#;;sometimes it's a waiting game {queue} | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lazy-ahh · 1 month ago

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YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE GOES GOOD WITH GAMING?

pairing mark grayson x male reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"no," you lied, immediately.

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

and then—because he was the worst—he kissed your stupid, burning cheeks, one after the other, like he was savoring the way you squirmed. "it’s okay," he murmured, lips brushing your skin. "i missed you too."

you were never living this down.

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

you were never living this down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it’s unbearable.

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

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

you're so fucked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"welcome home," you mutter, voice hoarse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

536 notes · View notes

tavukwings · 29 days ago

Text

DISCORD USER KÖNIG

𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝓊𝓉𝓎

(König x Reader — Discord Friends, Slow Burn, Soft, Eventual Smut)

You weren’t expecting to make friends on Discord.

The SHADOW OPS server was meant to be a place to blow off steam after work. Get a few wins in Warzone, complain about loadouts, and maybe not lose your sanity in randoms.

But then you noticed a particular user.

StillerJäger

No profile picture. No custom status. Just a tiny Austrian flag emoji in his bio and a link to his Twitch that had no videos, no schedule, no banner—nothing.

Mysterious.

You first heard his voice by accident.

[Voice Chat Log: 23:18 | VC #3 | Trio Queue]

You:

“Ugh, sniped again. Hey, Jäger, you got eyes on—”

StillerJäger:

“…Scheiße.”

You:

“Bless you.”

StillerJäger:

“…Was?”

“Ah—n-nein. I didn’t sneeze. It means… like… damn it.”

Pause.

“Sorry.”

You:

“That was the most apologetic cuss I’ve ever heard.”

“You okay over there?”

StillerJäger:

“Ja. I am… fine. Just… got surprised.”

Another pause.

“You are funny.”

You:

“Thank you, that’s why they keep me around. That, and I don’t steal killstreaks.”

StillerJäger:

Low chuckle. “You lie. I saw that UAV.”

You:

“…You weren’t supposed to see that.”

From that night on, you noticed he started joining your VCs more often.

Always with a soft mic click.

Always after everyone else had already settled in.

He never used camera. Never joined game nights that involved anything too social. But whenever it was Warzone or DMZ? He was there. Quiet. Watching. Deadly.

And slowly… talking more.

[Private Messages: 01:07 | Direct Chat]

StillerJäger:

“You play well. You’re… calm.”

You:

“Thanks! You’re like a sniper grandma. Always lurking in a window and silently handing out cash.”

StillerJäger:

”…Sniper grandma?”

You:

“It’s a compliment.”

StillerJäger:

”…Okay.”

”…Can I be a tall grandma?”

You:

“You’re like 6’10, König. You’re the Grandma of the Gods.”

”…Wait. Can I call you König? That’s what people say in chat sometimes.”

StillerJäger:

“Ja. That is… okay. My callsign.”

You:

“Cool. I’ll make you a Discord role. ‘Grandma König.’ Purple name. Elite tier.”

StillerJäger:

”…Please don’t.”

You started playing duos regularly.

And König, for all his muscle and military training, played like an anxious support character half the time.

“Stay behind me,” he’d mutter.

“Don’t push the door yet.”

“You will get shot, bitte, I will clear it—”

You: “König, we’re in a Buy Station menu.”

König: “…Still dangerous.”

Sometimes he’d mutter in German when he was focused, and you started picking it up. Just small things.

“Warte.”

“Links.”

“Lautlos.”

“Schieß nicht, ich mach das.”

Once you repeated one back to him mid-match and he went completely quiet for ten seconds.

König: “You… understood that?”

You: “Kinda. I assumed it meant ‘don’t touch my kill’ or something.”

König: “It means… ‘Don’t shoot, I’ll do it.’”

“But… yours is also accurate.”

[Private Messages: 22:44 | Direct Chat]

You:

“Be honest, how many push-ups can you do in a row?”

König:

”…Without stopping?”

You:

“Yes.”

König:

“I don’t want to brag.”

You:

”…That’s a lot, isn’t it.”

König:

”…You will think I am weird.”

You:

“König. You wear a hood and whisper murder in German during casual matches. I already think you’re weird.”

König:

”…Fair.”

”…183.”

You:

“Bro.”

König:

”…Bro?”

Sometimes, after a game, he’d stay in VC just to chat. It was always small things at first.

What weather was like where he was.

How awful the food was on base.

That he’d been issued a new uniform and it “fit like a tent.”

“You’re huge, König,” you laughed once.

“They’d have to sew two uniforms together.”

“They did,” he replied deadpan.

“They used parachute material.”

You choked on your drink laughing.

He got quiet for a second.

“…That was funny?” he asked, hopeful.

“Yes. Very. Tell me more.”

He did.

Over the months, König became your teammate. Your late-night chat partner. Your quiet comfort.

Still shy. Still distant sometimes.

But warmer. Less stiff. Easier.

He never said anything bold. Never crossed any lines. Never hinted at more.

But sometimes, his voice got softer when he said your name.

And once—just once—he ended a message with:

“I sleep better after talking to you.”

“Bitte… stay safe.”

You stared at the screen for a long time.

And smiled.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It started like any other night.

A “yo” pinged in from you.

A cautious “Hallo” from him a few minutes later.

The two of you loaded into duos while your drinks warmed slowly beside your keyboards—his probably black coffee at some ungodly military hour, yours a half-melted energy drink.

But König sounded… off tonight.

Quieter than usual.

Slower in the lobbies.

A full minute passed between his “ready up” and his actual click.

You: “You okay? You sound like you just ran a marathon with your soul.”

König: “Nein… Just… long day.”

He didn’t elaborate. But the exhaustion was clear in his voice.

You landed hot at Observatory, and within minutes, he was in full protector mode again.

“Behind you.”

“Let me breach first.”

“Drop that vest, you need better.”

Even mid-fight, he moved like a wall between you and the bullets. Not controlling—just naturally built to shield.

You: “You know you’re kind of like a very muscly Roomba, right?”

König: “Roomba?”

You: “Yeah. You clean up enemies and follow me around and make weird mechanical noises when you’re cornered.”

Beat.

König: “…I do not make noises.”

You: “You absolutely do. You growled at a guy in the hallway last match.”

König: “That was—tactical. Psychological warfare.”

You: “Whatever helps you sleep, Grandma König.”

Tiny pause.

König: “…Scheiße… I’ll never live that name down.”

The match ended in a quiet win—he clutched the last guy with a heartbeat sensor, two stuns, and what looked like pure spite.

Back in the lobby, you leaned back, smiling.

You: “König, I swear, if I ever meet you in real life, I’m going to make you carry all the groceries. You’ve got human forklift energy.”

König: “I… already do that.”

You: “Not surprised. You probably open jars just by looking at them.”

Pause.

König: “That’s… not true. But sometimes the cap breaks.”

You: “God, that’s hot.”

Silence.

Long silence.

You blinked.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’d said it out loud. That one slipped through the mental filter.

König: “…Was?”

You froze, staring at your screen.

You: “I mean—uh. You know. Like, hot. Funny. Not like—hot hot. Unless you want it to be, I mean—no wait. I didn’t mean it like—like that.”

König: “…Mein Gott.”

You swore you could hear the fluster in his breath. Like he’d leaned away from the mic.

König: “You think jar-breaking is… hot?”

You: “I mean. Kind of? In a terrifying muscle-guy way? Yes?”

Another long pause. Then, softly:

König: “…You are… teasing me.”

You: “Absolutely.”

König: “…You are mean.”

But he was laughing. Quietly. Like he couldn’t stop smiling.

You heard the tiniest breath of a laugh through his mic—one of those real ones, all nose and joy and no filter.

You: “Are you blushing under that mask?”

König: “…It doesn’t matter. You can’t see me.”

You: “That means yes.”

König: “…Nein.”

You: “You hesitated.”

König: “…Scheiße.”

For the rest of the night, he kept dropping items at your feet with suspicious speed and never said a word about it.

You caught him staring too long on the minimap.

He pinged everything three times in a row.

At one point, you coughed and he said “Bless you” even though you definitely didn’t sneeze.

And later, as you logged off, you saw a message pop up:

[Private Messages: 02:18 | Direct Chat]

König:

“You are very dangerous, you know.”

You:

“What, because I flirted with you once?”

König:

“Because you make me want to say things.”

“Soft things. Nice things.”

“I don’t say those often.”

You:

“You can say them here.”

König:

“Maybe next time.”

“If you don’t tease me again first.”

You closed your laptop that night with your heart beating way too fast for a “just friends” moment.

But it was still just that.

For now.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It was past midnight when you noticed König wasn’t replying to your pings.

Weird. He always answered, even if it was just a little:

“1 min”

“coffee”

“charging headset”

But tonight?

Nothing.

You hovered over his name in Discord, thumb tapping your mic button, debating.

You: “König? You dead?”

No answer.

You rolled your eyes and hit Call.

The ringing went for four solid seconds before he picked up—and you were met not with a greeting…

…but heavy breathing.

Panting.

“H-Hallo,” he gasped, low and hoarse.

You: “Whoa. What’s going on? Did I catch you mid-battle? Are you escaping a war crime right now?”

“…Workout,” he grunted, breathless.

“Push-ups. And crunches.”

You: “Liar. You play games all day. You’re built like a fridge but somehow I don’t believe you work out at all.”

A pause. Something shuffled. A low hum through his mic.

“You don’t… believe me?”

You: “Not a chance, grandma.”

And then you got it.

The ping.

A Discord notification. From him.

A direct message with an attachment.

You opened it—and immediately choked on the water you had just sipped.

The image was blurry, like he’d taken it quickly and from an awkward angle—but it hit like a truck.

Just under the chin. No face.

His black T-shirt clung to his massive chest, soaked with sweat and hugging every line of his thick, sculpted muscle.

Shoulders like stone. Collarbone defined.

Grey sweatpants, low-slung, loose.

The shirt was damp enough to be nearly painted on.

You were not ready.

You swallowed too hard and hacked into the mic.

You: “Jesus Christ—König—what the hell was that??”

He laughed softly—nervous, maybe a little smug.

“Proof. You didn’t believe me.”

You: “I was joking! I didn’t think you’d drop a thirst trap in 0.2 seconds!”

Silence. Then:

“…Thirst trap?”

“I thought that meant… posing.”

You: “You are posing! Your muscles are doing the talking.”

Soft breath of laughter through his mic.

You: “I—okay wait. Serious question.”

He hummed, cautious.

“Ja?”

You: “Can I squeeze your tits?”

Silence.

Not even a breath.

Then—

“…Mein Gott.”

You: “No but like. Just a little honk. You can charge me.”

“You are evil.” His voice cracked, flustered and low. “You can’t say that—when I’m—sweating—!”

You: “You started it!”

“I was working out!”

A second later, your phone buzzed again.

Another photo. Slightly clearer. This time of his forearm, bent just enough to flex as he wiped sweat from his neck. Veins. Muscles. The rolled sleeve of his black tee. The hint of a scar.

You blinked at it for a second too long.

You: “…Do you model part-time or is that included in your killstreak bonus?”

“You said you didn’t believe me,” he replied, smug now. “Now you do.”

You decided to return fire.

Ten minutes later, still laughing from your flustered choking incident, you took a shower selfie—just your face, hair covered in shampoo, styled into ridiculous little horns.

You sent it with no context.

You: “Battle mode. Ready to breach.”

He didn’t answer for a second.

Then—

“Oh mein Gott.”

“You look like a soap demon.”

“This is terrifying.”

You: “Bet my biceps are bigger than yours.”

“Lüge.” (Lie.)

“Show me proof.”

You responded with a classic flex pose in the mirror—dramatic lighting, serious face.

He sent back a close-up of his bicep that looked like it could crush your skull.

You both burst out laughing in VC.

Soon, it became a game.

He’d send blurry mirror selfies with captions like:

“Threat level: low. Protein bar defeated.”

You’d send silly ones like:

“Just woke up. Please ignore the hair, the face, and my soul.”

Sometimes you’d send a photo of your feet up on your desk with a can of soda next to them and label it “combat ready.”

He once sent a photo of just his hoodie-covered knees, sitting on the floor with the caption:

“Overheating. Send help. Or ice.”

You replied with a photo of your hand holding five ice cubes and a single message:

“Incoming airstrike.”

But through it all, even in the laughter and the flirty jokes…

He never crossed a line.

Never asked for more.

Never made it weird.

Just… stayed close. Steady. Gentle.

And you could feel it in the way his voice softened when he said your name.

“Danke… for calling me tonight.”

“It helped.”

You: “Anytime, König.”

“You’re my favorite roided-out grandma.”

He groaned.

“You are going to regret that when I flex you through a wall.”

You: “No I won’t.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

König:

“Spielst du mit mir?”

(Will you play with me?)

You smiled at your screen, curled up in bed with your book open and a warm cup of tea next to you. The way König asked things sometimes made it sound so gentle, so hopeful—like a puppy tapping at the door.

You:

“Not tonight. Reading.”

König:

“Reading…? Hah. Lüge.”

(Lie.)

You:

“Excuse me?? You think I don’t have the braincells to read?”

König:

“I think you lie to avoid my bullets.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes, then decided to prove it. You held up the book in one hand, angled your phone, and snapped a quick photo. Just enough of the book cover, the blanket, your hand, the soft light…

…and you didn’t think much else of it.

You hit send.

A beat passed.

Two.

Then—

König is typing…

You waited. Still typing.

Still typing.

Then:

König:

“Ah… you are really reading.”

König:

“I—uh… didn’t know you… slept like that.”

You blinked.

Wait.

You clicked your own photo.

Then your stomach dropped and your face burned.

Oh.

Your hair was messy, a soft halo of sleep-tangled strands.

Your lips still a little puffy from chewing them while reading.

The tank top—black, old, soft—clinging a little too well. No bra.

Your pale stomach visible above your loose sweats. Cozy. Sleepy.

Maybe… a little too cozy.

You:

“…oh my god I didn’t mean to send you a thirst trap.”

König:

“Ist… ist okay. I… I liked the book.”

You:

“The book?? König, what color was the cover?”

König:

“…uhm…”

You:

“Exactly.”

König:

“I am very respectful.”

You:

“You looked at my tits.”

König:

“Not directly!”

“They just… entered the field of vision.”

“Unavoidable. Like a sniper scope.”

You burst out laughing.

You:

“My tits are sniper scope–level distractions?? That’s new.”

König:

“I mean—! Nein! Wait—ugh!”

“Forget I said anything.”

You:

“Too late. I’m changing my Discord status to that.”

König:

“Bitte.”

“I am going to die.”

You:

“So dramatic. It’s just a sleepy photo.”

König:

“Exactly. That’s the problem.”

You smiled down at your phone, heart doing little flips.

He wasn’t being creepy. Just… flustered. Respectful.

But real. And honest. And sweet.

And he was trying very, very hard not to imagine anything he shouldn’t.

You:

“Hey, König?”

König:

“Ja?”

You:

“You’re cute when you panic.”

Another long pause.

König:

“You are going to kill me.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It started with a few harmless drinks.

A movie night alone.

Some wine. Maybe too much.

Your phone buzzed on your bed beside you.

König:

“You alive? Haven’t seen you in a few days. Did you get eaten by your book?”

You stared at the screen, buzzed enough that your heart skipped.

König. Sweet, shy König who hadn’t messaged too much—probably worried he was bothering you.

You didn’t even think.

You hit call.

He picked up faster than usual.

König (voice):

“Hallo?”

“You okay?”

You flopped back against your pillows.

You (slurred):

“Hi, König.”

He paused.

König:

“…You sound different.”

You:

“Do I sound sexy?”

A beat of silence.

König (quiet):

“…You sound… drunk.”

You giggled.

You:

“Only a little. Enough to be honest, though. That’s the fun part.”

König:

“Honest?”

You:

“Yeah… like how I think about your arms way more than I should.”

Another long pause.

König:

“My… arms?”

You:

“Your biceps. The picture you sent me weeks ago, and I swear to god, König—”

You sat up dramatically, spilling a little wine on your blanket. “I almost passed out. Like. Who looks like that? Who has arms like that?? It should be illegal. You made me soaked, you bastard.”

Silence.

Dead silence.

And then König coughed violently.

König:

“Scheiße—what—what do you mean?!”

You:

“I mean soaked. Like, ruined-my-panties kind of soaked.”

König:

“Mein Gott—!”

You kept talking. Rambling. Words tumbling out of your mouth like you were possessed by every drunk thought you’d ever had.

How his voice made your spine tingle.

How you imagined laying your head against his chest.

How curious you were about the scar on his bicep.

How the thought of him holding you in those big arms made your knees weak.

How badly you wanted to run your fingers up the line of his jaw under that mask.

König (barely whispering):

“You should go to sleep.”

You (giggling):

“You gonna tuck me in, big guy?”

König:

“…If I were there, maybe.”

You froze.

So did he.

Both of you aware that that wasn’t something he normally would’ve said.

You:

“…You’re dangerous when you flirt back.”

König:

“I am not flirting. I am… malfunctioning.”

You laughed again. Then yawned.

You:

“Okay, I’m gonna hang up before I say something worse. Like how your accent makes my thighs—”

Click.

You hung up.

The next morning?

Mortification.

You didn’t open Discord.

Not that day.

Not the next.

Or the next.

Every time you saw a new message notification, your stomach dropped.

And König? He didn’t spam. He sent one message:

König:

“Just checking. Are you okay?”

But still, you didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Not yet.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You avoided Discord like it owed you money.

Every time you opened your laptop, your finger hovered over the icon—only to veer away at the last second like a coward. Three days had passed. Three whole days since you drunk-called König and poured your unfiltered thoughts into his ear like some kind of wine-soaked, thirst-trapping poet.

You’d told him his biceps made you soaked.

And now you wanted to disappear.

He hadn’t spammed your DMs. He hadn’t been weird. No cringey follow-ups. Just one simple message:

König:

“Just checking. Are you okay?”

The man was respectful even when he could’ve made things awkward.

Your guilt tripled.

You grabbed your phone and opened Discord at last. Heart pounding. You stared at his name—still online, still “playing Warzone,” still probably thinking you ghosted him out of regret.

You hesitated… then typed:

You:

“I’m alive. Sorry I went MIA.”

He responded instantly.

König:

“Gott sei Dank.”

“I was about to send a search party.”

You smiled.

You:

“You’d have to kick my door down.”

König:

“6’10. Military. Wouldn’t be hard.”

You:

“Fair.”

There was a pause.

Then—

König:

“Did I… make you uncomfortable?”

You swallowed hard.

God, he really was the sweetest. Shy and careful. A walking tank with a heart like warm bread.

You:

“No. Not at all. I made myself uncomfortable. I was drunk and said too much.”

König:

“It was… a lot.”

“But not bad. Not unwanted.”

Your breath hitched.

König:

“I mean—I’m not good at… that stuff. Flirting. Or hearing it.”

“You are very… expressive. And beautiful. And loud when tipsy.”

You laughed out loud at that one.

You:

“Loud? I didn’t yell at you!”

König:

“Not with volume. With words. You said… things I’ll never forget.”

You facepalmed.

You:

“God. I need to change my name and flee the country.”

König:

“No! Don’t go. I’d miss you too much.”

That shut you up.

You stared at the message. Then reread it.

You:

“You missed me?”

König:

“Of course I did. I play worse when you’re not online.”

“No one bullies me on VC the same way.”

You smiled, heart flipping.

You:

“So… you forgive me for being a drunk idiot?”

König:

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“But if you’re sober now… maybe you want to play?”

You hesitated.

Then reached for your headset.

You:

“Invite me, tank boy.”

Voice Chat: Connected

König:

“Hallo…”

You:

“Hi.”

His voice was softer than usual. Almost shy.

König:

“Still reading your book? Or… still thinking about my arms?”

You choked on your tea.

You:

“Did you just flirt with me?”

König:

“…Maybe. Little bit.”

You (laughing):

“Well, I guess I deserve that.”

König:

“Ja. You do.”

You sat back, smiling, cheeks warm—but no longer from embarrassment.

This wasn’t the end of something awkward.

It was the beginning of something new.

Something soft. Honest. Slow.

You were still just friends.

But maybe…

Not for long.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

-Part 2

#konig x reader fanfict #konig x reader fanfiction #konig x reader #konig x you #cod fanfic #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig fanfiction #konig smut #könig

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ciciyup · 11 months ago

Text

Yandere! Apollo X Fem! Human reader headcanons.

cw: Little nsfw, obsession, possessiveness, dark themes, cheating? (I don't know how I should categorize it, but it's not a direct hoax), angst, kidnapping, forced marriage.

🏹 a/n: This is the first yandere! What do I do, I hope I did well. I was feeling quite inspired so I think a little story formed as well.

━━━━━━✧ 🦢 ✧━━━━━━

Apollo has never been one to worry, he is the epitome of beauty, no other God in the pantheon was as beautiful as he was. Being surrounded by women and men who are not only there beside him, but also queue for his attention, is something Apollo enjoys, attention and all eyes on him was something he loved.

He doesn't need to lower himself and have less, he must have all the best, that includes the most beautiful people, which was not a problem. Nymphs, goddesses and even mortals, rained down on him in droves, although the latter could not matter less to him.

Sometimes, among the millions of mortals that inhabited the earth, Apollo chose those who could stand out the most and had a unique beauty to take them with him. Sure they had always been adventures, he had fun with them, but that was all.

On one of his many trips around the earth he found you. He saw you picking oranges from a large tree, carefully storing them in your basket that was almost full. You were... Perfect. Your hair moved in time with the pleasant breeze of the day, your eyes were brighter than the stars, your smile could heal sore eyes, your voice was like hearing the singing of angels. You were so beautiful.

He didn't care much about you at first if he had to admit it. You seemed very common, very normal, just another mortal woman, however, something made him go to you. He didn't need to do much, just introduce himself and talk nonsense. You were nothing but nice and kind, you offered to help him find his way if he was lost, you asked him if he was hungry and offered him an orange.

He just looked for silly excuses to make more time and get to know you better, he lamented when you told him that your family was waiting for you and you couldn't stay. He watched your form as you left his vision until you were lost, your beautiful floral dress disappearing into the crowd and being replaced by sad shades of colors from people walking on their own path.

What made you so special? Was it the way you were so kind and modest with everyone else? Was it the way you saw things? Apollo, not having enough, kept seeing you regularly on different occasions, strangely always appearing out of nowhere when you were alone in some places or doing your own tasks. At first, it didn't seem strange to you, you thought it was just a coincidence, which made Apollo take advantage of your naivety even more.

Apollo thought you would fall at his feet as soon as he saw you, he wouldn't even need three days to leave you enchanted, but then it happens and he hits reality. He discovers that you are not interested in him in the slightest, at least not in the way he wants. You don't even worship the gods, you're not interested in them, you don't bring offerings or pray to them like other mortals. You don't lose yourself in him, you don't beg for attention, you don't adore him, you just see him as if he were just another man and that made Apollo's blood boil.

So when Apollo proposes to you and to go with him, you politely decline, feeling flattered, but refusing because you don't love him and you don't feel the same way. Apollo's face contorts, his brow furrows quickly and he tries to hide his inner side as best he can. His ego felt hurt, was he rejected by a mere mortal?

You move on with your life, Apollo seemed to have taken it well and wasn't upset, that's what you believed after he left. When you think everything is fine, he arrives silently to take what is his, what belonged to him from the beginning. No more games, there would be no more facades of the just and understanding God, he lets the true face of the coin come to light, then you don't have time to react.

He takes you, sees you walking towards your house and surprises you there. Your basket falls with a thud and the fruit falls scattered all over the floor, but no one else was there anymore.

Upon arriving at his kingdom, Apollo introduces you to it as your new home, showing you all the places keeping you close, holding your wrist so you wouldn't run away, even though there was nowhere to run, you were too far from earth and you wouldn't be coming back, he would make sure of that.

You resist for a long time, you don't want to talk to him or look at him or kiss him or touch him, you don't want his presence. Apollo doesn't want to be mean to you, he really doesn't, but your impertinence pissed him off, and when you didn't learn things there were consequences.

He pushes you into a room after you refused to sleep with him in what would be your shared room, the room was cold and almost empty, it had a mirror and a small couch, it didn't seem to be very frequented by anyone, since you could even see cracks in the walls. He dared to leave you there for almost four days, without seeing you even once, without leaving you food or water or any other basic resources, and when he decided to see you, believing that you had learned your lesson, he found you on the floor of the room almost dying.

You were pale, your lips dry, you could barely move, your stomach hurt from the lack of food and your throat was crying out for some water.

As he carried you to his shared room and laid you there, as he watched you eat the food voraciously and drink more than six glasses of water, as he watched you rest covered by the finest and warmest blankets on his bed, yes, now you would learn that things would be his way, you had no say in any decision, you would only focus on him.

And even after you became his beloved, faithful and devoted wife with the finest jewelry and the most beautiful dresses, he would remain the same, not even for you would he change. As you sat on a rock in front of the beautiful landscape of the place thinking about everything he had taken from you, Apollo was no less than a meter away from you in the hot springs with the nymphs at his side, each one laughing and talking to him, hugging and tracing his chest with their thumbs at the slightest opportunity. He relaxed with each one, every now and then, ignoring your presence, ignoring your pain.

Still, he refused to let you go. He didn’t care about silly nymphs, they were just for hanging out and feeling adored, if he didn’t have you he had nothing. He wanted you by his side, in the hot springs, on another throne next to him, in meetings with other gods, he wanted you.

It was only a matter of time, he would fuck you so hard you would carry his child and then he would finally have you with no chance of escape. He would take you every night in his marital bed and fill your belly until it was full and swollen, he would bury himself deep inside you to fill you again and again with his seed and he would claim you. You were his. You were from the first moment he saw you.

━━━━━━✧ 🦢 ✧━━━━━━

🏹 a/n: I didn't think I would like it so much but in the end I really liked the result. I wrote it in less than two hours, although it is revised I am sorry if there are any errors. I was thinking of doing more yandere! For other characters, I like the theme. I have ideas for the next one so wait for it (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

—cici🏹

#record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #apollo #apollo x reader #record of ragnarok apollo x reader #headcanons #yandere record of ragnarok #yandere apollo #yandere record of ragnarok apollo x reader #yandere shuumatsu no valkyrie #cici🏹#apollo x reader smut #record of ragnarok smut

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babyleostuff · 10 months ago

Text

── OLYMPICS MASTERLIST

[🛹] DISCIPLINE: SKATEBOARDING

GENRE: fluff, strangers to lovers(ish), introverted reader, vernon being the greenest flag of them all PAIRING: skateboarder!vernon x athlete!fem reader WARNINGS: explicit language and a couple of sexist comments WORD COUNT: 3.1 k

“not the anti-sex beds again,” katie groaned, like it was the end of the world.

rolling your eyes, you threw your duffle bags on the bed next to the window. though, as dramatic as she could get sometimes, and as much as you couldn’t wait for the games to begin - you were not looking towards sleeping on the cardboard monstrosities. the amount of massages you had to get four years ago because of them was not something you’d like to go through again.

“it’s not like you’re going to have sex anyway,” sam nudged katie with her shoulder and threw her own stuff on the bed next to yours.

“i’m not talking about myself, stupid,” katie said. “our friend over here,” she put her arms around you and squeezed your shoulders, “needs to get laid. she almost managed to bang that rugby dude the last time, and i can feel it in my bones,” she took a deep breath, ”she’s going to succeed this year.”

you tried shoving her away, as sam erupted in a loud laugh.

“hah hah, very funny,” you mumbled, and flicked katie’s forehead. “i’m here to win medals, not to find a hookup.”

“mhm, sure,” sam said. “we’ll see about that.”

the next morning you stood up with the first rays of sunshine, a lot earlier than most people in the village, with a plan to make the most of your only day off before the eliminations. it’d get crowded quickly, so you figured it’d be nice to soak in the surroundings without hundreds of people bumping into each other. you didn’t bother to wake the girls up - you were eternally grateful you could share this amazing adventure with them, but you needed some time alone.

besides, there was a 99% probability that sam would skin you alive if you tried cutting her beauty sleep short.

before leaving the building, you managed, to your delight, to find the gym and the swimming pool, which surely would become really handy in a couple of days. then, you found a small farmacy a couple of blocks away, and a post office where you took a couple of pictures in a photobooth and wrote short letters to your friends at home, before throwing them into the mailbox.

though the streets were starting to get busier and busier, because well - the athletes, their trainers, the volunteers, staff - everyone wanted to see what this year’s host had to offer, it was still pleasantly peaceful, and you could enjoy your time alone to the fullest. and apart from the cardboard beds, the village was so nice. the purple colours especially.

just as you turned around the corner of south korea’s apartment complex, you felt and heard your tummy rumble, and thatwas your cue to find the dining hall. fortunately, it didn’t take you long. apart from the big ass signs with “dining hall”written all over them, most people that you passed were walking in one direction, which could only mean one thing.

after a short while, you entered the big room, all purple and pretty, already filled with hundreds of athletes and staff.

scanning around the huge hall, you tried looking for someone, anyone you knew, but to no avail. most of the tables were already taken, but somehow, to your misfortune, none of them were taken by anyone from your country. you sighed and twisted the pendant hanging around your neck, trying to distract yourself from the fact that you’d be forced to sit at a table with people you did not know.

there went your peaceful morning.

without wasting more time, and before you’d completely spiral over the lack of familiar faces, you picked up a plate and cutlery and made your way to the queue for food, standing behind two chinese athletes.

the line moved slowly, but you didn’t mind. as much as you weren’t particularly overjoyed with the loud noise and chaos, it was nice to do some people-watching. the different races, heights and widths, cultures, languages - all within one building - that had to be one of your favourite things about olympics.

“isn’t that the chick kyle fucked last time?” suddenly a male voice pulled you out of your thoughts, as if your brain knew that the comment was direct to you. drowning out the noise around you, you tried your best to focus on the people behind you.

“he didn’t fuck her, she ran away the second he touched her tits,” another guy said. “fucking prude,” he snickered.

you felt your cheeks heat up - in embarrassment because you were right there, and they knew you could hear them, but also in anger because what they were saying was just not true.

“i told him to go for the track runner, she had a better ass anyways,” the first guy said, as the other laughed.

comments like these were nothing new. men like these were nothing new, but it didn’t make the ache in your chest any less painful. worst part was that you’d let them, you wouldn’t stop them - you couldn’t. anytime you tried standing up for yourself you felt at loss for words, your throat closed up, and your mind went blank.

“excuse me, guys,” a new voice joined in. “the last time i checked this was the olympics, not who has a better ass competition.”

you didn’t have the nerve to turn around to see who that new voice belonged to. you just clenched and unclenched your fists, trying to control your breathing.

“also if i may suggest one thing-,”

“you may not-,”

“you may want to check out your own ass… or the lack of it,” you could hear the smile in his voice.

the two guys grumbled something and left the line, but not before one of them bumped into you with too much force for it to be just an accident. muttering a curse under your breath, you massaged your slightly sore arm and prayed to whatever force for the two fuckers not to pass their eliminations.

“are you okay?” you could feel the guy's breath on your neck.

fuck, now you had no other choice but to acknowledge what had just happened. if it was up to you, you’d happily skip breakfast and run back to your room. who would’ve thought that the cardboard bed would be the equivalent of a safe haven.

“uh,” you took a shaky inhale, “i’m okay.”

“just turn around, smile politely, thank for the help, and move on,” you thought. but as you did that, your eyes went wide, and your breath hitched in your throat.

you found a set of hazel brown eyes looking at you with curiosity and a tad of softness as if asking a silent question if you were really okay, a kind smile that managed to calm your pounding heart on its own, and cheeks dusted in a light shade of pink as if he had just finished his morning run. the guy couldn’t be much older than you and was the perfect height. you didn’t have to tilt your head in an uncomfortable way to look him in the eye, and he didn’t have to look down at you as if you were a dwarf.

his dark brown hair was hidden under a beanie, and despite the oversized shirt and shorts, you could make out his lean build, which made him stand out from the other bulky men around. you quickly figured he was part of the us team by his outfit, but you couldn’t rack your brains around what type of sport he could be doing.

he looked so… laid back compared to everyone around.

“are you sure?” he asked, his gaze still attentive to you and you only.

you nodded your head. “sorry you had to listen to that,” you said.

“i’m sorry you had to listen to that,” the guy muttered. “you know those dudes are total douchebags, right?” annoyance flashed across his face for a second, “people like them shouldn’t even be here and-,”

“it’s okay, really,” you said with a stern voice, cutting him short. grateful - that’s what you were - and it was really nice of him to stand up for you, but you couldn’t shake off the feeling that he saw you as nothing more than a weakling that couldn’t even stand up for herself. and that had to be more embarrassing than the comments.

he must’ve noticed your sour expression, because he quickly said, “i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“you didn’t, i… i’m sorry for snapping at you,” god, you really messed this up. this gorgeous boy just saved your ass from getting harassed, and you were acting like an ungrateful bitch. “i’m just not the best at dealing with… whatever that was,” you cleared your throat. “but thank you, it was really kind of you, and you didn’t really have to say anything, but-,”

“but i would’ve been the biggest asshole if i hadn’t said anything,” he chuckled, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “i couldn’t just let those two fuckers say those things about you. about anyone for that matter. what kind of person would that make me?”

you nodded, though if you had to be real - you were too distracted by his eyes to focus on what he was saying.

“okay, that sounded so pretentious,” he said, frowning, as if cringing at his own words. you couldn’t help but giggle at his expression. he looked really adorable despite his disgusted look.

and that didn’t mean anything good. you knew yourself, and you knew how easily it was for you to fall for a person that showed you an ounce of kindness, even if they did it just because they were a good person. and that was probably what was happening now - he saw you getting harassed, he stepped in, said a couple of words, and that would be it.

but you. you’d think about this for the rest of the olympics. about his teasing voice, the slightly curly hair coming out of his beanie, the fact that you’d never know what kind of athlete he was. the freaking hazel eyes.

“i’m vernon, by the way,” he, or vernon, extended his hand.

you cringed at the thought of your sweaty palms, still closed in fists. and it wasn’t like you could wipe them right in front of him. now that would just send you straight into a coma. but you took it anyway, it couldn’t get worse than the comments about your flat ass, you figured. and if he noticed he didn’t say anything, just smiled and nodded when you told him your name.

“so, do you have any plans for today?” he asked, letting go of your hand way too soon for your liking.

“i was planning on eating breakfast, but…,” you shrugged.

“well, i might have an idea then,” he said, a proud smile on his face. “have you ever tried skateboarding?”

…

you did not think this through.

trying to skate on a wooden board with four wheels sounded kind of appealing at the moment, but now - now that you were about to actually stand on it? huh yeah, you’d rather stick to keeping your own two feet on the ground.

“it’s not going to kill you, you know?” vernon laughed, as you looked at the board in front of you with pure horror. there was no way anyone could survive skating on that thing, let alone doing tricks and flips or whatever they did with that torture device.

“just,” he pulled the board closer to you with his foot, “lean your weight on me first and i’m going to hold you, just so you can get comfortable standing on it,” he said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

would he think you were a complete loser if you ran away? maybe you could blame it on a sudden stomach bug or something.

“mhm, yeah,” you breathed, grabbing his extended hand. “easy peasy.”

luckly for you, the skatepark was still relatively empty since most of the village was trying to fight others in the queue for food, so the chance of you skating into someone by accident was almost non existent. but that did not change the fact that you were on the verge of a panic attack. why did you say yes to this? why did you step out of your comfort zone so easily? comfort zone was good - you loved your comfort zone. that was what kept you safe from agreeing to skateboarding on a whim.

but it was so easy to say yes when vernon looked at you with so much kindness. you just weren’t able to decline - there was something about him that put you at ease, whether it was his voice or mannerisms - he oozed with so much calmness that even your erratic heart was screaming “say yes!”

“put your right foot in front of the left one,” he said, still grasping your hand tightly. “and keep your knees bent, it’ll help with keeping your balance.”

you watched him as he showed you how you were supposed to stand correctly, and tried to mirror his stance the best you could.

“that’s perfect,” vernon said with a bright smile, as if you just won the gold medal for not falling off the board on the first occasion. “told you you’d do a great job.”

“this is ridiculous,” you muttered, as your legs wobbled. “i’m looking worse than a baby trying to walk.”

he rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, making you giggle. “i love your form of self motivation. now,” still holding onto you, vernon walked around the board, “uh, is it okay if i put my hand on your waist?” he asked, and your heart skipped a beat.

usually, you’d immediately say no, but… there was nothing usual about vernon as it turned out. if this was your day of breaking your walls then so be it. you nodded in agreement. “try to put your left foot on the ground and push yourself forward,” he said.

your thin t-shirt did nothing to conceal the warmth coming from vernon’s hand, but somehow, instead of making you more nervous, it only calmed your wobbling feet and shaking hands, grounding you on the board, making it less scary by the second. you’d never met anyone before who had been so gentle with you, so patient and understanding so quickly.

“like this?” you took your left foot off the skateboard, but before it could reach the ground you wobbled backwards. “vernon!” you shrieked, ready to fall ass first on the asphalt, but that never happened. your back met his solid chest before you could move more than an inch.

“‘s okay,” he said, gripping your waist tighter. “i’m right here.”

you breathed a sigh of relief. “i don’t think this is a good idea,” you looked over your shoulder at him. “what if i break your board?”

“i have ten others,” he stated as a matter of fact, not bothered at all even if you actually broke his board. “try again, i’ve got you.”

the next try went a little bit better, at least you managed to put your foot down without bumping into him again.

“okay, now push yourself forward.”

“just… don’t let go, okay?”

“i won’t,” vernon said. you could feel him so close to you, his breath creeping down your neck. “i won’t.”

you never thought you’d feel so accomplished by such a simple thing, you were a gold winning athlete for god’s sake, but when you finally moved, when the board skated forward and you were still standing on it - you felt a flicker of pride settle in your chest.

“that’s it,” vernon said, giving your hand a squeeze. “you’re doing great. try doing that again.”

and so you did just that. you pushed yourself forward, again and again, until your feet weren’t wobbling at all, and your moves were getting more confident.

“i’m doing it, i’m…,” you laughed, “vernon, i’m skateboarding,” you said, pushing once more.

“yes, you are!”

wait. why was his voice so distant?

that’s when you realised you couldn’t feel his hand on your waist anymore, nor were your fingers intertwined with his.

“vernon?” you asked, alarmed.

“just don’t turn around-,”

but it was too late. you took a look behind you to see vernon standing a couple of metres behind you, and that was enough to lose all of the balance, all of the control.

“shit,” you heard him scream, right before you closed your eyes shut, readying yourself for the impact.

the board flew forward as you slipped backwards, your hands flying to your slides trying to hold onto something. but there was nothing, just air.

but then - the strong grip, the warm embrace, the hands that you trusted so much - you could feel him all around you. no pain, no broken bones - just vernon.

“shit, i’m so sorry,” he said, still holding onto you. “i shouldn’t have let you go.”

gently, he helped you sit on the ground, his eyes scanning all over your body, looking for any injuries.

“it’s fine, i just panicked,” you said, and put your hand on his shoulder, pulling his gaze back to your eyes. “seriously, it was actually quite fun.”

at that, vernon’s expression softened a bit, and after a second he even flashed you a smile.

“that’s good, that’s…,” he exhaled. “that’s a lot for one morning i think.”

you laughed, and shook your head. “yeah, i think you’re right. but you know,” you looked over at the board that was still rolling on its own. “i think i’ll stick to watching you skate. i don’t think i’m built for this.”

his body shook with a silent giggle. “i’m still proud of you.”

“thank you,” you said quietly. and you truly meant it - not only for catching you, or trying to teach you how to skate - but for standing up for you when he could just ignore it and move on with his day, for pulling you out of your little safe bubble. that thank you meant a lot of things and you hoped that vernon knew that.

“were you serious, though?”

you frowned, not really sure what he ment.

“that you want to watch me skate?”.

any other day you’d say no, but…

“yes. i’d really love to.”

a beautiful smile bloomed on vernon’s face, and you knew right there and then that the feeling of gratitude was forming into something more than just that.

“my eliminations are in two days, uh and maybe, only if you want, you could come?”

you nodded eagerly. at this point you weren’t sure you were able to tell this man no at all.

and you couldn’t wait to see where that would get you.

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jellyfishbug · 10 months ago

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! bsf chris headcannons by jellyfishbug

warnings. fluffy and very sappy! bsf!chris, flirty!chris, established friendship

bsf!chris who . . . is very, very touchy. in fact, his phyical affection towards you even sometimes catches his brothers by surprise. he doesnt act like that with everyone. he's always finding some excuse to be touchy - throwing your legs over his when youre sitting next to him, fiddling with the strings of your hoodie when youre talking, tugging on your belt loops to pull you closer to him, laying his head in your lap whenever youre both in the backseat . .

bsf! chris who . . . only likes the pictures you take of him. you're literally his personal photographer, and half of his instagram posts (stories, feed, highlights) are pictures youve taken. he just "likes them better"

bsf!chris who . . . loves showing you songs he likes and vise versa. he's making playlists with songs you've sent and playing them whenever hes on aux, and hes putting your songs at the top of the queue above his brothers. he will sit through a song he hates at least halfway through if you like it.

bsf!chris who . . . will ask you to come over just to lay in bed with him and do nothing. just having you next to him makes everything better. if youre camping, youre in his tent. if youre sleeping over at the house, youre in his bed. if youre at a hotel together, its rare you share a bed with nick without chris whining about it.

bsf!chris who . . . kisses the side of your head or your cheek whenever the two of you hug. sometimes it's quick, but when the hugs are longer, he's pressing his lips to the side of your face for a couple more seconds, taking a deep breath as he pulls away and feeling a pit in his stomach at the loss of contact.

bsf!chris who . . . loves to let you lay on top of him. on the couch, on his bed, or even in the backseat of the car, he likes to have your guys's legs in a tangled mess and your head laying on his chest just below his chin. he loves it even more if you fall asleep like that, resting one hand on the small of your back and letting your breathing patterns align.

bsf!chris who . . . loves doing the simplest things together. if youre literally just going to the grocery store, hes asking to tag along. doing it with you just makes it so much more fun.

bsf!chris who . . . begged you to be his prom date senior year because he couldn't find one (definitely not because he purposely waited till the last second) so you guys could match outfits and take pictures together.

bsf!chris who . . . loves sharing things with you. clothes, drinks, food, hats, etc. if you say you like it, he's telling you to keep it until he sees you next. if you forgot a change of clothes, hes the first one to offer you something to wear. he's got a thing for you in his clothes, especially you wearing his shirts as pajamas.

bsf!chris who . . .really wishes that showering together wasn't seen as such a weird thing, because he genuinely finds the soft and intimate act of it to be so nice. he wants to just stand under the hot running water and talk with you, grinning while you run your hands through his sudsy hair. the thought of it makes showering alone a lot more boring.

bsf!chris who . . . loves seeing you spontaneously. he loves sending the late night text asking if youre busy and if he come pick you up. night drives is one of his favorite things to do with you, especially when its just the two of you, driving fast on the almost empty highways with the windows rolling down and music blasting loudly.

bsf!chris who . . . loves when you sit on his lap. wether its on the couch, in the back of the car when its too crowded, in his gaming chair - he loves to wrap his arms around your abdomen and rest his head on your shoulder, your back pressed against his chest and your legs resting on his.

bsf!chris who . . . is the biggest sweet-talker you've ever met, especially when hes drunk. he's blabbering about how pretty you are, how hes his happiest when hes with you; but even when he's sober, hes complimenting you to a stupid extent, grinning at the way your cheeks flush and the way a small "thank you, chris." escapes you in a breath.

i hope you enjoyed! here are some links . . . about me ! masterlists ! guidelines / info !

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #matt sturniolo #chris sturiolo fanfic #headcanon #bsf!chris #matthew sturniolo #fluff #feeling sappy #jellyfishbug 🌺

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b3ach-bunn7 · 24 days ago

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27 DRESSES (2/6)

You try not to lose your mind while planning your sisters wedding to the man you're in love with. All the while, a certain blonde haired reporter can’t seem to leave you alone

noquirk!au, movie turned fanfic

————————————————————————-

You’ve been in a lot of horrible situations in your life.

That one wedding where the groom ran off at the last minute. Firing someone when Togata was too scared to do it. But this, being an awkward third wheel at your sister and bosses date, is definitely top three.

The sun bears down hot and heavy on your head, the cap you’re wearing poorly shielding the rays from your eyes. Your skin smells like sun cream and it’s a beautiful day, no clouds and the soft feeling of summer all around you. You’re at Togata’s little brothers baseball game. It’s not actually his little brother, but a kid from the Boy Scouts program. You love Midoriya. He’s cute and all freckled from the sun, smile shining from all the way into the field.

It’s hard to be annoyed when the atmosphere is so lovely, but you’re sure you can manage. Tess is very touchy, you find out while waiting in the queue for food, unable to keep her hands off Togata for a single second. You push forward as soon as it’s your turn and start fishing out your wallet.

You lean forward on the edge of the stall. “Alright, I’ll have three diet cokes, three fries, and-“

You turn to Tess, who’s hand is now around Togata’s arm, “You want a chilli dog, right?”

Tess laughs and shoves your shoulder a little harder than you think is necessary. “Well, unless it’s a Tofu dog, then no, silly.”

You pause where you’d been digging out cash. “Sorry, what?”

“I’m vegetarian.”

It takes a lot of self control not to laugh in her face. Your eyes dart to Togata’s and the dots start to connect.

“Ah, I see. Funny thing, did you know Togata is a vegetarian, too?” You muse.

“Oh, you.” Tess grits out, her elbow knocking into your side. “Of course I know. He used to be a vegan.”

You roll your eyes. The chili dog is warm in your hand and you take an angry bite. Tess and Togata grab their own food and you all stalk your way back to your seats.

Tess sighs wistfully. “It’s hard, you know? I feel like the world isn’t made for us sometimes. I mean, I even have to make my own tofurky jerky whenever I go hiking.”

And that little line causes you to choke a little on your food. Tess? Tess who doesn’t even own any form of sports wear is now a hiker? Togata seems to share your disbelief, because he looks at her a little weirdly.

“You hike?”

Tess’s voice is all high-pitched and fake. “Yeah, duh! Like, you know, trails and everything.” Her face falls and she places a hand on her heart.

“Well. I haven't been much since our dog died. Right, Y/N?” She turns to you.

Your brows furrow in confusion. You swipe at the crumbs around your mouth. “What?”

“You remember Tory, right? God, we used to- to hike. Together. I’ll miss him forever.” She squeezes Togata’s arm, who’s looking emotional besides her.

You just can’t believe he’s actually falling for this shit. She’s a good liar, you’ll give her that. The dog in question was Tess’ worst nightmare. All she did was complain about the fur, and the smell, and the noise of barking. You’d like to add it was always you who took him on walks.

“How come you never mentioned Tory?” Togata asks you and you snort.

“Hm, maybe I just suppressed the memory of Toby. Wasn’t that his name, Tess?” You wonder.

Tess' face heats in a way that shines some joy on an awful day. “Right! I had that lisp, though.”

“A lisp that turns B’s to R’s?”

Togata nods. “You know, I had a stutter growing up. Maybe we’re more alike than I’d thought.”

You can’t win.

You and Tess sit down while Togata goes to pitch baseballs with Midoriya. The second he’s out of earshot, you turn to face Tess. You smack her shoulder and her face drops in shock.

“Hey!”

“Hiking? Tofurky? What the hell are you doing?” You snap.

Tess rubs at her arm. Her exposed arms, because she’s come to a baseball game in a little black dress. “I- What? I can change.”

You scoff. “Oh come on! You hate the outdoors-”

“I like beaches. And flowers.”

“How is that even slightly the same thing?” She huffs at your words, popping a fry in her mouth.

“And Tory? You hated Toby. You wouldn’t ever go near him!” You remind her.

Tess sighs. “Does it matter?”

You watch as Midoriya hits a homerun. “You’re only doing this because Togata is attractive. Some people think.” You add quickly.

Tess licks the salt off her fingers. She turns to face you and turns your shoulder so you’re facing her.

“I could like tofurky. And dogs. So long as they don’t slobber on me, or anything. Don’t be such a buzzkill, big sister.”

She speaks with the condescension that only spoiled little sisters can muster, and you bite your chilli dog so that you don’t bite her head off. Your little argument is cut short when Togata effortlessly scales the two benches in front of you to offer his hand to Tess. You think you’re looking too longingly so you dart your eyes away.

“You wanna go shag flies with me, Tess?”

“I- Sure! Yeah.”

You hope she trips in her strappy little sandals.

Your sorry session is interrupted by your phone buzzing in your pocket. You pull it out, pressing it to your ear and take a sip of your coke. “Hello?”

“I was waiting for a call, you know. Left my number pretty big in your planner.” Keigo’s voice is smooth and cheery and you curse under your breath.

“I didn’t call you because you ripped a page out of my planner.”

He had, and it had really messed up your week. You’re busy enough that even one second of your life not being written down is enough to mess up everything. He’d replaced the week in question with a paper with his phone number on it that you’d quickly thrown away. He also penciled in his name on every single saturday night for the next three months.

“Just a little experiment. See how you do without every second of your life planned out.”

You just scoff, and fish out the last few fries in the bag.

“What do you do, anyway? Besides going to everyone's weddings and work?” Keigo asks.

“I really don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

He hums. “How do you even afford it? The dresses, the gift cards from those awful wine of the month clubs-”

You stop him with an indignant sound. “Hey, they are very good gifts. I’m a member, you know, and sometimes they throw in free bottle openers.” You argue, and he sighs.

“That’s sad. Really.”

“You sure know how to speak to a lady.”

Tess looks effortlessly perfect swinging that bat. Despite being really shit at it.

“Lemme make it up to you. How about a new datebook? Or just a date?”

You nod slowly. “Right. I can pencil you in. But hey, you already did for the next three months!”

He sounds awfully proud of himself on the other line. It’s annoying, but. It’s also a little cute. You hate to admit it.

“Can’t you just find someone else to be a creep with?”

“Fine, just- Anytime you wanna hang with someone who isn’t asking you to pick out a bouquet or call their mother-in-law, you give me a ring.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

You won’t be calling him. Ever.

The next two months go by painstakingly slow. Tess is in your office and Togata is in your apartment and you severely regret letting her stay and your place while she’s here. Especially since she decided to extend her stay because of how incredible of a time she’s having with him. You seem them lounging on your couch, having dinner at your table. It’s weird. Seeing your sister experience the relationship you’ve wanted your whole career. You just try to keep your head down, and keep working. You know Tess. She’s not the type to hold down a man, because after a week she gets bored and throws him out for someone new. It’ll happen eventually, and you can go back to ogling Togata without feeling that immeasurable guilt.

And then, he proposes to her.

After two months. It’s soon. So very soon but you obviously don’t say that to him, not when he asks you for help to see it all up.

You walk into her favourite restaurant on the day, and you find that there are balloons and roses and a violin player. And a banner that says ‘Will you marry me?’ strung across the far wall. Small candles light the room and you wonder how long it took for them to all be lit.

Your heart drops. For one fleeting moment, when Togata turns around with that lovestruck look in his eyes, you feel like it’s for you. And then his face drops, and he waves off the violin player who’s started playing some symphony.

“Wrong girl, everyone.” Togata waves them off.

Right. That doesn’t sting at all.

You plaster on a smile, and clap your hands together. “Oh! Is this- Wow! It all looks great.”

Togata grins so big you think his face might split in half. “Well, yeah. It’s- It’s sudden, I know, but it feels right. You think she’ll like all this?” He gestures around him.

You nod and your hair flies around your face. “Oh, yeah. Of course, she’ll- The wine! That’s her favourite.” You laugh.

“Great, because- Oh! Tess!”

You turn, and she’s there. It’s shock and then happiness that melts her features and despite the part of you that hates this, it’s Tess. Your baby sister. You can't help but feel just as excited for her.

Togata steps forward, the bouquet of flowers in his hand big and pink.

“Tess. My parents, they met when they were five playing hopscotch, and they’ve been married for forty two years. And I’ve been waiting my whole life to find that kind of love.”

He steps closer and Tess follows. She’s wearing a pretty red dress and the violin player crescendos.

“And when I saw you, I thought that I could have that. So, Tess. Will you marry me?”

She squeals, rushing forward and tackling him in a hug. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”

You decide to celebrate the news by drinking in a bar.

Your apartment is busy, anyway. They’re probably consummating their proposal all over your guest bedroom.

It’s loud tonight. Busy for a Wednesday night. You wonder how many people get proposed to on a Wednesday night. Not you, apparently.

Your drink is bitter and strong, and it burns a line down your throat with every sip you take. But it’s nice. Takes the edge off. Which you’ll need because you’d called Keigo ten minutes ago, and now he’s nursing his own drink right next to you.

His fingers tap awkwardly against his glass. “I’m a little confused.”

“Why’s that?”

Keigo shrugs. “Well, you finally asked me out, and you-”

“My sister’s getting married. Little sister.” You blurt out.

He nods knowingly. “Ah. Before you?”

You shake your head quickly. “No, no, I’m not- I’m not jealous. I’m not upset about that.”

“Then what?”

You breathe out quickly. You run a hand through your hair. “I- You don’t know Tess. She’s going to want me to be her maid of honour and she’s going to want me to do everything for her.”

Keigo tilts his head, confused. “Well. Can’t you just say no?”

He sees the look on your face and he laughs. “You ever said that word before? ‘No’?”

You scoff, but it’s half-hearted. “Yes. I have.” You pause. “Just never to a bride before.”

You take a sip of your drink. The music is loud so you inch a little closer to hear him better. He smells good, you note.

“Do you want to say no?” He asks.

You think for a moment. “Even if I wanted to, she’s my sister.”

“You can say no to your sister.”

You huff a laugh. “Right. So you’re an only child, then?”

Keigo nudges your arm, pushing you to face him. “Look. Let’s practise.”

He looks you dead in the eyes. Keigo is pretty, you think. Boy pretty. Like someone out of a YA novel.

“You’re gonna say no to me. No matter what I say.”

You nod.

“Y/N, give me fifty bucks.”

“No.” You say, a little unsure.

“Come on, it’s just fifty bucks.”

“No.” You say it a bit more determinedly this time.

“Y/N, I need you,” And he leans in then, and he pauses for an unnecessary amount of time, “to give me fifty bucks.”

You swallow. “No?”

He’s moving back just as quickly as he came close, nodding appreciatively. “Not bad.”

You shrug, a little flattered at the attention.

He points to the table. “Hey, can I have you drink?”

“Sure.”

You gasp. “Wait!”

“So close.” He laughs, downing it in one go.

—

Despite the impromptu lesson, when Tess inevitably asks you to be her bridesmaid, your immediate answer is yes. The prep is just as tiresome as it usually is, but a little worse considering the fact it’s Tess you’re preparing for.

The flowers are the wrong shade of pink, and the favours weren’t done right the first time. Togata takes a backseat throughout the whole thing, letting Tess take control, so you don’t even get to talk to him throughout this mind numbing process.

Today, the two of you are walking through the gardens where your parents got married. Tess licks at an ice cream cone and you adjust your purse onto your shoulder.

“So did you order the favours again?” She asks.

“Yes.”

“And did you finish the invitation mockups? So I can send them to that company.”

So you can send them to the company. You doubt Tess will lift a finger to help with that.

“Yes, Tess.”

She jumps a little in excitement. “Perfect! Oh, and I asked Kayama to be a bridesmaid.”

Kayama was a distant cousin that you guys barely saw. You think she models now, but you don’t keep in much contact. You nod, gesturing for Tess to give you her ice cream.

“What about Takeyama?” A cousin from your others side.

Tess frowns. “Oh, no. She’s really pregnant, you didn’t know? I can’t have her messing up my bridesmaid lineup.”

You huff a laugh. “That’s nice to say, Tess.”

She waves you off. “Oh, and I want you to ask your rude friend Rumi.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. “My Rumi?”

Your Rumi who isn’t exactly the biggest fan of Tess. Or weddings, unless the groom’s friends are more atttactive than the average man.

Tess nods, taking back the ice cream. “Yeah, she’s really pretty, you know? She can pull off the strapless we had in mind.”

You sigh, agreeing. “Alright, I’ll ask.”

“Perfect! I don’t really have that many girl friends of my own, you know?”

That’s a real shocker. You don’t say that out loud, though, just nod and smile.

The day is nice. The weather has been nice recently, all sun and wind that melts away the heat. Tess rambles on besides you about the slideshow she wants you to make for the day. Pictures of her and Togata from their lives, all dolled up with a nice song playing in the back. You mentally add it to your never-ending to do list.

“Oh, and hey, guess what? You know that writer you love? Hawks? He said he wants to do a column on us. Can you believe it?”

Oh, how you can’t wait to cut and clip that article into your collection. “At this point, yeah. I can.”

You shouldn’t be miserable. This is exciting! You love weddings. Maybe you’ll even get a feature in the article.

“And I was thinking, you know about where the wedding should be.”

Tess looks slightly nervous, now. You know because she bites her bottom lip between her words, her most obvious tell. That, and it’s older sister duty to sense these things.

She also had already decided where the wedding was going to be. A pretty venue you’d been to a bunch of times. You’re sure you’d already called and booked. You tell her as much and she laughs a little nervously.

“Yes, but I was thinking that I might have it at the boathouse. You know, like mum and dad did. Especially because…”

You look at her expectantly. “Come on, Tess, spit it out.”

She passes you the ice cream. You think it’s a peace offering for whatever she’s about to spill.

“Well. Because dad gave me mum’s wedding dress to wear.”

Your heart jumps a little at her words. You both stop on the pathway, and the ice cream drips onto your fingers. Mum’s wedding dress that you’d been eyeing since you were old enough to realise what weddings really were. She always told you she’d pass it onto you two, showing pictures of her and your father on her special day. That dress was going to Tess.

Tess sees the stricken look on your face. “You can so totally use it after me! I-“

She looks anxious, and you feel bad. It’s not her fault you still didn’t have a husband. Or even a boyfriend. Maybe if you did the dress would be yours. And it was her mother, too.

You hold up your hands. “It’s okay, Tess. Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s what mum would’ve wanted.” You smile.

She looks relieved and you feel bad that she’d been that scared to tell you. You link your arm with hers, and carry on walking.

“I’ll see what I can do about the boathouse.” You say but she only grins.

“No need! I called them. Like, nine times. And there was a cancellation! So, I will be Mrs Togata in three weeks.”

Your mouth drops open. “Three weeks?”

“I know, I know it’s so soon, but if anyone can pull it off it’s you!”

“That selfish whore!”

You splutter a laugh, almost stumbling in the position you were trying to hold. Yoga wasn’t your favourite form of exercise, but Miruko loved it. She said it was for the quiet, peacefulness, but you think she likes showing off the fact she’s more flexible than you.

“Rumi-“

“I mean, I can’t believe it. I just can’t.”

The yoga instructor in the front of the room sends Rumi a stern glance. She smiles at her apologetically.

You shrug. “It’s Tess. There is no man in this world that won’t fall for her.” You mumble. “They get hypnotized by her voodoo and lose their minds.”

Rumi snorts. The instructor bends into a tree pose and you stabilise yourself on Rumi’s shoulder.

“You can't plan your sister's wedding to the man you love,” She exclaims. “It’s sick!”

“To be fair, she didn’t know how I felt about him-“

“Feel.”

“And I shouldn’t, anyway. He’s my boss.” You remind her.

Your foot slips off the soft material of your leggings and you sigh. This sport is really not for you. You glance at Rumi who’s been standing perfectly straight the whole time.

“I’m just going to have to get over it. I don’t have much of a choice.”

You suddenly remember something. “Oh, you don’t either. Guess who’s going to be a bridesmaid?” You sing.

“You’re shitting me.”

You snicker, taking a long sip of your water. Rumi crosses her arms, yoga pose forgotten.

“No. I won’t do it. For you. This- it’s a no on principle.”

You shake your head almost immediately, latching onto her arm. “No, no, please don’t leave me alone on this.”

Rumi looks decidedly out of the window and away from your pleading face.

“Please, my best friend please.”

Rumi rolls her eyes. “Fine. Fine, just because it’s you.”

You hug her quickly, well aware of the glares coming at your from every direction. Never come between women and their yoga, you guess. Rumi just stares back, mumbling some choice words under her breathe. You nudge her shoulder to shush her.

“We are talking pretty loudly.” You whisper.

“There’s no sign that says no talking!”

Tess’s insistence at your ability to complete this wedding in three weeks is why you find yourself begging at Alejandro’s counter for a three tiered cake. He’s the best baker in New York, no competition, and Tess had asked for him personally. This was one task you didn’t mind as much, considering the fact that you’d be the one eating cake at the wedding. So if anything, this favour was for you.

You clasp your hands together and shake them in front of Alejandro’s face.

“Please. It’s three weeks!”

“Three weeks is never enough time for one of my creations!”

His accent is thick and heavy and coats all his words, and you have no clue where he’s from. Somewhere Eastern European, you think.

You stand up straight, hands slamming on the counter. “Look- Remember last year? I got you that couple that commissioned that six-tier red velvet with all the fancy decorations. Then the edible gifts for the Schumann wedding?”

His face twitches slightly, and you know you’re close.

“You can do it. You can do anything, we both know it.” You say with finality. “And you’re going to get me a cake in three weeks.”

He sighs heavily, shaking his head. He points a shaking finger at you. “Only because it’s you, Y/N.”

“Love you, Alejandro.” You grin, flashing him two thumbs up.

You turn around to where Tess and Togata are looking at different cake designs on display. They do look kinda cute together, if you’re being honest.

“Okay we have a cake!” You say, and your reply comes from the last person you’d expect it too.

Keigo.

“Good job.” He grins, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“What, you followed me here, too?”

He rolls his eyes playfully. He holds up a notepad and pen, and turns to your sister.

“Hi. Nice to meet you, I’m Hawks.” He holds out a hand to shake Tess’s and your jaw drops a little. “Congratulations to you both.”

“You’re- You’re not Hawks, you're Keigo.” You splutter.

“Thank you.” Togata smiles. His phone rings from his pocket and he pulls it out, cursing at the caller id.

“I gotta take this, babe. I’ll be outside, just give me five.”

He kisses her on the cheek and you turn to Keigo. Who’s already looking at you. He turns back to Togata and Tess, something clicking in his head.

“Interesting.” He hums.

Tess steps forward as Togata walks out the shop, pointing at you.

“This is Y/N.” Tess smiles. “She is like, so obsessed with your articles. She keeps them all in a drawer at home, it’s so cute.”

Your face burns and Keigo grins. “Really?”

Tess nods. “Not in like a creepy way, or anything, though.”

“Of course not.” Keigo looks far too pleased with himself.

You rub at your eyes. “Wait, you told me your name was Keigo.” You say.

He nods. “It is. Hawks is a pen name, so I don’t get stalked by crazies. Like you, apparently.” He teases and you shoot him a look.

Tess glances between the two of you, slightly confused.

“So, how did you meet Toagta?”

You cut him off quickly. “You’re an asshole.” You snap and Tess gasps.

“Y/N!”

You turn to her, indignant. “What? I’m sorry, he just- he told me his name was Keigo!”

Tess sighs. “Wait so- so do you guys know each other?”

Keigo nods. “Yeah, we both work the wedding circuit.”

He speaks so casually that it sends a tinge of anger through you.

“Please excuse us, Tess.”

You grab his wrist, dragging him to a quieter, more private corner of the bakery. He’s warm; the flowy,

bright blue button up he has on doesn’t seem to cool him down very much. He looks giddy when you turn to face him, hand still closed around his wrist.

“So forward of you, Y/N. I’m blushing.” He drawls.

You drop his hand quickly. “Cut the crap. You lied to me.”

“No I didn’t. I told you I was a writer, and I am.”

You frown, crossing your arms. “But how can you write such lovely things?”

Keigo shrugs. “Beats writing the sports section.”

It sucks, a little. That your favourite section in the whole newspaper is written by such a cynic. You find it difficult to believe the near prose you’d read was written by the man standing in front of you.Keigo is looking at you very closely as you process all this information. His eyes catch on the sun glimmering on the long windows of the bakery, and they look a little golden.

“Do you actually believe in all the beautiful things you write, or is it just- are you just a cynic who knows how to spin it for hopeless girls like me?”

You speak in one big breath, anger pushing your words out before you can even think about what you’re saying. He hums, leaning against the wall next to him.

“That was a lot. But the second one, I think. The spinning stuff one.” He nods.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “God. I feel like my favourite love song was written about a sandwich.” You mumble.

He grins. You think he’s about to start speaking, but Tess walks over. She looks between the two of you, the smile on her face straining.

“Sorry. Can I steal you away to tell you about Togata and me?” She’s asking but the way she sounds means she’s telling.

You look at Keigo. You think you see disappointment flit across his face for just one second, but he’s waving goodbye before you can linger on that thought.

“See you around, Y/N.”

“Yeah, whatever Hawks.”

————————————————————————-

exams r finally over!!!!!! EVERYONE CLAP SND CHEER! I finalllly got around to writing more for this fic.. and I really love it this is genuinely one of my favourite rom coms. So underrated..

Hawks will be coming up much more now that most of the world building is done, so look forward to that!

Hope u all enjoyed! To those interested this also gets posted on my ao3 if you’d like reading it there!

#oneshot #b3ach bunn7 #fluff #mha hawks #bnha hawks #hawks x reader #hawks #keigo takami #takami keigo #hawks mha #keigo takami x reader #mha takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #keigo #keigo tamaki #keigo x reader #bnha keigo #mha

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naisilla · 8 months ago

Text

Heartsteel x Reader

Heart Stolen.

Content: You make some new online friends

The lobby was empty. Your icon stood alone amongst the five spaces. No one showed up tonight. You sigh, leaving your mouse hovering over the 'find match' button. Was it worth gaming tonight?

You didn't blame the others. Now that high school was over, everyone had begun branching out into their new lives. Some grew further than others. At least everyone kept in touch through Discord. But tonight, only you were online.

It's a shame. You didn't get the privilege of being able to stay up late as frequently as the others because of the work shifts you had. Some days, you have to wake up early in the morning at 5. On others, you finished the closing shift at 9. To get enough sleep, you would have to go to bed before your friends would even get online to game.

The only nights you could indulge yourself were nights before your days off. Three nights a week, you could finally catch up with your friends. If only they were available those nights. Sometimes, they were busy, tired, or "not in the mood." Honestly, it pissed you off.

Looks like it was turning out to be another lonely night, another disappointment. You weren't mad at your friends, but it would be nice to have some company tonight. Your eyes trained onto your monitor. The find match button beckons you.

Finding a match alone was a little intimidating. What if you messed up and made a mistake that cost your team? You were a little sensitive to mean comments. Going competitive where players were toxic didn't seem so alluring anymore.

A defeated sigh escapes your lips. You needed to become emotionally independent. Perhaps a warm up game might calm your nerves. Dragging your mouse, you select draft pick and choose bot lane for your autofill. Finally, you click Find Match.

You wait with bated breath as your client searches for a match. With each passing second, you became increasingly regretful of your decision. You should've just given up on gaming and gone with binge watching something.

The client suddenly displays the message "Match Found!" and you get grouped with four strangers onto a team. You're assigned bot lane, and you go to select your ADC. After clicking on "Daughter of the void." you pause. Another player had also selected an ADC champion.

You hiss under your breath. "Shit." this was awkward. One of you needed to go support, but this other player had already chosen "The Weapon of the Faithful." You squint, taking a look at their username, 신자의 무기.

Korean? On an Oceania server? How strange. A message pops up in the lobbies chat window. EZ: uh oh EZ: glwt

Sighing, you force yourself to scan through the available supports, both in your inventory and free rotation. "Maven of the strings" had a simple kit right? Honestly, you weren't sure but the countdown was ticking and you needed to pick something.

Perhaps you could dodge? You wouldn't mind waiting in queue with low priority. You frown as a spike of determination hits you. No way you were backing out, you were assigned bot. This other player was given support, it should be them dealing with this.

10 seconds left

Ugh how serious was this matchup anyways?

5 seconds left

Screw it you're dodging this.

Your mouse clicks on the exit button and you breathe a sigh of relief as your client continued to search for another match. A blue light reflects in your eye as another 'match found' widget pops up on your client and you readily accept it.

What the fuck!?

To your disbelief you get thrown into another lobby matchup with 신자의 무기 and EZ.

EZ: no way...

You groan and rub your temple before leaning forward in your seat and typing into the chat:

(Y/U/N): Hey, do you want to go ADC or SUPP?

Your eyes remain fixated as they await a response...

A little blip appears on your screen, drawing your attention to the friend request from 신자의 무기. You frown, you don't typically accept friend requests from anyone you don't personally know. But it wouldn't hurt to select 'accept' if it doesn't go well you can always block them.

Seconds after accepting the request you receive a message, a discord link.

This isn't a bot is it?

Your monitor switches over to Discord inviting you to join a server "The Boyz". You can feel hesitation in joining the group, the last thing an introvert like you wanted was to listen to another one of those obnoxiously loud and annoying boys that scream on call like a prepubescent loltyler1.

Screw it, you had already gone out of your comfort zone enough might as well continue the streak.

You join the call:

"AYO THEY JOINED!"

The Discord call erupted in a chorus of excited greetings from EZ, his icon almost glowing a constant green from his excited chatter. You were surprised by how charming and friendly his voice sounded, nothing like the usual screamers you're used to on voice chat.

"Hello (Y/U/N)" says 자의 무기, his voice is barely louder than a whisper, yet it still manages to cut through the noise with surprising ease.

"Hey!" You chime back, trying to match their energy.

"Sorry about the misunderstanding with Phel, he's new to League." You tilt your head in interest. Phel? That's an odd name.

"Liar" Phel retorts. "I wasn't paying attention to my role, sorry for stealing your adc."

"Don't worry about it." You reply reassuringly.

"Wanna try again? I can go "The Redeemer" as support."

"Sure let's give it a shot."

And just like that, you were now playing with two new friends. It didn't take long for you to find two extra random players to join your team in lobby and this time there was no drama in champ select.

The match starts spawing your and your teammates on the blue side, you and phel guide your champions to follow your jungler to leash at the red buff. While you wait at camp for the brambleback to spawn you decide to try and get to know these two.

"So is Phel short for something? I've never heard a name like that before."

"Oh uh yeh, My actual name is Aphelios."

You raise a brow intrigued. "Where does that originate from?"

"I believe it's Greek, roughly translates to: far from the sun"

"Oh? Are you Greek?"

You can hear Ez snort. "He most definitely isn't"

"I'm Korean actually."

"Ah I see, I didn't want to assume from your username."

Aphelios laughs, his voice so soft and delicate.

The red brambleback crawls out of the ground and you jump straight into lowering it's hp with your auto attacks and Q, Letting your jungler finish it off before moving onto the krugs.

"I also have a very interesting name too" Ez chimes in, his voice slightly whining at the end. A chuckle escapes your mouth.

"My bad, what's your name then Ez?" You ask, voluntarily taking the bait as you and Aphelios walk to the middle of bot lane.

You can feel Ez smirking over the voice call his voice reverberates in your headset. "It's Jarro" His voice goes on a tangent explaining the origin of his name while you focus on your bot lane as you come across the enemy team. "The Sheriff of Piltover" and an "Empress of the elements"

"The plauge rat" suddenly appears in front of you, landing two auto's as you back away sending your Q missiles at him. Damn they ganking this early?

You fall back, trading attacks with the enemy adc as the red minions crash your wave, heading towards your first turret. Jarro is still rambling on.

"So what's your name?" Jarro asks, his voice finally breaking into your focus.

"I'm (Y/N)."

Jarro let's out an "ahh" in response, his tone warm and friendly. "What does that mean?"

You shrug even though no one can actually see you. "I don't know it's just my name." you say, your eyes darting from the screen to the vc every now and then.

"I think you have a nice name." Aphelios says, he had been quiet up till this point, also focusing on your lane as you traded with the enemy laners together. There's a soothing quality to his soft-spoken voice. Despite his shyness, he felt compelled to compliment you on your name.

"Thanks but I really can't be compared to a name like yours, you sound like you're a fantasy character."

a hint of embarrassment in his voice. He didn't see himself as a fantasy character, and he was never comfortable with accepting compliments.

"My name is nice too right Phel?" Jarro's voice chimes in cheekily fishing for compliments.

Aphelios lets out a soft sigh and rolls his eyes at Jarro's question. He knows he is only looking for compliments, but it's all in good fun.

"Yes, Jarro, yours is nice too." He says with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Aphelios glances at your profile on his screen and his expression softens.

The next few minutes are solely focused on your laning. You play your champion passively using your ranged W to your advantage while your health is low as you focus on poking the enemies from a safe distance while farming.

Shortly after, your jungler comes down from jungle and you aggressively go in to chase down the support who tries to run back to their turret. The enemy adc is slain by your jungler, leaving it just between you and the empress. You ignore your low health and follow them as she runs, she casts ignite but with a single W you take the kill then quickly recall in a bush.

"That was close, good job (Y/N)" Aphelios says, you smile.

"Thanks."

You notice the dragon is up and your jungler is pinging it, you cancel your recall and quickly take care of it before the enemy laners can get there. You run around the dragon camp picking up the honey fruit as the three of you go to recall in the bush behind dragon.

The enemy adc appears in your vision, walking towards your bush where the three of you hide, poor thing walked right into her death. You can hear a "pfft" pick up on Aphelios mic as you finally recall to base.

The game continues as you return back to farming minions and trading with the enemy bot laners, Aphelios manages to take out the adc forcing the support to go into a bush and recall before he can chase her down. You make sure to place a vision ward at the bottom of the river to keep an eye out for enemy ganks while Aphelios goes to the top to place another.

The support returns and begins to attack you and boy does she hurt, you fall back as your health bar is hacked at. Lucky Aphelios returns to bot to heal you and you both go back to pressing on as the jungler chases the enemy midlaner nearby, killing her. The three of you easily over powering the other two as the adc dies and the support retreats leaving their turret vunrable.

You enter the mid game phase and things are going good, none of your turrets have been taken down yet. You did die shortly after taking their turret but you were quick to bounce back. There was a comfortable silence in the chat when suddenly you hear someone humming.

Surprisingly Aphelios starts humming, not just generically either, whatever tune is in his head is a beautiful melody. His voice was so smooth and delicate, the way it danced along the notes in perfect rhythm, it was enchanting.

You feel nervous bringing it up but eventually, your thoughts escape through your lips. "Wow, your singing voice is so beautiful Phel."

Aphelios' humming stops abruptly, clearing his throat. "Sorry, I thought I muted my headset."

"What are you apologizing for? You have a great voice my guy" Jarro voice says.

You nod from behind your screen looking back to Aphelios' icon. "He's right you genuinely sound good". You say encouragingly.

"Yeh and I know a thing or two about singing." Jarro chimes.

"Oh really pretty boy? You wanna show us what you've got?" Aphelios asks chuckling.

"Nah I wouldn't want to overshadow your spotlight"

You snort rolling your eyes. Focusing hard as you take down another enemy turret.

And so began your new friendship circle with the boys, after a successful league game you would start another, then another. Talking and gaming late into the night.

You were breathless from singing along with the others quite horribly to their request. At least Jarro was also terrible but you could tell that he was singing bad on purpose. Aphelios was too busy laughing his mic barely picking up on the noise as he tries to cover his mouth as Jarro continues to sing on.

"DO YOU THINK TIME, WOULD PASS US BY?

'CAUSE YOU KNOW I'D WALK A THOUSAND MILES

IF I COULD SEE YOU TONIGHT BANANANANANANANNAA-" Jarro started to sing the riff in a terrible screech the gain on his mic becoming painful to hear.

Aphelios is practically in tears at this point, his face red from laughing so hard. He covers his mouth with his hand, desperate to hold in his laughter, but it's futile. His shoulders shake from the effort, and his eyes are squeezed shut as he laughs. He is having the time of his life, sharing this moment of laughter with the friends he had quickly grown fond of.

He lets out a gasp, trying to catch his breath between fits of laughter.

"Stop… stop, I… I can't breathe.."

He tries to speak, but he can hardly get the words out through his laughter. His breathing is ragged, but he manages to force out a few more words between giggles.

"You guys are… the worst… singers… I've ever heard.."

Jarro and you let out an obnoxious gasp, mocking offense. "

"Excuse me?! Worst singers?" Jarro exclaims loudly, dramatically placing his hand over his heart.

"I'll have you know we are both phenomenal vocalists." Jarro crosses his arms, lifting his chin up in a fake air of superiority.

Aphelios can't help but laugh harder at Jarros exaggerated reaction. He tries to bite his lip to keep from laughing, but the mirth is too strong and his laughter escapes in a series of short gasps and giggles. He wipes a tear from his eye, his cheeks flushed from the laughter.

"Seriously, you're all terrible… Especially you, Ez…"

He says, shooting an amused grin towards Jarro's avatar.

The days passed and the friendship between you and the boys, Jarro and Aphelios, continued to strengthen with each game. Hours spent gaming, laughing, and creating memories together.

Late-night calls filled with laughter, banter, and the occasional musical performance, became the norm.

Both Jarro and Aphelios found themselves looking forward to the moments they spent gaming with you, considering you a valuable and entertaining member of their gaming circle.

Ez, remains as cheerful and energetic as ever, always ready to make you laugh with his dumb jokes.

Aphelios especially began to open up more and more, sharing bits and pieces of himself with you. You had learned that he was currently stationed in Perth Australia, which surprised you as you yourself were living in Sydney.

Apparently, he and his twin sister were long-term exchange students at one of the local universities...

"Oh cool! What are you studying over there?" You asked your voice sounding enthusiastic.

Aphelios would scratch the back of his neck behind his monitor shyly as he bashfully answered. "Oh, I'm taking the Composition and Music Technology course."

A low whistle picks up from Jarros's mic. "Sheesh Phel I didn't think asian parents let their kids do anything other than be a lawyer or doctor."

Aphelios rolls his eyes at Jarro's comment, scoffing slightly.

"Well, I'm a rare exception to that stereotype I suppose."

He says, a small smile on his lips. Despite his shy exterior, he had a hint of sass when it came to his responses at times.

"My parents are surprisingly supportive of my interests, especially my music. As long as I'm working hard and pursuing something I'm passionate about, they're happy."

Jarro nods along with a chuckle. "Hey don't you live in Aussie too y/n?"

"Yep I'm over a few states though, down in Newcastle."

"Newcastle? Where the hell is that?"

You glare at Jarro's icon. "It's in New South Wales."

"..."

"A few hours above Sydney"

"Ah Sydney! Why didn't you say so!?"

You and Aphelios collectively roll your eyes in unison.

"What about you Jarro? You have an Oceania account so you should be either here or New Zealand?"

Jarro's cheeky chuckle can be heard again in your headset. "Nah I'm over in beautiful Canada."

You can't help but let out a confused sound. "Canada? Sir are you lost? How is your ping not crashing your PC on lol?"

Jarro's chuckle returns, unperturbed. "Well, I figured I'd come over here and show you Aussies how it's really done."

He boasts, his ego as big as ever.

"And let's face it, the competition's just a little easier over here."

He adds, a smirk evident in his voice, and Aphelios rolls his eyes again.

You enjoyed having these online friends, they were almost always available to hang out with after your shifts at the cafe, no matter how exhausting your day was Jarro and Aphelios were always there to help you destress. You were more than grateful for those two.

Aphelios would occasionally share his music projects for his assignments with you on the group server, he was certainly talented at composing pieces. His base work was giving indie, atmospheric, lofi but he would try and experiment with other genres to fit the criteria of the assignment.

"Why don't you try singing over some of these tracks?" You ask after finished listening to another one of his pieces.

Aphelios responds a bit shyly, a hint of self-consciousness in his tone. He's never had much confidence in his singing, even though he loves music.

"I mean… Singing for fun is one thing, but performing in front of a whole class is a lot of pressure. I'm not sure if my voice is good enough for that…"

Jarro chimes in, his tone light and casual, as usual.

"Oh, come on, Phel. Your voice is seriously amazing, you don't give yourself enough credit."

He reassures him, trying to boost his confidence

"You're a talented composer and you've got a killer vocal range. You should definitely try singing for your class, I'm sure they'll love it. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

Aphelios lets out a soft sigh, considering Jarro's words. His friend's confidence is endearing.

"I suppose you have a point… But it's still nerve-wracking, you know? What if they don't like it? Or what if I make a mistake?"

You shake your head, quickly disagreeing with him.

"Come on, you're being too hard on yourself Phel. I've heard you sing before, your voice is beautiful. You could easily charm the whole class with those smooth vocals."

You reassure him, genuinely believing in his talent.

Aphelios smiles at your words, his heart feeling a bit lighter. He was grateful to have friends like you and Jarro who believed in him and encouraged him.

"I don't know… I'm just not used to people hearing my voice outside of you guys, you know? It's kind of intimidating…"

He admits, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Look you don't even have to sing in front of everyone, you can record from the privacy of your home then when you go to present all you have to do is press the play button"

Aphelios slowly nods his head in agreement, considering your suggestion.

"That… That sounds tempting…It would definitely take away the pressure of performing in front of a live audience… That's not a bad idea, actually. I guess that would still count for the assignment…"

He says thoughtfully, his mind running through the idea. Recording from the comfort of his own home does sound less intimidating than having to perform in front of the entire class.

Jarro chimes in again from the other side, his tone cheerful and encouraging.

"That's the spirit, Phel! Record it at home, give it a few final touches, and then just hit play in class. Easy peasy."

He says, seeming to like your suggestion, too.

This is what friends are for right? Supporting each other and encouraging them to reach their full potential? Aphelios could definitely count on you two for that, behind that little discord profile a small smile appeared on his lips, barely illuminated by the glow of his monitor.

And that's how you convinced your online friend to give singing an actual shot. You and Jarro could only laugh and give knowing "I told you so" looks when Aphelios would return the next gaming session flustered by how well his classmates took his singing. He had become a local star in his university overnight.

"I guess singing in front of the class wasn't as terrifying as I thought. They actually seemed to like it… a lot."

He confesses, fiddling with the hem of his shirt as he speaks.

"I don't know what to do, I've never had this much attention before… It's a bit overwhelming…"

Jarro grins, clearly enjoying Aphelios' newfound popularity.

"See, I told you they would love it. You're a natural talent, Phel. It's about time people started noticing."

He says, sounding proud of his friend.

"Don't let it go to your head though, you're still the same shy guy that we know and love".

He teases, chuckling.

You giggle along with him. "Don't forget about us while you're famous."

Aphelios had yet to get use to his immediate rise of popularity, it was as if all of a sudden everyone in the university had him on their radar.Typical mornings of quietly walking to and from classes, hiding under an oversized hoodie had now changed to being stopped by every student in the hall to be greeted.

All of a sudden the quiet invisible introvert was now the center of attention with people wanting his insta, to being invited to hang out during lunch and even a few girls and guys admitting their crushes to him.

It was overwhelming to Aphelios in a positive way, it felt really good to be liked by everyone. He finally felt this surge of confidence boost his social life. He had begun to upload covers and original songs to youtube. While he didn't become viral online, he did gain plenty of likes and views (most of said views came from Jarro and yourself).

It had been a few months since he took that first step out of his comfort zone. However, he still found himself hanging around you and Jarro more than anyone else. You were still the people he trusted the most and the ones he felt the most comfortable around. He didn't need to be "popular" or "cool" around you two. You always had his back.

Jarro, always the supportive friend, was ecstatic for Aphelios as he watched his confidence grow. He often joked about how he was a proud "big brother" watching his "little bro" succeed.

Meanwhile, you were more than happy to see Aphelios blossom in his newfound popularity. You'd often chat with him about classes, school life, and of course, music. The three of you had grown closer, not just online friends but real friends.

It once again was a night where you were all on to game, you had started the call in the group chat and chatted to Jarro about your day while the two of you awaited for Aphelios to join. Classes were over according to this week's schedule which meant he should've joined by now.

"Have you heard anything from Aphelios? He's running late" you say as you type to mention Aphelios in the group chat to get his attention.

Jarro on the other end shakes his head. "Nah he still hasn't responded to my dm."

You frown. "You think something's up?"

"Unlikely, he's only half an hour late. He probably got caught up by another one of his fans~" he says with a chuckle.

Just as Jarro says that the tiny pop up "Aphelios is typing" your immediately notice it your eyes widening as you await his message.

신자의 무기 is typing...

신자의 무기: Sorry guys I'm feeling sick, I've got a cold so I can't really join vc.

As you read his message, a mixture of concern and disappointment washed over you.

Jarro, who was also reading the message, let out a sigh. He had been looking forward to gaming with Aphelios as usual, but it seemed like it wasn't going to happen tonight.

"He can still play right? just not talk?" You ask with a hopeful tone in your voice.

Jarro's icon glows green as his mic picks up him typing your question into chat.

Aphelios replies with a thumbs up.

You knew Aphelios would be unable to chat for a couple of days but it had been over a week since Aphelios had gotten sick, you were starting to worry for him.

Opening your dm's with him you begin to type.

(Y/U/N): Hey Phel, still got the cold?

신자의 무기 is typing...

신자의 무기: Yeh, it's just a sore throat... it won't go away.

You frown while reading this.

(Y/U/N): Have you considered seeing a doctor?

신자의 무기: Actually I have an appointment later this afternoon.

You sigh a little relieved.

(Y/U/N): Ok good

(Y/U/N): Update us when you can k?

Aphelios replies with a cute emote of a cartoon bunny with a thumbs up, making you smile.

(Y/U/N): ight see you later

And so you and Jarro would spend the afternoon gaming while you waited for Aphelios to come back online. You were in the middle of laughing at one of Jarro's jokes when you noticed he's gone quiet.

"Jarro?" You ask, checking if he's there.

"(Y/N) check the group chat."

You had barely noticed the discord notification sound, clicking on your task bar where awaited two messages from Aphelios.

신자의 무기: Guys

신자의 무기: I have some bad news.

A/N: And I finally did it! Chapter 1!! Lets fucking go!!! Original Heartsteel lore!!!!

#heartsteel #league of legends #Heartsteel x reader #kayn x reader #ezreal x reader #aphelios x reader #Sett x reader #K'Sante x reader #Yone x reader #reader insert #league of legends fanfiction

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handfulofmuses · 5 months ago

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okay that comeback was so lame but that's what makes it funny just like his show

#;you can never go wrong with eating them (rahzar)#;the waiting game (queue)#sometimes he is trying too hard to be intimidating

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kyri45 · 9 months ago

Text

✨ISAT Sky: Cotl!AU Q&A ✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the ISAT Sky: Cotl!AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto: sometimes when im bored i just go to your profile to position your pfp to siffrin's hands so it looks like they're holding you

I feel threatened bc if Siffrin would know what I'm making them pass through with the next comic updates he would crush me insteantly with a fist.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Damn Siffrin is dying and no one will ever remember them. 😔 Oh Loo~ooop!

Loop coming to save the day even tough they aren't paid enough for this shit

Anonimo Siffrin isn't aware of the hole in the wall you can go through for those two statues without having to get pelted by rocks smh my head. (said jokingly) ((Love your comic btw!! Thank you for this AU, I love it))

THE

WHAT?

YOU CAN GO THROUGH A WALL TO GET THEM WITHOUT RUNNING FOR YOUR LIFE?????

Anonimo My reaction to this chapter of ISAT COTL CROSSOVER AU (10/9/2024) GO BBG YOU GOT THIS IN THE BAG!! OH YOU DO NOT GOT THIS IN THE BAG.. oh now you're out of the bag oh god ruh roh

Oh yeah he does NOT have this.

Anonimo pst hey hey are you gonna pose the statues, it would be funny i swear totally not more heartbreaking for siffr- WAIT HOW WOULD THEY REACT TO THE FACT YOU CAN BARELY SAVE ALL OF THE STATUES WHEN YOU REACH THE FOREVER STORM PART-

he has enough memories that he should recover a good amount of statues. It's not a matter of wheter or not he can save everyone, but mostly themself....

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hey so I cannot believe I am so late to see your ISAT and Sky AU because I love!! Both of them!! So much!! And I just wanted to thank you for making it and sharing it with us because it’s really cool! And both fandoms need more attention imo <333 @ucorpwhalingyaoi ha chiesto: I know NOTHING about cotl but my god your isat au of it has made me want to play it so bad 💔 (very /pos…) @primrosechronicles ha chiesto: HEYYYY ITS BEEN A WHILE SINCE IVE SENT AN ASK!! Ive been silently reading the isat comic since my last ask and im very very proud of you for making this far!!! mwahh!!! Thank you for inspiring me to play sky again, cuz if not i wouldn't have able to meet my sky friends Anonimo ha chiesto: first of all, I came here from the shadowpeach au but your comics dragged my ass to the ISAT fandom second of all, HOW DARE YOU PLAYED WITH MY HAPPINESS LIKE THAT (love your art and story telling, I wanna eat it like a fancy dinner) @prince0fghosty ha chiesto: It's been hard for me to find Sky: Children of the Light content anywhere! I found you through a friend and not only are you interested in Sky but also Lego Monkie Kid this is truly the best day ever!!! I got back into the game because of you. I like to help moths out in Eden @phoenix-is-here ha chiesto: You are the person who introduced me to the ISAT fandom and I gotta say thank you for that. That's one of the best games I've ever played and I would have never known about it without stumbling onto your account first (because of a strong hyperfixation on a show about monkeys ofc) so.. Accept this virtual cookie and glass of milk as a gift : 🍪 Anonimo ha chiesto: I followed for the shadowpeach, stayed for Sky CotL, keep cookin

HIII!!! AND TYSM!!!!!

@elianaroselight ha chiesto: This feels a little silly, but what is ISAT? I read through your ISAT Sky AU comic and I feel like I am missing half of the story. I love what I'm seeing so far and want more, but I also don't know or completely understand who the characters are and why I should care about them (more than I do already at least). Sorry if this is silly. I just want to understand.

ISAT is short for "In Stars And Time". It's an RPG game made by @insertdisc5. ABsolutely go check it out otherwise you wont understand a thing about the characters of the AU!

when i was reading the most recent page of the In Skies and Time™️ comic I had the most hilarious image in my head of just a bunch of sky kids smacking down on the same area and making this. sky kid pileup????? [since it seems liek theyre all gonna come back like that..] it was super funny to imagine 30 CAR PILEUP 🔥🔥🔥

AWWW SKY KID MOUNTAIN!! Lol probably it would happen? Like when you do Eden just after reset and when you get reborn there's like 7 other players clipped in you rebirth animation in the aviary /home space

Anonimo ha chiesto: Awwwww Bonnie was so excited 😢

poor Bonnie they will get their comfort moment eventually

@sohrleas ha chiesto: YOU YOU'RE THE REASON WHY I got Sky 'cause I saw your isat sky au and got super curious about the game Your art is beautiful and I love it 💚💚💚

LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOO!!!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: HOPEFUL STEWARD WOOOOO-

IT'S MY BOY!!

@o0mochacoffee0o This isn’t related to you Bio dad AU Like my usuals- I just saw in your abut that you like CotL! Now you share two of my interests!! I’m curious to know your favorite parts of the game, if you have any ships, head canons, etc!! I always love listening to people’s opinions on things I love!

About Scotl? I don't have any specific headcanon, but I do ship Moments Guide and Reassuring Ranges. The only thing that I crave for that game is MORE LORE GODDAMN IT

Anonimo ha chiesto: When I said the fun was dying. I did not expected this. I'M SCREAMING AND PUNCHING THE BED NOOOOOOOOOOOO SIFFF

*sips coffee* welcome to hell (literally)

Anonimo ha chiesto: "is that thing a sadness?!" sweet summer child that thing is a menace of death

It absolutely is

Anonimo ha chiesto: Poor Siffrin’s gotta be absolutely TERRIFIED Big scary beast thing spotted them AND suddenly getting bathed in the color they associate with bad stuff? I can’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t be quaking in their boots.

He is in desperate need of comfort that wont come in like- a irl month I think

Anonimo ha chiesto: I know you won’t be doing the golden wastelands but… Once the party discovers that the groundwater has the same effect as the forest rain, Isabeau decides to bridal carry Siffrin the whole way. Leaving Siffrin a blushy mess. Also, almost if not everyone is scared shitless of the Dark Dragons/Krill (totally not projecting)

ooooohh that is soooo cute i'm dying!!!!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: THE FAKE ACT 4 LOOKING SMILE . THE ACT 5 EDEN MOMENT. THE PARTY BEING SENT BACK . DIES "oh yeah if I still have energy I can loop back" ← me when I'm lying

@starlight-and-clockwork ha chiesto: bawling and kicking and screaming and pulling my hair out THAT PANEL OF SIFFRIN ASKING HIS FAMILY TO REMEMBER HIM WILL HAUNT ME FOREVER YOU ARE SO TALENTED AND CAUSE ME MUCH PAIN THANK U<3

@aro-aces-world ha chiesto: I just caught up with ISAT sky au Fuck you /affectionate

Thank you! Be ready to be even more destroyed by the following updates!

@cherryblossomventi ha chiesto: I’m gonna go feral, Sif did that because he knows he can kinda come back from this with the shooting star thing Im guessing but the others cant/might not because they aren’t from this land,,, oh buddy why didn’t you tell them stop being cryptic idiot

Sif doesn't really remember that he can be reborn like in Sky. He knows only that, if he can reach the light right at the base of the cataclysm, then maybe he can return as well.

#isat sky cotl au #ask box #kyri45

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yourlocalsmutwriter · 7 months ago

Text

See, hear and speak no evil - Carlos Sainz x reader

You usually loved race weekends. Any chance for you to watch your boyfriend do his thing was appreciated. But not Miami. Your poor European sleep cycle was not used to this. Toto was wrong about no one watching the races in your time zone. Carlos would make fun of you for it, especially as he was living it. He teased you relentlessly for sleeping through half of the Chinese GP. Oh, the irony of you getting into the sport because your partner was an F1 driver and not the opposite. Even worse, he refused to explain the "lore" as you called it. So you Googled frantically and added the Netflix documentary to your queue. Unexplainable, you found yourself watching Tiktok edits instead. And you were gonna give it to these people with Capcut and a dream. They managed to capture Carlos' sex appeal. You had new obsessions with every clip on your fyp. His hair, his thighs, and of course, him going ballistic on the radio. You had heard your boyfriend being a little grumpy at quali or race positions before. Yapping about strategies or other drivers. Even Charles wasn't immune to a snarky comment. But then you were using your efforts to calm him or to let him talk it out. Now, when it was a loop of him pissed on air, you realized that maybe you liked angry, vocal Carlos a little more than you guessed. The memes about your boyfriend being written by Lana del Rey were sometimes true. He had a poised reputation to uphold. Even when it was just the two of you, he was either stoic or bubbly and funny. If he was sad, he'd be sulky or melancholic. Never angry or possessive. Never letting you see him lose his cool. It wasn't like he didn't trust you enough to let you in. It was more due to the fact that you were precious and fragile to him, breakable. But that was gonna change soon. With special courtesy of his radios during his battles with Oscar.

Carlos liked to have you in your "lovers nest" before Imola. Called you his lucky charm, his amuleto. Truth be told, it was a little early. Cohabitation was usually reserved for "seasoned couples". Carlos and you joked that you weren't living together, you were occasional roommates with benefits. The new arrangement meant that every couple of weeks, between triple headers, you would be in Spain. You knew a frequent flier discount hated to see you coming. Luckily, you had somewhat managed to make your job more remote, negotiating different hours and taking on a freelancing type of everyday tasks.

But like any person in love, you were most productive when alone. Thanks to the copious amounts of coffee you needed to watch the Miami GP, you had pulled 2 all nighters, basically flying through your professional to-do list. As soon as your weekly meeting was over, you started going through the most boring and easy parts of what you do. As soon as your lunch break rolled around, you were napping, hoping no one from the office decided to check up on you.

You're saving up the completed tasks as leverage, waiting for the right moment. And it arrives with the sound of a door unlocking and Carlos' familiar voice echoing through the apartment. You call him in the office space and let him know that you're almost finished. Sending out your tasks to your supervisor, you utilise their checking time and turn it into boyfriend time. Within a few minutes, you're in bed with Carlos, both in lounge wear that left little to the imagination. It was a little game you came up with in the honeymoon period of the relationship. Who could break easier after the long distance. You would think that no kissing would be easy, given that not much else was off limits. With his lips between your neck and your ear, he wasn't helping himself, so he asked.

"Did you manage to stay up for my race, gorgeous?"

"Yes, I watched it live, every second. I think I annoyed everyone on Twitter with my recap, even your fans." you reply.

"Yeah? Any standout thoughts I should know about?" He says, curious.

"Your radios, they sounded, good." You give him nothing, but he knows how to take from you. The gears in his brain turn, looking for a way to make you loose. At the end of the day, he was a simple man. All he had to do was ask.

"If you give me a kiss, I ......" He tries to finish his sentence but his mind blanks. He goes for the low hanging fruit, offering to buy you dream outfits and bags. Even when he puts real money where his mouth is, you refuse. Even though it's stupid, you don't want to give him the impression that you're dating him for the money. Carlos moves on to more individual things, promising to make you cum over and over again, to do the thing that makes your legs shake. You gently remind him they if he kisses you first, you make the rules. Therefore you could easily ask for all that and more. You can see it's driving Carlos mad to not be in control. He pulls out the "big guns".

"If you kiss me, I'll consider the threesome idea with Charles?" he tries.

"That was one dream and I regret telling you about it. No thanks, don't wanna be a homewrecker." you counter.

"I'll actually arrange a threesome with Fernando?" he comments.

"Stop slutting out people on the grid. Just because I fantasized about something a couple times doesn't mean I'm suddenly ready to be Eiffel towered or split roasted or whatever you two freaks could come up with." you hold your ground.

"You are the only guy for me. In F1, or outside of it, I only want to be with you. No sharing." You kiss him, aware that you'd loose. Whatever he had planned for you was gonna be good and you knew it.

"Good. I was gonna be worried if you'd said yes. Now, on the topic of saying things, you were awfully quiet earlier. So, we're gonna play another little game, called team radio." You quirk up an eyebrow and ask him to explain.

"It's easy. You tell me what to do and I'll do it. You don't say anything, I'll stop. I'm all about teamwork and following orders, baby." He boasts.

"Yeah, always, huh? Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night. You're a driver. You can't help it. It's in your blood. Being fast, being fucking selfish." You taunt him. Truth is what attracted you most to your boyfriend. His drive, no fucking pun intended.

Carlos pins you down onto the matres, his athlete's reflexes immediately evident. You're trapped beneath his body as he kisses and bites your neck.

"You're already failing at your game there, sweetheart. Thought you'd be the one obeying me. " you remind him. Asking your boyfriend to give up control was like asking a broken clock to display the right time. Yet, even those were right twice a day. Carlos pulled away, waiting for you to tell him what to do. Even though it was his idea, he was already turning against it. Though he had a trick up his sleeve.

You were trying out your new power. First, you asked him to switch to let you be on top. You kissed his neck and chest in a way to bid for time. Usually, by now, his hands would be on your waist, pulling down your underwear. Yet, he was still waiting for a que from you.

"Carlos, can you touch me, please? Just I don't know, rub my clit until I come or something." You ask.

Your boyfriend must be a member of r/maliciouscompliance, because that's what he does. He doesn't take your panties off, he just slides two fingers and presses them against where you need him and rubs. His pace is mundane, not too slow, and not too fast that it feels like he's trying to start a fire. It's just right, the perfect tease.

"You know, you're not very good at this. I know you're all about the flow of things and you shut off your brain when we fuck, sweetheart. But don't make me teach you a lesson here." He says.

You wonder what he means. You can feel his hardness under you, despite the layers of cotton there. You're not a tyrant, so you rub against his cock, needing more. Your futile moans of "Carlos please," don't earn you anything. You're wet, so close thanks to the new stimulation and his repetitive rhythm. You cum and as soon as your boyfriend senses it, he stops.

"Carlos, what the actual fuck?" You ask, your orgasm ruined. He'd never pulled that move before, always touching you more, so you could ride it out, going until your thighs clamp against him in a vice grip.

"You said to rub your clit until you came. You came. I did my job, no?" He replies, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Oh,so that's how he was gonna play it. Well two people could tease.

You tell him to take off your underwear and his too. Tossing your boyfriend a condom, you ask to see him put it on. He hisses as his fingers trail down his length. Truth it, he's just as needy as you. He was just better at hiding it.

"Do you have a favorite position, hmm Carlos? I wanna see it." You ask. He uses his strength to flip you, ass up in the air. Even in this, he's still careful. With your back arched and face half-burried in the pillow, you say.

"Show me your passion, I want you to go fucking feral, use me like there's no tomorrow."

And he obeys. He burries himself to the hilt inside you. He could be snarky and wait for you to ask him for every thrust. But he lacks the patience for that. He pulls out, almost all the way and thrust back in ferociously. Every "faster" and "harder" he follows. Carlos feels you clench around him, and says.

"If you wanna cum properly, you have to ask. Give team orders to your roque driver."

"Carlos Sainz, you better give me an orgasm and fuck me through it, unless you." You don't get to finish your thought, because your boyfriend's hand makes its way to your clit. This time he makes sure you feel everything to the fullest, giving you more and more. When you recover from your orgasm, you notice that he's still desperate to cum too. You know his tells. His hands gripping your waist a little stronger. The faint drops of sweat on his forehead. The way his thrusts are slower. You could show him that revenge is best served cold. But you can't resist him just after he blows his load, the moment where he's still fucking into you, as if intent on making it stick. On making your pussy memorize the shape of his cock.

"Carlos, fuck, go ahead and come. You deserve it, pretty boy." You say and watch him as he falls apart, bottom lip between his teeth.

You're both spent. After he cleans up and tosses the condom in the trash and you pee, you melt in his arms.

"I think this made me sweatier than Miami." He says. Aftercare sweet talk was obviously not his forte.

"I think that if we go for a second round, my work shift will end. Wanna make your girl steal some company time?" You reply.

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x you #f1 imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz smut

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