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DAMN, THAT ASS

Nightwing x Male Reader

synopsis: Being a hero is hard enough without having to constantly pretend you aren’t ogling your partner’s perfect ass every time he moves. Unfortunately, X-ray vision doesn’t come with an off switch and Nightwing doesn’t come with bad angles.

WARNING: 18+ SMUT

You’d been around the block with your fair share of awkward powers, but x-ray vision was the crown jewel in the “oh no” category, especially when it came to him.

Nightwing.

Dick Grayson.

The man was sculpted like some divine joke, and your traitorous eyes didn’t miss anything. It was bad enough that you could see every twitch of muscle under that skintight suit, but his ass? His perfect, crime-fighting, gravity-defying ass? It should’ve been illegal. You’d lost count of how many rooftop patrols had turned into silent, suffering thirst traps in your own head.

So you made a plan: avoid him. Act cool. Keep your eyes on literally anything else. Because if you didn’t, you were either going to combust or blurt something out that would make things very, very awkward.

The problem? Dick wasn’t stupid.

At first, he thought you were shy, then he thought maybe you were just distracted. But as the weeks passed and your banter went from warm and easy to clipped and professional, the gears in his head started turning. He’d been working himself up to ask you out, hell, he thought you’d been flirting back. Now? You barely looked at him.

❝ 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘 ❞ — 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐎𝐓 𝐱 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

PAIRING ➢ jack abbot x Paediatric nurse! male reader

SYNOPSIS ➢ Stuck in student debts from your nursing school had you reaching out to more drastic measures, which meant signing up to be a sugar baby to none other than the Doctor Jack Abbot. Of course, you have no idea you’re working at the same hospital and thus never expect to meet up. However, it all comes to a head when you’re called down to the ER and sees a very familiar man in a SWAT uniform.

CONTENT WARNING ➢ no use of y/n, YEARNING, fluff, angst, panic attack (probably very incorrect), reader is mentioned to have muscles, age gap, jack calls reader ‘kid’, slightly ooc Jack, hurt then comfort, sexual innuendos, flirting, sexual tension, bad descriptions of hospital stuff

WORD COUNT ➢ 10.7 k [request]

AUTHORS NOTE ➢ as you can see, I absolutely RAN away with this although it is not exactly like the request, because the way the story flowed just worked out differently than what had been requested, but I hope I did it justice anyhow. I don’t like the end so much, because at that point I just wanted to be done with it, but hope it’s up to your standards anyhow!

MASTERLIST, TAGLIST

FEMALE DNI !!!

Daddy - Jack Abbot X Male Reader

[A/N] Alright, so... this has a lot of smut and sex scenes, so be aware of that before reading. It is also the first time I write smut here, and there is no better character for it than Jack. As usual, reposting really helps my work :)

Word Count: 2.135.

Synopsis: Fucking your father's best friend was wild, but it was also the best sex of your life. What was meant to be a one-night thing turned into an addiction that needed to be fed daily, until your father, Robby, walked into your room and found Jack fingering you.

Warnings: smut, violence, age gap, explicit language, alcool consuption, threats.

Minors DNI!

Check the rest of my work (masterlist) here!

TWELVE: CH-00 - The Start

MALE READER x CHUU | ~3,100 WORDS | → CH-01

"What the fuck is happening?!"

The conference room went silent. Not quiet—silent, like someone had sucked all the sound out. Heejin's hand froze halfway to her mouth. Yeojin just stared at the HR rep like she was speaking another language. You watched the words "contract termination" hang in the air, impossible and real at the same time.

"Oppa, this can't be true, can it?" Yeojin's voice cracked on the first syllable, her eyes already red-rimmed.

"Holy shit, this can't be real," Heejin said, her voice tight with barely contained fury.

You'd seen this coming. From the moment you were hired as the personal manager for all twelve members, you knew this company was a shitshow. What kind of company operation assigns one person to handle twelve idols? But knowing it was coming didn't make it any easier.

And Chuu wasn't even here to hear it...

#loona smut #chuu #chuu smut #kpop smut #kpop gg #x male reader #loona #kim jiwoo #kpop gg smut #girl group smut #male insert #male reader #x you #x reader

Lessons and Rewards

Summary: You're struggling to keep up with the ED's continuous workflow. As a last resort, Dennis, your boyfriend, was assigned to help you. After continuous efforts, Dennis rewarded you for your improved performance in the ED.

Themes and Warning: Manhandling, Overstimulation, Bondage, Reader being called a ‘good boy’, Dennis being a freak, Top Dennis, Dom Dennis, Sub Male Reader, Bottom Male Reader, No use of Y/N, porn with a long ass plot because I like going crazy with words, Kinda dark-ish?, Proofread? No, there’s no proofreading in Ba Sing Se.

Notes: This is the first fic I’ve written in like… almost a decade now; Pardon the mess, The Pitt brought me out of retirement, one would say. Hopefully, I’ll regain the momentum of writing fics, depending on how this one goes. Word Count: 4631

18+ MDNI!

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In the midst of the chaos of blood and medical apparatus, you stood frozen, staring at your gloved hands covered with crimson.

The mention of your name cut through your muddled thoughts,

“What’s the next step?”

You turned your gaze to Dr. Robby, the person inquiring. The question was drowned out by diagnostic thoughts rushing through your mind, and none of them settled to be the chosen answer. You helplessly stared, while a silent tremble coursed through your limbs; mouth slightly agape, gasping for air like a mimed cry for help.

Dr. Robby observed with raised eyebrows, anticipating your next move, but time is of the essence, and hesitation is a doctor’s weakness. A disappointed sigh escaped him, and then he turned his attention to the task at hand, preparing to give out orders when-

“Morphine! I-Increase the morphine dosage, then we need to secure both legs-“

Your voice rang through the bustle, carried with a quivering tone at the end. You sprang into action, weaving through the busy medical hands, while handing out orders (With slight guidance from the observing attending). The medical staff in Trauma 1 witnessed the change, like a hidden switch had been flipped, from a deer caught in headlights to a near imitation of a seasoned conductor barking out straight-from-textbook procedures. Gone was the fear riddling your arms and legs, replaced with determination and steady grit.

“Vital’s stable, great job.”

The praise from your senior was muffled by your heavy breathing; the sudden influx of clarity exhausted you. You acknowledged the compliment with a nod before focusing on regulating your breathing.

“You got a sec?”

Dr. Robby, with a hand placed on your shoulder, nodded to the outside of the room. No longer sporting the medical gown, but instead a slight smile of—what you can tell—disappointment… again.

“…yeah, sure.”

As Dr. Robby left, you followed suit, head hung low, while grumbling self-pointed frustration.

Once in the hall, you felt yourself shrinking; hands flexing, then clenching; eyes wandering about, refusing to look at your senior attending—a pseudo-physical defense mechanism to the impending berating. And so, with a bloodied gown and gloves, you brace yourself for impact.

Arms crossed, he looked at you, almost mirroring the pity you had afflicted on yourself, then quickly masked it with a low-hanging shake of his head before you could notice.

“You froze… again. This is the 5th time this week-“

“Looklook! I’m sorry, I know- I promise I’ll be-“ The bubbled frustration and fear ingrained in your bones painted your pleas with self-pity. Hands flying and forming varied gestures as if to better visualize your defense, but your attempt was quickly halted.

“Kid, I don’t need apologies and promises, I need doctors that can do their jobs… I’m starting to think you’re not cut out for the ED.”

That last sentence caught you off guard; it rang in your head in a continuous loop, each word and syllable more enunciated than prior replays. You hadn’t noticed, but Dr. Robby had gone off to tend to other patients. You were left in the busy hallway of The Pitt in a bloodied gown and gloves. The message delivered loud and clear, a coldness crept up and slowly suffocated your body.

Defeated, you dragged yourself to the hub and plopped down on a nearby chair. The urge to rub your face with your hands almost consumed you when you realized that you were still wearing the nitrile gloves covered with the patient’s blood that you had almost killed. You bit down your tongue to prevent the rising agitation, your eyes darted around searching for any bins, which you found ironic. One minute, you knew the place like the back of your hand, then completely forgot where things ought to be in an instant. The thought elicited a scoff from you.

‘Great! Now, I can’t fucking remember where the damn trash bins are. Another simple task I fucked up this week.’

Eventually, your eyes landed on one. You marched over while you practically tore the gown and gloves off your person; With the self-directed anger near approaching its peak, you shoved the now-tattered medical garb into the garbage can; the loud snap of the lid you had shut caught the attention of passersby.

You returned to your seat, and for a moment, you sat hunched in volatile silence. In the eyes of strangers, you appeared exhausted, but those who knew you well saw the subtle eye twitches and the shallow breathing accompanied by your hands fiddling with the hem of your scrubs—a telltale sign of you reaching your boiling point.

“You look like shit, Tom Sawyer.”

A nonchalant comment tied with a nickname was thrown at you; you felt your eyes trail to your side, eyeing the perpetrator, Trinity Santos, her hair wound up in a bun with a bunch of stray strands framing her face, her attention fully dedicated to her digitally stacked charts before her, completely ignoring your piercing glare.

“Fuck off, Trin. I don’t need your shit right now.”

Venomous as a Caspian cobra, the retaliation left your lips instantly, punctuated with gravel through your teeth. You caught her reaction, eyes widened as her tethered attention to the computer screen completely broke, and fingers froze mid-sentence at the seething prompt you gave before she composed herself.

Immediately, regret entered the chaotic waltz of your emotions. Vision almost hazy, you tried to blink back the control over your own brewing internal storm. Your breath shifted from shallow to deep and irregular; whatever mountain’s peak your emotions were dragging you to, you were about to see the horizon of your absolute breakdown.

“…Are you okay?”

This time, your actual name was used. The question bore no snide nor jest; Trinity was actually genuinely asking, and if you were doubting her words, her expression accentuated her concern—her eyebrows furrowed, her voice in a hush, and her chair adjusted to be closer as she leaned slightly forward to somewhat examine your entire well-being.

You felt yourself swallow, your mind simultaneously formulating and destroying a response; coherence was not present in your vocabulary. In the sea of self-destructive thoughts, you understood that you were not okay, and her question was her offering help; you need help, you want help, only if you could fuCKING SAY-

BAM!

Just like that, your mental volcano erupted. The lawless battlefield in your mind had dropped a nuke; not a single thought, whether self-destructive or kind, had survived. Instead of remembering the sounds of bullets and bombs, all you heard was the clattering of the materials on the desk in front of you—the clicking of some keys of the keyboard, the wobble of the monitor, the chattering of pens and pencils in a pencil holder, and the faint screech of the desk itself. A moment of clarity washed over you, your eyes readjusted to your reality, and you quickly assessed the mess you had made. Your mind, like a camera shutter, quickly snapped vivid frames of your colleagues' concerned and shocked expressions—Javadi, King, McKay, hell, everyone at this point.

You felt yourself shrink again—tinier—and found a small solitude in your palms as you covered your face with your hands; the heat you once radiated turned blue. Smaller is what you felt as you leaned into your knees, your flurried out curses and apologies to everyone around you, but all were muffled as you sank deeper into your cocoon-like state. You wanted to sleep the day away; god, you can’t wait for this shift to be finally over. Better yet, you just wanted to disappear-

“Babe, are you okay?”

The aftershock of your meltdown completely withered away when you heard his voice. You remembered how soft it was, like the curls of his hair, yet had the duality of being commanding in moments of urgency; kindness was permanently latched like a keychain onto every sentence he uttered. He always knew what to do when the storm was drowning you. Just like now.

You felt his arm wrapped around you, his thumb rubbing small circles on your shoulder—the perfect key to help you unwind your coiled thoughts. His voice, next to your ear, recited a meditation to guide you through the storm. For a moment, you were still; from flickering lights into waning bulbs—the anger, destruction, regret, and self-pity slowly vanished; and finally, your breathing reached steadiness, you were no longer chasing or drowning; instead, you were in the arms of your comforting boyfriend.

Once calmed, you slowly sat up, fixing your posture. Your bleary eyes rousing, you looked down, noticing the wetness on your palm, while the other hand touched your cheek, feeling the same sensation; you hadn’t noticed you were crying. Then he carefully grabbed your hand, which led you to turn your attention to him.

Dennis Whitaker.

Many would say he looked tired, especially with his bangs stuck to the sweat on his forehead and the bags under his eyes, but to you, he always looked handsome, no matter what—the way he gently smiled at you with his blue eyes expressing emotions in such a picturesque way. You could spend the rest of the shift staring at his face, you thought. You can’t help but think that you were so lucky to have found a man like him.

“Yeah, I’m fine…”

The answer fluttered out whimsically.

Then his smile changed, from its gentle state to a broader and softer one. He airily chuckled as the corner of his eyes crinkled with joy from… something? Why is he chuckling? You can’t tell.

“You’re swooning.”

Oh. That explains it.

“And are you sure you’re fine? If not, we can talk about it now, if you want.“

“Oh! Nonono, I’m fine for now. We can talk about it after work, okay? We should probably get back to work.”

The interaction was sweet, almost too sweet. Trinity, who witnessed the entirety of it, made a gagging noise before returning to her charting hell. Time and place, you both thought. After a quick exchange of farewells, you and Dennis resumed working.

From afar, Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot were discussing handing off tasks to the night shift when they witnessed your scene.

“He’s got potential, but… everyone tried to teach him, or I don’t know; nothing worked.”

Robby knew you were struggling to keep up with The Pitt’s stressful work environment. He saw how incredible you were; you were a walking medical textbook, able to perform complex medical procedures perfectly, like how it was intended in medical textbooks. The problem was: You were carbon cracking under pressure; he couldn’t seem to find the proper motivator to turn you into a diamond.

“Ya’sure you tried everyone? What about Dr. Whitaker? He seems to… respond well to him.”

A cleverly laid innuendo by Dr. Abbot, with a matching light chuckle at the junior residents’ obvious chemistry. Dr. Robby paid no attention to his friend’s comment.

“Sorta avoided that, I don’t want to cause… interpersonal conflict in the workforce.”

The last thing the ED needed was a lovers’ quarrel.

“Well, you’re sorta out of options, so-“

Dr. Abbot didn’t seem to care; he thought the answer was obvious. He shrugged before he left the station, headed out to care for patients. All that was left was Dr. Robby facing an ultimatum. And for a second, he pondered—High risk and high reward, weighing out if the gamble was worth it. Eyes closed, and fingers tapped on the station desk, he rubbed a hand on his face before he pushed himself off the station. Headed out to prepare for the end of the shift. He had finally made a decision.

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“-That’s what I need you to do, Whitaker. And you… This might be your last chance.”

It was the day after when Dr. Robby shared his verdict; his gaze, almost hawk-like, alternated between yours and Dennis’ reaction. He expected delight or excitement from the two of you, but instead, he was met with hesitation and caution—he wasn’t expecting that.

You heeded the instructions given to you and Dennis, tilting your head slightly to the side as you memorized the news verbatim. All the while, Dennis, with his arms crossed, allowed himself to process the information, eyebrows arched and head nodding slowly in quiet conformity.

After a short while, you and Dennis exchanged a look, then mused out a simultaneous confirmation and acceptance of the new responsibility to your senior attending.

“That’s a bit… of an unorthodox method, but yeah, I- err, we can work with that. I promise- ohyeahnopromises- Sure, I’ll uhh… do my best, you won’t regret it.”

Your response, although sincere, followed your typical timid format of adding apologies and promises at the end. You barely squeaked out because you attempted to catch stray apologies and promises in your sentence.

To which Dr. Robby responded with a kind of meek thumbs-up as he stepped away, leaving the two of you bearing a joint weight.

As you both walked to check up on your patients, guilt simmered within you. You knew what reputation you held in the ED—the runt of The Pitt, a burden. You never wanted anyone to tutor you, especially your boyfriend. You figured you’d only be a distraction.

“Guess you’re stuck with me, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, really! Besides…”

You felt Dennis’ breath near—almost kissing—your ear, a fragile blanket of innocence with a glaring accent of insatiable lust.

“…I always enjoy ‘teaching’ you a lesson or two.”

Chills ran down your spine, hairs at your nape standing. You felt your body stutter for a minute before you fully turned to him. Flustered was framed on your face, expressed by the reddening of your cheeks—A sight that Dennis relished. You found yourself sputtering, internally scrambling to find a quip as an attempt to conceal your flustered state.

Dennis just stood there, all innocent with that signature Huckleberry smile. It took so little effort to put you in that state; he knew how much control he had over you—control you willingly gave him.

He stepped directly in front of you, and you found yourself shrinking like a mouse before a giant. You looked up, and your gaze met his. His eyes were soft, but actively restraining hunger; you saw a tiny smirk growing on his face, almost smug-like; his Adam’s apple bobbed—swallowing—like he was savoring the way you reacted to his voice. This image of Dennis is something you’re all too familiar with; you knew in his head he was brewing up a plan so devious and salacious. You pried your gaze off him, trying to focus on something else, but instead, you ended up glancing over Dennis’ stature—arms crossed, his farm-born biceps slightly bulging; his pecs, hidden in his grey shirt and scrubs, seemed more prominent. His frequent visits to Mrs. Miller’s farm have helped him build his physique beautifully.

“Here’s what I’m thinking: You’ll shadow me for a week or two. And for another week, you’ll do things on your own to see if you’ve improved or not. If things stay the same, we’ll try again, but if there’s improvement, I’ll... reward you. How does that sound?”

Dennis’ head tilted slightly downward, pupils dilated as he caught your gaze. The suggestion was presented charmingly, masterfully disguising his growing latent desire for you. He had thrown the hook into the sea; he’s waiting for you to take the bait.

You thoroughly pondered the possibilities, eyes closed and humming to yourself as if to aid your focus (though you can still feel Dennis’ eyes on you, almost heated); right now, you can’t afford to fuss over and complain about your choices. And why would you complain? Your boyfriend is offering to help you; you no longer need to worry about awkwardness, which you often encountered with your previous tutors. After careful consideration, you opened your eyes; you looked up to meet his.

“Sure, sounds great.”

Once you nodded in agreement, Dennis’ scheme had been set in motion; Oh, how he’ll enjoy breaking you.

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Your lessons with Dennis were pretty productive. The first few weeks were rough, but with his guidance, you excellently recovered. There were days when you found yourself drained or stuck, but Dennis just seemed to know what to do or say to keep you moving forward.

Your rapid heartbeat mimicked the loud and fast beeping of the medical equipment. Your body was tense, close to locking up. Your vision flickered between sheer focus and then to blurriness. You felt yourself drowning in your own indecisiveness again.

“Okay, that’s the first step. What’s next?”

Although lost in a boiling sea of thoughts, you heard Dennis’ voice, ever-so patient and calm. And everything just fell into place, a rush of air fills your lungs, controlled adrenaline forged your will and focus into glasses that perfectly guided your attention to the open patient before you. The trembling hands that were once yours were gone, replaced with steady and assured ones to match the booklet of medical procedures you cherished in your head. And equipped with both, you have successfully saved this patient’s life, and you have done it gracefully. Winded with adrenaline coursing through your veins, you moved on to the next patient, but this time, you were sporting a proud smile.

You strode around the ED with more assurance and this newfound quick wit. And as you cared for another patient, Trinity and Dennis watched you move with more pep in your step.

“What did you do to him, Huckleberry? I’ve never seen him like this.”

Though Trinity asked in a joking way, she couldn’t help but feel genuinely curious. Both arms on the desk, head lowered, awaiting the revelation of some secret to unlocking you.

“I… I don’t know, I helped him? I guess?”

This is a line of questioning Dennis often received after the gradual improvement of your performance, to which he responded with a sheepish grin and a shy rub of his nape—so humble.

He brushed aside the question with a shrug, but something glinted in his eye, so quick and unnoticeable to anyone. The events of that one night were playing on constant repeat in his mind, biting his lip on how delicious the memory is. If only they knew how you… Enjoyed your reward.

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You expected the ‘reward’ to be a dinner date or even a simple cuddle session on your bed.

You were not expecting this.

Hours had loomed by, and this scene had unfolded in your shared apartment.

Dennis lay back nonchalantly on your shared bed, clutching a chain attached to the collar you were wearing. You performed extremely well today, and Dennis thought that deserved recognition... and the sweetest of rewards.

Skin slapping and the clinks of a chain were heard throughout the bedroom. Scrub suits were scattered on the floor along with pillows and sheets.

"Mmm, such a good boy... a good boy for me."

A groan melts through Dennis' throat while tugging at the chain. He looked at you with heat and hunger—a deadly combination, you discovered. He licked his lips at the delicious scene.

Back arched and body sweating, you eagerly bounced on his thick cock; eyes dazed and mouth drooling as broken moans flurried out.

"Hnngggh...M'a good boy yesyesyes-"

The praise reignited fire in you; you grip Dennis' thighs tight. You pulled yourself up with trembling legs, leaving only the tip inside you before plunging.

You ground on Dennis' pelvis, burying the member deeper, your insides memorized every vein. You repeated the action like a drunken routine, a cock-drunk way of showing appreciation for the recognition.

Dennis' head sank back into the pillow, and a guttural sound rumbled from his chest.

"Mmgghmm..fuck"

Heat surged throughout his body; his groin was the focal point. His length enveloped by your warm walls, quivering at every beat for every compliment he gave to you. His other hand was gripping your hips tightly, nails digging into your already bruised skin.

Dennis sat up and grasped your love-marked neck. He leaned in, lips dragging by your ear,

"hhnngg...Look, babe..."

He craned your head to face the body mirror near your bed.

"So… so fuckin' hot.."

His other hand dropped the chain, then held your frame, bracing you while he pounded into you relentlessly.

"Y'like it when I... mmph fuck you senseless, huh?"

Dennis coos—almost teasing—caressing your cheek with his thumb.

You watched the imagery with distant and teary eyes, while mewling out sounds of pleasure. Sweat covered you from head to toe, bite marks and hickeys scattered around your body, your knees knelt, and your legs spread apart, giving a perfect view of your twitching cock leaking cum.

Your body jolting from every thrust and quivering now and then from overwhelming pleasure, each hit was deadly accurate, scoring perfect marks in putting you in such a broken state.

All the while, Dennis wore an expression of pride, sweat pooled down his face, and hair stuck to his forehead; He watched you with incredible insatiability, while a tinge of concentration was present as he focused on giving the best reward.

Dennis’ reflection stirred arousal so intoxicating within you, a fuel of never-ending passion for him. His gaze was piercing, like it could barely contain the blazing lust he had for you. He made sure his eyes never left yours when he dragged his tongue from the point where your shoulder and neck met to your left ear. He relished the way your body stuttered and the pathetic sound that left your throat. He groaned—almost predatory—from the way you reacted, his response rumbled from his chest, his thrusts turning more feral, more visceral. And again, you reacted so beautifully; each time he rammed into you, you rasped out an airy cry—a sound so symphonious to him.

Dennis threw you back on the bed and pressed your knees to your chest as he lined up his throbbing cock at your entrance.

"'love you so much, you're so good to me..."

Dennis thrusted in, length buried down to the hilt; then he continued his onslaught, his pace was rough and deep, ensuring the snap of his hips was genuine and full of affection. Each thrust sent your eyes rolling back into your skull, your hands weakly grasping Dennis' biceps and hair; your voice scratchy and tired from the plethora of sounds you had been making for hours on end.

You heaved and gasped, feeling the knot in your tummy beginning to unravel,

"denydenydenyc-cumming...! Cumcu-"

Your body twitched and shook tremendously as you choked out a series of whines and moans.

Dennis' movement began to stutter.

"'m gonna cum- mm'gonna cum too...!"

Dennis leaned down, capturing your mouth in a sloppy, heated kiss. His throbbing cock was buried deep as he flooded your insides with his load; his hips grinding and jerking, breathing heavily. Your eyes began to blur as you spurted out white ribbons; your choked-out cries of ecstasy muffled by his invading tongue.

Dennis rutted, a euphoric action to keep his spent deep within you, his hips rolling slowly—a weaker imitation of his earlier unrelenting libido. He left a trail of tiny kisses from your cheek to your temple.

"s'proud of you…"

Dennis murmured, voice locked in a haze as his fingers combed through your hair. Your dedication and patience led you to this position, and he admired you for that. The magnificent being before him was a gift he cherished—he cherished you.

You lay laxed before him, eyes unfocused on yonder, lips parted and twitching as if talking to air. Your limbs pulsed weakly, each minute movement accompanied by a dazed sound from you.

God, you looked beautiful, Dennis thought. You looked beautifully broken.

Dennis figured it’d be best to let you rest. He began to pull out when he felt your legs lightly tighten around his waist; his stare flickered from your legs to your face. You still looked out of it, but he got the hint.

He gave a teasing thrust, slow yet earnest, testing to see if he understood your cue.

“…more? You want more?”

His chest rose and fell, the heaving gaining momentum when his eyes raked over your sweat and tear-stained face, looking for confirmation. Your head moved a light dither. Were you trying to nod? But Dennis’ thoughts were interrupted when a breathy sound escaped you, a tiny mewl, a soft-pitched rattle of life and lust in your feeble body.

He tested again, but now with increased power. With each slow stride of his hips, he felt your legs tighten. Now and then, they faltered and dropped back on the mattress, but you managed to snake it back around him, securing your place. Each time his balls lightly tapped your cum-covered ass, your hands faintly clawed at the air. And each time he stayed still for a moment to catch his breath, you let out a raspy whine, a pitiful way to beg for him.

You’re an insatiable little slut, the thought rang clear and true in Dennis. The way you looked before him drove him mad, and the sounds you made… he wanted more. More. More.

He lifted your lower back off the cushioned mat underneath you. With his biceps strained and veins popping out, he angled himself to better feel you for every deep thrust, his legs trembling as well in cooperation. Sprightly and speedy, he wasn’t; instead, he plowed into you rough and hard. His grunts finding new gravel every time he inched deeper into a new territory within you.

Dennis underestimated your resilience; he thought he broke you, but you weren’t even close. He wants to test the limit of this resilience of yours, and right now, a flood of obscenities and unholiness rushed into his mind, although muffled by the ruined sounds you were making. He had found himself thinking of numerous new and creative ways he could break you.

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“Denny? Dennis? Hello? You there?”

Dennis’ eyes fluttered as the sound of snapping brought him back to the present. He looked at the source and found you, finger snapping and hand waving. A soft smile and furrowed eyebrows were worn by your face, your frame hugged by a grey long-sleeved turtleneck beneath your scrubs, hiding the mural of love marks he had greedily left all over you.

“Our patient’s family is here; they’re looking for us.”

Your tone was urgent and focused, but you have lost the tiny tremors you ended your sentences with.

“Oh, okay. Yeah, sure.”

Dennis grumbled, mostly to himself. His steamy thoughts and memories cut short, but still lingered. He composed himself; back straightened and demeanor clocked in for work.

Both of you headed out, walking next to each other.

“Is everything okay? You seemed distracted?”

“Just thought of something…”

“Oh? About?”

“You know, that one night.”

You stopped walking at the mere mention, and Dennis saw the heat pooling in your eyes.

“I-I’ve been thinking about it too…”

Your confession was quick and hushed. You closed the gap between the two of you, the bustle of the ED was gone, it felt like you both had entered a domain forged by your and Dennis’ quenchless desire for each other.

“Oh yeah? You want another lesson?”

The tease flew out of his mouth instantly, like he was anticipating your neediness. His steamy thoughts were no longer passive, but rather, ran amok. The brewing thirst and hunger in his eyes matched yours.

Your breath hitched; heat reignited and blossomed within you. You’re close to losing control, and he knows it. He loves it.

“Yes, please.”

And with that, you have sealed your fate.

⊰═════════════⊱☾⊰═════════════⊱☾⊰═════════════⊱

#dennis whitaker x m!reader #dennis whitaker x male reader #dennis whitaker x male!reader #dennis whitaker #male insert #the pitt #gay #mlm #bottom male reader #x bottom male reader

✧— 𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: Albert Wesker.

✧—𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: Hello, Keith here! This is my first ever story and fanfiction that I have posted online. I was heavily inspired by @lefteagleblizzard ever since I started to read his stories here. I would like to thank him and everyone reading this! I hope you enjoy!

✧— Approximately 1,000 words.

You worked at Umbrella Corporation, the pharmaceutical every college student dreamed of after getting their bachelor's degree in chemistry. However, it wasn't actually a pharmaceutical or any typical lab work. Once happy, twinkly-eyed college students stepped into the Umbrella Corporation, there was no way out.

Once they signed those papers, they thought they could become a better person. They wanted to make and find solutions for incurable diseases, research newly found diseases and virus threats all around the world. Those dreams immediately came crashing down once they signed their name on that paper, every single newly graduated student screamed and cried as they begged for mercy when they wanted out.

But you? Oh, no, no, no... (You're not like other boys).

You didn't fight back, you didn't even think about leaving the place. You were fascinated with Umbrella's gruesome work, so much that it made someone... turn their head.

It was none other than Albert Wesker, a man who you've never seen take off his sunglasses, even inside enclosed spaces. You found it weird—odd, even—but you minded your own business.

Albert would loom over you as you worked, watching as you conducted your research and glancing at you whenever he got the chance. It almost feels like you have a stalker. Albert was a very professional man—he would keep things to himself, which made it very hard for anyone to see through him. But you didn't really care about that, if there's anything creepy here—it's those experiments.

It wasn't really creepy for you, of course. If anything, you had fun injecting viruses and watching the veins of the patients pulse and throb underneath the thin layer of skin. You loved all the creations equally, they all hold a special place in your cold blooded heart.

Timestamp — September 27, 1998

You've been working for the Umbrella Corporation as a Virologist for quite some time now. You love your job, you love it so much you technically live in the lab by now.

You stare at your computer screen as you drink the last bit of your now cold, and empty black coffee. You swore you drank at least 2-3 times a day, and it still hasn't come to grab you by your ankles.

Sighing heavily, you grab a pen and start to jot down some notes you've found about your research on a virus you've been studying. Your glasses slip off your nose bridge as you shift around your seat, you hastily fix it before flipping the page of your almost filled notebook.

As you write down important notes about the virus, footsteps would be heard coming closer. You didn't bother to turn around or even glance behind you, if it was an infected, you would've grabbed a gun by now.

You can feel Wesker's burning eyes observe the back of your head.

"[Last name]... I have a job for you." Wesker announced, his head lowering slightly to look at you from where you're sitting at.

You fix your posture and the way you were sitting. The chair spins as you turn to face Wesker.

"What is it?" You croaked. You take off your anti-radiation glasses, placing them gently on your table.

Wesker steps closer to you, his hand moving from his side to cupping your jaw. He tilts your head up, shifting your head from left to right before speaking.

"You're a good boy, aren't you?" He started. You can feel his piercing eyes even through his sunglasses.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You raise an eyebrow, rather surprised by the question. Does Wesker have some sort of kink? Or was he trying to play with you? Sources were unknown.

Wesker breathes out of his nose, "I want you.. to retrieve the G-virus from Annette Birkin." He said as his hand traveled from your jaw to your cheek, feeling the coldness of your skin due to the air conditioning that's been turned on since the morning.

Your gaze flickers to his hand and back to him. "Can't you do it yourself?" You asked, slightly leaning into his gloved hand. "You and Doctor Birkin were.. allies, that's for sure."

You watch Wesker's lips turn into a fine line before speaking up once more, "Listen, [Last Name].. Annette sees me as a threat. Not only that, she's also an obstacle to my plans." He said as he slowly moved his index finger from your cheek to your neck. "And simply because your pretty face is all I need to get the G-virus. You're more than capable." His lips twitch to curve before it drops back down to his natural small frown.

You gasp as he wraps his fingers around your neck, squeezing it ever so slightly as if he's warning you.

"What's it for me?" You asked, raising your brow. You could at least have a vacation, or getting your hands on a new virus that Wesker found.

"You?" Wesker almost barked out a laugh, but he always stays professional. "I assume this will do." He murmured before leaning down to come closer to your face, he was only a few inches away. Your eyes dart down to his lips, leaning in slowly as your eyes flutter shut.

You feel pressure against your own lips as Wesker leaned in, his lips were slightly chapped compared to yours. Before you could wrap your arms around his neck to lock him into you, he pulls away.

Your eyes flutter open as your gaze shoots up to his face, he straightens himself before turning away. "That's it?" You asked, furrowing your brows.

Wesker looks behind his shoulder, "You'll get more when you deserve it." He answered, you caught a hint of mischief in his tone. He turns his head to face forward before leaving you alone in the lab.

You sighed heavily as you leaned against your chair, "Curse you, Wesker... you'll be the death of me." You muttered under your breath, but your words weren't laced with frustration or malice.

#male reader #gay #bottom male reader #albert wesker x male reader #albert wesker #resdient evil #umbrella corporation #male!reader #male insert #reader insert #gay mlm #mlm #albert wesker x reader

𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

❝ 𝑺𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚, 𝑰 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒔 ❞

𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩!𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐱 𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Part I | Part II

𝐌𝐞𝐤𝐢'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𖤐⭒๋࣭ !!!

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞!! 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐀𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐤𝐢'𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭!. 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 “ 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐯𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬 ”. 𝐈𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲. 𝐄𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!!

[𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞! 🍙]

𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - no mentions of y/n, male reader,bottom!male reader, blood, suggestive themes,eventual smut, denial of love, subtle cussing, lastly Gojo.

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 - > It all started as a joke. He thought vampires were just a dark fantasy—until sharp fangs, crimson hunger, and immortal desire proved otherwise.

His joke about dating vampires was meant to push love away… not lure a predator closer.

[M/n] decides there’s absolutely no way he’s going to Blackwood Library at midnight just because a dangerously attractive stranger with pale skin, white hair, gorgeously attractive blue eyes and a superiority complex told him to. Curiosity may be killing him, but at least it won’t kill him in a haunted library.

So he ignores the note, stays in his dorm, and spends the entire night pretending he’s not thinking about it.

Pretending he doesn’t keep glancing at the clock. Pretending he isn’t wondering what Gojo Satoru is doing while he’s deliberately not there.

By morning, [M/n] is fully prepared to laugh the whole thing off as an overdramatic encounter and move on with his life.

That plan lasts exactly until he walks into the campus café.

Because sitting in his usual seat by the window like he’s been there forever is Gojo fucking satoru.

Black coffee in hand. Long legs stretched out. Looking far too pleased with himself.

[M/n] stops dead.

Gojo glances up, catches his expression immediately, and smiles like this is the funniest thing he’s seen all week.

“Well,” he says smoothly, taking a slow sip of coffee, “good morning to you too.”

[M/n] stares. “You’re in my seat.”

Gojo hums, completely unbothered. “You’re the one who stood me up.”

His entire table goes silent.

Every. Single. Second.

[M/n] nearly chokes. “I did not stand you up.”

“Mm,” Gojo says, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Blackwood Library. Midnight. Ring any bells to you?”

“I was not going.”

“Yes,” Gojo replies, eyes glittering with amusement, “I noticed.” Then he leans forward slightly, voice dropping just enough to send something sharp and strange down [M/n]’s spine. “A little disappointing, honestly. I was beginning to think your standards were higher.”

“well? What makes you think I'll go there. In fact I don't even know you. Stranger danger isn't?” [M/n] spoke in a obvious reasons.

I mean let's be serious [M/n] could die there if he decided to go! He doesn't even know Gojo Satoru even if his the typical mysterious hot guy that doesn't make it better.

Gojo stared at [M/n] with those alluring blue eyes. Silently, as if Gojo look away [M/n] would fly away from him.

[M/n] stared back , confused. He blinked as he shrugged.

because genuinely, what the hell was wrong with this man?

“You are actually insane.”

Gojo Satoru, unfortunately, looked completely unbothered sitting in [M/n]’s usual café spot like he paid tuition here.

One long leg crossed over the other. Black coffee in hand. Looking way too comfortable for someone who was, quite literally, a menace before first period.

“And yet,” Gojo said, glancing up like this was the best part of his day, “you’re still talking to me.”

[M/n] dropped his bag onto the chair across from him with a sharp glare.

“I’m talking to you because you’re in my seat.”

Gojo looked around slowly, dramatically, before blinking back at him.

“Oh,” he said. “So this is territorial.”

“It is eight in the morning.”

“Mm. Defensive too.”

[M/n] narrowed his eyes.

God, he was annoying.

Not normal annoying either.

Specifically engineered to be insufferable.

“I didn't need to go, in fact it won't do me any good.” [M/n] said flatly, because clearly that needed to be established immediately.

Gojo took a slow sip of coffee.

“Yes,” he replied. “I noticed.”

The audacity.

“The fact that you actually waited—”

“Rude,” Gojo cut in, looking almost offended. “I had faith.”

“No, you had too much free time.”

A pause.

Then, somehow—

Gojo laughed.

Not a fake laugh. Not a smug one.

An actual laugh, soft and low and stupidly nice enough to annoy [M/n] even more.

“See?” Gojo said. “This is why I like you.”

[M/n] blinked.

“Excuse me?”

Gojo rested his chin against his hand like he had all the time in the world.

“You’re funny.”

“I’m rejecting that statement.”

“Can’t. Already decided.”

[M/n] stared at him for a long second before deadpanning:

“You don’t even know me.”

Gojo’s smile turned sharp around the edges. Playful. Like he knew something [M/n] didn’t.

“I know,” he said lightly, “you reject people by saying you only date vampires.”

…....

Okay.

That was actually humiliating. But it worked many times What makes this different?

[M/n] crossed his arms immediately.

“For your information, it works.”

“I’m sure it does.”

“It does.”

“Mm.”

“Why do you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re judging me.”

Gojo tilted his head.

“I’m not judging,” he said, far too amused. “I’m fascinated.”

[M/n] hated. Hated. The way that word landed.

Mostly because Gojo said it so casually,attractivedly. It annoys the hell out of [M/n].

Like [M/n] was something worth studying.

Which was ridiculous. Obviously.

“You’re weird,” [M/n] muttered.

“Maybe,” Gojo said easily.

Then he leaned forward slightly towards [M/n] from where he was standing. just enough to be annoying, invasive, and impossible to ignore.

“But you were thinking about it.”

[M/n] froze.

“…Of what?”

“Blackwood Library,” Gojo said, smile widening. “You didn’t go… but you thought about it.”

Silence.

The worst part?

The absolute worst, most offensive part?

He had.

And judging by the look on Gojo’s face,

He knew.

“Oh my God,” [M/n] said flatly. “I hate you.”

“No,” Gojo replied smoothly, standing from the chair like this conversation hadn’t just taken ten years off [M/n]’s life. “You’re intrigued.”

“I’m concerned.”

“Close enough.”

Before [M/n] could even process that response, Gojo pulled a folded note from his pocket and placed it beside the coffee [M/n] hadn’t even gotten to drink yet.

[M/n] looked down at it like it personally insulted him.

“Absolutely not.”

“You haven’t read it.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Coward.”

[M/n] immediately looked up.

“…You are so annoying.”

Gojo grinned bright, unfair, dangerous.

“And yet?”

[M/n] said nothing.

Because unfortunately… there was no comeback for that.

“Tonight,” Gojo said, already heading for the door like he hadn’t just ruined [M/n]’s entire morning, “ten o’clock.”

“You cannot keep doing this weird cryptic nonsense!”

Gojo didn’t even stop walking.

“Sure I can.”

Then, with one final glance over his shoulder

“Try not to disappoint me twice, sweetheart.”.

Let me love you to death.

Yandere! Sentinel Prime x Gn! Prime! Reader (Yandere 🩸/ Angst 💔)

(1/2) - Next

Tw: Death of the 13 Primes + Sentinel is your own warning + Depression + Suicidal thoughts - Suicide attempts by the reader + Isolation + Obsessive and possessive Sentinel.

Length: 5.6k