#I'M SHAMELESS TONIGHT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shariasweet · 2 months ago

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˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ 𝐹𝓾ck y𝓞u 𝐛e𝐭𝓣er.ᐟ

s.jaeyun 𝒙 f.reader

𝓦c ::: 5.9k 𐙚 𝓢harinote ::: this is like a play on my old roommate jake fic... I miss lilmashae bad smts y'all :( 𐙚 warnin𝓰.ᐟ ::: roommate jake is superrr annoying & hardly considerate · multiple orgasms · teasing · oral (f) · cowgirl - missionary - all the positions · soobin (txt) mentioned (small suggestive scene with him?) · a little bit of dry humping · teasing · fingering (f) · slight degradation (he says something about her being in heat... that's it :/) - praise (jake confesses(?) mid-fuck) · unprotected sex - implied creampie - etc.

each night was worse than the last... every night—they got louder and louder... each girl seemed more desperate than the last.

none of them could top jake though.

you didn't know who had it worse... you, or them.

on one hand, he'd wear the poor girl's out, from late at night to sunrise he’d be fucking them to the hilt. but on the other... you had to hear it—their unbelievably loud pornographic screams and yelps. every. fucking. night.

the audacity of him... only a man so desperate, so shameless could face his roommate (or anyone) with such nonchalance knowing what he gets up to. you pinched your temples hearing the giggles trailing off behind the slam of your apartment's door. about time. his bedroom was one thing—but the living room? oh you couldn't wait to stick it to him…

"you look like shit." you groaned finally stepping foot outside of your bedroom, squinting your eyes at jake's smart remark. your roommate was undeniably handsome... which you take it he must be painfully aware of by the way he parades around barely clothed even after whatever 'lucky' girl has left.

with his stupid toned abs and honey skin... his gorgeous hair—face and his nose... god, that nose… not that you were staring, or into him or anything, but you’re just so sure his nose would nudge up against your—

"i wonder why..." playfully you lifted your hand to smack him on the side. "ouch! seriously? you're not really upset are you?"

"me? no way, but i do feel bad for that poor girl who just left." you grinned. "oh yeah?" jake leaned against the counter beside you as you stretched out for the cereal on the top shelf—only for him to grab it first. "thanks..." you took the box from his hands, emptying it into your bowl before spinning around to dip into the fridge.

"and yeah, you just about wore her out... this might be a new record," you scoffed. "even for you."

"it couldn't have been that bad, not as bad as last week when—"

"so you are self aware then?" you interjected, fixing him with a deadpan stare as you poured your milk. "i guess i am." the man chuckled, it was low—almost teasing as he resumed his spot against the counter.

silence settled between you as you focused on devouring your breakfast of fruity pebbles, but you could feel his eyes on you—carefully watching the way your spoon disappeared past your lips with each bite as his throat bobbed. "do you want some?" you arched a brow, ever so slightly smiling as you sauntered toward the dining table.

"nah," he said, shaking his head. "i'm heading to the gym. hoon wants to squeeze in a few arm workouts before his game tonight." "cool," you nodded, casually glancing at the clock above the door. 11:00 am.

"you coming home? or are you going straight to work after?" you watched as he turned around to face you. "i'm off," he shoved his hands into his pockets. "i’ll probably hang at hee’s with jay afterward though." you nodded again, and this time, your roommate disappeared into his bedroom—assumably to get ready for his ‘gym-date’ with sunghoon.

it was perfect.

if jake was going out with heeseung, he’d be gone for hours—five or six, easily. and if today was like any other saturday between him and sunghoon, their stupid little gym session would last around two hours.

you did the math in your head—jake’d be gone for a total of eight hours, leaving you home alone for… well, all day.

while your roommate might’ve been lacking in the shame department, you weren’t.

you were far more… modest than jake. though, your friends called it sneaky… regardless, you weren’t nearly as prude as jake believed you to be.

you didn’t hesitate to scurry back into your room after finishing up your breakfast. you’d slammed the door shut, heart pounding with anticipation as you snatched up your phone to fire off a text to soobin.

god, it’s been way too long.

normally, you’d be able to see him at least twice a month… but lately? who knew what was up with jake. he’d been impossible. every night, it was a different girl, loud and attention-seeking.

and when he wasn’t tangled up with some random frat-party hookup, he was hogging the apartment—sprawled out on the couch, glued to his game with heeseung, or buried in textbooks at the dinning room table. which, truthfully, wouldn't be a problem... if it weren't for soobin's four roommates.

point was, there was never a moment of privacy… nowhere for you and your fuck buddy to do what you did best—hook up. not with jake taking up every damn inch of the apartment… and certainly not with soobin’s four roommates lurking at every corner.

y/n: soobin ^_^ y/n: wyd later? 11:38 am

sb: hey y/nnie :)) sb: i should be free... what's up, pretty girl? 11:40 am

y/n: my roomate'll be out til late... want to come over? 11:43 am

s/b: yk i do s/b: i'll see you in an hour? 11:47 am

y/n: sounds good, soob :3 read 11:51 am

you grinned to yourself, feeling content.

finally.

you deserved this—maybe even more than jake did. he got his fill on a near-nightly basis while you’d been living in an unintended dry spell for months... though that was about to end.

lost in your thoughts, you hardly even registered the knock on your bedroom door until jake’s voice cut through the silence. "i'm heading out, y/n!"

"alright!" you called back, gnawing on your bottom lip as you listened for the soft click of the front door.

it really has been way too long.

soobin hadn’t been over in what felt like ages and the state of your apartment was proof enough of that... but cleaning was easy though—especially with the adrenaline of your pending dick-appointment practically buzzing through your veins.

fueled by anticipation, you breezed through each chore... from wiping down counters to fluffing pillows, and even lighting a candle to set the mood for the evening. before you knew it, you were in the shower, steam curdling around you as you carefully shaved your legs, scrubbing your skin until it was baby-smooth...

you froze with your heart pounding in your throat.

knock, knock!

with water still dripping from your skin, you heard the sound echo through the apartment. an hour had seemingly passed in no time, with your towel engulfed around your body, you peeked your head out from behind the bathroom door, "just a second!" you could hear soobin's muffled voice behind the thick wood of the door. "mh, take your time!" he called back.

quickly, you patted your skin dry, slipping into a pair of sweatpants and tugging a tank top over your still-damp hair.

finally, after a glance in the mirror, a couple spritzes of perfume, and a deep breath, you skipped out of the bathroom, smoothing your hands over any wrinkles in your shirt before swinging the door open.

"hi." a smile tugged at your lips, glancing up at the tall male in front of you—he looked even better than you'd imagined. whatever built up frustration you had burning in your stomach was begging to be let out. soobin chuckled, reaching out to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “your hair’s wet.”

“oh! yeah, just got out of the shower.”

his grin widened as you stepped aside, inviting him in. “good to know.” he chuckled as he waltzed in behind you.

awkward as it may have seemed, it wasn't that way for long—the two of you exchanged in small talk before deciding to turn on a movie, casually catching up like friends rather than… whatever label some people might slap onto your arrangement. “how about this one?” you suggested, scrolling through the endless movie options presented before you.

soobin groaned dramatically, though the arm draping around your shoulders suggested he wasn’t all that bothered. “seriously? that one?” “yes, that one.” you scoffed, leaning into his chest. “it’s not like we’ll actually be watching it anyway.”

a smirk played on his lips. “i guess you’re right.”

without anymore time to think, his lips crashed onto yours. the plush of his lips molded against your own at a rhythm unique to the both of you. you found yourself straddling the brunette as he deepened the kiss, your fingers threaded through his hair, his own hands pawing at your sides whilst you grinded into him. "f-fuck." you sighed into his mouth, pleasure winding tight in your core.. you dove into his lips once more, this time your tongue flicking against his bottom lip, coaxing his tongue out of his mouth to intertwine with your own. it felt timeless—kissing soobin.

but unfortunately, time was in fact relevant.

thirty minutes had passed, you and his lips entangled, never neglecting one another as you were completely into one another. "’want to take my time with you, yeah?" he groaned. "s'been so long, 'want to go slow." he murmured against your skin, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

you squirmed, nodding as your breath hitched. “yeah…” it was a shaky exhale—your hips pressed against his growing bulge.

looking back, you’d wish he never said that, because a quickie would’ve saved you from what happened next. neither of you heard the oh-so-soft click of the front door.

and neither of you saw jake standing there, watching—observing—as you kissed soobin like your life depended on it—his eyes bright with amusement as his ‘prude’ of a roommate frotted all over some guy.

"ahem…" he cleared his throat—nothing.

he'd decided to try once more, "ahem," he leaned against the entryway, bag in hand as he toed off each of his shoes.

both of your heads snapped toward him, your heart plummeting straight into your stomach, noticing his shit-eating grin.

“y/n, i just left my change of clothes. i’ll just dip in and grab them, cool?” heat crawled up your neck, your mouth suddenly dry as you scrambled off of soobin’s lap. “y-yeah,” you stammered, cheeks burning up. “fine by me.” soobin added, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

you wish he wouldn’t have said that either.

the two men exchanged small nods, soobin softly waving as jake rushed past. but before he left—because of course, he couldn’t leave without making it worse—he paused at the door.

"i have condoms if you guys need…. i keep them out," jake paused, "just in case, y/n you know where they are." he chuckled, running back out the door again.

you were so embarrassed... if embarrassed were even a strong enough word.

why… why would jake say that—fuck, now it sounded like he kept them out just in case you two ever wanted to… to… damnit.

soobin left soon after your run in with your idiot roommate. he’d tried to play it off, as did you. you both forced a tight-lipped smile as he pulled on his shoes, but you weren’t stupid. you saw the way soobin’s eyes darted toward jake’s room, the hesitance in his voice when he said, “i’ll, uh… i-i’ll text you later, yeah?”

which he didn’t. you don’t blame him.

you’d sat there for a while after he left, silently replaying the moment over and over in your head—cursing jake each time. it was unfair.

the way he’d get laid every night and the way you’d just let it happen… as loud as he was if you really wanted to, you could complain; you could give him some lecture about the ‘shared space’ of your apartment, or respecting each other’s boundaries. but you never did.

the way soobin’s face had shifted when jake made that comment, how he’d suddenly withdrawn, as if realizing he wasn’t the only one in your rotation. except he was. it haunted your memory even now.

what normal roommate kept condoms out just in case? what kind of guy made a joke like that so casually, with no concern for how it might sound?

jake fucking sim.

your anger simmered all evening… not only had you been cockblocked, but you were too upset to even finish getting off, not that your useless little fingers would be any help anyways. and on top of that you couldn’t even bring yourself to text soobin to clear things up.

so instead, you did what you did best when you were pissed off and alone—you curled up into a ball on the couch with a blanket, turning off all the lights and letting the glow of the tv drown out the silence as you soothed your raging frustration by lazing around.

you weren’t sure how much time had passed before you heard the front door click open yet again. jake… you mentally groaned, facepalming. he stepped inside, the soft thud of his gym bag hitting the floor was the only sound filling the apartment. you didn’t move.

he walked past the couch, pausing when he spotted you curled up there in the dark, the flickering light from the tv casting shadows across your face. he sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning toward the kitchen.

a few seconds passed. a cabinet opened, then closed. then, finally—“are you really upset about earlier?” you ignored him, eyes glued on to the screen. “c’mon, y/n.” his voice seemed closer now. you could feel him standing behind the couch, hovering over you. “it was just a joke… you know how i am—how we are..”

your jaw tightened. “was it a joke, jake?”

“obviously.”

“yeah, well, soobin didn’t think it was very funny.”

the room felt smaller, the space between you and jake charged with something you didn’t want to acknowledge—a heavy tension—something sharp, electric, and just wrong enough to make your pulse stutter.

if either of you made a wrong move—you might explode.

he was quiet at first, and for a second, you thought maybe—just maybe—he was going to let it go. but this was jake. and jake never let things go. you know that better than anyone. then, just as you expected, he scoffed. “so? that’s his problem, isn’t it?” you whipped your head around so fast, you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “are you serious?” your voice cracked, the anger boiling in your gut curled tight, threatening to spill over. his problem? his?

jake just blinked at you, his expression unreadable, like this was nothing—like you were making a biggg deal out of nothing.

“what? if he really thought we had something going on, that’s on him. it’s whatever.”

“it’s not whatever, jake!” you spat, turning around to face him, fingers digging into the blanket settled on your lap as your anger spilled over. “you have girls over all the time.” you exhaled sharply, your frustration growing as your stomach bubbled with rage. “every. single. fucking. night. i’m so—god, i’m so pent up. i can’t even invite my fuck buddy over without you interrupting or making some stupid remark like an immature asshole.”

he rolled his eyes, shifting back against the couch as though he couldn’t be bothered to care. “oh, come on—”

“no, jake. just go away.”

but he didn’t. of course, he didn’t. instead, he exhaled dramatically, walking around the couch before slouching down beside you, arms crossing over his chest. his body radiating heat as his presence swallowed up the space between you. you were hot—pent up and breaking down in glittering rage. “so that’s it?” his voice was quieter now, lower… more tedious.

there was something sharp underlying beneath his words, something you couldn’t quite place. you frowned, already exhausted by his antics. “what’re you—”

before you could finish, his fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face to face his. your breath hitched. jake’s hold wasn’t rough—he wasn’t hurting you—but it was firm. demanding.

his thumb brushed the curve of your bottom lip, his eyes darting between your own and reading your face as he murmured, “that’s it?” his voice was sharp, dripping with ridgidness. “you just wanted a quick fuck? that’s it?” he let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “hah… seriously.”

tears swelled up at the corners of your eyes, shame settling in your stomach. yeah. you did… more than anything in the world—you wanted a searing hot orgasm, a quick fuck, to get off… anything! but hearing him say it out loud made it worse—it made your reality of being denied something so simple even more real.

jake ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard before glancing at you again. “baby,” he drawled, voice thick, and almost condescending. “i could’ve done that for you.”

you froze. “w-what?” your tears seemed to dry themselves, shock washing over you as your bottom lip jutted out into a pout.

he smirked, and something about the way he was looking at you made your skin prickle with heat. “if all you wanted was some stress relief, i thought you’d know me of all people wouldn’t mind.”

his fingers traced along the line of your jaw, featherlight, as he teased you… “i mean, look at you.” his voice dropped an octave lower, his breath warm, fanning against your supple skin. “shit, you’re so fucking pretty—even now… crying because you’re all frustrated over some mediocre dick.”

jake cocked his head, thumb dragging slowly across your plump bottom lip. “not only could i fuck you, y/n,” he murmured, “i could fuck you way better than that guy ever could.” his tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he leaned in just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

“when i’m done, you won’t even remember your name, princess.”

a familiar warmth flared in your stomach, and you hated the way your body reacted, the way your breath stilled, the way your thighs pressed together before you could stop yourself.

jake noticed. of course, he noticed. and god, the look on his face said he was going to make you regret it… the yelling and the back talk.

you barely had time to process anything else before his lips crashed into yours.

it wasn’t a soft landing… it wasn’t sweet. it was hungry—fierce. his hand slid from your jaw to your neck, pressing just enough to make your head spin, tilting your chin up so he could deepen the kiss.

his tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing your mouth open until you had no choice but to let him in… no choice but to let his tongue explore your mouth and tangle with your own muscle. you whimpered against his mouth, gripping the fabric of his hoodie in a weak attempt to ground yourself.

he took that as encouragement, swallowing your muffled moans as he shifted closer, his knee pressing hard against your clothes cunt as he wedged it further between your thighs, his body caging you in against the couch.

jake was everywhere, all-consuming.

he kissed you like he meant it, like he had something to prove, like he knew you’d been thinking about this just as much as he had. and fuck, maybe you had. maybe that was the worst part. his words hung in the air, thick and suffocating. he could fuck you better… you knew it and he knew it.

and even if you didn’t, you’d heard the way those ditzy sorority girls mewl and moan while he fucked their brains out… plunging to deep into their squelchy little cunts it makes them dizzy.

you should’ve pushed him away, should’ve said something—anything to shut him down. but you didn’t. you couldn’t. you were drunk.

because jake was still looking at you like that, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you, like he was daring you to break the kiss first… which you couldn’t. and maybe it was the weeks of pent-up frustration, the way his voice sent a sharp, burning ache straight between your legs, or the fact that he was so close you could feel the heat radiating from his skin—but you broke.

you surged forward, fisting the fabric of his hoodie as your lips crashed against his once more, all teeth and desperation whilst your hips grinded and bucked against his clothed thigh.

“you’re like a bitch in heat, baby.” he laughed.

god. you hated him. you hated how easily he took control, how good he felt, how your body melted under his touch like you had always been meant for this. he bit your bottom lip, tugging slightly before pulling back just enough to look at you, lips swollen, breathing heavy. his fingers brushed against the bare skin under your shirt, just barely, but it was enough to make you shiver.

“see, princess?” he murmured, dark and teasing. “i told you.” his lips ghosted over yours again, barely touching, waiting… waiting for you to lean in, expecting you to fall right into the trap he’d laid so perfectly.

“whatever,” you swore. “just fuck me already.” you frowned, bruised lips on display for him. jake could feel his cock chubbing up behind the fabric of his shorts, creating an obvious tent in his pants. If it were up to him—if you were anyone else… he’d listen.

he’d skip the foreplay and fuck you because god, how could he not ravish you? especially when you’re… well, you.

jake’d had a crush on you since you moved in… of course, you were usually tempting—big eyes staring up at him all cutely with your lips all pouty, all the time. but especially now, more than ever, when you were beneath him whimpering—begging for him to fuck you with your hair tousled all over the place and your eyelids heavy..? he’d be crazy not to savor every moment.

“fuck, y/n… let me take my time with you, yeah? show you all you been missing.” his fingers crept along your nape. “you have no idea…” his lips ghosted your skin once more—traveling further down your neck as he placed sloppy kisses down your scorching skin. “god, everytime i fuck one of those girls i wish it were you.”

your hips buck—chasing the friction of his thigh as you gasp… his confession leaving you stunned. jake’s hand slips beneath your shirt, cupping your breast through the fabric of your bra and prodding around, feeling for the peaks of your nipples.

“s-shit..” you gasp, squirming beneath him, feeling the cool air waft against your skin as he peels your shirt from over your head. “yeah? feeling foggy already?” he coos, “lift up,” he instructs. “wanna see all of you, ‘lemme take this off, pretty.”

his slender fingers nimbly unclasp your bra—-your tits spill free, the mounds of your breast perking up beneath the chill of the air as you carefully fall onto your back. jake’s breath hitches—caught in his throat at the sight of your bare body. “so perfect… just how i imagined.” he continues his assault—kissing down your collarbones until the plump of his lips reach your boobs.

immediately, they latch onto your nipple, he gropes your other breast in his left hand—pinching and rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers. “oh… a-ah! jake…” your hands tangle into his hair.

jake groaned against your chest, teeth grazing the tender skin as he switched sides, giving your other nipple the same eager attention. you writhed beneath him, the wet heat pooling between your thighs making it impossible to stay still.

“god, you’re so sensitive,” he murmured, voice low, laced with admiration and pure hunger. “what else makes you squirm like that, huh?” your silence isn’t enough for him as he softly bites at your chest. “shh,” he hushes you. “it’s okay, you can’t talk sweet girl, i’ll just find out myself, hm?”

his kisses trail downward, slowly and deliberately he nips at your ribs, dragging his tongue down your stomach. each movement coaxes a soft whimper to rip from your throat. you could feel every breath, every graze of his lips, and it was driving you insane.

once jake reaches your waistband, he glances up, catching your gaze—his eyes dark, feral.

“bet you’re soaked already,” jake muttered, his hot breath fans over the flimsy fabric of your panties and he smirks when your hips arch off the couch involuntarily, chasing his mouth.

“knew it.” he grins wide, without breaking eye contact, he dips his head… mouthing over the damp spot of your panties clinging to your core, letting out a filthy moan as he licks a stripe up your covered pussy like you were the one ruining him. then, with such a delicate slowness, he hooks his teeth around the band of your panties, snagging the fabric with his canines.

“let me get these off,” he murmurs, voice reverent, muffled slightly by the fabric. “been wanting to taste you for so long.” he groans. all you can do is nod. you choked out a gasp as he dragged the lace down your hips with his teeth—agonizingly slow. his hands guide them down your thighs as he goes, hands hooking underneath your thighs as he parts them gently, slotting between your legs like he belonged there.

“fuck, y/n… look at you,” he whispered, voice ragged. “so pretty like this… so mine.” he breathes against your leaky, fluttering cunt.

jake didn’t dive in right away—that would’ve been too easy. instead, he takes his time—lips brushing over the soft skin of your inner thighs, tongue flicking out just enough to make you twitch.

he takes a deep inhale like he’s memorizing the scent of your aching core. “you don’t even know what you do to me,” he muttered, he strains— his voice is thick with need. “look at you—already shaking, and i haven’t even tasted you yet.” that oh so perfect nose nudges against your clit, giving you a taste of heaven—a taste of everything you knew you’d needed.

your hands curl into the couch cushions as he finally pressed a kiss to your slit, he dips his tongue into before pulling out, licking a slow, lazy stripe up the full length of your cunt. your breath caught. “f-fuck—jake…”

he groaned like the taste of you was better than anything he’d ever had. “god, you’re dripping,” he rasped, tongue flicking over your clit, teasing it with little kitten licks that had your thighs clenching around his head, yet his strong arms clamped you down.

jake just hummed, gripping your hips to hold you open. “don’t run from me now,” he grinned against your skin, “you wanted this, didn’t you? said you wanted me to fuck you…” and then he devoured you.

no more teasing, or holding back—his mouth latched onto your clit with a practiced precision, his tongue circling, flicking, sucking on your labia like he was starved… one of his hands slid down to press two fingers against your entrance, easing them in as his mouth worked your clit like a madman.

“ohmygod! f-ffuck thank you… thank you!” you cried out, back arching off the couch, moaning his name like it was a sacred chant. “fuckfuckfuck—jake—oh my god—jakejake… ohhh..” his fingers curled inside you, scissoring to stretch your tight cunt out wide… finding that sweet spot with ease as he moaned against your clit, the vibration making your whole body jolt in pleasure.

“you gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” he murmured, voice muffled by your pussy squelching and sobbing against his face. “wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue.” your vision blurred, hips grinding against his face on instinct. you were close—so close—held right at the edge by his relentless tongue and the way his fingers fucked into you, soaking wet and obscene.

he looked up at you from between your legs, lips shiny with your slick, pupils blown wide and the tip of his nose snug against your pelvis. “be a good girl… cum on my face, y/n.”

and with a final suck, he sent you tumbling over the edge.

you came—loud, trembling, toes curling as your orgasm crashed through you. yet jake didn’t stop, he didn’t slow down. he lapped up every drop as you rode out your first high. he was greedy and thorough, tongue dragging through your slicked-up, spit-glistening folds as your thighs trembled around his head.

“shit…” he panted. “you taste even better than i imagined… ‘got such a sweet cunt.” jake barely gave you a moment to breathe.

you were still trembling, thighs sticky with slick and overstimulation. the wet spot beneath you on the couch was still there when he rose above you—eyes lingering over your marked body, shaking, lips glistening with drool. his hoodie was already being shrugged off with one hand.

“still with me?” he murmured, voice almost too soft for how entrancing he looked towering over you. you nodded weakly, eyes foggy and fucked-out. that was all he needed. “good.”

in one swift motion, he pushed down his sweats and boxers… the material pooled around his ankles as he yanked you close to the edge of the couch. his cock was springing free—hitting flush against his stomach, thick, red, and already leaking pearls of precum. you barely had time to take in the entrancing curve of his cock, before he was crawling back over you, grabbing your thighs and lining himself up with your soaked entrance.

“gonna fuck you now, pretty girl,” he muttered, his tip slipping through your folds, dragging slick over your overstimulated clit, slapping against it just to make you whimper. “and you’re gonna take it—every inch.”

then he slammed in—bottoming out immediately. you cried out, “oh my! fuck, please!!” head falling back, back arching as he split you open—no warning, no teasing, just pure and raw.

he buried himself to the hilt with one brutal thrust… already fucking into you before you could adjust. “shit,” he hissed, his jaw clenched tight. “you’re so fucking tight…” jake swore, his balls slapping heavily against your ass.

your nails raked down his arms, clinging to his biceps as you tried to adjust, your body burning from the stretch, the sting, the overwhelming fullness…

he pulled out halfway, then slammed back in—again and again, restless. he was relentless… pacing his hips to snap into you fastly and unforgiving. the sound of skin slapping filled the room, mingling with your lewd moans, and the wet drag of his cock through your cunt was absolutely filthy. “look at you,” he grunted, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to meet his gaze. “already fucked dumb from my tongue, and now you’re letting me ruin you. that what you wanted, huh?”

you could barely speak—just nodding, gasping, whining his name as he fucked into you like he was trying to mold your body to his. you babbled broken sentences, too dumb to speak straight from his cock wrecking you.

“yeah, that’s it,” he growled, “take it—fucking take it.” one of his hands slipped under your thigh, pushing your leg up to your chest as he folded you in half, the new angle making you scream. his bulge fucking through your stomach as one of his hands firmly pressed down. he hit something deep buried inside of you and you swore you saw white.

he didn’t let up, driving into that spot again and again like he knew exactly how to break you.

you were incoherent now, reduced to nothing but nonsense and spit spilling from your lips, your second orgasm already building fast, it was impossible to stop. “come on, baby,” he panted, fucking you harder, rougher. “wanna feel you come on my cock—milk me dry. milk my fucking cock.”

and when he reached down and rubbed your clit with his thumb—fast, ruthless—you shattered. again. your entire body clenched, back bowing off the couch, a sob of his name ripping from your throat as you came hard. you clenched around his shaft, walls fluttering around his cock, sucking him in even deeper as his tip kissed your cervix. jake groaned, stuttering in his thrusts, burying his face in your neck. “fuck—fuck, y/n—i’m gonna come—”

he drove into you one last time and came with a loud, broken moan, hips pressed flush to yours as he spilled inside you, hot and thick spurts of cum gathering around the base of his dick as his load leaked from your throbbing cunt.

he didn’t move for a moment, panting into your skin, both of you a sweaty, trembling mess. then, finally, he pulled back just enough to look at you—hair wild, eyes heavy, lips swollen.

“…tell me,” he said, voice hoarse. “tell me i fucked you better.”

you hadn’t even caught your breath when he pulled back to look at you—cheeks flushed. “y-you… only you. you fuck me better, god, better than anyone could. ‘fucking ruined.” your lips were kiss-bitten, eyes glassy with tears. “fuck,” jake whispered, he was frayed with awe. “look at you…”

you felt his hands on your waist, still trembling from the last orgasm he dragged out of you, but the ache between your legs hadn’t dulled—it’d only sharpened.

still pulsing… his desperation to be better than soobin egging you on… you were too far deep, finally understanding how he got so many girls to crawl into bed with him. you sat up, straddling his thighs. you saw the way his jaw tensed, like he was trying so hard not to lose it, slight confusion clouded his expression as he watched you lean into his chest. “wanna feel you,” you murmured, still trying to catch your breath. “inside.… more.”

his eyes nearly rolled back on the spot. “shit…yeah? c’mere, baby. take it. s’what you wanted, right?”

he leaned back against the couch cushions, legs spread wide as you slid your hand down between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance. he was still so hard—his dick was heavy and leaking, hot and you nearly moaned at just the feeling of him against your folds. then you sank down. the stretch made your thighs shake. your head dropped forward and your mouth fell open in a silent gasp as he stuffed you once again, his cock pulsing inside of you as you took shallow drags at his member.

“oh my god, jake…”

his hands flew to your hips, gripping tight enough to bruise. “jesus—fuck. you feel like heaven, baby.” you rolled your hips, grinding down in lazy circles as you got used to the size of him. he seethed through his teeth, eyes flickering between your bouncing tits and the place where your bodies met as you sped up. “look at you,” he groaned. “riding me so good—fuck, you were made for this. made for me… not him.” he smacked your ass, hard.

your hands pressed to his chest for balance, and you picked up the pace, bouncing now. his cock tugged against your walls just right, hitting that spot that made your toes curl, and you couldn’t stop the stream of breathy moans pouring from your mouth.

“you close already, pretty girl?” he rasped, thumb flicking over your clit. “you gonna cum on my cock like this? ‘gonna fuck me til i’m dry? til my cock’s all empty and sore???” you nodded frantically, eyes rolling back fervently. “j-jake—please, i can’t—” “yes you can. ride it out for me. fuck, you’re so tight—don’t stop, baby, don’t you dare stop—” his hands gripped your waist, helping you bounce on his dick as the two of you got lost in pleasure.

your orgasm washed over you with your back arching and your thighs quivering. you could feel him swelling up inside of you, a deep groan tearing from his throat as he spilled into you, bucking up, fucking more of his cum inside of you, desperate to chase every last bit of pleasure.

you collapsed forward onto his chest, both of you sweaty, shaking, breathless. jake brushed your hair back, kissing your temple. “feeling better?” he piqued, his once teasing tone returning. “shut up.” you groaned.

#shariasweet ༉‧₊˚.#enha smut #enhypen smut #enha hard hours #enha hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #sim jaeyun smut #sim jake smut #jake smut #jaeyun smut

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hatethysinner · 4 days ago

Note

if you take little prompts, could i propose a jealous remmick drabble with a breeding kink? 👀

"I’m gonna fill you up, make sure you carry somethin of me forever"

ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ

ᴡᴄ: 6.9k (i giggled too)

ᴀ/ɴ: the title choice... if you know you know. anyways, i needed to get my freak on and god damn did i do just that. i adore fluff but sometimes i just can't say no to my pussy. please don't talk to me about the mental state i was in while writing this. i simply have no excuses, take me to horny jail. though i will say i feel WAY more confident about writing smut now. i think i should do these more often because it's kind of an outstanding way for me to stretch my legs if you will. THAT SOUNDS SO CRAZY LAMFJDJHVHBJDV but i even got over my fear of em dashes just a tiny bit. also, this was a combination of like 3 asks in 1 and you'll definitely SEE which ones i'm talking about when you check the warnings. anons, you know who you are!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ MDNI (!!!), filthy disgusting shameless smut, minimal plot all porn, exes, stalking, very rough sex, p in v, cunnilingus, fingering, spit kink, degradation kink, breeding kink, dumbification, sadism, masochism, choking, spanking, biting, dacryphilia, overstimulation, eye contact, drooling, cuckolding, infidelity, bloodplay, threats of violence, fantasizing about violence, graphic violence, murder, dark!dom!remmick, sub!fem!reader, reader is just as freaky, vague setting, excessive use of pet names, excessive use of italicization, read at your own discretion

The night was quiet. Too quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that came with peace. Not the softness of contentment or rest. This was the kind of silence that felt like it was waiting. Like something pressed against the windows, unseen, watching the curve of your back as you moved through the hallway in your robe, your bare feet barely whispering against the floor.

You should’ve been asleep. But the bed felt too big tonight.

Your husband was out, running one of his rare late-night errands. Something about a friend’s stalled car, a favor owed. He’d apologized for leaving, pressed a kiss to your forehead, a hand brushing the side of your face like he always did. “Won’t be long,” he promised. “I hate sleeping without you.”

And he meant it. He always did. He was that kind of man.

You loved him. You did. He was good. Honest. Steady. The kind of man who brought home your favorite pastries without being asked, who offered to do the dishes before you even touched your plate. You didn’t marry him expecting fireworks. You married him because you were tired of chasing smoke.

But some nights, like tonight, you still missed the fire.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping lukewarm tea you’d already forgotten to drink, robe slipping off one shoulder. The tile was cool beneath your feet. The hum of the refrigerator filled the space like static, soft and constant.

And then, like it always did when you let your mind wander too far, the memory of him crept in.

Remmick.

A name you hadn’t spoken in years. A man you hadn’t touched in longer.

You cut him off like you were supposed to. You did it for your own good. Your sanity. Your future. But Lord, if there wasn’t something in the way he ruined you that no one else had been able to match since.

He didn’t beg. He didn’t need to. Just looked at you in that way that made your stomach knot and your thighs press together. He touched you like he was claiming something. Deep, slow, maddeningly precise. He didn’t fuck fast. He fucked full. He filled you, stretched you, split you open in ways that made you forget your own name. And when he looked at you—

God, when he looked at you.

It was like you were his favorite meal. His last drink. His only prayer.

Your husband never looked at you like that. He looked at you with kindness, sure. But never hunger. Never need. Never like you were something to be devoured.

You closed your eyes, set your mug down. The ache between your legs pulsed, low and steady, like a bruise remembered. You shouldn’t miss him. You shouldn’t want him.

But you did.

You always had.

And it had been so long since someone made you come the way Remmick used to. Effortlessly, endlessly, like he knew every part of you before you even touched yourself for the first time.

You shivered.

Outside, thunder rumbled low in the distance.

Somewhere, not nearly far enough, Remmick was still out there.

Waiting.

And, of course, it had to be tonight when he came.

The knock was sharp. Not loud. But sure. Like whoever stood behind that door knew you were already halfway toward it, breath stuck somewhere between your ribs. You froze in the hallway, mug still warm in your palm, heart already catching on a beat you hadn’t felt in years.

Three more taps followed. Firm. Even. Familiar.

You didn’t need to check the window. Didn’t need to ask who it was.

Your feet moved on their own.

When you opened the door, there he stood.

Remmick.

Older, sharper, polished like glass but dangerous like a blade. He leaned against the frame like he owned it, like he’d been here before and would be again. That light blue shirt was pressed clean, top buttons undone just enough to show a sliver of white undershirt and the chain you remembered. Gold, delicate, glinting faint in the porch light. Black slacks. A belt with a gold buckle. Suspenders hanging easy off his shoulders.

His hair was slicked back, still dark, still wild in places where the waves refused to be tamed. But it was his eyes, those deep sea-blue eyes, the unmistakable red glow, that made you forget how to breathe. That looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made him feel.

He didn’t just see you.

He devoured you.

“Well, hey there, darlin’,” he said, low and slow and unmistakably him. He didn’t bother hiding the curve of his grin. Fangs bared. Sharp. Bright. Gorgeous.

Your pulse tripped over itself.

“What…” You swallowed. “What are you doin’ here?”

That smile stretched wider, lazier. He stepped forward just enough for the porch light to catch the edges of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat.

“Y’know damn well why I’m here.”

There wasn’t an ounce of shame in his voice. Not one drop of hesitation. Just velvet certainty, dragging you backward into something you’d spent years clawing your way out of. Something you never stopped missing.

You blinked at him, trying to level your tone. “My husband—”

“Ain’t here,” Remmick said quick and flat, like it was obvious. He glanced down the street. “Car’s gone. Bedroom light’s off. Not a single trace of that man in this house ‘cept that little ring you’re tryin’ to hide behind your fingers.”

You dropped your hand before you could stop yourself.

He tilted his head. “Still nervous, huh?”

“Remmick—”

“You alone?”

Your lips parted, but the truth had already settled between you like smoke. You knew the question was redundant. That he was simply trying to drive home the point.

“…Yeah.”

His mouth twitched. Not a smile. Not exactly. Something darker. Warmer. Hungrier.

“Knew it,” he murmured. “Knew he didn’t know what to do with ya.”

Your breath hitched.

He leaned forward, just a few inches, but it knocked the air right out of your lungs. The air between you changed. Heavy. Hot. Close. The kind of air that pulled your thighs tight and made your stomach knot with something sharp and sweet and old.

“Ya look beautiful,” he said, his eyes raking over you. “But y’knew that already.”

You should’ve closed the door. Should’ve told him to leave.

But you didn’t.

Remmick’s voice lowered, slow and syrup-thick. “Let me in.”

It wasn’t a question.

The muscles in your arms tensed, fingers still on the knob like you weren’t sure who you were anymore. Every part of you said no. But your body, your breath, your blood? All of it whispered yes.

He waited.

And waited.

His eyes burned into you, red flickering hotter now. Not loud, not angry. Just patient. Starved.

“I ain’t gonna ask again,” he said, voice soft, almost sweet. “Don’t make me beg, baby.”

Your throat went dry.

You didn’t shut the door.

You didn’t step back.

You didn’t even breathe.

“…Come in,” you said. Quiet. But clear.

And he did.

The moment he stepped inside, the door shut with a thud behind him.

Remmick laughed.

Not a sound you’d heard from him before. It wasn’t warm or familiar. It wasn’t charming or even cruel. It was cold. Final. Like something had been waiting, watching, for the moment you said Come in, and now that you had, it didn’t have to pretend anymore.

“You’re just as desperate as I remember,” he said, still smiling as his boots landed slow and heavy on the floor. “Knew y’would be.”

Before you could even blink, he had you. A searing kiss, full and crushing and greedy. No warning. No space to breathe. His hands gripped your jaw, thumbs pressing your cheeks, mouth sealing over yours like he’d gone too long without it.

You should’ve pulled away.

You should’ve shoved him off, reminded yourself of the ring still sitting on your finger.

But your lips parted.

Your breath caught.

And when his body pressed against yours—hard chest, long arms, belt buckle cold against your stomach—you melted into it with a sound that betrayed every shred of shame you still had left.

You hated how much you missed this.

How much you’d been starving, too.

Remmick’s hand slid down the front of your robe. He didn’t waste time. Not even a little. Fingers traced the curve of your stomach, the ridge of your hip, and then dipped between your thighs like he already knew what he’d find there.

When he felt how wet you were, he growled.

Actually growled.

“Slut,” he muttered, dragging his mouth along your cheek, jaw, ear. “My married girl, touchin’ herself to the thought of me. Makin’ them soft sounds every time y’say my name.”

You trembled.

“I heard ya,” he whispered, voice all breath and bite. “Every damn night. Ya don’t know how many times I nearly came through that window just to shut ya up the way ya wanted.”

His fingers were still there, not moving much, just resting. A threat. A promise.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, in your fingertips, in your thighs. Your robe slipped further open, the air cool against your chest where the silk parted.

“I didn’t—” you tried, but the words caught somewhere deep. You couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not with your legs shaking and your lips kiss-bruised and your entire body leaning into him like it had never wanted anyone else.

He chuckled again, quieter this time. Darker.

“Ya did,” he said, kissing the side of your neck, lips soft now. Tender, even. “And I ain’t mad, darlin’. Y’think I don’t dream ‘bout this too?”

His other hand came up to cradle your face, thumb brushing beneath your eye like he hadn’t just dragged twenty years of buried longing to the surface in a single kiss.

“I just didn’t think,” he murmured, eyes glowing as they flicked to yours, “ya’d open the door so easy.”

And then his hand moved.

Two fingers, thick and slow, slipped inside you with a precision that made your knees lock and your breath shudder out in a gasp you didn’t mean to make. No warning. No teasing. Just in, to the knuckle, deep and deliberate, like he’d never forgotten the exact shape of you.

You jolted forward against his chest, hips stuttering, thighs pressing shut on instinct. But his arm wrapped firm around your waist, locking you there, helpless and pinned against him as he crooked his fingers just right and pulled another sound from your throat you didn’t recognize.

He groaned low. “Still so fuckin’ soft. Still open for me like I never left.”

Your hand slapped the doorframe for balance, fingers scrabbling, mouth half-open, trying to find air. But Remmick wasn’t giving you space. Not anymore.

His mouth brushed your ear. “He ever touch ya like this?”

You didn’t answer.

His fingers stopped.

Completely.

The stillness was brutal.

Your body rocked against him, desperate, aching, but he didn’t move. Not even a twitch.

“Answer me,” he said. Calm. Almost bored. “Your good man. Your sweet husband. He ever make ya feel like this?”

“…No,” you whispered, too soft.

Remmick clicked his tongue.

“I said speak up, baby. Y’know better.”

You swallowed hard, voice shaking. “No. He—he doesn’t.”

A satisfied hum rumbled from his chest. “Didn’t think so.”

He thrust his fingers deeper, slow and grinding, pressing against that spot that made your spine curve and your mouth fall open.

“Ever make you soak through your sheets just from thinkin’ ‘bout a look?” he asked. “Ever make your legs shake ‘cause you wanted it so bad you thought you’d die from it?”

You whined. Tried to shake your head. But again, he stopped.

Not a flex. Not a curl. Nothing.

“Remmick—please—”

“Answer me.”

Your voice broke. “No. Never. Not once.”

His mouth split into a grin so wicked it made your whole body clench around him. “Didn’t think so.”

He fucked you slow, fingers curling in a rhythm that felt like a secret being pulled from your bones. His hand on your waist held you still, anchored you to him as he worked you open with ease, with arrogance, with that goddamn patience that made him feel like punishment and prayer in equal measure.

“Y’ever beg for him?” Remmick murmured. “Cry for it? Lose your fuckin’ mind just ‘cause he looked at you the right way?”

You didn’t want to answer.

You didn’t want to admit any of this.

But the pause was longer this time. The stillness unbearable. Your body was screaming for it.

“No,” you gasped. “Only you.”

“That’s right.” His smile pressed into your neck. “My good little wife, moanin’ for the wrong man.”

His thumb found your clit and circled it once, just once, enough to make your legs buckle.

“Ya feel how wet you are?” he whispered, nose brushing your cheek. “This for him?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He paused.

You whimpered.

He pulled back just slightly. Not out. Just enough to make you feel the empty stretch behind it.

“For who?”

Your voice cracked. “You.”

“Say my name.”

“Remmick.”

He groaned against your throat, fingers thrusting again with filthy, exquisite control.

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s my girl.”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. He didn’t just touch you, he worked you. Drew out every forgotten ache, every unsaid word, every damn piece of yourself you’d buried under decency and dishes and folded laundry.

“Ya ever fake it?” he asked, lips at your jaw. “For him?”

You nodded.

He stilled again.

You whimpered, panicked. “Yes! Yes, I—God, I have, I did—”

Remmick chuckled darkly, fingers starting to move again, slick and obscene.

“Course ya did. Poor thing. Never stood a chance.”

You clenched around him, helpless against it. Your head dropped back, vision fogging.

“That’s it,” he cooed. “Y’remember how this ends, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

He already knew.

And so did your body—traitorous, needy, too honest for its own good.

You were close.

You were so fucking close.

And just for a moment, you let yourself believe he’d let you finish.

Just as your stomach curled, breath catching, thighs beginning to tighten—he pulled out. Abrupt. Cruel.

Your whole body jerked like he’d ripped something vital out of you. A desperate, broken whimper escaped your throat before you could bite it back.

And Remmick laughed.

“Oh, baby,” he said, voice thick with mock-sympathy, “that little sound right there?”

He licked the tips of his fingers slow, eyes never leaving yours.

“That’s the sound of a girl who forgot who she was dealin’ with.”

You hated the way your body trembled. Hated that your pulse was still stuttering out of control. Hated that he was right. That your cunt was still clenching around nothing, already grieving the loss of him like he’d been inside you for years instead of seconds.

Before you could think to curse him, slap him, beg him, he moved.

Remmick grabbed you by the hips and lifted.

Effortless. Like you weighed nothing. Like this wasn’t the first time he’d thrown you around.

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct. Old muscle memory. Dangerous muscle memory.

Your arms clung to his shoulders as he walked, carrying you like a man on a mission.

And you knew.

You knew where you were headed.

The moment you saw the edge of the dining table come into view—solid oak, the one your husband insisted was “too nice to actually use”—your breath hitched, legs squeezing tighter around his hips.

“Still remember, huh?” Remmick muttered against your jaw, setting you down with zero gentleness. Your back hit the wood hard enough to knock a gasp out of you, the cool polish biting into your skin through the robe’s thin silk. “Told ya once I’d take you on every fuckin’ surface of that house. Never broke that promise.”

You barely had time to adjust before he gripped the hem of your robe—what little of it still covered you—and ripped.

The bottom half tore clean off, jagged and loud, silk whining in protest before it fluttered to the floor.

You were bare beneath it.

You always had been.

Remmick groaned like he was seeing it for the first time. “Goddamn, darlin’.”

Then he dropped to his knees.

Didn’t say another word. Didn’t tease. Didn’t breathe.

His mouth found you like it belonged there.

Hot tongue, open mouth, greedy hunger.

No hesitation. No warm-up. He dove in like he was starved, like he’d been dreaming of this every goddamn night since the last time he tasted you. His hands gripped your thighs, spread them wide, fingers digging in like bruises he meant to leave.

And his mouth—

You screamed.

Low and sharp, head tossed back as he licked through your folds with the kind of practiced ruthlessness that made your vision blur.

He devoured you.

Sloppy. Loud. Wet.

His tongue flicked against your clit with obscene precision, slow and steady until your hips bucked. Then he sucked it between his lips and groaned like it was his favorite flavor.

You clutched the edge of the table with both hands, knuckles white, legs already shaking against his shoulders.

“Oh my God—Remmick—”

He didn’t slow.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t even look up.

You felt him groan into you, like your taste alone was something holy. One hand slipped down to grip your ass, yanking you closer to the edge, forcing you to take it, to feel every roll of his tongue like a punishment you’d begged for.

You wanted to run.

You wanted to cry.

You wanted to come.

You could feel it, spine curling, fingers digging into the table hard enough to leave crescents. Your breath came fast and ragged, hips rolling helplessly against his mouth as he sucked and licked and fucked you with his tongue like he meant to ruin you.

And he did.

Because he always did.

The orgasm hit you like nothing else ever had. No slow climb, no gentle crest. Just an eruption, pure and bright and violent, ripping through your entire body like lightning set to music. You screamed. You sobbed. You shook, thighs squeezing around his head as your back arched clean off the table.

You came so hard you forgot your name.

And still, Remmick didn’t stop.

His hands held you open, mouth insatiable, tongue dragging through the aftermath like he was trying to clean you out, like he couldn’t stand to waste a drop. You cried out again, voice cracking, body too raw and too sensitive, but he kept going, sucking and lapping and groaning like he’d never get enough.

You tasted yourself on the air. Felt the heat dripping down your thighs. Felt your soul start to float.

Until finally—

“Please,” you gasped, sobbing now, voice broken. “Please, Remmick—s-stop—‘s too much—please—”

You were crying.

Tears streaked your cheeks, your chest heaving as your hands tried and failed to push his head away.

And that’s when he looked up.

Face soaked.

Neck wet.

Shirt clinging to his chest, sheer with your slick.

But it wasn’t just you.

There was drool.

An obscene amount.

Slipping from the corners of his mouth, glistening down his chin in thick, silvery ropes. So much spit you couldn’t even understand how it kept coming, gluing him to you, shining like filth made holy.

He stared at you.

Eyes glowing—red, hungry, starved.

And then he smiled. Real slow. Real soft.

“Ya always look the prettiest when ya cry.”

That broke you.

Something in you cracked wide open. You whimpered, too weak to fight, too full of him to think.

And then he moved.

He stood in one smooth motion, grabbing you by the waist, and lifted you off the table like you weighed nothing. Again. And you went, limp and ruined, legs instinctively wrapping around him, arms slung over his shoulders.

This time, his tongue shoved its way into your mouth the second he caught your lips.

And you drowned.

In yourself. In him.

The taste was unbearable. Your come and his spit, mingled and messy, wet and wild. It filled your mouth, coated your tongue, slid down your throat as he kissed you with open-mouthed desperation, feeding it to you like it was a gift.

You choked on it.

You loved it.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, still damp with what you’d given him, and he kissed you harder, tongue claiming you like he needed it to live.

Then, he turned.

He walked.

Straight down the hall, not even breaking the kiss.

And you knew where he was taking you.

The bedroom.

Your bedroom.

Where you and your husband lay in false comfort night after night.

Where your hand slipped between your thighs in silence after the lights went out, tracing your own skin as you bit your tongue to keep from whispering the name of the man you really wanted.

Remmick didn’t speak as he pushed the door open with his shoulder.

Didn’t look around.

Didn’t hesitate.

He set you down hard on the edge of the bed, the marital bed, the sacred shrine of everything you pretended was enough, and looked down at you like he was ready to burn it to the ground.

You were on him the second your back hit the bed.

Fingers trembling but fast, grabbing for his belt buckle like it was the only thing tethering you to sanity. You needed him out of it. Needed him inside you, now, needed to feel every inch of him stretch you open until you forgot the name of the man who actually slept in this room.

The metal clinked once before you got it undone, hands sliding down to shove the leather free.

Remmick chuckled.

Not the amused kind.

The mean kind.

“Christ, slow the fuck down,” he snapped, voice a blade slicing through the haze. “Ya always were a needy little thing. Sloppy hands, pantin’ like a bitch in heat.”

The words should’ve shamed you.

They didn’t.

They burned.

Hot. Dirty. True.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. But you heard the rustle of his slacks hitting the floor, his boxers following quick after. He didn’t bother with his shirt. Didn’t even unroll his sleeves. He climbed on top of you half-dressed, his chain swinging low and his breath heavy as his body pressed yours into the mattress like he was settling back into something he’d missed.

He didn’t have to try. Didn’t need force.

His weight alone pinned you down.

One arm slid beneath your back, the other caught your wrists, locking them overhead with no more effort than it took to breathe. You couldn’t move. Could barely think.

And God, it was familiar.

The ache of it.

The sheer rightness.

The feeling of his body covering yours, his mouth close enough to taste your thoughts, his cock heavy against your thigh as he lined himself up with no warning, no softness, no pause.

This was love, wasn’t it?

Not the gentle, tepid kind your husband gave you—bedtime kisses and surprise bouquets.

This was Remmick love.

Cruel. Honest. Brutal.

“I shouldn’t let you fuckin’ have it,” he muttered, eyes burning into yours, “after the way ya ran. The way ya begged me to stay, then slammed the door like ya meant it.”

You squirmed beneath him, already gasping at the feel of his tip pressing just there, your cunt still soaked, still trembling, still too raw from what he did to you on the dining table.

“But y’want it so fuckin’ bad, don’t you?”

He didn’t wait for your answer.

He slammed into you.

One sharp, vicious thrust.

You cried out, body arching up as your walls struggled to take him, stretch for him, remember him. You weren’t ready. You couldn’t be. Not after what he’d already done to you. But that didn’t stop him. Didn’t even slow him.

“Fuck,” Remmick growled, hips pulling back only to rut forward again, deeper this time, harder. “Still tight. Still fuckin’ perfect. Like this pussy never forgot me.”

Your eyes rolled back.

Your hands clawed uselessly at the sheets, wrists still pinned tight in his grip. His other hand caught your jaw, forcing your face toward his, making sure you didn’t dare look away.

“Ya let him fuck you in here?” he hissed, voice venom. “In this bed? These sheets?”

You whimpered.

Remmick’s thrusts got rougher. Barbarous. He was fucking you like he owned you. Like he was carving himself back into the spaces time tried to seal shut.

“Answer me.”

Your voice came out a rasp. “Y-yes.”

He spat, not even trying to hide his disgust. “Bet he couldn’t even make ya come.”

You shook your head, biting back a sob.

“And now look at ya,” he snarled, dragging his hips slow this time, a deliberate grind that made your body sing. “Lettin’ me fuck the truth outta ya like always. Like nothin’s changed.”

Tears welled again.

Because nothing had.

Because it had always been like this with Remmick. Not gentle. Not sweet.

But real.

He fucked you like he was never going to stop.

Eyes locked on yours.

Not blinking. Not flinching.

Just watching as your mouth parted, as your body opened for him, as the ruin of you spilled across the sheets that had never seen this kind of worship.

And still, Remmick didn't slow.

Not even close.

Not when your eyes rolled back. Not when your body clenched tight around him like you’d never learned how to let go. Not when the air left your lungs in staggered, helpless sobs.

Remmick fucked you like he hated you.

Like he’d missed hating you.

And then—

His hand let go of your wrists.

Only to move to your throat.

Fingers curling slow around your neck, the pads of them warm, calloused, unforgiving.

Your body froze beneath him.

Not in fear. Not exactly.

Something darker. Deeper.

You looked up into his eyes.

And he looked back like he wasn’t really there anymore.

“Y’know,” he said, voice calm, like he was talking about the weather, “there were so many nights I thought about killin’ ya.”

Your breath caught.

His grip tightened.

“After ya left,” he murmured, hips still driving into you like punctuation, “after y’said all that pretty shit and slammed the door—when you thought ya’d won—I used to lay awake, hand on my dick, thinkin’ about wringin’ your pretty little neck.”

You whimpered, legs trembling around his hips.

He leaned closer, chest flush to yours, breath hot against your lips.

“Not just ya,” he added, almost like an afterthought. “That man of yours, too.”

Your stomach flipped.

“I thought about what his blood would look like on your white fuckin’ comforter. What your scream would sound like. If ya’d still cry my name with his body lyin’ cold at the end of the bed.”

His fingers pressed harder. Just enough to make your vision shimmer.

“Y’don’t believe me,” he whispered. “But I still think about it.”

Your heart stuttered.

“And right now?” he said, grinning. “Right now, I could do it. So easy. You’re lettin’ me fuck you raw in your husband’s bed, cryin’ beneath me, beggin’ for it. What’s one more sin, huh?”

His grip cinched tight.

Your breath stopped.

The room swam.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Just held you there, trembling beneath him, his cock still buried deep inside you as the world slipped sideways.

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Your fingers spasmed.

And just before the edges went black—

Smack.

A vicious slap to your thigh, loud and hot, snapped the air back into your lungs. Then another, this time across your ass, hard enough to sting. Your throat opened on a strangled gasp, your back arching as your body reeled from the sudden shock.

“There she is,” Remmick said, laughing low. “Didn’t want ya driftin’ off just yet, darlin’. We’re just gettin’ to the good part.”

You choked on your own breath, eyes wet, chest heaving.

He let go of your throat, dragging both hands down your ribs like he hadn’t just threatened to kill you. Like the idea still wasn’t sitting there behind his eyes, twitching like a secret.

You were dizzy. Raw. Split open and trembling and soaked.

And Remmick looked like he'd never been more in love.

Which is exactly when the front door opened.

Just a quiet creak. A shift of hinges.

But it shattered the world.

You went still.

So did Remmick.

The sound of keys hitting the bowl by the entryway echoed like a gunshot through the hallway. A low thud as shoes hit the mat. A familiar voice, soft and unsuspecting, humming the tail end of some commercial jingle. Your husband.

Your husband was home.

And your heart plummeted.

The blood in your veins iced over. Your breath caught. Every nerve ending snapped taut, your body trembling beneath Remmick in frozen disbelief. You were still spread beneath him, raw and soaked and filthy, your thighs trembling and your breath caught somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

Remmick blinked.

Once.

Then again.

Then he looked at the door.

Then at you.

Back to the door.

Then you again.

And then that grin split his face.

Wide. Sharp. Wrong.

It wasn’t the cocky, teasing smile he wore when he knew you’d already given in.

This was different.

This was a grin that made something ancient and terrified curl up inside you and scream.

“Y’ain’t tell me he was gonna be early,” he whispered, voice light, sing-song. “How rude.”

You couldn’t speak.

Could barely breathe.

But Remmick moved with purpose now—sat up, still inside you, dragging your body with him. He flipped you like he owned you, like you were just a doll to be repositioned. Hands grabbed your hips, yanked them up beneath him, forced your knees into the sheets until your back arched and your cheek was pressed flat against the mattress.

Doggy style.

Exposed. Helpless.

His cock dragged out slow before slamming back in with a wet, brutal sound.

You gasped, eyes squeezing shut.

“No no no,” Remmick said, voice a low hum as he gripped your face, twisting it until your eyes were pointed toward the bedroom door. “Keep ‘em open. He deserves to see it.”

Your name echoed from down the hall.

“Honey?” your husband called, so painfully unaware. “You home?”

Another thrust.

Louder this time.

Obscene.

The slap of his hips hitting your ass echoed off the walls like thunder.

You whimpered. You couldn’t help it.

“Sweetheart?” the voice came again, closer now. Footsteps.

Remmick picked up his pace.

Flesh on flesh. Sharp. Wet. Merciless.

You heard a pause outside the door.

Then the knob turned.

Then the door opened.

Your husband stepped into the room.

And froze.

His eyes landed on yours first—your face, contorted in shock, shame, raw pleasure.

Then his gaze moved.

To where Remmick’s hands were fisted in your hips.

To the way your body shook with every loud, violent thrust.

To the way your mouth hung open in a sob you hadn’t let fall yet.

The look on his face could’ve killed you.

Confusion.

Betrayal.

Then—horror.

Like something inside him snapped.

And still, Remmick didn’t stop.

He slammed into you again, harder than before, dragging your face further toward the edge of the bed, forcing you to watch.

“Smile for him,” he said, voice thick with a darkness that made your stomach turn. “Show him how happy ya look when you’re finally bein’ fucked right.”

You looked into your husband’s eyes.

Wrecked.

That was the only word for it. Wrecked in a way you’d never seen before—like someone had cracked open his ribcage and yanked his heart out with their bare hands. He looked lost. Pale. Mouth parted. Staring at you like he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.

And for a second—for one brief, trembling second—you wanted to believe in him.

Wanted to believe he’d fight.

That he’d do something.

That he’d cross the room, fists swinging, screaming, snarling, crying, clawing Remmick off of you like the man he was supposed to be. Like the husband he was supposed to be. That he’d fight for his wife, no matter how futile, no matter how ugly, no matter how late.

You wanted to believe he’d choose you.

But instead—

He covered his face with both hands.

And sat.

In the chair at the corner of the room, opposite the bed.

Chest heaving.

Shoulders shaking.

Not saying a word.

Not making a move.

And just like that—

Every drop of love you had left for him died.

Turned to ash in your mouth.

It wasn’t just disappointment. It wasn’t just betrayal.

It was hatred.

Hot. Immediate. Unforgiving.

And Remmick saw it happen.

Felt it bloom in your body beneath him.

He laughed.

Not playfully.

Not even cruelly.

It was disgusted.

A laugh like spitting. Like rot.

“That’s the man ya chose over me?” he said, thrusts still pounding into your cunt, hands bruising your hips as he snapped his hips against you with brutal rhythm. “That little fuckin’ coward?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

The silence screamed.

“Jesus Christ,” Remmick muttered, breathless and gleeful, “he can’t even pretend to care. Ya ruined him, darlin’. Just like I knew y’would.”

He pulled out of you without warning, grabbing you by the waist and flipping you again, dragging you half off the bed until your head dangled over the edge, hair brushing the floor, throat exposed, everything upside-down.

And there he was.

Remmick, towering above you, cock flushed and leaking, sliding back into your wrecked cunt with a force that rattled your teeth. The angle sent lightning up your spine, your toes curling, vision swimming. He gripped your thighs and pushed them wide apart, spreading you open, fucking you down against the edge of the bed like you were just a hole to conquer.

But your eyes?

They were locked on him.

Your husband.

Still sitting there.

Hands still over his face.

Until they weren’t.

You saw the moment shame turned to something else.

Curiosity.

Then heat.

One hand dropped to his lap.

You didn’t want to believe it.

Didn’t want to see it.

But you couldn’t look away.

The outline of his cock, straining against his jeans. The way his chest rose and fell faster. The way his fingers hesitated—then unzipped.

Remmick saw it, too.

“Oh fuck me,” he laughed, cruel and delighted. “You’re hard, aren’t ya?”

Your husband flinched.

Remmick leaned over you, one hand grabbing your jaw, tilting your face so you couldn’t look away, even though he knew you weren’t.

“He’s hard, baby,” he sneered. “Your good little husband, sittin’ there watchin’ another man ruin his wife and he’s got his fuckin’ cock out.”

You whimpered.

Remmick thrust harder.

“Go on,” he said over your shoulder, loud enough to sting. “You’re already sittin’ there. Might as well enjoy the show, huh?”

And then, your stomach dropped.

Because your husband did it.

He pulled his cock free.

Hard. Strained. Already wet at the tip.

And he started stroking himself.

Right there.

Right fucking there, watching you be destroyed.

Something inside you shattered.

But Remmick’s grip only tightened.

“See?” he breathed, voice low in your ear, hips pistoning into you like he wanted to leave dents. “Told ya no one would ever love ya the way I do.”

And as your tears slipped backward into your hair, as your cunt pulsed around Remmick’s cock and your husband’s soft, broken moans filled the room—

You realized something sickening:

You believed him.

And the second you did, everything shifted.

Remmick’s voice fell away.

Replaced by sound.

Raw, filthy, feral sound.

The slap of skin against skin. The wet pulse of your cunt around him. His groans—deep, guttural, half-choked—as he rutted into you with a new kind of desperation. Like something had cracked inside him too. Like he was breaking right alongside you.

His hips lost rhythm.

Gained need.

The drag of his cock turned erratic, heavy, slick. His breath stuttered against your neck, hot and shallow, teeth grazing skin in the warning way. And you felt it—his weight pressing down, arms sliding beneath your back, legs shifting to cage you in, his entire body wrapping around you until there was no air between you, no space left untouched.

He was everywhere.

Crushing.

Consuming.

Yours.

“Gonna fill ya up,” he slurred, voice strained, drunk on you, on this, on everything he hadn’t let himself say until now. “Gonna—fuck—gonna put a baby in ya, darlin’.”

You gasped, eyes wide, your arms sliding up around his back without thinking.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t care.

“Make ya a momma,” he panted, forehead pressed hard against yours, sweat dripping from his brow to yours. “My fuckin’ housewife. Keep ya barefoot and full for the rest of your goddamn life.”

Your thighs clenched around him.

Your fingers dug into his back.

“Just how y’should be,” he growled, pace stuttering. “No more runnin’. No more pretendin’. Just me with ya and a whole house full’a kids with my fuckin’ eyes.”

You cried out, your body already tightening again, trembling.

And then, one last thrust.

Devastating. Bone-deep. Final.

He came with a groan that barely sounded human, hips locked in place, cock pulsing inside you, spilling heat deep into your cunt like it was a claim. Endless. Relentless. It spilled out around him, a mess between your thighs, and still he didn’t stop.

And with it—

His fangs sank deep into your neck.

No warning.

No care.

Just sharp, precise, possessive puncture.

You screamed—and came. Hard. Wrung-out, shattered, blinding.

The orgasm ripped through you like it had teeth. Your walls fluttered around him, milking every last drop. Your back arched, pinned and blood-warm, as his mouth sealed over your skin and drank. Long, greedy pulls. Like he needed it more than breath.

Your heart stuttered. Your eyes rolled back.

And in the haze of it, another sound.

A choked gasp. The sharp, wet rhythm of a fist meeting skin. Then a broken, pathetic groan as your husband came too. Facing you both, cock in his hand, shame on his face, guilt dripping down his knuckles.

Remmick pulled back from your neck, blood staining his lips, breath heaving.

Then he angled to look.

Smirked.

Spat.

“This the first time y’ever came with her, huh?”

He thrust once more into your ruined cunt, slow and deep, just to emphasize it.

“Had to watch me do it for ya. Pathetic.”

And you?

You didn’t even blink.

Didn’t even look at the man you once thought would love you right.

Because Remmick was right about that too.

This was where you belonged.

He stayed inside you for a moment longer, just long enough for you to pretend it would never end. Your walls still fluttered around him in soft aftershocks, your body unwilling to believe it was over even as your mind tried to catch up.

Then—

He pulled out.

Slow. Measured. Intentional.

A sound escaped your throat—broken, needy, trembling. Not quite a sob, not quite a plea.

Your hands caught his hips weakly, as if you could keep him, tether him, keep that full warmth inside for just a moment longer. "Please…"

“Shhh,” Remmick cooed, brushing a thumb beneath your eye where your tears had dried and cracked. “It’s alright, baby. You’ll get it again.”

The emptiness hit harder than anything else had.

A cavernous ache. Raw. Desperate. A void nothing else could fill.

You didn’t realize you were crying again until your vision blurred.

You watched as he stood.

Watched as he moved across the room toward the man still sitting dumb and wide-eyed in the chair.

Your husband.

Your witness.

There was a single second.

A flash of recognition.

His eyes met Remmick’s.

And that was all.

The claws flashed.

Once.

Ripped.

There was no scream. No fight. No time for last words.

Just a sound, wet and ugly, as his throat was torn open. Gutted clean from beneath the jawline, near-severed, a geyser of arterial red splattering across the walls, the chair, the floor.

And still, for one sickening second, his body twitched.

You screamed.

You screamed with everything you had left, dragged yourself backward across the soaked sheets until your spine hit the bedframe, until your limbs locked up with exhaustion and fear and your own slick still coating your thighs.

Remmick turned to face you.

Blood painted his chest, his jaw, his hands, dripping from his fingers like it had always belonged there. His eyes were gleaming, that familiar, terrifying red turned brighter now, like it fed off what he’d just done.

And then he crawled.

Across the bed.

Staining the sheets with long streaks of crimson, smearing every part of the room you once thought of as yours. As his.

Now defiled.

Claimed.

Ruined.

His hands—slick, sticky—cupped your face with impossible tenderness.

And then he kissed you.

Slow.

Deep.

Unforgiving.

Spit. Blood. The coppery tang of death. And beneath it all, still the faint, almost-sweet taste of you on his tongue.

It coated your teeth. Filled your lungs.

You let him.

You kissed him back.

When he pulled away, his voice dropped low, affectionate, almost reverent.

“Guess it’s just us now, darlin’,” he whispered. “Us. And our little thing growin’ inside ya.”

Your mouth parted, but no sound came.

He leaned in again, brushing his blood-wet cheek against yours, dragging his tongue slow along the edge of your jaw.

“Gonna make sure y’never forget who you belong to.”

You didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

There were no words left.

Just slick cooling on your thighs.

Just sheets ruined for good.

Just the memory of your husband's eyes, wide and broken, moments before he died doing nothing.

And a part of you—that sick, lost, unredeemable part—knew:

That was exactly how you wanted it to be.

Forever.

963 notes · View notes

thepencilnerd · 2 months ago

Text

Anatomy of Want

summary: Jack Abbot never thought he'd be this undone over a resident. But you were unlike anyone he'd met—brilliant under pressure, quick on your feet, and impossible to ignore. What begins as admiration quickly becomes something deeper, something that simmers beneath every shared shift, until it threatens to boil over. warnings/notes: 18+ MDNI, age gap, slow burn, mutual pining, jealousy, praise kink, shameless smut, oral sex (f&m receiving), body worship, depictions of war scars, literally just an excuse to write jack abbot smut & you kissing his scars bc that man lives in my head rent free wc: 5.4k a/n: forgot i posted this on ao3 but not here :}

You joined the night shift in a flurry of quiet confidence and dazzling competence, and Jack noticed you immediately. It wasn’t just the way you handled patient load like clockwork, or how you navigated the trauma bay with a calm assurance usually reserved for seasoned attendings. It was the way you asked questions, the way you looked at problems sideways, the way you never folded, even when things got messy.

He told himself he was just impressed. That it was his responsibility, as your mentor, to push you. And he did—assigned you the trickiest cases, brought you into every complicated intubation, every crashing patient. You rose to each occasion like you'd been waiting for it, and Jack couldn't stop himself from watching.

"Nice call on that bleed in bay three," he said one night, as you stripped off your gloves, blood spattered on your gown. "You didn’t hesitate."

You shrugged, a wry smile on your lips. "Wasn't much time to, I could've acted faster."

He looked at you a beat longer than necessary. "Take the win, Dr. L/N."

That was how it went for months. Shifts passed in a rhythm he hadn’t felt in years. He trusted you. Relied on you. Admired you, yes, but more than that. There were moments—lingering looks across trauma bays, soft laughs shared over half-spilled coffee at 3 a.m., casual brushes of your hands when passing charts that lingered a beat too long.

Once, when you struggled with a stubborn intubation, he’d leaned in close, murmuring, "You've got this," low enough that it was meant just for you. His hand steadied your elbow, brief but grounding. You’d nailed the tube placement. He’d smiled the whole rest of the shift.

After the harder nights, he started climbing to the roof again. The first time he found you there—legs dangling off the ledge, coffee in hand, still in scrubs—he thought it was coincidence.

It wasn’t.

"Couldn't sleep either?" you'd said without looking at him, voice soft with exhaustion.

He didn’t answer right away. Just sat beside you, shoulder brushing yours.

You didn’t say much after that. Neither did he. Just silence, and the hum of the city below, and a sense of belonging he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

Some nights, you’d pass a bag of vending machine pretzels back and forth in companionable quiet. Other nights, you'd trade war stories—the worst consults, the craziest saves—your voices low, private, confessions to the stars.

It was easy. Natural. Dangerous.

Jack tried to tell himself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just friendship. Just exhaustion.

But then there were the nights he caught himself watching you laugh at something small, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and his chest tightened with something he couldn’t name.

The tension built slowly, like pressure behind a dam.

Then came the morning you were signing out charts at the nurse’s station, still in your scrubs and rubbing at a bruise forming on your shoulder. Samira Mohan breezed in, bright-eyed, coffee in hand.

"Don’t forget," she said, pulling up beside you. "8pm tonight. David from anesthesia."

"Shit." You'd totally blanked. "I almost forgot, I'm sorry."

"You’re gonna be great," she assured. "He’s nice. And hot. Like... surgery hot."

You couldn't help the snort that escaped you. "What do I even wear? It’s been so long. I bought that one thing..."

Samira's eyes lit up. "Oh, the black lace set?"

"Samira!" Your hands flew up to cover her mouth, cheeks pink and lips pressed tight. "Keep your voice down!" The words came out tight.

"It’s classy!" she laughed, prying your hands off her mouth. "I stand by it. Black is always a good call."

Neither of you noticed Jack at the far end of the nurses' station, flipping through charts but not actually reading them.

He stood there longer than he needed to. Long enough to hear about the date. Long enough to hear about the lingerie. Long enough for his mind to start betraying him—already picturing you in it, delicate black lace against your skin, curves he'd only admired from a respectful distance until now. He wasn't sure whether he'd be more desperate to tear it off you with his hands or his teeth.

And something in him shifted. Just a little. But enough to curl his fingers tighter around the chart in his hands, to clench his jaw until it ached. You sounded hesitant, unsure, nervous in a way that didn’t track with the woman who could crack a diagnosis under pressure without breaking a sweat.

He heard the waver in your voice when you said, "I’m just… worried," and it rang in his head like bolded text. Jack knew you too well not to read between the lines. You weren’t worried about the guy—you were worried because someone else already occupied your mind.

And damn it, he wanted nothing more than for it to be him.

He didn’t want anyone else to be close to you like that. Not because he thought you needed protecting, but because he’d never met someone whose mind, whose hands, whose presence made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he could let someone in again.

Samira nudged you with her elbow, oblivious to the ripple effect her words had left in their wake. "Go home, take a nap, put on something that makes you feel good, and just... have fun, okay? It's your first night off in weeks—you deserve to enjoy it."

You hesitated, biting your lip. "I don't know... it's been a while. What if it's awkward? What if I forgot how to do this?"

She grinned like the devil herself. "You don't forget. It's like muscle memory. Besides, you’re hot. And smart. And wearing black lace. You'll be fine."

You laughed weakly, dropping your voice. "It's just... first date sex? After a dry spell? I feel like I'll crash and burn."

Samira waggled her eyebrows. "Best way to crash. Trust me."

A snap echoed through the room—the sharp, unmistakable crack of plastic breaking.

You and Samira both glanced up.

Jack bent calmly, retrieved the shattered halves of a pen from the floor, and tucked them into his pocket like nothing had happened.

You blinked. Samira blinked. Then shrugged and kept talking.

"Go have fun," she repeated, nudging you again. "Tonight's about you. No pressure, no expectations. Just... have a good time."

You nodded, though your heart wasn't in it. The twist in your stomach wasn't nerves about the date.

It was the thought of someone else entirely.

You smiled weakly and nodded, though your stomach twisted in ways that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with someone else entirely.

On your way out, you passed Jack by the charting station, offered him a quiet, "See you on Monday, Dr. Abbot." He gave you a tight-lipped smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Eight o’clock rolled around faster than you expected.

You stood outside the restaurant, already regretting your decision. The lace set beneath your outfit felt less like a confidence boost and more like a secret that didn’t belong to this version of the night. Still, you squared your shoulders and walked in, searching the tables until you saw a man wave—clean cut, kind smile, textbook charming.

David was, by all accounts, exactly what Samira had described. Funny, intelligent, a bit pretentious, but typical for your average resident. He complimented your dress. Asked about your shift schedule. Talked about scuba diving in Belize, his past summer at his parent's beach house.

But your smile stopped at your cheeks. You laughed at the right moments. You answered questions politely. And every so often, your mind wandered back to a different voice—rougher, lower, more familiar.

You thought of Jack’s dry wit. The way he tucked his hands into his scrub pockets when he was thinking. The sound of his laugh, more of a chuckle, rare but always sincere. The heat in his gaze when he really looked at you, like he was trying to hear what colors tinted your thoughts.

You forced yourself back to the conversation with rapid blinks, nodding at whatever David was saying about residency rotations and placements. He was nice. He really was.

So why did you feel like you were somewhere you didn’t belong?

Maybe it was the way David's hand reached for yours across the table, smooth and tentative, and how you instinctively pulled back before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t rude—just reflex. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel familiar.

Not like Jack’s hands—callused and warm—when they’d guided your wrist during your first real incision, steadying your nerves with his quiet presence. His grip had been firm, reassuring. You could still remember the way his fingers curled gently but purposefully around yours, the scent of antiseptic and adrenaline in the air.

David’s hand was too small. Too soft. Too unsure. There was no strength in it. No certainty. No experience.

God you were going insane.

"Sorry," you exhaled, offering him a polite smile. But your attention was already drifting, your eyes drawn to a familiar silhouette across the room.

Salt and pepper curls caught the neon light just right. Jack Abbot stood at the far end of the bar, one hand wrapped around a beer, the other resting on the wood tabletop, eyes cast toward the floor—until he looked up.

And found you.

Your breath caught. The background noise dulled to static. For a suspended moment, the two of you just stared. Time slowed. Jack didn’t blink. He didn’t look away.

He didn’t have to.

You felt it in your gut—the electric pull of something intangible.

David started talking again, but it was white noise. The clink of a glass, the hum of conversation, all drowned out by the weight of that look, of Jack watching you like you were the only person in the room.

And suddenly, you were.

You raised your wine glass slowly, holding his gaze as you took a sip. Jack mirrored you, bringing his beer to his lips with a quiet intensity that made your chest tighten. The silence stretched between you like a live wire.

Fingers tightening around the stem, you set your glass down with a little too much force, feigning a glance at your phone as if a sudden messaged had triggered a vibration. "Shit, it's an emergency," you lied, offering a rushed, apologetic smile. "Something came up at the hospital. I have to go. I'm so sorry."

David looked disappointed, but nodded, ever the gentleman. "Of course! Rain check?"

A small, apologetic smile tugged at your lips as you rose, shrugging into your coat. Pulse pounding in your ears, you threaded your way through the maze of tables, slipping out the door with a tight exhale.

Behind you, the scrape of a barstool echoed a second later—quick, deliberate.

Out in the cool night air, you rounded the corner into the alley beside the building, your breath misting as you leaned against the brick wall. The adrenaline had only just begun to settle in your bloodstream when you heard the trailing of familiar footsteps.

Jack Abbot appeared a moment later, turning the corner with his hands outstretched, his brow furrowed like he wasn’t sure what he was doing there until his eyes found yours.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low. He shifted closer to you, arms now crossed.

You nodded. "Yeah. I just... needed air."

A pause. Eyes dipped, then lifted again, something unspoken skating between you.

You cleared your throat. "How was your evening?"

Jack blinked at the pivot, letting it settle between you. "Uneventful."

"What were you doing at that bar?" you asked, an arch to your brow that softened the tension.

He allowed himself a grin, shoulders relaxing just slightly. "It’s my usual spot. Popular with the old folks."

"Samira did say it had a vintage charm to it when she picked it out," you replied with a smirk.

Jack scoffed at the poke at his age, making both of you laugh.

"Alright then," he countered, eyes narrowing with a spark of mischief. "What were you doing there?"

You hesitated, then exhaled a slow breath. "Ruining my chances of settling down."

His expression flickered.

"What?" You gave a half-laugh, smile twisted with self-deprecation. "Isn't that the whole point of dating as a doctor? Just a long game of figuring out how emotionally unavailable I still am and forever will be?"

Abbot sighed, long and quiet, like it came from somewhere deeper than just the moment.

You tilted your head slightly, watching him, curiosity tugging at your features. "Were you… waiting on someone?"

That gave him pause.

Jack stilled. The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a frown, not quite a smile. His gaze didn’t meet yours at first. He looked past you, to the mouth of the alley, like the answer might be written in the shadows or the neon lights beyond. Like if he stalled long enough, you might forget you asked.

"Not exactly," he started, voice rougher than usual.

You lifted a brow.

He exhaled again, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I didn’t come here for that. But when I saw you…" He trailed off, eyes finally locking onto yours. "Guess I started waiting."

Your breath caught. The weight of his words settled in your chest—slow and warm and heavy. Something about the way he said it made it feel less like a confession and more like an inevitability.

He’d been waiting. Watching. Wanting. The same way you’d been tiptoeing around the truth since you'd stepped foot into that ER—since the very first time your fingers brushed as he passed you a chart, since the first time your eyes met across the trauma bay, since that first quiet moment together on the roof.

With the dim alley light casting soft gold between you, something gave. Tension melted into gravity, and gravity into pull, pull into a quiet explosion. You stepped forward just as he did, meeting in the middle, neither of you saying a word. The kiss hit like floodgates bursting—urgent, aching, years of held-back desire finally snapping loose.

His mouth was warm, tasting of beer and something deeply Jack. His cologne clung to the collar of his coat, smoky and crisp, and you inhaled it like oxygen. Hands found your waist, large and steady, trailing down to your hips and cupping your curves like he'd memorized them long before ever touching. Your fingers curled around the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer, needing more.

It felt like one of those messy makeouts from college—reckless, hungry, impossibly heady. But this wasn't some clumsy hookup. This was the culmination of every stolen glance, every almost-touch, every moment spent not saying the thing that burned between you.

You were both sober enough to know what this was—what it meant. When Jack pulled away, just slightly, his breath brushing your lips, his voice dropped into something gravel-soft. "You're not drunk?"

You shook your head, words catching in your throat. "One glass of wine. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

That was all he needed.

You surged forward, capturing his mouth again with a need that bordered on desperate. Jack backed into the wall with a soft grunt, pulling you in like the space between you had always belonged to him. His hands roamed—one sliding up to cup your jaw, the other finding your lower back, anchoring you like he was terrified you'd disappear.

The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing yours, tasting of mint and longing and everything unspoken between you. You whimpered into his mouth, fingers threading through the curls at the nape of his neck, feeling him shiver at the contact. He devoured you like a man starved, and when he pulled back, just enough to look at you, lips swollen and voice rough, he rasped, "Let me take you home."

You nodded, breathless, pulse thundering in your throat. The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the tension between you humming like electricity under your skin. Jack simply held your hand the entire way. The air crackled, your hand brushing his once, twice, before he finally laced your fingers together.

Arriving at your front door, your hands trembled slightly as you unlocked it. The weight of what was about to happen anchored itself deep in your stomach. You stepped inside, the warm light of your living room spilling over the hardwood floors. Jack hovered in the doorway, hesitant, until you reached for his hand again.

"Come in," you said softly.

He followed.

You led him to the couch, asking quietly if he wanted anything to drink. Jack shook his head, stepping closer until your bodies were barely apart.

"I don’t need anything," he murmured. "Except you."

You inhaled sharply, but before you could speak, his lips were on yours again—slower this time, reverent, like he was memorizing every contour of your mouth. His hands cupped your face as he pulled you closer, until you felt the full heat of him against you.

You reached for the hem of his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, then your fingers found the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly. Jack took over, shrugging out of it with ease. Beneath, his skin was warm and firm beneath your wandering hands, the light dusting of chest hair catching the soft glow of your floor lamp.

Jack’s hands slid under the hem of your top, brushing up your sides, warm palms skating over bare skin. When he pulled it over your head and saw the black lace lingerie beneath—filigree against your skin, delicate and dark—his breath caught in his throat.

"That kid," he spat, "wouldn’t know how to take care you."

You managed a breathless laugh, the tension and heat between you turning reckless. "And what exactly does taking care of me imply, Dr. Abbot?" you teased, voice low and daring.

Jack's eyes darkened immediately, his fingers tightening slightly where they gripped your waist. "Everything you need," he rasped. "And more."

You smiled, bold with adrenaline, tipping your chin up toward him. "And you think you can handle me?"

He leaned in, mouth grazing your ear, voice wrecked and certain. "Sweetheart," Jack said, "I'm counting on it."

He unclasped your bra with one hand, letting it fall away before sliding his palms across your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples in slow, deliberate strokes. "You’re perfect."

You arched into him with a quiet gasp, his touch both soothing and incendiary. He kissed your neck, down your collarbone, until he was lowering you gently onto the couch.

"Let me take care of you," he said, voice hoarse with restraint.

Your only answer was a nod, a whispered, "Please."

Jack kneeled between your thighs, kissing his way down your stomach, murmuring soft nothings against your skin. He slipped your underwear down slowly, eyes locked with yours. He paused only briefly, kissing the inside of your thigh before taking two fingers and teasing them along your entrance.

You gasped, hips bucking as he gently eased a finger inside, curling it expertly. "So wet for me," he murmured, awed. "God, you’re dripping."

And then he was lowering his mouth to you, tongue parting you gently. When he sucked your clit into his mouth, your back arched and your fingers dove into his hair, holding tight.

Jack groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core. "I could live here," he muttered. "Die happy between your thighs."

You whimpered, tugging harder at his hair. "Jack—please—"

He didn’t stop. His tongue moved in rhythm with his fingers, slow at first and then faster, guided by your every gasp and shudder. The sound of him—soft groans muffled against your slick, the wet sounds of his mouth working you over—had your skin tingling. The taste of you seemed to drive him wild, his chin slick with your arousal as he murmured, "Fucking incredible," into your core.

His fingers curled just right, finding that perfect spot with unerring precision. Your moans spilled out freely, hands clutching at his hair, holding him there. He groaned again, a sound of pure pleasure. "That’s it, sweetheart. Let go for me."

When it broke—when you shattered with a breathless, keening cry—Jack held you through it, grounding you with his strong hands bracketing your hips. His lips never left you, drawing out every tremble, every ripple of your climax until it became too much. Your thighs twitched, pleasure tipping toward the edge of pain, and with trembling fingers, you tapped gently at his shoulder. A silent plea for mercy.

He stilled instantly, pulling back with his mouth slick and eyes dark, but gentle.

You could only scoff, breath shaky and a smile of bliss coloring your face. Jack leaned forward to press a kiss to your thigh, tender and unhurried. "You’re unbelievable," he whispered, voice rough with awe and restraint.

He pulled back slowly, face glistening, licking his fingers clean before sucking them into his mouth, savoring every bit of your taste. Then he looked up at you like you were the only thing that existed. Like he'd just touched heaven.

As he kissed up your body, his breath fanned across your damp skin—each kiss a pause, a confession. His facial hair scraped lightly in contrast to the softness of his lips, leaving trails of heat along your ribs, then your collarbone. When he reached your neck, he lingered there, nuzzling the hollow beneath your jaw before pressing a kiss to it, like he couldn't get enough of the way you tasted, the way you felt, the way you breathed beneath him.

"Can I undress you?" you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. He looks up at you like the morning sky, warmth, admiration, and affection—but there's hesitation there too.

He swallows, jaw flexing slightly, before nodding. "Yeah," he says quietly. "Just... heads up."

You pause, thumb brushing the edge of his cheek. "Jack?"

His voice is rough. "You’ll see scars. From before. It’s not a big deal, just... some of them are pretty bad." He tries to laugh it off, but his eyes flicker away and his shoulders tense. Your heart cracks open at the vulnerability he rarely lets anyone see.

"Hey," you murmur, tilting his face back toward yours. "Whatever you’ve been through, whatever you carry—I want to see all of you. Every piece."

Jack's throat bobbed with a swallow, eyes glassy as he searched your face for doubt—and found none. His fingers brushed lightly along your jaw.

You undressed him slowly, fingers trembling as you tugged his belt open, then popped the button of his slacks. His cock strained against the fabric, an eager outline that made your mouth water. When you pushed his pants down, the sight made you pause—he was perfect. Not too much, not too little—cut, well-groomed, thick and just the right length. A light trail of hair led up to a stomach carved with muscle, the kind earned by years of hard work, not vanity.

You wrapped your fingers around him, gave him a few slow pumps, marveling at the weight of him in your hand. When you ducked your head and pressed a kiss to the flushed tip, he hissed softly, hand threading into your hair. You licked him experimentally, kitten licks at first, savoring the velvet softness of his skin, the way he twitched at every flick of your tongue.

You took him into your mouth, slowly, a few shallow bobs that had him groaning low in his throat. His other hand gripped the back of the couch behind you as his hips twitched forward, but just when you began to settle into a rhythm, he gently but firmly pulled you back.

Jack crushed his mouth to yours, desperate and breathless, his hands cradling your face. "Not like that," he murmured, voice trembling against your lips. "I’m not coming anywhere but inside you. I want to feel you, every inch, every heartbeat." He drew back just enough to look at you, something raw and uncertain flickering in his eyes.

"If you're sure," he whispered, thumb stroking your cheek, "I want to take care of you. Let you shut everything else out—just feel me."

You nodded, breath catching. "I need you."

His breath shuddered out, the last thread of restraint snapping in his chest. With worship and heat in his eyes, Jack kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, as if trying to memorize the very shape of your mouth. Reaching over to the end table, you pulled out a condom wrapper and tore it open, your fingers trembling with anticipation.

With a breathless murmur of his name, you rolled it onto his length—slowly, deliberately—giving him a few teasing strokes first. His cock twitched in your hand, heavy and perfect, and your thumb brushed over the slick tip, spreading the pre-cum like a promise. Jack's breath caught, eyes dark as he watched you, jaw clenched with restraint, like you’d just lit a match in a room full of gasoline.

He guided you down gently, his body pressing into yours, firm and certain, a grounding weight that promised not just desire, but devotion.

You moved first, hips sliding up and down in slow, deliberate strokes, and Jack almost exploded at how good you felt. Every part of him molded to you, surrounding you like safety and fire all at once. His hands cradled your face like something sacred, and the press of his chest against yours ignited sparks beneath your skin. You couldn't remember sex ever feeling like this—like your very soul was unraveling. It was almost a religious experience, divine and consuming, the way he fit with you, moved with you. It felt like surrender.

"Fuck." It punched out of Jack Abbot like a confession, like he’d been holding it in for months. You felt like pure velvet around him—tight, warm, impossibly soft, dragging him to the edge with every glide of your hips. His head tipped back for a moment, jaw clenched, trying to hold on. The sounds spilling from your lips—soft gasps, high whimpers, breathy moans—were branded into his memory already. God, he thought, if he could bottle them, he’d keep them forever. Hoard them. Pray to them for forgiveness.

Your hands were grasping onto whatever they could—his shoulders, the cushions, the curve of his neck—anything to anchor yourself. When your nails dug into his back, Jack groaned low and deep, the sound vibrating against your skin like a warning and a reward. He definitely had a thing for rough, and that knowledge thrilled you.

You leaned in, breathless, and whispered praises against his ear—how good he felt, how perfect he was, how he filled you like no one else ever had.

"Please," you begged, voice shaking.

Jack groaned, the sound catching in his throat. "You’re everything I've ever dreamed of," he rasped, pressing his forehead to yours. "You feel like heaven."

Your nails raked down his back, and he hissed through clenched teeth, clearly loving it. "You take me so well," he murmured, lips brushing your temple, his hand smoothing along your spine. "So fucking good—perfect, you’re made for me."

"Jack—God, please—don’t stop," you whimpered, arching into him. His rhythm faltered for a heartbeat at your words, his grip on your waist tightening like a man barely holding on.

"Never," he whispered. "Gonna keep you like this. You're mine."

Each word wrapped around you like silk, the praise as intoxicating as the rhythm of his hips. You drank him in like water in a desert, letting it fill every hollow part of you until you were burning with it—consumed, adored, alive.

Jack shifted, pulling you with him, guiding you until your hands were braced against the couch and your body arched for him. The air thickened as he pressed behind you, one hand splaying over your lower back, the other skimming down to grip your hip firmly.

He slid back inside slowly, a groan torn from his throat at the new angle. "Fuck, look at you—" he breathed, eyes roaming over the arch of your spine, the way your skin glowed beneath the dim lights.

Your breath caught at the intensity. He moved with purpose now, hips snapping against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the dim light. His grip bruised in the best way, grounding you, guiding you, adoring you with every thrust.

Every movement lit you up, sending shocks through your body until you were keening, meeting him stroke for stroke. Jack leaned over you, one hand splaying across your lower back while the other slipped beneath to rub tight, teasing circles over your clit. The added pressure was too much, the timing of his thrusts too perfect. You were a whining mess, trembling and begging for release, the pleasure cresting like a tidal wave.

"That's it, baby," he groaned, his voice wrecked. "Let go for me. Give it to me."

You clawed at the cushions, barely able to hold yourself upright, your body burning at every point of contact. And when his teeth sank gently into your shoulder, scraping over sensitive skin and biting down with a growled praise, everything inside you shattered.

You came with a strangled cry, ears ringing, vision going white around the edges, the force of your orgasm crashing over you like fire and light. Jack held you steady, worshipful even now, as you pulsed around him—his voice in your ear, a low whisper of your name like a prayer he’d never stop saying. He pressed kisses down your shoulder blades, pausing to give you a break, his breath shaky with restraint.

Then, without a word, he gathered you into his arms, shifting you with care. He carried you up effortlessly, propping your legs over the edge of the couch so you were just hanging off, perfectly open for him. Nestled into the crook of your neck, Jack rocked into you with purpose, his thrusts slow but relentless, chasing his own release. Your hands wrapped protectively around his head, fingers stroking through his hair, grounding him.

"Are you going to fill me up?" you edged, voice breathless, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Have me dripping for days so everyone knows who I belong to?"

"Jesus Christ, Y/N," he gasped.

That was it.

Jack shuddered, a low, desperate groan escaping him as he pressed himself deeper into you. He trembled, a broken moan tearing from his throat. His fingers clutched your thighs as he buried himself to the hilt, the sound of your voice—the permission, the trust—pushing him over the edge. His release surged through him, hips stuttering as he spilled into you, heart hammering as he held you close, breathless and undone. He collapsed gently against you, all tension melting as he pressed a kiss into your neck, lost in the aftershocks of something that felt like more than just pleasure.

A long moment passed before he pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, the edges of his eyes glistening with overwhelmed want, cheeks flushed with effort and awe.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he murmured, cracking with disbelief. His gaze searched yours—earnest, sincere, undone.

He leaned in again, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, as if he couldn't stop reassuring himself you were real. "You okay?" he asked softly, still breathing hard. "Was that too much?"

You smiled through the afterglow, brushing your fingertips over his jaw. "I've never felt anything like that. It was perfect."

Jack exhaled a shuddering breath of relief, then smiled too—soft and disbelieving, like he’d just found something sacred.

Later, after the two of you had cleaned up and slipped beneath the covers, the world slowed to a hush. Jack lay beside you, one arm tucked beneath your shoulders, the other lazily tracing shapes across your skin. Hearts, spirals, question marks—he wasn’t thinking, just moving, touching, grounding himself in your presence.

The silence between you was full—not empty—with comfort and understanding, the kind only found in someone who sees every scar and stays anyway.

Your body ached in the sweetest way, muscles languid and sated. You felt Jack’s chest rise and fall with slow, steady breaths against your back, the heat of his body a constant balm. You turned slightly to glance at him, catching the way his eyes fluttered closed, then opened again to meet yours.

"Stay with me?" you whispered, though it wasn’t really a question.

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to your temple. "Always."

Every quiet morning after that was a sort of miracle—waking tangled in his warmth, with the sun filtering through the curtains and the scent of coffee already brewing. Even the hardest days felt lighter, the sharp edges dulled by his steady presence, by the simple truth that he was yours, and you were his.

And in that stillness, that shared understanding, you knew: this was only the beginning.

#the pitt #jack abbot #dr robby #dr abbot #jack abbot x reader #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #shawn hatosy #noah wyle #dr abbot x reader #smut #dr abbot smut #jack abbot smut

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talk-danmei-to-me · 9 months ago

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Less than 8 hours to go!

And in today's spirit of poll results I'm currently running a poll for the next week to determine the order I complete all the multichapter fics I keep starting:

If you read my works on ao3, please save my chaotic writer's brain from itself and vote. I got too excited being able to write again and need to rein my neck in and actual start completing things.

(Also so I don't start writing more... because my to-do-list is also long and I feel like it's only going to get worse/better the more danmei I read)

♡ Ranking my Summer of Danmei

To celebrate the change of seasons (I'm about to launch Autumn of Danmei) I thought it would be super fun to do a series of rankings. Rankings I'm also going to get the beautiful people of tumblrs opinions on. The polls will be open for 7 days and then I will share the popular vote and my own personal opinions for each of the categories. I love a good poll so let's get cracking.

The categories are:

Ranking my Summer of Danmei

Favourite confession

Best Shou

Best Gong

Favourite Pairing

Ranking side characters:

- 2ha edition

- Yuwu edition

- Tgcf edition

- Mdzs edition

Most ficable

#I'm excited to see the results #tonight is going to be all about fangirling and filling my danmei fanfic nightclub prompts #shameless reblog

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heartsiebyul · 21 days ago

Note

Hiii, i love ur writing sm! I just read ur tongue ring fic and i loved it sfm

If you u do a NSFW continuation, can u add the reaction of the same characters finding out that their s/o doesn't just have a tongue ring but and have their nipples pierced aswell? If u can't or r uncomfortable that's totally fine tho!

Hope u have a great day/night!

જ⁀➴ Twisted Wonderland x m!reader

🔞 NSFW Warning – 18+ ONLY

Content includes: • Male reader • Bottom!Reader • Nipple piercings (reader) • Oral fixation • Explicit sexual scenes (detailed penetration). •❗Reader discretion is advised ❗

featuring — Riddle : Leona : Jamil : Floyd : Cater. cw: NSFW! (aged up!)

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle was usually so careful, so by-the-book when it came to intimacy — at least at first. But tonight, something in him snapped. You’d moaned so sweetly when he gripped your hips, so delicately when he rolled his tongue over your throat, that he lost the restraint he clung to like law. When he unbuttoned your shirt and pushed it aside, his breath hitched as he caught the gleam of metal. "Y-You’re pierced… here?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, crimson eyes fixed on your chest. Your nipples, adorned with twin silver barbells, stood sensitive and flushed. His fingers trembled slightly as they brushed one.

He was clearly flustered, but his arousal overtook his nervousness fast. Slowly, Riddle leaned in and took one nipple into his mouth, letting his tongue swirl over the barbell, dragging it deliberately back and forth while keeping his eyes locked on your expression. When your back arched and you whimpered, his cheeks burned red — but he did it again, then again, each flick followed by a gentle suck. One hand reached between your legs to stroke you languidly while the other rolled the second piercing between his fingers, fascinated by how responsive you were. “You’re reacting like I’ve cast a spell on you…”

Then he pulled away and pushed your legs up, kneeling between them with his cock flushed and twitching. "You’re so shameless... letting me find this out like this." His voice cracked between authority and desperation. As he slid into you slowly, deeply, his hands never left your chest — pinching, tugging, and circling the piercings with reverent obsession. “I can’t focus… when you look like this,” he groaned, thrusts getting sharper with every mewl that escaped you. "You look indecent—perfect—with those... I'm going to ruin you tonight."

Leona Kingscholar

Leona had you already half-naked and spread out under him when your shirt finally got peeled up past your chest — and that’s when he saw them. His eyes caught the metal glint immediately, and his brows lifted with amused surprise. “Tch… seriously? What the hell is this?” he growled, but it wasn’t a complaint. It was desire. He leaned down without waiting, lips wrapping around one pierced nipple as he gave it a hungry suck, tongue curling around the barbell. Your moan was music to his ears. “Shit. You really do have some filthy secrets…”

He didn’t give you time to answer. His hand gripped your hip while his teeth scraped gently at the metal, tugging before soothing it with a slow, wet lick. The way your thighs trembled beneath him only made him hungrier. He rolled your other nipple between his fingers, watching you fall apart from just that stimulation. “Sensitive aren’t you?” he muttered, voice thick with arousal. He pressed his cock against your ass, already hard and leaking. "Bet you kept these hidden on purpose. Wanted me to find them like this."

Without warning, Leona flipped you over onto your knees, dragging your chest down into the mattress so your ass stayed high. He spat in his hand, stroked himself twice, then sank into you with a rough groan. His fingers hooked under your chest, tugging at both piercings as he fucked into you deep, raw. “You’re gonna clench every time I pull, huh?” he growled, grinning wide as your body obeyed. “So easy to ruin. I’m gonna fuck you stupid while you cry from your pretty tits being played with.”

Jamil Viper

Jamil didn’t rush. He never did. His hands roamed your body slowly, deliberately, like he was memorizing each inch of your skin. But the second your shirt was peeled off and his fingers brushed against the cold, hard metal of your nipple piercings, something shifted in him. His eyes widened faintly — then narrowed with sharp interest. "You didn't tell me about these," he murmured, trailing one fingertip along the silver barbell. "How long have you had them… and why haven’t I been allowed to see?"

He leaned in, kissing the metal first, then circling the tip of his tongue around it slowly. The wet heat made you gasp, and that was all he needed. He closed his mouth around it, sucking slow and deep, while his free hand slipped under your waistband to palm your growing arousal. "You’re really sensitive here," he whispered, pulling back with a pop. “Let’s see how long you last.” His touch was measured, teasing — alternating soft flicks with hard tugs, licking the metal until your hips bucked up and your cock twitched desperately against his hand.

Then, with your legs parted and your hole already slick from his earlier attention, Jamil slid in to the hilt — all while keeping his mouth latched to your chest. His rhythm was deep, intense, but never sloppy — each roll of his hips perfectly timed with the tugs on your piercings. He made you feel every inch of him. "You're more beautiful than you know," he whispered against your skin. "But with these? You’re fucking addictive." And the way he growled, the way he fucked you deeper each time your nipples were pulled — he wasn’t going to stop until you were crying from overstimulation.

Floyd Leech

“Eeeeh?” Before you could protest or explain, his mouth was already on your chest, tongue lapping over the barbell with a gleeful, wet slurp. “They jingle~! Hehe, you’re like a little toy for me now!”

Floyd’s lips didn’t stop moving — from one nipple to the other, flicking and sucking while his fingers pinched and tugged the metal with wild, unrestrained curiosity. Every little sound you made, every squirm or moan, made him grind harder into you with his hard-on pressing eagerly against your backside. “Aw, you’re twitching already~ Look at this,” he giggled, pressing the barbell side to side as you whimpered. “So cute when you can’t handle it!”

When he finally pushed into you, it was fast and deep — no warning, just a sharp stretch and his length bottoming out. But even as he fucked you hard from behind, his hands snaked under you to keep playing with your chest, fingers tugging your piercings with each thrust. “You’re squeezing me so tight every time I pull these~! Shit, this is the best!” he laughed, breathless. “Next time, I’m putting bells on them. Gotta hear you jingle while I wreck you.”

Cater Diamond

Cater let out a soft gasp as he undid your shirt, pulling it open with practiced fingers — but stopped dead when the light caught on your pierced nipples. His jaw dropped, and then his face lit up in wicked delight. “No. Way. Baby, you’ve been hiding these? These are, like, a total fantasy unlocked,” he laughed, voice breathy as his hands came up to cup your chest, fingers delicately brushing over the barbells. “You're literally trying to break me, huh?”

He leaned down, lips sealing over one pierced nipple, tongue swirling and flicking the metal with practiced ease. You moaned, chest rising into his mouth — and Cater grinned against your skin. “So responsive~ I love it,” he cooed, switching to the other nipple, giving it a slow, teasing suck. His fingers danced lower, stroking your cock as he played with both piercings, watching your face twist with pleasure. “You’ve got the whole package, babe — I’m obsessed.”

When he bent you over and slid into you, it was with loving care — but his hands didn’t stay on your hips. No, they returned to your chest, rolling and tugging the metal as he pushed in deep. “You're so hot like this… fuck, the way your back arches when I play with these? You’re gonna make me come just watching you,” he panted, biting your shoulder as his pace quickened. “Gonna snap some pics next time so I can remember how good you look falling apart for me.”

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

sooooo… this isn’t my first rodeo writing nsfw fic (shoutout to my ongoing Twisted Wonderland x male story on Quotev 👀) and i thought i was done but… it’s hitting me.

maybe it’s finally time to bless y’all with some bunch of nsfw one-shots?

don’t judge me, i’m just out here trying to manifest some extra heat. open for requests 💌

#twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst disney #twisted wonderland x male reader #male reader #gay #bottom male reader #twst smut #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #jamil viper #floyd leech #cater diamond

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iydiamartinx · 23 days ago

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THIS IS WHY THERE'S ONLY ONE BED

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader x Roy Harper

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 4.1k synopsis: Caught in a storm after a mission, you, Jason, and Roy are forced to share a motel room—where they end up helping you sleep in more ways than one.

a/n: It's 3 am and I'm half asleep editing this so I blame that for any errors or if anything sounds weird. To my Anon who requested this, I hope you liked it ♡ To my under 18 readers, sorry guys this one is not for you.

warnings: Dom Jason & Roy, DP...

The rain was biblical. A curtain of water hammered down from the sky as if the heavens themselves had opened up. Your boots sloshed through ankle-deep puddles as you sprinted from the abandoned warehouse to the rusted-out pickup Roy had hot wired earlier. Jason was right behind you, muttering curses under his breath while stripping off his soaked gloves.

“Hell of a storm,” he growled, slamming the door shut behind him.

“No shit,” Roy snapped, wringing out his drenched red hood. “We need to get off the roads before we hydroplane into a ditch.”

You leaned back in your seat, arms crossed, watching lightning carve jagged veins across the sky.

The only open place for miles was a flickering roadside motel that looked like it belonged in a slasher flick. Faded sign. Buzzing neon. A cracked Vacancy light sputtering in the window. The lobby smelled like mildew and nicotine.

“There’s only one room left,” you announced flatly after speaking to the man at the desk, dropping the key onto the table between you three with a dull clack.

Jason blinked. “You’ve got to be kidding, let’s just sleep in the car. and save the cash”

You shot him a look, arching a brow. “You want to sleep in a metal death trap during a lightning storm?”

He didn’t answer, but his scowl deepened. For someone who always claimed being adopted by a billionaire hadn’t changed him, his inner snob was definitely showing.

Roy leaned against the wall nearby, shaking rain from his hair. He let out a sigh as he dropped his soaked cap to his side, water dripping onto the already stained floor. “We’re lucky there’s anything at all,” he said. “I vote we take the room. Worst case, I steal a pillow and sleep in the bathtub.”

Jason’s jaw ticked. “I swear to God, if you snore—”

“Then you can sleep outside, princess,” you snapped, snatching the key back off the table with a roll of your eyes. “Let’s go.”

The three of you braved the torrent once more, pushing through the downpour as you made your way across the lot and veered toward the exterior staircase. Rain lashed at your backs, soaking through already-wet clothes as you climbed up to the second floor, your boots squelching against the slick concrete.

You were halfway down the corridor, counting the faded room numbers, when a figure stumbled toward you from the opposite end.

A man—middle-aged, soaked, and reeking of alcohol—swaggered closer, barely keeping his balance. His grin was crooked, yellowing teeth on full display as his bleary eyes landed on you.

“Well, aren’t you a looker,” he slurred, gaze crawling across your body without shame. “Hey honey, if those two can’t fuck you right, good ole Earl’s just next door.”

Before you could even respond, both Jason and Roy stepped in closer—shoulders squared, jaws tight, their bodies a wall between you and the leering man.

Jason’s glare could’ve shattered glass. Roy didn’t say a word, but the murderous glint in his eyes said plenty.

The man didn’t seem to get the hint—or maybe he was too drunk to care. His gaze dragged over you once more, slow and shameless, before he gave a greasy wink and turned, staggering toward the room directly beside yours.

The second his door clicked shut, Jason muttered, “I’m not above committing a felony tonight.”

Roy cracked his neck, still watching the door. “If he even says one more word, and I’ll help you bury the body.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes, brushing past your two overprotective best friends as you stepped up to your own door. The key rattled in the lock, and the motel door creaked open with a long, miserable groan—hinges rusted and squealing like the place hadn’t seen a maintenance crew in a decade.

You stepped inside first, flicking on the light—and froze.

Jason nearly ran into you. “What—?”

“There’s only one bed,” you said flatly.

Roy squeezed past the two of you, tracking wet footprints across the peeling linoleum as he took a good look around. “No couch either,” he muttered. “Figures.”

Jason scoffed and crossed his arms as thunder rumbled overhead, rattling the thin windows. “Great. This just keeps getting better.”

You groaned and scrubbed a hand down your face. “Okay. Someone takes the floor.”

Jason didn’t hesitate—his gaze snapped straight to Roy. “You.”

“Excuse me?” Roy scoffed. “Why me?”

You arched a brow, unimpressed. “What happened to stealing a pillow and sleeping in the tub?”

He paused. His gaze drifted toward the cracked bathroom door. Slowly, cautiously, he stepped closer and nudged it open wider. The second he got a full look inside, he recoiled in horror and slammed it shut.

“Absolutely not,” he declared. “That tub is fucking filthy. I’m pretty sure it’s harbouring the next stage of biological warfare.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Then floor it is.”

“Like hell,” Roy snapped. “I’m not waking up with roaches in my sleeping bag. Again.”

You looked between them, already regretting every choice that had led you to this moment. One bed. Two stubborn idiots.

Roy huffed and paced a few steps, running a hand through his wet hair. Jason muttered something under his breath that you didn’t catch—but whatever it was, it made Roy’s head snap back around.

Roy threw his hands up. “You always have to make everything harder than it needs to be, man. You’ve been bitching since we started this mission—either deal with it or go pout in the rain.”

Tension crackled in the air again, and then—predictably—the arguing began. IIt went on for over five minutes, neither of them backing down, and when it showed no sign of slowing, you sighed—loudly—knowing you had to step in before someone got thrown off the balcony.

“Yeah? You’ve got a big mouth—why don’t you use that to talk yourself into a better hotel next time?” Jason hissed, stepping forward.

“There was none available, genius,” Roy snapped. “And I didn’t talk to the man, she did!” He jabbed a finger in your direction, then took a step forward himself. “If you’ve got such a problem, go sleep in the damn car like you wanted to in the first place!”

“I don’t have a pillow!”

Roy threw his hands up with a dramatic huff. “You’ve got a bulletproof jacket. Fold it and use it as a pillow. Problem solved.”

You’d had enough.

“Enough!” you snapped, throwing your arms in the air. “Jesus. You’re worse than children.”

They both blinked, caught off guard.

“We’re all tired. We’re all soaked. And we’ve all nearly died at least once in the last twenty-four hours,” you continued, stabbing a finger toward the bed. “We’ll just share the fucking bed.”

Jason grumbled something under his breath. Roy muttered a reluctant, “Fine.”

You gave them both a look—sharp and full of warning—and they wisely dropped it.

Reluctantly, all of you agreed that you needed to wash off the blood and grime clinging to your skin and clothes. There was no arguing about it—just the silent, shared understanding that you couldn’t crawl into bed like this, no matter how dingy the bathroom was.

Jason went first, then Roy, each emerging from the tiny bathroom with damp hair and towels slung around their necks. Steam still curled out behind them in thick waves, spilling into the room. The scent of cheap motel soap mingled with warm skin, leather, and something distinctly masculine.

Finally, it was your turn.

You sighed, grabbing one of the boys’ extra shirts and a clean towel before slipping into the bathroom. The water was lukewarm at best, but it did the job, washing away the dried blood, grit, and hours of sweat clinging to your skin. By the time you stepped out, the storm was still howling outside, thunder rumbling like distant cannon fire—but the room itself had gone still.

Too still.

You tugged at the oversized shirt you’d pulled on—one of Roy’s, judging by the faint cologne clinging to the collar. The hem brushed your thighs, your panties just barely concealed beneath it. Barefoot, hair damp, you crossed the room slowly, wringing out your towel as the air shifted.

You rolled your eyes when you saw the narrow gap left between them on the bed—just enough space for you, if you didn’t mind wedging yourself between two immovable, half-naked walls.

Jason sat propped against the headboard, arms crossed, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, a muscle shirt clinging to his chest like a second skin. Roy was sprawled on the opposite edge of the mattress, shirtless, his joggers slung low, hair still wet and clinging to his forehead in messy strands.

Both of them looked up at the same time.

And neither of them looked away.

You felt it—their eyes tracking every step, every slow drag of your legs across the floor. The cling of cotton to your still-damp skin. The subtle lift of your shirt as you moved, just enough to tease the curve of your ass before you dropped your towel on the back of the chair.

Jason’s jaw flexed.

Roy’s eyes moved slowly over you, lingering just a beat too long before flicking back up to your face.

It wasn’t like you’d packed pajamas before this mission. The plan was to get in, get out, and be home in time to crash in your own bed—if the storm hadn’t stopped you.

Sighing, you moved to crawl between the boys, sliding into the narrow space they’d left for you. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, and for a moment, no one said anything. Just the low hum of rain against the windows and the occasional creak of the storm-battered building filled the silence.

But after a few minutes, the cold crept in.

The blanket was too thin to be of any real use, and the motel’s ancient heating system had clearly given up when the power flickered earlier. The chill slipped through the walls and into your bones, slow and merciless. You curled in tighter on yourself, trying to breathe through the shivers—but it must’ve been obvious.

Roy shifted beside you with a quiet sigh. “Please don’t kick me.”

You blinked, confused. “What?”

Before you could ask again, he reached over and gathered you up, tugging you firmly into his chest. His arms wrapped around your waist. The heat of him hit you instantly—bare skin, warm and solid, radiating through the thin fabric of your borrowed shirt. You gasped softly, surprised by the sudden closeness, but he didn’t let go. One hand slid to the small of your back, holding you steady against him.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, the words more to himself than to you. His voice was quieter now, thick with sleep and something else—concern, maybe.

Then, behind you, the mattress dipped again.

Jason didn’t say a word as he moved in, slipping in close and tucking himself against your back. One arm draped over your waist, his palm brushing lightly against Roy’s where it still rested. You were surrounded now—bracketed on either side by heat and solid muscle.

It should’ve felt crowded. Uncomfortable.

But it didn’t.

Between the two of them, the cold started to fade, your shivering easing bit by bit as their warmth settled into you. Roy’s hand remained firm on your waist, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against your hip. Jason’s chest pressed flush to your back, his breath ghosting across your neck with every exhale.

None of you spoke.

But your heart was pounding now—not from the cold.

From awareness.

From the way Roy’s thumb dipped lower, brushing beneath the hem of your shirt—lazy and unhurried—before retreating back to a more respectful place on your waist. To the way Jason’s fingers curled just a little tighter around you every time your body softened against his

Your thighs squeezed together. You tried to focus on the storm outside, but it was nothing compared to the quiet heat building between the three of you.

You swallowed hard, lips parting. “Thanks,” you whispered.

Jason hummed low against your ear. “Anytime.”

Time passed. Outside, the storm continued its relentless assault, but inside the room, everything remained still—except for your heartbeat, quick and erratic beneath your skin.

Jason’s breathing had evened out behind you. Roy’s grip had gone slack in front of you. For a moment, you thought they’d both drifted off.

But you hadn’t.

Not even close.

Trapped between their bodies—warm, solid, far too tempting—you were painfully awake. Every brush of breath against your neck, every inch of bare skin against yours, kept your nerves lit like live wire. The heat that had started as comfort was now simmering beneath your skin, licking up the inside of your thighs.

You shifted, slowly, unconsciously. Just a little, enough to press your legs together. Seeking relief. Something. Anything.

You nearly gasped when Jason’s grip tightened around your waist with bruising intent.

“Stop moving,” he growled low in your ear, his voice rough with sleep—or something very close to it.

You froze, pulse skittering. “I can’t sleep,” you whispered back.

Jason’s lips grazed your shoulder, and the quiet rumble of his breath rolled against your skin as he leaned in.

“You keep grinding against me like that, sweetheart,” he murmured, darker now, “and you’re not gonna be sleeping at all.”

Heat surged low in your belly, a sharp pulse of desire cutting through the haze.

Your breath caught as you felt Roy stir slightly in front of you, shifting just enough to press his thigh between yours again—close, far too close. You weren’t sure if he was awake. You weren’t sure if you cared.

Jason’s hand spread across your stomach, fingers splayed low, thumb stroking slow against the edge of your shirt. “What do you need, then?” he asked quietly.

“I—” You swallowed. “I don’t know.”

A beat passed. His lips grazed your skin again. “You want me to stop?”

You shook your head before you could think better of it.

Jason’s breath hitched. “Then keep still, baby,” he murmured, teeth grazing your shoulder now. “Or I’m gonna.”

Behind you, he pressed closer, his body fitting against yours like it belonged there. His hand moved, slipping past the curve of your waist, between your body and Roy’s.

And then under the hem of your shirt.

You sucked in a quiet breath as his fingers dipped lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. The touch was slow—testing, giving you a chance to back out but you only shoved your ass back into him, silently urging him to continue.

Jason groaned low, his lips brushing your skin. “Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough with restraint. “You’re soaked.”

You whimpered, barely audible, your hips twitching in response—but his hand tightened against you, holding you in place.

“Uh-uh,” he whispered darkly. “I told you to stay still.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, heat pooling deep in your belly, thighs squeezing around the hand still lazily exploring.

And then Roy stirred.

You felt the shift of his muscles in front of you, his hand moving to your waist—just inches from Jason’s—and his voice came low, hoarse with sleep and suspicion. “What’s going on back there?”

You opened your mouth to answer but at that same moment Jason slipped a finger inside of you and all that came out was a breathless sound caught halfway between guilt and desire.

Jason, maddeningly calm, murmured, “Someone couldn’t sleep.”

His tone was casual—too casual—for someone whose fingers were moving so deliberately, stroking you from the inside like he had all the time in the world.

Roy’s eyes opened fully now, sharp and glinting in the low motel room light. He looked down between you, the pieces falling into place with startling clarity. His voice dropped to a knowing murmur. “Well, shit, baby… you need help sleeping?”

Your body jerked when Jason curled his fingers just right, brushing a place inside you that made your head spin with pleasure.

You whined as Jason curled his fingers towards that soft spongy part inside of you.

A helpless sound left your lips, needier than you meant.

“Use your words,” Roy said, voice smoother now, dangerous in its ease. his gaze met Jason’s in the dark and Jason immediately stopped moving.

You pushed your hips back instinctively, trying to find relief—but Roy’s grip held you firm.

Jason’s lips were at your ear now, breath hot. “We’re not doing anything unless you ask for it.”

Your throat worked around the ache building in your chest, in your stomach, between your thighs.

“Yes,” you gasped out, breathless. “Please—don’t stop.”

Jason’s fingers started moving again, slow but deliberate—teasing, then pressing deeper, dragging along every sensitive spot with calculated precision. He alternated his touch, one moment stroking inside you, the next circling your clit with maddening care.

Your breath came faster, soft sounds escaping before you could bite them back.

In front of you, Roy had pushed your shirt up with one hand, the fabric bunching beneath your arms. He groaned when he got a full view of you in the dim light, his palm splaying across your ribcage, thumb brushing up toward your breast.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice dark and reverent. “You’re so damn pretty like this.”

You squirmed in their grip, overwhelmed and desperate for more, caught between Roy’s roaming hands and Jason’s sinful fingers.

Jason’s mouth was at your ear again, his voice low and rough. “Think she likes the attention.”

Roy leaned in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone as his hand gently cupped your breast. “Think she needs more.”

You whimpered, body caught in a tug-of-war between their hands, their mouths, their voices—both of them touching like they wanted to learn you from memory.

“You still with us, sweetheart?” Jason murmured.

You nodded shakily, voice barely a whisper. “I want…”

Roy smirked against your skin. “Yeah?” he murmured. “Then tell us, baby.”

But your words dissolved into a moan as Jason’s thumb found just the right spot—and from the way Roy’s eyes darkened.

“Come on, baby, use those words or we’ll stop and leave you all needy and aching.” Roy urged with a croon as he leaned down to a suck a nipple.

Your back arched off the bed with a cry and shakily you said, “I want you both, I want you both to fuck me.”

Jason stilled, his breath catching. Roy’s eyes darkened as he looked up at you with a gaze full of sin, “Then you’re gonna get exactly what you asked for, baby.”

In one smooth motion, Jason hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugged them down. The fabric slipped down your legs, discarded somewhere in the dark. Then he shifted behind you, his hands firm as he guided you up and over, so you were straddling Roy.

You hadn’t even realized he’d shed his sweats.

The heat of him pressed against you, your thighs trembling slightly where they framed his hips as your pussy leaked all over him.

“Grind down on him—get that cock all nice and wet,” Jason ordered, guiding your hips down against Roy’s throbbing length.

Roy groaned, his hands replacing Jason’s on your hips as he began to guide you, sliding your slick pussy along the length of his shaft. You whimpered, each pass of his crown catching your clit and making your thighs tremble.

Behind you, Jason shifted again, gently pushing you forward, folding you over Roy, and began trailing hot, wet kisses down your spine—deliberately going slow—until he reached the curve of your ass. At the same moment Roy latched onto your nipple, nipping sharply, Jason sank his teeth into your flesh, drawing a cry from your lips.

“If I didn’t want to be inside of you so bad,” Jason muttered, voice thick with restraint, “I’d spend hours marking this body.”

Roy groaned his agreement, mouth full of your tits as he alternated between them—sucking, licking, worshipping each one with desperate, hungry attention. His hands forcing your hips to keep grinding down on him.

Jason pulled back just enough to swipe two fingers through your arousal, then spread it across your tight entrance. He took his time, gentle and slow, as he began teasing you open.

You barely had time to breathe before he pushed a finger inside—right as Roy finally sank into your pussy.

A keening whine escaped you at the stretch, at the burn, as both of them filled you. Your arms shook as you tried to hold yourself up, overwhelmed by the way they began immediately moving—one slowly thrusting in as the other eased out, keeping at least one of them buried deep inside you at all times.

Jason soon slipped in a second finger, slowly stretching you wider. Your lashes fluttered, breath catching with every movement, all thought drowned beneath the mounting pleasure.

“It’s too much,” you panted.

“Come on, baby,” Roy murmured against your skin, his voice thick with teasing heat. “You haven’t even taken Jason’s cock yet.”

“Too big,” you panted, voice breathless and shaky. “You both won’t fit.”

God, Roy was barely fitting already—the stretch had you trembling, every nerve lit as you struggled to breathe through the fullness of his cock and Jason’s fingers.

“You can do it, doll,” Jason crooned, mouthing kisses along your neck before his lips brushed your ear. “Don’t you want to be a good girl and take us both?”

A cry slipped from your lips as Roy suddenly snapped his hips upward sharply. You could only nod—dazed, dizzy on the sudden pleasure—barely processing what you were agreeing to.

You whimpered when Jason pulled his fingers from you, and then Roy eased out too, leaving you feeling suddenly cold and achingly empty.

“Patience, baby,” Roy murmured, gently shushing you. “It’s Jason’s turn to get his cock all nice and wet.”

Jason sank into your pussy slowly, thrusting just enough to coat himself in your slick heat before pulling out again, dragging a moan from your throat.

Roy returned almost instantly, pushing back inside you in one smooth motion, his grip tightening on your hips to keep you still and filled—right where he wanted you.

Your body tensed again as you felt the head of Jason’s cock line up behind you, pressing against your stretched entrance. He went slow, easing in inch by inch.

Your arms gave out beneath you as a cry tore from your throat, the stretch and burn overwhelming. “Oh fuck… it’s too much.”

Roy’s fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, soothing circles as he whispered gently, “You can do it. That’s it, baby… you’re taking us so well. Just relax for Jay, and push out against him.”

You were so tight around him that Jason had to grit his teeth, jaw clenched in restraint, holding himself back from sinking into you in one hard thrust.

All three of you let out a collective sigh as Jason finally bottomed out inside you. You were so fucking full. For a moment, neither of them moved, giving you time to adjust to having them both buried deep inside you.

Eventually, it was you who broke the silence with a low, desperate whine, trying to shift your hips—seeking friction—but failing, too overwhelmed and too thoroughly impaled to properly move.

Jason and Roy shared a grin at your needy state.

“Does our greedy girl need more?” Jason teased.

“Please,” you begged, all but sobbing. “Please, please, please.”

Your eyes rolled back as they finally started moving. They found a rhythm quickly—deep and stead strokes. The friction of both their cocks dragging along your walls was nearly too much, specially as their pace quickened, slamming into you and forcing screams of pleasure from your throat.

“Yeah, there we go, doll,” Jason grunted, his voice rough and ragged. As he hauled your limp body up by the throat. “Scream for us. I want that sleaze next door to know exactly how good we’re fucking you.”

His hand tightened around your throat while his other hand snaked in between you and Roy, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight, relentless circles.

It didn’t take long after that.

Your body stiffened between them as the tightening coil inside you finally snapped. White-hot pleasure surged through your veins, stealing the air from your lungs and washing your vision in blinding light. For a moment, the world slipped away, your awareness fading into static. You barely registered their own release—hot and sticky—painting your skin as they followed you over the edge.

When you finally came to, you were cradled in Roy’s arms, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath you, while Jason knelt between your legs, gently cleaning you up carefully.

“You back with us, doll?” Jason murmured, his voice low and warm.

“Fuck,” you croaked, a tired laugh bubbling past your lips. “This is one hell of a way to help a girl sleep.”

#jason todd x reader #roy harper x reader #jason todd x reader x roy harper #jason todd x you #dc universe #jason todd x y/n #jason todd #dcu #jason todd imagine #roy harper x you #roy harper #jason todd smut #Roy harper smut #⋆｡°⟢ the thirsty corner #♡ written with love

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