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i just got emotional because of the scene in season 1 of animal kingdom where pope is sitting and eating his lunch all by himself. like my heart genuinely aches bc of a man eating a cheeseburger could i get anymore pathetic than this
"Fuck- baby y'gotta r-relax- c'mon- do it for daddy- fuuck you're so tight- fuck- so pretty- look at'chu baby- so pretty" Jack cooes, panting heavily, hand fidgeting with the fabric of your light pink babydoll top. The only clothing piece left on between you both, as he couldn't get over how pretty you looked, all dolled up for him.
He's got you missionary. One leg pressed up against your chest and draped over his shoulder, while the other is being held open by his palm on your inner thigh, using his thumb to press against the hood of your puffy, swollen clit.
You claw at the bedsheets, trying oh so hard to hold onto anything to ground you, while Jacks fat tip keeps dragging along your gummy walls, nudging all the sensitive spots with each heavy thrust of his hips.
"Fuck!" his voice breaks, taking on a higher pitch as he drops his head down to your neck, feeling your walls constrict around his fat cock.
Much to his dismay of trying to prolong this moment between you both as long as possible.
"Baby- baby, baby- sweetie- c'mon, relax f'r daddy. You're makin' this real hard fr'your old man" he pants, beads of sweat sliding down his forehead, dampening his salt and pepper curls.
You're too cockdrunk to answer. Eyes rolling to the back of your head while you babble on and on about how good it feels when he pumps into you. The word 'daddy' leaving your lips like a fucked out prayer. Jack lifts his head and thinks he's never seen you so dumbed out, so cute before.
"Fuck- you're so cute" he leans down to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, keeping his cock nudged all the way inside, opting instead for rutting his hips against that spongey spot in a way that makes it clear he's just as fucked out as you. His thumb presses down firmer, not moving, just applying pressure as he drops his head down to your shoulder again, breathing out high pitched whines.
A choked up sob leaves you, partially from pleasure, partially from the weight of the heavy man above you pressing you into the matress.
All insecurities about not being able to keep up with guys your age leaving him the second he looks at your fucked out expression and the way you're fluttering so snug around his length, gushing around it, getting his thighs all wet 'nd warm...♡
hmm how do you think Pope would act while watching a scary movie together? It'd be so nice to hide into his arms during jumpscares 😭😭
Omg yess!! And i love this, as a huge horror movie fan myself, who gets scared super quick, this is all I could ask for!! <3
Okay so, we all know he'd be suuuper awkward. But! If the relationship was a few weeks in, honestly, as sweet as he'd be with a partner, he'd be sooo condescending, especially if you're the one who suggests it.
Not in a mean way! Just- playful. While he couldn't really care less for the genre, you clinging to him? literally all he could ask for. It makes him feel like your big, strong protector and definetly feeds his ego! (deserved) not to mention you feeling safe with him, even in silly situations like this, would mean the absolute world to Andy. ♡
"Thought y'wanted this?" His voice takes on a rather high pitch, a grin tugging on the corners of his lips. "I do! It's just- scary..."
You should've known requesting to watch a scary movie with Pope would turn out like this. Not that you're complaining. Having his warm and heavy body next to you, legs draped over his lap and one blanket over you guy's legs while another one is wrapped around your body like a protective shield is far from worth complaining over.
Especially when you feel his big palm run up and down your leg, occasionally coming down to your feet, massaging and kneading them in a way that could be best described as domestic.
"Poor baby" Andrew can't help but smile when he feels you press your face into his shoulder, your softer hands gripping his biceps tightly. He shifts slightly to wrap it around you instead, his heavy arm on your back, pressing you closer into his side.
"Y're a real scaredy cat, y'know?" A huff of air sounding close to a laugh leaving him as you hit his chest, pulling you even closer to press a kiss against your temple. "Sorry, n'more teasing. I got you."
And when you finally turn your face to press it into his chest in an attempt to hide during a particulary scary scene? Ohh, he's so glad the room is dark enough for you not to notice the dark flush creeping up his neck.
Well, the rapid beating of his heart against your cheek gives him away anyways.
And if you're the type to ramble about it afterwards? He absolutely adores that. Seeing you go on and on about things you loved, the acting, the practical effects, conspiracy theories, you bet he's listening intently. Throwing in his own opinion too, simply because he knows this means something to you.
Having you rant with a smile on your face, or a pout if it didn't meet your expectations, it all has a big, dumb grin spread across his face, completely in awe how he managed to have someone like you fall for him.
Bonus for playing horror games! Switching everytime the other dies, a big bowl of popcorn on your lap. He'd still laugh out loud everytime you jump or scream. But when it's his turn?? He takes it sooo serious.
You can see the absolute focus on this man's face. Lips slightly parted, breathing shallow like the things on the screen can actually hear you guys. His palm would be slightly sweaty when he hands you back the controller after miserably failing to escape once again. If you tease him about it? Absolute, immediate denial. He'd turn his face away to hide the red tinting his cheeks and ears, partially from embarrassment of being caught actually nervous because of a game. Another part because of the heavy urge overcoming him to kiss that shit-eating grin off your pretty face.
Safe to say, even with your big, buff, convict boyfriend, you still haven't managed to finish even one of the outlast games.
Siiighhh...if it's not love like this I don't want it ♡...
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dry texter pope vs his gf who signs everything with emojis ‘n uses so many emoticons and he has no idea what they are supposed to convey or communicate but he does know that they are very cute !!!
andrew pope cody and the way he’s a daddy dom without even really knowing what that is … the way he just knows that he has to baby you sometimes, and that you need him to be either extra strict or soft on certain days, and that you really like when he plans your whole day for you down to your outfit ‘n tells you how everything is gonna go.
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content <𝟑 .ᐟ 18+, f!reader, dumbification, brief oral mention (f. receiving), daddy kink, pet names, finger sucking.
you’re not thinking at all—
you haven’t been since andrew buried his face between your thighs and made you cum twice just because he missed you while he was “working.” that was the beginning of the end. you’re barely coherent as he maneuvers you onto your tummy before pulling your hips back to meet his, propping you up on your knees so he can slip his thick cock inside easy. you’re too messy for there to be any true struggle, but the reminder of how well he completes you always snatches the air from your lungs before you can get yourself to breathe through it.
clawing at the bed, you prepare yourself for him to move. the first thrust has you burying your face in his crisp sheets and whimpering, especially when he leans over you with a hand on either side of your dizzy head. the sound of his heated skin meeting yours is lewd, it makes your ears burn. your toes are already curling as he groans over you, feeling your soft cunt trying to milk him dry without even meaning to. one hand comes to grab your jaw, holding your head up to keep you from suffocating yourself in your state. he’s always amazed by how much he can break you down. you’ve always been a sensitive girl but when he has you like this, it’s a whole different level …
you babble, each movement knocking a few dumb hiccupy sounds and syllables out of you, “andrew, andrew— s’good— feels s’good, daddy.”
his heart stops. he’s too greedy to fully halt the rythym of his hips, but it comes to a slow grind that keeps you right where you need to be. blissed out and desperate. that word falling from your glossy lips was the last thing he expected. he didn’t know you had it in you to be so perverted. it forces him wonder how long you’ve wanted to claim him as your daddy. he nuzzles his face against the side of your own, feeling your supple skin and the shared heat between you two, “what did you just call me, baby? where did that come from, hm?”
you only whine in response, too gone to register what you’ve started. you lift your hips up in an effort to get more from him, pressing your ass against his hips and attempting to fuck yourself back on him. a groan claws up his throat, raw and raspy. and suddenly he’s pounding you into the sheets, still keeping your pretty face in his grip. you huff out little breaths against his thumb only to have the digit stuffed in your mouth, effectively muffling your squeals and sweet moans.
“i know, i know. don’t worry about it, should’ve known you were too fucked up to speak— let daddy do all the work, baby girl.”
𑣲⋆ andy indulging his hyperfem!gf's antics by letting her do girly stuff on him. . . "what are you doin', sugar?" "just for my tiktok and instagram, andy! 🥰" "okay, but don't show my face..." "mhm, don't worry i know you're camera shy 😙" 🌺
✶ pairing | andrew pope cody x f!reader, titus danforth x f!reader, jack abbot x f!reader
✶ word count | 728
✶ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, praise kink, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, squirting, cum eating, spit, what it says on the tin tbh
masterlist | ao3 | inbox | requests, taglist, submissions: open
titus danforth eats you out wet and messy, the lower half of his face spit slick and soaked in cum. devours his way down your body until he reaches the apex between your thighs. a rough, rude brute with a nasty bite. he pulls and sucks on your clit until its swollen and raw, nips at your puffy lips while you whine and squirm. your body throbs with your heartbeat, a deep ache in your pelvis as he uses his arms to lock you in place, nails buried in the fat of your thighs to stop you from escaping as the stubble on his jaw chafes at tender skin. he loves when you beg, and especially when you cry. captures those precious, hiccuping breaths as you shove at his head fitfully with all the greed of a starving bloodhound. then, when he's finally decided you've had enough, he spits your cum into your mouth and forces you to swallow.
jack abbot eats you out like it's his sole mission because while you can take war out of the man the solider remains for life. and oh, he follows orders so, so well - "oh god, please" and "yeah, just… just like tha-t - oh fuck, jack! don't stop, please, don't stop." eager to please and knows his way around your body like it's the back of his hand, warming you up with trails of kisses along the length of your neck, mouthing at the rabbit fast flutter of your pulse until you whine. soft and tender as his hands trace the curves of your body; hefting the weight of your tits in his palms and thumbing over your nipples to hear your breathy little noises. working his mouth down, down, down in a path of blooming heat that sparks across your nerves, stomach swooping when he gropes at the swell of your hips, the thumbs caressing over the bone a promise. settles on his belly - smothering his low hiss into your skin when his hard cock drags over the fabric of your comforter - and parts your thighs with gentle fingers and soft lips. his voice a low rumble when he says, "c'mon, show me that pretty pussy, baby." his tongue swirls around your clit, fluttering the slick muscle in little circles that leaves you desperate and breathless. slips down to fuck into your entrance, the tip reaching inside as far as it can as he chases after the taste of your slick with an appreciative groan. he doesn't stop until you're boneless and dripping, the bed a mess of spit and squirt.
andrew pope cody eats you out desperately - as if you'll slip through his fingers like smoke if he doesn't grab hard enough, suck hard enough, make you cum hard enough that any thought of leaving disappears. he's ravenous, inches as close as possible. runs his nose over your skin, and inhales your scent with a low, wounded noise. traps you against the wall and yanks a thigh over the broad cap of his shoulder to get even deeper between your legs. mouths at the cloth covering your cunt until it's wet and sticky, clinging to your folds. meanwhile all you can do is hang on, shoulders digging into the wall and head tossed back. eyes squeezed shut, knees weak and doughy as his attention burns through you, gets you so slick and desperate you don't know what to do. "let me," he begs, gazing up the length of your body. fingers tug your ruined panties to the side, and then a soft kiss brushes over the warm, exposed skin of your mound. you jolt, hands shoot down to bury themselves in his hair. "please. want to taste you. i'll make it so good for you, lemme just - fuck… please." you crack open an eye and feel like you've been sucker punched. fuck, he looks so good on his knees. hair cling to his forehead, his briar of curls sweaty and disheveled. his lips are cherry red, swollen - glistening in the light like a prize. there's a darling blush that steals across the sweep of his cheekbones, and when he works his jaw side to side, you can't help but clench down on nothing. but what really does you in is the burning hunger in his eyes. ready to swallow you down, eat you alive; a dog with a bone. when you tug at his hair, he moans and wants you to do it harder, nails scraping over his scalp as he makes out with your pussy, flicking his tongue over the length of your slit and grinding his nose against your pretty little clit. and when he says, eyes glazed and mouth raw-bitten, slack, "smother me," who are you to refuse?
Summary: Everyone knows that Pope Cody's girlfriend is a real sweetheart. What they don't know is that, behind closed doors, you're a real fuckin' freak, too.
Warnings: +18 explicit content MDNI, porn without plot, established relationship, shy!reader, unspecified age gap, size difference, pope teaches you how to shoot a gun and touches you at the same time, face slapping, face fucking, reader has hair that can be styled, messy blowjob, reader helps complete a job, praise, car sex, reader makes out with pope over a mask so masked sex, restrained hands, creampie, overstimulation kinda, only barely lightly edited
Note: take that p w/o plot tag seriously cause uh....yeah. this is just me wanting to fuck pope cody bad
WC: 2.3k
[masterlist] [AO3]
Everyone thought Andrew Cody was a pervert.
And, really, how could they not?
They see him; all big and brooding, with wrinkles around his eyes and rough hands. And beside him stands you; soft and innocent, all shy smiles and quiet words. A sweetheart by every definition of the word.
He's older than you. Bigger than you. Meaner than you. All it takes is one glance at your manicured fingers around his broad bicep and your cheek pressed to his shoulder to know that, yeah. He's probably (definitely) taking advantage of you.
A girl your age doesn't know any better. Naive little thing. All you see is the handsome man that stands in front of you, who foots the bill when he takes you out to a nice restaurant or on a shopping spree. You see the way he stares down a guy who looks in your general direction a little too long and the way he walks just a step in front of you in a public setting, clearing a path of safety.
What young girl wouldn't want a man like that?
But what they don't see is the way you don't even flinch when you're riding shotgun in his truck and Andrew sets his pistol in your lap. They don't see the blade he'd bought for you—sharp and small, wedged right between your breasts every time you leave the house without him.
They don't see the way your skin prickles when he teaches you the proper way to shoot a gun, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, pointing the barrel at your reflection.
His hands are at your hips, thumbs resting at the elastic band of your pretty, red panties. Andrew's voice is low and slow in your ear. "Mm. Tuck your elbow in. Squeeze the handle a little harder. Yeah, there you go. Now put your finger on the trigger, baby. Just like that. And when you're ready, you just gotta pull it."
You breathe in slowly, and your finger presses down on the exhale.
The gun clicks.
"Yeah, that's it," he says, sliding his hands lower, beneath the crimson fabric. What he finds is unsurprising to him, of course. Arousal pooling between your thighs, your clit slick and swollen and desperate to be touched. He circles it slowly, tentatively, lovingly. "Again, sweetheart."
Andrew doesn't speak much on the rumors that go around about the two of you. He's sure even his brothers believe some of them.
It's to be expected, really, with that mousy demeanor of yours.
You put your hair up a different way one day and when Craig compliments you on it you get all shy, hiding behind Andrew's shoulder with your cheeks flaming.
He thinks it's real cute. The way you act all timid in front of them, murmuring a thank you with that soft voice of yours, unable to meet Craig's eyes all because he complimented you.
But only an hour later, Pope's undoing the clips in your hair while you look up at him from down on your knees, saying—begging, "Hit me."
And Pope does. Smacks you hard, one good time with his palm against your cheek. The sound is like lightning through the open air. He doesn't do it because he wants to, he does it because of that misty look in your eye, because of the way you moan at the impact.
Because of the way you look up at him through your lashes and smile real wide, giggles falling off your kiss-swollen lips, like there's no place you'd rather be.
He gives you just what you need, fucking your mouth until you're crying for it, burying himself at the back of your throat.
Each little gasp for air you make pushes him closer and closer to release, but what really does him in is the way your hand finds his thigh, tracing a little heart-shape into the denim of his jeans while you choke on his length.
Andrew finishes at the back of your mouth without warning, filling you until his release spills from the corners of your plush lips.
His cock still aches when he pulls himself out of you. Your pretty makeup that you spent all that time doing this morning runs down your cheeks now, and sticky webs of saliva and cum connect his cock to your tongue.
"You look so pretty, swallowing me down like that. My beautiful girl. Say it."
Your eyes are bloodshot and watery but filled with love as you look up at him. "I'm your beautiful girl," you say, smiling wide, sticking out your tongue to show him the mess he's made of you before swallowing hard.
"Yeah you are," he murmurs. "My sweetheart."
You've even got Smurf fooled.
They're having a family meeting one afternoon, planning out the details on how to rob a marijuana dispensary that pays its employees exclusively in cash.
While you're moving around easily in the kitchen, Smurf watches you from the living room with a drink in her hand.
Craig and Deran are bickering, trying to figure out a way to distract the night shift security guards that stand watch at the front entrance.
And then Smurf suddenly says, pointing with the rim of her crystal glass, "Her."
Pope shakes his head. "No. Not happening."
"Think about it," Smurf says. "You go in right as the last employee walks out. She walks up, begging to be let in, and says she'll pay extra. Girl like her? They won't expect anything. Just a pretty sweetheart looking to end her day with a little indica."
His brothers are quiet, looking between you and Pope, toeing the line of choice.
In the end, Andrew lets you choose. Makes it clear that if working a job with them makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, they'll figure something else out. He lays out the risks and the reward and reminds you to be honest about your feelings.
But you agree almost immediately and no amount of talking on Andrew's part sways you. It's over the moment you take his big hand, press his palm to your cheek and say, "I love you, Andrew. Even this part of you. Especially this part."
It melts his heart and fills him with this almost uncomfortable level of tenderness. He would kill for you, die for you—all to keep you here by his side.
The job goes perfectly. Andrew and his brothers are able to slip through the ceiling vents unseen, all because you're batting your eyelashes and making your shy little jokes to the guards out front.
They leave the warehouse with duffel bags full of cash and get away clean and undetected.
You're waiting three blocks away in Pope's truck, sitting casually behind the wheel, coating your lips in that pretty lipgloss while looking in the rearview mirror. But your phone is clutched tight in your hand waiting on a text of confirmation.
Pope makes Deran drop him off so he can set his eyes on you sooner rather than later.
And the moment you see him, your eyes light up in this way he knows all too well. Pope nods, adrenaline high as he lifts the clear plastic mask over his face just enough to set it on the top of his head. "We're good," he says.
The hesitant look on your face turns into a grin, soft giggles flitting off your tongue. You slide back across the cab to make room for Pope behind the wheel. You look past him, to Craig and Deran in the car with no plates full of stolen cash. "We'll see you at home," you tell them.
And maybe they don't understand at first, but Pope does. Of course he does—he can feel the way that wanting, lustful energy buzzes beneath your skin.
He puts the truck in drive and pulls out of the lot, but he doesn't make it two blocks before you're wrapping those sharp, painted nails around his bicep.
Pope just smiles as you kiss his shoulder repeatedly, nuzzling the cords of muscle through the fabric of his black hoodie. It seems like such an innocent, sweet touch. But he knows the truth—knows it's not only sweetness in your heart, it's hunger.
"Hang on, baby," he says, hand resting on the inside of your thigh, squeezing tightly. "Lemme pull over."
He finds a secluded alleyway that offers just enough darkness to remain undetected. And the minute he puts his truck in park, you're climbing into his lap.
Pope welcomes the taste of your hungry tongue. Lets you slide it into his mouth, over his teeth, licking and sucking like your life depends on it. He's already half hard in his jeans, but the second you tilt your hips, grinding yourself down against his bulge, he's done for.
"You look—god, you look so good," you whimper, hands around his neck. You don't squeeze, but rather just rest them there, thumbs feeling the quickening beat of his pulse through his jugular.
"Did such a great job today," Andrew says, fingers flexing hard around your hips. "My perfect girl. Such a sweetheart."
You whimper at the namesake, a term he'd coined just for you, his shy, gentle girl. "Andrew, please."
He knows what you're asking for. And who is he, after all, to deny a girl like you? Someone good and soft and so very desperate.
He reaches beneath you, between your legs to find the buckle of his belt. In one swift movement, he undoes it with a clink, and pushes his jeans and boxers down.
"Wait."
Andrew freezes.
At first he fears he might've done something wrong. Assumed wrong or maybe gone too far or pushed too hard. Like usual. Like usual.
His mind starts to spiral, because who could ever hurt you if not a monster? Sweet girl. Sweet heart.
He's a monster. He's a fucking—
And then you smile, and those invasive thoughts disappear as quickly as they'd manifested.
You bat your eyelashes at him with this innocent look on your face, and tug the plastic mask on the top of his head down.
Pope understands then. Of course he does—because you're his filthy, sweet girl. His.
Your clit pulses and he can feel it against his cock, even through the cotton barrier of your underwear.
Andrew tilts his head, watching you through slightly plastic-obstructed vision. He waits for you to move first.
And you do so by leaning forward and laying a wet, open-mouthed kiss against the mask, right over his lips.
It's the most erotic thing Pope has ever experienced.
Because he knows you want him—the awkward, quiet Andrew.
But right now, you're asking for a different version of him. A much more violent version of him; you want Pope.
The part that thieves and breaks and kills. The very worst of him. And not only do you want it, you're twitching for it. Breath coming out like a sigh, hands clutched tight, pussy aching for him.
And the realization—God. He could die. He could fucking die from how much he loves you.
He takes you right then and there. Pulls your underwear to the side beneath your skirt and sinks his cock into you in one hard, claiming thrust.
Pope holds your wrists together tightly behind your back and makes it hurt, because he knows good and well that's what you want. All the while your tongue laves against the plastic of his mask, breath fogging up the surface, a sick, perverted indulgence that drives him insane.
He circles your clit with his free hand, reveling in the way it throbs beneath his rough hands.
It doesn't take long. It never does. He feels the slick velvet of your center squeeze his cock like a vice. Pope doesn't let up, rubbing your clit until you lean back with your eyes squeezed tightly closed, chasing the release you've needed since the moment he'd asked you to help them on this job.
"Look at me," he demands. It's not a request but an order.
You do, mouth open to make room for the cute moans that echo in the cab of his truck. "I'm gonna—god, please please I'm gonna fucking cum—fuck—"
He doesn't say anything. Just tilts his head and watches you.
It hits a second later, and it's beautiful. The way you fall apart in his lap, thighs shaking, fingers flexing beneath his hold, fighting desperately to keep your brain tethered to the earth.
Andrew fucks you through it. Circles your clit until you're squeezing your thighs together, running from the sensitivity.
He finishes inside you a moment later, cock twitching as his orgasm settles low in his belly. And when he's finished, spasming with the aftershocks, you lift the plastic mask from his face and discard it on the floor of the passenger seat.
You smile and kiss him softly and say, "Let's go home. I'm hungry now."
Andrew knows the two of you will take one step into that house and they'll all know what you've gotten caught up doing. They'll see the mess of his curls and the flush on his face. They'll see your swollen lips and the spit drying at the corners and they'll think, 'Jesus, Pope. You can't get off that poor girl for even ten minutes?'
And he won't say anything, of course. He'll just let them go on believing the rumors, believing that he's the one who's insatiable for the shy girl who's gotten caught up in his gravitational pull.
Pope will let them keep on believing you're just a sweetheart.
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cw: pure fluff, one reference to sex, period blood
Saw this post and yes, I totally agree. That man is far from clueless. He's not stupid, and especially if he were with a woman, he'd totally look up what he could do/what's happening.
The first thing Pope noticed when you opened your front door was the utter exhaustion written all over your face.
Next came the posture, like you were trying to curl into yourself, be it from pain or the urge to hide away. The slight sway, like standing on your feet physically drained you.
Hair messy and unwashed, skin suffering a bad breakout, clothes big and hanging off your frame. Feet bare, peeking out under the fabric of your sweatpants. Eyes red and puffy with what looked like dried up tears on the corners of them.
He felt a bit guilty for the way his heart swelled at you looking like what he could only describe as cute, considering you probably felt like dying right now. Messy, tired, sure, but in a way that made him want nothing else but to take care of you.
"Y'haven't answered me all day. Called you too." He can see the guilt crossing your face, mixing with the tiredness. "Shit- 'm sorry, couldn't stand lookin' at my phone...felt like throwin' up all day."
At your answer, Pope's expression softened. "Can i come in?"
"Andy, I-I'm a mess, and so's my appartment...I-I'd rather not have y'see me like this...b'sides, I- i can't like...have sex with you...it hurts too much" Your boyfriend's brows raise slightly at your nervous, almost sorry statement. A hint of confusion showing on his otherwise blank stare.
To be fair, your relationship with him was pretty new. And sure, you were all over each other just about every time you had a minute to yourself. But did you seriously think that'd be the only reason for him to want to spend time with you?
Then again, Andrew couldn't blame you, you'd told him about the men you'd been with before.
"That's not why I'm here." He states, with a flat, factual tone, like it's obvious. Lifting his hand to hold out the white plastic bag he's been holding the entire conversation. "Got you stuff. Thought you might want it."
Curiousity making your tired eyes open a bit wider, leaning forward and hooking a finger onto the plastic to take a peek inside. Snacks, your favorite. Some you only mentioned casually, like an afterthought. Pads, and a stuffed plush bunny on top of it all.
"Didn’t know what you use, but I remember Julia buying those. 'nd I asked one of the female staff 'bout it." Again, that flat, factual tone like he didn’t just make your heart crack a bit.
Tears spring to your eyes as you look up to meet his again. You feel your bottom lip start quivering, vision getting blurry "andy...how'd you even know?"
"You mentioned it a week ago. Complained 'bout how it'd probably happen soon, 'nd 'cause you acted off t'last few days, thought sorta that would be the reason."
Letting out a small, choked up sound that sounded a bit too much like a sob, you wrapped your arms around his middle and pressed your face into his broad, strong chest, dampening his shirt.
Following this, he runs you a bath. Embarrassment filled your body at the way he was watching you undress, blood trickling down your thighs. Sure, he'd be awkward talking about it, like with so many things, but his movements are steady. Unbothered.
Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, he massages the shampoo into your scalp. And while the conditioner sets, and you try your best to relax in the warm, bubbly water, he starts cleaning up a bit. Putting the clothes you left on the floor into the washing machine and turning it on, making sure they don't stain, cleaning the dishes you couldn't find the energy to do, fixing the couch and wiping down the coffee table. Knowing how much more comfortable you feel in a clean, tidy enviroment, not to mention it comes naturally to him.
Hands under your arms as he helps you stand up and dry off, putting on the clothes he picked out beforehand.
Pope wraps his thick arms around the back of your thighs, picking you up and walking to the kitchen. You find yourself sitting on the counter top, while your boyfriend grabs a glass from the cabinet and turns to the sink to fill it, before handing it to you. "Here, drink up. What d'you wanna eat?" Pope says, already pulling out his phone, already opening the delivery app.
Not much later you find yourself on the couch, wrapped up in blankets, sitting on his lap sideways, facing the tv. Half empty pizza cartons in the kitchen, snacks spread out on the coffee table for whenever you feel like it.
Andrews warm, heavy hand rubbing circles over the soft skin of your tummy and up and down your thigh, occasionally coming down to massage your fuzzy-sock-covered feet, the other arm wrapped around you to keep you close. Head against his shoulder, holding the plushed bunny he got you, you finally feel at ease.
And Pope? Feels his heart swell, pride and warmth coursing through him at you trusting him to hold you like this. "Pretty girl..." You can hear him quietly mumble more to himself than anyone else, before pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
And when you need space, when everything feels too hot, too loud, too much because of the pain coursing through your body making you feel sick and dizzy, you'd catch his hands quickly move to mute the tv, then tense and fidget helplessly at not being able to keep you from pain. Like it's his most important job in life.
So he does what he can and lies next to you. Not touching, not talking, just being there.
A comforting presence to let you know he's there, and he's not going anywhere.
Jack Abbot who immediatly notices the attitude you got going on, but doesn't do much to correct it at first. He's just oh so patient with his baby.
Jack Abbot who's slowly getting frustrated nonetheless, especially when you start making bratty comments like you're sooo sure he won't put you over his knee.
Jack Abbot who finally cracks when you both get home, putting his hands up in a defensive and straight-up done demeanour "alright I don't know what's going on with you today, but that attitude's gotta go. I'm patient with you baby, but cut it out." Voice strict and clearly not up for debate.
Jack Abbot who immediatly feels like an ass when he sees your eyes gloss over, nose getting all sniffly "'M sorry. 'M sorry, I- I don't know what's going on-"
Jack Abbot who's expression softens when he hears your voice, like a child who just got scolded for acting out of line.
Jack Abbot who right away wraps his big arms around you, palm flat against your back, rubbing soothing circles. "Shhh...it's okay baby, it's okay. I'm not mad, I promise. Jackie's not mad."
Jack Abbot who immediatly knows what's going on when you start crying about backpain all day. Stinging Pain on your left lower tummy, and exhaustion written all over your face.
Jack Abbot who does everything for you after that. Help you shower, pick out your clothes and sets your hygienic products out on the counter for when the inevitable happend tonight.
Jack Abbot who ends up on his bed with you sitting between his legs, one of his large, heavy palms splayed over your tummy, softly rubbing up and down. The warmth of his body pressed to your back, soothing the pain still lingering there. You're holding one of your stuffed animals he got you on one of your dates, blanket wrapped around your shoulders and one of your comfort movies playing infront of you. Belly full from the food he'd ordered earlier, leftovers in the fridge after he cleaned the dishes.
Jack Abbot who lives to take care of you. Makes him feel complete. At ease. And who nothing can scare off, not even a bad attitude.
