C E L

You sigh, “sorry.” You press yourself up against the side of the car as Pope plops down next to you. 

“The hell are you doing?” He asks gruffly. 

“What are you doing?” You huff, “sit at the corner.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“I’m telling you to.” 

“Why do I have to listen to you?” 

“Pope, move.” 

He’s childish, you’ve come to realize. Instead of scooching to the other side of the seat, he moves closer to you. “No.” 

“Pope.” You groan loudly. 

“Uncle pope,” Lena calls from her seat. She’s tapping away at her tablet with one hand as Sammy holds the other. “Are you being mean?” 

“Yes.” “No.” 

“They just like each other, mama.” Nicky chimes in, turning in her seat to grin at Lena. “You tease the people you like.” 

“I do not like him.” You hope they believe you, since it’s a complete lie. But your friends know you better than you know yourself. 

Lena laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “They do like each other! So gross!” 

The drive is incredibly long. Your body was aching from the way you were pulling from him and you had to give in. His leg is nudging against yours, pressing harder at turns.

“Move.” You groan, nudging him away. 

“No.” He nudges his knee against yours again. 

“Pope…” you huff, glaring at him. “You’re being annoying.” 

It’s his turn to huff, “you annoy me all the time.” 

“I do not.” 

“Do too.” 

“Kids…” J chimes this time, “settle down.”

“Ain’t a kid.” You toss a napkin at him from the back seat. 

Pope decides to keep going, “sure act like one.” 

“Sure act like one.” You mock, deepening your voice. 

“I don’t sound like that.” 

You mock again, “I don’t sound like that.” 

“Quit it.”

“Quit it.” 

Sammy groans this time, “both of you shut up.” 

Lena is out cold when you all get to Sammy’s family cabin. It’s nice, sleek. It doesn’t look like it belongs in the deep foliage, too modern. Her mother has expensive tastes though, so it’s not a surprise that there’s technology all throughout the place.

J and Pope argued for a minute about taking Lena in but J ultimately won, now heading in with the lolling girl in his arms. Nicky follows suit, already complaining about needing a shower and the bugs all around. Sammy chimes in about the high tech bug zappers her mother has in every room. 

You’re stuck behind with your bags in your hand. “Hello?” You call out to Pope as he starts walking to the cabin. “Where are you going?” 

He turns, his own bags in his hand. “Inside?” 

You wiggle your bag around. “What happened to chivalry?”

He glances at your bags and back at you, bored. “It died.” 

“Pope.” 

“Yeah?” He hums, uninterested. 

“Help me.” 

There’s a grin tugging at his lips, one he’s trying to fight as he turns back to you. “Where are your manners?” 

“Pope!” You sigh, “really? I’m too pretty to do this.” But he’s not budging. “Fine. Please.” 

That’s enough for him because he’s moving over to you, grabbing your bags with a triumphant smile, “good girl.” 

You think about his words long after. You hate that you want him so badly. No matter what’s said or done, nothing pulls you from this aching need.

You wonder if he’s being intentional. From what you’ve gathered, he doesn’t have much female attention. Not because women don’t want him, you see the way eyes trail over him. But he’s awkward. You’re not sure if he even notices the way he’s lusted after. 

He spends so much of his time acting like he doesn’t want you, when he makes a move that he is interested, you find yourself dissecting it for hours. It’s hard not to, especially when his softer acts are rare, in text or person. 

“What are you doing?” The strong voice makes you jump in your spot. 

You pull your hand out of the hot tub, the water dripping down your now cold arm. You turn to him, leaning against the tub. “Letting it warm up.” A pause. “Are you getting in?” 

“No. I hate hot water.” 

You roll your eyes, turning away from him. “Whatever.” 

You don’t hear his feet shuffling away, so you know he’s still here. And you can feel him. Feel the way his eyes are on your backside. 

“Whose shirt is that?” You’re wearing a huge t-shirt, practically a dress as it sits right beneath your knees, and the neck falls off your shoulder, showing off your collarbone. 

The idea is immediate. You bite your lip to stop yourself from cackling and giving yourself away. You dip your hand back into the bubbling water, humming, “why?”

“It doesn’t look like it’s yours.” 

You nod, “it isn’t.” You’re grinning, wanting to turn around and watch him. Watch the way his face twists in confusion. “Absolute truth?” 

He hesitates but agrees. “Yes.” 

The lie is easy as you turn to face him, face back to neutral. He doesn’t know that you’ve been celibate almost three years. He doesn’t need to know that the T-shirt is J’s which you stole from Nicky a while ago.

You shrug, continuing, “an old fling. Met him on Tinder.” You can’t tell what he’s feeling. You hate that you can’t because he always looks serious. Always looks stoic. “We went for drinks and ended up back at my place.” 

“But you live with your parents.” He’s trying to get you to say more, that much you can tell. 

“I’m not gross, Pope. I didn’t let him touch me until they were gone for the night.” 

“Okay.” Is all he speaks. 

You shrug, turning your back to him once more. You’re scolding yourself because of course it didn’t work. He’s not into you. He doesn’t want you. You’re the one who wants him. You’re the one who is chasing him. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

“What did he do to you?” 

His question makes your breath hitch. Slowly, you turn around to face him again. You flinch softly at how close he is to you now, chest practically pressed up to yours. “I don’t think you want to—“ 

He doesn’t let you finish. His harsh tone cuts you off, “Tell me.” 

“He…” you’re scrambling. Nothing is coming to mind because this isn’t remotely close to being true. There’s no other guy and there’s definitely no Tinder. You mumble out the first thing that comes to mind. “He fingered me.” 

His body close to yours tells you a lot more than you’ve ever seen on him. His breathing is labored, chest rising and falling from what you’re assuming is jealousy. His hands are ghosting at your hips, scared to touch you. Now you know what you need to do.  

“Didn’t let him fuck me, Pope.” He backs you up fully against the hot tub, nose trailing down your cheek, to your jaw, and to your neck. He inhales you. Smells the mixture of your faint perfume mixed with the light sheen of sweat from the heat emanating from the hot tub you’ve been hovering over. “Couldn’t let him.” 

This solidifies what he wants— what he needs from you. His hands fall to your hips, face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His rough hands slowly move from your hips and to your thighs, letting your t-shirt scrunch up as he desperately searches for your soft skin. 

You can’t take a full breath. His hands are tugging at the bottom of your bathing suit beneath your shirt. You expect him to tug them off of you but that doesn’t come. He pulls it taut to the side of you, letting it sit awkwardly. But you can’t focus on that when a single finger pushes between your lips, letting the tip of him press at your bundle of nerves. 

A soft gasp leaves you as he begins to rub circles at your clit. “Fuck…” you whimper softly, brows furrowing as the little waves of pleasure course through you. 

Your hips grind into his hand, desperate for more from him. He adds another finger, and another. He’s moved his face from your neck, his intense eyes watching your face twist in pleasure. “Pope, I…” you whimper softly, letting your forehead fall to his shoulder. 

“Hey, hey,” his free hand grabs your chin, forcing you to look back up at him. “Don’t look away from me.” 

And that’s all you need to listen to his command. His eyes won’t leave yours. You’re embarrassed. Embarrassed with how vulnerable this feels, having him watch you. 

You almost cry when his fingers stop the motion at your clit, but you’re quickly shut up when his hand slides a little ways down and a single finger pops into you. You try to hide your face against him again but he doesn’t allow you to. The grip on your chin tightens, fingers spreading to your cheeks, lips puckered out, and keeping you still as he pumps the single finger inside of you. 

You can’t speak. You’re a whimpering mess as he adds another finger. And another. You’re riding his hand desperately, completely flushed and flustered by his utmost attention. He’s captivated by you; by the way your face twists and turns in absolute pleasure, the way you’re rutting into him with a desperate need. 

“Are you going to cum?” If this were anything else, you’d cackle at the serious way he speaks those words but you can’t talk. You nod wildly, hips stuttering. He’s smug. You’ve never seen him look so smug before. So damn proud of himself at the way he’s got you. 

You’ve never cum so hard in your life because he refuses to let you look away. Your eyes have to be on him as your orgasm crashes over you, spasming around his fingers as your hips stutter and slow. 

The grip on your face turns soft, thumb caressing your cheek. Your chest is rising and falling, catching your breath. You choke softly when his face moves closer into yours. His nose nudges yours, lips ghosting your softly painted ones. You close your eyes, lifting your chin softly to try and meet his lips. He doesn’t let them, instead, he’s pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. 

You’re sure you could have taken more from him but Sammy’s familiar voice is heard. “I can’t find the shorts I bought!” She calls out your name. She’s getting closer. 

Pope pulls away from you, tugging your shirt back down your legs, hiding your body again. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t even look at you as he walks out of the room, rushing past Sammy as she makes her way onto the back patio. She watches him curiously before turning back to you. “The hell is his issue?” 

Your eyes are wide, “oh my god, Sammy. He just fucking fingered me.” 

☆ ☆ ☆ authors note . . . hey… hey… what yall doing… okay deadass honest opinion. tnd and ino is my first “real” smut and it’s not my forte AT ALL so i hope you all love it hehehehe (this is also not edited… bear with me)

The sandwich shop smells like warm bread and something faintly herbal—probably the rosemary from the focaccia. You tap your fingers against the table, trying not to stare at the way Dennis' sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the veins on his biceps bulging as he finished chewing his food, reaching for his drink.

Your conversations so far have been nothing but easy laughter and stupid stories about your most hilarious medical experiences, along with some shared struggles in med school.

You nudged your cup with your fingers. “So what about you? Any equally embarrassing childhood stories I should know about?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” he said immediately, choking a bit from his drink before smiling at memories that can’t help but flood his mind, his small gap makes you swoon.

“Oh come on! I just told you the most embarrassing thing I've had!”

“Selective storyteller,” he corrected, leaning back. One arm coming to rest behind his head, stretching slightly with a groan before he relaxes again “I have a reputation to maintain.”

“With who?”

He glanced at you, just for a second longer than necessary. “Working on that.”

Your stomach did a painful, annoying flip.

You looked away first, smiling into your drink. “That’s not going to make me forget that you didn’t answer my question, by the way.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said lightly. “I’m distracting you.”

“You’re not doing a very good job.”

“Hey! I’m actively working on it” he replied, just as quick. Gesturing between you and him.

You laughed again, softer this time, and it settled into something quieter—not awkward, just…comfortable.

"So," he said, taking a sip of his iced tea, "you never told me the details on how you ended up in the Pitt in the first place." His tone was shy, but conversational.

You smiled, rubbing your stitches with your finger absent-mindedly under the table. "Uhm…for some reason I kinda just- well, we were in a rush of course, emergency surgery…” Dennis nods along, concern littered all over his face.

“…I didn’t glove up- and I know— malpractice, but I was just trying to grab it, it was the wrong type of scalpel and it was all just a blur, she kinda thrusted it into my hand and it went through!”

“Oh my God….that’s insane, I’m sorry.” Dennis looks at his sandwich now, a little bit more than half-eaten BLT that he’s all of a sudden not interested in, more interested in looking at you, microexamining every small facial expression that you make.

“You have nothing to be sorry for! You didn’t stab me, Dennis.” You giggle slightly, raising your palm to the side in confusion

“I don’t think I could forgive myself if I did…” Your eyes flutter at his words, a small smile creeping up onto your features.

Dennis, on the other hand, is beet red as he stutters out an apology for his crush drunken confession.

“I mean- Robby would kill me! I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay Dennis, I know what you mean.” You frown a bit at the mention of your dad, but you let it go soon.

His hands all of a sudden feel clammy, and he not-so-effectively rubs his sweaty hands on his denim jeans, clearing his throat as he stands up a bit, still crouching in the booth seat.

“I- I’m gonna go to the bathroom really quickly, I’ll be right back” You nod, licking your lips as you watch him fully stand up and walk away, pulling out your phone to text Mateo

Dennis slips back in his seat, sighing softly as his hands now feel dry, like he’s washed away all his anxieties.

“Sorry..”

“You’re fine, don’t apologize for going to the bathroom!”

“No…uhm, I- for the record didn’t mean to make things awkward”

“You didn’t, Dennis, at all. I enjoy talking to you— awkwardness and all.”

He lets out a deep breath— a shaky one at that, as he nods.

“Okay— Good”

Your foot accidentally nudges his under the table as you fidget without much thought. When neither of you pulls away, the silence is…something, but it’s warm, not uncomfortable.

Dennis glances down for a second, then back up, a faint smile returning.

“Next time,” he says, almost casually, obviously finding comfort in the reassurance you gave him. “I’ll try to…handle that a little better.”

“There’ll be a next time, Dennis?” A smile pulls at your lips, and Dennis is obvious to the teasing, deciding to hold himself down.

“If you want.” His voice is steady now, more confident, something that makes your stomach flip for the 56th time today.

“I’d like that” You physically see his chest deflate, a breath let go that he didn’t even realize he was holding until you uttered the words.

The conversation drifts after that, back to smaller things, easier things over mouthfuls of food, but it doesn’t quite feel the same as before.

Every now and then, you catch him looking at you.

And this time, he doesn’t look away as fast.

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Taglist: @pr1d3ful @xreader1989 @mewmew222 @slaytheday711 @novausstuff @jujuondatbittt @dumbbandpoetic @sugarsunshine4 @marcswife21 @kmumori @ziggy0stardust @iiignoreee @girlokarina @localsams @bearymuchso @3w-guts @cosmosnkaz @silovicbaird @bubiblossom @jcks29 @amterasuu @alejunnie @jahmelat @just-write-that-shit @viviannagiorgini @heartsforts @cantbecreative @kaylajerks @gaypoetsblog @caterppillar @peachyfckingkeen @lov3bugss @zoleea-exultant @rayasromances @fembot-rot @jaelaconsuela @c00kiem0nsterinc @mxtokko @f0rlorn @aselstarr @short-potato @otteryougladimback @urlocalsaxplayer @pennyploorp @aurora-makes-shyt @mel164 @harringtonsbowgirl @waverzzzzzzzz @pinkpantheris @tootstoots