⋆˚࿔ hi! I go by im on most things so that's what I'll be here :3
⋆˚࿔ I love the pitt, miraculous ladybug, marauders, stranger things, and date everything plus sooo many more. I really put the multi into multi-fandom!
⋆˚࿔ I have my ao3 account linked at the bottom of this post if anyone's interested!
⋆˚࿔ Normal DNI really. Homophobia, transphobia, ableism and the like is a huge no. Fuck trump, fuck ice, fuck ai
⋆˚࿔ Pretty sure my asks are open but I'm not a super fast writer so if any requests I'll get to them. Also I love writing scenes or oneshots so please don't be shy to ask!
Coaxed to a fancy blood-sucking vampire speakeasy by your best friend, you end up in between two guys who are instantly obsessed. With your blood, and with you. They make it very clear they want to see you again.
Vampires!poly!wolfstar x fem!reader, 2.8k words
"Okay, look, just... hear me out."
Lisa has that terrifying glint in her eye. The one that means you're about to be coaxed into something that sounds objectively insane.
"It's not a fetish thing," she starts, "it's, like, a service. Super upscale. Very discreet."
"The service is letting a vampire drink your blood," you say flatly. "Lisa, that's a fetish thing."
"It is not! Ugh, you're so vanilla. It's a transaction. They get dinner, we get..." She does a little full-body shiver of pure bliss. "You know that feeling when you're so stressed your shoulders are in your ears, and then you get, like, the world's best massage? Times a thousand. It's a full-system reset. And it feels... honestly, it feels amazing."
You take a long sip of your drink, rolling your shoulders. The idea makes your skin prickle, and not entirely in a bad way.
"It's safe," she presses, seeing your hesitation. "It's totally mainstream now. It's called The Velvet Room. Sounds fancy, right? My guy is lovely. Very sweet. Says he's been doing this since the Great Depression, can you imagine?"
“You’re letting a Depression-era vampire drink your blood,” you reply, putting your glass down with a clink. “What’s next? Getting your hair done by a ghost from the Victorian era?"
Lisa rolls her eyes so hard you worry for her optic nerves. “He’s not from the Depression, he… lived through it. There’s a difference. And he’s very modern. He has an iPad.”
“An iPad? Wow, okay, a real techie. I should go to him for electronics advice, huh? I wonder what he uses it for..."
“He uses it for solitaire!” she defends, then frowns. "But that's not the point! The point is he’s professional. And discreet. You won’t even see a fang if you don’t want to.”
“Professional,” you repeat slowly. “In a place called The Velvet Room."
“It’s exclusive! They have complimentary towels that are insanely soft. Like, a cloud soft. I stole some last week. But I guess it's not really stealing if they're complimentary, right?"
“I don’t want a soft towel, Lisa! I want to not be someone’s Capri Sun!”
“You’re not a Capri Sun! You’re a… a fine vintage! A delicate, artisanal…” She gestures vaguely at you. “…soup.”
You stare at her. “You just compared my lifeblood to a soup.”
"A good soup! Something you'd pay a proper forty dollars for!" She slumps back, defeated. "Look. You're wound up so tight, your eye bags are insanely dark, and you look exhausted."
"Wow, thanks for the compliment," you deadpan. "You're so sweet, Lis."
"I'm being honest! You look like you haven't slept in a week." She leans in, voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Just come with me. Sit in the fancy chair. Drink the complimentary sparkling water that probably costs more than our electric bill. If you get the ick, we bail. No hard feelings. But if you don’t…”
She gives you a look. "You’ll finally understand why I’ve been so zen since April. I haven’t bitten a single nail.”
You glance at her hands. Her nails are, indeed, miraculously intact and even painted a cheerful coral. Probably the most compelling evidence of the night.
“The second I feel a single… slurp… noise,” you say, holding up a finger. "We're out. We're getting cheesecake, and you're never mentioning this ever again."
Lisa's face brightens. "Yay! You're gonna love it, I promise."
"I have my doubts." You sigh, resting your chin in your hand, swirling your drink with the other. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to be soup.”
“The best soup,” she corrects cheerfully, already flagging down the waiter for the check. “A bisque, maybe. You have bisque energy.”
The Velvet Room is... not what you expected. It's like a kind of speakeasy, really.
Lisa leads you down a grimy alley, past overflowing dumpsters, to a nondescript black door. There's no sign, just a small, velvet-lined slot at eye level. She leans close.
"The moon is a lonely hunter," she whispers, clearly delighted with the phrase. You roll your eyes at her enthusiasm.
The door clicks and swings inward.
The ceiling is high and lost in shadow. The floor is scuffed wood, covered here and there with deeply coloured rugs that look like they’ve seen a century of parties. The walls are lined with shelves crammed full of books and records and strange little trinkets that you'd explore if given the time.
Low, squashy sofas and armchairs are arranged in little groups, lit by the soft glow of table lamps and hanging chandeliers. And there's jazz, a band playing in real time.
The place is busy. Not packed, but comfortably full. People are tucked into corners, talking quietly, laughing softly. You see a woman with red streaks in her hair offering her wrist to a vampire in a sweater.
A guy in paint-splattered jeans is leaned back in a chair, eyes closed in bliss while a vampire, who looks like she stepped out of a 1940s film, murmurs something near his ear.
"See?" Lisa squeezes your arm. "Totally upscale."
Before you can answer, a man rises from a deep armchair by the crackling fireplace. He’s tall, with a kind, tired face and a neatly trimmed beard.
This, you assume, is Lisa’s Depression-era solitaire enthusiast.
“Lisa,” he says, his voice warm and gravelly. “You made it.”
“Franklin!” Lisa chirps, darting over to give him a quick hug. “This is my friend. The one I was telling you about.”
Franklin turns his gaze on you. “A pleasure,” he says, extending a hand. You take it. “Any friend of Lisa’s is welcome here. We’ll take good care of you.”
He’s nice. He’s perfectly nice. But your attention is already snagged, pulled away like a compass needle finding north.
From a chaise lounge tucked in a darker booth near the band, two men are watching you.
One is all sharp edges and lazy grace, dressed in black, his hair a dark wave falling to his shoulders. He’s staring with a frank, interested intensity, a slight smile playing on his lips.
The other is softer. Curly, sandy hair, a worn-in jacket over a simple shirt. He looks like he’d be more at home in a library, but his eyes—a warm, amber colour—are fixed on you with a focus that makes your skin prickle.
They are, without a doubt, the most beautiful people you have ever seen.
“Your friends?” you whisper to Lisa, nodding subtly towards them.
Lisa follows your gaze and her eyes go wide. “Oh. Them. No. That’s… that’s Remus and Sirius. They’re kind of… legendary around here. They only ever feed together. And they’re really picky.” She lowers her voice further. “It's okay. Franklin’s great, I promise. Very sweet. Safer. I don't know much about those two.”
But it's too late. The one in all black stands up first, moving with a liquid sort of grace. He says something, his voice too low to catch, directly into the other man's hair.
The taller one—the one with the soft curls and the kind eyes—turns his head, listening, then his gaze snaps back to you. He nods, just once, and stands up.
Before you can blink, even, they're across the room, having come to a stop right in front of your little group. They don’t even look at Franklin.
“She’s with us,” the dark-haired one says, his voice low and smooth. His eyes never leave your face.
“Yes," the taller one murmurs, his tone softer but just as firm. “This one’s ours.”
Franklin lets out a small, resigned sigh. He gives your shoulder a gentle, almost apologetic pat. “Seems you’re in for a different sort of evening, my dear." He gives Lisa a look. “Shall we?”
Lisa looks utterly gobsmacked. “Uh. Yeah. Sure.” She gives you a wide-eyed, what-is-happening stare before letting Franklin lead her away to his cozy chair by the fire.
And then it’s just you and them.
“I'm Sirius,” the dark one says, finally introducing himself. He nods towards his companion. “And that’s Remus.”
“Hi, angel," Remus says softly, gesturing for your hand. You let him take it, watch in fascination as he presses a kiss to the back of your palm. He hands your hand over with entirely gentle care over to Sirius, who mimics the action, smiling against your knuckles.
“You were right, Pads,” Remus murmurs, hazel eyes tracing over your face. “She’s perfect.”
“I'm always right,” Sirius murmurs, lacing his fingers with the hand you'd extended to them, coaxing you towards their secluded booth towards the back of the room.
Remus sits first, settling back into the corner with an easy sigh. Then he looks up at you, pats his thighs. “Here, sweetheart. Best seat in the house.”
Your brain stutters. “On… on your lap?”
“Unless you’d rather sit on mine, baby,” Sirius murmurs easily, sliding onto the chaise beside Remus, his movements fluid. “But he’s comfier. And he gives better cuddles.”
“Sirius,” Remus chides, but he’s still looking at you, his expression open and patient. “Only if you’re comfortable. We won’t take a drop otherwise.”
Something in his soft, gentle tone makes the decision for you. Feeling surreal, you move forward and awkwardly perch on his thighs. His arm comes around your waist, guiding you to lean back against his chest.
“There,” Remus murmurs into your hair, his voice a soothing vibration against your back. “That’s it. Just relax.”
Sirius is immediately there, close. He takes your hand, his fingers cool as they find the frantic pulse in your wrist.
He lets out a soft, sympathetic tut. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re all wound up, aren’t you? Let’s fix that.”
You feel Remus’s nose gently nuzzle the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, pushing your hair aside with a tenderness that feels more intimate than any kiss you’ve ever had. “Ready, love?” he asks, his voice a low murmur right by your ear.
"Mhm." You feel like you're floating.
Sirius’s lips curve into a smile against the inside of your wrist. “Good girl,” he whispers. “You'll tell us anything you need.” It's a statement, not a suggestion. You nod anyway.
You feel Remus’s lips press softly against your skin, then a sharp, clean pinch that dissolves instantly into a warm, pulling feeling. At the same time, Sirius’s mouth finds your wrist—a kiss, then the same precise sting, melting into that same bone-deep, golden warmth.
The effect is... woah. You totally get why Lisa has been so zen recently. The constant, buzzing static in your brain fizzles out. The weight on your shoulders dissolves. A sigh slips from your lips, and your head lolls back against Remus’s shoulder.
“That’s it, love,” Remus coaxes against the soft skin of your neck. “Let it all go. We’ve got you.”
You float. The gentle tug at your neck and wrist is rhythmic, soothing. The jazz music wraps around you. You faintly hear Sirius makes a soft, humming sound of pleasure against your skin.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “So good, baby.”
You are held, completely, between them. Remus’s steady strength at your back, Sirius’s focused attention on your hand. You're putty in their hands, being moulded to their whims, being shaped to their wishes. Time becomes a soft, shapeless thing.
You are, for the first time in living memory, completely quiet inside.
“Never,” Remus murmurs, his lips moving against your throat, the words vibrating through you. “Never tasted anything like you, angel. Like honey and sunlight.”
You feel Sirius’s slow, deliberate swallow against your wrist. He lets out a shaky breath. “So good.”
You make a soft, incoherent sound of acknowledgment, your head a heavy, blissful weight on Remus’s shoulder. You are completely, utterly droopy against them. Your limbs are loose. If they weren’t holding you, you’d slide right off the chaise into a contented puddle on the rug, and you're not sure you'd entirely mind.
You feel the gentle draws begin to slow, becoming softer, more languid. Savouring. They’re drawing it out, reluctant to let the moment end.
You feel two soft, cooling licks—a faint, soothing sting—sealing the tiny wounds. A final, lingering kiss from Remus at your neck, as if he can’t quite bear to let go of the spot.
Sirius turns your hand, his grip infinitely gentle, and presses a line of soft kisses from your wrist to the tips of your fingers. “Thank you, baby,” he says softly.
For a long moment, they just hold you, letting you float in the aftermath.
Remus rocks you gently. Sirius strokes your palm with his thumb.
You blink your eyes open. You don't even remember when you'd closed them. The world's fuzzy at the edges, like how it gets when you're drunk, only better, 'cos you're not nauseous now.
“Welcome back, sweetheart,” Sirius says softly. He’s looking at you like you’ve hung the moon.
Remus nudges your hair with his nose. “How do you feel, angel?”
It takes a monumental effort to form words. Your tongue feels thick and lazy. "Like jelly," you mumble, words slurring just a little. "The good kind," you add in reassurance. They probably don't need it. They probably know their effect on you.
Sirius lets out a delighted, choked laugh.
“Jelly,” Remus repeats, his tone rich with amusement. “I’ll take that.”
You try to nod, but your head just lolls to the side, coming to rest against Remus’s collarbone. You’re practically melting off his lap, held in place only by the secure band of his arm. You make a half-hearted attempt to sit up straighter, but your muscles just won’t cooperate.
“Oh, look at her,” Sirius coos, his voice dripping with fondness. He reaches out and brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead. “Absolutely boneless. You did so well, sweetheart. We turned you into jelly, huh?”
“Sirius, don’t tease,” Remus murmurs, but he’s pressing a smiling kiss into your hair. “Here, love, let’s get some water in you.”
He gestures to someone above your head, and almost instantly, a glass of water appears on the low table beside you.
Sirius picks it up and holds the rim to your lips. “Come on, baby. Small sips. Just for us.”
You obey, mainly because it’s easier than not obeying, and partly because you want to hear their praise again. You manage a few swallows before turning your head away with a soft, protesting noise, nuzzling instinctively into the warmth of Remus’s neck.
“Alright, alright,” Remus soothes, chuckling. “That’s enough for now.”
You’re drifting again, lulled by the steady beat of Remus’s heart (do vampires have heartbeats? This one seems to) and the gentle stroke of Sirius’s thumb over your knuckles.
“So,” Sirius says after a moment, his voice unusually careful. “We have a bit of a problem, Moony.”
“What’s that?” Remus asks, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm.
“Well, we’ve found the perfect girl. And now we have to let her go walk out into the world, all wobbly and unsupervised. Seems irresponsible.”
A slow realisation curls through your jelly-like insides. They don’t want you to leave.
It makes you feel warm.
Remus hums in agreement, his chin resting on top of your head. “It does seem a shame. We’ve only just gotten her properly calibrated.”
You manage to peel your eyes open. “Calibrated?” you mumble.
“Mhm,” Sirius says, leaning in close. His grey eyes are soft and serious as he tucks a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to his liking, eyes softening when you go lax under his touch. “To us, sweetheart. You fit just right. We’d… we’d really like to do this again. If you want to.”
“We’d like to see you again, angel,” Remus adds, his voice a gentle rumble beneath your ear. “Properly. Not just here. Maybe for coffee, or... we could take you out to dinner.”
The offer hangs for a second. It’s crazy. You've just met them. They just drank your blood. But...
A slow, drowsy smile spreads across your face. You don’t have the energy for anything more. “M’gonna need a nap first,” you whisper. “A really long one.”
Sirius’s answering smile is brilliant. “We can work with that.” He tucks a card into the pocket of your jeans, his fingers lingering for just a second. “Our number. Text us when you wake up. Or don’t, if you don't want to. But we really hope you do.”
Remus helps you sit up, his hands steadying you as the world tilts a little. “Can you stand, love?”
With their help, you manage to get to your feet, though you sway like a sapling in a breeze, instantly leaning into Sirius’s offered side. They walk you back to where Lisa is sipping tea, looking thoroughly de-stressed.
“All in one piece?” Lisa asks, eyes wide.
“Better than,” Sirius says, his pride unmistakable. “She’s flawless.”
You give Lisa a wobbly, blissed-out thumbs up.
As you're guided towards the door, Remus leans down, his lips brushing your ear one last time. “Sleep well, angel. Dream of us.”
i don’t usually post about marauders like ever but i read this fic on ao3 and apparently i didn’t bookmark it!!! so now i need to find it again obviously
basically it was like wolfstar but they were travelling europe and they stayed with regulus in france, and like peter lived in Berlin and obviously there was more but i don’t remember >w<
congratulations!!!! could i request trinity santos x reader for 🕯️🌱🍯 ? hhonestly any plot i just love me some enemies to lovers hehe
ty for the request my love, i feel like i'm never really good at writing enemies to lovers so i hope this is okay!! 18+mdni cw nsfw under the cut, fingering + oral (reader receiving), them being mean to each other <3 0.7k words
1.5k follower fairy garden party celebration ⋆˚ʚɞ you're invited!
Peds nursing isn't for the faint of heart, especially not since your main float is to the emergency room. Nurses on the whole already get the short end of the stick, but spending all day with crying kids, stressed parents and all of the bullshit you have to deal with in the ER is enough to have you crying at the end of your double shift.
Trinity Santos is enough to have you ripping your hair out from frustration.
Dr Santos is the main reason you don't like floating to the ED. Knowing she'll be there, knowing she'll mostly be around peds or the cases with kids, it's something you absolutely dread about making your way downstairs each time you're asked to cover a shift.
You get enough shit from the parents, you don't need it from a cocky doctor who thinks she's better than you.
Fuck, if she won't make a good surgeon once she's done with her residency though.
Her hands are firm and steady as she rubs you over your underwear, kneeling on the floor in the backseat of her car. You're exhausted, irritable, snappy after a long day of being treated like shit. You'd had a lot of tough cases in the afternoon, and after having to watch a mom break down over her daughter's diagnosis the absolute last thing you'd wanted was to go over to the nurse's station and get ribbed by Dr Santos.
Trinity's mouthing at your spread thighs, your scrub pants laying discarded on the car floor by her side, looking up at you like she's about to start talking again. You want nothing less than for her to shut her mouth.
"Fuck, you're so sweet now, huh?" Your body gives a full shiver as she presses a kiss to your soaked panties. "Were trying to be so mean all day, weren't you?" She licks a stripe up the fabric. "But you just can't keep it up, can you?"
"Sh-shut up," you shiver, breathless. "Stop... fucking talking."
Your hands tangle in her dark hair, tugging a little harsher than you mean to. Trinity whines directly into your core and it sends sparks down your thighs.
She's properly making out with your centre over your panties, your thighs slick from her spit and your own juices. She mumbles something against your pussy, trying to get ahold of your clit through the increasingly sheer fabric.
"What?" You groan. "Can't shut up for five fucking minutes?" You pull her away from your cunt, guiding her head with your hand in her hair.
"Lift your hips," her pupils are blown, looking up at you reverently. "Need to taste you properly."
She doesn't have to ask you twice, you lifting your hips up enough for her to be able to pull your ruined underwear down your legs. Your ass has barely hit the seat again before she's pressing sloppy kisses back to your core.
"Taste so good," Trinity purs. "So fucking sweet for such a snappy girl. You just needed someone to make you cum, didn't you?"
You whine, her fingers circling your entrance as one of her thumbs brushes your clit. "You haven't made me cum yet, Santos," your breath hitches.
"Yet," she sucks your clit into her mouth. "Give me five minutes, babe. I'll get you to relax."
You tug on her hair again. "What part of stop talking don't you understand?" Two of her fingers slip inside you and your eyes roll back in your head. Trinity uses her spare hand to drag you closer to her mouth by the thigh.
Trinity hums against your clit and finally gets the noise out of you that she wants because she curves her fingers, clearly spurred on. "That's it," she says. "Just wanna make you feel good. Is that okay?"
Your grip on her hair is more akin to affectionate as you tug on it again.
Her goal is to get you off at least twice in the back of her car, then if you can stand to stay in her presence long enough for her to drive you back to her place to get you into her bed.
All she has to do is avoid pissing you off for the next couple of hours and she should be fine. Maybe easier said than done, knowing your temperament when it comes to her. Plus, Trinity would be lying if she tried to say that she didn't enjoy riling you up; she thinks you might enjoy it more than you're willing to admit.
PSA to fic readers, it is so hard to freak a fic writer out with your comments. we are just as crazy about the fic as you are.
tell me you love it. tell me it made you slam your laptop shut. tell me you brought it up at your college lecture about kink. key smash in all caps. quote the passage that made you think. i promise, we’ll love it.
we spend hours thinking about it, writing it, editing it. there is no such thing as over enthusiasm when you’re talking about our fics to us. we are sooooo weird about them, i assure you. you are just matching my freak. the freak bar is already set so high. feel no anxiety about enjoying something and letting the creator know.
"Please just tell me what to do." Dennis sat shaky on the floor between Robby's legs. His hair was soft and silky between Robby's fingers and his pupils were the size of dinner plates. The boy was a fucking vision. "I-- I don't know how to do any of this. I just want you to keep giving me orders. Please."
Dennis had been easy, ultimately. Not that Robby had been trying. Ok-- maybe he was trying a little. Really, he'd been trying hard to not try at all. Dennis was just so pliant and so sweet. So happy to chat outside after a shift. So eager to follow Robby home for dinner. So sweet to come over again and again for weekly meals. The boy keened at so much as a hand on the shoulder, much less a "Good. Just like that. Nice job, Whitaker."
Dennis had been easy the moment he stepped into Robby's ED.
But it seems like both of them had their fill of being good and proper and having "appropriate boundaries for a resident and attending" because now Dennis was begging Robby to use him on his dining room floor and Robby couldn't even pretend he was going to stop himself.
"You want to be told what to do?" Robby leaned back into his chair and pressed a thumb into Whitaker's pulse point, feeling the sway of the boy's neck as he gulped.
"God, yes." The answer came out fast and desperate, betraying any sense that Dennis wasn't getting in over his head.
"You want to be used?"
"Please."
"Ah, fuck. You think I'm gonna be nice with you? Gentle? You don't even know what you're asking for." Robby should at least say it-- name it. The way he leaned into his hands, responded to every ounce of touch, he'd let Robby do anything to him. That's a bad kind of power for a guy who's basically been taking every excuse to grope his intern at work.
"Teach me then." Robby's eyebrows shot up at the sudden edge in Dennis' voice. Bold? No, not bold. Bratty. Cute. "Isn't that your job?"
The floor under them began to shift, the whole house tilting on its axis.
"Oh, Whitaker." Robby's voice picked up a gravely condescension that cut straight through Dennis. It made him feel sliced open, raw. The man moved a hand from Dennis' neck to his hair in a painless, firm grip. "I'll tell you what. You want to be used? You want to get on my floor and beg for it like a dog? Fine by me." His grip tightened and Dennis let out a moan like it was ripped out of him. Robby moved close to the boy's ear, whispering now. "But you're gonna get what you get and I don't want to hear any complaining."
"Ah- ah, fuck. Robby-" Fuck, the kid's eyes were already glassy.
"That's the deal. Either say yes or pick yourself up off of the floor and go home. We'll pretend this never happened." As if.
"I want it." Dennis was gasping. He thought 'dizzy with lust' was an expression but if Robby wasn't holding his hair, he might topple over. "I can take it. I don't know how- uh. Please. Just let me prove it." Dennis bit his lip before bringing his hand up to Robby's thigh, hoping it could convey all the things he couldn't. I want you so much; it's been driving me crazy. No one's ever made me feel like this before. I don't want to think. I don't want to make any decisions. I want to you be yours. Please just grab me by my fucking neck again and show me what to do.
"Ok." Robby's mouth was set into a thin line. He was hoping it came off as stern but really he was trying not to moan at intimacy of that touch.
With millions of words and millions of lifetimes, Robby could not explain the thought process of what he did next. His brain was fried. The most beautiful, sweet boy in the world wanted him enough to be on his hands and knees begging for 'whatever Robby wanted.' That kind of choice paralysis could kill a man.
He pulled Whitaker further between his legs, pressing Dennis' face against his bulge.
"Oh thank you thankyou thankyou." The fabric was rough on his face. The thickness of the zipper pushed against his cheek. It was everything Dennis wanted. The heat of it-- the smell. It left his head cloudy and thick. His whole world distilled down to the raw scent of musk and the feeling of denim on his lips. Then, Robby ground down into his face and Dennis almost came in his pants.
"Oh! Ohmygod--"
"Shh. Just take it."
Dennis felt fucking filthy. He felt cheap. His attending was getting off on his face like Dennis wasn't even good as a hole. Tears welled up in his eyes at the sheer pleasure of being useful. Eventually, his head got with the program and he started mouthing at the fabric as it rolled against his face.
"Fuckkkk. That's a good boy. Letting me use you- ah- like a whore. So fucking good-- so easy. You wanna prove you can have it?"
Dennis didn't respond. He was too far gone, too into it to form words. Didn't matter. Robby pushed his boot between Dennis' legs hard and mean. Dennis groaned-- or maybe screamed. It was like every inappropriate fantasy he'd ever had about the older man were folding in on themselves, creating this unholy display on the hardwood beneath him.
"Don't pretend to have dignity now, kid. Show me just how bad you want it." Robby was right-- fuck-- he was always right. Dennis couldn't think about preserving his grace for a second. Robby's leg was firm and the thick laces felt so good through Dennis' pants. The pace was awkward, clunky. Dennis struggled to get leverage on the floor; his legs were falling asleep from kneeling. It made the whole things look even more debauched and desperate than it had any right to be. He was using every ounce of control-- every muscle in his body-- to ride his attendings boot with nothing more to get off on than the smell of his crotch. This was heaven. Fuck seminary school. This was what heaven was like.
Heat was building up in his gut faster than he thought possible. Dennis' hands started scrambling for a place to ground himself, finding the hairy chest of the man above him. His fingers landed on the warm metal of the Magen David hidden underneath Robby's shirt and Dennis knew that he'd give up almost anything to stay right here.
He moaned into Robby and Robby chased the vibration of it, creating a hedonistic feedback loop. He prayed Dennis was too distracted to notice how hard he was trying to hold out. He was already sleeping with his intern-- he couldn't finish first, let alone come in his pants. Pulling tighter on Dennis' hair, he ground his boot up, hoping it'd speed up the process.
"Come on, baby. Make yourself feel good don't-- hold back now. Show me how good you are. Be my good boy; you've earned it."
The words rocketed through Dennis so fast that it felt like broke the sound barrier. The shockwave tore through him before he could even see what had happened. Only left with an oversensitive cock pressing uncomfortably into damp boxers.
He thinks maybe he was moaning or begging but he's not sure. All he knows is that large, rough hands are petting his hair. Moving up and down to the nape of his neck, making him whole. Pulled apart at the seams and now being knit back together again. Robby let him stay like that for a while. Spent and fragile, right where Robby could keep him safe. Some warm, fucked up feeling in his chest bubbled up to his throat where he began to choke on it. Deep breaths. Robby had time to think about that later. He didn't want to be anywhere else right now.
Slowly, Dennis came back to reality. Stirring slowly until Robby thought he could-- mostly-- hold himself up.
"Ok, you earned it. Up." Robby slapped his hands on his knees and got up.
"What?" Dennis slurred.
"Bedroom, Whitaker. Now." When Dennis' still didn't respond, Robby looked down at the boy on the floor. Panting and breathless, he was leaning back on his hands-- the wet spot of his ruined jeans on display. As the oxygen flowed back to his brain enough for him to process the words, his expression shifted from confused to excited until a lopsided grin split across his face.
I hc that robby accidentally outs his and dennis's relationship one busy morning on shift when dennis had brought him a patient's chart and had questions about it. they're at the nurses hub and robby, in a rush, leans over and looks and then answers dennis's query quickly.
so far so good. however, he's not thinking clearly. instead of a "good job, whitaker" and a fistbump, he instinctively goes "good boy, denny", and as he turns away, gives his boyfriend a firm smack to the ass.
he doesn't realise what he's done but dennis, red as a tomato, absolutely does. princess, perlah and dana were also all stood three feet away and were now gaping in shock. so much for not having to tell HR.
you know what is so funny about this picture? Both of these bitches are going THROUGH IT one of them is actively suicidal and the other has a scalpel in her pocket. and yet they stay silly.
cw. balcony sex, semi-public sex, jack and reader had sex already that night, fem! reader, unprotected sex, established relationship, fluffy sex, jack has anxiety and you're the best thing for it, creampie, big dick! jack, implied size kink, praise.
synopsis. jack needs to de-stress so he can enjoy his vacation with you properly.
jack's just had so much on his mind all day. duties and impending tasks he feels like he left behind in pittsburgh weighing on him. did he really get everything done before leaving? would his residents be okay without him? all of it weighs on his mind, making sleep an impossibility.
with a sigh, he leaves your shared bed and goes out to lean his body over the balcony, hoping the fresh air and the quiet as the world sleeps would help soothe him.
it doesn't, unfortunately. not even the breeze and smell of the ocean take his mind off of work.
you wander out of bed a moment later, having been roused by his heavy breathing and pacing back and forth just outside your room. you slip on your robe to help stifle the evening wind from biting at your skin, and go out to join him.
your arms wrap around his waist from behind, and you nuzzle your face into his back, inhaling his scent. jack lets out a heavy sigh and holds there, relaxing at your touch, before turning around to face you, leaning down to press his lips gently to yours. "mmm... why'd you leave bed?" he hums against your mouth, strong arms wrapping tightly around you.
you smooch his lips softly and sigh at the pleasant minty taste on him. "i saw you couldn't sleep and wanted to make sure you were okay." your voice is breathy and sweet. "what's on your mind?"
he shakes his head and kisses you again, cupping your face and dragging his tongue over the seam of your lips. "too much," is the last he gets out, before he deepens it once more, his tongue diving into your mouth and laving over yours hungrily.
you can't get enough of him.
his hands move up and under your robe to cup your tits. he groans at how much he can feel through the fabric of your nightdress, and can't seem to hold back any longer. he just needs to be inside you right now, needs to expel his stress and frustrations on his sweet wife so he can sleep soundly. he'll talk about it later. right now, he needs relief.
"tell you after," he promises softly, spinning you around to press your front against the balcony railing, his lips dusting over your cheek. "may i, my love?"
you nod softly, already wet and sensitive from him fucking you a few hours ago. he brushes your robe to one side and hikes up your dress, before freeing his cock from the confines of his pants. groaning, he spreads your ass cheek apart from the other with one of his broad hands, using his other hand to wrap it around the base of his cock and align the head with your puffy slit, rubbing it up and down in little teasing movements.
"its all swollen," he whispers in your ear, getting his cock hard and wet from swiping it through your folds. "you have the prettiest pussy, did you know that? so soft and wet..."
your teeth catch your lower lip to stifle some of your moans, but it's hard when jack just makes you feel so good. you wiggle your hips back to try and swallow up some of his cock in your eager pussy, and he grins softly, delivering a gentle smack to your plush ass.
then,he slowly pushes into you, easing his cock into your tight hole while feeling your walls expand to make space for him.
you whine, feeling achingly full, but jack is quick to soothe you. "easy, easy... 'm only halfway in," he whispers in your ear, grunting softly and nudging his hips forward slowly. he can never get over how tight you are around him, how much his cock stretches you open each time he fucks you.
finally, he bottoms out. you can practically feel him in your guts from this angle, and a loud, whiny moan leaves your lips.
"gotta keep it down, sweetheart," your husband scolds playfully. "other people are staying here too, remember?"
easy for him to say.
still, you manage a nod, tugging your lip between your teeth to quell the scream threatening to leave you when his cock wedges deeper inside you, smushing against your sweet spot with every labored pump of his hips.
he's going painfully slow right now, clearly trying to savor the moment with you. you have an inkling that he really needed this, a little more time with you, inside you, before sleeping. and slowly, you can start to feel the stress weighing on him earlier slip away, as he starts to groan and focus all his attention on you and fucking into your pretty pussy with sloppy, eager thrusts.
"mnhhh- right there," you say, jolting a little when he angles his thrusts so he can hit your g-spot with each thrust.
"right there, baby?" jack echoes, softening his voice for you. "you need me right here?" he tucks a hand under you and pushes against the faint indent in your tummy that forms whenever he thrusts his cock in you balls deep, then gently pushes it up, putting extra pressure on your g-spot. you just feel more full as he does that, and you cry out as he just hits it perfectly, thick and heady slick leaking out of you and around his cock.
"your pussy's real grateful i did that," he laughs softly, then moans into your ear when you clamp around him, walls rippling and squeezing around his cock in retaliation to all his teasing.
you're both real close. jack's thrusts get a little faster now as he chases both his orgasm and yours, forceful thrusts of his thick cock sending your body bouncing and your tits heaving as you lean over the balcony.
but he needs you to cum first.
without hesitation, jack shifts his focus entirely to you. his thrusts become shorter but deeper, more precise. not chasing his own release but guiding you toward yours.
then, he feels the sudden, intense clench of your pussy around him and your cunt squeezing and milking his cock, trying to suck him in impossibly deeper, and you gush around him.
your body trembles beneath his, as he leans down to press his chest to your back, rutting his cock deep inside you and fucking you through your orgasm while your pussy starts to pull and wring the cum straight out of him. he cums into you with a loud groan, not stopping his movements. pushing you both through it with slow, deep rolls of his hips.
his lips brush the nape of your neck and he slowly pulls out of you with a wet pop, pushing his cum back into you with his thick fingers. you just look so pretty stuffed with him. shuddering, you relish in the warm, filling sensation of his cum plugged into you, before looking up at him through your lashes.
"you feel better now?"
he nods and presses a deep kiss to your lips, smiling against you. "wouldn't know what to do without you."
whitaker with mild religious guilt letting you eat his ass
You bring up something you wanted to try with Dennis. In your past relationships with men you had liked to eat their ass and peg them, but it took a while for you to admit this to Dennis, and even longer for him to come around to the idea.
It wasn't that he didn't want to, or that he was nervous about the idea of anything near there. It was actually the opposite, he was scared he'd like it too much and scare you off. He tried to hide how much he wanted it, but that didn't stop him from indulging alone in the shower. His flushed skin pressed against the cold tile of the wall, warm droplets of water cascading down his back. His eyes were screwed up, willing the image of you behind him, fucking into him with no mercy while his own fingers massage his prostate.
When you finally got him on his back, his legs up in the air for a change, he couldn't even open his eyes from mortification. He knew there wasn't anything wrong with it technically, but everything he'd been told about being a man as a child was hard to just put aside.
You stroked his hip as you lowered yourself to your knees, reassuring him that it was okay. With permission, you sucked and flicked your tongue over his puckered hole. He gasped and writhed beneath you, but you held him still, settling into the familiar rhythm. He came quickly after you slipped a finger in, hiding his burning face in the covers next to him and he convulsed from his orgasm.
It becomes a regular thing after that, slowly he got over the embarassment and was able to lean into the whole power dynamic. He's still reluctant to admit it but he even loves it when you peg him, with his ass up in the air, pushing him down into the mattress and fucking him hard into the mattress.
