Helloooo how about pope who has suddenly been ditching his brothers and leaving jobs immediately after. They don’t know what’s gotten into him so they go to his apartment to check on him. Only they stumble upon you and pope going at it and it all makes sense
Pope just ditching his brothers just to be around his girl is so real actually anon and i bet sometimes he doesn't even go on the jobs, especially any weak-ass easy-peasy job that Pope thinks they definitely don't need 5 people for. Why the fuck would his brothers bother him when he's told them he's busy?
Sure he didn't specify he was busy with *you* but you'd think they'd get the memo eventually, especially after the one time he let them off the heist van and immediately put the thing in reverse. "I got a thing. You'll figure it out." is all he's saying before zooming off to your place.
He'll leave right after jobs and won't stay at family events longer than an hour tops, full of nervous energy to see you. Pope's a sweet puppy in love, all of his attention focused on you.
Besides, basking in your presence, or especially basking in you is a much better way to spend his time.
Baz or poor Deran being tasked down with tracking Pope down and seeing what the hell he's doing bc Smurf is worried he's talking to the feds, following him to his apartment by the sea-side, posting up by a window to peek in...
Only to be met by the back of Pope's head laid against the back of his couch and some pretty young thing, you flushed and eager and ass naked, bunny hopping in his lap like your life depended on it, your tits bouncing in Andy's face, one of his big hands roughly squeezing your breast and the other posted on your tip.
The unfortunate soul sitting there hearing your high pitched mewls and whines coupled with the distinctive plapplapplap of Pope's thighs fucking up into yours and his rough grunts and groans. "Andy- Ohh right there Andy! go -fuck- go harder!" and "Yeah? Y'like that? This's my pretty pussy-"
Pope's younger siblings really didn't need to know that he whimpers while making out or how he sounds when cumming, especially how his voice pitches up and he gets all teary while he babbles to you that he's gonna cum.
Maybe if they actually minded their business for once they wouldn't have to be traumatized by the sight of Pope's naked ass getting up from the couch and carrying you to the bathroom, cum dribbling down your thighs, to clean you up. Better luck next time? 🤷♀️
this is a collection of nsfw videos submitted by my lovely readers for freak nation to enjoy during moments of self-care ♡
by proceeding past the “keep reading”, you are acknowledging that you are an adult and that you are fully aware that every link in this archive is curated porn!
welcome to the library of freak nation:
a/n: for those who do not want to use twitter (like me), I paste the link into cobalt.tools and then you can download/watch it from there! hope that helps, happy watching ❀
▷ fucking on his shower chair · source · ⏱ 00:33 · ⚠ fauxcest ⚠
⟡ jack abbot ⟡
▷ getting pounded by dr. jack abbot after a long shift · source · ⏱ 09:56 · ⚠ you can literally pretend this is jack... ⚠
▷ filming you both in the mirror · source · ⏱ 00:55
▷ giving a thorough pussy exam · source · ⏱ 05:16 · ⚠ glove kink, medical malpractice, squirting ⚠
▷ inspecting your pussy in bed · source · ⏱ 01:37 · ⚠ glove kink, fully spread out pussy ⚠
▷ restrained to the exam table · source · ⏱ 01:18 · ⚠ bdsm, facefucking, slapping ⚠
▷ missing you while you're at work · source · ⏱ 00:22
▷ practice makes perfect · source · ⏱ 01:47 · ⚠ glove kink, sex doll ⚠
▷ riding his face · source · ⏱ 00:16 · ⚠ facesitting ⚠
▷ uncle!jack just needs to touch you · source · ⏱ 00:46 · ⚠ age gap ⚠
▷ dbf!jack punishing you for being too messy in bed · source · ⏱ 00:54 · ⚠ squirting, fingerfucking, sex toy usage, daddy kink, bondage, spanking, fully spread pussy ⚠
⟡ andrew “pope” cody ⟡
▷ he's eager to go down on you · source · ⏱ 00:11
▷ soaking your underwear in his cum · source · ⏱ 02:50 · ⚠ pussy slapping, spit, cumshot ⚠
▷ tattoo artist!pope hitting it from the back · source · ⏱ 00:23 · ⚠ hair pulling ⚠
▷ pounding you in smurf's garage · source · ⏱ 00:24 · ⚠ non-con (she says no!), bdsm ⚠
▷ teaching you what an older cock can do · source · ⏱ 09:12 · ⚠ age gap, choking, spanking ⚠
▷ masked!pope fucking you in the passenger seat · source · ⏱ 00:38 · ⚠ praise kink, glove kink, slapping, mask kink, choking, car sex, daddy kink ⚠
▷ punishing pope for being a bad boy · source · ⏱ 02:20 · ⚠ bondage, submissive man, blindfold, she does all the work (a warning for my pillow princesses LOL!) ⚠
▷ pope showing you how well he can eat pussy · source · ⏱ 05:01 · ⚠ fingersucking, choking ⚠
▷ giving pope the ride of his life after he gets back from prison · source · ⏱ 02:18 · ⚠ she does all the work (a warning for my pillow princesses LOL!) ⚠
⟡ titus danforth ⟡
▷ you're just his plaything · source · ⏱ 04:51 · ⚠ (lots of) spit, pet play, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, daddy kink (she also says "papa"), choking, facefucking ⚠
▷ father in law!titus fucks you before your wedding · source · ⏱ 04:00 · ⚠ rimming (f!receiving), hair pulling, choking, spanking ⚠
▷ rigger!titus punishing his pet · source · ⏱ 00:30 · ⚠ bondage (with duct tape), pet play (in caption) ⚠
⟡ sammy bryant ⟡
▷ taking you to the back of the station · source · ⏱ 02:19 · ⚠ size difference ⚠
▷ ruining your sleepwear · source · ⏱ 08:04 · ⚠ clothed sex, intrusive porn site logo (with dumb sound that broke my immersion LOL!) at 02:18-02:23 and 05:22-05:27, (lots of) lube ⚠
▷ spoiling him after work with a good sucking · source · ⏱ 01:00 · ⚠ she does all the work (a warning for my pillow princesses LOL!) ⚠
⟡ multi ⟡
▷ jack asks his brothers pope and titus for help at the clinic · source · ⏱ 01:42 · ⚠ medical malpractice, foursome, glove kink ⚠
▷ your daddies take very good care of you · source · ⏱ 00:53 · ⚠ slapping, daddy kink, foursome, choking ⚠
▷ stepfather!jack and godfather!pope cum inside of you at the same time · source · ⏱ 00:14 · ⚠ double vaginal penetration, age gap ⚠
▷ jack and pope taking you in both holes · source · ⏱ 01:00 · ⚠ double penetration, anal ⚠
▷ pervy!jack and pope spitroasting you for over forty minutes · source · ⏱ 40:41 · ⚠ degradation kink (they call her a slut), facefucking, slapping, spanking, deepthroat, gagging, choking, spitroasting, hair pulling, spit kink, she actually says she's cumming (rare in porn lol!), manhandling, praise kink, anal fingering, fingerfucking, squirting (not very visible but they ask her "are you going to fucking squirt?"), rimming (m!receiving but no direct visual of his ass lol), creampie ⚠
▷ your dads jack and pope enjoying you together · source · ⏱ 00:30 · ⚠ double vaginal penetration, gaping holes (fully spread pussy and ass), anal (for a second at the end), fauxcest (bc I said so! lol!) ⚠
▷ jack punishing you for cheating by making you fuck pope · source · ⏱ 15:30 · ⚠ non-con (she doesn't know who's fucking her to consent to it), degradation (they call her bitch), bondage, blindfold, spanking, hair pulling, infidelity ⚠
▷ getting passed around by jack, pope and titus · source · ⏱ 21:51 · ⚠ foursome, spitroasting ⚠
a/n: thank you to all my lovely readers who sent in this curated porn for the members of freak nation to consume ♡
pope definitely has hyperspermia, especially pope from the first seasons. pope, who just got out of prison, who is touch starved and broken.
you feel it the first time he fucks you. you both cling to each other like a lifeline, not letting the other pull away even for a second. his thick cock abuses your sensitive, gummy walls with deep, rough thrusts, kissing your cervix every time, making your throat feel raw and sore.
you’re still a little lightheaded from the orgasm pope ripped out of you when you feel it.
his cum is making you fuller with every twitch of his big cock inside you, to the point where it feels like your lower abdomen is starting to swell—and maybe it really is swelling, because pope just keeps cumming, keeps filling your pussy with his thick load.
and when he finally pulls out of you, you immediately feel something leaking out of your slit—there’s so much of it, you're convinced you've peed yourself.
and pope?
pope just stares, as if spellbound. your pretty pussy is all puffy and dirty from all his cum and he can’t help himself from scooping up the white fluid with two fingers and shoving it back inside you , but it just makes even more of it come out of you.
and that just makes him hard again. so hard and so ready just for you.
summary: you’ve been having a hard time for a few days. when you finally go to the ER as a last ditch effort, the doctor decides to give you a very thorough exam.
|| light smut mdni 18+, plot? what plot????, medical malpractice, overstimulation, unrealistic medical issues, arousal disorder, fingering, f!receiving oral, praise kink, he talks you through it, I think I’m legally required to call this dub con but reader fully and enthusiastically enjoys it ||
a/n: @pearlessance..................may or may not have had something to do with these pervish thoughts of mineeeeee........... rememebr when I said id keep it to 1k?
wc: 3k
You'd been going—quite literally— insane.
You couldn't even sit, couldn't relax, couldn't even eat a meal without your body sending an immediate lick of pleasure through your spine. Sure, at first, it was kind of funny. Just some oversensitivity issue you'd been having, making it very easy to lull yourself to sleep with your nightly routine of you and your trusty vibrator in your bedside table. A little embarrassing, maybe, but manageable.
At first.
But just the other day you'd woken up and— to your pleasure and ultimate discomfort—felt the need to orgasm before even getting out of bed. Before checking your phone. Before brushing your teeth. Before even pushing the blankets off your body. You thought you'd maybe just been ovulating early; your cycle was always a little out of whack anyway.
But as you'd sat up, it was as if you'd pressed just the right pressure to your already soaked center atop your twisted sheets, and your back arched sharply as you let out a hoarse moan. You were ten minutes late to work just to try to get it out of your system, but nothing worked.
It shook you. Confused you. Now it just downright annoyed you.
You weren't able to even work comfortably, couldn't eat, couldn't do anything without getting flushed and fidgety.
One day after work, you'd given in on the car ride home, one hand white knuckled on the steering wheel while you let yourself rock against the rough drag of the driver's seat, cunt sopping and needy from the day of twitching in your desk chair. You twisted in your seat so the seams of your panties tightened just right, arching your breasts so the seatbelt pulled across your chest. You welcomed the snug feeling of it, picturing some hot actor with his hands around you and not some polyester as you closed your eyes at a red light. It only took thirty seconds for you to climax, your mouth handing open and eyes rolling back in relief while your foot pushed harder into the brake. Your eyes flashed open when the car behind you honked because the light turned green.
But now it'd been five days, and something was very, very off.
"I just want to clarify, miss…" Dr Abbot—who happened to be cut from fucking Mount Olympus or something— was saying as he looked at the screen. "you're having… too many orgasms?"
You shook your head, your skin on fire as your stomach twisted. God, this was humiliating. And did they have to send you such a good looking male doctor? What was the matter with this ER, and why was everyone so attractive? Even the nurse who brought you back had perfectly coiled hair and plush lips with his scrubs stretched nicely over her shoulders when he'd led you to your private room. Maybe it was a symptom of your oversensitive folds making you think like this, turning every person in hospital cotton into some sort of eye candy.
You swallowed thickly, taking him in despite yourself. Dark graying curls, a couple days' worth of stubble, beautiful hazel eyes that kept flicking from your face to the chart. When he'd introduced himself, your pussy clenched with excitement before you were able to contain yourself. And he'd been so nice, he didn't deserve you all horned up for him like this for what you'd seen as a true medical emergency. Why couldn't they just send some old hag of a woman instead? Someone with cold hands and orthopedic shoes and zero chance of making your clit throb harder between your legs.
"It's just—um, I'm so…sensitive? Like, I can't even sit and relax. It's like, any movement or pressure just makes me—"
And as if on cue, you squirmed in your seat, more from the humiliation of having to explain your situation than anything else, and the paper beneath you crinkled beneath your weight. A little whimper slipped out before you could stop it when it pushed just right into your wet center, your hands flying to the hospital bed beneath you. You squeezed your eyes shut, horror flooding your blood.
When you opened them again, you saw a flush creeping up the doctor's next.
"Well," he said after a second, clearing his throat as his eyes dropped back to your chart with painful determination before dragging the stool over to sit in. "Okay. Do you mind if I take a look?"
You nodded feebly, sitting back. The hospital gown felt like sandpaper, rubbing far too perfectly along your already pebbled nipples. You bit your lip to hold back another humiliating moan as you moved.
"If you don't mind putting your feet in the rests," he said, his voice suddenly so soft and gravelly, one latex-gloved hand coming to your heel to guide your left leg. When you felt his touch, you twitched in anticipation. "There you go," he finished, not noticing, or maybe giving you some grace.
You squeezed your eyes shut, unable to look as he lifted your hospital gown a little, careful to keep the blanket over your knees for privacy.
"Need you to scoot a little closer," he murmured, "til your butt hits the edge, c'mon, little more— there. Good job."
Yeah, no. This was not fucking helping. Your pussy pulsed, another wave of arousal gushing at the sweet way he was talking you through the exam.
"I'm just going to take a look. One finger is all, okay? If you feel any pain, you tell me right away." But when he didn't hear anything from you, he added, "Hey—"
You opened your eyes, looking down to find his on you, his pupils a little blown out, his tongue dipping to wet his bottom lip. But there was still a very gentle look on his face, his head tilted slightly as he watched you. "Are you listening?"
You sheepishly smiled, letting out a long exhale, "Yes, I'm sorry—just nervous. I'm…sorry if I'm like… y'know…" you bit your lip, "already… wet."
He made a frown, shrugging a little, then smiled at you, "It's just body parts, sweetheart, it's all okay."
"And I didn't shave—"
"Never bothered me before—"
He seemed to catch himself, biting his lip with a bit of a knowing grin, sheepishly looking away too. "Like I said, just tell me if you feel pain, okay?"
You nodded, your hands squirming in the sheets beside you.
"Here we go, just one finger now. Easy does it," he said soothingly.
The pressure of one thick finger slid into your pussy, pushing in easily with how slick you’d become.
You sucked in a tiny breath, trying to hold back the sound crawling up your throat. Your eyes betrayed you anyway, rolling back into your skull while your teeth caught your bottom lip so hard you nearly tasted iron.
"How's that feel, hm?" he asked from between your legs.
"G-good." you cleared your throat, squirming a little, "fine, I mean."
He hummed pleasantly, and then twisted his thick finger, curled it up and to the side, pulled it out a little until only the pad of his finger was inside you, then slid it again, staying to one side then another. He was so slow, so practiced and methodical as he worked.
When he pushed all the way to the knuckle and crooked his finger up, you couldn't hold back the throaty moan that punched from your chest.
"Fuck—I'm so sorry—oh, I'm so sorry—it's just—"
"It's alright, let it out," he said, his voice thick and restrained. "Little more pressure now, sweetheart—"
You felt him push two fingers inside of you, and that was enough for you to break completely. You had half a thought to be grateful that the nurse had put you into a closed room, because now you were moaning in earnest, your hips lifting off the bed before you could stop them. God, did this doctor have the thickest fingers in the entire emergency department or something?
And was that a moan you'd just heard from him?
It was hard to tell when you were mewling like a god damn cat.
"I want to see how your body reacts to certain pressure," he explained, a flash of his eyes peering over the hospital blanket. "It's okay if you experience an orgasm, sweetheart. You really are so sensitive, huh?"
There was a quirk to his lips that you only caught because one side of his eyes creased into the lines of his face, a gleam in his deep hazel gaze.
Your mouth opened, a yelping cry seizing from you as your head tipped back and your spine arched, toes curling as you came around his fingers.
But as always, it was never enough. Just as it came down, cresting and breaking through you, it was already rolling back in again, a hard pull under your skin like a harsh midnight ocean, your hips pushing up toward his hand in search of more.
"That's it, that's it, let me see it again," he murmured.
"Oh, I'm so sorry—I'm already gonna—" you whimpered, eyes rolling back, hips jerking a little. Another orgasm came yanking through you without any reprieve, and you sobbed out another moan, your hands twisting in the sheets, your skin hot and sweating under the hospital gown.
"I want to try one more thing, sweetheart, let me see if you can give me one more, that okay? One more, baby, do it for your doctor now—"
You nodded again, helplessly this time.
This had to be fucking illegal. A medical doctor in the emergency department with his fingers inside of you, making you come over and over again. But you didn't give two shits. It felt so fucking good. Your body was screaming for it, needing it, and your hips jerked suddenly harder than ever when you felt the press of his thumb on your swollen clit.
But when they jerked up, you felt the top of your mound hit something.
And both of you froze.
Because yes, you were in a post-orgasm haze, but that felt a lot like his mouth.
"Dr. Abbot?" you murmured, breath catching hard in your chest. "I'm so, so fucking sorry—I didn't mean—"
You could barely hold yourself together, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. God, you were so embarrassed, so pent up, there was nothing you could fucking do. You wanted to scream and run away from this room, to hide from the world with your vibrator and your dildo and just ride out whatever fucked up cycle your body was torturing you with.
"It's okay." he said.
But it was so quiet—just a whisper. He didn't peer over your hospital blanket again, or tease or give you any sign of the professional doctor he was—no gentle little smile, no careful explanation. Instead, he breathed in deeply. And when he exhaled, you felt his breath fan over your sopping entrance, over the mess you'd made of yourself, cool air moving across your inner thighs and down toward the top of the bed.
You whimpered, fingers twisting harder in the sheets as you waited.
"Do you mind…" he asked, and his voice had turned even rougher now, low in his throat, "if I test out one more thing?"
You shakily nodded, "S-sure."
Gradually, as if the world was moving in slow motion, you saw the tips of his hair disappear beneath the blanket. His breath getting closer, hotter, heavier. You felt the brush of his stubble along the crease of your thigh and you bit down on your lip so hard a sound broke through your nose instead.
Oh, fuck.
And then you felt the hot press of lips on your clit.
Your mouth parted again, a breath of relief falling from it before you could stop yourself, your knees falling opening wider, wider, your body melting down into the bed like it had been waiting for that exact touch all day. The blanket shifted over your knees, the paper beneath you crinkled.
"Oh fuck, Dr. Abbot—" you moaned.
He hummed in contented pleasure, and the vibration went straight through your clit, hot and bright with how good it felt. His tongue licked over you, slower the second time, tasting you with a patience that made your stomach flip and tighten at once. Then he suckled gently, and your hips kicked before his hand came around to push you back down. His deft fingers continued pumping in and out of you, faster, harder, curling in that same velvety spot inside of you that had you shaking beneath his touch. There was only his mouth, his fingers, and the wet, obscene squelch of your pussy being devoured.
You were a writhing, mewling mess on the bed. You humped his face without shame, using the stirrups under your feet as leverage, your hips grinding up against his mouth while your hand flew in his hair, the curls soft to the touch. The hand that held you down came up to swipe the hospital gown and blanket down from you, baring you to the room, to him, so you could see him eating at you.
And what a sight it was to behold.
This stunning doctor with his tired eyes and messy gray curls was eating you out like the world might end tomorrow. Like you might be his last meal on this god-forsaken earth. Slurping, moaning, licking to his heart’s content, his brows drawn together with a concentration so vulgar it made your stomach clench. You could do nothing but moan and watch, your hand fisted in his hair, dragging your slick cunt against his mouth again and again and again while his fingers kept working inside you.
"Ride my face, that's it, baby," he moaned.
It wasn't long until you were coming again. Bright sparks burst behind your eyes, this time stronger and headier, your body going to absolute mush as he kept kissing your pussy through it, licking, feeling every pulse of it against his tongue.
You twitched in his hold, whining as he just kept fucking going, his mouth wet and relentless, his voice muffled against you when he groaned, "One more. One more, can you give me one more, baby?"
"Noooo, no more—please, Dr Abbot—"
"Yes, let me see, want another, you make the prettiest noises—"
Your body arched lazily off the bed, another rolling orgasm taking you before you could brace for it. His face was drenched, your arousal dripping around his fingers, the slick sounds loud in the closed room. They should've embarrassed you—so wet and desperate and humiliating enough to make your eyes sting if your brain hadn't finally, completely turned off.
By the fifth orgasm, your body had gone limp on the bed, every muscle emptied out, your hand loose in his hair instead of pulling now. He kept kissing you through the last little aftershocks, softer than before, until your hips started shaking and twitching and your fingers pushed weakly at his forehead.
He stopped, gently dragging his gloved hand from your walls. You clenched around the abandonment of his touch, as he stood from his stool. Standing, he wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand, stripping it off and throwing it in the trash.
He went to your chart, and you watched him sleepily through hooded eyes as he clicked through a few screens, his mouth pressing into a thoughtful line.
"Well?" you murmured.
His eyes glanced over to you. When you met his gaze, you couldn't help but let yours drop to where his cargos were much to tight, and a thick, eager bulge tented his pants.
"I'd like to keep you here for a couple hours of observation, if you're open to it. Nothing scary," he added, softer now. "I just want to monitor your heart rate, make sure your blood pressure stays stable, and get some IV fluids going. Your body’s been under a fair amount of strain."
"I…I'm just dehydrated?" you asked quizzically.
He smiled a little, walking back over to the side of the bed. "Not entirely sure yet. Which is why I need you to stay."
You nodded. "Okay."
"Good." His hands were careful as he helped your feet out of the stirrups one at a time, easing your legs down instead of letting them drop. Then he laid the blanket back over you, making sure your shoulders were tucked underneath. "Rest for now. I’m going to order the fluids, basic labs, and I’ll have your nurse come in to get you set up."
He began to turn, but you called out. "Hey—what about you? I can help—"
He looked down at you again, and there it was, that little grin, tired and pleased and trying very hard to behave. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, adjusting himself with a small shift of his hips.
"Don't worry about me," he said. "I'm your doctor. I'm supposed to take care of you."
"But I want—"
"I know," he said, gently enough that your mouth shut around the rest of what you wanted to say. "But right now, you need fluids, rest, and a few minutes where no one is bothering you."
Your face warmed.
"We can discuss another round of testing and some aftercare instructions when I come back, okay?" he added with a wink.
You smiled sleepily. "Yes, doctor. That sounds nice."
"Good girl." He reached for the railing, pulling it up with a soft click. "Stay put. I'll be back."
cw: f!reader, mdni, smut, belly bulge, jack is a little shit
You’d like to smack the stupid smirk from Jack’s face when he bottoms out inside of you, but he’s got your wrists pinned to your back. The raw force of his hips meeting yours forces a whimper out of you, making him chuckle.
“You okay there, princess?” he asks.
Just as you’re about to answer in a tone he probably wouldn’t like, he pulls out a few inches and thrusts back into you so hard that the whole bed shakes. Your entire face is mushed into the mattress, which just so barely muffles your surprised shriek.
“Fuck, Jack,” you gasp.
His thick cock pulses inside of you as you clench around him as if you’re trying to suck him in deeper.
“Hm?” he hums innocently.
With one hand, he keeps hold of your wrists while the other rests on your hip. His thumb smooths over the delicate skin of your lower back, but you barely register the sweet gesture as he thrusts forward again, pushing your face deeper into the pillows.
A whine falls from your lips, which Jack shushes immediately.
“Aww, poor baby,” he coos. His voice is soft and sweet as honey, dripping with faux concern.
He tugs at your wrists, practically forcing you into a more upright position. With your back almost pressed against his chest, you wobble slightly, but Jack’s got you. His free arm wraps around your tummy, keeping you upright.
“There you go, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. “You can take it, can’t you?”
He fucks up into you, the thick head of him aiming at your G-spot so hard that you think you’ll bruise. Sweat drips down your back, and your breathless, high-pitched moans fill the room.
His hand on your belly moves lower and presses down against the distended shape of his cock.
“Ja-ack,” you gasp, the one-syllable word disrupted by a particularly rough roll of his hips.
“Uh-uh, baby, it’s okay. You like this, I promise.”
Summary: Brendon loses a patient. You give him back control in the only way you know how.
WC: 6,447
Warnings: established relationship; angst; hurt/comfort; unprotected piv (jfc wrap it before you tap it); d/s dynamics; bdsm, but like, vanilla bdsm?; oral (m receiving); fingering (f receiving); overstimulation kind of; unhealthy coping mechanisms? idk; use of a sex toy; seriously, use a condom
A/N: set six-ish years before The Pitt (Park is mid-30s); you can’t tell me Park is OOC because man was on the screen for half a second; technically part of the “Closet Gremlin” universe but can be read as a standalone
Masterlist
—————————————————
Brendon doesn’t get home until eleven.
You’re curled on the couch under the fluffy shark-patterned blanket you’d gotten him for his birthday (he’d told you it was the stupidest thing he’d ever seen, then proceeded to use it basically every day since), and the TV is playing some Netflix romcom you don’t really care about. He’d texted you somewhere around six telling you there was a trauma incoming and to not wait up for him, which meant you’d of course waited up for him.
In the year the two of you’ve been together, you’ve learned that there’s no way to predict how trauma cases will impact him. There are days he comes home like nothing happened, days he comes home even more smug than usual. Then there are the days where he loses a patient or the outcome isn’t what he was hoping for, but he’s typically quick to make peace with it. He’s calculating, pragmatic. He knows when the odds are unfavorable and doesn’t dwell when they beat him.
Then there are days like today.
Days when you know something has gone wrong the moment he steps inside the house. He’s not particularly talkative as a baseline, but usually he’ll at least call a greeting. Today there’s nothing but stony silence. The only sounds are the slight shuffle of him taking off his shoes and the click of the closet opening so he can hang up his coat. When he finally steps out of the mudroom and into the den, he does barely more than nod at you before disappearing upstairs.
You’re not upset. You might have been, once upon a time, but you know him well enough by now to know this is just how he copes. He’ll probably take a shower, eat something sad and beige and protein-heavy, then curl around you in bed like you’re the only soft thing in a world full of edges. He might talk to you, he might not. But he’ll hold you, and you’ll let him, and that’ll be enough for both you.
You sit quietly for a moment, expecting to hear the shower come on, and are startled when he instead comes back down the stairs wearing training shorts and an old t-shirt.
“Bren?” you question softly.
He pauses. His spine is rigid, his jaw tense, and you can see the weight of every life he’s ever held resting on his shoulders in that moment. Something heartbreakingly vulnerable flashes in his eyes so quickly you almost miss it, before he hides it behind iron walls.
“Go to sleep,” he says.
Then he disappears into the basement. A few moments later, the sound of weights clanking together floats up the stairs.
Your heart squeezes, but you don’t follow him. You know he needs to work through whatever it is on his own. Instead, you turn the volume on the TV up to give him some privacy and busy yourself with cleaning.
You grab his bag from where he’d dropped it in the mudroom and unpack it — putting the food he didn’t eat back in the kitchen and plugging in his laptop to charge. You wash the few dishes in the sink by hand and then spend some time prepping lunches for both of you for the following day. Then you go upstairs and throw his dirty scrubs in the wash along with a few other things. Really, there’s not enough laundry to warrant a load, but you need something to occupy you. No matter what he said, you won’t be able to sleep knowing how upset he is.
Eventually, the load finishes, and you put it in the dryer. Then that finishes, too, and Brendon is still in the basement. A glance at the clock tells you it’s nearing 1:00 AM. You bite your lip. You’re exhausted, so you can only imagine how tired he must be. He’d been out the door by five that morning, and you know he’d had no break between his regular shift and the emergency trauma. You also know he hadn’t eaten much throughout the day, if his mostly untouched lunch was anything to go by.
You start folding laundry while glancing at the clock every five seconds. You want to give him his space, but you’re also getting increasingly worried. You’re not quite sure where the line is between letting him process and leaving him to suffer alone. Eventually though, when you’ve reorganized your nightstand twice, when the hour hand is closer to the two than the one, you decide you should at least check on him.
You pad softly down the stairs to the first floor and then pause at the doorway to the basement. You can no longer hear weights shifting around down there. In fact, it’s eerily silent aside from the low hum of the TV, and you feel a frisson of nerves as you descend the dimly lit stairs.
“Bren?”
He’s sitting on the FID bench facing the wall of mirrors. Several dumbbells are discarded at his feet. Sweat stains his shirt and his brow, and he’s still breathing heavily from whatever set he just finished. He’s still apart from the rising and falling of his chest though, his eyes fixed unseeingly on one of the heavy rubber mats lining the floor. He doesn’t even move when you say his name, and you’re not sure if it’s because he can’t hear you or because he doesn’t have the energy to respond.
The two of you exist in silence for a long moment, and you know he won’t break it unless you do. Carefully, like you’re afraid any sudden movements will make things worse, you cross to the mini-fridge on the back wall. You grab a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap as you walk back across the room to stand next to him.
“You should drink something,” you say softly, holding it out to him.
He might not want to talk about anything, but you can at least take care of him physically. Or you can try. He doesn’t take the water, and you only hold it out for a second longer before recapping it and setting it at his feet. Worry grips your chest like a fist.
“Do you-”
“You should go.”
You freeze. Your first reaction is hurt, which you quickly shove as far down as you can — this is about him, not you. Then comes the instinctual urge to obey. If he wants you to go, then you will. But just as your body is about to turn and move on its own, your mind catches up.
“You said I should go,” you venture carefully. “Does that mean you want me to?”
He doesn’t say anything, which tells you more than if he had.
Feeling steadier now than you did a second ago, you go to round the bench and stand in front of him, only for his hand to shoot out and keep you from coming closer.
“You can’t be around me right now,” he reiterates tightly.
“Because of me? Or because of you?”
His gaze snaps up to you then, and you inhale sharply at what you see there. Fury, bright and sharp, cuts through you like a blade. Right alongside it is grief so raw it’s almost anger in itself. There are other emotions buried there, too — frustration, self-loathing, hopelessness — so many that he looks like he’s drowning in them.
“Careful,” he says lowly.
Your heart stutters nervously, but you don’t back down.
“If you want me to leave, I will, but don’t tell me to go because you think you’re protecting me.”
His jaw tightens, and he stands. Towering over you like he’s trying to intimidate you. It works and it doesn’t. Your body responds the way it always does when he’s this close — your heart rate picks up, your breathing goes uneven, and awareness prickles across your skin. But you’re not scared of him. You don’t think you ever could be.
“You want to be soft right now,” he grits out, teeth bared. “You want to be sweet and gentle until everything’s better.”
You shake your head slowly.
“I want to be whatever you need me to be,” you tell him.
Wrong answer, or right one. You don’t know. All you do know is he makes a low, mean sound, and takes a predatory step towards you. You instinctively back up. The backs of your knees hit the bench, and you drop down on it with a graceless oof. Now it’s your turn to sit while he stands over you.
“You have no idea what I need right now,” he snarls.
Realization hits you so fast you feel dizzy, then ridiculous for not realizing sooner. The way he’s practically vibrating in his skin. The way he’s been down here punishing his body for nearly three hours. The way he seems to want you close and also want you as far away as possible.
He feels out of control.
He’s not just angry, he’s not just grieving. He’s spiraling. Tough cases always challenge his need for control, but he’s also pragmatic enough that he usually bounces back quickly. Whatever control he felt he lost with this trauma, he can’t get it back. He’s been trying to — down here alone, for hours — but it’s clearly not working.
He must see the realization in your face, because his expression shutters further, and he makes a low warning sound in his throat.
“Don’t,” he grits.
You don’t say anything, just reach out slowly and grab one of his hands. It flexes almost spastically in yours, but he doesn’t pull away. At least until you bring it to your mouth and brush a soft kiss across his knuckles. Then he tries to jerk it back, but you won’t let him.
“I can’t be gentle right now,” he scrapes out.
“I don’t need you to be gentle.”
He growls in frustration and crowds even closer.
“You don’t get it, I don’t trust myself around you.”
Your heart breaks, even as determination solidifies in your mind. Slowly, slowly enough that he can pull away if he really wants to, you lift his hand to your neck. His fingers twitch as you wrap them carefully around your throat, and his breath punches out of him like you struck him.
“I trust you,” you whisper.
A brief pause—
And then he’s moving. He spits out a curse and then he’s hauling you to your feet. His mouth crashes into yours, and it’s all teeth and anger wrapped in desperation. The awareness that’s been humming under your skin since he got home morphs into arousal from one breath to the next. Your hands scrabble for purchase against his shirt as you do your best to keep up with his relentless pace.
“Brave fucking girl,” he hisses against your mouth.
You whimper in response, concerned, relieved, and turned on all in equal measure. He kisses you like he’s punishing you. He kisses you like he can burn out his anger through your body, and you kiss him back like you want it. You do, you think, when he yanks your head back so his lips can find your jaw. You want whatever he wants, want to be whatever he needs.
He worries a bruise onto your neck, more teeth than lips. It’s petty, mean. It makes your cunt clench around nothing. You tilt your head further back to give him more access, and he rumbles a low sound of approval.
“So eager for me,” he mutters against your skin.
You nod frantically — you are, you always are.
You tug at his shoulders to bring his mouth back to yours. He allows it, indulgent. One hand is still buried in your hair, while the other bands like steel around your waist, and it presses you as close to him as possible and then closer still. He seems content for a moment, letting you guide the kiss, at least until he nips sharply at your lip and slides his hand back to your throat. It tightens just enough to make you work harder for every breath, and the feeling goes through you like lightning.
“Hmm, you like it when I get to decide if you breathe?” he asks.
Your only response is a whimper, and his eyes flash dangerously. You feel dazed, floaty, and he’s barely touched you yet. The same thought must cross his mind, because his grip loosens for a second, and the hand at your throat reaches up to brush a strand of hair back from your face.
“I mean it,” he says, voice rough with restraint. “I don’t know how to be gentle right now.”
You hear him fighting to keep his voice calm, to truly give you the out if you want it, and that more than anything makes your decision for you. He might not trust himself, but you do. You know he won’t hurt you.
Slowly, keeping your eyes locked with his, you sink to your knees.
Something complicated crosses his face. Longing and vulnerability mixed with love so deep it’s pain. He looks at you like you’re tearing him apart and remaking him at the same time, like he’s dying and you’re the only thing keeping him alive. His hand, steady enough to piece bodies back together, shakes as it reaches out to touch your face. His thumb brushes reverently over your cheek.
“Brave girl,” he whispers again.
Then all the softness disappears behind steel. You watch him physically piece his armor back together— his breath evening, his shoulders straightening. His eyes glint like ice, and the hand on your cheek grabs your chin and forces you to look up. You stare at him, feeling small and exposed.
“Clothes off.”
The words are quiet, but there’s no doubt they’re an order.
Your breath hitches, but your hands move to obey without thought. They grab them hem of your sweater and pull it off. Next comes your bra, and you blush a little when you drop it on top of the sweater. He’s seen you naked a thousand times before, but there’s something about it that feels especially vulnerable when you’re on your knees like this. You start to get up, so you can take off your shorts, but his voice stops you.
“I didn’t say you could stand.”
A shock of heat lances through you and goes straight to your cunt. You make a small sound, somewhere between a squeak and a whimper, and stare up at him with wide eyes. He stares unblinkingly back. Hands unsteady now, you hook your thumbs under the waistband of your sleep shorts and panties and start tugging them down. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and mildly embarrassing trying to wiggle out of them while still kneeling. You have to contort and do a sort of shuffle to get them off, but you finally manage it.
Now naked, you look up at him and wait for whatever comes next. The air in the basement is cooler than the rest of the house, and you feel your nipples start to pebble. The subdued lighting that usually feels soothing now feels too bright, too revealing. The only sound is the quiet hum of the fridge, which makes you hyper aware of your own breathing.
Part of you is uncomfortable, itching to move, to say something — anything to break this silent standoff. It doesn’t matter how safe you feel with him, the stark power imbalance between the two of you — you naked and kneeling, him clothed and towering over you — never fails to tug at something soft and unprotected within you. You force yourself to remain still though. As strong as the urge to retreat is, the need to obey is stronger.
“Eyes closed,”he says at last, and you comply gratefully. “Stay here.”
You’re startled when you hear him disappear up the stairs, but you obey and stay still. You think you hear him continue to the stairs to the second floor, but you can’t be sure. Then there’s nothing. Alone, waiting, the anticipation feels sharper. The rubber mat under your knees feels slightly too firm, and the air feels slightly too cold. Your legs are starting to cramp. Time passes oddly while you wait, and you’re relieved when you hear him coming back down.
Anticipation runs down your spine like a physical touch when you hear him come to a stop somewhere behind you. Your eyes are still closed, and you have no idea what he’s doing or if he’s even looking at you. The uncertainty, the feeling of being completely at his mercy, makes your thighs clench together. The action makes you suddenly aware of how wet you are, and an involuntary sound escapes your throat.
One of his hands comes to rest briefly on your head at the sound, grounding, then vanishes.
“Hands.”
He doesn’t say anything else, but you know what he means. Carefully, you stretch your hands behind you. He moves, looping something around your wrists and securing them at the small of your back. You test the bindings once — snug enough they won’t slip off, but loose enough you could get out of them without much effort. They’re more symbolic than anything, but they still make your cunt pulse.
Next he slips something over your eyes. You open them on instinct, but aside from a vague haze of light, you can’t see anything through the fabric. Now truly unable to see and with your hands bound, your awareness of everything else around you skyrockets. You can feel the heat of his body behind you, hear the measured rhythm of his breathing. He trails a hand lightly down one of your arms, barely anything, and it sets off fireworks in your body.
He stands, and you feel more than hear him walk around you. He stops in front of you, one hand coming to rest on your face. You feel his fingers press against your lips, and you open obediently.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
Your cunt clenches around nothing again. You suck lightly on his fingers, wishing it was his cock instead, and feel yourself getting steadily wetter. Your breasts feel heavy, your nipples tight, and you want him to touch you so badly it’s nearly pain.
“Good girl,” he repeats, then draws his fingers out. “Open.”
You do and are rewarded with the slide of his cock over your tongue. You make a grateful sound that would have been embarrassing if your brain was functioning. Instead, all you care about is the weight of him in your mouth and the low hiss he lets out when you start sucking.
“So eager to have my cock in your mouth,” he mocks.
You hum in agreement, lost in the taste of sweat and skin and the slightly bitter flavor of pre-come.
He lets you play for a while, his hand resting lightly on the back of your head. You alternate between sucking the flared head, tongue flicking the slit until his hips twitch, and sinking down further until your jaw aches. His fingers card through your hair, misleadingly gentle, and you think then that you could stay like this forever. Your knees ache, and your shoulders are starting to protest, but all that matters is this. Him, his taste, the sounds he makes. You’re actively clenching your thighs together now, trying to get any friction on your clit. He lets out a mean laugh when he notices, but he doesn’t stop you.
You know his patience won’t last though, and you’re proved correct when his grip suddenly tightens.
“I’m going to fuck your pretty throat now,” he says darkly.
You make a sound that might be agreement, might be a plea, and then his hips snap forward sharply. You nearly gag around the intrusion — too much, too fast — but you force yourself to breathe through it. He hums in approval, and you fairly whine.
He sets a slow rhythm, steadily fucking his way deeper with every thrust. His hand at the back of your head holds you in place, and you moan at the feeling of him bullying his way into your throat. You gag around him a couple times, spit sliding down your chin and tears pricking your eyes. He doesn’t stop. He knows if you really wanted out, you would slip the loose bindings and tap his thigh. But you don’t, and he mutters filthy encouragement as he slides even deeper.
“So fucking pretty like this-”
“Feels so good-”
“Fuck, baby, just like that.”
By the time you’ve finally taken all of him, you’re shaking, hips grinding down against nothing. Your jaw aches and you can feel the tears on your cheeks, but all you want is more. You make a desperate sound, and he groans in response, before slowly drawing back. A pause, then he returns with a harsh snap of his hips, and you’re whining. The tip of his cock bruises the back of your throat, and you relish it. You want him everywhere, stamped on your body inside and out.
His breath punches out of him harshly as he fucks your face, and for a brief second you think you could come like this. Untouched, just the taste and feel of him and the sound of his voice spewing filth.
“My perfect girl, take- ah, take my cock so fucking well.”
You swallow around him, and his hips spasm.
“Shit, don’t-. Baby-, fucking Christ.”
You know he’s getting close. He’s spending longer down your throat with each thrust, grinding your nose against his pelvis. His breathing goes ragged, and his grip in your hair tightens to the point of pain. Sure enough, one, two thrusts later and he’s yanking you off his cock with a curse.
You hear the obscene slide of his fist over his spit-soaked cock, and then you feel the first splash of come hit your cheek. He grunts as he fucks his fist, painting your face and chest. You moan at the feeling.
“Fuck, you did so well,” he says when he’s finally spent.
You preen under his praise.
“You think you deserve a reward?”
“Please.”
You sound wrecked, desperate, but you don’t care. Your body is hot, your skin too tight, and you want his hands on you more than you want your next breath.
He makes you wait for a minute.
He moves away from you, and you hear a rustle of cloth. You think he’s wiping his hands off, but you can’t be sure. Then he’s coming back over to you, and you’re nearly squirming in anticipation when he lowers himself behind you. His chest touches your back, and you feel his legs on either side of yours. It can’t be comfortable for him, but he doesn’t seem concerned.
“Spread your legs,” he tells you.
You do, ignoring the way your knees protest the movement. Now that you’re not focused on his cock, you’re fiercely aware of how long you’ve been kneeling. He doesn’t tell you to get up though, and any discomfort vanishes a moment later when his arms come around you and then his fingers are running through your folds. Your hips jerk forward.
“Oh, sweetheart. Did you get this wet just sucking my cock?”
You don’t answer right away, too focused on the feeling of finally, finally being touched. But his fingers stop when you stay silent, and you cry out in protest.
“Answer me, baby.”
“Yes,” you gasp.
“Yes, what?”
Even after everything he’s already done to you, even with his come drying on your face, saying the words makes your cheeks burn.
“Yes, sucking your cock made me this wet.”
“Good girl.”
And then he shoves two fingers inside you without warning, and you nearly fall over. There’s no build up, no ease in. Just his fingers crooking in a practiced motion and rubbing relentlessly at the spot that makes you see stars. You moan, high and helpless. Your head drops back against his shoulder, and your hips move gracelessly as you chase his fingers. His thumb eventually moves to swipe against your clit, one brief moment of fire-tipped pleasure. Then his hand is withdrawing, and you nearly sob.
“Bren,” you cry pathetically.
He body pulls away from yours, but before you can protest, you feel something else moving between your legs. Not his fingers-
“Oh,” you gasp.
It’s a dildo. Not as thick as his cock, but definitely thicker than his fingers. Your walls clamp down around the intrusion. He fucks you shallowly with it, teasing more than anything, but you’re grateful for anything after waiting for so long. It’s more than enough to get you there, and your hips are starting to stutter when he says-
“No coming, baby.”
He actually laughs at your cry of distress.
“Don’t you want to be good for me?” he asks.
That alone almost makes you come.
Your cunt spasms around the dildo, and everything in your body pulls tight. Yes, you want to be good for him, it’s all you want right now. Sometimes you think it’s all you’ve ever wanted. You garble out some version of that and preen at his murmured approval.
“Spread your legs a little more-, just like that. Sink a bit lower-”
You obey, not quite knowing what he’s trying to do yet, when you feel something against your clit and it clicks. Oh. You know exactly which dildo he’s using now. The dark purple one with the rabbit attachment at the base, which means-
The vibrator switches on, and you make a sound like you’re dying.
“Hmm, feel good?”
You’re nodding, babbling, something.
“Now be a good girl and keep that in for me.”
He stands then, and while part of your mourns the loss of his warmth behind you, most of you is too focused on the incessant buzzing against your clit to care. It feels like it’s been years since he first kissed you, and you’ve moved past arousal into physical distress. You try to focus on something else, anything else. Your attention turns to your legs, which are cramping badly now, and your knees, which are aching as they dig into the ground. It doesn’t work though — you still feel like you’re a breath away from coming.
That’s when you hear it.
A scraping sound, followed by the click of weights hitting each other. A few footfalls hitting the floor, then the same sound again. Your brain short-circuits. He’s working out. You’re kneeling bound and blindfolded, his come drying on your skin and a vibrator shoved up your pussy, and he’s working out. He must see the understanding dawn on your face, because he huffs out a laugh.
“Focus, baby.”
It takes a moment for your brain to come back online, even longer to notice the dildo is slipping out of you. You’d started rising up on your knees without realizing it, until only the tip is left inside of you. Startled, you drop back down without thought, only to yelp when the movement slams the rabbit into your clit.
Another laugh, meaner this time, and then he goes back to his workout.
Time ceases to matter. You can’t see anything, and your attempt to count the seconds that go by lasts approximately ninety seconds before you give up. The only thing you have to mark the passing of time is the rhythmic sound of him breathing his way through every rep, punctuated by longer pauses between sets.
The base of the dildo perches precariously on the ground, held upright only because it’s inside of you. When you sink all the way down, it rests snugly inside of you, but it also pushes the rabbit directly against your clit. The stimulation is somehow too much and not enough at the same time — almost numbing after so long, but still just one wrong twitch away from making you come. But every time you rise up to get away from it, the dildo threatens to fall out. You can only lift a couple inches without it slipping, and the awkward half-kneel makes your already-trembling thighs scream after only a minute.
You can’t stay pressed against the vibrator without coming, and you can’t get away from it without the dildo falling out. Either way, you’re going to disobey him. The thought fills you with dread, and you fight to be good, cycling between both agonizing positions. You don’t know how long passes like that. Your body is on fire, but your mind is full of static, the only clear thought you have: be good. You repeat it in your head until it’s all you know, all you are.
You start drifting, experiencing things through a haze, like they’re happening to someone else. The need to come is still there, but it’s not as urgent anymore. It’s been muted by distance. You’re somewhere else, floating and far away and-
A hand lands on top of your head and you come crashing back into your body.
Sensation comes back, ten times sharper than before, and your body convulses as you fight the sharp, stabbing need to come. You make an agonized noise. You’re sweating, trembling, and you’re so wet you can feel it dripping out of you. Every nerve ending is on fire, your legs feel like they’re going to collapse even though you’re already kneeling, and you need to come, you-
“Shh, breathe, sweetheart.”
You gasp out a breath.
“That’s it. Focus on me.”
He starts taking deep, even breaths, and you fight to mimic him. Slowly, the frantic energy in you eases into something manageable. His hand stays on you the whole time. It’s not gentle, not rough, but it grounds you enough that you’re able to settle all the way back into your body.
“Good girl, I’m going to turn this off now okay?”
His fingers tap lightly at the vibrator, forcing a whine out of you. But you nod, and he murmurs more praise. The buzzing switches off, followed by him removing the dildo altogether, and you don’t know whether to sob in relief or to wail at the loss.
“Fuck, baby, you made such a mess. Are you sure you didn’t come without permission?”
You shake your head frantically. No, you were good. You’re always good. Panic wells up in you, and you garble out a protest. You wouldn’t do that, you-
“I believe you, sweetheart. Always so perfect for me.”
You wilt in relief.
“Next is your wrists, okay?”
He waits until you nod before slipping the bindings off. Your shoulders scream in protest when you bring your arms back in front of you. His hands are there immediately though, rubbing carefully to help you through the worst of it. And even though it hurts, even though your knees ache and the muscles in your legs feel like they’re on fire, you still moan at the feel of his hands on you. Your body is caught somewhere between overstimulated and touch-starved, and you arch into his touch even though it’s painful.
“Alright, sweetheart, hands and knees. Do you think you can do that for me?”
You honestly don’t know if your limbs can hold you up anymore, but you try. You’d do anything he asked you at this point. Anything if he’ll finally let you come. You place your hands on the floor in front of you and lean some of your weight on them. Encouraged when they don’t give out right away, you shift slowly forward until you’re properly on all fours. You’re shaking, but you don’t fall.
“Doing so well, my perfect girl.”
The praise washes over you like a physical touch, and your pussy spasms weakly.
“Listened so well; I’m going to fuck you now, okay?”
You’re beyond words a this point, but you make a desperate sound of agreement and arch your back as best you can. He makes an appreciative noise at the sight. One hand finds your hip, the other running down the length of your spine, and you feel all of it like you’ve touched a live wire. Then he’s moving behind you, positioning himself, and the noise you make when you feel the head of his cock against your swollen pussy is feral.
“So fucking wet,” he says, dragging the tip through your folds.
And then he slams into you in one, harsh thrust, and you choke on a scream.
He sets a brutal rhythm immediately, his hands bruising your hips to hold you in place. The respite you got when he took the dildo out vanishes, and you’re suddenly back to teetering on the edge of coming. His cock is so much thicker than the dildo, so much longer — you can feel him in your throat. You can feel every ridge, every vein as he fucks you like he’s trying to mold you to the shape of him.
“Shit,” he snarls when a particularly rough thrust makes you clench around him. “This perfect-, ah, perfect fucking pussy.”
His shifts slightly behind you, and you wail at the change in angle. Every thrust sends lightning down your spine, pleasure so sharp in hurts. Your arms shake, then give out, and you collapse forward onto the floor. He doesn’t pause though, just tightens his grip on your hips until you know you’ll wake up with his fingerprints on your skin. The thought makes you moan.
“That’s it, baby, taking my cock so well. Like it’s all you’ve ever wanted.”
Your breath is coming out in pathetic little moans every time he buries himself inside of you, but you try to respond, try to say yes. The only thing you manage is an incoherent approximation of his name.
“My smart girl, so cock drunk you can’t speak.”
You don’t know which part of that sentence affects you more. Either would suffice to ruin you, and you feel your wetness start to drip down your thigh. You’re so wet you can hear your cunt trying to suck him back in every time he withdraws. The sound is loud, obscene in the small room, but you don’t care. You want more. Want him closer, harder, more.
Like he can hear your thoughts, he hooks one arm around you and reaches between your legs. He thumbs your clit lightly, barely a touch, but you clamp down so hard you nearly force him out.
“Jesus fucking-, hngg, fuck, fuck.”
His hips stutter, the first crack in his iron control. He keeps rubbing your clit though, and you know without a doubt that if he doesn’t stop, you’re going to come.
“P-please,” you gasp. “Bren, please. Please let me c-come. I-, ah, I need to come.”
“Sweetheart-”
“Please.”
You’re outright crying now. Crying, begging, willing to do anything if he’ll let you come. It’s not a matter of willpower anymore, it’s a matter of survival. Your body has been denied for so long that you’re either going to come or pass out.
“Shit, alright. You’ve been so good for me, baby, you can come.”
He delivers a particularly brutal thrust and pinches your clit, and you detonate.
Lightning explodes through you. Your body spasms with it, your hands scrabbling for purchase against the floor. Pleasure so intense it’s agony forces a sob out of your mouth. It’s too much, and you feel like you’re going to break under the pressure of it, but you can’t escape. His hands are still pinning you in place, and you’re too weak to move, so all you can do is lay there as it tears you apart.
Dimly, you’re aware of him coming, too. His hips stutter, then slam forward one more time before he’s twitching inside of you. He holds you through it, spewing a litany of curses and praise, but it’s like you’re hearing from underwater. You’re still coming, drenching his cock with it. Every time you think it’s over, another wave hits you, and your vision actually greys out for a second.
When you finally settle back into your body, you feel hollowed out. Everything is too much, too sensitive. Your breath is coming in broken gasps, your legs are shaking, and you can’t stop crying.
When he pulls out, it’s relief and loss all at once. You make a distressed noise, but quiet when he scoops you up into his arms. He sits on the ground and settles you in his lap, and you immediately burrow as close to him as humanly possible.
“Shh,” he soothes. “You did so well, sweetheart, I’m so proud of you.”
The words are like a balm to your ragged nerves.
“Listened so well, my perfect girl.”
You’re an absolute mess — a mixture of both your releases dripping from between your legs and tears mixing with the remnants of dried come on your cheeks. He ignores all of it, cradling you close. For a while, there’s only the sound of him murmuring reassurances in your ear, only the feeling of being totally surrounded and safe. He doesn’t rush you, and eventually you calm enough to accept the bottle of water he holds to your lips.
“Can I take off the blindfold?” he asks once you finish drinking.
You nod.
The overheads in the gym are dimmed all the way down, but you still wince at the first stab of light. You have to blink several times to adjust, and the first thing your eyes settle on is the reflection of you and Brendon in the mirror. You look about as wrecked as you feel, and though he looks similarly exhausted, you can immediately tell that the simmering anger from earlier has cooled. His pelagic eyes are calm as they stare back at you, his hand steady as it cards through your hair.
“You with me?” he asks softly.
You hum in agreement, and he huffs a laugh.
“Words, sweetheart.”
A weak spark of arousal runs through your body.
“‘m with you,” you mumble.
Silence falls, and you close your eyes again. You know the two of you will eventually have to get up — he’ll take you upstairs and help you take a shower before wrapping you in the fluffiest towel you own. He’ll make you drink more water and force you to eat something sad and beige and protein-heavy. Then the two of you will climb into bed, and he’ll curl around you like you’re the only soft thing in a world full of edges. He might talk to you, he might not. But for now, he’s holding you, the world has settled, and that’s enough for both of you.
title: chokehold
dynamic: stepfather!jack x stepdaughter!reader x godfather!pope
tw: dd:dne, rape/non-con (bc of somnophilia), fem!reader, fauxcest (you call them “dad”, they call you “kid”/”kiddo”), perv!jack & perv!pope, reader has chronic fatigue (like me!) but it's actually kind of munchausen by proxy (you're tired all the time bc your dads have been fucking you in your sleep…), medical malpractice, egregious age gap (18/45), there's only one bed!, murder, implied loss of virginity, non-consensual drug use (sedatives and painkillers), unprotected sex, breeding kink, double vaginal penetration, implied anal (not written out, just referenced), forced orgasms, fear play, choking, squirting, fingerfucking, thumbsucking (what is wrong with me…), cum play (pope puts his cum in your food bc he's so icky!), size difference, this is just filthy porn (sorry not sorry)
context: your dads take such good care of you! but apparently that's not normal…
wc: 3.7k
a/n: happy father's day to my dads, jack and pope! I lowkey forgot it was father's day so I whipped this up real quick and nasty oop-
hope it's a hot (but mostly sick!) read ♡
You made a post online that's going viral and you don't understand why.
You just asked the internet a simple question…but the answers you're getting are changing your thoughts on your relationship with your dads.
Title: Is it weird that my stepfather [45M] and my godfather [45M] sleep with me [18F]?
Post: Hi there. I live with my stepfather and his twin brother who is my godfather. I lost my mom recently and so my godfather moved in with us to help take care of me. I'm obviously an adult so I don't need the help but I do have a chronic illness so it has been wonderful having him around to help with things that are difficult for me to do like cooking and cleaning.
Though, we only have one bedroom in our apartment since we moved so I could have better access to medical care. But it works out because my stepfather works nights so usually I sleep on my own in the bed and my godfather sleeps on our couch. But I felt bad that he's sleeping uncomfortably so I offered to let him share the bed with me and he didn't for a while but eventually caved after I told him it would make me feel better knowing he slept well.
Now we've been sleeping together all the time and apparently that's weird? But he's practically my dad so I don't find it that weird but a few friends of mine have told me that it's really odd for me to sleep next to him as an adult. And it's apparently even weirder that sometimes my stepfather joins us when he's tired after his night shift and we're both still asleep in bed.
I'm just looking to see if anyone else finds this weird…and should I say something about it?
People have flooded the comments of your post, telling you that your dads are “perverted creeps who are trying to take advantage of you” and it's especially bad because “you're not even related to them”.
But they're your dads…
And they've always considered you their kid.
So, seeing so many people online calling them predators makes you upset. Your dads are nothing but respectful of you. They take such good care of you.
You always wake up feeling good on the nights you sleep besides either of them. Even better when they're both there.
But you can't seem to escape the exhaustion you feel all the time…
Your stepfather, Dr. Jack Abbot, tells you that you simply have a rare condition that has you feeling more physically tired than other people but there isn't really any kind of solution to it. You just have to deal with it, unfortunately.
You are incredibly grateful to your godfather, Andrew Cody, who Jack calls “Pope”, for all of his help. You're spoiled by his cooking and he keeps the apartment spotless to help prevent you from getting any more sick than you already are.
A commenter had asked you when the fatigue started and you told them after your mom died. You had assumed it was because she died so suddenly. You never had a good relationship with her, especially after you found out she was cheating on Jack, but you seemed to take her death hard because that's when you began feeling so tired all the time.
Then, that same commenter messages you directly and tells you that they think your dads are doing something to you and that is why you have such bad fatigue.
What a crazy thought.
There's no way that could be true…right?
Your dads love you. They would never—
“What are you looking at, kiddo?”
You flinch when you feel hands on your shoulders. You quickly shut your phone screen off, hoping Pope didn't catch the message you were reading…
“Just some dumb video.” You lie through your teeth.
“It's almost bedtime.” He pats the top of your head. “Do you want to shower first or can I?”
“You can go first, dad.” You look up at him and he leans down, giving you a kiss on the lips. Like he always does.
Definitely nothing weird about that!
“I'll be sure to keep the water running so it stays warm for you.” Pope loves the smile you give him.
Whenever he showers before you, he just wraps a towel around his waist when he's done and then leaves the shower running so the water is nice and ready for you.
Again, totally not odd behavior that your godfather is constantly showing off his well built body to you.
“All yours, kid.” He nudges you towards the bathroom so he can get changed.
Your eyes dart down to the towel around his waist and then you quickly head into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You have no idea why your heart is racing all of a sudden. It's because you keep thinking about what that commenter had sent you.
I bet your dads touch you in your sleep. Maybe even fuck you. Makes sense why you're always so tired when you wake up but still feeling good.
That can't possibly be true. You've never had sex before so there's no way.
Wouldn't you have felt an ache if they had?
You…remember that you did feel an ache, the first few nights after you moved in with Jack when your mom died. But when you told him about it, he dismissed it as stress from the grief. And you believed him.
Because he's your dad. You trust him.
It had never even crossed your mind that he would do something like that to you in your sleep…
Him and Pope.
Your mind drifts to the obvious bulge you saw your godfather sporting when he left the bathroom. You may have never seen his cock bare before but you've definitely noticed the outline of it whenever he wears sweatpants. Or when he gets too close to you in your sleep and you can feel his morning wood rubbing up against your ass…
But that's just normal for a man! He isn't hard because of you!
That's what you're trying to fool yourself into believing…but the truth is, Pope has been waiting all day for you to fall asleep so he can use that perfect little pussy of yours to get off.
It's his favorite thing in the world, pumping a load of cum deep inside his goddaughter without you knowing that it's happening.
Ever since Jack told him that's what he has been doing to you, Pope had to move into with the two of you so he could join in on the fun.
He never knew how perverted his twin brother was. Perverted enough to marry your mom to have access to you, his pretty stepdaughter. Perverted enough to ask Pope to kill your mom so Jack didn't have to deal with the divorce and so he could keep you by his side. Perverted enough to make Pope your godfather so he could have access to you too.
It's hard not to be disgustingly infatuated with you. You're an incredibly beautiful girl, who is so naive and innocent that you let two predators lay beside you in bed consensually.
So, it isn't their fault that they have the desperate desire to touch you. You made them like this!
And they made your body incredibly horny for them, even though you don't know it.
You cum so hard when your dads touch you in your sleep. Sometimes Jack has to sedate you so they have time to change out the sheets and clean you up before you wake up.
When they're a bit rougher than they mean to, Jack will give you a dose of painkillers so you don't feel the pain as much. Those are the days where he really has to feign like your illness has flared up.
Like it did this morning.
You wake up with a cramp in your belly and Jack and Pope both still asleep beside you. Jack must've just gotten home from his shift because his hair is still a little damp from the shower he takes before he goes to sleep.
The shower he takes after he fucks you to his heart's content.
You shake him awake because you're nervous about the belly ache. “Dad?”
“What's wrong, kiddo?” Jack opens his eyes, looking up at your worried ones. “Is everything okay?”
“My tummy hurts.” You tell him, clutching your stomach.
“Here.” Pope stirs awake too, wrapping his arms around you, placing his big hands on your lower belly. “This will help.”
You feel a rush of something straight to your core when his hard cock presses up against your ass. Like a need for him to be buried inside of you.
Wait, what?
You snap out of your head because you can't believe you just thought that!
You turn your attention back to Jack. “I don't know why it hurts. I didn't eat anything weird yesterday. Just Pope's cooking, like always.”
That makes Jack look up at Pope. Because he knows Pope has been jerking off into your food. His brother does it out of a weird desire for you to always have him inside of you. Something that Jack also wants, but he settles for cumming in your pussy and your ass.
“You just need rest, kiddo.” Pope rests his face in the nape of your neck, giving you a kiss there that sends those same unnerving shivers down to your core.
“I-I think I'm going to go watch some TV.” You quickly scramble out of Pope's hold and he bites back a grunt of annoyance at that. “Maybe the distraction will help.”
You leave the room and when they're both sure you can't hear them, Jack turns to Pope and says, “I fucking told you we shouldn't have both stuck it in her pussy at the same time.”
“But you saw the way she squirted like crazy. She loved it.”
“That's not the point.” Jack will not lose his only stress outlet because Pope wants to figure out more ways to make you cum harder and harder.
Pope had told Jack about the message he read over your shoulder. And conveniently, you went out to the living room just now to watch TV and you didn't take your phone.
So, Jack grabs it off the nightstand and goes through it.
Finding your post about him and Pope.
Seeing the comments and the private messages about it.
And the most recent reply you sent to the commenter who told you that they might be fucking you in your sleep.
I think you might be right.
Jack shows everything to Pope, who takes the phone from him. He decides to go through your search history to see if you had looked into reporting them to the police because he can't risk going back to prison. Even though he knows you don't have any evidence to back up this claim. Him and Jack are very thorough with their clean up.
But all he sees are searches you made asking for advice on how to stop wanting to fuck your—
Jack catches the phone when Pope throws it to him all of a sudden. “What the fuck—”
Pope stalks into the living room and you're startled to see him staring at you with such lust in his eyes.
Then, his words send such a fright through you, “you want us to fuck you?”
“W-What?” Your throat goes completely dry.
Because how does he know—
You glance over at Jack, who has your phone in his hand, adjusting his prosthetic with his other hand since he had to put it on quickly.
Heat fills your entire body instantly.
They looked through your phone.
They know what you searched up.
“Why didn't you just tell us, kiddo?” Jack walks up to you, joining his brother's side. “We would be happy to fuck you.”
“I-I…” You don't know what to say.
Because what are you supposed to tell your dads that you want them to fuck you?
That's just insane behavior!
Almost as insane as your godfather sitting down beside you on the couch so he can grab your face and kiss you.
This is nothing like the short pecks on the lips your dads give you.
This is…intense.
You can hardly breathe and you yelp against his lips when Jack sits down behind you and his hands slip under your shirt, going straight to tugging at your nipples. You never wear a bra to sleep and now you're regretting it…
Or, are you happy about it? Because you're building so much slick between your legs with every rough tug.
It's like he knows just how to touch you to get you close to cumming already.
Jack's rough handling of your breasts coupled with Pope's feverish kissing has your head spinning like crazy.
You have to put a stop to this!
“Wait, dad—” You're suddenly tugged towards Jack, your back crashing against his chest, and now he has your legs pinned wide open by his legs on the couch. “What are you doing—!”
Pope suddenly rips your shirt off your chest, causing you to let out a shriek that has Jack clamping his hand over your mouth.
“Quiet, kiddo.” His words have your head going fuzzy. “I'm sure you wouldn't want our neighbors to hear you cumming because of your dads.”
You bite back another shriek when Pope rips apart your sleep shorts and your underwear, leaving you completely naked in Jack's hold. Jack keeps one hand over your mouth and then the other one goes back to your breasts, rolling your nipple between his fingertips, causing you to moan uncontrollably into his palm.
“She's fucking dripping.” Pope runs his fingers along the length of your soaked slit. “She wants to get fucked again already.”
Wait, what does he mean by again—
You gasp against Jack's hand when Pope buries his face between your legs, his tongue dipping into you right away. You squirm but Jack keeps you trapped, forcing you to accept Pope's incessant tongue.
Pope has watched you cum from his mouth many times by now, but this is the first time he'll see you cum while you're awake.
So he needs to make it amazing.
You choke back another scream when Pope sticks three of his fingers inside of you. You can't believe how easily they slipped into you.
That's when the realization hits that your dads have definitely touched you in your sleep.
Because how else would Pope knows exactly where to curl his fingers to have you squirting all over them?
The orgasms he's forcing out of you have you whimpering into Jack's palm, the intensity of the pleasure tearing you apart.
“We're going to need a new couch if you keep cumming so hard.” Pope degrades you right before his fingers start moving roughly side to side, forcing you to cum even harder than before.
It only gets amplified when Jack turns your head towards him and starts kissing you so he can silence you that way since he wants to play with your perky breasts using both hands. You moan against his lips when he pinches your nipples.
Then, you completely fall apart when Pope's lips latch around your clit and start sucking that sensitive bundle of nerves.
You can't stop cumming.
This can't be happening, it can't—
“Don't pass out yet, kid.” Jack breathes out against your lips. “Your dads still have to fuck you.”
“No, no.” You shake your head, looking at Jack and Pope. “Dads, please. We can't, we can't—!”
“Make her ride your cock while I suck her clit.” Pope tells Jack, who doesn't hesitate to listen.
You feel your stepfather’s huge cock hit your back. Then, you're lifted up by them both until Jack's cock is perfectly aligned with your entrance. Jack sets you down gently but Pope, in his impatience, just slams you down, drawing out another sudden squirting orgasm.
“Delicious.” Pope finds his way back between your legs. “Now ride your dad’s cock, kiddo.”
You refuse to do so but then Jack puts you in a chokehold, his muscular arm cutting off your air as he whispers, “bounce on it or I'll strangle you to death.”
“Here, I'll help.” Pope grabs your thighs and lifts you up almost completely off Jack's cock before slamming you back down.
You don't even have to do the work. Pope has no trouble helping you pound his brother's cock inside of you. He does this over and over again until you're cumming so much on his tongue as he plays with your clit.
Jack keeps you breathless with his arm tightly held around your throat while his other hand goes up to your mouth. “Open wide or else.”
You have to listen so you part your lips for his thumb to slip in.
“Suck on it, kid.” He instructs and you hate the pleasure that shoots through you when you do.
The oral fixation, the inability to breathe, Jack's cock buried in your pussy, Pope's tongue on your clit, it's all so overwhelming that you can't control the orgasms that consume you.
And it only gets more unbelievable when Pope shoves a finger inside of you alongside Jack's cock. He stuffs another finger in, then another, until you're so full that your eyes start to water from the stretch. Then, your body starts convulsing when his fingers curl inside of you, sending you into a complete frenzy.
Jack loosens his chokehold and pulls his thumb out of your mouth so you can gulp in some air. “Good girl, deep breaths. You can take it. You need to make room for your dad’s cock.”
You don't understand what he's saying. Jack's cock is already inside of you.
What does he mean by—
You let out a scream when you feel Pope's cock pushing into you from the front, replacing his fingers. Jack leans you further back, to give Pope more room to push into you.
“No, stop, it's too much!” You shove at Pope but he snatches your wrists with his hand and grabs the back of the couch for leverage with his other hand.
“It's nothing you haven't taken before.” Pope's words have you staring back at him with such shock. “You're doing so well, kiddo. Just a little more and my cock can kiss your womb like Jack's is.”
“Does my daughter like it when her dad's cock kisses her womb?” Jack asks you and you can't even find the brainpower to react.
Your dads are fucking you stupid. You actually can't think. Your mind is so entirely focused on their cocks splitting you apart.
That you haven't even taken a moment to realize they're fucking you raw.
“Wait, I'm not on birth control!” You wriggle in Pope's grip, trying to fight him again.
Jack has you back in a chokehold then, not letting you resist this. “It's okay if you get pregnant, kiddo. Your dads are here to help.”
“We'll take good care of you and our baby.” Pope gestures for Jack to move his hand down to your lower belly. He massages right above your womb, making you fully aware of how full you feel with both of your dad's cocks buried deep inside of you.
“Let's give your womb a lovely kiss now.” Jack suddenly thrusts his hips upwards, slamming the tip of his cock against the entrance to your womb, forcing you to squirt on their cocks against your will.
“Told you she loves it.” Pope follows Jack's lead, ramming his cock deeper, kissing your womb with the tip of his cock over and over again.
They find a rhythm that has you trembling between them. You're stuck, unable to move, your body growing almost limp from the pleasure searing your skin.
At a certain point, you give in completely. That's when Pope lets go of your wrists so he can grab a hold of your face and kiss you while he fucks you. Jack frees you from his chokehold so he can have one hand playing with your breasts while the other slips between your legs and rubs your clit.
You're overstimulated to the max, but you love every second of it.
Your dads are so focused on making you feel good, drowning you in a bliss that you will never be able to get from anyone else but them.
They've ruined you entirely.
“Say you want your dads to cum inside of you.” Pope demands, his words so hot on your swollen lips.
“Say you want your dads to fuck a sibling inside of you.” Jack's words surprise even Pope, who smiles devilishly at his fucked up brother.
They truly are twins.
And you're their fucked up kid.
“I want my dads to cum inside of me.” You can't believe the words coming out of your mouth as you cum on their cocks. “I want my dads to fuck a sibling into me. Please, I want my dads to fill up my womb.”
That seems to trigger your dads to pour endless amounts of their release deep inside of you. Hot ropes of cum flood your pussy and you can't stop the orgasms that the feeling of being so full causes.
You're still cumming when your dads slip their cocks out of you. You cum even harder when they each shove three of their fingers inside of you, plugging you up, keeping their cum from spilling out of you.
“I can't cum anymore…” You say even though you can feel it building from them curling their fingers, stirring up your insides in the way only they can.
“Oh, you can.” Jack knows you can because him and Pope have trained your body well.
“And you will. You'll cum until we're hard again and then we'll fuck you again. And again. Until you can't fit any more of our cum inside of you, kiddo.” Pope tells you before giving you a loving kiss on the lips.
Jack does the same, kissing you like you mean the world to him.
You must mean a lot to them.
Why else would they take such good care of you?
That's why you message back that commenter: I love my dads.
And Jack chuckles when he gets that message in his inbox.
What a cute kid he has.
He shows the message to Pope, finally revealing that Jack baited you into finding accepting them.
Pope shares a laugh with his brother, finding you so adorable.
They really love being your dads.
a/n: I love my dads sm, even when they do me so nasty oop-
honestly I'm impressed with myself bc I sped wrote this the moment I remembered it was father's day LOL!
i just knoooooow bruce wayne’s thighs are so meaty
especially when your head was buried in between them, hands gripping them and throat filled with his large hard cock, tears prickling from the corner of your eyes from how he was barely leaving space for you to even breathe. your nails would lightly claw on his thighs, muffled whines heard from you
another thing is that his thighs would for sure have marks of those weapon straps he has on whenever he’s patrolling, red imprints of the belt and batarangs visible when he took it off due to how tight he always had it on
a groan left bruce’s lips, his hand gripping a fistfull of your hair and guiding your mouth on his length. “doin’ so good for me, sweetheart—!” he knocked his head back with a choked moan left his lips when he felt your tongue swirl around his length, brushing on his prominent veins. “fuuuck”
you were deepthroating him so good that his trail was tickling the tip of your nose and his balls were making contact with your chin, a muffled hum from you sending shivers to bruce’s body with a grunt.
as if that wasn’t enough, your fingertips trailed down to the strap marks on his thighs, feeling the imprint on his skin and tracing a batarang mark that was on his inner thighs. it made bruce’s breathing hitch from his gape lips and his cock in your mouth twitch. his hand in your hair pushed more of his length in— like the entirety wasn’t in already
“breathe from your nose, baby” his other hand came to tilt your chin and meet with your eyes. "thaaaats it, good girl" his hips started to move, noises from him leaving his lips and muffled ones from you. god, bruce was so big there was hardly any room for air to enter through
“just like that, baby. you just kneel down and —fuck— look pretty while i fill up those gorgeous lips of yours, yeah?”
yum, meaty
—————————————————————————
masterlist!
(a/n: THAT FANART I #NEEEEEEEEED THAT also help im writing this while watching the knicks and spurs game)
pope and his possessive girlfriend who he didn't really believe when she initially told him she had jealousy issues. it starts to come out in somewhat... subtle ways; slotting yourself into his side or onto his lap at any moment you feel like your territory is being threatened, leaving hair clips/ties in his car on purpose, or even wearing body glitter that will undoubtedly leave traces everywhere. it's not until craig makes a comment that you're marking your territory on pope like a dog does he seem more aware of it. craig points out to him that only a "crazy chick" leaves a trail of hickeys down neck that undoubtedly lead further down popes body then where he can see. by this point, there's really no stopping you and, frankly, pope didn't want to.
a sense of warmth, pride bloomed in his chest every time you placed yourself in his embrace. sitting on his lap, taking his arms to wrap them around your waist or guide his hand to slide in the back pocket of your pants while you pressed into him at any given moment. sitting in craig's bar, on a stool with pope standing beside you when a girl walks by making eyes at him, he couldn't describe the exact reason why he felt the carnal need to pound you into the next day when you tugged him by the belt loops of his jeans until he stood between your legs. or even why he felt himself stiffening his jeans when you slid your hand on his hip beneath his shirt, nails grazing his abdomen and v-line, tugging him down by his hair with your freehand to kiss him heatedly. slipping your tongue in his mouth, kissing like two teenagers who've had their first taste of each others flesh, all the while you're staring the poor girl down who thought she could ever stand a chance against coming between you and him. he felt a small inkling to maybe say something when he watched you stick your foot out and smirk watching the girl tumble. the poor girl who was pancaked on the floor had brushed up against him in her drunken stupor while making her way around the pool. but he couldn't, not when you looked at him so sickeningly sweet.
he definitely should've checked you on the bratty possessive behavior when he brought you back home for the typical cody family dinner. baz had brought cath so it was only right that he brought you along. over the years, cath's resentment towards baz for the life he had brought her into had grew tenfold when she watched you take the life she could've had with pope. of course, she never loved pope the way that you did, the way he deserved. it didn't stop her from feeling like maybe there was a chance to get that back. it was only a moment, to anyone else it was fleeting but to you, to you it was like time had frozen and you were seeing red. pope was on his usual cleaning frenzy after dinner and cath came into "help". the context of situation was irrelevant, all you could focus on was the way she was looking at him, hand on his arm and eyes desperately searching for any indication that maybe he'd want her still. their backs were to you when you slammed the wine glass onto the floor, shattering it to millions of glittering pieces. pope's body jumps a bit at the sheer surprise before he's immediately rushing over to check on you, tears welling in your eyes as you mumble 'm'so sorry'. cath's hand drops to her side as she watches the way coddled you, checking for cuts and making sure your okay. he had dropped his attention from her so quickly their should've been no doubt in her mind that the version of pope that loved her wasn't there anymore. she should've really known when she saw the cold stare in your eyes when just for a beat, you pulled back the sniffling so she could really see who pope belonged to.
even more so, cath should've know when she passed by pope's bedroom where the door was cracked ever so slightly. in his haste to taking you back to his bedroom, you seemingly forgot to close his bedroom door all the way. pinning your body beneath his as his pants pooled around his ankles, your bottoms discarded somewhere in the room in the room as he fucks you. your nails are clawing at his back, crying his name with every slap of his hips against yours, cunt drawing him in deeper with squeeze and desperate plea that slipped past your lips. your eyes drifted to that crack, seeing her standing there. tears slipped out of yours.
"you love me andy? do-do you love me?" the question is for him but you're looking dead at her.
"love you so fucking much, angel," he grunts into your neck, punctuating every word with a wet kiss to your neck. his thrusts unrelenting.
"only me andy? you only love me right?" it's desperate, needy. he was right in the palm of your hand but the fear and doubt lingered in the back of your mind. you haven't torn your gaze away, the pleasure so intoxicating it's playing games with your vision. if she was really standing there watching you both like this.
"only you... only you sweetheart. only one i love– fuck, i'm gonna fill this pretty pussy up... oh god, i love you... i only love you–"
although i'm still mentally recovering from the lingerie drabble (feral AS FUCK)
was wondering if you could cook up a little something about our dear lovely detective sammy bryant who is your coworker and lowkey struggles to keeps his eyes AND HANDS off of you if you're working together on something in the office 😏
thought you would like this one alex baby >:) chubby sammy bryant i am inside you !!
sammy bryant cannot keep his hands to himself. it’s seriously a chronic issue your boyfriend has. you don’t mind it when the two of you are alone. clearly you don’t, because you two have sex at least twice a day due to your insatiable need for one another.
but, you’ve been trying to keep your sort of new relationship under wraps at work. because you don’t want to get fired or worse, tell the other detectives in the division. not that you’re one of them. you’re the cutie crime scene tech who they all beg for help with the evidence on their cases. but in the end, it’s sammy who you gave a real chance to. and thank god you did. because sammy bryant is the best boyfriend with the best dick you’ve ever had. he’s sweet when he doesn’t have to be, thoughtful at times when others aren’t, and understands everything about you.
well, almost everything. your boyfriend seems to have the toughest time comprehending the ‘secret’ part of a secret relationship. seeing as he’s always trying to grope your waist in the hallway, press his soft belly to your back and crotch to your ass at your desk, or fully makeout with you in the elevator.
or like right now. when he’s followed you into an evidence closet and looks two seconds away from getting on his knees to literally beg as he looks at you with the biggest, most pleading puppy dog eyes. “can i please eat you out baby?”
you sigh loudly, dramatically. this is the third time this week that sammy has tried to go down on you at work. you've managed to keep him satiated with just dry humping in an elevator ride up until now in fear of getting caught. but when he clasps his shaky hands to actually plead, you finally give in.
you grab the collar of his button up that’s tight around his pudgy neck, pulling him until your back is pressed against the door. sammy panics slightly, his round, freckled face blotching red as he thinks you're moving to leave. he drops to his knees and whines, "please? i’ll be quick! promise!"
you giggle at his utter desperation to taste you. your thighs clench, your panties dampen at his pathetic tone. you reach down and cup his chubby cheek. he immediately nuzzles into the touch with a breathy sound. his meaty hands snake out to grip your knees that are exposed below your pencil skirt.
"i guess you have been a good boy today sammy…" you drawl, slowly draping one leg over his plushy shoulder. his pupils blow wide and his auburn curls shake with his rapid nods of agreement. "just a small taste and then we have to go back to work... okay?"
“fuck- thank you. thank you baby.” moving before you can blink, sammy hikes your leg higher up on his body and dives in between your parted thighs. you throw your head back in a gasp at the first long lick he takes of your clothed pussy. he groans so loudly when he finds how wet you are, your whole body vibrates with the sound. your hips instinctively buck towards him and he repeats the noise.
he grips your panties, tugging them up and to the side to make sure the fabric catches on your clit. his bulky forearm that keeps them held there presses you against the door. you moan at the jolt of pleasure appearing from the friction on your sensitive bud. sammy starts to lap you up. switching between tracing his tongue around your dripping entrance and sticking the warm muscle inside you and swirling it. “you taste so good- mmfhf- needed you all- all day sweetheart.”
you’re bitting your fist to hold back your noises, already squeezing your eyes shut at the white hot feeling sparking in your stomach. he paws at your opposite thigh with his free hand without even faltering his tongue’s movements. you’re then fully lifted of the ground and pinned to the wall, your thighs hugging his ears and your fingers gripping his now sweaty curls. it’s only then that you realize that sammy’s whimpering loudly from his place on his knees.
“s-sammy baby… you have to- ohmygod- have to be quiet.” he shakes his head rapidly. his nose rubs against your clit that’s already sensitive from the lace digging there. you squeal at the dual stimulation the firm stroking adds on top of his tongue slurping inside you. he presses his vein corded forearm harder into your abdomen to add even more pressure. your vision blurs at the edges.
“oh god! sammy im gonna- oh fuck!” your thighs start to shake around him as the tingling in your body grows tangible. bright and hot. you hear him release a whine in repsonse. pathetic and high pitched. you steal a glance down to see sammy bryant on his knees. eyes squeezed shut in pleasure of his own from licking your most intimate area. his meaty hips are humping into air. into nothing.
the sight is so desperate and wanting that you come with a muffled cry into your palm. legs shaking, walls fluttering and toes curling. he makes out with your achey core during your rise, peak and come down. when he's licked up every last drop of your orgasm, you sag against the door. sammy fixes your panties, then gently places you down.
rising to his full height, he gathers you in his strong arms and hugs you sweetly. his pudge you love so much warms you instantly. he kisses your cheeks and nose as you snuggle into him, before moving to place a soft one to your forehead.
sammy then acts as if you were the one who just gave him the best orgasm of his life by murmuring against your skin, “thank you so much sweetheart. i needed that.”
