Simon Riley who is paranoid out of his mind that something will happen to his precious dove while he’s away on a mission.
Simon Riley who equips the whole house with cameras that cover every single inch of the house, leaving no blind spots inside or out.
Simon Riley who watches his sweet girl live her life through those cameras. Baking in the kitchen, watching a movie, taking care of her plants.
Simon Riley who later jerks himself off in his quarters while his girl puts on a show for him in the bedroom, playing with the dildo that was custom made to match him.
Simon Riley who calls her after she comes, to make her listen to the wet noises of his work, muttering “You hear what ya do t’me, sweets?” And “such a fucking good girl, putting on a show f’me hm? You knew I’d be watchin’” While instructing her to put that dildo right back where it belongs.
"baby... s'okay" you coo at him, trying to speed up the process a bit.
he's on top of you, his eyes fluttering shut as he relishes in the sensation of you wrapped around his length, taking all of him. he's trying his absolute hardest not to bust right here, especially because he just bottomed out.
"i- i cant-" he takes strangled breaths, shaking his head and letting it fall down to rest on your bare chest. your hand instinctively comes up to meet him, running your fingers through his inky black hair. he leans into the contact.
"jay, im sure you won't cum if you just move a little" you try to bargain with him, the feeling of him just sitting inside you instead of pistoning in and out of you is becoming increasingly frustrating.
he wasn't even gone that long! maybe a month at most. some mission he was dragged away on. not a day went by that he didn't call or text you, going on and on about how much he missed you! how he wished it was your hand instead of his fucking his dick raw every night.
"y-you don't get it, baby..." he licks his lips, looking down at where the two of you are connected, then back up at your impatient face. "i jus- jus missed you so fucking much" he complains, leaning his head down to press soft, gentle kisses to your forehead, your eyelid, the tip of your nose, your cheek, and anywhere else he could reach.
you have to take your bottom lip in between your teeth in order to hold back a smirk. you've never seen him this pathetic.
you experimentally roll your hips against his. he lets out a loud groan, "fuck!" he reaches a hand down to grip your hip hard enough to bruise, his other hand staying at its position on the bed beside your head. "don't fucking- mfph!" he tries not to focus on just how tight and warm and wet you are compared to his hand.
you wince at his iron clutch on your hip. "jason!" you whine, "just move baby, please" you pout, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
he meets your gaze, "angel-" he whimpers, his head falling back down. you don't miss the feeling of wetness against your bare skin. is he seriously crying?
"honey..." you purr, "it's okay, i know you missed me" you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, making his breath hitch. "you've been so neglected, huh?" you ask patronizingly. he nods.
your sweet, soothing words are enough to make his balls tighten, sending him over the edge. who knew all it took was just a few words to make jason todd cum?
he lets out a soft, muffled moan against your skin as his hips buck into you, spilling warm sticky release deeeep inside of you.
"f-fuck!" he whimpers. he feels overwhelming embarrassment, lifting his head to look at you, tears still falling down his flushed cheeks. "m'sorry honey, m'so sorry" he shakes his head, hand traveling to the back of your head to bring it to rest in his palm.
you can't help but huff a laugh, "don't be sorry..." you speak gently. "we can go again, yeah?"
warnings. — implied age gap, Jack is reader’s attending, nothing else tbh
a/n. — i just wanna crawl into that man’s skin. that’s it.
you never really understood jealously as a feeling in itself. when you were younger, you’ve heard stories of girls being jealous over their friends having other friends, or family members being jealous over each other, and obviously girls and boys being jealous about their partners. you weren’t jealous. neither have you had time, nor reason, to be. firstly, you see jealousy as a weakness, as lack of trust and respect toward your partner. secondly, Jack has never given you a reason to be jealous.
despite your relationship being… a secret? sort of, Jack has always made sure to be as unapproachable as he can be to other women. he never flirts back, he’s a professional through and through, and your trust never wavered. you never looked twice when he talked to someone else, never questioned or asked. you were confident in your relationship and in him.
but something is different today. maybe it’s the fact you’re on your period, covering a day shift (when you strictly work nights unless forced to otherwise) which actually makes for a double shift and you’ve had maybe two hours of sleep in between, on fucking Independence Day. could it get any worse?
turns out that yeah, it definitely can. you’ve been running around the ER since like 10am, taking over as many Santos’ patients as you can so that she could catch up on her charting, meanwhile getting called into basically every trauma that’s rolled in since your shift started. truth be told, you’re already barely holding up, and you still have at least six hours left before you can go home.
despite taking ibuprofen and paracetamol (both in fucking megadose), you swear your your lower abdomen’s about to burst. you get cramps every few minutes, your head’s pounding like an alarm clock is going off inside of it, and your pace is slower than usually.
you’ve been walking with Robby, a chart in your hand as you spit out every single thing there should be done on your patient from Room 4, and after a green light from the attending, you loose him in the crowd. you let out a sigh, shaking your head as you move forward, almost missing something out the corner of your eye. someone.
you stop abruptly, quickly turning around and sticking your head into the room, only to see your man, shirtless, with Samira fucking Mohan right behind him. okay, listen, it’s not that you don’t like Samira. you’re sure she’s a perfectly nice girl outside, during her private time, and that she must be a delight as a friend. but here? here, she’s your rival. that sounds dramatic, but it’s kind of true. the two of you started your residency at PTMC at the same time, both in the ER, both under Robby. no matter how hard you tried, how long you stayed after hours, how many patients you saved and how many of her mistakes you fixed, she was still Robby’s golden child. so the moment you had the opportunity to, you switched to the dark side (that’s what Shen called the night shift).
that’s how you met Jack.
and now here they are, making small talk while she’s doing something on his back, which probably still has the scratches you left last week. that makes you feel a little bit better. just a little.
„what’s goin’ on here, huh?” you step into the room, your voice sounding perhaps a tad too sharp under the quiet composure of your face, as you shut the door behind you. you glance towards the plastic bag on the floor, quickly putting two and two together (you remember there was a diabetic patient here not long ago), before your gaze sets on Jack.
if he’s startled, he doesn’t show it. his eyes scan over your figure, taking your disheveled appearance and slightly bended stance, meanwhile Samira remains silent, finishing off putting the ointment on the graze on his back, not even looking up at you.
„Dr. Mohan’s giving me hand. i couldn’t reach all the way behind myself.” he says after a moment, and as you slowly nod your head, he realizes he’s probably in deep shit.
„i can see that. well, i can take over.” your steps are heavy against the ground as you approach the bed, taking the applicator from Samira’s hand just a bit too forcefully, and give her a tight smile as she steps back. „i think i saw your diabetic near the ambulance entrance a few minutes ago. if you run, maybe you’ll still catch him.”
„thanks.” Samira mutters, and you don’t miss the side-eye she shoots your way before grabbing the plastic back and leaving the room. you sigh, your eyes analyzing the graze on his shoulder blade, some sort of strange, tensed silence falling between the two of you.
„feel better now?” Jack’s the one to break it, as always, the words leaving his mouth in that low murmur you love to hear when you’re on top or under him. well, you don’t love it now.
„i don’t know what you mean.” you shrug, which he obviously can’t see, and you’re quick to add. „what the hell happened?”
„the bullet slipped a bit past my vest. i’m fine.” he lets out a huff as you finish off tending to his injury, and soon enough you step back too, arms crossed over your chest.
his hands find your hips, pulling you in closer as you stare him down with that infuriating pout to your lips. the one that absolutely drives him crazy anytime he sees it. you only raise your eyebrows, not changing your stubborn posture, which makes him smile. a slight lift of the corner of his mouth, but it’s there.
„oh, c’mon, sweet girl. jealousy doesn’t suit you.” he teases softly, thumbs brushing over your hipbones, a soothing motion that almost every time makes you melt into him. it doesn’t now. but it starts wearing you down. „y’know i only have my eyes on you. i’m not interested in anyone else. you’re the sexiest, most beautiful and most intelligent woman i’ve ever met.”
the compliments are definitely working the way Jack assumed they would. you can’t help the smile growing on your face with each word he says, and finally you roll your eyes at him.
„don’t push it. you think i don’t know you tryna butter me up?” you chuckle, one hand coming up to rest against his broad, very naked chest, the other one finding its place on his neck. before you even think it through, your mouth’s already opening. „i don’t want her near you unless it’s in trauma or patient related. she’s doing puppy eyes at you all the fucking time.”
you wince, literally wince, once your brain processes what you just said, and you’re quick to recoil. but Jack beats you to it, and you can see the cocky written all over his face. his hands travel down, resting on the globes of your ass, and he squeezes it playfully.
„yes, ma’am. you’re the boss.” he nods, and despite the boyish smirk to his lips along with his attitude, you know he’s serious. he means what he says. he always does. „one hell of a sexy boss.”
„well, technically, you’re the boss. but whatever.” you lean in to steal the quickest of tiniest pecks from him, patting his shoulder before taking a step back, his hands falling to his sides. „now, get dressed, Dr. Abbot. you’re already here, so you wouldn’t mind helping us all out, would you, honey? it’s a shitshow here today.”
clark kent who accidentally bumps into you in the office hallway and immediately grips your waist to steady you—his hand nearly spanning your whole side—and says, “sorry, didn’t see you there,” even though you’re literally half his size.
clark kent who always hands you your coffee with his fingers brushing yours, making you feel how comically large his hands are compared to yours. one time, you wrapped both hands around his wrist just to feel the difference, and he stopped breathing.
clark kent who stands behind you during meetings, and when he leans down to whisper something, his voice rumbles in your chest and his body completely eclipses yours.
clark kent who always crouches a little when talking to you, murmuring things like “this better?” with a crooked smile, and you hate how flustered it makes you feel standing next to his massive frame.
clark kent who picks you up by the waist like it’s nothing—to move you out of the way, to set you on a counter, to carry you over puddles—and always murmurs, “you’re light as a feather,” like it’s your fault he’s built like a god.
clark kent who slips his jacket over your shoulders when you’re cold and doesn’t say a word when it falls to your knees, swallowing you whole. he just watches you wear it with this unreadable, hungry look in his eyes.
clark kent who brushes a hand down your back and spans your whole spine in one pass. you shiver. he feels it. “sorry,” he murmurs. “too much?”
clark kent who can’t help groaning the first time you palm him through his slacks, because your hand looks tiny on him and you’re barely covering half of what’s there. “sweetheart,” he pants, “you sure about this?”
clark kent who lifts you like a doll and sets you down on his bed, spreading your legs with those thick, calloused hands like he’s opening a present. “look at you,” he whispers. “so soft. so small.”
clark kent who holds your wrists above your head with one hand and uses the other to tease you until you’re gasping, squirming, begging—his voice wrecked as he says, “need both hands to touch me, but i only need one to ruin you.”
clark kent who goes down on you slow and reverent, holding your thighs open with ease while he eats like a man possessed. when you cry out, overwhelmed, he just groans, “let me. i can take it. i want all of you.”
clark kent who whispers, “you’re doin’ so good, sweetheart,” as he stretches you open on his cock—thick and massive, taking everything in you not to break. “almost there, baby,” he coos, kissing your neck. “just a little more. you can take it. be good for me.”
self explanatory - dennis whitaker x f!reader (blurb)
summary: dennis thought robby knew he was married...guess not!
pairings: dennis whitaker x reader
cw/tags: fluff, robby is oblivious to the lives of everyone around him, i had to write this to make me feel better after tonight's episode lmao. implied but not explicit afab!reader, mom!reader, wife!reader. NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER or your daughters. implied shotgun wedding between you and dennis! au where whitaker has a wife who makes enough money to support him through med school so he's not drowning in student loans! also he is not helping out you know who at the farm in this, that plot line does not exist thanks :) not proofread!!!
word count: 340(ish)
!!!!!!!contains mild spoilers for season 2 episode 9 under the cut READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!
"Hey, you wanna' do me a favour?" Robby asks.
Dennis raises his eyebrows, sitting back. "Yeah?"
"You wanna' house-sit for me while I'm gone?"
Dennis scoffs a little, not sure if he's being serious.
"You'd actually be helping me out, and you could save some money on rent," Robby continues, missing the way Dennis glances down at his left hand.
"Are you being serious?" He questions.
"No smoking, no parties, no pets, no babies," Robby adds. "I was gonna' ask Abbot but he does nude yoga at sunrise, and I don't think some of my elderly neighbours would survive that."
Dennis laughs at that, now fully believing that Robby must be messing with him.
"Yeah, that's gonna' be a bit of a problem," He says. "I don't think my wife would be very happy if I was gone for three months, especially if I couldn't bring our daughter with me."
Robby freezes, blinks a few times, then leans closer to him across the table. Dennis watches him process that information, wondering if he should be offended that his boss never noticed his wedding ring.
"You're married?" He finally asks. "With a baby?"
"Uh, yeah," Dennis says, raising his hand up, showing the gold band. "Two kids, actually."
"Since when?"
He shrugs. "Since forever, really. Grew up together in a small farm town, you know, got married when we were eighteen."
"How old are you now?"
"...twenty-eight."
"You've been married for a decade," Robby repeats. "And you have two kids?"
"Yep," Dennis says.
"How old?"
"Our first just turned nine, the youngest is eight months," He answers, already reaching for his phone. "You wanna' see a picture?"
Robby nods, and Dennis flips the screen around, showing him his lock screen. It's you holding your younger daughter, while the older one beams at the two of you. Dennis says your names as he points to each of you, unable to stop himself from grinning as he does.
"Wow, beautiful family," Robby says. "You never told me you were married."
"Yeah, uh, figured the ring was self explanatory."
Summary: Two months ago you started dating your best friend of five years. It's weird sometimes. But you kind of love it.
CW: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, friends to lovers, fluff, piv smut, oral (r receiving), first time, cursing, pet names, smut portion is NOT proofread because i hate reading my own smut :)
@saradika-graphics for the divider!
inspired, of course, by ftsg - emma andersen :)
For five years, you and Steve were just friends. Strictly platonic.
And not even in a 'wink wink' type of way– you really were just best friends. Mutual harbored feelings aside, you acted like friends. Just good pals.
A semi-drunken kiss, months ago, changed all of that. You're still not sure about Steve; but you weren't really as inebriated as you had claimed to be that night.
Six months of intensely and unnecessarily dramatic pining later and you're staying the night at Steve's place more often than not. He's kissing you and touching you in ways previously off-limits. He's bringing you flowers and cooking you dinner and it's all so weird.
Because you still do all the same things you did when you weren't dating. He still drives you to and from work because you're too scared to get your license. He still makes you drench his popcorn in parmesan cheese before he'll eat it and he still tackles you to the floor when you play spoons with the rest of your friends.
But now you go home together afterward. You get ready for bed in the same bathroom and share each other's bodywash so you can always smell like the other when they're not around. You eat meals together and and climb under the same covers at night.
It's perfect.
It's everything you've spent the last five years doing and more.
And you think you might love him.
Tonight is another one of those perfectly strange moments. You're standing in nothing but his shirt and your underwear, rummaging around the clothes that live in his spare dresser drawer.
Steve's been in the bathroom for ten minutes. He insists on shaving at night before bed– instead of in the morning before leaving the house.
"It gives me the perfect amount of stubble when I wake up in the morning if I do it the night before!" He once explained to you when you'd questioned him about it.
"Baby, have you seen my aftershave?" He now yells from the sink of his ensuite.
Your heart kind of stops. He's never called you that before.
He's literally only ever called you your name. Or nickname adjacent variations of your name. Even after you started dating.
He says it now, in fact, after you don't answer him for a few moments.
"Hey, everything okay?" He asks when he sees your face.
"What did you just call me?" You ask, seemingly struggling to maintain eye contact. You're not totally sure why.
"...baby? Is that...not...?"
"Ew!" Admittedly not exactly the best exclamation to describe how Steve calling you that actually makes you feel, but you're coming up short for anything else.
"'Ew'? Seriously? What's 'ew' about me calling you 'baby'?" Steve questions, his voice rising in volume and pitch in that incredulous way.
"I didn't mean it like ew, I just meant it like. Ew."
"I don't– understand–?"
"It's just. I'm standing here in your room, in your clothes. And its all so domestic and kind of weird and I feel like I can't even talk straight and I think I'm probably in love with you–"
Except for the sound of you clapping your hand over mouth, the room falls completely silent. Steve stands, mouth slightly agape, and doesn't speak.
"You love me?" He asks simply.
"Well– I mean– I've always loved you." You clarify. "I just feel like I love you now... in a different way."
Steve nods slowly.
"We've been friends for years, but now you call me 'baby', apparently, and– and you hold my and kiss me and tell me that I'm pretty. It's all so new. And I love it, but it's odd sometimes. You know?"
"Yeah," he nods more confidently now, "Yeah, I get it."
"So, yes. Ew. But... a good ew," you grin stupidly, your eyes crinkling in the corner.
"Would you think it was 'ew' if I kissed you right now?" Steve asks, stepping closer with an equally dumb smirk on his lips.
"No..." you squirm.
"Good." He says, gently gripping your waist as he pulls you flush against him. Steve kisses you softly, his lips a ghost across your own.
He pulls back to look at you, then moves to your cheek. "Baby," he says against your plush skin before moving to the other cheek, "Baby,"
You laugh fondly, rolling your eyes as his smooching grows more frantic. A steady stream of 'baby's' leaving his mouth between every one he plants on your skin.
"Fuck," you tease, pushing him away, "that's so gross,"
"You love me," he reminds you, leaning into your space again to place open-mouthed kisses on your neck; beneath your ear.
Steve's hands begin to roam. From your shoulders to the small of your back, before brushing over your bottom. His palms find purchase in the apex where your thighs meet your ass.
His mouth finds yours once more, but this kiss is more urgent. With his hands supporting you, he lifts you up, urging your legs to wrap around his waist before carrying you to his modest full-size bed that's hardly big enough for both of you some nights.
You land with an oof and it makes Steve giggle where he planks above you, careful not to crush you with his weight.
The lightness of the moment is replaced by a hunger that overtakes Steve's honeyed eyes before he's ducking down to capture your mouth again. He makes soft noises against your lips that you swallow before they ever reach the air.
One of his knees nudges yours, separating your legs far enough for him to rest between them. "Is this okay?" He asks breathily.
'Yeah. Yeah, it's good,"
Steve settles his weight against your spread thighs, your pelvis' touching. It's a not necessarily a new sensation, but it's new in this context. He's half-hard on top of you. It sends your stomach churning with nervous desire.
He kisses you breathless for a while longer and it's familiar; what's not-so-familiar is the experimental thrust of his hips. You can feel that he's fully erect now, the pressure on your core is surprising and pleasurable all at once.
You gasp and Steve halts. His eyes are wide when he looks at you, "Sorry– was that okay?"
"Okay," he breathes– and does it again. Steve revels in your gasp; the way your back arches just slightly off of the bed and into him.
It all feels a little off-beat. You're still learning each other in this new way. You want to know what makes Steve tick. Steve wants to know what might make you do that pretty gasp again.
"Can I take these off?" He asks, hushed, as his fingers brush the skin under the waistband of your underwear.
You swallow thickly but nod.
"It's okay. If you don't want to." He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear and you know he means it.
"I do," you assure him, "I'm just... nervous,"
"You don't have to be," he smiles down at you, but it wavers. You can tell he's trying to put on a brave face– his 'macho Steve' persona, as you've affectionately branded it.
"Its okay, Steve," you giggle, "you can admit that you're nervous, too,"
"Me?" He scoffs, "Hawkins' Resident Womanizer Steve Harrington? Nervous to have sex with his– stupidly beautiful girlfriend? I doubt it."
You smack his chest and he laughs heartily, snatching your hand and bringing it to his lips.
"Maybe I'm a little nervous," he all but whispers into your knuckles.
"Awfully presumptuous of you to assume I'm having sex with you tonight," you tease.
"Oh, no?" His right hand snakes down your stomach, dipping below your underwear and cupping your heat.
"Oh–"
His voice dips, his mouth hovering just over your ear, "Does your pussy know that, baby? 'Cause you're already soaked."
Hearing Steve talk like this feels visceral. Its like wires being crossed inside your brain. Steve's always been a hit with the girls, but you've never been on the receiving end of the romancing. This Steve feels different than the one you grew up with; than the one you've spent so much time with– doing anything and everything together.
You thought when the time came that it might feel awkward, but now you're beginning to wonder why you haven't done this sooner.
Steve's fingers dip into the arousal pooling in the bottom of your underwear before traveling back to your clit with tantalizing circles.
"That feel good?" He asks. His voice sounds husky but you can tell that he's asking genuinely; still learning what you do and don't like.
"That's– yeah," you sigh, "that's perfect,"
His movements gain more confidence after that. He studies your face as he goes, cataloguing every miniscule reaction and adjusting where he needs to.
And it's so much, but still not enough. "Steve," you exhale, halting his rhythm with your hand on his wrist, "will you... would you go– down on me?" Your voice comes out small, like you're not sure how to ask for it.
Steve seems to take great pleasure in the request, his eyes taking on a mischievous glint, "Yeah? You want my mouth, honey?"
The new pet name makes you shiver, "Please."
"So polite," Steve praises, words muffled from where his mouth is pressed against the skin of your stomach as he trails his mouth lower lower lower– until he's exactly where you need him.
His tongue is hot and hesitant against you. He starts with barely there kitten licks before flattening his tongue entirely– moving with broad strokes from your entrance to your clit and making sure you're comfortable before incorporating his fingers again.
Your hand flies to his hair when he slides the first one inside of you, all the way to his last knuckle, "Fuck, Steve!"
The encouragement and the pull of your fingers threading through his hair elicits a ragged moan from his throat. You've never even imagined Steve making a sound like that. Another wave of arousal washes over you.
He works you over for what feels like hours and you're admittedly shocked to feel your pleasure cresting to a peak. You've never finished from a having sex with a partner before; you feel yourself beginning to tense.
"Steve– I'm close–" you whimper, head thrown back against his expensive down pillows that you know you're dampening with sweat.
"I know, baby, I can tell," he pauses, "it's okay– I've got you,"
His eyes never leave you as you come. He watches ever twitch of your abdomen– every squeeze of your hands twisted in the bedsheet. You can hear him murmuring praises the entire time– good girl, so good, baby, fuck–that's so hot– but it all sounds muffled. Like you're underwater.
You waste no time grabbing him by the jaw as we crawls his way back over your body and pulling him into a searing kiss. He tastes like a heady mix of your cunt and the spearmint toothpaste he was brushing his teeth with an hour ago.
Steve's tenting his boxers when you glance down between your bodies; just past him the sheets discolored with wet patches where he'd been rutting into the mattress.
Your legs hook behind his back and you pull him into you with a force that knocks the wind out of both of you. You're still sensitive from your orgasm.
"Do you want me to use a condom?" He groans as his clothed cock ruts against your bare folds. He can barely speak; feeling the warmth of you seep through the fabric.
"I'm on the pill," you tell him, "you could pull out just in case, but it's up to you,"
He ducks down to kiss you before responding. Steve kisses you like its as essential to him as air or water– a lifeforce that he needs or he'll simply cease to exist.
You take the opportunity to push his boxers off his hips and down his thighs as he licks into your mouth; his tongue tangling with yours.
Steve's cock is heavy and velvety soft in your hand as you pump him slowly. Your mouths part with a click as you bring your palm to his mouth. "Spit."
His previously heavy-lidded eyes grow wider, but he obliges. You bring your hand back down to stroke him again; this time with better lubrication.
"Holy shit–fuck, baby," he whines into your temple. His arms shake where he's still trying to hold himself up.
You feel yourself gaining confidence with every passing minute that the two of you are intimate, and it feels even better to take the reins back a little. You can't help but wonder what he would sound like– what he would look like– completely at your mercy. You decide to table the thought for another time.
"I need you," you whimper into his sweat-damp hair.
"I know, pretty girl," the thick head of his cock nudges your entrance, prompting you to take a deep breath in in preparation for his size.
"Hey– you'll tell me if you're uncomfortable or you want to stop, okay?" He waits for your nod, "Even if you just want to slow down, that's okay, too. I want you to make you feel good."
"I know," you smile up at him through your daze, softly petting the side of his face, "you do make me feel good,"
He kisses the side of your mouth– the gentlest his been with you all evening– as he pushes the rest of the way inside you. By the time he's at the hilt, you feel so full that it's hard to breathe. You can feel him everywhere.
Tears begin to prick the corners of you eyes once he starts to move; a slow rocking of your bodies into the mattress. You aren't sure the cause. Maybe it's how close you feel to him– maybe it's how he's perpetually grinding into your g-spot with every thrust.
"Fuck– I love you," he groans into the crook of your neck where it meets your shoulder. His teeth scrape the sensitive skin there like he might bite you, but he doesn't.
"I love you, baby–"
The shape of the endearment in your mouth awakens something nearly primal in Steve as he begins to fuck you that much faster. The headboard creaks where it repeatedly hits the wall behind you.
Strong biceps wrap around you, lifting you beneath the armpits as Steve hugs you in this horizontal position. You squeeze him back just as fiercly.
You feel your second climax approaching significantly quicker than the first had, but you need more. Pressing your fingers to Steve's mouth, he doesn't question your motive. He opens and closes around them obediently, slicking them for you.
He watches as you snake your hand in between your glistening bodies, "Yeah, there you go," his voice breathy and punctuated by his relentless thrusts, "touch yourself f'me, baby– good girl,"
It's almost too much. It's perfect. "Steve– I'm close–"
"Ah– me, too," he pants, forehead pressed firmly to yours, "come with me–"
Your entire body contracts as you finish and you're certain you've never came so hard in your life. Steve holds off until he's sure you're satisfied before pulling out just in time to spill all across your stomach with a long, low moan.
The last of his strength leaves him shortly thereafter; his trembling body collapsing against you.
Your combined skin is tacky and cool with sweat, but neither of you can bring yourselves to move.
The air in the room is thick with the scent of sex and the only sound comes from the crickets chirping through the open window and your shaking breaths. It feels like hours before Steve breaks the silence.
"You okay? Was that good for you?"
"'Good' would be the understatement of the century,"
"I can't believe we didn't do that sooner,"
"I was just thinking that earlier,"
The hushed conversation somehow feels just as intimate as the sex did.
"We can't fall asleep like this," you remind Steve, who very well may already be sleeping. You're getting Deja Vu from a conversation you once had with Nancy Wheeler.
"Why not?" He slurs. Okay, not sleeping then.
"Because I need to pee or else I'll get a UTI," you pause, thinking, "and your... jizz is all over my stomach."
"Don't call it 'jizz'," Steve admonishes.
It takes longer than you'd ever admit to get you both cleaned up, despite your constant reminders to Steve that– the faster you take care of the mess, the faster you can crawl back into bed.
Steve tells you he loves you approximately seven more times before he finally falls asleep.
“just the tip, baby, please.” his face was burrowed in the crook of her neck. his plush lips kissed and sucked at the soft skin there. she hadn’t moved since he left her that morning, her body laid bare atop their blankets and ripe for the taking. so he pounced the second he walked through the door.
she groaned, “denny, no.” but he gently rolled his hips and his denim clad bulge grazed her bare clit. an aching pleasure trickled down her spine. a ragged gasp tore from her throat. she dug her nails into his shoulder blade, “just the tip,” she mumbled, nodding insistently.
he grinned against her neck. his warm breath fanned against the shell of her ear. “you’re not gonna fight? too needy for me?” a wiry hand slid between their bodies. the pad of his thumb found her clit. he traced tight, small circles against the sensitive little bundle of nerves. her back arched off the bed against his body. he kissed her neck, down to her chest, lips ghosting over her body until he reached the hilt of her sex. he removed his thumb and placed a gentle kiss against her pussy.
her hips jolted at the contact. he forcefully pushed them back into the bed. he hurriedly spread her legs further and haphazardly pulled down his jeans with his boxers. as the waistband slid down his thighs, his thick cock slapped his stomach.
dennis carefully lined up his leaky tip to her entrance. he shot her a quick look, “you’re so wet down here.” he began to drag his tip through her slick folds, watching her face closely, tugging his lower lip between his teeth. she moaned, wincing in that way that let him know she was desperate as he grazed her clit. “it hurts,” she whispered. “what’s wrong? need me to make you feel better?” she only hummed, mind fuzzy with lust.
“say it, baby.” he wrapped his hand around her jaw, making her focus on him. her face was pouty and flushed. “i need you to make me feel better,” she mumbled. he grinned, pressing himself against her entrance, “say please.” her eyes narrowed beneath her nodded brow, “don’t push it,” she warned.
he snapped his hips, hitting the back of her pelvis in one violent thrust, stuffing her full. she whimpered as her gummy walls molded around his thick cock. dennis stroked her hair, “i know it.” his hand trailed down her body, between her breasts and rested on her tummy, pressing down to feel the outline of his dick. “i know it,” he cooed, “it’s so big, isn’t it? doesn’t it feel so good though. all better now?”
she shook her head, hips jutting instinctively. he feigned concern, “no? what do you need, baby?” she huffed frustratedly, “y - you know what,” she groaned. dennis furrowed his brows, “what is it? c’mon use your words.” she only whined again, wiggling her hips. he groped at them, holding them in a vice grip that was sure to leave little bruises.
“fucking move,” she hissed. dennis’ face twisted into a scowl, “stop being so bossy.”
