a sense of warmth, pride bloomed in his chest every time you placed yourself in his embrace. sitting on his lap, taking his arms to wrap them around your waist or guide his hand to slide in the back pocket of your pants while you pressed into him at any given moment. sitting in deran's bar, on a stool with pope standing beside you when a girl walks by making eyes at him, he couldn't describe the exact reason why he felt the carnal need to pound you into the next day when you tugged him by the belt loops of his jeans until he stood between your legs. or even why he felt himself stiffening his jeans when you slid your hand on his hip beneath his shirt, nails grazing his abdomen and v-line, tugging him down by his hair with your freehand to kiss him heatedly. slipping your tongue in his mouth, kissing like two teenagers who've had their first taste of each others flesh, all the while you're staring the poor girl down who thought she could ever stand a chance against coming between you and him. he felt a small inkling to maybe say something when he watched you stick your foot out and smirk watching the girl tumble. the poor girl who was pancaked on the floor had brushed up against him in her drunken stupor while making her way around the pool. but he couldn't, not when you looked at him so sickeningly sweet.

he definitely should've checked you on the bratty possessive behavior when he brought you back home for the typical cody family dinner. baz had brought cath so it was only right that he brought you along. over the years, cath's resentment towards baz for the life he had brought her into had grew tenfold when she watched you take the life she could've had with pope. of course, she never loved pope the way that you did, the way he deserved. it didn't stop her from feeling like maybe there was a chance to get that back. it was only a moment, to anyone else it was fleeting but to you, to you it was like time had frozen and you were seeing red. pope was on his usual cleaning frenzy after dinner and cath came into "help". the context of situation was irrelevant, all you could focus on was the way she was looking at him, hand on his arm and eyes desperately searching for any indication that maybe he'd want her still. their backs were to you when you slammed the wine glass onto the floor, shattering it to millions of glittering pieces. pope's body jumps a bit at the sheer surprise before he's immediately rushing over to check on you, tears welling in your eyes as you mumble 'm'so sorry'. cath's hand drops to her side as she watches the way coddled you, checking for cuts and making sure your okay. he had dropped his attention from her so quickly their should've been no doubt in her mind that the version of pope that loved her wasn't there anymore. she should've really known when she saw the cold stare in your eyes when just for a beat, you pulled back the sniffling so she could really see who pope belonged to.

even more so, cath should've know when she passed by pope's bedroom where the door was cracked ever so slightly. in his haste to taking you back to his bedroom, you seemingly forgot to close his bedroom door all the way. pinning your body beneath his as his pants pooled around his ankles, your bottoms discarded somewhere in the room in the room as he fucks you. your nails are clawing at his back, crying his name with every slap of his hips against yours, cunt drawing him in deeper with squeeze and desperate plea that slipped past your lips. your eyes drifted to that crack, seeing her standing there. tears slipped out of yours.

"you love me andy? do-do you love me?" the question is for him but you're looking dead at her.

"love you so fucking much, angel," he grunts into your neck, punctuating every word with a wet kiss to your neck. his thrusts unrelenting.

"only me andy? you only love me right?" it's desperate, needy. he was right in the palm of your hand but the fear and doubt lingered in the back of your mind. you haven't torn your gaze away, the pleasure so intoxicating it's playing games with your vision. if she was really standing there watching you both like this.

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.”

Being married to Jack Abbot was a dream come true. 

He was kind, empathetic, passionate, patient, fantastic in bed, and (this is just a theory) psychic. 

Or you might just be easy to read. Either way, he almost always seemed to know what you needed or wanted at any given moment. 

God forbid you wanted to surprise him with anything, either. He could sniff out any sort of deception, even if it was well intentioned, like some sort of emotional or mental bloodhound.

Jack was also always prepared for almost everything. He had supplies and a game plan for almost every situation and scenario that could possibly come up. Mass casualty incident? Camo duffel in the coat closet by the front door. You had a hard day? Bubble bath kit under his sink in the bathroom. 

 Combine all of that together and you’d never been able to surprise him. Ever. 

Things were changing ever so slowly, though. Now, the two of you had been together for 7 years now, married for 4, so the playing field was starting to level out. You found yourself able to sift through his facial expressions and body language, deciphering some of the thoughts that crossed his mind. Some of it was the familiarity of your everyday routine, any deviation clueing you into something festering on his mind. Some of it was just knowing your husband so intimately in a way that could only come with time.

And even though you were as close to an expert as one could be in Jack Abbot, you still missed some of the more subtle things. 

But there was nothing subtle about this. You’d have to have been blind to miss the longing in his eyes anytime the two of you were anywhere close to a baby. It was impossible not to notice how his usually stoic and analytical hazel eyes softened at the sight of their tiny waving hands, the corners of his lips curving up when they cooed, his gaze instinctively snapping towards a crying infant while his shoulders tensed. 

Those signs had given you a rather obvious hint, but the final nail in the coffin had been when your sister and her wife had visited from Philly a few months ago. They had some sort of business to take care of in Pittsburgh, so you’d offered to watch their 6 month old son. Jack had been out running errands when he’d been dropped off. When he walked through the door, grocery bags in hand, you’d watched him freeze out of the corner of your eye. There you were, in your shared kitchen, balancing the baby on your hip, talking to the child about nothing in particular while you stirred a pot on the stove. 

Jack had unfrozen quickly, but you’d noticed. You noticed everything for the rest of the day until your sister came to collect her child. How Jack swallowed hard anytime you held the baby, how he nearly melted when you cooed and played peek-a-boo, how his eyes stayed locked for just a moment too long on the teeny tiny pair of shoes in his hands before he passed them off to your sister.

Jack Abbot wanted a baby.

And you wanted to finally be able to catch your husband off guard. 

 And now his 50th birthday was coming up, and you had a great gift planned. And if everything went according to your carefully crafted plan, you’d be able to give him an even better gift next year. 

Step 1: remove the biggest obstacle.

Being a doctor married to a doctor made the biggest part of your plan both easier and harder. 

You started on Monday. His birthday fell on Friday, and the two of you very conveniently had the following 4 days off. But not before working opposite shifts every day the rest of the week.

That was part luck, part planning on your end. You’d gladly agreed to cover Al Hashimi’s shifts while the ED was down a day shift attending since she was going to a conference. Jack had not been thrilled, but your sacrifice meant the two of you could enjoy an extra-long weekend staycation. He’d grumbled about it for a solid 3 days before finally settling down.

It also gave you time to make a trip upstairs to gynecology while your husband was fast asleep at home and none the wiser.

All it took was a quick lie to Robby about a routine pap smear and a favor called in from a friend upstairs and you were seated with your legs hiked up in stirrups. 

“You know, I really did not ever need to see your vagina,” Joan, your gynecologist friend, was grumbling as she completed the procedure. 

“You’re the only one I could ask who wouldn’t spill the beans,” your eyes stayed glued on the ceiling. “Everyone else is either a resident and not willing to bend the rules, or older and more loyal to him.”

“This is a hospital,” her expression was unimpressed. “There are no sides, no one is more loyal to him.”

“Yes the fuck they are,” you lowered your legs as she gave you the all clear. “Why do you think I told Robby I was getting a pap smear?”

“Becuase telling your husband's best friend, who is your boss by the way, that you were going to get your contraception removed so that said husband can fuck you six ways to sunday for his birthday is inappropriate workplace conversation,” she turned her back to you, depositing the device in a specimen jar before beginning to clean every thing up.

“That is true,” you conceded, “and Robby’s a snitch.”

“I still can’t believe you’re actually going to give him your IUD for his birthday,” Joan shook her head. “Isn’t that a little gross?”

“I’m obviously going to clean it!” You tugged your black scrubs up, wincing a little at the dull ache in your lower stomach. “Plus, it’ll be romantic. And shouldn’t you be more sex-positive? You’re a fucking gynocologist.”

“Romantic,” her voice was deadpan. “And I am plenty sex-positive. Especially unprotected sex. Creates more patients for me. Kinda like a dentist who recommends nothing but sugar.”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling as you watched her move back to the counter. “Glad to see you are faithfully committed to your oath.”

“Here,” she handed you a little cup with two white pills, choosing to ignore you. “Tylenol. You don’t get anything stronger since you insisted on doing this mid shift.”

“Thanks,” you swallowed them dry. “For the pills and for doing this for me. I can’t have him figuring this out before. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“I know I always wanted a used medical device for my biggest milestone birthdays,” she grumbled to herself as she wrote down her notes on a sheet of paper. “I’ll wait to put this in your chart until after your insemination.”

“Now you’re making it gross,” your face scrunched up. “Most normal people refer to that as ‘trying for a baby’ you know.”

“Yeah sure. Now, get out of my department and go back to your zoo,” she waved her hand dismissively, fighting a smile the whole time.

Step 2: stay strong.

Now with the most important part of your plan complete, you simply had to make it through the next week without Jack catching on. Even with your separate schedules, that was easier said than done.

Monday night at shift change you were desperately trying to hide the cramps wracking your abdomen as you walked the night shift through handovers alongside Robby.

Jack noticed immediately.

“You ok, baby?” He’d pulled you aside the second the handover was completed, his hand resting on your hip as he guided the two of you into a semi secluded corner.

“Yeah I’m ok,” you couldn’t fight the grimace as another wave washed over you. You really shouldn’t have skipped that second dose of acetaminophen during the 4pm rush. “Just cramping.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Jack frowned, his eyes sweeping over you more intently. His focus flicked between your lower stomach and your face.

“You’re not supposed to start your period for another 3 weeks.”

“It’s still a little odd that you track them so closely,” you tried to brush him off, shrugging.

“I’m a doctor and you’re my wife,” Jack cracked a grin as your eyes narrowed. “You’re my wife who is also a doctor. An amazing one.”

You gave him a kiss for that, quick and chaste and the most PDA you’d dare express in the ED.

 “My IUD is due for replacement in a few months,” you couldn’t beat back a rising smile, fueled by both his care and the knowledge of what you were planning. “It’s probably starting to go and make me irregular.”

“Get that checked out, ok?” His hands cupped your face. 

“I will, Jack, I promise.”

“Good we-” he swallowed hard, smile faltering ever so slightly. “We don’t want you to be… unprotected.”

The regret in his voice and the twinge of hope in his eyes as he said unprotected only reinforced what you already knew. He really wanted this. 

God, you couldn’t wait to tell him. You weren’t sure if you’d ever been more excited to give a gift before.

Warmth flooded through you at the thought of how he’d react. Would there be happy tears? Maybe he’d simply bend you over the nearest surface, eager to get started. He’d probably double and triple check that you were sure. Jack always did that, no matter how many times you reassured him that you wanted him, you needed him. Like he still couldn’t believe you were his just as much as he was yours.

Thankfully, his mind reading seemed to fail for a moment. Likely because of the cramp that gripped you midway through your rumination, hiding your true expression behind a grimace. 

“I’m ok, Jack,” with one more kiss, you were untangling yourself from him. “I’m going to go sleep for twelve hours. I love you.”

“Alright,” he followed you as you gathered your things and headed towards the ambulance bay. “Text me when you get home. If you forget again, I’m not making that pasta you like for a month.”

“Empty threats,” you pecked his cheek on your way past him. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

“I love you,” the love written so plainly on his face as you walked away from him and out those doors made you almost want to run back and tell him everything.

Maybe that was why you were semi-convinced he was psychic. It was probably less about an alleged supernatural ability and more about your face being easy to read and your lips unable to keep a secret, combined with the fact that you had resigned yourself to your husband being all-knowing. 

In your defense, you’d seen Jack level patients and colleagues and even yourself with that look. Head titled, eyes narrowed, eyebrows lifted, that signature confidence combined with a small sigh of disapproval when he knew he wasn’t getting the whole story. It made everyone spill their guts eventually. No one held out very long.

But he hadn’t used that look on you since you’d been his resident years ago. You were all too aware that the bastard had long since learned that all he had to do was give you a soft smile and tell you he loved you and you melted immediately.

And normally, you didn’t have anything to keep from him. Normally, it was mildly irritating if he managed to figure out 

But you had to stay strong.

Step 3: final preparations.

Surprisingly, you did actually manage to hold out. All the way until Friday.

Jack had the overnight shift from Thursday to Friday, but you were done and clear. A full body shower and shave was followed by a few episodes of the trashiest reality TV you could find until it was officially your bed time. You texted him a simple “Happy birthday baby” at 12:01 am before grabbing what little sleep you could before he inevitably came home just as the sun was rising. 

At just past 7:30 am, your husband was crawling into the sheets, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arm around your waist as the heat of his bare chest warmed you from the inside out.

You were drifting in that blissfully in that half aware state between sleep and wakefulness as he pressed light kisses along the side of your neck available to him. A soft hum left your lips as you arched back into him, body already aching for him. 

But you couldn’t give in.

Not yet, at least. As much as it pained you to deny him the sleepy morning sex you’d grown to crave, especially on his birthday, you couldn’t let him fuck you until you’d given him your present. And you couldn’t give him your present until you had made him dinner and slipped on that beautiful white matching set you’d bought.

So you had to stall. Redirect. Get him to actually get a decent amount of rest for once in his life, so you could ride him off into the sunset.

“Happy birthday, handsome,” your hand reached back to run your fingers through his loose curls.

“Very happy birthday to me, indeed,” his grip on your waist tightened as his front pressed even more firmly against your back. You could just barely feel the faint beginnings of hardness through the thin material of his boxers.

“Uh-uh,” you twisted in his grip. Shifting until you were face to face, you pressed a long, slow kiss to his lips. He sighed into your mouth, allowing you to take the lead as his tongue swiped against yours.

 “You need to sleep. You’re exhausted.”

He grumbled as you pulled away, his half lidded eyes flipping between the exhaustion of a week of 12 hour nights shifts and pure desire as he looked at you wrapped in his arms.

Jack had once told you that this was when you looked the most beautiful. Sleepy, wearing just his t-shirt and a pair of underwear with your hair a mess, snuggled in the sheets of your shared bed. He had called the domesticity of it addictive, had said he couldn’t get enough of the quiet moments like this, tangled together with the outside world locked away. The two of you just existing in that warm, heady feeling of safety and security, wrapped up in each other for hours.

You’d always thought you understood. You’d agreed that the soft moments surrounded by his love in the home two of you had built were the best, but you were starting to think you never really got it until now. The idea of your family, of it growing beyond just the small, two person unit the two of you had become over these years, was electrifying. 

God, you wanted that. You’d already given him your heart. You wanted to give him everything.

“I’m not too tired to make you feel good,” his hand slid from your hip down to dip beneath the hem of your underwear.

It took every ounce of self control to grab his wrist, stopping him. 

“No,” you gave him one more soft kiss before you were pushing him back to lie flat. Throwing one of your legs over his, you curled into his side. He let out a sigh of disappointment as your head rested on his chest, but he was still curling his freckled arms around you to hold you close. “We are going to sleep now. And then, tonight, I am going to make you dinner. Then you get to open your present, and then you can fuck me. However you want, as many times as you want.”

“You’re so cruel,” you couldn’t see his face but you could hear the smile in his voice as he pressed a kiss to your hair. Already, you could tell he was starting to drift off. “But fine. As long as I get to have you for dessert.”

His voice, low and gravelly, vibrating through his chest had your panties growing increasingly uncomfortable. His sturdy thigh pressed between your legs certainly wasn’t helping, but you could do this. You were a grown woman, a doctor of emergency medicine. You had the willpower to make it 10 more hours without jumping your husband.

When you woke around 1pm, Jack was still dead to the world. His lips were parted, hair mussed, and his breaths deep and even. Despite the gray making his curls much more salt than pepper, he looked younger like this. 

You gave yourself a moment to take him in before slipping out of the bed and his grasp.

It was time to make the last few preparations.

Your movements were as quiet as you could make them as you got dressed. With one last glance at his sleeping form, you slipped out the front door.

Grocery shopping went smoothly, the bakery passed off the small bourbon chocolate cake you’d ordered with little fuss, and the jeweler down the road didn’t even charge you for the little black velvet box. They had a million of them, she’d said, no big deal.

You were back home by 3:30pm. Jack was up and awake by then, making himself a cup of coffee when you strolled in, arms laden with grocery bags. For just a second, you let your eyes trail over him. He was facing away, giving you a beautiful view of the freckles dusting his muscled back. The sweatpants riding low on his hips, the right leg tied in a knot to stop the hem from dragging, hid the strength and shape of his ass and legs from you, but your imagination filled in the gaps. 

“Done objectifying me yet?” Jack just barely looked over his shoulder as he continued to fiddle with the machine before him.

“Never,” you set the bags down, giving his ass a slap as you moved past.

He laughed, reaching for his crutches as he moved to follow you back out to the driveway. 

“Let me help you with the bags.”

“Not a chance,” you blocked the doorway. “Go sit down and enjoy your day off.”

He looked like he was going to argue for a moment, but then he acquiesced. With one, chaste kiss to your lips, he moved back to the counter. 

Jack was stubborn, though, so he started unloading the grocery bags, placing ingredients in their rightful places.

You watched him move through the space for just a moment before you returned to your car to grab the last few bags and the box with the cake. The jewelry box was tucked into the back pocket of your denim shorts, hidden by your oversized shirt as you deposited everything else onto the counter, next to the first batch of empty bags. Jack had disappeared from the kitchen, but he walked out of the bedroom just as you began to organize the ingredients you needed, his leg fastened on.

“What are you gonna make me?” Jack had settled back against the counter after you swatted his hands away from the cake box, trying to keep his fingers out of the frosting while he tried to steal a taste. He was lazily sipping his coffee, eyes watching as you fluttered about, retrieving some of the items that you needed.

“Steak,” you held up the meat wrapped in butcher paper as you pulled it from the bag. “Cabbage,” his nose wrinkled and your eyes rolled. For a brief moment, you really considered throwing the vegetable at him. “Relax, you big baby. Cabbage au gratin. Lots of cheese and that cream sauce you like.”

“Hmm, ok,” he was smirking over the rim of his mug. “What else?”

“What else? What, that’s not enough for you?” 

He set the coffee down, closing the small distance between the two of you so his hands could rest on your hips, chest pressing into your back. You panicked for a moment as his lips met your clothed shoulder, hoping and praying that he didn’t notice the box in your pocket. It was still empty, but you didn’t want to give him any hints about your plan.

“I’m gonna need a lot of energy tonight, baby,” his hands slid underneath your shirt to rest against your bare stomach as he nosed at your hair, his breath brushing over your ear. “I’m pretty sure I was promised however I want, as many times as I want.”

You were so close to breaking. Your resolve was hanging on by a thread. 

“And,” his hand slid farther up, cupping your breast through your bra. You could barely restrain a whine. “My dear wife decided to swap shifts. We haven’t had any… quality time in a week. I’ve got a lot of plans for you tonight, baby.”

“Jack,” your voice was weak.

“Not to mention,” his fingers squeezed your nipple through the mesh of your bra. “I wouldn’t be a very good husband if I didn’t help you get your sleep cycle back on track. Gotta get you used to working all night, baby.”

“You’ve gotta wait, Jackie,” you were arching back into him, offering no resistance as his broad hand slid to lay over the span of your stomach.

Fuck. 

The feeling of that steady, callous hand laying against the smooth skin of your lower abdomen jolted you back to reality.

You needed to wait. It wouldn’t be fair or right to fuck him before you had a conversation, plus you’d put so much thought into planning the perfect night. You couldn’t let your incubus of a husband seduce you into ruining it now.

“Jack,” your voice was stronger now. “Patience.”

He huffed a laugh against the shell of your ear, his hands tightening against you just once before letting you go and stepping back. You could very clearly see the hard length of him straining through the fabric of his pants as you turned to face him, back braced against the counter. His hands came up to land beside your hips on the stone as he caged you in.

“I don’t know what you have planned, but I might die if I don’t get my hands on you soon,” his lips laid a kiss on your cheek before he was stepping back. “I’m gonna go shower before you torture me anymore.”

Step 4: the proposition.

Jack behaved himself all throughout dinner, his hand settling at a tasteful spot on your bare thigh, exposed by the dress you’d pulled on over the lacy white set he hadn’t seen yet. Entirely appropriate compliments coming from him as you laid the cabbage, the steak, and the salad and rolls he hadn’t let you tell him about earlier before the two of you on the table.

But dinner was done, leftovers packed away, the rest of the cake returned to its box while two half-eaten slices laid before the two of you.

While he was in the shower, you’d managed to retrieve your IUD (very thoroughly sanitized, thank you very much) and place it in the jewelry box. It fit perfectly. You’d tied the box closed with a short length of red ribbon you’d acquired from the Christmas supplies stored in the spare room. 

That box had been sitting on the counter while you ate dinner and dessert, but now it sat between the two of you on the table. For the first time all week, your confidence in your plan was starting to falter.

Jack was a great man and an amazing husband. That was undeniable. He was great at so many different things. The one area he fell behind in, though, was communication.

He wasn’t necessarily bad at it, but he definitely wasn’t the best. It wasn’t that he couldn’t or didn’t communicate with you. No, it was more that he held certain things back. He didn’t let himself verbalize things when he thought he didn’t deserve them, or when he thought he was asking for too much.

He hadn’t asked you for a baby. Sure, the two of you had talked about it before getting married, as all couples should, but the conversation hadn’t resurfaced since then. That conversation had been the first time he had truly been completely open and laid bare before you. He had told you he wanted kids, more than anything, but he worried about being too old, too broken, too unavailable.

You’d assured him he was none of those things, that you wanted to start a family with him. You could see on his face that he only half believed you.

It hadn’t been a possibility right when you got married, with you just finishing your residency and settling into being an attending, along with the both of you wanting time to really settle into your relationship before broaching that topic again.

But it hadn’t been brought up again.

Suddenly, the box sitting between you felt like a bomb. What if you had overstepped? Sure, you had thought the look on his face when he saw you with a baby was longing, but what if it wasn’t? What if you were about to blow up your marriage and ruin his 50th birthday?

“Hey,” Jack’s hand came to cover yours, jerking you out of your spiral. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” your throat felt full as you looked up at him. “Just… just nervous to see if you like your present.”

He smiled at that. “I’m sure I’ll love it, baby.”

“I really hope you do.”

You could barely breathe as you watched his fingers undo the red bow keeping the box sealed. The few seconds it took for him to unwind the fabric felt like years, the soft sound of the ribbon sliding against the velvet felt like the loudest noise in the world.

The lid blocked your view of the interior of the box, but you knew exactly what it looked like. That thin plastic ‘T’ sticking up out of the slot where a ring would normally go. Stark white against the deep red interior of the little black box.

Jack’s brow scrunched up for a second as he gazed down at the object in his hands.

“Is this your-”

“Yes,” your voice was quiet when you cut him off, your eyes searching his face. He looked confused, eyes fixed on the IUD, before the expression melted into shock as he looked up at you. 

“You-” he floundered over his words, gaze rapidly flicking back and forth between you and the box. “This- you took it- what-”

For a moment, you were concerned he was having a stroke. But then he took a deep breath, set the box down, and scrubbed his hands over his face. Your nerves crept back in, unwelcome and self deprecating as the worst case scenarios ran through your mind.

“I need you to tell me exactly what this means, baby,” his hand was grabbing yours again, squeezing tight. He still looked a little shocked, but you could see his eyes lighting up with what you desperately hoped was happiness.

“I-” your throat locked down, the words stuck as your eyes locked on his.

“Words, baby,” he slipped out of his seat, settling on his knees before you.

“Jack, your leg-”

“I don’t care, I’m fine,” his hands settled on your thighs, just above your knees. His fingers dug in as he looked up at you. 

Hope. That’s what you were seeing written plain as day across his features. Hope and love and yearning.

“Baby, please,” he sounded desperate. “I need to know exactly what you meant when you gave me your IUD.”

“I -” your breath faltered for just a second as his hands squeezed tighter as the first syllable left your lips. “I want to have a baby, Jack. I want your baby.”

“Fuck,” his voice was raw and gutteral, like the curse ripped out of him involuntarily. “I want it. So badly, you have no idea.”

You couldn’t help your laugh. The sound was wet, emotion curling in your chest as the worry and anxiety fled. “Trust me, I know exactly how much you want it.”

The confusion crept back onto his face.

“You’re not subtle, Jack.”

“I’m so subtle. I’m an unreadable pillar of strength,” he was smiling, eyes still full of love and adoration.

“You were anything other than subtle with this.”

“Maybe because I want to come home to you and our child everyday,” his words silenced your laughter, tears threatening to spill as he kept speaking. “I want to watch them grow up, teach them how to ride a bike, be obnoxiously loud and embarrassing at sports games.”

Jack was getting to his feet now, pulling you up with him until his forehead was pressed to yours.

“I want to teach them how to drive, cry at their high school graduation, move them into college dorms,” his own voice was thick with emotion as tears dripped silently down your cheeks. His hands came up to cradle your cheeks, swiping the stray droplets away with his thumbs. Your hands gripped his forearms as you listened. “I want it all with you. I want to be horribly, disgustingly domestic and in love, show our kid what love looks like. I want them to be safe and happy and healthy and so, so loved.”

“Jack,” your voice was shaky as you clung to him.

“I want it. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I want it with you. I want it all with you.”

His lips connected with yours. The kiss was tender and slow, every emotion leaking out as your lips and tongues moved against each other in your dining room. He tasted like the chocolate cake and something so distinctly Jack. It was addictive.

When the two of you parted to gasp for breath, his hands settled on your waist, yours coming up to tangle one in his hair, the other flat against his sturdy chest.

“You know,” you leaned in, tracing feather light kisses over the curve of his throat. “I promised you you could have whatever you want after dinner.”

His head dropped back and he let out a groan. His hands tightened on your waist.

“But do you know what I want?”

“What do you want, baby?” His voice was breathy. One of his hands drifted down to grab a handful of your ass, his leg slipping between yours to apply pressure where you needed him the most.

Your teeth caught the lobe of his ear between your teeth.

“I want you to take me to our bedroom,” your hand in his hair yanked ever so slightly. “I want you to take one of those little pills you keep for emergencies,” your fingers trailed down his chest slowly as his breathing picked up in pace. “And I want you to fuck me until you physically cannot any more.”

Step 5: success.

So maybe you weren’t as good at reading your husband as you thought.

You were so sure as soon as he got you into the bedroom and got an eyeful of the see through lace covering your body, he’d be inside of you immediately, especially with the promise of your uterus open for business.

But he held back, eyes tracing your form, sprawled out on the bed and still covered, barely, by your lingerie. He was moving through the room like he had all the time in the world.

You watched with bated breath as he slowly undid his belt and the button of his pants, leaving both still on. The buttons on his shirt were next, the fabric hanging open and untucked as he approached his nightstand. All you could see of his torso was a thin strip, could just barely spot the light dusting of still auburn hair disappearing in the waist band of his slacks.

His hand dug into the drawer for a second before he was producing the little orange bottle. He held it delicately between his fingers, eyes meeting yours.

“You’re sure this is what you want?” Everything in Jack’s eyes seemed to be begging you to agree, to not dangle this in front of him and then so cruelly rip it away.

“I want this,” you sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed to rest your hands on his hips, his legs between yours as he towered over you. “I want you to put a baby in me, Jack.”

He groaned, his hands fumbling to get the cap off the bottle and one pill in his mouth. 

He didn’t usually need those little blue pills, but between the anti depressants he regularly took and the stress of both your jobs, occasionally they came in handy. Today, however, the outline of his erection, right in front of your face, told you he definitely didn’t need it right now. But both of you knew that one round was not going to be even close to enough.

The temptation of that bulge in his pants was too much as you watched his throat bob while he swallowed the pill dry. Your hands drifted from his hips to the undone button of his slacks. Slowly, your fingers pulled the zipper down.

His hand caught yours before you could start sliding the fabric down his legs.

“Not now,” his fingers pressed into your pulse, your heartrate hammering as you looked up at him. “Take off your clothes and lie down.”

For a moment, you wanted to argue, wanted to insist that this was his birthday, you should be taking care of him. But the heat in his eyes and the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his eyes traced over your body had another idea popping into your head, wondering exactly how far you could push him tonight.

Your hands were a little shaky as you unclasped your bra, if the white scrap of barely there lace could even be called that. It fell from your body as you stood from the bed, crowding into Jack.

He took half a step back to give you some space as he watched. Your hands tossed your hair back over your shoulders, taking the opportunity to trail your fingers down your collarbones, loosely cupping and caressing your own breasts. Your lips parted on a gasp as your fingers tweaked your nipples. With half lidded eyes, you arched into him, almost touching as you continued to play with your breasts.

When you decided he’d had enough, you let your hands move on, dragging down your abdomen only to stop just above the waistband of your panties. You laid your hands over the smooth, bumpless skin. 

“Can’t wait for your baby to be right here,” you were laying it on thick. Eyelashes fluttering, teeth digging into your lower lip, breaths coming a little too deep to lift your breasts even more with every inhale.

Jack was getting impatient, you could tell. That fire burning in his eyes, his fingers flexing, all while you took your sweet time shimmying out of the underwear. 

By the time it hit the floor, he looked ready to pounce, but he was still keeping himself in check. You figured he probably wanted to take things nice and slow, make them tender. At least at first. He usually was attentive and giving, treating you gently especially when emotions were running high. Not like you would break if he didn’t, more like you deserved to be loved softly.

But there was time for soft later. Right now, the tension and knowledge of what he was about to do to you felt explosive. You wanted him to take you hard. To take out the sexual frustration of a week or so of abstinence on your body. To pin you down and have his way with you. Afterwards there’d be time for sweet and tender. And there definitely would be more than just one round tonight given the pill he’d just taken.

You were right about how close he was to snapping. The final straw seemed to be when you reached down, picking your underwear up from the floor. He watched the movement, a warning look on his face, but you didn’t stop. Instead, you took his hand, setting the soaking wet miniscule lace in his palm.

“Happy birthday,” with that, you turned around, crawling onto the bed on all fours, swaying your hips as you went.

You didn’t get very far before his hands were grabbing you by the waist, dragging you back to the edge. Your lower legs hung off the bed as he pressed his hips against your ass. He was burning hot, even through his clothes. You could feel the heat and weight of him as you ground back, smearing the wetness leaking from you onto his pants.

“I wanted to be nice,” behind you, you heard rustling as his shirt finally dropped off his shoulders. The clinking of his belt followed, thudding as it hit the floor next. “I wanted to make love to my sweet little wife, but I don’t think that’s what you want, huh?”

“I want you to fuck me, Jack,” you heard him drag his pants and boxers down, the thick length of his cock springing free to brush agaisnt you. Your hips pushed back, almost involuntarily, craving him inside of you. “Make love to me later, knock me up now.”

“Fuck,” his fingers found your clit, stroking through your folds and finding you oh so ready for him. He was making small, tight circles around the bud, sending small shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“Stop wasting time,” your words were breathy, slowly losing their bite. “At this rate it’ll be another 30 years before I get pregnant.”

“Shut up,” you could feel him lining himself up. “Let me make you feel good.”

“I’ll feel good if you- oh fuck!” 

Jack interrupted your whining by slamming in all the way. Usually, he was slow, guiding himself inside, taking the time to let you adjust. Not now, though, now he barely gave you a second to get used to the feeling before he was pulling out and pushing back in.

“Is this what you wanted?” His voice was strained, his hips working vigorously as he used his grip on your waist to drag you back onto him every time he thrust in. 

The sound was obscene. Wet slapping accompanied by your whines and gasps as he reached deep inside of you, bumping all the way up against your cervix with each push in. His own panting was nearly drowned out, but the groan that escaped him when you clamped down tight as he shifted angles was loud.

“Right there, huh?” Jack tilted his hips, angling towards that spot while one of his hands pushed down on your upper back. Your arms gave way, head meeting the sheets as he continued to pound away.

“Fuck, Jack, right there!” Your cries were high pitched and needy as he kept up the pace. His pounding was rhythmic, barely faltering even when his fingers found your clit again, and you tightened around him even more. The circles he was drawing were fast, matching the speed and timing of his thrusts.

Jack had long since learned to play your body like a fiddle and he was pulling no punches tonight. His hand not on your clit shifted, sliding down to press the heel of his palm right above your pubic bone. The added pressure had you crying out, walls pulsing as an orgasm washed over you unexpectedly.

It came in waves, your back arching and pushing your hips into his even more fervently as the pleasure grew and radiated out from between your legs. It was sudden, overwhelming, and seemingly never ending as he kept fucking you through it, his pace unchanging, his hands never moving from where they lay. 

“Fuck, baby,” he was panting, leaning halfway over you as you twitched. “God, fuck, I’m close.”

“C’mon, do it Jack,” you knew your voice was whiny and breathy, but you couldn’t care less as you begged him. “Please, do it. Cum inside me. I need it!”

This was far from the first time he’d fucked you raw. The two of you hadn’t used a condom since the early days of your relationship. After one broke and forced an incredibly awkward pharmacy run for Plan B, you’d gotten your IUD. Once it was effective, you had never had a barrier between you. Jack was well accustomed to coming inside of you.

But this was different. That protection was gone, sitting on the dining room table where he’d left it after dinner. And now you were begging him to cum inside you, not just because it felt good for both of you, but because you wanted to have his child. You wanted him leaking out of you, filling you up until you had no room left inside. You wanted the consequences of this action, the visible and physical manifestation of him left inside of you.

His hand on your stomach shot out, clutching the duvet beside your head as he leaned even farther over you. Jack’s rhythm grew erratic, faster than before as he folded over you. His fingers never stopped circling but they did hitch, that steady pressure faltering as he got closer.

“Fuck, oh fuck, you feel so good,” he was so close you could feel it. Feel him pulsing and twitching inside of you while his chest, damp with sweat pressed against your back. 

“Please,” the word was tangled with a moan as it left your lips. The orgasm that had seemed never ending was rising again, impossibly fast. “Please, Jack, want your baby, please.”

“Oh shit, fuck, fuck! Oh, I’m cumming, oh fuck!”

You felt the heat inside you, that warmth radiating out as he buried himself deep, hips rutting in grinding little thrusts as he came. It was overwhelming. Your own orgasm, much weaker than the previous one, jerked through your body as you felt him fill you.

The two of you stayed quiet, no words exchanged while you rode out the pleasure coursing through both your veins. Jack stayed buried as deep as he could inside of you, his hand finally leaving your clit when you stopped pulsing around him, only for it to find the front of your thigh, keeping you tightly pressed against him.

“I love you,” he whispered against your shoulder blade while he caught his breath.

“I love you, too,” you couldn’t really reach back to touch him in this position. At least, not without the growing ache in your lower back worsening. “I’m getting sore, Jack.”

“If I tell you to lay down and get comfortable, will you actually listen this time?” The smirk on his face as you peaked over your shoulder made you want to simultaneously punch him and kiss him. He slowly pushed himself up, lifting his weight off your body and pulling out.

“Yes, fine, I’ll listen,” you winced a little as his dick left your body, gasping a little when you realized he was still half hard.

“Shit, stop for a sec,” his hand palmed your ass cheek, stopping you from crawling forward to get comfortable. For a moment, you were confused. But then you felt it. His cum was dripping from you, spilling now that he’d finally pulled out. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

The low groan in his voice had you clenching around nothing, pushing even more out of you.

“Gotta keep it all in there, baby,” his fingers came up, pushing it back inside of you. They curled downwards, brushing against the sensitive skin just behind your clit, your legs shaking as he repeated the motion. “Fuck you’re so wet. So full of me.”

“Jack, please,” you weren’t entirely sure what you were asking for, all you knew was that you needed him. Over your own panting breaths you could just make out the wet sound of his own hand dragging over his length.

“Ok, ok,” his fingers pulled out of you. “Get comfortable, I need you again.”

Your legs were weak and it took you a second to focus again as you made your way to the center of the bed, falling onto your back, your head resting among the pillows. Your eyes found him like a magnet, snapping into focus as he finally pulled his pants all the way down.

He was fully hard again, and you watched with blatant hunger as he sat on the edge of the bed, hastily unfastening his prosthetic before he was climbing over to you.

“Left your hips for me,” you followed his instruction, allowing him to slide a pillow below your ass to keep you propped up for him. “Good girl.”

He settled, kneeling, between your legs, length still glistening from just having been inside you. Jack dragged the head of his cock over your folds, taking in the way your body twisted and undulated, silently begging for him to be back inside you.

“Are you ready?” 

How kind and totally unnecessary for him to check in on you. You were mere seconds away from flipping him over and riding him.

“Yes, please Jack,” your hands reached down for him, trying to guide him in yourself.

“Ah-ah,” he tangled your fingers in his, leaning over you to trap your hands above your head with one of his. “I fucked you how you wanted, now we do it how I want it.”

“Just get inside me, please! I want you so bad,” you had a sneaking suspicion he might have wanted to tease you for even longer, but your husband had never been able to resist you for very long. You could see how much he wanted it, and your begging seemed to have won out over his desire to tease.

“God, you’re still so tight,” Jack buried his face in the crook of your neck as he slid inside. “How the fuck are you always so tight?”

“Made for you!” Your voice came out high and squeaky as he began to move. 

“Fuck yes you were,” his lips landed on the sensitive skin of your throat, sucking and kissing and no doubt leaving countless marks you’d be struggling to cover when you went back to work.

The pace he set this time was much slower than before, but somehow filthier. The slow, insistent grind of him withdrawing and pushing back in had your clit grinding against the neatly trimmed hair at the base of his cock. The sounds this time were quieter but no less salacious. The unmistakable sound of how wet you were filled the room every time he pushed in as deep as he could get, mixed with the whimpers and gasps of his name you let out as you clung to him. He was rather quiet the first time until he got close, but he must have been more sensitive now as his groans and curses vibrated against your neck. 

Those noises only built in volume as the two of you fell into a cycle, pushing each other even higher.

Every time you clenched tightly around him as he hit just the right spot, his teeth would scrape the sensitive skin on your neck or shoulder. In return, your fingernails would dig in tighter against the muscles in his back and his hips would press as deep he could, brushing against the spot that made you clench tighter.

“You feel so good around me, baby,” his movements were beginning to stutter as the two of you got closer again. His hand tangled in your hair as he pulled his head away from your neck, keeping your eyes locked on his.

Jack looked wild. His pupils were blown wide, eyes full of tenderness even as his skin was flushed, his mouth open as he let loose sounds of pleasure. 

“You’re all mine.”

You tried to nod against his grip in your hair, eyes slipping shut as he ground even harder into you. Everything was hazy. The pleasurable feeling of every movement sent zaps tingling up your spine.

“No, no keep your eyes open,” you gasped as he broke his semi-steady rhythm to thrust hard into you. Your eyes opened, locking onto his. “Good girl, that’s good.”

He was getting louder now, getting closer and consequently pushing you there as well. 

“Say it, baby,” you were tightening around his length uncontrollably now, impossibly close. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I-I’m fuck!” You could barely get the first word out as his hand once again found its way between your bodies, rubbing against you as you squirmed. The pleasure was almost too much. “I’m your- fuck, fuck! I’m yours, Jack!”

“All mine,” his lips landed on yours while his fingers sped up. The kiss was sloppy, mostly tongues and teeth while you panted into each other's mouths. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum again, ohhh fuck.”

His hips snapped once, twice and then stilled as deep as he could get. Jack never stopped rubbing your clit, though, pushing you through to cum around him for the 3rd time so far as came inside you again.

You could barely feel the extra fluid. The space between your legs was already messy and your orgasm pushed every last thought out of your head as your body shook. Your legs tightened around his hips as your body arched up into him. One of his arms slid beneath your lower back, his hips burying his cock even deeper inside.

As your body trembled and the pleasure slowly faded, you realised he was speaking to you, the bussing in your ears finally fading enough for you to hear him.

“-love you so much, baby,” his head had dropped back down to the crook of your neck, but his lips hadn’t resumed their attack. The words were quiet. You knew he was talking to you, but the words almost seemed too personal. Like Jack’s filter had been fucked out of him, and the words spilling against your skin were his inner monologue. “Can’t believe you want to make me a dad. I swear, I’ll do my best. I’ll be so good. I can’t wait to hold her and love her-”

“Her?” You finally felt coherent enough to interrupt.

Jack jumped like he had forgotten you were there, even with his length still buried inside of you.

He hesitated for a moment, before lifting his head to look you in the eye. “I want a daughter,” his hand came to rest over your lower stomach. “One of the residents told me I seem like a girl-dad a year or so ago and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. And now, getting you pregnant… I hope it’s a girl.”

You were torn between laughing and crying. You remembered the off hand comment from one of the bolder first year students, along with the look of utter confusion on Jack’s face. He hadn’t understood the comment, simply telling them he didn’t have kids and to get back to work.

But the tenderness in his voice, the absolute love in his eyes as he looked down at you had a lump forming in your throat. 

“You know it’s not that quick,” your hand came up to cradle his jaw covered in that silver stubble you loved so much. “It might take a while for me to get pregnant. And there's no way to guarantee it’ll be a girl.”

His head turned slightly to press a kiss to your palm. “I don’t care how long it takes. I’m happy to keep trying.”

Your cheeks flushed at the insinuation, choosing to redirect. “And if it’s a boy?”

Jack lowered himself back over you, his nose brushing yours. “Then I’ll have a son. The only thing that matters is that the both of you are safe, happy, and healthy.”

“I love you,” the words were tight, barely getting out of your throat around the steadily growing lump of overwhelming emotion.

andrew 'pope' cody who doesn’t get this sort of quiet and softness anywhere else other than your bedroom. he fights off sleep as long as he can to keep watch over you and, even though he always wakes up at the crack of dawn, he keeps his body incredibly still until your alarm goes off, just feeling your body on top of his, your head on his chest or your nose pressed to his bicep.

andrew 'pope' cody who whines and clutches to you when you try to get up in the middle of the night. you chuckle when you push him away, telling him you’re about to pee yourself— he relents and lets you go, eventually. he almost wants to ask to tag along, but he doesn’t voice those feelings, always afraid you’ll finally see him as the creep everyone else does.

andrew 'pope' cody who always loved summer but now resents it because heatwaves make you crabby and you don’t let him crowd you in his sleep anymore. so he buys an ac and blasts it in your room every night so you’re cold enough to cling to him again.

andrew 'pope' cody who will sometimes shimmy down the bed and put his head on your chest to feel your heartbeat, who wraps his legs around yours like an octopus and who counts your breathing instead of sheep when he has trouble sleeping.

and then you, who doesn’t sleep all that well afterall. who wakes up in the middle of the night when pope is fast asleep and traces his face with your fingers, memorizing the way he looks so carefree, how his lips don’t purse and his brows don’t frown while he’s unconscious.

you, who pretends to sleep in even in the mornings you wake up before your alarm just to feel andrew’s body pressed against yours, his nose on your shoulder and his arms caging around you.

you, who can tell pope is having a nightmare by the way his muscles tense, who will pull him out of it and then hold him for the rest of the night, peppering kisses between his shoulderblades as he clings to this new, happy reality with blood-soaked fingers.