dennis whitaker gives the sloppiest fucking head and it's not even his fault. he just takes it. takes it sooo well, eyes big and blue and hazy, so pretty when they glisten with tears. cheeks flushed strawberry, drool shining on his reddened, stretched out lips, slipping down his chin.
robby likes to use, and dennis likes to be used. he doesn't bob his head, doesn't make any effort other than sucking and minding his teeth, relaxing his throat. just a warm, wet hole for robby to fuck into, big hands clutching at his curls, tugging at the roots, making dennis whine and moan around robby's cock. just the right amount of pain for it to melt into pleasure, add to the fuzziness in his head, the throb in his hips.
robby pants, groans ragged, filth a constant stream as he fucks into dennis's tight, perfect throat. yeahh, fuck, you like being my little fucktoy? just a nice cocksleeve for daddy to use? jeeesus, take it so goddamn well, made for it. all you're good for, isn't it? a set of warm holes for me to fuck into. attaboy, there you go, fuck, take it... just take it, baby boy, aaalll the way in... making a goddamn mess of yourself, puppy. such a dumb, helpless little thing. needed daddy to guide you, huh? ohh, I know. I know.
Summary: John Shen brings you a 48-ounce Dunkin' iced latte; fake marriage paperwork is discussed; and Jack Abbot discovers his girlfriend has a work husband.
Warnings: Established relationship, workplace teasing, jealous-but-not-really jealous Jack, Shen, and Reader being absolute menaces, fake marriage pact, excessive Dunkin, one deeply offensive sweet coffee beverage, no real angst.
Author’s Note: This is pure nonsense, and I love it. Jack is secure in his relationship, but unfortunately, his girlfriend and her work husband have paperwork, annual reviews, and a beverage vessel. Pray for him. Thank you @jennataurus for the idea!
Xoxo, Del
Jack saw Shen before he saw the drink. That was his first mistake. Shen walking into the emergency department was not unusual. Shen walking into the emergency department with that particular expression on his face was.
Too calm. Too neutral. Too deliberately innocent.
Jack narrowed his eyes from the other side of the nurses’ station.
Then he saw what Shen was carrying.
For one brief and terrible second, Jack thought it was medical equipment.
Then he saw the ice. Then he saw the straw.
Then he saw your face light up like Shen had walked in carrying a diamond ring, a rescue puppy, and a winning lottery ticket.
“Oh my god,” you said, already abandoning your chart. “You got it.”
Shen set the container on the counter with the solemn care of a man presenting evidence in court. “Blueberry Cobbler Iced Latte. Forty-eight ounces.”
You pressed both hands to your chest. “John.”
Jack looked at the bucket. Then he looked at Shen. Then he looked at you.
“No,” Jack said.
You turned toward him, smiling. “You don’t even know what this is.”
“I know enough,” Jack replied.
“It’s the bucket,” you said, like that explained anything.
“It is not a bucket,” Shen said.
Jack stared at him. “It absolutely is.”
“It’s a beverage vessel.” Shen corrected.
Jack stared at him. “It has a handle.”
“That doesn’t make it a bucket,” Shen grumbled.
You leaned over the counter and kissed Shen’s cheek. Jack went still. Shen went very still, too, but not because he was nervous.
No.
Because he knew.
Jack watched Shen’s mouth twitch once before he smoothed his expression back into something infuriatingly calm.
“Thank you,” you said sweetly.
Shen nodded. “Of course.”
Jack pointed between you and Shen. “Don’t love that.”
You blinked at him. “What?”
“The cheek kiss,” Jack answered.
Shen looked down at the drink. “It was a gratitude kiss.”
Jack’s eyes shifted to him. “Dunkin.”
Shen’s brows lifted. “Is that me?”
Jack nodded once, “It is now.”
You pressed your lips together. Jack knew that face. He loved that face. He also knew that face meant you were about thirty seconds away from making his life worse on purpose.
“Jack,” you said gently.
“No,” Jack said. “You don’t get to ‘Jack’ me when Dunkin just walked in with forty-eight ounces of sugar and got kissed for it.”
Shen glanced down at the container. “It does have two straws.”
“That makes it worse,” Jack replied.
You picked up one of the straws with reverent fingers. “It’s for sharing.”
“With your boyfriend?” Jack said, jerking his head in John’s direction.
You smiled. “With my work husband.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. There it was. Shen took one small, thoughtful step closer to you, like a man approaching a live wire just to see what would happen.
Jack watched him do it. He watched you notice. He watched both of you decide, silently and instantly, to be problems.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “Your what?”
“My work husband,” you said, very seriously.
Shen nodded once. “It’s an administrative title.”
“Administrative,” Jack repeated.
“Very little romance involved,” Shen said.
Jack stared at him. “Very little?”
You touched Jack’s chest. “Jack, be fair. John and I have survived a lot together.”
Jack looked between the two of you and inhaled slowly through his nose.
He was a grown man. A physician. A professional. He had handled trauma bays, impossible calls, mass casualties, and patients who thought WebMD had more authority than medical school. He was not going to let two adults and a container of dessert coffee dismantle him in the middle of his emergency department.
You slid the bucket toward Shen. “First sip goes to the provider.”
Jack’s head turned. “Provider?”
“He provided the bucket,” you said.
Shen took the straw with grave dignity. “I accept this responsibility.”
Jack watched him take a sip.
You leaned in, eyes bright. “Well?”
Shen considered it for a moment. “Sweet.”
You nodded. “Expected.”
“Artificial blueberry,” Shen said.
“But fun artificial?” You asked.
Shen took another sip. “Aggressively fun.”
You pointed at him. “That’s what I thought.”
Jack stared. “You haven’t even tasted it yet.”
You gave Jack a look, “I know John’s palate.”
Jack went still again.
Shen lowered the straw. “You walked into that one.”
“I did not walk into anything,” Jack said.
You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Are you jealous of John’s palate?”
“No,” Jack replied immediately.
Shen tilted his head. “He seems jealous of my palate.”
Jack pointed at him. “You are on thin ice.”
“Appropriate,” Shen said, glancing at the bucket. “Given the beverage.”
You made a sound like you were trying not to choke.
Jack looked down at you. “Do not laugh at that.”
You covered your mouth. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Jack said.
You pointed to Shen and said, “I’m being supportive of my work husband’s humor.”
Not yet, he told himself. It is too early in this shift to ask God for intervention.
When he opened them, you were holding the straw toward him.
“Try it,” you said.
Jack shook his head, “No.”
“One sip.” You implored.
Jack’s brow furrowed. “I already know I’m going to hate it.”
“That’s not very scientific,” Shen said.
Jack didn’t look away from you. “Dunkin, I am not discussing the scientific method with you over a bucket of sugar milk.”
You lifted the straw another inch. “For me?”
Jack looked at your face. That was unfair. Everything about your face was unfair. He sighed like a man accepting his own execution, leaned down, and took the smallest sip possible. His face changed immediately.
You brightened. “Well?”
Jack swallowed with effort. It was worse than he expected. It was sweet in a way that felt personally aggressive. It tasted like someone had taken a blueberry muffin, drowned it in melted ice cream, panicked, and added more sugar.
Jack looked at both of you. “Well, that’s horrific.”
You gasped. “Jack.”
Jack grimaced, “It tastes like someone liquefied a blueberry muffin, panicked, and added more sugar.”
Shen took the bucket back and considered that. “Not inaccurate.”
You pointed at him. “Do not side with my actual boyfriend against me.”
Jack’s head turned. Actual boyfriend. That helped. He hated that it helped.
He was not jealous of John Shen. He was not jealous of the drink. He was not jealous of the cheek kiss, the work husband title, or the fact that Shen apparently had a detailed working knowledge of your coffee preferences. Jack was simply opposed to nonsense.
That was all.
You smiled up at him. “Yes. Actual boyfriend.”
Shen lifted one hand. “Work husband acknowledges the hierarchy.”
Jack looked at him. “Temporary husband.”
Shen blinked. “I don’t remember agreeing to temporary.”
“You don’t need to agree,” Jack replied.
Shen frowned, “I feel like I should.”
“You shouldn’t,” Jack said.
You took the bucket back from Shen. “For legal accuracy, the arrangement is currently suspended.”
Jack looked down at you. “The arrangement.”
You nodded solemnly. “Until further notice.”
“Or forty,” Shen added.
Jack’s gaze moved slowly back to him. “Excuse me?”
Shen took a careful breath, like he was about to present lab results. “If neither of us is married by the time we are forty, we’ve agreed to enter a mutually beneficial domestic partnership.”
You nodded. “For practical reasons.”
Jack stared at you.
“Tax benefits,” you said.
“Shared expenses,” Shen added.
“Emergency contact efficiency,” you said.
“Mutual tolerance,” Shen added.
Jack looked between you. “You rehearsed that.”
You and Shen said, “No,” at the exact same time.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. You smiled. Shen sipped the drink.
Jack looked toward the ceiling.
Dear God, he thought, then stopped himself. Not yet. He could still handle this.
“You’re not single,” Jack said.
You patted his chest. “I know.”
“So the pact is void.” Jack continued.
Shen lifted one finger. “Suspended.”
Jack pointed at him. “Void.”
“Suspend—”
“Void.” Jack cut him off.
You sighed softly. “This is a difficult day for the marriage.”
Shen nodded. “We’ll need time to heal.”
Jack stared at the two of you. “Marriage.”
“Future potential marriage,” you clarified.
Jack frowned, “Not better.”
Ellis, who had been pretending not to listen from two feet away, slowly lowered her chart.
“Do I want to know?” Ellis asked.
“No,” Jack said.
“Yes,” you and Shen said together.
Jack looked down at you. You smiled up at him, bright and delighted and absolutely unrepentant.
Ellis’s eyes landed on the bucket. “Is that coffee?”
“Allegedly,” Jack said.
Shen lifted the container. “Blueberry Cobbler Iced Latte. Forty-eight ounces.”
Ellis blinked. “That sounds disgusting.”
Jack pointed at her. “Thank you.”
You gasped. “Ellis.”
Ellis glanced at Jack’s face, then at Shen, then at you. “Why does this feel like I walked in on something personal?”
“Because you did,” Jack said.
Shen shook his head. “It’s not personal. It’s a product review.”
Jack looked at him. “You announced a suspended marriage pact.”
Ellis looked delighted. “What else is in the paperwork?”
Jack pointed at her. “Do not encourage them.”
Shen cleared his throat. “There is the intimacy clause.”
Jack went completely still. Ellis’s chart lowered another inch.
“The what?” Jack asked.
“The intimacy clause,” you said, very seriously.
Shen nodded. “One night of passionate lovemaking per calendar year to maintain the marriage.”
Jack stared at him.
You nodded along solemnly. “For the health of the union.”
“And morale,” Shen added.
Jack’s head turned toward you. “Morale.”
“It’s important,” you said.
“Vital,” Shen agreed.
Jack pointed at the bucket. “Dunkin.”
Shen blinked. “Yes?”
“Never use the phrase ‘passionate lovemaking’ in a sentence about my girlfriend again.”
Shen considered him. “Would ‘annual intimacy maintenance’ be better?”
Jack looked at him, “No.”
You pressed your lips together. “Less romantic.”
Jack looked down at you. “You are not helping.”
“I’m grieving the clause,” you said.
Jack stared at you.
Ellis made a strangled sound behind her chart.
Shen took a slow sip from the bucket. “This is difficult for all parties.”
Jack closed his eyes. Dear God, grant me patience, Jack thought. Because if you grant me strength, Shen is not making it out of this emergency department.
Then Shen set the bucket down and hooked an arm around your shoulders. You did not miss a beat. You slid your arm around Shen’s waist and leaned into his side with a grave little nod. “Privacy would be appreciated during this difficult transition.”
Jack opened his eyes. Ellis’s mouth opened slightly.
Jack pointed between you and Shen. “Separate.”
You blinked at him. “What?”
“Immediately,” Jack said.
Shen looked down at you. "Our bond threatens him.”
“I am threatened by nothing,” Jack said.
You patted Shen’s stomach. “It’s okay. He’s processing.”
Jack’s jaw flexed. “You have three seconds.”
Shen’s arm stayed exactly where it was. “Before what?”
Jack smiled.
It was not a nice smile.
Shen removed his arm.
You removed yours too, biting your lip hard enough that Jack could see the fight not to laugh all over your face.
“Smart,” Jack said.
Shen picked up the bucket again. “For the record, that separation felt hostile.”
Jack looked at him. “Good.”
You let the moment hang for exactly one second. Then you slid right into Jack’s side, your body fitting against his like that was where you had meant to be the whole time.
Jack’s eyes dropped to you.
Your smile went soft and wicked at the same time. “Better?”
Jack held your gaze. He was still annoyed. He was still trying not to look pleased. He was still failing.
“Marginally,” he said.
You hummed and smoothed your hands over his scrub top. “Only marginally?”
His hand settled at your waist before he could pretend he wasn’t going to touch you. “You’re pushing it, sweetheart.”
You grinned. “Don’t worry, Jack. You’re hotter than him.”
Shen’s head lifted. “Rude.”
Jack didn’t look away from you. “Dunkin.”
“Yes?” Shen replied.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Drink your muffin soup.”
You laughed into Jack’s chest. His mouth twitched despite himself, and his hand tightened gently at your waist.
“Better,” he admitted, quieter this time.
Ellis finally gave up pretending she was working. “Can I try the divorce coffee?”
Jack’s eyes shifted to her. For the first time since Shen walked in, Jack looked almost pleased.
“Divorce coffee,” he repeated.
You brightened. “Oh, that’s good.”
Shen nodded. “Accurate, but emotionally painful.”
“It is not emotionally painful,” Jack said. “It’s legally clarifying.”
Ellis held out a hand. “So can I try it?”
“Don’t,” Jack warned.
“Yes,” you and Shen said together.
Jack looked down at you. You smiled up at him, bright and delighted. Jack looked at the bucket. Then at Shen. Then at you. Then he exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Okay,” Jack said.
You blinked. “Okay?”
Jack nodded toward the other end of the nurses’ station. “You’re coming with me.”
Your mouth fell open, offended and delighted at the same time. “What?”
“I have been very patient,” Jack said.
“You have,” you said solemnly.
He continued, “I tried the muffin soup.”
“You did.” You agreed.
“I tolerated the cheek kiss,” Jack added.
You nodded, “You did.”
“I tolerated the work husband,” Jack said, almost with a grimace.
“Barely,” Shen said.
Jack pointed at him without looking away from you. “Temporary husbands do not get commentary.”
Shen nodded. “Understood.”
Jack looked back at you. “And now I’m taking my girlfriend ten feet that way so I can remember why I love her without Shen making tax comments.”
You glanced back at Shen, then at the bucket in his hand. Your face went dramatically mournful.
“No,” you whispered. “My husband. My coffee.”
Jack went completely still. Ellis made a sound behind her chart.
Shen looked down at you with grave sympathy. “I’ll miss you.”
Jack’s head turned slowly toward him. “Dunkin.”
Shen lifted one hand. “Right. Sorry.”
You pressed your lips together, shoulders shaking.
Jack looked down at you. “You are walking away with me, or I am confiscating the coffee.”
Your eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”
“I absolutely would,” Jack replied.
You frowned, “You hate it.”
“I hate many things about this situation,” Jack said. “That has not stopped me yet.”
Shen hugged the bucket closer to his chest. “For the record, I object to seizure of communal property.”
“It is not communal property,” Jack said.
“It’s divorce coffee,” Ellis said.
Jack pointed at her. “Helpful.”
Ellis smiled. “Thank you.”
You slid your hand into Jack’s. “Fine. I’ll go.”
Jack’s fingers closed around yours. “Thank you.”
“But under protest.” You added.
Jack nodded once, “Noted.”
“And I want visitation rights.” You said.
Jack looked at you. “To Shen or the coffee?”
You looked genuinely torn. Jack’s eyes narrowed.
“The coffee,” you said quickly.
Shen nodded. “Hurtful, but wise.”
Jack tugged gently on your hand. “Move.”
You let Jack lead you away, still laughing under your breath. Halfway down the nurses’ station, you glanced back over your shoulder.
Shen mouthed, I miss you.
You coughed to hide your laugh.
Jack stopped walking. You froze.
He looked down at you. “What did he do?”
You replied quickly. “Nothing.”
Jack turned. Shen looked immediately busy with a chart, one hand still wrapped around the bucket.
Jack narrowed his eyes. “Dunkin.”
Shen did not look up. “Yes?”
“Do not make me come back there.”
Shen nodded, still not looking up. “Of course.”
Jack stared for another second, then turned back to you. You smiled up at him, innocent and hopelessly pleased. Jack shook his head, but his hand squeezed yours.
“You’re trouble,” he said.
Your smile brightened. “You love me.”
“I do,” Jack said.
You stepped closer, sliding your free hand up his chest again. “And I love you.”
Jack’s irritation loosened instantly. He hated how fast it happened.
No, he didn’t.
He loved it. Loved the way you could tug him out of himself with three words and one hand on his chest. Loved the way you smiled at him like he was exactly where you wanted to be, like Shen and the coffee and every ridiculous thing you had said were only funny because Jack was there to react to them.
“Even if John brings me forty-eight ounces of coffee,” you said.
Jack’s mouth twitched.
“Even if he’s my work husband.” You continued.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Former work husband,” you corrected.
Jack nodded once, “Better.”
You smiled and rose onto your toes, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re my actual everything.”
Jack went very still.
Behind you, Shen called, “Rude.”
Jack didn’t look away from you. For once, he didn’t even answer Shen. His hand slid more firmly around your waist, and his voice dropped low enough that only you could hear it.
“Yeah?”
You nodded, still smiling. “Yeah.”
Jack’s expression softened completely. Then he dipped his head and kissed you, quick but warm, like he couldn’t help it. When he pulled back, he looked almost annoyed with himself for melting so fast.
You grinned. “Better?”
Jack exhaled, thumb brushing once at your waist. “Much better,” he said.
warnings: not proofread, maybe a wee bit ooc, reader is a tiny bit bratty, all smut no plot, thank you and goodnight
———
“please, ‘m sorry,” you slur for the hundredth time. tears wet your cheeks, soaking the mattress that your face is currently pressed into.
“i know, lovie. heard it the first time,” simon grunts, white-knuckle grip on your hips as he thrusts into you over and over.
you’d royally pissed him off during dinner by wearing that pretty little dress he begged you not to wear.
that one that made it impossible for him to be a civil human being. the one that had him palming his erection in the car on the way to the restaurant while you were sitting pretty in the passenger seat, teasing him my tugging the front down until he could see the lace of you bra.
you refused to touch him the car.
and under the table when he slipped into the booth beside you.
and in the car again after dinner.
you’ve never heard the man beg so much, so you gave him mercy the second his car pulled onto your street. you simply slid his hand that had been resting on your thigh under the hem of your dress.
simon took the olive branch, immediately slipping your panties to the side.
but the road was short, and before either of you could do anything more, simon was pulling into the driveway.
as he parked, he leaned over the center console, attacking your mouth with his and you let him. you leaned into the kiss, letting him have his fill until you started giggling into it.
then, you had pulled away and rushed into the house, leaving simon with a raging hard on and out of breath.
he chased after you, up the stairs and through the hall. heavy boots echoing behind you as you approached your shared bedroom. swinging the door open, you squealed when simon’s hand landed on your waist from behind.
he wasted no time in pushing you down onto the bed, shoving your pretty dress up and over your hips when all you could do was giggle.
it was short lived as simon dropped to his knees behind you, shoving his face into your panties. his nose bumped against your clothed clit, and you let out a whimper, shifting back into him.
your mind shifts back to the present, body jerking forward with each thrust of simon’s hips.
“simon!” you whimper, clutching at the linens. he lets out a laugh behind you, making your stomach flip when he sinks his cock impossibly deeper.
“use your words,” he mocks.
moaning, you try. you really really do.
but all that comes out is a strangled—
“jesus, fuck.”
simon snorts, driving his hips harder. “not quite, lovie, but it’ll do.” he reaches down, thrumming your clit under his thumb. with trembling thighs and airless lungs, you manage to choke out an exhausted plea.
“come on, lovie. i’ll be nice. let it out,” he teases, angling his hips until the delicious drag of his thick cock sends you reeling.
burying your face further into the mattress, you groan, pussy spasming around him as you come.
simon works you through it, finally relenting when you start crawling away from him.
“not gonna gimme the silent treatment anymore, right?”
“okay,” you pant out, eyes closed as you try to catch your breath. chuckling, simon pats your thigh and slips away to get a soft towel to clean you up.
dennis loves to suck robby's cock so much that it transcends just being a sexual attraction. he's so drawn to it and obsessed with it (and the man it's attached to) that there's no situation where he isn't craving the idea of stuffing it into his mouth and getting to work on it.
sure, he goes straight for it whenever he's horny, and robby's more than happy to have his pretty boy deepthroat him and send him to orgasm- but its so much more than that. dennis is sad? then he gets on his knees and suckles, knowing the warm weight and salty cum calm him down and cheer him up. he's tired? he flops between robby's legs and mouths over the head and slobbers over the shaft, drifting sleepily in contentment. dennis is angry and frustrated? nothing a good, hard suck can't fix.
he does it when he's bored, too. robby will be reading quietly and will see his boy padding towards him, looking downcast and idle. dennis will look at robby and give a deep sigh and blink his big blue eyes, and the older man will have his trousers unzipped and the fat cock in his hand immediately. anything to fill his boy's day with something enjoyable (and god, does dennis enjoy it).
it gets to the stage where robby is actively worried whenever dennis isnt between his legs and slurping away, assuming that he must be *really* upset to not gravitate to his cock. if denny's really lucky, he'll get to sleep between robby's legs for real (not just dozing), suckling away the whole time and unconsciously savouring the cum that occasionally blurted out.
robby loves to watch his boy busy himself by feasting on his dick. he'd call dennis a cock slut, a real desperate whore, if it wasn't for the fact dennis wasn't even horny most of the time. he just knew robby's cock in his mouth made him feel good, so there he stayed.
𓏵 ┊ play fighting with pope cody leads to primal play . 18+
it starts off as a game, the innocent kind of game where he softens his strength to let you win the rough-housing match. playfully throwing you around whenever he gets a full grasp on your body — even dragging you by the ankle, down to the foot of the bed causing your thin top to ride up and panties bunch between your ass.
you’re lying against the bed giggling, flipping onto your stomach with pope’s fingers still wrapping around your ankle before you’re crawling away from him. knees digging to the mattress with your palms giving you speed, helping you make it towards to the top of the bed.
“where’d you think you’re goin’, sweetheart.” and suddenly your can hear him right behind you, his monotone voice right against the shell of your ear whispering softly. “i’m running away,” you reply out of breath, still panting from all the wrestling as pope looms over your body, boxing you in.
“yeah?” he replies short, tilting his head — his eyes darting below him, tracing over your body like he’s studying you to see what you’d do next before he’s releasing your ankle, and your instantly attempting to flip backside against the mattress — but the moment you try, you fail because pope’s immediately pinning your wrists above your head.
you let out an exasperated laugh, unable to move. currently stuck in what seems to favor a doggy fashion. “c’mon, andiee.” you playfully drag his name, “you know this is unfair, you’re way stronger than me.” you testify, attempting to free your wrists from out of his grasp but he’s not budging.
instead, he’s lowering himself onto you. pressing his weight against you the moment he feels your wrists wiggling in between his palm.
“andy?” you call his name a little suspiciously only to receive silence as he ducks his head down, causing your spine to arch deeper as his pelvis nudges into your ass making you feel the bulge in his pants.
“you don’t wanna play no more?” pope asks, mouth nipping at any area of exposed skin he can see. “thought you wanted to play.” he adds before giving you the chance to answer. and you can feel the slight increase of your pulse quicken, and breathing stagger from more than just the game.
he grinds ever so slightly against the entrance of your pussy clothed by the fabric of your panties, as you let out a noise that makes him groan in response. “an—”
“shhh— all you need to do is find a way to get free.” he cuts you off, tightening his grip around your wrists as he mummers.
and this is was the moment where you knew that the once innocent game you two were just playing, wasn’t so innocent anymore.
a detailed breakdown of all the dirty things andrew's gf is going to do to him (and craig's internal breakdown at hearing them) (18+)
series masterlist
-
walking around the house was somewhat dangerous ever since you'd entered pope's (and craig's) life.
your presence was a commonality by then, which craig didn't mind too much. you were funny, chill, and most important of all, you were hot. craig let girls hang around for much less.
the unfortunate part was that you weren't just any girl.
you were pope's girl.
this meant that craig's hands (and eyes) needed to stay off you at all times.
but it seemed like not his ears.
because no matter what corner he turned, what time of the day he avoided certain parts of the house, he seemed to be haunted by your constant presence, your sounds, your voice.
and worst of all, your seemingly endless desire for his brother.
now, he could've walked away. he could have turned the other way the moment he realized he just so happened to be in ear-shot of yours and pope's (supposed) private conversation. but it seemed like he enjoyed the inconvenience.
he'd been sitting there first, hoping to catch some vitamin d before the sun went down and taking advantage of that short period of time in which oceanside's heat wasn't scorching hot.
pope had had the same plan, which craig didn't raise any brows to.
within some moments, it was revealed to craig that you'd also shared a similar idea, except that unlike craig or pope, you walked past the empty chair to their left and opted to take pope's lap as your seat of choice.
so, yeah, the moment the pda made its way to craig's evening, he probably should've walked away lest he want to listen to his brother and his girlfriend loving up on each other.
but being the sick guy that he was, craig used some of those mental gymnastics that he'd been exercising quite a lot lately and did his best to remove his brother from the equation.
pope was a quiet guy, and from what it appeared, this time around he was simply sitting back and taking in your every word — which craig understood, because who would want to interrupt you when you were saying those words into his ear?
with his hands shamelessly laid on your bikini-clad ass (barely even a bikini, craig noted, as it covered absolutely nothing), pope squeezed every so often, pulling you closer at certain words that got to both him and craig.
craig had to pretend like he couldn't hear the whispered words that were meant for pope's ears only, but the hushed voice only made his focus even sharper.
"yeah? what're you gonna do to me, baby?" pope had asked with a patronizing tone as soon as you laid atop him, half straddling him, half simply perched on his lap.
your lips were slowly running up and down his jaw, sometimes flicking your tongue at it, sometimes leaving a wet kiss.
"wanna suck your dick, andy," you began, voice practically a hushed whine, "want it in my mouth so bad."
you were pent up the moment you walked out into the patio. craig had watched you enough to know your tells. your words only confirmed that.
"been thinking about it all day," you huffed out, pouting. your nails scratched lightly at pope's chest in defiance, "keep thinking about your dick in my mouth... how heavy it is, how good it tastes," you continued, voice breathy.
"wanna do that thing you like," pope groaned audibly at this, encouraging you to keep going, "wanna do it till you pull me off and bend me over the bed."
by then, your hand had sneakily made its way from his chest, reaching one of his nipples and discretely running the tip of your finger around it. pope's hands tightened on your ass, basically molding it like playdoh.
"i'll put on any outfit you want," you started, licking at his earlobe slowly, "that one with the blue lace?" you began listing them quietly, some teasing tone overtaking your voice, "or the pink one with the little bows? or maybe the maid one?"
you whispered that last one extra softly, but it made craig jump a little.
craig didn't understand how pope hadn't thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you away like a caveman. craig would've given in within the first sentence. probably within a single look.
but you seemed to be into the chase of it all. your every word was whinny, breathy. there was no way this wasn't just some weird foreplay for you guys.
craig kept on listening.
"baby..."
"i'll let you take me any way you want," you interrupted pope, "i'll take it from behind, or i'll ride you. i'll ride you sweet and slow, just how you like," you moaned as if entranced by the thought, "and when you're about to cum, i'll take you in my mouth again."
craig's eyes almost rolled back.
"and i promise i'll swallow every drop, baby."
pope pulled you closer, readjusting you into a straddling position so he could kiss you. the kiss was short but filthy from what craig could hear. if you were trying to be discreet, you were failing horribly.
"and then what? hm?"
craig had never known pope to be greedy. quite the opposite, actually.
but with you sat on his lap? with you offering yourself up like this? any man would've been crazy to not take as much as you were willing to give.
you kissed him again, this time whispering into his lips.
"i'll let you fuck me again," you slurred, trailing your way back to his ear to whisper into it once more, "and i'll let you cum inside."
pope's groan was a little louder this time.
it didn't really matter. not when it was immediately followed by him getting up with you in his arms, not letting you touch the ground as he lifted you bridal style.
craig had to pretend to busy himself up with his phone, make it seem like he hadn't been listening in on every word (and taking them all in more than he should've).
giggling, you let yourself be carried away back into the house. deran just so happened to be coming outside just then, leaving the sliding door open for pope as he led you indoors with very obvious intentions in mind.
pope grunted as a wordless thank you to deran while deran rolled his eyes lightheartedly at what was by then a common occurrence between pope and his girlfriend.
by the time deran made it to the lounge chair you and pope had just been sharing, craig finally left his little trance, nodding absentmindedly as a silent greeting in deran's direction.
Pope with a cutie patiootie frills and baby pink reader gf who absolutely don't play about her man. Five foot and some change in a frilly skirt and a hair bow but god forbid she sees anyone try to flirt with Andy before she's coming over to defend her territory like she's mike tyson
Andrew all cute n blushy holding miss reader back cuz she's tipsy and pissed and wants to fight this random girl that asked for his number at Deran's bar, more than a little flustered that he's getting such a reaction like helloooo you're a gorgy hunk why would i not get jealous...
Trying his best not to smile when reader is sat in his lap and all up in his business, arms looped round his neck, lipgloss smeared on her lips cause she's dedicated! to marking her territory but doesn't have great aim.
Teehee until its "you got a fuckin' problem with my man?" Ok toy chihuahua you can keep him!
pope and his possessive girlfriend who he didn't really believe when she initially told him she had jealousy issues. it starts to come out in somewhat... subtle ways; slotting yourself into his side or onto his lap at any moment you feel like your territory is being threatened, leaving hair clips/ties in his car on purpose, or even wearing body glitter that will undoubtedly leave traces everywhere. it's not until craig makes a comment that you're marking your territory on pope like a dog does he seem more aware of it. craig points out to him that only a "crazy chick" leaves a trail of hickeys down neck that undoubtedly lead further down popes body then where he can see. by this point, there's really no stopping you and, frankly, pope didn't want to.
a sense of warmth, pride bloomed in his chest every time you placed yourself in his embrace. sitting on his lap, taking his arms to wrap them around your waist or guide his hand to slide in the back pocket of your pants while you pressed into him at any given moment. sitting in deran's bar, on a stool with pope standing beside you when a girl walks by making eyes at him, he couldn't describe the exact reason why he felt the carnal need to pound you into the next day when you tugged him by the belt loops of his jeans until he stood between your legs. or even why he felt himself stiffening his jeans when you slid your hand on his hip beneath his shirt, nails grazing his abdomen and v-line, tugging him down by his hair with your freehand to kiss him heatedly. slipping your tongue in his mouth, kissing like two teenagers who've had their first taste of each others flesh, all the while you're staring the poor girl down who thought she could ever stand a chance against coming between you and him. he felt a small inkling to maybe say something when he watched you stick your foot out and smirk watching the girl tumble. the poor girl who was pancaked on the floor had brushed up against him in her drunken stupor while making her way around the pool. but he couldn't, not when you looked at him so sickeningly sweet.
he definitely should've checked you on the bratty possessive behavior when he brought you back home for the typical cody family dinner. baz had brought cath so it was only right that he brought you along. over the years, cath's resentment towards baz for the life he had brought her into had grew tenfold when she watched you take the life she could've had with pope. of course, she never loved pope the way that you did, the way he deserved. it didn't stop her from feeling like maybe there was a chance to get that back. it was only a moment, to anyone else it was fleeting but to you, to you it was like time had frozen and you were seeing red. pope was on his usual cleaning frenzy after dinner and cath came into "help". the context of situation was irrelevant, all you could focus on was the way she was looking at him, hand on his arm and eyes desperately searching for any indication that maybe he'd want her still. their backs were to you when you slammed the wine glass onto the floor, shattering it to millions of glittering pieces. pope's body jumps a bit at the sheer surprise before he's immediately rushing over to check on you, tears welling in your eyes as you mumble 'm'so sorry'. cath's hand drops to her side as she watches the way coddled you, checking for cuts and making sure your okay. he had dropped his attention from her so quickly their should've been no doubt in her mind that the version of pope that loved her wasn't there anymore. she should've really known when she saw the cold stare in your eyes when just for a beat, you pulled back the sniffling so she could really see who pope belonged to.
even more so, cath should've know when she passed by pope's bedroom where the door was cracked ever so slightly. in his haste to taking you back to his bedroom, you seemingly forgot to close his bedroom door all the way. pinning your body beneath his as his pants pooled around his ankles, your bottoms discarded somewhere in the room in the room as he fucks you. your nails are clawing at his back, crying his name with every slap of his hips against yours, cunt drawing him in deeper with squeeze and desperate plea that slipped past your lips. your eyes drifted to that crack, seeing her standing there. tears slipped out of yours.
"you love me andy? do-do you love me?" the question is for him but you're looking dead at her.
"love you so fucking much, angel," he grunts into your neck, punctuating every word with a wet kiss to your neck. his thrusts unrelenting.
"only me andy? you only love me right?" it's desperate, needy. he was right in the palm of your hand but the fear and doubt lingered in the back of your mind. you haven't torn your gaze away, the pleasure so intoxicating it's playing games with your vision. if she was really standing there watching you both like this.
"only you... only you sweetheart. only one i love– fuck, i'm gonna fill this pretty pussy up... oh god, i love you... i only love you–"
Steve has to check in with his friends on the reg in this post or they think he’s dead in a ditch because everyone genuinely thought he was at one point.
Steve kinda disappears off the face of the earth when everybody leaves for college.
It’s not intentional.
He just doesn’t have anything to add when everybody is talking about their new college lives. It’s easy to say nothing when nothing is happening.
And then he drives into a ditch.
He slides on black ice, loses control of his car, and goes over the edge. He tells no one.
He climbs out of the wreckage, manages to flag down a passing car, and spends the night in the hospital with another concussion. And he tells no one.
He couldn’t if he wanted to. His phone is in his car.
Meanwhile, Robin is realizing they she’s halfway through the semester and hasn’t talked to Steve in a while so she checks his location.
It looks like he’s parked off the side of a backroad. She figures his parents are home and he can’t take his date there. She puts her phone down and doesn’t pick it back up until morning and…Steve is in the same location.
She calls. No answer.
She gives it exactly thirty-three minutes and calls again. No answer.
She calls Dustin and he calls. No answer.
Eventually, Erica agrees to go to Steve’s location and…a tow truck is pulling his car out of a ditch.
She bikes to Steve’s house but no one is there because he moved out a month ago to a trailer in Forest Hills and told no one about it.
Everybody is panicking.
It accumulates in Hopper driving to Hawkins, getting his new address from Mr Clark, and showing up at his door.
Steve barely asks what he’s doing there before he’s crushed in a hug.
#Steve’s been doing the ‘don’t let people think you’re dead’ challenge ever since #He thinks Robin is a little ridiculous for involving hopper but turns out the whole party thought he killed himself #which is…a little unsettling tbh #also he now has to face Erica’s wrath for worrying her and that involved #dinner with the Sinclairs once a week until for til college #Steve: for til college? what kind of grammar is that? #Erica: you’re so uncultured it’s not even funny #Everybody is worried that Steve doesn’t have any first in Hawkins so he starts posting pictures of him and his neighbor #any friends** #and Eddie who is stalking Steve’s page is just: …that’s my uncle (via @morganbritton132)
Actually, v funny if Steve isn’t even friends with Wayne yet.
Dustin accidentally let it slip that everyone thinks Steve is lonely (kinda true) and that he has no friends in Hawkins (ouch), and they’re worried about him being alone all the time.
Steve doesn’t want his friends to worry about him so he starts…manufacturing friends.
He posts a pic of his meal at Enzo’s and implies in the caption that he was there with his coworkers. He posts a picture of multiple empty beer bottles and some chips on his coffee table and says it’s nice to have people over for the game.
He’s only ever had one conversation with his neighbor and it was about trash day. He’s not sure what the man’s name is, just that he likes to smoke on his porch. It’s easy enough to take a picture with him in the background and to add a caption that makes it seem like they’re hanging out together.
Is it a little pathetic? Yes. Definitely.
Will anyone find out that he’s lying? Probably not.
Modern AU where Steve periodically posts to Instagram because The Party keeps thinking he’s dead in a ditch in Hawkins if they go too long without hearing from him.
He’s not posting anything special - just a pic of his meal or a post-workout selfie - but some guy with millions of followers likes everything he post. Steve doesn’t even know this guy.
He mentions it to Dustin once when he was home from college for the weekend, and Dustin is like, “Is your page public? Why are random people looking at your page?”
“I don’t know,” Steve says. “They keep changing everything. I barely know how the damn app works.”
“Let me see.”
Dustin takes his phones, taps the screen a few times, and then looks up, “This is the guy liking your stuff? This guy??”
“Yeah.”
“Eddie Munson,” Dustin clarifies. Steve nods. “Eddie Munson from Corroded Coffin is liking your stuff?”
Steve is just, “…Who?”
“Steve, my favorite band! I talk about this guy all the time!” Dustin exclaims and then calms into exasperation because, “He messaged you and you didn’t look at it??!”
Robin, on their nightly FaceTime, spends ten minutes chastising Steve for unknowingly having a public instagram when he posts pictures of himself alone in very kidnappable places, “You’re going to be taken by that weirdo that likes all your pictures before me.”
“Oh, that’s Dustin’s friend,” Steve says. “That guy is like, in the marching band or something.”
“I’m almost certain that’s not what Dustin said to you,” She replies. “That guy looks like a vampire.”
“How do you know what he looks like?”
“You never looked at his page?!” She asks. “Steve, you need to know who is looking at your stuff!”
Meanwhile, Eddie has been following Robin on Tiktok almost as long as he’s been looking at Steve’s insta.
Once a month, Robin posts a Tiktok of her journey home from college for a weekend.
The video goes from train to plane, to bus, to a little red door that she bust through, to Steve doing something weird. Every time.
The last video (posted one week ago) has Robin busting in to Steve’s house to himputting a condom on a banana.
You can’t see Robin but the look on her face is perfectly encapsulated in the wide-eyed surprise that Steve is giving back to her.
There’s a heavy pause before Steve finally says, “This is obviously not what it looks like.”
“Looks like you’re planning to shove a banana up your a-“
neighbor!simon riley and the mundane tasks he does to make things easier for you
when you first moved in, you were wary of the big, brute of a man that lived next door. you'd seen him, for the first time, taking his trash to the end of his driveway for the garbage truck to pick up while movers lugged boxes and furniture inside your house. he spared a single glance, offering a nod at your small wave before retreating into his house.
you thought that was that.
for weeks, you lived without any interaction. settling into your new home, coming back and forth between the hardware store and your house for new projects. taking out your trash before you go to work. you'd seen him take out his own trash once, but you watched from your window, so he never noticed.
you felt weird doing it. watching the thick muscles of his biceps flex against his filled out sleeve, dusting his veiny hands on his jeans before adjusting his balaclava. you wondered why he wore it, but you moved on. you'd likely never interact.
until a couple weeks later, you had arrived home with new groceries. a lot of them. it would take multiple trips that would make your arms ache.
you barely opened your trunk when a dark mass appaeared at your side. you gasp in surprise, head craning. damn, he was taller than you thought.
without a word, he reached in and grabbed at least ten grocery bags with ease. it didn't even seen to bother him as he carried it into your garage and to the door. he didn't struggle to open the door, inviting himself in and leaving you dumbfounded.
what the hell?
the next time his weird behavior manifested was when you were at work. you got a notification from your doorbell camera about some movement, expecting a salesperson or jehovah's witness. instead it was your neighbor—the one who's name you still don't have.
he carried a tackle box, and you were about to speak to ask what he was doing when something compelled you to just watch. he seemed to take apart something on your porch, taking and replacing a piece of the light before screwing it back. he left without a word.
when you got home, your porch lights shined brighter than before—they were dim and on the verge of burning out. why would he do that?
you wanted to confront him, but you appreciated these small things. he still appeared out of thing air to take your groceries in, leaving before you could thank him.
he even started pulling out your bin for you, sitting it at the end of the driveway and dragging it back to the garage when the truck came by.
it perplexed you. why was he doing this for you? did he do it for his other neighbors? he had to, you couldn't be that special.
so you continued living life, welcoming the small actions as they made everything easier. besides, you enjoyed the company, even if he never said a word to you or looked in your direction.
the first time you approached him was on the drive home when a light appeared on your car's dashboard. you had no clue what it meant, though you probably should've. when you arrived home, you debated taking it straight to the autoshop, but instead you tried your luck with your neighbor. he likes to help, so you're guessing he wouldn't mind.
with a soft knock to his front door, you stood waiting patiently, and wait you did. a few minutes later, you contemplated turning back because he wasn't answering the door despite being home (his car was in the driveway).
just as you turned, the front door creaked open, revealing your neighbor clad in nothing but a white towel around his waist, balaclava shoved on haphazardly. his chest glistened with water as it glifed down his skin. oh fuck.
you could barely keep your eyes off his toned chest, abs flexing under your gaze before they snapped back to meet his dark ones. he lifted his brow in question.
"uh, hi." you said awkwardly, rocking on your feet. you hadn't even properly introduced yourself to the man, mostly because he disappeared so quick that you didn't have the chance. "a light came on in my car, and I was wondering—"
the door shut mid-sentence. it left you dumbfounded, mouth hanging open in shock as you stare at the door like it may open again. maybe his generous actions ended at bringing the groceries in. maybe he didn't want to get dirty after just showering. you couldn't expect the man to be ready to help any time you needed it.
after a minute of contemplation, you turned to walk back down the path. you'd have to get it to the mechanics and figured out how much it'd cost you.
when you reached the last step, the door opened again. still shirtless but now looping a belt around his jeans, he walked out, bare feet padding on the concrete. he nodded to your house, signaling you to lead.
you lead him back, hand him your keys and let him do his thing because now you get a free show. his muscles flex as he works under the hood, dirtying himself in a way that's sinful. after a while working in the hot sun, you go inside and bring back a drink, which he gratefully accepts—still without saying anything.
he's a bit weird, refusing to talk to you, but he's fixing your car so you can't complain.
"is this your official uniform to fix all your single neighbor's cars?" the words slip out before you can stop them. mortification warms your face, but it forces a deep chuckle from your neighbor, whose eyes crinkle under his mask.
he glances up at you, dirt smearing his skin. "only the pret'y ones."
your heart flutters. his voice was deep, gruff, like he smoked cigarettes, but it was satisfying to hear.
"so you do talk." you tease whilst biting back a smile. you'd finally gotten words out of him. a small victory. "what's your name?"
"simon."
"really? you look like a greg."
he shakes his head with a smile and continues working, leaving the two of you in silence. what you don't know is that simon's heart is nearly pounding out of his chest. it's beating so hard, he's worried he'll break a rib.
simon has been working up the courage to say anything to you every time he helps you, nervous as hell to talk to his pretty neighbor who he likes to help. hell go home and think about that interaction for days—or until you ask for his help again.
Imagine reader and Andrew Cody have been secretly pining for each other and reader runs into Andrew while he’s making a getaway from a job so she decides to help him by pulling a make out fake out and kissing him in a darkened corner so that the guards don’t see him and Andrew is internally freaking out but when reader apologises once the coast is clear he just pulls her in and kisses her again
a/n: omg anon YOUR MIND!!!
getaway
you’ve grown up with the codys. smurf tried to set you up with baz to get him away from julia a thousand times, but you only had eyes for the oldest, pope. it was always andy to you.
the feeling was mutual, pope was obsessed with you since the first day smurf brought you home and introduced you as julia’s friend. he was just a kid, too scared to do anything about it.
you knew what the codys were into. you used to tend to pope’s wounds when you were teenagers. he’d come to you all beaten up, with that puppy look of his, asking for help and care only you could give him.
you detached yourself from the codys. you didn’t want to have anything to do with their business and pope was too brainwashed by his mother to follow you. you like to think that in another life you could have saved him from his family.
you got a degree and a job at a marketing firm that pays well. of course you heard rumors about heists and robberies all over oceanside and you tried your best to ignore them—but the thought of pope’s well being always gnawed at you.
you didn’t know about julia’s death, you only found out when you met her son j at the beach. the news of her death were delivered shortly after. you loved julia like a sister, but her addiction separated you. she wouldn’t listen and you weren’t exactly the most patient person. you blame yourself a lot for not being there for her.
as times passes you’ve gone through a number of partners, but no one seems to stick around enough to stay. lawyers, doctors and engineers weren’t really your thing, and you knew exactly why.
when you finish your shift at work you take your usual route, cutting it short by passing by an alley when you hear screams and fast footsteps. you try your best to mind your own business, but when a familiar figure bumps into you while running,you can’t help but look.
you both stop in your tracks, blinking in recognition. pope takes his mask off and says your name softly,his voice breaking a little. a siren is approaching the two of you, you panic and your knees wobble as you grab pope by the nape of his neck to crash his lips with yours.
pope freezes for a moment, eyes open looking straight at your closed ones. when the situation registers into his brain he finally relaxes, closing his eyes and melting completely into your kiss. he grabs you by your hips, squeezing and pulling you closer to his chest. your fingers tangle into his grown out curls as he dips his tongue inside your mouth, tasting you gently.
the kiss is urgent, years and years of pent up feelings can be tasted against your tongues.
the police car runs past you, the siren blasting through the road. when the noise of it all fades away, you gently push yourself off of him “i’m so sorry i-i panicked and the police—“ pope cuts you off by grabbing both sides of your face and kissing you again, less panicked and more practiced, at ease. you squeal and grab him by his shirt, pulling him closer.
“i’ve missed you” he says, his eyes scanning your whole face as if he had forgotten what you looked like. which is a lie, pope has been dreaming about you since you left.
After the life Simon Riley has had, it’s really not surprising that he just can’t get it up anymore. He’s tried, time and time again, but the blood doesn’t pump through him the same way it did. And it isn’t that he doesn’t have a sex drive, god no, one look at you and he wishes he could fuck you into the mattress until your tears stain the pillows and the only sounds falling from your mouth are screams of pleasure.
You walk around the apartment, his big t-shirt on, no panties underneath, and it drives him insane. You’re an entire decade younger than him, young and sexy, and he can’t help but feel guilty for letting you stay with him knowing that he can’t give you what you want in bed.
It doesn’t stop him from eating you out until your clit is puffy and your walls are rubbed raw by his calloused fingers. When his head is between your legs, he tries, he really does. He gets so worked up, grinding his soft cock against the bed, willing it to get hard so he can fuck you right after, but it never does.
All it ends in is you cumming on his face one too many times and him walking out of the room without saying a word in pure humiliation.
You don’t take it to heart, you know he beats himself up for it, saying he isn’t good enough, that you should find someone who can actually give you what you want and keep up with you at that. Every time you reassure him, that he does satisfy you, that he never fails to make you feel good regardless of how he does it, but it seems to go in one ear and out the other.
But tonight, tonight is different and you will find a way to fuck your man.
You lay naked on the bed, legs spread, juices glistening off your folds while Simon hovers above you. His arms cage your head in as he kisses you rough, his tongue sliding over your soft lips, yours entering to explore the expanse of his mouth. He kisses the length of your jaw, down your neck where he licks the salty-sweet skin, bites just hard enough for you to writhe beneath him, and sucks until purple bruises are left to ache in the best way possible.
Before he can lower himself between your legs, you let your fingertips brush just under the waistband of his sweatpants, and his mouth stills against yours.
“Si… just let me try something tonight. I really want to,” you say breathlessly, pulling away from the kiss, gazing up at him with a look that is more of a beg than anything.
He kisses your forehead, moving his hand down to pull yours away, but before he can you reach in deeper, squeezing the base of him and earning a rumbling groan from him instead. His fingers wrap around your wrist, not moving you, just simply holding on like he has to steady himself.
“Lovie, please. Don’t embarrass me now,” he whispers, voice rough and low, wavering ever so slightly when your hand begins to trail further up his limp cock.
You don’t reply, but you do run your thumb against his tip, swiping the precum beading from his slit, evidence of his arousal despite him remaining soft. Lips meeting him again, he’s reluctant, but eventually he finds your rhythm.
Pushing his sweatpants down, you pull his cock out, stroking it gently and your warm, soft palm against him feels like you're touching his raw nerves. Even if he couldn’t get it up, it is still incredibly sensitive from months and months of pent-up need and no sex. Not that you hadn’t tried before, because you have, and every time he gets frustrated.
There’s not much you can say to convince him to try again on the same night.
Nonetheless, you focus on his tip, gliding your thumb under the ridge, rubbing against his slit, and you feel his cock twitch barely in your hand. You pull his body closer to yours, resting his cock on your folds, and he hisses from the sheer pleasure of that alone. Your body heat, your slick, the thought of him touching your aching clit like this has him beyond needy.
“Just slide against me. It’ll feel good, yeah,” you say, nodding your head slowly in encouragement.
His hips roll against you, his cock sliding underneath your palm and through your folds, and he bites back a whimper while shivers run down his spine. Simon can feel his cock hardening, just barely, just enough that he might actually be able to feel your walls wrap around him, so he wastes no time in finding out.
“Please, please,” he says under his breath, begging his body to let him pleasure you in ways he usually can’t, just for tonight if that’s what it takes.
He grabs the base of his cock, positioning at your entrance, and it takes a few tries but his semi-hard tip pushes through your entrance. You gasp softly, the feeling foreign and orgasmic, and your walls clench hard around him. A guttural groan rips from his chest when he begins to rock into you, his eyes meet yours, passion and desire swirling around as his pupils dilate from the sight of you taking him regardless of the conditions.
“You feel so good, Si,” you moan, lifting your hips to give him easier access, glancing down every few seconds to watch the way his impossibly large and yet still soft cock rubs through your walls.
“You feel like a dream,” is all he can get out before his eyes are shutting tight and his fingers are tangling in your hair.
Your body meets his, helping him through it, helping him get to where he needs to be so that just for tonight, he can feel man enough for you. And when he cums deep inside of you, his tip pulsing with long, thick ropes of warm cum, ‘thank you’s’ fall from him repeatedly before he kisses you with a newfound confidence.
“Again Si, don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. He stays rocking inside you, cumming again and again until his cock is too raw, until your pussy is full of his cum, and you feel every last bit of him. When he’s done, he lowers himself between your legs, cleaning his mess and sucking your clit, watching you cry from pleasure, watching you squirm away, but there is nothing he could give you that would ever come close to the feeling of showing him that he is enough for you.
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A/N: since someone had an issue with the fact that i said the reader is a decade younger than simon and "young and sexy" let me clarify that i never specified an age anywhere in the fic lmao the reader could be 24 and simon be 37 the reader could be 35 and simon be 50 for all i care thats for you to decide and that is why i dont specify certain aspects of the reader i simply wanted to emphasize an age gap to make the guilt simon feels more profound simon finds the reader sexy and shes younger than him there is nothing to read in between the lines or imply about that literally at all
as much as I love the concept of dennis sleeping in robby's bed while he's away my dennis is far too polite. he feels weird about it, too weird. he ends up curled fetal on robby's couch, holding himself, shivering a little. he doesn't even bother with a blanket.
robby gets home early. two months early and 2am early. it's dark out, and he's tired— he's never not tired. a bone-deep exhaustion he just can't shake. couldn't shake it on the road, couldn't work up the courage to hurl himself off a roof or a cliff or something that would end this endless exhaustion for good. he did something he's gotten embarrassingly good at, he gave up.
he assumes dennis is sleeping at the very least, most likely not even there. dennis probably stops by once a day to water a couple of dying plants, make sure no one has broken in overnight. easy enough. of course, dennis was welcome to stay. welcome to anything, his food, (not that there's much of it) his bed, anything he wanted. robby half-expected him to get the house. half-expected himself to never come home.
knew that he was never gonna do it. too pussy, too weak, maybe. he'll make excuses, say PTMC needs him, (what a joke..) that his colleagues would miss him, something, anything. but the damned truth is he just couldn't fucking do it.
robby eases his front door shut, toes out of his boots, sighs heavy through his nose. when he pads into the living room he's shocked to make out a form in the dim light, the rise and fall of breathing, dennis. god, of course. robby should've given him some sort of express permission, do whatever you want, sleep in my bed, wear my clothes, use my shower.
not like— not like that. even though robby's chest feels weird at the thought of it, dennis in his clothes... smelling of him... nuzzling into sheets he's slept in. fuck. robby's always been a fucking pervert when it comes to his adorable intern with the biggest, saddest eyes, but knowing it feels a little better. self-awareness and all that. the kid is just so sweet, so eager, so... he looks up at robby like robby means something to him.
just— dennis should've been comfortable. he knows the kid, always scared of imposing, taking up too much space, being too much. a tendency to curl into himself, even months later with a new edge of confidence. robby knows his mattress is a hell of a lot nicer than his couch, at least.
for a moment he considers if he should leave the little thing all curled up, sleeping, unaware. but robby is a selfish man. and he'll pretend that it's for dennis, that he's thinking about how achy the poor kid will get from sleeping on the couch, but he knows it's not true. robby is fucking tired. and he wants. he wants dennis in his bed, in his arms, sleepy and sweet, something whole, something innocent. someone who likes him. who cares about his opinions and his praises, craves them, even. fuck, yeah, robby's a selfish man. but he knows it. he's aware.
ignoring the protest in his back and knees, he scoops dennis up in the cradle of his arms, grunting at the muscled weight. dennis is short, compared to him at least, and robby fucking loves that more than he should— how small dennis can seem in comparison to him— but he's not exactly tiny. especially not since his return from rotations, with those pretty, sculpted arms robby keeps peeking at every time he offers a job-well-done fistbump.
fucking pervert.
dennis stirs a little, snuffles in the crook of his neck, and robby feels like crying. it's the most intimate he's been with someone in years, it feels like, even though he picked up a girl in a bar on the road just a week ago, gave her a good night. picked up a guy, just a couple days before that. robby's good at flirting, good at sex, good at impersonal.
this feels different. dennis's warm weight, the gentle smell of coconut shampoo, the softness of the dirty blond curls against his chin. this is someone he cares about. and dennis is clinging to him in his sleep, whining a little in the back of his throat as he's laid down on robby's bed. yeah. robby feels like fucking crying, even though he'd never just let himself. he spends most of his time trying not to cry.
but, he lets himself have this. shushes dennis's soft whines, crawls into bed and curls up close, gritting his teeth as dennis takes so easily to it. nuzzles up like he's trying to burrow into robby, shuddering like he's unused to touch, unused to the warmth of another body. robby squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself drop a kiss to the top of dennis's head, breathing him in deep til his shoulders loosen a bit. god, how long has he wanted this? feels like forever. maybe always, in some capacity. someone sweet and forgiving, warm and soft, cuddling up into his chest like robby could ever be considered "safe."
someone staying, as if robby could ever be anything but abandoned.
dennis whispers robby? against his throat and robby tenses up, scared that this safety bubble is popped, that everything's broken, that he's fucked it. that he only had paradise for a moment before it's snatched from his grip all over again.
he might as well give into it while he can. talk to dennis like he does in his head, treat dennis like he fantasizes about on lonely nights. so he hums soft, starts rubbing circles on dennis's back, cuddling him somehow closer as he coos shh, you're okay, baby, you're alright. you're safe, sweetheart. go back to sleep.
robby resigns himself, waits for the other shoe to drop. waits for dennis to realize what's happening, to wrench out of his grasp, maybe yell at robby for holding him, touching him like this without even asking. innocent, maybe, but intimate, too intimate. inappropriate. so robby waits.
dennis only rubs his cheek against robby's shoulder, tucks his face into robby's neck, body going lax with an adorable little yawn. mm, he murmurs, soft, sleepy. your bed's nice. I missed you.
Post-Starcourt Stobin, who don't want to explain where their injuries came from to paramedics, decide to leave but also like, they need medical attention.
Robin got a cut on her knee during the final battle that won't stop bleeding and Steve is just...broken.
"Awe, don't say that," Steve complains with blood pouring down his chin from his reopened split lip. "I'm just..."
"Tired," Robin finishes for him when Steve trails off. He's doing that with frequency now. Robin thinks his injuries might be worse than he's admitting so, "Let's rest."
Robin's not sure where they're at but Steve says they're halfway to his house so, a little rest is fine.
She finds a door that's unlocked and a house that's empty, and that feels like a good enough reason to enter it and - "Find the first aid kit. I'll patch up your knee."
"On it."
Steve slowly sits down and Robin disappears down the hall. She scrubs off as much grim as she can in the bathroom sink, returns with the first aid kit, and joins him on the couch when the door opens and -
"...What's happening here?"
"We're...." Steve starts, stalls, picks back up to say "intruders" at the same time Robin blurts out, "Your friends! Here for the surprise part - did you say intruders?"
"What?" Steve, who definitely did, responds. "No. Why would I say that? I-"
"Hey," Eddie Munson cuts in. "What the fuck are you doing in my house and why do you look like roadkill?"
First of all, "Rude."
"To roadkill, maybe," Eddie crosses his arms. "Again, I’m asking-"
Second of all...
"Dude, shut up," Steve snaps at him. "I'm tired and everything hurts, and you're fucking loud. I’m trying to concentrate."
Eddie gives him a condescending gesture to continue but it's pretty clear that Steve doesn't remember what he was trying to do.
Robin jumps in to take over but..."What are we doing?"
Steve sounds so tired when he says, "I don't know."
"Eddie," She says, feeling the night hit her all at once and finally.
Finally, asking the one thing she's wanted since they fell down that elevator shaft, "Help us, please?"
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