w/ pope cody 18+ sexually explicit content ; daddy kink
neither of you remember how it started or when and where he first asked you. maybe it was while he was midday fucking you against the tiled shower wall - his favorite place to do you - or maybe it was in the dead of the night, while he’d sneakily slipped into your bed beside you after mysteriously entering your apartment despite you never having gave him a key. you’re not sure, and most of the times he’s said it have blended together in his head, but there’s no mistaking there’s one question andrew cody loves asking you more than anything else: who’s daddy’s baby?
after you’ve been sitting quietly on his thigh at the patio table in smurf’s backyard, only halfway attentive to whatever meeting is commencing - pope having told his brothers that you’re a good girl, you’d never rat, you wouldn’t even actually be listening because he told you not to - he’d stand you up just as everyone else does, turning you around his arms as the boys head inside to prepare for the job they’ve just discussed. he’d cup your cheeks with his rough, calloused palms, pushing his thumbs in ever so slightly to make your lips pucker, before leaning in with his intense gaze and gravely voice, “who’s daddy’s baby? hm?”
your eyes would be pulled so high to meet his, feeling the surging warmth of his hands, something you search for constantly with him. a murmur from your smushed lips, “me, daddy. i am.”
“that’s right, you are. and daddy’s baby’s gotta be a good girl for him while he’s gone, yeah?” he’d tilt his head forward, still keeping your eyes, his voice softening in the way that’s only possible for you, “you’re gonna go lay down in my room and wait for me ‘til i come back.” your nod indicates your total obedience, his most perverted obsession about you, before he ghosts his lips over your forehead and sends you on your way inside.
or maybe during a particularly cranky day for you, as you seem to carry a permanent pout and whine on your lips; he’d be sat on the couch of his apartment, setting his beer down on the coffee table, finally so sick of your moodiness and his inability all day to cure it. bringing you into his big, burly arms, guiding your head to his shoulder with his fingers spanning your entire skull, beginning to comb your hair down, “shh, ‘s okay… don’t need to be so pouty, baby. c’mere, look at me… who’s daddy’s baby?”
eyebrows knit with a wobbly chin, pope’s greens lingering on that sweet, plump lower lip of yours, you’d shake your head with a sniffle, refusing to answer.
he’d tilt his head to the side, crooked smiling, almost amused, “don’t gimme that. c’mon, say it. who’s daddy’s pretty, cranky baby?”
“me.”
“and who loves her more than anything else in the world?”
“daddy does.”
he can’t help but coo, tucking your head below his chin as he drags his hand down to rub circles on your back, underneath your shirt, “yeah. daddy does. see, knew you knew it. now hush the whining, lemme make it better.”
and definitely while he’s got your ankles crossed right above his asscrack, plowing into you hard enough that the bedframe squeaks and scrapes the wood floor every few seconds. he’s a huffing mess as his thumb lives on your tongue, both your hands wrapped tight around his wrist, your saliva drenching his digit completely. “who’s daddy’s baby, huh? it’s you, isn’t it? using my finger like a fucking pacifier, fuck…”
he’s grunting, grabbing your chin forcefully as you arch and cry out at a particularly magnificent stroke, your jaw pliant under his harsh touch, “say it. say it like i own you, like you’ll never even think about it leaving me. say it!”
taking screenshots while on ft with sugar daddy!jack abbot to show ur friends who ur yachting for. telling him, oh my friend asked for your number, she said she’d be a sugar baby for you too! while giggling, curled up in his crisp white sheets, right at his side despite him having a california king. he just roll his eyes—his smirk doesn’t go unnoticed though—while his glasses sit on the tip of his nose, playing solitaire on his phone. “give her robby’s number, i’m closed off,” he mutters, taking just a second away from his game to reach over and smack your ass, making you squeal on purpose. “got my hands full already, don’t want anyone else, baby”
tags/contents: eddie being a massive pervert, foot fetish, panty sniffing, breeding kink, bsf!eddie, eddie having sexual fantasies about reader, reader having nudes of herself, reader being oblivious, mentions of porn, male masterbation, eddie spying on you, feminine!reader, y/n being used, eddie being stupid
lmk if I missed any! big thanks to this anon!
Eddie knows he’s gross, but he just can’t stop. He knows it’s wrong and that if you’ll find out you won’t wanna talk to him any longer. But he still gives in every time.
Such as right know. He is elbow deep into your clothing hamper trying to steal a dirty pair of panties. He’s not proud of his actions, but when he feels that soft lace touch his fingertips, all of his regrets go away.
‘Bingo’ he thought.
You were downstairs getting two coke zeros for the both of you, oblivious to what he’s doing. He retracted his arm and saw that the lace garment was a beautiful tiny pink g-string. And it had definitely been worn.
This was the seventh pair he’d taken from your room. Two of them were unworn, he just liked how they looked, but the other five were used by you. Once he made sure you weren’t standing in the doorway, catching him being a creep, he slowly brought the garment up to his nose. Closed his eyes and inhaled through his nostrils
“f-fuck” he whimpered.
It smelled exactly like you. Sweet and musky. He’d sniffed enough panties to know down to the last detail how you smelled. Eddie exhaled through a loud sigh. He’s bringing that one home for sure. He doesn’t exactly know why you haven’t noticed that all of your pretty lingerie has been going missing, or maybe you just don’t want to admit it to your best friend.
He put the panties in the back pocket of his jeans and lifted himself up to stand upright again. Just then he hears the wood of the stairs creak, indicating that you’re coming upstairs.
“Hey Teddie, we only had regular coke, hope that alright!” You shouted, loud enough for the whole house to hear.
“Uhh yeah sure it’s fine!” He froze.
Eddie panicked. The hamper lid was still on the floor, his sleeve is all rolled up, his hair is frizzy from adrenaline. He rushed to fix it all in 2 seconds and practically ran to sit on your bed again, the position he was in when you left. Just when he thought his hair looked normal frizzy again instead of electrocuted frizzy, you walked through the door.
“Watcha doin’?” You asked, in a very teasing, sultry voice. You were wearing the shortest pajama shorts know to man, and a tank top that almost had your boobs spilling out. You had a slight blush on your face from running up the stairs. Eddie thought it was the prettiest sight he’d ever seen.
“Were you being gross?” You joked. But Eddie’s face dropped.
“W-what, no why, why would you think that?” He tried his best to sound nonchalant and chill, but he just miserably failed. He fidgeted with his rings, a telltale sign that he was nervous.
“God Teddie, I’m just messing with you” you smiled. You set the cokes down on your nightstand and climbed to sit on your bed. “You’re so cute.” Your finger booped his nose, he just watched in horror. Absolutely terrified you caught him snatching and smelling your undies.
“Anyways do you wanna watch a movie?” You gave him the can and broke yours open. Eddie anxiously gulped half the thing before answering you. “Yeah sure what d’you have in mind?” He sat upright in your bed, and you only crawled closer to him. You settled down laying sideways next to him, resting your head on your hand palm.
“I rented this really scary looking horror movie at the video store, Robin recommended it to me, but I’m too scared to watch it on my own.”
If Eddie didn’t know any better he’d think you were flirting with him, but you were just always like this. Charismatic and sweet. It killed him.
“Yeah sure let’s do it.” he nodded. He loved watching scary movies with you, because you always crawled on top of him and made little whimper noises when you were scared. He’d imagine that he was letting make those noises. He’s got it bad for you.
You took the tape out of the Family Video bag and put it in your tv. You bent at an angle that made Eddie even harder in his jeans. You tiny shorts were riding up your ass, and he practically saw everything. He needed to quickly find a pillow to put over his lap, or else he’ll have to endure the horribly awkward conversation of why he had a boner.
You crawled back into the bed, where Eddie was lying. “You’ll protect me right Teddie?” You tried your hardest to pout at him and not burst into laughter. Little did you know that looking up at him with pleading eyes did not help his little situation.
You settled in by his side, your legs over his stomach. Your head was resting on his heaving chest, you were so close that he could smell your shampoo. It was making his mind go hazy.
After about 30 minutes into the movie, it was getting really creepy and you wanted to be even closer to Eddie. You mindlessly put your socked feet over his crotch. He removed the pillow a while ago when he thought his erection wasn’t that noticeable anymore. He had to do math equations in his head in order not to focus on having the best view ever of your cleavage.
A very sudden jumpscare came up, you whimpered and buried your face further into his chest. Your soles were rubbing together on his half hard cock. You didn’t even notice. But god did Eddie wanna throw you on the bed and make you give him a foot job. He just wants to suck on them and make them all wet and good for stroking his thick cock.
Eddie really had to steady his breathing before it became seriously noticeable.
“Jeez, why do they have to make these movies so gross and bloody.”
“Yeah, mhmm.” Eddie grunted while squeezing his eyes closed in order to keep his moans in his throat. Your cute frilly socks were still grinding on his cock, and he has had enough. 10 more seconds of this and he’ll actually cum in his boxers like a loser.
You noticed his chest completely stopped moving, you turned your head back and asked him
“Honey, you okay? You’re flaring up a bit..” your voice was so sweet with concern, it killed him.
“Yeah absolutely, just uh, gotta take a leak!” He awkwardly laughed. You paused the movie on the remote and moved away from his body.
“Okay well, if you don’t feel right you can tell me.” Your brows furrowed, thinking he was actually getting a bit sick based on his flushed, sweaty forehead and his irregular breathing.
Eddie jumped up from the bed and almost ran to your bathroom. He locked the door and left you confused on the bed.
He unbuttoned his pants, and took his boxers off with them, his angry red leaking cock springing free.
“Oh shit..” he whined. His hand grabbed at his shaft immediately, knuckles gliding along the skin. His thumb slid over his oozing slit, he choked back a moan. He kept thinking about your tits in that top, they looked so fucking delicious and they say so pretty. God he wants to fuck you so bad, it’s making him go delusional. He imagines your pretty pussy, all wet and eager for him. You on your back holding your spread knees. He wants to make you his, get you knocked up with his child. Watch your tits get swollen and your belly bigger and bigger. Fuck, he’d suck on those breasts like his life depended on it.
His hand kept stroking faster each second that passed, he was so worked up, he’d cum in two minutes. He’s hunched over the toilet bowl so that he wouldn’t make a mess. All he’d have to do was think about your ass in those micro shorts, and one, two, three strokes, and he’d be at the verge of cumming. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and let his hand go at an incredible speed.
A bit back moan escaped his throat and hot white spurts came spilling out of his thick cock. He hoped so badly that you didn’t hear the slapping of his balls against his thighs or his pornographic moans that were a little too loud. After his high came down he washed his hands and put his dick away in his blue checkered boxers. His erection never fully went away, he was still half hard. Even after the incredible orgasm he just had.
Eddie was so relieved, but now he’d have to go back and face you again. This certainly wasn’t the first time he jerked off in your bathroom, or in your house even. One time he snuck through your window, thinking you were home. He wanted to hang out with you and maybe even sleep over. But he remembered that you’d told him that that evening you were actually out with some friends at a party. So when he realized the house was empty, he took his chance to snoop through your room quiet and undisturbed. That’s how he got his fifth pair of your panties and your almost empty perfume bottle.
But when snooping through you vanity, he opened the drawers and say the dirtiest nude Polaroid he’d ever seen. His eyes lit up at the sight of your bare tits bunched up in your hand palms. Your lips were so plump and full, it looked like you’d taken the picture yourself, maybe for some guy you liked. Your skin was glowing due to the flash of the camera, you looked like a goddess. He figured you’d really notice if that was gone, but that didn’t mean you’d notice if Eddie jacked off to it.
He wanted to find something to rub off to, maybe some random clothing item, or your favorite lotion. Thats when he spotted your decorative bed pillows. They were soft and pink, the perfect thing to grind himself against. And so he did, it was the best orgasm of his life. He came all over his hand and some drops spilled on the pillow but they weren’t so noticeable. He just left it there, didn’t care to clean it up. After that he took your panties and perfume and went home.
Eddie twisted the lock on the bathroom door, the sound caught your attention. Your eyes went from the ceiling to the door in a split second. Eddie came out of the door like nothing happened in there. He still looked a little flushed, but then again you believed that was because he was ‘sick’.
“Hey hon, you okay?” You twisted your body to his direction, and looked at him with a pout.
“Of course, yeah no uhm, I just had to empty my stomach in there. You were right, I was sick!” He told you nervously.
Eddie came back into bed with you, and finished the movie together. When he got home later in the evening, he jerked off 4 more times just thinking of how delicious you looked tonight. Thinking of his best friend.
A few days later you went over to Eddies trailer, you promised him you’d make him some actual dinner and sleep over. He opened the door to find you with two large grocery bags full of fresh food and actual edible things.
“Okay what’d you think of lasagne with a veggie soup on the side?” You questioned, no idea if he’d even like that. Eddie was caught by surprise, because you’d usually say at least hello, but you just dove right in with the questions.
“That sounds delicious babe.” He let you in and closed the door. He thought you were just so cute, afraid of him not liking lasagne or soup, when all he ate for dinner the past year has been microwaved noodles with ketchup. It’s really sad actually.
The plastic bags banged on the counter when you slammed them on the counter. “Sorry they’re just really heavy, god. Okay, uhm, can I maybe take a shower. Sorry, it’s just that I’m really sweaty and it’s so hot out. I just feel gross.” You had a difficult look on your face.
Eddies eyes widened, you, talking a shower, at his house?! This must’ve been heaven or something. Flabbergasted, he answered
“Of course go right ahead. Y-you know where everything is so, yeah of course!” He couldn’t even speak normally, you must think he’s such a loser.
“Thank you Teddie!” You skipped right over to him, grabbed his face and kissed him on his pink cheek. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move. Eyes widened like dinner plates, he watched you walk to his bathroom.
You were halfway through the doorway and remembered to say
“Oh Eds? Could you please put the necessary things in the fridge please?” You rested your chin on your shoulder and pouted.
“Will do! Oh and the towels are in the cabinet to your right.” He added.
You smiled sweetly and locked the door. Eddie rolled his eyes over how incredibly stupid he was, why did he stutter so much, why didn’t he offer you some clean clothes? He just started putting stuff away when he heard the shower turn on. The walls were thin, so you could hear every little thing that was going on in the trailer. That certainly was fun for Eddie when Wayne was home…
He did his best to not think about you, being naked, in his home. Fuck, the thought of it made him so horny. His boxers already began feeling tight. He walked past the bathroom door to go to his room, but he noticed the door was slightly open, steam running out.
Shit did you forget to lock the door, or was it on purpose?
Eddie retraced his steps back to the bathroom door, he was only going to close it for you! His hand grabbed the brassy doorknob with every intention to close the door. Then he saw the outline of your silhouette through the mirror, the sunlight from the window shining down on you. The sun rays reflecting off your wet skin. He quickly averted his eyes, lust running through his body. You hadn’t noticed that he was just outside the bathroom, lurking at you.
‘One last peek, then I’ll leave’ he thought.
He looked back up at you, your gorgeous figure. He was so in love with you, his ultimate dream girl. His eyes were stuck on you like a shoe that stepped in gum.
Your hands were running down your thighs, lathered with soap bubbles. His bodywash, his signature scent, that you were rubbing all over yourself. All of you, smelling like him, your pussy too probably. His tip leaking at the sight.
His hand was leaning on the door too hard, so much that the wooden door creaked under his touch. You jumped at the sudden sound, clutching the shower curtain a little. Afraid that Wayne had come home and saw you naked.
“E-Eddie?” You gulped.
Eddie cleared his throat before answering.
“Hey, sorry, yeah it’s, it’s um me! Shit.” He stuttered. Fuck, he’d been caught, you know he’s a creep and a pervert. And you’ll never wanna talk to him ever again now!
“Oh dear god it’s just you, what’s up?” You sighed with enormous relief. You just continued cleansing yourself with the sandalwood shower gel.
Eddie didn’t know what to say, he most certainly did not have a good reason to be there so he had to make something up, quickly.
“I didn’t spy on you!” he laughed nervously. “I just wanted to ask if you…if you got any clean clothes to wear?” He spoke shyly. His face still behind the door. The window was fogging up so he couldn’t read your expression at all.
“Jeez Ed’s, just come in, I don’t bite!” You replied. You didn’t really care if he saw you naked, so what?
“W-what? You want me, to come inside?” He’s jaw was on the floor in disbelief. One of his biggest dreams was becoming a reality. He didn’t wanna to waste this opportunity. Even saying that sentence could mean something so much better in a different context.
Eddie was about to push the door open and reveal you to his eyes once again, but he realized he had a major hard on.
“nononononoooo go away!” he shout-whispered at his cock. It was way too obvious to go by unnoticed, he couldn’t show himself like this. And that’s when Eddie Munson made thee hardest decision in his life, pun intended.
“No it’s fine, I’ll just stay out here, it’s uhm soooo hot in there, with all the, steam and stuff.” The longer he talked the smaller his voice got. This was probably the only time you’d ever agree to let him see you bare. And he fucked it up.
“Oh sure, can you just grab me a shirt then? Thanks!” You said, confused as to why he was talking so weird. You shrugged it off like he was having a heatstroke or something.
“Yep!” He sighed, disappointed in himself. He needed to make his boner go away quickly, otherwise you’d maybe walk in on him. He threw a random black band tee on the sink, still standing in the hallway. “Thank you darling” you replied.
When Eddie got back in his room, he immediately closed the door behind him and undid the buttons from his jeans. Palming himself through his already wet boxers, damp from precum that oozed out.
“Oh f-fucking hell” he moaned. He slid the boxers to his thighs and took his cock in his large hand. With his left hand he opened his bedside drawer and fumbled around, until his fingers touched the bottle of your lotion. The sweet vanilla cherry scent filling his nostrils. That was his absolute favorite scent in the world. He squirted some onto his shaft and sat back on his pillows. Eddie stroke his cock with amazing speed, just the way he liked. Drops of the lotion flung onto his chest and belly, his throat producing the most lewd sounds imaginable. He tried his damn best to stay quiet, but it was so hard when all he could think about was you.
You turned the shower off, the heat was getting to you too now, stepping onto the ragged bath towel on the damp floor. You took a big towel out of the cabinet and wrapped it around yourself. You took your time, when you suddenly heard the strangest sounds from the hallway. A grunting like noise, it was probably Eddie doing something. You put your old panties back on again and the shirt Eddie threw in the sink. You let your hair loose from the bun you put on your head. You walked to Eddies room, pushing the door open, he sat upright on his very messy bed. Again having that rosy flushed tint on his cute face.
He wanted to say something to you, but the words just couldn’t come out of his mouth. He saw you, in his shirt, with no pants on whatsoever. Only those teeny tiny pink panties. He felt his heart beating so intensely at the view. The filthy images flashing through his mind. He wanted to lick your pussy so bad, he wanted to smell you, have you sit on his face, have you whining underneath his touch, all your juices getting on his chin and his nose. He would let you have the best orgasm you’ve ever had. He was still so painfully hard, he didn’t get to finish jacking off because he heard you come in. So pent up, the tears were prickling in his eyes.
“Thanks for letting me use your shower Teddie.” You walked over to his bed.
Oh he loved when you called him that, you started calling him that after he won you that stupid teddy bear from the fair that held a heart in its arms saying ‘I love you!’ You gave him a kiss on his cheek that day, he’ll never forget that. He always imagined you rubbing your pussy onto the teddy when you were horny, thinking of him as you do so. Riding it till you squirted all over it, god he was a creep.
“I gotta use the bathroom, I’ll be right back!” He spoke with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. He took the duvet off of his lap and walked as fast as he could past you, not wanting you to see his boner.
Startled by his actions you replied “oh uh okay?!” He was gone in the blink of an eye, only hearing the lock of the bathroom door. He was going straight back in with what he started. The rapid movement of his wrist made his head jerk back in pleasure. His mind kept going back to your beautiful tits, they were so cute, fuck he wanted to suck on them so bad. He wanted to latch his lips onto your nipples and lick them into oblivion. Eddie had a massive breeding fetish, it was one of his bigger kinks.
Meanwhile, you still stood innocently in his room, looking around for something to do in the meantime. You played with the hair tie on your wrist, a habit you had when you began growing bored. You twisted it between your index finger and your thumb, then it slipped out of your grip and fell onto the carpet just under Eddie’s bed. You groaned in annoyance, sitting on your knees to go pick it up. Your hands wandered blindly underneath his bed, feeling empty cans, a stray guitar pick, a singular sock, and a magazine. Curious and bored you slid it out from under the bedframe, you turned it around to reveal it being a Playboy. The model on the cover was very pretty but you know why Eddie has that dirty mag, the little pervert.
“No way” you giggled. You flicked the shiny vinyl cover, to look at the other pages. There were a lot of different women in the magazine. But one thing stuck out to you, the main focus was a lady that looked a little like you. The same hair color and texture. Same eyes, the way you did your makeup. Same cup size, same bone structure. Odd coincidence.
“Oh my god.” You heard from behind you, your back turned to him. You flung your head around, like you’d just been caught of doing a crime. You tried your hardest to not laugh. Eddie stood in the doorway, beet red, he didn’t know what to do with himself. You had just seen his porn mag, with your doppelgänger on the pages.
“Oh Teddie it’s fine, I won’t judge!” You smiled, amused at his embarrassment. “I just have one question…” you asked while standing up, facing him.
Oh god oh god, this was it. This the moment he’ll die from shame. You were definitely going to ask him why the woman looks like you, you’re gonna know he loves likes you! You walked seductively over to him, hands behind your back. Eddie was still frozen in place.
“Why are the pages sticky?” You bit your bottom lip while trying not to laugh at him. You failed.
“Oh come on y/n!” He immediately said, annoyed. But so so so relieved you didn’t say what he thought you were going to.
“No come on I wanna know!” You giggled, tickling his sides.
“Nuh uh, stop that!” He shouted. He turned around, stumbling into his bed frame. He fell onto his mattress trying to avoid your bullying hands. You cackled loudly, Eddie was so much fun to tease. He crawled up to the side of the bed, hitting the wall with his back. You never stopped tickling him, you could see him wanting to look angry but ultimately giving up and giggling. Eddie kept begging to stop, but inside he loved this. You were actually touching him, in any way, shape or form was literal heaven for him.
You crawled on top of his lap sitting right on his dick. It had just gone to being soft again, but this was really not helping his gross brain.
“You’re such a pervert Eddie!” You screamed through your giggles.
summary — as his favourite waitress at the only diner in town that’ll still serve him, you’re pope’s girl. doesn’t matter if you have a boyfriend, everybody in town knows you belong to andrew cody. especially your poor neighbours on the other side of your apartment’s paper thin wall. you’d usually try and be more considerate of the noise, but with your boyfriend in the trunk of his car, pope needs everybody to hear exactly what he was doing on the night of the third. for alibi purposes.
warnings — implied age gap (you're late 20s, i believe pope is at least late 30s but that's not even really mentioned at all), mentions of armed robbery, aggravated assault, etc all the stuff they do in the show, i switch between calling him pope and andrew, reader exclusively refers to him as andrew, this isn't a slow burn but the first half is build up, reader’s boyfriend is verbally, financially and physically abusive (physical isn’t shown graphically), smurf cody, slut shaming, pope gets stabbed (also not graphic), kidnapping, murder (and like lowkey torture? he’s trying to make him feel the most pain while he dies),
18+ mdni mild exhibitionism (they want the neighbours to hear), dry humping, pope almost cums in his pants lol, mentions of m!masturbation, fingering, spitting, unprotected piv (bad), sliiiight sub!pope i think? breeding kink if u squint
word count — 11.2k
note — okay listen. i've never written for pope, i've also never written smut before. i had this stupid idea and i texted two of my friends about it and they hyped me up and now i'm here. if this sucks, that's on them, alright. i sat down to write this and figured it would be like 2/3k at most, and suddenly it had been a week and this is by far the longest single chapter fic i've ever written. i have never written smut and it is honestly much harder than it looks, the things i do for shawn hatosy </3
Pope had been waiting almost forty-five minutes.
A long wait wasn’t rare at Doc’s—the service wasn’t why he came after leaving Smurf’s. The diner, wedged by the overpass, sat forty minutes from his house without traffic. Pope didn’t care for the service, the sticky tables, the flickering lights, or even the food. The eggs were too wet, the bacon too dry, the coffee bitter. The sandwiches were both soggy and stale.
Sometimes they had pie, and that was something. Not forty-minutes-out-of-your-way something. But something.
No, there was one reason that Pope found himself in the corner booth at least twice a week, and she was currently being yelled at in the kitchen.
You looked radiant, a picture-perfect idea of a pretty girl. You moved fluidly between the coffee pot, the cabinet, and the sink, like you could perform the motions with your eyes closed. You twinkled while you walked, delicate gold rings on your fingers, earrings catching the light as your head turned towards the window. Like you were made of something that came from space. You looked more tired than usual, the dark circles under your eyes more prominent than usual.
The kitchen at Doc’s was always loud, so Andrew didn’t look up from his drink when shouting began. He had come in early, while the sun was still rising, after a sleepless night spent in his mom’s kitchen listening to his brothers plan a heist. Andrew hadn’t really paid attention to them, too focused on re-running the route from Smurf’s to the diner in his mind—a drive he could make in his sleep.
The line cook at Doc’s was an asshole. That was the first thing he’d noticed after pulling off the main road into the nearly empty parking lot. Andrew had stumbled in, bloody under his jacket. A deep gash, halfheartedly bandaged days before, ached beneath his clothes. He almost collapsed into the corner booth.
Johnny had been yelling then, too. But that time, he was behind the bar countertop, following you around as you tried to tidy up. “I don’t need to be babysitting you,” he scowled, getting in your way constantly. “First it’s the fuckin’ tickets, then it’s the drinks, for fuck’s sake. I know you don’t have much in that pretty head of yours, doll, but I didn’t realise you were honest-to-god fucking stupid.” He grabbed you at the scalp, not squeezing hard enough to hurt, and gave your head a shake. “Or were you too busy whoring yourself out tonight to remember you got a fuckin’ job to do?” His hand lingered, like he was unsure of what to do with it.
“Baby-” That word had snapped Andrew right out of it. He’d been dazed for days, since he’d got nicked right near his ribs and had lost so much blood he’d been tanner in prison. The harsh words hadn’t fazed him, he was ashamed to admit, but hearing you turn and address the man so sweetly, like he hadn’t just called you a slut in front of the empty dining room.
“No, no,” He snatched a white coffee cup out of your hands. “I get it. My big girl’s gotta do her big girl job. Right, honey? You think you’re something special ‘cause old Ron said you got a nice smile?” He slammed the mug down so hard that Andrew heard it break. You jumped about half a foot in the air and seemingly went into fight or flight. You’d scampered away, pulling the bar top up where it turned into a gate to come move around the dining room. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? I’m talking to you.” He’d called out your name, and Andrew had committed it to memory right then and there.
“I’m working, Johnny,” you’d turned around then, in a huff. Chest rising and falling, Andrew tried not to focus on the movement of your breathing. “Doing my job, like you told me.”
Johnny watched you wipe down a table and shove the chairs in haphazardly. “Yeah,” he scoffed. “Now you wanna fucking work. Remember that flashing your tits’ll only get you out of paying rent so many times, did you?”
“Hey!”
Pope hadn’t meant to shout. Hadn’t planned on drawing attention. He hated watching you be diminished by your boss and wanted to intervene. But he felt dizzy, and you looked like the kind of girl who’d rather no one witness her shame, as twisted as that was.
Both of your heads snapped to him. Johnny’s angry, yours petrified, and Andrew felt like maybe he had made things worse for you.
Pope knew he couldn’t go in too aggressively; you were already shaking your head at him, hoping desperately he wouldn’t make a scene.
“Can I order or what?” he said gruffly, pressing his hand to his side as he slumped into the booth.
He watched Johnny grip you by the arm, hiss something in your ear, and then push you toward him. You looked more shaken than hurt, embarrassed that he had seen it than sad it had happened.
With how sweet you had been to Johnny, he’d expected you to be kind of meek. Andrew had seen your type before. Small-town girl moves to her closest approximation of a big city. Too poor for San Diego, but dreams big enough to get as close as possible. Got saddled at a dead-end food service job with an ass for a boss. Didn’t need Pope white knighting for you when he just knew your boss was going to yell at you the second he left.
Instead, you came right up to him, locking your gaze with his. Like it had never even happened. “You know what you want?” You flashed him a smile, pen already poised to write down his order.
“Uh,” Pope hadn’t even glanced at the laminated menu on the table.
You snorted, covering your mouth with your notepad. “All that tough guy stuff, you didn’t even know what you wanted?” Andrew had been suffering blood loss for at least two full days by that point, but your laugh made him feel like he was floating. “How about some coffee, huh?”
He heard the kitchen door slam behind Johnny. You didn’t even look behind to where he’d stormed out. Didn’t even flinch.
“Ignore him,” you said softly, unbothered. “He’s a little bitch. Smiled at a customer too long, made him jealous.” You grinned like it was a joke—like his words were just a harmless flaw.
Andrew looked up at you. There was a red mark on your arm where Johnny had grabbed you. “So what’re you doing now then?”
You laughed again, brushing your fingertips against the arm he had resting on the table. “If you pick coffee, then I can make it right here for you, no kitchen required.”
That had sounded pretty good to him, so Andrew nodded. You beamed down at him, shoving the notepad in the front pocket of your apron. “Now, I don’t know what you heard from him.” You had jabbed your chin towards the pass to the kitchen, heat lamps basking the wall in warm golden glow. It didn’t hold a candle to you. “But I promise not to flash my tits at you.” You nabbed the menu off the table and turned back to step behind the bar countertop. “I won’t stop you from looking up my skirt, though.”
Andrew had laughed so hard he felt like he popped one of his shitty stitches.
It became routine after that. Whenever he had to pull an all-nighter, he’d stop by Doc’s and come get a cup of shitty coffee and a dose of lovely girl.
Johnny hated Pope, but you said that was normal with customers, telling him not to get a big head. Yet Johnny kept taking Pope’s money and letting him sit in the corner booth for hours. Pope always tipped big; the money was bloody, but better in your pocket than his.
He told himself that’s why he kept coming back. He wanted to help you out. You were a sweet girl. That was it.
The dining room was no longer deserted like it had been that morning. There were a few other waitresses and a few other chefs bustling around. You and Johnny seemed to always be there, though. Pope had already waved off two teenage girls who tried to take his order.
"You think you’re better than this place?”
He couldn’t hear your muffled reply, but he heard the way Johnny laughed.
“Nah,” Johnny got louder, voice deeper. “Some fucking clown tells you you’re too pretty to be holed up here and suddenly you’re too good for me?” There was the sound of metal on metal, ringing out through the diner. The other patrons all looked up, some nervously, some annoyed. “You think he likes you? Sweet little girl, always so pretty for him, huh? Letting him ogle you like that? What do you think is gonna happen, sugar? He’ll take you somewhere nice, pull you out of this shithole?”
He still couldn’t hear you, ears straining to make out words over the noise. Baby - being nice - love you.
“You know exactly how this is gonna shake down, don’t you?” Johnny lowered his voice just slightly. “He’ll fuck you, then he’ll run, and you’ll be left here asking me for a ride to work. You know that, right? I know you got nothing but rocks up there, but you can see that, surely?”
Pope couldn’t even make out your voice that time, but he figured you’d replied when Johnny laughed, roaring and cocky. “Oh, no, baby. Don’t you roll your fuckin’ eyes at me. You know exactly why I’m mad. You like me mad. You drop your fucking panties for any guy who walks in the door, and I’m meant to act like I don’t see it? No, baby, I’m not the bad guy. You do this shit on purpose. You push, and you push, and one of these days you’re gonna forget just how good you have it.”
Andrew already fucking hated Johnny, but the afternoon you’d sheepishly admitted Johnny wasn’t just your boss—he was your longtime boyfriend—made Pope’s blood boil so much that he’d almost crushed that fucking coffee cup in his hand.
“Yeah, my girl doesn’t need reminding who’s good to her, does she? Where’s your fucking attitude now, huh?” More murmurs, you sounded upset now, not soothing. “Yeah, not so fucking tough anymore. You think that fucking loser’s gonna save you-?”
Andrew heard your voice - don’t - and then dead silence. He thought for a sickening moment that Johnny had kissed you to shut you up, and that he was going to have to think about that on the drive home instead of how you’d traced the knuckle of one of his hands.
Then, you emerged. Head ducked, straight for his booth. He sat up straighter. Your chest was shaking, and this time, he didn’t have to stop himself from looking; his eyes were glued to your face.
He said your name softly, reaching a hand for you. You stopped short. “Can I get a ride?”
Your eyes were red, tears streaking thick black tracks down your cheeks. There was a mark on your collarbone. Pope was up in an instant. “I’ll fucking kill him-”
“He just grabbed me, I want to go home-”
“Just grabbed you?” He scoffed. You were both talking quietly, voices low to avoid the breakfast rush from feeding on your insides. “I’m going to fucking kill-”
“Andrew,” you snapped, “I want to go. Can I get a ride or not?”
Pope had driven you home a few times in the six months he’d been frequenting the diner. Sometimes you and Johnny would fight, and Johnny would take off without you, leaving you stranded and sheepish as you stood by the corner booth, looking like you wished the earth would swallow you.
But he’d never seen you leave without Johnny. This was new.
He handed you the fifty in his hands - the piece of pie he’d been waiting on plus tip (he wasn’t gonna let that asshole take it), and you didn’t argue, just shoving it in the pocket of your apron. You never accepted his money without a fight, usually, but that time you took it, stalking off towards where Andrew had parked his car.
“You wanna go to your place?” Andrew would never have asked, have given you any inkling you were welcome at his house, if you hadn’t looked so upset. He didn’t want you anywhere the fuck near his family - especially Smurf. She had no idea he’d been coming there three times a week for almost six months. It wasn’t any of her fucking business. Still, he wasn’t going to let his mom sink her claws into you the way she had with Julia. To maim. Not to cage, like with him.
But Andrew also knew that Johnny owned your apartment building. That was how you’d met him, apparently. At first, it had been kind of fun, you’d admitted to him one night the slight Johnny had hurled at you hadn’t been without merit. “Sometimes I couldn’t make rent that month, so I’d just have to… You know.” Pope felt like he was going to be sick. “It made me feel special, like I was in on something the other people weren’t. Then one time we had a fight and he wouldn’t get someone to fix my AC.”
Pope was going to fucking kill him, and there wasn’t anything he could think of that would stop him. He’d fantasise about the ways on the drive home some mornings, imagining the life draining out of Johnny’s eyes the way Pope had watched the life drain out of yours. Maybe he’d take a knife to him, watch his blood soak the concrete. He had a gun; he could use that. Or maybe Pope could just drag him out to the half-alley where Doc’s dumpsters were and beat the shit out of him until he was unrecognisable.
Those were second only to the other fantasies he’d have. The ones where you would find out, devastated by your boyfriend’s death, and turn to him for comfort. The ones where you’d kiss him and tell him he saved you. The ones so vivid he’d have to pull off the road and deal with it, lest he go and meet up for a job with a boner.
All of them involved your fucking boyfriend six feet under, and Pope getting the chance to show you how much better he could treat you.
Sometimes you chatted, airily telling him stories about funny customer interactions you’d had, or about something silly you’d seen on your phone. Sometimes you stayed silent. Most of the time, if Pope was driving you somewhere, it was because you and Johnny had gotten into a fight and he’d left you stranded.
“I’m gonna need to ask for your number,” you’d joked one night, standing in front of the open passenger door, bent at the waist to shove your head back in the car. “That way I can come and bug you whenever.”
Andrew would’ve handed it over without hesitation, but you’d giggled and shut the door, flouncing back up to the staircase leading to your apartment on the second floor. That afternoon, Johnny had taken your elevator pass, so Andrew dropped you off around the back. Your apartment building felt more like a motel: your front door was external, the apartment hallway served as an entryway, and a patio. He watched you bound up the stairs with the energy of someone who hadn’t worked the night shift, hauling yourself up on the railing and flashing him a beaming smile as you reached your door.
Now, you sat in silence. When Andrew pulled into the back lot of your place, you sat there, seatbelt buckled behind your back—which made Andrew nervous, but he was in no position to ask you to obey the laws of the road. “Do you want to come in?”
The closest Andrew had come to being inside your house was when he’d walked you to your door one night when it was raining. “Johnny…?”
You shook your head, still not looking at him. Your gaze was locked on your lap. That summer had been unbearable, so you’d opted for skirts rather than pants. You wore really pretty outfits a lot of the time, even if they were hidden under your apron. Floral sleeveless tops that showed off your collarbones and made him feel like a fucking teenager, practically salivating at the sight. Skirts that ended at mid-thigh, oftentimes shorter than the apron you wore tied around your waist. Your thighs were on display, and Pope had been very tastefully looking at them - you couldn’t ask him not to look, that wasn’t fair.
“He’s pulling a double,” you said, “Can’t flake out on it either, Doc’s is going under.”
That wasn’t necessarily surprising to Pope. Doc’s had a few die-hard patrons, people that he’d see multiple times a week or month. Other than that, it was usually empty. Which is why the line cook seemingly felt no shame in bullying his girlfriend in the middle of the dining room on a weekly basis.
Part of Pope felt bitter. Good. That asshole deserved it. Maybe they’d knock the building down and turn it into a Whole Foods or some shit. But most of him was thinking about you. Doc’s was your only source of income, and most of your money you got from his tips. Would you still see him if the diner closed?
He followed you up the stairs, standing guard beside you as you rifled through your bag for your keys. That was how Andrew felt about himself a lot of the time when it came to you. A guard dog. Someone to protect you, whether it was from Johnny or Smurf or guys who called you ‘darlin’ and got too close to your face at work. Not necessarily someone to keep around, but someone useful.
Your apartment looked exactly like Pope thought it would from the glimpses he caught through the windows (and the listing he’d found online) (your boyfriend had your apartment listed at all times, ready to strike if you pissed him off too bad) (Pope hadn’t mentioned it to you, but he kept it in the back of his mind always).
There were little touches that weren’t included in the estate photos he’d found online. The tack-on wallpaper you had up in the kitchen, the soft blankets you’d tossed over the couch.
“Sorry for the mess,” you sounded upset, but you had been since the diner. Pope didn’t want to think about it being his fault. What really worried him was the palpable sense of tension, as if there were too many words left unsaid hanging in the air. Pope looked back over at you, mouth open to tell you not to worry about it, but was interrupted by the look on your face. Eyebrow raised, eyes still red-rimmed from the incident in the diner, mouth curled downward. “No, stop. You’re gonna say it’s cute, or whatever, but it’s not. It’s gross, sorry. I didn’t think I’d have company today.” You seem to be in waitress mode even at home, straightening things and moving to put dishes in the sink. Pope caught sight of a dirty laundry basket and almost got lightheaded.
“Do you want something to eat or drink?” You asked, kicking the laundry basket into another room and shutting the door with your elbow. Pope couldn't shake off a sense of impending crisis; each of your movements was more hurried than usual, like a tightly wound spring ready to snap.
Pope hovered awkwardly in the living room, scraping his eyes over as much of your stuff as he could. Your chipped mugs, the 90s girl-group poster covering water-damaged walls. Your things were clearly well-loved and well-worn, but seldom maintained. You took good care of your things out of love, but not enough to stop them from breaking. Enough to keep them useful. Pope wondered if his usefulness would run out. “Is the coffee better here?”
You snorted, untying your apron and dumping it on the sofa. “I won’t spit in it?” You offer like it’s some sort of consolation prize.
Pope couldn’t stop the words stumbling out of his mouth, “Why not?”
He wanted to ask him what exactly had gone down in the kitchen, talk to you about it, tell you to dump him, do a billion things to you. There was the small problem of you finding out how much of a fucking loser he felt about you.
“Sit,” you said softly. He sat. He watched you mill around, both cleaning the kitchen and making him a cup of coffee in the same motions. When you handed him the cup, he looked up at you. It was well and truly mid-morning by that point, and the sun was filtering through the kitchen windows and hitting your face.
“You okay?” He finally asked. He didn’t want to overstep; he also felt like it wouldn’t be appreciated. Pope wanted to be something, not just another asshole who took control of your life. You’d been in a rough spot when you’d met Johnny. Pope didn’t want to be another Johnny. So, he kept his mind firmly on the task at hand and not on the fact that your bedroom was on the other side of that wall.
You looked at him, and Pope felt his stomach fall. He’d never seen you look like this before. “I want you to kill him.”
It was a burst of anger, uncharacteristic of his sweet girl. Pope couldn’t take his eyes off you, but he still felt like he’d blinked and missed you already.
“Wha-”
You rolled your eyes, kicking off your sneakers and curling up on the sofa near him. He could smell your perfume. He was going insane —you were too close—far too close for how well-behaved he was trying to be. Too far away to do the things he was trying not to think about doing.
“I’m not stupid, Andrew,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “I know who you are. I know what you do. I know your whole schtick.”
Hearing someone call his family’s incredibly lucrative and prolific crime empire a ‘schtick’ kind of snapped him out of it. “You…?”
“Like, two weeks after the first time you came in, I went to a party and someone asked if I was Pope’s girl.”
Fuck. Fuck. He’d wanted to keep you all from it. From Smurf, from the rest of his family. From Pope.
When he was with you, he didn’t have to be Pope. He didn’t have to be whatever the fuck he was, whatever people called him. Didn’t have to worry about the fucking drugs, or the heists, or all the people he’d murdered at the behest of his mom.
Being asked to take care of someone wasn’t an uncommon thing for him.
You seemed to register the worry on his face, scooching closer on your small sofa. Pope felt dizzy. “I said yes,” you admitted, cheeks warm. “I don’t know why. I just wanted him to leave me alone, and when you were brought up, he seemed to think twice about fucking with me. It was nice.”
Your earlier words played back in his head, about how it had been with Johnny at the beginning. Like being in on something that no one else was.
Andrew said your name, low and mournful, like it might be the last time.
“I’ve heard stuff,” you rushed, needing to get your point across before he cut you off and walked out of your life forever. “Stuff about the Codys- you guys. About you, Andrew. Pope. I had a little trouble picturing you as him. You’re always so nice to me, I couldn’t imagine you doing something like that.”
Good. Andrew hoped to god it stayed that way. You were the one good thing he had ever let himself have, and he barely even fucking had you. Still, it had all managed to catch up to him.
“But then I thought about it.” Your voice was quiet. If Pope strained, he could hear voices behind him, on the other side of the wall. “And I thought about it. And I kept thinking about it every time I saw you. I can’t get it out of my head.”
Pope felt his eyes sting. He was not going to cry in front of you. He’d sooner run out the door and ghost you.
“Please say something.” It was clear you had expected him to be much further on board faster than he had been.
He just sat there for a moment. Every second that went by, every tick of the clock on the mantle, every drip of the kitchen sink Johnny refused to look at, every blink of Pope’s eyes, felt like they got longer and longer between them.
Pope had an issue. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to kill Johnny - Pope would’ve done so already if he had known you wouldn’t grieve his death like he had believed you would. But he didn’t want to be the guy you leant too heavily on and grew to resent.
"You want me to kill him?"
He’d expected you to look surprised, to tell him you hadn’t really wanted to take him up on the offer or whatever. Instead, your eyes sparkled as you nodded.
"I want him to die, Andrew." You said it so gravely, so seriously, he had no choice but to believe you. Unless you’d become an informant, which, knowing his luck, was not out of the question. “You’re a good man. You deserve to do it. I can forgive you for it.”
You wanted to do it yourself, had ever since you’d found out about the habits of the sweet, quiet man who came in and stared at you too long. But wanting to kill someone and actually killing them were two different stories. This was giving you an out. You didn’t need to rely on Johnny, on his hot and cold, on his temper.
You wanted to do it yourself, had ever since you’d found out about the habits of the sweet, quiet man who came in and stared at you too long. But wanting to kill someone and actually killing them were two different stories. This was giving you an out. You didn’t need to rely on Johnny, on his hot and cold, on his temper.
Doc’s was going under, and you’d been looking for another job. Looked at maybe going back to school. You’d been in your third year of college when you met Johnny. That was a lifetime ago.
If Johnny died, the building would be bought by Mr Carlton, the older man who owned all of the first floor and almost all of the second floor. Rent would be a little higher, but you wouldn’t have a boyfriend who could decide he wasn’t going to give you shifts while you were on your period, because if you couldn’t give him what he wanted, then why should you get what you want?
A steady source of income, maybe a future, control over your life again. Johnny had to fucking go.
And who deserved to do it more than Andrew? Sweet, sarcastic, charming, respectful, Andrew. He’d never overstepped, never once given you the ‘you deserve better’ spiel. Never once made you feel like he pitied you or judged you. Knew his place. His good behaviour deserved to be rewarded.
And so, you made a plan. He’d suggested planning it out to give you more time to chicken out, as he somewhat believed you would.
Johnny would be going out of town the month following, for a whole ten days. That meant there were ten days which nobody would notice his disappearance. Pope planned it all, how he would do it, where he would dump him, and the excuse he would give his brothers.
Baz had pulled him aside and asked if he’d gotten a girl, but Pope had stayed silent, stewing bitterly. It wasn’t out of any real interest in his life; it was out of selfishness. He’d noticed how long it had been since he’d caught Pope looking at Cath.
You quit Doc’s and started working at a coffee shop closer to your place. The hours were consistent, the pay was regular. You didn’t even care that your coworkers weren’t very nice, and you weren’t making as much in individual tips. You wanted something concrete.
You and Pope started “dating.” You suggested it as a reason you guys had been hanging out so much: if one of your neighbours squealed. All that involved was letting Andrew drive you home, letting him call you ‘baby’ in earshot of your coworkers, and letting him keep his hand on the back of your thigh for just a little too long.
Pope was paying your rent — something that annoyed you, but you couldn’t stop. Johnny had threatened to evict you when you and he split, done in a screaming match at Doc’s, surrounded by as many people as you could swing. It needed to be public and final. You’d almost been rendered homeless, but Pope had offered to reach up and spend more than the heightened rent Johnny had started enforcing. Andrew knew Johnny knew he wasn’t going to get more rent out of anybody than some sucker who wanted to fuck Johnny’s ex-girlfriend.
He spent the entire month leading up to it with his family. Made himself as available to them as he could. Told you not to call him while he was at Smurf’s, told you so softly and so sweetly they’d rip your fucking throat out that you had no choice but to listen. He forced himself into so many situations that, when the day came, they were honestly grateful for a reprieve. Nobody would be calling him that week.
Johnny was smoking a cigarette when Pope got him. Sharp and fast, a quick slash to the side under the ribs, grabbed by the hair. Kicked on the back of the knees and shoved to the ground. Some of it had been overkill. The grip Andrew had kept on Johnny’s greasy hair, almost ripping it out from how forceful he was. Zip ties to the wrists, enough shoved in the mouth that even when Johnny realised it was Pope and started yelling, only muffled groans could be heard. Nobody had been in the parking lot of Johnny’s - Pope had planned as much, but seeing it work out felt vindicating.
Not as vindicating as watching Johnny bleed out all over the tarp Pope had lined his trunk with for the occasion. His hands, the hands that had touched you in all the wrong places, were almost completely severed at the wrists. Johnny’s fingerprints would be burned off, and his teeth would be knocked out, but he wanted to wait until the bastard was dead for that part. Not to spare him the pain, but because he wanted to take his time on it without having to listen to that miserable fuck whine the entire time.
He was still alive when Pope pulled into your apartment. You’d been at work all morning and had just gotten home (Pope still felt guilty about making you take the bus, even though his car had been in use at your request). That way, when the coroners eventually examined him, if they found him too quickly, they’d get a time of death you were both well and truly accounted for.
He’d hoped he’d catch sight of one of your neighbours on the way in, had spent the past month stopping to chat to each and every one of them, so they wouldn’t think it out of the ordinary if he did it on his way up to you. The staircase, the patio, and even the parking lot were all dead.
So, he pulled out his keys and made a big show of dropping his keyring and clattering about with it before unlocking the door. “Baby?”
You were in the kitchen, still in your work clothes, looking radiantly at him. More dream than girl, Pope could’ve sworn you glowed. “Andrew,” you beamed at him, speaking a little louder than necessary. Not unnatural. “How’s Lena?”
He’d offered to take his niece out for the morning, which kept her away from Baz and gave Pope some time with her. Made for a really good alibi if someone asked him where he’d been that morning. He’d felt kind of gross for dragging the poor girl into it, but his desire to see her had won over.
“She was good,” Pope shut the front door, dropping his stuff in. “We went to the beach, got ice cream, had some lunch. She says hi.”
Lena absolutely did not say hi. Pope hadn’t let a single thing about you slip, even to her. But he liked to think that if she did know who you were, she would’ve said hi.
Pope discarded his jacket on the hook by the door. You didn’t keep your space particularly tidy, but since he’d started coming over, you had made more of an effort. Clearing room for him to keep his things, jacket on the hook, shoes on the rack, keys in the bowl. It felt so painfully domestic that Pope could almost pretend this whole thing was real.
After that first time in your place, Pope had been struck by just how much of the apartment felt like you. It wasn’t overly decorated, you didn’t make enough money to have one of those Pinterest board apartments Andrew knew you were secretly obsessed with.
But there was nothing in this apartment, even the first time he’d been inside, that indicated you had a boyfriend. At least... There hadn’t been before.
Now, Pope’s stuff was everywhere. His dishes in your sink, post-its on your fridge reminding you of when he was working or telling him when you were. One of his jackets over the back of your sofa. He was one step away from keeping a damn toothbrush in the cup with yours.
You came close to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and stretching yourself up so your mouth was right beside his ear. “Did you do it?”
Pope’s hands were pressed to your back, one of them lingering where the hem of your shirt sat, inches away from slipping his palm to lay against your bare skin. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. You squeezed him. “He’s in the car. I’ll hang out here for a while, then I’ll go dump him.”
He hadn’t told you where he’d been planning on taking Johnny. You hadn’t asked. You didn’t need to know where he was lying, just that he was rotting. That you’d never have to feel his hands on you again.
“No one saw me,” he said. He felt you frown against his neck. The two of you had been hoping at least one of your neighbours would catch sight of him organically. The building's walls were thin; you could hear people on both sides of you.
“Shit,” he felt you exhale. “We need someone to be able to validate that you’re here.”
He let his hands shift, rubbing the skin of your back gently through your top. His thumb brushed the sliver of bare skin with a featherlight touch. You didn’t move away.
The two of you stood there for a moment under the guise of thinking. There was the faint clatter of a dish being bumped into through the wall, followed by a muttered curse word.
“Maybe they could hear us doing something?” He suggested. “Like, we could talk really loud?”
You pulled back enough to see his face, but not so much that he had to let go. “What would they hear?” you asked quietly, a smile tugging the corner of your lips up.
The silence hung low in the air, filling the space and shoving the two of you closer together. You were wearing a pretty blouse and a denim skirt, straight from a morning at the coffee shop. Pope didn’t want to be the one to suggest it.
“Andy…” Your voice was soft in tone but loud enough in volume that he was pretty sure that your neighbours could hear. You’d never called him that before. Your hands moved from resting behind his neck to caressing his jaw with your thumbs.
“Hi, baby,” the words ghosted your face, barely audible. Your face split out in a grin.
“Wanna see my bedroom?”
Andrew had seen your bedroom before, but he had never been inside. He’d only ever caught glimpses when you came in or out, or through the cracked door, or on the online listing.
Your bedsheets had little daisies on them. They felt soft under his fingertips. Your duvet was bunched up towards the head of your bed. You’d shoved him inside, giggling at the absurdity as his knees hit the back of your bed.
“Okay, wait.” You bent over, desperately trying to at least half-make your bed while he was sitting on it. You weren’t actually going to fuck him, you just needed to make the neighbours think he was giving you a good time. Well, it didn’t have to be good, but it would hurt his ego a little if he couldn’t fake fuck you well.
Then, you sat down on the rumpled duvet beside him, unable to keep the grin off your face. “Okay, wait,” you said again. “Alright…”
The two of you sat there in silence for a moment before finally you let out a noise. A soft, barely-there, contented sigh.
Pope laughed.
You reached over and hit him. “Sorry, asshole, I’ve never tried to make my neighbours think I’m having sex before,” you hissed. He held his hands up in surrender, trying to take you seriously despite the situation. Andrew shifted so his legs weren’t hanging off the side of your bed, shuffling towards the head. “You do it.”
“I…” he tried. This was ridiculous. “I can’t, I’m sorry,” he was laughing so hard his shoulders were shaking, his back pressed to the headboard.
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, Andy,” you let out an exaggerated groan, snickering at him. Your voice stayed monotone, “Please, for me?”
You crawled closer to him, coming to sit right beside him.
Pope thought maybe he had died and gone to hell. He had you right there, so close to him he could smell the rosemary oil you insisted helped your hair grow. So close he could count your eyelashes if he could keep his eyes off your hands, dragging through the duvet to extend towards him.
He let out a groan, and you smiled self-satisfiedly. “Yeah?” you goaded. “You like that, Andy?”
Your voice was thick with wanting. Pope let out another noise, heat rushing to his neck. You were putting on a show, and not even for his benefit. A whine ripped itself from his chest, and the humiliation filled the cavity it left. Here he was, acting like a fucking virgin sitting with a pretty girl on her bed.
You still had that goddamn smile on your face, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. You were still moving closer, and Andrew felt frozen. He was trying so so hard, trying to behave, to not move you closer and grab any part of the expanse of skin you were seemingly haunting him by. He was trying to behave, and there you were, so close to him.
You were still giggling, even as you hauled yourself up and locked your legs on either side of his thighs. Pope’s hands were raised, hovering above your waist, not sure about the whole touching thing now that you were literally situated in his lap.
You opened your mouth, pushing a palm flat against the wall and letting out a slightly louder moan, looking him right in the eye.
Yep, definitely hell. You were settled in his lap, whining his name, gaze boring into his. He had to start thinking about geometry or baseball or something to distract himself from the fact that you were positioned right over his cock while wearing a skirt.
He was able to start on autopilot, matching your volume, throwing in a “baby” or a whine of your name every so often. He just had to keep a clear head for however long you decided sex with him would take and then wait so he could go jerk off and dump your boyfriend’s corpse. In that order.
You had one hand on his shoulder, one hand on the wall, still completely giddy from the venture. You seemed to be having a nice time, not burdened by the same hellish circumstance that he had found himself trapped in. Even more so when you shifted your hips slightly and had his cock twitch at the contact.
He felt you tense up and prepared for the anger. A slap, a spit, insults hurled. Something at least.
He couldn’t look up at your face, but unfortunately, your tits were the other closest things to his eyes. Instead, his head was turned to stare at the floral wallpaper, looking as far from your face as his head would physically turn.
“Andrew?” You whispered. He was shaking under your hands. He felt your hand move from his shoulder up his jaw, fingernails raking up his skin. You grabbed at his chin, pulling his face back up so he had to look at you. “Hey.”
This would be the last time he ever touched you, so he let his hands finally find purchase on your waist. “I’m so, fuck- I’m sorry. You can just ignore it; it’ll go away. I’m so fucking sorry, it’s not because of you.”
You pouted. “It’s not?” You rolled your hips, and Andrew felt his chest constrict. “That’s a shame.” You were moving consistently by that point, and he couldn’t figure out when you’d gotten such a mean streak.
“Fuck-” his head fell forward, forehead resting on your shoulder. “Baby, I-” he was interrupted by a whine yanked from his throat by the feeling of you grinding down on his crotch. “You… you gotta stop.”
“You want me to?” You asked innocently, pausing your movements.
Andrew lifted his head off your shoulder to look up at your face. You had never seen anyone look at you with such reverence.
Pope knew the good, moral thing to do was yes, to get you off his lap and then throw your boyfriend’s body in the ocean. What he chose to do was to lift his hips up to provide some of the friction you’d stopped giving him. “No,” he admitted. “Fuck- no. Please don’t.”
His face was still in your hand, and you gripped his chin, tipping his head back slightly. You ducked your head slowly, moving to press your mouth to his. Pope’s hands were roaming on your back, one of them finally slipping under the soft cotton of your blouse. Pope kissed like he talked, waiting for you to make the first move, but once you had, he cut himself loose. It wasn’t necessarily a good kiss; it was sloppy, mostly open-mouthed, and involved a lot of your mouth swallowing his moans.
But your brain seemed to reset, whether it was the feeling of his tongue slipping between your lips or the feeling of his erection pressing between your legs. The noises he was making, directly from his mouth to yours, were sending a buzzing feeling between your thighs.
You rolled your hips, he thrust up to meet you, and the friction set loose a high whimper that seemed to spur him on.
“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling off where he’d taken your bottom lip between his teeth. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this.”
He was embarrassingly close from the feeling of you grinding on him through his clothes. His hand squeezed your side, his entire body tense from the effort he was putting in to keep him from embarrassing himself. You let out a whine at the sudden move, and that had been his final straw.
Without warning, Pope wrapped a strong arm over your back and flipped you over so he was above you. You squealed at the impact, landing on your back, and the sound travelled straight to his cock. “Andrew-”
He kissed you again, his hand coming up to cup your jaw and rub soothing circles into your scalp. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned. Your legs fell apart for him to come move between them and press his chest to yours. Andrew took his free hand and stroked the back of your thigh, holding it up against his hip. “Oh, look at you.” He pulled up to take a good look at your face. Face flushed, pupils blown, and that stupid fucking smirk on your face.
The hand on your thigh loosened its grip and travelled upwards until it found its way underneath your skirt. As his palm made the connection with your damp underwear, you let out an embarrassingly high-pitched whine. “Andrew,” you shuddered against his touch.
“You want me to touch you?” he asked, voice low. You nodded, tilting your head up to try to capture his lips against yours again. “Yeah? Come on then, baby. Use your words.”
Your cheeks burned, more from annoyance than embarrassment. “Please, Andy…” That wasn’t enough for him; the most he did was press the heel of his palm firmer against your panties. “Want you to touch me,” you grumbled. Andrew knew you were miffed at not getting what you wanted without having to do what he wanted you to. You liked that he was so desperate for you, liked how he’d been hard under your touch without him even really touching you.
He pushed your panties to the side to run a finger through your folds. You whined, pushing your hips up at the brush of your clit against the pad of his finger. “Andrew,” you whimpered. He stayed by the nerve, pressing two of his fingers flat and rubbing small circles. He spent a few minutes switching up pace and pressure until he found one that you seemed to really enjoy.
Your moans went straight to his cock, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care about that when you were so warm, so wet; all other rational thought went straight out the window. “Fuck, pretty girl. Hear how fuckin’ wet you are?” He kissed the side of your mouth and moved his hand off your jaw to press it against your hand. The back of your palm pushed up against your pillow, clutched tightly in his, anchoring him there to you. He moved away from your clit and ignored the pained whimper you pressed into his cheek, instead moving his fingers to slip them inside.
You gasped at the intrusion, your free hand clawing at his back. “Fuck, Andy,” your moans were high-pitched and breathy, unlike the deep and fake noises you’d been forcing out for the benefit of the neighbours.
“Oh, pretty girl,” he groaned into your neck. You were so tight, even just around his fingers. He wanted to pay more attention to your clit, but the feeling of your hand in his was too tempting to give up. Instead, he pressed his index and middle fingers inside while brushing the nerve with his thumb. It was uncoordinated, fast, and desperate, but you were whining into his ear, clenching the back of his shirt in your free fist, and squeezing his fingers so tight he could feel precome pooling in his boxers.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned. “How am I meant to fit in here, baby?” He cooed, crooking his fingers up to press against your spongy center with the tips of his fingers and causing you to throw your head back, open-mouthed.
Pope felt you clench around him. “Wanted this so bad,” you admitted, pulling him closer to kiss him. It was so sloppy, half your words were said directly into his open mouth. “For- fuck- months, Andrew. I k-keep thinking about you,” you bucked up into him. “Johnny would always get angry because he said you wanted to fuck me-”
“Did,” Andrew grunted, fucking you with his fingers as far in as they could go, stretching you out. He hadn’t been joking before; there was no way he’d fit. “Do.”
You ignored him, still babbling on. “And I never believed him, but I really, really hoped he was right.”
Andrew pulled his fingers out of you again, but this time you didn’t whimper. He’d been talking a big game while he was on top of you. You wanted your sweetheart back. Stopping only to shove your panties down your legs and kick them off onto the floor, you wrestled yourself back on his lap. At the feeling of your bare core against his erection, Pope groaned again. “Fuck, baby, you felt so good, so wet for me. Was that all for me?” You nodded. “Fucking bastard, has no idea what he’s giving up, does he?”
Pope did not want you back on his lap because he was pretty sure that if you started riding him again, he’d come in his pants.
You seemed pretty gleeful at the concept of that happening, though, leaning down to attach your lips to his neck. There was a wet patch on the front of his pants where your bare core met the swell of his cock. “Andrew,” you rasped, “feels so good.”
His hips stuttered, hands on the backs of your bare thighs, debating whether to move up to your ass or down to your pussy. “Baby,” he groaned. “Say you want me.”
Andrew wasn’t a virgin. He’d had girlfriends, the occasional hookup. He had never been so achingly hard in his life, and you hadn’t even really touched his cock yet.
“You want me to want you?” You cooed. “Yeah, baby? I want you,” you husked, directly into his fear. “Want you so bad, Andrew.”
He tossed his head back, hitting the wall behind your headboard. “Fuck, you feel so good.” his hands squeezed the flesh of your ass, trying to find something to keep him from busting already.
“Yeah?” you encouraged.
Andrew nodded against your mouth, eyes rolled back in his head. “Yeah, fuck, baby. You look so pretty,” he said, looking up at you through his eyelashes. You could feel yourself soaking his pants, his erection catching on your clit, and sending your head fuzzy. “So, so pretty. My pretty girl.”
You reached for his belt buckle at that, desperate to satiate the pulsing between your legs. He made no move to help you, watching through blown pupils as you undid his pants and shoved them down as far as you could with him sitting down. You’d been able to see the wet patch on his dark jeans, and you’d assumed it had been made up of entirely your arousal, evidence of how much you needed him. But seeing the dark stain of precome pooled by his erection, you realised he needed you just as much.
“Andrew,” you breathed, lusting and listless. “Can I touch you, please?”
Andrew groaned like he was in pain, nodding and nudging his face up to kiss your cheeks. “Please, baby. I’d take anything, anything you wanna do.”
You liked how he wasn’t trying to pretend he didn't want this as much as you did. You waned him so badly you ached, you could feel yourself clenching around nothing, desperate for the friction his fingers had provided. “Yeah?” He nodded. “Can you open up for me?”
Andrew opened his mouth, eyeing you as you leaned over his face and let a droplet of your spit land on his tongue. Eyes rolling back, he closed his mouth and savoured it, and that was when you decided to take the opportunity to reach into his underwear.
He was bigger than you’d expected from how unassuming he was. Andrew was a big guy, with arms so huge you wanted him to wrap them around your neck until you saw stars. But he wasn’t super tall, so you’d figured he’d gotten so jacked in prison. He hung heavily over the waistband of his boxers, and his breath hitched when he felt you wrap your impossibly soft hand around him. Now that you had him where you wanted him, everything else seemed to be in the way. His shirt was ripped from his head, the buttons of your blouse undone by shaking fingers. Andrew let his head drop forward to mouth at your covered chest, hand palming the cup of your bra on the other side.
You’d intended to tease him a little, maybe pay back the favour of his fingers, but after less than a full stroke, he was whining at you. “Please,” he gasped out, stopping his task of soaking through your bra with his spit. “I need to be inside you.” Your name slipped from his lips so desperately that you felt your walls flutter.
You reached up to cup his jaw again, keeping the pad of your thumb pressed to his chin and pushing two of your fingers against his lips. He let you in immediately, moaning around your digits and maintaining sweltering eye contact as your other hand brushed his slit with your thumb. An especially loud groan brought you back to where you were, what the goal had been.
“That’s it, baby,” you cooed. “Let the whole building hear how much you want me.”
Once your fingers were well and truly lubricated, you reached back down to touch his cock. “Fuck,” he let out. “You fucking tease-” he was being louder as you’d requested, but only just. He wanted people to hear, sure, but this wasn’t some type of performance.
Pope was desperately running through topics in his head - counting sheep, trying to do basic addition - anything to distract himself from the feeling of your hand running along the vein he had on the underside of his cock.
“Are you gonna fit?” You asked him, lifting yourself up to discard your skirt. Pope took the opportunity of you being out of his lap to shove his jeans down his legs, leaving himself completely bare in front of you. All you had left was your bra, and he’d be perfectly content to keep mouthing at the fabric, but you discarded that, too.
“Oh, yeah, baby,” he sighed, moving to lay you down once again against your pillows. “I’ll fit.” He brought his thumb down to brush your clit again. Your wetness was pooling between your folds, about to start leaking down onto your bed. He actually wasn’t sure, despite how turned on you were, if he would fit. He was above average, but not by much. But the way you’d clamped down around his fingers made Pope feel like maybe Johnny hadn’t been giving you very much to work with. The two of you had been together for like six years, he was pretty sure. “You were fuckin’ made for me, weren’t you?”
You nodded.
He ran his fingers down your glistening folds, collecting your juices in his hand. Andrew had half a mind to bring them to his mouth, but he wanted the first time to be straight from the source. Instead, he let you take them in your mouth, mirroring what he’d done to you. You circled one of his thick fingers with your tongue, and he knew immediately he’d made a mistake, cock jumping at the feeling. He wanted to see you with your pretty lips wrapped around him.
Despite the slick mess between your thighs, his wet fingers were able to find purchase on your clit. “See how much I want you, Andy?” you moaned, and he knew the fucking neighbours heard the groan that pushed from his chest.
The head of his cock brushed your clit, and both of you whined into the open air. You pulsed under his touch, wanting and sensitive.
He took his hand away from your clit just long enough to take hold of his cock and guide it to catch on your entrance.
You look up at him, writhing and needy, and he ducks down to kiss you. “Fucking dreamt of this,” he admits. “Every time I’d watch you leave with him, I’d imagine pulling you away, making you feel so fucking good you forget every name that isn’t mine.”
His mind drifted back ever so slightly to the almost-corpse shoved in his trunk. The two of you had been plenty loud; the whole building had probably heard. Andrew wondered if Johnny could.
“Need you so bad,” you whispered. One leg wrapped around his waist, one bent at the knee on your side, looking up at him. “So fucking bad, Andrew,” you arched your back to bring your face closer to his, and he complied, kissing you roughly as he nudged his hips forward.
He felt you tense up, reaching down to rub distractedly at your clit with one hand and your jaw with the other. “Shit,” he hissed. “You okay?”
You nodded emphatically.
Once the tip was in, he stopped, letting himself stretch you out enough that every movement doesn’t catch a vein or ridge against your walls. You were squeezing him like he owed you money, and he had to put a lot of effort into holding himself up to watch your face.
Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth, eyes half closed. Half whimpers were coming out through your mouth, one after the other, cutting off the one before. “Baby,” he cajoled. “You gotta talk to me.”
It took you a second, too overwhelmed with the stretch and the fact that Andrew Cody was in your bed, and the man you thought would be ruining your life forever was probably dead. And maybe you were dead and this was heaven, not that you’d ever be sent there after what you made him do. “So good, Andrew,” you reassured him, bringing a hand up to clench his auburn curls. “You can go more in.”
He took the opportunity to slide in further, revelling in each gasp you let out as part of his head caught on a ridge inside your pussy. “Oh my fucking god,” he grunted against your neck, certain he’d never been sucked in as completely as your cunt was doing, and he was only halfway in.
You were breathing so heavily, and Andrew kept pulling away to check on you, that by the time he bottomed out, the thick tip of his cock brushing your warm center, both of you were almost embarrassingly close.
“Fuck, pretty girl, can I move?”
You nodded. He tried to kiss you but got taken over by a full-body shudder at the feeling of pulling out, missing, and instead burying his forehead in your shoulder. The sound was downright filthy, filling your bedroom with a wet slap of his thighs kissing yours.
“Feels so good, Andrew,” you moaned, breath stuttering as he pushed back in. The thrusts were slow at first, trying to give you both something to stay grounded in. But you were so tight, and you were talking to him so sweetly, and when he pushed forward, you’d clench, and his chest would brush against your nipples, and he felt so pent up he was going to explode.
“Baby…” your name tumbled from his lips, begging and rough, out of breath. “‘M all yours. All yours, my pretty girl. Could do anything you wanted to me. Let you spit on me again.”
You could tell he was borderline asking for it at that point, so you shoved his head back down to connect to your lips, trying to collect as much spit as you could get in there. He swallowed it dutifully, along with a moan of your name.
He was on the brink, as he had been since he’d heard that first sigh from your mouth. He was grabbing at the flesh of your thighs, trying to claw desperately at something that wasn’t your fucking wall. With how hard he was squeezing, he’d probably put a hole in it and come face to face with your neighbours in their kitchen.
“Andrew,” you mewled. “Need… fuck… need you-”
“Right here?” He flicked your clit. “‘M sorry, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good.”
He could feel himself getting there, and with the amount he’d been staving it off, he knew his climax wasn’t going to be soft.
Pope started playing with your clit, trying his best to replicate the rhythm that had gotten you so worked up at the beginning. You groaned, reaching blindly for him. “That’s it, right there.”
Andrew could feel you clenching around him, the walls of your cunt fluttering in time with his thrusts. “Fuck, you feel too good.” He kissed you. “Too fucking good, baby. So fuckin’ pretty for me, hey?” He was slurring his words, completely drunk on the feeling of you taking all of him inside.
“Andy-” the gasp was stilted, your fingernails gripping into his biceps. He was pretty sure you could cut him open with your nails, and he wouldn’t feel it, all of his senses completely attached to how fucking good you felt all spread out for him.
“You close?” He asked, more smug than he had any right to be, given how near he was to finishing. You nodded, and he kissed you. Kissed you. Kissed you. Each time, he got a little more lightheaded, and each time, you let out one of those soft sighs that made his arms shake.
“What do you need?”
You directed him, moving so you were half on your side, your leg anchored at his hip, whining as he hit a new spot inside of you. It was hard to find any part to lock on to with the mess between your legs, but he was still rubbing your clit. “Come on, baby. Show me how much you want me. Need to see it.”
You took his hand back in yours, mouth missing his lips as your orgasm hit you. Pope knew the second you came around him that he didn’t have long, but he tried to draw it out of you as long as possible, fucking you through it. “That’s my girl.” The feeling was white hot and dizzying, and for a second - though you’d never tell him this, smug bastard - all you could think of was Andrew.
You lay there, letting him fuck you, squeezing his hand and his dick. He couldn’t remember ever feeling that good, still rubbing your poor sensitive clit until you brought a hand up to swat him away. “Please, Andy,” you murmured, spare hand threading through his hair. “Please.”
“Where-” his thrusts were sloppy, barely able to string a single sentence together. “Where do you want me?”
He felt an aftershock rip through you as he hit your sweet spot, your voice sounding woozy and hot. “Inside.”
He stuttered. “In-”
“Want you inside,” you assured him. “Please? Want you so bad, Andrew- baby.” You whimpered, and he sucked in a sharp breath. “Want to be yours.”
He leaned heavily into you, putting his body weight on the thigh you had clamped around his hips. He groaned your name, “Want me inside? Fuck, want to be all full of me?” The idea of that alone was enough to have him spilling inside of you, breathing you in from his spot on your neck. The sheer force of his orgasm causing him to spill down your thighs as he pushed forward one last time.
He stayed there for a while before leaving with a soft kiss to go to your bathroom. He ran a washcloth under some warm water and returned to find you right where he’d left you. You and Andrew had never discussed whether you were on the pill or not - he had to assume you were, but as he wiped your sticky thighs down gently, he couldn’t help the way his chest constricted at the sight of him leaking out of you.
You, for all your charms while he’d been fucking you silly, had fallen into a blissed-out state of rest, watching him. “You going?”
His stomach did a flip. “Yeah, baby,” he finished with the washcloth, making a note to dump it in the laundry on his way out. Once he found his clothes. You sat up on your elbows, curling your legs inward so you were less spread out, and Andrew knew without you saying it that you wanted him to kiss you. “I gotta go to work.”
You nodded, beaming at him. “Hurry back.”
He discarded the washcloth and redressed himself, you going to pee and shrugging on a t-shirt and a clean pair of panties, meeting him back by the front door. You reached up to hug him again like you had when he’d arrived, this time placing a firm kiss on the side of his mouth. “You’ll come back?”
Andrew kissed the inside of your elbow, your arm resting on his shoulder, from where it was wrapped around your neck. He kissed a trail right up to your mouth, eyes blazing into yours. “I’ll be a few hours.”
Andrew wasn’t sure if you really wanted him back that quickly. He would usually spend an afternoon here and there sitting on your sofa or at your kitchen table, the two of you talking softly. He had only been coming over to establish a pattern of behaviour.
Though he reasoned it would be odd to break the pattern right along with your ex-boyfriend’s untimely demise.
When he pulled back into the parking space in your lot reserved for your apartment several hours later and smelling like bleach, he still hadn’t been sure if you wanted him there. He’d bought a bouquet of flowers from a roadside stall on a whim, and he felt stupid unlocking your door with them.
Your beaming smile at the sight of him had helped calm his nerves somewhat, though. The soft kiss you planted on him calmed the rest.
warnings: primal play/chasing kink, public sex, dom!eddie, pet names (alice, hatter, little rabbit), light orgasm denial, fingering, spanking, dacryphilia, unprotected piv sex, creampie, breeding kink (if you squint)
word count: 2.7k
a/n: this is another repost/reworking from my old blog, just in time for spooky season. i hope you all enjoy <3
Eddie has been searching for you all night.
But the moment you crossed the threshold into the Harrington residence, he hadn’t been able to get you alone. Slipping through his fingers at every turn. Even though this party and the couple's costume was your idea in the first place, you've left him hanging all night.
As frustrated as he was, he couldn’t deny that seeing you prancing around in that frilly, blue costume was doing things to him.
What Eddie doesn’t realize though, was that this little game of cat and mouse was a part of your plan all along. A fantasy you didn’t quite know how to voice to him. Your desire to push his buttons until he couldn’t take it anymore, taking you wherever he eventually catches you.
But your boyfriend was quickly beginning to reach his breaking point.
So when he finally corners you hours later in Steve’s kitchen—you flee the room in a flash of blue lace.
Eddie hisses out in frustration, tossing his mad hatter hat aside on the counter before following you out the back door.
“Come on sweetheart, where are you going?” he calls, raising his arms in defeat.
When you finally turn to face him, a playful grin tugs at the corner of your lips. Your body slips out the back gate with ease. A curved finger beckons him to follow, lustful eyes drinking him in…oh so slowly.
“I’m late for a very important date…” you coo, before turning to dash through the thicket behind the Harrington residence.
Eddie growls in annoyance, but quickly hops the fence to chase after you. You can hear the crunching of leaves beneath his feet, unable to hide your glee when you dart ahead of him. With his long legs, you know he’s much faster than you—and at this rate he’d have you in his clutches in no time.
So you quickly duck behind a tree, your back pressed against the rough bark while you attempt to steady your heavy breathing. His pace suddenly slows to a brisk walk, keeping his eyes peeled for any flash of the pastel blue of your costume.
“Oh, Alice?” Eddie calls out, in a tone you know all too well.
You’re in big trouble.
The implication in his voice has you clenching your thighs together in anticipation. But you aren’t ready to give in just yet, he needs to work for it. From your vantage point you can see his lanky frame in the distance, his back to you as he wanders further into the trees.
You remove yourself from your hiding spot to continue behind him, taking slow and careful steps. Your heart pounds in your chest with each step you take, knowing he could turn at any given moment and find you.
The sound of a twig snapping beneath your shoe breaks the prolonged silence, your whole body halts when you notice the muscles in his back tense. But you are quick to turn on your heel, running in the opposite direction before he even has the chance to turn around.
You can hear his growl of frustration, the sound causing a shiver to course through you.
You manage to hide behind some brush, the cool dirt beginning to seep through the thin layer of your stockings as you crouch down. And when you dare a peek through the branches, you catch a glimpse of his combat boots as he walks right past your hiding spot.
His fists are clenched at his sides, rings glinting in the pale moonlight. And despite the chill hanging in the air, the sight causes heat to rush through you.
“Run all you want sweet, Alice…” he mutters under his breath, “I’ll find you soon enough.”
You stifle a giggle, cupping your hand over your mouth. Once you hear his footsteps retreat further into the distance, you slowly rise to your feet. Taking a quick peek around before finally leaving the safety of the bushes.
A cool autumn breeze blows past, lifting your hair from your shoulders and biting at your skin. Leaves rustle, then settle around you as you continue into the darkness of the forest. It is almost too quiet now and the thought alone makes you feel a little uneasy.
Did he get fed up and leave? Or was he just lying in wait?
While you weren’t entirely sure of the answer, you continued on your way. The lights of Steve’s home continue to grow dim the further into the trees you went. The only sounds to be heard were your shaky inhales of breath and the dead leaves crunching beneath your feet.
Now that your boyfriend was nowhere in sight, you were starting to regret your decision to run into the woods. Woods that held stories of mysterious creatures and missing children. Every little noise has you ready to jump out of your skin, while the darkness around you begins to feel suffocating.
But a loud howl in the distance has your whole body seizing up, fear flooding your veins.
“Oh, fuck this…” you mumble, beginning to turn when your back is suddenly forced against a tree.
The bark digs into your shoulders through the thin material of your dress, scraping against your skin. A broken scream is silenced when a hand slaps over your mouth, the other gripping onto your hip to hold you in place.
“I told you I’d find you…”
Eddie’s eyes are dark when they meet yours, pure onyx nearly swallows the warmth of his irises whole. A sliver of moonlight has broken through the canopy of trees, casting a pale halo over his mop of dark curls.
However, his cheshire-like grin is anything but angelic.
Once he sees the flash of recognition in your eyes does he remove his hand from your mouth. Only to quickly gather both of your wrists in one of his own to pin them above your head. You let out a shaky breath when he nudges his knee between your legs, spreading them open.
A shiver courses through you when you feel the cool brush of his fingertips against your inner thigh, a low groan escapes him once he realizes you have nothing on beneath this frilly costume.
“Oh, you’ve been a very naughty girl tonight, Alice…” he hums, “Thought you knew better than to run from me, sweetheart.”
You can’t stop the whimper from falling past your lips when his fingers dip between your soaked folds. Eddie grins wickedly at the sound, lightly nudging your clit with his knuckle. He revels in the way your body shudders beneath him, head tilting to the side in amusement.
There’s no denying how much this chase has affected you, he can feel it in the way your sticky nectar coats the calloused pads of his fingers. But Eddie would be a liar if he tried to say he wasn’t just as pent up as you are. It’s obvious in the way his hardened cock digs into the flesh of your hip.
“But since you decided to be such a fucking tease tonight,” he tuts disapprovingly when you continue to squirm in his hold. “We’re going to be playing by my rules from now on, understand?”
You don’t trust your voice, arousal clouding your thoughts. So you merely nod, but that is not what he wants. Eddie removes his hand from between your thighs to grab your face, squishing your cheeks together harshly.
A small gasp leaves your lips when you feel your slick smear across your cheeks, but your cunt practically throbs in response.
“None of that coy shit, use. your. words,” he practically growls.
“— Yes, Hatter…” you whine, “ I understand.”
Your boyfriend grins widely, thrilled that you’re playing along. He loosens his grip on your cheeks, fingers returning to their previous position between your thighs. And when Eddie slips one of the digits inside, he’s met with no resistance.
“So, you like being chased, huh, little rabbit?” he coos mockingly, “Gets you all hot and bothered?”
He easily slides another finger inside, curving them up to brush against your sweet spot. A soft moan tumbles past your lips, tipping your head back to rest against the trunk of the tree. That signature smirk returns to his features, urging him to continue to rub against that spongy spot inside you.
But slow enough that it was beginning to drive you mad.
“More, please,” you whine.
Pride blooms in his chest at your plea, a deep chuckle rumbling through him. His darkened eyes flick lower, watching in amusement when he removes his fingers from beneath your skirt. Your juices practically shine in the moonlight as he brings his fingers to his lips.
“Oh, I’m not done playing with you yet, sweet thing…” he hums, head tilting to allow his lips to graze over the shell of your ear. “Besides, I know you can beg a lot better than that.”
Your hands begin to twist in his grasp, eager to reach out and tangle your fingers in his wild locks. But Eddie only squeezes them tighter in his grasp before landing a harsh slap to your clit.
And when those calloused fingers slip between your folds again, he doesn’t give you what you want. Not right away. The digits purposefully dancing around where you want them most.
While you know you deserve this as punishment for making him chase you all night, you can’t help the frustrated whines from tumbling past your lips.
“Please,” you hiccup. “I promise I’ll be so good, Eddie. Please, just touch me!”
Tears begin to well in the corners of your eyes, but he chooses to deny you more. His fingers brush over your sensitive nub, drifting lower to dip inside your entrance for a moment…only to quickly remove them.
The male keeps up these torturous motions for a long while, until he witnesses the mascara tears beginning to slip down your cheeks.
The sight has him grinning devilishly, cock twitching beneath the dark denim of his jeans. Only then does he relent, thumb pressing against your clit while his plump lips pepper soft kisses along the curve of your jaw.
The gesture was far more tender in comparison to his previous actions, the juxtaposition has your head swimming.
“Eddie…” you pant, “I need you.”
You no longer care how pathetic you sound when you rut your hips up against his palm, but his own need to claim you soon outweighs his desire to tease you any further. His lips press against yours, entirely urgent as he releases his grip on your wrists. You desperately knot your fingers into his hair to keep him pressed against you.
The male takes a step back, then another before his foot catches on a root. Eddie loses his balance, and the both of you go tumbling to the ground. He lands on his back with a small groan, the air knocked from your lungs when you land on his hard chest. You brace your palms on his shoulders, straddling his waist in an attempt to right yourself.
“Mm, as good as you look on top of me, sweetheart…” he trails off, raking his hands up the meat of your thighs.
Your flimsy white stockings don’t stand a chance against his harsh grip, the torn fabric exposing more of your bare skin to the chilly night air.
Your mouth falls open, scolding words beginning to form on the tip of your tongue. But your body is flipped over and underneath him before you can utter a single syllable. Eddie coaxes you onto your knees, guiding your ass up as he presses your cheek against the cool ground.
When you hear his belt unbuckle, you instinctively squirm beneath him. Any logical thought is replaced with pure desperation as you whimper into the dirt. You can feel the rumble of his laughter when he leans over you, lips brushing against your ear.
“I’d rather fuck you like this, little rabbit…” he continues with a grunt.
Your answering whine has him flipping up your frilly skirt, exposing you completely to the elements. A harsh slap rings out into the night when his palm connects with the plush skin of your ass. Landing a slap on the other cheek for good measure, or a silent order to stay still.
You wouldn’t dare disobey him now, not when you can feel the tip of his cock gliding through your slick folds. He nudges it against your sensitive bud, enjoying the way your body jolts in response. And when he finally guides the head inside you, he lets out a low hiss as your tight warmth envelopes him and he fills you with one fluid motion.
“Jesus, fuck you’re tight…” he says underneath his breath, noting the way your body responds to the subtle praise. “Gonna give you everything, sweetheart.”
A muffled moan is all you can manage when he starts moving, feeling every inch of his cock stretching you past your limits. His hips rock into yours at a brutally slow pace, no doubt to tease you a little more. His rings bite into the dip of your hips when you push back against him, impatience guiding your movements.
“Faster— please,” you whimper.
A dark chuckle slips past his lips at your pleading, but he obliges by snapping his hips forward. A gasp is punched from your lungs, digging your nails into the dirt beneath you for purchase. The stark silence between the trees is broken, now filled with the noises of your bodies connecting.
The notion that anyone could stumble upon you both in this position only adds to the experience, your walls pulsing around his cock at the thought.
“Look at you, little rabbit…” he taunts, giving your hip a squeeze. “So pretty like this.”
Eddie can’t force his gaze away from where your bodies are joined, the sticky mess of your arousal smeared across your thighs. And how desperately he wants to see his own desire dripping down your trembling legs.
“Bet you want me to fill you up, huh? Mark you so everyone knows you’re all mine.”
A jumbled array of ‘yes’ and ‘please’ leave your lips, barely audible over the slick sounds of him thrusting into you. Then you feel his hand drift lower, underneath the petticoat of your skirt to encircle your clit.
His brutal pace combined with the delicious pressure on your clit only brings you closer to the edge. Your cries grow louder, more insistent and when he hits that spot inside you dead on…you’re done for.
Your mouth drops open in a silent scream, eyes rolling back once you reach that peak. Your knees wobble, buckling from the force of it. But Eddie is quick to guide your hips back up with a soft chuckle.
He doesn’t let up either, fucking you through your high as he chases his own. But that familiar warmth has started to build in your abdomen again, desperate for another release. Your fingers quickly find themselves between your legs, swiping over your swollen clit in tight circles.
Each brush of your fingers has you clenching harder around him, pulling a throaty moan from his lips. It wouldn’t be long now… Eddie’s thrusts begin to falter, becoming sloppier.
“Good girl…” he praises, voice hoarse with desire. “Come on, give me another.”
One final deep thrust is your undoing, a broken cry rips itself from your lungs as you fall apart beneath him again. And with a low groan of your name, he’s spilling inside you. Warming you from the inside, out. Your body crumbles forward in delightful exhaustion, the cool earth a welcome reprieve against your heated skin.
Eddie gently lowers your hips to the ground, hissing quietly as he slides his softening length from you. You sigh in content when you feel the sticky essence of him dripping down your legs. A shiver passes through you when you feel his chilled fingers on your inner thigh, collecting the combined mess there before he brings it to his mouth with a low hum.
His back hits the ground next to you with a soft thud before he’s coaxing you into his arms. His body is overly warm, sweat clinging to his brow despite the cold that settles into your bones with each passing breath. You spare a glance up at the star riddled sky, his own falling to your features. Gazing at you with a look that could only be described as pure adoration.
“Am I crazy for letting you fuck me in the middle of the woods?” you laugh breathlessly, scanning his face as he grins down at you.
“Oh, sweet, Alice…” he hums, grazing the pad of his thumb along your cheek. “We’re all a little mad here.”
i dont expect a moodboard i’m just here to discuss. camp can get so overwhelming, the screaming kids, the million things at once, even at night there’s the smoke from the fires making it impossible to fully catch your breath. you finally get a spare moment to yourself, fully within eye and ear shot from camp, you’re not an idiot.
andrew watching you unobserved for the first time. just taking a moment to yourself, for the first time you believe no one’s eyes are on you. he somehow catches you every time you sneak off. and, well, he’s not very good at keeping quiet. you get used to hearing odd noises, branches breaking.
but when he’s got you pinned up against a tree, the noises should stop right?
lizzie you're a genius
andrew is SUCH an observer - loves learning everything there is to know about you before he even really strikes up a conversation, because it makes him feel prepared for the social interactions
you're sweet and pretty and seem to reciprocate the attention, and one thing leads to another before you end up perched in his lap during the campfire sing-a-longs
first time you kiss him is after he lifts some really heavy sports equipment for you - his muscles are straining and his face is flushed and you try to aim for his cheek, but pope turns at the last second and you catch his lips. before you can apologise you're being hauled behind the canoes
because it's got to be a secret, given how controlling smurf is. which is how you end up hooking up in the middle of the forest. andrew's an eater (duh) so half the time your thigh is hooked over his shoulder, and your hand is tangled in his hair to keep your balance.
but you can't get over the feeling of being watched. especially when you know it can't be andrew anymore.
i like the idea of it being a really fresh and young-feeling relationship, even if i do imagine you both being like mid 20s when this is happening. it's very much a frantic not-being-able-to-keep-hands-off-each-other
Being ‘just friends’ with Steve is easy until it’s not.
wc: 5k
warnings: 18+ | season five steve, flirting, tension, semi sneaking around, semi public unprotected p in v smut in The Squawk, praise kink, big dick steve talking you through it, cream pie, a little rovicki angst with the beginnings of ronance. steve slandering Beetlejuice because i know he would hate that movie.
author’s note: i don’t know what to tell you, this is pure smut. my ovulation has turned me into a rabid animal.
It was hard not to notice Steve Harrington. Everyone did.
Especially when he’s sitting across from you in the studio on a worn down rolling chair, legs spread wide in tight fitting denim. His big hands work the rubix cube with the utmost concentration, forearms flexing underneath the pushed up sleeves of his worn-in WSQK sweater. Every flick of his wrist stretches the fabric over his broad shoulders with each movement, as long deft fingers move rapidly to solve the puzzle in small clicks of plastic. Concentrated eyebrows furrow under that one swoop of hair that won’t just stay back, as he very badly pretends to listen to Robin’s regaling of another fight with Vickie about Nancy for the third time tonight.
The air around him has always rivaled the kind of humidity that suffocates your skin on the hottest Indiana summer day. A palpable energy that's buzzed around the two of you since Robin introduced you at one of Rick’s parties a few months ago. It’s the kind of chemistry that’s recently become very hard to ignore as introductions turned into third wheeling late night shifts at the squawk, and regular invitations to movie nights at their shared apartment. The biggest culprit of them all though? Steve’s incessant need to always drive you home. It doesn’t matter to him how late it is, or out of his way it is, even if it’s a blizzard or a torrential downpour — walking or catching the bus is never an option. Not if he has anything to do with it.
The quiet conversations that happen inside his BMW are always easy, even a little bit flirty when Robin isn’t around. On those nights, he makes it a point to rest his hand on the stick shift so close to your thighs they search for each other, squirming in his leather seat. Those are the ones that always end with him parked in front of your place for hours. Both of you losing track of time talking about anything and everything while learning those little things about each other that turn into something bigger over time. Unfortunately for you, that time feels a lot like now, and the silent promise to never act on whatever this is starting to feel nearly impossible to keep.
Steve’s eyes flit towards you for no particular reason, catching you staring, sparking something inside of them that warms deep in your belly. Something unmistakably dangerous.
Forcing yourself to look away, embarrassment blooms on your cheeks as you clear your throat with a shake of your head. But it doesn’t take long for your eyes to find their way back to him because it’s all they seem to want to do these days. With one side of his mouth tugged up, his full attention is on you now while his fingers don’t stop their mission to finish the puzzle he’s solved a million times before. Something about that has you biting the fat of your bottom lip, shifting in your seat perched on the side of his desk.
The whites of his teeth shine in a playful flirty grin as he rocks back in his chair, spreading his legs wider, earning that roll of your eyes he was looking for. Fast clicks of the rubix cube catch louder in your ears as all of the colors line up perfectly in his hands, and that grin on his stupidly handsome face turns into a proud beam like its the first time he’s accomplished this feat.
”Still got it!” He winks, tossing the toy up casually before catching it.
”Were you even listening to me, Dingus?” Robin hisses, smacking the cube out of his hand and you try not to giggle at the dejected look on his face that quickly turns into its factory setting of annoyance.
”Yeah, I was listening to the story you’ve told me three times today.” He snaps, leaning over to grab the toy off the ground, almost falling when the chair threatens to go off kilter. “Maybe, just maybe there’s a reason Vickie keeps getting mad.”
You’ve watched them have this conversation at least once a week for the past month where Steve tiptoes around getting Robin to admit her inconvenient crush on Nancy Wheeler.
“Hey! Who’s side are you on here?” She snaps, with a glare that wrinkles the top of her forehead.
Steve opens his mouth to reply but she quickly cuts him off before he even has a chance.
“You know what, no. No! I can’t be here, I need to go.” Robin deflects like she always does, grabbing her messenger bag she storms out of the soundproof room, and right out of the station’s double doors. Leaving you and Steve alone.
He scoffs, staring out the glass after her, a silent argument with himself on whether he should follow or not evident on his face. He runs a hand through his hair with a bouncing knee, taking a deep breath through his nose before bringing his gaze back to you, that rogue strand flopping back across his forehead.
“I wasn’t trying to be an asshole.” He groans defeated with eyes that plead for some kind of reassurance. “Should I go find her?”
“I think she just needs a minute.” You reply softly, legs dangling. “If she does have feelings for someone else, that’s gotta be overwhelming. She’s new at this, ya know?”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, jaw ticking taking one last look outside before you see him visibly let it go with a sag of his shoulders.
”Always am.” You tease with a smile, doing your best to lighten the mood.
His eyes shift back to you, that dangerous thing from before returning ten fold twinkling in the gold specs inside of them. Suddenly the realization that the two of you are alone consumes the entire room, air turning thick with something that feels inevitable, that small little joke of yours working too well.
“Now don’t get crazy.” He scoffs, using his long legs to roll his chair towards you.
Something swoops in your belly, fingers curling around the wooden edge of the desk while you try to keep your composure, watching his Nike’s close the space.
“Name one time I’ve been wrong.”
Your challenge comes with a tilt of your chin, and an arch of your brow. The smirk you get in return has your teeth digging into your bottom lip, thighs closing the small gap between them. It still isn’t enough to stop the warmth between them from spreading, especially when he stops right in front of you. His face aligns with your knees from his seat, sending your body humming with his proximity to the place that’s wanted more of him for months now.
”How about when you said Beetlejuice was a good movie?” He snorts, meeting your gaze from under his lashes, something baiting inside of it.
”Are you kidding me? It’s an incredible movie! Tim Bur—“
”It was weird.” He cuts off with an irritated face, like just the memory of it is enough to annoy him.
”You’re weird.” You retort immediately, glaring with a scrunch of your nose.
Steve raises his eyebrows at you, before his narrowed gaze trails slowly down the length of your body. It lingers on your exposed thighs that he’s started to see a little more frequently thanks to warm spring days, and he’s never been more thankful to Mother Nature or your sun dresses. You swallow hard seeing him lick his lips, heart skipping a beat at the glazed over look in his eyes that makes your chest ache.
You have to leave.
”I — uh, I should go.” You stammer, starting to wiggle off the desk but Steve doesn’t let you get very far.
”Wait! Don’t — “ Standing up, the rest of that sentence fades as his hands find your knees, electric currents running through his finger tips that spread them apart so he can fit his hips between your thighs. His eyes hold you inside of them, hooded and begging before finishing it in a whisper. “Don’t leave.”
The two of you sit there unmoving, mouths so close it feels like you’re breathing each other in. His hands inch up your bare thighs, goosebumps pebbling along hot skin as his fingertips brush the bottom hem of your dress.
”Steve.” You manage to murmur, somehow finding your voice. “It’s a bad idea and you know it.”
The protest sounds weak leaving your mouth, especially when the backs of your heels hook and pull him closer. Your hands grip harder at the edge of the desk, needing something to anchor you while the tip of his nose runs up the bridge of yours. The spice of his cologne wraps around you, and the hint of cinnamon mixed with the amber is new.
“What’s so bad about it? Give me one reason.” He mocks your previous challenge with a flash of his teeth, grabbing at the soft fat under his palms.
”Robin.”
“Well she doesn’t have to know.” He snorts like it’s obvious, wandering hands sliding up higher.
”Okay, then what happens if this blows up in our face and we end up hating each other?” Your argument would feel more valid if you weren’t straightening your spine, getting so close to him that your chests touch.
”You really think you can hate me?” He fake pouts with a furrow of his brows, that infamous swoop of hair tickling your forehead.
”Steve! I’m being serious.” You whine a little defeated because you know you’re about to give in, and because all you want is for him to just kiss you already.
You think he knows that too.
He exhales a breath through his nose, one hand finally becoming bold enough to slip under your dress to wrap around your hip, while the other cups the apple your cheek. The pad of his thumb tilts your chin up to keep your gaze on him, lips so close that they almost touch.
”And what if it doesn’t blow up in our face?” He challenges, letting his top lip graze your bottom. “What happens if we end up really liking each other? What then?”
Your lashes flutter, feeling his warm breath kiss your skin, butterflies rioting inside the crevices of your ribcage. Your fingers let go of their death grip on the edge of the desk, and spread over his stomach. He inhales sharply at the contact, his grip on your hip tightening as your palms work their way up his chest before sliding along his neck and into the thickness of his hair at the nape of it. Steve tugs you closer as your legs wrap around his waist, the tip of your nose nudging his warmed cheek.
”Because I don’t know if you can’t tell or something but I already really like you.” He confesses hot against your mouth with the softest brush of his lips. “I have for a while. And you know what I think?”
”Hmm?” You manage with lust clouding your vision and fingers curling into his roots.
”I think you like me too.”
You don’t bother giving the answer he already knows, instead you close what little distance is left. It takes Steve a moment to realize what you’re doing, that this is actually happening but when he does, he takes control of the kiss immediately. His lips feel hungry moving against yours, devouring you like it’s been a craving, claiming your mouth like it’s already his.
A deep groan rumbles from his chest at the feel of your tongue swiping along his bottom lip. The blunt ends of his nails dig into the soft skin of your hip when he opens up for you and they finally meet. They massage each other moving languid and slow, relishing in the feeling. Back bending, your fingers curl deeper in his roots, somehow needing more.
As if he can read your mind, the pad of his thumb tugs at the corner of your mouth, opening you up more. He explores every inch of you like he’s trying to memorize it, swallowing all the sounds that are somehow better than his imagination. Your hips rock against him, the thin cotton of your panties leaving hardly any barrier. A breathy gasp escapes the back of your throat feeling just how big he really is.
Steve takes this moment to catch his breath, pulling away with a heaving chest. He presses his forehead against yours, eyes taking in your flushed cheeks and kiss bitten lips.
“You know how many times I’ve thought about this?” He sighs, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheek. That permanent teasing edge to his voice is absent for the first time tonight.
His confession erupts across your body that bends for him, silently asking for more all on its own. Holding his gaze in the depths of yours, the pointed roll of your hips is slow enough to feel the entire length of him pressed against his zipper. It twitches underneath the metal, the pressure against your clit only covered by a thin pair of cotton earning him a quiet whimper.
”I think about you all the time, Steve.” You say in a low voice, looking at him from under the thick hood of your lashes, rolling your hips again.
“Honey.” He hisses through his teeth, his grip on you tightening hard enough to hold you still. A shiver ripples through him as he desperately tries to find his self control. “We should stop —“
Your hands untangle from his hair, sliding down his jaw that you hold in your palms. The pad of your thumb traces the curve of his full bottom lip that you want nothing more than to feel between your teeth. He inhales another sharp breath watching the way your eyes darken, his thick lashes fluttering kissing the tops of his cheeks like he can read your mind.
”What if I don’t want to stop?”
All you’ve ever done with Steve is hold yourself back. And now that you’ve had him, you don’t want to do it anymore. You can’t do it anymore.
”I’m tired of not getting what I want.” You reaffirm, tilting your head to meet his eyes, brushing your lips against his kiss bitten ones before whispering, “aren’t you?”
He holds your gaze down the slope of his nose, the hand on your hip moving to wrap around the small of your back pulling you close, while the other trails down to cup the side of your neck. The pad of his thumb rests at the hinge of your jaw, a flurry of emotions swirling inside his stare as he takes everything in, making sure he’s not misreading any signs. It’s not until he feels the quiet way you say his name against his lips that he comes back to his body, snapping out of his nervous lapse in judgement of what’s happening.
”You have no fucking idea.” Steve growls, finally capturing your mouth without anything holding him back anymore.
This kiss is different from the last one, his lips move against yours with something possessive behind them — greedy. Your tongues don’t wait for permission, tangling together with an intensity that has your teeth scraping together. Completely lost in months of late nights and lingering stares, his hand slides down your neck, and across your shoulders bringing your dress strap with it. He finishes his path joining his other hand under your dress, both of them meeting and curling around the apple of your ass. Squeezing harshly, he pulls you closer with a hard slam on the wood of the desk.
Moaning into his mouth, you tug at the collar of his sweater, silently urging him to take it off. He catches on quickly, but struggles to break himself free, obsessed with the taste of you — the feel of you in his hands. It’s the whine that peels itself from the back of your throat and the way you push yourself closer searching for friction that he finally pulls himself away with a suck of your bottom lip. Letting it go with a loud pop, the pout on your face turns his lovesick grin cocky as he plucks the collar of his sweater from the back and tosses it to the side of the studio in one fell swoop.
Your lids grow heavy, eyes glazing over at the thick smattering of hair on his chest. Throat drying up at the sight of his permanently sun kissed skin dotted with mini constellations of freckles and moles that your fingers itch to trace. He runs a hand through his hair, drinking in the sight of you too. The wild look on your face with your dress rucked up around your hips, legs spread revealing the wet patch in the middle of your panties that he’s the culprit of. Both straps dangle loosely off your shoulders, leaving just the red ones of your bra, the swell of your breasts teasing him.
“Jesus, I knew you were gonna ruin me.” He mutters to himself in disbelief, slowly walking back to his place between your legs.
His hands trail up your thighs, squeezing at the soft dough under your dress appreciatively with lick of his lips, before curling his fingers around the elastic. It’s the only thing left keeping him from a part of you he’s thought about more times than he’d ever admit.
“Tell me what you want.” He breathes against your lips, brows furrowed with need.
Your fingers find their way to his belt, expertly undoing the gold buckle before popping open the button and tugging down the zipper of his jeans. He hisses at the release as you lift your head, capturing his mouth in something so sure there’s no room left to argue, pulling away just enough to whisper.
”You.”
That’s all Steve needs, yanking your panties down in one swift motion, capturing your lips as he does the same with the straps of your dress. It pools around your lap, just like his jeans do at his feet. Kicking them off along with his shoes, he grabs one of your legs hitching it over his waist, pointedly running his hard covered length along your wet seam. You both moan into each other's mouths at the contact, your fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him as he licks into you, rolling his hips again.The way your slick instantly wets the fabric of his briefs makes it feel like he’s teasing himself too.
”I don’t — I don’t have a condom.” He murmurs, using all of his strength to pull away with panic set in his eyes like maybe he’s ruined this whole thing.
Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you let one of your hands slide down his chest, greedily scratching your nails along the dark hair there, before following it down his happy trail. The muscles in his stomach twitch, along with his cock that only grows bigger when you cup it, and the feeling of just how thick he is has you squirming at the thought of making it fit.
“I’m on birth control.” You admit quietly, your fingers dipping into the waist band of his underwear, the tips of them running along his pelvic bone.
”Jesus Christ.” Steve’s eyes pinch closed, the grip on your leg tightening to something almost bruising.
”Is that okay? Do you want to —“
“Yes, yes, god yes, that's okay.” He interrupts with an enthusiastic nod of his head.
Bend bending down, he claims your lips again as your greedy hands push his boxers past his hips. Your touch is tentative wrapping around the weight of him, but the moan you get in return is loud enough to echo off the glass encasing you, encouraging you forward. The first pump has him shuddering underneath your palm, a big hand grabbing your chin, using it to tilt your head to the side. He takes your slow torture out on the base of your throat in the form of open mouthed kisses, dragging his teeth along your pulse point that jumps for him.
“Steve you’re so - you’re so -“
He flattens his tongue, licking a path that has your eyes roll back, killing off the rest of that sentence by latching onto that sensitive spot behind your ear and sucking hard. It’s replaced by a breathy whine that comes out at the same time the pad of your thumb swipes against his leaking tip. He grunts into your neck, hips bucking into your touch.
“I know baby, I know.” He murmurs into your ear, nipping at the lobe before enveloping it into the heat of his mouth, letting it go with a loud pop. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise.”
The endearment has your legs spread wider in a silent plea to keep his word. He smiles wide against your skin, sneaking his hand between you to replace yours that go back to their new home in the hair at the nape of his neck. You decide it’s your favorite place. He pulls away enough for your noses to bump, blown out wild looking eyes meeting yours before they drop down to a view he’s only ever imagined. His mind didn’t even come close to doing it justice.
”Fuuuuck.” He groans to himself, face twisting into something tortured, swiping himself through your glistening folds with another shudder ripping through his spine. “You’re so wet, honey.”
Steve says the last part almost like he can’t believe it, like there’s no world where you’d want him just as bad as he wants you. But when he does it again and you mewl in a way that sounds just as desperate, he knows it's true.
“You’re not the only one who’s wanted this for a long time.” You confess a little shy despite your current position, softening his features with the kind of smile that feels a lot like he’s already smitten.
The pad of his thumb on the hand still wrapped around your hitched leg traces circles on the goose pebbled skin underneath it.
“Yeah?” He sighs, eyes turning heavy bringing himself close enough to fit at your entrance. “Let’s make up for lost time then.”
Your fingers weave tighter in his hair, forehead pressing to his with a slack jaw at the first stretch of your walls. It feels like he’s everywhere, filling you so much as if he has nowhere else to go even though he’s only half way in.
”Oh my god, Steve, you feel — holy shit.” You pant, pulling at his roots so hard you know it hurts as he pushes himself to the hilt with one final stroke.
”You’re doing so good though, look at you.” His praise comes out against your lips, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheek. He feels the way his words tighten around him, a new wave of arousal coating every ridge and dip.
Steve gives you a minute to adjust to the size, only starting to move when you lean forward to steal a messy kiss. Desperation evident in the encouraging swipe of your tongue. He starts off slow, rolling his hips in languid strokes that match the way he licks into your mouth basking in the little noises escaping from the back of your throat. It’s not until you nip at his bottom lip that he lets go the way he really wants too.
Breaking away from your lips, he brings his attention to your face, needing to see the way it twists up when he pulls nearly all the way out before slamming himself back in. Your eyes go wide at the feeling, the silk of your walls fluttering, begging him for more that he gives without any hesitation. His palm finds it way back to your cheek that has to be searing against his skin, collecting your mouth again with a hunger that’s easy to lose yourself in.
He keeps a steady pace, hiking your leg further up his hip, somehow going even deeper. The tip of him hits the spot that no one else has ever been able to find, earning a loud moan of his name that he thinks sounds best when it comes from you. Using the opportunity that presents itself to him, he starts a path of open mouth kisses down your jaw, along your neck, gently pushing you back to lay against the desk, peppering them across your collar bone.
The new angle has you trying to cover the scream that's begging to fill the empty studio, and Steve keeps going. Tugging down your bra, sucks your pert nipple into the heat of his mouth. Your back arches, nails dinging into his shoulders when he brings his attention to the other one with a flick of his tongue.
“Perfect, you’re perfect.” Groaning his praise against your skin, he licks a stripe up your sternum before nipping at the curve of your breast.
Steve stands up straight, bringing his hands to your hips stretching you out even more. His eyes take in your heaving chest, dark eyes, and skin shining wet from the work of his mouth and he thinks he might cum right now.
”You ready for more, pretty girl?” He coos with the softest grind of hips, lips twitching at the way your eyes hit the back of your head because of it.
”Please.” You beg, finding the strength to look at him from underneath your lashes.
Your stare breaks any self control he might have left, the first snap of his hips pushing you further up the desk, sending some of the eight tracks clattering to the ground.
“Oh my god.” You cry out, grabbing onto his forearms. The blunt ends of your nails digging into his freckles when he does it again.
”You feel so fucking good.” He grits out between his teeth, the grip on your curves turning bruising as his head rolls back lost in the silk of your walls that keep sucking him in every time he tries to leave.
His praise makes your hips meet the next roll of his, sending another flurry of cuss words spilling out of his mouth, that turn into your name the more you keep up with his pace. Tugging you back to the edge of the desk, he folds over you, palms finding purchase on either side of your head.
That swoop of hair tickles damp against your forehead, his face contouring into something dazed watching the way you try to catch your breath. The quick grind of his hips punches the air out of your lungs with every thrust, the thick thatch of hair at the base of your demise rubbing against your clit with just the right of pressure.
You know you're not going to last much longer as the heels of your feet dig into his ass pushing him deeper. He grunts into your mouth, collecting a sloppy kiss rolling his hips in a circle, the tip of him pushing right against the spot you need him most.
“Come on, honey, let go. I know you want to. Let me finally make you feel good.” He murmurs encouragingly, grabbing both your wrists and pinning them above your head, sending a notebook and some pens flying to the ground.
The new position tightens the coil deep inside your gut tight enough to snap, your walls constricting around him as you tumble over the edge with nothing but his name spilling from your lips. Seeing something he’s only ever daydreamed about in the dead of night sends him flying right after you. He lets go of your hands catching himself on the desk, body shaking with a loud groan rumbling from his chest painting your insides with months of wanting you so much that it aches in his chest.
He keeps up the slow grind of his hips until you both come back down, with goofy love sick smiles twisting up your lips. You giggle when he nudges his nose with yours, getting a blinding flash of his white teeth in return.
“What?” Amusement dances in his eyes, brushing the apple of your cheek with the back of his hand.
”This just isn’t where I imagined it would finally happen is all.” You grin, leaning into his touch. “So out in the open.”
”It’s not like anyone’s here —“
”Steve, look, I’m sorry.” The sound of Robin’s voice echoes out through the empty station.
”Oh fuck me.” He yells in a whisper, wide panicked eyes meeting yours before dropping to the ground out of sight. You try your best to adjust your bra and dress into place.
“You know I hate when we figh— oh.” Robin stops in her tracks in the common room, confusion painting her features taking in your disheveled look and the lack of Steve in the room.
“H-hey!” You squeak out, voice cracking and she narrows her gaze at it.
”Where’s Steve?” She asks, the question coming out slowly in that suspicious kind of way.
”Uh - he uh - he went to the bathroom.” You offer, scratching the back of your neck while the man in question scrambles to get his clothes back on at your feet.
Tilting her head to the side, she squints at you clearly not believing a word coming out of your mouth. Realization dawns on her features, annoyance replacing any confusion that was left.
”You have got to be kidding me!” She throws up her hands, “Steve I know you’re there. You guys suck at lying.”
”Shit.” Steve mutters, pulling on his shirt before slowly standing up, buckling his belt with a sheepish smile.
”Hey.” He waves, running a hand through his damp hair.
Adding to this because I spent way too long trying to decipher the blurry artwork in the top left corner, partially covered by the Judas Priest poster.
'Dragonlance - Lord Gunthar & Fisban' Art by Larry Elmore
Eddie could have sourced from one of the following,
Dungeons & Dragons Sourcebook Dragons of Deceit; September 1985
Dragonlance Calendar 1985, featured in the month of August
my favorite is the poster/ flyer for “metal night” behind the amp on the left it was for april 7th @ 10pm in indianapolis …so i’m just gonna cry a bit while thinking about how he never made it.
summary// you ended up realizing that making clark your lab rat would simultaneously be the best and worst decision of your relationship.
content warning// conditioning, mating press, doggy style, nasty filthy sex, creampie, clark is feral, clark has an alien dick, clark swears, improper use of x-ray vision, kryptonian breeding kink, squirting, clark is pathetic
2k words whew
with clark kent fucking you like that, you don’t think you’re making it out alive.
well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.
.
on monday, on the evening, you decided that you could begin your sick little experiment of conditioning on clark. after reading an article about it online, you wanted your alien boyfriend to be your lab-rat for it, and saw no apparent downsides to the experiment, so you went on with it.
starting with the trigger, you decided for it to be a duck emoji. weird enough for clark to be confused, not too weird for it to have him worrying like the sweetheart he is. ten minutes before you arrived home after work, you had sent him a singular duck emoji with no context or follow-up to it, which, as expected, had your poor clarkie as confused as ever. you smiled when he immediately texted back with ‘???’—success. as soon as you arrived home, you barely let him finish his questioning before pouncing on him, interrupting his sentence with a kiss he welcomed with open arms.
that night, you rode the man to the moon and back—gave him such mind-numbing pleasure that he couldn’t even bother to remember his previous confusion about the duck emoji.
and so, with the first day being a success, you repeated the process.
every day following that one, you would do the same thing—no texts or news all day, a duck emoji ten minutes before coming home, mind-blowing sex.
after a few days of repeating the process, you began to space out these encounters, opting to send the duck emoji every two to three days—a great way to keep the man on his toes, anticipating, waiting for the next time you'd send him that emoji.
then came the most awaited experiment—your greatest mistake.
it was on a friday night that you had decided tonight was the night. you had sent clark the usual duck emoji, smirking as he had immediately seen the text. however, when you arrived home, it wasn't like usual. usually, upon sending the emoji, you'd pounce on him and drag him to the bedroom. tonight, however? radio silence. well, not quite, but that's it felt to clark. you didn't give him those bedroom eyes you usually did on nights you were feeling particularly needy, you insisted on taking a shower all by yourself (he almost crumbled at that) and after dinner, you lounged on the couch to watch a tv show without even asking him to follow you! you just did!
the thing about clark kent is, he's a gentleman through and through. his ma had raised him to be one, and for christ's sake, he was superman! how could he not be a gentleman? but, he sympathizes with himself, you can't spell gentlemna without man, and clark was a man before he was anything else. a very aroused and hopelssly in love man, at that.
he stands awkwardly in the doorway of the living room, staring at you. you noticed, of course, but this wasn't unusual. clark has always had sort of weird quirks—you had always found them endearing. "is something the matter, honey?" your sirupy voice cut through his stream of thought, and suddenly his eyes focus again, gaze meeting yours.
clark has his phone in hand, and he brings it up to look back at the duck emoji you had sent. duck meant sex. you wanted this. he can indulge. you want this.
he knows you do. you sent the text, and he feels like he can almost smell your arousal and it's driving him fucking insane because he just wants to dive in it and taste it and fuck you everywhere so the entire place smells like you and-
in the blink of an eye, his phone is abandonned and he's on you, lips smashed against yours. you barely have the time to react but you do, arms now hanging around his thick neck. his hand latches itself onto your cheeks, fingers pressing into both of them, urging you to open your mouth. as soon as you do, his tongue, which was inhumanely long, snaked into your cavern, exploring its depths. he moaned at the taste of your saliva, almost melting into you as if the flavor of you was his ultimate salvation.
noticing the lack of air filling your lungs, he pulled away, his eyes softening at the sight of you catching your breath. "c-clark... what's... whta's gotten into you?" you licked your lips, face flushed. he looks at you like a puppy begging for its treat. "the emoji... you sent the emoji but you didn't... i thought..." his mind is a rush, moving at a thousand miles per hour as his entire body is begging him to rip your clothes off and take you.
he gives up, his head falling into the crook of your neck. "i just... i really need to fuck you, sweetheart." and as he's confessing this, his hand is gliding towards the waistband of your bottoms, sliding swiftly underneath it.
you think you could ascend.
you bite your lip, rendered mute at the sheer tension of the moment. "i know you want it, baby..." he scoffs, eyes closed. "can smell it."
curse him for being such a dangerously hot and multi-abled alien.
his hand makes its way underneath your panties, finger running through your slit, collecting the slick you've been trying to keep to yourself for the past hour. "ah..." you let out a low sound, almost imperceptible but clark was so hyper-focused on you that the little moan made him shudder.
he uses his forearm to push himself upwards, his hand escaping your bottoms to rush up to his mouth, and when you look at him, you gasp, feeling your walls clench.
because clark has never looked this feral.
his eyes were half-lidded and impossibly dark, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows your juices, eyes nearly rolling back at the taste. he moans, his cock twitching and growing inside his sweatpants.
"you're gonna give it t'me, right sweetie?" he asks in that low, sultry voice that he only allows himself to use when he'd rather die than not touch you.
the eager nod you gave him marked the moment you knew you were done for.
.
how long has it been? you don't know. you don't know anything, actually. your brain is fogged with how clark was pounding you into the fuzzy carpet, your eyes crossing when the buds running along his dick grazed against the ridges of your walls, the added sensation making you spasm. "f-ffuck-! clark- oh my god, ohmygod—" you can barely form a sentence, let alone link two words together when he knocks at your cervix, your tits bouncing in rhythm with every thrust.
and clark isn't even listening to you, his eyes laser-focused on the sight of his cock splitting you open repeatedly, a vein bulging on his forehead at his intense use of his x-ray vision. "look at that, b-baby... look..." and you don't even bother, too lost in the ecstasy. he sees it all though, the strings of your arousal clinging to his tip every time he pulls away, the ridged of your pussy hooking onto his buds, the contractions of your muscles.
he finally manages to pull his eyes away from the sight, only to be met with the even prettier, albeit messier sight of your fucked out face. tears and drool glossed your skin, your eyes rolled back nearly to the back of your skull, throwing your head back when clark's hips stutter against yours, a white-hot wave washing over him over the sight.
he stilled when his buds hardened and hooked onto your walls, pulling him impossibly deep as he shoots buckets worth of cum deep into your womb. "a-ah! holy sh- hmm, fffuck, baby- i- fuck!" he sobs, jerking down towards you and you moan at the feeling of him filling you up once more, droplets of his sweat dripping onto your buzzing skin.
despite his orgasm, he doesn't stop, "n-need m-moree- needa fill you up-! ah, fuck!" his voice jumps up an octave when his buds finally relax again, allowing him to keep pistoning into you. "d-don't stop, clark! please dont- oh-!" he suddenly grabs your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders before beeending down, succesfully folding you in half. his face is now slotted right in front of yours, and the eye contact is so intense you almost feel shy under his gaze.
a mating press. clark kent had you in a fucking mating press.
you get lost in his ocean blue eyes, barely able to keep the eye conatct when he fucks you almost like he hated you, digging in your pussy. "you're... you're so beautiful, honey... so fucking pretty- all f'me, yeah? all f'me?" you nod, hands pressing against the back of his head to bring him impossiby closer to you, "all for you, clarkie," you confirmed being hastily pressing his against you, imprisoning him in a feverish kiss. clark moans into your mouth, eyes closing. you jolt slightly when you feel a tear drip down on your cheek, peeling your eyes open to see clark crying.
he pulls away, gasping for air as his throat restricts. "i l-love you, love you s'much— need you so, ngh, so bad... wanna breed ya'..." he sobs, whimpering for you. seeing clark become such a slave to his love for you had an inescapable effect on you, and your orgasm was almost immediate. you came with a gasp, the pleasure being so heavy that your eyes had given up on their function, unfocusing and leaving you with the blurry image of clark's flushed expression. your back arched as cream dribbled out of your hole, creating a white ring around clark's base.
in the midst of your orgasm, he pulls out, making you whine for the few seconds your face isn't smushed against the carpet because in a matter of moments, your world tilted before you found yourself face down ass up for your boyfriend. he pressed a hand on your back, urging a deeper arch. "m'sorry baby, m'so sorry..." he apologizes for the his unceremonial behavior but his apologies fall on deaf ears as you couldn't be happier.
your hands clutch the fluff of the carpet when he slams back into you, kneading the flesh of your ass. "just... just need this. s'your fault for making me wait... so long.. to have you- ngh, gosh..." he's hypnotized by the rippling of your ass, and the way your back bends impossibly for a second each time he rams back inside you, pressing you further into the carpet.
with clark kent fucking you like that, you really don’t think you’re making it out alive.
well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.
your moans are rhythmic, matching the pace of his hips. leaning in, he wraps an arm around you to squeeze your tits, massaging them and rubbing your hardened nipples. "so obedient..." his comment makes your walls flutter around his fat cock. he begins to roll his hips, not quite thrusting. he presses against you, making you drool. "nghhh... fffuuuck... love you... so much.. c-clark-!" you slurred, going crazy at the sensation of his buds hardening slowly again, hooking onto your insides.
"w-want your cum-! want you to b-breed me!" you egged him on, "yeah? y'want it, baby? oh gosh, i'm cumming, m'cummingm'cumming-" he gritted, spilling into you once more. "oh my god! oh god, sweetheart!" he whined, your name escaping him as his hips bucked again, releasing rope upon rope inside you. his orgasm triggered yours, drops of your release trickled down onto the carpet before his hand snaked down to your clit, rubbing furiously and suddenly an intense stream released itself onto the now soaked carpet, the intensity of both of your orgasms making the two of you collaspe in a heap.
he layed on top of you, both of you catching your breaths. "i feel so... sticky." he remarked, "shit... i ruined the carpet." you groaned, knitting your eyebrows together.
a silence settled in, before you broke it. "i'm glad my experiment worked." a beat passes before he reacts, "experiment?"
"i tried conditioning you into associating sex with the duck emoji. it worked."
clarks hums, choosing not to react any further.
a few days later, minutes after the end of your shift, you receive a text from clark.
andrew pope cody who's self conscious about his dick because it's uncircumcised. who gets nervous about anyone seeing it for the first time. always feels this need to explain first, to grab their wrist before they shove their hand down his pants. i was born on a farm. there wasn't time. i don't know, my mom didn't think it was important. and like, he's more than used to it by this point. he's a 40-something year old man who's lived with his uncircumcised penis for just as long; he doesn't know what the alternative would even feel like. he just knows it's unusual, statistically, to be an american man with a dick that looks like his.
sometimes women in oceanside are weird about it. sometimes more or less so taken aback, surprised with an experience they've never had and didn't necessarily want to begin with. and while it usually just makes them pause, rather than reconsider completely, it does make him a little tired after a while of the same old song and dance. of getting to know someone and falling into bed and the usual disclaimer, the 'my dick is a little different, i hope that's okay’ content warning. having to prepare for whatever happens with their face, the unguarded expression that quickly slips behind closed doors, shutters the way polite women know how to with their eyes and their mouth. pretending, being nice. that's almost worse, he thinks, than if they were just plain mean about it.
it finally reaches a breaking point and so he just decides to add the information to his dating profile.
andrew, 43, uncircumcised.
and yeah, it kind of makes him feel like he's a prized hog being weighed at the county fair. but he also doesn't know what else to do, tired of trying to ease into it, to hold the words like delicate eggshells in his hands, hoping they don't shatter and make a mess all over the floor.
he's surprised, when he wakes up the next morning to a message from an account he's never seen before. a profile of a young woman, younger than he's usually interested in and out of his set distance range. still in california, but up north, near santa barbara. you only have one photo of yourself, standing at the base of the eiffel tower, hair half-blown into your eyes and smiling, a bright toothy grin that seems to take up half your face. the other three photos are of a border collie with a lolling pink tongue and curious disposition, its head cocked to the side. the description is rather short too. all it says is your name and one line: i like dogs.
you: hi andrew, 43, uncircumcised. is that your full name? :)
andrew blinks down at the message, then he looks at the photo again, at the big smile, the dog. he types a response.
andrew: no
it doesn’t take very long for him to get one in return, phone buzzing in his hand.
you: no?
he types out another response.
andrew: it’s my first name, my age, and my dick.
his phone buzzes in his hand almost immediately. he looks down at his screen.
you: lucky me :)
you: can i see it?
his brow furrows.
andrew: see what?
you: your dick, silly
andrew regards the messages for a moment. then types back,
andrew: why?
you: just curious to see if it’s as pretty as the rest of you :)
slow warmth spreads up his chest, his neck, settling in his cheeks. he rubs at his face, sitting up a little straighter against the wall.
andrew: i’m not hard
his phone vibrates a few times as you message him.
you: oh that’s okay
you: can i still see it?
you: i really want to
you: pretty please, andrew
andrew stares down at the influx of messages, like maybe they will clarify into something else. something that’s not a rather insistent request from a stranger to see his soft penis. did women even like that sort of thing?
the messages stare back up at him, unchanged. unmoving. unmistakable.
andrew doesn't send nudes. to tell the truth, he doesn't think he's sent a photo of himself to anyone, ever. any part of him. what's up on his profile is all he's shared. a picture of him at the beach. one of him surfing. an old photo deran took years ago of him and craig wrestling in the living room at smurf's. a hand on his skateboard.
he looks at the photo in your profile again, the one of you, not the dog. your arms are stretched out wide, the lights of the eiffel tower twinkling behind you, like get a load of this. you look happy, content. young.
he slips a hand below his waistband, cups his balls and tries to imagine you standing in front of him instead, at the edge of his bed, maybe. that same pretty face but a softer smile, arms at your sides. a sweet voice he makes up to say a version of the same words, ‘pretty please, andrew. can i see it?’
yeah, okay.
he closes his eyes, inhaling, a small tug of pleasure in his belly, warming him from the inside. it makes his dick plump up just a tad against his thigh.
in his fantasy, you’re climbing onto the bed now, one knee pressed into the mattress and then the other. you're wearing the same dress as in the photo and he can see the curve of your breasts as you start to crawl. crawling up the bed, between his legs. this look on your face like you want nothing more than to see what he’s hiding beneath his waistband.
andrew lets go of his phone and slips his other hand into his shorts, wraps his fingers around the base of his cock. not jerking it, not yet, just holding it, just letting the warmth from his palm bleed through. it feels good, feels familiar. the same as it has since he was thirteen.
you’re close enough now that your head is between his knees. you’re lowering yourself down, tummy to mattress and crossing your ankles behind you like in one of those teeny-bop shows julia always had on tv when they were kids. no magazine though, just a coy smile as you prop your chin in your hand, draw a light finger over the inside of his left knee.
‘show me?’ you ask, voice still just as sweet as the first time and it makes his stomach swoop, his dick twitch a little in his hand.
maybe he's secretly a pervert and he just never knew it. a sick desire lain dormant until a woman half his age messaged him on a dating app and asked, apropos of nothing, to see his uncircumcised penis.
andrew tugs the waistband of his shorts down, lets it bunch up under his balls, the elastic pushing them up, showing them off to you, showing you everything really. the hand, the back of his bruised knuckles, the soft but warm length slowly filling out in his palm. eager beneath your gaze as you smile at him, roll your bottom lip between your teeth.
‘yeah,’ you murmur, cute, wet tongue peeking out, and drag your eyes along his dick, like you’re filing a memory for later.
andrew’s hips tilt up and he squeezes his dick and balls at the same time, his mouth dropping open a little. he’s filling out now, properly, thickening up as more blood rushes south, giving him shape, definition. enough so that he thinks he can risk it, the photo.
he picks up his phone again, sparing one last glance at your profile before he opens the camera app and tries to snap a photo at a flattering angle. it takes a couple tries. the first few are too blurry. the next has a shadow of his phone cast over half of it. the last one isn’t too bad, well-lit, soft morning sun streaming in through the windows and making sure you can see the whole thing. his dick, his hand, the bare skin of his stomach where his shirt's been rucked up.
he sends it off before he can second guess himself or the decision. and then he sits there, dick slowly softening against his thigh as the nerves eat away at him. one minute, two.
fuck, what if you hate it? what if it’s the ugliest cock you’ve ever seen? shit, he shouldn’t have sent it. shouldn’t have bothered at all. he should delete it. maybe if he deletes it fast enough you won’t have time to see it. he’ll have spared you the horrible experience completely. he’ll delete it and then he’ll delete his entire account right after.
he picks up his phone right as it buzzes in his hand. it buzzes and then it buzzes again, and again, and again and again.
swallowing his trepidation, andrew swipes open the dating app.
you: oh fuck
you: oh fuck you’re so pretty
you: like i knew you’d be pretty but seeing it is totally different
you: i knew you’d be a big boy. big like the rest of you, yeah?
you: god it’s probably heavy when you walk
andrew stares down at his phone, a burning warmth beginning to spread from the tips of his toes all the way up to the tips of his ears. his entire body feels electrified, like his skin is one second away from sparking from the heat.
another message comes through.
you: fuck, andrew. i’m really wet
he closes his eyes, sucking in a shaky breath. you’re wet. you’re wet just from seeing a photo of his half-hard cock. saliva pools in his mouth. he grinds his teeth together.
he picks up his phone.
andrew: for real?
you: yeah, for real
you: you wanna see?
he presses the heel of his hand into his cock, rolls his hips up into it.
andrew: yes
then remembering his manners, he says,
andrew: please
a minute goes by, during which andrew grips his phone in his right hand and rocks into his left. stares at the photo of you, at the messages calling his dick pretty. then his phone buzzes again and it’s not a photo you’ve sent at all. it’s a video file.
he presses play with his thumb so fast and so hard, it makes a tapping noise.
the video starts to play. a little shaky at first, like the camera (phone?) is unsteady in your hand and then it focuses, a low-lit grainy view pointing down between bare thighs, soft and spread open just enough to fit your hand. he can hear your breathing, a little fast, as you slide two fingers up and down your wet slit. he can’t see your pussy too well like this, but he can hear it, when you move the camera close enough, can hear the slick sounds it makes when you rub yourself, over your clit, he thinks, as you let slip a quiet, soft moan. the video abruptly ends.
andrew plays it again. then again. he clicks the volume button all the way up to try and catch that moan at the end, presses the speaker against his ear and pretends you’re moaning with your mouth pressed against his neck while he’s filling you up. fitting the head of his cock against your entrance and guiding you slowly down with a hand on your soft waist. the fantasy is so good. you sound so good.
he types out a message, left hand fisted around his cock, squeezing tight.
andrew: you have the sweetest voice
then,
andrew: i want to hear you say my name
when you don’t immediately respond, he thinks maybe he’s pushed too far. then another video file comes through.
the camera is balanced on your tummy this time, a straight forward view of your knees raised, hand snug between your thighs. you must be lying down now. andrew watches, ears and eyes focused to catch every single detail. you moan again as your hand moves and it takes a second for him to realize you must be fucking yourself with your fingers.
shit. andrew slowly drags his hand up and down his cock in time with your breathing.
‘andrew,’ the voice on the video suddenly murmurs, almost a whine, and he nearly dents his phone with how hard he squeezes it. ‘andrew, please.’
andrew, please.
oh fucking hell, andrew thinks, spitting in his palm and jerking himself a little faster. sweetest voice, all breathy and needy saying his name. he doesn’t even know you. a stranger messaging him from almost 200 miles away, soft and pretty and, for some reason, begging for his cock.
he flips open the camera app again, taking his own short video. fucking his fully hard dick into his hand, foreskin pulled back to show how wet and pink he’s become. he sends it over.
andrew: you’re driving me crazy
you message back almost immediately.
you: oh my god
you: oh my god fuck
you: need to feelyou inside me
you: youd stretch me out so god
you: pleasjcr nbe ver had a dick so big
the messages are full of typos, like you’re too distracted to pay attention, too busy fucking your pussy with your fingers, maybe close to release. andrew grunts, dick kicking up in his hand. he’s imagining you squirming in his lap, nails digging into his shoulders as you cry out, ‘so big, so big andrew, fuck oh my god.’
andrew: you gonna cum?
andrew: i want to hear you cum
andrew grabs the bottle of lotion off his nightstand while he waits for your response. he depresses some into his hand, warming it, then spreads it all over his dick. his bites his lip at the sensation. slick, wet. he can almost pretend it’s your pussy.
his phone buzzes. fuck. a new video file. andrew squeezes the base of his dick to keep himself from shooting off too early. just the anticipation of what’s waiting for him in that video has his head going fuzzy. he swallows and presses play.
you’ve set the camera up across the room. must have, on some type of surface. a dresser, maybe. it’s facing the bed. he can see you from the waist down and thinks you’re fully naked. because you’re kneeling upright and all he can see is gorgeous, soft skin.
god, he wants to touch you, he wants to know what sounds you’ll make when he runs his hands over your stomach, your thighs. he wants to shove his head between them and lap at your pretty cunt until you’re pushing him back with both hands, overstimulated and sensitive.
a quick, and deeply selfish thought runs through him: disappointment that he can’t see your tits like this, and then the thought is immediately diverted when he sees what’s in your hand.
a dildo. a rather life-like one from what he can tell from his vantage point across the room. thick, mushroom tip and a pair of silicone balls at the bottom. not as thick as him, of course, but still impressive. andrew hates it immediately. he’s gonna throw it out the first second gets. when he meets you for real, in person. he’s gonna throw out all your toys and fill you up with his cock instead. let you use his dick whenever you want. every day, every hour if that's what you need.
you’re balancing the stupid thing on a pillow, flat base held still as you slowly sink down.
oh fuck, he thinks, fisting his cock, watching your pussy swallow it whole.
you whine as you begin to shift your hips back and forth, grinding on it like it’s real, like it’s him, your stomach muscles tensing as you move.
andrew makes sure to time his hand perfectly in tempo as you grind. this is what you would look like if he was there with you. shaky, trembling legs and desperate noises, except his hands would be all over you. he’d make sure to cover every inch of skin.
‘andrew,’ you moan, and your voice is just as a sweet as the last video. ‘fuck, you feel so good.’
yeah, fuck. he’s gonna lay you out on your bed and use your soft thighs as earmuffs. he’s gonna stretch out your cunt so slow on his dick that you're begging him to move, hips tilted up as you whine. he’s gonna watch your tits bounce and your eyes roll back and your mouth drop open and he's gonna give you absolutely everything you ask for. he’s gonna make sure no one ever compares.
‘ohh,’ you cry, slipping your free hand between your legs to rub at your clit. ‘i need it, i need it, i need it.’
‘yeah,’ andrew says, aloud, even though you can’t hear him. ‘yeah, fuck, you do.’
andrew groans, fucking his fist, pleasure coursing through him as he watches you spasm and shake around the dildo, whining and grinding your way through your orgasm. he shuts his eyes and lets himself imagine coming inside you as you do, filling you up and feeling it all slide back out, getting his lap all messy when he lifts you up in his arms.
he paints his own chest with his cum, thick, steady ropes of it as stars burst behind his eyelids. he lies there, half lying, half sitting up against the wall, panting for a full minute until his heart rate slows.
jesus christ, he can't remember the last time he came that hard. he takes a photo of the mess and sends it back to you.
you: wowie
you: any chance you're open to long distance?
andrew is already pulling on real pants and grabbing his keys.
writers, you can and should be proud of your fic even if you personally are not satisfied with it. because even if you think it's "not good", you can be proud of the fact that you wrote it and it's something you created. you can be proud of the fact it's not ai.
repeat after me, it's something you put your soul and dedication in — and that's something ai could never achieve.
being too warm during the day: well, this sucks, but this temperature makes sense because the sun is up, and the sun is making me warm. i am unhappy but logically i can deal with it for now.
being too warm at night: what if i kill everybody.
fireman bradley fireman bradley fireman bradley viv he's all i can think about now
You do not hook up on the first date.
Ever.
And what's more, you consider any guy that does want to hook up on the first date the reddest of red flags.
But does that really count when you were the one to initiate it?
Sure, Bradley had kissed you first - dipped head and his moustache tickling your upper lip. You'd figured it was about as chaste as he could manage.
But you had been the one to pull him in by the shirt, crashing your mouth to his after a brief moment of pause.
You had been the one to move his hand to your tit, practically moaning into him when he tweaked your nipple through your sundress. It hadn't mattered to you that you were very much in public, and that anybody could come out of the restaurant and see him crowding you up against the brick wall.
Bradley had asked if you wanted a ride home - to save rhe Uber fare. You both knew what that meant, under the circumstances.
Clothes discarded haphazardly in your hall, before giving up on your attempt to make it to the bedroom. He'd eaten you out on the stairs, your thighs bracketing his head as your thoughts were reduced to just his name. Bradley Bradshaw.
The name would be stupid for anybody but him.
You realise that you're completely and utterly fucked when he carries you up to the bed for rounds two and three, peppering soft kisses across your face as he goes.
Like the two of you have been together for years, rather than on a first date.
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theartofmadeline
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