◅ Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody x wife fem!reader ▻
summary: you and pope find out that you're pregnant. again. after all these years, your husband still can't help but get excited about you having another one of his kids. and he'll do just about anything for some alone time to celebrate.
contains: MDNI! so much married fluff, pope and reader are sooo in love and have four kids, none of them have names bc thats for you to decide! youngest has a nickname though, reader throws up from morning sickness, pregnancy reveal, no explicit smut but: erections incoming, sex mentioned, orgasm talk, foreplay thats maybe primal? (idk he chases her lol), talks of being horny annndd thats it i think!
wc: 3.4 k & masterlist
“How was drop off?” You hum from your place in the kitchen when you hear your husband get back from taking your three oldest kids to daycare.
Pope grimaces as he shuts shuts the front door behind him, and moves through the living room, “The twins decided they hate it there. They roped in their previously innocent younger sister to start a ‘we want home’ chant.”
“Sounds about right,” You giggle as you bring a spoonful of baby food to your youngest sons lips in his high chair.
Today was an absolute mess. One of the most hectic mornings to date, in fact.
Your 5 year olds, the twins, refused to let you dress them in matching outfits but also vetoed different ones. After you begged on your hands and knees for them to just put some clothing on, they landed on the same shirt but different colored bottoms.
Then your middle child, the 3 year old, who was usually quiet and sleepy in the mornings, decided to splash your husband with so much water in the tub that he had to change. Twice. Screaming from bath times' start to finish.
Thankfully, they have daycare five days a week, and because it's a weekday, you got to ship the crazy trio off to school. Getting to spend the second half of your unbelievably early morning with your one year old.
Pope shrugs off his jacket, leaving him in a tight black t-shirt and jeans. He's already dropped the car keys in their dedicated tray by the time he presses a soft kiss to your temple. Before you can formally greet each other, his gaze snags onto the mess his son is making, whose chubby little cheeks are coated in mushy carrots and peas, onesie stained so aggressively you can barely see the yellow lions on it.
“Food is ‘sposed to go in your mouth, grumpy,” Pope takes a thick thumb and carefully wipes off a big glob of mush from your sons button nose.
'Grumpy' is the nickname one of the twins gave their new baby brother when he came out of the womb having the exact same twisted scowl as their daddy.
You nudge your shoulder into Popes side with a small huff, “He’s trying his best.” You then turn your attention back to the angel in the high chair, "Aren’t you sweet boy? Yes you are! Yes you-"
Your baby talk effectively dies in your throat when you feel bile replacing it suddenly. Your stomach lurches at the same time you do, slapping a palm over your mouth, dropping the tiny spoon you were mid airplaning and diving for the sink.
Once you’re done vomiting up the half cup of coffee and the single blueberry that fell off your middle child's plate that you’ve eaten since 5 am, you sag against the sink.
"What's wrong? Are you sick?" Pope steps behind you to grip your forearms, keeping you upright, immediately concerned and wanting to fix the problem.
You lean back against his body and breathe for a second. Letting his strong chest and warmth flood your senses enough to quell the uneasiness in your belly.
"No, I don't think so," You answer truthfully. "I've just been super nauseous the past few…"
You trail off as the familiar puzzle pieces fall into place as they have done many times before since you've been married to Pope Cody.
You slowly turn around to face him, your features morph into a wide eyed, horrified gape.
"Oh my god..." You breathe and thats all you can manage.
Pope's hazel eyes literally light up, but his face stays in its usual tight expression. You can tell it's because he doesn't want to speak to soon.
You had never believed your husband to be a superstitious man, but before you had even had kids, you once you thought you were pregnant, and he got so excited that he bought you a big ass SUV so you could- in his own words- 'drive all his kids around when he's not there to'.
You hadn't been pregnant, though. You found Pope crying in the shower after you told him it was a false positive. You made him and yourself feel better by having a whole lot of shower sex that did irreparable damage to your water bill that month. But the two of didn't even end up caring, because three weeks later, a real positive showed up on a pregnancy test.
Grumpy babbles from his high chair and you realize you and Pope are still just staring at each other wordlessly. After another beat, he blinks and his jaw works just once, “Go take one right now.”
You know what he's referring to. One of the many pregnancy tests you have lying around the house due to the literal sports team you have been popping out.
Going to the bathroom, finding a test and taking it is all a blur. It all becomes clear again when you shuffle back into the kitchen.
"Oh my god!" You shriek in disbelief and utter exhaustion when you flash him the test with two lines so dark you feel another wave of nausea threaten to spill over.
"How could you do this to me again!”
A smile finally breaks onto Pope's face. A big goofy one that shows off the crooked teeth and crinkling eyes that you love so much that got you into this mess in the first place.
This particular smile he's sporting is one that you’ve only seen a few times with him. The first was when you said you would go out with him, the second was when you told him you loved him back, and then it appeared every single time you found out you were pregnant.
You knew what day this pregnancy came from. It was the last time you had sex, which was three weeks ago. A quickie in the laundry room during everyones nap time.
You squint at him. Throwing up an accusing finger and taking a step back when he reaches for you.
“I told you you should’ve worn a condom!” You practically hiss.
Not that you really care your pregnant again.
You’re truly always excited to have kids with Pope. Obviously... because you have so many. But right now, it’s barely 8 am and you’re pretty sure that your throw up further clogged the garbage disposal that one of the twins shoved blocks down this morning.
Pope blinks at you, scrunching his handsome face up as if he genuinely doesn't understand the notion, “You’re my wife. ‘m not using a fucking condom.”
"Andrew!" You gasp as he finally closes in on you. "Grumpy is right there!”
You let him tightly wrap his arms around you. Because you're tired, nauseous and now a type a nervous that you haven't felt in over a year. His hold is the only thing that keeps you sane in this moment.
He presses his face into your neck, “ ’S fine.”
Your hands encircle his tree trunk waist, grip probably too tight and exposing your worry, but Pope doesn't say anything.
You glance to your youngest son who is your husbands pocket sized version, then whisper into Pope's chest, "No cursing. He’s old enough to hear words and repeat them.”
Pope presses his body further into yours as if trying to meld the two of you together. Your cheeks heat as you feel the hardness of him that's now standing at full attention against you. The heavy weight of his bulge brings pressure on the outside of your belly and pools warmth inside of it.
Pope's breath tickles your neck, “You think he’s old enough to look after himself while mommy and daddy go cuddle?”
Cuddle.
The word the two of you started using when the twins started catching onto to when their parents started kissing and pawing at each other in the kitchen and then abruptly called for everyone’s bed time at 7:30 pm.
You pull back and swat at his shoulder, “Andrew!” feigning incredulity even though you have to discreetly squeeze your thighs together.
“Cmon, I’ll be quick,” he says through the kisses he starts leaving on your neck.
You snort, “Romantic.” You manage to steel your mind just enough to push Pope off and the thought of getting to mount him as you cross the kitchen to your baby boy. “You better not’ve been serious about leaving our one year old unattended, or mommy will never cuddle with you ever again.”
Despite your threat, you see Pope bite his lip when you call yourself mommy.
He slowly looks you up and down. Even with your hair slightly wet from your first shower in days, baby food accompanying the throw up on your face, and one of his giant t-shirts hanging off your shoulder, the heat still simmers in his eyes. Needy and hot. It makes your face grow warm and you have to turn away from him.
After a beat of him silent behind you, you hear him grunt dramatically.
He mutters, “Fine. I guess can wait until Friday.”
Which is when you’ll drop the kids off at your parents house. It’s your designated date night (even though you never even leave the bedroom). But you’ve missed almost a whole months worth because one of the twins having a fever one night and then there was a toddler ballet recital the next and all that other wonderful parenting crap. So you’re both… pent up, to say the least.
His footsteps sulk out of the kitchen and stalk upstairs behind you, huffing and puffing as he goes.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as all the heated anticipation leaves your body. You glance at the calendar covered in parent teacher conference sand sports events that hangs on the fridge.
Okay, it's Monday. You can wait four days. Right??
Your focus lands on Grumpy, you then realize that Andrew had finished feeding him while you were upstairs peeing on a stick. The familiar steady ease of Pope being your rock in this marriage has some of the anxiety about being pregnant again fade away.
"Da," Grumpy chirps.
You pick him up and nuzzle his nose with yours, “I know. Daddy is so dramatic, isn’t he?”
Your one year old giggles as if he agrees with you.
About a half an hour later, Pope is upstairs changing Grumpy as you empty the dishwasher. Your husband held onto his scowl he passed onto your youngest the whole time, throwing a fit that he can't have sex with his wife after finding out she's pregnant with his kid.
You had rolled your eyes and given him a quick kiss on the cheek after you brushed your teeth, then came downstairs to tidy up the mess that your children left in the living room and kitchen this morning.
Your brow furrows as an unexpected knock comes from the font door, and that furrow deepens when your neighbor, who you ask to babysit sometimes when no one else is around, is on the other side of it.
"Oh, Hi Bertha," You can't hide the confusion in your tone. "Can I help you?"
She nods once, big framed silver glasses that match her hair slide down her long nose, "I'm here for baby Cody."
You open your mouth to tell her you have no idea what she's talking about, but are interrupted by Pope appearing from behind you. He has Grumpy and a diaper bag in hand.
"Thanks," He says curtly as he hands off your baby boy. "The family matter isn't too serious, so we should we only be two-” then his gaze flicks to yours and his mouth quirks sideways to hold back his smirk and he corrects himself, “-maybe three hours.”
Your jaw drops. Not entirely believing that your husband lied about a family emergency just so he can get some alone time with you. But before you can say anything, Pope plants a kiss to Grumpy's cheek, mutters a goodbye to Bertha, and slams the door.
After a single blink of gawking at him, you throw your hands up.
You absentmindedly take a few steps backwards as you shriek, “Oh my god!" You continue to wave your hands around until your opposite him, the coffee table sitting in between you. "You’re unbelievable, Andrew!”
Your husband simply shrugs, “Decided I couldn’t wait.”
You scoff, the delirium of being a mother of four and the apprehension coming from the prospect of a fifth already starting a tiring mental battle in your mind.
“I am not having sex with you! It’s barely 9am and you just-" pregnancy brain kicks into overdrive and frustration bubbles up as you fight to string a sentence together- "You just carted off our youngest son to our neighbor!”
Pope scoffs in response, as if you would ever actually deny him. Annoyance prickles up your spine, adding to your already formed aggravation.
This man has the nerve to get you pregnant again and be all smug about it?
When he tries to round the coffee table to reach you, you step away, crossing your arms and basically glaring at him.
Pope raises a brow. He takes another step forward, you take another step back. After a second of confusion, a mischievous glint darkens his eyes.
He licks his lips, “Hmmm you haven’t played hard to get in a long while sweetheart.”
Your breath catches.
This is... not where you were expecting this to go.
You manage to fake an eye roll, trying to act as if his words didn't make your stomach tighten, “I’m not playing hard to get. It’s not happening.”
The words don’t fall as stern as you’d like them to, because you feel a dull throbbing sensation starting to build up in between your legs.
Damn your husband and his sexy face, voice and body.
A sly smile overtakes his face as the two of you start to slowly circle the coffee table. Pope's voice morphs into a taunt that send goosebumps across the back of your neck. “Wanna make me work for it? Okay honey, I’ll work for it. Don't gotta worry 'bout that.”
Nervous laughter bubbles out of you as you try to fend off the flush of arousal that he’s probably already spotting from a mile away.
A tense game of cat and mouse ensues as you round a corner and he rounds the opposite one. Over and over and over.
“You don’t need to work for anything. We’re not having sex.” You get even more irritated when your voice waivers embarrassingly on the last three words. Your husband tracks the sound and hunches over slightly, as if he is literally trying to snatch you up you like a hunter catches an animal.
You don't really want to think about why it sends a rush of dampness to the boxers- his boxers- that you're wearing.
You have to stay strong. Follow through with your scolding. Why can't you ever deny him? Probably because he has the biggest-
Pope dawns a casual look. Nonchalant almost. But his eyes stay blazed as they take in your skittish steps and uneven breathes.
A shrug accompanies his next wide stalk around the corner of the wooden table, “Alright. Stop walkin' away from me then.”
You feel your body betray you, growing all hot and fuzzy in wicked anticipation as you try to steady your voice, “I will. Once you stop following me.”
His movements falter for a second, thinking about it. He looks at you, then the remaining space between you, and opens his mouth.
“Nah.”
He lunges for you.
Reacting instinctively, you yelp and jump sideways out of his reach that grazes your waist. You land parallel to him across the table once again.
He groans as if this is the sexiest foreplay he could ever ask for, “Fuck sweetheart. You want me to chase you?”
How did you end up here? Weren't you just throwing up in the sink??
Damn these pregnancy and postpartum hormones that make Pope Cody even more irresistible.
While you are very flustered by the ridiculousness of the whole scenario, you are also, very turned on.
You've completely forgotten why you said no to sex in the first place at this point. The only notion that rings clear in your mind is that you really, really want him to chase you.
“N-no.” A lie.
Your hesitation has him chuckle darkly, “My day just keeps gettin’ better.” It’s spoken quiet, meant for his inner thoughts but slips through the cracks in the heat of the moment.
Pope slowly eyes you up like you’re his prey and then he cocks his chin up once. A vague gesture to the rest of the house that sits behind you.
His already deep voice drops an impossible amount of octaves as he rasps, “Better get movin’ sweetheart.”
Your eyes widen. Heart dropping all the way into the basement where only Pope goes because theres crickets down there.
You turn and bolt through the living room before he can make his next move.
A disbelieving gasp-shriek sounds from you as you run as fast as you can through the first floor of the house he bought you.
The exhilarating rush you get at the though of him chasing you has your heartbeat thump in your ears and somewhere else you don't need to dignify with naming. You haven't looked back once as you reach the bottom of the stairs.
Your racing mind has half a thought that you've gained some distance, but then you hear Pope's heavy footsteps thud behind you in the hallway.
Then up the stairs.
Then into your bedroom.
You squeal like a school girl when he finally gets his hands on you.
Pope- gently because he would never actually hurt you- throws you onto the bed, easily pinning you under him within seconds.
He has one large hand holding both of your own over your head. The rest of his body is pressed on top of you, faces inches apart. You feel your hearts rapidly beat against each other as you're chest to chest.
“You can never outrun me,” His rough whisper ghosts your lips, making you realize you haven't kissed all morning.
You close the gap and place featherlight kiss to his mouth. Your voice is delicate despite what you just did and the position he now has you in, “I never want to.”
All the buzz starts to settle in your body. Melting into a safe and glowy feeling that engulfs you and your soulmate.
He stares at you for a second when you pull back. The heat in his gaze melts into something different. Something softer.
He exhales through his nose, gulping audibly as he mumbles what he always does when he finds out you're pregnant.
“Thanks for givin' me another one.”
You smirk at him, wrapping your legs around his thick waist tightly, “Could be two again.”
You giggle at the pleasure coated groan that sounds from him at the thought.
Pope presses his face into your neck, pressing his hips into you. When you feel the large bulge that has made it's way back into his jeans, you know just how much he liked that thought.
He places hot kisses up your neck until you’re squirming beneath him. He says lowly into through kisses, “I love you so much.”
You whisper back, “I love you too, Andrew.”
“So much," he continues. "Too much. I wish there was a way I could show you how much.” His breath is warm on your skin, the affection only you see from him sends your heart fluttering.
Pope means it sweetly. A true testament to romance.
But there’s still some adrenaline coursing through you from the chase, so you can’t help but tease, “You could give me an orgasm for each kid?”
He exhales a sharp laugh against your collarbone then drops his hand, releasing both of yours. Your fingers automatically shoot up into his auburn curls with their newfound freedom.
His lips twitch upwards when he pulls back to meet your eyes. He softly presses his lips to yours, murmuring, “Sounds like a good start.”
“Start?” you raise a brow at him.
Pope grinds his hips firmly into yours, drawing a soft moan from you. His tone gets serious. Determined.
"Honey, I bought us over two hours of alone time. I plan on giving you three times the amount of our kids.”
authors note: no smut lol sorry but i am obsessed with the idea of husband pope who is so in love and comfortable with you teehee! i never write fluff idek if this is fluff because its literally all about sex lmao. anywayssss let me know if i should so like a mini series about this little universe AND if yall want a part two where they actually have sex when pope finds out its twins again?!?!??!
