After established Rabbot have a threesome with Dennis Whitaker, they all take a bath together. . . Whole fic on AO3!
NSFW ----MDNI
------------------------------------------
Dennis giggled as both men let out old man groans and deep sighs as the warm water started to soothe their muscles and joints. The omega started playing with the rubber ducky and pretending to have it eat some of the flowers floating on the surface. Dennis was purring absent-mindedly as his body started to loosen up in the warm water and both alphas smiled at the sound.
Robby caught Jack's elbow and maneuvered him around so he was in between his knees as he sat on one of the built in benches. He brought his arms around Jack's hips, sliding his hands up along the man's ribcage, then sweeping up behind his back and starting to massage his shoulders. Jack slowly closed his eyes and let out a low groan in appreciation.
Jack lazily reached over to the edge of the tub and pushed a button to turn on the jets, causing Dennis to yelp in surprise before sighing as the bubbles fizzled across his skin. Robby chuckled and continued to massage Jack's shoulders and back, eventually closing his eyes himself and relaxing back against the tub wall. The repetitive motions of Robby's hands over Jack's muscles felt so soothing and comforting. Jack occasionally let out small grunts when Robby moved to a sensitive spot, or worked out a knot in one of his shoulder muscles.
The older men were so caught up in their massage that they didn't notice they had caught the attention of their omega. The boy had snapped his head up at Jack's first moan, and was staring at the two men through hooded eyes. Hearing the noises escaping from Jack's mouth, Dennis couldn't help himself as his dick hardened yet again.
He rolled his eyes at his own body, and eventually started stroking himself under the water. He made sure to stay as still and quiet as possible, so his alphas wouldn't catch him pleasuring himself. That had been strictly forbidden tonight, but Dennis didn't want to disturb the men who had worked so hard making love to him earlier.
They were finally winding down for the night, and he knew they probably weren't up for another round. Adjusting his position on the bench a little, Dennis found one of the water jets and sat directly on it. The water pressure was hitting his pussy just right and zapping waves of pleasure through his core.
Robby prodded his thumb deep into the muscle just to the right of Jack's thoracic vertebrae, causing a loud grunt from the man. He dug his knuckle against the knot and worked at it for a few more seconds. Jack leaned into the pressure and tilted his shoulder, wanting to get the knot out--however painful it was. Both men suddenly paused, snapping open their eyes as they heard a new noise from across the tub.
Dennis was beside himself with pleasure. His eyes were closed and his lips were parted open. The warmth of the bath was extremely soothing, especially after spending a majority of the day cramping. His dick wasn't as tender as it was outside of the water, and Dennis used that to his advantage as he stroked himself faster and faster. His head had tilted back to rest on the lip of the tub and he had long ago abandoned the rubber ducky who was now rapidly floating away with the small waves Dennis was producing from his arm jacking himself off.
All Dennis wanted to do was chase his pleasure, and he quickly forgot all about trying to stay quiet and nonchalant. He was letting out soft moans and whimpers as he neared his climax. He quickened his pace, sending small waves of water over to the two alphas who were frozen in place watching him. With a gasp, Dennis came into the bath water and instantly relaxed against the side the tub, sinking until just his head was above the water.
He didn't realize that both his alphas were staring directly at him, having witnessed the tail end of his masturbation. Jack and Robby smirked at each other and moved to bracket the boy on either side and started caressing his body. Coming to his senses, Dennis opened his eyes and sheepishly looked between the two men.
"Having fun, pup?" Jack asked, cocking his eyebrow.
------------------------
Want more? Check out Honeysuckle Huckleberry on AO3. I've posted 21 chapters so far and will continue to upload a chapter every day! #shameless plug
Summary: Your roommate (and long-time crush) Dr. Robby walks in on you masturbating when he wasn’t supposed to be home
Tags/Notes: established friendship, masturbation, mutual masturbation, getting together, mutual pining. roommates to lovers, vibrator use, praise kink, piv sex (unprotected, discussed), riding, cumming inside bc i can't help myself
Content: voyeurism/getting walked in on, one joke along the lines of "kms"
A/N: im realizing this kinktober is gonna be less kinky and more just me indulging my desires
Word Count: 2.9k
You’ve gotta be honest with yourself: It’s really hard to find time to masturbate when you live with your coworker and cover all the same shifts. It’s an old apartment with thin walls. Usually you’re left to quiet whimpers underneath the covers once you know he’s dead asleep (if you can manage to stay awake) or stolen moments with the showerhead while he’s getting ready to go. But when you know he won’t be home for a while or when he goes out of town for a trip, you’ll break out a bubble bath, some cute pajamas, and your drawer of sex toys to treat yourself to a little extra.
You’ve really, really been needing one of those nights lately, so the news that you’ll have the apartment all to yourself Saturday night is a blessing. Robby’s at the governor’s gala, receiving an award for outstanding service in medicine after saving a baby’s life on a bus or something (the details, you hate to admit, began to fizzle out when you started to imagine your options for your evening with yourself).
That night, you give Robby a hug goodbye and wish him good luck, sending him off to be a hero for the evening. The event is scheduled until nine which means, after takeout and a luxurious bath, you have a good two hours with yourself, your porn collection, and your favorite cordless Hitachi wand, with your most trusted dildo nearby in case you feel like some penetration to boot.
It’s definitely shaping up to be a good night. You’re full and content and definitely turned on from the mental foreplay when you settle on the couch around 8:00 (you and Robby had agreed when you moved into the place that sex in common areas was fine if the other person wasn’t home, not that either of you got any action), popping in your headphones and lying back with your vibrator on the absolute lowest setting, phone in your free hand.
You lose track of time somewhere around your second orgasm, watching porn with an actor you definitely would never acknowledge looking a lot like Robby – tall with broad shoulders, a graying beard, and kind eyes. Your eyes are trained on the muscles of his back as you punch the vibrator up slightly higher, ready to edge yourself again before packing it in for a really solid night of sleep.
You’re so deep in the rolling, building pleasure of it that you don’t hear the door opening or Robby quietly greeting you. It’s not unusual for you to be up late on the couch with your headphones in, watching a movie on your laptop instead of the TV for reasons he’ll never understand, so he doesn’t think much of your lack of response until he hears the buzzing.
And the wetness
And the little whimpers.
Robby moves three steps forward, deathly quiet, and takes in the scene. He can’t see everything from this angle, but he can see your knees bent back toward yourself, your shoulder pumping from working the vibrator, and your lips parted in ecstasy. His heart climbs up into his throat. It’s definitely not the first time he’s imagined something like this, but being confronted by it in real time sends his mind reeling. He debates all of his options in quick succession and finally decides on what he’s wanted to do the last six months of your long friendship: Confront it head-on.
It’s the intentional thud of his bag on the ground that startles you out of your haze. You’re panicking right away, scrambling to cover up your body with a nearby pillow as you literally throw your vibrator across the room like a kid caught with a stolen candy bar.
Instead of taking the easy, appropriate way out – muttering an apology and ducking straight into his bedroom – Robby crosses the living room and stands in front of you with the meanest smirk you’ve ever seen on his kind features. Christ, he’s dressed up. Robby never dresses up. The white button down strains over his broad chest and he’s got it rolled up to his elbows and you had just been too close to an orgasm not to notice the outline of his hardening cock against his checked gray slacks. You didn’t even know he owned slacks like that, fitted and modern.
As you bury your burning pink face in the pillow, Robby bends down and picks up your still-buzzing toy from the ground. He clicks it off in a gesture that, for some reason, is insanely sexy. It’s just nonchalant. Like he didn’t just walk in on his roommate, his long-time friend, his coworker masturbating on his couch. He holds it out to you and says, “C’mon, at least show me what you’re looking at.”
You clutch your phone tight in your fist and shove him hard on the arm as your eyes widen in horror. “I would so literally rather die, Michael. Mind getting the fuck out of here so I can go slit my wrists in the bathroom?”
Robby shakes his head, grins like the menace he is, and jokes, “Want me to whip mine out so we’re even?”
Horrified – and the shame making you even more turned on because you’re a fundamentally fucked up person, apparently – you squeak out, “Don’t tell me you saw everything.”
Robby swallows hard. His eyes devour every part of your body visible around the throw pillow that can only cover so much. “I definitely didn’t see as much as I want to.”
That sucks the air out of the room. Out of the whole apartment you share. Out of the entire world, actually.
Your muscles begin to relax. The blush in your face is spreading down your chest and it’s not just from embarrassment now. “What?”
Robby starts to unbutton his shirt, exposing the dark chest hair you’ve gotten forbidden glances of in between shifts. His voice is low, rough. Wanting. “We’ve been dancing around this a long time, sweetheart. I think it’s about time we stop pretending, don’t you?”
All you can do is stupidly repeat, “What?”
“If you don’t want me, tell me right now and we’ll go right on pretending.” The cocky bastard shrugs off his shirt and lets his hands hover over his belt. Oh god. Standing there shirtless, Robby is delectable. He’s strong and soft and sure. And then he says, “But if you do want me – the way I want you – then I want you to spread your legs again and keep showing off that pretty pussy.”
You bite your lip hard for a second, take a deep breath, and move the pillow back to the other side of the couch. The little hitch in Robby’s breathing as he takes in your bare chest is everything. “Then I want to see your cock.” You raise an eyebrow suggestively and add, “Just so we’re even.”
Robby’s hands – fuck, you’ve thought about those big hands of his way too much – undo his belt buckle, his button, and his zipper. His pants fall unceremoniously to the floor and- and his cock is outlined against the sleek, soft-looking gray briefs he’s wearing underneath.
You swallow hard, blush creeping once again back into your cheekbones, and observe, “You’re, um, you’re wearing briefs.”
“I do that when I wear slacks,” he laughs, clearly basking in your outright embarrassment at just how hot he looks. Like a goddamn underwear model with those tree trunk thighs and chest hair and strong broad shoulders and suddenly you’re surging forward to mouth over his clothed cock, possessed by something that’s been growing between you for ages. Robby’s hand drops into your hair at the sight of your desperation and he rasps, “Fuck.”
You pull back only long enough to yank down his briefs and expose his thick cock. You’ve caught glimpses of his naked body a handful of times – it was inevitable with locker room showers and a shared apartment – but you’d, of course, never taken a good long look. And it's a good look.
When Robby sees the way your pupils dilate and your mouth parts open with unbridled lust, his confidence skyrockets. He reaches out, grabs your right wrist, and guides your hand back between your legs. “Show me how you like it.”
“Robby,” you whine, trying to tug him toward you with your other hand, “I want you so bad.”
But he insists, pushing your fingers against your clit and holding them there, “No, I need to see, baby.” He leans forward, though, and keeps his hand over yours, adding slight pressure, until you start circling your clit the way he’s begging to see. His eyes drop to your hand and he whispers, “There you go, baby. That’s it. You know how many times I’ve jacked off listening to your little whimpers through the wall? How many times I’ve wished it was me touching you instead?”
You groan, “That’s fucking mortifying.”
“It’s not.” The bridge of his nose ghosts over your cheekbone. He moves his hand off of yours and wraps his fingers around his pretty cock, thumb smearing his precum. Now it’s your turn to stare. “It’s really not. There’s nothing hotter to me than you getting off.”
You moan at his words, fingers speeding up on your clit, the intimacy of his eyes making your heart thud. As you watch, Robby times the strokes to his cock with the tempo you set in yourself.”
Robby coos, somehow both dark and affectionate, “Good girl. Just like that.”
You can’t help how your thighs spasm around his body. “You did not just call me that.”
“Alright, then we can pretend you didn’t like it.”
His smirk is wicked and delicious and you kiss it off his stupid fucking face so hard it takes him by surprise. “Say it again.”
“You’re being such a good girl for me,” he murmurs against your ear, breath hot and wanting. Both your hands speed up in tandem. “So pretty touching yourself. Fucking perfect.”
It goes like that for another minute – Robby whispering filth about anything he can think of, you becoming increasingly incoherent – until you can’t possibly take it anymore.
“I need your cock,” you whimper, too desperate and slutty to be embarrassed by how needy you sound asking, “please.”
Robby chuckles and presses his forehead to yours. “I need to see you get yourself off, sweetheart.”
“Then I’ll use you like a fucking dildo, Robinavitch,” you cut back. “I want you to fuck me, so either sit your ass down and put your hands behind your head or-”
“I don’t need to hear the other option.” Absolutely grinning, Robby flips himself around and, smooth like he’s practiced it a hundred times, pulls you into his lap, too. “Need to get my hands on your tits, anyway.”
Lining your dripping slit up with his red swollen tip, you falter for a second. You sit back on his thighs, pinch the bridge of your nose, and grumble, “Wait, we should have, like, a responsible adult talk, right? I shouldn’t just let you fuck me raw right here on our couch?”
Breathing hard, Robby’s eyes very reluctantly work upward from the place where your clit is bumping against his shaft, up the curves of your stomach and hips and waist, all the way to your eyes. “Well, I know you have an IUD and haven’t slept with anyone since before COVID,” he reasons, unable to stop glancing down at your bare breasts, “and you know better than anyone that I haven’t gotten laid since Collins broke up with me and that was years ago.”
“You’re making some really compelling points, doc,” you breathe, reaching down to position him at your entrance. “Fuck, Michael.”
Robby moans loud, animalistic, and buries his face in the crook of your shoulder. His voice is wrecked as he explains, “I don’t think you’ve ever said my name outside of making fun of me.”
You kiss the side of his head and murmur against his ear, “Michael.” Then you pull back, tilt his head so you can look in his summer creek eyes, and kiss him soft and sweet. “Michael.”
It sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, really, as he kisses you again and says close against your lips, “I’ve wanted you for so long.”
He sucks in a sharp breath as you rock your hips back and forth, his cock buried so deep inside your wetness that he has to concentrate to stop himself bursting right away. When you lean back and drop your fingers between your bodies to find your clit, Robby groans deep and lustful as he feels your cunt gripping around him, forcing him closer to the edge until he has to dig his thumbs into your waist hard to maintain control. “You have no idea how good you look right now. Christ. You’re perfect.”
You honestly don’t have anything to say. While your dominant hand teases your clit, your other hand goes into his hair, which is overdue for a haircut, and fists it tightly to keep your balance. Robby’s eyes roll back, the sting of pain to his scalp sending him to another stratosphere of pleasure. The way he moans borders on pornographic, loud enough to alert your neighbors in this old-ass building, but the two of you have listened to your neighbors fucking enough times that you decide not to care. Instead, you yank on his hair to increase the volume.
Your back arches as Robby’s hands rove around you, grabbing at your ass, digging into the sensitive flesh, holding you hard enough to leave bruises. God, you hope he’s leaving bruises. At that thought, you yank his head to your neck and say, “Mark me up. I want everyone to see I’m yours.”
Literally whining now, he groans against your neck, “You mean that? You wanna be mine?”
Your hips stutter faster at the idea and you rake your nails down his arm, grasping his bicep to get a better hold, to drive your hips down hard, switching from back and forth to up and down. “It’ll be really nice having a spare room, don’t you think? We could have an office. Or a gym.”
“Now that I’m thinking about it,” he grunts as sweat beads on his hairline, feet planted hard on the ground so he can thrust up into you, “I’ve always wanted a free-weight set.” Robby’s lips and teeth clamp down over your carotid and he sucks so hard it’s downright mean. Satisfied with the deep purple bruise, he adds with a horny, ridiculous smile, “Maybe a futon.”
With your thighs burning and your cunt begging, you whimper, “Please don’t make me cum right after saying you want a futon. I’d rather die than own a- Michael!”
He’s flipped you around and shoved you onto your back to take control, thrusting hard and deep and savage. “Fine. I’ll make you cum right after you fucking beg for it. That sound better to you, sweetheart?”
“Uh,” you try. “Uh.” Your rolling eyes are brimming with white hot tears all of a sudden as he plunges inside of you like an animal, stretching you, beating against your cervix. It’s bordering on painful but it’s so good. So much. So divine that all you can manage as you lock your legs around him is a throaty, “Um.”
Robby cocks his head and smirks and mocks, “‘Uh, uh, um.’ That all you have to say? Such a mouth on you, all teasing and coy, until you really get what you need, huh?” He shoves his huge hand down between you and works your clit with his large, calloused thumb, driving you into overstimulation. “Go on, baby, beg. Find your words and beg for it.”
Your brain’s positively swimming as you try to access the part of it you’re supposed to use for language. Nearly a decade of advanced education has totally left you. The only thing that exists is Robby’s cock filling you, your wetness pooling around it and dripping down onto the couch below you. “Please.”
He presses his free thumb to your lower lip until you instinctively suck and praises, “That’s my good girl.” His sweat drips onto your cheek and you honest to god want to lick it up. “Cum for me. Let go.”
“I want- I want you to finish inside me,” you stammer, “with me. Please, Michael, give it to me. Need it. Need it bad."
With a sound much more like a growl than a moan, Robby nods and kisses you like he’s drunk on your taste. His hips tense and you can feel how his balls slap against your body and you’re tightening around him, so fucking tight, claiming like your pussy wants to swallow him whole, and you can’t take it a second longer. The pulse of your orgasm is undeniable and violent. Robby sucks another harsh bruise into your neck – way too high for work – as he ruts a few final times, shaky and desperate, working your orgasm out so he can let himself go at last.
Once Robby’s cum is seeping from both of you and onto the couch, he laughs. Really laughs. So blissfully happy and exhausted that all he can say is, “I’m really glad we can skip all the early relationship bullshit and go straight to living together because I’m going to need that pussy as often as possible.”
You roll your eyes, kiss him, and laugh, too, “Does this mean you’re my boyfriend?”
He looks down at the mess your bodies have made, shakes his head in disbelief, and chuckles, “Honey, I think this means you’re about six months from being my damn wife.”
Series Summary: You’re a traveling nurse on rotation at the Pitt. Dr. Robby lives across the alley, watching you from his window. What starts as tension builds into something neither of you can ignore, even when it hurts.
Part One: Across the Alley (3.4k) ❀
Part Two: Sweetheart (4.2k)
Part Three: To Be Wanted (2.54)
Part Four: Settled (6.6k) ♡
Bond (Complete)
Series Summary: You're the first omega ever to join the beta- and alpha-dominated PTMC emergency department. Over time, you find yourself relying on your alpha boss, Dr. Robinavitch, for more and more personal tasks. He becomes your friend, your protector, and, if the two of you can figure it out, even more.
Chapter One: Personal (2.4k)
Summary: Starting your residency at PTMC, you fall into step with your attending, Dr. Robby and ask him to do you a personal favor.
Chapter Two: Gourmet (4.0k) ☆
Summary: You heat comes on for the first time since working at the Pitt and Robby takes it upon himself to keep you safe.
Chapter Three: Preening (4.0k) ❀
Summary: Back at work, Robby's treating you -- and himself -- differently. And, when a patient attacks you, he goes feral to keep you safe.
Chapter Four: Starlit (2.7k) ❀
Summary: You make Robby a home-cooked meal and ask for his help with something personal.
Chapter Five: Drive (4.0k) ❀
Summary: You and Robby travel back to your hometown to stay with your parents under the guise of him being your boyfriend.
Chapter Six: Mine (6.5k) ♡
Summary: At your parents' anniversary party, Robby plays his part of your boyfriend a little too well, triggering your heat early and forcing you to confront your relationship head on.
Chapter Seven: Bite (4.5k) ♡ ❀
Summary: Robby takes care of you during your shared heat and rut and you officially become mates.
Bundle (Ongoing)
Series Summary: This companion series to bond features a collection of moments of you and your alpha, Dr. Robby, going through your first pregnancy together, no matter what it holds.
Chapter One: Wonder (4.1k)
Summary: When your scent begins to change, your alpha Robby realizes you're pregnant before you do.
Chapter Two: Sensitive (2.8k)
Summary: After a ribbing from your alpha friends, Robby laments that he hasn't yet found the right engagement ring for you.
First (Robby x Reader & Jack x Reader) (Ongoing)
Series Summary: A love triangle develops between you and the ER cowboys, with Jack becoming infatuated after you hook up while you fall for Robby in earnest.
Chapter One: Consult (6.4k)
Summary: On a recommendation from one of your nurses, you ask Dr. Jack Abbot to take your virginity in the name of sexual experience.
Chapter Two: Hypothetically (3.5k)
Summary: When a TORCH virus hits Pittsburgh, you lend your time and expertise to the Emergency Department, putting you in close contact with both Robby and Jack.
"Yours" Universe
Presented in chronological order.
Yours (14.3k) ☆
Summary: When Dr. Robby returns from his extended sabbatical, he discovers that the girlfriend he thought would be waiting for him has a baby bump – and absolutely hates him for leaving.
Daddy (5.2k) ♡
Summary: With your daughter learning to speak, you start to call Robby 'daddy.'
Body, Mind, and Soul (Rabbot x Reader, Ongoing)
Series Summary: It’s definitely not conventional for two alphas to spend their lives together, but Jack and Robby have never been particularly conventional in the first place. They don’t need an omega – but, fuck, do they want you.
Chapter One: Whatever a Moon Has Always Meant (3.3k)
Summary: Long-married alphas Jack and Robby have accepted their strange but comfortable life together -- until you come into the ED with a scent that makes them wonder if fate may have something else in mind.
One Shots
Special Treatment (6.7k) ⚠︎
Summary: How Robby treats you vs. your attacker after an assault.
Caught (2.9k) ♡
Summary: Your roommate (and long-time crush) Dr. Robby walks in on you masturbating when he wasn’t supposed to be home
Human Resources (11.0k) ♡ ☆
Summary: After finding Dr. Robby’s Tinder profile with a suspiciously large outline in his shorts, your friends make a bet to see who can get definitive proof of his big dick -- and you, despite being wildly in love with him, agree to participate.
An Untenable Situation (3.3k) ♡ ⚠︎
Summary: You’ve been secretly seeing your dad Jack’s best friend Robby for the better part of a year. When he walks in on the two of you in your childhood bedroom, you’re all finally forced to confront it.
Whole (1.6k) ⚠︎
Summary: Getting pregnant has never been a part of your plan, especially right when it feels like your life is about to start.
Bags & Bows (3.1k) ♡
Summary: The one where Robby kind-of-accidentally-on-purpose steals your panties.
A Taste of His Own Medicine (2.0k) ⚠︎
Summary: When Robby gets a little too reckless, you scare him straight.
If (8.7k) ⚠︎
Summary: Robby’s always kept his five daughters close to his chest, but a serious accident sends them all out of orbit. An exploration of family dynamics, forgiveness, gratitude, and connection.
Mouthing Off (3.3k) ♡
Summary: You and Robby are always fighting as the two day-shift attendings, to the point of screaming matches on the ED floor. After a particularly brutal back-and-forth, it seems like using each other to get off is the only way to settle things.
Ficlets & Blurbs
outdoor sex & humiliation (500) ♡
hurt/comfort after miscarriage nightmare (700) ⚠︎
omorashi (no sex just piss) (1.0k)
semi-public corruption kink (1.1k) ♡
pregnant wife, protective robby (1.3k)
magic horny cookies breeding (1.4k) ♡ ❀
anal sex, gags, & noncon (1.4k) ♡ ⚠︎
sissification (1.6k) ♡
rabbot x reader breeding (2.1k) ♡
you wear a tail plug (2.5k) ♡ ❀ ☆
"take what you're given" - andrew "pope" cody x reader
kinktober 2025 day 12: sex work & kneeling
Summary: Pope comes to you in the middle of the night with needs and news.
Tags/Notes: sub!pope x soft domme!reader, established dynamic, praise kink, orgasm control and edging, foot fetish if you squint, scratching/nails, oral (f), piv (unprotected, established), riding, cumming inside, love confessions
Content: canon-typical injuries (pope's post-job), sex work obviously
A/N: i wasn’t planning for this to be sub!pope but it just happened and honestly im really fucking happy with it
Word Count: 3.7k
A knock at the door wakes you in the middle of the night. It doesn’t frighten you; there’s only one person who does this. Who you allow to do this. Any other client back in the day, you’d be calling the cops without question. Or, more accurately, you’d be calling the very man who’s just shown up unannounced.
Checking your phone, you see a Venmo notification on the home screen. $1200 from A.C. Two hours of your precious night. You take your time after that, making him wait, knowing he’ll be squirming as he anticipates your arrival. You toss your old tee and sweat shorts into the hamper and grab a black slip. After pulling your hair up into a messy but sexy updo and spritzing on the perfume you know is his favorite, you pad over to the front door.
You open up the door to his battered, broad silhouette illuminated by your porch light. Your first instinct is to rush him inside and comfort him, but you know that’s not what he’s here for. So you put on a harsh tone and reprimand, “You woke me up.”
Andrew’s broken voice croaks out, “I’m sorry.”
Opening the door wider, you give an annoyed gesture for him to join you inside. “You’ll make it up to me.” Inside your house, the door shut and locked behind him, Andrew catches your wrist and pulls you close to his chest. You allow him to hold you for a second, breathing in your shampoo, letting his restless heart slow. But you stop short of meeting his lips when he chases them for a kiss. “You’ll kiss me when you’ve earned it.” You lead him into your primary sweet and point toward the bathroom. “Shower. You’re not getting all that dirt and blood on my sheets.”
Andrew nods tightly, making himself scarce right away. He knows your apartment like the back of his hand. At this point, he’s here more nights than not. You’ve stopped taking other clients because of him, paying another 50% on top of your rate and always treating you like gold. What he gives you in a week is enough to pay your bills for a month. You don’t charge for the hours he stays in your bed after, talking openly the way he can’t with his family and asking questions about you the way no other clients had. Frankly, you would’ve stopped charging altogether long ago if he’d ever had the courage to speak it into existence instead of leaving you both in limbo. If he dozes off in your bed, you both pretend it wasn’t a conscious decision in the morning.
While he showers, scrubbing himself fast and hard, you take his clothes, remove his wallet and phone, and toss them into your washing machine with some things of yours. The gestures are familiar, intimate, simple. Routine. Then you recline in your bed and wait for him, adjusting your pillows and blankets so that you can prop yourself up, legs parted just enough that he’ll be able to see right between your legs the moment he’s out of the shower.
When the water cuts, you take a second to steady your breathing and drape your body just so. You listen to the soft sounds of him toweling off and hold your breath when you know his hand’s hovering over the doorknob.
Setting your phone down, you look over his naked body as the bathroom light floods your room. God, he’s so beautiful, even covered in bruises. You’ve told him a hundred times during aftercare and sometimes it aches how much you mean it. He knows you do, too, even if he can’t believe it for himself.
He approaches the end of the bed and stands obediently, waiting for you to speak first.
Your voice is firm. Calm. There’s no anger, no chaos, no judgment. Just order. Just structure. “Kneel.”
Pope drops to his knees like he’s been shoved. He stares up at you with wide hazel eyes and slightly parted lips. You curse whoever told him he couldn’t make this innocent, boyish, wonder-filled expression every damn day.
When Pope’s with women who meet him during his regular life, they expect him to take charge. For him to growl at them the way he snarls out orders. For him to be intense the way he has to be to survive in his world. But you know that what he really needs from a woman is the exact opposite. He needs someone to take control of him, to make the decisions, to dote on him, to give him the space to let go.
You smile sweetly at him, present your feet, and order, “Say sorry, Andy.”
Pope nods, not saying a word. At the beginning, he’s always quiet. It’s your job to create the space for him to open up. As you watch, he cradles your foot – freshly showered and lotioned to be nice and soft right before bed – in his hand with breathtaking reverence. He takes a deep breath before he presses a kiss to the top of it, nuzzling slightly at the first taste of you. He worships over the skin, planting kisses from your toes up to your ankles, massaging your calves as he does.
When he switches to the other foot, he murmurs, “I’m sorry. You deserve to sleep and I interrupted you. Thank you for letting me in.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” You scoot to the end of the bed and lean down so that your faces are even. “Now you may kiss me. But don’t be greedy.”
The whine in his throat as he stretches up slightly to kiss you is needy and delicious. It shoots straight to your throbbing clit. He waits for you to part your lips before invading your mouth with his tongue, sighing into you when you suck on his lower lip. Hard. As you pull back, he shudders out, breathy and wanting, “Thank you.”
At the edge of the bed in front of him, you spread your legs and reveal your slick pussy. His eyes lock on and the need in his face almost makes you drop your role to satiate him immediately. But then Pope leans toward you, desperate and loving, his eyes trained forward, and that snaps you out of it. You know what he needs.
So you wrench him back, using his curls as a handhold. Your nails dig into his scalp and he gasps from the pain. “Where are your manners? Say please.”
“I’m sorry,” he says right away, looking up at you through unfairly long eyelashes. He lifts your other hand and kisses it over and over. “Can I taste you? Please?”
Your hand roves from his downy hair around to his face, softly brushing his cheek with your thumb. Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, you murmur, “There’s my sweet boy.”
Then you spread your legs wider, hold him by the hair, and pull his face into your cunt. He lets out a long, muffled moan as his lips part around your clit. His tongue slips down to your entrance, tasting your tart wetness, and drags back up to your clit. As you reward him with a string of moans, you keep a hand in his hair; he doesn’t need guidance when it comes to getting you off because Christ does he know what he’s doing in that department, but you know the added intimacy and care always make him happy.
As he sinks into the rhythm, you tell him, “Fingers, too.”
He hums contentedly, reaching his dominant hand up to slip two of his thick fingers inside of you. The stretch is absolutely perfect and you grind against his face to make sure he knows it. You keep your eyes glued to him. Watching all the stress dissolve from his expression – watching him go from Pope to Andrew – is almost as good as the urgent flat of his tongue on your clit, pumping right alongside those expert fingers of his.
When he curls his fingers forward and hits your G-spot, you can’t help the high-pitched, needy sound that escapes your lips. Your composure slips for a second as you let yourself do nothing but enjoy the way he works you up. As pleasure tightens up in your body, you breathe out, “That’s it, darling. Just like that.”
He knows better than to change a thing, but you feel him clinging to you closer, his free hand gripping your hip possessively to keep you tight against him. The way he holds you says so much about how he feels; you both sense it as your thighs tremble and his eyes open to meet yours. The view of your lips falling open with ecstasy and your chest turning pink as you moan his name turns Andrew into mush, the dark parts of his brain shutting off, taken over by the lightness that comes with being around you.
You cum on his face without warning and he groans, lapping at you, greedy for your taste as it changes, becoming milder, perfectly calming to his brain. He doesn’t let up until you give him two firm taps to his shoulder; he'd stay between your legs forever if you wanted him to. Then he smiles back up at you with wet, shiny lips and chin, and you melt just a little. The hardness has left his brow and his hazel eyes look young and kind, like they should.
He kisses along the insides of your thighs, soft as a wispy summer cloud, so affectionate it makes your heart pound, and murmurs into your skin, “Thank you.” Then his eyes go up to yours and he asks, “Can I fuck you tonight?”
Condescendingly sweet, you order, legs still held up by his strong shoulders, “If you beg. Use your words, Andrew.”
That’s his biggest challenge. Pope’s never been encouraged – often not even allowed – to express what he’s feeling, what he wants, what he needs. On the few occasions you’ve met the Codys (you run in the same circles, after all), you’ve always noticed his brothers and mother cutting him off, calling him ridiculous, clipping his wings. Part of what you want to give him is his own voice back.
“Please, use me,” he rasps after a minute. “I need to feel you. I’ve been thinking about you all day, about how much I want you, how much I lo- Please.”
You both pretend he didn’t almost say what he almost said. That kind of thing happens a lot between the two of you. You tell him, “Up on the bed. Sit back.”
With a thrilled, grateful smile, Andrew stands, rolls his glorious shoulders in a way that really lets you ogle his chest and arms, and then climbs onto the bed behind you. You turn to face him and slowly pull your slip up over your head, discarding it on the floor next to you.
Andrew’s eyes devour you. He whispers, like it’s a secret, like he’s afraid, “You’re so beautiful.”
“Thank you.” You approach him like a cat on the prowl and swing your legs over his. You sit back on his thighs and lean forward. He’s expecting you to take him, to drown on his cock and get yourself off, but tonight you press your lips to his and let softness permeate his being. Your hands explore his torso, slow and gentle, and you murmur, “You give the best head I’ve ever had.” As he inhales a quiet, sharp breath, your lips drag down to his neck. “I love the sounds you make when you’re with me.” You kiss across his collarbone and over his shoulder. “You’re perfect, Andrew.”
You slide your wet folds along his shaft until he’s whining beneath you, using all his self control to stop himself from gripping your hips and fucking up into you. That’s what he’d do with any random girlfriend or hookup. But not with you. Never with you.
This time, when you move to kiss him, you also rock your hips so that the tip of his cock notches inside of you. He feels so spoiled getting to have you like this. Once you stopped seeing anyone else, your relationship catapulting into this beautifully nebulous mystery of love and money and unspoken thoughts, you also stopped using condoms. Feeling you bare is the greatest honor of Andrew’s life, by his estimation. You trust that he’s not going to sleep with anyone else (even though, theoretically, he has every right to) and you trust that he won’t take advantage or hurt you.
“There you go,” you mutter against his lips as you slide down further, still not allowing him to have all of you the way he so, so desperately wants you. Making him go through the agony of his spit and your arousal dripping down to the base of his cock. He whimpers again, whiny and needy, shaking with the resolve it takes not to thrust into your perfect cunt. You slot your lips with his again, soothing him with your collective breath, “Shh, love, it’s okay, just a little more left. You’re being so good.”
Finally, you take Andrew as deep as possible. His thighs twitch and strain beneath you and his head falls back against the headboard, lips open with desire as he feels you completely. You wrap your fingers in the hair at the back of his neck and bring his head forward to look at you. “Don’t look away. You know I like to see you.”
Andrew nods, biting his lower lip, struggling with the intimacy that comes with eye contact while he’s at his most exposed. Your nails graze down his chest as you speed up slightly. He sighs with relief and you know that he needs more. So you dig your nails in properly, scratching up his sides until you see his muscles spasming from the mix of pain and pleasure. “You feel so good, Andrew. So good for me.”
“Faster,” he requests, quick to add an earnest, “please.”
You grip around his neck, forcing his eyes up to center once more; he has a habit of dropping eye contact when he feels vulnerable for more than a moment. “Take what you’re given. I know what’s good for you. Don’t forget that.”
He whimpers softly, “I know.”
“Do you?” You apply pressure to his neck, making his head swim, and slow the pace of your hips to almost nothing. As Andrew’s toes curl from the billowing pleasure of judgment, you go on, “When I’m not there, you go out and get dirty, beaten up, feeling like shit. It’s pathetic. That’s why you come home to me, sweetheart. Because I always take care of you. Because I only punish you when you need it, not just to take my anger out on you like your family does. Right?”
His eyes flutter. He can’t speak when you talk to him like that, so completely domineering and firm. And right. Like you can see beneath his skin to the tension roiling beneath. That’s why he keeps falling for you even though he knows he shouldn’t. Not the feel of your velvet walls clenching around him or the delight of your nipples between his teeth or the way you make him see stars when he cums, edging it out of him for hours or forcing it fast depending on your moods. No, it’s the way you see right through him. Through all his bullshit, through the exterior he puts on, through everything. You give him the opportunity to be known.
You snap him from his stupor by letting go of his neck, sending oxygen and blood flooding back through him. His hips buck upward without his control and he lets out a long, unabashed moan. You grab his hand with yours and order, “Make yourself useful and touch me.”
He nods eagerly, loads his thumb with spit, and drops his hand between your bodies, easily nudging up the hood of your clit and touching the over-sensitive bud with the pad of his thumb. Knowing your body, he matches the pace of your rocking hips. Pleasure jolts up your spine and, at the corresponding twitch of your pussy, Andrew groans low in his throat.
“That’s it,” you praise. The stretch of his cock combined with his thumb’s gentle pressure is nothing short of divine for you. “Nice and slow. Perfect.”
You thread your fingers in his hair and tug him into a kiss that tastes a lot more like love than money. It tastes like mercy. One of your hands drops down to his back and turns to a claw, scratching him up, making him gasp and grunt as you bounce incrementally faster on his cock. You tug his head to the side and bite down his neck, sucking purple hickeys alongside the other bruises, mixing the results of the night’s brutality with marks of absolute, uncomplicated adoration.
When you realize he’s not going to last long, it sends a thrill as good as another orgasm through your core. Andrew’s the kind of man who can fuck for hours if he’s not fully engaged, not 100% present, not deeply and madly and wildly in love with the other person. So the heavy ragged breaths and the tensing muscles and the moans turning high are all a perfect symphony for you.
You stroke his cheek with your thumb, press your forehead to his, and urge, “Let go for me, Andrew.”
He looks at you like it’s Christmas morning. “Inside?”
“Inside, pretty boy,” you confirm, licking along his jaw and nibbling up to his ear. You let your voice go breathy and low, hot against the curve of his ear, as you tell him honestly, “Wanna feel you spilling inside me. Wanna be yours.”
His free hand splays across your lower back, the move downright possessive, and a moan breaks out from his throat. His balls tighten and you keep him right at that agonizing edge where his breaths speed up and his cock begs. The orgasm that crests over him is a perfect wave that you make him ride out until it’s overstimulating and shattering and tears bite at his waterline.
You press feathery kisses across his face as you slide off him so he can start to catch his breath. His hands cling to your waist, though, not ready to let go of you quite yet. So you indulge him, kiss him warmly, and praise, “Good job, sweetheart.”
When his hold on you finally loosens, you slip away and quickly clean yourself up in the bathroom, admittedly rushing so you can get back out to him. Post-sex Andrew is soft and kind and emotional. He’s real. You never feel safer or more seen than when you get to hold him after you’ve been together.
The moment you’re back in bed with him tonight, though, Andrew tugs you into his lap again and holds you so close that you have no choice but to bury your face in his shoulder and squeeze him back. His strength is pure comfort, but you can feel a desperation in the way his arms stay wrapped around you for so long it feels like the sun might start rising.
You run your fingers gently through his hair and kiss his neck in the shallow hollow just beneath his ear. “What is it?”
His big body trembles slightly and his hold on you doesn’t lift. “I’m leaving Oceanside.”
That lingers in the air. You’ve both lived here your entire lives; Pope’s only been away to spend time inside. You hated the time he was away. The idea of him not being a constant in your life aches. You whisper against his skin, “When?”
“Soon.”
“Oh.”
Then you realize something.
Pope doesn’t tell you when he’s going to be away for jobs. He doesn’t show up and make desperate love to you. He doesn't beg for you or hold you or agonize over your presence.
So you pull back and carefully study his features. You’re not sure it’s possible to understand all of Andrew Cody's thoughts, but you can definitely read more of him than anyone else.
Trying not to let any emotion into your voice yet, you ask quietly, “You want me to come with you, don’t you?”
His voice goes stern. Defensive. Pope. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you came here to ask, didn’t you?”
“I came to get laid.”
“Don’t do that. Not with me.”
The tension snaps. Andrew deflates. His expression is innocent and tender as a playground crush. His fingers drag up your arms and you can’t help the goosebumps that rise despite the warm room. He won’t meet your eyes, but he manages to whisper, “Would you?”
You swallow hard.
And think.
There’s nothing tying you to Oceanside anymore, not really. A few friends and a mortgage. You’ve been on your own nearly as long as you’ve been alive and Andrew is the only real anchor you’ve had the last handful of years. You can imagine a life with him. A real one.
But one question remains: “Do you love me?”
“I think so.”
“I need better than that, Andrew.”
“I know you do.” He rests his chin on the top of your head and speaks into the night, “But I don’t know what love is. I don’t know how to tell you. How to say it.”
Breathless now, you reply, “Just try. Be honest with me.”
Andrew chews on it for a long time. His eyes roam over your still naked body with no lust in them. Instead, there’s a softness. He looks at your lips a while and then gazes around the room at all of your things, at the pieces of your life that he wants in his own home instead of miles away.
And, at last, he tells you, “You’re the reason I think I deserve to leave it all behind. You make me think maybe I’m worth a damn. That I shouldn’t take shit from my family all the time just because they expect me to.” He shakes his head to himself as a shy smile takes over his face. “You’re kind and you’re gorgeous and you’re funny and you’re every fucking good thing that I want to figure out how to be – with you by my side." His thumb brushes your lower lip. "That's what love is, isn't it?"
The smile that spreads your lips is extravagant. It feels bright and warm like the sun on the sea. “Where are we gonna go?”
Andrew grins, then, and the next kiss tastes of possibility. “Anywhere you want, angel.”
summary: you're J's best friend but you hate his grandma and uncles. you hate going around to their place. but when pope takes you up on the offer to go surfing you realise that maybe he isn't as scary as you thought
content/warnings: NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY! age gap, smurf, unprotected sex, light stalking (it's pope ofc), oral sex (f & m receiving), hidden relationship, light mention of ass play, no use of y/n
wc: 5k
notes: I'm only on season 2 of Animal Kingdom, so apologies for the ooc of it all. pics used just for aesthetic purpose, not a reflection of what the reader looks like.
You hate going over to J's grandmother's house. When he first moved in after his mother died, your parents had banned you from going over there. He was your best friend, so he was more than welcome to hang out at yours after school. But your parents made you promise that you weren't to go over there. And you didn't argue with them. They didn't know you had already been. His uncles creeped you out. They got too close, got too touchy or got too, well, stare-y.
But when you left school and moved out to your own place by the beach, your parents couldn't tell you what to do. And J wanted you to come over - especially to the pool. You argued you could swim in the sea anytime you wanted. But Nicky was always over there as well and you couldn't leave her with those stupid boys. You didn't trust them. And you didn't trust his grandmother.
"How did you get two?" Craig always teases J when both you and Nicky are around.
You always make the same fuckin' face of disgust. You've known J since you two were in kindergarten. You couldn't imagine him as anything more than a brother. He spent a lot of time at yours when his mother was strung out.
You hate spending time at the Codys', but J is your best friend, and you'll do anything for him. Because you worry about him.
One morning you arrive at the house, hoping to catch J early so you two can go surfing. But the place is unusually quiet, and you are greeted not by your friend or his grandmother (thankfully), but by Andrew Cody. They all call him Pope.
Pope has been watching you since you first arrived at the house. He watches how you flinch at the loud noises, how you recoil from his brother's touches. Unlike his nephew's girlfriend, you don't giggle with Smurf. You get in and get out. But he likes watching you. He likes that you sometimes go and sit in J's (his) room when things get too noisy. That you just want to be away from it all.
You're far too sweet to be around him or his family. But he'd like to corrupt you.
"He's not here," he says simply as way of greeting as he stands in the doorway.
"Well do you want the coffee I got for him?" you ask as you hold up the cups you're holding. "I don't know what typa coffee you like but I don't want it t' go t' waste."
Pope's eyes soften immediately, "Do you need money?"
In the last few years, J has started saying shit like that to you. And you don't like it. You're putting yourself through college. You're working in a shitty bar. You don't wanna be like your mother. She never went to college, married your dad right away outta high school. She relied on him for everything. And while you weren't dating and would never date J, you didn't want to rely on him.
"No. I got money. But I don't wanna waste it," you respond before sighing. "Look. If J comes back tell him there's supposed to be a good swell today and I'll be at the beach."
Pope takes the coffee from your hand, his rough fingers brushing over your soft skin, making you shiver involuntarily.
"I can come," he tells you.
You blink in confusion. Pope is a man of few words. You're aware of this from the times you have spent in his presence. Sometimes he'll sit with you and watch TV when J is busy.
"To the beach," he clarifies.
"You surf?" you respond, taking a sip of your iced latte.
He gives you a half smile. A rare sight.
"I'm also from California," he responds simply.
"Okay, well, get your stuff. I don't wanna miss it," you say with a shy smile.
You can't believe that you're willingly spending one-on-one time with one of J's uncles. But all things considered, Pope isn't the worst. Yeah, he's a bit strange. But there's something...calming about him. Maybe it was the time you fell asleep on the couch and woke up to him carrying you to bed. You slightly panicked, but he just placed you down and walked away.
"We'll take my truck," he tells you as he comes back dressed in his wetsuit. He hasn't put it on fully, so he's naked from the waist up. You inhale sharply at the sight of his bulging muscles under his sun-kissed skin. You're not expecting the sight. And you're not expecting your body to react that way. You're not expecting your cheeks to heat up or the heat growing in your stomach.
"Lemme grab my things," you say when you finally catch yourself.
You grab your board and your suit from your car. You're going to change at the beach like you always do. You've never been alone with Pope before. Not like this. He's quiet, stoic, as you make the short trip to the beach. He doesn't play music in his car. He just drives.
"Lemme get changed, and I'll meet you out there," you say to him with a smile.
He shakes his head, "I'll wait."
You bite your lip as you wiggle out of your jean shorts and the crochet shirt you're wearing over your floral bikini top. You don't notice how Pope's eyes wander over your body. He takes you in, hazel eyes examining every inch of you. The way your skin glows under the hot Californian sun. He lets out a soft breath at the way your breasts bounce as you jump to get your wetsuit up.
"Will you zip me up?" you ask him, turning around to offer him access to you.
You both know that you're capable of zipping up your wetsuit alone. But Pope won't argue and gently brushes your hair away from your back, he moves it over your shoulder and then zips you up. He moves closer than necessary so he can inhale your sweet scent.
"Want me to do you?" you ask him nodding to his wetsuit.
Pope gives you that half smile again before shrugging into his wetsuit and turning around to let you zip him up. You brush your fingers up the soft skin of his back and you watch as the muscles ripple under your touch. You shouldn't be doing this. But you zip him up nonetheless and spend the morning in the surf with him. With a man literally old enough to be your father.
Soon it becomes your routine. You and Pope meet on the beach every Friday morning and spend hours surfing and talking. Sometimes Pope will come into the bar during your shift. He nurses a whiskey and tips you far too well. If he comes into the bar, he'll wait for your shift to end to walk you to your car. He's scary. And you don't mind having your little guard dog.
Then, you find him at the entrance of the bar every night as your shift ends. Just so he can walk you to your car. It's just across the parking lot but you like it. Sometimes he'll sit in your car with you and hear you rant about your shift.
"This is gonna be our last Friday surf," you tell him as he carries both of your boards to his car.
He looks so hurt, like a kicked puppy.
"I go back to college next week," you tell him as you shake the salt water out of your hair. He watches as the water droplets slide down the valley of your breasts. "We can try Saturdays instead? Or Sundays? Unless you're busy?"
"Never too busy for you," he says quickly.
You don't expect to meet Pope Cody on your doorstep on your first day of your senior year of college. This time he's holding a coffee, although it's clearly one he made at home as it's in a mug. You can't help but smile at him.
"I thought you might want a ride to school," he says as he looks at you over his sunglasses.
"And how am I meant t' get home?" you respond as you take a sip of the coffee he made you. Just how you like it.
"You call me and I'll come get'cha," he responds.
So this is how the first semester goes. Pope Cody is your personal chauffeur, your bodyguard and your surf partner. He's become a closer friend to you than J. And J notices. Finally. It just took the better part of the year.
J has started to notice that you don't mind coming over for parties anymore. But when you're there, you're more often than not with Pope. Pope will bring you over a drink. Pope will watch you as you speak to whatever girls have been stupid enough to come over. Pope will sit by you when you're sick of standing. And Pope will go inside with you when you get chilly or bored with his brothers being obnoxious.
And J doesn't like it. When the fuck did you become best friends with the scariest of his uncles?
You and Pope are whispering together in the kitchen. He's got new wax for his board and offers to do yours too. You nod, telling him to come around later that evening.
"What are you two talkin' about?" J asks with a little huff on his face.
"Surfin'," you respond with a shrug before you walk out to the pool.
"You screwin' her or something?" J hisses at his uncle.
Pope just looks at his nephew down his nose and walks away following you out to the pool with a towel for when you come out of the water. He's not going to rise to that. And he doesn't want J to know he has been fantasising about you since that first day on the beach. He doesn't want J or you to know that he's been watching you sleep for months. You should get better locks on your apartment door. You look so pretty when you sleep.
You also talk in your sleep. One night as he sits in the corner of your room, you start to whimper. He presumes you're having a nightmare until he hears you whimper his name. Not Pope, the monkier his family gave him. No, you whimper Andrew.
Oh, Andrew, yes! Please!
He had no choice but to grab a pair of your panties. Used panties. He inhales your scent before shoving them in his pocket. He breathes them in as soon as he gets to his own bedroom and jerks off into his hand. Thinking of the way you moaned his name in your sleep.
And he needs to figure out a way to hear it from you for real.
Since J has been an asshole, you've gotten more touchy with Pope. Not when Smurf is around though. You're not that stupid. At first, he's worried that you're doing it to make J jealous. But you'll hug Pope as greeting when he arrives at your apartment. No audience, just you and him. You brush your hand up his arm when he's in the kitchen making a drink while his brothers make noise by the pool. But his favourite thing is when you sit on the same lounger as him by the pool. You're not bold enough to climb into his lap. But you'll sit by him, offer to put sun cream on him. You always ask him to do your back and shoulders.
Sometimes after you settle yourself between the V of his thighs...only sometimes when his brothers aren't around you'll lie back on him. Relaxing against the hard muscle of his stomach.
These moments get added to Pope's fantasies when he's alone with his thoughts at night. The way you shudder under his touch, how soft your skin is. He knows each of your bikinis and he has his favourites. He loves how you wear your bright floral ones when you surf with him. But you go for softer colours when you're poolside with his family. His favourite is a white one that becomes almost sheer when you're in the water. But he doesn't like when his brothers are around to ogle you in it.
"Seriously," J asks you one night as you sit in Deran's bar. "What is going on with you and Pope?"
You look down at your glass and shrug, "You're always doing bullshit. We started surfing together. That's it."
"I heard he brings you to college too. And work?" J pushes.
"What? You got people spying on me? Should I call you Smurf?" you snap.
You don't need this third-degree bullshit. Not from J, who dragged you into this family.
"I even heard he stays over at your apartment," J continues.
"Yea, a few times. He's my friend, J. I don't need you to monitor everyone. Would you be this wound up if it were Craig or Derran?" you ask him.
"It's weird! He's my fuckin' uncle. He was in prison! He's dangerous!" J continues. "And he's old."
You throw your hands up and slam your drink down in one swallow.
"I don't need this bullshit, Joshua. You didn't give your girlfriend this sorta cross examination. Even after she started fuckin' your uncle," you hiss before you storm out.
You don't expect to walk into the wall of thick muscle that is Andrew Cody outside the bar. How did he know you were here? How did he know that you needed him?
"Hey, sugar, you okay?" he asks, steadying you by gripping your waist with his huge, rough hands. You can feel the heat radiating through the flimsy little skirt you wore out.
Pope wonders if you wore this for his nephew. Or some other shithead.
"I just needa go home," you finally answer him.
"Get in the truck," he tells you, firmly.
You just nod your head, the tone he uses goes straight to your core. You press your thighs together and get into his truck. He watches as your skirt rides up and he sees the sweet little floral panties you're wearing. They remind him of the bikinis you love. But seeing this is so much more intimate. Especially because he knows that you didn't mean for him to see it.
Pope is in two minds about going into the bar and beating the shit out of whoever has upset you and going straight to you. But when he sees your face, so open and needy in the truck waiting for him, he crumbles. He goes straight to you.
He drives you home, in silence once again. You're used to it. And you relish it. You needed the quiet. When he parks up, you turn to look at Andrew Cody. Really look at him. His eyes drop after a second of meeting your big eyes.
"Come in, Andrew," you whisper.
He doesn't need to be told twice. He follows you up to your apartment. He's been in your apartment before. By invitation as well as by his own volition. But tonight things are different. Maybe it's because everyone already presumes you're sleeping together. Maybe it's because you're sad and frustrated. Or maybe it's the tension, the touching, the longing glances over the past few months. But you lunge yourself at him. You kiss him hard and messy and desperate. And he kisses you back, tentatively at first but then he gets more desperate. The kiss is all teeth and tongue, you even taste blood as you both devour each other's mouths.
You pull away, "Fuck, Andrew. We shouldn't do this."
You're already so entangled in the Cody family. If you do this. If you cross this line, you'll become one. You know that if you let Pope have you, you'll be ruined. No one else will stand a chance.
"Baby," he growls, pulling you back into a kiss. And you just give in.
You pull at his shirt, needing to see him, needing to feel him against you. His hands are already under your skirt, palming at the flesh of your ass. The two of you are as desperate as each other. You're stumbling around your apartment. Clothes being thrown everywhere...even though Pope wants to fold everything in the back of his mind. But you're pulling him into your bedroom. You fall back onto your bed with his mouth over your breasts. You have no idea when you lost your bra. When Andrew had undressed you to just your floral panties.
You squirm under him as he bites over the swell of your breasts. He's leaving marks that he'll see the next time you go surfing. And he can't lie; he's getting off on the thought alone. You gasp as you feel him rip the fabric of your panties from your body. He lifts them to his face and inhales your sweet scent. A scent he's become addicted to. He grips your thighs and drags you up so you're balancing on your shoulders. He dives into your pussy like a man starved. And he is. He hasn't been dreaming about this for months. At his first taste of you, he cries out in pure desperation. You taste like fucking heaven. He doesn't want to muddy the experience with his fingers. He wants to drink you up. And you let him as he palms at the flesh of your thighs keeping you locked close to him.
You start to squirm harder against him as your orgasm starts to build. You've been dreaming about this moment for so long. But this is so much better than you could have imagined. You cum with a strangled cry, saying his name like a mantra.
Andrew. Andrew. Andrew.
He almost cums in his pants just at the way you moan his name like that. It's even sweeter than how he imagined it.
Pope has had issues getting hard in the past but ever since he started surfing with you, he's been hard enough to pound nails almost constantly.
"Wanna see you," you whisper as he lays you back on your bed. Your voice is still shaky from your orgasm; your whole body feels like an exposed nerve. But you're not done with him. Not a chance. Not when you've finally got him.
Andrew shucks his boxers off and your eyes go wide. You have no idea how he's going to fit inside you. He's huge.
"You okay, sugar?" he breathes, stroking your cheeks.
"You're really big," you confess. Sure, you've seen the print of him against his wetsuits, but you guessed there was fabric and water in the mix. But no...he's just...huge.
Andrew ducks his head shyly, "What? Those other boys were lacking?"
You blush bright red.
"Um...there were no other boys," you finally confess.
Pope's eyes go wide. He looks like the cat who's got the cream. He's going to be your first. He's gonna be the only person who has ever had you.
He kisses you now desperately. He grips the base of his cock, guiding the blunt head of his weeping cock to your entrance. He teases your clit first with his tip. You let out the sweetest little moans for him. And he's not even inside you yet. You're already panting and squirming for him. You're intoxicating, and he's already addicted to you.
Finally, he pushes into you. He has to squeeze his eyes shut at how tight you are. Pope has never been a gentle man. But he's being gentle for you. He'll always be gentle for you. When he finally bottoms out in you, your nails dig into his shoulders. They leave little half moons between his freckles.
"You're so tight, sugar," he breathes, his lips kissing over the shell of your ear.
You just nod, not sure you can form words. You're just so full of him. And when he starts rocking his hips you swear you see heaven. You've never felt this good in your life. Your body is on fire. His hands grip your hips and then slowly begin to explore the rest of your body. He grips your breasts, rough, pulling and flicking your nipples without rhythm. He then slides his hands down your arms, gripping your wrists and dragging them over your head. You both groan as he stretches your body out for him.
His thrusts get faster, harder, rougher. Andrew tried to be gentle, but fuck he needs to carve a path through you. He needs to make you his. No one else has had you and no one else will after he's finished with you. You're his. And only his.
"'m close, Andrew," you whine out as the headboard slams against the wall.
He's pumping in and out of you like a man possessed. The sound of skin on skin fills the room. It's animalistic. It's raw. It's fucking messy. And you cum without another warning. You scream out like a banshee as your orgasm rips through you.
Your pussy grips his cock like a vice and he has to stutter to a stop. He can't move you're so fucking tight, your cunt convulsing around his cock. And fuck, it's the prettiest fucking sight. Andrew presses his forehead against yours as you pull an orgasm from him. He fills you with thick, hot ropes of cum. The release feels like heaven. You swear it spurs on a third orgasm...or it could just be aftershocks from your last one. But it feels so good.
You lay tangled in each other's arms for what feels like hours. His cum seeps out of you and down your legs, cooling against your skin.
Finally, Pope gets up and grabs a wet cloth to clean you up.
"We can't tell Smurf," you say, at the same time as he says, "Smurf can't know."
At least you're on the same page. You both know that Smurf doesn't like it when her boys are distracted. She'll allow it for a time. But not for long. Especially if she sees their loyalty wavering. You're not stupid, you know she did something to Cath.
"Stay," you breathe, running your fingers through Andrew's auburn curls. You love the grey that's appeared by his temple, the greys that pepper his stubble.
You can't help but kiss over his chin and jaw. You give him a little nip as you do. This elicits a rare chuckle from Andrew 'Pope' Cody.
Your relationship with Andrew doesn't change much...bar the sex. The sex is incredible. Mind-blowing. You spend days in bed with him. You've started to wonder if you're a sex addict. Andrew soothes you, telling you this is very normal. Especially at the start of a relationship.
"Who are you fuckin'?" Craig finally asks you when he sees the hickies scattered over your body when he spots you on the beach one morning.
You've been smart, not flaunting your body over at the Cody house now that Andrew won't stop leaving marks on your skin. You can wear one-pieces, sporty ones that cover most of your chest if J invites you over to swim. Andrew gives you a knowing smirk when he sees your more modest swimwear. Knows that he's the reason.
But now you're in your bikini on the beach, not expecting to see anyone who might ask questions.
"Can't a girl have a lil privacy?" you ask putting your hands on your waist.
"Well no, because ever since I've known you, you've been like a nun or something," he responds as he shakes the seawater out of his hair.
"Just cos I won't sleep with you?" you respond with a roll of your eyes. "Cody boys aren't my type. Sorry, sweetheart!"
You give him a smile over your shoulder as you head back to your apartment.
Cody boys, no. Cody men, on the other hand? Well!
You were smart around the Cody house. You didn't change the way you had gotten closer to Pope. You didn't change how you would share a sun lounger with him. But Pope still acted like your touch freaked him out. He didn't soften into it like he did when you were alone.
You were careful. You were smart.
When you were alone in the kitchen or his bedroom or even just passing each other in the hallway, you couldn't help but press kisses to his jaw, he couldn't help but grip the soft flesh of your ass. Sometimes when you knew the house was empty, you would drop to your knees and take his heavy cock in your mouth. You loved making him feel good, making him feel powerful. You loved tasting him as he unloaded into your mouth. He always came so quickly when you got your mouth on him.
You just couldn't get caught.
Even if Andrew's brothers knew they'd soon tell Smurf. And then she would use that shit against you.
So you think you're being smart. Until you weren't.
J has invited you to a party. But he's distracted, playing stupid games with his uncles in the pool. Smurf is watching like an emperor in the Colosseum watching gladiators fight. She presides over the parties and everyone loves it. You have to contain your eyerolls behind the designer sunglasses Pope got you. No one notices when you go inside. No one except Pope, who, as always, has been watching you like a hawk. He finishes his beer before following you inside. He can't make it obvious.
You're hunting in the fridge for a soda. His eyes zero in on the curve of your ass. He places his hand on your waist and you jump before you realise who it is.
"Andrew," you breathe softly, turning to look at him.
"No one's watching, sugar," he whispers as he leans down to kiss you.
You smirk against his lips, stepping onto the boots he always wears to kiss him deeper. His hands palm at your ass, slipping under your bikini bottoms to grip the full globe of your ass. His thumb brushes lightly over your puckered hole.
"Andrew," you scold, pushing him away gently.
You giggle as you drop down to your knees, hidden by the kitchen island, and pull his cock from his swim shorts, taking him in your hot mouth. Andrew has to stay still as you work over his dick without being caught.
One thing leads to another and you're in his bedroom trying to stay quiet as he ploughs into you. He's got you on your hands and knees, on the floor because the bed is too noisy. You learn this when you try to ride him but the mattress springs are screeching. So you let the carpet burn into your flesh as Andrew fucks you. He's already made you cum twice on his face. He clamps a hand over your mouth when you cum, muffling your desperate cries of pleasure. He has to bite down on your shoulder to stop his grunts when he fills you with his cum.
Pope knows that you should get dressed and go back out to the party. But he gathers you in his arms and brings you to his bed.
"Just for a minute," you tell him, knowing that he loves post-sex cuddles. He's never been held, not really. And you intend to fix that. You cuddle him whenever you can. You'll always have you arms wrapped around him when you're alone.
What you don't expect is to wake up to the sun filtering in. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
"Andrew! Andrew!" you hiss, trying to wake him up. "Andrew fuckin' Cody!"
Smurf is always awake so fucking early. You have no intention of her finding the two of you. You pull your clothes back on. Swearing when you can't find your bikini top. You were only wearing a beach cover-up when Pope accosted you in the kitchen. So you can't just wander around like this. That's why you decide to grab one of Pope's black t-shirts. It doesn't hide the fact that you're not wearing a bra. But if you can get out of the house before you meet...
"Smurf!" you say as you walk outside. You thought you could sneak out the back. But of course, you can't.
"You stayed the night," she notes, her eyes dropping down to the fact you're clearly not wearing a bra and then to the carpet burn on your knees.
Interesting.
"Sorry I got a bit overwhelmed by the party and I musta passed out in J's room," you lie.
"In Pope's room," she points out. "And you're wearing Pope's shirt."
"Nothing gets by you, Smurf," you say with a smile. "I was wearing a cover-up and it just didn't seem appropriate in the light of day. Look, I should go. I have work."
Smurf immediately turns to the go to the bedroom but frowns when she finds the room empty. The bed has already been stripped. Oh what a smart girl.
"Pope?" she calls. She's aware that he didn't leave last night either.
Pope has put the bedsheets and some of his clothes in the wash. Everyone knows he's a clean freak. No one will bat an eye at him washing bedding that some girl slept in. Obviously without him.
"You didn't go home last night," she says when she finds him.
He just grunts, "I took a walk on the beach. Couldn't sleep. Came back this morning."
Smurf's eyes narrow. She doesn't like it when people lie to her. Especially not her eldest boy.
Pope makes sure for the next fortnight that he stays at Smurf's or his place. He still brings you to and from class, still surfs with you. Doesn't change that part of his routine. But he doesn't sleep over. He doesn't alert Smurf to you any more than he has to of how much you mean to him.
"This is my last semester of college," you tell him one afternoon as you lay on the couch. Your head is on his bare chest and he's playing with your hair.
"After that, there's nothing tying us to Oceanside. We could go anywhere," you remind him.
"What about-"
"Don't say her name," you whisper, kissing over his chest. "Your brothers can handle their own shit. They're grown men. You can start fresh."
"Where has good surfing?" he asks, then as he runs his fingers through your hair.
You smile and stretch up to kiss him.
"I think we can figure it out."
a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! any and all feedback appreciated
Dennis and Trinity sitting on their couch , face masks on, tv drumming in the background, phones held too close to their faces, totally relaxed.
“What if we had a baby? Like obviously I’d have it but like we would be the coolest moms” Dennis said as he scrolled on Instagram, staring at a photo of someone from his highschool’s baby. He’d be a great mom. Better mom than his own mother.
“Dude, we spend like… ten hours a week away from dying people and we’re both queer. We’d fuck that kid up so bad.” Trinity said without really looking up. Dennis nodded, because well… yeah. They would.
“Okay but I’d be hot.”
“Oh yeah totally, you could pull off sexy preggo.”
roommates! dennis and trinity share the reader!! (>ᴗ•)
it started off innocent enough- you were watching a movie cuddled up against dennis and trinity, juice boxes and chip bags scattered around you when you felt it. a tiny twinge in your bladder that told you that you needed to go, quick.
“den, trin?” you asked. “yeah?” trinity replied, looking over at you. “i need to pee, wait for me…”
“no, you won’t.”
it startled you when dennis denied your request, and it obviously shocked trinity too- until he whispered something in her ear that made her gaze fix on you, eyes darkened. then dennis’s arm snaked around your shoulders, his voice in your ear telling you to focus on the movie while trinity’s hand found its way under your sweater. your heart began to beat faster- thumping against your ribs as trinity pressed down right where your bladder was.
you let out a half moan only to cover your face in shame, attempting to get up, but dennis’s arm restrains you- a headlock. you hated how turned on you were, hated your body for giving in and letting out whimpers as trinity pushes down harder and harder. dennis leaned over, gently asking, “do you want to go through with this?” you nodded, letting him lean in for a kiss.
“sharing is caring, huckleberry,”
trinity murmurs against your neck as her teeth graze a particularly sensitive spot, delighting in the moan you let out against dennis’s lips.
you’re sure you look pathetic- stuck between your two extremely hot roommates with the pressure in your bladder getting worse. dennis pulls away, leaving one last peck on your lips before kneeling in between your legs, pulling your shorts down.
“ya sure those are shorts?”
trinity asks, eyeing the fabric so short that they could qualify as underwear.
“yes, they’re obviously- h-hngh!?”
you got cut off as dennis’s hot tongue licks a fat stripe up your soaked underwear, mumbling against the fabric about
“i can taste you already…” and “you smell so fuckin’ good..”
all while trinity’s hand adjusts the pressure.
dennis moans as he pulls your undies off, nose pushing on your clit as his tongue licks long stripes up you before burrowing into your heat. the moment you moan, trinity takes advantage of it, pushing her tongue into your mouth to explore while dennis’s mouth explores your other end. they fuck you with their tongues, your eyes rolling back before you realize that you really, really need to pee.
“d-den.. i gotta go- i gotta- mmph!”
dennis’s nose catches on your nub, making you pee all over his clothes and the couch :(
trinity lets out an “aww,” making a pouty face at you just to mock you.
“huckleberry, ya think its time to fuck this pretty girl out of her mind?”
trin asks, cocking her head to the side. and that’s exactly what they do. dennis pulling his cock out of his sweats, not bothering to even pull them down fully. while trin pulls her shorts and underwear down, sitting on your face, grabbing your hair while ordering you to eat her out.
and you do just that, your mouth sloppily sliding on trinity’s soaked cunt while you feel dennis’s thick length nudging at your entrance. it’s a tight fit, your eyes rolling back as trinity degrades you for not being able to eat her out properly. so she rides your face instead, dennis finally bottoming out at the same time.
it’s overwhelming- trinity’s slick all over your face while saliva is for sure sliding down your chin, all while dennis is pounding into you like a fuck machine.
your whines get louder, the vibrations pleasuring trinity under she squirts all over your face, making you clamp around dennis, who, in turn, paints your insides white with cum.
“trin? wanna see the cum leak out of her?”
dennis asks, making you shiver with how casually he addresses the situation. trinity shrugs.
“sure.”
they watch as dennis slides out of you, his cum trickling out. trinity whispers into your ear.
“want me to clean you up?”
to which you reply with a mumble so quiet that they can’t hear it. dennis slaps your cunt, ordering you,
“speak up, pretty.”
trinity offers her ear to you so you can whisper it to her- and once you do, a smirk makes its way onto her face.
she cleans you up, tongue pushing deep inside and collecting your cum and slick, all mixed with dennis’s release. she does it so fucking good that you cum all over again, thighs shaking as whitaker holds them apart for trinity.
they let you rest, pressing kisses to your face and to the top of your head, praising you for taking them so well and making them feel so, soo good.
after a half hour, trinity carries you from the couch, plopping you into the warm, soapy water that dennis prepared. they argue as they bathe you, your brain too blissed out to understand what they were saying.
(they were arguing about whether cereal or milk goes first in the bowl! =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪ ‧̣̥̇))
Summary: After transferring to the Pitt in the middle of your fellowship, you manage to impress PTMC's meanest surgeon with your bubbly confidence, leading to you both catching feelings.
Tags/Notes: fluffy fluff, silly trope time, idiots in love, grumpy/sunshine, misunderstanding trope, kiss cam trope, getting together, cutesy feminine reader, kind of an airhead outside of medicine, also described as short sorry tall baddies, praise kink, oral (m), fingering (f), size kink, piv, riding/cowgirl, mini hitachi, doggy style, headlock during sex uwu, biting, dacryphilia, multiple orgasms, creampie, D/s if you squint, aftercare
Content: medical (and hockey) inaccuracies out the wazoo, canon-typical
A/N: that mean doctor has bewitched me and i actually had so much fucking fun writing this fic
Word Count: 14.2k
While you finish preparing your patient presentation for the incoming orthopedic surgeon consult on the case you’ve been working all day, Dennis Whitaker, who’s been assisting you, groans under his breath as he catches an imposing figure approaching. “Fuck, our consult’s the Shark.”
“Of course it is.” Shen, who’s been in the corner half-supervising you since he completely trusts your work as a fellow, tells Whitaker, “This kind of damage? He eats up cases like this. The Shark’s never gonna let someone else-”
You turn to both of them, hold up a hand to shut them up, and ask, “Who?”
“Dr. Brendon Park,” Shen explains like he’s telling you about an upcoming horror movie. “He’s the head orthopedic surgeon.”
“Haven’t met him yet,” you reply. Drawbacks of circumstances forcing you to change hospitals in the middle of your fellowship; you don’t know the whole team like you did back in your residency. With a final few glances through your day’s meticulous work, you wrinkle your brows and check, “I thought Torres was head of orthopedic surgery.”
“No, she’s the nice orthopedic surgeon. The Shark only deigns to come to what he calls ‘the butcher shop’ for juicy cases.” Shen shakes his head and says, “I’m gonna dip before he gets down here. I’ll grab Robby to supervise.”
“You’re leaving? Why?”
“Park can actually stand Robby.” Shen shrugs and tosses his gloves in the trash. “I made the mistake of suggesting an amputation when it was possible to salvage a limb and the Shark’s always down my throat when we work together now.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Three years.” Shen pushes the door open and says before heading over to the hub to grab Robby, “That thing you’ve heard about sharks having three-second memories? Not accurate. PTMC’s Shark never forgets. Don’t fuck up your first impression.”
Your wide eyes turn to Whitaker. “Well, that was comforting.”
Jesse, who’s been supporting you on and off when you needed more hands than just Whitaker’s, tries to offer, “Park’s not so bad.”
“Yeah, because you’re a nurse,” Whitaker replies. “He likes nurses. Respects them. It’s other doctors he thinks are stupid.”
You screw up your face with confidence and nod sharply. “Then I won’t be stupid.”
“Good luck with that,” a deep, clear voice says behind you. You turn and nearly bump into the center of a very broad chest. Very broad. With matching biceps and traps threatening at the fabric of his blue scrubs. He’s easily a whole head taller than you. And his face. Oh. Good face. Lots of masculine, rugged angles. It’s not that the ED is lacking in arm candy, but most of the doctors down here aren’t so…biteable. You’re fighting not to ogle as his voice draws your eyes back up to his mouth. Which is a nice mouth. Under a nice nose. And a heavy brow with pretty blue eyes so sharp you feel a little light-headed under their intensity. “You’re new.”
Robby slips into the room behind him and hugs the wall, posture much straighter than you’ve seen. He doesn’t look scared the way Whitaker does, but there’s a clear expectation about what the interaction’s going to be: Efficient, intense, clear. Robby says bluntly, “New fellow. Recent relocation.”
Park’s eyes narrow, taking in your pink shoelaces, perfectly applied makeup (including shimmery gloss) despite being elbows deep in the shift, and the pastel-heart-patterned long sleeve beneath your scrubs. “We haven’t met.”
You take one quick, deep breath and remind yourself there’s no reason to be scared. You don’t play hospital politics like the residents. You’re a fellow, a real goddamn doctor. This is your case. Your save. You’ve got it. So you introduce yourself with a friendly smile and explain, “I started here last month. Just haven’t had a big sexy skeletal trauma to dangle in front of you until today.”
Park cracks what almost appears to be a smirk. Committing your name and your pretty face to memory, he says, “Welcome to the team, pipsqueak. Try not to butcher any bones and we’ll get along fine.”
“No problem.” You bounce slightly on your feet. “Shall we get started here?”
His chin cocks slightly to one side. You’re not shrinking. Not bashful. You’re smiling. That’s rare. He doesn’t mind. Arms crossed over that massive chest, he orders, eyes sweeping the room, “Tell me what we’ve got.”
Whitaker looks to Robby. Robby looks to you. You nod and list off, “Mr. Jacob Westman, thirty-seven-year-old green energy tower technician, brought in by ambulance after falling from an electrical tower. Freak accident. Alert and responsive on arrival but no sensation in lower extremities. Lead doctor on the case – that’s me; I’ve been point for Mr. Westman all day – chose to sedate for pain management and stabilization once significant spinal injuries were identified. The most severe salvageable damage is in the cervical and thoracic, but I don’t necessarily agree with the interpretation from the ortho radiologist that-” Robby clears his throat to stop you there. Sheepishly, you finish, “Vitals are within safe range for operation to correct cervical and thoracic fractures and dislocations."
Robby offers, “So essentially, the approach is-”
“Hold on.” Park looks up from the chart and focuses squarely on you. “What did the radiologist say? Why did you stop there?”
You glance over at Robby, who’s shaking his head with pleading eyes. But it’s your case. You’re the one who gave up your lunch break to pore over the imaging. So you let your eyes rove back to Dr. Park’s and tell him firmly, “Your radiologist feels that the lumbar injuries causing Mr. Westman’s paralysis are completely inoperable through traditional methods. I was advised to defer to his opinion.”
Brows furrowed, he eyes you seriously. Almost…amused. Like he’s watching a puppy try a new trick. “What’s your opinion, doctor?”
Behind Park, you see Whitaker shake his head and grimace like you’ve just signed your own death certificate. Even Jesse is gripping his clipboard a little more tightly.
“I suggested that, even though it may be riskier, a series of nerve grafts and transfers could return the patient’s ability to walk.” Your voice lowers a bit and you try not to let your wobbly ‘bleeding heart baby doctor’ voice come out. “Mr. Westman is a highly-trained, highly-educated specialist in a type of engineering only a handful of people in the country can do. Work that’s absolutely critical for the development of renewable energy sources. When I was going over everything with his wife, Jenna, she told me that he loves his job more than life itself. That he would risk everything to regain use of his legs.” You swallow hard and pinch back tears. It’s something that always annoys you; whenever you really, really care about something, you start to cry. Eyes averted, you wrap up, “I know that the kind of procedure I’m suggesting would be much longer and much riskier on several levels and that it’s not at all my place to-”
Park shakes his head and cuts you off, “Show me the scans.”
You quickly brush past him to the nearby screen and blow up the images.
Dr. Park lets out a low whistle as he flips through the X-Rays, head tilted slightly as he gives the scans his full attention. He asks you a handful of questions and you answer them as best you can, all the eyes in the room burning the back of your head. You watch the wheels turning behind Park’s eyes; this is his passion, his favorite thing, his reason to wake up. You love seeing people in that state where all they’re thinking about is what they do best.
Finally, he turns to you and says, “I don’t care what your title at this hospital is. If a goddamn janitor can propose a valid surgical approach for an ‘inoperable’ injury, I want to hear it. Complex spinal reconstruction with multiple fusions, laminectomy, discectomy…fuck, ‘just-about-everything-ectomy.’ Plus nerve transfer. Now that’s sexy. I like it.” Before Robby can thank him for taking over, Park looks you up and down – just a little slow to be completely professional – and asks, “Pipsqueak, you wanna assist?”
You stand up straighter and turn your attention to Robby with wide, hopeful eyes. Looking nothing short of shocked, he nods and does a ‘sure, why not?’ type of gesture. You give a big, adorable grin and say, “Yeah, that would be awesome. I’ve always wanted to see autograft harvesting and transfer firsthand.”
Whitaker shakes his head and mutters, “Freak.”
“Go to the bathroom, eat a snack, and scrub for OR three,” Park tells you, ignoring everyone else. As you nod eagerly and excuse yourself, he slaps Robby on the back hard enough to make him stagger and mutters, “Congrats, Mike, you finally matched a competent fellow.”
Dumbfounded, Robby just says, “Ah, thanks.”
Coming out of the surgery thirteen hours later, you’re glowing like you haven’t been awake for thirty-four hours in a row. Following tight on his heels, you’re practically skipping as you beam, “Dr. Park, that was so amazing. I can’t thank you enough for the opportunity.”
“You’re good,” he says simply, walking through the halls of the surgical wing like he owns the place. “Great calls like that deserve great rewards. Would’ve given you a gold star sticker, but I’m not as soft as Robinavitch.”
“I wish Robby gave out stickers,” you reply wistfully. “That might actually convince me to stay here after my fellowship is up.”
You’re about to say something else when Park turns around and puts one baseball-glove-sized hand on your shoulder. “Unless you want to see my dick on our first day working together, you should probably stay on that side of this particular door.”
You startle backwards as you realize he’s pushing into the men’s room. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry; I sometimes kinda space out when I’m excited.”
Park lets out a laugh. An honest-to-god laugh.
He has a handsome smile.
Even though your face is now about a thousand degrees, you still nibble your lower lip, grin, and call through the door, “By the way, it’s technically our second day working together since that was an overnight surgery.”
Park’s amused, loud voice hollers back, “Go home and get some sleep, pipsqueak.”
When you clock in for your next shift two days later, Dana waves you over right after you’re done putting your things away. She says, “There’s something in your mailbox, if you’d believe it.”
“Really?” You worry a hangnail on your thumb. “Don’t tell me I’m getting served or something.”
“You? Come on, you’re Miss Bedside Manner USA.” She nods over to the doctor’s lounge and explains, “It’s from ortho. Something about that surgery you sat in on last week.”
“Huh, okay. Thanks for letting me know.”
You scurry off to your mailbox, which you’ve only even looked at once, the day you started. They’re a relic from the days of fax machines and printers. Inside your cubby is a blank, hospital-issue envelope. Upper left corner: Brendon Park, MD, FAAOS. In the middle, in his scratchy handwriting: Pipsqueak. With your lips pursed in curiosity, you rip the top of the envelope and remove the contents.
Inside a folded piece of notebook paper, there’s a card-sized sticker sheet with eight big, cutesy stickers on it. A happy sun, baby ducks, a strawberry, a stuffed bunny. All things sweet and girly. The theme is white, baby pink, sky blue, and light yellow, the same colors as the heart-patterned shirt you’d been wearing under your scrubs. In between the big stickers, a few pastel stars serve as filler.
With a little squeal, you unfold the note and read. Couldn’t find one with a gold star. Close enough. Good job. Happy you’re here.
Underneath, he’s drawn a tiny shark in lieu of a signature.
You melt – just a little.
Riding the elevator up after your lunch break, it’s kind of embarrassing how much your heart is pounding. You’re really not supposed to be doing this. It’s a total violation of protocol – not the sort that would get you in real HR trouble, but definitely the kind that could permanently piss someone off.
But you do it anyway. You gently knock on Dr. Park’s door after checking with the ortho receptionist that he’s in. He makes a sort of grunting sound that you interpret as ‘yes, what?’ Pushing the door open just enough to slip into the opening, you say, “Hi, Dr. Park. Robby asked me to page ortho down for a follow-up on the Westman case, but I thought it would be nice to ask you directly so that they could have consistency of-” When Park doesn’t even look at you, eyes staring intently at the file on his computer, you shrink into the doorway and shake your head. “Sorry; that’s silly. I’ll get back downstairs and send a page like I should’ve to stop annoying you.”
His eyes flick to yours for half a second. His eyebrows go together almost imperceptibly. “You’re not annoying me.”
“Oh. Thanks.” You bite your lower lip and stare at your shoes for a moment. Purple sneakers today, Park notices. Matching the lavender polka dots on your long sleeves. “So, yeah, if you have time today to come down and check his repeat images with me, that would be really amazing. I’m working until six, so no rush. No pressure. I know you’re really busy. And I can definitely just ask Torres if you-”
“I’ll do it,” he interrupts urgently. “Don’t ask Torres. Or anyone else. I’ve got it.” Then he adds, hasty, “Patient outcomes improve when they have a consistent care team. You’re right about that. You can come get me about Mr. Westman whenever you need to.”
At that, you absolutely beam. His eyes go to your lips. Your cupid’s bow and the way it stretches when you smile. A pretty smile, he thinks. Really pretty. You glow, “Okay, perfect, I will. Thank you.”
You linger for a second, one hand on the doorknob as you debate whether or not to say something. He hasn’t returned to his computer screen, eyes just roaming around the room and occasionally spending a second on you, so you take it as an invitation.
“I also wanted to, um, to say thanks for the stickers, by the way.” You lift your water bottle and show him the doodle-style pink star you’d picked out to grace it among your collection. “I really like them.”
“Good.” He’s tempted to lie, say it was someone else’s idea, act like he found them somewhere in the hospital, but he can’t when he’s looking at your delighted schoolgirl smile. “Saw them at Target and thought of you. It was nice to work with someone so…competent.” You swear there’s a slight blush in his cheeks, but it must be a trick of the light. It must be. Then he clears his throat and adds, “I’ll come down to see you- for Mr. Westman’s follow-up in an hour, alright? I have to finish this report and my dyslexia’s fucking killing me today.”
Physically unable to stop yourself from being helpful, you offer, “I could type it up for you, if you want.”
“I didn’t mean to tell you that,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have this disarming thing about you. It’s jarring.”
“Um, thanks?” You tilt your head like a puppy. “Are you not supposed to talk about it or something?”
He shrugs, definitely blushing now and pretending not to be, and replies, “People hear their doctor has a learning disability and get a little antsy. So if you don’t mind, keep that to yourself.”
“No problem, Dr. Park, I’m the picture of discretion,” you assure him seriously. But then you keep spilling out, “But, y’know, I actually read this study from the Royal College of Surgeons that showed people with dyslexia make better surgeons than their peers because of their well-developed spatial reasoning skills, attention to detail, and problem-solving ability – not to mention the resilience and creativity that inherently come from- Aaaand I’m word vomiting. Shoot. Sorry. It’s- it’s chronic, my word vomit. I see a specialist.”
He raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Do you now?”
“Yup. My likelihood of remission is incredibly low. Lifelong struggle, really.” You swallow hard and tell him gently, “Um, I had this undergrad student I tutored. He was in biology – pre-med – but he didn’t think he could do it because he was dyslexic. So I did a bunch of research and presented it to him. I’m not, like, one of those cool photographic memory people who remember every study on earth or something.”
“People with photographic memories freak me out,” he says with a chuckle. You wonder if you’re the only person in the ED who’s heard him laugh. More than once, even. Then he says something that actually does manage to shock you: “I’d love the help, if you have time.”
“Yay!” You do this little bouncing thing that makes his head spin. “I’m still on my lunch, so I have a few minutes.”
Voice sounding almost protective, he checks, “Did you eat?”
“Yeah, of course. But I get bored if I don’t have anything to do after my leftovers.” You scooch around his desk and slide between him and the computer, your perky ass directly in his face. With your fingers hovering over his keyboard, you lilt, “Alright, big man, what are we writing?”
It takes Park fifteen seconds to recalibrate, ten of those seconds spent memorizing the way he can see the outline of your tiny thong when you lean forward slightly, the fabric of your scrubs taut over your ass. Then he hastily stands up and puts himself behind the chair, his nosy dick safe from being seen, and says, “Why don’t you take my spot? You’ll be more comfortable.”
You shrug and sit down, throwing your head way back to look up at him with perfect, sweet blowjob eyes. “Whatever you say, Shark.”
The next time Park’s in the ED, his crush on you is completely and totally solidified. It’s horrifying, the way the feeling swirls around his stomach and makes his cheeks hot. It’s not a feeling that’s ever dared encounter him in the workplace and, honestly, not in a hell of a long time outside of it, either.
It’s because you’ve got Ogilvie backed up against a wall, your pointed finger in the center of his chest. He’s a head taller than you, even slouching, but you’re dwarfing him with your energy. Park’s never seen you so brutally animated, eyebrows knitted together and posture perfectly straight. He lingers a bit too close, hugging the corner so he can listen and watch.
Ogilvie’s hands are up in the air, waving, frustrated. “I didn’t do anything wrong! All I did was-”
“Oh my god, how many times do I have to tell you to shut up and listen to me?” With your feet planted firmly in your white sneakers with red laces and your arms crossed in your cherry-printed sleeves, you go on, “I get that I’m a woman. I get that I’m short and cute and girly. I get that you think you’re god’s gift to medicine.”
“I don’t think I’m-”
“I wasn’t done. I get that you struggle to respect me. Idiotic men often do. But let me make one thing abundantly clear: You are a slug of a man-child, James. You leave a trail of slime behind yourself in the form of problems everyone else needs to clean up, you hide whenever things get hard, and you need to blot the oil from your T-zone so you’re less shiny. And invest in a frizz-control shampoo.” While Park stifles a snorting laugh, you go on with the most pointed, cruel voice he’s ever heard from a woman so painfully adorable, “If you ever speak to me like that again, you will envy the corpses you practice on. All you will do clinically is change infected necrotic dressings and disimpact bowels and every other moment of your day will be dedicated to administrative scut so monotonous it makes your vision blurry. I will ask to have you on my service every day just so I can torture you until you question your entire career path. Do we have an understanding?”
Ogilvie is too stunned to speak for thirty seconds straight. Then he swallows and stammers out, “Yes, doctor. I- I understand.”
You nod tightly and add, “I’d like an apology now.”
“I’m sorry,” he says right away. It sounds more afraid than earnest, but that’ll get the job done. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did.”
“Good. I forgive you.” Then you give him a warm, friendly smile and a pat on the head that you have to rock up onto your toes to execute fully. “Now let’s get back to Mrs. Andrews so you can get another lumbar puncture under your belt before your next evaluation, alright?”
Ogilvie manages to get out, “Thanks,” before you turn around and lead him back to the ED. He looks like a scolded toddler, lip pouted and cheeks red, while you have that familiar unshakeable pep in your step.
And Brendon Park is smitten.
The next week, as you’re sending off a list of prescriptions, you hear Langdon’s voice from the other side of the ED. “Sharkbait, get over here!”
You turn toward Langdon and point at yourself. “Me?”
His eyes are big and begging. “Yeah, c’mon, I need you.”
“I have work to do, Frank.”
“Please?” He clasps his hands in front of his chest like a prayer. “Park’s going to kill me when he sees the state of these ribs.”
Exasperated, you cut back, “What the hell does that have to do with me?”
“You’re Sharkbait,” he replies, mimicking your expression. “When you’re in the room, he’s less of a dick.”
Several craving any time with Brendon, you roll your eyes and stomp over, telling him, “I’ll give you five minutes. Get me up to speed.”
He runs through the patient history with you while you gently palpate the chest.
“Jesus Christ,” you breathe as you feel the myriad of fractures all over the ribcage and sternum. “LUCAS?”
“On an elderly osteoporosis patient. Dumbass firefighter meatheads.” He shakes his head and mutters, “It’s basically a bag of bone soup in there.”
“Sounds promising,” Park announces, always knowing when to cut into a conversation. When he sees you, he sighs in relief, “Pipsqueak, thank god you’re on this, too. I don’t have the patience for dealing with Ken on my own today.”
As Langdon talks to Park with you just sort of standing there as an emotion diffuser, Santos and Whitaker watch in wonder from the hub.
Trinity, whose last interaction with the Shark ended with him saying she should switch to a career with no skeletons involved, scoffs and murmurs, “Why hasn’t he ripped her head off? She’s brand new; she doesn’t know how to placate him.”
“Her aura powers are unknown to us,” Whitaker mutters back. “She has some kind of sorcery ability incomprehensible to the masses.”
“I mean, she has nice tits,” Trinity reasons. “She’s smart. Made some good calls in front of him.”
Whitaker argues, “Baran’s brilliant and has great tits. He called her an imbecile last week.”
Amused, Trinity raises her eyebrows. “You think Dr. Al-Hashimi has great tits?”
“Not the point.” A minute later, Park leaves the room with a smile in your direction. You swish over to the hub to grab a new chart and Dennis asks, “What’s the deal with you and the Shark?”
Humming gently, you ask him absently, “What do you mean?”
Trinity cuts in to reply for them both, “Well, I mean, he likes you. Are you two fucking?”
Your eyes startle wide at the idea – tantalizing but impossibly far away. Park is so wildly out of your league you can barely entertain the thought. “What? No! Of course not. Brendon’s not as bad as you guys think. You just have to get to know him.”
Trinity mouths to Whitaker, Brendon?
Whitaker shrugs, baffled, and then muses as the three of you watch Park head toward the OR, “I didn’t realize that was a possibility.”
You chuckle and tease, “Maybe try being a better doctor next time?”
“Brutal, Sharkbait. Brutal.”
That weekend, the Pittsburgh Penguins hosts its annual Medical Worker Appreciation Night. Because Dana’s been nominated as a spotlighted nurse, the hospital sprung for discounted tickets in the name of staff morale.
Robby shepherds you and the other newer ED staff who’d gotten their hands on a ticket down to the PTMC section. When he checks seats, pointing everyone in the right direction, he frowns at yours. “Kid, do you wanna trade spots with me?”
Your brows furrow. “What? Why?”
“Look.”
Your eyes follow Robby’s pointing chin. At the end of the long row, Park’s perched on the edge of his seat, staring down the players doing warmups. He’s wearing a black Penguins hoodie, a black Penguins hat, and a pair of jeans that his meaty thighs battle for dominance with. You’ve never seen him outside of scrubs and it’s becoming a problem very quickly. You shrug and tell Robby, “I don’t mind.”
“You sure?”
“We get along great, actually.”
“That explains the new nickname,” he chuckles under his breath. “I figured it was because you’re a sacrificial lamb.”
Park catches your eyes and waves you over, his lips flirting with the concept of a smile. He can’t bear to say it out loud, can barely even tolerate the thought in his own head, but he’d looked over the seating chart on the HR receptionist’s computer and basically threatened Ogilvie’s life to switch with him (and then swore him to secrecy on similar conditions).
You plop down next to him and nudge him in the bicep. “Hi, Bren, I didn’t think you came to things like this.”
Bren. Nobody’s used a nickname besides ‘Shark’ for him in decades. He shrugs like his heart rate isn’t picking up at the way your arm has to touch his because of how broad he is. “It’s hockey.”
“It’s team bonding,” you tease. “You hate bonding. And teams that aren’t sports.”
“But I like free Pens tickets,” he replies simply. Then he notices your outfit. You’re wearing pants, at least – leggings, because fuck him, he figures – but your arms are agonizingly bare from the elbows down, your yellow tee not doing much to protect your skin. He frowns and asks, “Did you bring a jacket or something? You’re gonna freeze to death in here.”
You shake your head. “It’s not that cold; I’ll be okay.”
“Give it a period.”
“I’m not on my- Oh. They’re called periods in hockey?”
Biting back a mean joke because of your sweet, innocent eyes, he says, “Yeah. Periods. Three twenty-minute periods with intermissions between.
“You’re gonna have to explain everything to me,” you say as you stare at the different parts of the stadium. “I’m not from a hockey town.”
“I don’t mind,” he admits after a second. He adds carefully, “I never get to talk hockey outside of work.”
“No gym buddies to gab with?”
“No gym buddies,” he confirms.
“That’s shocking, considering the biceps of it all.” And the pecs you would honestly motorboat. And the big veiny hands. And the thick thighs you could bounce on for hours. You swallow hard, thankful you don’t have a dick to give away your thoughts. “Are you one of those douchey guys who puts in his AirPods and focuses on his form in the mirror? Oh my god, do you film yourself so you can make sure you-”
“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” he laughs, raising his hands in defeat. “You’ve got me pegged, sweetheart. I have to be strong because I crack femurs all day. And you have to focus on form if you want to get strong and don’t want to get hurt.”
“So no time for gym buddies.” You lilt, sweet and easy, “Maybe you can show me some time. I could use a little more muscle and a little less-”
“No, you definitely don’t need ‘less’ anything,” he protests way too quickly as his mouth goes dry. He can barely tolerate the sight of you in leggings this close to him; he’d burst a blood vessel if you were in bike shorts and a sports bra like his brain immediately supplies. With his neck going splotchy pink, he course corrects, “Lifting isn’t about losing weight or visible muscle. It’s about building practical strength.”
And your body is fucking perfect. If you wanted to change it out of insecurity, he’d drop to his knees and kiss your feet until you realized you shouldn’t change a thing. Your thighs are just the right thickness, your ass downright juicy, your stomach spectacularly soft, your breasts-
Park sucks in a sharp, deep breath and shakes out the thoughts. “I’m gonna grab something to eat before the game starts. Can I get you anything?”
After a second of thinking, you ask sweetly, “Do they have cheese fries?”
“They have every disgusting, greasy sports food you could ever want,” he confirms. “I’ll be right back with some goodies.”
You occupy yourself by playing social butterfly, introducing yourself to everyone you haven’t had a chance to meet yet. When Park returns, he takes a second to admire you running around spreading your sunshine. Then you return to his side and squeal when you see a mountain of loaded cheese fries that make your mouth water in the best way.
Before sitting down to share them with you, Park shoves a folded garment into your arms. “Put this on. I won’t be able to focus on the game if you’re shivering next to me the whole time.”
“Aw, Bren, thank you.” Your voice borders on a whimper as you unfold the classic lacer pullover, black with yellow and tan bars around the lower hem and arms, the iconic penguin himself at the center of the chest. “Just let me know how much I owe you for it – at least for half.”
He rolls his eyes. “Shut up; it’s a gift.”
“Okay, thank you so much, that’s so sweet, but the suggestion to shut up is incredibly offensive given I disclosed my word vomit diagnosis to you,” you reply seriously, glaring at him.
Park clutches his chest and tells you, “I apologize for making light of your vulnerability with me.”
“I forgive you because of the cheese fries.” You examine the back of the thick, cozy hoodie and observe, “Crosby. Is he your favorite? Or just the cheapest sweater?”
Park smirks (it’s the most expensive sweater) and replies, “Sid the Kid. Best player Pittsburgh’s ever had. Best player in the league, if you ask anyone with a brain. Rumor has it he’s retiring soon; I think that’ll be my first true heartbreak.”
You balk at the idea. “You’ve never had your heart broken? I get my heart broken ten times a month.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You go on that many dates?”
“No, no, no, no dates,” you quickly reply. Too quickly. A little desperately. “But it breaks my heart when I see sad puppy commercials or old people eating alone at restaurants or trailers for romantic dramas at the movies. One time I cried because I could only find one of my favorite socks. I tried and I tried but the second one was just…gone. I couldn’t look at the single one without getting so sad it was hard to-”
“Team introduction’s starting, then the national anthem,” he interrupts gently. Reluctantly. Like he’s actually invested in your rambling. “Put a lid on the word vomit for ten minutes and I’m all yours for a full sock eulogy.”
You giggle and salute as the whole stadium stands. “Yes, sir.”
He rolls his shoulders and pretends that doesn’t go straight to his dick. When you cheer extra loud for Sidney Crosby as he skates to center, jumping a tiny bit like your smile is too big to hold in your body, Park damn near swoons. He wants to sling his arm around your waist and pull you into him, to kiss the top of your head, to, fuck, put you on his shoulders and parade you around or something. He can’t even name everything he wants to do with and to and for you. It’s agony.
Once the game starts, Park takes care to make sure you understand what’s going on. “That’s Ovechkin. You’re gonna see one hell of a game. He’s Crosby’s biggest rival.”
“So we hate him,” you reply obediently. “Got it.”
He smiles at you and confirms, “Yeah, we hate him. Mostly because he’s really fucking good.”
You nudge him with your shoulder and tease, “That’s why people hate you, so it’s good company.”
He barks out a laugh. “Is that why?”
“That or because you never show off that handsome smile.”
With a pout, he counters, “I smile plenty.”
“He said, frowning.”
“I’ll smile when the Pens win,” he promises.
But, despite his best efforts, he does, actually, get caught smiling before the end of the game. In a big, obnoxious way. After the end of the second period, with the game tied 1-1, you watch the kiss cam flying around the arena with dopey heart eyes so precious Brendon can’t rip his eyes away from you. It’s too cute of an expression not to memorize.
You don’t notice he’s staring, too wrapped up in loving to see people in love, until his face lights up the big screen. You’re so shocked that you don’t process just how bright and intent his eyes are, his lips soft and slightly upturned, everything about his expression and posture screaming ‘god, she’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ It’s the kind of expression kiss cam operators gravitate toward; only men who adore their girls look like that.
Before he can even truly realize that it’s you and him on screen, his eyes widening, you grab him and plant a big fat shimmery lip gloss kiss on his cheek. Then you grin, following it up by blowing a kiss and winking to the camera.
And Brendon Park smiles wide enough to power the whole arena, the apples of his cheek glowing neon pink and he drops his eyes and shakes his head in delight.
The video is immediately saved and sent to the ED group chat by none other than Trinity Santos, naturally. One of the nurses proceeds to forward it to the nurses chat, where it makes its way to the ortho chat. By the time the camera even pans away, the moment has been forever cemented in PTMC history as the first time Park the Shark has smiled earnestly – innocently, even – in front of his coworkers.
Only the whoops, cheers, and laughs from your nearby ED coworkers drops him back onto earth from cloud nine. Park frowns as he rubs his cheek with a napkin, pouting, “You got lipgloss on my face.”
“What was I supposed to do?” You gesture to Trinity and Whitaker, who are pumping their fists in their air victoriously. “Leave my adoring fans hanging?”
With a sheepish wave in their direction to get them to fuck off, he mutters, “I think you’ve permanently damaged my tough guy reputation.”
But you just reply in a sing-sony voice, “You didn’t have to blush.”
“Involuntary response to relevant stimulus.”
“Whatever you say, big guy.”
If he’s honest with himself, his smile isn’t half as bright when the Penguins win an hour later. It only warms back up to critical heat when you wrap him in a hug, gleefully jumping up and down as the puck hits the net right as the buzzer goes off. He’d kiss you for real if you weren’t surrounded by the PTMC staff.
Still, with your arms around the back of his neck, he can’t resist doing something. So he keeps it simple and asks, “It’s been a while since those cheese fries; want to grab dinner with me?”
When you say yes, his heart sings.
After the hockey game, there’s a definite shift in your friendship with Brendon. It’s more playful. Less guarded. The two of you grab dinner together after your shifts whenever Park doesn’t have a late surgery and, if you miss out on dinner, he insists on coffee in the morning. He tells you about his personal life and you do the same, not that it’s hard on your end. Gradually, you start to notice the differences that everyone else in the ED picked up on months and months ago. The way his face goes from hardened to soft when he sees you entering a room. The way his texts have emojis instead of periods. The way he accepts your hugs instead of turning them into handshakes.
Right when you’ve gotten up your confidence to actually ask him out, you overhear him and Robby talking in hushed tones inside Park’s office. The door’s cracked and you’d come up specifically to ask him to go out with you in a few days on Saturday because you both actually have a weekend off.
With an X-Ray in hand, Robby pushes, “Are you sure you can’t do the revision yourself on Sunday? I know you’re not scheduled to be here, but the family trusts you now, and it might be-”
“I told you, man, I’m surprising my girlfriend on Sunday. I’ve been sitting on these ballet tickets for weeks already and I don’t do shit like that,” Park tells him sternly. No room for argument. “You’re in good hands with Torres; she’s as good as me any day – maybe better since people actually like her.”
You don’t wait for Robby’s response. Losing your ability to breathe, you scamper to the nearby staircase and start stamping your way down to the ED. Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces. No, a million. They fall down the stairs like glass, so heavy you’re surprised you can’t hear them echoing.
Stopping just shy of the ED entrance, you tuck yourself away underneath the staircase to catch your breath, trying not to let yourself cry. Park’s just one of those guys, you figure. Guys with ultra-secure girlfriends who don’t care if they have female friends who drool all over their biceps. Guys who don’t mention their ultra-secure girlfriends because they know what they have at home and they probably don’t even realize you’re flirting because they’re so enamored with their great, successful, probably gorgeous girlfriend who knows exactly what she’s doing in bed and always satisfies him and-
There are the tears.
Feelings of inadequacy and sadness well up and spill over. It’s hard to keep your sniffles and sobs quiet enough not to draw attention when all you want is to ugly sob over a tub of ice cream and your favorite movie. Only one more hour in your shift. You can make it. Right?
Upstairs, you hear the door squeak open and heavy footsteps traipse down toward you. Familiar footsteps. Of course. He probably saw you running away from his office and is coming to find you because you have the luck of a worm after a rainstorm.
When Park comes closer, he spots your elbow sticking out from behind the staircase. Hiding. You’re still crying, unable to stop yourself until you get it all out. Silently, yes, but with puffy eyes and tiny whimpers and sniffles that escape every once in a while. Tucked up underneath the staircase, you blot at your cheeks with the sleeve of your daisy-patterned turtleneck.
Rage devours Brendon’s insides. He beelines for you and demands with a level of anger in his eyes you’ve never seen before, “What’s wrong? Did someone make you cry?”
“No, no, I’m fine.” You try a shaky smile and wipe your face again even though more tears just fall in their wake. “Just, um, I’m on my period and I’m emotional.”
Which isn’t not true. It’s the last day or two and you are emotional. It’s definitely not helping the situation. Park’s a little taken aback you admitted that so freely, but he’s a doctor, dammit, so he doesn’t let it faze him. Instead he offers, “Okay, well, um, do you, ah, do you need anything? I have some ibuprofen in my office if-”
You start crying harder, ugly sobs now at how nice he’s being when he just unintentionally and unknowingly turned you into a 12-year-old girl having her first heartbreak.
Park stammers, unsure how to deal with this situation. “Okay, ah, maybe just a hug, then?”
You nod ardently and he pulls you close with his strong arms. You nestle your face in his chest and breathe deep. If this is the closest you’re gonna get to having him, you’re gonna milk it for all it’s worth. With your nose pressed to his muscles as you start to calm down, you whimper, “You smell really good.”
Still tentative, Brendon murmurs, “It’s Dior. My mom bought it for me.”
Then you start crying even more.
That night, after making some lazy excuse to Brendon for why you can’t get dinner like usual, you curl up on your couch and vow to set some darn boundaries with the guy. You’re only going to get yourself hurt if you indulge in dinners and coffees and stolen gazes and elevator conversations. So you put his messages on silent, only returning them when you actually have a second instead of carving out time. You make a point of ducking into other rooms when you know he’s coming down for a consult, ignoring the desperate calls for Sharkbait from your hapless coworkers.
And by the time you’re clocked out on Friday night, you almost feel better about the situation. Well, that’s a lie. You actually don’t feel better at all. If anything, you feel much, much worse because you don’t have your best friend to hang out with anymore. You’re going to have to resort to drinks with the Pittlings if you don’t find another attending soon.
But at least you have the weekend to wallow.
Walking to your bus stop with Celine Dion blasting in your ears, you try to focus on the pretty sunset and the wins of the shift instead of letting your brain drift to-
Fuck.
Brendon’s standing at your bus stop with his stance wide and his arms crossed like a bodyguard, forearms looking extra delectable in the sunset. He’s not a hallucination from your lovesick mind nor a hologram designed to trip you up on the way home.
You scurry up to him with averted eyes and ask, “What are you doing here? You drive a Rolls-Royce.”
“Yeah, and that Spectre is my damn baby, but you take the bus when you’re ignoring my offer for rides. So here I am.” His eyes drill through your forehead and your resolve. “Can we talk now?”
Weakly, you mutter back, “My bus is in five minutes.”
“You’re not taking the bus. I’m driving you.” The firmness of his voice makes your knees wobble. He nods over his shoulder toward the small park next to the hospital. “We’re talking. Come on.”
Then he takes your hand – you want to throw up – and leads you through the park entrance to a shaded spot under a tree where the light makes his chiseled features agonizingly beautiful. Like a fucking Roman marble sculpture. He doesn’t wait for you to say anything, instead taking charge and launching in, “What’s going on with you? Why have you been ignoring me the last few days? If I did something to hurt you, tell me and I’ll fix it. I know I’m a dumbass about the feelings stuff sometimes, a lot of the time, but I’m not going to mess shit up with you, so you have to let me know what I need to do better.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” you whimper. You hate how pathetic you sound. How downtrodden and heartbroken. But Brendon looks hurt, too, which makes you feel ten times as bad. So you rush out a hasty version of the truth, “I came up to your office on Wednesday to ask you on a date this weekend, but then- then I heard you telling Robby about your girlfriend who you’re surprising on Sunday and it just, like, crushed me so bad even though I know it was so silly for me to think I’d ever have a chance with someone like you in the first place since you’re this sexy strong surgeon and I’m so not but I thought maybe in the last couple months-”
“Woah, pipsqueak, hey.” Brendon cups your cheek in his hand to cut you off once the shock of your words wears off. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Unable to meet his eyes, you start to feel the tears coming. Dammit. You stare at your pink sneakers – the same ones you were wearing when the two of you met, you realize – and let them fall to the ground. After a minute, you manage to admit, “I just- I don’t think I can be this close to you if you have a girlfriend. It’s great that she’s so cool about you having female friends, but I’m just so sensitive and I know that’s not your fault but-”
“Hold on.” Brendon places both hands on your shoulders, staring at you like you’re an alien making first contact. Baffled beyond his wildest dreams, he explains slowly, “You’re my girlfriend.”
Between sniffles and shaky breaths, you whimper out, unable to process anything, “Huh?”
“My girlfriend. Who I’m surprising on Sunday. That would be you.”
Now it’s your turn to go catatonic, eyes wide and shimmery. “What are you talking about?”
“I asked you out to dinner after the hockey game,” he tells you, exasperated in the cutest way you’ve ever seen. Like you’re dumb but like maybe he’s also dumb. “I paid for your dinner. I insisted you get dessert. The whole thing. And we- Sweetheart, what do you think all the dinners we eat together are? Why else would I always be inviting you for coffee? Why would I always pay? I don’t just dump a couple hundred bucks a week on casual coworkers.”
Starting to feel silly instead of sad, you cover your laugh and protest, “I don’t know; I thought you were being friendly! You make $500,000 a year; you should be paying for all your friends’ coffees!”
“$650,000, actually, I have a sub-specialty in pediatric surgery,” he replies as though you wouldn’t drop your panties right here in the park. “More importantly, I am the least friendly person in the entire hospital. Maybe the entire city.” He runs a hand through his hair and replies a bit bashfully, “I kind of figured you like that about me or we wouldn’t be dating.”
The last two months recontextualize in your head in rapid succession. Little moments appear lit up by neon lights that blare, HEY DUMBASS! Brendon tied your shoes last week instead of telling you they were loose, dropping down on his knees right outside the ED where anyone could see just to make sure you wouldn’t trip. He always takes your backpack from your shoulders before walking you to the parking garage and opening the door of his gorgeous navy blue sedan for you. Even the way he looked at you at the hockey game.
God, you’re an idiot.
With your lips parted and your eyes rapidly blinking, you come up with a new protest: “You’ve never even tried to kiss me, Brendon. What the fuck? You should be kissing me all the time! You could’ve been jumping my bones ever since the hockey game; that would’ve made things pretty clear to me!”
“Jumping your bones?” He suppresses a laugh since you’re still flustered. He just kind of scoffs and explains with a shrug, “I guess I’m still old-school about that. A gentleman. I wasn’t picking up signals that you wanted me to, y’know, make a big move. Figured we should take it slow. I mean, you’re new to Pittsburgh, you’ve had some big life changes. And I have a history of being too, ah, too intense for some women. I didn’t want to mess that up with you.”
“That’s actually really sweet, Bren,” you reply, sniffling back tears. Waving a hand in front of your face to cool down your burning cheeks, you pinch your eyebrows together and point out, “Okay, well, then we never did, like, a ‘what are we?’ talk.”
“That’s because I’m 38 years old,” he replies bluntly. “When I’m with my woman, she has my full attention. My devotion. Everything. I don’t need to have that talk.”
My woman. The phrase makes you feel kinda bubbly like soda. You smack him on the chest and poke him, “Clearly you do, dummy!”
After you nudge him, Park catches your hand in his, fingers enveloping yours. Fuck, his hands are so big and sturdy. Then his eyes soften and he kisses your fingers. He leans down slightly to make better eye contact. “Okay, I’ll have that talk if you want it.” Crystal clear, blue eyes positively sparkling with amusement and adoration, he asks, “Would you like to be my very, very official girlfriend?”
You let out an absolute squeal. It’s delighted and silly and so cute his stomach turns. God, how did a girl like you get your claws in him? When you throw your arms around his neck and he spins you around, he doesn’t care why or how. He just cares that the first words out of your mouth are, “Yes, of course, obviously.” You nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder, feet barely touching the ground, and murmur against his ear, “This is my favorite night ever.”
“You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, princess,” he assures as he sets you down on your own balance. Then he holds your face in his palm and finally bends down to kiss you properly.
But you stop him with your pointer finger in his lips, his eyes widening. “No, no, no, I can’t have our first kiss be when I’m all puffy and snotty from crying.”
He gives a pretend growl but concedes, “Fair enough. Whatever you want. C’mon, let’s get you home.”
Before he turns away, though, you step on your very tippy toes (and then some) and kiss his forehead before asking so sweetly, “How about you come over tomorrow? I know we already have plans Sunday – by the way, I really love the ballet, so good job – but maybe we should have a first date that I know is a first date beforehand?”
“Yeah, of course,” he replies wistfully, still feeling your lips on his skin. On his thick fucking skull. “I’ll go anywhere you ask me.”
Like you asked, Brendon knocks on your door at 3PM sharp. You promised to entertain him and make him dinner and he could absolutely care less about any of the details beyond getting to be with you like he craves. He’d agonized over what to wear to an embarrassing extent, nearly caving and texting his mother for her approval. But that would be a fate worse than death, so he settles on dark jeans rolled at the ankle and a black tee because a little old lady told him he looked hunky when he wore them to the pharmacy a few weeks ago.
You answer the door wearing nothing but the oversized Penguins sweater he bought you, a pair of panties he can barely see under it, and knee-high socks.
Park’s pupils dilate.
In that one look, you can finally see why they call him Shark. He’s a predator latching onto you, ready to devour you alive. You take a step back and he steps forward like you’re pulling him by a string attached to his gut. He doesn’t even notice himself closing and locking the door, too fixated on the expanse of your legs and the Pittsburgh Penguins logo on your chest. He tentatively puts one hand on your waist and sighs reverently, “Yup, this is the singular sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
You look away from him, bashful under his praise: “Well, y’know, I wanted to surprise my boyfriend since he’s planning on surprising me tomorrow.” Then your attempt at a sultry voice goes away and is replaced by your usual glittery one when you see that he’s carrying a bouquet of pastel pink, soft orange, and angel white gerberas in the hand not touching you. “Brenny, did you get me flowers?”
‘Brenny’ might be too far, but he can’t bear to tell you that. You could call him anything and he’d accept it. He lifts the flowers up and offers them to you. “Um, yes. Is that still romantic or is it really, really lame now?”
“Still romantic,” you assure him with misty eyes, taking the bouquet and skipping away toward the kitchen.
Brendon toes off his shoes and follows you into the house, not surprised to find the place decked out in pastel colors and soft fabrics and dreamy artwork. You dig through your cabinets to find a porcelain vase you thrifted years ago and arrange the flowers inside of it.
As you place them on the windowsill, you give him a soft gaze, softer than any he’s been on the receiving side of. “This is the sweetest thing any man’s ever done for me.”
Brendon pulls you into a warm embrace, holding your chin with his thumb and forefinger, and says, “Baby, you’re about to have your bar raised, because flowers are the least you deserve.” When your lips part into a shy smile, he asks, “Can I kiss you now?”
You nod eagerly and rock up onto your toes, tilting your chin to get as close to him as possible. Brendon’s gentle, boyish smile makes your heart pound in your throat in the moments before he closes the gap. He takes a second to admire the slopes of your face when you’re gazing up at him like he means something.
And then he kisses you.
It’s eager and bright, the way you kiss after prom night. You have to fight not to smile when he holds your face between both hands, so much desire in his touch that you can feel his resolve to take it slow with you melting away.
Suddenly, at the sound of you giggling for only a second, Brendon’s arms loop around your back. Before you know it, he’s lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. You hop up, knowing he’ll catch you, and lock your legs around his hips. When you feel his smooth, cold belt buckle against your panties, you gasp out a moan at the contact.
Brendon chuckles and buries his forehead in the crook of your neck. He groans quietly, “Baby, you can’t make all those little sounds or you’re gonna kill me.”
Breathless, you tease back, “Then you definitely can’t call me baby.”
He smirks, kisses you again, and asks in a lower and more pointed voice, “Where’s your bedroom, baby?”
“It’s right upstairs; if you wanna put me down, I can-”
He shakes his head and keeps you balanced firmly in his arms, walking back toward the staircase. “No point in having these muscles if my girl ever has to touch the ground again.”
As he carries you up the stairs so easily that you’re turning into a person made more of giggles than anything else, you ask him, “Are you gonna carry me around from patient to patient forever?”
“If that’s what you want,” he replies with a laugh as he pushes through your bedroom door. Guiding you down onto the bed, which you’ve meticulously made, Brendon murmurs against the pulse point just beneath your ear, “I’ll give you everything you want, kitten.”
At the tender pet name, you can’t help but moan, encouraging him to touch you as he pins you to the bed just by virtue of how big his body is. He pulls back and gazes down at you so gently. Your heartbeat is slow again, comfortable, safe, but the heat between your legs is undeniable.
Brendon lowers himself down to kiss you once more. The energy between you shifts in that kiss, like he’s become painfully aware of being in your bedroom, your body pliant beneath him, your eyes full of trust and adoration he hasn’t experienced in years. His kiss is slow and sweet and simple. He shifts onto his side so one of his hands can cradle your cheek while the other gingerly takes your waist. You can tell he’s being painfully careful with you, his gentle touch revealing a certain level of fear – that he’ll hurt you or break you or scare you off.
So you reach forward and twine your fingers in the short hair at the base of his neck, gently scratching his scalp, and press your body against his. One leg thrown over his hip so that he can feel the heat of your barely clothed cunt. You arch your back and wiggle a tiny bit so that his hand almost has to move to your ass. He chuckles into the kiss and that makes you whimper. But he doesn’t do more, doesn’t grab or push or demand.
You pull back an inch, stare at him seriously, and murmur, “You’re not gonna break me, Bren.”
Mischief flickers in his blue eyes. He knows perfectly well what you’re asking, even if he’s tentative to give it to you. “What are you trying to say, sweetheart? Use your words.”
Mimicking his own voice, you bat your lashes and offer, “What’s the point in having those muscles if you don’t throw your girl around a little? C’mon, Shark, I know you’re not a shy lover.” You sit up just enough to reach down and lift the hockey sweater up and over your head. Underneath, you’ve got a black lace unlined bra, filled out only by the weight of your breasts, and it’s absolutely sinful. “Touch me like you mean it.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, this is one hell of a surprise,” he rasps as he grabs your tits through the fabric, a rough sting buzzing through your body. The sight of his hands against the lace flips the switch in his mind and he’s hunting for blood in the water. “I didn’t know you owned anything black.”
As he pinches your nipples, mean and certain, the fabric of the lace adding a scratchy friction, you gasp, “It’s a special occasion.”
“Yeah?” His hands run down toward your thighs, kneading the thickness of your waist and hips with a greed that approaches true obsession. You lose the ability to think when he bends down and bites the side of your waist, his teeth quickly becoming less and less gentle as your moans get louder and louder. “What’s so special?”
You can only whimper as he roughly manhandles you upwards so that he can unhook your bra, using only one hand. Fucking surgeons. All you can think about is what else those hands of his can do. You’ve noticed how thick his fingers are a million times and now you might actually get to feel them the way you want.
Brendon can see the lust laid bare over you, chest rising and falling faster, eyes wide and waiting, skin prickled with goosebumps. Hooking his fingers beneath the edges of your panties and pulling them down, he teases, “Out of words now, pretty girl?”
You take five seconds to breathe, swallow hard, and order, “Take your clothes off.”
He throws his head back and grins. “Good choice of words.”
While you prop yourself on your elbows for a better view, Brendon steps off the bed and tugs his shirt off first. He even does that thing buff guys do where he pulls it off by the back, his arm muscles offensively large as he reveals his abs. His muscles are less defined than they are sturdy, built less like an Abercrombie model and more like a lumberjack or, y’know, a fridge. The way his obliques cut down into his hips is downright pornographic.
You let out a long breath. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Perfectly and completely aware, he gives you a hunky grin. “What? Something wrong?”
You bite your lower lip and physically try to stop yourself from staring, but you just keep failing. Because he’s your boyfriend. Sitting on the edge of the bed now, gradually drawing closer to him like a magnet, you attempt to tease, “Are you always this much of a cocky bastard about your hot bod?”
“My hot bod?” His hands go to his belt and he slowly removes it. Then, once he’s stepped out of his jeans and you’re blinded by the outline of his, yes, proportionally long and thick cock against his black boxer briefs, he says, “Yeah, I always am.”
Eyes greedily drinking down every inch of his body and imagining all the ways you could play with it, you manage to mumble out, “You should be.”
God, he even makes taking off his underwear hot. It must be those damn thighs. Or the everything else. With your eyes trained squarely on his fat cock, mouth actually watering, Brendon steps toward and lifts your chin. “Like what you see, princess?”
With that same confident smirk on his lips, he takes your small hand and wraps it around his shaft. Suddenly you get the whole ‘beer-can-sized-dick’ thing you’ve read in way too much erotica because you can’t close your hand around his girth. “Oh.”
“What? Bigger than you thought? You intimidated?”
“Honey, I think everyone you’ve ever met knows you have a big dick.” Your eyes flick up to his playfully. “And I’m definitely not intimidated.”
“Really?”
“You’ve never intimidated me. Not like you do everyone else.”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m so into you.” As you smile coyly, Brendon thrusts between your fingers, watching every miniscule change in your expression – which is rapidly growing less patient. He cups your cheek with his hand and asks, “Want a taste?”
You open your mouth. Obedient, immediate. When his tip touches your tongue, you eagerly lap up the sticky drop of precum and then take him between your lips. Brendon has to grip your headboard hard to tolerate the sight of you sucking him with such a precious, adoring, sweet look in your eyes. It feels like you’re thanking him with your mouth, making the prettiest damn noises for him to memorize and play on repeat.
When you lift your hand to gently tug and roll his balls, Brendon hangs his head and groans, loud and low, gravelly in a way that tickles the back of your mind. “Fuck, baby, that’s- that’s perfect.” Your happy hum in reply makes his toes curl into the carpet. “Jesus, you drive me crazy, you know that? I’ve never been this obsessed with someone.”
You pull off him and beam, lips shiny and slightly swollen now. “Really?”
Brendon pushes you back on the bed and crawls on top of you, easily maneuvering you so that your head’s back on the pillows and his hands are on either side of your face. He kisses you hard, claiming, and says, “It’s actually become a huge problem for me. You’re all I can think about.”
You giggle breathlessly and ask, “Is that a complaint?”
“Mmm. There’s that little laugh of yours. That’s how you got me,” he groans before kissing you again. “I made some stupid goddamn joke during surgery and the whole team was exhausted but you laughed. Just like that. And I was done for.”
You cover your face, embarrassed and delighted all at once, and remember, “Then I said you have a cutting-edge sense of humor.”
“And I thought that was funny,” he goes on with a fond chuckle. His hands have never stopped roaming over your body, playing with your breasts or digging into your hips. “You’re so gorgeous and perfect I thought that was funny. You don’t even realize how deep you’ve got your hooks in me, baby.”
Biting your lip, you try to come up with something to say to match his sudden deep sweetness, but he stops you from being able to think at all. His lips drag down your neck, biting and kissing in equal measure until you’re squirming and bucking beneath him. Then, just beneath your ear, he growls, “Can I leave marks?”
The sound you make is nothing short of pathetic. You clutch the back of his head, tugging his hair a bit to push his teeth against your neck, and whine, “Please.”
“Yeah?” He’s grinning, now, but he can’t bear to let you see. “Want the whole world to know you’re mine now?” You whimper and nod, tilting your head to the side to give him better access. He murmurs, “Good girl.”
Fuck, you’re soaked.
As Brendon sucks hard over your pulse, branding you with the dark shape of his kiss, his right hand goes between your legs, pushing them apart. Two of his thick fingers dip between your folds to collect your wetness before smearing it over your clit. “All this for me? You’re easy to work up.”
You laugh and tuck your forehead into his bicep. “Are you surprised?”
“Not even a little,” he chuckles. Making sure to kiss you and hold you as his fingers work firm circles around your clit, Brendon purrs, “I’ve thought about all the sounds you must make a thousand times. How you must be so enthusiastic to be a good girl. You’re so easy for me to read; I knew I could get you off better than anyone else.”
You nod against his arm and moan when he finds just the right tempo on your clit, his fingers ridiculously skilled. “Just like that.”
“Whatever you need, sweet girl,” he assures, listening to you and keeping his fingers exactly the way they are. Methodical.
“Brendon,” you gasp as your pussy pulses wantingly around nothing, “I really need you to fuck me.”
“I love the enthusiasm, kitten, but I’m not gonna hurt you,” he replies simply. Reluctantly. There’s a tenderness to his voice that shouldn’t fit with his harsh attitude and masculine features, but it does. It’s him, beneath everything he shows the rest of the world. He drops down between your legs and nuzzles loving kisses over your sensitive inner thighs, worshipping into your skin, “If I’m gonna fuck you to sleep tonight, then I can’t leave you sore from the first time. Let me make you cum before I’m inside you, kitten. Can you be good and do that?”
With your eyebrows knitted together and sweat on your brow, you nod and whine, “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask,” he tells you. It’s insane that a man being offensively cocky with all those smirks and chuckles is so hot. He leans back, sitting between your legs, and begins to plunge his fingers inside of you. Just his two middle fingers have to be as thick as any dildo you’ve used before. He bends at the waist so he can keep biting and sucking on your body, the most brutal on your nipples but sure to get ample coverage over your waist and stomach and hips. When he feels you clamping down tight around him, the pleasure so much you can’t come up with any response besides your body’s natural reactions, he teases lightly, “Careful, baby, my hands are my livelihood.”
Eyes large and glassy, you breathe, “Sorry about that.”
Brendon’s thumb goes to your clit and your walls tighten again. This time, he doesn’t tease you. He works your clit intently, trying to find what he’d found before, and doesn’t rest until he’s right there. Your delicious gasp gives him all the cue he needs. With his thumb flat and firm, he rubs your clit in time with his fingers curling back toward himself. His eyes focus on your expression, each detail, and he’s addicted to your every sound and twitch.
“There you go,” he praises while your pussy tightens up slowly, threatening to snap into sparkles. “That’s right. Just trust me. All I want is to make you feel good.
Your orgasm bursts like waves against a hull, building and building until it crashes over you, rocking your gravity and stealing your breath. Brendon’s there with you through it, his blue eyes a lighthouse, his stupid smirk your shore. His free hand holds you down by the hip as he lets you enjoy the fluttery aftershocks, not quite forcing you into overstimulation but not letting up until you’ve had as much as you can take.
When you’re finally completely breathless and satiated, Brendon slowly withdraws his fingers and then licks them clean. He leans down for a moment and laps at your inner thighs, tasting your tart juices and salty skin. Your hips buck instinctively when he presses one tiny kiss to your clit and then laughs at your reaction, breath ghosting down your hot cunt. With his slick-wet hand, he fists his cock and asks, “How do you want me, sweetheart?”
You take a few seconds to think and admire the view before asking, “Can I ride you? Whenever I’ve fantasized about us having sex, that’s what I’m doing.”
“You can do literally whatever you want to me, baby,” he reminds you as he reclines on the bed next to you. He steals one more kiss from you before you start moving to your knees, collecting your balance. “What exactly do you fantasize about?”
“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” you reply as you climb into his lap, hands going straight to grabbing his pecs with your nails digging deliciously into the flesh, “but you have these giant fucking tits I’d like to fondle.” Then, as he laughs, you rub your sloppy cunt up and down his shaft, watching his eyes close and hearing his breath go shaky with lust. “I wanna see your arms when you hold onto my hips and thrust up into me. Wanna feel how strong your thighs are underneath me.”
Brendon shakes his head and snickers, “Wow, I had no idea how much you were going to objectify my muscles.”
“Shut up; yes, you did.”
You roll your eyes and sink down on him, nice and slow, savoring the way he has to resist slamming up to meet you.
He groans, hands finding purchase on the curve of your waist, “Yeah, you’re right.”
You’re completely forgotten how to talk. The stretch of him is divine. Everything you’d imagined and then some. You have to be careful not to get too eager too fast because his length is definitely enough to bruise your cervix if you aren’t gentle with yourself while your pussy adjusts to him. Which is sad, considering the only thing you’ve ever wanted in life all of a sudden is to bounce on Park the Shark’s huge cock until you pass out.
Instead, you slowly rock back and forth, your hands flush on his pecs, with your eyes pinched shut and your mouth falling open. Brendon reaches up to hold your chin, forcing you to open your eyes, and checks softly, “Too much? We can slow down and-”
“Shut up,” you order breathily. He smiles, puts his hands behind his head a moment, and enjoys the view of you being a tiny bit bossy. “Feels so fucking good, I promise. Not too much. Just- just- Jesus.”
“Well, they do say he was hung.”
Your laugh is addictively adorable, sounding almost sleepy from the enormous effort of acclimating to him. “You’re so awful.”
Dragging his hands down and resting them on your ass, he coos back, “And you’re sooooo into it.”
When he gives you a quick upward thrust, your response turns into a squeak, “Yeah.”
From there, Brendon helps you out. He knows he’s not exactly an easy man to take in this position – beyond the size of his cock, his thighs and glutes are so well-developed that your knees don’t even reach the mattress on either side of his hips – so he holds you in place and rolls his hips up into yours, slow and precise.
Once he can tell you’re getting comfortable, breaths easy and moans tumbling out again, he murmurs, “How about you touch yourself?”
Eyebrows knitted together, you sigh, “Already so much, Bren.”
Purposefully missing the point, he sighs back, “I guess I can do it for you, princess.”
When his thumb goes to your clit, your nails dig into his chest. Mean pink half moons rise in their wake, but you can’t stop yourself – and he doesn’t mind. So stretched out, your pussy pulses more than it clamps down, each contraction a fluttery thing that’s somehow more intense than the last. He’s grinning to himself as he feels your orgasm approaching fast. You’re so relaxed with him that he can control your pleasure with the ease of a decades-long lover. He’s going to have to teach you to be less trusting, maybe teach you to fight, but right now all he wants is for you to yield to him completely.
You cum with a long, drawn-out whine, sweat shiny on your hairline, and Brendon has to take over completely as your thighs twitch and falter. It’s impossible to hold yourself up through the roiling pleasure that overtakes you in a deluge. Your wetness drips down his balls and onto your bed and you’re not sure you’ve ever been this soaked from how much a partner’s turned you on and worked you up.
“Aw, my sweet baby,” he purrs as you fight hard to stay upright, your thighs burning for relief in the wake of your second orgasm, “trying so hard to keep up.”
While you let out tiny, cute whimpers, Brendon pulls out slowly and stands up, ignoring your complaining whine at the lack of contact. He goes to your bedside table and muses, “Let’s see what we have here.” Your cheeks burn as he thumbs through your admittedly maybe-too-ample sex toy collection. Taking out your baby blue silicone mini wand, Brendon grins. “Hot, young, single doctor – knew I’d find some goodies in here.”
You’re totally gone by now, anything but your desire to be with him gone out the window, and he can tell. It’s his favorite thing in the world. When he says, “get on your knees for me,” your brain is so mush for him that you do it without a single thought or word, presenting your ass beautifully with a placid smile on your lips.
Brendon yanks your hips back so that he can stand at the foot of your bed – which means he can use all his strength to handle you. Lining up the thick, angry red tip, he tenderly rubs your ass and says, “Tell me if you want more.”
All you can do is nod. Usually he’d press you for words just to hear you beg, but the eye contact you make is full of so much pleading that there’s no need for further clarity. You really are so sensitive; there are tears of pleasure and need brimming at your waterline.
“Don’t worry that sweet little head of yours,” he practically growls as his cock slowly fills you deeper than he’d been able to get without being in total control, “I’m gonna take care of you, princess. Gonna keep this pretty pussy stuffed. Gonna make sure you get everything you need. I promise.”
Gripping your pillow tight as you once again adjust to his thickness, you nod and sniffle, “Thank you, Bren.”
“There she is,” he teases as he starts to slam into you. Each time he bottoms out, it comes with a weak, needy cry. “That’s my sensitive girl. Love that about you.”
“That I’m a crybaby?”
He picks up speed at the word and all it means to him. You’re never prettier than with tears running down your cheeks, making your eyes shiny and your lips wobbly. “You know how much of a confidence boost it is making you cry because of how good you feel?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, princess, I fucking love it.” Brendon flicks the vibrating wand onto its lowest setting and reaching one huge arm around your body to press it to your clit. Your corresponding moan turns into a screaming sob, loud and messy and violently sexy. It’s completely overwhelming and consuming. The way your face contorts from the intensity sends Brendon’s thrusts into overdrive, almost putting all his force into it now. As sweat falls from his forehead onto your back, he urges, “Let it out. Let it all out for me. I wanna hear how good I’m making you feel.”
And you weep.
The catharsis of his cock christening you takes over. You’ve cried during sex before, yeah (of course), but this is different. It feels like pure relief and connection. Your mind is totally present in your body, feeling every single place of contact where Brendon’s sweating skin slides against yours. The vibrator between your legs is making you shake in his arms, but you trust him to hold you up, to give you what you need, to take you through exactly what he wants to give you.
“C’mon, honey, focus, you can do one more, I promise,” Brendon grunts when he starts to feel your pussy weakly squeezing him again. He didn’t think he could get you to this point your first time together, but, if he can, he’s not going to stop.
He leans over your body, mounting you now, primal and animalistic, and wraps his elbow around your neck. The gesture pulls your cunt tight to him and snaps your head back, forcing you to take a deep breath that lights your brain up. Tears slip constantly out of your eyes and Brendon’s drunk on the sniffles and whimpers and moans that choke out of your thickened throat. You drunkenly kiss his arm as it muffles over his mouth.
Then you bite him.
Brendon’s hips stutter and his balls tighten up. You bite him again and again. And you’re not screwing around with it. Your teeth are ravenous on his flush, cutting in nearly enough to draw blood. You’re so thoughtless that you’re just going for whatever’s been put in front of your mouth; it’s irrelevant that it’s your boyfriend’s flesh.
“There it is,” Brendon groans, the pain of your bites sending him spiraling out into a new height of pleasure. “I can feel it coming on. Don’t you dare hold back, baby. Show me how much you can take. Give me another one and I’ll fill you up. I know what’s what you want, isn’t it?”
You nod without releasing his arm from your mouth. Drool spills from the sides of your lips, mixing with your tears, and you’re hurtling into the orgasm more than it’s welling up within you. The thought that really does it, though, isn’t Brendon’s encouragement or the vibrator unrelentingly stimulating your clit. No. It’s the idea that Brendon’s going to cum inside of you. Even on birth control, it’s a sign that he’s claiming you completely, making you his, being totally naked with you in every sense.
Bliss blows your brains out like a volcano finally giving into the pressure. Brendon holds you tight against him with his free hand, so tight that his thrusts are short and deep. The final few, he grinds into you, totally enveloped in your cunt, letting himself feel each millimeter as it grabs down on him and milks it out. When his cum coats your walls, both of you collapse onto the bed into gasping breaths.
Brendon kisses and kisses your shoulders while he goes soft inside of your pussy, gently pulling your chew toy away and shaking it out because it fucking kills in the most satisfying way possible. He makes a mental note to buy himself a long-sleeve to wear to work as he admires the egregious display of total horny thoughtlessness from the cutesy, angelic doctor.
He sits up and then murmurs, rubbing your back softly, “I’m gonna carry you to the bathroom to get you cleaned up, okay?”
You nod lazily, eyes half-lidded. You make no effort to help him, which only makes him smile to himself and shake his head. He’d do anything for you already. Cradling you like a baby, he pushes open the bathroom door with his foot and hits the light with his elbow. He’s absolutely done for. Setting you down on the toilet, he orders, “Go pee, baby. No UTIs allowed.”
Under normal circumstances, you definitely wouldn’t be able to pee in front of your boyfriend and you would definitely be mortified by the mere thought. But you’re so relaxed. Your whole brain is like a nice cozy hot tub, warm and bubbly and nothing to worry about. So you do as he instructs without question, some part of your brain acknowledging that he’s correct.
Brendon leans down on his knees, a posture that would be condescending in most situations but is nothing but adoring right now, and suggests, “Now, you said you were gonna cook, but how does delivery on my tab sound? We can get pizza.”
You give a hazy smile and nod. “That’s so nice, Brenny.”
“We’re gonna have to talk about that nickname,” he chuckles, booping the tip of your nose.
You pout out your lower lip. “I’m gonna call you whatever I want.”
“Yeah, alright, tough guy.”
“Mmm.” You lean up to kiss him. “Good boy.”
Brendon laughs and then stands up to fiddle with the handles of your shower until he’s happy with the temperature. Then he guides you to your feet and brings you under the water, not too hot or too cold on your over-sensitive skin. You’re glad you went for the house with the rain shower when you moved, both of you fitting comfortably beneath the stream at the same time. For a while, he just holds you, hands roaming up and down your back, as he kisses the top of your head.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs quietly, barely audible above the running water. “You’re gonna turn me into such a softie.”
You giggle, “Or you’re gonna make me a big mean gym bro.”
Brendon shakes his head and reaches for your shampoo. “Maybe we stick to our current roles.”
“I think they suit us,” you agree as he squirts some into his palm and orders you to turn around. With his fingers working devotion into your scalp, you hum gently under your breath and trust him to hold you up. During the course of the shower, you gradually come back to life. Once you’re sudsing his abs with your lufah, maybe being a touch too thorough by going over every spot with your hands, you lilt, “You fucked my brains out. I didn’t know that was actually a thing.”
“I did set a high bar for myself,” he concedes with a self-satisfied laugh, “but I’m guessing it’s only gonna get better from here.”
You stand on your toes and kiss him. “Does this mean we’re doing paperwork when we go back to the hospital?”
“I love paperwork,” he tells you, mock serious. He chuckles and whistles, “My first time to HR for something besides another doctor filing a complaint because I hurt their precious feelings by ensuring my patients get the highest quality care possible.”
“Big bad scary Park the Shark,” you agree as you turn off the water. You gently brush his cheek and coo, “My softie.”
Brendon rolls his eyes affectionately, shakes out his hair, and steps out, grabbing a towel and wrapping you up in it before taking one for himself. With a towel hanging low on his hips, he’s scrumptious enough to have your mind wandering toward round two even though your body wouldn’t even consider cooperating for a few more hours.
You head over to the mirror for your moisturizer and catch a glimpse of yourself with clear eyes for the first time since your sex brain turned off. Looking at the myriad of bite marks littered over your body, the flesh swollen and indented, you laugh, “Jesus, now I know why they call you Shark.”
“Yeah?” Park bares his left forearm to you, the one that had been in your face while he destroyed your cunt, to show off an absolute minefield of neon pink bites, some deep enough that they’re bruising already. Your eyes widen with guilt, but he quickly yanks you close and kisses you hard, nothing but lust and gratitude on his lips. He nips your neck and teases, “They’re gonna have to start calling you Sharkette.”
Warnings: spoilers for CloHo, canon typical violence, blood, use of y/n, reader is called a little girl, general rowdiness, hair, reader refered to as 'girlfriend'
So in episode 3 of never stop blowing up, Ally's character Russ is able to stop the Russian lady, and we find out I believe that she's a shadow falcon, I could be wrong on that but if she is then, we also find out she has a throat purse we can asume that because they're a bird organization all members of that school have them and bird have it's either there belly or a spot in there throat full of rocks to help digest food so Brennan without even knowing probably that he made yet ANOTHER bird fact reference!!!!!! Thankyou for coming to my Ted talk.
Please remember to reblog, follow, like, and/or comment on the author’s pages!
Most of the content I link to is mature. Read any and all warnings from authors before reading.
Some recs will fall under several categories, so they may appear in more than one list/post
New posts will appear on bottom of list
August and later posts will contain author summary if provided
This list contains any recommendation I have ever made featuring Soap.
Thunderstorms and Dog Tags by @bloodonmyhands-1221 - Based on this request: Smut request (preferably Soap but use whoever you feel suits this). But you wearing his dog tags (and only the tags, nothing else) while doing the do -- and it just does something to him
(Un)bearable by @placeinthemiddleofnowhere - Reader is new to the 141 and despite coming in hand picked by Price, Soap can’t seem to get his head round the fact that you’re on his team. Soon silly little arguments turn physical and well…there’s more than one way to decide who’s top dog.
(Un)bearable Part 2 by @placeinthemiddleofnowhere - Reader is new to the 141 and despite coming in hand picked by Price, Soap can’t seem to get his head round the fact that you’re on his team. Soon silly little arguments turn physical and well…there’s more than one way to decide who’s top dog.
Unstable Ordinance by @deadbranch - Set in the aftermath of The Killing Moon, Task Force 141 has disbanded, so Soap reintegrates into the regular army. He never imagined he would find love again, especially from the stoic beauty who's been serving alongside him for months.
Waltz Midnight Rambles: Soap by @waltzthegenderfluidpan - You get drunk in a bar with the 141 and Soap takes you home. I don’t want to spoil it anymore but I will say it’s funny, fluffy, and cute!
Which Witch by @peachesofteal - Soap x Witch Reader
Working Hard or Hardly Working by @the-slasher-files - A smutty fic totally inspired by a friend who said he was hungry and wanted to leave work so he could eat pussy lol... and Mr Soap is the man with that energy. Fem reader with female anatomy... enjoy
Wrath by @mykneeshurt - Part of the 7 deadly sins series (check it out!) Enemies to...lovers? Sexual Partners? IDK but it is hot. Another Rough Soap.
Your Friendly Neighbor by@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world - Soap comes home from leave and realizes he has a new neighbor…
Your Wildest Dreams by @nightingale-ghost-writer - In a mission gone wrong, you and Soap have to hole up in a safehouse, trying to stay warm during the cold Russian winter
Soap w/Secretary GF by @victoria-grimesss - Smutty office theme!
Don’t Blame Me by @bloodyknucklesforme - John 'Soap' Mactavish never thought a simple escort mission could change his life entirely.
What’dya Just Call Me? By @ink-n-shadowfiction - Based on this ask: 141 bois with a fem!reader that slips up mid-fuck and calls them daddy 👀 how would they react?
Heart Eyes by @halcyone-of-the-sea - Being a medic wasn't pretty, but when your boyfriend was the subject under your needle you can't help but enjoy his unwavering gaze. Today, he has something to share with you.
Relief by @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff - It's the end of another mission, and you're ready to unwind with your new favourite destresser - casual sex with Soap.
From Ten to Twenty and Beyond by @halcyone-of-the-sea - You've known him ever since the incident on the playground, and now you can't help but imagine that same boy as you watch him make supper with flour in his hair.
Viking Soap by @ghouljams
Viking Soap Part 2
Needed Me by @blingblong55 - Adding fuel to the fire with Johnny coming home to his lass cooking his favorite dish and rewarding his lass with a good fuck doggy style on the kitchen island. The lass is missing her husband after all :3
Dessert First by @bloodyknucklesforme
Pulse. Skin. Soap. by @undercoverpena
Bodyguard Soap by @captainfern
First Kisses by @nrdmssgs
Soap Kinktober Day 2 by @darthglitterfanfiction
Same Time Zone by @imperihoe-writes - Johnny is finally coming home to his girlfriend.
Battered and Bearded by @saintship
Day 3 kinktober (Phone Sex with Soap) by @bits-and-babs
Shot Through With Gold by @siriusleee - I smashed the whole house to bits,” Johnny keeps going, turning to put the milk in the refrigerator. “Had to get Simon over here to help me put it back together. It was his idea by the way. To get the mug fixed. He said you’d be mad if it was gone when you came home.
Life Snaps By in Flashes by @halcyone-of-the-sea - A collection of memories from the second he laid eyes on you. All flashing past in the soft buzzing of the overhead lights.Flight Risk by @saintship - Based on prompt request “you’re safe with me”
Find Me by @halcyone-of-the-sea - You're finally back in One-Four-One's hands, but that doesn't mean you're saved. Johnny tracks you down after a violent episode
Totally Platonic by @kechiwrites - soap helps you give your ex something real to worry about.
Entanglement by @luminousbeings-crudematter
Entanglement Part 2
Soap Headcanons by @glitterypirateduck
The Thing About Arsenal by @deadbranch - You want some personal time with Soap, but he’s occupied with watching the match. Until he’s not.
Rain by @mykneeshurt
Tough Spot by @groguspicklejar - It's not an ideal situation, but Johnny makes the most of it.
Soap + First Time by @darthglitterfanfiction
Possessive Best Friend Soap by @cumikering
Desperate by @miniwheat77
Desire Paths by @ceilidho - You've been best friends with Johnny for most of your life. You're not sure when things started to cross the line.
Still The Same Fools by @halcyone-of-the-sea - There was always a rivalry between you two - that hasn't changed even if both of you have. Years later, the boiling point is finally met.
An Oath of Rose Briar by @cowyolks - It was always nightfall when he’d sneak into your chambers, yearning for love that tears apart at the seams. You didn’t know forbidden love could taste so divinely sweet.
Birfday Soap by @writeforfandoms
Smut Drabble 1 by @unreliablesnake
Guile and Guilt by @the-californicationist - Your best friend has warned you to stay far, far away from her younger brother — infamous party boy, Sergeant Johnny MacTavish. However, when she asks you to be her maid of honor in her wedding, you and Johnny end up closer than you ever expected.
Whimpering Soap by @captainfern
Running Home to Your Sweet Nothings by @kitkatscabinet - Simon’s older sister is his entire world, the last person he has left, and someone he's fiercely overprotective of. This is too bad for Soap, who falls head over heels at first sight.
Bodyguard Soap by @siriusleee - Based on my request for a bodyguard Soap AU
Trigger Finger by @brewed-pangolin - On mission you can't stop thinking about Soap's gloved fingers.
First Date by @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world
Bubble Butt by @brewed-pangolin
Last Christmas by @siriusleee - You need a date for your family's Christmas dinner. Johnny is willing to be it.
Summary: You like to watch your older, tatted shirtless neighbor now his lawn. He likes to watch you laying by your parents’ pool in those swimsuits that make his mouth water. Eventually, the inevitable happens when he invites you across the street for a drink.
Word Count: 8.2K
Tags: 🔥SMUT, modern au, age gap (Eddie 40s, Reader 20s), daddy kink, praise kink, degradation kink, slight breeding kink, spitting, light dom/sub, unprotected sex (reader has an iud), oral sex, p in v sex, shower sex, masturbation in a hot tub
(A/N: This is some of the filthiest shit I think I've ever written. You're welcome. Also I was very quick with the proofread, so if you see any spelling or grammar mistakes, no you don't.)
💜💜💜
Everyone in the posh gated community of Forest Hills knew about 1405 Peach Tree Lane.
The house was beautiful, as were all the houses in the upper-crust neighborhood- but the house wasn’t what people paid attention to.
Every housewife in the neighborhood knew that if they were lucky and timed their morning jog just right, they’d catch a glimpse of the toned, inked-up adonis who lived there while he shirtlessly mowed his lush green lawn.
You might not have done much speaking with the housewives in your parents’ neighborhood, but you knew about 1405 Peach Tree Lane- you had a perfect view of its front lawn from your lounge chair by the pool in your parents’ backyard. Luckily for you, all that separated your backyard from 1405 was a short wrought iron fence and a narrow stretch of road.
You didn’t mind living with your parents during the summers you spent home from college; they gave you plenty of freedom and while they were at work during the day, you got to spend the afternoon lounging by the pool, reading a book and soaking up the sun.
As well as soaking up the view of the way that same sunlight glinted off Mr. 1405’s sweaty, ink-riddled skin.
You didn’t speak to him- what would you even say? “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, my favorite part of the day is guessing what your tattoos mean.”? Or maybe, “Hey there neighbor, mind if I count the freckles on your shoulders? It’s for science.”
Eventually, the inevitable happened- he caught you staring.
He didn’t make it awkward, though. In fact, from the way he simply smiled and waved at you, you wondered if he thought your eyes meeting him had just been a coincidence, and you hadn’t been ogling him for the past thirty minutes and some change. You’d smiled back, thankful for your huge sunglasses that hid the way your eyes had widened under his attention, and waved in return.
An even bigger surprise had been that he spoke to you this time.
“That book any good?”
His voice, heavy with labored breathing under the exhaustion from finishing up his lawn work, had caught you completely off guard. You’d laughed nervously, sticking your bookmark between the pages and pushing yourself up from your face-down position on the flattened lounge chair.
“Oh! Ah-ha, uhm, yeah!” you shifted your weight back until you were sitting on spread knees and looking up at the source of the voice. On the other side of your parents’ fence stood Mr. 1405 Peach Tree Lane, sweaty and slightly sunburned on the tops of his shoulders. His curly brown hair had been piled into a messy knot atop his head, and you took note of the details that you hadn’t noticed from far away- a smattering of silver studs that decorated his ears, along with one on his nose. Five o’clock shadow that dusted his jawline. A more detailed view of his tattoos, some of which looked older than others but all of which looked very, very sexy on this man who had so much sex appeal already.
The crinkling of his plastic water bottle as he squeezed about half of it into his mouth filled the silence between you. After a loud gulp he piped up again.
“What’s it about?”
Your brow wrinkled confusedly before you remembered that he had just asked you about your book. “Oh!” you replied dumbly, looking down at the book as if you had completely forgotten that books even existed- looking at him had taken up your entire mental capacity, apparently. “It’s, uh, it’s a memoir! It’s this cool old lady’s life story, she does not hold back, so the narration is pretty hilarious a lot of the time.”
The inked-up Greek god smiled and nodded, eyebrows raising in interest. “That does sound good.” he mused, and his voice took on a slyer tone when he added, “What’s your definition of old, like thirty-five?” He chuckled as if he’d just told a funny joke, but your smile had all but fallen from your face.
“That’s not old,” you replied, not taking the joke, “This author was in her late seventies when she published this book, but even with that being said, this book is just told through such a youthful spirit- it’s easy to forget how old the author is when looking at her words.” You gripped the paperback a little tighter in your sweaty hands. “Plus, old people definitely don’t have the energy to mow their own lawns, and I have a feeling you’re not thirty-five.”
That seemed to catch him off-guard. A surprised laugh escaped him, exploding from his lips before they formed an intrigued grin and his arms crossed over his tattooed chest.
“Oh yeah? How old do I look, then?”
You grinned back, making a show of removing your sunglasses so that you could peer at him with greater focus. “Hmmmmmm…thirty-six?”
Another laugh, this one heartier than the last. “You flatter me, sweetheart.”
God, his voice is like brown sugar.
You tried again. “Forty, then.”
“Older.”
“No way.”
His grin became a smirk. “Are you patronizing me right now?”
You threw up a girl scout salute. “Scout’s honor, I would never.”
He chuckled. “Well, girl scout, I’ll be forty-five next month.”
“I’ll be sure to warn my parents about the rager you’ll be throwing.”
He peered up at your house behind you, like he just now noticed its- and your parents’- existence. “Nah,” he said, “No ragers for me, that ship sailed when I was your age.”
You smiled sweetly, placing your sunglasses atop your head. “At least let me bake you a cake, then, wouldn’t be neighborly to let you have a boring birthday.”
“You’d bake a cake for ‘lil old me, sweetheart?” His tattooed hand splayed over his heart, sweaty and shining in the blaring afternoon sun.
You giggled. You could get used to Mr. 1405 calling you ‘sweetheart’.
“Sure thing, just tell me what name to write in between ‘happy birthday’ and ‘forever young’.”
A flash of dazzling white teeth replied, “Eddie. Eddie Munson.”
That was when you rose a step above the housewives of Forest Hills- to them, he was still Mr. 1405, but to you? He was Eddie Munson.
You entertained yourselves with little conversations here and there whenever Eddie worked out on his lawn. You, always in a swimsuit and him, never wearing a shirt. You would ask him about his tattoos- what they symbolized, which ones he’d drawn himself before they were replicated on his flesh. He would ask you about what you were reading- it was always changing. Sometimes nonfiction, sometimes romance, fantasy, lit fic… he seemed impressed by your insatiable reading habits.
One day, however, he’d been particularly interested in a book whose cover bore a bare-chested gentleman and particularly busty woman in a corset.
“What’s today’s read, girl scout?” Eddie had greeted you with a nod toward the obviously risque reading material and a knowing smirk as he let his arms dangle over the black bars of your fence.
You looked up, glowing from the sweat that’s gathered on your dewy summer skin and smiled tightly. “Oh, just a period romance. Ball gowns, forbidden love, the scandalous touching of hands without gloves on- things like that.”
“From the looks of that cover, I don’t think their hands are the only naked body parts touching in that story.”
You laughed, glancing at the cover as Eddie waggled his eyebrows. “You’re probably right, but who knows? I’m only on the second chapter. I’ll keep you posted though.” you punctuated that last part with a wink.
“Oh please do, princess,” Eddie said with a wolfish grin. “I love a good smutty romance novel.”
You gawked. “No way you read this shit, you’re bluffing.”
Eddie raised a hand as if swearing on a bible. “Scout’s honor.” he said, mimicking your swear from the day you’d met.
You shook your head, smiling ear to ear. “You must be the first man I’ve met who openly admits to reading smut, and I respect that.”
Eddie shrugged. “Easiest way to know what women want- they’re literally writing me an instruction manual. It’d be stupid not to read them.”
You bit your bottom lip before you could stop yourself, making a mental note of that little tidbit of information. “And you enjoy them?”
“It’s porn, sweetheart,” he said, gazing at you incredulously. “Who wouldn’t enjoy it?”
“It’s porn with a plot.”
“I’m a sucker for a good plot, especially if the plot involves sucking.”
You barked out a laugh. “And one could also argue that it’s more emotional porn than physical.”
“Are you insinuating that I don’t have a heart? Because I’ve got one, princess, and it bleeds, it yearns-”
Eddie pantomimed grasping at his own heart in his chest, putting on a fucking one-man show as he hung onto the fence for dear life as if his heart were truly bleeding out. You laughed- that was something that seemed to happen more when Eddie was around- you laughed more than usual, so much that you found your cheeks aching whenever he walked away.
This time, something else ached as you watched him return to his lawn. As you continued to read, you were acutely aware of the heat between your thighs, the wetness that accumulated as you pictured corseted girls and muscled viscounts making eyes at each other across a sea of dancing courtiers. You imagined yourself, cornered in a rich rose garden bathed in moonlight, struggling to stifle your moans as a man in a tailcoat left a mark on your neck. You felt his hand hiking up your layers of petticoats until it reached your thigh, the only thing separating skin from skin being the white fabric of his gloves. You pictured his eyes, brown and bottomless as he moaned at the feeling of your hands tangled and tugging on his soft brown curls-
Uh oh.
You took a deep breath, bookmarked your page, and slipped into the cold water of the pool. You sincerely hoped that Eddie hadn’t been serious about an update on the smut in your novel; you didn’t exactly want to let slip that at some point, you’d stopped picturing the viscount and started picturing him.
But would he mind? Would he be upset to know that you’d pictured his hands on you, his lips on your pulse, your fingers in his hair?
You weren’t sure he would.
In fact, you had a feeling he might actually picture you in situations that weren’t too different. After all, you weren’t blind- you’d noticed the way his eyes would flit down from your face when the two of you were talking. He didn’t seem to put much effort into hiding his once-overs, his raking gaze that seemed more than pleased by the way your swimsuits hugged your curves, pulled your cleavage together, cut higher on your hip than your shorts ever would. Whenever you pulled yourself up from lying on your stomach, you’d seen how his eyes followed your ass hungrily as it left his line of sight.
That was the moment that you realized- Eddie Munson, more than likely, wanted to fuck you.
And you definitely wanted to fuck him.
So the next time he came over to see you after mowing his lawn, you offered him a beer.
“I’m already halfway through mine,” you said, leaning back to give him a full view of the way the sweat on your breasts shone in the hot sun. “don’t make me day drink alone.”
A salacious grin curled on his plush pink lips. “I could be tempted,” Eddie peered at the cooler beside you. “What are you drinking, sweetheart?”
You opened the cooler so that he could see the six pack of light lagers in shiny green bottles. Eddie wrinkled his nose distastefully. “Alright, young padawan,” he sighed, unlatching the gate to your backyard. “It’s time you learned your first lesson from Master Munson.” He didn’t enter the backyard, simply opened the gate and waited for you to join him outside your parents’ property.
You quirked an eyebrow; this was new territory. That wrought iron fence had always served as a sort of barrier between the two of you, never occupying the same space and keeping each other at arm’s length- flirty banter, but with boundaries.
Now, you smiled shrewdly as you slipped on your flip flops and crossed the threshold into Eddie’s space, following him across the narrow street to his driveway.
“Oh so I’m your student now, Master?” you quipped, launching him into a dark chuckle and a shake of his curls.
“Christ,” he cursed under his breath low enough that he probably thought you hadn’t heard- but you did. “Well, your college friends are obviously shitty teachers if your drink of choice is a basic ass bottle you can grab at the goddamn gas station.”
You scoffed, “Oh, what- are you trying to say you’re one of those pretentious beer snobs who only drinks micro-brewed IPA’s named after bad puns?”
Eddie laughed out loud, smiling ear to ear at you over his shoulder. “Oh that’s exactly what I am, princess!” The harsh sunlight finally relented as the two of you crossed into Eddie’s garage, and you followed him in a beeline to the old refrigerator in the corner opposite from his impressive-looking toolbench.
You nearly moaned with relief when the cool air from the fridge hit you as Eddie opened the door and grabbed a couple of unmarked silver cans from the middle shelf. You eyed them cautiously, which Eddie saw and snorted at when he saw your expression. “Not poisoning you, sweetheart, no need to worry.” He opened a door beside the fridge that you guessed- judging by what you could see past the doorway- led to his kitchen. “A friend of mine is a home-brewer, he gives these to me and the guys for free. Way better than any cookie-cutter shit you’ll find at a college party.” He held the door open for you, nodding his head toward the doorway. “You coming inside? It’s hot as hell out here.”
You hadn’t expected him to invite you into his home; it occurred to you suddenly that you were still only wearing your swimsuit. Smiling shyly, you stepped through the doorway, the chill of the air conditioning rolling goosebumps over your damp skin. Eddie stepped into the kitchen and immediately began opening the cans, handing one to you.
You eyed the can cautiously, raising an eyebrow at him. “Do I want to know what I’m about to drink?’
He smiled mischievously, inclining his head toward you as he held his can aloft. “First lesson, padawan- trust your master.” He tilted the can in your direction, to which you sighed and tapped your can to his.
Your eyes widened in surprise when the cold, bubbly liquid hit your lips. It wasn’t anything like you were expecting- instead of the tepid wheaty taste that you were used to. At first the drink was tart, but after a second it faded into a fruity dryness that reminded you of white wine. Its flavor was so light that you couldn’t even tell you were drinking beer.
“This is beer?”
Eddie chuckled. “Technically it’s a sour, but yes- it’s a type of beer. Dustin said it was a champagne sour, so if you like wine then hopefully this’d be up your alley.”
You smiled as you took your second sip. “I do like wine.” you murmured, testing the flavors on your tongue. “Like this, too. Your friend ever think about selling what he brews?”
“Dustin?” Eddie asked, laughing as if the question were something funny. “Oh I have no doubt he’ll try to sell it one day, but he’s not going to even think about it until he knows he’s perfected his recipe.”
As you took another sip of the cold drink, you felt another wave of goosebumps run through you. Coincidentally, this was the moment that Eddie fell perfectly silent. You peered over your can- his eyes were fixed on your chest. You became acutely aware that the goosebumps had resulted in your nipples growing so hard, you thought if something-anything- were to accidentally brush against them, you might moan from the sensitivity.
Stifling a smirk, you shivered and hugged your upper arms. “Brrrrr it’s cold in here!” you said coyly, “I guess my body temperature got a little too used to the heat.”
Eddie’s chest heaved slightly at the way your tits bounced and squeezed together when you shivered. He cleared his throat, looking down at the beer can in his hand for a moment. “I’ve got a hot tub, you know,” He spoke up, peering at you to gauge your reaction. “Downstairs. You’re welcome to it.”
You took another sip. “Only if you join me.”
His dark eyes snapped up to yours, lips curling up at one corner. “Yes ma’am.” he said, his voice lowered an octave and a bit huskier than before. You held his eye contact, mirroring his lopsided grin with a charged, heavy-lidded gaze.
Eddie led you to a staircase down the hall and said he’d be right back with a towel for you after he changed into swim trunks.
“Aw, no speedo?” you smirked. Eddie appeared unphased. “Mental note,” he murmured to himself, “the princess is eager to see my thighs.”
You giggled, “There might be more tattoos there I haven’t seen yet,” you countered, “How am I supposed to keep figuring you out if I don’t know the meaning of each and every one?”
Eddie placed his forearm above your head on the wall, leaning into it until he was close enough for you to feel his breath on your hairline. “You know, you seem to spend a lot of time staring at my body, kid-” You bristled at his blatant omission of the nicknames you liked. “-I’m starting to feel objectified.”
You forced the smile from your face, looking up at him defiantly. “I could say the same thing about you, Mr. Munson,” you replied, “-and I’m not a ‘kid’.”
His position didn’t change as his eyes raked over your nearly naked body, drifting from your eyes to your lips and catching on your cleavage. “Don’t I know it, sweetheart.” he whispered, before pushing off the wall. “Hot tub’s already heated, just push off the cover and hit the green button. I’ll be down in a sec.”
And then he was walking down the hall to what you could only assume was his bedroom. For a moment, you thought about following him… but if you were honest with yourself, you were actually pretty curious about this hot tub. So down the stairs you went, carrying a silver can of sour in each hand.
Eddie’s basement was cozy, but he had utilized the space to its full potential. The majority had been filled with workout equipment to create a home gym, the walls lined with floor to ceiling mirrors that created the illusion of a larger space than it actually was. Sitting on stylish wooden slats was the hot tub, topped with a brown leather cover. To the right of the hot tub was a door with a small window that was just at your eye level. Upon closer inspection… yep, that was a sauna. Eddie had a sauna.
Shaking your head in disbelief, you made a mental note to ask Eddie what he did for a living- as far as you could tell, he was the only one who lived here. How did a single guy in his forties have so much money to burn?
Placing yours and Eddie’s drinks down on a nearby surface, you removed the cover from the hot tub and pressed the green button as Eddie had instructed, and settled into the hot, bubbling water. God, it was relaxing. Just then, you heard footsteps descending the stairs.
Eddie appeared, his hair let down from his normal messy bun so that it fell in dark chocolate curls that cascaded over his shoulders. His swim trunks, simple and black with little white skulls lining the cuffs above his knees, hugged his thighs in a way that made you salivate. Tattoos you'd become all too familiar with danced across his skin, and you suddenly felt the need to taste them.
Eddie smirked when he saw you getting an eyeful without even trying to hide it. “How’s the water?”
You hummed, relaxing further into jets against your back. “Sooooooo nice.” You sighed.
Eddie climbed into the hot tub to join you, making you squeal as he practically fell into the water, splashing you as he submerged his head just enough to wet his hair and shake it out like a golden retriever.
You giggled, doing your best to ensure that your hair wasn’t wet enough to make you look like a wet rat. “I’m starting to think you’re a teenage boy trapped in the body of a middle-aged man.”
Eddie narrowed his eyes at you, tattooed arms stretching out over the edges of the tub as he relaxed into the seat across from you. “Hey now,” he said, voice laced with warning. “Careful with the term middle-aged there, kiddo.”
You matched his gaze, challenging. “Kiddo?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Eddie’s gaze was heavy, cocky as he looked down his nose at you. “Practically a baby.”
You grinned. “That one, I don’t mind.”
Eddie’s smile grew in tandem. “Oh, she likes to be ‘baby’, but not ‘kiddo’, huh?”
You leaned back into the water, looking up at the ceiling with a smug smile on your lips. “That’s right, grandpa.”
Suddenly, you felt a tug on your ankle and you were underwater. You emerged, spitting chlorine out of your mouth, struggling to force it from your nose as Eddie’s cackling rang in your ears. You gasped, sputtering in shock as you tried to catch your breath.
“You are a child!” you squealed as he tugged your ankle again- you hadn’t noticed his hold still grasping tightly- not forceful enough to bring you back under the surface but enough to remind you that he could.
“So not a grandpa, then?” Eddie teased, stroking the curve of your ankle with his thumb.
You gritted your teeth together, strategizing. “No, that would be too kind. You’ve got the maturity of a teenager. Luckily for me-”
Using Eddie’s grip on your ankle as leverage, you forcefully pulled yourself forward by your leg and launched yourself right into his lap, bending your knees so that a second later, you were straddling him.
You watched triumphantly as Eddie’s eyes widened, looking up at you with breath that hitched in his throat as you finished your sentence.
“-I know how boys like you think.”
The humor between the two of you dissipated in that instant, Eddie’s eyes blown wide and dark as he watched the way the water in your hair dripped down your neck and between your breasts, which were now inches from his face. If he leaned forward, he could catch that bead of water with his tongue. If he reached up, he could hold your tits in his hands, test their weight. Press them up, squish them together, squeeze…
You felt him growing hard beneath you, and smirked triumphantly. “See?” You said smugly, grinding against him teasingly. “Right on schedule.”
Eddie chuckled, his breathing strained as he shook his head exasperatedly. “Got me all figured out, do you princess?”
You nodded, finding your rhythm as you continued to grind against his hardening cock through his swim trunks. “I think I’m starting to.”
You shivered despite the warmth as Eddie trailed his hand from your ankle up your leg, your hip, your waist…finally resting at the apex of your sternum to splay across your neck. You hadn’t been expecting that- you faltered, breath hitching as he tested out a gentle squeeze and hummed to himself.
“Mmmmm…” He looked you over with passive attention, taking account of the way your eyes widened and your pulse quickened under his thumb. “...you know, I’m starting to figure you out too.” His other hand cupped your hip, pulling you to sit directly on his erection and holding you in place so you couldn’t grind. “You’re used to getting away with shit you know you shouldn’t do, isn’t that right, baby?” You sighed softly in response, pinned into place by his lust-blown eyes. You balanced on a precipice- on one side, obedience, which you knew would satisfy him. On the other, eventual obedience with a little bit more fight; more of a gamble, but you were willing to bet that he would enjoy that best.
“You really thought you could eye-fuck me every damn afternoon,” Eddie said, his hand on your neck moving lower to fondle one of your breasts over your swimsuit. “-and there wouldn’t be consequences?”
You breathed heavily, chest rising and falling under his hand. “I mean…” you drawled, still smiling smugly despite his authoritative tone of voice. “...I was kinda hoping for consequences.” you brought both hands out of the water, gesturing vaguely to the room around you. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
A second passed before Eddie’s hands suddenly grabbed both of your wrists, forcing them behind your back. You gasped, cheeks hot from the water and the position you were in, straddling his lap with both shoulders shoved back to force your breasts front and center. He saw the look in your eyes and leaned forward, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“I can get rough sometimes, baby.” he said, voice low and husky. “Tell me it’s too much at any point and I’ll stop, okay?” You nodded, a shy little mm-hm escaping your bitten lips. Eddie crossed your wrists over each other, holding them behind your back with one hand as his newly free one reached up to caress your cheek.
“Fucking Christ, you’re cute.” he mumbled. “Cute little baby, all alone in her parents’ big house all day, so bored she had to go and be a slut for the neighbor. That right, baby?”
Your eyes were wide and wet, mouth opened in a slight pout as you ground your freed hips on his hard cock once again, whimpering needily. You nodded your head up and down, eager to hear more filthy words tumble from his lips.
Eddie wasn’t satisfied with that. A hand came up to grasp your hair at the base of your neck, tugging on it firmly but not painfully to force your head to nod up and down emphatically. “Use your words, baby, say ‘yes, daddy, I was a slut.’”
You gasped, surprised. You’d never called anyone daddy besides your actual father, and you’d certainly never called anyone that in the bedroom- or a hot tub, for that matter. However, his brazen demand that you call him that while you straddled him like this sent rolling waves of pleasure straight to the apex of your thighs.
“Y-yes… daddy…” You struggled against your instinct to be embarrassed, arching your back against your restrained hands and looking down shyly at your cleavage. “...I was a slut.”
“Look at me.”
Your eyes flicked up to his, wide and obedient. He was smiling at you, beaming with pride and adoration. His hand slid from your hair to the back of your neck, pulling your face to his. “Good girl, baby.” he praised, “I’m gonna kiss you, is that okay?”
You nodded eagerly. “Yes, please!”
That earned you a chuckle. “So polite, baby girl, good job.”
Eddie’s lips felt like the most comforting thing that a person could feel on their skin. His kiss felt like fresh sheets still warm from the dryer. His tongue was like a strawberry that was perfectly ripe, sweet and wet and a rush of relief. He explored you, he learned you, his lips devoured all they could reach and whenever they couldn’t reach, his tongue took over to fill in the blanks.
As you whimpered and squirmed in his lap, Eddie cooed, “What’s the matter, baby, something wrong with your legs?”
You shook your head, moaning into his mouth. “I need something on my clit, Eddie.”
“Something? You’ll just take anything on that clit baby? Is that what you're saying?”
You panted, straining against his rock hard dick for some kind of friction. He was right, you would take anything. “Yes, please touch me, Eddie.”
He made no move to do so, only looking at you pointedly with his eyebrows raised. When you realized your mistake, you corrected, “Please touch me, daddy.”
He smiled smugly, a cat watching a mouse. “Good girl,” he praised, “but I’m not sure you’ve earned that.”
Your face fell, eyes going wide as your lips formed a full-on pout. “But-” you began to stutter, but Eddie wasn’t finished.
He let go of you, pushing you gently off you and guiding you under the water to one of the seats in the corner of the tub. The jets coming off it were strong, nearly too much on your back as you turned to sit, but Eddie stopped you before you could settle into the seat.
“Princess, I want you to keep your knees open and ride your pussy on that jet stream until you cum.”
Your jaw dropped open. Whipping your chin over your shoulder to look at him in his seat opposite you, you stared and waited for him to specify or maybe apologize for misspeaking- there’s no way you heard him right. But then he repeated himself, and you realized that yes, you had.
“Press your pussy up against that jet stream under the water, and make yourself cum. Don’t use your hands. Don’t rush. I want you to fall apart in my hot tub, and I’m going to stroke my dick while I watch you do it. That okay, sweetheart?”
You were learning a lot of new information about your neighbor today.
You smiled devilishly over your shoulder at him, taking in the sight of him lounging in the opposite corner of the tub as he took in the sight of you. “You’re a kinky motherfucker, aren’t you?”
Eddie reached across the tub and wound an arm around your waist, pulling you in for a quick but heated kiss. “Yeah, I am.” he murmured into your lips before pushing you back toward the jets. “Now make yourself cum, I want you tight.”
He laughed at the pathetic little whimper that you let slip involuntarily as you situated yourself against the jet stream. You balanced your weight on your knees, spreading your legs enough to open your pussy further inside your swimsuit. Once the pulsing stream of water made contact with your clit, your automatic impulse was to flinch away; the stream was strong, almost too strong. However, with a little shifting and repositioning, you eventually found an angle that pulled a moan from your mouth that sounded almost pornographic.
“That’s it, baby girl,” you heard Eddie’s rough voice behind you, and you couldn’t help but sneak a peak over your shoulder at him. Eddie sat with legs spread open and one arm slung over the lip of the tub, his other hand palming the erection you knew was only growing harder over his swim trunks. This told you he was a patient man, a man who liked to be teased a little before taking what he wanted. A man who liked to play with his food before he ate it.
You could play, too.
You pulled your eyebrows together, pouting your lips the way you’d seen him react to earlier. “Am I doing it right for you, daddy?” You moved your hips up and down against the jet, putting on a little show for him.
Eddie raised a brow, amused. “I don’t think I can answer that question for you, sweetheart.” he said, sighing heavily with pleasure as he tilted his head this way and that to take you in from every angle. “Don’t worry about me, baby, just make yourself feel good.”
You smiled shyly, nodding in response and turning your attention back to the jets. You maneuvered your hips against them, grinding on the strong jetstream as it hit your clit at angles that you didn’t even know existed. You lost yourself in the sensation, letting your eyes fall closed and humming little sounds to yourself as your heart rate picked up, that familiar pleasure bubbling up in your lower belly as your movements grew faster and more desperate.
Eager to see if Eddie was enjoying himself as much as you were, you glanced over your shoulder to look at him. What you saw was breathtaking- Eddie, his wet curls clinging to his dewy skin, muscles flexing under his tattoos as he fisted his cock underwater. You couldn’t see it clearly due to the raging bubbles, but the flesh-colored underwater blur was enough for you to know exactly what he was doing. You had known he would jack off to you- he’d outright told you he planned to- but seeing it was enough to turn you on so much that it became the thing that pushed you over the edge.
“Daddy, I’m cumming!”
You moaned, mouth hanging open as you rode out your orgasm against the harsh stream of the jets, overwhelmed and overstimulated by the physical feeling and the intense eye contact that you held with Eddie the entire time as your body gyrated and spasmed. He watched you with hungry eyes, lapping up the scene in its entirety and committing every second to memory.
“Good girl, good fucking girl, keep fucking that jet, baby.”
You whimpered, hips jerking away from the stream as it hit your clit at an angle that was a little too intense, and your limp, still-needy body floated over to Eddie. He chuckled, still stroking his cock lightly in the warm water. “Aw, I’m sorry baby, was that too much?”
You shook your head, still eager for him- he’d barely even touched you, and yet you were so desperate for this man. “No, I can take more.”
His eyes had a darkness to them that made your breath hitch. “How much can you take, sweetheart?”
You moved to straddle your knees on either side of one of his thighs, not close enough to grind against his cock, but certainly in a perfect position to rub your pussy along his leg, teasing him. “I’ll take whatever you wanna give me, daddy.”
A low groan sounded from deep in Eddie’s chest. “You might regret saying that one, babe.”
You couldn’t resist matching his warning with a challenge. “Bring it on.” you said sweetly, and it incited a little chuckle in him. He reached back and pressed a button on the hot tub, causing all of the bubbles to stop.
“Get out, dry off.” he said, nodding to the neatly folded towels he’d placed beside the hot tub. “You look like you could use a shower.”
You stayed put, confused. “You… but…”
He cut you off, cupping his wet hands against your face. You could feel the pads of his fingers on your cheeks, wrinkled from prolonged time under the water’s surface. “Sorry, sweetheart, I forgot you don’t like following instructions unless you know you’re getting something out of it.” You scoffed at his condescending tone, but all he did was smile. “What I meant to say was- get out. Dry off. I’m going to fuck you in my shower. Mmkay?”
Your eyes widened, excited by his words and elated by a strange submissive, post-orgasmic euphoria. “Okay.” you replied, but when you saw his testy look in response you quickly amended, “Okay daddy.”
“Good girl.”
The two of you dried off before heading back upstairs. Eddie let you down the hall to his bedroom, which you were sure was filled with so many interesting mementos on the walls that you were sure it would take you hours to study all of it. The first thing to catch your eye was the golden record, framed and mounted beside his dresser. When Eddie saw you looking at it, he supplied an answer without waiting for you to ask.
“Ever heard of a band called Corroded Coffin?”
You searched your brain but came up empty. “No, I don’t think I have.”
Eddie chuckled to himself, like you’d just participated in a joke you weren’t in on. “Most people haven’t. But I bet you’ve heard the song Upside Down on the radio, yeah?” He hummed a couple bars of the chorus, which you recognized instantly.
“Oh yeah! I love that song!”
Eddie grinned. “‘Preciate it, babe.”
Shocked, you glanced up at the record and back to him. “Wait, you wrote that song?”
He shrugged as if to brush it off, but you could tell he was proud. “It was a group effort, my band and I wrote and recorded it together. After that, though, when the offers for record deals and tours and shit started pouring in, it became clear to most of the band members that this wasn’t what they wanted to do for the rest of their lives- band broke up on good terms, we just had some differences when it came to future plans.” He reached up and stroked the frame affectionately with his thumb. “But one-hit-wonder money was still enough to get my name out there, make some smart investments. I’m a music producer now.”
So that’s how he made all this money. The big empty house made sense now. “That’s pretty cool, actually.” you said, smiling at Eddie. You relished the sensation of his hands as they slid around your waist.
“You wanna see something even cooler?”
Before you could answer, Eddie was scooping you up into his arms and tossing you over his shoulder. You squealed, laughing as his palm hit your ass cheek with a loud smack! He carried you into his bathroom, placing you on his vanity counter before kissing the laughing smile right off your face. You felt his hands as they worked your bathing suit off you, freeing your breasts from the confines of the damp fabric. Eddie wasted no time, pulling one of your tits into his hand and encircling your nipple with his mouth, sucking sensually. You moaned, hands fisting into his hair. He only left your skin to turn around and turn on the shower, giving the water a chance to heat up.
Once the bathroom had sufficiently filled with steam, Eddie picked you up from the counter, pulling your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. You kissed him greedily, wetly, and hungrily as he walked the two of you into his spacious tiled shower, which was larger than your dorm room closet back at school.
You relaxed your legs around him in a silent ask for Eddie to put you down, which he obliged. The moment your feet hit the wet tiled floor, you began to sink to your knees until…
You snorted.
“Why do you still have your swim trunks on?”
Eddie had taken the time to take off your bathing suit, but you hadn’t even realized that even after carrying you into the shower, he hadn’t even taken a second to undress himself.
He looked down, noticing this for the first time, same as you. “I, uh… I don’t know. I was-” he flashed you a smirk that was equal parts embarrassed and sexy. “-preoccupied, I guess.”
You couldn’t help but laugh as you knelt before him, now eye-level with the drawstring of his swim trunks. “Well let me fix that, then.” you said softly, working your delicate fingers into the waistband and pulling his trunks down until they hit the floor.
God. He was a sight to behold. And you were right, he did have thigh tattoos. They were large, twisting images of hellish creatures, undoubtedly older but still in good shape since- judging by the paleness of the skin they decorated- they probably never saw the light of day.
You reached up, lightly tracing them as you turned your gaze to his cock. It was at full mast, eager and waiting for your mouth to encircle it and, hopefully, make Eddie moan your name.
Which he did.
The way your lips covered the head of his cock, the way your tongue generously licked the shaft under, over, around, the way your hands were warm and welcoming as they lightly played with his balls- all of it made him moan, gasp, groan your name. He called you baby, called you princess, moaned and pulled your hair as he fucked your mouth, and you just about burst into flames when he shoved his cock so far down your throat that you swallowed on it accidentally, pulling a growled “Goddamnit, sweetheart, fuck-” from his lips.
When he pulled you off his dick by your hair, his eyes were humorless and hungry. He crouched down, leveling your eyes under the hot water from the showerhead.
“Are you on birth control, sweet girl?” he asked.
You nodded, “I have an IUD.”
He kissed your forehead firmly, one hand still fisted in your hair. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Now I can grab a condom, they’re right over there in the cabinet under my sink.” he continued, nodding vaguely in the sink’s direction. “But baby, I have been fantasizing about the way your pussy’s gonna feel for a long ass time and I hate to ask you this, and you’re allowed to say no, but-”
“Fuck me raw Eddie.” You wanted it. You needed it. You needed him. “I fantasize about it too. I think about it every day, I touch myself to you before going to sleep and wake up wishing your cock was the thing waking me up. When I’m lying by the pool reading those stupid smutty novels and some lord is fucking a lady in waiting up against a wall, I can’t focus on it! I can’t because I want it to be you and I want to feel your cock inside me, and I want it to be your cum that drips down my thighs and your lips on my-”
He cut you off there, splaying his free hand on your neck and kissing you until you were laid horizontally on the hot, wet floor. He climbed on top of you, and in a moment your mouth fell open at the sensation of his hard cock splitting you open from the inside. He didn’t spend a moment waiting for you to adjust to his size or murmuring praises into your ear- he knew you wanted all of him, and you knew he wanted all of you, and that was all you needed. You moaned, you practically screamed, and above all you clutched him for dear life.
“Dirty girl,” Eddie growled into your ear, thrusting into you deep and hard. “Dirty books, dirty mind-”
He leaned back so that his face was directly above yours and grabbed your cheeks, squeezing to force your mouth open. Your lips parted, and Eddie spat harshly into your mouth before shoving your mouth closed around it. His eyes were feral, wild with lust and dominance. “Swallow.” he commanded, you obeyed in an instant. He felt your throat moving against his hand and smiled deviously. “Dirty mouth, too.”
He picked up his pace, spearing into you at a pace so relentless that you couldn’t even keep track of the noises coming out of your mouth- an incoherent stream of sounds and swear that would have made a sailor blush. He matched your dirty noises with his own, all the while dicking you down into his shower floor as your brain went haywire at the lewd noises of skin slapping against skin that echoed through the bathroom.
“God, this pussy is so fucking tight,” Eddie groaned, “good girl, cumming so hard for daddy back there. You gonna cum on my cock this time?”
You moaned, “Need something on my clit, daddy.”
Eddie pecked your lips with his own, and the way it made your heart skip a beat was like a reward. “Good girl, always tell me what you need, okay?”
You nodded, smiling giddily from the sudden subby euphoria. “Okay, daddy.” You made a mental note that kissing Eddie Munson while his cock was inside you gave you your new favorite kind of high.
Eddie reached down and began drawing small, soft circles with his fingertip on your clit. The richly gentle sensation was decadent, pulling deeper, louder moans from you as Eddie continued to fuck you. “Oh I feel you getting tighter, baby girl, that feel good?”
“Yes!” you practically yelled it.
“Yes what?” He taunted.
“Yes daddy!” you cried, arching your back against the tile. He was fucking you ruthlessly, ravaging you mentally, and the way his dirty words melted into you made your brain go so hazy that you weren’t sure if your vision was clouding or if it was just the steam in the air.
Your release was growing closer, that heat in your core coiling tighter and tighter, ready to burst with pleasure. “I’m gonna cum soon, daddy.” you whined.
Eddie’s dick hit you in that perfect spot inside over and over, and you leaned your face against his hand as he cupped your cheek affectionately. “Yeah? You gonna make a mess all over daddy’s dick?” You pouted, nodding ‘yes’ in response. Eddie smiled at the way you could be so cute and so filthy at the same time- he fucking loved it. “That’s probably gonna make me cum, sweetheart, you want that? That pussy’s gonna grip my cock so tight that it fills you with cum, huh?”
You were whimpering and pouting and letting the sluttiest little sobs fall from you now. “Yes, daddy, fill me with cum, please!”
“You want me to fill you with cum? Fuck all that cum inside you?”
“Yes!”
“Yes what, sweetheart, gotta tell me whose dick you’re cumming on-”
“Daddy!” you cried, “Daddy’s dick, I’m cumming on daddy’s dick!”
“Fuuuck, yes, cum on daddy’s dick you little slut-”
Eddie’s filthy words tumbled from his lips as your pussy pulsed around him, fluttering walls squeezing him tight from the aching pleasure that shot through you. His cum filled you, and the size of his load reflected just how long it had been since he’d cum into anything that wasn’t his own hand. When he finally pulled out, a stream of both your releases oozed out of your hole and onto the floor. Eddie stared at it, fascinated, and he silently used his finger to catch the milky liquid and push it back into your hole. You whimpered, overly sensitive and puffy, your pussy lips inflamed and screaming, but Eddie was gentle as he sheathed his finger completely inside you, ensuring that his seed stayed exactly where he’d put it in the first place.
He pulled you up to a sitting position, smiling gently. “Hi.” he whispered, placing a soft kiss on your temple.
“Hi.” you giggled, a giant smile stretching out across your face, blissed-out and more than satisfied.
Eddie stroked your wet hair out of your face, gazing down at you adoringly. “I’m sorry if that was a little… much,” he winced. “I may have gotten carried away, usually I would talk to you to see if that kind of stuff would be okay, but I was just so fired up-”
“Eddie,” you interrupted softly. “I loved it.”
He grinned, grateful and relieved. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Eddie pulled you against him, your body fitting itself nicely against his naked chest as water poured over the two of you from above while you sat holding each other on the floor of his shower. He sighed, completely and utterly content. “Yeah.”
***
The rest of the summer days in your parents’ neighborhood went like this:
Wake up imagining what you and Eddie would do today. Touch yourself when necessary.
Do whatever chores needed doing around the house, sometimes making batches of lemonade for Eddie when you knew he would be working on his lawn that day.
Lounge by your pool and read a book- this part hadn’t changed.
Spend the rest of the afternoon at Eddie’s. These afternoons usually consisted of activities like discussing the whatever book you were reading, drinking whatever strange new beer Dustin had come up with, and fucking each other’s brains out.
The next month, Eddie celebrated his birthday. He didn’t throw a rager (true to his word) but he did have a little get-together. To your surprise, he invited you.
You got to meet his friends, their kids, their dogs- and see the way Eddie smiled for hours without reprieve when they were around. This whole summer, you’d been figuring this man out bit by bit, but it wasn’t until that night that you truly felt like you knew him.
You baked him a cake, as promised. Three layers of funfetti sponge, vanilla frosting and decorated with oreo crumbs and rainbow letters that spelled out “Happy birthday, Eddie, forever young”.
He wasn’t this way with the rest of the neighbors. To them, he would always be Mr. 1405 Peach Tree Lane, but with these people? With his friends? He was Eddie Munson. Now, you were included in that group of people who were allowed to know him, and how wonderful he really was.
You felt so incredibly lucky that you were a part of that.
careful what you wish for: halloween special // sam golbach
A/N: i've been asked countless times over for a sequel to the sequel and so... here's what i got for you: choose your own adventure ! will you choose vampire!sam or demon!colby? or maybe you'll indulge yourself with both fics. either way, your night is gonna be very busy ;) happy halloween ! hope you enjoy.
prompt: it's been a while since you last saw the boys, and sam has made it known that he wants you all to himself tonight. || vampire!sam x reader
trigger warning: SO. MUCH. SMUT, knifeplay, bloodplay, drinking blood (from both parties), oh yeah... we're going there, lots of vampire biting, supernatural powers, some forcing thru said powers so be mindful of that, oral (for and from both parties), unprotected sex, check-ins, mentions of: babygirl, whore, slut, cumdump, cursing, sam is very aggressive and crazy about you, also... colby's dead but like... not really lol
word count: 2705
~~~~~~~~~
It had been quite some time since you last saw Sam and Colby. They tended to appear in your life like a fire, setting your whole body and life ablaze; but then disappear like smoke. It was confusing but thrilling all at the same time. The hatred you once had for them had now been stifled by the immense amount of lust you felt for them.
They showed up whenever they wanted to, even if you had been begging for them to appear prior. But, they always had a way of letting you know they were close. Recently, Sam had started leaving notes all around your house. The first one was sort of sweet, a ‘I'm thinking of you’ type of message. The next one was a bit more concerning... ‘I love to watch you.’
Colby was right about one thing: Sam was a bit of a freak.
But the one that couldn't leave your mind? ‘I can't wait to taste you again. I'm going to have you all to myself.’
And knowing Sam, this message had multiple meanings.
On a quiet fall night, Halloween to be exact, the boys came to your house. It was abrupt, but you were excited nonetheless to see them.
Colby smirked as you answered the door. “Trick-or-treat, princess.”
“Have you missed us?” Sam asked playfully.
You rolled your eyes as the boys forced their way in. “Of course. What else am I supposed to do to pass the time than miss you guys?”
“Oooh, she's feeling sassy tonight,” Colby whistled, then his tone shifted. “God, I can't wait to take you in every part of your house.”
“I don't think that's gonna happen tonight, Colby.” Sam stated.
Colby raised an eyebrow at Sam, "Why?"
In a split second, Sam's hands wrapped around Colby's neck, snapping it with a loud crack. Colby's lifeless body dropped hard to the ground.
You shrieked. “Oh my God! Did you just kill him?”
“No. He's fine. He's a demon for Christ's sake. He's immortal. He's just...” Sam pursed his lips, trying to find the right words. “Out, for the time being.”
Your eyes couldn't remove themselves from Colby's still body. It made your heart race, with fear and arousal, that Sam could easily do something like that. How powerful he was.
He walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your torso, "I told you; I wanted you all to myself. And now, I get to have you."
He pulled you into the kitchen, not too far away from Colby's dead body, and pushed you against the counter.
“Do you want to know something, baby?” He asked.
“What?” You responded, placing your hands on his shoulders.
“On Halloween.... my powers are crazy strong.” He confessed.
You cocked your head. “Really?”
“Yeah. But not only that, my blood.... why don't you have a taste?” Sam grabbed a knife from your block of knives, pushing the tip lightly against his neck and slicing his skin open. Blood slid down his neck, his shirt soaking it up immediately.
You hesitated, side-eying him. “Uh... I don't know.”
Sam cut you short. “Oh sweetheart, I insist.”
You shook your head. “I don't really-”
His voice turned monotone, but commanding. “Drink me.”
You felt your mouth latch onto Sam's cut instantly, not a second thought crossing your mind. For a split second, you were uncomfortable with his blood pouring into your mouth, but the moment you tasted it.... it set your whole body on fire.
You moaned into his neck, drinking more and more of his blood. It felt like liquid ecstasy. Every one of your senses heightened the more you drank. Goosebumps rose across your body, and you felt like you were on cloud nine.
“Enough, baby girl.” Sam spoke.
You pulled your mouth away, but you wanted to continue drinking from him. It was so addictive.
“How do you feel?” He questioned slyly.
You inhaled happily, “So... fucking good. Fuck, I feel high but in the best way.”
He smiled. “Well, you deserve it. Plus, it's gonna make everything I do to you tonight so much better.”
His words affected you deeply. You could already feel your panties dampening. It must have been from his blood, but everything about him in this moment was turning you on, exciting you.
“But first...” Sam continued. “Tit for tat, Y/N.”
You were a bit confused, lost in your own thoughts. But suddenly, Sam's eyes turned red, his fangs sliding out. He bit into your neck a second later, groaning against you. You gasped, your body relaxing against his hold and the counter. You already felt lightheaded and him drinking your blood made it even harder to think. He grinded his hips against yours as he drank from you. You could already feel his bulge against you, pleasure surging up your body from the sensation. You pressed your hips harder into his, needing some form of relief. You clawed at his shoulders, your eyes rolling back in your head.
Sam yanked his head away, licking your blood off his lips. "Fuck me. You taste divine, baby girl."
You could barely string together a thought. All you could manage to say was "Please.... I need you."
“Hmmm, is that so? Are you aching for me?” He teased.
You nodded your head, “Yesssss.”
“Do you want me to fuck you?” He inquired, biting his lip.
You squeezed your thighs together, “Yeah, I do.”
His stare intensified as his eyes met yours, “Is your clit desperate for my tongue?”
You whined, almost speechless. "Sam..."
“Okay, okay. If you insist.” He chucked darkly.
Sam grabbed the knife from before, pressing it against the top of your shirt. "Don't move, okay? Wouldn't want you getting hurt..."
He pushed the knife in with such precision, you could feel it tickle your skin but never cut it. You held your breath, not sure what he was doing. But suddenly he slid the knife down your body; your shirt cutting in half. You could feel the fabric rip against your skin hastily, and your breath hitched.
"There we go," Sam pulled what was left of your shirt off, leaving you completely naked from the waist up. "Now... these little shorts."
The tip of the knife pressed into your hip bone, your body trembling in anticipation. Even though you should be scared, you couldn't help feeling so aroused.
"Don't worry, baby. I got you. I would never hurt you," Sam whispered huskily into your ear. He moved the knife in one swift motion, and your shorts fell off your body. "See?"
Sam placed the knife back on the counter, cupping your hips tenderly. "Now these panties? I think... I'll just take them off with my teeth."
His fangs slid out once more. You kept eye contact with him as he dropped to his knees effortlessly. Then he pressed his lips lightly against the top of your panties, trailing kisses across your skin. Feeling his mouth so close to your sex made your clit throb. Your head lulled, your back arching. Sam bit into the band of your underwear, pulling them down expertly. You pushed them off as they fell to the floor. He smirked, his eyes landing on your dripping sex.
Before you could even plead for him to move, his mouth was already on you. His tongue lapped at your hole, darting in and out. You thrusted against him, gripping the counter tightly. It must have been his blood making you feel like you were already about to come because it had never taken such little action to make you so close so fast.
You shuddered, “Holy shit, Sam! God, you feel so fucking goooood!”
“That's right, Y/N. Fuck my tongue like the slut you are. Go crazy for me.” He laughed mischievously.
And you did just as he said. You bucked your hips with wanton, your moans echoing off the walls of your kitchen. You could feel Sam's hand reach up, his fingers rubbing your clit lazily. The added pressure made your thighs shake. You felt electricity shoot through your whole body as your orgasm began to build.
You desired more, “Oh my God, Sam! Pleaseeee, rub me harder.”
“Is that what my little whore wants?” He jeered.
Your pussy reacted to the name, clenching, “Yesss.”
He grinned evilly. “Then beg me for it.”
You wailed, knees shaking from the pressure on your clit. “Sam, please. I need it so bad! Fuck!”
“I don't know...” He tsked. “Do you really deserve it?”
You weren't sure why, but you couldn't handle his playful banter tonight. You needed to come so. fucking. badly. You glanced at the knife, and before you could even stop yourself, you grabbed it and placed it against his neck.
He froze as you hissed down at him. “Rub. My. Clit.”
Sam’s eyes went red at your command, his fangs popping out. He growled darkly, "Oh FUCK yeah baby girl!"
He latched onto your clit, his mouth wildly fucking your cunt. You tossed the knife back on the counter, desperately panting as heat pooled in your belly. Sam glided two fingers deep into you, fucking you hastily. He raised one leg onto his shoulder, your pleasure growing more from the new angle. You could feel yourself edging, Sam rubbing your clit faster and faster.
“Come as I drink your blood.”
He sunk his teeth into your thigh, and your body exploded in ecstasy. The pleasure was so intense that your legs gave out on you, but Sam was able to keep you from falling over. He gripped your hip with one hand, pressing you into the counter. Your hips moved on their own, fucking his fingers until finally slowing down. Sam removed his teeth from your thigh with a soft moan.
He exhaled, looking up at you. “How's my baby girl? You doing okay?”
“I'm... so good. I think I can stand on my own now.” You sighed deeply.
He slid his hand off you and removed his fingers from your sex gently. He stood up, pressing his body into yours.
Sam rubbed your arms softly, “You know, you threatening me with that knife was very hot.”
“I don't know where that came from.” You blushed, embarrassed.
He answered, “My blood, most likely. It brings out the animalistic side of anyone that drinks it.”
“Oh... good to know.” You giggled.
He cleared his throat, his eyes landing on yours. “Well, now that you got to use me for your pleasure...”
“Tit for tat?” You guessed.
He hummed, a mischievous glimmer in his eye, "Exactly."
Sam spun you around, bending you over against the counter. You gasped at the speed, hearing him rip his clothes off in one swift motion. Then, he suddenly lined himself up with your entrance, his cock already dripping with precum.
“I'm taking everything I need from you, Y/N. You're mine.” Sam snapped.
He plunged himself deep inside of you, a loud groan falling from his lips. Your pussy clenched around him, your back arching. “You are such a little whore for me, aren't you Y/N? No point in denying it. You took me so easily; you needed me so badly.”
You nodded your head, unable to form words as he passionately thrusted. Your body shook against the counter with each of his thrusts, your hands grabbing onto anything you could just to hold on.
Sam’s groans were unrestrained. “God, baby girl, you're such a slut. Look at you, taking my cock so well.”
“Mmmm, you make me feel so good, Sam.” You purred.
“Better than Colby. Say it. Say I'm better than him.” He demanded.
You bit your lip, agreeing with Sam. “You are better than Colby.”
He chuckled, “That's right. He can't make you feel like this, can he?”
You shuddered against him, his cock hitting something deep inside you, making it hard to breathe. "Yessss, fuck. Yes, Sam."
Sam clutched your hips tightly, pounding into you quickly. His hand slithered into your hair, yanking your head back as he pulled. The sensation was electrifying, your pussy quivering. You could feel the buildup of your orgasm rising again.
“My whore. My slut. My good girl. You're not allowed to be anyone else's. Only mine!” Sam dictated.
You panted, “Yes Sam! Only yours! Fuck, please go faster.”
His thrusts sped up, ravaging your cunt. The hand in your hair slid back down your body, spanking your ass once. You gasped, and before you could say anything else, his fingers moved to your clit, massaging carelessly.
“Oh my God! Please touch me more!” You screeched.
“Do you deserve it? Do you deserve to come again?” He asked, slowing down his movements.
You rubbed yourself against his hand, needing any friction you could get. “Yes! Please!”
He held you still for just a moment, “Are you gonna be my good girl?”
You mewled, begging for him, “Yes! Yes, I'll be your good girl!”
He pressed his fingers harder against your clit. The added pressure made your knees buckle, your pussy leaking in pleasure.
“Fuck, I'm gonna come Sam!” You whimpered loudly.
“I'm right there too, baby girl. Come for me. Do it!” He ordered harshly.
Your pussy spasmed around Sam's cock, your juices leaking down your thighs as his cum filled you up. You bucked wildly against him, moaning wantonly and incoherently. His grunts were loud, his hips smashing into yours a final time before stopping.
You both rested against the counter for a minute or two, catching your breath. Sam suddenly perked up, pulling out of you.
“Get on your knees for me, Y/N. I'm not done with you yet.” He barked.
You turned towards Sam, dropping down to your knees without another thought.
Sam hissed, “I'm gonna fuck your mouth until I come again. I want to fill you up as much as I can tonight.”
His cock pushed towards your lips, and you felt your mouth drop open. You took his cock deeply, sighing at the heavy feeling of it. You bobbed your head, taking him in and out. You could taste yourself on him, making your cunt ache with abandonment.
“You really are gonna be my cumdump tonight,” he laughed cruelly. “I filled up your pussy, and now I'm gonna fill up your mouth.”
You hummed around his member, your tongue swirling up and down his shaft.
"Fuck, your mouth.... no wonder why Colby loves to use it. Jesus, I'm not gonna last long." He snarled, his hips trembling.
You licked the underside of his dick, wrapping your hand around it and jerking him as you did so. He cursed your name, then pulled himself away from your mouth.
He tilted your head up to look at him. Then he whispered huskily, "You're gonna hold your head still, and I'm gonna face fuck you and come down your throat."
You felt your head freeze, your mouth watering at Sam's words. He slid his cock back into your mouth, fucking you harshly. Every thrust into your mouth turned you on and seeing him in pure ecstasy made you wet.
He gritted his teeth, holding the sides of your face, “That's it. Take it, slut. Be my cumdump, take every inch of me. Fuck, I'm so close.”
You stared up at him, your eyes watering as you choked on his member. His eyes landed on yours and you could feel him start to leak more and more onto your tongue.
A guttural groan ripped through Sam, "Take every drop, Y/N. That's it, fuck! I'm coming!"
He buried his cock deep inside you, his cum sliding down your throat and filling you up. Your body vibrated with little bursts of pleasure, almost like mini orgasms shaking through you. You swallowed his load until he pulled himself out. Your mouth leaked with spit and cum, your eyes lulling back with exhaustion.
Sam helped you to your feet, checking on you. "Are you okay, baby?"
You nodded lazily; your body spent from all the pleasure. He held you against him, kissing your cheek sweetly.
You heard a groaning from the other room. You peered over Sam’s shoulder, confused by the noise. Then, Colby slinked into the kitchen, rubbing his neck.
(cw: kitsune, kitty/sweetheart, kissing, tickling, frottage, unprotected sex [pull out method--do not do this], s'mores/eating)
(a/n: this was so sweet, but i wasn't sure how to end it)
Songs: "Swinging Party" by Lorde, "The Bomb" by Florence + the Machine
words: 2.1k
“Soo…,” Luffy squeezes your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. He nuzzles his nose into the side of your face. “Didn’t know ya liked me like that.”
You shy into him, scrunching up your face as you bury it into his fluffy hair. “Shut up,” you mutter into soft curls; he smells like cinnamon, and milk.
“Embarrassed, kitty?”
“No!” You huff, straightening up. Your tails are squished around you, several floating around your and Luffy’s faces. He snickers as he ducks around them, his wide hands supporting your lower back.
A hush falls over your circle of friends as they clock the subtle moment of intimacy happening between the captain and his kitsune.
He kisses you.
In front of everyone, who’s all gone silent as they stare. Your belly explodes with gunpowder fireworks, and you’re sure all your tails are frizzed out. His lips are so soft.
“Hm,” you moan—can’t help it—and suddenly Luffy stands. He’s kept you in his arms, bridal style, and you gasp. He cheerfully looks around at his crew and announces the two of you will be taking the first watch.
“Everyone go to bed!” He shouts, carrying you up the ladder. “See you in the morning!”
****
So now you’re seated on your captain’s lap, this time in the crow’s nest with the stars all that much closer. He’s sitting with his back to the wooden slats, with you straddling his legs. He’s solid and warm and he’s got both his arms wrapped around your waist. He’s kissing you, slowly.
Luffy’s lips taste like salt, and his tongue tastes like milk as it darts inside your mouth.
“Shit,” he mutters, hands tightening around your hips, “S'fun, sweetheart."
Smiling, you nod in agreement. “Sure is,” you allow, skimming your fingertips up the sides of his arms. They flex, beneath your subtle touch.
“Sex is fun, too,” you whisper, lips at his ear as nerves roil through you.
“Shishishi,” he snickers, letting you lick small, slow circles at his jaw.
You start biting down his neck, as he sighs and leans his head away to give you more room. He’s absentmindedly dragging you back and forth on his cock, swiftly hardening beneath his shorts.
“Lovebites okay?” You ask, suddenly remembering his skin will bruise with hickeys later. As shameless as he is, you should’ve asked first, since it’s still his skin. He shrugs.
“Sure, I think!”
“Okay,” you nod, smooching his pulse point at the base of his throat. You shift back, letting your weight sit fully onto his hardened length.
Sex is special, for you.
You don’t wanna rush things, and mess up the absolutely radiant friendship you have with him. He’s so happy, and it makes you happy, and you want to see him stutter and moan as you sink down onto his fucking cock.
Oh, well.
So much for not rushing things.
“Sex is silly,” you say, scritching at the soft hairs at the base of his neck. “It’s stupid, and weird, but I like it a lot. And, I’d really like to have sex with you. Doesn’t have to be right now, obviously,” you flush and flick your tails. He grabs at one, playfully giving it a short tug. You swat his hand away. “Kissing’s okay for the first night,” you say, and he nods.
“S’okay with me too.”
****
Luffy’s a good kisser.
He starts off slow, sliding his lips against yours in languid, lazy movements. He captures your bottom lip in both of his, sucking in slightly. He pulls away, tugging at your sensitive lip, before letting it go with a smack.
“S’fun,” he whispers, stroking his thumbs along your waist. His skin is searing against yours, and you shiver.
“So fun,” you hum, lacing your fingers through his hair. You fluff up his curls, sorta by accident, so you smooth your palms over his hair instead. He snickers, and swats your hands away. You shrug, scrunching your nose in sheepishness.
“Shishishi,” he teases you, tickling at your sides with fluttering fingers. You squeal, trying to fend him off, but to no avail. He’s got you squirming, kicking, rolling around in his grasp. He tickles your sensitive sides without mercy as you laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
“Lu-uffyy!” You complain, hitching a breath between maddened giggles. He’s grinning at you with wicked mischief in his dark eyes, but he stops his tickle assault (for now).
“My turn,” you pounce on him, jabbing your fingers into his soft spots: his sides, his stomach, his armpits. He snickers uncontrollably, but he’s able to swat you away without much struggle. (He’s like, a lot stronger than you).
So he circles your wrists in his hands, spreading your arms apart so they’re framing either side of your face. He smiles, bright as the sun, and smacks a kiss onto your lips.
And then he drops your hands, serious, and starts kissing you in earnest. He’s sensual and so sweet, lifting your hips so you can slide back onto his lap again.
His lips are sloppier now, and his breath hitches in his chest as you suck in his bottom lip with your teeth. He lets out a soft groan, and it sets off firecrackers inside your belly. Luffy grabs your hips hard now, rocking you faster against his clothed cock. The denim of your jeans rides up against your clit, so nicely.
"Luffy--," you gasp, burying your face against his neck as he ruts your hips against his own. His fingers sink into the flesh of your hips, and you start pulling at his shirt. He breaks away just long enough to pull it over his head in one, swift motion. His torso is bare in front of you, softly lit by the crescent-moon above you in the crow's nest.
You skim your fingertips down his chest, suddenly shy.
"So pretty," you murmur, and decide to pull your own shirt off in solidarity. You're not wearing a bra.
Luffy swallows, flushed, and slowly lifts his hands to softly cup at your breasts. Has he ever seen someone like this before? It doesn't really matter anyway, since right now he's here, and Luffy's not one to care for backstories, anyway.
Slowly, he leans forward to suck one of your nipples in his mouth. His tongue is silky smooth against your sensitive skin, and you lean your head back and sigh. It feels so good, to see him like this. To feel him, like this. He's so soft, so careful with you.
He swipes his tongue swiftly over your hardened nipple, while his other hand pinches with finger and thumb. He switches places, and you gasp. His spit coats your skin, as he starts to get sloppier with his movements. His cock is rock hard beneath you now, and you're starting to regret saying kissing is enough for you, for the night.
Because it's really, really not.
"Luffy," you whisper, and he hums against your skin. He rests his chin between your breasts, smiling up at you with his stupid, sparkly eyes. It's not fair, how sweet he is. You moan, pouting slightly. You rock your hips against his, pushing down harder than before. "Need you," you confess, scratching the hairs at the base of his neck, "So bad."
Luffy's face darkens.
He's got you on your back, suddenly, and he's ripping off your jeans without a second's hesitation. He groans at the sight of you, naked and soulful beneath him. The wooden slats of the crow's nest scratch your shoulder blades. You shift your tails to try and make a pillow for yourself, and Luffy settles between your legs.
His own shorts are unbuttoned and shuffled down his thighs, his hips protruding in a subtle V. There's a line of soft, dark hair that leads down to the base of his cock, which is now out in the open and bobbing against his soft stomach. You reach up to touch his abdomen, slowly trailing your fingers down to embrace his shaft. You squeeze, gently, and he groans.
"I don't have a condom," he realizes, shy. You shake your head, nose scrunched.
"Don't care," you whisper, "Just pull out."
Luffy nods, lip caught between his teeth. He's so eager to please, soothing his strong hands over your thighs. Slowly, he lines himself up at your entrance. You're slick enough to take him fully, and he hisses as he starts to push in. It stings, a little, and you whisper at him to slow down. He does, waiting for your walls to softly adjust to his width--his length. He's hot as all hell, pulsing inside you as his dick throbs with lust. You're in no better shape--panting and scrabbling at his hips for more.
"More," you whisper, scratchy, "M'ready."
He slowly shifts your hips together, sending his cock all the way to the place where it's almost too much--but just right. You hiss through your teeth, toes curling as you hook your legs around his waist.
Slowly, he starts moving.
His hips are shallow, thrusting inside you gently as your face scrunches up at the sting. He's wider than you'd thought, than you're used to, but it's so good at the same time.
You whisper instructions to him--softer here, slower there, faster now, lift my hips--and he does all these things and more.
"First time," he confesses, sweat dripping down his temples, "Special with you," He leans forward, crashing his lips into yours with no small amount of care. His confession strikes home, your heart squeezing as your walls squeeze around his virgin cock.
"Special f'me too," you stutter, his lips scrambling your thoughts as his hips speed up. His balls slap against your ass, and you moan. "First time with--someone special."
He croons into the curve of your neck, leaving slutty, sloppy kisses with his tongue slick with spit. He smells like musk--like him--and it's not long before you're scrabbling at his shoulder blades.
"M'cumming," you whisper, and Luffy speeds up. He's pistoning his hips inside you now, and it sends you over the edge with a sucker punch of a release. You gasp, saying how sweet, how good, how sexy he is. "So sweet, so sweet, so sweet like candy, baby--," you sink your teeth into the crook of his neck, and he strangles out a moan as he steers you through your orgasm. You're sweaty, panting, and his hips stutter against yours. He sits up, swiftly pulling out to jack off over your stomach. His cum is hot, thick, and stripes up your abdomen with rivers of white. The release you feel at his own, is--
Starlight.
He gasps, pumping his cock through the last shudders of an orgasm, and then he's collapsing back onto his heels. He smiles, breathy, and starts wiping you off with his discarded shirt. His shorts are still around his thighs. "So good, sweetheart," he says, as you surge forward to kiss him. His lips are soft, bruised, as you wrap your arms around him and pull him in as close as he can get.
"Special," you state, hands on his cheeks. You're speechless, besides that, but Luffy seems to get the message. He holds you, carefully, gathering you up into his chest as you both sit back against the wall of the crow's nest. He strokes your hair, scratching at the base of your fox's ears. Your skin is sweaty, sticking to his in the summer air.
"Special," he agrees, kissing the top of your head.
"Snacks?" You ask, and he snickers.
"Sure! Let's toast marshmallows," he suggests, and pulls his shorts back up to button at his waist. You throw on your own discarded clothes, and follow him down the ladder.
You smile, letting him slide an arm around your waist to support you as you step back down onto the deck. "Sanji hides the chocolate behind the popcorn kernels," you whisper conspiratorially. "Let's make s'mores."
"S'mores it is!" Luffy agrees, all smiles, as he grabs your hand to gum-gum slingshot across the ship. Stars shimmer down on you two as you sneak into the kitchen, snickering together.
"Let's have s'more sex," Luffy waggles his eyebrows at you, holding up his delicious treat, and you snort. You shove his shoulder, and he giggles as he bites into the graham cracker and marshmallow. Dark chocolate sticks to his chin, and you smile. Your cheeks hurt.
Luffy dabs some melted chocolate onto your nose.
"Sweetheart," he says, "That's what I'll call you."
You stare at him, thoroughly smitten and more than a little dazzled. "O-okay," you say, breathily, and then he's leaning forward to smack the chocolate right off your nose with a sloppy kiss. You scrunch your face, swatting him away to scrub at your own nose. Your fingers come away sticky. "Sweetheart," you say, crunching down on the last bite of graham cracker, "Suits you."
