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here's a request :) jack abbot figuring out that his resident with a strong personality actually has a praise kink and so he tests the theory out (maybe with dumbification too if you fuck with that)
It's been such a long time since I wrote smut lol this was fun, hope it's ok...
CW for unprotected sex, mild condescension, heavy praise kink (let me know if I missed anything but I think that's it)
Jack had learned three things about the new nightshift attending within the first week.
You were almost always prepared.
You were almost always right.
And you refused to let either of those facts go unmentioned.
Rounds took twenty minutes longer with you on shift. Not because you were slow. Quite the opposite, actually; you were sharp and clearly used to the pace of emergency medicine. It was that you turned every plan into a discussion. Every diagnosis came with the mention of a paper you’d read at two in the morning or a case study you’d been flipping through. Every medication choice earned a raised eyebrow and a, "Walk me through that one."
It wasn’t condescension or even really judgement. You never challenged him in front of patients. Never made a fuss out of ego. You simply seemed constitutionally incapable of accepting because I said so as a reason. You had to know how he got to a diagnosis, how his mind had worked through the puzzle.
Most attendings would have hated it.
Jack found himself annoyed, but also…somewhat flattered.
You listened. Really listened. If his reasoning was better, you changed course without sulking or making excuses. You just wanted to know how his brain ticked. Wanted to chase after his mind the way you chased after him in the halls of the ED. It was a little endearing. So he let it go on even while it bugged him, because at the end of the day being chased after felt surprisingly good.
He’s just a man, after all.
It became your routine. He'd finish giving instructions. You’d linger. There'd be a pause. Somewhere between three to five seconds depending on how much caffeine you’d managed to consume that night and how convinced you were that he was wrong. He'd hear you inhale and without looking up he'd say, "Go ahead."
"...I think we should image first."
Or
"...I have concerns."
Or
"...Respectfully-"
Always respectfully, but never quietly. Jack feels his lips twitch even while he sighs.
You occupied space the way people did when they'd spent their whole lives having to prove they deserved to be there. Unyielding when you thought you were right, you’d stand there with a chart tucked under one arm and wait for him to talk you around. More than once he'd caught another resident watching the exchange with wide eyes, clearly expecting him to shut it down.
He never did.
Irritatingly, you made him a better lead attending. You caught things, asked questions no one else bothered to ask him anymore. You refused to let habit masquerade as good medicine - even when it was, objectively, good medicine.
You were exhausting.
You were excellent.
And every now and then, when you’d finally accept his reasoning with a reluctant little nod and disappear to practice medicine instead of debate it, he'd catch himself feeling almost fond.
It wasn’t that he'd won, it was that you’d made him earn it.
It didn’t take him long to realize that you hassled him so often because you wanted his attention. Wanted a pat on the head and a nice catch, doctor. The thing was, he wasn’t exactly the kind of man to hand out compliments like halloween candy. He gave you the occasional nod or fist bump, but that just had you coming back even harder, pressing your points shaper, trailing after him like a baby chick just peep peep peep-ing away.
He hated to admit it, but the reason he found it annoying instead of outright infuriating was twofold. First, you were just so damnably earnest. And second? You were frustratingly pretty. He knew it wasn’t exactly appropriate, since he was technically your superior, but he tells himself that it’s not like you’re his resident. You’re an attending. An adult and a doctor in your own right. And really, what’s he supposed to do? Not notice how you fill out your scrubs as you chase after him running your pretty mouth?
He’s only a man after all.
Sometimes though you just don’t know when to give it a rest. It’s after one of the rough nights in the lead up to halloween where you just would not shut up that has him finally boiling over. Jack finally turns to corner you in the lingering shadows of the ambulance bay while you walk out towards the parking lot in the early morning light. His hand finds the back of your neck without much thought, gripping you firm to make sure you’re paying attention.
“Enough,” Jack says, voice firm and eyes locked onto yours. “Take it easy, alright? You’re doing just fine. You’re good and I know it. You can let go.”
He felt more than saw you freeze. Heard the click of your throat as you swallowed. Saw the way your cheeks flushed, the way your pupils dilated. And all together…well. His brain presented him with the most devastating little realization.
He’d though you were just desperate to prove yourself, but that wasn’t it at all. You kept chasing after him because you wanted attention. His attention. Not just intellectually, like he’d assumed. No…you wanted him.
“...well look at that,” he murmured, voice dropping into a lower register. He brushed the thumb of his free hand over your bottom lip. “You do have an off switch.”
You squeak, but stay right where you are. Eyes locked on him, relaxed rather than tense under his hands…
Fuck it. He’s only a man.
“…that all you’re after sweetheart? Just wanna be told you’re pretty and doing a good job?”
You nod as well as you can with his hand still on your neck.
“None of that now, pretty girl. You are my smart, pretty girl aren't you?” he asks, thumb tapping softly on your lip.
You open your mouth to let him push it inside, sucking automatically as your tongue glides along the pad.
“Ohhh yes. So smart, sweetheart, I knew you were.” Jack all but coos as your eyes go glassy. “A regular little brainiac for me. Working so hard for me all night. You wanna come work for me all morning too?”
Your breath hitches as you nod again, cheeks still hollowed around his thumb.
He pulls his hand away, pressing his lips to yours before you can complain. Jack grabs hold of your hips as he pulls back to rest his forehead against yours, pulling you in to grind against him. “Gonna need you to use your words, sweetheart. You can do that right? Go on, use your words like a big girl. Tell me what you want; no hard feelings either way.”
“Jack…”
He chuckles, pushing your hips away from his. “Nuh uh, I know my name. Gotta use your words for me smart girl.”
You whimper at the sudden distance, trying to get back flush to him and the thick length that had been pushing against your tummy. “I want you. Take me home?”
“Thaaaats it,” he grins, finally tugging you back into him. “What a good girl you are, being so clever for me.”
You follow him to his truck, Jack keeping a hand on your thigh for the drive back to his house. His hand stokes you firmly, a wordless little pet that makes your blush linger as you take shy little glances at him. He looks at you as you finally park and make it inside, brushing one of the locks that’s fallen out of your updo back behind your ear.
“Still want to do this?”
You nod, a shiver racing down your spine when Jack gives you an unimpressed look at you not using your words. “Yes. I want to.”
“Good girl,” he breathes out.
And then he’s on you.
It’s not feral or overwhelming. He doesn’t pounce so much as pull you in. By the time he has you splayed out on his bed he’s managed to kiss that dazed look back onto your face. “Easy now. Be a sweet girl and let me look at you, hm?”
You peel your scrub top off, Jack’s eyes raking over your chest. “Yeah, sweetheart, just…like…” he pushes you, making a little huff of air leave you as your back hits the mattress. “...that.”
With deft hands he unhooks your bra, taking a moment to just look at you before he taps your hip to get you to lift your hips. Jack hooks his fingers into both your scrub pants and your panties, dragging them down your thighs until you’re left bare before him. Your knees come together as your hands come up to cover your breasts.
“Oh no,” Jack coaxes, gently grabbing hold of your wrists. “Don’t you go shy on me now, pretty girl.” You let him pull your hands away, only for him to palm your breasts himself. He stokes his thumbs over your nipples to make them peak, desperate to kiss and suck but still blocked by your knees. “Come on sweetheart, don’t make me guess. You jabber at me all night long, I wanna hear my smart girl now, too. What do big girls do?”
Your face flushes at the reminder to use your words, but you manage to answer. “...you…you have too much on.”
Jack grins at you. “Is that all pretty girl? I can fix that.”
He strips down without hesitation, casting his clothes to the floor and setting his prothesis to the side of the nightstand. “Better?” he asks, coming back to you.
You don’t answer. Instead you pull him back down into a searing kiss, arms going over his shoulders as your knees finally part to let him nestle between your thighs. You can feel his palms glide down your sides, changing the angle of your hips to let him lean more of his weight into you, before they go right back to your breasts.
Jack breaks the kiss to mouth down your neck, delighting in all the little sighs and gasps you make. He smiles into your skin as he works his way back down to your chest. God. And to think you’d been so very annoying for months. He could kick himself for not realizing sooner that all it took to make you close your mouth was to cover it with his.
He nipped at one firm peak. “Tell me again about that head lac from earlier?”
“W-what?” you stutter.
Jack sucked hard at the soft skin under your breast, until he was sure there’d be a mark. “The head lac. Present it to me again.”
You start to talk, words coming slow and stilted. Jack spends the entire time working over your breasts, sucking marks into the skin when you stutter, rolling your pretty nipples when you manage to remember how to speak. “That’s it, sweetheart. Keep going for me,” he encourages, starting to move down your stomach. “The STEMI from room 8?”
It’s exponentially harder to remember your own name, let alone the case, as Jack settles between your thighs. You moan as his fingers stroke through your wet folds, bucking up into his feather light touch. He chuckles, face pressed against your leg. “Easy there, pretty girl. Just checking.” He settles a thumb on either side of you, pushing them apart until he can see your entrance flutter. “So wet, sweetheart. You always get so excited when you’re hearing yourself sound so smart?”
He’s not even sorry for the wicked grin that crosses his face when he sees you clench on nothing at the compliment. “Oh yeah?” he muses, leaning forward to lick a broad stripe up you, the tip of his tongue flicking your swollen clit at the top. “Keep going then, brainiac.”
Your hands find his hair as he sets to work, big hands keeping your thighs spread as he listens to you…try. He can tell you’re doing your best, but so is he - and it’s making you completely lose your train of thought. He slips two broad fingers into you and you tell him three times what the patient’s potassium levels were. He curls them, beginning to slowly rock them into you while his tongue refocuses on your clit, and you start telling him disjointed bits of medical jargon. And when his free hand lets go of your thigh to pull up the hood so he can suckle your bud and work over it with fast little laps? All that's left is pathetic little cries of his name.
Jack pulls back, fingers leaving your slick folds as you whine beneath him. “Ohhh what’s wrong sweetheart? Are you not my smart girl anymore?” He licks his fingers clean before taking hold of himself and running the swollen red tip of his cock through your wetness. “That’s alright. You can still be my pretty girl and she can be clever,” he coos, eyes locked on your pussy.
“Look at her. Knows just what she wants. Already trying to suck me in…”
Your eyes roll back as he pushes his hips forward, a low punched out sound escaping him as he feeds you every inch. By the time his hips touch yours it feels like he’s deep in your stomach. Your every thought has boiled down to him, to how good he makes you feel, to the tone of his voice now that language has started to escape you.
Jack leans forward to capture your mouth in a kiss that tastes like your juices. He groans as he starts to thrust, a steady stream of words pouring out of his mouth that are all colored by praise.
“There we go, pretty girl, you just let me do the work. Such a mouthy thing, but your big brain must live in your pussy, huh? She got herself all wet for me, gripping me so tight, knows just what she needs to do to let me make her feel good. My pretty girl with her clever little cunt…”
Your sounds echo off the walls, high pitched little Ah! Ah! Ah! noises. He picks up the pace as he feels your walls start to flutter around him, working a hand between you to play with your clit. “There she goes. Almost there, sweetheart, just need to feel you let go for me. Be a good girl and come for me...”
Warnings: romance, unspoken tension, soft kissing, from friends of friends to lovers dynamics, fluff, self-worth Issues, kissing.
Summary: What starts as quiet companionship slowly unravels into something much deeper.
A/N he looks so good in that GIF wtf
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
🎀 Based on this request 🎀
You pushed Deran's bar door open.
"Deran, please tell me you're not out of lemonade, I'm—" You cut yourself off, stopping mid-stride.
It wasn't Deran standing behind the counter.
It was Andrew.
He was scrubbing a drink stain. Hearing the door, he stiffened slightly, his eyes darted up to meet yours.
"Oh," you said, tossing your bag onto a high stool. "Hey, Andrew. I thought Deran was closing tonight."
"He... had something to do, and I can't clean tomorrow," Andrew said and paused his scrubbing. "Bar is closed, you know?"
"I know, I just got off a brutal ten hour shift and needed five minutes before heading back to my apartment," you said with a sigh, rolling your shoulders to work out a knot. "Do you mind if I just sit here for a little? I won't get in your way."
Andrew looked at you, his eyes scanning your tired face.
"It's fine," he said as he walked into the kitchen. "You can stay."
"Thanks." You smiled.
For a few minutes, the only sound was the sound of his hands working. Most people found silence around Andrew Cody intimidating, but you’d known the Cody family long enough through Deran to know better.
Andrew was a man of few words, but he was grounded, precise, and surprisingly thoughtful.
"Rough day?" Andrew asked quietly, trying to break the silence.
"You have no idea," you chuckled, leaning your chin in your hand. "Every customer today seemed to have agreed on being as difficult as humanly possible. I think I lost half my brain cells by noon."
"People are noisy," he offered. "Don't know when to turn it off."
"Exactly," you agreed, brightening up. "That's why I came here. And it's a good thing you're here. You're the only one who actually respects quiet."
Andrew’s hands paused and he cleared his throat. "Yeah. Well. Quiet's good."
He turned back to the counter, reached for a stack of clean towels beside you, and his fingers brushed against yours for a moment. A sudden surge of static electricity seemed to pass between you.
Andrew quickly withdrew his hand, his shoulders tensing again as a faint blush crept up the back of his neck. He turned his back to you to wipe down the prep table, his movements a little more rigid than before.
"So," you began gently, watching him work, "did Deran leave you with all the cleaning duty, or are you just being nicer to his bar than he is?"
"He doesn't clean the grease traps right," Andrew said. "Leaves 'em sticky. Bugs get in."
"Good thing you're here, I reiterate. He'd probably let the place burn down before he deep cleaned a grease trap."
Andrew turned his head slightly, giving you a half smile. "Probably."
Then, he stood for a second, rubbing the back of his neck, seemingly searching for what to say next.
He wasn't used to small talk, especially not with you; not when every time you smiled at him, he felt his heart beat faster and he didn't exactly know what to do with that feeling.
"You... wanted something to drink? You said something about lemonade," he asked as he gestured vaguely toward the bar. "I think we have some pink lemonade left. Or water."
"A cold glass of pink lemonade would actually save my night," you said softly.
He nodded quickly, took a tall glass, and filled it with ice before going to the kitchen to get the lemonade pitcher. He offered it to you, careful not to touch your fingers this time, though his eyes remained fixed on your face as you took a long sip.
"Good?" he asked.
"Really good, oh my," you nodded.
"Deran will be here soon," Andrew said quietly, his eyes dropping to the polished surface of the counter. "He went to pick up something. Should be back any minute."
You set the glass down, tracing the condensation on the side with your index finger. "I'm not really in a rush for him to get back, you know?"
Andrew blinked. "He’s got the keys to the back room. If you needed something from his office-"
"Andrew," you interrupted gently, catching his gaze and holding it. "I like your company. You know that, right?"
The words seemed to surprise him. Andrew froze completely, his hand still resting on the counter. His eyes widened just enough for you to see the genuine shock behind them.
"My... company?" he repeated, almost a whispering. He looked at you like he was trying to figure out if you were pulling a joke, scanning your face for any sign of insincerity.
"Yeah. Yours," you smiled with honesty.
Andrew shook his head slightly, a furrow forming between his brows as he looked down at his own knuckles. "I don't... You don't have to say that to be polite."
"I'm not being polite."
"It's just... Weird to hear that," He cleared his throat, struggling to find the right words. "You are Deran’s friend. He is... easy to talk to. People... people like people like him. Not my company." He paused, his jaw tightening slightly.
"Well, they're wrong," you said and you were dead serious. "Do you know that If I have to choose between all of you, I'd choose you? Every single time. I love Deran but he's too much sometimes."
Andrew stared at you, utterly motionless. For a second, it felt like the entire room held its breath. Andrew’s mind was clearly racing, trying to process what he’d just heard.
"Me?" he rasped out.
He swallowed hard as a flush creep up his neck into his cheeks.
"Yeah, you, Andrew," you confessed softly, giving him a shy smile.
Andrew opened his mouth, but made no sound. His hands trembled on the counter before he withdrew them, leaving them at his sides, as if trying to control a sudden feeling he hadn't felt in a long time.
He looked away for a brief second, a helpless smile breaking through his face before he looked back at you.
"Okay, that's... nice," he admitted softly.
After that night, your days turned into a something you didn't know you needed.
It started with small things: you dropping by as he was finishing up, or Andrew hanging in the bar long enough after your shift just in case you walked through the door.
Then it was quiet late night drives along the coast after picking you up from work, sitting side by side in his truck, watching the dark waves roll in without the need to fill every second with noise.
With Andrew, everything felt deliberate, real and honest.
Those quiet drives and stolen moments at closing time slowly redefined everything between you.
What had started as comfortable friendship had shifted into something far quietly blooming under the surface.
Neither of you explicitly labeled it; it was written instead in the lingering touch of his hand as he passed you a glass of pink lemonade, the way his jaw softened whenever you walked into the room, and the rare smiles he saved for you.
You found yourself looking forward to his presence more than anyone else's, while Andrew silently guarded his growing feelings, convinced that someone like you could never truly look at him that way.
You began noticing the way his eyes tracked your every movement, and Andrew began to realize that your frequent visits weren't just about passing time in an empty bar.
You were both tiptoeing around a secret that neither wanted to ruin, yet neither could suppress for much longer.
It was a slow dance between two people who had seamlessly fallen from comfortable companions into being completely undone by one another.
Tonight, the bar was closing after a long day. You were sitting on top of the stainless steel prep counter in the back kitchen, swinging your legs casually while Andrew moved around the small space, putting away the last of the rags. You planned to have breakfast together tomorrow morning so he had to close the bar clean tonight.
Even after days of seeing each other, there was still an nervous energy between you two.
He finished and walked over, stopping between your knees. He looked up at you, his eyes scanning your face with that intense gaze that used to intimidate people, but now just made your pulse race.
"Deran asked me earlier if you are always coming around for him or for the free pink lemonade," Andrew said softly. "Said you never used to stick around this much after closing."
You tilted your head, watching him waiting for your answer.
"Maybe I only come for you," you murmured, letting the words drift softly between you.
Andrew froze.
"You what?" he rasped out.
A smile tugged at your lips.
You didn't break eye contact.
"You heard me, Andrew Cody."
The air between you grew thick, charged with tension. Andrew looked at you, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. He swallowed hard as his gaze dropped to your lips before snapping back to your eyes.
"Do you want me?" he asked, whispering, rough with exposed vulnerability.
You let your eyes soften, leaning forward, bringing your face closer to his.
"Maybe," you whispered back, teasing, but with enough heat in your voice to leave no real doubt.
That single word shattered whatever restraint Andrew had been clinging to.
He leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours with hungry intensity.
"Maybe, huh?" He whispered with a raspy voice and an exhale escaped him. His hands came up to frame your face, his palms were warm and trembling just a tiny bit against your cheeks.
The kiss was hard and possessive, his lips were firm, moving against yours with desperation.
You let out a sigh into his mouth, your hands flying up to wrap around his neck, tangling your fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck.
At your response, Andrew let out a rough sound. One of his hands slid down from your cheek to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tightening gently to hold you right where he wanted you, while his other hand gripped your waist, pulling you so close there wasn't an inch of air left between you.
He kissed you deeper, his tongue parting your lips, taking control in a way that set your skin on fire. Every touch was heavy and deliberate.
To Andrew, you weren't just someone passing through.
In the dark mess of his life, having you here, choosing him, wanting him, felt like a miracle he was holding onto with everything he had.
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it always feels like pope’s in your stomach when you’re his girl. the memory of his cock stuffing his way into your cunt isn’t something you can usually shake.
it’s similar to the feeling of watching his large, bulky frame bend over to pick something up off the couch and seeing a sliver of his toned back when his shirt rides up. a deep twist, almost like hunger… an empty tummy when you should be satiated.
he was in your guts about 2 hours ago but still… the slow grind, pulsing palms mashing against each other and spreading heat and want and the heady scent of yearning.
when he lifts back up he turns to look at you in surprise, “ya alright?” his flighty eyes drag across you & then the room awkwardly– he can practically feel the heat and pulsing of your belly from where he stands.
vascular arms, tight t-shirt, broad shoulders cutting through the air as he straightens up. your hand presses to your stomach as your half lidded eyes take him in.
press, press, press. but nothing mirrors the sleeve of you cradling his cock closer & closer into your stomach.
depraved, you shake your head and whisper “wanna feel you again.” “n-now?” “now, please.” “b-i… what if you’re still sore?” “don’t care andrew, please now.”
it doesn’t take long for him to decide, especially not when he sees your smaller palm pressing into your stomach in thrusts; mirroring the rhythm he had you in this morning.
scooping you up like an angry bull, breathing heavy through his nose as he walks you into the bedroom and lays you out for the second time this afternoon.
pope cody and his weird girlfriend (match made in heaven)
• no one in the family knows how the two of you met, or when either of you got together, you just kinda showed up one day and didn’t leave…
• you hardly ever smiled, unless it was to pope (who you lovingly called andrew) and even then it was tiny smiles.
• everytime craig or baz would try and mess around with you, all they’d get back was a big eyed stare that would creep them out and they’d back off (pope secretly thinks it’s funny)
• one day craig and deran came home to the two of you taking over the living room. pope was sitting on the couch, nature documentary on, and you were sat on the floor between his feet. a gathering of tools sat neatly around you on the coffee table as you held a dead butterfly, carefully pinning its wings to some styrofoam
“what the fuck is that?” craig furrowed his brow as he came over, looking down over your shoulder at what you were doing. “entomology.” pope muttered, glancing down to see you hyper focused on pinning the orange insect down. craig looked even more confused, looking for deran but not finding him anywhere.
“bug taxidermy.” you said monotonously, taking pins between your fingers and pressing the sharp edge down into the pieces of parchment you had covered the wings with. “found her in the flower bed.”
“uh… nice.” craig rushed out of the living room and went to hide with deran.
• pope and his weird girlfriend that communicate through looks and grunts, no words spoken between them whatsoever some days
• the two of you don’t really sleep… up at odd hours of the night… sometimes just wondering around in the dark… you often scare the other members of the house if they are up only to see you, or pope, or the both of you just standing there (you think it’s funny)
• you also have ocd just like your boyfriend, things have to be a certain way… your way. and sometimes that leads to you and pope having little arguments about how things should be placed/ how things should be done, but your little spats never last long
• craig and deran had stopped by your house exactly one time looking for pope bc they hadn’t seen him in days and wanted to make sure he was still alive…. let’s just say they never came back after seeing creepy taxidermy animals all over the place (it didn’t help that you were brushing your raccoon lamp, its beady little eyes staring right into their souls)
• you often like to scare baz bc he’s an absolute dickhead to women and his own daughter,, so sometimes you just randomly show up at his house (he doesn’t even know how you got his address), creepily sit in the corner of lena’s room while she plays and stare at him, or come up behind him when he’s least expecting it, or just saying some odd shit to weird him out
• craig and deran like you surprisingly, you remind them so much of their older brother in certain aspects and they think the two of you are a match made in… they don’t know where, not heaven or hell, perhaps somewhere in between… baz doesn’t like you too much (and part of it’s bc he can’t charm you like he can with other women) plus he thinks your creepy. j knows to keep his distance, but whenever nicky’s around she thinks you’re odd, but cool
• pope and his weird girlfriend that like to sleep naked sometimes and not for any sexual reasons (well only sometimes lol) but for skin to skin contact, wanting to be as close together as possible (you want to be so close to him that you nearly constrict around him like a snake and your nails dig into his back but he doesn’t mind)
• the other family members often find the two of you just staring at one another. like a silent conversation was flowing between the two of you. then you’d smile, laugh softly like he had said something funny (the others are soooo confused by your dynamic)
• pope and his weird girlfriend that shockingly go crazy in the bedroom since they’re so quiet and monotone everywhere else,,, craig had only found out when he went snooping in their room only to find a pair of black fuzzy handcuffs stuffed in a drawer next to their bed and was like ‘??? what the fuck???’ and ran to tell deran who didn’t want to hear a thing about it
• you have a thing with bugs and other sorts of creepy crawlies. you will catch every single moth that flies into the house, attracted by the light over the island in the kitchen, pope will even lift you so you can grab them and put them back outside. you obviously don’t care to pick up dead bugs. you tease pope sometimes with the worms you pick up from the flower beds.
you once came up behind craig, saying ‘i have something for you’ only for him to nearly jump a hundred feet in the air when he seen the giant wolf spider that took over your whole palm. you gave him a little smirk as he flipped out, finding it hilarious
I’m going to make a fluffy little collection of dabbles centering around reader being neighbors with the Cody’s and the cute childhood crush that follows.
Fluff ☆ no TW.
My brain is too small to figure out the age gaps between all the Cody kids so ages are vague.
Andrew Pope Cody who likes you the second he meets you. You’re both just kids at the time. He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets. Trailing after Baz and Julia who are lost in their own little world. Craig is somewhere running around yelling about how cool this new house is. Smurf’s heels click across the tile she adjusts her hold on Deran’s hand as he anxiously looks around. Pope can tell he wants to run off and join Craig but the idea of being in a new place has put him on edge.
Pope hates this. Hates that they’re moving again. Hates that Smurf is acting like nothing is wrong when it’s so clear that everything is going to shit. Julia’s laugh catches his attention causing his head to turn. The pit in his stomach grows as he sees Baz pulling away from her. He immediately looks for Smurf and lets out a sigh of relief when he realizes she’s in the house somewhere. A whispered secret shared between his twin and the boy he’s supposed to call his brother.
He can’t stand it anymore as he turns opening the sliding glass door stomping into the backyard. It’s mainly a stone patio with a big pool in the center there’s a tiny patch of grass near a dividing wall. As Pope stands there he looks at all the windows, doors, open paths leading to and from the backyard into the house. He feels like an animal under observation and he suddenly realizes why Smurf was so interested in this house. He’s staring into the still water of the pool his unblinking frowning reflection staring back at him.
He’s different he knows it. Smurf never fails to point it out. Even when she doesn’t outright say it he can see it in the way she treats him versus Baz. Craig and Deran are different. They’re younger, not quite old enough to really understand what’s going on. Not old enough to truly be useful to Smurf yet. But Baz is her special little boy. Smurf’s project that she finally was able to complete. Baz is everything he isn’t. Charming, outgoing, funny, normal. Baz may as well play the prince in Smurf’s fucked up fairytale. Meanwhile Andrew gets to play the executioner and he fucking hates it.
A rustling of the bushes, scraping of the stone wall, a tiny little huff of exertion pulls him into the present and his head snaps up. At first he doesn’t see anything out of place. But then small fingers grasp the top of the wall and suddenly pink cheeks, a smile with a missing tooth, big wide eyes are looking back at him. “Hi!” Your tiny excited voice reaches his ears. He knows he should say something back but he can’t and you don’t seem to mind as you continue to talk to him.
“Are you going to be my new neighbor?” A grunt is pulled from you as you try to haul yourself up further pulling yourself partway up on the wall. His words stick in his throat and he watches your expression turn to confusion at his lack of response. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?” Your voice is full of worry as you pause to look at him. You lift your hand to wave it at him which Pope already knows is a mistake and sure enough you slip. Your surprised yelp causes the corner of his mouth to twitch and he can’t stop the laugh from bubbling up in him.
“So you can hear me!” Your voice is full of accusation. Your brows furrowed your lips pressed into a thin frown. “It’s not nice to laugh.” You’ve dropped back behind the wall missing the way Pope is still staring the smile still on his face. You’re somewhere between Craig’s and Deran’s age but that doesn’t stop you from trying to get to know the older boy on the other side of the wall. You’re about to call to him again when the voice of a woman cuts you off. “Andrew where are you?” Smurf’s voice cuts through the air causing Pope to whip around.
His smile dropping immediately as she pulls the sliding glass door open. Her sharp eyes moving from Andrew to the now empty space on the wall. “There you are baby. How do you like the house?” She questions as she approaches him. With Deran’s no longer glued to her side she brings Pope into her side rubbing his arm as she looks from the yard to him. “‘S alright.” That’s all he manages to get out before there’s a crash and Deran’s wail rings out. Smurf lets out a sigh giving Andrew a small squeeze, which he knew ment it was time for them to go and round up everyone, before she stalked off.
Pope hesitated a moment his gaze flickering back to the wall a small sting of disappointment as it remained empty. He turns on his heel walking back across the patio to the kitchen. His hand wraps around the cool handle as he moves to close the door. “Bye bye Andy! I hope you move in soon!” His head snaps up to see your playful smile peeking back over the wall. You give him a final wave before disappearing. Pope feels his face flush at the nickname. Most kids think he’s strange and the majority of the nicknames he’s been given over the years haven’t been ones he’s fond of. But Andy is simple, familiar, casual.
Finally everyone is gathered up and walking down the driveway when he feels a hand on the nape of his neck. “Oh Andrew before I forget who was that in the backyard talking to you?” Smurf asks and while her tone is motherly it causes the hair on the back of Pope’s neck to stand on end. Pope is quick to shrug as he keeps his expression and voice flat despite the warmth bubbling in his chest. “Dunno just the neighbor girl.” The answer seems to satisfy Smurf as she lets go of him with a hum. He climbs into the car sliding into the back taking the window seat when normally he’d sit between Julia and Baz. He can’t help but glance out the window as the car peels away hoping to catch one more glimpse of his soon to be new neighbor.
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andrew pope cody who’s worried about you finding his rap sheet vs. reader who’s printed out his mugshot to include in her journal with little hand-drawn hearts around it <3
݁ Ი𐑼⋆ | more bunny!reader but this time wolf!simon
first meetings, first fuckings... oh. (suggestive.) expect pack141 in the future.
simon's had a soft spot for the wicked and wild, and the thrill of such things leads him to wolf hunting. it's a gruesome hobby, but he likes it—he never takes more than he needs, anyways.
he usually heads out to more rural spots—rolling farmlands nestled between wooded areas—it's quite helpful to the farmers there anyways, considering they've been warding the big predators away from their livestock for years.
on his way through the brush, nearest to the farmlands, is when he meets you. a scruffy little bunny, staring at him with a pitiful expression, having gotten yourself tangled in an old wire fence.
(and a big wolf like him? oh... he'd never seen sweeter prey practically offered to him.)
your pitiful whine brings him to his senses; you're hurt and needy and hungry, and unfortunately, simon is, occasionally, a good man. it takes a good minute of sawing with a hunting knife before he's able to get you free.
the second he's got you free, you try to kick off. but before your little cotton tail disappears, simon is gripping you, his hands around your waist as he knocks you back into the grass. "not so fast, sweet'eart. gotta get'cha nice n'proper, eh? bet y'don't even have a place t'stay. it's okay, bun. i'll keep y'warm."
you stare, wide-eyed into the face of the man who had saved you; big wolfish ears twitching in cocky victory. but he's right. you'd only gotten stuck in the wire because you'd been running from a crop theft gone wrong, and simon had found you, saved you, and was now offering you a place to stay.
you offer a meek nod.
(stupid bunny.)
the walk back is mostly silent, his arm hoisting you up on his hip like a toddler who'd just thrown a big tantrum. his thumb rubs in comforting circles across your thigh, pressing against you every time you squirm in silent warning.
simon's cabin is warm with the crackling fireplace, and more homey than you'd expect of a wolf. he sits you on his couch, fixing the small cuts the wire had made with gauze and antiseptic.
and he'll let you stay the night, of course—he's a gentleman when he wants to be, right? he'll even let you stay in his room, on his bed, curled around his pillow. it's fine, he'll take the couch.
what he doesn't expect is waking up the next morning to mewling and whining. when he moves to investigate—what clothes he had offered you thrown aside, in favour of the blushing heat crawling up your spine and neck. your thighs were clamped tight around his pillow, and your nose buried into it like you could absorb his scent if you inhaled enough of it.
munch!pope cody who comes home from a job, wound tight from stress and simmering anger, crawling into bed with you, looking for a release.
you're half-asleep as he presses soft kisses all along your neck, trailing lower as he wordlessly spreads your legs open. he nips away at your inner thighs, leaving little bruises and bite marks as you groggily squirm under his hold.
he pulls your hips closer, slinging you legs over his shoulders as he dives in. sloppily making out with your cunt, he leaves a string of spit as he pulls away for just a second to see the blissed-out expression on your face. your hand makes its way into his curls, guiding his face back to your centre as you grind up into his mouth.
you let out a soft moan, barely audible, but pope feels it travel all the way to his cock, leaving him pathetically humping the bed for some friction as he eats you out. desperate to hear those sounds again, he slips a thick finger into you, curling upwards just right to hear to moan his name. he laps at your clit more aggressively, needing you to cum all over his mouth.
when you finally finish, wracked with broken moans and shaking legs, you offer to return the favour. but there's no need. pope got all the pleasure he needed making you feel good — the wet spot on his jeans is the proof
hii, congrats on 500 🎉✨ i’d like to claim “only one bed” on the bingo board with pope cody x f!reader! maybe reader is doing a heist of some sort with the codys and pope doesn't trust her (but there's a lot of tension between him and reader)…. they're assigned to a recon mission together or they run together after the heist?? and anyway they end up in a shady motel, very tired… but oh no!! there's only one bed 😔 (i hope this inspires you something, tysm <3)
Only One Bed (No Sleep Edition)
andrew cody x f!reader
black out bingo masterlist | main masterlist
w.c. 3.3 k
Warnings: pope is weird, criminal!reader, robbery gone wrong, a smidge of gun play (not during the sex), only one bed omg, unprotected sex, cum eating, aftercare
A/N: i wrote this while recovering from a biopsy and after a xanax-induced nap so im sorry if it doesnt make sense and it kinda sucks <3
“Why can’t you do it?” You asked as you pushed the eggs around on your plate. You had been driving the 101 for a few days, coming back home to Oceanside after working a few robberies along the coast. You and your sister had a good gig. You were ‘hostages for hire,’ actresses who would be involved with heists to prevent the criminals from getting caught. You’d sob, snotty and ugly, begging and pleading for the bank managers to just do whatever the bad men said so they wouldn’t unload their gun into your head. And you’d leave the bank with them, collateral so that no one would follow you. Then, they’d drop you off on a corner somewhere with a wad of cash and a professional nod. And your mother always said those acting lessons were a waste of money.
“Jerry has a scheduling conflict.” Your sister explained.
“Fucking Jerry.” You scoffed around your bite of breakfast. You watched a car drive past the diner window and switched which hand held the phone to your ear.
“Hey,” She warned, “It’s not a bad job, alright? Simple jewelry store robbery.”
“When has a Cody job ever been simple?” Never.
“Just do it..please? We need to stay in their employment.” You drank from your coffee mug.
“They don’t like me.” You said softly. It wasn’t untrue. You had worked with the Codys once several years prior. The job went fine, you did your duty, but one of the sons just kept looking at you during the planning and the meetings and even during the getaway drive. Pope, you learned, had a staring problem. After that, they only called your sister for their needs. You had conflicting feelings about it. On one hand, you felt a bit jilted. Your sister made good money working for them, and you were cut out because…well, that was the thing- you had no idea what you did wrong. You had asked her once, why they preferred her. She said something about them not trusting you around Pope. Which you took to mean that they didn’t trust you. Pope always made you a little uncomfortable with his intensity, and you were sure he wasn’t exactly fond of you. He always treated you as an outsider. That was the other thing. You weren’t going to force yourself into a space that you clearly were not welcome in. And you didn’t mind not being next to that creep.
“That’s not true.” Your sister countered. But it was weak. You heard her sigh on the other end of the phone. “Dude, please. I’m asking this as a favor, okay? Officially.” Your eyebrows raised with interest. A favor from your sister was valuable. She was the kind of person who did not offer those lightly. She would literally do anything. So, after draining the rest of your coffee, you sighed.
“Yea, alright. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
---------
“We don’t bring in outsiders.” Pope’s mouth was in a hard line, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. His brow was heavy over his eyes and his nostrils were flared. Craig ran a hand through his hair before leaning closer to his brother. You could tell he was getting irritated.
“They’re our only option, okay?” Craig hissed, jaw clenched. “We need drivers.”
“Why can’t I drive?” Pope tilted his head and Craig took a deep breath.
“You know why.” His voice dropped a few notches. And they exchanged a look, the true meaning of which was lost on you. But you gathered that, the last time Pope had been the getaway driver, something had happened. After a few moments of silence, Craig huffed and pushed himself up from the table. The chair screeched on the concrete patio. “I’ll get them caught up on details.” With that, he stomped away, leaving just you and Pope at the iron outdoor table. You could feel the design of the chair digging into your thighs. When you stood up, you’d have an imprint of flowers splashing across your legs. Pope’s gaze landed heavy on you. Searing. Intrusive.
“Why are you here? Where’s your sister?” He bit out, gravelly voice catching on each syllable. You pushed down the annoyed scoff that threatened to spill from your mouth.
“Scheduling conflict.” You tried to make your tone amicable, but you weren’t sure if you succeeded. Pope just blinked in acknowledgment. “Do you-” But Pope didn’t hear the rest of your question. He was already walking back to the house. You rolled your eyes and shook your head.
---------
The job began as normal. You walked in thirty minutes before the planned time, scanning the jewelry display cases. One of the workers came over after a few moments, asking if he could help you. You told your story, how you were looking to get your mom a necklace for her birthday. A realistic story that was forgettable. He was about to take out a cushion of golden pendants when the door slammed open. Craig, Pope, and Deran stormed into the shop, guns up and shouting demands. You let adrenaline crash over your nerves and your legs began to shake. You gave a scared look to the counter clerk, who looked on the verge of tears. You moved to escape, but a strong arm curled around your stomach. It pulled you back into a broad chest. You flinched with the force of it. His grip was a little tighter than you were expecting and you wriggled against him, but he didn’t budge. His thumb brushed the underside of your breast. Fucking Craig and his handsy-
“You press that panic button, I’ll kill ‘er.” The rough voice was right next to your ear. That…wasn’t Craig. It was Pope. Genuine confusion made your performance more believable. The plan was for Craig to take the lead with you as hostage. They changed it without consulting you. But you didn’t have time to think too hard about it. You had a job. The tears came easily.
“P-Please,” You begged the clerk, whose gaze snapped from the gun Pope held, to your wet eyes. “Please don’t let him hurt me.” The clerk nodded frantically and stepped back from the counter. Pope jerked his head to the side, motioning for the man to join the rest of the people in the store lying on their bellies. Pope watched as he moved, pulling you in a semi-circle so that you could both survey the scene. Craig was circling the pile of patrons on the ground while Deran supervised the manager filling up the bag with the diamonds. Your breathing was uneven. Not just because of the performance you were putting on, but because of Pope’s hand, which was starting to slide further down your stomach. An innocent repositioning. So you hoped, anyway. You shifted against him and he huffed in your ear, just low enough that only you could hear.
“Stop squirmin’.” Just to spite him, you thrashed again. Your ass glided against his thigh and a sound purged from Pope’s throat. An annoyed grunt, perhaps. You couldn’t decipher it. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of the patrons squirm on the ground. You sneakily dug your fingers into Pope’s arm, gesturing with your eyes to where he was slowly moving his hand to his ankle. And then people started to scream.
It all happened so fast. The man pulled a gun from his boot and jumped to his feet, aiming for Craig. Pope called out to his brother, who whirled around and shot the guy before he could fire. Unfortunately, the man was standing right in front of you and the gunshot splattered blood all over you and Pope. Horrified shrieks cut through the atmosphere. Deran ripped the bag from the manager and called for everyone to go. Pope dragged him along with you, kicking and screaming. He paused for a moment before exiting the building, turning to face the crowd. His thumb pulled back the hammer. The click sent a shiver down your spine that settled in your belly. Not all of it was fear. But you weren’t going to unpack that. “Anyone follows us, you know what happens.” He threatened. And then, the thick back door closed behind him.
Craig should have listened to Pope. He should not have brought in outside drivers. Because the car was already driving away with Craig and Deran in the back seat. You and Pope had to just stand there, watching the van tear away into the street.
“Oh, fuck.” You gasped. Pope still had a grip on you, but he tucked the gun into his waistband. From inside the building, you heard the alarm. Great. You looked to Pope, whose eyes were trained on where the van turned onto a different street. His jaw twitched and his eyes flicked around, calculating the next best move. He huffed and grabbed your wrist, pulling you into a jog. “Where are we going?” You asked, struggling to keep up with his pace. Pope didn’t answer, just kept moving.
---------
The motel was run-down. With maybe three cars in the parking lot and leaves floating in the pool. Pope had deposited you on the curb while he went in to talk to the owner. You watched a pair of crows fight over a moldy bagel. The sky was getting darker with each passing moment. The door behind you jingled and Pope emerged, room key closed tightly in their fist.
“He said we could stay the night.” He said plainly, gesturing for you to stand.
“Why do we have to stay? Can’t we just find a way home?”
“I don’t have a phone on me, and it’s best to lie low. We can get home tomorrow. Come on.” You rolled your eyes but followed. You figured he had a better grasp on the necessities of this kind of situation than you did. When Pope unlocked the door to the room, you genuinely let out a laugh.
“You cannot be serious.” The room was dingy, peeling wallpaper and green carpet lit by a half-dead lamp. But the worst part about it was there was a single queen bed in the center. “One bed?” You looked at him with disdain. He just shrugged, but you noticed the vein in his neck pulsing harder.
“It’s all he had.”
“Really?” You sneered, pointing to the empty parking lot. “You believed that?” Pope grumbled and roughly shoved you inside the room before shutting the door and locking it. You stood there for a moment as Pope slid past you, hurrying to the sink to immediately wash his hands. You flopped onto the bed, but Pope snapped his fingers at you.
“Get up.” He ordered. You were on your feet instantly, arms behind you, and looking with horror at the comforter.
“Why?” You gasped, trying to see what the issue was. “What’s wrong?” When you looked back up, Pope had shed his sweatshirt and was pushing his jeans down to the ground. “Uh….” you couldn’t think of anything else to say. Not when there was a big, bulky man (that you always found a little attractive) in his underwear standing in front of you.
“Take off your clothes.” He said it clinically, like he was telling you to put away the dishes.
“I’m sorry, what?” You scoffed. “No, I’m…no, Pope, I’m not undressing in front of you.” Pope rolled his eyes as if you were being unreasonably difficult.
“We have to ditch our clothes.” He gestured at you. “They have blood on them.” You looked down at your outfit. Sure enough, the man’s blood was splashed across your abdomen and thighs. Heat rose to your cheeks. Fuck. He was right. You knew he was. “I’ll look away,” he promised, and turned to face the wall. You just stood there for a few moments, staring at his curled head. “Are you done?”
“No!” You almost laughed. “I’m not doing it! I…I don’t have anything to change into.” Your words were soft. Without hesitating, Pope pulled his shirt over his head. You ignored the way your heart kicked when his bare torso was revealed. Freckled skin pulled taught over hard muscle. He held out the shirt to you.
“We’ll get you some new clothes when we get back tomorrow,” He rasped, nodding at you to take the shirt. “You can wear this. It doesn’t have blood on it.” When you tentatively grabbed the fabric, he found a trashbag and shoved his jeans and sweatshirt into it. You sighed in resignation and began to undress. You took off your shoes, unbuckled your pants, and replaced your shirt with Pope’s.
“Alright,” You told him, balling up the clothing and putting it in the bag when he held it out to you. Pope’s eyes flicked down for only a moment. His gaze moved from the sliver of underwear visible by your hips down to your socks. Both articles were covered in little strawberries.
“You’re matching.” Pope said simply. In that stupid monotone voice you could never decipher. Your nose wrinkled in annoyance.
“Shut up,” You bit back, but the heat in your cheeks spread even further with each passing moment. You hurried to one side of the bed and crawled under the covers. Not only because you were ready to sleep, but because you didn’t want to spend another moment under Pope’s assessing gaze.
You patted the side of the bed that was still made, gesturing for Pope to sit. Instead, he looked at the chair in the corner of the room. His fist clenched and unclenched, fingers twitching nervously as his eyes flicked from the torn upholstery to the dark stain that covered half the cushion. He sighed and walked to the wall, pressing his back against it and sliding to sit on the carpet. He pulled his knees tight against his chest. Your gaze lowered.
“Listen,” You sighed, “I know you don’t like me or trust me, or whatever, but-”
“Who said that?” Pope asked, brow furrowed and mouth pinched. You tilted your head in confusion.
“Craig. He said they didn’t trust me around you.” Pope’s nostrils flared with a deep breath and his gaze lifted to look out the window.
“I’m sorry if I ever gave you the impression that I’m dangerous. I would never hurt you.” In fact, you doubted you could hurt him even if you tried. You knew his reputation.
“I know.”
“So will you please just get in the bed? It’s a queen. It’ll be fine. And cleaner than sitting all night on a carpet that hasn’t been cleaned in…who knows how long. At least the sheets are fresh-ish.” Pope’s lips quirked to the side. It took a few heartbeats, but he cautiously climbed into the bed, on top of the covers, and sat with his back straight against the headboard. He pressed his hands together and rested them in his lap. His bare chest rose and fell calmly. He forced his eyes to stare at the wall across the room.
The exhaustion of the day settled over you and it was officially night outside. You shimmied down into the bed further and pulled the covers over your shoulders. You muttered a g’night and closed your eyes. Several minutes passed, filled with the steady hum of the air conditioning and the occasional whoosh of a passing car.
“It’s not that they don’t trust you.” His voice was quiet and you were so close to sleep you almost didn’t hear it.
“What?” You murmured groggily.
“Before,” He continued, watching you as you pushed yourself up to look at him. “You said Craig didn’t trust you around me.” You nodded. “But that’s not true.”
“What are you talking about, Pope?” You were tired, just wanted to sleep. You didn’t have the energy for his little games.
“They don’t trust me around you.” His eyes darkened and it made your throat go dry.
“W…Why not?” You squeaked out. The beginning traces of panic began to pump your heart. Pope remained still, heavy gaze becoming a touch more sinister.
“Because I’d do this.” He leaned forward, pressing his mouth against yours. You inhaled sharply with surprise. The kiss wasn’t rough. In fact, it was little more than his lips simply resting on yours. Pope pulled back after a few heartbeats. He just looked at you. You blinked at him, jaw slack. He worked the muscle in his jaw as he waited for your response, fingers neatly intertwined with each other and resting on his stomach. And just before his face fell with disappointment, you grabbed his cheeks and pulled him back to you. The second kiss was sloppier, clashes of teeth and tongue as you tried to find a rhythm. But it wasn’t long before Pope was resting his weight on top of you, licking into your mouth and only parting for breath and to take off your shirt. You shimmied off your underwear and tossed them to the side. You were so lost in the kiss, you didn’t realize he had taken off his boxers until you felt the hot skin of his head poking at your entrance.
“Is this okay?” He breathed, nose slotted beside yours.
“Please,” You nodded eagerly. “So wet for you. Need you so bad.”
The first roll of his hips punched the air out of your lungs with a breathy moan. The thick length of him pressed against each and every one of your nerve endings, flooding your body with searing pleasure. Your nails dug into the meat of his shoulders as Pope paused to give you time to adjust.
“F-Fuck!” You gasped, eyes wide, “You’re…You’re so big.”
“I know, m’sorry,” He apologized between kisses along your jaw line. “Let me know if it’s too much.” After a few moments and several deep breaths, Pope began to move again. Each thrust sent sparks up your spine. Your toes went numb every time his cock found the most sensitive spot inside you. You were mewling, whimpering, begging for something you couldn't verbalize. And the entire time, Pope held himself up, hands planted on either side of your head, and just stared at you unblinking with his bottom lip caught in his teeth. His abdomen rolled, pulling his cock out of you and then pressing back in with a rhythm that made you see stars. Your arousal matted both of your pubic hair and you saw sweat began to slip down the inside of Pope’s arms from his exertion. One of Pope’s fingers came up to nudge your clit. “Cu…Please cum f’me.” He whispered, rubbing tight circles that had your walls fluttering around him. It didn’t take long for the hot band to snap in your abdomen. You arched into him, cumming with a cry of his name. As you spasmed around him, the lock of his eyes began to falter. His lids fluttered as you gripped him impossibly hard, short breaths pitching upwards into moans. When you rode out your orgasm, he abruptly pulled out, tugging on his dick twice before ropes of cum splashed onto your chest. Pope watched each twitch of his spent cock with half-lidded eyes and a heaving chest. Your head fell back and your eyes closed, trying to regulate your breathing. But you gasped when you felt Pope’s wet tongue drag across your breasts. Your eyes opened, watching as he lapped his spend from your smooth skin. He paused every now and again to suck on your still-hardened nipples, earning a quiet whimper of overstimulation in return. When you were deemed sufficiently clean, Pope pressed a kiss to your sweaty forehead and climbed off you. He tucked one arm beneath the crook of your knees and one around your back. He carried you into the bathroom and started the shower. As the warm water kissed your skin, he murmured in your ear.
“That’s why they didn’t trust me around you.” He said, kissing along the damp ridge of your shoulder. “They know I like you too much.”
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a/n: okay i cannot believe my last one did as well as it did! please feel free to send asks and comment! hearing what the people want is super helpful to me for coming up with what to write... otherwise it is completely self indulgent like this one (dividers by @/uzmacchiato !) (btw i used an em dash.) (it was not chatgpt) (i just didnt want anyone to get jumpscared by it ) (ai could neva write this poorly...) (take THAT)
⊹ ࣪ .✦ ݁˖ pope love love loves his girl... one thing he doesn't love is the glitter. everywhere. he sits by the pool so he can keep an eye on you, as always. you swim for a bit and when you return, he's staring at his hands like they personally wronged him.
"what's wrong?" he looks up to meet your worried gaze as he shows you his sparkling palm with a huff and a furrowed brow.
"shit gets everywhere," he grumbles as he walks towards the house. only reason hes not super irritated is because you showed him that tape takes off glitter. needless to say, he spends the next five minutes putting tape on his hands over and over again while wondering what could've possibly required that much glitter.
⊹ ࣪ .✦ ݁˖ he lets you do whatever you want. if you thought you were spoiled rotten before, trust it gets 10x worse around pope. if you want something, don't even mention it! he already bought it for you! and its pink, because of course it is. he lets you bedazzle, paint, and color on anything you want. smurf (being the bitch she is) hates it. she hates that you run wild and pope makes no attempt to stop you. if anything he encourages it.
buying things and customizing things isn't all. he does every silly trend with you, even if he catches shit from his brothers about it. baz usually comes down on him worst about it, though. always "why did you let her do that," or "that looks terrible for you," but pope has never cared. if his girl is happy, he's happy too.
he loves to watch you put sparkles on everything, buy things on his card, and make everything your own. he is perfectly content watching you shape the world so it revolves around you — and even happier to help you.
⊹ ࣪ .✦ ݁˖ he partakes in EVERYTHING you do. i mean, he is a willing participant who takes his role very seriously. specifically, shopping. he loves to watch you try on half the things in the store, with his stoic expression and the occasional mumble. of course, you think hes disinterested, so you stop trying things on.
he stops you as you start to leave the dressing room, four tops you haven't tried on in hand. "where ya going?"
"you dont look like you're having fun."
he rolls his eyes, like whatever hes about to say is glaringly obvious. "i am. who do you think put half the shit in your basket? santa claus? i wouldn't take you here if i didnt want a fashion show," he says, a small smile growing on his face. he quickly levels his expression, as though he was told not to smile. "go. back in the room. and i hung a skirt i wanted to see."
you squeal and head back into the room, leaving a very amused pope eagerly awaiting a fashion show from his girl (which ends in him buy all the clothes and asking for a second fashion show back at the house <3)
thinking about pope cody finally coming to see you when he gets out from prison…
pairings: pope cody x fem! reader
tags: no smut but still 18+ only, stalking, obsessive tendencies, dark! pope cody, longing, breaking and entering, legal age gap (reader is 22, pope is 39)
word count: 1090
summary: pope had been out of prison for 2 weeks, yet you didn’t know it, but he had been watching your every move and finally decides to come pay you a visit.
a/n: who wants to be on the shawn hatosy universe taglist? i may do a google form
two weeks.
that was how long pope had been home from prison, and also how long he had been watching your every move from afar, as he was so good at doing. standing hidden across the street, parked down the block, eyes catching the lights in your room flick on and off, you name it. smurf had caught him a couple of times walking down the street as late as 3 in the morning going or coming from who knows where. baz knew where he was going. where else would pope go?
your house.
well, your father's house. the father who leaves every friday night at approximately 8 pm to go to the bar downtown and wouldn't be back until 11 pm to midnight, drunk.
for the 3 years he was in prison, you got a different job, working at a retail store on the closing shift every other day. on those nights he watched you close the shop, he always brought his gun with him in case he needed to protect you from any nightcrawlers.
you had no idea he was home. when pope went in, your father made you cut all ties with the cody's and made you stop responding to pope's letters and collect calls.
'you need to focus on your college classes.' he would say.
'that andrew is older than you and dangerous.'
but he always had a soft spot for you.
every single night in prison, he thought about you. if you changed your hair, if you got a new wardrobe, if you still wore pink, if you had a new boyfriend. the last thought always angered him to no end, the thought of another boy touching you, caressing you, kissing you, making you smile. pope couldn't handle it.
your father was in the way.
pope didn't like people getting in his way.
you were 19 when he first got locked up, and now you were freshly 22, and even more beautiful than pope remembered when he last saw you. you were walking to your car one morning, pope watching you from behind the corner of your house outside. he decided to try and call you to see if you would answer.
you felt your phone vibrate in your hand, holding it up to look at the caller ID but it says unknown caller. you reluctantly slide it to the right to answer.
"hello?" you were met with silence, as pope's eyes traced your every move as you waited for a response that he would never give. you heard even, calm breaths through the phone speaker before speaking again. "...andy?" you breathe out and he hangs up the call before disappearing, not that he was in your sights anyway.
that was a few days ago.
now, pope was standing in your dark bedroom, watching your peaceful sleeping figure. he slid open your bedroom window with barely a sound before he stepped softly on the carpet and closed the window shut behind him. he tilted his head as he watched your chest rise and fall with each breath. you still slept on your side, facing the wall that was right next to your bed.
you didn't even stir as he walked to the edge of your bed and just stood there. you felt his presence before you saw him and your eyes opened only to be met with a tall, dark figure standing right in front of you. you shot up, sitting upright immediately and pushing yourself back against the headboard in fear.
"a-andy...?" your eyes still adjusting to the dark room and from just waking up.
"why were you avoiding me?" he asks in that tone that always made your breath hitch. your eyes dart all over him.
"i-"
"you knew i was calling you." he calmly spoke again. "you answered." his head moved with his words, never taking his eyes off of you.
"why didn't you come see me?" he asks with a lingering hint of sadness, it broke your heart.
"andy, i wanted to but-"
"i waited every day." he paused. "you weren't there." all those days you could've snuck out of the house to visit him while he was up there all alone came back to you.
baz had told you he was having a hard time. the guards not treating him right, getting into fights, you name it. you knew he had to defend himself. you could see the results of that; he was bigger, stronger. you gathered up the courage to get up out of your bed, stand up, and walk over to him. you looked him in the eyes before bringing your arms up to wrap behind his neck, standing on your tiptoes in a hug. his arms stay at his sides but not for long. when he does embrace you back, it's as if he's holding on to you so that you don't slip through his fingers.
he puts his nose into your neck and breathes you in, pushing that breath back out against the skin there as he reveled in your floral scent that always drove him crazy. "you still smell the same."
he spoke again. "you stopped writing me." his words muffled by the skin of your neck.
"i didn't want to, i promise." you truthfully tell him. your father threatened to stop paying your tuition if he caught you sending another letter or another one from pope being mailed to the house.
"he made you stop." it was more a statement than a question, to which you nodded your head.
"but i never stopped loving you, andy. i missed you so much." you kindly admit to him, knowing that he has doubts about love. he pulled back so you could see his face, as his expression broke. he didn't speak, he just slammed his lips against yours, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to grip it there possessively. three years of longing and desire put into this one kiss made your knees weak as you kissed him back.
as your lips were still connected, he walked you back to lay on your bed on top of the astray sheets, his hands coming to dig into the mattress on either side of your head.
"were you a good girl while i was gone?" he asked, alluding to did you sleep with anyone else. you violently shook your head no and the ghost of a smirk showed on his face.
"good. now show me how dirty you used to get, hm? just for me."
snowghoul
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