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Dr. Jack Abbot xf!reader Dr. Robby xf!reader rabbot xf!reader
Warnings: SMUT, jealousy, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, cream pie, praise, degradation, fingering, marking, kinda mean Jack and Robby (Idk), spanking
Summary: You've been sleeping with Jack, nothing's official, but you see him flirting with another Dr., so you decide that 2 can play that game, until it backfires.
The system shut down, doesn't follow the same timeline as in the show and instead of Dr. AI-Hashimi, it'll be Dr. Mohan
Probably will write a part 2, which will have Jack and Robby having fun with each other and also the reader
I bet Paris is lovely this time of the year
"Morning! Didn't expect to see you today." You hear Roby greet you as he stands next to your car, waiting for you so you could walk into the building together.
"Morning! Why would I want to spend the fourth of July at a barbecue with my friends when I can spend it working, especially next to you, Robinavitch?" You say sarcastically, and he chuckles.
"Looks like the night shift humour's contagious." He says, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I swear I don't even know the days when I've worked nights or days, they all turn into a big blur." You run a hand through your hair. "Gloria really needs to find a replacement for the day shift."
"Oh, so you don't want to work with me anymore, you'd rather work with Jack?" He says in a sad tone, and you giggle. You do want to keep working next to him. When you started at PTMC as a doctor, both of you clicked; you've learned a lot from him. It made your first day shift not that scary. "I've begged her for more nurses and more security, but nothing happens, so you might be hopping on both shifts for a while."
"I love working with both of you; your pace is similar, so that helps to give me some stability. But I will admit Jack has different methods of care; he's riskier." He chuckles at that. He looked really good today.
"Looks like the battlefield is to blame for that." You both made it to your lockers and put away your stuff. "All right, see you around." He gives you a gentle bump on your shoulder.
You whine at that, you feel exhausted today. "See you," You close your locker and breathe a couple of times before going and starting your shift.
"I'll bet $40 on a cyber attack." You hand Ahmad the money.
"You sure?" Ahmad asks; he's suspicious, the cyberattack was rare, and it wasn't everyone's first option, but since Princess bet on that, so did you. You knew she could get intel directly from Westbridge.
"Very. I have a hunch." You smile at him and shrug. You turn to go back to work. Things are hectic, but thankfully, despite the interruption, the ship hasn't sunk. You've been following Robby and Whitaker most of the day. You and Robby worked great together, and Whitaker was a great addition. You hit the bell on the nurses' station, when you hear some commotion, and you turn to see what it was. You see Jack come in, dressed in camo and you almost pass out. He looks so good. You immediately see that the person on the gurney is covered in blood and dressed just like him, and your mind starts racing. Was he hurt, too? Robby calls for you to join in, and you run over. You head on to trauma 1 and help stabilize the patient. Jack noticed you and asked you to come closer, help and pay attention while he did his thing. At some point, Dr. Mohan enters the room. You finally stabilize the patient and get him ready to go to the OR. Robby stands next to you to ask you a few questions about the case and the treatment plan; that's his way of letting you get comfortable with unusual trauma cases. You see Dr. Mohan talking to Jack next to you, you're focused on what Robby is typing when you hear him asking her to get a beer. You quickly look at them, and she accepts the offer; you feel your chest tighten. Your eyes follow her as she walks away and you glance back at him; he's smiling at her. You felt like you were the one with the dissected trachea and you just wanted to cry. What you didn't notice was that Robby also looked over at them, perplexed. He goes back to looking at the keyboard and looks at your face out of the corner of his eye. He sees your face, full of hurt, but he didn't say anything. He started typing again, and the sound of the keys clicking made you look back at the monitor.
"She seems cool." That felt like a fucking slap. They haven't worked together that much and now suddenly he's enchanted by her.
"Yeah, maybe." His tone was different; he sounded...jealous? He took off his glasses and left the room. You followed behind Robby to go check on your other patients and avoided looking at Jack; you were mad at him. You're walking down the hallway when a patient stops you. He's asking for Dr. Mohan, you tell him you will look for her. You check the board and go to all of the rooms that have her name, but you have no luck. You decide to go to bed 12, you look down and see her shoes, when you're about to move the curtain, you hear Jack say "I'll pay for it" in what's basically his bedroom voice and you freeze. What the fuck is happening? You swallow hard and start thinking of a logical explanation for his comment, but nothing comes to mind. Why was he talking like that to her? Your heart races and when you come back to earth, you hear hear say:
"Our little secret." Before you could realize what you were doing, you opened the curtain, and both looked at you with a shocked expression that instantly vanished when they saw you. You see her smile at you and Jack says hi. You could barely mumble an apology as you turn and almost run out of there; you need air. As soon as you pass the doorway, you bump into Robby, who also looks into the room and frowns at the scene in front of him. You quickly apologize and continue on your way to the ambulance bay, tears start to cloud your vision. When the heat of the day hits your face, you feel like you can breathe again, and you start pacing, trying to calm yourself and wipe away the tears that fall on your face. You should've listened to Dr. Ellis when she told you to be careful. You stop and stare at the sky, taking some deep breaths. This is not the time to break down; you have patients that need you, and you're going to keep getting more divertions from Westbridge.
"Everything okay?" You look at Robby, he's looking at you with worry, the only thing you can do is nod. "What happened?"
"Nothing." Your voice cracked at the end and your eyes are glassy. He's standing in front of you now, and you know he's not buying it.
"Stop lying. You saw something in that room that bothered you. You don't let your personal issues get in the way of your work, so this isn't normal." You look at him, his brown eyes looking at you with concern. You sigh and tell him what you saw and about you and Jack.
"I know I was stupid for getting involved with him, I don't want to hear it."
He chuckles, shaking his head. "I dated a co-worker, so I'm definitely not the one to say anything." He looks at you, "Get him back." His tone is determined and he shrugs, like it's not a big deal.
"What?" you look up at him. What does he mean by getting him back?
"If he's fucking someone else, you should do the same." You feel heat come up to your face; his words sound tempting for some reason. You scoff and roll your eyes.
"Yeah, and how am I supposed to do that anyway? I can't just go around asking people to have sex with me." You cross your arms.
He's looking at the floor, kicking some dust, his hands are in his pockets. You see him shrug and look at you. "I'm up for it." You widen your eyes at him and he chuckles.
"What?" You're sure you heard him wrong. Was he actually suggesting that? You would be lying if you said you never thought about having sex with Robby, but him actually suggesting it, feels different for some reason.
"Have sex with me." "If you want to get him back, I'm up for it. It's a pretty good deal, you'll have someone to help you de-stress at night after a long day." He comes closer with a smirk on his face, and his cologne attacks your nose. He smells good, like wood and leather. You feel your clit pulsing, he's looking at your lips, and his tongue licks his bottom lip. You almost fainted right there. You look at him tentatively.
"All right. Let's do it." You can't believe you're doing this. But when your other hot attending asks you to have sex with him, you'll be crazy if you say no.
"Perfect! Does tonight sound good?"
"Umm, sure." Fuck
"Great!" He leans into you ear and whispers. "I'll be waiting for you by the lockers. See you later," His breath on your ear makes a shiver run down your spine and he heads back inside. You compose yourself and make your way inside.
The day went smoothly, and you managed to avoid Jack until he decided to leave and get some sleep before his shift tonight. It was finally almost time to clock out, and the night shift was starting to arrive. You're debriefing with Dr. Ellis about your patients when she gets called by Dr. Mackay, so you went ahead to bed 5 to check on your patient while you wait for her to come back. Then Dr. Abbot comes in.
"Is everything okay, Dr. Abbot?" Your tone sounds fake, but you need to be professional, even if you want to choke him with the IV line.
"Yeah. Dr. Ellis wanted me to get this patient, since Mackay asked her to take one of hers." Great
"What about Dr. Shen?" You don't want to talk to Jack, even if it's about work.
"Busy with Robby," You nod and explain the case to him. After you're done, you get out of the room, and you're on your way to the lockers to wait for Robby. You feel a hand wrap around your wrist when you're in front of the lockers, and you turn to look at Jack.
"Is everything okay? You bolted earlier and you've barely looked at me."
"Everything's fine, just been busy with patients" You avoid his gaze, and he moves his head until you make eye contact.
"I know you're lying, did I do-" You hear the doors open and Robby clears his throat.
"Am I interrupting something?" He says cautiously, as if he's too loud, Jack will attack him.
"No, I was just reminding Dr. Abbot about keeping an extra eye on the patient in bed 5." You finish with a smile and see Jack look at you, perplexed.
Robby walks over to his locker, and you start taking out your things. "Ready to leave?" He asks seductively, and you can see Jack swallow and clench his jaw. You mentally smile.
"Let's go. Bye, Dr. Abbot." You see Robby hug him goodbye, acting like he has no idea about you and Jack, and when you're walking towards the door, Robby rests one of his hands on your hip.
"Alright, hop on." You get on the motorcycle with his help, then he sits in front of you. " Now hold on tight." You have no idea how or where you were supposed to put your hands. When you don't respond, he chuckles and grabs your hands. He places them around his waist. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I don't bite." You feel heat rise up your cheeks and excitement is spreading throughout your body. You've never been on a bike before, and you feel like you're in high school sneaking out with the guy your parents warned you about. The engine roars to life and you tighten your grip on Robby's waist. The ride to his house was fun; he would run his hands on your thighs while on a red light, teasing you, making you mentally squeal. He accelerated on purpose so that you would press yourself into him. When you were five minutes away, you decided to test the waters. One of your hands roamed down until it was on top of his dick and you gave it a light squeeze. "Looks like someone's impatient." You hear him chuckle and you hide your smiling face into his back. You finally come to a stop when you arrive at his place. You feel even more nervous than before. Robby is a very reserved man; Jack is too, but Robby doesn't let people in, unlike Jack. So seeing his house feels like you've discovered a magical place that didn't exist. You walk up to the door and you enter as he holds it open for you. The house is beautiful and pretty big for just one person; it was intimidating, like him. You swallow hard. He must've noticed you were nervous because he grabbed your hand, his thumb moving in delicate circles on your knuckles. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to."
You look at him and sigh. "It's not that, it's just... I'm nervous. I have only been with three people, including Jack." You look at the floor, the embarrassment of what you just said is too much. He makes you look up at him.
"There's nothing to be nervous about; we can start slow." He puts a strand of your hair behind your ear and you smile at him.
"I want to shower first, if that's okay?" You ask shyly
"Yeah, no problem."
After both of you showered, Robby made drinks. You sat on the couch facing each other and started talking about your day, you started to feel more at ease. He's really close, your knees are touching, and one of his arms rests flat on the headrest of the couch; he definitely looks different in his normal clothes. You can't help but look him up and down; you're staring at his arm and hand every time he brings the glass to his lips. The veins capture your attention and you wander off thinking about how good his long fingers will feel deep inside you. You shuffle on the couch, trying to get some friction on your clit.
"Like what you see, baby?" Shit, he caught you
"I-umm." You giggle nervously and take a sip of your drink, hoping the alcohol starts helping you loosen up a bit. This is to get back at Jack and even though you feel shy towards Robby, you also want him to break first. "I don't know, I haven't seen anything yet." You sit straight, he seems a bit taken aback by your comment, and you giggle to yourself. He licks his lips and leans closer until your noses are almost touching.
"I'll show you something very soon, don't you worry." You attack his lips, so much for him breaking first; you can't wait anymore. This is something you've been wanting for a long time; you've just never had the courage to do it. He responds to the kiss, and you grab his face, trying to get him closer. The hand that was on the headrest cradles your face and the one that was holding the glass roams on your thigh. When you break the kiss, both of you are panting. He smiles and leans in to kiss you again. This time is more heated. He pulls you over his lap, and his hands go to your ass. He bites your lip and when you open your mouth, his tongue slips in, making you moan. You keep kissing and grinding against each other, the kisses are hungry and desperate, your teeth and noses are clashing, you're feeling yourself get wet and his dick is poking your ass. He moves on to your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses, his beard scratches your neck and goosebumps appear on your skin.
"Mark me, Robby," You hear him growl as his teeth attack your neck. He takes off your shirt and starts biting and sucking on your chest and on the skin between your neck and shoulder. The pain feels so good that you never want him to stop.
"Why don't we take this to my room?" He says as he grabs you by the hair and pulls your head back. You nod and get off of him. He stands up and looks at you; his eyes are dark. "I want you to crawl."
Your eyes widen, you must have heard wrong. "What?" Your voice is quiet
"You're going to crawl to my room and wait on your knees." You swallow and get on all fours. You knew he was bossy, but this is a side of him you never thought you'd see. You see him smile at you. "Good girl, baby." You smile at him, he starts walking, and you're crawling behind him until you enter his room. You look around, and there are posters of rock bands on the walls; there are also shelves with medical books. You go to the middle of the room and wait for him on your knees like he told you. He's looking for something in the bathroom and you rub your thighs together while you wait for him. You see him coming out of the bathroom and you look at your knees. He stands in front of you and you look up. "You okay?"
"Yes, I'm okay." He smiles at you as he frees his cock. And your eyes go straight to it. You lick your lips, he's a bit longer than Jack but not as girthy.
"Open your mouth and stick out your tongue." You do it, and he taps his tip on your tongue. "Suck," You wrap your lips around his dick and take as far as you can, looking at him. Your hand grabs the rest of his shaft and you bob your head at the same time as you jerk him. You close your eyes, the taste of his precum makes you close your eyes and moan, the vibrations earn you a moan from him. While you were sucking him, Robby takes out his phone and snaps a quick picture of you and sends it to Jack. You start to move faster, and he pulls you off. "Go lie on the bed, beautiful." You lie down, and he positions himself with his face between your legs, his breath hitting your wet slit. "You're so wet for me, baby. Is that what I do to you?"
You whine at his comment. Jack had a filthy mouth, but hearing Robby say those things to you felt different, maybe because you've never even heard him jokingly flirt with anyone before. This whole night has made you see Robby completely differently. His thumbs spread you open and you try to close your legs, you feel really exposed.
"Keep those legs open for me." His tongue flicks your clit and you gasp. He gives you a long, slow lick. "Fuck you taste amazing, sweetheart. No wonder Jack can't get enough of you."
"Fuck Robby, more please." He dives in, licking and sucking every single inch of your pussy. You feel a finger slip inside you, and after a couple of minutes, another one. You're both moaning and panting. "Fuck! Your fingers feel so good in my pussy!"
"You're squeezing my fingers so good, baby. I want to make you cum like this!" His fingers move in and out of you at the same time he's licking and flicking your clit. You start getting close and your hands grab his hair. He curls his fingers and he sucks your clit,
"FUCK! Robby, I'm going to cum! Don't stop, please." You hear him grunt and after a couple of seconds, you cum hard, your back arches and your toes curl. He doesn't stop until you finally push him away. You're trying to catch your breath, you feel your head spinning, the alcohol you had before is definitely playing a part in this, too, and his fingers make their way into your mouth. You suck his fingers clean and moan at the taste of yourself on them.
"Such a good girl," He says as he kisses you and you feel his dick poking at your entrance. "You ready for me?" You nod, and with that, he pushes inside you. Your hands fist his sheet, you feel so full already, and he keeps pushing inside you,
"Fuck" You moan as your eyes roll to the back of your head. He moves in and out slowly, rubbing slow circles on your clit.
"Eyes on me, baby, there you go. You're taking me so well." His pace picks up, and he sucks on your nipple again. You scratch his back and pull him up to kiss him, he starts moving faster, making you scream.
"Fuck Robby, you're fucking me so good." You bite and suck on his neck; you're going to mark him, too. You hope that Jack sees it; that's the point after all.
"Get on all fours, sweetheart." You feel him give your ass a quick slap, you automatically put your chest on the mattress.
"Looks like Jack has trained you well." You feel heat creep up to your face; you wish he were here, too. He pushes inside you and you let out a deep moan. The angle is making him feel like he's in your stomach, he starts a quick pace and you reach out to grab his wrists, you're sure he's hitting your cervix. "Uh, uh. You're going to take it like a good girl." He pins your wrist to your back and gives your ass a hard smack.
"Fuck! S' too much, Robby!" He pulls you up by your hair and bites your shoulder.
"Isn't this what you wanted? Huh?!" You nod. "Rub your pussy, baby." He lets go of you, and you go back to the position you were before. Your hand starts rubbing your puffy clit, and you whine. He lands a couple of more slaps on your ass until he leaves his handprint, then kneads the tender flesh. The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping, the squelch of your wet pussy every time he pushes inside you, and your moans. As your moans get louder, Robby takes out his phone and starts recording without you knowing."Does my cock feel good, baby?"
"Fuck, yes. I love how you're fucking me Robby"
"So fucking tight." He stops recording and sends it to Jack.
"Shit, Robby I'm close"
"Aww, already? Poor baby, can't handle my cock? Go ahead, pretty girl, cum for me." His hands fly to grab your hips, HARD, you know he'll leave bruises, as he starts pounding harder and faster into you. You finally cum, you start moaning and screaming his name, he's not slowing down and you feel like you've been hit by a truck. Your legs are shaking and you try to squirm away, but he holds you tighter.
"Robby," His name came out as a babble.
"Oh, I know, baby, you're squeezing my cock so fucking good. I'm so close." "Shit"
"Cum inside me, please. Fill me up." You gasp
"Fu-fuck." "Shit, baby, I'm cumming." You hear him groan and moan, and his movements slow down as he fills you up with his cum. When he stops moving, you plop, face down on the bed, your legs giving up and he falls on top of you. Both of you are panting, trying to catch your breath. He starts kissing your shoulder gently, and you feel like you're high. He gets off from you, after a couple of seconds, he comes back and helps you lie on your back.
"You okay, sweetheart?" He hands you some water and moves your hair out of your face.
"Yes" You smile at him and he smiles back. You see him grab a towel and open your legs, but you automatically close them.
"I need to clean you up"
"Can I stay like this?" You feel embarrassed for asking that, he looks a bit surprised at your request.
"If you want to," He lies next to you, and you offer him some water. He wraps his arms around you and you sigh. You feel content; this night was better than you imagined. After a couple of minutes, you start kissing his neck again, he chuckles and pulls away a bit.
"Do you want me to stop?" You hope you didn't make him uncomfortable
"Not really, it's just that I'm not sure if I'll be able to give you what you want." He rubs his beard nervously.
"Oh"
"If it were another time, I would be able to go again, but I've been so stressed lately, plus I've been working a couple of doubles and haven't been able to rest that much. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, Robby." You give him a peck. Jack has had the same problem before and you've never minded. "You can make it up to me another time," He smiles and nods his head. You grab his hand cautiously and put it on your pussy. He starts rubbing your clit, and you let out a moan.
"So greedy," He slips two fingers inside you, and his cum spills out from you. "You look so good with my cum spilling out from your pussy, baby." He takes them out and circles your clit. After a couple of minutes, you come again, this time feeling stronger than before, and you can barely keep your eyes open. "You look absolutely beautiful." He kisses you slowly, and then he goes into the bathroom. "Come on, baby, let's get all cleaned up." He helps you walk to the bathroom, your legs feel like jelly. After you get out, you see him finishing putting new sheets on the bed, he plops down and signals you to come over. You lie next to him, he pulls you closer, your eyes feel heavy and his arms are wrapped around you.
You're woken up suddenly by the sound of his alarm, and he starts cursing the damn thing. "Sorry, baby, forgot to turn it off." You both go back to sleep, and then you're woken up by Robby kissing your thighs and your pussy. "Good morning, baby. I thought I would make it up to you after not being able to give you a second round last night. Is that okay?"
"Yes" He smiles and goes back to your pussy, you're still sensitive, but he's taking his time and being gentle. You start moaning and you feel like you're floating; his beard scratches your skin. After a couple of minutes, he makes you cum with his tongue. You see him get on his knees and thrusts inside you, he starts moving until he pulls out and spills himself on your stomach. You two spend the rest of the day together, until you have to leave. You're on the day shift this week and you need your sleep.
Two weeks go by, stressful and chaotic as usual. You've been able to see Robby to help you de-stress, but you haven't heard from Jack. You're making your way to your locker after debriefing; thankfully, Dr. Shen took all of your patients, and you see Robby making his way over.
"Finally, the day's over! You want to spend the night?" You see him smile at you and you giggle.
"Ugh, I wish, but since Langdon's back from vacation, I'm back into covering the nightshifts again. And I have my first shift tomorrow."
"You have to be fucking kidding me" He pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Don't worry, Michael, I'll be back and you have my number." You say teasing him.
"Not funny. You're the only one able to keep up with my pace and now they're taking you away from me." You can't help but laugh.
"You have Whitaker, and like I said, I'll be back; you won't get rid of me that easily." You lean closer to him and he bites his lip. You make sure no one's around, then give him a peck. "Bye, Robby, I'll send you my schedule so you won't be surprised when I'm not here." He chuckles
"Bye, gorgeous." You giggle and leave him. When you pass the doors, you bump into Jack.
"Oh, sorry, Dr. Abbot." You pick up your pace and leave before he can say anything. You'll be working with him tomorrow and you have no idea what to expect.
You're getting ready to go to work, and you feel like throwing up. You haven't talked to Jack after you heard him flirt with Mohan. You finally get to the hospital and Jack is already there. You sigh and go in, you put your stuff in your locker and go to the nurses' station to look at the board.
"Jack took my patients. I told Whitaker to come find you when he's done, so you can take his." He's standing close to you.
"I figured." You smile, your eyes focused on the board.
"Are you okay? You seem a bit distracted." He turns to look at you.
"Yeah, I'm fine." You give him a fake smile. "I should look for Whitaker. Bye Robby"
"Bye, baby."
You finally find Whitaker, after debriefing and clocking in, the night chaos starts. You've been taking in patients, and overall, everything was going smoothly until you got stuck with Jack working on a car crash victim. You're trying to intubate, but his neck is swollen and it's basically impossible, until he does a procedure that you've never seen before. When he gets asked by a nurse about it, he gives an answer that you weren't expecting.
"Dr. Mohan taught me." You swallow hard and try not to react. How's that possible? She hasn't worked a double and he hasn't worked the day shift, which means that they've seen each other out of the hospital
You get notified that another victim of the crash is on his way. You two have to work together; the patient has a pneumothorax and you have to do a thoracotomy. Jack guides you for every single step; he's so close you can feel him breathing down your neck. "Good job." "Now go in there and squeeze the heart." "Just like that, atta girl." You're cursing him in your head; he knows what he's doing. The patient finally gets cleared enough to be taken to surgery and you can breathe again. You stand looking at the board when a voice interrupts your concentration.
"You did great. Looks like Robby has taught you a lot." His hands are in his pockets, and you don't look at him.
"Thanks, he has. But I'm not the only one who's been learning new things." You sound bitter, but you don't care. He sighs.
"Can we talk?" Fuck, you roll your eyes
"Not now. Meet me on the roof after the shift." You leave and continue your night. It's finally time to clock out, and you debated about meeting Jack, but it's better to get this over with. You get on the roof and notice that Jack isn't there. You lean on the rail and look down to see who's leaving and who's coming in for their shift. You see Robby pull up on his bike and your mind drifts off thinking about the nights you've spent with him. You hear the door open and you look back.
"It's about time." You scoff
"Debriefing took a little longer." He comes closer to you.
"What did you want to talk about?" You look up at him, his green eyes look brighter because of the morning light and his shirt is constricting his biceps.
"What's going on? You've been avoiding me since the day the system shut down."
"Nothing. And I haven't been avoiding you. I've been covering the day shift until Langdong got back." Bullshit
"I know that's not the reason." He chuckles and crosses his arms
"Well, you're with Dr. Mohan, so I'm keeping my distance." You look down
"What? I'm not with her."
"I heard you two talking that day. And it wasn't a normal conversation"
"Is that why you left to hook up with Robby?" His tone is serious and his jaw is clenched.
"I can sleep with whoever I want" You snap back, quickly
"So can I." You look to the side and he sighs. "Look, I'm not sleeping with her. I was helping her out, sending some stuff to a patient's house, and she helped me with the wound I had. That's all."
"But she taught you that procedure." He knew what you were implying, he knows you more than you think
"Yeah. She asked me for a recommendation letter, and she talked about a case and the procedure she did. So she taught me." Now you feel like an asshole, you were so sure they were seeing each other, but you don't regret anything that's happened with Robby. "I miss you. I just want things to go back to the way they were."
"Me too" You give him a smile.
"How about you come over during the weekend. We have the same schedule."
"I'd like that." He gives you a kiss and you respond. You both leave to get some sleep.
The week went by fast, or at least for you, since you've been working night and day. Robby asked you about how it went with Jack and you told him it went well. You were still hooking up with Robby; there's no way you're letting either one of them go. Finally, the day you've been waiting for is here. Jack picked you up and you went over to his house.
You see him leave his car in the driveway, you look at him with confusion.
"I'm organizing the garage, it's a mess in there, and the car doesn't fit." You nod and follow him inside. As soon as he closes the door, his lips are on yours. The kiss is hungry, but you break it off, you feel like you're being watched. You look around the house, but don't see anyone. "Everything okay?" His voice is quiet.
"Yeah, can we go to your room?" He smiles at you, you grab his hands, and he leads you to his room. As soon as you cross the doorway, he starts kissing you again, and you respond. He takes off his shirt and your mouth waters; you can't help but stare as you sit on the edge of the bed. Then he takes off yours, and you look at the floor
"Fuck you're beautiful". He leans in and lifts your chin, making you look at him. He presses a soft kiss on your lips. "Don't be all shy now, baby. You were such a slut fucking yourself with Robby's cock." You freeze and widen your eyes.
"Wh-what?" Your mouth is suddenly dry. He takes out his phone and shows you the video; you had no idea that Robby did that.
"Aww, it's okay, baby. Lucky for you, we both know how to share, isn't that right, babe?" He says, looking over his shoulder at the door. What was he talking about? What does he mean by babe?
You hear Robby laughing as he walks through the door, and you almost pass out. What the fuck is going on? Your heart is beating out of your chest and he stands next to Jack.
"What's going on?" Your voice was barely audible and your eyes dart between the two men in front of you.
"Your little payback plan didn't work, baby. Isn't it obvious? You changed our plans, but I say everything worked out in the end." Jack says as he straightens himself, and Robby grabs him by the waist, pulling him closer. You can't speak; you must be dreaming because this isn't making any sense. You look at Robby, hoping that he'll give you a clear explanation of what's going on."Looks like our little slut is confused."
"Are you two...together?" You hear Robby and Jack laugh
"Yes, we are together, baby." Your mouth flies open, since when? You've worked together with both of them for some time now, and you've never even thought about them being in a relationship.
"What do you mean, I changed your plans?" You're not sure you want them to answer.
"Well, Jack and I agreed that we both like you and that we wanted you for ourselves. So when we noticed that you were less intimidated by Jack, we agreed that he would start sleeping with you and after some time, I would do the same and then ask you to be with us." You just stare; all of this information is absolutely insane. You look at the door, you want to leave, but of course Jack noticed.
"Don't even think about it." His voice is low; he's warning you, and you know better than to disobey.
"Sweetheart, I know this is too much to process; that's why were planning on doing it slowly, but things changed." He kneels in front of you. "We both care about you a lot, and we want to be with you. We don't expect you to give us an answer tonight, but can you at least think about it?" He takes a strand of hair and puts it behind your ear. Your mind is racing, you enjoy their company at work, you've definitely had fun with them, they're both hot and all of you do well together; you don't have anything to lose.
"Okay. I'll do it." You look at them and they both have a shocked expression on their face.
"You don't want to think about it? Make sure you won't regret it?" Both sit on the bed with you, you're between them.
"No. I'm sure. I want both of you." You grab their hands and lace your fingers.
"Looks like we're going to have some fun tonight after all." You see Jack smiling at you, and you kiss him, you feel your hair getting moved to the side and Robby kisses your neck. You can't wait to see how the rest of the night will go.
Summary: Robby comes home early from his sabbatical to find you, the resident neither he nor Jack were supposed to touch, fucking the night’s shift attending.
Warnings: age gap, implied power-imbalance Smut| getting caught, unprotected p in v sex, creampie(s), voyerism, pet-names for reader, praising, Dr. Michael ‘monster cock’ Robinavitch.
“Jesus Christ”
You were on your attending’s lap, busy riding the man, completely naked, sweaty, and flushed, when Dr. Robby opened the door.
“This isn’t exactly what I imagined when I asked you to house sit for me.”
Your mouth was open in a gasp, eyes wide with mortification as you froze from embarrassment.
Dr. Robinavitch had just caught you fucking Dr. Abbot... on his couch.
“Brother” Jack grinned as he looked behind him, not even a little fazed at the interruption. “You came back early.”
You could feel your face setting on fire as you desperately tried to think of what to do.
Robby’s eyes weren’t on you anymore as he got rid of his jacket and boots… this would be the perfect time to get up and scurry away towards the bedroom… Robby’s bedroom— Shit.
Your hands went to cover your bare tits as you tried to come up with something else.
“Decided to cut my sabbatical short,” Robby was explaining, “You all were right- as it turns out, I can’t go more than a month without the ED.”
You heard and felt Jack’s snicker, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles where he still held your waist.
His hard cock was still deep inside you, and as much as you hated having to depart from it, you really needed to get off and try to at least regain some decency.
Which is what you tried to do. You began rising from Jack’s lap, but in an instant, his eyes were on you, his brows furrowed.
“Where you going, sweetheart?”
He can’t be serious right now.
You glanced pointedly at Robby behind him, your voice barely a whisper as you murmured his name.
“It’s alright, honey, Robby doesn’t mind,” he spoke softly, his hands caressing you softly. “Do you, Robby?”
Robby’s soft chuckle came from somewhere closer than where he’d previously been.
“I sure don’t,” He was smirking once you slowly raised your gaze.
He’d walked to the edge of the couch, right behind Jack.
You felt your face burn with embarrassment- and yet your pussy clenched harder around Abbot as you caught Michael’s eyes drink you in.
“We were having such a good time,” Jack murmured, his mouth on your collarbones as he pecked your skin, “Would be a shame to stop now.”
Oh God, he was being serious.
“Jack- I-”
Were you dreaming? Was this one of the sick fantasies that materialized in your mind whenever Robby and Abbot were both on shift, and you had to squeeze your tights together at how incredibly hot of a pair they made?
Everything seemed to point in that direction, except for the fact that the feel of Jack’s fingers removing your hands from your naked chest was very much real- the same went for Robby’s voice.
“You know, sweetheart... we had a talk about you before I went away.”
You were bare again now, and Jack was making use of the space, filling it with delicious, taunting kisses as Michael spoke.
“Decided none of us were gonna try anything... didn’t wanna take advantage of you or anything….” His voice was rough and soft all at once as his hand went to cradle your cheek, “and now look at that.”
Heat bloomed low in your belly and on your cheeks as you heard yourself whimper.
What he was saying was… unbelievable. They liked you- both of them. Just as you liked them.
This was really happening- Dr. Robinavitch was watching you as you sat on Dr. Abbot’s cock. And they both looked incredibly casual, as if this were a daily occurrence.
“Since when has this been going on?”
When you didn’t answer, Jack stopped his ministrations on your neck to speak, “Just two weeks, man.”
“Is he lying to me?” Robby asked you, his head tilted in doubt.
“N-no,” You murmured as you cowered under his stare.
To that, he smirked, shaking his head as he muttered, “A week- that’s how long you lasted.”
“C’mon, man- you knew it was bound to happen.” Jack groaned, looking at you with a smirk as his mouth ghosted yours, “You’re too pretty not to do something about it.”
You felt your heart skip, and your hips involuntarily grind against Jack’s lap- causing you to whimper pathetically.
“Oh sweetheart…” Abbot cooed, his hands going back to rest on your hips, “Go on, take what you need.”
There was nothing you wanted to do more. As unusual as this situation was, you were so turned on that you feared you’d start dripping on the couch any second now.
Yet you watched the two men uncertainly, biting your lip as you went against your instinct to use Jack’s manhood to feel good.
“Go on, baby,” Robby encouraged you once your eyes settled on him, “Do as he said.”
His palm was still on your cheek, his thumb pulling on your lower lip to free it from your teeth’s grip… and you had no choice but to obey.
You started slow, shily grinding onto him, feeling Jack’s dick graze and reach all those sweet spots inside of you as your clit rubbed against his base.
Your mouth hung open as soft whines filtered through your throat. Robby’s hands held your face so you could only look at him- and the look in his eyes… the darkness in his iris and the locking of his jaw gave you all the more incentive to go faster.
You began raising yourself on Jack’s dick just to slide back down again until you found the delicious pace from before your interruption.
Your moans weren’t so quiet anymore as you struggled to keep your eyes open and gripped Jack’s shoulders for dear life, your nails probably leaving crescent moons on his skin.
“So good for me, baby,” Jack murmured against your neck, resuming his kisses on your salty skin as he thoroughly enjoyed the show. “Such a good girl.”
You cried like a desperate little thing at that, his dick hitting that spongy spot inside of you that had you feeling on cloud nine.
“Jack feels good, baby?” Robby’s voice felt muffled, as if the pleasure was acting as a sound shield.
“Y-yes,” You whined, your voice breathless, your movements more and more desperate, “B-big,” you cried brokenly.
You felt Abbot’s growl vibrate against your chest at that, and seconds later, you felt his mouth against your ear as he whispered loud enough for Robby to hear, “You’ve seen nothing yet.”
You didn’t have the brain capacity to understand what he meant by that, or to analyze the grin that spread Michael’s lips at those words, because all you could focus on was the growing sensation that sparked in your belly.
“Oh my god,” You whined, your thighs burning with the effort as the sound of your skin slapping with Jack’s echoed against the walls.
“It’s ok, baby,” Robby murmured, watching closely as your eyes almost closed and your brows furrowed in bliss, “You’re doing so good.”
You didn’t even realize you were doing it, but as Robby guided his thumb into your mouth, instinctually, your lips closed around it, sucking him in further.
“That’s it, baby,” he nodded, the weight of his finger on your tongue making you wish it was replaced by his cock. And that image… that image made your orgasm approach even faster.
Your moans were silenced by Robby’s thumb, but Jack could feel your walls gripping him like a vice.
“Let go, sweetheart,” he commanded, kissing the spot right beneath your ear. “Be a good girl and show Robby how pretty you look when you come.”
That was it.
You didn’t even have time to mentally prepare yourself that a bright white flash of pure ecstasy overtook your soul.
You came like the world would end tomorrow, your pussy spasming around Jack as he couldn’t help but follow suit.
Somewhere in the frenzy, you could hear Abbot’s groans while Robby murmured what appeared to be soft words to you, his hand never leaving your face.
The pounding of your heart thumped in your ears as you tried to calm your breathing.
Your eyes fluttered open to both the men looking at you, Jack’s eyes soft with gratification and adoration, while Robby’s irises swirled with lust and just plain need.
“You wanna switch?”
Jack’s words didn’t even make sense to you. You were still lost in the haze of what had just happened.
“Not on the couch, man.” Robby shook his head, his lips pulling into a small smile as he watched you. “Let’s get on the bed, baby.”
__ __ __
Your legs felt like jelly as Robby towered over you.
You knew what was happening, and yet your brain was still buffering.
His lips were so close to yours… just a few inches and you’d be kissing him.
But that’s not what he had in mind.
“Lay down for me, baby.”
You blinked, needing a second to understand his command and do as told.
The mattress was soft, the comfy duvet wrinkling underneath you as you laid back, your wide eyes watching him.
With a quick move, he removed his shirt, throwing it behind him… in the direction of Abbot.
Your breath hitched at the sight of him leaning against the wall, his eyes dark as he watched the scene unfold.
By the time you looked back, Robby was naked- and your lungs took another toll.
You were propped on your elbows, shamelessly eying all of him. His broad chest, the dark hair on his pecs, on his belly, until your gaze lowered just enough to catch his cock-
You were pretty sure you’d stopped breathing completely.
That’s what they’d been talking about.
You really had seen nothing yet.
You swallowed dryly as his big hand wrapped around his dick, giving it two slow strokes that had him seemingly grow even more.
Your eyes were wide as he stalked closer to you, his smirk everlasting.
“R-Robby,” you stuttered, clearly intimidated.
“’S alright, baby. I’ll go real slow.”
“I-I- How…”
“Don’t worry about it,” he shook his head, “spread your legs for me, baby.”
And even if your heart was going crazy and your brain was telling you that was an impossible fit, you did as told.
“Wider.”
You slid your feet further across the bed, opening yourself up to him completely, eliciting a delighted groan.
“Pretty,” he murmured, his palm going to your mound and his thumb moving to your folds, exploring slowly.
Jack’s come was still leaking out of you, creating a sultry mixture with your own juices.
Your cheeks heated at his unabashed gaze, but then his other hand grabbed the base of his manhood, his tip suddenly parting your folds, and all thoughts left your head.
You were whimpering already, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and Michael would have done anything to record those sweet sounds and listen to them on repeat all day long.
“It’s ok, baby, relax for me.” That’s all he murmured, as he started guiding his impossibly thick tip inside of you.
“Oh!” You gasped, your eyes wide open as you watched him thrust into you.
He was looking at where your bodies melted into one another, watching your greedy pussy swallow him in.
The stretch burned at first- he had the biggest cock you’d ever seen after all- counting porn- but his soft growls and groans were making you all the more pliant.
His thumb started circling your clit to help you out as broken cries fled your throat.
He was retracting his hips just to thrust softly into you, over and over again, filling you up inch by never-ending inch.
“O-Oh my god,” You were crying, your hands fisting the sheets as he kept going.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” he reassured you, his free hand tight on our waist. “Stretching so good for me- such a good girl.”
Your walls tightened around him at that, causing him to hiss.
“Let me in- just like that… good girl”
You knew the moment he was in to the hilt, because you could barely breathe at the feeling of how unbelievably full you felt.
Breathy gasps spilled from your lips as your gazes met.
“Told you you could do it,” he smirked, before he started to move.
The moan you let out at the first full, deep thrust was more of a scream.
“Robby!” you gasped, your fingers gripping his forearm as he started building his pace.
His back hurt like a motherfucker from all those hours on his bike, but he’ll be damned if he denied himself this sight.
“He always makes you do all the work?”
How his voice was still so even when you could barely breathe, let alone think, was a mystery.
You want to tell him the truth, that no, Jack was usually very much adamant in his need to take care of you, to pin you beneath him and fuck you thoroughly well into the day… but all you could manage was a whine.
You watched his lips pull into a grin at the state he’d rendered you in.
“Oh, c’mon, brother, I’ve just come back from a twelve-hour shift,” Jack defended himself from his spot against the wall as your eyes found him.
You could see from the bed, even with his boxers back on, that he was hard again.
God, this was all so hot.
The way both their eyes were only focused on you as Robby’s thrusts had you bouncing up on the bed, your tits moving in tandem with his harsh movements…
“And she hasn’t?” Robby raised his brows, shooting Jack a quick, disappointed look, before coming back to you.
“You don’t have to worry about it now, baby,” he spoke softly, the thumb he still had on your bundle of nerves resuming its torturous movements. “I’ll take care of you like you deserve from now on.”
You felt butterflies in your stomach at those words.
Your hips were chasing his movements, forcing the loud smacking of his skin hitting your core over and over again to get even louder.
You could feel every inch of his dick inside you, every vein and ridge slide against your velvety walls as his tip speared you and reached parts of you no one ever could find but him.
And with a feeling like that… it was inevitable for tears to gather in your eyes, your vision blurring as a knot of pleasure tightened inside you.
“Oh baby, I know it’s a lot.” his voice was calming, soothing your overexited system.
It was a lot. He was a whole damn lot.
“Just take it,” he cooed, “Don’t think about it, sugar, just be good for me and Jack, yeah?”
You slowly nodded, tears rolling down your temples and onto the sheets as the air filled with your moans.
“That’s it, pretty girl— that’s it.”
And suddenly, it was all too much.
“I-I- Oh my-”
He groaned at how tight you got. His chest inflating with the effort not to come on the spot.
“Let go, baby,” he instructed. “Be a good girl and come for me.”
The last thing you saw was his smile; everything after that was sort of a blur.
A tidal wave of pleasure washed over your body; you were pretty sure you were moaning his name like a prayer as you experienced a mind-blowing orgasm.
Your eyes and ears started functioning again as Robby’s thrusts got sloppier, more erratic.
He grinned as you whimpered at the overstimulation, his groans getting louder as he got closer, until he spilled inside you with a feral roar.
“Jesus Christ,” he hissed after several moments, slowly pulling out of you.
Jack had gotten beside him somewhere in the meantime, and both men’s eyes fell to the release spilling out of your spent core.
“C’mere,” you whined, breaking them out of their amazed trance.
They both smiled, and it was Jack who joined you on the bed first, moving you so your head could rest on the pillow as he spooned you, wrapping his arms around you.
“You did real good, sweetheart,” he murmured to your ear, his stubble grazing your skin as your eyes fluttered shut.
You were exhausted.
You didn’t even hear Robby lying down next to you until he placed your head to rest on his chest.
“So… am I gonna have to sanitize every surface of the house?”
A soft laugh fled your throat as Jack grinned amusedly.
“The kitchen should be saf—” The look you sent Jack had him suddenly remember all the alternative meals he’d consumed on the kitchen counter. “No, yeah… the whole apartment.”
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pope is a loverboy at heart and that translates when you’re also having sex with him.
if you’re on top, he’s holding you close, large hands splayed out on your waist as he looks at you like you hung the moon yourself. when you’re riding him, he tries to keep his own moans as contained as possible, more interested in hearing every little gasp that leaves your parted lips.
but when he’s above you, it’s like all his restraint goes out the window. his hands are intertwined with yours beside your head while he’s grunting and moaning in your ear between each thrust, “fuck, y’feel so good, honey. love you so much, y’know that? don’t know what i’d do without you.”
and he just gets more talkative and whinier when he’s close, the words tumbling out of his mouth before his brain can even process them. “fuck, fuck, love you so fucking much. you’re never gonna leave me, right? don’t leave me, please, i need you so bad.”
“a-andrew!”
“i know, baby. need you to cum with me, sweet girl. need to feel it, need you to-mmph!” his words are cut off with a sharp moan, the sound reverberating in your ear as he spills deep inside of you, earlier than he wanted. his face is buried in your shoulder, flushed and sweaty, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. you make him lose his damn mind.
“i’m sorry, ‘m so sorry, you just… was too good, couldn’t stop myself.” he mutters, ashamed, pressing apologetic kisses against your neck.
(a/n: i know a few people on here have written something similar to this idea. i’ve had this in my drafts for a while now and i am in no way trying to steal anyone’s work !!)
content warning: andrew "pope" cody x female reader. no use of y/n for reader. 18+ (minors do not interact!!!!!!). boyfriend!andrew x girlfriend!reader. brief physical description of reader. andrew is referred to as 'andy'. vaginal fingering. overstimulation. praising. lots of em-dashes and semicolons. not proofread.
word count: 1,219
work on ao3 !
you're enamored — read: turned on — by andrew's hands, but especially: the calluses in his hands.
you're soft. all around. soft cheeks, an even softer stomach — that andrew's absolutely crazy about, by the way. i will get on this later —, with the softest hands that had ever touched his skin.
it was one of the first things he fell in love with. your hands. the softest, most warm skin, with pretty manicured nails, that he made sure to pay for every time. he was your man, of course he's gonna pay for everything. his girl shouldn't worry about anything and definitely not money.
andrew is home for the weekend, which is a nice change, for once. you're on the couch with him, watching some nature documentary, laser focused on the tv, just like him. when you first started dating, andrew was worried you'd find him weird for liking this type of content. maybe you'd find it boring. imagine his surprise when you almost squealed with happiness when he mentioned wanting to watch some national geographic's whale documentary. you're just as nerdy as he is, and he couldn't be happier.
you dragged him to the couch, putting said documentary on the large tv on his living room. then, you're sitting beside him, head on his shoulder while you share a soft, throw blanket he keeps around because you get cold easily. your soft hand finds his, fingers intertwined.
andrew sat stiffly for a moment, before slowly relaxing against your warm body.
you're only half paying attention to the documentary — you wouldn't tell him, but you already watched it, way before. your fingers fiddle with his mindlessly. you feel the calluses, the rough skin, such a contrast against yours. andrew, deeply and almost concerningly self-aware, watches your hand in his, the way your delicate fingers traces those calluses that come from handling heavy guns and dirty work.
his mind wanders. what if you don't like his touch, because his skin is so rough? he should take better care of his hands, he thinks.
but inside, heat pools in your lower belly, because you love those hands. looooove those hands. the calluses tell a story; he's a hard working man — doesn't matter what type of work, it's still work. you love it. hard working men had always been a turn on for you. playboys that lived on daddy's money had never been your type.
"i love your hands, andy," you whisper gently.
"yeah?" he whispers back; quietly craving the reassurance.
"yeah," you nod. your voice trails off, and you look up, rounded cheeks flushed with the prettiest shade of pink. your breath catches, and andrew can read the telltale signs of your arousal building up.
you're imaging it. his hands. on you. in you. he's so good. so, so good when he's fingering you, his thick fingers stretching out your hole. even better when he's fucking you from behind, grabbing at the skin of your large hips with strong hands, using the lovehandles you once hated as leverage to fuck you harder, his rough skin only heightening your pleasure. you love when he manhandles you like a ragdoll.
"andy," you whisper, clenching your thighs, already wet underneath your cotton panties.
he doesn't say anything. doesn't ask and doesn't tease you — just straight to it, his large hand dipping between your thighs, up the soft fabric of your sundress. he's quick to push your panties to the side, fingers slipping between your sopping folds. it makes you shiver, a breathy moan escaping your lips.
andrew pokes at your clit before circling it with the tips of his fingers. your head falls back against the couch, the rolls back to rest against his shoulder. his other hand holds your thigh spread open, making sure he's got clean acess to your pussy. he slips one finger inside your quivering hole. it makes you moan, and he groans in response, pulling his finger out only to push it back in, softly. barely a thrust. then again, but this time, he pushes another finger in, stretching you out. your cunt squelches, wet and needy.
"oh my god, andy," you whine, grinding down on his hand.
"no god, angel. just me," he murmurs, watching his fingers fuck into your pussy. he curls his fingers deep into you, making you see stars, a loud whimper falling from your lips.
"andy, andy, andy," you moan, your pretty eyes rolling back. you grip his forearm, nails digging into his skin, which only makes him speed up those thrusts, the heel of his hand brushing against your puffy clit with each one.
"you gonna cum for me, angel?" he asks, smug. because he did that: he made this pretty thing quiver and wail and desperate enough to let him fingerfuck you on the couch in his living room.
"andrew, fuck—" you cry out his name, squirming on the couch as your cunt clenches down on his fingers.
"that's a good one, huh," andrew drawls out, his cock straining against his pants. he'll get to cum later; now, he wants another one from you. his fingers just slow down on your pussy, but he doesn't pull out as you ride out the high of your orgasm. he wants to feel every flutter of that pretty pussy.
after a few minutes, his fingers slowly ease deeper into you. you're not totally recovered yet; you whine, loud and high pitched, trying to close your thighs. "andy, no..."
"andy, yes," he says, going back to fuck your fluttering hole.
your cunt makes a wet, squelchy noise every time his fingers thrusts in, and it makes him wish that was his cock.
"andy, 's too much—" your words come out slurred, eyes permanently rolled back.
"'know you can take it, pretty girl," he mumbles to you. "one more, 'kay? just one more. then i'll let you rest," he promises.
andrew stops abruptly, and you foolishly think, maybe that's it. key word, foolish. he'd never leave you to cum like that. no matter how much he wanted to, orgasm denial wasn't andrew's thing. he tried once with you and he couldn't follow through. he's overwhelmed with this urgent need to make you cum as much as you possibly can before you pass out from exhaustion.
he pulls out of your pussy, only to manhandle you up on his lap, between his spread legs. he hikes up both your legs, keeping you spread open for him. his fingers are right back to your cunt, his other hand coming down to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. you squirm and whine, trying to get away. he clicks his tongue, going 'tsk-tsk-tsk' while holding you back, trapped against his chest.
your cunt feels raw by the time you come again. it's too much, just too much, and you're sobbing, clutching his forearm while he gives you slow, soft few thrusts.
"andy, please," you whimper.
andrew kisses your temple, not minding the sweat there. "good girl, baby, good girl," he whispers against your scalp, easing his fingers out of your pussy. "took my fingers so well," he kisses the side of your face. "you were made for me, you know that? i love you, angel. love you so much."
"love you too, andy," you whispers, tired, a second from falling asleep.
Pairing: Andrew Pope Cody x girlfriend!reader
Warnings: 18+ smut, dom!andrew, semi-public sex, fingering, degradation, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, female orgams.
Summary: a night at Deran’s bar leads to the beach, where Andrew fingers you under the moonlight.
You leaned against the sticky wooden counter, tracing the rim of your glass. The alcohol was hitting you fast tonight, you knew it by the warmth flushing across your cheeks.
Beside you, Andrew sat with his intense eyes tracking the movement of your fingers before rising to meet your gaze.
"You're flushed," he murmured.
"It's just the drink," you breathed, a little breathless as he shifted closer, crowding your space.
Before you could finish your thought, his hand cupped the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. He leaned in and kissed you. It was possessive, deep, and demanding. When he pulled back, his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his eyes scanning your dazed expression.
He noticed the way your breathing had hitched, the way your skin felt heated beneath his touch.
"Too many people in here," he muttered, his grip tightening just enough to make you shiver. "Let's go."
The cool night air of the beach did little to cool the fire burning under your skin. You were sitting on a secluded low concrete wall just off the sand, tucked away in the shadows, but not entirely isolated—the distant murmur of a few late night beachgoers drifted through the air.
You were between Andrew’s legs, your back pressed against his chest. His arms wrapped securely around your waist, holding you.
He leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His lips leaving a trail of wet kisses up your shoulder, pressing into the sensitive spot right beneath your ear. You let out a soft sigh, tilting your head to give him better access.
As he kissed you, his hands began to move. They slid down to your thighs, his palms rough against your bare skin.
He began to caress them, his grip tightening into firm squeezes that made your core throb.
You were wearing a loose skirt.
And Andrew knew exactly what he wanted.
His hand drifted upward, the fabric of your skirt bunching up around your hips. He took one of your legs and put it over his, forcing you to open up for him. His fingers slid beneath the edge of your panties, finding your slick warmth instantly.
You gasped, your hips bucking slightly against him.
"Shh," Andrew whispered. "People are right over there. You need to be a good girl and stay quiet for me."
He slid two fingers inside you, finding a slow rhythm that had you gripping his forearms for dear life. "Fuck, you're so tight, sweet girl."
You tried to swallow a moan, but a soft sound escaped your lips. Immediately, Andrew leaned, catching your mouth with his. He kissed you deeply, using his tongue to muffle the desperate sounds you were making, masking your pleasure entirely within his own mouth.
When he broke the kiss, his lips brushed against yours, his breath hot and heavy. "Listen how wet you are for my fingers," he growled low, his fingers stretching you, pushing deeper. "Drinking always makes you so soft, so wet, so ready for me. Beg me for it."
"Andrew, please," you whimpered, trying to move against his hand.
"Please what?" he muttered, his thumb slowly grinding against your clit, making your knees shake. "You want everyone on this beach to hear how good I'm making you feel, mh? How slutty you are when you're drunk?"
"Y-Yes, mgh. Baby, p-please faster."
He was relentless. His thumb found your clit, moving faster while his fingers buried deeper inside you, driving a steady pace.
"Look at me," he ordered, pulling back just enough to force you to look at him, his eyes locking onto yours. "Look at me while I make you come."
"P-please, let-let me come, please," you gasped while looking at him, biting your lip with your eyes full of pleasure tears.
"I can feel you clenching, bunny. I wish you could see how cute you look when you're completely desperate, begging me to let you come."
The combination of the alcohol, the vulnerability of being outside, and the overwhelming friction of his hand with the weight of his words drove you right over the edge.
"Come, baby, cream my fingers."
You shook against him, burying your face in his neck to stifle the broken cry that tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you.
Andrew held you tight, riding out the waves of your release, his fingers continuing to stroke you firmly, letting you feel every single bit of his control until the tremors finally began to fade.
"T-thank you, baby." You slumped back, breathing heavily, against his chest, completely spent.
Andrew slowly withdrew his hand from beneath your skirt. He brought his fingers up, staring at you with dark eyes, before slowly licking them clean. A satisfied smirk touched his lips at the taste of you.
"So sweet," he murmured, pulling you back against his chest and wrapping his arms securely around you as the ocean breeze cooled your skin. "Good girl. Exactly where you belong."
Pairing: Andrew Pope Cody x lover!reader
Warnings: heavy angst, hurt, blood, injury, gunshot wound, knife wound, graphic descriptions of medical procedures, emotional breakdown, guilt, established relationship.
Summary: You begged Andrew to let you go on a job, but when things go brutally wrong, you are used against the Cody brothers. Left severely injured and bleeding out, Andrew is forced to stitch you back to life.
A/N request + my first bloody angst andrew fic !!
🎀 based on this request🎀
Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.
Andrew had told you no.
He’d told you no at least a dozen times, trying to keep you in the safety of the house. “I don't have a good feeling about this, baby.” he’d muttered into your hair the night before.
But you were tired of being left behind in the house.
You begged. You told him you could handle it.
Now, you were choking on your own blood, tied to a chair as Andrew’s worst nightmare was playing out in real time.
The plan was simple, or as simple as a Cody job ever got. A quick exchange, a lockbox of clean bonds, and out. But the crew they were dealing with wasn't looking to trade; they were looking for revenge since they noticed the Cody's were at his territory.
When you woke up, the metallic taste of blood was thick on your tongue. The room was dark, standing in the shadows was a man whose face you couldn't see, holding a burner phone.
And on the other end of the line was Andrew.
"I don't give a shit about the bonds," Andrew’s voice came through the speaker. It didn’t sound like him. The usual calculating edge was entirely gone, replaced by desperation. "You touch her, and I will personally dismantle every single person you’ve ever spoken to."
"She's alive, Cody," the man holding the phone drawled, stepping closer to you. He drew a hunting knife from his belt. The blade caught the weak light. "But the price just went up. You brought your own weakness to a job… not so intelligent of you, isnt it? That costs extra, I know you would give everything for her. Poor she. She's really beautiful, you know? Looks like an angel… such a shame I have to make her bleed."
"Name the place." Andrew roared through the phone. You could hear the screech of tires in the background. "We’ll bring the cash. All of it. Don't fucking touch her."
"I don't like your tone, Andrew," the man said smoothly. Without breaking eye contact with you, he drove the knife down into your thigh.
The scream that tore from your throat didn't even sound human. It was an agonizing tear as the blade sliced deep, dragging through muscle and severing a major artery. Dark arterial blood instantly began to pump through your denim.
"No! NO!" Andrew shrieked over the line, the sound of his voice breaking completely. "Stop!"
"Relax, man, I'm just making sure you understand the stakes," the man said. He pulled the knife out with a sickening squelch. The room started to spin. You started losing blood, very fast.
"I'm going to kill you," Andrew whispered, a shaking promise. "I am going to rip your fucking throat out."
"Bring the bonds to the docks. Container 42. Then I will tell you where she is. You have… ten minutes maximum before she bleed out. And Andrew? No brothers. No help. Just you. You were the only one who knew about the lockbox."
The man hung up the phone. He looked down at you, tossing the bloody knife onto a table. "Let's make sure you don't try to run, pretty thing."
He pulled a gun from his waistband. You couldn't even move to cringe away. A bullet pierced your leg and shattered your calf muscle. The force of a kick to your side knocked you and the chair down completely. You hit the ground hard, the pain so blinding that your brain simply shut off the signals, leaving you floating in a numb void.
You couldn't breathe. You couldn't scream anymore. You could only watch the blood expand toward the floor.
You have no idea how much time has passed. Your body was cold, beginning to tremble slightly. The pain in your leg had disappeared; you could barely feel you lower body. Exhaustion was taking over your body when the door was kicked open.
Through the haze of your fading consciousness, you heard gunfire. Rapid, deafening, and relentless. There were no shouts, no warnings, just the execution of the men in the room.
Then, hands were on you. Untying you and then on your face.
"Hey, hey, look at me. Look at me, baby, please."
Andrew dropped to his knees in the puddle of your blood. His face was pale, his eyes wide and bloodshot. He looked entirely broken. The fierce Andrew Cody was gone; this was just a man watching his world end.
He ripped his flannel off, his hands shaking so violently he could barely manage it, and shoved it hard against the gaping wound in your thigh.
You let out a pathetic whimper, your fingers feebly twitching against his vest.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he sobbed, pressing his weight into the wound to stop the bleeding. He took your face in his other hand, his thumb smearing blood across your cheek as he tried to keep your eyes locked on his. "Stay with me, fuck, baby, please. Do not close your eyes. You hear me? You gotta stay awake for me."
"Andrew..." you breathed, the word barely a puff of air. "C-Cold."
"I know, I know, baby, I'm right here." He looked up, screaming toward the doorway. "Baz! She's bleeding out!"
Baz appeared in the doorway, his face grim, already calling a dirty backalley doctor. "All clear. Car's running. Move."
Andrew scooped you into his arms, lifting you gently despite the horrific injuries. As he pulled you against his chest, your blood soaked entirely through his shirt. He ran out into the pouring rain, holding you like you were made of glass, pressing his lips against your forehead over and over again.
"I shouldn't have let you come," he whispered fiercely into your hair as he threw you into the back seat of the truck, climbing in right after you to keep pressure on your wounds. "I should have locked you in the house. This is on me. This is all on me."
A deep agony appeared in his chest when your eyes started closing. "Baby, hey, open your eyes, don't do that," he desesperatly tried to keep you awake, and took your hand with his free one. "Squeeze my hand if you can hear me, please give me a sign, anything." You moved your fingers, interlacing them lightly with his, pressing gently. He sighed and screamed Deran to hurry.
The truck screeched away into the night and Andrew held you tight, his tears mixing with the blood on your skin, begging god to let you open your eyes one more time.
Andrew's hands were glued to your thigh. They couldn't go to a hospital, not with gunshot wounds, not with a Cody job gone loud. It had to be the house.
Andrew carried you in. When he laid you down on the hard wood, the bright lights showed the true horror of it all: the deep slice in your leg and the bloody mess of your calf.
"Get out," Andrew rasped after some seconds, not looking at his brothers. "Everyone out. Leave."
"Andrew, you need help with—" Baz said after starting an IV, but Andrew whipped his head around, his eyes were wild.
"Out!" he roared.
The brothers backed away, closing the doors to the room, leaving only him and the sound of your ragged breathing.
Andrew tore open the medical kit, his hands fumbling with the bottles of antiseptic, local anesthetic, and heavy nylon sutures.
He knew how to patch a wound, he’d done it for his brothers a hundred times, but this was you. Every touch felt like he was breaking you further.
"I have to numb it, baby. I have to clean it first," he whispered, his voice cracking.
The moment the antiseptic hit the open laceration on your thigh, your body convulsed. An agonizing shriek tore from your throat, your fingers clawing at the edges of the table. Your hips buckled from the sheer, burning agony of it.
Seeing you twist in pain broke whatever fragile hold Andrew had on his emotions.
A choked sob escaped his chest. As he prepped the needle to start stitching, tears finally spilled over his eyelashes, hot and fast. He looked so broken in that moment, his massive shoulders trembling as he tried to thread the needle through his blurred vision.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," he wept openly, a sound so raw it made your heart hurt worse than your physical wounds. "It’s my fault. I should’ve been faster. I should’ve kept you in the house. I did this to you."
The local anesthetic was finally starting to dull the sharpest edges of the pain into a throbbing ache. Through the haze of exhaustion and blood loss, you looked at him. You had never seen Andrew look so defeated. He looked like a terrified child trapped in a monster's body.
Slowly, weakly, you lifted your uninjured arm. Your fingers were trembling, but you managed to reach up, pressing your palm against his wet cheek.
Andrew froze at the sensation of your skin. He leaned heavily into your hand, closing his eyes for a brief second as if your touch was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind.
"Andrew..." you croaked. "B-baby." He looked down at you. "N-not your fault," you whispered, trying to force a smile through your trembling lips. "I... S-stop. Don't c-cry."
"You almost died," he choked out, his voice a broken whisper. He took a ragged breath, trying to steady his hands as he lowered the needle to the edge of the knife wound on your thigh. "I can't... I can't lose you. If you die, I don't survive it. I don't."
"'m here," you promised softly. "Fix m- me up. I t-trust you."
Hearing those words, knowing you didn't hate him, knowing you still trusted his hands to put you back together, gave him the focus he needed.
Andrew wiped his eyes on his shoulder and started working. He was meticulous. Every pull of the thread was agonizing, and you still cried out, your grip tightening on the table. Every time you gasped, he would mutter a soft "I've got you, I''m sorry, almost done, baby," using his voice to soothe you.
By the time he finished stitching your thigh and packed the gunshot wound in your calf with clean gauze, the sun was just beginning to peek through the sky.
The table was a mess of blood and medical waste, but the bleeding had completely stopped. Your breathing had evened out, a faint color returning to your body as the IV fluids Baz had quickly started before leaving the room took some effect.
Andrew gently lifted you from the table, carrying you into his bedroom. He laid you down on the bed with agonizing care, supporting your body as your head hit the pillows and placing the IV bag in an IV pole.
Baz and Smurf had already been inside. While Andrew was finishing the stitches, they had silently gone to work turning his bedroom into a makeshift recovery ward. On the nightstand sat a fresh IV pole, lines, and bags of O-negative blood, the benefit of having a dirty paramedic on the Cody payroll. Smurf had even left a clean, damp washcloth and a bowl of warm water resting on the dresser.
Andrew didn’t say a word, he felt a grim wave of relief that, for once, his family had anticipated exactly what you needed to survive.
You were entirely spent, your eyes half closed, skin still holding a pallor of someone who had lost far too much blood.
"I'm going to take very good care of you, I promise, I love you so much, I can't lose you," Andrew whispered.
He still didn't want anyone else touching you right now, so he did it himself. His hands were steady now as he spiked the blood bag, hanging it from the pole where the already started fluids where. He knew exactly how to find the veins, next to the other line.
"Small pinch, baby, I'm sorry," he murmured.
You let out a tiny hiss as the needle slid in, but you kept your half closed eyes locked onto his face. He taped the line down securely, and within seconds, the blood began to flow down the clear tubing and into your system.
Andrew let out a long breath and grabbed the warm washcloth Smurf had left and sat heavily on the edge of the mattress. With gentle strokes, he began to wipe the dried blood from your forehead, your cheeks, and your collarbone, cleaning away the horror of the night.
"The blood will help. It'll make the cold go away," he whispered, pressing the warm cloth to your cheek.
As the transfusion did its work, a faint warmth began to creep back into your skin. You felt the freezing numbness in your limbs slowly begin to lift. Weakly, you curled your fingers around the edge of her t-shirt.
"Thank you, baby."
Andrew closed his eyes when he heard your voice again, then leaning down to give you a soft kiss.
"Don't thank me," he muttered against your lips, his arms wrapping around you as he carefully climbed into the bed, mindful of the IV lines and you injuries. He pulled you against his body, his eyes fixed on the plastic bag as it slowly dripped life back into your body. "Just stay. Stay here with me. Don't leave me."
You were going to be okay. The road to recovery would be long, and Andrew would likely never let you within ten feet of a Cody job ever again. As he held you in the quiet safety of his room, the crushing guilt finally began to ease.
why tf did you add that gif of him sucking sauce off this thumb…. because now im imagining his ass doing that after going down on you for what feels like ages and he just abruptly gets up to take a phone call, walking away plainly licking up fingers (that were just berating you) like he just ate wings 😭😭😭😭
Oops sorryyyy did u mean this gif? hehe well it felt rude not to show him finishing off his meal anon...
mmm just the idea of Pope having you under him, maybe he's got you pinned on your bed or on the couch, on his knees with his face between your thighs just going at it. He always seems so desperate for a taste of his sweet girl, too, fingers dug into the fat of your hips, kneading or squeezing, mouth buried between your lips as he eats you out like he's just starved for it. Grunting and groaning cause he's so lost (in the sauce), spurred on by your keens and squeals and the way you pull at his red curls.
I feel like he'd really like fucking with your clit, starts by licking at it with the broad of his tongue before outright suckling, flicking, spelling his name out over and over until you gush and he gets to lap you up. Always makes so much noise too he's got no manners.
And honestly he'd forget his phone entirely when he's so clearly busy, but the last time he got distracted by your pretty pussy he was down there forever and got chewed out by Smurf for ignoring her. Even after he'll only answer if it's family, and makes sure to grumble and scoff for being pulled away from his favorite hobby ever, sucking the fingers that were just scissoring you open clean (see gif), phone to his ear talking bout "Make it quick, i'm in the middle of somethin',"
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They’ve been together for a lil, reader is experienced but vanilla. up to u how u on plot (i say they’ve done it a few times but reader never finishes) UNTIL now. idk how to write it… and u r so much better with words.
But like spicy af. I say dif positions until one works… I just need some freak nasty stuff.
special girl ༉‧₊˚.
pairing: andrew cody x f!reader
summary: andrew makes you cum.
content: +18 MDNI, established casual relationship, oral f!receiving clit stimulation, fingering, size difference, nipple sucking, secretly possessive!andrew, marking, dirty talk, sloppy makeouts, unprotected piv, multiple positions, intimacy, praise, down bad kinda awkward!andrew, begging, creampie, mention of alcohol consumption
note: god i need him so bad!!!!! this started off as me challenging myself to write a fic 1.5k words or less but it's yap city over here </3
wc: 3.1k
"never?"
it doesn't make sense to him. you're too pretty, too desirable.
andrew knows you've been with others both before and after him. the two of you have never been exclusive, but it's always been...different with you. has always meant more. has always felt as close to love as he's been allowed. an intimacy bordering on worship.
so when you make your confession, he almost doesn't believe it.
but there's so much sincerity in your eyes as you shake your head and say, "nope, never."
he moves just slightly from where he sits on the edge of his bed. you're laying on top of the sheets, head on his pillow, looking like you belong in it far more than andrew ever has. "so you just...what? ...fake it?"
a sound leaves you. not quite a laugh but something close. "not...exactly?" you pick at the tab on the can of your seltzer. "well, i guess sometimes, yeah. it depends on the person."
"and what about..." andrew shrugs, blinking. "what about with me?"
you purse your lips and your eyes narrow the smallest bit. "don't do that," you say.
"what? it's a reasonable question, isn't it?"
for a second, you say nothing. you just stare in that way you sometimes do, attention stuttering over his features. the shape of his mouth, the curl of his lashes, the freckle just above his left brow that you've claimed as your favorite.
"no," you admit softly. "i've never faked anything with you, andy."
"but you've still never finished, right?"
you shake your head in dismissal and set your drink on his nightstand. "it's not about just that, though. not with you."
his brows furrow, and he tries to understand but can't quite wrap his head around it. he wants to ask for clarification, but there's a part of him that fears the answer.
but you see it, even without a word spoken. you see him, the way you always do. the way you always have. "i just like being close to you," you explain. "you always make me feel...i dunno. special."
"you are special," he says. it's not meant as a compliment. rather just truth. but it makes you smile, and pope finds himself wanting to say it again.
he lifts his hand from where it sits at his side, not much more than a twitch, nearly reaching for you out of instinct. but then he puts it back down again, unsure of himself, unsure of...this.
the space between you feels precarious. a new layer of naked truth stripped bare. another curtain pulled back.
you notice, but you don't push.
andrew tries again, heart racing fast as he sets his palm on the inside of your knee. “we could…would you want to…to try?”
a smirk pulls at the corners of your pretty lips, glossy and strawberry flavored (andrew knew, because he paid for that lipgloss at the beauty store you dragged him to a month ago). “you wanna try and make me cum?”
he shrugs and strokes his thumb across the top of your thigh. “if you want. i mean, no pressure anything like that but…it just feels wrong. like, unfair or something.”
“you actually want to?” this time it is a laugh that escapes you. a pretty, heartwarming sound he’s adored for as long as he can remember. “like…here? now?”
craig and deran’s party thrums with life just outside pope’s bedroom door. you’d come here for a little bit of peace, some respite. only to make a confession that unsettled him more than the noise. “why not?”
“what if i, like…you know. can’t.”
a crease forms between andrew’s brows. “well you have before, right? like, by yourself?”
your smile grows. “uhm…yeah. yeah, i have. i mean i can, but what if i can’t today. like, here.”
“then we try again later,” he answers simply. and then quickly amends, “i mean if—if you want.”
for a moment, you sit in the quiet together. you’re considering, pope knows. weighing the offer. his thumb still rubs tiny circles into your thigh casually. it’s an intimate touch but not sexual in nature, not suggestive.
not until you nod and say, “okay, yeah. we can try.”
and then he moves his hand upwards, slowly snaking his fingers between your legs. he presses against your hip, pushing you onto your back, and feels the metallic button of your jeans.
pope nearly pops it open on instinct but forces himself to slow down. tells himself he needs to take his time with this.
so he slips his hand beneath your top instead, cracking a small smile when you squirm as his fingertips ghost over that ticklish spot just a few inches below your rib. he finds the swell of your breasts and massages gently over the fabric of your bra.
you lean forward just enough to pull your top up and over your head, discarding it on the floor at his feet.
andrew reaches around your side and unclasps your bra, albeit a little clumsily, before adding it to the growing pile of your clothes.
when you lay back down, he follows you. presses his soft lips against the corner of your mouth first, a quiet asking for permission.
you turn your head to kiss him fully, lips parting to let him inside. andrew has never really felt good at much, but kissing you, specifically—he feels confident in. he's had a fair bit of practice, and knows just how you like it. messy and a little frantic, a clashing of tongues and lips and teeth.
you moan into his mouth and it feels like a victory. andrew bites harshly at your bottom lip, but he's quick to soothe the ache with his tongue.
he crawls further onto the bed, settling between your thighs, and moves his lips just a little lower. laying wet, open mouthed kisses down the curve of your pretty neck, over both of your collarbones, and sucks a blooming bruise at the side of your breast. easily covered, but still a tangible claiming. a mark of his possession.
he laves his tongue over each of your nipples, licking and sucking until your spine bends off the mattress. and then he moves even lower, littering kisses down your abdomen, breathing the scent of your soft skin deep into his lungs.
only now does he allow himself to unbutton your jeans, pulling the zipper down with his teeth. you're wearing a pretty, blue pair of panties beneath, and he presses a chaste kiss to your pubic bone over the fabric.
"god, andrew," you say, kicking your sneakers off at the end of the bed. "i love when you touch me."
he pulls away just a little, enough to turn his eyes up at you. you look so beautiful from this angle, he thinks. eyes glassy and pupils dilated, breathing unevenly. "m'gonna need you to talk to me. tell me what feels good and what doesn't," he explains. and then for good measure adds, "and don't lie to me. i'll know if you lie."
you give him the prettiest smile and then nod. "yeah…yeah, okay."
he doesn't waste any more time, hooking his fingers around the waistband of your jeans and underwear and tugging them down your legs.
pope is already hard as stone, but the moment you're bared to him everything changes. you're so beautiful, and all he wants is to make you feel good.
he presses a gentle kiss to your clit first, pushing your thighs apart to spread you open. then he drags his tongue through the seam of your cunt, tasting all the sticky wetness he's created, unable to quiet the groan that rumbles through his chest.
you let out a dreamy sigh and your head falls back as your hands come to tug at the roots of his hair.
pope takes his time; there's no hurried movement to be found. he lets his tongue grow familiar with every hill and valley of the shape of you, the stubble of his day-old facial hair catching on the inside of your thighs.
when he sucks your clit into his mouth—no teeth, just all tongue and lips and softness—you gasp for air and he can't help the pride that wells in him.
his fingers flex around your thigh, a silent urge.
and like the special girl you are, you quickly say, "good. feels…s-so good. that's perfect."
he takes it a notch higher, tongue flicking over the sensitive nerve endings.
this time it's not a gasp you give him but a sultry, real moan. so pope stays there, circling your clit with his tongue, spelling his name and yours and hoping it does something in the cosmos to seal the two of you permanently together.
the crease between your brows is telling. he squeezes again, a little harder this time, and pulls away only long enough to order, "talk to me."
"can you—" he seals his lips around your clit again, drool and slick coating his chin. "oh god. can you…your fingers, too. can you—?"
pope untangles his limb from around yours, finding your opening with practiced precision. he carefully slides his index finger inside you, humming in response when the intensity of your moaning grows.
he adds his middle finger in beside the first. you're already so wet that he encounters no resistance, pretty pussy taking him greedily. andrew curls them inside you, feeling and pressing against different spots, different angles, until—
"fuck—jesus christ, don't—oh my god don't move just stay right there, please."
he wants to praise you, to comment on how good you're being for him, how perfect.
but pope does exactly as you ask instead—he stays right where he's at, fingers moving inside you, tongue circling your pulsing clit. he can feel the silky walls of your cunt constricting around him, squeezing tight and pulling him in deeper.
you're trying. chasing it. but he knows it needs to happen organically. knows that if you try too hard, you'll get in your head about it and never fall over the edge like he wants.
the words vibrate against your clit when he speaks. "stop thinking."
you let out a dramatic groan. "but i don't know if i can," you whine. "i'm so—hm—i'm so close, but…"
pope pulls away completely now, because though spoken in frustration, your words are still direction. and he heeds it like a dog called to heel. "let's try something else, then."
he leans back on his knees and pulls his shirt up and over the back of his head. he flushes beneath your acute attention, eyes unashamed as they drink up his bare chest.
andrew unbuckles his belt and starts to shove them down his hips. "do you have a favorite…way? something that feels the best."
"oh, uhm…from—from the back, i guess?"
"you guess?"
"well, that's what feels good for me but it usually means…"
you hesitate, embarrassment shining bright in your eyes.
pope urges, "means what?"
"people don't typically…last very long when we—"
andrew playfully clicks his tongue, grips you around your thighs, and wrenches you down the mattress. he presses a kiss to the inside of your knee and says, "don't worry, i'll last. now turn over."
he says it with confidence because this is a task for him. and a man like andrew cody? he's thorough.
but that confidence wavers when you arch your back, hands extended beneath the pillow in front of you. the slope of your body is mouth watering. graceful and feminine and yet still so sultry and sinful.
and when he pulls his cock out, lines himself up at your entrance, and pushes in real slow?
he starts to get it.
it's almost too much. too good. you're so tight and wet around him and with his hands on the decadent curve of your ass and the sight of you laid out before him?
yeah.
he understands.
it doesn't take him long to find a good rhythm, thrusting his hips forward and burning himself deep. he settles on his knees , finding an angle that elicits a moan he likes. "how's that, hm? there?"
you nod with your face pressed against the pillow. the next instruction is a single word and spoken in a quiet exhale. "harder."
pope obliges. adds a little more force behind his hips, grunting low to fight off the blinding pleasure that threatens to coil up his spine. you feel so good. "touch yourself," he orders.
with a little effort, you wiggle your hand beneath you to find your clit and pope groans when he feels you clench around him the moment you do.
he watches with panting breath and sweat beading on the back of his freckled neck as the muscles in your shoulders move, working yourself up, being the perfect girl for him. the sight of you a feast of grandeur that he devours.
"oh, fuck—that's good. that's so good, andy, i—" a soft sound escapes from between your lips, the sweetest, most carnal moan.
pope knows you're close. he knows because he can feel it, the warm, silken walls of your cunt pulsing around his cock. your fingers keep circling your clit, pushing you just a little further towards the precipice of release.
but then—
"i need—oh my god—i need to kiss you. i won't be able to finish unless i kiss you, please—"
it nearly breaks him, in truth. the sight of your pretty pussy swallowing down his cock like it was made to take him while begging for something as innocent as a kiss.
no one has ever wanted him like that before. not like you do.
and it makes him feel…changed, almost. like he's been on one path his whole life and here you stand in the center of it, changing his course.
pope groans, the sound guttural, his hips stilling. he leans forward, chest to your back, and presses his mouth right between your shoulder blades. the small affection is slow and measured and intimate. he counts each of your panting breaths as the oxygen enters and leaves your lungs.
"hey," pope whispers, easing himself out of you. "c'mere." he gently tugs you upwards, offering the strength of his hands as support when you lean back on shaking legs. "turn around for me."
pope leans back on his knees and turns you so your position mirrors his, face to face. he just stays there for a moment, looking at you, into your pretty eyes, finding himself grateful for this night and this stupid party and that stupid song they played that you hate.
the energy that passes between you is…profound. honest and intimate and aware.
"you're so beautiful," he says, and he doesn't even mean to. it just slips out. "come here. come sit on my lap."
with a slow nod you say, "yeah. okay." you shift forward, anchoring yourself with your hands on his broad shoulders.
he supports you with one big hand on the small of your back, and uses the other to hold his cock steady while you sink onto him.
your moans are in perfect unison; a heavy, desperate sigh. when you roll your hips, andrew shakes his head and says, "no. let me."
he thrusts upwards, hard. stretching you open on his length, forehead pressed to yours.
"oh my—fuck, andrew that's—"
"touch yourself," he orders again. "and don't stop until you cum."
white spots cloud his vision the moment you do, feeling you tense up, tightening around him. he presses his forehead to yours and his nose brushes your cheek. each of your breaths become shallower, more ragged, ghosting across his lips and tasting of peppermint and the remnants of your raspberry seltzer. "kiss me," you say again.
he does. kisses you hard, tongue finding yours and claiming your mouth. he thrusts his hips up into you, swallowing your moans and and groaning low.
the thought crosses his mind, for just a second—that he might disappoint. because andrew cody realizes very suddenly that he might be in love with you, might have been in love with you for some time. and having you this close is enough to have his heart beating fast and his cock throbbing inside of you. he's not going to last.
he's not.
and then—
"don't stop," you whimper against his lips. "don't stop, don't stop, i'm gonna—oh god. god, fuck i'm gonna cum—"
"there you go. give it to me," andrew urges.
your nails dig hard into his shoulders. "cum with me. please, andrew—please, please—"
that white-hot coil around his spine snaps. you beg so prettily he can't hold it back, spilling his release deep inside you, sticky webs of cum right up against your cervix. he kisses you again, squeezing you tight against his chest. "you're so perfect," he whispers. "my perfect girl. did so good."
his cock quickly grows sensitive. but he doesn't stop moving below you until your muscles go slack and you collapse in his arms, face pressed into the crook of his neck.
you hum, the sound vibrating against his skin, lips wet with his saliva and yours. and then, so gentle and so quiet, you say, "thank you."
pope strokes his fingers over your spine, tracing each one of your vertebrae. he sets you down against the mattress, over the top of his wrinkled but still perfectly made comforter. he lays beside you, observing for a few moments. eventually, he admits, "i don't want you to see anyone else."
a smirk forms. "yeah? that right?"
"yeah." andrew's hand finds yours, fingers closing around your knuckles. "i figured…y'know. since we're making confessions tonight."
you laugh, the sound light and airy. but then silence settles and it feels…heavy. real. "okay," you say.
a crease forms between his brows. "okay?"
"i won't see anyone else."
carefully, almost experimentally, andrew leans forward. his mouth finds yours, lips moving like it's his first time kissing a woman.
he feels you smile and a moment later you ask, "does this make me your girl?"
and he thinks yeah. of course it does. you've been his girl far longer than he'd realized.
i'm not thinking, i know pope cody would apologize after a fight by waking you up and begging for a comfy lil prone bone <3
you and your boyfriend's current dynamic is... complicated. you love him so much that you stay with him even when his family ruins your time together. like tonight, when you two were supposed to have a nice dinner and some rare alone time earlier today, but one phone call from Smurf and he had gone running. you had begged him to stay, telling him how you made him a nice dinner, rented out the first ever movie you watched together, and planned on taking a nice romantic bath with each other before falling asleep in his arms.
pope hadn't budged, he left in a hurry of frustration after a fight ensued between the two of you. he had said things he didn't mean- like calling you needy and clingy- and you had told him you regretted ever asking him to stay. once he was gone, and you had blown out all the candles, threw away the 3 course meal you prepared. and you had cried when you realized he left without even kissing you goodbye :(
you ate alone, showered alone, and went to sleep alone. crying the whole way through. pope had called you multiple times, but you didn't answer. you couldn't bear the thought of answering the phone and him still being mad... or maybe even ending things. you sent him one text that read, 'goodnight. be safe. i love you and i'm sorry.' then you settled into the bed he built for you, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts that smelled like him, and tried not to cry yourself to sleep.
when you hear popes boots thud against the floor hours later, you think you might be dreaming. you peel your puffy eyes open and blink into the darkness. you're laying on your stomach, arms crossed underneath your tear soaked face. you vaguely hear the sound of a belt clinking, jeans zipping, and clothes being discarded onto the floor. the feeling of the bed dipping confirms that your boyfriend is finally home. popes heavy body crawls over top of you, settling on you like he always does.
he plants small kisses to your cheeks before he even says anything, laying down so his thighs cage in yours and his bare chest presses to your back. you sniffle when you realize he is in his boxers and you feel the warmth you missed so badly. pope freezes. "hey sweetheart. 'm so sorry about earlier." he brings a palm to rub at your side while he continues to whisper apologies in your ear. "shouldn't 've left you like i did-." his words have you shaking your head into your pillow as your bottom lip wobbles.
he sucks in a sharp breath. "fuck- 'm so so sorry honey. i ruined our night, i know. will you lemme make you feel better? p-please sweetheart?" you're half asleep and so gloomy. and even though you're still hurt, all you want to do is let your boyfriend make love to you.
pope kisses at your damp cheek when you nod. "gonna make it all better. promise." his gentle words and his even more gentle movement to slide your t-shirt up over your butt has more tears spilling from your waterline. you never see him this sweet, only when you fight.
he kisses your shoulder while his hand dips down between your legs. your gasp is watery and you shudder when he carefully circles your clit with two calloused fingers. he whispers sweet words the whole time he gets you ready for him. tracing your weepy hole so softly and sweetly. "yer so perfect for me." he slides one thick finger into you and you buck your hips back. "never leavin' you again honey. promise." you cry out when he adds another. "you're my everything sweetheart. love you so much."
the last sentence has you coming on his fingers when he curls them just right. you whimper and squirm underneath his hold while he kisses your hairline the whole way through. "andy..." you voice cracks on the first word you've said to him since he's been back. he shoves down his boxers and nudges your legs apart. "i know. i know. god 'm so sorry. fuck- can i sweet girl? can i please?" you arch ever so slightly as a yes and he immediately shoves his hard cock inside of you. you moan at the stretch his thickness provides every time no matter how nicely he preps you.
popes forehead falls to the nape of your neck. he slowly starts to thrust into you, still whispering. "missed you. hate when we fight. love you so- hnnhg- love you so much."
you're blinking back tears and nodding at his words. you can't form your own right now due to the mix of pleasure and something much deeper you can't quite name. pope rests all his weight atop you, bringing one strong arm to hook underneath your neck. he lightly tilts your head sideways so he can press his lips to yours. you whimper when he ruts his hips until he bottoms out then pauses, letting both of you feel how deep he is.
"didn't mean what i said." you barley hear his quiet, shaky words over your own sniffles and the pulse of his length stilled against your warm walls. "you're not clingy or needy, honey. thats me. i-i need you. god, i love you so much- need you always. wanna stay just like this forever."
its exactly what you needed to hear. tears threaten to spill due to the fact that he knows you so well. you love him so much. you’re choking through your words. " 'm sorry andy-." he cuts you off with a tender "shh shh- jus breathe sweetheart- mhm jus like that." then starts to grind his hips again. pope's heavy weight above you and his thickness dragging inside you only adds to the warmth you feel from his words.
"was my fault. should've stayed. god honey, 'm so sorry i made you upset." you're full on crying now, whimpering his name over and over while he does the same but with " 'm sorry." he's panting soothing words in your ear, muscular forearm tightening around your throat. you feel his thighs twitch on the backs of yours in restraint. you can tell he is trying to keep the slow and sensual pace to match the apology he's giving you.
but you don't want slow. not when you've missed him all night and just want him to make you feel as good as he always does. you push your ass back to fuck yourself onto him a few times as hard as you can with all 200 plus pounds of him on top of you. he complies, instantly knowing what you want, and pressing his cheek to yours and starting to thrust relentlessly. your wet eyes roll into your head as his hips slap harshly against your butt. you feel his fat tip kiss your cervix while the weight of his chest stays glued to your back. a spark starts in your lower belly and tingles start dancing behind your eyes.
a small bit of liquid drops onto your cheekbone and you blink up enough top see pope crying too. it's the first time you've been able to focus on his face. your eyes trace his freckled face thats laced with devastation and his auburn curls that are all messy as if he'd been running his hands through them all night. "t-tell me y'love me sweetheart. please -mmhf fuck- please 'm so sorry. needa hear it."
his small and pathetic words are a stark contrast to the way he's pounding into you. your big strong boyfriend is now sniffling and whimpering just like you had been all night. you comply because it's truly all you feel in this moment. there is nothing else in your euphoria-blanked brain besides the words. "love you andy- loveyouloveyouloveyou-!" he's moaning unashamedly above you as you flutter around his cock. he uses his free hand thats not balancing him to intertwine his fingers with yours that clutching at the sheets.
the tangible pleasure grows and grows till it locks tight behind where your eyes are pouring tears. pope smashes his damp lips to yours once more before starting to beg you. "hnnhg fuck honey- come for me. please. give itta me- i'll keep it safe. promise. come with me please."
he's taken over all of your senses. his words are in the air you breathe, his body is creating the heat you feel, and his throaty groans are taking over the noises you hear.
you can barely move your lips against his as you cry out when you shatter. you're clenching around him so tightly that you're about to push his hefty cock out, but it's all pope needs to come too. your releases are a mix of tears, moans and repeated "iloveyou"s. it's warm and intimate and has your vision blowing white as your hearing fades in and out due to the intensity. when you come down, your body is still shaky and pope is still moving inside of you, even though he's soft and you feel his come warming your insides.
he hasn't stopped whispering sweet nothings to you. "love you. love you so much. yer perfect. don't deserve you." you shake your head in disagreement, brain too fuzzy and body too tired to use words. when he moves to pull out, all you can manage is a raspy whine in protest. pope settles back instantly as if he never actually wanted to move in the first place.
he stays there all night. resting inside of you and laying above you while gently reminding you how much he loves you <3
break me down and i’ll call you mine - @flowersforbucky
the light is coming - @flowersforbucky
bad juju - @thatcorporategirlie
answering machine - @love-quinn
handyman!pope - @leossmoonn
just friends - @thatcorporategirlie
before we knew better - @longlostx11
this one shot - @drjohncarters
good boy - @ididcrytoday
take what you’re given - @rr-after-dark
disappearing act - @ofstarsandvibranium
don’t quit - @fru1t4fr0gs
forever - @kisscoabbot
your shadow - @ofstarsandvibranium
flick the tip - @grimgasm
in this corner - @mcybank
good for you - @mparksy
stripper!reader - @goldieloxxxx
stop and smell the roses - @abbotsmyhabit
fresh out the slammer - @holdmelikeagrudgee
I started my dream job today (yay!), so the fic rec lists, and the texts/social media AU’s will be coming out a lot slower than usual, I’m sorry☹️. I will always find time to read, so even though I don’t have time to compile my recs into lists, I will reblog them with the tag #fic recs, whenever I see something I love
Summary: Pope Cody doesn’t handle his pregnant wife being taken hostage very well.
Tags/Notes: andrew “pope” code x reader, pregnancy, established relationship, wife!reader, afab & fem reader
Content Warnings: kidnapping, graphic depictions of violence/gore (against the kidnappers; reader does not experience significant violence), glorification of violence, like seriously a big section of this fic is like full on watching pope do torture and it’s 100% played as sexy/intimate; if you want to just read like “pope tenderly takes care of his pregnant wife” skip to part two!
A/N: you know that post “they match each other’s freak to a degree that is dangerous to the public” that’s this fic
Word Count: 7.4k
Pope Cody is whipped.
He knows it.
His whole family knows it.
He takes shit for it day in, day out, every day. He’s taken it for years. When he leaves a meeting early because you decided that Fridays were for date nights, not boys’ nights. When he gives up cage fighting because it makes you too nervous. When he buys you a boulder of a diamond and gives you three jobs’ worth of hundred dollar bills for your dream wedding. Especially when he stands up at said dream wedding in a tan linen suit, baby pink hyacinths and snapdragons pinned to his lapel, his hair a little grown out and moussed back because that’s how you like him to wear it.
Even when you announce you’re pregnant to the whole family, the toast isn’t ‘congratulations,’ it’s Craig holding up his shot of tequila and cheering, “Here’s to Pope getting even more whipped!”
But, to Andrew, it’s all worth it.
There’s no amount of jokes or judgment he wouldn’t take for you. To be by your side every day for the rest of his sorry life. Because you make his house a home. Because you’re everything. You make him real. Your presence baptizes him. You love him – in a way nobody’s ever loved him, not really. In a way he’ll never be able to convince himself he deserves.
So, yeah, he worships the ground you walk on.
He’s the absolute model husband. Flowers and chocolates on every weekly date night, even more extravagant things on anniversaries, which he never forgets. He does the laundry and the dishes and the car maintenance, really any chores that bother you even a little, a list that grows significantly once the pregnancy gives you sensory issues and motion sickness. When you’re not up to cooking, he orders in feasts from your favorite places.
Your nails are always done by your favorite technician, your shoes never have a scuff because he keeps them polished, and your jewelry collection is worth hundreds of thousands, if not more, all purchased from a real store, even. He makes sure there’s always at least a thousand dollars in your wallet every morning without asking.
And he keeps you fucking safe.
When the two of you are out together, he sticks close, hand on your lower back or around you or threaded with yours. He even tags along to girls’ nights at bars without your friends knowing, lingering in the shadows, standing around like a bouncer and shoving guys away when they get too close to you.
For the rare occasion you’re alone, he taught you how to use a gun when you agreed to be his girlfriend and got you one of your own a week later when he was sure you’d protect yourself with it if you had to. You share your location with him at all times because you want to; he never asked, but you know that if you texted him a single word he’d be by your side within minutes, even if he had to hijack a private plane to get there.
And, Christ, he’s ten times as bad when you’re pregnant.
He’s always preferred to drive you around himself, but now he won’t let you behind the wheel with anyone else, no matter how much he trusts them. He installs a newer, even beefier security system complete with exterior cameras and a hidden, mounted automatic rifle set to train and kill. Of course, it doesn’t call the cops, but it alerts everyone he trusts who owns a gun. On the nights he leaves you alone for work, he pays someone a thousand bucks a shift to sit in the car on the street. Just in case.
People think he’s crazy, but you know he’s going to make the best father in the world. He reads the label on everything you eat or drink, tossing out anything he doesn’t like the sound of, making sure everything is either healthy or fills your ridiculous cravings, which he’ll drive for hours in the middle of the night to get. He runs you a bath with essential oils and rubs your feet every night. He fucks you whenever you’re horny. If you get so much as a papercut, he spends an hour doting on you after. You sleep easy knowing your baby girl is never going to worry about anything.
All of that to say: Nothing scares you anymore. Not with your personal guard dog at your beck and call.
So, twenty weeks into your pregnancy, the familiar click of a gun cocking next to your head makes you sigh. It doesn’t scare you; it annoys you. Turning toward the sound, you look down the barrel of a Beretta toward a man in a tinted motorcycle helmet.
In his lowest, scariest voice, he commands, “Do what I say and you won’t get hurt.”
You roll your eyes, finish wringing out your hair in the beach shower, and say, “No problem. Can I towel off and put on my coverup before we go?”
That confuses him. “Uh, sure.”
“Great, thanks.” Better a dumb kidnapper than a smart one. With a tight smile, you pick up your towel and run it all over yourself until you’re dry enough to tug on the flowy white coverup that Andrew loves. Your neon pink bikini peeks through it still. You pause before picking up your things. To the guy training the gun on you, clearly an order-follower and not a shot-caller, you offer, “My gun’s in my bag if you want to go ahead and grab that. Don’t feel like getting bashed when you discover it on me later, if it’s all the same to you.”
Slowly, he shifts lower and rifles through your things, taking the gun, your taser, and switchblade from it. He decides there’s enough contraband, though, that he just snatches the whole bag instead.
Then he orders, “Get up. Stay quiet.”
He moves to grab your wrist, so you give a pointed look and say, “I would really recommend against being rough with me. For your own sake. I promise I’ll be good and go along.”
He shoves his meaty hand between your shoulder blades instead. Mentally, you start to tally every slight against your body, no matter how minor. When this is over, Andrew will expect a list. You get pushed off the beach with the gun pressed to your lower back. It’s late evening now and tourists are pouring between the shore and the streets, so nobody even notices. People these days.
He drags you to the alley behind the beach bathroom, where a big black van is waiting. When he yanks open the back door, you mutter, “Classic choice on the ride. Timeless, really.”
Four guys with semiautomatics strapped to their backs, all wearing different colored ski masks, sit on the bench seats in the back.
Bozo with the gun in your lower back insists, “Get in or I’ll make you.”
You eye up the tall vehicle, turn to look behind you, and ask with exasperation in your voice, “Can I get a hand here? I’m pregnant, if you hadn’t noticed. Hard for me to climb around like this.”
One of the bigger guns, with the camo ski mask, asks, “You gonna give us any trouble?”
You hold up a pinky and say, “Promise I’ll be a perfect angel just like my husband taught me.”
He reaches out his hand and helps you into the van. You mumble thanks and sit in the furthest seat, up against the driver’s side wall. After rolling your shoulders, you present your wrists and say, “I’d prefer zip ties to duct tape if you don’t mind; I have some minor allergies to adhesives.”
Motorcycle helmet joins in with the ski mask guys, wrenches a set of zip ties from his backpack, and tightens them around your wrist until you wince, the plastic snipping your skin and drawing blood. One point away from motorcycle helmet guy.
From there, you do what Andrew taught you: Stay calm, follow orders, memorize everything. Wait for your knight in shining bulletproof vest. The car starts up and you head north. Working on instinct, you track the movements in your head, figuring out what direction they’re taking you. Once it goes past a couple of minutes, though, you lose track of the turns. Whatever. They brought your phone, which has three separate GPS systems pinging directly to Andrew. Doesn’t matter if you know where you are; Andrew already does. Idiots.
Your stomach grumbles at you, so you sigh and ask, “You guys have anything to eat? I was going to get dinner after the beach – y’know, eating for two here – but my plans sorta got interrupted.”
Blue ski mask guy demands, “What the fuck is your problem?”
Resting your tied hands on your bump, you tell them, “I figured you would know already. Are you guys just grunts? I would’ve hoped I’d at least be worth a top guy being in the back with me. I’m a little offended.”
Camo ski mask bashes you on the face with the butt of his gun, the pain thudding but sharp at once, between the high point of your cheek and your temple. You see stars for a second but blink them away quickly. A trickle of blood goes down your temple. “Shut the fuck up, bitch.”
“Jesus, touchy.” They clearly have orders not to rough you up too badly or they would’ve started by knocking you out. “Just trying to make small talk. Pass the time.”
Blue mask doesn’t think that’s funny either. “What is wrong with you?”
You glare. “Besides the kidnapping thing? I’m peachy.” You lean your head back and close your eyes. “The five of you will be either dead or permanently disfigured in an hour or so and I’ll be getting a foot rub from my husband while I eat cookie dough ice cream he scooped to make me feel better about it.” You open one eye and look at black ski mask, who hasn’t spoken. “Seriously, any of you have snacks? I’d kill for a bag of sour gummy worms.”
No answer.
You’ve had more entertaining kidnappers; that’s for sure.
At the drop location, the guys all haul out first. It’s motorcycle helmet again ordering, “Out. Now.”
With an annoyed huff, you hold up your tied wrists and nod to your swollen stomach. “You’re going to have to untie me so I can scoot or carry me yourself.”
Red ski mask is getting visibly tired of dealing with you; he’s used to simple jobs with simple people. He can tune out hysterics; he doesn’t know how to deal with whatever this is. “Come on.”
“I really can’t get myself in a position to-”
He reaches into the van, grabs your ankle, and yanks you forward so hard it feels like your hip’s going to pop out of your socket when you hit the can floor. That’s the first time adrenaline creeps into your blood stream. You’re off-balance, properly at their mercy. He grabs around both your thighs and tugs you to the end of the truck, your bare skin catching friction and getting scraped up by the rough interior. Then he forces you to your feet and shoves you forward. Your sandals fall off and he keeps pushing regardless, toward the door of a warehouse.
“Useless fucking whore.” He spits on you and growls, “You’re lucky I didn’t start by beating you in the stomach.”
You narrow your eyes at him, anger flaring in your throat. “Is that a threat?”
“Yeah,” he says, face close enough to breathe on you, “it is.”
You sigh, annoyed by the wet dirt beneath your feet as they bring you into the wide open empty concrete warehouse. “Andrew isn’t going to like that.”
Of course, you cooperate as they command you to sit, zip-tying each of your legs to the chair’s. They don’t change the ties on your wrists, so you keep them resting on your bump. With a deep breath, you murmur, “Don’t worry, princess, daddy’s coming for us any minute now. We’ll be cozy in bed in no time at all.”
Once you’re secured, red ski mask punches camo in the arm and orders, “Alright, time to call the fucker.”
Knowing he means Andrew, you have the same sort of feeling you get watching a video of a cat who needs rescuing from a tree. They don’t even realize that Pope will only be worse to them if he hears any hurt your voice.
Camo gestures at motorcycle helmet, who pulls your phone from your bag. He turns to you and snaps, “Password.”
You reply, “Don’t need one.”
No point in a phone password when anyone who tries to steal it will lose the hand that touched it. Because it’s your number, Andrew picks up a fraction through the first ring. His breathing is heavy and you can hear his brothers shouting around behind him alongside lots of metallic crunching. They’re working, probably finishing a job by compacting a car or something. “What do you need, angel?”
Black ski mask points his huge gun at your forehead, a clear order to stay quiet. The safety stays on, though, so it doesn’t phase you any more than when the boys wave their guns around at home to feel all big and strong. Amateurs.
Red – he must be the boss – takes the phone and says, “Pope, how are you doing tonight?”
His familiar, gravelly voice soothes what’s left of your nerves; soon enough, that voice will be lulling you to sleep. “And who do I have the pleasure of speaking to this evening?”
“Not important.”
“Guess not.” The sound of his car starting, tires squealing. He’s already on his way, tracking your GPS. “You have my girls?”
“Baby’s a girl? Congratulations.” He laughs, harsh and unamused, and says, “We want fifty grand. You got that kinda cash right now?”
“I want to talk to her first.”
You smile to yourself as black ski mask drops his gun and nods, signaling for you to speak. “Hi, papa bear.”
“Hey, mama.” There’s a tight chuckle in his voice. Your job right now is to help him focus, to ease his anxiety, to make sure he won’t get paranoid and falter. “Are you scared?”
You think about it and shrug even though he can’t see you. “No more than usual, I guess.”
The next question is measured. Careful. “Have they hurt you?”
“Only a little.”
His tone tightens. “But they have?”
You cut the guys a look that says ‘trust me, I’m doing you a favor,’ and say, “Nothing serious, love.”
Practically growling now, he clarifies, “Are you bleeding?”
“In a couple places. Just scrapes.”
Red ski mask presses his salty pointer finger into the cut at your temple and you gasp out from the immediate sharp pain. On the other side of the phone, Andrew’s just pushed down on the gas. Red informs him, “She’ll be bleeding a lot more if you aren’t here with the money in fifteen minutes.”
“I’m only five away.” His tone is gruff. You can imagine him in high definition white-knuckling the steering wheel. “We just pulled a job; I’ve got cash on me.”
Trying to help him calm down so he doesn’t come in guns blazing, you ask, “Does that mean you can stop for sour gummy worms on the way over? I’m craving them so bad.”
Camo rolls his eyes. “And tell her to stop annoying us!”
Andrew laughs. Good, he’s not nervous. Just pissed. “You think I’m the first man on earth to have that kind of power over my wife?”
Blue ski mask strikes you across the face. The sting radiates into your spine and your eyes well with tears that frustrate you. When you don’t make a sound, too proud, he hits you the other way, hard enough that you loose a loud whimper despite yourself. Andrew cracks his neck and takes a deep breath.
“Hear that?” Blue taunts, not realizing he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life, “It’ll be a hell of a lot worse if she keeps running her mouth. Get here. Now.”
Andrew lets out a long exhale and says simply, “You know the rules, angel. I’ll be there soon.”
“I know you will. Love you.”
Red cuts the call. As camo once again mutters something like ‘what’s wrong with these people,’ you smile and tell them, “Fifty? Really? You should’ve asked for more. Andrew brought a hundred for me last time. Now that I’m pregnant, you probably could’ve gotten at least two-fifty.”
He doesn’t even bother telling you to shut up that time.
You feel it underneath your feet before you hear it. The deep, rumbling groan of Andrew’s massive truck. There are two other cars, both big. Job cars. He brought everyone. Tires crunch over gravel and then stop outside the hangar-style door.
The kidnappers stiffen and mutter to each other in hushed tones in a language you don’t understand. Russian, maybe, or Polish. Black and blue flank you, each holding one of your arms tight to keep you in place. As if you could move on your own.
The hangar door gradually opens. Headlight beams spill in, silhouetting tall figures. The five of them, cars still running, step into the space. You don’t see any guns, but they have to be near. You make out Baz’s angular features, Craig’s restless stance, Deran’s annoyed energy, J’s unreadably dark face. They’re in battle formation. The air gets heavier.
Finally, Andrew gets out of his own truck, hauls a duffel out of the bed, and walks to the front. Your pulse climbs when you see him, relief spreading. When his heavy gaze locks on yours, he’s unshakable, unblinking, looking at you like you’re already safe. There’s no pain or fear in that expression and it steadies you.
Craig is standing centered behind him, J and Deran flanking him on either side. Baz speaks and you know it’s because Andrew is a silent storm. “Pope’s got the money, you’ve got his girl. Nice and simple.” Pope sets the bag on a nearby crate with a deliberate thud. Baz instructs, “Count it if you want, but we’re not here to waste time. It all adds up.”
“We count. You wait.”
“Then count fast,” Pope spits. You can tell he’s a millisecond away from firing. His eyes are trained on you, going rapidly between your face and your stomach. His voice is made of agony. “She’s been sitting here breathing fumes and dust for too long; I want her home.”
The gun digs into your already bruised temple and your heart starts to race. You weren’t scared when you were alone, but knowing that Pope is right there watching – hurting, upset – makes you start to break. He’s your protector, your safety, your life. All you want is to be back in his arms, to know that he’s okay.
The gun on your other side presses into your neck. “Nobody moves until we’re done.”
Andrew speaks, low and stern, as they shuffle through stacks of bills on a folding table behind your head. “She’s breathing too fast. You’ve got the money; pull the guns away.”
They listen, much to your surprise. The guns return to their backs; their hands stay on you, though, bruising into your biceps. Andrew’s eyes fix on those hands, imagining the marks they’re leaving, feeling bile rise to his Adam’s apple at the fact that he can’t cut those hands off right the fuck now.
Leaning against his car now, like he isn’t itching to do something – you’ve always been impressed by his particular cruelty – J chuckles, “Keep an eye on your friends there. Think I just saw the one in the camo pocket something for himself.” He tuts, shaking his head, and adds, “There’s always one who gets greedy when you’re not family.”
“Shut up,” the man in question cuts back. But his voice is wavering. “We’re the ones in control here.”
That’s the final straw.
Because the kidnappers don’t realize one crucial fact.
Andrew is always the one in control
Pope says, “Cutback.”
A loud clatter from the loading bay – Craig, you know, because Andrew’s told you their routine a hundred times – pulls focus. Your heart launches into your throat as bodies blur around you. Your body relies on instinct; you curl over yourself, ducking your head and shrugging your shoulders.
Everything turns into a muffled movie sequence; you can’t process it all. There’s Deran swinging wide, Baz shoving someone down, J stopping another as they try to run, Craig going on the offensive. Metal screams, guns skittering over the concrete floor. Smashing palettes, wood splintering, fast footsteps. To your surprise, there aren’t any shots fired. You guess nobody wants to be the one who accidentally shoots the pregnant girl.
Somehow, when the dust settles, there are five men hogtied on their knees, random crap shoved into their mouths as gags, each of them with a Glock pressed into their scalp.
And then Andrew’s at your side, flicking out his butterfly knife, kneeling in front of you, not ready to look into your eyes yet. He carefully works through the ties, ensuring he doesn’t so much as graze you with his blade, and then kisses each of your limbs where you’d been restrained. He kisses your knees, too, and then your hands.
Straightening up, he hugs you close then, giving you the space to let out a deep breath. You let your hands tangle in his auburn curls, the ones you hope your daughter will inherit. Kissing your hair over and over, he asks, “How badly are you hurt, angel?”
“I’m alright,” you assure him quietly. “I’ve had worse.”
His jaw hardens; he knows you’ve had worse and he’ll always hate himself for it. Then he touches your bump reverently. “How about my kid?”
“She’s been kicking like crazy this whole time,” you tell him with a little laugh, guiding his hand to where the runt’s been shoving her feet into your abdomen. That always makes Andrew smile. “Think she wants to be a fighter like her daddy. She’s gonna want to take out all the bad guys herself.”
Andrew kisses your stomach then, the tenderness such a contrast to all the violence he’ll inflict the moment you’re in any danger. “Not when she has me to do it for her.” He stands up then, guiding you to your feet. He holds your face between his hands and looks at you seriously. “You wanna go home? I can come back and handle them.”
“No. I’m staying.”
It’s your turn for dark features and a cruel voice. You aren’t like this often – usually sweet and soft as the homemade baked goods you’re always bringing to the family – but, when you are, Andrew remembers exactly how much he loves you. Why he chose you over the countless girls who’ve tried to use him over the years.
He loves your softness, how it balances him, but he knew he was going to marry you the day you suggested that him personally castrating your stalker would be a more appropriate punishment than death or prison. You’d handed him the tools while the guy was restrained and terrified, never once flinching at the gore. He knows you can handle yourself and you let him protect you instead.
So it honestly turns him on a little when you press your lips to his one more time and murmur, “I want you to hurt them. In front of me. Right now.”
He grins. “That’s my girl.”
Then he turns to his brothers, each of whom is managing their hostage a little differently (Craig always just bashes someone every time they move; Baz has a gun in each hand to manage two). “You guys mind sticking around for a minute? I want to remind them what happens when they touch what’s mine.”
“She’s our sister,” Deran, who’s been your friend the longest, says for all of them. “Don’t mind at all.”
The others nod their assent.
When he looks at your kidnappers, Andrew’s voice is frozen steel. The kind of cold that peels your skin off when you let go of it. Staring them down, he asks, “Which ones touched you, angel?”
You cross your arms over your chest. “They all did.”
“Rank them for me.”
You know what he means.
Six months into dating him, three gangbangers tried to pull something similar, holding you and J’s then-girlfriend because the Codys had supposedly taken one of their job leads. After the money had been exchanged to get you out safely, it took your boyfriend all of two hours to track down the guys.
He got the cash back easily with his brothers’ help, yes, but then he zip-tied the guys in the back of his truck, picked you up from home, took all of you to one of his secret locations, and had you tell him what each of them did to you.
The one who hadn’t touched you but had helped plan it got two bullets in the head, right in a row.
That was Pope’s version of mercy.
The two who put hands on you? They weren’t so lucky.
The first, who’d grabbed you to put you in the van, ripping your clothes in the process and groping your ass, had each of his fingers snapped off with bolt cutters, the digits left on his mother’s doorstep.
The second, their muscle, had cuffed you tight enough to bite into your wrists, slapped you across the face to stop you from talking, and beaten you when you protected poor J’s little girlfriend.
When Pope saw the mean bruise high on your cheekbone and the split in your lip, he lost it. That guy? Well, that guy got strapped to a chair, doused in gas, and set on fire, put out right before the point where he’d die from smoke inhalation, the fat beneath his skin melting off him in sloughing drips. You’d never seen anything so brutal, but it didn’t turn your stomach the way you’d expected. Then Pope shoved him into a quarry so he’d have to drag his flayed skin through the gravel to get help.
Sure, someone would try the same game every once in a while, but, for the most part, the legend of Andrew doling out punishments in exponents based on the crime had kept you safe for years. When men from other families would try to give you a hard time, even just hitting on you while you bought groceries, someone from their own crew would smack them, mutter something like ‘that’s Pope Cody’s girl,’ and leave you alone.
Now, Andrew seems to be planning to refresh the lore about what happens when someone messes with you.
With a quick squeeze to his bicep, you start, “The one in the black mask didn’t hurt me.”
“Good.” Andrew pulls off the mask, revealing a guy younger than you, and offers flatly, “Tell her you’re sorry and I’ll let you walk out of here.”
The guy spits a curse in your direction instead.
Andrew doesn’t even acknowledge him. He just grunts, “Cover your ears, baby.”
As always, you do as he says. He lines up and fires two quick shots that land right on top of each other in the center of his forehead. Bullseyes. The booming pops ricochet around the warehouse for a moment before a lifeless body slumps forward. Free from his hostage, J grabs the duffel of money still on the floor and puts it in the back of Pope’s truck once more. Then he returns, standing on your other side, hand on his gun.
Not missing a beat even with flecks of fresh blood thrown across both your bodies, Andrew asks, “What about the other ones?”
“Motorcycle helmet is the one who took me from the beach. Held a gun to my head. I was showering, by the way.”
A higher level of rage tightens Andrew’s jaw. He steps forward and yanks off the helmet, the gesture pulling the guy’s ears harsh enough to make them bleed. Then Andrew takes out the gag and rockets the butt of his gun directly into the guy’s mouth, knocking out half a tooth that he spits onto the floor. He smashes it in another time to get the rest of the tooth and split his lips open to good measure.
When the guy has enough blood dribbling from his mouth to satisfy his anger, Andrew grips his throat and demands, “You grabbed my pregnant wife while she was in the fucking shower? Are you some kind of pervert? Need me to start by cutting off your dick? Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done it to someone who wanted to screw her.”
The guy’s trying to scramble backwards, away from him, but Baz has him by the back of his head. “No, man, nothing- nothing like that. I’m- I was just- just following orders.”
“Couldn’t have given me a minute to get decent first?” You lean your head on Andrew’s firm shoulder and go on, “Then he tied me up. Did the zips kinda tight, if you ask me.”
You show Andrew your wrists, which are raw from the material, and point out the spots where the skin got pinched enough to bleed. Andrew rubs your tender flesh with his thumb and nods slowly, making decisions. “You hurt her wrists. There’s a cut on her right one because of you.” He looks up at his brother. “Craig, is the saw in the Suburban or my truck?”
Craig shakes his head, knowing what’s coming. “Your truck.”
As he walks over to his car, Andrew calls over his shoulder. “Sit him in the chair. Tie his wrists to the armrests.”
Craig reaches down and snaps the tie keeping his wrists bound to his ankles. Before he can try to wriggle away, Craig jams a boot down on his ankle, crunching the bone to hobble him. “You heard the man; no funny business.”
Checking with you for approval, Craig maneuvers him into the chair and undoes the restraints around his wrists. When the guy goes for his neck right away, J strides over, pulls his ear from the side of his head, and shoots a hole through it at point blank. Reeling from the noise and the blistering pain, that definitely works to get his hands off Craig, who grabs his wrists and fixes them to the chair.
Just in time for Pope to get back from his truck, holding his favorite yellow reciprocating saw with both hands, cautery pen in his front pocket. He walks right up to motorcycle helmet guy, who’s outright crying now, just quietly whimpering, and balances the saw over his right hand.
Standing over him, Andrew says calmly, “Apologize to my wife and you can keep the left hand.”
The words are immediate, fearful: “I’m fucking sorry, alright? Tell him- Tell him to-” Andrew starts up the saw, the mean buzz filling the warehouse, and the guy sobs out, “Call him off! Christ, call him off! I’m sorry, I- God, seriously, I’m sorry.”
“See? Not so hard, was it?” Andrew looks at the other guys, sweeping the air with the now-whirring saw. “Keep that in mind when it’s your turn.”
Within thirty seconds, Andrew is splattered in red. You’ve always liked the sight of him covered in someone else’s blood; it makes you feel a peculiar type of hunger. Like a lioness watching her mate take down a gazelle to bring back to the cubs. The smell of burning, smoking flesh follows shortly after. Deran has to avert his eyes; he’s never had the stomach for Pope’s relentlessness. His attention to detail. Pope won’t let someone bleed out if he wants them to suffer.
Satisfied with the DIY amputation, Pope turns off the saw and sets it on the floor while the guy snivels. From behind your husband, you give him a smile. “I forgive you, by the way. We all have to follow orders sometimes.”
Then Andrew takes a step to the right, in front of the guy in the camo ski mask, who’s now squirming and moaning around his gag after watching his buddy’s comparatively mild torment. Andrew tugs off the ski mask. He’s older, with crow’s feet and a worn-in white beard. In his blue eyes, you can see him replaying everything he did to you, terrified of what it’s going to cost him.
Andrew kisses your hand, leaving a blood stain behind, and asks, “How about him?”
You narrow your eyes at the guy and pout. “Camo was pretty nice at first. Helped me into the van when I asked. But then he gave me this one,” you tell your husband, touching the freshly scabbed bruise on the side of your forehead. “Probably gonna scar.”
When you wince, Andrew broils. “That hurt pretty bad, baby?”
Really feeling it now that you aren’t in survival mode, you nod.
So Pope takes the guy’s gun off of Baz, looks at his face like it’s a puzzle, and then thrusts the butt of it into the guy’s temple, matching the injury that you’re wearing. Then he tosses the gun away and explains, “Always good to start with an eye for an eye.”
Deran snickers from his side. “You know they say that makes the whole world blind.”
Pope scoffs, “Who does?”
“I don’t know. God or something.”
“Yeah? Well right now, I’m god.” Andrew pulls out his butterfly knife, lets it twist open in a flashy maneuver, and uses his fingers to pinch the guy’s cheek, tugging the skin hard away from the bones beneath. He holds the blade against it. “You know, I really like my wife’s face. Now there’s going to be a scar on it. How much skin do you think you deserve to lose for that?”
The guy’s eyes are wide as bowling balls, probably wishing he’d listened when you told them not to be rough with you. He’s drooling around the gag now, tears mixing with the liquid, the blood dripping into it as well.
Not wanting to take the guy’s gag out, Pope answers his own question after a beat of contemplation, “I’d say half. You only hit her on one side, after all.”
With genuine surgical precision, Andrew slices off the guy’s cheek. The screams that follow are nothing short of horrific, wet and groaning around the gag, as Andrew just keeps going. No amount of thrashing or crying could stop him once he decided on an appropriate punishment. Even Baz averts his eyes, though, staring up at the ceiling, as thick peels of skin fall to the floor.
With the guy wailing, Andrew huffs, “Mind shutting the fuck up for me? You’re lucky I’m not forcing your face down your throat to keep you quiet.”
His cries turn to muffled whimpers. When Andrew’s peeled the skin down to the fingers, he orders, “J, grab that bag of rock salt from my truck, would you?”
J does it without response. Andrew slits the bag across the top and pours it out in a six foot circle on the ground. Then he grabs the guy by the shoulder that still has skin attached to it, yanks him to his feet, and slices off all the ties. He shoves him forward, off balance, into the pile of salt. The agonized cry that comes out when exposed wounds hit salt soothes you like a lullaby.
In a hoarse voice, Andrew commands, “Once you get yourself up, you can go.”
Camo’s shouts of pain create a backdrop of noise as Pope returns to your side. “Two more.”
“This one’ll be fast,” you tell him. “Blue’s the guy who hit me when you were on the phone. Twice. It didn’t hurt too bad, but he made me cry.”
“Made you cry, huh?” He shakes his head like that’s really disappointing to him. Worse than any physical wounds. “Hold his head still, Deran.”
Deran swallows hard and gags, imagination running wild when he realizes Pope is planning to go for the eyes. “Don’t think I can watch this.”
Craig shoves him aside and steps in. He pulls off blue’s mask and wraps one hand around the guy’s chin and the other fisted in his air so he can’t turn his head either way. Pope wipes the other guy’s blood from his knife onto his jeans. Then, in four precise movements, fast but steady, he removes each eyelid, tucking them in the front pocket of the guy’s shirt.
“There,” Pope sighs, giving the guy an affectionate slap on the cheek as red streams down his face, “now you won’t be crying anymore. The blood should lubricate your eyes until you can get some saline."
After a string of curses and pleas in another language, the gag falls from his mouth from the sheer force of his flailing mouth. He stammers out, spitting blood with every word, “You can’t- you can’t just leave me like this, man! You have to-”
Andrew puts on the pathetic whining tone and taunts, “I ‘have to’ what? Since I can’t just leave you like this, should I take the eyes too? Would that make you happier to walk out of here? Up my rating on Yelp?” He shoves the barrel of his Glock directly into blue ski mask’s newly exposed eyeball. Hard. A chunk of jiggly white sclera flicks to the floor. Pope grunts, “Cut him loose now.”
Deran retches at the sight of the half eyeball making a wet spot on the concrete, so Pope reaches into his back pocket, takes out his wallet, and tosses it to his little brother. “Dump him on the side of the road and go get her a bag of fucking sour gummy worms.”
Holding his breath, Deran frees the guy’s feet and shoves him across the warehouse toward his truck, manhandling him into the backseat before peeling out. Baz rolls his shoulders, also looking a little pale, and offers to Pope, “Me and J can run the cash and jewelry out to the drop if you’re good here.”
Pope nods his approval, so Craig takes Baz’s hostage. When they’re all gone, Pope finally points his gun at red ski mask, who you’ve been looking forward to most. “And this last one?”
Your voice becomes as lethal as Pope’s, so cold and calculated it sends a chill down Craig’s spine. Pope pulls off the mask as you tell him, “Red dragged me out of the van. He grabbed my legs. Ripped my favorite coverup and made me walk barefoot. Called me a whore.”
“Called you a whore?” Andrew leans down in front of him and shoves him in the center of his chest. “You have a wife, asshole?”
The guy lunges forward as much as he can while bound and spits at him, “Yeah. I do.”
“What would you do if someone talked to her like that?”
He narrows his eyes and snarls, “I’d kill the son of a bitch.”
“That’s because you’re weak,” Pope replies. Flat. He tucks his gun around his back and plays with his butterfly knife. “Death is too good for guys who talk to women like that. I don’t think you should be able to talk anymore at all, actually. You can choose; wanna lose your tongue or your vocal cords?”
“Wait.” You touch the center of Pope’s back, snapping his attention to you. His eyes meet yours with concern, studying your features for why you’d call him off. “There’s something else, Andrew.”
If you held off on telling him, it had to be bad. He’s already pumped with adrenaline and burning rage and protectiveness, but you know he’ll reach another layer when you say the next part. Voice low, he says, “Tell me, sweetheart.”
Your voice cracks, then, for the first time since he started his work. You cradle your bump gently; she’s finally settling down in there now that your adrenaline isn’t screaming anymore. Looking up to meet red ski mask’s eyes without any fear in your own, you tell your husband, “He threatened to hurt your baby, Andrew.”
It’s impossible for his body to hold all the rage that makes him feel, too big and jagged to fit in his skin. Pope erupts into a frenzy. His knife clatters to the floor by his feet and he’s pummeling the guy with his bare fists, each one landing harder than the last. The guy thrashes around as Pope shoves him onto his back, limbs balled up beneath his body, hitting him anywhere his hands can find purchase. Any time the guy tries to curl to protect himself, Andrew’s knee thrusts into his gut, forcing him to take it. He doesn’t stop until the guy coughs out a mouthful of blood.
Breathing hard, one of his lungs collapsed and a few ribs broken, red ski mask wheezes, “Just kill me already.”
With his knife pressed flat against the guy’s Adam’s apple, Pope growls, “If you wanted me to play nice, you shouldn’t have gone after my girls.”
When Andrew’s finished beating him, you approach red too and look him hard in the eyes, lording over him and feeling the power in your stance. “I think I’ll make earrings for my daughter out of your teeth after my husband pulls them out with pliers.”
Craig snickers from behind him. “Jesus Christ, kid.”
You give him a cute smile like you didn’t just say that. “Don’t make fun of me! I’m having a hard night, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He kicks the guy in the side of his head – hard, the only way the boys hit – and laughs, “I’m not planning on my teeth becoming jewelry any time soon.”
Pope squeezes the guy’s bloodied and bruised face in his large hand. “What do you want me to do with him, angel?”
With a little shrug, you reply, “Well, I definitely don’t think he should be able to knock anyone up if he’s going around threatening pregnant people.”
Red’s eyes widen and he once again tries to scrabble backwards; Pope’s weight on him is too strong for him to move very far, though. As Craig holds him still, Pope yanks the guy’s jeans down around his ankles to give himself more precision before angling the barrel of his gun so that he’ll shoot only through dick and a little thigh, missing his critical arteries.
Andrew grunts, “Cover your ears.”
And you do.
Even Craig winces as penis shrapnel flings across the room.
You don’t flinch.
Pope straightens up and asks you, “That enough for you?”
Red ski mask moans out one gurgling word: “Please.”
But you aren’t finished. You cross your arms over his chest and tell your husband, “I was being serious earlier. I want his teeth. I’ll hold his mouth open.”
“No,” Andrew vetoes. “He’ll try to bite you. Not risking that.”
When his eyes flick knowingly up to his brother, Craig scoffs in offense, “Oh, so it’s fine if he bites me? What if the fucker has tetanus or something?”
Andrew digs the pliers from his toolkit in the truck and returns to his brother’s side. “I’ll give you 5% of my take for helping.”
Craig gives a pleased nod. “That’ll do.”
Not five minutes later, you have a palmful of bloody teeth that you tuck into the side pocket of your beach bag. Pope finishes by choking the guy until he’s unconscious and turning him on his side so he won’t aspirate on the blood.
Then he stands up, tucks away his gun and his blade, puts the tools back in his truck, and says, “Craig, tell Smurf to save us a few pieces of pie for a job well done.”
“You’re not coming back to the house?”
Pope shakes his head. He slides an arm around you, tight and comfortable, and replies, “Not tonight. Tell everyone we’ll be by for Sunday brunch. I’ve gotta get my girls home.”
Craig shakes his head as he hauls himself into the Suburban, lighting up a cigarette with a laugh as he guns the ignition. “You two have some fucked up foreplay.”
You sleep soundly the whole way home, passing out before Pope’s even pulled the truck off the property.
"take what you're given" - andrew "pope" cody x reader
kinktober 2025 day 12: sex work & kneeling
Summary: Pope comes to you in the middle of the night with needs and news.
Tags/Notes: sub!pope x soft domme!reader, established dynamic, praise kink, orgasm control and edging, foot fetish if you squint, scratching/nails, oral (f), piv (unprotected, established), riding, cumming inside, love confessions
Content: canon-typical injuries (pope's post-job), sex work obviously
A/N: i wasn’t planning for this to be sub!pope but it just happened and honestly im really fucking happy with it
Word Count: 3.7k
A knock at the door wakes you in the middle of the night. It doesn’t frighten you; there’s only one person who does this. Who you allow to do this. Any other client back in the day, you’d be calling the cops without question. Or, more accurately, you’d be calling the very man who’s just shown up unannounced.
Checking your phone, you see a Venmo notification on the home screen. $1200 from A.C. Two hours of your precious night. You take your time after that, making him wait, knowing he’ll be squirming as he anticipates your arrival. You toss your old tee and sweat shorts into the hamper and grab a black slip. After pulling your hair up into a messy but sexy updo and spritzing on the perfume you know is his favorite, you pad over to the front door.
You open up the door to his battered, broad silhouette illuminated by your porch light. Your first instinct is to rush him inside and comfort him, but you know that’s not what he’s here for. So you put on a harsh tone and reprimand, “You woke me up.”
Andrew’s broken voice croaks out, “I’m sorry.”
Opening the door wider, you give an annoyed gesture for him to join you inside. “You’ll make it up to me.” Inside your house, the door shut and locked behind him, Andrew catches your wrist and pulls you close to his chest. You allow him to hold you for a second, breathing in your shampoo, letting his restless heart slow. But you stop short of meeting his lips when he chases them for a kiss. “You’ll kiss me when you’ve earned it.” You lead him into your primary sweet and point toward the bathroom. “Shower. You’re not getting all that dirt and blood on my sheets.”
Andrew nods tightly, making himself scarce right away. He knows your apartment like the back of his hand. At this point, he’s here more nights than not. You’ve stopped taking other clients because of him, paying another 50% on top of your rate and always treating you like gold. What he gives you in a week is enough to pay your bills for a month. You don’t charge for the hours he stays in your bed after, talking openly the way he can’t with his family and asking questions about you the way no other clients had. Frankly, you would’ve stopped charging altogether long ago if he’d ever had the courage to speak it into existence instead of leaving you both in limbo. If he dozes off in your bed, you both pretend it wasn’t a conscious decision in the morning.
While he showers, scrubbing himself fast and hard, you take his clothes, remove his wallet and phone, and toss them into your washing machine with some things of yours. The gestures are familiar, intimate, simple. Routine. Then you recline in your bed and wait for him, adjusting your pillows and blankets so that you can prop yourself up, legs parted just enough that he’ll be able to see right between your legs the moment he’s out of the shower.
When the water cuts, you take a second to steady your breathing and drape your body just so. You listen to the soft sounds of him toweling off and hold your breath when you know his hand’s hovering over the doorknob.
Setting your phone down, you look over his naked body as the bathroom light floods your room. God, he’s so beautiful, even covered in bruises. You’ve told him a hundred times during aftercare and sometimes it aches how much you mean it. He knows you do, too, even if he can’t believe it for himself.
He approaches the end of the bed and stands obediently, waiting for you to speak first.
Your voice is firm. Calm. There’s no anger, no chaos, no judgment. Just order. Just structure. “Kneel.”
Pope drops to his knees like he’s been shoved. He stares up at you with wide hazel eyes and slightly parted lips. You curse whoever told him he couldn’t make this innocent, boyish, wonder-filled expression every damn day.
When Pope’s with women who meet him during his regular life, they expect him to take charge. For him to growl at them the way he snarls out orders. For him to be intense the way he has to be to survive in his world. But you know that what he really needs from a woman is the exact opposite. He needs someone to take control of him, to make the decisions, to dote on him, to give him the space to let go.
You smile sweetly at him, present your feet, and order, “Say sorry, Andy.”
Pope nods, not saying a word. At the beginning, he’s always quiet. It’s your job to create the space for him to open up. As you watch, he cradles your foot – freshly showered and lotioned to be nice and soft right before bed – in his hand with breathtaking reverence. He takes a deep breath before he presses a kiss to the top of it, nuzzling slightly at the first taste of you. He worships over the skin, planting kisses from your toes up to your ankles, massaging your calves as he does.
When he switches to the other foot, he murmurs, “I’m sorry. You deserve to sleep and I interrupted you. Thank you for letting me in.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” You scoot to the end of the bed and lean down so that your faces are even. “Now you may kiss me. But don’t be greedy.”
The whine in his throat as he stretches up slightly to kiss you is needy and delicious. It shoots straight to your throbbing clit. He waits for you to part your lips before invading your mouth with his tongue, sighing into you when you suck on his lower lip. Hard. As you pull back, he shudders out, breathy and wanting, “Thank you.”
At the edge of the bed in front of him, you spread your legs and reveal your slick pussy. His eyes lock on and the need in his face almost makes you drop your role to satiate him immediately. But then Pope leans toward you, desperate and loving, his eyes trained forward, and that snaps you out of it. You know what he needs.
So you wrench him back, using his curls as a handhold. Your nails dig into his scalp and he gasps from the pain. “Where are your manners? Say please.”
“I’m sorry,” he says right away, looking up at you through unfairly long eyelashes. He lifts your other hand and kisses it over and over. “Can I taste you? Please?”
Your hand roves from his downy hair around to his face, softly brushing his cheek with your thumb. Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, you murmur, “There’s my sweet boy.”
Then you spread your legs wider, hold him by the hair, and pull his face into your cunt. He lets out a long, muffled moan as his lips part around your clit. His tongue slips down to your entrance, tasting your tart wetness, and drags back up to your clit. As you reward him with a string of moans, you keep a hand in his hair; he doesn’t need guidance when it comes to getting you off because Christ does he know what he’s doing in that department, but you know the added intimacy and care always make him happy.
As he sinks into the rhythm, you tell him, “Fingers, too.”
He hums contentedly, reaching his dominant hand up to slip two of his thick fingers inside of you. The stretch is absolutely perfect and you grind against his face to make sure he knows it. You keep your eyes glued to him. Watching all the stress dissolve from his expression – watching him go from Pope to Andrew – is almost as good as the urgent flat of his tongue on your clit, pumping right alongside those expert fingers of his.
When he curls his fingers forward and hits your G-spot, you can’t help the high-pitched, needy sound that escapes your lips. Your composure slips for a second as you let yourself do nothing but enjoy the way he works you up. As pleasure tightens up in your body, you breathe out, “That’s it, darling. Just like that.”
He knows better than to change a thing, but you feel him clinging to you closer, his free hand gripping your hip possessively to keep you tight against him. The way he holds you says so much about how he feels; you both sense it as your thighs tremble and his eyes open to meet yours. The view of your lips falling open with ecstasy and your chest turning pink as you moan his name turns Andrew into mush, the dark parts of his brain shutting off, taken over by the lightness that comes with being around you.
You cum on his face without warning and he groans, lapping at you, greedy for your taste as it changes, becoming milder, perfectly calming to his brain. He doesn’t let up until you give him two firm taps to his shoulder; he'd stay between your legs forever if you wanted him to. Then he smiles back up at you with wet, shiny lips and chin, and you melt just a little. The hardness has left his brow and his hazel eyes look young and kind, like they should.
He kisses along the insides of your thighs, soft as a wispy summer cloud, so affectionate it makes your heart pound, and murmurs into your skin, “Thank you.” Then his eyes go up to yours and he asks, “Can I fuck you tonight?”
Condescendingly sweet, you order, legs still held up by his strong shoulders, “If you beg. Use your words, Andrew.”
That’s his biggest challenge. Pope’s never been encouraged – often not even allowed – to express what he’s feeling, what he wants, what he needs. On the few occasions you’ve met the Codys (you run in the same circles, after all), you’ve always noticed his brothers and mother cutting him off, calling him ridiculous, clipping his wings. Part of what you want to give him is his own voice back.
“Please, use me,” he rasps after a minute. “I need to feel you. I’ve been thinking about you all day, about how much I want you, how much I lo- Please.”
You both pretend he didn’t almost say what he almost said. That kind of thing happens a lot between the two of you. You tell him, “Up on the bed. Sit back.”
With a thrilled, grateful smile, Andrew stands, rolls his glorious shoulders in a way that really lets you ogle his chest and arms, and then climbs onto the bed behind you. You turn to face him and slowly pull your slip up over your head, discarding it on the floor next to you.
Andrew’s eyes devour you. He whispers, like it’s a secret, like he’s afraid, “You’re so beautiful.”
“Thank you.” You approach him like a cat on the prowl and swing your legs over his. You sit back on his thighs and lean forward. He’s expecting you to take him, to drown on his cock and get yourself off, but tonight you press your lips to his and let softness permeate his being. Your hands explore his torso, slow and gentle, and you murmur, “You give the best head I’ve ever had.” As he inhales a quiet, sharp breath, your lips drag down to his neck. “I love the sounds you make when you’re with me.” You kiss across his collarbone and over his shoulder. “You’re perfect, Andrew.”
You slide your wet folds along his shaft until he’s whining beneath you, using all his self control to stop himself from gripping your hips and fucking up into you. That’s what he’d do with any random girlfriend or hookup. But not with you. Never with you.
This time, when you move to kiss him, you also rock your hips so that the tip of his cock notches inside of you. He feels so spoiled getting to have you like this. Once you stopped seeing anyone else, your relationship catapulting into this beautifully nebulous mystery of love and money and unspoken thoughts, you also stopped using condoms. Feeling you bare is the greatest honor of Andrew’s life, by his estimation. You trust that he’s not going to sleep with anyone else (even though, theoretically, he has every right to) and you trust that he won’t take advantage or hurt you.
“There you go,” you mutter against his lips as you slide down further, still not allowing him to have all of you the way he so, so desperately wants you. Making him go through the agony of his spit and your arousal dripping down to the base of his cock. He whimpers again, whiny and needy, shaking with the resolve it takes not to thrust into your perfect cunt. You slot your lips with his again, soothing him with your collective breath, “Shh, love, it’s okay, just a little more left. You’re being so good.”
Finally, you take Andrew as deep as possible. His thighs twitch and strain beneath you and his head falls back against the headboard, lips open with desire as he feels you completely. You wrap your fingers in the hair at the back of his neck and bring his head forward to look at you. “Don’t look away. You know I like to see you.”
Andrew nods, biting his lower lip, struggling with the intimacy that comes with eye contact while he’s at his most exposed. Your nails graze down his chest as you speed up slightly. He sighs with relief and you know that he needs more. So you dig your nails in properly, scratching up his sides until you see his muscles spasming from the mix of pain and pleasure. “You feel so good, Andrew. So good for me.”
“Faster,” he requests, quick to add an earnest, “please.”
You grip around his neck, forcing his eyes up to center once more; he has a habit of dropping eye contact when he feels vulnerable for more than a moment. “Take what you’re given. I know what’s good for you. Don’t forget that.”
He whimpers softly, “I know.”
“Do you?” You apply pressure to his neck, making his head swim, and slow the pace of your hips to almost nothing. As Andrew’s toes curl from the billowing pleasure of judgment, you go on, “When I’m not there, you go out and get dirty, beaten up, feeling like shit. It’s pathetic. That’s why you come home to me, sweetheart. Because I always take care of you. Because I only punish you when you need it, not just to take my anger out on you like your family does. Right?”
His eyes flutter. He can’t speak when you talk to him like that, so completely domineering and firm. And right. Like you can see beneath his skin to the tension roiling beneath. That’s why he keeps falling for you even though he knows he shouldn’t. Not the feel of your velvet walls clenching around him or the delight of your nipples between his teeth or the way you make him see stars when he cums, edging it out of him for hours or forcing it fast depending on your moods. No, it’s the way you see right through him. Through all his bullshit, through the exterior he puts on, through everything. You give him the opportunity to be known.
You snap him from his stupor by letting go of his neck, sending oxygen and blood flooding back through him. His hips buck upward without his control and he lets out a long, unabashed moan. You grab his hand with yours and order, “Make yourself useful and touch me.”
He nods eagerly, loads his thumb with spit, and drops his hand between your bodies, easily nudging up the hood of your clit and touching the over-sensitive bud with the pad of his thumb. Knowing your body, he matches the pace of your rocking hips. Pleasure jolts up your spine and, at the corresponding twitch of your pussy, Andrew groans low in his throat.
“That’s it,” you praise. The stretch of his cock combined with his thumb’s gentle pressure is nothing short of divine for you. “Nice and slow. Perfect.”
You thread your fingers in his hair and tug him into a kiss that tastes a lot more like love than money. It tastes like mercy. One of your hands drops down to his back and turns to a claw, scratching him up, making him gasp and grunt as you bounce incrementally faster on his cock. You tug his head to the side and bite down his neck, sucking purple hickeys alongside the other bruises, mixing the results of the night’s brutality with marks of absolute, uncomplicated adoration.
When you realize he’s not going to last long, it sends a thrill as good as another orgasm through your core. Andrew’s the kind of man who can fuck for hours if he’s not fully engaged, not 100% present, not deeply and madly and wildly in love with the other person. So the heavy ragged breaths and the tensing muscles and the moans turning high are all a perfect symphony for you.
You stroke his cheek with your thumb, press your forehead to his, and urge, “Let go for me, Andrew.”
He looks at you like it’s Christmas morning. “Inside?”
“Inside, pretty boy,” you confirm, licking along his jaw and nibbling up to his ear. You let your voice go breathy and low, hot against the curve of his ear, as you tell him honestly, “Wanna feel you spilling inside me. Wanna be yours.”
His free hand splays across your lower back, the move downright possessive, and a moan breaks out from his throat. His balls tighten and you keep him right at that agonizing edge where his breaths speed up and his cock begs. The orgasm that crests over him is a perfect wave that you make him ride out until it’s overstimulating and shattering and tears bite at his waterline.
You press feathery kisses across his face as you slide off him so he can start to catch his breath. His hands cling to your waist, though, not ready to let go of you quite yet. So you indulge him, kiss him warmly, and praise, “Good job, sweetheart.”
When his hold on you finally loosens, you slip away and quickly clean yourself up in the bathroom, admittedly rushing so you can get back out to him. Post-sex Andrew is soft and kind and emotional. He’s real. You never feel safer or more seen than when you get to hold him after you’ve been together.
The moment you’re back in bed with him tonight, though, Andrew tugs you into his lap again and holds you so close that you have no choice but to bury your face in his shoulder and squeeze him back. His strength is pure comfort, but you can feel a desperation in the way his arms stay wrapped around you for so long it feels like the sun might start rising.
You run your fingers gently through his hair and kiss his neck in the shallow hollow just beneath his ear. “What is it?”
His big body trembles slightly and his hold on you doesn’t lift. “I’m leaving Oceanside.”
That lingers in the air. You’ve both lived here your entire lives; Pope’s only been away to spend time inside. You hated the time he was away. The idea of him not being a constant in your life aches. You whisper against his skin, “When?”
“Soon.”
“Oh.”
Then you realize something.
Pope doesn’t tell you when he’s going to be away for jobs. He doesn’t show up and make desperate love to you. He doesn't beg for you or hold you or agonize over your presence.
So you pull back and carefully study his features. You’re not sure it’s possible to understand all of Andrew Cody's thoughts, but you can definitely read more of him than anyone else.
Trying not to let any emotion into your voice yet, you ask quietly, “You want me to come with you, don’t you?”
His voice goes stern. Defensive. Pope. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you came here to ask, didn’t you?”
“I came to get laid.”
“Don’t do that. Not with me.”
The tension snaps. Andrew deflates. His expression is innocent and tender as a playground crush. His fingers drag up your arms and you can’t help the goosebumps that rise despite the warm room. He won’t meet your eyes, but he manages to whisper, “Would you?”
You swallow hard.
And think.
There’s nothing tying you to Oceanside anymore, not really. A few friends and a mortgage. You’ve been on your own nearly as long as you’ve been alive and Andrew is the only real anchor you’ve had the last handful of years. You can imagine a life with him. A real one.
But one question remains: “Do you love me?”
“I think so.”
“I need better than that, Andrew.”
“I know you do.” He rests his chin on the top of your head and speaks into the night, “But I don’t know what love is. I don’t know how to tell you. How to say it.”
Breathless now, you reply, “Just try. Be honest with me.”
Andrew chews on it for a long time. His eyes roam over your still naked body with no lust in them. Instead, there’s a softness. He looks at your lips a while and then gazes around the room at all of your things, at the pieces of your life that he wants in his own home instead of miles away.
And, at last, he tells you, “You’re the reason I think I deserve to leave it all behind. You make me think maybe I’m worth a damn. That I shouldn’t take shit from my family all the time just because they expect me to.” He shakes his head to himself as a shy smile takes over his face. “You’re kind and you’re gorgeous and you’re funny and you’re every fucking good thing that I want to figure out how to be – with you by my side." His thumb brushes your lower lip. "That's what love is, isn't it?"
The smile that spreads your lips is extravagant. It feels bright and warm like the sun on the sea. “Where are we gonna go?”
Andrew grins, then, and the next kiss tastes of possibility. “Anywhere you want, angel.”
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you are the best thing in pope’s life by the three thousand miles separating him from the rest of his family. you have no idea your sweet quiet boyfriend has a past worth running from, and when you find out you’re not sure if you want to run with him. ( 3.1k words )
warnings : mentions of the cody family and their whole crime thing, drugs, murder, etc all that fun stuff, pope has a panic attack, reader only ever refers to him as andrew, vague references to pope’s weird dynamics with smurf and julia, mentions of overdose
note : after everything my boy went through he just needs to live a long happy life with someone who will marry and have kids with him i swear someone let him have a baby <///3 based on this request
The TV is on low when Pope gets home. All the lights are off, it’s the only reason he can see two feet in front of him, the flickering blue light coming from the living room in the back nook of your shared apartment. Pope puts the cup tray and the bag of takeout - heavy brown paper, on the kitchen counter and stops to take his boots off before he ventures any further.
It was a bit of a learning curve when you and Pope first got together. You’ve spent the last three decades of your life doing things the way you do them. You have a routine, a home, a life. Pope’s spent the better part of three years learning where he fits into it. Like a starfish regrowing a limb, he finds his way into your space and figures out exactly how much to take up.
You have rules - not in the same way his mom had rules. You don’t like it when he wears his shoes inside, so you cleared a space on your shoe rack for his boots. You love having little trinkets and tchotchkes so he tries to pick one up as often as he can.
You do meal-preps and spring cleans and you don’t worry about people breaking down the door and hurting you. You call him Andy and kiss him like you love him and talk about marriage and kids with him like it’s a certainty.
“Sweetheart?” That’s always come natural to him. The heat he feels in his chest when he thinks of you, even if he doesn’t know how to articulate or show it all of the time. He’s gotten better at it, but there are still nights he falls asleep beside you and worries he left too much back in Oceanside to give you all of him.
You’re curled up on the couch, half asleep when he finds you. You’re watching some infomercial for a kitchen utensil that only seemed worth it if you were too stupid to use a cheese grater. “Hi, baby,” your smile is squished by a throw pillow he’d given you for your birthday a year ago. “How was your day?” You’d loved it.
You curl further into the corner so he has the room to sit down, your head coming to rest on his thigh. It’s one of his favourite spots to have you in, even if it means he’s not able to kiss you hello. “It was okay,” he stretches his back. “Missed you.” His hand squeezes your side affectionately.
He doesn’t hate his new job, lugging stuff back and forth in a warehouse for people who buy all their stuff from their couch. It’s not as exciting as crime, sure, but it pays pretty good and he doesn’t have to worry about being shot (again) every time he clocks in. It’s good enough that his parole officer, the last time he’d seen her, had clapped him on the shoulder and told him good work.
He’s saving up to buy you a ring, but for now, he’s content just coming home to you every night.
“Got you dinner.” He tucks your hair out of your face.Your boyfriend has never been super talkative, it had taken three months of pretty smiles and batting your eyelashes at him from across the subway platform for you to even get his name. The two of you would take the same train, him to his new therapist’s office and you to your reception job at the law firm next door. The only reason you even got his name is because one time the train had been packed, you’d sat next to him and he’d accidentally walked off with your coat instead of his. He’d come all the way down the next day to return it and you’d been positively gleeful at the fact the hot stranger from the subway platform hadn’t taken your $200 coat that you’d called your boss right then and there complaining of stomach flu and taken him out to lunch. You know every look on his face. “It’s in the kitchen.”
You sit up, more suddenly than he expected you to, and kiss his jawline. “Love you. You’re perfect.”
“I love you,” he smiles as you get off him and pad towards the kitchen. “Oh someone called me today, looking for you?”
He hums, hauling himself off the couch to follow behind you. Tied at the waist with a rubber band, can only get so far from you before something snaps. “Yeah? Was it Ricky? He’s still trying to get me to go for drinks after work with the guys.”
You’re elbow deep in the paper bag by the time he reaches you. You’ve dug out two burger boxes and are rifling around for the container of fries he ordered with extra salt for you. “Not Ricky, someone named Smurf?”
Pope’s never been aware of his body in the way he currently is. Aware of his limbs, sure that’s normal. He can feel his blood flowing through his entire body, feel the pumping of his heart, the expansion of his lungs. The blood is hot. “Smurf called you?”
“Uh huh,” you finally pull the fries out and pop open the paper lid, taking a couple and snacking thoughtfully while you reached for plates. “Didn’t leave a message or anything, just wanted to talk. I don’t know why you don’t go out with Ricky he seems like a nice guy.”
“You’re sure it was Smurf?”
You look up at him at that, can’t ignore the shakiness of his voice. You’ve never really heard him scared before. Not like this, anyway.
“Yeah,” you put the fries down, coming around the counter to stand close to him. “Kinda an older lady, called me sweetheart a lot. I asked if she wanted to leave a message but she told me just to tell you she called.”
How had she gotten your number? Pope had done everything in his power to keep you safe when the two of you first started dating. Safe from creeps on the train, safe from guys like Ricky, and - most importantly, so important it keeps him up at night - safe from his mom. From Smurf.
“Andy…” your hands are on his shoulders. “Who’s Smurf?” If the tone were any lighter you’d make a joke about the two of them being involved. An affair seems minor compared to whatever is going through his head. “What does she want?”
Andrew takes a deep, steeling breath, looking over your head so he doesn’t have to see the worry in your eyes. He’d done everything he could to stop this. Moved across the country to the east coast, finished his parole, changed his name (he was Andrew Campbell now and had been since three months before he’d first caught sight of you), done everything he fucking could to keep you safe and free from Smurf. “She’s my mom.”
You know enough about his family; just the parts worth telling you. His dad was a veteran who was quick to anger, his mom was a sociopathic addict who was quicker to. He had a twin sister whom he’d loved more than anything but then she’d gotten unwell and died. There were three other brothers you’d heard less about, a niece, a nephew. You know enough to know that if Pope’s mom is calling then something has gone terribly wrong.
“I’ll block the number,” you squeeze the part of his shoulder that connects to his neck. “Not even sure how she got it. I didn’t even confirm if I knew an Andrew or not, just asked her if I could take a message.”
He’s getting a headache. You can see it on his face. They come on sometimes, he’s got a prescription for migraines he hates taking. Pope stumbles back over to the sofa, hand up to shield his eyes from the light. You turn the TV off while the c-list reality star on the screen is mid sentence about a new eye cream that saved her life.
“Baby?”
He can feel your thigh pressing to his and he reaches for you. You’re so soft; bare-faced and in your pyjamas and god, he fucking loves you.
“I haven’t told you everything about my family.” You’ve never seen Andrew like this. You’ve seen him worried, concerned, even mildly started. Not really, truly scared. “I don’t want you to think I was trying to lie to you, because I wasn’t.” You pull him closer until you’re practically sitting on top of each other.
“Andrew,” you’re nose to nose. The question doesn’t need to be asked. Do I need to be worried? You love Andrew more than you’ve ever loved another person. When you think of your future, it’s of a house in Westchester County, sunshine streaming through and landing on a full breakfast table, kids who call Andrew daddy. He hasn’t told you very much about his life before he met you - you know he’s been to jail before - but even with the limited information you do have you know that your ideas for your future don’t even remotely match the childhood your boyfriend had. You never realised it was something that would bleed into the present, though.
“If I thought for even a second that you were in danger I’d go,” his eyes are so warm, almost like an amber. The first time he’d kissed you he’d taken your face so gently in his hands before pressing his lips to yours, looking at you like you were the single most valuable thing in his life already. “I promise, sweetheart, that there is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you. But my family… they’re bad people. They’re involved in shit that I’d never want for you. That’s part of the reason I went to prison.”
You’re curled up in his lap, he has one hand on your wrist and one on your back.
“My sister… Julia tried to escape, took J and ran,” he takes a deep breath. Andrew doesn’t talk about Julia very often, but he’s said more about her than the rest of his family members combined. Except maybe Lena. “Didn’t get very far, that’s all I’ll say. My mom fucked us all up but Julia was the worst. Smurf is the reason my sister is dead. I couldn’t save her, I let my mom get away with so much shit because I was scared of her, and Julia died because of it.” His voice cracks and you smooth your hands over his face. He kisses your palms as best he can while they’re still moving, hand still gripping your wrist. “I love you. I love you. I couldn’t save Julia but I can’t let her get you too.” Andrew presses his forehead to yours.
You’ve been very quiet. Quieter even when he tells you about the jobs, the heists, the drugs. Both the recreational ones and the ones his mother crushed up and put in his food.
You know Pope better than anyone else does, and he holds so much space in his heart for every single thing he can know about you. He knows the way you look down at your joined hands, the way you can’t quite look at him anymore.
You never wanted this for yourself, and he sure as hell never wanted this for you. Pope never wanted to lie to you, never wanted to give you any reason to be dishonest with him. He felt better when you thought him just abused and traumatised - though that was embarrassing enough - now you knew him as dangerous.
Pope isn’t deluded (much) (anymore), he knows you’re weighing up the pros and cons of being with him in your head.
Cons, mentally unstable, makes less money than you, is related to at least seven criminals.
Pros… loves you a lot?
God, he’s done for. He’s been aware of how lucky he’s been from the moment you took the seat beside his. He’s never, in the years of loving you, taken your relationship for granted. But Pope also doesn’t feel like he’s gotten as much out of it as he could have.
He’s not sure what’s going to happen now. He’ll move out, let you keep the apartment and pay the rent for as long as he’s on the lease - longer if you need it. He’ll find a shitty apartment like the one he’d been living in when the two of you had met, probably change therapists so he wouldn’t have to see the office you work in.
He’ll go back to being Andrew Campbell, and he’ll spend every single day looking through every crowd for someone who made him feel even half as alive as he felt catching sight of you for the first time.
Your hands are on his jaw. You’re sitting in his lap and you’re holding his jaw. You lift your head from your lap and give him enough room to kiss you. He doesn’t take the opportunity.
“Andy…” you’re talking low like you sometimes do right before you initiate something deeper. He’d associated the tone with lust. It might just be love. “Andrew, you’re okay.” His chest is rising and falling so quickly you can’t imagine how he’s fitting breaths between the movements.
He hasn’t had a panic attack in a long time. You’ve seen them, of course, he’d only been in New York less than a year when you met, not nearly long enough for him to have gotten them under control. But they’ve gotten better, more manageable, thanks in part to his therapist and in part to you.
You go to climb off him, well aware of how overstimulated he can get when you’re on top of him on a good day. He clamps down where he’s holding your arms. “Sweetheart.” His voice is shaking.
This had always been a possibility for Pope. He never approached you on the subway platform when maybe in another life he could have. He spent the first three months of your budding relationship so distant that he thought he’d become a self-fulfilling prophecy and his strangeness would be the reason you broke up with him.
He’d have dreams of nights spent in your apartment and waking up to a cop shining a flashlight in his face. Getting a phone call from a hospital and saying you’ve been dragged into something and hurt.
He’d always known that by being with you, he was putting you in a baseline level of danger you wouldn’t be in if you’d never met him. Pope had always thought he’d be able to protect you, and the longer the two of you were together, the more steps you took in your relationship, the further away he felt from Smurf.
Pope’s met everybody in your life, he’s on good terms with your friends. He’s well aware that you’re getting a little antsy about him proposing to you. Three years isn’t a long time, but it also isn’t a short time. You don’t necessarily want to get married now but the proposal - the promise that he wants you for as long as you want him - is something you’re getting a little eager for then he’s going to buy you the biggest fucking ring you’ve ever seen. He’s been saving up for one, finally letting himself admit that he could have a wife.
Could have you as his wife.
“I love you,” you kiss the slope of the side of his nose, right under his eye.
He kisses you then, soft and loving. “I love you,” he says after a moment. It shouldn’t be enough to ground him, to stop his spiral. He presses his forehead to yours again and this time you can feel his breathing, the slow, steady breaths he fans across your face. “I would do anything to keep you safe.” To keep your family safe. You know how badly Pope wants to be a parent, he’s hoping you still want it as much as he does.
“Well, okay then,” you pull back and smile at him.
Okay?
“I’m going to block her number,” you wriggle to pull your phone out of your back pocket. “And we,” you kiss him again, “are going to eat before it gets cold.”
Pope knows it won’t be that simple. Now that Smurf knows your number, you’re going to have to get it changed. You’ll both probably have to move, maybe change his name again. Maybe change yours.
But the way you hand him his burger, taste both milkshakes before deciding the first one is better, and come to sit down at the kitchen table, he’s able to ignore that for the moment.
This is going to have to be a longer, still scary conversation. He’s going to have to tell you more about his relationship with his mom, more about Julia - he hadn’t lied, she had been sick in the sense that addiction is a disease. How he didn’t learn boundaries until well into his thirties and how sometimes he still oversteps in his mind.
“We’ll handle it,” he says finally, coming to sit beside you at the square table when he’d usually sit opposite. He brings over the rest of the food, revelling in the way your ankle comes to curl around his leg. “I can call my parole officer.” He hasn’t been on parole in years, but he still has her number. She might be able to help without involving the cops.
“I’ll talk to one of the guys at work,” you say, swirling one of your fries in the weird pickle-tasting sauce you get every time you order from this place. “See if he can give us some free legal advice.” Pope takes the lid of the top of his shake so he can drink it without the straw and you don’t hesitate, dipping a new fry in his drink. He can’t bring it in himself to care. Normally he’d at least frown at you. “The boring way.”
Andrew nods at you, finally unwrapping his own food.
You sigh morosely. “You hate boring.”
He shakes his head around a mouthful. “I love boring,” he swallows. “Boring gets me home to you.”
His eye twitches as you reach for his drink again and you catch it this time. “You can keep going,” he says when you lean back, leaving it untouched. “I don’t mind.”
He doesn’t really. He’d never let anybody else do it, but that doesn’t mean anything. You shake your head, unbothered by having to stay within the confines of your own meal.
He pushes it towards you. “I’d literally kill someone to keep you safe I can handle your fries in my milkshake.” He thinks that might be a little too much too fast.
jack abbot and his depraved gf!reader who only ever wants missionary with him. he thinks it's because you just want to be able to kiss or grab his ass while he fucks into you (which is true). he tries to put you on all fours after an entire dinner spent with you being a brat, you whine and plea, 'no! jackie please w-want to see you! need... need your mm..' 'what do you want dirty girl? hm? use your words? you were all talk just an hour ago, speak up.' you're already flushing at his taunting words and embarrassment crawling up your chest. 'w-want to feel your tummy against mine, please jackie.. i want to feel it pressing against mine' he feels his cock twitch at the confession and abandons all desire to punish you further, not when his dirty girl wants to feel his belly on yours. 'you want this old man's tummy on yours? hmm baby? you gonna take your old man's cock and let me rub this tummy against yours, baby? is that what you want?'
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