Currently writing for: Andrew "Pope" Cody (aka, the love of my life)
Hopeful to write for (if I can get the thoughts out of my head and onto my laptop): Samira Mohan, Jack Abbott, Trinity Santos, and Sammy Bryant.
Animal Kingdom
The Pitt
This used to be a Glen Powell and Lewis Pullman page, so if you enjoy them at all, check out some of my older works
ok im back again (apt 17 brainrot aside) ... gimme pope cody asap. beach days and soft fluffy shit where he stares down any man that even GLANCES at reader tyvm
âââ BEACH DAYS
SUMMARY: Andrew does not get jealous when it comes to you. He feels secure enough in your love to know that you only have eyes for him. But he's not naive to the fact that other men have eyes for you, too.
WARNINGS: slightly possessive!Pope if you squint, heâs mostly just protective and paranoid.
AUTHORS NOTE: I love you for requesting this!! Also this is my first ever thing for Pope so Iâm still trying to figure out a writing style for his character⊠beware :///
PAIRING: Andrew Pope Cody x Reader
MAIN MASTERLIST
âââ ââ ââ â
The summer heat beats down on your skin, prickly hot and unforgiving.
You only agreed to come to the beach so you could watch Pope surf, admire his body in a skintight wet suit and the morbidly generous bulge that hangs between this legs.
But youâve been here for an hour and a half already, and heâs yet to get into the water. To even change into his wetsuit.
The moment you laid your beach towel onto the sand and shimmied out of your t-shirt and shorts, Pope decided there was no way in Hell he was going to leave you looking like that on your own.
Plump flesh and smooth skin, almost every inch of you exposed to the golden sun and predatory eyes of dirty men. It made his skin crawl the moment you laid flat on your back and the swell of your breasts shifted beneath the bikini.
He hasnât left your side since then, when he gracefully plopped beside you, back straight and knees bent with his fists in his lap.
Itâs not that Pope has a problem with you dressing like this. Youâre a beautiful woman and he can fight. You can wear what you want. But at no point does he relax.
Popeâs eyes remain alert, scanning for possible threats between families, couples, and groups of men or women. Like a guard dog, heâs ready to attack at a moments notice.
One wrong move, one wrong lookâ
âAndy, can you do my back?â
The soft rhythm of your voice lulls him back to you, eyes blinking away that darkness he tends to find himself struggling to swim in. Itâs one of those things that grabs him and pulls him under before he can register the shift himself.
Pope softens when he looks at you, the corners of his mouth feathering up in a ghost of a motion. Somewhere halfway between the beginnings of a smile and a smirk.
A nod of his head is enough of an answer before heâs reaching for your sun lotion, squeezing a generous dollop onto his rough palms.
Nothing goes unnoticed by Pope. He catches the shudder beneath your skin when his flesh touches yours. He notices the way you relax immediately after, takes note of the sigh that falls from your lips when he begins to knead and massage the lotion into your shoulders.
It sends a wave of warmth straight into his chest, one that heâs still learning not to question or refuse.
You turn your head, resting your cheek on the back of your palm as you face him with a lazy smile. âWhy arenât you in the water?â
He shrugs a shoulder, wipes his hands off on a cloth to rid the excess lotion from his skin. âI like sitting with you.â
âYouâre sitting like youâre my bodyguard.â The words come out airy on a laugh, eyes playfully squinted when Andrew's eyes harden slightly, not appreciating the tease.
âForgive me for wanting to make sure my girlfriend can enjoy the sun in peace.â His words are drawled out lazily, a lilt of unbothered sass woven between each syllable.
A louder chuckle escapes you at that and you find yourself sitting up on your knees beside him, hands pawing at his biceps. Pope's skin is hot beneath your touch, freckled from the sun and tinged slightly pink.
He watches you with an intense, heated gaze. Like you're something he struggles to control himself around.
"No one's going to approach me," you try to gently reassure him.
Andrew cocks a brow, unimpressed.
"Do you want me to cover upâ"
"No," he cuts you off quickly before softening his tone and hardening expression. "No, you should be able to wear whatever you want."
You regard him for a moment, head tilting like you're trying to read his mind. You don't need to, though. You know how protective he is over you, how the thought of another mans eyes on your body sets his blood on fire.
You're no better when it comes to ogling womenâsomething that your sweet Andy is a bit too unaware of. Maybe it's a good thing he's not in that wetsuit today...
It's without much more of a thought that you lay back down on your towel, head propped up against another rolled up towel, and spread your legs and pat your stomach.
Andrew watches with pinched brows when you pat your abdomen again.
"If you're not going to go in the water, you might as well get comfy."
He takes the offer immediately, shuffling across the towel to lay between your legs. Not the usual situation for this position, but he'll take whatever closeness he can get.
So, Andrew lays on his backânot his stomach, he still wants to be alertâ and rests his head against your thigh. He feels motion at the side of his face, notices the brief movement of you reaching for your book.
"Want me to read to you?"
His heart pulsates at the offer. Part of him wants to refuse, something so tender that's usually only shared in the darkness of the night when he can't sleep.
But he can feel himself growing irritable beneath the scorching sun, can feel his shoulders tensing more and more every time someone so much as walks past you.
If anything can begin to soothe him, it's your voice.
Summary: A home gym made perfect sense for Jack's schedule, but by suggesting putting it in the same space as your office you may have set yourself up for failure. Now your husband is catching on to an odd desire of yours.
Contents: Jack Abbot x fem!reader, reader and Jack are married, sweaty post-workout smut, scent kink, armpit kink, armpit sniffing & licking, daddy is used once, petnames (hon, sweetheart, dirty girl), thigh riding, a smidge of nipple play & titty fondling(m!receiving), a lil bit of mean!Jack, really just teasing. if this isn't your thing that's completely understandable but please just move along!
Note: i know that my pope x virgin!reader was supposed to be my next fic posted, but the brain worms took over and i couldn't stop thinking about sweaty, post-workout jack so here we are. could be considered a part 2 of laundry fiend. kinda nervous posting this one cause i feel like armpits can be kind of a controversial thing, but ive posted freakier so im jus gonna go for it!
thank you @snoopy-abbot-archives for the home gym idea! credit to @/saradika-graphics for the divider.
Word Count: 2k
Ao3 Link: read here!
In theory, it was a great idea. A home gym made perfect sense. It means Jack no longer has to waste time commuting to and from the gym. After working out he can wash off immediately in the comfort of his own shower equipped with all the amenities he needs. He loves it, and you're happy that he does.
In practice, it has proven to be a severe and continuous test of your will powerâa distraction like none other you've had to endure before.
Truly, you brought this upon yourself when you suggested putting the gym in the same room as your office. It was a big enough space that often went under utilized otherwise. What you didn't take into account is the fact that you would have to deal with your incredibly attractive and handsome Jackie using said gym while you work.
Working from home is usually a blessing. With Jack's unordinary work schedule it allows for flexibility you normally wouldn't have. You can't be more grateful for all the extra time you get to spend with him. But you're also human, and there's only so much you can handle when it comes to your husband's hot and sweaty visage.
Your eyes flick up, peering across the room from over the top of your monitor. Jack is finishing his final set, and you seize the opportunity to eye him up for the umpteenth time. His silver curls have gone damp, flattened at the crown. A few strands are plastered at his temples and the springy curls at the nape of his neck cling to his skin. His shirt cleaves to his torso, the fabric darkened at the pits. You swallow hard. A thin sheen of sweat glistens across a his skin, providing a canvas for sunlight to sketch a golden outline around him. He looks heavenly, and he's all yoursâor he could be if you hadn't let the deadlines pile up.
A frown tugs the corners of your lips downwards. Your gaze returns to the screen in front of you. It's a little embarrassing that you've let something like this affect your work so much. Just as your hands return to your keyboard, Jack ambles over. You perk up a little as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, murmuring something about lunch, but it's in one ear and out the other. You can feel the heat radiating off him. His scent floods your senses, and your thighs shift in your chair, pressing together. Fuck. Your body slopes nearer, chasing closeness where he's managed to barely slip away.
"Hon?" You blink and you're dragged back down to this plane of existence. "Everything okay? I asked if you wanted lunch."
"Yeahâyes, just trying to catch up on some deadlines," you nod towards the screen, but as you speak you can practically feel his suspicions growing. He gives you a once over, brows furrowing before smoothing over. A chuckle rumbles from his throat and that's how you know that he's clued into what exactly is afflicting you.
His gaze darkens, lids slanting heavier over his eyes as he regards you with a maddeningly smug look. What a predicament it is to be inâto have Jack Abbot aware that he's got you wrapped around his finger. Though something tells you the depths of your perversions haven't quite been fully realized. How every cell in your body is urging you to submerge yourself in himâin his scentâto burrow under his arm and live there for a little while, or an eternity if the constraints of reality would allow.
"Why don't I go shower then we can pick this back up after?"
Your voice surfaces even quieter this time. "I like how you are⊠right now."
"No!" The word bursts from you and you're helpless to stop it. It's followed up by a meek correction. "Don't please."
You think over your next words with more care this time around, determined to stop making such a fool of yourself. It's just Jack, your loving husband⊠who also happens to love poking fun and teasing you endlessly over anything and everything, your brain inopportunely reminds you.
Constantly stealing his clothes and wearing his unwashed hoodies is one thing. That is a hurdle you've long since gotten over. Wanting to taste the sweat off his skin and bury yourself into every crevice of his body is something entirely differentâdefinitely not something you're raring to admit to your menace of a husband.
"All gross and sweaty?" He asks with an arched eyebrow.
"S'not gross, you smellâŠ" Divine, delicious, aphrodisiacal, like sinful temptation itself. You settle for something less assuming in an attempt to preserve your image that he seems keen on tarnishing with all his teasing. "Nice."
Jack towers over you for a moment longerâall corded in muscles still pumped from his workout. It makes his shirt look a size too small around his swollen biceps. Then he grabs you and pulls you up from your chair before swapping places with you.
The chair creaks as he settles. It leaves him looking up at you, but somehow you still feel small under the weight of his undivided attention. His thick thighs part until they tap against the arm rests. He's offering himself up to you. You accept eagerly, bringing yourself over one of his thighs. A hand slides along his arm, mapping out the veins that traverse all the way up the freckled length of it. Your fingers skate the edge of his sleeve, and two slip beneath the fabric, inching closer to the summit of their hike.
"Nice?" He tilts his head. The single syllable stops you in your tracks. Your lip quivers, and you chance a look at him. He's leaned back against the back of the chair, relaxed, hazel eyes assessing you. His hands are braced on the armrests, fingers twitchingâitching to reach out and lay themselves on you but he doesn't move them. He's lying in wait, watching you dig yourself deeper and deeper until you have no choice but to outright admit what you want. Your every filthy desire.
And dug a hole you have. Fuck it.
"Yes, so niceâŠ" you purr, tipping forward to bring your head to the crook of his neck. You fist at his t-shirt as you leave a smattering of kisses along his skin and over his clothed shoulder.
"Didn't know my wife was such a pervert," he mutters. You should feel mortified by the comment, but it sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. The tip of your nose brushes right over the crease of his armpit. His scent is most potent there but still obscured by cotton. "Yeah, you like daddy's scent? Is that it?"
That makes your eyes shutter closed and roll behind their lids. Your clit pulses between your legs like it's got a heartbeat of its own.
"MhmâŠ!" You can only manage a stifled sound before he's shuffling beneath you, the muscle of his thigh flexing where you're slotted over him. He loses his shirt quickly, peeling it from his sweaty chest and tossing it somewhere on the floor.
"You aren't very subtle, sweetheart." His arm lifts, and he cups the back of his head baring his armpit to you. You salivate at the sight, wide eyes slashing between his gaze and the current epicenter of your desire. At first, you're hesitant despite the encouragement.
"Go on, you're practically drooling," he says, "bet your cunt's drooling too."
It wouldn't take much to prove his words right. Only a couple of thick fingers tucking themselves into your pants, but there's no need. You're sure he can feel the damp heat of you over his leg. Reluctance falls apart at the seams, and you move closer, inch by inch. Except, you don't start where he expects.
As avid as you are, you begin elsewhereâat his stomach, where a slight pudge pours over the waistband of his shorts. Warm flesh dimples as you knead at it. His skin is tacky from a layer of cooling sweat. Your lips descend as your hands climb up, up, up, racking over his ribs then crawling around to cup his pecs. Languidly, you drag your lips down the wide column of his throat, feeling his Adam's apple bob.
"You smell so good..." you murmur. Along the way, you pepper kisses over his sternum, moving closer and closer toâa small, throaty sound ruptures his bout of silence, pulled from him when your lips close around his nipple, tongue flicking gently. Eventually, your patience begins to wear thin like flame whittles a candle wick.
And once it's all burnt up, you're moving fast, advancing on the place you've been pining after this whole time. Your face comes to rest against the shallow divot of his armpit. All it takes is one deep inhale and you're already lightheadedâdrunk off his scent. There's a subtly sweet undertone. Musk and honey and sandalwood and him. Maybe you're so out of it that you are hallucinating it all. Either way, it is intoxicating, it is addicting, and it makes you fucking feral.
You nose at him. The thatch of hair there tickles your skin. It's as if this little hollow was carved into your mountain of a man for the express purpose of being the perfect cradle for your face. Sweat has gathered there in excess. Dewdrops beaded along warm skin. Your tongue rolls out and you run it flat over the curve of his underarm. Salt and tang bursts on your taste buds.
Underneath you, his knee jumps. It jolts you and rattles a muffled moan from your lips. Nipping lightly, you draw a muttered curse from him, low and raspy. In response, he grabs a handful of your ass and hauls you closer, dragging your clothed cunt over his leg. You slide back and he pulls you close again. It starts as a sluggish back and forth motion, like the ebb and flow of the tide coming in and out, but it escalates.
Sensation is dulled by the layers between you and your movements turn franticâa desperate, stuttered rutting as you bring your clit up and down his meaty thigh, mewling open mouthed into his sweaty armpit each time the swollen bud catches on the fabric of his shorts.
"Shitâyou close, baby?" He rasps above you, your frenzied movements giving you away. You nod against him and he helps as best he can, grappling at your waist and guiding your movements again. Up. You're closer. Down. Nearly there justâup again. You shudder.
It's pure ecstasy. Stars erupt behind your eyelids. Every nerve from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes igniting all at once. Your movements falter and your mouth falls open, face nesting further into the concave of his underarm. You drown yourself in his scent as your cunt clenches around nothing, throbbing helplessly as you come to a standstill over his thigh.
His large hand smoothes over your side, stopping to pinch at your hip. "You're fuckin' filthy," he huffs. It's completely hypocritical.
"You're one to talk," you say, reluctantly pulling your face away just to speak. You can bet good money he's hard as a rock right now. In factâyour hand slithers between you, and sure enough. A groan threatens to bubble up but he bites it back.
"Yeah? How long have you been fantasizing about this?" He grinds out while you continue to palm him through his shorts. The answer to that question is far more incriminating than you'd like it to be, but before you can even attempt to save face, he's interrogating you further. "This why you moved me in here, for your own personal show?"
"You are much, much more attractive when you aren't talking."
Jack laughs at that. He doesn't believe you for a second, but he takes the hint and doesn't press further on that front. Smart man. "You had your fill, dirty girl, or have I yet to earn your permission to go shower?"
"Hm⊠" you hum, pretending to think it over, "only if you extend an invite."
"That was the plan," he remarks, jutting his hips up and pressing his erection into your touch for emphasis.
âItâs justâŠâ Rhett kind of wanted to tell you that you had just become his hero. How many things had Rhett wanted to do but hadnât, because he didnât think that Royal would have approved. Rhett had wanted to go to college, maybe study Ag or business so he could help out more with the farm. But the one time he had talked to Royal about it, Royal had laughed in his face.
How many times had Rhett thought about leaving the farm, leaving Wabang behind. A lot of times he felt like he was more of a burden then a help to his family.
But he didnât feel like that with you. He didnât feel less then, didnât feel stupid or useless. So he kept his mouth shut. Afraid that if he voiced his thoughts, that you might judge him for not leaving. Or worse, agree with everyone else. Say that he wouldnât have made it through college. Say that all he was good for was fucking and bull riding and being a punching bag and scapegoat for his families' problems.
What's the Consensus*
Don't you know that orgasms can help with cramps?
Okay, It's Bed Time
When Finn comes over to your place to study, he doesn't expect to actually have to study. And he really doesn't expect the breakdown that ensues because of the studying.
Nevertheless, he finds himself staying...
Bet on It Part One Part Two
A missed meeting, a drugstore bag with a fake pregnancy test, a forgetful Kenny Roper, and intimate knowledge about a bet made by the STU baseball team. What could go wrong?
Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader x Javy "Coyote" Machado
âI've just been feeling a little lonely. Itâs been a long week and all I really wanted to do was go home and curl up in bed with you two. Then I get here, and Jake has basically ignores me for a fucking pool game!â
Or, you really needs some attention from her two favorite boys after a long, stressful week. Javy takes one look at you, and notices something is off. Jake, not so much.
(im)Patienly Waiting*
Pairing: Bob Floyd x Reader x Jake "Hangman Seresin
"You and Bob have been dancing around one another for years. Now, with Jake and Bob eyeing each other, you have a plan. Hopefully, it ends with both of them in your bed... or any bed."
Summary: Your husband, Sammy Bryant, comes home for his lunch break. The two of you find a way to make time for food and a little extra ;)
Warnings: 21+, established relationship, big dick! husband!Sammy, hypersexual! wife!reader, size kink, fingering f!recieving, oral m!recieving, unprotected piv, dacryphilia, forced orgasm, pet names (including bunny, baby, etc), pussy pronouns, lots of fluff
Word Count: 2.7k
acab btw
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"Sammyyyy!!" You cheer as he comes through the front door, you rush over to him with your arms out and he wraps you up instantly.
"Hi, bunny." He signs, relief washing over him the same moment he feels you in his arms. You climb up him until your legs around around his work belt. "Hold on, hold on, let me get this off." He hoists you up higher with one arm while the other unlatched his work belt and sets it on the entry table.
"That's better." You hum, situating yourself on his hips much better now. You pepper his face with kisses as he walks further into your shared home. "I missed you so much, handsome. So happy you came to visit." You coo between kisses, fidgety in his hold as need settles between your legs.
"I missed you too baby." He returns the sentiment, rubbing your back as he walks you over to the couch. "Wanna eat? Only got a few minutes." He suggests and you nod excitedly. You slowly slide out of his hands, pushing him back to sit in the couch before you scurry off to the kitchen.
You fix him a plate of your homemade meal and grab a cold can of cola before returning to the living room. You can't help your grin as you set everything down on the coffee table in front of him.
"Here, handsome." You chirp, skipping around the table and hopping down in the spot next to him. You lean in close to his side, kissing up his neck because you just can't help yourself. He smells so good, like his cologne mixed with a little sweat from the work day. It drives you crazy.
"Thank you, bunny. This looks amazing - Hey, that tickles!" Sammy nudges you away from his neck when you get carried away. You're blushing and grinning at him as he reaches for the plate, taking a big bite and moaning in satisfaction after swallowing it down. "That's delicious, m'so lucky, - you spoil me bunny." He coos, leaning over to peck your lips thankfully, before taking another bite.
Your hands roam over his chest, fingers dancing between his button to feel the warm skin beneath. It makes your thighs clench together, you scoot closer to hip, one of your knees overlapping his thighs as you kiss his face and neck.
"Bunny, I have to eat," Sammy groans, clearly conflicted by your touch. "Fuck-" He hisses when your knees presses into the fat bulge growing in his slacks.
"I know, Sammy, just wanna make you feel good." You whisper, kissing his jaw and replacing your knee with your hand. You stroke him over his slacks, enjoying how much of him there is to touch and lean against.
Your husband is a stout man and it does something to you. You love every inch of him, from his chubby belly to his chubby cock. You shiver at just the memory of how full he makes you, it makes you whine with need. You've already soaked through your silk shorts just by rubbing your thighs together.
Sammy notices how worked up you're getting, he can always tell when you need him. He quickly shovels a few more bites in while the food is hot before setting the plate back in the coffee table. When he leans back he pulls you into his lap, big hands on your hips as your straddle him.
"C'mere, baby." He coos, finding your lips at the same time he grinds himself between your legs. He groans from the friction and you cry out. The small sensation feels like such a relief, Sammy works you up so much sometimes you wonder if you're spelled, you just need him all the time.
It's not always sexual, you married the man for gods sake. But you can't deny that his special touch in the bedroom drives you just as crazy as his crooked smile and round cheeks. He's your Sammy, and you want to feel him fill you up.
You reach between your bodies, frantically ripping Sammy's slacks open. He kisses your jaw and caresses your body all over, giving you goosebumps despite how warm he is against you. When you finally free his length your hand is instantly wrapped around his wide shaft.
"God, Sammy, I love you so much - need it, need it!" You whine, wiggling in his lap as you're overcome with need. You guide his tip to your clothed entrance, using his mushroom head to slid your shorts aside.
"Woah, woah baby, not yet. You know that. Have you stretched yourself yet today?" Sammy grabs your wrist to slow you down, his other hand cupping your cheek as you pout at him.
"No..." You huff, wanting to skip the prep part and just have him split you open. At this point you're not sure you care. But you know Sammy does, he's always so dedicated to making sure you're ready to take all of him. Sometimes it takes all his fingers and an orgasm before he can pound you the way he likes without bringing you to tears - and he never minds. "But I don't care, we can just grab the lube and..."
"No, baby, you know better than that." Sammy shakes his head and it makes you pout further. You're just so desperate for him, it's getting more and more unbearable by the second. "Take your bottoms off and I'll get you ready, hurry." He encourages, guiding you off his lap.
You stand up, giggling with excitement. Sammy grabs a few more bites of his food as you undress from the waist down. You swirl your own fingers over your clit as soon as you're exposed, biting your lip to stifle your noises as the relief sets in. It's not enough but it'll keep you from crying for now.
"Bunnyyy - c'mere," He huffs, losing his breath at the sight of your slim fingers swirling around in your wet, messy, pussy.
"Finish your food, I'll start." You encourage, trying to stand up straight in front of him. Sammy picks up his plate with haste and it makes you blush. You place your non working hand on his shoulder for balance as you sink a finger into your dripping cunt. The twinge of relief makes you whiny which makes it nearly impossible for Sammy to control himself.
"Do another bunny, I know you can take it, I hear how wet you are." Sammy begs of you. When you listen however it has him at his wits end. He's right though, your second finger glides in along with your first with no resistance. "Good girl, such a pretty pussy." He whines, reaching for you but you redirect him to his plate. He coughs on his food when you start fucking yourself with real force and speed.
"Hurry up and eat, need your fingers instead." You tell him when you become impatient. He scarfs down the remnants on his plate before tossing it on the table. He shoves his slacks down around his hips, grabbing your arms and dragging you all the way back to him. You slide between his legs instead of crawling into his lap and his shivers.
"Baby, you don't gotta do that." He pets your hair and tilts his head.
"I want to." You assure him, grabbing his length with both of your hands before wrapping your mouth around his tip. He bucks up accidentally, forcing himself to the top of your mouth as distorted sounds escape him.
"M'so sorry, baby - didn't mean that, fuck, keep going - please!" He grunts out, petting your head as his lays back on the couch.
You swirl your tongue around him, bobbing up and down a few times at a comfortable depth. Sammy whines and writhes under your touch, you can see him resisting the urge to take over and fuck your mouth. He knows he'd have you gagging and choking and you'd love it but he just doesn't have time to indulge that far.
So, he lets you sputter for a few moments, enjoying the show you put on for him while you have your fun. When he can't take it anymore he grabs your arms and drags you back to his lap. You straddle his thick thighs as he guides you to slide your slick pussy along his shaft.
He slides a hand between your legs, his blunt finger tips teasing your entrance. You whimper and shift down against him, begging for more.
"You're so wet, bunny. She needs me, doesn't she?" Sammy asks earnestly, kissing your lips and teasing you with his tongue as he sinks a finger into you. You whine and nod your head to agree with him.
"Your pretty little pussy is dripping for my chubby cock all the time, huh? She wants to be stretched wide, hm?" He continues, fucking you faster so you're practically incoherent just off one finger.
"Could take my bunny's pussy anytime I want 'cause she's always ready for me?" Sammy sinks a seconds finger into you, dripping down his own shaft at the sounds you make.
"Oh, god, Sammy! I love your words but please - please stop teasing me, gimme your cock!" You beg and plead, wiggling your hips around and digging your fingers into his shoulders.
"Think you can take me already? Without being properly prepped?" He looks up at you with curious eyes.
"Yes! Sammy, give it to me, please!" You go on with your whining and he finds it so endearing. He loves that his wife can't get enough of him, that she's so eager even knowing that it'll be too much. He's the same way with you, risking returning late just to get a good orgasm out of you.
"C'mon, baby," He instructs, slipping his fingers out of you and grabbing your hips to pull you closer. You go eagerly, holding his shoulders for balance as you hover over him. He guides his tip to your soaking entrance and you whimper, instantly shifting for more. "Hey, hey, go slow!" Sammy urges, sounding so worried about you.
You don't head his warning, forcing his tip and a little more inside your cunt. Sammy shudders and digs his fingers into your hips, clearly struggling to hold back. You're a whiny mess, the burn of the stretch egging you on. It hurts so good.
"Oh god, yes Sammy!" You cry out, writhing uncontrollably. Every thrust you manage to stuff a little bit more of him inside of you, so desperate and determined to take all of him.
The stretch has tears stinging in your eyes, stealing the air from your lungs, leaving you an absolute mess on top of him. Sammy holds your flushed face in his hands, his own pleasure all over his face as he watches you struggle to get all of him in.
"So, so beautiful bunny! Please be careful - don't hurt yourself, - ah! Fuck!" He tries to slow you down but your fight back, slamming yourself down with all your might.
You're too impatient to wait for your pussy to stretch gradually, instead you grind your swollen clit against the sparse happy trail on Sammy's lower belly, where his shirt rode up, to help. He's a sputtering mess, trying to get you to calm down and breathe for a moment.
It doesn't work, you move too quickly and with too much determination, he can't tame you. He holds you close and tight, kissing you anywhere he can reach, hands groping your ass for comfort.
"Mm, love you so much, bunny. Love the way you bounce on me, so so pretty." Sammy praises, petting your hair and face, nails down your back as he kisses the whimpers out of you.
"Fuck me back, Sammy, please!" You beg, kissing his lips to seal your request.
"I can't baby, it'll hurt," He argues gently but you just won't hear it.
"I don't care! It's not enough, I need all of you - please, fuck me back!" You continue on, practically hysterical by this point.
"I got you, baby." He huffs, wrapping his arms under yours and bringing you to on his chest. "I'll give you what you need, don't worry." Sammy uses his leverage to bounce you off of him as he starts thrusting up into you.
"That's why you married me isn't it?" Sammy groans into your neck. "Cause I know how to take care of you, I know what my bunny needs." His lips trace down your neck, hands rough and demanding on your hips.
"You take such good care of me, baby." You whine back to him, your voice cracking with tears.
His pace is relentless, just like what you begged for. The pain echos through you, along with the the tingles of pleasure that follow. You start to wonder if you've become a masochist for your husband's cock.
He fucks you until you're a blubbering mess, sniffling through the moans bellowing out if you. Sammy and you work together to keep a steady pace, he kisses the tears from your cheeks and holds you close.
"Let it out, baby, I know, I know." He coos at you, caressing your legs and your back to soothe you. "I can feel you getting close, bunny." He whispers, nudging your face with his nose. You whimper back, intimidated by the pressure building in your belly.
"S'too much, Sammy. You come!" You insist, making Sammy scoff at you.
"You must be fucked silly on my big fat cock, huh? Thinking I'm gonna come before you, ridiculous." He shakes his head, holding your jaw to lift you away from his chest where you lay.
He holds you up right, his free hand reaching for your swollen clit. You try to bag his nimble fingers away but he's too strong, circling your nerves so expertly you start shaking.
"What makes you think I'm going to let you not come? - you become such a dumb bunny when I give every inch of me." His fingers and fat cock work you to the edge quicker than you can register.
"Sammy," You whisper, your body going limp in his hold as your orgasm bursts through you. Your eyes roll back in your head, your husband's strong hands hold you up as he pounds you through it.
"That's it, baby, - fuck! You grip me so good, - gonna make me come too." He grunts out, his hips stuttering as you start to come down. You might as well be a ragdoll as Sammy fucks himself through his orgasm. He's so deep it makes you hiccup every few thrusts from the depth, you can feel him in your belly and he loves it. He spends a few extra thrusts making sure his come stays deep inside you.
When he's finished making a mess of you and slowly eases his half hard cock out of you, kissing you the whole time as a distraction. He scoops your limp body up in his hands and lays you down on the couch, kissing your face and lips as you return to earth.
He guides your panties back up your legs and over your plump ass, tapping a cheek for encouragement once you're covered.
"Love you so much, Sammy. - You felt so good." You mumble, almost incoherent but he can understand you. His gentle hands are on your face, making sure now hair is out of place.
"Love you too, bunny." He whispers, covering you up with a blanket and kissing your forehead. "Don't clean up, okay? I still wanna be inside you when I get home." He requests, nuzzling your nose.
"Wouldn't think of it, Sammy." You hum, cuddling his large hand.
"Gotta get back to work now, baby. - Thank you for lunch." He kisses you again, hesitating to pull his arm away from you.
"Anyyytime." You sing, winking at him even though your eyes burn.
"Get some rest for me. I'll see you so soon." He coos, pecking you gently as you start to get drowsy. You hear him say other sweet things, how he loves you and can't wait to come back home to you.
You doze off, the adrenaline gone now so you're exhausted. The feeling of being so full of your husband even as he returns to work follows you into your dreams.
Your first night staying at the Cody residence you were a little intimidated by the one they call 'Pope'. He's always brooding, glaring or wandering around the house at odd times. Although, as days pass you start to realize how sexy Pope is. His broad shoulders, big biceps, his pretty curls and tight collared shirts. His voice is gravely and always has a tone of meloncholy to it.
Pope knew he was going to struggle with you staying in the house. You spent too much time by the pool and too small bikinis. He finds himself watching you closely as you lounge by the pool to tan and when you hop in to paddle laps. Things progress quickly for Pope, the sight of you wandering around the house too tempting for him to handle.
One afternoon while you're smoking poolside with Daren and J, Pope slinks into the room you've overtaken. He scans the space until he finds what he wants. Spotting a pair of lacey pink panties laying discarded near your bed, Pope snatches them and leans against your matress. He shuffles his jeans down around his hips, just enough to release his stiff cock, stroking himself slowly as he brings your dirty panties to his nose. Your scent drives him crazy, his hips bucking up to chase the warm cunt it comes from. Sadly, his fist will have to satisfy him, he fucks it fast and hard, picturing your sweet slickness covering his cock and abdomen. He comes to the smell of your panties the the thought of you split open on his fat cock. He snatches tissues from your bedside table to clean himself up, tucking your panties in his back pocket for later.
This becomes a regular thing for Pope, once a week or so he sneaks into your room and tangles his cock in the fabric of your used panties. He hopes you won't notice the pairs gone missing because he's starting to enjoy his little collection.
Overtime he starts to feel a little guilty, having normal, curt conversations with you on a daily basis while vandalizing your under garments. You're so bubbly and kind to everyone, including Pope, oblivious to the nasty things he fantasizes about you. Despite the guilt he can't stop, he doesn't think he'll be able to until you're moved out, no longer around to tempt him.
Although the guilt lessens a little the first time he catches you in his bed. You had thought you were the only one home. Everyone else was at their place or out, so you made yourself comfortable in his bed like you do occasionally.
When no one is at the Cody house but you, which happens every so often, you like to curl up in Pope's bed. Over the last few weeks living here you've developed an unhealthy attachment to him. He's intriguing to you but it's become more intense over time. You enjoy your morning chats over coffee, the times when he joins you in the pool or helps you on the grill. But when you go to bed, horny and restless, Pope is all that's on your mind. Sometimes you just nap in his bed, curling up in the sheets and blankets that smell of him and drift off to sleep. In your dreams Pope is the one cradling you instead of his bedding. Other times you crawl into Pope's bed with an aching pussy and a determination.
Today was one of those days your pussy had just been pounding all day long, you watched Pope take a morning swim and felt needy ever since. When you spread your legs over his stiff memory foam pillow you're sure you're alone. You cup one of your breasts as they hang from your loose bikini top, rolling your taught nipple between your finger tips. Your other hands holds Pope's pillow still as you rock your hips back and forth. Your bikini bottoms have been discarded somewhere on the bed, so your bare clit writhes against his silky pillow case. You imagine that it's Pope's thigh, or thick abs rubbing your sensitive nub. Whimpers and moans escape from your lips, you don't bother worrying about your volume because you still assume you're by yourself. You grind relentlessly, making a mess on Pope's pillow as you chase your high. You hunch forward, hugging the pillow tight to your core as your orgasm washes over you. You make sure to grab your bottoms, remaking Pope's bed just the way you found it before scurrying back to your room for a shower.
Little did you know Pope was lurking in the doorway pretty much the whole time. He'd come back to the house early to change and stumbled upon you dry humping his pillow. He was sure you just didn't want to use your own but didn't stop you. Instead, he stands where he can watch you clearly as he pulls his own cock from his pants. He bites his tongue and fucks his fist while watching you writhe, coming all over his stomach and hand at the same time you come on his pillow. He makes sure not to watch that pillow case, adding it to the list of fabric articles he uses to get off that relate to you.
Pope had convinced himself that finding you in his room didn't mean anything. He continued to watch you from afar like a creep, coming to anything and everything that reminds him of you. He worries he's over stepping a line the longer this goes on, he's started watching you touch yourself in your own room and listening when you shower.
That is until he finds you in his room again. You've made sure you're home alone before you sneak into Pope's room. Something that you've become all too good at, something you do too often. This time he arrives in the middle of it, approaching softly when he hears your moans and cries. His hawk eyes settle on you through the cracked door; you're on your back, legs spread wide with your two middle fingers pumping in and out of your dripping cunt. Your other hand circles your clit in vicious patterns, making you jerk and shiver. You're red faced, panting and whining so loud it buzzes in Pope's ears.
You're frustrated because you know Pope has a big cock and you're slim fingers just aren't fulfilling your fantasies the way you need. You jam them up into your pussy as deep and as hard you can but it's not enough. You start to whimper uncontrollably, tears pricking your eyes because of how frustrated and empty you feel.
"Andy, please." You sob, shoving a third finger into your needy pussy. You quiver and clench around your fingers, sobbing louder because it's still not what you need. "Want your big dick, mmph!" You whine, imagining him harder than you ever have before, so so desperate. Pope resists every urge in his body to burst through the doorway and shove himself inside you. It's the most difficult thing he's ever had to do but he manages to stay in the door way with his cock in his hand. You pound your pussy so hard and fast that Pope can hear the mess over your moaning and crying. You fuck yourself until your body can't take it anymore, moaning Pope's real name as the thought of him carries you over the line.
Your orgasm rips through you, still somehow disappointing your senses because your fingers can't keep up with the pace you need, on top of not filling you up the right way. Pope comes on himself the moment he hears you come loose, you sob uncontrollably, masking the sounds of Pope grunting because he just can't hold it in. You lay sprawled out on his bed for a few minutes, catching your breath and trying not to feel discouraged. You stand up to find your clothes, deciding it's probably a good time to get out of Pope's room. As you pile them in your arms you stumble upon a pair of his boxers, slipping them in with your stuff before sneaking back to your own room.
Pope decides to take things further after watching you like that. A few nights later after he's returned from a particarly tiring job he enjoys a cocktail you fix for him and the view of you skinny dipping once you think he's gone to bed. He watches you all the way back to your room, lurking as you wind down and get ready for bed. He stands in the shadows as you comb your hair, brush your teeth and crawl into bed. You sleep in a silk slip dress and nothing else, hoping the lack of fabric will help with the aching. Pope stays away until he can tell you've fallen asleep, creeping out into the open to look at you closer. He admires you as you lay tangled in the sheet. Your leg is hooked over some of the blanket, exposing your taught ass to him. Your breasts spill out of the skinny straps of your night dress and your lips relax parted as you take small breaths. Pope feels depraved looking at you like this, he knows he's too close and this is too inappropriate but he can't help himself. He unzips his pants and pulls his cock out, stroking it gently as he runs his knuckles down your cheek. He's confident you're asleep but you woke up the moment you heard his zipper.
You weren't sure how to react at first, but now you're resisting the urge to spring up and beg him to fuck you. You know you'd scare him off. So, you lay there and hope he doesn't realize you're faking sleep. You decide to give him a little show though, rolling over onto your back as if you're just adjusting while sleeping. Pope jolts at first, calming when you've convinced him you're still out. But now he has a whole new view, your tits fall to the sides of your chest, nipples still peaking at him. It's when he looks lower that's the problem, your silk gown has rode up, exposing your bare cunt to him. He sees your trimmed hair that leads down to your swollen clit and puffy lips. His hand around his cock speeds up without him even thinking, the sight of slickness oozing from your pussy driving him crazy. He reaches a hand down between your legs, swiping through your folds just enough to get your arousal on his fingers. He licks it from his finger tips, the taste of you has him spurting ropes of hot cum earlier than he was ready for. Some land on your bed without him realizing. He scurries out of your room quickly to clean up, feeling relieved and disgusted with himself. While he's in the bathroom wiping himself down, you're in your room licking his cum from your sheets while stuffing yourself with your fingers again.
Days later it's your turn to make an incredibly bold move. After Pope snuck into your room you were sure this insatiable lust went both ways. There wasn't another explanation, you were sure Pope wanted you just as much you want him. You concoct a whole plan where you confront him, strip in front of him and let him take you until he's satisfied. But when you knock on his bedroom door late one night you find him asleep. It's odd because you've rarely ever seen Pope sleep. You step closer as you debate waking him up when your eyes land on the intimidatingly large bulge in his boxers. You can't seem to stop yourself when you dip a finger into the elastic and pull it down to expose his length. You gulp as you uncover him, the length and girth making your throat dry and your pussy wet. A wave of excitement washes over you, your pussy clenching around nothing as you run your thumb over his blunt tip. You need to stretch yourself around him, you'll never feel all the way full if you don't.
He twitches in his sleep from your touch but doesn't wake up, you take that as your sign. You slip your shorts and panties down your legs before climbing onto the bed, next to Pope. You kneel next to him, hitching his boxers over his hips to keep his shaft exposed for you. You sling a leg over his hip and slowly lower yourself until your sopping wet entrance is pressed to his burning hot length. You whimper, biting your lip to stifle it as your hands land on either side of his head. He's so handsome, looking extra adorable and enticing with his sharp features so soft and relaxed. You start grinding on him, spreading your arousal all over his tip, shaft and ball. When you're ready you lift him to your entrance and sink down enough to take his tip. It stretches you more than you expect, your breath catching in your throat. Pope stirs beneath you but still doesn't wake fully. You're able to rocking back and forth on his tip to tease yourself open. This time when you shove your hips down you take nearly half of him. Pope jolts awake when you whine too loudly, the impact forcing him out of sleep. He's panting and disoriented at first, looking at you in bewilderment as he fists the sheets next your knees.
"M'so sorry, Andy, needed your big boy cock so bad." You whine, embarrassed he caught you but also happy because you want to see his reactions. "I was awake when you were in my room last week - got to see this fat dick you've been hiding from me, - couldn't go any longer without it." You admit, pressing your hands to his chest as your try to force more of him inside you.
"Fuck! Oh god, doll. Your pussy is so tight. Keep going, please! Strangle my cock, take what you need." He pants, struggling to project his voice, you can still hear the sleep in him. His bigs hands clamp on your hips, forcing you down farther as he pushes himself up. The stretch burns and tingles, his fat shaft splitting you open just the way you've been dreaming about for months now.
"Please, Andy, fuck me, fuck me!" You start to beg, writhing your hips like crazy. The pain spurs you on, you chase the feeling of being so full you could burst. Andy gives it to you, slamming you down on him to the bottom. You scream and cry, tears streaming down your face the second he starts a too quick rhythm. The feeling of you suffocating him, the image of your tits bouncing from the impact and the sound of your wetness all drive him crazy. He gropes your breast, playing with your taught nipple just like he watched you do to yourself many times.
"You can do this anytime you want, sweetheart, you hear me? You come stretch this pretty little cunt on my cock any chance you get." Pope grunts out, thrusting up into you so hard you start to feel dizzy. You nod your head to agree, slamming your hips down to match as you start sputtering and crying again. Pope finds your clit with his fingers, the pads cover much more surface than your own fingers. His circles are rougher, stimulating more area, making you clench and flutter around him so tight he starts panting. "Gonna make you come so hard, you'll never wanna come on anything else." He promises. Pope couldn't believe his eyes when he woke up to you above him. He would've been even more sure he was dreaming if it wasn't for your pussy strangling him so tight. It took the breath from his lungs. Now that's he's felt you he knows he'll never get enough, you might as well have just agreed to be his own personal fuck toy from here on out.
Pope is already making plans of other times and places to stuff you full like this while you come on him. You writhe, crying out for Andy as you claw at his chest. He fucks you through it and then some, to the point that your joints start tingling and he has to hold your body weight up above him. He's so sure you will be full of his cock and come every day you're in here, in this house with him.
âŒïž 1.5 k celebration fic for... pope cody âŒïž based on this ask âŒïž
summary âŒïž when your boyfriend pope thinks giving you just one orgasm is all you can handle, your informative lesson about the differences between men and women ends up being very hands on.
cw âŒïž MDNI !!!! afab!reader with nickname 'sweetheart', established relationship, gently explaining the "biology" of orgasms, fingering, lots of kissin', unprotected p in v, missionary, doggy, multiple orgasms (duh!), creampie :3
wc âŒïž 1.4 k
in all your years of life, you never thought you would be the one to beg a man for sex. but two months into your relationship with pope with not one night of lovemaking accounted for, you're honestly about to start.
you're not entirely sure why he never takes it farther than giving you your first orgasm. he'll use his fingers or his tongue or both, and then roll you over to go to sleep once you've come down from the high of pleasure he wrings out from you. and it's not like he's not turned on, you know that for a fact because he's always rock hard by the time he tells you to get some sleep. sadly enough, he's only let you use your mouth on him twice :(
unfortunately, you're always just a bit too floaty from your release to ever really fight him on it, but tonight you are determined to get to round two.
" 'm so close andy- please d-don't stop-!" is what you're whining against pope's lips as he lays next to you in bed. him only in his boxers and you only in your panties that are pulled to the side, as two of his thick fingers rub deep inside you while his thumb firmly circles your clit. your grip on his curls is probably painful, but he hasn't complained, he even groans a little when you yank them as you hike your leg higher up his waist to spread yourself even further for him.
the shlick shlick sounds of pope's fingers pumping into you paired with his warm, muscular frame that holds you close, has your body lock up tight in anticipation. one more swipe of his tongue against yours and the feeling explodes into white hot tremors that shake through you, from your spinning head to your flexing toes. "andrew andrew andrew", is all that sounds from you as you fall apart for him.
when you settle back into your body, pope gently removes his fingers that sparkle with your release then places a soft kiss to your nose. "so pretty. night sweetheart." his murmured words almost have you complying before you remember the task at hand. you follow when he rolls to lay on his back, crawling on him until you're straddling his tree trunk waist.
you rest your hands on his bare chest and whimper when you feel his hard on beneath you. " 'm not tired andy... lets keep going." pope blinks up at you for a second before his rugged face furrows in what looks like confusion. "but if we kept going⊠you'd have toâ i don't want you to fake it for me."
um- what? your face mirrors his in perplexity now. "why- why would i have to fake it?" rolling your hips against the bulge in his boxers confirms that you definitely wouldn't have to fake any praise regarding how big he is.
pope stares at you as if this is some kind of test you're giving him, his large hands slide up and down your waist as his tone goes slightly cautious. "because you just finished and you need time before⊠you know. you can do it again." knowing your boyfriend and his inability to take anything lightly, you bite back your giggle at his words. "andyâŠ" you explain slowly, carefully, "that's only true for men, not women."
he looks almost astonished, "what? r-really?" you nod in a gentle confirmation, no point in making him feel bad for not knowing something he clearly was never taught. you lean down to place tender kisses to his face. "you can make me feel good over and over again and i'll be able to finish. as many times as you want." pope's cheeks blush beneath your lips, grinding his hips up into yours enough to have both of you inhale sharply. "so⊠so i could use my mouth on you now?"
you hum in response, and even though the thought has your thighs squeeze at his waist, you're interested in something else. you both watch as you trace one of your fingers down his panting chest, then across each ridge of abs until you reach his waist band. "orâŠ" you slowly slide your finger back an forth just beneath the fabric as you kiss his neck, "we could have sex."
his breath catches, swallowing once before saying, "you want to?" you're squirming on top of him in anticipation, words coming out all whiney but you don't even care. "so badly andy. need you inside me." instantly, pope is flipping you over until he's pressed on top of you, his lips moving against yours and his hand pulling off your panties is confirmation enough.
after he slides off his boxers, mutters one more, "you sure?", the two of you are moaning in between kisses as he pushes inside you, only starts to slide in and out of you after a minute of letting you adjust to his size.
already sensitive and vulnerable from your first orgasm, it's almost embarrassing how quickly you feel another one start to build when you feel pope's thick cock threaten to split you in half. it's a mess of tangled sweaty limbs, slow sensual strokes, and hushed "you f-feel s'good"'s, "you were made for me"'s that have you hiccuping and clawing at pope's muscular back.
he's intently watching your face as he makes love to you, tracking what angle makes you moan, what speed makes you twitch and what location of his kisses has you clench around him.
with his bottom lip tucked over his teeth in concentration, he hitches your leg higher up your waist to get even deeper inside you, causing his coarse hair at the base of his length to rut against your sensitive clit, and the body tingling pleasure rises uncontrollably.
your hands tighten at the nape of pope's neck and your legs shake around his waist as you whimper "gonna-gonna come andy! feels so- gonna- oh andy-!" he kisses you as you tighten and cry out his name, not changing his pace or the way he holds you at all in order to intensify your release. only when you regain some brain power do you realize he's still moving inside you.
his freckled face is squeezed impossibly tight, abs contracting with restraint, clearly trying not to come yet. "andy..?" you rub your thumb on his cheekbone and his eyes flutter open, hips faltering as he looks down at you. you peck at his lips. "you can come inside me. i wanna feel you."
pope quickly shakes his head as you both groan at a particularly deep thrust. "not yet. want-want you to gimme another one." your eyes widen at his raspy words when you realize what he means.
there's no time to argue as pope abruptly pulls out and flips you over, your yelp at the upwards yank of your hips quickly morphs into a moan as he easily thrusts back into your sopping cunt. "ffuuuucckk" is all he groans before starting to pound into you. a silent scream graces your lips as his cock stretches your soft walls relentlessly, keeping you lightheaded and tingly all over as you're filled by him completely.
his tight grip on your shoulder keeps you compliant for each powerful thrust, and you can barely hear your shaky moans over the slapping of his hips against your ass. pope's huffing and puffing behind you, desperately trying to fend off his own orgasm.
"c'mon. jus want one more sweetheart. p-please. give it ta'me." he grits out above your whines.
pope uses one strong hand at the base of your neck to press you into the mattress, and brings the other to roll your clit in between two chubby fingers. the angle has his his fat mushroomy tip rubbing against the softest part of you over and over andâ "oh my fucking god andy im gonna-!"
your eyes roll back and you sob beneath him, not being able comprehend anything in your empty brain past the heat overtaking you and the stars twinkling behind your teary eyes. you're only vaguely aware and half conscious as the warmth of his come fills your fluttering pussy.
pope collapsing on top of you sobers you slightly, but not enough to do anything other than nod with a lopsided smile when he rolls you back over and asks "you okay?" as he gently licks up your tears.
your glazed over eyes flutter shut as he kisses you softly. your lips, then cheek⊠neck⊠breasts⊠stomach thenâ "think you can gimme another?" he rasps by the time he reaches your spread thighs and settles in between them with a hungry look on his flushed face.
maybe you shouldn't have told pope about the different refractory periods between men and women.
-> [rated: e.] smut. (pervy) andrew 'pope' cody x (secretly pervy) female reader.
word count: 2.1k.
summary: andrew's your best friend. he steals your panties to jerk off while you pretend to know nothing 'bout that.
you become best friends with andrew quite literally out of the blue. you donât even remember how it happens; someday heâs just⊠there. for every moment of your life.Â
when you get the job you so desperately wanted? you called him first, even before you called your parents. you make him meal prep so he would stop relying on take out. you donât question when he appears on your doorstep bloody and bruised, just take care of him.Â
and the thing he treasures most, youâre not afraid of him. never was. you trust him, not only with your own safety and life, but your thoughts â no matter how small or meaningless you thought it was â and opinions, your dreams.Â
itâs not uncommon for you to come home and find andrew on your couch, eating your food â youâre not gonna tell him that, but you always make more than you can possibly eat so he can indulge in whatever he wants. you know he didnât always have food, or enough food, or whatever he wanted to eat. cooking is basically your love language, of course you cook for him. it gives you some kind of satisfaction knowing you're feeding him good stuff, and even more that he likes it. craves it, even. for someone as stoic and afraid of getting too close like andrew, that is, in fact, huge.Â
you know andrewâs in your apartment when you come home and his boots are right by the door. you smile to yourself, always happy to have him there. his company makes you feel safe. moreso, you just love having him near.Â
but heâs not on the couch, or the kitchen. the next place to look is your bed; for some reason, andrew loves taking a nap in your bed â it smells like you. thatâs why; it makes him relax, for once. not heâll tell you this.Â
you walk on your tippy toes to your bedroom, not wanting to wake him up if he is asleep.Â
except heâs not.Â
andrewâs standing by your dresser, one of the drawers open. specifically, the intimate clothing one. heâs staring at your panties and bras with blown out pupils. one of his hands fisting the fabric of his pants, like heâs trying to hold himself back.Â
the one hand though holds one of your panties. used ones. simple ones too, nothing flashy or overly sensual; just cotton and a little bow at the crotch. your eyes go comically wide when you watch him bring them to his face and take a deep breath, like he was inhaling more than just your scent, but you.
he turns as if to walk out and freezes when he sees you there, leaning against the doorway.Â
âyou werenât supposed to be home,â andrew says, looking away, guilty.Â
your lips quirk up in a smirk. âyou really wanna talk about what we were or werenât supposed to be doing?â
he canât even look at you properly, but his hand doesnât let go of your panties.Â
âwhat are you gonna do with those?â you ask, pointing at the fabric with a tilt of your chin.Â
he looks like a cornered animal for a second, before his face goes blank. you know heâs trying to deflect.Â
âiâm gonna use âem to jerk off,â is what andrew replies.Â
or not.Â
you were not expecting that heâd say that. you knew he might do just that, you just didnât know heâd be so⊠brazen about it. andrew smirks at your widened eyes.Â
âwhat? like they werenât laying around where you knew i could see âem,â he says. âitâs almost like you wanted me to find them.â
âi⊠no,â you whisper, cheeks heating up. caught red handed.Â
âwhatever you say, gorgeous,â he smirks.Â
the two of you stand a few feet from each other, just staring at each other.Â
ânow, if youâll excuse meâŠâ he motions out the door. you shake your head and step farther into the room, closing the door behind you.Â
ânot so fast, popey,â you say. âif you want to keep my panties, i wanna see it. wanna see what youâre doing to them,â you smirk at him.Â
âyou fuckerââ he groans when the door clicks shut.Â
you only smile at him, feigning innocence.Â
âcâmon. i wanna watch it,â you say, leaning back against the door.Â
andrew stares at you like he canât believe this is real. that youâre asking him this. you. not even in his wildest dreams youâd⊠alright, yeah. in his wildest dreams you do so much more than just watch.
he nods then, taking a cautious step back. âokay. iâll show you,â he says, sitting on the edge of your bed. his hand slips down his body, straight to the waistband, but you click your tongue.Â
âtake your shirt off,â you say. âif youâre giving me a show i want the whole thing.âÂ
he groans, rolling his eyes at you. but he takes off his shirt, and you canât help but bite your lip when his body is put on display for you. his toned muscles, tan skin and a few scars you know personally from tending to their wounds.Â
then his hand goes under the waistband of his pants, pulling out his cock. his hand wrapped around it, stroking slowly. it's not as long as it is girthy; undoubtedly would split your cunt in two. the thought makes you clench your thighs.
the veins on the underside of it caught your attention; you wanna lick it up and down, trace them with your tongue. andrew gives his dick a few, experimental strokes, precum already leaking from the tip.Â
âfuck, baby. you look like you want to swallow it whole,â he says, and heâs not entirely wrong. you do want to take his cock down your throat until youâre gagging around it.Â
âshow me, andy,â you say, licking your lips, eyes glued to that fat cock like you're under his spell.Â
he strokes it in earnest now, up and down his fat cock, twisting his hand every time it goes up, bringing your panties to his nose with the other hand. he takes a big sniff, eyes rolling back as he imagines what you looked like if you werenât wearing anything.Â
âi think about you every time,â he says, voice barely above a shaky whisper. âevery time i do this.â
âwhat do you think about, andy?âÂ
his hand moves faster on his cock, more and more clear precum slicking down his shaft. âi think about you⊠fuck⊠riding me. my cock and my face,â he groans, your panties still on his nose. âi think about how wet youâd get when i make you cum for me.â
his words make your mind spin. images of him on top of you, under you, fucking you so good run around your mind. you canât help but clench your thighs again.Â
his eyes never leave yours. with a sleazy smile, andrew brings your panties down and wraps it around his cock. he groans, long and loud and your cunt clenches just from hearing it. you want him to make those sounds when he slides inside you. he uses your panties to jerk off, the fabric rubbing against his sensitive skin making him moan, low and ragged.Â
âi think about cumming on your panties and making you wear âem all day long,â he groans, throwing his head back. âmake you walk around with my cum in that sweet cunt of yours.â
your body moves before you can stop yourself. youâre kneeling between his spread thighs, face-to-face that fat cock. it makes him moan louder, his hand speeding up. andrew leans forward, brushing the leaky tip of his cock on your lower lip without pushing for more.Â
you hum, licking your lip, tasting his precum. salty and tangy, delicious. âtaste so good, andy,â you whisper, looking up at him with your big doe eyes. âfeels good? my panties around your cock?â
âyou minx,ââ he almost growls, and the sound makes heat pool on your lower tummy. âfeels so good, goddamnit. gonna keep âem and use it every time,â he says.Â
you lean in, pressing a sweet, otherwise chaste kiss to the tip of his cock. andrewâs body locks up, head thrown back as he cums. thick ropes of his release spilling all over your panties. you moan, too, watching him. you reach out, cleaning a little drop of cum from his thigh with your thumb, then brings it to your mouth to taste it. the sight makes his cock twitch, still cumming.Â
âwant you to cum on my mouth next,â you say, standing up.Â
âfuck that,â andrew growls, tackling you to the bed. his large body engulfs you, trapping you to the bed.Â
before you can even think of reacting, his tongue is shoved down your mouth, and he's pulling moans from you when his hips grind against your pussy through the jeans you're wearing.Â
âit's my turn to have some fun, baby,â andrew says, his hand pulling your pants down â the button flies away with the force of his tug.Â
âandrew, my favorite pair of jeans!â you complain, pouting at him.Â
âi'll buy you another one,â he says, shimmying his way down your body. âhell, i'll buy you the whole store if you ask me to.âÂ
he pulls your leg up, to rest on his shoulders. he buries his face right in your cunt, taking a whiff straight from the source. he groans into the fabric when he realizes it's wet. not only wet, soaked.Â
âbeen dreaming âbout this for so fucking long,â he says, his nose prodding at your clit through your panties. andrew licks at you, his tongue flat against the covered slit of your pussy.Â
the extra stimulation â his tongue, the rough fabric â makes you shiver, gripping the sheets.Â
andrew pulls back, licking his lips like he's hungry and you're his last meal, his fingers hook under the elastic of your panties, pulling them to the side.Â
âoh, hello, baby,â he whispers, talking exclusively to your pussy. andrew, being the little shit he is, parts your soppy folds with two fingers and blows cool air. the sound that comes out of your mouth is unholy.Â
the first touch of his mouth is almost tentative. andrew licks your pussy with the tip of tongue, from your already fluttering hole to the clit. he does it again, only this time, with the flat of his tongue.Â
andrew sucks your clit into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he suckles on it âtil it throbs. your back goes up in a pretty arch, hands now gripping his auburn curls. he does it again, then pulls off with a wet, loud pop.Â
âandy,â you whine at the loss of contact, and the bastard laughs. he laughs with his face still against your pussy, the rumbling sound making a shiver run up your spine.Â
âjust a little touching with my mouth and you're already whining like a kitten, baby?â he murmurs, giving your pussy lips a little graze of his teeth.Â
andrew teases your hole with his tongue. he prods at it, never actually pushing inside, but bringing you closer and closer to the edge.Â
just when he's sure you're close to the orgasm, is when he's starts eating your cunt in earnest. straight up making out with it; his tongueâs everywhere, flicking your clit and then fucking your weepy hole.Â
your thighs shake and clamp around his head as you come, trapping him there â not that he'd ever wanna leave. your pussy's his heaven, now. andrew growls, doubling down on his ministrations, two of thick fingers suddenly dipping inside you to the last knuckle.Â
âthis fucking tight cunt, gonna make sure it's gaping in the shape of cock when i'm done with you,â he says, muffled into your pussy. it triggers another orgasm out of you, your body wired on extra sensitivity.Â
âandy, pleaseââ you sob, thrashing on the bed from the overstimulation. âi need⊠i can'tâŠâ you babble incoherently.Â
âgoing stupid on me already, sweets?â he bites the inside of your thigh. hard. hard enough to bruise, and you suspect that's exactly what he wants.Â
you tug on his hair, and it only spurs him on. you're barely breathing right as you try and recover from two orgasms back-to-back, and andrew's back at it again.Â
âtoo sensitive, andyyyyyyy,â you whimper.Â
âdon't care, honey,â he mumbles against your cunt. âthis pussy's mine now. gonna eat it âtil i'm full of you.âÂ
Pope likes his new house. He's moved out of Smurf's house into a place by the beach. The sound of the ocean keeps him calm. What doesn't keep him calm is his neighbour. He first meets you when you're coming back from the beach. You're wearing a tiny bikini, it barely covers anything. And Pope can't look away.
You smile and wave at him, wiggling your fingers at him. Your hair is dripping water from the sea and Pope can't help but think about licking the salt water from your body.
Pope notices that you don't close your curtains at night. And you like to prance around in tiny sleep shorts and tank tops. Tank tops with no bra, that much is obvious. He can see the outline of your nipples under the almost sheer top. Sometimes you'll forego the shorts altogether. He can feel himself stir in his pants at the cute cotton panties you love, little bows or flowers covering the fabric.
You like to keep all the lights on. So Pope can watch you everywhere you go. And soon, he knows your entire routine.
You get up and go straight to the beach. He watches as you change into your bikini, his breath hitching as you pull the bottoms up your legs. He likes watching how your fingers tie your bikini top. But his favourite part of the morning is your return from the beach. He watches you as you strip off your bikini in your bedroom, dropping the pieces to the floor. You walk through your room to the bathroom, completely naked, and it takes Pope's breath away.
He loves watching you massage your moisturiser into your body before you get dressed for the day. He watches you make breakfast and then rush out the door away to wherever you spend the majority of your day. He knows you come home around seven. Most of the time you'll bring food home with you. You immediately strip out of your clothes and into pyjamas or sweats. You spend the evening watching TV or reading a book or scrolling on your phone. He tuts. You shouldn't do that.
Sometimes you'll settle on your bed, legs spread with your hand in between your thighs. His eyes can't look away from your form as you writhe on the bed bringing yourself pleasure over and over.
"Hey, Pope," you greet him when he meets you, taking in the mail or dragging in the bins.
He just nods at you in ways of greeting. But after seeing you struggle with your bins one evening, seeing the strip of your thong peaking out over your jean shorts, Pope brings your bins in and out for you.
"You don't need to do that for me, Popey," you say to him one day when you catch him. You pout as you put your hand on his arm, you drag your thumb over one of the veins that bulges under his skin.
"No trouble. You don't have anyone else to do it for ya," he says before continuing.
Pope loves watching you. But hates watching when you stumble home on a Saturday night with some loser attached to you. Kissing you, when he should be kissing you. He would watch as you fell back on the couch, your head falling off the edge as these men kissed over your breasts and stomach before settling between your legs. He watches as you reach your climax.
He wants to know how you feel when you cum for him.
He likes watching as you bring these men to your room, watching as they fuck you...or you ride them, your tits bouncing with each thrust.
And then the next morning, these men will leave and you will greet Pope with a sweet little smile.
"Hi Popey," you coo waving at him, wearing a t-shirt that showcases your tits perfectly for him and your pretty little panties that hug your ass.
Pope thinks you're purposefully teasing him. But women don't like him...
He's watching you one Saturday night with some loser you must have found at one of the bars near the Strand. You're riding him so pretty in reverse cowgirl so you can look out your bedroom window. Pope knows he shouldn't be watching you hook up with some random loser. But he can't look away. He's realised that if he cracks his window, he can hear the noises you're making. And you make the prettiest noises. Pope is addicted to it.
He sits in darkness, watching you as you cry out on this guy's cock. His heart stutters when your eyes lock onto his. You bite your lip as your hands play with your tits, putting on a show for Pope. You never look away from him until you cum.
"Oh fuck!" you cry out. "Right there, Popey baby. Right there!"
Your declaration causes the loser to freeze under you. It causes Pope to freeze as well.
Should he take it as an invitation? Baz told him he always oversteps with women...But you called his name.
He knows he shouldn't. But the lock on your back door is shit and easy to pick.
"Took you long enough, baby," you coo when he finds you sitting in your kitchen with your lights off for once.
a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! any and all feedback appreciated. requests open
âEverything Good in Youâ - Brendon Park x Reader
Summary: A hot doctor rescues you from a creep outside of your gym and it turns out you have a lot more in common than your choice of workout venue.
Or, the D/s universe getting together fic I've been yapping about for months!
Story Tags/Notes: girly!sub!reader, dom!brendon, reader is a kids' ballet teacher, brendon is a trauma surgeon in the ED, getting together fic, slow-ish burn, kink dynamic/relationship negotiation, communication porn, sugaring/spoiling/gifts, reader is mentioned as not shaving body hair, full aftercare
NSFW Tags/Notes: its a lengthy smut so, panty sniffing, teasing, face slapping, light punishment, black nitrile gloves, inspection kink, breast play, pain play, biting, marks, fingering (f), fisting (f), squirting, multiple orgasms (f), dacryphilia, scent/armpit/musk/sweat kinks, one single line of degradation, lots and lots of praise/affirmation/pet names, choking/breath play, piv (unprotected, discussion is implied), creampie
Content: sexual harassment/intimidation, broken wrist
A/N:Â everyone say a sloppy slutty thank you to @honestlystop for their generous donation to my birthday fundraiser which led to this being completed! and a personal thank you for always being so lovely and supportive
Word Count: 18.3k
Brendon Parkâs noticed you at his gym before, of course. Itâs hard not to. You always wear pastel pink sets with tiny little tennis skirts that barely cover your ass or those partially sheer pilates outfits with the waist-emphasizing tie. Like most of the guys at the gym, much as he hates to be lumped in with them, Brendonâs eyes drift up when your evening yoga or pilates or barre or pole class gets out, watching the sea of sweaty women in tight outfits flitting past with satisfied giggles.
Unlike an unfortunate number of the other men there, though, Brendon is at the gym to work out, not try to get a girlfriend, so heâs never interacted with you more than the occasional âgood workout?â when youâve passed each other going into the locker rooms at the same time.Â
Tonight changes that.
Itâs a 24-hour gym, but itâs usually dead this late. Brendonâs used to being one of maybe three guys who always work insane schedules getting in his last arm curls before crashing for eighteen hours straight. For some reason, though, youâre here. It looks like youâve had a long day â youâre in a cropped baby pink sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, cute but definitely not aiming for sexy the way you usually do â but youâre still committed to your daily gym time the way Brendon is. He has to admit he admires the dedication; itâs not a common trait these days. He gives you one of those hunky smiles on his way past as he goes to the locker room, nodding and wishing you a good night.
But, once heâs showered and changed, beyond ready to go home and flop into bed after downing 12,000 calories of leftovers, he sees you hurriedly trying to collect your things as one of the few other guys in the gym hits on you. And heâs not being casual or subtle. In fact, heâs got one arm lording over you as you bend down to shove things into your bag, completely ignoring him.
The hairs on the back of Brendonâs neck bristle as you push past the guy into the night â and the fucker follows you. Brendonâs moving before he can even think, much less overthink. Heâd do the same for anyone. Of course he would. He only has to hear a few words out of the bastardâs mouth â câmon, baby, you know you want a real man â before he decides he has to get involved.
âHey, man, leave her alone,â Brendon barks. You whip around with gratitude already written on your features, taking over the fear and annoyance that had been there a split second ago. He grabs the guyâs elbow and tugs him away from you. âHow about you head home and then change your gym schedule?â
The asshole rolls his eyes and squares up against Brendon, chest to chest, as you shrink back toward the sidewalk. âWhat are you, her boyfriend?â
Brendon scoffs back, âJust a guy with a moral compass. Fuck off before I make you.â
Then he tries to maneuver his body between yours and your harasser â but the guy grabs you so that he canât. His bruising grip wraps around your forearm and he tugs you toward him. You realize for the first time that you can smell liquor on his breath, sharp and aggressive. Had he wandered into the gym from a bar just to get to you? Did he drink so much heâs always drunk? Your mind races around the possibilities as he baits Brendon with a laugh, âYou really wanna play knight in shining armor, pretty boy?â
Brendon rolls his shoulders.
The first time heâd been told he had to get his temper under control, he was in the fifth grade. A boy a few grades up from him threw pebbles at his sister on the walk back from the bus after they went to daily summer camp together. His sister told him to leave it alone, but he couldnât. He managed to simmer on it for three whole days before he broke the kidâs jaw and two of his ribs. The boy was too embarrassed to admit heâd had his ass handed to him by an eleven-year-old, so all Brendon got was a lecture from his mother when his sister ratted him out.
In high school, he joined football and wrestling to get his aggression out. Every time his shoulder collided with someone else, every time he slammed a body on the mat, it let him clear his head of all the frustration and indignation and anxiety and everything. Of course, he still earned a handful of suspensions when he couldnât keep it under control, the occasional fit knocking into someoneâs orbital if they wouldnât leave his skinnier friend alone or refused to back down when he defended a cheerleader.
Through college and med school, he learned that control was just as good as acting out. Professionally, being at the top of his class gave him the same ego high. He kept his thoughts in line with a rigorous workout schedule and even more demanding academic schedule. Personally, he found kink. The holy catharsis of someone giving themselves over to him completely. Trusting that he could handle them and himself at once. Of course, surgery is the best outlet heâs ever found. Just him, his subordinates, his orders, his hands. The world narrows into a set of problems with clear, measured solutions that only he knows. He gets to be god in the OR.
But the kid who couldnât handle watching his sister get hurt? Heâs still very much there.
So, tonight, Brenton launches one of his half-million-dollar hands into the face of the guy whoâs just grabbed you, aiming to avoid cracking any of the bones while inflicting maximum pain and shock.
As the guyâs grip falters from staggering backward, you wrench out of his grasp and fall to the ground with a shriek, catching your weight squarely on one palm. Sharp pain cracks through your wrist. It reverberates up your arm and across your entire body. Youâre so wrapped up in the pain that you barely register Brendon flagging down the gymâs security guard to come out and take the asshole away, telling him what happened as he shakes out his hand from the punch.
Once itâs just the two of you, Brendon kneels down and reaches out, careful not to scare you, like youâre a rabbit who might dart. âCâmon, let me see that wrist; Iâm a doctor.â
With shiny eyes and a sniffly nose, you ask, âYouâre a doctor?â
âTrauma surgeon,â he confirms as you gingerly present your swollen wrist, already darkening and swelling around the impact point. Heâs so careful as he examines it, but you still wince with every motion. He hates himself for noticing just how pretty you are when you cry. Sighing, he tells you, âThis looks like a break to me. Youâll need some imaging done and youâll probably need a hard cast. Is there someone I can call to come get you?â
Swiping your tears away with your uninjured hand â more fall anyway â you ask with so much hope in your eyes he knows heâs going to fold no matter what, âCan you drive me? You can bring me back to my car after, promise.â
Brendon rewrites his entire night in a split second. What is he doing? His brows furrow. Heâs not nice. Heâs not helpful. Certainly not to strangers who could be serial killers as far as he knows. But, looking at your wobbly lip and twitching chin, he canât help nodding and saying, âYeah, sure. Of course.â
Brendon helps guide you to your feet, one hand on your waist and the other clasping your free hand as you cradle your broken wrist to your chest. His hands are really big. Maybe itâs the adrenaline making you woozy, but he does look a hell of a lot like a knight in shining armor leading you down the street toward his car with one hand on your back and a posture like heâll kill anyone who approaches.
Youâre not much of a car person yourself, but you are a luxury person, so you can spot a Corvette Stingray from a mile away. When you realize that Brendonâs leading you toward a gorgeous cherry red one with the top down that youâd admired before arriving at the gym, your jaw drops. âThis is your car?â
âLike I said, Iâm a surgeon.â He chuckles as he takes out the keys and unlocks it. âThey pay me too much not to drive some sexy sports car, right?â
âSexy is right,â you whistle, taking a second to admire the sleek Corvetteâs cream leather interior as he opens up the passenger side door for you. âYouâre a spoiled brat, huh?â
âI only drive her during the summer,â he tells you seriously as he helps you into the front seat, his arm protective around you as you get settled. Your stomach flutters as he reaches across your body and clicks your seatbelt into place, one of those large hands brushing over your bare abdomen and the other bracing his balance on your headrest, his bicep ginormous, still pumped from his workout. Itâs painfully mortifying how good his sweat smells. He touches the back of your neck sweetly and checks, âYou comfortable? Want the seat warmer on or anything?â
âItâs eighty degrees out.â
âRight.â He closes your door, drums his fingers on the side, and sighs, âSorry, Iâm not used toâŠâ
With a teasing smirk, you suggest as he trails off, âHuman interaction?â
âYeah, that about covers it, actually.â He shakes his head and hops over the driverâs side door like a real asshole before sliding easily behind the wheel. As the quiet engine hums to life, he adds, âI spend eight hours a day in surgery; the only real speaking I do is to give orders.â
âThatâs hot.â
Something twitches inside of him. Youâre joking, but thereâs a shade of truth in it, clearly. Interesting.
âOw ow ow,â you keen pathetically as he pulls into traffic, the slightest movement jostling your wrist. With tears welling up again, you plead, âDistract me. Tell me about your other car.â
He scoffs, âThatâs your ideal distraction? Not my cool job or our shared interests or-â Your adorable mean glare cuts him off. âOkay, okay. Promise you wonât make fun of me first.â You shake your head ânoâ as tears slip over your cheeks. He laughs and concedes, âFine, you can make fun of me until your armâs patched up. Itâs a G-Series.â
âGod, youâre even worse than I thought,â you force yourself to laugh as you cringe again. âYouâll have to take me for a drive sometime. Iâve never been in one.â
âIt drives like a dream,â he replies, giving a concerned glance as he tries to placate you with the distraction. Thank fuck he goes to the gym closest to the hospital. âDo you like actually driving or just going for drives?â
With a grimace as the convertible pulls into a reserved space close to the Emergency Department doors, you tell him, âDefinitely a passenger princess. I like sightseeing.â
âI figured,â he teases lightly as he rounds the car again to help you out. âThatâs good, though; I like doing the driving. You can focus on enjoying all the features.â
Outright crying now, you ask, âDoes it have the heated cupholders for coffee?â
âYeah, it does,â he half-laughs, âand cooling if you have water or something, too.â
Voice wobbling, you reply weakly, pain radiating through your whole arm, âThatâs so luxurious.â
Brendon has to bite back the urge to laugh. Youâre painfully cute in this state, fighting hard to stay calm but clearly completely unable to. âIt really is. Great car.â
With your pink gym bag over his shoulder, Brendon walks you into the ED, shooting glares at every single one of his coworkers who dares to cut him even a curious glance, much less a surprised one or one laden with gossip. He gets you checked in quickly and efficiently as the space buzzes around him; you get the sense that his presence makes everyoneâŠmaybe not nervous, necessarily, but alert. Thereâs an expectation that heâs going to take charge of every conversation. He always talks first to someone whoâs completely prepared to listen and jump at his marching orders.
The whole time, you shrink next to him. Youâve always hated hospitals. The smells, the bright lights, the mix of groans and wails and heavy silence. It makes your skin crawl. Brendon can tell; unconsciously, he rubs your back between your shoulder blades, fingers soothing down your spine, occasionally resting at the small of your back where your skin is bare. Heâs not even thinking about it, just following his instincts and letting himself bend to your needs without questioning it.
Once youâre comfortably settled in a room, Brendon oversees the creation of your chart and then bends down to meet your eyes. He brushes your tear-stained cheek with his thumb and starts to explain, âSomeoneâll come in and take you up to get an X-ray soon. Do you want me to stay or-â
âDonât leave,â you whimper, catching his forearm. When you touch him, his heart pounds in a way it hasnât in a long time. Itâs the way those shiny eyes look to him so effortlessly. Needy. Youâre pretty when you cry. Your voice drops to an embarrassed whisper as you admit, âI really, really hate hospitals. Iâm scared shitless. Please stay.â
The shame on your face that only he can soothe is too delicious to deny. He holds your unharmed hand and sits down on the stool next to you. Rubbing the back of your hand, he assures you gently, more gently than any of the nurses or doctors here have ever heard, âIâm right here. Iâve got you; I donât have anywhere to be.â
âPromise? Iâm not, like, ruining your whole night or anything?â
Your eyes are so damn wide and innocent. Completely irresistible to a deep, prickly part of his brain. Heâs quick to shake his head and assure, âIâm off tomorrow. I was gonna go home and sleep in. Iâm a big boy; I can push my bedtime back by a few hours.â
With a soft, teary smile, you squeeze his hand. âThank you.â
Faster than you can believe, youâre pumped full of painkillers and in for X-Rays, certain that Brendon is pulling strings for you without making a show of it. Once the imaging has confirmed a break, another doctor joins you, tall and gruff with kind eyes and crowsâ feet. Very handsome. You glance at his badge as he goes to introduce himself, but heâs taken aback when he sees Brendon behind you. âWhatâs going on, Park? Youâre not on the schedule tonight.â
Brendon attempts to sum up the night: âAh, no, but this one took a tumble right outside of my gym.â
âCanât resist a damsel in distress. Got it.â Before Brendon can intervene on that line of thought, the doctor turns to you with a warm smile. âHi, Iâm Dr. Robinavitch, but you can call me Robby. Iâm gonna be applying your hard cast, okay?â
Perhaps a tad loopy on the painkillers, you tap on the badge clipped to his chest with your manicured nail, amused by the satisfying clicking. âAttending Physician. You seem kinda important to be doing my cast.â
Robby shrugs and chuckles, âThe Shark calls, I answer.â
âThe Shark?â You grin wide and stare at Brendon. âThey call you that here?â
Brendon grimaces. âAh, yeah. It rhymes.â
âObviously it rhymes,â you giggle, turning your attention back to Robby, âbut why do you guys call him that? Is he super duper scary when heâs at work?â
âSomething like that,â Robby snorts as the nurse prepping his station also stifles a laugh. When Brendon absolutely glares, Robby clears his throat and straightens up. âAlright, letâs get down to business about that wrist. I just had a look at your X-Rays and youâve got whatâs called a Collesâ fracture, a minor break that happens when you fall on an outstretched hand. We treat about a million of these a week down here, so youâll be out of the joint in no time, but youâre looking at six to eight weeks in a hard cast.â
âShoot,â you sigh. Lip pouted and voice grumpy (so cute Park almost blacks out), you check, âCan I at least get a pink one?â
âAbsolutely, you can,â Dr. Robby laughs and opens up the box of fiberglass tape options. âIâve got Flamingo Fuchsia-â he shows you a classic neon pink cast color, then a paler option â-or Bubblegum Blast.â
You smile and confirm, âBubblegum, definitely.â
He flashes you a charming smile. âI had a feeling, Barbie.â
Brendon interrupts gruffly, âKeep it in your pants, Michael.â
Heat crawls up your neck at how protective his voice sounds. Dr. Robbyâs eyes flick between the two of you, clearly amused at seeing his coworker in a new light. âMy apologies; I didnât know Park the Shark had a girlfriend.â
Voice all teasing and lilting, you reply, âOh, heâs not my boyfriend, Dr. Robby.â
âSeems like maybe he wants to be,â Robby snorts as he carefully preps your arm. While methodically applying your cast, he tries to distract you from the pain of your wrist being handled breaking through the IV by offering up, âWhat kind of dog do you have? I can see the hair on your pants.â
You wince anyway, jumping a bit from the pain. Brendon slings his arm around your shoulders and rubs your back gently. With a deep breath, you tell him, âI have a Cane Corso. Big black mastiff. If heâd been with me tonight like he is when I go running, youâd be amputating the other guyâs arm right about now.â
Brendon straightens up with a laugh, imagining your sweet, bubbly, girly self with a giant, mean-looking dog. âSeriously? Donât those things weigh, like, 100 pounds?â
âDuke weighs 120,â you reply with a sheepish smile. Whenever anyone finds out about your dog, they look at you differently. And it does stop you from focusing on the pain to talk about him, so you explain further, âMy big brother used to live in the city and spend lots of time with me. Heâs always been really protective, so when he was getting ready to move away, he wanted to make sure Iâd be safe. We went on a roadtrip to get him as a puppy and worked with a trainer here so heâs, like, the perfect protection dog. Weâre AWDA certified for bite work and everything.â With your free hand, you take your phone out and click it to life to show off the background photo, you and Duke wearing matching Louis Vuitton fleeces while posing in the snow. Sighing affectionately, you tell them, âI mean, donât get me wrong, heâs a total softie when I tell him he can trust someone, but heâd rip a guyâs throat out if they tried to attack me.â
âI like him already,â Brendon says as he admires the massive dog on your phone. With his eyes once again locked on your wrist, he sharply chastises, âWatch the angle on that, Robinavitch, you want her arm to heal as crooked as your teeth?â
âI didnât wear braces for five years to deal with your bullshit, Brendon,â Robby bites back. He leans back and admires his own work, remarking, âStraight as a damn arrow. Thatâs textbook work. What do you think, Barbie, up to your standards?â
You examine it as if youâd even know what to look for, trying to suppress the loopy little giggles that threaten. Being your friendly self, you squeeze Robbyâs forearm and tell him, âThank you so much; it looks really good.â
Something ugly and new tightens up in Brendonâs chest when he sees your hand on Robbyâs arm. Not new, actually. Familiar but forgotten.
Robby just smiles and says, âYou sat like a champ; it should heal up no problem. You need to sit tight here for about half an hour so it can harden. Someoneâll come in with your discharge paperwork and hopefully thisâll be the last time you have to see my ugly mug.â
âAwww no, stop,â you pout, patting Robby on his scruffy cheek, âyouâre so handsome, doctor.â
Brendon nearly growls.
Robby laughs at his obvious displeasure and gives you an earnest smile. âYou take care, okay? Sorry in advance that youâre gonna have to deal with Parkâs insane physical therapy schedule. I have to imagine heâll be twice as bad when it comes to his girlfriend.â
You cover your smile as Brendon sets his jaw. âMike, Iâve already thrown one punch tonight; letâs not make it two.â
As Robby leaves the room, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, you whip toward Brendon with a horrified realization on your face. âI forgot about your hand! Is it okay? Is it bruised? Oh god, youâre a surgeon. Did I ruin your hand? Is someone gonna not get their heart fixed because of me?â
âWoah there,â Brendon laughs, âitâs alright, I promise. I know how to tuck my thumb and everything.â He flexes his fingers in front of you for good measure. Thereâs some light bruising along his two center knuckles and tears once again brim at your waterline. âIâll be good as new after some leftovers.â
âPromise?â
âPromise. Plus, I mostly do bones, not hearts.â Then he lies that he has to run to the bathroom, assuring that heâll be right back, and beelines to the hub as he rummages around his pockets. Brendon surreptitiously leans over the counter with his heavy black card dangling from his fingers. Keeping his voice low, he mutters, âIâll cover the patient in two, alright?â
Perlah narrows her eyes at him. âYouâre not her doctor, are you?â
âNo, Iâm not.â
She raises an eyebrow and pulls up your paperwork. âYou know she has shit insurance?â
âItâs America.â
âThe billâs over four grand.â
âLike I said. And?â
âAlright, then.â Perlah takes the card and runs it, letting out a long breath. âShe must be something special.â
âI barely know her.â
âWhatever you say, Shark.â
You watch Brendon through the glass next to the exam room door, knowing exactly what he must be doing. Eyeing him up, you take out your phone and open Tinder, letting it refresh for a second to load new options. Then you go to your settings and switch the distance to the closest possible. After swiping through a couple of faces, you see exactly what youâd been hoping for: A beefy set of biceps in a pair of dark scrubs. No face because of course not.
Park. 35. Private. Dom. Check out my Fet to see if weâre a good match: hammerhead.md
You have to suppress a squeal.
Game, set, match.
Itâs a couple of days before Brendon sees you again. Even if itâs not surprising that you skip a few gym sessions with a broken arm, or even if you changed gyms altogether after that guy bothered you, he still finds himself strangely disappointed at the lack of you. So, when you skip into the ED the following Monday morning with a big smile and a fresh manicure, Brendon lets out a sigh of what feels weirdly like relief. Heâd chastise himself for already getting attached if he didnât like seeing you smile so much.
With a quick nod to the hub to check that he can take a minute, Brendon slips away toward you, meeting you in a quiet corner off the main lobby. Youâre wrapping him in a hug before his mouth is even open, careful not to knock him in the head with your hard cast as you do. Once you let go â he lets it linger for longer than he probably should â in lieu of a greeting, he furrows his brow and takes your cast in his hands, examining it carefully. âHowâs this feeling? Nice and stable but not too tight?â
âFeels totally fine,â you assure him. âYou donât have to kill your doctor friend for me, I promise.â
âYouâre only knocking off one of many reasons to kill him, gorgeous.â Not even realizing heâs said it, much less the swooning heart eyes you give him in response, Brendon smiles at your heavily signed cast. With a grin, he says, âI see youâve got lots of friends on the playground.â
âI teach at a ballet school,â you giggle as you show off the myriad of names in silver sharpie, most of them haphazard. âI have five- to seven-year-olds now, so they thought the cast was just about the coolest thing in the entire world.â
âYouâre welcome, then. Iâll stop feeling so bad about it.â
You nudge him in the shoulder and glare, ultra stern, so cute it makes him want to vomit. âYou donât have anything to feel bad about.â
He sighs sharply as he remembers the sight of you crying on the cement. âIf Iâd stepped in about ten seconds sooner, or if I hadnât been so aggressive with the guy, then-â
âDonât, Bren. Seriously. If you hadnât been there, I donât even want to think about what mightâve happened,â you cut him off. You open your large purse, dig around for a moment, and present him with a small box. âMake it up to me by very graciously accepting the gift I got you to say thanks without being all stupid about it.â
âIâm actually not allowed to accept gifts from patients.â
Only shoving it further into his grip, you insist, âIâm not a patient; you werenât doing any doctoring. Iâm just your friend from the gym.â
âMy friend, huh?â
âWell, yeah, you took such good care of me.â Your choice of phrase makes Brendonâs head spin in a long-forgotten way. Itâs been a long time since he had someone to take care of properly. When he doesnât immediately open the box, you nudge him and insist, âCâmon, I picked it out special.â
With a sigh and a playful eye roll, he opens the hinged box to reveal a golden-edge watch mounted on a navy leather band with a soft brown interior. He drops his act as he admires the luxurious but understated piece. It suits him. Admiring it, he croons, âJesus, this is gorgeous. You have a good eye.â
Glittering under the praise â itâs your favorite kind of compliment â you reply, âIâm sure you already have something much fancier to wear when youâre out in the real world with your Corvette and your surgeon money, but you should still have something nice-ish for the gym and work.â
Brendon shakes his head and closes the box simply to resist temptation. âI appreciate the gesture, really, but I canât accept a gift I know cost an arm and a leg.â
âWell,â you go in, arms crossed over your chest (revealing eye-popping cleavage) to make it clear you have no intentions on taking it back, âthe arm alone cost a few thousand dollars and I caught you paying for it already, so youâd better take the leg.â He purses his lips and relents, checking out the pretty piece again with a soft smile. Dropping your voice somewhere tender and secretive, you murmur, âYou didnât have to do that.â
He shrugs simply. âI wanted to.â
You poke him in the chest. âI have my own money.â
âYou teach ballet to toddlers. I donât mean that disrespectfully at all â in fact, I think thatâs awesome; Iâve watched you in pilates and I bet youâre a fantastic dancer to-â
A huge, pink-glossed smile splits across your face. âYouâve watched me in pilates?â
âThe studio has a glass wall,â he almost stammers out. His cheeks tinge pink. Caught. Then he swallows hard and redirects, âI just mean that I didnât expect you to have four grand easily lying around.â
With a pout, you tell him, âI couldâve covered it just fine, so keep the watch.â
âHow?â
âI have my secrets.â
âPromise me that secret isnât credit card debt?â
âPromise.â You lift up your pinky, a clear challenge to him: To indulge or not to indulge. Wiggling it as an invitation, you add, âNot a penny of debt to my name.â
Brendon rolls his eyes, checks over his shoulder, and then links his pinkie with yours. âGood girl.â
Your breath catches in your throat for a moment before you clear it. Flustered at how those two words go right between your legs and up your spine, you squeak out, âI should get back to the studio. I just, um, wanted to say thank you so much for looking out for me.â
âIâd do it for anyone.â
âNo you wouldnât.â
His eyes bore into yours. Thereâs a beat of charged silence as he decides how to acknowledge the truth of your observation. Thereâs a sharpness to your soft, feminine expression that he doesnât miss. At last, before he can come up with anything to say, he takes his prescription pad from his pocket, scribbles something on it, and hands the note over.
Itâs his number. After another moment or two, curiously observing the way you smirk at his digits like youâve earned them, he says, âSomeone needs to teach you to defend yourself when you donât have Duke around. I box for half my workouts; Iâll show you some moves once your armâs better.â
Swaying gently, you ask, âDoes that mean I have to wait six weeks to see you again?â
Heâs studying you so carefully it makes you squirm. It almost feels like an interview, the way heâs looking at you. âNot necessarily.â
Youâre head over heels for Brendon by the time the tension between you actually reaches a boiling point. Heâs been going on runs with you until you can get back in the gym, both of you talking and joking around as you jog around the park across from the hospital early in the morning before each of you heads off to your job. He tells you about his surgeries, his students, his countless responsibilities. You tell him about your students (much cuter and less frustrating), your dog, your passions. All of it comes out during the slower parts of your time together when you catch your breath in the misty fountain closest to the entrance to the hospital.
On the handful of days where youâre both off, the jogs turn into walks around the city. You live in the same neighborhood, you in an okay-enough garden apartment and he in a bona fide luxury penthouse only two blocks down. Your mind always supplies just how convenient it would be if you did go out with each other. Despite the obvious disparity in your lifestyles â his money, his education, his intensity â you never get the sense that Brendon sees you as less than. He doesnât intimidate you the way he does other people. To you, heâs like Duke, your protection dog. Big and strong and scary but secretly craving good company and a pat on the head.
As soon as your cast is off â Brendon makes a point of personally overseeing the orthopedic resident who removes it â heâs quick to get you back in the gym, specifically in the boxing ring. Itâs your third time trying out some self-defense movies with him when the damn finally breaks.
Firstly, all this boxing has resulted in a hell of a lot more touching than Brendon anticipated. Part of him wonders if heâs self-sabotaging, dangling a carrot stick in front of himself for some unconscious reason heâs not privy to. Secondly, you swish into the gym wearing a skin-tight, tiny baby-pink singlet, yet another one of your outfits designed to drive him insane. Watching you peel off the matching cropped sweater once youâre in the gym has him swallowing hard as he tries to focus on the task ahead of him. Itâs the way your nipples nudge the fabric, he thinks, thatâs the worst of all. The most torturous. Or maybe itâs the slope of your waist into your hips. Or maybe itâs-
âBren!â You launch yourself into his arms hard enough to knock half the wind from him. He holds you tight as you tell him, âI have, like, the most amazing news in the history of the world.â
He lets out a laugh as he pretends for his own sake that he canât feel your tits pressing against his bare chest. Letting his hand linger on your lower back, he checks, âYeah? What would that be?â
âMy class got picked to be the Polichinelles in The Nutcracker for the Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre this winter!â You hug him again, like the excitement is just too much for you to bear, and this time you jump up and down, too. He wants to spin you around and kiss you hard just to taste an ounce of that enthusiasm for himself. Youâre still smiley when you go on, âObviously, a lot of the cityâs ballet schools get to send dancers for different performances and everything, but getting picked is a huge honor for me and itâll be so special for all the girls to get to feel what itâs like to be on a real stage in front of a big audience and itâll be my first time getting to teach and direct and choreograph at that level and-â
âTake a breath, sweetheart,â Brendon interrupts with a chuckle. He melts under the glow of your smile for a second as you giggle at yourself, fanning your face. He hasnât been that excited about something in, Jesus, maybe forever. Itâs infectious. Inadvertently still cupping your cheek with one hand and holding you with the other, he confirms, âThat means your students will be the little kids who come out from under the big ladyâs skirt?â
âYes!â You squeal, âYouâve seen The Nutcracker?!â
âOf course I have; Iâm not some uncultured jock,â he scoffs. (In fact, heâd watched it on his laptop for the first time â the one where Macaulay Culkin is the prince â after you told him you were submitting your class for the part in the ballet a few weeks back, hoping heâd be able to impress you with it if it ever came up.) Realizing that heâs standing like heâs about to make out with you, he takes a step back and clears his throat before saying, âThatâs really great; congratulations. Hope I can manage to score a ticket.â
You pout out your lower lip as your eyes get watery. âYouâd come to my kidsâ ballet?â
He looks down at his feet and shrugs modestly. âIâm sure my mother would love to go for Christmas or something.â
âThatâs so sweet, Brendon, thank you.â And thereâs one more hug. Of course there is. This time, he notices the sweet floral scent of your shimmery body spray, the one you spritz on before morning gym sessions to justify putting off your shower until after the workout. He wants to lean into it, to breathe deeper, to fall into the gentle edges of your life where your biggest news is making little girlsâ dreams come true. Everything good in you is everything missing in him. When you pull back, you give him a determined nod and offer, âReady to get started? Todayâs the day I pin you, big boy.â
He grins and lifts the rope for you to step into the ring. âI seriously doubt that.â
But he canât resist how damn determined and serious you look as you jab him with punches, some of them even landing correctly after a few sessions of training. A few times, he gets so distracted with watching you that he forgets to defend himself and you really manage to get him in the ribs. You get this proud expression thatâs bright and sweet whenever you do something right. So he maybe, just a little, to indulge himself more than anything, lets you pin him.
When he sees you breathing heavily above him with a big smile, seated on his chest, hands on his shoulders, itâs definitely worth it for the brutal teasing he has to endure the rest of the morning. He touches your waist gently and praises, âGood job. That was a really great strike â getting me off balance. That was good work.â
You erupt into a fit of self-satisfied giggles as you watch him catch his breath and tease, âYou left your tummy wide open.â
He cracks up at that, throwing his arm over his forehead. âMy tummy?â
God, his sweat smells good. Youâll go insane if you stay on top of him any longer. You finally stand up, stretch out your arms, and reply, âOccupational hazard of working with kids. Itâs all tummies and bottoms and magic toes.â
Brendon does a full kip up back to his feet because heâs an asshole and too sexy to take your eyes off of for even a second. As he stretches himself out, too, he snickers, âMagic toes?â
As the two of you exit the ring and grab your waters and towels, he says ever-so-casually, âIâd like to see you dance for real sometime.â
Your heart flutters. âYeah?â
He nods, drinking from his water as an excuse to avoid elaborating on the truth of how much he loves to watch your body move no matter what youâre doing. His adamâs apple bobs tortuously in his throat. You try not to ogle him too much, but itâs fundamentally unavoidable when he leans back against the wall and lets out a deep breath, his chest and shoulders and abs all moving with his lungs.
âSo,â you begin, slow and absent, like youâre about to compare schedules with him, âare you really gonna make me ask you out? Because I think it should be the other way around.â
He chokes on his water and sputters a bit, making you laugh at having caught him off guard. After a second of coughing, all he can muster is, âWhat?â
You roll your eyes, nudge his pec, and explain, âItâs so obvious weâre supposed to go out with each other, Bren. Hell, weâre practically dating already. I mean, câmon, the meet-cute where you rescued me from danger, the rising action of you helping to heal my broken arm, the climax of you letting me pin you while weâre both half-naked.â
âI didnât let you-â At your adorable glare, Brendon lifts his hands in defeat. After letting himself think for long enough to make you nervous, he says,âAlright, alright. I wanted to build your confidence; sue me.â He runs a hand through his sweat-wavy hair. Procrastinating. âLook, I like you a lot â youâre beautiful, you make me laugh, youâre easy to be around â but the thing is,â he sighs, a certain darkness taking over his voice, âI donât do normal relationships.â
You stare him down just to torture him by dragging it out, not wanting to show your hand too early. Youâve been waiting to play it too long to reveal your cards a moment too soon. As if innocently, you ask him, âWhat do you mean?â
He chews on the words for a minute before awkwardly deciding on, âI have certainâŠneeds, I guess, that typical relationships donât satisfy. That sounds stupid. Iâm not sure how to say this.â
You give him a âjust you waitâ look, hustle over to your gym bag, and take your phone out. Then you walk back, open up your photos, and present a screenshot of his own FetLife page â specifically your favorite photo of him sweating through a cut-up tank top after a workout, which youâd saved forâŠreference. His eyebrows raise, amused and suspicious, as you poke him in the chest and inform him with a self-satisfied sing-song voice, âYouâre not as mysterious as you think. So let me be clear here: I think you should take me out.â
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. âYouâre not surprised, are you?â
âOf course not,â you reply. âEven the first night you stayed with me at the hospital, I could practically smell it on you. The way you barked orders and protected me. Made me feel safe because you knew I was scared.â His gaze has gone intense now. Youâd expected him to look caught and embarrassed the way he usually does when you tease him for flirting, but suddenly heâs snapped into his element and itâs making you nervous. You remember what his colleague called him. Shark. He looks like heâs hunting you as you admit quietly, âWhen youâre like me, itâs easy to notice.â
He takes a step closer and lowers his voice. Youâve got him now and you both know it. âLike you?â
You give him a bashful smile and avert your eyes. âYou really couldnât tell?â
Brendon studies you carefully for a minute. Your fluttery lashes when youâre nervous. Your softly parted lips when you gaze up at him. The way your tears are nothing short of angelic and your smiles nothing short of honeyed perfection. He steps forward, closing the space between you, glances around the empty gym, and lifts his large hand to your neck. No pressure, no grabbing. But you gasp anyway. Your pupils dilate. And he knows. He pushes his hand up your neck until itâs right beneath your jaw, his pinky and his thumb able to encompass the whole width of your throat.
As he releases you, suddenly seeming twice as tall and broad and confident as usual, Brendon offers, âLetâs go out, then. Dinner tonight? So we can talk things through properly.â
Struggling to ignore the throbbing between your legs, you tell him, âIâm done at the studio at four.â
âText me your address. Iâll pick you up at six.â He checks his watch and shoulders his bag, touching your lower back to guide you toward the locker room, and instructs, âAnd as soon as you get home this afternoon, send me some options for what you want to wear. Iâll choose for you.â
Youâre about due for a cold shower.
you: you didnât give me a dress code for dinner so i picked out a varietyâŠeven some non-pink, non-girly options if you want me to be all sophisticated. let me know what you like đ
you: and jsyk I treat first dates with potential play partners more like job interviews. too many fake doms out there. too many bad experiences.
brendon (hot gym guy): I have nothing but respect for that approach. More than happy to show how seriously I take my subâs safety and well-being. I hope I can pass all your tests.
you: vice versa. youâre too sexy to miss out on.
brendon (hot gym guy): Mutual.
you: yeah?
brendon (hot gym guy): Donât bait me.
you: never.
brendon (hot gym guy): Wear the pink. I like how girly you are.
you: thank you!! i will đđ
you: okay I need to get ready now if Iâm gonna be all cute in an hour and a half. see you soon!! donât be late
brendon (hot gym guy): I never am.
you: thatâs hot.
Getting ready for your first date with Brendon Park is nerve wracking in the best way. The butterflies in your stomach are less a cute fluttery array and more an absolute swarm overtaking the meadow of your consciousness. Even though he picked your gingham-style pastel pink dress, you still have to arrange a pristine makeup look and accessories. You land on fairly simple makeup for you â sheer foundation, a delicate lip tint a few shades pinker than your natural lips, soft dewy blush, generous tinted highlighter that brings out your undertones, light glittery shadow packed at your eyesâ inner corners to brighten every smile â wanting to let your features shine without having to excuse yourself to reapply gloss every other bite.
Once youâve got your makeup set, you style your hair just-a-bit-but-not-too-much fancier than you usually would for ballet class and add a few accessories. A layered pearl necklace that should draw his eye to your chest, matching earrings, and, ugh, shoes. You have no idea which shoes are right.
Feeling perhaps a little mischievous, you decide to ask for Brendonâs input by sending him a couple pictures. Itâs by pure coincidence that youâre still getting ready, wearing only cheeky underwear and a cropped old tee. And itâs simply practical to take the photo over your shoulder in your floor length mirror so he can get a good view of your ass the heels.
you: which shoes do you like better?
brendon (hot gym guy): Fuck.
brendon (hot gym guy): Processing. Recalibrating. Remembering language.
you: sorry bren i didnât mean to distract you đÂ
brendon (hot gym guy): Like hell you didnât.
brendon (hot gym guy): The ones with the bow.
you: you really do like my girly stuff huh?
brendon (hot gym guy): Guilty. I like the contrast.
you: because youâre such a big mean masculine beefcake?
brendon (hot gym guy): đ
brendong (hot gym guy): Something like that.
you: omg did you just use an emoji
you: im already making progress on you
brendon (hot gym guy): Youâre lucky this is a first date or youâd be getting bent over my knee tonight.
you: donât threaten me with a good time đđ
brendon (hot gym guy): Is the peach supposed to be your ass?
you: oh my god. yes grandpa
you: youâre so lucky you have me
brendon (hot gym guy): I am, actually.
brendon (hot gym guy): See you soon, gorgeous.
Brendon picks you up in that ridiculous, gorgeous Corvette exactly when he told you to expect, ringing your doorbell at 5:58. Heâs in a suit. Navy blazer and slacks perfectly tailored to his every muscle, no tie to leave the top few buttons of his shirt undone, soft pink check pocket square â to match your dress, you realize dreamily as he extends a hand to guide you out of the doorway. Having only seen him in scrubs and gym clothes, youâre pretty damn impressed.
Right there on your buildingâs front stoop, he grabs you by the hips and stares you down like heâs already canceled your reservation so he can eat you for dinner instead. He spins you around slowly, devouring every slope of your body hugged by the sweet feminine dress. His hands are on your stomach, your lower back, your hips, as he turns you like youâre a piece of furniture he might buy.
Under his breath, a secret just for you, Brendon murmurs, âYouâre beautiful.â
Not âyou look beautiful.â No, you are beautiful.
âThank you.â Toying with his shirt collar, you reply, âYouâre not so bad yourself, stud. Canât believe you clean up so nice.â
He chuckles and shakes his head and threads his fingers with yours. It occurs to you that he might be a little bit nervous; you know he hasnât been with anyone in a while, so maybe heâs as stupidly giddy as you are, just in his strong, stoic way of his. The two of you are awkward in that sweet first date way on the drive to the restaurant, accidentally interrupting each other and laughing and making too much eye contact. His hand is on your thigh, almost jittery, thumb absently rubbing the fabric like a grounding device.
By the time you arrive at the swanky place in a low-lit brick building, though, Brendon seems to have shaken out his nerves while yours are still a live wire. Heâs in his element with eyes on him, hand on your lower back, giving a charming smile to the manager who leads you to a cozy, more private table by the open screen windows that join the patio to the restaurant, a gentle warm breeze uniting the spaces.
Brendon pulls your chair out, his fingers skating between your shoulder blades as you sit down, making you shiver despite the perfect temperature in the restaurant.
Once Brendonâs seated across from you, the manager says, âItâs good to see you here again, Dr. Park; Iâll be taking care of you personally tonight.â
Just as heâs about to hand you both menus, Brendon stops him. âI already know what weâll be having, thank you.â
âPerfect; go right ahead.â
âWeâll start with the heron point crab toast paired with that pino grigio from Medici. The 2012, if you have it, if not the â22. Add the ossetra, too. Then Iâll do the roasted garlic rack of lamb and she-â he eyes you carefully, savoring the awestruck look on your face â-will have the ahi tuna with the spring onion dashi. And weâll finish with the pistachio Basque cheesecake.â
The waiter finishes scribbling in his pad and confirms, âExcellent choices, Dr. Park. Iâll be right out with your wine and appetizer.â
The moment youâre alone again, you click your tongue while Brendon looks at you expectantly, his eyes giving you a shit-eating grin even as his lips stay flat. You observe, âYou just ordered for me.â
He tilts his head ever so slightly. âIs that a problem?â
After a beat, cheeks burning from the truth, you let yourself admit, âIt was really hot, actually. Nobodyâs ever done that to me. I always thought it was kinda chauvinistic, but you made itâŠsimple, I guess. Like youâll do the thinking for me.â
âThatâs the idea. Itâs a high-risk move,â he replies, all amused and satisfied with himself, âbut it was worth it to see you make that face.
âWhat face?â
âYour eyes wide and your lips parted,â he muses, running a finger along the condensation on his water glass. Your eyes lock to the easy, tiny gesture. Then he reaches across the table and touches your chin, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, forcing your gaze upward to meet his as he purrs, âLike youâre about to drop to your knees and sit pretty for me.â
You blink maybe a thousand times as your brain stutters over his words. When did his voice get so sexy? He touches the pad of his thumb to your lower lip, watching with a sadistic kind of glee as you gasp in softly. You both realize at the same moment that youâd suck on his fingers right then and there if he asked you to.
Which means he doesnât. Heâd never abuse the trust youâre already starting to give him in small pieces. Brushing your cheek a moment, just letting himself indulge in the softness of your cheekâs delicate peach fuzz, Brendon pulls back with eyes so warm youâre melting beneath them.
Your appetizer arrives and Brendon takes care to prepare a perfect half for you, spreading the warm crab salad over crisp buttery sourdough and adding dollops of caviar. When you take your first bite, itâs borderline orgasmic. You have to fight to suppress a moan as your eyes roll back, the mix of mild almost sweet crab alongside something nutty and savory in its sauce and the salty tang of caviar working together in a harmonious symphony. Brendon sucks in a deep breath as he watches your tongue dart out to chase a bead of sauce at the corner of your mouth. When he doesnât drop his eyes after your second bite, you tease him,âYouâre staring at me.â
Unbothered, Brendon shrugs. He never loses that familiar almost-cocky smirk as he replies, âI am. I like staring at you.â
âYeah? Whyâs that?â
âYouâre beautiful and youâre on a date with me. Do I need a better reason?â
âI guess Iâll allow it. You should know, though, that I donât play on the first date,â you tell him, âso if youâre going out with me to tie someone up and get off for the night, you should leave before the expensive entrees get here.â
âIn that case, youâre perfectly safe to stay with me through dessert,â he chuckles fondly, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. He lowers his voice and meets your eyes sincerely. âIâm not just looking for some plaything. I date to keep. And what I keep, I take care of. Thatâs why itâs taken me so long to go out with you; I wanted to wait until I was certain.â
You flutter your lashes and tease, âSo you must really, really like me.â
âYes, I do.â
âGood. Now that weâve had a little wine, shall we get down to business?â
He straightens up and grins at just how serious you look while still being so damn cutesy. âAbsolutely.â
You reach into your bag and remove a glitter pen and the little pastel purple Moleskine notebook you always carry around. First, you tear out a page and hand it over to him. âThatâs a list of my limits. You can look over that on your own time and text me any questions.â
Brendon glances over it, tucks it into his blazerâs interior pocket, and laughs, âChrist, Iâve finally met my Type A match. You just have to keep being perfect, donât you?â
âYep,â you answer with a sweet giggle. Pen poised, you prompt him, âI wanna know what you expect from a sub. I know youâre looking for something serious, something thatâs not just in the bedroom, so I want all the dirty details.â
Brendon leans back a bit and considers it. Really considers it, as if he hadnât been rehearsing how to explain himself the whole time he got ready to see you. âI want obedience, first and foremost. Make my life better, not worse. Donât be another problem for me; I already have too many. I donât tolerate brattiness. I want my girl to sit pretty and obey and be good.â
Writing some half-sensical notes just to make him sweat, you ask, âAnd what do I get out of it?â
That one comes easy to him. As your entrees arrive, he thanks the waiter earnestly (hot) and then turns back to you with warmth and honesty all over his expression. âEverything you need and anything you want.â
You cut into your mouthwatering dinner and push, âDetails, Brendon.â
âI donât like to worry about whatâs mine,â he explains. The way he cuts his food and eats is pornographic. Is there a sub-genre of porn thatâs just well-dressed, attractive men having dinner while communicating about needs and boundaries? You might have to create one. Bringing your attention back to his words, Brendon goes on, âOnce youâre certain about me, Iâll ask you to put your rent and all your bills on my accounts. That way you can save your money. Hopefully it goes without saying, but Iâd add you to the accounts so it still builds your credit and you maintain financial freedom. I donât want to trap you; I want you to choose to give yourself over to me completely.â
He expects you to push back, to challenge, to not understand. But you just hum and nod and write it down in your notebook with that damn pink glitter pen with its feathery end. Fuck, he wants to shove his cock down your throat right then and there.
Brendon rolls his shoulders and goes on, âIâll always make sure youâre taken care of in every way. Youâll be safe and secure, pampered and protected. Your own car, a new place in a better building, designer shopping sprees, meal services or private chefs or- Anything, truly. I have too many resources for one man and theyâll all be yours. What I want in return is eager, complete submission. I want to be a guide, a protector, a leader. The person you look to when you need help or safety or, yâknow, orgasm after orgasm after orgasm,â he finishes, lightening his tone as he gets a bit insecure listening to himself and how intense he knows he sounds. So he turns inward, to his own worry that heâs going to blow this, and presses, âYour turn, then. What do you need in a dynamic?â
Breathless and lightheaded because itâs like heâs reading your mind, you take a long pause and whisper, âYou, I think.â
He glances down at the table to hide the silly smile that parts his lips, innocent and boyish relative to what youâre discussing. You feel his foot lock with yours beneath the table, a silent reassurance. Then he lifts his gaze and needles, âDetails, pretty girl. Details.â
After a few more bites that Brendon intently watches you take, you sip your water and tell him, almost coy about it, âI need a dom who doesnât just make me feel safe but is safe. I never want to doubt them for a second â and if I do, I want them to be self-aware enough to analyze their behavior and apologize and adjust. All I want is to trust someone enough that I can turn my brain off and not worry about all the stupid things that distract me from being happy and carefree. That means they have to respect me as an equal, too, because my limits and boundaries are sacred to me. Iâm not going to let someone push them just because of a title.â Finally, you give him the sweetest flirtatious smile and cheekily add, âAnd, if I have the right dom, the forever one, I want a very pretty and subtle and expensive day collar.â
âI think weâre on the same page here, then.â Brendon lifts his wine glass and says, âTo something new and something real.â
You roll your eyes but clink your glass with his anyway, smiling ear to ear at the idea that you mightâve found what you really want. Brendonâs thinking the same. Youâre exactly what he needs: Thorough, disciplined, self-confident. Not some girl in over her head. A woman, sure and steady, who wants to fulfill her role with knowledge of what it truly means. No doubts, just enthusiasm. He wonât have to teach you or turn you the way he has with past partners who never quite clicked. You know your limits and your needs and your wants. Youâre certain. That, to Brendon, is the sexiest thing a woman can be.
When he asks to kiss you at the end of the date, you say no. Instead, you press your lips to his cheek and murmur, âIf I let myself kiss you now, Iâm going to break my own rule about playing on a first date.â
Brendon drags his hand down your neck and then places it on your waist, pressing you against your apartmentâs front door, his eyebrows pinched together with want. He presses a slow, soft kiss to your forehead and murmurs, âThe second one will be very, very soon if I have anything to do with it.â
The next morning, still high on your date with Brendon, you waltz into the ballet studio â and nearly fall over when you see whatâs in front of you. The whole lobby is covered in flowers, bouquets of roses and carnations in whites and pale pinks, each wrapped in sheer lace-patterned paper and secured with a baby pink chinoiserie-style ribbon. There are so many that every flat surface is full.
Georgia, the receptionist, raises her eyebrows suspiciously at you as she explains, âSomeone donated a bouquet for every single one of our students for good luck at their recital this weekend.â Toying with a folded white note from the florist, sealed by another pink ribbon, she asks, âTotally unrelated, obviously, how did your date with that uber-rich surgeon go last night?â
You snatch the note from her hand and read it greedily. Thank you for a lovely evening. Be at my place at 5:30. Eat dinner and feed Duke beforehand. The concierge will let you in and give you a key to keep. Make yourself comfortable and I should be home by seven at the latest. B. As a slow grin spreads over your features, heart thundering eagerly in your chest, you tell her, âIt went really well.â
She squeals with you, âI figured it was that or heâd royally screwed up and these were apology flowers. Glad itâs the former.â
âNo, no, heâsâŠa prince, apparently.â Then you bite your lip and narrow your eyes as you look over the spectacular display, âYou donât think this is love-bomby, do you?â
âItâs intense,â she concedes, then reasons, âbut youâve got a good head on your shoulders. Your frontal lobe is done cooking. And youâve gotten to know him pretty well, right? Plus, you pursued him first, didnât you?â
âYes and yes,â you reply, finally letting the thoughtfulness of the gesture actually take over your body, making you feel loose and sweet and floaty. âGod, heâs so good, you have no idea.â
She waves her arms around dramatically. âClearly I have some idea.â
âYeah, fair point.â Taking the largest bouquet meant for you, already planning where itâll go in your apartment once youâre home, you tell her, âMake sure all the parents get their bouquets, alright? I donât want any of my kids feeling left out.â
âOn it, boss.â
âYou know I hate it when you call me that.â
She just shrugs, gives you a teasing smile, and, just to be annoying, salutes you before returning to her computer and ringing phone. And you laugh instead of rolling your eyes because youâre too smitten and delighted to pretend to be irritated.
you: most people wouldâve texted
bren: Did you want âmost peopleâ?
you: definitely not đ„° this is so sweet. the girls are all gonna be so excited for their first show bouquets. and carnations are my favorite!!!
bren: Should I pretend I somehow figured that out in a very roman-tic way or should I admit it was a lucky guess?
you: lucky guess is just as cute. thank you thank you thank you!!
bren: I wish I couldâve seen your face when you saw them.
you: ill do a really good recreation for you tonight
you: I canât wait to see you đđđ
bren: Me too, beautiful.
bren: And donât bother wearing something fancy. Iâm going to take your clothes off as soon as Iâm inside.
you: that a promise?
bren: Yes.
you: good. I have to go get changed and get ready for class. thank you again!!
bren: Text me when you have lunch. Iâll be in surgery until about two, but I want to know youâre taking care of yourself during the day.
you: yes sir
bren: Careful.
you: rarely đ
Stepping into the lobby of Brendonâs swanky highrise, you immediately feel out of place, wishing youâd worn something cute and designer instead of something comfy like Brendon suggested. But you swallow hard, square your shoulders, and approach the conciergeâs desk like you belong there â because you do. To be an independent woman is to assert your worth, as your ballet instructor from your teenage years would often say.
âIâm here for Brendon Park,â you tell the woman in a severe black skirt suit behind the desk, swallowing nervously. âUm, heâs in 2600.â
âOf course,â she hums, tapping on her computer and confirming your name. She disappears into the small administrative room behind a frosted glass partition and reemerges with a keyring holding a fob, a delicate enamel ballet slipper keychain, and a pink key. âHis assistant dropped these off for you. Youâll need to use the fob in the elevator to access both Dr. Parkâs floor and the amenities on the roof level if youâd like to use them while youâre here.â
Turning over the keys in your hand â and processing the idea that Brendon has a personal assistant who knows about you already â you ask, âWhat sort of amenities are there?â
âThereâs an indoor and an outdoor pool, hot tub inside, along with a bar and cafe open 24 hours a day. Full-service gym with fitness classes, wood-burning sauna, game room. You should definitely check it all out for yourself when you have some free time.â
âA full gym?â You chuckle almost to yourself, âWe met because we go to the same gym.â
She nods like that makes perfect sense. âDr. Park is a very private man; he doesnât do much mingling with the neighbors.â
Another person approaches the desk, then, so you excuse yourself toward the elevators. Inside, you have to press the fob to a small panel, which lights up the button for his floor: 26. The ride up is so fast and high that your ears pop. Youâve always loved luxury and elegance, but itâs always been a treat. You work hard to splurge on the occasional designer piece. Brendonâs life is drowning in details that could only ever be on the periphery of yours. Itâs intimidating, to say the least.
The elevator opens directly into his condo, which takes up the entire 26th floor. With the sun slowly setting, the space is genuinely breathtaking. While itâs definitely not your style â youâre soft and cozy and pastel, not black and woods and stone â you can absolutely admire the intentionality that went into the place. Itâs easy to imagine Brendon with all his masculine angles and sharp barbs reclining in the oversized suede couch as he reads or leaning against the expansive kitchen island while he sips coffee. Youâd bet good money he hired a designer. Itâs all sleek and modern, floor-to-ceiling windows ringing the open-concept living space.
You slowly spin around and let out a low whistle. âJesus fucking Christ, Bren.â
Making your way tentatively into the condo, you realize that lights slowly come on as you move through, following your steps. You manage to resist the urge to snoop more than feels appropriate for being here alone, noticing the details that he chooses to display. Everything is unique and tasteful, hand-crafted, no Ikea crap or mass-produced decor. Thereâs even a black and white work by Robert Motherwell that you realize with something that blends both horror and glee is an original.
Yeah, you definitely canât process that kind of money right now.
Deep breaths.
In the kitchen, thereâs a curated care package at the center of the island in the form of a large bag from Saks Fifth Avenue. Your throat goes dry when you see your name on a small envelope pinned to it. Inside, thereâs a handwritten note. Seriously, make yourself comfortable. I mean it. Iâll be there soon.
Hardly able to breathe, you unpack the bag to find a flat box from Kiki de Montparnasse and a shoebox from Balenciaga alongside a few smaller goodies. Opening the flat box first, you find a stunning baby blue silk robe with lace details that would hit on your upper thigh, ultra soft and fluttery. The fabric is as smooth and rich as butter. In the shoe box, youâre greeted with cloud-fluffy slippers in the same color.
Once again, you mutter to yourself, âJesus fucking Christ.â
The last few things in the bag are clearly a suggestion for how to spend the hour or so before Brendon arrives home: Bergamot bubble bath, LâOccitane almond lotion, and a couple other self-care offerings. You take your haul through the apartment toward what you assume is the primary suite given the imposing double doors. Itâs marginally softer in there, at least. Just as militantly neat and tidy, but there are books laden with tabs sticking out, an oversized plush chair with a permanent Brendon-sized indent, and other signs of life that make it different from a showroom.
In the en suite bathroom, across from the massive walk-in closet, thereâs a huge tub with a telephone-style faucet built into the floor, literally the size of a jacuzzi. Heâs even left a handwritten note explaining how to use the jets on the wall-mounted control panel.
Comfortable, indeed.
One more time: âJesus fucking Christ.â
You take one of those baths so delicious that you feel like a different person afterwards, losing track of time and space and being until youâre in a happy dreamy fog. Once youâve dried off and slipped back into your bra and panties, you wrap yourself in the slinky robe, not tying it, and walk back into Brendonâs adjacent bedroom. Perched on the end of his bed, you work the divine lotion into your feet and legs until youâre so relaxed you debate flopping down onto the California king and calling it a night.
While youâre tending to your skin, you hear the elevator ding, followed by Brendonâs long deep sigh as his day starts to simmer off. Then you listen with growing anticipation as his footsteps trail through the kitchen, stopping briefly to notice your presence, and then speed up to the bedroom door. You sit up straight on the bed, legs slightly parted, the robe framing out your darling matching bra and panties set, nothing crazy but enough to make you feel sexy.
When Brendon pushes open the bedroom door, his heart nearly stops. His heavy hospital bag falls from his hand and thuds to the floor. Running a hand through his hair, he groans with outright relief, âYeah, I could definitely get used to coming home to this.â He stalks across the room until heâs right in front of you. But he doesnât touch you. Not yet. The smell of harsh hospital overtakes the room. While heâs objectively sexy in his scrubs, you can tell heâs beyond ready to get them off. He confirms it by cupping your cheek and telling you, âIâm going to go take the fastest shower in human history and be right back for you, okay? Donât miss me.â
âToo late.â
Brendon sighs, completely overloaded with desire. Only the sight of your nose wrinkling ever so slightly when the surgical scent hits you convinces him to hold his willpower and clean himself off before he eats you alive. He makes good on his word, at least. In the space of seven minutes, he showers, shaves his face, and does his skincare routine.
And the first words out of his mouth when he emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped low around his waist are, âGive me your panties, baby.â When you donât immediately move, he snaps his fingers and extends his arm. âYou donât wear any when youâre at my place; I need to be able to have you when I want you.â
Your eyes widen at the total authority in his voice.
Youâre in the sharkâs den now.
Standing up right away as your brain recalibrates, you step out of your underwear and place them into his outstretched hand, beyond embarrassed at how hot it is that heâs so immediately his dominant self. Thereâs no small talk, no mask. Just you and Brendon. He lifts your panties to his face, inhales deeply through his nose, eyes rolling back, and then tosses them into his nearby hamper.Â
âMuch better,â he tuts once he can see your neatly trimmed, inviting bush. He closes the space between you and skims the silky robe off your shoulders. It falls to the floor, a total afterthought. When he realizes that youâve chosen a front-clasp bra, his eyes burn with lust. He doesnât waste time teasing; youâre naked in the next breath. As your chest rises and falls quickly, Brendon takes a step back and rakes his eyes all over you, quietly admiring, âFucking perfect. Every inch of you.â
Eyes trained on your pedicure, you quietly reply, âThank you.â
Brendonâs having none of it. He takes your jaw in one hand and pushes your face upward, his expression dark and amused. âSo coy all of a sudden. Just have to get you naked and all your attitude goes away?â
You give a tiny nod. âPretty much.â
âMmm. That works for me.â For a moment, Brendon steps away from you, disappearing into the closet. He returns in a pair of gray sweats presumably designed to send you into cardiac arrest; even soft, even after a shower, you can tell his dick is something to write home about. You stay quiet, but the change in your breathing is obvious and amusing to him. He drags his first two fingers down the center column of your throat, over your sternum between your breasts, and then along your stomach before he settles both hands on your waist. âTell me your safe words and gestures.â
âStoplight system for basics,â you answer easily, âand if I canât talk, Iâll snap once to slow down and twice to stop.â
âThatâs right,â he praises with a wolfish smile â an expression you didnât fully understand until now. âHow are you feeling? Comfortable?â
You almost laugh because, god, can he not read your mind and see that youâre soaked? It certainly feels like he can read your mind with how much he turns you on. âNeon fucking green.â
And he slaps you. Itâs light, you can tell, meant to test and not to punish. Not really. But it still makes you gasp as your cheek stings ever so slightly. âGood girls donât swear. Itâs an ugly habit and youâre too pretty to do it.â
Memorizing the new rule immediately, you reply, âThank you for telling me. I wonât do it again. Promise.â
He kisses your forehead tenderly and praises, âSo obedient already. Youâre going to make such a good pet, arenât you?â
You nod eagerly, shifting your weight gently from side to side as you await more attention, more sensation, more. âIâll always do my best for you.â
âThatâs all I can ask.â
And, finally, he kisses you. Heâs so soft at first, cradling your cheeks in his hands, letting you learn the way his mouth feels against yours. The moment he hears your breath catch, he deepens it, pressing his hand to your lower back to draw you tight against his body. He touches you without any rush. Every curve of your back and plane of your arms bristle beneath his adoring fingertips until youâve forgotten how to kiss at all. So you just follow his lead. His tongue claiming yours. His teeth on your lower lip. His breathy, low groan infecting your synapses. You let out a genuinely embarrassingly loud moan when he grips at the nape of your neck, where your scruff would be if you were a kitten, the tiny grab so dominant it weakens your knees.
When he breaks the kiss, Brendon chuckles to himself at your responsiveness and curses under his breath. Despite your opinion, he must not fancy himself pretty enough to keep his vocabulary clean. While you reel from how tingly and perfect your lips still feel, he goes to his hospital bag, rummages around a moment, and removes a pair of black nitrile gloves. He snaps each of them on with tactile precision. At your curious eyes, he smirks and explains, âIf Iâm going to inspect my new toy, Iâm going to do it right.â
You whimper.
He laughs.
Again.
Bastard.
âLie back on the bed, against the pillows, over toward one side. Arms above your head.â
You maneuver yourself into position, making sure youâre actually comfortable so that you can be fully present with him. Then he manhandles you to be exactly how he wants, arms straighter, wrists crossed over each other, knees bent upward. Your skin burns under his complete, total focus. He lifts his hands as if to touch you but then seems to think better of it. After a moment of thought, he tells you, âThis is our first time together, so I promise I wonât do anything that at all pushes your limits or we havenât talked about you wanting already. I just wanna build trust with you and make you feel good tonight. Same page?â
Breathless and exposed, you agree, âAbsolutely.â
So he gets to work.
First, Brendon touches you everywhere â except where you want. Itâs not so much sensual as it is clinical, which makes it a thousand times more intimate. Especially with the gloves creating an infuriating, erotic barrier between your bare skin and his, you feel like one of his patients. One of his absolutely drenched, fast-breathing, hot-cheeked patients, yes, but still. He holds your arm in one hand as the other draws along your goosebumps. He kisses each of your fingers, each knuckle, even, and then your palms and wrists for good measure. His tongue plays across your chest, along your collarbone, and he presses a kiss over your pulse.
Then he buries his nose in your armpit and breathes deeply. You squeal out a surprised laugh and squirm a bit, but heâs unphased by it. He holds you down easily â your wriggling only makes him fantasize about restraining you â and observes, âYou donât shave.â
âI have sensitive skin and I donât perform anymore,â you reply. âYou never noticed?â
He shakes his head. âToo busy staring at your gorgeous tits and ass to notice your armpits.â
As he resumes touching you, now running up and down your waist, you ask, âIs that a problem?â
Itâs his turn to laugh. Almost a bark, surprised and bright. âSweetheart, there is absolutely nothing on your entire body I would categorize as a problem.â He takes your breasts in each of his hands, expression dreamy and warm, and opines, âI wouldnât be much of a man if I couldnât handle a grown woman having hair wherever it grows.â
Before your quickly melting brain has to come up with something clever, Brendon slaps one of your tits, testing, and tilts his head to one side when you barely react. So he gives you another, this one much harder, and gets the reward of a sharp gasp and an arched back. When he gets the same on the other side, he murmurs, âThere we go. Just gotta learn how much you like to take.â Another set of slaps to each side. Much, much harder. You realize with a zing of delectable fear that heâs nowhere near his full strength even as tears well in your eyes and you let out a completely involuntary shriek. âAnd how much youâre capable of taking. Thatâs a good girl.â
After a deep breath, you manage to tell him, âThank you.â
And you earn a slap across your face. You suck in a sharp breath as he presses seriously, âThank you what?â
Your eyes glow with fuzzy delight; itâs been way too long since you let someone have you like this. Like you crave down to your core. âThank you, sir.â
âThatâs right. Perfect.â Brendon cups your tits, then, and rubs his thumbs over your nipples in careful circles as he checks, âHow about here, though?â He massages gently, all the while studying every single twitch of your face as you dip deeper toward that submissive headspace he yearns to get you to. âMore than that, right?â The pressure increases until your toes curl into the sheets. He keeps it there for a minute, precise, controlled, twisting back and forth, pinching side to side. When your brows are pushed together hard, every wrinkle in your forehead tight from pleasure and want, he purrs to himself, âYeah, thatâs about it, I think. Thatâs your favorite. But I bet youâll take more if I want you to.â
He lowers his head, holds you down at your hip, and bites on your breast. You cry out as his teeth bully your nipple. On the other side, the tips of his forefinger and thumb come together to match the mean, sharp sensation. Electricity sings from your tits to your core, sparking life between your legs, making your stomach contract, turning your thighs tight.
Right before you know heâll draw blood if he continues, you break and gasp, âYellow.â
And he eases up. Immediately. Licks your nipples so fucking gently. Kisses them with a prayerful reverence. He raises his mouth to yours and kisses you. Soft. Sure. You whimper into him and he places small kisses all over your face. Then he breathes cool air onto your swollen nipples to soothe them and affirms, âGood job, kitten. I always want you to use your safe words when you need them. Thatâs the only way I can make sure I have you right where you really, really love. Do you need a break?â
âNo, Iâm good,â you assure him. âSo, so good. All I need is more.â
Brendon nods and kisses you again. He starts at your lips but gradually drags his mouth away from yours and further down. His tongue lathes along your jaw and throat, chasing a bead of sweat down your sternum. He nibbles along your sides and stomach. Some of the gentle bites turn into mouthfuls, teeth digging in, earning his workplace moniker. But you never call yellow through it and, frankly, heâs fucking impressed by the time heâs ready to spread your legs. Heâs left all kinds of nasty bites and bruises over your torso and youâve moaned through each one, begging for more, an altar for him to feast upon.
Finally joining you on the bed, Brendon pushes your knees apart. A sharp breath parts his lips and you have to avert your eyes because you know exactly what heâs reacting to. You can feel the mess between your thighs like honey, a tangible reveal of precisely how much heâs affecting you no matter how bashful you might act. âYouâre gorgeous, baby.â He bends down and kisses each of your thighs, lazy and open-mouthed, before murmuring, âJust need a little taste of you or I wonât be able to focus the rest of the night.â
Your legs are twitching with anticipation as he nestles between your legs, bringing your knees over his strong shoulders, and wraps his arms around your hips. Heâs got you completely pinned and spread with his broad body. You couldnât move if you wanted to â and you definitely donât. He laps up your wine and gets drunk with just one sip. Itâs not for your pleasure, really, the way heâs purely and simply tasting you. The fact that he has you trembling and whining is secondary to the way your tangy pussy coats his tongue.
Brendonâs fingers dig into your hips as he pulls away from your cunt. He looks almost on the verge of grief as he resists the part of his mind that just wants to eat you out for the next hour. He laments, âHow am I supposed to function knowing this pussyâs all mine? How am I ever gonna get any work done again?â
You cover your eyes and giggle, âI dunno.â
âIâve already got you stupid,â he chuckles as he straightens up again, sitting between your legs instead of laying. Rubbing your thighs with his thumbs, he sighs happily, âYouâre so easy.â
âJust for you.â
âThat so?â
âMhmm.â You grind down toward him, craving anything heâll give, and admit with a pathetic whimper, âWant you so bad. Wanna be good for you. Be your girl.â
He moves and kisses just beneath your ear, at the hollow of your jaw, and promises, âYouâre being so good. Iâm gonna see how much this pretty pussy can take now, okay? You just breathe and let me know if itâs too much. Sound good?â
You wiggle playfully and beam, âSounds so good, sir.â
âGod, youâre cute,â he muses as he opens up his bedside table and removes one of several different bottles of lube. âIâm gonna start with two of my fingers and then give you more when I can tell youâre ready. Trust me.â
âI do.â
âGood.â With a kiss to your cheek, he teases, âUsually Iâd tie you up for this so you wouldnât squirm and annoy me, but Iâm being gentle tonight.â
Your head spins with how much you want him to tie you up. Still, Brendonâs two gloved fingers are bliss. Youâre so slick and aroused that they slide in easily, no resistance at all, and he lets out a shaky groan the same time as you do. He thrusts them in and out patiently, letting you get acquainted with the way he touches you, and brings his other hand to rest above your clit, thumb just hovering, waiting for the right moment to join. His palm adds pressure to the part of you heâs curling back against, where you feel so full already you can hardly imagine how much more heâs going to give you.
Your bodyâs overcome with pleasure when he does touch your clit, having already endured so much touch with so little relief. The brilliant agony of thorough foreplay. When he feels you beginning to clench up, your pussy not just adjusted to him but really into it now, he drives in his third finger. That stretch is easily as much as being fucked. Your toes curl into his back and you instinctively grab his forearm â not to push him away or pull him in but just to- to- to have something in your hands. Something to keep you rooted as desire starts to make your body smolder and wind up.
Stupid little sounds escape your lips as he massages right against the perfect spot inside of you. Your eyelids are heavy. Your abs twitch and flutter. Your thighs begin to tremble. And, suddenly, almost out of nowhere, the words are tumbling off your bitten lips before Brendon can even instruct you to say them, âCan I cum, sir? Iâm really close but I- I can try to-â
âAlready asking for my permission. Good fucking girl. So good, baby.â He slows his fingers to work the orgasm out methodically. You tighten around him, slow and constant, until he orders plainly, sternly, like itâs the only thing tethering him to the planet, âCum for me. Show me how good it feels.â
Your cunt grabs him hard at the peak of pleasure. You turn from sparks to bonfire in a split second, heat crackling through you. The pressure is enormous, his palm pushing down against you and his thumb insistent on your bud and his fingers unrelenting. While youâre still pulsing and moaning and tensing, Brendon begins to flatten out his fingers instead of holding them together in your stretched cunt. Heâs spreading you as wide as youâve ever been and you whine out, âBren, itâs so- so much.â
âDonât complain,â he grunts back. Simple. Heâs completely stern, ready to punish. âYou can take more; I can tell. Sheâs nice and wet and relaxed; youâre just in your head.â
Tears prickle at your eyes as you admit, âI donât- I donât know if I can. So much.â
He slows down and lifts his thumb from your clit. He reaches up and touches your chin so youâll look at him. âDo you need to use your safewords, kitten? Being honest is being good.â
You take a second to think, to breathe, and tell him, âN-No. I donât think so.â
âAnd does it still feel good?â
You whimper pathetically and nod through the tears.
âThen shut the fuck up and take it like a big girl.â He pulls his hand back from your face, takes the lube, and dribbles a few cold droplets onto your hot pussy. You whine at the contrast and he instructs, âNow say sorry for questioning me.â
You sniffle back the tears and blink them away and promise, âIâm sorry, sir.â
âThatâs better.â He canât believe how pretty you are with those wet lashes and tear streaks down your cheeks. Heâs never seen something more beautiful and it makes him soften. As he once again flattens his fingers, stretching and scissoring them while toying with your clit, he lowers his voice to a possessive purr and praises, âYouâre almost there, kitten, I know you can do it. Youâve already got all four fingers. Just a little more and youâll have everything I can give you.â
Your eyes find his. You give a wobbly little smile when you see how dark his baby blues have gone, almost no color left. He really loves seeing you like this, completely vulnerable and at his mercy. âYou really think I can do it?â
âI do,â he confirms with a tender and warm voice. Seeing your need for his words, his encouragement, plain as day, he goes on, âYouâre such a good girl. Being so brave. So fucking pretty, too, taking me like this. I know you can do it.â
You sniffle again and nod and, more determined, reply, âKeep going. Iâm ready.â
âPoor little thing just needs some more encouragement,â he sighs lovingly. Nudging the very tip of his thumb into your cunt, he urges, âShow me how much you can take. Show me what a good girl you can be. Iâm so fucking proud of you, baby, youâre doing it. Gonna take all of me. Nobodyâs ever done that before, you know?â
Brendon feels your pussy spasm around his hand at the praise. You sound so damn adorably proud of yourself as you check, âReally? You mean that?â
âReally, princess,â he swears. You imagine him sounding like this in the OR, completely certain, guiding, a teacher who knows everything including his studentâs potential. While he slowly, slowly works his thumb upward with the rest of his fingers, he goes on, âYouâre my best girl. So obedient. Listening to me and listening to your body. I canât believe Iâm getting to do this; youâre perfect. Youâre gorgeous. Iâm gonna make you cum so hard so soon, baby, I promise. Itâs gonna be the best thing youâve ever felt when I finally get you there.â
When you take the first knuckle of his thumb, you let out the dumbest sound heâs ever heard, a crooked high-pitched moan that makes his cock twitch. Brendon ruts against the bed a bit to chase any modicum of relief, sure heâs going to ruin these sweatpants if you keep sounding like that. You donât stop, every single breath and moan so broken and divine he can hardly stand it.
âThere it is,â he croons, clearly proud of himself and you, as your cunt finally lets in the bottom knuckle of his thumb, the widest part of his hand inside of you. âHowâs that feeling, baby?â
âSo much,â you whimper. Your chin wobbles and your breaths are ragged and your neurons are bright and alive. Struggling to even speak with how good and how much and how perfect it all is, you cry out, âFeel so full.â
âThatâs right. Youâre fucking stuffed. So goddamn pretty. Prettiest thing Iâve ever seen.â He snatches his phone and takes a picture of his four fingers spread in your wide cunt, your juices and the lube making the whole black glove shiny in the bedroomâs low light. Tossing it aside again, he turns all his attention back to you and instructs, âNow, Iâm gonna make you cum again, and youâre gonna squirt all over my bed while you do. Got it?â
âI- Iâll try.â
âNo.â His voice is lethal. No room for questions. âYouâre going to do it. I donât care how long it takes. Youâre not leaving this spot until you cum.â His hand starts to move again, twisting and thrusting, keeping your muscles so taut that itâs like a real workout. Your forehead is dewy with sweat as he goes on, âI can tell itâs gonna be a big one, too, baby. So overstimulated, so aching, so swollen, so much, right? All that pressure building up, needing somewhere to go.â
He presses down on your bladder as his thumb strums your clit and you genuinely, earnestly weep, âBrendon, oh my god, fuck!â
That earns you a cruel slap straight to your already throbbing clit. Pain and pleasure rocket through you in equal parts. A sob rips out of you and youâre trying to squirm away from the intensity, not even intentionally because it does feel so good, but your body just fights for control while Brendonâs trying to force it to let go.
âNo, no, no,â Brendon admonishes like youâre a disobedient dog. His thumb is on your clit, hard, unforgiving, unrelenting. He shoves forward, his muscular torso looking massive, pressing you back against the bed frame. With you on the bring of supernova, he commands like a servant, âdonât you dare hold back with me, you useless fucking slut. Never, ever hold back from your dom. Donât resist it or Iâll make it so much harder for you.â
Youâre half-thrashing back and forth, feeling your brain fighting to stop your cunt from simmering and boiling and steaming into pleasure. Itâs all so pent up and tight, begging for something to rend it apart and let in some relief. Youâre using muscles youâve never even felt before as Brendon recklessly defuses the bomb of your body. Thereâs always going to be a version of you that exists before this moment and a version that exists after. Itâs the moment when Brendon Park makes you his. When you give over completely, unafraid and unabashed, to his control.
His voice.
The universe narrows into the pinprick of his voice.
âCum. Now. Thatâs an order.â
You snap. Youâre a live electrical wire in a thunderstorm, struck by lightning, breaking into splinters and whipping out with pure force. You donât even realize that youâre grabbing his forearm, his shoulders, his hair, literally anything you can, clawing with full force as all your muscles turn from steel to smoke in a matter of seconds. Thereâs nothing to see or hear or taste or smell. Thereâs only him.
When you start to resurface somewhere close to personhood, itâs only because Brendonâs withdrawing his fingers, leaving you gasping and gasping as the muscles that make up your cunt knit back together from being pushed to their limit.
Then his tongue is on your slit, not touching your clit so that you can begin to relax. Youâre on fire to the point that his mouth feels cold against your flesh. Satisfied that he's lapped up as much of your release as possible, Brendon mouths at your thighs, nuzzles at your hips, kisses your stomach.
Kicking out of his sweats, Brendon slots himself between your legs. His agonizingly hard cock rests heavy against your lower belly as he strokes your cheek. Your eyes drift lazily up to his. His thumb crosses briefly over your lips and you catch it and suck. His cock throbs as your blissed-out lids close and you swirl your tongue around his skin. Choking on his own words a second because of how damn pretty you are, he murmurs, âYou still with me, baby? I know that was a lot.â
With totally empty eyes â empty like a clear blue sky, empty like a blank page full of potential, empty like your mouth when youâve finished tasting a perfect bite â you lilt, âFeel so good. Just want you, daddy.â
Brendon softens despite himself. Itâs not his usual moniker â heâs always seen himself as hard and stern, not soft and guiding, sir and master â but it slips so easily from your lips that it suddenly suits him. He bends forward and kisses you, pressing his forehead to yours as he makes sure, âColor?â
âGreen as spring,â you reply sweetly, kissing the pink apple of his cheek. You bury your forehead in the crook of his neck and ask him sheepishly, âCan you fuck me now?â
âDonât hide from me, princess,â he says, voice low and tender as he turns you to face him again. âAre you just saying that to make me happy or do you really want it? Because itâs okay if youâre done.â
âI know it is,â you reply. Your voice has never sounded so effortless and breathy with him; itâs like heâs seeing the real you for the first time. The self that nobody else gets. You twine your fingers in his damp hair, wrapping a curl around your pointer, and tell him softly, truthfully, âI wanna make you feel as good as I feel right now. Show me how you like it. Take me however you need.â You meet his eyes and hope he can see the want in yours. âPlease, daddy. Let me be your good girl a little longer.â
âYouâre my good girl no matter what,â he murmurs against your ear, âbut Iâve been dreaming about that perfect pussy for weeks, so who am I to deny her if thatâs what she really wants?â
âAll I want,â you reply, eyes shiny with lingering tears that threaten again. Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, you beg, âGive me your cock, Bren. Need it so bad.â
Brendonâs fully aware that heâs not going to give his best performance the moment he feels how slippery and swollen your entrance is on his tip. If heâs not careful, heâll cum before heâs even all the way inside of you. Especially with you constantly keening beneath him, acting like every nerve ending is raw, each inch of his cock met with a shudder or a sob. Brendon hangs his head and tries to take a deep breath as he bottoms out inside of you. He grips the headboard like it owes him money as a full-body shiver runs down his spine. âFuck, baby. Shit. Oh my god.â
Feeling full and floaty, you hum something vaguely like a question.
He bends down and clutches you close, hand on the back of your head, holding your bodies flush against each other. Shaky and rough, he tells you, âNot gonna last, angel, been waiting too long for this.â
âSo donât last,â you reply simply, âjust be with me. Just use my pussy to feel good and late you can use it again or take my mouth or whatever the fuck you-â
His hand crashes across your face. The pain feels so good you want more of it. Dropping his hand to your throat, he chastises, âJust because your pussy feels incredible doesnât mean you can get away with that.â
You totally unapologetically say, âSorry, daddy.â
Hunger flickers in his eyes. He flexes the hand that had been resting casually on your neck, fingers pressing into your pulse. âRemember what I said about brattiness?â
You shake your head with a smirk on your lips. âUh-uh.â
âI donât tolerate it,â he warns. He gives you a sharp thrust that reminds you just how overwhelmed your whole body is and you realize youâre in for it now. Heâs got something to think about besides how perfect your cunt is, which means he can drag this out. As he starts to fuck you slowly, he gives you one chance: âYou wanna apologize for real now, princess? Or am I gonna have to choke it out of you?â
Biting your lip, mischief takes over your expression and you shake your head again.
His grip tightens around your throat, stealing your ability to breathe. With how amped youâve been since he started playing with you, it doesnât take long for your vision to swim and your head to spin. The lack of oxygen goes right to your pleasure centers as your brain pumps in happy chemicals to combat it. Brendonâs cock speeds up, punching through you in a way that would steal your breath if heâd let you have it in the first place. Youâre a match burning down toward darkness.
He lets up for a split second, just enough to let you gasp in a breath, and then starts back up again. His other hand goes down to your clit, which cries out for mercy. The ecstasy claiming your entire body wonât let up and itâs become borderline excruciating. Not painful so much as overwhelming and overpowering. Watching your eyes roll back as your back starts to arch and your thighs tremble, Brendon growls, âReady to sorry yet?â
Still, you shake your head. This game is too fun for you.
But Brendon has the upper hand. He works your clit hard and fast, about to give you one of those brutally not-enough orgasms, edging you all the way to the top of it. Then he releases your neck, lets you breath, and pinches your clit to kill all the pleasure at once.
He fucks you like heâd fuck a doll, chasing his own high, treating you like a piece of meat, holding your consciousness in the palm of his hand. And you realize youâve never felt safer with a partner. Because Brendon is studying you every second that heâs choking you. His medical knowledge and his respect for you and his true care all mean he can bring you to the brink of losing vision without you feeling an ounce of true fear. He trusts that youâll snap to stop him if you need to and you trust that heâll listen if you do. Which means you donât have to. Youâve never had such an intense dump of emotion during sex.
So you start to cry. Really cry. The tears break and you try to sob but it comes out choked since he wonât let you get any air in. Your cunt starts to tighten up and he grins at the feeling, knowing itâll be impossible for you until he lets you breathe.
Holding you tight, he stares you down with sadistic glee in his blown-black eyes. âYou can cum if you say youâre sorry. You understand?â
You nod hard as spots dance in your vision.
âIf the very first words out of your mouth are anything but âIâm sorry,â itâs going to get so much worse. Got it?â
You nod again, clawing at his hand and forearm now. Your stomach is turning as your organs spasm with desperation for air.
Brendon circles your clit harder, slower, yanking you up to the plateau of the orgasm he has complete and total control over. âIâm gonna let go now. Be good. Three, two-â
Air rushes into your lungs and youâre weeping and sputtering and cumming and wailing, âIâm sorry! God, oh god, daddy, daddy, please, Iâm sorry Iâm sorry Iâm- Ah, ah, thank you, Brendon, thank you, thank you.â And you babble off into sobs as your cunt tenses around his cock, holding on for dear life. Heâs licking the salty tears from your cheeks and kissing them back into your mouth as he lets you breathe and breathe and breathe, his cock pounding into you without any attempts at holding off anymore.
In the final few moments after you cum, breaths hard and fast as you cling to him, as you adore him, as you mold to him, Brendon fucks you like aftercare. His hips roll close against you, keeping his cock inside of you, thrusts short, wanting to soak in every millisecond of your pleasure. His orgasm breaks through him in a shudder, reviving something long-forgotten in his soul. His lips lock onto yours and tears bite at his own eyes, too, and heâs never felt that before. Nothingâs ever felt so right as his cum coating you both as he collapses on top of you, spent, trying hard not to crush you under his weight.
Time stretches long and slow. All that exists is your shared breathing. Both of you on your sides. His lips to your forehead, kissing your sweat. Your leg over his hip. His soft cock slipping out of you as your bodies relax. Youâre completely without thought. After a lifetime of anxiety, thatâs Elysiam. To be serene as a sea on a windless day, your body an extension of someone elseâs, your minds drifting together.
Brendon whispers something soft and soothing that you half-catch in your ear. Then he stands up and leaves the room for only a few moments, returning with a tall glass of water. He sets it on the bedside table. For a moment, he gently rubs your arm, encouraging you to come back to reality fully. Helping you sit upright, Brendon takes your hand and wraps it around the cup. âDrink half of this. Nice and slow.â
You nod obediently. He has to hold the glass with you because your limbs are so weak and shaky; he does so happily, watching you drink the water the way a hummingbird might, tiny sips coating your now-dry throat. It takes a minute, but you get down as much as he wants you to.
âGood job, baby.â He kisses your cheek as he takes the glass for himself. Brendon finishes the second half in a couple large gulps. Cupping your cheek in one large hand, he soothes, âGod, youâre a fucking angel.â When you just burnish your cheek against his hand, not a word on your tongue, he chuckles, âYou donât even know your name right now, do you?â
You give him a lovey-dovey, hazy smile that turns into an innocent giggle. With your chin in his palm, you say like youâre reminding him, âYou know it for me.â
âThatâs right, baby,â he purrs as he kisses your forehead. âNo thoughts for you anymore, huh?â
You shake your head and bury yourself in the crook of his neck, smiley and spent. âThank you for taking care of me, daddy.â
âThatâs my job, princess,â he replies. Youâre certain that this is a version of him nobody else sees, blushed and marked and sweet. âLet me get you cleaned up, princess.â
You shake your head and counter, âCuddle.â
âWeâll cuddle after,â he offers. âI canât let my girl get a UTI, can I? Not when Iâm a doctor; it would just be bad form.â
Nodding reluctantly, you try to stand up but wobble on your legs like a foal. Brendon chuckles as he quickly stands and tugs you to his body. âHop up here; Iâve got you.â
That perks you up. You stand on your toes and give a tiny jump for him to catch you, arms under your ass, guiding your legs around his hips. This way, you can keep resting on his shoulder as he carries you off to the bathroom. He sets you on the toilet, moving your body around like you weigh nothing, and says, âIâm gonna grab you something of mine for pajamas, okay? Iâll be right back for you.â
A minute later, Brendon returns in a pair of maroon boxers, holding something for you. He dresses you carefully in one of his old college shirts, soft and well-worn. He doesnât give you anything for underwear and you donât ask. Youâd love for him to wake you up by playing with your pussy, anyway, so thereâs no point. Once youâre mostly covered, he tugs you into his arms and kisses your temple over and over.
âYou were so good for me, sweetheart,â he coos against your ear. âWas anything too much? Anything hurting more than it should?â
You pull back just enough to kiss him, your eyelids barely cooperating with being awake as you lazily remember his mouth with yours. Into the kiss, you promise, âEverythingâs perfect for me; how about you?â
âIâm happier than Iâve been in years,â he says honestly. Nipping a few kisses up your neck, he asks, âDo you need anything to eat? A warmer sweater, fuzzy blanket, anything?â
Leaning against his chest, you sleepily murmur, âMaybe a snack before bed.â
He strokes your back. âSeems like that might not be far off, sleepyhead.â
âMmm.â
âThatâs a really compelling point.â He takes your hand in his and leads you out of the bathroom. âCome on, Iâll make us some tea and something sweet to snack on before bedtime. Then weâll get your teeth brushed and we can snuggle all you want. That sound good to you?â
âSounds like a dream to me.â In the kitchen, you lean against the island while he puts on a pot of water and takes out a box of assorted pastries from a local bakery. Right away, you tease, âDid you get these just for me?â
âI stop by the bakery before my shifts in the morning anyway. I like to get a box of something for the night shift,â he explains with a shrug, presenting a handful of goodies arranged on a nice plate. âFigured I should have something to eat here if I was going to fuck you to the point of needing replenishment.â
You laugh as your stomach rumbles as if on command, your body finally normal enough to feel its hunger cues, âYou definitely did.â
After nabbing a cheese danish and taking a few borderline ravenous bites, you stretch your arms above your head to loosen the muscles. Brendonâs tee rides up enough to show the soft curve of your stomach, where he catches a glimpse of some dark spots the shape of his mouth.
âYou look good in my clothes,â he observes with a warm smile that he canât contain. âReally, really good.â
âYeah?â You do a half-teasing little spin for him, letting him admire the pretty curve of your ass and your supple thighs. âI might steal this shirt; itâs extremely comfy.â
âItâs yours if you want it.â
âYou did say âanything I want,â didnât you?â
âAnd I meant it.â
When you smile, he swears he could look at you forever.
In lieu of my ko-fi, please consider donating to my mother's long-term dementia care fund
summary: Youâve always thought getting high with Andrew was harmless. Then tonight happens, and you realize youâve been testing the limits of his self-control all along. andrew âpopeâ cody x f!reader / cw: needy!pope my fav, smoking, weed, subbish!pope barely, heâs so nerdy in this i love it, ocd tendencies, SMUT!! (dubconish, protected piv, fem oral receiving, fingering), cute ending, lmk if im missing some. word count: 5.1k amaliaâs love note: shoutout to @wench-hunter-gatherer for this amazing idea, i hope i did it justice <3
The joint passed between your fingers and Pope's, the ember glowing orange against the deepening purple of the sky. The ocean stretched out before you, endless and dark, waves rolling in with that rhythmic crash that made everything else fade away. You were perched on Pope's lap on the old wicker chair on your balcony, his chest warm against your back, and the weed was hitting just right, that floaty, melty feeling where your body felt both heavy and weightless at once.
The air was thick with salt and humidity, that particular heaviness that came with coastal evenings. Your skin felt sticky, and where your bare thighs pressed against Pope's jeans, you could feel the heat radiating between you. The sun had dipped below the horizon maybe twenty minutes ago, leaving behind streaks of pink and orange that were slowly fading to deep purple. A few early stars were beginning to prick through the darkening sky.
âThis is perfect,â Pope murmured, his voice rumbling through his chest into your spine. His breath tickled your ear, warm and smelling faintly of weed and the mint gum he'd been chewing earlier. You felt him shift slightly beneath you, adjusting his position, and you became acutely aware of the solid warmth of his thighs, the way his body cradled yours.
âMm-hmm.â You took another hit, held it, watching the smoke curl from your lips and dissipate into the salt air. Everything felt heightened, the sound of the waves was almost musical, each crash and retreat a perfect rhythm. The wicker chair creaked slightly as you both breathed, and you could hear the distant sound of someone's music playing down the beach, just a faint bass line carrying on the wind.
Pope's hands rested on the arms of the chair, his fingers drumming slightly to some internal beat. You noticed he was being very careful not to touch you, even though you were literally sitting in his lap. It was so Pope, respectful to the point of awkwardness, even in an intimate situation. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself carefully still.
The weed was making you hyperaware of every sensation. The cotton of your tank top felt soft against your skin, and you weren't wearing a bra, hadn't bothered when Pope texted saying he was coming over. You could feel your nipples hardening slightly in the cooling evening air, and you wondered if he'd noticed. The thin fabric didn't hide much.
Your shorts were denim cutoffs, frayed at the edges, and they'd ridden up slightly when you'd settled into his lap. You could feel the rough texture of his jeans against the backs of your thighs, and the contrast between that roughness and the smooth warmth of his hands, even though he wasn't touching you, made you shiver slightly.
âYou cold?â Pope asked immediately, his voice concerned.
âNo,â you said, and your voice came out lower than you'd intended, almost husky. âJust... feeling good.â
âYeah,â he agreed, and you felt him relax slightly behind you. âThis is nice. I needed this. Been a crazy week.â
You hummed in agreement, taking another hit before passing the joint back to him. His fingers brushed yours as he took it, and even that small contact sent a little spark through you. The weed was definitely making you sensitive, making every touch feel more significant.
The ocean continued its endless rhythm, and you found yourself swaying slightly to it, your body moving in small circles. It was unconscious at first, just responding to the sound and the feeling of being high and relaxed. But then you became aware of it, aware of the way your ass was pressing against Pope's lap, the way the movement was creating friction between your bodies.
Pope's breath hitched slightly, and his hands tightened on the chair arms. You felt a little thrill run through you, he'd definitely noticed. You did it again, a little more deliberately this time, rolling your hips in a slow circle.
âYou, uh...â Pope's voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat. âYou good?â
âI'm great,â you said, and you let your head fall back against his shoulder, exposing the line of your throat. The movement pressed your body more firmly against his, and you felt him tense. âReally, really great.â
You could feel his heart beating faster against your back, could hear the slight change in his breathing. The joint had burned down to almost nothing, and he stubbed it out in the ashtray on the small table beside the chair. His hands returned immediately to the chair arms, gripping them like they were the only thing keeping him grounded.
You wiggled again, this time more obviously, grinding down slightly. The friction sent a pleasant tingle through your body, and you realized with a lazy, weed-hazed smile that you were getting turned on. The sensation was building slowly, a warm pressure between your legs that was becoming harder to ignore.
âJesus,â Pope breathed, and you felt him shift beneath you, trying to adjust himself. That's when you felt it, the unmistakable hardness pressing against your ass. He was getting hard, and he was clearly embarrassed about it, trying to shift away without being obvious.
But there was nowhere for him to go, and every time he moved, it just created more friction, more awareness of his growing erection. You bit your lip, feeling a surge of arousal mixed with affection. He was trying so hard to be respectful, even as his body betrayed exactly what he was feeling.
âAndy.,â you said softly, turning your head so your lips were close to his ear. You could see his profile in the dim light, the strong line of his jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard. âIt's okay.â
âWhat's okay?â he asked, his voice strained. âI'm not-I mean, I'm just-â
You wiggled again, deliberately this time, grinding down against the hardness you could feel pressing against you. He made a choked sound, somewhere between a gasp and a groan, and his hands finally left the chair arms, hovering uncertainly near your hips before returning to their safe position.
âYou're so hard,â you murmured, and you felt him shudder. âI can feel you.â
âI'm sorry,â he said quickly. âI didn't mean to-you're just sitting there and you're so-and I can't help-fuck, I'm sorry.â
âDon't be sorry,â you said, and you pressed your nose against the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of him. He smelled like weed and ocean air and something distinctly Pope clean sweat and that expensive body wash he used, something woodsy and masculine. You let your lips brush against his skin, just barely, and felt him suck in a sharp breath.
His pulse was racing beneath your lips, and you could feel the heat of his skin. You kissed him again, a little more firmly this time, your lips pressing against the spot where his neck met his shoulder. His skin was slightly salty, and you let your tongue dart out, tasting him.
âWhat are you doing?â he asked, his voice rough and strained.
âKissing you,â you said simply, doing it again. You dragged your lips up the column of his throat, feeling the vibration as he groaned. Your hands came up to rest on his thighs, and you felt the muscles tense beneath your palms.
âWe're-we're high,â he said, like he was trying to convince himself of something. âAnd we're friends, and I don't want to-I don't want to take advantage or-â
âAndrew,â you interrupted, turning in his lap so you were straddling him, your knees on either side of his hips. The movement pressed your core directly against his erection, and you both gasped at the contact. His eyes were wide, pupils blown dark, and his lips were parted. He looked wrecked already, and you'd barely done anything. âI want this. Do you want this?â
âI-fuck-yes,â he admitted, his hands finally, finally coming to rest on your hips. His grip was tentative at first, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he held on too tight. âI've wanted this for so long, but I didn't think-I didn't know if you-â
You cut him off by rolling your hips against him, grinding down deliberately. The friction was delicious, the seam of your shorts pressing against your clit through your underwear, and you could feel how hard he was through his jeans. The layers of fabric between you were frustrating and arousing at the same time.
âOh god,â Pope groaned, his head falling back against the chair. His hands tightened on your hips, and you could see him struggling with himself, wanting to pull you closer, wanting to maintain control. His neck was exposed, the tendons standing out, and you leaned forward to kiss along his throat.
You worked your way up to his jaw, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, occasionally letting your teeth graze his skin. He was making these small sounds, almost whimpers, and each one sent a bolt of arousal straight through you. Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his thin t-shirt, and you could feel his heart racing.
âYou're killing me,â he breathed, and his hips jerked up involuntarily, seeking more friction. âYou're actually killing me.â
âGood,â you murmured against his ear, then caught his earlobe between your teeth, tugging gently. He made a strangled sound, and his hands slid from your hips to your ass, gripping firmly. The touch sent electricity through you, and you ground down harder against him.
You could feel how wet you were getting, your underwear already damp, and the knowledge that he could probably feel it too through the layers of clothing made you even more aroused. You wanted him to know what he was doing to you, wanted him to feel how much you wanted this.
Your hands tangled in his hair, and you tugged slightly, angling his head so you could kiss along his jaw. He had a day or two of stubble, and the scratch of it against your lips was intoxicating. You kissed the corner of his mouth, teasing, and felt him turn his head, trying to capture your lips properly.
But you pulled back, smiling, and kissed down his neck instead. His hands were kneading your ass now, pulling you against him in a rhythm that matched the rolling of your hips. The friction was building, that pressure between your legs intensifying, and you knew if you kept this up you could probably come just from grinding against him.
âPlease,â Pope groaned, and you weren't sure what he was begging for. âPlease, I need-â
You kissed back up his neck, along his jaw, and finally pressed your lips to his. The kiss was immediately intense, all the pent-up tension exploding between you. His lips were soft and eager, if a little clumsy at first, but then he was kissing you back with increasing confidence, his tongue sliding against yours.
You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head, holding you to him. The kiss was deep and hungry, all teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. You could taste the weed on his tongue, and underneath that, something distinctly him.
Your hips were still moving, grinding against him in a steady rhythm, and you could feel him getting harder, if that was even possible. His jeans had to be painfully tight, and part of you wanted to reach down and free him, to feel him properly. But another part of you was enjoying this, the teasing, the building tension, the way he was completely losing control.
You broke the kiss to gasp for air, and immediately started kissing down his neck again. This time you didn't hold back, sucking hard enough to leave marks, wanting to see evidence of this tomorrow. He groaned, his hips bucking up hard, and you felt a surge of power at the response.
âFuck, that feels so good,â he panted, his hands sliding under the hem of your tank top, finally touching bare skin. His palms were warm and slightly rough, and the touch sent shivers through you. He explored cautiously at first, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, then growing bolder, sliding up your ribcage.
When his thumbs brushed the undersides of your breasts, you both froze for a moment. You weren't wearing a bra, and he clearly just realized it. His hands stilled, and you could practically hear him thinking, trying to decide if he should continue.
You made the decision for him, arching your back and pressing your breasts more firmly into his hands. âTouch me,â you breathed against his neck. âPlease, Andy, touch me.â
His hands cupped your breasts, and you both moaned at the contact. His thumbs found your nipples, already hard and sensitive, and when he brushed over them, you gasped, your hips jerking against him. The dual sensation, his hands on your breasts, the friction against your clit, was almost overwhelming.
âYou feel so good,â he murmured, his voice rough with arousal. âSo fucking good. I can't believe-I've thought about this so many times, but I never-â
âWhat did you think about?â you asked, genuinely curious. You rolled your hips in a particularly deliberate circle, and he groaned.
âThis,â he said, his thumbs circling your nipples. âTouching you. Kissing you. I thought about, fuck, I thought about what you'd taste like, what sounds you'd make. I thought about making you come.â
His words sent a bolt of heat through you, and you kissed him again, hard and desperate. Your hands slid under his shirt, needing to feel his skin, and he helped you pull it up slightly.
His chest was muscular and tanned, muscles defined from physical work, and you ran your hands over him appreciatively. His skin was warm and smooth, and you could feel his heart racing beneath your palm. You dragged your nails lightly down his chest, and he shuddered, his hips bucking up hard.
âInside,â you gasped against his mouth, the need becoming urgent. âWe need to-bedroom-â
âYeah, yeah okay,â he panted, and then you were both standing, stumbling, still kissing frantically. His hands were everywhere now, your waist, your ass, sliding up under your shirt to touch bare skin. You knocked into the doorframe, then the couch, giggling between kisses, drunk on him and the weed and the overwhelming need.
The journey to your bedroom felt like it took forever and no time at all. You were vaguely aware of moving through your apartment, of Pope's hands on you, of the way he kept stopping to press you against walls and kiss you deeper. At one point he lifted you, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding against him as he carried you.
âFuck, you're so hot,â he groaned against your neck, his hands gripping your ass to support you. âI can feel how wet you are, even through your shorts. Are you wet for me?â
âYes,â you gasped, the dirty talk sending another surge of arousal through you. âSo wet. I've been wet since I started grinding on you outside.â
He made a sound that was almost a growl, and then he was moving faster, carrying you the rest of the way to your bedroom. When you finally reached it, he set you down, and you started to pull away, intending to fall back onto the bed. But his hands tightened on your hips, stopping you.
âNo, no, wait,â he said, slightly breathless, his lips swollen from kissing. âDon't-don't lay on the bed with those clothes.â
You blinked at him, confused and aroused and impatient. âWhat?â
âThey smell like weed,â he explained, and his hands were already moving to the hem of your tank top, his fingers brushing against your skin. âGonna get your bedsheets all dirty and smoky, and then you'll have to wash them, and-â
He pulled your shirt up and over your head, dropping it on the floor, still talking in that earnest, practical way that was so quintessentially Pope. Your breasts were exposed now, and you saw his eyes drop to them, his words faltering for a moment before he continued.
â-and that's a pain in the ass, you know? Better to just-â His hands went to the button of your shorts, and you realized with a thrill that he was undressing you without even seeming to realize what he was doing. He was so focused on his explanation, on the logic of it, that he didn't notice the way your breath had quickened, the way you were watching him with heavy-lidded eyes.
â-take them off now, and then the sheets stay clean, and-â He popped the button and slowly dragged down the zipper, his knuckles brushing against your lower belly. The touch made you shiver, and you saw him swallow hard, his throat working. â-you won't have to do laundry tomorrow, which is good because laundry sucks, and-â
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and started pulling them down, kneeling as he did so. The position put his face level with your hips, and you saw his eyes darken as more of your skin was revealed. You were wearing simple cotton underwear, nothing fancy, but they were damp with arousal, and you knew he could see it.
â-the detergent you use is expensive, I've seen it in your bathroom, so it's better to not waste it on sheets that don't really need washing, and-â Your shorts hit the floor, and his hands skimmed up your thighs, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. His face was inches from your core, and you could feel his breath, warm against your skin.
He finally seemed to register what he was doing, his eyes traveling up your body, taking in your underwear, your bare breasts, the expanse of skin he'd just exposed. His hands were still on your thighs, and you could feel them trembling slightly.
âOh,â he said, his voice rough and low. âFuck.â
You reached behind you and hooked your thumbs into your underwear, slowly sliding them down. His eyes were locked on the movement, watching as you revealed yourself to him completely. When you stepped out of them, kicking them aside, you were completely naked, and he was still kneeling in front of you, fully dressed, staring at you like you were something holy.
âYou were saying something about keeping the sheets clean?â you asked, your voice teasing.
His eyes snapped up to yours, and the heat in them made your breath catch. âI, uh... I forgot.â
âAndrew,â you said, reaching down to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his lower lip. âYour clothes smell like weed too.â
âThat's-yeah, that's a good point,â he managed, and then you were pulling at his shirt, and he was helping you, yanking it over his head. You'd already seen his chest, but seeing it again in the better light of your bedroom made you appreciate it more, the muscle, the tan skin, the way his stomach tensed as you ran your hands over it.
You made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning them and pushing them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed, and you wrapped your hand around it, stroking slowly. He made a choked sound, his hips jerking forward involuntarily, and his hands came up to grip your shoulders for balance.
He was hot and hard in your hand, and you could feel him throbbing, could see the bead of precum at the tip. You swiped your thumb over it, spreading it, and he groaned, his head falling forward to rest against your stomach.
âFuck, that feels good,â he panted against your skin. âBut if you keep doing that, I'm gonna come way too fast, and I want-I need to-â
âWhat do you need?â you asked, still stroking him slowly.
âI need to taste you,â he said, his voice muffled against your stomach. âI've thought about it so many times. Please, can I-â
âYes,â you said immediately, and then he was guiding you backward to the bed, his hands on your hips. When the backs of your knees hit the mattress, you sat, then lay back, and he followed you down, settling between your legs.
For a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes roaming over your body with an intensity that made you feel exposed and desired at the same time. Then he leaned down and kissed your inner thigh, his lips soft and warm against your skin.
âYou're so beautiful,â he murmured, kissing higher. âSo fucking beautiful. I can't believe I get to do this.â
He kissed his way up your thigh, taking his time, and the anticipation was almost unbearable. When he finally reached your core, he paused, his breath hot against your wet flesh, and then he licked a long, slow stripe up your slit.
You gasped, your hips jerking, and he made a sound of satisfaction, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place. He licked again, more firmly this time, and then his tongue found your clit, circling it slowly.
âOh god,â you moaned, your hands tangling in his hair. âAndy, that's-fuck-â
He was enthusiastic if a little inexperienced, but what he lacked in technique he made up for in eagerness. He experimented, paying attention to your reactions, learning what made you gasp and moan. When he sucked your clit into his mouth, your back arched off the bed, and he did it again, harder this time.
âYes, like that,â you panted, your fingers tightening in his hair. âJust like that, don't stop-â
He didn't stop. He worked your clit with his mouth, alternating between sucking and licking, and then you felt his finger at your entrance, pressing in slowly. The stretch was delicious, and you moaned, your hips rolling against his face.
He added a second finger, curling them inside you, searching for that spot that would make you see stars. When he found it, you cried out, your whole body tensing, and he focused there, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm while his mouth continued its assault on your clit.
The pleasure built quickly, that familiar tension coiling in your lower belly. You were making sounds you'd be embarrassed about later, but right now you didn't care. All you cared about was the feeling of his mouth on you, his fingers inside you, the way he was completely focused on your pleasure.
âI'm close,â you gasped, and you felt him double his efforts, his fingers moving faster, his mouth more insistent. âAndy, I'm gonna-oh fuck, I'm-â
Your orgasm hit you like a wave, pleasure washing through you in pulses. Your inner walls clenched around his fingers, and you heard him groan against you, the vibration prolonging your climax. He worked you through it, only slowing when you started to squirm from oversensitivity.
When you could breathe again, you looked down at him. His face was flushed, his lips wet and swollen, and he looked at you with such satisfaction and desire that it made you want him all over again.
âCome here,â you said, pulling him up for a kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, and it made you want him even more. âI need you inside me.â
âCondom,â he said, pulling back slightly. âDo you have-â
âNightstand,â you gestured, and he reached over, fumbling in the drawer until he found one. You watched as he rolled it on, his hands slightly shaky, and then he was positioning himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.
âReady?â he asked, and you loved that he checked, even now, even when you were both desperate for it.
âYes, fuck, yes-â
He pushed in slowly, and the stretch was perfect, filling you completely. You both groaned at the sensation, and he paused when he was fully seated inside you, his forehead dropping to yours. His arms were shaking slightly with the effort of holding still, and you could see the tension in his jaw.
âYou feel so fucking good,â he breathed, his voice strained. âSo tight and wet and perfect. I need a second or I'm gonna come right now.â
You clenched around him deliberately, and he made a choked sound, his hips jerking. âDon't-fuck-don't do that, I'm trying to-â
âMove,â you urged, wrapping your legs around his waist. âAndy, please move, I need-â
He pulled almost all the way out, then slid back in, and the friction was delicious. He started a slow rhythm, deep strokes that had you gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders. Each thrust hit something deep inside you, and you could feel the pleasure building again already.
âHarder,â you urged, and he obliged, his hips snapping forward with more force. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room along with your moans and his grunts. He shifted the angle slightly, and suddenly he was hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.
âOh god, right there, don't stop-â You were babbling now, incoherent with pleasure, and he maintained that perfect angle, that perfect rhythm, driving you higher and higher.
âYou feel so good,â he groaned, his face buried in your neck. âSo fucking good. I've wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long.â
His words sent a surge of emotion through you, mixing with the physical pleasure, and you pulled him down for a kiss. It was messy and desperate, all tongue and teeth, and you could feel him getting close, his rhythm starting to falter.
âWait,â you said, pushing at his chest. âI want-can we-â
He pulled out, looking concerned. âWhat's wrong?â
âNothing,â you assured him quickly. âI just want to be on top.â
His eyes darkened, and he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him. You straddled him, positioning yourself over his cock, and slowly sank down. From this angle, he went even deeper, and you both moaned at the sensation.
You started to move, rolling your hips in a slow grind, and his hands came up to grip your waist. From this position, he had a perfect view of your body, and you could see his eyes roaming over you, your breasts, your stomach, the place where your bodies were joined.
âFuck, you're so hot,â he groaned, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts. âI love watching you ride me. I love seeing you take what you need.â
You increased your pace, bouncing on him now, and the pleasure was intense. You could feel him so deep, hitting all the right spots, and the friction against your clit was perfect. One of your hands came down to touch yourself, your fingers finding your clit, and Pope's eyes locked on the movement.
âThat's so hot,â he panted, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. âTouch yourself. Make yourself come on my cock.â
The dirty talk was unexpected and incredibly arousing, and you rubbed your clit faster, chasing your orgasm. Pope's hands were on your hips now, helping you move, and you could feel him getting close, his cock throbbing inside you.
âI'm gonna come,â you gasped, your movements becoming erratic. âAndy, I'm-â
âCome for me,â he urged, his voice rough. âI want to feel you come. Want to feel you squeeze my cock.â
Your orgasm hit you hard, your whole body tensing, inner walls clenching around him rhythmically. The sensation triggered his own release, and he thrust up hard, groaning your name as he came. You could feel him pulsing inside you, and it prolonged your own pleasure, waves of sensation washing over you.
You collapsed forward onto his chest, both of you breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat. His arms came around you, holding you close, and you could feel his heart racing against your cheek.
For a long moment, you both just lay there, catching your breath, enjoying the afterglow. Then Pope carefully lifted you off him, disposing of the condom before pulling you back against his chest.
âThat was...â he started, then trailed off, like he couldn't find the words.
âYeah,â you agreed, pressing a kiss to his chest. âIt really was.â
âI meant what I said,â he murmured, his fingers tracing patterns on your back. âAbout wanting you. This wasn't just... I mean, I really like you. Have for a while.â
You lifted your head to look at him, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes. âI really like you too,â you said softly. âThis wasn't just a high hookup for me either.â
He smiled, that genuine, slightly awkward Pope smile that you loved, and pulled you in for a kiss. This one was slower, sweeter, full of promise.
âStay,â you said when you broke apart. âTonight. Stay with me.â
âYeah,â he said, his arms tightening around you. âI'd like that.â
Outside, the ocean continued its endless rhythm, and inside, wrapped in Pope's arms, you felt perfectly, completely content. The high was starting to fade, but the feeling of rightness, of finally being where you were supposed to be, only grew stronger.
You dozed for a while, comfortable in the silence, but eventually you felt Pope stir beneath you. âHey,â he said softly. âYou awake?â
âMmm,â you hummed, not quite ready to move.
âI was thinking...â he started, his hand sliding down your back to cup your ass. âWe should probably shower. Get the weed smell off properly.â
You lifted your head, seeing the mischief in his eyes, and grinned. âIs that right?â
âYeah,â he said, his hand squeezing gently. âWouldn't want to smell like weed tomorrow. Very irresponsible.â
âSo responsible of you,â you teased, sitting up. His eyes immediately dropped to your breasts, and you saw his cock twitch with interest. âThink you can go again?â
âWith you?â he said, pulling you down for a kiss. âDefinitely.â
The shower was long and steamy, full of soapy hands and slippery skin and Pope pressing you against the tile wall as he fucked you from behind, his hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. The water cascaded over you both, and when you came, it was with his name on your lips and his teeth on your shoulder.
Afterward, you dried off and climbed into bed properly, your sheets still clean just like Pope had wanted. He pulled you against him, your back to his chest, and you felt his lips press against your shoulder.
âThis is perfect,â he murmured, echoing his words from earlier on the balcony.
‷ ââ bf!pope cody headcanonsâËËË (sorta nsfw under the cut...)
a/n: first time writing for pope!!! eek i haven't written in months... hope this isn't too bad! (dividers by @/uzmacchiato !! <3)
bf!pope cody who... stays within a 6 foot radius of his girl at all times. you go to the grocery store? he's right behind you with every step. at a party? his hands haven't left your body. even when you get up in the middle of the night for water. you fill up the cup and turn to grab a straw when youre met by the great wall of pope.
"jesus, andrew. scared the shit out of me."
"why'd you get out of bed?" when it's glaringly obvious that you were getting water.
"i was thirsty. any other questions, Sherlock?"
he mumbles under his breath before taking your hand and holding it while you drink your water.
bf!pope cody who... is overly clingy. this kinda goes with the first one, but i mean!!!!!! he has no concept of personal space god love him :( he is always always always touching you, and when he can't, hes blowing up your phone.
â¶Where are you?
im in the kitchen
â¶Come back to bed.
pope im in my kitchen... like at my house
â¶Oh.
â¶Come back
and of course you do go over because who are you to deprive him of what he needs?!
bf!pope cody who... knows exactly how to get what he wants. he knows all he has to do is use his pathetic little puppy eyes to get anything. it worked on smurf growing up, so he learned to naturally employ it in his regular life as well. this leads to many days spent bickering about stupid stuff in the grocery store, at which point he gets quiet and he looks at you with those shiny eyes and... how did that end up in the cart? oh pathetic puppy eyed man you are so special to me
bf!pope cody who... is a biter. he love the sensation and the way you react. he bites anything and everything. its gotten to the point where you've banned certain positions because he cant stop biting you. he doesn't even do it on purpose!! he just needed somewhere to rest his head... not his fault your shoulders were perfect for sinking his teeth into.
"pope!" you squeal, pushing him back lightly. his eyes rove over you, his blank expression unmoving on his face. "i thought we agreed no more biting."
he grumbles lowly before tucking his face back into the crook of your neck where he had it before you'd so rudely evicted him. "yeah. 'm sorry baby," he mumbles softly. his teeth graze against your skin as he continues, "cant help it." you huffed softly as you felt his teeth connect back with your skin.
"pope. quit it." he whines softly at the demand. cant let him get away with everything but you'd be lying to say you didnt like it
bf!pope cody who... is a giver. you had a bad day? hes between your legs. you had a good day? hes kissing you to celebrate. he had a bad day? his hand is down your pants. he had a good day? youre bent over the couch. make no mistake, you will always finish first! doesn't matter whose birthday it is, who fucked up the job, who slept until noon and did nothing all day. if there's a chance for pope to please his girl hes jumping on it!
tags: andrew "pope" cody x reader, a/b/o universe, smut, female&male masterbation, scenting, heavy breathing, NSFW 18+ MDNI
notes: @oxalaia-quilombensis just had to send me the video of andrew and amy going at it and I was like, hmmm all this sniffing is giving alpha/omega vibes so why not, taglist is below the cut at the end, please enjoy!
· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·
Your senses buzzed intensely, head tilting back slightly to display your unmarked neck as the air grew thick with want and something so distinctively Andrew Cody.
His tangy ocean and rain water scent held your tongue tightly as saliva pooled around it and your teeth. You didn't dare lick your dry lips in fear of letting the taste escape back into the air. Your toes gripped at the carpeted floor as you stood not even a foot away from him. The two of you were barely clothed, patches of naked skin hot enough you could feel the other without touching.
One of your bra straps dangled loosely against your right shoulder while your underwear pooled with slick that pumped out every time you inhaled deeply, wanting nothing more than for Andrew's scent to cling to the inside of your lungs. Across from you, his pecs rose and collapsed in quickened pants; he too taking gulps of your creamy coconut and ocean breeze scent.
Together, you smelled exactly like home, the remnants of a beach house that stayed in the depths of your mind and wants, a house that you thought of sharing with Andrew one day, filling the rooms with litters and light.
But you couldn't think about any of that. Right now, you could only let his being consume you.
Andrew had a thing about people touching him, but he didn't have a qualms about you watching him touch himself. His hazel eyes tracked the way you pulled down the hem of your underwear until the fabric slid down your legs all the way to the floor. Instantly, your scent grew tenfold without the extra barrier, and he swallowed thickly when your slick dripped in glistening rivets down your inner thigh. His alpha clawed at him to drop to his knees and lap it all up with his thick tongue and drink it right from the source.
Instead, he fought against his urges and mirrored your actions, and his boxers puddled at his feet, allowing his hard cock to bob at his lower stomach. He noted the hitch in your breath when you looked down, and his chest puffed a bit more, body liking the effect he had over an omega. He slowly pinched at his already growing knot before wrapping his hand around his length. He growled out a moan at the feeling, watery-thin pre dripping down the outside of his curled fingers.
Andrew's eyes fluttered shut but snapped back open when a quivering whine slipped out of you. The sight of your fingers circling around your swollen clit almost had he knees buckling. To steady himself, he parted his stance and leaned forward, nose drifting towards the scent gland at the base of your neck. He followed the scent upward, circling his face until his mouth and chin bumped against yours.
You were already panting heavily, white-hot pleasure building at your center. Andrew let his lips trace lightly against yours, and a quickening motion at his lower stomach had you leaning in as well.
"Yeah," he breathed into your parted lips. "Yeaahhhh." The second came out as an almost whimper.
You breathed into him just as much before Andrew slowly connected you to him in an opened-mouth kiss. He inhaled sharply and moaned, nostrils flaring as your scent completely rewrote every thought he had. His head bobbed slightly, and you followed the motion, staying connected to his lips. The movement had the tips of your stiff nipples brushing against his hot skin.
He kissed you in lazy puckers and licks while simultaneously running his hand up and down his weeping length. Every few swipes had his hand bumping against his inflated knot.
Suddenly, your head jerked back, and your neck stretched as a moan squeezed from your throat. Another wave of your scent rushed at his face, and Andrew forced himself to watch you cum, fingers steadily circling and dipping into your heat. It wasn't much longer before he spilled hotly all over himself in thick, translucent ropes. He buried his nose right against your gland, still taking in lungfuls of your scent during his high.
Soon he thought after you stumbled into his chest soon, I'll make this omega mine
summary: you and andrew get high together, and somewhere between shotgunning and light touches, you end in his lap, kissing for the first time (among other things).
wc: 3.8k words
warnings: 18+, lots of yearning, first kiss, getting high, shotgunning, dryhumping, fingers in his mouth, switchy and subby andrew <3, coming in pants, lots of praise
series: you seem pretty sad for a boy so in love
a/n: this is my ultimate fantasy with andrew, also i blacked out during the smut idk. and as the olivia song has quite the opposite meaning, i listened to this bollywood song while writing to feel the yearning - would highly recommend. divider credits: @strangergraphics | soundtrack: cigarette smoke by olivia rodrigo (& barbaad from saiyaara)
Andrew's nervous standing outside your apartment. His nervousness lives in the way his fingers rub absent-mindedly against one another, the rough pads of his thumbs worrying at old calluses. His eyes move instinctively across the hallway, mapping exits, counting doors, trying to guess who your neighbours are by what they have outside the apartment.Â
His eyes pause above your doorframe. No camera. His jaw tightens. You should really install one, heâll ask you if he can do it for you.
He clenches his fist once, then twice, before bringing it up to knock twice against the wood.
Almost immediately, the door swings open.
And suddenly all the careful calculations in his head disappear.
You're standing there in an oversized T-shirt that's slipped carelessly from one shoulder, exposing the smooth curve of your collarbone, a pair of shorts so small they're almost hidden beneath the hem.Â
Andrew's eyes drop before he can stop.
Youâre wearing kneesocks, leaving your thighs bare, your skin catching the afternoon light filtering through the hallway.
Fuck.
He has to physically clench his jaw to drag his eyes back to yours, before they linger any longer than they should.Â
âHey Andrew, come on in,â you're biting your lip, shyly, stepping aside.
He clears his throat.
âYeah. Hi.â
He suppresses a wince as he averts his eyes. Don't look down.
The thought comes automatically, like every other instinct that's kept him alive this long.
He slips his boots off by the door without you asking as he enters your apartment, looking around as you venture into your room.Â
He canât mistake this, mistake your kindness, for anything more than it is. He can't mistake these moments for more than they were. The two of you bumping into each other in the grocery store aisle over a month ago, then finding your way back to each other. Him driving you home afterwards because your apartment happened to be on the way. Then doing it again the next day. And the day after that.Â
Hands brushing as you sit close to one another, grabbing dinner every now and then at some shitty diner, conversations stretching from awkward small talk into comfortable silences, into stories about childhood, books, documentaries, little pieces of yourselves offered up.
There was something blossoming there. A companionship that, to Andrew, already felt far more intimate than simple friendship. Something steady, gentle, so unlike what he had in his life before. Something he'd catch himself thinking about when he was lying awake at night.
He'd accepted nothing would come from this a long time ago, content with whatever small pockets of warmth you offered him, occupying that strange, liminal space between friendship and something romantic neither of you had ever been brave enough to name. That was enough. More than enough, really. More than a man like him had any right expecting.
The fantasies that crept in during the late hours of the night, when the insomnia had settled into his ribs, were his burden to carry. They were his to hold - between him, the four walls of his bedroom, and a brain that insisted on imagining what it would feel like to have you beside him, pressed against him. They stayed there, locked away where they belonged, because Andrew knew better than to mistake his longing for possibility.
Still, he cannot help but wonder, as he walks into your apartment, if you felt an inkling of what he felt towards you.Â
Last night, the two of you had been leaning against the front of his truck beneath the night sky, paper bags from the local shitty diner resting between you as you ate greasy fries and burgers. There hadn't been much talking, there never needed to be. The silence between you had slowly become its own language, one Andrew found himself looking forward to more than he cared to admit.
âIâve got tomorrow off, finally,â you'd said eventually, licking the salt from the fries off your fingers
Heâd averted his gaze, nodded.
You crumpled the bag in your hand.
âSo... you doing anything?â
Andrew had mentally scanned through the list in his head. No jobs with either of his brothers. Nothing J couldn't handle himself. Nobody was expecting him anywhere.
âMâgonna watch this new animal documentary,â he'd answered after a moment. âClean the house.â
âSo an average day in the life of Andrew Cody,â youâd teased. âYou know, I was just gonna relax too.â
Your voice had gone quieter after that. You'd started fidgeting with one of the many rings on your fingers, eyes fixed on the ground instead of him.
âMaybe smoke a bit.â
A pause. Then, almost too softly to hear, âDo you smoke?â
âWeed?â
You nodded, looking up, with something that closely resembled hope. His brain immediately shut it down. No, not hope, just boredom.
âDoesn't do much for me,â he grumbled.Â
The words had barely left his mouth before he saw it, the almost imperceptible stiffening of your shoulders. The way your expression stayed exactly the same, but something behind your eyes dimmed, like someone had quietly reached inside and turned the light down.
He knew that look. It was the same one he held when somebody disregarded what he was saying, when they ignored his questions. He hated himself for being the reason for it donning your face.Â
He lifted a hand up.Â
âBut it's been a long time,â he added quickly, the words spilling out, an attempt to get the light back in. âMight actually hit this time.â
âSoâŠâ you mumbled, still refusing to quite meet his gaze. âWanna join me?â
Andrew didn't even think about it, didnât let his brain stall too much.
âYeah.â
He bumped his shoulder gently against yours, the contact awkward enough that he almost pulled away again. But he willed himself to stay there, pressed against you for a few seconds, taking in your warmth.
âI'll come over.â
It wasn't something he was used to doing. Showing up at somebody's apartment, spending time together for no reason other than wanting to.
But the smile that spread across your face, and the quiet way you leaned your shoulder against his afterwards, made the unfamiliarity feel worth every second.
Now, he feels not an ounce of that unfamiliarity as he looks around your living room.Â
Everything is littered with little remnants of you. Quintessentially you.
The blinds are drawn, leaving the living room bathed in a soft darkness, broken only by the warm glow of string lights draped lazily along the wall. Books are stacked in uneven piles on a ledge, little trinkets crowd every available surface, CDs and DVDs spill from a shelf beside a tiny TV. A knitted blanket lies abandoned on the floor where you'd probably left it after reading.
He picks it up, hands moving before his brain can comprehend whatâs happening, and starts folding it. Corners fitting against each other. Once, twice.
He feels your eyes on him as you come back into the room, his cheeks warming under your gaze.
âWhat?â He mumbles, looking up at you as he puts the now folded blanket down.
You're watching him, mirthfully.
âNothing, you're just too good to me.â
That makes something in Andrew's stomach flip, he's never been good to anyone. Useful, sure. Reliable, maybe, when things went wrong. Someone his brothers called when they needed a body buried or a problem solved.
But good? The word had never belonged to him.
Yet these days, he seemed to hear it from you more often than not.
You walk towards him, with a neatly rolled joint pinched between your fingers.
"There we go," you murmur, holding it out towards him.
Andrew takes it carefully, your fingertips brushing his for the briefest second before you sink down onto the floor in front of the couch.
He follows without thinking.
The two of you settle shoulder to shoulder, backs resting against the couch, your legs stretched lazily out across the rug.Â
Andrew places the joint you gave him between his lips. Your eyes flicker down, and stay there.Â
Fuck.
âLighter, please,â he mumbles out.
You shuffle forward to grab the lighter. Then pause, just for half a second.Â
Please, please Andrew, pick up what Iâm putting down.
You lean closer to him, cupping the outside of the joint, fingers brushing against his skin as you flick the lighter on. Staring at him, you bring it to where the joint is hanging from his mouth.Â
You feel his gaze on you, as you light it up. Continue staring into his eyes as you lean back.
The light frames his face so beautifully, casting flickers that highlight the curve of his cheekbone, the sharpness of his jaw, hazel of his eyes.
Andrew really was the prettiest man youâd seen.
He inhales deeply, before holding it in for a few seconds. He finally breaks eye contact with you as he breathes out the smoke away from your face.Â
You force your thighs not to clench at the sight of his lips pursed as wisps of smoke escape.Â
Fucking hell.
He passes the joint over to you, nodding his head.
You take it from him, and take a deep breath in. But unlike him, you look right at him as you exhale, breathing smoke just past his face.Â
He stays still, his eyes flickering down to your lips before settling back on your face. He says nothing.
To you, it's strangely intimate, the fact that your lips are now touching the very place he had only moments ago, where remnants of him still remain. You know what his lips taste like without ever pressing them to yours. An odd sort of closeness in the absent-minded exchange, in the sharing of something so small that somehow feels impossibly significant.
Moments like these had become almost painfully common between the two of you over the past few weeks, quiet little instances suspended in the strange gravity of whatever this was between you, each one humming with a tension neither of you seemed brave enough to break. Andrew was too guarded, too convinced he was reading into things that were never there. You were too shy, too afraid that it was just the fabrication of your hopelessly romantic brain.Â
But then Andrew would do something so completely unlike himself; the softness that occasionally crept into his voice when he said your name, his hand hovering over the small of your back as you crossed the street, his shoulder nudging yours just because he could â and hope would bloom all over again.
You continue to pass the joint between the two of you, back and forth. At one point, your head is dangerously close to leaning completely against his shoulder, your movements slower now, lazy and lethargic, few words spoken, but completely at ease.
You look sideways at him, see his shoulders relaxed, his fingers that have finally stopped twitching. You smile.
Under the slight buzz of the weed, your confidence builds. And before your brain can overthink, the words tumble out.
âCan I try something with you Andrew?â
He looks over at you, then nods slowly.
You place the hand free of the joint on his shoulder, and ask your next question quietly.
âMâgonna have to sit in your lap for it to be comfortable. Can I do that?â
His eyes widen imperceptibly, adorably. A second passes, then two. You wait patiently.
âYeah,â he whispers out, swallowing harshly. âYou can.â
Then you get up on your knees, before carefully slinging a leg over his spread out thighs. His hands stay rigidly by his side, like heâs scared to touch you without your permission.
You feel the heat radiating off him, smell his familiar scent; clean, faintly antiseptic from whatever clinical body wash he always uses, mixed with the unique natural musk of him. So incredibly Andrew.
Your balance tips slightly as you begin to sit down. His palm comes out to steady you.
He freezes the second he grips your waist.
âCan Iââ He murmurs, his voice barely audible. âIs this okay?â
You nod, settling down against him fully, feeling the coarseness of his jeans against the back of your thighs.
âIt is.â
A shy smile tugs at your lips.
âCan I do the thing I wanted to do now?â
He lets out a quiet, almost breathless, âyeah.â His other hand slides slowly down the outside of your thighs, reaching the elastic band of your knee socks. His hands twiddle with the fabric, almost nervous. You shiver at the feel of his fingertips against your bare skin.
You bring the joint up to your lips, inhaling. His eyes are half lidded as they follow your movements, fingers tightening around your waist.
You lean in close, one hand cupping his cheek. His lips parts open.
You exhale gently into his mouth. He inhales, both of your faces mere breaths apart. Once the smoke dissipates, he speaks up.
âCan Iââ he breaks off. âCan I ask you somethinâ?â.Â
You nod, rubbing your thumb on his cheek. His shoulders tense, eyes flickering uncertainly between yours.Â
âDo you⊠like me?â
You tilt your head, heart stuttering. He finally fucking did it, he crossed the line you were praying heâd cross, because you were too shy to.Â
âYes,â you whisper. âI like you very much, Andrew.â
His shoulder sag, jaw relaxing. Both of you move closer towards each other, until your lips brush together, eyes closing.Â
âKiss me, Andrew,â you breathe out.Â
And thatâs all he needs to hear to finally kiss you.
Itâs all encompassing, the taste of him, the press of his mouth, hard, but tender. He whimpers into the kiss. You moan immediately at the sound, sliding your hand into his curls.Â
His grip around your waist tightens, moves you further into him until thereâs barely any space between you.
Your lips move against each other, sloppily, and you smile against him.Â
Andrew canât quite believe whatâs happening.
Youâre kissing him.
You.
Your lips are pressed against his, warm and impossibly soft, and for a long second his mind simply⊠stops. Every anxious thought thatâs hounded him for weeks, the constant back and forth, the uncertainty of what the two of you were, falls silent beneath the gentle weight of your lips.
He doesnât break the kiss as he grabs the joint out of your hands, and pushes further into you. One large hand slips up carefully around your back, holding you securely against him as the other reaches for the joint still pinched loosely between your fingers. He eases you backwards gently, pushing himself forward at the same time until youâre leaning back.Â
Your mouths separate for only the briefest second as he stretches just far enough to stub the joint out in the ashtray beside you.
Then he's back.
His forehead bumps yours before his lips find you again, harder this time.Â
âAndrew, please,â you beg, the sound sweeter than honey in his head.Â
His hands come up to splay against your back and waist, engulfing you with their enormity, their broadness, as he kisses you harder, tongue licking into your mouth. His movements are hurried, desperate, and yours too. Your lips move in tandem as you do a slow roll of your hips instinctively.
He immediately lets out a rough groan, âFeels so- fuck.â
âYeah baby, that feel good?â you moan as you continue to grind against him. Feeling the friction of his pants against your shorts, and his cock, thick and hard against you under all the layers.Â
He nods in reply, staring at your face twisted in pleasure, your half-lidded gaze, the slow roll of your groin against his.Â
Back and forth. Back and forth. His hands tighten every time you move, trying to hold on to his last thread of control.
Itâs almost too much for him.
He tucks his face in your neck. His palm engulfs the side of it as peppers kisses down the line of your throat between soft moans.Â
âFuckâ just like that Andrew, so good to me.â
His hips buck up into you as he whines.
The noise sparks something hot up your spine, and you grip him by his curls, tugging to bring his face back up. You slide two fingers and tap his lips. They part instantly, sealing around your fingers instantly, hot and wet and perfect.Â
He groans low in his throat as he starts to suck, slow at first, then deeper, his tongue swirling around your fingers. He pulls you harder against him as your hips grind together.
Andrew loves the feeling of their weight in his mouth. He sucks, messy and desperate, as he looks up at you with those wide eyes. Spit begins to pool in the corners of his mouth, before he leans back, slipping your fingers out.
His voice comes out rough, needy.Â
âCan you come like this?â
âYes,â you breathe, voice shaking. âYes, pleaseââ
He lets out a noise, half moan, half whimper, and shoves your fingers back into his mouth, sucking harder now, obscenely. And you let him, your whole body rocking in time with his hands, faster now. His eyes glance down at those fucking knee socks. He moans.Â
Your forehead presses to his. His breath stutters across your lips.
He can feel the heat everywhere, his underwear soaked with his precum, sticking to his cock, and the friction is worse now, slippery. Your clit catches against the seam of his jeans, and you moan loud.Â
Your voice breaks as you whine out, âmâclose.â
Andrew groans like it hurts to hear you say that. His grip on your hips changes, firmer, rougher. He needs you to finish before he loses control completely.Â
He drags you harder against him, grinding up into you with more pressure, more desperation.Â
You gasp, thighs trembling, one hand gripping the back of his neck, fingers slipping out his mouth and trailing down to his chest, leaving a wet trail.
Your name leaves his mouth as he stares up at you in reverence. He canât believe you're here, nothing short of a goddess, him ready to worship at your altar.Â
Pleasepleaseplease.Â
He doesn't even realise he's begging you to come until you do, writhing in his grasp.Â
And Andrew thinks heâs seeing God.Â
Your back arches, soft whimpers leaving your mouth as you grind down harder, chasing every last wave of your high. His arms wrap around you like a vice, pressing your bodies together as you shake, melting into him.
âFuck. Fuck, youâreââ Heâs babbling now, his voice strained and low, a wet sound behind his teeth as he rocks up into you once, twice, then stiffens.
His grip tightens painfully on your hips as his eyes close. He lets out a raw, breathy whimper against your mouth as he comes under you, hips stuttering against yours. His jaw is clenched tight, neck taut. His body hums with pleasure, at the release.Â
The room falls quiet.
Neither of you say anything, your foreheads resting together as you both pant, trying to steady your breathing.
Andrew slowly opens his eyes, only to see you're already looking at him.
His chest tightens.
You brush a thumb gently across his cheek before leaning forward to press the smallest kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Andrew continues staring at your face, memorising every inch, scared that once youâve recovered from your orgasm, youâll leave.Â
But when you finally lean back, you don't go very far, your hands still resting lightly against his face.
âBefore we startâ before anything else, I wanna tell you, I donât doâŠ. casual or any of the things people my age usually do.â
Andrew stills.
People your age.
Right.
You're younger than him. A grown woman, fully capable of making your own decisions, he knows that. But that wonât stop people. They cast him enough looks already, filled with disgust and fear. For you to be associated with a man like him, an older man, a Cody, he knows it wonât stop the sort of names they'd call you.Â
And he can't do that to you, he can't let another woman become collateral damage because she got tangled up with this family.
He has to protect you, he has toâ
âHey,â you say, firmly. Your fingers rub at the crease between his brows, drawing his eyes back to yours. âWhatâs your pretty brain thinking about?â
There it is, that word. Pretty. Heâs never considered himself to be that. Not his face, worn and rough around the edges, and let alone his mind, always cluttered with too much noise, too many memories, too many thoughts that refuse to come out the right way.Â
But you always listen when he speaks, as though his words are worth hearing, as though the things rattling around inside his head matter simply because they belong to him. With you, he doesn't feel like he has to fight his own brain just to be understood. Around you, the words have begun coming a little easier.
âMâthinkinâ...â he swallows, holding your gaze. âOf how Iâm so much older than you.â
He pauses.Â
âAnd how mânot good for you.â
His eyes drift away for only a second before finding yours again.
âTheyâre right about what they say about the Codyâs, about me, yâknow.â
His jaw tightens,Â
âWeâre not⊠good men.â
You shake your head immediately, a small pout on your face. Andrew hates it, hates being the reason for it.Â
âThatâs not true,â you begin. Your thumb strokes slowly across his temple. âWhatever you do for work, that's your business. Youâve been nothing but good to me. Always driving me around, never touching me without asking. Always listening to me. For fucks sake, just when you came in, you folded up the random blanket that was laying around.â
His eyes flick instinctively towards the couch.
You smile.
âThatâs not something a bad man does.â
The corner of his mouth twitches a little, the barest semblance of a smile. Something warm and molten pools beneath his ribs, hums quietly. Not butterflies, no; you didn't evoke that sense of unease, or uncertainty, the dizzy anticipation of not knowing whether you'll be caught.
This, this warmth, feels nothing like that. This feels quiet. Like the first barefoot step onto floorboards warmed by the morning sun, like finally returning home after being lost.Â
You always knew what to say.
Not because your words magically erased the things he'd lived through, or undid decades of believing the worst about himself, but because somehow you always managed to reach the frightened, aching part of him buried beneath it all â the part that had spent his whole life waiting for somebody to look at him and decide he was worth staying for anyway.
âWhatever we do,â you continue softly, âthatâs between us, yeah?â
You brush your nose against his.
âFuck âem all.â
He leans in until there's no space left between you, his forehead resting fully against yours, his eyes closing for just a second. Breathing you in, your warmth. Safety.Â
âYoure too good to me,â he mumbles out. âToo prettyâŠâ
You shake your head. Â
âNo. M'perfect for you.â
Your lips brush against his, your breaths mingling.Â
âSo, youâre mine, yeah?â
He nods immediately, desperately.Â
âMâyours.â
Andrew was finally yours. And you were his.
peep the dinner in america 'fuck em all' line. and the lines about the intimacy of tasting mouths without them ever pressing together is directly stolen from my journal wherein i had this moment with this #guy but with a beer bottle and its highkey the most erotic thing to happen to a wee lil touchstarved chud like me. anyways this was a result of malapadative daydreaming from even before i watched ak that was stored in me mind, hope u enjoyed
youâre sleepy and heâs an insomniac and too in-his-head to ask if he can do anything since youâre cuddled up in bed like the cutest thing heâs ever seen. you tug him over by the bottom of his shirt mumbling for him to come snuggle.
he obliges, meticulously taking his shirt and pants off, folding them at the foot of the bed, before sliding in next to you, cock hard and pressing into your hip bone. you grin, wiggling against it just to hear him groan.
âsweetheartâŠâ his voice is a raspy drawl, as if he hasnât used it in days. it just encourages you to roll to your side, hooking one leg over his thigh, digging your heel into his ass so his clothed cock is pressed against your tiny pajama shorts. âyou were about to go to bed.â
you grind down as best you can from a side angle, eyes half open. ââm always awake for you.â
pope groans, hips thrusting involuntarily, cockhead sliding against the thin fabric covering your slit. you giggle, amused at how quickly you brought your big scary boyfriend to his knees in bed. you wiggle so his tip bumps your clit, humming at the sensation. âfeels nice, huh popey?â you mumble, hand finding his as it rests on your hip.
he grunts in response, cock smearing precum on your pajamas and thighs as he aimlessly thrusts, head buried in your neck as he takes his pleasure.
you nudge his head down further, encouraging him to latch on to your tit, moaning as he bites down on your nipple. the sound just spurs him on, hips stuttering as he gets closer and closer to the edge. you press your hand to the back of his head, shoving his face into your tits as he starts to cum, his groans and whimpers muffled.
your hand reaches down to pump him twice, grinning at the whine he makes as you tease his overstimulated cock. âsorry andy,â you giggle, not sorry at all. âyou sure you got it all out?â
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