Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
woke up thinking about rabbot and puppy reader she’s so needy in the mornings :(( and because the men are so tired and exhausted from work she has to do all the work herself :)) please do what you will with this i love your pitt fics <333
18+mdni cw pet play omgggg omg….. she does not understand the concept of morning wood, to her it seems like most mornings her daddies are just as needy as she is!! so of course she’s gonna help, she’s a good dog!
she clamors up onto the bed and noses at the big bulge in robby’s boxer shorts, tongue lapping against the thin fabric n face nuzzling into his warmth… the smell of him has her dripping down her thigh in an instant </3 but robby’s exhausted, and groggy, and his hand finds the crown of her head to push her away— “quit it,” he grumbles in a low, tired voice, “bad dog.”
jack wakes up to that, and to your sad little whimpers that follow. he stretches with a soft groan then pats his thigh, draws your attention to the hard-on hiding behind his own briefs. “c’mere. let the old man sleep.”
Robby grunts in disapproval before he drifts back off, n you scamper over to jack to start mouthing clumsily at his dick.
“Attagirl.” Jack rasps, voice just as low with sleep as robby’s had been. “Just need some attention in the morning, dontcha? Yeah?” His lilting coo drives you wild, making your tail whip and your heart thrum and excited little yips leave your mouth. “Shhh. Easy, puppy.” He keeps his voice steady now, for once not really wanting to rile you up. “Relax. You’re gonna get what you want.”
he takes himself out of his boxers and lets you clamor on top of him and sink right down on his thick hardness. “Shit. There you go, that’s it. Hump daddy’s cock.”
can't stop thinking about season 1 pope and his old cellmate talking about how pope kept referring to cath as his wife but instead of cath he kept telling everyone one that you were the wife waiting for him at home. you, deran's friend who is closer to his younger brother's age but who was always nice to him, not afraid to be alone with him, showed him too much kindness. you who didn't shrink under his intense stare, not thinking it was intimidating. he never made a move on you because he was confident you were dating deran - why else would you be around the house so often, around smurf and put up with craig? you sleep in his bed whenever you stay over.
but on his hardest days inside of folsom, he thinks of the times your thumb ran over his cheek, underneath the raised skin of a new scar from fighting with one of his brothers or the feeling of your hands in his hair whenever he built up the courage to ask you to give him a haircut. he remembers the one time you came out of deran's room at two in the morning, joining him on the couch after fetching yourself a glass of water. he's watching a nature documentary he's watched at least three times already, but he doesn't tell you that when you're sitting so close that your thigh is pressed against him and the heat radiating off you is making the tension he always carries in his shoulders melt. that night you fell asleep with your head against his shoulder, your arms clutching his bicep as you curled into him.
smurf didn't put you on the visitation list, which he won't admit out loud but he's grateful for it. he doesn't want you to come in and see him like this and, selfishly, he doesn't want any of the guys in here to see what you look like. they don't deserve to. but he does call you once a week, just to make sure you're doing okay and nobody's giving you any trouble, though he's sure deran's taking care of you. the thought turns into acid in the back of his mind. even though he's convinced you belong to his brother, he can't help the fantasy from bleeding into his new life in prison, telling anyone who'll listen that he's got a pretty, young thing waiting for him at home. that he's going to propose as soon as he gets out. that you two are planning to have a family. that he can't believe you're out there waiting for him.
so he can't help the surge of panic that surges through his body like a lit match when, a month after he's been out, he's out to lunch with you when he runs into his cellmate, vin.
"so, you must be the missus. huh?" he teases in snarky voice, his eyes raking over you in a slow perusal that makes andrew's blood boil hotter than the flush across his skin, his fist clenching to stop himself from lunging at him.
"the missus?" you ask, laughing a little as you glance at pope. your laugh dies down when you notice the intense look he's giving this guy and the red splotches across his neck. your attention is pulled back to whoever this random guy is when you hear your name come from him. "uh, yeah. that's me. sorry, do i know you?"
"oh, i'm sorry. i guess i ruined the surprise," vin lips his lips, nodding toward your hand. "guess popey here hasn't popped the question. just confused. he wouldn't shut up about you in there, only talked about getting back to his girl. he kept talking about finally cuffing you up when we were inside, just thought he'd do it pretty quickly after getting out. still just the girlfriend, then?"
"o-oh," you stutter out, your face flushing as you glance back at andrew. his face is pinched in that way it does when he's trying to calm himself down, remind himself to breathe. his focus on his cellmate doesn't break until he feels your fingers ghost down his arm. when he finally looks at you, your stomach turns at how quickly his expression softens.
you always thought there was something between you and pope. the first time you came to a cody party, you weren't at all prepared for how overwhelming it'd be. you had been hanging around the cody's for almost two months now after meeting deran at one of adrian's local surf competitions. it was also the day you accidentally walked in on him and adrian being... intimate. you reassured deran that you didn't care, you already knew about adrian being gay and you never told anyone about him so his secret would be safe with you, too.
the night of the party, you made it about an hour before deran completely ditched you to jump off the roof with craig into the pool, the activity quickly becoming competitive between the brothers. you decided you were over it before wandering inside, quickly isolating yourself in the one room you knew no one would find themselves in: andrew "pope" cody. you hadn't expected to find him there already, sitting rigidly on his bed, facing the window. his head snapped over toward his door when you opened it, his posture loosening when he noticed it was just you.
"you okay?" he asked quietly, his voice strained from not using it.
"s'too loud out there, and deran ditched me. i don't know anyone else." you walked further into the room, climbing into pope's bed after toeing your shoes off. "do you mind?" you suppressed your smile when he shook his head with no hesitation. he wordlessly grabbed a shirt and a pair of shorts from his drawer before tossing them at you.
"change." he demanded softly, frowning before adding, "please. outside clothes."
since that moment, you and pope had grown attached to the hip. you came over even without deran just to spend time with pope, which confused him at first considering you two mostly just either sat on the couch in silence of laid in his bed after you changed into his clothes. surely you had more fun with deran. but he never questioned you, afraid you would take it the wrong way and stop coming over.
but you didn't realize pope thought of you as his girlfriend. not that it bothered you.
"popey was a little loopy most days in there. was he talking out of his ass about his pretty, young thing?" vin interrupts the look between you and pope, bringing you back to the present.
"if pope said i'm his girlfriend, then that's what i am," you say easily, giving his hand a squeeze. he squeezes your hand back, tugging you a little closer toward him.
"well, s'nice to meet you, sweetheart," he gives you a wink, his gaze returning to pope. "give me a call sometime, pope. we've got some things to catch up on," he says pointedly, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away, his shoulder brushing past pope's.
"vin was my cellmate," he offers quietly. "told him, everyone about... well, you. i-i'm sorry."
"for what?" you say softly, one of your hands coming up to brush through pope's steadily growing hair, the curls starting to take form again, much to your delight.
"you're not mad?" he frowns, his brows furrowing when you shake your head. "you're not gonna tell deran?"
"why would deran care?" you say, laughing a little.
"he's your actual boyfriend. i would care."
"what!" you shriek, rearing back in disbelief. "deran is not my boyfriend."
"he isn't?"
"pope, if deran was my boyfriend i'd be an awful girlfriend. i used to sleep with you in your bed. i'd sneak out of his room to sit with you on the couch whenever i did pass out in his room. i've thought about you everyday that last three years you've been away." you sidle up closer to him again, reaching over to grab his other hand so you were holding both of them. "if i'm anyone's girlfriend," you shrug, giving him a sheepish smile, "i'm yours."
"yeah?" he mumbles, letting you maneuver his hands to wrap around your waist, fighting the urge to pull you flush against him when your arms come up to wrap around his neck.
"yeah," you mumble back, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "now," you continue, your lip still pressed against his skin, "let's go get some lunch." your lips press against his cheek one more time before moving to hover just above the corner of his mouth. "i'm starving."
18+ mdni cw: cnc dadbf!robby holding you in his lap, chest to chest, his arm firm around your middle… n he tells jack “she’s alright. just let her cry it out.” when you start sniffling and clawing at robby’s shoulders, tears rolling down your cheeks while jack forces his thick cock into you <3
thought abt john carter in that slutty ass northwestern shirt w the sleeves cut off and imagined…. robby…. robby in that shirt on a hot day but he’s hotter #hot -> also reader’s like mid 20s yes this is self indulgent i need to fuck that old ass man! +18 MDNI!
"what is that?" you ask, brows furrowed as robby walks out of the bathroom in a shirt you've never seen him in before. it's loose, looks a little worn, frayed at the edges of the arm holes where there definitely used to be sleeves.
robby just stands there in front of the door, looking down at his shirt before back up at you. "it's a shirt, sweetheart."
you make a face. "i know that," you scoff, watching him approach his side of the bed, eyeing his exposed arms, long and just slightly toned under soft skin. "i just mean, like, i've never seen it before."
he shrugs, a little grunt leaving him as he climbs into his side of the bed, reaching for his phone to read. his elbow pops slightly as he positions himself against the headboard. usually, you'd have a little quip to say about that, but you're preoccupied.
"it's from college," he quips, sighing a little as he fixes his face to unlock his phone. "found it at the bottom of my dresser drawer."
"huh," you mutter. you inch closer, and your hand reaches out to flick at the arm holes where the fabric has frayed. "did you cut the sleeves off?"
"at some point, yeah," robby responds, slipping his readers on. oh. oh, so he's out to get you. okay. "why?"
you shrug. "i dunno." he gets a good second or two to read barely past the headline of a medical article jack'd sent him, before you ask, "is it comfy?"
“mhm,” he nods, not looking away from his phone. you shift a little closer.
“is it, like… like, how old is it? when’d you get it?”
he looks at you over the rim of his glasses. "thirty years ago?" he sees your eyes go glassy.
"thirty years ago," you repeat airily. your bottom lip slotting between your teeth. god, he's just so old. every time you're reminded of it it makes heat pool in your belly.
"mhm," he nods, returning his focus to his phone, trying not to laugh at the way you look, dazed and flushed. he gives it a few more seconds before he looks up from his phone again. "you need anything?" he asks, as he pushes his hair back. you love the look of his lanky arms. the fit of the shirt makes you dizzy, the way he looks so warm. you could sink your teeth into his bicep, nothing's stopping you.
"huh?” you ask, eyes faraway.
he chuckles. "you're getting all glassy-eyed. you like my shirt that much?" you whine, and your thighs press together. he laughs, louder now, with a shake of his head. “silly girl.”
you huff dramatically, falling back onto your pillow, forearm over your eyes. "shut up."
he continues, "here i am, trying to catch up on reading, minding my own business-"
you groan.
"—and you're getting all worked up over me in a shirt."
"you suck," you bemoan, which only makes him laugh more.
“i know, i do, don’t i?” he asks, a tad condescending, as he tugs your arm away from your face. “what is it, huh? need me to help you out?” a sound leaves you, desperate and needy. your thighs press together yet again when your eyes lock. he sucks at his teeth. “yeah, y’do. need daddy?”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: You take Robby off guard from the very beginning and continue to do so throughout your entire relationship. The first time he fucks you is no exception.
Warnings: +18 mdni, age gap, size difference, inconvenient boners, groping, car sex, oral (both m! and f! receiving), choking (but not rough he just holds u by the neck), dirty talk, explicit consent given, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, semi-public, the glasses stay on (and come off so he can eat u better), talk of alcohol consumption, lightly edited
Note: this was supposed to be a drabble so i'd written it in all lowercase but then it spiraled and i had to go back and edit so if there's some missing capitilization that's why :') also huge thank u to @thykingdoncome for taking a looksie at this (and for putting me on to this sad-eyed man good GAWD)
WC: 3.6k
Robby wasn't used to having a younger girlfriend.
He had never really been the type before you. Had always preferred the maturity of an older woman or one his own age.
But when Trinity jokingly set him up on tinder and he used it seriously one time, he stumbled across your profile. You're so pretty and sweet, with those cute photos with your friends and the one on the back of a boat in a polka dot bikini.
He took a risk. Told himself it was just to try it out. He wasn't doing it seriously or anything. He just needed to get laid.
But that first date? Robby left three hours later than intended, drunk on the ambrosia of your affection and he realized that maybe a younger girlfriend is exactly what he needed.
He used to want to come home to the quiet of his house, to feed the stray cat outside and maybe read a little before bed. He used to like to sleep in on his off days, to spend the time couch rotting with a good book or some mind numbing TV. He used to like ordering takeout and never leaving the house unless he had to.
He saw enough action at work, anyway. no need for more of it.
But you are living life for the very first time and taking advantage of every second of it. Occasionally you'll sleep in until ten, if he's lucky. But you're out the door by eleven. Shopping or visiting museums or driving three hours to a store for some product that finally says it's back in stock.
And Robby—god. He loved to trail behind you the whole time.
He liked to carry your shopping bags and watch you try on clothes just to put them back. He liked to watch you order something new at a restaurant and see your reaction. He liked to watch as you take a hundred photos on your phone and even let you pose him so it turned out exactly like the vision in your head.
He liked hearing your giggle when you turned your phone to show him some silly TikTok he doesn't understand.
He even liked staying out late now, because you're always at a bar or a club. Always on the dance floor with a drink in your hand. Robby liked to watch you dance wildly, liked to watch the lights reflect in your eyes, liked to come home covered in your body glitter and your coconut perfume and your love.
In truth, Robby had been a little nervous thinking about the first time you'd sleep together. Worried he couldn't keep up with you, that you'd want him more often than his age would allow.
Cause, ya know—he's twice your age, and his stamina isn't what it used to be, and you're so alive and so bright and he's so…him. A little grumpy and a whole lot tired.
But what Robby discovered after some time is that his desire for you overshadowed all else.
He looked at your smiling face and all the nerves settled in his head, going from a raging storm to still waters in an instant.
He wanted your first time together to be romantic. Maybe he'd cook you some pasta and the two of you could get wine drunk and stumble up into his bedroom late one evening, and he'd be real sweet and soft. He wanted to make love to you. Wanted you to know just how much you brighten his life, wanted you to know just how cherished you really are.
But what actually happened is far from romantic.
It's not in his bed or even his house. It's in the back of his car, in broad daylight, on a random side street one rainy, Tuesday afternoon.
You'd asked him to stop and try that new coffee place downtown before you went to meet Trinity and Dennis for lunch. The downpour had intensified while you were inside ordering, and by the time you'd ran back to the car you'd both gotten drenched.
An event that would've irritated Robby before you, but how could he be upset about the rain and his wet hair and the droplets on his glasses when you were laughing about it? How could he be upset or irritated when you wore the sweetest smile?
You'd leaned across the center console, took his face in your cold hands, and pressed your mouth to his. you always tasted so sweet, and the combination of your warm tongue against his and the cool, wet slide of the rain on your lips—god. It had him weak in the knees.
Arousal pooled low in his gut instantaneously. He tried to think of other things. Gross things, terrifying things, of anything but you. None of it worked to erase the intensity of his desire.
He was ten minutes away from the diner when he pulled over and admitted what was going on. "Sweetheart, I'm…I'm really sorry, I know you were looking forward to this but I think we might have to cancel."
A crease formed between your brows, and it pained him to see it. "What? Why? What's going on, are you okay?"
Robby's face warmed, and he knew he should probably lie. Make up some fluke of an excuse as to why he'd suddenly had a change of heart and needed to return home at the very last second. But the look in your eyes was full of true concern, and Robby knew he'd never be able to lie. Not to you.
So, he took it on the chin. Swallowed down his embarrassment and said, "Yeah, yeah. But…uhm—when you…when you kissed me, it was really…" he laughed, fingers fidgeting. "It felt really nice. Too nice, actually, and—"
"Oh," you interrupted. "You're hard?"
The words are said so plainly, as if there's nothing wrong with the fact that he'd gotten this worked up over something as small as a kiss. Robby shook his head. "I've tried to get it to go away, but," he scoffed. "It's not—uh, not working, so—"
"Well, let me help you." Your lips turned up at the corners, a knowing smirk forming. you unbuckled your seatbelt and moved closer, leaning over the center console until your mouth is a breath away from his. "Is it okay if I touch you?"
Robby's head turned, glancing out of the rain-clouded windows. There was no one around, and he very much wanted you to touch him, but— "Are you sure? Here?"
Your nod is both certain and enthusiastic. "What better place than here and now?"
He laughed. "Anywhere would be better than here," he said. "My bed, your bed, the damn couch, for christ's sa—"
You palmed at his bulge through the too-thick fabric of his jeans. "Yeah? That's where you wanna fuck me, Mikey? The couch?" Your voice was low and teasing in his ear, sending shivers up his spine.
Robby swallowed, muscles slackening beneath your touch. You squeezed his length in your hand, stroking him with your thumb.
"Or…" you began. "Do you wanna fuck me here?" Your other hand joined the first, aiding so you could unbutton his jeans and slide your hand down the front of them.
He's not wearing boxers—Robby can't stand the extra fabric and the way it bunches—and suddenly your hand was wrapped tight around his aching cock. His head tilted back against the seat, eyes closed as you whispered against the shell of his ear.
"You're even bigger than I thought you'd be. Gonna feel so—so full, when you're inside me." you said, stroking his cock with the perfect amount of pressure. "I think about you fucking me a lot, Mikey. You're just so strong and so big and so fuckin' sexy. You remember when I asked you to send me those pictures when you were in the shower? I've touched myself to them so many times."
It killed him to hear it. To imagine you with your fingers on your clit or buried deep inside you while you're thinking about him. His cock pulsed, throbbing with desire. "This isn't—fuck—this isn't how it's supposed to be. I'm supposed to—to be sweet. Dinner and wine and rose—jesus—rose petals and—"
"I don't want rose petals today," you murmured. You licked at his neck, wet tongue sliding up over his pulse, over the stubble there that he's gone a day too long without shaving. "What I want is to suck your cock. Can I do that, Mikey?"
Robby was nodding before he could think any better of it. He lifts his hips just enough to pull his jeans down, cock springing free and resting against his belly, reaching just below his navel. It's thick and aching for you, resting just on top of the dark hair of his happy trail. "'Course you can, baby."
The smile you gave him in response is nothing short of earth-shattering.
Robby doesn't think anyone has ever seemed this eager for him. No one's been so desperate for it. The realization made him feel dizzy with affection for you and the way you worship him, the way you trust him.
You leaned over the center console, took his cock in one hand, and pressed a wet kiss to his tip. Your mouth is so soft and so sweet and so warm. Your tongue swirled around his length as you eased him into your mouth, tracing each vein over and over as if for memorization.
Robby didn't know where to put his hands. He wanted to touch you, to smooth your hair back away from your face. He wanted to reach over and squeeze the supple flesh of your ass through your leggings. He wanted to reach lower, to press his fingers against your folds through the cotton fabric until you moaned for him.
But he didn't know what was too much, or what wasn't enough, and—
You suddenly swallowed him down, taking all of him in your mouth, nose pressed to the thick hair at the base of his cock and it felt so fucking good that he nearly finishes right then and there.
And Robby, on instinct, grabbed the back of your neck to steady himself. "Oh fuck," he choked out. "Careful, pretty girl. Careful, careful—"
You slowly leaned back, mouth sealed tight around him, sucking hard until his cock pops out from between your lips. You turned your head to look up at him, slapping the underside of his length lewdly against your tongue. Spit bubbled at the corners of your mouth, sliding messily down your chin. "I love sucking your cock," you said.
A smile stretched across his face. Real and true and happy. "Yeah?"
You nodded in response, teary eyes alight with desire. "Mhm."
"Well, it's not fair for you to have all the fun now, is it?" Robby's fingers curled around the back of your neck, pulling you up and off of him. He guided your mouth to his, the kiss wet this time in a whole different way. His free hand found your neck, bracketing your throat completely between his big hands.
You moaned against his tongue and Robby smiled against your lips.
He pulled away only to instruct, "Why don't you go ahead an' get in the back seat for me, baby."
A grin formed on your face—pretty and submissive and alive with hunger. Robby could get real addicted to this, he thought. Real addicted to you.
He let go of your throat, and watched as you hurriedly did as told. Obedient little thing, so perfect.
Robby followed closely behind. He reached tbeneath the passenger seat to push it forward. The space is too small for him; cramped even when he bends on aching knees to the floor of the back seat.
Kneeling between your thighs, Robby hooked his fingers around the waistband of your leggings and pulled them down, over your high top sneakers. His hands come to feel the softness of your exposed skin, roaming up and beneath your shirt, feeling you this close for the very first time.
Robby palmed your breasts over the fabric of your bra, thumbs running over the subtle swells of your peaked nipples. "You're so pretty," he mused, leaning forward to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss just above your navel.
His mouth traveled downward, peppering kisses across your belly until his lips met the fabric of your panties. Robby delighted in the shiver you gave as the warmth of his breath fanned across your cunt. He pressed a kiss right over your clit and grinned to himself as your spine arched.
"Let's take these off, yeah?"
You nodded eagerly, and Robby didn't waste time before pulling your panties away.
"Oh, look at that," Robby muttered. He brought his hand between your legs and slid his fingers gently through your arousal. "So fuckin' wet, isn't she? This all for me, baby?"
"Yes," you breathed out. "Need you, Mikey. So bad."
"I know you do. S'alright, I've got you." Robby took his glasses off and set them on the leather seat beside you, before leaning forward and kissing you right where you needed him most. A shallow breath stuttered out of your chest, but he doesn't give you a moment to gather yourself. His tongue darts out, licking you from your entrance to your clit and then circling.
Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Robby obliged your silent instruction, suckling your clit into his mouth and flicking his tongue over the pulsing nerves.
His heart was beating fast in his chest, his cock aching to be inside you. He had one hand on your breast, and brought the other to your cunt. Robby finds your opening with two gentle fingers and pushed them in.
"Oh god," you cried out. "That's so good. You feel so—fuck."
Robby curled his fingers inside of you, pushing hard against the softest spot."Talk to me, pretty girl," he urged. "Tell me what feels good."
"M-maybe a little…hmm—a little faster?"
He quickened the pace of his fingers and licked at your clit more feverishly, humming when you give a little gasp in response.
"Fuck—yes, yes. Like that. And—your fingers just a little deeper—just—"
Robby listened like a trained dog, heeding your every beck and call. He pressed deeper, thrusting his fingers upwards until—
"Ohmygod, yes—just like that, just like that please. Don't stop, don't stop—"
He doesn't. Robby licked and sucked at your clit until his spit dripped down onto the leather seat below you. He groaned low at the taste of your arousal, ambrosia made just for him. sweet and youthful and delectable.
He didn't deserve it, Robby knew. Your desire, your love, your light. But he'll eat it all up for as long as you continue to give it.
You clenched around his fingers and Robby pulled his mouth away, strings of saliva snapping against his chin. "You about to cum, baby?"
"Yes, yes, please, Mikey I need it—!"
"Nuh-uh," he said with a shake of his head. He pulled back fully, sliding his fingers out of you and rising to his full height. "M'gonna watch the first time you cum for me. Wanna see it on your face. Wanna feel you milk my cock 'til I fill up that sweet little pussy of yours."
A whimper left your mouth, and Robby could do nothing but smile cause he knew. He knew how needy you feel, how frantic that desire made you. He knew because it lived in him, too.
He pressed your legs upwards, setting the soles of your sneakers against the edge of the backseat. He grabbed at the collar of his shirt and pulled it over his head before picking up his glasses and setting them back on his face. "Take it all off," Robby ordered. "Let me see you."
You do as told, quickly adding your hoodie and bra to the growing pile of discarded clothes.
Robby took a minute just to absorb it all; to memorize the way you looked, spread out for him in the backseat of his car, eyes glassy and pupils blown wide. You're the prettiest little thing. Half his age, half his heart.
That four letter L word flitted across his mind, but Robby doesn't give life to it.
Not yet, anyway.
He dragged his hand down the center of your chest instead, but thought you must be able to feel the love in it, manifesting at the very tips of his fingers.
"I want you inside me," you whispered, bringing your hand to his against your chest, holding tight to his knuckles.
Robby nodded and took his cock in his free hand, sliding it through the syrupy wetness between your legs before he lined himself up with your entrance. He pressed his cock in, just the head at first. Enough for him to notch himself there so he can wrap his hand around the back of your neck instead.
He forced you to look at him, eyes locked together as he slowly pushed all the way inside.
You breathed out synchronized sighs of relief the moment he's seated fully inside you, cock pressed right up against your womb.
You're so tight around him, so wet and warm and perfect. Robby began to gently rock his hips, keeping you steady with his heavy hands. One on your chest, the other at the back of your neck. He can feel your heart beating beneath his palm, pulse elevated in the way his likely is.
"God, Mikey—"
You don't need to ask him to quicken his pace, not this time. Robby heard it in your voice. And some old dogs could certainly learn new tricks.
He finds a rhythm that has your eyes threatening to roll back. The perfect tempo, filling you up and fucking you deep. "My girl," he muttered. "My pretty girl. So good to me. Fuck."
Your spine arched off the back of the leather seat, chest pressed more firmly against his hand. "That's so good, so'fucking—mmm."
"Touch yourself for me, baby," Robby said.
You find your clit and circle it with deft, practiced fingers. Robby took note of the direction you move, cataloging the information for later. "It's so—so big—"
"I know, sweet girl. But you can take it, hm? Can't you?"
The words are broken in your mouth, overtaken by a wanton moan.
"I know you are," he whispered. "Can feel her squeezing me real tight. You gonna cum for me already?"
He'd said it as a taunt, but in truth Robby was no better. He'd been fighting off his own release from the very moment he'd slid his cock inside you.
"Look at me," he ordered, fingers flexed around the back of your neck. And once you do, a satisfied smile formed on his mouth. "Good. Good. Now cum for me, baby. Give it to me."
Your breath halted, the exhale stuck in your chest. And then Robby could feel your cunt pulse around him, and you let out a ragged whimper as your release rocked through you. "Cum with me, please," you cried. "Want you to cum inside, Mikey."
That's what did him in; the sound of your voice, whining out his name. A moniker he only ever allowed you to call him. So fitting, coming from the soft, bright thing you are. "Shit," he hissed, his own orgasm clouding the edges of his vision. "Takin' it all, huh? Yeah, that's it. That's my girl."
He didn't stop, not until he was well and truly spent. Until he'd fucked all of his release into your cunt, until his cock was sensitive and your breathing evened out beneath his palm.
Robby pressed his mouth to yours tenderly and could feel your smile as it formed. He pulled away, stuffed himself back into his jeans and asked, "What's so funny?"
You shook your head. "Nothing, just…I think Trin is calling me."
It's only when you say it that Robby finally heard the buzzing coming from the front seat. He reached towards it, taking your forgotten phone in his hand and examining the screen to find a photo of Trinity with her head in your lap.
Robby remembered the night he'd taken the photo, some third shift party at John's place you'd insisted on crashing. You'd made friends with Trinity in two seconds flat when she'd confessed her part in his Tinder profile to you, much to Robby's dismay.
He passed the device to you. "Wanna answer it?"
You took your phone, clicked the screen once, and pressed it to your ear. "We're late, I'm sorry, I know," you laughed. "We're on our way. Got stuck in traffic. Order me one of those strawberry lemonades."
Robby helped you find your clothes, tugging your panties back over your legs and righting them around your hips. Your leggings were next, and he tried not to think about his cum that slowly spilled out of you to avoid another stop on the way to the diner.
Robby couldn't fight his grin as he found his shirt to pull it back over his head.
"Trin, no. A shot? It's not even noon—well, yeah, now it is, but—!"
You both climbed to the front of his car, and Robby reached over to buckle you in.
"Well…I mean, if it's a mimosa…"
Robby laughed as he turned the key in the ignition. Knew right then and there he'd probably spend half the afternoon taking care of you, but knew good and well that he'd love every moment of it.
He promised himself he'd give you those rose petals later.
But for now, the vibrancy you've painted in his heart is enough.
You palmed at his bulge through the too-thick fabric of his jeans. "Yeah? That's where you wanna fuck me, Mikey? The couch?" Your voice was low and teasing in his ear, sending shivers up his spine.
DEAR GOD LET ME BE HIS CONTROVERSIALLY YOUNG GIRLFRIEND I’M BEGGING YOU
synopsisyou and john have always been cut from the same cloth, close in the way only you two could be working in the ER. but what john doesn't know- your deep love for him- can't hurt him. only you. but if you have to hear him love a girl that isn't you one more time, your heart might not make it.
warningsheavy angst, language, sex allusions
authornotei've been binge watching ER, I'm obsessed, my god its so good and of course, I love John Carter. i don't know if anyone else will care but i have to write for this man
“John! Oh John!”
John. Oh John. It was a mantra prayed upon next door to your room. It was religious, almost every other night the calling for his name.
It was damn right sinful.
When John had invited you to move in with him almost six months ago you thought all your problems were solved. You would no longer lose rent on a stuffy apartment you didn't even like, being kept up by frat parties that seemed to run all night. You'd share with Carter, be able to study together as you had since starting as med students together, be able to help each other out and share the rent.
“Oh my god, John!”
You hadn't thought about the noise. The moaning, the thudding of beds, the awkward greeting of the new girl of the week in the mornings where all you wanted to do was drink coffee and get ready for the day in peace.
Your bed was next to Carters, a wall separating the two of you.
This girl was blonde, slim, not from the hospital from what you could tell. They'd stumbled in at eleven and you'd heard him jingle at the door so you hid yourself away, running from the living room you paid rent for to offer them privacy and peace that they never offered you.
“John...” the girl had whined, you imagined her hands crawling up his chest, peeling off his coat and scarf, dragging her lips over his neck.
“Wait, wait, wait-” you heard John, probably making sure the coast was clear before he took her on the sofa. The sofa you'd paid for! He'd called your name, checking where you were. Gathering you'd hidden yourself away he carried on.
It wasn't the first night the sound of fucking next door had kept you up, in fact you'd lost count of the many of women John preferred to you. Slowly your patience was failing. Sleep as an intern in the ER was precious- like a gem stone. You shouldn't have been losing it in your own apartment.
You heard the mumble of medical procedures and thought you were in a nightmare.
“John, what are you doing?” the girl asked.
You knew what he was doing. To make himself last and drag on the night he thought about medical notes, the books you studied piled on the coffee table.
“Making it last,” you heard him say.
You wished he wouldn't.
When the low moaning started again you couldn't take it.
It was somewhere past four but you'd never known Mark Greene to turn away help.
“What are you doing here? You're not on till seven,” said Carol as you threw on your doctors coat, swinging on the stethoscope.
Outside it was dark, starting to rain and you'd drank two coffees on the way in. You weren't feeling awake but the hustle of the ER and the calls of trauma were better to hear than the moaning and slams of bed.
“Couldn't sleep, thought I'd get in early, early bird catches the.... something,” you said, eyeing the board. Abdominal pains, sores, vision blurs, the usual. There were plenty not taken up with a doctor.
“Couldn't sleep huh?” Carol asked, as familiar with the drill as you were.
“Nop.”
“And what was her name this time?”
“I didn't catch it.”
You didn't know if it was a head nurse thing or just a Hathaway thing but Carol had caught the feelings you had for John maybe even before you had.
She'd watch the two of you come in as fresh faced med students aiming for two different things. The two of you worked well on cases. You learnt how to take a more direct approach through Carters determination in surgery and John learnt to take closer care with his patients with your attentiveness in a pedes rotation.
“God, men are pigs,” said Carol.
“What have I done now?” asked Ross as he passed, leaving and picking up a chart. “You're in early,” he observed.
“I'm dedicated.”
“Wanna check out a cough in five?”
“I'll be there.”
You didn't need to stare to see Carol and Doug share a look. As you'd taken an interest in pedes work in the ER you'd been brought under Dough Ross's rather large wings. And if you were around Ross by proximity you were around Carol. And if you were around them Carter wasn't far.
It was a chain of terrible love stories.
“Eventually you'll get written up for overtime,” said Carol.
“A hospital that hates over-achievers, damn.”
“You should just talk to him.”
You turn to her, leaning on the counter. “And tell him what? I hate him having sex?”
“Well if he could be a little quieter,” she suggested.
“It's not him, it's the women.”
Carol was silent as you distracted yourself with the charts. You knew what she would say next, you knew what you would say after that and it would continue as it had for months. “You should tell him how you-”
“-no.”
“What's the worst that could happen?”
“He says he doesn't feel the same way, tells everyone, I'm left embarrassed, I lose my apartment, need I go on?”
Her eyes rolled. “No I get it.”
“Hey!” Ross called out. “Cough! Five! Let's go!”
You followed him on and used what you'd come to the Er to get: distractions. You followed Ross around from patient to patient, got called in on a trauma and even had time to change the the filters in the coffee machine before you were faced with John.
He was bright eyed, smiling with his dimples. Heck, you were even convinced his eyes lit up seeing you, with your coat hanging off, hair already falling out of its hold and he'd just left some blonde babe. Maybe she'd dropped him off at the hospital and he'd beg a lift back with you. Or he'd told her to let herself out the apartment.
Carter had no right to look at you like that.
“Hey,” he smiled. “You get in early? I thought you started at seven with me?”
“Oh yeah... I was paged in early.”
“Trauma?”
“Cough.”
He laughed. “You were paged in for a cough.”
“I know can you believe it,” you had tried to make it sarcastic, wanted it to seem like a passing comment but your lips didn't move into a smile and it fell weak into your stomach.
John leant next to you at the counter, tilting his body in a way to try to look at you. “You okay?”
“Why wouldn't I be?”
“Something's up, what?”
Maybe it was how close you’d worked, going from students to interns. Or it was your living together which made you both understand each other with small looks.
Clearly you didn’t know each other well enough, otherwise he’d note the bags under your eyes or the way your body didn’t lean into his like you used to.
John jutted his hip against yours with a chuckle. “Talk to me, c’mon.”
“I just didn’t get much sleep last night.” You admitted.
How stupid could men be?
John didn’t even catch on to what you were laying down. “How about we do something tonight? Catch a movie? Get some dinner?”
You and John used to do that sort of thing often. When you'd first moved in together it was all watching films with take out, taking it in turns to order your favourites. You could hardly recall what the films were about because the two of you spoke throughout them. It took a month then you knew everything there was to know about him.
But that was almost two years ago and things were different.
You were in love with him.
He had no idea.
Instead he had love for hours a night and that seemed to do him fine.
John was still waiting for an answer. “Dinner? Movie?”
You looked at him. Over his shoulder you spotted Carol, shaking her head. “Dinner sounds great.”
John's face broke out into a smile. “Yes!” he cheered. His lips pressed to your head quick, gone before you could get a feel of him.
“Carter!” Benton called.
Benton's ordering and bossing around of Carter had grated on his nerves for months but you'd never seen him smile so wide and all but skip to him.
Maybe things weren't being so bad.
“Why would you agree to go to dinner?” asked Carol.
Why would you? Because even if he wasn't your lover, he was still your friend. You'd take that. “Was I supposed to say no?”
“You're gonna hurt yourself,” she said.
But sadly you had hope, which was probably the only thing keeping you in the state you were in.
“It's just dinner with a friend,” you said, picking up a patients chart, any chart.
Carol clocked her head at you. “It's not though is it?”
“To him it is.”
John appeared at your side, hands bracing your arms as he leant over you. For a moment you panicked, imagining that he heard it all. His grin said different. “I'll book us Nona's, your favourite Italian, I'll get it for eight.”
He disappeared, rushing around the corner. You got a last look at his scrubs and gown.
When you turned back to Carol she'd gone too.
“And so I said to him, that's not his Appendix, that's his Kidney.”
Johns laughter bounced around the restaurant. As promised he’d booked your favourite Italian, a table in the window lit by a candle and golden lights around you.
There was an empty plate from a tiramisu you’d shared and several empty glasses of wine dotted around from the evening you’d shared, lipstick of your stained glasses you’d had.
John had entertained you all night, telling jokes, talking about work. His eyes had been lit up since you both sat down, talking animated and never letting a moment of quiet. He’d even dressed up, supporting a suit as if this was some kind of date.
With the lights down low and dragging your fingers over your glass of wine, you almost imagined it was.
The waiter came by and John waved him down.
“Another bottle of white,” he ordered, sharing the last dregs of the bottle between your two glasses.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re trying to get me drunk,” you joked.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he laughed. “I’ve missed you. It’s just nice that we get to do this, I didn’t see you at all yesterday. You were in bed when I got home.”
Home. Home with his date.
“We’ve been… busy,” you said.
Johns smile broke but only a fraction, some sort of disappointment floating by and marring his expression. “Yeah, I-I guess we have.”
There was a flicker of silence, the first sort there’d been in the night.
The wine was delivered.
“We should do this once a week,” suggested John, alight with the idea.
You laughed. “What, with our schedule?”
“Okay.” He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “Once a month, surely we can manage that, right? We’re capable people, capable doctors.”
There was more laughter, dulling the ache you’d been carrying.
At some point Johns hand had come down and touched yours.
You’d expected him to pay your hand friendly, move it away and make another crack at a joke.
His hand lingered. Stayed, his fingers stayed slowly moving against the back of your hand.
John watched as his fingers drew lazy circles over your skin. There was a smile playing on his lips.
You didn’t have it in you to move away. You chuckled lightly. “What are you doing?”
John looked at you, his other hand coming up to cup his chin as he rested there. “I’ve missed you.”
It was sincere, almost loving.
You laughed it away. “You’ve said that already.”
“What? A guy can’t say it again?”
“A guy can’t say but you…” you trailed off.
“I what?” asked John pointedly, tilting his head to get a better look of you.
It was almost cruel how unaware he was, or maybe acted he was. The thought that he knew your feelings that were oh so obvious to some and were using them against you made you feel sick.
You slipped your hand out of his and took a sip of your wine. “Nothing.”
“No, what?” he asked, nudging himself closer to the table. “What were you gonna say?”
You drained the glass of wine and picked up the bottle, pouring yourself more while John watched and waited. You laughed, doing your best to brush it off. “I dunno what I was gonna say, slipped by me.”
You could tell he didn't believe you. He seemed to like to chose when he wanted to believe you.
“I-” He'd just started to speak when his gaze drifted over your shoulder and widened at the door. “Oh god, don't turn around, don't look- don't look!”
Frowning you did just what he said not to do, wine still in hand.
Carter was busy slouching in his chair, trying to hide.
A girl walked in with two of her friends, peeling off their coats and handing them to the staff at the door. They were all large smiles and tanned skin, dresses that hugged perfectly and hands manicured. They were alight with life and not drowned in exhaustion like you.
You looked back to John and didn't even have to guess and why he was hiding from them. Your brows rose at him.
“I went to school with her,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck. “She has a massive crush on me.”
“Does she?” at least you weren't the only fool to love him.
John nodded, the front of his hair moving as he did.
You looked again and as if she sensed you, the girl turned.
“No... no... no....” chanted John as she seemed to recognise him, even half swallowed by the table as he was trying to be.
“John Carter!” the girl greeted with her arms out and her wide smile.
John was polite in standing and hugging her.
You were polite in occupying yourself with the wine.
“Oh my god, look at you it's been so long!” she said, pulling away. Her hand smoothed the jacket of his suit. “God when I last saw you you were winning horses races on... oh, what was your horses name, again?”
“Marigold,” said John.
“Marigold, that's right!” she laughed, hand slapping at his bicep and lingering.
You snorted at the obvious affection she was laying on. At least (you hoped) you were slightly more incredulous.
They both looked to you.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt,” she apologised.
John went to speak but you spoke before he had the chance.
“You didn't, actually, join us if you like,” you invited.
John's face fell. “What?”
“Oh, I mean I'm here with friends but, hey, what's one drink between old friends?” she pulled up a chair effortlessly, setting it between you and Carter.
Carter himself lingered up on his feet, pulling his jacket close and slotting a button in. He looked at you, almost with some betrayed ideas in his eyes. He sat down, deflated but his old friend from school - Samantha- was already taking his wine glass and filling it. She was already talking about the first time she met John.
You didn't know why you'd decided to interrupt your own night with him. Just as you didn't know why John seemed to perturbed that you had.
Two days later he was at it again.
“John! Oh, John!”
You didn't even get a glance at this one, you had no idea who it was. The old friend from the restaurants or a friend of hers that had joined you later in the night. Maybe it was patient or a friend or family of patients. It could've even been the new intern that had started. You didn't know.
They were all blending into one.
“John! John! John!”
You'd tried putting on headphone from you walk man. You'd tried smothering yourself with your cushion. You'd tried every trick under the sun but it was as if the sounds of pleasure had buried itself in your bones. Even if you couldn't hear it, you knew it was there and it was enough in your bones to have you tossing and turning.
“H, stands for hemolysis, the- the break down of red blood cells-”
You threw your covers off. It was nearing three a.m. The ER could always use an extra pair of hands. That's what you told yourself as you pulled on clothes in the dark, desperate to get out the apartment before you crawl out of your skin.
Perhaps turning on the light would have been beneficial.
You pulled up your pants, jumping to do so but sliding on a lose sock. You fell, hurtling to the ground and trying to catch yourself on the desk had only resulted in banging your head on the side.
For a moment, lying in the dark of your room with a new ache in your head you thought maybe you were concussed because there was suddenly no noise. No nothing.
“John-”
“- wait, shh, shh-”
Nope, still there.
You finally got your pants on without any more injury and left your room.
There were to empty beer bottles at the kitchen counter. You noticed them as you pulled kitchen roll onto your head, pulling it back you pulled open the fridge to check in the light. A little blood.
All the more reason to get to the ER.
You were just fetching your bag from the side when the squeak of a door behind you alerted you.
“Hey, what's going on?” John spoke up.
You didn't dare turn around. You knew if you did you'd find a recently fucked-out Carter, maybe his friend hanging off his arm like his other friends had two nights before at Nona's.
He called out your name.
“Nothing, John,” you dismissed, swinging your bag over your shoulder.
“Where are you going, it's like, three am?”
You didn't answer.
“Did the hospital call?”
“Just go back to bed, Carter.”
It could have been the head split, the fact you were running on little sleep as it was or that John was so insisting he cared when the noise of you falling had clearly broken him out of his blissed state.
You never called him Carter. If you did, it was a bad sign.
“Wait- wait- jus' a second, hold on-”
You turned, catching a glimpse of him retreating back in his room.
You dabbed at your cut again, seething at the pain it brought.
You doubted stitches were needed but maybe some glue. Heck, maybe you could find an on-call room and sleep off the wound.
John's door opened again and he was rushing out, tugging a shirt on with joggers already pulled up. He flicked the light on and you watched his eyes widen at the cut as if you'd been shot. “Woah-woah, hey-hey-”
“Leave it, John.”
“What happened? What'd you do?” he rushed to you, sliding on the floor as he cupped your cheeks, checking the cut in the light.
His clothes hung limp on him and you didn't even have to look close to see the blue and purple bruises at his neck, still fresh, a thin trail of kisses not yet settled. There was no slouch in him like you knew there to be in you. He was alert. The kind of attention sex required.
He was using all that energy- the energy he was stealing from you- to asses your wound.
“What were you doing, jumping-jacks?” he tried to joke.
You didn't feel like laughing. “Can you leave it, please?”
The crinkle at his eyes at his own teasing dropped. He became as dull as you felt.
“No, no I- I can't leave it,” he said, serious. “You're bleeding, you're hurt, what happened?”
You sighed. “I was dressing in the dark, I'm a clutz.”
He shook his head. “Why were you dressing at three am?”
“Because I'm going into work.”
“We're not on nights.”
“Then I'm going in for fun.”
“Like the other night when you were paged in for a cough that didn't exists?” he said. “Mark told me, so what's going on?”
You had hoped Mark Greene- your mentor- wouldn't be noticing the slow falling apart of your love life. No such luck there. “Nothing,” you told him. “Nothing is going on.”
“You running off in the night is something, in my books at least,” said John, stern. His arms fell to his side. “So, you want to tell me?”
You'd just done a thirty-six hour shift and was only reward with two hours sleep. You didn't have it in you to be kind to him while your own chest felt like it was caving in on itself. “No, I don't.”
John scoffed. “Well, I've got all night, I can wait.”
“No, you don't.”
He frowned.
At that moment his latest peeked out of the room. She'd had the decency to wrap herself up in his thin white sheet at least. Her hair was a mess, her body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. She genuinely seemed sorry to be interrupting but clearly wanted to get back to the high she was chasing.
“Hey, John, is everything okay?”
She was so un-like you. She was everything you weren't. You didn't even know who she was but she wasn't you and seeing her coming out of John's room, wrapped up in his sheet and smell and faint marks of him you were reminded of that.
You didn't know why she- an odd number in his list of conquests- broke your heart. But it did.
You chocked on a sob, turning away from them both.
John's neck snapped to you at the noise. “Hey, hey-” his hands were soft on your forearms but you shrugged him off.
“John?” asked the girl again, a lazy drawl of her voice piercing your heart.
“Just, go back in, I'll- I'll be a second,” he said, dismissively.
It some how made it all the much worse because he didn't care for the other girls feelings. It was nothing serious to him, it never was. If it was serious, if he brought a girl back and took painstaking effort to introduce the two of you maybe you could pull on a brave face, pretend to be happy for him.
But he was constantly throwing it all in your face.
“John?” the girl asked again.
“Meg, seriously, I just need to sort this out-”
Sort it out? Like you were something on a check list?
You'd managed to make it to the front door before John caught you.
“Hey, wait! No- jus'-” his hand slammed down over you on the door, closing it before you could escape. “You're scaring me now, what's going on?”
“Nothing,” your own voice betrayed you, cracking as tears escaped you.
You rushed to wipe them away but John beat you to it.
“Hey, hey.” His thumb swept at the tears, voice laced in worry and pain. “Why are you crying? What's happened?”
You knew yourself well enough from the years of stress of medical school, from losing patients that were making promising progress and dying, from months of hearing John love on a girl that wasn't you to know when you couldn't trust your voice. All you could do was duck your head and sniff.
John was still close enough for you to smell the other girls perfume on him. “Why- why don't we sit down? I'll make you some tea.”
“I don't want tea,” you chuckled dryly.
John seemed startled. Tea was always what you offered him after the hard days. “Coffee?”
“I just want to go,” you admitted.
“Go? Go where?” he asked, voice almost as broken as yours. “You want to leave, you want to get out of here?”
He asked like he was almost understanding where you were coming from.
You nodded.
“Can I come with you?”
You shook your head.
John nodded with tight lips, like his own heart was breaking. “Okay them, I- I can't let you go. Not alone.”
You cried. “John-”
“It's three am it's dark out, I'm not letting you go anywhere alone-”
“John-”
“And frankly you're scaring me right now, I can't stand seeing you like this-”
“- I just don't want to be near you right now.”
The confession hung between the two of you like a hook caught in your hearts and tearing you both down. It was one thing you hurting because of John's actions but it wasn't like you'd told him how you felt. So really, you were hurting him for nothing.
“Okay, okay,” he said calmly. Turing for a second to gather himself up, patting the back of his hair down. “Okay you don't have to be anywhere near me but can you at least stay? So I know you're safe. I'll- I'll hide in my room or something. Out there, it's-it's not and I know you hate me right now but you will give me a heart attack if you go-”
“- I don't hate you,” you uttered.
“Well you just said you don't want to be near me,” he pointed out, the first angry notes in his voice. He took a deep breath and took a step closer, his hands clenched in together. John bent a little in the knees to get a look at you. “I'm sorry, whatever I did, I'm sorry, so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”
He hadn't. Nothing he'd done had been with you in mind.
John laughed at himself. “It's me, for Christ sake, I'd never do anything to hurt you, okay? You've got to believe me. You know me.... you know me!”
The door to his room opened again and in the dim light the both of you saw his girl- Meg- wander out. She was in one of his old grey shirts, flaunting herself with jutted out hips. She threw herself down on the sofa and watched, waiting.
You wiped your tears away, telling yourself to get a grip. “Can we just- can we do this later, John, please?”
You'd thought the tears and begging would have been enough but John looked at you, studying all over you. He took in a deep breath like he was getting his confidence from somewhere.
He shook his head, staring at you. “No. Okay, wait- just wait for for a second, one second.”
You did. You waited one second and watched as he returned to Meg, crouching at the sofa and talking low to her. He even put his hand on hers and spoke very calmly and clearly.
Whatever he was saying Meg seemed to not like, or really understand, her eyes flickered back up to yours accusingly.
That's when you slipped out the door and hailed down a taxi to take you to the ER.
Carol had offered to help but you said no, so did Lydia, practically following you down with the right kit to take care of the cut on your head. Genie had offered with a kind understanding smile but you'd hidden yourself away on an empty bed with a mirror.
Mark was the only one you'd let stay in the room, even then you weren't letting him get close enough to help. “We should get a CT, at least.”
“Geez, it's just a small cut,” you chuckled, putting the thin strips of tape over it to help bring it together. It was the sort of thing that wasn't even medical. Just common sense.
“Better safe than sorry,” he said.
“And do you want to be the one to tell Wheever you ordered un-neccary tests and wasted hospital rescourse and money?”
You'd thought that would have been enough to deter him but instead Mark leaned forward.
“Yes.”
Damn.
“As chief resident I don't have to have you working till you get the all cleared.”
You huffed. You could always find an on-call room to catch up on sleep but you feared you'd re-play John's heartbreak over again if you did. “Fine, book me the CT,” you said, slinging your stephscope back around your neck and pocketing your pocket mirror.
“Thank you,” said Mark and with one last look of conserved worry, he left.
But the door swung open a second later and Carter waltzed in, hands in the pocket of his lab coat. He paused and looked at you, as if you were a patient of his.
It was going on four. He'd followed you in.
You opened your mouth to say something. A sorry, maybe. An apology for ruining his sex time and for crying.
John beat you to it. “I know you said you didn't want to be around me but I'm sorry, I-” he laughed at the very idea that was true. He knew you too well for that. “I don't believe you.”
“What do you want me to do about that?”
“I want you to talk to me.” John grabbed the stool close and sat on it, pushing himself close in front of you like any attentive doctor would. He grabbed your hands. “Talk to me.”
You wondered what you should have told him first. That out of desperation for your well-being Chuni had offered up her spare room at her place till you could get a place of your own. That Mark was willing to move around the schedule and face Wheever's wrath in doing so. That you couldn't take one more night of not being the one John chose.
“I'm sorry for being mad earlier, at the apartment,” you said first, looking down to where he held your hands. His knuckles were bleached white from the tightness he held onto you to. “I'm not- I'm not mad at you.”
His body sagged in relief. “You're not?”
“No.”
“Oh - thank god.” His body curved over yours, breath fanning the envelope of your hands.
“It's just me, it's just stuff,” you dismissed.
“No, it's not just stuff,” he said, equally as dismissive. “If it's getting you up in the middle of the night, ending in you being hurt- I mean... we can sort it.”
His thumb was a delicate tough as he brushed over your cut.
It didn't feel as painful when he did.
John's gaze lingered on your cut before looking back at your eyes. There was nothing to indicate he knew what this was really about, only a small hurting sorrow that he didn't know how to help you.
It was enough to hurt you all over again.
But maybe pulling the band off at once was better than a slow, agonising pull.
You squeezed his hands. “John, I'm moving out.”
The words were like heavy stones sinking in the bottom of a lake. You saw his expression blanked, his hands release yours slowly and his face pale as if the world was ending. His eyes searched yours trying to detect a hint of amusement.
He found nothing.
Mark popped his head back in, saving you. “CT's ready for you.”
“Thanks Mark,” you said as he nodded once and left again.
John hadn't moved, frozen in place. He stared past your body.
“I'll um... I've got to go...” it was the cowards way out but the way you saw it you'd been tough a long time, lying in bed and crying yourself to sleep. Letting yourself feel pathetic for doing so when you had so much more in life to give it meaning. If you could just get away enough, create some distance so you didn't feel trapped you could at least keep his hand in friendship. At least still have the privilege of looking in his eyes everyday and know, just for a second, you once had a chance for it all with him.
When you got back to the door and looked back, John was still on the stool, eyes watering.
Three hours later your shift officially started but you were already four patients deep, a case in pedes with Ross, a trauma that had gone up to the OR, an elderly man with a nasty fall to his hip and possible schizophrenia. Your last was a young girl, complaining of stomach craps. You suspected pregnancy and was thinking as much when you glanced out the door to the front desk.
John was staring through the door at you, Carol at his side trying to talk to him also staring in at you.
It wasn't a good sign in any case, not when Carol knew everything and John knew so little. It didn't help he looked wrecked. Tie askew, hair sticking up in the way that indicated hands running through it in stress.
Then he rounded the corner and disappeared from view.
“Leanne, have you been sexually active recently?”
“With my boyfriend.”
“And how long ago was your last period?”
“Two weeks.”
“Are you late?”
“Not yet.”
You jotted it all down on the chart. “Ok, we're gonna get some blood work, start you on an IV and get a urine sample in-”
The door swung open and you and Maleek who was helping on the case looked up.
John stood there, breathless like he'd ran the ten or so paces it took to get here.
“John?” you asked.
“You love me?”
The world stilled. There was suddenly nothing but you and him. Him looking at you astonished, like he couldn't believe it. At a loss of words from the very idea.
“I'm sorry- what?”
He took a heavy step forward, a deep inahle seething. “You love me.”
It wasn't an accusation the second time.
You looked back to the fifteen year old and Maleek who seemed as startled as you. “Can we not- I'm with a patient-”
“It's okay, I got this,” said Maleek, stepping in the way.
And John Carter was still standing there, catching his breath and staring at you.
You, with little other choice, barged past him.
You heard Carol calling out for you as you marched around trying to find a private corner to have the dreaded confrontation.
“I'm sorry!” she called.
John was hot on your heels. “Don't apologise, I deserved to know!”
Benton had joined the crew of on lookers at the desk. “Do I want to know?” you heard him ask.
“Probably not,” Mark replied.
Exam room two was empty and you held the door open for Carter. He marched in, hands running over his hair again as he mumbled to himself. You closed the door behind, locking it and closing the blinds because you knew everyone was going to try to listen to your world crumble.
You gave yourself a two second head start in catching your breath before turning to him.
John stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, waiting. His lip tucked under his teeth. “You love me.”
“Who told you?”
“Carol,” he said. “I was so worried about you I asked if she knew what was going on but turns out everyone did. You know, I could've asked Doug, Mark, Susan, Genie, basically everyone I mean- was I the last one to know?”
“There was nothing for you to know.”
“Really?” he scoffed.
“Yes!” you snapped. “It was my feelings, you didn't need to know them!”
“Yes, I did! I needed to know!”
“Why?”
“Why? Because- because it's me!”
You groaned, frustration ripping through the tears you had cried that morning. “What does it matter, John? You don't love me!”
“Of course I love you!”
“Not in the way I love you, not like that!”
“Yes I do!” he all but screamed.
The room fell silent. You could hear the labour of his breath and the wheels and running outside the room. A trauma was called in yet nobody was rescuing you or John.
He stood there, exposed.
Yes I do!
It was the heat of the argument, you told yourself, as you shook the idea out of you. For a second you almost believed him.
John deflated, watching as you hugged yourself, as you didn't rush to him or smile at his confession. “Do you... do you think I don't love you?”
You levelled your gaze on him.
As if he could see the break of your heart through the windows to your soul he shattered.
“Oh my god. You think I don't love you?”
You lifted your shoulders in a tired shrug. “Was I supposed to believe you did? You fuck a different girl every night while I'm on the other side of the damn wall.” The words come out bitten and finally the penny dropped for John.
The sleepless nights, the times he knew you were tired, the way you hid around every corner, in every room. Slowly he fit all the pieces together and he didn't like what he was seeing.
“That wasn't- they were- they were nothing,” he stuttered.
It was your turn to scoff. “Yeah, it never sounded like nothing-”
“You have to believe me, okay, you- you have to-” he begged, rushing in front of you. His hands took yours without your offer and he held it close to him, over his chest where you could feel his racing heart by the palm of your hand. “- you can't- you have to-”
He clenched his jaw.
You waited for more. “Can't what?”
John screwed his eyes shut, uttering a curse before opening his eyes. They pleaded onto you. “You can't think they meant anything over you. You can't,” he said so definitely you almost believed him. Almost.
“You're not making sense.”
“I know- I- I know,” he said, moving closer to you. He rested his head on your shoulder and you didn't have the strength to move. There was no smell of any other girl, only your shampoo he used in his hair. You could feel the tremble of his body. “This isn't how I wanted this to go.”
You were still, like you were a bunny in the jaws of a lion.
John pulled back and you were shocked at the redness of his eyes, at the tears threatening to spill. “When I dreamt about this I dreamt roses and a better declaration,” he chuckled at himself.
“I'm glad you find this really amusing, John, but I-”
“I don't- I don't,” he said at once. But he still chuckled dryly. “I just think I've messed up my whole life and I- I don't know how to fix this.”
You weren't sure what he was saying because he couldn't be talking about whatever was going on between the two of you. Frankly, you weren't sure what was going on. There was confessions hanging in the air like dirty laundry and tears from him that you didn't know what to do with. None of it made sense.
Your brain went to the only sense it could make.
“You've ruined your life?” you asked, full of concern for him. “What? Is one of the girls pregnant?”
John swiped his hands over his face, roughly. “No. No, I've just realised I fucked everything up with you.”
You stared at him and laughed. “And that's your entire life ruined?”
Carter nodded earnestly.
He loved you? He was insisting he did. Looking at you like he did.
A fist grabbed your heart and squeezed. You counted every girl you'd met through him and tried to add it up to love. It only made your head hurt and you knew it had nothing to do with the cut.
“I can't- I can't do this right now,” you said. “I have patients. So do you.”
“Can we talk? Tonight. Can we- can we talk? Please. Back home,” he begged, voice quiet like you'd never heard him before. “Please don't leave me.”
You wanted to argue there was nothing to leave. That even if you were going to go you still had a room of things to pack and sort. “Okay, fine, tonight.”
For the rest of the day you and John avoided each other, only working side by side on traumas. It was the only clue anyone got about the two of you. Nobody had dared ask what was going on but as you threw yourself into work and John got back on the floor after a thorough self-pity party they were all smart enough to guess it didn't go well.
“So, you're talking?” asked Carol at the end of your shift as you finished passing off your charts.
“Tonight, yeah.”
“That's good, isn't it?”
You huffed, finding your bag. “He says he loves me, Carol.”
She didn't know whether to smile or not. “Yeah, I think he does.”
“So what were the girls?”
“Distractions? A bit of fun? Men don't always have to make sense. Even if they are in love,” she told you, knowing all too well the the ins and outs of men and stupid choices through Doug Ross and their famous on and off relationship. “But give him a chance, he might surprise you.”
A chance.
You were tired. The kind that came from a long shift and little sleep. The kind you'd become accustom to that it didn't shock you when you felt it knocking on your door.
Were you too tired for a chance?
A throat cleared behind you and Carol disappeared from your side.
John stood in front of you, sheepish, with a bouquet in hand. They were your favourite flowers. “For you.”
Ignoring the audience that was trying (and failing) at being subtle, you took them.
“Thank you.”
He nodded, shy, in a way you hadn't seen him be since the both of you first started in the ER.
Nobody knew what to say next.
“Can I, um, can I take you home now?”
You could have been petty and told him you'd catch the subway back. Or that you'd hail a cab but you were both going the same way and you'd end up in your living room, talking, one way or another.
The car ride was quiet with John trying to find a radio station that didn't grate on him and ended up in silence.
When he pulled up in front of your apartment building he rushed out the car like it was on fire. He pulled open your door before you got the chance and helped you with your bag and bouquet.
In the apartment it was just as un-touched as it had been in the morning.
You didn't realise until you saw it so that you'd been expecting a lingering guest.
But there was only signs of you and John.
He was watching you while he set both your things down. “Do you want a drink?”
“No, no thanks I think I should be sober for this,” you said. Amicable ground was trying to be found, keeping your voice neutral was the best you could do. “Do you want a drink?”
“No, no.”
The silence was invasive. An un-wanted guest.
You would start it, as you had with all your messed up feelings. You could finish it even if it hurt. “If you love me what were all the girls?”
John seemed to leap at the chance to defend himself. “Nothing. They were nothing, they were-” he paused, taking time to think about his next words. “They were just distractions. Meaningless. To get you out of my mind.”
“Cheap, John.” It was almost word for word what Carol said.
“Nothing I say can defend myself, I'm not trying to defend myself I'm trying to tell you the truth. I need you, and if I've ruined this I'm not letting you go without fighting.”
He approached you, giving you space and time to step back or flinch away. You didn't.
“I've loved you since I met you. Ever since you came up to me thinking I was a doctor and knew where labs were, I knew it. Love at first sight- if you think that's bullshit- I don't care because I knew it. But you made it clear, very clear you were here to be the best doctor you could be and I wanted that for you, I still do- I always will,” he said.
You remembered John years ago, tailored white coat and hopeful. You'd gone up to him because you were supposed to meet Doctor Greene in labs and had no idea where that was and he was the first person in a white coat and clipboard you'd seen.
You did twelve hours next to him that day, competing on stitches and sutures.
“You know, I had an apartment when I heard you were looking to move in with someone, cheap rent and that,” he said, laughing at himself. “I moved out of that apartment and got another one within the week with a spare room just so I could ask you to move in.”
The apartment you were stood in.
“What?”
John nodded like he knew it was ridiculous. “It worked.”
You knew the Carter family was rich beyond imagination. You'd always wondered why John insisted on a room mate when he could afford to live comfortably without one.
“When you told me you were thinking of moving in with Anna god I had a heart attack, practically begged her to back off.”
John had helped you pack your old place, had carried your stuff with care into his apartment. It had looked so much like him, so lived in you wouldn't even think to wonder how long he'd lived there. You'd never have guessed only a week till you invaded with your stuff.
“It was the closest I could have you without having you.”
“Why didn't you tell me then?” you asked.
His face screwed up like he regretted it. He did, you guessed. “Because we both get tired. We get irritable. I hate failing patients and you take on so many that you can't give yourself a minute to think during the day.”
You weren't sure if it was a compliment or not.
“We work together, we live together, take patients together I figured we'd crash and burn if I told you how I felt,” he admitted. “And- god, help me- if I had to live only being your friend it was better than living without you at all.”
But you and John had never argued. The both of you had figured out how to silently read each other. How to know when he needed space or a hug and a shoulder to cry on. He knew when you needed an extra pair of hands or to just put a stupid movie on to fall asleep too.
The nights you'd fallen asleep in his arms on the sofa and woke in your bed. The mornings where you were on and he wasn't but he was still up to get you a coffee. The days you worked close together and ignored everyone else. It all meant something else now.
“The girls were to forget,” said John. “It didn't work, hardly. All I could think about was you. And I know- I know it's wrong. I had to recite medical facts to myself just to get the thought of you out my head.”
“I thought you did that to make it last for them,” you admitted, realising now how silly it's all been.
He shook his head. “I didn't mean to hurt you. I'd rather cut off my own hands than make you cry. And I've made you cry and hurt you so just get a knife and-” he made a chopping motion, chocking on a laugh.
John wiped his tears with the back of his hand and he looked at you. “If you want to leave then leave but I can't let you go. I'll be around, I'll be really hard to get rid of.”
The both of your rooms stood behind you. Both dark. Both separate cages for the two of you.
“All I could think about when I saw you with those girls was how much they were never like me,” you spoke, quietly. “I thought you'd never... you know... think of me that way.”
John's hands were firm on your cheeks, gaining your attention. “It was always about you. You didn't deserve that, you didn't, I wish I could take it all back and tell you. But why didn't you tell me?”
Why? Because you were afraid. Knowing what you knew now it didn't seem a strong enough argument.
You laughed. “Are we stupid?”
John grinned through his own tears. He nodded, caressing your cheeks. “I think we are, I think so.”
Your foreheads leaned against each other as you laughed.
Slowly, it faded as he pressed his forehead into yours harder.
“I'm so sorry, baby.”
“I'm sorry,” you said, hands coming to hold his face, feeling the rough stubble in your palms.
“No, no, you have nothing to be sorry for, it's me, it's me,” he uttered, eyes closing. “If I've ruined this forever please tell me.”
You couldn't say he didn't have a point. Working long hours made you both difficult at times but never to each other. You couldn't say the girls wouldn't hurt you for some time more, that your insecurities weren't something you had to work on yourself.
Yet, you couldn't say you could manage without him.
“I don't think you have, no.”
John breathed out against you. “No?”
“No,” you shook your head against his. “I think if we love each other-”
“- we do, we do-”
“ -we should at least give it a try.”
“I'm not trying with you, I'm not trying- I'm doing,” John assured you, hands still moving along your cheeks, your hair, anything to hold you. “I'm not messing it up again, I'm not. I'd propose right now if you asked me to.”
You pulled back enough to stare at him seriously. “Don't.”
“Okay, okay, I won't,” he said. When he opened his eyes back at you he smirked, a twitch to his brows. “At least not today.”
There was laughter in place of tears and you knew that if you slept tonight there'd be no need to hurt. Maybe, instead, time to heal.
“Not for a long time,” you told him.
John nodded along, mockingly going along with you. “But eventually right?”
“Maybe you should kiss me before we get that far?”
The laughter died quietly. You were slowly brought into his arms as they wrapped around you, hands moving down your back without going further.
There was a gentle breeze of his warmth and the tips of his hair tickled you as he tilted his head, your own neck moving back to meet him.
It was soft and sweet. A small press of his lips like he was too scared to break you. It was your hands around his neck that brought him closer, it was his whimper that moved him on as his hands held your waist. You stayed pressing into each other, promising silent things as you did, until you both recognised the burn in your lungs for breath.
“I love you,” he said, slowly dragging his lips against yours again.
synopsis: Five times you and Pope were kind of stupid and the one time you figured out. Or Craig Cody goes slowly insane watching two idiots in love.
warnings/notes: Pretty fluffy. @in-ky requested Pope with Secret Admirer for the One Big Bash. I threw in a hefty dose of idiots in love for the hell of it. POV shifts frequently between the Reader and Pope. Story takes place before canon. Pope is about 29. Reader is 3-4 years younger. Hope you like it!
wc: 4.9k
You grew up on the periphery of the Cody family. Your father was an accountant with only a handful of clients. He didn’t need more than that when they paid so handsomely for his services. And he earned every penny shuffling money around, hiding ill-gotten gains without leaving a trace for law enforcement to follow. Whenever he had to meet with Smurf, he took you with him. You fell almost in the middle of Pope and Craig age wise so you didn’t really fit with either of them. Julia though was thrilled to have another girl around and pulled you into her orbit. Then you all got older and the age difference didn’t matter much anymore.
Your father sent you to college for your accounting degree while he taught you every dirty trick he knew. He even footed the bill for you to head to grad school as well. You’d been living in Berkeley for years, only coming home on the rare occasion. You’d been back less than a week when you ran into Craig at the beach.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, running over and picking you up in a bear hug to spin you around. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“Just barely,” you said as you pushed at his shoulders. “Let me go, you oaf.”
“Nope. I’m taking you back to ours. We’re having a party tonight and you’re coming.”
Before you could respond another voice interrupted.
“Put her down.”
Craig immediately complied and stepped back putting his hands up. He gave a crooked grin that said he knew something everyone else didn’t. “No problem. Make sure she comes to the party though.”
You watched him run off then turned to greet your favorite Cody. You used a hand to shelter your eyes from the sun. “Hello, Andrew.”
He nodded once in response. “You’re back.” His fingers twitched at his sides.
“Yeah. A few days ago.” You bit the inside of your lip to keep from saying something stupid. You’d had a crush on Andrew Cody since you were sixteen years old. And, while he tolerated you better than most, you were under no delusions that he felt the same.
“How long?”
“I’m back for good. School’s done.”
The corner of his mouth curled up slightly. “Good. See you later.”
Your gaze trailed him as he passed you to rejoin his brothers and sighed. You’d hoped that distance would have tamped your attraction for the man.
It had not.
The Cody house was loud and messy and exactly what you’d been expecting. Bottles and empty cups littered every surface. Music flooded the air from the speakers causing all the conversation around you to be louder to compensate. You wrinkled your nose as a tendril of smoke from a joint drifted your direction.
You leaned against the house, beer sweating in your hand as you watched Pope. He wasn’t talking to anyone. He never did at these things. He stood with his back to the fence at the far side of the yard, beer hanging from two fingers as his eyes took in everything around him in slow methodical sweeps. You’d seen him do this a hundred times. Always the still point in the Cody chaos.
You didn’t realize you’d been staring until Craig materialized at your side. “What are you doing?”
You didn’t bother glancing at him. “People watching.”
“Uh huh.” Craig leaned in, shoulder bumping yours. “You’re Pope watching. There’s a difference.”
“Fuck off.”
“He likes you.” He said it like he was handing you a winning lottery ticket and you should be eternally grateful. It was how he said most things to be honest. Always thinking he knew something the rest of the world was too stupid to see. He didn’t.
“Don’t be stupid, Craig. He does not. Why would he?”
“Just trust me.”
You turned then to blink at him in disbelief. “Why would I do that? You told Deran I had a dolphin tattoo on my ass and he spent a week trying to get a glimpse of it.”
He snorted. “That was funny.”
“Not for me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have people to watch. Not Pope. People.”
Craig threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. Don’t listen to me. See if I care.” He hooked his arm around the shoulders of a passing brunette and led her into the crowd.
You made an effort to look anywhere but Pope after that.
Pope hated parties. Hated that Smurf let his brothers do whatever they wanted. He should have moved out when Baz did. A least then he’d have somewhere to escape to when they were doing this shit. He kept his eyes moving over the crowd, making sure no one fucked up his shit or overdosed in the pool. Fucking hell.
His eyes snagged on you every time they passed over you. You were wearing a tank top and shorts and looked like you belonged here. And you did, more that most of these people anyway. He should talk to you. He wanted to but you didn’t need him bugging you. You’d just gotten home, back in Oceanside where he could keep tabs on you. He didn’t want to scare you off.
Craig sidled up to him and nudged him with his elbow.
“Don’t,” Pope said, not looking at him.
“She likes you, too, you know.”
Pope’s gaze shot over to his brother before finding you in the crowd again. For a brief moment, hope swelled, then he remembered who he was talking to. “Leave it.”
Craig huffed out a breath. “Look, I’m not giving you shit. I’m being serious right now. You should ask her out. Right now. Get the both of you out of here.”
The image of the two of you sitting side by side at the beach flashed through his mind. He blinked it away. “She doesn’t like me, okay. Not like that. She couldn’t.”
Craig tilted his head back with a groan. “Can you just trust me for once? Please?”
Pope stared at him for a beat. “Why would I do that?”
His brother stared back then looked to you and back to Pope. “I hate you both.” Then he was gone, moving toward the cooler to get another beer.
The party kept moving. Music thumping, people shouting. Pope shifted his weight as his eyes drifted across the patio and found you already looking at him. He went utterly still as you held his gaze. Then, you looked away and it was as if it had never happened at all.
Pope drove past your apartment building twice before he pulled over. His hands gripped the wheel as he watched your door on the second floor. Your curtains were closed but that didn’t mean anything. Sometimes you did that to keep the heat out. He glanced at the flowers on the floorboard beside him. They were nothing fancy, but they were your favorite colors.
He’d noticed when you were at the house the day before that you were more quiet than usual. Contemplative. He missed your smile and wanted to bring it back. So flowers. You loved flowers. But would you want them from him?He swallowed, gaze moving back to your door. He’d just leave them on your doorstep. The whole point was to not make a thing of it.
Back in the truck, he drove the ten minutes to the Cody house, his brain stuck on you. Maybe he should have knocked, handed them to you directly. As he walked past the living room, he stopped cold.
You were on the couch.
Not in his head, but actually there, legs tucked under you with a glass of what looked like lemonade in your hand. You glanced up and your eyes widened a fraction when you spotted him.
He crossed the room and dropped onto the couch beside you. He sat close enough to smell the clean scent that clung to your skin. You never doused yourself in perfumes or heavily scented lotions. It was another thing he loved about you.
“What are you doing here?” he said, voice rough as always.
Your fingers tapped against the side of the glass. “Smurf wanted me to come for dinner. Is that okay?”
He studied you. Your face was doing that thing it did when you were trying to read him, the furrow between your brows, mouth turned down slightly at the corners. He’d forgotten that about you. How you watched.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” he finally said. “You can be here whenever you want.”
You gave him a small smile and a nod and something in him loosened, just a little.
At dinner, you sat across from Pope and watched the chaos around you.
Craig was talking about a wave he’d caught that morning, hands moving through the air. His voice buried Pope’s attempt to say something and the latter’s mouth snapped shut. He cut into his steak and said nothing.
Deran cut in to say something about a fight at the pier and a kid who had gotten his board stolen. “He just fucking took off like—”
Smurf turned to Craig. “Did you get the papers I asked you to pick up?”
Craig frowned. “Yeah, they’re in the other room. I told you that al—”
“Good. Deran, eat your vegetables before they get cold.”
The conversation moved around Pope, never including him. He ate methodically. Every few bites he’d look up, eyes scanning the table, taking inventory. Once, his gaze landed on you and held for a beat too long before dropping back to his plate.
You kept your face still even as you cataloged every slight.
You saw the way his jaw tightened when Craig talked over him. The way his fingers gripped the fork a little too hard when Smurf redirected the conversation for the third time. The way he chewed each bite thoroughly before swallowing. As if he was counting seconds in his head.
You saw all of it and said nothing. Because saying something would mean admitting you were paying attention and paying attention to Andrew Cody was a habit you’d promised yourself you’d break.
But you couldn’t just leave it. Couldn’t let him believe he was the least important person in the room.
The next day, you left an envelope on the windshield of Pope’s truck where it sat in the Cody driveway. Inside was a DVD of a National Geographic special about deep-sea predators and a note.
I see you. I always see you.
Deran found the envelope, bringing it in the house with him and tossing it at Pope where he sat on the couch. “Someone left that on your truck.” Just as quick as he’d appeared the boy was gone.
Pope’s brow furrowed as he opened the envelope and dumped the contents into his lap. The DVD case was warm in his hands as he turned it over to read the back. Then he saw the note.
His thumb traced the edge of the paper. He read it once. Then again. The corner of his mouth pulled up. Just barely. He folded the note and slipped it into his wallet.
Pope hadn’t seen you in three days, which was more than a little unusual. Since you’d returned to Oceanside, you’d been spending a lot of time with the Codys.
He found Craig in the kitchen, shirtless, eating cereal straight from the box, chasing it with a drink of the milk sitting on the counter beside him.
Pope’s lip curled. His brothers were disgusting. “Where is she?” he asked.
Craig looked up. “Who?”
Pope stared at him.
“Oh. Car trouble. Took it to that place on Brighton with the sign that looks like it’s falling over.”
Pope braced his hands on the counter and leaned forward. “And?”
Craig shrugged. “And they quoted her some bullshit number. Like, way high. She thinks they’re trying to scam her because she’s a girl and doesn’t know cars. So, she’s going to have it towed to get a second opinion. She’s waiting for her dad to pay her. Stingy bastard.”
“Which shop on Brighton?”
“You know, uh, Vic’s? Vinnies? Something with a V.”
Pope nodded once and poured himself a cup of coffee. He had a job for Smurf he needed to take care of. Some asshole that owed her money and took off to Ventura. The kind of thing that would take a couple of days if everything went right, longer if it didn’t. Regardless, he’d be taking a vehicle that couldn’t be traced to him.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said. “My truck will be here if you want to use it.”
Craig’s brows went up. “For real?” Craig had been driving an old beater for the last couple of months after he dumped his bike drinking and driving.
“If she needs a ride anywhere, to get groceries, to go to work, fucking anywhere, you take her. That’s the deal. Promise me or I keep the keys.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Promise me, Craig.”
“I promise, Jesus, I’ll drive her wherever she needs.”
Pope placed the keys in his hand but held onto them. “Do not wreck my truck.”
After another round of assurances from Craig, Pope finally relinquished the keys. He only hoped his brother didn’t give him a reason to regret it.
Two days later, you got a call.
“Ma’am, this is Vic’s Auto Repair. Your vehicle is ready for pickup.”
You frowned. “I didn’t authorize any work.”
“We understand that, but the repairs have been completed and the bill has been taken care of. If you could pick it up as soon as possible, we’d appreciate it.”
“Who paid for it?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have that information. Vic did request you take your vehicle elsewhere from now on. Sorry.”
You hung up and stared at the wall for a full minute, running through the short list of people in your life who both knew about the car and had the money to spare. You sent off a message.
Twenty minutes later, Craig pulled up in Pope’s truck.
You opened the door and took in the sight before you. The floor mats were covered in fast food wrappers. There was mud smeared across the dashboard. The cab smelled like cheap perfume and cheaper weed.
“What did you do, Craig?”
He leaned across the passenger seat, one arm draped over the wheel. “What? Pope said I could use it while he’s out of town.”
“You know how he is about his stuff. This is disgusting.”
He shrugged. “It’s a truck. It’s meant to get dirty.”
“This isn’t dirt. This is you being a slob. Bring it back to my apartment after we get the car. I’ll clean it.” You shook your head as you used the hand hold to haul yourself into the passenger seat, curling your lip at the filth.
“What am I supposed to drive then?”
“Oh, you’re helping. This is a two person job and you’re person number two.”
He groaned but didn’t argue, which told you he felt at least a little guilty.
“So, what happened with the second opinion? I thought you were holding off,” he asked as he drove to the shop.
“I got a call this morning that the car was fixed and the bill had been paid.”
The silence stretched. Then Craig said, “Gee. I wonder who that could have possibly taken care of that for you.”
You huffed in annoyance. “Shut up.”
“I told Pope about your car. And then he left town and gave me his truck with the specific instruction that I drive you anywhere you need.” He glanced at you. The corner of his mouth doing that thing it did when he felt particularly proud of himself. “I told you he likes you.”
“Stop. It was probably my dad or something.”
“So ask him.”
“What?” you asked.
“Ask your dad if he fixed your car,” Craig prompted.
You shook your head but didn’t say anything else. The truth was, a very large part of you wanted it to be Pope that took car of your car. A part that held out hope that one day he’d see you the way you saw him. If it wasn’t him, you really didn’t want to know. Not yet anyway. Let you enjoy your delusions for a while.
After you picked up your car, Craig followed you to your apartment. You spent two hours cleaning Pope’s truck, taking care of what you could at your place before driving to a nearby carwash. Craig complained the entire time, but did the work. By the time you were done, the truck looked better than it had before Pope left it.
“Don’t tell him we cleaned it,” Craig said as he dropped you back at your apartment.
“Why not?”
“Because then he’ll know I trashed it and I’ll have to listen to him be weird about it for a week.”
You rolled your eyes but agreed before climbing out of the truck.
Pope got back the next afternoon. The guy had paid after Pope thoroughly explained the situation by sharing his knowledge of just how many bones were in the human hand. He took the car to the junkyard and got a ride back to the house. His truck was in almost the same spot he’d left it. When he got closer and saw it was clean.
Not just clean. Spotless. The windows gleamed. The tires had been scrubbed. There wasn’t a single wrapper or smudge in sight. He walked around it once, eyes narrowed then opened the door. The inside smelt like lemon. He stood there for a minute then shrugged. Craig must have finally grown a brain. Or felt guilty. Either way, it was a miracle Pope wasn’t going to question.
Inside, he showered and changed before checking his phone. There was a text from Craig about a bonfire at the beach that night. He had no interest in going unless you were going to be there. He started to text Craig to ask about you before deleting and switching to your contact instead.
You coming to the bonfire?
You responded almost immediately. No. Sick.
He stared at the screen, a million worst case scenarios running through his head. What’s wrong?
Just a cold. Stuffy. Miserable.
He exhaled in relief, thumb hesitating for a beat before he put his phone away.
Thirty minutes later he pulled up to your apartment with two bags. One held hot chicken soup. The other held orange juice, Kleenex and cold medicine. He climbed the stairs to your apartment and prepared to knock on the door when a yell from the apartment next door caught his attention.
He turned his head listening to the man shout, mean and ugly followed by a loud thud like something hitting a hard surface. Craig had mentioned that your neighbor was an asshole but Pope hadn’t imagined anything like this. Did you have to listen to this shit all the time? You were sick. You needed your rest.
Pope set the bags on your doormat and knocked quickly on the door before walking next door. The yelling got louder. He knocked hard, three times.
The door opened a crack. A man’s face appeared, eyes red and narrowed. “Who the fuck are—”
Pope put one hand on the man’s chest and walked him backward into the apartment. The door swung shut behind them.
You answered your door a couple of minutes later, wrapped in a blanket, nose red. You found two bags on your mat and looked both directions, finding no one. You bent down and picked them up, taking them into the kitchen and placing them on the counter.
You unloaded the bags and stared at everything for a moment, debating the safety of eating soup someone left on your doorstep. But it looked good and it was hot. And there were easier ways to kill you if someone wished, rather than death by cold remedy.
You could also count on one hand the number of people who knew you were sick and you trusted all of them. You tore open the cold medicine and swallowed two capsules with a glass of water. You refilled the glass with some of the juice and took it and the soup over to the table.
Three days later, your sinuses had cleared and your energy returned. You were itching to get out of the house and headed to a small bookstore you frequented. The place smelled the way all good bookstores do, fresh paper mixed with the slight must of old books. Sunlight poured through the windows and angled across the floor.
You roamed the shelves for awhile before finding yourself in the nature section. A dark blue book with gold lettering caught your eye and you pulled it from the shelf. A hardcover book on aquatic animals, filled with vivid photographs. The text was full of facts and anecdotes from the photographers. The kind of thing that would keep someone’s attention for hours.
You bought it without hesitating.
Pope walked out of his house that afternoon, keys in hand and stopped when he saw a book sitting on the hood of his truck. The embossed title shone gold in the sunlight.
He picked up the book and flipped through the pages. It was full of sharks, jellyfish and things that lived so deep they made their own light. And then he found the note.
On the front page in the same handwriting as the first note that came with the DVD.
For Andrew followed by a heart.
He closed the book and ran his hand over the cover before climbing in the truck and setting the book on the passenger seat. He drove to an isolated section of the beach and backed into a space. He sat on the tailgate of his truck with the book open in his lap and read until the sun went down and the words faded into the dark.
Another Saturday, another Cody party. You were graced with Baz’s presence this time but your favorite Cody was nowhere to be seen. Baz’s lips twitched as you looked around the party for the third time since he’d started talking to you. “He’s not here,” he said, leaning closer so you could hear him.
Your eyes widened in surprise. “Who?”
He laughed outright at that. “Pope. He’s doing a job for Smurf. Won’t be back until tomorrow.”
You didn’t say anything for a moment. “Am I that obvious?”
Baz’s hand found your shoulder. “You never had eyes for anyone else when he was around. Been that way since we were kids.” With that, he walked off leaving you to wallow in your embarrassment.
Eventually, Craig found you. “You good?”
You nodded and sipped at your beer. “Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you. The asshole next door broke his lease and moved out in the middle of the night.”
He smiled slow and wide. “I wonder why. Who could have possibly scared him off?”
You sighed. “Stop. How would your brother even know that guy existed?”
He held up his hands. “I’m just saying. It’s a mystery. A real whodunit. Maybe the guy won the lottery. Maybe—”
“I said stop.”
He stopped but the smile stayed. Asshole.
You started cleaning as the party wound down. No one helped but you didn’t expect them too. You didn’t want Pope coming home to this mess. Baz had left hours ago. Craig had crashed on the couch, Deran laying nearby. You shook your head as you moved around them, Deran gave you a sleepy smile and then he was out as well.
You collected every bottle, every empty cup. You wiped down every surface with cleaner and a rag and swept the floors. Then you loaded the dishwasher and started it. Trash was tied up and sat beside the can in the garage. By the time you finished, the house looked like no one had ever been there at all.
Pope drove home early the following morning. The job had been simple. Pick up a package, deliver it, come home. He spent the last hour of the drive running through the cleanup in his head. The party would have been a disaster without him there to temper it. Trash would be everywhere. Filth tracked through the house. He’d clean up the trash first, then surfaces, then floors.
He pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. The house was dark and quiet when he let himself in. He braced himself for the worst and stopped.
The house was clean.
Not tidy. Clean. He walked through the rooms trying to make sense of it. He found his brothers on the couch sound asleep. Pope smacked Craig’s shoe to wake him up.
He grunted in surprise, eyes flying open, groaning when he found Pope standing above him. “What the fuck?”
“Did you clean up?”
Craig frowned and ran a hand down his face. “What?”
“The house. Did you clean it?”
“Why the fuck would I do that?”
Deran’s eyes were still closed when he said your name.
“What?” Pope asked.
“She cleaned all of it,” Deran added.
Pope focused on Craig again. “Why would she do that?”
Craig groaned again. “I don’t fucking know, Pope. Maybe she hates you and wanted to deny you the pleasure.” He paused then added, “It certainly wouldn’t be because she likes you because what the fuck do I know?”
Pope drove to your apartment without calling first. He didn’t text. Didn’t take the time to weigh the pros and cons. He’d spent too much time hesitating, second guessing.
He knocked on your door, shifting his weight as he waited for you to answer.
When you opened the door, his gaze raked over you, taking in the shorts and t-shirt you had on. He stepped forward, crossing the threshold before you could invite him in.
Your lips quirked. “Sure. Come on in.”
He stood in the middle of your living room, watching as you closed the door and turned to face him. His fingers twitched as his sides. “You cleaned up the party.”
“Yes,” you said with a tilt of your head.
“Why?”
“So you wouldn’t have to.” You crossed your arms over your chest and looked down as you shuffled your feet.
He went quiet, eyes moving around the room. Searching for something, anything to tell him what to say next. He wanted to ask you why you cared so much, why you bothered, but he was afraid you’d take it wrong. That he’d say the wrong thing and push you away. His gaze snagged on the TV. The sound was low, but the images were unmistakable. Dark water. The slow, ghostly movement of something with too many teeth.
The National Geographic special. The one from the DVD.
“I know this,” he said, before he could think about it.
You smiled, your face lighting with the action. “You watched it? I knew you’d like it.”
He looked at you then, really looked, the way he’d been avoiding for weeks. “That was you?”
You looked surprised as if you hadn’t realized what you’d said. What you’d admitted to. “Yeah.”
“But that means this is from you, too.” He pulled out his wallet and removed the note, unfolding it to show you the words within.
“You kept that?” Your voice was quiet.
He swallowed hard and nodded in answer. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Come on, Andy. I’ve been gone for years. You probably have a bunch of girls that want you. What do you need me for?”
His answer was immediate, tone firm and certain. “I don’t want them. I want you. Why else would I do all that stuff for you?”
Your brow furrowed. “What stuff?”
“The flowers. The car. The soup…the neighbor.” He hesitated before admitting to the last.
Your eyes widened and your mouth gaped just a little. “That was you? Why didn’t you say anything?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I thought it was obvious.”
You stepped forward. One step, then another, closing the distance between you until you were close enough for him to smell the faint trace of your detergent. You laid your hand against his face, palm cradling his cheek. Your thumb traced across his skin.
He went very still, afraid if he moved the wrong way he’d chase you off. His breathing was shallow and his eyes didn’t leave you.
You leaned in, forehead almost touching his and asked, “Is this okay?”
It was everything.
He answered by kissing you. Your mouth was warm and careful, his hand came up to curl around the back of your neck. You kissed him back and tension flowed from him as he sunk into you. For a long moment there was nothing but the two of you and the anglerfish glowing on the screen behind you.
You pulled back with a groan and Pope’s gaze flicked over your face. His hand was still on your neck. “What? What’s wrong?”
“This means I’m going to have to admit Craig was right. He’s going to be insufferable.”
Pope smiled. A rare, unguarded full smile that showed a hint of the man he might have been if the world had been gentler. And then he kissed you again.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
SUMMARY ⋮ ⌗ ┆Your father calls you mid-shift to make you feel how he always does: Like he couldn’t care less about his only daughter. You try to push through and keep your head up, be the lovergirl everyone knows you as, but you can’t help but crumble, because all you want is to be enough for your father. Special to him.
Who’d show you just how special you really are but the day shift attending?
PAIRING ⋮ ⌗ ┆grumpy!michael robinavitch x sunshine!reader
CONTENT WARNINGS ⋮ ⌗ ┆18+ SMUT AHEAD. MDNI. age gap (r! is in her 20’s, robby’s in his 40’s), r! is heavily implied to have anxiety. panic attacks. hurt comfort. r! is sort of a social worker but also a doctor. medical inaccuracies. other pitt characters featured. #alsomadeupcharactersfortheplot. small description of patient fall and sustained head injury. brief mention of blood. r’s father’s a deadbeat. briefly established backstory ⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ dom!robby. sub!reader. afab!reader. quick escalation. big dick robby. . .unprotected piv sex. tummy bulge. praise. cunnilingus (r!receiving). fingering (r!receiving). major daddy kink. two uses of little girl. slight fauxcest? (if you want to read it that way). pussydrunk!robby. use of pet names (kiddo, kid, sweetheart, babygirl, and honey are all used). palming. brief handjob. kissing. creampie. slight breeding kink.
WORD COUNT ⋮ ⌗ ┆ 6.7k
LYNNIE'S TEA ⋮ ⌗ ┆☕︎ started this on a plane ride and did not expect it to go as far as it did. . .everybody thank my own paternal issues for this one. . .i’m also not 100% i like this buuut hopefully someone else does ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა
ּ֯ . ❥ ּ֯ ┆꒰ I'D RUN AWAY .ᐟ ꒱
AND HIDE WITH YOU.
“I NEED EXTRA HANDS in Trauma 2,” boomed the unmistakable sound of Dana’s voice across the ER. “Where the fuck’s our lovergirl?”
That was usually your cue, but you didn’t catch it at first. If you had, you’d’ve probably bolted the other way, extending your already too long break that’d went from a five minute call to a fifteen minute panic attack. One more stressor and you’d be down for fucking the count.
“Right here,” you said with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, approaching the center desk. Too late to back out now. “What’s the case?”
“Six-year-old fell from her treehouse. Robby’s already in there,” said Dana. She gave you a quick once over, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Y’okay, hun?”
You blinked back tears at the genuineness of her tone. “Yeah. Fine. I’m on the case,” you said with a nod and a tight smile. Not too obvious, nor too shallow.
This was your poker face. This, you had to be good at. Because with even half the things you went through on the daily, it’d be foolish not to have mastered it.
You felt like an idiot for letting your father make you feel this way. For giving him so much leverage over your outlook on life. The people around you thought you loved wholeheartedly because you’d learned it from someone else, but the reality was far more complicated than that.
You loved the way you did not because of someone you knew, but someone you wanted to. Someone who loved like the word had no limits, like the way you did.
Your father was incapable of such treatment. When you left Boston for Pittsburgh years prior, he barely bat an eye. Just wished you well and asked you come back for the holidays, but never complained when you didn’t. Never cared that you didn’t. The man hardly cared about you, period.
And so he calls sometimes. Tries to be a father. Tells you he’s thinking of you, but it always feels like you’re a check on a to-do list. An afterthought. Like talking to you is an obligation, a thing he does because he has to, not because he wants to.
He’d called you in the breakroom the minute you got the door closed. You’d forgotten about the juice you were about to indulge in before answering the phone, wondering what he wanted. The man had promptly asked for help with the bills, and you being the angel you were, unable to ignore someone in need, no matter how salty, sent it without complaints. He hadn’t even told you he loved you when he hung up. Just told you this is what your responsibility was as a daughter now. He’d taken care of you, nurtured you after your mother had left. So you should be thanking him.
Man, you thought. Your old man had a twisted sense of family.
That call had you questioning your own validity. What had you done to deserve the loneliness you’d accumulated? To have a father who used you like an ATM? Friends who knew you but didn’t see you? It felt like the world was on your shoulders, too heavy for one person to carry, especially for someone so young.
The last place you wanted to be carrying all these feelings was the PTMC. But life didn’t stop just because you were having a go at it. So neither could you.
You all but sprinted to Trauma 2, not ready to get back to work, but at least able. Eleven in the morning was early for a fall out of a treehouse, and you’d hate to be the little girl who’d taken the damage, so you made quick work of your feet, willing them ahead until you arrived.
At the bedside were Doctors Santos and Garcia, as well as Langdon, Javadi, and your attending, Doctor Robby. Behind Santos and Garcia were the parents of the children who were in inconsolable tears, being comforted to no avail by Doctor Javadi.
“Still no consciousness,” said Santos with her lip between her teeth, her hands working quickly at the bleeding gash across the little girl’s forehead.
“How high’s this fucking treehouse?” said Garcia, ever the blunt one. You shook your head.
“Garcia,” you chided, because that was often your role. Keeping the flow of empathy in a room at any given time alive. Especially when that room contained people in dire need of it.
“Am I happy to see you,” said Robby. He excused himself from the bedside while the other doctors worked, handing you a chart. “Talk to the family before you jump on. Girl’s named Hailey, mom and dad are Janet and Carl Atkins. You know the drill, yeah?”
“Yes. Yes, of course, Robby,” you said with a nod. You tapped your fingers against the cardboard of the chart as you read its contents, like that’d somehow snap you back into doctor mode.
It’s the thought that counts, right?
“You’re an angel,” Robby said.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Atkins,” you said when you approached the parents, introducing yourself. “Why don’t we take a step outside?”
“We’re not leaving our daughter,” said Mrs. Atkins, who was still in tears.
“I understand your pain, Mrs. Atkins, but these doctors are doing everything to care for your little girl. Soon, that’ll mean lots of blood and sights you won’t want to remember of her. I promise you can come back in as soon as they’re finished.”
Mrs. Atkins, Janet, looked at her husband with teary eyes. He nodded and turned to you. You took that as your cue to lead them out of the room. Robby nodded as you made your exit with the parents.
“What happened this morning?” you asked gently, keeping any accusation out of your voice. You knew from experience that families of patients never responded well to that.
“H- Hailey wanted to play outside. It was beautiful out. We went into our backyard after breakfast, a- and Carl and I were having a bit of coffee after helping her into her treehouse. She’s a smart girl, so I thought—“ Janet stopped her sentence short to heave a sob. Carl rubbed her back.
“You thought you could trust her, like all parents do,” you finished. “She’s six. Still small, but she’s learning about the world in her own way, and you want to let her. There isn’t anything wrong with that. Then, what?”
“We didn’t even see her get out. Usually she stays inside and calls for one of us when she’s ready to come down. But this time, I guess she thought she could do it on her own,” Carl said. “She’d just hit the ground when we ran over. And we called 911.”
“I see. It’s to my understanding that Hailey’s very lucky,” you said after taking a good look at the chart. “No noticeable fractures, minimal chance of long-term brain damage. The worst she should walk away with is a concussion and a sprained ankle, but apart from that and her visible wounds, she should be back to health in no time,” you said.
“Then why is she not waking up?” said Janet.
“Her age and nature of the impact are likely to blame for her unconsciousness. Falling hard on your back is generally more dangerous, especially for teenagers and children. That doesn’t mean her injuries are severe,” you said calmly. “Hailey’s your only child?”
Janet nodded. “She’s the best little girl in the world. She was everything we prayed for.”
“Your love for her is palpable. You’re first time parents who are navigating the ups and downs of what it takes to raise a child. Mistakes don’t negate your progress. There’s no benefit in being hard on yourselves,” you said. “This wasn’t your fault. Children are naturally curious and occasionally unpredictable. That doesn’t mean you’re to blame for what happened today. The most you can do now is be there for Hailey. That’s all you can do.”
Janet sniffled, moved by your words. That was just the effect you had on people.
Most people, anyway.
It was your job at the PTMC to provide comfort to families in time of need, as well as finding balance in being a good doctor all the same. But it occurred to you more often than not that you had yet to acquire that same balance in your personal life.
As per usual, that wasn’t the matter at hand right now.
The other woman took your hand in hers and squeezed. You squeezed back.
“Thank you. You’re a great doctor,” she said.
You smiled. “No, thank you. Now, why don’t you two take a seat over here? I’ll come back out with any updates on Hailey.”
After the parents sat on a bench outside Trauma 2, you braced yourself and went back in. Robby eyed you as you returned.
“Worked your magic out there, kiddo?”
You gave that same fabricated smile you’d offered Dina not too long prior and nodded, grabbing a pair of sterile gloves. “Sure did.”
He didn’t have to know that was just more of your magic.
After half an hour or so, Garcia finally threw her hands up, exhaling a sigh of relief. “My services are no longer required.”
You’d been helping keep Hailey stabilized beside Robby, while Santos had been next to Garcia. Javadi and Langdon had since left to handle another case. You checked the monitor to view the girl’s heart rate and blood pressure and nodded your agreement.
“All set. Thanks for your help,” you said.
“Sure thing. Call if you need the jazz hands again,” Garcia said before heading off.
“Good work, you two. Couple hours and she should be waking up,” said Robby.
“Great. I’ll give the parents the good news,” you said.
You discarded your gloves and put some hand sanitizer on before turning to face the parents who were still seated outside Trauma 2. They both stood up with urgency, looking frantic at your return.
“How is she?” said Janet.
You smiled. “Little Hailey’s going to pull through. She’s still unconscious, but we’ve completely stabilized her and she should incur no lasting brain damage from this incident. She’ll wake in a few hours.”
Janet threw her arms around you, and you responded with a little “Oh!” before reciprocating the hug.
“Thank you so much,” Janet said.
“Can we see her?” said Carl.
“Of course. Right this way.”
You led the way back into the room, where Robby was still standing opposite Santos. The latter backed away to allow the parents room to see their child.
“Thank you, Dr. Robby,” said Carl.
“You’re very welcome,” said Robby.
The two of them sat at their daughter’s bedside. Carl instantly grabbed Hailey’s hand, squeezing gently.
“We’re so sorry, honey,” Janet whispered in a quiet sob.
“Daddy loves you so much, Hailey,” Carl sniffled beside his wife. “We’ll never let anything like this happen again. I promise.”
I promise.
At the little declaration, you felt your throat tighten with a weird feeling. It felt like plain sadness at first, salt on the wound after your interaction with your own father. But it was more than that. Deeper.
It felt like fucking jealousy.
Tears filled your eyes and threatened to spill at the scene as Carl whispered all the ways he loved his daughter. The promises to take care of her. The dedication to doing better. All things you wish your father could do for you.
It was too much.
“Um, if you’ll excuse me,” you said with your fake smile, though you weren’t sure how convincing it was now that it was paired with teary eyes and a broken voice. You practically sprinted out of there subsequently, and didn’t stop until you reached the breakroom.
You slammed the door closed behind you and went for the sink. Everybody was busy with their own cases—it was just one of those kinds of days—so there was no one around to see you break down for a second time that shift. While it didn’t necessarily feel good to be alone, you weren’t sure you wanted anyone to see you like this.
Splashing water on your face was futile for your nerves. The sobs you heaved that came from the innermost parts of you were so much more than tears. It felt like all the things your father had said to you since he created you, the words or lack thereof that you’d tried and now failed to suppress, were bubbling to the goddamn surface.
You were in the middle of pressing your thumb to your palm, a trick for anxiety you’d heard from Dr. Collins, when the sound of the break room door opening snapped you out of your thoughts. You took a large breath and didn’t immediately turn around, because you couldn’t give yourself away, couldn’t be vulnerable. Not on a day like this. Maybe not fucking ever.
You thought so, anyway, until the sound of Robby softly saying your name made your resolve crack in two.
“Y- Yeah?” you said without facing him.
“You alright? You kind of ran out of there,” he said. You could hear him coming closer.
“Oh, yeah, j- just needed a glass of water. Dehydrated,” you lied.
“Hydration is important,” he humored you. Yet his tone of voice gave way to the fact that you were a terrible liar. “But I’m not convinced that’s what this is.”
Fuck.
Tears spilled from your eyes. You still didn’t turn around, but when you felt your throat constricting again, your breath picking up speed, you realized it didn’t matter if Robby could see you or not. Your body language was going to betray you.
“I just need a m- minute,” you said, and that did him in. Your body started to shake with a familiar force, one nobody knew you dealt with on a daily basis.
A panic attack.
“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” Robby said as your legs started to fail you. He didn’t say anything about the mascara that was probably coming down your cheeks, or the blatant redness in your eyes when you finally turned around. Instead, he sat you down in one of the chairs in the breakroom, rubbing your back. “Head between your legs.”
You did as told. This tactic did sometimes work for you. But it wasn’t enough to stop your heaving sobs or uncontrollable breathing.
“Come on, s’okay, in through your nose, out through your mouth,” Robby said. “It’s not forever. S’all temporary, s’all temporary. Come on, kiddo, breathe with me.”
Robby’s words felt like honey. But even the sweetest of candies can’t overpower the taste of salt.
It wasn’t Robby’s fault. Robby didn’t know. He didn’t know much about your life beyond the city you’d come from or who you are now. No one did.
But that was just the thing. Even without truly, truly knowing you, Robby still wanted to help. That was more than your own father could ever say.
“It’s going to be okay,” Robby said finally. “Breathe with me.”
Every word had your nervous system slowly regulating again, and you tried to listen to the sound of his voice. After a few minutes of crying and shaky breaths, the world started to come back into focus.
“That’s a girl, just breathe. Breathe with me,” Robby hummed. “Let me get you some water.”
You felt the aftermath of your panic attack starting to hit the moment Robby returned with a glass of water. You drank it down in one quick gulp as your breath finally slowed back to normal pace.
“I’m. . .sorry you had to see that, I—“
“Don’t apologize. It happens to the best of us,” Robby said. You’d never seen the older man look so concerned. His eyebrows were wrinkled with worry, and there was a frown pasted on his lips.
After a beat, Robby spoke up again. “Did you. . .wanna talk about it?”
You shrugged, looking away. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid if it’s making you cry.”
You shook your head and let out a bitter laugh. You’d tell anyone else the same thing, but you felt stupid for feeling the way you did about a man you’d known for a long time would never change. The stupid thing was holding out hope that he would.
“My dad called me. Just before I hopped on that case,” you said shakily. “He didn’t even ask how I was or what I was doing. He. . .he needed money f- for his bills. So I just sent it without thinking twice. He didn’t even tell me he loved me or anything before he hung up. Just told me this was my responsibility now. So that little girl. . .her father caring so much,” you sniffled. “Just felt like salt to the wound.”
You looked away from Robby completely now, turning your head to the side. “It’s dumb, right? I’m in my mid twenties and I’m still getting hurt by the man when he’s always been this way. Anyone else would have given up by now, but not me.”
“Now, that’s not entirely true,” Robby said sharply. “You need your father today as much as you did when you were born. Your age doesn’t have anything to do with it, kid. And if he can’t show up like he’s supposed to, that’s on him.”
Robby tilted your face to meet his and caught your eyes. “He has no idea what he’s missing.”
You sniffled at the sweet reassurance, leaning your cheek into his palm.
“You’re sure you’re fit to stay?” Robby asked, stroking your cheek.
You almost thought you’d misheard him. There was a loudly spoken rule about all hands on deck at this hospital. Confusedly, you returned, “It’s been crazy in here today. Don’t you guys need me?”
Robby shrugged. “We have the staff, for once. If you’re not 100%, we’ll be okay if you need to leave. Seems like you need to relax, and this place is definitely not helping with that.”
You giggled at that. “Yeah, probably not,” you agreed. Your smile then faded. “But it’s alright. I took the bus here and with midday traffic, who knows how long I’ll be waiting, anyway,” you sniffled.
“That’s true. And you can stay if you want,” Robby said as he stood up. “Or I can bring you home.”
You looked up at him confusedly. “Bring me home? But, Robby, you—“
“—Jack wanted to come in early,” Robby said. “S’no problem.”
The offer made your heart ache. “You’re sure?”
Robby gave you a small smile. “Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.”
That’s what wound you in the passenger seat of Robby’s truck the second Jack walked into the ER. He opened the door for you and buckled you in before getting into the driver’s side, putting the keys into the ignition.
“I’m sorry I’m making you do this,” you said with a small voice, leaning your head against the window. Even after his reassurance, you still felt guilty for pulling him away from work. “You have a job to do.”
“You’re not making me do anything. And Jack’s a good doctor. He’s got it under control,” Robby said. “How far are you?”
“I’m a little far. It’s about a half hour commute,” you replied. “You really don’t have to bring me, Robby.”
“How about we go to my place instead? It’s closer. You’ll want to decompress sooner rather than later, I imagine.”
You nod. “Okay,” you replied. Robby did the same and began to drive.
Your hands were still restless from the aftermath of your attacks. You leaned your head back against the leather seat, closing your eyes while shaky breaths left your lips. Robby didn’t say anything until he heard you hiccup another sob. He’d stopped at a red light and turned to look at you.
“Sweetheart? You okay?”
You cringed at the whimper that left your lips. “I don’t know.”
“Hey,” Robby said. He reached over and looped his fingers through yours, squeezing your hand to reassure you. “Don’t think about him. It’s not doing you any good. Put the window down, kiddo. That’ll help.”
You did as told, putting the window down ever so slightly. You used Robby’s hand like a lifeline while he drove, and not once did he let go.
Leaving the Pitt made you realize instantly how drastically it was affecting you. You had your anxiety under control most days, but it was easy for anybody to snap in a place like that. Now that you were here, you didn’t feel so frenzied. How Robby could run the show on a daily basis like he did, you had no idea.
The drive was mostly silent, save for the wind from your window and the low hum of the radio. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, not with Robby’s hand in your lap and intertwined with your own, grounding you throughout the trip.
He pulled up to a family home about fifteen minutes later. It was a beautiful place with flowers out front and two stories. Robby opened your door for you as you got out, and smiled when you immediately slotted your hand through his again.
“Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you inside,” Robby said.
You followed behind him and watched him unlock the door, letting you inside before following. You took the place in, shockingly neat for your sarcastic attending, while he slipped his shoes off at the door.
“You can shower upstairs if you want. I can give you some clothes to change into,” Robby said. “Are you hungry?”
“I don’t think I’m ready to eat yet. But thank you, Robby. A shower would be nice,” you said.
“Okay, sweetheart. Come on, you can have your pick of my closet.”
You followed Robby upstairs, taking in the various picture frames that lined the walls of the staircase. Most were with Jack or your other coworkers in group pictures. You were even in some of these.
Robby opened the door to his large room, his bed messy with strewn pillows and scattered books on the nightstand. There were some clothes on the floor and Robby grimaced as he retrieved them.
“Sorry about the mess. Don’t ever have company,” Robby said. “You can look through my dresser.”
“Don’t be sorry,” you said as you approached it. You went through his drawers and picked out an old band tee and baggy sweatpants. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll get you a towel.”
After Robby did so, you took the shower you’d been in desperate need of, hoping the cold water would cleanse your nerves. They still felt incredibly frayed even after leaving work, and part of you was still in panic mode.
Most of it was just plain sadness.
When you came out of the bathroom, Robby was sitting on the edge of the bed, which was now neatly made. He perked up when he saw you, standing up and pulling the covers back. “You didn’t like the sweatpants?”
You shook your head. The tee was long enough to cover the bareness underneath it, and your body temperature wasn’t regulated enough for pants yet. “No. I’m hot,” you said, folding the pants neatly back into the dresser.
“I see,” Robby said. “Feeling better?”
You shrugged, approaching the bed and settling in. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” you said meekly.
“I don’t. But I want to,” Robby said. He tucked you in and turned the TV in the room on, handing you the remote. “I’ve got a few streaming platforms. Watch whatever you’d like. Let me know when you’re ready to eat.”
With that, Robby turned to leave the room, evidently wanting to give you your space, but before he could, you sat back up in bed. “Robby?”
Robby turned to look at you with a foot out of the door. “Yeah, kiddo?”
“Stay? Please, don’t. . .don’t go.”
Robby looked slightly startled by the request, but his expression shifted back into a smile just as quickly. He closed the door and joined you in bed, laying down over the covers. “Whatever you need.”
You turned the TV on and pretended to be interested in the channels, but even entertainment couldn’t do its part in distracting you. You flipped a random movie on before turning to Robby, laying on your side.
Robby rubbed your forehead, then stroked your hair with such care that you thought you might cry all over again. Maybe you would. “Comfortable, kiddo?” he asked.
You nuzzled into his touch, scooting closer. “Mhm. Thank you, Robby.”
“You’re welcome,” Robby said. “You let me know if you need anything, yeah?”
That simple comment worked you right up again, tears brimming in your eyes. All this sweetness from your somewhat gruff attending, the one who’d tucked you in after taking you home and giving you his clothes, no less, had you wondering how hard it really was for your father to do the same.
“Oh, honey,” Robby said as you broke down all over again. “Come here, baby.”
You followed the instruction of Robby patting his lap, sitting up and settling into it. You buried your face into his neck while he held you, cradling you like you were a baby. The gesture made you sob harder as he soothed you, rubbing your back tenderly while he shushed away your tears.
“Your father doesn’t deserve you. You’re too sweet to feel so neglected by him,” Robby said.
“Wh- What’s wrong with me? I just want him to care and somehow I feel like an asshole, because all I do is beg for the man to love me.”
“That doesn’t make you an asshole. It’s normal to want your father. Even more normal when he’s mostly absent.”
“I just want to be enough.”
“You are enough. More than enough,” Robby reassured you.
You pulled back to look at Robby, tears swimming in your eyes. “You’d. . .you’d take care of me, right?” you said without thinking. “If I was your daughter? You wouldn’t let me go?”
Robby smoothed his thumb over your cheek. “No, baby. I wouldn't ever let you go.”
You moved impossibly closer to Robby at the reassurance, now sitting up with your thighs on either side of his legs. He had a hand on your waist, the other coming up to cradle your cheek as he watched you stare.
“What is it, kiddo?” he said softly.
“I. . .I want. . .” you whimpered, bottom lip between your teeth. You of all people knew how unprofessional this position alone was, with your attending, no less, but you were craving more. Comfort. Touch. Love. All things Robby was willing to give you. All things your father never had.
Before you could overthink it, and before your brain could even process what you were doing, for that matter, you leaned slightly forward in Robby’s lap so that your lips ghosted over his. You pressed your hands to his chest in a silent plea, hitting him with those sweet eyes he’d known and admired since you joined PTMC.
But it was different now.
“Please?” you whispered.
“Sweetheart,” Robby huffed. He held his hand on the small of your back and left it there, making no effort to pull you closer or push you away. “We shouldn’t. Hell, I shouldn’t. Shouldn’t even be holding you like this.”
“I know, Robby, but. . .please, I won’t say anything. No one will ever know, I just. . .” you trailed off.
Too late to back out now.
“Make me forget. Forget him, forget everything,” you said. Your fingers dug into his shirt, another wordless beg for more. “Please.”
Robby stared at you for a few long seconds, the silence louder than the sobs you’d heaved earlier in the breakroom. Your head was spinning from said tears, and it occurred to you that you should go home, lay in bed, pretend this never happened—
Until Robby cupped your cheek with a gentleness you’d hardly known he possessed, and pulled you in for a kiss.
The kiss was electric despite its initial slowness. He was soft with you like he was afraid to break you, as if you needed to be handled with fragility. Except when aggression is all you know, it’s natural to exert—which is why you push your tongue past his lips and wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.
Robby understands instantly and settles a hand on your hip, the other finding its way to your neck. He holds but doesn’t squeeze, again, like you’re too soft to be handled in such a fashion, and works his lips against yours ravenously. You can already feel the hardness of his cock below you and it has you embarrassingly soaked.
“That what you needed, baby?” Robby said with a small smile, cupping your face as he said it. You shook your head, to which he replied, “Oh, no? Then, what?”
You let your hand drift downwards before you could think twice about it, rubbing the aching bulge in his pants with shaking fingers.
“Fuck, honey,” Robby groaned. “Big girl words.”
“I. . .I want your cock, Robby,” you whined.
“That right?”
“M- Mhm, please,” you managed through a few more rubs. Then, the cherry on top to completely seal the deal—
“Please, Daddy.”
He’d said to use your words, right?
“Shit,” was all Robby said. His pupils were completely blown at the name, but the disgust you half expected to see when you looked at him wasn’t there. No, when you looked at him, he held a different expression entirely.
And it looked a lot like lust.
“Y’want me to be your daddy, huh? Guess you really meant you wanted to forget,” Robby hummed like it was a normal Tuesday, and you hadn’t just asked your attending of all the people to play the part. Luckily, for you, Robby was happy to oblige—evidently so, as he yanked you closer by the waist, pressing a quick kiss to your mouth.
“S’okay, sweetheart. I can be his replacement.”
With that, Robby flipped you onto your back and pinned you underneath him with his body, using a hand to prop himself up. You continued to rub at the bulge in his scrubs, only now, you’d begun to tug them down, already ready for more.
Robby followed your lead and released his hardened cock from his jeans, the tip aching and bright. You tried not to think too hard about how the hell that’d fit inside you as you started to stroke him carefully.
“Let me take care of you, Daddy,” you said. “After everything you did today.”
“You’re such a sweet girl, honey,” Robby said through a grunt. “But I’m afraid that’s your Daddy’s job, now, isn’t it?”
The sentiment made your cheeks flare, and you simply nodded.
“Good girl,” Robby cooed. He slowly tucked his dick back into his pants. Confusion filled your face until he started to lift your shirt—his shirt—up so that your skin was exposed to him. He smirked at the sight of you without panties on.
“Someone was ready,” he teased. He tucked his dick back into his pants and pressed featherlight pecks to your belly, then started his descent down your body, starting with your inner thighs. He kissed and sucked at the skin there which had you squirming instantaneously, watching your every move to gauge how you were feeling.
“This okay?” he asked. You nodded.
Robby did the same and continued his ministrations. When he finally locked eyes with your pussy, a little sigh left his lips at the sight of your wetness. “Fuck, honey. You’re soaked.”
“Couldn’t h- help it, Robby. Need you.”
“Ah-ah, that’s not my name,” Robby chided with a sharp bite to your inner thigh. “You wanna try again?”
“I need you, Daddy,” you corrected.
“Much better, sweetheart,” Robby said. With that, he finally licked his first stripe up your pussy, groaning at the taste of you. He started slowly to watch your reactions, tonguing your puffy clit in steady circles while his fingers joined the ministrations, entering your aching hole.
Robby alternated between licking your clit and diving between your folds, but whether that was more for you or him was unclear. He was completely drunk on your pussy, and paired with the sound of your pleasured noises, he was eating you up like a man starved.
“Fuck, babygirl, your pussy’s perfect. You’re perfect,” Robby grunted, driving his fingers inside you. You arched back with a particularly loud moan, the new nickname making you dizzy.
“F- Feels so g- good, Daddy,” you moaned. Robby smirked.
“Yeah? S’your Daddy making you feel good, kiddo?” he grunted between your folds, though it felt like he was talking more to your pussy then to you. “You deserve it, honey. My girl deserves to feel so good.”
He lifted your legs above his shoulders so he could dive deeper into your cunt, and you gasped at the change in position, his face almost completely blocked by your own body.
“D- Daddy, can you even breathe like that?” you asked worriedly.
Robby chuckled against your cunt, the sound vibrating between your legs. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. Just focus on feeling good.”
With that, he started to eat you out again, only this time, it felt completely different. This time, with his hands wrapped around your thighs and your knees hooked over his shoulders, there was no limit to what Robby could do to you. His tongue entered your hole this time while his big nose rubbed against your clit, and you were convinced you were seeing stars.
“Fuck, D- Daddy, m’gonna—!” you moaned loudly, bucking your hips into the heat of his mouth. You were grinding against his face shamelessly now. Thankfully for you, Robby didn’t seem to mind.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go, Daddy’s got you,” Robby cooed before flicking his tongue against your clit, and not letting up until you were practically exploding against his face, coming with a loud cry.
Robby eased you through your orgasm with small licks against your sensitive clit. When the feeling became overstimulating, he switched gears and pressed kisses to your inner thighs, peppering them in a gentle path up your abdomen soon afterwards. He continued until he was hovering you again, and you took the opportunity to press your lips against his.
You tasted yourself on his mouth and felt your wetness from his beard, both facts working you up even so soon after your last orgasm. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he immediately caught on.
“Needy little girl. So eager to cum again, huh?” Robby said, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You nodded, to which Robby chided, “None of that, babygirl. You tell Daddy what you want.”
“Want you inside me, Daddy. Want your cock,” you managed through shaky breaths, bucking your hips against his for emphasis. “Please.”
“You sound so sweet when you use your words, honey,” Robby cooed. For the second time, he freed himself, only this time he was visibly more hard. The tip of his cock was an angry red and dribbling bouts of pre-cum, and, fuck, did he look so much fuller than before. You gasped as he ran his head between your folds.
“You’re sure you want this, sweetheart? Absolutely positive?”
“Yes, Daddy, m’sure. I want you so bad. Please.”
Robby didn’t need another word before he was thrusting inside you completely, filling you to the brim.
You’d thought he was big before, but this stretch was completely different. There was a visible bulge where your bodies were conjoined which became more prominent with every little thrust into your pussy. Robby watched, utterly transfixed, at the sight of his large cock causing such an imprint on your skin.
“Y’okay?” Robby grunted. He had one hand on your belly and the other next to your head.
“M- Mhm. You’re so big,” you huffed.
Robby chuckled. “Hope that’s a good thing, sweetheart.”
“I- It is, I—oh!” you were cut off by the feeling of Robby’s hips snapping against yours, trying to find his pace. His stamina isn’t exactly what it used to be, but he’ll be damned if he leaves this room without making you feel good.
“Too much, kiddo?”
“N- No, not at all.”
“Good,” Robby said. He kept a steady albeit rough pace, reaching the deepest parts of you. It wasn’t your first time having sex, but it was with a man who was set on really taking care of you and not chasing his own pleasure. The thought made it feel all the more better.
You pulled Robby in for a kiss he answered gladly. As your tongues pushed against each other, his hips rocked even harder, driving his thick cock into your spongy walls. He was starting to hit the part of you that made you see stars, and you weren’t doing a good job of hiding it.
“That’s it, babygirl. That feel good?” Robby grunted against your lips.
“M- Mhm, y- you’re s- so good, Robby. Feel so good,” you said.
Robby chuckled and decided to let the use of his name slide, deciding you were probably too fucked-out to even remember your own right now. “You feel good, too, sweetheart. You’re so pretty like this,” he praised.
It was only a few minutes before Robby’s steady pace was replaced with a stronger one, as much faster as it was rougher. At the blown look of your pupils, he figured as much that this was what you wanted, what you needed, and he was right.
His cock was driving so far into you that it felt like he was in your throat. Every push had your back arching off the bed, unable to make any noise beyond a few broken whimpers and moans.
“That’s it, sweet girl. I got you, I got you,” Robby said gently, a stark contrast to the way his dick was bullying into your pussy.
“You—fuck—you promise, Daddy?”
“I promise, honey. M’never letting you go, alright? Never,” Robby assured. Despite the pace, his words had your heart lurching, and you almost got emotional all over again.
“Robby,” you gasped. “I’m g- getting there again. Close.”
“S’okay, kiddo. Your Daddy wants you to feel good,” he groaned. He wasn’t so much looking for his pleasure as he was trying to give you yours. “What do you need?”
Easy.
“Just don’t stop,” you said.
And Robby didn’t. He pressed kisses down your neck and sucked hickeys into your skin while he fucked you hard and fast, setting an absolutely lethal pace. The same pressure from earlier when you’d cum in his mouth was starting to return, and you were seconds away from your second orgasm.
“Cum with me, Daddy, please, please, I wanna feel you,” you begged, framing his cheeks with your hands. Robby had his on either side of your head while he smirked down at you.
“Yeah, you want my cum, baby? Want me filling your pretty pussy with my load?”
You nodded quickly, pulling him in for another kiss. “Yes, please. S’all I want.”
“That’s what you’ll get,” Robby said.
He didn’t stop until you were right on the edge, and when you were, he kissed you through it, rocking his hips into your pelvis and driving his dick hard into your cunt while your second orgasm crashed over you. You clenched hard around his cock as he spilled into you, securing your legs even tighter around his waist so that every drop stayed inside.
Robby got the message and gave a few last thrusts that stirred his cum deep inside you. When he pulled out, small ropes of white dribbled out of your hole and stained the bed, while the rest of it remained nestled within you.
“Who knew my little girl could be so dirty?” Robby teased, kissing your cheek.
You giggled. “It takes two, you know.”
“Fair enough,” Robby chuckled. “I’m going to get a towel, honey. Get you cleaned up.”
As he made his move to leave, however, you tugged his arm. Robby was at the edge of the bed. “Robby, w- wait.”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Did you. . .mean it? When you said you’d. . .never let me go?” you asked. “That you’d be his replacement?”
Robby smiled at you and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, nodding. “Yeah, sweetheart. I meant every word.”
so I am still working on the pope breeding kink one shot that the people voted for, but man is it fighting me. so! I figured I'd try my hand at one of these little headcanon drabble for one of the losing prompts on my poll : stalker!pope x derans sweet new bartender who's not as sweet as she seems
18+
Stalker!Pope who freezes the second he walks into Deran’s bar one day, shocked by the sight of some pretty little thing he’s never seen standing behind the bar. He doesn’t like when there are unexpected changes made to his routine. But then you greet him with a sweet little smile, pouring him his bourbon and passing the glass to him with a peppy little “enjoy!” and he decides maybe he’s ok with this change. He swears the liquor tastes better when you pour it.
Stalker!Pope who quickly becomes obsessed. He’s lingering, hanging around the bar even when he’s not drinking or there on business. He even volunteers to help Deran clean up a bit so that he’s got an excuse to be around you during your shifts. That’s not enough for him, though, so he starts following you home every night. Just to make sure you get there safely! God knows Oceanside isn’t a safe place for pretty 20-somethings like yourself.
Stalker!Pope who finds himself quickly becoming addicted to watching you through your windows. You probably want him to, since you never shut your curtains. You even leave your windows open! It’s not his fault when he picks the lock to your front door so that he can close them. He knows the ocean breeze probably feels good, but leaving your windows open is practically begging for some freak to sneak in. He’s just trying to keep you safe. That’s what he tells himself. That’s why he watches you sleep from the corner of your room. He’s always gone before you wake, nothing but shut windows and the lingering scent of his aftershave left behind.
Stalker!Pope who starts breaking in when you’re not home, curiosity getting the better of him. He wants to know what your place looks like in the daylight. And once he’s in there, he just can’t help himself. He cleans, scrubbing your floors, doing the dishes left over from your breakfast, even doing your laundry. Which is how he finds your underwear. The temptation was too strong to fight, and that’s how he ends up inhaling, taking in the scent of you that clings to the fabric. It’s like catnip to him. Pope takes them, building a collection in his room, buried beneath his own underwear. It’s filthy and so unlike him, but he just can’t help himself. Over the few weeks since he started coming during the day, you find yourself with less and less undergarments.
Stalker!Pope who thinks he’s being subtle, who thinks you have no idea, who thinks it is a total coincidence that you start leaving your underwear on the bed instead of buried in your hamper. But you know the truth. As good as Pope is, his obsession had made him a little sloppy. About a year before Pope became obsessed, someone unwelcome had actually broken into your place, and you’d had cameras installed in every room. You’d known it was him stealing your panties since the beginning. It turned you on to know that he craved you, that he couldn’t get enough of you. The underwear you’d leave him started getting racier and racier, until it just scraps of lace held together by tiny little strings.
Stalker!Pope who is completely caught off guard when you’ve decided you’ve had enough one night after closing at the bar. The patrons and Deran are gone, leaving just you and him as you clean while he sits at the counter watching. You slip into the back, quickly removing the g-string underneath your denim skirt. When you come back, you set the panties on the bar top before him. “Here, save you a trip tonight.” And he is shocked, just staring at you with wide eyes. He doesn’t try to deny it or offer any excuse.
Stalker!Pope who finally snaps when you bend over at the waist, giving him a beautiful view of your glistening folds just barely hidden beneath that skirt that is much too short. He’s jumping over the bartop and pressing his raging hardon against your ass as you stand back up.
Stalker!Pope who’s throwing you around. He has you bent over the counter, one hand on the back of your head, pushing your face against the cold wood, and the other is 3 fingers deep inside you to stretch you out. You’re crying and whining and begging for him to just fuck you, but he doesn’t, not right away at least. “Gotta get you ready for me.”
Stalker!Pope who gives in, taking his hands off you just long enough to undo his jeans. He yanks them down just far enough to give him access before he’s thrusting all the way inside you. He wants to go slow, make it a little bit romantic, but pretty soon you’re writhing and snapping at him, goading him into a faster, harder rhythm.
Stalker!Pope who is in awe when you take his hand, dragging it to your throat while you fuck yourself back on him, clenching and squeezing around him. He chokes you, dragging you up until your back is pressed against his chest while he pounds into you as hard as he can. When you both cum, you’re pulling away and dropping to your knees. Pope watches with wide eyes as you lick his cock clean.
Stalker!Pope who falls even more in love when you tell him it makes you wet to know he’s following you. That you want him to keep breaking in, keep taking care of you. That you like his obsessions and his quirks.
Stalker!Pope who nearly cums in his pants when you tell him the next time he breaks in while you sleep that he should have his way with you.
summary: You’ve always thought getting high with Andrew was harmless. Then tonight happens, and you realize you’ve been testing the limits of his self-control all along. andrew ‘pope’ cody x f!reader / cw: needy!pope my fav, smoking, weed, subbish!pope barely, he’s so nerdy in this i love it, ocd tendencies, SMUT!! (dubconish, protected piv, fem oral receiving, fingering), cute ending, lmk if im missing some. word count: 5.1k amalia’s love note: shoutout to @wench-hunter-gatherer for this amazing idea, i hope i did it justice <3
The joint passed between your fingers and Pope's, the ember glowing orange against the deepening purple of the sky. The ocean stretched out before you, endless and dark, waves rolling in with that rhythmic crash that made everything else fade away. You were perched on Pope's lap on the old wicker chair on your balcony, his chest warm against your back, and the weed was hitting just right, that floaty, melty feeling where your body felt both heavy and weightless at once.
The air was thick with salt and humidity, that particular heaviness that came with coastal evenings. Your skin felt sticky, and where your bare thighs pressed against Pope's jeans, you could feel the heat radiating between you. The sun had dipped below the horizon maybe twenty minutes ago, leaving behind streaks of pink and orange that were slowly fading to deep purple. A few early stars were beginning to prick through the darkening sky.
“This is perfect,” Pope murmured, his voice rumbling through his chest into your spine. His breath tickled your ear, warm and smelling faintly of weed and the mint gum he'd been chewing earlier. You felt him shift slightly beneath you, adjusting his position, and you became acutely aware of the solid warmth of his thighs, the way his body cradled yours.
“Mm-hmm.” You took another hit, held it, watching the smoke curl from your lips and dissipate into the salt air. Everything felt heightened, the sound of the waves was almost musical, each crash and retreat a perfect rhythm. The wicker chair creaked slightly as you both breathed, and you could hear the distant sound of someone's music playing down the beach, just a faint bass line carrying on the wind.
Pope's hands rested on the arms of the chair, his fingers drumming slightly to some internal beat. You noticed he was being very careful not to touch you, even though you were literally sitting in his lap. It was so Pope, respectful to the point of awkwardness, even in an intimate situation. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself carefully still.
The weed was making you hyperaware of every sensation. The cotton of your tank top felt soft against your skin, and you weren't wearing a bra, hadn't bothered when Pope texted saying he was coming over. You could feel your nipples hardening slightly in the cooling evening air, and you wondered if he'd noticed. The thin fabric didn't hide much.
Your shorts were denim cutoffs, frayed at the edges, and they'd ridden up slightly when you'd settled into his lap. You could feel the rough texture of his jeans against the backs of your thighs, and the contrast between that roughness and the smooth warmth of his hands, even though he wasn't touching you, made you shiver slightly.
“You cold?” Pope asked immediately, his voice concerned.
“No,” you said, and your voice came out lower than you'd intended, almost husky. “Just... feeling good.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, and you felt him relax slightly behind you. “This is nice. I needed this. Been a crazy week.”
You hummed in agreement, taking another hit before passing the joint back to him. His fingers brushed yours as he took it, and even that small contact sent a little spark through you. The weed was definitely making you sensitive, making every touch feel more significant.
The ocean continued its endless rhythm, and you found yourself swaying slightly to it, your body moving in small circles. It was unconscious at first, just responding to the sound and the feeling of being high and relaxed. But then you became aware of it, aware of the way your ass was pressing against Pope's lap, the way the movement was creating friction between your bodies.
Pope's breath hitched slightly, and his hands tightened on the chair arms. You felt a little thrill run through you, he'd definitely noticed. You did it again, a little more deliberately this time, rolling your hips in a slow circle.
“You, uh...” Pope's voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat. “You good?”
“I'm great,” you said, and you let your head fall back against his shoulder, exposing the line of your throat. The movement pressed your body more firmly against his, and you felt him tense. “Really, really great.”
You could feel his heart beating faster against your back, could hear the slight change in his breathing. The joint had burned down to almost nothing, and he stubbed it out in the ashtray on the small table beside the chair. His hands returned immediately to the chair arms, gripping them like they were the only thing keeping him grounded.
You wiggled again, this time more obviously, grinding down slightly. The friction sent a pleasant tingle through your body, and you realized with a lazy, weed-hazed smile that you were getting turned on. The sensation was building slowly, a warm pressure between your legs that was becoming harder to ignore.
“Jesus,” Pope breathed, and you felt him shift beneath you, trying to adjust himself. That's when you felt it, the unmistakable hardness pressing against your ass. He was getting hard, and he was clearly embarrassed about it, trying to shift away without being obvious.
But there was nowhere for him to go, and every time he moved, it just created more friction, more awareness of his growing erection. You bit your lip, feeling a surge of arousal mixed with affection. He was trying so hard to be respectful, even as his body betrayed exactly what he was feeling.
“Andy.,” you said softly, turning your head so your lips were close to his ear. You could see his profile in the dim light, the strong line of his jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “It's okay.”
“What's okay?” he asked, his voice strained. “I'm not-I mean, I'm just-“
You wiggled again, deliberately this time, grinding down against the hardness you could feel pressing against you. He made a choked sound, somewhere between a gasp and a groan, and his hands finally left the chair arms, hovering uncertainly near your hips before returning to their safe position.
“You're so hard,” you murmured, and you felt him shudder. “I can feel you.”
“I'm sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn't mean to-you're just sitting there and you're so-and I can't help-fuck, I'm sorry.”
“Don't be sorry,” you said, and you pressed your nose against the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of him. He smelled like weed and ocean air and something distinctly Pope clean sweat and that expensive body wash he used, something woodsy and masculine. You let your lips brush against his skin, just barely, and felt him suck in a sharp breath.
His pulse was racing beneath your lips, and you could feel the heat of his skin. You kissed him again, a little more firmly this time, your lips pressing against the spot where his neck met his shoulder. His skin was slightly salty, and you let your tongue dart out, tasting him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice rough and strained.
“Kissing you,” you said simply, doing it again. You dragged your lips up the column of his throat, feeling the vibration as he groaned. Your hands came up to rest on his thighs, and you felt the muscles tense beneath your palms.
“We're-we're high,” he said, like he was trying to convince himself of something. “And we're friends, and I don't want to-I don't want to take advantage or-“
“Andrew,” you interrupted, turning in his lap so you were straddling him, your knees on either side of his hips. The movement pressed your core directly against his erection, and you both gasped at the contact. His eyes were wide, pupils blown dark, and his lips were parted. He looked wrecked already, and you'd barely done anything. “I want this. Do you want this?”
“I-fuck-yes,” he admitted, his hands finally, finally coming to rest on your hips. His grip was tentative at first, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he held on too tight. “I've wanted this for so long, but I didn't think-I didn't know if you-“
You cut him off by rolling your hips against him, grinding down deliberately. The friction was delicious, the seam of your shorts pressing against your clit through your underwear, and you could feel how hard he was through his jeans. The layers of fabric between you were frustrating and arousing at the same time.
“Oh god,” Pope groaned, his head falling back against the chair. His hands tightened on your hips, and you could see him struggling with himself, wanting to pull you closer, wanting to maintain control. His neck was exposed, the tendons standing out, and you leaned forward to kiss along his throat.
You worked your way up to his jaw, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, occasionally letting your teeth graze his skin. He was making these small sounds, almost whimpers, and each one sent a bolt of arousal straight through you. Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his thin t-shirt, and you could feel his heart racing.
“You're killing me,” he breathed, and his hips jerked up involuntarily, seeking more friction. “You're actually killing me.”
“Good,” you murmured against his ear, then caught his earlobe between your teeth, tugging gently. He made a strangled sound, and his hands slid from your hips to your ass, gripping firmly. The touch sent electricity through you, and you ground down harder against him.
You could feel how wet you were getting, your underwear already damp, and the knowledge that he could probably feel it too through the layers of clothing made you even more aroused. You wanted him to know what he was doing to you, wanted him to feel how much you wanted this.
Your hands tangled in his hair, and you tugged slightly, angling his head so you could kiss along his jaw. He had a day or two of stubble, and the scratch of it against your lips was intoxicating. You kissed the corner of his mouth, teasing, and felt him turn his head, trying to capture your lips properly.
But you pulled back, smiling, and kissed down his neck instead. His hands were kneading your ass now, pulling you against him in a rhythm that matched the rolling of your hips. The friction was building, that pressure between your legs intensifying, and you knew if you kept this up you could probably come just from grinding against him.
“Please,” Pope groaned, and you weren't sure what he was begging for. “Please, I need-“
You kissed back up his neck, along his jaw, and finally pressed your lips to his. The kiss was immediately intense, all the pent-up tension exploding between you. His lips were soft and eager, if a little clumsy at first, but then he was kissing you back with increasing confidence, his tongue sliding against yours.
You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head, holding you to him. The kiss was deep and hungry, all teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. You could taste the weed on his tongue, and underneath that, something distinctly him.
Your hips were still moving, grinding against him in a steady rhythm, and you could feel him getting harder, if that was even possible. His jeans had to be painfully tight, and part of you wanted to reach down and free him, to feel him properly. But another part of you was enjoying this, the teasing, the building tension, the way he was completely losing control.
You broke the kiss to gasp for air, and immediately started kissing down his neck again. This time you didn't hold back, sucking hard enough to leave marks, wanting to see evidence of this tomorrow. He groaned, his hips bucking up hard, and you felt a surge of power at the response.
“Fuck, that feels so good,” he panted, his hands sliding under the hem of your tank top, finally touching bare skin. His palms were warm and slightly rough, and the touch sent shivers through you. He explored cautiously at first, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, then growing bolder, sliding up your ribcage.
When his thumbs brushed the undersides of your breasts, you both froze for a moment. You weren't wearing a bra, and he clearly just realized it. His hands stilled, and you could practically hear him thinking, trying to decide if he should continue.
You made the decision for him, arching your back and pressing your breasts more firmly into his hands. “Touch me,” you breathed against his neck. “Please, Andy, touch me.”
His hands cupped your breasts, and you both moaned at the contact. His thumbs found your nipples, already hard and sensitive, and when he brushed over them, you gasped, your hips jerking against him. The dual sensation, his hands on your breasts, the friction against your clit, was almost overwhelming.
“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice rough with arousal. “So fucking good. I can't believe-I've thought about this so many times, but I never-“
“What did you think about?” you asked, genuinely curious. You rolled your hips in a particularly deliberate circle, and he groaned.
“This,” he said, his thumbs circling your nipples. “Touching you. Kissing you. I thought about, fuck, I thought about what you'd taste like, what sounds you'd make. I thought about making you come.”
His words sent a bolt of heat through you, and you kissed him again, hard and desperate. Your hands slid under his shirt, needing to feel his skin, and he helped you pull it up slightly.
His chest was muscular and tanned, muscles defined from physical work, and you ran your hands over him appreciatively. His skin was warm and smooth, and you could feel his heart racing beneath your palm. You dragged your nails lightly down his chest, and he shuddered, his hips bucking up hard.
“Inside,” you gasped against his mouth, the need becoming urgent. “We need to-bedroom-“
“Yeah, yeah okay,” he panted, and then you were both standing, stumbling, still kissing frantically. His hands were everywhere now, your waist, your ass, sliding up under your shirt to touch bare skin. You knocked into the doorframe, then the couch, giggling between kisses, drunk on him and the weed and the overwhelming need.
The journey to your bedroom felt like it took forever and no time at all. You were vaguely aware of moving through your apartment, of Pope's hands on you, of the way he kept stopping to press you against walls and kiss you deeper. At one point he lifted you, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding against him as he carried you.
“Fuck, you're so hot,” he groaned against your neck, his hands gripping your ass to support you. “I can feel how wet you are, even through your shorts. Are you wet for me?”
“Yes,” you gasped, the dirty talk sending another surge of arousal through you. “So wet. I've been wet since I started grinding on you outside.”
He made a sound that was almost a growl, and then he was moving faster, carrying you the rest of the way to your bedroom. When you finally reached it, he set you down, and you started to pull away, intending to fall back onto the bed. But his hands tightened on your hips, stopping you.
“No, no, wait,” he said, slightly breathless, his lips swollen from kissing. “Don't-don't lay on the bed with those clothes.”
You blinked at him, confused and aroused and impatient. “What?”
“They smell like weed,” he explained, and his hands were already moving to the hem of your tank top, his fingers brushing against your skin. “Gonna get your bedsheets all dirty and smoky, and then you'll have to wash them, and-“
He pulled your shirt up and over your head, dropping it on the floor, still talking in that earnest, practical way that was so quintessentially Pope. Your breasts were exposed now, and you saw his eyes drop to them, his words faltering for a moment before he continued.
“-and that's a pain in the ass, you know? Better to just-“ His hands went to the button of your shorts, and you realized with a thrill that he was undressing you without even seeming to realize what he was doing. He was so focused on his explanation, on the logic of it, that he didn't notice the way your breath had quickened, the way you were watching him with heavy-lidded eyes.
“-take them off now, and then the sheets stay clean, and-“ He popped the button and slowly dragged down the zipper, his knuckles brushing against your lower belly. The touch made you shiver, and you saw him swallow hard, his throat working. “-you won't have to do laundry tomorrow, which is good because laundry sucks, and-“
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and started pulling them down, kneeling as he did so. The position put his face level with your hips, and you saw his eyes darken as more of your skin was revealed. You were wearing simple cotton underwear, nothing fancy, but they were damp with arousal, and you knew he could see it.
“-the detergent you use is expensive, I've seen it in your bathroom, so it's better to not waste it on sheets that don't really need washing, and-“ Your shorts hit the floor, and his hands skimmed up your thighs, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. His face was inches from your core, and you could feel his breath, warm against your skin.
He finally seemed to register what he was doing, his eyes traveling up your body, taking in your underwear, your bare breasts, the expanse of skin he'd just exposed. His hands were still on your thighs, and you could feel them trembling slightly.
“Oh,” he said, his voice rough and low. “Fuck.”
You reached behind you and hooked your thumbs into your underwear, slowly sliding them down. His eyes were locked on the movement, watching as you revealed yourself to him completely. When you stepped out of them, kicking them aside, you were completely naked, and he was still kneeling in front of you, fully dressed, staring at you like you were something holy.
“You were saying something about keeping the sheets clean?” you asked, your voice teasing.
His eyes snapped up to yours, and the heat in them made your breath catch. “I, uh... I forgot.”
“Andrew,” you said, reaching down to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his lower lip. “Your clothes smell like weed too.”
“That's-yeah, that's a good point,” he managed, and then you were pulling at his shirt, and he was helping you, yanking it over his head. You'd already seen his chest, but seeing it again in the better light of your bedroom made you appreciate it more, the muscle, the tan skin, the way his stomach tensed as you ran your hands over it.
You made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning them and pushing them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed, and you wrapped your hand around it, stroking slowly. He made a choked sound, his hips jerking forward involuntarily, and his hands came up to grip your shoulders for balance.
He was hot and hard in your hand, and you could feel him throbbing, could see the bead of precum at the tip. You swiped your thumb over it, spreading it, and he groaned, his head falling forward to rest against your stomach.
“Fuck, that feels good,” he panted against your skin. “But if you keep doing that, I'm gonna come way too fast, and I want-I need to-“
“What do you need?” you asked, still stroking him slowly.
“I need to taste you,” he said, his voice muffled against your stomach. “I've thought about it so many times. Please, can I-“
“Yes,” you said immediately, and then he was guiding you backward to the bed, his hands on your hips. When the backs of your knees hit the mattress, you sat, then lay back, and he followed you down, settling between your legs.
For a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes roaming over your body with an intensity that made you feel exposed and desired at the same time. Then he leaned down and kissed your inner thigh, his lips soft and warm against your skin.
“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, kissing higher. “So fucking beautiful. I can't believe I get to do this.”
He kissed his way up your thigh, taking his time, and the anticipation was almost unbearable. When he finally reached your core, he paused, his breath hot against your wet flesh, and then he licked a long, slow stripe up your slit.
You gasped, your hips jerking, and he made a sound of satisfaction, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place. He licked again, more firmly this time, and then his tongue found your clit, circling it slowly.
“Oh god,” you moaned, your hands tangling in his hair. “Andy, that's-fuck-“
He was enthusiastic if a little inexperienced, but what he lacked in technique he made up for in eagerness. He experimented, paying attention to your reactions, learning what made you gasp and moan. When he sucked your clit into his mouth, your back arched off the bed, and he did it again, harder this time.
“Yes, like that,” you panted, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Just like that, don't stop-“
He didn't stop. He worked your clit with his mouth, alternating between sucking and licking, and then you felt his finger at your entrance, pressing in slowly. The stretch was delicious, and you moaned, your hips rolling against his face.
He added a second finger, curling them inside you, searching for that spot that would make you see stars. When he found it, you cried out, your whole body tensing, and he focused there, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm while his mouth continued its assault on your clit.
The pleasure built quickly, that familiar tension coiling in your lower belly. You were making sounds you'd be embarrassed about later, but right now you didn't care. All you cared about was the feeling of his mouth on you, his fingers inside you, the way he was completely focused on your pleasure.
“I'm close,” you gasped, and you felt him double his efforts, his fingers moving faster, his mouth more insistent. “Andy, I'm gonna-oh fuck, I'm-“
Your orgasm hit you like a wave, pleasure washing through you in pulses. Your inner walls clenched around his fingers, and you heard him groan against you, the vibration prolonging your climax. He worked you through it, only slowing when you started to squirm from oversensitivity.
When you could breathe again, you looked down at him. His face was flushed, his lips wet and swollen, and he looked at you with such satisfaction and desire that it made you want him all over again.
“Come here,” you said, pulling him up for a kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, and it made you want him even more. “I need you inside me.”
“Condom,” he said, pulling back slightly. “Do you have-“
“Nightstand,” you gestured, and he reached over, fumbling in the drawer until he found one. You watched as he rolled it on, his hands slightly shaky, and then he was positioning himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.
“Ready?” he asked, and you loved that he checked, even now, even when you were both desperate for it.
“Yes, fuck, yes-“
He pushed in slowly, and the stretch was perfect, filling you completely. You both groaned at the sensation, and he paused when he was fully seated inside you, his forehead dropping to yours. His arms were shaking slightly with the effort of holding still, and you could see the tension in his jaw.
“You feel so fucking good,” he breathed, his voice strained. “So tight and wet and perfect. I need a second or I'm gonna come right now.”
You clenched around him deliberately, and he made a choked sound, his hips jerking. “Don't-fuck-don't do that, I'm trying to-“
“Move,” you urged, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Andy, please move, I need-“
He pulled almost all the way out, then slid back in, and the friction was delicious. He started a slow rhythm, deep strokes that had you gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders. Each thrust hit something deep inside you, and you could feel the pleasure building again already.
“Harder,” you urged, and he obliged, his hips snapping forward with more force. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room along with your moans and his grunts. He shifted the angle slightly, and suddenly he was hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.
“Oh god, right there, don't stop-“ You were babbling now, incoherent with pleasure, and he maintained that perfect angle, that perfect rhythm, driving you higher and higher.
“You feel so good,” he groaned, his face buried in your neck. “So fucking good. I've wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long.”
His words sent a surge of emotion through you, mixing with the physical pleasure, and you pulled him down for a kiss. It was messy and desperate, all tongue and teeth, and you could feel him getting close, his rhythm starting to falter.
“Wait,” you said, pushing at his chest. “I want-can we-“
He pulled out, looking concerned. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing,” you assured him quickly. “I just want to be on top.”
His eyes darkened, and he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him. You straddled him, positioning yourself over his cock, and slowly sank down. From this angle, he went even deeper, and you both moaned at the sensation.
You started to move, rolling your hips in a slow grind, and his hands came up to grip your waist. From this position, he had a perfect view of your body, and you could see his eyes roaming over you, your breasts, your stomach, the place where your bodies were joined.
“Fuck, you're so hot,” he groaned, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts. “I love watching you ride me. I love seeing you take what you need.”
You increased your pace, bouncing on him now, and the pleasure was intense. You could feel him so deep, hitting all the right spots, and the friction against your clit was perfect. One of your hands came down to touch yourself, your fingers finding your clit, and Pope's eyes locked on the movement.
“That's so hot,” he panted, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. “Touch yourself. Make yourself come on my cock.”
The dirty talk was unexpected and incredibly arousing, and you rubbed your clit faster, chasing your orgasm. Pope's hands were on your hips now, helping you move, and you could feel him getting close, his cock throbbing inside you.
“I'm gonna come,” you gasped, your movements becoming erratic. “Andy, I'm-“
“Come for me,” he urged, his voice rough. “I want to feel you come. Want to feel you squeeze my cock.”
Your orgasm hit you hard, your whole body tensing, inner walls clenching around him rhythmically. The sensation triggered his own release, and he thrust up hard, groaning your name as he came. You could feel him pulsing inside you, and it prolonged your own pleasure, waves of sensation washing over you.
You collapsed forward onto his chest, both of you breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat. His arms came around you, holding you close, and you could feel his heart racing against your cheek.
For a long moment, you both just lay there, catching your breath, enjoying the afterglow. Then Pope carefully lifted you off him, disposing of the condom before pulling you back against his chest.
“That was...” he started, then trailed off, like he couldn't find the words.
“Yeah,” you agreed, pressing a kiss to his chest. “It really was.”
“I meant what I said,” he murmured, his fingers tracing patterns on your back. “About wanting you. This wasn't just... I mean, I really like you. Have for a while.”
You lifted your head to look at him, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes. “I really like you too,” you said softly. “This wasn't just a high hookup for me either.”
He smiled, that genuine, slightly awkward Pope smile that you loved, and pulled you in for a kiss. This one was slower, sweeter, full of promise.
“Stay,” you said when you broke apart. “Tonight. Stay with me.”
“Yeah,” he said, his arms tightening around you. “I'd like that.”
Outside, the ocean continued its endless rhythm, and inside, wrapped in Pope's arms, you felt perfectly, completely content. The high was starting to fade, but the feeling of rightness, of finally being where you were supposed to be, only grew stronger.
You dozed for a while, comfortable in the silence, but eventually you felt Pope stir beneath you. “Hey,” he said softly. “You awake?”
“Mmm,” you hummed, not quite ready to move.
“I was thinking...” he started, his hand sliding down your back to cup your ass. “We should probably shower. Get the weed smell off properly.”
You lifted your head, seeing the mischief in his eyes, and grinned. “Is that right?”
“Yeah,” he said, his hand squeezing gently. “Wouldn't want to smell like weed tomorrow. Very irresponsible.”
“So responsible of you,” you teased, sitting up. His eyes immediately dropped to your breasts, and you saw his cock twitch with interest. “Think you can go again?”
“With you?” he said, pulling you down for a kiss. “Definitely.”
The shower was long and steamy, full of soapy hands and slippery skin and Pope pressing you against the tile wall as he fucked you from behind, his hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. The water cascaded over you both, and when you came, it was with his name on your lips and his teeth on your shoulder.
Afterward, you dried off and climbed into bed properly, your sheets still clean just like Pope had wanted. He pulled you against him, your back to his chest, and you felt his lips press against your shoulder.
“This is perfect,” he murmured, echoing his words from earlier on the balcony.
mdni, 18+, posessive!popecody, dom!popecody, borderline obsession, based off season one and two pope cody (still catching up)
listen to this ♬.ᐟ
pope cody’s really possessive over you. but he doesn't show it.
it’s quiet, a heavy feeling that settles in the air. it’s the way he sits at smurf's pool parties, back against a chair, just watching you. not little glances, stolen and shy. no, not that. he stares long and hard until you feel the uncomfortable heat of his gaze burning a hole at the back of your neck.
especially now, with you in that cute little two piece he loves, the one that makes your boobs sit just right and pretty, shows off the curve of your hips and ass. his jaw stays tight, the beer bottle sweating in his grip while some guy by the barbecue lets his eyes drag over your legs a beat too long. but he doesn't say a word. he doesn't have to. he just stores the image away, coming home later with a split lip and bruised knuckles from slamming his fist into the guy, a silent, violent way of marking his claim.
and when any of his brothers talk to you, especially baz okay, mostly just baz, something ugly snaps in him. if baz even just says hi to you once, pope gets quiet in a way that’s terrifying. he’ll grip his bottle until the glass shatters in his palm, not even flinching as the shards pierce his skin, blood welling up and dripping between his fingers. it’s like he’s too focused on the idea of someone else taking up space in your head, that his own body becomes an afterthought.
he'll never acutally tell you he doesn't like when you smile at other guys. he isn't built for conversations like that, never has.
but later, when you're asleep in his bed, breathing slow and warm against his shoulder, he reaches for your phone on the nightstand. he memorized your passcode weeks ago, just watched your thumb move over the keypad enough times until he knew the pattern better than he knew his own. he scrolls through the texts to your mom, your friends. then he checks the logs. the endless strings of messages and missed calls between you and him while he was at work. just how it should be.
after he puts the phone back exactly where he found it, down to the millimeter, he doesn't close his eyes. instead, he lies there in the pitch black and watches you for an hour straight, chest tight with a quiet, irrational fear that if he looks away, you might just slip out of bed and disappear into another man's arms. and, when he's definitely sure you won't, he pulls you flush against his chest, wrapping his toned arms around you so tight it’s almost hard to breathe, tangling his legs with yours, and finally lets himself drift off, anchoring you to him.
girls nights out make him sick. like borderline physically ill. the nausea sits heavy in his stomach when you mention them. he won't say a word, just nods his head, murmurs "have fun" in a voice so flat it sounds hollow. but he’s already planning the route in his head. he parks three blocks away from whatever bar you're at, sitting in the dark with the engine off, just waiting. he watches you through the foggy glass of the bar window.
it’s not about trust or the lack of. he knows his sweet girl could never ever lie to him. he knows you could never do him wrong.
it’s the men.
he knows exactly what runs through their heads when they see you walk in the room. watching you like a pack of wolves to a lamb. and he can't stand not being there to put his body between you and their eyes.
and, god, it drives him fucking feral knowing you had a love life before him. he hates the thought of other mouths kissing you, other hands that had touched you before his ever did. it lives under his skin like a deep, festering splinter he can't dig out.
and he tries to fuck it out of you every single time.
it’s like he thinks if he just goes deep enough, hard enough, slow enough, he can physically overwrite every memory of anyone who ever tried to claim you before him. that's when the quiet, simmering possession cracks wide open and turns into something desperate and hungry.
he leaves kiss bitten bruises in places you can't hide. the hollow of your throat, the dip of your collarbone. the soft inside of your thigh where your skin is sensitive, where the blood pools into a pretty, dark purple. little flowers blooming where everyone can see them, visible above the neckline of your blouse, impossible to miss. marks that scream "stay away" without him ever having to open his mouth.
and he can go the whole night just pounding into you, fueled by that inhumane stamina of his. his large hands grip your hips hard enough to leave fingerprints, dragging you back onto his cock with every painfully sweet stroke, until you're sobbing, a drooling, whimpering, beautiful mess. only then, only when you're completely undone, would he slow down, burying himself to the hilt and just holding himself there.
his lips brush over your ear, low and wrecked, "tell me." you always know exactly what he needs to hear before he even says it. "tell me you're mine. tell me this pussy's mine, sweet girl. please, please, please." he chants it into the damp skin of your neck, over and over, until the words lose their shape and just sound like a desperate prayer. and you moan it back, delirious and broken, "yours, yours, 'm all yours, popey."
"good girl."
his large hands come up to wrap loosely around your throat. not squeezing. just holding. his thumb pressed against your pulse point where he can feel your heartbeat hammering frantically against his skin—proof that you're alive, and here, and entirely his. he can feel the vibration of every moan and whimper right there under his fingertips and it makes his cock twitch inside you. he grinds his hips forward just once, slow and filthy, watching your mouth fall open and your eyes roll back.
and when he finishes, he finishes inside you. every single time. he thinks about it more than he should, obsesses over it when he's alone. getting you pregnant. watching your belly swell with something that is purely, undeniably his. a living, breathing proof that he's the one who gets to have you. that you belong to him and him alone.
a dark, twisted part of him hates that you're on birth control. to the point that he even has your cycle memorized down to the day. and when you’re ovulating, he fucks you with a savage, desperate intensity, filling you up over and over again till you're practically dripping, silently praying the pills fail. just waiting for that one slip-up that will tie you to him forever.
but he'd never say any of this out loud to you, of course. never let you know about the obssessively possessive thoughts that fester his mind, because he's terrified you'll leave him if he ever does, if you ever find out.
little does he know the more terrifying truth is, you already know.
and it doesn’t scare you in even the slightest, if anything, it only makes you love him more. because maybe you're just as unhinged as he is, because maybe you two are broken things feeding off a mutual madness, and you're more than perfectly willing to let him ruin you for anyone else, to let him consume you completely. whole.
just as long as he lets you ruin him for anyone else too.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: After kissing you a week ago, your attending, Dr. Robby, has been avoiding you- that is until today, when you both find yourselves seeking a break in the same bathroom.
Warnings: Smut| unprotected p in v sex, accidental creampie, pet names for reader, Dr. Robinavitch is a softie, and he talks you through it.
“Oh great, Dana is gonna have a fucking field day with this one.”
Of fucking course you forgot to lock the door, and of fucking course he casually stumbled into the same bathroom.
The cool tiles of the accessible restroom were finally starting to have their calming effect when Dr. Robinavitch sneaked in.
“Oh shit, I-I’m sorry I-” his eyes were wide with mortification as he stuttered- that was until he focused on what was before him.
You, hunkered in the corner, eyes red and yet threatening homicide.
“Are you ok?”
You couldn’t help but laugh, one of those breathy, exhausted ones that you’d grown accustomed to since working here.
“Peachy”
His eyes, so naturally sad, saddened even more as he huffed, hesitating a moment before locking the door and moving to sit beside you.
“You sure this is a good idea?” Your eyes panned from the lock to him.
The question was out before you could even think to ask it.
“We’re adults,” he stared at the floor.
“Yeah,” you laughed, “And what about all the people out there who know we’re locked in a bathroom together?”
He shook his head, sighing loudly, “We’re two coworkers taking a much-needed break.”
“Right,” you murmured, “You’re not the one everyone says is fucking their boss anyway”
He looked up then- and you both learned he was much too close.
“Is someone bothering you?”
“no- not to my face at least”
A beat passed.
“I... I’m sorry y/n”
Your smile didn’t reach your eyes “Good to know”
You went to stand up when his fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping you.
“Wait-I-” He was looking up at you like one would look asking a queen for mercy. “Please... stay”
You shouldn’t have to.
Not after the past week.
And yet you were sitting down again.
“I really am sorry y/n”
You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes.
“For what? For kissing me or for acting like a jackass for a week after?”
“I-” his head fell to his hands, fingers gripping his own hair to try and ground himself- to try and figure out what to say.
He’d fucked up. A lot.
“That...” he started, his eyes finally finding yours again. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
“Yeah, no shit”
“And... and I’m sorry for how I acted.” Solemnity traced his voice, “I was- I was...”
“An asshole”
“Yeah”
Today was the first day he had resumed talking to you.
Just about seven days after everyone had already figured out something had happened, seeing as your attending appeared to go out of his way to avoid you and seemed incapable of even looking you in the eyes.
Seven days after walking out on you, spewing some afraid bullshit about not being able to do that kind of stuff when his taste still lingered on your lips.
“I wasn’t thinking,” his words bordered on whispered now. “It’s your first year here, and I’m your attending and... I messed everything up”
“Yep”
There was the part both of you were conveniently choosing to forget about- the part where you didn’t stop him when he kissed you.
“I-I’m old” he went on, “Too old for you”
“right”
“And I just...”
“What?”
Something happened then, a little something cracked, and for the quickest moment, his gaze fell to your lips.
“Fuck-”
Your heart was beating much too fast for this to be appropriate.
“What, Dr. Robinavitch?”
“This wasn’t a good idea”
“I tried telling you.”
You realized then that his hand was still on your wrist, and it felt as if his touch turned scorching hot.
“You should go” your voice was nothing but a thread.
His labored breathing fanned against your face.
“I should”
The air thickened, and the world went silent.
“Dr-” you tried to speak, but his lips were already on yours.
A mix of shock and the simplest purest joy exploded inside of you as you closed your eyes.
It all happened so fast, one second you were sitting down and the next he was all over you.
His hand gripped the back of your head, forcing the kiss to grow deeper and deeper until he was basically just devouring you while his other hand remained firmly on your waist.
His beard stroked your skin, and when a soft moan climbed up your throat, he was guiding you down to the floor.
That was until you remembered-
“Bathroom-” you managed to get out as he groaned frustratedly, trying to resume the kiss. “Bathroom floor— gross”
It took a second, but then it finally clicked, and he leaned away.
“Shit-right, right”
Even as he spoke, his eyes were unfocused, he was completely lost in whatever overcame him.
Silence wrapped around you for a moment- you stared speechless into each other’s eyes until he finally spoke up.
“Standing up?” was all he could come up with.
And somehow it worked because a beat after he was pinning you against the wall, forcing one of your legs around his waist so he could grope your ass while his tongue delved into your mouth as if you’d done this a billion times.
You both weren’t thinking anymore.
He was just going with his most basic instincts, which right about now were imploring him to get rid of all your clothes and get inside you as quickly as possible.
In that position, you couldn’t help but grind against his bulge, whimpering lowly at the feeling... and that was it.
Your pants and panties were at your ankles before you could blink. He picked you up and you akwardly stuggled to free one of your legs from the scrubs until you could finally wrap your legs around him.
He hadn’t stopped kissing you for even a moment, not even as he freed himself from his pants, not even when his naked cock could finally slide against your wet heat.
You were holding onto his shoulder with your left hand, while your right gripped his locks as you desperately tried to wiggle him inside of you.
“Please,” you finally broke, “Please, Dr. Robby.”
He pulled away with a growl, “Michael-” he muttered, his gentle brown eyes so very out of it “fuck- call me Michael when I’m about to be inside you, please.”
You were about to combust.
You needed him now, no matter whatever his fucking name was.
“Please, Michael- please, I-I need it-” You didn’t have the time to finish your sentence because he’d already granted your wish.
You both moaned way too fucking loud, and he made a point to crush your lips with his to try and stifle the cries as he retracted his hips and thrust all the way inside you.
Jesus Christ he was big.
He didn’t even give you a chance to adjust, he just started drilling you like a man possessed, making your body slide up against the cold wall with each and every push.
You greedily swallowed every single one of his frantic groans as you started meeting his movements.
“Fuck” he breathed, his nose caressing your cheek as he murmured against the corner of your mouth “You feel so fucking good”
“Oh my god,” was all you could whine, your breathing erratic, “fuck you’re huge”
That earned you a very whiny groan and a look that he hoped said “please don’t say shit like that again or I’m gonna come way too soon”
With that, he picked up his pace, burying his head into your neck while kissing and biting all the skin he encountered.
“Jesus-fuck” he murmured incoherently.
His cock was so deep inside of you, you could feel it in your belly, while his beard rubbed against your skin like a tease, and you tried- you really did- not to moan so loud, but the spot he was hitting was one you weren’t even aware of having.
“I need you to be quiet, baby.”
Jesus fucking Christ
“I-I know” you whimpered, biting your lip “You just... you feel so-”
“I know” he cooed, his mouth ghosting yours as one of his devious hands reached in between your bodies and two of his fingers found your clit. “I know baby, I know.”
He really was not helping.
Your mouth opened in a silent gasp as he started circling your bundle of nerves.
“Oh fuck” you squeaked, looking at the lust and desire blanketing his eyes “Fuck-”
“Shh” he cooed as if he wasn’t thrusting his cock into you with all his strenght “Just let it happen baby” he instructed “Come for me”
And so you did.
A wave of pure pleasure coursed through you as your face fell between his shoulder and neck, and you stifled your desperate cries against his skin.
“Goddamn it” you barely heard him curse as you squeezed him so tight he could die.
He was still going, letting you ride out your high as fireworks exploded all over inside your body. But the way you were moaning, and the way your walls were squeezing him... he didn’t stand a chance to get out in time.
“Fuck baby-fuck”
You didn’t even realize you’d cried his name, but he certainly had.
He came with a much too loud grunt, burying himself inside of you as he spilled all of his seed deep into your heat.
Silence wrapped around you two as you stayed like that, trying to catch your breath and to wrap your head around what just happened.
That was until a knock at the door broke the spell.
“Dr. Robby, sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got a trauma coming in in 5’!”
Even from the other side of the door, you both could hear the grin on Dana’s face.
He sighed, raising his head to look at you, and for some reason, he couldn’t help but smile.
“Jesus” he shook his head.
“Yeah” a soft laugh escaped you.
“I-” he opened his mouth to speak only to realize he had no clue what to say.
“Go” you cut him off, “they need you.”
He still didn’t move.
He didn’t know how, but he wanted you to know this wasn’t like last time.
“We’ll talk later” you murmured, kissing the tip of his nose. Those words held a promise you both needed. He wasn’t gonna shut you out- not again.
“We will” he nodded, finally helping you to the floor.
Your legs felt like jelly, but you managed to stay up and started to try and make yourself presentable again.
He was staring at you as he tucked himself back in his pants, and a smirk pulled at your lips as you caught him placing a hand on his back while trying to hide a grimace.
“Too much of a workout for you, old man?”
A little grin appeared on his lips as he shrugged.
“Worth it.”
You bit down a chuckle, eyeing him for a beat before getting back to reality.
“I need to... clean myself up” you said. “You should get going.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry about that,” he remembered, “I should help”
“It’s ok, I’m on the pill.” You laughed softly, shaking your head,“And I can manage fine on my own Dr. Robby,” you smiled, “but thanks for the offer.”
“Right,” he swallowed dryly, still unable to get his eyes off of you, “I should...”
“Yes, you should,” you eyed the door.
When he still didn’t move, you took a step closer, pressing your lips on his for a quick, chaste kiss that somehow felt more intense than anything you’d done in the past 20 minutes.
“Go,” you whispered, “I’ll find you at the end of the shift.”
holdmelikeagrudgee @holdmelikeagrudgee - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
gamechangershow
romaincrisis
2087
izzy806
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
yousharknotpass
