just learned that my friend’s sister likes to learn what cologne her boyfriends’ dads wear and then buy it and layer it with her perfume when they’re having sex to create a Freudian effect. omg
── .✦ ANDREW 'POPE' CODY and his nympho girlfriend
★ˎˊ˗ CONTENT WARNINGS 18+ MDNI fem reader, reader has breasts, hypersexual / sexually insatiable reader, established relationship, oral sex (male receiving (except not receiving? don't know how to describe it)), edging / orgasm denial themes, mild degradation language (pope being condescending) spit/bodily fluid imagery, rough handling, very light humiliation / praise-kink mix)
MASTERLIST | RULES | INBOX
Pope is still locking the front door when you brush past, bare feet padding across the hardwoods, skin glowing as though you've been hoarding sunlight all day just to pour it on him.
He swears he doesn't deserve it.
The shirt you stole from his drawer, an old skate tee with the collar chewed to hell, slides over your body and lands in a loose heap on the floor. Your tits bounce lightly as they're freed.
Fuck. He could stare at them for hours, probably has, memorizing every curve and shadow with the grim focus he brings to anything he loves too much.
“Easy, baby,” Pope warns, even though his heart is tearing through him, dragging every dirty possibility in its wake. “I bought groceries. At least let me put the milk —”
“Later.” You tug the plastic bag from his hand, thunk it onto the entry table, and hook a finger through his belt loop. “Kitchen’s close enough.”
The fridge whirs, oblivious, while you drag him backward until thighs hit cool marble.
Pope can smell cilantro, gasoline from his truck, the sweet-and-salty rush in your sweat. You taste it, too, licking the hollow beneath his ear like a kid sneaking frosting.
“One track mind,” he mutters, masking a thick swallow when his jeans tent under your touch.
You pull back just far enough to look at him.
“That's not true. I think about a lot of things. They all just end —” Your hand settles over the hardening shape in his pants. “— here.”
He laughs a little, but it dies when you kneel.
You slip two fingers beneath the waistband, teasing skin before tugging down. Fabric puddles at his feet, leaving him bare and aching. You move to trace the underside with your tongue, a lazy path from root to head, then look up through your lashes.
“You leave me alone for hours.” Your hand tightens at the base of his cock, possessive. “What else am I supposed to wait for but you coming home and letting me have this?”
Pope guides himself to tap against your tongue. You happily oblige with an open mouth.
“Yeah? You wait all nice and good for me, princess, or did those needy little fingers wander?” He feigns a thoughtful hum. “Sheets looked a little rumpled when I walked in.”
He watches your mouth struggle to form words, tension fluttering in your cheeks where he fills them.
“Tried,” you admit, voice thick with obstruction. “Made it ‘til lunch before I… got impatient.” Your palm glides up his length in apology. “Does that still count as waiting?”
He winds your hair around his knuckles and tugs until you’re staring straight up at him, guiding your mouth off him with a soft pop.
Pope clicks his tongue, pity painted on like cheap gold leaf.
“Aw, sweetheart. Must've felt like torture, didn’t it?” His thumb smears the shine across your swollen lip, then lifts so you can see the string of spit stretch. “Don't worry, I'll help you learn some real patience... after you watch me finish what you couldn't wait for.”
MARIA NOTE happy tuesday besties! wishing u love in your heart and freakiness in your spirit! stay cunty! stay hot!
⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚⠀ just thinking about dennis whitaker and how he can’t stop thinking about you while being at work. usually, he’s so composed; he’s fast on his feet and attentive to what’s happening around. but today? god, today is something else.
today, dennis has some hard times focusing on anything but the thought of you and the way you rode his cock the night before. a blush creeps onto his cheeks when he thinks of the handcuffs around his wrists, how you tugged on his hair just to bare his neck, how you sucked purple hickeys onto his skin that he (thankfully) was able to hide. dennis can’t stop thinking about the whines and moans that left his mouth when you clenched around his cock, how your ass slapped onto his thighs as you bounced on him.
being submissive isn’t hard for him, and especially when it comes to you; you have something special that makes dennis just want to obey you and be good. and that gets even stronger when you whisper praise to him. “such a good boy, aren’t you?”, “you like when i squeeze your cock inside me?” or even, “fuck, i love using you to fuck myself. you’re sooo good to me.” dennis always loses his mind when you say things like that. he loves that you make yourself feel good onto him.
he loves feelings his shaft pulsate and throbs inside your warmth, hearing your moans as you clench and come onto him. feeling his load shoot inside you, filling you up without doing anything; it feels so good. feeling your hand tugging on his hair, sucking marks onto his skin, overstimulating yourself as you keep bouncing until you’re gasping for air. squelching noises echoing in the room, followed by moans and groans from the both of you.
dennis just love when you use him, no matter when or where—he is happy to be your little fucktoy.