Hey loved your baran blurb your writing is amazing. I wanted to ask do you do poly x reader because I would love a Parker x mel x reader smut please? if you would like.
Ps hope you continue doing what you doing I love seeing other black women writer and readers in fandoms I love 🙂↕️
Soft
~ Parker Ellis x Fem!Reader x Mel King
~ Smut
~ Reader is AFAB
~ Reader has hair but length, texture, color, etc. are not described
a/n: honestly I scrapped so many ideas but maybe in the future i'll write a full, nonsmut fic abt my wives 😞🤧 happy pride to all lesbians out there I love ya!!!
Mel didn't know girls could feel so... soft. Well-obviously she knew there were parts of their bodies that tended to be "soft", she was a doctor after all-but, she didn't know it would feel so soft against her.
Mel didn't know until know, with her cunt smushed against yours, your juices smearing between your thighs as you rode her as she lied on her back in bed, that pussy felt like this.
She panted, her cheeks burning with lust and her fingers pushing back her loose hair. One arm supported her from behind, holding her up to get a better view of your ass writhing between her legs.
She pulled her hand from her hair, resting it on your hip and using it as leverage to press your cunts even closer together. It earned a moan from both of you, warm and broken noises spilling from your throats.
It wasn't lost on Parker, who could feel the vibrations of your noises through her dark purple strap, your messy lips puckered around the silicone cock. Parker smirked sharply, her hand gripping your hair even tighter at the noise.
"Oh yeah, is'at good baby? Mel making you feel good?" She taunted, pushing your head down and making you take her even deeper down your throat.
She and Mel both saw you shake, your chest heaving at the loss of air. Parker's grip loosened, permitting you to pull off and take a deep breath. Drool spilled down your chin, dripping down your throat and tits.
"Y-yes!" You huffed once you had gained back the ability to think. "Feels so fucking good." You cooed. Parker turned your head towards Mel, forcing you to look at her over your shoulder.
"Tell her then, baby. Not me." Mel thrusted against you even firmer, her firm clit catching yours again and again despite the immense fluid slickening your pussy.
"Feels so good, Mel." You moaned, your eyes glazed over in pleasure. Mel's brows pinched, her lip pinched tightly between her teeth before her mouth fell completely agape. She let go of your hip for a split second, just long enough to push her foggy glasses back up on her nose.
The sight was too heavenly to ignore; your back arched so perfectly as you grinded back against her, your lips lightly puffy from use, the occasional bead of sweat tantalizingly crawling down your throat and between the valley of your bouncing breasts.
The added weight of you sitting up to look at her better didn't help her focus.
She felt the words get caught in her throat, barely allowing her to spit out a choked "You're w-welcome-mmm," before she had to physically force herself to look away before she could suffocate.
"Good girl," Parker muttered, her hand tugging your attention back to her strap. With her free hand she gripped the purple plastic, pulling her knee onto the bed so she could get even better leverage o fuck your throat.
She slapped the shiny, glossy tip against your bottom lip, encouraging you to open your mouth even wider. You enveloped the head in your mouth, the tip already filling your cheeks, before taking a deep breath through your nose and taking her in inch by inch.
The stretch only gags you for a moment, your throat needing to refamiliarize itself to the size of her dick. The feeling of fullness in your throat, paired with the mind-numbing wet warmth of Mel's cunt against yours, make your eyes roll back.
Parker whispers a reassuring coo, wiping a stray tear from your cheek, before placing both hands on your head and pushing herself down your throat. Her eyes narrowed, taking in your fluttering eyelids and hollowed cheeks.
Her fingers curled even tighter around your hair, locs peaking out between her knuckles, and used the leverage to hold herself in the back of your throat.
"Breath, baby, through your nose."
Mel's hand drifted to your ass, palming the shaking globe and stroking the sensitive flesh in reassurance. Her pants ring loudly in your ears.
The two feel you shiver again, struggling to follow Parker's seemingly basic instructions.
"C'mon," Parker tapped your cheek, her tone just audibly disappointed enough to let you know her patience is wearing thin. "I said breath through your nose, baby girl. Last thing we need is you passing out on us, yeah?"
Mel nodded frantically in agreement. "P-please breath," she let out another strangled gasp, a groan caught tight in her throat at the feeling of you against her.
"Oh-oh-please-pl-please breath." Hee own head fell back, another familiar wave of oppressive heat building in her stomach. She wasn't sure how much more she could take. This was evident by the finger digging into the fat of your ass.
"Ooh, you see that?" Parker let out teasingly, her words directed at you.
"You gonna make Mel feel good again? Gonna make her cum?" It was less of a question and more of a demand. She pushed herself impossibly deeper down your throat, gripping your hair between tight knuckles.
Your eyes glazed over and glossy, shed saccharine tears. Your breathed through your nose in messy, desperate breathes, your hips pressing even harder against Mel's.
"Yeah, baby. Make Mel cum. Do it for daddy." Parker groaned as if she was getting closer herself. And if you had asked her in that moment she probably was, just from the sight alone.
You whined against her strap, loudly and broken and wet. You pushed your own head, taking her thick strap to the very back of your throat and shoving your nose against her belt.
Mel shook beneath you, the heat of your clit sending her own between shattering pleasure and emptying numbness with every slick thrust. She gasped every time your clit caught against hers, the friction maintained despite the shared fluid practically pouring from between your thighs.
Time seemed unreal for the moments shared between the three of you.
Parker pulled you on and off her dick, using your hair as leverage to make you fuck your throat on her strap.
Mel bucked up into you, humping against you with mindless movements.
And you barely had a single thought in your head, your body spasming between the almost violent push and pull of the women on either side of you.
That being the case, it was like your orgasms had snapped, disturbing the frozen time. You ripped off of Parker's strap, your throat sore but howling at the rush of pleasure that over took you.
Your thrusts against Mel became smashing and dragging, brainless pleasure-seaking movements with no real rhythm or intent.
Mel followed quickly behind you, her hands forcing your hips against hers and holding your pussy against hers. She took each shake, her mouth agape and tears beginning to peak in the corners of her eyes.
Parker had to bite her lip not to let out a teasing laugh at the sight of the two of you, her hands still gripping your hair. She watched the two of you smack your wet cunts together, both of you slowing in pace as your shared orgasm subsided.
But the silent observation went out the window as soon as the two of you began catching your breath. Pulling you by the hair, she pushed your head down into the mattress, your tears soaking the wrinkles sheets.
She reached over, her hand gliding up your curved spine till she reached your ass. Her fingers drifted over each cheek, smacking both before circling back to your asshole, and then your quivering pussy.
She smacked you-once, twice, juices coating her fingers and splattering onto your skin and her arm.
"Such a good girl, baby, making Mel cum." She cooed, stroking your lips but avoiding your clit. Strategically teasing you without overwhelming you too soon.
He tries not to, really, he does. But he can't help it!! They way your pussy is crying out around him, squeezing his thick length as he thrusts so, so, so deep inside you. His eyes can't help but dart back and forth between your face and the pretty space between your legs. He's got you on your back, your legs spread wide, or maybe thrown over his shoulders as he fucks you from above in the most perverted missionary you've ever seen.
All he knows is that it's hot and wet. Your faces, your bodies, the room itself-fuck-it's just hot and wet. He's breathing heavily, eyebrows pinched as he tries so hard to make you feel as good as he does, his hips stuttering as he fucks the both of you into overstimulation.
Just because you're clawing at his back, screaming out his name, and gushing down his thighs, doesn't mean you feel good in his mind. He's so unsure and willing to please that he convinces himself he won't stop until he knows you're not faking, the poor baby :(
You'll just have to keep looking him in his strained, teary, eyes, convincing him with your own dazed out gaze that "yes, baby-fuck!" you feel good. His eyes keep bouncing back and forth, torn between his two favorite girls: you, and your pussy. He'll just have to wipe away your tears with his thumb, cupping your face in his clammy hands while constantly guaranteeing your pleasure is just as great as his.
-"Fuck, baby-is that good?"
-"There? Is that where you need it?"
-"Please, baby-fuck-please take it, take it, take it!"
~ Peter B. Parker, Peter Parker, Choso Kamo, Yuta Okkotsu, Yuuji Itadori, Ino Takuma
─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─
The Ones Who Can't Take Their Eyes Off You . . .
So pretty. So, so pretty. They think you're the most gorgeous thing on the fucking planet. Every part of your body is covered in a thin sheen of glossy sweat, your skin absolutely glowing in the low light of your bedroom, or living room, or kitchen, or wherever they decided to take you.
The way you cling to them so tightly, like you don't want them to pull away-even an inch-it's driving them insane. You keep shouting their name, thirr cock/strap driving a cute lil bulge into your tummy, but all they can do is stare at your face.
Has your skin always been this soft? Have you always been this wet and warm? Have you always tasted this sweet? Fuck, they don't know, but they're taking everything in now.
It's almost more perverted, the way they smile sweetly at you while they drive their hips into your, the way they kiss your drool stained cheeks as you soak their thighs, the way they give you the gentlest, most loving praises, whisper them into your ear, all while brushing against your g-spot with Every. Single. Thrust.
Your eyes can't even meet theirs, rolled back into your skull, but it doesn't stop them from acting like you're all there, like you even have the capacity to kiss them back.
-"There you go, sweet girl, nice and deep. You got it."
-"I was waiting all day for this. God, you feel so fucking good."
-"There she is, that's it baby. Fuck, one more? I know you can take it."
~ Cassandra Cain, Dick Grayson, Satoru Gojo, Tim Drake, Peter Parker
─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─
The Ones That Don't Let You Look Away . . .
Maybe there's a mirror in front of you, maybe he's gripping your hair and forcing your head to look where he wants you to, either way, he's got full control over where your bleary eyes land their gaze.
His thrusts, deep and powerful, are almost punishing. They don't have to be fast to turn your brain into pink goo, they just have to hit those special, specific spots. He doesn't need your cute gasps and moans to to tell him where they are, but they're appreciated-don't let his palm covering your mouth or holding you down by the throat fool you.
Even when he's got a handful of your hair, he thinks you're utterly gorgeous, which is why he makes you watch. After all, with how addictive your ass bouncing against his hips? The way your tits bounce with every powerful thrust?
That beauty is meant t be shared, and he's nothing if not a giving lover.
He'll spit on your sweet, messy cunt, spread your legs as wide as they can, and hold your head up by the hair so you can watch his thick cock sink into your folds again, and again, and again. Your back may be in a painful curve, your eyes may be filling with tears, but fuckkk he feels delicious, and you can't pull your eyes away.
He's mean. He's so, so mean, but you can tell with every resounding smack of skin on skin that he reallllllyyyy loves you.
-"Fuck, pretty, takin' me so well . . ."
-"Look. I said fucking look, baby."
-"Huh? Did you say it's too deep? Shut up, I know you can take it, whore."
~ Toji Fushiguro, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne on occasion, Kento Nanami on occasion
─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─
The Ones Who Like to Watch . . .
Give him a break! He works hard to keep your hair and nails all nice and did! He spends too much time wasting his already limited energy on people too stupid to even exist. By the time he gets home to your warm embrace he's exhausted.
Which is why he lets you lead him t that chair, or press his back to the headboard, and straddle his lap. It's why he lets you wrap those pretty lips around him, just enough to get him sufficiently wet. It why he rests his hands on your hips while you bounce up and down on his fat, fat cock.
He knows it's a stretch, and trust you me, if he wasn't as dead tired as he is, he'd flip you over and stretch you out properly with his fingers and tongue. But where is stands, he's just happy to let you take control of both of your pleasure.
He occasionally thrusts his hips up if he wants to see your tits bounce a little harder, or your ass bounce faster if you're riding him reverse cowgirl, but besides that, he just stares up at you with love. Fuck, you are too cute, with your eyes rolled back and your mouth agape.
Even when your legs start burning and you feel his hands tighten on your hips, ready to take over, you put your hands on his shoulders, shake your head, and force your hips down harder, riding him so deeply you can feel him in your tummy.
Of course, never being one to make his pretty girl hurt when she doesn't want to, he does end up taking over, fucking up into you with a tenderness that can only be brought out of him after a painfully long day.
-"You feel so good, my love."
-"Can you keep going? Tell me if it gets too hard, baby."
-"F-fuck. Just like that, pretty. Just like th-hat."
~ Bruce Wayne, Kento Nanami, Shiu Kong, Hiromi Higuruma, Miguel O'Hara, Spider-Noir, Sugaru Geto
Hello, I know I already asked for one from Yolanda Garcia, but I need more from her, please. Continuing with a female reader who is very good with children, and this makes Garcia very tempted to take this next step with the reader. Perhaps she will see the reader holding a baby or perhaps talking to a child before some surgery.
I'll Get the U-Haul
~ Yolanda Garcia x Nurse!Reader
~ Fem!Reader
~ Smut alluded to but nothing explicit
~ Reader has curly hair but appearance is otherwise not described
~ wc: 2.2k
─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─
AO3
🦇Batman Masterlist🦇
🕸️Spiderverse Masterlist🕸️
🐼JJK Masterlist🐼
🩺The Pitt Masterlist🩺
🎃KINKTOBER MASTERLIST🎃
─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─
cw: Vibrator mention, IVF mention, drowning mention (very, very brief), nudity but nothing explicit, kissing, U-Hauls but in a subversive way (i'm a lesbian so i can make this joke), established relationship, Reader is described as having a "soft" stomach
Yolanda Garcia does not like kids.
They're sticky, they're stupid, and they cost so, so much money. Too much money. Money that could be spent at that new burrito place around the block. Or vibrators. Or that new burrito place and then a vibrator.
So then how can she explain this weird feeling in her chest whenever she sees you around kids these days?
It started with her niece and nephew. It wasn't the first time you'd met her family, but it was the first time you'd ever met her brother's kids.
She wasn't originally too concerned whether or not you got along with her family. If they couldn't see how perfect you were, that was their problem, not hers.
Still, there was a warm flutter in her chest when you kneeled down in front of the five- and seven-year old's, your voice bright and warm, yet somehow still natural.
She'd be lying if she said she wasn't a bit surprised at how quickly they took to you. Her niece became your little best friend in under an hour, obsessed with following you around Garcia's brother's house the entire evening.
Her nephew showed you his many collections of toy cars, rocks from the backyard, and plastic dinosaurs, boldly fighting every adult around for your attention and tugging at your clothes when you dared to speak or even look at anyone other than him.
Again, she didn't particularly care if you and her folks got along. She didn't usually bring her girlfriends around, but she knew whether or not they got along with you, that the two of you would be in it for the long hall.
But if she didn't care, why did it warm her cold, dead heart when her brother texted the group chat asking if you'd ever be available to babysit, joking about how in love his kids were with you?
She justified it to herself. If she loved you, obviously her family would too. Duh. That's all.
Only, that reasoning couldn't hold up when she'd seen you comforting a little girl, no older than five, who came in with her mother after an accident. She only caught glimpses of you as she assessed the girl's mother.
She saw how you stayed by her side the entire time, holding her hand, rubbing her back, letting her rest her weary little head on your lap once she'd tired herself out.
It made her heart squeeze, her sweet sweet girl. That was what it was! Of course, you're a nurse, so of course it'd bring her comfort knowing you have basic human empathy. Silly Garcia, that's what it was.
I mean, she didn't feel the same tightness in her chest when she saw you treating and comforting an elderly man, but, c'mon . . . they're gross.
But that rhetoric didn't hold up either, not when she saw you and that damn baby in peds.
During most of the day, she'd intentionally been avoiding looking at the infamous Baby Jane Doe. It had nothing to do with her, nothing to do with surgery, and, at least she'd hoped, nothing to do with your relationship.
Of course, poor Garcia would eventually be proven wrong. She hadn't even meant to look the way of the infant. She wouldn't have. But she saw your cute pink undershirt dart into the room, an obvious contrast to the dreary, dark colors typically worn by almost everyone else in the ED.
She almost mis-stepped when she saw you cradling the babe to your chest. Almost froze on the spot at the look on your face, that soft content smile directed at the sweet little infant. Almost clutched her chest when she saw that smile stretch into an adorable giggle.
She thinks, in the back of her mind, that you look like you were meant to hold babies, that you'd make a great mom. Then she shoves that thought even deeper and shivers. She sounded like a man. Yuck.
So yeah, Yolanda Garcia does not like kids.
They're loud, they're dirty, and they cost a lot of money.
Yet here she is, mentally calculating whether IFV, donation, or adoption would be the better financial option for the two of you, let alone marriage and a house. She's still thinking about those burritos and vibrators, though.
That's non-negotiable.
It's such a shock to her core that it's still on her mind hours later, the two of you sharing a bath in her apartment.
She thinks you're so soft like this, your hair up and your skin slick with rose-scented bubbles, both of your bellies full of delicious, salty ramen.
It's all she can think about, her larger hands making soft massaging movements along your body. It's not something you miss.
"You're so quiet, Yoyo. What's up?"
Your soft voice echoes out in the bathroom, your hand reaching back and finding her neck.
Your hand gently strokes the taut skin of her neck, your fingers leaving warm trails across her shoulders. She hums into your skin, her nose barely grazing your flesh.
"Jeez, you ED freaks get a minute of silence and you go insane." She teases. You know she doesn't mean it, not really. Well, maybe for your coworkers, but not you.
Some of your favorite moments are the quiet ones shared between you. When she lifts her face from between your thighs and the two of you bathe in a comforting afterglow.
When you're rubbing her tense shoulders, working tight knots from her back and neck. When you're washing each other's hair, taking turns untangling each other's curls and taking the time to moisturize each other's scalps.
And anyways, she knows as well as you do her mouth is typically running at a mile a minute.
That's why you readjust, your hand tightening around the back of her neck, your hand under the water finding her thigh. You hum, but don't let up, flicking a drop of water at her face.
She responds in turn with a bigger splash, careful not to let the sudsy water get into your mouth or eyes.
"Grow up!"
"You first."
"Whatever." You chuckle, relaxing back into her chest. Her arms wrap back around your midsection, her hands still against your soft tummy. Your hands lie over hers, your fingers gently tapping against the back of her hand.
"I'm serious Yo. What's going on in that big head of yours?" She pinches you, but relents after a long minute.
With a sigh she finally answers. "Just thinkin' about us. About the . . . future, I guess."
"What do you mean?" You ask softly. She could kick herself when she hears that worried tinge in your question. She feels you shift in her arms, your torso turning to face her better, the water sloshing around in the tub.
Despite wanting to quell your concerns, she knew, despite her flagrant emotional constipation, that it was best to tread lightly. She raised one hand to your shoulder, holding you closer to her chest.
"It's nothing bad." She huffs, an almost-laugh to release tension.
"I was just thinking, what if you started staying here?" She says it like it's a hypothetical, like it's a song or a movie scene she can't get out of her head. Maybe it's because she means it as a joke. More than likely it's to protect herself if you say no.
"I . . . do? I stay here all the time. I'm literally spending the night, right now." You question, looking at her over your shoulder. It's perhaps a bit obtuse, but not unintentionally. You shift again in the tub, rubbing her arms but pulling them away to face her better.
In any lesser situation, or with anyone else, Garcia wouldn't tolerate it. But because it's you, because she knows you value openness and honesty, she takes a breath, scrunches her face, and finally lets herself be a little bit genuine.
Just a little.
"I mean . . . permanently. I want you to move in with me."
A part of Yolanda desperately wants to cringe, wants to fall into a hole. God, the only thing that could make it worse is if the next words to come out of your mouth are anything other than "Oh Yoyo, I thought you'd never ask!" or "Really, you mean it? Oh, Yolanda, I'd be so happy to! Let's get married and have Chinese food and wine-coolers!"
"Oh. Where's this coming from?"
God, that might be worse than if you'd just rejected the idea. Now she has to let you crack open her chest cavity, let you dig your little fingers around in her brain and find out everything she tries so hard to keep buried deep.
Yolanda feels her stomach flip. The only thing she dislikes more than children is being emotionally present. She runs her tongue over her teeth, before pursing her lips.
She bows her head down resting in the crook of your neck, and lets out another huffy little chuckle. She rests there, her forehead resting on your shoulder. Even this is humiliating.
Normally she's Yolanda Garcia: hotshot surgery fellow with a future so bright it's blinding, and the skills to back up her cockiness.
But around you she's Yoyo: Cutie-patootie-pie, fast food loving girlfriend who sneezes too loud and comes into the bathroom to pee when you're showering.
"Why are you doing this to me?" She whines half-heartedly, shaking her head as she reclines in the tub. As cute as you find her pout, enough to press a little pec to her lips, you know that this is more than a two minute conversation brewing.
"Because I love you. Now quit bitching and spit it out." You joke, a warm, comforting smile gracing your features in the low light. You were right when you suggested taking baths together, especially with the room being candle lit like this.
Yolanda laughs, fully, before taking a deep breath and resting her hands on your hips below the water.
"I've just . . . I keep seeing all these signs. That you're meant to be here. That you're meant to be mine." She says through tight lips, her eyes flicking around your face, scanning for any possible sign that you might not feel the same way she does. But, at the same time, she says it with such conviction it feels like fact.
Her eyes flick away, giving herself a split-second of reprieve before forcing herself to focus on you. Mama didn't raise a wimp. Emotionally reserved to the point of controversy? Sure. But never a wimp.
"Like what?" You question, your lids lowering in an attempt to conceal your giddiness.
Yolanda swears the noise of the room gets quieter and quieter with each passing moment, like the world is focusing in on your relationship.
"Like . . . when we're having dinner at home and you feel comfortable enough to put your feet up on the coffee table." She says slowly, pressing a kiss to your cheek, just in front of your ear, her lips tickled by the stray curls south of your temple.
"Or when we both decide to stay in for the night because the idea of going out for date night feels repulsive." Her kiss drops lower, her lips against your jaw, her nose tickling your skin.
"Or . . . when I see you with my family, getting along with them the same way you do with me, even though they're all terrible." That gets a laugh from you.
It's only emphasized by a kiss to your throat, your neck sensitive enough for it to send a shiver down your spine.
"They're not so bad. They're just . . . like you, Yoyo." It receives another pinch, this time to the soft side of your stomach. She doesn't feel better having said it out loud. She's fairly certain she'll throw up and willingly drown herself in this tub if you say anything other than a confirmation of her feeling soon. But at least she can die knowing she finally got it out.
"So . . ." You start, a hand reaching over your shoulder to find her neck. "What I'm hearing is that you love me, and that you're in love with me. You want to move onto the next step in our relationship. And that you want to spend the foreseeable future with me."
It's teasing when you say it and the both of you know it, despite the soft, sweet way you deliver it. And despite the utterly disgusted look on her face, you both know that you've got her spot on.
"Well . . . I did," She retorts, her voice slow and deep in her throat, like she's swallowing something back. "Until you put it like that. Now I'm having second thoughts-"
Her stupid grumbling is cut off by a kiss, your lip plush and warm against hers. Her arms tighten around your midsection, one hand gliding up your sternum to cup your jaw.
Your lips dance, moving smoothly with one another in the dark, steamy room. She moans against you when you pulls away, a rare instance of vulnerability she'd refused to share with previous girlfriends.
Your eyes find each other, a deep focus shared between the two of you. Suddenly the feeling in her stomach worsens for a instance, before completely disappearing. You shift around in the tub, your chests pressed together and your hands on her cheeks. Your voice sounds like her favorite song when your smile moves to form words.
CW: Pegging (f!reciving duh), strap-on, fingering, oral (f!reciving duh), f!dom (DUH), brat taming, spit play, scissoring, pet names (silly girl, baby, pretty girl, slut), degradation/praise, mix of hard and soft dom, squirting, overstim, dacryphilia, pillow princess!reader (but like, the proper use of the term), spanking/impact play
─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─
AO3
🦇Batman Masterlist🦇
🕸️Spiderverse Masterlist🕸️
🐼JJK Masterlist🐼
🩺The Pitt Masterlist🩺
🎃KINKTOBER MASTERLIST🎃
─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─
incl. Yolanda Garcia, Parker Ellis, Cassie Mckay, Baran Al-Hashimi, Emery Walsh, Dana Evans
a/n: thank you to the pitt for reminding me that I am in fact a lesbian, as of posting i've had this locked and loaded for almost two weeks
Are you really suprised?
Silly girl, you should've known from the moment she shot you that look through her lashes, the minute you saw her smirk and let out a little huff at your expense, the second you saw the way she rolled back her neck and straightened her shoulders to approach you before you clocked out.
Should've known you'd land here, her fingers in your cunt and her tongue down your throat.
Should've known she'd wrap her arm around your shoulders and grab your chin, holding your face still so she can see the unbroken chain of saliva connecting the two of you when she pulled away.
Yeah, you should've known, silly girl.
Should've known she'd have your legs hitched up by your ears, her silicone strap hitting the perfect combination of speed and depth with each thrust, brushing your g-spot again and again and again.
Should've known she'd have her pussy, wet and restless pressed against yours by the end of the night, her juices dripping down your crevice, your combined mess soaking the mattress beneath you.
You're smarter than that, should've known silly, stupid girl.
But that's all okay, baby. You don't have to think at all anymore. Just take her fingers in your mouth like that. Go on, suck on 'em, get them nice and wet. Can you taste yourself, pretty girl? Did you forget how much you soaked her palm?
Awe, that's okay. Like she said, she'd got it all under control. Just stay still and let her make you feel good.
No, don't be a brat, quit pushing her hand away. Use your words. Is it actually too much or do you just need to be taught a lesson?
She's got no problem either way. If there's one things she's good at, besides medicine, it's putting you in your place when u get too big for your breeches.
She works with kicking screaming patients in crisis, you think she can't flip you over on your stomach and give it to you hard and fast? Give it to you how you really, really need it?
Think again, pretty. She knows your slutty little brain's gone to mush, but come on. You know better than this. She's sure she taught you not to run from pleasure like that.
But then why are your fingers clawing at the sheets like they're the only thing tethering you to this earthly realm? Why are you sobbing and screaming into the pillows like it'll do anything? Why are you acting like she didn't spend all that hard work training you to be her good girl?
Guess she'll have to teach you again, huh? You'da thought you like your ass getting spanked the way you keep playing in her face like this.
Really, what a shame. All that hard work down the drain. You'll have to make it up to her.
Maybeee by letting her eat you out till you forget your name? Maybeee by letting her finger you to you squirt all over the bed sheets? Maybeee by letting her put you through the mattress with her strap-on?
Just suggestions, she'll have to think about it.
meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow i heart yuri!!! I heart yuri!!! I heart yuri!!! Pitt Yuri yayyy!!!
Hi, everything alright? I'm really enjoying watching The Pitt and I've fallen in love with Yolanda Garcia. If it's possible to do one with a female reader, maybe a nurse, about Yolanda being jealous of her girlfriend who was praised by the residents.
Mission: Completed
~ Yolanda Garcia x Nurse!Reader
~ Fem!Reader
~ Reader has curly hair, specific texture not mentioned
~ Smut alluded to but nothing explicit
~ wc: 1.6k
─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─
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CW: Pet names (hot stuff, good girl, babe, YoGo), secretly dating trope, banter, garsantos mention but at what cost, possessive garcia, kinda oblivious reader, medical inaccuracies lol
a/n: yogo my mean meow meow wife
At first, it was kinda cute.
Yolanda thought the way Whitaker's stupid little face glowed with awe at the way you handled a particularly difficult suture funny. She'd joked about how he could ask you out later, but he needed to focus on the task at hand.
He never actually asked, of course, partially because Garcia made sure to snatch her girlfriend up before her regular shift could get extended. The other part was the nasty glance she sent him during emergency surgery they'd worked on earlier when he kept distracting you from suctioning blood fast enough.
Gradually, the attention got a little more annoying as the week progressed.
First it was Whitaker ogling you as you jogged out of the room to assist Dana with another patient.
Then it was Robby making a few too many jokes to you at the nurses station.
The final strike, perhaps obviously, was a misdeed performed by the hands of none other than one Dr. Trinity Santos.
Now, Garcia would never deny that she and Santos had . . . something before. She couldn't exactly say they were dating, but they had some kind of relationship. But that was before she'd met you at an afterwork event at a bar a few blocks away from the PTMC.
That was before she'd stepped into the (un)surprisingly full bar, her surgery attending almost immediately stepping away to conglomerate with his fellow attendings, leaving her to her own accord.
That was before she spotted you sat at the bar, low yellow light reflecting off your warm, skin like rays of gold, the light bouncing off your springy curls almost hypnotically as you chatted with Princess, who was already two beers deep despite the meet up being only having started an hour ago.
That was before she sent you a wink and nodded to the women's restroom. Before she had her talented hands down your pants in the cramped stall. Before she took you back to her apartment to finish what you'd started, then to breakfast the next morning.
Yes, everything that'd gone down with Santos happened months and months ago. The hatchet had long been buried between the two.
So then what, you may ask, had Santos done that was so offensive to the surgeon.
She asked you out for drinks after work.
Nothing complicated, nothing invasive. The only reason you didn't get to say no was a patient with a partial amputation arriving by way of EMT with an ETA of less than two minutes.
Still, the question bounced around in Garcia's head for hours, having overheard it on her way back from a consult with Robby and Langdon.
Damn them all, arrogant clowns in the ER, she thought, disregarding that you were a nurse in the very department. Talking to her girlfriend like that, the nerve!
Don't get Garcia wrong, she knows her girlfriend is hot as shit. She knows her body is distracting, even in scrubs. She knows her skin and eyes twinkle and glow even under the harsh and unforgiving hospital lights. She knows. Hell, that's why they're even together in the first place.
But so what?! You're her girlfriend. The only person who should be allowed to publicly drool over you is her God damn it.
It just so happens that she was paged for consult with that partial amputation. Furthermore, it just so happens you were working on that patient's case. Further, furthermore, it just so happened that Santos and Robby were also on the case.
Oh she could just jump for joy.
When presented with such a moment of serendipity, whom amongst us wouldn't take the opportunity to gloat. To brag. To rub our gorgeous, beautiful, happy, women-loving-women relationship in the faces of others? Certainly not Garcia.
"Hey hot-stuff, what're we working with?" She uttered, a small smirk on her face as she waltzed into the room, practically kicking her heels at her own mischievous scheme.
Her gaze was firmly pointed at you, causing Santos to look up . It caught Dr. Robby off guard , the older man responding with a crooked bushy brow and a tilt of his head.
"Flattered, Garcia, just . . . Didn't think you swung that way-" "I'm not talking to you." She interrupted, speaking firmly, as her gaze alternating between the patient and you. She stared at you expectantly, everyone in the rom listening carefully, if not a bit confused, as you carefully explained the case.
"Oh-Um, 32 year-old male, left with partial amputation to right arm after farming accident." "Good girl. If it's just partial clean it up and send it upstairs. Can't get shit done down here." Yolanda responded, sending you a smile and a look through her lashes after examining the patient herself.
"Later, losers." She called over he shoulder, ducking out of the room after removing her gloves and cleaning her hands, a shared look of confusion bouncing around most of the people left in her wake. Step one: Completed.
The tension was only partially removed when Robby cleared his throat, redirecting the attention of the nurses and residents. "You heard her. Lets get this show on the road people." He dismissed himself with a single clap before exiting the room as well.
With his long legs it wasn't particularly hard for him to catch up with Garcia half way across the ER. He chuckled once he caught up, rubbing the back of his neck almost bashfully. "So . . ." He started, waiting for the younger woman to pick up his que.
"So." She followed, liking like the cat who got the cream. The attending chuckled in response, shaking his head a bit at her tone. "You and Y/N? I thought you had something going on with Santos."
"Keep up old man. Now I have a lot more going on with Y/N." She replied, sending a sly look his way as they approached the elevators.
"Don't tell me you plan on going through all my residents and nurses, Garcia, this place will fall apart." He called at her slim, fleeting figure, staying back.
"Just taking a page out of your book, Robby." Yolanda finished, pressing the button for the surgery floor and turning to look back at him once the doors opened.
She had no plans to dabble with any of the other women working on this God forsaken floor. Especially not after you. But she'd be damned if she let the old bastard get all up in her business like that.
Step two came a little later, after what must've been her third call for consult that day alone. Good, just gave her more time around you.
Precious you, leaning over the central nursing station, chatting amicably with Princess about some ridiculous patient in North 13.
As she floated by the station she spotted a certain mousey little man approaching, that perpetually nervous smile on his face. She couldn't miss the opportunity to stop to greet you.
She could see the gentle grin on his face morph into one of slight confusion from the corner of her eye, a hand gracing your lower back as she pulled up beside you. "Hey babe." She uttered lowly, her voice barely loud enough for you to hear.
"Oh, hey baby." You greeted in turn, ignoring Princess' saucer-wide eyes as yo leaned back into her touch. Whitaker stepped slowly away, pretending he needed help taking vitals when Perlah spotted his quivering form hovering near by.
Step two: Completed.
Now for step three.
"I got paged by Langdon, so I gotta go, but I'll see you later." Garcia state her voice back to a normal volume. She moved to step away only to get pulled closer to you by her scrubs, your hand resting on her shoulder as you pressed a kiss to her cheek.
"Okay, YoGo. Go save some limbs or something. I'll see you later." You promised, sending her off with a gentle shove. Yolanda looked around, and beside the resident gossips of Princess and Perlah watching with barely contained smiles, it seemed the kiss was yours alone.
Hours later, once it had finally started to turn to night shift, she came down stairs to find you, again, resting at the nurses station, slouched over in a chair with one of your feet kicked up. The exhaustion of the day finally caught up with you.
Garcia's curls were down, released from their buns and cascading down her back, her scrubs replaced with an old band tee and jeans, a dark jacket over her shoulders.
She glanced around, Santos charting within earshot, Whitaker and Robby catching up on their earlier cases, Princess and Perlah hovering behind Dana as she gathered her own stuff, ready to clock out.
Perfect.
You sat up at the sight of her, stretching your arms above your head and holding back a yawn before sending her sleepy smile.
All the biggest offenders in one spot, and the biggest gossips there to spread the good word. She pounced.
"You ready to go, babe? I'm in the mood for Chinese, we can pick it up on the way back." She said, loud enough for Trinity to subtly lean over, her eyes darting back and forth between the screen and the two of you.
"Yeah, just let me get changed. My place or yours?" You asked, slowly rising from the wheeled chair and getting ready to head to the locker room. Garcia scoffed into your hair, pulling you inter her side briefly, before letting you slip away to get changed. "Never ask me that again." She called, feeling eyes burning holes into her back.
Funny, all the previous conversation that had surrounded you was now absent. She looked over her shoulder, sending a look to the aforementioned parties, all of whom quickly averted their gazes.
incl. JJK - Nanami Kento, Satoru Gojo, Toji Fushiguro, Suguru Geto, Shoko Ieiri, Hiromi Higuruma. ASTV - Miguel O'Hara, Peter B. Parker, Spider-Noir. DC - Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake. THE PITT - Jack Abbot, Frank Langdon, Michael Robinavitch, Dennis Whitaker.
a/n: Who's hungry? papa's back with dinner
The Ones Who Love to Put You in a Mating Press . . .
He swears he can feel your heartbeat like this, that's why it's his favorite.
There's just something about the noises you make when he's got your knees hunched over his shoulders like this, it drives him fucking insane. You just sound so cute, your moans so desperate and genuine, your eyes rolled back into your skull like he's pleasing you to the very center of your being.
He almost laughs at the sight of you in such a depraved state, though he himself isn't too far behind, drool almost spilling from his lips.
It's not that he's trying to get you pregnant exactly . . . but he wouldn't be too opposed to that happening. Shit, with all the cum he's stuffed inside you for the past hour, your soft little tummy all puffy and full of him, it's like he can see it now.
And fuuucck he thinks you'd look even more beautiful, if that's even possible, with his kid inside you, your tummy even more swollen from growing his baby.
He can't help but tell you so, his brain disconnected from his mouth, Id completely taking over while he lets out some deranged mix of praise, degradation and promises.
He sounds so fucking beautiful, the broken moans he's now incapable of holding back swirling around inside the empty cavern between your ears. Your only way of communicating that is subconsciously pulsing your already fucked out cunt.
He thinks he'll die if you keep fluttering like that around him. But honestly, that's kinda how he wants to go out.
-"S-swear to God, baby, it's like I can feel your-ngh-fuckin' throat."
-"Fuck me. You hear that? Hear her crying for me? Should I give her what she wants?"
-"You're so fuckin pretty baby. Look at you, so pretty when you're crying for me. Love when you cry for me, love you, love this fuckin pussy."
~ Miguel O'Hara, Bruce Wayne, Toji Fushiguro, Jason Todd, Jack Abbot, Dick Grayson, Frank Langdon
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The Ones Who Love to Put You in Missionary . . .
He somehow makes the most chaste, least deviant position feel fucking filthy. Worst part about it is, he's being the sweetest thing ever.
Breathless coos flutter against your ear in form of gentle praises. Each "so, so good, baby, feel so good" makes your heart throb. Every whispered "you're so pretty, so fucking pretty, oh my God" makes your cunt clench. Every shuttered moan that escapes him sends shivers all the way down your spine.
"C-can't, can't take anymore baby. 's too much." You mewl into his collarbone, your fingers digging into his back, nails clawing at his skin with every stoke.
His body feels so warm against you. His chest pressed to yours almost makes it feel like he's even deeper than he already fucking is.
"Huh? Yeah you can, promise baby." It's like he's making the both of you equally braindead. "Jus-just a little more, pretty. I know you can, ngh."
He's singing your praises, calling you his, promising he's gonna make you feel even better, and all you can think about is how deep he is inside of you, how the head of his dick has found permanent residence against your puckered cervix.
"Oh god, you f-feel so wa-warm, baby. So wet. Is that for me?" He groans. He's so out of it he doesn't even realize the flooding splashing against his thighs, coating his abdomen and letting him sink his cock in you in a mix of your juices and his own cum .
Your shaky thighs clamp around his hips and your hands find presence against his chest and shoulder, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. If your eyes weren't slammed shut with your head thrown back, you'd see the literal hearts in his eyes.
-"God, you're so fucking pretty like this."
-"Want-ngh-want more? I wanna give you fucking everything.
-"Sweet, so fuckin' sweet how you're taking it, baby."
~ Dennis Whitaker, Kento Nanami, Michael Robinavitch, Dick Grayson, Spider Noir, Peter B. Parker, Tim Drake
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The Ones Who Love to Put You in Doggy Style . . .
He can't help it that he's mean! It's not entirely his fault, you're partially at fault too.
That's right, with your cute cries muffled by a pillow, with your sopping wet cunt torn between soaking and creaming his cock, your tiny puckered hole tauntingly winking at him from this position.
Who can blame him when a hot, fat glob of his spit lands on your back hole, followed by his thumb? You can't, you fucking slut, that's for sure.
He wonders, sometimes, in the very back of his brain when you first start crying during sex, if he's too rough. But then he grips your hair, tugs your head back, and sees the look on your face.
Your dopey, fucked out grin. Your dazed, dizzy eyes. Your sparkling tears in the low, golden light. It just makes him shove your face back into the pillows, and push his thumb into your ass, using it as leverage to fuck you harder and faster and deeper than before.
He groans so loudly in your ear, his chest hot against your back your combined sweat making your skin stick together.
"Ya keep crying, keep saying it's too big, too fast, too hard. But I don't hear you using your words, pretty girl." You both know all it takes is that simple, one syllable word and he'll pull out, clean you up and take care of you.
And yet . . . "That's what I fucking thought, you slut. You like this, huh? Like being my filthy fuckin girl?" When you don't respond he pulls his thumb from your butt and smacks you across both ass cheeks, a delicious, burning sting left in his wake.
"Speak to me, girl. You like it when I'm mean and nasty to you?" His hand roughly grabs the globe of your ass, the other pulling you by the hip back against his pelvis, loud smacks filling the room.
Oh, if only you could see the Cheshire grin spread across his face when you mutter a desperate, broken "yes, daddy".
-"Take it baby, take it, take it, take it."
-"You that desperate for my fucking dick? You really crying over it pretty girl?"
-"Ohhhh fuck, look at that stretch baby. This little pussy's swallowing me whole."
~ Sukuna Ryomen, Satoru Gojo, Toji Fushiguro, Jason Todd
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The Ones Who Love to Make You Ride . . .
Look at those pretty fucking tits, bouncing like that. So gorgeous.
They can't help but lean down and pop one of your nipples into their mouth. Your fingers in their hair make them feel fucking crazy, your nails dragging across their scalp.
It just makes them groan, the vibrations sending pleasurable tingles across your chest and straight down to your pretty pussy. They keep thrusting up into you, your tummy feeling full and warm.
Their fingers, their index and their middles, get shoved into your drooling mouth, and they groan when you instinctively wrap your lips around them and start sucking, your cheeks hollowing out and your spit coating them and thick rivets.
"'Oh my god . . . You look amazing, baby. Doing so good, keep going." They grumble, their other hand resting on your hip and pulling you down harder onto their lap. You grip their wrists, using it as support while you sink all the way down, grinding your hips against theirs.
Your eyes are squeezed shut while you chase pleasure from their body. They only open when they rips their fingers from your wet mouth and slap your cheek lightly, more of a love tap than a full smack.
"Eyes on me, gorgeous. Don't want you to look away."
Your eyes fight to flutter shut with each thrust of your hips, butat their command you do your best to keep them open, your pussy soaking their thighs in ceaseless hunger.
"There are those pretty eyes. Ngh, god, you're so fucking pretty. My pretty girl, right? That's why you're fucking yourself in my lap like this?"
It's subtly degrading, just enough to make you whine and clench around them. But it's delivered in such a sweet tone of voice. It makes you feel special and stupid in one.
You nod, and thankfully that seems enough of a response from them, a gentle smile on their face while you keep bouncing. Your frantic thrusts start slowing down, despite your best efforts, your thighs starting to burn from use. They notice and laugh, their hand on your hip tightening, the other gently wrapping around your throat.
"Getting tired? That's okay, I got it. Just open your mouth, okay?" And with a suckle to your tongue and a glob of spit to the center of your mouth, they gift the both of you and take over.
-"Look at my gorgeous, gorgeous girl, riding me so good."
-"That's it baby, it's all yours. Ride it like it belongs to you."
-"Ah fuck. . . No, don't slow down, I didn't tell you to slow down. Keep-mmm-keep going."
~ Michael Robinavitch, Dennis Whitaker, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Shoko Ieiri, Hiromi Higuruma
this is so late you should all burn me at the stake sad cat emoji 😿
Abbot under cut
everything is posted to ao3 first btw
★ Frank Langdon -
c/w: Frank and Reader are married, Frank and Reader have children, explicit consent, Thigh Fucking, PiV, Praise
“Shh, I know. Just let me take care of you, please." Frank's voice pleadingly murmurs into your ear the second you start fidgeting beneath him. His chest feels warm against your back, his voice and presence soothing you immediately while his fingers tease the hem of your underwear. He slowly pulls them down to rest just above your knees
“That's it…I got you." He whispers, his cock brushing against the fat of your ass while you lay on your side. You feel so warm, the thick comforter you made him buy last winter, acting as a barrier of peace and comfort against the cold air of your shared room, and that coupled with Frank's hot body pressed against your back makes your eyes roll back into your head. You let out a soft, sleepy sigh that shoots straight to his already aching cock. He's been thinking about you-about this-for a fucking week, but there's never any fucking time to act on his desires.
When you don't have work the Pitt reaches capacity and sucks him back in for another three hours. When he's free your boss gets neurotic and cuts deadlines in half, like he’s got the magical ability to know whenever you plan to fuck your husband. When you're both free your kids wants to have a family day with the two of you, nothing more than hours and hours of tag at the park, fort building, and movie marathons.You and Frank love your children more than words can describe, but fuck if they’re not the biggest cockblocks alive.
So, after many nights of Frank's hand getting more dick than you, and your fingers struggling to fill the role of his own, you both came to an agreement.
As quietly as possible as to not wake up your boys, and as long as both of you get a full night's rest, the two of you can use each other in their sleep as much as you want. Frank's cock rests wedged between your thighs, rubbing against the outer lips of your pretty pussy, stiff and red as he inhales your scent. You showered just before bed, and the scent of your body wash mixed with your natural skin drives Frank insane. He has to hold back the groans that bubble in the pit of his chest and threaten to stir you from your rest. His hips rock into yours, your juices coating his length as he humps the doughy space between your legs, his fat, flushed tip spreading your folds with each thrust.
He wants to flip you over onto your tummy and slam his hips into yours, shove his fingers down your throat and make you cry and beg, but there's just never time for that. He's not usually one for gentle sex as is, but he figures this-this whispery, pillow muffled, tenderness-is better than nothing. Not that fucking your soft, willingly pliant body is nothing, god no. He just wishes he could really fuck you like he used to before you had kids, but he'll take what he can get these days.
He moans into a pillow, his precum coating the front of your thighs in lazy rivers while he fucks into them. His fingers twitch where they lay on your hip, a steadying force to remind him to be gentle, to let you sleep through the night. That plan is interrupted when his tip nudges your clit with a thrust a little firmer than he intended, making your brows pinch and your mouth drop, your eyes flicking beneath your sealed lids.
He stills, petrified. Shit, he thinks, now you're going to wake up, slap his shoulder, and tell him to fuck off so you can go back to sleep. But Frank feels his heart going back to its normal pace when you wriggle your hips and reach down between your legs, spreading yourself so he can just get the fuck on with it.
“Please, Frankie," he hears you murmur, your voice thick and raspy from sleep, and your words bring an almost giddy smirk to his face. “No more teasing." It’s all he needs before he pulls his arm back, pulls your cheeks apart, and finally, finally, finally slips his cock inside your already soaking hole. He starts slowly, savoring the feeling of your warm flesh sucking him in, clamping down around him. But when you whine into his ear, your voice so small, and soft, and madness inducing, he picks up the pace, his hips quietly slapping against yours in the quiet of your room.
“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, his head in the crook of your neck. “You feel fucking amazing."
★ Jack Abbot -
c/w: Jack and Reader are married, Breeding kink, PiV
Jack doesn't remember when it began.
He doesn’t remember the conversation the two of you obviously had to have had, he doesn’t remember the first time either of you’d acted out the arrangement, and he doesn’t remember what even made you think of this. But he remembers why you started.
Jack remembers being newlyweds, coming back from a painfully short vacation to your shared apartment, and immediately going back to work at PTMC, burying yourselves in work so quickly it was like you never left. He remembers how you had to beg, and beg to get matching hours, for you to be transferred to the night shift so you could spend more time together. He remembers the annoyance of coming home only for you to be on your way out, a tupperware container with last night's dinner in the microwave for him. And he sure as hell remembers how cold your bed felt when you weren't in it with him.
So even if his mind is slowly slipping away with age, though you assure him he’s not that much older than you, he’s glad the two of you had some sense to come to an agreement. Especially now, with his cock slowly dragging in and out of your saccharine walls, your sweet, syrupy fluids coating his cock and thighs.
He tried to bite his tongue at first, scared his groans would wake you up, but after the past few months, he doesn’t bother anymore. In fact, he kinda hopes he does wake you up. Not because he wants you to get as little sleep as possible before you have to spend the next 8-12 hours working with patients, but because the sight of his cock sinking inch by inch inside your gorgeous body is something that should be shared. He imagines you’d be slow to rise, just like you normally are, your eyes shut as you chase the last few seconds of sleep available. Then, you’d feel the rocking motion, your body slowly swaying in bed like you were adrift in the warmest ocean on Earth. Your brows would pinch, at first, confusion slowly dominating your features. Your mouth would open, silently moving to form words, but unable to. He’d press a kiss to the corner of your lips, one of his hands coming to cover your mouth and preventing you from letting out those loud (delicious) moans you’re so good at. You’d finally open your fucking eyes, your lids flying open to stare at your husband, and he’d feel desperate. He’d feel like a fucking pervert, so sex hungry that he’s resorted to fucking his beautiful wife in her sleep.
But you’d be too distracted by the pleasure of his cock filling your tummy to even register the look on his face. Your eyes would get all cute and watery, and he’d have to kiss your cheeks and coo in your ear, telling you that it’s okay to let him make you feel good, to relax your body and let the feeling of his cock take over, to let him do all the work and all the thinking.
Fuck, you’d be too fucking cute. You’d clench down on his cock like a vice, and your gasps and moans beneath his palm would send tingles down his back. He’d reach down, only after forcing you to agree to be quiet, and part your lips to find your clit. He’d whisper so reassuringly in your ear, telling you all kinds of pretty words to make you feel as good as you’re making him feel. He’d nibble on your ear, just like you do to him sometimes, while his fingers, mature and calloused, work your clit in slow, dangerous circles. It would be so hard for you to keep quiet, his hand over your mouth replaced with your own. He’d have to threaten to stop, have to threaten he’d only bring himself pleasure if you didn’t shut the fuck up.
He’d be lying though, the height of his night would be seeing you cum on his cock. He’d be a good husband and let you cum, despite your disobedience. He likes to believe you’d be so thankful you’d stay home from work the next day, let him give you that baby you’ve been talking about wanting. Wouldn’t that be a dream come true?
Of course, he’s satisfied with just this, his hips slowly rocking into yours as he thumbs softly at your pearl while you sleep, because the alternative would be cruel and unusual. Nah, he’ll just have to maintain his shallow thrusts, his tip gently knocking into your cervix like he still plans on giving you that baby.
