#like don’t make him look like the asshole

[euthymiya]

Sylus is infuriatingly talented at most things. More infuriatingly enough, one of those said talents happens to be grating at your nerves.

“Your towels are pretty rough,” he sighs, stepping out of the shower with nothing but cloth wrapped around his waist. “My skin is too sensitive for these. You should invest in better ones.”

The towel hanging on his waist is low. Very low. Instantly, you’re in a bad mood.

(On a normal day, you don’t think you’d be sour in any shape or form by the fact that a very tall, very handsome, and very well built man is standing half naked in your home with skin glistening from droplets of water. But when that man happens to be Sylus, it’s a lot more humbling than it needs to be.

He notices every lingering stare. And oh, does he love to make it smugly obvious that he’s noticed your eyes wandering.)

You make a point to look only at his eyes as you huff, “Oh, my apologies. Are my shower options not lavish enough for you, your highness?”

“I can overlook the shampoo—my hair naturally manages to stay rather soft. But this cloth is just offensive,” he shakes his head, making your eye twitch.

Bastard.

That happens to be a choice of word that pops into your mind often when he’s around.

“Your skin looks fine to me,” you say blandly. And then you make the mistake of casually glancing at his chest to make your point…which naturally, makes you stare at his pecs for a moment, which leads to sparing a glance to his abs, which means his v-line is right underneath—and by the time you’ve realized that you’ve done exactly what you swore you wouldn’t and taken a good, long look at his exposed physique, he clears his throat.

You meet his gaze instantly, and he’s smirking. Cocky, smug, arrogant, egotistical, bastardized—the list of adjectives you could use to describe the look on his face could go on.

“Taking quite the opportunity to make sure my skin is alright, are we, sweetie?”

“Don’t sweetie me, you asshole,” you hiss, “You’re doing this on purpose!”

“What am I doing? I didn’t think taking a quick shower would make the kitten throw a hissy fit,” he purrs.

Sometimes, you think Sylus likes to see you mad more than he likes to see you happy. He could have very easily won your affections for the night by walking over, planting a kiss to your head, and wrap his bare, muscular arms around you from behind. Or maybe, he could have just asked you to join his shower—that would have won him plenty of points.

Instead, he chooses to leave your water running for far to long it to be considered a ‘quick shower’, and he has the audacity to be picky about the range of shampoo and towel options, too.

Insufferable.

“Was the water pressure too hard on your sensitive skin too?” You mock, “Or perhaps the laundry detergent I used to wash the clothes you left is too irritating for your poor skin. Maybe I should clean the air next time before you visit.”

He chuckles, low and smooth—and even the sound of his laugh feels expensive. You feel a vein practically pop in your forehead.

But you like it. Despite it all, you like the sound of his stupid laugh, and you like the amusement of his stupid bantering, and you love the presence of your stupid, nitpicking boyfriend.

“Well, I was gonna say your shower is a little too low, but I think that might get me a few more hisses from the kitten,” he hums, “I did find it a bit troublesome to bend to wash my hair.”

“I think the problem is you for that one,” you snort, “Your fault for not fitting.”

“I’ll try not to be so tall next time,” he smiles sarcastically.

All too soon, he’s closed the distance. Damp, warm skin meets yours, making your breath hitch as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you onto that muscular (and very bare) chest. It’s like he read your mind—except instead of doing it to get on your good side, he’s still just doing it to tease you.

Bastard, you think for the hundredth time in one night.

“You’re exhausting, do you know that?” You sigh, rolling your eyes.

He lets out a low hum, curling his lips into a wickedly handsome smile as he answers, “I get told that here and there, yes.”

“You should self reflect, then.”

“And miss out on witnessing my kitten bear its fangs?” He gasps, mildly offended by the thought, “As if.”

You can’t help but crack a smile. You try not to, but every time, like clockwork, he manages to make you cave. Because he’s stupidly charming underneath all that stupidly annoying cheekiness—and you’re not immune to it no matter how hard you try.

“You could always replace my towels, you know,” you bat your lashes innocently, “I definitely won’t complain if you become the change you want to see in the world.”

He chuckles again, the sound low and this time, just a little bit endearingly sweet. “I guess matters are always up to me to take into my own hands. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Perfect,” you beam, leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw as he relaxes his posture a little at the gesture, “And while you’re at it, I won’t turn down the fancy shampoo, either.”

He’s as exhausting as he is hot and sexy and cute and funny and charming and handsome and sweet and kind and precious and perfect and wonderful and adorable

But also exhausting .

[delilahsturniolo]

— ୨୧ it’s ok i’m ok . . . m.s

in which . . . your best friend matt helps you get over your ex boyfriend.

warnings . . . SMUTTY, unprotected sex, degradation, use of pet names, fingering, kissing, oral, (fem!recieving) breast play, wall sex, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, edging, teasing, dom!matt, veryyy brief (barely) handjob, reader grinds on matt’s face, ummm lemme know if i forgot anything?

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

SO CLOSE TO WHAT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #11

“i don’t wanna talk about it,” you say softly, stretching your arms out, letting your head tilt back. you hear him exhale, and then, after a few moments, you feel him. the heat of matt near you as you both stood in his room. not trapping, not overwhelming…just there. solid. present. your boyfriend of 1 year had broken up with you a few days ago, and you didn’t know how to feel. you were honestly happy…but also pretty upset. you just wanted to get away from your ex, to forget about him.

“you sure?” matt’s voice is low, rough at the edges, the kind that sends a shiver down your spine. you nod, and when you look up, his eyes are already on you, watching. studying. like he’s trying to figure you out, even though he knows you better than anyone. “i’m okay,” you murmur, a little softer now, and it’s true. maybe it wasn’t earlier. maybe you were spiraling, feeling like everything was slipping through your fingers. but here, with him, with the way his fingertips skim against your bare shoulder, you feel grounded.

he leans down, just a little, his breath fanning against your skin. “you don’t have to be, i’m honestly surprised you aren’t a sobbing mess right now.” matt shrugged. your chest tightens, but not in a bad way, not in the way that makes it hard to breathe. but in the way that makes you aware of him, of how close he is, how easy it would be to turn and close the space between you. and god, you want to.

“i just wanna feel good,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. and that’s all it takes. matt’s lips brush against your shoulder first, slow and deliberate, like he’s asking for permission. then, higher…your neck, just below your jaw, where he knows you’re sensitive. his hands find your waist, pulling you back against him, fitting you together like you belong there.

“then let me make you feel good.”

his words send a heat through you, a slow-burning fire that ignites at your core. you turn in his hold, pressing your hands to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. matt’s eyes flicker down to your lips, and you don’t even hesitate. you close the distance, sinking into him, into the way he tastes, the way he moves against you, like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have. his hands slide down, gripping your hips, pulling you even closer. the rest of the world fades away, the night, the noise, everything but the feeling of him. your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, and the low sound he makes in response sends another shiver down your spine.

matt is on you in an instant, strong arms hauling you against his muscular chest. his mouth crashes against yours in a bruising kiss, tongue delving deep to claim you. you moan into him, fingers tangling in his dark hair as he walks you backwards until your ass hits the wall. he pins you there with his hard body, one hand gripping your wrists above your head while the other squeezes your boobs through your shirt. mmm, let me make you feel good, let me make you forget about that asshole." he growls against your lips, hips grinding into yours. you can feel his erection straining against his jeans, the thick ridge pressing insistently against your core. "please," you pant, arching into him.

with a quick flick of his fingers, he unhooks your bra and tugs it off, letting your breasts spill free. he palms them roughly, thumbs circling your nipples until they harden under his touch. "oh fuck," you cry out, head falling back against the wall as he pinches and tugs at the sensitive buds. his mouth descends on one breast, sucking the nipple into his hot mouth. he bites down gently before swirling his tongue around the sensitive flesh, sending sparks of pleasure through you. "matt.." you whimper, hips bucking against his. matt chuckles darkly.

his other hand undoes your pants, shoving them down along with your panties. he finds your dripping folds, stroking through the slick heat. "so fucking wet already," he purrs, circling your clit with a teasing touch. "you're a needy little slut, aren't you?" you whimper, trying to push your hips into his hand for more pressure. "that's it, grind on my fingers pretty girl.." matt taunts, plunging two digits into your tight pussy. he pumps them hard and fast, finger-fucking you brutally. his thumb rubs tight circles on your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

"cum for me," he demands, fingers thrusting deeper. "cum on my fingers." your orgasm crashes over you, back arching off the wall as you spasm around his invading digits. matt fucks you through it, drawing out your pleasure until you're boneless and trembling. as you come down, he pulls his fingers from your pussy, bringing them to his lips to lick your juices off. "you taste so fucking good," he groans, lapping at his digits. he drops to his knees in front of you, spreading your legs wide. "now it's my turn to eat this sweet cunt."

he buries his face between your thighs, tongue diving into your soaked folds. he licks and sucks at your pussy, alternating between long strokes and hard flicks of his tongue on your clit. you grip his hair, holding him in place as you grind shamelessly against his face. matt drives two fingers into your tight pussy, curling them just right to hit that perfect spot inside you. "fuck, just like that," you moan, walls fluttering around his invading digits. he pumps them faster, tongue lashing your clit as he finger-fucks you hard and deep.

"i'm gonna cum," you pant, thighs trembling. he doubles his efforts, sucking your clit into his hot mouth as he fucks you with his fingers. your orgasm slams into you, making you scream as pleasure explodes through every nerve ending. he keeps licking and sucking, drawing out your release until you collapse against the wall, absolutely spent. he stands, face glistening with your juices. "you're so pretty when you come undone," he says huskily, kissing you deeply so you can taste yourself on his tongue. you return the kiss hungrily, hands fumbling to undo his jeans and free his throbbing erection.

you wrap your hand around his length, stroking slowly from base to tip. matt groans into your mouth, hips rolling into your touch. "i need to be inside you," he pants, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. you line him up with your entrance, feeling the broad head of his cock nudge against your slick folds. "fuck me," you demand, sinking down onto his thick length in one smooth motion. he bottoms out inside you, stretching you. "oh god yes," you moan out, clenching around him. matt grips your hips hard as he starts to move, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in.

the force of his thrusts rocks you against the wall, his cock driving deep into your pussy with each snap of his hips. you hold on tight, nails digging into his shoulders as he pounds into you relentlessly. "ah, oh my gosh matt" you cry out, head thudding back against the wall. he smiles, fucking you so hard the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. "take my cock," he grunts, slamming up into you brutally. "fucking take it." your pussy spasms around him, drawing him deeper. "yes, just like that," you pant, feeling another orgasm building. he angles his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.

"i'm gonna fill this pretty pussy up," matt growls, one hand snaking between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit. "gonna make you full of my cum." the dirty words push you over the edge and you cum with a scream, your pussy clamping down on his cock. he follows shortly after with a loud groan, burying himself to the hilt as he explodes inside you. you feel his hot seed painting your walls, filling you up just like he promised. he rocks into you a few more times, drawing out both your pleasure until you're boneless and sated.

matt holds you against the wall, panting heavily as you both come down from the high of your shared climax. "holy shit," he says finally, giving you a lopsided grin. "you feel better now?" you can only nod as you stupidly smile, still lost in the haze of pleasure.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

taglist

[noctiva]

reader and Toby get into a heated argument which leads to hate sex and Toby is SOOO mean the whole time like degrading, spiting on reader, choking her whole nine yards and reader tries to stay mad and keep their attitude during all this but just totally crumbles and becomes sooo pathetic - 🪽

OOOOOOOOH MAN mean!toby… the way to my heart truly.. I know this is a request but writing this was very self indulgent I was kicking my feet giggling writing this

//

Unbearable

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!]

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WC: 8.4k

Summary: Fighting with Toby is always a lost cause, because it’s just a case of two stubborn forces butting heads with one another. It all just comes down to who caves first (spoiler alert: it’s you. It’s always you.)

CW: explicit sexual content, toxic relationships + behaviour, I repeat - they are so toxic, this is not healthy relationship behaviour!, they fight and Toby’s an asshole about it, possessive and jealous behaviour, degradation, choking and asphyxiophilia, biting!!, biting and blood!!, very dead dove, rough handling, rough sex, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, toby being so fucking mean I hate him, mocking, face slapping, spit and drool, overstimulation, arguably CNC, but it’s alllll consensual, just maybe not safe or sane, hate sex!, multiple orgasms, dom/sub undertones, unsafe sex, creampie, hair pulling, dacryphilia, putting this here again bc I have to make it clear toby! is! an! asshole!, they make up at the end, but again - toxic, did I say dead dove? because dead fucking dove.

Reminder to separate reality from fiction!! Some of the acts written here are definitely not meant to be endorsed or romanticized irl! Stay safe!

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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

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“You don’t have t-to be such a bitch all the t-time.”

That, is what set you off.

Those words, spoken in that stupidly nonchalant tone of Toby’s as he milled around the kitchen after a mission, looking through the cupboards for a snack to ease his rumbling stomach.

And maybe, he was just tired. Maybe, he was just irritable because the mission had taken a lot longer than he was hoping it would. Maybe, you were both too cranky to have a proper, civil conversation. Maybe, maybe, maybe. What was certain, was that those words had pissed you off, because they had been said in response to you telling him it would be nice to know if he’d be home for dinner, so that you could be prepared for it.

And yet, despite your words so clearly showing your care for him, he decided the best plan of action would be immediately attacking you - like some stuck up teenager with his head up his ass. You loved Toby, you did, and you found more and more reasons to every single day - but, he also gave you more and more reasons to be left seething on the couch while he padded around the house as if he had done nothing wrong.

He was exhausting to deal with, just as much as he was a joy to be around. It was something you had gotten used to, chalking his snippy attitude up to just being a side effect of the strenuous line of work he found himself to be a part of. But, it got to a point. Got to a point where you just couldn’t excuse it anymore, especially when you had spent the greater half of your day tidying up after him. Making sure the cabin was nice and spotless, so that he wouldn’t have to do so much as lift a finger when he got home.

“Is that what I am?” You snap back to him, one hand on your hip with your eyes trained on his back as you watch him in the kitchen - peeling open a pack of chocolate chip cookies before promptly shoving one in his mouth. “I’m a bitch, because I want to know what time you’ll be home?”

“Uh, yeah. Y-You really want me to re-repeat myself?” His voice, partially muffled by the half-chewed cookie in your mouth, just proves to stoke the flame of anger brewing within you. You feel your eye twitch, and somehow you manage to just get angrier when Toby turns around to look at you. It’s the nonchalance on his face, like he couldn’t see a single reason in the world why you’d be getting so upset over his choice of wording. It’s maddening really, how this argument had barely even started, and yet you already felt like you were two words away from fucking strangling him. “I’ve t-told you before, I can’t predict how long these- fuck! -these things will take. Maybe, if you listened-“

“I do fucking listen, Toby!” You snap back at him, cutting him off so swiftly it makes his expression harden. You can practically see the switch in his brain flip, when he realizes that this wasn’t just going to be another one of your little spats. You were mad at him, actually, genuinely mad at him. Brimming with anger as you stood before him, jaw clenched and fingers curling into fists down at your sides. “All I do is fucking listen, and be the perfect little homemaker so that you don’t have to do jack shit when you get home.” You lift a finger to point at him, and his eyes narrow. “But you don’t seem to give a shit about any of that.”

“W-What?” Toby takes a step forwards, bringing with him an aura that was so imposing it nearly made you shrink. Thickening the air around you, making your lungs feel tight as he imposed on your personal space. Another step, he takes, then another, before tilting his head down to look at you - making it all too clear who would really have the upper hand if things went far south. “I’m supposed t-to pat you on the back be-because you swept the fuh-fucking floor?” His growing annoyance only made his tics worse, sporadic jerks of his neck and shoulders making him look all the more intimidating as he glowered down at you. “I just spent f-five fucking hours in the d-damn woods, hunting down four people all on my own b-because Brian and Tim were t-too busy to help.” You swallow thickly. “But when I come home, d-dead tired, the first thing I’m supposed to do is thank you for doing the ff-fucking dishes?” He rolls his eyes. “That’s the least you could do.”

“The least you could do, would be to at least be a little bit appreciative.” You spit back at him, crossing your arms over your chest and standing your ground though the weight of his presence was making you tremble.

You didn’t often think about what it might be like to be one of Toby’s victims - but standing there right then with him towering over you, the look in his eyes so cold it brought a chill to your veins - you could really picture it. Really picture the fear that he struck people with, before stealing their last breath. “You’re barely around anymore, y’know? And when you are, you’re like this.”

“Like what?” Toby presses, tilting his head down more to encroach further into your personal bubble. Those words were bait. And if you took it, you knew that this fast devolving conversation would just take a turn for the absolute worst.

But well, he had already resorted to name calling, so why couldn’t you?

“Like, an asshole.” You grit out, taking a step forwards as proof of your resilience, even when faced with a man you knew was dangerous. Toby wouldn’t really hurt you. You knew that, you hoped that, and yet pushing his buttons was still something that made your stomach twist. It was the knowledge that, if he wanted to, he could. Easily. Could probably incapacitate you before you even realized what had even happened. Knock you out cold with a swift jerk of his arm. He wouldn’t though. Not to you. That’s what you were banking on. “Like some self-centred prick that I can barely stand being around.”

Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but the point still stood. And you really, really, just wanted to get it through his head that as of late, he really hadn’t been acting like ‘boyfriend of the year’ material. Was that something you should expect, from a literal axe murderer? Probably not. But he used to be better. A new, heavier workload on his shoulders was forcing a strain onto your relationship that you hadn’t been prepared to face.

Toby was barely home. And when he was, it was for mere hours at a time. He barely touched you, barely kissed you, apparently finding a quick peck on the lips before he left again to be an adequate amount of affection. He was hardly present. When he was by your side, he was mentally distant. Never letting you peer into his mind, most likely for your safety, but forcing a wedge between the two of you nonetheless.

At the root of it all, your anger stemmed from sadness. Sadness, because you missed him. Missed the Toby that had stolen your heart, went out of his way to do stupid things just to earn a laugh from you, showered you with love every moment he got, and hated leaving your side for even a moment.

But, all those cushy soft emotions were hidden under the hardened shell of annoyance that had built up over time. And so, you were left spouting awful, awful words at the man you loved so dearly.

Hoping that maybe, this would be what cracks him.

“You c-can’t stand being around me?” Toby’s eyes flash with something you can’t quite decipher, but it looks far too close to hurt for comfort. Whatever it was, he masks it quickly, covering the rawness of his emotions with that same passive expression he wore so often. “That’s c-cute. Why’re you still here th-then?”

“That’s not even funny.” You hiss, words laced with venom as they drip off of your tongue. “You know I couldn’t leave if I wanted to.”

“No, b-be my guest.” Toby snorts, sarcasm laced around every letter. You knew, that arguing with him was a lost cause. You had been down this road before, and it was much more beneficial to just roll over and let him believe that he was in the right. Not today though. As you had said before - it got to a point. “The d-door’s right there if you hate me so much.” He gestures towards your front door in a mocking manner, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“As if it would be that fucking easy.” You spit back at him, before promptly turning on your heel. Unable to stomach another moment of eye contact with him. Those eyes, weren’t the ones you had fallen in love with. They were lifeless, filled with the type of malice you never would’ve dreamed he’d direct at you of all people. It just made you angrier. Angry at the fact that he felt like he had a reason to be mad at you. “Acting like one of your buddies wouldn’t track me down and kill me for ‘knowing too much’.”

You stalk out into the living room, and you hear him follow behind you, the heavy soles of the boots he hadn’t taken off tracking dirt against the hardwood floors you had just cleaned earlier that day. “I don’t have a choice, you know? I have to either put up with you, or die, those are my only options.”

“‘Put up with m-me’?” When you turn around once more it looks like Toby had quite a lot to say about that choice of words - jaw clenched with his eye twitching - but he bites his tongue. Choosing instead to say; “A-And you act like it’s my ff-fucking fault. You knew what you were getting into w-when we started dating.”

“I didn’t!” You spit back at him, chest tight with anger as you force the words out of your lungs. “You told me you were a fucking hunter!”

Toby barks out a harsh, dry laugh, his eyebrows crinkling together in disbelief as he stared down at you. He looked almost amused, in some sick sense of the word, soft snorts of laughter bubbling from his lungs before he’s able to speak again.

“D-Don’t tell me you actually believed that.” He chuckles, raising an eyebrow. When the only response he gets is a quiver to you pouted lips, it just makes him laugh even harder. “H-Holy fuck, you did. I- chirp! -I didn’t think you were that- that fucking stupid.”

And with that, he’s managed to stun you into silence. The absolute disconnection and lack of accountability for throwing you into such a volatile way of life was sobering. He didn’t look the least bit remorseful, or even just a little bothered by the fact that he had effectively stolen away your freedom as a normal member of society. He hadn’t taken you hostage, you had agreed to be with him despite his flaws - but to pin all of the blame on you? That was just insanity.

You gaze at him with wide eyes, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as you try to shake the shock from your bones. Toby, either just isn’t patient enough to wait or simply doesn’t care, because before you can form a proper response he’s turning on his heel and walking back into the kitchen. All while muttering; “‘Hunter’… Fucking idiot.” Under his breath.

Christ, he just didn’t know when to stop today, did he?

“Do you hear yourself?” You tell after him, snapping out of the stupor he had frozen you into. You don’t move from where you’re stood though, knowing that keeping distance is probably the smartest move. “You can’t fucking speak to me like this.”

“W-Why not?” He asks, refusing to meet your eye. “Normally it gets you t-to shut up faster.”

Every time he opened his mouth, it just got so much worse. And maybe, the reason he wouldn’t look at you was because he knew he was in the wrong. Wouldn’t be able to stomach it, if he saw the unbridled wave of hurt that coated your entire expression when what he said sunk in. You blink a few times, and almost feel the need to rub your eyes in disbelief - because there’s no way he actually just said that to you, right? Had your boyfriend been swapped out one day, replaced with someone who looked just like him, but was filled with spite instead of love?

It sure seemed like it. The more you stared at him he didn’t even look like the Toby you knew anymore. Pale skin somehow paler. Sickly. His chiseled jaw too sharp, cheeks too hollow, the normally well-kept stubble on his face obviously a few weeks past being properly groomed. His under-eye bags were darker, and his eyes in general were… Deader.

Had something happened to him? He wouldn’t tell you, even if it had.

“Fuck you.” You hiss back out to him, and if your mind wasn’t so clouded by anger you wouldn’t shocked yourself with the amount of malice you managed you pack into those two words. You spit them out at him like you were trying to wound him, and it almost works - you see his shoulders tense up completely.

But his ego, his horribly inflated ego, just couldn’t let him back down. Couldn’t let him realize that he was doing a lot of damage, and that he should really stop while it was still reversible.

So his shoulders relax, his neck cracks in a way that was extremely unsettling, and then he’s muttering;

“Y-You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He picks at his fingernails absently, still not lifting his gaze to meet yours. “You sure that’s not w-what this is all about? Just mad I haven’t been giving it to you lately?”

Maybe. Partially. But not the fucking point. And the way he was treating all of this like it was just a joke? Yeah, you felt pretty close to jumping to kitchen counter and fucking killing him.

So, you choose the less violent route instead.

You don’t respond, you simply turn on your heel and start walking. Through the living room, on a beeline towards the front door.

That, had Toby’s gaze flicking up immediately. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. Out.” You snap back to him, already slipping on your shoes and grabbing your jacket. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen Toby move faster in his life once he realizes that you’re serious - crossing the living room in large strides, in just a matter of seconds.

“N-No you’re not.” His voice holds a tone of finality, but you couldn’t give less of a shit. You weren’t about to start taking orders from a man who had spent the last half hour making a complete mockery out of you.

“Why not? You do all the time.” You cross your arms over your chest, eyes narrowed as you glare up at him.

“B-Because I know how to deal with what’s out there!” Toby borderline growled back at you, jerking his arm towards to window as a means to enunciate his point. Towards the forest outside, that your little cabin resided in. The forest that you knew was teeming with genuine monsters, and people that were closure to monsters than humans. Toby, being one of them, when he wasn’t at home with you. “It’s- It’s late, and the sun’s going down. You cannot go out there. Jack’s probably-“

“Jack’s probably out hunting, I know.” You cut him off in a tone so cold he can’t even mask it when it visibly startles him. “I don’t give a fuck. He’d probably treat me better than you do anyway.”

A disastrously low blow. Such an egregious thing to say, even in your fit of anger, that you regret it the second the words slip off of your tongue. Because in general, that’s just such a horrid thing to say to the man you love, but saying it to a partner that you are well aware has some pretty unresolved jealousy issues?

Yeah, you just dug your own grave and laid in it.

You freeze after you speak, and the silence that follows makes your skin crawl. You stare up at Toby with bated breath, watching as shock settles onto his expression - and you know the worst is yet to come. It seemed like it took him a moment to really process what you had just said, or maybe he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Hoping that, you’d backtrack, or correct yourself and clarify that’s not what you meant.

But you don’t, too stunned at yourself to even speak another word.

And that’s when everything blows up.

Once the shock drains from his face, Toby looks like you just slapped him. His expression crumpling, eyebrows furrowing together as a mixture of hurt and anger flooded his eyes. You could practically feel his temper rise, the air around you growing thicker and thicker the longer that he just stood there and stared at you like you had insulted his entire being. Maybe you had.

And then;

“W-What the fuck did you just say?” His tone is dangerous, holding an undeniable threat that shook you to the core. You couldn’t think of a single instance in the years you had been together where you had actually been scared of Toby (besides the day you had found out what he really did for a living) but right then, you were fucking terrified.

Suffocated by the fury in his eyes, feeling like you were being choked by the weight of the tension around you. It had never been more clear, who exactly you were dating.

Someone who could - might - hurt you.

And your fight or flight instinct kicked in fast. So fast, that Toby didn’t even have time to react before you were whipping open the door and darting outside. Down the steps of the front porch, feet crunching leaves under your feet as you sprint off into the very woods he warned you against traversing day after day.

Toby wastes no time perusing you. He is on your trail in a matter of seconds, bursting through the door after you with all the practiced ease of someone who had done this chase many, many times before. You hear him bark out your name after you, the low growl of his voice echoing through out the forest - bouncing off the trees to meet your ears and send a shiver down your spine. “G-Get the fuck back in the house!”

“Fuck you!” You scream back at him, still running though your lungs were starting to burn. The air around you was cold, stinging your skin and biting through your clothes to rise goosebumps on your arms. Your heart was racing, pounding so loudly in your ears that you could barely even hear the sound of your own feet hitting the ground. You could hear him though, gaining on you fast - boots snapping sticks beneath the soles. “Get the hell away from me, Toby!”

“Fat chance!” Toby snarls back at you, and fuck he sounds really close now. You won’t look behind you, knowing the sight of him would only make you falter - but you know it’s probably fruitless anyway. He’s close, and just gaining on you by the second. “You th-think you can just say that shit to me and then r-run away?”

His fingers graze your back as he reaches out to grab you, and you yelp, just barely steering clear of his grasp. “What the fuck is wr-wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” You push forwards through your legs are starting to ache, lungs burning with each cold breath of air that you suck in. “What’s wrong with you? You started this by being a dick for no reason!”

“At l-least I didn’t- didn’t threaten to fuck one of your friends!” Toby reaches out again, and this time - he gets you. Fingers curling into the hood of your sweater, yanking you backwards with a force that made you choke and wheeze - hands flying up to try and claw yourself free of his grip. It doesn’t work, of course it doesn’t, but he does release you a few seconds later, only to shove you to the forest floor below you. Your back hits the ground and nearly knocks the wind out of you, eyes blowing wide as you struggle to take in a few panicked breaths.

“I never said that!” You grit out, going to prop yourself back up on your elbows but he promptly shoves you back down with a boot to the chest. He pins you down that way, nearly crushing your ribs under the weight of his body as he stands above you - absolutely teeming with unspent rage.

“No? You didn’t?” Toby sneers as he glares down at you. In the low light of the forest, he looks even more intimidating. The low lighting casting stark shadows against all the high points of his face, his eyes glinting with something downright maniacal. “W-What were you implying then, huh? Saying he could- fuck! -could treat you better than me?”

His boot leaves your chest and then he’s dropping down onto you, knees digging into the ground on either side of your hips - pinning you to the forest floor with his body weight. “Y-You really want a piece of that fuh-freak?” Toby reaches down and grasps your face roughly, fingers digging into your cheeks so deep it forces your lips into a pucker. “He’d bite your p-pretty little head off.” He leans in close, so close that you can feel the heat of his breath against your face, and he looks like a beast. Snarling, twitching, shaking from the potency of anger flowing through his veins. Not looking the least bit fazed when the legs he had pinned down started to kick. “I-I’m a fucking saint, compared to the rest of them. You’re l-lucky I’m the one you met first.”

“Lucky?” You somehow managed to keep up the attitude despite the absolutely humbling situation you found yourself in - pinned to the forest floor by your serial killer boyfriend. And yet, it’s the closet you’ve been to him in days. The longest he’s held you in weeks. “Yeah, I sure feel lucky right now.” You spit out another wave of sarcasm as you struggle against his grip. “Get the fuck off of me, Toby.”

He doesn’t listen, predictably. If anything, your words just fuel him.

“And y-you wonder why I call you a bitch.” He hisses, the sting of his nails biting into your jaw making you wince. “M-Maybe, if you stopped acting like one, I’d stop calling you one.”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a prick, that might happen.” Again, you struggle, straining against his unyielding grip as a strained whimper of pain slips from your lips. You make no progress though, forced to be at the mercy of this unmoving force above you. “Get off of me, asshole!”

“Fuck no.” You can feel rocks and twigs biting into your back, your face throbbing where he’s gripping you so harshly. “A-Act like a bitch, get treated like one.” His hand slides down, curling around your throat instead with a grip just as mean. “Maybe I’ll j-just tie you up and leave you here. Let ol’ Jackie find you.” His eyes are feral as he gazes down at you, as is the smile that stretches across his lips - uncanny sharp canines glinting in the low light. “That’s what you w-wanted, right? Wanted him to treat you good?” You were really kicking yourself for letting those stupid, stupid words slip before. You should’ve known he was going to fixate on them. “I bet he’d t-treat you real good, actually. Would really make you scream.”

Your breathing comes out as a wheeze as his palm presses down against your windpipe, restricting your airflow and making your vision swim. He’s done this before, in a much different situation (when you asked him to), but this time around you’re not too sure he’d stop if you asked him. When little black dots start popping up in your vision, your stomach flips in fear.

But, why the hell would you make things easier for yourself?

“I hate you.” The words come out as more of a wheeze than anything, but they do the job nonetheless. The job being, just riling Toby up further.

His fingers tighten around your throat, and your eyes widen even further - legs kicking and arms flailing when you feel your airway close up completely. You knew he was strong, but being at the mercy of his strength was something else entirely.

“You h-hate me?” He spits leaning down lower so that his nose is pressed to yours. “You don’t fucking hate me.” He says it like it’s a certainty, like there’s not even a single possibility that his words might be true - and the worst part is, that he’s right. Because you don’t. You don’t hate him, even as your vision starts to go fuzzy. “I-I could turn you back into a lovesick little slut in ss-seconds. I’d love to hear you try and say that you still h-hate me when I’m stuffing you with my dick.”

You must be sick. Or maybe, just unfulfilled as of late. Because as horrible as it was, his words sparked up something within you. Something that desperately wanted that, something that would kill to feel his bare skin against yours once more - even if it was just to get his anger out.

And you must not have masked it as well as you would’ve wanted to - too preoccupied with trying not to pass the fuck out - because you watch through blurry vision as Toby’s grin widens into something menacing. “I knew it.” He laughs - not the warm, sweet sound you had grown accustomed to - this laugh was bitter, and cold. “Look at you, p-practically drooling at the thought of it.”

He releases your neck, to which you greedily gasp in air so quickly it nearly makes you choke, before you feel a sharp sting connect with the side of your face. Not hard enough to make the skin smart, but hard enough to shock you - because did he actually just fucking slap you? “F-Fucking whore.” He did.

Too stunned, you barely have time to think before you feel Toby’s rough fingers curling under the fabric of your hoodie. In a matter of seconds, he’s practically ripping it off of you. The cool wind hits your bare skin and makes you hiss, goosebumps immediately trickling up your arms and across your chest.

“Oh, fuck off, Toby.” You grunt, bringing your arms up to shield your chest from his hungry gaze. “We are not doing this here.”

He snorts out a laugh as if you had told him a joke, and shakes his head. Not listening at all, as his hands trail down your stomach, finding a home at the button of your jeans.

“And why would I l-listen to what a whore has to say to me?” He mutters, already popping the button of your pants and tugging down the zipper even as you try to jerk your body out of his hold. His fingers scratch at your skin as he starts tugging your jeans off with an insistence you could only dream to fight against. “T-Talking about letting Jack have a p-piece of you.” Fucking hell, this again? “Gotta remind you what you already have.”

He tugs off your jeans so harshly that you hear them tear, the fabric buckling under the force of his grip. And now, pinned to the forest floor beneath him in nothing but your underwear - it’s really setting in what situation you had gotten yourself into. How did the day end up like this? Just one horrible decision after another leading to you trapped beneath Toby like prey for him to feast on, with the cool night wind nipping at your skin and leaving you shivering.

“Give it a rest, Toby.” You huff, trying again to wriggle away from him but failing yet again. “You really think I meant that?”

“I don’t c-care if you meant it or not.” He snaps, your hips jolting when his fingers slide down towards your panties. Giving you no warning before his touch meets the front of your clothed cunt, pressing against your clit in a way that had you gasping. “The fact that you e-even fucking said it is enough.”

It’s around then, that you realize something absolutely horrific. Absolutely mortifying. With calloused fingers roughly rubbing your core through your underwear, you’re getting wet. Actually, getting wetter. You realized it the moment he tugged your pants off, the coolness between your legs when the breeze hit your cunt - you had been getting wet from Toby pushing you around like a cat batting around a mouse. And that… That was fucked up.

And Toby knows that too. “You’re already so f-fucking wet.” He growls. “And I’ve barely even touched you.” With this new revelation, he wastes no time slipping underneath the waistband of your panties instead, sliding his fingers through the wetness accumulated between your folds. “What a stupid slut. I c-coulda killed you, and yet here you are, soaking your panties.”

“F-Fuck you.” You bite out, your shoulders bowing and back arching against the forest floor as he rubs rough circles against your swollen clit with his thumb. Your teeth grit together, so tight you’re almost afraid you might crack a tooth. But right now, you’d much rather that than to accidentally let a moan slip out. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. He didn’t deserve it.

“I know you’re impatient, b-but at least he subtle about it.” He doesn’t let up in his ministrations, playing with your clit as his other hand comes up to roughly grasp your tit. Gripping it hard enough to make you wince, maybe even enough to bruise. And it’s stupid, how good it feels. “You still hate me? S-Say it again.”

“I hate you.” You don’t even hesitate, taking the bait eagerly as you feel him nose into your neck, stubble scratching against your skin.

“Hm. I’ll follow back up on that later.” Then you feel his lips part, and you’ve been under Toby enough times to know he wasn’t going to just gently kiss and lick your skin. Especially not right now. So, the sting of his teeth sinking into your neck is expected - but that doesn’t lessen the pain any. It’s a dull ache, and then it’s a sharp skin.

When he breaks skin, it’s a blinding pain. Your vision goes white for a second, your whole body goes rigid as absolute agony ripples through your veins. It’s a pain that couldn’t be described, unless you were there to experience it. A pain so ruthless, that the scream that tears from your throat because of it sounds almost inhuman.

A shrill, desperate cry, like a wounded animal. Echoing throughout the forest like a taunt. “Oh that’s good.” Toby mutters once he tugs his teeth from your neck, gazing down at the gruesome indent of his teeth in your skin. Watching as blood pools in the deepest pits of the wound, before it starts trickling down your neck. “K-Keep on screaming. Anyone who could hear you doesn’t care.”

And then he’s biting down again, just a few inches lower than the first one. Pinching your skin between his teeth with a pressure that makes your head spin. His jaw locking into you as your fingers pick up in speed - rolling your clit beneath them with an unrelenting force. Ruthless, in every action. Overwhelming your body on every single front. Pleasure, pain, it was difficult to even tell the two apart anymore when both were so intense that your ears were ringing. “‘I hate you’ she says.” Toby murmurs in a mocking tone against you, his lips smearing your blood across your skin. “A-And yet you’ve stopped fighting. Why? Feel too good?”

Yes. But you weren’t going to tell him that.

Not that it mattered anyway, because your body was going to give you away regardless. You could feel it, that familiar heat, almost mocking in the way it just kept burning hotter and hotter even with all the violence being dealt upon you. Your stomach was twisting into a knot, hips bucking and twitching as you tried to hold back.

You were failing, miserably, because Toby was hellbent on making you fail. He wanted you to crumple, wanted to wipe away that attitude you were still clinging to so desperately. He wanted to break you down, and to your detriment and his gain - he knew just how to do it. His hands had roamed this body a million times before.

He drags his head down your chest, and uses his free hand to push your bra upwards - freeing your breasts to the cool night air. He captures a nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue against it as his fingers pinch your clit, and your thighs start to shake. He grazes it with his teeth, then biting down with enough pressure to make you wince - and you’re done for.

Your hips buck off of the ground when your orgasm hits you with full force, the intensity of it nearly knocking the wind from you as your vision goes fuzzy. Your own voice sounds faraway and foggy, but you know you’ve failed at keeping your moans held back - because your jaw has gone slack now. A chorus of desperate, choked out sounds spilling from your lungs as drool drips down your chin.

And it’s humiliating. Absolutely humiliating how good he makes you feel, even when he’s being such an asshole. Even when he’s throwing your body around like a toy.

That feeling of shame only intensifies, when you hear Toby snicker. A cocky, self-satisfied sound - mocking in its nature. “H-How ‘bout now?” He chuckles against your skin, before leaning his head upwards to stare down at you. His chin dripping with your blood, teeth stained with it when he cracks a grin. His eyes are wild, glinting with a crazed sheen that makes your whole body feel cold. “Still hate me?”

“You-“ Your voice cracks, raw and strained from all of the screams and moans that had ripped out of your lungs. “You think that changed just because you made me cum?” You try to glare at him, but your convincing factor was gone now that you lay quivering below him - streaked with your own blood and slick. “I can do that myself.”

“I bet you can.” Toby laughs wickedly, his eyes never leaving yours even as his hands travelled to the buckle of his belt to pull it free. He’s quick with it, and in a matter of seconds the belt’s undone, his button’s popped, and his fly is tugged down. “B-But not like I can.” You watch with rapt attention as his thumbs hook under the waistband of his boxers - no shame in his actions as he lets his cock spring free.

And god dammit, it’s been too long. You try to hold it back, but you can feel drool pool in your mouth just from the sight of him. Thick, long, and so unbelievably hard. Flushed red at the tip, leaking precum that was just begging to be lapped up by you.

Maybe he deserved to be a little cocky, walking around with a dick like that. “O-Oh look at you.” He slots himself between your thighs, tugging your panties to the side before grinding his length against your slick folds. Coating himself in it, rocking his hips against you, really letting you feel the size of the cock you were about to be stuffed with. “You’ve practically got hearts i-in your eyes, baby. You can drop the act.”

Both hands curl around your waist, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh - and you can’t hold back the whimper that falls from your mouth. “Just ss-say it. Say you missed my dick, and maybe I’ll forgive you.”

“Forgive me?” You jolt when you feel the head notch on your entrance for just a moment before it’s slipping past it again - nudging against your clit instead. “Y-You were the one being an ass.”

Toby hums softly, not looking at you, too preoccupied with watching his cock slide against you. Glistening with slick already and he hadn’t even sunk into you yet.

“M’kay, make it harder for yourself.” He mutters, before finally lining himself up properly. “I d-don’t mind.” His hands pin your hips to the ground, leaving you nowhere to run as the head of his length slips past your entrance - and despite it being awhile, you should’ve known he wasn’t going to be gentle. He practically rams his cock into you, filling you up in a motion so quick it wipes every single thought from your brain.

Your body doesn’t even know how to respond to it, really, your pussy spasming and twitching around him as it struggled to accommodate to the mind-numbing stretch. Your hands fly up immediately, instinctively trying to push at his chest, but the other half of you (the stupider half) was what took over. You push against his chest weakly just once, before your fingers are curling into the front of his shirt - knuckles going white from the force of your grip.

Your whole face was scrunched up, tears springing to your eyes and clinging to your lashes from how overwhelmed you were. It hurt, of course it did, being stretched open around him without an ounce of care, but that fullness. God, it just felt so right. Felt like everything you had been missing over the past few weeks. You could feel him throb inside you, pressed so deep it made you dizzy. You can also feel, all of the anger within you fizzling away.

Just like that. Because he had been right earlier, unfortunately. “F-Fuck-“ Toby groans out, his eyebrows pinching together. An expression of unbridled ecstasy washing over his entire face. He takes a moment to savour the moment - just a moment - before he starts pounding away at your cunt like he owned it. Barely letting you adjust, snapping his hips into you with an intensity that stole all of the air from your lungs. “F-Forgot how good this pussy is.”

And the way he says that, he nearly sounds lovestruck, awe dripping off of every letter. But, then he had to go and ruin it. “Too bad it belongs t-to such a stupid bitch.”

And you can’t even respond, you want to so badly, but with how he was drilling his cock into you the only sounds you’re capable of making right now are downright pitiful gasps and moans. He was fucking the daylights out of you. Fucking you, like it was the last thing he’d do on this godforsaken planet. Like he was trying to mould your body to the shape of his cock, carving open a path that only he could fill. Leaving you absolutely ruined, for if you ever did run away with someone else.

You wouldn’t. You couldn’t. Not when the pleasure he was dealing upon you was downright godly. Rough, aggressive, but so fucking good. Making you gush all over him, coating his cock and staining the front of his jeans every time he sunk into you. “C’mon, say somethin’.”

The feeling of his palm connecting with your cheek again barely even sobers you. The sting is welcomed, because it only deepens the pool of ecstasy he had thrown you into. Even more so, when he does it again to the other side of your face. The force of it, making your head crack to the side.

Cheeks stinging, tears rolling down your face, and dirt caked deep into your hair - your whole body was melting. Absolutely melting for him as his hips slammed against yours. “Say it again. S-Say you hate me.”

And you know he’s asking again, because he knows that he’s gotten you. You’re a pathetic mess on the ground below him. You don’t even have to see yourself to know that. Taking his cock like he hadn’t been insulting you since he got home. Like he hadn’t been insulting you while inside you. It’s degrading, and completely demoralizing - but that’s not all it is.

It’s the passion you had been missing. It’s his hands gripping your hips like letting you go would physically wound him. It’s the sound of his husky grunts and groans. The feeling of the wounds on your skin throbbing, while his cock pulses inside you.

It’s what you had been needing. Being his again. Being the object of his obsession. No work, no missions, no distractions. Just you, him, and the sticks digging into your back. This forest belonged to the two of you right now, all the dangers living within it fizzling away to create a sanctuary made to take you apart.

The ground you laid on, an altar where you sacrificed yourself to the man above you.

“I-“ With your cheeks streaked with tears, you can barely speak past your sobs of pleasure - hands slipping upwards to claw at his shoulders, pulling him in closer though he was the one dealing all the damage. You didn’t care. You just needed him. That’s what this had all been about, after all. “I don’t-“

“You don’t?” Toby’s hands slip under your thighs and press them upwards, folding you until your knees nearly touch your chest - spreading you open as wide as could be for his taking. And his stamina, never falters. Just one after another, he deals these brutal thrusts upon you, the head of his cock abusing your gspot every time he snapped his hips back in. He was downright punching the moans out of your lungs, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your thighs and scraping against it - leaving angry welts behind that you knew you’d feel the sting of later. “Say it proper.”

It’s a tall order, considering that you can barely breathe. More so just a puddle of drool and tears beneath him, than a person who could form coherent thoughts. You can barely even feel the scrape of bark and rocks against your back every time your body slides across the ground from the force of his thrusts. Mouth hung open, but producing nothing but intelligible babble choked out between sobs. Eyes squeezed shut because you couldn’t even see properly even if they were open, vision blurred with tears you couldn’t blink away.

He had, effectively, completely broken you down. He had the moment his cock slipped inside you. And the worst part was that he knew this is how it was going to go down, he knew that you’d crumple the moment he sunk in balls deep. He had said it himself; ‘I-I could turn you back into a lovesick little slut in ss-seconds’.

And he had. Almost laughably easily.

“T-Toby-“ You cry, hands clawing upwards to tangle in his hair, tugging at the strands so hard that the sting probably would’ve buckled him if he could feel it. “I-I didn’t mean it. I don’t-“ A particularly harsh thrust makes your eyes roll back, stars dancing behind your eyes as your words choke off into a moan. “I don’t hate you. I c-could-“ He’s not making it easy to get a full sentence out, with the way he was seemingly trying to pound you into the ground. “I could never! You- You were just being mean.”

A sniffling, blubbering, sobbing mess. That’s what Toby was staring down at as he bruised your cervix. Such a pitiful sight that it made his chest twist, so incredibly beautiful throughout it all, that it sent a shiver down his spine. You just looked the most lovely like this - completely broken down. Crying for him while taking his cock so wonderfully.

He can’t help it when his expression softens. Can’t help it when the lingering annoyance started to morph into affection.

Could you blame him? You looked like an angel. An angel he had soiled, and ripped the wings off of.

So, he caves too.

“I know I was.” He murmurs, the grip on your thighs lessening a little bit. Leaving a sting behind but soothing it as his thumb smooth over the welts. “I know. I was r-real fucking mean.” The force of his thrusts doesn’t weaken, but he does slow down just a little bit - finally giving you a chance to catch your breath. “W-Wasn’t even mad at you. Just life in general. Work’s been… Really hard to deal with lately.” He pauses, eyes honing in on your face, tracing across every tear-soaked feature. “Well, not until you said that shit about Jack.”

“I was-“ Your toes curl, breathing stuttering when he grinds the head of his cock against your gspot. “I was just trying to hu-hurt you back. You know I- I’d never.”

And he really does believe you now. Because if you’d still love him like this, after he’d brutally broken you apart piece by piece, you’d probably love him every which way. Which, may be your downfall, but he still felt lucky to be the reason you were willing to go that far.

“Y-Yeah, I know.” He curls his body over you completely, nuzzling into your neck as his hips start to stutter, only spurred on by the way your pussy had started twitching around him. Your walls squeezing him tight, the beginnings of your release coaxing out his. He parts his lips, and this time he is gentle, lapping at the wounds he created with a tenderness so starkly contrasting his previous actions that it nearly gives you whiplash. “I’d kill him i-if he touched you anyway.”

And the sentiment is cute, but…

“Isn’t he like, an immortal demon?” You manage to gasp out, rolling your hips back to meet his thrusts as you let your head fall to the side - giving him more surface area to lick and kiss upon.

“I’d find a way.” And then his free hand is slipping down lower, finding your clit to roll it in time with his thrusts. Taking you higher and higher, practically smothering you as his hips snapped against yours. Skin on skin echoing through the forest, the sticky sound of him separating from you making your cheeks burn hot.

You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in him shoulder and breathing in his scent, and then - you’re cumming. Even harder than the first time.

You all but convulse, eyes rolling back as the pleasure consumes you - nails digging into his back through the fabric of his sweater. And you sob into his shoulder, an absolutely wrecked sound that Toby was sure would be pinging around his skull for weeks to come.

And your pussy - it practically strangled his dick when you fell over the edge. So tight, and milking him so good, that he only manages to get three or four more thrusts in before he’s coming apart as well.

Nestled right up against your womb, he spills his spend. Pumping your cunt completely full of that warmth you had missed the feeling of so dearly. Toby, obviously just as pent up as you had been, absolutely flooded you with it - having it dripping out around his length before he even pulled out.

And then, he collapses. The only thing stopping him from being complete dead weight on top of you, being his elbows which he propped himself up on. Still inside you, he stayed that way for awhile, letting you feel his cock soften inside you as he took in dazed gasps of breath against your neck. You can feel his hair tickle your skin - practically soaked with sweat that was rolling off the strands to drip onto you.

As soon as his erratic panting turns to calmer, quivered breathing, you hear him mumble. “I’m s-sorry. You’re not a bitch.” He finds the strength to snake his arms beneath your body, pulling you in close and shielding your bare body from the cold ground. “O-Or a whore. Or any of those horrible names I called you. Sh-Should’ve never said that shit. It’s like I’m trying to get you to hate me.”

Should you forgive him so easily? Probably not, but well, you had already crossed that bridge.

So you do anyway, your body pliant as you sink into his hold. “A-And I know you do a lot for me. I’ve just been too wrapped up in m-my own shit to appreciate it.”

“It’s fine, Toby.” You murmur softly, as you let your eyes flutter shut. All the anger you felt before just feels like a distant memory now, completely fizzled out. Insignificant, with your body pressed to his. That was all you had been wanting, really. And though you may have taken the worst route possible to get here, you were here nonetheless.

“It’s n-not, though.” Toby grumbles, his arms curling around you tighter. And you can feel his heart beat against your chest, still frantic - just like yours was.

“Maybe it’s not.” You agree. “But I’m too tired to fight about it anymore.” You lift a hand, and use it to gently pry his face out of the crook of your neck, tilting his head up so that you could look at him properly. “Can we go home now? It’s cold out here.”

You watch, as Toby’s lips slowly curl up into a disbelieving little smile, before he’s nodding softly. Then, he turns his head to the side, to press a gentle kiss against the centre of your palm.

“Y-Yeah. Let’s go home.”

—————————————————————————☆

OKAY! yeah this was filthy but honestly very fun and refreshing to write considering that the last smut I posted was fluffy fluff with some fluff on top

I hope you enjoyed it lols

thank you for reading!!

[cosmiclily]

daylight

vi x f!reader

wc: 1.2k

cw: the beginning might be triggering for some people, it has homophobic undertones aannd a man being gross, so be aware!

@caspianalexander007 ‘s request!: I was wondering if you could write a little Vi comfort fic? Maybe she’s hurt from a fight or something and Reader is just absolutely spoiling her - patching her up, drawing her a fancy bath, washing her hair so she doesn’t make the wound worse, tucking her into bed, making her tasty soup, just being like super gentle, warm, and comforting. And at first Vi is like “I’m fine I’m fine” but Reader is just like “I know you’re fine. But I want to do this for you”. And maybe there’s a sweet moment where all the affection and care makes Vi breakdown because she’s always been the fighter, the protector, the warrior - she’s never had someone take care of HER for once and it’s such a relief to just - not HAVE to be the strong one for a while, ya know?

Vi didn’t want to cause any trouble—truly. This time, the busted lip, bruised knuckles, and the nasty cut on her eyebrow weren’t her fault.

The guy at the bar where the two of you had gone together had been a disgusting excuse for a human being. He wouldn’t leave you alone, hovering too close, ignoring every polite (and then not-so-polite) attempt to make him back off. And then, right before the fight broke out, he decided it was a good idea to open his mouth and say that you needed a "real man"—that he could show you what you were "missing."

So, yeah. It really, really wasn’t Vi’s fault when she punched the guy so hard that you heard his cheekbone crack.

The guy barely had time to react before Vi had him on the ground, landing another hit that sent him sprawling. Before his friends could jump in, the bar’s security had stepped in, pulling Vi off him and shoving both of you toward the exit. A few harsh words and a lifetime ban later, you found yourselves out on the street, Vi still flexing her bruised knuckles like she was ready to go back in for round two.

Now, back at your place, Vi sat on the counter, legs spread, arms resting on her thighs as you stood between her knees, carefully dabbing at the cut on her eyebrow with a damp cloth.

"I’m fine," she grumbled, shifting slightly as if she was about to leave. "I can do this myself."

You shot her a look, pressing a little harder than necessary just to make your point. She hissed, flinching back.

"I know you’re fine," you said, voice firm, "but it’s my fault you got hurt. I’m not gonna let you take care of yourself." Your brows furrowed so hard you were probably going to give yourself a headache.

Vi sighed, her hands coming to rest on your waist, more to steady you than to stop you. "It’s not your fault," she muttered, her voice quieter this time. "You heard what he said." Her jaw tightened, her usual tone replaced by something sharper. "I would never just sit there and let some asshole talk to anyone like that—especially not you."

Your hands stilled, the cloth lingering against her skin. There was something about the way she said it, the weight behind her words, that made your heart clench.

"I know," you murmured, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "But I still don’t like seeing you get hurt."

Vi scoffed, smirking up at you. "Please, this?" She gestured to her bruised knuckles and busted lip. "Barely even a scratch."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, yeah. You’re real tough, Vi."

"Damn right." She grinned, squeezing your waist playfully.

"Go take your clothes off” you said, stepping out from between her legs and gently squeezing her tight. "I’m drawing you a bath."

Vi raised an eyebrow. "What, are you my babysitter now? Patching me up, making me shower—what’s next, you gonna feed me too?" She smirked, teasing, but you had already made up your mind.

Soup, something warm and comforting—your way of thanking your knight in shining armor for defending your honor.

"Shut up” you laughed, nudging her lightly. "I just like taking care of you."

Something shifted in Vi’s expression then. For a moment, she looked like she was going to fire back with another joke, but the words never came. Instead, she just blinked up at you, lips parting slightly, like she wasn’t sure what to say.

You didn’t think much of it, just gave her one last playful shove toward the bedroom door. "Go. I’ll have everything ready when you’re done."

Vi hesitated, but eventually, she went, peeling off her jacket as she disappeared into the bedroom. You busied yourself with the bath, letting the water run warm, adding a few drops of something that smelled vaguely of lavender. She’d probably tease you for that, but you didn’t care. She deserved a little softness.

By the time she came back, dressed in some clothes she left at your place with damp hair sticking to her skin, you had a bowl of soup waiting for her on the counter.

She stopped in the doorway, her usual swagger gone, replaced by something hesitant. "You really did make me food…” she muttered, almost disbelieving.

You shrugged. "Of course I did. Now sit and eat before you pass out."

Vi did as she was told, but the second she took her first bite, something in her just… crumbled. She didn’t say anything at first, just stared down at the bowl, jaw clenched tight.

"Vi?" You frowned, stepping closer.

She let out a shaky breath, setting the spoon down before rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her palm. "Shit," she muttered, her voice thick. "Sorry, I just—"

She trailed off, and the hesitation in her voice made your stomach twist.

"What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?" You asked, concern slipping into your tone as you stepped closer.

Vi immediately shook her head. "No, no. It’s the opposite, actually." She let out a humorless laugh, her fingers curling into fists on the counter. "It’s just that... I’m not used to this."

And that’s when it hit you.

Vi had spent her whole life being the strong one. The protector. The fighter. She had taken punch after punch, fought battle after battle, and never once expected anyone to take care of her in return. She carried the weight of the world on her shoulders like it was second nature—because it had to be.

But now? Now she was sitting in your kitchen, wrapped in warmth, eating something made just for her, being cared for without having to fight for it. And it was overwhelming. Too much. And at the same time, exactly what she had needed.

"Vi..." you murmured, stepping behind her. Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. She was tense at first, muscles tight like she didn’t know how to accept it, but you didn’t let go. You just held her, grounding her, reminding her that she wasn’t alone.

"You don’t have to apologize," you whispered against her hair. "You’re allowed to just… let someone take care of you."

She exhaled, a deep, unsteady breath, and after a long pause, she finally melted into you. Her hands came up, gripping your arms like she was afraid you might disappear if she let go.

"Yeah," she whispered, her voice raw, barely more than a breath. "Okay."

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You just held her, feeling the way her breathing slowly evened out, the way the tension in her body began to fade.

"You know," you finally murmured, trying to lighten the mood just a little, "I was gonna offer to feed you, but I feel like that might actually make you cry."

Vi let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. "Shut up."

You grinned, pressing a small kiss to the side of her head. "Never."

She sighed, squeezing your arms one last time before finally pulling away just enough to look at you. Her eyes were still red-rimmed, but there was something softer in them now. A quiet sort of gratitude.

"You really are something else" she murmured.

You smirked. "Yeah, well. You’re stuck with me now."

"Good," she said, nudging her forehead against yours. "Wouldn’t have it any other way."

──────────────────────

masterlist

[lovelybucky1]

A character of your choice from the Go Greek! Universe reacting to the sweetheart getting back with an ex (or thinking about it) and it ends with smut, showing-you-what-you’re-missing kind of thing 🤭 I’m loving this series so much! Xoxo

i love this so much!!! here’s headcanons about steve, bucky and joaquin in this situation. // go greek! masterlist // 18+ minors dni

Steve would be so against it. That guy was a piece of shit and everyone knows it. He isn’t good for you and you deserve so much better, so why would you even think about going back to him? He would lecture you, going on and on about how terrible he was until you finally snap.

“You keep saying I deserve better but I haven’t found it! How do you know there’s anyone better for me?”

Steve clenches his jaw and you see determination in his eyes. “I’m better.”

Your eyes widen and you find yourself at a loss for words. Before either of you could say anything else, Steve steps into your space and ducks down to kiss you. He holds you tightly, not even giving you an inch of room as he claims your mouth. You melt into the kiss and you’re lucky that he is supporting you, because you might collapse to the floor.

When the kiss breaks, he pulls away but remains close. His nose is almost brushing against yours and he looks into your eyes, seeing the desire in them.

“Let me show you how much better I can be.”

Bucky, unsurprisingly, would proposition you right then and there.

“If you need someone to fuck, fuck me,” he says as casually as telling you the weather.

“What?”

“Your ex was an asshole. You said it yourself, the only thing good about him was his dick. If you need good dick, I’m right here, baby.”

He sits down next to you and pulls you into his lap with ease. Bucky always takes what he wants. You look down at him, at his light blue eyes, plush lips, and the stubble on his face.

“I’m way hotter than he is, too,” he says. Just as humble too.

“I don’t know, Bucky. What if it makes things weird between us?”

Bucky laughs as shakes his head. “Sweetheart, I’ve been dyin’ to fuck you since the day we met. Do us both a favor and let me. I promise I’ll make you cum so hard you’ll forget that asshole’s name.” His hands slide from your waist down to your ass, greedily squeezing it. “We’ll do it however you want. Fast, slow, nice, mean, missionary, doggy-”

“That’s enough,” you stop him, giggling as you slap his chest.

“Are you gonna make me beg? Pretty please let me fuck you, sweetheart,” he says with a smirk.

“Fine,” you huff. Your reluctance is for show. You can’t let him think you were jumping at the chance to fuck him.

Joaquin would be so sweet and try to convince you that you don’t need him.

“We can watch movies together. I’ll make you breakfast in bed and take you shopping. I’ll take you out to dinner and I’ll pay the whole bill. He always asked you to split it!”

“But you’re not my boyfriend, Joaquin,” you say, hands on your hips as you look at him.

“I don’t need to be your boyfriend to do all those things. I still care about you and I know you deserve better than that guy.”

You sigh. “There are things I want that you can’t give me because you’re not my boyfriend.”

Joaquin mimics your stance, cocking his head as he stares back at you. “Like what?”

“Like sex!” you exclaim. You get that Joaquin wants what’s best for you, but you have needs. At least this time you know what you’re signing up for with your ex.

That seems to catch Joaquin off guard, like he wasn’t expecting you, who’s always so sweet and perfect, to like sex.

“I can do that too!” he comes back with.

You furrow your brows. “No you can’t, Joaquin. We’re friends.”

“Ever heard of friends with benefits? I promise it won’t be weird. I can give you everything you want and you never have to see that loser again.”

You consider it. Joaquin is hot and he treats you way better than you ex ever did. You suppose just once wouldn’t hurt, and if it didn’t workout, Joaquin seems like the type to let it go and not allow it to ruin the relationship you have.

“Fine, but this stays between us, okay?”

“You want me to be your dirty little secret?” he asks, teasing.

“Shut up,” you huff.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

You step close to him and grab his face. You lean in for a kiss and he eagerly reciprocates. Once he gets the idea, you allow him to take control of the pace. His hands gently trail over your body, clearly hesitant to touch you.

“If we’re gonna do this, we’ll gonna do it right,” you say after you break the kiss. You place his hands on your ass and he takes the hint, squeezing firmly.

“I’ve never seen this side of you,” he chuckles.

“We’ve never done this before.”

[drbased]

They always use the word ‘ontologically’ as pure projection. Radfems don’t need to have a pseudo-spiritual symbolic view of the penis - we simply look at the material reality of the harm it’s caused. But they can’t conceptualise sex outside of gender, so anything associated with the material reality of sex has to ‘mean’ something deeper. They can’t process sex outside of what it ‘means’, so when they see us acknowledge the realities of sex, they assume that we’re using the same mental processing as them. For them, ‘feminism’ must require rejection of sex because acknowledgment of sex necessitates acknowledging sex stereotypes as part of sex.

And here’s the thing: the penis is ‘The Rape Organ’. Not ‘ontologically’ - because there are many penises that haven’t raped, and rape is committed in other ways. But there is no other part of the body that can forcibly penetrate, ejaculate, urinate, spread stis and forcibly impregnate all in one. Moreover, there is no bodily organ that generates such a clear motivation to rape. Yes, people gain pleasure from other types of rape, but forcible impregnation of women by men’s penises is what the patriarchy is literally built upon. Men happily admit their penis is a rape organ when there’s no societal stigma against it. Flashers wouldn’t exist if men didn’t know that their penis is an organ of sexual terror.

Men rape and forcibly impregnate women, using them as breeding stock. That is, to put it bluntly, what ‘rule of the father’ means in practical terms. The penis does not need to be a rape organ, but that’s how it’s viewed and weirded in society. And sure as shit it’s not feminists’ fault for pointing that out. The moment men stop raping with their penises, especially stop raping women, we’ll stop associating their penises with rape.

I had a man get defensive and irritated with me because I called him an asshole. And I had to tell him that it’s not some judgment upon his very soul - rather, it’s a blunt assessment of his current behaviour: the moment he stops behaving like an asshole is the moment I will stop calling him one. It really is as simple as that. Time and time again, women point out basic reality - sometimes making an active judgment, and sometimes simply recognising reality for what it is - and men take that as an affront upon their mortal souls, as some sort of unilateral and unchanging damnation of their very essence. It’s easier that way, because then they never have to feel accountable for their actions: they get to decide that their behaviour is good and righteous because they’ve decided that they are good and righteous. Trans-identified men, similarly, redefine ‘woman’ so that they get to decide that their bodies and behaviour are ‘female’ because they are female. It’s the same story every time: men are incentivised to process reality through isolated categorisation, and when women point out the basics of reality they, like a religious person who believe atheists ‘deny god’, have to believe that we are also making an isolated categorisation - and because we’re women, our categorisation must be wrong; we’re just not as deep as them, we don’t get it. So the simplicity of our recognition of basic reality is redefined as shallowness and vapidity - just as how religious people view our life on Earth as less ‘real’ than the spiritual world. And of course, many religions view women as inherently less spiritual than men.

All of this psychological gymnastics is to justify the patriarchy, which is, at its core, a justification of rape. Patriarchy is built from the ground up on rape, specifically men raping women with their penises. All these supposed ‘feminists’ want to fight the patriarchy without acknowledging that basic fact - a fact that is both not difficult to notice and also incredibly difficult to notice as rape is built into the fabric of society.

The trans-identified man with even the best intentions has had his fundamental sense of self constructed within this system: he is a member of the oppressor class, and said oppressor class maintains power through rape with the penis. It benefits him to obfuscate this relationship, utilising those same societal forces that disguise rape as normal to pretend the rape isn’t there.

[sturnsblogs]

VOICEMAIL FROM CHRIS.

Skater!Chris X Favorite!Ex!Reader

You look at your phone, seeing Chris’s name flash on the screen. You hesitate for a moment, then simply click decline. Your thumb hovers over the screen, watching the call end, but not before it immediately rings again. You let it ring through once more, the familiar buzz echoing through the quiet room.

A few seconds pass, then the screen lights up again with his name, and you sigh. The pattern repeats—Chris calling, waiting, calling again. Each time you feel a slight tug in your chest, but you ignore it. You can’t let him in again so easily. Not after everything.

You leave it ringing, the buzzing vibrating softly against the nightstand, until a full minute passes. Finally, the screen goes quiet, and your phone dings.

Voicemail from Chris.

The voicemail starts with a little static and Chris sighing heavily, his voice sounding a little desperate.

Chris: “Uh, hey, baby. It’s me. Look, I know you’re probably not gonna listen to this, but I can’t keep doing this. I’ve been thinking about you non-stop, and I’m not even gonna pretend I’m okay. I miss you like crazy. You know that, right?”

He pauses for a moment, as if he’s trying to gather his thoughts.

Chris: “I was just thinking about the last time we, uh, well… you know. You, me, the backseat of my car… remember that night? The way you were all over me, mama, damn, you had me so wrapped up in you. God, we used to just… fuck. You’d always act all innocent, but I swear, you knew how to drive me crazy.”

There’s a slight pause, and you can hear him shift uncomfortably, probably realizing what he just said.

Chris: “Fuck, that’s gonna make me hard just thinking about it.”

He laughs awkwardly, clearly not sure whether to keep going or not.

Chris: “Look, I’m not trying to be a creep, I swear. I’m just… I miss us. I miss the way you’d always be right there when I needed you, even when I was being a stupid idiot. You’d roll your eyes, tell me I’m being an asshole, and then we’d end up laughing, and, uh… yeah, you’d give me that look, like you were gonna punch me or kiss me. Usually both. God, I miss you, baby.”

He sighs, frustrated with himself but continuing anyway.

Chris: “You know, I can’t help it. Every time I think about you, I’m, like… remembering the way you kissed me—so slow, so damn perfect—and how it would always lead to something else. You’d drive me insane, mama. And don’t even get me started on how you looked when you’d climb into my lap. You knew exactly how to get me going.”

He mutters something under his breath, then clears his throat.

Chris: “Uhh, okay, I’m probably making this weird now. But I just… I can’t stop thinking about you. I swear, it’s like you’re always in my head, always just there in the back of my mind, even when I’m trying to focus on other shit. And every time you don’t text me back, it’s like I’m losing my damn mind over here, trying to figure out what I did wrong.”

You can hear him shake his head, getting frustrated with himself.

Chris: “I’m not perfect. I know that. I’ve messed up a thousand times, but I swear, Y/N, if you just give me a chance… I’ll make it right. I just—I need you to stop shutting me out, baby. I don’t care what I have to do, I’ll prove it. I’ll do anything. Just please…”

Another pause, and you hear him breathing heavily, like he’s trying to calm down.

Chris: “I love you, Y/N. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and it’s not just because of all that—uh, you know, all that stuff we used to do. It’s everything. You get me, and I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel like if I don’t fix this with you, I’m just… I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

You hear a soft chuckle from Chris, trying to keep the mood light but it’s clearly mixed with frustration.

Chris: “I swear, if you answer me, I’ll, like… I don’t know, do something romantic or just… I’ll take you out to dinner, your choice, or maybe just let you pick what movie we’re watching… but god, I just need to hear from you. You’re driving me insane, baby. Please…”

A long pause, and then you hear him sigh deeply, clearly giving up a bit.

Chris: “Alright, well… I’ll stop now. But I miss you, okay? I miss you so much, and I need you to know that I’m here. Always. No matter what.”

You hear a final sigh before the sound of him kissing the phone, and then it cuts off with a muffled “muah…” *click*

1 minute and 53 seconds.

A/N- I like this

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @jimmasterflashh @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl

DIVIDER CREDS- @bernardsbendystraws!!! thank you.

[twopoppies]

Hi Gina,

I wanted to send you a message in the midst of all this madness to tell you my back story in the hope that it’ll cheer you up or at least remind you how important you are.

So back in 2021 I saw that Harry Styles was cast in DWD and that he was dating OW. I remember thinking “how strange”. Why would a 26 year old date his boss who’s a mother a two. But I also remembered that Harry had a reputation of dating older women. Then I watched all the drama unfold: Florence clearly not liking him, spitgate and him seemly ignoring OW (his gf) at the premiere. I couldn’t make any sense of it. All of that coupled with the Vanity Fair cover where he’s in that beautiful dress but in the article he talks about clothes being “fun” and not that serious. He also said that he has never publicly dated anyone (while publicly dating OW). Again I could not make head nor tail of it. The only thing I could come up with was that Harry Styles was a privileged asshole.

But at the same time I watched some of his LOT concerts and he was completely different. So kind, So caring to his fans and providing a safe space to the queer community. This confused me even more. Was he playing both sides? I remember saying to a friend at the time that whatever Harry was selling I was not buying. His whole image just left me scratching my head.

Anyway fast forward to October last year and Liam’s passing. His death really saddened me because I had a friend who died in similar circumstances. So I looked up stuff on Liam which brought me to 1D which brought me here to your blog.

The biggest shock for me, by far, in all of this is not that Harry and Louis are/ were together. I kind of remember that rumour doing the rounds years ago. The biggest shock by far is how Harry’s image has been sabotaged since the age of 16 by his management and the media. Now I know that Harry is sweetheart, a good person who was used and abused by the music industry. But it wasn’t until I found your blog and did my research that I finally saw the truth.

So I want to remind you that the work that you do here (along with others) is important. And that you are appreciated. This is not about proving that two men are together. This is about how two teenagers were treated horribly in the music industry (and how it was been detrimental to their lives) and how the GP is blind to it.

I was playing pool with my 15 nephew the other day and he randomly started to sing Sweet Creature. I said “Oh you’re a Harry Styles fan? Me too”. And he said “I like his music but I don’t think I’m a fan of his”. When I asked him why not he just shrugged his shoulders. And that broke my heart because I could see that he was having the same issue with Harry’s image as I was in 2021/ 22.

Anyway I’ll leave it there because this has turned into an essay!! But I hope you realise how important you are to the community but more importantly to Harry and Louis. If I came across your blog I’m sure they have too x

🥹 honestly, I think this is the crux of why I’m still here. I hate what’s become of their images and how the public has this awful perception of who they are. It makes me so happy to know that there are still people out there who are willing to dig deeper and look beyond that public narrative. And if me/my blog helps in some little way, that makes all this nonsense worth putting up with. ❤️

[universefcb]

May i request a Pedri fic where him and reader are in a friends with benefits situation and they used to hate each other, so all their friends think they still do. At some party Pedri gets jealous for whatever reason and they sneak off

Can be with smut

↬❥ Friends?

Pedri Gonzalez x Reader!fem

Synopsis: You and Pedri are friends with benefits, but he gets jealous of you at a party.

a/n: I said I would stop writing smut, but it's stronger than me😩

REQUESTED

warnings: smut.

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

The loud music of the party pulsated throughout the room, lights flashing, laughter echoing and bodies moving in a continuous dance. You were leaning against the kitchen counter, laughing with some friends while holding a glass of whatever drink they had handed you minutes before. You tried to look distracted, but your eyes kept drifting to the corner of the room, where Pedri was talking to Gavi and other players. He looked too handsome in that black shirt rolled up to the elbows. And annoyingly comfortable.

No one there had any idea that, a few hours earlier, you were with him in your bed, with his mouth on your neck and his fingers exploring every inch of your body as if you were his property.

The most ironic thing? You hated each other. Or at least, that's what everyone still believed.

“I don’t understand how you can put up with that idiot,” said one of her friends, subtly pointing in his direction.

You just laughed, trying to sound nonchalant. “Me neither.”

But when a random guy got too close, smiling at you with forced confidence and putting his hand on your waist, it wasn't hard to feel Pedri's gaze piercing the room like a knife. And seconds later, he was already at your side, with a tense jaw and a not-so-friendly smile.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked, but it was more of an order than a request.

You pretended to hesitate, but deep down, you already knew where this was going. He pulled you by the hand, crossing the house, ignoring looks and whispers, until you found an empty hallway. And when he pressed you against the wall, your bodies pressed together and your eyes burning with desire and anger, you whispered:

“Are you jealous, love?”

He laughed hoarsely. “You like to tease, don’t you?”

And then he kissed you. Hard, possessive, as if he were marking his territory. His hands ran up your thighs, slowly moving upwards, and soon he turned you back against the wall, his body pressing against yours. His heavy breathing mixed with low, muffled moans, the sound of the party too distant to matter.

“You’re mine,” he growled in your ear, pulling your panties to the side, his fingers sliding to the exact spot that made you gasp. “Even if no one knows… you’re mine.”

The tension between the two of you was almost palpable as you left the house. Pedri pulled you by the hand tightly, his steps long, without saying a word — but his silence screamed. You knew that look. You knew every inch of him when he was like this: dominated by jealousy, by desire, by the need to remind you who you were.

He unlocked the car and you barely had time to get in before he slammed the driver's side door, throwing himself into the seat with his eyes still dark with rage. His breathing was heavy, and yours even more so.

“Come here,” he ordered, pulling you onto his lap in the backseat, impatiently.

You obeyed, straddling him, and your lips crashed together brutally, teeth clashing, tongues warring. The way he grabbed you, squeezing your waist, pulling your hair, making you moan against his mouth… it was wild. Hot. Urgent.

“He touched you,” he growled between kisses. “That asshole touched you.”

“You have no right to be jealous,” you teased, even though you could already feel the excitement wetting your panties.

“Yes, I do,” he replied, slipping his hand inside the fabric of her underwear and running his fingers between her wet lips. “Because you’re mine. Only mine.”

Before you could respond, he flipped you over onto your back, firmly, pushing your knees against the seat and pulling your body back so that your back was arched and your face was turned to the fogged glass. Legs bent in front of you and he held you by the hips—it was intense, deeply intimate, and it made each thrust feel even deeper, even more intense.

You arched your body, gasping, as he thrust into you hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the stuffy car. The way he held you, his fingers digging into your waist, as if he wanted to keep you there forever… it was more than sex. It was possession. It was need. It was chaos.

“Look what you do to me,” he murmured against her skin. “Always driving me crazy… always teasing me.”

The thrusts got faster, more intense, until you couldn't contain your loud moans. He kissed the back of your neck between thrusts, bit your shoulder, and panted against your skin. You felt your entire body trembling, tension building in your belly like an explosion waiting to happen.

— Come for me, caliente… cum with me. — he whispered in a hoarse, almost affectionate voice, contrasting with the brutality of the moment.

And you came. Strong. Hot. Collapsing into his arms as he gave in too, moaning against your skin, pressing your bodies together tightly. He kept moving slowly until the last second, until you were both exhausted and panting.

And then… silence.

A calm, intimate silence.

Pedri leaned in, placing a soft kiss on the back of your neck, unlike anything he had done in the previous minutes. He turned you around carefully, still holding you, and settled you on his lap, his hands sliding down your bare back.

— I hate it when you flirt with others — he said softly, his forehead resting against hers.

— I didn't flirt with anyone... but I like it when you look like this — you teased, smiling lazily.

He chuckled lightly, kissing her mouth gently this time, and whispered.

— We pretend to hate each other… but you know that, deep down, I just want to love you properly.

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @p4uul0vr @nngkay @meganesanchez @bymerinott @htpssgavi @luvvpedri

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Yessss. It was an honor to read it first honestly, this is so good!

I'm still mad at him being a jerk but there's nothing I want more than for him to fuck me into the oblivion 🥵

favorite parts under the cut 'cause I don't want to spoil this deliciousness to anyone 😌

Y'all read this now!!!!

You glance at it. Sweet Surrender. Jesus. You arch a brow. “Didn’t take you for a romance guy.” “Oh, sweetheart,” Clint drawls, grinning like he’s got you right where he wants you. “I got layers.”

LOL what an asshole. I love him. 🫠

“Escapin’ from me already?” he muses, arms crossing over his broad chest. You don’t look at him, reaching for the fridge instead. “Just needed a break from your endless charm.”

I love her sass, tell him babe!!

"That’s what I’m sayin’." He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "I’m here, night after night, keeping this fine establishment running—" "You sit behind the counter and read Hustler.”

Hahahahahah AGAIN,  I LOVE HER.

"What?" He gestures lazily at the screen. "Figured we could do some, y’know, quality control.” So we’re calling it quality control now? LOL can I do a quality control on his dick?  "You sure? ‘Cause if you’re not in the mood to be a team player…" He lets the words hang, lazy and sharp at the same time. "I could always find someone else to cover your shifts."

Oh the good old blackmail, she’s a stronger soldier than me, I wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever he wanted. 🥵

"Feisty," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. "Always figured you had a little fight in ya.”

Oh look, that’s me, I have a whole fucking hurricane inside me 🥲

"Look at you," he murmurs, brushing his thumbs over your nipples, watching the way they pebble under his touch. "Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen."   Then he dips down, mouth hot and eager, dragging wet kisses along the swell of your breast before he takes one into his mouth. His tongue is slow, deliberate, circling, flicking, while one of his hands kneads the other, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.  

OOOOF yeah, so fucking hot 🤤

Clint chuckles, a dark, knowing sound as he draws his fingers out of you, lifting them to his lips to suck them clean, eyes locked on yours the entire time. “Then I’ll just have to fuck you right here, just like this.” His hips press harder, the thick length of him straining against his jeans. “Either way, you’re gettin’ wrecked, sweetheart.”

Wreck me NOW, why don’t you 🥵

“See that?” he murmurs, thrusting harder, deeper, making your body jolt with each snap of his hips. “She looks so pretty takin’ it—just like you.” His hand slides down to your chest, squeezing rough, fingers rolling your nipple.. “Look at how her tits bounce, baby. Just like yours. Fuckin’ perfect.”

Ooooh I'm combusting, byeeeee

“Look at you,” he mutters against your skin. “drooling for me. You like this, don’t you? Bein’ my plaything while we watch?” Yes, actually.  “Open up, baby,” he murmurs, tapping the head of his cock against your lips. “Wanna feel that pretty mouth on me.” “You’re gonna swallow every drop, ain’tcha, sweetheart?” His voice is rough, almost desperate now. “Gonna take it all like the good girl you are.”

YES. 🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️

“Tell you what, sweetheart—bring me another tape tomorrow. Somethin’ real dirty.”

I’M ON MY WAYYYYYY.

This was so great, I swear, reading this again was even better, I'm so glad you decided to write Clint 'cause you did a A+ job as always, I need him so bad 🫠

p.s. love you bee ❤️

sweet surrender

Clint x f!reader // 6k

summary: your sleazy boss convinces you to fuck in the break room to a shitty porn tape he rented

warnings: mdni, 18+, porn with minimal plot, sleazy!clint, daddy kink, oral f! and m! receiving, unprotected p in v, fucking at work, fucking to a porn video, reader has titties, edging, orgasm denial

notes: a big huge thank you to @itwasntimethatdidit40 for reading this and being the sweetest cheerleader and for making me a moodboard when I was going through this crisis I love you so very much, @milla-frenchy for reading and leaving me the best comments you are the sweetest bb <3 and a big thank you to @evolnoomym for reading this over too. You are all the best and I love you veryyyyy much. // ty @/darkissoulmybody on Pinterest for the clint pic <3

masterlist

The bell above the door jingles as you step into the dimly lit video store, the scent of old VHS cases and cigarette smoke lingering in the air. The neon glow from the ADULT SECTION sign flickers in the back, casting shadows over the rows of tapes Clint probably hasn’t dusted in a decade.

You spot him behind the counter, feet kicked up, flipping through a magazine like he’s got all the time in the world. His aviators rest low on his nose, and when he glances up at you, a slow smirk spreads across his face.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up.”

You roll your eyes, tossing your bag onto the counter. “I’m five minutes early.”

Clint shrugs, shutting the magazine with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Coulda fooled me. Felt like I was sittin’ here all alone for hours.”

“Tragic.”

“You have no idea.” He leans forward, elbows on the counter, eyes raking over you in that way that’s become annoyingly familiar. “Lucky for me, I’ve got entertainment.”

You don’t have to ask. You already know. Like clockwork, there’s a VHS case sitting right by the register, an X-rated title in bold, red letters across the front. He picks out one every damn week like it’s just part of his routine. Sometimes he even makes you ring it up for him, just to see if you’ll get flustered.

Clint taps the tape with two fingers. “Think this one’s gonna be good?”

You glance at it. Sweet Surrender. Jesus.

You arch a brow. “Didn’t take you for a romance guy.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Clint drawls, grinning like he’s got you right where he wants you. “I got layers.”

You scoff, moving past him to clock in. Clint watches you go, the heat of his gaze pressing into your back. It’s always like this—him looking, teasing, toeing the line just enough to make you wonder if he’d ever actually cross it.

You haven’t figured out yet if you’d let him.

The night drags on slowly, the hum of the old fluorescent lights blending with the occasional creak of the front door. A couple of regulars come and go, renting their usuals, nodding at Clint. You organize the counter, stock a few shelves, and pretend you don’t notice the way Clint always seems to be near.

At some point, you duck into the break room, craving a moment of quiet. The tiny space is cluttered—half-empty soda cans, an old couch that smells like dust, and a mini fridge stocked with questionable leftovers. You lean against the counter, letting out a slow breath.

And then Clint’s there, filling the doorway.

“Escapin’ from me already?” he muses, arms crossing over his broad chest.

You don’t look at him, reaching for the fridge instead. “Just needed a break from your endless charm.”

He chuckles, low and rough. “That so?”

You grab a soda, cracking it open. “Mhm.”

Clint takes another step closer, and this time, you feel it. The heat of him, the scent of cigarettes and cheap aftershave, the way his presence always seems bigger than it should be in a room this small.

"Y’know, sweetheart," he drawls, voice dipped in that slow, southern thing he does when he’s feeling extra cocky, "I don’t think you appreciate me enough."

You take a sip of your soda, deadpan. "So sad."

"That’s what I’m sayin’." He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "I’m here, night after night, keeping this fine establishment running—"

"You sit behind the counter and read Hustler."

"—And in return, do I get so much as a thank you?" He sighs, like he’s been personally victimized. "No, I do not."

You roll your eyes, setting your soda down with more force than necessary. "Thank you, Clint, for gracing this dump with your presence."

He smirks. "Anytime, sweetheart."

You turn to leave, but before you can, Clint starts talking.

"You ever get curious?" he asks, voice all low and knowing.

You frown. "About what?"

Clint taps the VHS tape in his hand. The one he brought into the break room with him. The one he’s now pushing into the old, busted TV set in the corner like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Your stomach drops. "Clint—"

The screen crackles to life. A grainy, oversaturated image flickers on—the unmistakable opening of Sweet Surrender, complete with cheesy saxophone music and a woman moaning through the static.

You stare at the TV. Then at Clint.

"What the fuck, dude?"

Clint just grins, sinking down onto the old couch like this is all one big joke. Like he planned for this reaction. He stretches out, legs spread wide, arm slung over the back like he owns the place.

Like he’s settling in.

"What?" He gestures lazily at the screen. "Figured we could do some, y’know, quality control."

You gape at him. "You did not just put on a fucking porno in the break room."

Clint shrugs, completely unbothered. "Looks like I did."

You’re about to cuss him out, maybe throw your soda at him, when he takes it a step further—because of course he does.

He pats the cushion beside him, smirking. "C’mon, sweetheart. Scared you might like it?"

You scoff, folding your arms tight across your chest. "Oh, fuck off, Clint."

But he just grins wider, eyes glinting. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

"That a no?" he drawls, tilting his head. "Shame. Thought we were friends."

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. "Friends don’t put on softcore porn in the break room."

"Softcore?" Clint clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "Sweetheart, you wound me. You think I’d waste my time on soft anything?"

You open your mouth to fire back, but then a particularly loud, breathy moan cuts through the static, and you feel your face heats up.

Jesus Christ.

Clint watches you, eyes flicking between you and the screen like he’s waiting—hoping—to catch you slipping.

"Y’know," he muses, stretching his arms up behind his head, "you could just not watch. Seems like you’re thinkin’ about it awful hard, though."

You shake your head, biting back the urge to tell him to go to hell. "I’m not thinking about shit."

Clint hums like he doesn’t believe you, like he can see right through you. He stays lounging, legs spread, fingers drumming lazily against his thigh as he turns his attention back to the screen.

Another moan filters through the static.

You grab your soda gripping it tighter. "You’re disgusting."

"And yet, here you are. Still talkin’ to me."

You glare at him, turning for the door. "I have actual work to do."

But before you can take a step, Clint clicks his tongue. "Ah, ah, ah—why don’t you sit down, sweetheart?"

Your spine goes stiff. "What?"

He gestures to the empty space beside him. "Take a load off. Ain’t like we’re busy."

You scoff. "Not happening."

Clint exhales, long and slow, like this is just another inconvenience to him. Then, he says it.

"You sure? ‘Cause if you’re not in the mood to be a team player…" He lets the words hang, lazy and sharp at the same time. "I could always find someone else to cover your shifts."

Your stomach drops. "Are you—" You stop yourself, clenching your jaw. "Seriously?"

He grins, all teeth. "Dead serious."

Your pulse kicks up, anger boiling under your skin. "You’re gonna fire me—because I won’t watch your shitty porn with you?"

"Don’t be dramatic," Clint says, patting the cushion again. "Just tryna boost morale. You don’t wanna be a team player? That’s fine. I’ll just start lookin’ for someone who will."

You glare at him, every part of you screaming to tell him to fuck off, to storm out and never come back.

But rent is due. Your car needs gas. And Clint knows it.

You don’t sit right away. You stand there, arms locked tight, fighting every instinct telling you not to give him the satisfaction.

And Clint just sits there, watching, waiting for you to crack.

Finally, with a sharp inhale, you place your soda down again and drop onto the couch beside him, arms still crossed.

He chuckles low, tilting his head toward you. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

Your jaw is clenched so tight it aches. "Go to hell, Clint."

Clint just smirks. "Darlin’, I’m already there. Might as well enjoy the view."

Clint spreads his legs enough to make sure you notice. His arm drapes across the back, fingers barely grazing your shoulder, like he’s settling in with you. Like this is comfortable.

For him, anyway.

For you, it’s fucking not.

"Ain’t too bad, huh?" he murmurs, voice all slow and smug.

You fix your gaze on the TV, jaw clenched. "Shut up."

But Clint isn’t the type to shut up.

He watches you instead of the screen, studying the stiff set of your shoulders, the way your arms stay locked tight across your chest. Like you think you can make yourself smaller. Like you think you can ignore him.

But he’s relentless.

He leans in, breath warm against your ear. "Relax, sweetheart. You act like I just asked you to do somethin’ real dirty."

You whip your head toward him, scowling. "This is dirty."

He grins, slow and lazy. "Yeah?" His gaze dips lower, raking over you in a way that makes your skin prickle. "Ain’t even touched you yet."

Fucking hell.

You snap your head back toward the TV, desperate to look anywhere else. The scene playing out is typical cheap VHS smut—bad lighting, a low-budget set, and a woman fake moaning as some guy runs his hands all over her. They’re both already naked, sprawled across a tacky, leopard-print couch that looks stiff and uncomfortable. Her curls bounce as she arches exaggeratedly, lips parted in an over-the-top gasp.  

“Mmm, yeah, just like that,” she purrs, dragging her nails lightly down his back, though the gesture looks more like a routine than genuine pleasure.  

The guy—tan lines stark against his skin, hair slicked back with too much gel—grunts, his expression unfocused. “You like that?” His voice is low, but the words sound hollow, like he’s said them a hundred times before.  

She lets out another moan, forced, too high-pitched to be real. The camera lingers on his hands moving over her, on the way she spreads her legs obligingly, even as her expression flickers—boredom creeping in beneath the act. The whole thing feels mechanical, like they’re just going through the motions, a loop they’ve rehearsed a hundred times before.

“God, you feel so good,” she sighs, her voice sweet, syrupy, and just a little too rehearsed.  

The man doesn’t respond, just keeps moving, his rhythm unchanged, like he’s punching a clock. The camera zooms in slightly, grainy and unflattering, the colors oversaturated in that distinct VHS way. It’s all so obvious—cheap, impersonal, bodies going through the motions for the sake of getting paid.

And yet, you can’t quite look away.  

Clint hums, tapping his fingers against the couch. "Gotta say, Sweet Surrender ain’t half bad. Got a nice lil’ build-up to it."

You exhale sharply, your patience hanging by a thread. "Do you ever stop talking?"

Clint just chuckles, low and amused. "Not when I’m enjoyin’ myself."

And then—he sprawls out even more, shifting so his knee knocks against yours.

You jerk away. "Clint—"

"What?" He feigns innocence, head tilting. "Ain’t my fault there's not much room on this ratty ol’ couch."

Your hands ball into fists in your lap. "You’re the one who told me to sit here."

He grins again, wolfish and filthy. "And lucky for you, I’m real good at sharin’."

You’re about to snap, about to say something vicious—but then his fingers brush your thigh. Just a ghost of a touch, casual as anything, but pointed.

Deliberate.

Your breath catches, and he notices.

His smirk deepens, voice dropping lower. "Aw, sweetheart. You nervous?"

You swallow hard, forcing your body to stay still. "No."

Clint tsks, shaking his head. "Liar."

And then, the fucker has the nerve to nudge his knee against yours again, slow and deliberate, his fingers tap a lazy rhythm against your thigh.

"You sit here actin’ all stiff, like you don’t wanna be here," he murmurs, his voice damn near silky. "But you haven't left yet."

Your nails dig into your palms. "Because you threatened to fire me."

Clint just grins. "Uh-huh." He leans in again, voice dipping into something rougher. "That the only reason?"

Your heart slams against your chest.

You should get up. Should shove him away, tell him to fuck off, storm out and let him deal with this shitty store all by himself.

But your legs won’t move. Your body won’t move.

And Clint? He just keeps watching you, looking at you like he’s already won.

Like he knows something you don’t.

His smirk turns downright predatory, all lazy amusement and smug satisfaction. "See," he drawls, fingers still moving up your thigh, "you talk a big game, sweetheart, but you like this, don’t you?"

You inhale sharply, turning your head to glare at him. "I do not—"

He chuckles, slow and deep. "Mmm.”

His hand drags a little higher, not quite a grope, but enough to feel. Enough to let you know he’s testing you, waiting for you to stop him.

You should stop him.

But your body betrays you, staying right there, locked in place, heat curling in your stomach in a way you hate.

Clint grins like he can taste your hesitation. "See? Ain’t so bad, am I?"

You grit your teeth, trying to keep your voice steady. "You’re a fucking creep."

He hums, unconcerned. "Maybe." 

The TV hums in the background, the flickering glow casting shadows across his face. Another moan filters through the static, obscene and drawn out.

And Clint? He doesn’t look at the screen.

He looks at you and winks.

"Y’know," he muses, voice all slow and smug, "coulda left five minutes ago. Could leave now." His fingers press a little firmer, teasing the edge of your inner thigh. "But you won’t."

Your breath shudders, hands curling into fists.

His lips twitch. "So, tell me, sweetheart. You gonna sit here, act all mad, or you gonna do what we both know you wanna do?"

Your whole body is burning—rage, humiliation, something else you refuse to name.

You need to leave.

And Clint fucking knows it.

His smirk deepens, hand creeping higher, his voice dipping into something rougher, darker. 

"That’s my girl."

Your whole body is wound tight, muscles locked, breath shallow.

And that’s when he knows he’s got you.

His smirk turns downright wicked. "C’mon, sweetheart," he murmurs, tilting his head toward his lap. "Why don’t you get a little more comfortable?"

Your breath catches. "Excuse me?"

Clint just pats his thigh, lazy and casual like he’s offering you the comfiest seat in the house. "Ain’t gonna bite. Unless, y’know, you ask real nice."

You should slap him.

He leans in a little more, breath warm against your ear. "I ain’t making you do nothing, doll," he says, slow and deliberate. "You wanna leave? Walk. But you stay sitting here, pretending like you don’t want it? Now that’s just wastin’ both our time."

Your stomach twists, heat coiling low. "You’re so fucking full of yourself."

Clint chuckles, dark and knowing. "Yeah? You ain't gotta pretend you don't like it.” 

You hate that he’s right.

Hate that your thighs press together, that your breath is shaky.

You inhale sharply.

Then, slowly, finally—you move.

You shift, hesitating for just a second before you swing your leg over and settle onto his lap.

His hands immediately slide to your hips, gripping firm, like he’s been waiting for this all goddamn night.

"Atta girl," he murmurs, voice all rough approval. His hands flex on your hips, warm and steady, holding you like he’s got all the time in the world. Like he knew you’d end up here eventually. You hate how he leans back just enough to take you in, like he’s already imagining exactly how this is gonna go.

You glare down at him. "Wipe that look off your face."

His smirk only deepens. "What look?"

You don’t answer, because if you do, your voice might shake. Might give something away. Instead, you grab the collar of his cheap button-up, fisting it tight like you’re considering shoving him away. He doesn’t look concerned. If anything, he looks even more pleased.

"Feisty," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. "Always figured you had a little fight in ya."

You roll your eyes. And then you do it.

You yank him in and crash your mouth against his, all heat and frustration, and fuck you wrapped up in a kiss. Clint makes a sound—low, satisfied, almost like he’d been daring you to do it. His hands tighten, fingers digging in, and then he’s kissing you back, deep and consuming, dragging you under like he owns you.

It’s messy, all clashing teeth and the faint taste of cheap beer and cigarettes on his tongue, but fuck, it’s good. Too good. His hands slide up your sides, rough and sure, thumbs brushing beneath the hem of your shirt, teasing warm skin. You arch into it without thinking, and that’s all the invitation Clint needs—he groans, low in his throat, and suddenly you're moving, flipped onto your back before you can blink.

"Fucking finally," he mutters against your mouth, hands already pushing up your shirt.

You barely have time to register the old couch beneath you before Clint is on you, pressing you down, pinning you like he’s been waiting forever for this moment. His weight is solid, and grounding, and when he dips his head, dragging his lips down the side of your neck, you barely bite back a sound.

"Damn, you smell good," he rasps, voice thick, rough like gravel. "Been driving me fuckin’ crazy for weeks."

Your breath stutters as his teeth scrape over your pulse, the heat of his mouth making your head swim. You should say something, throw one last smartass remark his way—but then his hands are everywhere, tugging your shirt up, palming greedily over your ribs, thumbs teasing just beneath the edge of your bra.  

"You gonna help me out here?" he drawls, mouthing along your jaw. "Or you just gonna lay there all pretty and let me do all the work?"  

His voice is thick with something dark and amused, but there’s a heat behind it that makes your stomach tighten. You lift your arms, giving him exactly what he wants, and he wastes no time pulling your shirt over your head. The cool air hits your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake, but it's nothing compared to the warmth of his hands as they slide over your bare shoulders, and down your sides. Your bra follows, unhooked with practiced ease, and he groans as he takes you in—eyes dark, hands already reaching.  

"Look at you," he murmurs, brushing his thumbs over your nipples, watching the way they pebble under his touch. "Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen."  

Then he dips down, mouth hot and eager, dragging wet kisses along the swell of your breast before he takes one into his mouth. His tongue is slow, deliberate, circling, flicking, while one of his hands kneads the other, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.  

He hums against your skin, lips dragging lower before he sucks at the sensitive underside, teeth grazing just enough to make you arch into him.  

"That feel good, sweetheart?" he murmurs, voice rough, breath warm against your skin. His other hand rolls your nipple between his fingers, teasing, making you whimper. "Bet you like being taken care of, don't you?”

You let out a shaky breath, head tilting back as heat coils low in your belly. His mouth is everywhere—kissing, sucking, teasing—turning you pliant under him. His words send a shiver down your spine, and you barely realize you’re nodding before your lips part to speak.  

"Yeah," you admit, voice soft, a little breathless. "I— I like it."  

Clint hums against your skin, dragging his teeth along the curve of your breast. "Yeah, I bet you do," he murmurs, fingers rolling your nipple, teasing, making you whimper. "Bet no one's ever really taken care of you before, huh? Not like this." His voice is all gravel and heat, thick with certainty. "Not by a real man.”  

Your breath stutters, your fingers twitching where they rest against the couch. The way he’s looking at you—hungry, possessive, like he already knows the answer—makes your pulse race.

"S’okay, sweetheart," he soothes, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss between your breasts. "Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you."

Before you can even process the rush of heat his words send through you, Clint just grins, teeth flashing, and suddenly his hands are on yours, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head in one quick, easy motion.

You open your mouth—to argue, to tell him he’s full of shit—but then he grinds himself against you, and whatever insult you were about to spit out melts into a choked-off gasp.

Clint’s breath is hot against your skin as he leans over you, the flickering light of the TV casting a sinful glow over his face. The low, breathy moans from the video playing beside him fill the cramped break room, mixing with the sound of your own unsteady breathing. His grip on your wrists is firm, keeping you pinned as his hips press hard against yours, the thick outline of his cock grinding insistently where you need him most.

“You hear that? You sound even prettier than she does.”

You bite back a whimper, but he catches it anyway, grinning like the devil himself. His free hand slips under your pants, between your thighs, fingers stroking over the damp fabric of your panties, slow and teasing. The woman on the screen lets out a desperate little cry as the man behind her fucks into her deep, and Clint groans low in his throat.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “You wanna try it?”

Your breath stutters. “What?”

His teeth scrape over your jaw, fingers curling tighter around your wrists as his other hand slides beneath your waistband, fingers dipping into your slick heat. “The way he’s got her. Bent over that couch, takin’ it like a good girl.” He drags his fingers under your panties and through your wetness, teasing, torturing. “Bet you’d look real pretty like that.”

A shiver runs through you, half defiance, half raw, burning need. “And if I say no?”

Clint chuckles, a dark, knowing sound as he draws his fingers out of you, lifting them to his lips to suck them clean, eyes locked on yours the entire time. “Then I’ll just have to fuck you right here, just like this.” His hips press harder, the thick length of him straining against his jeans. “Either way, you’re gettin’ wrecked, sweetheart.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears, breath shallow as you glance at the screen—at the way the man’s hands are gripping the woman’s waist, pulling her back onto him, the obscene sounds of slick skin meeting skin filling the air. Clint’s watching too, tongue swiping across his bottom lip like he can already taste the way you’ll come apart for him.

“Tell daddy what you need,” he orders, voice rough, commanding. “Tell him how you wanna be fucked.”

Your pride wars with your arousal, but the heat in his eyes, the way he’s holding you down, leaves you with only one answer.

“Like that.” Your voice is breathless, shaky, but firm. “Fuck me like that.”

Clint exhales a low chuckle, fingers tightening on your wrists. “Yeah? Knew you had it in you, baby. Knew you’d give in.” His voice is smug, dripping with satisfaction as he leans in, breath hot against your ear. “Say it again. But sweeter this time.” His lips brush your jaw, teasing. “Come on, princess. Call me daddy like you fuckin’ mean it.”

Heat prickles down your spine, your body betraying you as a shiver rolls through you. You grit your teeth, but the way he’s looking at you—like he owns you, like you’re already his—makes resistance feel impossible.

“Fuck me like that… Daddy.”

His eyes darken, his cock twitching against his jeans. “That’s my good girl.”

In one swift movement, he releases your wrists, flipping you onto your stomach against the couch. The cushions sink beneath you as Clint tugs your pants and underwear down in one rough motion, his large hands knead at your ass before delivering a sharp slap that makes you gasp. “Goddamn, look at that,” he groans, spreading you open with both hands, his thumbs pressing into your skin. “Can’t wait to see this pretty ass bounce on my cock—gonna make you work for it, baby.” he groans, palming himself through his jeans before undoing his belt. 

He tugs the leather free with one sharp pull, letting it drop to the floor with a heavy thud. Then he slides a hand down between your thighs, his fingers spreading you open even further.

“And look at this pretty pussy,” he murmurs, his voice thick with hunger. “Fuck, baby, she’s already so wet for daddy.” He drags a finger through your slick folds, slow and teasing, before bringing it to his mouth. His groan is low, filthy, as he sucks your taste from his fingers.

“Sweet as fuck,” he mutters, gripping your hips, dragging you back toward him. He leans in and his tongue flicks out, tasting you properly this time. His groan vibrates against you as he licks a slow, wet stripe up your cunt, his hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave marks.

“Mmm,” he hums, licking his lips. “Gonna make a fuckin’ mess outta you.”

He leans back, and the sound of his zipper sends a fresh wave of arousal through you, your body humming with anticipation. He doesn’t waste any time, shoving his jeans down over his hips, kicking them off completely along with his boxers. His cock stands thick and heavy, already leaking at the tip as he wraps a hand around the base, giving himself a slow stroke while his other hand spreads you open again.

“Look at you,” he mutters, dragging the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing, making you squirm. “Just like in the video, huh?” He presses in just enough to drive you insane before pulling back, smirking when you whine.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he taunts, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you jerk. “Gonna make a nice mess for me?”

Please,” you breathe, your voice barely more than a whine.

He stills, his grip on your hips tightening. “Please what, baby?” His voice is smug, low, full of satisfaction as he waits, knowing exactly what he wants to hear.

You bite your lip, pride warring with need—but the way he’s holding you, the way he’s teasing you, makes it impossible to resist.

“Please, daddy,” you whisper.

Clint groans, his cock twitching against you. And then he’s sliding into you, slow but deep, stretching you open until you’re gasping. His hands grip your hips tight as he bottoms out, his head falling forward with a low, guttural moan. “Oh baby, she feels good,” he grits out. “Takin’ daddy so damn good, like you were made just for me.”

The video is still playing, the sounds of pleasure in the background spurring him on as he starts to move. His pace is steady at first, measured, but you don’t want slow—you want exactly what he promised. You want to be fucked like the woman on the screen, raw and dirty and desperate.

“Harder,” you gasp.

Clint growls, snapping his hips forward with a punishing thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. His fingers dig into your hips as he sets a brutal pace, the slap of skin against skin echoing in the tiny room. The couch creaks beneath you, but you barely notice—your body is burning, strung tight, every thrust sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

His grip tightens as he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Look up, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice dark and commanding. “Look at the TV.”

Your dazed eyes flutter open, and the sight in front of you makes your breath hitch. On the screen, a woman is getting absolutely wrecked, her body bouncing with every deep, relentless thrust. Clint moans at the way your gaze locks onto it, his fingers move to your neck and tighten around your throat just enough to make your pulse race.

“See that?” he murmurs, thrusting harder, deeper, making your body jolt with each snap of his hips. “She looks so pretty takin’ it—just like you.” His hand slides down to your chest, squeezing rough, fingers rolling your nipple.. “Look at how her tits bounce, baby. Just like yours. Fuckin’ perfect.”

You whimper, your back arching into his touch, heat pooling deep in your stomach.

Clint’s grip moves from your throat to your jaw, tilting your head back so you can’t look anywhere but the TV. “Bet you like watchin’ it, don’t you?” he taunts, voice thick with sin. “Bet you love seein’ how good she takes it while I fuck you just the same.”

A deep, broken moan rips from your throat, your nails clawing at the couch as pleasure coils tight, ready to snap.

Clint groans, hips stuttering as he watches your body shudder beneath him. “Shit, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. You gonna come for me, sweetheart? Gonna let daddy wreck you just like that?”

You let out a choked-off whimper as the scene on the TV shifts—the man shoving the woman onto her back, spreading her wide before diving between her legs. Clint watches, his breath going ragged, and then his dark eyes flick back to you.

“Mmmm.” he murmurs, dragging his fingers down your trembling body. “Bet you want that too, huh?”

You don’t even get the chance to answer before he moves, gripping your thighs and yanking you to the edge of the couch. The sudden motion has you gasping, but Clint just grins as he kneels between your legs.

“Keep watchin’,” he orders, voice low and rough.

Then his mouth is on you, hot and wet and devastating. His tongue drags over your clit in slow, deliberate circles, teasing, making you squirm. You grip his hair, tugging hard, but Clint just groans, sucking harder in retaliation.

“Look at you,” he mutters against your skin. “drooling for me. You like this, don’t you? Bein’ my plaything while we watch?”

The only response you can manage is a desperate, breathless moan.

Clint chuckles, the vibration making you shudder. He glances up at the screen, where the woman’s back is arching, her hands gripping the couch as the man devours her. Clint growls and follows suit, wrapping his hands tight around your thighs and burying his face between them, licking and sucking you deep, messy, like he’s starving.

“That’s it,” he groans, his voice muffled against you. “Lemme hear those pretty little sounds, sweetheart. Show me who does it better—me or him?”

Clint groans against you, his tongue flicking faster, rougher, his fingers digging into your thighs as he devours you like he’s got something to prove. The filthy, wet sounds of his mouth on you mix with the moans from the TV, the whole thing makes your head spin.

You’re so close—right on the edge, your body tensing, ready to snap—when suddenly, Clint pulls away. You whine at the loss, your hips bucking up instinctively, but he just grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he coos. “You’ll get to come—just not yet.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s gripping your wrist, pulling you up off the couch and onto your knees in front of him. His cock is right there, flushed, thick, slick at the tip from how worked up he is. He fists himself lazily, giving it a slow stroke as he watches you, his other hand brushing through your hair.

“Open up, baby,” he murmurs, tapping the head of his cock against your lips. “Wanna feel that pretty mouth on me.”

You part your lips, letting your tongue flick over the tip, and Clint groans, his fingers tightening in your hair.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “Goddamn, you look so fuckin’ pretty like this.” His hips jerk slightly as you take him deeper, your tongue dragging along the thick vein on the underside. “Knew you’d be good for me. Knew you’d suck Daddy’s cock like a fuckin’ dream.”

He tilts your head up, making you look at him as you hollow your cheeks, taking more of him. His jaw clenches, a dark look flashing in his eyes. “Fuck, baby—look at you,” he groans. “So fuckin’ eager. You like it, don’t you? Like being on your knees for me, takin’ Daddy’s cock like a good little thing?”

You hum around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath. His grip tightens in your hair, guiding your pace, making you take him deeper. You relax your throat, letting him use you, and the sound he makes is downright filthy.

“Shit, baby,” he grits out, his abs tightening as he thrusts a little deeper, a little rougher. “Gonna fuck this pretty mouth—gonna come down your throat.”

His other hand cups your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek, feeling how full your mouth is. “You’re gonna swallow every drop, ain’tcha, sweetheart?” His voice is rough, almost desperate now. “Gonna take it all like the good girl you are.”

His pace stutters, his hips jerking as his breathing goes ragged. “Fuck, fuck, that’s it—look at you, so perfect for me—”

With a deep, wrecked groan, he comes, spilling hot and thick down your throat, his fingers gripping your hair tight as he holds you there. You swallow around him, taking every drop just like he told you, and the way his body shudders from it sends another pulse of heat straight to your core.

When he finally pulls back, his thumb swipes across your bottom lip, gathering the last drop of his release before pressing it against your tongue.

You swirl your tongue around his thumb, sucking it into your mouth just to tease him, hoping he’ll get the hint—hoping he’ll finally give you what you need. But instead of pulling you back onto the couch, instead of touching you the way you’re aching for, Clint just chuckles, leaning back against the cushions with a lazy, satisfied grin.

Your brows furrow as you shift on your knees, the dull throb of your own arousal making you restless. “What the fuck?” you snap, your voice breathless and frustrated.

Clint sighs, stretching his arms behind his head like he’s already settling in for the night. “Sorry, baby,” he drawls, his tone dripping with smug amusement. “Daddy’s tired.”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief. “You’re kidding me.”

He smirks, reaching down to tuck himself back into his jeans before grabbing a nearby tissue to wipe his hand. “Nope.” His gaze flicks over your flushed, trembling body, your thighs still pressed together, desperate for friction. He lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Damn, look at you—so fuckin’ needy.”

You glare at him, gripping his knee, half tempted to crawl onto his lap and take what you need yourself. “Clint—”

But he just tuts, wagging a finger at you. “Uh-uh. Don’t be such a fuckin’ brat about it.” He reaches forward, tilting your chin up so you’re looking at him, his smirk deepening. “Tell you what, sweetheart—bring me another tape tomorrow. Somethin’ real dirty.” He runs his thumb over your bottom lip again, grinning when you shiver. “Then maybe—maybe—Daddy’ll let you come.”

Your breath hitches, your thighs clenching together involuntarily.

“Better be a good one,” he murmurs. “Now be a good girl and clean up, yeah?”

npt to those interested in the wips: @yxtkiwiyxt @baronessvonglitter @mushgloomz @arcanefox207 @gothcsz @probablyreadinsmut @iknowisoundcrazy @almostfoxglove @sawymredfox @whocaresstillthelouvre @myownwholewildworld @ace-turned-confused @jokesonthem

[throatgoat4u]

ice breakers

word count: 1.2k

summary: mrs simpson makes you play an ice breaker to get to know your tablemate!

warnings: nothing besides chris being a major asshole

a/n: ngl… i made this the second after i posted late on the first day but like…. idk why i never posted this. im posting this for @oopsiedaisydeer since i’ve been disappointing her with the lack of my posting 😔. hope yall enjoy!

toodles sluts :)

you looked back up at the seating chart, then at chris’s face, before letting out a long, heavy sigh. you could just ask mrs. simpson to move you—especially since you were her favorite student—but you really, really liked your seat, and the other tables were more crowded. so, begrudgingly, you made your way to the back.

you dropped your backpack next to your stool and took a seat, stiff and unsure. what were you supposed to do? what if he said hi or—who were you kidding? why would the christopher sturniolo say hi to you? he was one of those guys who seemed untouchable, like a character from a movie. you’d spent so long admiring him from afar that it felt strange to be this close, like you were intruding on his world.

as you stole a glance at him, you took in his perfectly messy hair that looked like it fell that way naturally (though you were pretty sure he spent at least ten minutes perfecting it every morning). his clothes were annoyingly stylish, that casual-but-expensive look that only someone like him could pull off. he was leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out, fingers tapping lazily on his phone screen. he didn’t even look up when you sat down.

you swallowed hard, turning to the front just as mrs. simpson walked in, flashing you a smile and a wink. what was that supposed to mean? did she place you here on purpose?

“welcome back, everyone,” she began, her voice all bubbly and energetic. “i can’t wait to start the year and get to know some of you while reconnecting with some familiar faces. let’s kick things off with a little table group activity. it has nothing to do with art, it’s just to get to know each other. this is important because if you know me, you know i don’t allow seat changes until the last few months when i let everyone pick their seats. so, it would be smart to get to know your tablemates. there’s a set of questions on each table—use them to break the ice. i’ll give you all 20 to 30 minutes. enjoy, and welcome back!”

your heart sank. no, she couldn’t be serious. you actually had to talk? and not just to anyone—but to him? chris looked up from his phone, his eyes flicking to the paper in the middle of the table before landing on you. his expression was unreadable as he reached for the question sheet.

“you know, i didn’t expect to be stuck with the lonely girl all year,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension.

you froze. what? you always thought he didn’t even know you existed, but apparently, he did—and not for anything good. it didn’t hurt as much as it should have, though. you were used to being seen as the quiet, lonely girl with her head buried in a sketchbook. still, his words stung, slicing through the thin layer of confidence you’d built up over the summer.

you forced yourself to look at him, your mouth opening to say something, but no words came out. chris was already reading through the questions, his brows furrowing in annoyance. “this is stupid,” he muttered before tossing the paper on the table. “let’s just get this over with.”

you nodded, eyes dropping to your lap. the room buzzed with chatter, other tables laughing and talking like this was the easiest thing in the world. you wished you could be like them—effortlessly social, blending in instead of sticking out like a sore thumb.

chris sighed, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts. “first question. what’s your name?”

“uh… i-it’s dotty,” you mumbled, picking at your jeans, avoiding his gaze.

he looked at you for a moment, his head tilting slightly. “dotty? like… dot?”

“uh… yeah, kind of…”

he let out a short laugh, leaning back in his chair. “weird name. anyways, next question—favorite color.”

“i like them all. i don’t really have a preference. each color… it, uh, serves a purpose.”

“that’s the dumbest answer i’ve ever heard,” he said, rolling his eyes. “who the hell doesn’t have a favorite color?”

your fingers tightened around the hem of your shirt. you could feel the familiar sting of embarrassment building in your chest, the kind that made you want to disappear.

he looked at you, expecting a better answer, but when he realized that you had been serious, he shook his head and moved on. “do you have any pets?”

you shook your head, and he sighed, clearly bored. “any siblings?”

“uh, yeah. i have a little brother. he’s four.”

“he’s four?” chris looked at you like you’d just said something ridiculous.

“uh, yeah, my parents waited a while before they had another kid.”

“weird. anyway, got any hobbies?”

you nodded, and he raised an eyebrow. “you know you’re supposed to say what they are, right?”

“o-oh, yeah… uh, i like to draw and paint and stuff.”

“lonely and an art loser. pathetic,” he muttered under his breath, probably thinking you didn’t hear him—but you did. is it bad that comments like that don’t even hurt anymore? “whatever. favorite tv shows or movies?”

“um… my favorite movie is call me by your name and my favorite show is gilmore girls.”

“i’m gonna pretend i know what that movie is. favorite food?”

“pasta.”

his eyebrow raised, a flicker of interest crossing his face. “finally, something we have in common.”

“o-oh, you like pasta too?” you asked, a tiny spark of hope in your voice.

he looked up from the paper, scoffing. “no, i just said that for shits and giggles. what a stupid question.”

“r-right… sorry,” you mumbled, your cheeks heating up as you looked away. there was no way this was the guy you’d obsessed over for three years straight. no way this was the guy who filled pages of your sketchbook. no way this was the guy you fantasized about, hoping he’d notice you one day. this guy was a fucking dickhead.

chris rolled his eyes, shoving the paper toward you. “you’re boring as hell. ask me the questions. i’m sure i’ll be way more interesting.”

you took the paper, nodding as you read the first question aloud, “what’s your name?”

his face deadpanned, eyes narrowing. “skip.”

“uh… excuse me?”

“i said skip. what, are you deaf?”

“n-no, i heard you… it’s just… why skip?”

“everyone knows my name, dotty,” he said, spitting out your name like it was an insult. “i’m not like you. people actually know me.”

“oh… right. sorry.”

you continued asking the questions, and he answered each one with an air of superiority that made you want to shrink into your seat. by the end of it, you knew exactly one thing about christopher sturniolo: he was an arrogant, conceited asshole who thought the world revolved around him.

when the activity was finally over, you couldn’t help but feel more relieved than you ever have. this was going to be a long year

taglist: @freshloveee. @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan. @heart-sdiary. @sturnshood. @oopsiedaisydeer. @hjvi. @poolover123. @t0riiiis. @leoslaboratory. @mattsrecipe. @reiiwith2is. @laylaluvsu2000. @shoo-00

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝘚𝘏𝘈𝘛𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘌𝘋 𝘈𝘍𝘍𝘌𝘊𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕𝘚 - 𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛 𝘛𝘏𝘙𝘌𝘌

♥ Pairing: Mohawk!Mark Grayson x Reader | Sinister!Mark Grayson x Reader ♥ Warnings: Violence & Gore ♥ a/n: even though i put him in the pairings sinister mark doesn’t actually show up this chapter. if y’all haven’t noticed i’m pretty big on building lore so one scene can take a lot of time lolll. i think it adds to the depth of the story 🤌 → Part Two ←

It was a truly beautiful day; the sun’s rays unbroken by the clouds while a gentle breeze rustled through the leaves. Its serenity, however, was lost on M.Mark. A deep red liquid spattered across his face as the smell of sweat, blood, and fear permeated the alleyway he stood in. He could hear the sickening sound of bones cracking beneath his fists, but all that mattered was the rage—the fire burning deep in his chest. It was a fire that never truly went out, and right now it was fueled entirely by a raw jealousy.

“You really think you’re good enough for her, huh?” Mark’s voice was low, venomous, his words directed at no one in particular. His eyes were wild, pupils dilated with fury. He grabbed one of the men by the throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. The guy's feet dangled, his hands flailing helplessly as Mark’s fingers dug into his windpipe.

The man’s eyes bulged in terror, but Mark barely registered it. He was thinking of you. You—smiling at that asshole, holding his hand, like you didn’t even notice the real love of your life existed at all. Like that Mark was the most important thing in the world.

“I protect people now, you know?” Mark spat, his voice tinged with bitterness, his grip tightening. “I save people. And for what? So some fucking idiot can waltz around thinking he’s good enough to have her?”

The guy gasped, clawing at Mark’s hand, but it was no use. Mark wasn’t even really seeing him anymore. His eyes were focused somewhere else, somewhere far away.

In his mind’s eye he saw you again—laughing with that bastard. His absolute idiot of a counterpart, who didn’t even see you like he did. You were a goddamn star in his world, and yet you gave that moron all your time, all of your love.

“It’s so fucked up,” Mark muttered. “She doesn’t see it. She doesn’t see me the way I see her.” He turned his head, eyes narrowing at the other man huddling against the wall, still alive, still shaking. “She should be with me, y’know? Not him. Damn sure not any of you. Me.”

He shook the man in his grip, his voice rising with every word. “I would do anything to make her happy. You hear me? Anything. But you—you’re just a distraction. You’re nothing. And you’re standing in the way.”

The guy’s breath came in strangled gasps, his hands no longer fighting against Mark’s iron grip. There was nothing he could do to escape. Mark’s voice became a growl.

“I mean,” Mark started again with a scoff, “What makes him so fucking special?”

The guy’s head lolled back, the panic already setting in. Mark could feel the pulse in the guy’s neck, feel him weakening, but he didn’t stop. Not yet. Not when his mind was screaming.

And then, in a desperate, broken voice, the second man spoke, his hands still raised in a futile gesture of surrender.

“Look... man... I don’t know who you’re talking about, but it sounds like she’s not yours. You gotta... you gotta let her go.” His voice cracked as he spoke, but there was something genuine in his tone—something only a human could convey. “Trust me, y-you can’t force someone to love you… You’re just gonna make it worse.”

A light seemed to spark in Mark’s eye, a strange stillness passing through him. His grip loosened slightly, the man’s feet scraping the pavement as he hung there, suspended, but not quite dead yet. Mark’s gaze flicked to the man on the ground, and for a second, he felt a pang of doubt—like maybe... maybe the guy had a point.

“Let her go?” Mark’s voice was quieter now, almost confused. He looked down at the guy, his anger still simmering beneath the surface but momentarily calmed. “What do you mean, let her go? I’d do anything for her. I deserve her. She deservesme. That ugly bastard shouldn’t get to have her.”

The man took a shaky breath, speaking faster now, his voice almost pleading. “I-I get it. I do. But no way this is gonna work man. You’re not gonna win her over by killing people. She sounds like a sweet girl. You’re just gonna end up—”

Mark’s eyes flashed with a new swelling rage and without warning he slammed the man into the wall, the sickening crack of the guy’s spine breaking echoing through the alley. The man's body went limp, falling into a grotesque, twisted heap at Mark’s feet.

Mark stood over him, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling not from exertion but pure emotion. For a moment, silence swallowed everything. The only sound left was the steady beat of his own heart.

The anger was still there. It hadn’t gone away. It was a beast, gnawing at the edges of his mind. But now there was something else too, something that felt... desperate. Something sharp, like a knife lodged deep in his gut.

Mark glanced down at the bodies around him. His fists were still clenched, his body tense with the aftershocks of the destruction. He should feel powerful—he should feel triumphant—but all he could hear were those words.

Let her go. Was there even possible? Could Mark really just let you go?

He looked back at the man he’d just killed, and then over to the other man who was now cowering in the fetal position in the corner. The sight made him grunt a small laugh. As if this weak loser knows anything. The fire inside him flared again. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d be letting anything go.

In an instant he was kneeled in front of the man, his head framed by Mark’s hands. “Y’know you really give terrible advice.” With that final remark he brought his hands together, breaking through the man’s skull and plunging through viscera of his brain matter as if it were made of Styrofoam. He didn’t need advice, and definitely not from some low-level career bank robber that just died like an ant beneath his grasp.

No, Mark’s wasn’t even close to done yet. He just had to figure out his next step.

—

You let out a quiet sigh, watching the last of the visitors file out of the exhibit. The small group had been attentive, but now that they were gone, you could finally breathe a little easier. Being an aquarium keeper had its perks—mostly working with the animals, which you loved—but giving talks to crowds had always been a bit… awkward.

You glanced down at your watch, noting the time. Another hour until your shift ended. You could already feel the exhaustion setting in—nothing too bad, just the kind of tired that came with a long day of making sure everything was running smoothly. The fish were fed, the tanks cleaned, and you had managed to get through your spiel without flubbing too many lines.

It was then that you noticed him.

Mark, the one who’d abruptly showed up at your house the night prior, was standing across the room just at the edge of the exhibit. He wasn't a part of the group, which was odd. But what was even stranger was how still he was, how silently he observed everything. His gaze was fixed on the tanks, on the creatures swimming lazily inside, but there was something… unsettling about the way he stood. It was like he was studying something, but not in the way someone would look at fish. His posture was tense, his jaw clenched, and his eyes—his eyes seemed distant, like he was somewhere far beyond the walls of the aquarium.

You swallowed, a knot tightening in your stomach. Something about the way he was staring made you uneasy, but it wasn’t just that. There was a familiarity in the way he stood there, like he’d done this before. Like he'd watched from the shadows before and you just hadn’t noticed.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to approach him or let him be.

This Mark had always been… different. You didn’t know him well, but there were times when his presence felt like a storm cloud, looming just above your head. His moods were unpredictable, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was always simmering beneath the surface. And though you tried not to think about it too much, you'd never been able to forget the times he'd made comments that left you uneasy, or the way his eyes would sometimes linger on you just a little too long.

Today, though… he didn’t seem to notice you standing there, just a few feet away, watching him as he observed the sea life. His expression was almost unreadable—distant, cold—but there was an edge to it, a sharpness that made you hesitate even more.

Finally, curiosity won out. You took a few steps towards him, feeling your heart beat a little faster with each one.

“Mark?” you said softly, trying to catch his attention.

His head snapped up, and for a split second, you swore you saw a flash of something—anger, maybe?—in his eyes. But it was gone so quickly that you weren’t sure if you’d imagined it.

“Hey,” he said, his voice rougher sounding than your Marks. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

You shook your head, feeling a sudden rush of nerves flood through you. “It’s okay, no interruption. Just finishing up for the day.”

You both stood there for a moment in silence, the only sound coming from the gentle hum of the aquarium filters and the occasional splash from the tanks.

You took a step closer, unsure if you should say anything more. There was something in the air—something you couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t just the fact that he was here, now, standing in front of you, but it was the way he seemed to be studying you, his gaze never fully leaving your face. It wasn’t the look of someone admiring the work you did—it was more like someone trying to figure you out, to understand something about you that he couldn’t quite grasp.

“Mark,” you started again, clearing your throat, “are you… okay?”

He didn’t answer right away, just continued staring at you. His lips pressed together in a thin line, the tension in his shoulders unmistakable.

You felt your chest tighten. Something was wrong. You could feel it. He looked almost… unhinged, in a way you didn’t want to imagine.

“I’m fine,” he said, but the words were clipped, forced. His voice sounded flat, like he was trying to convince both you and himself at the same time.

You couldn’t help but notice the way his hands were clenched at his sides, the white-knuckled grip on his fists.

“I didn’t know you liked the aquarium,” you said, trying to break the tension. The words came out more out of instinct than any real desire to make conversation. But it worked—just a little. His gaze shifted back to the tanks.

“I don’t,” he muttered, almost under his breath. “I was just… passing through.”

Passing through an aquarium? You didn’t claim to be a detective, but that answer seemed a little suspicious.

“Right,” you said, trying to smile, though it felt strained. “Well, it’s nice to see you. If you want, I can show you around before my shift ends.”

You tried to sound casual, but your heart was pounding, and you could feel the unease creeping into your voice. Something wasn’t right, and you weren’t sure if it was because of him or because of the strange feeling that had settled in your chest.

He didn’t respond at first, just looked at you with that unreadable expression. The silence stretched between you both, uncomfortable, thick with unspoken words.

Then, he shifted. His eyes flicked to the side, to the tanks, and his lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smirk. He opened his mouth to speak but then quickly snapped it shut, the earpiece buzzing in his head, "This isn't a holiday. You've got half the content to save." His expression quickly soured, the irritation evident on his face.

“Maybe another time,” he grumbled. “I’ve got somewhere I need to be...”

And just like that, as quickly as he’d appeared, he turned and started to walk away, disappearing into the shadows of the aquarium.

You stood there for a long moment, still feeling the weight of his gaze on you, even though he was no longer there.

And for some reason, you loved the feeling it gave you. You hadn't felt seen like that by Mark in longer than you could remember, and you relished the high it gave you.

[bktempted]

Locked away. You never bought into all that hypnosis stuff. You thought it was just stage magicians and weirdos with pocket watches. Then you met him, and yeah, okay, maybe you were wrong. It started innocent enough, just little tricks to melt the day’s stress away after work. His voice was smooth, and it would sink into your head, and suddenly your shoulders weren’t so tight, your brain wasn’t buzzing with deadlines. But you’re not dumb — well, not yet — and you noticed how it started creeping into the bedroom. First, it was just sexy little suggestions, like how wet you’d get when he whispered your name. Then it got deeper, wilder, and before you know it, you were hooked.

His latest game? The "thought locker." That’s what he calls it, anyway. Says it’s to keep you from getting weighed down by life's obligations. You know, bills, errands, all that noise. He guides you down, tells you to picture the smart parts of you, the bits that overthink and worry, all getting shoved into a shiny little box in the back of your head. Click goes the lock, and poof, they’re gone. You’re left feeling all floaty and giggly, like your brain’s just a big, bouncy bubble of horny. The catch? That box doesn’t open until Master cums. His rules, his game. And lately, he’s been playing dirty.

It’s been days. Maybe three? You’re losing track because counting is getting fuzzy, and Master hasn’t cum yet. He’s edging you both, but it’s hitting you harder. Every time he holds back, that locker stays shut, and your head gets emptier. Your thoughts aren’t about work anymore. They’re about his cock, his hands, the way his breath feels against your neck. You’re turning into this needy, wiggly little mess. You’re starting to talk in this high pitched, bubbly squeak, all “pretty please, Master” and “I’ll be so good!” It’s humiliating, but that just makes you wetter. Even so, some responsible parts of you are still floating around in that empty head, frantic to make him cum so you can snap back to normal. After all, you don’t want to be this drooly mess forever, right?

Yesterday, you tried the subtle route (well, subtle for you at least). Slipped into this tiny pink thong and a crop top that barely counts as clothes, bouncing around the apartment like some slutty schoolgirl. You “accidentally” dropped stuff in front of him, bending over slow, ass up, giggling like an idiot. He just smirked, adjusted himself, and kept scrolling on his phone. Didn’t even touch you. Asshole. So today, you’re desperate. You’re on your knees by the couch, nuzzling his thigh, pawing at his jeans like a kitten in heat. “Master, pleeeease,” you whine, lips pouty, eyes big and glassy. “I need it so bad, I’ll do anything!” Your voice is all sugar now, dripping with slutty little trills. You’re not even sure what “it” is anymore — his cock, his cum, your brain, whatever — just something.

He looks down at you, “anything, huh?” he says, unzipping just enough to tease you. You’re drooling already, practically humping the air, your hands fumbling to get closer. You’re not thinking straight, honestly, you’re barely thinking at all. The locker’s got everything sharp and sensible locked tight, and what’s left is this horny, ditzy puddle of a girl who’d do anything for a taste. You start licking at him through his jeans, sloppy and eager, moaning like it’s the best thing you’ve ever had. “Mmm, so yummy, Master!” you chirp, and you mean it. Your brain is too fizzed out to care how pathetic you sound.

But he’s still holding back. He grabs your hair, pulls you off just as you’re getting into it, and laughs. “Not yet, princess. I like you like this.” And oh god, that stings so good. You’re leaking through your panties now, thighs sticky, and you can feel yourself slipping further. Words are getting harder. Big ones like ‘con-se-quence-es’ or ‘dig-ni-ty’ aren't worth the effort. Too many syllables. All that’s left is “cock” and “please” and “now.” You’re grinding against his leg, babbling nonsense, “Master’s so mean, so hot, need need need” and he’s just watching, letting you come undone.

You climb onto his lap, straddling him, your skirt flipped up so he can see how soaked you are. “Look, Master, I’m all drippy for you!” you plead, wiggling your hips, trying to grind down on him. Your hands are everywhere. On his chest, his hair, clawing at his belt like a dumb little pet. You know you'll burst if he doesn’t give in soon. But he grabs your wrists, pins them behind you, and leans in close. “You’re not getting it yet,” he whispers, and you whimper, because you can feel him hard against you, but he’s still not letting go. It's been days of this, and you’re a wreck.

A few more days go by, and you catch yourself in the mirror — flushed cheeks and dazed eyes, drool on your chin, and you love it. Maybe it's better to just be a giggling, cock drunk doll, humping his leg forever. To keep pushing, keep teasing, keep begging, but never having. Maybe that’s all your bubbly little brain knows how to do now. “Master, pleaseeee, cum for me, I’ll be good, I’ll - I’ll -” You don’t even finish the sentence. Too dumb, too desperate, too gone.

[revelboo]

Thanks for updating the Vortex story! I love your writing (*^▽^)/★*☆♪

Psycho Copter is fun to write, though this same compulsion would come up with TFA Blitzwing’s random personality.

18+ blood/Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Scenario- Broken

Vortex x Reader

• “Asshole.” There’s no censure in your voice, no anger and somehow that’s worse. Soft hand cupping his cheek, he wants to move your hand away. Hide behind his battle mask again, but he can’t move. Can’t tear his optics away from the blood welling up from the impressions his denta have left. Can’t stop sliding his glossa over his denta, tasting your blood, copper and salt. Hadn’t meant to bite, but he’d wanted to. Still wants to. Unable to separate pain and pleasure. Unable to stop himself, until his toys are broken. It’s never bothered him before, but he doesn’t really want to break you. When had that happened? When had he started caring?

• “Would you let me destroy you?” He asks, head dropping until his face is pressed against your throat and there’s a shiver of fear at the feel of his denta. “You’d stop me, right?” Sometimes he’s like this, the mania sliding into a strange melancholy you don’t understand. Almost like he’s guilty. Until he seems so much like a lost, little boy instead of a monster. Sex and blood. Pleasure and pain. You’re both fucked up, but you’d have never known just how much if you hadn’t crossed his path. What’s going on in that processor of his? He’d bit hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to bleed. You’re almost sure he’d wanted to bite harder. To tear into you and you both know you couldn’t stop him. That he’s so much stronger than you are. That every time you’re together, you’re playing with your own life, gambling that this time he won’t lose control.

• “I’d stop you,” you whisper, soft hand cupping the back of his helm. Reassuring him even though you both know it’s a lie. Gentle. Doesn’t know what to do with gentle, isn’t made for that, but he needs it sometimes. To feel your hands stroking over him, sometimes kneeling at your feet, head in your lap so you’ll touch him. Gentle touches or the feel of your blade biting into him. Needs them both, so messed up he can’t release without pain. Yours or his, doesn’t matter. Can’t stop swallowing, fantasizing about the way your flesh and bone would give under his denta. About destroying you.

• “Distract me,” he mutters, mouth brushing your chin to force your head back. Feel him shifting over you, his mercurial mood shifting. Wish you could understand him better. That you didn’t understand him as well as you do. Feel him fumbling with your hand and you don’t resist when he produces that little blade. Your blade and presses it into your hand. “Cut me if I bite. Frag, cut me anyway,” he’s laughing as he shifts over you, mouth covering yours, glossa stealing inside and he tastes like old pennies. Laughing even harder when you shove his face away, then he’s sliding down your body, alarm jangling through you that the psycho might decide to bite into you again.

• Sees the glint of the blade as you sit up and feels it press against the mesh of his neck as he sprawls between your spread thighs. And you’re beautiful like that, afraid but so serious. Bent forward, hair obscuring your features. Hand steady enough he has no doubt that if he bites you’ll bury that blade in him. That you’ll both bleed. Spike aching at the thought of his energon and your blood mingling. Looking up at you, he sinks his denta into the side of his hand until he tastes energon and then he’s offering it to you. Your expression doesn’t waver, not accepting his apology. Blood for blood. Humming, he slides his glossa over the bite and vents against you. Head dipping and glossa stroking against you as you make a noise and that blade pricks him.

• Rotor blades flaring slightly as he puts his mouth on you, your fingers tighten on the blade. Really will stab the bastard if he bites you down there, but he’s behaving right now. Glossa sliding against you, tunneling inside you. Why can’t you just drive that blade into him? Be free of him? His mesh is soft there, you might not be strong enough to sever his head from his body, but you could hurt him. Hurt him bad enough to find a better weapon and finish this. Know it, but you never follow through. Lips parting as he shifts over you, shoving you down and the blade slides against him, wet with his energon. Hands on your hips, he frees his spike and he’s burying himself deep, hips moving in urgent drives. Destroying each other bit by bit.

[flowery-mess]

the gifts he gives

Pairing: frat boy Noah x female reader

reader has a name (Ella Thompson, but the story is written in 'your' POV)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! / consumption of alcohol / oral f receiving / let me know if I missed anything

Words: 4,8k

Author's note: Don't know how I feel about this one, kinda feel like my smut scenes are very similar to each other even though I try to change it up a bit every time. But I hope you like it💕

frat boy Noah masterlist

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“Hey, just calling to make sure you’re okay to pick us up tonight?” you ask when Noah picks up the phone.

“Yeah, I already told you.”

“I know, I’m just making sure that we’re not bothering you.”

“No you’re not.” you heard his sigh at the other side of the line, not because you’re bothering him, but because he told you at least 10 times that he doesn’t mind picking you and the girls tonight.

“Okay. But if you change your mind and have other plans just te-” before you could finish your sentence he hung up. “Asshole.” you mumbled under your breath.

“Is our birthday girl ready to have the best night of her life?” Molly put a shot of tequila in your hand.

It’s your birthday and they insisted on celebrating it with you. They even bought you a sparkly crown that says “birthday girl” so you’d get free drinks tonight, that’s what Clara said.

“Hell yeah.” you cheered and all of you downed your shots.

“Let’s go then!” Clara dragged you both out of your small dorm while Molly was already ordering an Uber for you.

---

“I wanna get laid tonight.” Molly said out of nowhere in the car and your eyes met the drivers eyes in the rearview mirror. Yep he heard it and was shocked just like you.

“Molly!” you whisper yelled at her with a finger pointed towards the driver.

“What? A girl has needs.” she shrugged her shoulders like if she was talking about the weather.

“Oh god, this is gonna be so interesting.” Clara said with a laugh.

The drive to the bar where you had a reservation for tonight was around 20 minutes which you spent putting your hand over Molly’s mouth, because that poor old man didn’t need to know when, how and with whom she had sex with. Clara was just giggling at you both and you asked yourself how it is possible to be the least tipsy when you’re the birthday girl.

“We’re here.” the driver said and you left the car, not sure who out of the two of you was more relieved.

---

The bar was full of people, some were dancing on the dancefloor in the corner and others were having a drink and a chat. You found your table and sat down. The first thing you did was to look at what drinks they serve, because you needed to match Molly’s tempo.

“Good evening ladies, what can I get for you?” a man in his late 30s came to get your orders with a warm smile. He laughed at Molly’s comment when she asked him to make sure there’s really a double vodka in her drink and left with your order.

“So, Noah is picking us up tonight right?” Clara asked you.

“Yes.”

“That means we can get wasted and don’t worry about it. That boy will make sure you’re sleeping in his bed tonight and he won’t leave us behind. He’d go through every bar in this damn city to find you.” Molly always had some smart comments on Noah.

“Shut up.” you flipped her off and looked around the bar.

There were different groups of people, smaller and bigger, younger and older. You looked at the bar where you saw three guys sitting on those high stools with beers in front of them. One was looking back at you and when your eyes met he waved at you. You just smiled at him and turned your attention back to your girls.

The bartender was back with your drinks and three shots on the house as a birthday present for you.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to!” you told him when he was leaving your table.

“So, my dearest friend Ella. We wish you the happiest of birthdays. We wish you that every one of your dreams comes true, that you’re happy and healthy. We love you Ella.” Clara finished her little speech for you and before you could say thank you, she raised her hand with one of the shots and said “To Ella!”

“Thank you, you two are the best.” you said between coughing after the shot of vodka, disgusting.

After a few sips of your drink you started to feel more tipsy and loose, laughing at whatever silly jokes Molly or Clara said. You continued your conversation about your drunk thoughts, laughing and taking pictures when the same bartender came with a single drink in his hand and slid it in front of you.

“But I didn’t order another one?” you were confused and pointed to your still half full glass.

“This one is for the birthday girl from a gentleman on the bar.” he winked at you and turned around.

All three of you turned to look at the bar and you saw the guy who waved at you earlier laughing at all of your reactions.

He mouthed “Happy birthday.” and you picked the drink from him and mouthed “Thank you.” back before taking a sip.

“He so wants to fuck you.” Molly stated.

“Not everyone is horny as you tonight Molly.” you shrugged your shoulders.

“He’s taking your clothes off of you with his eyes.”

“I didn’t come here to find a birthday fuck.”

“Maybe you should treat yourself to a change for your birthday.”

“If you’re that interested in my sex life, trust me that I don’t need a change from Noah.” you sent her an ironic smile.

You really didn’t feel the need to have sex with anyone else, not just out of respect for Noah, but because he was satisfying all of your needs, even the ones you didn’t know you had.

The night went on, you had more drinks and even went to dance when the DJ started playing your favorite songs.

You could say that all of you were very drunk when midnight rolled around. Stumbling around the dancefloor and laughing at the least funny things. When Clara stumbled on her feet and fell on her ass, Molly almost peed herself from laughing and you almost fell next to Clara when you were pulling her up.

“Okay I’m gonna grab some water.” you pushed Molly and Clara back towards your booth and went straight for the bar.

As you were waiting for the bartender to notice you, you felt a presence next to you. “Can I buy you another drink?” It was the guy from earlier.

“Hi.” you smiled at him. “No thank you, I think we’ll stick to water from now on.”

“Yeah I saw you on the dancefloor.” he laughed. “What’s your name?”

You took a minute to think if you’re going to tell him, but then thought why not. “Ella. Yours?”

Before he could tell you the bartender was asking for your order. When he handed you a pitcher of water and three glasses, two hands reached from behind you to help you.

“My name is Austin.” he whispered in your ear and you immediately thought of Noah and how Austin’s breath on your neck had the exact opposite effect than Noah’s.

“Thank you Austin.” you smiled at him when he put the glasses on your table.

“Maybe I could steal you for a moment? Have a chat?” he asked.

“You’re really nice Austin, but I’m not interested.” you saw the hurt and embarrassment on his face. You didn’t mean to hurt him, but you really were not interested.

He just waved to your friends and joined the rest of his group back at the bar.

“Poor guy, you should’ve given him a chance!” Molly groaned.

“You can have a chat with him, see if he wants to fuck tonight.” you bit back.

You pulled out your phone and saw no new messages from Noah. Your drunk mind couldn’t stop thinking about his breath on your neck, how it sends shivers through your body. Or when he kisses the sensitive spot on your neck only he knows and suddenly you feel warm all over your body. Or when he puts his hands around your throat, squeezing it, but just the right amount of pressure to bring you pleasure, not pain.

“Earth to Ella!” Clara waved her hands in front of your eyes.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I said you should text Noah to come and join us, if he’s driving us back we can buy him an alcohol free drink at least.”

“Oh I’m sure Molly wants nothing more than to spend her night in Noah’s presence.” you looked at her and saw her drunk eyes. Clara seemed to sober up a bit, but Molly was still way past being tipsy.

“Actually,” she lifted her pointer finger, “is he coming alone?”

“Who else would come?” you asked her, confused.

“Well, maybe, but just maybe, his friend could come too.” you exchanged looks with Clara and immediately knew where this was going.

“What friend Molly?”

“You know which one.” she refused to admit that she has a crush on Matt.

“We don’t.” Clara told her.

“I’m just saying, if Noah can bring him here I might hate him a little less.”

“Now that’s an offer!” you laughed at her. “You can call him and tell him yourself.” you teased her.

“Is that a challenge?”

“It sure is.”

“Okay, give me.” she made grabby hands towards you and you opened Noah’s contact in your phone.

She put it to her ear and waited for him to pick up. He’s going to kill you.

“Hello my friend.” she started talking. “We were just thinking about inviting you to hang out with us.”

She just smiled at you across the table.

“Oh stop lying, I can’t imagine better plans that drinks with us!” she said dramatically. “You know what if you’re scared of me maybe you could bring your friend to tag along. That one with long hair.”

You and Clara laughed at her, her pink cheeks visible even with the bar lights.

“No, not the Swede! The other one.” she looked desperate from Noah not getting her point.

“I just wanted to say that I’m gonna be much nicer to you if he comes with you. Bye!” she ended the phone call and handed your phone back to you.

“Well?” you aske.

“He laughed at me, jerk.”

“It was pretty funny.” Clara agreed.

“But is Matt coming with him or not?”

“I don’t fucking know, he didn’t tell me.” Molly crossed her arms over her chest and you prayed that Matt is coming too, otherwise Noah has his fate sealed.

“We’ll be there in 20.” your phone buzzed with a new message from Noah.

“So Matt is coming too?”

“Yep.”

“This is about to be so good.” you replied and put your phone away. You didn’t tell the girls, you wanted to see Molly’s face when she sees them walk in.

“I liked her hair better before.” you decided it was gossip time about your classmates now.

“Yeah, the black hair was m-” you didn’t get to finish your sentence, because Molly almost screamed “What the fuck?” and her eyes were full of shock.

You and Clara turned around to see Noah and Matt getting out of a black car.

“He’s really here. Oh my god that’s so embarrassing.” Molly scanned the bar to find a place where she could hide.

The two boys entered the bar and Noah’s eyes found you immediately. Matt followed him closely behind when Noah started walking.

“Hey.” Noah shifted weirdly on his feet, realizing just now how weird the situation is.

“Hi.” you said with a laugh and leaned a bit so you could see Matt, still standing behind Noah. “Hi Matt!” you waved at him.

“Hi.” he gave you a small smile and then his attention was on Molly.

“This is Clara and this is Molly.” you introduced him to your friends.

You shifted closer to Clara so Noah could sit next to you and Matt sat down next to Molly.

“What can we get you guys for coming to pick us up?” Clara asked and waved at the bartender.

Noah ordered still water and Matt a beer.

“Cat got your tongue Molly?” Noah teased your friend, enjoying the power he now had over her.

“No, I’m just tired.” she lied.

She must’ve really liked Matt, because she was never this shy around boys. But Matt was smiling at her and trying to make conversation with her.

“He might have told me he likes her too on the way here.” Noah leaned down and whispered in your ear. You got lost in the feeling of his breath on your ear, feeling exactly what you did not feel when Austin did the same.

“Oh, that’s gonna be interesting.” you whispered back and looked up at Noah.

The conversation soon became less awkward, Matt started talking about his part time job he has along college which got both Molly and Clara interested.

But you couldn’t focus on what was being said when Noah’s knee was touching yours under the table and his arm was touching yours.

It seemed like you two were having your own conversation, nonverbal.

You put your hand on his thigh while nodding along to something Matt was saying. He didn’t push it away, so you continued moving it higher and higher, waiting when he’s going to stop you.

When you reached his upper thigh, he slid one of his hands under the table too and took your hand in his, sliding it down to his knee.

You put one of your legs over the other one and used your feet to slowly move up and down Noah’s shin. 

As a reaction he put his hand on your bare thigh and squeezed it. Before you could stop yourself you squeezed your thighs together and heard Noah chuckle next to you.

You finished your drink and saw Clara almost sleeping on your left. Molly and Matt were in their own bubble and your head was spinning so much you just wanted to lay in bed.

“Can we leave?” you turned to ask Noah who was looking at you with soft eyes, as he always does. You laid your head on his shoulder and mumbled “Clara is asleep and these two can find their own way home, Molly wanted to get laid anyway.”

Noah laughed at your drunk words and looked behind you to see Clara’s head against the white wall, eyes closed and mouth opened.

“Yeah let’s go.” Noah helped you and Clara out of the booth and made sure that Matt is okay with you leaving. He had absolutely no problem with that, as expected.

You carried yours and Clara’s bags as Noah helped Clara walk to his car.

“Clara I swear if you throw up in here you’re gonna pay for it.” Noah said before closing her door and turning around to find you still standing on the street. “Why are you not in the car yet?”

“I want a hug.” you reached out your arms and made putty lips.

“A hug?” when Noah didn’t move towards you, you skipped the space between you and buried your head in his chest. It took him a while to wrap his arms around you, but when he did you felt safe and warm.

“Thank you for picking us up.” your words got lost in his t-shirt, but he heard you.

“Come on, let’s get you two alcoholics home.” you smacked his chest but let him help you in the passenger seat.

---

Your first stop was the campus to get Clara home. When you reached the parking lot she was snoring in the back seat. You had to help Noah this time as you two walked her to your dorm. When you dropped her on her bed and Noah lifted her legs so she could lay down she mumbled “I know Molly doesn’t like you Noah, but I do. You make her happy.” before she cuddled her blanket and fell asleep.

Noah looked up at you and you didn’t know how to react, you definitely didn’t want him to think too much of it.

He didn’t say anything, but he had a small mischievous smile on his face as you made your way back to his car.

When he pulled out of the parking lot he couldn’t help bringing it up.

“I make you happy huh?”

“Don’t let it get to your head.” you playfully pushed his shoulder, “But yeah? I guess? I never had someone like you in my life. You’re my friend and I can always count on you. Also you’re not really just a friend. I don’t know, I just never thought I could do something like this without being in a relationship, but I like what we have. You’re my bestie.”

“You’re so drunk.” he used his hand to tickle the skin of your thigh.

“Stop it!” you pushed his hand away, “And admit that we are besties.”

“No.” he just really didn’t want to say bestie out loud, but he knew you were right.

You closed your eyes and tried to calm the spinning in your head when you heard Noah say “You make me happy too, maybe.”

You didn’t say anything, just squeezed his hand and smiled to yourself.

—

“I need to drink like a gallon of water.” you took your shoes off and made your way to Noah’s kitchen. You grabbed a glass and filled it with water and then reached into the cabinet under the sink where he had his snacks. Your drunk body craved something salty, so you grabbed a bag of chips and sat on the counter.

“Oh yeah, make yourself at home.” Noah said ironically when he saw you and threw a box of painkillers at you.

“Thank you.” you said with full mouth.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” and with that Noah left you alone in the kitchen.

You reached for your phone to see new messages from Molly in your group chat.

“I’m definitely getting laid tonight.”

“Help he’s so hot.”

“HE ASKED ME ON A DATE!!!!”

You laughed at the messages, but you were happy that Molly was happy.

Before you wrote a reply Noah was back, only in his black underwear.

“Oh, hi.” you jumped off the counter and made your way over to him.

“Hey.” he noticed that you were touchy more than usual tonight and he enjoyed it.

You placed your hands on his chest and your eyes followed the few water drops that slid from his hair. You leaned into him, placing soft kisses on his neck. You always like it when he had his hair washed, that messy and wet look making him even more sexy.

He let you cover his neck with kisses, enjoying when you sucked at his pulse point longer.

Your hands traced his tummy and then the waistband of his underwear.

“Okay, let’s get you to bed.” Noah took your hands before they could reach under the thin fabric and led you into his bathroom.

The room was still hot and the big mirror was covered with steam from Noah’s shower.

“Can I have a birthday wish?” you asked Noah as you started removing your makeup.

“Sure.”

“Will you take a shower with me?”

“I just took a shower Ella.” he stated the obvious.

“Yeah, but this would be a fun shower.”

“What the hell is a fun shower?”

“That’s when you have sex in the shower.” he laughed at your explanation, having the time of his life when you said your drunk thoughts out loud.

“I’m not having sex with you tonight, are you crazy?”

“What?” you asked with a pout.

“Ella, you’re drunk like an old man.” he booped your nose.

“I’m not! Look, I can walk straight.” you tried to walk straight on the line on Noah's floor, failing with the second step.

“Yep. So I’ll wait for you in bed.” he left you standing with a pout and jumped in his comfy bed.

—

“Are you asleep?” you whispered as you tiptoed in Noah’s bedroom.

“No.” he lifted his blanket so you could crawl under there with him.

When you stopped moving around and found a comfortable position Noah spoke again.

“Happy birthday Ella.” his words tickled you on the back of your neck.

“Thank you Noah, you’re the best.”

“I’ll give you your presents tomorrow.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” you groaned, “In fact you promised to not get me anything!”

“I crossed my fingers behind my back when I said that.”

“Noah!” you elbowed him in the stomach and then you both laughed.

Of course he got you a present, it’s Noah.

—

In the morning you were woken up by the sun tracing your skin. Your late night dinner and painkillers seemed to do their job and you didn’t feel any signs of hangover.

You turned around to see Noah’s back, the blanket was covering his body only to his lower back.

You started tracing your fingers over the ink on his back, your fingers moving up and down with his body as he was still breathing calmly.

It took a few more minutes before Noah woke up and turned on his other side to face you.

“Morning, how are you feeling?” he asked you, expecting you to have the worst hangover. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and yawned.

“Good morning. I feel absolutely fine.”

“So you’re ready for your presents?”

“I don’t want presents Noah, you didn’t have to.”

He got up and left the bedroom. When he came back he had a small gift bag in his hand.

“Happy birthday.” his voice was still a bit deeper than his usual voice, the sleep still evident there.

“Thank you.” you whispered and opened the little bag. “Are you fucking kidding me? Noah!”

You threw a pillow at him. He got you a fucking polaroid camera that you told him about a few months ago. A pink one.

“What? You wanted it!” Noah caught the pillow and sat back on the bed.

“I did, thank you.” you smiled at the box in front of you. He also got you two packs of films.

You reached for one of them, opened the box and put it inside the camera. You turned the camera on and before he could protest, you lifted it and took a picture of him.

“Ella!”

“I had to see if it works!”

You took the paper out and started shaking it. Soon Noah’s sleepy face appeared on it and you were about to put it back in the paper bag.

“Show me.” he yanked it out of your hand.

“Hey! That’s mine!” you got on your knees and reached for it.

“Let me take one.”

“No, it’s only for special occasions.” you snatched the picture out of his hand, but before you could sit back Noah took your wrist in his and kept you in place, close to him.

“And what occasion was this?”

“First picture.”

“Mhm.” something in Noah’s eyes changed and he leaned down to bite your jaw. Soon his teeth were replaced with wet soft kisses to soothe your skin.

“And what occasion is this?” you whispered.

“Your second present.” he laid you both down, you under him and in seconds his lips were all over your neck.

“Noah.” you moaned his name and the picture was forgotten.

He didn’t waste any time with taking your t-shirt off, he went straight to your panties and slid them down your legs.

He was always a tease, so when he dived straight in your pussy you let out a surprised moan.

“Fuck!” you moaned again, feeling his tongue everywhere. He was quick with his licks, shaking his head from side to side. When he pushed his tongue into you he groaned against you, those vibrations sending wave of pleasure to your clit.

“Fuck Noah.” he didn’t slow down, his pace still quick. Licking you from bottom to the top and occasionally slipping his tongue inside. His rushed and quicked motions bringing you the sweet feeling of orgasm.

You tried to calm your breathing, not expecting this quick and strong orgasm this early in the morning.

Noah planted a few kisses on your thighs, tracing his fingers on the curve of your ass and gave you no warning before he started sucking on your clit again.

Your reaction was to lift your hips, your clit still sensitive from Noah’s touch.

His arm slipped around your waist to hold you down, smirking against your pussy when he heard your moans again as the oversensitives changed to pleasure again.

He couldn’t hold his moans in when his tongue slid in much easier this time, your wetness slowly covering his chin. You grabbed a fistful of his hair and held him still, moving your hips against his flattened tongue (😇). He knew this was your favorite, so he let you ride his face.

“Come on, cum on my tongue baby.” he mumbled against your core, his words making you squeeze around nothing.

“Noah!” you moaned breathlessly. “That’s it.” he encouraged you and lifted his eyes as much as he could to see your face. Your eyes closed and your cheeks pink.

Your legs started to shake around his shoulders, he knew you were close. When the second orgasm hit you, your legs closed around Noah’s head and your back arched from his bed.

You sat straight and looked down at Noah still between your legs, his chin covered in you slick and he had his typical boyish smile on.

“That’s a third gift.” he chuckled when you fell back down on the mattress.

He crawled up to hover over you, leaning down to kiss you. You took his jaw in your hand and turned his face to the side so you could lick his chin, but he stopped you. “No need for that, I plan on giving you one more gift.”

He turned your bodies so you were straddling his lap, feeling his bulge, but when you reached your hand to touch him he stopped you again.

“Nah it’s your birthday. Come up here.” he made himself comfortable laying back and tugged at your thighs.

“Noah.” you said, not sure if you were comfortable sitting on his face in the daylight.

“Come on, I know you liked it the last time.” he smirked and was very sure you wanted it just as much as him.

You slowly moved yourself up his body, putting your knees next to his head carefully to not hurt him.

“Fucking love this position so much.” he said to himself before he pulled you down fully.

“Oh god.” his tongue was back inside you and you had to lean against the wall to not fall over.

You tried not to move your hips and enjoy the slow motions of his tongue, trying to prolong the pleasure he was giving you.

You looked down on him and saw his eyes closed, but his brows were furrowed, showing his concentration.

He switched between between sucking on your clit to fucking you with his tongue, or just exploring your lips, teasing you.

You almost lost it when he opened his eyes and looked up at you, holding eye contact with you.

Your head fell backwards, moans leaving your mouth uncontrollably and you felt him laugh against you at your reaction.

“Noah I’m close.” you tried to move your hips, ride his face, but his arms stopped you, he was determined to make you cum with his mouth only.

He pulled you down even more, you felt his tongue all over the place and the build of your third orgasm started forming inside you.

It was slow, your legs started to feel jiggly and you wanted it to finally snap.

You felt the tip of Noah’s nose touch your clit when his tongue slid into you, the last combination of movements that sent you over the edge.

He released your hips and let you ride through your orgasm on his face. He was smiling like an idiot under you.

You collapsed next to him, hands over your face as you tried to catch your breath.

“Happy birthday Ella.” Noah whispered into your ear and kissed your cheek. Then he stood up and started picking his outfit for the day.

“Wait, what about you?” you asked.

“I said it was your birthday. And I have to meet the guys in 30 minutes so you better get ready.”

“My legs are not working right now.”

“They better start working quickly or they’ll have to walk all the way to the campus.”

“I hate you. A girl can’t enjoy the post sex bliss, tragic.” you threw a pillow at him before getting up from his bed to get ready for the day too.

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This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.

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[thenightshadowqueen]

The Hobnob Affair—Watchthrough Thoughts

Yes! I’m back! I’m not sure if I’ll continue to be in a place to do these going forward, but I’m feeling up for it today, so here we are. I loved this play so much (and Luke was hilarious in the livestream chat), so fair warning that this is, as always, pretty long. But for those of you who, like me, have fun reading these things: I hope you enjoy!

Ooh, the idea of starting with a narrator is really interesting; I like it

“Sorry. Just killing time. There you go.” I love the way he says that and I don’t know why (also I always adore it when they use a microphone)

Tom having to lean down so far to reach the mic is my new favourite thing, actually

“A little café” I think they forgot that basically immediately and I love that for them

“Oh… Love can be difficult. It can be even more difficult when you’re trying to get a mic off the stage whilst maintaining your gravitas.” I love Tom so much

“Sometimes when I’m angry with David, I call him a fat cunt.” What a healthy-sounding relationship (I mean, I guess if David’s really fine with it…?)

“I don’t mean it, though. He’s not fat.” The moment of pure silence

“But I am a cunt” I will never be able to hear this without thinking of Luke in the live chat saying ‘so true Sam’

“Raw materials” AJ (also I adore when one of them (to be honest, it’s usually AJ, and I say that with so much love) fucks up some little thing and it becomes the plot of the play)

“You mean ingredients?” “Ingredients—Noooo.” Go on, AJ, double down on it

“Dough and flour. You’re a maverick, you are.” Sassy Sam, hell yeah

“Steel-dough flour biscuits” only in a SFTH play, I swear

Ooh, John and David/Terry/Dave—we’ve got another gay couple!

Also “John.” “John.” is hilarious

“Even though his name’s definitely Dave” um actually Luke it’s David (lighthearted; I love it when they forget names)

The look on Sam’s face when he changes the scene is glorious

Hello Tom (he should wear tank tops more often, because, like… he looks good)

This is so fucking ridiculous and I love it (a blacksmith-bakery—peak SFTH)

“You ever seen a pussy cook?” Jesus, Tom

“Took about nine months” I love Sam

Sam always goes all out for Scottish accents and I adore it

The continuation of the Sam-Tom stagecraft war!

I love Cindy Campbell with all my heart

Sam’s dramatic fucking door-opening is incredible

Wait, so John (AJ) is trying to buy raw materials from the blacksmith-bakery? Do they sell raw materials, or just the finished products?

“Oh, no, don’t. ’Cause it’ll make me feel bad about mine.” Um, no, excuse me, Tom’s not ever allowed to feel bad about himself, actually

I love how Tom’s always the one to hype up AJ’s muscles; it’s so sweet

AJ playing football (???) with the hammer is just so quintessentially AJ

“You [thruhmp] and I’ll [duong]” AJ???

I love it when they sing so much

“You could be the son I never had” right in front of your daughter???? Okay, you know what, this guy might have great arms, but fuck him

“She’s only fourteen.” “I’m eighteen.” Ah, Shoot from the Hip, the kings of ‘yes, and’ (sarcastic but affectionate)

“It’s so they can fuck” thank you for that hand motion, Sam

“I treasure this young man, and I bet he’s got standards” okay, nope, yep, FUCK THIS GUY

“No offence” yeah, fucking sure

Okay, so he’s a self-aware asshole

The way they fade in and out of conversations in order to do two scenes simultaneously is incredible holy shit (you can really tell how long they’ve been doing this and how well they work together)

Tom just jumping in and breaking the two-scene flow to correct AJ is beautiful

“My girlfriend says that I’m a massive weight and I have nothing to offer” what healthy relationships on display in this play

Tom and Sam in the background oh my god

…am I starting to ship Angus Campbell and Sam’s character?

“A series of fun parlour games” I don’t know why I love the way Sam phrased that, but I do

Also this is not about SFTH but they mentioned daylight savings time and I just feel the need to add FUCK DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME

“A biscuit can mend a broken heart” that would make great merch (“it’s on our slogan”) (although I’m hoping for ‘raw materials’ merch, personally)

God damn it, Angus, you were so close

Look, I know I said I hate Angus, but I am rooting for him; I like to think that someday, in the future, he does some therapy and gets to make amends (although I wouldn’t blame Cindy if she didn’t accept his apology)

“Don’t call your ex. Don’t do it.” As someone who doesn’t have any exes, I can’t speak personally, but I’ve heard that calling them is generally a bad idea, so: hey you! Listen to AJ! Don’t call your ex!

I love Sam’s “bad girl” characters, actually

The detail in Sam’s mime is killing me

That is so many beeps, good god

“That was my unlock code” I love AJ

AJ is just picking on Luke at this point and I’m here for it

Sam

Also Sam is just staring directly into the camera and it’s scaring me

“Call averted” ???? Is that a British thing, or a misspeak, or…?

“Phone unlocked” ah, Luke’s revenge, I see

“MEGACALL unlocked!” …I’m not even going to ask, actually

Oh, John, baby, you are not helping yourself right now

Shoutout to the subtitlers for the placement of the captions saying each person is laughing

I adore Lucy, actually

“What if I can’t move on? What if you were everything to me and there’s no life—” oh, sweetheart, we really need to get you some self-esteem

The little cheek rub? I’m sorry, that was so fucking cute????

Oh, okay, cute might have been the wrong word

Fucking hell, Luke (at least he didn’t take his trousers off again (Nigel flashbacks))

“Du-bye-bye” that was so stupid and I loved it

Okay, Sam, damn (I love how much Sam carries the others)

Also Lucy carrying her go-go-dancer partner bridal style is one of my new favourite things (they are literally in half a scene and I’m so invested in their relationship)

ALSO the way Luke holds his arm out as Sam carries him is giving me “behold, Luke” (Marigolds, Bluebells, and Hugh) flashbacks

The captions are the best as always; “heartbroken rage-screams” is indeed the best description of that noise

AJ oh my god (this is the new Tom-with-the-wine moment) (which means it’s never going to leave my head) ((we don’t need to talk about how often I think about Tom with the wine))

…Are we just brushing past the fact that Angus Campbell and Sam’s character literally sleep together? Because my conviction about this ship is growing

Do they genuinely just sleep in the blacksmith-bakery???

I never knew the name of that song (I know, I’m uncultured), so I’d like to thank the captions for that

Special-effects-J™

“She became a series of crumpets” I’m fucking sorry??? Tom???

This is graphic

“Aye, I’m not sexiest.” “No! You’re just abusive to your daughter.” “Aye!” Well that’s a quote

Ah, so Angus has good intentions and is just fucking horrible at executing them

Ooh, Troll-Father?

As someone who has no idea what a hobnob is, I’m greatly enjoying trying to piece it together (I know it’s a kind of cookie/biscuit, and I’m getting chocolate? But that’s it)

Oh, okay, they’re happy about the chocolate on both sides; I thought they were going to be upset, but I’m pleased to see they’re not

“You didn’t even put any ingredients in” excuse me, Tom, what are ingredients? We only know RAW MATERIALS here

“The Bussy Café” fucking—I was NOT expecting to hear that today good god (does Tom know what that means? Because in the QnA I got the sense he doesn’t) (to be honest it’s probably for the best that he doesn’t) (but it sounds like Sam does know what that means and to be honest, I’m not surprised)

“Alright, Sally” you know, Sam is the only one who ever gets away with getting people’s names wrong

“It’s here on this plinth.” “The plinth came out of nowhere as well.” “No, it came from here; you just didn’t see it.” I love the stagecraft war (and the word ‘plinth’)

“It’s been a while since I’ve been impressed” look, I am trying to root for you and your potential future redemption arc, but you sure making it very hard

“The technique was all mine” HELL YEAH show them Cindy!

Hey! Mrs. Campbell can be a beautiful, seductive, blonde, muscular, big woman; who says she can’t be both?

“’Cause I trusted myself even though you didn’t trust me” go on, Cindy, overcome your upbringing!!!!

AJ taking the phone again????? I am never going to get over this oh my god (look, I don’t know why the Tom-wine bit and now the AJ-phone bit get in my head like this, okay? They just do)

No, John, don’t do it!

“I’m lying here in Dubai, just thinking about you while I’m wrapped up in Marco’s arms” No, wait, I really like Lucy and Marco! Or, wait, hang on, maybe they’re polyamorous; I mean, if she’s making this call while in his arms, he’s clearly fine with it, so… Yeah, that’s going to be my headcanon (Also, I know the storyline is about John moving on, but now I’m thinking about a Lucy-Marco-John-Cindy polycule, and… I’m getting off track, sorry)

Also I don’t think we’ve ever gotten this many names before; I think every character has a name except for Sam’s character who works at the blacksmith-bakery (and Mrs. Campbell, technically, but she’s a. dead and b. got a surname)

“I’ve sent you a selfie” Sam

“How would you like to bake something in here for nine months?” SAM

The beginning of Angus’s redemption arc!

…AJ, what are you doing?

Oh, Jesus

Oh my fucking GOD

AJ

What the hell were you thinking

He just dropped someone’s phone

They are unhinged

They are unhinged and I love them so much

Wait, no, I like Lucy; I don’t want her to be a crumpet (maybe the phone is a crumpet now, and she’s just fine)

Kiss!

That’s a great kiss, as well

“I knew they were” Tom

I adore it when they end the play with the title (and I love that it’s always Sam who does it)

Unhinged. Fucking insane. I love this play.