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The Pitt acted like the sea. 

Busy hours and waning slow periods were the waves. Patients, nurses, and doctors walked as though they were fish, constantly swimming through the hoards of schools and catastrophes, not needing to keep their head above water because that's exactly where they thrived. They found purpose in bobbing and floating and flicking their tails to get from one room to another. It had its obstacles, seaweed hoards of poles and monitors and gurneys, but when night came, the Pitt settled into lapping motions instead of crashing roars. 

However, the calmer waters meant it was primed for the bigger fish to swim cleanly, jaws chomping at whoever dared to get in their current. 

Known to all, the Pitt had a few big fish to worry about. Victoria knew to steer clear of her mother, Dr. Shamsi, and her biting words. When Garcia got called down, Dennis turned heel and hid in triage (safety in numbers). Even Robby, the very top of the pecking order in the emergency department, vanished when he caught the hint of Gloria coming down the elevator. 

Yet, like all oceans, some fish weren't lucky enough to swim away fast enough. In all instances, everyone never wanted to get caught by the PTMC's very own great white: Brendon Park. 

"Look alive, Santos, we got an incoming," Jack stated as he passed the sleepy-looking R2, fresh from pulling the first half of her second night rotation. 

Trinity blinked wearily before pushing up from the table. She'd been seated during a lull in waves that seemed to always happen between the hours of 1 and 3 am. Jack had warned that things got weird after the sun went down, but most she'd seen was a puking toddler and a man who came in complaining of sleep issues. 

"What do we have?" she asked after finding a place next to the older attending. "And please tell me it's interesting, cause so far I haven't seen the weirdest or wildest cases come through. I'd hate to see that your little pep talk is full of errors." 

Jack barked out a laugh. "Trust me; it only gets weirder from here." 

"Don't jinx us, please," Ellis joined in, stopping on Jack's unoccupied side. 

"Those don't exist!" Shen called out as he rounded a corner before disappearing back into a room. 

Trinity's jaw popped as she yawned. "I need something fast paced or I'm going to fall asleep standing up." 

"We can always have you organize the third storage room. I don't think it's been redone since I started here," Jack mentioned. 

"So, like, way back in the medieval era?" 

Parker raised her eyebrows and smirked at the brunette. "Ooo-hoo-hoo, Abbot you set yourself up for that one." 

Jack rolled his eyes. "Try the third dynasty. Pretty sure I saw a rat go in there once and it never left." 

"I'll take standing up, thank you." 

"Incoming trauma goes straight into room 1," Lena announced. 

The sliding doors to the ambulance bay brought a gust of cool wind before offering a patient and two paramedics to the small group of doctors. On the gurney laid a man in his thirties whose face had gone ashen, eyes not even visible. 

"We got a thirty-two-year old male. Partial traumatic amputation, left lower extremity at the mid femur. Clean cut considering he was run over by roadside milling equipment approximately twenty-two minutes ago. Significant blood loss on scene," one of the paramedics said once they got within ear range. "Detached extremity is here. Packaged separately and wrapped in saline gauze, double bagged, transported on ice but not in direct contact." 

Trinity noted the bag that sat near the patient's remaining foot. It reminded her of one of those goldfish bags you got for winning a fair game. 

Jack stepped forward and grabbed the side of the gurney, helping roll the man straight into Trauma Room 1. Behind him, he heard the normal sounds of gloves snapping on before both Trinity and Parker joined him. 

"On my count," he ordered. "One, two, three—" He grunted under the weight of the man as they slid him over onto the bed. 

"The tourniquet was applied high and tight to the left thigh around 7 minutes after the accent. One CAT failed, second CAT secured on the way over. Hemorrhage controlled after the second application," the second paramedic stated while he began to wheel the gurney away. 

Jack looked over the man. "What's his pressure?" 

"Last manual was eighty-four over fifty. Heart rate one-forty-eight. Respiratory thirty-two. Sp-Oxygen ninety-four percent on fifteen liters non-rebreather. GCS fourteen. Lost consciousness on the way over." 

"Fluids?" 

"Minimal crystalloids. Two-fifty LR. We started whole blood—one unit in progress. One gram TXA given over ten minutes." 

Jack smiled and nodded. "Excellent." 

Trinity leaned over the man with her stethoscope already off and bell pressing into his chest. "Airway's intact. Breath sounds equal bilaterally." 

"Femoral pulse right side weak," Parker called out, two fingers pressed into the man's right upper thigh before moving up to his wrist. "Radial's thready." 

"Pressure's seventy-eight over forty-six," Mateo called out near the head of the bed. 

"He's hemorrhagic until proven otherwise," Jack breathed, hands moving to gently pull back what was left of the man's pant legs. "Let's cut the tourniquet down enough for me to visualize." 

"Dr. Abbot, you think they'd just cauterize the leg back in your day?" Trinity bit with a smirk. 

"Nah," he argued, "they'd just wrap it and pray infection didn't set in before harvest." 

Parker snipped slowly at the tourniquet, and blood instantly welled through the mess of flesh and bone. 

"Back up and tighten it," Jack said, halting Parker from going any further. "That's arterial, and can someone page ortho? This looks like it'd be right up their alley." 

"Please tell me Park's not on shift tonight," Trinity muttered, already walking over to the red phone mounted on the wall. 

"Well, if you hear the Jaws theme song when they put you on hold, you'll know." 

While Trinity talked with upstairs, Jack and Parker did their best to pack the stump as much as possible, combat gauze soaking up red as fast as they put it on. 

It couldn't have been more than five minutes later when the hiss of the trauma room's doors filled the air, the automatic sensor holding long enough for whoever to slip through. Jack's heart beat wildly as he held the gauze, trying not to think about his own experience of being on the receiving end of the painful pressure. 

"What do you have for me, Abbot?" 

If the room could have groaned, it would have caused ripples by the sheer sound, because, of course, Brendon Park just had to be the one to swim through. Trinity glanced up at him, eyes tracking the way he immediately hovered over their work like a shark coasting around its prey. 

"Partial traumatic amputation to his left leg. Whatever machine he got under cut clean through his femur. Leg was bagged on site, and blood flow is slightly waning under the gauze and consistent pressure." 

Park didn't seem all that impressed, and his eye brow raised when he spotted the fair-fish bag full of amputated leg sitting on a tray to the side. He narrow eyed the way Jack's hands almost wrapped completely around the stump, gloves speckled with blood that managed to seep through. 

"You're going to damage the vessels if you hold on that hard," he muttered. "Thought you attendings knew better." 

Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes. "The pressure is what's keeping this man from bleeding out. But by all means, I can lighten up if you want to play Legos and 'click the leg back in place' on a dead body." 

"You're the ones who paged me," he bit, teeth chomping around the word. "Unfortunately we can't all be surgeons, or maybe this ER would know how to perfectly pack a partial traumatic amputation." 

"Now, now, let's play nice, Park," a new voice joined over the hiss of the trauma doors. "Without the ER, we wouldn't be standing here now would we?" 

Now, Jack's heart beat wildly for a different reason. In a small glance, his eyes settled on the familiar figure of the Pitt's stand-in night shift Orthopedic Surgeon when Walsh had the shift off. 

"Oh, boy," Parker whispered beside him. She nudged Trinity slightly, body twisting so she could be near the R2's ear. "You asked for wild, and, well, it's about to get wild." 

Trinity barely processed her words as she fixated on the woman who just walked in. She couldn't note how put together she looked with her hair tucked neatly, gray roots peaking through a very expensive looking hair dye. Her white coat was crisp, and Trinity could only guess that it had been tailored with the way it hugged perfectly at her shoulders and waist. If she let herself, Trinity would be drooling, yet, the glimmer of a pair of rings that could probably pay off her entire student debt held her back from sputtering out some illy planned pick-up line. 

"Nice of you to join us," Park gritted out, clearly not happy with the new addition. "But I had this handled. 

You hummed lowly while you looked over the leg yourself and the hands around it. "Sure you did if by having it handled you meant berating Dr. Abbot and his more than capable team." 

"His pressure is way off, and if he keeps it up, the leg isn't going to be able to attach back perfectl—" 

"Aht, aht, aht," you tutted like talking to a child. "You're done talking, because obviously you can't tell the right amount of pressure from the wrong." 

You stepped closer to the bed and leaned over the railing, never hovering but making sure your presence was noted. 

"If you'd taken a breath and took the chance to actually look at the patient instead of wondering if he could be another gold start to your chart," you stated calmly, "you'd find that Dr. Abbot is currently keeping the femoral artery at around—" You leaned in closer to see just how tightly Jack's fingers held the gauze in place. "—250 to 300 mmHgs of the standard pressure needed." 

Jack had to keep himself from blushing under your praise and keep concentrating on, just as you said, the needed standard pressure. He guessed that Park would back off, however, the bigger man wasn't one to ever give up the last word. 

"No offense—" 

"None taken," you slyly interrupted. 

Park huffed, visibly irritated the more he stood there. "But clearly, they should have paged me the moment this man was wheeled in instead of trying to play hero and cut off the bleeding." He crossed his arms and puffed his chest. "They're not surgeons; they're—" 

You held up a hand. "I'll stop you right there, Brendon. Yes, they might not have the specialty experience we both have, but they are more than equipped and competent to handle a partial traumatic amputation." Your lip crinkled in a small sneer. "Dr. Abbot is also more knowledgeable about this type of injury than the both of us, or do I have to remind you that he's lived through something like this." 

Elation bloomed in the pit of your stomach as you watched Park swallow thickly, but you were far from done. 

"And, as someone who volunteers as a S.W.A.T medic after spending countless hours down here, Dr. Abbot has undergone thousands of hours of medical, tactical, and physical training. His muscles are earned through hard work, unlike the ones you like to boast on your Instagram after doing a few sit ups and curls to increase the blood flow of your arms that are more for aesthetics than actual strength." 

Jack was hard.

He was so incredibly hard, cock already pushing against the front of his scrub pants. He just prayed that Parker and Trinity would continue looking at you with stars in their eyes and not down at his . . . predicament. 

Without moving, you held out your hand, palm up towards the ceiling. "Can someone hand me the case tablet? I'm taking over this, and I will personally be scrubbing in myself." 

Park blanched at that, body finally squirming under your unwavering eyes. "You can't—" 

"I can't . . . what, exactly? Take over a case while I am currently your superior as the chief orthopedic attending on call?" you shot back while your fingers curled around the tablet Mateo handed over. "Because that's exactly what I'm doing." You glanced down at the screen before looking back up into Park's dark, blue eyes. “You're more than welcome to observe, Dr. Park, but please, never insult me or any of PTMC's doctors ever again, or I will make sure that you're stuck wrapping soft tissue sprains for months." 

You turned around with a smile on your face, demeanor completely the opposite of what you'd just shown. "Thank you three for making sure this man didn't bleed out on the spot. We'll prep an operating theater and get him transferred up shortly. Best of luck for the rest of the night." 

Your steps were light as you walked away, however you couldn't help but let out an Hoo-Ahh! over your shoulder. 

Jack watched in deep satisfaction that Park didn't even attempt to say anything else, choosing to walk away while he still held the ability to operate in the future. The mechanical doors hissed and closed off the room from the rest of the Pitt. 

Only the monitors kept beeping continually, filling the otherwise silent room. Jack tilted his head down and closed his eyes while he took a deep breath. 

After a moment, Trinity was the first to speak. "Who the fuck was that? I think my world's been rocked." 

Jack looked back up, hazel eyes trained in the direction that you disappeared off into. He swallowed the pooling saliva down in one gulp before answering. "My wife." 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The surgical cap tied tightly around your forehead itched, hair underneath poking and being pulled an at odd angle as a result of your haste to put it on. Park had overstepped, and you needed to show him that he wasn't the biggest fish in the Pitt's ocean, because that title belonged to you. 

Jack would probably laugh at it all later due to your enjoyment of underwater documentaries and fascination with orcas, especially with how they hunted and preyed upon sharks. You'd seen the way he had tried to not look at you for very long down in the trauma room. The thought of him being embarrassed quickly passed through your mind before you shook your head. 

He was never one to be ashamed of being your husband, often boasting at the fact that he put a ring on your finger before anyone else could. He loved you fierce and hard but also soft and sweet, so him looking away had to be because he was focused on making sure the man didn't bleed out before you could get his leg put back together with ease. 

The hall to the surgical room was empty as you stripped from your gown and gloves and pushed them down into the nearest hazard bin. Your footsteps echoed while you walked toward the elevator, wanting to go back down and at least give Parker and Dr. Santos the good news. However, the moment you passed by one of the empty recovery rooms, a hand reached out, grabbed hold of your arm and tugged you in. 

"What the fuck!" you shouted, voice coming out in a screech. 

To your right, the door shut, and the motion-sensor lights flickered on, revealing the person who had yanked you. You sighed in relief. 

"Hi," Jack whispered, pinning you to the wall, chest pressed against yours. 

"Jack, what the hell are you doing up here?" you hissed. "I always come down to give you the update." 

He said nothing and tucked his face into your neck. His lips lightly grazed your pulse point before his tongue peeked out and ran hotly along your jaw. Your hands instantly flew up and sunk deep into his greying curls. 

"Jack?" you questioned again. "Wha-what are you doing?" 

"Just loving on my wife," he muttered, teeth now gently nipping at your skin. "Can't a husband do that?" 

You barked out a laugh that quickly turned into a moan as he sucked harshly. "I mean, he can. But normally he doesn't until after we get home." 

Jack's neediness sent questions washing through your body as he slotted his thick thigh between your legs. Another moan punched out at the feeling, your scrub material bunching in delicious pressure against your heat. 

"Jack," you breathily sighed. "Baby, we have work; we can wait and pick this up later." 

"Can't," he bit, lips and teeth still attacking whatever inch of your neck he could reach. "Can't wait. Been hard since you left." 

"Since I left?" you echoed, mind spinning until it clicked. "Wait, Jack—" 

He hummed in an answer. 

"Don't tell me you got hard because I told off Park in the ER." 

Jack stilled against you and sighed heavily. "Is it really surprising that I'm turned on because my incredibly hot wife knocked asshole Park the Shark down a couple of pegs while simultaneously singing my praises?" 

He pulled back enough that your eyes met his, the hazel hues already swimming with heat. Internally, you battled the pros and cons of having letting Jack continue, but obviously the pros definitely outweighed the cons, and he noticed the moment all fight drained out of you. 

"Fine," you gave in, "but you need to hurry before either you or I get paged, and you're left with blue balls for another four hours." 

"Hurry is my middle name," he quipped, facing going back in to mauling your neck. 

You rolled your eyes. "No it's Waynefucking jeez.," the comeback dying into a moan half-way up your throat. 

Jack's right hand rested against the length of your throat while his left danced along the waistline of your pants, fingers teasingly dipping below and toying with the hem of your underwear. He drew another gasp from your lips when he pushed his thigh up higher, the muscle nesting against your core. Taking your open mouth to his advantage, his hot, slick tongue dipped deep between your teeth and licked around. His chest rumbled in a moan at the taste of you. 

While he kept your mouth distracted, his hand went further down your underwear, knuckles brushing against your navel until his fingertips found exactly what they were looking for. He couldn't help but groan at the feeling of your wet, sticky arousal already pooling between your folds. 

"You're already so fucking wet. How long have you been like this, sweetheart?" he panted after pulling back. "Did you like putting big ole Park in his place while your husband watched? Cause I enjoyed every minute of it." 

To show his enjoyment, Jack thrusted up against your stomach, his hardness evident through his own pants. Your eyes widened at the size of his bulge, cunt clenching with the thought of him putting it right into you. You whimpered loudly into the air, head tilted back to rest against the wall. 

His pointer finger circled around your throbbing clit in soft, minuscule motions and drew pleasured breaths from your lungs. When you started rocking back and forth, he reached a bit lower before sinking two fingers into your sopping, fluttering hole. The thick and sudden intrusion had you whining. 

"Jack! Ooh-ohh-oooohhh," you sputtered as the tips of both fingers found your sweet spot with experience swiftness. Stars dotted your vision, and your stomach and thighs tightened. "Feels good shiittt." 

"Yeah?" Jack asked as his hips continued thrusting up into your center, the band in his gut drawing tighter. He could practically feel the clenching of your cunt around his throbbing length when you tightened around his fingers. "You close, sweetheart?" 

You nodded. "C-close. So, so, so, so close; you're gonna make me cum." 

Your words had Jack whimpering against your neck, eyes pinching closed to not blow his load prematurely. He needed to make you cum before even thinking of letting go himself. 

He withdrew his hand in order to push your scrubs and underwear down, giving him more room to thrust his fingers upward while thumbing at your clit. Without the extra layer, your slick arousal dripped down his hand and spotted his dark scrubs. 

"There we goooo," he drew out, words raspy between his gasps. "Soaking my hand and my pants, sweetheart." 

You were getting close, and your hips canted harder to meet his fingers. Your inner thighs clenched around his hand, and a high-pitched whine squeezed between your teeth. 

"I'm gonna cum!" you keened. "Gonna-gonna-shitfuckfuckfuckfuck! Jack!" 

Your stomach flipped as your walls clamped down tightly around Jack's fingers. To draw out your high, he continued to circle your bundle of nerves and shallowly push in his fingers. He, however, didn't stop grinding against you, and while you were focused on feeling every hot dip of pleasure from climax, Jack grunted twice before his hips stilled and his cum spilled from his leaking tip into his boxers, soaking though to stain his scrubs. 

You sighed dreamily and held Jack's wrist to stop his motions, your core becoming too sensitive for him to continue. Your chest heaved against Jack's, and he leaned back into languidly kiss at your mouth. 

"Never," you managed to get out between kisses. "Never thought my husband would have a competency kink. Learn something new every day." 

"Like I said: it was hot," he said. 

You smirked when he finally met his eyes. "Hot enough to make you cum in your pants, I guess. What are your doctors going to think when you go back down in different color scrubs than you had on before?" 

Jack laughed loudly. "I think Trinity will be too distracted because you are definitely her type, and it won't be the worst thing Ellis has ever seen." 

Heat flooded your cheeks at the remembering of the one time Parker caught you and Jack actually fucking in an on call room. She teased the two of you for months after you promised to help her out with getting a shot at a surgical fellowship. 

Once your pants were back in place, you smooshed close back into Jack's chest, cheek squished against his pec while his hands rubbed up and down your back in slow motions. Aftercare in a recovery room could never be the same as snuggles in bed, but Jack would be damned if he let you go without a little post-coital hugging and kissing.

You had just gotten his lips back on yours when the pager at his side buzzed to life. He pulled back with a groan.

"Duty calls."

"Duty always has the worst timing," you grumbled. "See you in four hours and then round two at home?"

Jack smirked and tapped the side of your ass. "Maybe I'll make sure Park comes back down so you can yell at him again."

You snorted, hand coming up to slap at your nose. "Your foreplay preferences are so weird. Maybe I should yell at you. I think you'd like that, Dr. Abbot."

With that, you slipped out the door and back into the empty hallway, leaving Jack in yet another blushy mess and length twitching at the thought of you talking down at him like you did for Park.

Round two was indeed going to be interesting.

Jack had sort of resigned himself to the idea that he wasn't gonna have a kid. He and his wife had been trying when he was younger, had more of a deep yearning for a family and been able to keep up with the kid. Then well he lost his wife and he sort of thought maybe it was the universe’s way of saying he’s not meant for a happy family, it’s okay he’s worked through this in therapy. 

Then in walked you, this pretty young thing who was a new night shift nurse and when you weren’t glued to Lena learning the in’s and out’s of the PTMC you were glued to Jack. You seemed drawn to him and from then on it he was gone for you. However you being young and quite fertile and being an insatiable bunny rabbit that never wants Jack to pull out and well…you get pregnant. It was kinda early on in your relationship and so you were a little scared that Jack didn’t want kids, he was in his late 40’s and didn’t already have one so you assumed he didn't want any and would leave you.

You cry and vent all this out to Jack, hormones and everything already running rampant when you tell him about the pregnancy and he is so so soft. He calms you down and proceeds to tell you about his wife and well now you're just a waterfall of tears. But after all the anxiety and crying, Jack is the absolute most cautious and gentle baby daddy ever.

Being the diligent doctor he is he has reminders set in his phone for you to take your prenatals, even if they go off when he’s at work he shoots you a quick text:

— prenatal time honey, gotta keep my two girls healthy! there’s some dinner for you two in the fridge by the way <3 

Now does Jack know yet if you’re having a girl? No but it’s how his heart feels is right to refer to you and the human being growing in your belly as. 

He also insists on you having the baby in the hospital, he’s not exactly opposed to a home birth I mean he is a doctor after all. He knows what to do but he’d rather you be around more than one medical professional in case anything goes awry, that poor old man can’t possibly handle losing the second love of his life and your baby.

Sammy Bryant —

Oh sweet sammy boy who wants to be a daddy so bad. He is beyond ecstatic when he walks into your shared bedroom after a long shift and is met with the little presentation you set up of a cute baby onesie, your positive pregnancy test, and a little bear on the bed. He’s not surprised I mean he did have you bent in the pro bone position, filling you up with load after load almost every night. He was very eager to make you a mommy and he is quite proud of himself.

Sammy’s favorite part of his days now consist of going on late night gas station runs for your odd pregnancy cravings and laying in bed with you discussing baby names, who’s eyes the baby will have, who’s nose, who’s feet (sammy swears it’ll be his)

He is practically beaming when you come into the station, belly all big as you grow his son or daughter and bring him his lunch he left at home. He is quickly up off his feet to bring you a chair to sit so he can dote on you and show off his pregnant beautiful wife a little. (sue him okay he’s a happy man) 

Somehow Sammy gets far more anal about your safety once you’re pregnant, no walking alone at night, you’re not allowed to pick up anything that Sammy deems too heavy, he’s just grateful there are no stairs in your house he’d probably have a heart attack at work worrying himself grey.

Pope Cody — 

Pope who deserves more than anybody to be a dad and boy do you deliver. You are just about as stubborn as Pope himself and even though you and him are dating and very clearly serious, when baz tells him no one would ever have a kid with him? Oh you’re happy to prove the bastard wrong, you are on Pope just about 24/7 after hearing that and you get pregnant shortly after. 

Pope, ever worried about you when you’re in pain, immediately notices when your morning sickness starts up and he’s witnessed Smurf pregnant enough that he runs out to buy 4 different pregnancy tests in the blink of an eye. He sits on the edge of the tub while you take each test, rubbing soothing circles on your knee with his thumb. His eyes instantly glaze over with tears when the two of you watch those 2 lines appear on all four of the tests. Pope kissing you as tears burst out of both of you. 

He is beyond protective about pregnant you, making you sit down when you get up to grab something saying he’ll get it for you, reminding you about vitamins and prenatals, making sure to always keep you hydrated even if you already pee just about every 10 damn minutes. 

Pope who can’t help the dopey smile on his face when near the end of your pregnancy he walks in the house to find Lena putting stickers on your round belly, writing out baby girl and decorating it with butterflies and hearts. He supposed it’s fate that he grew up in a house almost full of boys that his will be filled with all girls and he can’t complain he loves all 3 of his girls.

And Andrew Pope Cody who already couldn't get enough of you before you were carrying his kids becomes glued to you after. Hands groping at your body, telling you how gorgeous you are growing his baby, how good of a mama you’ll be and how proud of you he is. 

The air is thick.

The sound of the waves hitting the land is all you can hear from your beach house. It’s your only indication that this is real.

This is happening.

Pope stands in front of you, hands flexing ever so slightly at his sides. Like he’s debating just tackling you against the nearest wall or not. But you know he won’t. He’ll go at your speed tonight. That’s the only reason you’d let him inside in the first place.

Pope was a lot of things. A lover wasn’t one of them. Well.. Not yet anyways. You knew you could teach him.

Just like the first kiss and first date..

Your first time had been yesterday. In the locker room at the boxing hall. You’d been running late last night, and had missed a good chunk of his fight. He was grumpy while you patched up the gash on his right eyebrow. Quieter than usual. It let you know that he’d noticed your absence.

And he wasn’t happy.

You had apologized with words, but he’d only grumbled. So you apologized again with a kiss. It had quickly turned passionate though. You weren’t innocent. You had been dreaming of getting your nails deep into Pope’s broad shoulders since the first time you watched him fight.

But the way he had grabbed you..

He wasn’t wasting time.

He had switched spots with you, moving you to the examination table. He had roughly yanked at your belt and you realized rather quickly that.. He needed this.

It was more than sex for him in this moment. It was power. It was his way of showing you that you couldn’t ever leave him if he fucked you good enough. Like all he had of value to offer you was his cock.

You wonder who taught him that..

The orgasm had been intense though. But the aftermath… That was nothing. The two of you had to quickly redress before other members started getting suspicious on what the hell was taking the medic so long.

You had made it clear to him in the parking lot afterwards, even on shaky legs, that that didn’t count as a ‘first time’.

It had been too quick and his head had stayed on your shoulder the entire time. It’s as if he refused to look you in the eyes as he gave you those powerful deep thrusts. He barely moaned, biting back any sound as if it’d ruin the noises you’d been making.

He just stared on in confusion. Like he didn’t understand. Like he had thought he’d done everything right.

You had stormed off to your car without another word. He’d get it eventually.

And get it he did.

Because he was now standing in your living room, long fingers that you’ve eyed on more than one occasion twitching with anticipation.

You slowly step closer. He makes no move, afraid to mess up again. You gently cup his face with both hands, leaning up to kiss him slow and tender, taking your time with his lips. His hands timidly grab at your wrists as he kisses back. You soon pull back for air, looking up at him with gentle eyes.

“You’re so beautiful, Andrew…” You whisper as you let your hands trail into his curls. He freezes at the word. ‘beautiful’. Not strong, not dangerous, not intimidating.

Beautiful..

His expression is unreadable as he forces his eyes to stay on you. It’s like he doesn’t know what to say. But your fingers in his hair betray his stiff demeanor. A soft sound escapes his throat, almost like a shaky sigh. His hands slide from your wrists and to your arms, rubbing his rough palms against your soft skin..

You pant shakily and lean in closer, your lips brushing against his. “Take off your clothes. And your underwear…” You whisper against his lips, eyes staying on his to assure him that you had him now. And he was safe here. In your home.

With you.

His eyes darken at your command. He stands there for a moment, as if your words aren’t real. But when it fully clicks, he backs away quickly in order to hastily remove his shirt before then working on his belt with trembling fingers. You watch on with a soft smile, shaking your head slightly at how his movements are always so quick and slightly aggressive. He shoves his pants to the floor, standing in just his boxers now. You smile softly at the pattern. Dark navy with sharks.

A ‘just because’ gift you’d surprised him with about two or so weeks ago.

“The underwear too, Andrew..” You whisper tenderly, nodding at him so he knows it’s okay and that you two have all night. You just wanted him to know what it’s like to be in the moment. He watches you before slowly dropping his boxers too. He's semi-hard against his thigh already. You bite your lip.

He looks so… Vulnerable.

Slowly, you step closer to the now naked man that’s standing in your living room. You gently rub his chest as you look up at him. He watches you with a shiver you know he’s tried his hardest to stiffen.

You can’t help but feel his toned chest. He’s always run hot, and right now, his skin feels like an oven. “Touch yourself…” You whisper without much thought. Your tone isn’t demanding. But instructive.

“Y/N..” He breathes out, a blush seeping along his face and neck. You smile softly. God, he’s gorgeous. You slip a hand down his chest and toned abdomen, slowly sliding it towards his arm. You wrap your hand around his wrist and move it towards his hanging cock.

He swallows hard, his hand moving with yours and softly wrapping around his length. “I wanna see you..” You whisper. He had kept that privilege away from you last night. He’d hid his face, bit back his moans. You wanna see him.

All of him.

He watches you as he strokes himself slowly, jaw tight as his thumb brushes along the bead of moisture growing at his tip to use as lube.

His eyes flutter but he forces them to stay open. His face twitches with pleasure, but he tries to quickly push it under the surface. As if he wanted to remain stone-faced.

And yet as your hand reaches up to touch his cheek, you see it in his eyes.

Adoration.

No. No, it’s way more intense than that.

Devotion.

No. That’s still not it. It’s way more emotional than that.

Love.

It’s pure love.

He's completely exposed in front of you, and your hand seems to be the assurance he needs to begin panting ever so quietly. Shakily.

“You’re so perfect..” You whisper as you watch him. Your heart was pounding in your chest and just watching him is enough to get you going. You could feel it. You press your thighs together. This isn’t about you. Not right now..

His breath catches sharply in his throat, his hand faltering on his cock but his hips stutter a bit, pumping his member once in his fisted grasp. It’s clear he’s stopped to try and regain some semblance of a clear and coherent thought. But you’d rather that head of his stay blank…

“Keep going..” You encourage quietly as he pants a bit more outwardly now. It’s as if being watched by you was ever so slowly stripping him bare.

He moves his hand again, deep red spreads across his cheeks and his chest, his eyelids flutter shut as your praise sinks into his skin. All you can think as you watch him is…

God, he deserves to be worshipped.

He moans quietly. Like he can’t help himself, and you shiver softly. ‘He’s already… Perfectly ruined’ you think to yourself..

You slowly move closer, hand still on his cheek as you lean in to kiss him, but your lips end up just hovering over his. You’re addicted to the feeling of his breath mangling with yours.

He whines quietly, a broken, desperate sound that goes straight against who he is. Who he’s been taught to be. Especially in the bedroom. Your hand moves around to tangle your fingers into his curls, holding his head still so he’s forced to feel your lips brush along him but he can’t move in to capture your lips.

“Such a pretty sound..” You whisper against his lips as he opens his eyes again to look at you. His hand moves around his cock, becoming messy and unrhythmic, chasing pleasure while his eyes stay focused on your mouth.

You softly shake your head. “Slow…” You whisper as a reminder. You want him in the moment. Not in his head.

Last night, he fucked you like he didn’t want you to leave. Deep down, you knew every thrust was just desperation. A twisted way of saying: ‘see? I can be good’.

You being late had set him off, had made him spiral mentally. Thinking you no longer saw interest in him.

But that’s not true at all. You wanted to see him. The real him.

He grunts quietly but swallows hard as he does what you say. Who knew the Pope Cody liked to take orders?

Actually, you’d read somewhere that a lot of individuals who are on the spectrum really like BDSM. It’s clear instructions, a precise routine. With that in the back of your mind, it all seemed to.. Make sense.

He's absolutely desperate for contact by the fifth pump of his fist, leaning forward, trying to bridge the gap between your mouths despite the grip you have on his hair.

“Not yet..” You whisper against his lips as he quietly chokes on a breath, his forehead pressing hard against yours, eyes shutting now.

"Please.." He breathes, voice wrecked. "So fucking hard.." His hand doesn't stop moving, grip getting a bit tighter but he keeps the same pace. He's leaking all over his hand which is making a noise that’s music to your ears.

He’s completely undone, trembling because you're withholding a kiss he's starving for.

“Is it throbbing?” You whisper against his lips, keeping your tone soft.

He groans. It’s a deep, guttural sound of pure torture. He nods frantically, not taking his eyes off you now. “Yes..” He breathes out, voice desperate.

"Fucking… Pulsing...” He manages to gasp out. “It’s fucking throbbing for you." He shivers quietly. His body is a live wire right now. He stands in front of you, made up of strained muscle and an ache to finally kiss you.

“Getting too rough again..” You note as you stroke his hair. “Touch yourself… The way you want me to touch you..” You whisper against his lips. He sucks in a sharp breath, eyes fluttering shut once more.

His hand changes rhythm this time as he gets lost in his need. Slower, firmer, more sensual.

You watch as he slides his hand all the way to the base. He squeezes just right before he strokes up with a twist at the top that makes his entire body jerk.

He's showing you exactly how he likes it. How he fantasizes about your hands on him.

“You’re leaking all over the place, Andrew…” You tease quietly against his lips.

"God.” He moans out, his voice shaky. He looks down between your bodies, seeing the mess he's making. Pre-cum is slicking his hand, dripping down his length.

You see the look on his face. He finds it humiliating and overwhelming all at once. You kiss the corner of his lips as a silent assurance. His hips jerk involuntarily, his hand moving desperately.

"I can't stop it.” He groans, cheeks flushed a dark red now. "I just..." He’s cut off by another moan quietly against your lips as breaths tangle together.

You slip your lips towards his ear, tugging gently at the hair that’s on the nape of his neck. The quiet moan from you so close to his ear sends a jolt through him so intense his entire body tenses.

His hand tightens around himself, moving faster now, rougher. Your breath and moans against his ear… It's all driving him insane.

“Are you gonna cum?” You whisper against his ear. He nods, franticly.

"Words, beautiful boy. Use your words…” You whisper as you pull back a bit. His knees buckle slightly.

“Yes…” He hisses, his body trembling more. "I'm so close. So fucking close to... Fuck.." His hand moves furiously, his hips bucking upward into his fist now.

“Where do you wanna cum?” You whisper, feeling the space between your thighs throb when you watch the faces he makes..

"Your mouth..” He pants immediately, desperately. "Please... Need… Fucking mouth. Wanna cum down your throat..." He begs as he looks at you. His eyes are watery. He’s beginning to tear up from this overwhelming feeling..

With a soft stroke of your thumb across his upper cheek bone, you slowly begin licking along his body. It starts off ever so sensually, working yourself from his neck to lower down. You slowly kneel in front of him, tongue licking along his thigh and then his pelvic area as your hand moves to rest on his chest, over his heart. Your free hand gently grips his cock now. It’s as hard as a rock.

He gasps, his head rolling back. His hand immediately stalls on his length, moving away to give you full access. His cock pulses right in front of your face with intense need. You grab it by the base, starting slow with kisses all along his length, but soon, you begin to actually swirl your tongue along the tip, wrapping your lips fully around it.

It doesn’t take all that much though. In fact, the first touch of your mouth wrapping around his length is like a shot of relief. And when you actually start to work along his member? He’s a crying mess, his hips rocking only a bit, in need of relief.

You barely have to take him all the way, not that you could, before he's unraveling. Pope comes undone with a sudden and broken cry.

You swallow the cum while you look up at him. You frown softly as you see his eyes.

He’s shattered.

His chest heaves violently, sweat sticking to his skin just like his sins. “Hey. Andrew..” You whisper as you get up. You gently move him to the couch and then sit on his lap so you can hold him. He rests his head on your chest, mind obviously still reeling.

“I never.. Knew it could feel that good..” He whisper, and the confession breaks your heart as you stroke his curls.

“That was so good. You did so good..” You praise gently as you rest your chin on the top of his head now.

He says nothing for a while, obviously utterly wrecked, stripped of every defense, and whispering a broken, "Holy fuck." as you move to lay him back on the couch so you can lay fully on him.

“Wait. No. Now you..-“ Pope tries when you grab the throw blanket over the couch to cover you both with it. You cut him off.

“I wanted to see you. That’s all I wanted tonight..” You assure quietly.

“No. No, I can-“ You gently kiss him. He slips into the affection, not caring at all the he can taste himself on your tongue.

“You did. So good..” You whisper yet again to assure him that he didn’t need to fuck you roughly to make you happy and make you stay.

He watches you in awe, his hands slowly moving to your back to lazily rub. “I love you…” He whispers finally and you’re stunned for a moment.

You can’t say exactly why. You figured he had. You and Pope had officially been dating for five months now. And there was just certain things he trusted you to do that no one else had the privilege of getting. Like.. Patching him up, or… Hanging around with Lena. But this.. To actually hear it? That was a whole new level for you two.

“Andrew…” You whisper as you finally look up at him only to have him kiss you deeply.

It's slow and thorough, unlike any kiss you’ve ever given or received.

When you pull back slightly, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing more even now. “I love you.” You say back gently.

“Should I even question this?”

The question is playful. Mostly just to break the silence as Y/N works on the small cuts all over Pope’s forearm. He sits at her kitchen table with his back straight and shoulders squared, his eyes zeroed in on the way she works on him.

“I wouldn’t…” He mutters. It’s not a threat or a warning. Just a casual two words that leave his lips and make Y/N smile a bit.

“Noted..” She whispers as she picks out the last piece of glass from his forearm. She then looks up at him. “All done. You deserve a lollipop..” She teases a bit as she uses gauze to now wrap his forearm up.

Pope shifts slightly in his chair as he watches Y/N, eyebrows raised. “Really?” He asks quietly.

“Mm-Hm. If only I had some.” She shrugs, smiling a bit more as she finishes the wrapping, leaning back in her chair now. “Would you settle for coffee instead? Maybe some dinner?” She offers.

“I like dinner.” Pope nods before mentally kicking himself.

What kind of response was that?!

“I’m more of a breakfast girlie..” Y/N says playfully, unfazed by his natural awkwardness. It’s why he liked her. Why he liked being here.

Pope never felt exhausted until he was here in Y/N’s one bedroom apartment with her. It was as if his body could drop down its guard. It’s act. His ‘I’m normal’ mask wasn’t on in this moment, and it seemed like Y/N wasn’t put off by what she saw underneath it all.

She didn’t see ‘Pope Cody’, the muscle of the Cody crime family. She saw Andrew. The guy who showed up every first of the month to collect rent, and sit with her for hours afterwards to just talk and eat.

“I made pasta..” She trails off to think about it. “Yesterday.” She states when she settles on the timeline. She’s felt up in the air these past two months, and the days all blended together for her..

As she packs up her first aid kit, she notices Pope shift a bit in his seat at the mention of pasta, looking down at his hands as he rubs his palms against his jeans.

Y/N takes note of his silence. Pope is a silent man by nature, but whenever a topic comes up that he dislikes, the silence turns more.. Tense. Y/N has come to understand his different types of silence.

He doesn’t like pasta.

Y/N had a hunch he suffers heavily from ARFID, and if so, his silence right now made sense. “Or we can go out.” She shrugs, acting casual about it. “The Moonlight Diner? They’re still having that pancake deal..” She points out.

“You want pancakes?” Pope asks carefully now, voice soft as he eyes Y/N. She chuckles at his undertone. He’d only agree if it wasn’t a bother to her.

“I could go for a short stack.” She nods as she puts the first aid kit away in her hallway bathroom.

It was 10:23pm, and Pope knew deep down that his business here should end now that he’s all cleaned up. But that would mean being alone. Alone in a silence that wasn’t as beautiful as the one Y/N brought with her.

Elbowing through a car window earlier this morning had gotten him some props, mostly from Craig, but it had cut up his arm pretty good. And there was only one person he trusted to make it better.

Y/N walks out of the bathroom and over to the front door rack to grab her jacket. Pope sits there, still at the kitchen table, still in his head as he watches her move.

Pope got by on people watching. Mostly to study how they’d move. Usually, it was with judgment. Rarely did he watch them with… The same feeling that had settled in his chest when he was six years old, watching ducks swim in a pond after he’d been left at the local park for about three hours one afternoon.

That’s how Y/N moved..

“You ready?” She asks as she slips the jacket on. Only then does Pope get up from the kitchen table, walking out with her on to the street in front of the apartment complex he’s become grateful Baz talked Smurf into getting.

The walk to the 24 hour diner a few blocks away is quiet. Peaceful. Pope keeps his hands in his front pockets because if they aren’t, he might brush his hand against Y/N’s.

And he doesn’t want to startle her..

“The stars are real bright tonight..” Y/N says after a moment. Pope hums softly. He’s had people in the past try and break the silence he brings with him just to get out of how awkward it all felt. He’s also had people use his presence as just a humanoid journal of sorts. Talking at him instead of to him.

But whenever Y/N spoke, it just felt natural. Pope assumed this was what it felt to be… Normal. He liked it. “Yeah. Real nice..” He says, not looking though. They couldn’t be as pretty as her.

“Humor me…” Y/N giggles, lightly nudging his arm with hers. Pope takes note of that. He takes note of everything. Files it away to think about later…

Y/N gets in front of him, stopping him from walking. He almost bumps into her. She looks up at him with a soft chuckle, pointing towards the sky for him to actually look. Pope slowly follows her finger, staring up at the vast night sky. It makes him feel… Small. Which is odd, because Pope hasn’t felt small since.. Well, since he was small. But it doesn’t scare him.

“I bet it’d take an entire lifetime to count them all..” Y/N notes quietly as she looks up at them too. With Pope, she could usually just say the first random thing that popped into her mind, and know she’ll be met with genuine acknowledgment instead of… A look of judgment.

It felt nice.

Pope watches her face as she continues gazing up at the starry sky. It’s at that moment that he realizes if he could do anything in life, he’d keep the sun down for as long as possible, until Y/N counted every single star. Looking back towards him, she smiles a bit at how he’s already looking at her.

“What?” She asks.

“Nothing…” He says slowly. She hums and backs away before nodding at him.

“Come on…” She says gently. He falls back into step with her…

*

*

*

The pancakes were burnt at the edges. The coffee a bit watery. The red and white color scheme of the diner was outdated by a few decades, but Pope isn’t here for any of that. The company is what keeps him in the leather booth.

The conversation carries him from his own mind. The playful debate on which topping is better for pancakes, syrup or whip cream, puts a soft grin on his face that seems to only be common whenever Y/N is around.

After the late night breakfast, the two begin walking back to the apartment. Pope feels clean as he listens to Y/N talk more..

Being around Y/N made him feel clean..

Her steps pause right as they turn the corner to her apartment complex though, voice cutting out and eyes going to a specific car parked out front. She slowly holds herself.

“What?” Pope asks, telling instantly that she’s no longer happy.

“Nothing. Just… Wanna head inside..” She mutters. His eyes go straight to the car. A black Toyota.

“Who’s that?” He asks bluntly, not beating around the bush. That car has ruined Y/N’s mood. And Pope can’t have that.

Y/N sighs as if that’s a loaded question. “That’s… It’s no one..” She assures. Pope eyes her longer before turning back to the car. He starts to walk towards it, and Y/N freezes a bit at his stride towards the vehicle.

“Andrew!” She tries. The car starts up in that moment, peeling out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell. Pope watches it speed off.

When he turns back to face Y/N again, she looks nervous. Scared

Fuck.

He scared her…

He opens his mouth, as if wanting to say something, but what can he say?

“I’ll be back next week.” He settles on, gruffly before turning back to his car. Might as well close that door before Y/N can..

“Andrew.” Y/N calls out to him, but he keeps walking…

That night, Pope lays in his bed. He’s trapped with his two worst enemies. His thoughts and the silence. Subtly, he begins to rub his left thumb as he thinks about Y/N. There’s a mark there. Faint, but a reminder.

It makes him think back to when he was six. Left at that park all alone for three hours with nothing but ducks to watch. And something about how they glided along the pond water kept him seated.

He remembers seeing an old lady toss bread into the water for the ducks to feast on. He remembers the lady noticing him and giving him the rest of her bread. She told him to only give them small pieces. Too much would hurt them. Pope took that advice seriously. Only tiny pieces.

He’d gotten an idea though. He wanted to hold one. So he made a trail from the pond to where he would sit and wait. A young looking duck would follow the trail, much to his excitement.

Pope lays in bed, remembering how fast he’d reached for the duck, wanting to cradle it, wanting to take it home. Only for the duck to freak out. It bit him and ran away.

With a soft frown, he remembers when Smurf finally got back to the park and found him cradling his bleeding finger. With held back tears, he tried explaining what happened to his mother.

She shook her head at him. ‘What made you think that would work out, hm?’ She’d asked with a held back laugh.

‘They were just pretty..’ He had tried to defend.

‘That’ll teach you. Don’t bother pretty things.’

Those words.

He should’ve kept them in mind when he first met Y/N. When his brain first made the connection between her and those damn ducks. And now he lays here, rubbing the small scar at the base of his thumb.

That’ll teach him…

*

*

*

Y/N stares at herself in the mirror. This was her fifth hairstyle idea, and it didn’t feel right. She wanted something that looked casual but still… Might get Pope’s attention.

He’d be over soon for the rent, and she hoped that he’d stay a little longer. Maybe give her a chance to explain all she’d been juggling with.

She sighs when she hears a knock on her front door.

Here goes nothing…

Walking over to the door, she opens without checking.

So stupid…

Nick smirks at her, making her stiffen.

Fuck.

“No.” Leaves her mouth without her even having to think about it. It’s like an automated response. She tries to close the door only to have his foot get in the way.

“What? What’s the rush? You got company still?” Nick snarls as he shoves the door open again, making Y/N stumble back a bit.

“I’ll call the cops! You know you’re not supposed to be here!” Y/N threatens keeping her voice strong. She doesn’t wanna give this weirdo the pleasure of knowing she’s scared.

But, god, is she scared…

“I wanna talk. Why are you being so goddamn difficult?!” He snaps as he stands in her doorway now. She’s in a studio apartment where the only door that locks is the bathroom, and the only room with a window is her bedroom.

Plus, she’s on the second floor. Still, she debates if she can make it to the room and out the window before he can grab her.

Nick was the reason these past two months have felt like walking through clouds! He was a coworker of hers at the hospital who’d grown unhealthily attached to her. He’d gone from being a ‘nice guy’ who she should ‘give a chance to’, to being a damn nightmare.

What started as a constant nagging at work, quickly turned into him just showing up to places she was at. Stores, parties, restaurants. When she realized he was starting to stake out her apartment at night, she finally let the cops in on this mess only to be told that they technically couldn’t do anything.

Even at work, her boss had just simply moved Nick from the ED to triage. But no other stops were put into place.

“Get the hell out of here!” Y/N snaps. No one was gonna be strong for her. It was just another thing in life that she’d have to do for herself.

“You said you had no time to date..” Nick points out, tone smug like he’d caught her in some lie. She stares at him like he’s crazy.

Because he is!

He’d completely bypassed her original statement because he just loved hearing himself talk..

“What?!” Y/N asks in astonishment.

“You said you didn’t have time to date. That’s why you couldn’t date me. But you have time to go eat at the diner with some guy?!” Nick accuses, as if he’d caught her cheating. Y/N is shocked at his delusion.

“And?!” She practically screams before steeling her nerves. “Leave! Now, Nick!” She orders as she steps closer, thinking she can probably intimidate him. He glares hard at her, moving to lunge for her. She screams, flinching away with her arms out when she hears a thud.

For a second, she doesn’t know what’s happening until she fully takes in the scene before her. Nick groans as he leans over her couch’s arm, trying to get his bearing together again after having been punched on the side of his head by Pope.

She blinks away the tears, adrenaline still bumping and making her heart race as Pope walks over and grabs up Nick by his collar before he can fully get up.

“You didn’t hear her?” Pope growls as Y/N shakes a bit, watching this all unfold. Nick tries fighting against Pope’s grip, but it’s like iron.

“Hm?! You didn’t hear?!” Pope shouts as he grabs Nick up fully. Y/N jumps a bit. She’s never seen eyes get that dark.

They’re almost black...

Nick struggles against him, trying to yell for him to let go, that he’ll leave, but that’s not good enough for Pope. “I’ll make sure you fucking hear her..” He mutters darkly as he drags Nick outside. Nick’s feet drag a bit. He can barely keep his footing, but it doesn’t halt Pope in any way.

Y/N rushes to the doorway of her apartment, covering her mouth in horror when she sees Pope lift Nick up effortlessly to dangle his upper half off the edge of the railing. They were a good 12 or so feet from the ground, and Nick begins kicking his feet, hands gripping Pope’s wrists as he starts to beg and plead with him.

“I’m leaving! I’m leaving!” He tries urgently between wheezes of fear, and Y/N has a split second where she realizes just how.. Small the man who’s been terrorizing for two months straight actually looks…

“Andrew!” She says as she comes back to the reality at hand. Pope’s expression is calm. Unreadable. He’s staring right into Nick’s eyes, right into his panic…

“Andrew..” She pants, feeling her stomach twist and her heart leap when she sees just how close Nick is to getting dropped over the railing.

She grabs his tense shoulders, trying to break him from this. “Andrew, let go..” She whispers nervously. The corner of Pope’s lips twitch into a sick smirk as he starts to loosen his grip.

“No! No, no, no!” Nick screams. “Different words! Fuck! Y/N, Different words!” Nick practically screeches in alarm. Y/N bites back a scream of her own, grabbing Pope’s face and making him look at her instead.

“I’m safe.” She says without thinking. She doesn’t know if that’ll work. If those two words will register to Pope right now, but she has to try something. He blinks slowly as Y/N sniffles.

“You hear me? Hm? I’m safe..” She rambles out fast as she holds his face firmer. “Let him leave.” She begs quietly. Pope clenches his jaw, but slowly, he begins pulling Nick back on to the solid second floor landing. Nick’s legs almost give out when Pope lets go of him, but he pushes himself to start scrambling for the stairs so he can leave.

Pope watches on with no expression on his face before he whistles lowly. Nick looks over at him, tears still rolling down his cheeks as he swallows.

“The next time I see your face…” Pope begins quietly, voice rough. “They won’t find your body..” He mutters as he watches the man tremble slightly. He turns and runs, leaving Y/N and Pope behind…

Y/N stares in shock as Nick gets back in his car and speeds away. Was that it? Was it over? She shakes slightly as she lets her eyes wonder all around, as if trying to figure out what to do with herself now.

That’s when she notices the blood.

Nick must’ve scratched the hell out of Pope’s hands and wrists in the midst of his panic. Y/N doesn’t think twice. She gently leads Pope into her apartment…

*

*

*

This was Deja vu at its finest.

The silence between the two is thick, sure, but… Not ‘off’. Just.. Raw. Tender.

“All done..” Y/N whispers as she sits back from cleaning and bandaging the really bad cuts on Pope’s hands. “You… Deserve a lollipop..” She mumbles quietly, halfheartedly trying to joke. If anything, it was to show Pope that even after all of this.. She still didn’t see him as.. A threat.

She wasn’t dense. She knew who owned this building. She knew the reason why no one came out of their apartments earlier to see what all the screaming was about. She knew who really sat in her kitchen.

But it wasn’t the same man who looked back at her right now..

“Really?” Pope whispers back after a moment of just watching her with shamed eyes.

“Mm-Hm. But… I still don’t have any..” She mutters, giving him a playful sheepish look back. He cracks a little grin. She gets up and packs away the first aid supplies, walking it over to its usual spot.

She then walks to the bedroom afterwards and grabs the envelope of rent money that’s in her nightstand drawer. Walking back out to the kitchen, she sees Pope still sat. Still looking down.

She silently sets down the envelope. “Thank you..” She says gently. Pope doesn’t look at her. She slowly steps back and watches as he doesn’t seem to react to the money being right in front of him either. She softly holds herself as he looks at his hands. Specially, at his left thumb..

“Can I stay?” He whispers finally. Y/N pauses. His voice is so faint she almost can’t make out what he said..

“What?” She asks. He finally looks up at her.

“If I promise to protect you…” He trails off, looking her in the eyes. His brown orbs resemble a stray dog. “Can I stay?” He whispers.

Y/N blinks in surprise. She opens her mouth, but he shakes his head. “Because… I..” His voice cracks a bit.

“Andrew..” She begins quietly, but he quickly finds his voice again.

“I can be good. I can be good..” He repeats quietly as he leans closer, looking at her as his hands find her hips. The way he looks up at her mirrors worship.

“Andrew..” She whispers. “You are good-“ He cuts her off before she can assure him.

“I can be useful. If you let me stay, I can.. I’ll be good-“ She finally cups his face with both hands so he has no choice but to focus on her.

“You can stay…” She whispers with a nod. “You can stay…” She repeats quietly as he slowly stands up now, looking down at her instead. She doesn’t know which she liked better…

“You can stay…” She mutters quietly as she pulls his face close to finally do the thing she’s been dying to do these past four months…

His grip tightens, yanking her close as he gets lost in a kiss she leads before he picks her up effortlessly.

“I’ll be good…” He mumbles against her lips, voice desperate to please as she shivers, wrapping her legs around him so he can carry her straight to that bedroom…

No, I don't think he's a virgin...but I don't think the man is getting laid unless he's paid for it in one way or another...like the man has gone to a brothel or two...and he's had hook ups with women who are only taking him to bed because he's given them some material item...I fully believe he's either paid for sex or has had the occasional sugar baby.

The man has never had a sexual partner who wasn't participating because she just wanted him...there's always a catch.

If he did hook up with someone who is on the same level with him social class wise, I don't feel like he's had partners who are totally falling into bed with him out of a desire for intimacy. If he's had an equally social class sexual partner, then they are less than impressed by him and honestly can't be trusted. If they slept with him, they had ulterior motivations,

So, yeah desperate touch starved pathetic Titus Danforth. Titus who is so smug and petulant not wanting to admit that he wouldn't know what to do with a woman who he wasn't paying for or didn't want something from him.

Titus who would genuinely blush and get flustered if a woman actually genuinely wanted to get with him.

Titus who if he married would talk big game about his wedding night but would be an absolutely awkward disaster when it came down to consummating anything. He better hope his new wife realizes that he's too proud to acknowledge his lack of real experience...like she'd have to teach him how to actually please her.

you lean in, your lips brushing his ear. "you're so tense, baby," you whisper, your voice sacchrine sweet. "something bothering you?"

his jaw ticks. that's all. but it's enough.

you smile against his skin and let your hand slide higher. from here, no one can see a thing. perfectly disguised, hands are out of sight. the council members oblivious, still nodding along.

the meeting drones on. someone's talking about bloodline purity, another about the autumn equinox ritual— but you're not listening. you're too focused on the way Titus's breath catches when your fingers brush over the front of his slacks.

nothing.

you press harder, your palm flat against him, and still... nothing.

"hmm," you hum softly, just loud enough for him to hear. "that's unfortunate."

then you feel it. the faintest twitch. the beginning of something straining against the fabric, desperate and failing all at once.

his hand shoots down, gripping your wrist hard enough to bruise. his eyes don't leave the speaker, but you see the way his ears flush pink, then red, now creeping down his neck. his breathing turns shallow and ragged. "stop," he whispers, jaw tightening.

"stop what?" you ask innocently, your fingers curling around the pathetic half-hardness beneath your palm. "i'm just checking on you. making sure you're... functional."

his grip tightens. you feel his pulse hammering against your wrist. "i said stop." it comes out breathy, almost a whimper.

but you don't. you lean in closer, your lips brushing his jaw, and you feel the heat radiating off his skin. he's sweating. "what's wrong, Titus?" you whisper. "can't get it up in front of all these people? that's so fucking pathetic."

his entire body goes rigid. his cock twitches against your hand—harder now, straining, but still not enough, not nearly enough. a strangled sound catches in his throat. he clears his throat to cover the noise. no one notices.

you feel the shift with the way his composure cracks. his breathing turns ragged, pupils blown wide when his eyes finally flick to yours. he's furious, humiliated. and god—he's so fucking turned on. it's written all over his helpless face.

"you're playing a dangerous game," he mutters, his voice strained and low.

"am i?" your grip tightens around him, still soft in your hand. "i think you like it. i think you like me calling you out for being a limp-dicked failure."

his eyes burn into yours, dark and wild. a barely audible whimper leaves his lips. "you have no idea what you're doing," he warns, but it sounds threatened, almost bratty.

"don't i?" you tilt your head, you smile cruelly. "you're sitting here, desperate for me, your cock trying so hard to get up, but your pathetic body won't cooperate. always on top of everything, on top of the world... but you can't even get hard for your girlfriend..." you're pushing it now. his hand is still gripping your wrist under the table, knuckles white, trembling.

"stop talking. now." he begs, his voice rough.

"why?" you lean in again, your voice dropping to a vicious whisper. "does it make it worse? knowing i can feel how badly you want me... how your cock is twitching and leaking in your pants... but you still can't get it up?"

he makes a sound—low and stifled, somewhere between a growl and a whimper. his hips shift slightly in his seat, seeking friction. it's the most delicious thing you've ever heard.

"poor baby," you coo, your free hand coming up to stroke his burning cheek. "all that Danforth power, all that terrifying control, and you can't even get it up. so fucking pathetic. truly it's disgusting."

"shut up," he says, and his voice drops to something cold. the whimper is gone. in its place is pure, controlled fury. his composure snaps back into place like a switch flipping—his head turning slightly, eyes dark and predatory fixed on you. suddenly, he's not the desperate man from moments ago. he's the Titus everyone fears.

his cock is harder now. you can see the outline straining against his slacks, the wet spot forming where he's leaking. his breath steadies, "you have no idea what you just did."

lacking self-preservation, you don't hesitate. you press your lips to his ear again, your voice dripping with venom. "yeah? and what would they think if they knew? the great Titus Danforth, brought to his knees by this. needing his girlfriend to degrade him just to get half-hard."

you pause, letting it sink in. then you deliver the killing blow:

"maybe i should find someone who can actually fuck me properly. someone who's cock works without needing me to tell him what a pathetic, broken little boy he is."

that does it.

he straightens his shoulders, his hand releasing your wrist and moves to your thigh, grabbing hard enough to make you gasp. his lips part, ears still burning red. he's panting, shaking with rage and humiliation.

"you're going to regret that," he snarls, his voice low and dangerous.

"am i?" you grin, leaning back in your chair. "prove it. if you can even manage."

for a moment, he just stares at you. his chest is heaving, jaw clenched so tight you think he might crack a tooth. sweat beads at his temples as his cock is visibly hard now, straining obscenely against his slacks.

the meeting continues around you, blind to the storm brewing between you.

and then he moves. he stands abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. every head in the room turns toward him.

"excuse us," he says, his voice clipped despite the flush still burning across his skin. "we need to step out for a moment."

before anyone can respond, his hand snatches your wrist, yanking you to your feet. you barely have time to register what's happening before he's dragging you toward the door.

"Titus—" you start, but he cuts you off with a look that makes your stomach flip.

"not. a. fucking. word." he pulls you through the corridor, his grip punishing as he relentlessly hauls you out. you stumble to keep up, your heart pounding in your chest. he doesn't stop until he reaches a door at the end of the hall—some kind of private study or sitting room.

he kicks the door open, now letting go. he turns and pushes you inside with a hard shove, knocking you off balance. he slams the door behind you, locking it. then he turns to face you.

"you think that was funny?" his voice is low, vibrating with barely-contained violence. "you think humiliating me in front of my family is a game?"

you open your mouth to respond, but he's on you before you can get a word out. his hand wraps around your throat tight, cutting off your air as he slams you back against the wall.

"you wanted to see if i could get hard?" he rasps, his face now inches from yours. "you wanted to mock me? call me pathetic? weak?"

his other hand is already yanking up your dress, shoving your panties aside roughly. his fingers slide between your legs, and he groans when he feels how wet you are.

"fuck," he breathes, his grip on your throat tightening. "you're fucking soaked. you got off on that, didn't you? degrading me like that? you sick little cunt."

"yes," you gasp against his grip.

"of course you did." his fingers push inside you, scissoring and clawing at you "you're nothing but a depraved little whore. my depraved little whore."

he fucks you with his fingers, hard and fast, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing vicious circles. you're already close, your body wound so tight from the teasing that it doesn't take much.

"open your mouth," he commands suddenly.

you obey. he spits directly into it.

"swallow."

you do, and he groans. "good girl. that's all you are, isn't it? a set of holes for me to use."

you're lost in the sensation, in the control and power. the difference making you dizzy. all you can manage it to nod, as you're helplessly brought closer and closer to the band in your belly snapping.

"come," he orders. "right fucking now."

and you do. you come hard, your body convulsing against his hand, your nails digging into his shoulders. he doesn't stop. he keeps going, pushing you through it, overstimulating you until you're whimpering and trying to push his hand away.

"no," he says firmly, his hand tightening on your throat. "you don't get to tap out. not after what you just did. you're going to take everything i give you like the fuck toy you are."

"Titus—!"

"shut the fuck up." his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. "you wanted to push me? fine. let's see how much you can take when i'm using you like the property you are."

he makes you come again. and again. by the third orgasm, you're sobbing, your legs shaking so badly you can barely stand. he finally pulls his fingers out and shoves them in your mouth.

"suck," he commands. "taste yourself. taste what a desperate slut you are for me."

you suck his fingers clean, and he finally releases your throat. you slump against the wall, gasping for air.

"look at me," he commands.

you force your eyes open, and what you see makes your breath catch.

he's rock hard now—thick and straining against his slacks, a wet spot visible where he's been leaking. his grin wide, a man turned completely unhinged.

"see that?" he says, his voice rough. "you did that. all that teasing, all that humiliation— it worked. you got me hard by degrading me. you happy now, you sick bitch?"

you nod, unable to form words.

"good." he unbuckles his belt, his hands work fast and rushed. "because now i'm going to fuck you until you can't walk— until the only thing you remember is that you're mine. my worthless little cumdump."

he pulls his cock out, the sight of it makes your mouth water. he's thick and perfect, and you want him so badly it hurts.

"turn around," he orders. "face the fucking wall."

you obey, your hands bracing against the wall. he kicks your legs apart roughly, grabs your hips hard enough to bruise, and thrusts into you in one brutal stroke. you scream. he doesn't wait for you to accommodate, doesn't wait for you to adjust.

one hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back hard. before you can process the movement, his teeth sink into the soft skin of your neck. he bites down rough, causing you to cry out. he sucks hard, leaving a dark bruise blooming across your skin.

"that's it," he growls against your neck, his breath hot on your skin. "let them hear you. let them know exactly what i'm doing to you. let them know you're a whore."

he releases your neck only to slam your face against the wall, his hips driving into you relentlessly. he fucks you hard and deep, each thrust making you gasp. you're still so sensitive from the orgasms he forced out of you that every movement feels like too much and not enough all at once.

"say it," he demands, yanking your head back by your hair again. his teeth find your neck once more, and bites down, sucking another dark mark into your skin. "say you're my whore."

"i'm your whore," you gasp.

"say you're a worthless cumdump who only exists for my cock."

"i'm a worthless cumdump— fuck— i only exist for your cock—"

"that's right." his hand slides from your hair to your throat, squeezing, cutting off your oxygen. his lips brush against the fresh hickies on your neck. "you're mine. my girl. my fucking property. just here for me to use however i want."

you come again, your body clenching around him. he groans.

"fuck— yes— that's it—" his thrusts turn erratic, desperate. "gonna fill you up. gonna pump you so full of my cum you'll be leaking for days. they'll see me dripping down your leg."

he comes with a roar, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he spills inside you. you feel the heat of it, the way he pulses and twitches. it sends another wave of pleasure through you.

for a moment, neither of you moves. you're both panting, sweaty, wrecked.

he pulls out slowly, and you feel his cum start to drip down your thighs. he turns you around roughly, grabs your jaw, and spits in your mouth again.

"swallow," he commands, "and remember who you belong to."

you swallow. he finally releases you. his eyes now scan over you, the bruises and hickies on your neck, the bite marks on your shoulder, the cum leaking down your leg...

"now— go back, let them see you like this." 🩵

There was a man at work. There always was. If it wasn’t at work, it was someone at the club when you went out with your friends. Some dude who bothered you enough to the point that your frustrations slipped into your nightly debrief with Titus, curled up in the sheets and talking about your days. 

“He’s just so annoying,” You sighed, tucking one of Titus’ curls away from his face. “Today he purposefully let the freezer lock behind me when I know I kept it open.” You were a chef in the resort’s kitchen. And while you had gone to the most prestigious culinary school in the country, your coworkers sometimes treated you like you were a nepo hire. Even though you were hired before you got with Titus. 

“That’s not annoying,” He huffed, eyes narrowed and mouth pinched. “That’s attempted murder.” You rolled your eyes.

“S’a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Titus made a disagreeing noise. He brought your hand down from his forehead and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

“Nothing’s too dramatic when it comes to your safety.” You couldn’t stop the stupid love-struck smile that curved your lips. He was dramatic. But he was sweet. An idea bloomed in your mind. At the beginning of your relationship, you made it clear that you didn’t want to use Titus as your enforcer. You didn’t want any special treatment just because you shared a bed with the man who was technically your boss. But it was your coworkers who started casting sideways glances. If they wanted to treat you differently, then maybe you didn’t mind bending your code a little. Your gaze flicked to his lips and back to his eyes.

“Do you think…you could maybe…talk to him?” You proposed cautiously. Titus’ eyebrows raised. 

“Talk to him or talk to him?” He clarified. “Because you know Ursula made me promise-”

“Not to hurt the staff, I know,” You sighed. You removed your hand from his and his lip pouted slightly. “It’s just that I’ve tried to put him back in his place, but it's just not working.” You leaned your face closer to his, breath ghosting over his lips, and you saw his mouth part with anticipation. “I’d be so grateful if you could help.” You let your voice drip with honey at the phrase. A phrase that held a deeper meaning, that both you and Titus were familiar with. A special reward. His breath quivered and he licked his lips. 

“Okay, yea,” He whispered, pupils blown in the low light and intimate setting “Yea, I’ll talk to him.” You smiled and kissed him. But when Titus ran his tongue over the seam of your lips, trying to deepen it, you pulled away. 

“I’ve gotta get up early tomorrow,” You explained and he made a pitiful noise when you rolled over. “Goodnight. I love you.” 

“Yea, whatever.” He grumbled. In a few moments, you were slipping into sleep to the chorus of Titus’ soft snores.

Work the next day was fine. Dinner service at the resort restaurant went without a hitch, besides a lady demanding her steak was still undercooked even though the chef struggled to cut through it to prove it was brown on the inside. You were in bed, enjoying the way the silk of your nightie slipped along your bare skin. You were scrolling on your phone when the doors to the bedroom opened. You looked up to see Titus, hair slightly mussed and coat ruffled. His fists rested by his side. You gasped when you saw the flecks of blood and swelling around each knuckle. You climbed out of bed and rushed to him. You took his hands in yours and he let you examine them, turning them over to check if the blood was coming from any cuts. They weren’t. You looked up at him with a question in your eyes. Titus was fighting down a smirk. 

“I talked to him.” He explained simply. One of his hands slipped from your grasp and ran along your ribs. It settled heavy on your waist. His thumb rubbed circles on your abdomen. You smiled at him and kissed his cheek, muttering your appreciation into his ear. Your hands grabbed the lapels of his coat and you walked back to the bed slowly, pulling him along and never breaking eye contact.

“How did he take it?” You asked, slowly undoing the buttons and pushing the wool over his shoulders. 

“He took it.” Titus snorted. “Don’t think you’ll have to worry about him anymore.” You gave him an inquiring look. His head tilted softly. “He’s getting a new job. Still alive. Promise.” Your mouth curled with a grin and you rubbed your nose into his neck. A few soft kisses were placed to the underside of his jaw.

“Ursula’s not gonna be happy with you.” You murmured against his throat. 

“Yea, I kn-oh.” He croaked as your tongue licked a stripe up the side of his neck. He pulled you closer to him instinctively. You felt his cock grow increasingly harder with each nip and kiss to his throat. You pulled away and took him in. His eyes were half-lidded and his pupils were wide with desire, consuming the hazel irises you memorized every fleck of. His bottom lip trembled with each heavy breath. You clicked your tongue at him.

“I haven’t even touched you and you’re already gone,” You cooed, running your thumb over the ridge of his cheek. “Are you gonna be able to handle your reward?” He nodded enthusiastically, but you weren’t done teasing. “I don’t know-”

“Please,” He begged, grip on your hips tightening so hard they’d be sore tomorrow. His voice was broken and filled with need. “Please, I know I can.” His eyes were huge and round with pleading. His breaths were uneven.

“Okay,” You soothed “It’s okay, I believe you.” Your hands cupped his face and he let out a needy groan. It was impressive, actually, how fast you could turn the head of a satanic cult into putty between your fingers. “You ready?” He nodded so hard his cheeks bounced and you gestured for him to get on the bed. He wasted no time, taking off his vest so that he was just in his undershirt and slacks. Titus laid down on his back with his knees up and feet planted into the mattress. He reached out for you, fingers trailing up the inside of your knee. You slapped him away when he got to the hem of your silk nightslip. You crawled on top of him and his hands guided you until you were hovering over his face. He groaned when he saw your pussy on display, no underwear in sight. He leaned up and pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, taking a deep inhale of your scent. “What do you say?” You encouraged him.

“Please sit on my face,” He responded immediately, licking his lips “Ride me and use me to get off.” You smiled and caressed his cheek.

“Gonna be good for me?”

“Yea.”

“Let me know if it’s too much and you need a breather, okay?” You always told him he could stop at any time, and Titus always rolled his eyes. He didn’t care if you suffocated him. Genuinely, he would rather stop breathing than have you deprive him of this. You peeled off your gown. You wouldn’t be able to see him beneath the fabric once you descended on him and you wouldn’t be having that. You lowered yourself slowly, but Titus was impatient. He yanked you down on top of him, earning a little yelp from you. He didn’t tease you, immediately plunging his tongue into your cunt. He licked at your insides like a mad man, groaning at your taste and sending buzzes of pleasure through your core. You let tiny gasps and moans slip from your lips, nonverbal praises that Titus was taking care of you. 

You settled into a rhythm quickly, rolling your hips so that his tongue pressed against your favorite spot while also catching his nose on your swollen clit. Titus ate you messily, tongue occasionally slipping and spreading your juices all between your legs. You pulled back slightly to give him some air, but he shook his head and whined, chasing after you and tugging you back down. He was lost in you. Blissed out and pussy-drunk with closed eyes and eyebrows turned up. He whimpered and whined into your cunt with every swipe of your folds against his nose. You felt his torso jump when he involuntarily jerked his hips into the air. You looked back and saw him straining painfully against his pants. His zipper bulged and you saw the outline of him twitch. One of your hands tangled in his cinnamon sugar curls, tugging harshly. Another buck of his hips. Your other hand found his thick cock, rubbing him through his pants. He groaned against you and lifted his hips to meet your slow strokes. You could tell he wouldn’t last much longer. His tongue and hips both moved erratically. The sight of him fucked-out beneath you caused your own orgasm to catch behind your navel. 

“Cum with me, baby,” You ordered, though your voice was more pleading than demanding. He came with a whimper against your cunt, a high pitched noise that pushed you over the edge to your own release. Your hips stuttered against him and you tossed your head back, gasping for breath as your orgasm tore through you and soaked Titus’ face even further. You stilled after a few moments, but Titus still had a death-grip on you, holding you in place on his mouth, tongue still inside you and absorbing any aftershocks. His nose was free and he took deep inhales through it. The puffs of his exhale fanned around your sensitive clit and you let out a shuddered breath of your own. “Were you a good boy for me, Titus?”

He nodded weakly against your thighs, eyes still closed. His heart pounded against his chest and he looked exhausted, but content. You looked over your shoulder. A wet patch seeped through the crotch of his pants, sticky white ropes contrasting with the expensive black fabric. You licked your chapped lips and gave his overstimulated cock a generous squeeze. He grumbled against you.