the x reader "consumers" on tumblr lowk are so entitled, i said consumer bcs these people do nothing to support the writers but complain about FREE fanfics that other people write for FUN and for the LOVE of the game. THEY DON'T OWE YOU ANYTHING.
i'm so tired of you people who can only pressure these writers, make memes, and ridicule them for writing something that was not fit to your standards or liking.
you don't even write or contribute anything to the community, don't even support or atleast reblogs to the writers you actually like.
stop filling the tags with your consistent complaints about the fanfics that obviously wasn't meant for you (not to your liking) and start learn how to write.
Your Cecil works are AMAZING I was wondering if you’re possibly taking reqs? 🥹💕 I can’t help but wonder what his reaction would be if he’s listening in or spying on a new hero or individual he’s unfamiliar with maybe doesn’t quite trust them yet and he just so happens to catch a private moment where they call out his name.
℘ private moments
₊⊹ cecil stedman x gn!hero!reader
ns4w. no gender/pronouns mentioned. a tiny bit dark. EXTREME INVASION OF PRIVACY. voyeurism. pillow humping. male masturbation. begging. unintentional mutual masturbation. cecil being a paranoid pervert.
⤷ you like cecil more than you let on.
wc: 2.2k
a/n: thank u! and i’m just going to assume that by “private moments” you mean reader is jerking their shit…please correct me if i’m wrong…anyways. nonnie i’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. i may have gotten a little bit carried away ^_^
masterlist
*
Cecil isn’t sure what to make of you.
Sure, you’re a competent hero. Smart, talented, courageous, strong. Not viltrumite strong, but strong enough to be considered in the run up for the new Guardians. That’s something.
You’re a sort of enigma to him. Outside of what he has digged up on your past and upbringing, the information he has on you is limited and your general personality does nothing to help that fact. With the few conversations he’s had with you, you’ve been quiet. Closed off. Aloof. Shy. Saying just enough to keep a tête-à-tête flowing but not enough to reveal anything deeper or private about yourself.
The thing is, what you don’t reveal in words, you reveal with your actions.
He’s the director of the Global Defence Agency. When you’ve held a position like this for over twenty years you tend to pick up on little behaviours and ticks that other people would gloss over.
Like how your eyes would always flicker around the room when in discussion with him, not once meeting his blue ones. How you steal glances at him when you think he and nobody else is looking. How you’d hurriedly fix your hair and brush off imaginary dust from your clothes when he appeared in front of you. How the rise and falls of your chest would quicken when he was in any sort of physical proximity to you.
Tiny things like that, invisible to others, were clear as day to him.
At first, Cecil was convinced that you simply did not like him.
This wasn’t new or even unusual. He’s the boss. He makes the rules. He’s tough on his employees and the heroes. In his position, such traits were essential for success. So, of course they wouldn’t like him. Of course you wouldn’t like him.
But something in the back of his mind kept telling him that this assumption was wrong. That he’s missing something. That you’re hiding something.
It’s not a surprise that he doesn’t trust you right away from these behaviours alone. It’s suspicious. You’re suspicious. Even if you’re accepted by the other heroes, to him you’re suspicious.
And after everything that has happened, Cecil won’t allow himself to be folded again.
He just prays that those cameras he told his men to install in your apartment pick up something good.
*
It all comes to light after a mission well done.
Cecil’s kept tabs on you.
And all in all, you don’t seem like a threat. You live a normal, average life. Running day to day errands, going to cafés to try new pastries, going to the gym, hanging out with your friends (of which he has also investigated), hell, even volunteering on your free days.
He doesn’t know if you’re actually safe or he just wants to believe that you are.
But with all the proof in front of him, you are no threat. That doesn't mean he’ll take his chances.
Wolves in sheep’s clothing are more common than one thinks.
Of course, the camera feed is for his eyes and his alone. He doesn’t want any of the creeps who he’s heard say, quite frankly, downright deviant things about you. Though, those cameras were admittedly overkill - his people who were tailing you and recording your every move was more than enough. But as he said, he’ll never risk it again.
Today was a good day.
The threat is taken down in record time, mostly thanks to you, a fact that Cecil makes sure to throw in your face.
Your reaction is a small, embarrassed smile, a glance down at your feet and the claim that, “it was just good teamwork”.
How humble. So damn perfect all the time.
It’s just him in the main monitor room now, watching you getting ready for bed, all the other workers having left hours ago to enjoy an actual life. He hasn’t had one of those in a long time.
Cecil sighs. He peels off his suit jacket.
You’re going through your night routine now; a shower, brushing your teeth, washing your face, what he thinks is yoga.
Active outside of superhero duties too. Other heroes could learn from you.
After watching you for a few weeks, he’s come to find this routine of yours therapeutic. Comforting almost. With all the uncertainty, the debilitating stress, the constant threat of danger pointing arrows at his head, the swirling paranoia and distrust that curls around his heart like poisonous vines, you remain stable in his chaotic life - a promise that some things never change.
He likes that.
Cecil looks away when you unwrap your towel from your body and dress into your pyjamas. It’s silly since he's already violated your privacy in ways that would get the average person thrown in jail, but he looks away anyway. He’s already done something terrible. He can be good, even if it’s just a small amount.
It takes no time for you to switch off the lights and curl up into your bed, snuggling underneath your sheets. At times like this, Cecil misses sleep.
For a while you scroll on your phone. Cecil rests on his back, lying his face on his palm as he observes you. God, the way people are just able to scroll on a small device for so long amazes him sometimes.
You spend a grand total of an hour and half doing that. Heroes these days.
He watches as you place your phone on your bedside table and stare up at the ceiling.
You get like that occasionally, Cecil’s noticed. At times, you’ll just be lost in your own mind, your daydreams, looking up to the sky and imagining all types of things. You speak to yourself too. A creep of guilt bloats up in his stomach. How can someone like him feel guilty about something as trivial as this? There are acts he’s committed far worse than this. Unspeakable acts. Things that he couldn’t even admit to a demon from hell.
But spying on some new, baby-hero is what makes him feel like shit. Great.
Cecil drags his hand down his face. A small throbbing ebbs in between his eyes.
Then he hears something from your bedroom feed. A moan.
He sits up immediately.
Are you hurt? Injured from the mission? You listen but he doesn’t think it’s beyond you to not seek medical treatment out of pride. Especially considering how you act around him.
Cecil looks up at the monitor.
You’re not in pain. Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually.
When he was watching you just minutes ago, you were under the covers and seemingly getting ready to go to sleep.
Now? You’re not sleeping in the slightest.
Instead, your night pants have been thrown on your bedroom floor and you’re straddling one of your pillows, rolling your hips languidly.
…What?
What?
Yes, he’s put cameras all over your living space. Yes, he’s had people follow you wherever you go. Yes, he knows you have a life and you have your needs like everybody else in the world, hero or not. But this? Cecil’s never seen you do…this in all the weeks he’s been keeping an eye on you.
As if he didn’t feel bad for violating your privacy already. This goes far beyond digging for information about you, far beyond what is necessary.
This is just pure perversion.
So why can’t he stop watching? Why are his eyes glued to the way you grind your hips into the pillow? Why can’t he look away from the shirt trapped in between your teeth and the nimble fingers that play with your nipples?
He should stop.
Your gasps crescendo. One hand leaves your chest to grip onto your bedsheets. It seems like you’re close.
He should stop.
Cecil snaps out of his trance.
What is he doing? Spying - no, perving - on a hero, a new hero at that, one who is under his authority and guidance, one who looks up to him for help and stability in this job. What he’s doing is disgusting, it’s vile. If anyone were to find out about his actions, he would never be viewed the same way again, his reputation in fluttering tatters.
And yet.
“Cecil.”
That one sigh that flows from your mouth is a good enough encouragement for Cecil to throw away any sense he had left.
Is that why you’ve been acting the way you have? Those looks, glances, those lip bites - you’re attracted to him?
Now, Cecil isn’t blind. You’re beautiful, truly. You’re kind, sweet, eager and your almost skintight suit leaves little to the imagination - don’t look at him like that, he’s heard other people say the same things he has and worse.
To think those feelings are reciprocated? To an extent, at least? Shock doesn’t even begin to describe it. Cecil’s nothing special to look at. Even worse to know. He thought those days were behind him - times of people being attracted to him, wanting to be with him.
He stands corrected.
“Ah, fuck it.” He grunts out as he undoes the buckle of his belt.
Not like he has anything to lose.
He tugs his slacks and boxers down just enough to get his erect cock out. The show you’ve put on had already made him taut and aching in his pants.
He spits in his palm and lets out a staggered moan when his hand meets his warm, hard dick. It’s been a while. He doesn’t usually get a chance to do this often.
Cecil’s gaze flickers to the screen again.
There you are, still riding away - now both hands are on the mattress to stable yourself for leverage as you hump your own pillow.
Heat prickles in Cecil’s lower stomach.
It’s so…primal. Savage. The desperation and desire of your movements are so unlike you, so unlike how you present yourself to the rest of the world.
For a moment, he wonders how your hero friends would react if they knew you wanted to fuck the boss they all hated so much.
He winds his hand up and down his cock and gulps. Damn, this feels good. He forgot what he’s been missing out on.
Cecil can’t bring himself to look away from you for a second. If he thought you were beautiful in your suit and casual clothes, you’re stunning now, wearing only a night shirt and shorts as you fuck yourself to completion. Cecil doesn’t even think you’re wearing any underwear. His eyes roll back into his head at the thought.
He’s not lasting long.
“Cecil, please…”
Begging, too? You want him dead. He wishes you were like this with him in person and not so damn reserved.
He grumbles and speeds up his hand, trying to match the pace you’re going at - a fast, untamed one, borderline wild and animalistic.
“Cecil, please. Please, please, I wanna cum…”
Is this why you’re so shy around him? So tense and astute? You’re such a good, little hero. His hero. It’s no wonder that you act the way you do. You just need someone to help you let off some steam, you just need someone to take the edge off for you, someone who knows how to. You need him to take care of you.
All you had to do was ask.
Cecil’s hand is a blur over his cock. You’re obscene. Squeaks can be heard over the feed, squeaks and creaks from your bed, whining under the ferocity of your movements. God, you really need this.
“Cecil…Cecil, ‘m so close.”
“Fuck, yes.” Cecil loses himself in your pleading, your cries, your moans, your whimpers - they’re his redemption. “Fuck, yes. Cum for me. Go on, let go. Fuck, you deserve it.”
Like you can hear him, feel him, you do let go. Your hips stutter, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as you find release on the pillow, rotating your hips through what appears to be an oppressive, shattering high. Small breaths escape you as it makes its way through your trembling body, battering you down to the bone.
And then you moan out his name, a soft, satisfied thing, your expression one of complete and utter bliss and that alone sends him over the edge.
He jerks himself quickly with more want than he wants to admit. Cecil’s hips follow his hands for a second. He grunts, thumbs his tip and cums. He groans, gripping the underside of his seat as he does, baring his teeth. His voice echoes through the room but he doesn’t care, not when you’re still faintly moaning his name as you fall from your heaven. His cum oozes out of him, squeezed out by his hand and seeps shamelessly onto the floor.
Yeah, he’ll clean that later.
“Fuck.”
His legs tremble. He looks at the mess in his hands and on the floor. Then back at you again.
You’re lying on your bed, out of breath, sweaty and content. Cecil wishes he was next to you, wishes he could wipe you down and clean you up, talk you through it and calm you over.
Maybe one day.
For now, he switches off the monitor. He stares at the black screen. Stares at himself
“Shit.” He curses, resting back into this chair. “I’m so fucked.”
Hello hello! I'm Blaire or Briar, and welcome to my little ol' blog! I'm new to the whole "blogging" space, but I wanted to give it a shot and see how things would work! This is a lil intro, so I'm not gonna try to keep it too long, but still long because sorry, I literally don't shut the fuck up! Let's go. Firstly, like I said, my name is Blaire. I also go by Briar! It's a penname, but it's also a cute name for me! I'm twenty years old! I was born in September so I'm a Virgo Sun !! (Yawwwp, yawwwp. I'm that type of girly.) I'm also genderfluid / nonbinary. I only say "/ nonbinary" because even then genderfluidity doesn't exactly feel 100% to me either. Like I'm just someone, girl. IDK. I'm also a cunt, and I mean that in the mean and nice way because I will most likely say things to piss you off whether it be on purpose or accidental - most times on purpose, however it's mostly bc I AM that woke. I'm not stupid either, like I've always had a pretty good sense of morality but I also am getting woker and woker daily, so keep that in mind. Speaking of woker…I am chronically online, and I always have been. I'm talking like tiktokiana boots, HOWEVER, I do try to balance it out so I'm not always directly consuming brainrot and getting worse.
So why am I doing this now? Honestly, I've been lurking on Tumblr and other spaces for YEARS. Like literally years. I'd scroll, read everyone else's posts, laugh at the jokes, cry at the deep shit, reblog occasionally but never actually SAY anything of my own. I convinced myself I didn't have anything people would actually tune into, you know? Like everyone else seemed so sure of themselves, so articulate, or witty or funny or whatever, and I was deadass in the corner like heyyy!! But then I realized I've been having full conversations with my friends for likkeee actual years. For the most part it was silly shit but even then after, like, there were always those fuckass gems that make me just go "hell yeah" because I'm actually that bitch!! I'm just keeping it all locked up for what? likee?? It started feeling insane to gatekeep my own thoughts from myself. Like I'd rather have an echo chamber to yell into than keep pretending I don't have shit to say. It's 2026 and I refuse to let my brain rot in silence or, god forbid, talk to ChatGPT and get some fuckass ai psychosis. So here we are. This is me finally taking up space. yawwwp. This isn't like a deep or wonderful blog either. I'm sorry if you thought the cute aesthetic was supposed to be like that, but in reality, it's a mix of very random odd things or how my day's been or a show I'm watching and MAYBE sometimes something sort of deep if I'm feeling particularly wokiana Dupree that day, but most times I'm going to just end up yapping, hold those nuggets close to you when you can, because I'll probably rarely say or do deep stuff like that very often unless actively asked - yes! I have an askbox. - or if I just feel it deep in my soul like that.
Secondly, what will I be writing about? and the easiest answer is literally anything LMAOO. and I wish this was a joke, but I'm one of those people who can write about just about anything and not really feel a specific negative or positive emotion toward it, so. That's what I'm gonna be doing here, just writing about whatever I want, whenever I want, and in reality, who's going to really stop me at the end of the day! Like, I could literally take a shit and then write something like "oh it was a 6/10 for sure." and no one would stop me! and that's the fun of it all, I enjoy that fact a lot and I think it's one of the main reasons I can really feel comfortable being as unserious and silly and as dumb as I honestly want. But also like, real talk? I'm obsessed with so much random shit. I'll probably be yapping about whatever shit I feel like talkin about that week gyal. Especially if it's like a character I resonate with. Like full breakdowns of one scene that made me feel a typa way, or why a character's arc is pissing me clean the fuck off. I love getting into the weeds about shit and why things work or don't work. I love internet culture most times and how we all just start talkin over some fuckshit we saw on our fyp. I'll definitely be talking about work because working at a hospital is always giving me material. And politics and social issues because like I said, I'm woke and I care about shit, even when it's exhausting. Basically if it's in my brain, it's going on here. Good and Fun news is I will post anything, I feel. Like, yes I'll try to post consistently, but most times my blog will be filled with like a ton of random reposts, fics, girl, even random ass posts that aren't my actual blog posts. Like I said, this is a safe space for weird divas - weird divas being the girls who don't know themselves, those girls who are hiding in the bathrooms on their lunch breaks, those girls who probably are listening to their favorite podcast and giggling to themselves. For the divas who shit, nottt for the girls who fart. Lowk. Real shit though when I say "safe space," I mean it. This is for people who feel too much and think too much and don't always know how to spit it out. For people who are trying to figure themselves out and just losin they shit for like a year straight. I want this to be a place where you can be FUUUCKED up and confused and still be respected and heard or whateva!! Now! That being said, this is NOT a safe space for bigots, transphobes, racists, ableists, or anyone on that fuck shit. I'm not gonna sit here and debate someone's right to exist or let people spew hatred in my comments. Like I said, I'm wokianaaa and I'm not stupid! I know what bullshit people try to pull. So if you're here to start shit or "play devil's advocate" or whatever, just leave. This isn't the place. But if you're here to yap and ki, well girl come in !!!!
Anyways, yes this is my blog! Welcome in!! Please take a seat, get comfortable and don't spill anything on my FUCKING couch, I'll know. But yeah! Once again! I'm Blairearchives (or briararchives) and thanks for wasting your time! <3
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