Note: My works are unedited so expect misspells and gramatical errors until said otherwise
Taeyong
Mafia!Taeyong x Genderneutral!Reader - “Please don’t leave me. I’ll do anything. I’ll stop. I’ll quit but please just stay. Please, I have to make this right” Anagram (Completed)
Taeil
Boyfriend!Taeil x Genderneutral!Reader - “Its your choice, pretend you don’t know or go inside and confront them about this" Clouds Part 2 (Completed)
Johnny
In which Soloist reader looses fans when she and StrayKids Han broke up about a year ago disregarding her talent in songwriting and singing, while NCT needs a something in order to get fan’s attention when their sales dropped. And with that thought in mind both companies decided to set up a scandal between the two: “Breaking News: NCT Johnny Suh and Soloist L/n Y/n have been spotted on a date” (10 Chapters including prologue and epilogue) Trailer / Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 (Completed)
Haechan
In which Prince Donghyuck’s parents are forcing him to get married and he decided to propose to the first girl he sees to shut his parents up Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Epilogue (Completed)
#1 - What if NCT is and empire and reader is the most powerful mage?
#2 - What if Mark gets jealous of Taeil? (Social Media AU)
#3 - What if 7Dream, Lucas and Sungtaro was part of your Harem? (Highschool Au)
You really tried not to notice at first, the way your boyfriend’s back would move whenever he did something. And not in the typical way, either; whenever Geto leans over your lap to grab his tea or lies on his stomach, you can’t help but stare.
Not at his flexing back muscles- although, they are lovely- but at a more… unconventional part of your boyfriend.
His arch.
You thought you were imagining it at first, the slight dip in his spine when he reached over the counter for his drink as you stirred the soup. But it was undeniable the longer he stayed there- that smooth, subtle curve of his back; you wanted to pin him there and admire it, the way you knew his muscles would flex the longer you kept him there.
Suddenly, you understand why he’s so obsessed with your own arch, always shoving between your shoulder blades and moaning obscenely when your spine curves down.
You grin evilly to yourself and put your plan in motion.
It starts simply, you pretending to leave your mug at the wrong end of the couch so Geto can lean over. “Hey, Sugu?”
“Mhm, pretty?”
“Can you just reach over and pass me that mug? I’m too comfy to move.” He laughs and does so, back curving deliciously when he reaches for the drink. Your mouth waters. “Thank you, baby.”
Then, you kick it up a notch.
“I was thinking about doing a yoga session today.” You muse to your unassuming boyfriend as you roll out your mat in the living room. “Wanna join in?”
He shrugs and ties his hair back silkily before positioning himself in child’s pose as the video instructs. Little does he know you’ve just spent half an hour searching for a video that specifically focuses on the spine’s mobility, flicking through the search results calculatedly and perusing with an excited glint in your eye.
“Now,” the instructor says calmly, “bring yourself up along with your breath into table. Once you’re there and settled- shoulders over wrists, knees over ankles- take a niceeeee round of cat-cow.”
You flit your eyes to the side and watch as Geto follows the video perfectly. Your panties are soaked immediately. He’s breathing through his mouth, lips parted, forearms flexing as he adjusts his palms, but his back is to die for.
Now he’s intentionally arching, you get to see just how far he can take it- and oh, you’re trying so hard not to fuck him right on the mat. As he raises himself up into cat, he drops down and just keeps dropping, vertebrae aligning sexily beneath his shirt.
“Now, rest yourself up into crescent lunge.” The video says, and you’ve never felt more cockblocked in your life. You aren’t even a man!
The most blatant time you take advantage of his back, though, comes later that evening. The lights are soft, shimmering off of Suguru’s hair as he slowly shimmies down your panties and fans his breath over your thighs.
“You’re so pretty.” He sighs reverently, gently running a finger through your slick as he stretches you open. You gasp softly and twist your fingers in his hair- but you aren’t even looking. No, you’re too busy craning your neck to get a good view of his back when he settles his mouth over your cunt.
“Mmm, Sugu.” You cry out, blinking lopsidedly, “please.”
“Please what, gorgeous?” He smiles, already sitting back to pull his shirt off before shoving down his sweats. And then the lamp manages to catch the mirror in the corner of the room perfectly and you get an idea.
You rotate just a little on your elbows until you’re resting diagonally, spread thighs facing the mirror dead-on. Perfect.
“Oh?” Geto raises an eyebrow. Usually, you prefer to have your head squashed back into the pillowcases right in the middle of your plush bed while he slowly stretches you out. He blinks a little suspiciously, but doesn’t respond otherwise, too busy running his hands worshipfully over your bare body before lining himself up in one thrust. His head falls into your shoulder as the muscles in his back tense when your nails dig into them.
Normally, you’d be running your tongue over his teeth by now, but you aren’t. The mirror provides a lovely view, but it’s just not enough and you have to crane your neck to see the way Geto’s back curves sensually with every beautiful slide.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice, pretty?” You panic a little, head cloudy with the way his tip is just abusing all your sweet spots. “Notice- fuck- what?”
“The way you’ve been staring at me.” Geto groans into your skin, “asking me to do menial tasks so you can soak your panties through. I’m right, aren’t I?”
You gasp, although the shock in it is dulled a little when you moan out as he starts rubbing your puffy clit. “I- don’t know what you mean, Sugu-“
He scoffs. “My back.“
You flush bright, embarrassment flooding your cheeks. “O-oh. I didn’t mean to, it just looked so-“ you gulp nervously as he stares down at you, hair curtaining his pretty face. “So nice.”
Geto laughs. “Nice? Is that what you’re calling being a pervert now?”
You nod meekly and tug him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist as he slowly fucks you into the mattress and groans shakily as you clench. Your hands drift from his nape and shoulders down to his back, touching on the way his spine arches inward every time he hits into your cunt.
And when he orgasms- with you, of course- he tenses up completely, back holding itself in that feline arch enough for you to cling to the curved skin and muscle while your pussy flutters relentlessly around his cock.
Slick spills out of you when he kisses your face and rolls over next to you, catching his breath as his hand draws comforting little circles across your knuckles. Now usually, Geto prides himself on being able to practically read your mind- but now, as you squint upwards like you’re considering something important, he feels a little stumped.
“Gorgeous?” He murmurs, hugging you loosely, “what’re you thinking about?”
You look pensive more than anything, eyebrows drawn together in thought. “I was just thinking…” you mumble, “our ceiling looks a bit empty, doesn’t it?”
Geto props himself up on his elbow and grins. “Does it?”
You nod slowly and meet his eyes. “How would a mirror look above our bed?”
And when it’s installed a few days later, it’s only right for you to test it out, isn’t it? Your legs wrapped around his waist, his head buried in the crook of your neck, the way your feet kick uselessly at his skin when his cock stretches you out- but most prettily, and most obvious in the glass?
His arch.
ೃ࿔*:･
masterlist
a/n: insert the I JUST MADE SOME BULLSHITTTTT pic here
╰ breakfast, lunch, and dinner, these pro heroes are STARVING!
pairing(s): katsuki bakugo x reader, shoto todoroki x reader, izuku midoriya x reader, denki kaminari x reader (separate!)
18+ MDNI. CUNNILINGUS, fem! reader, lots of pet names, fingering, spit, face sitting, pussy pronouns, talking you through it, butt play and butt plugs (izuku), pussy spanking, (izuku), making you BEG for it, manipulation, crying, stretching you out, dirty talk, down bad shoto, denki cumming in his pants, wedgies?, panty ripping, teasing, overstimulation .ᐟ
Katsuki Bakugo swore he could handle the weight of you sitting on his face, and when you reluctantly agreed, knees wobbling as you gripped the mahogany grain of your shared headboard to hover on top of his panting chest, you never would’ve expected him to adore the feeling of you suffocating his carved jawline.
He had the best seat in the whole fuckin’ house, plump pussy lips spread open inches above his mouth with a ‘pop’, the mess of your heightened arousal deliciously decorating the flesh ‘n swirling prettily around your smooth thighs.
“So fuckin’ pretty baby.” His huge hands find purchase in the sides of your hips, fingertips gripping the thick flesh to spread you open even further, the most personal parts of your body gaped wide open for his greedy viewing.
“Look at ya,” Katsuki breathes in, inhaling the sugary scent of your sex, the smell instantly watering his tastebuds, “can’t believe this s’all mine.”
“Just feel like I might hurt yo—oh fuck!” Two large palms quickly move to grip the flesh of your withering hips dropping, cunt planting firmly down to his opened maw.
A ravenous growl rumbles through him, the saccharine droplets of slick quickly swiping across his nose bridge, coating his cheeks in your aroma. His long pink tongue flicks out to slot between your lips, kitten licking a trail of salvia up your slit.
“Tastes so fuckin’ sweet baby,” he’s moaning, the sounds muffled by the weight of your entrance fully smothering him, yet he’s loud enough for you to hear him, voice low and vibrating your clit, “stop movin’ ‘n lemme take care of my girls.”
Licking and slurping, the noises fill the bedroom, silky wetness so egregious it rivals the sobs slipping from your shocked face. “Katsuki!” It’s astonishing how easily he holds you still, even as your legs completely give out beneath you. Bulging biceps hardening against your thighs and lifting you up, up, up! to the ceiling, gripping you perfectly in place to lick your walls clean of sap.
“Thinkin’ you’d hurt me? That I can’t handle you?” He’s questioning, tongue sliding down to your tight hole, digging the flicking the fat muscle up into it, “would let you kill me as long as you were the one askin’, baby.”
The gravity only works you closer, body caging in your hips to rock against his mouth, skilled tongue diggin’ in and out of your clenched hole, the button of his nose smushing into your clit. “Oh Kats, s-shit! I—too much! C-Can feel you everywhere!”
Holding onto the headboard for dear life, the wood grain begins to squeak at the hinges, soft nipples hardening when you press yourself tightly against it, the cold texture sending shivers down your spine.
“Can’t help it,” Katsuki's tongue travels back up towards your clit, placing a sloppy kiss to the warm bud, “tastes so damn good, baby.”
You throw your head down to the top of the headboard, drool collecting at the sides of your mouth. Squishy cheeks pressing deeply into grain in an attempt to stifle your moans, eyes slamming shut to savor the feeling of him absolutely ravishing your sex.
He looks up, passionate crimson eyes squinting and blond brows furrowing when he can’t find your face looking down at him. “Oi!” His strong arms prod at your thick hips, swiftly pulling you further down to his chin, your body tumbling backwards.
“H-Huh?” You should have never underestimated his strength, large hands easily spaying around your ass to throw you around like a ragdoll, fingers white knuckling at the soft flesh he grips snug to his mouth. “W-Wha—”
“—Quit hidin’,” he mumbles, teeth nipping at your inner thighs, placing a graphic porno-sounding kiss to the skin, the slick residue from his swollen mouth painting your skin, “needa hear you screamin’ so I know I’m doin’ a damn good job.”
Biting your lip, you rapidly nod down at him, jaw falling open as he begins to rock you on his lips, pink tongue flattening on your slit and applying even pressure.
“K-Kats—mmfuck! Gettin’ close.” Your voice comes out high pitched, a sinful moan roaring from the back of your aching throat, fingertips hooking into the hair sticking to his sweaty forehead to rock against him, mouth perfectly rolling the gooey flesh of your clit.
“Take what ya want from me, know you deserve it,” he’s grumbling beneath you, hand reaching up to spay on your tummy, digits traveling up your navel and towards your breasts, fingers rolling around your nipple. “Know you’re close baby, give it to me, yeah?”
Katsuki knows the exact moment you finally break, head thrown back with a sob, your slick coats his face, hips rapidly rolling fast around the slope of his nose to ride out your high, cunt drenching his face full of your glistening essence.
“Tsuki—Stop!” The high hits you much harder than usual, the strong pink muscle pulling every last ounce of pleasure out of your sore clit, causing you to jump off his face with a yelp, “too much!”
“Where you goin’,” he scoffs beneath you, palms massaging the soft flesh of your ass to anchor you back down, his tongue finding your used hole, “‘m not done yet, come ‘ere.”
It all started with that damned house dress, the one you slipped on just as you tumbled out of bed, body completely bare beneath the silk.
Seeing you standing in the kitchen swirling sticky honey into a steaming mug, every last sense of rationale Shoto Todoroki had left inside of him quickly evaporates, leaving the man at a standstill in the doorway. It’s as if he was still stuck in a dream, a dizzy bout of sleep walking he doesn’t dare pinch himself awake from.
Shoto’s legs move on their own accord, bare feet stepping off the tatami towards you. The hardwood flooring speaks before he can, the paneling creaking beneath his heavy frame.
“Shoto?” You’re asking, popping your head over your shoulder, and when you see him standing in the doorway, you're smiling—eyes wide as saucers.
You twirl around to greet him, skirt easing off your hips as the fabric swishes in the air, “was getting started on some tea, I know you like to make it but I thought I’d surprise you.”
Shoto can’t speak.
Not when you’re looking at him like that.
Shoto desperately wants to fill the empty void due to his lack of response, yet every word falls flat on his lips, heterochromia irises far too focused on your presence to think of anything else.
It wasn’t like you were wearing anything special. The airy, cloud-white garment hung loosely on your frame, chantilly lace wrapping around the swell of your breasts matching the hem at your hips, the length cutting off just above the small divot between your thighs.
You looked angelic, and when the sunlight cut through the opened window, warm hues dancing over your features like a painting, Shoto found himself tumbling down to his knees.
“Sho? Are you okay?” Gasping, your hands grip his forearms, the stocky man easily wrapping himself around your front, red and white hair spaying over your abdomen.
He can only find it in himself to shake his head ‘no’, hands fisting the fabric on your thighs, lips pouting into the silkened garment. “I love you.”
You laugh, fingertips grazing the hair out of his eyes, his chin digging into the soft spot just below your navel, feeling his warmth surround your skin. “I love you enough that I want you to get off the floor,” teasing him, you reaching behind you to turn off the stove, giving him your full attention. “You’re looking at me like you’re going to eat me alive or something.”
Oh? But I am.
The words linger, never daring to leave his mouth.
It’s unfair, he thinks. Everything about you is so perfect. You always know exactly what to say whenever there’s an uncomfortable beat of silence, how you’re so kind to everyone you meet—including himself, showing your appreciation in the small moments that many others would ignore.
Shoto can feel his heart swell in his chest, blood pooling to his ears, the tips surely shining the brightest shade of merlot.
“Love when you wear this,” he mutters, head bowing to place a chaste kiss to each thigh, soft lips mumbling into the flesh, “you are beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it, Sho.”
I’d like to rip it off.
He’d buy you ten more if he could; if you’d let him that is, all to tear the flimsy fabric to shreds, a shameless cycle of his devotion to you.
Shoto doesn’t realize his hands have fallen onto your legs, palms gliding smooth over the skin, hands massaging your hips. He kneads the skin just to feel the way it pebbles beneath his grip, the slightest hint of your blood thumping through your veins instantly grounding him in you.
“Sho,” it’s your turn to grip at the fabric, body flushing with the tiniest bit of warmth that pools in your belly at his groping, the hem treading just above your bare mound, “d-don’t know what’s happening but—”
“—You.” He’s growling, voice slicked in the same way the honey sticks to the forgotten ceramic mug, face diving between your legs.
Shoto doesn’t ask as he’s spreading you open, tongue indulging in the way your silky slit coats his tastebuds, the heady flavor causing him to moan, voice shaking. “You happened.”
Taken aback, the sheer force of his greedy muscle licking you clean makes your hands shamelessly bundle the fabric frantically off your hips to gaze down at the starving man, his eyes closed to focus on funneling his tongue deep inside of you.
“Shoto! Oh my god! W-What are you—”
“—Showing you how much I love you.”
Your cunt was his altar, the delightful sap-like nectar seeping out from your drenched folds his savior, lapping the honey slick as if it’s his last meal on earth, one to praise and devour all at the same time.
“Love you,” he’s moaning, reddened tongue making out with your sex as if it was another pair of your lips he was kissing instead, mouth moving in tangent with his words, “love you so much.”
“Sho! Love you too, l-love your mouth.”
“Keep talking,” he smiles, head bowing up and down with each fat lick to your cunt, his tongue prodding the fleshy bits of your sensitive nub, pleasure blossoming in your upper thighs, “tell me how you’re feeling, honey.”
“Wha—I can’t!”
Not when he’s devouring you with a fever you can’t seem to recognize. Tongue soft and sweet; licking every little crevice between your legs, mouth taking every last rational thought from your mind out of your body with a suckle to your clit.
“Please,” he’s begging, widened pupils gazing up at your fucked out face, “tell me what you love about it, talk me through it.”
In fear of him halting his moments, you’re talking faster than you can think, words shakily fumbling out of your withering chest. “Your mouth,” you moan, thighs shaking at the force of him kitten licking your clit, “a-always take your time—shit! So warm ‘n soft.”
“Keep going, love.”
His hands move you easily, arching your hips to allow his long tongue to plug its way into your aching hole, the action causing you to squeak. “Oh your hands Shoto! Love your hands s-so much.”
“Want me to use them?” He asks gently, dominant hand leaving your hips to prod at your entrance, anxiously awaiting your approval.
How could you possibly tell him no?
“Please.”
His finger dips between your lips, the digit easily swallowing up past your entrance from how wet it is, knuckles pressing into you with a ‘squelch’. He pistons it in and out of your hole, tongue latching on your clit to create a seal, loud slurping sounds echoing from damp skin.
It would be dirty if it was anyone else other than Shoto.
“Shoto! D-Don’t stop—please, please don’t stopppp.” Tears are brimming the corners of your eyes as he adds another finger to the equation, fingerprints curling up into your g-spot to brush the point of no return, your sobs turning into wails of pleasure.
“Close? I can feel you squeezing.”
“Yes, yes!” You were stricken by some life altering hysteria, mind utterly preoccupied by the way Shoto worked your cunt wide open, “want—gonna cum in your mouth.”
“Go ahead, I’ll take care of you,” he’s whispering, mouth muffled by the sound of your pussy, nose deep into the puffy flesh of your mound.
Clammy fingertips grasp at his hair, gripping a handful of hair to roll your hips against him. You’re not sure what you're going for, yet nonetheless you chase it, curses falling from your slacked mouth. “Shit, shit, cumming!”
The sensation hits you all at once, Shoto’s hands, his mouth. He will always take care of you, always worship you, even in the kitchen on his hands and knees in the early hours of the morning.
Flurries of sputtering stars burst behind your eyes, Shoto’s hand holding you in place as you ride it out, hips shaking, spine aching.
When he finally pulls away, licking your slick off his lips he’s smiling, hands finding yours.
His fingers are wet. Your tea still isn’t made.
Izuku Midoriya's been waiting for this all day long, discovering you tucked snugly in bed awaiting for him to finally come home, your frame slowly snoozing between the sheets.
His tartan suit was half way off, beige dress coat hanging over the peg of the bed frame, white sleeves of his button up rolled past his elbows, work badge still hanging from his stocky chest.
He’d woken you up in a daze, scarred hands spreading your legs wide open for him, cunt gleaming in the lowlight of the yellow lamp, your nightie barley clinging to your skin.
“Was waiting up for you, didn’t think you’d be so late,” you’re mumbling, voice shy.
He gleams. Of course you waited for him, cunt leaking and begging to be touched, holes ready for him to toy with.
“I’m sorry baby, a-and thank you for being so patient,” he’s murmuring into your neck, taking a deep breath and smiling when he smells traces of his body wash on your skin, “want to make it up to you, will you let me?”
An hour later he had you fully awake and stretched out for him, knees kissing either side of the mattress with his favorite green hued plug popped inside your tight ass, the customized authentic jade gemstone poking out between your cheeks.
“How are you feeling?” Izuku asks, face inches away from your cunt, watching the soft rise and fall of your belly, pussy dripping slick down to the white sheets.
“G-Good,” you’re stuttering, tight ring clenching the metal protrusion inside of you, words glued to your tongue so nicely; gooey mind worried you’ll say the wrong thing starting to scare you, “feels really good ‘zuku.”
“Good.” He parrots, running two fingers that rest on your knee up towards the inside of your thigh, the soft skin feeling like butter on his calloused fingerprints. “I think you’re ready for something else though, aren’t you?”
“Y-Your mouth? Please?” Your woozy eyes look down at him, body shivering as goosebumps erupt everywhere he’s touching you, a hopeful dopey smile spreading on your shiny cheeks.
“You’re silly,” he’s almost chuckling, chest swooning at how devoted you are to him, mind and body completely vulnerable to his heavy presence.
His fingers dip into the crevice just beside your mound, trailing a ghost-like touch up and down to watch you writhe against the mattress, nipples hardening in the dim lighting.
Two fingers lightly touch your clit, the thick digits forcing your slit wideee open, the sloppy sounds of your lips widening to fit him forces your sensitive body to heat up in embarrassment, face smushing into the side of your pillow.
“A-And you’re mean,” mumbling, you suddenly jump at the contact, a firm slaaaappp! landing down on your clit. “Izuku!”
You feel your clit begin to throb, the rapid heartbeat in your chest traveling down to the aching bundle of nerves as he goes right back to massaging it, his eyes absorbing your wild reaction.
Clenching down, the plug presses itself even deeper inside you, the cold metal working its way around your ass, the width squeezing around your sensitive walls.
Izuku goes back to massaging your clit, the soft touch doing little to stimulate it, hips jerking up to reach his touch.
He pulls back, slotting the slick coated fingers into his lips, tongue licking them clean. “Mean? You think this is mean?”
Suddenly, two thick digits are plunging into your cunt, walls clenching down around the protrusions, hot womb easily sucking him in, fingertips hitching knuckles deep.
“Fuck!” You’re mewling, head thrashing.
You wanted him to be inside you think, mind woozy as your holes become equally filled, the pressure of the large plug shifting his chunky knuckles up towards your g-spot—still not fully touching it, yet letting you feel that he’s there.
“Still so tight,” he’s observing, watching the way your pussy expands to take his fingers, the tight lil’ hole squelching for attention around them. “Can feel you sucking me in… feels good, doesn’t it?”
You can’t respond as another finger joins your slit, the pointer finger long and prodding as it slips inside, the stretch forcing a cry out of your dry mouth.
Izuku talks you through it, tells you just how good you’re doing for him, coaxing your body to relax for him, now three fingers deep.
“Let me in, you’re almost there.”
“Doing so good for me, baby. Look so pretty stuffed full of me.”
“You trust me, right?”
You focus on his words, body contorting around his intrusion deep inside of you, fully relaxed to take whatever he gives you.
“Izuku?” The pain quickly blooms into pleasure, an uncomfortable sensation building deep inside your core causing you to beg. “Want your mouth so bad Izuku, e-everything feels too tight—too full!”
Izuku almost feels pity for you.
His pretty baby begging for release, pleading for a smidge of attention from him.
“Since you’ve been so good tonight, maybe I’ll give you what you want?” He’s coaxing you to say what he wants to hear, emerald green eyes laser focused on the soft prodding of your squishy mound, fingers swabbin’ around in your gushy insides like he’s trying to memorize the ridges of your canal.
“Please Izuku,” wishfully thinking, your words slur, spine arching off the bed to greet his freckled cheeks, warm breath tickling your slit.
He places a kiss on your clit just to watch you squeak, eyebrows raising down at you like a hawk watching his prey. “Please what? Use your words.”
“Please use your mouth,” you’re whining, yet he doesn’t move, your eyes widening, “Izuku, can you please u-use your mouth and…”
“Go on.”
He wants to hear you say it out loud. The very words that always cause you to shy away from him, the perverse nature of the descriptions of what you desperately crave from him heating your body up.
“Please eat me out.”
You must really want to cum tonight Izuku’s thinking, his thighs tensing at how sweetly you’re asking, wide eyes gleaming over with sex.
He doesn’t respond, and right when you believe he’s about to stand up from between your legs, an arm anchors around your lower belly, mouth diving in between your legs.
Izuku is messy with it. All tongue and meticulous direction, he teeters between light swiping and harsh sucking against your nub, fully coating himself in slick.
“Mppf! Zu! Oh god!”
He’s purposely holding you from bucking off the mattress, rather having you thrust around in his grasp to feel how his pleasure blooms throughout your body.
His large fingers reach spots inside of you yours could never, rapidly flicking up into your spongey g-spot, he easily stretches out the muscle to take what he wants.
“I’m close—”
“—already? Such a good girl.” He has a way with making you hold on to every word he says, Izuku’s heavy presence invading your space in every way possible.
The only thing you can picture is him, the way his fingers smooch your pussy, tongue licking your clit; even down to the plug, stuffing you completely, all because he asked so nicely.
“Izuku, Izuku, Izuku!” You’re the fullest you’ve ever been in your life, tummy bulging as he flicks his fingers up, the depth so strong you can almost taste it.
You throw your head back, eyes slamming shut to devote yourself in the feeling, your high coming head on, body unable to escape the way its throwing you off the edge.
“Don’t go shy on me now, look at me.” Izuku’s pulling you from that ledge, dripping eyes peering up at him in awe, irises daring to roll back into your skull as he eats you like an animal, fingers scooping your cunt.
“There she is, mmmm my pretty girl,” he hums in approval, the vibrations heading straight to your clit, thighs shaking. Izuku notices, forearm pressing roughly into your lower belly, “oh baby, you’re so close, do you want to cum?”
Izuku is attentive, calculating the best possible outcome using your cunt as his test subject as the feeling takes over you, thighs tensing, toes curling.
“Yes, yes, yes! Please Izuku!” Mumbling, you get lost in the moment once he’s pressing his lips roughly to your clit, the pleasure overbearing, jaw dropping, mouth going silent.
“Go ahead honey,” he’s mumbling, fingers fucking your g-spot, your body breaking beneath him, “because after this one, you’ll give me another, right?”
“Fuck!” You’re nodding, mind blacking out into perpetual bliss, completely unaware the night is just getting started.
“Babe… didn't realize you were this wet, would’ve left Sero's place like hours ago.” Denki Kaminari can’t help but gawk at the painfully beautiful sight unfolding before him.
He’d been teasing you all evening, sitting you prettily on top of his lap whilst everyone else was far too focused on the movie playing in front of them to realize he was rubbing your clit beneath the blanket spread on your legs.
Darling lil’ pussy lips soaking right through lace panties, the skirt you wore granting him easy access as he dipped two fingers between them, pressing the fabric snugly into your slippery clit.
It was blatantly obvious when you were about to finally cum. Body twitching on top of him, legs shaking and muscles flexing. Each attempt to hide your mewls by chewing loudly on pieces of popcorn or sipping your drink, Denki would quietly laugh in your ear, gold earring cold against your skin, as he’d quickly pull his hand away from the mess he’d made to rub at your thighs instead, wrinkled fingertips edging you to soaked oblivion.
When the movie was finally over and you were waddling around in a puddle of slick with legs like jelly, Denki rushed your goodbyes, swearing that he couldn’t get you home any faster.
Feverishly pulling you down onto the carpet of the living room, the anticipation of tasting you takes over him. Large hands flip your skirt above your belly, his golden locs situated snuggly between your legs to stare at the sloppy liquid pouring from your poor neglected pussy lips onto your panties, his mouth salivating at the sight.
“Stop teasin’ me,” you plead with him, the fabric so embarrassingly wet it nips at your heated slit, thighs uncontrollably sopping as Denki's tongue only makes it worse, a fat dribble of spit slopping against your covered cunt.
“I’m nottt—hey! If I knew it was this bad, I would've ate you out in the bathroom.” He’s laughing, voice sleazy, golden irises blown out and dark, pupils fully covering the amber hues.
His fingers pinch the fabric up, up, up! between your fat lips, watching them rapidly swallow up the material like they’re quenching for thirst, your fat cunt sticking out on the sides.
Gasping, you wiggle around in his grasp, hole pulsating and clit throbbing, your hips pressing up towards his nose, the slope catching on your covered clit. “You’re such a freak, a-and Sero’s a perv… he would’ve probably liked that shit.”
You can hear the same thick digits touching your lips begin to tug at the fabric, a dull ‘riiiiipppp’ screeching beneath you as he breaks the stingy fabric in two, leaving your bare glistening cunt shining in the darkness of the room.
“Not when I’m done with ya he won’t,” placing a slow lick from the bottom of your tight hole up to your sensitive clit, Denki groans at the taste, his own hips humping the floor, “it would suck having to buy him a new sink though.”
Your fingers find purchase in his hair, rolling the yellow tendrils between your hands in a tight grip, matching the hectic rolls of your hips to the lazy gyrations of his head.
“Fuck Denki!” You let out a relieved curse when he begins to suck on your clit, his wiggly tongue lapping every last drop of slick that falls from your hole, “I’m done replacing his furniture everytime we b-break it.”
“Want to-mfdph—I want to.” Denki's words are inaudible as he rapidly licks at your pussy, tongue getting completely lost in the feeling of your cunt rubbing his face raw, cheeks warm and covered in your essence.
You peer down at him, his eyes slammed shut as he shakes his head like a dog, mouth moving side to side. “What babe? C-Can't hear you over your sloppy mouth.”
“Shit,” he’s gasping, head coming up for air just long enough to take a sharp breath, his finger finding your neglected hole, “wanna fuck you in every room in his house, show everyone who you belong to.”
“Oh Denki, everyone already kno—oh, fuck!”
His finger instantly flicks up into your gummy g-spot, mouth latching on your clit to lap at the flesh as if he needs to taste you to survive, skilled tongue flicking up and down your sensitive bud.
“Denki!” The familiar hitch jumps deep inside your core, body heating up as your thighs clench around his head, voice cracking, “gonna make me c-cum!”
“Fuckkk-please, give it to me.” Moaning, his cock head manically weeps through the fabric of his pants, the taste of your gushing cunt pushing him closer to the edge, your voice causing his balls to tense up.
Denki’s hips roughly fuck into the floor with such veroccity it jerks him forward, your body fully rocking aginst his fingers, the knuckles traveling further past your walls.
“M-More! Fuck—Please!”
He groans in approval, slipping another finger into your stuffed hole. The burning stretch causes your waterline to prickle with the faintest globes of tears, fingers alternating between gripping the frills of your skirt and the strands of his hair, body teetering on the edge of your high.
“C’mon, you’ve got it babe,” Denkis mumbling into your clit, words vibrating deep into the slippery flesh sending little dull bolts up and down your thighs, knees shaking beside his ears, “soak me—pleaseee, need to feel it-ruin me babe—”
Your voice cuts him off, a wild mantra of his name rapidly falling from your slacked maw as you cum against him, little volts of electricity swirling around the sensitive nerves in your mound, body rolling in ecstasy.
“Fuck babe, jus’ like that,” he’s mumbling, ripping off your swollen clit to watch your face as you fall apart on the floor, his hips stuttering on the pale carpeting beneath them, “aw, shit!”
Before he can realize what’s happening, Denki is cumming untouched with a whimper, mouth returning to lap at your release while his own creates a syrupy mess in his pants.
The pleasure quickly becomes painful, clammy hands gripping him by the head to pull him up towards your lips, locking him into a sloppy kiss.
You moan when you taste yourself on him, palm falling down to fumble his belt wide open, pulling his shaft out of the material and swipin’ your hand over his red beating cock, his cum sticky on your fingers.
“Fuuuck,” he mumbles between your lips, dragging his face down to rub between your neck, sticking your slick onto your skin, “should have done that at his place babe, n-next time I’m dragging you to the bathroom, I swear!”
Your hand grips down hard on his sensitive cock, releasing a whine from the overstimulated boy. “Can you please stop talking about your friends when you’re about to fuck me, please?”
a/n: divider by @/cafekitsune okay… so! this started as a bakugo drabble and then i saw a vid on x that instantly reminded me of shoto and so of course, jenni got carried away
michael robinavitch can you please be normal for five fucking minutes (f!reader)
To be fair, offering your attending your spare room while his home gets fumigated wasn't a bad idea. You were being a good person and simultaneously gaining brownie points. It's not like you could have expected, well, this.
"Dr. Robby," you caution, still frozen into the doorway of your bedroom. "Are those my panties?"
Because, yes, gripped in your boss's long fingers is a pair of white cotton panties– the very same ones you stripped off and threw in your hamper before you showered. They're a few inches from his face, and you shake your head to clean your mind of the thought of what he might have been doing with them– and the fact that you find yourself less repulsed by that thought than you'd like to admit.
"Oh," Robby says with the surprised tone of an innocent man. "I'm so sorry. I'll put them back. Here."
And, because maybe you're not the best at decision making and also the fact that there's a growing need between your legs, you stop Robby as he slowly returns the fabric to its spot in the hamper. He freezes as your hand, hot to the touch from the scalding liquid you had been scrubbing yourself with, wraps around his wrist.
"Wait," you say. "Keep it."
Robby gulps, "K–Keep it?"
"Yeah," you shrug, guiding his hand to his front pocket. With the bunched fabric in his pocket, you pat the material twice and pretend not to notice the growing bulge beside your hand. "I've got more where that came from."
summary: the pitt notices the growing tension between you and dr. jack abbot, even after you're moved to the day shift temporarily - spurring forth a secret bet you're both unaware of. jack is there when you get injured at work, and he shows you just how helpful his hands can be.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, porn with a lotta plot (we work for our porn in this household), undefined age gap, hint at power imbalance (they're both consenting adults), sloooow burn, swearing, jealousy, mutual pining, jack is a yearner, so much tension it's dizzying, santos is a menace, lots of dialogue, reader has had knee surgery, reader gets injured, mentions of jack's prosthetic, swat jack, pet names (pretty girl, sweetheart, baby), detailed explicit smut, reader is desperate (aren't we all for that old man), dirty talk, teasing, praise kink, nipple play, fingering, oral (f!recieving), squirting, jack comes untouched, thigh grinding, unprotected pnv (reader is on birth control), service dom!jack, aftercare, dual pov, no use of y/n, not beta read, partly proofread, smut is not proofread (whatever i wrote is between me and the demon that possessed me)
word count: 16.7k (last 6k is straight up smut)
authors note: part 2 is finally here 😭 i have been going back and forth on this for weeks; i cannot just go full smut so apologies for the additional plot to part 1 (i'm not sorry, i love the pitt shenanigans 🙂↕️). i finally listened to yes, chef - shawn...the man that you are. i live for praise so don't be shy 🫦
song inspo: ooo - amber mark
divider credits: red line divider by @/omi-resources, medical divider by @/sisterlucifergraphics
part one masterlist
Have you ever thought about the things we could do?
Wakin' up next day smellin' like my perfume
I'll turn you on, I know you want those
Late night views, just us two, me on you
Jack Abbot knew what he was doing was wrong.
Well, maybe not wrong per se—but it wasn't typical attending behaviour. He knew for a fact he wouldn't guide Crus to an empty patient room if he caught him with a slight limp, knew he wouldn't touch Ellis' bare leg let alone fucking massage it.
The first time it happened he convinced himself that no, it was typical attending behaviour—he was concerned that your pain would affect your ability to treat patients. And yeah, there was a sliver of understanding as well—he knew how hard it was to ignore the physical ache, how once it reached a point it became an obsessive loop of pain, pain, pain.
Having an excuse to touch you, to get close to you—that was just a bonus, it wasn't the sole reason he was helping you. At least that's what he kept on telling himself, to convince himself that the professional boundaries were still there.
The second time he dragged you into an empty patient room, he was able to admit to himself that it wasn't typical attending behaviour. And while helping to relieve your pain wasn't wrong, the thoughts he had with your leg on his lap definitely were.
The thoughts he carried home with him after every shift with you, they were wrong. But, fuck, did they feel so right. Touching himself remembering how your skin felt under his hands, replaying your small pained whimpers and the look of relief on your face —he knew that was wrong. Moaning your name out as he came over his fist and stomach, he knew that was wrong. But no one would ever know—you would never know.
"So," he started, his fingers pressing into the spots on your calf he knew were the worst. "Any more first date horror stories?"
He didn't know why he was asking. He didn't want to know about you going out with other men. But it was on the long list of things about you that kept him up as he tried to sleep—the incessant thoughts about you spending your time with a man that was undeserving. Endless thoughts about another man's hands tending to your knee, hands that were allowed to drift higher and pull sounds from you he could only dream about hearing.
You placed your hands behind you on the patient bed, leaning back on them. "No, I've learned my lesson. Think I might get started early on that whole single, crazy cat lady thing."
His breathy laugh brushed across your bare shin. "Oh, yeah? How's that going?"
You pretended to think for a second with a hum. "I went to an animal shelter the other day, there was a cute three legged cat that I wanted to adopt."
He felt his chest crack open with something warm at the thought of you with a little amputee cat.
"Why didn't you?" His hazel eyes were tender when they met yours.
"Just…don't know if it's the right time. They're much less work than dogs, but it's still a pet—something that would rely on me." You shrugged, looking up at the ceiling because his eyes were too intense. A small wince left you as he worked on a tight knot.
"You're a very reliable person, I'm sure you could manage just fine. Plus, it's a three legged cat—those guys are adorable." He finished with a half smile.
You looked at him again, a small smile gracing your lips. "It sounds like you really want me to adopt this cat."
Jack was ready to go to every animal shelter in Pittsburgh to find that cat himself, if it guaranteed you wouldn't waste any more time on a man that wasn't him.
He finished off the massage with a soft pat to your shin. "If it means that you won't date any more assholes, then yeah, I want you to adopt the damn cat."
You were aware of the eyes on you and Dr. Abbot since he began helping with your knee. It was obvious when Ellis' and Shen's eyes trailed after you both as Abbot steered you towards South seventeen the second time he noticed your pained wince and limp. And it was especially obvious when Nurse Vivi came into what she thought was an empty room, intending to prep it for a patient from chairs.
"Oh! I'm sorry, doctors." She shot you a peculiar smile, her eyes flicking down to your exposed leg. "You okay?"
Dr. Abbot stood up and approached the door that Vivi was half standing in. "Yep. Just an old injury flare up." He said casually, like he did this for every one of his staff. He gave you a single nod before walking back into the ED.
The few hours until the end of your shift after that incident were full of raised eyebrows from Lena and Bridget—mainly directed at Dr. Abbot—and curious side-eyes from Ellis.
Lena approached you in the staff locker room as you grabbed your bag, Ellis doing the same at her locker next to yours.
"Hey, sweetie," she gave you a warm smile. "You know you can tell me if anything, if anyone, is making you uncomfortable, right?"
You felt heat rush up your neck—you understood what she was insinuating immediately. "Yes, of course!"
She tilted her head to the side, a look of suspicion pulling at her features.
You sighed, "it's nothing, really. I have an old sports injury that's been acting up, and Dr. Abbot has been helping when it slows me down."
Lena nodded slightly with a small smile. "He's a good man."
You didn't need the reminder. It was something that had you spiralling while trying to sleep more often than not lately.
"Let us know when it acts up again, okay? An ex once told me I have the hands of a masseuse." She ended with a wink before exiting, throwing a wave at you two over her shoulder.
The fourth and last time Dr. Abbot sat on a stool in front of you, it felt like you were under a microscope. You caught the double takes nurses did as they walked past the open curtain, and the small smirk on Ellis' lips had you wanting to shrink in on yourself.
You couldn't even enjoy the feel of his hands on your skin.
You couldn't enjoy the way his scrub sleeves were pulled taut around his biceps, the fabric straining against his thick muscles. You couldn't enjoy how every tendon in his arm tensed and moved while he massaged your calf, a sight that normally left you speechless—that left you with an ache you could only satiate with your hand between your thighs, imagining it was his instead.
Then there was the way Dr. Abbot looked at you in those brief moments you were alone—like he was memorising every detail about you. It made you want to crawl out of your skin. He was so goddamn attentive, catching every micro-flash of pain your face betrayed. And despite the sinking feeling that what you were doing was wrong, his hands on your skin felt so right—they left you feeling dizzy and flustered every time.
His voice was always softer, the rough edge of his professional doctor side falling away. He spoke to you almost as if you were a friend, and made it seem like this was something he often did with friends.
It was in that soft voice of his that he opened up about his own pain with his amputated leg—telling you the small things he did to help alleviate the pain, recommending you the cream he used, reminding you to take a small break whenever the chaos quietened enough.
"Can't have my best resident suffering," he mumbled, his eyes flicking to your mouth when one of your pained whimpers slipped free.
You chuckled through the tightness in your chest from his praise. "Don't let Ellis or Crus hear you say that—they might swap to the day shift in retaliation."
He let out a scoff. "Nah, they're too weird for the day shift," he gave you one of his signature winks. "Besides, I think Ellis would end up in a fist fight with Robby if she had to spend a full twelve hour shift with him. God knows how many times I've been close to punching him."
You threw your head back with a loud laugh, your body shaking from the intensity. You gave him a teasing smile after you caught your breath. "Isn't he one of your closest friends?"
Jack couldn't stop the full blown grin on his face, the sound of your laughter filling his body with a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time.
"And? You telling me you haven't wanted to cause your friends physical harm when they were being dicks?"
Another giggle slipped out of you. "Yeah, you've got me there. Santos has a photo of a bruise I gave her when we went out a few weeks ago." You held up a finger as his eyes shot up to yours, his eyebrows raised in surprise and his mouth parting to no doubt give you shit. "Before you say anything, she totally deserved it."
He shook his head with a small laugh, squinting his eyes at you. "I'm sure she did."
He finished massaging your leg, rolling your scrub pant down over your knee. He flashed you a small smirk before giving your calf a light pinch.
"I always knew you had a fiery side."
Fuck.
At the end of your next shift was when you realised how serious it really was. You were standing in the ambulance bay before morning rounds, catching a breath of fresh air when Dana joined you outside.
"I can already feel this is gonna be a long one," she huffed, pulling out a cigarette and lighter.
She lit the cigarette and took a long drag before looking at you with a glint in her eye. "You nightcrawlers are great at leaving a mess behind."
"Hey, that's not on me. I clean up after my weirdos." You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned against the exterior wall.
"You ever think about coming back to us, kid?" She flicked the butt of her cigarette, bringing it to her lips for another puff. "Step back into the light, you need the sunshine." She patted your cheek lightly.
You rolled your eyes fondly. "Always the mama bear, Dana. I get plenty of light, seeing as how my shift finishes when the sun comes up."
She let out a soft chuckle. "Touché."
She cleared her throat softly before taking a step closer and laying a hand on your arm. Her voice dropped low, soft. "Nurses, they like to talk. And you have been a hot topic lately, missy."
You tensed immediately, a nervous laugh slipping past your lips. "What—what are you talking about? Has my…work been called into question?"
She rubbed your arm with a squeeze. "No, no, nothing like that. People are just worried, maybe a little intrigued. Is there anything I should know, doll?"
"Is this about Dr. Abbot?"
She gave you a brief nod and you sighed, your head dropping forward. The exhaustion from the twelve hour shift was bordering on unbearable and all you wanted was to crawl into bed.
"I swear, nothing is happening. I would never do that, would never jeopardise my career like that. He just happened to notice my knee injury a few weeks back and has been helping when it hurts. I told Lena all this…" you trailed off, your voice dropping to a mumble.
She finished her cigarette, pressing the butt against the wall before chucking it in the bin next to her. She turned back to you, a look of understanding on her face and a glimmer in her eye.
"Okay, I just wanted to hear it from you." She pulled you into a side hug, squeezing tight. "I'll tell the rumour mill to pipe down, don't want you running off before you become an attending."
You both walked back into the ED, only one of you aware of the conversation that was happening on the hospital's rooftop.
The brisk morning air was biting on the roof, tingling Robby's cheeks as he pushed the door open and let it swing shut with a loud thud behind him.
Jack was leaning against the roof's railing, both arms braced against the cold metal with tension lining his shoulders. He didn't bother turning—there was only one person who knew to find him on the roof at this hour.
"What are you doing, brother?" Came Robby's gruff voice, partially swallowed by the early morning sounds from the city around them.
"Engaging in quiet contemplation. You?"
"Not what I'm talking about." Robby stopped beside his friend, resting his side against the railing with his hands in his pockets.
Jack shot him a side glance, "I have many talents; mind reading isn't one of them."
Robby raised his eyebrows, giving Jack a pointed look. "I'm talking about your resident."
"Crus? I've left him in charge for ten minutes tops, he can't have caused that much damage."
"Don't play dumb. It's not a good look on you."
"You're wrong, everything is a good look on me." Jack shot his friend a half smirk, the tension in his shoulders betraying his nonchalant behaviour.
Robby let out a frustrated scoff, growing tired of Jack's obvious deflecting. He straightened his posture and crossed his arms over his chest, showing his friend that he was serious.
"You know what's not a good look? Dragging your resident into empty patient rooms and massaging her fucking leg." Robby said, a sharp bite to his words.
Jack winced, dropping his head forward slightly. He didn't think word would get to Robby that fast.
"I'm just trying to help her." Jack grumbled, feeling like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "It's not a big deal."
Robby let out a loud incredulous laugh. "Tell her to go see a goddamn physio, Jack!"
Jack sighed and shook his head, growing frustrated at this conversation. Tell you to waste money seeing a physio? When he was more than willing to help, to provide the relief you need?
"I want to help her."
For a second, everything around them froze. The wind came to a halt, the sounds of early morning traffic dissipated. All that was distinguishable was the sincerity in Jack's voice, the conviction behind his words. And that's when Robby knew that this—whatever it was, whatever Jack was feeling—ran deeper than what Lena had insinuated to him and Dana the day before.
Robby shook his head with a small, disbelieving laugh. "You're fucking screwed, my friend."
Jack twisted his wedding ring around his finger, trying to ground himself. He didn't want to accept his feelings for you, didn't want to unlock the door that was clearly labelled 'DANGER' in bright red letters.
"I'm moving her to the day shift."
Jack's reaction was instant.
He pushed off from the railing, crossing his arms over his chest and levelling a cold glare at Robby.
"No. She's my best resident." His tone was sharp, his annoyance bleeding through.
"It's just for a week, while Whitaker is visiting his family." Robby sighed as Jack stood strong, his shoulders moving in a shrug that said 'why should I care'. "You know we need all the help we can get on the day shift—you nightcrawlers can survive without her."
Jack didn't believe that for a second. He needed you on the night shift with him—needed it like he needed air to breathe. The thought struck him deep in his chest, a cold realisation seeping into his bones.
Robby clapped him harshly on the back, throwing an arm over his shoulders as he pivoted them to walk to the rooftop door.
"You could be more grateful—I'm saving your sorry ass from a gruelling trip to HR."
When Robby told you they needed you back on the day shift to cover for Whitaker you were hesitant at first. Not that you had much say in the matter, but the timing of it felt suspicious—Dana had just questioned you about the Abbot situation, and not even thirty minutes later Robby was pulling you aside for a chat about your schedule.
It didn't help that multiple pairs of eyes were not so subtly watching your conversation with your chief attending. You tried your best to not let your surprise show, offering Robby a small smile and a "no problem". One pair of eyes was harder to ignore than the others—eyes that you fantasised about more often than not, eyes that you had to pinch yourself from getting lost in.
Eyes that followed you as you said goodbye to your colleagues, engaging in excited conversation with Mohan and McKay who were ecstatic to have you back on the day shift. Eyes that didn't care that their obvious staring had drawn unwanted attention.
Ellis was finishing up her notes on a patient, tablet in hand as she prepared to pass them off to Santos. She was watching her night shift attending with a small smirk on her face—his forlorn puppy dog expression making her disturbingly pleased. Santos let out a snicker beside Ellis, her own eyes clocking Dr. Abbot's yearning disposition.
Ellis turned to Santos, both sporting matching smirks on their faces with a mischievous gleam in their eyes.
"Want to start a new bet?"
Jack was furious with Robby.
Actually, he was angry with a lot of people lately. He was quicker to snap, his patience wearing thin—on track to lose his title of being the 'fun dad' of the PTMC Emergency Department.
Robby had told him that you were only going to be back on the day shift for one week, just to cover while Whitaker was away. It had been three weeks since Whitaker had returned to the Pitt, and you were still on the day shift.
The night shift had been surviving without you, though barely hanging on by a thread. The main issue they were having? Abbot's perpetual foul mood.
The only time the night shift ever saw a flicker of something warm cross their attending's face was during shift change. It had them all raising their eyebrows, looking at each other knowingly, and digging into their wallets.
"Thirty bucks on Abbot making a move after a paramedic hits on her." Shen murmured to the group gathered at the Hub during shift change, him and Ellis keeping watch in case you or Dr. Abbot appeared. He had witnessed a paramedic hit on you once before, right in front of Abbot. He thought he heard a bone in Abbot's hand fracture from how tightly clenched his fists were.
"Nah," Princess breathed out. "I'm putting twenty on them being together for at least a month."
Perlah hummed next to her. "You thinking they got together after that bad date?"
Dana peered at the group huddled at the counter over the top of her glasses. "Have you seen how he's pining after her? There's no way they're together."
Ellis let out a little whistle, the signal for one of you nearby. The group split off in different directions, Shen slipping a handful of cash into Ellis' hand as they passed each other.
Robby hummed from his spot next to Dana, eyebrows raised as he read over a chart. "You know you shouldn't be entertaining them…"
Dana scoffed, her eyes tracking you as you stepped into Central nine. "You're one to talk—I heard you bet fifty on him confessing after she gets hurt."
"I bet twenty," Dana gave Robby a knowing look, raising her eyebrows at him. "What? I know my friend and I know his white knight complex."
"Yeah," Dana murmured quietly, "that's going to catch up to him one day." She gathered a stack of papers on the counter, stamping them down on the surface to straighten them. Her eyes flicked back up to Robby. "You really think he's going to do somethin' before she becomes an attending?"
Robby sighed, dragging a hand down the side of his face—his beard audibly scratching against his palm. "He stopped wearing his wedding ring a couple weeks ago. I think he's been holding himself back longer than he'd ever care to admit."
The first week you were on the day shift, Jack found himself walking into the ED twenty minutes earlier than he usually did. By the third week, he was standing at the Hub over an hour before shift change. He quickly found out his early arrivals were both a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because it was an extra hour he got to see you; to hear you laugh at something Princess said, to admire you as you cared for your patients, to be by your side the second you let out a wince.
A curse because Santos was hell bent on torturing him. He knew she was doing it on purpose—she had a whole twelve hour shift to talk to you, to gossip about your personal lives, yet it seemed that whenever he was near you two all she wanted to talk about was your dating life.
"I know you're still pissed about Mark," Santos started, slinging an arm around your shoulder as you checked the board at the Hub. "But—hear me out—there's a pedes attending at Presby I want to set you up with."
Jack slowed down on the other side of the Hub, pulling up a random chart on a discarded tablet to act busy while his ears strained to hear the rest of your conversation with Santos. A pedes attending? Really?
You let out a disbelieving laugh. "You're joking, right? I am not going out with anyone you suggest ever again."
Santos groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. "How many times do I need to apologise? I'm sorry, okay—I promise Ben is the real deal, he won't make you pay for anything."
You shrugged her arm off your shoulder, turning to face her with your arms crossed. "Wow, that's a real high bar you got there, Trin. I feel spoiled," you drawled sarcastically.
She held her hands up in defence. "Fine, don't believe me. You're the one who's going to be sorry you let a catch slip through your fingers."
Her eyes glanced over to the other side of the Hub, catching the way Abbot was standing still with rigid shoulders and a frown pulling at his face. She couldn't stop the small smirk twitching her lips—he was definitely listening.
"Garcia can vouch for him, they did their residency together." She watched, delighted, as your arms loosened, your mouth moving side to side like you were considering it. "And," she dragged out, "he's exactly your type."
You rolled your eyes, but the small bite to your bottom lip gave away your interest. "What, emotionally unavailable?"
You watched as Santos eyes lit up, a slow smirk taking over her face as she subtly nodded towards where Dr. Abbot was standing.
"Old."
A rush of heat crawled up your neck and you elbowed her in the ribs. "Shut up," you hissed with wide eyes.
"You two done gossiping over there?" Dr. Abbot's voice barked out. "I'm sure your patients would love to know they bled out because you were busy planning a date."
You whipped your head to the side, your shocked eyes meeting his cold glare. His hands were gripping the counter's edge, his eyebrows raised as he gave you a pointed look.
You scrambled under his attention. "Sorry, Dr. Abbot, won't happen again." You shot Santos a sharp look before turning on your heels and hurrying towards the North nurses station.
Santos jutted her hip out and crossed her arms over her chest, levelling her superior with a knowing look across the Hub.
"What's the matter? You jealous, Abbot?"
He straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back. Everything about his posture screamed composed—except for the muscle that flexed his jaw.
"Get back to work."
Trinity turned back to the board with a hum, satisfaction thrumming through her veins. She was definitely going to win the bet.
The torture didn't stop there. No, that would have been too easy. Instead, Jack had to hear more about your dating life—this time at the end of a punishing twelve hour shift.
You were walking through the ambulance bay doors with Santos on your right and Mohan on your left. The three of you were fresh-faced in the early morning hours, each of you holding a cup of coffee in your hands. Jack's eyes were drawn to you instantly, catching the way the fluorescent lights brightened your eyes and highlighted the sleepy smile stretching your lips.
He was too busy getting lost in the mere sight of you to notice the sly look Santos threw his way.
"What is it that you like about older guys?" Trinity asked, nudging you with her elbow. Mohan let out a chuckle from your other side, suddenly finding her coffee very fascinating.
You shot Santos a bewildered look, your brows furrowing and mouth parting slightly. Before you could express your confusion, she continued.
"Is it the knee thing?"
"What?" You asked, a puzzled laugh lacing your words. "What are you talking about?"
"Do you bond with them over your upcoming knee replacements?" Santos asked with a cocky grin.
"Oh, shut up," you shove her shoulder lightly. "It's way too early for me to deal with your abuse."
The three of you reached the Hub, exchanging soft smiles and greetings with the night shift nurses. Your eyes flickered to Dr. Abbot briefly, his broad frame hard to ignore. He met your eyes for a second, giving you a small nod before turning to Lena.
"But seriously, I'm curious," Santos said, resting her elbows on the counter and cocking her head to the side. She didn't bother lowering her voice, gaining the attention of your colleagues scattered around the Hub—which, unbeknownst to you, was her full intention.
You narrowed your eyes at the mischievous smile on her face, a sense of dread tightening your throat. That look never meant anything good for you.
"How do you fuck your geriatric boyfriends when you've both got bad knees?"
A chorus of sounds echoed around the Hub.
Mateo snickered loudly behind his hand.
Samira let out a shocked gasp beside you.
Lena muttered, "oh dear."
Robby let out a long exhale, his mouth trembling in effort to not bark out a laugh.
"What the fuck, Trinity!" You exclaimed, slapping her arm harshly. Your response earned a few chuckles to sound out around you, causing the embarrassment you were feeling to clog your throat. Your wide eyes found Dr. Abbot's, his blank expression giving nothing away.
You quickly brushed past your amused coworkers, shoulder checking Santos on your way to the lockers. For a brief second, mortified tears blurred your vision. It was one thing for her to talk about setting you up on dates while working, but to make a joke about your sex life—in front of the unattainable attending she knew you had a crush on—was a step too far.
Jack watched as you bolted through the ED, a mix of emotions storming within him. He was irate with Santos, jealous about whoever these 'boyfriends' were, and concerned about you. He caught the flicker of hurt that crossed your face at Santos' question, the panic in your eyes when you looked at him.
And, he couldn't ignore the desire pooling low in his gut. Because it was something he had thought about—what position would feel best for you, what would guarantee you the most pleasure without hurting your knee. And he knew that if he ever was lucky enough to have you writhing under him, he wouldn't give a fuck about his leg.
Whilst Santos' jabbing was uncouth, it did confirm one important thing for him—you liked older men. Enough to want to fuck them.
That fact had his cock twitching in his scrub pants.
"You hear that, brother?" Robby murmured quietly, standing closer to Jack than he was a second before. "You might have a chance." Robby chuckled and gave Jack a pat on the shoulder before turning to the staff gathered at the Hub.
"Alright," he exclaimed, clapping his hands together once, "day shift, gather round."
The PTMC Emergency Department was a high stress, fast paced environment. You had seen multiple of your fellow coworkers take a tumble, faint from exhaustion, or be injured due to a patient's aggression. Every time it happened, Dana sternly directed them to the staff break room without fail. You had made it to your fourth year of residency without being dragged there once. That's not to say you didn't get injured, you just hid your pain better than others—one of the pros of living with chronic pain for so long (or a con, depending on who you asked). You were just two months away from becoming an attending, and you were determined to keep the record for the least amount of injuries endured during your time at PTMC—even if it was a record that you were the only one keeping track of.
Stupid Ogilvie and his lack of spatial awareness.
You let out a hiss as Dana pressed an ice pack against your knee. You were sitting at the small round table in the break room with your injured leg resting on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs.
"Oh, hush, you big sook," Dana said with a small teasing smile. The faint line between her eyebrows gave away her concern, though.
A small rush of air left your nose—something that might've been a laugh if you weren't preoccupied with the unbearable throbbing in your knee.
Dana brushed a stray hair back from your forehead, fixing you with a pointed stare. "I need to get back out there or else the whole place is going to fall apart." She poked your forehead gently, "you need to stay put, missy. Understood?"
You nodded with a small pout. "Yes, understood. No more life saving today," you grumbled out.
"Good. If you need anything…you're Ogilvie's patient now," she said over her shoulder, throwing you a wink before closing the door behind her.
"I never want to see his face again," you mumbled petulantly to the empty break room.
With nothing else to do but sit, you grabbed the tablet off the table and started to catch up on charting—or what you could catch up on without a hospital computer. Twenty minutes later you were groaning with your head in your hands, your good leg on the ground bouncing impatiently. Ten minutes of doing nothing and you were already bored shitless. You could hear the symphony of a busy ED calling to you through the closed door—voices shouting over one another, an urgent page being called over the speaker system, a child with a healthy set of lungs screaming.
Back in the ED, Jack was ripping off his blood soaked gloves in Trauma two. He had just finished performing a clamshell thoracotomy on his buddy Officer Riveria, who had been shot in the chest from crossfire during an armed bank robbery. Jack walked the short path towards Central, tearing off his SWAT vest and dumping it on a chair in the Hub—barely paying any attention to Dana who scoffed at his appearance.
He could feel his t-shirt clinging to his skin uncomfortably, sweat soaking through to his SWAT uniform leaving visible patches—which he couldn't care less about in that moment. He had been in the ED for half an hour already, and he had yet to hear your voice. It was unsettling.
Even during the most adrenaline inducing, hectic shifts he could still make out your voice above the noise. And last time he looked at the schedule, you were meant to be working the day shift.
"Hello to you, too," Dana mumbled, raising her eyebrows at Abbot's swivelling head.
"Hi," he glanced at her briefly before looking at the board, trying to see if you were assigned to any patients. "Where is she?"
Dana chuckled, shaking her head. Of course he noticed you weren't on the floor. "Who?"
Jack responded with your name quickly, just as McKay stopped next to him at the Hub—letting Dana know a patient was ready for discharge.
"Oh," McKay snorted, "Ogilvie knocked her down with a gurney earlier."
"What?" Jack seethed, levelling a glare at Dana—why wasn't that the first thing she said to him?
"Take it easy, soldier." Dana gave him a sharp look. "She's in the break room, she's fi—"
Jack didn't wait to hear the rest of her sentence, darting through the ED in a rush to get to you. He flung the door open to the break room with force, making you look up at him with startled eyes.
"Dr. Abbot? What are you doing here?"
He ignored your question, making his way to you in two long strides and squatting down next to your injured leg. You watched as his nostrils flared and his jaw clenched tightly, an irritated huff leaving him. Your eyes wandered from his face to his shoulders, your eyebrows scrunching at his camo sleeves—was he wearing fucking SWAT gear?
"What are you wearing—"
"I'm going to fucking kill Robby," he seethed.
"Robby? What did he do?" You asked, your head swirling with more questions.
Dr. Abbot lifted the ice pack off your knee gently, drawing in a sharp breath at your red, swollen joint. His eyes snapped up to yours, a battle of concern and anger warring in the hazel depths.
"This wouldn't have happened if you were with me."
Jack realised his slip a second too late, watching your eyes widen in surprise at his words.
"If you were on the night shift," he mumbled quickly, his eyes darting back down to your injured leg.
A calloused finger pressed softly to the bottom of your knee, just below the swelling. A pained wince left you at the barely there touch.
"Fuck, sweetheart." Abbot whispered, his brows pulling together in worry. "This doesn't look good."
"I'm fine," you breathed out quickly, your heartbeat picking up at him calling you sweetheart again. "It's fine, it was an accident."
"It's not fine," he said sternly. "You're hurt."
"I've dealt with worse."
He let out a deep sigh, shaking his head at your stubbornness. He stood back up—his leg twinging briefly in complaint. He took a few steps back, leaning against the kitchenette and crossing his arms over his chest.
"Alright—if you say you're fine, stand up."
You met his raised eyebrows with a deadpan stare—your bruised pride fighting against the desire to submit to him, to let him take care of you.
You sucked in a breath, lifting your injured leg off the chair and placing it on the floor hesitantly. The pull of gravity had your knee aching in an instant, the swollen joint throbbing incessantly. You tried to keep your face blank as you braced both hands on the table, using it to support yourself as you rose to your feet. You put all your weight on your good leg, and Dr. Abbot clocked it immediately—his eyes glued to your legs as you tried to stand nonchalantly.
"Take a step."
That stupid stubbornness flared hot despite the agony you were in, not wanting someone—especially the attending you thought about obsessively—to take care of you. Well, the problem was how badly you wanted him to take care of you, and you refused to let that show—to be the damsel in distress.
You took a small step forward on your injured leg and crumbled in a second, trying to bite back a pained whimper and failing. Abbot was there before you could catch yourself on the table, one strong arm wrapping around your waist and a steady hand supporting your upper back.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," he mumbled low, his body so close to yours that you could feel his voice rumble through you.
Jack stood still, relishing the feeling of you in his arms. Your breath was warm against his neck, your curves soft beneath his hands, and he could feel you leaning into him. It was fucked up—you were injured, biting down your pain to try not be an inconvenience, and he wanted more. He wanted so much more.
Keeping his arm around your waist, he grabbed your bag hanging off the chair and hiked it up his shoulder. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, drawing your attention to the gun on his hip—
What the fuck, since when was that there?
"What's your address?"
Your eyes snapped up to his face, your mind trying to process the sight of him in sweaty SWAT gear with a fucking handgun strapped to his hip. "Huh?"
He didn't look at you, thumb tapping on his phone. "I'm getting you an uber home. Give me your address."
"N-no, thank you, but I—"
He levelled you with a hard look, his eyes unrelenting. "This is not a discussion. Your address, now."
A thrill shot up your spine, his bossiness doing concerning things to your mind and body. You gave in, mumbling out your address—your body still actively aware of his thick arm wrapped around your waist, his warmth radiating through your clothes.
Jack grabbed your arm, slinging it over his shoulder and bringing you closer to his body—your perfume and something uniquely you cutting through the antiseptic and settling in his chest. His body screamed at him to turn his head, to bury his nose in your hair and inhale your scent like it was oxygen. His hand on your waist gripped tighter.
"What are you—" you started, shocked by his sudden closeness. The lines and freckles on his face were even more deadly this close.
"It's either this or I carry you. Your choice."
You slowly limped your way towards the door, consciously leaning as little weight on Dr. Abbot as possible—worrying about the strain you were putting on his prosthetic leg. Pain shot through your knee with every step you took.
"That's not gonna do, sweetheart."
He pulled you closer to him, essentially lifting you with every step. It took the weight off your leg, and had your breath stuttering at his strength.
Heat flushed throughout your body as you neared the Hub, your head dropping to ignore the curious and teasing stares from your coworkers.
"Hey, prince charming!" Dana's voice called over the rush of the ED. "This isn't your dumping ground!" Both your heads turned to see her holding his SWAT vest, shaking it with a pointed look before swinging her arm back and throwing it.
The hand steadying your arm on his shoulder lifted, catching the vest with ease. He handed it to you without a word, your free hand clasping around the slightly damp fabric.
It felt like it took hours to get to the ambulance bay, all the eyes on you two making you feel like an animal on display at the zoo. As you reached the doors, you faintly heard Javadi's voice behind you.
"Why didn't he grab a wheelchair?"
The uber was already waiting and Dr. Abbot helped you in the backseat before rounding the boot and getting in the other side. The door slammed shut, leaving you enclosed in the small space with your devastatingly attractive attending and crush.
"What are you doing?"
He grabbed your bag off his shoulder and the vest from your hand, putting them on the floor in front of him. His fingers clasped around your injured leg gently, lifting it and resting it on his lap.
"Making sure you get home safe."
The twenty minute drive to your apartment was quiet, the soft music droning from the car's speakers the only noise filling the uber. Dr. Abbot's hands rested on your leg the whole time, his thumbs rubbing absentminded patterns on your scrub covered shin.
Your brain stopped functioning approximately two minutes after the car pulled away from PTMC, when the first slow circle of his thumbs started. Instead of feeling the throbbing pain of your knee, you felt a throb grow north of it—slow strokes of fire coursing up your leg and gathering at the apex of your thighs. It was embarrassing, how desperately your body reacted to him and he wasn't even touching your skin.
You stared out the window the whole ride, despite how badly all the cells in your body ached to look at him—to map the lines of his face, to catch the way the sunlight coming through the window highlighted his stubbled jaw and changed the colour of his eyes. God, his eyes. You wanted to get lost in them, to watch them shift from honey amber to sunlit green—you wanted to know what colour they shifted to when dark with hunger, when dilated pupils eclipsed the sunburst irises.
Jack tried to keep his gaze locked on the seat in front of him, distracting himself with counting every individual stitch in the fabric. This was the fifth time he had placed your leg in his lap, but it felt different than the times previous. Maybe it was the protective anger curdling his gut—he had already drafted three carefully worded texts to Robby in his head—or the dangerous pull in his chest telling him that you were right where you belonged, next to him. All he knew was that the aching need to take care of you was now etched into his bones. Sitting next to you in the uber on the way to your place had nothing to do with him worrying about you as your attending—he was just a man needing to look after the woman he cared about deeply.
He couldn't stop his eyes finding the side of your face even if he tried—he was a moth to a radiant flame. He stored more details away in the overflowing file cabinet with your name on it; how the sunlight made your hair glow, how your lashes fluttered as you fought off fatigue, how despite the exhaustion and pain shadowing your face you still looked beautiful—ethereal. He wanted to worship at your altar.
Once the uber parked outside your building, he was quick to lower your leg—hands oh so gentle, again—and grab the bag and vest off the floor. He was out of the car before you could blink, opening your door and helping you out of the car with the strong hands you fantasised about daily. He offered the driver a quick thank you and it struck you deep in the chest—such a simple, kind act that you had watched men fail to do time and time again.
Your arm was back over his broad shoulders, one of his securely wrapped around your waist. It only hit you then how badly your body had missed the warmth of his pressed against you. And then something more frightening—exhilarating—hit you: Dr. Jack Abbot was going to be in your apartment.
Your step faltered, your heartbeat picking up in terror—or anticipation, only god knows.
"Thank you for your help—for the uber—but you should go—"
"No."
"Your shift is in a few hours, you should rest."
He let out a frustrated huff through his nose, turning his head to shoot you a hard look—his fingers on your waist tightening.
"Quit being stubborn and let me help you."
You opened your mouth to protest more, to say he's helped you enough, but the words died on your tongue before they had formed. You were sore and exhausted—that was the excuse you told yourself for letting your attending guide you into the building.
Your place was exactly how you left it—half a dozen medical textbooks littering your coffee table, your laptop still open on the dining table with sticky notes of varying colours covering the surface, a few dirty dishes stacked next to the sink. Your basket of clean underwear sitting on the couch waiting for you to put away. Because, of course the day Dr. Jack Abbot helps you home is your lingerie wash day.
Heat rushed up your neck as he helped you limp towards the couch, dumping his SWAT vest on the coffee table before grabbing the basket and putting it on the floor out of the way. You watched, intrigued, as red dusted along his neck and cheeks, his eyes looking everywhere but you.
His hand lingered on your waist as you sat down, before he cleared his throat and helped you get situated—placing a throw pillow under your injured knee and another behind your back. He started to take off your shoes, and it hit you at a dizzying speed how natural and domestic this all felt.
How nice it felt to have him in your home, taking care of you with no fuss. You can't remember the last time someone treated you with such care—the few times you asked your exes for help with your knee pain they made you feel like a burden.
Having Abbot treat you so gently, so delicately, only made the butterflies storming in your stomach increase tenfold. You were starting to feel sick, overcome with dangerous emotions at the hands of your attending.
You dropped your eyes to your hands fidgeting in your lap. "Thank you again, Dr. Abbot. For—"
"Jack."
You looked up at him to find him already staring down at you. Your hands started to shake.
"What?"
His voice was soft, low. "When it's just you and me, it's Jack."
You heart decided to find a home in your throat. "Oh…well, I appreciate your help," you smiled up at him softly, "Jack."
In that moment, Jack knew he was done for. He had noticed you only ever called him by his doctor title or last name, and now he knew why. His name sounded like it was made to slip from your tongue, like everyone else before you had said it wrong. He had to be careful—if you said his name with that little smile again, he was sure he would drop to his knees before you.
He stepped away from the couch, needing to do something else to distract his brain from the fantasy of you gasping out his name as he tasted you. He grabbed his vest and walked towards the kitchen—the open plan layout allowing him to keep an eye on you still.
You watched as he removed his gun from its holster, checking the safety was on before pulling the clip out, disarming it—the act alone sending a shiver racing up your spine. He didn't need to do that, but you figured he did it for your peace of mind—to ensure you felt safe in your own home. It had no right being that hot.
Your eyes landed on the gun and vest now sitting on your kitchen counter before you ran them over his sweaty uniform again, unconsciously biting your lip.
"So, you moonlight as a…SWAT medic?"
He started to look through your kitchen cabinets, pulling out a water glass. "My therapist said I needed a hobby."
"And all the men's shed's in Pittsburgh were at full capacity?"
He filled the glass with water, the side of his mouth quirking with a smirk. "Didn't meet the age requirement. I'll try again next year."
He brought the glass of water over to you, an amused glint in his eye.
"That where you scout for your dates? The men's shed?"
Your cheeks grew warm. "I am going to kill Santos," you muttered.
Your phone vibrated in your pocket and you pulled it out to see multiple texts from Santos. Speak of the devil.
Trin: (412) 858-5725
Trin: Ben's phone number
Trin: If your knight in sweaty swat gear doesn't make a move
You put your phone away quickly, grabbing the glass from the coffee table and taking a deep gulp to try soothe your nerves.
"Where do you keep your pain meds?"
Jack was still standing next to the couch, looking down at you with his hands in his pockets.
"There's a box under the bathroom sink," you told him. "First door on the left."
Jack returned less than a minute later, carrying your overflowing plastic container of pain medication—an eyebrow raised in surprise.
"Should I be concerned you're going to start a meth lab with these?"
"Medical textbooks are ridiculously expensive."
He chuckled in response, putting the container on the kitchen counter and grabbing a handful of pills for you. You accepted them with a small thank you, watching as he sat on the small armchair diagonal to you.
He nodded towards the textbooks splayed out on your coffee table. "How's the studying going?"
An involuntary sigh slipped out of you. "It's going fine, I guess." His furrowed eyebrows prompted you to elaborate more. "I'm—being on the day shift, I'm struggling to find the time to study." You watched his jaw clench and you quickly backpedalled. "I mean, that's not an excuse—I'm not trying to blame being on the day shift! It's my own poor time management, Samira seems to be doing fine. I just think the night shift suited me more…I miss you—it. I miss the night shift."
Your face was a furnace by the time you finally shut your mouth, refusing to look at Jack and instead glaring at the textbooks on the table like they had caused you grave pain.
"We miss you too."
Jack was struggling to control his breathing, feeling angry at Robby for keeping you off the night shift for the past month. Angry at himself for not pushing harder to keep you with him. It was obvious the day shift was not what was best for your well-being; here you were in front of him injured—by a day shift intern—, exhausted from the long shifts, and barely finding the time to study for your attending boards. He would bet his good leg that the only thing in your pantry was packets of ramen.
He took the lull in conversation to look around your apartment properly, a faint smile curving his lips as he spotted the decorations and trinkets that were very you. Something fond gripped his chest at the photos on your bookshelf. There was one of you and Santos on a night out—tipsy smiles and arms slung over shoulders—another of you and Ellis in your scrubs pulling the finger at the camera, and one on a higher shelf that had his heart tumbling.
It was of the night shift, everyone crammed into a small diner booth after a particularly rough shift. You two were sat next to each other, his head leaning back on the booth seat as he slept and your head turned to him with a soft smile on your face. He remembered the day it was taken—everyone called him grandpa for a week afterwards for falling asleep—but he didn't remember you looking at him like that. Like he hung the moon and the stars.
He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the emotion clogging it. He opened his mouth and said the first thing he thought of. "No cat?"
You lifted your head, looking at him quizzically. "I've never had a cat."
"What about the one we talked about?"
"Oh, that cat." You shrugged, "someone else adopted the little guy before I could."
"That sucks." And because his jealously won out over his logical mind when he was near you, he continued. "Does that mean you're still dating assholes?"
You laughed nervously, crossing your arms over your chest. "Do we have to talk about my sorry excuse of a dating life?"
Jack stayed quiet, not sure how to downplay his interest in your dating life—in you.
You sighed. "No, I'm not dating assholes—I'm not dating anyone at the moment, despite Trin's persistence."
Jack let out a gruff hum, feeling both pleased that you're not wasting your time dating and annoyed at the reminder of Santos' terrible matchmaking. "So I've noticed."
You winced. "Sorry, I'll tell her to stop talking about it at work. Not that she listens to anything I say, but it's unprofessional."
Jack dragged a hand along his scruff, tempted to tell you that it was the jealously souring his gut that bothered him, not the unprofessionalism.
"How's your knee?"
You shifted your injured knee on the pillow, relieved when you only felt a dull ache instead of sharp throbbing. "Stiff, but the meds are kicking in at least."
"Did you get that cream I recommended?"
You started to get up from the couch, lifting your leg and clenching your teeth when the pain came back."Yeah, but I can go get it. You've done more than enough, you should—"
Jack was by the couch in less than a second, putting a gentle but firm hand on your shoulder to keep you seated. "If you tell me to go one more time, I swear to god."
You looked up at him, your breath catching at his broad frame towering over you.
"I don't want you to think I'm a burden." Your voice was smaller than you would've liked, a crack lacing through.
Jack's heart fractured at your words, his walls starting to crash down. "You're not a burden to me. I want to help you."
The sincerity in his voice made yours shake. "Why?"
He took a deep breath. "For reasons I shouldn't say out loud."
Your heart stumbled before picking up, feeling like it was going to beat out of your chest.
"Jack…"
"Don't. Don't say my name like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you have no clue what you do to me."
But, you didn't know what you did to him. This was the first time you were aware he might've shared a fraction of the feelings you had for him.
"Let me take care of you and then I'll go, okay?"
You gulped, now feeling unsure of where you stood with your older attending. You gave him a small nod.
"Okay."
He stepped back, looking both satisfied and torn at your response. "Good."
"The cream, it's in my bedroom—but I'll go get it."
"No, you can't even walk by yourself. Stay there, I'll get it." He raised an eyebrow at the panicked look on your face. "Unless, you don't want me in your bedroom. You hiding dead bodies in there or something?"
That got a small laugh out of you, and he felt his shoulders relax the slightest—some of the tension from his almost confession dissipating.
Jack Abbot in your bedroom was a thought you had way too frequently, but that wasn't what had you stubbornly trying to stop him from getting the pain relief cream. It was because you knew the cream was in your nightstand—the same one your small collection of vibrators were in.
You were an adult. Owning a vibrator or two was normal. Jack was also an adult, you're sure he's seen sex toy's before. So, you sucked in a breath and put your big girl pants on.
"No, it's fine. I just—the cream's in the top drawer of the nightstand on the left."
Jack found your bedroom easily in your small apartment, your perfume and scent hitting him hard as soon as he pushed the door open wider. He stood still for a second, breathing in a deep lungful and feeling himself get even more addicted—if that was possible. He beelined for the nightstand, opening it and finding the cream he had recommended to you what felt like a lifetime ago. His hand faltered, his gaze finding the toys next to the cream—sticking out like a sore thumb. Your hesitation about him coming into your room suddenly made complete sense.
His cock twitched in his pants at the sight of them alone, and his traitorous mind didn't take long to supply him with the fantasy of you using the toys on yourself—laid out on your bed in front of him, listening to his commands as he told you how to fuck yourself.
He adjusted himself in his pants, shaking his head to try rid himself of the thoughts before walking back into your lounge.
You watched as Jack came back with the cream in hand, nerves tightening your throat at the deep red covering his neck and cheeks. He definitely saw the vibrators.
He didn't say a word, just waved the cream at you and sat on the other end of the couch—moving the pillow under your leg aside so he could move closer and rest your leg in his lap. Despite this not being the first time he's helped with your knee, it felt entirely different. Maybe it was his half confession lingering in the air, or the fact that you've been wound tightly for so long. Either way, the first touch of his fingers on your bare skin as he rolled your scrub pant over your knee had your core clenching desperately, embarrassingly.
The late afternoon sun streamed through your sheer curtains softly, painting your apartment in a dreamy haze that softened the edges of your mind. Neither of you spoke, the soft sounds of your breathing filling the room. His touch was featherlight on your knee, gently prodding to assess your pain—his intense gaze never leaving your face.
The first slide of the cream on your inflamed joint offered a small reprieve, a small sigh leaving your lips.
"This okay?"
You nodded, staring down at his hands on your leg—noticing the absence of his wedding ring. They drifted higher, rubbing the cream into the tight thigh muscles above your knee. A gasp slipped from you as his fingers pressed deeper, rolling a knot that had formed due to the tension from your injury.
Your eyes flicked up from watching his hands, finding his glued to your parted lips. They stayed there for a second longer before meeting yours and your breath caught in your throat. You could see where the amber bled into green, the faint blue ring on the edge of his irises. You watched his pupils dilate, his eyes darkening like a storm rolling through a forest.
Your eyes dropped to his lips, the soft light highlighting the stubble framing his face and making the cupids bow on his top lip stand out—looking incredibly enticing and kissable.
You both leaned in slowly, the thread between you pulling tighter. His breath brushed against your lips and the tension you'd been harbouring for months—years, even—snapped. You closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in what you wanted to be a tender kiss but was anything but—your desperation bleeding out of you.
He breathed in through his nose sharply, his hands on your thigh tightening before he returned your kiss slowly. One of your hands bunched the fabric of his SWAT top, the other sliding up the back of his neck and finding its place in his silver curls. You pulled him closer, kissing him with more urgency.
A moan rumbled in Jack's throat at the feeling of your hand tugging his hair, and he brought a hand up to cup your jaw—losing himself in the press of your soft lips against yours. His hand on your thigh gripped tight and pulled you closer, briefly forgetting that you were in pain.
He sucked your bottom lip between his, nibbling on the plump flesh and drawing a soft whimper out of you—your hips trying to rock despite the awkward position of you half pulled onto his lap.
The sound had Jack's cock jumping eagerly, still half hard from thinking about you fucking yourself with your toys. His hand on your jaw slipped to grasp the back of your neck, tilting your head back. His tongue ran along your bottom lip and you opened for him without hesitation. The first caress of your tongue's against each other drew matching, low moans from both your chests.
You felt your core grow wetter and you needed more, your hand fisting his top travelling down to slide under his layers of clothes and touching his solid, yet soft, abdomen.
The feeling of your hand touching his skin had reality crashing down on Jack, making him pull away from your lips with visible effort. Your mouth chased after his with a small whine, the hand in his curls trying to yank him back to you.
"We shouldn't," he panted, his breath hot against your lips.
"Please," you whispered, not caring how desperate you sounded.
He dropped his forehead to your collarbone, a shaky moan leaving him at how needy you sounded and the intoxicating scent of you wrapping around him.
"You're injured, I'm your attending, this is—"
You grabbed his hand clutching your thigh, dragging it up until his fingers grazed your scrub covered core. All logic and reasoning faded from his mind as he felt the heat radiating through your clothes. He was shocked for a brief moment, that your aching need for him matched his own for you.
"Touch me, please. Make me feel good."
Jack thought he had died and gone to heaven—those sweet words whispered into his ear sounding even better than he had dreamed.
"Fuck," he breathed into your scrub top, his hand moving and cupping your core. A gasp shot out of you and you ground your hips against his hand.
His head lifted and he peppered light kisses on the side of your neck—his stubble scratching your skin lightly. You pushed his head harder into your neck, desperate for him to take more. He let out a chuckle at your eagerness.
"You always this needy?"
His teeth sinking into your neck stole any response you may have had, a moan leaving your lips instead. His kisses grew in confidence, his mouth leaving trails of spit across your skin as he relished in the sounds he was pulling from you. His hand on your core moved, his palm pressing harder against your clothed clit—your hips rocking faster in response.
You pulled his head from your neck, his dark eyes meeting yours before he lunged for your mouth, his kisses turning punishing—teeth clashing, tongues fighting for dominance, stubble scratching and burning your skin.
The warmth in your core transformed into a raging fire—you had never been this turned on by a kiss before. You could feel slick oozing from your cunt, your underwear sticking to your core where his hand was moving against you. You were sure you were leaking through your scrubs, and you might've been embarrassed if it weren't for the lust lighting up your body.
Jack pulled back, his hand stilling against you causing you to let out a displeased whine. He looked down at his hand, an expression of awe on his face as he saw his palm with a light sheen of wetness and the dark patch on your pants.
"You're wet." He said, like it was a miracle.
You nodded, both hands gripping his jaw to pull his lips back to yours. He turned his head, still looking at his hand in amazement. It had been a long time since he last touched a woman, but he didn't remember them getting this wet from some kissing and light groping.
Your lips found his neck, lavishing the wrinkled and freckled skin with the same attention he gave you. You bit along his jaw gently, soothing the bites with a wet glide of your tongue. His chest vibrated with a deep groan and you doubled your efforts, sucking on a spot below his ear. The sounds he was making made you even more wet, small whines getting stuck in your throat as your need for him ricocheted.
"Fucking hell, sweetheart." He groaned, his dick starting to leak from your mouth on his neck and the little sounds you let out. "You're gonna make me come in my pants if you keep doing that."
His words stroked the fire in you higher, your nerves singing with pleasure at the fact you were unravelling him just as he was you.
He pulled you away from him and stood up, watching as your hazy eyes blinked up at him unfocused, a small frown pulling your kiss swollen lips down.
He hooked an arm around your back and the other under your thighs, lifting you off the couch.
"Jack, your leg—"
"Is fine. Let me do this."
He ignored the strain on his amputated leg, carrying you the short distance to your bedroom. He laid you down on your bed gently, taking extra care to not jostle your knee.
You sat up on your elbows, biting your lip as he stood at the edge of your bed—not moving, just staring down at you with his mouth slightly agape.
"You have no idea how long I've thought about this. How long I've spent wanting you."
Your chest stuttered at his admission, heat licking up your spine at the raw want in his voice.
He leaned down, placing his hands either side of your head and kissing you slowly, tenderly. Your hands settled in his curls, your lips responding in kind—your chest aching with something far more dangerous than need.
He trailed kisses down your jaw and neck, nuzzling his nose into the junction where your neck met your shoulder and inhaling deeply. An almost pained groan tore from his throat and it made you arch up into him in need.
His hands gripped your hips and lifted you further up the bed, your head resting on your pillow. His thumbs rubbed on the sliver of bare skin your bunched scrub top exposed, his questioning eyes meeting yours. You lifted your arms up before he could ask, and he pulled the fabric over your head—throwing it somewhere behind him.
His eyes dropped to your chest and he licked his lips, his hand slipping behind your back to undo your bra clasp. He pulled your bra straps down your shoulders slowly, like he was unwrapping a delicate present.
"Jack," you breathed out, impatience lacing your tone.
He dropped his head, kissing along the swell of your breasts.
"Didn't know my name could sound so sweet until you said it." He mumbled into your skin.
He finally pulled your bra away, throwing it in the same direction as your top. He sucked in a sharp breath at your exposed breasts, his eyes closing briefly as he gathered himself.
"You're beautiful."
Then he latched onto one of your nipples, sucking lightly and pulling a gasp from you. A large hand cupped your other breast, his thumb rubbing circles around your nipple—the dual simulation making fire sprint down your abdomen to your core. Your hips rocked underneath him, and he chuckled at your desperation—the sound vibrating through your body.
Your hands found the hem of his SWAT top and pulled, wanting to see the thick muscle he hid underneath scrubs. His touch left you for a second as he pulled his top off, exposing the black t-shirt underneath. And you swear you'd never seen a simple t-shirt look so hot before. It was tight around his bulging biceps, his muscular abdomen pressing through the fabric. You only had a second to ogle before he was stripping it off as well, leaving you with a sight you had only dreamed about.
The only word in your head at that moment to describe Jack Abbot was thick. You knew he was big, but seeing it without clothes felt surreal. You ran your hands over his bare chest, marvelling at the muscles jumping beneath your touch. His skin was dusted in freckles, a patch of light hair covering his chest that was soft under your fingers. His shoulders were broad and your jaw ached to cover the sturdy flesh with bites.
You gripped his shoulders and pulled him down, your lips meeting in a desperate kiss that had you both moaning. Your hands travelled down his shoulders to his back, pulling his bare chest down to meet yours. The feeling of his pecks against your breasts had you sucking his bottom lip with need.
You slid a hand down his bulky abdomen, revelling in his body jerking under your hand. You dipped a finger in the waistband of his camo pants, pulling slightly before moving your hand down and cupping his hard cock through the fabric. The feel of him had your core clenching—he was big, bigger than you had ever taken. It sent a thrill coursing through you and you gripped him harder.
"Shit," he hissed, grasping your hand and pulling it away from him. "Not today, sweetheart. It's all about you now, okay?"
He kissed down your chest, lavishing at your breasts again and you let out an impatient whine, pushing his head down to where you needed him most.
"Stop teasing."
You could feel his lips curve into a smirk against your skin. "But you sound so pretty."
He sucked harshly on your nipple, pulling it between his teeth and biting down. Your hips shot off the bed with a gasp, your knee throbbing from the sudden jolt but you didn't care. He repeated his ministrations on your neglected nipple before—finally— his kisses travelled down your stomach and stopped at the waistband of your scrub pants.
His lips sucked light marks along your lower stomach and hips, his fingers toying with your waistband and dipping under before tracing the marks his mouth left.
"Jack, please." You whined, your need echoing in your quiet room.
"You sound so good begging, baby."
He pulled away, hooking his fingers around your pants and underwear—slowly pulling them down your legs like he had all the time in the world. A groan rumbled out of him at the sight of your slick clinging to your underwear, a line keeping them connected to you until they reached your knees. He doesn't think he's seen anything hotter.
He was careful pulling your pants down over your injured knee, pressing a light kiss to your inflamed skin before your pants were finally off of you. He grabbed a spare pillow near your head, propping it under your knee and adjusting you so you were comfortably spread open with no weight bearing down on your knee. He kept his eyes on your face the whole time, checking for any hint of discomfort.
"You tell me if it starts to hurt, okay?"
You nodded in response.
"Words. I need words, sweetheart."
"Yes, I'll tell you, Jack. Just touch me already, please."
His eyes left your face, travelling down your heaving body and ending at your core. Your need was glistening all over your mound and a moan vibrated through him at the sight. He brought a hand to your core, his fingers lightly trailing down your wet slit making your hips jump off the bed. His other hand pressed flat against your lower stomach, his weight holding your hips down.
"You're fucking soaked. This all for me?"
You nodded quickly, your breaths coming quick—pent up from months of wanting and his merciless teasing.
"Yeah? I get you this wet?"
"Yes, Jack—only you. Been wet since I saw the SWAT uniform." The confession slipped from you, need obliterating your filter.
His face morphed into a shit-eating grin. "That right, pretty girl? I'll make sure to wear it more often."
He pulled away from you and you groaned in annoyance.
"What the fuck, Jack!"
He chuckled at your impatience, a cocky smirk plastered across his face. He sat on the edge of your bed, quickly pulling the leg of his pants up to take off his prosthetic leg and leaning it against your bed. He turned back to you, lowering himself between your legs—the feeling of his breath against your core making your thighs twitch.
"Just getting comfortable. No more teasing, promise."
And then he was licking a long strip up your dripping slit, his dark eyes holding your gaze captive. You threw your head back, a sigh of relief leaving you. One of his hands gripped the thigh of your injured leg, keeping you steady as the other pressed down on your lower stomach again. He licked torturous and slow, his eyes closing as he made out with your lower lips.
"Taste so fucking good, better than I imagined." He moaned into your core, eliciting a gasp from you.
Your hands found his soft curls, gripping tight as he feasted on you. You tried rocking your hips to chase the friction but his strong hand kept you still, making you whine pathetically.
His tongue found your clit, alternating between flicking it and drawing circles around it. Fire built up in your core quickly, gasps of his name and please falling from your lips.
Jack's cock was painfully hard, precum leaking and dampening his pants as he listened to the sweet noises you let out because of him. He knew this was going to be ingrained in his brain forever—you panting beneath him, all desperate and needy, his taste buds overloaded with your delectable nectar. You were better than any drug and he was irrevocably hooked.
His tongue dipped down to your entrance, circling it twice before plunging inside your walls. Your core clenched down at the intrusion and he moaned into your core—delicious vibrations spreading up to your clit.
"Yes," you gasped, hips trying to chase the pleasure his mouth was unleashing. His tongue started to thrust in and out of you and a hand left his hair to grip his hand on your stomach. "Please, feels so good."
Obscene slick sounds filled your room, your core drenched from your arousal and Jack's spit. His tongue went back to your clit, the hand on your thigh moving up and tracing light fingers around your entrance. Jack watched in hunger and fascination as your core clenched in anticipation.
"You want my fingers? Be a good girl and tell me how bad you need them."
Your whole body lit up at him calling you a good girl. You opened your eyes to see him already staring at you, his gaze heavy and hungry.
"Yes—fuck, please—Jack I need them so badly. Want you to fuck me with them, please."
You didn't need to beg for long, one of his fingers dipping into you and curling against your walls. A moan slipped out at you, your walls clamping down on the single digit.
"Fuck, you're tight." He moaned into your clit, sucking it into his mouth harshly. You let out a wanton moan, your hips pushing against his hand holding you down. Another finger slipped inside you and he pushed them deeper, thrusting them against the spongy spot that no other man cared to find. You mewled, embarrassingly needy as a familiar tension built in your core.
"Oh my god, right there," you moaned out and his fingers picked up their speed, curling to stroke against that spot over and over. A third finger joined in and your eyes shot open at the stretch. His mouth doubled down on your clit, sucking harshly and nibbling gently.
"You gonna come for me?"
Incoherent babbling spilled from you—his name, please, and fuck being the only words your brain seemed capable of forming.
Jack was grinding his hips on your bed, feeling like a teenager ready to bust from the first moan that you let slip free. His cock was pulsing in his pants, so close to coming already.
"Yeah, that's a good girl. Come on my fingers."
The hand on your stomach pressed harder and the tension in your core shifted, still familiar but also different—tight and overwhelming. One last sharp suck to your clit had you soaring off the edge, your whole body tensing and head throwing back as pleasure rushed through you like a roaring fire. You came with a loud cry of his name, your ears ringing and white spotting your vision. You felt wetness gushing from your cunt, warm and sticky—amplifying and drawing out your release until it bordered on painful.
Jack groaned against your core as you gripped his fingers tight, sucking them in deeper as you squirted over his face, his hand, your bedsheets. Your fingers in his hair pulled as you panted and heaved beneath him. He pulled his mouth off your clit, moaning out your name as he spilled in his pants—your release making him come untouched. He continued moving his fingers inside you, drawing out your orgasm with his eyes focused on where release was squirting out of you with every thrust of his fingers.
"Good girl. You did so good."
Your fingers in his hair trembled, yanking softly as you tried to squirm away from his touch. "It's too much, Jack." You whined and he finally relented, drawing his fingers out of you with a loud, sinful pop. Your half open eyes met his, watching through a hazy fog as he lifted his soaked fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean—a deep groan tearing through him and you almost moaned at the sight.
He kissed up your body slowly, sucking and biting on a nipple and drawing a yelp out of you—your overstimulated body shaking underneath him.
"That was fucking incredible," he whispered into your neck, sounding starstruck. "You're incredible."
You giggled softly, his stubble tickling your neck. "That was all you." One of your hands brushed along the broad expanse of his shoulders, the other toying with the curls at the top of his neck. "I've never done that before," you admitted in a small and dazed voice.
He continued to nibble on your neck. "What, hook up with your boss or squirt?"
You slapped his shoulder lightly. "Both."
"Pleasure was all mine, sweetheart."
He removed his head from your neck, soft eyes gazing into yours before he leaned in and kissed you sweetly. His arms wrapped around your back, pulling your chest to his as he kissed you deeply—pouring everything he couldn't say yet into the kiss.
He pulled back, his eyes roaming around your face trying to memorialise this moment in his brain. He caught sight of the clock on your nightstand, a frustrated groan vibrating his chest as he saw he had to be at work in just over an hour. He dropped his forehead to yours for a few seconds, before pushing himself off of you with pained effort.
"I gotta go get ready for work. I—uh, need to clean myself up."
You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion before looking down, finally spotting the dark wet patch on his camo pants.
"Oh."
He put his prosthetic leg back on, standing and looking back at you still naked on your bed—spread out and glistening in your own release. He quickly walked to your bathroom, grabbing a clean towel from the cupboard and wetting it in the sink. He returned to your room, hit with the overwhelming smell of you—your perfume, your natural scent, your release. It had him debating calling in sick to lay tangled in the sheets with you, making you feel good until you passed out.
He cleaned you up gently, the soft press of the damp towel on your sensitive cunt making you twitch and flinch away.
"Easy, baby. Almost done."
He pressed a kiss to your forehead once he was done, a thumb brushing across your cheek.
"Okay, now I really have to go or Robby will send out a search party."
You bit your lip, your come down leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. "What…what does this mean?"
Jack didn't want to leave you alone, the uncertainty in your eyes making his chest ache. "We'll talk about it properly later, yeah? Just rest now—I'll order you some food."
He grabbed you some pyjamas out of your dresser, leaving them folded next to you on the bed. He left you with instructions on how to look after your knee—despite your insistence that you had been living with the pain for over a decade and you were a doctor as well, you knew how to take care of your injury.
After your front door clicked softly behind him you stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours, your mind still not comprehending that you had hooked up with Jack Abbot—and he had made you come harder than you ever have in your life. So much was still left unsaid, but there wasn't a cold ache in your heart like you expected at the uncertainty. You trusted Jack, and you trusted that he wouldn't leave you spiralling for too long.
Just after seven pm your phone lit up with a text from Robby.
Robby: You're back on the night shift once your knee is better. Rest up.
A smile took over your face, a sigh of relief leaving you. You knew Jack was responsible for the shift change, and it had warmth spreading through your body from your chest.
Not even twenty minutes later, your screen flashed with texts from Trinity.
Trin: DID YOU AND ABBOT FUCK
Trin: Don't even try to lie to me
You: We didn't fuck
Trin: Then why is he smiling like he won the lottery
Your lips stretched into a grin.
You: Maybe he did?
Trin: Tell me what happened right now
Trin: I'm gonna be pissed if Robby won the bet
You: What bet, Trinity?
Trin: Shit gotta go! Someone's dying
You: Someone is always dying. Did you guys make a bet about Jack and I?
Trin: SMS ERROR: The phone number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.
Trin: …did you just call him Jack?!?!?!?
You were drafting a profanity filled response to her when a text from Jack came through.
Abbot: Dinner is 10 minutes away. Hope Vietnamese is all good.
Abbot: Ice your knee afterwards.
You didn't see Jack for seven days after that. He text you throughout the week, checking in and assuring you that you would talk but not over the phone—that you deserved more than that. The swelling in your knee eased by day three, and by day six it barely hurt anymore. You were under strict orders to not even think about the hospital, and you only left your apartment to go for walks around your neighbourhood—you didn't even go to the grocery store, there was no need to when Jack arranged groceries to be delivered to your front door.
He called you a couple times after a long shift, just wanting to listen to your voice as he struggled to sleep. He sat on the phone while you studied for your boards, giving his input when you started to ramble and spiral about a topic you thought you didn't understand—to which he reminded you that you were one of the most capable residents he'd seen walk through the PTMC doors. His confidence in you helped with the spiralling, and only made your need for him build to dizzying heights.
Neither of you brought up what happened at yours, both silently agreeing that it was a face to face conversation. It didn't stop you from thinking about it every night though, about him. You didn't ask him to come over before or after his shifts, not wanting to come on too strong despite how badly you wanted to see him again.
It was on day seven of not seeing him that you said fuck it. You were basically climbing the walls by that point, growing restless from doing nothing but sitting and studying and dreaming about all the ways Jack could fuck senseless. You knew it was his first scheduled day off in two weeks and while you should've let him rest, the demon he had unlocked inside of you didn't care.
You made it to mid afternoon before you sent him a text.
You: Hey, you busy?
Jack: No. What's up?
You: Think you could come over so we can have that talk?
Jack: I'll be there in 30.
True to his word, Jack knocked on your door twenty-eight minutes later with a takeout bag in his hand.
"Hey, I got us some sandwiches from the new deli on—"
You didn't give him time to finish, yanking on his sweatshirt's collar and dragging his lips down to yours. A shocked noise sounded in the back of his throat before he responded in earnest, his free hand wrapping around you waist and pulling you into his body. He staggered into your apartment, blindly closing the door behind him as you kissed him with a bruising intensity.
He pulled back to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You moved your mouth to his neck, sucking and nipping his neck as the desperation you'd been feeling for the past week clawed at your chest and core. You slipped your hands under the hem of his sweatshirt, relishing in the heat of his bare skin beneath it.
"Slow down, sweetheart." He chuckled, his hand moving from your waist to grip your jaw and pull you back. You let out a small whine, your brows furrowing in annoyance. "Did you ask me to come 'round for a booty call?"
You huffed. "No—I mean yes, but I wanted to talk too." You stepped back from him, feeling a drop of embarrassment for how you pounced on him. You took the takeout bag from his hand, offering him a soft smile. "Thank you for getting food."
"Of course."
He followed you as you made your way to the kitchen, putting the food on the counter and turning back to him with a sheepish expression.
"Thank you for everything this past week. The groceries, the late night—for you—study sessions. It…means a lot."
He stepped forward, resting his hands on your hips before pulling you into a hug—his strong arms wrapping around your back making you melt into his embrace. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and you nuzzled into his neck with a soft, content hum.
"Anything for you, sweetheart." He mumbled into your hair. Your heart soared in your chest.
He felt the tension from the last week dissipate from his body now that you were back in his arms. He hadn't realised just how stressed he was until that moment.
He pulled back slightly, keeping an arm wrapped around your back as a hand cupped your jaw. He leaned in, kissing you softly before resting his forehead against yours.
"Hi."
You giggled in response. "Hi."
"I haven't stopped thinking about you, about this."
Your hands gripped his curls, pulling him down for another bruising kiss. His hands slid down your back before resting on your ass, giving it a light squeeze and making you sigh into his mouth. You traced your tongue along his lips and he opened willingly, his moan ringing throughout the kitchen as he tasted you again. You pushed your hips flush to his, grinding against the hard length you could feel growing in his pants.
You whimpered into his mouth. "Please, I need you."
He pulled his mouth back from yours an inch, his hands still groping and squeezing your ass. "Thought we were gonna talk?"
"After."
He laughed, the wrinkles on his face deepening. "You're a little minx, you know that?"
"Only for you."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" He pressed a kiss to your cheek, another to your jaw, a line down your throat. "I heard you've got a thing for old men."
You sighed, tilting your head back to give him better access. "Thought I did, but I think it's just a thing for you."
He groaned against your throat. "You can't just that, baby."
"Why not?"
Jack's mouth moved to your ear, catching your lobe between his teeth and tugging. "Makes me want to skip the talking." He whispered low into your ear, your body wracking with shivers.
"Jack Abbot, you're a goddamn tease."
He pulled back fully, hazel eyes swirling with desire locking onto yours. "If we do this, it changes everything. I'm not—you're it for me. I'm not letting go of you."
"Fine by me."
He smiled, shaking his head lightly before diving back down to kiss you. He walked you backwards through your apartment, leading you to your bedroom like he had done it a thousand times before.
"How's the knee?" He mumbled against your mouth, pushing you back against your bedroom door once he closed it.
"Better. Swelling's gone, minimal pain."
He pulled back, squinting his eyes at you. "And you wouldn't be lying to me?"
"Never."
His mouth quirked up, an appraising look in his eyes. "Good girl."
A whimper slipped out of you and his eyes lit up.
"You like that? You like when I call you a good girl?"
You nodded, one of your hands gripping his shoulder and the other slipping into his curls. He gave you a peck on the lips before moving down to kiss your neck, mouthing at the spot below your ear that had you unleashing sighs and soft moans. One of his thick thighs slotted between your legs, pressing against your core and making you dizzy.
His hands grasped your hips, dragging you back and forth on his strong thigh. Your hips followed his lead, sparks shooting throughout your body from your clit. You could feel the wetness starting to leak out of you, making the friction even more delicious. Breathy pants and sighs slipped from your lips, your hips rocking faster as your body lit up under his touch. His fingers pressed harder into your hips, grunts tickling the skin of your neck as he got achingly hard from you getting yourself off on his thigh.
"Yeah, like that, pretty girl."
He latched his mouth onto your pulse point, sucking hard and making your head drop with a thud against the door.
"Jack," you breathed out. "Please."
"Tell me what you need."
Your hand on his shoulder trailed down the front of his sweatshirt, landing on his hard bulge and squeezing. His broken moan sounded in the quiet room.
"You. Fuck me, please."
"You need it that bad, huh?"
You nodded eagerly, giving him another squeeze before his hand gripped your wrist and pulled it away.
"Shit—yeah, okay. I'll give you what you need."
He spun you around, walking you towards the bed and pulling your top off. He let out a groan as he saw you were braless, your already hard nipples ready for him to feast on. He pushed you down to sit on the bed, pulling his sweatshirt over his head. Your hands grasped the waistband of his pants, trembling with anticipation as you worked the button open and zipper down. His hands found yours, pulling them away from him and you huffed in annoyance.
He moved his hands to the waistband of your leggings and pulling them down slowly. You fought back the frustrated groan working it's way up your throat—you didn't need his slow hands, you wanted him to fuck you dumb.
He ran a finger down your underwear, a damp spot already formed. He pressed down on it, earning a soft moan from you and his cock twitched in his pants. His finger moved faster, more slick soaking your underwear and he became addicted to the sight—addicted to the way your hips moved forward eagerly. He gripped both hands around the fabric and pulled them down your legs, much to your relief.
"No foreplay. Trust me, I'm already wet enough." Your desperate voice sounded out, your hands making their way back to his pants. He let you pull his pants and boxer briefs down to his knees, your wide eyes latching onto his cock as it sprung free against his stomach.
You were right. He was really well hung; thick and long, curving slightly to the left. You felt your mouth watering, wanting nothing more than to choke and drool on his length. Maybe next time.
"Did you pop a viagra before you came over?" You teased, your lips curving into a smirk as your eyes met his.
He squinted at you, giving your thigh a light smack. "Watch it, sweetheart."
Your nerves sang from his smack, and you felt the strong urge to roll over onto all fours and ask him to slap you again—though you knew he would just flip you back over because of your knee.
He toed his shoes off before pulling his pants off all the way, giving you a good look at his stupidly big thighs and his prosthetic leg. Your breath caught at him standing fully naked before you—he was beautiful; his freckles, wrinkles, and scars telling you a story of a long life that you hoped you would continue to be a part of.
"Don't need a little blue pill when I've got you. Just need to think of you and I'm already half hard."
"That was strangely sweet."
He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. One of your hands found his cock, using the precum leaking from the tip as lube to slowly drag your hand up and down his length. He groaned into your mouth, his hips jerking forward into your touch.
He pushed at your shoulders, encouraging you to lay back on the bed with your legs dangling off the edge. He grabbed a pillow, slotting it under your hips so they were tilted up.
"I'm gonna take the leg off, okay?"
"Whatever is comfortable for you, I really don't mind."
He took his prosthetic off, the process quick and like second nature. He rested his amputated leg on the bed beside your thigh. "There might be a bit of adjusting, but we just need to communicate. That okay with you?" You nodded your agreement.
He leaned over you, one hand next to your head as the other came up to squeeze your breast and roll your nipple between his fingers. He kissed you passionately, his tongue slipping into your mouth and stubble scratching your skin. You moaned into his mouth, grabbing his cock and tugging it slowly, teasingly.
His kisses grew sloppy as your pace picked up before he pulled back, resting his head on your collarbone.
"You got a condom?" His warm breath elicited goosebumps across your skin.
"I'm on the pill. And clean."
His cock jumped in your hand at your insinuation and he stood back up to get a good look at you. His sweet girl laid out on her bed before him, telling him he could fuck her raw. Yeah, he was pretty sure he had died and gone to heaven—or hell, either worked.
"You sure?"
"Please," you breathed out, dark and lidded eyes gazing up at him desperately.
"Fuck, don't know how I got so lucky."
He brought his cock to your soaked core, dragging it back and forth with ease—the tip catching on your clit making you gasp. He repeated the motions until you were writhing under him, pretty mouth falling open and moaning out his name.
"Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me." He rasped out, his control thinning by the second.
"God, I want this so badly. I want you—I have for so long, please." You whined, snapping his restraint.
He grabbed your legs, resting your ankles on his shoulders in the butterfly position. He gripped your hips before he brought his tip to your entrance, captivated by your tight hole clenching at the slight press of him. He pushed in slowly, a guttural moan leaving him as your walls gripped tightly.
"Shit—fuck, you're tight."
You let out a whine, your cunt stretching to accommodate his girth. Your chest heaved with heavy pants, your core lighting up with pleasure and only half his length was in you. Your hands found his forearms, your fingers digging in as he pressed into you more. A wail left you once he was fully in, your walls clenching impossibly tight. You both stayed still for a few seconds, both your staggered breaths filling the room. You squeezed around him and he let out a pained groan.
"That's—you feel so fucking good."
"Move, please." You begged.
He pulled his hips back, leaving just the tip in before he thrust back in harshly.
"Fuck!" You yelled, his cock hitting against your sweet spot perfectly. He picked up the pace, his hips alternating between slow, dragging thrusts and harsh, quick thrusts—his eyes watching your face carefully, learning what made you whimper and your eyes roll back. His grip on your hips tightened, tilting them up as he delivered a harsh thrust that had a cry leaving your lips.
"You like that? Does that feel good?" You nodded mindlessly, pressure building in your core as your room filled with the sounds of your pleasure and skin slapping against skin.
"Don't stop, Jack—oh, god—"
He groaned out as you squeezed even tighter around him, his release nearing embarrassingly fast. Your nails dug into his skin, a hiss leaving him at the burning sensation. He moved a hand from your hip to your core, rubbing tight circles on your clit. Your back arched as a loud moan escaped your chest, echoing throughout your room and probably being heard by the neighbours.
He kept his pace on your clit as his thrusts sped up, the effort making his face shine with a sheen of sweat.
"That's a good girl. You close, sweetheart?"
You mewled at his praise, nodding your head and uh-huhing as the fire licked higher. Your stomach clenched as your orgasm built, and you could feel Jack's nearing—his thrusts starting to lose rhythm.
"Come inside me. Please, Jack." Your eyes shining with tears met his as you begged, and he almost blew his load right then.
"Tell me you're mine," he gritted out through clenched teeth.
"I'm yours—only yours," you gasped out.
"Fuck, I'm gonna come. Shit, sweetheart—oh fuck." Jack moaned out, and the sound combined with the dual simulation on your cunt had you coming with a sharp cry—warmth spreading out from your core, your body feeling weightless and mind going fuzzy with pleasure.
You clenched down on his cock as you came, your slick walls keeping him locked deep and he rutted two times before coming—spilling in you with a long groan.
He brought your legs down from his shoulders and collapsed on top of you, peppering your chest with kisses as his cock softened inside you.
"That was…" He started.
"Yeah," you laughed softly, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and holding him to your chest. "Pretty good for an old man," you couldn't help but tease him, earning another smack to your hip.
"Smartass."
After showering and eating you found yourself back in bed with Jack, lying next to him with your head on his bicep, one leg slung over his hip and a finger lazily tracing his chest—mapping his freckles like constellations. His free hand was running a path up and down your thigh and hip, goosebumps erupting from his touch.
You turned your head slightly to look at his face. "Did you know there was a bet about us?"
He turned to give you a bewildered look, before realisation slowly dawned on him.
"Well, that explains Robby pestering me with questions all week. Kept asking if I was getting laid, apparently the smile on my face was concerning."
You laughed softly, your heart glowing at the fact he was caught smiling at work because of you. "What did you tell him?"
A/N: I love this trend so I think this is hilarious and I enjoyed writing for Denki more than I thought I would. Also, greetings. I have returned for good.
Plot: See what your s/o does when you pretend to be random person who’s trying to get with them at a party
Katsuki
Katsuki was cooking both of you dinner in the common rooms’ kitchen and you were standing next to him, watching him. You suddenly got a bright idea, or stupid. Eh, it’ll be fine.
“Katsuki, think fast, I’m random person.”
You grabbed his face and tried to kiss him, but then he shoved you off him almost immediately. No hesitation. No grace. You landed on the floor, but he didn’t stop there. He was taking it to the max.
“GET YOUR BITCH ASS OFF ME, HOE!”
Then he started hitting the back of your head with a spatula.
“Okay! Okay! OKAY! You can stop!”
Katsuki stopped hitting the back of your head and went back to cooking. He was quiet for a couple of moments, watching you get up out of his peripheral vision. He spoke up once he saw that you got off the floor and was okay.
“Don’t test my loyalty again. I’ll beat anyone if they tried something.”
Izuku
Both you and Izuku were lying down in his bed. It was a long day of training, Aizawa pushing you both to your limits.
You looked over at your boyfriend, his green eyes closing and opening, trying to fight off sleep.
“Izuku?”
He let out a small hum of acknowledgment, not thinking much of what you were going to ask. He thought it would’ve been a stray thought, but nope.
“Think fast, I’m random person.”
You leaned in and kissed him. It took a couple minutes for Izuku’s tired brain to register what was happening and he let out a horrified sound, falling off of the bed.
“AH! AHHHHHHH!”
He scrambled to the door and ran out, leaving you there with this expression •_•
Well at least this is what would happen if a random person tried to get with him.
Denki
You and Denki were scrolling on social media on the commons room couch, making the most of a Saturday with nothing to do, but be in each other’s presence. It was just you two so it was quiet which was rare.
“Hey Denki?”
Denki took his eyes off the screen of his phone and over to your expectant face. He turned the phone off, the artificial light leaving both of your faces.
“Yes babe?
“Quick, pretend I’m a random person.”
You grabbed his face and tried to pull him into a kiss.
Now, as we all know, Denki is chronically online. He finds the latest trends before they ever become trends. He definitely knew what you were doing and this man trained for this. He knew what to do.
Denki rolled you off the couch, placing his hand behind your head to prevent it from getting hurt from the floor since you were still the person he was dating even if you were pretending to be another person for the sake of the trend.
He rolled right on top of you, keeping his hand on the back of your head. He leaned in real close to your face and almost kissed you, but then he whispered.
“Sorry babe, I’m taken.”
Denki pulled back from you, enjoying that look on your face. He laughed.
“What were you expecting me to do?! You’re a random person, remember?”
being a podcaster that constantly goes viral when people clip you getting passionate about something. going on a rant about how that basketball guy was a fucking idiot for cheating on your favourite rapper. another clip of you saying ingenium’s new suit just looks sooooo good on him. did anyone know he was that fine?
always talking about pop culture, the fun parts about hero news (usually just outfits and faces) and little tidbits about your life.
you end up on bakugou’s 10 minute instagram scroll. everything you said about that stupid loser basketball player is true. you cuss well, eloquent with it. he doesn’t agree with what you say about ingenium’s new suit. well, it’s only recently got better because he got in contact with bakugou’s suit designer. he thinks you’re cute when you go into detail about why the suits better. bakugou still disagrees though.
but what makes bakugou take a step further is when he gets a video of you, not crying but angry. you’re speaking into a mic from your bed, or maybe it’s a set? but a bed, nevertheless, white sheets pulled up under your chin with this low lamp lighting.
“also i think i’m swearing off dating. it was going perfect with one guy and then he breaks it off because he doesn’t want his business ending up on the podcast…. i haven’t even said anything about him!” you whine, “and now it just looks like i’m proving his point because i’m talking about it but i wouldn’t have if we were still dating.”
the text on the video screams, “YN SINGLE?!”
bakugou taps on your instagram. loads of clips from your podcast pops up. he finds the next video, the one after the last.
“well dms are open if any fine men are interested. when i say fine i mean fine. you also have to be able to keep up with me, handle a little joke,” you laugh.
and bakugou thinks about it for three days. watches more videos of you talking, your goofy opinions, your educated opinions, your real opinions. scrolls through your personal instagram too.
so he does it. he dms you on your instagram because he deems himself a fine man, he can handle a little joke and well, he likes you. a lot.
you’re funny and smart. articulate yourself well. very beautiful. hobbies on your instagram, full group of friends. well travelled and a homebody and social and he’s eager to know more.
@ dynamight: Are applications still open?
it’s fun, bakugou thinks. a good slide into your dms.
but you don’t reply for a week. he thinks he’s been completely ignored. clearly not interested in him and defo not your type. even though you’re both verified so you’ve definitely got the notification. bakugou takes it all on the chin. doesn’t mention it to anybody because it’s a little embarrassing. maybe it’s been buried from all the other dms you’ve received from men.
until he gets a video on his timeline. then the same video sent to him from three different friends.
the words are captioned loud and bold on the video. straight to the point and pure clickbait. well is it clickbait if it’s true? bakugou chokes on his spit, turning up the volume in his work bathroom.
“DYNAMIGHT IN THE DMS?”
“now guys… walk with me here. if you’re dynamight, thee bakugou katsuki, one of the sexiest men in the world, PLEASE don’t watch this clip. i can’t believe you’ve even seen clips of my pod. i swear this isn’t even me!” you ramble into your microphone, tucked up with your knees to your chest for a more casual episode. “okay guys, now that he’s gone, i’ve got to tell you… after last episode when i said can fine men send me dms, why the fuck did dynamight send me one? i was so shocked by it i still haven’t replied. i’ve avoided talking about him here because i do not want to be on that man’s radar. he’s way too gorgeous for me to comprehend.”
you giggle to yourself, “but he dmed me… something about are applications open? the boyfriend ones. now i can’t reply because ive just told everybody but there’s no way i pulled him.”
bakugou watches it leaning against the sink, three times. his smile gets bigger every second till he’s full on grinning at his phone.
you’re joking a little, entertainment for the podcast because you know you’re just as fine as him. though you don’t think your worlds would ever cross?
he decides to make another move.
@ dynamight: I think you’re gorgeous too
commented underneath the video.
an onslaught of likes and comments commence. mostly your fans giving a whole load of keyboard smashes and “yn is going to go insane”.
then he puts his phone down, washes up his hands and checks his appearance in the mirror. wipes his nose and what not.
but he gets lured to his phone again, picking it up and opening instagram to find you’ve replied to his comment.
@ ynpod: @ dynamight i swear i don’t share all my business online
@ dynamight : @ ynpod So applications are still open?
koro-sensei deserves so many fics omg! and i really wish i could write for senku, but he's is so fucking smart, how am i ever supposed to capture his character! shikamaru is an underrated king.
2. THE MAGICIANS
need i say anything? look at their eyes ughhhhhhhhhhh need more.
3. THE GOOFBALLS
i am still shocked by how few Luffy-centric fics we have. it's just not fair! jiraya is a genuine hear me out, but i think people can relate...right? and for naruto, i mean exclusively adult naruto, i've seen barely a handful :(
shikamaru groaned the moment you sank down on him—long, low, strained.
you could feel it everywhere: the stretch of his cock inside you, the heat of his palms bracing your hips, the tight clench of his jaw as he tried to stay relaxed beneath you… like he always did. but this wasn’t some lazy afternoon nap. you were straddling his lap, thighs tight around his hips, your pussy clenching and fluttering around him just from the way he filled you—deep, slow, aching—and even shikamaru couldn’t keep his usual calm with the way you were squeezing him.
“fuck,” he muttered, voice rough, fingers tightening on your skin. “this is such a drag…”
but his hips jerked up, shallow, searching, like his cock didn’t agree with a single word.
“you don’t sound very bored,” you whispered, rolling your hips, slow and steady, watching his breath stutter.
his head fell back against the pillow, dark eyes fluttering half-lidded, his lip caught between his teeth as you fucked yourself down onto him—slick, sweet, every movement tight and warm and so deliberate. you bounced once, hard, and he groaned again, deeper this time, hands sliding up your back.
“troublesome woman,” he muttered. “gonna be the death of me…”
you leaned forward, chest brushing his, breath hot against his jaw. “you’d die happy.”
he chuckled, then moaned—low, involuntary—when you clenched around him again, grinding your hips to feel him drag against every inch of you. his cock hit just right, and you gasped, gripping his shoulders for leverage.
“that spot,” you whispered, rolling again, slower. “right there—fuck—”
shikamaru’s eyes opened, dark and hazy and focused. “you want me to help you?”
“no,” you said, breathless. “just stay there. let me ride it.”
he exhaled like he was trying to keep from losing control, but he didn’t stop you. just lay there beneath you, warm and flushed, fingers twitching at your waist while you worked his cock with slow, perfect rhythm. the slaps of skin got louder. the room filled with the sound of your wetness, your moans, his low curses, his broken grunts when you dropped down hard enough to make the bed creak.
“f-fuck—gonna make me cum like this,” he muttered, eyes squeezed shut.
you leaned in and kissed him—slow, messy, wet—and kept moving.
the moment it happened, it was like something snapped between you both.
and he hit your g-spot.
dead center.
the scream tore out of you before you even meant it—sharp, high-pitched, wrecked—your hands flying to his chest, nails digging in, eyes wide with the shock of it as your whole body snapped down hard around him, fluttering tight like you were gonna break from the inside out.
“fuck—!”
shikamaru’s head snapped up, and something in his eyes changed—something sharp. he watched your mouth fall open, your body jolt from the force of your own thrust, your hips twitching helplessly—and then?
he moved.
“fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, voice low, breathless, and way more serious than before. “that was the spot, huh?”
you didn’t even get a chance to answer.
he planted both feet on the bed and started fucking up into you—fast, deep, filthy. his cock pounded that same exact spot over and over like he’d locked on to it, zeroed in with military precision and a grudge. his grip shifted to your waist and he slammed you down to meet his thrusts, hips snapping like he was chasing something, like he wanted to fuck the sound out of your throat again.
which he did.
“shikamaru—ah—f-fuck—wait—!”
but you couldn’t get a sentence out. every word turned into a whimper, a sob, a broken syllable as his cock drilled up into you, relentless, brutal, wet slaps echoing through the room like a thunderclap with every bounce of your ass on his thighs. you couldn’t ride anymore—you weren’t doing anything. you were just taking it, bouncing helplessly while your brain melted down into static.
“too much?” he asked, voice still low but strained now, like even he was about to lose control. “you didn’t say stop.”
you couldn’t. you physically couldn’t. your mouth was open, eyes rolled back, drool starting to slip past your lips while your body convulsed around him. your pussy clenched tight like a vice, spasming with each punishing thrust that split you open, stuffed you full. your thighs shook. your hands flailed for his shoulders, for anything, nails dragging across his collarbones as your head tipped forward, a pathetic moan dragging out of your throat like you’d never stop cumming.
and he loved it.
“damn,” he growled, sweat trickling down his neck, watching the way your tits bounced, how your jaw dropped like a ruined doll. “you’re really going dumb on my dick, huh?”
you nodded. or tried to. it was more like a twitch. your whole body was just reacting now—every muscle clenching, pulsing, your legs useless, your cunt gushing.
“feel you fuckin’ squeezing,” he groaned, jaw tight now, eyes locked to the obscene slick ring forming around the base of his cock. “so messy. so fuckin’ loud.”
“c-can’t—c-can’t think—!” you sobbed, clawing at him. “please, shika—gonna break—”
he just grinned. something wild. dangerous. almost smug.
“thought that’s what you wanted.”
and he kept going.
fucking into you so deep, so fast, that your body curled forward, your head collapsing to his chest as your legs gave out entirely. you were limp now, sobbing, shaking, chanting his name like it was the only word you still knew. and all he did was hold you, strong arms around your waist, driving into you again and again and again, deep and perfect and unstoppable.
you came again—harder this time.
clenching down with a soaked, strangled cry, your body locked up around his cock as your vision blurred, white-hot pressure exploding in your spine, your orgasm tearing through you like a freight train. shikamaru hissed, cursed under his breath, still fucking into the squeeze, his rhythm breaking as your pussy pulsed and milked him, soaked and sucking like you wanted to keep him forever.
“f-fuck—shit—fuck, i’m gonna—”
he didn’t pull out.
didn’t even think about it.
with one last deep, brutal thrust, he slammed his cock as far as it could go, hips flush to yours, and came—hot, thick, heavy ropes spilling inside you, flooding your cunt in messy, twitching pulses. he groaned deep in his chest, head dropping to your shoulder, cock jerking with each spurt as his cum filled you up to the brim. you could feel it—warm and obscene, leaking already, thick cream squishing around his shaft every time your pussy clenched again, again, never letting go.
you sobbed, overwhelmed, face buried in his neck, your body shaking from how raw it felt—how real. you weren’t just full of his cock. you were full of him. his cum. his need. the mess of it dripping between your thighs while he panted against you, still deep inside, cock still twitching.
“fuck,” he mumbled, voice hoarse, lips brushing your jaw. “i didn’t mean to—but you were clenching so hard—fuck, i couldn’t stop—”
you didn’t care.
didn’t even try to speak. just moaned, whined, legs useless and spread wide, letting him stay buried while the sticky warmth of his release oozed out around him.
shikamaru finally leaned back, pulled your hips down tighter with a lazy groan, and looked at the mess dripping onto his thighs.
“…too late to worry about pulling out now,” he said.
Mmmm sitting in shikamarus lap, your legs spread to either side of his knees while he fiddles with your nipple and clit piercings. Like he knew you had a tongue piercing but he didn't realise you were a freak like this.
———————————
The lantern’s flame danced lazily in the corner of Shikamaru’s quarters, casting flickering amber light across the low wooden table still scattered with abandoned shogi pieces. A few had toppled over during your earlier “distraction,” lying forgotten on the tatami mats like casualties of a far more interesting game. The air hung heavy with the mingled scents of smoldering incense, the faint earthy musk of his skin after a long day, and the unmistakable sweet-salt aroma of your growing arousal. Every subtle shift of your body against his sent fresh ripples through the charged silence.
You sat straddled across Shikamaru’s lap, thighs spread obscenely wide over his parted knees, your back flush to his broad chest. The position left you utterly exposed—legs trembling from the stretch, cunt glistening and open, every piercing on full display for his unhurried exploration. His cock strained hard and hot against your ass through the thin fabric of his pants, twitching in rhythm with your smallest movements.
“Mm… look at you,” he drawled, voice low and smoky, lips brushing the sensitive spot just behind your ear. His breath was warm, teasing, carrying the faint hint of the sake you’d shared earlier. “All spread open like this, dripping down my thigh already. Didn’t know my girlfriend had such filthy little secrets hidden under those clothes.”
His left hand cupped your breast possessively, the rough pad of his thumb circling the silver barbell piercing your nipple with deliberate slowness. He tugged it gently at first—then firmer—watching the way the metal shifted and your nipple pebbled tighter under the stimulation. Sharp sparks of pleasure-pain shot straight to your core, making your pussy clench visibly. A slick bead of arousal trailed down your inner thigh.
“Ah—fuck, Shika…” you gasped, hips jerking involuntarily.
He chuckled, the deep vibration rumbling through his chest into your spine. “That’s right. Say my name while I play with these pretty toys you got.” His right hand dipped between your spread legs, fingers gliding through your soaked folds before zeroing in on the delicate clit piercing. He rolled the cool silver between thumb and forefinger, tugging it with precise, rhythmic pulls that made your clit throb and swell even more. The contrast of cold metal against your burning, slick heat was maddening.
You moaned louder, head falling back against his shoulder. The stretch in your hips made every sensation more intense—your legs quivering on either side of his knees, unable to close, completely at his mercy.
Shikamaru’s mouth latched onto your neck, sucking a slow, wet mark into the skin while his tongue traced the racing pulse there. “Tongue piercing was one thing,” he murmured against your throat, voice husky with dark amusement. “Had me daydreaming about that wicked little stud dragging along my cock for weeks. But these?” He gave both piercings a simultaneous tug—nipple and clit—drawing a sharp, needy cry from you. “Didn’t realize you were this much of a freak. Walking around the village with your nipples and clit pierced like a secret little slut. How long have you been hiding them from me?”
“Since… before we started dating,” you managed between shaky breaths, fingers digging into his thigh for purchase. “Wanted to surprise you… eventually.”
“Surprise?” He nipped your earlobe hard enough to sting, then soothed it with a slow, filthy lick. “This is more than a surprise. It’s fucking dangerous.” His fingers worked faster on the clit piercing now—flicking, rolling, tugging in quick succession while his other hand pinched and twisted the nipple barbell. Wet, obscene sounds filled the room as he spread your copious slick around the jewelry, making it slide and tug against your swollen nerves with every motion.
Your whole body shuddered. The pressure built relentlessly in your core, coiling tighter with each expert touch. You could feel his heartbeat against your back, steady but quickening, betraying how much this was affecting him too. His cock throbbed insistently against your ass, leaking pre-cum that dampened the fabric between you.
“Shikamaru—please, I need… I need more,” you whimpered, grinding down against his hand and the hard ridge of his erection.
“Greedy,” he teased, but his voice had gone rougher, breath hotter against your skin. “Look at the mess you’re making. Dripping all over my lap, soaking my pants. These piercings are so sensitive… bet I could make you cum just from playing with them.” He slipped one long finger just inside your entrance, curling it while his thumb continued tormenting the clit piercing with firm, circling strokes. The added stretch, the cool drag of metal, the relentless stimulation—it was overwhelming.
You cried out, back arching sharply, pushing your breasts further into his hand. He rewarded you by rolling your nipple between his knuckles, tugging the barbell in time with the thrusts of his finger. Sweat beaded on your skin; the room felt hotter, smaller, filled only with the wet sounds of his fingers working your pussy and your broken moans.
“Yeah, just like that,” he praised quietly, lips brushing your temple. “Let me hear how good it feels. Gonna spend all night learning every way these make you shake for me.” He added a second finger, scissoring them slowly while his thumb flicked rapidly over the piercing. “Then maybe I’ll let you sink that pierced tongue down on my cock while I keep playing with these pretty tits and this needy little clit…”
The pressure in your core wound tighter and tighter, a relentless spiral fueled by every precise tug, flick, and curl of Shikamaru’s fingers. The lantern light seemed to dim further as your vision blurred at the edges, the room narrowing to nothing but the heat of his body behind you, the slick sounds of his fingers plunging slowly into your dripping cunt, and the sharp, addictive pulls on your piercings.
“Shika—fuck—I’m so close,” you whimpered, voice cracking as your hips rolled desperately against his hand. Your thighs burned from being held so wide apart, muscles quivering uncontrollably, but you couldn’t close them. Couldn’t hide. The cool air kissed your soaked folds every time he withdrew his fingers slightly, only to push back in deeper, scissoring and stretching you open while his thumb kept up its merciless rhythm on your clit piercing.
“Yeah? Already?” His voice was a low, satisfied rumble against your neck, lips grazing the fresh hickey he’d sucked there. He twisted the nipple barbell sharply, sending a bolt of white-hot pleasure straight down your spine. “Such a sensitive little thing. These piercings make you so fucking easy to read. Feel that? The way your pussy’s gripping my fingers every time I tug on this pretty clit jewelry?”
He demonstrated with a firm, rhythmic pull on the silver barbell between your legs—once, twice—while his fingers crooked inside you, stroking that perfect spot with lazy expertise. Slick arousal gushed around his hand, coating his palm and dripping messily down onto his thigh and the tatami mat below. The wet sounds were filthy, echoing in the quiet room alongside your broken gasps and his steady breathing.
You cried out, head thrown back against his shoulder, fingers tightening in his messy ponytail. The tug on his hair made him groan softly, hips grinding up so his hard cock pressed firmer against the curve of your ass.
“That’s it,” he murmured, breath hot and ragged now. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart while I play with these filthy little secrets of yours.” He picked up the pace just enough—fingers thrusting deeper, thumb flicking and rolling your clit piercing rapidly while his other hand pinched and tugged your nipple in perfect sync.
The coil snapped.
Pleasure crashed over you in heavy, pulsing waves. Your back arched violently, a loud, keening moan tearing from your throat as your walls clenched and fluttered around his fingers. Fresh slick soaked his hand, your clit throbbing wildly against the shifting metal of the piercing. Your entire body shook in his lap, legs trembling on either side of his knees as the orgasm dragged on, prolonged by his unrelenting touches.
Shikamaru didn’t stop. He kept stroking you through it, slower now, gentler, drawing out every last shudder and whimper until you were limp and panting against his chest. Only then did he ease his fingers out of you, bringing them up to his mouth. You heard the wet sound of him sucking them clean, a low hum of approval vibrating through him.
“Sweet,” he said, voice thick with lust. “Tastes even better when you’re this worked up.” He shifted beneath you, adjusting your spent body so you were still straddling him but facing him now—chest to chest, your sensitive nipples brushing against his shirt with every heaving breath.
Your hands moved to his waistband, fingers fumbling with the tie of his pants, but he caught your wrist with a lazy smirk, dark eyes gleaming in the lantern light.
“Not yet.” He guided your hand lower instead, pressing your palm against the thick, straining bulge of his cock. “First, you’re gonna show me what that pierced tongue can really do while I keep playing with these.” His free hand returned to your breasts, rolling one barbell between his fingers as he leaned in to capture your mouth in a deep, hungry kiss—tongue flicking against yours, teasing the silver stud there.
When he pulled back, lips shiny, he nudged you downward with that same unhurried command. “On your knees between my legs, but keep them spread. I want to watch those pretty pierced tits while you suck me.”
You slid off his lap onto the mat, thighs still shaky and slick, kneeling between his spread knees just as he’d ordered. The position kept you open and exposed for him. Shikamaru leaned back on his hands, watching with half-lidded eyes as you tugged his pants down, his heavy cock springing free—hard, flushed, and already leaking at the tip.
“Fuck… that’s my girl,” he breathed as your tongue—warm, wet, and studded with that teasing silver piercing—darted out to trace the underside of his length. “Show me how much you love me yeah?”
His hand tangled gently in your hair, not forcing, just guiding as you took him into your mouth. The cool metal of your tongue piercing dragged along his sensitive skin with every bob of your head, drawing deep, appreciative groans from him. Meanwhile, his other hand reached down to toy with your swaying breasts—tugging, flicking, and rolling your nipple piercings in time with the rhythm of your mouth.
The night was far from over. Shikamaru had every intention of exploring every secret you’d hidden from him… one slow, devastating orgasm at a time.
Shikamaru, who's hands trace lazy patterns all over your lower back or thighs whenever he's in the mood. Fingers dancing like tiny butterflies all over your skin as he lifts your skirt up to your thighs.
Shikamaru who is too lazy to take off your clothes, who ends up just fucking you clothed, only pushing your panties to your side. Or the other option, too lazy to unbutton buttons and unzip zippers, who ends up just ripping your clothing's off your body, rolling his eyes when you complain that this is the fourth time he has ripped your clothing this month.
Shikamaru who loves to have you sitting on his face as foreplay, because he can just lie down and enjoy the meal. Who doesn't care about how much you weight, because he wouldn't care if he were to die under your perfect ass.
Shikamaru who smokes as you ride him, claiming he needs it so he won't loose himself on how comfortable his cock feels buried deep inside your pretty pussy.
Shikamaru who just loves to have you bouncing on top, his hands gripping at the supple, plush skin of your thighs, your waist, your hips. Who's half lidded eyes follow the bouncing of your breasts, biting his lip when he feels his head start spinning, his fingers digging harder into your skin as he thrusts up up up.
Shikamaru who rolls his eyes again when you tell him you're tired and want to cum. Who'll flip you over and fold you into the meanest mating press and pound pound pound until you're squirting all over his cock. And who'll rub mean circles all over your clit while you spasm under him, a smirk on his face as you ask him to stop.
Shikamaru who's idea of aftercare is falling asleep with you over him, his hands tracing the same lazy, gentle patterns over your back with his fingertips.
seijoh4 minus iwaizumi traps you in your own apartment so they could gift you to iwaizumi.
wc: 1.4k, no idc if them living tgt don’t make sense.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY IWA-CHAN :3
the scent of oikawa’s overpriced cologne was the first indicator that security had been breached. the second indicator was the colossal, neon-pink satin ribbon currently being looped around your torso with the frantic urgency of a group of teenagers trying to wrap a fragile porcelain vase before their parents got home.
“hold still, y/n-chan! if the bow isn’t symmetrical, the entire aesthetic integrity of the birthday surprise is compromised!” oikawa hissed, his fingers flying through the silky fabric as he knotted it around your waist.
“you’re going to suffocate her, you idiot,” matsukawa muttered from the corner, leaning against your kitchen counter while casually eating one of your strawberries. “and if she dies, iwaizumi will literally liquefy our bones and drink them like a protein shake.”
“i’m executing a flawless vision!” oikawa protested, stepping back to admire his handiwork.
you were sitting on your own living room rug, thoroughly bound from the waist up in a massive, glossy pink bow. you looked like a very expensive, slightly confused gift basket. the aoba johsai third-years had broken into your apartment exactly twenty minutes ago under the guise of ‘intelligent birthday operations,’ and instead of screaming for help, you had mostly just been impressed by how fast hanamaki could tie a double-knot.
“honestly, i feel like a fancy ham,” you said, shifting slightly to see if you could move your arms. you couldn’t. they were pinned quite securely to your sides. “is the candlelit dinner really necessary if i can’t even pick up a fork?”
“iwa-chan will feed you,” oikawa said, waving his hand dismissively as he lit the final tea light on your coffee table. they had cleared away your textbooks, replaced them with a white tablecloth, and ordered an obscene amount of high-end takeout. “in fact, he will probably view this as the greatest day of his entire mortal existence. now, quiet! i hear his footsteps. everyone, to the balcony!”
in a flurry of squeaking sneakers and hushed arguments about who was stepping on whose feet, the three boys scrambled out through your glass doors, shutting the curtains behind them just as the front doorknob jiggled.
the door swung open.
iwaizumi stepped into the apartment, his shoulders tense and his brow furrowed in that permanent, default scowl he wore whenever he had been left alone with oikawa for more than five minutes. he was carrying his gym bag, looking thoroughly exhausted by the mere concept of his own birth anniversary.
“oikawa, if you hid my keys in the bushes again, i’m going to—”
he stopped dead in his tracks.
the apartment was dimly lit, glowing with the soft, flickering warmth of a dozen tiny candles. the scent of cherry blossoms and spicy takeout filled the air. and there, sitting precisely in the center of the room, was you. wrapped in a giant pink bow like a prize-winning show pony.
iwaizumi’s brain stalled. his brain completely derailed, flew off the tracks, and exploded into a spectacular fireball of adoration. his gym bag slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. his eyes dilated so fast they looked entirely black, his chest heaving as his lungs suddenly forgot how to extract oxygen from the atmosphere.
“hey,” you said softly, giving him a little helpless wiggle of your shoulders. “happy birthday.”
the sound of your voice seemed to snap a cord inside him. iwaizumi was across the room in a fraction of a second, dropping to his knees before you with a force that rattled the floorboards. his hands hovered over you, trembling slightly, utterly terrified of touching you too hard but looking so intensely starved for your presence that it was borderline feral.
“what did they do to you?” his voice was a raw, low rasp, thick with a terrifying amount of protective instinct. his fingers immediately went to the knot of the ribbon, his knuckles brushing against your ribs, sending a massive jolt of electricity straight down your spine. “are you hurt? did that dumbass hurt you? i’ll kill him. i’ll bury him in the school yard.”
“i’m fine, i promise,” you giggled, the sound light and bubbly in the quiet room. “they didn’t hurt me at all. oikawa was very specific about not wrinkling my shirt. they wanted to give you a proper present.”
iwaizumi’s gaze locked onto yours, and the sheer, crushing weight of his devotion was enough to make your breath catch. he looked at you the way an ancient, desperate traveler might look at an oasis after a century in the desert. there’s a terrifying, beautiful affection in his eyes—a silent admission that you held his entire heart in your hands, and if you squeezed even a little bit, he would gladly disintegrate into dust for you.
“you’re the only present i want,” he muttered, his voice dropping so deep it resonated in your chest. his thumbs stroked over the fabric of the ribbon, his eyes tracking the line of the pink silk up to your collarbone, before snapping back to your lips with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. “you shouldn’t be wrapped up like this. it makes me want to lock you in this room and never let anyone else look at you again.”
your heart did a violent, joyful flip-flop against your ribs. “is that a threat, iwaizumi?”
“it’s a promise that once it happens again, i won’t hold back,” he growled softly, finally tugging the golden knot loose.
the ribbon slithered off your shoulders like water, pooling around your hips in a mess of pink satin. the moment your arms were free, iwaizumi didn’t waste another millisecond. he surged forward, his massive, calloused hands framing your face with a tenderness that completely contradicted his terrifying expression. his palms were warm, his thumbs sweeping over your cheekbones as if he were trying to memorize the texture of your skin for the rest of eternity.
when his lips met yours, it was less of a casual kiss and more of a total spiritual surrender.
he kissed you with desperate, heavy hunger, his mouth moving over yours with a frantic need to consume and be consumed. it was a bruising, deeply romantic sort of worship. he groaned against your mouth, his fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of your neck to pull you even closer, erasing every single millimeter of space between your bodies.
you wrapped your newly freed arms around his neck, pulling yourself up into his lap. he welcomed the weight instantly, his strong beefy arms locking around your waist like iron bands, anchoring you to him as if he were terrified you might evaporate into thin air if he loosened his grip by a single fraction.
“god, you taste so good,” he mumbled against your lips, peppering short, hard kisses along your jawline, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “i’m losing my mind. you’re going to kill me one day, i swear to god.”
“you’re doing great for a dead guy,” you whispered, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the crisp, comforting scent of sweat and laundry detergent that was uniquely him. you nipped gently at his earlobe, feeling the sudden, violent shudder that went through his massive frame.
“don’t do that unless you want this table knocked over,” he warned, his voice incredibly thick as his hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin through your clothes with a possessive strength that made your toes curl. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes burning with a liquid, molten heat. “i mean it. i’m so crazy about you it’s actually making me sick.”
“good,” you said, reaching up to smooth down the unruly spikes of his dark hair, your fingers lingering on his forehead. “because i’m not planning on letting you go anytime soon.”
he stared at you, his expression softening into something so purely, profoundly tender that it looked almost painful for him to hold. he leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he just breathed you in, his thumbs tracing slow, heavy circles against your waist.
“happy birthday, hajime.”
“it’s a happy birthday now,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering seal of absolute devotion.
from the balcony, a faint, muffled snicker broke the silence, followed by the distinct sound of oikawa being violently elbowed in the ribs by matsukawa.
iwaizumi didn’t even open his eyes, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction more as a small, wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “ignore them. if they stay out there long enough, they’ll freeze, and then i can throw them into the trash incinerator tomorrow morning.”
n: sweet, sweet iwa. happy birthday :3
i have a discord server haha hi guys :3 we got a tag thanks to eme, soup, and maddy !
MATING: F.Reader x ot13
PACK MEETING: The House Rules are made to make the pack function - they're vital to a pack this size, and everyone loves the House Rules. Especially you, the single omega in the entire pack, who the House Rules are designed entirely around.
FRIDGE NOTES: This collection functions as an interactive piece between myself and readers. Every chapter posted of this universe will be a request from you - the reader. Readers who would like a chapter of this written will fill out the request form, and that will serve as the framework for me to write a chapter. This collection is not meant to have a plot or overarching theme - it's entire purpose is to write smut, fluff, angst - whatever you, as the requester, wants, so long as it makes general sense to the pre-established universe where all of seventeen and reader function as an established back that live together!
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It may contain explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
PACK WARNINGS: Some chapters may contain smut. All chapters will be warned appropriately.
PACK SCHDULE: This series has no schedule. I fill requests as I can and this only gets updated if I have requests! This series also has no scheduled end - requests will remain open until I no longer want to work on the fic.
REQUEST RULES:
☼ In general, ensure your requests are reasonable.
☼ Requests must be within this initial concept of the pack together in a shared omegaverse. Requests outside of this concept will be deleted.
☼ I will fill requests at my own pace.
☼ Not all requests may be filled, either because they are duplicates, may make me uncomfortable, may not make sense to the overall work, or because there is something about them that doesn't work.
☼ You may not change the pre-assigned sub-gender of a member in your request
☼ Your request shouldn't force me to ret-con or backtrack/negate something already posted
REQUEST FORM: Request here
THE HOUSE RULES:
1. The omega is never allowed to eat alone unless she asks to - SEUNGCHEOL
2. If she falls asleep on you, carry her to bed. No exceptions - MINGYU
3. Nobody leaves for long amounts of time without scenting her goodbye - JEONGHAN
4. Her nest is neutral territory. Arguments end at the door - JOSHUA
5. If the omega asks anything during heat, the answer is always yes - THE PACK
6. No one is allowed to make her cry and leave the room afterward - WONWOO
7. If she steals your clothes, they belong to her now - MINGYU
8. The omega is not permitted to carry heavy things while alphas are present - MINGHAO
9. Whoever wakes her up is responsible for dealing with the consequences - VERNON
10. Use the omega as you please, but respect is mandatory - THE PACK
11. The omega is not allowed to beg and then act surprised when someone gives in - SEUNGKWAN
12. If she wanders into an alpha’s room after midnight, she knows exactly what she’s doing - SEOKMIN
13. The omega is not allowed to start things in shared spaces and then complain about being watched - JUNHUI
14. If she’s whining, someone should probably handle it - CHAN
15. The omega is not allowed to say “I’m fine” without at least one person investigating immediately - JIHOON
16. Arguments about whose turn it is to use her next must be resolved by rock paper scissors - SOONYOUNG
MEET THE ALPHAS: Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Junhui, Soonyoung, Seokmin, Minghao
MEET THE BETAS: Joshua, Wonwoo, Jihoon, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Vernon, Chan
katsuki's biggest fear in the beginning was his quirk going off while you were having sex / mdni
when you first started dating and getting intimate with katsuki, he wouldn't keep his hands on you for too long. he'd often dig his hands into the sheets, gripping them for dear life.
his worst fear was for when things got hot and heavy, and you both got sweaty, to hear a crackle and see a spark while he touched you.
you didn't really notice it at first, but when it became a pattern of fleeting hands and temporary touches, it stuck out to you. it didn't take long for you to figure out the reason.
you were riding him, bouncing slowly, pressing your weight onto your knees while you took a break from your previous pace. katsuki looked heavenly underneath you, lips parted in awe and pleasure, his neck and chest glistening, cheeks slightly flushed. but his arms were spread out, palms face down, hands gripping the sheets.
after a moment, you made a decision, reaching down to grab his hands. you placed them on your cheeks and he looked at you with wide eyes, ready to pull away.
you leaned forward, "you're not going to hurt me" your voice was so sweet, and the way you looked into his eyes was so trusting, he couldn't help but crumble.
his head fell back, mouth open as he let out something between a groan and a whimper. his hands fell down to your waist and held on tight as he started to buck into you.
he tilted his head to look where you were connected, glancing up to where his hands were holding you, and groaned, fucking into you faster at the sight. "f-fuck."
you whined, cursing yourself as you matched his pace, making him hit deep, hands holding his down on your waist. "you'd never hurt me, katsuki."
he felt hot all over, his eyes rolled back, hips still bucking mindlessly chasing the both of your highs, fingertips digging into you "shit, baby–"
you were so soft, so vulnerable underneath his hands, the thought was making him spiral.
and when you felt that bubble burst, your legs trembling as you pulsed and clenched around him, he couldn't hold it for much longer. his voice broke as he moaned, practically breathless as he came inside you, the hardest he ever had.
;; boyfriend!hinata tracking the exact angle of the afternoon sun hitting your bedroom bed just so he can drag the mattress straight onto the floor, pulling you down into the warm patch of light with him like a giant, golden lizard. he’ll tangle his legs with yours, bury his face in your hair, and just sigh against your skin until the sun goes down, completely content to waste a whole training day if it means absorbing your warmth.
;; boyfriend!hinata having this incredibly specific habit of testing his finger calluses against the softest parts of your skin. you’ll be sitting at the kitchen island and he’ll come up behind you, his hands—rough and hardened from years of slamming against volleyballs—tracing the sensitive curve of your inner wrist or the skin just under your jaw. he does it so gently, a contrast that makes your stomach flip because he knows exactly how much power those hands hold, yet they’re entirely soft for you.
;; boyfriend!hinata speaking to you in a sleepy, unbothered mix of japanese and portuguese when he’s waking up. his voice is a full octave lower in the mornings, a raspy, thick murmur against your bare shoulder as he pulls you flush against his chest. he’ll call you ‘minha vida’ while sleepily biting at your shoulder blade, his grip tightening around your waist.
;; boyfriend!hinata being completely obsessed with laundry day, specifically because he loves the routine of it. you’ll find him sitting on the floor surrounded by clean sheets, casually tossing one of his oversized practice jerseys over your head while you’re walking past. he loves seeing you swallowd whole by his clothes, especially when he catches you later sniffing the collar because it smells like his citrus deodorant. he’ll just smirk, pull you by the hem of the shirt onto his lap, and whisper something terribly cocky about how good you look wearing his name.
;; boyfriend!hinata using his insane athletic reflexes for the absolute dumbest, most affectionate things. if you trip over a rug, he catches you by the waist, spins you in the air, and presses you flat against the nearest wall, laughing that bright, breathless laugh of his. his face will be inches from yours, his chest heaving slightly, his eyes dropping to your lips with a sudden, heavy intensity that reminds you he isn’t a kid anymore.
;; boyfriend!hinata taking care of your skin after a long day at the beach. he gets so meticulous about it, making you sit between his knees while he carefully rubs cooling aloe or coconut lotion into your shoulders. his thumb will track the line of your tan lines, his touch slowing down, growing heavier and more deliberate until the room feels a little too warm, his breath fanning hot against the back of your neck as he whispers praises about how beautiful your body looks under the sun.
;; boyfriend!hinata’s absolute favorite way to tease you during his off-season. he’ll be sitting on the sofa playing a game on his phone, and he’ll casually pull you down so you’re straddling his lap, using you as a literal armrest. he acts completely nonchalant, talking to you normally while his large hands slide under the hem of your shorts, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on your thighs. he won’t even look up from his screen, but the hot, possessive squeeze he gives your hip every time you try to move away lets you know exactly where his attention really is.
;; boyfriend!hinata being completely incapable of keeping his hands to himself the second you step foot onto a crowded bus. he’ll pull you into the small space between his chest and the door, shielding you from the crowd with his broad shoulders while the bus sways. with one hand gripping the overhead strap, his free hand slides down to cup the back of your thigh, his fingers squeezing firmly through your pants. he’ll lean down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs—low and raspy over the roar of the engine—about how good you smell, completely intoxicated by the mix of your perfume and the heat of the afternoon.
;; boyfriend!hinata turning a simple evening walk along the secluded edge of the beach into something entirely different. he’ll drag you into the shadow of a dark lifeguard tower, pinning your lower back against the cool wooden stilts. while the sound of the crashing waves hides your gasps, he’ll bury his face entirely in the crook of your neck, inhaling you like he’s starving. his hands will slide under your top, his rough palms dragging hot over your ribs, and he’ll growl softly against your skin about how he can taste the salt on you, demanding you tell him how much you love him before he kisses you again without even letting you catch your breath.
;; boyfriend!hinata using his knowledge of launguages on dirty talking to completely break your brain when you’re in bed. he’s so loud and unbothered normally, but in the dark, his praise becomes this heavy, suffocating thing. he’ll pin your wrists above your head with just one hand, hovering over you with those dark, hyper-focused eyes, and he’ll praise you for every little sound you make. “sim, precisely like that, look at how well you’re taking me,” he’ll mutter in a breathless rush of portuguese and japanese, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper against your lips as he tells you how beautiful you look when you’re completely undone for him.
;; boyfriend!hinata’s feral habit of scent-marking you right before he leaves for an away tournament. he’ll trap you on the bed, his heavy body pinning yours down as he spends an entire hour just rubbing his jaw along your collarbone, biting gently at your shoulder blades, and leaving hot, wet kisses along your pulse point until you smell completely like him. if you try to squirm, he’ll just tighten his grip, his thighs locking yours in place, whispering praises about how good of a girl you are for letting him take his time with you.
;; boyfriend!hinata taking a massive risk at a crowded post-match afterparty. he’ll pull you into a dimly lit hallway just around the corner from the main room where his teammates are laughing loudly. he’ll press you against the wall, lifting you up by your thighs so your legs are wrapped around his waist. you can hear the bass thumping through the wall and people walking past the entrance, but hinata just smirks, his thumb wiping a tear of overstimulation from your cheek as he whispers, “shh, be quiet, you don’t wanna let them hear how good i make you feel. right, minha vida?”
;; boyfriend!hinata tracking your cycle or just knowing when your body temperature runs hot, entirely driven by his sense of smell. he’ll walk into the apartment after a grueling six-hour practice, drop his gear bag on the floor, and immediately track you down to wherever you’re sitting. before you can even say welcome home, he’s gently parting your thighs on the chair, burying his face directly into the heat of the soft dip of your inner thigh through your underwear. he’ll take a long, dragging inhale of your scent, his pupils completely blown as he groans against your bare skin, his large hands reaching under your top to grip your waist hard enough to leave faint marks, telling you exactly how ruined the bed is about to be.
;; boyfriend!hinata taking advantage of a completely empty, sun-drenched locker room after everyone else has left the training facility. he’ll lock the heavy door from the inside, trap you against the cold metal of his locker, and pull your shorts down to your knees in one rough, impatient motion. with the distinct smell of fresh sweat, laundry detergent, and leather volleyballs filling the air, he’ll lift your leg over his hip and drive into you right there, the sudden, thick friction making you scream into his shoulder. he’ll instantly choke off your voice with a wet, bruising kiss, his hips slamming into yours with that terrifying, rhythmic endurance while he mutters breathless, filthiest praises into your mouth—“take it all, look at how tight you are for me. you like that everyone's right outside, huh, sweetheart?” he’ll grab your face, forcing you to look at him, “look at me while i fuck you senseless, meu amor.”
n: everyone on discord kept distracting me. but i did get their opinions on this one. it was my twin’s idea for the scent marking, shout ot freaky twin.
katsuki likes having his hands on you at all times. it's so mindless it just feels wrong if you're in the same room and he's not touching you?
he'll pass by you and a big hand will slide around your waist, lingering at the small of your back for no reason at all while he reaches for something above or beside you.
he doesn't even do it to fluster you, it just feels natural.
it actually took him a little while to be comfortable enough to initiate casual touches when you first started dating. his heart was pounding the first time he reached for your hand, he even accidentally gave it a quick squeeze out of nervousness. but once he felt confident enough, it was impossible to get his hands off you.
when he takes a seat next to you, his hand immediately finds your thigh, patting it a couple times fondly before resting, squeezing playfully here and there. he'll often slide your leg on top of his lap, aiming for both, as the hour goes by.
when you get up, he lets his hand trail down your leg, letting it linger while he looks up at you, the quiet timbre of his voice flustering you when he asks "where you going?" even when you're in public, it makes you want to crawl in his lap and stay there, which he would love, but there's a time and a place.
when he's passing by you as you're sitting on the couch, he'll pat you on the head, often after giving it a kiss, especially when you're busy working on something.
you never asked him to do any of this, but now it's the norm, and it feels just right.
