it gives me you.

twenty-six | thomas gibson’s irl wife | part time jemily shipper | main: @ghoulfriendnextdoor

[agentdilfhotchner]

doggystyle, sideways, frontwards, backwards, upside down, 360 degrees, no condom, skin on skin, on the living room, on the bedroom, on the fridge, on the closet, on the ceiling, on the wall, the bathroom, on the couch, on the car, AND on the street :

[lovesickmira]

was listening to this and thought about andrew who literally can’t pull himself away from your pussy. (Nsfw)

the noises you’re making, his brothers’ might aswell think he’s killing you. Your fingernails nearly tearing the sheets, he doesn’t even know how good he is at this. Just lapping at your cunt like you were his first good meal straight out of prison.

“baby- ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry… it’s jus’ so good, please? Yeah?” he can’t stop.

Andrew doesn’t know why. He never did drugs, never had that kind of euphoria after a hit. But with his head between your thighs? He’d be willing to bet that it’d be the exact same kind.

Your taste lingers on his tongue and even when you’re about to pass out, he keeps going ‘n going. There’s even a damp spot on the edge of the bed from where his hips were rutting. He was so, so fucking close.

It was pathetic… Really, really pathetic. But you? You thought it was the hottest thing to grace this earth.

a/n THE ONLY MAN EVEEEEER <3

[deerfawnn]

i want you to stay

pairing: pope cody x bambi!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: pope wishes he was your favorite cody brother. content warnings: fem!reader, mention of how pope gets mistreated by everyone else in his life, mention of drugs + alcohol, they share a bed, too many mentions of smurf, they're kind of loneliest guy in the world x loneliest girl in the world a/n: hai my lovelies! this is me introducing bambi reader to you!!!! the link leads to a pinterest board, which i'm still working on, but i hope you like her as much as i do. gif credits to @wesandresons !! <3 wc: 4.4k

No one was exactly sure why you were friends with Craig. Not even Craig, but he liked you. And though he tried his best to get you into his bed, it never worked. And god, he tried. Annoyingly so. Your resolve never wavered, standing with not being interested in Craig whatsoever.

At every party he threw, you were the girl hiding in the living room or in the kitchen. Anywhere where strange, drunk and high, people couldn't talk to you. It was almost impossible to find you, yet you also seemed to never go home, instead deciding to remain at the loud party surrounded by people you didn't like.

It was strange for Pope to watch you, know that you feel the same things he did, but do nothing.

You had every right to disappear, leave this haunted house, go back to your own.

Instead, he'd find you in the living room, remote in hand. You'd usually shoot him a sweet, knowing smile, aware that he was feeling just as uneasy as you did. Not fond of any loud noise, or drunk people. And he wished he had the courage to ask you if you wanted to leave the house with him, if you wanted to just drive around, sit at the beach and watch the waves.

But he'd always turn on his heels and go back outside and hate himself for it.

If he asked you to sit with him, you probably wouldn't even bother him, wouldn't try and force him to drink alcohol or get high like everyone else. You probably wouldn't even talk to him, knowing he liked his silence. He always regretted not asking you the moment the smell of beer hit his nose, and the moment water splashed onto his clothes, while people laughed around him. It made him feel lonely and different.

Still, he couldn't figure out why you were always at their house. Smurf wasn't good company, obviously, though she tolerated you just barely. Mostly because you kept to yourself. She knew you wouldn't blab to anyone about the Cody's jobs or that you never intended on going against her.

You were just there.

And no one complained, because you were like a fresh breath of air. You smiled and within two minutes you'd have J smiling too. You stayed around a lot, but never for too many days. If you went over, you were there for a long time, but the moment you disappeared, you were gone.

There seemed to be no specific reason for it. You seemed to be just overly concerned that you were being too much and bothering people. He knew you were a lonely girl, but he was also aware that your fear of being too much overpowered your grave sense of loneliness that you were never able to hide.

It was a bad habit of yours, always apologizing, even for existing seemingly. Craig had shot you numerous perplexed looks, never having heard this many sorry come from one person ever. But Pope knew he liked it, enjoying the fact that someone saw him as important enough to feel bad for him, that he was worthy enough to receive the sweetest girl's ever apologies.

Pope on the other hand, hated it. He hated the word sorry, and he especially hated it coming from you.

Whenever you apologized, whether it was accidentally brushing his arm while you were in the kitchen, or speaking, what you thought was, for too long, Pope would shut you down. And he'd always do it in a cold tone, knowing that was the most effective way to stop you completely from ever uttering that word around him again.

He knew his voice would startle you, not expecting Pope who was always kind to you, to speak to you that way.

His plan worked, and you started biting your lip hard the moment the word slipped out. You'd look up panicked, and that would usually be enough for him. He'd shot you a dry look, bored even. And you'd shake your head and mumble, 'I take that back.' and he'd drop the look immediately, resorting to his normal soft look that he always wore around you.

The word didn't completely disappear from your vocabulary, but now you uttered it almost never when he was around, and it made Pope feel less worried about being in your presence.

Everyone adored you and sometimes he hated it. It worried him that everyone felt the same adoration he did for you, that somehow you'd never pay attention to him. Given his brothers were much better at being affectionate, it made him feel like he was behind. Like it was a competition to be your favorite brother, and he was last, not even having started the run, because he didn't know how to. That the moment Craig brought you into the house and introduced you, a starter pistol went off, and everyone started running.

It didn't stop him from seeking you out all the time. Whenever the question 'Where's Pope? popped up, the answer was the same. With you. Always with you.

Mostly, because you followed him around. When he'd reject your offers to sit with you on the couch at parties, you'd get up and follow him.

There the two of you would stand somewhere and observe the party together, both with the same repulsed expression. For him, it was the dirt and the carelessness, for you it was the loudness of it all.

When you caught Pope in front of a dark TV, staring at himself in the reflection, you'd tap his shoulder softly. Just two taps, never wanting to overwhelm him. "My car's making weird sounds," you'd say softly, and he'd get up and help you.

Sometimes you'd tell him something was broken in your home, and he'd drive to your place without a word. You'd always try to drag out his stay, offering him cookies (because you were absolutely terrible at cooking) or offering sodas.

Sometimes, he'd catch you looking around the room nervously, looking for new problems he could fix. So he'd grumble out a "Sink sounded weird earlier," and you'd smile so wide, it was like the sun came out from behind the clouds.

Things like this made him doubt everything.

Maybe you didn't dislike him as much as he thought, maybe he did have the potential to be your favorite brother.

But then he'd watch you light up when Deran would tell you he finally figured out how to make your favorite mocktail. (Obviously, you never had to pay a cent. If not for Deran shaking his head as you handed him money, then it was Pope who paid for everything you ate and drank.)

Even Craig offered to teach you how to surf. The shy expression you always wore around Pope would disappear and your smile would be so radiant Pope wouldn't be able to look away, never having gotten the privilege to see such an open expression from you.

Things like these made Pope doubt everything, consider that maybe the shy expression was just your uncomfortable one, that when you needed help at home, it was simply because you needed help and nothing else.

He knew Deran and Craig were absolutely terrible at fixing things, and he feared that, just like everyone else, you too viewed him as a tool, something to use and throw away. That he was just waiting for the throw-away part, and that it was coming sooner or later.

But he couldn't help but have all his worries vanish into thin air, whenever you decided to grace him with your big thankful eyes and an even wider, dazzling smile.

The first time he felt like too much for you, so much he wanted to run away, was when you joined him in the garage.

You softly knocked against the doorway. "Andrew?" you always said his name so sweetly, it made him want to record it and listen to it like a lullaby until he fell asleep, which didn't happen much these days.

He looked up at you. "You're awake." He furrowed his eyebrows in concern. It was pitch dark outside, and he figured you were asleep in the living room.

You shook your head. "Couldn't sleep." you smiled softly, your eyes telling him to please drop it. He did, turning his head back to what he was working on.

You stepped closer, and he could smell the perfume that he loved so much. Before he knew it, you were towering over him, lightly brushing up against his shoulder. "What are you working on?" you titled your head, staring down at whatever it was you were looking at.

"Part of the car. Stopped working last night," he replied in a low voice, not raising his head, even though he really really wanted to see your pretty face.

You glanced around, spotted what you needed and sat down. You pulled the chair closer to him, setting your elbows on the table in the process. "Mind if I watch you?"

Pope glanced at you, and his eyes darted all over your face, trying to gauge what exactly the point here was. You seemed sincere, so he hummed.

You laid your cheek in your palm and watched him. Your big eyes stared at his hands with so much interest, they started to tremble a bit.

The silence between you was filled with the sound of an owl and the ticking of a broken clock somewhere in the garage.

Five minutes must've passed by now and Pope had never understood until now how silence could be nice even with someone else in it. It wasn't like he couldn't feel your presence. No. He knew you were here, but he enjoyed it. More than enjoy, he craved it. He wanted to stay in this little room forever, hearing nothing but your soft breaths and the sound of you tapping your foot restlessly on the floor.

He didn't hate the silence like when he did with Smurf, who sat with him in silence at breakfast and watched him eat.

No, he loved the feeling of your soft eyes watching him work, knowing he was good at what he did, and that you were admiring him.

"You're not tired?" you asked after a while, careful not to be too loud, not wanting to disturb his work.

"No." When Pope looked up, he met your eyes immediately, like you'd been watching his face rather than his eyes, and your lips lifted into a flustered smile.

Embarrassed, like you'd been caught. He wasn't sure what it was, but he almost felt the need to gloat about it. Sweetest girl he knew was caught staring at him.

Stupid.

He looked away again, almost in shame, because how dare he think that you were admiring him. You were sleepy and he was awake. That's it. Had Craig been out here, you probably would've joined him too. He was nothing special.

"S'nice watching you," You brushed a hand over your face, rubbing your eyes tired.

Pope looked up, because surely he'd misheard, but you shot him a sweet smile, soft hair falling over your shoulders as you rubbed your eyes, hard, again.

People couldn't even stand to utter his name, and you were telling him that he was nice to watch. Like his presence was worth acknowledging. Like it was something good, like his presence wasn't to be feared, like he didn't hear the rumors in town about how people feared the thought of him.

Horrible, awful Pope who hit and hurt people, who made a mess of people and things, of everything.

A kind girl like you liked to watch him in the middle of the night doing things that his brothers called weird, made them shake their heads as they looked away in disappointment and shame, wishing they'd had a normal brother, one more like them.

He must've stayed quiet for too long, because you froze. "Sorry, did—did I say something wrong?" nervously, you toyed with your heart necklace.

"No—No you didn't." Pope shook his head quickly, eyes darting back down to his car part. His fingers twitched nervously. "You should try to sleep." And he could sense he'd said the wrong thing, because your eyes widened for a second, and worry overtook your face.

"Oh—right, yeah you're right." Stumbling over your words nervously, you stood up, and Pope regretted it.

He hadn't meant this. He was just trying to tell you that he appreciated your kindness, but surely he wasn't that interesting. "I meant— it's not healthy to stay awake," he managed out, eyes darting back up to your face and back down. "It's not good for you." he managed out nervously.

You looked down at him, and you stood there for a bit, before sitting back down slowly, understanding he didn't want you to go. "Yeah— I know." You toyed with a bolt on the table, rolling it in between fingers before you looked back at Pope who was still watching you. "Craig keeps yelling in his room about his video game, and Smurfs still awake by the Pool." You dropped the bolt. "It's distracting."

"You can sleep in my room," Pope said, and given your reaction, it wasn't exactly something you expected him to say. But it made sense to him. "You can't hear Craig in there."

You stared at him, your eyes wide, making them bigger than they already were. "You want me to sleep in your room?"

Pope wasn't sure what was so confusing. It wasn't like his room was bad. Sure, it was a bit empty, but he took care of it, it was clean. He pushed the car part away, getting up from his chair. "I'll get you new bed sheets," and then he just walked out of the garage. You stood in the empty garage, mouth open, before you scrambled to follow him.

To your luck, Smurf was fast asleep, bottles of alcohol next to her, and you hurried to follow Pope. Inside, he led you to his room, grabbing clean bed sheets out of one of the closets in the hallway, before walking into his room.

You stood in the doorway watching Pope fix the bed for you. Were you dreaming? Was Pope actually fixing his bed for you?

You looked down and pinched your skin. "Ouch." you muttered to yourself. Not a dream, officially and definitely not a dream.

Pope turned his head to you. "You need pajamas?" he asked, but you shook your head.

You never took, unless you were outright suffering and Pope's eyes slowly darted down to the goosebumps across your skin, which were visible even with just two night lights on.

You were wearing a simple white lace tank top and California nights weren't exactly known for their heat. Even Smurf outside, was sleeping with at least two blankets. He turned, opened a drawer and grabbed a hoodie. When he handed it to you, you didn't take it.

"Is that yours?"

Pope nodded, almost worried. "I—You can have one of Deran's if you want."

"Nope, I—I'd like yours." you managed, grabbing the hoodie and letting it swallow you whole. It was warm, and it smelled nice, so very nice. You couldn't help the way your head just lowered a tiny bit, letting yourself smell how nice Pope's scent was.

Pope had already looked away the sight too much, and was now awkwardly staring down at the bed, fingers twitching nervously at his sides. "Okay, have— have a good night."

In all of your years of living, you'd never been this bold before. You weren't even sure what overcame you. Your hand reached out, and you grabbed Pope's bicep lightly before he walked past you.

You felt him freeze up, eyes locked onto your hand around his bicep, and you had to resist the urge to squeeze, to test how really hard and warm his bicep was. "Will—" you bit your lip, already regretting starting the sentence. "Don't you wanna sleep?"

"I have to work." His eyes flickered back down to your soft hands around his bicep.

You had pink polish on with brown polka dots. It was sweet. He'd seen you paint them once, you'd even helped Lena with hers. Lena had been so happy, and hadn't stopped talking about you the entire afternoon after you'd gone home. He had been glad to know that someone else felt about you the way he did.

You dropped your hand, disappointment flickering across your face. Pope's eyes darted around your face, noting how close you were but also how you were still trying to find your words. He waited.

"I'd like you to stay," you phrased it so sweetly, the way you always did, but for the first time you told him what you wanted. There was no if it's okay with you, you don't have to, no it's okay.

No, you straight up wanted something from him and God would he be stupid if he said no to you.

His eyes darted back to the bed and his eyes stayed there for a while, thinking. "I have to turn off the lights in the garage."

"I'll wait here!" You looked like you were about to start bouncing up and down from excitement.

Pope watched you for a second before turning and walking down the hallway, wondering what on earth led him to commit to this.

Meanwhile, you were in disbelief, palm to your mouth, as you muttered. "Oh my god. Oh my god." Oh my god, you were going to die. You glanced at the bed, deciding to get in now, before you were stuck in the awkward moment of having to argue with him about what side to take.

You pushed back Popes clean blue covers, slowly settling down in bed, and god was it was warm and soft. And it smelled nice.

You pulled the hoodie sleeves down over your wrists, nervously squeezing your eyes shut. You couldn't believe he'd agreed to this.

Pope walked back slowly, boots thudding on the floor until he stood in the doorway looking at the top of your head. Not to seem like a creep, he didn't linger, quickly stepping in. He could feel your pretty eyes watching him as he grabbed a set of fresh boxers, shirt and a towel.

"Gonna take a shower, won't take long," he said, barely looking at you. The sight was too much for him to handle.

"Okay," you said softly, eyes following him until he was in his bathroom.

You passed the time by opening every drawer of his, checking out what he had in there. Barely anything. You sighed, Pope wasn't much of a talker, so you'd hoped you'd find out more about him in his room.

He wasn't joking when he said he wouldn't take long, because just as you were checking out his bottom drawer, he showed up. You shut the drawer with the loudest bang! possible before scrambling back into a horizontal position, embarrassed.

Pope's eyes darted down to the drawer before lifting to your embarrassed expression. He was more endeared than anything. Any other person and he would've gotten suspicious, but you were toying with his sheets nervously, avoiding his eyes, and he knew you'd just been curious.

He'd caught you walking around the house, staring at every picture more than once. He was more than aware of your curious nature.

He brushed a hand through his curls as he walked to his side of the bed, and you lifted the sheets for him.

You somehow managed to still surprise him with your small sweet gestures. He'd lived his whole life in Oceanside, and with his reputation, people had stopped granting him kindness, even as simple as receiving a thank you.

He felt so endlessly grateful that one person on this earth was able to be kind to him, that maybe he wasn't as evil as he thought, that there was a chance for him. That if someone like you looked at someone like him and thought he was worth it, worth spending your time and sweetness on, he might actually have a chance in life.

He slipped under the sheets, and you dropped them, making the warmth hit him all at once. He liked to sleep on his side looking at the wall, but it felt almost insane to miss out on seeing your pretty face all night, so he stayed on his back, view narrowing to the ceiling.

You, on the other hand, turned to your side, palm under your cheek. "Your bed's soft." You whispered, and he turned his head to you, eyes darting away shyly when he noticed your intense stare. He figured his bed was nice enough, almost relieved it was up to your standards. He'd been worried in the shower that you'd make some excuse, and he'd come out, looking like a wet puppy, to an empty bed.

"What?" he asked after he felt you stare for a little more.

"Your curls are nice," you whispered. "Always wanted to tell you that, but was too scared."

"Of me?" It just slipped out of Pope's mouth. He didn't want to know the answer to that question.

"What? No." Confusion was written all over your face, your lips curling into a frown. "I'm just— it's a weird thing to say. That's all."

Pope stared at you. Not scared of him. You weren't scared of him. ’S'not weird." He held your stare for a while until his nervousness overtook his entire body, leading him to glance away again, eyes focusing back on the white canvas above him.

"Thanks for dinner tonight."

Smurf hadn't been up for it for some reason and Deran or Craig didn't care, so Pope had made food just for you. You hadn't even told asked, and maybe that's why he made it, because he knew you never would.

He turned his head, happy you were giving him an excuse to look at you. "D'you like it?"

"Loved it." you smiled softly. "You could be a professional cook."

Pope's mouth almost lifted into a smile at that, but then you scooted closer, and he froze up. His arm, which had been resting on the side of the bed, almost touching your stomach now. You were so close, he could see how pretty your eyes were up close.

They had always been his favorite part about you. When Craig had first introduced you, Pope knew his brother had warned you about him, told you he was crazy and weird. His brothers did that with everyone they brought to the house, and their friends would always eye him weirdly, and he'd never be given the chance to show them that he was capable of kindness. That he could be as normal as they wanted him to be.

But you, you, had smiled, lifted your hand in a wave and looked at him in a way that no one had looked at him in years. Soft, kind, and open-minded.

He stared at you, and you stared back, and then you slowly lifted your hand.

"Can I—?" you whispered softly, and he was startled by the fact that you asked, so he nodded.

People never asked before they touched him. The only touches he received were involuntary ones from Smurf, or punches from his brothers and strangers. Never ones from sweet girls that asked before they settled their hand softly at his temple, toying with one of his curls.

The bottom half of your hand touched his cheekbones, and you brushed over his hair, thumb catching in a curl. He watched you, eyes big, before finally turning to his side, deciding that he'd make it easier for you.

He saw the smile you suppressed, absolutely delighted that he was so open to you touching him.

He took a second to absorb and analyze the expression. His hazel eyes darting all over your face, looking for any lie, that this was just a game to you. That maybe you'll look at him in the morning with pity in your eyes. But your eyes were glowing, and even with his insecurities choking him when he was with you, he could tell that no lie was in your eyes.

"They're wet," he provided you with the most unnecessary information, already wanting to smack himself for pointing out such an obvious thing.

You just hummed, too distracted to be touching his hair to focus on his awkwardness. You looped a curl around a finger, thumb brushing right above his eyebrow.

Your eyebrows were furrowed like you were studying his hair, but he knew you weren't as relaxed as you seemed. Your breath was going quicker, he could feel it against his face. He could smell your perfume, something floral and vanilla and felt the need to press his face into your hair and just stay there.

Your eyes traveled back to his face, and you observed him, before your hands went back down to his bicep. "You can relax," you whispered. "I won't do anything you don't want me to."

Pope stared at you, hazel eyes wide, never once leaving your face. "You have to sleep too."

"I will." Your hand already back in his curls. He let the feeling of your warm hands overtake every other feeling. Every sense of fear, insecurity and worry.

As much as he knew you wanted him to, he couldn't sleep. Whether it was because of his nightmares or because of you being here, he wasn't sure. His eyes continued to track your face, and it didn't take you long before you let your hand drift from his hair to his cheek, brushing your thumb lightly over his cheekbone one first and last time, before dropping it back in between you.

Your eyelashes fluttered lightly like a good night to him before you closed your eyes. Pope let himself watch you, let himself feel the phantom feeling of your hands. Your perfume continued to linger, and he wished his room would absorb it forever, that every time he walked in, he'd smell your perfume. He knew his bed would smell like you for at least the next couple of days now, and he hoped so desperately that the next time you came over to the house, you'd sleep in his bed.

Maybe next time he'd be the courageous one and ask you to stay.

[romantic-insomniac]

sammy bryant, who takes his gf to a pool party and gets lots of jeers along the lines of "do you know what to do with all that?" from his coworkers as she lays out in a lounge chair in a cute little bikini.

yes anon. YES! such a lovely idea i hope i brought it to life properly <3

thinking about how sammy bryant and everyone else thinks you’re way out of his league.

it started with the obvious, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever laid eyes on. sammy was all nervous and tongue tied around you from the moment you came into the department as an important witness for one of his cases. it took about three months of coming around for questioning and also just stopping by to ‘stay updated’ before you had to be embarrassingly direct. “sammy? are you ever gonna ask me out or should i stop with the muffin and coffee visits?” he had been absolutely baffled that you wanted to date him.

and so was everyone else at the station. you started coming around more often, no longer a witness but as his girlfriend. you charmed everyone instantly with your sweet personality, bubbly conversations, and of course… you’re hot at shit. all the detectives can’t keep their eyes off you when you prance into the department in a tiny skirt and lunch that you made for sammy.

and they especially can’t look away right now. in the backyard of one of the detectives houses as you sit in the cutest little bikini with bows on it. you’re stretched out on one of the lounge chairs giggling and getting to know to the other girlfriends and wives of sammy’s coworkers. sammy is at the grill with all the other guys, uncomfortably flipping burgers while they all jeer at him.

they start off strong with their taunts. “you payin’ her sammy?” and “how much prison time did ya threaten her with if she didn’t date you?”. sammy is beet red at this point. he’s about to snap and pull up the sex tape the two of you made last night where you were sobbing from how good he made you feel, when the new rookie chimes in. “yeah bryant. do you even know what to do with all that?”

“of course i do!” his angry yell rings out through the backyard. everyone turns their head at the noise. sammy looks around sheepishly at the wide eyes he gets. he finds yours that are filled with concern “everything okay sammy?”. he nods once, then turns back to the grill as the other detectives double over in laughter.

little do they know, on the other side of the pool you’re telling the other women that sammy bryant knows exactly what to do with ‘all that’.

"you've seriously gotten a noise complaint!?" one of the wives asks you. you giggle through your response, probs too tipsy and oversharing. "we've gotten so many i stopped keeping track! what can i say? he always makes me scream." all jaws drop to the floor, mascara'd eyes blowing wide at your words. "really?" a blonde asks you in disbelief. you scoff and shrug casually as if what you're about to say is the bare minimum. “big time. it’s because he makes sure i come at least twice before he even tries to have sex. never settles ladies." all female eyes curiously trail across the yard to your boyfriend with a newfound respect for the man that apparently keeps you more than satisfied.

you're feeling wayyy too comfortable at this point, so you're a little glad when you hear sammy's voice cut through your next admission. "oh and! he does this thing with his tongue that makes me literally black out right when he-" "baby?" your head snaps to your boyfriend who is now only a few feet away. he has a plate of food put together for you of everything you like without you even having to ask. all the women clock it, then glare at their partners who are already eating at the outdoor table. sammy looks very flushed as he hands it to you, most definitely from hearing your words.

actually, all of the detectives hear your words. but not from you. nope, sammys coworkers got an earful about your amazing sex life later that night at home from their spouses. the next day at the station, they all stare at sammy as if they've never seen him before.

sammy's instantly flustered and heavily confused at the almost astonished looks he's receiving. it isn't until the same rookie who had questioned his abilities the previous night comes up to him and says, "hey man... if you're ever um- givin' out any tips for... y'know- i would uh, appreciate it." that he understands that everyone now knows exactly how he gets a girl like you to date him.

[romantic-insomniac]

☀︎ being alone at one of the cody’s pool parties as pope's girlfriend and getting ignored by every person there. well, every guy at least. ☀︎

! mdni !

earlier, deran had said “it's 'cause pope’s scary as shit. have you seen his stare??” but you think your boyfriend is sweet! and you love the way he looks at you. how could anyone find him scary??

when pope finally does show up, he sees you dancing like it’s your last day on earth in the worlds tiniest bikini. he also sees all the douchebags staring at you while practically drooling. he grimaces, marching straight towards you.

you light up when you see him, running to jump into his arms with a sweet squeal of his name. he catches you with ease, your legs wrap around him tightly and he tastes the alcohol on your lips as you pepper kisses to his mouth. he grips your ass cheek with one large hand to further stake his claim on you in front of all the guys staring. “hi sweetheart.”

“missed you sooo much,” you sigh before pouting, “no one will talk to me.” pope can't even fake sympathy. a territorial sense of satisfaction washes over him knowing that everyone knows you’re his. the smirk spreads on his face and you swat at his shoulder.

“it’s not funny, andy! i was so lonely without you here that i was about to start offering blowjobs just for some conversation.” popes mouth thins, his humor instantly snuffed out by possessiveness.

“that’s not fucking funny,” his voice rough and his grip on your ass tightening. you giggle and run your fingers through his curls, “i’m kiddinggg, andy.” rubbing your nose against his before whispering, “the only cock i choke on is yours.” popes eyes widen at your crude words, “you’re very drunk.”

you hum happily and plant some more kisses to cheeks and nose, “soo drunk.” batting your lashes then sucking his bottom lip into your mouth before releasing it with a wet *pop*, “might even be drunk enough to let you fuck my mouth.”

you realize then that your boyfriend may actually be scary as people jump out of the way when pope spins on his heel and marches you to his bedroom without another word.

[yeollie-plz]

Dead Girl Walking

Titus Danforth x F! Reader

Genre: angst, smut

Synopsis: You're forced into your worst nightmare, a loveless marriage with an assumed psychopath. But maybe it's not all bad.

Warnings: forced marriage, age gap, mentions of murder, mentions of cults, mentions of Satan, virgin Titus, Titus is borderline stalkerish, sub! Titus, dom! reader, masturbating in front of someone, p in v! sex, unprotected sex, not much foreplay, breeding kink if you squint, kissing, marking, panty sniffing, crying from pleasure, pet names, blood

Gif credits to owners!

You were fucked. You were so totally fucked.

Not only was your father marrying you off like some cattle to repay a debt, but he was marrying you off to Titus Danforth no less.

Titus Danforth, who around the high council and other members of the cult was known as a notorious psychopath. Okay well everyone in the high council was a psychopath, but there was something else about Titus.

But that night you stood in front of him, in a blood red dress. As red as the blood oath you took tying you to a man twice your age. A man you hardly knew, all so your father didn't explode. Literally.

Now he sits on the bed of his room, you stood almost as far away from him as possible as his eyes watch you. You aren't sure if he's contemplating his next move or watching to make sure you're not going to run.

"You don't have to be scared, you know." He finally speaks. You don't respond, only scoff at his statement.

"You don't." He reaffirms.

At that you turn, finally looking at him. His hands are sitting in his lap, turning into each other as if he was anxious. Your eyebrows furrow at his movements, but he doesn't notice, or at least he doesn't react.

"We both grew up with all of this, Titus, you know that isn't true. Safety is a falsehood."

"It isn't a falsehood, I can keep you safe." Another scoff.

"You can't even keep yourself safe, not really." He wants to fight your words, but he knows you are right.

He stands, moving slowly towards you. As if you would cower from him if he moved any faster.

"We don't have to do this, though." You shock him by speaking, motioning between the two of you as you do.

"Do what? Talk?"

"No, we don't have to create all this tension between us. I know that both of us didn't want this union but-"

Titus cuts you off, "I wanted this union."

Your jaw almost drops open. "What?"

"I wanted this." His voice is so monotone, almost clinical. Almost scary. "I asked for this."

"You what?"

"I suggested we wed. Your father owed us some debts and I wanted you."

You don't answer, you don't know how. So you just blink at him.

He steps closer.

"And now that I have you, we will come to an understanding."

"What understanding?" You look up at him, trying to analyze what he is thinking.

He licks his lips before speaking again, "I do not wish to force you to do anything or be something you are not. But I do have a few expectations, if not now then when you are comfortable."

"Expectations?"

"Maybe expectations is a poor choice of words. Let's say requests."

You hold back the sigh bubbling in your throat, "Okay, what are your requests?"

"I will share them all with you in time but for tonight I only have one. If you are willing." Your eyebrows raise at his words.

Titus does not let you respond, "I wish for us to have sex, I would like to know if I enjoy it."

If he would enjoy it? His choice of words is strange. It almost makes it sound as though he has never had sex before. Then you think back to the kiss at the wedding, how rough he was. How aggressive and long the whole display was. You thought it was some feral claiming thing, but now as Titus stands in front of you in the dim light of his ornate room you know the true intensity behind it. Titus Danforth is a virgin.

You do not laugh, you would never not with the reputation Titus has. Instead you form your words carefully, "You have never done it before?"

"No." That's it, just a flat out simple no.

A darkness sparks behind your eyes at his response. It is not like you wish to take Titus Danforth's virginity, but this? This is something to hold over his head.

"Alright." This quickness of your submission has Titus tilting his head at you. He knows it would never be that simple.

"But I have some requests as well then." There it is.

Titus's eyes darken as well, "Yes, Mrs. Danforth." He stands completely over you now, towering. His large body shields you from the light, encapsulating you in his darkness.

"I'm in charge tonight."

"I cannot promise that I will obey."

"I do not care. You will." Titus's Adams apple bobs. He does not speak again, only drops his head down to your level and takes your lips with his. This time the kiss is nothing like the one on the alter. It's slower, as if he is really tasting you.

When he pulls away he tries to read your face, searching for approval.

You do not give it, "Unzip my dress."

Titus listens instantly and unzips the back almost too flawlessly. He starts to push the fabric down your shoulders but you grab his hand, tutting warningly.

"I only said unzip it. Get on the bed."

He does. You saunter towards him slowly. Swaying your hips a bit more than usual, teasing him with every movement. Stopping at the edge of the bed you cock your head at him, the noticeable bulge in his pants finally catching your attention.

"Titus, honey I've barely even touched you." You talk to him as if he is a child and yet it doesn't make him angry, just want you more. What are you doing to the almighty Titus Danforth? And so easily too.

"Do you wish for me to?"

"Yes." He breathes out.

"Prove it. Touch yourself in front of me."

Again, he follows your orders all too easily. Unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down his legs eagerly along with his underwear. His member springs to life, bouncing against his stomach.

"What a shame, you have all this and never shared it with anyone." You tut at him again, running one nail down the underside of his hard cock. Titus shivers at the feeling, he swears he could finish right then and there.

"Go on." You nod your head at him. Slowly, almost tentatively, he wraps his fingers around his dick. Gripping it completely he starts to move his hand up and down his shaft. His eyes never leave yours as he continues his motions.

He swallows, hard, sucking in a breath. You are not watching him, not like that, you are watching his face as it twists slightly in pleasure. Then you reach down under your skirts and pull your panties down your thighs. The teeny tiny black lacey piece of barely there fabric that your mom insisted you wear that morning.

They dangle from your index finger as if taunting Titus. He licks his lips at the sight, but never stops working his hand on his member. You toss them at him and they land perfectly onto his chest. He grabs them and lifts them to his nose and inhales deeply. He groans.

You bite your lip, your dominant demeanor almost dropping as you watch him slip into the intoxication of your scent.

"That's enough." You stop him. Hand stops moving instantly, he's a deer in the headlights as you slap his hand away from his dick. You lift your dress up your hips and straddle him. "My turn."

He nods quickly, desperately. His hands reach out to grab your hips to help you settle on top of him. Reaching in between the two of you, you grab his cock. You run the tip across your wet core, teasing the both of you.

Then without warning you sink onto his rock hard member and he whimpers, actually whimpers at the feeling. It just urges you forward, slowly grind your hips into his.

"Do you want to see all of me?" You ask, you were still in your stuffy dress and if you were honest you would love to feel him fully in this moment.

He nods and grabs the tulle, all but ripping it from your body. Now you are left with nothing but his shirt between the two of you. His eyes lock onto your boobs. Titus reaches forward and grabs one of them carefully, kneading it.

"You can manhandle me, you know?" You say.

"I thought you were in charge?" He asks.

"I am and I want you to use me." His eyes turn black at the permission and he sits up, teeth locking onto your neck. He bites hard, you know what he wants, to mark you.

"You're that possessive?" You want to giggle, but you bite it back.

"You have no idea." He bites again in another spot, then again. This time you gasp and look down at him. And as he looks back up at you, a drop of blood falls down his lips. He smiles at you and licks his lips clean, he moans.

"I want to fuck you." He says, no he whines.

"I already gave you permission."

So he does, he fucks up into you roughly. The thrusts continue as his face stays in your neck. He groans as he enters you particularly deeply.

Titus knows he's not going to last long, but at least he wants to make you feel good before he finishes. It's as if you can sense it as well because you grab his shoulder and push him back down onto the bed. You hover your body over his, kissing him deeply while grinding your hips into his.

Your clit grinds into his pelvis adding to your pleasure, as you use your husband below you. A hand stays on his chest to hold him down. You may have given the minute to be in charge, but there was no way that was ever going to last that long.

"You gonna cum for me Titus? Huh, wanna fill me up nice?" He gulps again and moans at your words.

"Tell me how much you wanna fill me up."

"I want to fill you up with my seed. I want to cum so that you-" And he stutters on his words, hips stuttering at the same time as his orgasm overcomes him.

He fills you with rope after rope of his cum. You would've thought he had never came before in his life. It doesn't send you over your edge, but the warmth that spreads across your body as he looses himself under you is worth it. Besides you have all night right?

Finally Titus starts to come down from his high, but you are unrelenting as you continue to work his softening dick inside of you. His fingers grip your hips tightly, leaving bruises in their wake. He whines at the feeling as a tear falls down his cheek at the pleasure.

You finally slow down your movements, but do not remove him from inside of you. Instead you lean down, face to face. You grab his chin and turn his head to the side. You run your tongue up his cheek taking the salty tear with you, blinking down at him below you. All he can do is stare back at you.

Titus Danforth was so fucked.

[proserpi]

This was perfect.

[drjabbotswife]

titus danforth is a man that doesn't reward softness.

he doesn't comfort you when you cry, doesn't get down to your level and wipe away your tears. no, he watches you, watches as you desperately wipe the tears from your cheeks, obviously embarrassed.

he likes it when you wear what he puts you in. soft, sure, but not for the enjoyment of something soft. for the thrill of someone as dangerous as him undressing something as soft as you look in those clothes.

yeah, titus danforth doesn't reward softness.

even when you're crying, scared of him, he's not dropping down to his knees to comfort you. he likes it, palming himself through his trousers.

here's the thing, titus is the only one allowed to make you feel that way.

he likes your tears, but when they're because of him. when he can wipe them away just for the purpose of tasting them. so he can touch himself to the sight of you crying.

god forbid someone else make you cry.

titus has isolated you from everyone else, see? if someone else makes you cry, you've got nobody else to turn to but him.

your tears don't make him hard when they're not caused by him. no, he's ready to hurt something. not you. never you.

the person that upset you is fair game though.

titus doesn't wipe away our tears to taste them. he wipes them away to wipe them away. he's not entirely confident as he tries to comfort you, but you can appreciate him trying.

titus danforth is a man that doesn't reward softness. but he tries kindness when you need him to. it's not often, but it is when you need it.

[macabrebatz]

Look at my stupid fuckass satanist husband

[ridgeflaw]

18+, MDNI

(cw: daddy kink, orgasm control, sexting, breeding kink)

boyfriend jack abbot who always lets you touch but never lets you come. not unless he’s around to give you the express permission or to force it out of you. says he likes the sounds too much. the squeaks and the whines and the nails digging into his shoulders when you repeat his name. his not name, too. the begging and the pleading, the muffled ‘daddy, daddy, daddy’ as he fucks into you, your pussy sloppy and wet, your burning face hidden against the curve of his neck.

he makes the argument that waiting is the very least you can do. ‘for me,’ he says, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone, leaning down to press warm, knowing kisses to your mouth. ‘just want you to try for me.’

so you agree, hesitant at first but also excited. like the prospect of denying yourself orgasm is a shiny new toy that’s been dropped in your lap, ready to be turned over and inspected for possibility, for layer and depth. you touch yourself when he’s not around and you don’t let yourself come. let yourself teeter on the edge and text him sweet, vague nothings, like ‘miss you’ and ‘thinking of you’ and ‘can’t wait to see you later.’ and he responds in kind, when he can, when he’s not elbow deep in traumas.

over time, the messages grow bolder, less vague. messages he has to hide his screen to read lest his ears and the back of his neck flush bright red. and that makes it even better, you think, of having a dirty little secret. of being one too. jack abbot’s needy, desperate girlfriend who can’t go a single day without him giving her an orgasm. who has to bother him at work like a child would their guardian. ‘can i go to the park? can i watch a movie? can i come in our bed thinking of you?’

‘so empty, it hurts,’ you text him with one hand down your pants, and, ‘i almost came, but i didn’t! didn’t want to disappoint you. but now my pillow’s all wet :(’ and once, memorably, because he calls you almost directly after, ‘i need you to take care of me, daddy, where are you?’

a cute, flirty little game that makes the distance apart more bearable. connects you through space and time and a digital footprint that should most definitely be wiped clean before you die. it evolves into slow, delicious torture over the course of the relationship. as you find it exceptionally more and more difficult not to come on the days you’re ramped up, near impossible during ovulation.

days like today when you’re at home, naked in your bed, the past who knows how many hours spent with your hand between your thighs, rubbing mindless circles around your clit and thinking of jack. of his voice and his hands and the thick circumference of his waist you absolutely adore, that you love to wrap your legs around when he’s deep inside of you, holding onto him with all four limbs like a koala.

you still stop when you get too close, breathing fast and hard and squeezing your thighs together at the achy, empty feeling but you hate it, think you might actually vibrate out of your skin soon if he doesn’t come home and take care of you. in an act of desperation, you send him a voice note that he sees twenty minutes later, ducks into the bathroom to listen to, phone pressed to his ear.

it’s almost two minutes long. begins with the slick, wet sounds of your pussy he knows so well, realizes with a hot pulse of desire in his stomach that you’re fingering yourself and then your voice starts up, pleading. you sound wrecked, completely out of it, like your entire world has been shrunk down to your cunt and what you can fit inside of it.

‘i’m sorry—i’m sorry, i just need it so bad. need something inside me, 'cause you’re not here to—,’ you cut yourself off on a moan and then the slick sounds get faster, more urgent. ‘fill me up. i’m so empty, all of the time ‘n i need it, daddy, need your big cock inside me, stretching me open, oh—,’ a squeak then loud, audible breathing, the slick sounds of your pussy ending, ‘almost came. fuck, fuck, i almost came.’ there’s muffled rustling, the bed maybe, the phone, and then your voice again, sweeter, closer to the microphone, ‘i need you to come home and fuck me. i’m so wet, you have no idea. i'm getting the sheets all dirty. i would feel so good inside when you—,’ more shifting, a high, soft moan. ‘stuff me full. you wouldn’t even have to ask for permission. you could just bend me over and take what you want. nng—you could fuck me on the floor.’ you were touching yourself again. he could hear it, his own fingers white knuckling his phone. ‘in the hallway, and i w-would beg for it. beg for you to come inside me, so, so deep, daddy and—,’ you let out a delirious giggle as the slick sounds grow louder, ‘it would probably stick 'cause i’m—fuck—'cause i’m ovulating.’

jack is slowly but surely banging his forehead against the solid door to the bathroom.

‘don’t you want that? to become a real daddy? you could hold my legs open and make me take all of it. your cum, pump a load inside of me.’ he hears a squelch and then a moan. ‘you could stay like that until i’m pregnant. please, please, please, i’m made for it, made for you. jack—oh my god—,’ you make a guttural, unintelligible noise that abruptly cuts off as the message ends.

what the fuck?

jack pulls his phone away from his ear, breathing hard, and texts you. ‘did you come?’

you respond back almost immediately. ‘no >:( i stopped’

then he groans as an image comes through. fingers of your right hand spread apart, shiny, wet string connecting them. evidence of what they’ve been doing. and then another of your face, smushed cheek into the bed and beaded tears on your eyelashes.

fuck. jack rubs the aching skin on his forehead and hopes there isn’t a red mark.

‘good,’ he texts, ‘that’s really good, sweetheart. i’m proud of you.’

he receives back a long row of frowny faces that make him huff a laugh and then words. ‘i’m tired of being good. it hurts.’

‘i know, baby,’ he says, ‘but you’ll do it for me?’

a brief pause as three dots appear then disappear and then appear again.

‘yes, daddy, i’ll do it for you.’

he squeezes his dick as it pulses between his legs.

‘good girl. i love you.’

‘i love you too. home soon?’

‘home so soon, baby. just be a little more patient for me.’

and then jack spends the next five minutes splashing cold water on his face and the back of his neck, willing his erection to die down enough to leave the fucking bathroom.

[weird-is-life]

Code gray

Pairing: Jack Abbot x fem!reader

Summary: There's an active sh**ter at the hospital and you and Jack end up on different floors. Jack worries for you the whole time, and Robby stops him from doing something stupid (1.3k)

Warnings: based on a request, active sh**ter, mentions of blood, injuries, lil angsty, happy ending, use of pet names, pda, first time writing something like this so I hope I didn't completely mess it up :(

----------------------------------------------------

The emergency alarms along with code silver start just as you are about to wheel in your patient into the x-ray room.

Your first instinct is to panic and give in to the frantic running around of everybody in the halls. But when you hear the shots, Jack's voice is louder than the panic in your head.

You do what he has drilled into you. You rush as many people into the x-ray room as you can before you start shouting orders in the hall. For people to hide, to barricade the doors and to stay hidden until they are sure it's the police.

And in doing so you get knocked on your ass, falling face first onto the hard floor. Blood sprays from your nose as you hear the crack of the bone. It takes you a few seconds to shake off the dizziness and disorientation. You stay on the ground, groaning from pain.

Until there are hands hauling you up, familiar hands of your friends. You barely hear them ask about your wellbeing before you are shoving them back inside.

You join your colleagues and other patients in the x-ray room. You lock it tight and with the help of other you put everything you can in front of the door.

Then, you all just sit down, leaning against the wall and praying for the long minutes of shots to pass by quicker. And you just pray that your Jack is safe. That all of your friends are okay, too.

-

Jack is frantic with worry. He keeps calling you and calling you, just hoping you'll fucking finally pick up, but the call always ends up in voicemail.

The only thing keeping him from running after you is Robby and about a dozen of patience that he's hauled up with in a room.

"Quit fidgeting, Abbot." Robby whispers sternly, it's so quiet that he barely hear it. "Y/N is fine. She's a smart woman, smart doctor. She knows all the right steps. You made sure, she knows, right?"

Jack itches to scold Robby for speaking, but he's right and his words calm Jack down a bit.

"Yes, she knows." Jack says quietly and flinches at the sounds of the shots.

Jack checks his phone for any new messages from you, but finds only messages from his SWAT buddy that keeps updating him on the police's move.

They are still couple of minutes out and Jack just hopes they hurry. Especially, as the firing stops, replaced by the quiet before a storm.

-

You know the shooter is on your floor and with the minutes ticking by and still no sign of police, you take the last steps of your survival.

You position yourself on one side of the door, scalpel in one hand and injection with heavy dose of morphine in the other. Your colleague, shaking, stands on the other side, prepared to try to take out the shooter if he somehow breaks in.

-

The text of the shooter being down comes 15 minutes later. Fifteen painful minutes later. There's still code gray beeping because the police still have to do a fully throughout sweep of the whole hospital to be really sure there are no more threats.

And the wait for that is somehow even worse. Jack contemplates saying fuck it to waiting, but Robby gives him the 'no stupid ideas' look so Jack stays.

"She's okay, brother." Robby reassures him again. Jack is so pent up by now that it doesn't help.

Jack just shakes his head, letting out a shaky breath. He hasn't felt this kind of fear in a long, long time.

"But if she got shot or-or...."

"She didn't. And if she had, we'll deal with it. We'll patch her up." Robby's voice is wobbly as he tries to reassure Jack. Robby knows how much you mean to Jack, how much he loves you and you're Robby's friend too, so his worry for you isn't easy on him either.

Finally, code gray stops and 'all clear' comes through the speakers. And Jack is hauling the stuff away from the door and running out of there immediately.

He doesn't even register the pain shooting through his leg. You come first before everything and everyone else. He already lost one love in his life before and he's not losing you.

Jack is frantic by the time he gets upstairs. There's so much rubbish and blood everywhere. And yet he can't find you. Can't see your characteristic hair color or your pretty smile or that purple stethoscope you love so much.

"Jack?" Your name on his lips is like a gift straight from heaven.

He follows your voice with a sob trying to break free. And there you are, crouching in front of a patient as you bandage a wound in their arm.

You quickly make sure the bandages are tight and secure before you stand up and walk up to frozen Jack.

As you near him, he finally starts moving again. His hands end up on your cheeks, checking you all over.

You wince as he moves your head around gently. "Jesus, angel, did you get shot? There's so much blood. Oh god, are you okay?"

He rambles quickly, asking you question after question. And the sheer panic in his eyes tells you what you need to know.

Your hands come up to hold his on your cheeks. "Jack, baby, breathe. I'm not shot. I'm okay, we're both okay."

You nod, prompting him to do the same. Shaky breaths leave both of you, and Jack has to squeeze his eyes shut tight to get the hazy vision away.

"I was so fucking worried, sweetheart." Jack finally says with a steady voice. He brings your face closer to his, leaning against your forehead.

"I was too. The shots were so close and so loud. We hid in the x-ray room, but before that I got knocked down on my face by people running. That's why I look so bad." You tell Jack, and he smiles softly at you before he leans back to examine said nose. It doesn't look broken but he'll definitely make you get a scan taken just to be sure.

"Good job, sweetheart. Those doors are thick and protected. You made a great decision. I'm proud of you." Jack leans down, giving you a kiss full of relief. Screw pda policies, there's only you on his mind.

"I love you, Jack." You whisper against his lips, suddenly feeling like you don't say those three words often enough. You could have been one of the people laying dead. But by sone miracle, both of you are okay and you'll cherish it forever.

"I love you, angel. Don't scare me like this again please." His thumb is rubbing your cheek gently as he chuckles. The sound eases the last tightness in your chest. "I'm gonna keep you close to me from now on."

And finally that earns him a small laugh from you because this overbearing man already trails you like a lovesick puppy most of the time. But you love it, you wouldn't change it for anything.

"Okay, handsome. Whatever brings you the peace of mind, I'm up for it." Jack drops one more kiss onto your lips.

Right before he's tugging you after him, not giving you a chance to protest as he makes you get a scan of your nose. He does that, cleans your bloody face and just then he goes join his busy colleagues.

Jack knew he could spare those 5 minutes to make sure that you were okay. If he was really needed, someone would come get him. But now, he can get back to work with one eye still on you.

After all of the injured people are taken care of he's gonna take you home and keep you in his hands the whole time. And maybe have a little heart to heart session as well.

[shadeofpeach]

Toddlers and soda don't mix

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x wife!reader x toddler!daughter Warnings: minor angst, sick toddler, accidental ingestion, vomiting, fluff, sleep deprivation,guilt. Summary: When his toddler daughter secretly drinks half a can of his Coke, a nighttime stomach wrenching crisis ensues. Luckily, Dr. Abbot is on hand to help, though he may have to pay a high price for being a "bad" father.

Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes. more dad! fics: dad!pitt ; dad!abbot

The baby monitor crackles to life at 2 AM with a dramatic cry.

"Mama... Hurts... Mama, tummy hurts..."

You bolt upright, the heavy haze of exhaustion vanishing in a second. Slipping out of bed, you hurry to your daughter's room. When you open the door, she’s curled into a tight little ball under her blankets, clutching her knees to her chest, her face flushed and tear streaked.

"Oh, sweet girl, what’s wrong?" you murmur, lifting her into your arms. She feels slightly warm, but it’s her belly that’s rock hard and tense.

She lets out a sharp wail, burying her face in your neck.

You try to think. Did she eat something bad? A stomach bug? Your mind scrambles through the medicine cabinet, but you’re terrified of giving a toddler the wrong dosage or medicine.

Needing help, you grab your phone and dial the one person who always has the answers.

Over at the hospital, the emergency department is in its usual state of controlled chaos. Jack stands at the central desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

When his phone vibrates, he sighs. But seeing your name on the screen, he steps away from the desk into a quieter corner.

"Hey, baby," Jack says. "Everything okay?"

"Jack, I need help," you say, and the panic in your voice immediately puts him on high alert. In the background, he can hear the distinct crying of your daughter. "She woke up screaming. She’s clutching her stomach, a-and it's completely rigid. She’s... I think she's in so much pain and I don't know what to do. What medicine can I give her? P-Please tell me what to do."

"Okay, baby, hey, take a breath. Is she vomiting? Does she have a fever?"

"No fever, she’s just a little warm from crying. No vomiting yet, but she's crying so hard she might. She keeps saying her tummy hurts."

"Is the pain on the lower right side? Does she flinch if you press gently on it?" Jack asks. The fear of appendicitis is always there.

"No, it seems like it's her whole stomach. She's just curled up." Jack pauses, trying to piece every thing you say together. "Jack, did she eat anything unusual today? Anything out of the ordinary when you two were out?"

Silence hangs on the line for a second. And then, the memory of their afternoon grocery run hits him.

The grocery store.

The coke can.

He remembers her sitting in the cart, proudly holding her little juice box, while he grabbed a can of Coca-Cola. He remembers her finishing the juice in five minutes flat, and then pointing her finger at his red can.

“Want that. Daddy, please?”

“No, baby. That’s Daddy’s. It’ll make your tummy hurt.”

But she had been stubborn.

She pouted, she whined, she reached for it. And later, when they got home, Jack had set the open can on the low coffee table while he was distracted trying to put the groceries away.

He remembered the sudden silence in the living room.

When a toddler is quiet, they’re up to mischief.

By the time he had walked back into the room, she was sitting on the rug, the red can tipped back, a dark ring of soda around her mouth.

She had swallowed nearly half the can before he snatched it away. He had cleaned her up, checked her over, and when she seemed fine, he figured they’d dodged a bullet.

He hadn't wanted to worry you, so he kept it to himself.

God, he was an idiot.

"Jack? Are you there?" your voice breaks through his thoughts.

"Ye- yeah, I'm here," Jack whispers, a guilt washing over him. He leans his forehead against the hospital wall, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry. It’s my fault."

"What? What do you mean?"

"This afternoon... when we went to the store," Jack confesses. "I got a can of Coke. She wanted it, and I told her no, but... I got distracted. I left the can on the table. She drank almost half of it before I realized. I thought she’d be fine, but... her stomach can't handle that. It's a massive gas buildup and a caffeine crash."

There’s a beat of silence. "Jack... she's a toddler. Half a can?"

"I know. I know, I’m so sorry," Jack says, his voice cracking. He feels utterly incompetent. He couldn't protect his own daughter from a stupid can of soda. "I should have been paying attention."

"We can deal with that later," you say, pushing your frustration aside because your daughter is still sobbing against your shoulder. "Do I give her medicine?"

"No pain meds yet," Jack says. "Do you have any pediatric gas drops? Simethicone?"

"Yes, I think we have some."

"Okay, good, give her the recommended dose of that. After that, don't lay her flat. Keep her upright against your chest. Rub her back firmly to help her pass the gas. And try to get her to take small sips of water to flush her system, but only if she wants it."

"Okay," you breathe, writing it down mentally. "Simethicone, upright, rub her back."

"If she starts vomiting repeatedly, or if she develops a fever, you call me immediately and bring her here. I'll have a bed ready. But it should start to pass in an hour or two once you give her that." Jack's voice is calm, trying to sound clear, so you understand the indications and calm your nerves. "I am so sorry, honey. I’ll come home. I’ll get someone to cover the rest of my shift—"

"No, Jack, don't do that," you sigh. Your anger softens. "It's okay. I can handle this. Just... stay on the phone with me while I give her the drops?"

"Yeah," Jack chokes out. "Yeah. I'm not going anywhere. Put me on speaker so I can talk to her."

-

When the clock reads 4 AM, Jack finally finds some minutes to check on his family. Because every time he had to suture a laceration or look at a patient’s chart, his mind drifted back to his little girl sobbing because of his carelessness.

He hates himself for calling and potentially waking you if she finally fell asleep, but the agony of not knowing is eating him alive.

You answer on the second ring, your voice sounded exhausted. "Hey."

"Hey, beautiful," Jack breathes."Did I wake you? Is she... how is she?"

"You didn't wake me. I was just sitting on the floor next to her, watching her," you say softly. "She threw up about an hour ago, but she's okay now."

Jack’s stomach drops. He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes tight. "God. I'm so sorry. I should have come home. Was it bad? Did she choke? Is she—"

"Jack, it's okay," you interrupt gently. "She’s okay. Honestly, I think throwing up was exactly what she needed to get the thing out of her system. Right after it happened, she let out a huge sigh, drank a few sips of water, and went straight to sleep. Her stomach isn't hard anymore."

Jack lets out a long breath but the relief doesn't completely wash away the bitter taste of self reproach.

"I feel like a terrible father," he confesses. "I was right there and I let her get hurt."

"Jack, baby," you say. "You are not a terrible father. This things happen. Maybe you didn't think she would do it. And it's okay."

"That's not an excuse—"

"It's not an excuse, it's reality," you cut in softly. "Toddlers are like tiny silent ninjas. You can look away for three seconds, and they’ve climbed onto the counter. It happens to everyone. Literally everyone."

Jack swallows hard. "She was crying so hard, honey."

"And she’s sleeping peacefully now," you reassure him. "These things happen, baby. Yesterday it was a Coke can. Next week she’s probably going to eat my lipgloss. We do our best, we mess up, we learn, and we keep going. You made a mistake, and then you stayed on the phone and walked me through exactly how to take care of her. You're incredible."

Jack listens to your calm voice, and the anxiety on his chest starts to melt.

"How did I get so lucky with you?" he whispers.

A soft chuckle comes through the receiver. "Because you're a good man, Jack Abbot... Even when you leave carbonated drinks within arm's reach."

He laughs weakly. "I'm throwing all the soda in the house in the trash the second I get home."

"You better..." you say, a playful lilt finally creeping into your tired voice. "We are completely fine here. I promise. Sleepy but fine."

Jack catches the slight shift in your tone.

He can picture the teasing smirk on your face.

He leans back against the wall, a smile appearing on his face.

"You're really annoyed with me, aren't you, baby?" he asks.

"Maybe... A little," you reply instantly, letting out a hum just to provoke him. "I mean, my sleep is completely ruined now but we're okay."

"I know, I know. I'm at your mercy," Jack chuckles, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "How can I make it up to you? Name your price, Dr. Abbot will deliver."

"You are absolutely stopping to grab breakfast on your way home," you dictate, though there's no real heat behind it. "The good stuff. The biggest caramel latte they can legally sell you. Consider it the 'bad dad' tax."

"Done, beautiful. Consider it ordered. I'll bring your favorite. And morning kisses too. Special breakfast for my woman." Jack says smiling like an idiot.

"Good, handsome," you murmur as you look over at your daughter, who is now snoring softly. The storm had passed, and everything was going to be fine. "Get back to work. And, Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you. We love you."

"I love you both, honey, so much," he whispers, his heart swelling with warmth. "See you in a few hours. Go to sleep."

As the call clicks shut, Jack takes a peaceful breath, knowing he has a warm home, a recovering little girl, and a wonderful wife waiting to share breakfast with him.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

the pitt masterlist

[lovesickmira]

nsfw

andrew cody who inspects your pussy after having sex

He’s just so fascinated. He did this to you, he ruined you like this. Watching his cum ooze out of your abused cunt, he’s laser focused. Your sides all bruised w/ his handprints.

he was clinging onto you the entire time, groaning and whining about how good you felt. How tight, how perfect you squeezed his cock. His eyes glued to the space between you as he slammed in ‘n out.

he genuinely can’t believe you let him do this to you.

his fingers would spread your folds apart, looking at your fluttering hole in awe while you lay above him all sweaty ‘n disheveled.

its genuinely a fucking sight.

a/n i dont know what got into me somebody probably wrote this before but idk.

[bloodiedskirtts]

Window Shopping

andrew "pope" cody x fem!reader

just a lil voyeurism blurb with popey

Pope likes his new house. He's moved out of Smurf's house into a place by the beach. The sound of the ocean keeps him calm. What doesn't keep him calm is his neighbour. He first meets you when you're coming back from the beach. You're wearing a tiny bikini, it barely covers anything. And Pope can't look away.

You smile and wave at him, wiggling your fingers at him. Your hair is dripping water from the sea and Pope can't help but think about licking the salt water from your body.

Pope notices that you don't close your curtains at night. And you like to prance around in tiny sleep shorts and tank tops. Tank tops with no bra, that much is obvious. He can see the outline of your nipples under the almost sheer top. Sometimes you'll forego the shorts altogether. He can feel himself stir in his pants at the cute cotton panties you love, little bows or flowers covering the fabric.

You like to keep all the lights on. So Pope can watch you everywhere you go. And soon, he knows your entire routine.

You get up and go straight to the beach. He watches as you change into your bikini, his breath hitching as you pull the bottoms up your legs. He likes watching how your fingers tie your bikini top. But his favourite part of the morning is your return from the beach. He watches you as you strip off your bikini in your bedroom, dropping the pieces to the floor. You walk through your room to the bathroom, completely naked, and it takes Pope's breath away.

He loves watching you massage your moisturiser into your body before you get dressed for the day. He watches you make breakfast and then rush out the door away to wherever you spend the majority of your day. He knows you come home around seven. Most of the time you'll bring food home with you. You immediately strip out of your clothes and into pyjamas or sweats. You spend the evening watching TV or reading a book or scrolling on your phone. He tuts. You shouldn't do that.

Sometimes you'll settle on your bed, legs spread with your hand in between your thighs. His eyes can't look away from your form as you writhe on the bed bringing yourself pleasure over and over.

"Hey, Pope," you greet him when he meets you, taking in the mail or dragging in the bins.

He just nods at you in ways of greeting. But after seeing you struggle with your bins one evening, seeing the strip of your thong peaking out over your jean shorts, Pope brings your bins in and out for you.

"You don't need to do that for me, Popey," you say to him one day when you catch him. You pout as you put your hand on his arm, you drag your thumb over one of the veins that bulges under his skin.

"No trouble. You don't have anyone else to do it for ya," he says before continuing.

Pope loves watching you. But hates watching when you stumble home on a Saturday night with some loser attached to you. Kissing you, when he should be kissing you. He would watch as you fell back on the couch, your head falling off the edge as these men kissed over your breasts and stomach before settling between your legs. He watches as you reach your climax.

He wants to know how you feel when you cum for him.

He likes watching as you bring these men to your room, watching as they fuck you...or you ride them, your tits bouncing with each thrust.

And then the next morning, these men will leave and you will greet Pope with a sweet little smile.

"Hi Popey," you coo waving at him, wearing a t-shirt that showcases your tits perfectly for him and your pretty little panties that hug your ass.

Pope thinks you're purposefully teasing him. But women don't like him...

He's watching you one Saturday night with some loser you must have found at one of the bars near the Strand. You're riding him so pretty in reverse cowgirl so you can look out your bedroom window. Pope knows he shouldn't be watching you hook up with some random loser. But he can't look away. He's realised that if he cracks his window, he can hear the noises you're making. And you make the prettiest noises. Pope is addicted to it.

He sits in darkness, watching you as you cry out on this guy's cock. His heart stutters when your eyes lock onto his. You bite your lip as your hands play with your tits, putting on a show for Pope. You never look away from him until you cum.

"Oh fuck!" you cry out. "Right there, Popey baby. Right there!"

Your declaration causes the loser to freeze under you. It causes Pope to freeze as well.

Should he take it as an invitation? Baz told him he always oversteps with women...But you called his name.

He knows he shouldn't. But the lock on your back door is shit and easy to pick.

"Took you long enough, baby," you coo when he finds you sitting in your kitchen with your lights off for once.

a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! any and all feedback appreciated. requests open

taglist: @sweetashhh @orangecheescakeleftover @elenamoncadaibarra @joelmillrenthusiast @abbotaes @onlyforyuto @meetmeatyourworst 

masterlist | requests

[bambiiette]

do u think jack would have a thing for his fingers in his girl’s mouth? like feeding her little oral fixation..

- 🦢

oral fixation with jack abbot

WARNINGS: MATURE CONTENT AHEAD (MDNI) - oral fixation, fingers in mouth, blowjobs mention, mean-ish jack (more just like dom!jack lowkey)

A/N: sorry this is a short one, i’m just getting back into the swing of writing & all that!! but this is the perfect way to get back into it :)

────────── ୨ৎ ───────────

it’s no secret to jack that you liked having things in your mouth. that sounds gross, but it’s true. you loved sucking on an ice block in summer, sucking on a straw until it was all chewed and you couldn’t drink out of it anymore, sucking on the ice from your glass until it melted.

and of course, the more sexual things. it should make jack feel perverted, the way he takes notice to these things. the way your mouth waters before you get his cock in your mouth. the way you suck hard, barely letting his cock leave your mouth. or how about the sheer amount of times you do it, going down on him every chance you get. god, sometimes you’d just be sitting on the couch and pull out his dick so that you can have it in your mouth. jack wasn’t particularly a ‘receiver’ more than a ‘giver’ but who would he be to deny his girl anything?

and when you didn’t have something in your mouth, something to numb the feeling? you were a brat. that’s the only word fit to describe you, jack decided. he learnt the signs early on, you were moody, short tempered, dissatisfied with anything he did. and the only way to fix you was to give you something to suck. which is how you’re in the situation you’re in right now.

he grabs your face with one hand, squishing your cheeks. "come on baby, open for me," he instructs. one word that makes your body go limp and without even thinking you comply, parting your lips just wide enough for his fingers to fit in.

he runs two thick fingers across your bottom lip and your eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his fingertips against your lips. he pushes them just past your lips, grazing the tip of your tongue and you close your mouth around them. you immediately move your tongue against them, swirling around them and without even realising it you begin sucking on them hard.

"is that what you needed huh, baby? just needed my fingers in your mouth to shut you up?" he coos, stroking the side of your face with his free hand, you melt into his touch, nuzzling your face against the large palm.

he pushes his fingers to the back of your throat, so he can hear the gagging sounds you make. he’s rock hard at this point but is enjoying the view too much to stop now. you with your wide, doe eyes staring up at him, drool dribbling out your mouth and coating his hand.

each thrust of his fingers reaches a new depth, each time you think he can’t go any farther back, he does. tears begin to pool in your eyes, the lack of oxygen getting to you. you try hard to breathe through your nose but each thrust of his fingers takes all the air out of you. you’re at his mercy, no choice but to take it, and love it. which you do.

[verdantdrawzstories]

Reminder that fanfic authors write the stories you like

FOR FREE

[pinkandblueblurbs]

girl i love reading your writing bc now i can’t stop thinking about condescending robby + free use 😵‍💫 him bending reader over and cooing at her whimpers, mocking her when whines at him to slow down for a bit :(

18+ mdni cnc! free use is so dear to me… the thought of him just wanting to sink into a warm tight hole so he gets up and stalks around the house to find you… “there you are, sweetheart. c’mere.”

him catching you around the waist n leading you to the couch, him shushing your whined “daddy” as he bends you over the back of it, flips up your skirt, n yanks down your panties

him spitting onto your slit n ignoring your gasp, spreading his saliva around w the head of his cock quickly before shoving right inside.. you’re all clenched up and he groans as he forces himself in…

you try to move away from the harsh stretch n he grips your hips and lifts you further onto the back of the couch so your feet dangle and you have no leverage to get away…. “shh, don’t fight me, honey. just let daddy have you.” UGH his big hands holding you down as you squirm and whimper “so fucking tight for me, good girl” UGH

[gxtitobxby]

lifting you higher so you have no leverage to pull away… right right 🚬

[mourningstareyes]

blue nails pretty faces - jack abbot x reader

summary: When getting ready for a fundraiser, Jack Abbot finds himself suddenly feeling self conscious, his salt and pepper hair and aging skin worming their way into his brain. You remind him just how gorgeous he is.

warnings/themes: doctor!reader, engaged couple/established relationship, self-doubt, body image issues (not reader), reader basically dominates jack into reassessing himself lmao, jack likes listening to his woman, written in one sitting so I could get it out of my brain, self-indulgent as fuck, hurt/comfort, self-deprecation, sexual tones but not inherently NSFW, could be read as part of the same universe as my last abbottale, age gap but not significant

notes: I see Jack as being normally unbothered by age, but we all get those moments of insecurity. Also nails. Love nails. This man does too. _____

Jack Abbot didn’t often think about his age. Of course he knew, in the back of his mind, that he’d been on God’s green earth for just shy of 50 years. He’d outlived many friends and family members. Even a wife. It just wasn’t something he dwelled on - he was a busy man with better things to do than lament the aging process that he was, frankly, lucky enough to experience. But standing there, in the low light of the hotel bedroom, in front of the ornate floor length mirror, he felt a twang in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long while. 

He took in his reflection, a pair of well tailored dress pants gracing his lower half, one leg rolled up just enough to access his prosthetic. He would change his socket sleeve before he left for the fundraiser, knowing it would be a long night. A crisp white button up sat, perfectly ironed, on the plush bed behind him. He ran a hand through his greying- no, he stopped his thought - fully grey, hair and let out a soft sigh, rolling his shoulders. 

Jack smelt your perfume before he saw you emerge from the bathroom. A soft, velvety scent filling the room and sinking into his pores. White florals and pink peppercorn, he could hear your voice repeating, delighted at a new addition to your collection. Then he looked up, catching your reflection in the mirror. 

You were finishing putting an earring in, pearl drop grazing your neck for a second as you craned it. Your bare feet were silent on the carpet as you pattered over to him, catching his eye in the reflection. The dusky blue silk of your dress spilt over you, falling to graze your ankles and catching in all the right places on the way down. Smoky brown shadow framed your eyes, your smile even more catlike than usual. 

“Never thought I’d see the day that I’m having to wait for you to get ready,” you teased softly, grabbing his shirt. 

At the sight of you, the doctor’s breath hitched. The great Doctor Abbot, esteemed combat medic and ER doctor, was feeling like a teenager having his first crush. Fuck, you were beautiful. 

Then the strange, unwanted twang wriggled its way back into his chest. 

Jack knew, logically, that he was in much better shape than most men his age. Scrap that, better shape than half the ED. He often teased Robby in their younger days for being a gangly beanstalk. He was in the gym every other day before or after a shift. He was aware of the puppy dog eyes that followed him, new - and even some established - PTMC staff members giggling shyly amongst themselves as he came by. Hell, he had scored you, the large rock on your finger - which Lena and Dana alike had both approvingly nodded at - glistening in the lamp light. 

You weren’t that much younger than him, despite your teasing about retirement homes and him needing sponge baths. No one bat an eyelash when your relationship became public. You were a fully formed adult, confident, capable and knowing. All but an equal in your mutually chosen field. 

But in that moment, he truly felt the 15 years between the pair of you. The salt and pepper scruff of his hair versus the endlessly soft, dark swirl of your updo. He felt the stiffness in his skeleton, in the joints of his legs, both bionic and flesh. You moved fluidly, holding his shirt open for him to slip an arm in. His skin was sun weathered, not a single inch of skin unfreckled, forearms tanned and hardy. Leathery. Your skin felt like nothing but satin, smooth and even, brushing against him as he slipped the shirt on, you adjusting his collar. The wrinkles of his face, smile lines and worry lines present and deep in equal measure, looked back at him. His leg suddenly felt even more like a heavy, dead weight than it normally did, the scar tissue littering his body suddenly a dull, insistent presence.

And so he looked away from his reflection, with just enough haste that you caught it. And he noticed that you noticed his sudden movement, narrowing your eyes slightly as you handed him the box of cufflinks. 

“Why look at an ugly old dog when I have something so much more beautiful to look at, mmm?” He busied himself with the mother-of-pearl cufflinks (an engagement gift from your parents which he had originally secretly thought were ridiculous, until you pointed out that they had intended them to be complimentary to your love of pearls), taking you in but carefully avoiding meeting your eyes. 

You paused for a second, the light tone of his sentence not quite masking something underneath. You knew Jack Abbot better than that. 

“And what do you mean by that, sweetheart?” 

He paused buttoning up his shirt, the top two buttons unfastened as he reached for your waist, strong hands pulling you into him. His heart stuttered as you gazed up at him through your dark lashes.

“I mean that I get to have the most stunning doctor on my arm, and with my ring on her finger, and sharing my house,” he buried his face in your neck, breath warm and minty. “And my bed…” His voice was muffled by the skin of the dip between your bare neck and shoulder.

You made a soft sound of faux protest. You weren’t falling for his distractions, no matter how suave, until you got to the bottom of this.

“Y’know…” You took half a step back, grasping his collar. “If you wanted me to collar you, you could just ask.” You, a tad more than gently, tugged it to be straight, threading the un-tied bowtie through the back of it. “You don’t need to call yourself an ‘ugly old dog’ to do it.” You pointedly jabbed a sharp, mirror-shiny dark blue nail at the bare skin of his chest.  

Jack started to say something, the words dying in the back of his throat as you stepped back, looming behind him. A manicured hand gently but firmly grabbed his chin, tilting his head to better see his side profile. 

“Look at your fucking jawline.” Your voice wasn’t harsh, but it was demanding. The hair on the back of his neck prickled at the tone. Following your directive, he begrudgingly looked at his reflection. You did have a point. It was refined, strong. 

Blood rushed all kinds of places as you dragged your nails down his neck, and he wished with every thread of his body that you could be afforded the luxury of having your nails done more than working in the ED provided. Your hands passed briefly over the bare skin of his chest, before moving down. 

“And how often have I sunk my teeth into your gorgeous arms?” Your hands found his biceps and then forearms, your eyes meeting his in the mirror. “I want to bite them every second of every stupid shift I have to deal with you in your stupid scrubs. Half the hospital wants to. I’ve seen the way the admin ladies in pedes look at you. I’ve seen how Robby looks at you.” Jack poorly suppressed a grin. 

The nails moved again, tracing across his shoulders and down his back. Grazing the fabric-covered litany of scars, some newer than others. 

“I don’t love your love of getting into trouble. But I do love a good story.” Your thumb caught the newest addition to the collection on his shoulder. “...and you are nothing if not covered in stories.” 

“And you’d be a hypocrite if you told me not to get into trouble.” He muttered under his breath, smiling. 

“We’re not talking about me right now, Doctor Abbot.” You pressed a finger to his lips, tutting softly.

He quietened down.

You stepped in front of him, now standing between him and the mirror. Your eyes looked at him properly now, something softer and deeper in them as your fingers found his hair. Jack leaned into the sensation of your nails against his scalp, eyes closing for a moment.

Your fingers moved to trace the features of his face, across wrinkles and freckles alike. Jack found himself looking at his reflection for a second, before looking back at you, something so achingly sincere in your expression. 

“You are so impossibly beautiful.” Your voice was a purr, warm and wrapping around the man in front of you. “All of you.” Your right hand remained cupping his face. One hand reached down to grasp one of his, pressing it to your own cheek. 

“And you are such a good man. Such a good doctor.” You huffed, a smile slowly spreading on your face. “Beauty and brains. It would be unfair if you weren’t mine. And you best believe I will continue to make sure that the ladies in pedes remember that you are mine.” The corner of your lips stretched outward like the Cheshire Cat. 

“Look at yourself again.”

Jack obliged, dragging his eyes from your fluttering lashes and glossy lips to his own reflection. 

“Have I said anything untrue, Doctor Abbot?” He shook his head. “Words, Jack.”

“No, ma’am.” 

“Good.” You dropped his hand, and your hand from his cheek in turn, expression now serious. Jack felt every cell of his body light up the second your nails grasped his jaw, pulling his face down to yours. Fuck, maybe he wasn’t so old after all.

“I don’t take kindly to people bad-mouthing my husband-to-be.” 

You pressed in for a moment, just far enough for him to feel your breath on his face, your own lips just a fraction of an inch away from being against his. He moved in as you pulled back, grinning.

“Hurry up, handsome. Before your pretty face makes us late.”