it was much more secluded, something bakugou would definitely pick out. the host tells you to take your seats while they go and get two menus for your table.

“where d’ya wanna sit?”

“anywhere’s fine,” you murmur, too busy with gawking at how your table looks so pretty and different from the others. the cloth had a different type of fabric that had all sorts of intricate patterns sewn on it. the table mats were rectangular in shape, with flowers sewn in on the corners. to the plates, the glasses, even the flowers that sat prettily on the center of the table seemed to you as if this was all meticulously planned.

or maybe you’re just thinking too much into it again—

“if you’re wonderin’ why our table is different… i made a request,” bakugou ushers you to walk towards the seat in front of you. he pulls the chair back, lifting it slightly so as to not make a sound, motioning for you to sit down with a tilt of his head. you walk in front of him, bending down as he pushes the chair gently towards you.

“looks like you put a lot of thought into it.” you watch him walk around the table to sit down in front of you.

“i did. wanted ya to like it,” he says as he sits down.

“so… do you?” he looks at you with eyes that tell you ‘i hope you do’. he looked like he was a little nervous to hear what you think. you smile and nod your head and watch him exhale, as if he’d forgotten how to properly breathe. how come he's become easier to read now?

“here are the menus,” the host pops up from behind you and hands the both of you menus. they guide you with the dishes within the menu and mention their specials to help you out with what you want to order. after a few more moments, they leave you in the hands of a server.

“order anythin’ ya like, alright?”

dinner was… surprisingly nice.

bakugou made it clear before, and way more clear now that this dinner wasn’t about him trying to get on your good side to get you to stay as his personal assistant. all of this was simply because he wanted to.

while eating, he asked you about your plans, and he listened carefully. you went on to tell him about the book café you’d been planning, but with no plans of rushing in to it. your first goal was to explore, live life to the max; travel to different countries and party to your heart’s content. he didn’t reply much, but he made sure that you knew he was listening with how he kept looking at you.

time passed by like it was nothing. the appetizer was good, the main meal was delicious, the desert made you feel like you were in heaven with how light it felt in your mouth. the two of you kept chatting on (mainly you) until you needed to leave.

there was one thing you noticed before leaving the restaurant.

when the two of you stood up from you chairs, bakugou walked around the table and right towards your side. he tried to subtly eye your hand, and you watched him as he stretched out his own before telling you to follow him out. you almost wished he took your hand in his.

now back in his car, he wasted no time in starting up the car and drove away from the restaurant. you closed your eyes and leaned your head against the headrest of your seat, trying to process everything that happened tonight. you couldn’t help but admit that you did enjoy it, every single thing. from the bracelet, to the arranged table, to the food, to how attentive he was to you…

“hey, you okay?”

his voice snaps you back to reality, making you immediately open your eyes. you turn to look at him and chuckle softly.

“i am, don’t worry.”

bakugou let out a long exhale, like he was relieved.

“did ya… enjoy it?”

you turned your head away to face the window, smiling to yourself as you watch buildings and city lights pass by.

“i did, a lot.”

the rest of the ride was silent, only broken through once bakugou suggested that you play some music. even with the melodies, the both of you were still quiet. but it wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward, it was… nice. good.

arriving at your place, bakugou still didn’t miss the chance to go and open the car door for you. he walks you to your front door, hands in his pockets and his head hanging low. you glanced at him, and he looked as if he was deep in thought. his brows were slightly furrowed together, and his lips formed a small pout. how cute…

“bakugou?”

“yeah?”

he turns his head to look at you, there wasn’t anything special about it, he was only looking at you like how he was earlier, but—

you think it made your heart flutter.

“thank you, for tonight. i… i really appreciate it.”

he merely shrugs in response, but you can see how shy he is. the pink hue on the tips of his ears, his back was slightly slouched, and that pout still wasn’t wiped off of his face. he really was just wearing his heart out on his sleeve.

you walk towards him, inching closer bit by bit. your hands were behind your back, clutching your purse. you murmur for him to lean down slightly, and he does so with no hesitation. you whisper for him to take care, and before he knew it, you kissed his cheek and ran away, unlocking your door quickly and closing it with a SLAM!

what the fuck just happened?

all rights reserved © LOVETREATS. all fanfics belong to me. do not repost or claim my content as yours. do not recommend on any other platforms any of the works seen here.

[haru-kuneko]

From my understanding, an analysis typically involves talking about the characters, scene and writing while giving your own thoughts about them. I do agree that people need to stop spreading misinformation by suggesting it's a review when it's actually a summary. Even I tend to mix those things together because a lot of YouTubers tend to just slap those words into their videos.

It annoys me that there are tons of videos claiming to be a breakdown analysis of a comic or show then you actually see them ripping it apart and start roasting it like they're some sort of chad.

A retrospect, on the other hand, is basically like "I look back at it and here are some 100 reasons why I now think it's a gem" or "Now I find it cringe and here's how it could've been better." A summary can boil down to a spoiler-free geist of a story or a whole entire rundown of the story but not to be confused with a review.

Another thing is the title "art commentary." You would think it's all about art but no! They just talk about stupid Internet drama and go put someone they don't like on blast while they do speed paint.

Dear video essay creators. A video analysis is when you analyze a piece of media. No no look at me. A summary, no matter how thorough, is not an analysis. An analysis requires you to draw conclusions about the media such as authorial intent, real-world parallels, discussion about themes/worldbuilding/character motivation, and so much more. You have to stop summarizing something and saying that’s analysis. The Gaylors are doing more critical analysis than you. Is that who you want to lose to? The gaylors?

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤADDICTIONㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Roy Harper x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It doesn’t start pretty. It starts with you pissing him off.

You were a little too mouthy for his taste, too unimpressed by his sharp aim and cocky grin. He didn’t like the way you looked right through him, past the sarcasm, past the good-ol’-boy act. You saw something in him — the anger, the brokenness, the bleeding parts he covered with jokes. And you didn’t flinch.

That’s what did it.

You didn’t flinch.

Roy is used to flinching. People either pity him or write him off, tired of his rehab records and near-death decisions. But you? You looked him in the eye and told him to shut up when he was being annoying. You called him out when he was hiding behind jokes. You treated him like he mattered — not because he was Arsenal, not because he was a hero — just because he was Roy.

He’s not used to being seen.

At first, he tells himself he just likes being around you. That’s all. Normal stuff. You make him laugh. You keep him grounded. You don’t try to fix him, and that feels better than any rehab or therapy ever has.

But then he starts thinking about you too much.

Your voice gets stuck in his head like a song. He catches himself texting you dumb memes just to make you smile. Starts checking your social media at 3am when he can’t sleep. Starts memorizing the way you talk, the things you like, the stupid brands of candy you eat.

He’s already obsessed, but he doesn’t admit it yet.

Until someone flirts with you.

That’s when the mask cracks.

He’s not calm. He’s not cool. He’s not normal about it. He gets snappy, territorial. Not in front of you — he respects you too much for that — but the guy who flirted with you? Roy breaks three of his ribs during sparring and calls it an accident. No one believes him.

When he finally realizes he’s in deep, it scares him.

He’s been through hell. Lost people. Made mistakes. Done things he can’t take back. He doesn’t deserve something soft and kind like you. But that doesn’t stop the obsession from growing.

He starts doing things behind your back. Quiet things. Dangerous things.

He finds out where you live — not in a creepy way, he tells himself — just in case you ever need him. He follows you home a few times, watches from rooftops just to make sure you’re safe. No one sees him. He’s too good for that.

He tracks the people in your life. Your coworkers. Your friends. That ex you never talk about? Roy knows everything now. And if any of them ever hurt you — they won’t even know it was him.

He loves you quietly, violently.

He keeps little pieces of you. Things you leave behind. A pen you forgot. A coffee cup you tossed. You never notice they’re missing. He keeps them in a drawer, like trophies. He knows it’s not healthy. He doesn’t care.

He starts writing texts he never sends. “I miss you.” “I want you.” “I love you.” Then deletes them. You’re too good. Too normal. You’d run if you knew how deep it went.

But God, when you smile at him like you mean it? When you touch his arm, or lean your head on his shoulder after a long day?

It makes him feel real.

So he waits. Watches. Obsesses. Protects.

And the day you say, “Roy, I think I love you,” his whole world shifts.

Because now it’s not just obsession. It’s permission.

And he’s never letting you go.

It’s different now that you love him.

Now he doesn’t have to hide the way his eyes linger too long. Now he can trace your jaw with his fingers and call it affection, not fixation. Now he can sleep in your bed and press his face into your neck like he’s trying to inhale you. And he does. He does.

But obsession doesn’t get softer when it’s fed. It gets louder. Hungrier.

At first, he tries to be normal. Dates. Sleepovers. Stupid inside jokes. He gets you flowers — steals them from a villain’s estate, but hey, they’re still pretty. You make him laugh. He makes you feel safe.

But that voice in his head — the one that says you’re his, only his — never shuts up.

You don’t notice how he starts pulling you closer whenever other guys are around. How his hand finds your waist just a little too tightly when someone looks at you wrong. How his eyes go dead-cold when someone makes you laugh in a way he thinks only he should.

He tells himself he trusts you. And he does.

It’s everyone else he doesn’t trust.

You go out with friends? He hacks traffic cams to make sure you get home okay. You text someone at midnight? He finds out who it is in five minutes flat. You talk about an old friend a little too fondly? He looks up their location, just in case he needs to pay them a quiet, final visit.

Roy doesn’t threaten people. He doesn’t have to.

One look — that look — and people back the hell off. They know.

He’d bleed for you. Burn cities for you.

But here’s the twist: around you, he’s soft.

He’s the Roy you adore — grinning, rough-around-the-edges, all charm and chaos. He kisses you like he’s starving. Carries your stuff even when you say no. Keeps a stash of your favorite snacks in his bag during missions.

He gets nightmares sometimes — ugly ones. Stuff from his past. And when he wakes up shaking, you’re there. You hold his hand. He doesn’t tell you he dreams about losing you. About your body cold in his arms. About reaching you too late.

That’s his greatest fear. That he’ll fail you like he failed everyone else.

So he prepares.

He trains harder. Stockpiles weapons. Sets traps around your apartment you don’t even notice. Encrypts your phone so no one can track you. Puts a tracker in your necklace — the one he bought you for your birthday — just in case.

You’re his world. His second chance. His religion.

And the thing about Roy is this:

Once he loves you, he loves you with everything — the good, the broken, the violent.

So if anyone hurts you, even once?

They’re not disappearing.

They’re never being found.

You try to pull away.

It’s subtle at first. A hesitation before you kiss him goodnight. A pause before you answer his texts. You tell him you’re just tired, that work’s been rough, that you need space.

And Roy? He nods. Smiles. Says he understands.

He doesn’t.

Because love isn’t supposed to feel like this. Like slipping through fingers. Like drowning with your mouth still open. You’re his everything. His only anchor. And now you’re pulling away like you don’t know what you mean to him.

You have no idea what that does to a man like Roy.

He’s not someone who can let go. He never learned how. Everyone in his life either left or died. And if you leave—

No. He won’t survive it.

So he starts clinging harder. Calling more. Showing up unannounced. You say you're busy, and he just laughs it off. "Busy with what? Need help?" His tone is light, joking — but his eyes don’t blink. They watch.

You say you’re going out with friends, and ten minutes later, there’s a red motorcycle parked across the street from the bar. You never see him. He’s not here to ruin your night.

He’s here to protect what’s his.

You belong to him.

You just… forgot for a second.

Maybe someone told you you deserve better. Someone said he’s intense, possessive, obsessive. Maybe you believed them. But he’s already rewriting the narrative in his head.

They’re manipulating you.

They’re trying to take you from him.

And he won’t let that happen.

You wake up one morning and your phone’s wiped clean. A “random glitch,” your carrier says. You lose contact with half the people you were just starting to reconnect with. Friends disappear. Exes block you.

Roy’s arms are warm when he holds you through it. “People are shitty sometimes,” he says. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

He means it.

Even if you scream. Even if you run. Even if you beg.

Because if you try to leave — really leave — he’s not above burning the bridges behind you. You can hate him. You can cry. You can throw things. But you will still be in his bed, still wearing the chain around your neck with the tiny GPS inside, still breathing because he keeps you safe.

He kisses your forehead one night, right after you told him, “I need space.”

His voice is soft, barely a whisper:

“You just need me.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[aquarius-johnny]

“totally platonic” | johnny suh

𝜗𝜚 genre: smut | wc: 6.6k | au: friends to lovers 𝜗𝜚 pairing: bestfriend! johnny x afab! reader 𝜗𝜚 warnings: soft dom johnny, virgin reader, banter, hickies, oral (m + f receiving), dirty talk, cum play, cervix kissing, p in v, checking in, unprotected sex, praising, pulling out, multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare, confessions, missionary, doggy, other names included for writing purposes, other members mentioned (mark, doyoung) 𝜗𝜚 summary: you’re nearing your thirties and still a virgin. johnny, your best friend and only person who knows about your secret, offers to take your virginity seeing how much its bothering you — but it’s all platonic, duh! 𝜗𝜚 aimee's thoughts 💭 : no thoughts, just a horny smut. added a bonus scene for some fluff at the end. requested by anonymous 𐙚

check out my other work here! → m.list navi

── FRIDAY, 10:38 PM

A familiar text tone designated to your best friend is heard as you sulk in bed.

Johnny🌻: I’m outside, open the door. You: Use the spare key I gave you. I’m in my room.

In less than a minute, your bedroom door slowly opens and your room’s overhead lights turn on, temporarily blinding you for a second before you throw your blanket over your head. The brightness abruptly dims before the only light source comes from your side table lamp.

“You didn’t make it to the monthly dinner,” Johnny lets out as you feel a dip in your mattress. “Everyone was worried and wondered if you were okay.”

You uncover your head from your blanket. Looking up at the man sitting on your bed, you wrinkle your nose in slight disgust. “Ew, you’re on my bed with outside clothes,” you roll your eyes before softly giggling at him.

Johnny laughs, lowering his head in defeat. He stands up and strips himself from his beige sweater and jeans, leaving him in nothing but his white t-shirt and gray underwear. He lays on your bed, turning his body to face you. He slides a pillow under his head and his arm sandwiched between your mattress and the cold side of the pillow.

You place another pillow over his waist, helping him cover his lower half. “You could’ve left your pants on, perv.” You tease, shifting your body to mimic his position.

“Oh shut up. It’s nothing new,” he smiles. “You’ve seen me half naked before.”

You give him a small smile after hearing his words before changing the subject. “What’re you doing here?” You ask, pulling your blanket higher up your body.

“I came to make sure you’re okay.” He presses the backside of his hand against your forehead. “Are you sick? You said you weren’t feeling well.”

Shaking your head, you gently push his hand away. “I just didn’t feel like going to dinner with everyone.” You softly admit, trying to sound nonchalant.

“We both know that’s a lie. You always look forward to our monthly dinners with our friends. What’s wrong?” He looks at you with concern. “You can tell me.”

“Whenever I’m around them, I’m somehow reminded that I’m the only virgin of the group,” you sigh.

“Ah,” he nods in understanding. “I see your v-card is still bothering you.”

“I’m nearly 30, Johnny. I haven’t had sex yet and it’s starting to mess with my life plans. My virginity isn’t even something I hold close to me, sex just hasn’t happened with me.”

“You could always hook up with randos.”

“You know that I’m not into that.” You scoff. “I’ve always wanted to lose it to someone I feel safe with.”

Johnny moves his body closer to you. “There are a lot of people who are still virgins at your age.” He tries to comfort you. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me.” You sigh in defeat, covering your face with your hands in frustration. “Maybe I should just run away and become a nun.”

Johnny chuckles at your dramatic statement, gently moving your hands from your face.

“It’s not funny,” you groan before a small laugh involuntarily leaves your lips too. “Please don’t tell anyone why I didn’t come tonight.”

“Hey, I’ve kept your virginity a secret for a long time now. One more can’t hurt.” He lifts his hand to stroke your cheek with the pad of his thumb before pulling away and clearing his throat. “So you just laid here and felt sorry for yourself?”

You give him a death glare, displeased with how he worded your actions even though it really was what you did while him and your group of mutual friends were having dinner.

“Did you have fun tonight?” You ask, changing the subject.

“It’s never fun without you.” He flashes a cheeky smile at you, earning him a giggle from you in response. “It’s the same thing every month. You didn’t miss much.”

You nod your head at his words, allowing silence to fill the air for a minute.

“Hey,” he softly lets out, catching your attention once more. “You trust me, right? Like you feel safe around me?” Johnny hesitantly questions.

“Of course,” you let out a half hearted laugh. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, I can see how much your situation bothers you. So, I was thinking,” he pauses. “And this is just a thought.” He lightly chuckles, attempting to keep the mood light. “If you’re really upset about still being a virgin, why don’t we…” he trails off.

Your brows raise in surprise. Your lips parting upon hearing his words. “Oh, uh, you and me,” you stammer. “Having sex?” You slowly finish his thought.

“Yeah, I mean,” he shifts uncomfortably. “You said you wanted to do it with someone you feel safe with and you just said you feel safe with me, so why don’t we — why don’t I help you, so you don’t feel like this again?”

You fall quiet for a moment, thoroughly thinking through his words as you sit up in bed and pulling your knees to your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of ruining our friendship? What if it makes things awkward and weird between us?”

You watch Johnny shift his weight onto his elbow, propping up his upper body. “Yeah, there’s always a chance of ruining our friendship. There’s also a chance of ruining it if we debate which Spider-Man movie is the best,” he grins, clearly trying to lighten up the mood. “If we make it weird, then it’ll be weird.”

“Okay well, are you… clean?” An involuntary chuckle parts your lips.

He gives you a dramatic eye roll before grabbing a pillow and playfully hitting your face with it. “Yes! Of course I am! I get tested every time I hook up with someone and I always use a condom.” He hits you with the pillow again before you stick your hand out to stop it.

“Forgive me, I’m sorry.” You giggle. “I just wanted to make sure. I know you’re very experienced with this aspect of your life. It’s not like I was degrading you, I’m sorry if you felt I was.” You lay back down in your previous position.

“It’s fine,” he sighs, dramatically. “I suppose it’s normal for someone to ask.” He rolls his eyes. “People usually ask with more tact, but I’ll let it slide with you.”

You bite down on your bottom lip, giggling at his sarcastic comment.

“I’ll even give you the boyfriend experience,” he smirks. “Free of charge, of course.”

“Do you even know how to be a boyfriend?” You scoff before you hold your hands up in preparation to get hit by a pillow again.

“Contrary to your belief, I do know how to be a boyfriend.” He uses a hand to lower your wrists before hitting you with another pillow, causing you to giggle. “You’re feisty today.” He chuckles. “What’s with the sudden jabs at me? Don’t tell me being a virgin for nearly 30 years somehow gives you permission to think you’re better than everyone else.”

“You know that’s not it,” you defend, trying to grab the pillow with your hands.

“Yeah? Just deciding to be a brat then?” He hits you with the pillow again right before you finally have a grasp on it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You laugh. “You know I’m just kidding.”

Johnny concedes, letting out a playful huff. “Didn’t think it’d be this hard to get a virgin to agree to have sex with me.” He grins, helping you sort out your messy hair that he caused.

After moving strands of hair away from your face, he places his warm palm against your cheek.

“What do you think?” Johnny asks. “Wanna lose your virginity to your best friend? Platonically, of course.” He flashes you a grin.

You nod your head in agreement. “Are you free tomorrow night?”

── SATURDAY, 9:43 PM

“You didn’t have to take me to dinner before taking my virginity, you know that right?” You jokingly comment as you push your house key into the lock of your front door. 

“See, when you put it that way I had to take you to dinner.” He chuckles, shutting the door behind him when you both enter your apartment. “It sounds bad if I just took your virginity, right?” 

“No one would’ve known,” you giggle. 

“Yeah, but I would’ve and that doesn’t sit right with me.” Johnny takes your jacket when you strip it off, hanging it on the coat rack with his. “Contrary to your belief, I am capable of treating women well.”

“So you take every hookup to a fancy dinner before fucking them?” 

“Well no,” he pauses. “But that’s not what hookups expect and before you say it, I’ve already told you this isn't a hookup.” 

“What would you call it?”

“Being a good friend.” He flashes you a wicked grin before he cups your cheeks with his hands, tilting your head up to look at him. “I know you’re nervous, but I promise I’ll take care of you.” 

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yes. You’re talking a lot,” he giggles. “You’re also being a little brat, again.” He scrunches his nose before a smile appears.

“Sorry,” you sigh in defeat, slowly pulling his hands down from your cheeks. “I don’t know how to go about this.”

“Let’s start off by going to your room and we’ll see where to go from there.” He gently grabs your hand before leading you to your bedroom. 

You both climb onto your bed with your backs against the headboard. Your heart thumps against your chest and you’re fully convinced Johnny could hear it. Biting down on your bottom lip, your mind races at the thought of having sex with your best friend — seeing each other completely naked for the first time, questioning if it’ll ruin the friendship, the idea that he’s probably going to have the worst time because of your lack of experience.

You’re suddenly pulled out of your frantic thoughts when Johnny gently takes a hold of your chin and turns  your head towards him with his lips centimeters away from yours. 

“You’re overthinking,” he whispers before placing a soft kiss against your lips. 

You slowly move your lips with his, feeling his large hand glide up your thigh and under the short wine colored silk dress you wore to dinner. Shifting your body, a tiny hum is heard from Johnny before he deepens the kiss further. Parting his lips slightly, you take the opportunity to run your tongue over his bottom lip before he slowly pulls away. 

Johnny gently tugs on your arm, pulling you onto his lap. Your short dress rides up your thighs as you place a knee on either side of him. 

A large hand grips the back of your neck, pulling your lips back onto his, while the other safely rests on your hip, unmoved. Your hand presses against his clothed chest, feeling the buttons of his long sleeved dress shirt press against the palm of your hand. 

Your heart races as his lips move with yours. Electricity runs through your veins and your face flushes with heat. Your fingers slowly undo the buttons of his shirt and with his lack of objection, you remind yourself that he’s okay with it. 

His hand moves from your hip to the small of your back, pulling your body closer into his. Gently running over your tongue with his, his grip on the back of your neck tightens slightly, needing to keep you in place. 

When you reach the last button, your cold hands rest against his toned stomach and send shivers down his spine. You gently remove his grasp on your neck before pushing the fabric down his shoulders. It’s not too long until the white fabric meets your bedroom floor. Your hands cup his cheeks, pulling him closer.

His hands meet your waist, using them to push your dress up your body. Pulling back, you raise your arms to let Johnny pull it over your head and let the silk fabric slip onto the floor and on top of his shirt. 

You gently push your palm against his chest, forcing him to rest against the pillows behind him. Placing a kiss on his cheek, you trail your lips down his jaw, then give him another kiss on his neck. His hand rests on the back of your head, softly pushing you into the crook of his neck and silently urging you to leave your mark on his body. Your lips part, taking his tender skin between your lips and sucking on it — hard. You feel his chest move up and down beneath your breasts. 

Breathless moans part his lips, feeling his calloused hands rub over your back. Pulling away, you admire the red mark that contrasts his pale skin. You continue to trail kisses down Johnny’s chest until you reach the waistband of his pants, undoing his belt and button that’s holding his pants together. Johnny lifts his hips and you tug on the material, removing it from his body.

His erection springs up. You position yourself so Johnny’s leg rests between your thighs. When you pause, he senses your hesitation and lifts your chin to look at him. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” you embarrassingly admit.

Johnny gives you a small laugh and a kind smile. “As long as you don’t bite it off, anything you do is fine.” He uses the pad of his thumb to run over your bottom lip. “It’s just licking and sucking, like a popsicle. Can’t promise it’ll taste like one, though.” 

You smile at his attempt to ease your mind. Carefully taking a hold of his shaft, you roll your tongue over his leaking tip before wrapping your lips around it. You sink his shaft into your mouth, slowly bobbing your head up and down. 

“There you go, just like that.” Johnny whispers, throwing his head back against your headboard from the warmth of your mouth and letting out a groan.

You feel his cock harden even more as you bob your head, allowing your saliva to coat his member fully before slicking your hand up and down simultaneously with your mouth. 

“Fuck,” Johnny mutters breathlessly. His brows knit together and his jaw slacks open, speechless at the sight and feeling of your lips wrapped around him. 

You flatten your tongue against his length, licking a strip from the base of his cock to his tip before engulfing him fully into your mouth and allowing his tip to hit your throat. You gag around his cock and the tears brimming your waterline blurs your line of vision. You pull away, catching your breath as you slick your wrist up and down his shaft.

Johnny’s hand grip the sheets under him, biting down on his bottom lip before a shaky moan escapes from between his lips. His chest moves up and down, a slight red tint slowly painting over his chest. He sits up, shifting his weight onto the palm of his hand while the other tilts your head up to look at him before his grasp on your chin pulls your lips to his. 

“Was that okay?” You shyly ask as you break the kiss. 

“More than okay,” he chuckles. 

You weren’t fully convinced of his words, but don’t have time to dwell on it when Johnny kisses you again. He slowly leans back, having you following him without breaking the kiss. When you straddle his lap again, you feel his hard member press against your covered slit. Your mind runs wild with sinful thoughts of him being inside of you. 

In one quick and swift movement, Johnny is hovering over you with his knee separating your thighs. You can’t help but giggle at how smooth he is with his moves. 

“Something funny?” He smiles, moving a strand of hair away from your eye. 

You shake your head. “For what it’s worth,” you let out, your eyes softening at his gaze and lifting your hand to stroke his cheek. “I’m glad I’m losing my virginity to you.” You pull him down to your lips, giving him an endearing kiss.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he whispers in the space between your lips. His hands glide up your waist and to your breasts, pushing them together before his tongue laps over your perky nipples and kissing your supple skin. 

Johnny pecks kisses down your sternum and abdomen before stopping at the waistband of your underwear. He looks up at you. “May I?” He grins, fingers hooked onto the waistband, ready to remove them.

You nod, lifting your hips to allow him room to pull it down your thighs and legs before haphazardly throwing it behind him. 

Johnny widens your spread legs, using his long, slender fingers to stroke your excited slit. Collecting your arousal against his fingers, he parts your puffy lips before using the tip of his tongue to circle around your clit.

A soft moan leaves your lips as Johnny continues to circle and lap his tongue over your clit. His large hand massages your breasts, rolling your nipple between his fingers causing a sensation of bliss course through your body. 

“You taste so fucking good,” Johnny mutters against your folds.

Your fingers gather a fist full of his hair, keeping him close. You hear Johnny groan as you tug on it, the pads of his fingers digging into your skin. 

As his tongue skillfully moves against your pussy, your moans grow louder. A fire in the pit of your stomach ignites and tingles course through your veins. A familiar feeling creeps up and you close your eyes, focusing on the way Johnny sucks on your clit. 

You bite down on your bottom lip and your climax hits you, hard, causing you to cry out Johnny’s name while he pins your lower body down to stop you from squirming away from him. You push his head back and see a mischievous smirk pull from the corner of his mouth. 

As you pull yourself up to look at him, you see him use the back of his hand to wipe your slick from his chin. Your hands press against his cheeks, roughly pulling him to your lips, causing him to giggle. Your lips move urgently before lowering yourself onto your back and having Johnny follow you. 

His long, slender fingers circle your sensitive clit and your body shudders under his touch. He eases off on the pressure, lightly rubbing your nub at a steady pace as he swallows the moans you let out against his mouth. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he softly and breathlessly lets out, groaning as your lips begin attacking his neck with open mouth kisses before giving him a gentle bite. “Your lips on my neck,” his voice hitches. “Are driving me crazy.”

You smile as you hear his composure slowly crumble. Continuing your movements, you feel pleasure building up in the area he’s circling. 

His precise and calculated movements fill your mind with haze, halting your kisses to breathe against his skin and focus on the pleasure. 

“I’m close,” you whimper, attempting to continue your movements only to stop a few seconds later, muffling your sounds in the crook of his neck. “I’m cum-“ you softly cry out before you’re cut off by a gasp that desperately part your lips. 

He watches as your thighs begin to tremble and involuntarily closing in an attempt to stop his movements. 

“Keep them open,” he orders, voice low and dominant. 

You comply, opening up once more before gripping his wrist to slow his movements. “T-too much,” you whine. 

His movements come to a stop, crashing his lips into yours. “Wanna stop here?” He sharply inhales before pulling away from your lips. “We can do something else if you change your mind.” 

You shake your head, catching your breath. “At this rate, if I don’t lose it now, I’m dying a virgin.” Your dramatic statement causes your best friend to chuckle. 

“Last chance to be able to join a nunnery.” Johnny whispers, teasingly.

You giggle at his words. “Shut up.” You smash your lips onto his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your fingers stroking the back of his head.

He breaks your kiss before making his way over to grab his pants you tossed to the side. He fishes for the pack of condoms in the back pocket of his pants. A frantic look washes over him when he isn’t able to find it. 

“Shit,” he groans in frustration. “I think I left the condoms in my car.” 

You both glance over to your bedroom window, watching big raindrops roll down the glass. 

“You said you've been tested and that you’re clean, right?” You ask, looking up at him.

He nods before catching on. 

“There's no way you wanna do it raw.” He shakes his head. “I’ll just run downstairs and grab it.”

“It’s downpouring,” you frown. “I’m okay with it, really. I’m on birth control.”

“You are?” He looks at you, shocked.

“Yeah,” you bashfully smile. “Since graduation.”

“You’ve never told me that,” he chuckles, closing the distance between you two.

“Was I supposed to?” You looked at him amused. “Would it have made you ask to take my virginity sooner if I had told you?” You look up at him, innocently, batting your eyelashes at him. 

“There you go again with your sassy remarks. Always hurting my ego with your words.” He smirks.

“You love me.” You grin, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “Why else would you put up with it?” 

All he does is give you a smile before bending down to kiss you. He quickly positions his hips between your thighs. 

Adjusting your body, you watch as he slicks the tip of his cock over your slit, allowing his pre-cum to mix with your wetness. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” He instructs, lifting your chin so you’re looking directly into his eyes.

You nod in response.

He slowly pushes into you until his tip disappears inside of you. Johnny continues to slowly sink deeper, with short strokes pumping into you, until he’s fully hidden in your cunt. He freezes for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size. 

The sting you feel makes you flinch when he thrusts into you for the first time and you let out a small whimper. Your nails dig into Johnny’s forearms before he circles your clit with his thumb, helping you relax. 

“Is this okay?” He checks in and you nod, biting down on your bottom lip. He leans forward, giving you a soft, warm kiss. He moves as if he’s afraid he’s going to break you as his cock splits you open.

Discomfort slowly turns into pleasure and your mind focuses on how full you feel with Johnny inside of you. 

“Faster,” you softly beg. 

Following your command, his hips pick up its pace. Your cheeks burn with heat as Johnny’s thumb continues to rub circles onto your swollen clit. The lewd noises fill the room as your soaking cunt collides with the base of Johnny’s cock. 

“Harder,” you instruct again as your hands grip onto his waist. 

“You sure?” He questions. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you reassure, rubbing your thumbs over his bare skin. “I’ll be okay.” 

He nods and bucks his hips into your needy cunt. Your jaw drops when you feel how deep he is inside of you, his tip kissing your cervix with every harsh thrust.

Your skin slaps against his, adding to the lewd sounds you’re both making from pleasure. Your heart races and you feel yourself inching closer to another climax as Johnny’s cock hits your g-spot inside of you when you tilt your hips up for him. 

“God, you’re so pretty,” he softly chuckles as he looks down at you and a warm feeling runs under your skin. “So fucking pretty.”

You giggle at his words, covering your face in embarrassment. 

“No, don’t hide, baby.” He softly coos. “I wanna see you.” He interlocks his fingers with yours, pinning your hands into the mattress. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close causing him to deeply groan at your movements. 

His hips snap into you harder, causing you to jerk up your mattress. He releases your hands from his grip and buries his head into the crook of your neck. 

Your moans fill his ears as he continues to thrust into you. When you feel your skin begin to tingle, you drag your nails against Johnny’s back, leaving red lines behind before sinking your nails into his body, too distracted by the pleasure he’s giving you.

He feels your walls pulse against him and his deep, throaty groan is muffled against your skin. 

You choke out a warning before the tension in your stomach snaps. You feel your body tense up as you allow complete bliss to wash over you. 

Johnny takes it upon himself to help you through it, maintaining his pace as your warm and wet walls tighten against his shaft before relaxing. Your body goes limp as you bask in the pleasure.

“Are you okay?” He checks in, peppering soft kisses against your cheeks and halting his movements.

You bashfully nod, eyes glazed over and a tiny giggle leaves your lips. “I’m sorry if I scratched your back a little too hard,” you say, lightly rubbing your palms against his bare skin. 

Johnny chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it, it was pretty hot,” he smirks. “Hearing you moaning was hot too.”

You let out a tired laugh, lifting your head to capture his lips with yours. 

Johnny thrusts into you again, making you gasp at his actions. He smirks against your lips, enjoying your reaction. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and place open mouth kisses against his neck. 

Johnny sharply inhales and a shaky moan parts his lips. “Keep doing that,” he encourages. “Mark me up. Show everyone I’m yours.” 

His words ignite a fire in your stomach, turning you on. You fully comply with what he says, sucking on his skin and leaving red marks against his neck. 

He penetrates deeper into you, clearly turned on with the way you glide your tongue against his neck. Grabbing your waist, he keeps you in place from squirming away from him as he pounds into you.

“Oh fuck,” he stammers. “I’m gonna c-“ 

He quickly pulls himself out of you, frantically stroking his shaft over your stomach and painting his cum over your soft skin. 

You smile at the sight, touching the warm substance with your middle finger before using it to rub your swollen clit. 

“Oh god,” he pants. “Are you using my cum as lube right now?” He gives you an amused chuckle and a lopsided grin.

You look at his erection in his hand. “You’re still hard?” You question in disbelief. 

He looks down to where your gaze falls. “It happens when I’m really turned on.” His cheeks blush a pink hue. 

Your brows shoot up in shock and you use the palm of our hand to slowly rub over his cock’s head. Looking up at him, you bite on your bottom lip.

“You’re gonna continue fucking me, right?” You ask, using your other hand to continue circling your clit with his cum. 

“Yeah,” he breathlessly replies. “You want me to?” His jaw drops open, etching the sight of you into his mind. 

You silently nod in reply. 

“Turn over,” he growls. He moves away from you to give you space to change positions. “Get on all fours.” 

You follow his instructions and feel him align with your entrance. Taking a hold on your waist, he slowly sinks into you. He watches as your dripping cunt swallows him fully and with ease. Your jaw drops, enjoying how he fills you up perfectly, like he was made for you. 

His cock plunges into you with no remorse. The sound of smacking flesh bounces off your walls and his deep, low, and gravelly grunts accompany the way he’s pulling your cunt onto his shaft. 

Your arms give in, making you collapse onto the pillows in front of you, muffling your sobs as his cock rams into you.

Johnny holds your hips up and your back arches to his liking. Your finger gathers more of his release from your stomach before sliding it up and down your slit. 

“Keep going, please,” you beg, your voice muffled by your pillows. 

“Only if you keep touching yourself like that,” he pants. “Make yourself cum on my cock, baby.” 

He feels your walls tighten around his shaft and before you can warn him, your body trembles as you allow your orgasm to wash over you. 

You attempt to shift your weight back onto your hands before settling on using your headboard to keep you up. 

He places a hand over yours while his other hand grips your shoulder, simultaneously pulling you down his length when he thrusts into you, helping fuck you through your orgasm. 

Your eyes involuntarily cross before rolling to the back of your head. Your mind goes fuzzy, too engrossed in your orgasm to notice how much of a mess you are. You’re sobbing Johnny’s name that’s mixed with your favorite curse words and sounds of moans that he absolutely loves to hear. 

He pulls your back to his warm chest, holding you up with his strong arms. His hips recklessly pound up into you, leaving you cockdrunk and speechless. 

“I’m gonna cum,” he gasps. 

You push your ass into him while your hands grip onto his hips, keeping him from pulling out. 

“If you don’t move,” he grunts. “I’m cumming inside you,” he warns, feeling your hips grind against him. 

“Do it. Fill me up,” you giggle, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. 

Your words are enough to push Johnny to the edge and he empties his entire load inside of you with a loud groan that he muffles against your shoulder. 

His chest heaves against your back and you feel him pepper kisses against your neck, trailing them up and behind your ear. Lifting his hand, he gently takes a hold of your chin and turns your head to face him — placing tender kisses against your swollen lips.

“Are you okay?” He whispers. “It got a little rough towards the end there.” 

“Mm,” you hum. “I might feel it tomorrow but I’ll be okay.” 

You’re both pulled out of the intimate moment when a loud clap of thunder is heard. 

Johnny slowly releases his hold on you and you carefully lift your body off him, feeling his creamy release leak out of you. You lay on your back, attempting to catch your breath. 

Johnny places himself next to you, inviting you to rest your head on his chest. He wraps his arm around you — his fingers lightly tapping against your waist. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, looking up at him.

“I’m perfectly fine,” he chuckles, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Are you cold?” He reaches over to grab your blanket, pulling it over your body and his. 

You both sit there in silence, basking in his warmth. You nuzzle your face into his neck before whispering his name, catching his attention. 

“Do you remember when we were younger,” you gulp. “There was this asshole kid who kept making fun of me during recess?” You say the kid’s name, causing Johnny to laugh. 

“Yeah, I remember.” He shakes his head. “Why?” 

“Have I ever told you that when you told him to stop, I developed this huge crush on you?” You bury your face further into his neck, embarrassed at your sudden confession. 

“You did?” He asks, surprise dripping from his words.

“Is that weird?” You giggle, nervously biting down on your bottom lip. “If it is, it’s a total and complete lie, for sure. I never had a crush on you.” You reply sarcastically, having him pull you in tighter followed by a laugh that leaves his lips. 

“Remember when my best friend took you to senior prom?” He asks, pushing his hair back by his roots only for it to fall into the same position. 

You nod. “Yeah, how can I forget,” you chuckle. “He was my first kiss.”

“Yeah,” he playfully rolls his eyes. “Don’t remind me, he would not shut up about it and I was pissed.”

“Why?” You lift your head, leaning your body weight against your elbow. 

“I had this plan to ask you.” He lifts his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. “When he asked you and you said yes, I felt my heart physically break.” He laughs to himself. “I liked you so much, then finding out my best friend beat me to it, the biggest betrayal I ever felt.” 

“Well, if it means anything now,” you cup his cheek. “I was hoping you’d ask.” 

He places a tender kiss on the palm of your hand. 

“So,” you drawl. “When did you stop?” 

“Stop what?”

“Liking me,” you giggle. “Romantically, I mean.” 

He sits up, throwing his legs over the side of your bed — his back facing you. “Who says I stopped?” He softly laughs. You see him slightly turn his head to the side. Standing up and grabbing his underwear from your bedroom floor, clearly avoiding eye contact with you.

“Are you leaving?” You ask, watching his every move.

“No, unless you want me to?” He questions, turning to look at you. 

You hear another clap of thunder and the sound of rain hits your glass window, harder. 

“No,” you shake your head. “I want you to stay.” You pat the empty space next to you. “Plus, you promised me the boyfriend experience.”

He softly sighs, a smile pulling the corner of his mouth. He resumes his position next to you and you rest your head against his chest again.

“When did you stop liking me?” He softly questions and you hear his heartbeat accelerate, nervous to hear your response. 

“I didn’t,” you whisper, looking up at him and scrunching your nose, knowing he loves when you do that.

Your response makes him lightly laugh, placing a hand on top of your head before stroking the back of your hair. “Yeah,” he sighs, pulling your body into his even more. “Tonight definitely was not platonic, huh?” 

“Yeah, definitely not,” you grin. “At all.”

── BONUS SCENE: FRIDAY, 10:03 PM

“I’m gonna pay for tonight, I’ll meet you guys outside.” Johnny lets out, pulling his phone out and preparing his payment method.

You and your group of friends thank the hostess before walking out the front doors. 

“We missed you last month,” your friend, Mei, smiles as she places a hand on your arm. “We were worried about you.” 

“I’m fine,” you giggle. “Just wasn’t feeling well that night.”

“You seem better now,” Mark chimes in. “Happier, even.” 

You smile and nod your head. “Yeah, I mean, I always look forward to seeing you guys, so…” you trail off, rubbing your arms with the palms of your hands as a gust of wind hits you. 

“Do you need a ride home or is an Uber coming to get you?” Mei asks, throwing on her cardigan. “I can take you home.” 

You shake your head. “My boyfriend is actually taking me home,” you softly let out, trying to ease your way into telling them you and Johnny are now a couple.

Your friends look at you in shock. “Boyfriend?!” They say in unison. Their overlapping voices cause you to laugh and you make out a few of their questions before shaking your head and shushing them. 

“Boyfriend?” Mark laughs. “Why didn’t you tell us during dinner?” 

“It didn’t really come up,” you shrug.

“Is he coming now?” Doyoung questions. “We’ll wait with you until he gets here.” 

You check your phone, seeing a text from Johnny who lets you know that they’re taking a while to get the total amount for dinner. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “He’ll be here in a bit.” 

“Wait, how’d you meet?” Mei’s twin sister, Maya, asks you, running her fingers through her hair before crossing her arms across her chest, attempting to keep herself warm. 

“I’ve known him for a long time now,” you smile, staying as vague as possible — a little shy to tell them who your boyfriend actually is. 

“Does Johnny know?” Mark questions, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket. “Him being your best friend and all.”

“Yeah, he does.” You nod, watching Mark’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise — assuming he knows how much Johnny actually liked you. 

“What’s his name?” Doyoung asks.

They all keep their eyes on the parking lot, waiting and searching for a car to pull up in front of you. 

Before you could drop the surprise, Johnny joins the five of you. He gently wraps his jacket over your shoulders before you take a hold of his arm. 

“Ready to go home?” He asks, unaware that you still have yet to tell them. 

“Yeah,” you smile up at him. “But I haven’t-”

The four of them turn to look at you, eyeing the way you’re clinging onto Johnny’s arm. 

“Wait,” Mei lets out, pointing at Johnny but looking at you. “You said your boyfriend is taking you h-” 

“Surprise?” You grin, slightly tightening your grip on his arm.

Your friends’ jaws drop, overlapping their questions once more as Johnny throws an arm over your shoulders and pulls you into his side as if he’s protecting you from their rapid questions. 

He takes the time to answer their questions as your body warms up from both excitement and nervousness. You suddenly feel tiny raindrops beginning to fall from above you. 

“We better get going,” you warn everyone. “Don’t wanna get caught in the rain.” 

Everyone agrees and says their goodbyes, congratulating you both on your new relationship.

The rain picks up and bigger, heavier raindrops begin to fall. Johnny lifts his jacket over the both of you and you both quickly make your way over to his car. You grab his keys from the pocket of his jeans, unlocking the passenger’s side door. 

Johnny quickly appears in the driver’s seat, throwing his damp jacket in the backseat. 

“That went well, huh?” He smiles, quickly turning on his car and the heater, knowing your hands are cold. 

“Yeah,” you giggle. “Thank you for answering their questions, by the way. It was a little…”

“Overwhelming?” He grins, taking a hold of your hand and bringing it to his soft lips. 

“Exactly,” you sigh. You quickly buckle yourself in and Johnny does the same. “You’re staying the night, right?”

“Of course.” He pets the back of your head before driving back to your place. 

As you’re both laying in bed, you have a rerun of your favorite show playing in the background. Johnny draws circles against your back as you lay your head against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat. 

“Johnny?” You sleepily call out.

He hums, pausing his movements. 

“Do you think you could you read me to sleep?” You yawn. “I’ve been reading a chapter of that book every night before bed.” You point to the novel on your nightstand. 

“Yeah, I definitely can.” He shuts off your tv and shifts in bed to grab the book. He opens the novel to the page you stuck your makeshift bookmark in as you make yourself comfortable. 

He begins to read aloud and you focus on his voice. By the time he finishes reading the chapter, you’re fast asleep. 

After carefully placing the book back on the nightstand, Johnny gently pulls your blanket up your body. 

“Good night baby,” he softly whispers before placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “Sweet dreams. I love you.”

[batsovergotham]

🦇 𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗼 𝗪𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗚𝗿𝗮𝘆𝘀𝗼𝗻 | A DETAILED GUIDE

regarding the project: whether or not you have read the comics, this is a straightforward tutorial for anyone wishing to write mark grayson more precisely. brief notes. genuine emotional breakdowns. no lecturing. no gatekeeping. just a straightforward, honest look at what really shapes him and how to use the source material to portray him accurately.

a/n: i posted the poll about making a how to write mark grayson guide today, but honestly... i’ve been working on this for a while, ever since i posted some fics. it started because a few people mentioned that some of my mark breakdowns helped them with their fics, and i thought it might be nice to have something more detailed all in one place. so even though the poll went up today, this guide’s been in the works for a bit hehe i really hope it helps anyone who wants to write mark more true to the comics! thanks for reading!

in the invincible comics, if there’s one thing about mark grayson, it’s that he’s stubborn as hell when it comes to his ideals. like, painfully stubborn. there are so many times where he just flat-out refuses to back down from what he believes is right, even when everyone around him is telling him he’s being naive or that it’s gonna blow up in his face. and since the show hasn’t gotten to a lot of these moments yet, let’s talk about some comic only examples that really show just how stubborn (and sometimes reckless) mark’s idealism can be.

okay, so first off: the whole fight between mark and cecil stedman (the government guy who runs the GDA)? it's turning point of mark's view of the GDA and what it truly means to be a hero. it also begins to shed him of his naivety.

basically, mark finds out cecil’s been doing all this shady stuff behind the scenes like building an army of zombie cyborg supersoldiers (the reanimen), working with literal evil clones, just... real villain behavior. cecil’s whole mindset is like, “yeah it’s awful, but it’s for the greater good.” and mark? hates it. the second he finds out, he’s ready to fight.

and cecil’s response? he doesn’t even try to explain himself anymore. he just sends a whole damn army of reanimen after mark to try and beat him into submission. it’s brutal. mark gets swarmed, blasted with this crazy sonic device they rigged up, he’s getting absolutely trashed, and he still refuses to back down. he barely escapes, pulls some of the guardians together, and marches right back to finish what he started.

they trash the reanimen, it’s a mess, and at the end, cecil’s standing there like, “i did what had to be done.” and mark, bleeding and furious, basically tells him to shove it. he straight-up quits. no backup, no government support, nothing just him deciding he’d rather be completely alone than be part of something he thinks is wrong. like... that’s mark grayson. stubborn to the end.

Universa Arc.

so, universa’s this alien warrior who shows up on earth basically trying to steal the planet’s energy to save her dying world. mark and eve fight her, they win, she gets thrown in prison. standard superhero stuff, right? most heroes would’ve been like “cool, problem solved” and moved on. but not mark. mark can’t let it go.

he actually goes out of his way to visit her in jail. just to talk. and when he finds out she was only doing all of this because her people were desperate not because she was evil or power-hungry or anything he immediately goes into “let’s fix this” mode. like, no hesitation.

and he doesn't just feel bad about it and leave, no, mark convinces the warden to let her go, helps her find a way to safely get the energy she needs without hurting anyone, and sends her back home to save her people. universa is so stunned she literally promises to repay him someday.

it’s honestly one of the purest things he ever does. he refuses to just see her as “the bad guy.” he sees the person underneath. he believes that people, even enemies, can do the right thing if you give them a real chance.

was it a little naive? yeah, kinda. but it worked because mark’s the kind of guy who means it. like, really means it. and people can tell. that’s why his idealism hits so hard. he never gives up on the idea that there’s a better way.

Oliver and Allen VS Mark

okay, so one of the most heartbreaking examples of mark’s idealism clashing with the people he loves is the whole scourge virus situation.

basically, allen the alien and mark’s half-brother oliver come up with this plan to release a modified version of the scourge virua, the same virus that almost wiped out the viltrumites, to finish the job for good.

and mark? mark is horrified.

he’s not just worried about the viltrumites (even though yeah, some of them deserve it). he’s thinking about the humans. he’s thinking about the risk. he’s thinking about how unleashing something that dangerous ever is just crossing a moral line you can’t uncross.

so he tries to stop them. and it turns into a full-on fight. it’s messy, it’s emotional, and somewhere in the middle of it all, oliver, desperate and panicking, accidentally infects mark with the virus. mark almost dies.

and even after all that, after being betrayed and almost killed by his own brother, mark doesn’t blow up in rage. he’s just heartbroken. because for mark, the real tragedy isn’t what happened to him. it’s that people he loves were willing to risk something so horrific, to cross a line he’s spent his whole life refusing to cross.

like... he would literally rather fight his own family, risk dying, than give up on his ideals. he genuinely believes that the ends don’t justify the means, even if it costs him everything.

The Final Battle with Thragg and Mark's Monologue

by the end of the comic, we really get the full picture of who mark grayson has become. all that stubborn idealism, independence, and moral conviction he’s built up over the years? it all comes to a head during his final battle with thragg.

and the thing is...mark’s not just throwing punches. he’s saying everything he’s believed, everything that’s come to define him. he straight-up rejects thragg’s whole worldview, the viltrumite mindset of "strength over everything." and while they’re fighting, mark gives this monologue (mid-fight, because of course he does) that honestly just hits you right in the chest:

“you see us as people living only for conquest, measured only by the size of our empire. no room for peace. no room for compassion. no room for love… the truth is you were holding us back… we can be a force for good. we can spread peace throughout the galaxy. we can love and be loved. we can be happy.”

like... that’s so mark. even after everything he’s been through, even while he's locked in a life or death fight, he still believes people, even viltrumites, can be better.

and it’s not just talk either. this is what mark actually wants. he’s trying to turn an empire built on war into something good. it’s insanely idealistic, yeah, but it’s 100% real. and what’s really cool is that he’s doing it his way. not the way any viltrumite leader before him would’ve done it. this is mark’s independence on full blast, he's building something new, completely breaking away from the old viltrumite pride and brutality.

thragg, of course, can’t even wrap his head around it. and mark beats him, physically and symbolically. it’s basically proving that compassion and strength aren’t opposites. mark’s showing that being a good person doesn’t mean being weak, and being cruel doesn’t mean you’re strong.

if you’re writing fanfiction that covers late-series or post-series mark, this moment is a huge thing to keep in mind. by now, he’s not the uncertain teenager anymore. he knows who he is and what he stands for. but he hasn’t lost that earnestness, that moral fire he had as a kid, if anything, it’s gotten stronger and sharper.

mark taking down thragg with conviction shows the kind of leader he’s grown into. he’s not just reacting to problems anymore; he’s actively trying to shape a better future. people look up to him, even people who used to be enemies, because of the integrity he shows. not because they’re scared of him, but because they respect him.

another super important thing: even after all that, mark doesn’t turn into some dictator. like, it would’ve been so easy for him to say, “i’m the strongest, i’m in charge now.” but he doesn’t. he stays focused on making things better. he pushes for the viltrumites to actually protect earth, to integrate, to live differently. he keeps that humility.

even at the height of his power, he’s worrying about being a good husband, a good dad (the finale shows his future family life), and living up to his ideals. he never stops checking himself because deep down, he’s terrified of turning into what his dad was.

so if you’re writing a future!mark or an alt ending where he’s leading the viltrumites or running with huge responsibilities, always keep that in mind: no matter how powerful he is, he’s still that same kid who’s scared of losing his humanity and who’ll do anything to protect it.

Now that we understand the Idealism surrounding his character, let's discuss how to actually write him.

okay so if you’re writing mark grayson in fanfics, one of the biggest things you have to remember is that he is not a soft boy. he is not a “yes man.” he is not some passive sunshine character who just agrees with whatever the hell his friends or love interest says because he’s so sweet and loyal. that’s just not who he is.

mark is kind. he’s empathetic. he loves deeply. but he is stubborn as hell when it comes to his beliefs. like painfully, frustratingly stubborn.

he doesn’t just roll over when someone he loves disagrees with him. he doesn’t abandon his moral compass to avoid conflict. if anything, he’ll fight even harder against the people he cares about because he believes so strongly in what he thinks is right.

this is the guy who:

tells cecil (the literal head of the GDA, who helped him post omni-man) to fuck off to his face because cecil’s methods are too corrupt.

tries to rehabilitate a literal eco-terrorist (dinosaurus) because he genuinely thinks they could do good together, even when everyone else calls him insane.

punches his own little brother and one of his best friends (oliver and allen) in the face when they want to use the scourge virus to wipe out the viltrumites, because he refuses to believe genocide is ever the answer even when it would save billions of lives.

goes into exile on an alien planet with his family instead of accepting a “peaceful” dictatorship run by robot, because he would rather lose everything than live under tyranny. then, he eventually comes back and kills robot himself.

like... mark is kind, yes. but he’s not compliant. he’s not someone you can easily sway just because you’re close to him. he doesn’t make decisions based on what’s easiest or what’ll hurt the fewest feelings. he makes decisions based on what he believes is right, even if it blows up his relationships. even if it hurts people he loves. even if it isolates him.

so when you’re writing him:

let him argue. let him push back when something doesn’t sit right with him.

let him get angry when his beliefs are challenged. he’s emotional. he’s reactive.

let him stand his ground even when it costs him.

let him care so deeply it hurts him sometimes.

don’t be afraid to show that he’s wrong, too because sometimes his stubbornness backfires horribly (like trusting dinosaurus). but even when he’s wrong, he’s never malicious. he’s never apathetic. he’s trying.

he’s not cold. he’s not cruel. but he’s also not a people-pleaser. he’s willing to lose friends, mentors, allies, and even his home if it means doing what he feels is right.

common mischaracterizations you should avoid:

making him a soft, easily manipulated boyfriend who never questions anything.

making him prioritize romance over his core values without struggle. (like, if you have him abandoning his morals instantly for love, it feels wrong. he might bend, but it would mess him up inside and cause conflict.) DO NOT CONFLATE HIS MORALS WITH WHAT THE GDA BELIEVES!!

making him unrealistically calm and detached. mark feels everything with his whole chest. when he’s hurt or angry, it shows. he doesn't bottle it up perfectly.

writing him like he's just “along for the ride” emotionally. mark makes decisions. he moves the plot. even when he’s wrong, he’s active, not passive.

writing mark grayson right means letting him be a mess sometimes. it means letting him get bloodied up in fights he probably can’t win. it means letting him make terrible mistakes because he believed too hard in someone. it means letting him love people and lose people and still keep standing, still keep hoping. still keep fighting for the better world he dreams of.

because that's what makes him invincible. not the powers. not the strength. it’s the fact that even when everything in him is broken, his body, his mind, etc, he keeps fighting for what he believes in.

bad vs good characterization examples for mark

example 1

bad: "are you sure about this?" he asked, voice trembling. "i mean... if you think it's right, i'll go along with it. i trust you." (he says nothing else. he just follows along. no hesitation, no conflict, just blind loyalty.)

why it's wrong: this makes him sound like a passive puppy who just goes wherever the story/author pushes him. mark is loyal, yeah, but he’s not a yes man. if something feels wrong to him, he’s going to say something even if it starts a fight.

good: "i don’t know if i can go with you on this," mark said, frowning. "i get why you want to do it... i do. but it doesn’t sit right with me. it’s not who i want to be." his hands flexed at his sides, restless. "i’m not trying to fight you. i’m trying to make you understand." (there’s tension. there’s conflict. but the love is still there. he’s standing his ground because he cares.)

example 2

bad: mark nodded immediately. "you're right. i didn’t even think about it that way. i’ll change everything i'm doing for you." (he has no independent thought. he never questions anything. he changes core beliefs instantly.)

why it's wrong: mark can compromise sometimes, but it’s never instant. if he changes his mind, it comes from hard conversations, real consequences, or deep emotional shifts. he doesn’t just flip a switch because someone asked him nicely.

good: "maybe you’re right," mark muttered after a long beat, his jaw locked. "but you can’t expect me to throw away everything i believe just because it's easier." he exhaled, frustrated, running a hand through his ebony hair. "i need to think. i can't just... pretend this doesn't matter."

key reminders when writing mark:

he’s stubborn. like cartoonishly stubborn. even when it’s inconvenient. even when it costs him everything.

he’s idealistic. he genuinely believes doing the right thing matters, even if nobody else believes it anymore.

he’s emotional. he feels everything with his whole chest. anger, sadness, guilt, hope, it’s never muted or put down for the sake of plot purposes.

he’s reactive. mark doesn’t always think things through. if he sees something he doesn't like or someone he loves in danger, he moves first, thinks later.

he’s not a people pleaser. even if he loves you, if you’re doing something he thinks is wrong, he’s gonna call you out. loudly.

he fights with people he loves. not because he loves them less but because he loves them too much to let them destroy themselves or cause harm to other people that causes conflict in what he believes in.

he’s not a soft boy. he’s kind. he’s empathetic. but he’s also willing to bloody his fists and risk his life for what he believes in.

he’s not passive. mark makes choices. even when they’re bad ones. he’s an active character who moves the plot forward.

he’s wrong sometimes. his idealism blinds him. he trusts the wrong people. he fucks up. and he owns it (eventually).

he doesn't believe violence is the first answer (especially at the end of the series). but when it’s necessary, he doesn’t hold back. if he’s in a fight, he’s there to win.

he can’t be guilt tripped into giving up his morals. you can hurt him. you can betray him. but you can’t make him become someone he’s not.

he keeps hoping. even after all the betrayal, death, loss, heartbreak he's gone through, he never fully lets go of hope.

NOTABLE MOMENTS TO HELP CHARACTERIZE HIM IN YOUR FIC

“DON’T EVER THREATEN MY FAMILY!!” – Issue #33.

this is mark at his absolute breaking point just pure protective rage, screaming at angstrom who just hurt his mom. it’s a simple line, but it hits because you can feel everything behind it. the second someone he loves is in danger, mark doesn’t hold back. he doesn’t care about looking heroic or calm, he just loses it. and that’s something to keep in mind if you’re writing him, when mark’s temper explodes, it’s not about his pride or getting even. it’s about protecting the people he loves. period. he’s like a lion protecting his cubs its all instinct, no hesitation. so if you’re ever writing a scene where a villain’s threatening someone close to him, picture mark practically shaking, shouting until his voice breaks, just burning with that raw, desperate anger. it’s not polished or composed, it’s messy, it’s emotional, and it’s all love underneath it.

“THIS IS BEING A SUPER-HERO? I'M JUST STOPPING CRAP FROM HAPPENING AT ANY GIVEN MOMENT. I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING REALLY WORTHWHILE… …AND WHEN I FAIL… MY GOD, I FAIL BIG. WE HAVE THE POWER TO CHANGE THE WORLD, EVE… …BUT INSTEAD THINGS JUST KEEP GETTING WORSE.” – Issue #81.

it’s not just some random thought he brushes off. you can tell it hits him. like... what if everything he’s been doing hasn’t actually changed anything? what if he’s just patching holes in something that’s already falling apart? it’s honestly a gut-punch moment because mark is usually so stubbornly hopeful. but even he isn’t immune to wondering if any of it’s enough. and it’s such an important part of who he is, he doesn’t just blindly believe everything’s fine. he feels it when it isn’t. he questions himself. he struggles with it. if you’re writing fanfic and you want to show a more introspective or vulnerable side of him, especially after something rough happens, this is the kind of feeling you want to tap into. not him giving up, but that raw, exhausted moment where he’s like, what’s the point if nothing ever really changes? it makes him feel real. because even with all the optimism and fight he’s got, sometimes the weight of it still catches up to him.

HOW TO WRITE HIS HUMOR/MORE LIGHT-HEARTED SIDE

mark isn’t all heavy drama and serious fights, he actually has a ton of light, funny moments, especially early on. like when he first starts getting his powers and his coworker asks him about his future, he just says

“finish high school, I guess.”

which is funny because he already knows he’s about to step into something way bigger.

there are little moments like that all over, times when he’s play fighting with william, or throwing out corny jokes, especially about stuff like science dog (his favorite comic, seance dog in the show). even though a lot of this guide focuses on the heavy, emotional stuff, it’s important not to forget these slice of life stuff

if you’re writing fanfics with him, adding in those little jokes or funny lines can really help keep mark in character. think about it like how spider-man cracks jokes during fights except mark’s version is a little less snarky and more dorky he jokes the most when he’s around people he’s comfortable with, and it’s not because he’s not taking things seriously it’s because that humor is just a part of who he is.

DISCLAIMER!

one of the biggest differences between comic mark and show mark is that comic mark is definitely rougher around the edges, especially early on. he’s not the super polished, always perfect hero type. in the early issues, mark can actually be kind of crude, he uses slurs (like the r-word) and makes some offhanded gay jokes, usually when he’s goofing around with william. it’s definitely surprising when you read it now, but it’s also important to understand that it’s part of his growth. it’s not written to make him look good, it’s showing that he’s a dumb teenage boy who hasn’t figured everything out yet. he says thoughtless, insensitive stuff because he’s young, immature, and still has a lot of learning to do.

and the comics let him grow.

later on, when william comes out to him, mark doesn’t just brush it off or make another dumb joke, he’s genuinely supportive. he accepts william without hesitation. and from that point on, you can see a clear shift, mark stops using slurs, stops making those kinds of jokes. it’s not a huge dramatic “lesson learned” moment, but the change is there. he matures. he gets it.

the show sort of skips over this whole messy, realistic part of his character arc. animated mark is a lot more careful and a little more "clean" from the start, he doesn’t really say anything offensive, and he’s framed as a lot more socially aware right out of the gate. which makes sense for a modern audience and a tv format, but it does smooth out some of the rough growth we see in comic mark.

comic mark’s early immaturity makes his later kindness and emotional intelligence feel earned. it’s not that he’s perfect, it’s that he chooses to grow, to be better, to really care about people in a way that goes beyond surface-level acceptance. that’s a huge part of what makes comic mark feel so real. he screws up, he says dumb stuff, but he listens, he learns, and he changes.

CONCLUSION AND FINAL NOTE!

at the end of the day, mark grayson isn’t about being perfect. he’s about trying. he’s stubborn as hell, emotional, sometimes reckless, and way more human than people give him credit for.

he holds onto what he believes even when everyone’s telling him to give up. he fights for the people he loves even when it costs him everything. he messes up (a lot), but he always, always tries to be better. that’s what makes him mark.

when you’re writing him, don’t be afraid to show all of it, the anger, the humor, the doubt, the stubborn hope that somehow refuses to die even when everything’s falling apart. he’s not supposed to be perfect or untouchable. he’s supposed to feel real.

sometimes he gets it wrong. sometimes he crashes and burns. but the point is, he keeps going. he cares even when it’s easier not to. and that’s why people love him.

i hope breaking all this down helps if you’re trying to write him, understand him better, or just see where he’s coming from. because when you really look at it, mark’s whole story isn’t about being the strongest guy in the room it’s about being the one who refuses to give up on people, even when it would be easier to stop caring.

thanks for reading! and honestly, if you ever feel stuck writing him, just go back to that core idea > he never stops trying. that’s who he is.

[beautyinthewayofthings05]

Dick would definitely go after Joker first. Jason has no idea and assumed he’d go after him. Tim however definitely knows and started finding ways to just mildly inconvenience Dick. Not enough that people suspect outside play but enough that it is definitely upsetting Dick.

Dick convinced that he’s somehow managed to do something to piss off some kind of luck god( or goddess he doesn’t assume) hides away in his apartment and Jason, assuming that since a couple days have passed he is now free to do his job as little brother, stops by without saying anything. Jason arrives at Dicks apartment to see it in total disarray trash everywhere and the kitchen, god the kitchen. Take-out trash litters every inch of the counter space and some even spills onto the floor. Jason is now slightly concerned not only about the mess but also Dicks eating habits. He makes some sort of comment about Dick being in his mid twenties and still eating like a child left to fend for their self and Dick still half asleep and already on edge mistakenly thinks that Jason is just one of his hallucinations arriving just to tell him how pathetic he is and instead of breaking down or getting angry he just gets up completely calm and leaves. Jason slightly more concerned now just opts to clean up his apartment and then meal prep for him.

While Jason is doing this Dick just up and brakes into Arkham to brutally murder the Joker. The scene is so bad that by morning when police arrive it makes even the most seasoned officers lose their lunch (even Gordon needs to step out for a couple minutes ). Afterwords Dick just leaves. He goes back to his apartment and sleeps for nearly 24 hours straight.

The batfam at this point is in total disarray and after reviewing the tapes are left speechless because that can’t be Dick in the footage no way. The golden boy breaking Bat’s number one rule. It just can’t be true most are considering the possibility of the footage being doctored somehow. But no it’s true and the only ones who believe it are Tim, Bruce, and Alfred. Tim the little evil genius who planned all this is like “well if he did it once then I guess he could do it again”. Jason already panicked is now screaming asking Tim what the FUCK he means by that. And Tim the chaos demon himself( who really just wanted Jason to come around more so that Dick would stop moping) and figured the best way to do that was to have someone avenge him) is like “oh wait you didn’t know. Yeah this is the second time Dick has killed the Joker” and watches with well hidden glee as Jason freaks out, jumps on his bike, and rushes off towards Dick’s place. When he gets there Dick is still sound asleep covered in Jokers blood and other bits of flesh. When Jason wakes him up to ask what the hell happened Dick has no clue what he is even talking about tells him as such before falling back asleep.

(Saw this and thought about dick killing the joker sorry it’s bad)

*Dick crashes out while on patrol and beats someone within an inch of their life*

Bruce: Dick might be a little bit fragile after last night, so let’s try to be sensitive.

Jason: Oh, believe me- I am going to be nothing but nice to Dick from now on. If he snaps and goes on a rampage, who do you think he’s coming for first?

Bruce: He’s not going on a rampage.

Tim: I bet he’d let me live. He likes me.

Damian: I’m just gonna say it. I never trusted him.

[blackcoldcrackedheart]

"And then I text Bobby, make sure he's okay"

"Tommy, right?" Tommy turns to see a young woman, maybe early twenties. He had seen and met her briefly before.

"I don't know if you remember me from the medal ceremony? I'm Athena's daughter."

Tommy vaguely remembers, "Yeah, I-" her name is a month but he's blanking on which month. "I'm sorry, it's May or -"

She smiles, it's awkward and tight, but it's there as she goes to shake his hand. "It's May." She licks her lips and looks towards the direction of where Evan, Howie, Hen, and Eddie are standing at- they're in small group, their head bowed as they talk amongst themselves.

Tommy tries to give them space.

Bobby's wake is heavy and a lot all at once. Tommy tries hard to not cry and while he's giving Evan his space, he doesn't want to go too far.

"I'm sorry. About Bobby, I can already imagine how great of a step-father he was."

May nods, wiping away a few tears, "He was a great dad, I'm gonna miss him." She sighed, she looks over again. "I know it's none of my business, but are you and Buck together again?"

Tommy flinched, he looks down at his cup of water, unsure what they are or even if he could answer the question. "I rather not misinform you." He hopes it sounds diplomatic enough if it gets back to Evan that May asked him about their relationship status.

She sniffs, huffing out a soft laugh. "It's just-" she looks at Evan again, her brows furrowong with worry. "I know that Bobby saw Buck as his kid, and I know Buck saw Bobby as his dad."

Tommy knew that.

He knew what it was like to lose a parent.

He lost his mom.

He had seen people react to losing their parents during calls.

He saw Evan lose Bobby that night.

He watched the man he loved more than anyone breakdown in grief as he lost his father.

"I don't know if Buck has talked to you or the others about losing Bobby, I tried but he basically said it wasn't about him."

That has Tommy frowning now too.

He doesn't want to disclose what Evan has told him, he doesn't want to break Evan's trust and tell May that he's had to hold Evan as the other man sobbed till he fell asleep twice now.

"We've talked. He knows I'll be here for him as long as he needs." Tommy tells her softly.

"Good." May nods, "I-I know that Buck and I aren't close, but I-I just want to make sure he's okay."

Tommy hums in agreement, he notices that she hasn't stopped fidgeting since she approached him. "How are you holding up?" He asks her.

He sees May's eyes fill with tears and he quickly gives her a napkin from the table besides them that had a small serving of food and water.

"Thank you." Her voice sounds so wobbly and young that Tommy feels himself start to tear up. "I'll be okay," she sighs, "I'm just really worried about my mom. She isn't talking about what happened but I know her. I know she's angry about losing Bobby."

Tommy believes her, he had heard the others admit the same thing. Especially Howie, who was riddled with guilt about losing Bobby.

"She's probably not going to be in a mood to talk about what happened for a while, the best we can do right now is just be there for her and the others." Tommy tells her, he knows it's generic advice but it's the only thing that makes sense to him. He can't fix what happened, he can't make it all better.

He can't bring back Bobby.

As much as he wishes he could.

"I know." May tells him dishearteningly, blowing her nose on the napkin. "It's not fair." She admits in a small voice as she looks at her mom, Athena is consoling an older woman who Tommy thinks is Bobby's mom.

"None of this is fair." He agrees quietly.

-

There's pain radiating from his neck to his shoulders and he's pretty sure the cool damp spot he's feeling on his chest is from Evan drooling on him.

The living room is still pretty dark, but Tommy could see strays of light from the sun rising coming through the front window.

He squints at the timer on the DVD player.

It's just 6:38 am.

So they managed to sleep for at least 2 hours more.

Progress.

Evan had woken up from a nightmare. The same nightmare of losing Bobby and waking up in a panic.

This was the third time now and Tommy had used Evan’s phone of sending a text message to his therapist about booking an emergency session (with Evan's permission).

They had moved from their bedroom to the backyard to get some fresh air and drink some herbal tea and then moved to the living room.

He knew Evan slept better when they were cuddled together so he tried not to move despite the pain in his neck and shoulders.

He thought Evan was still asleep, but he heard the other man groan, his voice rough with sleep and pain as he asks Tommy, "What time issit?"

Tommy cards his fingers through Evan's sweaty curls, "Quarter to 7, almost." He presses his lips to Evan's hairline, believing the other man will just go back to sleep.

Instead Evan reaches over to the side table, the friction between them has Tommy gritting his teeth as Evan reaches over his head to grab his phone.

Tommy doesn't say anything but he can see Evan opening up his text messages and messaging Bobby.

'Hey, are you okay?'

Tommy doesn't say anything but he can see the message from the day before.

It's not a different number, Tommy knows that it's Bobby's number that responded back yesterday.

'Hey, are you okay?'

'I'm okay, Buck.'

He's not sure what to say or even ask as Evan lays his head down back on Tommy’s chest. The hand clutching the phone is splayed to the side and hanging off the couch.

Tommy knew about Evan messaging Bobby, it was something Evan started after coming out of a coma. It was something he did because, as Evan explained it, in the coma dream he couldn't save Bobby, so he needed to know that in reality Bobby was okay.

It was the first thing he did every morning since.

Now...

Evan's phone buzzed, and Tommy could only frown as Evan blearily looks as the screen.

'I'm okay, Buck.'

Evan huffs out in relief and let's his arm hang down again. There's a soft thud sound that Tommy knows is Evan dropping the phone.

"Athena's okay." He tells Tommy sleepily, there's an edge to his voice that Tommy knows is about nightmare.

Tommy clutches him and despite Evan's eyes are closed, he can see the tears clutching and falling from Evan's lashes and down his nose and cheeks.

-

"Hey."

"Hey."

Tommy passes a glass of lemonade to May as he sits next to her.

She looks at the glass and then at him, "Lemonade? Really? Tommy, I'm over 21."

Tommy purses his lips and tries not to smile as he take a sip of his own glass of lemonade. "I'm not giving the Sergent's kid alcohol. Even if the kid is an adult who has a degree from USC now."

May laughs, looking around the room at her graduation party. She had told her mom it wasn't necessary for them to celebrate her graduation.

But May figured the party was what was needed after coping with losing Bobby 8 months ago.

"How is he now?" May asks, nodding in the direction of Buck. He was standing with Athena and Michael and David, his face bright as whatever he was saying got the trio to laugh. Athena was clutching his arm, her head tilted back as Buck waved his hands excitedly around.

"Better." Tommy answers honestly. Evan was doing better, he still had rough days- days in where he would shut down and made Tommy worry.

But those days were getting farther in between now.

"How's Athena?"

May turns to him, smiling. "Better."

They look at Buck and Athena again, the two laughing together as David starts talking this time.

-

"Wasn't expecting to see you here, Buckley." Athena knows she sounds cold, but she can't help it. She's annoyed that Buck is here.

Buck isn't religious as far as she knew.

She had went to Bobby's church to feel something.

Anything besides anger and hurt.

Bobby's funeral was only a day ago.

She was going back to work tomorrow.

She needed to get her head back into the game by tonight.

She thought attending mass would make her feel better. She wasn't expecting to see a familiar head of curls sitting three pews in front of her.

"Wasn't expecting to be here." Buck admits, his voice is rough and Athena can hear the cracks in it. She looks at his face, his skin is blotchy and she sees how blood shot and teary eyed he looks.

She wasn't close to Buck.

But she knew how much Bobby loved him.

She knew how much Buck loved Bobby too.

She feels her lower lip wobble as she sits next to him.

"Is it helping?" She asks him, looking straight ahead because she knows she's close to breaking.

She doesn't want to break again.

"No." Buck admits tearfully, he sounds fed up. Athena still isn't looking at him but she hears him sniff. "I-I don't know, Bobby always relied on God to get through the bad days, I thought maybe if I came here-"

"That God could help you too?"

"Uh, no? I-I thought it could help me feel close to Bobby. I-whenever I had a bad day I would go to him."

Athena feels her eyes burn with tears again.

"Why are you here?" Buck asks her after awhile.

She feels herself become fidgety, her knee won't stop bouncing as she looks ahead still. "I figured coming here would bring me some peace for tomorrow." She answers half honestly.

She hears Buck scoff, "is it working?"

Athena feels herself tapping her nails against the pew, she feels tears start to fall. "No." She whispers as she realizes that despite her best efforts she breaking down again.

She feels Buck's arms go around her and she breaks more, clutching Buck's shirt as they both cry.

"I don't- I don't know how to move on from this, Buck."

"Me neither." He tells her once they pull apart, the crying was cathartic. Buck holds her hand tightly, needing something to ground him.

He looks nervous as he asks, "Uh, there's this thing. That I do with Bobby- did, I guess." He frowns as he corrects himself. He wipes away more tears as he tries to speak but his voice is horse. "I-I would message him, every-every morning and ask if he's okay."

Athena chuckles softly, she knew about Buck's early morning texts. How much Bobby adored it, it made him smile every morning.

"I know." She tells him, waiting for his point.

"I-I was wondering, maybe I -I could text message you now? I-I don't know when you're planning on sto-"

"Not yet."

Athena knows it silly to keep paying for Bobby's phone line but she can't do it yet.

"Sooo, maybe I can text message Bobby and you- you could answer?"

Athena looks at him.

Buck hangs his head down, his laugh sounds so self-deprecating to her own ears.

"Yeah, I know, stupid-"

She squeezes his hand, "I think it sounds like a great idea, Buck."

She knows that Buck has the 118, Maddie, and Tommy.

She has her kids and Michael has been there for her, so has Anne and Charlie.

But Buck was special to Bobby.

He was his kid.

And Athena didn't want to lose that part of Bobby.

Buck knew he wasn't Bobby's family, not officially. But he wanted to be. He wanted to make sure that the people Bobby loved where okay, but he also wanted to be apart of their lives. He wanted to have something to still tie him to Bobby.

Athena allowing him to be there meant the world to him. It meant he was really a part of Bobby's family.

"You going to be okay?"

"Getting there, you?

"Getting there too."

[secretl1fe0fm3]

all your exes ~ billie eilish x fem!reader

“you tell me not to worry, im the only thing you see. well, yeah, i fucking better be.”

warnings: smut, jealous!billie, dom!billie, dirty talk, degradation, fingering, orgasm denial, strap(r!receiving), handcuff usage, established relationship

an: this is pure filth!! (who’s shocked) y’all showed so much love to obsessive, and this is another product of that universe, a sister fic in a way (LOVE possessive!billie) i really recommend listening to all your exes by julia michaels while reading! enjoy (or don’t) mwah <3

18+ minors dni!!!

2.2k words

The music is pounding against the walls, bass vibrating through the floorboards of the random house you were at. You’re standing in the kitchen, drink in hand, laughing at something dumb your friend said. You were unaware of Billie somewhere across the room, talking with a friend as well, half watching you, half engaging in the pointless conversation she was having. Her drink untouched in her ring clad fingers.

You don’t notice the moment your ex slides up beside you, too lost in your tipsy state to realize. It’s easy to miss, with the noise, the warmth of the room, the way you’re already eager to greet whoever’s nearby, socializing with every person there.

“Hey, stranger,” they say, voice sickeningly sweet and leaning way too close.

You blink, your eyes widening instantly at the familiar voice, surprise flashing across your face. It takes you not even a second to recognize the figure smiling at you.

“Oh my god, hi!” you laugh, a little too loudly, setting your cup down to throw your arms around them in a quick hug. Just friendly, you think, but they don’t pull away as fast as you do.

Billie’s jaw clenches so hard it aches. She watches the way you hug them and smile with that big, genuine grin you save for people you actually like. It makes her stomach burn as she watches you, her friend falling silent as she realizes Billie’s attention is else where. She crosses her arms tighter, waiting, studying the way your ex talks animatedly, brushing your waist with their fingers, the way their eyes linger on your mouth every time you laugh.

You, blissfully oblivious, laugh and nod with them, cracking jokes every so often. It was all innocent in your eyes, just catching up with an old friend.

Billie doesn’t say a word or intervenes. She just watches.

———

The car ride home is dead silent. You’re humming to yourself, scrolling through your phone, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. Billie’s hands are tight around the steering wheel, her knuckles white, the streetlights flashing across her face in hard, cold slashes.

You don’t notice. You’re still thinking about the party, already missing the warm buzz of the room and the loud music.

When Billie pulls up to her place, you stumble a little getting out of the car. Billie’s right there, steadying you with a hand on your waist, gentle but tense. You grin up at her, mumbling, “You’re so sweet.”

She doesn’t smile back.

———

Inside, you kick your shoes off, stumbling a little clumsily in the entryway. Billie shuts the door behind you with a soft click. You start rambling about the night, about how fun it was, about how weird it was seeing old faces, but she cuts you off.

“Do you have any idea what you were doing?” she asks, voice low and unwavering.

You blink at her. “What?”

“Your ex.” She spits the words out like they are poison on her tongue. “They were all over you.”

You frown, confused, stepping closer. “No they weren’t. We were just talking, Bils.”

Billie laughs once, sharp and humorless. “You’re kidding me. You didn’t see the way they were looking at you?”

You shake your head stubbornly, the alcohol still clouding your judgement. “You’re overthinking it.”

Billie’s jaw tightens at your words. Her eyes narrow as she stares at you for a moment, silence filling the foyer.

“No, I’m not,” she says, voice cold. She steps closer, slow and deliberate, until your back hits the wall with a soft thud. “You’re just too drunk to realize how fucking lucky you are that I didn’t drag you out of that party the second they laid a hand on you.”

You blink up at her, throat dry, all words dying on your tongue.

Billie leans in, breath ghosting your ear. Her voice drops, rough and quiet. “I think you need a reminder,” she murmurs, “of who you belong to.”

Before you can make a snarky comment, her lips crash against yours, taking you by surprise and your breath away. Her hands find your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp out against her lips. She smirks into the kiss, satisfied.

“Bedroom,” she commands, voice low and leaving no room for argument.

Billie’s hand wraps around your wrist as she tugs you toward the hallway without another word. The house feels too quiet now, every creak of the floor under your steps loud in the heavy air between you. Your skin forms goosebumps with anticipation, heart racing faster with every step Billie takes in front of you.

When you reach the bedroom, she doesn’t rush. She closes the door gently behind her. Billie leans back against the door, arms folded, hooded eyes dragging over your body in a way that makes you feel stripped bare already.

“Strip,” she says, voice low, unbothered, like it’s just a casual request, and not a degrading demand.

You hesitate, just for a second.

Her eyebrow lifts. “Now.”

You swallow hard, fingers fumbling as you reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. She watches as you shimmy out of your jeans, standing there in nothing but your underwear, feeling the weight of her gaze burn into your cold skin.

“All of it,” she adds, her lips curving into a slow, smug smile.

Heat floods your cheeks as you slip your bra straps down your arms, letting it fall to the floor, then hook your thumbs into your panties and slide them down, stepping out of them. Completely bare under the heaviness of her stare, you shift awkwardly, arms twitching toward covering yourself.

Billie clicks her tongue.

“Uh-uh, baby. Let me look at you.”

You drop your hands to your sides, chest heaving as you try and take a deep breath.

“That’s better,” she murmurs, pushing off the door at last.

She crosses the room towards you before stopping right in front of where you’re standing, her finger lifting to trail slowly down your throat, your chest, your stomach, barely touching, just enough to make you shiver.

“So sweet,” she muses out loud, tilting her head, “and so fucking clueless sometimes.”

You open your mouth to argue, but her hand trails back up and closes lightly around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, a silent warning. You whimper, spine arching into her.

“Not gonna let you forget again,” she promises.

You barely register her moving away from you until you hear the soft clink of metal. You blink, breath stuttering, as Billie pulls a pair of handcuffs from the drawer by the bed, twirling them once on her finger, taunting you.

“Get on the bed,” she orders.

You scramble back onto the mattress, heart pounding. Billie follows, climbing over you, straddling your hips for a moment just to smirk down at you before grabbing your wrists and clicking the cuffs around them, locking you to the headboard.

The cold bite of metal against your skin sends a surge of warmth through your lower belly.

“Perfect,” Billie breathes, admiring the way you look spread out for her, her pupils expanding at the sight.

She slides her hand slowly down your stomach again, nails scratching lightly, until she cups your already throbbing heat. You writhe instinctively, desperate for her, but she just chuckles under her breath.

“So needy already,” she teases, dragging a single finger between your soaked folds, just barely touching where you need her the most. You whimper, trying to push your hips into her hand, but she pulls back.

“Aw. Poor baby,” Billie mocks, fake sympathy dripping from every word. “You let some fucking loser at a party touch you but now you wanna act desperate for me? That’s cute.”

You whine loudly, the humiliation and degrading words mixing in your gut, making your head spin.

She gives in after a moment of listening to nothing but your desperate whines, sliding two fingers in, slow and deep. Her thrusts start slow, not quite hitting your sweet spot, but it’s at least something. Before you can get used to it, she pulls her fingers out quickly, leaving you clenching around nothing. You sob quietly, tugging against the cuffs.

“Not yet,” Billie says sweetly, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “You don’t get to come until I say. Understand?”

You nod frantically, your body writhing on the bed desperately. “Y-Yes, Billie.”

“Good girl.”

She sinks her fingers back into you, curling them just right, dragging against that spot that makes your vision blur. You moan loudly, thighs shaking, so close already, but just as your body tenses, ready to fall over the edge, she pulls away again, smirking at the way you sob her name in frustration.

“You look so fucking pathetic like this,” she murmurs, dragging her fingers back through your soaked folds with excruciating slowness, circling your clit with a feather light touch. “So desperate for me. Just dripping and begging, and you still think you’re not mine, hm?”

You whimper, shaking your head quickly.

She pulls back, and for a moment, you fear she’s going to leave you hanging again, but then you hear the faint sound of the nightstand drawer opening. You lift your head off the pillows weakly, wrists straining against the cuffs, and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of her pulling out her dark purple strap, buckling it around her hips with ease.

Billie meets your wide, desperate eyes and grins. She strokes the toy in one hand, slow and deliberate, letting you watch as your mouth waters with anticipation.

“You gonna be good for me now?” Billie asks, voice almost sweet, almost kind, but you know better.

“Yes,” you choke out, nodding frantically. “Please, Billie. Need you, so bad.”

“Yeah,” she breathes lowly, climbing onto the bed between your spread thighs, one hand bracing beside your hip. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

Without another word, she lines herself up and pushes inside in one slow, devastating thrust, filling you completely. You cry out, back arching off the mattress, the sudden fullness dizzying, overwhelming. Billie doesn’t move at first, just stays buried to the hilt, watching your every twitch and gasp with dark satisfaction.

“God, you feel so good,” she mutters, more to herself than to you, hips grinding down in slow, shallow circles that make you whimper and sob beneath her.

“You were made for me,” Billie whispers, voice ragged against your ear. “This body, this pussy,” Her fingers tap your clit twice, making you twitch. “Its all mine. You get that now, baby?”

“Y-Yes,” you sob, tears threatening to spill at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it all. “Yours, Billie. Only yours.”

“Fuckin’ right you are,” she growls, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into you, setting a brutal, relentless rhythm that has the headboard rattling against the wall.

She keeps one hand braced beside your head, the other roaming, squeezing your throat lightly, grabbing your hips to hold you still, sliding between your bodies to rub slow, cruel circles on your clit just when you’re about to lose it.

“You’re such a good little thing,” she pants, hips thrusting forward sharply. “So dumb, so pretty, so fucking easy for me. But only me, right? Only ever me.”

You’re babbling now, barely coherent, nodding frantically and repeating Billies name inbetween gasps and sobs, nails scratching uselessly against the cuffs, desperate to touch her.

Billie leans down, mouth hovering by your ear, voice wrecked and shaking. “Say it,” she demands, her breath hot against your skin. “Tell me.”

“Yours!” you sob out, tears slipping down your temples from the intense pleasure. “Only yours, Billie. I swear, please, all yours.”

The desperate sincerity in your voice cracks something inside her. Her thrusts grow sloppier, harder, her free hand stroking your cheek almost tenderly now, even as she fucks you mercilessly into the mattress.

“Good girl,” she groans, and you feel yourself unraveling, the pleasure crashing through you like a tidal wave. “Come for me. Let everybody fucking know who you belong to.”

You instantly shatter, your orgasm ripping through you intensely, a loud moan mixed with a scream escapes your lips. Your body convulses under her, every nerve lit up, your entire world narrowing down to Billie.

She helps you ride through it, slowing only when your thighs twitch helplessly and your body goes limp, trembling beneath her.

After a moment of catching her breath, she finally pulls out and reaches up to uncuff you, working the metal free with gentle fingers, careful not to hurt you.

Your arms fall uselessly around her neck, your wrists aching. She pulls you into her lap, cradling you against her chest as you try to catch your own breath.

You bury your face in the crook of her neck, still shaking from your climax. A sudden wave of devotion courses through you, wanting to quiet any second thoughts Billie might be having after tonight.

“You’re the only one I see, Bils.” you whisper, voice wrecked but sure, every word carved out from the very center of your heart.

Billie pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, cheeks flushed as she grins, her smile so full of love it almost breaks you all over again.

“Yeah,” she says, voice softer and certain, thumb stroking lazily along your jaw, “I fucking better be.”

my masterlist