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sumbarbietingz · 5 months ago

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Part 2 of Onlyfans!Toji, here’s part one

Now it’s either a one shot or a long ass drabble you decide, I had too much inspiration for that one

Warnings: degradation and praise kink, mutual masturbation, masturbation, breeding kink, rough sex, mention of oral; reader receiving and giving

Onlyfans!Toji finally dm you, with a simple message that goes straight to the point. “Hey ma, just discovered you and ngl, I need a collab with you asap.” Toji being the cocky bastard that he is, knows that you’ll reply and accept the offer. You see his message, and at first, you think it might be a catfish or someone using an ai generated pic for the pfp, cause you’ve never seen anyone so hot in your life. You check his profile and ho-ly fuck. 2 million followers on Twitter, a handsome face, a buff body, and the biggest dick you’ve seen in your life? Goddamn now your pussy’s wet, how can someone be- hold on.

While you’re scrolling you see a video of Onlyfans!Toji fucking some other content creator and unconsciously, you start playing with your breast. The way he’s pushing her head down the pillow while his hips are slamming against hers, the way she’s moaning, the way he’s biting his lip and groaning while railing her? Fuck, you need that. You want that, badly. Usually, you don’t crave a content creator that much. Sure, you need to at least like his work to do a collab, but this is the first time you genuinely want another dude on OF to rearrange your insides. So you don’t waste any more time, you reply and accept the offer.

Onlyfans!Toji almost jumps on his phone when he sees the notification, and a big smile spreads on his face. He jumps on his bed and the two of you start texting. There are questions and answers regarding the collab, like the money matters, what the two of you like and dislike, boundaries, ideas for the video, your schedule, and most importantly, updated test results.

Onlyfans!Toji doesn’t know why he’s so excited and why he’s behaving like a 15 yo texting his crush. But he can’t wait to see you. You end up texting for hours, and eventually, you exchange numbers to FaceTime each other which quickly ends up in Toji stroking and hitting his dick on the phone, while you’re rubbing your wet brown pussy for him. You both don’t know what’s going on, and why you’re acting like this, but you can’t wait to finally meet each other

Eventually, it’s getting late and you tell him you’re going to sleep. Since Onlyfans!Toji is not tired yet, his mind is too focused on you, so he decides to make this paid request a fan asked for earlier that day. A $500 video of him jerking off while saying the fan’s name. He’s not the one who sets the price, the fan has money to waste, and who Onlyfans!Toji is to refuse such a good offer after all? The fan already paid, it was time for him to do his part now

Onlyfans!Toji removes his clothes, lays on his bed, grabs his phone, and starts recording. At first, it’s a lil intro to edge the fan, tell her whatever she wanna hear before the camera is now on his cock. He makes it twitch a bit and says how hard it is because of her which is a lie, he imagines the fan is you. He starts stroking himself, and says the name of the fan all while thinking about you, thinking about that FaceTime and the way your fat pussy lip wrapped around your two fingers as you rubbed your clit, the way you moaned his name in despair while begging him to fuck you. He groans and starts going faster “Fuuuuuuck mama… I wanna fuck you so bad shiiit…” As he keeps going, he starts dirty talking, imagining saying all those things to you, imagining doing all those things to you, and it takes everything in him to not say your name. His imagination is running wild now, he grabs his cock a bit too tight and hits the camera a bit too hard, a feral groan leaving his lips “Fuck… suck that fuuuucking dick you fucking bitch… Do you like that? Uh?” God knows what the fuck Onlyfans!Toji is imagining right now but one thing is for sure, he’s gonna do that to you.

After a few minutes Onlyfans!Toji cums all over his abs, groaning like an animal as he pictures your dick sucking lips around his tip, swallowing his semen. He’s panting, he can’t believe he felt so much pleasure from just using his hand “Damn [fan name], see what you made me do? Fuck, I’m dirty now because of you, but it was worth it. Thank you for making me feel good.” This is clearly not for the fan but whatever. He stops recording, sends the video to the girl on Onlyfans then gets cleaned up. You’re gonna be the death of him.

A week later it’s finally time to record this video. For once, Onlyfans!Toji wants his colleague to come to his place. He doesn’t know why, he doesn’t. Usually, he meets the other content creators at some hotel or their place but never at his own. It’s not like he lives in the slums, that Onlyfans money made him rich and he lives in a beautiful penthouse. He just knows how some of these content creators become clingy and/or possessive after getting fucked by him. He doesn’t need stalkers on top of that. But you? He has that weird desire to see you boneless on his bed, HIS. And maybe he’ll be able to keep you around for a few more rounds off camera, or on, who knows.

You finally arrive and Onlyfans!Toji finds you even more breathtaking in real life, and by the look on your face, you probably think the same thing about him. Before he loses it and jumps on you to take you right there and then, he chats a bit with you, he still wanna act like a civilized man and not like a caveman. He asks you if you need anything to eat or drink, if you’re okay if you’re ready, and if you have any safe words. Once it’s settled he brings you to his room, where a whole set next to the bed is ready for you. The tension is high in the room. You didn’t plan a scenario, you both decided to go with the flow. You don’t know why you’re so nervous when you’re used to it, after all, it’s your job, but the dark and hungry look in Onlyfans!Toji’s eyes make your heart race.

You are out of breath, you are overstimulated, and your slicked-back bun is a whole mess. You didn’t know recording a video with Onlyfans!Toji would leave you in that state. Well, you expected it, but still, you can’t believe it. This man is a monster in bed. He praised and degraded you, made you ride his face until you came at least twice. He made you suck his massive dick until you were a crying, drooling mess with a sore throat. He had you in full Nelson, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, backshots, the princess position, and now you can’t count how many times this man made you squirt. And he wasn’t done, cause he didn’t cum yet. This man has the stamina of a goddamn bull on steroids. Right now you’re in missionary again, your wrists pinned, your legs wrapped around his waist, moaning in a way you never thought you would as his cock keeps pocking your cervix.

With the way Onlyfans!Toji is panting and groaning, you can tell he’s getting close to cum “M-ma, fuck I’m close mama… goddamn fuck- your pussy feels so good… such a good girl for me…” he groans in your ear, which makes your clench tighter around him. You bite your lip, and you’re so fucked out that you tell him to cum inside you. “You sure ma? Want me to fill you up and get you pregnant? That’s what you want?” You’re on the pill so it’s safe but you’d lie if you didn’t find the idea fucking hot. You nod desperately “Yes please… cum in my pussy… knock me up baby..” you whimper, your voice almost gone from the way you moaned and screamed earlier. That’s when Onlyfans!Toji snaps. He growls, releases your wrists to wrap his buff arms around your body, and violates your insides as you scream for dear life. You scratch his back so deeply you might draw blood. “Goddamn fucking slut y/n take my cum…!” When he says your name you cry out as you have another orgasm, he follows you quickly after, growling so loudly it gives you goosebumps. You can feel the warm gooey texture filling your womb, the feeling is amazing. You both stay like this for a moment until he pulls out, his cum leaking from your abused hole. He’s tempted to fuck it back into you but you’re already boneless, so he grabs his phone and stops recording.

Onlyfans!Toji looks at you affectionately and caresses your cheek while admiring your state. “You were amazing y/n, such a good girl for me.” You can barely hear him, but his caress gives you some reassurance. Eventually, you doze off and he starts editing the video. After a while, he posts a sneak peek on his Twitter account. A 20-second video of him taking you in different positions while you’re screaming in pleasure. He writes a lil caption: “@Y/N might have been my best collab so far, ‘ma knows how to take a good dick😩😈 full video on OF real soon🍆💦” and then posts it. It doesn’t take long before he gets shitloads of reactions under the tweet, both from his fans and yours.

@mahito’sstankass: holy fuckkkk I wish I was y/n 😩😩

@y/n’sdirtydraws: fucking hot I’m already touching myself rn

@tojiA1dickrider: oh my god she takes it like a champ! Wish Toji fucked me like her🤤🤤

@dcktoobigforyou: goddamn that mf gets all the baddies im jealous right now

@gojo_right_ball: I need my bf to fuck me like toji or I might break up with him idc

@coochiehair: I need the full vid asap the chemistry is insaneeeeee🔥🔥

@y/n’sasscrack: ikr??? They were downright making love! I hope they make more videos

@tojifckmepls: omg I can tell they were both into it I need more!!! My pussy can’t take it!!!🤭🤣

Onlyfans!Toji chuckles and then looks at you, the comments were right, he felt it and he bets you felt it too. This won’t be your last video together, he’s sure of it.

You can tell I was fucking horny while writing some of these lmao hope you liked part 2🫶🏾

taglist: @midnightry @tojicvmslut @getoisinnocent @samoankpoper21 @remithenonbinaryrat

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inbabylontheywept · 7 months ago

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the fine and subtle art of arguing with old men

it was a good week for testing which meant it was a slow week for me. most of my job is fixing the machine when it goes down. if it doesn't go down, i don't have much to do.

fortunately neither did marc. in a site full of ornery old bastards, he's the oldest and the orneriest, so it goes without saying that i enjoy spending time with him. he reminds me of my grandpa. hell, he reminds me of a lot of people. i've befriended enough grumpy old men that i've got a sort of momentum to it now - you know how it is, when you meet someone that reminds you of someone else you really like. you get to start that friendship off half built, because you already have an idea of how to like that guy, and some of that old warmth can be brought to the new friendship. a little ember to start the stove up with.

(i think that's one of the really undersold beauties of getting older. you stop viewing people as strangers and more like remixes of friends.)

anyway, i was sitting next to marc and we were talking about the future. i've got my eye on having kids sometime soon (year or two? hopefully?), and he's very happy for me. i've tried asking him for advice, but all he says is that he didn't do a great job with his own kids and they still turned out okay, so i should stress less and trust myself more. i hope he's right. he believes it, at least, and it's a hell of a thing to have the faith of an old man. his faith is hard won.

as for his plans, he's retiring at some point in the next six months, and is hoping to sell his home and buy something in florida. he's republican, so he views the state as paradise, and i'm not inclined to even try talking him out of it. it's his dream, you know? i know for a fact my paradise would be a lot of people's hell. life's funny like that.

still, we kept going on, and it was a good time, and then he reminisced about the last time he got close to quitting - back around 2020. our job required getting vaxxed, and he refused, and there was a big kerfuffle about it before the job actually backed down. i know there's not a lot of sympathy for the unvaxxed out here, but the man's 62. you get the shot when you're under 30 to protect the people around you, but when you're over 60, you're just getting it to protect yourself and it's hard to be mad at someone for kicking their own ass.

still gave me pause though. i knew he wasn't going to take it well, but half the job of collecting curmudgeons is keeping them around, so i said

hey. i'm sorry they bent your arm over it, but.

but.

you should really get that shot.

and he looked over at me, and i looked at him, and he actually spat. not on me, just the concrete, but it was enough to show that he was mad. then he walked away, as abrupt as anything.

i felt bad about it. i wasn't sure what i'd expected, when he was willing to lose his job over it before, but i'd been so invested in his dream of retirement - the idea of him sipping margaritias on a beach next to his wife, the wife he calls every day during lunch, the wife he says is the one thing in life he ever got right on the first try. the wife that almost divorced him back when he was in the airforce because he just wasn't home enough.

(but he can be home now.)

and then he mentioned the vax thing, and it was like seeing a pin hit a balloon. he works out every day and takes all sorts of crazy vitamins and is generally committed to getting the most out of his pension and his life. i didn't want this dumb weak point to be his achilles heel.

---

i wasn't actually sure how long marc would be mad at me. i've seen him stay mad at some people for weeks. i wasn't sure if being friends would make that time go up or down.

it went down. i'm glad it went down.

he stopped being mad about two days later. we were doing front end maintenance one morning, and it was just that simple mechanical rhythm - hex key, replace the anode sheets, punch some off-gassing holes, oil it up, put it back in - that put things at ease. it always does. people working there are too busy to remember grudges, and it has this sort of mandatory practical communication that helps smooth things over. it was going great, and then out of the blue he said babs, you gotta be careful giving advice. those shots come with complications. what would you do if i got that shot, had a stroke, and died?

and i don't know what answer he was expecting, but i just told him the truth, which is that i would be devastated. i'd feel like i killed him. i thought that was a pretty normal response, but he looked taken aback. he asked why i said it then, and i said i'd have felt the same if he died of covid. that's just life. sometimes, there's no way forward that doesn't risk some kind of regret.

we finished the tube after that, in a silence that felt heavier than peace but lighter than anger. it felt like the ball was back in marc's court. like it would be rude to take that turn from him.

we parted ways with a nod and didn't speak until the next day.

---

i was doing spreadsheet work when he found me again. standard paper engineering - thinking of things we might need and ordering them in batches, months ahead of time. it always feels a little like plugging holes in a dam with my fingers.

but he popped up, and we didn't even exchange pleasantries. he just said i'm gonna die one day, and you can't blame yourself for that.

which is a hell of a thing to just tell someone right off the bat.

so i said what

and he said babs, i am in my 60s. something is gonna get me eventually, and whether it's covid or heart disease, or a stroke, there will be something you could have said or done before. and that's okay. it's not your job to make me live forever.

and you know, he actually made a lot of sense. so i said

okay.

i'll keep your business yours. i just

you were talking about your retirement before this. and i want that for you very much. you've worked hard for 45 years, and you deserve a break. we're getting to sick season, and it would be the saddest fucking thing in the world if you got this close to winning the race then tripped in the last ten feet.

and we sat there a few moments longer. i wasn't sure what to say, and i wasn't sure what he'd say, but eventually he just shrugged and said

yeah

then he left. i figured that would be the end of it.

---

i did front end maintenance yesterday, after being gone a week. it's one of my favorite things to do. i like working with my hands. i really like working with my hands. i'm glad i went to college, but in a different life, i think i could've made a better electrician than an electrical engineer.

and at one step, when we were both hoisting the plate back onto the machine, his sleeve rode up, and i saw two bandaids on his arm.

we finished the install, and i was ready to go back when marc actually stopped me.

i got the shot, he said, almost embarrassed. like he'd been caught. and i knew he was gonna say something dumb about it, so i just cut him off by giving him a hug.

i was relieved. hugging old men is kind of like picking up cats. if they like you a lot, they'll tolerate it, but that's about it. we sat there maybe three beats before his hands went up, and then he gave me one overly-hard thump on the back. in my experience, this is how old men tell you that they're done, so i let him go.

carla talked me into it, he said, almost defensive. his wife. his one good decision.

tell her i said thanks, i said back.

trump got the shot too, he said, less defensive, but oddly pleading. like he was consoling himself.

like he was nervous.

then it's gotta be safe, i said, and he looked up at me, strangely searching, strangely vulnerable. i don't know exactly what he was looking for, but i guess he found it because after a few moments his shoulders relaxed.

yeah, he said, one hand on the back of his head.

it's gotta be.

#babylon-lore #covid shots #work stories

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mypoisonedvine · 11 months ago

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𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻 𝗲𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 | eddie munson x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | based on a request from the lovely @ultraintrovertedgryffindor ; getting stuck in an elevator with his best friend (and secret crush) was absolutely not on eddie's morning agenda, but it leads to one of his most wild fantasies coming to life.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 3.8k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | SMUT (18+ only!! semi-public sex, oral m receiving, kinda pervy eddie but also slightly pervy reader with a balls fixation gee I wonder where that idea came from), best friends to lovers (but very very limited plot haha), pretty much exactly what it says on the tin y'all not sure what to say

Eddie laughed as he pressed his hands to the elevator doors, but it wasn't a laugh of amusement— it was exasperation, frustration, an is this really happening? laugh.

"Soonest we can get a crew out there is uhh... noon?" the voice on the emergency phone informed you.

"Noon?!" you yelped. "It's not even half past eight!"

"What did I tell ya?" Eddie recalled, hanging his head in defeat for a second. "Nothing good happens before ten."

"Just try to stay calm and we'll be there when we can," the operator suggested, like it was so simple.

You didn't even reply to that, just scoffed and hung up.

It wasn't like he'd been looking forward to his GED exam, in fact he'd almost been hoping for a way to put it off or get out of it... but this was definitely not what he was imagining. Of all the elevators to get stuck in, this generic government building where he was supposed to have his big test proctored was probably the most boring option.

He glanced over at you, and stopped himself from making a dirty joke: you heard that Aerosmith single, right? Love In An Elevator?

That probably wouldn't have gone over well. He used to say stuff like that when you were both a little younger, but he'd since given up hope of it ever actually... inspiring anything. You two were probably better off as friends anyways; or, that’s what he told himself to make it sting a little less.

“Looks like we’ll be stuck in here for a while…” he mumbled instead. “Did they say what the issue is?”

“Some kind of power failure?” you recalled with a shrug. “It’s gonna take a while to fix, that’s the important thing. Do you think they’ll call the fire department?”

“Who knows,” Eddie sighed, leaning against the wall as you sank onto the floor and dropped your head back against the wall. “I guess we should just try to get comfortable.”

Which was easier said than done, but at least he was stuck here with you— you were generally pretty fun to talk to. Of course, you weren’t exactly in your best mood due to the circumstances…

At 8:32, Eddie checked his watch. “I’m officially late for my exam,” he noticed.

At 9, you checked your own; “And I’m officially late for work. We'll see if I even still have a job when we get out of here," you groaned. "I was on pretty thin ice already."

By 9:14, the stuffiness of the elevator was becoming harder to ignore. Eddie slipped off his jacket and vest in response to the heat, but resisted the urge to take off his Ozzy shirt. You'd seen him shirtless before, of course, but he figured out would be weirder without the right context.

"Fuck, it's hot in here," you whined quietly.

"I guess the power issue affects the A/C, huh," Eddie noticed.

"You think?" you scoffed, reaching up to unbutton the top of your shirt.

For some reason, he kinda liked when you were condescending like that; of course he loved it when you were sweet like usual, but when you got frustrated and sarcastic and looked at him like he was crazy... for whatever reason, it worked for him. And it was definitely working like never before when combined with your hasty efforts to open your shirt.

He expected you to stop after a couple buttons, but you just kept going, exposing more and more of your chest glistening with sweat. His eyes were glued to it, until you got low enough for him to see a glimpse of your bra, and he coughed as he turned his head quickly.

"Woah, hey, uh--" he stammered out awkwardly.

"Oh whatever, you've seen me in a bikini, it's the same thing," you rolled your eyes.

But it's not the same thing, because you were stripping, untucking the button-up from your tight skirt, fanning your flushed skin...

And he was tugging the crotch of his jeans down a bit when you weren't looking, trying to keep his oncoming boner from being too obvious.

Leaving your shirt open, you sighed and sat down on the floor, splaying your legs out on the ground. He could see how uncomfortable you were, and it made him press his lips together while he sighed through his nose. Though he was a little afraid you weren’t in the mood for any friendly behavior as your frustration and stir-craziness increased, he walked across the elevator and sat down next to you. “I was probably gonna flunk the test,” he decided.

“What? No you weren’t,” you scoffed. “You studied so hard! I’m really proud of you, you know.”

“Just ‘cause we’re stuck in here doesn’t mean you should get all sappy with me—” he started.

“No— ‘cause we’re stuck in here I’m not gonna put up with you trying to be down on yourself,” you decided sternly with a little glare at him. “You were gonna fucking ace it, I know you were. You worked your ass off. I know you wanted to act like you didn’t care, but you actually got your shit together and did it.”

“You… you helped me a lot,” he mumbled sheepishly.

“Please, I hardly did anything— mostly just kept you from getting too distracted,” you denied, blissfully unaware that he actually found you more distracting sometimes, but never minded it. “Can you stop being a pussy and just admit you’re actually smart, and dedicated, and more than capable of nailing this?”

He blinked quickly and looked down into his lap, feeling his face warm up— not just from the heat. How could you be so mean and nice at the same time?

“And now it’s gonna go to waste, ‘cause of this godforsaken elevator,” you sighed, dropping your head back; a pessimistic end to a pep talk, but he couldn’t blame you.

"Think of it this way: it couldn't get any worse!" Eddie offered with a faux-upbeat tone.

Right then, the lights in the elevator flickered and turned off, plunging you both into darkness. "I fucking hate you," you announced after a short silence.

He heard a whirring sound from somewhere else in the shaft, and a dimmer orange lighting came on inside the elevator; some kind of emergency back-up generator thing, probably. It was enough to see decently well, especially as his eyes started to adjust, but still made it feel like you were both in an even more perilous situation.

“I didn’t sleep enough last night,” you admitted, “I might try to catch up on that. Maybe if I can sleep this will go by faster…”

“I like that plan,” he decided, even though he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to do the same. Eddie had a hard time keeping still and quiet, but he managed to do it so you could get your rest.

He suspected you had fallen asleep when your breathing seemed to slow down a bit— but he knew you had when you limply slumped to the side, your head gently landing on his shoulder. This happened every once in a while, a sign of how comfortable you were with him. He supposed he should be thankful for it, but sometimes it just made him furious. Because what cruel punishment was this, to have you lay on him like this when he can't put his arm around you and kiss your head and tell you how perfect you are?

The half-boner he’d wound up with earlier when you unbuttoned your shirt had never really gone away, and it noticed your proximity with renewed interest. Maybe it was just because he was so bored with literally nothing to do but think about you, but his mind kept coming up with all these fucked up ideas based on the eyeful he’d gotten.

What if you’d taken off your bra as well and let him see the tits he’d been fantasizing about for longer than he cared to admit? What if this had happened in winter instead and the elevator was brutally cold and you two had to hold your naked bodies together for warmth? What if that guy on the phone said this thing was airtight and two only had an hour to live and you decided you wanted to go out with a bang, literally?

He wondered if he’d be brave enough to tell you how he felt about you, if either or both of you only had an hour left. For better or for worse, this elevator shaft had airflow, so you were more likely to die of boredom than anything.

He shifted slightly, stuck in a somewhat awkward position, but it didn't help much— though thankfully it didn't wake you up, either. He just wished he could get some relief, somehow.

Obviously, he knew it was a bad idea. But the thing about his dick is it usually talked him into some pretty bad ideas…

He tested the waters with a whisper of your name, but you just kept breathing slowly— you were out cold. Maybe you were even more nervous for him than you'd let on, if you were that underslept.

Reaching up with his free hand, all he had to do was grip himself through his jeans to get some relief; he sighed through his nose, shutting his eyes.

His cock flexed impatiently as he unzipped the jeans as slowly as possible to avoid making too much sound. But god was it worth the wait— as soon as he slipped his hand into his boxers he had to bite his lip, it was so good just to get some attention for his poor, lonely dick.

This was far from the first time Eddie had jerked off to the thought of you. But he was sure he'd never done it while you were this close.

He did it once or twice in your bathroom while you were on the other side of the wall, that was probably the closest he'd come to this before. And that was chump change compared to this-- this was so risky it made his heart race and his hands shake with adrenaline, but it only made him more desperate for whatever reason.

He wouldn't have swiped his thumb through the precum at his slit if he had known how good it would feel— or maybe if he'd known how good it would feel, he would've been able to prepare himself for it. But the anxiety of getting caught had made him even more sensitive, so he hadn't really seen it coming, and when he did it he let out a little moan through his teeth that he couldn't stop.

You stirred again and he froze; when you lifted your head off of his shoulder, he hastily shoved himself back into his jeans, trying to cover up the open fly with the bottom of his shirt.

“Were you… jerking off?” you realized, and he felt sick with fear as his heart raced like never before.

“W-what?” he scoffed incredulously. “I— are you crazy?”

“Ed,” you warned firmly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I— sorry—”

“Are you that bored?” you mocked with a snort, and he felt even more flushed; it made his cock flex under the mediocre covering of his shirt when you degraded him like that.

“N-no— well, yeah, I just— you put your head on me and I—”

“It was because of me?” you realized, and his mouth fell open. He hadn’t realized that you hadn’t actually put that together yet; of course he’d ended up just digging himself deeper.

“W-well, uh— I mean, no, no I— well. Kind of?”

“Kind of, as in…”

“Completely,” he blurted out.

You were quiet for a long time, and he couldn’t see your face well enough to even try to guess what you were thinking. Although you probably could’ve given him a thousand guesses and he never would’ve guessed what you ended up saying: “You want some help with that?” you offered.

But before he could even answer— not that he really could, he was too busy having a short circuit in his brain— you were reaching for his lap. And even if his mind was blown, his body knew to just lift his hands up and out of the way and let you do whatever you wanted to him.

You pulled up the bottom of his shirt and sighed a little when you saw his cock, still hard and leaking and curled up against his stomach. You carefully wrapped your hand around it, and he swallowed thickly, wondering if he was dreaming or something— you were so… soft.

“Like this?” you asked gently, making his hips twitch up into your hand for a second.

“Y-yeah,” he nodded, eyes glued to the way your hand looked wrapped around him. If only the lights weren’t out, he wanted to see it even better.

He looked at your face, moving your hair a little to make sure he could see you, but from what he could tell your eyes were trained on his lap.

“Fuuuck,” he whispered when you stroked him a bit more confidently. He wanted to shut his eyes from how good it felt, but he didn’t want to look away from a moment of this in case you, you know, came to your senses and stopped.

“S’really thick,” you said, under your breath, a little bit shyly. He groaned and ran his hand over your back, trying not to do too much in case it startled you but also totally helpless to how badly he needed you. “I wonder if I can…”

You trailed off, and before he could decide if he should ask what you were going to say, you

As soon as you leaned down and put your mouth around him, his back arched and his legs kicked a bit. “Fuck, baby,” he choked out, melting into the warm feeling of your lips, your tongue— god, he couldn’t believe you were doing this to him. He actually had to fight the urge to tell you so, to admit how much he’d imagined this; he settled for whining out your name and running a hand over your hair encouragingly. “S’fucking warm, oh my god—”

You hummed around him, sucking a bit harder, swirling your tongue around the tip; who the fuck taught you that? It made his chest burn with some targetless jealousy even while it made his cock flex proudly.

Your hand still gripping the base, you took him a little bit deeper, moaning a little bit once again while you did it. No way you actually enjoyed this, right?

You pulled your head up a bit— he took his hand away quickly, not trying to hold you down or anything— and just when he wondered if you might stop, you dropped down lower so you could run your tongue up from the very bottom all the way to his leaking slit—

“Jesus,” he laughed thinly, “what are you doing to me, baby?”

“Whatever I wanna do,” you replied— if he was a little braver, he would’ve asked what made you want this, how long you wanted this— but he was more than content to let you do whatever you wanted, so far you had some pretty fucking good ideas.

Your head sank even a little bit lower, and he pushed his jeans down just a bit in case they were getting in your way. Boy, was he glad he did. “Fuck,” he gasped, watching in shock as you looked up at him while your tongue ran over his balls. “Sorry, they’re, uh, kinda sweaty…”

“Even better,” you purred; what the fuck were you doing acting so dirty like that?

“Baby,” he laughed thinly, “is this some kind of claustrophobia-induced psychosis or something? Who are you and what have you done with my prude best friend?”

“Prude? That’s unfair,” you laughed. “Just ‘cause I don’t advertise every dirty thought that goes through my mind doesn’t mean I’m not as much of a freak as you…”

“Freak is an understatement,” he sighed, struggling to keep his voice even when he was literally watching you lick all over his balls like this. “You’re a proper fucking slut.”

You hummed proudly, eyes getting a little heavier— when you looked up at him like that, he was totally helpless. “It’s slutty to wanna taste your best friend’s balls?”

“F-fuck, of course it is,” he whined, cock flexing in your hand again when you licked a stripe up between then.

“Well then yeah, guess I’m a slut,” you agreed.

“G-god, I— I’m gonna—” he tried to warn you, but it happened so fast— it happened the second you started to gently suck on his balls, in fact. What was he supposed to do when you did that?! How could he not shoot cum all over his now-definitely-ruined shirt?

“Oh shit,” you giggled— his cock was still flexing and you were already mocking him.

“What— what the fuck,” he began, trying to catch his breath, “made you wanna do that?”

But you were already straddling his lap, pulling up your skirt to your waist.

“F-fuck, baby, I— are you seriously—?”

He cut himself off and whimpered when he got a good look at your panties, the cute lacy kind— and pretty fucking soaked already.

“I-I don’t have a condom,” he warned you, cursing himself inside for finally throwing out the one in his wallet thinking he would never end up needing it.

“Don’t care,” you sighed, pulling your panties aside and guiding his tip right up to your entrance.

“Fuck, that’s—”

He was gonna say it was insanely hot, but you hardly noticed; you were already sliding down onto him, taking him in one motion right to the base.

“Oh fuck!” he nearly shouted, gripping hard onto your thighs. “F-fuck, you’re so tight, fuck…”

You started moving right away, grinding on top of him for a second before lifting your hips and bouncing up and down. “Fuck,” you sighed, “so deep…”

Was it wrong that he loved the way you were basically just using him? You hadn’t even let him finish his sentence, you didn’t ask if he could handle it right after coming— you just started riding him, and far be it from him to complain about that.

“Take this off,” he pleaded, tugging at your unbuttoned shirt and trying to push it off your shoulders.

You helped him get it off, and before you’d even tossed it off to the side he was reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. The gods of bra clasps smiled down upon him that day, because he was sure he’d never gotten one open so quickly, and if there was any time he really needed it, it was now.

“Fuck,” he groaned when he got a good look at them— not good enough in this dim orange lighting, but it would do— and instantly got a hold of your chest. You didn’t seem to mind the clammy hands, considering the way you whimpered a little and clenched inside around him. “God, baby, your tits…”

As much as he’d been waiting ages for a chance to see you naked, he couldn’t deny you looked way too good with the skirt, stockings, and heels still on. He could already tell this was going to give him a complex.

He ran a hand up your leg as you moved just to feel the silky nylon; god, he hoped you didn’t get fired for the unexplained extreme lateness, if not just for your sake then so that you would keep dressing like this every day. “So pretty,” he sighed, wondering if you could see in the dark how totally in awe he was of you.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, in that way he’d always imagined you would in a time like this. Your head fell back and he couldn’t help but reach up and grab your neck— not applying much pressure, just holding you there, just admiring how goddamn perfect his hand looked wrapped around you.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Eddie sighed, “fuck, look at you go.”

You smiled a little, he could see it even with your head tilted back like that, and it was just amazing seeing you so… free? So relaxed and totally shameless, giving in to your pleasure. But it wasn’t enough: he wanted to see you lose all your composure, he wanted to hear you scream his name, he wanted to make you shake and cry and beg— that was why he grabbed a tight hold of your hips and pulled you down onto him, bucking his hips up to meet you halfway. It forced his cock even deeper and you yelped a little.

“Not too big for you, is it?” he taunted.

“No, fuck, s’perfect,” you moaned, your voice deep and rough and so fucking beautiful like this. “Fuckin’ perfect, Ed, o-oh god—”

“Keep saying my name,” he ordered.

“Eddie,” you said, again, but this time all needy and cute; it just made him fuck you harder, biting down on his lip to muffle some of his own noises— he just wanted to hear you. He pulled you down and hugged you close, keeping you still so he could fuck up into you exactly how he wanted; you moaned right by his ear, fuck it was too precious.

“I’m already close again,” he admitted with a thin laugh. “Fuck, look what you do to me.”

You whined louder, clenching on his cock— he seriously did not know how much more of this he could take.

“Wanted you so bad,” he blurted out, unable to stop himself, “wanted this for so long. Wanted to fuck you— I wanna make you come, fuck, please, please come.”

He felt you nod against his shoulder as you gasped, and he shut his eyes tight, just focusing on his movements and trying his best not to speed up too much just to chase his own high. He needed you to come more than he needed his own pleasure, even if everything in his body was screaming for a chance to come inside you. “So close,” you panted, “fuck, Eddie, don’t stop— please don’t stop— yes!”

The lights turning back on suddenly startled you both, making him freeze and look around (and squint a little from the brightness), but that was nothing compared to the shock of the doors opening. Behind them was mostly just concrete, the space between floors, but up top was about two feet of the eighth level, where a crew of firefighters could be seen peering in.

“Are they alright?” someone from the building asked as Eddie scrambled to grab his jacket from the corner and cover you up with it.

“Yeah, looks like they’re doing just fine,” one of the men announced as they broke out in surprised laughter.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #saturday night sleepover

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songbirdseung · 3 months ago

Text

lie lie lie / park sunghoon

when an innocent idea of using a lie detector with your bestfriend during a sleepover causes a few life-changing secrets to come out

curious and restless, you reached for the old, beat-up lie detector toy sitting on the shelf. It was one of those cheap, unreliable gadgets your brother and his friends used to mess around with, claiming it could tell truth from lies. but with the power outage stretching longer than expected and boredom settling in, why not have a little fun?

you glanced at sunghoon, your best friend, who was slouched against the couch, absentmindedly tapping his phone screen, probably trying to conserve the last bit of battery. he looked half-asleep, completely unbothered by the lack of electricity.

"hey," you nudged his leg with your foot. "wanna play with this?"

sunghoon lifted his head slightly, eyes lazily landing on the old device in your hands. he blinked, unimpressed. "that thing? isn't it broken or something?"

you shrugged, grinning. "probably. but let’s test it out. come on, it'll be fun."

he let out a long sigh but eventually sat up, stretching his arms over his head before reaching for the lie detector. "fine, but if this thing shocks me, you're paying for my emotional damage."

you rolled your eyes playfully as you both settled in. the dim candlelight flickered between you, adding an oddly dramatic effect to the moment. with a smirk, you powered up the device, ready to uncover some so-called "truths."

"alright, sunghoon," you teased, leaning forward with mischief in your eyes. "let’s start with something simple. do you think i'm annoying?"

sunghoon scoffed, sliding his hand into the device. "that’s the easiest question ever, yes."

you gasped, feigning offense, but before you could respond, the machine let out a loud BZZT! and flashed red.

your jaw dropped. sunghoon blinked.

"oh, so i'm not annoying?" you grinned, leaning closer with a knowing look.

sunghoon cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at you. "i think this thing is busted," he muttered.

but the pink dusting his ears told you otherwise.

sensing an opportunity, you grinned wider, leaning in with mischief written all over your face. “hoon, are you blushing?”

sunghoon scoffed, shaking his head as he pulled his hand away from the machine. “it’s just hot in here,” he muttered, pretending to adjust the collar of his shirt.

you gasped dramatically. “liar!” you shoved the machine back toward him. “okay, okay, let’s ask something juicier.”

sunghoon rolled his eyes but placed his hand back into the detector, sighing. “fine. go on.”

you tapped your chin, thinking of something that could really make him sweat. “hmm… do you have a crush on anyone?”

sunghoon’s face remained unreadable. “no.”

the machine whirred for a second before flashing BZZT! red light blinking aggressively.

your eyes widened. “oh.”

sunghoon froze. “what? no way. this thing is broken.”

but you were already buzzing with excitement, sitting up straighter. “hoon, this thing only goes off when someone is lying!”

“i told you it’s busted.” he crossed his arms defensively, avoiding your gaze.

“okay, okay,” you said, trying to contain your grin. “so who’s the lucky person?”

“no one.”

BZZT!

you burst out laughing. “oh my god! hoon, stop lying!”

sunghoon groaned, running a hand through his hair. “this is so dumb.”

“no, you’re dumb for thinking you could fool me!” you smirked. “okay, next question. is it someone we both know?”

sunghoon hesitated. “… no.”

BZZT!

your jaw dropped. “wait, wait, wait. does that mean it’s—”

“we’re done here,” sunghoon declared, yanking his hand out of the machine and standing up so quickly he nearly knocked over a candle.

“hoon! you can’t just leave me hanging!” you whined, grabbing his wrist before he could escape.

he sighed, rubbing his temples. “you’re going to be annoying about this, aren’t you?”

you beamed. “oh, absolutely.”

sunghoon sighed again, longer this time. then, without a word, he reached forward and flicked your forehead.

“ow! what was that for?”

“for being nosy,” he muttered, but there was a faint smile on his lips.

you rubbed your forehead, pouting. “so? are you gonna tell me or not?”

sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek, his gaze flickering toward you for a brief second before looking away.

“maybe one day,” he said softly.

your breath hitched. the way he said it. it wasn’t teasing or dismissive. it was almost… sincere.

before you could process it, the power suddenly came back on, the bright light making you both squint.

sunghoon cleared his throat, stepping away. “looks like our entertainment’s over.”

you watched him carefully, heart pounding a little too fast. maybe—just maybe—this dumb little lie detector test wasn’t so dumb after all.

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #engene #enha #enhypen x reader #sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon imagines #enhypen sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon enhypen

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eikotheblue · 3 months ago

Note

How do you *accidentally* make a programming language?

Oh, it's easy! You make a randomizer for a game, because you're doing any% development, you set up the seed file format such that each line of the file defines an event listener for a value change of an uberstate (which is an entry of the game's built-in serialization system for arbitrary data that should persiste when saved).

You do this because it's a fast hack that lets you trigger pickup grants on item finds, since each item find always will correspond with an uberstate change. This works great! You smile happily and move on.

There's a small but dedicated subgroup of users who like using your randomizer as a canvas! They make what are called "plandomizer seeds" ("plandos" for short), which are seed files that have been hand-written specifically to give anyone playing them a specific curated set of experiences, instead of something random. These have a long history in your community, in part because you threw them a few bones when developing your last randomizer, and they are eager to see what they can do in this brave new world.

A thing they pick up on quickly is that there are uberstates for lots more things than just item finds! They can make it so that you find double jump when you break a specific wall, or even when you go into an area for the first time and the big splash text plays. Everyone agrees that this is neat.

It is in large part for the plando authors' sake that you allow multiple line entries for the same uberstate that specify different actions - you have the actions run in order. This was a feature that was hacked into the last randomizer you built later, so you're glad to be supporting it at a lower level. They love it! It lets them put multiple items at individual locations. You smile and move on.

Over time, you add more action types besides just item grants! Printing out messages to your players is a great one for plando authors, and is again a feature you had last time. At some point you add a bunch for interacting with player health and energy, because it'd be easy. An action that teleports the player to a specific place. An action that equips a skill to the player's active skill bar. An action that removes a skill or ability.

Then, you get the brilliant idea that it'd be great if actions could modify uberstates directly. Uberstates control lots of things! What if breaking door 1 caused door 2 to break, so you didn't have to open both up at once? What if breaking door 2 caused door 1 to respawn, and vice versa, so you could only go through 1 at a time? Wouldn't that be wonderful? You test this change in some simple cases, and deploy it without expecting people to do too much with it.

Your plando authors quickly realize that when actions modify uberstates, the changes they make can trigger other actions, as long as there are lines in their files that listen for those. This excites them, and seems basically fine to you, though you do as an afterthought add an optional parameter to your uberstate modification action that can be used to suppress the uberstate change detector, since some cases don't actually want that behavior.

(At some point during all of this, the plando authors start hunting through the base game and cataloging unused uberstates, to be used as arbitrary variables for their nefarious purposes. You weren't expecting that! Rather than making them hunt down and use a bunch of random uberstates for data storage, you sigh and add a bunch of explicitly-unused ones for them to play with instead.)

Then, your most arcane plando magician posts a guide on how to use the existing systems to set up control flow. It leverages the fact that setting an uberstate to a value it already has does not trigger the event listener for that uberstate, so execution can branch based on whether or not a state has been set to a specific value or not!

Filled with a confused mixture of pride and fear, you decide that maybe you should provide some kind of native control flow structure that isn't that? And because you're doing a lot of this development underslept and a bit past your personal Balmer peak, the first idea that you have and implement is conditional stops, which are actions that halt processing of a multiple-action-chain if an uberstate is [less than, equal to, greater than] a given value.

The next day, you realize that your seed specification format now can, while executing an action chain, read from memory, write to memory, branch based on what it finds in memory, and loop. It can simulate a turing machine, using the uberstates as tape. You set out to create a format by which your seed generator could talk to your client mod, and have ended up with a turing complete programming language. You laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

#software #cw: software #ori and the will of the wisps #randomizer #programming #stories #asks

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grugruel · 6 months ago

Text

Sleeping With the Enemy

Pairings: Silco x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: You're a councillors daughter secretly working with the Eye of Zaun, fulfilling each other's needs.

Political needs, of course. It's purely business. They would never be stupid enough to start an affair . . . Unless?

Wordcount: ca 3.5k

Warnings: enemies AND lovers, hate-fucking, toxic, Silco being evil, angsty, pinv sex, rough sex, power imbalance, fighting for control, complicated feelings, twisted love, forbidden relationship, dacryphilia ish, cockwarming, blowjob, fingering, edging, overstimulation, choking, cum eating, creampie, petnames (girl, princess, devil, Sil)

AN: yet to be proofread. This might be one of my favourite works, he's insane . . . I need him.

"Let go off me," she snarls, yanking mirthlessly against the strong womans grip. "Release me Sevika, or-"

"Or what?" She cuts the girl off with a sneer, metallic fingers sinching around her bicep. Sevika holds her close enough to force the girl to stare up through her eyebrows if she wants to achieve any semblance of eye contact.

"Or she tells her precious father," the man cuts in, a nonchalant smile to his tone.

"He doesn't know I'm here," the girl snaps, defiantly locking eyes with the industrialist. Clad in shadow, he's a mere silhouette backlit by Zaun's streets. "He doesn't know anything."

Picking up a brand new cigar, he clips the end and flicks a lighter open, toying with the flame. All in due time, he's not rushing to spoil such a favored treat.

"Good," he says and gestures dismissively, signaling his trusty henchman to leave.

Sevika releases the girl with a displeased huff and slams the door behind her. The only thing she likes less than piltovians, is them wandering too far from their fabricated safety and ending up on her doorstep.

She watches the muscular woman leave, staring at the closed door in contemplation as she once again finds herself alone with the eye of Zaun.

Something clatters behind her, a lighter discarded on a desk. "You're late," he mutters, bringing the smoking cigar to his lips.

Anger begins to blaze inside her. That's it? That's all he has to say? "Six enforcers are dead," she snaps, nose scrunching. Disgusted by the mere thought of that demon's violence. "She's a loose canon, Silco. She blew them up for the hell of it."

From the dark, a red orb slips her way. He leans forward, having the rooms gloomy light illuminate his face only to throw the girl a disapproving look, barely deeming it worthy to look her in the eyes. "You forget yourself, girl."

Swallowing, she forces herself to calm down. Aggrivating such a volatile man never proved a good idea, and displaying anger against his daughter proved even worse.

Carefully, she ventures closer. Testing the waters and finding them thick as mud. The very air around him emenates danger, and her body slows down, relucant to put itself in such unpredictable environments. "You broke our deal," she announciates, finding it safer to put the blame on him rather than the blue haired demon he protects so ferociously.

"You disrupted our shipment," he repeats her ridiculous attempt. "It's simple business. Collateral," he shrugs and gestures toward her, vaguely implying the deaths should be on the girls consience. He doesn't say it outright because he doesn't need to, because he doesn't care if it hurts her feelings. Because, he doesn't care about the lost lives of a few topsiders, lives of enforcers even less. In true rebel spirit.

Massively unimpressed, he sizes her up when she places herself on the other side of the desk. Gripping the edge, the wood is tough beneath her fingers as she strains to keep herself in check. Blue and green light his back, lining the countours around his body. It softens him in some ways, as if the light hasn't completely shunned him yet.

Suddenly smirking, Silco's gaze drifts over her. Studying her tense disposition with spiteful glee as he enjoys the irony of a murderous piltovian. "Contemplating violence wont relieve you of this predicament."

"Killing you would."

"Threatening me so early in the morning?" He tsks, taking a deep drag of the cigar to then blow a ring of smoke in her direction. "Perhaps I should have approached your father instead, the councillor would've been easier to handle . . . More willing to please."

Keeping eye contact, she doesn't react, and a glint of cuiosity to sparks in his gaze. "He has nothing to do with this, and you know it," she tries again. "But Jin-"

Silco's smirk falls. "Hold your tongue, girl." Pinching the bridge of his tall nose, he releases a heavy sigh. "Lock the door," he orders, looking at her through his eyebrows.

Menacing, haunting. She could describe him with a hundred different horrific words. Yet, he doesn't scare her. They both know she's right.

Breathing relief, she does as she's told. When asking her to create a boundary between the world and this room, he shows her nothing has changed. Whatever they have remains within the confines of his office and her bedroom. It takes the edge off, and she lets the inhabiting worry slip away.

Upon her return, she softly stalks around the desk until sidled up against the short side. "Shoving clever words down my throat won't shut me up, Sil."

Rubbing his face, he looks at her through his fingers. Heavily disapproving of the nickname. "Dont tempt me," he warns. "I'll find other ways to shut you up."

She swallows, a single pulse throbs in her core. Moving around the desk, she slides a finger along it's edge and places herself infront of him, bathing her in the very same darkness that Silco finds himself in.

A small smirk flicker on his lips. But even though it dissolves, turning back into its usual serious mask, the satisfaction of the expression linger on his features.

"It cant happen again," he warns a third time, he must going soft on her. His hands move, trading the cigar for the the ability to touch her. One hand reaches for her thigh, sliding beneath her skirt. While the other reaches up, grabbing her chin to stare into her eyes. "The shipments are important." Silco applies just enough pressure on her chin to keep it stinging, just enough to understand that he didn't take the loss lightly. While the thumb beneath her skirt brushes lightly over her hipbone.

Inspite their predicaments, their relationship was business from the beginning and the majority still is. He tells her this through the contrasting touches.

She nods.

"Use your words, girl. Tell me you understand. This cant happen again."

But she won't concede, not yet. "No more attacks," she murmurs, placing her hands on his thighs. "No more deaths." The girl sinks to her knees, slowly, and making sure he keeps his gaze glued to hers. Being so close to him, she gets a whiff of his cologne. He smells of musk and wood, Smoke and whiskey. He smells of man.

They know what buttons to press when it comes to one another, and right now, she needs safety for her people in much the same way he needs independence for his. The difference laying within their methods of accomplishment. But looking at them now, it's clear they've got more in common than she's previously thought.

Silco spreads his legs further apart, welcoming her advancements. "I wonder what daddy dearest would say if he saw you now; that pretty princess of his . . . Negotiating on her knees." He slides a hand beneath hers, lacing their fingers together before leaning back in his chair to enjoy the show.

It's a small sign of fondness, one he confidently gives. Showing his inclination toward her means little, for they already know where they have each other. Unwilling to put it into words, they feel them silently.

Truth is, they enjoy the power imbalance, they enjoy the hatred their respective people share. Peculiarly, it unites them, and simultaneously fuel their polarity. They're a strange equation, two variables with a common sum.

Helping each other with free hands, they unbutton his pants. "Im sure he'd be proud of your devotion," he mocks, exhaling that infamous low chuckle.

Spitting into her hand, she reaches into his pants. "He'd share the pride with your people," she smiles and looks up at him innocently, pulling his member out. "–when they find out you're working with a councillor's daughter . . . Fucking her no less." She leans in, teasing his tip with a slow circling lick, gathering the pre-cum on her tongue. With a corner curving upward, his lips part, and there's a silent intake of breath. Brushing his hand along her cheek, he collects stray hair covering her face and gathers it at her neck, twirling it around his fingers. "Go on," he urges.

And so, she finally closes the distance and takes him in her mouth.

With a hiss, he squeezes the hand laced with his. Slender fingertips dig into the back of her hand. "Little devil," he groans, hand burrying deeper into her hair and balling into a fist, coincidentally pulling on her scalp.

Clasping her still spit-wet hand around his shaft, she strokes him, adding on to the bobbing of her head.

"Yes," he moans, reclining his head against the back of the chair. "Carry on, girl."

Im sync with her hand, she works him until he's close to squirming, trying his very best to keep a semblance of composure. Never did she think such a powerful man would tremble beneath her touch or the pressure of her lips. But here he was, his usual neat combed back hair fallen over his forehead, beads of sweat gathering on his temples.

He'd started using his hand to guide her head, helping her find the perfect path toward his climax. Chest heaving and teeth bared, he chuckles breathlessly as the squelching of their actions reach his ears. Pushing her too far, she makes half-choking noises when she takes his entire length down her throat. Causing saliva to spill out of her mouth and roll down his length.

"Sloppy," he snarls, manicured nails digging into her hand. "-used to sucking cock."

She whines from the rare usage of crude words, making her core purr. His inches twitch in her mouth, sensing how close he is. "Please me," he supresses a groan, calling her name. "Swallow."

It happens quickly. His breathing turns rapid, his hips arching as he spills into her mouth. Tasting of rich salt as she swallows.

Smirking devilishly, he catches his breath. "Thats it . . . Well done." He brushes his thumb along her index finger.

Joy trickles into her heart at the praise, but there is little room as her body is already filled to the brim by need. With heavy eyes and glistening lips, she stands up on her knees. "Kiss me," she whispers.

Unlacing their fingers, he moves to slide a thumb across her lips, gathering some of the milky seed she'd yet to swallow. "Open up, princess." He pulls on her hair to tilt her head back.

Her lips part automatically, a knife slicing through her pride at the irony of the name. Silco slips his thumb into her mouth and wipes it clean on her tongue. He watches with fascination as her lips close around the digit, volunteering to suck it off as he pulls it out. "Kiss me," she repeats.

The fingers still burried in her hair twitches at the sight. Acting on impulse, they bunch her waves, pulling her close enough for their lips to play ghost. He tilts his head to the side, bringing them impossibly closer. "Tell me you understand," he murmurs, watching her reaction as the featherlight touch tickles her lips.

Her expectations for the night and the soft shell of intimacy around them shatters, but she'll never give him the satisfaction. The kiss was a wish from her own selfish needs, but giving him what he wants without the safety she require for her people is not. "No."

With a harrowing glance, he releases her. "I have work to do, you know where the door is," Silco says, nodding toward the exit. He then runs his hand through his hair, combing it back into place.

So quickly is the mood ruined and the rush of lust diminishes, settling her nerves. Instead it is the annoyance and the anger she arrived with that begins to rebuild.

The girl scoffs. "Petty, man-child," she mumbles, keeping her voice beneath her breath. But she wants something from him too, anything. She's derserves it, it just the matter of taking it.

Then, something just clicks in her mind and an irruption takes control of her body. Narrowing her eyes in quick to non-existent contemplation, she grabs his collar and pulls him in for a kiss. It only lasts for a second before she pushes herself away and stands up, not planning to stick around to deal with the consequences.

But before she gets a chance to move too far, a hand grabs her forearm and yanks her back. "You stubborn girl," he whispers in her ear, an arm slung around her torso as Silco holds her against his chest. She feels her panties being pulled to the side, and the head of his member lining up with her core. "Bleeding your integrity dry for those imperious, self-important cretins." He teases her entrance, sliding the tip up and down her folds.

"I am one of them, or do you forget?" She snaps.

Without warning, he lowers her onto his inches, fitting them inside her like they've been molded. The girl gasps at the feeling and Silco's fingers curl, releasing a groan as his fingers rouch the fabric at her ribs. "Even now?" He adjusts the girl in his lap. "Would they deign to descend from their thrones as you? Stooping to my level, manipulating on a whim to fullfill your needs." He pulls her closer, nudging her profile with his. All the while he's got his still hard member pushed up inside her, soft walls of flesh welcoming him eagerly. "Would they still accept you when found-out, or will they throw you to the wolves as the rumours spread? When they find out Zaun's villainous crime lord is fucking Piltover's princess," he laces the words with venom, hands slipping upward. One stops at her breast to squeeze while the other clasps around her throat. "When they whisper of the ways he uses her. How he puts her on her back, makes her kneel . . . How he bends her over," he murmurs, sending shivers down her spine.

She grows dizzy, a mix of worry and pleasure clouding her senses. His words hit home, drawing her lips into a thin line. "They are still my people," she breathes, voice close to breaking, sunding more like she's trying to convince herself.

"They will be your downfall." He puts pressure on her throat. "We've made sure of that, you and I."

"No . . . Silco, that's not true."

The hand holding her breast slips beneath her skirt. "We've made our beds-" slender fingers find her clit. "And we will sleep with the consequences."

Head lulling back against his shoulder, back arching, pleasure spikes as he stimulates her thrice fold. Circling her clit while throbbing inside her, and acting catalyst is the experienced hand around her throat. It limits the bloodflow and multiplies her pleasure. "Fuck," she whimpers, hips squirming, flesh randomly spasming around him.

Silco groans at the sensation, gaining his own pleasure from the whole ordeal. But that is not his goal. "Be still," he warns.

The collossall amounts of pleasure blinds her, it grabs hold of her senses and refuses to let go. Her nerves burn and fingers curl. Its all too much, yet not enough. Tears of gather in her eyes, slowly spilling over to roll down her face. "A-almost . . ."

Silco adjusts his grip around her throat so uses his thumb to tilt her face toward him, then watches how the tears streak her makeup, leaving watered down mascara in their wake. He places his lips on her skin, kissing the tears away while enjoying their salty taste. He studies her rosy cheeks and knitted expression, memorising the small whimpers she breathes.

The girl can no longer keep still and her back prepares to arch, limbs preparing to surge with blinding hot pleasure. "Im-- mhh, I-" She mewls, and the knot releases.

. . .

Until it isn't. She feels Silco retract his hands, causing oxygen flood her brain and irritation to anchor her mind. The knot in her stumach re-ties, loosely adjusting until the pressure completely dies down. "I see callousness runs in the family," she complains, almost in pain from the sudden lack of stimulation.

Silco circles an arm around her waist. "It's essential to survive," he says and stands up, still swollen member slipping out of her. Supporting the girl as her knees wobble, she's unable to stand on her own due to the afflictions he's caused her. Turning her around, he helps her onto the desk. Chest to chest, he braces against the wood, one hand on either side of her, effectively boxing her in.

She lays a finger beneath his chin, and he looks up at her through his eyebrows. Exhaling, he moves between her thighs. Silco reaches out to her, loosely cupping her face as his thumb smears the streaked mascara. "There is no white knight," he says, pushing reality on her, weather she's willing to listen or not.

She nods. "I know." Tainted by the impure air of Zaun, branded by the touch of it's Eye. If she ever is to be saved, it must be by her own hand. Her smile is faint as her eyes fall from his.

He grabs her face and squeezes her cheeks. "Look at me," he tells her with a gravely tone. Their eyes lock. Dissappering between them, his other hand lines himself up with her core.

Taking a gamble, she grabs his tie and pulls him in, properly locking lips for the first time. Because he doesn't pull away, and neither does she. Her bottom lips begins to tremble, surprised he ever let it go this far. Their initial moment passes, evolving into seconds until they realise neither is breathing and they tear apart for much needed air, not straying far. Their lips hover, ghosting as previously. "You steal whats not your's to take."

She nudged his nose with her own. "Does survival not apply here? I never took you for a hypocrite."

His top lip twitches, and she feels him bare his teeth in a silent snarl as his fingers apply pressure to her cheeks. "How clever," he murmurs, and pushes inside her once again, catching her off guard.

They share a reflexive gasp, and as he starts to move, every thrust exchanges breaths between them. The girl's lips curve, heavily enjoying the tiny sliver of emotional intimacy he's finally giving her.

Her legs circle around his hips as he grabs her waist one handed, adding further levrage as his fingers dent her flesh. Silco starts a heavy pace and their lips reconnect, mirroring their bodies, it reflects their feelings. The kiss growing needy and rough.

"Get on your back for me," he mocks and releases her face. "Prove them right."

She bites his lip, tugging on it as she lies back against the desk and pulls him with her.

Hand suddenly free, he hooks it beneath her knee and pulls it up against his side to gai better access. Slowing down the pace, he manages to take her deeper, harder. She groans, head lulling to the side as her climax begins to build. "Dont stop." Not again.

"Look at me," he breathes, warning in his tone as he's inclined to watch her topple over the edge. Her brows knit together, but her gaze finds his. The knot closing as his thrusts begin to grow erratic.

Pleasure burns her fingers and quickens her pulse. "Close, c-" she begins, but he cuts her off with another kiss, tongue slipping between their lips to explore her mouth.

And just like that, she bursts. Traveling through her from top to toe. Silco following short thereafter. "It's alright . . . Good, girl," he whispers.

Once they've caught up with their breaths, Silco straightens out, and rearranges his clothes before helping her to her feet.

"I understand," she says, halting by the door.

He looks up from his seat but is quick to stand, slowly stalking toward her. Stopping just short of her smaller frame, he reaches behind her back to grab the door handle. "I don't control her. She is my daughter like you are your father's," he says and meets her eyes. "But I will speak to Jinx." Leaning down, he kisses her cheek, catching her off guard. Affection is newly discovered territory between them, but from him to give it so freely after battling it out is a very big surprise. But as quick as ot started, it's over. His soft expression morphing into his usual stern disposition. "Dont be late again girl," he says and opens the door.

Somehow, they've become entangled. Silently sharing affection their respective people would deem unfit. Silco wont hurt her, if he can help it. But such is nature. They'll stand on opposite sides, prioritising their own families, cities. But not without a thought of the other, wishing it could be different. It probably never will be, for such is faith and such is time. If only it could rewind.

#silco #silco arcane #silco smut #silco x reader #silco x you #silco x female reader #arcane smut #silco imagine #silco fanfiction #arcane x reader #silco fanfic

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all-my-ocs-are-evil · 1 year ago

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Jason's been pestering Danny about why he looks like a borderline walking corpse for ages and Danny has decided to put his lying skills to the test. (he has none)

rambling below cut

I've been playing w the idea that the more Danny transforms, the more his ghost form gets "lively" while his human form gets weaker and more sickly. He knows that if he keeps transforming like this then, one day, he's not going to have a livable body to go back to, but he really doesn't want to think about all that. He's more interested in the weird "totally dead but not dead" Wayne son who may or may not have a thing for his sister.

everytime i do one these im like "this time I'll keep it simple so I don't have to suffer through colouring bc I have zero foresight—it'll be greyscale at most" and then all of the sudden its 4am and i'm trying to finish a stupid comic but i decided to add "some" colour to spice it up and hide my shitty ink job and then SOME COLOUR ALWAYS BECOMES FULL COLOUR WHY CAN I NOT ESCAPE THIS STUPID CYCLE!!

(did this all stem from me not being able to decide between a super pale character design and one w a vibrant tan bc I love white hair + tan but I also love extremely pale albino so I forced myself to find a way to make both work? never! that's absurd!)

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urdreamydoodles · 7 months ago

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MCU Characters x Reader (Part.1)

How they react when you are angry with them (Part.1)

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange & Thor Odinson

I'm back in my MCU era, thanks to Agatha All Along, so expect a lot of MCU headcanons, feel free to request those!

Tony Stark

- When you’re angry with Tony, he’s a little stunned. He’s used to being able to charm his way through things or brush issues off with a joke, but the moment he realizes you’re genuinely upset, he feels the ground shift a little. Tony’s mind races, calculating what he did wrong, and for a second, he considers ignoring the problem—but not with you. You mean too much to him, and he can’t stand the idea of pushing you further away.

- He doesn’t immediately know how to apologize, so he leans into his classic defense mechanism: humor. He’ll try to make you laugh, throwing out quips, hoping you’ll crack a smile. When that doesn’t work, he gets a little awkward, mumbling things like, “This is why I avoid real feelings, you know?” as he fumbles through an apology. He’s not used to admitting fault, but with you, he’s learning to swallow his pride.

- Tony goes all out when he realizes he needs to make it up to you. He’ll throw himself into making amends, maybe even a little too extravagantly. Expect some grand, over-the-top gesture—a private jet to Paris, a limited-edition piece of tech he’s been tinkering on, or a fancy dinner in some exclusive place with an outfit he’s bought just for the occasion. He’s not subtle, and he knows it, but he’ll do anything if it means a smile from you.

- When the big gestures don’t work, he takes a different approach. He shows up at your door, looking strangely vulnerable, with something small and meaningful. Maybe it’s a handwritten letter he’s scribbled out, confessing how much he hates it when things aren’t okay between you two. It’s raw, real, and completely unlike Tony, but he means every word. This time, he wants to show that he’s willing to put the ego aside for you.

- Once you finally let him back in, Tony wraps you in his arms and doesn’t let go. He’ll joke that he’s not letting you get mad at him again, and maybe throw in a flirty quip about “testing his limits,” but there’s something deeper there too. Being loved by you has changed him, and he’s willing to work on himself for the first time in a long time. With you, Tony’s found a softness he didn’t know he had, and he’s not going to risk losing it.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers doesn’t like conflict, especially not with you. When he realizes you’re angry, he immediately wants to address it and resolve it, hoping it won’t escalate. He tries to have a calm, level-headed conversation, but he can see that maybe it’s too soon. Steve’s patient, though; he’ll give you space if you need it, even if it pains him to let go for a while.

- While you’re cooling off, Steve takes time to reflect, replaying the situation in his mind, wondering where he went wrong. He’s his own worst critic and can be hard on himself, especially when it comes to you. He’ll try to see things from your perspective, understanding that sometimes his old-fashioned sense of right and wrong can be rigid. He’s willing to bend if it’s what’s needed to bridge the gap between you.

- When he approaches you again, he’s soft-spoken and earnest, offering a sincere apology. There are no excuses, no justifications—just him, owning up to whatever hurt you. His gaze doesn’t leave yours; he wants you to know he truly means it. And as he speaks, he promises he’ll do better, vowing to always listen to you and consider your feelings.

- To make it up to you, Steve chooses something simple but thoughtful, probably something he knows you love. It could be as quiet as a walk through your favorite park or as gentle as a handwritten note tucked into a book you’re reading. Steve understands that sometimes, it’s the little things that mean the most. He’ll give you the space to talk, letting you vent if you need to, always steady, always attentive.

- Once the air clears, Steve is more affectionate than usual, holding your hand, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, grateful to be back in your good graces. He values trust deeply and doesn’t take your forgiveness for granted. Steve knows relationships take work, and he’s fully committed to making it work with you, one respectful conversation at a time.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha doesn’t like it when things are off between you two, but she’s used to people being mad at her. Initially, she tries to shrug it off, acting like she doesn’t care, maybe even trying to ignore it. But you’re different. You’re not just anyone; you’re someone she actually trusts, and seeing you upset with her hits her hard.

- Natasha is far more comfortable dealing with enemies than emotional confrontations, so when she finally comes to you, she does it in a roundabout way. She might casually ask, “Are we good?” as if it’s not a big deal, but the nervous tension in her voice betrays her. She’s not great at apologies, so her attempt is awkward but sincere. It’s clear she’s trying, even if she doesn’t always have the words.

- To make it up to you, Natasha doesn’t go for big gestures but rather something deeply personal. She’ll take you to a place she loves—a quiet spot on a rooftop, a hidden café she discovered, somewhere she can let her guard down. She’s careful, almost shy, as she opens up a little about herself, sharing stories she rarely tells. In her own way, she’s letting you know how much she values you.

- Natasha doesn’t usually do comfort, but she’ll go out of her way to make you feel loved and safe. Maybe she’ll surprise you with breakfast or bring you something she knows you’ve been wanting. She pays attention, after all, even if she doesn’t always show it. Little by little, she’ll find ways to let you know that she’s there, committed to making things right.

- When you finally forgive her, Natasha breathes a sigh of relief, leaning in for a hug that lasts a beat longer than usual. She’s not big on words, but she’ll whisper something soft and sincere, just for you. Natasha’s fiercely protective, and after a falling-out, she’s even more attuned to making sure you feel cared for. She’ll stay close, a steady presence at your side, her quiet way of showing just how much she values you.

Bruce Banner

- When you’re angry with Bruce, he’s instantly anxious, worried he’s done something terribly wrong. Conflict isn’t his strong suit, and he’s painfully aware of his capacity for anger. He’s cautious, almost timid, when he realizes you’re upset, giving you space and time. He doesn’t want to make things worse or risk saying the wrong thing.

- Bruce spends time overthinking the situation, dissecting every detail. He questions himself, often getting caught in a loop of self-blame, wondering if he’s ever really been suited for a relationship. But even though he’s scared of confrontation, he values you too much to leave things unresolved. He wants to show you that he’s willing to work through whatever the issue is.

- When he finally comes to you, Bruce’s apology is soft, heartfelt, and a little self-deprecating. He’ll stumble through his words, not wanting to sound defensive, and there’s an earnestness in his gaze as he tries to convey just how much he wants to make things right. He’s not perfect, but he’s open to listening and doing better.

- To make it up to you, Bruce goes for something intimate and personal. He knows you appreciate small gestures, so he’ll show up with something that reflects his feelings for you—maybe a small book he thinks you’d love, or a little experiment from the lab that made him think of you. He’s shy about it, maybe a little embarrassed, but it’s his way of showing he cares.

- When you finally forgive him, Bruce visibly relaxes, wrapping you in a hug as if he never wants to let go. He’s careful, soft, and almost tentative, savoring the warmth of your embrace. Bruce cherishes the trust you give him and is deeply grateful to have someone willing to weather his insecurities. He might even joke, “You’re way too patient with me,” but the gratitude in his voice is genuine.

Clint Barton

- When Clint realizes you’re angry with him, his first reaction is a mix of regret and a slight laugh. He can’t believe he’s managed to mess things up this badly with you, of all people. He knows he tends to joke around a bit too much, so he tries to laugh it off at first, but when he sees how serious you are, his grin fades. He’ll look a bit awkward, rubbing the back of his neck, knowing he’s got some work to do.

- Clint’s never been one to give big, elaborate apologies. Instead, he’ll pull you aside, speaking quietly and genuinely. He’ll admit that he messed up, explaining that sometimes he forgets to take things seriously or considers others’ feelings the way he should. It’s a simple, heartfelt apology, showing his honest side that not many people get to see.

- Once he’s apologized, Clint is all about making you laugh. He’ll start cracking jokes, doing his best impressions, and even pull some ridiculous faces just to get a reaction out of you. Clint knows humor is his best weapon, and he’s shameless about using it if it means making things right. He’s determined not to let you stay mad at him for long, no matter what it takes.

- When his jokes don’t quite cut it, Clint switches gears and puts effort into something he knows will mean a lot to you. He’s a guy who pays attention to the little things, so he’ll show up with your favorite takeout, a warm blanket, or maybe even a funny book he picked up just for you. He knows that it’s the small gestures that can speak volumes.

- After things settle down, Clint wraps you in a warm, comfortable hug, one arm wrapped around your shoulder, making you feel like everything’s back to normal. He’ll joke about how lucky he is that you put up with him, throwing in a wink, but there’s a hint of seriousness behind his words. Clint doesn’t take his relationships for granted, and he’s grateful you’re in his life, even when he messes up.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky’s heart sinks when he sees that you’re angry. He’s used to pushing people away, and now that he’s got you, he’s terrified of losing you over a misunderstanding. Bucky’s first instinct is to retreat, his mind already whispering that maybe he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve you. He’ll avoid confrontation if he can, hoping things might smooth over on their own.

- But when he realizes he needs to talk to you, he’s hesitant, nervous, almost as if he’s bracing himself for rejection. Bucky approaches you carefully, speaking in a low, almost shy voice. He struggles with apologies, but he looks you in the eyes, opening up about how hard he finds it to express his feelings. He’s used to running, and being with you is the first time he’s tried not to.

- Bucky tries to make it up to you in the most low-key, thoughtful way possible. He’s not one for grand gestures, but he’ll do something meaningful and heartfelt, like leaving you a note explaining how much you mean to him or bringing you something that he knows you love. He’s nervous about whether it’ll be enough, hoping you can see the sincerity in his actions.

- When he feels things softening between you, Bucky relaxes just a little, offering his support in any way you need. He’ll stay close, maybe cooking a meal for you or sitting quietly with you, sharing a comfortable silence. He wants you to know that he’s there, without needing to say much, because he’s always believed that actions speak louder than words.

- When you finally forgive him, Bucky is beyond relieved. He’s more open with his affection, drawing you into a tight embrace, his touch lingering as if he’s afraid to let go. He knows he doesn’t have many people he can count on, but he’s grateful that he can count on you. Bucky’s still working on believing he deserves happiness, but having you in his life makes him want to try.

Sam Wilson

- Sam immediately notices when you’re angry, and his first instinct is to find out what’s going on. He’s straightforward and doesn’t like tension hanging in the air, so he’ll ask, “Alright, what did I do?” in his calm, genuine way, hoping you’ll be willing to talk it out. He’s good at reading people, but he wants to hear it from you directly.

- Sam listens intently when you explain what’s bothering you, nodding and giving you his full attention. He’s respectful and thoughtful, making sure you know he understands where you’re coming from. He’s not the type to dodge blame; if he’s at fault, he’ll own up to it right away. There’s no defensiveness, no excuses—just an honest desire to make things right.

- To make it up to you, Sam takes you on a simple, meaningful outing—something where the two of you can connect and have fun. He’s all about shared experiences, so maybe it’s a long walk, a favorite food spot, or even a small adventure he’s planned just for you. He’s careful, attentive, making sure the focus is on you and helping you feel valued.

- When things calm down, Sam offers a mix of humor and reassurance, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and promising to do better. He’ll look you in the eyes and say something like, “I don’t like seeing you mad. Tell me if I mess up again.” He’s genuine and open, showing you he wants to grow from this experience and be a better partner.

- Once everything’s back to normal, Sam goes the extra mile, making sure you’re laughing and relaxed. He’s always there to lift you up, pulling you in for a warm, affectionate hug and giving you his full, unwavering attention. Sam’s presence is solid, reassuring, and he’ll make sure you know just how much he values having you in his life.

Peter Parker (Tom H.)

- Peter’s heart sinks when he realizes you’re angry with him. He’s young, a little clumsy with emotions, and absolutely hates the idea of upsetting you. His mind starts racing, thinking of everything he could have done wrong. He gets a little panicked, maybe even rambling apologies before he knows what’s going on, hoping you’ll give him a chance to explain.

- When you tell him what’s bothering you, Peter listens carefully, nodding along with wide, earnest eyes. He’s genuinely sorry, his voice soft as he stumbles through an apology. He’s never been great at handling relationship tension, but he’ll try his best to make sure you know how much he cares and how sorry he is for letting you down.

- To make it up to you, Peter goes for something heartfelt, maybe even a bit awkward, but completely sincere. He’ll show up at your window with a little homemade gift, something quirky and thoughtful—perhaps a playlist he made just for you or a funny little gadget he put together in the lab. He’s earnest, a little shy about it, hoping you’ll see how much effort he’s putting in.

- Peter spends extra time trying to lift your spirits, using every ounce of his playful personality to make you laugh. He’ll crack jokes, do silly impressions, or even attempt a bad dance routine just to get you smiling again. He knows he’s a bit of a dork, but he doesn’t mind if it means cheering you up. Peter’s all about making you feel comfortable and loved.

- When you finally forgive him, Peter’s face lights up with relief. He’ll pull you into a warm, enthusiastic hug, holding you close and babbling about how he’s “the luckiest person in the world” to have someone like you. He’s young, optimistic, and just incredibly happy that you’re not mad anymore. To Peter, you’re his world, and he’ll always do whatever it takes to make you feel special.

Stephen Strange

- When Stephen realizes you’re angry with him, he’s a bit taken aback. He’s used to being right and doesn’t often see things from others’ perspectives, so it takes him a moment to understand the weight of the situation. His initial reaction might even be a little defensive, but he quickly catches himself, knowing that with you, he has to try harder to listen and understand.

- Stephen struggles with apologies, often trying to explain away his actions or getting caught up in technicalities. He’s intelligent and analytical, but that doesn’t always work when emotions are involved. Eventually, though, he manages to offer a genuine apology, admitting that he’s not always the easiest person to be with and that he respects you enough to take responsibility.

- To make things right, Stephen will probably use a bit of magic to create something special just for you. It might be a small charm to keep you safe, a little illusion to make you smile, or even a glimpse into some place you’ve always wanted to see. It’s his way of saying he cares, using the one skill he knows best to bring you a little joy.

- As he tries to smooth things over, Stephen is careful, more attentive than usual, and visibly trying to understand your emotions. He may not be great at expressing his own feelings, but he’s willing to try if it means keeping you close. He’ll listen to you, nodding thoughtfully, and maybe even opening up a bit about his past mistakes and how much he values you.

- Once you forgive him, Stephen is visibly relieved, though he keeps it subtle. He gives you a small smile and pulls you close, brushing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he wraps his arms around you. He might even joke, “Guess I need to work on my bedside manner,” but there’s genuine affection behind his words. Stephen knows he’s lucky to have you, and he’s determined to keep learning how to love you better.

Thor Odinson

- Thor is visibly surprised when he realizes you’re angry with him. He’s naturally cheerful and doesn’t take most things too seriously, so the idea that he’s done something to upset you takes him off guard. At first, he tries to brush it off with a booming laugh, but when he sees the seriousness in your eyes, his smile fades. He immediately wants to fix things, willing to do whatever it takes to get you to smile again.

- Thor is quick to apologize, his voice earnest as he promises he didn’t mean to hurt you. He’s not one to overthink things, but he’s deeply sincere, and his apologies come straight from the heart. He’ll look you in the eyes and tell you he values you and never meant to cause any harm, his words laced with the kind of honesty that only Thor can deliver.

- To make it up to you, Thor goes all out. He’ll sweep you off on a grand adventure, maybe a spontaneous trip to Asgard (or at least what remains of it), or he’ll bring you somewhere beautiful and awe-inspiring. Thor loves to celebrate life and wants to remind you of all the incredible experiences the two of you can share. His enthusiasm is infectious, and he hopes that a bit of excitement will make things right.

- As you spend time together, Thor is extra affectionate, showering you with praise and hugs. He’s genuinely sorry and makes sure you feel loved and appreciated, maybe even telling you tales of his own mistakes and what he’s learned from them. He might tease himself a bit, but it’s all to make you laugh and remind you of his dedication to you.

- When you finally forgive him, Thor’s smile lights up the room. He laughs, pulling you into a bear hug, lifting you off your feet, and spinning you around. There’s nothing subtle about his relief and joy, and he’s not afraid to show it. Thor values you immensely and will do everything he can to make sure you know how much you mean to him, promising that he’ll try to be a little more mindful in the future.

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asxgard · 3 months ago

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A Lesson in Firsts | alternate ending

Resident!Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x resident!f!reader

Alternate ending of A Lesson in Vulnerability, but can be read as a standalone.

Summary: A positive pregnancy test flips your life on its head. You try to take it one step at a time.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: Expect some things inspired by this Robby and Reader! I can’t stop thinking about the possibilities lol

sorry she took awhile, she turned into something else while I was writing lol the ideas kept coming (gender was a coin toss, so don’t be upset with me)

Enjoy this monster💜she was so fun to write

Word Count: 8.2k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: afab!reader, established relationship, foul language, unplanned pregnancy, medical inaccuracies, ANGST, y’all disappointing your parents, fluff, SMUT (MINORS DNI), pregnancy sex/unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), p in v, pet name (sweetheart), hospital mentions, violence at said hospital/combative patient, it’s the 90s, vague birth descriptions, I’ve never been pregnant so forgive any errors

not beta read

It was reassuring to have Michael by your side, holding you steady in his tiny bathroom as you both waited to see what your future may hold. After puking at the hospital and realizing how late you were, the next course of action was logically this: taking a pregnancy test in Michael Robinavitch’s apartment.

You were thankful he was there, but worries ate at your mind. While he had promised to stick by your side regardless of the results, you wondered how much you could believe him. That didn’t even begin to touch your worries about your residency, and to an extent, his as well. You hoped your life didn’t have to change — you hoped you could figure out your relationship with Michael on your own terms, not by something now out of your control.

“Are you ready?” He asked gently beside you.

You were not, but you nodded regardless.

You both stared down at the tests, two little pink lines on each staring back at you. All three showed positive.

You were pregnant. You nearly threw up again.

“Are you sure it’s mine?” Was out of his mouth before he could think about it.

“Do you want to keep it?” Was out of yours before you could process the question.

You both stared at each other for a long time as you silently digested his question. How on earth could he think it was someone else’s? Sure, you weren’t in an official relationship, you were in…well, you weren’t certain what you were to each other. He cared about you. You cared about him. But other than whispered words, you felt like you had no leg to stand on with whatever this was or was going to be.

“You think I’d tell you I thought I was pregnant if I didn’t know it was yours?” You whispered, irritation building. “I’ve only been sleeping with you.”

His dark brown eyes watched you like he was still thinking — and your brain was running a mile a minute. You found annoyance was the first emotion you had begun to process, wondering if his doubt was simple shock or something more. The second thing you digested was your fear for the glaring unknown future you now had to face. The third thing was sheer panic, making your knees shake.

You moved out of his tiny bathroom, the walls slowly starting to cave in on you. Would he really stay with you? Help you? Face this with you? Your chest felt tight and you had the urge to cry.

“Hey, hey,” Michael followed you, putting his hands on your arms. “We’re in this together, yeah?”

“You thought—fuck.” Tears came, blurring your vision, forcing you to blink rapidly and turn away from him.

He let out a long sigh, “I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting—”

Even through your teary gaze, you found his eyes. He blinked quickly, but you caught the emotion setting in, tears building. You wrapped your arms around his neck and cried, and while you could not feel him crying, a few drops of tears landed on your shoulder. You gripped him tighter.

“I’m so sorry.” You breathed out against his shoulder, trying not to hyperventilate.

Michael stilled in your arms, moving his arms from around your middle and looking at you in the eyes. His brows were drawn together, tear tracks on his cheeks. “It’s not your fault.”

“No, no. I could’ve—we might’ve—I—”

He shushed you, bringing you back into his chest.

“I don’t want to ruin your life.” You whispered. “I guess I could—”

“What? No. No. I’m not going anywhere.” He swallowed, bringing a hand to your head and holding you close. “I’m more worried I ruined your life. Your residency.”

You exhaled, all the air leaving your lungs as you thought about it. You would likely be able to finish your second year before needing to take any time, but who knew about your third year. Maybe they would let you continue without much hassle. But childcare—the money to raise a child.

You held each other for a long time, worries bleeding together, but he never let you go. Not once.

When you finally moved, your tears had dried, but the weight in your chest had not dissipated. He moved silently behind you, both of you settling in his kitchen, leaning against the countertop while he started some hot water.

You knew you both were going to have to have a deeper conversation about this — you were going to have to come up with a plan. Despite how devastated you were at the results, both of you seemed to be on the same page about keeping it. A baby.

Your baby.

—

The first OBGYN appointment came with a flood of nerves, uncertainties crashing together. Michael had been unfocused throughout your night shift together, but both of you had decided several nights before to keep your relationship as private as possible. You both taking that part step-by-step, wading through the water of your new circumstances with small, careful movements.

After the nurse took urine and blood, you ensured that your OB didn’t do any work at Big Charity — not wanting to get the two lines of your life crossed. You were relieved to find she did not.

She was cheery when she entered, subtly taking in your energies and bringing a sense of calm. No judgement crossed her face, but she did ask about your residency after reading your file.

“Well we’ll start with a pelvic exam, and then make sure there’s proper placement in the uterus with ultrasound. Then we’ll go over your medical history, alright?” Dr. Lyons said, moving to grab the machine and get the gel.

You only nodded silently at her, still having a hard time processing it all. Michael squeezed your hand, bringing you out of your head.

“Are you a resident, as well?” Dr. Lyons asked casually, squirting some gel onto your stomach.

Michael cleared his throat, “Yeah, year three.”

“Very nice, what specialty?”

“Emergency department,” He said, small smile forming. Despite the circumstances, you knew he was proud of it. “It’s how we met.”

She got the transducer ready with a hum, “That can be very stressful.” She eyed you only briefly.

“I can cope.” You told her, but after a moment, you felt like you were more trying to convince yourself. Stress and pregnancy? Bad mix.

Her smile returned, “Just keep an eye on her blood pressure, yeah?”

Michael nodded, eyes going to the screen once she started. She was unable to see much detail, and so she switched you over to a transvaginal ultrasound. It was grainy, but the unmistakable form of a fetus took center stage.

“Measuring at about 3.1cm,” Dr. Lyons said. “About seven weeks, I’d say, based on your last menstrual period.”

Michael’s grip got tighter and you looked away from the screen to peek at his face. You found tears in his eyes, and he looked like he was trying not to cry. You rubbed your thumb over his fingers.

“Let me get the doppler, hear that heart activity.” She gave you a few tissues and allowed you to scoot back up the exam table.

The sound of your baby’s heart filled the room, racing like a speeding train at 119bpm. It filled your heart up with warmth and tears leaked from your eyes.

After your exam, Dr. Lyons gave you some more information, went over her concerns with your stress levels and a few prenatals she wanted you to take. You assured her that your residency would not interfere and she sent you on your way — scheduling for another appointment in four weeks.

In the quiet of his car, Michael grabbed your hand. “We’re having a baby. We’re really having a fuckin’ baby.”

You chuckled, wiping a tear from your cheek. “We’re going to be parents.”

—

“A shotgun wedding is awfully cliche.” You said one afternoon on Michael’s couch, channel surfing. “My mom would be so disappointed.”

Michael walked into his living room with a sandwich, ham and cheese by the look of it. Your stomach grumbled, eyes trying to focus on the television as he took a seat beside you.

“I live to be a disappointment.” He said with a shrug and a smirk, biting into his sandwich.

You huffed a laugh, “Seriously though. I think we should put that thought to rest for now.”

“Oh, don’t wanna marry me now, huh?” His tone was light.

You hummed, your hormones flaring within you, suddenly souring your mood. “I don’t want you to marry me just because I’m having your baby.”

He looked over at you in surprise at your shift in mood. “Are you alright?”

You huffed, turning your eyes away from him. “What are we really even doing, Michael? We have no plan, no fucking money, loans up the ass…what? You gonna stay with me because you knocked me up?”

“What the hell has gotten into you? I thought we decided to try this out?” He placed the plate down onto the coffee table to give you his full attention.

“What the hell has gotten into me?” You scoffed, barely looking at him. “I’m trying to be realistic here.”

“It feels like you’re doubting everything I’ve been telling you.”

“Most of what you told me was in your bathroom, before we found out. You said you’d try and I still feel like we barely know each other.”

“I think I’ve made it obvious how I felt.” He said, tone low, eyes burning the side of your face.

“Oh, did you? I must’ve lost the memo.” Now you were just being mean, but you couldn’t help it. Doubts had been eating away at your mind, and you had been terrible about voicing them. A crippling flaw, it seemed.

“I don’t care about you just because you’re fucking pregnant with my baby. Jesus Christ.” He stood quickly, running a hand through his hair.

The tears came unexpectedly; you blinked once, barely registering his words and his tone, and then there they were, blurring your vision.

He stalked back into the kitchen, footfalls heavy, shoulders rigid. You watched him go.

Part of you wanted to sink into the couch and be swallowed whole. The other part of you wanted to rise to follow him. You felt stuck between both — fear and anger equally eating you alive. You moved to flee instead, avoiding both altogether.

Despite your blurry vision, you found your bag filled with extra clothes next to your purse.

He was on you in an instant, “No, no, no.” His tone was still hard, annoyance coming off him in waves. “We’re gonna sit down and talk about this like adults.”

Your eyes did not move from your hand and his on the strap of your bag, tears freefalling. One hit the top of his hand and he let out a long sigh. With his other hand, he tipped your head up so you would look at him instead of the floor.

“Come on, talk to me.” He said softly, the frustration on his face giving way to concern. “Where did this come from?”

You struggled to find your voice, though when you did, there was really no explanation. “I—” You broke down, a sob coming from your lips as you tried to look away from him again.

He brought you into a hug, bag dropping back to the floor, forgotten about. He kissed your hairline and shushed you.

It was too much. Neither of you had even told anyone yet, or discussed much more than vague details of your plan. It was still early, you both had said after your first appointment, we have time. It felt so foolish now, dancing around your problems like neither of you had learned anything in that bathroom a week ago. Like hiding your feelings was still a suitable option.

“I—I’m sorry,” you cried. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to take that out on you.”

He hummed against your hairline, “Thank you for your apology. Just breathe for me.”

You followed his advice, taking a deep breath in and then releasing it. It did little to solve the tension in your shoulders.

When you looked at him, he brushed your tears away with his thumbs. “Do you wanna sit and talk about it?”

You nodded silently and you moved back to the couch. You sat quietly for a few minutes, fiddling with your fingers.

“I’m just having my doubts, you know?” You let out a shaky breath. “Like this is still so new and I don’t know. There’s still things to figure out. I don’t want to rush this between us, but I don’t know—it’s just another uncertainty and it’s making me so anxious.”

He processed your words with pursed lips, watching you with those pretty brown eyes of his. He fully turned toward you and grabbed your hands in his.

“This won’t be easy, but I want to be by your side. I want to be in your life. I care about you and I have long before we found out.” He took a breath. “I don’t want to rush our relationship either, but I want you here. I want you to let me in.”

You met his eyes, “I want you to let me in, too.”

He smiled, “Are you busy tomorrow?”

—

The pizza place was not the intention for your first official date together, but you took one step into the place Michael had chosen and nearly thrown up. The meats cooking seemed to strike straight to your stomach, and the nausea was immediate. He had worriedly ushered you out of the nice restaurant, rubbing your back while you leaned over, hands on your knees trying to breathe.

No vomit came, thankfully, that would have been so embarrassing.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked out. “That place was lovely, I swear.”

He did not take it to heart, hand not moving from your back. “Don’t sweat it.”

Hunger grumbled in your stomach, and a few store fronts down was a little pizza spot. The smell of cheese and yeast was actually a welcomed one when you stepped inside. You both looked a little overdressed for it, but you sat down after ordering a few slices without being fazed.

“Are you looking forward to your fourth year?” You asked, sipping your clear soda — Michael insisting, even after you assured him your stomach had settled.

“I am,” He nodded, “Is it weird I still feel wildly underprepared?”

You shook your head, “You? You’re the best person we’ve got in there aside from Dr. Long.”

He blushed heavily, shaking his head. “No way.”

“You should consider going for that chief resident position.” You told him with a grin, winking, “I love a man in power.”

He sputtered a laugh, “Ulterior motives? I’ll consider it.”

“You should, though, seriously. You’d be very good at it.”

“Thank you.” He said, “Are you going to tell your PD soon?”

You frowned, thinking about the program director in question. It was the logical next step regarding your residency. “I was thinking about next week? I’ll try to tell Long then too. I’m just nervous, I didn’t really look over the benefits with this sort of thing when I started.” You chuckled lightly. “Didn’t really think it would affect me.”

He smiled sheepishly, sipping his soda, “Happy accidents.”

You grinned at him, “I’d cheers to that.”

So you did, laughing and enjoying his company over greasy pizza.

When you returned to his apartment, heat had settled low in your belly. You had been spending much of your free time at his place, leaving more and more of your clothes behind — even doing a shared load of laundry.

His quick kiss once you had gotten inside had turned into something much deeper, hands roaming and clothes falling to the floor. The date you had gone on had made you feel worlds better about this whole thing working out. It was a small step, but it lifted the weight from your shoulders.

Michael had you against the wall, one hand beside your head and the other gripping your hip. You deepened the kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth and gripping his hair in both hands. His hand on your hip slipped to where you wanted him most, ghosting over your clit before settling by your slick entrance.

“You’re so wet. Fuck.”

You whined against his lips, trying to desperately pull him closer.

It wasn’t long before you were on his bed, wrapping your legs around him, kisses sloppy and his lips searing the skin of your throat. You rocked your hips up, eager for more friction and he groaned. He fumbled off you, reaching towards his nightstand.

You blinked curiously at him, pulling him back to you. “We don’t need that.”

“What?” He asked against your lips.

You giggled, moving your hips up again to feel him. “I’m already pregnant, Mike. Let me feel you.”

He moaned at your words, making you smirk. He was lost in your kiss when you moved your hand between your bodies to line him up with your entrance. His breath hitched before pushing in slowly.

“Jesus Christ.” He exhaled once he was fully sheathed, eyes screwed shut like he was trying to focus.

It felt like all your nerves were on fire, so much more sensitive to the feel of him, each drag of his hips. His pelvic bone and patch of hair brushing up against your clit. You whined, simultaneously already over stimulated and needing so much more.

He tried not to be too rough with you, while also trying to consider your pleasure above his. He adjusted his movements until you were responding, clinging to him, one hand gripping his back desperately, the other between your legs.

“Mike, holy shit. Michael.” You moaned against his shoulder, the band in your lower belly growing more taut by the second.

“Fuck.” He breathed against your jaw, “Let me feel you cum, come on, sweetheart.”

The tension in your belly snapped with a moan, and your pussy gripped him impossibly tight.

“I’m gonna—” He hissed.

“Please. Please. Please.” You begged, arching your back.

The warm feeling that filled you was different, but you found it felt so good. His hips stuttered, moan swallowed by your mouth, and you tightened your legs around him.

Ragged breathing filled his bedroom, and his forehead rested against yours. He peppered a few kisses to your cheeks, making you grin. He rolled off of you with a groan low in his throat when he slipped out of you, both of you unmoving for another minute.

“Well that’s a first I can get used to.”

He laughed.

—

The first people you told were your PD and the chief attending, both men, and despite the disappointment clear on Dr. Long’s face, it went over well. Dr. Long assured you that he would work with the schedule to ensure you would be able to take your leave once you gave birth — six paid weeks. Anything additional would need to be vacation time, plus a slight risk to your residency. Thankfully it all lined up enough that you would be able to start your third year without a hitch, seven weeks after your due date.

You did not mention Michael to them, but you had both discussed that he would attempt to take a few days to a week around your due date to stay with you. You knew they would likely pick up on the overlap.

The first people Michael told were his parents, who had gone quiet on the other line as he paced his kitchen. You stood still leaning against the dining table, watching it unfold.

His mother’s voice rang out like a bell on the other side, “Oh, honey, did you forget to tell us you were engaged?”

He physically deflated, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “No, mom. We’re not engaged.”

The other line was quiet for a few beats, then it was his dad, “Son, how the hell could you be so reckless? First, choosing to be a damn emergency room doctor, and now what? Got some broad knocked up?”

Michael’s jaw tensed and you looked away, guilt filling your gut.

“Don’t call her that.” His tone was hard, the serious edge to it making you look back at him.

“...some golddigger…whore…does she even know you’re not a real doctor yet? Ha!” His father was ranting in the background.

“She’s a resident, too.” Michael snapped back. “You don’t have to be proud of my decisions, but this is happening. I’m having a baby, that’s a fact. You don’t even need to stay in my life, but she is going to be, so deal with it.”

“Michael, honey, you don’t mean that—”

“No, I do. You don’t get to shittalk her, I won’t tolerate it.” His voice cracked, “I wanted you to be a part of it, but it’s clear you don’t want to be.”

“Michael—”

“If you’re going to be this fucking stupid, fine. Don’t come crying to us when—”

Michael hung up, the weight of it crushing him, tears coming. You moved quickly, taking him into your arms before his knees could buckle. He held onto you like you were a lifeline, sobs wracking his body. You were silent, rubbing circles onto his back, knowing no words would be enough.

You felt an anger brewing in your stomach over how his father had spoken to him, but he had revealed a few weeks prior that his parents had wanted him to be a surgeon. Michael said it took awhile before he got the nerve to tell his father he had chosen the ED over trauma surgery. Now you knew why.

You brought him to the couch, kissing his face and running your nails along his scalp. He curled up, resting his head in your lap, while you ran fingers through his hair. You knew he should not have to bear the weight of their disappointment, especially since he was such a good man.

Flicking on a random baseball game, you didn’t let your fingers stray from his hair.

His anger seemed quick to follow his sadness, moving to sit up, face scrunched together.

“They don’t even know you! How could he even—he has a lot of nerve—”

“Hey, hey,” you placed a careful hand on his shoulder. “I’m not going to take what he said to heart. I appreciate you standing up for me, that meant a lot.”

His eyes softened when they met yours, “You don’t deserve that.”

You nodded in agreement.

Later that night, your parents took it a bit easier, though their voices were still thick with disappointment.

“What about your residency?” Your mom asked, “How could you be so foolish? You worked so hard for this!”

“I know, I already figured it out. I’ll still start my third year on time.”

“Baby’s aren’t easy, and if you go back to work full time? What about childcare?”

It was unnerving how silent your father had been.

“There’s a daycare at the hospital, we’ve been thinking about that.”

Your mother sighed, “Well we can’t stop you. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

You really did not, but you didn’t dare say that.

—

Michael’s mother warmed up roughly a month later, right around your appointment to find out the gender. She had explained that his father would come around, but hadn’t yet, but she expressed wanting to meet you. They lived all the way in California, so them coming to meet you (or you going to meet them) seemed more placating than realistic. Still, you agreed, voicing over the phone you would love to meet her.

Michael anxiously tapped on the steering wheel the entire way to your OB.

“Do you wanna bet on it?” You asked, trying to pull your own anxious mind from running wild.

“Bet on what?”

“The gender.” You said with a smile, looking over at him.

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at you before looking back at the road. “What’re the stakes?”

You contemplated with a hum, “I could really go for ice cream.”

He laughed, “Ice cream?”

Shrugging, you added, “Or a beignet.”

“Not quite as high stakes as I was thinking.”

“And what were you thinking?”

“You should move in with me.”

You choked on your saliva, coughing, “Excuse me?”

It had not been long enough to consider that, even if your relationship was going well. It had only been official for a month.

“Not right now!” He said, swallowing thickly. “My lease is up in three months. Might be smart to consider a two-bedroom, you know, even if you don’t move in.”

“Oh.” You looked at the road ahead of you. “That might be too high a stakes.”

“You’re right, that was stupid.”

“No!” You objected. “No, it’s a smart thing to consider. It would be easier once they’re here to live together. But are we ready for that kind of commitment?”

“Sorry to inform you, but we’re going to have a baby together. Surprise!” His lighter tone was back, as was the smirk. “I think just about everything else is much lower stakes than that.”

“I would like to seriously consider that.” You told him quietly. “Just not over a bet.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry to spring that on you. I’ve just been thinking about it.”

You grabbed his right hand and squeezed. “I really just don’t want to fuck this up over spontaneous decisions. I’ll think about it.”

He nodded, “So higher stakes than a sweet treat, but lower than moving in together? Hm, oh! What about that craft beer festival I was telling you about?”

You barked out a laugh, “I’m not going to a craft beer festival. I can’t even drink!”

He smirked, “You’ll be a perfect DD, then! Plus, they’ll have those fancy craft sodas and music I know you like.”

“Fine!” You huffed out, trying to hide a grin. “If I win, then you’re taking me to the next stupid rom-com that comes out.”

“Pfft, I love a rom-com. Think bigger!”

You thought for a moment, “I want to go to the next Comic-Con fully dressed up as whoever I want.” While you had no strong feelings about the con either way, you knew Michael did.

He groaned, “Dressed up, too? At least you’d be able to enjoy yourself at mine!”

“What? I’m sure there’d be a panel on that comic you like so much.”

His tongue moved over his lip, his eyes narrowed at the road.

“So, do we got a deal?” You asked, eyebrow raised.

“Fine. I’ll even let you pick first.”

“Oh, what a gentleman.” You laughed. “A boy.”

“You sound confident.” He noted, turning into the parking lot.

“Call it mother’s intuition.”

The smile that came over his face made your heart stutter, sweet and soft.

“Alright, if it’s a girl then we’re going to the craft beer fest. A boy and we go to comic con.”

“Dressed up.” You added, smirking. “Oh! I also want a beignet right now, too.”

He laughed, “Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

You even shook on it.

You waited anxiously for Dr. Lyons to confirm the gender, your gaze holding steady with Michael’s. You held his hand while he rubbed circles on your knuckle with his thumb.

“A girl!” She said, turning the screen to face you both, pointing to your baby.

Your head whipped over to look at the grainy image, disbelief settling in — more so upset at the fact that you lost rather than the gender itself. It was fleeting, however, and a cozy, warm feeling replaced it.

“A girl.” You echoed, smile forming.

Michael moved from the stool he was sitting on to kiss your forehead, whispering a subtle, “I win.”

You shooed him away. “Sore winner.” You whispered back.

Dr. Lyons left a few minutes later, leaving a few prints on the counter for you and Michael to take home.

You stared at the photos, pointing to a few features you noticed. Little feet and nose. You began to wonder what she might look like — who she might take after more, or if she would be a perfect mix. Your heart swelled.

“I’ll go buy tickets this weekend.” Michael told you, a triumphant grin stretching across his face.

You scoffed, moving off the exam table to put your pants back on.

He wrapped you up in his arms, twirling you around, “We’re having a baby girl!”

You laughed, holding him tight, echoing him. When he set you back on the ground, he kissed you tenderly and your eyes grew teary.

“I may be a sore winner, but let’s go get you that beignet.”

—

Michael first told you he loved you while you were making dinner one night. It had been your first night off together in nearly a week, and you were thankful to be in his company again, craving his touch and his voice. You moved to place something in the oven and stood back up to find his eyes already on you.

He had a goofy smile on his face, making your cheeks warm. So many feelings were swirling in your stomach — and something you felt was dangerously close to love. It had been enough time to call it that, surely, but part of you worried it was mostly your hormones talking.

Until he voiced it first.

“I’m in love with you.”

Several beats of silence echoed in his kitchen as you stared at him. Emotion constricted your throat, and you blinked away the coming tears.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

He kissed you deeply, one hand holding your head while the other moved to the small of your back.

“Say it again.”

You giggled against his lips, “I’m in love you, Michael Robinavitch.”

He kissed along your jaw, “Again.”

So you told him, again and again, in every way you could until dinner was ready. He made sure you knew how much he loved you later that night.

—

At twenty-three weeks, you had a much more noticeable bump, though your scrubs hid it well. You had announced it to your co-residents weeks ago, to a weird mix of congratulations and odd looks. Your relationship with Michael was still primarily private, and you barely talked about your boyfriend while in the hospital so your pregnancy was very out of left field to all of them (which, it had been to you as well).

Michael had grown increasingly protective after you started your second trimester, moving to take the more combative patients or shoulder the more stressful cases. Part of you appreciated him, but the other part was finding it increasingly frustrating.

Dr. Long already had you parked in triage for a majority of your shift, and you definitely did not need Michael treating you with kid gloves, too. Your senior resident gave you a bit more leeway, but you could see Dr. Rivera was picking what to give you just as carefully.

After a possible DV victim had come into your care, you assessed her injuries and found she was not critical. Her husband hovered while you asked questions, answering most of them for her, which set your teeth on edge. You brought her into the back, placing her in East 3, and put her on the list to get a head CT. You moved to inform a senior attending of what you suspected, and he noted it and sent you to find the social worker.

Not long after you had, you also noted to try to talk to her while she was alone, but then an ambulance rolled in, stealing your attention. Michael was the first one to get to the patient, assessing quickly.

The patient struggled against the soft restraints, making Michael keep stepping in front of you. You were never going to learn this way.

You pushed past him, checking the man’s vitals and pupils. Likely an overdose, by the look of it, but you still wanted to run urine and blood. The man was also talking in riddles, so psych might be a good call to make, too.

Grabbing hold of Michael’s wrist after the patient was settled, you pulled him into the hallway, moving towards the staff lounge.

“I’m never going to learn if you keep preventing me from every mildly combative or stressful case that wheels in.” You told him sternly in a hushed voice.

He blinked his eyes at you, before his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not trying—”

“No, you are.” You said. “I appreciate the concern, trust me. But I’ll never be a good doctor if I only see the easy stuff.”

He rolled his tongue over his front teeth, “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

“I know, Robby,” you said, exasperated. “Dr. Long is already benching me from a lot going on back here.”

“He’s not benching you. You’re an asset in triage.”

You wanted to scream.

A code sounded, interrupting any thought you might have had, both of you turning and running into Central 1. You figured the conversation would be shelved for another time.

The woman was older, but had gone into asystole, and despite all the best efforts of yourself and those around you, her time of death was called a half hour after that. It had left you sweaty and in need of a cold drink, so you departed to do just that.

You had no idea what had come over you when you heard shouting back in East 3, but you beelined for it. A wide eyed Maya, a nurse, exited and was calling for security. You stepped behind the curtain to see the husband arguing with another man while the woman was sobbing, begging them to stop.

“Hey! Hey!” You shouted, moving between them. Your first mistake.

Your second? Getting in range to be hit — the man’s elbow coming back and hitting you in the nose as he moved to punch the husband. You tripped backwards, turning just in time to catch yourself with your hands. You quickly noted that you had not landed on your stomach, but your nose was bleeding, dripping blood onto the tile.

Security was in the room in the next second, moving the curtain and revealing you on the floor to the hallway. You felt Michael’s eyes almost immediately. Fuck.

He was next to you within moments, hands on you while you tried to move to stand, your name on his lips. “Are you okay? Fuck!”

“Peachy,” you replied, your hand absentmindedly moving to your belly.

“She got in the way! I wasn’t trying to hit her!”

“That’s enough!” Security moved the man out of the room.

You had never seen Michael so angry, and it rattled through you, his murderous gaze following the man until he disappeared at the end of the hall. You silently followed him into an empty room across the hall and he pulled the curtain shut.

Michael assessed you silently, still clearly fuming, but you were glad he had not moved to attack the man who had accidentally hit you. His hands were gentle, moving along your cheeks to your nose until you winced.

“I’m ordering you a head CT and an ultrasound.” He said, wiping a bit of the blood from your face.

“That’s not necessary, just give me a few minutes.”

“The fuck it’s not necessary, you’re pregnant with my child. Are you kidding me?” His gentle tone had disappeared.

You blinked owlishly at him, stunned by his anger now directed at you.

“What were you thinking? Why didn’t you get security?”

“Maya was already getting them, I wanted to see what was going on.” You said, already feeling stupid.

He let out a long, annoyed sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m going to go order those tests and get you some ice.”

You frowned as he disappeared, bringing your fingers to lightly touch your face. You moved your hand back to your belly and rubbed circles onto your skin. You had been reckless, you realized, and if you had done anything to threaten—you felt sick.

“You’re next for CT, I’m gonna do the ultrasound now. Probably smart to call your OB, so she can check you, too.” Michael said, coming back into the room with an ice pack in hand, voice switching to how he sounded with a patient.

“I’m sorry.” It was barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t thinking. I—I—”

“Hey,” he was in front of you now, touching you tenderly, gently, like you would break. “Relax. Take a deep breath.”

You did so, trying to calm your racing heart by breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth.

“I just—you and Long are keeping me from some really good cases. I didn’t want to have to sit another one out…I thought I could handle it.”

His frown was still on his lips, but he grabbed your hand and kissed along your knuckles. “You scared the shit out of me. You were just—you were on the ground and you were bleeding. Nothing else mattered, I thought—fuck. I don’t mean to be overprotective. At the end of the day, this is still the ED and things are just going to happen, but you really have to think about the situations you’re putting yourself in. I’ll back off a bit if you promise me one thing.”

You nodded, grabbing his fingers.

“Just promise me you’ll be more mindful. You’ll get security first, ask questions second. You’ll get me, or Long or Rivera, or whoever’s on if you sense something going south.”

“I promise.” And you meant it.

He nodded, kissing your forehead — not even caring to cut back the PDA, like you both had agreed to within the walls of the hospital. You were thankful he had, assured by the gestures of affection.

The doppler sounded with a steady, normal heart rate which calmed every nerve you had. A long breath left you and relief was clear on Michael’s face.

The ultrasound revealed normal movement, your baby thankfully finding their time to shine, kicking against your womb much to Michael’s amusement. He moved the transducer to touch your belly to feel for himself, and a large grin lit up his features.

It was the first time he had been able to feel her, your baby girl. He left his hand on your belly for a long time, and you put one of your hands overtop of his.

His brown eyes met yours, “She’s moving.”

You returned his smile, “She’s saying hi to her daddy.”

He nearly cried.

—

Your first apartment had come with a decent amount of stress. Your roommate had been upset when you explained you would not be renewing your lease with her, but ultimately understood. It was unfortunate that since your lease had finished first, you had to crowd Michael’s apartment with the random odds and ends from your old apartment until his lease was up the following month.

You were thankful to find something in your price range, and even more grateful to find something nice. It was a simple two-bedroom place, with enough room to breathe in, and would suit both of your needs until your residency was over.

Michael insisted on moving most of it, with the help of one of the resident’s you knew from the hospital, who was sworn to secrecy before he even came over. Michael told you he considered him to be a friend. He put you on supervising duty, dictating where each piece of furniture should go. After all the furniture was in the apartment, all that was really left to do was furnish the baby’s room.

You wanted this place to be your home, and so there was a bit of weight on your shoulders to fill it. Make it cozy, make it yours.

The furniture for the baby’s room was a bit complicated. Your style clashing with Michael’s more simplistic one. You couldn’t help it! It was your first baby, of course you want to go a little overboard with the design.

You both eventually settled on lighter woods and pastels, not necessarily having the budget for frivolous. You did go a bit overboard on clothes, but hey, pick your battles.

Folding some of her clothes sitting cross-legged on the floor, Michael was trying to put together the crib behind you. It was a fairly simple sight, watching him screw together several pieces, but it still got you all hot and bothered.

“How about Jasmine?”

Michael made a small noise, indicating a simple no. “Patricia?”

You responded as he had. “Susan?”

“Marie?”

You thought about that one, before shaking your head. “Eleanor?”

He considered it. “Ellie’s cute. I like that one.”

You smiled in victory, moving some of her clean clothes into the hand-me-down dresser.

“Eleanor Robinavitch.” You said, testing it on your tongue.

“Eleanor Robinavitch.” Michael echoed, placing his tools down to give you a kiss.

—

Your due date came too quickly. You had thoroughly been enjoying Michael’s company, just the two of you, but by your thirty-eighth week, you would have done anything to get the baby out of you. Though, true to how she had been conceived, it came as a bit of a surprise.

Michael’s shift had not yet finished, though it was close enough that you did not want to call him at the hospital. You only had to wait two hours. Besides, statistically speaking, first-time pregnancies usually had a longer laboring period as opposed to subsequent labors.

The contractions were brutal. More than you had been expecting. Those breathing exercises you learned in those classes did very little to help with the pain, but it did help you get through them.

By the time Michael stepped through the front door, you were leaning over the coffee table, finding the position to be the most helpful. He was by your side in an instant.

“Why didn’t you call?”

“Figured…I could wait…still about seven minutes apart.” You breathed out, the pain in your abdomen beginning to ease again, allowing you to take a big breath.

He kissed your forehead, “I’ll start getting everything to the car. Your bag still in the closet?”

You nodded, leaning back onto the couch and relaxing, hand on your belly.

Michael moved quickly, grabbing his bag, your bag and your baby’s bag and putting them into his car. His anxious energy made you want to stand, moving around the kitchen and bedroom like a tornado. You tried to close your eyes and rest, knowing it was not going to be much longer.

Nearly a half hour later, contractions at nearly six minutes apart but in short bursts, you wandered into the bathroom. You were overly thankful since as soon as you stepped foot onto the bathroom, your water broke. You stared down at the puddle you had made in shock, before glancing at yourself in the mirror.

This is really happening. You were about to have a baby.

After putting a towel down over top of it, you let yourself sit on the toilet. You called Michael to get you some new pants, with a sheepish smile.

“My water broke.” You explained.

He only glanced down at the towel and was off to do as you had asked.

It was not long after that that your contractions moved down to five minutes apart, lasting one minute for nearly an hour. For as level headed as Michael was around the ED, he was eager to get you to the hospital. During the drive, he had you breathe with him, in and out, even when the pain made you want to throttle him.

“Can we seahorse next time? Fuck.” You complained, leaning back in the passenger seat, gripping the door handle tighter.

“Had I the parts, absolutely.”

“I’m still blaming you.” You said through clenched teeth.

You could tell he tried not to laugh, but you were glad he wasn’t taking it to heart.

“What did we cheers to on our first date? Happy accidents?”

You did your best not to curse at him.

After eight long, excruciating hours, you were ready to push. Despite how much you had wanted to throttle him, Michael really was a trooper — he breathed with you, helped you walk around when a nurse suggested it would help, and held you upright while you leaned on him. All things considered, he was a perfect birthing partner, if not a little anxious.

He had read every book about pregnancy, wandered up to L&D at Big Charity to ask random questions, and brushed up on all the latest studies. You knew he knew what was going on and he still asked stupid questions despite it.

If you weren’t in the throes of labor, you might have laughed.

After getting your go ahead, Dr. Lyons let Michael “help”, mostly just to catch the baby. She was on your chest the next second, crying her little lungs out, which you found quite relieving.

Your eyes were blurry when they met Michael’s gaze, looking down at your daughter and whispering to her. Michael kissed your forehead.

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.” He told you, and you could tell he was being earnest.

“I did just push out a baby.”

He smirked back at you, before glancing down at your daughter. He brushed a gentle finger against her cheek, smiling with an expression you had not seen before — but it was something you were experiencing, too.

When she was cleaned, you could tell some obvious features were all you, but you could pinpoint several of Michael’s features. And her eyes? In both shape and color, they were all Michael.

—

In the months that followed Eleanor’s birth, there were still so many things to still figure out. You dreaded returning to work and being away from her, but you also wanted to complete your residency more than anything.

Michael was an excellent father. Handling night feedings, while also trying to take care of you in the first few weeks, and also working. He was compartmentalizing well, but you could see it weighing on him.

You tried to pick up the slack, but postpartum was no joke. Your hormones returning to normal and the sleepless nights really took most of the wind out of your sails most days. You were grateful when Michael would get off shift to give you just a tiny break before you each went to bed, but the dynamic shifted when you returned to work.

The daycare at the hospital was truly a dream come true, with a reduced rate and easy access that made you less anxious whenever you were working. As it stood, the plan was to stay at Big Charity until your residency was done, Michael hoping for an attending position after his fourth year was completed.

You both had vaguely discussed moving out of Louisiana eventually. Perhaps closer to your parents, or to his, or somewhere different entirely. Pennsylvania or New York, perhaps. It was too far into the future to be able to focus on it.

In a rare day off for each of you, Michael convinced you to head to the park, have a picnic and enjoy the weather. Eleanor was more engaged, and was making her biggest effort to crawl. She could sit up on her own without much assistance, and your heart constricted whenever she hit a milestone. She was growing up much too fast for your liking.

The breeze felt nice on your skin, sitting on a picnic blanket under the shade of a tree. Eleanor was talking nonsense to Michael, bringing one of her toys to her mouth.

In her babbling, she said something awfully close to dada, which made your eyes go right to Michael, who was beaming.

“Was that—”

“She does not get to say dada first,” You said in a huff, but your tone was light.

He laughed, “Can you say that again, Ellie? Dada, come on, da-da.”

It warmed your heart, even if you were a bit jealous.

Lunch was simple sandwiches, and some baby food Eleanor had been more and more interested in lately. After, Eleanor settled down for a much needed nap, and you enjoyed the quiet with Michael.

“I’ve really enjoyed this last year and a half with you — it’s been some of the best moments of life.” He grabbed your hand, stealing your attention from your sleeping baby. “It has been such a privilege to raise Ellie with you, and I really could not imagine life without either of you. You mean so much to me, I love you so much.”

Your face warmed, a fuzzy feeling in your chest. “I love you, too. So much. You’re a wonderful father to Ellie, and I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

Your heart halted when he moved from beside you to rest on one knee.

“I know we’ve been doing things a bit backwards, but you said shotgun weddings were cliche. So would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

There was a ring box in his hand, but you did not even look at it before throwing yourself into his arms, “Yes, oh my god. Yes.”

You kissed him, holding him to your body. You knew you would not have picked any other path, knowing this was the one for you.

Michael Robinavitch was the one for you, wholly, undoubtedly, unconditionally.

[ continuation ]

All Dr. Robby Content: @cherriready @kittenhawkk @seeyalaterinnovator

Did I pick Dr. John Carter’s mother’s name? Yes, yes I did.

I feel like I could’ve kept going, but I ended up liking the stopping point. Might take these characters forward into the Pitt timeline!

#the pitt #michael robinavitch #dr robby #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch/you #resident michael robinavitch #female reader #asxgard writes #wtf is this update #it’s subtle #but I hate it #my John Carter era is coming #I can feel it #Carter with a beard is just young robby #are you gonna look at me and tell me that I’m wrong??

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no-144444 · 4 months ago

Text

the grid: valentine's day!

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featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, George Russell, Kimi Antonelli, Alex Albon, Carlos Sainz, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Max Verstappen, Charles LeClerc, Lewis Hamilton, Ollie Bearman, Jack Doohan, Franco Colapinto, & Paul Aron

this is 18+ so mdni please! smut and suggestiveness in some of them!

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Oscar Piastri: Simple, lowkey, sweet

He’d decided instead of trying to make it a huge deal, both of you would much rather have a slow evening.

“What should I wear?” you asked as you sat at your vanity in just a bra and underwear.

“That,” he whispered under his breath, his eyes taking you in. You heard him (obviously) and rolled your eyes.

“Be serious, what are we doing?” you chuckled.

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Wear whatever you want, no climbing or long walks tonight,” he told you.

You gave him a sceptical look. “I hate when you plan things,” you sighed, getting up and going to your closet.

“Is it because you’re slightly a control freak?” he teased and you scoffed at his words.

“I’m not that bad!” you scoffed, pushing him out of your room. “Now you don’t get to enjoy the view!”

He rolled his eyes from the other side of the door, but he couldn’t help the smile on his face. He’d planned tonight exactly how you’d want it. Your favourite romcom in a private screen with just the two of you, then dinner at your favourite restaurant, then home. He’d already gotten you flowers earlier in the day (as you had him, which made him feel quite special), and you’d been working, so he’d been busy with training. He had a beautiful necklace (one he’d let you pick out months ago that he was sure you’d forgotten) for you, and he knew what you’d gotten him already. He knew he was a nuisance to buy for, but somehow, you always got it right. He’d accidentally opened the package when it came to the door, to find vintage Australian cricket jerseys of his three favourite players. You knew him so well.

You came out in his favourite dress of yours, looking stunning. He wrapped his arms around your waist and smiled into a kiss.

“I have lipgloss on,” you chuckled, rubbing it off his lips.

“I don’t mind,” he shrugged, kissing you again as you chuckled. You kissed him back, all too happy to oblige him.

“Shall we?” you asked, pulling away and wiping his mouth of your lip gloss.

“We shall,” he smiled, taking your hand and leading you out of your shared Monaco apartment.

It was going to be a good night.

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Lando Norris: airport blunder

He’d decided he wanted to whisk you away for Valentine’s day, but the reality of you having a regular job and him having testing to do meant you at least had to wait until extremely late to get to the airport, and you were both in shitty moods, too tired to be flying to Greece at 11pm, with another hour of your delay to sit through.

“Was this a bad idea?” he asked, his voice small and dejected.

You turned to him and took his hand. “It was a sweet idea Lan, I love it, but right now we’re both exhausted and not in the best mood, but think about tomorrow. When we get to wake up in Greece at 2pm and have the most amazing sex, we’ll be in better moods,” you chuckled, making him smile. “Right?”

“We could also just go have sex in the bathroom?” he offered, pushing his luck and leaning in, his face against your neck.

You laughed and pushed him back. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in love!” he argued, leaning in again and pressing soft kisses to your neck. “And you’re in a white tank with no bra,” he groaned. “You’re so hot.”

You laughed, embarrassed by his antics in a public airport. “Behave.”

“So… bathroom?” He tried his luck again.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your resolve was failing, mostly because of the way he was kissing your neck. “If it’s clean.”

He grinned like an idiot. “You’re perfect.”

You chuckled. “Idiot.”

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George Russell: double date

You had no idea that ‘bowling’ meant going out for dinner with Toto and Susie, and then going bowling with them too. At first, you were slightly put off by the idea, you had kind of been hoping that tonight would be about just you two, since you two hadn’t really had a date alone in a while. It grew on you though, watching how like Toto George was. It was weird, like father and son, and you enjoyed talking with Susie for half the night.

As the double date came to a close, he held your hand, your head leaning on him. “I thought I wasn’t going to enjoy tonight,” you admitted. “I had a bunch of fun though.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad. So did I.”

“You’re so shit at bowling,” you teased. “How do you miss every single one of them, three times in a row?”

He scoffed, shocked at your rudeness. “I wasn’t that bad!”

“You were,” you laughed, and he wrapped his hand around your waist instead, tickling you, picking you up and putting you over his shoulder as you squealed. “George! Put me down!”

“Nope,” he smiled. “I have my plans with you,” he smirked, opening the door to your Monaco house.

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Kimi Antonelli: nervous nelly

Since it was your first Valentine’s, Kimi was shitting bricks. He had this whole dinner planned, pulling out all the stops for the big day, but at dinner, he was more worried about how it all was than actually celebrating your relationship and each other.

You chuckled as you looked up from your meal, only to see him staring at you, again. “Are you ever going to actually eat?” you asked. His eyes snapped down to his own meal, his face getting red as he realised you noticed him looking.

“I-Yes,” he smiled awkwardly, finally grabbing his fork and digging in.

“Kimi, it’s alright, you don’t have to be nervous. Tonight has been perfect,” you smiled, taking his other hand. A sigh of relief left his lips.

“I just, I wanted this to be perfect,” he admitted, squeezing your hand.

“It is,” you smiled reassuringly. “Once you’re also having fun?”

“Of course I am,” he smiled, finally looking you in the eye again. “I’m here with you.”

“Well I’m glad I make such good company,” you smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he smiled before leaning over the table and planting a soft kiss on your lips.

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Alex Albon: busy but present

You were busy with work and so was he, but regardless he made you feel special. He sent flowers right to your room with a beautiful note, had your gift delivered (a jellycat heart and bag that you liked), and sent you photos, videos, and texts about his day, throughout the day. Small messages about his engineers, or what he was having for lunch, a picture of the flowers and the gifts you’d sent him, and even a video of him, George, and Lando going for a run together. You sent him messages throughout the day too. Tid-bits about what you were working on, photos of you with your co-workers, and a video of you dressed up for your ‘galentine’s’ dinner. As much as you both missed each other, you still made each other feel special, even thousands of miles away.

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Carlos Sainz: freaky wit it

“I’ve been waiting for this all night,” he groaned as you pulled on his hair. To be honest, both of you had been waiting all night for this. Quickly, he started unzipping your dress, the long navy fabric had been driving him insane all night, you had been driving him insane all night. The way you smiled at him, the way you walked, talked, ate, and drank, he wanted you so badly, and he had to wait a whole two hours to have you. Next your heels were discarded on the floor and he lifted you up and threw you on the bed, making you laugh. Now, in front of him, you were lying on the bed with a navy two-piece, and something new on your skin. Just above your hip bone, shown off beautifully by the lingerie, there was a small ‘55’ tattooed on you. “Mi Amor,” he choked out, winded by the sight of you. “Is it real?”

“Felt you might’ve needed a reminder that someone is always in your corner,” you whispered seductively, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear. “Williams blue and a 55. Like it?”

“I love it,” he smirked back, pulling your underwear down harshly. “Love you,” he gritted out, kneeling in front of you. “Can I have my dessert now, tesoro?” he looked up through hooded eyes and you knew you were soaked.

“Fuck yes,” you sighed out in content, before a long, long night began.

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Daniel Riccardo: sweet morning

Daniel had been lying in bed staring at you for a good 40 minutes. He was just so… captivated by you. He loved to just watch you do anything (including sleep, apparently). He thought about all the tough moments you’d had together, and how you’d been strong enough to carry him during his darkest times. He thought about how you made him smile every single day, and how he never wanted it to stop. He thought about the fetus you had growing inside of you, the one that would be your kid. He was so excited, so happy, so ready for the future. Even though he wasn't in F1, he felt complete with you beside him.

You woke up smiling, ready for the day ahead. Both you and Daniel had taken the day off to have a nice long weekend and spend some time together.

“Morning beautiful,” he smiled, pressing his lips to yours.

“Morning,” you yawned. “Alright?”

He smiled. “Alright. Just love you.”

You smiled at him. “I love you too,” you grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting his roll over onto his back, you on top of him. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

“Happy Valentine’s day,” he nodded before kissing you again.

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Liam Lawson: helping hand

“Ready?!” you called out to him, checking your watch again.

“I just want to make sure my hair is good-” he started but you cut him off with a groan.

“Liam, your hair always looks good, come here and I’ll fix it if you want,” you offered and he came running. In front of you, your boyfriend was standing wearing a pair of shorts and a shirt, perfect for your picnic date that he’d planned. He knelt down in front of you, giving you full access to his head as he wrapped his arms around your midriff, pressing gentle kisses there over your clothes. Gently, you eased the pomade into his hair, spiking it up how he liked it. “Good?” you asked, showing him by using your phone as a mirror.

“Perfect,” he smiled, getting up and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Even better because you’re not wearing panties,” he muttered into your ear as you both walked out of the house.

You just smirked back at him.

You would be the death of him one day, he was sure of it.

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Max Verstappen: not big but that’s how you both like it

Max walked into the hotel room with a bouquet in his hand and a bakery bag in the other. In all honesty, you would’ve been fine if he hadn’t done anything. Yes, you’d gotten him some flowers and chocolates, but neither of you were very big ‘celebration’ people, and a date was just a date, which wasn’t feasible with testing going on anyways. He fell into bed beside you, a tired look in his eyes.

“For you,” he smiled, holding out the flowers. You took them and kissed his cheek.

“Thanks baby,” you grinned. “What’s in the bag?”

“Brownies,” he smiled mischievously. “I got two.”

“Not willing to share with your wife?” you faked offence as he laughed at you.

“Nope, just smart enough to know you wouldn’t want to share,” he chuckled and kissed you on the cheek again. “I love you,” he pressed a kiss to your lips, then your growing belly. “I love you too,” he whispered.

“She’s going to enjoy this,” you smiled, holding up your brownie to cheers with his, then you both took a bite. The moan you let out could only be described as pornographic, but he just chuckled, more than happy to supply you with all the brownies you two needed. He just needed you.

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Charles LeClerc: proposal

Charles was sweating buckets. He felt practically faint as you walked onto the beach, enjoying the dark night sky and the soft waves under your feet. It had been the most romantic night, dinner on his yacht far out with the most magnificent views, then coming back in for a walk on the beach after you got ice cream from a local ice cream shop. You were ranting about something at work, but he couldn’t focus, his mind weighed down by the small red box in his pocket. It was now or never.

“Char?” you asked, turning to him when you saw the row of candles further down the beach. He smiled nervously at you and took your hand. Holy shit. He was proposing.

“I have something I want to ask you,” he whispered, leading you towards the beautiful proposal sight. It was a path of candles to a beautiful circle, where you would be getting engaged. Of course that’s why he wanted you to wear your white dress, why he’d insisted on you getting your nails done this week, why he’d been so secretive. He led you into the center of the circle, his eyes already clouding with tears, and got down on one knee. “My love,” he started, taking your hand in his. “You have been with me for everything. I never thought I would be lucky enough to find someone as caring and kind as you. I love you, more than anything. You’re my biggest supporter, best friend, and favourite person, and I cannot go another day without you knowing how I truly feel about you. I want a life with you, I want a family, I want it all. The best part of my day is waking up next to you, seeing your texts and calls, seeing you at the barricade, or just getting a simple kiss from you. I want you for life, if you’ll have me,” he smiled, squeezing your hand before letting go to get the ring out of his pocket. He opened it, a beautiful cartier engagement ring, simple with a beautiful diamond in the middle, exactly what you wanted. You hadn’t even realised you were crying until you felt it fall onto your hand. You quickly brushed the tears away and smiled. “Will you marry me?” he asked, tears in his eyes but that same goofy, beautiful, Charles smile that you’d fallen in love with.

“Yes Char, of course I will,” you smiled, pulling his face to yours to seal it with a kiss.

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Lewis Hamilton: away from the kid for the first time

Both of you were pretending to enjoy the dinner, but both of you were feeling the guilt of leaving your 3 month old, Ellie, for the first time. Under the table you had her baby monitor up, and he had been texting the babysitters (aka Charles and Alexandria) every few minutes for updates. The meal was lovely, and yes, it was nice to spend some time with Lewis, but you could’ve done it at home.

“I feel so guilty,” you finally rushed out as you perused over the dessert menu.

Lewis let out a breath of relief. “Me too,” he chuckled, taking your hand. “I’ve been texting them every few minutes,” he admitted.

“I have her monitor up on my phone,” you laughed, putting your phone on the table to show him. You both laughed for a few minutes, watching your perfect bundle of light play with Charles and Alex.

“Home?” he offered, turning to you.

“Home,” you nodded. You quickly got out of there, Lewis paying, and then probably driving over the speed limit on the way home, but neither of you cared. You were too excited to see Ellie.

Charles and Alex were pretty amused by the situation, and left soon after you two came home, leaving you two to put her to bed. You both held her for a few moments, soothing her to sleep as she yawned, making all those perfect little baby noises.

“I missed her,” you admitted. “We were gone for 2 hours.”

“Me too,” he chuckled. “It’s hard being away from her,” he sighed, bouncing her in his arms as she fell to sleep. You watched him for a moment, enjoying the sight of him with your perfect little baby. “Want another?” he suddenly said, smirking.

You looked at him, deadpan. “Shut the fuck up.”

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Ollie Bearman: cutie

He’d set up an elaborate valentine’s dinner in your apartment since the past few years you’d been apart for Valentine’s, having to just facetime or text. He set up heart balloons, roses all over the place, candles, the whole shabang. Small problem, he cannot cook to save his life, so he ended up burning the food, then just ordering from your favourite place instead. You walked in after work, exhausted (and not expecting to see Ollie since he was supposed to be doing testing), and there he was.

You ran up to him, dropping your bag at the door with a thump as you ran into his arms. “What the fuck are you doing here?!” you squealed, hugging him tight.

“Happy Valentine’s day,” he smiled, hugging you just as tight. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you pulled back, only to replace the hug with a hungry kiss. “Fucking hell it’s so good to see you,” you cursed, pulling him as close as you could.

Quickly the kiss turned a bit more passionate than intended, and you ended up in your bedroom…

It was probably his favourite Valentine’s Day ever.

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Jack Doohan: cooking disaster

Was a cooking class as a Valentine’s date probably a bad idea in hindsight? Yes. Jack was not a chef. He could cook scrambled eggs, and he was pretty prolific with a pancake or two, but sushi? Who did he think he was? You, on the other hand, were doing amazing. Every single one of your pieces looked exactly like the head chefs’, and he felt a sense of pride blossom in his chest when he watched you get complimented by the chef. That sense of pride was quickly overshadowed by the way she would look at his sushi (basically a pile of the ingredients, he was too busy staring at you to pay attention to method).

“Want help?” you offered as you finished off your last roll. Jack hadn’t even started, too busy watching you concentrate.

“Huh- Yeah! Yes please,” he snapped back to reality and let you take over his station, standing just behind you with his hands around your waist, his gloves long discarded. “You’re great at this,” he murmured, pressing a kiss against the shell of your ear.

You beamed at his compliment. “Thanks baby.”

“You look sexy in an apron,” he whispered and you laughed out loud.

“I seriously doubt that,” you laughed, looking down at your ‘bright pink with red hearts’ apron. He shrugged.

“It’s working on me,” he chuckled, pushing you back into him.

“You’re disgusting,” you giggled. “We’re in public.”

“Bathrooms exist for a reason,” he smirked.

“Yeah, pissing and shitting,” you reminded him. “I’ll be all yours once we get home,” you smirked, seductive as you led one of his hands to your thigh. “Maybe in the car too.”

He groaned. “So perfect,” he nipped at the back of your neck. “So fucking perfect.”

“Love you too,” you teased.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, his voice gentler than usual. “So fucking much baby.”

“I feel it,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “All the time.”

He felt quite accomplished at that.

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Franco Colapinto: charmer

Franco was busy with Alpine duties which meant you’d be apart for Valentine’s, and while you’d accepted it, it still sucked to not wake up beside your boyfriend. You had a slow morning before going to work, sluggishly getting ready for work, until the doorbell rang. It was the postman. He handed you a letter, and you immediately recognised the writing, quickly thanked him and ran back inside.

My love,

I know we’re missing this day together, but I still wanted you to know I care. I adore you. You are and will always be the best thing that has ever happened to me. You continue to surprise and excite me even after these years together, even when I think I know everything about you. I love you. Every freckle. Every spot. Every hair on your head, everytime you smile at me, every laugh, every giggle, every word. Everything. You’re my everything, and as much as I wish I was there with you, I’m only a phone call away. I can’t wait to continue loving you until we’re both old and wrinkly, but before then, I love you now, then, and always.

My beautiful girl, my life, my love.

Happy Valentine’s Day

- Your Franco

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Paul Aron: reuniting

He waited at the arrivals terminal, refreshing the web page that had all the information about your flight every three seconds. Other than that, his eyes were glued to the door, prepared to run the second you walked through those doors.

A few minutes of waiting elapsed, and there you were, clear as day, probably tired after your long day of travel, but you were there. He ran up to you, picking you up to allow you to wrap yourself around him, grabbing your suitcase with the other hand. “Hey baby,” he smiled, letting you back down again.

“Missed you,” you said before grabbing his face and kissing him. You were anything but gentle, but he didn’t mind. He was just glad you were there. All his for a whole two weeks.

“Missed you more,” he whispered between kisses. “So fucking much.”

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

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rafecameronssl4t · 9 months ago

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The weight of expectations || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: I know you guys wanted more soft moments between Rafe and reader in this au so here you go!!!

Warnings: nothing!

Word count: 1,532

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The dimly lit office in the Cameron building had always carried an air of prestige, a reminder of the empire Ward Cameron had built with his own hands. But now, Rafe sat behind the polished mahogany desk, feeling the weight of that legacy pressing down on his shoulders.

His reflection in the window—sharp suit, tired eyes, jaw clenched—was one of a man constantly battling his own demons. Rafe’s phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. The meeting with Mr. Cartwright was scheduled for five minutes ago, but knowing Cartwright, he would make him wait a little longer just to make a point.

Rafe’s lip twitched in annoyance. This was supposed to be simple—sign the deal, deliver, and collect the reward. But like everything in his life lately, nothing was as easy as it seemed. As if on cue, the heavy doors creaked open, and Mr. Cartwright strode in, his presence filling the room with the unmistakable arrogance of someone who thought he could toy with the Camerons.

Rafe hated men like him. Cartwright was older, maybe late forties, with graying hair slicked back and a suit so tailored it made a statement by itself. Still, Cartwright had power, and Rafe knew they needed him for this deal. Rafe’s eyes narrowed, but he stood, gesturing to the chair across from him. “You’re late.”

Cartwright smirked, unbothered. “You’ve got nothing but time, Cameron.” Rafe resisted the urge to slam his fist on the table. The conversation turned cold quickly, escalating from subtle jabs to outright confrontation as Cartwright slammed his hand on the desk. “This wasn’t the outcome we agreed on, Cameron. I expected the deal to be completed two weeks ago.”

Rafe gritted his teeth, leaning back in his chair, trying to play it cool. Cartwright was testing him, seeing if Rafe would break under pressure. “Things take time, Cartwright. We’re working on it. You can’t expect a project this size to wrap up overnight.” But Cartwright wasn’t having it.

“I expected results, not excuses. I trusted your family’s name—your father’s name—when I signed on to this. Now, you’re telling me I just need to ‘wait’? My investors don’t have time for your delays.” Rafe’s jaw tightens, but he leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “I think you forget I was my father’s protégé, and now I’m handling the business. You underestimate me.”

“I don’t care what your investors think. The timelines shifted, and there’s nothing anyone can do about that. We’ll deliver, but on our schedule, not yours.” Mr. Cartwright slams his hand down on the table, eyes narrowing. “Your schedule is putting my reputation on the line. I’m not some small-time client you can string along. My name holds weight, and if your company can’t keep up, I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

Rafe’s eyes flicker with irritation, but he maintains his composure, though his tone becomes icier. “You’re not going anywhere, and we both know that.” He leans forward, his stare sharp. “You’ve invested too much in this project to pull out now. So let’s stop pretending you have the upper hand here.”

Mr. Cartwright scoffs, clearly insulted. “Your father knew how to handle his business. You, on the other hand, seem more interested in playing house with your perfect little wife and children than focusing on the deals that matter.” The mention of you brought heat rising to Rafe’s face.

His jaw clenched as he fought to control his temper. The comment hit too close to home. Cartwright had no idea what his marriage was like, the public façade they upheld, the tangled mess of feelings that simmered beneath the surface. “Mention my wife again, and you’ll regret it,” Rafe spat, his voice low and dangerous.

Cartwright just smirked. “Touchy subject, huh? Maybe if you focused on the business instead of her, this deal wouldn’t be falling apart.” That did it. Rafe was out of his chair, leaning over the desk, his eyes flashing with barely controlled rage. “You don’t get to talk about her. You signed the contract. You’ll get what we promised, but on our terms.”

“If you’re too much of a coward to stick it out, then fine—walk away. But you’re not going to find anyone better than me in this industry, and you know it.” The room was tense, their stares locked in a silent battle of wills. Cartwright didn’t budge. Instead, he straightened his suit jacket, his mouth set in a hard line.

“I’ll give you one month, Cameron. If this doesn’t turn around by then, I’ll make sure everyone knows how your family is crumbling—starting with you. Rafe forced himself to relax, stepping back from the desk, his smirk returning, though there was no warmth behind it. “One month. You’ll get your results. But you don’t scare me, Cartwright. Cross me, and you’ll regret it.”

With one final glance, Cartwright turned on his heel and stormed out of the office, leaving Rafe standing alone, the weight of the confrontation settling over him. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering a string of curses under his breath.

It was nearing 8 p.m. when Rafe pulled into the driveway, his mind still buzzing from the heated argument with Cartwright. He had no doubt he could deliver on the deal—he always found a way. But tonight, Cartwright’s words had gotten under his skin in a way that lingered, like a dull throb at the back of his mind.

The quiet of the house was almost unsettling as he stepped inside, the weight of the day’s events hanging heavily on his shoulders. Making his way upstairs, Rafe entered the bedroom, immediately spotting you on the bed, nursing Leo. Your eyes were closed, head leaned back against the headboard, one hand gently patting Leo’s back as he fed contentedly.

Rafe sighed, running a hand over his face, feeling the tension in his body slowly begin to ease. As complicated as things were between you, there was an undeniable comfort in your presence—an unspoken understanding that neither of you acknowledged but both felt. Rafe quietly crossed the room, his gaze softening as he approached.

Leo’s wide eyes met his, curious and bright. Rafe couldn’t help but smile, reaching out to gently stroke his son’s cheek. Leo’s tiny hand immediately grasped Rafe’s finger, holding on tight. A warmth spread through Rafe’s chest, and for a moment, the stress of the day melted away. His eyes shifted back to you.

Your breathing was calm, features relaxed in a way that made you look at peace, despite everything swirling around your lives. There was something soothing about the scene in front of him—something grounding. Leo’s eyes never left Rafe, watching his father with that same innocent curiosity. “Tough day?” Your voice, soft but alert, broke the silence.

Rafe’s gaze snapped up, meeting your half-lidded eyes as you watched him, though you hadn’t moved. He straightened, clearing his throat as he walked to the dresser, his back turned to you. “Just another asshole trying to tell me how to run my business,” he muttered, slipping off his watch and setting it down with more force than necessary.

“Cartwright’s testing me,” Rafe continued, running a hand through his hair before heading turned back around, leaning against the dresser. “Thinks I’m not my father.” Your gaze softened as you watched him. “You’re not your father, Rafe. And that’s not a bad thing.”

His blue eyes searched yours, trying to figure out if you truly meant it. There was a sincerity there, a quiet support that he wasn’t used to. It disarmed him for a moment, making him pause as he watched you with a curiosity that mirrored his son’s. The way you moved so naturally—so gracefully—as you gently lifted Leo and placed him in his bassinet beside the bed was a sight he found himself quietly admiring.

A soft sigh left your lips as you tucked him in, smoothing the blankets before slipping back beneath the sheets. You glanced up at him, still leaning against the dresser, lost in thought. “Are you going to get ready for bed?” you asked, your voice soft but carrying that calm tone you always seemed to have when it came to him.

There was no pressure, just a simple question, but it tugged at something deeper within Rafe. He cleared his throat, standing up a little straighter. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec,” he muttered, his voice low as he turned back to the dresser, his fingers absently fiddling with the cufflinks on his shirt.

But he didn’t move right away. Instead, he stood there for a moment longer, watching you settle into the bed, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around him like a comfort he hadn’t realised he needed. Despite the chaos that always seemed to swirl around them—around him—there was a strange sense of peace in this room, in this space they shared.

Even if it wasn’t always easy, even if things between them were complicated, there was something grounding in the quiet moments like these. And as much as Rafe hated to admit it, those moments were starting to mean more to him than he had ever expected.

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marvelobsessed134 · 2 months ago

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Amber Waves

Parings: Dominatrix/Mistress!Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, Wanda is called Mistress, reader is called pet, vibrator, punishment, orgasm, bondage, spanking, written in my notes app as usual.

Synopsis: Your best friend thinks you should let off some steam…at a dominatrix session.

Why Kate Bishop thought it was a good idea to get you a session with a Mistress? You surely don’t know but here you were, in front of a regular suburban house that you knew was anything but regular inside. Kate had insisted it was fun and arousing. But then again, Kate is way more sexually liberated than you are.

You took a deep breath as you stood at the door. You could turn around make a run for it, but that’d be a waste of your best friend’s money. So, you nervously knocked on the door, waiting. You heard heels clacking on the inside as they made their way up to the front door before it opened to reveal an older red headed woman. She was beautiful. Like, goddess level beautiful.

You were starstruck for a moment before clearing your throat, “Um, Mistress Wanda?” The older woman smiled and enjoyed your slight nervousness, “Yes, dear that is me. Why don’t you come inside?” She steps aside and lets you enter the house.

It looked pretty normal so far, but as she lead you deeper into it, the BDSM toys and furniture were more and more prevalent. Mistress Wanda sat you down at a small glass table as she sat across from you.

“Okay, so I’m assuming this is your first session?”

“Yes. My friend did this for me.”

“Oh, a very good friend. What’s your name?”

“Y/n.”

“Y/n,” she repeated, clicking her tongue, “what a pretty name. Okay, so, what are you looking to experience today?”

“Umm…I don’t know to be honest. I don’t know much about this whole…thing,” you waved your arms up motioning around the room.

“That’s perfectly fine, dear. Let’s start with a simple question. Are you more dominant or submissive?” You honestly didn’t know what that meant and she knew it. So, she decided to test it herself. Purposely dropping her pen on the floor saying, “Would you be a dear and get that for me?” You did as she said without thinking. And when you handed it back to her she purred, “Good girl.” Which made your cheeks red and panties damp which caused you to rub your thighs together. Mistress Wanda smirked, “I think I know the answer. Sit back down.”

Of course, you obeyed her. She slid a piece of paper across the table towards you, “Is there anything on here that you don’t want to participate in?”

The list had many different kinks listed, collaring, knife play, medical play, mdlg, pet play, degradation, impact play…so many things.

“Um, no extreme punishments…like spanking is fine but not too hard and…no knife play please for god’s sake…” you continued to list off the activities you were not interested in. Wanda nodded, carefully taking your every word into consideration.

“That’s perfectly fine with me, dear. Any nicknames you prefer to be called?”

“Um, not that I know of I guess I’m fine with anything.” Her green eyes darkened, “You’re making this very fun for me, pet. Now, let’s discuss a safe word. You use this word whenever you want the scene to stop, okay?”

You nodded.

The two of you agreed “Scarlet” would be the safe word. The redhead stood up and held her hand out to you, “Come on, pet.” You took her hand and followed her to a room that was essentially a large walk-in closet with tons of lingerie, collars, leashes, gags, heels even. “You can pick out what you want to wear during our scene okay? I’ll give you 5 minutes.” She closed the door.

5 minutes?! How were you supposed to find out what to wear in 5 minutes? You quickly scoured the room and decided to go basic with a black lace set and a black pleather collar with some black pumps. You changed into the attire and stared at yourself in the mirror. You hardly recognized yourself, the seductive fabric clinging to your body.

You were so entranced by your own reflection you didn’t notice Mistress Wanda until she creeped up behind you, moving your hair away from your neck, “Those are yours to keep, pet. Do you like them?”

“Yes, I do Wan-“ she slapped your thigh lightly, a correction, “How do you address me?”

You gulped, “S-sorry, Mistress.”

“Good girl. Come along, Mistress has some toys for you to play with.” You followed her to the playroom which was originally a second living room but she obviously converted it into her own BDSM dungeon. You noticed a plethora of objects. A Saint Andrew’s cross, a spanking bench, a rack full of whips and paddles, a sex swing, a drawer full of blindfolds, and a large luxurious bed.

“What would you like to play with first?” She husked into your ear.

“I- uh- I don’t know…”

“Aww, my pet is a little nervous for her first time. That’s okay, Mistress will decide for you. Hmm…” she surveyed the room before saying, “let’s play a game, shall we? Go lay down on the bed.” Her voice was soft but commanding, leaving no room for arguments. Not that you necessarily wanted to argue with her. Though you were curious what would happen if you’d argued with her. However, you obediently climbed onto the bed and rested your back against the silk, red, sheets. Mistress Wanda opened a couple drawers before walking towards you. She looked absolutely stunning in the tight black dress, her long red hair flowing down her back, a few pieces resting in front of her shoulders.

“Arms.” She said, and you lifted your arms, letting her handcuff you to the bed. “Spread your legs, pet.” Obeying her orders came so naturally, it almost scared you.

The older woman held up a Hitatchi wand. Your eyes widened slightly, and your pussy dropped in arousal. “I want to see how long you can hold your orgasm. And if you’re a good girl, I’ll let you cum. But do not cum before I tell you to. Understand?”

“Yes mistress.”

“Good girl.” She sat beside you on her knees and turned the toy on. She let it hover over your clothed clit before letting it make contact. You jolted at the sudden sensation, whimpering.

“Aww, sweet little pet. Is this too much for you?” You nodded and she upped the speed. It was both pleasurable and overwhelming, you screwed your eyes shut.

“Ah,ah, look at me.” Mistress Wanda lightly slapped your cheek causing you to immediately open your eyes. The torture went on for far too long, and you felt your orgasm approaching.

“Don’t cum yet.” The older woman’s voice was stern. But you couldn’t help it, the sights, sounds, feelings, all became too much as you came inside of your panties. You’d hope she didn’t notice, but she definitely did. Turning off the vibrator, she tossed it aside looking at you with a stern expression.

“Did you cum without permission, pet?” Your stupid ass shook your head.

“Really? If I inspect you, you won’t be soaked in cum?”

You sighed and decided to give up, “S-sorry Mistress…I lied…” god, this was so embarrassing and so arousing at the same time.

“Mm, what was that?” She asked unable to hide her amusement at your stuttering.

“I- I lied.” You responded, swallowing nothing since your mouth has gone dry.

“Tsk, tsk, naughty girl. Come on,” she unbound you from the bed before gripping your arm, pulling you towards the spanking bench. She forcefully bent you over, tying your arms to the piece of furniture.

“Ten spanks and you will count all of them. Mess up and I will start all over again. Understand?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Good girl.” She grabbed a wooden paddle and pulled your panties down to your ankles before smacking it against your flesh. “O-one…” you counted out loud.

Another.

“Two…”

And another…

“Three…”

After seven more spanks, your ass felt like it was on fire. The redhead smoothed her hand over your tender flesh before unbuckling your arms from the bench. “Such a good girl taking your punishment so well. Come on, you must be hungry.”

That wouldn’t be the last time you had a session with Mistress Wanda.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #top Wanda #dom wanda #dom!wanda #sub!reader #marvel smut #marvel x reader #marvel

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misserabella · 11 months ago

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brat

spencer reid x f! reader

summary; spencer decides it’s a good day to test your patience by being sassy with you. let’s see if he can keep the act up when you’re punishing him for being a fucking brat.

cw!!; +18 content, minors dni!, s1/s2 spence!, spencer being a brat, cursing, fighting, kind of enemies to lovers, secret relationship, handcuffing (bondage), handjob (s receiving), masturbation (r) (spencer watches), orgasm denial, edging, untouched orgasm, lots of begging, dirty talking, dom! reader and sub! spencer, multiple orgasms, brat taming, piv sex, unprotected sex (don’t do this guys), breeding kink?, hickeys, creampie…

spencer was having a really shitty day. firstly; he had tripped with the sheets of his bed and landed onto the floor with a grunt, secondly; the coffee shop he always stopped by had closed for the day for some electric problems, what left him without his favorite sugary order and with the really not that great tasting bau’s coffee, thirdly; he was stressed out from the constant load of work, specially this really hard case, and lastly; you hadn’t touched him in a week. a whole fucking week.

spencer and you had this… thing going on. it all started after a rough case in which the two of you had fallen into each other’s arms and ended up sleeping together, something that surprised the two of you, since your relationship wasn’t “the best” to be frank. you two argued and bickered a lot like two little kids with crushes, and had been dancing around each other for quite a long time. it was obvious that you liked each other, but nothing had happened until that night. and after that you two were hooked. of course, the team didn’t know. and you had decided that they wouldn’t yet.

“okay, what about those marks on their bodies, they’re not found exactly in the same place or have the same shape but maybe…”

“no offense, y/n, but you don’t really know what you’re talking about do you?” your mouth gaped slightly at the ring in his tone and the squinting of his eyes. you stalked him as he got up from his seat and went towards the board of evidence, taking a marker and starting to write. “we have no evidence, no apparent interaction between the unsub and the victims pre or post mortem and an indistinguishable mo…” he turned around to face the team once again. “should be simple.” he arched his brows with a mocking pout pulling from his pinky lips as sarcasm tinged his voice.

“you know…?” you looked at him as you crossed your arms over your chest. “instead of taking your fucking temper out on us because you’ve had a shitty day, you could take all that energy and use it to help us, reid.” you had to bite down an impressed chuckle by pushing your tongue against the inside of your cheek as his pretty hazel eyes rolled at your words.

“and you should save your comments concerning your hate towards me ‘cause it’s hard to give a fuck when you’re the smartest motherfucker in the fbi.”

“spencer.” hotch cut the two of you off before the situation could escalate. “take 5.” he ordered.

“but-“

“now.” he silently thew the marker on the table and walked out of the door, leaving the team astonished by his behavior.

derek whistled, shock written over his face. “what was that?”

you gritted your teeth. fucking brat.

“no fucking idea.” you hissed.

seems like you’d have to teach him a lesson.

“please…!” he’s whimpering, thrashing, his wrists becoming raw from the tugging against the handcuffs that restrained him to the head of your bed.

his cock was beautifully swollen and heavy on your palm, slicked with your spit and his dribbling precum, which can’t stop dripping from the red flushed head. you’re chuckling. his mind was dizzy with the need to cum, his hips sputtering up against the warmth of your hand in need of release. you’d been at this for a while now, bringing him to the edge of an orgasm just to stop all together, squeezing his base, edging him, driving him insane.

“please, i’m sorry…” he begged, gasping, his breathing was ragged, his back arching from the bed you had pinned him down to. you bit harshly down onto his neck, sucking a new bruise that made him whine.

“what did you do, hm?” you inquired him before starting to jerk him once again, humming when more pre cum stained your fingers and the back of your hand. he was making such a fucking mess. he was a fucking mess. and you loved it.

“i-i was a brat…” he whined and you chuckled again at his desperate and breathy answer.

“yeah?”

“yes, yes…” he sounded desperate. it was cute.

“what else?”

“i…” a moan left his lips at the movement of your hand on his cock, up and down, slowly. he was getting lost in that pretty little head of his again. so you stopped, making a pained sound leave his plushy lips. “no, please! please don’t stop!”

“answer me and i’ll keep going, pretty boy.” you thumbed his slit and his whole body shivered in a pretty whine.

“i talked bad at you…” he gulped. “i…i was disrespectful in front of the team.” he gasped, flinching and moaning when you squeezed him. “oh god. fuck. please, please…”

“atta boy. see? that wasn’t difficult.” his adam’s apple bobbed when you spat down on the head of his twitching pretty dick, slicking him up even if he didn’t need it and starting the process of bringing him to the edge once again. after the stress, pent up energy of a whole week and your touch and teasing, it was easy to drive him right to it in a record time. he was a mess of moans and whines, his hips bucking up in the heat and slick of your palm. “looks like you’re about to cum, baby. are you gonna cum?” you inquired him, going faster up and down his cock, and he nodded, whispering little ‘yes’s in between gasps. “i don’t think you deserve it, though, you’ve been such a fucking brat, spencer…” he whimpered. “and all of it for what, hm?” pretty tears started to swell in his eyes as you pushed away your touch from him.

“i just… i just wanted you to touch me.” he whispered, hurt, puppy eyes behind his glasses staring up at you.

“so you went ahead and acted like a fucking brat expecting to win it that way?” you chuckled, incredulous.

he crooked his head, his mouth gaping like a fish in search of words. “please…”

“some pretty pleases ain’t gonna cut it.” you got up and started to undress in front of his eyes, his beautiful cock was flushed and resting against his lower stomach, dribbling white pearls of precum onto his skin. you smirked when you saw it twitch at the sight of your body only on your lace bra and panties. spencer tugged on his restrains when you cupped your breasts obscenely once you had unclasped and thrown away your bra into the pile of clothes decorating the floor of the room. “you like the view, spence?”

his eyes squeezed shut. you were toying with him. he painfully whined, but he still —knowing better— nodded, licking his lips. you hummed, your hands coming down to your panties, your smirk growing when you watched as his eyes followed the trail down and tugged once again at the handcuffs. “you want me to take them off, hm?”

“yes…” he nodded eagerly, his cock twitching at the idea. “please.” he added.

“such good manners… this is what you needed isn’t it, baby? just a little lesson.” you purred, and pushed down the last piece of clothing on your body past your thighs until it fell pooling at your feet. spencer whined needily at the view. you crawled into the bed once again, seating yourself in front of him and spreading open your legs for his hungry eyes. he let out a shaky breath at the sight of your sticky folds and gaping entrance, begging to be filled by him. you hummed as one of your hands made its way down your stomach and in between your legs, your back slightly arching with a soft moan as your fingers bumped your clit. you were soaking wet. spencer moaned as well, fighting his restrains. “hmmm, spencer…” you sighed, touching yourself in front of his hungry eyes, he whined, in need to put his hands on you. “you see this baby? if only you’d been good… you could be fucking me right now…” he whimpered, his hips bucking up in the air in need of relieve.

“please… please, let me touch you, please…” he begged. “i’ll be good, i promise…” you sank two of your fingers inside of your pussy, gasping at the stretch and letting out a moan at the feeling as you started to slowly thrust them in and out. “please baby, please… i need you, i need to touch you…” he pleaded but you ignored him, continuing to touch and pleasure yourself in between gasps and moans. he whined, swallowing harshly, the sound and sight of you was enough to make him about to blow his load. he grunted as he fought with the handcuffs, his cock throbbing in need to be deep inside your cunt.

your fingers curled and your back arched. “fuck, spence…!” he was sure you were moaning his name just to rile him up. and it was working. his wrists were bruised by now, the same color of the hickeys on his neck and chest that you had branded.

“please…” he was desperate now. “please baby, please…”

“spence, i’m gonna cum…!” you gasped, speeding up the curling of your fingers. he whined, it was as if you were touching him, his cock throbbing against his stomach, now with a pool of precum decorating it. he was so close to his own orgasm it scared him. he was not the most experienced, but he had never come untouched, and it was astonishing, ‘cause he was about to do it just by watching you. and it felt so good…

he groaned when he saw it, the way your back arched, the way your mouth hung in a scream and the way creamy white cum coated your fingers and dribbled down onto the mattress, staining the sheets.

he moaned out your name in heavy pants. “i can’t… i can’t.” he babbled. “i can’t hold it…!” he moaned, his hips grinding against the air once, twice, thrice before he was cumming all over himself. untouched. like a fucking teenager.

holy fuck. spencer had come untouched. the thought of it was enough to drive you inane.

“mmph!!!” he moaned once again at the feeling of your tongue on his dick, licking him and his skin clean of his cum. “f-fuck!!” his hips twitched up, and a broken whimper ripped his throat when you straddled him, your soaked cunt against his still sensitive —and hardening— dick. “what are you-oh my god…!” he babbled, his back arching when in a quick succession of movements, you took him, aligned him with your entrance and sat down on him down to the hilt.

“you wasted that pretty load, pretty boy…” you moaned as you started to dirtily ride him, hips and jumps on his cock desperate. you didn’t even wait for the burning of the stretch to subside. “but that’s okay, ‘cause you’re gonna give me another one, huh? gonna cum for me and fill my pussy up just like you wanted.” he whimpered, his body shaking in overstimulation, his hazel puppy eyes welling with tears. “isn’t this what you wanted, baby? what you were begging for?” you sped up and he moaned.

“i can’t, oh god, i can’t…” but he still somehow found himself thrusting up against you in need for more.

“your body doesn’t say the same thing, baby.” you chuckled, amazed by the beautiful reactions he was giving you. “you’re so hard already… and you just came.” you hummed as you bounced on his cock, the tip kissing your cervix with every jump. he moaned, his glasses slightly fogged and crooked, his hair messy and with some strands glued in sweat against his temple and his lips swollen from all the biting. “so pretty… god and you fuck me so good baby, fill me so good…” he whined, gone under the thought of you using him like some toy to get off. he wasn’t even fighting to get off the handcuffs anymore, he was just taking it, and letting you take anything you wanted from him. “being so good for me, spence…” he keened under the praise, his dick twitching in between your walls due to your speeding movements. he wasn’t gonna last. and you knew it.

“i’m-i’m gonna cum…” he moaned, panting, his eyes squeezing shut. “i need to cum… please, please can i cum?” “can i come inside? please let me cum inside, please…” he was begging, and you moaned, feeling your own high approaching, every thrust of his hips up against yours pressing against that perfect spot in between your gummy walls.

“yes, yes, cum inside me baby, fill me up.” you whimpered behind him, your mouth gaping when you felt it, his sticky warm load painting your walls as you kept bouncing on him. “oh my god…”

“fuck, ah, fuckfuckfuck!” he moaned and babbled as he felt you reaching your own high, squeezing and milking him dry.

you two moved against each other to ride out your orgasms, leaving a mess out of the sheets and his cock, now drenched in both your juices.

the two of you were panting as you stilled, his softening dick still inside you as you rested your hands on his chest.

“lesson learned?” you questioned and he gulped, nodding, out of air.

“lesson learned.” “…” “can you uncuff me now?”

bratty spencer💚

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