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mxvladdy · 4 years

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Diavolo- True Form

Whoooooooo weeeee! ‘Pologies for the wait on these longer posts. I’ve been hit with a one two punch of house emergencies and sudden costly ass repairs, so my creative juices have been rightly squashed as of late.

Plus side I got my drawing tablet and drafting table back so I can neaten up my blog lay out now (yay!)

Anyway this one was a challenge in the best possible ways. I really like Diavolo because of how little we know about him so it gave me some wiggle room. Or at least what I know of him- im only on like chapter 23 of the stories. Idk if I did him justice as this is angsty af but I sure had a blast writing it!

Hope ya like! Next up: Beelzebub

Trigger warning: Mention of blood, and swearing.

Diavolo-

He'll never show you, so don't ask. His true form is god-like in its own right and such knowledge, such truly raw demonic power in its natural form is not for your mortal eyes.

No matter what your lineage, it would break you. And despite his roles and being the literal devil, he doesn’t want you suffering.

Sometimes when he thinks you wouldn't notice he relaxes his hold on reality, just a fraction. He wants to relieve some of the tension that is always building just below the surface. Like closing your eyes when you have a tension headache. The mental energy he has to exert to keep face is enormous. Regular glamour doesn’t work nearly as well as his own, or Barbato’s magic.

But you see hints during your downtime spent in his company. A ripple in his reflection on the window pane. Unexplainable shadows dancing across his exposed skin. Too many teeth in his mouth when he laughs. Sometimes when you stare into his eyes you see something indescribable staring back behind them. His usually warm and inviting gaze darkening. A barest flicker, a hulking bestial thing kept locked behind in his golden gaze. It's enough to freeze the blood in your veins.

On certain nights when you can slip away from the brothers you stay in his room. Lying awake, you watch his magic wane and shift as he slumbers. Sometimes you see runes, or at times letters. You are tempted to write them down and ask Solomon. But something stops you each time.

The worst images are the faces. Unknown souls trapped beneath his flesh clawing to be freed. Silent screams fading back into his body as he dreams. Your fragile fingers trace the patterns they leave as you wait for the next day wrapped in his embrace.

Only once have you seen more of his form then he would ever wish. The depths of his strength and mental fortitude were unknown to you so the slip up took you both by surprise. He masks the error well, but the sudden shift in energy in the room couldn’t be suppressed .

You are suddenly so aware of the oppressive weight of gravity on your frame. Your bones grinding together under the force of his aura. You panic, desperate by the need to breathe, but are unable to draw even the smallest bit of oxygen as it is robbed from the room. Time and reality wrapped too, distorting in ways only you thought only Barbatos could do. You knew in that moment the sudden dread of death, how mortally was but a rusty shackle tethering you down.

He collects himself, dispelling the energy and locking his glamour down tight to protect you. But that split second of fury felt like an eternity to you as you sink to the floor. You hiccup a shaky sob and shiver. Your fragile human mind bowing under the strain of what it cannot comprehend. Scolding hot tears fall from your cheeks, before splashing crimson the stone below you.

You didn't approach him again for over a month. No matter how strong you are, some things were better off unseen.

Mini Fic

He didn’t know. For once in his ancient pitiful existence, he had been unaware of his surroundings. It had been for just a moment, one tiny crack in his veneer. The foolishness of Mammon and Belphegor’s actions finally poked the right nerve. He wouldn’t hurt them, for Lucifer’s sake. That prideful demon would never forgive him if he did. But he could scare them. A quick look at his true self; a flash of the deepest bowels of hell. Enough to give them a reminder of their positions and standing in his court. He had expected their whimpers of fear, could taste the acidic tinge of it exuding from their pores. What he didn’t expect though was your blood curdling screams alongside.

Ironically, he would have to thank the second eldest later. His fast thinking is the only thing that saved you from complete damnation. His body shielded yours, taking the brunt of the stronger daemons hellish might for you. What little magic Mammon still had left used to protect you. Though, while your vision was blocked, you could still feel his oppressive presence. It racked your mortal flesh. Diavolo knew what affects his power had on humans. He spent years breaking and consuming damned souls with zeal after all.

The brothers had run from him after that, screaming for Simone. Barbatos following close behind, a look of consternation on his usually impassive face. You had been so limp in Mammon's arms. Diavolo could do nothing, shocked by his own weak will and realization that he might have ruined everything. You had been whisked away so quickly by his faithful servant and the brothers that he hadn’t had a chance to look you over himself. But the brief moment he saw will haunt him for years to come. Your eyes red from the sudden haemolacria, the blood staining your clothes and face. Your fingers digging away at your soft skin, black and purple blotches staining what he could see. Mouth opened wide on a silent scream. He knew what you must have seen. The souls of the damned trapped under his glamour breaking free to latch on to your unmarred soul trying to drag you back with them.

Against his butler's advice he stands at your door now days later trying to see you. He couldn’t sit around and just hear updates second hand. The brothers had been keeping guard most days in a valiant attempt to keep him away. But he could only be waylaid for so long before he used his rank against them.

He had arranged a full council meeting. Every one of the brothers knowing full well it was to get them out of his way. Yet, the order was absolute. This time none of the brothers could reject it. Barbatos would keep them in that room for eternity if he so wished for it. He hated using his age and power against them, but he saw no other way to get to you.

It was foolish now, standing as he was in front of your door. A part of him hoping you would turn the knob and let him in. Let him comfort you for once, instead of the asinine distractions the brothers offered. He could help too. Hells, he wanted to. He wanted to be closer to you. Power discrepancy be damned. The other part of him knowing it was for the best that you didn’t. Your guardian and tormentor all in one. He listens to your muffled sobs for a moment fighting with his feet to stay cemented to the floor instead of heading back in defeat.

"When my father was still around he took me down to the deepest depths of the kingdom. Where the worst of the traitors and sinners are imprisoned." His deep baritone rumbles through your door during a break in your crying. "It’s a place few seldom go; even now I have yet to return. Back then he told me ‘there will never be a human soul that is undeserving of punishment. Even the ones destined for the celestial realm are tethered to sin.’ At that time I believed him. The things I saw in your realm... " The prince chuckles wearily.

He remembers the ever present scowl on the old King's face. His dark eyes looking out at the sea of damned souls he controlled. Even as a young daemon, fresh into his wings and still sharpening his horns to impress others he could tell how much his father detested his position. How it had warped him, turning him bitter and cold, even to his mate and only child.

Diavolo never wanted to be like that. Not to the ones he supposedly cared for at the very least. "I think that is why he hated the other realms so much.” He continued. “Humans, for their ability to choose which realm they would eventually end up in after they pass. That even the worst sinners could find redemption enough at the last moment to get to the pearly gates. While daemons, no matter how well they served, or the duties they did for the good of their own would never be seen as equals to our celestial counterparts or yours. That this existence is all we'll ever be destined to have. Nightmares and monsters, stories to tell little human children to keep them in line.” He pauses, collecting himself. “I believed wholeheartedly that every human deserved the punishments only my kind could dowel out. But, in this past year I have spent with you, I find myself changing. You are so undeserving of such torment. Somehow you are understanding and forgiving beyond measure to us. You handle our ill tempers with such grace. For daemons such as us, it is staggering, and humbling. I regret that I have hurt you so deeply and have broken your trust. I swear it as the head of this realm I would never intentionally do so." He looks at the door handle willing it to open. " I am so sorry."

Your crying picks up again. Huge heaving sobs that rattle your chest. Great Father, he just keeps making it worse. Clearing his head Diavolo turns.

Rejection of this nature was new to him. No one had ever dared to ignore him, especially such as this. The royal in him- his father's blood- seethed that he would even stoop so low as to grovel to a short lived thing like yourself. Even deeper yet, it demanded another taste of your essences. You little soul kept safe behind your rib cage. He wanted it added to his collection, kept tucked away deep within his maws.

It was sick; it was wrong. He chokes on the idea. The intrusive thought burrowing deep. How deplorable was he? Perhaps the angels were right to keep him out of heaven.

You didn't show to class the following day, or the days after. Unsurprising to him and the seven of the inner council. He figured the other day wouldn’t change anything. But it was utter agony to him. These days trapped in his office only getting short and curt updates on your health from Lucifer. It had been a special kind of torment.

Today he sat once again at his desk staring at some godforsaken bitching of a royal cousin. He knew this whelp. Some backwater thrice removed eons ago. Yet he was demanding an audience? The gall. The ink of their eligible handwriting makes him cross eyed. Would this day ever cease? He looks to his hourglass, the sands within seemingly frozen in time.

"My Lord, perhaps you should take a moment to stretch your legs?" Barbatos moved from his corner. Gloved hand coming to rest on top of the same three lines he had been reading for the past two hours. "This work could wait another evening I’m certain ."

"Did I do the right thing my friend?" Diavolo doesn't even bother answering the question his servant posed. They both knew he wouldn't. "This program. Our human exchange students. Solomon is one thing, but-"

"Your will and path is absolute." Barbatos states. "There are no mistakes within you, merely stumblings onto different paths."

With a gentle push Barbatos moves the hulking demon out of his way to collect and organize the scrolls and letters scattered about the large desk. "You made the right choice bringing them here. Look at what they have done. They are entertainment to you are they not?"

The prince rose knocking his desk aside and descended on his butler. His true form out in all its unholy glory now. His highly condensed magic distorting the study as if he was a black hole. The axis of the room shifts. His priceless collection of books and toys disintegrating from the cold radiation he emits.

It was all for show really. There was nothing he could do to an ancient being such as Barbatos. So he lashed out, throwing a tantrum in the security of his office. The hopeless agitation he felt fueling the flames of his rage. His butler had only added holy water to his already festering wounds.

Barbatos had been by his side for time in memoriam. The crafty bastard had helped raise him. Had shaped him into the ruler he was today. If anyone could break and remold him it would be his oldest companion.

The dark haired daemon waited for the waves of agitation to dry up. Moving only when the prince was in his more presentable demonic form. Large barrel chest heaving as he reined himself in. “Are you back to your senses?” He asks coolly, already categorizing the items to replace and furniture to be mended.

"I had not meant for it to go like this." Diavolo croaks into his hands collapsing back on what remained of his desk. Building a bridge between realms, yes. That noble idea was the greater purpose of this program, but the rest of it. The classes, and dances. The parties where he threw his newest toys about to see how they would react to things other mortals worshiped? That had been for his own curiosity and amusement. Lesser beings navigating a foreign world blind to the dangers that were right under their very nose. Bring a mortal with no magic into his realm? Deep down he knew this was an inevitability. Especially with the freedoms he granted them. He just didn’t think he would get so attached.

“No one believes that you would hurt them on purpose.” His butler cuts off his downward spiral. “It would ruin the program. That is what you are so stressed about, right?” Barbatos eyes him skeptically. Diavolo, himself, and Lucifer had spent many sleepless weeks constructing and negotiating this program. If the Arch Angels heard a mortal was hurt down here it could very well end this little escapade. But the look in the prince’s eyes told a different story.

A warm glow emanated from his cheeks and he was unable to meet the old daemon’s gaze. Ah. "Or perhaps things have changed?" Barbatos smiles coyly up from beneath his bangs. "You are your mother's son after all. Neither of you were ever able to stem your bleeding hearts for long." Diavolo squawked indignantly but didn’t argue. Instead he merely turns a darker shade of red and curses under his breath.

He skipped out on court that evening. Not that he cared much. The other nobles would no doubt use the time to gossip about his whereabouts and uncouth behavior of late. Truth be told, he was avoiding the brothers more than anything else. They had made it expressly clear (some more then others) how they felt about him currently. He wouldn't doubt that Belphegor had a few more brothers on his side now.

Instead he stood at your door once more with a tea tray in hand. He had bumped into Simone on the way. The angel had come to bring you dinner and to check up on the last of your wounds. Celestial magic worked miracles on those who have been touched by the darker arts. Diavolo was grateful for his talents. And, by some miracle, Simone had made it abundantly clear he was not going to bring this to the higher ups on his end either.

Upon seeing the prince slinking up the house's stairwell the other man had simply smiled and offered him the tray. “I suddenly got a message from Luke. Could you perhaps drop this by our friend’s door?” Diavolo had accepted without preamble, large hands dwarfing the platter of little tea cakes and sandwiches. The young cherubs work no doubt. His cooking was a fine treat, and a great incentive to at least open the door.

“Hello again.” He knocks twice. “I just wanted to check in on you. I know I am the last person you wish to see but I was hoping to talk?” Silence greets him. Were you awake? He breathes deeply and focuses on picking up your vitals. You were up, your heart thumping steady somewhere in the room. That was good. “I also have dinner for you. Simone had an urgent matter to attend to so he- for better or worse- entrusted this to me.”

Diavolo searches hopelessly for something else to say. He couldn’t just leave the food and go. He needed to see you. “I don’t plan on staying long today. I understand when I am not wanted, but I cannot help myself but be worried for you. Perhaps this is just me contritioning, because I know I caused this. The amount of times I have been called a ‘ass’ by Solomon over this have been staggering.” He rambles. After another bout of silence from your end he coincides. “I see- I will leave the food by the door and let you rest.” Defeated he puts the food down and turns to leave.

The door clicks open slowly. One bloodshot eye peeking through the crack. “Oh mio piccolo mortale.” He loses his grip on your shared tongue at a loss. You looked- you must have been in the hall longer then he or the brothers had known. Such damage couldn’t be done in a few moments. Your skin was healing as nicely as Lucifer had said, but the deep purple scarring still remained on the surface. The burn pattern of it all was random. Twisting wounds that reflected an oily sheen from the light of the hallway. “I-.”

“I know-” You cut him off with a raised hand. “and I feel as though I owe you an apology too.” Your voice was so weak and shaky. A mockery of your normally strong and jovial tone. Hearing you laugh at school had brightened the dreary halls. He hadn’t realized it until you weren't there.

“You owe me nothing.” Diavolo says in earnest. He watches you contemplate your next words before throwing whatever you were going to say away.

“Would you like to come in?” Your eyes drop to the tray. “Luke always makes more than I can eat.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.” He backs out. All his plans crashing and burning around his feet. His actions had been irreparable.

“Perhaps not,” You open the door wider taking the tray and heading to your side table, leaving him no room to argue. “But then again, being a lamb among such wolves as yourself and the brothers isn’t smart either.” You meant it as a joke but he couldn’t even muster a chuckle. It was true. Gods. “Dia-” You approach him again but falter at the last second.

As much as you wanted to be close to him again the memories were still so fresh in your mind. The cold hell fire of his magic ensnaring you, searing your skin. The whispered words of sinners long since past still echoing in your head, all in languages you’ve never heard before. The worst though had to be the screaming. Lost souls begging for help. Some sounded so familiar…You shutter involuntarily.

You wanted to hate him for this. Curse him for putting you through this pain. But how much could you blame him? Or any of them? They were daemons. Whether he meant to hurt you or not, it truly had only been a matter of time before it happened. It would be hypocritical of you to fear or hate him forever over this. Six of the seven brothers have threatened your life before, and you have forgiven them. Hell, one of them actually killed you. What’s more was that Diavolo’s wrath hadn’t even been directed at you.

Wrong place at the right time; seemed to be your forte. “Please, come in.” You repeat again firmer than before mustering up either courage or sheer human stupidity to order him in. You couldn’t tell the difference anymore. “We need to talk.”

He enters, following at your heel like a lost puppy. All air of princedom gone as you clicked the door shut. Diavolo fiddles with his hands, old habits from childhood coming with his nerves. He didn’t know what to expect anymore. Yelling? Some kind of beratement? A plea to go home and never look back? He would let you.

You pass by him, giving him a large berth of space to get to your seat. “Tea?”

Diavolo jerks his head to you. He had forgotten momentarily the plate of food he had used to get access to you. You smile sheepishly pushing it and a plate of sweets towards him with your unbandaged knuckles. He doesn’t move till your hand retracts back to your lap. You jerk your head to the open seat waiting for him. You weren’t going to take no for an answer.

“I- thank you.” The daemon sits making himself as small as possible in the straight back chair. He takes the porcelain and drinks mindlessly. The scalding hot tea doing little to help the tightness of his throat, but it did thaw some of the ice in his mind.

“Are-how…” He fumbles so unsure of what to do next. “I see you’ve been keeping up with your school work.” Diavolo closes his eyes, wincing internally at his words. That’s what he comes up with? Idiotic.

You smile anyway, eyeing the massive pile of books and paperwork spewn about your bed. “Yeah. I’ve taken to doing my school work with Levi in his room. Mammon and Beel are nice enough to drop it off to the teachers when they are due.” He nods. He knew this of course. But it was nice to hear it from you. But yet, you don’t meet his eyes. Far too afraid to see what hid behind them.

The thought of being dragged back into those dark depths again makes your pulse quicken. You instead stare at your nail beds, finding them more interesting. They were purple now. The nails stained black by the contact with his magic. “Will- will that go away?” He asks. Demonic curses or taints were nigh impossible to remove fully. Disgustingly, he hoped they didn’t. Then your nails would match his. The darker depths of his soul coo at the idea, happy that in a small way every daemon would know your his. Not as good as a pact, but as close as he could get to being a part of your little mortal life.

“I’m not sure.” You reply honestly bringing your hands up to place them on the table. “Simone and Solomon have done what they could. But, it is as good as it’s going to get for now. They say it could fade with time.” You look up at him, eyes gazing to the left of his face. “Luke thinks I should see a stronger angel.” Diavolo winces, the thought stung, and terrified him. “I told him no.”

That surprised him. This was your chance. The celestial realm had been skeptical from the beginning. If they knew, it would be a perfect caveat for them to step in. “Why?” Finally you look at him. The fear was still there. Hesitation evident in your eyes. Yet you forced yourself to look at him, fighting through your trepidation.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? About your father and what you think of me?”

“Of course.” He replies without hesitation reaching for your cold hands. You flinch but don’t move away. It felt-nice. His warmth chasing away the perpetual chill that covered your fingertips. Idly you stroke his strong hands with your thumbs.

“Then, I think we can work on this privately.” Slowly but surely you felt like you could fix this. Not for the program, but for yourself.

#obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me headcanons #gods have mercy I wanna smooch him so bad

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saeyoungchoismaid · 4 years

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Brothers’ Reaction to MC getting sick

Genre: fluff Warnings: suggested smut on Satan’s and Asmo’s parts

Lucifer:

bruh

he told you not to go running out in the rain in practically nothing

but did you listen?

of course not

demons don’t get sick like humans do, so when you get sick, he’s at a lost

why is the human body so weak??

you explain to him that it’ll only last a week at most if you do the proper steps to get yourself back to being healthy

he cuddles and kisses you even though you tell him not to because you don’t want to get him sick

he only laughs and explains to you that demons don’t get sick in the same ways that humans do

he literally buries you in blankets and stays with you all day every day until you’re back to perfect health

he’s sure to make you soup and foods that’ll help you stay hydrated and will give you plenty of nutrients

he doesn’t show it but he’s worried and it breaks his heart to see you like this

Mammon:

you’re what now ???

oh! Sick! Yeah. The Great Mammon knows all about that

not

this demon doesn’t know the first thing when it comes to humans being sick

you tell him the basics before he goes to Satan to get more information

normally, he wouldn’t care but he wants his baby to be healthy and happy 🥺🤲

how else is he supposed to survive school, and go shopping, and eat meals with his brothers, and basically everything else that he can do perfectly on his own but doesn’t want to unless you’re there

he gets Beel to help him make soup and other foods that will help you get better

he babies you constantly by getting you everything you need

he makes you stay in his bed so that you ‘don’t miss him all day’ when Lucifer forces him to go to school

gives you kisses basically every five mins and if he isn’t physically there, he’ll text you virtual kisses

when you’re finally better, he’s beyond happy and drags you to go do everything and anything

Levi:

knows a moderate amount of information about human illness

definitely looks up a bunch of stuff to help him out though

he then gets scared seeing how weak the human body is

why does so much stuff come out of you???

after finding out so much horrid information, he’s determined to bring you back to health

he hordes you in his room with him and refuses to leave unless it’s to get something you need

he plays video games with you(unless you just wanna watch) and watches a bunch of tv with you as well

doesn’t let you watch anything sad because he doesn’t need you being any more dehydrated than you already are

he’s relieved when you finally get better, a weight leaving his shoulders

“Oh, thank goodness. I thought you were going to die,” he sighs

you squawk at him as you hit him, screeching at him that you were fine

Satan:

y’all already know that this man knows everything there is to know about the human body

you end up being back to full health in like three days

this man knows what he’s doing

he knows just the right foods to make, knows the exact temperature to make the room that will make you comfortable, and literally everything else

he knows more about the human body than you do

throughout the time that you’re sick though, he gives you the same amount of kisses, hugs, and cuddles that he normally would

if not more

when you try to scold him, he explains to you that it’s completely fine and your human sickness will not effect his demon body

when you’re all good again, he’s proud of himself

you, of course, reward him with a prize of his choosing ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Asmo:

doesn’t really know about human illnesses but knows self care

he pampers you with hot bath/showers and body rubs

he also asks Satan about what’s wrong with you and learns quite a bit

he does his best to make you food that’ll heal you but normally just sticks to soup, veggies, and fruit

he makes you drink lots of water as well

after a couple days, he starts to curse the human body

“Baby, I hate that you’re sick. I’m so horny and you can’t help me at all,” he whines

pout mode: on

does his best not to say or do anything that will turn you on

it helps that you’re groggy and don’t really feel good

he still slips up sometimes though

if you start giving him sly touches and lidded eyes, this man dips

he just leaves and ends up rubbing one out because he can’t get your touches or looks out of his head

when you’re finally better, this man goes round after round until your begging for him to stop with tears flooding down your face

Beel:

has no idea what to do

is quick to ask Satan and learn more about your situation

this baby is so upset that you’re going through this 🥺 pls I’m literally so soft thinking about him rn I-

comes back to you with the biggest pout and the roundest eyes, genuinely so distraught over your condition

you’re quick to reassure him that you’re fine other than a few symptoms and that’ll you be fine in like a week

cue him smiling that cute smile of his 🥺YALL ITS 7 AM IM TOO SOFT

he quickly tells you that you don’t have to worry about a thing

and he stays true to his word

this demon doesn’t let you get out of bed unless it’s to go to the bathroom or to do some stretches

he makes you THE best food you’ve ever had in your entire life

he doesn’t go to school either, scared that something will happen to you while he’s gone 🥺GOD PLS

when you’re back to being healthy, he’s literally so happy

holds you for the longest time before taking you out to do stuff

he makes sure that you get some exercise since you’ve been in bed for a while

Belphie:

is vv confused

definitely has no clue what to do

asks Satan and kind of has an idea now

he has Beel make you healthy, nutritious food

spends all day everyday cuddling you and napping with you

gives you sweet kisses and plays with your hair while you lay in bed curled up together

he also likes bathing and showering with you to help you clean up

doesn’t want you to exert yourself in any shape, way, or form, so you can count on him to be there to do everything for you

let’s you pick whatever movies you want to watch

doesn’t want to start another new show with you but can’t say no to your red nose and pouty lips

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castieltrash1 · 4 years

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dangerous territory → clint b.

gif credit (x)

summary → clint stays behind during a mission, leaving you alone with him in the avengers building. seeing him sprawled out on the comfy lounge room couch gives you some naughty ideas -- only adding to the tension your relationship already has.

word count → 6.7k (literally wtf)

warnings → i ignore the entirety of iw/endgame except for clint’s makeover, extreme sexual tension, smut; switch!fem!reader, switch!clint, couch sex, oral (both recieving), fingering, slight overstimulation, dirty talk, praise

a/n → literally idk if i should be ashamed or not but im Horny 4 Hawkeye!!! oopsie !! also there are like .3 smut fics for him on here and im determined to fix that

---

Quiet was not a word you’d use to describe the Avengers Facility.

In fact, with Steve’s loud orders, Bruce’s lab explosions, and Sam’s boisterous laughter -- not to mention the never-ending petty arguments that managed to revert the Avengers to 11th graders in their first debate club -- it was the farthest thing from quiet.

But, now, with zero disagreements and zero distractions, you’d been able to enjoy the building all to yourself. Almost. Of course, the one time you got to avoid a mission, you ended up falling into an even worse situation.

You’d covered for Wanda last mission, and she’d insisted on paying you back for the newest one. It wasn’t high stakes by any means, but the work itself had countless components and everyone who was nearby -- or at least on the planet -- had been called in to fill some role.

Everyone, of course, except you. And Clint.

Suddenly the idea of being stuck in the Quinjet with everyone’s post-mission moodiness sounded very appealing. You could feel a headache growing as you wandered around the kitchen, doing anything and everything in your power to avoid him. He was not supposed to be here. Hell, he didn’t even like stepping foot in the place unless the world was in immediate danger.

Of course, you weren’t the only one to notice his odd attitude. Natasha gave him a confused look when he mentioned staying behind, but decidedly hadn’t commented, almost like she’d already pieced together the reason for Clint’s actions. Knowing her, she probably had. But, even Wanda shot a glance that worried you -- though you seemed to be the only one to catch her squinted green gaze before it disappeared. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what she saw in his mind.

Sure, you had a couple of ideas as to why he would choose to isolate himself with you, but you tried to not let those thoughts consume you. The others wouldn’t be back till midday tomorrow -- if all went well -- and you were not about to spend the next 36 hours soaking your panties with stupid fantasies.

Unfortunately, even when ignoring Clint, your mind was still focused on him. When you passed by the gym or shooting range, antsy to get your daily work in, one quick thought of seeing Clint’s arms -- tensed as he loaded his bow, muscles straining and eyes focused on his target -- was enough to have you quickly walking in the opposite direction.

But, now, as you make your way into the lounge to relax, you can’t find it in yourself to care. You have just as much of a right as Clint does to walk around whenever and wherever you please. In all honesty, you feel even more entitled considering you’re the one actually living in the tower (at least most of the time.)

He’s exactly where you expect him to be -- he may be fast and quiet on his feet, but you’ve been keeping tabs on him, for your own sake.

It’s a bit odd seeing a book instead of a bow in his hands, but you’re not entirely sure you should be focused on how his fingers wrap around the thin pages, thumbing the corners so gently--

“Done avoiding me, are you?”

Well, shit.

His gaze remains on his book -- though the very few pages he’s turned assures you he’s not paying attention to whatever riveting story Tony has stocked his shelves with.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. There’s a moment of temptation to take a seat next to him on the couch, as close as possible. To feel his strong arms around you, smell the raw masculine cologne he always wears a bit too much of -- heavy on his neck and sharp jaw that you know your lips could curl around so perfectly if given the chance.

You swallow heavily and take a seat in the chair across from him, sinking into the expensive fabric.

“Tony picks good furniture, right?” Clint sighs, book closing without so much as a dog-ear mark as he leans back.

It’s silent for a second, and you’re entirely sure you’ve missed a part of the conversation during your mini black-out, but Clint doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, waiting patiently for your answer. You consider it a small win and accept the change in topic with an awkward laugh.

“Yeah. Didn’t think price made such a big difference.” There’s a firmness to the chair that keeps you from sinking, and mentally, you consider if it’d be strong enough for other activities. “How much you wanna bet he spent on each of these chairs?” you question, genuinely curious. “I gotta guess at least two grand.”

Clint’s cool eyes glint playfully. “Three,” he challenges with a smirk that sends a shiver down your spine. “Though, you should really try this couch. Definitely my favorite thing here.”

There’s just a hint of suggestion in his tone -- the kind that you’d miss if you weren’t trained in reading people. It’s not unexpected, though. You’d have to be a fool to not recognize the exact same longing stares, the same lingering touches that Clint offers you. But, that’s what makes it all more intimidating. It’s an unspoken thing, and at this point, that’s what feels most convenient -- even if your lonely nights spent moaning his name are growing far too common for comfort.

Still, you can’t exactly ignore him, and his eyes follow you closely as you make your way to the couch, falling into the comfy cushions with a huff.

“Wow.” You laugh. “No wonder you’ve been spending so much time down here.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “So you have been paying me some attention. Interesting.”

If he notices you shift as far to the other end of the couch as possible, he doesn’t mention it.

“Don’t take it personally, Barton,” you huff. “I’m used to keeping an eye on everyone around here.” It’s not entirely a lie, but he manages to see right through the half-truth regardless.

“So you avoid everyone, then?” There’s no hurt or misunderstanding in his voice, not even confusion. He knows what you’re doing, knows why you can’t bear to look him in the eyes for more than a few seconds.

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back onto the couch.

He just chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach clench unconsciously. You expect him to keep pressing you, work you up until you spill your guts, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even say a word as you hear the rustling of paper and feel the couch move slightly as he shifts.

You turn your head towards him and open one eye, then both as they go wide. Clint has taken on a whole new level of comfortable, feet perched on the coffee table and one arm resting on the back of the couch while his free hand flips through the same first few pages as before.

In all honesty, you suddenly find yourself happy that Steve and Tony are gone -- otherwise they’d be scolding Clint for his manners, and most definitely not ogling his firm legs in those tight, black jeans.

You drag your gaze back up his body, stopping near the hem of his shirt, where his new position has allowed for the fabric to ride up his stomach. It’s just a sliver of skin but the image is enough to make your heart race. There’s a faint dip in the muscled hip line leading to his jeans, and if you stare extra hard, you can see the light trail of thin hairs disappearing under the fabric.

Swallowing heavily, you quickly look back at Clint’s face, holding back a gasp as he stares back at you.

“So,” you fill the silence before he can, mentally thanking Natasha for her training on keeping your composure. “How’s that book of yours?”

Clint just grins for a second -- you both know he’s caught you. “It’s alright. Not the most interesting thing in the building right now, though.”

You gulp. “Yeah… The place is big. Lots to explore. I don’t think I’ve even seen every room--”

“I have a feeling you know that’s not what I mean,” Clint cuts you off with a chuckle, and you send him a challenging glare.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you scoff.

He hums, before his tongue peeks out to swipe across his bottom lip. “You’re sounding awfully like a broken record today.” His icy, pale eyes return to his book, and you watch as he lifts his thumb to his wet lips, tongue darting out the lick the tip. You can practically feel the action, and almost whine in disappointment when his hand returns to flip the page.

Clint is downright grinning at this point, and you know he’s taking in every breath, shift, and blink of yours. “But, I know you’re not actually confused,” he continues. “In fact, I’d argue you like this game of ours a bit more than you should.”

You know if you brush it off again, he’ll drop it. He’s too nice to make you uncomfortable, and his statement hangs in the air with a heavy weight.

“You know, Barton?” you shift from your spot on the couch, eliminating a good chunk of the space between you and him. “I think you’re smarter than most people give you credit for.” He raises a brow, and you would believe his undisturbed look if you didn’t see his fingers twitch against the spine of the forgotten book.

“Tell Nat that,” he jokes, and you grin. Seeing that little crack in his facade, the way he fills the conversation with a joke, the discreet but heavy swallow he tries to hide -- it’s all enough to power you to move closer, until there are mere centimeters between you two.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I’ll be telling Natasha anything from this conversation of ours.” Keeping your attention on the slight tense of his jaw, you push the book from his hands, and he immediately drops his feet from the table to discard it in their place.

You pause for a second, glancing at Clint’s lap then back at him, and he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and grab your hip.

“Get over here already,” he groans, both arms wrapping around your waist to situate you in his lap. His hands are warm and firm and everything you could have ever imagined, and you automatically roll your hips down onto him. There’s a pleased moan from you both, and his own hips jolt in a way that sends you even closer to him, until your chests are touching.

He immediately dives for your neck, scruff tickling the sensitive skin as he breathes you in deeply. “I gotta admit,” he murmurs, letting his lips graze the bottom of your jaw in the most sinful way, “you look so much better sitting here than standing around in the kitchen.”

You drag your fingers through the long hair on the back of his head, tugging it playfully. “You’ve been watching me, Barton?”

He hums, squeezing you just as teasingly. “I do a lot of staring when it comes to you, babe.”

You pull him from your neck by his hair, and he looks up at you with the most mischievous glint in his eyes. The nickname makes you undeniably flustered, but you force the embarrassment away.

“I don’t know about you, but I think that’s what you call creepy,” you mumble, leaning down so Clint can feel your words against his own lips. He immediately darts forward, but you pull back with a sly grin, watching his eyes darken at the action.

“I think,” he growls, catching you off guard as he pushes you back onto the couch, making you jostle as you try not to fall off the edge. He steadies you with a large hand, and you only jolt again when he uses his free hand to spread your legs, caging you in as his hips drop between your parted thighs. “You’d be a hypocrite for saying that.” He drops back to your neck, and you can feel his smile before his teeth sink into your skin lightly -- just enough to make you gasp.

He continues to litter your neck with kisses, and you watch in awe as his toned arm tenses by the side of your head -- the thick black lines of ink rolling as his muscles flex.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you taunt, back arching as his tongue darts out to lick a stripe up to right below your chin. “You gonna fuck me?”

Clint bites the edge of your jaw in retaliation to your words, before he pulls back just enough to stare at you with a lustful gaze.

“Not yet, baby. Not that easily.” One of his hands trails up the front of your thigh, before it busies itself with the hem of your shirt. You try to hide your disappointment, but Clint notices it, of course, and just shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on letting you leave this couch anytime soon. You’ve made me wait long enough for this… I’m gonna take my time with you.”

He finally presses his lips to yours, and you hungrily reach and tug until he’s as close as possible -- until you can feel the denim of his jeans scraping deliciously against your thighs as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. It’s messy and entirely uncalculated, and your nails catch in the wrinkles of the back of his shirt while his own fingers tug impatiently at the bottom of yours.

You part from him for a second, and his own greedy mouth follows yours, only managing to press against the side of your lips. “You act like you’ve made this easy for me,” you retort, and his chest rumbles against yours as he chuckles.

“Oh honey, I think I’ve made it quite obvious I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day you walked in here.”

“Clearly, not obvious enough.”

Clint huffs, warm breath hitting your cheek. “What’d you want me to do? Huh?” He shifts so his words make their way directly to your ear, each syllable accentuated with a puff of hot air. With him this close, neck just below your nose, you can take in the heavy smell of that sharp cologne you love so much.

His calloused fingers dip beneath your shirt, but instead of the obvious trail up, his hand trails down to play with the hem of your shorts. “Tug these little things off in front of everyone? Show them all how worked up you get me wearing these? Is that what you want?”

Your hips lift in a silent plea, and you groan. “They’re comfortable.”

“Maybe for you, but I find myself very uncomfortable when you wear them.” He snickers, and if you weren’t so turned on, you’re sure you’d roll your eyes. Only Clint Barton could make a joke about untimely hard-ons during a time like this.

“Then why don’t you take them off?” you groan, and he shakes his head while muttering something about you being bossy.

Still, his words betray him as he tugs the fabric down your legs, as slowly as possible while his eyes drink in the new area of exposed skin. “What part about taking my time with you did you not understand?” The corner of his lips tug in that mischievous way of his, and you have a sneaking feeling his patience is as fleeting as your own.

Proving your point, Clint tosses your shorts over the back of the couch with a grin, then pushes you further up the cushions. You’re almost sitting, shoulder blades knocking the arm of the sofa while your legs bend at the knee to accompany Clint, who scoots back. It’s the perfect and most disastrous angle to be at as you have to both feel and watch his deft fingers trail up from your knee.

You’re a hundred percent sure the effects of your arousal are extremely obvious, but he doesn’t comment on the wet patch of your panties -- though you see his eyes focus on the area between your legs for a second too long before his gaze flickers back to your thighs.

His calloused fingers trail the edge of fabric around your legs, rough skin providing a type of friction you can’t begin to explain. His touch is fleeting and he changes the amount of pressure with every swipe of his thumb, always pushing just enough to let you know he’s holding you down. That you can’t escape him -- as if you’d even think of trying to do so.

“Your legs are so sexy, you know that?”

You let out some type of pleased whine, a sound that Clint relishes as he tightens his grip on your thighs. “Make the prettiest sounds, too,” he continues, and then his fingers are right there. One hand holds your left leg down, while the other covers your panty-covered core. His thumb rubs into your desperate, throbbing clit, and you use your little amount of freedom to push your hips up, wanting, needing more.

Clint immediately presses you back down, and you watch his tattoos shift just slightly as he adds more weight to his hand on your thigh.

“Please, please.” You revert to begging at your lack of movement, losing all shame in regard to your desire. It’s obvious you need Clint -- any excuses or lies from before long forgotten. You need his movements to speed up, the slow circles of his thumb providing barely enough friction.

He just chuckles, but relents a little and you downright purr as the thin fabric of your underwear drags against your tingling nerve endings. It’s impossible to move under Clint’s weight, but all the muscles in your lower half flex and twitch as they desperately search for release and relief.

“How about…” Clint trails off, fingers moving upward to grab the waistline of your panties, “we get these off?”

You’re sure if you nod any faster you might make yourself dizzy, and Clint just smirks in that knowing way. That way that lets you know he has you right where he wants you. Right where he’s been waiting to have you.

The article of clothing is soon flung behind his shoulder just like your forgotten shorts -- and you can only faintly remind yourself to make sure you grab everything before the others return. Though, at this point, you think anyone could walk in on Clint between your legs and you’d still be begging him to make you cum -- audience or not.

“Fucking Christ,” Clint groans, palms sliding between your thighs to spread them, giving him a full view of your glistening core. “I swear, you’re gonna kill me.” Seeing his flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and greedy fingers, you’re not sure you can reject that statement.

He removes his hands for just a second, but you don’t dare close your legs, and he has the audacity to wink. Before your mind can even process the action, though, he’s pulling his shirt off, arms crossing over his chest as they show off in their full glory. Hips, stomach, chest, arms -- they’re all exposed so quickly and your eyes drink in the features as fast as they can. Clint throws the shirt to the side -- you have a feeling he’s utilizing his perfect aim to create a clothing pile -- but you just stare at his shoulder, where the ink spreads to areas you’ve never had the chance to see before. The olive green accents contrast against his tanned skin, which has gained a light sheen from the sweat of his arousal.

As he leans back down, Ronin’s portrait stares you dead in the eyes -- quite literally. If you didn’t know the deeper meaning, you’re sure you could mistake the skull as a danger warning to the man pressing a kiss against the inside of your knee.

Short hairs chafe your legs as Clint makes himself comfortable, pressing his jaw against you. When his hot breath dances over your center you almost squeeze your thighs together, but he’s there to push them apart with a chuckle.

“No, no…” He pulls away barely, and you take in a deep breath to calm yourself. “You’re gonna give me what I want, ok?” His fingers are gentle, and so are his eyes when he glances up to you. He’s hopeful, pleading almost, but stays respectful. “If that’s ok, of course.”

You almost want to cry, because how could he think any differently, but you just nod. “Please Clint, touch me.”

He sends you a lopsided grin, and then he’s right there, pressing a kiss against your clit. The feeling is completely different from before, lips slick and soft unlike his rough thumb. All the air in your lungs leaves your body as you let out a sigh of relief, body finally relaxing as it gets the touch it needs.

You reach down and your nails scratch his scalp lightly before you grip his hair in a tight hold. He nuzzles against your hand and groans against you, and the feeling of control makes your blood run hot through your veins. One of the most powerful men on Earth is between your legs, sucking softly on your clit like it's the only thing he could ever want.

He traces circles on your thighs with his coarse fingers as he warms you up with gentle licks and the occasional curl of his lips around your most sensitive area. You let him have the satisfaction of your spread thighs, but you periodically tug on his tousled locks to remind him that he’s the one between your legs. It’s the perfect balance of dominance -- the type that makes your head spin and your eyes roll back into your head.

Clint presses another kiss to your clit before traveling lower and the intimacy of the action makes your skin flush. You can tell he’s not going to be holding back for much longer though, if the desperation of his descent is any indication. His fingers join his attack as he spreads your folds, tongue dragging the entirety of your core.

“So good, baby. So fucking good,” he mutters, mouth impatient as he covers as much skin as he can at once. It’s fast and downright dirty as he presses his tongue into you, eliciting a groan from your parted, panting lips. You’re dripping at this point, and he laps up the mix of saliva and arousal with a yearning thirst.

It’s all so overwhelming. His fingers are digging into your skin -- likely to leave faint marks -- and the scruff framing his jaw scrapes and leaves your skin burning, while the softer locks between your fingers are a comfort to steady you.

The heat building in your body is entirely unbelievable, and your back digs into the couch as you arch into Clint, desperate for all he’ll be willing to give you. You press him closer, and he moans at the power in your hands -- the control you have despite him hovering over you. It’s a mental trip for you both, your stomach and pelvic muscles clenching as they react to his generous, eager giving.

“God, Clint, gonna cum.” The words barely feel like they’re coming from your own body, jaw slack as you tremble in his hold. His index finger presses into you slowly, while his thumb replaces his tongue on your clit. The change of stimulation has you reeling, your grip on Clint loosening as you feel his warm words against you.

“Kinda the point, sweetheart.” Your eyes are squeezed shut, but you know Clint is smirking -- you can practically hear it in his voice.

His finger curls to press against your front wall, and he rubs it gently once, twice, before he lets the digit drag out, sinking in again even slower. The leisurely thrusts continue as his tongue returns to circle your clit, his cocky words from before silenced as he puts his mouth to work. Your breath grows heavier, heart rate increasing with every second. His middle finger joins the first with a steady push, and you clench desperately as they curl and press and rub and reduce you to nothing but putty.

You’re right there and Clint knows it -- somehow he knows it. His fingers move faster, harder, and his lips wrap around your clit with even greater determination. There’s a shift, fingertips grazing the perfect spot as he sucks desperately and it’s over. You’re crying out his name, thighs shaking and you clench and flutter around his never-ceasing fingers. There’s a moment where all senses leave you and all you can feel is Clint, and the spread of warmth between your legs. Your ears ring and your own moans become faint background sounds.

And then, you’re pulling his head back, his tongue still trying to work your sensitive clit. He fights your tug on his hair but you must be begging because he finally relents with a huff. You can hear his breathing, and you feel his shift as he leans back over you, fingers still working you through your high.

“Look at me,” he demands, and his free hand drags down your cheek. “C’mon, open your eyes.” He forcefully grabs your chin, and your eyes open too quickly for your mind to process. It’s all so bright and you have to blink away the splotches of color coating your vision. Clint takes up the entirety of your view, lips wet and eyes dark. “There you go, baby.” He’s grinning and panting and his fingers are still fucking moving.

You whimper and glance down -- as much as his grip on your jaw will allow -- and the view of his tattooed arm between your thighs, veins pulsing as he fingers you is imprinted in your mind permanently. It’s a never-ending high that goes on for a second too long before Clint finally, finally eases his fingers from you. They’re practically dripping with your release, and he wastes no time bringing them to his glossy mouth.

It’s hypnotic to watch as his lips close around his fingers, nostrils flaring as he sucks them eagerly. They come out clean, and his chest rumbles with a groan. “Can’t get enough of your taste. Fuck.”

It takes a second for you to catch your breath, chest heaving and shirt clinging to sweaty skin. But, there’s finally a moment where your legs feel somewhat solid, and you take advantage of the opportunity, bending your leg to put the bottom of your foot on Clint’s bare chest.

He shoots you a confused but intrigued look, and you respond with a lopsided grin as you push him backward, until he’s the one stumbling to find a spot against the arm of the couch. Faintly, you consider the move would be much sexier with a pair of heels digging into his skin, but this will have to suffice for now. Maybe next time -- if there is a next time, of course.

“Now, what are you up to, baby girl?” Clint is practically vibrating with excitement as you gather the strength to push yourself off the couch, ignoring the slight twitch of your exerted thighs.

“Take your pants off,” you say, with little shame. “Now.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone get undressed so quickly and the hastiness of Clint’s actions leave him with very little coordination. It takes him three tries to get his belt undone, and he pokes himself with the metal prong when his eyes return to glance at you.

Raising a brow, you put your hands on your hips, and he speeds up. The button and zipper take him twice as long, but the sound when he finally tosses his belt and jeans off to the side is well worth the wait.

He licks his lips, looking up at you -- waiting, watching. Your earlier thoughts regarding his legs are heightened tenfold as you take in his toned thighs and hard cock in-between. He’s thick, the bulge pressing against his boxer-briefs making your heart skip a beat. The mere idea of him stretching you open has you growing too impatient for what you have planned.

“Keep going.” You swallow and hope your voice doesn’t sound too shaky.

Clint’s quick fingers make work of the fabric, and you focus on finishing yourself off. You pull your shirt off and let it drop to your feet before your hands move to unhook your bra. You’re barely sliding the straps down your arms when you hear Clint huff, and you look back to him.

“I wanted to do that,” he almost whines, chest puffing.

You roll your eyes but laugh, and toss your bra to him. He catches it with a wink, before throwing it behind him. Immediately, his gaze drags over your chest, excruciatingly slow. You know he’s taking in every inch, every natural mark that decorates your torso. Normally, you’d feel odd being examined so closely while still being at a decent distance -- but Clint is observant and his eyes are hungry.

Finally, his dark eyes reconnect with yours. “You gonna come sit or should I just grab you?” His tone is playful and daring, but you hear the hint of arousal that suggests he wouldn’t be opposed to tugging you into his arms. You don’t have time for games anymore, though, so you stand between Clint’s legs, and he pats his thigh playfully.

“Hmm…” You bite your lip and shake your head, eyes glistening with mischief. “Not yet…”

You make your descent to your knees perfectly paced, fluttering your lashes as you look up to Clint from between his thighs. He cusses and his arms fall limply to his side as he resigns himself to the torture he knows you’ll be sure to deliver.

“I thought you wanted to take your time,” you tease, fingers sliding up his thigh. Your nails against his skin have him tensing, muscles quivering.

He groans, and tosses his head back. “That was before I made you cum. Just wanna fuck you now -- make you shake again.”

You pinch him. “Sweet-talking will get you nowhere, Barton. You should know that.” But, you still let your palm graze over his hard cock, twitching at your touch. He’s firm and warm, and when your fingers wrap around his length, you realize how deliciously thick he is, filling your grasp fully. The length is there too, just enough to not be intimidating, but the girth has your core throbbing.

“Fuck, Clint,” you groan, giving a slow jerk of your wrist. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He’s pulsing in your hand, skin flushed and precum beginning to drip from the head of his cock. It coats your hand on the second stroke, easing the drag. Soon enough, he’s practically glistening, and your mouth waters. You have to taste him.

He calls your name, voice trembling, as your tongue darts out to flatten against his tip. “Oh God, please.” He’s flushed, from his cheeks to his tensing thighs, and you’d grin if you weren’t taking him deeper into your mouth. Another part of the burning, fervid desire deep in your veins lights up as your lips wrap around him -- tongue greedy for more as it laps everything it can reach. A growl reverberates through his entire body, and the sound makes your thighs clench.

You spare him a glance, and he looks destroyed. Sweat gathers on his forehead and the veins in his arm pulse as he grips the cushions to stay steady. Sane. Calm.

His knuckles are white and you relieve them by grabbing his left hand in your own, thumb rubbing over the back of his palm. He’s squeezing you like you’re his lifeline, and you reward him with your free hand around his base.

“Fuck fuck, I’ll cum too fast with you doing that,” Clint grunts, and you watch his chest heave as he tries to steady his breathing.

You pull off him with a line of spit, breaking it with your hand as you use the saliva to glide your fingers. He’s still throbbing, and you trace his underside vein with your wet thumb. “I thought that was the point, right?” You repeat his words from earlier with a grin, pressing a kiss against his thigh as your hand speeds up. He’s so close and he needs it so badly, but he finally pulls his hand from yours to grab your moving wrist.

“Not until I fuck you.” He pants, and begrudgingly removes your hold from his cock. “And a couple times, at the very least.”

Your heart races at the mere thought of as many rounds as you can handle, with Clint making you cum again and again. Still, you stand slowly, silently hoping he’ll push you back to your knees and cum down your throat.

But he doesn’t. He watches closely as you straighten out, and you quickly move to straddle him. “Fine, but you’ll let me ride you, understood?” Your thighs brush over him with the lightest touch, and with just one solid movement, you could have him sinking into you. But, you wait. You watch as he swallows heavily, eyes hooded.

Clint gives you a lopsided smile. “No complaints here, babe.” And with that, you reach down to hold his length, pressing the tip against your clenching, wet, core. He gasps, but you shift just slightly, until he bumps your clit. It’s too much and too little all at once, and you let out a soft cry as he jerks upward, precum coating the swollen nub. You reward yourself with one more drag down from your clit before letting the head of his cock push into you.

You’re immediately clenching around his length, and Clint’s calloused fingertips dig into your hips as he helps steady you. It only takes a couple breaths and a slow spread of your thighs to take him fully, arousal coating his cock quickly. He barely holds himself back from rutting into you right away, but you rock your hips and grip his shoulders regardless.

“Fuck,” he half-groans, half-whimpers. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Your nails dig into his skin as you roll again, letting out an incoherent babble of his name as your clit gains friction from his own warm body. You can feel your own wetness dripping down your thigh onto his, and it has you shuddering. It’s so dirty and your fingers move to Clint’s hair, desperately clinging at the long strands. His forehead presses to yours, and he smells like the most dangerous concoction of sweat, cologne, and mint toothpaste you’ve ever had the honor of inhaling.

You join in an almost-kiss that’s all teeth, but he brushes his tongue against your cupid’s bow in a much gentler way, and you know he can feel the shiver that runs down your spine in reaction. He squeezes your hip gently in reassurance, and then his grip on you tightens. It doesn’t hurt, but you can feel the years of arm workouts, and you know there’s no way to escape -- as if you’d ever want to.

Clint’s knee jerks and then he’s thrusting up into you with such force it leaves you breathless. He holds you down and all you can do is gasp and hold him tighter as he pushes into you harder and faster. Every shift provides a new angle and friction as his tip stimulates your sensitive walls.

Your thighs shake desperately and you can hear the wet slap each of his movements provide as you coat his cock in warm slick. He grins at the sight, one hand drifting from your hip until it reaches your throbbing clit.

“Look at you,” he coos and punctuates the words with a rough circle of his thumb.

Your chest heaves as you gasp, but the lack of Clint’s hold gives you a second to grind against him. He grunts as you do, and you chuckle breathlessly against his parted lips.

“And look at you.”

He retorts by way of another rub against your clit, and your laughter quickly turns to a drawn-out moan.

“You look so pretty when you’re about to cum.” He pants between every word, but he’s determined to deliver the compliment that makes your face too warm. You’re not sure how he knows you’re so close -- it must be way more embarrassingly obvious than you thought -- but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when he’s letting his cock drag inside you slowly, with a hard thrust every few seconds. Not when the pressure on your clit is changing so rapidly you can’t breathe.

When you do cum, with a broken cry and shaking torso, Clint doesn’t let up. He goes faster, harder. It’s a never-ending high that turns your brain to mush, and your body into even less. Your thighs burn and your toes curl but all you can feel is the delicious length buried deep inside you.

It’s only during the beginning of the cool down that you tug a little harder on Clint’s hair, and roll your hips a little more. “C’mon, Clint, please. Please fill me up.” His chest rumbles against yours with a throaty growl, and you continue to ride out your orgasm as he fucks into you with a few more desperate, shaky thrusts.

He cums in you thick and warm, with a groan of your name. It tumbles from his lips sinfully, and you commit the sound to memory. The rasp of his tone and the sight of his wet, swollen lips.

It’s not until he eases out of you slowly, and you feel the drip down your thigh that you’re grounded and reminded of exactly where you are. On a multi-thousand dollar couch. Owned by Tony Stark.

“Oh my god, Clint.”

His eyes are closed and you’re sure he’s about three seconds from sleeping for eighteen hours, but he manages a tired smirk. “I know. That was good.”

“No! I mean yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He half-opens one eye. “What?”

“I think we stained the couch.” A quick glance between Clint’s thighs all but confirms it, and you’re not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed by the very large wet spot staining the blended fabric.

“I can’t believe that’s what you’re thinking about right now. After everything that just happened.”

You playfully slap his shoulder as you roll onto the cushion next to him with a huff. He nudges you back with his arm before clearing his throat, and letting out a butchered impression of your voice. “Oh Clint! Your dick was just so amazing!-”

“Oh my god!” You cover your face but nothing stops the laughter that rumbles through your chest -- even if he’s got your tone completely wrong. He just chuckles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into his side with a sigh.

“How much do you think we’ll owe Tony by the end of the day?” He looks down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes, but presses a chaste kiss to your hair. “C’mon, you don’t think I haven’t planned out every surface we still need to fuck on before they get back?”

“Clint!”

“See, you keep screaming my name but for all the wrong reasons.” Now you can feel his grin against the top of your head, and it comes into view as he stands with you still in his grasp. You’re not sure how he maneuvers it, but he’s got you in his arms before you can even blink, and the look he sends you tells you not to complain or even question it. He’s not even out of breath -- all things considered -- and when you glance in the direction he’s heading, your eyes widen.

“You have got to be joking…” You squirm in his arms as he sets you down on the table used for almost every meeting, and the mere thought of defiling it forever makes you squeeze your legs together shyly.

But, Clint is quick to spread them, all with a cocky grin and a far too confident tone.

“I don’t know about you…” He begins, as his fingers trail up your thigh. “But I think we could reach ten thousand by midnight.”

If you distantly hear FRIDAY warn adamantly against it -- neither of you mention it.

“Better get started then, Barton.”

---

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speechlessxx · 4 years

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Secret’s Out (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Summary: Steve Rogers is a terrible liar.

Warnings: this was rushed (literally came to me in my sleep so im sorry if it’s kinda on the bad side), Bucky and Sam being an iconic duo, nothing bad really happens it’s just humorous.

I’m not gonna lie this is more Bucky & Sam teasing Steve than it is Steve x Reader.

Word Count: 2.1k

Feedback is appreciated! I hope you enjoy!

THIS IS A CONTINUATION OF Heaven is in Your Arms

Steve Rogers is a terrible liar.

Everyone knows. He’s god’s righteous man. He’s America’s golden boy – the perfect soldier. Steve Rogers is many things, but a good liar is not one of them.

His tells were clear as day. He’d advert his gaze, he’d blush a bit, his brows would furrow, or his fingers would tremble slightly. Sometimes he’d completely ignore a question so that he wouldn’t have to provide an answer. Only those who really knew the soldier knew exactly what to look for.

“When can we see this new place?” Bucky had asked one afternoon as Steve stopped by the compound to train. Steve pretended that he didn’t hear his friend as he directed an agent to use their agility against an opponent twice their size. Bucky chuckled a bit.

Sam walked up to the two men after his session in the weight room. His skin glistened with sweat as he put his arm on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky scowled at him, shrugging his sweaty arm off. “So, Steve, it’s been a year since you moved out. How’s the city life?”

“It’s great.” Steve responded just before he barked instructions to the agents. The other two shared a glance.

“You see, Bucko,” Sam started, “to get Steve to answer you, you gotta ask the right questions.”

“Is that so?” Bucky asked, mockingly.

Sam nodded with a smirk. “You gotta make this man sweat a little.”

“Don’t you two have some reports to finish?” Steve cut in.

“Reports were mandatory?” Bucky asked, his brows shot up in surprise. Steve and Sam frowned a bit and looked at their older friend with concern. “I’m kidding.” (He was not).

“Any sweet ladies in the city that you would like the team to know about?” Sam asked. Steve’s muscles stiffened as his jaw clenched. Sam and Bucky immediately took notice of his reaction. Steve’s silence gave them all the confirmation. “Hmmm… We can give you lady advice, Steve. You know we got you.”

“You guys are as bad as Natasha,” Steve muttered as he shook his head. (Little did they know that their advice wasn’t needed).

The following day was Steve’s day off. He promised you a picnic at the park as his apology for the 5-day mission that turned out to be a week and a half. You wore a thin light blue sweater and he wore his signature civilian get up – compete with the plaid button up and slacks. Of course, he made casual look dapper.

You laid out the blanket and flattened it onto the grass before you sat down. Steve placed the wicker basket in the center of the blanket before he situated himself next to you. He threw you a grin as you opened the basket.

“What’s got you in a happy mood?” You asked him as you pulled out your sandwiches.

He shrugged. “I don’t know… just happy to be here with you.”

“That’s cute, Rogers,” you chuckled.

Steve smirked as you began to eat. “This is great, honestly.” He said, taking a bite into his food. You quirked an eyebrow up at him as you swallowed. “You, me, picnic in the park. City’s not being attacked by aliens.” You laughed. He smiled. He loved hearing you laugh.

“What’s the next threat? Zombies?” You joked.

Steve gave you a teasing look. “That’s confidential.”

“Oh, please tell me it’s zombies. I’ve been binge watching zombie movies and I’m 100% certain I’ll survive.” Steve rolled his eyes as you ranted on about zombie survival 101.

“I’ve fought Nazis, Aliens, Titans – please, please, let it stop there. No zombies,” Steve chuckled.

“Scared, Steve?” You taunted.

He scoffed. “Not when I have a zombie expert by my side, darling.” You teasingly looked away. “Wait, you will be by my side during a zombie apocalypse, right?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but – “Steve’s jaw dropped in fake betrayal. You immediately took back your words. “Wait, no! Steve!” You reached over to him, but he snatched his hand away. You gasped. “How rude!”

“You have the audacity to leave me to fend for myself!” Steve pouted.

“Pouting doesn’t look good on you, Stevie.”

He gasped again, a hand flew to his heart. “Now you’re just trying to break my heart, doll.”

“Come here, you big baby,” you rolled your eyes at him as you pulled him to a kiss.

When you pulled away, Steve said, “oh, I think my heart is still broken.” He pulled you back in and smiled into the kiss.

“Oh my!” A woman’s voice gasped. You two broke apart and saw Margaret, your neighbor, strolling around with her yorkie.

“Miss Margaret, it’s pleasure to see you.” You smiled at the woman and she returned it.

“Clearly not as pleasurable as your little moment,” she teased which caused you to blush. You chuckled awkwardly as you looked away. “I’m glad to see you both out and enjoying this lovely day. You know how these millennials are nowadays. Always indoors, playing on their little Instachat and SnapPay.” Steve chuckled at her wording. (Before he had met you, he’d often mix up the social media platforms himself). “Oh, (Y/N), would you be a dear and walk the pup for a bit? I can’t bend down – “

“Oh, I can – “Steve began, but Margaret was very adamant that you were the one to go. Without hesitation, you stood up and took the leash from her. You cooed at the yorkie, who was very excited to see you, as you walked away.

“Now, Stevie,” Margaret said, her tone becoming stern, “have you gotten the ring?” Steve smiled as he admitted, yes. “Do you have it on you?”

“I’ve been waiting for the right time,” Steve confessed.

“Now’s a perfect time if any,” Margaret pushed. “She’s such a sweet girl. You’re a great man. You’ve been together for a while now…”

“I don’t want to ask her at an inappropriate time. I haven’t even decided what to say,” Steve admitted with embarrassment. He was known for his remarkable, inspirational speeches but for some reason he’d become speechless when he tried to propose. Every time he had the opportunity to pop the question, he became a fumbling, babbling mess that he just dropped it altogether. The velvet box he carried in his pocket for months became heavier and heavier.

“Practice, sweetheart.”

Steve sighed as he tried.

In all honesty, they could’ve done better. Hiding out in an inconspicuous van made look even more suspicious. But the two grew impatient and desperate as they parked the black van (minutes after you’ve left to walk the dog).

“What do you see?” Bucky asked Sam who had binoculars pressed up against his eyes.

“He’s talking to an old lady,” Sam muttered. “Oh, my god.”

“What?” Bucky asked, trying to take the lenses but Sam shoved him away.

“He’s asking this old lady to marry him!” Sam screamed. This time Bucky was successful at tearing the binoculars from Sam’s grip.

“What the hell, punk,” Bucky muttered.

“Damn, I knew he had a girl, but I didn’t know he had… a grandma…” Sam laughed. “Steve really took Nat’s ‘get a girl with the same life experience’ thing too seriously. She’s probably been alive as long as you, Bucky.” The two erupted into fits of laughter.

“Sammy, you owe me 10 bucks.”

-=+=-

Steve showed up to the compound the next with a big smile. He had done it. He had actually done it. And you said yes despite his stuttering and ‘um’s. You said yes.

“So, Stevie,” Sam started as Steve began to lift weights. “Anything fun happen on your day off?” Steve didn’t respond.

“Yeah, punk, anything interesting?”

“Actually,” Steve muttered as he lifted the weights with ease, “yeah. Something interesting did happen.”

“Oooh?” Sam stifled his laugh. “Do tell.”

“I will later.” Steve promised.

Nat walked into the gym and frowned at the two men who huddled around Steve. “Are you sharing stories around the campfire or are you working out?” She asked the two.

“Gossiping,” Sam answered.

“Steve walked in with the biggest grin on his face,” Bucky explained to Natasha as he walked over to another machine.

“Oh?” Natasha smirked as she sauntered over to Steve. “This have something to do with a girl?”

“A lady?” Sam asked.

“An old dame, perhaps?” Bucky added. Steve shot him a confused stare before shrugging.

“Perhaps.”

This made Sam and Bucky burst out into laughter again.

-=+=-

You fumbled with the ring as you rode anxiously in the taxi. The ring was dainty and elegant. It wasn’t too flashy (not that it needed to be). It was simple and beautiful – much like the life that you were building together. The man offered you a kind smile through the rearview mirror which you returned. “Avengers Compound, huh?” He asked. “You a recruit or something?”

“Oh no,” you shook your head, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Just visiting someone.”

“Must be one hell of a someone to be working there.” The man laughed. You chuckled.

“He sure is.”

-=+=-

“Why are you calling a meeting?” Tony asked Steve with an exasperated look on his face. He had just returned from a trip to MIT with Pepper. He was clearly tired. “And why aren’t we in the meeting room?”

Steve sighed as he looked towards the front doors. Any second now.

“Steve wants us to meet someone,” Sam explained. He and Bucky shared a look as they both stopped themselves from laughing.

“Cut it out,” Natasha scolded.

“Oh, you’re gonna be laughing, too,” Bucky mumbled. “Just wait.”

Suddenly the entrance opened, and Steve immediately ran towards it. You gave him a nervous look while he gave you an encouraging smile. He took your hand in his as he walked you towards the group. Bucky and Sam immediately stopped snickering.

“Okay, everyone, this is (Y/N).” Steve introduced. Everyone was in a standstill. “She’s my fiancé.” There was a moment of silence as Bucky and Sam tried to piece together their puzzle, only to realize they were looking at the wrong picture the entire time. Unless Steve magically had the Time Stone and reversed your aging, you definitely weren’t the elderly woman in the park.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you!” Natasha finally smiled as she walked up to you and gave you a warm embrace. “He’s kept the details to himself. Not much of a talker.”

You nodded, the nervous smile still dancing on your lips. “So, you’re the reason why Steve left?” Tony asked, abruptly. “Left the compound, I mean.”

You glanced at Steve who shook his head. “Uh, no… I told him to stay. He’s the stubborn one.” Natasha laughed at your response.

“Wait, wait,” Sam said, shaking his head. The confusion still fresh. “That old lady in the park from yesterday? She isn’t who you proposed to? Because I vividly remember seeing you get on one knee and ask her.”

“You were in the park?” Steve asked.

“We both were.” Bucky admitted.

“You proposed to Margaret?” You asked, a laugh escaping you. Steve blushed. “Aw, Stevie!” You gushed as you kissed his cheek. “When you told me you were nervous, I didn’t think you were that nervous.”

“So, Margaret is?”

“Our neighbor,” you laughed.

“She asked you to walk her dog so that she can scold me for not asking already.” Steve confessed to you. “She helped me pick the ring out months ago.”

“Months?” Tony asked, brows rose in surprise. “C’mon, pal, you gotta step up your game.”

“Happy had been carrying around a ring since 2008, sit down, Stark,” Natasha defended. She asked if she could look at your ring. You held up your hand and she marveled at the diamond. “Nice taste, Rogers.”

“Wait,” Steve cut in. “You guys thought I was dating Margaret, my elderly neighbor?”

“Whose old enough to be my grandmother’s grandmother?” You asked.

Bucky and Sam nodded, shamefully. You and Steve laughed. “Why were you guys stalking me?” Steve added, frowning a bit.

“You weren’t answering our questions.” Bucky answered. “We were curious.” Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky pointed at him, accusingly. “Don’t say ‘you could’ve asked’ because we did… You just wanted to keep your life a secret. And you’re a terrible liar.”

Steve gaped at his response and looked at you for your input. You shrugged. “You are a terrible liar, babe.”

“Wow, thanks, darling.” Steve said sarcastically.

“Well, secret’s out.” Sam clapped. “Steve Rogers officially off the market, for good.”

“Hey,” Bucky said, bumping Sam’s shoulder. “You owe me ten dollars.”

Sam shrugged him off. “Man, get off me, you little roach.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans fic #fan fiction #reader insert #x reader #captain america #captain america imagine #captain america x reader

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holyytaehyung · 5 years

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NCT Dream React to s/o getting hurt protecting them

id throw myself infront of a bus for haecha- ahem. ignore me.. FYI this wont be too serious- as in it wont be like, full on accidents. Just things that could happen at any given time (even though major accidents,eg car crash, major trauma, can and do too just svkjbavajbjvj i just dont feel like crying again today please and thankyou)

Mark When Jeno had called out “MARK HYUNG WATCH OUT” after kicking a ball at the park, Mark immediately ducked, seeing it come straight toward him, he closed his eyes, flinching. But when he heard the impact of the ball, a crack, but didnt feel it, he opened his eyes just in time to see you wince and grab your wrist, after you had tried to block the ball from hitting him, it hitting you at an awkward angle. You couldnt move it without wincing, bruising already forming, Marks eyes would widen , immediately pulling you to him and observing the injury. Hed feel really bad and would probably scold you for getting hurt when he should have, but when you mumbled between sniffles that you only wanted to protect him, his heart fluttered. “i know, baby, but remember i dont ever want you to get hurt, this is pretty serious, thankyou, though.” he mumbled into your neck, on the way to the hospital, his arms around you.

Renjun when Renjun asked Mark to throw him the spatula from the other side of the kitchen, you werent worried, it was only when you realised that it was metal, and hot, having just come from being used in the pan, and the fact that mark seemed distracted, not able to feel the heat because of his sweater paws curse the darn things, you immediately leaped into action, grabbing the hot metal before your boyfriend was, wincing and placing it on the bench. Renjun at first was a little confused but when he saw you place your hand under cold water, a dark red line appearing where the top of the spatula touched your hand, he realised, and he felt horrible and completely silly. “baby- you didnt have to do that, id prefer me to get hurt than you!” hed wrap his arms around you, nuzzling your neck softly, but when you replied with a “you have a photoshoot tomorrow, renjunnie” His heart would honestly swell at the fact that you were so caring toward him and his work. Hed hate that you got hurt, and would play nurse to help you.

Jeno Jeno was grabbing books from the bookshelf, without realizing that there was a heavy book ontop of some, that looked like it could fall if you even sneezed too hard, and when you looked up from your phone on the couch to see the massive thing almost falling onto your unaware boyfriend, you immediately jumped up, pushing him out of the way suddenly, which not only scared him but surprised him at your aggression, but when it seemingly happened in slow motion, the book dropping, straight onto your back as you braced yourself, you dropped to the ground with a groan, and he was speechless, his jaw dropping as he processed what just happened. “bABY?” he squeaked, rushing to your side, his hands moving but doing nothing, as he struggled to decide what he should do. “w-why? did you do that?” he said with sad eyes, feeling bad. “dont you dare feel bad, remember when you literally tried to catch me from falling but you ended up falling?” you said, looking to him. Hed chuckle “yeah, but like i said then, i never want to see you hurt.”

Haechan Your boyfriend was playing a dangerous game. Your cat was his source of entertainment for now, as you watched your TV show beside him, but sadly, mittens was quite easily angered. So you warned him, one, twice, three times, that she was getting upset, Only to hear ”dont worry shes fine! arent you mittens- yes~” But when you finally saw the cats tail wag quite fast, you knew what was about to happen,-all to familiar with the animal’s characteristics. You quickly shoved Haechan to the side, causing him to furrow his eyebrows, ready to ask you what the heck you were doing, when the cat struck out, its claws slicing your hand, a fresh red stream leaking almost immediately. His eyes widened and he instantly felt bad, Knowing that you were right the entire time.

“im sorry” was what he said softly, pulling you to him and observing the incision, cleaning it up. “i shouldve listened to you..” “obviously” you said laughing at him softly. He knew then that he had chosen to date the perfect person- able to understand cats AND sassy.

Jaemin it was a bad idea, to throw plates to eacother to put them away, so when Haechan and Jaemin were doing the dishes; what did they do? They did it. But when you saw your boyfriend look away when a plate was coming in his direction, a startled squeak coming from Haechan at the distracted kid before him, You, who saw it, acted, But, you werent the best catch, so instead it dropped to the floor, but you lost your balance, falling forward, causing your hand to land on the shattered plate, your entire body weight on the hand. You winced and got up, Jaemin who was looking on in horror, immediately went to your side, apoligising a million times with wide eyes as he browught your hand to the sink, luckily- the injury was all bark and no bite, looking worse than it actually was because of the blood. So with a few bandaids you were okay. Putting them on for you, he looked at you sadly, bringing you into a hug, kissing the bandaids softly.

“dont ever get hurt for me again baby, if im so stupid i deserve to get injured” he mumbled, making you pout. “nope, ill do it as often as i need to, you keep me safe and i keep you safe.” He smiled at your stubborness. “what did i do to deserve you...”

Chenle When Chenle’s hyungs tried to play a prank on him, you knew it wouldnt go down too well. You knew chenle did okay with spicy food, but that much spice? That would hurt. The idea of seeing him in pain had you thinking of ways to avoid the situation for him, unfortunately going for the idea of eating it yourself- even if you cant handle spice... So when chenle went to grab the dumpling the hyungs planned for him, you pouted and begged him for it, him being a fool for you, immediately obliged, causing you to see the looks on his hyungs faces as their eyes became wide. “NO Y/N” Jaehyun started, but you had already eaten it. “what?” chenle said, looking at Jaehyun then back at you, watching as your face began to go red. “that was supposed to be for you.. it was extra extra spicy..” Yuta explained, making chenles eyes widen, knowing how you cant handle it. “you knew?” he and the hyungs said to you when you nodded, the hyungs were speechless, and so was chenle, you had tried to protect him. “you -have- to sing soon-” you said in between sniffles, and honestly his heart and all the hyungs hearts would speed up at the cute and dedicated action. Hed still feel horrible that you protected him and got hurt, but hed give you alot of milk and hug you until it was all better.

Jisung You were sitting in the dance practice room, not too far from Jisung, when you saw him start to loose his balance, stumbling, you immediately got up to try and help him, but he ended up falling back onto you. He had braced to fall, but when he felt himself fall onto something softer than the floor, and a little squeak was heard from you, he immediately had wide eyes as he realised you ad tried to help him. His frame was much bigger than yours so he started freaking out, getting up as quick as possible, knowing that you were probably injured. He watched you caress your ribs softly, wincing a little, but he couldnt help but smile at your little action. “listen here, cheeky one.. we get taught how to fall so it doesnt hurt as much” he pokes your nose. “so, i dont want to see you get hurt for me ever again, okay?” When you nodded, with a pout, hed smile, “youre still my hero, baby” hed hug you, careful to not hurt you. -admin rose

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theo-loves-broadway · 6 years

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If You Can’t Stand The Heat, Get Out Of The Kitchen (Tyrus Fanfic)

Hi!! So I was inspired by @scientifthicc‘s headcanons for Tyrus to write this fic! After writing the first chapter, I realized I loved where it was going, and decided to make it a chaptered fic! :D I only have the first one done, but if you could read and it leave me comments/kudos/reblogs/suggestions, I would be so grateful! I’ll post it on here, and the link for the AO3 version, as well!

LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15287934/chapters/35465793

Snowflakes littered the Goodman's front yard as Cyrus watched the little white flecks dance by the window. It was a lazy Thursday morning; the snow fell hard enough the night before that the administration decided to cancel school. Cyrus, of course, was ecstatic when he heard the news, and couldn't go back to bed, so he spent time looking out the window. His mom and stepdad had already left for work, leaving him alone for the day. His mom had left food in the fridge for him to warm up, but Cyrus wasn't in the mood for reheated matzo soup. He thought about texting Andi or Buffy, but remembered that they were away on a trip to Arizona to help Buffy move in, so that was a dud. He took out his phone, and mindlessly clicked on Jonah's number, the cursor blinking monotonously;

[Cy-Guy: hey jonah, wanna hang?]

Cyrus sent the message without hesitation, and drummed his fingers against the table waiting for a response.

“C’mon, Jonah, answer the text,” he mumbled impatiently, “we both know you’re not ‘out with Andi’ today,” he added, mildly defeated. Ever since the Open Mic and Jonah and Andi’s kiss, Cyrus had been a little, err, a lot jealous, even though he tried to smile through it. He’d avoided Jonah for a while, but decided that the best way to handle the situation would be to talk to Jonah, openly and honestly. Why Cyrus didn’t feel as though he was going to faint was beyond him. Suddenly his phone buzzed, and Cyrus opened his text messages with anticipation.

[JoLamaJama: can’t. out with family. won’t be back till tomm. sry cy]

Cyrus sighed, almost in relief, as he extended his legs out over the edge of the couch. “Great, now what?” he grumbled, his stomach doing the same. Oh, shoot, I didn’t eat breakfast, he thought to himself, the house’s deafening silence hurting his ears. He needed to be hanging out with someone, anyone , for that matter. He scrolled through the limited list of his contacts and hesitated on one.

“I know the chance is really low,” he admitted, already typing out a message, “but what have I got to lose?” he added, hitting send, and reading the message he just sent.

[Cy-Guy: hey tj, do you wanna come over? my parents are out and i’m making breakfast, so you can have some too, if you like. if you don’t i get it that you don’t wanna hang out with a loser like me but, whatever]

And after he sent it, he immediately regretted it. “Geez, could you be any more desperate, Cyrus?” he scolded himself, “You were just starting to have TJ not dislike you, and you just send a text out of the blue? This is so sad, Alexa play Despacito,” Cyrus sighed, and the Alexa on the coffee table responded, Cyrus bopping his head to the rhythm. Just as the song reached the chorus, Cyrus’ phone buzzed, and his heart felt like it stopped.

[Not-So-Scary-Basketball-Guy: yeah sure, im down for that. be there in like 10]

“Oh my gosh,” he uttered, almost paralyzed with shock. TJ actually wanted to hang out with him? How? Why? Before he got too lost in his train of thought, Cyrus hurried around the lower level of the house to organize everything a little. He adjusted the pillows on the couch, arranged the chairs in the dining room to be just so, and then advanced towards the kitchen to get ready for breakfast.

“What do sports people eat? Kale?” Cyrus wondered aloud, looking through his fridge as well as his pantry. “TJ’s just going to have to suffer next game because we’re making pancakes,” Cyrus decided, getting out the ingredients for his famous Chocolate-Chip Strawberry Pancakes. He made them every year for his birthday, as well as his parents’ birthdays, and they were always a hit. To speed up the work, Cyrus pre-diced all the strawberries into small pieces, and ate a few in the process. In the middle of his preparations, the doorbell rang, and Cyrus nearly dropped the bowl of strawberries on the floor he was so startled. Wiping his hands quickly on a towel, he rushed to the door as to not keep TJ waiting.

“Hey,” Cyrus said, awkwardness creeping into his voice as he tried to find something for his hands to do. “Come on in, Not So Scary Basketball Guy,” he joked, cracking a weak smile and stepping aside for TJ to enter.

“Oh, so now we’ve added ‘Not So Scary’?” TJ teased, taking off his shoes at the front door, “Thank goodness I’m not terrifying anymore,” he added, flashing a smirk of a grin as he shut the door behind him.

“Oh c’mon, you’re all bark and no bite,” Cyrus reminded him, crossing his arms in defense. His stomach growled and it sounded like there was a dying whale trapped in his gut. “And that means we should start making breakfast,” Cyrus mentioned, mildly embarrassed, as he led TJ into the kitchen. The countertop had all the ingredients for pancakes neatly organized into a small corner, and all the utensils were by them, ready for use.

“I’m really hoping you’re not going to make me eggs or something healthy like that,” TJ warned, taking a seat and propping his elbows up on the countertops.

“Whaaaat?” Cyrus drawled, happy he didn’t find kale in the fridge, “No way...Jose,” he added. Of course Cyrus would quote a musical, being the theatre nerd that he was. “Only pancakes, of course. The breakfast of champs!” Cyrus proclaimed, slamming his fist on the countertop, wincing in pain.

TJ laughed breathily, pushing his blond locks back. “Don’t hurt yourself before the food is made, Underdog. Afterwards, as long as I have my pancakes, you have my permission to roll down the stairs,” he joked, his eyes smiling along with his lips.

Cyrus merely rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his hips. “Okay, okay, I see how it’s gonna be,” Cyrus snickered, his eyes narrowing and his lips pulling into a devious smile, “you want me to slave away and make you pancakes?” he sneered jokingly, nearly dissolving into laughter.

TJ shrugged, looking down at the bowl of strawberries. “Basically,” he replied, popping a few pieces in his mouth, smiling while he chewed.

“Alright, well let’s make this a little more interesting, shall we?” Cyrus suggested, waltzing around the kitchen mischievously. “How about a challenge, oh competitive one,” Cyrus quipped, glancing at TJ, “you and I are gonna have a pancake battle. And if, or should I said when I win, you have to buy me baby taters for a week,” Cyrus said. “You in?”

TJ looked up at Cyrus and smiled, the shorter boy starting to wonder if this was such a good idea anymore. “You know what? Yeah, bring it on,” TJ accepted, cracking his knuckles, “And when I win, you need to come to my basketball games for a week, with those megaphones,” TJ dared, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms and legs. Nevermind the fact that TJ had never in his life cooked anything other than eggs (which he burned, by the way); he wanted to win.

“Deal,” Cyrus confirmed extending his hand for TJ. They shook hands and only then and there did Cyrus realize how soft TJ’s hands were. He didn’t expect from someone who probably lifts weights and handles a basketball all day.

“Alright, Underdog,” TJ started, carefully tugging his sleeves up to his elbows, “let’s do this thing,” he added with his signature smirk, the one that looked like he’d punch the living daylights out of you.

“On your mark, get set, bake!” Cyrus cheered, rushing for the ingredients. He’d made the recipe a thousand times (well, more like 15) so he knew exactly what he was doing, expertly measuring the dry ingredients, and combining them with the wet, tossing in strawberries.

TJ, on the other hand, had literally no idea what he was doing, so he tried to copy what Cyrus was doing. When Cyrus added some white powder (baking soda, he later learned), TJ would try to do the same. What he couldn’t properly see, he would eyeball the amount; unfortunately, this lead to him adding ¼ cup of baking soda. TJ lunged for the flour, accidentally knocking it down in the process, and a cloud of flour formed, looking like it was snowing indoors, as well as outdoors. After the cloud had settled and the boys had finished their coughing fits, they looked at each other and laughed, doubling over.

“You look like Frosty the Snowman!” TJ snorted, ruffling the flour out of his own hair. “Here, let me,” he started, brushing through Cyrus’ hair, Cyrus shutting his eyes to block out the flour, as well as to not embarrass himself in front of TJ. He kept his eyes closed for a few more moments, before opening them, the light a little brighter than he remembered.

“It appears you may not be as talented as you thought, Kippen,” Cyrus chuckled, setting his bowl of pancake batter by the griddle, already smoking from the heat. Muttering something under his breath, TJ grabbed his bowl of what one could consider pancake batter, and set it on the other side of the griddle. TJ’s batter looked much lumpier than Cyrus’s, and it didn’t have as many strawberries or chocolate chips, since TJ ate most of them before he started. Cyrus poured a few ladles of the batter onto the griddle, the sound of them hitting the metal filling the air. TJ attempted to replicate what the shorter boy did, but the pancakes ended up being misshapen, and he burned almost all of them. The boys stacked their pancakes on plates, and set them on the table, both of them looking at them for a while.

“Well,” Cyrus said, feeling mildly bad for TJ, “I, uh, do you wanna try mine?” he asked, pushing the plate towards him. TJ pushed his plate of pancakes towards Cyrus, the look on his face one of fear.

TJ took a bite of Cyrus’ pancake, and you could practically see the serendipity rush into his body. “Good lord, Underdog,” TJ started, finishing the rest of the pancake in one swift bite, “open a breakfast business,” he complimented, grabbing a second pancake. “Now you have to try mine,” he urged, munching on Cyrus’ pancakes.

Tentatively, Cyrus grabbed one of TJ’s pancakes; it was soft to the touch, but one side was almost completely burnt, and it felt quite dense. He took a careful bite and immediately regretted it. Waaaay too much baking soda, he thought to himself, trying to smile. “Mm, it’s uh,” he mustered, faking a smile, “an interesting flavor...and texture,” he added, forcing himself to swallow, shuddering.

“I know that it’s garbage, don’t even try,” TJ corrected, Cyrus immediately dropping the act.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Cyrus admitted, quickly pushing TJ’s pancakes aside and stuffing one of his own into his mouth, visibly relaxing.

“Guess you won,” TJ muttered, defeated, “just let me know when you want baby taters,” he added, getting up to leave.

“Wait!” Cyrus exclaimed a little too excitedly, grabbing onto TJ’s sleeve to try and pull him back, his face heating up. “I-uh, you know, I could showyou how to make pancakes, you know, better ones?” he suggested, letting go of TJ’s shirt and fiddling with his own.

TJ knitted his brows together in confusion. “You seriously want to teach me , TJ Kippen, kitchen disaster, how to make pancakes? ” he questioned, crossing his arms.

Cyrus felt himself shrink into his own body. “Uhm, yes?” he squeaked meekly, clearing his throat to sound more confident. “Uh, I mean, s-sure, if you’d like to. Anyone can cook. Says so right in the movie Ratatouille,” he mentioned, testing the waters with a weak smile.

TJ thought it over for a few moments, before grinning. “You know what? Sure, let’s make some more pancakes. Anything is better than those ones,” TJ muttered, pointing to the stack of monstrosities that were TJ’s batch of pancakes.

The duo got to work, Cyrus reading off the proper measurements to TJ, and TJ following the directions exactly. This time, thankfully, none of the flour spilled on the ground. By the end, TJ had a luxurious batter ready to be made into pancakes. He spooned the batter onto the griddle, and waited until they were ready.

“Okay, I think they’re ready to be flipped,” Cyrus informed him, handing him the flipper for the pancakes. TJ tried to flip the first one, but it ended up folding in on itself and turning into a pile of batter.

“Told you I couldn’t do it,” TJ sneered, putting the flipper down in frustration. Cyrus walked up to him slowly and took it into his hand.

“Here, let me help you,” Cyrus suggested placing TJ’s hand near his own and walking over to the griddle. Gently, he helped TJ slip the flipper under the pancake, and successfully flip it on the other side.

“See!” Cyrus chirped, not letting go of the flipper, “I told you I could teach you,” he added with a knowing smile. Glancing down at the flipper, he tore his hand away, feeling tingly on the inside.

“Uh-huh, whatever you say, Underdog,” TJ scoffed, placing the flipper down, and breaking the pancake that they had just made in half, handing one half to Cyrus.

“Mm, see? So much better!” Cyrus exclaimed, swallowing the rest of the pancake. “You may not be half bad at this, Kippen,” he chuckled, taking a seat on one of the kitchen stools.

“Mm-hmm,” TJ murmured with a tiny smile, sitting by Cyrus in one of the other stools. The boys ate their pancakes in relative silence, save for the hum of the heater. When they were all gone, the boys leaned back in their seats, letting out simultaneous sighs of satisfaction.

“I, uh,” TJ started, hopping out of his seat, “I wouldn’t want to overstay my visit,” he added, almost inaudibly, but Cyrus caught it. Was TJ actually capable of saying something, dare he call it, polite? Cyrus scrambled to get out of his chair, taking a step towards TJ.

“You’re not overstaying your visit, dude,” Cyrus reminded him, looking up at the taller boy, “ I asked you to come over, remember? I mean, you can leave whenever you want, but I’m not gonna kick you out. Besides my parents won’t be home till late, so you’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” he offered kindly.

“Oh,” TJ said lamely, putting his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “Thanks,” he added after a slight pause, unsure of what to say.

“So, what do you wanna do? We can watch TV, or, I mean, if you’re still hungry we can eat something else. We have leftover matzo soup, but I wouldn’t recommend that,” he suggested.

“TV sounds nice,” TJ agreed, and went to take a seat on the couch, slumping down in his seat and putting one leg over the other. Cyrus made a comment on how that was bad for his back, but TJ just shrugged it off and flicked through the channels, finally settling on watching Family Feud.

“Legs! Just say legs, my gosh,” TJ said exasperated. The question asked about what body parts men might describe as “long” on a woman, and the second person had just said forehead.

“You’re really into this, huh,” Cyrus observed, glancing over at TJ. His face was slightly red from yelling at the TV, his knuckles losing color as he gripped the edge of the couch.

“It’s not my fault I can’t handle their stupidity,” TJ half-joked, before his smile faded, “Can’t even handle my own stupidity,” he added, biting down hard on his lower lip, ignoring the TV for the first time.

Cyrus frowned, feeling his heart audibly break for TJ. They both knew that TJ has dyscalculia, but that didn’t mean that he was any less of a person, or rather, a student.

“TJ,” Cyrus said softly, shifting slightly towards him, “you’re not stupid. So you need some help with math, so what?” he added, TJ’s gaze not leaving the ground. “You’re not stupid, and you never were, TJ,” Cyrus continued, tapping his fingers on the edge of the couch. What had started out as an innocent hangout had turned into a more serious conversation about TJ’s “stuff”. Cyrus hadn’t noticed through all his therapeutic messages, but hot, angry tears were streaming down TJ’s face.

“Stop,” TJ croaked, and Cyrus immediately turned his attention to TJ, seeing how upset he was. “Let’s face it, Underdog,” TJ muttered, his voice breaking when he spoke, “I’m pathetic. I mean, look at me,” he added with a squeak, peering at Cyrus. His face was pale, his cheeks wet with tears, and his eyes were red and puffy. He looked so...defeated.

“You’re not pathetic, TJ,” Cyrus assured him, pondering as to whether or not he should give him a pat on the shoulder, “emotions are normal to have and to show. I am literally a walking sack of emotions,” he joked, earning a small chuckle from TJ. “But seriously, don’t beat yourself up like that, man,” Cyrus warned him, giving a gentle pat on his shoulder to cheer him up.

TJ shrugged, pulling his sleeves down and wiping his tears, trying to make himself look more presentable. “Thanks Underdo--Cyrus,” he edited, smiling weakly, “for not, you know, freaking out and not thinking that I’m stupid,” he added, the episode of Family Feud coming to an end as the clapping faded. Cyrus just nodded, happy that his friend was feeling a little better.

“I actually should get going, this time,” TJ told Cyrus, standing up, “I have basketball practice soon,” he said, advancing towards the door. Cyrus followed him to say his goodbyes.

“So, uh, I’ll see you later?” he asked, unsure if TJ would want to hang out with him again, judging by today’s events.

“Of course, dude. Remember, I owe you baby taters for a week,” TJ reminded him, slipping on his boots. He opened the door and was greeted by a flurry of snowflakes, littering his hair.

“Oh, wait one sec,” Cyrus sputtered, rushing towards the closet and pulling out a black beanie. “Take it...it’s cold outside, and it’s snowing,” he observed, handing the beanie to TJ, who took it and adjusted it on his head.

“Thanks,” he mustered, his smile evident in his crinkling eyes. “I’m, uh, I’m free later today, say around 6?” he suggested, already on the other side of the threshold.

“Yeah, sure! That works,” he chirped, bubbling up inside at the fact that TJ actually wanted to hang out with him again.

“Cool. Thanks for having me. I’ll see you later,” he concluded, giving Cyrus a small waves before heading out the door and braving the cold and the snow. Cyrus watched as the little white speckles dotted the black beanie that TJ sported. Once he was out of sight, he shut and locked the door, and took a deep breath. Today is going to be one hell of a day, he thought to himself, sitting on the couch and watching the next episode of Family Feud.

#tyrus #tyrus fanfic #tyrus fanfiction #cyrus x tj #cyrus goodman #tj kippen #dyscalculia #andi mack #andi mack fanfic #andi mack fanfiction #i wrote this!!#boost please?? if you like

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onlysuperkix-blog · 7 years

Text

sweet tooth

characters/wrestlers included: you (y/n), pete dunne, trent seven, tyler bate

warnings: none only that this is really cheesey and makes 0 sense

disclaimer: this makes no sense, has no plot and i basically took 3 random wrestlers, clumped them together and totally erased their actual personalities im a terrible person FORGIVE me please

–

"No wonder you're always so tired," said Tyler as he plucked the box out of Y/N's lap, "You don't even eat real food." His voice was lighthearted, but his eyes glared at the bright box in his hands with disdain. Turning the box over in his hand, his gaze scanned over the ingredients and he shook his head while smoothing down his mustache. "Peeps?" said Tyler, squinting at the box.

"This is just pure sugar," he added, stepping in front of the girl who was seated on the edge of the ring, "You know that, right?" He looked at her with suspicious eyes, studying her as she ate her candy.

Y/N looked at him, chewing boredly as she watched the young man squat down in front of her. "Yes, but they're good." She raised her eyebrows, plucking another Peep out of the box that Tyler held.

He shook his head again and ran his hand through his hair. "If you're going to be a wrestler, you can't always eat candy."

Offended, Y/N snatched the box out of his hands and reached inside to grab another marshmallow, but Tyler swatted at her hand and tugged the box out of her grip. Looking down at the young man with furrowed eyebrows, Y/N slid off the edge of the ring and lunged at him.

"Gonna have to be faster than that, sweetheart," huffed Tyler as he easily avoided her and grabbed her by the waist, "I'm not even that fast and I was able to avoid you." Y/N scrambled against his grip, but he held her from behind, his strength massively overpowering hers.

"Put me down," said Y/N weakly after a few seconds of struggling, sighing as much as she could with Tyler's iron grip around her waist. She bit down on the Peep in her mouth, thankful for the sugar to counteract her rising annoyance.

Slowly, he began to loosen his grip on her. She had just begun to step away when Tyler spun her around and dipped down, throwing her easily over his shoulder as he squatted down to pick up the box of Peeps.

"Tyler," protested Y/N as she began thrashing in his grip, voice muffled from the Peep in her mouth, "Put me down! And don't you dare even think about–"

He was approaching the trash can.

"Tyler! Don't you dare!"

He raised the box in the air and hovered it over the trash can.

"No! Tyler! Don't you–"

"I apologize," said Tyler as he plucked the Peep from her mouth and tossed both the candy and box into the trash can. He marched away from the can, Y/N's eyes wide as she watched it grow smaller and smaller in the distance as he carried her toward the ring, "I couldn't let you eat any more of that garbage. You'll never–"

Y/N smacked Tyler's head and began thrashing again. "I hate you," she huffed childishly, "I hate you, you know that?"

He easily held her in place on his shoulder, smiling gently at her futile attempt to be released. "I know, my love."

Tyler had begun ascending the ring steps when Pete clambered into the room with Trent trailing behind him.

"Tyler," Pete laughed snarkily, "This always how you have to get women? By kidnapping them?" His voice was condescending, thick with sarcasm as he approached the duo.

"Tell him to put me down," said Y/N flatly, still pushing at Tyler's shoulder.

Pete snickered, running his hand through his hair as he approached her. "And why would I do that, sweetheart? What's in it for me?" His index finger jabbed lightly at her cheekbone and she shied away from his touch, jerking her face away from him. Y/N gripped at Tyler's shoulder as he ducked into the ring, still carrying her on his shoulder.

"Both of you are just boys," said Trent suddenly as he stepped into the ring, "Any man knows that's no way to get a woman." He raised his eyebrows at Tyler, who flushed slightly and gently released Y/N. She sighed and began to turn towards Trent.

"Thank yo–AH!"

The room spun around her as something lifted her off the ground.

"You gotta be able to sweep her off her feet," said Trent as he scooped her up bridal style and easily held her, "Literally." He winked at Tyler, who averted his eyes and smoothed down his mustache flippantly.

"I would really appreciate it if all of you would quit picking me up," Y/N snapped harshly, perhaps too harshly, because both Trent and Pete's faces softened and Tyler slowly peeked at her from the corner of his eyes. Awkward silence swallowed them whole and Trent set her back on her feet, uneasily rubbing the back of his neck as he cleared his throat.

"Sorry," Y/N blurted out as she chewed on her lip, "I'm just–"

"Stressed?" offered Tyler.

She looked up at him. "Stressed," she agreed, nodding slowly.

Pete scoffed, rolling his neck as he leaned against the ropes inside the ring. "Stressed? You've been training for a few months, kid, you haven't even had a real match yet."

"She's signed to NXT, now," said Trent suddenly.

Y/N snapped her gaze toward Trent, eyes searching his face for an answer. He looked uneasily at Tyler, then Pete, then Tyler, then Pete again.

"Christ's sake," said Pete as he tossed his jacket aside, "You didn't tell her?"

"Tell me what?" she asked, eyes still focused on Trent, who was avoiding her gaze.

"Tell me what?" she repeated, stepping toward him.

"Tyler pulled some strings for you," said Trent, looking past Y/N and at Tyler, "Isn't that right, Bate?"

The young man stepped forward, nervously chuckling. "It was more of a team effort, isn't that right?" A strange smile flickered under his mustache.

"I don't understand," said Y/N blankly, "What do you mean I've been signed to NXT? I never signed anything."

"He doesn't mean literally," Pete said suddenly, approaching her, "Are you that dumb?"

She looked at Pete for a moment before looking at her shoes and clenching her jaw uncomfortably.

"If you choose to sign the paperwork," said Tyler, "You'd be contracted to NXT."

"You should," added Trent, "You should sign the papers, it's a really important opportunity for someone like you."

Tyler nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You never really served on the indy circuits, this is your gateway into WWE, Y/N," he said gently, peeking down into her face from beside her.

She glanced at him uneasily. "I was going to debut for–"

"I know," Trent interjected, "But now you can debut for WWE."

She shifted her weight uneasily, drawing in a long breath. "I still don't understand, why would you vouch for me? You've only known me for a few months, I–"

"You're a good girl," Trent replied, "A good heart." He smiled thinly, patting her other shoulder.

"Alright, alright," groaned Pete loudly, pushing off Trent's hand from her shoulder, "We get it, Trent, alright?"

Y/N sensed sudden tension and stepped away from Trent and Pete, who were glaring at each other.

"Congratulations, love," Tyler whispered gently, steering her toward the ropes, "You should probably get going, it's late."

Y/N peeked over his shoulder and pushed away his grip. "Pete."

It was if he didn't hear her, Pete continued glaring at Trent.

"Pete," Y/N said again, stepping toward them.

The two men stood in the center of the ring, glaring at each other and never once stepping away. Tyler, who kept lightly grabbing at Y/N's shoulder, was standing in the corner of the ring, watching the men carefully.

"Peter," Y/N called again and this time Pete looked over at her. For a moment she thought he looked confused, as if she hadn't known his name was actually Peter, but his face twisted back into a grimace and he rolled his neck, patting Trent's chest gently as he stepped away.

"You should get going, Y/N," said Trent as he backed away from Pete, each of their gazes locked on each other, "You have to get up early to sign those papers."

"Right," said Y/N quickly, rolling out of the ring and gathering her gym bag, "I uh," she turned to face the men in the ring.

"Thank you," she said, nodding slowly with her eyes focused on the ground, "This means the world, truly." She smiled brightly, looking up at the men with tears glistening in her eyes. But before anyone could say anything, she spun on her heel and walked out of the room, leaving the men alone in the ring.

Tyler was the first to break the awkward silence, his voice crackling at first with uneasiness. "That was wrong on your part, Pete, you know that."

The Bruiserweight had taken residence in the corner of the ring, sitting against the lowermost turnbuckle. "Fuck you know?"

"Pete," scolded Trent suddenly, from the opposing corner where he stood, "You should've told her sooner."

Pete scoffed. "You would've told her anyway, what's it matter?"

"Did you want to tell her?" said Tyler, "I thought you wanted us–"

"You think a lot of things, Bate, hardly any of them actually matter," he shot back, standing suddenly from his position.

"Pete!" Trent scolded again, "You were the one who wanted us to keep it on the low!"

"You were the one who vouched for her to Regal and all the higher-ups, you were the one who defended her and you were the one who convinced them to let her in!" Tyler was nearly yelling, his fists balled at his sides, "You're the one who plucked her from some no-name promotion, but I'm the one who trained her! I put in my time to train her and where were you? Nowhere to be found, but now you get the credit!" gushed Tyler suddenly, his face flushing, "It's always Pete, Pete, Pete! It's the Pete Dunne show! What about the Tyler Bate Show? Huh?"

Trent was staring at Tyler, completely bewildered. Normally Tyler was the composed one of the trio, not the one who was gushing wildly.

"It's not the fucking Pete Dunne show," scoffed Pete, "What the fuck are you talking about, Bate?"

"I knew Pete had a thing for Y/N and I'll admit it," said Trent clearly, "For a while there, I did too," he said, "But I didn't know Tyler did too, fuck."

Tyler looked at Trent with wide, worried eyes. "I didn't mean–"

"Look at us," Trent laughed, "We're all acting like we're sixteen again, fighting over some pretty girl in school," he shook his head and looked at Pete, who wasn't happy.

"So what now?" asked Tyler gently.

Pete glared at Tyler. "What now? She's just a girl. She's not that damned important."

"So you'd be fine with me taking her out for coffee, Petey Boy?" said Trent easily, smiling under his mustache which he was twirling. Pete didn't reply.

"Trent," said Tyler gently, "He wouldn't be okay with that, you know that."

"Quit speaking over me," Pete interjected suddenly.

Tyler glanced at him. "You... You weren't speaking."

"Alright, boys," announced Trent suddenly, "If she's going to start fucking up our matches and getting in our heads, that's not okay."

Pete looked at Trent. "Fuck that," he said, "She's just a girl."

"Saying that over and over to yourself isn't going to make it any truer," said Trent.

Tyler scratched at his face uneasily. "So what, what now?"

Trent drew in a long breath and looked up at the bright lights above the ring they stood in. "We see who gets to her first."

#pete dunne #trent seven #tyler bate #wrestling #wwe #nxt

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yahoocansuckmyass · 7 years

Text

**disclaimer: if you know me in real life, if you have anything to say, just message me on Facebook or whatever, I’m not in danger of myself, just venting about everything in my life at the moment**

only posting bc there’s really no where else for me to vent about anything

i feel so empty, especially the last few days everything feels so bleak and im unable to generate any emotion other than indifference and sadness. i know it will pass and im trying to take care of myself. going to yoga, eating well and shit like that but i don’t have any motivation. jus feels like im outside of my actual body, watching myself do these things without any feeling of accomplishment or enjoyment after.

and my friends feel so far away, maybe im dissociating? i don’t feel like i can open up to anyone without a shitty response from them. best friend has always come to me in times of need but when I come to them it’s like they’re not even listening or really even grasp that im hurting my boyfriend tells me “think about something else” as if i haven’t gone through years of trying that, im not able to change like that my thoughts flip on a dime and when they do I have 2+ other voices yelling at the only part of me trying to help it feels like a minefield. i try to think that im okay and that I can do this but they teller the sound of my breathing is too loud and i get so uncomfortable in my body that i can’t fucking move. it makes me want to tear out my hair and scratch my skin off. (I’ve been self harm free for almost 2 years and these episodes get really hard to handle but at least i haven’t hurt myself other than biting my lip a bit too much on occasion)

and group therapy now costs too much and I can’t even stop by for an hour.

work doesn’t seem to value me either, i have hardly any hours and in turn no money. I’ve hardly eaten anything in the past few days.

it’s so strange being stuck in this place where im taking care of myself and doing the things i need to and still being so detached and unmotivated. it hasn’t been like this in a long time. everything feels off.

not to mention my home life is just me waking up and already being yelled at for something I don’t even know about, it’s like I could open my eyes the wrong way and get scolded for it. she asks me if im okay and I try to say what’s wrong and she reverts back to “but im hurting too” why even bother asking me if you’re going to just talk about yourself

im never being taken seriously. the only time that i think even my group therapy took me seriously is when i sliced up my arm I remember they were talking about a girl and how “brave she was for being able to show her cuts in the open and talk about them to the group” meanwhile when I talked about my cuts but never showed them, I was almost brushed off. I had cuts that I could fit my fucking hand into, and they didn’t. Even. Believe me.

now I know this post is long and jumpy and inconsistent, and I don’t really care if anyone reads it, but if you do, I’m sorry for the jumping around. I haven’t been able to talk about anything to anyone in a long time. at least not really, not without the making it a competition and telling me it could be worse or saying some people have REAL problems as if my brain doesn’t tell me to drive off the road or cut a vein and bleed out or drown myself in the lake out back.

though I don’t harm myself, though I can keep it together and appear so happy and fine, I still think of suicide every day and it hurts to think about all of the people I’d destroy. and as reassurance, no i won’t kill myself. im not going to let my progress end like that, i know I have good things in my life, im just going through a hard time. high functioning mental illness is something else man.

the past few days have left me so out of it especially. they’ve been the worst. Saturday was a decent day up until my mom left to go out for the night. I was left alone with my thoughts, and then those thoughts blurred out into nothing. just alone. no energy. no motivation. no one to talk to. just emptiness. I walked from room to room without a sound, just to lay down and stare at a wall or ceiling for an hour at a time. I didn’t eat, didn’t sleep. just was there. finally i got up and just fucking bawled my eyes out, thoughts of suicide and self harm bombarded me, I felt so fucking depressed it was like a tidal wave was trying to drown any ounce of sanity i had left. some scars I had forgotten about found their way back to the surface of my neck and boy for some reason that fucked me up, i forgot I even cut my neck, it brought back that sharp hot pain and all the sensations that run through your body. it was terrible, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. and finally I reached out to my cousin, though she had plans, she offered to come get me and hang out at my place with her friend and boyfriend and thank fucking god i did, I would’ve been a mess if she hadn’t. im glad I didn’t try to cancel on her either. my boyfriend was supposed to stay over but ended up cancelling that night too. and he was supposed to come over today. slept through us hanging out. people tend to treat my schedule as if it’s something they can erase and write in a later time or date with no consequences. and gaslight me for being upset about it. All I ever ask for is communication, that’s it. Talk to me, I won’t be upset, but if you lie to me, that’s a slap in the face. I don’t understand how I can literally tell you “it’s fine if you don’t want to hang out or talk, but you need to let me know asap so I can adjust my plans” and you still lie to my face or just disregard me completely. I’ve had people tell me 10 minutes before I’m supposed to get them “nah sorry fam” and that’s it. Only to find out they made better plans and are posting about it all over the place.

it’s fucking shitty. everything has been shitty. I can’t afford food or anything for that matter, my friends aren’t really even there, my boyfriends always busy doing whatever he does, my mom doesn’t listen to a damn word I have to say, my work doesn’t feel like home anymore (I used to LOVE going to work and getting to make people feel beautiful and talk about new shit and now it feels like a chore, I’m not treated like a valued employee anymore rather than disposable).

all i can do is continue to exist in this cycle of high function dissociation.

next topic on miahs 5 years of nothing talked about post: self love vs self hatred

as i said before, im actually taking care of myself. I’ve had hip bursitis for years now that has turned me into a borderline cripple with excruciating pain at almost all times of the day, and this is another thing that people don’t take seriously. my mom calls me a hypochondriac and that it’s not that bad, everyone just…dismisses it i guess? regardless, this is a thing that’s impaired me during my daily life and it’s only added on to the various health issues that make it hard to feel healthy and love my body.

I’ve always been critical of myself, specifically my appearance. I’ve made lists of things I hate about myself. I’ve had people contribute to this, but it’s not anyone’s fault that I did the things I did to myself except my own. 3 years ago I graduated high school at my highest weight and met a person who would end up being my inspiration to losing weight the wrong ways. we were both entirely toxic to each other and I ended up using laxatives and throwing up, and not eating and working out excessively to lose 70lbs in less than 6 months. the only problem is that I didn’t see a change in my weight, i felt like I was just as fat, just as disgusting as when I started. it was obsessive for me to lose weight. and everyone congratulated me on the success I’ve had. until cosmetology school where I ended up gaining all of it back due to lack of time for exercise and heavy depression and my hip problems. (also congrats if you’re still reading this, im not entirely sure when ill stop writing) i felt like I failed myself, and every time I tried to adjust my diet I’d just end up not eating and it scared me, I didn’t want to be back to that place. I didn’t want to feel like that again. (Today, I’m actually doing well with my diet and sticking to it in baby steps so I don’t overwhelm myself) granted I still feel guilty every time a crumb of food enters my mouth, I have this weird paranoia that everyone is watching when I eat and that all they think is that I’m fat and of course I’d be eating now. and that’s why I can’t be the only one who eats when I’m with friends, everyone needs to eat so I don’t feel so disgusting I guess?

the few months after I stopped cutting and shit were hard but i was in a pretty good mind set, I think January 2016 was the best I’ve ever been, but as expected it didn’t last. and don’t get me wrong, i cherish the fuck out of the good times I have in my life, I’m not some dick that dismisses all of the good things and just says im a basket case with no hope or friends. I love the people in my life with all of my heart, and I love the good times we have and the good things that happen. but I’ve never been able to discuss and move past all of the bad things. it seems like I’m being told to just push it back farther and farther because they don’t want to have to deal with it right now. and i could be wrong, and for some of those people I am wrong. but again, their responses to whenever I do open up are disheartening, and some don’t mean to come off that way but it persists. which makes me question why do I even bother. see, this a good platform for me to vent because it’s just that, I don’t need anyone to reply and say sorry or tell me I’m wrong, it’s just here and I got it out. that’s all I’ve been trying to do.

I’ve really never wanted any advice, i know what I need to do and what’s right and what’s wrong, its an ongoing battle for me, and I just needed someone to listen. and that never happened, there was always competitive comparisons, always criticism, always gaslighting, always dismissive. And maybe it’s because when I actually try to TALK, I freeze up and can’t say what I need to in the right way. but still! More than half the time I open up, I just get more reasons to shut back down. back to self love and shit (sorry), I’m trying to love myself despite what it sounds like. just because a big part of me only holds dislike for myself, doesn’t mean there isn’t a part that just wants to love. it’s just been years of these expectations and standards forced down my throat to the point where quite honestly, I’m fucking confused I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t

I’m not gonna get into relationships for the soul fact that I could go on for days about them and this is post is way longer than I anticipated already SO. That’ll be another day (probably tonight since I’m to the point of just not giving a fuck and dishing out every emotion I’ve felt in the last 5 years)

and again back to self love, lately, i don’t weigh myself because I know that if I do, I’ll get depressed and obsessive again and I really can’t deal with it now. I hate my stomach first and foremost. that’s literally the main thing that I just want to cut off my fucking body. i half the time can’t even look at myself because I’ll just get stuck in one of those fuck you miah states. and to address something real *quick*, I don’t need the, “well stop complaining and do something about it” BITCH I AM. I am actually doing everything for it!! but my shitty brain doesn’t let me see progress, for all i know I could have lost 30 lbs and still think I look exactly the same (and part of the reason why I chose yoga was because it all stems from your core so it’s always engaged…and it’s hot yoga so I sweat out at least a pound every time I go, and I went every day last week) i dunno why I can never see positive changes, but when I lost all that weight back in 2014, I didn’t even go down a bra size, let alone pant size and that really fucked me up. It was weird having people compliment me and say how good i looked but still felt the same size. I don’t get it, I could see the numbers go down but my eyes never saw a damn change on myself. Imagine losing 100lbs and still being the same pant size. And I did think we’ll maybe it’s because I still hated myself and was losing weight in an u healthy way but even now with me doin all these great things for my body, I see no change at all. I jus wanna be healthy now, not skinny.

^^talking about my body is my least favorite thing to do so if you have anything to say about it please just don’t, I’m jus here to get this shit off my chest.

I think im just about done, currently brainstorming to see if I missed anything or if I want to touch back on certain things. All that’s left I think is relationships?? So maybe I will write a bit about it? ….I wrote about it then deleted all of it because without going into brutal detail there’s no reason for it to be shoved into this.

I’m pretty sure I’m finished, I may or may not ever check back in here to update or whatever. I guess we’ll see.

If you made it to the end, congrats you spent 15 to 25 minutes reading an absolute mess of a post. Hopefully you could keep up with all my jumping around.

#tw #trigger warning #kinda #vent #personal #depression #ed #anxiety #self care #self journey #the many ups and downs that are my life #I'll read this late and think about how fucking crazy I sound

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xasherahx · 7 years

Text

Confused

Im so confused right now. I dont know whats up and down on my feelings. I was at a job interview yesterday. I didnt expect to get the job seing how i knew i didnt met the requirements, and i know i did all i could and more. Yet today when they called and told me i didnt get the job i felt sad, but happy at the same time. No im sitting here at the middle of the night feeling pathetic and weak, yet strong and like i accomplished something. I literally feel like im going to throw up cause its causing a weird ache in my chest. I feel like i should just give up on everything, yet im desperately looking for something to cling onto to not do that.

Ive started talking to this guy over a page on the internet. We have already decided to just be friends and wait and se what happens after we actually met. And im fine with that. I dont wanna rush into anything when im as fragile as i am right now. Yet im sure im falling for him at times. Like I wanna talk to him all the time. I stalk his instagram and facebook and other pages to se what hes up to. And when i se that he have liked a picture of other girls, my chest hurt. But then the next time i dont feel anything at all? Like sure we have talked about sex and such and im basically his slave, but that doesn't mean i have anything to say. One of the first things he said when we started talking about it is that im free to do whomever i please when im not around him. And of course the same goes for him. Even tho im as mono as a human person can be. Yet he makes it seem like he just want to be with me even tho his sex-drive is out the roof?

The best thing with this guy is that he respects me and seem to be honest about things. If i answer something stupid he still answer the questions (most of the time). He cares alot about my mental health. Alot more then ive ever done. Or anyone else have to be honest. Hes a really sweet funny guy. He takes time out of his free time to talk with me and to learn me how too play league of legends, just so we can play together. He praises me when i do good things, and he dont scold me when i fuck up in any shape or form. Hes patient whit my negativity and self hatred. He tries to help me get better. He makes me feel good looking at times and he makes me smile and laugh even when i feel like shit. And im starting to crave for his attention more and more for each day that pass. But yet again, i dont think its a crush? But i have no idea what else to call it.

He have in just some weeks sneaked his way into my head and broken down the walls one by one and gotten me to open up about things i thought id never tell anyone (and that is making me raise my guard even more cause i have no idea how to act). He have gained my trust in no time at all. Not fully but its not far from it. And just that is a huge achievement, seing how i barely trust my friends ive known my whole life. I dont feel like i deserve him in any kind of way. But yea i dont think i deserve anything or anyone.

Then there is this really nice sad guy ive just talked with for a few days. I feel like i can be myself when i talk to him. Hes kinda cute, nice and all. The typical guy i know i tend to fall for. Thing is, hes 19. And i know age is just a number but its setting me off so badly. And he seems so sensitive. I feel like if i stay around ill tip him over the edge that hes already balancing on. But i dont want to stop talking to him. He said hes happy i listen when he opens up and hes happy that we talk. But i dont know. I feel like im setting him off by telling him about things. And i haven't even opened up that much yet.. Barely cracked the lid. And i dont want to scare him away just cause im fucked up.

And then we have my so called best friend that ive known since i turned 13. Everything changed after he and creepie broke up. He changed. He started lying about things before that but he never treated me bad until last year. The one person i trusted fully flipped the coin and turned into something and someone i dont know anymore. The one person i felt like i could actually talk to invited me over to stay with him for a week then, during the days i was at creepies place, decide that a tinder chick that he basically just want to fuck is more important then his (his own words) best friend? His best friend that took money she didnt have just to go and visit him cause HE was feeling depressed and hated being alone. So he changes his plans making me break down and get pissed off enough to jell at him. And he still to this day dont understand why i actually got mad, at least what i think. His new girlfriend is a really sweet girl. Hit it off with her directly. And she forced him to talk to me about it. He apologized about him acting like a cunt but something in his eyes made me feel like he still had no idea what he had done to me. What he had caused. I went to him before new years. I was so nervous i had to take my anxiety pills. That should say it all.

Ontop of all this shit AF is at my back about me getting a job. They thing i should get a job that basically marks me a Mentally broken person. Just cause i haven't been able to land a job yet. Just cause i cant the tom understand that i literally CANT work with anything unless i have a interest for it. They dont understand when i tell them im 110 % sure i have Asperger's. Ive also gotten the paper saying they are looking into it and that im in line for the next part of it. Yet they seem to think im just lazy and stubborn.

But ey at least i got that going for me. The psychiatrist finally agreed with me. Almost 2 years later im finally getting somewhere with that. Just had to slip between the chairs 3 times before anything happened, but you know thats normal and can get brushed aside by saying sorry. At least thats what the three people i met think. They thought i had read up about it and knew what i was talking about at least. Of course i know what im talking about. I wouldnt be sitting there if i didnt. Ive lived with it my whole life. I just didnt realize it had a fucking name until my brother got the diagnose some years ago.

Back to the topic males i guess.. Lately ive started talking to more and more males. I keep carving some sort of recognition. Even tho its not the right kind. All they do is want to put their dick in me, yet i keep talking to them, “flirting”. And i dont like that at all. Ive never needed someones acceptance before. Ive never craved for someone to lust for me either. I have no idea why im changing like this. I dont like it but i dont think i can stop it. I know its a new way for me to hurt myself. Ive basically switched cutting to sex. Just havent physically fucked anyone yet. And yea i still cutt when i cant handle my anxiety so. Guess i havent replaced it at all. Just added another bad habit.

My parents are soon out on the road cause the state have taken their house and they cant get a apartment. All cause they where late on one payment. One fucking payment in 10 years. And thats enough for them to loose their home? They aint allowed to get a place with a rent higher then 5000 skr a month. There are literally no apartments for that low rent out there right now. They found a house outside of linköping that my dad fell inlove with, but its like 12000skr a month so they aint allowed to take that one. So in the end of next month my parents will most likely be living in a caravan on a friends garden. And my brother with his girlfriend and her parents. Cause thats totally a way to handle it. And cause of all this ive gotten to take the role as my moms shrink. Every time we meet its always something new she need to vent about. And i cant handle it. It makes me even more stressed about the situation then i already am. My life should be enough. I shouldnt have to handle hers aswell. But i cant say no to her. I cant open up to her about my problems cause shed break then. So ill just have to keep the mask up i guess and break down when i get home after every visit.

Ive started working out abit aswell. I know ive lost some weight, i can even se it myself. Still i feel like i hate myself more and more for each day that comes. I feel like my life is never going to get better. I feel like im drowning. And i have no idea how long i can stay afloat.

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