also i’m gonna use this to explain how my account works so basically i’m a reblog account and I mostly reblog amazing works with permission ofc, and I understand the hassle it can be to find drabbles and one shots and works you like or want to see so just ask me what your looking for and i’ll find it for you! it can be anything no matter how dark or sick and twisted this is a judgement free zone! so just ask away and I will provide🖤🖤🖤
in which, DICK GRAYSON from the DCU can't stand the idea of being your ex any longer.
‧₊˚✩彡
includes: ex-boyfriend!dick grayson x fem!reader, mature content (17+), shower-sex, brief nipple-play, brief make-out, standing doggy, wall-sex, dick picks reader up, shower-head usage, belly-bulge mention (big dick dick), creampie, 2.0k words.
CERTAINLY, YOU'D regret this come morning time. there would be a large pit opened to swallow you whole, riiight in the middle of your gut-- and shame would parade itself around you tauntingly. there'd be countless waves of guilt crashing over you harshly-- and, god, you wouldn't even be able to face your friends! you could only imagine the disappointment that would ooze from their faces, disapproving glares and groans thrown your way, along with the simple, "leave your ex alone!"
but that was all for morning you to deal with; current you was far too enamored in the way dick's frame towered over yours beneath the tiny shower head in your apartment's bathroom-- the way water dripped from his soaked black locks, onto his deliciously tanned skin; the way his biceps curled around your middle, holding you up as he thrust in and out of you at a heavenly pace.
your ass rocked back against him, repetitive and lewd plap, plap, plap! one after the other. "fuuuck yes, baby-girl," dick groaned, head dipping into the crook of your neck. his voice rumbled against your shoulder, lips smearing messy kisses all over your damp skin. knees buckling, you gasped-- the tip of him ramming into your g-spot efficiently making your eyes roll into your skull. "i know," he cooed, "feels so good,"
"uh-huh," you agreed, nodding dumbly. arching into him further, your moans grew in decibels. the noise reverberated obscenely against the tiles of your shower, suds of soap running down along both you and your ex's bodies quickly.
dick's free hand found one of your tits easily, molding and groping the flesh with a certain hunger you hadn't felt in weeks. he moaned softly when his fingers pinched one of your nipples-- it stiffened underneath his palms, and your breathing stuttered. "c'mere," dick said suddenly, pulling out of you.
you whined at the loss of him, feeling terribly empty, though obliged as you felt him turn you around to face him.
fuck, was all you thought as you were met with dick's disgustingly gorgeous face; beauty marks in all the right spots, cheeks flushed from the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him, and dimpled cheeks smiling fervently at you. his eyes gazed upon you with such intensity, such warmth, such sincerity, it almost made you forget you and the vigilante hadn't been together for a few months now.
strong palms found your cheeks, and dick leaned down towards your face-- close enough to feel the ghost of his breath on the fat of your lips, but far enough for it to burn. "can i kiss you, pretty girl?"
"you were jus' inside me," you snorted, though your voice was hoarse from the way he had you moaning mere moments ago. "i think you're allowed to kiss me."
dick shrugged, tongue darting out to soak his lips. his voice was barely above a whisper, words practically emptying themselves into your mouth-- "kissing you is a lot more... intimate," he confessed.
your stomach flipped wildly, the only sound beside both of your labored breathing being the water hitting the tiles of your shower.
"you deserve to be asked." he finished, still clinging onto your jaw as if it gave him life.
droplets of water sprayed in several directions as you shook your head-- a measly attempt at avoiding the lump growing momentously within your throat. "just kiss me," you mumbled.
dick pressed his lips to yours softly, tenderly, choosing to ignore the wobble in your voice.
you kissed him back easily-- like it was second nature. as the kiss deepened, everything that began to happen was habitual. something innate, like a reflex or perhaps something learned at a young age, like walking; loving dick grayson.
dick's teeth grazed your bottom lip greedily, and-- only because you had been here before, only because you had known dick's body language certainly better than your own-- had you opened your mouth to allow your ex's tongue entrance. he groaned softly, the noise engraining itself into your brain (because you could not be sure the next time you would hear it).
his fingers drummed themselves against the back-side of your thighs, and (again! like second-nature), you jumped up to wrap them around his waist. a whine, something intense from the back of your throat, vibrated both of your lips as you continued to kiss sloppily; the feeling of dick's boner pressing meanly to the inside of one of your thighs.
"patience, sweet girl," he hummed, before going back to sucking on your tongue. you moaned, both at the action and to tell him please just go back to fucking me.
you felt him laugh against your lips (what an aching sound-- the lump in your throat swelling again), and before you knew it your back hit the tile-wall of your shower. it was a cool sensation causing you to shiver; though he pressed you against the wall using his hips, and that was enough warmth to drown out any chill.
dick used one of his hands to guide his cock back to your entrance, running the pre-cum soaked tip along your folds momentarily beforehand. his breathing was shallow, small gasps, as he felt how wet you were for him. pushing inside, the both of you shared an intimate moan.
he held himself there-- bottomed out, forehead pressed to yours, noses grazing.
that goddamn lump in your throat would not go away!
"need you," you said shakily, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks. "please."
dick swallowed. you hoped he would miss the double meaning of your words. "i need you too," he whispered back, and fuck. as cryptic as it was, you knew dick grayson-- and you knew he hadn't ignored your double-meaning, in fact only reiterating it himself.
before you could over-think about it any longer, you felt dick's hips move. his length was swallowed up by your pussy greedily, and he cursed softly. "shit," he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your cheek, continuing to thrust into you softly. "t-this pussy, it's--"
"s'all yours," you moaned; mouth working faster than your brain, you spoke again, "c'mon dick, fuck this pussy--"
dick's movements stuttered for half a second before you felt his palms grasp onto the back of your thighs tightly. he swallowed, adam's apple bobbing, before pounding into you with renewed intensity.
the sound of skin slapping bounced off the walls, and your moans were falling easily from your mouth. cold tile met the back of your head, your chest heaving up and down as dick continued to fuck you so deeply, you were certain you were feeling him in your throat.
"s'all mine," through gritted teeth, he squeezed the fat of your thighs-- pressing you open wider.
your cunt squelched around him, his movements unrelenting-- his cock throbbed inside of you, caressing your g-spot with a heightened sense of devotion. "fuck, dick," you breathed, leaning forward to press kisses sloppily to his face. wherever they landed-- you didn't care; they just needed to be on him, needed to be expressed, needed to be let out.
"you're so tight--" he gasped, bottoming out once again to grind deeper into you. "so wet, so warm, holy fuck,"
"yes--!" tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the feeling of him far too intense. "deeper, please,"
dick pushed into you, impossibly farther, than you thought possible. "never wanna pull out of this sweet pussy," he rambled, watching the outline of him inside you bulge from your lower stomach.
it was pornographic.
he hooked one of his arms underneath your thighs fully, rendering his right arm free-- but not for long, as the hot metal of the shower-head met his palms, and dick began to pry it easily from its groove.
you faltered, eyebrows scrunching up; "what're you doing?"
what a foolish question, you thought simply, mere seconds afterwards-- because a stream of warm water met your cunt almost instantly.
"oh-- holy fuck!"
dick pressed the shower-head almost flush to your pussy, water beating down intensely against your folds and clit. he grinned, feeling you tighten around his cock-- watching your back arch off the tile-wall prettily. "yeahh," he groaned, keeping the stream on your pussy, "bet that feels nice, right baby?"
you couldn't even respond--! eyes screwed shut tightly, the feeling of dick's cock rocking into you and the water beating down onto your clit enveloping you entirely, fast.
but it didn't matter that you couldn't respond-- because your ex continued to babble mindlessly to himself, the pace of his hips speeding up quickeningly. "it has to," dick moaned, "'cause the way you're-- haah-- milkin' my fuckin' cock is just-- holy shiiiit,"
you hadn't the time nor semblance to warn dick of your orgasm-- the feeling of your cunt pulsing, squeezing, spasming sneaking up on you too. it came down hard, and you were certain that if dick hadn't been holding you, your legs would have given out. they twitched madly around his hips; your ears were ringing, and your vision had gone cloudy-- salty tears streaking your face. "diiick," you sobbed, back arching, "oh my fucking god, i-i can't--" with the stream from your shower head still abusing your cunt, and dick's tip still badgering your g-spot, over-stimulation crept up on you easily. "s'too much!"
"no it's not, pretty," dick groaned, fucking you harder now-- clearly chasing his own orgasm. "you've been so so good f'me already," he cooed, leaning down to kiss your newly-shed tears away from your face. "you can take it,"
"i-- aah-- i can't," you whimpered, nails digging into dick's shoulders.
he hissed, the sensation burning. "sorry," he mumbled, not sounding very sorry, "you will take it."
the harshness in his voice made your cunt flutter tirelessly around his cock, and dick moaned. "c'mon, c'mooon," dick practically whined, losing grip on the shower-head as his hips bucked mindlessly into you. "i jus' needa cum, then- then i'll take care of you, thank you for taking my cock, yeah?"
you were nodding, despite the intense ache of his cock drilling into you.
"fuck--! i--" dick was gasping, and suddenly the shower-head went cluttering to the floor. his free hand found your hip immediately, and he squeezed the flesh of it underneath his palm, his own hips beginning to stutter. "m'cumming," he stammered, blue irises squinting desperately. "in-inside?"
"yes," you gasped, though you're sure he would have done it anyways even if you had said no-- because his cock twitched once, then twice, before his whole body stilled and dick groaned. it was hearty, and you felt his hot seed spill into you deeply. he ground his hips into you, willing it farther, deeper, into you-- as if he never wanted it to come out.
"holy shit," he moaned breathelessly against the shell of your ear, forehead pressed against yours.
you swallowed, closing your eyes; the sound of your heartbeat thrummed within your ears, and your palms found the nape of dick's neck like second-nature-- fingers threading through his dark hair. you only blinked your eyes open when you felt his lips meet your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, and finally your eyelids.
dick's expression looked nothing short of devoted to you-- something clearly eating at his brain as he stared deeply at your face. "thank you,"
the earnestness in his voice did nothing to quell the lump in your throat again. you shook your head, unsure of what really to say.
dick spoke again. "i- i don't want you to feel like this is what i came here for,"
an eyebrow of yours quirked up ever so slightly. "...isn't that what this is, though?"
"i don't want it to be." dick said instantly. gently, he let you down-- legs unravelling from his waist, your feet met the wet tile of your shower softly. when you trembled ever so slightly, dick's palms were at your waist, holding you up. "i mean, i love this," he gestured vaguely, "but i love you more-- your smile, your laugh, your habits--your soul. i love that more than the bangin' sex we have; n' i miss the you that i haven't gotten since we broke-up,"
jesus.
your smile wobbled. "...i love you too, dick," you laughed softly, and it came out wet. "n' i guess that makes up for what we're lacking, even with the 'bangin' sex.'"
dick smiled, dimples popping loudly.
really, your friends would have your head the next time you saw them-- but at least instead of waking up beside a mountain of guilt, you'd be waking up beside dick grayson instead.
PLUVOiA '25 ® - masterlist
loren's thots: this is rly unrealistic cs if i was dating dick grayson id NEVER break up w that man idc what he does (reqs are open!!!!!!!)
Description: New city, new hospital, new job. You give yourself one last day to be free before your first shift, and happy hour ends with a stranger on your bed. The real problem starts the next morning, when he shows up in the same ER answering to “Dr. Abbot.”
Or, Meredith Grey sleeps with Derek Shepherd the night before her first day, but make it The Pitt ✨
Tags/warnings: second year resident fem!reader, smut, sleeping with the boss (?), porn with plot, Jack talk ‘em through it Abbot, clit stim, oral m receiving, p in v, hotel sex. ER cameos, mentions of a minor head injury, and banter.
Note: New man who disss 🤭 This one’s dedicated to my dear @nexxen24, who got me into The Pitt, and also gave me the idea for this lol. Enjoy! 🤍
Masterlist
And I could see you being my addiction
You can see me as a secret mission
Jack Abbot needed something sweet.
That was the excuse he gave himself today, anyway. The truth was, he found himself at the hotel bar a few blocks from the hospital more often than not, because it was quite dark, even in daytime. Dark enough that he could sit at the corner of the long counter and just exist for a couple of hours.
Sometimes he came for a beer. Sometimes a sandwich. Sometimes just to swap stories with the bartender until it was time to go back to real life and drown himself in someone else’s blood.
Today, he came for a very specific thing: Chocolate cake. A slice of expensive, moist, and obscenely sweet cake. He was sure his imminent descent to madness was the root cause of these…cravings. Girl whatever.
He slid onto his usual stool at the far end of the bar, in a black shirt, and some joggers, badge and scrubs stuffed away in his backpack.
He looked up at the bartender, but it wasn’t his usual guy. Instead, a girl with the darkest hair in a ponytail, walked up to him with a tired expression. There was a small white pin that said ‘Lisa– TRAINEE’ clipped to her uniform.
“Evening, sir,” she greeted.
“Afternoon, and just Jack, please,” he corrected with a small smile, glancing at the fancy clock on the wall. 4:43 pm. He still had a few hours off duty.
“Oh yeah–sorry! I get a little lost in here sometimes. Ugh, the only thing getting me through this shift is knowing I’m off tomorrow for the PittFest,” she said, making him chuckle.
“Trust me, I get it. I’m also looking for something to help me get through mine,” he shrugged. “Festivals are not my thing, though. I’ll leave that to the ones with healthy knees.”
“Mm, that’s fair,” she said, chuckling back. “So what can I get for you, ‘just Jack’? Gin? Old fashioned?”
“No drinks, but can I get a slice of that infamous chocolate cake?”
The girl looked at him like she wasn’t necessarily expecting that, but you know what? Hell yes, old guy.
“Sure.”
She walked round the bar, to a discreet door that led toward the kitchen, and asked for the cake to be served before stepping back to the bar again.
“Thank you, Lisa,” Jack smiled, finally letting his shoulders loosen.
You needed a stress reliever.
You weren’t stressed now, but you knew that in less than 24 hours it would become your new normal…again. You are meant to start your first shift at PTMC as a second year resident tomorrow.
New city, new program, and still…no apartment. But at least your hotel room was nice and ready for you to make it an early night, slightly tipsy and relaxed for your last blissful hours of freedom. Which is why at four something, you decide you’re going to treat yourself to be first in line for the hotel’s happy hour like the responsible adult you are.
The hotel lounge is large and dimly lit. A couple takes one of the single couches, curled into each other with matching martinis. The rest of the space is almost empty, aside from–
Wait. That man is cute. Wait again. You have to do a double take.
An attractive–no, very attractive man is sitting at the far corner of the long bar, waiting for his order. Simple outfit, camo backpack resting by his feet. He looks a little worn to be honest, but then again, don’t we all?
Huh. Guess someone beat you to happy hour.
You take the opposite corner, leaving about six empty stools between you, when the bartender approaches you.
“Afternoon, Miss.”
“Hi, Lisa,” you smile. “I don’t really know what cocktail to get. Can I just get whatever your favorite is?”
“Oh–yeah I can do that,” she shrugs with a smile, turning back to her inner counter to mix the drink.
Your phone vibrates in your pocket so you pull it out, checking the payment notification from the guy who’s buying the festival tickets you’re selling. You text him to confirm he has to pick them up at the hospital tomorrow, hoping you get a spare minute to walk out the ER, when someone walks out a hidden kitchen door and slides a plate in front of you.
“Chocolate cake,” the guy announces politely, but before you could even say that’s not yours, he turned around and disappeared into the kitchen again. You shrug, turning to the bartender who’s handing a drink to the man you saw when you came in.
“I didn’t order this,” you both say at the same time.
His head snaps toward your voice, and your eyes meet across the row of empty stools. He sees the generous slice in front of you, and with a not so subtle up and down look at you, a smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. Something flutters in your chest, so you break eye contact first, dropping your gaze to your phone and pretending to read another message.
Come on, play it cool.
“No drinks for me, Lisa. Remember?” you hear him say playfully, turning back to the counter.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” she rushes out, reaching for the drink in front of him. “I’ll switch them right now, I–”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, stopping her by wrapping his hand around the glass. “I got it.”
Your thumbs froze over your phone. He got it?
From the corner of your eye, you see him stand up, and duck down to scoop up his backpack. Your heartbeat does something very stupid as you try very hard not to stare while he walks in your direction. Okay. Okay. This is fine. Silver fox is walking toward you. You are not freaking out. You are a doctor, you have seen actual organs on tables. You can handle an older guy with pretty eyes.
He slides easily onto the stool right next to you, setting the glass down with a soft clink. Fuck. Of course he smells good. You have no choice but to look at him properly this time, and up close, he’s even more handsome. Fluffy, wavy grey hair, with matching stubble (makes you wonder if the carpet matches too) and a glint of humor in his eyes that you know is trouble.
“I believe this is yours,” he says, nudging the cocktail close to where you’re still holding your phone for dear life.
“Then I believe this is yours,” you say, setting your phone with a smile and sliding the plate toward him.
He narrows his eyes playfully, looking between you and the cake. “Tell you what.” He leans in, and nudges it closer so it sits between the both of you. “I don’t mind sharing…do you?”
Oh. Okay. So that’s where this is going.
“I don’t mind a lot of things,” you tilt your head, leaning one elbow on the bar, deciding to match that dangerous glint in his eyes with your own. His smirk grows before turning to the bartender again.
“Can we get another spoon, please?”
“Oh, sure. Here,” she says, handing it over.
He takes it with a quiet ‘thank you’, then holds it up in front of you like an offering.
“I’m Jack, by the way. Don’t think I heard your name.”
You let out a small chuckle as you take the spoon, the tension in your shoulders loosening a little under his charming gaze. You tell him your name, his smile softening when he repeats it back to you.
“Nice to meet you, thanks for sharing my cake,” he says, finally digging his spoon into it.
“Thanks for bringing me my drink,” you reply, reaching for the glass. You definitely need some buzz if you intend to survive this interaction. “I guess we’re even now, Jack.”
“Not yet,” he says, getting the first bite of cake. He hums in delight, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “But we’re getting there.”
You divert your gaze to your phone once again, heat blooming your cheeks. He smiles triumphantly at your reaction, deciding to push you a little more.
“Well, aren’t you going to try it?”
You bite back a smile, nodding as you dig your spoon into the cake. He watches your every move like a hawk as you lift it towards your mouth. You mirror his hum when you taste it, instinctively running your tongue over your lips to get the sugary remains off.
Jack shifts in his seat.
“Great, isn’t it?” He says, “tried it once and never was the same.”
“Would’ve never thought to try it, to be honest,” you chuckle.
“Me neither, guess I just needed something sweet today,” he shrugs, still too calm and too smug, still making your heart rate go crazy without even trying. “Looks like I came to the right place, though,” he winks, digging his spoon again for another bite.
Yeah, no. He’s definitely trying.
“So, what brings you here to the land of cake instead of…I don’t know, a whiskey?” You ask, playing with the straw of your drink.
“No drinks for me,” he shrugs.
“Designated driver?”
“Designated something, I have to leave at seven,” he glances at the clock again. You follow his gaze, and see it’s just after five.
“What, you gotta catch a flight or something?”
“Yeah, something like that,” he grins.
His answers are vague, intentionally so. You recognize it instantly because you use that tone too about your own job, when you don’t feel like opening that door with a stranger.
“What about you? Are you celebrating something?” He asks, and you swear with every question he shifts a little closer to you.
“I’m making it an early night, tomorrow’s a big day,” you nod with a smile.
“Oh yeah? Festival?” he asks, you can feel the genuine curiosity under the smug tone.
“I wish,” you shrug. “I got tickets but something important came up, so…here I am, first in line for happy hour instead. Making the most of that hotel lifestyle,” you lift your glass, he lifts his spoon with a chuckle.
“You’re staying here?”
“Mmhm. It’s actually pretty great. Nice room, silk bed sheets, the works.”
“Decent cake, too,” he adds mocking seriousness. “Too bad someone stole it.”
“Excuse me,” you protest playfully, “If it wasn’t for me you’d still be looking sad and lonely at the end of the bar.”
He laughs, catching the attention of Lisa who’s clearly not trying to eavesdrop. “Yeah. I’m glad I’m not, then,” he says quietly. “Company’s good.”
From there, the conversation just flows.
At some point, you realize you’ve barely touched your cocktail, or the cake between you. You can feel the tension building with every shared look. The way his gaze dips to your mouth when you bring the spoon to your lips. The way your knee kept drifting closer to his, the faintest brush when either of you shifts on your stool.
And that warm, electric buzz in your veins has very little to do with sugar or alcohol.
Your eyes flick instinctively toward the clock on the wall when you laugh about something he said, and see it’s a few minutes past six already.
This is the moment where you could let him go, say goodnight and head upstairs alone. But you feel like you haven’t gotten your fix yet. That good moment of pure bliss before you go back into charts and monitors and reminding yourself you love the career you chose.
Some people do drugs or caffeine, or apparently, sugar as a stress reliever. The poison you chose today was supposed to be alcohol, but maybe you have something better sitting right next to you.
Huh. Sometimes dick does the trick too.
You turn your gaze back to him, lashes half lowered and innocent, catching him watching you already.
“It’s getting late,” you say casually, “but I think you still have time to walk me to my room.”
For a split second, the words just hang in the air. Clear and irreversible. His expression doesn’t change much, because he’s already been giving you bedroom eyes this whole time, but you notice the way his jaw tightens slightly, before that unmistakable smirk reappears.
“Yeah, I think I do,” he rasps.
Cake be damned. He’s got a sweeter dessert right in front of him.
He straightens on his stool and lifts a hand, catching Lisa's attention with a small wave, then reaches for his wallet. You press the button to pay with your phone, but he puts his hand over yours to stop you.
“Don’t worry, I got it,” he says, sliding his card over the counter before you can protest.
You’re not sure what exactly made your heart almost jump out of your chest again, the gesture or his electric touch on your skin. Maybe both.
You distract yourself by looking at your glass, still more than half full.
“Thank you. I didn’t even finish it…”
“I don’t think we’re going to miss it,” he looks at it, then back at you amused.
Your face warms–again–at the implication.
The girl gives him the receipt, and the way his arm flexes on the counter when he signs it with a quiet ‘thank you’, makes your thighs rub in anticipation. He slips a final twenty over the receipt as a tip, before turning fully toward you. He stands up first, grabbing his backpack with one hand, and helping you out of your stool with the other. His hand finds its way to your lower back, settling there as you walk.
“Lead the way, sweetheart.”
By 6:10 pm the door of your room clicks shut.
Jack drops his backpack somewhere to the side, one hand finds your waist, the other cups the back of your head before he pins you against the wall, and his mouth finds yours in an instant.
You gasp into the kiss, immediately grabbing him by his white shirt, dragging him impossibly closer. His gray stubble scrapes your skin in the best possible way, burning along your jaw as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. You slide one hand up to his hair, it’s softer than it looks, and he makes a low sound when you tug it just enough to angle his mouth where you want it.
His hands slip under the hem of your shirt, rough palms spreading over your back. You can’t keep your hands to yourself either when you get past his shirt, running them through firm muscle and chest hair. Your hands can’t help but wander around his strong back, nails scraping against his skin when he starts kissing down the line of your jaw, scraping his beard along your throat in a delicious burn.
“Jack…” you breathe, tightening your grip in his hair.
He smiles against your skin, dragging his lips and stubble slowly across your neck, sending sparks all the way down to between your legs. When he sucks a particularly sensitive spot, the sound that slips out of you is embarrassingly close to a whimper.
“I got you,” he whispers, pulling back just enough to tug the hem of your shirt. “Is this okay?”
You nod quickly, and soon enough both of your shirts end up somewhere on the floor. You’re left in your bra, chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath, but it’s hard when his gaze drops to your chest and lingers there.
So you ogle him too.
He’s built like a brick wall. Solid, toned chest dusted with hair, and framed by broad shoulders. And those arms? Oof. God, you can’t wait to feel all that strength he hides under those tired eyes and easy smiles.
He nudges you away from the wall steering you backwards, mouth never leaving yours, until the back of your legs bumps into the base of the bed. He gently guides you to sit on the edge of the mattress. You look up at him, already dazed. His hair is a mess from your fingers, chest rising and falling quickly, that cheeky smile of his still on his face. He reaches for your jeans next, and you lift your hips to help him slide them off. The cool air of the room kisses your skin as he throws them somewhere in the room.
“You’re still too dressed,” you chuckle, left only in your underwear.
“You’re still too desperate,” he jokes, laughing when you gasp and slap his chest weakly. “Hmm. Harder next time, sweetheart.”
You probably shouldn’t have liked that as much as you did, but he seems satisfied with your silence. His hands go to the waistband of his joggers, barely grabbing the elastic when his hands suddenly stop. If you weren’t watching his face, you would've probably missed the way his confident smile faltered for a second.
“Are you okay?,” you ask, straightening up on the bed.
“Yes,” he says quickly, but his hands are still frozen on his hips. “Yeah, I am. I just–”
You notice the way he shifts as if to step away from you, but your body reacts before you can think. “Hey, wait–”
You hook your feet around his calves to stop him from pulling away, but your left foot feels something different than you expected. It’s not the familiar firmness of muscle, but the unmistakable sensation of metal where skin should be. You don’t really need to see it to know what it is.
His camo backpack and the vagueness of his answers suddenly click to you, but Jack is frozen in place, trying to read the expression on your face.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, you figure it’s the script he probably hates having to say but feels obligated to in situations like this. “I should’ve told you before we came up, it’s okay if you don’t want to–”
“Jack,” you cut him off, quickly standing up so you’re pressed against him, before he decides to step back again. You tilt your head back a little, pressing a hand to his chest. “You don’t owe me anything, okay? If I didn’t want this, you’d already be standing shirtless in the hallway,” you chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.
“You don’t…mind?” His hazel eyes scan your face, still trying to find the desertion you’re not giving him.
You can feel his heart racing under your palm, and it almost makes you laugh how the doctor in you wants to inject him with something to fix his tachycardia. Opting for a less aggressive approach, you slide your arms over his shoulders to play with the hair on the back of his neck.
“I don’t mind,” you say, as reassuring as you can. You liked him the second he shared his stupid cake. This? This just adds more to it. “But if you do, we can stop,” you add, slowly pulling away from him but he slides his arm behind your back.
“I don’t want to stop,” he rasps, pressing you tighter to him. The bulge digging against your skin agrees with him.
“Hmm. Then you better hurry, we’re running out of time…” you sing-song, grinding yourself against him.
He breathes out a laugh. Oh, how I love this girl. He halts the movement of your hips, his hands become sure and steady once again as they settle on your waist. He forgets about his pants for a moment, innstead, he decides to focus on you.
“Turn around,” he says, but you don’t move an inch, just blink at the sudden change in his voice. He chuckles, loosening his grip just a little. “Turn around, sweetheart.”
Now you’re the one who needs help stabilizing their heartbeat.
You nod, then do as he says, shifting so your back is to him. He closes the gap immediately, one arm around your shoulder to hold you while the other settles just above the hem of your panties, but he doesn’t slip inside. His hand drifts lower and lower, stopping right over the slick leaking through the fabric, making you gasp.
“There she is,” his pleased voice while he drags teasing circles around your clit–but not really there–makes a chill run down your body. “Thought I lost you for a second there.”
You let your head tip back onto his shoulder, prompting him to apply more pressure, or find the right spot, but he keeps you pinned right where he wants you. He keeps rubbing slowly, still over the fabric, still teasing, coaxing the smallest sounds from you.
“I know you said to hurry, but I gotta take care of you first,” he whispers right in your ear. “Think I can do it this way? Without really touching you?” He barely grazes the base of your clit, dragging his finger back down immediately just to hear you whine again.
“Jack I–fuck.”
He chuckles when the faintest additional pressure makes you squirm, but that's no issue to him, he easily shifts you into the angle he wants. His fingers finally skim higher, now properly rubbing your clit. A moan escapes your lips, the friction of the cotton against your most sensitive spot has you feeling embarrassingly needy, moving your hips to chase more.
“That’s it, right there,” he coos, encouraging you. “How does that feel?”
You make another sound that’s not even close to a word. He chuckles onto your hair, shaking his head but still moving his fingers quicker.
“Talk to me, sweetheart. Feeling good?”
“Yes,” you manage to say between ragged breaths. “Really good.”
“Yeah?” He helps you move just a bit more, pressing his whole palm over your clit, before letting you take over. You start grinding his hand, clinging to his arm for support. “That’s it, just like that. You’re doing great.”
The praise lands harder than it should. You’re used to being talked at, ordered around on chaotic shifts, and occasionally complimented for a good job…but this is different.
You feel the pressure building in your stomach quickly with every buck of your hips, but what makes you see stars is feeling the outline of his hard cock rubbing against your ass with every grind.
“Shitshitshit I’m gonna–” you cry out mid sentence.
“It’s okay, sweetheart let go,” he coaxes, moving his hand faster.
When you finally break in a strangled moan, he stays wrapped around you, his firm body braced behind you so you can learn all your weight back, holding you together while you fall apart. He places a kiss on your shoulder when you shake under his grip, whispering praises you can’t make out as you ride your orgasm out. Jack finally takes his hand away when your clit twitches violently under him, squeezing your ass playfully.
“Breathe,” he reminds you, immediately inhaling and exhaling louder to show you just how. You instinctively match him, effectively grounding yourself. “Good girl.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuck–
“Easy,” he says when he feels you tense again. “It’s okay, you were doing so well. Just breathe.”
Still panting, you tap his arm so he lets you turn around to face him. You meet those devilish eyes again, hazel overtaken by dark pupils, a smirk on his lips as he takes in your flustered appearance.
“You’re really…really bossy, you know that?” You chuckle despite yourself.
“I’ve been told,” he smiles, bringing you in for a peck on your lips. “And I’m about to get more bossy so why don’t you turn around for me again?”
There it is. That fucking tone again. Your mouth falls open, but you can’t bring yourself to say no. If anything, you turn around before he even tells you twice, slapping his arm behind you when you hear him mutter “eager.”
He stirs you toward the bed again, until your knees bump the mattress. You hear the shuffle of his joggers, but it doesn’t sound like he’s taking the leg off, instead letting the fabric fall and pool at his feet. You don’t turn to look, giving him the moment.
The whole thing only makes him feel more devastatingly real.
He leans closer to you, his palm traveling up your spine to gently bend you forward. You follow his guidance, hands sinking into the mattress, ass on full display. You feel his foot nudge your left leg, parting you open for him.
“There,” he says, giving you another playful slap.
Heat rushes to your face again, feeling completely exposed to him even if you’re still covered in your underwear. So, Jack takes this as his chance to finally drag your soaked panties down, slowly, and lets them sit at your feet just like his pants, leaving you just in your bra. He groans at the sight, your soft, glistening pussy dripping and ready just for him.
“God, look at you,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you.
The next thing to land over his pants are his boxers, freeing his heavy, swollen cock into his hand. He lines himself up, dragging just the tip across your wet folds, his pre cum mixing with your slick as he drags it up and down. After more whimpers from you, he pushes only the tip in, and you let out another moan that makes him groan.
“Deep breath for me,” he says, and at this point, you’d do anything he wants.
He makes sure to move with you, timing himself to your inhale. The first roll of his hips makes his cock slowly stretch you open, inch by inch. You gasp, fingers clutching the silk bed sheets. He groans as he watches himself disappear inside you, gripping your ass to help you find the angle he knows will have you seeing stars.
“Fuck me,” he hisses, skin meeting skin when he bottoms out.
“Please…” is all you whisper, he’s thick, hard, buried deep, and the stretch burns in the best way.
And you can’t wait for him to fuck all the stress out of you.
“Shhh, pretty girl. You’re okay,” he coos, slowly dragging out.
You clench around him before he leaves you completely empty, and he curses again, his hips jerking forward as yours slam back to meet him. He huffs a strangled laugh, stopping you by digging his fingers on your waist to take back control.
“There you go. Let me do the work, sweet girl,” he rasps.
The rhythm finds itself, fast and deep, skin slapping against skin, your moans echoing off your hotel room walls. You’re still too sensitive from your previous orgasm, and you can’t stop moaning every time his hips snap against your ass. The bed creaks under you, and the sound of his cock dragging in and out is loud and filthy.
“Relax–fuck, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.”
You try to “relax.” You really do. But the angle, the rough rhythm he coaxes you into, the praises, are a lot. Your legs start to tremble, the effort of holding yourself up becomes a harder task with the pleasure building inside you.
He notices, of course he does. He tightens his grip to hold you better, barely slowing his pace. “Hey, hey, talk to me.”
“My legs…” you choke out in a breathless laugh.
“Yeah, I can see that,” he huffs out a chuckle. “Hold onto the bed, for me,” he instructs. You obey brainlessly, fingers fisting in the covers.
His hand wraps around your right leg first, just behind your knee to lift it, throwing away your panties in the process to make it easier. He places that leg up on the bed, then does the same with the other. The new position pulls another weak sound from you, both knees now on the bed, opening you up to him in a way that makes you miss him inside you. He presses you back into the mattress, not wasting time in pushing himself back in with a harsh thrust.
“There you go, that’s better,” he says, setting his rhythm again. The new angle is more comfortable for him as well, leaning his legs on the bed for support while he pounds into you.
You let the sounds spill out of you, choked off gasps and desperate little sighs. Every one of them seems to go straight to his cock. You can hear it in the quiet curses he mumbles, the way his hands find all the familiar places, your hips, your waist, slipping under your stomach to push down the fabric of your bra so he can watch your boobs bounce with every thrust.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he groans when you start pushing back, chasing more and more. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart.”
When your legs start to shake again, this time it’s not from strain, it’s from how fucking close you are.
“Jack–” You squeeze your eyes shut, fingers clawing the sheets, little sounds spilling out of you that you can’t control. It’s too much and not enough at the same time, and your body is about to snap.
“I know,” he says, quickly sensing your overwhelm. “Come here.”
You barely have time to think before his arm loops around your waist, pulling you up from your forearms. You gasp as he lifts you, slamming you back against his chest so you’re half kneeling, half suspended in his hold.
And then…his free hand comes up to cover your eyes. You gasp when your world goes pitch black, narrowing only to the sound of his voice and the feeling of his body behind yours.
“Shh,” he coos near your ear, placing delicate kisses all over your jaw. “Just feel, sweetheart. That’s all you have to do.”
Without sight, everything else slams into focus, the heat of his chest behind you, the roughness of his stubble on your neck, the tight grip of his arm keeping you upright. He starts thrusting again, chasing that sweet spot that makes your head go dizzy.
It’s more than enough now. It’s too much. You feel undone and held together all at once.
And to top it off, he decides now is the time to reach for the clasp of your bra, unhooking it with his free hand to hold you up by cupping your bare breasts. Your fingers reach back blindly, to his hair, his thigh, wherever you can reach. Jack just keeps his sweaty palm over your eyes, shielding you from everything but him.
“Fuck, you’re clenching,” he groans, knowing you’re almost there. “Let go for me, don’t think…just feel.”
You come with a shaky cry, your entire body shuddering in his hold. He keeps fucking you through every helpless little sound, feeling his own release building up.
After a few moments, when he considers your breathing has sort of stabilized, his hand finally slips away from your eyes, caressing the hair sticking to your face as he keeps pounding you from behind, still fast, still deep, but sloppier. You can tell he’s close by the way his cock twitches inside you.
“There you go,” he praises you, even if his breathing is ragged now. “That’s it. You did so good for me–shit–”
As your eyes adjust again, the post nut clarity hits you.
Your fucked out doctor brain freaks out. No protection, you’re very irresponsible, don’t let him. He seems to make the same calculation–pretty strange for a man–because he starts to pull back.
Fuck it.
Before he can deal with it himself, you wriggle out of his grasp to free yourself, and get off the bed. Your jelly legs barely hold you up before you sink to your knees in front of him. From there you get a clear view of all of him, the fact that the carpet does match the drapes, and even the leg he’d been hiding. He instinctively steps back, almost stumbling over the pants pooled over his feet.
“Hey, careful,” you coo, placing one hand on his thigh to nudge him forward, the other wraps around his glistening cock, making him curse. “Let me? Please?”
“Jesus,” he breathes. His hand holds the back of your head, managing a weak smile. “Atta girl, be good to me.”
Jack doesn’t have to tell you twice.
You don’t even have to do much, just a quick pump at the base of his length as you lean forward to place a teasing kiss on his leaking tip, almost sending him right over the edge. The sight alone makes him twitch, he was going to have to cover his own eyes if you kept looking at him like that with his cock on your mouth.
You wrap your lips fully around him with no warning, letting his cock stretch your mouth as you swallow every inch. Every strangled sound he makes encourages you to be as devoted to him as he was with you. Your head bobs up and down, guided by his firm grip on your hair.
“Fuck–you’re gonna kill me–” he chokes out, you take that as your cue to nod at him, mouth too full to tell him to let go. “Okay, that’s…I’m–”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because he’s already finishing inside you. He groans as he spills strings of hot cum on your tongue, fingers tangling in your hair a bit rougher, pushing his hips forward to fuck the last of his orgasm out. You choke just a little, holding onto his thighs, trying to swallow every drop he sends down your throat.
Jack pulls out with a groan when the adrenaline of it passes, dragging his thumb over your lips to wipe the remnants off.
“Pretty girl…” He praises, as you look up at him with swollen lips and glassy eyes.
“Atta boy, you did good for me,” you rasp, making him laugh.
“Come here.” He helps you get on your feet, then back to the bed.
“Thank you,” you mutter, tugging the duvet off to cover your body when you sit down.
He stays quiet as he hauls his joggers back up and finds his shirt somewhere by the door, until he can’t avoid looking at his watch anymore.
“Shit.”
“So…no cuddling?” You chuckle.
“Sorry,” he mutters, even though you both knew this is how your little hotel affair was going to end. He slings his backpack over one shoulder, and walks over to you.
He takes a moment to cup your cheeks, memorizing every feature, and you try to do the same. Your eyes trace every line of his face, the glint that never left his hazel eyes, the gray dust adorning his jaw.
God, he’s so handsome. How are you supposed to forget him?
Jack starts leaning forward, but you meet him halfway, closing the space between you. The goodbye kiss is not rushed like you expected, no, he still takes his time even if he’s gonna be late to wherever he’s headed. He pulls back with a smile, and a small, disbelieving huff of laughter as he licks his lips.
“What?” you ask.
“You taste like cake,” he says, clearly amused, then adds with a little tilt of his head, “and…something else I probably shouldn’t think about on my way out.”
“Oh, just go!” you laugh, shoving him away. “Before you’re late and whoever’s waiting for you files a missing persons report.”
“Yes, ma’am. They will,” he says, lifting his arms up innocently as he walks toward the door. “Good luck tomorrow with your…big day.”
“You too, with your…something,” you smile. God, you’re definitely going to need a good night's sleep after all of this.
He nods, and with a devilish wink, he’s finally gone.
You wake up feeling like you can take on the world.
With a pep on your step, you walk out of the hotel with clear scrubs and an even clearer conscience. Good sex? Check. Good sleep? Check. Daydreaming about the silver fox stranger you’ll never see again? Check check check.
You’re ready to kick ass and save lives.
Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center is just a short walk away, but it gives you enough time to self regulate your emotions before you walk through those doors. You get there early, greet everyone politely and exchange a few words with some nurses before your shift actually starts. For a moment, you almost forget you’re the new kid, and you feel like you’re right where you belong.
You make your way through triage, mentally rehearsing how you’re going to introduce yourself to your attending, when your sneaker slips on something. You don’t know if it’s saline, or water, or spit, all you know is that one second you were walking and the other you’re losing your balance. Your hands desperately find the wall with a smack, saving yourself from landing flat on your ass, but your forehead still hits the edge of a door frame with a sharp little crack.
You see stars for a second there, the same kind you saw yesterday.
“Whoa, hey! Are you okay?” Someone calls.
You groan, but straighten immediately, because what else are you going to do? Sit down and let the tears from your eyes spill? Absolutely not. Not on your first day. You swipe your fingers over your forehead, hissing at the sting, and when you look at your hand there’s the smallest smear of blood.
Perfect.
“I’m fine,” you say quickly. “I’m–”
“Absolutely not, come here.” A woman in black scrubs and a ponytail approaches you, holding your jaw to assess the wound. “I’m Dr. McKay, and you are?”
“I’m okay,” you say, trying to shrug her off. “Really, it was just a slip, it didn’t even hurt. I really need to go meet Dr. Robinavitch–”
“You slammed your head into a door frame, Robby can wait,” McKay says flatly.
You try to protest but she steers you toward one of the small triage rooms right off the ER entrance. You groan as she nudges you to sit on the bed. “I just need a band-aid, it’s just a scra–”
“A scratch, yeah, I heard you. You’ll get your band-aid after I make sure you’re not walking around with a concussion,” she says, then holds a finger up as if to say ‘wait’ and walks to the door, “Perfect learning opportunity, actually.”
Oh no.
“Hey! Santos, Whitaker, Javadi, come here,” she urges more people with scrubs. Great. “Consider this your first patient.”
You consider faking your own death.
All three of them clock your black scrubs and badge, and your bruised ego dies a little more when they realize you’re one of them. McKay just stands next to you like this is science class and you’re the classroom’s skeleton.
“We get all types of patients here. And today…” She pats your shoulder with the back of her hand. “It’s a colleague who discovered the floor is slippery on her very first day.”
Redacted.
“I’m fine,” you repeat. “Really. I just need a band-aid.”
“After we use you for educational purposes, now look up please,” she says, shining a light in your eyes to check your pupils. You resist the urge to slap her hand or lean away. “Headache?”
“No.”
“Any loss of consciousness?”
“You literally saw me since I hit my head,” you say, a little too aggressive, but McKay ignores your tone. “Sorry–no.”
“Nausea? Blurred vision?”
“No. I swear, I’m okay.”
“Alright. Whitaker, you’re up. What are your concerns when someone hits their head?”
“Um…we should ask what caused the fall?” He says, and McKay nods approvingly. He turns to you, “Did you feel dizzy before you slipped? Lightheaded?”
“No. There was just…something on the floor. I didn’t see it and unfortunately I slipped.”
“Good,” McKay says, more to them than to you. “No dizziness, no neuro complaints, no loss of consciousness, minor external injury that doesn’t need stitches.”
“And no reason for a CT,” one of the girls adds.
“Correct, Santos. So we’ll clean it, come on, you’re up.”
Your shoulders drop in the smallest relief. Now you have to survive the rest of the day after this humiliation, but adding unnecessary imaging on your first day would’ve ended you right there and then.
Mckay just smiles at you as Santos gloves on and prepares the stuff she’s gonna use. You look outside the door for a moment, trying to remember the confidence you’d walked in this morning, when a figure walking by catches your eye.
All you see is a flash of broad shoulders in a dark shirt, and a camo backpack slung over one arm. You make eye contact for a brief second as he glances inside casually, before doing a literal double take when he realizes who’s in there. He stops in his tracks, just as your heart stops inside your chest.
For a brief second you think you do need that CT, because there’s no way you’re not hallucinating talk-you-through-it Jack in front of you.
Here. In your ER. Wearing matching uniforms.
Jack, the man you let manhandle you last night–or afternoon?–whatever. The man who covered your eyes and told you to just feel. The man you sent you into orgasm oblivion and then kissed you goodbye tasting cake and himself on his tongue.
No. No way. Absolutely not.
You hiss when Santos presses something wet in your wound, and Jack decides that’s the best moment to step in and cause you a stroke on top of everything.
“Everything okay in here?” he asks casually, looking at you with the same glint in his eyes as yesterday.
You want to die.
“Abbot! Thought you were on your way out,” Mckay beams.
“I was, then I saw you tormenting the new blood. Didn’t want to miss the show,” he gives her a tired grin, shrugging, then looking around the room. “Morning, everyone.”
Javadi just smiles awkwardly, while Whitaker shifts on his feet and nods at him. At least Santos is having a blast enjoying the hell out of your tragic situation.
“Our colleague here decided to introduce her face to the wall,” she chuckles, shutting up when she realizes she only gets an unimpressed look from McKay.
“Hmm. Minor head trauma on the first day…that’s one way to make an entrance,” Jack jokes trying to lighten the mood, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves with a snap. “Mind if I take a look?” he asks you.
You hesitantly shake your head, and Santos barely steps back before he gets between your knees and you have to look up at him, and wow, that’s familiar. His fingers are gentle as he tilts your chin higher, focused on the small scrape by your hairline.
“It’s just a scratch,” you mumble under your breath.
He ignores it, and brings a penlight to your eyes, doing the same little routine Mckay did. Is this what your first day is supposed to be? A tortuous loop?
I might just fake a seizure right now.
“Any reason you might’ve tripped? Blurry vision? Sudden vertigo? Or…any specific memory that made you lose focus?”
It’s the way he drops his voice lower that makes you almost choke on your own spit. That exact same tone. That damn voice in your ear.
“We already asked those, Dr. Abbot. She said she slipped on a wet patch. No dizziness, no other symptoms,” Whitaker, bless his oblivious soul, chimes in.
Jack slowly turns his head to look at him, with an unimpressed stare that clearly says no one asked you to speak, white boy without using a single word.
Before anyone can torture you any further, a blue eyed doctor bursts in.
“McKay! We’re doing rounds.”
“Alright, meet us there once Dr. Abbot is done with you,” she says to you, ushering the others out. “Don’t forget to give her that band-aid she’s so desperate for.”
“I’ll take good care of her,” Jack replies, with an innocent smile.
The audience of your public execution finally leaves. And it’s great! Perfect. Exactly what you wanted: alone time. You don’t realize you’ve been holding onto the gurney for dear life until Jack–or should you call him Dr. Abbot now?–chuckles.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, amused.
“I don’t know, you’re the doctor here, apparently. So you tell me, how’s my head?” you snap, in a mix of nerves and residual embarrassment.
He grins. Oh he grins like fucking devil. “I don’t have any complaints.”
Heat rushes to your face instantly, and suddenly it’s like you’re back flirting in that bar again, sharing a chocolate cake. You shake those thoughts away, clearing your throat.
“So um…your flight was actually a night shift…in this hospital,” you say.
“Yeah. And your ‘big day’ was starting your first morning in this same ER. Nice upgrade from anonymous hotel guest, I guess.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” he chuckles, but you’re still looking at him skeptically. “Hey–it’s not that bad. People have done worse.”
“Worse than sleeping with an attending?” You say. “Like what–stealing medicine or secretly killing patients?”
“What? No–I hope no one’s doing that” he frowns.
This is the moment you start panicking for real.
“God, Dr. Robinavitch’s gonna kill me or worse,” you gasp. “He’s gonna fire me. Fuck–he’s gonna fire me and this is gonna be over before I even start my shift–“
“Whoa okay, no one’s getting killed or fired today. You just need to get out there, and focus on your work. Alright? Can you do that for me?”
That. Fucking. Tone.
“Stop talking like that!” You whisper shout, knowing nurses could be nearby. “This is my first day, and I already have to convince everyone I’m not a complete disaster. So yes, I can do that for you. Happy? I’d like my band-aid now, please.”
“Okay, okay. You’ll get your band-aid,” he says calmly. “You just have to be more patient.”
You shoot him a glare, but he just smiles, still unbothered. He walks to a cabinet, pulling out a bright pink box of band-aids with a huge “My little pony” printed on it.
“What is that?”
“Best we have in triage,” he shrugs, amused. He looks back inside into the cabinet, before smirking at you. “We got Spongebob too.”
“…My little pony is fine,” you mutter.
“Alright,” he nods, invading your space again. “Look up for me.”
You’re grateful you’re not hooked to a heart monitor. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and tilt your head up.
“Almost done, you’re doing great,” he drawls, smoothing the stupid band-aid over your life threatening injury with ridiculous care. “There,” Jack says, finally stepping back. “All done. You did so good for m–”
You snap upright from the bed so fast you almost cause yourself another injury by bumping into his big ass head.
“I have to go,” you blurt, already making your way to the door. “Thank you, Dr. Abbot. I hope we never see each other again.”
He peels off his gloves with a laugh, tossing them into the bin. This is the most entertaining thing that’s happened to him all week.
“No promises, doc,” he winks, “PTMC is not that big.”
You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response or even to see the panic on your face. You practically launch yourself into the hallway, and start speed walking toward the ED with a My little pony bandaid on your forehead.
Best sex of your life.
Worst coincidence of your career.
And yet…you can’t wait till you see him again.
Thank you so much for reading 🤍 feedback is always appreciated ✨
his thrusts were rhythmic— using momentum to slam himself balls deep into your cunt with every snap of his hips.
the pleasure became so overwhelming that a signal rushed to your leg to kick him involuntarily. he stops. his cock was steel buried into your soppy folds but he doesn't move.
you didn't mean to kick him away, but you did, and now, he's not so happy with you.
he grunts, a look of disbelief flashing over his face. "what was that? are ya' trynna run from my cock?"
"n—no, at least not on purpose," you whine. "i-i just—"
"does it hurt that bad? is it too big for you?" he cuts you off. "save your excuses, you're going to take it. besides, did ya' really think you can run from me?"
he hooks an arm underneath your back to lift you flushed against him, tightly locking you in the position, while the other moved to lift one of your legs that was so desperate to prevent him front continuing.
your body moves quickly to stop him but he's too strong.
"look at ya', fightin' me and all," he coos, watching in amusement as your helpless body limps as it realises you have no choice but to take him. "that's it, good girl."
the moniker makes you twitch underneath him. the angle gave him an advantage of easier access, which made it easier to assault your g-spot until you shook in his arms. his depredation on your already sore pussy kept going on.
"ha-ah, you tried to run before but now you're taking me so well," he teases, feeling as your hole flutters around him so cathartically.
the pleasure coils up in your abdomen, feeling as if you were about to combust. the lower part of your body ached as the sound of his member squelching into you reverberated around the room lewdly.
you moaned endlessly. "i-i'm sorry! i seriously— fuck— didn't mean to!" you try to reconcile with him but his pace only goes faster.
your pants grew faster as pain started to build up in your muscles from being stuck in a suspended position. your hands clawed at his back, trying to relieve the tension building up in your body.
"if you really are, you're going to take it, right? milk me dry until you're filled to the brim?" he responds, a grin decorating his lips. "or is it too much? are you going to kick me again? well, it's not gonna work."
you shake your head desperately as the sounds of skin slapping grows louder and increasingly rapid.
"take it, take it." he demands, giving you the last hard thrusts before letting you cum all over, bits of it spilling from the minute gaps.
he lets go of you, dropping you back onto the bed with a soft thud. you push yourself to lean onto the pillows, but he's quick to grab you again.
"no— no, we're not done until i say so," he grabs your hips before you fully collapsed onto the soft mattress that you yearned for.
and you feel the intrusion of his cock again, full of desire and hunger.
and he's not going to be so nice this time.
a/n: this is from my previous blog; i did not steal plsss /gen
Tw- Stepcest, dubcon??, he’s really rough and mean, Megumi is 19, this is really dark!!! Not proofread
A/n this is a remake, you can find the og here
Stepbrother!Megumi and Stepdad!Toji taking turns stuffing your poor cunt with their sperm each night, it’s like an unspoken competition between father and son on who ruins your pussy and fucks you stupid and dumb the most. Whenever it’s Megumi’s turn the night after Toji, he’s so rough and aggressive with you, it’s as if he’s madman trying to destroy you. Gripping onto a fistful of your hair harshly from behind as he pounds your dumb little brains out, cursing and babbling to himself about how Toji could never fuck you and ruin your poor little pussy as good as he does.
He’d fuck orgasms after orgasms out of you, his mean tip grazing against your cervis every time he forces his cock back into you, it’s so sloppy the way you’re drooling into the sheets. He’d stick his thumb into your asshole while he’s fucking you from behind, telling you that’s he’s going to be the one to take your anal virginity, not knowing that Toji has already done that a longgg time ago, but you obviously can’t won’t tell him that.
He pounds you with so much lust and passion, pistoling his cock into that one spot inside of you that knew it had you seeing stars, soo hard over and over. He manhandles you so harshly without a care in the world like he’s trying to break you or something.
“Nobody can wreck this sloppy little pussy like I can sweetheart, not even my fucking dad got that? It’s alright if you don’t, I’ll just fuck it into your dumb little brains instead, you’ll surely get it then” his tone harsh and serious, sending shivers down your spine because you know he’s not joking. He’s so possessive over you. He lands a hard brutal slap on your ass cheek, making sure that it’s gonna leave his hand print branded on your ass for days so Toji can see.
— SYNOPSIS: (bakugou has a crush on his baby mama) you take it upon yourself to deliver this ugly yellow haired figurine prototype to the dynamight office
— WARNINGS: pro hero!bkg, suggestive, flirting, swears, jealousy
BABY DADDY MASTERLIST
katsuki: Hey
katsuki: Random ask but does Kenji have a small figurine in his bag or room that kinda looks like me?
katsuki: It’s a prototype and the manufacturers want it back
You: IMG.347
You: this looks like your cousin kakugo batsuki
You: it is SO ugly
You: you do not look like this
katsuki: Thanks I fucking hope I don’t look like that
katsuki: The final will be so sick you’ll be begging me for one
katsuki: I’ll come pick it up in the evening
being the good, most useful baby mama you are, you took it upon yourself to hand deliver this manky ugly looking dynamight to the man himself. this seven inch, simpson yellow haired, thin milk bottle plastic figurine to the gorgeous, wheat blonde, greek god muscled, real dynamight, who is also your baby father.
the last time he saw you, you were snotty and crying in your old pyjamas… at least you had your grey leggings that you know made your ass look round but otherwise, you truly were a sorry sight. wailing in his arms as he soothed you like a baby. today, you wanted to show you’re an all rounder, you can cry, you can mother, you can look sexy yet casual on your day off.
you’ve been up all morning after dropping kenji off at nursery and you’ve got hours until you have to collect him again, so you pull on your favourite jeans, a cute bandeau and cardigan. it’s a slightly upgraded errand running outfit. right? right.
dynamight’s agency is massive. you only ever hang around outside to pick up kenji, never really needing to go inside but now, you can’t help but gasp. there’s people everywhere, rushing back and forth, people holding papers, you see through the glass a few heroes quirk training. there’s people around you in heavy fighting gear, black bulletproof padding and gauntlets similar to bakugou’s. you’re drawn to the trophy wall, the majority with DYNAMIGHT engraved perfectly, then a few for sidekicks, protégés and the agency itself. it’s the plaque on the wall that grabs your attention, hand prints pressed deeply into gold though they’re nothing like the massive paws bakugou’s got on him now. much smaller, child’s ones, dating to when he was… sixteen.
“hey! welcome to dynamight’s agency. do you need some assistance?”
it feels like your first day in a new school. you look to the lady at the desk, one of his many receptionists. you wonder if this is the one that gives kenji doughnuts. she looks younger than you, only by a few years with bright sparkling eyes and waist length neon orange hair. she’s pretty, sweet.
“hi! sorry, was just looking at the wall. i need to see katsuki. bakugou… dynamight.” you stutter. what does his team call him? dynamight, right?
this woman frowns at first, then softens, laughing a little. there’s no way she is laughing at you right now. her eyes crinkle at the corners, tone half apologetic, half mocking, “sorry miss, you can’t just ask to see dynamight. if it’s important you’ll have to send an email to get approved by security. if it’s fan related we have a museum and fan mail box to the left.”
now you laugh, loud with all humour gone. do you look like an idiot? you slap on a smile. she doesn’t know, she’s just assuming, you repeat in your head but you can’t miss the mockery.
“ah okay. thanks anyway.”
but you don’t move. you stay exactly where you are, whipping out your phone and pressing call.
“miss if you could move out the way—,”
there’s one ring and you’re through,
“hi sweet—, i mean yn—,”
“katsuki, i’m at the agency let me up.”
“hah? you are?”
“yep. your team thinks i’m a fan. i swear i won’t steal your underwear.”
bakugou chuckles on the other end. you can hear movement, boots stomping. you glance over at the receptionist whose mouth might permanently be stuck in an o shape.
“you don’t have to steal a pair. i’ll let you take one, if you give me one of yours.”
you roll your eyes, facing away from the desk. your face heats just imagining him holding your underwear. him stuffing it in his face, inhaling…
“you’re so stupid.”
“okay, sweetheart. how’s kenj?”
he started calling you sweetheart the last time you saw himwith your snot all over his jumper. you love it. unsurprisingly. big sexy pro hero baby father calls you sweetheart. someone needs to get your head checked out. you’re not sure why you’re still on the phone to him when he’s on the way to get you.
“kenji’s good. dropped him off this morning. he was telling me he’s looking forward to swimming with daddy.”
“kenji? you’re kenji’s mother?” the receptionist asks, not even trying to hide that she’s listening to your conversation. you give her a quick smile, even adding in a wave.
“did you see those pics i sent of him? he’s the fuckin’ best in the class, gonna have to put him with the bigger kids soon.”
you did. you were close to making it your phone wallpaper. katsuki holding kenji in the water, both boys with the same expression on their faces. laughing, eyes squinting, though kenji’s lacking a couple teeth and katsuki is grinning with all of his, gold tooth catching the light. kenji is mid splashing about while bakugou keeps him just above the water. you definitely didn’t study how the pool water sat in the dips of his shoulders or how this bicep shone with droplets. actually, he doesn’t look that good with his hair all pushed off his forehead, slicked down with water. you sigh.
“not yet! he needs to be talking with kids his age!”
that’s when you see the man himself, strolling out the lift with his mobile pressed to his ear. he finds you instantly and gives you a wink that makes you stand up straighter. you’re transfixed and you have to consciously remind yourself to blink. though you’re not the only one. everyone around you gives attention to the pro hero. either nodding to greet him, staring, making sure they look like they’re working. everything about bakugou katsuki demands you look and it only makes you think about him in your apartment demanding you tell him what’s wrong.
you chew the inside of your cheek as his voice rumbles down the phone, “don’t wanna stop our kid being a future olympian. you look pretty.”
you see his lips move when he says it, no need to swerve through people to walk over to you because people naturally make way. he’s out of hero gear, just black boots, black cargos and a black jumper. you would swoon, if it wasn’t for the fact the receptionist is still looking over at you, clearly trying to work out the relationship status of you both.
“you look okay,” you whisper because as soon as you know it, he’s right before you, taking over all your personal space.
he hangs up the call and it’s the grin he gives like he’s genuinely happy to see you. he’s got his gold tooth in and it only makes you stare at his lips.
“hey.”
“dynamight sir! sorry for not sending your girlfriend up! i wasn’t aware!”
the word vomit breaks the stare down you and bakugou had going on. you can barely register what she says but one word sticks out.
“oh i’m not his girlfriend,” you awkwardly laugh, “we just share a child.”
you can’t read bakugou’s expression, there’s no smirk or frown. you do notice however, the receptionist relax, her eyes glowing with possibility.
“yn ln. her name’s already on my list, right?”
a couple clicks on her keyboard and she nods, “yep, it’s there dynamight. sorry for the misunderstanding!”
bakugou grunts in response, “thanks sara.”
then he nods his head for you to follow him. you make sure to give one last look to sara who looks like a pouting baby about to stomp her foot with her bottom lip jutted out. you definitely don’t miss the hearts in her eyes at the man beside you. bakugou lets you through the security gate, ushering you by your waist to walk in front of him.
you don’t say a word until the doors clank shut.
“are you fucking her?”
bakugou hasn’t even turned round yet, hasn’t even pressed the button for the top floor.
“hah?”
“the receptionist. orange hair. sara. are you?”
bakugou blinks at you, then presses the button, making the lift rumble upwards. the silence is killing you as he comfortably leans against the wall, adjusting his sleeves and then crossing his arms.
“katsuki!”
“why the fuck do you think that?” but there’s a smile begging to be released, the corner of his lips inching up as he follows the creases between your eyebrows, your eyes refusing to leave his.
“she clearly has a crush on you. she is a pretty girl.”
“and because of that i’ve fucked her?”
“that’s a hr violation, you can get in trouble for that being the big boss and all,” you say nonchalantly, turning away from him to face the door, looking at the floor numbers ticking upwards.
you’re not sure why your heart is racing, slapping against your chest like it’s going to fall out your ass.
again, he doesn’t say anything. he just begins to laugh beside you, shoulders bouncing out the corner of your eye. you clench your jaw so hard it’s about to break.
“why are you laughing!?”
“‘cause obviously i don’t have sex with my employees, yn.”
“are you sure, because she was staring at you like she was picturing you naked.”
the door pings open just as bakugou says, “you must be picturing me naked all the—,”
three women are chatting, holding their folders and papers waiting for the lift. their eyes widen in unison, catching exactly what bakugou just said. they look at him then over at you. they’ve wearing signature dynamight blazers, all black with orange trim.
bakugou sighs internally, “ladies,” he nods and you give them a small smile as they sing their chorus of, “hi dynamight! dynamight, sir!”
then they scatter in the lift as you step out though not before hearing a whisper of, “that’s his girlfriend! kenji’s—,”
your son is really famous around here.
“rumours get round fast.”
now he sighs, leading you to his office door. “yeah. that one’s not that bad though.”
you watch as a tiny camera scans his face and he presses a finger on a screen. it takes less than a second and his office door pops open. then he turns to you, hand out to his office, “cmon.”
maybe it’s because you haven’t been on a date in a while and you really need to up your standards because you struggle to look bakugou in the eye as he lets you walk in first.
you gasp, “oh wow.”
the last time you’ve been to bakugou’s office was over a year ago when he was just moving into the building. all he had was a desk, a whole load of boxes and your son who was at the time still small enough to be strapped onto his chest. now, the room is beautifully decorated, with a wall of the evolution of his hero gear, framed photos of him and his hero friends, his parents and kenji. he’s got a wall full of books and then two walls of windows— corner office privilege. there’s a corner just for kenji, with picture books, toys, drawers with spare clothes and snacks.
bakugou stares as you circle around his office and he’s forced to see the room through your eyes.
“sorry it’s a mess. haven’t tidied since kenj was last here.” he tries to quickly dart to his sofa, folding the blanket kenji uses and placing it over the back.
you shake your head, staring up at an air tight seven foot tall cylinder with a white mannequin wearing dynamight’s pre debut hero suit. then you’re back at his photo wall, cooing at every picture of your son till you land on one featuring the three of you. framed and up for everyone to see.
“you have this in your office? framed?”
bakugou blushes a deep red behind you but you’re still transfixed on the photo. you’ve got it too in kenji’s newborn photo album. it’s the day you gave birth to him, still sweaty, freshly out of tears, lying in the hospital bed holding your tiny little baby boy. bakugou’s bent slightly at your side looking down at you both, kenji’s tiny hand holding the tip of his finger. the picture was only a few years ago but you remember everything about that day clearly.
“course i do. it’s one of my favourite photos.”
bakugou’s come up to stand beside you, his arms behind his back.
“i look—,”
“beautiful. like you just gave birth to our son. don’t say stupid shit.”
you laugh, because fuck, it was the hardest day of your life but it gave you your annoyingly cute little rascal so you can’t be that mad.
“thanks katsuki. i was so nervous when you saw me like that. then i didn’t care because you made that happen.”
“i remember it being a joint effort,” he smirks and you roll your eyes.
“really? i don’t think i recall,” you reply and you watch bakugou’s face drop in real time.
“you’re joking, right? you can’t remember that night?”
you probably think about the night you were together at least thrice a week now. it rushes into your head without warning. sometimes it replays in your dreams with extra added scenes or sometimes when you’re in the shower it forms on the fog on the doors.
house party. you were a plus one. bakugou. a random bedroom.
you inhale sharply through your nose, turning away from the photo, walking across his office to stare out the window instead. he’s got the whole view of the city, you could probably point out your apartment from where you’re standing.
bakugou follows you like a puppy.
“nope. not a thing.”
“you can’t remember how you stared me down like you wanted to fuckin’ chew me out from across the room and when i finally spoke to you outside, you spilled your drink all over my shirt.”
you scrunch your face, fighting the cringe as you gaze down at the traffic. you’ve blocked that part out of your memory.
“no, katsuki. i don’t.”
“and then you started apologisin’ and said you wouldn’t mind seeing what’s underneath and i went up to change my shirt and you followed, practically stripped me naked, jumped on me and had your way with me?”
you gasp, turning to face him, “you liar! i started apologising because i was apologetic and when i was trying to flirt with you, you got all nervous and started stuttering that you’re gonna change your top. then you grabbed my hand to follow you. i’m not sorry i was bold enough to kiss you first.”
bakugou now, two years later, doesn’t seem to carry that nervousness. he doesn’t look at the skyline, nor the robbery that’s brewing a few streets over and the hero on patrol rushing in. he stares at you and he thinks this is the first time his cheeks have ever ached from smiling.
“i’m not fuckin’ sorry either, we could even—,”
“dynamight! bakugou, you in there? why’d you take my face off the door lock?!”
the smile that would have been permanent if it stayed for another two seconds drops immediately at the whine of his annoying sparky friend on the other side of the door. bakugou flings his head and groans, “i just wanna fuckin’ kiss you and this idiot—,”
“bakugou let me… wait is yn in there, you’re both clothed right—,”
bakugou storms over to his office door, swinging it open for charge bolt to walk in like it’s his office. he’s cute, quirky, paying bakugou no mind and looking straight at you.
“so you guys finally got together then? i heard the girls in the lift saying your girlfriend is up here,” he nudges bakugou and bakugou, well he looks as if he’s about to explode. he looks up at his ceiling and takes deep breaths, his hand running down his face.
“i’m never gonna tell you shit again.”
“oh i’m not his girlfriend, charge bolt. just kenji’s mum.”
“kenji! love that kid. and call me kaminari, actually denki if you guys aren’t dating—,”
“i’m gonna fuckin’ kill you.”
“oh, you’re kaminari! matching names to faces to names. kenji loves you, talks about that trick you do when you click your fingers.”
kaminari clicks his finger and an electrical spark forms from his thumb tip, shooting ten inches in the air.
“oooooo,” your eyes widen, “that is impressive.”
bakugou scoffs, “what the fuck?”
bakugou spreads both his palms before him causing yellow and orange explosions to blast from his skin. a lingering sweet smell spreads through the room. it all makes both you and kaminari step back.
“show off,” kaminari mumbles.
you giggle, “he is!”
“you…,” bakugou clenches his jaw so clearly bothered that both you and kaminari laugh, “you both are children. why are you even here?”
your laugh halts halfway down your throat. this is the middle of their work day and they are busy pro heroes.
you cringe inwardly, “oh, you, um, you sent that text this morning about picking up ugly dynamight. i thought i’d bring it now?”
you scramble in your bag, pulling out the ugly yellow haired, uneven orange eyed figurine and handing it to the real life prettier version.
kaminari’s laugh shoots out of him, “that thing is ugly as fuck.”
bakugou reaches for the figurine, his calloused fingertips brushing against your knuckles. he doesn’t pull it from your grip, just rests his fingers over yours. where you touch, you burn, unable to rip your gaze from his.
“i wasn’t askin’ why you were here. you can come whenever you want. i was gonna swing by and get it from you later.”
“just wanted to save you the trip. i was in the area,” every word edges to a whisper by the end and somehow, you’re standing closer than you were before.
bakugou’s back to looking at your lips, how your wet tongue swipes across your bottom one leaving a shine he’s desperate to kiss.
“wow. and you guys aren’t dating? is there a good reason for that?”
two heads whip to kaminari who’s standing with his pointer finger tapping against his temple like he’s trying to work out a puzzle of you and bakugou.
“now why the fuck are you here?”
slowly bakugou takes the figure from your hand, placing it on the top shelf. away from kenji’s eye view. you’re quick to stuff your hands in your pockets. it’s way too intimate with katsuki. it’s even intimate with another person in the room.
you zone out when they begin to talk hero business, wandering back to your tv screen of the city.
katsuki wanted to kiss you earlier, he was probably going to try and you would have let him. you would’ve let him shove you against his desk or even the window, unbutton your jeans and let him do whatever he desired. but you shouldn’t, no matter how much you want to because you have a child to think of, you both do. you can’t confuse kenji, mess up his routine for what? a night with your baby father?
but you look over at bakugou, arms crossed leaning against his cherry oak desk as kaminari rants off to him about paperwork, their last mission, the hero commission, something else and there’s not a part of you that doesn’t want him.
he carries a frown to show he’s listening, butting in comments that make kaminari nod in agreement. but once he feels your attention on him, his glare shifts to you. his ruby eyes trail from your feet, up your legs, your chest to your face.
you want him… you do… but with kenji in the picture it has to be all or nothing and you’re not sure if you want all… if you’re ready for all.
“d’you wanna get something to eat before we pick up kenji?”
we. kenji doesn’t see you as a we and he knows it’s not the day to see daddy.
you shake your head, gathering your bag on your shoulder. you feel all jittery with realisations upon confusions, “no, no i still have other errands to do! sorry for taking so much time out your days.”
bakugou stands abruptly, “what just happened?”
always one step ahead of you, grabbing you by the arm when your fingers wrap around the door handle. “you okay? you went somewhere there.”
you shake your head, pulling yourself out of his grip. “i’m good, just have lots to do today.”
you can tell he doesn’t quite believe you. though he doesn’t push it, just watches you like he’s studying. “okay. i’ll pick up kenj tomorrow for swimming class. i’ll send you some photos.”
“of kenji.”
“what?”
“send photos of kenji. not you in the water—, never mind. i’ll see you later.”
bakugou takes a step towards you to swing open his office door. it’s that questioning face he’s got again. eyebrows furrowed. lips slightly pouted. gaze never leaving yours.
“bye, yn. i’ll be sure to send you a mirror selfie when i get out of the pool. even do some press ups before i send it.”
you roll your eyes at your baby daddy and you’re not shocked to see that smirk slowly appear. you want to eat him. sit on his lap while he calls you pretty.
you huff, “goodbye katsuki.”
“bye yn.”
“bye yn! i’ll probably see you soon.”
you blink at the golden blonde behind your blonde, fuck, you forgot he was still here again.
“yep, see you kaminari!”
one last look at bakugou and you’re off down his corridor, refusing to look back because you know he’s still watching you. it’s only when you step in the lift, you hear his office door click shut.
likes don’t do anything on tumblr! but reblogs, comments and asks mean the world! i delete comments asking for the next part. thanks xox
cw. explicit smut. dubcon undertones (hate fucking, no explicit consent verbalized) drummer!gojo. mean!reader. public sex. p eating. fingering. revenge porn elements. degradation. brat-taming. rough sex. spitting. hair-pulling. big dick!gojo. mild blood (lip bite)
the hallway reeked of bleach and cheap cologne, but the real stink was the neon-pink flyer taped to loser!gojo’s locker: GOJO’S GOT A BABY DICK <3 CUMS IN HIS PANTS AT A KISS.
a picture of him dangled beneath the words, you drew random doodles on it. students snickered while passing by; the drummer of the school band, all lanky limbs, white hair, and a reputation for shredding solos—stood frozen, drumsticks still in his back pocket like surrender flags.
he ripped the paper down, knuckles whitening. everyone knew who’d done it. you. campus queen. legs for days, tongue like a switchblade. you’d been slicing him open in public since the first day he dared smirk at you during orientation.
this time, you’d gone for the jugular.
gojo didn’t chase. he waited. after last period, when the corridors emptied and the band room door clicked shut behind him, he cornered you against the cinderblock wall. the air smelled of rosin and sweat, his drum kit loomed like a throne he’d never earned.
“fucking funny joke,” he said, voice low, almost amused. “how about i prove it to you here, hm?”
you tilted your chin, glossy lips curling. “prove what, loser? that you’ll cream your jeans before you even get inside?”
he didn’t answer with words. he kissed you—hard, teeth clashing, tongue shoving past your sneer. you bit his lip, drew blood, and he groaned into your mouth like it was foreplay.
his hands yanked your skirt up, bunching it at your hips; your panties were black lace, already soaked. he pressed two fingers against the damp fabric and you bucked, hating how you body betrayed you.
“still think it’s small?” he growled, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against your thigh. the outline strained his jeans—long, obscene, nothing baby about it.
you laughed, breath hitching. “go fuck yourse—”
he spun you, slammed your chest against the wall. the cold brick bit your nipples through your pink blouse. one rip and your panties were gone, fluttering to the floor. he freed himself—big, veined, flushed angry red—and dragged the head through your slick folds.
you were dripping, pussy aching, and still mouthing off because you fucking hate him but your cunt was saying otherwise. “bet you’ll last thirty sec—”
he thrust in to the hilt. one brutal stroke. your words shattered into a choked moan, spine bowing. he was big, stretching you open, the burn delicious and punishing. he didn’t ease in, he fucked like he wanted to kill you on his dick—hard, relentless, every snap of his hips echoing inside the cramp room.
“count the inches, princess,” he snarled, pulling out to the tip, then slamming back in. your pussy clenched, greedy, trying to keep him. “feel that? that’s eight. and you’re taking every fucking one.”
you clawed the wall, nails scraping paint. “s-still… a loser—”
he laughed, rough and ragged, and yanked your head back by your hair, his free hand spreading your legs wider. the new angle let him drill deeper with every thrust, wet sounds echoing off the cinderblock. he spat on his fingers, reached around, and rubbed tight circles until your legs shook.
“bitch all you want,” he panted, “but your cunt’s honest. listen to it.”
slurps, squelches, the filthy sounds of your soaking pussy begging. he pulled out suddenly, spun you again, and dropped to his knees. before you could blink, his mouth was on you, tongue lashing your clit, two fingers curling inside, scissoring. you came with a snarl, thighs clamping his head, juices flooding his chin.
he drank you down like he was starving, then stood, cock slick with your creamy release, he stroked it a few times and shoved back in.
“shit— again,” he ordered, fucking you through your release. “cum on my dick this time. prove you’re not just a loudmouth.”
you bit his shoulder to muffle the scream, but he yanked your hair, forcing you to meet his eyes. “let the whole school hear how much of a slut you are. fuck, now you want to be quiet? where that mouth go? down here?” he laughed mockingly, fucking you stupid on his dick. and as much as you hate to admit it, he fucks good.
he pounded harder, balls slapping your ass, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your tits. the band room smelled like sex and filth.
you came a second time, pussy spasming, milking him. he followed with a guttural groan, pulling out at the last second to paint your stomach, your skirt, your tits—thick ropes marking your creamy skin.
panting, he tucked himself away, zipped up, and smirked at the flyer still crumpled in his fist. “next time you wanna measure, use your throat.”
you slid down the wall, legs jelly, cum cooling on your skin. you flipped him off with a trembling hand.
gojo just smirked, grabbed his sticks, and sauntered out—leaving you ruined and already plotting round two.
a/n. inspired by rodrick heffley and regina george !!! ik this was messy af and idk if it aligns with their dynamic at all but i js based on some fanart of them on x i love love love this crackship sm idk
Tw - Cheating, breeding kink, forbidden relationship. Megumi is 20 n reader is a bit older, Brief Toji x reader. Not proofread
★彡
Imagine Megumi walking around the house shirtless, exposing every inch of his skin from his hips up, His smooth skin glistening under the warn-toned light as he walked into the kitchen for a snack but then Toji spots the fresh series of red, angry lines scattered across his upper back. He’s not dumb, he’s a grown man in his early 40s, he’s basically an expert at that shit considering the fact that he has them too. He knows exactly what it is and what caused it.
He starts teasing Megumi about it, about how his boring, grumpy ass is actually getting some pussy—not knowing that the pussy he’s getting is his sweet little girlfriend’s while he’s away on missions, absolutely oblivious to what happens between his son and girlfriend while he’s not there. The harsh markings from your sharp manicured nails mauling his son’s toned back as he fucked your slutty brains out and digs his cock deep into your insides while giving you one of the best dicking of your life, right on top of you and Toji’s bed.
–––
જ⁀➴ The “pussy” he’s getting is from the same sweet girlfriend of his that wakes up at 5am sharp to make breakfast and see him off to his 3-day mission just to have his son’s throbbing hard dick nestled deep into your greedy cunt—stuffing you full to the brim while his tip nudges against the deepest part of your pussy just a few hours later.
Megumi was three years younger than you, never had a girlfriend before and you felt bad for the poor boy and was soo tired and annoyed of having to keep buying new panties since the old ones were used to wrap around his preverted cock to jerk off, staining it with his seed instead of doing you and his father’s laundry so you had to find a way to deal with it…
જ⁀➴ The “pussy” he’s getting is from the same sweet girlfriend he calls every evening while he's away to make sure you’re alright and if you’ve eaten dinner, not knowing that his son is eating dinner right now—behind you, on this knees as his rough hands spreads your soft cheeks apart, nose pressed deep into your creamy folds while he sucks on your twitching little clit with fervor and intensity, sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body.
Your juices drips down his chin disgustingly as he devours you like a homeless man eating his favorite meal for the first time in years, groaning vibrantly against your twitching core as he tastes your sweet pussy—desperately lapping up every bit of pussy juice he can suck out of you, making you audibly stutter but Toji doesn’t question it, maybe you’re just tired and miss him too much or something. You bit your lips, moving a hand down to push Megumi’s eager face further into your horny pussy as you teasingly wiggled your cheeks in his face. Your eyes roll back when you felt Megumi’s sly tongue dragging flat against your asshole, licking a long stripe at the fluttery hole before attempting to pry it open with the tip of his tongue, “Mmm, don’t worry baby I’m fine—just have a sore throat that’s all” you reassumed your older boyfriend on the other end, reasoning why you’re making odd noises.
જ⁀➴ The “pussy” he’s getting is from the same sweet girlfriend he calls Megumi for—to check up and make sure you’re safe and okay. After all, while Toji is away, Megumi is the man of the house, not knowing that you’re on your knees as they speak, both hands digging into his muscular legs for stability as he fucks his thick cock deep into your skull, his leaking tip oozing with pre-cum, dripping at the back of your throat as you look up at him with pleading eyes as your mascara mixed with tears drips down your pretty face while he just smiles down at you darkly—reassuring Toji that his girlfriend is well taken care of.
જ⁀➴ The “pussy” he’s getting is from the same sweet girlfriend who he promises to breed, babbling about how much he wants to give Megumi a sibling and watch your belly swell with his kid as he’s pounding you deep and hard in full Nelson, his huge tip nudging against your bruised cervix, brutally splitting apart your cunt while whispering into your ear. “Hah—fuckkk doll, your tight pussy is swallowing my dick so good, fuckk imagine if I fill you up and breed this pretty little pussy with my seed, How does that sound darling? Wanna give lonely Megumi a sibling to take care of?” He questions your fucked out self as he licks away the trail of salty tears lingering on your face. Not knowing that Megumi is just like him. Their minds are sooo alike. “Shitshitshit—such a good little horny slut, this pussy’s taking my cock sooo well baby. Whaddya say we make old man Toji a grandpa? Fuck he wouldn’t even have a clue it’s not his” he laughs into your ears as he licks your earlobe while drilling his swollen cock into your soppy cunt from behind, against the kitchen counter just 20 minutes before toji gets home.
જ⁀➴ The “pussy” he’s getting is from the same sweet girlfriend who gets her sweet cunt and tight asshole stuffed full with his son’s seed almost every other day. Megumi would brutally fucked your tight pussy against the bathroom sink while he’s taking a nap, your panties bearly hanging around the sides of your ankles as Megumi manhandles your body back onto his cock—forcing you to meet his thrust halfway as he pounds it into you, he's so girthy and big, definitely not as big as Toji’s but it’s definitely a lot more stiff and eager, his tip bullyingly grazes against your g-spot as you cried out, making him grunt before quickly slapping a hand over your mouth to shut you up. “Can’t a nasty whore shut the fuck up? Or do you want him to wake up and see you creaming on his son’s cock? Is that what you want? Such a cock-hungry little slut.”
જ⁀➴ The “pussy” he’s getting is from the same sweet girlfriend that he buys sexy lingerie for, to wear and model them for him and he finishes off the show by ripping them to shreds off of you and fucking you into a brainless whore—but like father, like son, Megumi does the exact same when he’s not there. It’s like they both think alike when it comes to certain things—that being sex. No wonder sometimes some of them tend to go “missing” leading him to buy you even more for his son Megumi to fuck you in. He loves seeing you all dolled up with your matching pink panties and bra. It makes both of them absolutely feral.
જ⁀➴ The “pussy” he’s getting is from the adoring girlfriend who he fucks absolutely stupid and good, to the point where your toes curled as your eyes roll back to your skull—a moaning mess as he forces out orgasms after orgasms out to you till the whole mattress is drenched and soaked with cum. The only (downside?) would be Megumi hearing everything from the next room, brows furred together has he angrily fist fuck his pulsating cock, imagining he was the one drilling deep into you instead. The next day he’d corner you while your sitting on the couch and manhandle your body so you’ll be face down and ass up—stuffing three thick, long fingers into your tight asshole, stretching it apart while he snakes his tongue deep into your hungry pussy—exploring your insides. Your asshole taking in his fingers with pure pleasure as you buckle your hips back onto his face, like a whore—eagered for more.
