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artficlly · 3 months ago

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read between the lines [one-shot]

college marvel au frat!jock!bucky x cheerleader!reader tutoring bucky barnes was already distracting enough, but leaving your diary in his room? that is a whole new problem.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, tutoring, first kiss, college au, vague panic from reader, idk it's just kinda fun and cute :), no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: hi this was for a request! so so cute, i wrote this so fast i didn't even think i would have it ready to post so quickly. idk anything about cheerleading or how college works in america, so forgive me. inspired by that willow song! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

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I’ve been tutoring Bucky.

Well, James, technically. But he goes by Bucky. Says it’s a childhood nickname and it just stuck, and honestly? That’s kind of adorable. Like, who clings to a nickname that hard? Even the professors call him that, which should be cringe, but somehow it’s not? It just suits him. I literally don’t think I could call him James even if I tried. ‘Bucky’ feels right. It sounds warm. Familiar. Stupidly charming.

Ugh. Anyway.

He’s in one of those frats I usually stay far away from. The kind that smells like cheap beer and Axe body spray. Always yelling, always playing music way too loud, always shirtless for no reason. I swore I’d never waste my time on a guy like that. I really thought he was gonna be a cocky, arrogant douche when I first got assigned to tutor him.

But he’s not. Like… at all?

He’s actually really nice. Like, unfairly nice. That casual kind of nice that makes you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed. He remembers stuff I say. Not the big stuff, the tiny stuff. Like how I chew my pen when I’m stressed, or how I like lemon Gatorade for cheerleading practice. And yesterday he brought me those sour gummy worms I mentioned ONE time. Just handed them over all casual like, ‘Thought you might want a little sugar after practice.’ Who does that?? Like… stop. That’s not fair.

But of course, he’s like that with everyone. That’s the worst part. He’s charming in this totally effortless way. Looks at you like you’re the most interesting person alive and then turns around and does the exact same thing to someone else. How am I supposed to know what’s real?

And GOD. He’s hot. Like, it’s actually rude. He laughs and it does something to me. Like full-on makes my brain stop working. And his ARMS?? Every time he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows I lose one year off my life. For real. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose. (I mean, he’s not, but like… what if he is???) Sometimes I forget what I’m even explaining because he’s just sitting there smiling at me with those eyes and that stupid little smirk and suddenly I’m thinking about kissing him instead of confidence intervals. It’s not okay.

He’s on the football team. Scholarship guy. Big deal. Girls are obsessed with him. I’ve literally heard people talk about him in the locker room like he’s a celebrity. And me? I’m just… I don’t know. I’m me. I cheer and I study and I try not to let my GPA fall apart and I pretend I’m not crushing on someone completely out of my league.

So no. I’m not gonna say anything.

Because maybe I did catch him looking at me the other day when I tied my hair up. Maybe he does stay a little longer when we’re done. Maybe he leans in a little closer than necessary. But maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I want it too bad and I’m just reading into everything. I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to get hurt.

So I’m gonna do what I’m supposed to do. Help him pass stats. Smile when he brings me candy. Laugh at his dumb jokes. Pretend like my heart doesn’t skip a beat every time he says my name.

I’m just going to help him pass stats. That’s all this is. Right? God, I’m so dumb.

—

You were fucked. Well and truly screwed.

You couldn’t even focus during practice. Missed counts, off-beat claps, a completely botched dismount that nearly took you and the poor girl spotting you both out in one go. Natasha pulled you aside with that look��the one that said she was two seconds away from losing it—and muttered something about getting your shit together because the big game was in a week and this wasn’t the time to be spacing out.

But how were you supposed to focus? Your diary was missing.

Your actual, physical, spiral-bound diary filled with every unfiltered thought you’d been too scared to say out loud. The same one where you’d spent the last four pages gushing about Bucky freaking Barnes like some sad, delusional teenage cliché. You didn’t even want to think about what you wrote last night, something about his arms and the way he smiles and how you swore he looked at you differently when you tied your hair up. It was humiliating.

You never should’ve taken it out of your room. You knew it was a bad idea. But Yelena had been on one of her ‘I’m bored and nosy’ benders, and the last time you left anything out, she’d read your old poetry journal and quoted it back to you at breakfast. You weren’t about to risk that again. So, like a total idiot, you shoved your diary in your bag before heading to class, thinking you’d keep it safe with you.

The entire day had been chaos. You barely managed to scarf down lunch between lectures, and by the time your 3 p.m. class let out, you were already sprinting across campus to make it to Bucky’s place for tutoring. Not that you actually got much tutoring done. You never did, not when he looked at you with that stupid, easy grin, or leaned back in his chair like he owned the air around him. One second you were going over statistical formulas, and the next you were talking about childhood pets and favourite movies, laughing like you hadn’t just been drowning in assignments ten minutes earlier. Time always slipped away around him. You ended up bolting to cheer practice.

It wasn’t until hours later, back in your dorm with your bag dumped upside down on the floor, that you realised your diary was missing. Your diary.

You’d spent a solid hour panicking, then a full thirty minutes rummaging through the lost and found at the campus security office, practically elbow-deep in a box of mismatched gloves and cracked phone cases. The guy behind the desk eventually looked up from his screen, where he was rather obviously playing solitaire, and told you with the energy of someone who very much did not care that maybe it hadn’t been handed in.

You wanted to scream.

Now your most personal, most mortifying thoughts were just out there. Floating around. God only knew where or with who. And sure, maybe whoever found it wouldn’t read it. Maybe they’d be a decent human being and just turn it in without flipping through. But let’s be honest, if you found a diary with someone’s deepest secrets in it, you’d probably peek too.

You were going to be sick. Actually sick. And not because Natasha had you running suicides again like she was training you for the NFL, but because your life might genuinely be over. Because if he found it? What if you left it in his room? What if Bucky read even one word of what you wrote?

You didn’t even want to finish that thought.

No, you literally couldn’t even finish that thought because, as Natasha finally called for the end of the session and the team began their warm-down stretches, swapping tired smiles and gulping down water, you saw him.

Bucky.

Standing at the edge of the field in that stupid grey hoodie, sleeves pushed up, all smug and handsome like he hadn’t just shown up to ruin your entire existence. He had that lazy, charming smile on his face, the one that made people trust him too fast, the one that made you trust him too fast, and in his hand?

Glittery blue cover. Spiral binding. Your diary.

You were going to throw up. No, genuinely, you could feel your stomach lurch. This was it. This was how you died. Not in a blaze of glory or during a botched basket toss, but here, sweaty, humiliated, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the middle of the goddamn football field.

You didn’t even think. You just stormed over before anyone else could notice, grabbing his arm and dragging him behind the bleachers like it was a crime scene. Which it kind of was. A crime against your dignity.

Bucky didn’t protest. He followed easily, letting you pull him along like it was some sort of game. Of course he did. And of course, he was smiling the whole time, like you hadn’t just gone into cardiac arrest ten feet away.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could barely speak. It rattled in your chest like a warning, like it knew this moment was about to go down in your personal hall of shame.

“Where…how…why do you have that?” you hissed, snatching at the diary, but he held it just out of reach, still annoyingly calm.

He raised a brow, like you’d just asked him what two plus two was. “You left it at my place. After tutoring. You were in a rush, remember?”

No. No, no, no, no, no. Of course, it had been his place. Of course.

“I—I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t thinking, I just—” You were spiralling, words tumbling out too fast, too breathless, and your fingers were twitching like you might just snatch the book and sprint across campus. “Did you…Did you read it?”

A beat. He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you.

And then, God, he smiled. Not the cocky one, not the football-star grin. This one was softer. Slower. Dangerous.

Your stomach dropped.

“I read enough,” he said.

You froze.

Your ears rang. Your mouth went dry. Your body just stopped.

“Enough?” you echoed, voice cracking halfway through. “Enough of what? Enough to—oh my God.”

You turned away instinctively, hand over your mouth like that could somehow keep your soul from escaping your body. Because what did that mean? What was ‘enough?’ Enough to ruin your life? Enough to laugh about it with his frat brothers? Enough to tell every girl on campus that the cheerleader who couldn’t even stick a full-out had a crush on him?

You didn’t even realise you were pacing until Bucky gently caught your wrist.

“Hey. Relax,” he said, and his voice was way too steady for someone holding the social equivalent of a loaded weapon.

You yanked your arm back like his touch burned. “Relax? Bucky, that was private. It’s literally a diary! It’s not for reading, it's for… spiralling in silence!”

He tilted his head a little, watching you carefully, and if he was offended by your panic, he didn’t show it. “You left it on my bed. Open.”

You groaned and covered your face with both hands. “Please. Just kill me. Right here. Hide the body under the bleachers. I’m serious.”

Bucky chuckled—chuckled, like this was some kind of joke—and stepped closer. You could feel his presence even before you lowered your hands again.

“Why didn’t you just say something?” he asked, quiet now. “If you felt that way.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “Because I didn’t know if it meant anything! You’re nice to everyone. You flirt like it’s a reflex. You remember everyone’s drink orders, compliment their outfits, hold doors and say all the right things. I thought I was just another person you were… nice to.”

He didn’t answer your panicked rambling right away. Just looked at you for a long moment.

“Yeah, I’m nice to people. Doesn’t mean I feel the same way I feel about you.”

Your heart dropped straight into your stomach.

“What?” you whispered, hating how small your voice sounded.

He held your gaze, completely serious now.

“Like I wanna kiss you every time you chew that damn pen cap. Like, I think about you even when I’m supposed to be studying. Like I can’t focus when you’re talking ‘cause all I do is stare at your damn lips.” He paused, and something almost like a laugh broke out of him, soft and self-conscious. “Like I’ve been trying to find a not-creepy way to tell you I like you since the second tutoring started, but you were always so focused and cool and out of my league.”

That last part made your head spin.

“Out of your league?” you repeated, eyes wide.

He smirked, stepping just a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Have you seen yourself? You’re smart, you’re so pretty it’s ridiculous, and you’ve got this whole thing where you act like you don’t know you’re the coolest girl on campus. Of course, I was nervous.”

You blinked at him. “Bucky… are you flirting with me behind the bleachers while holding my diary hostage?”

He grinned. “Maybe. Depends. Is it working?”

You tried to snatch the diary out of his hand, but he was faster, effortlessly holding it just out of reach like it weighed nothing.

“God, I hate you,” you muttered through gritted teeth, bouncing up on your toes in a desperate attempt to grab it. All it earned you was the embarrassing realisation that you were now fully pressed against his chest, warm, broad, and stupidly solid.

“You really don’t, at least not according to this—” he said, low and smug.

“Bucky!” you warned, trying to reach again, but he shifted it higher.

“Give. It. Back,” you hissed, practically climbing him at this point.

“I will,” he said, eyes flicking down to your mouth in a way that made your stomach twist and your breath catch. “But only if you let me kiss you first.”

Your brain short-circuited. Completely and entirely. The words took a second to process. His voice had dropped, softer now, more serious, like he wasn’t just messing with you anymore.

You looked up at him, heart thudding so loudly against your ribs you swore he could hear it. His eyes searched yours, and for once, he didn’t look like the effortlessly confident guy everyone knew. He looked… nervous like he was the one waiting to be rejected.

“…Fine,” you whispered, the word barely making it past your lips, but your smile gave you away. It was impossible to hide, giddy and crooked and ridiculous.

And then he kissed you.

He bent his head and closed the gap like he’d been waiting weeks for it—maybe he had. His mouth was warm and sure against yours, one arm still holding the diary hostage, the other dropping to your waist, pulling you in like he couldn’t help himself. You kissed him back without thinking, without doubting, like maybe this was the answer you’d been afraid to ask for all along.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and blinking at each other like idiots, he handed over the diary with a grin.

“Okay,” you whispered, still a little breathless. “That was… good.”

“Just good?” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning. “Don’t push it.”

He laughed softly, thumb still brushing your cheek. “So… does this mean I get to keep seeing you after stats is over? Or do I have to fail on purpose to keep you around?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right. You’d probably kill me.”

“More like definitely.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward. He looked at you like he already knew what you were thinking. And for once, you didn’t feel like running from it.

You were so, so screwed.

But maybe… in the best way possible.

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #winter soldier #marvel fic #marvel au #marvel

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freyito · 2 months ago

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ᴇxᴛʀᴀ ᴅᴏꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠɪɴ'

✭ pairing(s): boothill, gallagher, mydei, phainon (seperate) x reader

✩ in which: they give you some extra tlc

✧ a/n: hiii :,) i accidentally became important at work withiun the first motnh sofics are suuuper slow. ive also just been struggling with motivation AND my grandpa died and then not even a day later i was watching a tornado do its thing right infront of my workplace. so!

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff, not proofread

✎ wc: 1.6k

⎯ Boothill

Usually, BOOTHILL is the one in need of a little extra love. Running across the galaxy for months at a time can take a lot out of him. Even with his impressive will, he can find himself drained sometimes. Sure, he’s always found peace out in the wild, under a star-painted sky, but he still can’t help but crave some sort of human connection, a way to recharge and remind him of what little humanity he has left. He won’t say anything, and he barely shows just how tired he is when he comes home, always wearing that damn smile. No matter if he had killed anyone on the trip, if he had been chased, if he had been damn near blown apart; he is never without that smile when he returns to you.

While he makes it extra hard for you to read him, he can read you exceptionally well. No matter how well you think you hide it, he always finds something. Your shoulders may be slumped, there’s a furrow in your brow, your voice doesn’t sound too confident… he knows.

“C’mon, darlin’, ain’t gotta hide from me,” Boothill coos, coming up from behind you and wrapping one arm around your waist. “If somethin’s wrong, just say so.”

All you can find yourself doing is huff, and lean back into his chest. He laughs out a soft ‘awh’, before hoisting you up into his arms. He carries you off to the bedroom, setting you down gently on the bed.

Now, when it comes to TLC, Boothill practically has a checklist. The first task is to make sure you're comfortable, and happy, of course. The second task is making sure your wants are attended to. This usually manifests in him giving you a quiet space while he goes off into the kitchen to cook for you, usually something warm or sweet (or both!). The goal of this is to give you some time to decompress (whether it be in your bed, or on the couch), but if you choose to follow him to the kitchen instead, he’s quite happy with that, too.

The third task is the most important (to him, at least), and that’s showering you with all the love he can possibly give. Aside from feeding you (which he will do, all you need to ask), he makes it a point to cuddle up to you and pepper your face with kisses. He makes it known just how much he loves you, with all sorts of sweet little praises and whispers. If you prefer spending a quiet night with him instead, he absolutely insists that you come out with him for some stargazing. A nice little night with your beloved under the star-painted sky is a wonderful way to remind yourself to take it easy, live in the present, and just a reminder that there is someone there for you. Even when you don’t want to admit that you need a little extra love.

⎯ Gallagher

Being a bartender, GALLAGHER can easily pick up on any little mood shift. He is also quite good at sniffing out the problem behind your moods, too. It’s actually kind of scary how well he knows you. Stressed? He’s taking care of you. Sad? He’s taking care of you. Mad? He’s taking care of you. Tired– Yes, he’s taking care of you any time he can, and any time you allow him to. Even when you’re being stubborn and trying to tell him you are totally fine.

So, when you come home, a couple hours after your shift was supposed to end, he already had a drink waiting for you. When you completely ignore the little glass and instead choose to practically fall into his arms, his disappointment is immediately replaced with a sense of happiness– Not that you’ve had a bad day, but the fact that you are openly seeking his comfort after one.

“Alright, well, let’s get ya all cozied up, hm?” He hums, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing just a little, then rocking you back and forth softly, while on large hand splays over the small of your back.

Once you’ve relaxed, he guides you back to the couch, before fetching you a bunch of pillows and some blankets. He quite likes to get nice and close with you, but if you want to move to the bed, he’s happy to do that, too. He’ll still stay just as close, though. He also orders any food you want, those outrageous delivery costs be damned. Even if you want several different things from several different restaurants, he will cater to your whims. This spoiling is only the start, really.

It seems he physically cannot leave you. He always has to be touching you in some way, even if he just has his pinky linked to yours. There’s always a warm hand on your hip or thigh, and if he can, he’s pulling you up to his chest. He has to be close, not just for the day but practically for the whole week. He always finds some way to come back to you, even if he’s working. He could be stationed all the way across the city and still come home to see you on his break, all for five seconds to hold you.

⎯ Mydeimos

‘Stress’ doesn’t exist in the Kremnoan language. Or so MYDEI says. That being said, his tolerance is much higher than yours. Something about being ‘forged in war’... But he never faults you if you’re feeling down. As much as he thinks a nice meal will make you feel much better, he understands that there is always more to it. While he chooses to neglect his own emotions, and ignore what eats at him, he is almost the exact opposite when it comes to you.

Granted, he doesn’t like to let you know that he knows you are stressed. At least, not verbally. Something hidden deep within him, something cheeky, likes to keep things a surprise. As boyish as it is for a warrior like him, he truly can’t help it. There’s something about the way your eyes light up and the way you soften when he does anything for you, especially unprompted.

“Here you are, my love,” Mydei murmurs from behind you, placing a plate of soutzoukakia and rice on your desk. “You seemed hungry, so I made you something.”

It was true, you really were hungry. But, you found yourself so engrossed in your work, hunched over your desk as you stared at your laptop. You had long since lost the plot of the piece you were supposed to be editing, and in turn, that made you feel burnt out. The deadline was in a few days, but you were already on the last few pages, and really wanted to get it finished by the end of the day. In doing so, it seems you have worried your lover.

Before you get a chance to thank him, he places his hands on your shoulders, pressing into them. You can’t help but lean back into him, as he huffs out a soft chuckle. He doesn’t say anymore as his thumbs press into the back of your shoulders, but in the back of his mind, all he can think is ‘See? You overwork yourself’.

He continues to massage your shoulders for another minute in silence, eyes heavy lidded as he watches you relax. He pulls away after a beat, leading you to look up at him. His smile is so gentle, so kind, something you know is only for you. Once he’s satisfied with how content you look, he leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, smoothing his hands down your shoulders to your arms. He then leaves you to eat, choosing to go about his day in the background. It’s a calming sort of ambience, the shuffling behind you and the grunts and sighs as he begins his afternoon workout. Sure, the noises could be a little more… quiet. But, at this point, you’ve grown used to it. So used to it, that it’s comforting.

⎯ Phainon

Oh, PHAINON, dear Phainon, nothing gets past him. He practically grew up comforting people, and as such, he understood all your tells before you two even started dating. Therefore, you get pampered before you even realize the stress is setting in. As such, with him, you truly never feel… down. He loves and dotes on you too much to feel like you need anything extra.

Sometimes, however, it does slip past him. He doesn’t beat himself up over it, really, he takes it as a sign to do better. Besides, who would be mad at a little more love? Certainly not you, with the way he cuddles up to you the minute you come home. He’s so damn close to just throwing you over his shoulder and throwing you in bed, keeping you there for a week tops. Probably more.

“C’mon, you and me are gonna hide away from the world for a bit,” He laughs, fingers linking with yours as he pulls you along to the bedroom.

You two lay in the bed, just simply staring at each other for a long while. At most, it’s only five moments, but it feels like an eternity. He holds you so close, legs tangled up, warm hands splayed across your back. He rubs soothingly up and down your spine, blinking slowly like a content cat (despite being more like a puppy at this moment).

For a while, he looks like he could just fall asleep then and there, holding you even closer like you were some plush toy. Then, just as you feel yourself getting sleepy, he presses a kiss to your shoulder. Then the crook of your neck, then your neck, and one, two, three more kisses to your face– a thousand more kisses to your face. He decides in that moment, when you finally look relaxed and calm, that he can’t let you end the day without laughing first.

#⁺◟freyito #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #boothill x reader #boothill hsr x reader #gallagher x reader #gallagher hsr x reader #mydei x reader #mydei hsr x reader #mydeimos x reader #phainon x reader #phainon hsr x reader

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pope-codys · 5 days ago

Note

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop” and Robby for the smut sentence prompts

Anon, your mind! I love this combo. Please don't be put off by the way I used the prompt, I ended up using it twice in this.

Also I'm insane and can't stfu so this is officially a fic.

send me a smutty sentence prompt + a character and I'll write a blurb

please don't stop - michael robinavitch x reader

summary: you and robby share a moment

pairing: michael 'robby' robinavitch x fem!reader

words: 2.5k

Tags: 18+, MDNI, power dynamics (attending x intern), smut, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, reader has hair, pet names (kid, sweetheart, babygirl)

authors note: this one goes out to all the 'robby's stomach' lovers and 'robby's hands' lovers (I blame this gif for how often i talk about his large hands)

You hadn't meant to find Robby on the roof, it just happened. After the long 12 hour shift, you needed a quiet place to take a breath while you waited for your roommate to get off work and pick you up. The roof had sounded like a good idea, far from the Pitt and away from anyone who might pull you back into the fray, asking for your help.

Your sneakers came to a sudden halt on the gravel when you spotted the large frame of your attending leaning against the rooftop railing. You stood for a moment holding your breath, hoping your lack of movement would keep your presence unknown. There were lots of reasons why Robby might need some time up on the roof-some perspective, some contemplation, some quiet-and the last thing he'd likely want is his intern intruding.

Despite your deer in the headlights approach, Robby glanced over his shoulder to look at you. Of course he heard you.

"You gonna stand there all night, kid?"

"I-" You took a deep breath, contemplating your words. "I don't want to disturb you Dr. Robby. I can leave."

"Ooh, there's plenty of roof to go around." Robby motioned towards the railing with a nod of his head. "C'mon." Without another word Robby turned back to look out at the Pittsburgh skyline. Your feet lifted after a second, moving you forward to stand next to him. Robby's forearms were braced on the railing, his hands loosely clasped together, which made him hunch a bit as he leaned his weight on the cold metal. You copied his stance, not needing to hunch since you were nowhere near as tall as Robby.

You both stood together in comfortable silence, elbows brushing slightly. Since the sun had disappeared about an hour ago, and the October air was edging towards chilly, the streets were mostly quiet. Eventually the silence lead you to speak, not exactly sure how to interact with Robby outside the ED.

"So, you come here often?" You asked, an innocent lilt to your voice. Robby looked at you suddenly, his eyes full of mirth, the crows feet by his eyes crinkling, and a surprised smile spread across his face.

"You flirting with me, kid?" A laugh bubbled up past Robby's lips as he asked. Your stomach dropped out of your body and your mouth dropped open in shock. You turned to Robby, waving your hands in front of you in panic.

"No! Oh god, no, I wouldn't-I mean-you're my boss!" Your voice rose in alarm and it made Robby chuckle more. He turned to face you too but he leaned his hip casually against the railing, clearly amused by your distress.

"That was a bad joke on my part, I'm sorry." Robby didn't look sorry in the slightest. "I know you wouldn't flirt with an old man like me." Robby's self deprecating comment was innocuous, his relaxed demeanor clearly conveying that he genuinely didn't expect a young woman like you to find him attractive.

The problem was that Robby was very wrong. You did find him attractive. So attractive that sometimes you found it hard to focus during your shift. It was everything about him-his voice, his commanding presence, his big, beautiful brown eyes, his glasses-he stole your attention throughout the day and you hung on his every word, absorbing all the knowledge he had. He was so caring and competent, able to switch between authoritative and compassionate like a good leader. And when his large hands encompassed yours during a procedure or he placed his hands on the top of his head in a moment of irritation causing his scrub shirt to rise up to expose his belly, it took everything in you not to faint on the spot. The man made you dizzy and lightheaded.

You nodded dumbly at his comment, silently agreeing with him-even though you didn't-and shivering when a sudden gust of autumn wind blew past you both. Your arms immediately went around your torso in a poor attempt to fend off the cold. Robby went from amused to concerned in the blink of an eye, standing up at his full height in worry.

"Hey, take this." Robby unzipped his hoodie, shucking it off and stepping into your personal space to toss it over your shoulders. Your body moved on autopilot as you slid your arms into the hoodie, putting it on. He was so close to you, you could feel the heat from his body, you could smell the detergent on his clothes-how does he smell so good after a 12 hour shift?-you could see the individual gray hairs in his beard, the beard you fantasized about late at night. Robby's hands, ever dexterous, connected the sides of the hoodie and zipped it up for you in a matter of seconds. His bare knuckles brushed against your throat as he let go of the zipper once it reached the top and something in you snapped.

In a moment of complete insanity, you pushed up on your toes, both of your hands rising quickly to grab the sides of his face, and you kissed Robby soundly on the mouth. Robby froze against you, going stark still as your lips pressed against his, his hands hanging in the air. You intended for the kiss to be quick, a fast declaration of how you felt but to your complete surprise and delight, Robby leaned into the kiss, his large hands coming up to hold your face, mirroring your position. He pulled you closer, your bodies finally touching. His beard scratched your chin as his mouth opened to push his tongue into your mouth.

Internally, you soared-externally, you whined into his mouth, pushing up further against him. One of Robby's hands left your face to snake around you and press his open palm against the small of your back, pushing you against his body as his mouth slid hungrily against yours. The strength of his hold had your knees weak and heat coiling in your belly.

You both broke the kiss to get some much needed air but you weren't separated for long. Taking a breath he leaned back in to press his lips to yours. His fingers curled into the back of your neck and you realized his hands were big enough to cup your face and reach around your head. God, you felt dizzy.

When your lips parted for another breath you sighed his name and that seemed to break the spell over Robby. He pulled back suddenly, hands on your shoulders to separate you two and force some distance.

"Don't stop, please don't stop." You pleaded breathlessly, your hands grabbing the front of his scrub shirt. Robby hung his head as he shook it, trying to collect his thoughts. You tried to pull him closer but his arms didn't budge.

"We can't, I can't." Robby brought his gaze back to you, his miserable eyes meeting your eager ones. "I'm your teacher, I'm your boss. We shouldn't be doing this-"

"You don't want me?" Your voice came out quiet and dejected, your chest aching as you felt your heart start to crumple. You let go of his shirt as your face fell into a look of sadness, your lips turned downward. Robby took one look at your sullen, pouting mouth and the way you physically deflated as you lowered yourself back down to flat feet, and he began to backpedal. The look on your face made him feel like a real jackass.

"That's-that's not what I said." He confessed. The thrill that shot through you at his words was almost comical. You immediately perked up, a brilliant smile shining across your face. You grabbed his shirt again as you moved closer to him, practically jumping with excitement. Robby, momentarily distracted by the beautiful look of exhilaration on your face, let you drag him closer. His large hands fell to your waist, his touch firm.

"Don't get any ideas." Robby said with an edge of admonishment when your fervent gaze fell to his lips and a voice in his head reminded him of the situation he was standing in-him (the attending) holding you (the intern) too closely on the rooftop of your work. He would be in so much trouble if anyone came upstairs in this moment. "I'm an attending, you're an intern," He said quickly as you continued to lean in closer. "I'm your teacher-"

"You say that like it's meant to deter me, when it's actually one of the most attractive things about you." You pressed your chest against him as your hands slipped up his board chest, over the sides of his neck, and to the back of his head to thread your fingers through his short brown hair.

"Kid…" He whispered in warning as you leaned in.

"It's okay," You whispered back, your lips brushing his as you spoke. "I want you too."

Robby groaned low in his throat as his hands gripped your waist roughly, dragging your hips against him. He leaned forward in the same moment, capturing your lips with his in a searing kiss. These kisses were hotter, more desperate than the last. It was like Robby was trying to crawl inside you and meld the two of you together. His warm hands slid over your back as his tongue moved past your lips, and your hands gripped his hair as you moaned into his mouth.

"We have to stop." Robby mumbled between kisses, his body acting contradictorily to his words. "Anyone could see us." You pulled back from him, your eyes bright with passion.

"Then take me home."

"Jesus fucking Christ kid, what am I gonna do with you?" Robby said, breathless. You pulled your mouth off his cock and licked your lips before speaking.

"A lot hopefully." You replied with a devious smirk before leaning back in to lick his leaking tip. Robby had done exactly what you suggested and had brought you back to his apartment (after you made sure to leave the Pitt separately to not draw attention and you sent your roommate a text to say you might not be home tonight). You hadn't been inside his home long before you dragged Robby to the couch, sank to your knees in front of him, and got his cock in your hands and mouth.

"Fuck." Robby groaned, his head falling back against the couch as you licked a line from his base to his tip. "You're killing me here."

"Great way to go though, isn't it?" You opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, sucking hard while one hand pumped over the rest of him. He looked back down at you and for a second thought about how he maybe died already and having you here on your knees between his spread thighs, sucking his cock into the sinful heat of your mouth with your lips stretched wide, was his heaven.

As you worked your mouth back down his length, one hand still pumped near the base of his cock and the other hand slid up and under Robby's scrub top to caress his stomach. Your hand spread wide over the bulge of his stomach, your nails scratching lightly as you managed (barely) to fit all of him into your mouth. When you swallowed, Robby saw stars.

"Fuck kid," Robby moaned, his hips rolling up and pushing his fat cock further down your throat. You gagged a bit and Robby leapt into action immediately as concern flared through his chest, grabbing your head to lift you off his cock.

"You okay sweetheart?" Robby's hands cupped your face, pushing your hair out of your eyes, and you smiled proudly at him while you took a deep breath. Your lips were puffy and glistening with spit, your cheeks rosy. You licked your lips when you made eye contact with him and nodded coyly at his question, your head leaning more heavily into his hand. The sight of you here between his legs, your eyes hazy with lust for him, made his cock ache and twitch. You reached up and took hold of one of his wrists to move his hand to the back of your head.

"I want to know what you like. Talk me through it. Teach me Robby." You pleaded, looking up at him through your eyelashes. You looked drunk off his cock, your face flushed and eyes begging. How could he turn you down? He was your teacher after all, just like he kept saying, and you wanted to learn.

Robby took hold of the back of your head and dragged your face back to his cock. You braced your hands on his powerful thighs, the anticipation of what came next sending fire through your veins. Robby direct you back to his tall length and instructed you to open wide. You obediently followed his instructions, like you always did, and took his hard, leaking cock back into your mouth. Robby guided your head up and down his cock in needy strokes as you sucked him off, your tongue pressing against the underside of him.

"Just like that sweetheart, good job." Robby complimented as he pushed you further down, inch by inch. The praise was like a lightning strike through you and you moaned around his cock. "Oh, don't stop, please don't stop babygirl." Robby knew he wasn’t going to last long, not when you were doing exactly what he wanted. One of your hands snuck up under his shirt again, roaming over possessively over his rounded stomach and the hair on his chest while you hollowed your cheeks around his cock. Lord, you made him feel desired.

"Look at you taking all of me, you're being so good for me." Robby moaned praises as his hips desperately pushed his cock up, fucking your mouth how he wanted.

"Sweetheart I'm gonna-oh Christ-I'm gonna come." You groaned something unintelligible around his dick, sucking harder. "You want me to come in your mouth babygirl? You want all of me?" You looked up at Robby through your lashes and lowered yourself all the way down his length in response, his tip hitting the back of your throat. Taking that as a yes, Robby continued to guide your head up and down his cock as his orgasm built and built and built until hot pleasure spiked through his spine and pelvis, and he was coming into your mouth.

"Oh, oh fucking Christ kid-" Robby grunted as he came down your throat, his cock twitching and pulsing in your mouth, his large hands encompassing the sides of your head while his hips thrusted up.

"Fuck, fuck-take it all babygirl, oh take it all." You swallowed him down the best you could before you pulled back, a string of spit connecting your mouth to the tip of his dick as Robby collapsed back against the couch cushions. Robby's chest rose and fell quickly, his head flopped back on the couch, as he tried to come back down to Earth after that orgasm. You smiled giddily at him while you sat on your knees, ecstatic at the good job you did.

When Robby came back to himself he looked at you smiling at him and couldn't help but smile back. He sat forward, reached past you, and grabbed a tissue from the coffee table. He cupped his hand under your chin and wiped the tissue over your mouth, cleaning away the spit and cum. You kept your eyes locked on him while he diligently and carefully cleaned you up.

"Thank you." Robby said softly. Your face split into a grin.

"Anytime Boss."

dividers by @ cursed-carmine

#michael robby robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #the pitt #addie’s thoughts #addie writes the pitt #michael robinavitch smut #michael robinavitch #michael robby robinavitch #dr robby

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whateveriwant · 23 days ago

Text

Sharing a bed with the 141

Gaz

His sheets aren’t the fanciest or the most expensive around, but his bed is always clean and always meticulously made

What is expensive is the silk pajama set he wears to sleep. If you tease him for how bougie that is, he claims they were a gift (Yeah, a gift to himself lol)

Gaz likes to watch ASMR before bed. It started as a joke but then he realized he actually enjoyed it, and now he’s hooked

He has a checklist he goes through each night before he turns in. Retainer? Check. Bonnet? Check. Humidifier so he doesn’t dry out in the night like a raisin? Check.

Sleeping Beauty here swears on 9 hours a night minimum for optimal recharge. Anything less than that and he feels gross the next day

He doesn’t make a lot of noise in his sleep, but sometimes he’ll intake a big breath before letting out deep, blissful sounding sigh

When he was a baby, his parents definitely described him as a “good sleeper”, which is still true today. He sleeps through the night with minimal tossing and turning. Only occasionally will he get those little twitches that fat, milkdrunk puppies get 🥺

Really, the only downside (if you can call it that) to sharing a bed with him is that he doesn’t know what personal space is when he’s asleep. Don’t be surprised when you wake up the next morning to find your leg, arm, or entire torso is trapped because he’s wrapped around it like an octopus. A major clinger that one is

Ghost

He isn’t much of a sleeper, honestly (shocker, I know). He’s more of a ‘stare at the ceiling for hours until sheer exhaustion overtakes him’ kind of guy

When he does manage to fall asleep, though, it’s never very deep. Any small noise or movement in his immediate surroundings and he’s bolting wide awake

For bedding, he’s gone the pure utilitarian route – plain, white cotton bedsheets that hardly look slept in (see above points)

His pajamas are whatever’s within reach and/or whatever’s easiest to throw on, usually an old, threadbare t-shirt and some dirty sweatpants he has lying around

Ok I’ll say it. Ghost looks like a corpse when he’s sleeping. Apart from the slight rise and fall of his chest, he’s so still and silent when he’s knocked out that it’s eerie

The only “decoration” in his room is some black out curtains hanging over the window, but they’re not even for keeping the light out. Rather, they’re to prevent nosy neighbors from potentially peeking in

He has a habit of lying in bed and just watching you while you sleep. Not in a creepy Edward Cullen way, he just finds it calming to watch you so at ease

He’s usually awake before you (if he even slept at all, that is), and in the morning he likes to listen to you recount your dreams from the night prior. If you turn it around and ask him what he dreamt about, however, he’d say something like, “I don’t have dreams. Just nightmares.” (ok emo 🙄)

Soap

“You’re supposed tae wash yer sheets?” - This guy, probably. Seriously, those things have seen the inside of a washing machine maybe twice in the 10+ years he’s had them, and don’t even get me started on the state of his pillows

He’s a boxers as pajamas guy through and through. Unlike his bedsheets, these at least get washed semi-regularly, though they’ve definitely seen better days

No matter what season it is, he always has to sleep with some type of blanket over him. This only becomes a problem if you try to share one with him because he will be stealing it all for himself

Soap is a suuuper restless sleeper. He goes down easy enough, but throughout the night he’s constantly rotating like a gas station hotdog

He has to wear a mouth guard to bed because otherwise he’ll grind his teeth down to nubs in his sleep

He also snores like a chainsaw, but if you roll him onto his side it’s not as bad

This one is a big sleep talker, but between the mouth guard, the deviated septum, and the general unintelligibility of his accent, it mostly sounds like gibberish

Very occasionally does he sleep walk, and it’s usually because he went to bed hungry. You always know when he’s raided the kitchen in his sleep because the next morning you’ll wake up to a loaf of bread, a tin of cat food, and a tray of melted ice cubes in the bed (that last one is the closest he gets to washing his bedding 😭)

Price

The first thing he does before bed is take out his dentures. Ok, I’m kidding! Though I do headcanon he has a few false teeth due to the violent nature of his job, but those are permanently fixed to his skull, they’re not removable lol

His bedsheets are super soft and extremely comfortable, but he’s always wearing holes at the foot of them because they’re constantly rubbing against his 30 grit sandpaper heels 💀

Price likes to read before bed. It can be anything – a nonfiction war retelling, a fantastical sci-fi novel, a smutty booktok recommendation, whatever. He’s not picky

Because he’s got a shag rug for a back, he tends to run hot in his sleep. As such, he either has to sleep with multiple fans pointed directly at him or he keeps the room at an arctic 12°C

Relating to that last point, most of the time he likes to sleep butt naked. But in the winter, when it’s really cold outside, he might throw on a pair of underwear to make sure his willy doesn’t freeze in the night

He’s a starfisher, meaning he likes to sprawl out in his sleep. So it’s a good thing he’s got a king mattress because otherwise there’d be no room for you beside him

He snores really really bad, but he won’t admit he does which is arguably worse than the snoring itself

He also farts in his sleep. I’m so sorry

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currently-dating-everything · 2 months ago

Note

it's amazing that you started making headcanons!

Can you make hcs about romantic relationships with Chance?

A/N: Chance self shippers I know you're out there I'm shining a spotlight into an unruly sea

Character: Chance

Relationship: Romantic

TTRPGs are his love language, we all know this. You play G&G? He's all over it. He wants to hear ALL your opinions and all the crazy stories and hijinks you've gotten up to, all your character lore, what your favorite aspect of the game is, every single thought you've ever had about it- he could listen to you talk for hours and still want to know more, and that extends past talking about G&G.

Don't play at all? Know nothing about it? Great! He gets to explain it to you! You will regret this.

He'll try to make all his exposition easy to understand, but sometimes he gets caught up in the fixation and gets himself going on really hard to follow rants about the differences between sandbox and railroad campaigns, and the intricacies of his favorite classes (he loves playing a spellcaster, but has a soft spot for tank/fighter classes as well), and before you know it he's going a mile a minute talking your ear off, but it's always really sweet seeing him get so excited about the things he loves.

Speaking of love and tangents, he talks about you the exact same way. Every single object in the office knows everything there is to know about you because he's so easy to get going at the drop of your name. He loves talking about how smart and kind you are, how creative and funny, how much fun he has being with you and how cool you are. Lux has invested in earplugs because of this.

He's the type to wear accessories of yours if you have any. A scrunchie/hair tie/bracelet around his wrist with his various charms and dice, a necklace of yours tucked beneath his shirt, any sort of pin or clip that he can put on his collar- or even on his DM screen. He likes having a little piece of you with him throughout the day, even when you're around.

Sad to say there's no special privilege dating the dungeon master on this one. He's sweet as can be when you guys aren't playing, and even when you are he's still very considerate and attentive, but his cocky/mischievous side comes out a lot more. He's plotting to kill your character so sweetly. He wants to make your life so hard (lovingly).

Chance, at the end of a two hour long session: Wow! Wasn't that fun? You, who had your character dropped to 0 HP three times after your favorite NPC betrayed you:

Making G&G character sheets is a date activity, I stand by this. If you're not into it, he's happy to move on to other things, but there's something special about how much he lights up getting to do all the small calculations and slow sculpting that goes into building a character, and he can do it in his sleep, so he has no problem following you to other topics of conversation while he fills his sheets out. His fingers will probably be smudged with pencil led by the time you guys are done too, which is equally adorable.

It may not show all the time, but you've got him wrapped around your finger. He's such a "Yes, babe? What do you need?" kinda guy. He'll basically do anything for your attention and affection, and he's not embarrassed by it in the slightest (though he does blush super easily and very frequently because of it). There's so much he'd do with the promise of even a small kiss waiting for him, it's so bad.

He's quite physically affectionate, but struggles with knowing what you want/what's okay, and doesn't always have the courage to ask. He'll spend five minutes trying to find a subtle way to hold your hand or put an arm around you when you're not paying attention, then nearly jump out of his skin when you turn to address him. He gets better at it the longer you're together though, and appreciates you telling him upfront what's cool with you. He's also less nervous about being affectionate when he's really in the zone, or going on one of his tirades. It's a lot of grabbing you by the shoulders, squeezing your arms, looking at you with those big beautiful eyes while he talks about his homebrew ideas or the latest G&G news.

He blushes whenever you guys are playing and he has to hand something to you. "Oh...uh- you can borrow some of my dice if you need more!" Loser. Cast fireball on him and he'll get flustered handing you all those D6's.

Connected to the above, PLEASE show up him and kick his ass in-game, he finds it so ridiculously attractive. Defeat his big bad of the campaign and do a cocky one-liner and he'll drop whatever he's holding and lose the ability to speak. You'll never see his face as red as it gets when you do something cool in G&G.

#date everything #date everything x reader #date everything chance #love this guy. the dice twenty #can you tell I'm equally as obsessed with TTRPG as him. does it show

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lazy-ahh · 3 months ago

Text

YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE GOES GOOD WITH GAMING?

pairing mark grayson x male reader

you’ve waited weeks for him to return from his mission, and now he’s here, warm and insistent against you, while your ranked match blares ignored on the screen. the worst part? you don't mind losing. despite the weeks of hard work. you want his lips on yours, his weight pressing you into the chair, the way he murmurs "i missed you" between kisses like it’s a confession. but you’ve clawed your way to this rank-up game, and you never quit—even when mark’s tongue is lapping up the precome leaking from your tip and your fingers are trembling on the keyboard.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro , @cynvia

mark’s been gone for weeks—some off-world mission, because apparently, the universe can’t handle itself without him. not that you’d admit it, but you missed him. more than you should. more than you’d ever let him know. you caught yourself staring at your window too often, half-expecting to see his silhouette against the glass, that infuriatingly patient tap-tap-tap before you’d let him in. as if he didn’t know you left the damn thing unlocked for him every night. typical.

everything reminded you of him, which was unacceptable. so you buried yourself in distractions—school, homework, then straight to your pc, booting up marvel rivals before you could even think about how quiet the room felt without him. the game had been his idea, of course. he’d all but shoved it at you, that stupid, eager grin on his face as he said, "just try it. if you hate it, i’ll never bring it up again. but you won’t." as if he hadn’t already known you’d love it.

at first, he was the one explaining everything—mechanics, lore, all that useless trivia he’d absorbed like some kind of nerd-shaped sponge. "see, magik’s portals work like this—" or "no, don’t engage yet, strange’s cooldown is—" annoying. endearing. you’d never admit either out loud. but then you got better. faster. soon, you were the one calling shots, dragging his sorry ass through ranked matches while he laughed in your ear, loud and unguarded, every time you pulled off some insane play. "holy shit—did you just parry that ult?! that’s illegal. you’re actually cracked. YOU JUST SAVED MY LIFE OH BABY I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU-"

he never complained, even when you outclassed him. just watched you with that quiet, proud look, like he’d somehow won just by getting you to play. sometimes, when you were both too tired for another match but not tired enough to log off, he’d let his character idle beside yours in the lobby, humming some off-key tune while you fiddled with skins. "you’re keeping me up," you’d grumble. "then kick me out," he’d shoot back, knowing full well you wouldn’t.

now, with him gone, solo queue was a nightmare. you tried comms, but it was a coin toss—either decent teammates or the kind of toxic dps mains who threw matches the second things went south. you added a few tolerable players, grinding comp at set times, but most of your matches were still solo. and you’d climbed. platinum, after weeks of stubborn, teeth-gritted effort. you could already picture mark’s reaction—that mix of irritation (probably pretend) and admiration he got whenever you outdid him. not that you’d gloat. much.

the real problem would be playing together once you hit diamond. he was still stuck in gold, and you refused to smurf. so for now, you were stuck in elo hell—platinum I to diamond III, then back down again, in a cycle that felt like the universe mocking you. but you’d figure it out. you always did. and when he got back, you’d make sure he knew exactly how much ground he had to cover to keep up.

you were half-heartedly proofreading your essay, the queue timer ticking away in the corner of your screen, when your hand moved before your brain could stop it—grabbing your phone, unlocking it, immediately swiping to mark’s messages like muscle memory. it was a bad habit at this point. every idle moment, every second of downtime, your fingers betrayed you, pulling up his chat like some pathetic reflex. and there they were, still staring back at you: his last messages from weeks ago, before comms cut out and space swallowed him whole.

your thumb hovered over the screen, tracing the timestamp like you could will it to change. then—there. that stupid, stupid one-liner he’d sent right before losing signal: ‘try not to miss me too much!’ as if he hadn’t known exactly what he was doing. as if you weren’t already doing exactly that.

a quiet, involuntary laugh escaped you, sharp and fond all at once. "idiot," you muttered, but the word came out too soft, too warm, and you hated how easily he could drag that out of you. like you were some sappy romance protagonist instead of yourself. you tossed your phone back onto the desk, maybe a little harder than necessary, and forced your eyes back to your essay.

it didn’t work. the words blurred together, your focus already frayed, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. stupid. stupid markus sebastian grayson, turning you into this—some lovesick fool who couldn’t even function right without him around. worst of all? you knew he’d be grinning if he saw you like this. that smug, infuriating look he got when he realized he’d gotten under your skin.

you gritted your teeth and stabbed at your keyboard, queue be damned. you had an essay to finish. and not think about him.

and then—as if the universe itself was mocking you—tap-tap-tap.

your head snapped up so fast your neck protested. for a second, you wondered if you’d finally lost it, conjuring him up out of sheer, pathetic longing. but no. there he was, floating outside your window like some overgrown, dirt-streaked moth, his stupid grin brighter than the goddamn moon behind him.

mark looked wrecked—hair a mess, suit scuffed, one of his lenses cracked—but his smile was the same as always: crooked, too-wide, the kind that crinkled his eyes and made his stupid dimples pop. like he’d been waiting for this moment, like seeing you was the best part of his damn day.

and then—because you were a fool—you scrambled for the window like some desperate rom-com lead, fumbling with the latch like you hadn’t left it unlocked for him on purpose. your face burned. disgraceful.

mark’s expression flickered—confusion, then worry, his smile dropping as he darted forward. "baby? is everything alright?"

before you could even attempt to salvage your dignity, he was inside, his hands cradling your face like you were something fragile. his palms were rough, still warm from flight, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he searched for injuries. "you okay? you look—" he paused, studying your flushed face, the way you were very pointedly not meeting his eyes. then, slowly, his lips twitched. "…oh."

oh. like he’d just figured you out. like he knew.

you wanted to die. "shut up," you muttered, but it lacked any real bite—not when your traitorous heart was pounding loud enough for both of you to hear.

mark’s grin softened, something unbearably fond in his eyes as he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. "missed me that much, huh?"

"no," you lied, immediately.

he laughed, quiet and warm, and you hated how it made your chest ache. "liar."

and then—because he was the absolute worst—he kissed your stupid, burning cheeks, one after the other, lingering just to feel the way you tensed under his touch. "it’s okay," he murmured, lips brushing your skin like he was savoring every second of your embarrassment. "i missed you too."

you were never living this down.

just as you opened your mouth to snap something—anything—to wipe that smug look off his face, your pc chimed. the two of you turned in unison, and there it was, flashing bright and mocking on your screen: match found.

"shit," you hissed, scrambling back toward your desk. "i forgot to fucking cancel queue—"

mark barked out a laugh, loud and delighted. "no way. you’ve been grinding rivals this whole time?" he was already following you, leaning over your shoulder with that infuriating grin. "aw, baby. did you miss me or the game more?"

you elbowed him hard enough to make him oof, but he didn’t budge, just hooked his chin over your shoulder as you frantically clicked to lock in your character. "shut up. i was bored."

"uh-huh," he drawled, eyes scanning the screen. then—"holy shit." his fingers dug into your shoulders. "you’re one game from diamond?!"

you could feel the grin in his voice before you even saw it—that stupid, contagious excitement thrumming through him like a live wire. it was unbearable. worse, it was working, that familiar warmth pooling in your chest despite your best efforts to stomp it out. pathetic. since when did you let him sway you so easily?

"took you long enough to notice," you muttered, aiming for derision but landing somewhere dangerously close to fond. your chest tightened traitorously when he let out that low, impressed whistle—the same one he used when you pulled off something reckless in the field. like you’d impressed him.

"damn. guess i’ve gotta step up my game." his lips brushed your temple, lingering just long enough to make your fingers twitch on the keyboard. you jerked your shoulder up to shove him off, but he just laughed, the vibration of it rattling through your ribs. "carry me when i’m back in gold, yeah?"

"in your fucking dreams," you snarled, but the bite dissolved the second his laugh vibrated through your shoulder—warm and familiar and alive, filling up the hollow spaces his absence had carved into your room for weeks. your traitorous heartbeat steadied against your ribs, and you didn’t shove him off when his chin dug into your shoulder. pathetic.

you’d never admit it out loud—would rather chew glass than acknowledge how much you’d missed this—but his presence at your back, solid and warm and breathing, made your fingers stutter over the character select screen.

then mark, the insufferable bastard, decided words weren’t enough.

his lips found the hinge of your jaw first—soft, teasing—then the corner of your mouth when you tilted your head automatically. "distracting me on purpose?" you muttered, but the protest cracked when his teeth grazed your bottom lip.

"is it working?" he murmured against your mouth, all smugness, and you hated how easily your body betrayed you, leaning towards him with a scoff that turned into a sharp inhale when his tongue swept over yours.

his hands cradled your face like you were something precious, thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he kissed you slow and deep, the way he knew unraveled you. your fingers curled around his wrist—anchoring, needing—while your other hand slid up to cup his jaw.

when you finally pulled back to breathe (because unlike him, you were human, damn it), mark didn’t go far. his forehead stayed pressed to yours, lips swollen and curved into that stupid, satisfied smile, his breaths just as uneven as yours. his eyes were half-lidded, dark with something unbearably fond as they traced your face—your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your fingers still clung to him like you’d die if he let go.

"missed you," he whispered, like it was a secret.

you swallowed the i missed you more threatening to spill out. "shut up. i’m trying to rank up." you shoved at his chest, but your fingers curled into his suit instead of pushing him away—another pathetic betrayal your body refused to stop committing.

mark’s grin turned wicked, eyes flashing with that infuriating knowing look as he chased your lips before you could even think to turn back to the screen. his hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he kissed you again, deeper this time, hungrier. his tongue swept against yours, slow and teasing, then insistent when you made a noise embarrassingly close to a whimper.

you could feel his smirk against your mouth, the way his free hand gripped your thigh to pull you closer, his body pressing yours back into the chair until you were arching up into him without thought. his teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging just enough to make your stomach flip, and when you gasped, he took advantage, licking into your mouth like he was trying to memorize the taste of you.

your hands were everywhere—one fisted in his hair, the other clutching at his shoulder, nails digging in when he nipped at your tongue. his breath hitched, and the sound went straight to your already-fogged head. you could feel his heartbeat where your thumb brushed his pulse point, wild and alive, and it made something possessive curl in your chest.

then—

the sudden blare of the match-starting music ripped through the haze.

you jerked back, breath ragged, lips swollen and wet, just in time to see your character standing idle on-screen, the round start timer already counting down.

"fuck," you hissed through gritted teeth, fingers scrambling across the keyboard with desperate precision. mark blinked, dumbfounded as he processed your sudden panic before chuckling, that infuriatingly warm puff of air hitting your pulse point. "seriously?" his arms tightened around your shoulders in protest, nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck like some overgrown cat refusing to move from its favorite spot.

"you're really playing right now?" he murmured, lips forming the words against your skin in a way that made your fingers stutter on the WASD keys. the amusement in his voice was unbearable, especially when you could feel his smirk pressed into your shoulder.

"one game away from diamond," you muttered, the words coming out flatter than you intended. the forced casualness did nothing to mask the frustrated and disappointed edge underneath. "if i leave now, i lose twenty fucking points."

mark sighed dramatically, the full weight of his disappointment radiating through his entire body before he finally—reluctantly—peeled himself away. the sudden absence of his warmth against your back felt criminal, and it took every ounce of your pitiful self-control not to spin your chair around and drag him back by his sinfully narrow waist. "fine, fine," he conceded, stretching with exaggerated resignation. "I'll go shower. but you owe me," he added, pausing just long enough to press one last kiss to the top of your head—chaste but loaded with promise—before sauntering toward the bathroom with that infuriatingly perfect sway to his hips.

you waited until the bathroom door clicked shut before allowing yourself one single, shaky exhale, your fingers finally steadying on the mouse as you looked at your character. the screen blurred for just a second before you violently blinked it back into focus. damn this stupid game. damn mark for being so distracting. and damn you most of all for caring about either.

the match loads in with that familiar chime, and suddenly the world narrows to the glow of your monitor—every neuron firing, every muscle coiled tight with precision. your fingers dance across the keyboard in practiced patterns, movements sharp and lethal despite the phantom heat still burning where mark's lips had been moments ago. focus. you need to focus.

the numbers don't lie—48% ult charge, one teammate already flaming in chat, the enemy hawkeye picking your supports like fucking target practice. your teeth grind together hard enough to hurt. stupid. you never should've filled as support. if you'd locked in iron fist from the start, this match would've been over already.

when the third round starts with another pathetic stagger, you snap. "swap with me," you speak into voice chat, voice steady and determined, already selecting iron fist before the whiny psylocke main can protest. the second the lock-in confirmation pings, your shoulders drop half an inch—better. this you can work with. this you can carry.

your crosshair finds the enemy healer's skull just as—

warm fingers skate up your inner thigh, slow and deliberate. mark's palm presses flush against your leg, his thumb tracing idle circles through the fabric of your sweats.

your entire body jerks so hard your knee slams into the desk—mark's suddenly between your legs like some fucking phantom, all sharp teeth and wicked gleam in his eyes as he looks up at you. "what the fuck," you snarl, but he just presses a single finger to his lips, the bastard, like this is some goddamn library and not your room.

"don't let me distract you," he murmurs, voice dripping with false innocence—and then his clever fingers are sliding your sweats down with agonizing slowness. you should shove him off. you should. but your hands stay frozen over the keyboard even as your pulse jackrabbits in your throat.

then his mouth—fuck—his mouth is on you, and the world narrows to the wet heat of his tongue dragging up your cock in one long, filthy lick, from base to tip, slow enough to make your thighs tremble. he lingers at the head, swirling the flat of his tongue over the slit just to hear the choked noise it punches from your throat. bastard.

he does it again—slower this time, savoring the way your hips jerk up, your fingers flexing like you can’t decide whether to shove him off or pull him closer. but mark just hums, amused, and pins you down with one broad hand splayed across your stomach, his grip firm enough to keep you in place but gentle enough that you could break free if you really wanted to. (you don’t.)

then he sinks down, taking you into his mouth inch by inch, his lips stretched tight around you, his tongue pressing up against the underside in a way that makes your vision blur. he pulls off just as slow, dragging his teeth just shy of too much, before diving back down like he’s got all the time in the world. like he wants to ruin you.

and the worst part? he’s watching you the whole time—eyes dark, lashes low, his gaze locked onto your face like he’s memorizing every twitch of your expression, every bitten-off curse. like your pleasure is the only thing that matters.

it’s unbearable.

your character dodges a stun on pure muscle memory because christ—the way mark hollows his cheeks, lips stretched obscenely around you, the wet slick sounds filling the room every time he pulls up just to plunge back down. his eyelashes flutter against flushed skin when your thighs instinctively squeeze around his head, and your mouse creaks under your death grip, sweat rolling down your temples as you choke back a moan that's been building in your throat for minutes.

"m-mark—" you hiss through clenched teeth, but he just hums around you, the vibration shooting straight to your spine. your foot kicks out involuntarily, knocking against a wall as he picks up the pace, lips red and slick with spit, watching you unravel above him. the match is chaos—your team screams comms in voice chat, frantic calls to focus the enemy tank, but all you hear is the filthy slide of his mouth and your own ragged breathing.

you're so fucked.

mark's tongue drags along the underside of your cock with practiced precision, swirling around the head before sinking down until your hips twitch against the chair. his throat works around you, warm and tight, and you barely register the kill feed flashing on-screen as your healer dies, leaving you alone on point with the overtime bar bleeding out. for one delirious second, you think there goes my rank-up game—but your hands move anyway, your body reacting on pure instinct as you somehow, somehow clutch the round.

"p-please—" the word tears out of you like a surrender, raw and desperate in a way that would’ve had you recoiling if your brain wasn’t reduced to static. your fingers twist in mark’s hair—pulling? pushing?—as your hips stutter helplessly. "mark, please, go—ah—go easy—" it’s pathetic, how your voice cracks on the last syllable, how your thighs tremble under his palms like you’re some inexperienced kid instead of—

mark listens, but not the way you wanted. he pulls off with a filthy, wet pop, your cock twitching against your stomach, flushed and glistening under the low light. the bastard has the audacity to grin, lips slick and swollen, breath coming in quick puffs against your overheated skin. "that good, huh?" he rasps, dragging his tongue along your length in one torturously slow stripe, savoring the way your abs clench violently.

you barely have time to gasp before he’s mouthing at the head, pressing wet, open kisses along the vein underneath—teasing, always teasing—his breath scorching where you’re oversensitive and throbbing. then—just as the enemy team respawns, just as your team’s frantic pings flood the screen—he swallows you back down in one smooth slide, deep, until his nose brushes your stomach and he stays, throat working around you in slow, deliberate pulses.

your hips jerk instinctively, chasing friction, but mark just digs his fingers into your thighs, pinning you to the chair with infuriating ease. the contrast is maddening—the game’s frantic audio in your headphones, your team’s character voice lines of getting hurt, the enemy pushing point—while mark’s mouth is nothing but molten stillness, his tongue pressing just there every time you twitch. sweat drips down your temple. your knuckles whiten on the mouse. you can’t tell if the choked noise that escapes you is from the hawkeye headshot that just wiped your backline or the way mark breathes through his nose, content to let you unravel in his grip.

his eyes flick up to yours through his lashes—dark, amused, the bastard—lips stretched obscenely around you as he watches your screen with detached interest. like this is just another game to him. like he knows you’re two seconds from either throwing the match or throwing your dignity out the window to fuck into his throat.

somehow—through the haze of sweat and mark’s fucking teeth grazing you on an upstroke, through the way your thighs tremble around his shoulders—you clutch. iron fist’s ult meter hits 100% with a deafening chime. your muscles coil, every fiber taut with tension, and mark’s grip tightens on your hips in warning, nails biting into skin. but you launch yourself into the backline anyway, the kill feed exploding in a burst of color. triple. quad. your team’s hysterical screaming in voice chat drowns out the wet, obscene sound of mark finally moving, sucking you down to the root just as "victory" flashes across the screen in blinding gold.

your team continues to scream—cheering, cracking jokes, their earlier hostility forgotten in the adrenaline rush. you would've thought this was a beautiful moment if you weren't currently being sucked off by your boyfriend. you mutter a breathless "gg" into the mic, lips twitching at the chorus of "holy shit, w fucking iron fist!" before you’re cutting them off with a sharp click of your mouse. the headset hits the desk with a clatter.

you don’t even get to savor the win. mark’s hands are on your hips now, dragging you to the edge of the chair with a roughness that makes your stomach flip. his nose presses into your stomach, lips sealed tight as he swallows around you with a filthy, shuddering groan—like he’s been waiting this whole fucking match to ruin you properly. your back arches off the chair, fingers tangling in his hair hard enough to hurt, but he just moans around you, eyes fluttering shut like this is exactly where he wants to be. like he’d happily die here, between your thighs.

"f-fuck—mark—" you whimper, but it’s too late. he’s not stopping this time.

his tongue drags along the underside of your cock in a slow, filthy stripe before he takes you deep again, one hand sliding up your chest to thumb at your nipple through your shirt. the dual sensation punches a ragged noise from your throat, your hips jerking involuntarily. mark hums in approval, the vibration rippling through you like a live wire. his free hand slips under your thigh, hiking your leg over his shoulder to press you even closer, until you can feel every hitched breath he takes through your skin.

he pulls off just to mouth at the head, tongue circling the slit with agonizing precision, and you whine, high and desperate. his eyes flick up to yours, dark with something unbearably fond even as his lips glisten with spit. "love you like this," he murmurs against your skin, voice wrecked. "all mine. fucking perfect. i missed you so much baby, you don't even know the half of it—"

then he’s sinking down again, taking you until his throat flutters around the tip, and you’re gone—fingers tightening in his hair as you spill down his throat with a broken cry. mark swallows every drop, lips staying locked around you until you’re twitching from oversensitivity, until your grip on his hair loosens to cradle his face instead.

when he finally pulls away, his lips are swollen, his cheeks flushed. he rests his forehead against your thigh, breathing hard, and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh—soft, reverent. like you’re something sacred.

"welcome home," you mutter, voice hoarse.

mark's grin is worth every goddamn second of the wait—all bright-eyed and breathless, his lips kiss-swollen from where you'd bitten them. you're still coming down from your high, chest heaving, fingers trembling against the keyboard where you'd gripped it too tight. you should shove him off. you would shove him off. any second now.

"baby," mark murmurs, and fuck, the way your stupid traitorous heart lurches at that tone—all soft and reverent, like you're something precious instead of a mess of sweat and frustration and arousal. his fingers trail down your stomach, feather-light, and you hate how your body arches into the touch before your brain catches up.

"don't—" you start, but it comes out hoarse, ruined. mark just smiles, that dorky, infuriating smile that makes your chest ache, and presses a kiss to your shoulder while his other hand navigates your mouse with infuriating ease.

"c'mon, diamond boy," he teases, clicking queue with one hand while the other slips lower, fingers tracing your rim in slow, maddening circles. "wouldn't want you to lose your hard-earned rank, would we?"

you choke on air when his fingers slide past your lips—calloused and tasting faintly of salt—pressing down on your tongue with deliberate pressure. "suck," mark murmurs, and your traitorous mouth obeys before your pride can protest, hollowing your cheeks as you work his fingers wet. his breath hitches when your teeth graze his knuckles, his other hand fisting his own cock through his pants at the sight of you—lips stretched, lashes fluttering, teary-eyed, that fucked-out daze already clouding your expression just from this.

then those slick fingers are dragging down your stomach, pushing past your thighs, and—"fuck—" your hips jerk when one curls inside you, crooking just right. "you're insufferable," you spit, but it loses all bite when your hands scramble uselessly between the desk and his wrist, torn between shoving him away and grinding down onto his hand.

mark laughs against your pulse point, the vibration rattling through your ribs as he adds a second finger with that same unbearable patience, stretching you slow. "keep playing," he breathes into your ear, twisting his wrist to drag a broken noise from your throat. "i wanna see you try to focus when i'm fucking you full of my cock."

the match loads in with that obnoxiously bright chime, but the sound barely registers—not when mark’s fingers crook just right, scissoring deep and dragging a broken moan from your throat. your vision whites out for a second, hips jerking uselessly against his hand as he adds a third finger, stretching you with that infuriating, practiced ease.

"fuck, you’re tight," mark murmurs against the shell of your ear, his free hand sliding up to palm your chest, thumb brushing over your nipple. "when was the last time you touched yourself, baby?"

you choke on a gasp when his fingers press deeper, hitting that spot that makes your thighs tremble. "few—fuck—few weeks ago," you manage, voice ragged. "didn’t— didn’t do shit. couldn’t—"

his teeth graze your earlobe, sharp and teasing. "couldn’t what?"

you hate how breathless you sound. "couldn’t reach deep enough. wasn’t—hnng—wasn’t you."

mark groans, low and filthy, his fingers stilling inside you just to feel how you clench around them. "christ, you’re gonna kill me," he mutters, but he’s grinning when he nips at your jaw. "lucky for you, i’m real good at reaching where you need me, huh?"

you scoff, the immersion breaking for a second as you look at him unimpressed, "did you really just say that—ahh—" and then he curls his fingers just so, and you’re pretty sure the entire universe short-circuits.

mark withdraws his fingers with a slick sound, and the emptiness is agony. your head drops forward, teary eyes staring down at yourself—flushed, trembling, needy—and you hate how pathetic you look. how wrecked he’s made you already. his cock twitches in his pants at the sight, and the groan he lets out is filthy. "look at you," he murmurs, voice rough. "all desperate for me."

before you can snap something defensive, his hands are on your hips, hauling you up with that stupid superhuman strength of his. you stumble, legs shaky, but he steadies you effortlessly—then drops into your chair, pulling you down onto his lap in one smooth motion. the heat of him sears through his clothes, and you feel him, hard and eager beneath his boxers, the fabric damp where he’s been leaking for you.

"there," mark murmurs, his breath hot against your ear as his hands slide up your thighs, pushing your legs apart wider. you can hear the smirk in his voice when he adds, "better view, yeah?" his fingers make quick work of his own pants, shoving them down just enough to free his cock—already hard and leaking against your back. "still gotta pick, baby," he teases, nipping at your earlobe when you hesitate on the character select screen. "unless you wanna dodge? though, i don't think you can dodge in this game."

you scoff, locking in iron fist with more force than necessary. "shut up."

the game loads in a blur of colors and sound, but all you can focus on is mark's teeth sinking into your shoulder as you guide your character toward the point. his hands roam your chest, pinching and teasing until you're squirming in your seat. "f-focus on the fucking game," you mutter, even as your hips push back against him.

mark just laughs, low and dark, before licking a stripe up your neck. "giving yourself pep-talk? how cute."

"i swear to god, markus sebastian grayson, if you say one more cheesy thing i will throw you out of my room."

when the enemy team finally pushes in, bullets and abilities flying across your screen, mark chooses that exact moment to shove two fingers past your lips. "suck," he orders, and you do—tongue swirling around his digits, moaning when he curls them just right. he pulls them out slick with your spit, trailing them down your stomach before reaching between your legs.

"f-fuck—" you choke out as his spit-slick fingers circle your rim, teasing before one pushes in to the second knuckle. your back arches off the chair, thighs spreading wider despite the game still raging onscreen. "mark—!"

"that’s it," he growls, his free hand groping your chest as he works you open again—first one finger, then two, scissoring slow until you’re panting, your neglected cock dripping onto your stomach. his own erection grinds against your lower back, leaking precome onto your skin. "still gonna carry, or am i too distracting?" he taunts, curling his fingers just so until you see white.

you barely register the starlord that flanks your team from behind you, killing your punisher as mark withdraws his fingers, leaving you clenching around nothing. "look at you," he murmurs, lining up his cock—thick and flushed and yours—against your hole. "already fucking yourself back on my fingers like you’re starving for it." he pushes in slow, just the tip at first, and the stretch burns so good your toes curl. "shit—" he groans, hips stuttering when you clench around him. "still so tight, even after i loosened you up. fucking perfect."

he pulls out until just the head remains, those shallow, teasing thrusts making your nails scrape against the keyboard. "more—" you demand, voice cracking, but mark just laughs—bright and smug—keeping the pace agonizingly slow.

"beg prettier," he murmurs against your ear, and you’re going to fucking murder him later.

the thought evaporates when your character dies on screen, a sharp "fuck!" tearing from your throat as your head thuds back against his shoulder. mark’s chuckle vibrates through your spine. "distracted, baby?"

"shut the fuck up," you groan, but your hips twitch back against him instinctively, seeking friction. his hands tighten around your waist, holding you still.

"uh-uh. you wanted to play." his teeth graze your earlobe. "so play."

then your character respawns, and you barely have time to register the 30 SECONDS OF OVERTIME warning before mark slams up into you in one brutal thrust, filling you completely. your back arches as you come with a choked gasp, vision whiting out around the edges—

"that’s it, sweetheart," mark praises, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to bruise before soothing it with his tongue. his arms cage you against the desk, his cock twitching inside you as he murmurs nonsense into your skin: "so good for me, taking me so well—fuck, look at you."

you’re trembling, oversensitive, but the game’s still going. with a shaky breath, you force your hands back onto the keyboard, your movements sluggish as you try to focus past the haze. mark hums approvingly, resting his chin on your shoulder to watch the screen, his cock still buried deep. every slight shift of his hips—every lazy pulse inside you—has your fingers stuttering on the keys.

"c'mon, baby," mark murmurs against your jaw, his breath warm as his fingers trail higher up your thigh. "carry us." his other hand slips around your waist, pulling you back flush against his chest—solid and familiar and home after weeks of empty space and staticky comms. "missed watching you play," he admits quietly, lips brushing your earlobe. "missed watching you win."

you're going to strangle him. after you win.

his nose nuzzles into the space behind your ear, inhaling deeply like he's memorizing your scent. "god, missed you," he continues, voice going rough around the edges. "mission was hell without your voice in my ear. kept thinking about how you'd chew me out for taking stupid risks." a soft laugh vibrates through his chest and into yours. "missed that too."

your fingers hesitate on the keyboard for half a second before you tilt your head just enough to press a grudging kiss to his jaw—the closest part of him you can reach without twisting your entire body. "i missed you too, beloved," you mutter, the endearment slipping out despite yourself. "but right now, i'm trying to focus."

mark makes a wounded noise at the nickname, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "say that again," he demands against your throat, lips dragging wet and insistent over your pulse. "c’mon, sweetheart, just once more—" his hips shift minutely, and fuck, you feel it—the way his cock twitches inside you, already so hard it makes your breath stutter. your grip on the mouse tightens reflexively, knuckles going white around it as you try to focus on the flickering screen instead of the heat of him buried to the hilt.

"later," you rasp, securing a kill and kicking away through sheer muscle memory. "if you can fucking behave."

mark groans like you’ve wounded him, but he mostly stills—except for the way his fingers keep tracing absent, possessive circles low on your stomach, except for the way his lips keep finding patches of skin to suck bruises into between ragged breaths. "better win fast then," he murmurs, teeth scraping your shoulder in warning. "cause i missed all of you, [y/n]."

your eyes flick down instinctively—and there, just below your navel, the faintest swell where the tip of him presses up inside you. the sight punches a shaky noise from your throat, your body clenching around him before you can stop yourself.

"f-fuck—" mark’s whimper is wrecked, his forehead dropping heavily between your shoulder blades as his hips jerk involuntarily. you can feel him throbbing, the slick drag of him as he accidentally pushes deeper. "christ, you’re gonna kill me," he grits out, fingers trembling where they splay across your stomach like he’s mapping the bulge.

you swallow hard, throat bobbing against the thick press of him inside you, forcing your attention back to the screen even as your thighs tremble on top of mark's. "then fucking stop moving," you snap, but your voice fractures halfway through, turning the command into something embarrassingly close to a plea. the kill feed lights up with your username in bold strokes but the victory does nothing to hide how wrecked you already sound, how your walls flutter around him when he chuckles darkly against your neck.

"you're doing so good, baby," mark murmurs, lips dragging along your pulse point as his hands slide up your chest. his thumbs brush over your nipples through your shirt, teasing just enough to make you jolt but not enough to truly distract—not when you're finally gaining ground, finally winning. "carrying this match and taking me so well..."

you bite back a whimper, fingers flying across the keyboard as you cap the point. eight minutes. eight agonizing minutes of mark's cock seated deep inside you, his hips making tiny, barely-there rolls whenever you did something particularly impressive—a well-timed ult, a perfect parry—until you were dripping around him, your sweat-slicked back sticking to his chest. you don't even remember when you (or mark) had taken your shirt off. the start had been a disaster, but after forcing that useless jeff to swap, after taking matters into your own hands, your team steamrolled through the enemy like they were nothing. just like you knew they would.

the victory screen flashes gold, the triumphant DING of your rank-up swallowed whole by the filthy, wet sound of mark’s cock driving into you—deep, too deep, the angle so brutal your vision whites out for a second. his hands lock around your waist, flipping you before you can even process it, and suddenly you’re straddling him, knees digging into your chair as he yanks you down onto him with a groan that rattles your bones.

"fuck, look at you," mark gasps, voice shredded. his fingers scramble over your hips, your stomach, your chest—like he can’t decide where to touch first, like he’s starving for all of you at once. his hips snap up, relentless, the thick drag of him punching a broken noise from your throat. "all mine. perfect for me."

his praise is molten, spilling between feverish kisses, between the slick clash of tongues as he licks into your mouth. you can taste your name on his lips, sweet and desperate. his cock brushes that spot inside you with every thrust, just right, and your back arches on instinct, nails biting into his shoulders hard enough to bruise.

"knew you could do it," he growls, hands fisting in your hair to tilt your head back, exposing your throat to his teeth. "knew you’d win. my brilliant, beautiful boy—"

his voice cracks on the last word, and god, the way he’s looking at you—eyes black with want, lips swollen from kissing you stupid, his usual awkward confidence unraveled into something raw and needy—it’s worse than the pleasure, worse than the way his cock stretches you open. because this? this is mark grayson coming apart beneath you, for you, his breath coming in ragged bursts as his grip on your hips turns possessive.

you’re both a wreck—skin gleaming with sweat, your thighs trembling where they bracket his hips, the filthy, wet sound of him sliding into you over and over until your vision whites out at the edges. his grip on your hips is brutal, thumbs pressing into the bone hard enough to bruise, holding you down as he grinds up with a snap of his hips that punches a sob from your throat. "mark—!" his name comes out broken, slurred between panting breaths, and he’s no better, his voice ragged as he chokes out, "that’s it, baby, take it—fuck, just like that—" like he’s unraveling, like he’s worshipping you.

you cut him off with a sharp roll of your hips, stealing the groan right from his lips as you take control, your fingers tangling in his hair to yank his head back. "shut up," you mutter, but it’s fond, "you’re so fucking loud." his hands scramble at your back, blunt nails dragging red lines down your skin as you ride him with ruthless precision, chasing your own pleasure just as much as his, the whimpers and groans coming from his lips not stopping. the chair creaks dangerously beneath you, your forgotten headset hitting the floor with a clatter, but you don’t care—not when mark’s thrusts are growing erratic, his rhythm faltering under your relentless pace.

you lean in, teeth scraping his cheekbone before you kiss him, messy and biting, swallowing his gasp as you nip at his bottom lip. "gonna come already?" you taunt, voice rough, "thought you had more stamina than that."

mark growls—low and feral, the sound rumbling through your chest like thunder—and suddenly the world tilts. his arm snakes around your waist, hauling you back flush against him with a brutal yank that makes your gaming chair screech in protest. your chest meets his, sweat-slick and heaving, as he manhandles you like you weigh nothing.

one hand fists in your hair, wrenching your head back to expose your throat while the other grabs both your wrists, pinning them behind you with crushing ease. "stay still," he groans against your ear, voice ragged with want, and then he’s moving—snapping his hips up hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs, each thrust deeper, meaner, the angle punching ragged moans from your throat.

you’re burning. tears streak down your face, hot and humiliating, but you can’t—fuck, you can’t stop the way your body arches into him, the way your thighs tremble as he fucks up into you with punishing precision. his hand gropes your ass, fingers digging into flesh as he holds you at that perfect, devastating angle, every drag of his cock lighting your nerves on fire.

"that’s it," mark pants, his breath scalding against your shoulder. "take it. fucking take it." his pace turns brutal, the wet slap of skin on skin drowning out the game’s distant lobby music. you don’t care. can’t care. not when he’s ruining you like this, not when every snap of his hips has you sobbing, oversensitive and wrecked but needing more—

"fuck, look at you," he pants against your ear, voice wrecked as he watches his cock disappear into you with every snap of his hips. "taking me so fucking good—god, you feel perfect—" his words dissolve into a whimper when you clench around him, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he fucks into you with desperate, uneven thrusts.

you can feel him everywhere—the heat of his chest pressed against yours, the bite of his fingers on your wrists, the relentless stretch as he bottoms out again and again. "gonna—fuck—" mark's warning is barely coherent, his whole body tensing as he pulses inside you, his release hot and overwhelming. but he doesn't stop—can't stop, not when you're still clenching around him, not when your own orgasm is so close.

his hand slips between you, calloused fingers wrapping around your neglected cock, and it only takes three rough strokes before you're coming with a broken cry, painting both your stomachs in streaks of white. mark groans as you tighten around him, his hips stuttering through the aftershocks as he mouths at your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he can reach—like he still can't get enough even now.

mark gathers you against his chest as you both come down, his lips pressing shaky, open-mouthed kisses to whatever skin he can reach—the sweat-damp curve of your temple, the corner of your swollen mouth, the frantic rabbit-quick jump of your pulse. "so good," he mumbles against your throat, voice wrecked and raw. "so fucking perfect for me. missed you—god, missed you so much, baby." his arms lock around you like steel bands, all that stupid superhuman strength trembling with the effort of not crushing you.

you feel him shift—his softening cock dragging slow and filthy out of you, the obscene wet sound making your thighs twitch—then pause. his breath hitches when he sees it: his cum starting to leak from your used hole, glistening in the dim light. a rough noise tears from his throat, and before you can even process it, he's pushing back in with one sharp roll of his hips, the thick head of his cock scooping up the spill and stuffing it back inside you where it belongs. "mine," he growls, biting at your shoulder as he seats himself to the hilt again, making sure not a single drop escapes.

you should shove him off. should snap something scathing about his disgusting possessiveness, his pathetic need to keep you full of him. but your traitorous hands fist in his hair instead, dragging his mouth to yours in a biting kiss as your legs lock around his hips. his groan vibrates through your chest when you arch up, taking him deeper—like you couldn't bear to let him pull away either. pathetic. you're both so fucking pathetic.

so. this was supposed to be a quick little 3-4k one-shot. supposed to be. but then reader and mark decided to have feelings (gross) and now here we are at 7.7k words of competitive gaming, unresolved tension, and mark being absolutely insufferable (affectionate). whoops? anyway, hope you enjoyed this self-indulgent mess as much as i enjoyed writing it—because honestly, i have no regrets.

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shrimpybbq · 10 months ago

Text

season 1 rafe with his gf & son

i have to be sooo truthful here in that rafe is like 90% the actual worst during the events of season 1 to high school gf!

he's still doing drugs and going to parties, never coming home until the early morning if at all

maybe he was on better terms with his gf for a while, but everyone on the island knows that the pair are always on-and-off

when they are good, rafe is surprisingly sweet to her. he's always opening doors and looking after their son so she can rest. rafe is so much more physically affectionate too during these times, with his hands always on her, stroking her hip or playing with her hair

and then when they fight, it's like all that goes away and he's back to ignoring her

she lives in the main house now as that's where their son's nursery is, but most of the time she's sleeping in the guest room after they argue

rafe's idea of family bonding is going to the country club, drinking his expensive whiskey and eating overpriced food. he likes seeing his son look around wide-eyed at the new sights and new people, and he enjoys having his son sit in his lap while he drinks, mumbling nonsense to see his little smile

he tries to take his son out golfing once only to realise that he couldn't be away from his mother for so long, much to his annoyance. it's fine though bc he's insisting they all go together next time - problem solved in his mind

rafe and high school gf! go to midsummer's together as each others dates. rafe wouldn't have let her go with anyone else anyway, but he likes the display of having her on his arm. he matches his suit to the floral design of her gown to make the statement even clearer (they have a child together and he's worried about people knowing she's his???)

he manages to hide a lot of the events that go on from his gf, but some of them still reach her ears courtesy of sarah, and he can't stand the disappointed look she gives him. sometimes though, he makes her sit down and listen to his explanation, trying to get her to see his side. he's so relieved when she nods and no longer looks at him in that way (but she still doesn't tell him he was right, he always notes)

when barry burns rafe, he's knocking on the door of the guest room with tears in his eyes, clutching his badly burnt arm to his chest. gf just looks at him wide-eyed, telling him to sit on her bed while she grabs the first aid kit. rafe can't help but let the tears stream down his face as she cleans, his head coming to rest on her shoulder as he sobs. that night is the first time he sleeps with her in the guest room, his head nuzzled into her chest as she cradles him

ok but if barry ever threatens his girl and kid rafe won't let it go. he's landing a punch on the drug dealer's face immediately, his rage spiking instantaneously. barry learns not to threaten them again after the second time he wore purple bruises on his chin

oh, sweet pretty gf has no idea what rafe has done to the sheriff, and he plans to keep it that way. he wanted to protect his dad, but he absolutely refuses to let anything happen to his own family. she's so shocked when he tells her of john b's actions, the boy having lived down the hall from them, and rafe plays into the role of protector again. he's got her in his arms as she cries about how he was around their son, and rafe just hums and tells her "i would never let someone hurt either of you, you know that right?". it warms his heart to see her nod into his chest.

sometimes his gf walks into the nursery only to see her son not in his crib, but she knows exactly where he is. pushing open rafe's door she sees the two of them in bed, her sweet baby cuddled up on rafe's bare chest as they both sleep. he needs to be with his son when he has a bad day, which seems to be more often than not nowadays

rafe is rapidly growing more mentally unwell and the only thing that seems to soothe him is his gf and son, and he spends as much time as he can with them. the little baby is always in his arms as he coos down at him, watching his kid's eyes brighten at the sight of his dada. rafe reasons with himself that everything he does is to protect his family and that he couldn't be wrong then, could he?

Click here for pre-season 1 rafe, gf & their unborn son

Click here for season 2 rafe, gf & their son

Click here for season 3 rafe, gf & their son

Click here for season 4 part 1 rafe, gf & their son

Click here for the 18 month gap before season 4 rafe, gf & their son

Oh this was a bit of a novel, but rafe truly has so many facets to explore, let alone once you give him a big motivator like a kid!

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron blurb #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe outer banks #outer banks x reader #outer banks imagine #outer banks headcanons #outer banks fanfiction #high school gf! au #dad!rafe au #dad!rafe

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urinarythreatinfection · 2 months ago

Text

Confusion In My Love

Sanji x Male Reader. Part one. 6077 words

Desc: Sanji struggles with his sexual relationship with you.

CW: Fluff, other characters, angst, top reader, smut, happy ending (obv)

TW: Internalized misogyny

So, you and Sanji are dating now. Nervewracking at first but it’s been good! There are problems still but he’s been getting better with them. He’s being more affectionate, being less ashamed of his better treatment of you than the average man, and he’s even been calling you pet names more often! ..Though he’ll still stop himself sometimes. As if afraid he’ll make you uncomfortable, which should be weirder considering he’s never had an issue with that with women; but things are different with a male lover. What’s worse is he can’t stop thinking about you two doing it. The positions. He thinks it’s obvious he’ll top, but then again he’d also figured it was obvious he was straight. Those thoughts end up distracting him over and over every time you two get close. Your hands on him, his hands on you too if you would like. It’s not like he knows anything about having sex with a man. The penis would go inside, that's about all his knowledge. Anything else is blank. So he ends up having questions. Like isn’t that unsanitary? Would it feel good? Wouldn’t it just hurt and feel uncomfortable? Dicks aren’t made to go in there, it’d be more surprising if it felt good. So whenever he finds himself fantasizing about you two making out the daydream gets fuzzy the moment it goes past that. Though the two of you haven’t actually made out like that yet… though you have been having your “intimacy practice” sessions.

‘Feels good.’ Sanji thinks to himself as you place small kisses on his lips, the both of you sitting next to each other on your bed. You’ve been practicing affection together when you both have the time. Holding hands, hugging, and now kissing. ‘Ahh…’ Having your lips against his, lovingly and romantically giving kiss after kiss makes his heart full; but it still feels like it isn’t enough. He starts to daydream again about your mouth devouring his until he’s gasping for breath. You notice him spacing out and pull away.

“Was I that bad?” You half joke, getting insecure that your boyfriend is focusing on something else while you two are kissing.

“No, of course not!” He clears his throat. “I was.. thinking about positions again.” His eyes avoid yours.

“Positions?” You ask, putting it together after a moment. “Ohhhhh. I meant it when I said I was okay with bottoming. I get it might be nerve wracking to bottom for your first time with a guy.” You’re trying to be understanding with him but he’s silent. “..It would be your first time with a guy, right?”

“Of course it would be!” He yells, startling you. He quickly takes a deep breath to calm himself down. “I was just thinking more about how it would work. The gist is that your- the penis would go inside the bottom, right?”

‘He’s so awkward about this.’ You think to yourself before explaining. “If you’re worrying about cleanliness you clean back there before doing anything, and you prep it before penetrating too. Fingers and stuff.” You’d actually picked up some supplies for sex back at the last island, just in case. Totally not because you want to be ready at any moment.

“Fingers..” He stores that in his mind. There’s another part for his daydreaming, it’ll be less blurry now.

“Yeah, there's a place in there that feels good when you press it.” You’re struggling to talk about this maturely without getting aroused or nervous. For your boyfriend you need to be the one to be mature and guide him. “You can hit it with fingers or the penis, and if it’s not enough you can touch the front too. Depending on the position the front is easy to access. You’re flexible so I could-” Ah, you started talking like you were topping. “I mean—as a possibility for me to...” You trail off, noticing Sanji’s red face. “Was I being too descriptive?” He’s cute like this but you don’t want to overwhelm him. He sighs, craving a cigarette as he rubs his face.

“You have to be descriptive.” He feels so immature, not being able to handle some sex talk even when he’s the one who asked. “I keep getting embarrassed when you’re trying to be helpful.” He’s a fully grown man, he needs to get his act together! Especially when it’s for you. The cook looks forward and clears his throat. “Anyway, condoms and lube. We need to wait to get some at-”

“Oh, I have them.” You interrupt and his eyes widen before he snaps his head to look at you.

“You do!?”

“It’s good to be prepared, right? I even stored them in my drawer. Though I didn't expect to be talking about sex so early.” While you’re explaining Sanji puts his head in his hands.

‘He’s already prepared! I can’t use that as an excuse to calm down anymore!’ He was planning to use the excuse of not being prepared to calm down his thoughts, but they’re only going to get stronger now that the possibility of having sex is higher. You see him looking stressed and lean in to kiss his cheek. He yelps, focusing back on you.

“Don’t worry about the sex stuff, I’ll wait for as long as you need.” You’d like to pin him down right now but you’re more than your lust, you can handle waiting.

“Great..!” Despite that being for Sanji he isn’t happy about it. He’s always had a problem holding his love and lust in but still bottling feelings up when it’s someone he loves. “Good, that’s, I can—that’s convenient.” He’s got a big forced smile on his face, hands gripping his knees. He was kind of hoping you would make the first move, but since you said you’d wait that means you definitely aren’t. Your hand reaches for his again, holding it firmly.

“It’s okay.” You don’t know what’s bothering him so much, but you know your lover is distressed. Your thumb gently strokes the back of his hand and Sanji’s smile lowers into a softer one. He’ll think more about this later, right now he wants to spend this time with you. His head softly rests on your shoulder and you rest yours on top.

‘I want to make out..’ He wonders if he can manage to ask for that soon.

______________________

‘I really really want to make out with him.’ Giving Sanji small kisses and smooches is nice, especially since he seems to enjoy it, but you really want to make out with him. Still, you need to wait till he asks for it. You aren’t doing anything without his explicit say so. You already took a huge risk to get a confession out of him, you don’t want to take another one and possibly rush him when he can’t handle it. Plus, even if that isn’t the case, you would still rather him initiate. If you two are going to be dating your boyfriend has to learn how to communicate one way or another. So no matter how much you have to suppress your urges to grab his ass or talk dirty you’ll wait. Though actually you did promise to bottom so maybe suppress asking him to bend you over. He’s just so much cuter than you expected since he’s so not used to everything. Maybe it’s a bit sadistic to enjoy it but you’ll relish his shy naivety while it lasts. Just until he starts understanding himself and the relationship.

“Yo.” Zoro greets you, holding a towel as you sit on the grassy deck.

“Hey, you gonna wash up?” You ask him, noticing how sweaty he is. He must’ve just gotten done with his training in the crow’s nest.

“Yeah, if I’m too dirty it starts getting distracting.” You raise a brow.

“Distracting because the built up sweat is uncomfortable or because we start distancing from you and pointing it out.” Even Luffy has his limits since Zoro’s constant working out and training means he stinks much quicker.

“Both.”

“Oo are you two getting in the bath?” Luffy slides down from the top deck. “I wanna come!”

‘Bath day for stink and stinkier.’ You think before responding. “Alright then you can come too. The bath is big enough, you just have to wash yourself off first.”

“Nnn, that’s such a hassle.” Luffy whines. He finds it fun washing off at first but when he has to be there making sure every little bit is actually clean it feels tedious. If he’s with someone it’s better, though.

“You have no patience.” Zoro scoffs at the captain and Luffy grabs his towel and runs towards the bath. “HEY GET YOUR OWN!”

___________________

You and Luffy scrub your body while Zoro makes sure his swords are in a safe spot. “You need help with your back, Luffy?” You ask him while Zoro sits down to wash up too.

“Nah, I got it.” He shows you the washcloth. “Look!” He stretches his arms all around his body like a spring, from his ankles coiling up to his shoulders. “Gum gum scrub!” He lets it go and the cloth whirls around, scrubbing his front and back body like a machine. By the time it’s back in place he’s covered in suds from his feet to his neck. You clap, impressed while he uses a bucket to wash the soap off. He’s visibly proud of himself.

“You still make stupid moves like that after 2 years.” Zoro huffs and Luffy laughs.

“They’re fun! Though I’ve had to focus more on serious ones now~” Luffy reminisces fondly while the swordsman frowns.

“Yeah because if you pull another ‘Gum Gum Windmill’ when fighting some actually strong enemy I’m leaving you in the ground this time.” Luffy puts a proud hand on his chest.

“I’m stronger now so I could pull myself out.”

“If you can't, I'll ask Chopper to emergency amputate your feet to free you.” You chime in and Luffy gets a nervous expression on his face.

“W-What!? I could pull myself out, I'd just need a little time!” He tries to argue but Zoro shakes his head.

“Sorry, no time. I’ll have to do it. Chopper wouldn’t be quick enough.” The swordsman states coldly.

“EH!?” Luffy yells in shock as you wring out your washcloth. You make sure it’s fully rinsed before soaping it up again.

“Since our captain is so capable and creative I’ll wash your back Zoro.” You state, standing and grabbing your stool.

“Yeah Zoro, why don’t you have a sword move to wash your own back.” Luffy mocks him with a stupid face.

“My swords aren’t FOR that!” He barks back and you place your stool behind him before sitting down.

“Maybe you could try using one to exfoliate, scrub the skin off or stick a sponge on it.” You suggest. That inspires Luffy and he grins mischievously. The captain ties a washcloth to his head to mimic Zoro’s bandana then grabs a soap bar like a sword.

“One sword style… back scrubber!” He’s even mimicking the way Zoro talks when saying his moves, making you laugh while Zoro groans. Right before the rubber boy goes back to finish off washing he perks up, looking behind him at the door. “Hm?”

“What’s up, Luffy?” You ask but Luffy just looks back at you.

“Hmmm.. nothin.” He then smiles brightly. “I’ll wash your back!” Those words terrify you. You go pale, silently saying goodbye to your back skin while Zoro grins. At least you’ll be squeaky clean.

(SANJI'S POV)

Sanji speedwalks back to the men’s quarters, going inside and sitting on his bed. He clenches his fists tightly. You were bathing with that damn mosshead. Sure you do it all the time but Sanji’s dating you now, and you were washing his back. Sudding up a washcloth and scrubbing his back so intimately, sitting so close you might as well be spooning him. ‘What was with that!? You.. you… that’s cheating! Alone with Zoro like that, naked with you behind him, your crotch near his butt.’ Luffy was also there but Sanji’s deluding himself right now. ‘The only butt that (Y/n)’s crotch should be near is mine!’ His nails dig into his palms, his teeth gritting. Here he is being shy about making out when you’re naked bathing with other men. “Gah!” He stands up with his hands on either side of his head, he has to do something! Even if it wasn’t romantic or sexual it just doesn’t sit right with him having you doing things with other people that you two haven’t done as a couple. A few hours later Sanji suddenly approaches you.

“(Y/n)!” He calls out and you turn to see a strangely desperate looking Sanji. “Let’s bathe together, tomorrow.” You pause for a moment.

“Really?” You’re a little nervous, if you get hard, hiding an erection isn’t gonna be easy when you’re basically naked.

“Yes.” He grips onto your shoulders with fire in his eyes.

“...Alright.” You aren’t sure what motivated him but you aren’t gonna pass up on this opportunity to see your new boyfriend naked. He may not be against bathing with the other crew but he usually bathes alone, though that is mostly because the rest of the men don’t bathe everyday. Plus, he cites that he needs to make sure he’s up to standard for ladies and distractions would hinder his routine. This is a nice chance even with the risks, which Sanji also knows; buuuttt if you’re careful not showing your crotch unless he’s facing away he won’t have to see a thing.

________________

Sanji underestimated how awkward he would be. His fire from yesterday faltered the moment the two of you were alone in the bath. He just stands there, watching you. “Sanji you actually have to undress to bathe.” You joke and he flinches. “It’s fine, I’ll go first.” Having him watch you is making you nervous but you manage to undress until you have nothing but a small towel around your hips. You can feel your boyfriend’s eyes staring at every inch of you and it’s forcing you to internally yell at your body to calm down. Coincidentally Sanji is also doing that. He turns for a second to wipe his nose with a handkerchief he brought just in case. He’s got this. He’s been attracted to women this whole time and been disgusted by men. He can handle a man being naked, even if it’s you. While he’s thinking you’ve already started taking the initiative and washing yourself off. The sooner you get in the bath the better the chance you won’t make things awkward with a hard-on. You just have to not think about his body and how great his legs are and how they make his waist look smaller and easier to grab.

“Hey.” Sanji speaks, standing behind you. He’s undressed, must’ve done it while you were lost in thought.

“Yeah?” You put on your best poker face to hide what you were just thinking, keeping your eyes on his face with all your willpower. The cook clears his throat.

“I’ll wash your back. Okay?” You flinch. It’s already been thoroughly washed by Luffy yesterday, it still feels a bit raw. “Is that a no..?” His face darkens insecurely from your body language.

“It’s not a no, it’s just that Luffy washed it yesterday.” You explain and his face turns into immediate understanding.

“I’ll just use my hands then, rub it a bit.” He explains, scooting the stool and sitting behind you.

“Alright…” You hear him rub soap between his hands before hesitant fingertips touch your back. You shiver. ‘I need to stay calm.’ They start to explore your skin, spreading the substance wherever they touch. His hands are softer than you thought, but still calloused from using them to cook and for balance when fighting. Parts of them you can feel are rougher than the others, but none of it is scratchy. He’s got a strong dedication to cooking, which translates to dedication taking care of his hands. They’re his pride and joy. Always careful not to knick them, not to let them dry out. So he tends to moisturize them often. You start to hear heavy breathing from behind you, his hands are shaking.

“Your back is so nice to touch.” You hear him mumble, he sounds out of it.

“Thanks but are you okay? You’re breathing kinda heavy.” There’s no answer for a second until Sanji takes a long breath in and out.

“I am. I’ll wash you off now.” He grabs the bucket of water and pours it over your back, using one of his hands to rub the soap fully off. “Now me. Hurry.” He sounds somewhat rushed and you turn to see his back already facing you. Convenient. Why is he in a rush? You gulp and sud up your washcloth, putting it on his back. When it touches him he lets out a small noise, covering his mouth. The back of his neck is flushed.

‘He’s getting a lot more affected than me.’ You think to yourself as your hands start to move. Still, you’re waiting until he makes the first move. Your leg bounces as you continue, your hand going down to his waist. You grip onto it with one hand to hold his posture. A shaky breath escapes him. You gulp. ‘I need to control myself. I need to control myself.’ You repeat that in your head until you finally wash the soap off, rubbing his back while the water does its job. Once you set the bucket down you notice.. Sanji’s trembling. He’s visibly aroused even if he’s facing away. So you wait there for a moment, hoping that he’ll turn and ask for you; but he doesn’t. It’s a shame. “I’ll be in the bath.” You tell him while standing.

“Okay.” That’s his response before you go to the water, settling in and hoping the warmth will relax all of you. You decide to watch Sanji. You note that he’s moved to be facing away from you even when you changed places, now washing his body. You also note that, once he’s gotten to his front lower half, he. He’s moving his hand like he’s washing but he hasn’t finished despite scrubbing at the same spot for 30 seconds now. ‘Is he..? No he wouldn’t. I know he’s a pervert but doing that so close to me would be crazy.’

“Hahh.. hahh… hahh…” You start to hear his panting and see his hips squirming the more time that passes.

‘He is!’ Even if he’s not trying to be obvious he 100% is. You look away from him, your own dick twitching and struggling. This still isn’t him asking you.

“Nn~” He lets out a small whine. Fuck it.

‘If he’s doing it I am too.’ You stand up to sit on the edge of the bath, pulling your towel down. Once it’s down you immediately grip your dick and start to fuck your fist. You need to get off. Now. Or you’ll end up going to Sanji and break your promise of control. You can see him getting more desperate, thrusting up into his hand as his noises get louder like he forgot where he is. You’re getting close, but he’s closer. A hand slaps over his mouth to quiet a moan as he cums. You imagine it’s your own hand muffling him to stay quiet. He’ll be turning around soon now that he’s done and you start to hurry. You were already close so all you need is a bit more. Right when you gasp and cum he’s turning around. He’ll see you!

“You better not be doing anything crazy in there! Everyone uses this bath!” Nami’s voice from the other side of the door distracts him and he turns away.

“N-Nami-swan! I didn’t—the bath is clean!”

“It better be.” It’s not like she likes to cockblock but everyone uses that bath, she doesn’t need you two fucking in it.

‘Somewhat of a save.’ You think to yourself as you come down from your high. You shot into your hand so the water is still clean. You stand up and wash it off before Sanji can notice, though he’s also washing his hand off. The rest of the bath is alright, you pretend that you didn’t notice what he was doing. Other than that, the two of you enjoy your time together and Sanji is no longer jealous. Once the two of you are out of the bath and dried up he goes to you.

“Tomorrow, let's try deeper kissing.” He says, looking guilty for what he did earlier but still determined.

“Okay..”

______________________

“Are you ready?” You ask and he nods. You take a deep breath and press your lips to his.

“Nn..” It’s different. Open mouthed, not pulling away at all.

“I’m gonna use my tongue.” You pull back slightly to mumble as a warning before sliding the muscle into your boyfriend’s mouth. Sanji shivers and clutches onto your shoulders. One of your hands goes to his back, rubbing circles into it before gently pulling him closer to you. After around a minute you both finally pull away for air, panting with your eyes closed. When yours open you see Sanji with his eyes still closed as he takes deep breaths. “How was that?”

“Do it again.” He says breathily, shocking you a bit. Before you can say anything though he leans in to start making out again, forcing you to kiss back again. You’re not gonna stop him if he’s this eager. Still, you’re a bit worried you’re being too dominant, but you just can’t help it. On the plus side it doesn’t seem like he minds. You gently suck on his tongue and he moans. He more than doesn’t mind.

‘Shit, I’m gonna get hard.’ You think to yourself, but you’re still unable to pull away. You can already feel it. Sanji stops to take a deep breath before suddenly climbing into your lap to straddle you, kissing again. You lightly panic if he can feel it or not. All he’d have to do is scooch up a little bit, and he does. Sanji feels it, you know he feels it, but he only scoots closer until his thighs are to the sides of your hips. The movement makes you instinctively buck upwards and he grinds back down onto your cock. You grunt, gripping onto his firm thighs. Suddenly the kiss is more than deep, it’s lustful, fervent. You grind up again and he meets your hips, the two of you letting out noises of pleasure and only pulling away for small moments when you need to breathe. You don’t know what triggered this change in Sanji, maybe he was pent up or the making out made him forget his insecurities, but you’re ecstatic. You pull away, gripping his thighs harder for leverage to thrust. He arches his back with a long moan. “Sanji..” You say his name and he shivers.

“(Y/n)..” One of your hands let go of his thigh and ghosts over his crotch. He immediately bucks up into it desperately, thrusting once you settle it over his clothed dick. He’s moving in your lap almost like he’s riding you and it’s making you so hard it’s painful. Your thumb slips under his waistband, running along the nicely trimmed hair there. He sucks in a breath through his teeth. You adjust him by his waist and press your erection directly where his entrance would be. “Ah!” You did say that you would wait, but this wouldn’t be going all the way. It’s just a suggestion. Your thumb moves further down, taking his pants and underwear with it.

“Can I?” He nods. “Words.”

“Yes, please.” He’s doing so good. You pull his bottoms down until his erection finally pops out, precrum already leaking from him. You gather what’s at the tip and spread it along the shaft with your hand. Sanji gasps and leans back to grip onto your knees. You try to start stroking him but he stops you. “You.. you too.” His voice is breathy, eyes lustful. His hands go to your waistband and shakily pull them down, slipping one underneath until he grabs your length and pulls your hard cock out. A feeling of relief washes over you at it not being trapped anymore. Sanji stares at it a bit. He thought he’d hate or feel weird about it but he loves it, loves the weight in his hand and the warmth of it against his skin. He runs his thumb along the vein on the bottom, enjoying your reaction and the pulse. He almost forgets about himself until you palm his tip. “Merde!”

“My bad!” You apologize and he shakes his head quickly.

“No.” Sanji grabs your wrist before you can pull away. He releases it quickly after, “Please, keep going.” desperate. You nod and start to stroke his dick, his hand stroking yours. He’s focusing on your shaft like he likes it, every so often moving up to stimulate the glans. Very quickly he’s starting to get whiny, wanting more. He scoots forward and your dicks touch, making the both of you shiver from pleasure.

“Fuck.” You groan and he looks into your eyes before sliding his hand around both your cocks, squeezing them together. It shoots pleasure from your dick straight up to your brain and you both moan. Your head falls forward onto his shoulder, turning to kiss the side of his neck. His hand starts to stroke while holding the both of them.

“I love you.” He says while his other hand holds onto your shoulder. “So so much.” He continues to move his hand up and down while panting from pleasure. He’s feeling it, maybe even more than you.

“I love you too.” You grip onto his hips and thrust up into his hand.

“Ah!” Your shaft rubs against his tip. He thrusts up too and your hand meets his grip. Soon you’re both fucking the hold the two of you made, alternating so the stimulation heightens.

“I’m close.” You warn him, but the moment you say that Sanji whines and cums first without any warning. It’s sudden but you take over the grip with your other hand now that he’s unable to, thrusting up to cum as he struggles from the overstimulation. Fucking against his softening dick until he’s whimpering. You finally shoot out your own cum, your fluids joining his on top of your hands and dicks. The both of you catch your breath and Sanji moves off of you to fall back onto the bed. “You okay?” You ask him and he doesn’t answer, your eyes widening as he pulls his pants and underwear off. “Woah, what..?”

“Hurry. I—I already got myself ready.” He says, looking shy about it.

“You got yourself ready? But we were only supposed to make out today.” Silence. “You were planning this from the start then..” He avoids eye contact. The fact that he had this intention from the start is getting you aroused again and you reach in your bedside drawer for lube. Once you pull it out you open the lid and start coating your fingers.

“I said I already got myself ready!” He whines when he notices you slicking your fingers up.

“I don’t doubt that part but for fingering you probably only got a single one in and figured that was enough.” You’re proven right with Sanji’s next words.

“It’s not?” You sigh with furrowed brows.

“Did I look as small as a finger?” You ask him and he shakes his head no with a sad frown. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sound mad. “ You lean over and kiss his forehead. “I wanna touch you. I don’t want your first time to be just me sticking it in.” He wants to be touched too, really bad, he just also wants to be fucked really bad. You gently rub your finger around his hole, then sink your middle finger inside.

“Kya~!” He kyas and then covers his mouth with both of his hands. ‘Dammit, not again!’ You stare at him, slightly shocked, then slip your finger deeper and watch as he struggles to muffle another kya.

“Don’t cover your mouth.” You tell him but he shakes his head. “Sanji.” You lean forward and kiss his hands. “Please? I wanna hear your pretty noises, all of them.” He looks into your eyes and hesitantly uncovers his mouth, gripping onto the bed sheets instead. When you look at him while saying such sweet words he can’t bring himself to refuse. With your other hand you unbutton his shirt and undress him fully, adding another finger.

“Just feels- ah~!” He’s interrupted when you curl your fingers into his prostate, massaging it with your fingertips. “Nnn!”

“Feels good, right? I wanna make sure you feel good.” You run your hands along his body, his stomach up to his chest before gripping one of his pecs softly with his nipple between two fingers. He bites his lip to hold in a high pitched moan. That won’t do. You lean forward and kiss him, prying his mouth open with your tongue to make sure he can’t bite his lip to keep his mouth shut. Your fingers pump faster and you make sure to focus them on that bundle of nerves every time they’re fully in. When you pull away for air he’s panting, flushed with wet eyes. “It’s okay.. it’s okay..” You scissor him open, spreading his hole so you can enter later. “I’ll start gentle for you. We’ll be making love, not just having sex.” Sanji’s pupils blow wide open and he spreads his legs further, panting as his cock fully hardens.

“Love..!” Romantic, lovey dovey, he loves that idea. You pull your fingers out and settle above him, kissing his chest right above his heart. He tenses and tries to hide himself.

“You’re so handsome, Sanji. Pretty, handsome, beautiful, everything. So don’t feel insecure, don’t hide yourself from me.” You coo to him, kissing his lips then cheek.

“I sound stupid.” He’s still feeling insecure. “I’m a guy, I’m not supposed to make noises like this. I’m not supposed to be like this.”

“You’re still a guy, 100%, you’re just a guy that happens to go kya sometimes and makes pretty noises for his boyfriend. Okay?” Your words seem to soothe him because he relaxes.

“Okay.” You nod and lube up your cock, making sure it’s completely slick before it’s placed at his entrance. Missionary is a little hard for anal without a pillow under his hips. To make it easier you grip his legs, pushing them wider and higher til his knees are almost touching the mattress. It’s a lot easier than you thought, there’s almost no resistance.

“Is this fine?” You ask to make sure and he nods.

“I’m not tense anymore, you can go inside.” He thinks you’re talking about being penetrated. Bending him is so easy he doesn’t even think of it as a possible problem.

‘Damn..’ That’s hot. Your tip slowly enters, then you sink in inch by inch, feeling his soft walls envelop you until your hips meet. The feeling makes him kick his legs a little, letting out little moans with his eyebrows furrowed. It feels better than he thought, maybe from the arousal but it’s like pleasure shoots through him with every movement. “You’re.. tight..” You grunt and start to move slowly. He’s tight around your cock but somehow also inviting everytime you thrust inside. You look up at Sanji’s face and notice he’s tearing up, making you pause immediately. “Are you alright!?”

“Ah, fuck.” He looks away, his hair covering his eyes. You let go of one of his legs to brush them away.

“What’s wrong..?” You ask carefully and he shakes his head lightly.

“I don’t know. It feels good. Just.. nerves.” It feels good but it feels bad at the same time, shameful; as if he’s not a man anymore by letting you do this to him. It’s stressing him out. You don’t want him like this, you love him. He deserves to be as whiny as he wants. You kiss him gently then lift him up. “(Y/n)?” You’re sitting down now, slightly leaned back with him on your lap.

“Take control then.” You tell him. “You’re not just a thing to be fucked, nor are you less of a man somehow by being fucked. You’re my boyfriend and I’m yours. This isn’t just for pleasure, this is for love.” He tears up more.

“How could you look at me like this and find me a man to be loved?” He doesn’t think he's beautiful at all being whiny like this. A fully grown man with hair on his legs, it’s disgusting. He must look disgusting whining and moaning.

“Because you’re Sanji, always a man. That’ll be true no matter what you do or how you are. If you want to stop here then we can stop, because you have that choice and that power. This isn’t making you powerless at all.” Sanji looks into your eyes, trying to find any hint that you think otherwise. That you’re secretly making fun of him in your mind and find him gross, just fucking him to get off.. but there’s nothing. You just look enamoured and turned on. It starts to bring heat pooling in his stomach and heart.

“(Y/n)..!” He calls your name and grips onto your shoulders before starting to move, his thighs to the sides of your hips as he goes up and down.

“You’re the most stunning man in the world. Beautiful, hot, I love you.” You praise him over and over as he rides you and he loves it, a moan with each compliment. “Gods you’re so hot.” You’ve been trying to let him take full control but you end up gripping onto his hips and thrusting up into him.

“Ah!♡” His back arches and he goes faster, strong legs easily bouncing on your cock. You take the chance to gently adjust his posture until you help him hit his own sweet spot, making him moan loudly and his back to arch more. His hands let go of your shoulders and he almost tips backwards until you grab his shoulder. You slide that hand down to his and hold it before intertwining your fingers lovingly. “(Y/n). (Y/n). My love. A-Amour!” He’s babbling various pet names while speeding up, so happy as you thrust up into him. You grip his hand tighter, enjoying the view of your boyfriend's body as he rides you. The way his dick bounces on his stomach leaking pre-cum and his flushed face with teary eyes from pleasure. “I’m cllosssee~!”

“M-Me too..!” You say, your voice is getting shaky. He’s good at this. Not faltering even for a second with his movements. A few more thrusts and he cries out, cumming strongly; yet he doesn’t stop moving. You’re almost shocked, but it feels too good for you to think hard about it; especially when he’s showing no signs of wanting you to pull out. His walls are pulsing and contracting around you with his orgasm. It's like he’s begging you to fill him up. The pleasure starts to well up in your groin, rising up and up before it explodes and you cum into him with a moan. That cum coats his insides as he rides you through your ejaculation… then after it. “Sanji!” You panic, feeling overstimulation creep in. That seems to snap him out of it and he comes to a stop.

“Sorry. It felt too good.” He says sheepishly, calming himself down. Even when he was getting overstimulated it was like his brain went empty and the only thought in his head was to make sure he kept moving his body.

“It’s great you think that but at least give me a little rest.” You half-joke before kissing him. He wraps his arms around you and kisses back, your tongue slipping into his mouth as you two start to make out. When you pull away he looks into your eyes.

“I love you.” His voice is soft, vulnerable.

“I love you too.” You answer quickly.

“I have to get dinner ready.”

“Oh.”

Happy pride month! I did it! I know it was supposed to be wednesday and then i said thursday and now it's friday afternoon i'm really sorry. It's just, idk, i kept not being happy with the characterization and stuff and it got more difficult than I thought especially since i procrastinated until monday but then got sick that day so i only had tuesday and then wednesday. By thursday night i had it done but then i passed out, proofread it for the second time, and then finally finished it. Yipee! 🎉🎉

#one piece #fanfiction #one piece x reader #sanji x reader #sanji x male reader #top male reader #male reader #bottom character #sanji #sanji x you #black leg sanji x reader #black leg sanji #black leg sanji x you #fluff #smut #one piece smut #sanji x reader smut #sanji smut #multi chapter

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ainaslastnerve · 2 months ago

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CRUSHING!TELEMACHUS HEADCANONS

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶

yipee, first post !! let's see how this one goes ~

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶

- Stammers around you a lot. He’s usually well-spoken, but the moment you walk in, he forgets half his vocabulary.

“I— uh— hi. I mean hello! I mean—sunlight looks good on you today. WAIT.”

- Practices conversations with you in his head or with Athena (if she ever decides to help) before actually talking to you. Still messes them up.

- Starts using big poetic metaphors to describe you..

“like a lighthouse in a storm”

—and then internally cringes because he thinks he sounds dumb.

- Always pulls out a chair for you or offers to carry things EVEN if it's just a piece of paper—

“I can take that, no problem!”

- Gets super defensive if anyone tries to talk bad about you, especially when it's from the suitors. Even if he’s shy, he’ll stand up for you without hesitation.

- If you’re sad, he doesn’t always know what to say, but he’ll sit with you quietly until you’re ready to talk.

- Sneaks glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking—and gets caught every time. But sometimes, you pretend that you don't see it.

- Whenever he blushes, his ears turn red. Not even his whole face, just the tips of his ears.

- Starts showing off when you’re nearby. Lifting something heavy? Sword training? Suddenly he’s way more into it when you’re watching.

“Man, Athena, this is too easy!”

But inside, he felt like his arms were about to fall off.

- Brags about your skills and talents to others, and talks about you so so much to his mom—“Did you see what they did today? That was incredible!”

- If someone mentions you even casually, he perks up like a golden retriever hearing a treat bag rustle. He'd literally cross seas for you without thinking twice—just like his dad, but 100x softer.

- He has a secret stash of unsent letters or poems he’s written for you. Which range from thoughtful to “I like your hair today” and “you laughed at my joke. highlight of my year.”

- One day he accidentally leaves one somewhere you’ll find it… and you’ll definitely notice the tiny heart he doodled in the corner.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶

telemachus is adorable. I LOVE HIMM RAHH !! telemachus art by gigi 💗

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶

#epic the musical #telemachus #telemachus x reader #x reader #epic x reader #fluff #ainaslastnerve #telemachus headcanons #telemachus epic the musical

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pumpkinbxtch · 1 year ago

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hi!!! I was wondering if you could do hcs for what arguing would be like with the HOO boys

Don't talk me like that! | headcanons

— arguing with the hoO boys

warnings: angst, language, boys being...boys

who's here: jason grace, leo valdez, frank zhang ands percy jackson.

a/n: ohh ohh ohhh, yes. I can. I love drama.

— jason grace:

To get into a real fight with him, you must have come a long way because he's so peaceful and always tries to negotiate calmly, making sure both of you communicate effectively. But at the end of the day, you're like any other couple and sometimes end up having real fights.

The big issue is Jason's nature. He goes silent when he's really upset, his emotions hard to show.

When he’s that mad, you can see it on his face. It’s scary, let’s not lie.

When the ice breaks, he tries to take charge to explain what's wrong, which often makes things worse.

He keeps his distance when you argue, tense and rigid. He’s like a handsome, angry log.

Sometimes he says things reluctantly, like "don't act childish," which is so him.

Yes, he raises his voice and gets frustrated, "no, I said NO, THAT’S NOT HOW IT IS, gods…"

If you're wondering if his powers show, the answer is NEVER, or at least not against you. His mouth might taste like metal or his fingers might spark, but that's just him being really stressed.

His eyes get cloudy and grey.

He takes off his glasses and rubs his temples while muttering.

When things finally start to work out, he breathes better and starts talking more because he knows nothing will work if he doesn’t.

He’s practical, coming up with solutions to problems.

When the fight's over, he hugs you and kisses your forehead, relieved to be out of that situation.

Can he stay mad for days? Depends on the problem, but he’d prefer it doesn't last more than a day.

— leo valdez;

Leo and you usually argue over small things because you have that kind of relationship where you bicker and tease for fun, but when things get serious, the arguments can get heated (get it? heated? laugh, please).

That’s when things get tough. He may seem easy-going, but Leo has a strong temper and is very stubborn when he's mad. Whatever made you really fight doesn't matter because he’ll be stuck on his point.

"No, that's not how it happened." You could be contradicting each other all day until you both turn away and stop talking.

"Well, screw you!" you say, and he growls back, "Yeah, you too," swearing in Spanish. "vale ma-" "me lleva la ch-"

Yes, he switches languages mid-sentence.

"I already told you no! CUANTAS VECES TENGO QUE DECIRLO, carajo!-"

If you know Spanish, you can reply; if not...

"I don’t understand you, idiot. Say it in English or fuck yourself ." (just in case because you’re not sure what he said)

Swearing is common if he's really mad, but it's more his way of dealing with it than being mad at you.

That or sharp sarcasm.

Yes, he might cry if the argument is really bad.

His rigid feelings and insecurity can come up.

Leo is attached, so he’s constantly thinking of ways to fix it because he can’t stand being away from you for too long.

He keeps his distance, terrified of hurting you with his powers, which makes him nervous. "No, DON’T COME NEAR ME." It's for your safety, but it hurts him to see the look in your eyes when he says it.

Can he stay mad for days? Absolutely, but he misses you a lot, though his pride might keep him from showing it.

Don’t worry, he’ll eventually sit down to talk it out, and you’ll both calm down and fix things.

Then he'll give you a big hug and kiss your cheeks.

— frank zhang:

it’s hard to imagine: WHAT DID YOU DO TO FIGHT?

Yes, Frank is Mars’s son, but he’d never choose the battlefield for his lover. He’s very careful and always considerate, but yeah he can be severe when things get bad, and when isn't enough just have a serious talk.

You end up fighting in not-so-quiet whispers, with your faces and gestures being the most expressive.

"Of course not, I already told you, hey!" He raises his hands, and his body tenses up threateningly.

Frank tries to understand your point and make himself heard, always mindful of both your feelings. He knows how to set boundaries.

Sometimes, he just can’t take it anymore and signals a pause. "You know what? This is getting too much, and neither of us is in the best shape. Let’s talk tomorrow or later, please."

Does he raise his voice? Hardly, only when he really needs to make a point.

His eyes are bright, tinged with sadness and anger. The deadliest is his calm face or the way he slightly curls his lip, almost growling.

His eyebrows always seem to be touching, even if he doesn’t want them to.

He keeps a cool head to solve things.

Can he stay mad for days? Yes, while clearing his mind and thinking. He’ll come up to you, and you’ll talk it out, making things work in the end.

He’ll take your hand. You might feel guilty for pushing a guy like Frank to his limit, but he doesn’t mind having relationship problems with you:

"I hope we fight many more times, but about totally different things because it means we’ve really solved the previous issues."

— percy jackson:

wtf did you both do to get into a fight?

Percy won't waste a second, trying to resolve it immediately by asking and reflecting on his own actions. "What did I do wrong?" if it was his fault. "Can you listen to me for a second?" if it was you.

He hates being mad at you, just can’t stand it. But if the fight starts, he wants to start or finish it (or both).

Yes, he might cry.

Yes, he might raise his voice. "No, I didn't do anything. LISTEN TO ME."

Then he apologizes for it because he lost it.

He tries to hold your hands and says, "Babe, babe…"

He makes you both breathe and talk calmly.

He argues, of course, but differently. He’ll stop the conversation. "You know what? I'll think about it." He leaves or makes you leave.

Consequently, he might stay mad for days, or both of you might be mad at each other, but he’s thinking of what to say rather than just calming down. (Nothing wrong with that, everyone handles feelings differently and that's valid.)

Yes, he asks his mom.

Yes, he asks Paul.

You both end up fixing things, and he hugs you tight, giving you kisses all over your face while pouting.

"I missed you, babe."

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pineconepie · 5 months ago

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Platonic yandere doctor? Like he’s had his little for a while but he’s just fed up with them trying to leave so he uses a more permanent solution to the problem of them trying to run away (take that as you will)

I hope this is good!! Its slightly different than what you asked, but if people want I cand make a part two of them trying to escape!

TW: Platonic/parental yandere, drugging, gaslighting, kidnapping, infantilization, slight ableism(?), psychiatric wards

...

You've been seeing Dr. Warren as your doctor for... wow, how long has it been? Several years now. He's always been a kind guy, and sometimes he'd break past that overly polite, professional demeanor and let his soft spot for you shine through.

You liked that about him.

Sometimes, when there wasn't anybody in the waiting room but you two, he would kneel down to give you a little toy while you waited, usually one of those plastic eggs filled with surprise toys or jingling keys or something like that.

You always thought it was a little strange how the doctor was giving you children's toys, but you tried not to overthink it.

There were some other weird things you tried to overlook, but recently it was getting harder to do so.

Warren would always prescribe you medications for all kinds of things, and every single one of them made your mind feel numb. Like static, almost.

Your appointments became very regular, as well. At least once a week, even if nothing felt wrong.

And he'd give you a little plastic medicine bottle filled with gummy vitamins every time you went in.

You started to notice how instead of actually checking your health, he'd cuddle by your side and just ask how your day went, almost acting more like an over-caring therapist... which, he did technically have his degree in both psychology and medicine, but still, the lack of any medical care was suspicious, especially coming from the usually very professional doctor.

"Um, Doctor Warren?" you nervously ask, fiddling with the toy he gave you today, a little green caterpillar with bright colors on its back.

"Hm? What is it?" he asks while marking a few things off on his clipboard.

"Well, uh..." you swallow down a lump in your throat as you work up the courage to ask this. "I've noticed that our sessions lately haven't been productive. And the medications you give me make me worse. I wasn't even having a lot of issues until I started taking them. It's like they just make my mind foggy... and I always feel so sleepy, and my coordination is off..."

"Those are just the side effects," he reassures. "That's why I wanted you to come see me regularly; to track any changes or side effects."

"But I don't think the side effects are worth it. And these constant check-ups are annoying, no offense," you mutter.

"None taken," he says calmly. "The check-ups are for your benefit."

"Yeah, but..." You rub the nape of your neck. "I think I want to see a different doctor... if that's okay."

Suddenly, the warm aura radiating from him grows cold as the man glares at you, dark eyes sending a chill down your spine.

"Do you trust other doctors more than me?" His voice comes out icy, stinging you like cold water.

Your heart pounds. You open your mouth to speak, only to be interrupted again.

"(Y/n). You're mentally and physically ill. Your judgement is too clouded by your conditions that you can't recognize proper care. I'm trying to help you get better. Can't you see that?" He runs a hand through his hair. "You need constant monitoring, love. I'd consider yourself lucky I haven't put you in inpatient care." His expression changes, like a light bulb goes off in his head. "Actually, would you prefer that?"

"No, of course not!" you cry out. "Please don't-"

"Why shouldn't I? It's for your own safety," he says matter-of-factly. "You can't even tell what's good or bad for you. Your condition is worsening."

"Because of the medication," you retort.

"That's just the side effects. I explained this already."

"Why would medicine that's supposed to cure me make me worse?!" you yell. Tears well up in your eyes. "Why won't you listen to me?!"

He looks like a parent dealing with their crying toddler; confused yet confident they'll get over it eventually. "Hmm... I think you need a nap."

"A nap? What, am I in timeout now?" You fold your arms across your chest like a pouting child, realizing a little too late how funny the doctor probably finds the gesture.

Warren gets out some medical supplies: a needle and a vial. Filling the syringe with a clear liquid from the small container, he turns towards you and grins menacingly. "This'll only take a moment..."

Before you can stand up and try to run away, he plunges the needle into your arm.

You cry out and flinch away, but not before all of the syringe's contents empty inside you. He holds you against him, shushing softly in your ear as you sob until suddenly your eyelids grow heavy.

He keeps you firmly tucked in his grip, and you find that you're unable to move, paralyzed by whatever substance he injected into you.

As soon as he sees you drifting off, he lies you on the bed and rushes out, yelling something that sounds too far away to hear.

...

When you wake up, you see white walls all around you. Blinking your eyes, you look down at your clothes to see an outfit totally different from what you had been wearing when you were in Warren's office. This looks more like hospital garb.

Speaking of which, where was Warren?

Turning your head weakly to the right, you notice you're attached to a heart monitor, the wires running to sensors on your chest and fingers.

You struggle to prop yourself up and sit properly on the bed.

Warren walks into the room. "Good morning! Or, should I say good afternoon?" he smiles teasingly, closing the door behind him. "How are we feeling?"

"I'm feeling like you drugged me! What am I doing here?!" Your throat feels like its on fire, but you continue trying to speak regardless. "Can't you talk to me without having me admitted to a hospital?! Oh god- please don't tell me I'm in the psychiatric ward..."

"You are in the psychiatric ward, yes," he confirms smoothly. "But don't worry. I pulled a few strings to make sure you got the best care." His voice dips into something softer, almost affectionate. "I even had them set up a private room for you. No noisy roommates, no prying eyes—just me, looking out for you."

A chill runs down your spine. This isn't normal. This is too far.

"For what? Telling you I wanted to see a different doctor? For wanting to get off my meds?!" You glare.

He doesn't seem too bothered, pulling out a clipboard. "Well, it says on your chart you attacked me with scissors during our last meeting when I wouldn't give you prescription opioids. That's pretty serious."

"WHAT?!" Your jaw drops. "You liar! That never happened!"

Warren feigns worry. "Oh, sweetheart..." He caresses the side of your face. "You poor thing. Those delusions have you again, huh?" He shakes his head. "I don't know how to tell you this... but you have a problem. A very, very severe one. Which is why you need constant surveillance from someone trained to handle people with your particular condition."

You blink away tears blurring your vision. "This is crazy. You can't do this to me."

"Baby, I'm not 'doing' anything. This was all in your best interests." Warren moves closer to you, rubbing circles into your skin. "You're sick, (Y/n). I've been your doctor for multiple years now. Why would I lie about this?"

You sob harder. You want to believe him so bad.

You trust him, and it's always been easier to follow along with his suggestions rather than try to fight or argue back, but...

"You like treating me as if I'm a baby. Does that have anything to do with this? Or why the medications you've given me make me feel like I'm regressing into a toddler every day?" you spit out bitterly.

He sighs. "That's because you have the obvious mentality of one. The regression isn't a result of the drugs, (Y/n). It's your disorder acting up." He pushes some strands of hair out of your face. "If it helps any, I like taking care of you. Really, I do. I've never considered myself a parental person until I met you. You need me, just as much as I need to be needed by someone else. Like you."

"I'll tell everyone you basically kidnapped me," you threaten. "They can look on the security cameras for proof I didn't do anything!"

He clicks his tongue, chuckling. "I might have accidentally deleted the security footage from the day. Oops," he adds innocently. He kisses your forehead. "Now, get some rest, kiddo. Papa will check on you in an hour. And please don't try anything bad while I'm gone; otherwise, we'd have to add assaulting an orderly or nurse onto your file... We really don't want that, do we?"

All you can do is stare dumbly up at him as the words sink in.

Yes, Warren could definitely get in trouble for this... but who's going to believe you when you've been labeled a danger to yourself and others with a laundry list of mental health disorders, prescribed enough pills to tranquilize an elephant daily?

No one.

He leaves with a final, "Be good," shutting the door with a soft thump, leaving you alone, staring after him long after he's gone.

#answered ask #parental yandere #platonic yandere #familial yandere #forced age regression #yandere age regression #yandere #warren oc #tw infantilization #tw psych ward #tw gaslighting #tw kidnapping #tw ableist language #tw ableism

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