i think it’s more canon for (at the beginning of your relationship) Andrew to, when in bed, trying to dirty talk, say some shit like, “you..do you like this dick..?” trying to be sexy but he feels awkward. all monotone and a little lifeless. and you see him trying, smiling a little as you nod, “love it Andrew, feels so good.” he nods firmly, grunting over you while holding your legs.
he tries again, “your..pussys so tight and. wet.” he’s stiff with his words, eyes wide trying to gauge whether you like it or not, because he doesn’t know how to do this, but he doesn’t wanna be completely silent to you.
you admire how much he wants to please you. “yeah, Andy? feels good around your dick baby?” you try and get him more comfortable, grinning at the louder groan he lets out. “love it, baby. love ho-how you squeeze me..love how you squeeze this dick.”
his puppy eyes search for your approval, that he sounded good, that he was making you feel good. not that it took much from you, still moaning and twinkly eyed under him. “there you go baby,” you whisper, a small giggle escaping through pants, and he nods, a little blushy smile on his face. “am i doin good for you..?” “yes Andy, ur doin’ amazing.”
mornings with titus
MDNI (18+); literally no plot lol
w.c. 1.8k
masterlist
cw: light somno, very soft sex, sweet sweet missionary, why does he have to look like that. like its infuriating how hot this man is. i need a soft morning with him. please titus just one chance.
you woke up to a feeling of something between your legs. you shifted on top of the silken bamboo sheets, bare skin still dewy from the activities of the night before. your eyebrows pulled together and you moved your thighs to try and gauge what was going on. when you felt the rounded point of a finger run up the length of your pussy, you let out an annoyed sigh.
"titus." you murmured, voice cracked with sleep, but your frustration was still audible. "i was dreaming."
"sorry." titus rumbled unapologetically. his hand rested heavy on your warm skin and his finger rolled over your clit. "you just looked so good. couldn't help myself." your eyes fluttered open to look at him. soft light streamed into your shared bedroom from behind the thin beige curtains. the sunlight played with the color of titus' hair. you could see a few of the cinnamon strands that held their own against the rapidly spreading grey in his curls. they were still mussed from sleep. his head was resting in his other hand, arm propped up on his pillow. his eyes ran down your figure and he looked at you with lazy adoration. he hadn't been up for long. you blinked up at him and he gave you a small smile. "hey." he said softly.
"hi." your lips mirrored his. but your grin faltered when his fingers dipped past your opening. you let out a gasp. you weren't nearly wet enough for it to be pleasurable, and you winced at the dragging sensation of titus' fingers against your walls.
"sorry," titus frowned, removing his fingers briefly. he put two digits in his mouth. once he gathered enough saliva for lubricant, he returned to you. he continued to pet you, stroking over your velvety folds and gaze flicking to various points of your body. you kept your eyes on him the entire time. his dark green t-shirt clung to his body in a titillating way. it was stretched around his shoulders, sleeves choking the muscles of his arms. the softness of his belly pushed the shirt out slightly, creating folds in the fabric. you wished that he had taken it off, but titus never slept naked. he tried once, but couldn't stop tossing and turning, mind hyperaware of ever thread that brushed him. your eyes stayed on his belly for a moment. the hem of his shirt was ridden up slightly and you could just barely see the soft trail of dark hair leading beneath his waistband. you let out a small hum of approval. your eyes went lower, catching the tent in his dark blue sleep pants. the outline of him was thick and you saw it twitch. a small wet spot darkened the fabric right at the head of his cock. you needed him inside you, even though the ghost of his stretch still lingered from last night.
it didn't take long for arousal to start pooling between your thighs and titus noticed.
"see something you like?" titus' voice was low and amused. your eyes flicked up back to his face. he was looking at you with a cocky smirk and half-lidded eyes. hot embarrassment rose in your cheeks. well and truly caught in the act of ogling him. you swallowed and titus just licked his lips. he titled his chin up slightly, dipping his fingers into your cunt. you were wet now, and you heard a small noise as he inserted himself to his knuckles. you let out a sigh of pleasure. "tell you what," titus whispered, eyes dark "give me one and you can have it." he removed his fingers and brought one back to your clit, rubbing small circles around it and sending pulses of pleasure up your spine. you nodded and gripped the pillow next to your head to stabilize yourself.
titus readjusted his position slightly, pushing himself up onto his elbow and twisting his hand so that he could slip two fingers into your pussy while still rubbing your clit. he leaned down to kiss down your neck and chest. he licked at one of your nipples, sucking it to a point. you squeezed your eyes together, chasing a peak that was building way to slowly for your liking. you wanted titus and you wanted him now. you squirmed under him, trying to find an angle to build your pleasure faster. titus released your nipple and slowed his movements. you whined in frustration.
"don't chase it, baby," titus murmured against your ear, pressing kisses to your jaw. "let it happen. enjoy it. we're in no rush." he kissed the tip of your nose and then your lips. you forced your body to relax, to take in the stimulus as it was and not trying to hurry it along. titus' mouth moved back to your chest, sucking and nipping at the skin. the two of you took it slow, languid movements in the warmth of your bed in the soft morning sun. eventually, titus pressed a little harder into your clit, rubbed a little quicker. you felt the iconic sensation of your orgasm catching. you moaned and your fingers flew to titus' hair, tangling your fingers in his curls. he sighed against your skin and grazed his teeth across your pebbled nipple. you saw his cock jump beneath his pants when your grip on him tightened. your breath came out in short gasps as your muscles tensed, legs shaking. titus worked you through your orgasm, band snapping and walls clenching around his fingers with wet squelches. he helped you down, kissing your mouth and swallowing your little moans and whimpers. he pulled back with a smile and you looked up at him with unfocused eyes and parted lips. "feel good?" he hummed, pecking your lips again.
"mhm." your hands came up to his cheeks and you pulled him back into a kiss. one of your palms drifted from his face down his chest. titus groaned into your mouth when you squeezed his erection. it was hot and heavy in your palm. with deft fingers, you popped the button of the pants and wrapped your fingers around him. you collected the steady rolling beads of precum from his slit. you spread it up and down his length and smiled into your kiss as titus' breathing grew ragged. his hand wrapped around your wrist and broke the kiss, forehead resting on yours.
"i appreciate it," he panted against you "but i'm not gonna last long, and i'm only cumming if it's inside you." you nodded and titus pulled himself on top of you, pressing his hips to yours. he bucked harshly into your exposed pussy, your combines juices staining his pants.
your fingers pulled at the hem of his shirt and titus got the message. he sat back on his knees and reached back to pull it over his head, tossing it to the floor. you watched with barely-contained lust as the freckled skin of his torso was revealed to you slowly. your eyes slipped down his body, moaning when titus pushed his pants down his hips and kicked them off. he leaned back over you and steadied himself by planting a palm against your head. he cast you a check-in look and you nodded. titus lined himself up and pushed into you. you were so slick that he was able to bottom out on the first thrust. the pair of you let out satisfied groans in sync.
while he waited for you to get adjusted, your nails gently dragged down his chest, the way you knew he liked, and titus' eyes fell closed. he swallowed and his face softened. a curl fell onto his forehead and you swept it away.
"you're so pretty, titus." you said softly, with awe and wide eyes. titus looked down at you and he let out a little laugh, shaking his head.
"that's all you, honey. fuck, you feel so good. so wet 'n warm 'n tight."
you pulled titus' lips back to yours as he gave his first thrust. your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist and titus dropped to his forearms. you sloppily kissed him as he pulled out and in with soft snaps of his hips, never truly leaving your warmth. titus dropped his head to your shoulder and began pounding into you harder. each drag of his cock pulled a grunt from his throat and sent the noise of skin slapping through the room. the air smelled like sex and sounded like adoration, sweet praises slipping from titus' mouth straight to your ears.
you're so perfect. i'm so lucky. i love you so much.
after one particularly harsh thrust, you pushed at his shoulders. "s-slower, titus," you gasped, the head of his cock hitting a sore spot inside you. "still feel it from last night." he was feral. only a few hours ago, he had you pressed into the mattress, back to his belly, in a headlock, bullying your sobbing cunt. polar opposite to how he was treating you now. that was your favorite part of being physical with titus- he fucked on a spectrum. you could ask for filthy, dirty, even painful sex and he'd give it to you, but the moment you told him you wanted something softer, he was affectionately rolling his hips and peppering your face with kisses while looking you in the eyes.
"o-okay, m'sorry," he panted out, forcing himself to roll into you instead of quick punches. the overstimulation in your chest simmered out, and pleasure began to build again. he was still deep and his head brushed against the spot above your cervix, the one that made your toes go numb and tingles of ecstasy blossom in your abdomen.
titus felt your walls flutter around him and he knew you were close. he continued rolling into you, only pulling back about an inch before sinking back into you. his fingers found your clit again and used your combined arousals to rub around you.
"there it is, isn't it? that the spot? doin' s'good for me, honey, give me one more. c'mon. cum with me." titus panted out against your neck. your finger nails dug into the meat of his shoulders and pulled him closer to you. after a few more thrusts, you snapped, clenching so hard around him that you thought he would be pushed out. but titus pushed into you, trapping you beneath him as he came. he let out high-pitched gasps as his cum coated your insides, cock twitching as he rode out his release. his arms shook with exertion and he collapsed onto you, full weight draped over you. you drew shapes over his skin and pressed kisses to his temple as he regained his breath. titus' arms slid under your back and nuzzled into your chest, pressing little kisses to the valley of your breasts. his breathing became even again and you felt his cum begin to dribble down your ass. but you didn't care. neither of you moved, enjoying the sensations of each other's heart beats and soft breaths. a stolen moment before you had to start your day.
Part of me is always thinking about how Titus Danforth would completely ruin me, and I’d gladly let him if it meant having a morning like this with him
content. titus danforth x reader. oral (m!receiving), overstım. porn w/o plot, established relationship. (not proofread, it’s kinda messy sorryyyy).
“ha—“ titus lets out a sound between shocked gasp and pleasure as he feels your tongue lapping at his cock head. you smile at him through your lashes.
he was older. much older but also very much inexperienced. titus danforth had never been interested in the sexual pleasures life had to offer; he’d always concerned himself with the practical aspects of the world, focusing on running the family business with ursula. yet when you first met him in that family-owned club, all those practicalities went out the window the minute your lips touched his.
he couldn't help himself. his lips pressed against yours with an unequivocal hunger, a hum leaving his throat and vibrating into the kiss. it was a hunger he probably wouldn't ever be able to fully satiate. well, maybe for a few hours a day, until he needed you again.
now, after weeks of dating, the man has agreed to let you give him a blowjob. you can only imagine how much the poor thing’s brain was turning to mush.
with every swipe of your tongue against his heavy length, you could feel him lose his composure. his breaths coming out as pants. "desperate, needy old man," you mutter at him with a small smirk. in the dim light of the bedroom, you see his cheeks flush and feel his cock twitch in your hand.
was he into this? into being humiliated?
“wonder what all your business partners would say if they saw you like this, hm? would they believe it? the great titus danforth at the mercy of his girl only cause she’s suckin his cock?”
he looks at you, his chest heaving. the practical, logical man who manages a family empire is gone, replaced by someone overwhelmed. “fuck baby” he says in return, his voice strained as your hand on his base tightens, the stroking motion slowing and then quickening. he begins leaking precum. lots of it. you’d almost think he’s cum if you didn’t know better.
but you knew better. and you knew you wanted to make him cry tonight. your mouth wraps around his red tip. suckling on his head feeling the vein on his underside twitch against your tongue.
you hum as you take him deeper into your mouth. the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. you gag and then relax your jaw. taking him deeper. titus was going to come soon. you could feel him tense up, where your hands were curled around his base. his body rising a little, whines spilling out of his lips as his hand tightens in your hair.
the painful satisfying pull when he’s close.
“oh, baby,” he whimpers. “i’m gonna cum. i’m gonna cum,” he repeats above you, his eyes shut as he focus on the feeling of your warm mouth enveloping him. you manage to take him deeper until your nose pressed against little tufts of dark brown hair neatly trimmed by his base.
you feel him cum down your throat. the white liquid flowing in thick spurts as he’s lost in releasing sounds a mix between whines and whimpers of your name. his hand loosens its hold on your hair but tightens just as fast when you keep sucking on the sensitive head of his cock. he couldn’t take anymore he thinks. he tries to push your head away but you swat his hand away.
“be good titus,” you command him and he listens. the usually so commanding and dominant titus turns putty into your hands.
you keep up the motion, intent on draining him dry. “don’t. stop,” he tries to say but the words falls on deaf ears. you had a mission and you needed to see it through.
“can’t. do more.” he huffs, chest heaving. his knuckles turn white as he grips the sheets, his body going rigid as he nears the edge.
fuck. how are you doing this to him?
the pleasure is too much. overwhelming. it makes his whole body shudder. he’s ready to come again but you pull back just at the last possible second. a frustrated whimper escapes him.
“thought you said you can’t do more?” you tilt your head,your voice dripping with feigned innocence. but you just wanted to hear him beg. which he does so instantly.
“why…why are you stopping?” he asks breathlessly.
“please. baby. please let me cum and i’ll let you ride my thigh,” he bargains, an offer so tempting you couldn’t say no.
your return your attention to his tip, your tongue swirling around his head in an agonising pace, it was bordering on torture. you trace the shape of him once, twice before you go back to suckling him until he can’t take it.
he hums in relief at the feeling of your mouth taking him in. the pressure building in his balls as he comes once again. his body shuddering lightly you look up at see tears roll down his cheek.
he lets out a low, shaky hum of relief as he feels your mouth take him back in. you can feel the pressure coiling tight until he finally breaks, cumming for you once again. as the last of the tremors move through his body, you look up and catch the sight of tears silently rolling down his cheeks.
you pull back slowly, giving him space to breathe while he trembles. the sight of the tears makes you soften, and you reach up to brush them away with your thumb, before climbing up to pepper his face with soft, lingering kisses. your fingers card through his salt and pepper curls, soothing the tension away until his body finally goes heavy and relaxed beneath yours.
word count: 14.2k
warnings: dead dove: do not eat, extremely dubious consent, fem!reader, sex work (obviously!), age gap (20/40), size difference (he calls you “little one” and tosses you around a bit oop-), coercion, lust/love at first sight, misogyny (by other ppl, not pope), very insecure!reader (bc ppl are mean! but don't worry, pope takes care of them), murder (re: previous), inexperienced!reader (and pope loves that you are), praise kink, first kiss, unprotected sex, squirting, fingerfucking, forced orgasms, loss of virginity (on camera!), threats of anal (but no actual anal play!), choking, breeding kink, cnc/rape roleplay, fear play, sex toys, humiliation/degradation kink, he matches your freak (and you bring out his), kind of a slow burn all things considered
summary: andrew cody, better known as his stage name “pope”, is a rising star in the porn world. people love his gritty, dark, aggressive demeanor. so when you, an amateur porn producer, pitches an idea to him that aligns a little too well with his kinks, he finds himself wanting to only work with you.
to the point where he won't fuck anyone on camera that isn't you…
a/n: oh porn star!pope, he has been on my mind and I just had to write him out. he's too yummy (especially when he's fucked up)!
hope it's a sick read ♡
Andrew “Pope” Cody has a very strict routine. He wakes up, has a glass of water with his pre-workout supplements, then runs a few miles before heading back to do a few weight-lifting sets. When he feels like he has let the pent up energy out of his body, he'll shower and then eat a protein heavy breakfast so he can take the rest of his pills.
Because if he doesn't take his meds, he'll surely go crazy when he's on set. The medication numbs the worser parts of himself. The ones people usually are afraid of.
The ones directors tend to tell him to “tone down” when he's fucking whatever actor or actress they're asking him to for the week.
They're lucky he even cums. It doesn't feel good. Hasn't since he started working as a porn star.
But it pays the bills better than robbing people.
It also keeps him away from his family, since most of his shoots are in Los Angeles.
So, he deals with the fact sex is muted now. The medication helps him not feel some type of way about it, thankfully, because he doesn't have sex for fun.
It's all for work.
That is, until he meets you.
You're sitting off to the side, legs dangling off a dressing table, laptop resting on your beautiful exposed thighs.
It's hot on set. You're wearing flimsy little shorts and a halter top that lets Pope see much more than anyone should for a girl your age.
“Who is she?” He asks one of the producers on set.
Could you be his newest co-star?
Why is he…excited over that prospect?
Pope hasn't felt any kind of attraction in a long while, so if you are, maybe he'll actually get to enjoy himself for once.
He's curious to know what your pussy feels like.
Are you a loud performer or a more subtle and shy one?
Do you actually cum or do you just fake it for the camera?
He wants to make you cum for real.
But his desire gets shut down immediately when the producer he asked answers, “oh her? I don't know who she is. Probably one of the director's kids or something. Wannabe producer. Been trying to pitch a script but no one's biting.”
“Why's that?” Pope doesn't know why he's so curious about you.
The producer laughs, in that grating kind of way that makes Pope want to knock his teeth out. Especially when the guy goes, “because she wants to make girly porn. As if that shit will sell. Men aren't going to buy into any of that cutesy femme shit.”
Pope knows there's a female audience for porn. He has a lot of followers online. Plenty of them are women. And he is fully aware of the many comments he has read on his posts where some of his fans wish he would do more work that “catered to the female gaze”. He never understood what that meant. He has worked with plenty of female directors and producers before, but apparently they focus on making sure male audiences are satisfied first and foremost.
He's never read a script made for a woman's interest before.
Now, he's even more curious about you.
So much so, that he's walking over to you before he can stop his legs from doing so.
You look up and are startled to see Pope. You've never seen him in person before. You didn't know he'd be on this set. Your aunt is one of the directors and she didn't give you much notice on what exactly the production was.
“Oh, hi.” You put your hand out and introduce yourself. “You must be Pope, right?”
“Have you seen my work?” He asks, shaking your hand, his lingering in yours for a beat longer than he normally would.
“Clips here and there.” You seem a little flustered at his question. How cute.
“I heard you've been trying to pitch a script.” Pope is more direct than he intends.
You're surprised he knows about it. “I am, but it's probably not going to sell much.”
“Can I see it?” He leans back on the edge of the table next to you, gesturing to your laptop. “My shoot isn't for an hour. Wouldn't mind something to kill the time.”
“Oh, sure!” You scramble to pull it up.
Pope glances over your shoulder, seeing how many scripts you have written already. You're sifting through them, parsing out which one you'd want him to see. You decide on one where you had based the main lead on him and hand him your laptop.
“You can fold it over to use like a tablet.” You show him, your hands brushing against his as you do, your heart skipping a beat when you feel how big his fingers are.
Pope is so close to you that he nearly leans in and kisses you. He doesn't, but he does take a brief inhale, liking the smell of your perfume mixed with the sweat that's trickling off your neck from your nerves.
You sit there in silence, his big bicep casually resting on yours as he scrolls through your script. You take out your phone to distract yourself, trying to calm your rapid heartbeat from his proximity.
You never thought you'd ever get the chance to be near anyone in the industry. You always figured you'd be behind a camera. But Pope is right next to you, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of him.
It almost makes you dizzy how hot he is…
Pope is worried his skin is growing too red. He hasn't felt this turned on in years. Reading this script has him needing to resist getting hard, which is usually not the case for him. Most of the time, it's difficult to get hard and he'll end up needing a pill or some help.
But what you've written is too well-aligned with the fantasies that haunt his mind.
“What would you consider this?” He asks you when he finishes reading, handing you back your laptop.
“Ah, like a dark romance, I guess?” You had shown him the plot where the main lead, a distant family friend whom the other lead refers to as her uncle, lures her to his private estate for the summer so he can hold her captive until she agrees to be his forever.
“I like it.” Pope tells you in that flat tone of his that has you questioning whether or not you heard him correctly.
“Really? You might be the only person who thinks so.” You're elated to hear that but then immediately talk yourself down. “Everyone else I've shown it to thinks that it's too focused on his obsession with her and that it should be the other way around because “why would anyone want to watch a man throw himself at a woman”. Men wouldn't buy it, I guess.”
You bite your lip after you say that, wishing you hadn't just dumped all of that onto Pope.
You open your mouth to apologize but then Pope goes, “then those men just don't get the appeal. I think it's good and you should make it.”
“Wow.” You can't stop the big smile that forms on your face. “That's so sweet of you to say, Pope. I hope I get the chance one day.”
Pope wants to tell you that he'd make it happen but they're calling his name to get ready. So, instead, he tells you, “do you want to come over after this and talk more about it?”
You're speechless. No one has ever invited you over to their place before.
And it's Pope, of all people.
He never invites people over.
His house is his sanctuary.
But he wants you alone.
He wants to get to know you more.
He wants to see if your desires truly align with his own.
“I'll have to check in with my aunt first, since she drove me. But I'd like to.” You reply, reaching your hand up to touch your warm cheek.
You must look so flustered right now.
Pope loves the sight of it. Such a shy girl. To think you're on a porn set right now and about to watch him fuck someone else.
He'll have to put on a good show for you.
“I'll come find you after, little one.” He calls you what the uncle in your script calls his pseudo-niece and it has your skin flushing with more heat in response.
Once he's out of your line of sight, you bury your face in your hands, muffling a scream because what was that!
Did he really just…
You loop him calling you “little one” over and over in your head, wanting to memorize the sound of it for when you touch yourself later. You have to resist touching yourself now while you watch Pope at work.
You've, of course, seen him naked before. You've watched plenty of clips of his porn online. For research purposes, of course!
But there's something different about seeing him in person.
About knowing how his hands could feel, how warm his body is, how big he is compared to you that makes watching him pound his huge cock into his co-star all the more enjoyable.
Then, your heart stops in your chest when he locks eyes with you from across the set when he cums deep inside of her.
That wasn't in the script. Not in the one he's performing right now, because rarely does male centric porn ever “waste” a cumshot.
It's in yours, though, because you like the idea of getting filled and you're certain other people do too.
But for a shoot like this one, they want to see his cum on his co-star somewhere, for the visual.
Pope couldn't help himself, though. He wanted you to see what he could do to you. He hasn't cum that much in a long time, which might be the only saving grace for the shoot because when he pulls out of his co-star, so much leaks out that they don't have to fake it for the shot.
All in all a successful shoot so the director yells “cut” and it's done.
You meet Pope out in the parking lot afterwards, since your aunt didn't seem to care if you wanted to go home with a porn star. She knows he's clean, because he has to be for work, and that you're an adult so she's letting you make your own decisions. Her only warning to you was that you will likely get your heart broken dating a porn star.
But you wave off her concerns because you don't believe he's interested in you.
Pope just likes your scripts…right?
That seems to be the case when you come over to his house and he spends the entire time reading through every idea you've written.
You're both sitting on his couch together. He has on some kind of nature show, the one that follows a pack of lions throughout their day.
You watch one of the lions chase after a gazelle before it pounces on it and the gazelle becomes its next meal. You don't know why watching that has your heart racing so much.
Maybe it's because you're currently in a lion's den and he's looking to make you his next meal…
But you're oblivious to it, to Pope resting his hand on your thigh casually as he scrolls through your writing, asking you questions about it here and there like what you're looking to do, etc.
“I'd like to make a truly indie production.” You explain to him your dream shoot. “Like maybe only me and the stars on set. The script just being a loose guideline. Going with the flow, seeing where the scenario takes us naturally. I'd like for it to be organic and less “produced” than the stylized porn available now.”
“Have you ever thought of starring in it yourself?” Pope poses a question that has you stammering out your reply.
“I-I…um…” You shake your head, the nerves apparent in your voice as you admit, “I don't think I could. I've never…”
“No one has ever touched you before?” He can hardly believe that.
In his eyes, anyone would be lucky to have the chance to be near you. He can barely keep his eyes off of you as is.
“Why would they?” You chew on your cheek after you say that, wishing you didn't let your insecurity slip out so readily so you pretend to shrug it off, “it's not a big deal. I'm not in a rush to experience anything.”
“Shouldn't you experience the things you want to produce?” Pope doesn't mean to sound so coercive but it definitely doesn't help that his hand slides higher up your thigh as he asks, “wouldn't it be nice to know for your writing?”
“But no one would want to…” The words get caught in your throat when he leans in, his lips so close to your own that you can taste his breath.
“I'd want to.” His voice is so low, so intoxicating that you almost melt when he says, “if you'd let me, little one.”
This is all too similar to something you've written before. It's like he's roleplaying your own words back to you.
You don't know how to react to it…
“I don't think this is a good idea.” You tell Pope as he leans in closer to you, pressing a kiss on your jaw, making your whole body shiver as he trails upwards to the shell of your ear. “Oh god…”
“We don't have to do anything today.” He whispers right into your ear. “But I'd like to see you again.”
“Why?” You feel so stupid asking that, your insecurity leaking out again.
Pope cups your face, turning you to look at him, his gaze so intense. “Because I want to know what you look like when you feel good.”
His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, seeing the way you're trembling, the nerves overtaking you.
You're so precious, so scared, so perfect for him. He can't get enough of you.
“I'll probably be really bad at it.” You want him to be prepared. “You might not have a good time. I won't know what I'm doing.”
That makes him chuckle lightly. “I've got enough experience for the both of us.”
“I've never even kissed anyone before.” You admit with your eyes locked on his lips.
The lips you've watched go down on his co-stars. The lips you've seen leave marks on their skin. The lips you're desperate to kiss right now.
“Do you want to?” He brushes his lips against yours. A simple brush, not a true kiss, but it has your whole body quivering just from that light touch. “I think you do.”
“Will you go slow?” You have to ask because you're so nervous you'll get swept up in him.
“I'll go at whatever pace you want.” He pulls away and you don't like how disappointed you feel. But then, he pats his lap and gestures, “come here, little one.”
This is truly everything you've dreamt of and he's feeding into it. You stand up, staring down at his lap, trying to figure out how exactly you should sit.
When you've stalled for long enough, Pope just grabs you by your waist and tugs you down onto him. You're straddling his lap now, his large thighs becoming your new chair.
Your breath catches in your throat when his lips land on your neck all of a sudden, causing you to grip onto the thin black shirt he's wearing that doesn't leave anything up to the imagination. His chest is flush against yours and he can hear your heartbeat thrumming so quickly, like your heart might burst at any moment.
Pope smiles against the column of your throat, pressing a kiss there. Just one, right in the center, so he can feel the air get caught before it can reach your lungs.
“Stay calm.” He instructs, his words warm and oddly gentle. “It'll feel better if you aren't so worked up.”
“I'm sorry.” You don't know what you're doing…
You smooth out his shirt, worried you've wrinkled it from how hard you were gripping it for leverage.
“You can hold onto me, little one.” He takes your hand and places it onto his shoulder. “Lean on me.”
His other hand splays across the small of your back beneath your shirt, practically engulfing your skin. Every touch is sending signals to your core that you've never felt before. Anxious signals, screaming at you to stop this before you start feeling more than you should.
“Maybe we should stop.” You say out of concern, your nerves getting in the way.
“Just one kiss and then we can stop for today, okay?” He already has you on his lap. He can't lose out on this golden opportunity.
One kiss will be enough to convince you. Pope is sure of that, sure of himself and his skill.
He just needs you to say yes. And to stop squirming on his lap or he might have to do something about how hard he's getting.
“Okay.” You nod, gripping onto his shoulders like you might fall off his lap if you don't. “Just one kiss.”
“Atta girl.” He shifts slightly, pulling you closer until there's not an inch of space between the two of you. “Why don't you try?”
You shake your head immediately. “I'll fuck it up.”
That draws another chuckle from his lips, which you feel very prominently on yours from how close he is to you. “I doubt that. I want to see you try. Then I'll take you home.”
You take in a deep breath, your chest rubbing against his when you exhale. Pope's eyes drift down to your chest, loving how your top lets him see much more than he'd want anyone else to be able to. He'll have to make sure you only dress like this for him.
His eyes go back up to look into yours, that intense gaze of his making you even more nervous than you were already.
“I don't think I can do this.” You tell him as your hands ball up the fabric of his shirt beneath your fists. “I'm scared. My heart feels like it'll explode.”
So cute. Pope can't help thinking how adorable you are, so frightened by the prospect of a little kiss.
“And you want to produce porn?” He smirks at you, nudging your nose with his own playfully. “You need to be able to do this if you want to direct it, little one.”
“Okay, okay.” You know he's right.
You have to find the confidence to push forward, to make things happen.
So, you press your lips against his. You don't do it hard. It's the lightest kiss Pope has ever felt, laced with fear and anxiety.
Exactly the kind of kiss Pope has been dreaming about. Everyone he has ever kissed before you has been so full of themselves.
You are the exact opposite. So careful, so worried you'll do it wrong that you barely do it at all.
Just the gentlest little tap on his lips.
Now he needs to know how frightened he can make you.
So, Pope slides his hand up to the back of your head, securing you in place so that the moment you lift your lips away from his, he can press them right back down.
Your eyes widen, not expecting for him to kiss you back again right away.
It's not harsh. His lips just stick onto yours, keeping steady right there. Then, when he starts to move them, you start to panic, the blood rushing straight to your head and tension forming in your core.
You're wriggling in his lap like a scared little mouse caught in a trap.
Just the way he wants you to be.
“Easy.” He breathes against your lips. “Don't get scared. Just pay attention to what I'm doing and follow me.”
He tilts your head a little, angling himself a bit to get a better hold on your lips. You're gasping between each feverish kiss and Pope loves it.
Loves how inexperienced you are, how easily provoked you are.
Like when he grinds his hips upwards just as a tease and you moan against his lips unexpectedly, your face heating up in reaction.
“Oh god, I'm sorry.” You can't believe you're reacting this much.
“Don't be sorry.” He says, sliding his hand over to cup your jaw. “I like that you feel good. I wanted to see it, remember? I like hearing it too.”
“It's embarrassing though…” You feel like such a virgin.
You are one but you feel it a hundred times more because you're in the presence of someone who fucks for a living…
“Is it?” He nips at your bottom lip, liking how you shiver when he does. “I think it's cute.”
“You think I'm cute?” You don't believe him.
Not until he says, “I don't “think” it. You are cute, my precious little one.”
His precious…
Bad thoughts are running through your mind. Of hoping he means it and it's not just part of some roleplay of his. But you know that can't be true.
What could you offer him that he can't already get?
Pope can see the warring thoughts in your eyes. So, he leans in and kisses you again, which snaps you out of your own head. Especially when you feel the tip of his tongue flick your bottom lip.
“Let me in.” He says, his tone sultry. “I want to know what you taste like.”
Pope smiles when you grab onto him tighter, unable to keep yourself still otherwise. Then, you nod, since you can't bring yourself to say any words.
His tongue flicks at your lip again and this time, your lips part, allowing him in. You expect him to go slow, to let you adjust to the idea of his tongue in your mouth but he does the exact opposite.
He just ravages you, his tongue tangling with your own, stealing your every breath away. His kisses get rougher, his movements too. You can't hold in your voice when you feel him grip your ass with his hands and roll his hips against yours, forcing you to feel how hard his cock is beneath you.
You know how big he is. Porn star big.
Impossibly big for someone who has never had sex before.
Big enough that it feels like he's fucking you already.
“Wait, wait!” You gasp out onto his lips, trying to get him to stop because you don't think you'd be able to live with the embarrassment if you came from this. “Please, Pope, I can't—”
“Are you going to cum, little one?” He smirks at how scared you are of your own orgasm. “It's okay if you do.”
You shake your head. “No, I can't, not like this…”
“There's nothing wrong with cumming from this.” He keeps rolling his hips and since your lips aren't plastered to his, you can't stop the moan that leaves your lips. “Let it feel good. Stop resisting.”
“But I shouldn't—” You bury your face in his shoulder, dry heaving as the friction against your clit becomes too much to bear. “I don't want to cum, I don't want to—”
Suddenly, you feel his hand slip into your shorts and without any warning, Pope pinches your clit, rolling it between his fingers until you cum so hard that you see stars in your vision. You're reeling, clinging onto him, your whole body shaking from the sudden surge of pleasure.
“There you go.” Pope starts rubbing your clit over the fabric of your underwear, making you whimper into his shoulder as another orgasm builds inside of you all too quickly. “Let it happen again.”
He grabs your face with his free hand, pulling you up so he can kiss you again.
Kissing him feels very different when his fingertips are playing with your clit.
You're lightheaded, unable to breathe, so close to cumming that you're nervous you might pass out…
Then, he moves off your clit right when you're about to and you whine uncontrollably before catching yourself. He laughs lightly, almost menacingly, at your reaction to getting teased.
“Did you want to cum?” He asks you, wanting to hear you admit it.
You chew on your lip. You shouldn't tell him yes. You shouldn't even be doing this. You should have him take you home like he said he would.
But you want to cum.
It's addictive, that wave of pure bliss that he gave you. It was unlike any of the orgasms you've given yourself.
You want to know what it feels like to be made to cum by Pope.
So, you tell him the truth, “yes, please make me cum, Pope.”
“I like a girl who knows what she wants.” He says with a smile that could kill. “Can I make you cum with my mouth?”
Pope wishes he could take a photo of your shocked expression, all wide eyed and beautifully nervous.
“I-I've been on set all day. It's probably—”
“Then take a shower here.” Pope offers, if you're really that nervous. He likes that you didn't say no.
He likes that you're so easy to convince.
“Okay…” You can't possibly decline getting eaten out by a porn star. People would think you're crazy to miss out on something like that.
“Mmm, good girl.” He praises you, making your whole body yearn for his affection. “Now, I'll make you cum one more time before you shower.”
“Wait, what—” You squirm when Pope suddenly dips his hand into your underwear and slides a finger inside of you, “Pope, stop—!”
You can't stop gasping when his finger curls at the same time as he starts palming your clit, giving you the friction you were desperate for just moments ago. But now his thick finger is buried inside of you, searching for the spot that makes you cry out his name.
“Andrew.” He demands, thrusting another finger inside of you. “Call me Andrew when you cum.”
“Andrew, please, please, not there—” You cry out when he grazes the right place inside of you, your stomach tensing at the feeling, “your fingers are—oh god—”
You're saying his name on repeat into his shoulder when his fingers keep pounding right where you need them to until you're bursting at the seams, cumming all over his lap because he won't let you stop.
“No, no, I can't cum anymore!” You tug at his arm but he keeps fucking you with his fingers against your wishes, “please, Andrew!”
Pope's too strong. He has you locked on his lap with his other arm wrapped around you, pinning you to him as his fingers ravage your insides until you're squirting so hard that you drench his hand.
It's only when tears start streaming down your face that Pope finally lets you breathe, pulling his hand away.
In your daze, you watch him lick his hand clean, grinning so happily at you with your lovely glazed over eyes, so lost in your orgasm.
Pope leans in for a kiss and for the first time, you lean into it, kissing him back the way he taught you to. You're a bit sloppy with it, but he adjusts you until you're kissing him exactly how he wants you to.
“Someone's a fast learner.” He compliments you again, which gets you wriggling, your heart racing once more.
You glance down, at how wet you've made his lap, humiliation coursing through you at the sight.
Pope catches it and says, “do you feel bad for almost ruining my couch?”
“I'm sorry.” You do feel bad. You've never squirted before in your life.
You thought that was just something that happened in porn…
“How sorry?” He wonders aloud.
“Very sorry…” You definitely wouldn't be able to afford to buy him a new couch.
“Then help me get out of these pants.” He points to his lap. “Take them off before your cum can touch my couch.”
You stare at how daunting of a task this is going to be. But, you listen, grabbing a hold of his belt buckle and undoing it. Then, you unzip his pants.
“Now get on your knees in front of me and pull them off.” Pope's tone is so commanding that you do it without a second thought, moving to the floor in front of him. He stops you before you can tug at his waistband. “Wait a second, little one. Look up at me.”
You do, your eyes meeting his. He likes the way you look on your knees. You would look even better with his cock in your mouth.
He'll shelve that for another time, when he has trained you so well that you'll be begging to put him in your mouth yourself.
Pope nods, gesturing for you to continue. You tug off his pants by his waistband, leaving him only in his boxer briefs. You notice the spot of precum leaking from where the tip of his hard cock is pushed up against the fabric of his underwear.
You can't help but wonder what he tastes like…
It doesn't look like Pope will have to train you at all because you ask him, “can I try making you feel good with my mouth?”
“Sure.” He says, reaching over to grab his phone. “If I can film it.”
“W-What?” You weren't expecting that.
“If it's your first time sucking cock, we should get it on camera. It'll fund our future film.” Pope knows how much authentic first time content goes for, especially when he's an experienced star and you're just an innocent inexperienced reluctant woman who never thought she'd ever star in a porno.
“Y-You want to make my film?” You hadn't asked yet if he was interested.
“If you star in it with me, I will.” Pope doesn't want to do it with anyone else.
He only wants you.
“What?” You sound like a broken record at this point.
But he likes how cute you are, all surprised. “You heard me, little one. I'll finance it myself, just be my co-star.”
“But I don't know a thing about…being filmed…” You know there's a whole learning curve to it, of knowing where the camera is and what angles look best.
It's something you've never thought about for yourself. You've only considered it in the context of filming others.
“You'll learn. I'll teach you. Like right now.” He hits record on his phone, holding it steady in his hand. “You're going to suck me off for the very first time in your life.”
Pope grabs your hand, putting it back at his waistband, inviting you to take his underwear off.
You do it, leaving him bare from the waist down. He looks incredible like this, his cock hard and leaking precum. His shirt clings to his upper body beautifully, reminding you that you were just grinding on his lap with his chest pressed flush against yours.
You feel so small knelt in front of him like this. He hovers over you like a giant, engulfing you completely, consuming you with his eyes locked on yours.
“Now, do what you think is right. You've watched plenty of videos. You know what to do.” Pope wraps his hand around his cock, pumping it a few times for the camera, before leaving you to do the rest.
You shake away the nerves so you can lean in, dragging your tongue along the bottom of his shaft until you reach the tip, swirling around it, tasting him for the first time. He chuckles at how stunned you look at how pleasant he tastes. You expected it to be more musky but it wasn't at all.
It's oddly…sweet.
“Do you like how I taste?” Pope takes a hold of his cock again, pushing the tip of it against your lips. “Let me feed it to you if you like it so much.”
You part your lips, letting his cock slip into your mouth. He's so big that your jaw nearly locks up trying to take him. You're careful with your teeth as he slides deeper inside, until he's so far down your throat that you gag.
“First time and you're already taking me like a porn star. Good girl.” His praise is so addicting that you start to suck on his cock in hopes he'll reward you with more. He does, which makes you so happy, “fuck, just like that, use your tongue too. You're doing great.”
You alternate between sucking on his cock and using your tongue to lick up and down his shaft. You try to pay attention to what triggers him to groan and focus on doing that. You know you're doing well when Pope puts his hand in your hair and grips it tight.
“God, I want fuck that face. Can I fuck your face?” He wants to use your mouth for his pleasure.
You nod, not really knowing what that entails. You know it's harsh from the videos you've seen but…you want to know what it feels like for Pope to use you to make himself cum.
So, you let him fist your hair rather roughly before he pounds his cock into your throat over and over again. You're gagging and crying but to Pope, you've never looked more beautiful.
He might not be able to post this video. It might just have to stay in his personal collection. Your first time taking his cock in your mouth.
Your first time swallowing his cum.
You gulp it down as he coats the back of your throat with his release.
“That's it, drink it up, don't waste a drop.” He slowly slips his cock out of your mouth and he can't stop himself from smacking your face with it a bit, so the camera can see how big his cock is compared to your face. You make him groan when you eagerly lick along his shaft again, since you assume it would look good on camera.
“Fuck, get over here.” He ends the video and drags you up onto his lap again. He grabs a hold of your face, looking at you fiercely as he asks, “who the fuck taught you how to suck cock like that?”
“You did.” You say the only correct response.
Pope lets out a dark chuckle. “Good girl. You're making me very proud.”
You want him to praise you more so you find the confidence to cup his face like he's doing to you and kiss him, applying the right amount of pressure against his lips that causes him to just start grabbing at your flesh, needing to touch you when your tongue flicks at his bottom lip.
“Oh, I'm going to fuck you.” He's looking forward to seeing how eager you'll be to please him once his cock is deep inside of you.
"Do you think you'll fit?” You look down, seeing the way his softening cock is still huge, pressing into your lower stomach.
“Don't worry, you can take it.” He presses his fingertips into your belly, massaging right where your womb must be, which draws out full body shudders from you. “You'll feel it right here and you'll love it.”
You meet his eyes and then, quietly, you ask him, “can we…do it a different time?”
Pope's jaw tenses at your question. “Why?”
You bite back a nervous sigh, your stomach churning from what you're about to say, “because I don't want this to be a one night stand…”
You let go of his shirt, not wanting to cling onto him when he'll likely kick you out for being so needy.
“I'm sorry.” You shake your head at him, deciding for him that you should leave. “I-I should know better. I'll just head out.”
“Wait.” He wraps his arms around you, keeping you in place. “Who says you get to leave?”
“Pope—”
"Don't call me that.” He doesn't want you to use his stage name. He wants you to use his real name.
You're the only one he'll let call him Andrew.
Which is why he doesn't understand why you can't see how special you are to him.
Maybe because no one has ever made you feel special before.
He'll have to change that.
“Andrew.” You saying his name allows Pope to relax his jaw. Though, he tenses again when you tell him, “I don't think I should stay. I'm going to do something stupid…”
“Like what?” He wants to know what you're running from.
“Like…” You look down at his slightly swollen lips, at how you wish you could just freely kiss him without the worry that he'll have to kiss someone else for show.
But you can't want that.
Your aunt is right. He'll end up breaking your heart.
So you need to push him away now, “I'm going to fall in love with you if we sleep together. I'm already…feeling too much from just…this. I'll fuck it up. I can't keep things casual. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”
“Then fall in love with me.” Pope states so nonchalantly that you think he must not have understood you.
“Andrew, I can't.” You shake your head at him.
“Why not?”
“Because you'd never…” You don't want to break your heart by saying it out loud but it feels like your heart has already decided to break.
“Do you want me to fall in love with you?” He asks, again with that flat tone of his that has you feeling like he doesn't understand the weight of his words.
“You won't.” Your answer isn't what he was looking for.
“Answer the question.” He's more stern now.
You pinch your lips together, tears welling your eyes. You should say no, because then you could run from this. From the desire to be his.
But you can't bring yourself to lie so you confess, “of course I want you to fall in love with me. But you won't—”
“Okay.” Pope hugs you tighter. “Let's fall in love.”
“What?” You're more astonished than you've been all night.
“What?” He parrots you.
“Andrew…don't fuck around with me.” You don't like whatever kind of joke he's making.
“I'm not fucking around with you. I want to fuck you, though. It doesn't have to be tonight but I'd like you to stay the night regardless.”
You blink at him. You're unsure if your hearing is fucked or not but did he really just say…
“Are you being serious?” You need a clear answer.
“Yes, little one.” He leans in to press a kiss on your temple. “I'd like you to stay the night. Sex is optional. I fuck for work. I wouldn't mind not doing it but I want to cuddle at least.”
“You want to…” You're speechless.
Pope laughs at how absolutely baffled you are. You turned out to be more fun than he thought possible.
“Is that bad? Would you not like to cuddle?”
“Of course I would love to cuddle.” You say it like that's the most obvious thing ever. “But, but…why do you want to cuddle with me?”
“You gave me a great blowjob.”
“Andrew!” You smack his chest and he laughs again. “I'm being serious!”
“I am too.” He smirks and you glare at him, making him smile even bigger. “You are so fucking cute. Come here.”
You're suddenly hauled up into his arms. You have to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips to keep yourself from slipping as Pope carries you past his bedroom and then sets you down in his bathroom.
“What are we doing here?”
“Well, you probably shouldn't have your first time in the shower but I want to shower with you.” Pope strips off his shirt, leaving him completely naked now.
He is used to people ogling him but knowing that you're so noticeably overwhelmed by the sight of him, he actually enjoys being looked at by you.
“You can touch me if you want.” Pope takes your hand and places it onto his chest.
You feel his steady heartbeat under your fingertips. It's calming but also worrying because if he felt something for you, shouldn't he…be more nervous?
It seems like you're the only flustered one, which you don't like. It has you feeling super insecure. But it makes sense that Pope doesn't react much, given his profession.
So, what makes you different enough that he wants to do this with you?
You can't wrap your head around it, your hand lifting off of him.
Then, out of a need to push him away, you demand something you doubt he'll give you, “I don't want to do this if you're just going to throw me away when you're bored of me.”
“Is that what you think I'm going to do?”
You nod, wishing you didn't feel this way.
“Hmmm.” Pope steps closer to you, grabbing a hold of your chin, lifting your face up to look at him since you've been avoiding eye contact this whole time. “How do I show you that I'm serious about you?”
You shrug. “I don't know…”
“Is there something you want?” He'll give you anything you want.
“Nothing that isn't super selfish.” You're honest there. Pope likes that you're honest.
“Tell me.” He wants to know.
“I want you to only kiss me.” You just spit it out but you don't think he'd actually say yes to this. “And I want to kiss you whenever I want.”
“So you don't want me to kiss anyone at work?”
You nod.
“But I can still fuck them?” Pope finds your conditions interesting.
“I'm not that selfish. I know what you do for work. I'm not looking to take away your livelihood but…if you only kiss me, I think that would be enough for me.”
“Alright.” He agrees way too easily for your liking.
“Andrew, I'm serious.”
“And I'm serious.” He leans down to press a kiss against your lips. “I won't even go down on anyone else. My lips are all yours.”
“Really?” You look at his lips, wanting to kiss him again but your nerves stop you. “Are you sure?”
“Only if you kiss me right now.” Pope needs you to seal the deal.
You kiss him immediately and he smiles against your lips, loving how visibly excited you are now. You're much more relaxed, which allows him to unbutton your shorts and tug off your bottoms, leaving you bare from the waist down. Then, he tugs off your top, his lips never parting from yours.
Pope drags you into his shower, turning it on, shielding you from the water until it's warm enough. He presses you up against the tiled wall, his hands roaming your naked body. You're no longer holding back, moaning against his lips when his hands cup your breasts.
“Just so you know,” Pope leans down to flick one of your nipples with his tongue, “you aren't allowed to wear such a low cut top around anyone but me from now on.”
“I promise I won't if you keep doing that.” That feels way too good.
He swirls his tongue over both of your nipples until they're nice and hard then he slides his hands up to tug at them. Before you can react, his mouth is back on yours, his thumbs swiping over your nipples, his thigh spreading your legs apart. You're so shy about how wet you are but Pope grinds his thigh into you, wanting to get you even more wet for him.
“Cum all you want, little one.” He says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “We'll wash up after so no need to hold back.”
It's destructive that Pope knows what he's doing. You wonder if he's been this way with anyone else. You can't possibly be the only one swept up in his charms.
But you are.
Because Pope hasn't felt desire like this before.
There's something about how absolutely overwhelmed you are by his actions. He finds it too entertaining. He can't get this from the people in his industry, nor would he want to.
He has been searching for someone like you. Close enough to understand what he does for work, but far enough away that you haven't been exposed to the sides of him that he's trying so hard to hide.
Does he need to hide them from you?
The things you have written have shown him that there's a darkness lurking in your mind that is on the same frequency as the needs in his.
Shall he test you?
You feel his hands slide up your chest and wrap around your neck. Pope can feel your breaths quicken, fear suddenly causing your body to tremble in his hold as he squeezes around the delicate column of your neck.
“Are you scared of me?” He looks at you with the blankest stare you've ever seen.
And you can't believe how turned on you are.
Because he's performing your script, albeit with a bit of improv since this scene doesn't happen in a shower. But it's the same concept.
Hands wrapped around your throat, thigh between your legs, nerves on high alert.
So, you answer just as you wrote it, your voice the right amount of shaky, “d-do you want me to be?”
Pope doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.
He just steps aside, letting the warm water of the shower suddenly hit your face. You shoot your hands up, trying to stop the water from getting into your eyes but then Pope squeezes your throat and you gasp, swallowing water uncontrollably instead.
“Wait!” You can't push his hand away before it slips between your legs, dipping a finger back inside of you. His thigh keeps your legs apart so you can't resist him adding another one. “Andrew!”
“Scream my name louder.” He grips you by your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Let me see how scared you can get.”
In all his content, you've never heard Pope sound so frightening before. He usually plays the rougher, harsher characters but the producers never let him show this side of himself. The one he developed in prison.
The one that yearns for the dark.
Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh as his fingers drive into you over and over again. You cling onto him desperately, trying not to topple over completely but it's so hard to stay still when he's fucking you with his fingers like this.
The steam is getting to your head. The look in his eyes is heating up your core. The desire he has to see you completely unravel is messing you up inside, more than his fingers already are.
You should've known better than to expect vanilla sex from Pope.
This is what he truly likes. He only wishes it were his cock getting milked by your tight pussy instead of his fingers. But you need to loosen up a bit or you'll never take him.
You need to be able to handle him at his worst because the moment he puts his cock inside of you, he'll surely lose all rationality.
Like he does right now, when you kiss him out of nowhere.
Pope did promise you that you could kiss him whenever you wanted but he would've never guessed that you would do so while he was abusing your pussy with his fingers.
And now, he has to fuck you up.
You moan when Pope kisses you back, his tongue flicking at your lips, his movements rougher and sloppier than before. It helps that the shower washes it all away, making his rather aggressive kisses much more enjoyable since there aren't layers of spit to contend to.
You cum so much when he curls his fingers just right and he basks in how your pussy clenches to his fingers. “I need you to do that on my cock.”
“I think I'll die if you fuck me.” You might die right now because his fingers haven't stopped moving inside of you despite your blatantly obvious orgasm. He moves his fingers rapidly side to side until you're close to collapsing, your head so dizzy from cumming so hard all over his hand and thigh.
You're clinging onto him for dear life and it's only when he thinks you actually might pass out that he slows his fingers and pulls out of you.
Then you feel a light slap against your cheek. “Stay with me, little one.”
“I'm…dizzy…” You feel so lightheaded from the steam and the orgasms.
“I've got you.” Pope helps you wash up.
You find it odd how gentle he's being in the shower now. He's almost too focused on making sure you're taken care of from head to toe.
He even helps dry you off after the shower. He seats you down on his toilet so he can plug in his hair dryer and blow dry your hair for you.
You feel utterly spoiled, especially when he pulls one of his shirts over your head so you have something to wear and aren't cold while he finishes up with your hair.
It smells like him. You like that a lot.
“All done.” He pats your head. “Feeling better?”
You nod. “Refreshed.”
“Want some water?”
“Can I come with you?” You put your hand out then realize what you're doing.
Were you seriously going to try to hold hands with Pope?
Would he even—
Pope grabs your hand and yanks you to your feet, interlocking his fingers with yours as he walks the two of you out of his bathroom. Your heart is beating out of your chest at the sight of him leading you to his kitchen, hand firmly clamped around yours.
When you're close enough to him, he picks you up and sets you down on the kitchen counter, legs dangling off like you had them earlier on that dressing table. He likes the look of your bare legs. Maybe he'll have you stay pantless at his place.
“What do you want to drink?” He opens his fridge, gesturing to the few options he has.
Protein shakes, water bottles, beer and some juice. Usually he doesn't drink anything besides water. Tonight, he feels like a beer.
“I'm not old enough to drink.” You hadn't thought about that.
Pope didn't realize you were that much younger than him. “Do you want one?”
You shake your head. “I want to be sober when we cuddle.”
That makes Pope put his beer back in the fridge and grab water instead. “Then we'll both be sober.”
You don't know why that makes you so happy but the butterflies in your stomach are going nuts.
He rests his hand on your thigh, massaging it gently as the two of you drink water. You like the casual touching.
You like Pope, a lot.
So you set down your half-finished bottle of water then put your hand on his chest. It's bare. He's only wearing underwear. He looks way too good like this.
It makes you almost frustrated that this sight has been seen by millions…
“Like what you see?” He steps closer to you, tossing his bottle of water aside so he can place both of his hands on your thighs. “You can touch me as much as you want.”
“You aren't tired of being touched?” You're worried that after the shoot, he must not want to do this for much longer.
But then he says, “I'd never get tired of being touched by you.”
“Have you always been such a flirt?” You chuckle, your hands roaming his bare skin more freely now. “I hope you don't regret this. I might never want to let you go.”
You say it like a joke but Pope says it back like a promise, “I'm never letting you go.”
“We just met.” You remind him.
“You don't believe in love at first sight?” He thought you'd be more of a romantic type than a realistic one, given your aspirations.
“Love…” You blink up at him. “Are you saying…?”
Pope doesn't hide his truth. “I knew you were special the moment I saw you. I was hoping you'd be one of my co-stars.”
“I…still can be…” Your skin heats up when you say that, not believing that it actually came out of your mouth.
“Do you want to make content with me?” Pope wouldn't mind that.
As nice as it is to get paid regularly to do bigger porn productions, he knows he could pull the same numbers if he started making videos on his own. Or with you.
Especially with you.
“What if you get sick of fucking the same person?” You let your insecurities flood out, sighing.
“I could ask you that.” He spreads your thighs open with his big hands, settling his hips between them.
You glance down, surprised to see that he's hard. His cock is practically begging to burst out of his underwear.
“Are you going to get tired of being fucked by me?” He grinds his cock against your bare pussy. You can feel so much warmth radiating off of him despite the layer of fabric between the two of you.
It has your heart leaping out of your chest when you answer, “I doubt I could ever get bored of you.”
“I feel the same way about you.” Pope wants to reassure you that he's choosing you.
He can't help it. He hasn't wanted anyone like this before.
He would give it all up for you.
But he knows you're too sweet to let him. “You don't have to stop making porn for me, Andrew.”
“Say my name again.” He likes hearing it from you.
No one ever calls him Andrew, especially not in porn. And he is grateful for that because now the only memory he has of someone moaning his name is you with your lovely voice.
“Andrew.” You wrap your arms around his middle, tugging him to you. “I'm serious. Don't throw away your livelihood for me.”
“I'm not throwing it away. I'm shifting to a new style. You can help me. It would be good filming practice.”
You can't believe what he's offering you. “You'd let me direct you?”
“You said you wanted to make an independent production. Doesn't get more independent than just you and me.” He leans down to press a light kiss on your forehead to comfort you, since you're staring back at him so baffled. “I'd like to film with you. Only you.”
“I'm unsure if I'm star material…” You've never even had sex before.
How can Pope be so sure you won't drag him down?
Because he made that video of you going down on him earlier, looking like such a beauty that he's sure anyone would get riled up seeing you on camera.
“Why don't we practice?”
“How?” It will probably take you forever to get comfortable in front of the camera.
“I'll teach you everything about sex one step at a time. We'll film the whole thing, leading up to the first time we fuck.” His words have your heart racing unbelievably fast. “We won't fuck until you're ready to film it. Until you know your angles and what you want to show the world.”
“You would…wait that long?”
“Would that make you happy, little one?” Pope wraps his arms around you, tugging you closer to him.
You nod. You'd like that a lot.
So, that's what you and Pope do.
You help him set up an account on a reputable adult content sharing site. You shouldn't have been shocked how quickly he builds a hefty fanbase willing to buy his personalized content but you are.
He's making so much money. More money than you'd ever need for a simple production like you've been planning.
And Pope thanks you for his success.
He has you do all the filming. All your ideas sell very well to his audience, who love the jerk off videos where he's talking about how much he wants to kidnap you and rape you until you're his forever.
It's easy for Pope to make this content because he doesn't have to pretend. He's being completely honest and his fans can feel it through the screen. But he isn't talking to them.
He's talking to you, his pretty girl behind the camera who he has a vibe strapped to. He doesn't let you cum until the filming is over. He wants you wet and aching for him the moment the camera shuts off.
It makes for incredibly authentic videos when you're so desperate for him after all the edging. He has gotten a little too good at making you cum on his tongue.
You cum so well for the camera. You never have to fake it. And everyone who follows Pope wishes they were you.
You satisfy them by filming from your point of view, letting the world watch your porn star boyfriend eat you out and finger you until you're squirting all over his face, which he licks up in a way that has people begging for more content like that, where they can pretend to be you.
You've been faceless thus far. You're worried about showing yourself, that it might kill the fantasies of the viewers.
“Let them be envious.” Pope tells you while you're both cuddling in his bed. “I want to be able to see you in those videos too.”
“You might be the only one who would, Andrew.” You smile at that, though.
You really like him. He really likes you. And you believe he does because he is always making these kinds of comments. About how he wants the world to know that you're more than just his co-star.
But you urge him against it.
It's better for him if people don't know he's dating anyone.
You know this because you've been deleting all the messages that he's been getting where they complain about you being there. They want Pope content, not you. And if you are there, they want less of you and more of him. Which makes sense, since it is his account.
Pope can tell you've grown more apprehensive about filming content together. You insist on just filming him. But he doesn't want to film alone anymore.
He likes filming with you. He likes having you on camera with him.
He would like it even more if he got to fuck you but you're scared to do it.
Because you've read several comments telling Pope that they'll unsubscribe if he fucks you. A lot of them are sick of you “capitalizing his time and attention”. They miss when he made porn with different people because at least then, they could pretend he belonged to anyone and everyone.
But he belongs to you.
And you're starting to feel bad about it.
You don't want his career to get stunted because of you. Even though you can't possibly leave him. You love him.
These last few months have been incredible. You've learned so much about filming and about your own body.
You want to have sex with Pope but you're afraid that the moment you do, you'll never be able to let him go.
You feel selfish for wanting him all to yourself when there's so many people willing to throw ridiculous amounts of money at him as long as he stays “available” in their eyes.
But you don't know Pope.
Pope doesn't give a fuck about any of those people. He only cares about you. He has enough money. He doesn't need to make porn anymore.
If anything, the porn is just an excuse to keep you in his life because he worries you're not as crazy about him as he is about you.
Any time he tries to initiate sex, you worm your way out of it. He even tells you that you don't have to film your first time but that still doesn't persuade you.
You don't come over as often anymore. Only when he wants to film content and you don't stay the night. He can't convince you to, either. You always have some kind of excuse.
Your behavior is making him lose his mind.
He misses you when you aren't with him. He tells you this and you believe him but you also keep up the self sabotage because you delude yourself into thinking that he'll get sick of you eventually, especially when you're acting like this.
Why would he want you when you're being a burden? You keep it up, in hopes he'll finally see that you're not good for him, that you're making his life worse.
Even though Pope's life feels empty without you…
So empty that he has to fill the void somehow.
And he starts when he catches a comment on an old video of his.
You haven't been over in a week. He missed you so much that he went back to watch a video that he uploaded of you cumming on his tongue for the first time. He likes that video a lot because you're so shy about how hard you came and he chuckles on video. It's such a natural interaction between the two of you. Beautifully intimate, which is why Pope wanted to rewatch it. He figured other people would like the genuine connection you and him have.
But apparently, some people don't like this video at all.
He clicks on the profile of the person who left a comment saying that they wish Pope would stop making videos with you because they don't like you. He sees all the comments you deleted from his account from this person, since they're only deleted on his end, not theirs.
They're all hateful, disgusting comments that make his blood boil.
Pope realizes then that you've been hiding this from him. He doesn't get why.
Don't you know that he'd take care of these people for you?
These aren't people you need to worry your lovely head about, little one.
Pope will handle it.
He'll handle each and every one of them.
Then, you won't have anything to worry about anymore…
You find it strange that Pope's house smells like bleach. It never used to smell like bleach. You know he likes to clean but it's been more excessive lately.
You're concerned so you ask him the next time you come over, “is everything okay, Andrew?”
“Everything's great.” He's getting through his list quicker than he thought he would.
Killing people was something he figured would take him a while to get back into the groove of but he's been disposing of bodies left and right without much extra effort. Though, it helps that he feels incredibly motivated to kill, versus before where he was forced to kill for his mother Smurf.
This is easy. He'd do anything for you.
The next jerk off video Pope posts is…dark.
You didn't plan any of the dialogue. Usually you have a light script written up for Pope to follow along with but today, he just improvised.
He talks about how much he wants to fuck you, that he would do anything for you, including torture and kill people who are bad to you and dispose of their bodies so you don't have to see them ever again.
As long as you belong to him.
It's the most fucked up video he has made thus far.
And it sells like hotcakes.
People eat it up, loving that he's so crazed in it. He cums hard for the camera too, harder than he has in a long time.
Though, his audience has no idea it's because Pope was looking at you and that haunted expression on your face that he wishes he could see while he's buried inside of you.
That frightened expression never leaves your face.
Because you ask him, “were you being serious in that video?”
And Pope answers without flinching, “yes.”
You're laying beside him in bed. You decided to stay the night after editing and posting that video because it's been a while and you've missed sleeping next to him.
But now you're…scared.
More scared than you've ever been.
Because you saw what looked like a fingernail in the bathtub. A whole fingernail, caught under the stopper. Like it couldn't get washed away fast enough.
His bathroom reeked of bleach and other chemicals.
But you have no reason to believe that Pope would actually kill people…
“That was a pretty creative concept.” You try to make light of it but it falls flat.
Especially when Pope furrows his brows at you. “Concept?”
“Yeah, for the video.” You blink up at him, confused. “You were just acting, right?”
“Do you think I'd cum that hard if I was acting?” He chuckles at your horrified look. “You should know I'd kill for you.”
“Andrew, that's not funny.”
“It's not a joke, little one.” His grip around your waist tightens because you attempt to wriggle out of his hold but he won't let you. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I want to go home.” You tell him because you're actually super freaked out right now.
He has to be joking. There's no way…
You can't be here if he's being serious.
“You promised you'd stay the night.” Pope has worked so hard these last few weeks for you. He deserves a treat. He wants to fall asleep with you in his arms.
“Andrew, I want to go home.” You push at his arms but he won't budge. “Andrew, please!”
Pope is tired of this. Of you fighting him and his needs.
He knows you want him too.
You'll appreciate what he's done for you someday.
Even if you're afraid of it right now.
You shriek when Pope pins you down on the bed, his body weight making it impossible for you to move. You feel how hard his cock is, rubbing up against your lower belly, making it known what he wants to do to you.
“I'm going to fuck you and you're going to enjoy it.” He's done waiting.
“No!” You shout at him, shoving at his chest. “I want to go home!”
“This is your home!” He shouts back at you, his words silencing you completely as he exclaims, “you loved it here, you loved being with me! Until those stupid motherfuckers put it in your head that you weren't good enough for me. It's okay though. I took care of them. They won't bother you anymore, little one.”
“You…what?” You're going to pretend you didn't just hear that.
But then Pope makes it very clear what he's done, so you can't avoid it any longer. “I killed anyone I could who said anything mean about you.”
And now you're left with that shocked look on your face that has his cock throbbing against your belly.
“Thankfully, a lot of them were local.” He continues detailing what he's done for you. “I cleaned up the vermin. You're welcome.”
“You're…you're sick.” You think back through the last few months.
Has Pope been taking his pills?
He hasn't. Because why does he need to when you'll accept him as he is?
You love all of him, don't you?
Don't you?
“Andrew, you need to get off of me.” You push at his shoulders but again, he doesn't dare move.
“Why?” He likes being on top of you. It's one of his favorite places to be.
“Why?” You repeat back to him, baffled that he doesn't get why you're afraid of him. “You just told me you killed people.”
“So?” He doesn't know what the big deal is.
Pope grew up around killers. He grew up killing people. This isn't anything new to him. Just a part of himself that he revived for your sake.
You seem ungrateful though…
“You can't just murder people for being mean to me!” You scream at him, pounding your fists against his hard chest. “Get off of me!”
“I can and I will.” He snatches your wrists and holds them above your head. “I'd do it again and again if you needed me to.”
“I don't need you to kill people for me…” You can't move at all. He has you locked down tight right now.
“That's how I know you're perfect for me.” He leans in, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “You would never make me do what needs to be done. You care so much about me.”
You are in complete disbelief.
Of course you care about Pope but…do you care enough about him to let him murder people?
People who specifically were rude and nasty to you?
Do they even deserve to live?
You shake that deadly thought away. No, that's wrong. You shouldn't be happy that Pope killed those assholes for you.
You shouldn't encourage this behavior.
You shouldn't feel so…good that he would do that for you.
This is fucked up, beyond fucked up.
It's your wildest fantasy come true.
But some fantasies should stay fantasies…
Because if you indulge in any more darkness, you'll surely never find your way out.
Is that really a bad thing?
Can't you just…enjoy being his?
Pope wouldn't do this for just anyone. You're obviously special to him. You are fully aware of that now.
And it makes you sick how much you like it.
“Andrew, we can't be together.” You want to see how crazed he can get about you. “I don't want to be with you anymore.”
Something fucking snaps in Pope when you say that.
He lets out a low, menacing growl. Like you've triggered the beast in him that he's been trying his whole life to keep caged.
“You think you get to run from me, little one? You think you have a choice here?” He starts laughing maniacally and your entire body freezes up. “I don't give a fuck what you think. You're mine whether you want to be or not.”
Then, Pope gets off of you. He stands up, at the edge of the bed, and looks at you staring up at him with wide eyes, so full of that delicious fear.
“I'll give you until I'm done setting up.” He's being generous. You won't get very far. “But just know, the moment I catch you, I'm raping you on camera.”
Your chest tightens. Every breath you take is a struggle. Your body is trembling all over.
The thrill is unlike anything you've ever felt before.
Pope ignores the fact that you're still laying in bed, stunned. He focuses on getting all the cameras set up.
Why would he care if you decide not to run? Makes his life easier if you don't.
You scramble to your feet when you see him pull out several toys, including a butt plug, so he can clean them and get them ready.
That's when you start to actually panic.
Because you told Pope you don't want to do any kind of anal play until you've gotten used to sex.
But it looks like he has stopped giving a fuck about what you want.
He's going to take both of your virginities, right here, right now.
Live on camera.
You shriek when he tries to grab you. You duck under his arms and sprint out of the room. You should've ran sooner. He's so much faster than you are.
You barely make it to the front door before Pope slams you against it. The wind is knocked out of you immediately which is why you can't fight back when he grabs you by the hair and drags you back towards his bedroom. You have no strength left. Or rather, he is so much stronger than you.
He tosses you onto the bed without breaking a sweat and he does it again and again, each time you try to get out of it. You're immediately thrown right back down.
“Stay put.” He commands but you don't listen, making him click his tongue in irritation. “This would be easier if you stopped struggling. I can make you feel really good.”
“I don't want to.” You shake your head at him, trying again to get off the bed but this time Pope is done with fucking around.
He grabs you by the throat and holds you down onto the bed. You flail beneath him, kicking at him, screaming at him but the words don't come out.
The only words that can be heard are his, “you know I could just kill you.”
You still completely at that. He smiles down at you, caressing your face with his free hand. It's not comforting. It's so fucking scary. He's so fucking crazy…
“What will it be, little one?” He grips your throat with both his hands now, tightening his hold, making you choke for the cameras. “Do you want to die or do you want to get fucked?”
He lets go of your throat for just a moment so you can tell him, panic in your quiet murmur, “I don't want to die…”
“Good girl.” Pope praises you for making the right choice, giving you a light kiss on the temple. “You're going to let me take your virginity, then?”
You nod reluctantly.
“Including your ass?” He wants the camera to catch you consenting to this, even if it's obviously coerced.
“Please, Andrew, not my—” His hands don't allow another word to leave your lips, gripping your neck so hard that your eyes feel like they might pop out of your skull.
“Don't be a bad girl.” He shakes his head at you, full of disappointment. “Tell me the right answer.”
He loosens his hold and waits for you to tell him what he wants to hear.
Heat flashes in his gaze when you answer, “no.”
“No?” His lips curve into a big smile, a smile so wide that anyone could tell it's an evil one.
“I don't want this.” You tell him and you're unsure if you're acting or not. It's a little bit of both… “You're going to rape me. I didn't sign up for this.”
“Oh?” He moves his hands to the side of your head, leaning down until you can feel every word he breathes out on your lips, “what did you sign up for, then?”
Pope isn't expecting you to cup his face with your hands. Nor is he expecting for you to rest your forehead against his before kissing him on the lips.
He has missed the feel of your lips on his.
It feels like it's been too long since the last time the two of you kissed.
“You.” You whisper to him, so softly so the cameras can't hear it. “I love you, Andrew.”
“Are you being serious?" He won't let you live if you're fucking with him right now.
You nod, smiling up at him. “I love everything about you.”
“I was about to rape you.” He wants you to realize what you almost made him do.
“I was going to let you.” You nuzzle his nose playfully before telling him, “you still can.”
“Don't push me.” He refuses to let you tempt him any further.
But you entice him too much. “I want you to, Andrew. Take me like you've always wanted to.”
His breaths grow heavy, desire clouding his judgment. “We're going to have to cut this part out of the video.”
“Want to kiss me a little first?” You say with a lovely grin.
“Fuck.” He finds you so adorable. “I love you so much.”
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. The two of you lay there, tongues tangled, hips grinding against each other until you're aching for him to fuck you already.
When Pope can't handle it anymore, he tells you, “we make love for us. Then we fuck for the camera.”
“I like that idea.” You giggle happily when he tugs off your clothes until you're bare beneath him. “My turn.”
You strip him and Pope knows then that you're the one for him. Because you're so gentle with him, with every touch. You treat him like he's precious to you. It's all he has ever wanted.
You're beautifully bashful when he starts kissing up and down the length of your body, his hands roaming your skin, wanting to memorize what you feel like.
“I hope you know the moment we fuck, we're never stopping.” He warns you because he's been waiting for this for too long. He's going to need to have his fill of you.
“Don't tease me with a good time, Andrew.” You spread your legs for him, dipping your hand between them to show him how wet you are. “Will you touch me? I've missed you.”
“You have?” Pope hadn't realized how desperate he was to hear you admit it out loud.
“I'm sorry I was being distant.” You feel really bad about it.
“It's okay.” He would've suffered as long as you needed him to. “Just don't do it again.”
“As long as you don't kill any more people.” Your words make him snap up to look at you.
“But what if they're mean and deserve to die?” He says between gritted teeth and you hold back a laugh.
Pope can be like a vicious puppy sometimes. It's so cute.
“I don't want the love of my life going to prison over a few internet trolls.”
He grumbles. “Fine. Then I'll take out my frustration on your pussy.”
You gasp when he dives between your legs without warning, his tongue dipping into you immediately. You squirm when the tip of his tongue starts flicking that spot inside of you that has you begging him to stop or you'll burst.
“Wait, slow down—Andrew!” You push at his head, trying to get him to stop because your orgasm is building too quickly. “Stop! I'm going to cum, I'm going to—”
Your orgasm hits you right then and Pope has a little too much fun licking it up, the sounds surely getting captured on camera.
“Cum as much as you want, little one.” He says as he thrusts two fingers inside of you, curling them right where his tongue just was, sending shivers through you. “Show me how good I make you feel.”
You grab a hold of his hair when Pope starts sucking on your clit while his fingers pounds into you. You're trying not to be too vocal. You know the audience doesn't like it. But Pope likes it, so he makes you cum so hard that you can't hold back your voice.
And he does that over and over again until you're begging and crying for him to give you a break.
“I can't cum anymore, Andrew.” You won't survive if he makes you cum again.
You're so overstimulated…
Pope lets out a sigh. “Fine, we'll take a break.”
Though, a break in his mind really just means he's going to take his time marking every inch of your skin with his teeth. You don't know if this is any better than cumming your brains out. Now you're sensitive all over. Everywhere he touches sends sparks to your core.
Pope's prepping you to cum hard on his cock. He wants your first time to be so good, you become addicted to fucking him.
So he has to pull out every trick in the book.
Edging you until you're dripping wet and aching for something deep inside of you.
“Finally ready for my cock?” He asks, smirking at the desperation in your eyes.
“Please.” You want him so badly.
Pope settles his hips against yours. He grabs his cock, dragging it up and down the length of your wet slit, coating himself in your slick.
“Deep breaths, little one.” He instructs as he pushes the tip of his cock against your entrance. “You're about to take a porn star's cock for your first time. You'll need to relax.”
Easier said than done because it feels like he's splitting you in two from just the tip of his cock pushing past your entrance. You're gripping onto the sheets for dear life as he slips more of himself into you slowly.
“Too much.” You cry out, shaking your head, feeling overwhelmed. “You're too big.”
Your words cause his cock to twitch inside of you which only makes you wriggle even more. It's so intense, the pressure of being pried out like this.
“Focus on me.” Pope leans down to kiss you, distracting you with his soft lips and loving words. “You're doing so well. Your pussy feels so good.”
“Yeah?” You like that he feels good too. “Do you like my tight virgin pussy?”
He growls low. “I love it.”
His cock barely fits inside of you. He'll need to fuck you a bit to loosen you up. So, he grabs your hips and looks at you with so much need in his eyes.
“I'm going to fuck you now.” He gives you a moment to prepare yourself. “Until you're covered in my cum.”
You shake your head. “I want you to cum inside of me. Pump a baby into me, Andrew.”
The moment you say that, it's like any remaining rationality Pope had left completely crumbles.
He pins you down by your shoulders and just starts ramming into you. You've never felt such forceful thrusts before that your body doesn't even know how to react.
You just cum. That's all you can do.
“Oh god—” You grab a hold of his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin as he pounds you into his mattress. “Too rough, you're being too—!”
His hands slide to your throat and the moment he cuts off your air, you squirt on his cock and he laughs. “Someone likes it rough.”
You're clawing at him now, drawing blood, unable to handle the orgasms he's pulling out of you. Your vision is going blurry. You can't think straight.
And you see stars when he whispers in your ear, “how does it feel to get raped for your first time?”
Your body convulses under him in response and Pope loves how your pussy is clenching around him, milking his cock, begging for his cum. When he finally gives it to you and lets go of your throat, you're gasping for air, cumming your brains out on his cock pumping hot ropes of cum inside of you. You love how warm you feel, completely filled up with his release.
You don't want it to end.
You want to be wrung out like this for the rest of your life.
Pope pulls out of you and you expect it to be over but then you feel three of his fingers replace his cock. You're so sensitive that an orgasm washes over you just from him idly stroking your insides. He's merely resting his fingers inside of you, to keep you plugged up, but you're cumming on them too easily, drenching his hand.
“You're spilling my cum, little one.” He thrusts as much as he can back inside of you. “I need you to hold it in.”
“It's hard…” Especially when he keeps curling his fingers on purpose.
“Who taught you to cum like a porn star?” He can't even count how many orgasms the cameras must've caught by now.
“You.” You answer honestly, earning yourself another orgasm when his fingers start fucking you faster. “Andrew!”
“Don't cum.” He thrusts his fingers deeper inside of you with every stroke. “If you cum, I'm going to rape you.”
You glance down. Pope is hard again already. Usually it takes longer but when he looks at you, his body is just ready to fuck.
Especially now that his cock has had a taste of your pussy.
He can't possibly quit now!
Your whole body tenses in a poor attempt to stop the orgasm that will inevitably shatter you. But Pope is ruthless with his fingers.
Then he tugs at your perky nipples with his free hand and you burst like a dam, cumming all over his fingers.
You don't get a second to collect yourself before Pope flips you onto your stomach and pounds every inch of his cock inside of your still spasming pussy. His weight keeps you held down to the bed as he fucks you like an animal desperately needing to breed. He wants you pregnant.
He needs you to have his baby.
You don't know how many times Pope cums inside of you. The batteries in the cameras all die at a certain point but he doesn't stop fucking you.
It's a compulsion at a certain point. The moment he's hard again, his cock is buried inside of you. Your pussy has molded to his shape. Your body yearns for his release.
The two of you don't stop fucking until you take a pregnancy test and it's positive.
Pope is the most excited he has ever been about anything.
And you're happy to see him like that.
So, you'll wait a bit longer before you tell him it's a false positive. You had to figure out how to create a false positive or he would've never let you leave his bed.
He surely won't once he finds out.
And you're looking forward to it.
a/n: you know this idea started as one of those crack ideas but then I just ended up writing so much for it, oops! I just fell in love with porn star!pope, he's such a lovely guy (who will be very angry when he finds out you aren't pregnant hehe the next part will be fun ~)
summary: quick little one shot where you haven’t seen pope (you call him Andrew) all week and he tries to leave to go to a meeting Baz called, but he doesn’t really want to…. So obviously the answer is a quickie
contains: MDNI! no use of y/n, afab!reader, established relationship, use of sweetheart, reassurance kink (if that’s a thing), fingering, reader is naked pope is clothed #freaky, unprotected piv sex, creampie, pope being sexy and having a big dick because duh
wc: 3.5k? (started buildup/foreplay-if-you-squint maxxing sorry not sorry)
◅ masterlist ▻
You stir, still half asleep lying on your side, when you hear movement.
You don't even lift your head off the pillow when your eyes fully open, glancing toward the foot of your bed.
"Andrew?" Your voice a bit raspy from just waking up.
He freezes slightly, his hazel eyes jolting to meet yours. He's standing there shirtless- his top halfway up his arms as he's dressing- in his blue jeans and no socks or shoes. His face is pinched as he finishes pulling his black t-shirt over his head.
"Hey. It's early, didn't want to wake you," he half whispers as he buttons his jeans.
His freckled arms flex with the movement and your eyes dart to his hands that work his belt buckle next.
They're strong and calloused from all the jobs and grunt work he's done over the years. The veins that run from his knuckles to his biceps are prominent and oh so sexy.
You're still half asleep as your eyes drag up his thick torso and beefy biceps, that strain against the fabric of his shirt, back to his face.
His brows are drawn as he finishes buckling his belt. His dark ginger curls are slightly mussed from sleep, face lined with some tension.
"Where are you going?" You prop up on your side, resting your weight on your elbow and your cheek on your shoulder.
"Smurfs," he says curtly as his eyes roam all over your sleepy face and probably ruffled hair. "Baz called a family meeting about the job."
Disappointment floods you as your face slips into a frown.
"But I haven't seen you all week," You try not to whine, but it comes out a bit needy anyway.
Andrew turns his back to you as he sits on the edge of the bed with perfect posture, right next to your feet.
"I slept here last night," he defends, picking up black socks off the floor and putting one on.
"Well I didn't know that," your frown deepens as you sit up and cross your legs.
How were you supposed to know he came to your place after you were already passed out and slept over?
"Didn't want to wake you then either," he shrugs slightly as he dawns the second sock.
You know why he's being stand offish. It's not because of you, it's because of his family. Working with them has been hard on him lately.
He's always being called to Smurfs to do something for someone. A job, a favor, a task— anything they can think of, he does. It's how it's always been.
But now he has you. So every time he gets called away to do a dangerous errand or a reckless heist, he's less and less eager to participate.
This new job that Baz is planning is a big one. Andrew hasn't told you much, just that they're getting multiple vehicles and a lot of guns.
"But I don’t want you to go... please stay?" you fully whine now, unashamed at how desperate you sound.
You like when he knows how badly you want him- he's never had that before.
He pauses his reach downward for his boot with a frustrated sigh. Without even turning to look at you— as if he would stay if he met your eyes— he mutters, "Baz told me I can't be late to this. He wants me to back him up in front of our brothers and all that shit."
You crawl towards him. He doesn't want to go this meeting and you can tell— he's tired of being bossed around and not being appreciated. You hate how his brothers and mother treat him.
You wish they could see him how you do. You wish he could see him how you do.
You reach his body at the end of the bed and press your front to his back, wrapping your arms around his waist and rest your head on his shoulder.
"If you don't want to go, then you shouldn't," you whisper, in hopes that he'll choose to stay with you in this room forever and never go back to those people that don't deserve him.
He shakes his head slightly, but says nothing. You almost let out an irritated sigh, but you don't give up.
You shift around to his front, throwing a leg over his lap. Your shins rest on either side of his thick thighs and you plop onto him.
Your hands run from his shoulders to the nape of his neck, your fingers finding his soft curls. His face is tight, up close you can see his pursed lips and crinkled eyes.
"Andrew," you say sternly.
He says your name right back, mirroring your tone.
After a few second long stare off, you decide to switch methods. You begin to rock your hips slightly forward as you straddle him, while pouting your lips.
His eyes flash with something that you hope is heat as your movement reminds him of something else you haven't done with him all week.
His hands instinctively go for your thighs, resting on the tops of them. When his palms connect with the bare skin his gaze flicks downward, he then realizes that you're in nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of lace panties.
His lips part slightly as his eyes go from your thighs to their apex, that's covered by thin netted fabric. You stare at his handsome freckled face as he stares at your parted legs.
You begin to fully grind against him, testing the waters. You don't want him to go, but if he really has to, so be it.
"I- I can't stay," he says a little breathlessly, his now-dilated eyes trained on your panties.
You nod with a "mhm" humming from your mouth as the fabric of your underwear begins to dampen at the friction.
His chest starts to rise and fall quicker, his hands going from your thighs to grip your moving hips. You lean forward— deciding not to kiss his lips in worries it will snap him out of his trance— so you go below his jaw.
You plant a gentle kiss to the exposed skin just above his t-shirt collar. You then move upwards, giving him light pecks along the column of his throat— still grinding your core onto his jean clad crotch.
"I really should go... I have to be there in less than ten-” he sharply inhales “-ten minutes," his strained protest falls a bit flat however, when he simultaneously pushes your hips downward onto his growing erection.
You gasp into his skin as his hardness presses right against the most sensitive part of you. He groans, ever so slightly, and his grip on you tightens.
You know you almost have him. You could start to beg him to fuck you and he would stay all day, doing exactly as you asked.
But then his brothers would be mad at him, and he would end up feeling guilty and worthless, and it would affect him much more than it should. You don't want that, he doesn't deserve that.
So— even in your increasingly horny daze as you dry hump him— you compromise.
You bring your arms to wrap around his neck, bring your mouth to his ear and whisper, "Can we just be quick?"
He lets out a tortured groan, his palms trail up your back, underneath your shirt— leaving goosebumps in their wake.
Fully hard beneath you now, you feel his size through his jean zipper and your whole body heats at the sensation. Between your legs throbs at the memory of what's behind that zipper.
His arms encircle you, wrapping around your waist just as yours are enclosed around his neck. You're cheek to cheek as he squeezes you tightly into a hug— your hips stop their rocking to return his embrace.
You know it's a sort of thank you.
He knows that you're not going to force or guilt him into staying like any of his family members would. You just want to be with him, spend time with him and make him feel good— make him feel like nobody else can make him feel.
Once he has you tightly surrounded in his sturdy arms, he presses you down onto him again and pushes up his hips. You moan against his ear at the sudden pressure.
He loosens his grip, hands running back down to your waist, resting there gently. You pull back and look at him, your hands play with his curls as your faces are a few inches apart.
Andrew leans forward and presses his lips to yours. It's gentle and sweet and short lived. After a few seconds he pulls away. He takes a deep breath and scans your pretty face- eyes searing with heat.
"Arms up," he rasps and a shiver of excitement passes through your body.
You do as he says and raise your arms straight up above your head. He grips the hem of your shirt— his shirt— and pulls it off you, tossing it onto the floor.
He looks at your bare upper body in awe, his gaze filled with an intensity that makes your nipples harden instantly. He stares at your tits with his bottom lip tucked over his teeth, his tongue poked out to wet it.
You bring your arms down to rest your hands on his shoulders, but before they can even get there- Andrew pounces.
He flips you over quicker than you can process. You're now pressed into the mattress, further onto the bed, on your back with him on top of you.
You yelp at the unexpected move and his face dawns a small smile at the sound.
God, you love his smile.
His weight feels so good and you missed it so much. It's been over a week since he's been on top of you and your legs instinctively wrap around his clothed waist, wanting to keep him there.
He leans down and kisses you, really kisses you this time. Your mouths move together until his tongue reaches out and drags across your lips, requesting access, which you allow immediately.
Your hands run up and down the fabric covering his muscular back, as his tongue slips into your mouth and you kiss in a rhythm that's second nature to both of you.
He only kisses you for a minute though, before pulling away again, his forehead resting against yours. His desire filled eyes stare at you as he says through heavy breaths, "It has to be quick though, okay?"
His heavy words sends the warm anticipation through your stomach to between your legs. You nod eagerly, biting your lip to try and stop the triumphant smile from spreading across your face.
Andrew doesn't even make a comment about your smug face like he usually would, he just dives back into hungrily kissing you.
He rests all his weight onto one of his elbows as his free hand comes to your chest and messages your bare boob. You moan into his mouth at the touch, it's deliberate and firm, kneading you in a way that makes you desperately grind your panties against his erection once again.
As your kiss intensifies— tongues clashing and lips swelling— he takes his hand off your breast and starts to pulls at your underwear.
You lift up your hips to make it easier for him and then your lace garment is fully off your body, strewn somewhere onto your bedroom floor.
His hand moves to between your legs, fingers running over your wetness as he exhales into your mouth in what sounds like relief. Your hands go to grip his biceps, you feel how bulky and firm they are as they flex with his motions.
"You're so ready for me, sweetheart. You're all over my hand already," Andrew groans in between kisses.
You whimper as he circles a finger above your entrance, right where you need him to, then returns downward and pushes two thick fingers inside of you. You automatically moan at the stretch. He only pumps them in and out for a minute or two before he removes his hand— leaving you a whining mess. You make a small noise of protest against his lips.
"Need to be quick, remember?" You hear him undo his belt buckle, unzip his jeans and free himself from his boxers.
You glance down and see what you've been grinding against and your mouth waters.
His dick is long and almost painfully hard. It's thickness and the way it's already glistening at the tip has you squirming from underneath him. He takes himself in his hand, pumping his fist once, twice, then he lines up in between your spread thighs.
His forehead presses against yours as he slides into you with a quick thrust, his biceps tightening under your fingers as he does.
You gasp and he lets out a deep sigh of satisfaction as he bottoms out. You wriggle around him as he twitches inside of you, rolling your hips as you adjust to his size that stretches you so exquisitely.
His eyes are screwed shut as you grip him, and he whispers, "I missed you."
You bring your hands to frame his face and you press a kiss to his mouth, then say softly through a shaky breath, "I missed you too, Andrew. I missed you- this, so badly."
He pulls his hips back, almost all the way out of you, before snapping forward again, ripping a moan from your throat. His demeanor shifts from sappy to confident at your reassurance.
"Mmm Yeah," he hums breathily as he slides in and out with ease due to your slickness. His pace is achingly slow and a bit torturous. "I can feel how much you missed me. So wet. So needy. Is this how badly you want me? Is it sweetheart?"
You try to form words to respond, but his tempo starts to pick up suddenly, as if he remembered he's on a time crunch.
He kisses your neck sloppily, nipping at your skin as he does. You cry out when he sucks the spot below your ear.
"Need your words. Answer me," his voice is rough with a dash desperation.
"Y-yes," you whimper. "I want you so badly, Andrew. Always."
Your legs tighten around his waist as you suction him, to which he hisses at the vice-like squeeze. Your hands roam all over the hard planes of his freckled body.
"Shit- You feel so good. So tight and perfect," his words are hoarse from pleasure. Your nails scratch down his muscular back, over his shirt that you wish was off.
Not that you could form any words right now to ask him to do that— you're too sex hazed and your mouth is occupied by gasps and moans.
"Tell me," his husky voice demands into your neck, his nose nuzzling your skin as he pounds into you. You know what he's asking for.
"You're all I think about," You choke out- a familiar ball of tension begins to build at the base of your spine. "I think about this- I think about you when I'm—" he sucks your tit into his mouth and you gasp "—when I'm in the shower with my hand between my legs. I- I need you always."
Andrew groans proudly at your words, his movements start to get a little less controlled and a bit more frantic. His noises vibrate around your nipple and your mind melts, head thrown back.
He's pumping into you so intensely, hitting a spot with his generous size that only he has ever been able to reach.
"Y-you're so big- so good. Oh God," you moan as your fingers curl into his hair, needing to grip something to stable your body so he can fuck you deeper.
"Not God," his mouth finds yours as he talks, a strong hand moving to right above where he's plunging into you, rubbing his thumb in circles, "Andrew. Say my name."
His confidence, his touch, his thick length inside of you— it's all too much. The white hot tension moves up your body, the pleasure clouding behind your ears.
You do as he says.
You chant his name over and over again as his thrusts become so desperate, being spurred on by your reassurance. The kisses he's giving you are messy and frantic- you know he's close.
You suck his tongue into your mouth and now it's his turn to say your name— it's a whimper onto your lips as he spills into you. You feel his release warm your insides as his finger continues to work you between your legs, it ignites your own orgasm.
The euphoric feeling bursts behind your ears and pleasure laced tremors spread throughout your body, your legs shake around his waist. You contract around him as you scream. Yup. You scream.
He rubs, fucks and talks you through your climax with a raspy, “Cum on my dick for me sweetheart. Yeah…Yeah. Give it to me all pretty like you always do. Just like that— so good.”
After Andrew's words and thrusts subside and you come back into your body, you're lax on the bed with him propped above you, arms braced at your side. You're both sweaty and inhaling each others heavy breaths— noses touching, eyes closed.
He sighs then kisses you gently, and your heart sinks slightly when you realize it's a goodbye kiss.
"I have to go," he sounds like he's pulling teeth out as he says it, which makes you feel a bit better. Not better about him being upset, it just feels nice to know how badly he wants to stay with you.
You nod, not wanting to make him feel worse than he already does for leaving. His eyelids open as yours do, his lips are turned inward in a slight frown and his eyes are glossy, puppy-dog sad.
"I'm sorry," he whispers while rolling his forehead against yours, expecting you to care for him less now or punish him in some way.
Your heart aches and your hands move to cup his jaw.
"Don't be Andrew, I'm sorry I made you stay... even though it was worth it," you bite your lip as you smile, trying to joke a little and ease the tension he's feeling.
"You didn't make me." A smirk spreads across his face, he blinks away his anxiety, "Worth it for me too."
You feel him start to harden inside of you again, your legs still wrapped around him. You squirm a bit and heat floods your cheeks, a small hum slips out of you.
He grunts in disappointment and unfortunately pulls out, "Don't have time, sorry sweetheart."
You nod and sit upright as he stands, tucking himself back into his jeans, not bothering to wipe your blended arousals off of himself- it makes you blush.
You then realize that he is fully clothed and you are fully naked as you stare at him. How dirty. From the way that he bites his lip and his eyes roam all over your bare chest and spread legs, he has just realized the same. Your blush deepens.
He shakes his head slightly, banishing whatever thoughts flooded his mind, running a hand through his curls.
You stand off the bed, legs a little shaky still, and step to him, pressing a featherlight kiss to his mouth as you stand on your tip toes.
"When you come back I'll be fully clothed and you'll be naked, okay?" Your tone is playful.
You go to step away, but he pulls you to his chest, gripping your waist and pressing you into a hard kiss.
"How about we're both naked, okay?" He murmurs against your mouth, smugness appearing in his eyes.
"Deal," you bite your bottom lip in a smile. You step around him, walking towards the bathroom to the shower.
Before you pass the doorframe you pause, and turn back towards him as he's stepping into his boots.
"If Baz gets mad, tell him that I needed you to fuck me good like you always do." You want to get his confidence up before he goes and sees the people who are the reason he barely has any.
His broad chest moves as he chuckles and he shakes his curly head in disbelief.
"Bye Andrew… stay safe," Your tone serious and— as always— a bit worrisome.
"For you I will be. I'll be back as soon as I can, don't get dressed."
You laugh as he walks out of your bedroom, closing the door behind him.
authors note: this is my first smut post so hello world¡! this is how I think pope would have sex (aka no “baby” because sm*rf trauma and he would need you to reassure the FUCK out of him verbally) this tumblr shit TOO EASY😛😛 jk but if you like this please lmk because I will drop more
Tags/warnings: Deran's friend!Reader, touch starved!Andrew (what's new), age gap (reader is mid 20s, Pope is almost 40), slow burn, friends to lovers, touchy reader, physical touch as a love language, injured!pope, a little angst cause it's Andrew, intox reader (she drinks and smokes at one of their parties and gets handsy [cute] with pope, he's a gentleman about it), Pope is just a big ol' simp, cuddling, unprotected piv sex, creampie, [inaccurate show dynamics, mostly cause I didn’t wanna deal with Cath (lover her though)]
Summary: Pope doesn't like to be touched...at least not until he met you.
a/n: my favorite touch starved boy <3
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND, USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI OR USE AI TO TRANSLATE MY WORK. FUCK AI.
The first time it happens it's an accident.
There’s people in his house when there shouldn't be.
The music is too loud, the bodies too hot and sweaty.
He’s standing in the kitchen like a weirdo, even he can acknowledge it.
But he truly doesn’t know what to do. Where to go.
He’s been gone for three years. He doesn’t recognize anyone anymore. Where the fuck is he even supposed to start?
It’s your meek “excuse me” that breaks him out of the spell he’s under, gaze finally sharpening as he comes back down to the present moment.
Everything rushes back to him, overwhelmingly. He’s suddenly too aware of it all, especially your timid grip on his bicep as you try to move him out of the way.
The touch doesn’t linger. It’s fleeting, unlike the reality that Pope finds himself in.
You side step around his imposing frame, a shy smile on your lips, one that makes his head spin.
You shouldn’t be nice to him, hell, you shouldn’t be nice to any asshole you don’t know. Did no one teach you—
And then you turn on the kitchen sink, gently cleaning the glass you’ve been using unlike everyone’s disposable, plastic ones.
An air of familiarity courses through him. You’re…comfortable in his home. You’re taking care of the space that no one, not even his brothers, could give two fucks about.
He can’t help but stare, his thoughts rendering him unable to look the other way, to go back to being stoic and uninterested.
If you feel him glaring you don’t let him know it, your body language remaining relaxed all the way through wiping the glass dry and standing on your tip toes to place it back on the shelf above you.
That’s when he moves.
It’s instinctual. His mother’s voice clear in his ear, urging him to help a lady in need.
He steps up, crowds your personal space yet gives you room to escape if you feel uncomfortable.
You turn to him then, your bright eyes meeting his as your fingers barely touch. He instantly forces himself to look away, afraid that he’s going to let the glass fall if he loses himself in your gaze.
“Thanks,” you mumble, shooting him another smile as you settle back down on your feet, the movement shifting you closer against his chest.
It honestly makes Pope dizzy. Feeling your warmth, smelling the faint softness of your perfume.
You don’t turn to move for the millisecond it takes for him to finish pushing the glass into place, perfectly aligned with the others.
It’s only when he too settles back down that you turn to him expectantly.
“You’re welcome.”
Pope guesses that’s what you’re looking for and he’s proven correct instantly as you bless him with another blinding smile.
His stomach does another flip.
Who the fuck are you?
Before he can ask, what he believes to be your name is called because you instantly turn towards the sound.
He commits your name to memory, such a fitting one for such a—
“Angel! There you are!” Daren breaks through the crowd like a lifeline, one that you instantly take, stepping away from Pope and towards him like a magnet.
You settle against his side like you’re meant to be there, his arm leisurely draping over your shoulders in a familiarity that makes Pope’s blood boil with a flurry of emotions he simply cannot pinpoint.
“See you’ve met Pope,” Deran notes and you turn back to Pope with wide eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” you start, tone remorseful. “I had no idea you were Deran’s brother, I would’ve introduced myself.”
You genuinely mean it and it almost causes Pope to snap at you. You don’t owe him anything.
“’s okay,” Pope mumbles instead, his gaze piercing.
“Well it’s really nice to meet you,” you hold out your hand for him to take.
Pope’s jaw clenches. He makes no effort to move, to reciprocate your kind gesture. He can see the disappointment in your face, how it falls instantly. You’re not used to being denied, to being told no, and for a second Pope almost cracks.
But he can’t. He won’t let himself do it.
No, because he knows that the second you give him even an inch of familiarity he will devour you whole.
“Don’t take it personally, angel,” Deran practically glares daggers at him. “He’s not really into that.”
Your mouth curls into a silent oh and Pope shrugs in response.
It’s all he can do to not come across as a complete weirdo instantly upon meeting you, more than he already has.
You copy him, shrugging like you’re unbothered but he knows for a fact you aren’t as your hand instantly retracts back towards you, seeking Deran’s instead.
His fingers interlace with yours like it’s second nature, overly intimate. Pope’s brows scrunch in confusion, barely. Are the two of you…a couple?
“Anyway, I’ll see you around.”
Pope gives you one last grunt of acknowledgement before Deran is pulling you away, back towards the backyard where all the action is happening.
He obviously keeps his eyes trained on you as you leave, on how your jean shorts hug your ass, how your body is sun-kissed and a little burnt from the summer heat wave, how your hair flows effortlessly.
And then you turn to glance back at him for what feels like minutes, your eyes filled with nothing but curiosity.
His eyes force him to blink then and he loses you to the crowd.
Fuck.
The next time Pope sees you, you’re back at the house for a pool day with his family. It’s a small gathering this time around, just their inner circle which apparently now includes you too.
You’re in a striking blue bikini, the color contrasting beautifully against your skin. You’re sitting on one of the lounge chairs, your legs open so a hyper Lena can settle in between them.
You can barely contain your laughter as the young girl tells you a silly story from school, your fingers working overtime to braid her long hair in one of those fancy styles that Pope could never name so that it won’t get too tangled from the pool.
Your laughter hits him like a disorienting grenade. It’s like he's never heard anyone feel joy the way you do. It's infectious, making him wonder if he’s ever actually felt a real emotion in his life.
“There, all done,” you tie up Lena’s hair and give her back a little pat before the girl practically bolts from your embrace, yelling a swift thank you before cannonballing into the pool as everyone cheers.
Andrew’s about to move forward, to settle down beside you, a pull to be near you clouding his senses.
But then Craig has to go and ruin it.
“Me next,” the oaf practically towers over you, settling down between your legs like Lena had, taking advantage of how you haven't moved.
You roll your eyes playfully but don’t complain.
Pope watches as you take his hair out of the messy bun that he’s got it in, gently scratching his scalp. His younger brother moans, causing you to stop and smack the side of his head.
Pope’s lips quirk up into a smirk. Good, set his brother’s straight.
But Craig is not deterred, simply reaching back and squeezing your thigh cockily.
It takes everything in Pope not to lunge forward. He doesn’t understand it, how protectiveness practically flares up in his chest at the sight of someone else’s grubby hands on your soft flesh.
He honestly doesn’t know how Deran lets it happen. They both know his brother so why is he letting Craig be so chummy with you?
Unless…you’re not actually together, together.
Is it possible that you’re just like this with everyone?
You finish braiding his hair then, meanly tossing it over his shoulder so that the tail end of it smacks him on the face.
“There princess,” you tease. “All done.”
Craig flinches as the band hits him, bursting out into a fit of laughter as he stands up and follows Lena’s example, splashing into the pool so hard that he ends up soaking you completely.
Lena laughs as you gasp dramatically. “You meanie!”
“Payback’s a bitch—” Craig starts, quickly correcting himself as you glare at him. “Payback, angel.”
Deran snorts, taking a swig of his beer from his spot at the other side of the pool. A spark of something is set ablaze in your gaze, a playfulness that borders on mischief.
“Oh yeah?” It takes them a few seconds to process what you’re doing as you sprint towards them, throwing yourself in the pool as close to Deran as possible.
Pope audibly snickers as you drench his youngest brother.
The backyard is set ablaze with teasing soon after, every single member of his family sans him and his mother engaging in a water fight for the ages.
Pope settles on the lounge chair that you’ve vacated, your warmth still lingering on the fabric beneath him.
He’s transfixed by you. By the ease in which you can bring lightness to his family, as though you can lift the weight they all carry on their shoulders, even if it’s just for a little while.
Another thought crosses Pope’s mind then — is it possible that you could be like this with him too?
Laughter only turns even more boisterous as you enter the living room, a baking dish in hand.
“Angel!” Both Deran and Craig greet you, your smile beaming as you round the table to say hi to Smurf first. You know the rules of this house well by now, a genuine comfort to Pope who at least doesn’t have to worry about you with his family.
He watches intently as you chat with the older woman, handing her the dish, humble enough to tell her it’s not something as grandiose as the roast she has prepared but you didn’t want to show up empty handed.
His mother smiles at you, her ego fed enough as she stands up and goes to heat it up in the kitchen.
You don’t let her comments get to you, instead you go around the table, saying hello to everyone, your touch always lingering, always soft and playful.
Deran gives you a hug, Craig kisses your cheek affectionately, Baz only gives you a nod in acknowledgement and Pope can’t help but smirk satisfactorily against his beer. You ruffle J’s hair and give Nicky a kiss to her temple.
You’re comfortable, confident, secure in your place within their family. You don’t back down to his mother, you don’t shrink away to Baz’s hesitancy, you—
Your eyes catch him staring from across the room. He’s subconsciously backed away the second he saw you come in, practically hiding in the threshold.
You give him a shy wave over Nicky’s shoulder, a gesture he reciprocates with a grunt and a barely there head bob.
Fuck, he’s even worse than Baz.
But you don’t look at him with the same disdain as you do his half-brother. Instead, something else ignites in your eyes. A challenge, almost, to chip away at the ice around his heart. But little do you know that it’s already melting away, and neither of you can stop it.
You eagerly help Smurf bring the rest of the food out before the entire family sits down around the overflowing table.
You make it a point to sit next to him, to never once let him think that his presence is unwanted, even if he refuses to give you the type of relationship that you want, that you crave.
You fill up his plate without asking him and if you weren’t so damn adorable he’d be angry about it. But he simply cannot be. He just lets you, watching silently as you tell the room a story from a crazy class you had to experience the week before.
Your hands move in tandem with your voice, making it a point to not draw attention to what you’re doing, as if serving Pope food is somehow normal. And for a second he can let himself believe that it is, that you taking care of him is how things are meant to be.
It’s only when Deran whispers something to Craig that has the two snickering that Pope finally breaks free from your spell, mumbling a quick thank you under his breath before you settle down to eat as Lena tells the table what she got up to in school over the week now.
You hum in acknowledgement, listening to his niece intently, like you actually care about her babbling, because you do.
After lunch, the crowd disperses throughout the house, the kitchen settling into a comfortable silence where Pope can finally breathe again.
He’s always relegated to clean up duty, mostly because he likes it that way, it’s something he can control.
“Where do you want these?” You ask, causing him to turn to face you from his spot in front of the sink.
He stammers for a second, blinking away the brain fog that you always seem to bring with you every time you bless him with your undivided attention.
He crooks his head towards the left side of the sink and you move swiftly, placing the stack of plates you’ve gathered into the space.
You don’t linger this time, no, you make it a point to step away as soon as you can but not before Pope feels his body shifting towards you.
Oh, you definitely know what you’re doing.
He shakes his head as he returns to his task of dishwashing. You return periodically, bringing by glasses, cutlery, baking dishes and everything else his family could’ve thought to leave behind like the animals they are.
Once the entire table is cleared, you settle beside Pope, dish towel in hand and begin drying what he's just washed.
It’s…nice.
Pope’s not used to someone actually wanting to help him but he finds himself quickly falling into the rhythm of your comforting presence.
“I never really asked,” you start conversation after what feels like a small eternity, turning to face Pope curiously. “Do you prefer Pope or Andrew?”
You ask as if it’s not a loaded question. Well, to you it isn’t, there’s no way for you to know about the weight his name carries over him. To you it’s just about making sure you’re calling him by the name he wants to be called, nothing more, nothing less.
But to Pope it’s…euphoric.
He stays silent for a while, thinking, and you let him without an ounce of judgment. You return to your repetitive motions, to working side by side, in tandem, coordinated.
Meanwhile, a storm rages waste in his brain. He’s never allowed himself to want, to put himself first, and for the first time in his life, someone is allowing himself to do just that.
But is it real? Do you actually mean it?
It’s only when he’s finished washing the last plate, handing it over to you that he finally allows himself to look your way.
“Andrew,” he mumbles before he loses the courage to. “Call me Andrew.”
You turn to him, setting down the plate atop the mountain you’ve created, nodding your understanding.
“Andrew,” you repeat back to him. “It suits you more.”
He can’t help the blush that creeps up his neck and to his ears, the heat that blooms in his chest, the way his intense gaze falters like a lovesick teenager as his mouth devolves into a dopey smile.
You don’t make fun of him for it, don’t even acknowledge it. You just stay there with him, following through with your help and leaving the kitchen spotless.
A few hours later he finds himself protectively escorting you out to your car, much to the snickers and teasing of his brothers which, thankfully, you’re not privy to as you say your goodbye to Lena and Cath.
“Bye Andrew,” you call out to him, and like a moth to a flame, he can’t help but step towards you, almost expectantly.
You hugged everyone else in his family, maybe—
Your eyes sparkle with delight as his body leans towards your again, a reaction neither of you was expecting.
You close the distance without hesitation, getting back up on your tip toes to plant a soft kiss to his cheek.
It’s over as quickly as it started, no lingering, no invading his space more than needed.
He’s certain he stops breathing, his brain short circuiting as you settle into the driver’s seat and follow Baz out of the family compound.
You’re not special. He reminds himself. She’s like this with everyone.
And yet reason doesn’t quell the pounding of his heart, the way his breathing hitches as he finally wills himself to take in a deep breath, the need to see you again.
He doesn’t see you for a while, exam season taking over most of your time and planning a new job taking up most of his.
He’s just had a disagreement with his brothers, it’s the only reason why he finds himself out by the pier, supposedly clearing his head with a walk like normal people do, but instead the voices are just getting louder and louder.
“Uncle Pope!”
Lena’s voice cuts through the noise. His gaze sharpens towards it, his frame lowering, arms opening, making space for her.
She doesn’t shy away from him, embracing him lovingly because to her, he’s just her uncle, a little weird but never dangerous.
It’s only when she steps back that Pope notices you.
You walk towards them leisurely, not wanting to break apart the cute display happening before you.
“Hi,” it’s the only thing that flows from his lips.
“Hi yourself,” you reply, placing your hands on Lena’s shoulders to keep her close to the two of you. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a family meeting all afternoon.”
Pope blinks back the shock. How close are you to his family? How much do you know?
“Ended early.”
You nod, Lena squirming in your embrace, gasping as realization dawns on her.
“Can Uncle Pope get ice cream with us?”
You chuckle at her impatience, causing Pope to huff playfully at just how adorable his niece is being.
“That’s up to him, sweetie.”
And how is he supposed to say no when his niece looks up to him with the most adorable eyes ever. “Please Uncle Pope!”
He nods. “Okay.”
Lena practically jumps into him out of joy, her tiny hand wrapping around his as she drags him towards the boardwalk shops.
You laugh behind them, jogging to catch up as she pulls you towards them, wrapping her other hand in yours.
Lena’s a bubblegum flavor fiend, extra sprinkles and gummy bears. You’re classic, rich and decadent, chocolate in a cup. Pope almost feels bad for getting a simple vanilla scoop in a waffle cone.
“Tell them to dip it in chocolate,” you whisper to him. “Trust me.”
He doesn’t know how to answer, blinking at you in surprise.
Trust me. Such a simple concept and yet…there’s still something that doesn’t let him take that leap.
But what does he know about ice cream.
So he does, he tries something new.
You smile brightly as you turn to receive your sweet treats, making sure Lena’s sitting down on one of the benches before you go up to pay.
But Pope’s quicker, pulling out a bill from his pocket and taking care of it before you can even ask the cashier how much it’s gonna be.
You roll your eyes at him when she tells you you’re too late and he can’t help but smirk victoriously.
“Thank you Andrew,” you relent, accepting your cup from his outstretched hand, your fingers gently grazing as you do.
The spark of electricity that snaps down Pope’s body is life inducing.
“You’re welcome.”
You settle next to Lena who’s munching ecstatically at her sugary confection, pink already staining her shirt.
Pope takes a seat on the other side of his niece.
He settles into the simplicity of intimacy with ease again, the gentle waves crashing up ahead, the cool afternoon air filling his senses with the comfort of saltwater.
Existing has never felt as easy as this. As something pleasant and unhurried, not having to pretend to be anything other than who he is.
Pope can’t help watch the two of you in complete awe. How you dote on Lena and how she reciprocates the action, something he’s never seen her do in the months since he’s been back.
She feels free here, not like the little girl who’s quiet and reserved with her now estranged parents. No, she’s alert and alive, playful and aloof. It makes Pope’s heart soar as he watches the two of you so effortlessly blend together, his own ice cream melting and making a mess of him soon enough.
The house is uncharacteristically quiet.
He’s the only one there, he’s sure of it. Smurf left the second she got the call that the job had gone sour and they had to split up, rushing to Baz’s because she knows Pope is too spiteful to die on her. Meanwhile J has gotten really injured and Smurf’s new baby comes first now.
It doesn’t matter to Pope. At least he tells himself he doesn’t hate himself a little more the second he hears his mother’s heels retreat down the hall, her car soon only a phantom noise as she speeds off.
Alone in the house, the quiet gets to him quickly. The typically bright and spacious home constricting in on him as he struggles down the hall to his old room.
He tries not to think about how the rough concrete walls feel against his sensitive fingertips, how the familiar pain in his side hums with the pressure of painful memories, how he’s definitely not back in that tiny jail cell after he had another psychotic break in prison and got himself thrown in solitary for another week.
No, he definitely does not think about how he was left struggling with his sanity, floating aimlessly, stuck inside his own head trying to desperately find some comfort to cling to as he curled in on himself to find a position where it didn’t hurt him to breathe.
He swings the door to his room open without thinking twice about it.
It’s early in the morning, no one’s been home since the night before, and yet, the second he comes inside, he instantly notices the way the air smells different, sweeter.
He stills, his hand not clutched to his side slowly sliding to the back of his jeans to feel the comforting weight of his gun handle. Meanwhile his eyes rake over the room, the unmade bed, the clothes—his clothes—scattered on the floor.
“Andy?” Your sweet, sleepy voice calls to him from his ensuite bathroom and he turns to it like an idiot boy with a childlike crush, eyes wide and heart practically beating out of his chest as if he isn’t currently in such devastating pain but he doesn’t dare make you uncomfortable.
Fuck, why does he feel like such a creep?
A sharp inhale springs you into action, crossing into the unlit room to take him in, suddenly wide awake it seems.
He doesn’t have the heart to stop you as your soft hands come up to inspect the gash on his brow, the purpling under his eye. Timid fingertips trace a path down his chest, landing softly over the hand at his abdomen.
You don’t say anything, don’t lash out at him, don’t flinch back in fear as you slowly lift his palm, assessing the damage. He doesn’t know why he lets you, it doesn’t make any logical sense, and yet he just melts into your hands, lets you maneuver him however you desire as he finally lets the dam crack.
You remain silent as tears stain his cheeks, as you gently pull him into the bathroom and sit him down on the edge of the tub, as you wrap your hands on the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head.
He knows you feel the gun tucked into his pants but you don’t let the shock show on your face. Instead, when you turn to discard his shirt behind you, he simply pulls it out himself, placing it on top of the counter, safety on always.
You turn to assess him then. Luckily the switchblade didn’t do too much damage, just one long enough gash that has since stopped bleeding, deep enough to hurt but not deep enough to kill him.
You settle on your knees in front of him and he’s certain his heart skips a beat. You smile up at him, so unbelievably soft, like you’re trying to comfort him without touching him because you know just how uncomfortable it makes him.
And yet, he can’t help but crave your touch, like a reminder that he’s still alive, that he’s still here, with you.
He knows he can just ask. Knows he can put together a sentence, or not, just muster the courage and say please. But how can he? When not even his mother deigned him worthy of fussing over?
“You don’t have to—” another sob breaks through him and it takes everything in him not to curse and scream and scare you.
His body begins to shake, shame bubbling from his stomach across his body until he’s nothing but a quivering mess before you.
He wants to run, to hide away and never have you see him like this ever again. This was a mistake, staying here, letting you see him this vulnerable. He needs—
He’s turned to stone as you pull yourself up from sitting on your heels and lean up towards him, invading his personal space now, all the voices in his head suddenly quiet. Your hands come up to cup his face, thumbs dutifully wiping away the tears that fall.
He feels pathetic, disgusted with himself at the sight you’re beholden to. But then your sweet voice begins to shush him softly, to tell him that he’s okay, that you’ve got him, that he can let it all out, and for a second he allows himself to believe it.
Andrew Pope Cody allows himself to feel, to not hide behind what he’s been groomed to be all of his life. He breaks down and you patiently wait for him to finish so you can help him pick up all the pieces.
It’s only when you no longer feel the wetness drip against your flesh that you pull back enough to take him all in. He forces himself to make eye contact with you, to show you as much as he can that he’s alright, that he appreciates you.
You swiftly rummage through his bathroom cabinets, searching for the first aid kit you know he has. He watches you intently as you clean him up with a wet rag first, removing all the blood from his abdomen, his hands turning white as he holds onto the side of the tub for dear life.
Your tongue pokes out between your lips as you lose yourself to the task, using that glue Baz got them in Mexico to close his wound. He can’t help but smile softly at the sight, finally allowing himself to rake his gaze over your body.
For one, you’re clad in one of his old shirts, the ones that no longer fit him after prison hardened his body into a bigger size. Maybe he’s not special, but he’ll be damned if possessiveness doesn’t boil over at the mere sight of you in his clothes.
He’s already slowly losing his mind, desire threatening to make him take a leap over that invisible line he’s drawn between the two of you in his mind, and then you shift a little, showing off his boxers underneath, your bare things practically causing him to salivate.
The decision settles with him with ease, dragging him down into the depths comfortably, like a sailor that has accepted his fate because it means he’ll at least get to kiss the siren.
“There,” you hum, tracing the outline of the bandage with your fingertips before you turn to look up at him. “All done.”
“Thank you,” he manages to choke out.
“My pleasure, Andy.”
Letting you go is the hardest thing Pope has ever done. You’d insisted he needed to rest after the trauma that he’d experienced and, not wanting to be an annoying patient, he’d conceded, settling down where you had just been sleeping, the sheets still slightly warm and smelling of you.
For the first time in a long time, Pope actually slept and slept good. But the second he’d woken up, you were no longer in the house.
He thought about calling, about making sure he hadn’t scared you off, but part of him preferred it this way. He was scared of his feelings towards you, so he chose indifference.
His mood soured, however. Every little thing his brother did made him snap, every time they brought you up in conversation, every time your name entered his orbit but your body didn’t made him go crazy.
He’s aware that it’s all his fault for not checking in, for disappearing into radio silence. But in his defense, you’ve never texted before, you’ve never even given him your number for fuck’s sake! It would’ve been weird to contact you out of the blue right?
Summer is coming to an end when you finally deign him worthy of your presence again.
Deran and Craig are throwing a party. Big surprise.
The house is packed, hot and sweaty. Everyone is scantily clad, if covered up at all. Even Smurf has left the premises for the weekend so it’s just a cluster of debauchery and substance abuse.
He should’ve left, he thought about it many times. But he knows you’ll show, even if it’s just to say hello, see how quickly things are devolving, and leaving immediately.
His eyes have been trained on the entrance all night, impatiently waiting for you to walk in. It’s nearing eleven and his palms are starting to get itchy with anxiety. What if you don’t show? He hadn’t even thought about that possibility.
It’s been a few days since Deran’s mentioned you. Even longer since you’ve babysat Lena. Could something be wrong? Are you okay?
His entire body bursts with uncomfortable heat. He needs to find Deran right now, needs him to tell him your address so he can go check on you himself, needs—
A loud squeal catches his attention, swiftly turning towards the backyard to catch you swung over Craig’s shoulder, your tiny jean shorts riding further up your ass as he spins you around.
You giggle brightly, not attention seeking, just pulling everyone’s gaze towards you with the ease in which you feel joyful. He watches, entranced, as his younger brother puts you down.
Pope moves instinctively, stalking towards the living room to get a better line of sight on you. You’re at least wearing a shirt over your bikini, your beautiful skin covered from the hungry gazes of those around you. If you realize just how many men are salivating after you, you don’t let it show, not as Craig lights up a joint and passes it on to you instantly.
Something constricts against Pope’s heart as he watches you inhale deeply, a primal urge to burst through the doors, grab the joint from your hand and toss it away before bringing you into the house and hiding you away.
He settles for sitting down on the loveseat. He can keep you safe from in here, from far away, from a distance.
The house only becomes more crowded as the night goes on and he unfortunately loses track of you two hours in, only noticing the second that annoying couple in front of him moves out of the way, the warm summer air hitting him in contrast to the air conditioned interior.
He panics instantly, his eyes jumping through the hazy bodies outside as he desperately tries to find you again. He’s about to stand up, to finally make a move and search for you when your body plops down on his lap instead.
“Andy!” You shriek, an airy happiness enveloping you as you settle over this lap. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Pope swallows thickly, feeling everything all at once, his brain having trouble processing your hands over his chest, your core pressed against the bulge in his pants, your hot breath on his face.
He’s certain he’s blushing crimson but maybe you’re too intoxicated to notice.
“Were you hiding from me?”
He doesn’t answer right away, causing your pretty little mouth to get upturned into a pout.
“I knew it,” you whimper. “You do hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, angel,” the words spill out of his mouth instantly, unfiltered since his stupid brain isn’t working anymore.
Wide eyes stare at him adorably. “You don’t?”
He shakes his head.
“Then…” you huff, clearly exhausted from all the mental gymnastics you’ve been doing too. “Why didn’t you call?”
He opens his mouth to answer.
I didn’t have your number.
I didn’t know I had to.
Why didn’t you call?
But he knows it’s all lies. He knows he deliberately didn’t call.
Didn’t text.
Didn’t anything.
Your eyes flicker down to his open mouth, your own hanging open as you stare hungrily at him, your hips grinding down against him involuntarily.
He hisses at the contact, the sound so broken and foreign to him. His brows scrunch in desperation, his head angling without him noticing. And so you take the leap for him.
Your lips settle on his like a sip of water after wandering in the desert for an entire lifetime.
It takes everything in him not to kiss you back, not to run his hands over your back, not thrust his hips up into you.
He knows how high you are, knows your actions, while yours, aren’t sober ones. And he’d much rather kill himself than take advantage of you.
“Andy,” you whine into his mouth again, needy and desperate. “Please.”
He stiffens beneath you, once again gripping the chair handles like his life depends on it. You frown as the wood creaks, a wicked smile curling your lips as you realize just how much he’s holding back right now.
“You can touch me, Andy,” you whisper, your lips starting their descent from his own down to his jaw and neck.
He shakes his head softly, not cruel, not rejecting, simply stating.
If anything, it spurs you on, determined to prove him wrong, to provoke him.
He can tell as your lips lock into the base of his neck, teeth nipping meanly at his skin, desperate to leave a mark on him.
He should stop you, should pick you up and tuck you into bed. But he doesn’t. He can’t.
Instead, his eyes close in pleasure, his fists practically snapping the wood between his fingers.
You’re hungry, having been kept from touching him for so long. He’s given you an inch and you’ll be damned if you don’t steal a mile. And he honestly doesn’t care, can’t care, when the realization that you were looking for him finally catches up.
You want him.
Desperately.
Your hands roam down his arms in tandem with your hip movements, your lips trailing back up to his mouth, but instead of diving in, taking the plunge, you hover above them, your hot breath taunting him.
“You’re so pretty, Andy,” you whisper. “Need you—” you huff, frustrated. “to touch me, please.”
He shakes his head again, this time accidentally brushing his lips with yours, groaning at the fleeting contact.
“‘M not gonna take advantage of you, angel,” he presses his forehead to your cheek, almost reverent.
You let out a sigh, deep and weirdly understanding, stopping your mindless torture as his words sink in. He stares at you, his heart finally pumping blood to the rest of his body normally as it sinks with your own, the raging storm calming into a consistent thundering.
“‘M sorry,” you mumble against his chest, settling down to rest your head against the crook on his neck. “I just…” you sigh, melancholic, the words not coming to you.
“I know,” he finally lets his hands break free from his self-imposed restraints, sliding them up your legs, taking his time feeling the warmth of your exposed thighs, the comforting weight of your clothes against your skin. You hum contently, like a cat finally being given attention, practically purring against him.
He settles his touch around your body, pressing you tightly against him as you slowly doze in and out of consciousness.
“Is this good enough, angel?” He’s never felt this soft with anyone before, his jagged edges usually too sharp, drawing blood instantly. But it’s as though you’ve smoothed him down, made him into someone that’s worthy of you.
You nod against him, fingers curling into his soft shirt, most definitely wrinkling the perfectly ironed fabric and he could not give two shits about it.
He’s acutely aware of how the two of you ended up asleep together.
All he wanted was to tuck you into bed, kiss your temple and then sit across from the bed, watching you sleep all night, like a messed up version of a guardian angel.
But you’d whined oh so loudly when he tried to peel away from you, your arms wrapping around his neck, your legs tightening around his waist. He couldn’t even get his shoes off, being forced down onto the soft mattress as you rolled over on top of him.
You settled down easy after that, your even breath soothing against his neck, the patterns he kept tracing over your back lulling you even further into the depths of rest.
He’s never fallen asleep this easily before, definitely not after the peak of adrenaline you’d just put him through.
But after exactly one thousand and sixty five seconds of watching your calm face, feeling your chest rising and falling steadily, something pulled him under, his eyelids becoming so heavy he could barely register as he stopped blinking altogether.
Your squirming wakes him up the next morning.
You’ve crawled on top of him, a comforting weight over his body. That is until you started to move, seeking something to put you out of your miserable restlessness.
“What’s wrong, angel?” His voice is deep with sleep.
You lift yourself onto a sitting position, straddling his hips once more, rubbing against the growing tent in his pants.
Part of him snaps awake at the mere inkling that you’re horny, now sober and wanting to torture him for denying you yesterday. But as his eyes focus on you, he finds an even deeper feeling he simply cannot name brewing in your pretty little head.
You scratch at your shirt, the fabric constrictive, your neediness for him overwhelming.
“’s too much,” you whine and he, for some divine reason, understands what you need.
He sits up, causing you to gasp as his erection thrusts up against you.
“Meanie,” you tease, pushing him to action.
He smirks as his hands gently trail over your exposed tummy. His hands grab the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head in one swift movement, quickly untying your bathing suit top and tossing the offending fabric to the floor. He doesn’t give himself the time to stare, not when you’re so desperate and time is of the essence, he’ll have time to properly worship you later.
Your nipples do harden as the cold air hits them, and he cannot fight the urge to take one into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the bud before he detaches so he can pull his own shirt off.
Your breathing gets caught in your throat as you watch him, brain already shutting off at the sight of his bare body. So much more real estate for you to touch, he thinks.
And touch you do, eager hands trailing the hardness of his chest and stomach all the way down to his pants. You make quick work of the button and his zipper and he lifts his hips so he can pull them off, hesitating with his boxers—
“All of it.” You answer for him.
“Yeah?”
“Mhmm,” you whine. “Please.”
And who is he to deny you now?
In one quick movement, he’s complete bare beneath you. But you’re still not content, no, you won’t be until you’re right there with him.
He takes care of your remaining clothes then, urging you up with two quick taps to your outer thigh and just as quickly hooking his thumbs underneath your bikini bottoms.
Your heat is so close to his face, so puffy and needy, he simply must lean forward and place a kiss over your hip bone. You hum contently, body buzzing with excitement as you practically tackle him back down on the bed and return to your earlier position.
At first you don’t want anything other than to feel him, your cheek pressed over his beating heart, legs spread over his lower abdomen, practically purring as his own hands wisp over your back.
You lay like that for a while, enjoying the gentle sounds of crashing waves and birds singing outside his window. But then you turn to look at him with those round, puppy eyes that he’ll be damned to cave to for the rest of his life.
“Andy,” you plead. “Need to be closer to you.”
He knows what you mean without you having to explain yourself.
There’s just one more thing to do.
So he does, grabbing a hold of his rock hard cock and slowly sinking himself into your entrance. You wince at the stretch, eyes quickly becoming watery as he settles inside of you. He shushes you gently, shifting you slightly so he can reach your lips, crashing them with his in a sloppy, wet kiss that has you instantly melting into him further.
It’s only when he’s sheathed within you completely that you finally relax. But while you’ve found euphoria with such a simple action, Pope is anything but.
He lasts fifty three seconds before his hips begin shifting involuntarily. Your brow scrunches in confusion, pleasure shooting up your body when all you really wanted to feel was peace.
He coos at you softly. “I need to move, angel.”
You sigh, dramatically so, and he can’t help but smile brightly at your theatrics.
“May I move?”
You bury your face in the side of his neck, going limp over him. “I guess.”
He rolls his eyes playfully, wrapping his arms around you before he lifts his hips off the bed and begins to piston in and out of you.
You’re so wet it’s absurdly easy, the room quickly devolving into a choir of wet, slapping sounds and his moans harmonizing with your little whimpers. You hold onto him for dear life, relishing in the closeness that he’s affording you, and he…he’s certain that you’ve just unlocked something he’d buried deep in his psyche long ago.
A desire to long for someone.
An allowance to feel.
A chance to love again.
“An—dy fuck,” you choke. “‘M so close.”
He turns his head to press his cheek against your temple, tightening his hold on your body, possessive and claiming.
“Come for me angel,” he urges. “Let me make you feel good, please.”
You moan loudly, your body responding diligently to his plea. He can feel your body convulse above him, your walls tightening around him as a jolt of electricity snaps and you’re coming undone.
You cry against his shoulder, panting feverishly as he continues to pound into you, seeking his own release while also extending you own.
“In me please, Andy, need you—”
He doesn’t need to be told twice, burying himself as deep as he can inside of you before he’s spilling, locking you tightly against him and enjoying the feeling of joy that washes over his entire body.
He can’t stop kissing your cheek, his lips lapping up the wetness that has streaked like a devout man worshiping a gift from the heavens.
You stay like this until both your heartbeats return to their normal, synced rhythm, your nails scratching deliciously at his scalp while his own return to their soothing patterns against your back.
“Was that okay?” You ask him, finally returning to your senses it seems.
summary: All it takes is one glance at the pretty girl who lives in the apartment across from his for Andrew Cody to become obsessed. But what begins as innocent observation from his window turns into something far more intense.
warnings: +18 MDNI. obsessive behavior, stalking, multiple scenes of male masturbation, themes of shame, reader has type b youngho vibes and andrew is stupidly into it, feminine reader who has hair and wears press on nails, unspecified but implied age gap, reader shares one kiss with a female friend (not super detailed), J pulls your cell phone records as a favor, andrew breaks into your apartment and raids your panty drawer, male masturbation with a vibrator, nipple play, alcohol consumption and mentioned drunkenness, lingerie, exhibitionism on readers part, mutual masturbation, jealousy, bratting/a touch of brat taming, reader tries to make pope jealous with another man, death threats (not to reader or pope), dirty talk, sloppy makeouts, spit swapping, over the clothes nipple sucking, finger sucking, f!use of a vibrator, clit play, rough fingering, unprotected piv, dacryphilia, light angst, insecure pope, reader matches his freak, stalker!reader, forced love confessions, begging, creampie
note: wow ok i think that might be the longest warning i've ever written whoops!! thank u sm to my angel @thykingdoncome for reassuring me through this whole process and taking a lil looksie at this for me love u 4ever
wc: 10.4k
[masterlist] [AO3]
Andrew knows it's weird.
He knows that.
But as long as you don't know he's doing it, what does it hurt?
It's not like he's doing anything weird. He's just…watching you. It almost feels like fate, the way your apartment is positioned directly across from his. There's the courtyard and a pool lying between you, but the windows of his apartment mirror yours so perfectly.
And…you don't have blinds.
No curtains, no shades. There's not even a half-effort of an old sheet hung up over the glass pane. And at night? When he can't sleep, and the moths circle the flickering porch lights, and you've got those blue or red or purple LED lights on…well.
Pope can see right into your apartment.
Can see you, watching TV on the couch or cooking boxed macaroni in nothing but a loose tank top and a pair of lace underwear.
He thinks you might be the only good thing about the apartment that Smurf forced him into only three days after he was released from prison.
It's been a long time since he's looked at a woman, you know. Longer since he's seen one as pretty as you.
He's not lacking self awareness or anything. Pope knows your open windows and ever changing LEDs aren't an invitation to stare, but…sometimes it feels like one.
You fall asleep on the couch most nights. Which is good for him, because Pope can't see into your bedroom.
Some things, he begins to realize, are a sort of chaotic routine.
You tend to fall asleep with your phone in your hand and scramble to find it each morning (it's always under the couch, beneath the hot pink throw pillow you kick off in your sleep).
You don't eat breakfast because you don't wake up early enough to (don't you know it's the most important meal of the day?). Most mornings, you wake up with just enough time to doll yourself up in the bathroom, prioritizing glittery eyeshadow and shimmering lip gloss rather than the sustenance of a bowl of cereal.
He doesn't know what you do for work, but it's something with an inconsistent schedule. You sleep until noon on your days off, which could be any day of the week, Pope learns.
Work doesn't stop you from going out, though. Saturday nights are reserved for those miniskirts and stiletto heels and all your giggling girlfriends who get ready on your living room floor with a hand mirror. You share perfume and makeup and clothes with them before you all climb into a shared uber.
A few times, Andrew finds himself tempted to follow you. He tells himself it's not like he'd be doing it for his own satisfaction. He'd just be doing it to keep an eye on you, that's all. You're a young girl (too young for someone his age). Don't you know there are predators out there?
But he never does. Because that would be weird, right? You don't even know him. But…he certainly starts to feel like he knows you.
You and your friends always stumble back to your apartment, sometimes falling up the concrete steps to the second floor. One of them will make pizza rolls or messy peanut butter sandwiches and you'll pass around cold bottles of water and spill electrolyte drink mixes on the kitchen counter.
You'll share your things with them even after the club, selfless girl. Passing out hair ties and makeup removing wipes and big t-shirts for them to sleep in. On one particular night, when most of them are passed out on the couch, legs and arms tangled together, Pope even watches you you share a kiss with one of them under pink LEDs.
That night, Andrew has to force his attention away. It feels way too close to the beginning of that porno Craig left open on the family computer years ago.
But this doesn't feel erotic. Watching your mouth move against someone else's doesn't elicit any warmth beneath the fabric of his jeans.
No, it makes Andrew...upset. Angry, even.
It makes him jealous.
He tries not to think about it again. Tries even harder (and fails, repeatedly) to give you some privacy on Saturday nights.
But Sundays…Sundays are sacred.
Both for you and for him.
So much so that he pulls out on a job when his brothers plan it for a Sunday. Tells them he has to check in with his parole officer that day. Lies to their faces, because he doesn't want to miss out on you.
Because every Sunday, without fail, Andrew gets to see you naked.
You start by cleaning your apartment. Wiping down the counters and vacuuming the carpet and dusting the top of the cabinets. Then you light the candle on the coffee table (pink champagne, he's pretty sure, after looking endlessly online to match up the glass container. Twenty six dollars. Four day shipping. Currently sitting unlit on his nightstand).
And when you're ready, you strip off all your clothes and discard them in the bathroom.
You put oil in your hair and nineties R&B on your bluetooth speaker. You paint your toes (usually white or black, occasionally an electric blue) and glue artificial nails with sparkling gems onto your fingers.
Sunday showers are the longest, Pope knows. Sometimes thirty minutes. And when you emerge from the bathroom, steam rolls out from the open door and you've got your hair wrapped up in a towel. You balance yourself with a foot on the edge of the couch and massage lotion into your skin first.
From top to bottom, moisturizing your entire body. And then you repeat the motion with an oil, and it's during this particular step that Andrew starts feeling a little lightheaded.
He'd bet you feel all smooth and soft and smell so fucking good. Maybe like vanilla or cherry or coconut. And, god. He wants to touch you. He wants to touch himself.
But he resists.
The first three times, anyway.
By the fourth Sunday, though…well. His cock gets so fucking hard in his jeans that it's leaking. Making a big fucking mess in his boxers. It hurts, you know?
And it's not like you'll know he's doing it. He's had a little over a month to perfect his setup—lights off, chair angled perfectly so if anyone glanced into his apartment they'd have to really look in order to see him.
So, he takes his cock in his hand and imagines it's your delicate fingers wrapped around him instead. Imagines it's his hands rubbing oil into your shoulders, over the swell of your breasts, pressing into your hips, squeezing at the supple flesh of your thighs.
He'd make sure to do it just how you like. And Pope wouldn't need to be told how to, either. Because he's spent so much time watching you now that he would just know.
He wonders if your head would fall back, wet hair clinging to your slick skin. He wonders if he pressed just right into that tender spot at the small of your back that you're always so gentle with if you'd moan or whine or whimper. Maybe even say his name.
Andrew cums at the thought alone, grunting low, lips parted, his release spilling over his hand and down the hard length of his cock.
The shame doesn't take hold of him for a while.
Not until later that night, when your hair is blow dried and you're dressed in a pretty silk pajama set. You've got some trashy reality show on the TV, and you're eating the pizza you had delivered right out of the box.
Andrew takes the moment to clean himself up. To change out of his clothes and into something more comfortable. He brushes his teeth and climbs in bed, but lays with his head propped up by an extra pillow so he can still see clearly out of his window.
He knows it's weird. He knows he shouldn't be staring at a naked girl who's probably half his age and doesn't know there's some fucking creep across the courtyard who watches her every fucking day. He knows he shouldn't be fucking his fist watching you put lotion on your skin. He knows he shouldn't be changing his plans with family or friends around your schedule, just so he can watch you a little longer.
He knows he should stop.
The problem, however, lies in the wanting.
Andrew's never had much. Not when it comes to women. But you…god. You're so beautiful, and so pure and so different from anything he's ever seen. You don't belong to anyone but yourself, and once he sees you, he finds it impossible to look away.
Things change late one Friday night.
Andrew gets sloppy. He gets comfortable, here in this routine he's created around you.
There's music coming from your apartment, some electronic pop ballad that's at a volume so loud he can hear it from across the courtyard (there will be complaints to the office manager tomorrow morning, he knows. But you don't have to worry. Pope will take care of it for you, baby. He'll make sure you can keep having your fun).
You're wearing just a lacy bra and a pair of linen sleep shorts. There's a seltzer in your hand, and you're singing and dancing like you've somehow summoned all the energy from the club right there in your apartment.
It's a beautiful sight, truly. You're so happy and carefree. The warmest ray of sunshine that he wants to find himself basking under.
Andrew gets comfortable, posture relaxing in the chair that now lives permanently in front of his window. He watches you dance around your apartment, the easy smile on your face reflected back on his own.
He thinks he could really take care of you. Keep you safe. Protect all that girlish whimsy that lives in your heart. He'd make you real happy, Andrew thinks. Would watch you dance with your friends at the club, leaning against the bar. He'd take you shopping and add more of those short dresses into your closet. He'd make you breakfast in the mornings before work and Christ—he'd buy you a set of fucking curtains.
Pope is so lost in the fantasy of it that he doesn't register in time that your dancing has slowed. And you've put your seltzer down on the coffee table.
And you're staring right back at him.
His heart kicks up, pounding against his chest. He knows he should move out of sight, shut his blinds, pass this off as a mistake, maybe even pretend he hadn't seen you.
But he doesn't do any of that.
He's frozen in time, terrified and exhilarated all at once by simply being perceived by you.
Pope just…stares.
It seems to be the only fucking thing he's capable of these days.
He expects you to flip him off or maybe come barreling out of the door and across the courtyard to confront him. Or maybe you'll scurry away into your room. Maybe you'll order a set of curtains online.
But you don't do any of that.
You just stare right back.
Andrew tilts his head curiously. It's an involuntary movement.
In the end, you're the first to look away. You pick up your seltzer, dump it down the drain in the kitchen, and then disappear into the bathroom to brush your teeth.
Your routine remains the exact same. You find your phone beneath the throw blanket on the couch and turn off the TV. You turn the kitchen light off and turn on the light above the stove instead. You grab a water bottle from the fridge, and then go to bed in your room.
It's not rushed, and you don't seem nervous or fearful that there's someone watching you.
And Andrew thinks to himself, see. This is why you need him. This is why you need someone looking out for you. Don't you know how dangerous he could be?
He would never hurt you, Andrew knows. But you don't know that.
He doesn't sleep that night. He doesn't sleep often as it is, but his mind is running too fast. Cataloguing all the potential scenarios in which you cut off all access he has to you, severing the comfort he finds in his new favorite, voyeuristic hobby.
And Andrew wouldn't—couldn't—blame you for it. He thinks that's what you should do.
You don't.
The following morning, your routine changes.
On the nights you fall asleep in your bed, you're usually dressed in a pair of jeans with gems decorating the pockets and a low-cut top by the time you emerge from your room.
But not this time.
No, this time you're still wearing the same clothes you'd fallen asleep in. A lacy bra and cotton shorts.
Andrew watches, freshly emerged from the quickest shower of his life, hair still wet, as you stand in front of the fridge to find the fizzy energy drink you'd brought home with you last night.
He watches you struggle for a moment to crack the seal open (Those pretty nails of yours. He could help you with that, you know). You take a slow sip, put the aluminum can down on the counter, and turn your head just enough to let Pope know you see him.
You know he's there, in the window. You know he's watching.
And then, painfully slow, you drag your shorts down your thighs. The fabric pools at your feet, and Pope loses all train of thought.
Because this is no accident. You want this. You want him to watch you.
Your bra is next. You reach around to unclasp it and soon after the lace joins the linen fabric on the linoleum floor.
Warmth blooms beneath his skin as he watches you press your hands to your abdomen, feeling your skin, running your hands up your chest and over the swell of your breasts.
You try and play it off like a stretch, lifting your arms above your head and arching your back.
Andrew knows it's not.
You get ready the rest of the morning like normal. And Andrew…God. He doesn't know what to think.
He knows he should stop this before it goes too far. He thinks it already has.
It's…it's weird, right?
Everything about it is wrong.
He doesn't want to stop, but he knows he should.
He tries, though. For what little it's worth.
Tries to busy himself building a fountain at Smurf's. Tries to find small jobs he can do himself to pass the time. He still thinks about you all hours of the day, though. Like a thorn stuck beneath his skin, aching when he moves just the wrong way.
He overhears Nicky explaining to Deran what an 'everything shower' is and thinks about your Sunday ritual. He walks into a hungover Craig making boxed macaroni in his boxers and thinks of you. Smurf lights a candle called pink cashmere and even though it's not pink champagne, it still makes him think of you.
The pretty little girl in the apartment across from his, who he finds himself certifiably, insanely, obsessed with.
One Thursday afternoon, Andrew returns home earlier than he'd planned. He tells himself he just wants to get a little glance.
Just one look. You know, to soothe the ache the thought of you brings. To see if maybe he imagined the weight of your stare.
What he finds, though, is somehow more concerning.
You're pacing your living room, cell phone pressed to your ear, still wearing jeans and your sneakers. There's tension in your shoulders and even though he can't hear the conversation you're having with the person on the other end of the phone, he can see that you're shouting.
It drags on for the better half of an hour. The pacing, the frustrated hand waving, the pinching of the bridge of your nose. Whatever it is, Andrew bets he could help with it.
He hates seeing you stressed. Thinks you should be living your fun, carefree life like normal. You shouldn't be burdened with…whatever it is that's got you so upset.
But it's not like he can go over and just ask.
So, he chooses a different path instead.
Gets the key to the office of the apartment complex from Smurf. Rummages through the paper files until he finds the lease contract linked to your apartment number.
Andrew thinks he should've done this weeks ago. He learns an awful lot about you this way. Like your name, which he begins to recite like a mantra in his head. He learns your birthday and, regretfully, your age.
But, most importantly, he discovers (and memorizes) your phone number.
And that same day, he returns to Smurf's with a torn piece of paper with the digits scribbled on it. He hands it to his nephew and says, "Need you to get a few phone call records. Can you do that for me?"
J furrows his brows in confusion. "Who's number?"
Pope shrugs. "No one," he lies. "Can you get the records or not?"
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, probably. Anything specific you're looking for?"
"I wanna know about a call that happened today. Around two or so. Lasted almost an hour. Just get me the number of whoever was on the other line."
J hesitates for a single moment, and then nods slowly. "Alright. I'll get back to you on it."
In the meantime, Andrew spirals.
The thought of you having a boyfriend never really crossed his mind until now. You don't really have men over. Just your girl friends.
But there are some Saturday nights you don't come home, stumbling in early Sunday morning instead with sunglasses on and your hair a mess. So, Pope thinks you very well could have a boyfriend and he never would've known it.
Pope tells himself if it is a boyfriend, he won't…he won't do anything. It's not his place to make decisions for you, right?
Still. You shouldn't let a man stress you out so much. Whoever it is, they're not worth it. You deserve better. You deserve more.
You deserve someone who knows you.
Less than two hours later, Pope gets a phone call from J, who explains that the person on the other end of that phone call wasn't a person at all.
It was your phone company.
Your stupid fucking service provider who just so happened to put an extra two hundred dollar fee on your bill this month, claiming data overages.
All that stress wasn't over a boyfriend. It was over money.
And money is something Andrew can provide.
He waits until you leave for work, locking up tight behind you. But that doesn't matter, not now. Andrew has a key to the office, which means he has access to the spare key to your apartment.
He is fully aware that he shouldn't be doing this, but ten minutes after you leave he unlocks the door and steps inside anyway.
Your apartment smells sweet. Like sugar and citrus. He wonders if you smell the same way, and the thought alone makes Andrew's mouth water.
He moves slowly into your space, fingers tracing over the TV stand, feeling the wood beneath his calloused fingertips. He straightens the crooked throw pillow on the couch and puts the lighter for your candle back into the tray on the coffee table.
Andrew knows he should just…leave the cash and go. He shouldn't be snooping around, invading your privacy.
But you left a knife point-side up in the strainer in the sink. And you could get hurt doing something like that.
And once he's already in the kitchen, turning the knife over so the sharp edge is down, well…what will it hurt if he opens a couple of drawers?
None of your silverware matches. Andrew finds this little fact sort of endearing. Messy and chaotic in the same way you are, but that's okay. Maybe he can fix that for you one day, too.
Your bathroom is cluttered. There's makeup products littering the porcelain sink and the cabinet mirror is left wide open. Andrew picks up a few different products to read the labels and finds lip liners and leave-in conditioners and powdered blush with pilled pigment on the counter.
He finds that lotion you're always using on Sundays and opens the lid. Andrew brings the container to his nose, inhales deeply, and feels suddenly too hot.
The scent of it is sweet, like you. There's notes of syrupy amber and warm florals and it has the muscles in his abdomen squeezing tight as he thinks about how potent the scent would be if he were between your legs, freshly oiled, calves resting on his shoulders as he licks and sucks at your clit.
His cock has been half hard since the moment he stepped foot in your apartment, but by the time he makes it to your bedroom?
Pope is aching.
Your clothes are strewn all over. There's t-shirts on the floor and jeans inside out near the hamper and a dress you'd worn two weekends ago lying on the edge of your unmade bed.
It smells like you in here, too. Even more so. There's less perfume, but Andrew swears he can smell the scent of your skin. Sweet and intoxicating, sending sparks of arousal straight to his groin.
Your bedside table has a lamp on it and three half-empty bottles of water. There's one drawer, and he pries it open and gives a slow exhale to see all the silk and lace inside.
Going through your underwear drawer is, quite literally, the very last thing someone like Andrew Cody should be doing.
He does it anyway.
Rummages around until he finds that little black pair you like to sleep in. He runs his fingers over the lace band, feeling the softness beneath the rough pad of his thumb. His cock is throbbing, even before he brings the fabric to his nose and inhales the scent of laundry detergent and faint mahogany from the nightstand and—there. The scent of you.
As close as he can get.
As close as he'll probably ever get.
He needs to leave. Andrew is painfully aware that this is crossing a line of a whole new degree. Levels above simply watching.
This is obsession. This is addiction. Sick and twisted and perverted.
Andrew does not leave.
He climbs into your bed instead. Kicks off his boots and discards his hoodie until he's in nothing but his jeans. He slips beneath your sheets—satin, and pink, and filled with the scent of your shampoo and your skin and—fuck.
His cock is leaking by the time he undoes his belt. Andrew reaches beneath your blankets and shoves his jeans down just enough to free himself.
And it's almost enough to blow his load right fucking there, when the underside of his heavy length brushes against the fabric of your sheets. It's almost too much, being in your room, in your bed, breathing in your scent.
But he resists. Grits his teeth and takes his cock in one hand and uses the other to wrap the soft fabric of your underwear around his aching length.
This time, there's nothing slow about the way he strokes himself to the thought of you. He's desperate for it. Release already clouds the edges of his mind and he needs the relief it'll provide.
His brain feels hazy and his vision blurs, just thinking about you, lying here, hand between your legs. He wonders how you touch yourself, if you just play with your clit or if you fuck yourself on your fingers.
The thought crosses his mind that you might be using more than just your hand, and Pope finds himself sitting up. He leans over the edge of your bed and sticks his hand back into your panty drawer, reaching to the very bottom, feeling around until the tips of his fingers brush over silicone.
His heart is beating fast.
It's a small thing. Pink, of course. With only a small, almost hidden power button.
Pope leans back in your pillows and turns the little vibrator on. It buzzes to life in his hand, and when he pushes the button again, the intensity ratchets even higher.
There's only three settings. He turns it to the highest one and imagines holding it against your swollen clit. He imagines you lying under him, thighs around his waist, hips bucking wildly, chasing the vibration that he gives and gives and then takes away.
He turns so he's lying face down in your sheets now, nose pressed into your pillow. Pope puts the vibrator between his cock and the soft expanse of his abdomen, and he feels the sensation everywhere.
He's still got your underwear wrapped around his cock, and he gives a tentative roll of his hips against the mattress.
The groan he lets out is guttural. With his eyes closed, he can imagine its not your panties he's fucking but you. The tight, wet cunt between your legs. He can imagine it's the curve of your throat he's got his nose buried in and not your pillow. He can imagine that sweet, intense vibration is reverberating through your pelvic bone, little toy pressed hard against your clit.
Pope tells himself he'd make it so fucking good for you. He'd bury his cock so deep you'd never forget the weight of it inside you. He'd whisper how beautiful you are in your ear and make you look him in the eyes while he watches you cum over and over and over.
His release is…embarrassingly fast.
A few rolls of his hips against your mattress and he's cumming into the lace fabric of your panties, the vibration of the toy milking him until he's so overstimulated it almost hurts.
Pope rolls over, turns the toy off, and buries it back in the bottom of your drawer. He gives himself a few more moments to gather himself. To catch his breath, to wipe himself clean (never mind the couple of drops that now stain your satin sheets. That could be from anything, right?).
He tucks himself back into his jeans, pulls on his boots and his hoodie, and tosses your underwear in the pile of clothes next to the laundry bin.
There's a pair of your jeans in the middle of the floor, away from the rest. One leg of the denim is inside out. Pope takes the cash from his wallet and tucks it into the pocket, leaving out just enough that he knows you'll notice it.
He leaves.
Locks the door behind him with the spare key.
Makes it halfway across the courtyard before he doubles back, lets himself back into your apartment and into the bathroom where he pockets one of the many different chapsticks on the sink.
It isn't until he's home, tucked safe back in his own apartment, that he realizes it's strawberries and cream flavored.
Andrew puts it on, swiping the transparent petroleum over his lips. He tells himself it's almost like kissing.
Later that day, Craig calls a family meeting. But you've just gotten home, and he knows you'll find the cash within a few minutes when you go to change out of your clothes.
So Andrew waits at the bottom of the stairs on his side of the courtyard. He can't see into your apartment from here, though. And he decides he'll only wait for thirty minutes.
He responds to text messages and opens his blank, photo-less Instagram (that he definitely didn't make only to look at your profile. The one filled with selfies under neon lights and bikini photos on the beach and mirror pictures in the dressing room at that one boutique in the mall).
Twenty nine minutes later, he hears an apartment door slam shut and looks up to see you.
You've got your bag over one shoulder and a grin on your face and the cash in your hand. Enough to cover the additional charges and a little extra, too.
You notice him at the bottom of the cement stairs and freeze, but you don't look…scared, like he expects. Maybe a little startled at first, but the tension bleeds from your face the moment you recognize him.
He should say something. Talk to you. Apologize, maybe, for staring at you.
But Andrew isn't sorry.
And he's never really been good at talking, anyway.
You tilt your head and give him the sweetest fucking smile he's ever seen. It's somehow innocent and knowing at the same time, and Andrew feels the corners of his mouth lifting in response.
Something passes silently between you. An understanding, maybe. You know he watches you, and he knows you know, but…you don't stop him. You just let it happen.
You smile at him from fifteen feet away.
And then you turn to leave, no doubt making your way to pay off that stupid bill that caused you so much unrest.
Pope watches you go, like always.
But this time, you glance back at him over your shoulder with…something lingering in your pretty eyes. Excitement, maybe. He can't be sure.
He needs to get closer.
During the family meeting, he isn't very present. His mind is so far away, stuck on you, that he just blindly agrees to whatever job they're doing next and trusts that it'll all work out.
When he returns to his apartment, there's a note stuck to his door.
A pink sticky note with nothing but a phone number and a heart with an arrow through it scribbled on the paper.
Your phone number, Pope knows.
He knows he shouldn't text you.
It's stupid and dangerous and god, you really shouldn't be giving your number to random men. He could be a creep. He could be a stalker or something.
His message just says,
Hello.
Your response is immediate, with no capitalization which seems quite…fitting for you. He finds it strangely endearing.
hey
are u the guy from apt 212 ???
Pope can feel that this is a bad idea already. But he's already here, and there's no going back now, is there? He doesn't want to hurt your feelings. He doesn't want to leave you on read and make you think he's not interested when the problem is the exact opposite.
Yes.
The typing bubble pops up, disappears, and appears again three different times before you send another message.
im gonna be home in like an hr
will u be watching ???
Always, he wants to say. Fucking always. He can't take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tries. No matter how shameful it feels.
Andrew's hands shake as he types out a response.
Do you want me to be?
No hesitation this time. Your message comes through a second later.
uhmmm tbh yeah <3
He exhales a long breath. It doesn't feel real. Like he's imagining the entire thing. How could he not be? Why on earth would the sweetest, prettiest little thing want someone to watch her?
But the weight of his cell phone in his hand is real.
And the text message is real.
And this…this is real.
Then yes. I will be.
You don't reply, and Andrew's heart flutters in his chest as he takes his practiced position in the chair in front of his window and waits.
True to your word, you're skipping up the steps fifty three minutes after the last message is sent. You turn on those LEDs and and move about your apartment like normal, kicking off your sneakers and dropping your bag by the door. You change out of your clothes and put on a worn in t-shirt that's two sizes too big for you, but underneath…
Pope can see the sheer thigh highs you wear and the black, lace edge of them. He can see those strappy garters attached to them, but nothing else. The straps disappear beneath your shirt, leaving him wanting for more.
You're teasing him, Pope realizes.
He watches with bated breath as you lay on the couch, getting comfortable with the throw pillow against the arm.
And then, for the first time, Andrew watches you touch yourself.
You start slowly, hands roaming over your body, on top of the fabric, massaging gently at the inside of your thighs.
His cock's always hard watching you, truth be told. But this…
His skin feels hot. His lungs feel tight.
Your fingers curl around the edge of your t-shirt, and you pull it over your head to discard it on the floor.
Andrew hasn't seen you wear this set before, not even on those sacred Sundays.
It's pretty. Matching black lace. The bra is low cut and pushes your breasts up your chest, the soft flesh swelling over the top. The waistband of the matching panties is decorated in shining silver gems, laying so perfectly against your hips that he feels dizzy just looking at it.
The prettiest package, just begging to be unraveled by his big, mean hands.
You dressed up for him.
You dressed up for him.
Your hands start to move again, palming your breasts, pulling the lace down until they spill out of the top. Your nipples are so pretty that his mouth waters. He wants to kiss them, to feel the shape of them under his tongue. He wants to kneel over top of you and jerk himself off until they're covered in his sticky white release.
You squeeze your breasts until your nipples form pretty little peaks, and then your hands slide lower. Over your abdomen, and your hips, and then your thighs. You bring them slowly back up, only to slide them over the lace fabric of your panties, right down the center of your cunt.
Andrew thinks he could die.
He could fucking die, just looking at you.
Carefully, you unbuckle the chrome latch of your garter. The left side first, and then the right quickly follows. You leave the lace belt on, but hook your thumbs around the bedazzled lace of your panties and pull them down your thighs painfully slowly.
Your knees fall apart.
Pope swallows hard.
He can see everything from here. The seam of your thighs that he's dreamt about. The pretty shape of your pussy. The wetness that's gathered between your folds, slick and shiny with arousal. With want.
For him. It's for him.
His cock throbs so hard it hurts.
Pope doesn't touch himself. He can't. Can he? All you asked of him was that he watched.
That's what you wanted.
But wouldn't it be better if he was there? Wouldn't it be better if he could touch you, if he could taste you, if he could fuck you?
All you'd have to do is let him in.
Your fingers stroke gently over your clit in small circles, and he watches in awe as your lips part and your spine bends.
He can't hear your moans but god does he wish he could. Thinks about putting a little microphone in your lampshade the next time he sneaks into your apartment.
Your fingers drift lower, over your center, and slowly press inside.
Pope wants it to be him so fucking bad.
If not his cock inside you then his fingers. They're bigger. Longer. Thicker. They'd please you more. Reach places your fingers can't.
Maybe his tongue. He'd drink you right from the fucking source and cum in his jeans, probably. But he'd make sure to find that sweet, velvety spot inside you first and he'd spell his full fucking name over it with a pointed tongue.
Silly girl. Don't you know what he could do for you? Don't you know what he could do to you?
Pope squeezes the bulge in his jeans to try and alleviate the pain of his lust.
You fuck yourself with your fingers, stuffing in one and then two and then three, stretching yourself on them, slick dripping down the seam of your cunt. Your back arches when your free hand finds your clit, and he knows you're close.
He knows he shouldn't, but he searches frantically for his phone anyway and sends another text message.
I want to hear you.
You pause only long enough to grab your phone off the coffee table, read the text, and lay your phone on the arm of the couch behind you.
Pope's phone buzzes in his hand.
You're calling him.
He answers on the first ring, and the sounds that greet him are so erotic it steals the breath from his lungs.
You sound so pretty. So sweet and feminine, everything he's imagined yet somehow so, so much more. He's sure you can hear his heavy breaths on the other end of the phone, but Pope can't find it in himself to care. Can't think of much else besides the way you whimper and the sight of your fingers stuffed inside you.
"Oh, god—"
His inhale is shaky.
"I'm gonna cum," you choke out, words hazy with your moans. "I'm so close, I'm so fucking—hmm. Yes. What's your name?"
He almost doesn't hear you, so lost in the sight before him. Immersed in the euphoria of it. But then he says, voice a low, uncertain whisper, "Andrew."
Your spine bends and the fingers on your clit slow. "Oh my god. Fuck, Andrew—I'm cumming, I'm—yes, yes—god."
His cock twitches and when he tries to soothe it with another tight squeeze, he sends himself careening off the precipice of release instead. His head falls back and his once heavy breaths get stuck in his lungs. Pope rubs himself over his jeans, making a sticky, hot mess in his boxers, generating what little friction he can.
He watches you come down in real time. Not his dreams, not his imagination. He watches it happen. Watches that fucked-out, hazy look cross your face. Watches the tension in your muscles melt away, wishing he could kiss the junction of your throat.
Pope wishes he could worship you. Wishes he could clean you up and put on that trashy reality show you like and hold you against his chest, comforting you while your brain comes back to earth.
Instead, you lean up. Grab your phone and press it to your ear, staring right at him through his wide open window.
He doesn't know what he expects you to say, but it's certainly not, "Have you been inside my apartment, Andrew?"
For a second, he thinks about lying. Because there's no way you know, right? Not for sure. It's not like you have cameras or anything (he knows, because he checked).
But he doesn't want to lie. Not to you.
"I…might have been. Once, yes."
"Did you steal my chapstick?"
"You have ten of them."
He hears your laugh for the first time, and the sound is like sunlight in his chest. "You took the best flavor."
"I'm…I'm sorry. I'll return it."
"Keep it. I already got a new one," you say. "Cost me five hundred dollars, though."
So, you know it was him who left the cash, too.
Smart, pretty girl.
He doesn't say anything, too afraid he'll say something stupid or awkward the way he usually does. He doesn't want to ruin this moment. This absolutely perfect moment.
You smile at him, kiss your palm, and blow it towards your window. "Goodnight, Andrew."
He feels his face heat. "Goodnight."
Pope rides the high of it for days.
Can't shake the sight of you open and bare for him. Can't stop thinking about the sound of your moans or the way you'd said his name in the peak of euphoria. He fucks his first to the thought of it more times than he can count.
And Andrew's never been a really sexual person. Not unless it's with someone he loves.
But is that what this is? Love?
You've never met. Not really, not properly. How could it be something so intense? You don't know him. You don't know who he is or what he does. You don't know how he's hurt and maimed and killed.
Would you be afraid, finding out? Would you run to the police if you knew? Would you recoil away from him with terror in your eyes?
All things left unsaid. All things that may, very well, never be said.
Pope feels so uncertain with all of this that he finds himself resorting to fucking google, even. Search history littered with questions and Reddit threads that never provide any real clarity.
Define love.
Define obsession.
How to know if you're in love?
How to ask a girl out?
How to get over a girl.
Define voyeur.
Define fetish.
How big of an age gap is too big?
Apartments for sale on the east coast.
Pink champagne candle.
Strawberries and cream chapstick bulk pack.
You text him a week again after your exhibitionistic display.
do u wanna like go out sometime?? been thinking about u a lot
He's at Smurf's when he reads the message.
Pope doesn't even realize he's smiling until Deran slides a beer across the counter at him and asks, "What's got you all happy today?"
And Pope just shakes his head. Schools his features back into neutrality and says, "Nothing. Just won a bet."
He can tell his brother doesn't believe him, not even for a second. But thankfully, Deran doesn't push any further. He lets the subject go, but the question stays stuck in Andrew's head for hours.
It takes him a while to decide on a response. It's honest, and…mostly true.
We shouldn't. I'm a lot older than you.
Your response is a single, painful letter.
k
He doesn't respond to try his hand at damage control, even though he wants to. It's probably better this way, he thinks. Better that there's some distance between you. Better that you hate him and see him as the creepy neighbor he is.
But that Saturday night, when you return home, it's not with your friends.
Pope watches from his window as you guide a man up the stairs and into your apartment.
He's tall. Dark haired, with bright eyes and white teeth and a good smile. Closer to your age. Handsome like a man allowed into your space should be.
You're fumbling a little with your apartment key and Pope watches as the man stands behind you and slides his hands down the back of your thighs.
Thighs he should be touching. Thighs he's watched for months. Thighs that spread for him, long before this fucking loser ever laid his eyes on you.
He tells himself he won't interfere.
You're your own woman. You deserve to feel good, even if it's with…someone else.
And Pope knows he's just going to have to get the fuck over it.
He did it to himself, really.
He should look away.
But he watches instead.
Watches the two of you fall onto the couch. Watches another man kiss down the column of your throat and squeeze the supple curve of your ass over your sequined dress.
Your eyes find his from across the courtyard, and Pope's jaw clenches.
Putting on another show for him. Filthy, filthy girl.
And you're just going to give it to some random man? Someone who doesn't know you like Pope does? Someone who doesn't know how you like to be touched?
He needs to look away. Close his own fucking blinds for once.
But he feels frozen. Knowing this time, you're watching him. Looking for him. Goading for a reaction.
Pope watches the slow ascent of the man's hand. Promises himself he won't interfere. He'll just watch to make sure you're safe, that's all.
But the moment that greedy hand disappears beneath your dress, Andrew's moving. Throwing open his door and slamming it closed behind him. He crosses the courtyard and takes the steps two at a time.
His fist against your apartment door is incessant. He doesn't stop, even when he hears the uttered, male voice ask, "Who is that?"
When the door opens, it's you who stands in front of him, chin tilted up as you stare at him, pupils flared wide.
The man you'd brought home with you hovers over your shoulder.
Pope doesn't even look at him. He stares only at you as he says, a little snarl in his voice, "Tell him to leave."
"Dude, what the fuck? Who is this guy?"
Your lips curl at the corners. A devilish little smile. "Okay," you say, nodding, your voice soft and pliant. You turn your head to look at the man who stands behind you. "Sorry, but you've gotta go."
"You're joking," he responds flatly. "You said I could—!"
Andrew reaches past you and takes him by the collar, pulling him out of your apartment and slamming him up against the paneled siding. "I ever see you in this apartment again, I'll fucking kill you. You understand me?"
"Jesus fucking—yeah, okay. Alright. Sorry."
Pope isn't joking. Doesn't say it to scare him off but rather as a warning.
He lets him go and watches him scramble down the stairs. He doesn't turn back to face you until the little tool you used for attention gets in his car and drives away.
And when he does finally turn back to you…Christ. Your eyes are half lidded and full of lust. Pope's close enough this time that there's no mistaking it.
He should be a gentleman. Should take you out first. Bring you home and kiss you on your doorstep and leave you untouched.
He knows he should.
What he does instead is curl his hand around the back of your neck and pull you to him. He leans down, mouth hovering over yours, breathing in your panicky exhales. "This what you want?"
Your grin is immediate and undeniable. You nod and breathe out the word, "Please."
Andrew kisses you hard, crowding you back into your apartment. He kicks the door closed behind him and slides his tongue into your mouth, tasting you and groaning at the sweetness. There's mint and strawberry and you, his favorite flavor.
He feels drunk on it. On the taste of your tongue, the glide of your wet lips over his, the way your hands scramble and tug desperately at his belt.
"Fuck," he sighs, pulling back just enough to see you. "Open your mouth, baby. Wide. And stick out your tongue."
The way you immediately obey has his cock twitching. Good girl. So fucking good for him when he gives you exactly what you need.
Andrew licks the flat of your tongue once, delighting in the way you whimper in response, before bringing his hand to your mouth. He slides two fingers behind your teeth and orders, "Suck."
You do, lips closing tight around the digits, wet tongue swirling over his thick knuckles. He pushes them further down your throat, your eyes locked on his as he makes you choke on them.
"So fucking pretty," he tells you. "You always look so pretty."
Andrew pulls the straps of your mini dress over your shoulders, roughly tugging the fabric over your chest down to expose your breasts.
You're wearing the same lace bra you'd worn when you dressed up for him, he realizes. He can see the peaks of your nipples through the semi-sheer fabric, and leans down to lock his lips around the left one over the lace.
The fabric is rough beneath his tongue, a stark contrast to the softness of your skin. He sucks hard, spreading the wetness of his saliva over the lace. You push your dress further down your waist and over your hips.
Andrew slides his fingers out of your mouth, sticky and dripping with your spit. He brings them to his own lips instead and sucks them clean, watching your breath hitch and your eyes grow impossibly more hazy.
He lowers himself to his knees before you and his slick fingers work quickly at the straps of your heels, unbuckling them to free your pretty, white-painted toes.
Your hands find his shoulders for balance. "I like that you watch me," you tell him. "I think about it sometimes and it makes me so…god, Andrew. It gets me so wet."
He looks up at you from his knees, big brown eyes glassy and full of adoration. "Good," he says. "'Cause I'm gonna watch you a little closer tonight."
That pretty smile finds its way to your face again.
Andrew presses a sweet, chaste kiss to the apex of your thighs. Over your panties, right where he knows your clit lies beneath. He then stands to his feet, towering over you now without the added height of your heels, and presses you forward.
You take a careful step back, nearly losing your balance.
Andrew grins, taking another step, crowding you back towards your bedroom. He doesn't stop until the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress.
You stumble backwards, falling into the plush sheets that he's all too familiar with. Lying on your back, propped up by your elbows, you stare up at him with wide eyes and he's reminded of a timid little animal caught in the trap of a predator.
Don't you know how dangerous he could be?
You don't look afraid. You actually look…eager.
Pope stands tall at the edge of your mattress. "Take off your clothes."
You do. Unclasping your bra first, tossing the fabric into the already existing mess on the floor. And then your panties follow, thumbs hooking around the fabric to drag it down your legs.
Andrew reaches around and fists the collar of his shirt, tugging it over his head. He feels warm all over, watching you greedily drink up the sight of him. He thinks he'd feel a little nervous, in any other setting. If it were anyone but you.
His sweet, filthy girl.
Andrew reaches into the half-open drawer of your nightstand, searching until he finds your vibrator again.
Your brows furrow as you watch him find it with practiced ease. "You went through my underwear drawer, too?"
"Did more than that," he admits.
You inhale like you're going to speak again, but the words melt to nothing when he tosses the small toy onto the bed beside you.
"Use it," Pope orders.
"What?"
He crawls onto the mattress between your legs, spreading them wide, laying your calves on either side of his hips. "Let me watch you."
There's a moment of hesitation, but you don't look nervous. Only…curious.
You pick up the vibrator and slide the pink silicone through your folds, spreading your arousal before you press the power button. You circle your clit with the tip of it a few times, teasing yourself.
When you turn the toy on, he can feel the vibration against his hands that grip your thighs. You let out a syrupy moan and turn the intensity higher, drawing tight circles around your pretty clit.
He watches you, eyes locked on the pink silicone between your legs. He watches your entrance flutter, tightening around nothing, begging to be filled. "Your pussy is so pretty," he mutters. "Do you know that?"
Your only response is a breathy whimper. You click the intensity up again, putting it on the highest setting, and Pope sighs when your legs begin to shake around him.
He wants to watch you make yourself cum. Wants another scene to fuck his fist to in the shower or in his bed or in his truck.
But he's here. Finally, finally here, in your bed, with you, and he can't help himself.
Pope grips your hips hard and pulls you closer, tilting your hips up into his lap. The vibrator falls from your hand at the sudden movement, but he's quick to return it to you. "Keep going."
You press the silicone back to your clit, and Andrew spreads you open with gentle thumbs. He gathers the spit in his mouth and lets it drip from his lips and onto the seam of your cunt.
And then he's sliding his middle finger inside of your entrance, curling it upwards, searching for that sweet spot that makes you writhe.
It doesn't take long. He's watched you. He knows just what you like and what angle to hit. And the second the tip of his finger presses hard against it, you fist your free hand in the sheets and curses fall from your sweet mouth.
Pope slides another thick finger inside, watching the way you squirm, feeling the walls of your cunt flutter around the swell of his knuckles.
"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna—oh, fuck. Feels so good, feels so fucking—"
A long, throaty moan leaves your mouth, and he feels the warmth of your release pool in his palm. You're so slick that each wet thrust of his fingers echoes against the walls of your room.
He doesn't stop until you're twitching. Until you click the vibrator off and shove it away from you. And even then, he still gives a few, slow curls of his fingers inside of you. Not touching with intent, just…feeling. Memorizing.
Once you catch your breath, you lean up enough to find his eyes again. You say timidly, shyly, "I want…I want to feel you, Andrew. I want you inside me. Do you…do you want to fuck me?"
It's the most asinine question he's ever been asked in his fucking life. Does he want to fuck you?
He's thought of nothing else for months. Every night when he fights for sleep, it's the thought of you under him that puts him to bed.
It's such an impractical concern from his point of view that he laughs. Actually laughs, for the first time in years. "Oh, baby."
Pope takes your hands in his. He presses one to his chest, right over his heart, and the other against the hardness in his jeans.
"I have never wanted another woman as bad as I want you," he says truthfully. "But I…you…you deserve better than this. Better than me. You understand that, don't you?"
You shake your head. "You don't know me, Andrew. Not really. You don't know if—"
"No, no. I do. I know you're the kind of friend who would give the shirt off their back. The kind of girl who'd let her phone get cut off before asking for help. The kind of girl who gets up every morning and just…tries. Every day. And you fucking…you smile about it. You're good. You're so fucking good and I…"
He stops.
Remembers the last time he loved someone like this and how he'd made a stupid confession he should've taken to his grave and how it'd fucked him completely.
"You're what, Andrew?"
Pope swallows. "I'm...I'm a bad man. I've hurt people. I will…hurt people, I—" His voice cracks. He lowers his eyes, trying to turn away, unable to find the strength to face you.
But you take his jaw in your gentle hands and force him to look at you. Sweet, angel of a girl that you are. And then you say without a waver to be found in your voice, "I like who you are. Do you think I gave the man who watches me through my window my phone number because I want some guy I could match with on Tinder?"
He tries to slow the rapid pounding of his heart. He wonders if love is supposed to be like this. To feel like this. All consuming and terrifying and devastatingly hopeful above all.
You shake your head and tuck your legs beneath you, sitting up on your knees. He sits stone still as you lean forward and kiss his cheek, whispering against his ear, "I've been watching you, too, Andrew Cody."
Something shifts inside of him as you say it. Uttering his last name that he'd never given you, that isn't even on his lease because this is a fake apartment under a fake name to launder the money they steal.
Oh—sweet, smart girl. Smarter than he thought.
How silly of him to ever doubt you.
There's a newfound wildness in your eyes when they meet his again. An unveiling. Like he's seeing you for who you truly are for the first time.
And you're…god. So fucking beautiful.
And, yeah. Pope thinks he's been right this whole fucking time.
He's weird and wrong and sickly obsessed.
But you are, too.
Andrew takes you by the back of the neck and kisses you hard, desperate to taste you, to close what little physical space remains between your body and his. He pushes you back against the mattress and follows you down.
Your hands find his belt buckle before he does, and he stares down at you as your deft fingers pry the leather open and unbutton his jeans. He helps you push the denim down his legs until his cock springs free, heavy and leaking. Wanting for you, twitching as you take it carefully in your hand.
A groan reverberates at the back of his mouth. Your hands are so soft. Perfect and pliant. One day, he swears he'll show you how he likes to be touched. He'll let you sit in his lap and watch him stroke his cock for you.
But for now, he lets you touch him slowly. Experimental. Feeling the heavy weight of him in your palm. You spit on your fingertips and spread your saliva over his sensitive tip, flushed red and pulsing beneath your touch.
You lean back and guide him between your thighs, sliding the head of his cock through your syrupy folds and over your clit.
The moment you line him up at your entrance, Pope eases inside and you let out the sweetest fucking sigh he's ever heard in his entire life. Sweet and soft and so, so satisfied.
It's so beautiful. You're so beautiful. And you feel warm and heavenly and wet around him. He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then drives his cock back into your cunt.
You squeal and those sharp, acrylic nails dig into his spine. But your legs circle his hips, and so Pope does it again.
He fucks you hard. Claiming that spot at the back of your cunt, pressed right up against your cervix. He rolls his hips and presses his mouth to yours, swallowing up those desperate, carnal sounds he pulls out of our chest.
Sweet girl. Sweet fucking girl. He reaches between you and circles your clit. "My girl now," he says, words spoken against your lips. "You'll never need anyone else, baby. No one but me."
You nod, the velvety walls of your pussy squeezing around the hard length of his cock.
Andrew puts his whole weight on top of you, grinding himself between your thighs, giving you everything he has. Everything he is.
"I'm yours," you choke out. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm—"
It becomes a mantra. One that feeds his desire, in perfect sync with the rhythm of his thrusts. He watches your arousal begin to crest, nearing the summit, the muscles in your thighs twitching. "Look at me, baby," he says. "Tell me you love me when I make you cum."
You're so lost in it, head all spacey, that your eyes remain closed until he takes your jaw in a firm grip.
There are pretty tears in your eyes when you open them, but that smile on your face is present, too. He feels you pulse around him and your breath gets all shallow and then—
"I love you, Andrew, I fucking—oh my god please, please—I love you."
The words are music to his ears, tingling down his spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He thought the sound of his name in your mouth was beautiful but this…fuck. He could die.
Pope thinks he would. For you, he would.
He fucks you through it. Tastes your moans and says, "Yeah, that's it. Give it to me. Look so pretty when you cum for me."
He doesn't let his pace falter until your muscles loosen, until your nails stroke gently over his spin instead of leaving marks.
You pepper sweet kisses over his jaw, tongue sliding up the shell of his ear. "I want you to cum inside me," you tell him.
He's been fighting it the whole time, trying desperately not to blow his load before he'd at least gotten you there first.
But when you say that?
When you say, "Please, Andrew. Want you to give it to me. Want you to fill me up with your cum. Please. I need it."
He thinks about telling you that you don't have to beg. Not him, not for anything (especially this). But you just sound so pretty, begging for his cum, that he can't bring himself to do it.
So, he gives you what you want instead. Fucks his cum into you, groaning low in your ear, cock pulsing inside you. You feel so good wrapped around him it's euphoric. Otherworldly.
Your pussy grips tight, milking him dry, taking every last drop (he knows you're on birth control. Don't you know the women's clinic downtown keeps a spare key beneath the plant in front of their door?).
Andrew is careful when he slides out of you. And he wastes no time before kicking his jeans the rest of the way off and pulling you against his chest.
He pulls the blanket up around your shoulders and presses a kiss to your hairline. His voice wavers a little as he says, "Sorry if I…if I was a little rough."
You shake your head, pressing your nose to the divot between his pectorals. "It was perfect," you murmur against his skin.
Silence settles between you. Comfortable and easy, the sound of your breathing in perfect synchronization.
After some time you say, "I meant it, you know. Wouldn't have said it if I didn't. I really think I might be in love with you, Andrew. Is that…crazy?"
Yes, he wants to say.
But he feels it, too.
So instead he says, "You know, I don't…I don't have much experience with that sorta thing. Don't really know how to…to navigate it, I guess. But, uhm…yeah. Me, too."
He feels that smile of yours against his chest.
Andrew knows that this dynamic the two of you have created is weird.
manipulative pope cody + ‘just the tip?’ + breeding kink drabble :3
this is for my moots who inspired me to blurb! i luv you~ @valleyanimalz @dirtygir1 @bbuuunnyyy @groovyangelkisses
*nasty smut below the cut teehee* ! mdni !
pope cody hates that you make him wear a condom, that you have been making him wrap it up for the entire two month relationship. he feels it’s an unnecessary barrier keeping him from feeling all of you and filling you up properly. but, he agreed the first time because he was so desperate to be inside you. always has been. always will be.
now, even after you’ve fucked more times than he can count while protected. he’s fed up. he knows that you’ll like it bare. that you’ll need it. that you’ll never make him wear a stupid condom again when you learn how good it feels when he sinks into you raw. you just need his help. need your strong, heroic boyfriend to take that step that you cant take yourself. god, he’s so good to you. that’s what he tells himself when he formulates his plan.
he made sure you came on his face at least three times. until your legs were jelly, brain mush, voice hoarse from begging him to stop. ‘i-i can’t’ you had whined, ‘ ‘s too much andy!’. he did it to get you into that floaty head space where you’re babbling mindlessly and lax for him.
and you’re exactly that as pope crawls up your body and settles where he belongs, above you and inbetween your legs. still, you breathlessly slur the question that he despises. “condom?”
he feigns frustration even though this is exactly what he planned. “shit— i left my wallet in craig’s car… i don’t have one.”
your response is a needy whine that morphs into a gasp when he rests his cock against your drenched folds and slowly slides back and forth. “can i just have you like this sweetheart?” pope rubs his thick length upwards, angry pink tip catching your clit with every pressing glide. you whimper through your desperate nods, nails clawing at his shoulders, fusing your knees to his ribs to stay spread for him. such a good girl, he thinks to himself.
he keeps his ruttings short. almost playfully light in order to not get you anywhere besides out of your mind from teasing. just how he wants it. when you start to wriggle beneath him, whimpering a few mindless “please please please”s, he looks down at your aching pussy to see her clench around nothing. poor baby, she needs me so bad, he tells himself.
his dick is so coated in your slick releases that pope ‘accidentally’ notches at your opening. staying in motion, he pushes in ever so slightly. your eyes shoot open in surprise “ohh- andy!” you squeal. frustration bubbles in his chest, but he doesn’t give up. because your panic simmers to pleasure and your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you moan at just his bare tip breaching your wet heat.
he buries his face into your neck to hide his satisfied grin, licking and suckling the skin how he knows you like. “jus the tip sweetheart? please?” he emphasizes his wimpy whines with an inching forward of his hips. your nails tear at the flesh on his back as you shudder. “p-promise?” you croak out in hazy compliance. his reply is strained. “ ‘course honey.”
popes promise — to him at least— goes up in flames when he slips a tiny bit further inside and is met with warm, silky tightness. fuckkk. he groans, muscles tensing and you cry out, eyes rolling back. his thrusts are shallow and unsatisfactory. after a only a few, he’s twitching in need, pathetically trying to inch deeper.
you notice, starting to whine and pant. “you c-cant andy! i’m not on the pill!” the words almost make pope start to piston in and out of you. the thought of coming in you until you’re swollen with his baby infiltrating his mind. that you’ll be tied to him forever and— oh yeah. that’s happening, he decides.
pope leans down to kiss you languidly. trying to tongue fuck you into submission. your pussy is rapidly fluttering around the first inch of his cock, telling him that you want this just as bad as he does. he uses his words. “you just feel so good sweetheart. need you so bad. need all of you.” a breathy moan slips from you at his praise as you return his kiss greedily.
you pull back and blink up at him with your glossy eyes and kiss bitten lips. when your legs start to wrap around him, crossing tightly at his back, he knows he’s almost home free. “okay... i- i need you too andy.”
you barely get the words out before he hastily pushes all the way inside of you. guttural noises of pleasure are ripped from you both as you clench around him so prettily and he stretches you out so perfectly. it’s searing, intimate and raw. so fucking raw.
as pope starts to thrust in and out of you eagerly, obscene slapping sounds echo throughout the room. he whimpers loudly at the warm, wet feeling of you and the noises your body makes for him.
when you shakily tell him between moans “you h-have to pull out.. okay?”
it takes all of his dwindling restraint to not laugh in your face.
if it wasn't for the nights - titus danforth x reader
pairing: titus danforth x reader
song: if it wasn't for the night by ABBA
warnings: wife!reader, petulant titus who wants to spend all of his time with his wife, smitten titus, titus lowkey whines like a child
requested by: anon
authors note: this fic was requested from my birthday event! the fic is inspired by the song that was chosen
You could hear Titus ranting angrily as he stormed down the hallway to your bedroom. You smiled to yourself, relaxing further into the clawfoot tub you were soaking in, and waited for your husband. Titus stomped into the ensuite bathroom, yanking his jacket off and throwing it blindly at the vanity as he stalked over to the tub. You glanced up at him as he came to a stop at the tubs edge, his breathing quick and angry as he looked down at you.
"Every person I spoke to today is an imbecile!" Titus complained, his arms stretched wide in disbelief and his mouth turned down in a pouting frown. Your eyebrows creased downward in sympathy and you reached up for him with a wet hand, beckoning him.
"Come join me baby. You can tell me all about your day." You didn't have to tell him twice. Titus stripped and climbed into the tub with you in record time, sinking into the hot water and leaning back against your chest. You slipped your arms under his and held him close while he told you his woes.
"Not a single person could get anything right! No matter how much I threatened them." Titus let his head fall back onto your shoulder and he looked up at you with sad eyes.
"All I wanted to do today was spend it with you." Titus whined petulantly as he pressed his forehead against the side of your neck and the underside of your jaw.
"Oh me too baby." You cooed, your fingers moving soothingly over his sides. "But we both had our own meetings to attend. The world isn't going to run smoothly if we're not pulling the strings." The groan from deep in Titus' throat was his only response to you as he pressed his face further against you. You smiled lightly, amused by his reaction. You knew he was annoyed by all the work that came with wearing the ring.
"It's not fair, I missed you so much I felt like I wasn't going to make it. Today was the longest we've been apart since we got married. I can't be away from you all day."
"We'll have to have our schedules coordinated better so this doesn't happen again." You said, agreeing with him. Titus sighed and let himself fully relax against you, his weight on top of you pleasant and comforting. You pressed a kiss to the top of his head and rested your face in his silver curls.
You truly did agree with Titus, you didn't like spending a whole day apart. You enjoyed your husbands company and ruling the world was exhausting, you needed Titus to lean on and kiss for strength. The two of you were never far from the other and you hadn't spent a single night alone since you married a year ago, which was a streak that you wanted to keep going.
"How about we cancel our days tomorrow and spend all day in bed?" You suggested, your breath warm on Titus scalp. "We can tell everyone that we're working hard to keep the Danforth line going and that it's a priority moving forward." You felt Titus' excitement through the way his body shifted from relaxed in your arms to alert.
"That's a great idea." Titus mused and you didn't need to see him to know he was smiling. He tilted his head back further until he was nose to nose with you and you met him halfway to press a kiss to his lips. You felt all of the tension and annoyance of the day melt out of your husband under your touch and satisfaction bloomed in your chest that the man who ruled the world found peace in your arms.
Okay but letting Pope panty fuck but tell him no penetration. He starts out so well(we all know he’s a panty fiend) but as he keeps going and sees your blissed out face, hearing his name on your tongue, he just ends up fucking you raw. Going so deep and until you’re crying his name and so cold drunk you don’t even care when he comes inside
this gave me chills a bit anon… i might love u… ♡
18+ minors do not interact !! cw: a bit of cnc
pope’s on top of you, mouth slightly open, pupils dilated as he watches his cock run through your pretty lace panties, smearing his precum all over your weeping pussy. he tries, really tries so hard to convince you to let him in, whining and pouting above you, taking his cock down to tease your hole.
“andy—fuck. be a good boy... only in the panties.”
he groans, placing his hand by your head, leaning down to kiss you sloppily. you love the way the head of his cock nudges at your clit, making your whole body tingle, making the biggest wet spot on your panties n pope. you’ve cum twice already, a bit fucked out as you moan, “doing so good for me, andy—“
he can’t take it anymore when you arch your back, telling him you’re so close, listening to the way his balls slap your ass, the way your sticky cum sounds as he grinds his cock through your folds. can’t help it when he moves down to your hole, shoving inside you in one go, loving the way you clamp around him, pulsing.
he throws his head back, grabbing your hips to pull you onto his cock harder, whimpering, “‘m sorry—feels too good, please don’t be mad at me—i’m sorry, fuck.”
you coo, stretching your arms out on the bed as you grind your hips, meeting his thrusts half way, “awh, andy—you were such a good boy for me, you can have me. deserve it.” that spurs him on, groaning a string of “thank you—thank you”s as he fucks you, losing himself in your pussy, becoming such a sweet, fucked out, subby mess. :((
