Here

He’s plotting evil rn… like how toddlers get a look before they do something fucking stupid. I love him so much it’s insane :3

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Pope had definitely woken up on the wrong side of the bed. He had a headache as soon as he cracked his eyes open, but there wasn't any time to necessarily wallow in his discomfort. There was an important job today that he definitely couldn't skip. Smurf would never let him live it down if he did.

Smurf had briefed them yesterday about a local pharmacy, recently opened and family owned. Supposedly, there was a big safe full of cash. According to Smurf, thousands upon thousands. Of course, Deran and Craig wanted to go for the drugs and pills, but Pope wanted cash. Even though he loved his caregiver, he still liked being independent and buying things for himself.

Well, the pharmacy, despite being locally owned, did have security cameras and way too many folks around, even though it was a Sunday night.

"What the fuck man, you said this would be easy!" Pope growls at Baz, who's also fuming. Technically, it was none of their faults. Smurf had cased the job for them, told them what to do, but now there was just so many factors to ruin this shit.

"I know man! Shut up!" Baz retorts, frustrated. "We just have to rethink what we do"

"Course we do! There's fucking cameras everywhere." Deran says. It's pretty clear the day is devolving into hell, and Pope can already feel the familiar fuzziness creeping up his spine. That's no good on a job.

"Just- lets hit around the back. Keep your heads down." Baz commands, and Craig stays to be the escape driver as the other three brothers move around the back.

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They manage to make it inside while avoiding the cameras, and they find the safe. It's a big safe, thick lead walls and a coded lock. Baz drops his duffel bag onto the ground, pulling out a drill to get through the main wall.

Pope keeps an eye on the door, as Baz manages to break into the safe. When Pope hears the drill halt to a stop, he turns to watch the safe get cracked open. Lord knows where Deran went, probably stocking up on pills from behind the counter.

But when the safe is finally opened, Pope feels sick. There's maybe $1,000 bucks max. It's a horrible outcome for how much work they did to get here. Pope again feels that horrible fuzziness gnaw at the back of his mind, knowing they would only get a couple hundred to keep after all this work.

Pope can see that Baz is equally frustrated as he shouts for Deran, and they take the same route they entered with, and as soon as they're in the truck, Craig floors it. Baz counts and recounts the money, but it's the same. A horrible haul for a god awful job.

Pope sits in the backseat, his arms crossed firmly across his chest. He can feel himself slipping further and further as he feels so much frustration bubble up in his chest. He was looking forward to a lot of cash so he could buy new little gear, and surprise his caregiver with some gifts.

As soon as the Scout is parked, he bolts inside to his room. He doesn't feel like facing Smurf or talking about how bad the job sucked. He grabs his phone to text his caregiver, but his thoughts are so jumbled, everything he tries to type makes no sense.

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You wipe the sleep out of your eyes to head to Pope's house. You know he needs you more than you need sleep. You slide on your sneakers and grab your backpack that's filled with some of Pope's little gear.

You make the quick drive over, parking the car. You don't bother knocking because you know the family is probably drunk, and they won't mind you entering the house.

"Hi baby. Here to see Pope?" Smurf asks, a neat Cosmo drink in her hand. Her perfect manicured nails clink against the glass. Her smile is sharp, calculating.

"Yeah. He texted me." You reply, keeping all the information to a minimum about why he texted. You nod at the guys, smile at Smurf, and head back to Pope's room. He's curled up on his bed, thumb shoved deep in his mouth, awaiting your arrival.

"Daddy?" He mumbles weakly around his thumb, looking up at you with big, watery eyes. He sniffles a bit and it makes your chest ache.

"What's up buddy?" You ask softly, sitting on the bed beside him. He peeks up at you, but keeps his thumb firmly in his mouth. You sigh, and grab the bad full of all his gear. You grab his binky for him and pry his thumb out of his lips, then press the rubber tip to his lips. You try to always make sure he never sucks his thumb, because you don't want to mess up his teeth.

"Wanna put on jammies?" You ask, rubbing your hand over his ribs, watching the binky bob up and down in his mouth. He says nothing, just staring at you, and you realize he's really far gone. "Okay, I'm making the executive decision for you."

He makes a small, noncommittal noise, so you dig his pajamas out of your duffel bag, along with his small blankie, and a stuffed animal. You carefully wrangle him around, until you've got him stripped to his boxers, then work his legs into the fuzzy dinosaur themed pants, and your big, oversized shirt that he loves.

"S'uffy?" He mumbles, words slurred around the binky, reaching for the stuffed dog sitting on the other side of you. His eyes are wide and needy, and God, he's so cute. You grab the soft stuffed dog and set it in his arms.

"My little baby Pope." You mumble, as he lays down against your lap. You pull him against you, and lay down with him. "Just a little boy, hmm? So small, so perfect"

You whisper consistent sweet nothings to him, hoping to soothe him to sleep. You'll ask him tomorrow what had him all upset tonight, but for now it's just you and him laying together in bed. Soaking up each other's presence.

Keeps it hidden in a shoebox so no-one finds it, but really relies on it when he's small and alone.

Your mind is incredible.. I love it.

Pope had been having the worst day. Nothing was going right, from breakfast being gross, to the temperature being too hot for comfort. Every little thing pushed him further and further into little space, until that night around 9 pm.

He decided to hole up in his room, not bothering to stay up late like usual. He sniffles pathetically as he digs under his bed for that treasured, worn down shoe box. He wants to be little, needs it.

His shaky hands find the shoebox and carefully open it. He finds his little nightlight, and plugs it in the wall, grabbing all his blankets to make a nest beside the plug.

He glances up and makes sure his door is locked, before lying down in the pile of blankets and pillows, and shoving his thumb in his mouth.

note: I've never written for these characters before [and am coming out of ages without writing] but I'm finally in a writing mood again so I decided to give it a go!

cw for talking about being sick/emeto (not graphic) and some swearing/rude language!

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It was almost always hard to understand Pope. Maybe understand isn't the right word for it, translate might be better. He has his own dictionary. His own guide of what was right versus wrong, how he liked things done, how things should be done. It led to misunderstandings on both ends. At times it even seemed like Pope couldn't understand what Pope was asking for. What he wanted or needed at any given moment was hard to identify, and even harder to express.

And sometimes Pope got especially illegible. Everyone around him could feel the shift in the air. Like how you can tell a storm is coming even though the sky is still blue. It's a mix of gut feeling and past experiences. Baz wasn't a stranger to these times. Where the handwriting of conversation got sloppy and things got lost in translation to the point that Pope would just... stop. Somewhere between simply buffering and a full blue screen of death.

-

It was an odd experience to be laying in your bed, at your sort-of mother's house, on a humid summer night, and have padded footfalls coming towards the room. The name "Lena" was already forming on his groggy lips as Baz pushed himself up on his elbow, eyes shut. But the footfalls sounded heavy for Lena. And, perhaps more pressing, Lena was with Cath... at home. This was NOT Lena. Who the hell-

That connection of thoughts in his head jerked him to full alertness, his hand reaching blindly for the firearm he knows is in the top drawer of his bedside table. He opened his eyes to Pope standing at the foot of his bed, eyes wide in the dark room, holding his hands up in front of him like he's being accused.

The breath that left Baz wasn't exactly a breath of relief, but it was definitely a sigh. A mild calm that was quickly replaced with a million new questions. Sure, he knew about Pope's weird habit of watching people sleep. He wasn't usually a victim to it, that's not to say it never happens though. It definitely has. But Pope clearly came into his room, and he looks rattled. Or, at least, as rattled as Pope has ever looked. Sometimes he doubted there was anything "rattleable" within that guy's head anyway.

"Pope-" He huffed, rubbing the sleep from his face, "Christ, man, what hour is it? What's going on?"

Pope stood there at the foot of Baz's bed, jaw working as he shifted his weight, just a little. While that normally would've struck Baz as odd, he didn't really care at this moment. Everything Pope does is odd. Especially at --he glanced at the clock on his bedside table-- two in the morning.

"Well?" Baz urged, "Go find Smurf if you wanna-"

Baz was cut short by Pope's uncomfortable inflection, "I threw up."

Baz stared at the shadowy figure by his feet, processing what was just said. They are both grown men. Grown men who are definitely capable of both throwing up and dealing with the aftermath. That's when Baz knew there was definitely something wrong. Not because Pope's stomach was twitchy, that was an unfortunately common thing. Something was clearly wrong because Pope was here. He wasn't giving a clear explanation nor was he asking for anything.

Christ.. even Lena would ask to join him in bed or something. She'd ask for medicine or a shower or someone to hold her hand and reassure her while whatever needed to come out came out.

He pressed his lips together with a vague shake of his head, a nonverbal way to say 'okay.. and?'

"my stomach hurts." Pope elaborated, hands squeezing the edge of his t-shirt. He sounded like Lena. Looked like her. Especially as he tucked his head down to his chest, jaw working and puppy eyes cranked up to full blast. "I cleaned it up. The mess."

"You cleaned it up? You didn't make it to the toilet?"

"it.. it just happened."

Baz sat up against the headboard, groaning as his body worked itself awake. "Did it get on your bed?"

"yeah."

"And you cleaned that up?" Pope nodded, shifting his weight between his feet again as Baz continued to look at him blankly. "Great job."

Praise clearly wasn't what Pope was looking for. He didn't move. He just kinda stood there and chewed his words. Baz sighed and made another urging gesture with his hand, encouraging Pope to get it out already.

"it might happen again." He said quietly. A request barely scribbling itself in between the lines. You'd need a magnifying glass and a degree in deciphering to solve it.

"You're right. It might happen again." Baz said after a pause. A pause that included him holding back some snark of 'yeah, no shit'. Pope's brow creased, puppy eyes growing watery as he struggles to find another way of asking without saying it.

"I might set up in the bathroom. In case-" He cut himself off, hands flexing and clenching into fists around the worried fabric of his clothes, "my stomach hurts."

"Yeah. Your stomach hurts." Baz forced himself to pause again as he watched Pope practically scuff the floor with his foot. He hasn't seen someone do that since Lena was a toddler. He doesn't let his thoughts linger on it long, he was toeing the line and that's always a dumb thing to do. This wasn't the time nor the place for sass. "Look man, do you want me to sit with you? Is that it?"

No more beating around the bush, he was drawing up a list in his head of what Pope could possibly want here and crossing things off. Not a conversation, not praise, not 'where are the bedsheets? where's the laundry soap? where are the antacids?'

Thankfully, he seemed to hit the nail on the head with that question. Pope got all quiet and shifty, just how he does when he wants something. As much as Baz wanted to stay in bed and tell Pope to find Smurf instead, he couldn't say no. Not to those tear-glazed eyes. Not when Pope turned to him; not Smurf, not lone-wolfing it. He turned to Baz.

"Go get a few towels, I'll meet you in there." He relented, pushing himself up and swinging his legs off the side of the bed.

-

Hours of nervous hiccups and dry heaves and not-so-dry heaves followed. As did a lot of back rubs and reassurances and mouthwash. So much mouthwash ('you shouldn't brush your teeth after throwing up, it can damage your enamel. You neutralize it, then you clean it.' or so Pope explained each time to which Baz nodded along, half asleep).

The sun rose on a pair of brothers who reeked of mint and hand soap and puke asleep against the edge of the bathtub. Baz was dressed in his usual pajamas of boxers and a plain shirt. Pope had a towel wrapped around his bare shoulders, his shirt was removed hours before after a miss and a lot of drool. Their legs tangled against the tiled floor, Pope's head resting in Baz's hand to shield him from the hard porcelain and Pope's hand gripping Baz's arm to keep the man somewhat upright and close. They both looked far more like a pair of children than they did full grown men.

a/n: swearing! and mentions of violence/animals eating each other. I love Andrew so much, he's such a goober :3

"Come on! It's worth a shot, isn't it?" Baz urged to an unimpressed crowd. The sunken lounge was filled with an odd tension. The kind of tension that often arose from discussing Pope and his... everything.

"No, man. It's a way to get shot." Craig responded, glancing to Deran for support. This was ridiculous. Where was this even coming from?

"Yeah, I'm not sure it'd be worth, what, getting him to sleep a few hours? There's no way he doesn't sleep at all, right? People die." Deran added.

"I don't think Pope is a 'people'." Craig tacked on. Baz paused as he weighed such opinions in his head, but then he insisted once again.

"It's not just about the sleep. It's about him in general." Baz leaned in, keeping the tone quiet as they often did when discussing Pope. They didn't know what would be too much. What could set off the family guard dog. Or, rather, what would set the guard dog in their direction. "I think it's worth a shot. Just... something to keep him company. He watches all those documentaries, I mean, there's gotta be a reason, right?"

"Yeah, it lets him see all the blood and guts that he wants!" Craig hissed, half-joking but half-concerned too. Insistent on the stupidity of this potential plan.

"He could watch anything, there's plenty of viscera on TV. Yet, he watches documentaries? About animals?" Baz emphasized, to which Craig shook his head dismissively. Possibly in disbelief.

"That's fiction. Documentaries are real. He wants the real shit."

"Look, neither of you even need to be involved. I'll do it. Alone." He said with finality. A finality that ended up being very important, as when he leaned back in his seat he saw Pope peeking his head around the corner. Dead silent, unreadable.

"Something I need to know about?" Andrew asked as he scanned the lounge, taking in the awkward expressions on both Craig and Deran, and how it contrasted to the slightly stressed expression of Baz. Baz shook his head, looking down at his hands before dismissing the others.

"Nah. We've got it."

Andrew didn't look satisfied by that answer, no one thought he would be, but he didn't pry either. Just clenched his jaw a little tighter and passed through.

The house felt tense all day. Any time Pope was involved in a conversation, whether it occurred naturally or Pope was clearly searching for admissions. Any clue, anything that could point him in the right direction of whatever was being hidden. Lucky him, he didn't have to wait long.

The night crept in slowly and the others trickled to their beds, and Andrew sat awake watching TV for a long time. The volume was low, the lights were dimmed. This was some of his private time. It was rare for anyone to bother him now.

"Watch as the pride, a group of lioness', approach slowly, freezing any time they believe to be in the line of sight... this prevents their prey, the injured gazelle, from spotting them amidst the tall grass... with this next shot, try to spot the lioness."

The documentary droned in a calm, monotone voice.

"splendid job.. though I'm sure you missed the other three lioness masked in the background. This method of camouflage can prove quite effective."

Eventually the documentary cut to commercial and Andrew wandered off to shower. He'd likely miss the portion that came after, but the best part of shows like this is the lack of continuity. You don't need to see what came before to catch yourself up.

Upon returning from his shower, wearing a loose t-shirt and boxers tight to his skin, he found someone else sitting on the couch. The documentary was still running quietly in the background, not loud enough to cover the sound of unmasked footsteps as he approached.

Thankfully, it was just Baz.

Not an intruder.

Not someone who's head he would need to bash.

Baz sat one cushion over from Andrew's normal seat, resting something in his lap. Something concealed from Andrew's gaze until he came around the corner.

"Why are you awake?" Pope asked, looking down at the lumpy pouch in Baz's lap. It's not likely to be a weapon, not when it looks so irregular and loose. A haul? what could they have stolen in the few hours from this morning to now? Most take several days, the first suspicion he caught was just.. today. Did he miss something?

-

"I wanted to talk to you." Baz responded as he shifted the pouch in his lap. It was roughly the size of a watermelon, but seemed light and soft. The pouch was oranges and yellows, he recognized it from the laundry room at Baz's house. Pope sat down next to Baz, watching him with a mix of caution and curiosity. At the realization that Pope wasn't going to ask anything, Baz sighed. "Lena.. she…"

"Something happened to Lena?"

"No, no. She's alright. Nothing happened." Baz clarified, clearing his throat before he continued, "She got really into the zoo for a bit, but now she's only interested in the aquarium. You know how kids are. They change interests every five days. Anyway- I figured I'd ask around if anyone wanted… her leftovers."

Well, inside was two things. A stuffed elephant with wide soft ears and a plush trunk, with unrealistically thick fur in a calm periwinkle shade. And beneath the elephant, there was a stuffed giraffe in an appealing yellow shade with regular orange splotches. Pope's eyes lingered on the soft animals sitting in his lap. They looked... friendly. That said, he was a grown man. With no kids. Why was Baz offering these to him?

"What's this?" He asked as he looked to Baz again.

"An elephant. And a giraffe." Andrew's eyes narrowed, clearly unimpressed by the attempt at sarcasm. "Do you want one?"

"Why would I want one?"

"I read somewhere that stuffed toys can be good for ex-cons. Y'know. Something to punch." Baz bullshitted, pulling the thoughts from thin air and hoping Pope won't react too strongly.

"I've got a sand bag." Pope murmured, grip tightening on the garment bag in which these two critters were previously held.

"Then don't punch them. Do something else." He folded his hands in his lap and leaned back against the couch, "So... I take that you don't want 'em?"

Pope didn't respond immediately. Nearly every part of him was screaming to refuse them. To damn near gag at the thought of being so vulnerable. A grown man shouldn't want a stuffed animal, definitely not two. But some part of him, hidden deep in his chest, wanted to cling to these animals like they were real. Like they meant something. Just as Baz expected him to. He watched as the older brother's jaw worked, mouth trying to form the simple two letter word while wrestling the little kid that lived in there too. The man's eyes darted from the toys to Baz's nonjudgmental expression.

"You can have both, if you want." Baz said quietly and that seemed to close the deal. He could practically see Andrew perk up at the thought of having two stuffed toys. All to himself. Something Smurf couldn't even touch. He didn't even say anything, just nodded ever so slightly and shifted the animals on his lap. Baz smiled to himself. Andrew did too, shy and secret. "Lena will be glad they found a new home."

basically when you apply to med school some secondaries ask for a headshot (kms) and im thinking about omegaverse omega!robby needing to appear docile and inviting so he can get let in under the assumption that he’s doing peds or obgyn (he’s built all his apps around this narrative)

so he has to shoot a series of ridiculous, lowkey softcore head and body shots to pick from for his apps and decides on this one to attach because he looks compliant, with his unmated neck tastefully hidden like some old school alphas on the board might enjoy

Shawn Hatosy as Sammy Bryant in SouthLAnd

they're in front of the mirror and dennis is as red as a tomato, face burning and whimpering as he stands there in their bedroom, pants and trousers pulled down and puddled over his feet. robby is behind him, all his big and unyielding body keeping dennis's smaller frame flushed against him as he reaches round between dennis's bare, trembling legs.

"baby boy, you're so sweet, but so silly, hey? asking daddy if you could try and put your poor little dick in him... oh no, no no no, that's not going to work, is it sweetheart? if you want to fuck like a real man, get your cock wet and fill someone with cum, you've got to actually have something worth fucking with, don't you? and oh, my little baby, you don't have that. you've barely got a cocklet, don't you? tell me, denny, what is it that you have between your legs?"

dennis sniffled and whimpered again, tears gathering in his eyes as his boyfriend and daddy teased and cooed at him. robby had his hand round his cock and squeezed it rhythmically.

"denny, what is it? tell me. because it's not a cock."

"...it's.. 's a cocklet.."

"good, that's right. and little boys don't put their cocklets in their daddies, do they? no denny, they don't. because they're so small they can't make daddy feel good at all, and that's no good. look at this, baby, look how small you are in my hand- even now you're chubbing up and getting all horny for daddy, your cocklet isn't growing at all... oh sweetie.."

dennis looked at his crotch and moaned through his embarrased tears. his tiny little dick was sat in robby's palm and it barely filled his hand. when robby made a fist around it, the head of his cock didn't even peek through robby's fingers. robby's thumb on it's own was thicker and almost as long as his.. as his cocklet. and this was while he was now fully hard. daddy was right, a barely four inch- slightly less, in fact- thing wouldn't be able to make anyone feel good, let alone daddy who was so, so big.

"..'s small, daddy..."

"ohhhh denny, you're right baby. I'm glad you've realised now. see here, let's have a little look at daddy's cock- a real man's cock, made for fucking their baby boys. let's have a see."

robby came to stand facing his boy now, unbuckling his jeans with one hand, keeping the other around dennis's cocklet, and pulling his hard cock through his open fly. the size difference was comical. robby was nine inches long- well over double of dennis- and covered in thick veins. his cut head was leaking precum properly, not just a slightly damp effort like that of his baby.

robby moved closer, so that their cocks were rubbing against each other- or rather, the first forty percent of robby's cock was rubbing against all of dennis's- and he wrapped both hands around them to hold them together. robby moaned guterally at the press of dennis's chubby cocklet against him, and the younger man whimpered and sniffled some more, trembling and aroused.

"you understand now, don't you baby boy? daddy's fat, long cock is for fucking. baby's tiny, chubby cocklet is nothing more than a decoration for daddy to squeeze."

dennis nodded, and tried not to buck his hips.

"you're a good boy, sweetheart. take the rest of these clothes off and go and get face down ass up on the bed. daddy's going to fuck you so deep your tummy will be full and you forget all those silly ideas of getting your cocklet in someone. babies are meant to be fucked by their daddies, and that's what's going to happen."

he sees endless books and paperwork and odd little knicknacks, drawers of clothes, a photo album of robby in his mid twenties that he really shouldn't have looked through but did anyway... and then he comes to the bottom drawer in the master bedroom- robby's room.

he gasps so hard at the contents that he slams the drawer closed and then opens it slowly again, checking he hadn't hallucinated. he hadn't. sex toys. it was full of sex toys and gear. high quality rope, padded handcuffs, little metal clamps that made dennis wince to look at them but at the same time made his lower stomach churn in interest. and then, pride of place in the centre, an enormous dildo.

dennis surveyed it in disbelief and growing arousal. it was red and at least nine inches long, if not a little more, and had thick veins running up and down it, only adding to the realism of the toy. the slight curve of it made dennis's asshole clench, thinking about how it would hit every spot inside of him and make him scream. his own (much smaller) cock was chubbed up in his pants by now, and he slammed the drawer closed again to stop himself from reaching out and making a bad, bad choice.

his resolve doesn't last. ninety minutes later, he's back in the room and is picking up the monstrous toy. he tried to stop himself, really, he did! the pull was just too strong and he was just too horny, and well, he'd been right. the dildo filled him so full his stomach bulged and his insides were rubbed raw with how many times he orgasmed on it.

he swore he'd clean robby's sheets and toy, but right now he was in heaven imagining that it was robby fucking him and dicking him down into his sheets in the master bedroom, rather than a dildo. he bounced on it, lay down and manually fucked himself, he even licked along the veins and treated it as a real cock, bent forward on the bed so that his gaping, fucked-open asshole was on full display as he suckled and slurped and gagged.

he fell asleep in a puddle of cum, sweat and tears, dildo lying next to him like a cookie jar next to an incriminated child. he'd clean it all up, he swore.

miles away, robby wipes his hand on a tissue to clean it of his own spend. he always knew his boy was a little busybody. he'd lain the dildo as a trap, so sure dennis would snoop and be like a moth to a flame. tuned into the three bedroom cameras he'd conveniently forgotten to tell the young man about, and gazing at dennis's naked and debauched body, he couldn't wait to get home.