summary: to the outside world, andrew is a rough man, someone who likes to fight and get his hands dirty. someone who isn’t afraid to hurt people. but you know that’s not really him. your boyfriend really just wants to be pampered and loved on, and it shows when he gets sick and your job is to take care of him.
pairing: andrew ‘pope’ cody x reader
warnings: mentions of a storm/hurricane/thunder, andrew gets a fever :(, petnames used, totally babying him a bit but idgaf, sub!pope but it’s not sexual he’s just a puppy hehehe
a/n: started writing this after the joost concert in nyc which was… yikes. kind offfff self projecting on andrew after feeling like shit from getting trampled in the crowd crush but who cares!!! i just wanna take care of my sweet boy, he deserves it :( also thank you so so much for all of the love on my last fic!! it makes me so happy to see all of the reblogs/comments/asks, i try to look at them all <3 i hope you enjoy this one just as much! title from i wanna be adored by the stone roses!
wc: 1.5k+
andrew always got from jobs late at night, you were used to it at that point. you were used to him quietly slipping into your shared bedroom, getting undressed and crawling in beside you, his arms wrapping around your waist to soothe you back to sleep.
what you were not used to was him being out at 2am in the middle of a hurricane. not used to lying in bed alone while thunder crashed just outside your window, having no idea when he’ll get home. you were worried about him— you always were, but now more than ever. you decided to just try to sleep like normal, hoping he’d be back soon.
you were finally drifting off when you heard the front door opening quietly. you knew it was him from the soft, careful way the keys turned, he always tried to be quiet just in case you woke up and heard him. after rubbing your eyes and stretching, you jumped out of bed to go meet him in the living room.
there he was, standing in the dark by the front door, completely soaked to the bone from the rain pouring down outside. you ran to him, your hands finding his face and observing him, “andrew! oh, andy, what happened to you?”
he just sighed and let his head drop into the crook of your neck, allowing your fingers to gently comb through his wet hair. “s’fine, just got a little caught in the rain… job went well, at least. smurf’ll get off my ass now,” he murmured against the warmth of your skin, his arms snaking around you.
you frowned, hating to see him like this. so tired, so cold. he was shivering from the rain that was seeping into his t-shirt. “aw, love…” you cooed, “you’re so cold. your skin feels like ice, don’t you wanna take a warm bath?”
he hummed quietly, nodding into your neck and curling his fingers in your shirt. he really was just a baby when he needed comfort, and right now, you knew that was exactly what you needed. so you kissed his nose gently and pulled him into the bathroom, helping him peel off his wet clothes and getting him into the warm shower.
as you helped him out of the jeans and t-shirt he wore to his job, you made sure to be very gentle. you were always gentle with him, that was exactly what he needed from you. he needed someone to balance out the roughness he displayed around everyone else, and you provided that for him.
once he was in the shower, you stepped in next to him, standing behind him and kissing his cheek. “you want me to wash your hair, baby?” he hummed in agreement, too tired for words. “which shampoo, hm? mine or yours?” you knew that sometimes, he loved to use your shampoo. he loved to smell like you and the soft vanilla scent you always used, it felt like home. “yours, please?” he asked shyly. he got shy sometimes, but you didn’t mind, you just coddled him more.
for the next hour, you stood in the shower with him, carefully cleaning off the dirt and grime from the job he was and maybe getting a liiiiitle distracted… until he was warm and safe. by the time you were done, he was so tired he could barely stand, so you helped him back into your bedroom and assisted him in putting his pajamas on. pajamas for him were really just boxers and a t-shirt that he’d throw off after getting too restless, but you helped him anyway, knowing he needed the care.
eventually, the two of you were in bed together like usual, him pressed into you from behind, feeling his chest rising and falling softly against your back. tonight, the rhythm was slower than usual, and you knew he was tired. you pressed a soft, sweet kiss to his hand and whispered, “you can sleep, baby, it’s okay. i’ll be here in the morning, okay?”
he just made a quiet noise of assent and mumbled into your neck, “okay, gonna sleep now… love you…” prompting you to smile and reply, “i love you too. get some rest.” he was gone in moments, allowing you to turn the tiredness from the long night into the soft calming sensation that lulled him to sleep.
every morning, andrew woke up before you. partially out of habit and because of his bad sleeping habits that you just can’t fix, and partially because he loved to just stare at you before you woke up.
right now, though, you woke up to find him still asleep. his t-shirt was still on, meaning he didn’t even wake in the middle of the night to pull it off. this was extremely unusual for him, and this unusual behavior paired with the rain from last night prompted you to worry. you rolled over to face him and gently pressed your lips to his forehead, met with burning skin.
frowning, you shook him awake as slowly as you could. when he groaned and nuzzled into your neck, you rubbed his back and cooed sweetly, “i know, baby, i know you don’t wanna get up. but i think you’re sick. could you get up for a minute to tell me how you’re feeling? please?”
he ended up giving in, sitting up (with your help) against the pillows while you left the room to go get a thermometer. when you returned, you gently brushed his hair away from his forehead, “just gonna press this against your forehead for a second, yeah? just sit still for a second.”
after a few moments the thermometer beeped and you pulled it away, kissing his temple yet again as a reward. you looked at it and frowned, “baby, it says 101.6… that’s not good. you got a fever from the storm last night.”
you could see the signs more clearly now. on top of the warmth of his skin, his eyes were glassy and you could tell he was a little dazed. “oh, love… i’m gonna go get you some water and something to eat.”
when you tried to pull away, he didn’t let you. he grabbed your arm gently, “wait, don’t go.” he paused for a second, then muttered, “please,” with those sad eyes you could never say no to.
sighing, you decided to just indulge him and get back in bed with him for a bit. you knew he needed the comfort and he probably wouldn’t eat anything you gave him, anyway. as soon as you climbed back into bed, he was all over you, hugging you as tight as he could (which was not very tight, after being weakened from the fever…) and pressing his warm forehead into your skin. just like that, he drifted off again, surrounded by you and the warmth and softness you emitted.
you didn’t even realize you were falling asleep. you really didn’t, you thought you had been taking care of him well. but you’re proven wrong when he’s the one shaking you awake hours later. “love. love. love. wake up. wake up. can you wake up?”
confused, you rubbed at your eyes and sat up a bit to look at him. “wh…” you started, but he cut you off, “hi.” you looked up at him strangely, “you… i fell asleep? how long have you been awake?”
it was then that you noticed the tv was on, playing one of his favorite movies. “an hour. i didn’t wanna wake you up. i was watching my movie, see?” he looked so… normal. you assumed he was delirious. “i’m hungry, though, and i missed you. sorry for waking you up.”
your expression softened, he really was adorable. “it’s okay. you know you can always wake me up.” you gave a little kiss to his nose, “i’ll make you something. what do you want?”
he smiled sheepishly, “some soup would be nice. something warm. i’m cold.” your lips tilted down a bit, “cold? alright, i’ll make some soup. you just get under the blankets while i make it, okay?” he nodded and settled back in bed, watching you leave for the kitchen.
when you came back, you were carrying his favorite miso soup in a little heart-shaped bowl, and a tiny cup of fruit. he was getting increasingly more tired. “alright, baby, open up.” he would usually never ask you to feed him, that’s too much, even for him. but right now he’s just so tired and he’s shivering so much that he can’t do it himself.
he ate slowly, allowing you to feed him little spoonfuls of soup and bites of fruit. by the time he’s done, his face is buried in your shoulder as he groans and mumbles unintelligibly about how awful he feels. you can’t really hear most of it, but you’re able to catch a muffled, “hurts…”
your fingers comb through his hair gently, “oh, honey… i know. you’re tired, aren’t you? do you wanna take a nap?” when he nods against your skin, you carefully lower him onto his pillows, “shhh, just rest now. i’m here. you’ll feel better soon, i promise. just gotta rest.”
he stares up at you, eyes bleary, “okay… love you…” you squeeze his hand, “i love you more. just go to sleep, okay?” which convinces him to finally shut his eyes and let himself rest. maybe the sickness wasn’t gone yet, but he felt safe and comfortable, and that was enough.
is it bitchy and vindictive to just be amused by the people who constantly go on about how much they hate robby and his storyline and his screentime because you know how much it pisses them off and you know season 3 it will have their blood boiling but i'll be more than satisfied?
sometimes i wonder what sara wyle thinks of noah seemingly trying to actively add a small curly haired welshman to their marriage. he's sweet and pretty and seems to keep noah happy, so i reckon she doesn't mind.
When I’m sad I just rewatch that clip from the Loki series where he’s stuck in the time loop, getting kicked in the balls. He kneels like it’s his one mission in life, and all I want to do is taking him by that little collar and tie combo, yank him up then throw him back down and pull his hair until he cry’s prettily.
Dennis who hates being on top. Not just fucking someone but he hates riding, riding cock, riding face. Basically anything that doesn't involve him just lying there and taking it. Maybe he's lazy or spoiled but he just gets so tired. His legs start to ache and cramp.
Usually this isn't an issue, Jack and Robby love using the boy. But it does make a great punishment for him. The men love watching the boy whine as he bounces on Robby's dick. Moaning, whining and begging for the attending to just flip him over and fuck him. "Aww puppy don't you want to make it up to us?" Jack coos mockingly. Stroking his cock as tear drip down Dennis's face. Watching as the man goes up and down on his husband. Watching the clench around cock, the soft o shape of the boys mouth.
The first time Dennis calls Robby baby, it's a casual automatic response, like "thanks, baby" when Robby hands him something. Robby immediately flushes bright red, a nervous laughter leaving his mouth
"Don't you think I'm a little old for that?"
Dennis stops what he's doing and looks up at Robby with his big blue eyes, a genuine look of confusion on his face
Pope Cody who is on top during sex but he’s a fucking sub. So you have one of his belts noosed around his neck, and you tug on it to constrict his airway every time he slows down because he thinks he’s too close to blowing his load too early. Keeping your sweet Andy on that leather leash so that he can control the pace, but in reality, you’re still in control. He needs you to be in control. He will slow down on purpose just so you’ll yank at the belt like reigns on a racehorse to punish him for slowing the roll of his hips. His throat muscles are so big though that they’re bulging against the worn leather, pushing back firmly against the constriction. He can breathe just fine, but the threat is what really gets him off.
Before We Knew Better 7 | Andrew 'Pope' Cody x reader
Rating: 18+ MDNI
Masterlist
Summary: When Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody was taken into care Smurf pulled some strings and got him put in a place close to Oceanside. That place was with you and your parents. Something Smurf would later regret when she realised that the bond you and Andrew forged in the month he was there was never going away. The years went by and the older boy became your best friend. Your protector. Your person. Fast forward and when Andrew gets out of prison he finds out Smurf’s hatred for you has gone to a whole other level.
Pairing: Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody x reader
Warnings: smut, ANGST, slight sub andrew no squinting needed, smurf, mental illness.
A/N: sorry this one took a little longer it was actually a hard one because I had a really particular idea of it all in my head. thanks as ever for all your feedback. welcome to the taglist. hope you enjoy! SPOILERS for season 3 if you haven’t watched it. next chapter is taking us into season 4. also sorry.
When something falls apart people try to find the fault, the cause. They follow the loose thread to find where it fell apart, the place where everything started to unravel.
The problem was you were meticulously following multiple threads. Frantically retracing steps of moments in hope that it was something you might be able to fix.
The first incident you recalled with some warped sense of happiness despite the situation.
Andrew
Be ready in 10.
Need you to come with me to Lena’s school.
You were out front waiting within minutes, heart racing as your brain seemed to come up with all the worst case scenarios of what could have happened. Andrew doesn’t bother parking up when he sees you he just stops abruptly and leans over to open the door, pushing it open.
“What happened?” You ask as you climb in.
“I’m not sure yet. They just said they need to discuss an incident with me. She’s not hurt, I asked. Sounds like she’s done something.” He fills you in as he starts driving. There’s a look in his eyes that he has when he’s out of his depth. When he reminds you most of the kid version of him you met. When he needs you most.
Give the man a gun, a mask and a highly illegal, dangerous situation he’s fine. Completely in control.
Put the same man in the principles office of a fancy private school talking about his Niece misbehaving and he’s lost.
You reach over to hold onto his arm as his hands grip the steering wheel. Your thumb stroking, just a gentle reminder that you’re there.
The principle introduces himself and Andrew shakes his hand.
“Andrew.” You watch him rigidly introduce himself before turning to you. “This is my wife.” He says it so abruptly, so without emotion your brain takes a moment to catch up, so does your heart.
Looking back you don’t know how you kept a straight face as you shook the principles hand with a smile. A very wide inappropriate smile considering the circumstances.
And Andrew had brought you to be the seemingly normal one.
You straightened your face, your only reaction was side eyeing Andrew as you both followed him into the office. He wouldn’t look at you.
You didn’t have much more time to think on it when you see the blonde plait on the desk your eyes widen and your heart sinks. This was worse than you thought. You had assumed maybe some silly argument or slight push in the playground not this.
You glance over at Andrew as the Principle explains the incident. That Lena cut the plait off. That the girl was obviously heartbroken and how Lena had just stood staring at the girl, no expression.
It reminded you of the many incidents her Uncle had been involved in at school and the slippery slope Lena was now on simply being a Cody by name. Even if not by blood.
“We care about Lena’s well-being. But we need to get to the root of this aggression.” You nod along, the face of a concerned guardian whilst Andrew schooled his own expression into a natural one. Despite the fact you knew he was disappointed, in himself more than anything. “I spoke to Clarissa’s parents, they’re not gonna press charges. But I think we can all agree that this isn’t acceptable behaviour.”
“This… it’s not like her.” Andrew responds, the look in his eye is one that says he wants to tell him to fuck off. “ She just… she just lost both of her parents.”
“What kind of grief counselling is she receiving?”
The second the Principle said this you felt like kicking yourself. Of course that was the first thing that should have been done. It just wasn’t something your family or Andrew’s went straight to and so it hadn’t even crossed your mind. You weren’t about to let him know that though.
“She should be talking to someone. It would help.”
“She doesn’t need a shrink.” Andrew said, defensively.
“I think what my husband means is…” You start, a sad smile on your lips and an almost pleading look in your eye. You needed this guy to believe Lena was in good hands because she was. “We’re looking for some alternate routes, ones less clinical. It’s taking us a little while to find the right fit but we really don’t want to put any pressure on Lena right now.”
He considers you for a moment. Then he smiles and nods. Asks you what alternatives you’ve been thinking and you remember seeing his name on the door. Dr Cooperman. Shit. You make it work. Tell him you think art therapy is a good fit for Lena and that you’d been struggling to find someone reputable.
You leave his office with a phone number for his recommendation but Lena’s still suspended and Andrew is still worried sick.
“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” He says as you are all settled in the car. He’s breathless and you know he’s spiralling. “You cut her hair?! We can’t do this by ourselves, we need your help! I don’t know what to do. You gotta act right. You can’t make shit wo…”
“Andrew.” You say simply. Your voice is soft but stern. He closes his eyes. “Take a breath.” He takes a deep breath.
“Do you know how hard it was for me to get you in here?” He speaks but this time he’s calmer.
“I don’t want to be here.” Lena says from the back seat.
“You do!” Andrew’s voice raising again makes you sigh. You want to step in but he is her Uncle and you never know how far you can go when it comes to her discipline.
“I’m sorry.” Lena’s little voice breaks you and you turn in your seat to look at her.
“We know you are. Uncle Pope’s not mad at you okay. He’s just worried.” You reassure. “Right?” You ask Andrew as you turn to him. He looks exhausted. Scared. Like the weight of the world is on his shoulders and all you want to do is hold him. Andrew nods and agrees with a quiet, “yeah.” He starts the engine and drives you all to Lena’s house.
Wrapped in a blanket sat on the couch later that night, animal documentary on the tv and your legs draped over Andrew’s lap he finally looks somewhat relaxed. One hand grips your thigh as the other grazes your calf leisurely with his knuckles.
“So…” He looks at you, notices your tone straight off the bat and knows what you’re going to say. A look of amusement behind his steady stare. “Wife.”
“I just thought… it would… you know…” You tilted your head, one eyebrow arched, clearly amused that he couldn’t quite say what he meant, “I thought it would help if we seemed… normal.”
You assumed as much but you can’t help some disappointment.
“Yeah. I get it.” You send him a small smile to let him know it was okay. “I mean you could have warned me. We’ve danced around each other for so many years and straight to wife.” You joke.
“It’s not that big a jump.”
The words hit you so hard you almost missed them.
He says it casually, eyes already back on the television, thumb rubbing once against your thigh like he hasn’t just shifted the ground beneath your feet.
You can’t think of a single clever thing to say back and then his grip on your thigh squeezes. He knows exactly what he’s done.
The second thread. The one you always knew was inevitable happened on an evening you had Lena alone. Andrew was on another job. He’d pulled a couple close together recently and you were more than happy to have Lena. It was just harder when she was suspended and you had to fill the days.
“Nina bear!” You heard Lena shout from her bedroom as you tidied up from dinner. You walk in to see her, tears filling her eyes which of course made you panic. The kid hardly ever cried.
“What is it?”
“I can’t find Nina bear.” The teddy she could never be separated from was not something negotiable to her.
“Where did you last have it?”
“This morning at Grandma Smurfs.” You sigh heavily. You had gone to pick up Lena’s favourite swimming costume before going to the beach. Andrew had told you all about Deran’s Dad, Billy and his girlfriend and the disgusting pool. Advising you not to go there. You didn’t need to be told twice.
Frankie, Deran’s dad’s girlfriend was there. Still sleeping beside the pool her and her drug addict boyfriend were squatting by. She had offered to watch Lena for you anytime. You’d politely declined and hurried Lena out of the house. Leaving Nina bear behind.
Both you and Andrew were on high alert after child services had approached him and Lena. It didn’t surprise you the school had reported the incident and any concerns but you felt a sense of responsibility. Everything had to be perfect now,
You deliberated on it but knew there wasn’t another option than to go and get the damn bear, Praying to god that Billy wasn’t there.
You hadn’t seen him since your were like thirteen and had no interest in doing so. He’d always taken joy in messing with Andrew. That had included messing with Julia and you to get him mad.
On the drive over you wonder if this is the best plan. The Cody house was one you never quite knew what you would be walking into. You park up and get Lena out of the car. You decide to knock rather than walking straight in, at least that way you can lower the risk of her seeing something she should’t.
You’re surprised when Frankie comes out of the back.
“Hey…”
“Nobody back yet?” You ask her.
She has a weird smile on her face and you just assume she’s high or drunk so you walk past her into the back to get in through the kitchen.
You can almost fell it again, the slow motion sinking of your heart, the way she turned with that awful smirk.
“Grandma Smurf!” Lena is excited and rushes over, jumping into her arms.
Of course she was out of jail. She comes back every time, like a bad dream.
You and Andrew had had the conversation. Had no real proof but you both knew it was her.
Smurf killed Baz. Something about that made you both more on edge. Like nobody was safe.
“We just came for Nina bear.” Your voice sounds distant. Your face clear that not one part of you is happy to see her.
“Now that’s a welcome!” Smurf says happily at Lena’s little arms around her waist. Her hand was laid on top of the little girls head like she cared but she just stared at you. Looking like an evil queen from a Disney movie. “She might as well stay now she’s here. Right Lena?” She says.
“Actually Lena was just getting in bed when we realised we forgot Nina bear.” Your voice is steady but your hands are shaking. From shock or the fear of how much her being out will change, for you, Andrew and Lena, you aren’t sure. “Come on, Lena.”
Lena, to your surprise does exactly as you say. Smurf does’t like it.
“Go grab Nina bear.” She walks out and you look back at Smurf. “She’s not staying here.”
Smurf just looks you up and down, venom in her eyes.
“Baby, I know you aren’t telling me what to do with my Granddaughter.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” You say bravely as you walk up to her. There’s something inside you that you never expected. A kind of maternal instinct to protect that little girl you hadn’t counted on being so strong. Sure you cared about her but you were ready to go to war for her. And Andrew.
“I think you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to.” She says as she pushes off the counter and get’s in your face.
“No.” Your voice is low, taunting. Exactly what you know gets to her. “I know exactly who I’m speaking to. I see straight through you. I always have.”
“What’s going on?” Andrews voice has you relaxing but only slightly. .
Smurfs attitude switched up quickly, as always as she turned and saw Andrew, Craig and J stood at the doorway. She moved away from you and you took the opportunity to walk around the other side of the counter to Andrew. He held out his hand as you approached, pulling you behind him as you grabbed it.
Lena pottered out with Lena bear and another two teddies she’d dug out and Andrew opens his other arm to her, she tucks into his side.
The message is clear and Smurf receives it.
“She left Nina bear… she was here when we came.” You whisper in his ear. He turns his head only slightly to catch what you’re saying, keeping Smurf in his eye line as she says hello to Craig and J in the creepiest way possible.
“It’s okay.” He says softly, squeezing your hand. It felt like he meant more than tonight, more than that moment. That you would all be okay.
And you’d believed him.
He carried Lena to the car after telling Smurf, no argument allowed, you were taking Lena home. Once he’d buckled her in and shut her door he turned to you, one hand on your waist, the other coming up to cup your jaw.
“Are you alright?”
“Of course.” You nod but you can’t even convince yourself. You hadn’t known at the time that you had every reason to feel that way. That everything was about to come crashing down.
“I’ll be home as soon as I can okay.” He says, in that soft warm voice that comes so naturally to him around you. “I just gotta play along.”
“I know.” You nod, grabbing at the edges of his open shirt.
He bumps his forehead into yours gently to make you look up at him and when you do his lips gently press against yours. It’s gentle and he tilts his head slightly as your lips slide against each others he coaxes your mouth open and you pull him into you by his shirt. His tongue pushes into your mouth and although you know Lena can’t see you from this angle. Just her Uncles back, you pull away.
“Don’t be long.” You say your voice almost a whine. His eyes full of lust.
“I won’t.” He breathes before reaching around you to open your car door. “Let me know you get home safe.” He passes you the seat belt once you’re sat and watches you buckle in before leaning into the car to look at Lena.
“Be good for your Aunt.” He says before kissing your temple and shutting the door.
He waves at you both as you reverse onto the road and drive off.
“That was gross.” Lena said from the back seat, making you laugh.
It felt like a family. Despite the reappearance of Smurf he was being just the same as before, no pulling back and it sparked that hope even more.
When he gets home that night Lena is fast asleep. He locks the door before turning to you, expression tight, he looks exhausted. You only need to open your arms from your place on the sofa and he’s there. Burying his head in your neck as he wraps his arms tightly around your waist.
You don’t say anything. No need to ask if he was okay. Everything was a mess. Smurf being out again, back manipulating every situation only making everything harder. He just holds you tighter, seeking comfort. “Can we…” The rest of the sentence was muffled as he presses closer into you.
“What handsome?” You ask.
“Can we just… not talk about it tonight?” His voice is hoarse with emotional strain. You can only imagine the conversations had around that dinner table tonight. He kisses your neck gently, needing distraction, needing to be close to you more than anything else right now. His hands start to roam under your shirt almost instinctively.
And you let him because nothing needs to be said right now. You feel him smile, just a faint relieved one as he presses his forehead against your collarbone. His hands come up to your sleep shirt to unbutton it. He doesn’t need to ask for what he needs, you recognised it in him the second he stood there looking so defeated.
Pushing up your bra he latches onto your nipple and you have to hold your breath to not moan loudly. He groans low in his throat and you let him play with your tits his hips rutting up against nothing before one of his hands starts to slide down to you pants.
“Wait… wait…” You whisper pushing him back slightly. You’re very conscious of Lena’s bedroom being not too far away despite her being fast asleep but there’s nowhere else you can go. “Can’t do that here.”
“Fuck…” He whines.
“Sit back, handsome.” Kissing him softly you push him to sit back on the sofa. “It’s okay. I’ll still look after you.” There was something about these moments, when he let you take care of him, that feeling of being needed that you loved. The fact that he let you, only you take care of him this way was addictive. Not even just sexually but emotionally. While he took care of you so well, it was nice to be able to return the favour.
You turn off the tv, so the room is dark except for the moonlight streaming in through the windows as you kneel to take off his boots and pull off his jeans and underwear. You settle beside him as he spreads out his legs without thinking about it, an invitation.
He trusts you. With everything.
You cover both of you with your blanket and sit sideways, one leg over his. You stroke his forehead, pushing back some of the hair before gently scratching at the base of his neck. The blanket hides everything and you feel like a teenager again, fumbling under the blankets with the same man you now loved like it was your calling.
He watches you with half-lidded eyes, still tense but relaxing into you as your other hand trails down his chest, pushing up his t shirt. Your hand trails over his chest and torso before making it’s way to his cock, already hard. He’s letting out little pants and you bite your lip to stop yourself making those noises.
When you wrap your hand around his cock his breath catches sharply. He’s sensitive right now, emotionally and physically. You know he needs some kind of a release, an escape. You spit on your other hand before moving it to join the one which starts to slowly move up and down his cock. He lets out a low groan muffled against your shoulder as your hands start to move in opposite directions, twisting and squeezing just how you know he likes it.
“Fuck…” He whimpers with need as he fumbles to push your shirt out of the way again, palming your bare breasts. “Please…” he pants, arching into your hands.
“What do you need, handsome?” You ask moving closer so that he can reach you easily. His mouth finds you nipple immediately, desperate as his other hand keeps kneading your other. All the while your hands never stop moving, a steady rhythm that makes his breath ragged against your sensitive skin.
“I need…” a soft moan cuts him off and you let one of your hands dip down to stroke his balls. “I need to come… so bad.”
“I know…” You say in a soft voice that drives him crazy. Makes him feel loved, safe, cared for. “I’ve got you. Does it feel good?” You whisper as you leave soft kisses against his cheek, jaw and neck making his entire body shudder.
The contrast between the soft, sweet kisses and the firm way you’re jerking his cock makes his head spin. A rough, almost helpless sound escaped him. “Yes…”
Although you can’t see his face properly you can see pure ecstasy there. Completely lost in the sensation. Exactly where you wanted him. Whimpering openly, something he would never do in front of someone else but with you he can be anything he needs to be.
“Please…” He begs as the hand still on his cock speeds up ever so slightly, your thumb circling his tip, spreading the pre around. His eyes roll back at the feeling, his balls tightening at the sensation. So sensitive he can’t help but snap his hips up, his cock sliding through your hand rapidly now. “Im gonna…”
The pathetic whispered whimper he lets out when you slow down almost makes you come on the spot. “No… please…” His voice is breaking, he’s trying so hard to stay quiet, even lifting his fist to bite down on as his head falls back on the couch, eyes squeezed shut. “Let me come…”
“I will handsome. Just not yet, okay?” You whisper. “You gonna be good and wait for me?”
His entire body is shaking with need now even as he nods his head desperately because at this point he would do anything for you. Completely under your control and wanting it no other way. “Yes… yes… I’ll wait… just please.” He’s practically sobbing now, his cock throbbing in your hand and you gently squeeze his balls.
“Good boy.” You cooed and he melts at the praise. You had always known that breaks him every time. He knows what you’re doing. Getting him back for last time you’d had sex when he had controlled everything. You’d loved every second but that didn’t mean you didn’t want some payback. And he was taking it beautifully.
“Please… I’ll be good…” It comes out as a broken whisper as you never stop moving your hands, just slower.
“So good…” You kiss him deeply. “You’re always so good to me.” His lips part kissing you back hungrily. “You’re doing so good.”
He’s so close now you can tell and you speed back up. His mouth hangs open, letting out a noise so needy you can see he gets embarrassed.
“I love it when you make those noises for me.” You say reassuringly.
His eyes squeeze shut as he tries to hold back. “Please… let me come.”
“Are you gonna be quiet for me?” He doesn’t answer you, he’s too close, nodding his head frantically. “Use your words, handsome.” You say teasingly, exactly as he had done to you, as you slow your hand down.
His face contorts with frustration as more needy sounds leave him. The usual stoic, capable man everyone else see’s vanished and at your mercy. “No no no no no no…” He whimpers his hips stuttering. “I’ll be quiet.”
You speed up again and one of his hands finds your breasts agains, his grip almost on the verge of painful but it only makes you more turned on. “There’s my good boy.”
You whisper but barely finish the sentence before you feel him tense beside you, your hands never stopping. His cock pulses in your hand as he suppresses a strangled cry against your neck and his hot cum spills onto your hand.
“So good…” Your praise washes over him as he nuzzles weakly into skin. “So handsome.”
He’s spent. Head falling back looking wrecked. From what you can make out his eyes are glassy, chest heaving. He looks vulnerable, completely open for you, a version of him you hold so close to your heart. One you will always look after.
You smile down at him adoringly. You’re so turned on but you don’t care. He needed to be taken care of and you were more than willing to do it. “Stay there handsome. Don’t move.”
He whines softly as you move away from him, finding your way to the bathroom in the dark. Cleaning up you also grab one of your small towels and wet it. When you make your way back to him his eyes are closed and you smile softly before cleaning him up. There was no doubt that usually he would have showered. You’re not sure if he’s just too tired or letting himself surrender to your care, either way you’re glad he looks ready to sleep.
Emotional and physical exhaustion of the day taking over.
He’s practically purring as you clean him up. You shush him and kiss him gently. Once you’re done you pass him his underwear, which he sleepily pulls on as you discard the towel. You lay down in the corner of the couch and open your arms to him. “Mmm…” he murmurs.
“I know.” You say comfortingly as he settles against you, face nuzzling into your chest.
He mumbles a soft I love you against your skin and you murmur the same against his temple. His strong arm tightens around you and you’d have done anything to stay like that.
But the third and final thread wasn’t far away. And so the next morning when he kissed you again when Lena wasn’t looking you let yourself believe that this wasn’t playing house anymore. This was the dream. Everything you’d ever wanted with him.
How stupid you’d been.
He was beside himself when you got home, grocery bags filling your arms, holding everything him and Lena had asked for. You discard them on the sofa, not caring when you see him bent over the kitchen counter, eyes red rimmed from crying.
“They took her.” His voice is steady.
“What?” You’re frozen as much as you want to comfort him.
“DCFS. They fucking took her! They took Lena!” He cries out.
You knew as soon as you’d saw him.
“I’m gonna get her back.” He says and you’re not sure if he’s convincing himself or you.
You just nod, not knowing what to say. Knowing it wasn’t that easy.
“Don’t worry.” He says, a worrying edge to his voice. One he gets when he looses grip on reality. He walks up to you and grabs your face, kissing you. It’s rushed and unfeeling and you almost want to wipe it off. “I’ll get her back.”
And then he’s gone and you’re left stood there.
Playtime over.
You look at the groceries on the sofa before picking the bags up and putting them away numbly. Because you knew. You knew it would never be the same again.
Lena was gone. The little girl you’d come to love was gone.
You’d stayed at Lena’s house as long as you could, hoping he would come back. He didn’t. He didn’t answer your calls either and you knew what he was doing. Blocking it all out, focusing on getting her back. You could only pray that that didn’t mean doing anything stupid.
When he strolls into your apartment two days later, its late at night and you’re in bed. He’s limping and holding his ribs.
“What the fuck.” You gasp.
“It’s nothing.” He brushes you off and you watch him, slack jawed as he grabs a towel and walks back out of the room.
“Like fuck it is. You disappear for two days. Deran sends me some cryptic message that you’re ‘okay’ but can’t get to your phone and you turn up like this?” You follow him into the bathroom and despite being annoyed you help him lift his shirt off.
“Lucy…” He says with a grimace as he pushes off his pants. “She kidnapped me.” He says it so blasé you almost think he’s joking as he casually gets into the shower.
You sigh heavily, pinching your nose. You don’t even know what to fucking say. You’d been a wreck since he walked out after telling you about Lena. As much as you understood how upset he was, you cared about her too. And him.
“Why?”
“Her brothers dead.” He says, his voice echoing from the cubicle. “Shoot out went bad.”
“Is this Smurf?” You ask, knowing beyond doubt it would be her doing.
He doesn’t reply. The silence stretched on as he washes. You have your answer. He gets out of the shower, towel wrapped around his hips just standing in front of you but he doesn’t look at you.
You can tell he’s holding back again and it makes you feel sick.
“You know I miss Lena too.” Your voice shakes and his shoulders drop, sadness finally breaking onto his face.
“I know.” Is all he reply’s. “And I told you I’m gonna get her back.” He walks out of the bathroom and you follow.
You always follow him.
“You can’t do anything stupid, Andrew promise me?”
He just gets some clean clothes out of his drawer he’s had at your place for as long as you can remember. Even while he was in prison you’d kept it stocked, re washed the clothes whenever they lost the smell of your detergent. Except for that one t shirt of his. That smelt like him for only the first year.
“I’m not. I know where she is now.” He still won’t look at you. He’s dressed again and you wonder if he’s going to leave.
“Fuck… Andrew you know that could hurt your chances at getting her back.” You say, softer, heart melting imagining how often he’s probably been sat on the street.
“I’m not going to get her back. Of course I’m not!” His voice breaks as though it’s the first time he’s really let himself hear it.
You swallow against the lump in your throat.
It was the truth. He was a convicted felon. Nobody was going to give Lena to him.
“I could.” You say in a quiet voice.
“What?” He asks turning around.
“I could get her back.” It’s your turn to not look at him. “I could adopt her.”
“Sweetheart…” He finally touches you, cradling your face in his hand. “There isn’t anyone that doesn’t know you’d be doing it for me.”
“No…” You say weakly because it’s true. It wound’t just be for him, you loved Lena. You missed her so much you ached. He was right of course. You were in all of Andrews records. Intertwined in ways you didn’t even realise.
“Fuck…” He steps away like you’ve burned him. “I fuck everything up!” You sit on the bed tiredly.
“No you don’t, Andrew.” But as he looks at you, drained and heartbroken it only spurs on his breakdown. You stand back up wanting so bad to help him. He steps away, his face ashamed.
“Andrew…” It’s a plea. For him to come back. To see you. See you are right here. You don’t hate him or blame him. Everything he is telling himself. “Come on, handsome.” His head dips at the sound and you turn off the light, climbing into bed. Nothing good would come of this.
You’re both tired.
“We’ll just sleep, okay.” You soothe.
He does a small nod, his mouth dipping down at the edges the way it does when he’s trying not to cry. He gets into bed and pulls you to him until you’re tucked into his side completely.
You don’t know how long you both lie there for but the heat of him, his soft breaths eventually lull you to sleep.
He’s gone in the morning.
Andrew:
Meet me at Baz’s.
30 minutes.
The message takes you by surprise and honestly after the week you’d had you dread to think what it could be so you leave straight away.
He’s already there when you walk in and Andrew looks the calmest you’ve seen him in a while.
When Lena walks out of her bedroom you realise why.
She greets you happily, running up to you and you lift her into your arms.
“Lena!” You almost cry. Andrew is looking over at you with a smile, two duffle bags on the counter. “What’s going on?” You ask suspiciously.
“Lena go pack.” Andrew tells her.
“I don’t want to.” Lena says and your heart sinks. What had he done?
He gestures for you to come closer to him and you do, stroking Lena’s head as you walk past her. When you reach him he pulls you in so he can whisper to you. “Smurfs adopting her.”
You pull back to see he’s serious.
“Can’t let that happen.”
Smiling reassuringly over at Lena you grab onto his arm softly. “I agree… but what are you doing?”
“We’re running away.”
Lena pipes up. “I don’t want to run away.”
“We’re not. We’re just… we’re just taking a trip.” He responds like he’s not talking about kidnap. Again. “Lena we need an adult moment here can you just go and grab some clothes please.”
She sighs but walks into her room.
“I’ve got everything.” He tells you as he pulls out three passports, a couple of licenses and birth certificates. “Had it a while… just in case.”
“Andrew!” You gasp. “What the fuck!”
He looks worried, like he wasn’t expecting that reaction from you.
“We can be a family.” He says with a look in his eyes that haunts you now. Hope. “I love you.” He reaches up to play with your hair. “I can’t live without you.”
Tears fill your eyes, overcome with emotion. Overcome by the fact that he’s finally saying everything you’ve ever wanted to hear but it’s in such a fucked up context. It felt more like necessity than reality and it broke something in you.
How badly you wanted this. To hear those words from him. To have a family with him. But not like this.
Looking back you wish you’d said yes. You could have been in Mexico by now… or somewhere further. You’d never gotten the chance to ask him. You knew he loved you. Even knew he couldn’t live without you but this wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen.
The decision was taken out of your hands when Lena spoke again, having left her bedroom without either of you noticing.
“Where would we live?”
“Someplace great.” He says, looking at you questioningly. Like you’ve broken his trust somehow.
It was times like this when you thought you saw why other people thought he was crazy. When kidnapping a child and living the rest of your life with fake aliases was completely normal to him.
“Where would I go to school?”
You wipe the tears that fell from your cheeks as you turn to face the little girl you had grown to love, who you wanted a life with, with all your heart.
“We’ll figure it out when we get there.” He says as he zips up a duffle.
“Me and Bella had bunk beds and a trampoline.” Lena recalled with a happiness in her voice that had you fighting away more tears.
“Bella?” Andrew asked. Realisation hit him and you knew exactly what he was thinking as he turned to look at you. “The foster family.” You wipe away more tears as you see him soften. See him realise. He turns back to Lena. “You liked them, huh?”
“We were gonna be sisters.”
“You have a family. We’re your family.” He says.
“But I make you sad.” You’d always known Lena was astute but that one observation made you realise she saw way more than she ever made you aware of.
“What are you talking about? I’m not sad.” He says but the pause before he said it showed it hit him.
“You’re always sad.”
He sighs and looks at you. He was still torn you could tell, even though he knew what the right thing to do was. What he had to do. What you both had to do despite not wanting to.
Let her go. Let her have a chance at a normal life.
“Lena…” You say as you walk over to her and kneel down in front of her. “Did you ever hear about how me and Uncle Pope met?”
She shakes her head.
“When Uncle Pope was just a little older than you Smurf got sick.” You obviously wasn’t going to tell her the real reason Andrew had ended up with your family. “And he needed someone to take care of him for a while. That just so happened to be my parents. We took real good care of you, didn’t we Uncle Pope?” You look back at him and him nods rubbing his damp eyes with his thumb and forefinger.
“The best.” His voice even rougher than usual. Defeated.
You remember the way he watched your parents read you bedtime stories, like it was strange. The way they wouldn’t shout or hit. Just calmly explain to him why what he did was wrong. The way he would tense up when your Mom innocently touched his shoulder and the way he leaned in to it by the time he left. The way any time a man came in the house he would glare at them, put himself between you and any stranger because in his house he wasn’t guaranteed safety the way he was at yours.
“What happened when Grandma Smurf was better?” Lena asked.
“Then he went home. And we were all real sad to see him go. But you know how Uncle Pope is. He snuck round all the time because he loved it with us. And we were best friends.”
“I love Bella.” She says, sad eyes looking up at her Uncle and as you turn you see him nodding.
He knew what he needed to do. No matter how much it hurt you both, it was best for Lena if she went back to her foster family. Out of Smurfs grasp.
Upon deliberation you’d always come back to the same two questions when looking back on that moment. What would Andrew be like now if he’s stayed with your family? Was the damage already too deep or could he have had a chance at a normal life. The life he deserved.
And what would life look like if you’d just gone with him.
Saying goodbye to Lena was hard but you promised to visit her. And you would. You had no choice, she was entwined in your life now.
She couldn’t be another loose thread.
You would’t allow it.
That night you woke up to Andrew sat in his chair. Watching you sleep.
“Andrew? Are you okay?” You ask sleepily as you sit up and turn on the lamp beside your bed.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
You assume he’s taking about Smurf or the jobs or just life in general because in no lifetime could you have imagined what he said next.
“I’ve been fooling myself. Lena’s better off without me and so are you.” His voice sounds void of all emotion until he pauses, takes a deep breath like he’s steeling himself for something. “I’m sorry but I can’t see you anymore.”
“What?” You shake your head and go to get out of bed.
“Don’t.” He says it so harshly you can’t help the tears that fill your eyes. You feel like all you ever do anymore is cry. “This should have happened a long time ago. I can’t give you what you deserve.”
All the progress you’d made came crashing down. Smurf being back was no coincidence. She’d gotten in his head somehow, poisoned it the way only his mother could.
“Andrew, what’s she said?”
“I’ve been selfish. You should have a normal life by now. A husband… someone who isn’t… bad.” He swallows. “Kids…”
“You’re not bad, Andrew please talk to me. Think about what you’re saying. Just try to remember everything we’ve talked about. For me.” You can’t help it, you get off the bed to walk over to him but he stands and darts to the other side of the room, like touching you would be painful.
“Still use the card… I’ve paid another six months on this place and ill check with the landlord if you’re extending your contract.” He’s talking like it’s just a business transaction.
“No!” You shout angry now, tears streaming down your face, pooling on your collarbone. “Please don’t do this, Andrew.”
“It’s for the best.” His voice is rough, like the words are burning on the way out.
“Look at me Andrew!” You beg, your voice shaking with sadness and anger.
He doesn’t look at you. Just walks out of the room. You follow him only to see him looking at the picture of you both above the side table as he removes your apartment key from his and leaves it on the side table. You know he’ll have another one somewhere.
You know this isn’t real.
Can’t be real.
“Please don’t do this.” You cry and you see him grip the side table so hard it creaks. “Andrew whatever it is. We can fix it. Okay.”
It's so fast you don't see it coming when he picks up the side table and throws it at your front door with a roar of anger and pain that makes you sob harder.
He's breathing hard, chest heaving, seething with rage. Then he just goes to leave.
When the doors open you call his name weakly one more time and he waits.
“I need you to know that I’m not mad at you okay.” You see his shoulders fall and bend forward like he’s collapsing, holding himself up with the door and for a second you think he’s going to turn around and grab you. Tell you he’s sorry and kiss the tears away.
But he doesn’t. The door clicks shut.
You fall to your knees in place. You don’t remember how long you stayed there.
But you hadn’t left the apartment for three days now. Splinters of wood still littering your hallway. Not because you’re lazy but because it’s something of him. Even if it is his anger and pain. You couldn't make it make sense. You couldn't accept it.
You pace, you cry, you leave unanswered messages until you just stop.
You keep pulling at every thread thinking that if you found the right one, you could stitch everything back together.
But some things don't come apart cleanly.
And some things, once unraveled, don't want to be fixed at all.
was wondering if you'd be willing to write a little something something about pope taking his s/o lingerie/bra & panties shopping?
i feel like he'd be glued to your side the whole time and keeping his eyes glued to you, afraid of looking anywhere else. but i want to know your thoughts too 😛
I’m your naughty girl, aren’t I?
Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody x fem!reader
authors note: MY BELOVED MOOT!!! I had way too much fun with this one <3 sorry I def got carried away but I hope you like it teehee
cw: MDNI!! afab!reader, boyfriend Pope, sub!Pope as fuck (he gets tied up🤭), r wears lingerie, dirty talk, good boy and naughty girl mention oops, semi public dry humping :D, and you both come in your pants yay!
*also takes place during Christmas time because I said so*
wc: 2.9 k
The crowd in the mall in the mall three days before Christmas is madness. One wrong move and you'll be swept away by the herd.
Thats why one of your boyfriends large hands has stayed on you at all times today.
That touch being either Pope's thick fingers intertwining with yours, or a calloused palm on the small of your back to help guide you.
You procrastinated buying Christmas gifts up until now, but your boyfriend didn’t complain about your shopping trip because he’s happy to be near you always.
The two of you are currently walking down the long stretch of walkway on the second floor, you’re ranting about work gossip as Andrew intently listens quietly, like always.
“…and then Karen told me that Liliana is pregnant with Jonathan’s baby?! Isn’t that insane??” You swing your head to get the reaction from Pope that should be a gasp or a ‘no way!’, but he is nowhere to be seen.
You were so caught up in your rant you didn’t even realize his pace had slowed to a stop.
You turn to see his frame is almost completely still a few feet behind you, breathing a bit uneven underneath his dark maroon hoodie. His auburn curls that are slightly grown out, look uncharacteristically light due to the malls white walls and floor.
His eyes aren’t on you, which is unusual, they’re staring across the promenade. He’s in dark blue jeans that sit atop his black boots that have also completely pivoted direction, matching his stare.
As you walk back towards him, you follow his intense gaze and land on…. a lingerie store?
Interesting.
“Andrew?” Your voice cuts through whatever daze he’s in and he finally looks to you again.
There is a slight blush that stains his freckle dusted cheeks, as his eyes rove over your outfit that consists of a sweater and jeans.
You put two and two together pretty quickly, or so you think. Your boyfriend saw the sexy display mannequins dressed in lace and sheer sets and is currently comparing them to you in your 'December in California' winter attire.
Pushing down the flitting feeling of insecurity, you decide to keep it playful instead. Pope doesn’t need to hide his attraction for something that is outwardly sexual. It’s normal.
“Do you… like the mannequins, honey?” You ask lightly, chewing your cheek and tilting your chin up at him
His hazel eyes basically bulge out of his head as he shakes it rapidly. It should be sincere, but it comes off guilty as hell.
“It’s okay if you do” you run a hand down his arm as you reassure him sweetly. You know that he’s been shamed for a lot of things throughout his life, you’d never want to be apart of that demographic. “That one does have the perfect body.” You gesture to the mannequin with the super model esque shape with a free hand.
Both your hands are free actually, since Pope is carrying all the bags filled with gifts and the few clothing items you bought for yourself. Well, the items he bought for yourself.
His gaze grow impossibly wider with alarm, the red that splotches his pale skin creeps all the way to the tips of ears, “What? No. No— I —”
Popes fingers twitch at his sides as he sputters, clearly having a hard time getting his intended message across.
He manages to regain his composure with a heavy sigh, voice dropping to a whisper, “I was thinking about you in… in those outfits.”
Your brows shoot upwards in shock before your surge of confidence hits you. Andrew’s face morphs into a wince, as if he said something wrong, but before he can backtrack, you cut him off.
“Oh yeah?” You practically purr at him, eye lids drooping slightly with your suggestive tone.
His shoulders sag when you don’t judge him, and he swallows audibly, nodding once.
You chew at your lip, eyes ping ponging between the store and Pope. An idea pops into your mind that sends a rush of anticipation through your bloodstream.
“Want to go in?” You bat your eyelashes at him and coat your words in sultry sweetness.
His pink lips part, showing off his crooked teeth that you love so much, and his dark brows raise half an inch, to say ‘really?’
You grab his hand that has three bags looped onto the muscular wrist and start to pull him towards the store.
“Cmon,” you giggle. “It’ll be fun.”
Like he always does, Andrew follows you with no hesitation.
Over the course of your relationship, you’ve worn lacey underwear on a date night or when you want to feel extra sexy, but never anything as intense as the corset and sheer sets hanging on racks and decorating the walls inside the store.
You’ve always wanted to get one to see how your boyfriend would react, but he never really spends much time looking at your undergarments, because he’s always so desperate to get them off of you.
In all honesty, you didn’t think this would be something he was into. But now, as his eyes bounce from rack to rack with excitement swirling in them, you realize you were wrong.
You and Pope walk around the store side by side in silence. He stays so close to you that he’s practically embedded in your skin. You don’t mind at all though.
He’s only within reach at all times because he’s been glaring at all the surrounding men who are alone, until he realizes they’re here with their own girlfriend or wife, then he moves to scowl at his next victim.
It helps that he’s this close actually, because every time you deliberately run your hands over a black lace nightgown or a pink and white corset, you look at his face to see which one affects him the most.
You watch for a hitch of breath, a deep blush on his cheeks, or a clench of his strong jaw.
Every time you grab one and ask, ‘What about this one?’, he gives you the same nod accompanied by the heated gaze he always gives you— you've gotten used to him not being very good with words, especially when it's about trying something new.
A nod is not enough. You want to find one that makes him have a heart attack. Not literally, obviously, because you’d die without him.
You’ve been taking the mission very seriously up until you spot an isle labeled ‘festive goodies’. Not being able to help yourself, you go down to laugh at what you know will be a hilarious selection of outfits.
Pope stays close behind you as you pass through the Halloween, Valentine’s Day and St Patrick’s Day skimpy sets.
At the end of the isle is the Christmas section, filled with reds and greens. Your eyes catch onto a ridiculous outfit that has you laugh to yourself.
Sitting on a hanger that has a ribbon on the hook, is a completely sheer red nightie, lined with white fuzz on every hem, adorned with two tiny santa hats sticking out from where your nipples would go. A matching pair of sheer panties sit beneath it with words in the same fuzz on the back that you can’t read yet.
Taking it off the rack, you hold the set up against your body as you giggle at its ridiculousness.
“Oh my god! Look at this, Andrew!”
You expect to hear your boyfriend scoff or laugh with you, but all that sounds is a hitch of breath instead.
Glancing back to his handsome face, you see that Popes breathing has stopped altogether as he stares at the sheer fabric laid atop your frame.
His jaw flexes, his blush reaches his ears and his pupils blow wide.
Bingo.
You don’t know if he has a Christmas kink or if he just likes it because it’s entirely see through— which is most likely— but you don’t even care at this point because his reaction has arousal course through your veins.
“Want me to try it on?”
His eyes flick to yours with surprise, “You can do that? Here?”
You bite your lip to hold back your giggle at his naiveness. Grabbing his hand after you find your size, you pull him towards the signs you see that point to the dressing room.
He simply nods, breathing a bit uneven, when you tell him to ‘wait here’ as you slip into a changing room and slide the curtain shut behind you— leaving him cutely awkwardly fiddling with the bags in his hands, eyes darting away from other women that walk in and out.
Once you change into the set, you can't help but feel very sexy.
Sure, there are literal santa hats sticking out of your nipples, but you somehow still find the nightie very tasteful because the see through fabric allows your pretty silhouette to be shown off. The swell of your breasts and the curve of your waist are highlighted perfectly.
You spin around in the mirror and see how the red fabric of the top falls just above where your ass meets your thighs, leaving the bottom half of your cheeks exposed.
You finally read the white fuzzy words on the sheer matching thong and giggle out loud.
"Wanna see it Andrew?" You call through the curtain, body buzzing with excitement.
When he doesn't answer, you assume he's out there nodding, like how he always does when he’s turned on and has a hard time speaking.
"Come on in, honey," you coo.
You hear shuffling— must be him putting down your bags— and you bite your bottom lip in barely restrained thrill.
The fabric opens the tiniest bit and Pope slides inside, molding himself to the curtain so there is no space between him and outside, leaving no room for someone to see you.
When he's fully in and facing you, he inhales sharply. His hazel eyes go molten with lust as they trace every inch of your body, slowwwwly over the skin that's exposed and the parts that are barely covered, as if he's memorizing the sight.
"Cute right?," you say sweetly.
His auburn curls shake as he nods so rapidly, and it makes your smile go megawatt and your thighs clench together at the fact that he likes it this much. In fact, his chest is so still with refrained breath that you think he might pass out.
You move to him and press your hands to his chest over his hoodie, you guide him backwards until he’s in the stool in corner of the fitting room. He plops down onto it, sitting straight backed with his hands balled into fists at his side, eyes wide and transfixed on your figure.
You stand between his spread knees and rub your hands over on his shoulders as he looks up at you. "Do you like it?"
His chin moves to nod and you catch it with your hand, making your voice slightly stern, "Use your words, Andy."
A small groan sounds from him at the nickname you only use when you're in bed together.
"Yes," he says gruffly. "You're so pretty."
You hum happily, then you leisurely turn around and bend over, lifting up the white fuzzy hemmed bottom of your nightie, to expose the words that read 'naughty girl' on the tiny triangle of your thong.
You hear him pathetically whimper from behind you. God, you don't think you've ever heard or seen him this turned on before.
You twist back to face him and you think you see a bit of drool on his parted lips.
A filthy idea flits through you and your panties— which you've already decided to buy— dampen.
Taking the red ribbon off the hanger, you look to your boyfriend with a suggestive expression, "Can I try something, honey?"
"Yes please," his words are so desperate that your core throbs.
You plant a kiss to the tip of his arrow shaped nose in thanks, before moving behind him, dragging his strong hands with you in order to tie them together at his back.
His breathing quickens once they're secured and you're back in front of him. You gingerly climb onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and seating yourself onto the bulge in his jeans, causing you both to make a breathy sound.
"So pretty," He mumbles through a twitching jaw, eyes locked onto your outfit.
"You're so sweet to me, Andy," you say as you rock your hips against him, your faces inches apart.
His eyes close for a split second like he's gaining composure, and then they instantly pry back open to not miss a second of this, darting to your tits behind the red fabric, licking his lips.
As you plant a soft kiss to his wet lips, the ridge of his zipper catches on your clit, your mouth parts into a soft moan and Pope takes the opportunity to stick his tongue in your mouth.
You pull back before he can fully kiss you, wanting to talk to him. Your core throbs at the feeling of his massive erection, but you definitely can't fuck in this public dressing room, so you settle for some dry humping.
"You feel so good," you whisper as you keep your lips inches apart and grind your hips in a downward circle onto him.
You start to plant soft kisses to his neck while keeping your movements relentless and precise overtop of him. You're so wet from simply rutting on him that you are positive you have effectively ruined this establishments thong.
Andrew groans loudly and you clamp a palm over his mouth. His dark eyes grow wide at the movement he's only ever done to you.
"Need you to be quiet, Andy. Don't want anyone to hear how much you like me like this." your voice sounds so sultry you barely recognize it. "Can you do that for me?"
As expected, he nods. Heat tingles at the base of your spine, sending a surge of fuzzy arousal through your body.
"Such a good boy," you say absentmindedly into his skin, feeling the fabric beneath you rub your sensitive clit in a way that makes your hips stutter.
He tenses, then whimpers beneath your palm, when you pull back to look at him, his eyes have glazed over at the nickname you used without thinking.
"You like that hmm? Being my good boy?"
A loud whine sounds beneath your hand and he starts bucking his hips upwards. You bite your lip to stifle your moan at the sudden rough contact, feeling hot and dizzy all over.
Both of you glance down at your body grinding against him. You clench around nothing when you see the wet spot you've made on his jeans.
Your very public fitting room quickly starts to be filled with a flurry of stifled moans and frantic movements.
“You like being a good boy by letting me ride you in a dressing room, Andy?” you whisper into his ear and you feel his sharp exhale of breath through his nose on your fingers, his shoulders shake from trying to free his hands and touch you.
You lean back to look at him and you can tell he's close from the way his eyes squeeze shut, muscles of his freckled face strain tightly and his arms pull at the ribbon behind him.
"Look at me."— he does, gaze half lidded and eyes barely focused — "I'm so bad for this. I'm your naughty girl, aren't I?," it comes out breathlessly due to the chasing of your own release.
A muffled, 'yes yes yes' vibrates onto your palm, his thighs twitch under yours. Your forehead falls against his as you pick up your movements, desperately grinding your weepy core onto him as pleasure starts to spark behind your eyes.
"You're my good boy and I'm your naughty girl, Andy," you try to keep your words quiet but you cant quite manage as you whimper loudly through them.
Pope's eyes roll into the back of his head and he wildly jackrabbits upwards, bouncing you harder onto his lap, causing you to tighten your grip on his face. You choke back your scream as your thighs start to shake, and the molten sensation in you is pulled taught.
You hear him whine into your skin, 'Pleasepleasepleaseplease'.
You start to pant and throw your head back, "Oh god— i'm gonna—"
Pope bites your palm and the white hot feeling explodes inside you, you bury your face into his neck as you cry out. He grunts harshly and licks repeatedly against your skin as he comes in his jeans beneath you, moving his hips as much as he can to milk every last drop of pleasure.
When you're both done riding out your orgasms, you collapse against him, hand falling off his face and dropping to his chest.
His heavy breaths fan your ear, and you feel the dampness of both of you releases seeping between your legs, causing a satisfied hum to sound from you.
You pull back and see his fucked out expression, auburn curls sticking to his forehead with sweat, cheeks red from the grip your hand had on his face. The sight is so cute that you lean forward and plant a soft kiss to his lips.
summary: to the outside world, andrew is a rough man, someone who likes to fight and get his hands dirty. someone who isn’t afraid to hurt people. but you know that’s not really him. your boyfriend really just wants to be pampered and loved on, and it shows when he gets sick and your job is to take care of him.
pairing: andrew ‘pope’ cody x reader
warnings: mentions of a storm/hurricane/thunder, andrew gets a fever :(, petnames used, totally babying him a bit but idgaf, sub!pope but it’s not sexual he’s just a puppy hehehe
a/n: started writing this after the joost concert in nyc which was… yikes. kind offfff self projecting on andrew after feeling like shit from getting trampled in the crowd crush but who cares!!! i just wanna take care of my sweet boy, he deserves it :( also thank you so so much for all of the love on my last fic!! it makes me so happy to see all of the reblogs/comments/asks, i try to look at them all <3 i hope you enjoy this one just as much! title from i wanna be adored by the stone roses!
wc: 1.5k+
andrew always got from jobs late at night, you were used to it at that point. you were used to him quietly slipping into your shared bedroom, getting undressed and crawling in beside you, his arms wrapping around your waist to soothe you back to sleep.
what you were not used to was him being out at 2am in the middle of a hurricane. not used to lying in bed alone while thunder crashed just outside your window, having no idea when he’ll get home. you were worried about him— you always were, but now more than ever. you decided to just try to sleep like normal, hoping he’d be back soon.
you were finally drifting off when you heard the front door opening quietly. you knew it was him from the soft, careful way the keys turned, he always tried to be quiet just in case you woke up and heard him. after rubbing your eyes and stretching, you jumped out of bed to go meet him in the living room.
there he was, standing in the dark by the front door, completely soaked to the bone from the rain pouring down outside. you ran to him, your hands finding his face and observing him, “andrew! oh, andy, what happened to you?”
he just sighed and let his head drop into the crook of your neck, allowing your fingers to gently comb through his wet hair. “s’fine, just got a little caught in the rain… job went well, at least. smurf’ll get off my ass now,” he murmured against the warmth of your skin, his arms snaking around you.
you frowned, hating to see him like this. so tired, so cold. he was shivering from the rain that was seeping into his t-shirt. “aw, love…” you cooed, “you’re so cold. your skin feels like ice, don’t you wanna take a warm bath?”
he hummed quietly, nodding into your neck and curling his fingers in your shirt. he really was just a baby when he needed comfort, and right now, you knew that was exactly what you needed. so you kissed his nose gently and pulled him into the bathroom, helping him peel off his wet clothes and getting him into the warm shower.
as you helped him out of the jeans and t-shirt he wore to his job, you made sure to be very gentle. you were always gentle with him, that was exactly what he needed from you. he needed someone to balance out the roughness he displayed around everyone else, and you provided that for him.
once he was in the shower, you stepped in next to him, standing behind him and kissing his cheek. “you want me to wash your hair, baby?” he hummed in agreement, too tired for words. “which shampoo, hm? mine or yours?” you knew that sometimes, he loved to use your shampoo. he loved to smell like you and the soft vanilla scent you always used, it felt like home. “yours, please?” he asked shyly. he got shy sometimes, but you didn’t mind, you just coddled him more.
for the next hour, you stood in the shower with him, carefully cleaning off the dirt and grime from the job he was and maybe getting a liiiiitle distracted… until he was warm and safe. by the time you were done, he was so tired he could barely stand, so you helped him back into your bedroom and assisted him in putting his pajamas on. pajamas for him were really just boxers and a t-shirt that he’d throw off after getting too restless, but you helped him anyway, knowing he needed the care.
eventually, the two of you were in bed together like usual, him pressed into you from behind, feeling his chest rising and falling softly against your back. tonight, the rhythm was slower than usual, and you knew he was tired. you pressed a soft, sweet kiss to his hand and whispered, “you can sleep, baby, it’s okay. i’ll be here in the morning, okay?”
he just made a quiet noise of assent and mumbled into your neck, “okay, gonna sleep now… love you…” prompting you to smile and reply, “i love you too. get some rest.” he was gone in moments, allowing you to turn the tiredness from the long night into the soft calming sensation that lulled him to sleep.
every morning, andrew woke up before you. partially out of habit and because of his bad sleeping habits that you just can’t fix, and partially because he loved to just stare at you before you woke up.
right now, though, you woke up to find him still asleep. his t-shirt was still on, meaning he didn’t even wake in the middle of the night to pull it off. this was extremely unusual for him, and this unusual behavior paired with the rain from last night prompted you to worry. you rolled over to face him and gently pressed your lips to his forehead, met with burning skin.
frowning, you shook him awake as slowly as you could. when he groaned and nuzzled into your neck, you rubbed his back and cooed sweetly, “i know, baby, i know you don’t wanna get up. but i think you’re sick. could you get up for a minute to tell me how you’re feeling? please?”
he ended up giving in, sitting up (with your help) against the pillows while you left the room to go get a thermometer. when you returned, you gently brushed his hair away from his forehead, “just gonna press this against your forehead for a second, yeah? just sit still for a second.”
after a few moments the thermometer beeped and you pulled it away, kissing his temple yet again as a reward. you looked at it and frowned, “baby, it says 101.6… that’s not good. you got a fever from the storm last night.”
you could see the signs more clearly now. on top of the warmth of his skin, his eyes were glassy and you could tell he was a little dazed. “oh, love… i’m gonna go get you some water and something to eat.”
when you tried to pull away, he didn’t let you. he grabbed your arm gently, “wait, don’t go.” he paused for a second, then muttered, “please,” with those sad eyes you could never say no to.
sighing, you decided to just indulge him and get back in bed with him for a bit. you knew he needed the comfort and he probably wouldn’t eat anything you gave him, anyway. as soon as you climbed back into bed, he was all over you, hugging you as tight as he could (which was not very tight, after being weakened from the fever…) and pressing his warm forehead into your skin. just like that, he drifted off again, surrounded by you and the warmth and softness you emitted.
you didn’t even realize you were falling asleep. you really didn’t, you thought you had been taking care of him well. but you’re proven wrong when he’s the one shaking you awake hours later. “love. love. love. wake up. wake up. can you wake up?”
confused, you rubbed at your eyes and sat up a bit to look at him. “wh…” you started, but he cut you off, “hi.” you looked up at him strangely, “you… i fell asleep? how long have you been awake?”
it was then that you noticed the tv was on, playing one of his favorite movies. “an hour. i didn’t wanna wake you up. i was watching my movie, see?” he looked so… normal. you assumed he was delirious. “i’m hungry, though, and i missed you. sorry for waking you up.”
your expression softened, he really was adorable. “it’s okay. you know you can always wake me up.” you gave a little kiss to his nose, “i’ll make you something. what do you want?”
he smiled sheepishly, “some soup would be nice. something warm. i’m cold.” your lips tilted down a bit, “cold? alright, i’ll make some soup. you just get under the blankets while i make it, okay?” he nodded and settled back in bed, watching you leave for the kitchen.
when you came back, you were carrying his favorite miso soup in a little heart-shaped bowl, and a tiny cup of fruit. he was getting increasingly more tired. “alright, baby, open up.” he would usually never ask you to feed him, that’s too much, even for him. but right now he’s just so tired and he’s shivering so much that he can’t do it himself.
he ate slowly, allowing you to feed him little spoonfuls of soup and bites of fruit. by the time he’s done, his face is buried in your shoulder as he groans and mumbles unintelligibly about how awful he feels. you can’t really hear most of it, but you’re able to catch a muffled, “hurts…”
your fingers comb through his hair gently, “oh, honey… i know. you’re tired, aren’t you? do you wanna take a nap?” when he nods against your skin, you carefully lower him onto his pillows, “shhh, just rest now. i’m here. you’ll feel better soon, i promise. just gotta rest.”
he stares up at you, eyes bleary, “okay… love you…” you squeeze his hand, “i love you more. just go to sleep, okay?” which convinces him to finally shut his eyes and let himself rest. maybe the sickness wasn’t gone yet, but he felt safe and comfortable, and that was enough.
♱ content. pope cody x reader. slightly sub!pope. use of “pup”. handjöb.
pope cody who shows up at your door past midnight, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw set tight, tired around the edges. no text. no warning. just him.
you open the door and look at him soft, the way nobody does anymore, and he doesn’t know what to do with that. steps inside slow, like he’s still deciding if he deserves to be here.
he probably doesn’t think he does.
and somehow it ends up like this. pope on his back, your hand wrapped around his thick cock, stroking him slow and easy while he buries his face into your chest. hiding. fingers curled into your shirt, clinging, whimpering these small broken sounds against your skin that he’d never let anyone else hear. he’s already leaking, wet against your palm, hips twitching up with every lazy drag of your hand like he can’t help himself.
pope cody who whines and noses further into your chest when you slow your hand, chasing the friction, desperate and shameless about it.
pope cody who is completely gone. melting under your hands like he’s been starved for this. for someone to just be gentle with him.
“you gonna cum for me, andy?” you ask it sweet, honeyed, fingers tightening just slightly on the upstroke.
he nods into your chest. “yeah” he breathes, hips stuttering up into your hand. “yeah, s’good, don’t stop—” his hand comes up to paw weakly at your wrist, not stopping you, just holding on.
“good pup,” you murmur into his hair and he licks a slow stripe up your neck without thinking, instinctive, then goes very still like he surprised himself. a whine climbing up his throat anyway, hips rolling desperate and unsteady into your hand.
pope cody who comes apart quietly after that, shivering, face still pressed to you like he can’t stand to be looked at right now. embarrassed by how much he needed it. by how fast those two words took him there.
you card your fingers through his hair and he exhales, slow and shaky.
"take what you're given" - andrew "pope" cody x reader
kinktober 2025 day 12: sex work & kneeling
Summary: Pope comes to you in the middle of the night with needs and news.
Tags/Notes: sub!pope x soft domme!reader, established dynamic, praise kink, orgasm control and edging, foot fetish if you squint, scratching/nails, oral (f), piv (unprotected, established), riding, cumming inside, love confessions
Content: canon-typical injuries (pope's post-job), sex work obviously
A/N: i wasn’t planning for this to be sub!pope but it just happened and honestly im really fucking happy with it
Word Count: 3.7k
A knock at the door wakes you in the middle of the night. It doesn’t frighten you; there’s only one person who does this. Who you allow to do this. Any other client back in the day, you’d be calling the cops without question. Or, more accurately, you’d be calling the very man who’s just shown up unannounced.
Checking your phone, you see a Venmo notification on the home screen. $1200 from A.C. Two hours of your precious night. You take your time after that, making him wait, knowing he’ll be squirming as he anticipates your arrival. You toss your old tee and sweat shorts into the hamper and grab a black slip. After pulling your hair up into a messy but sexy updo and spritzing on the perfume you know is his favorite, you pad over to the front door.
You open up the door to his battered, broad silhouette illuminated by your porch light. Your first instinct is to rush him inside and comfort him, but you know that’s not what he’s here for. So you put on a harsh tone and reprimand, “You woke me up.”
Andrew’s broken voice croaks out, “I’m sorry.”
Opening the door wider, you give an annoyed gesture for him to join you inside. “You’ll make it up to me.” Inside your house, the door shut and locked behind him, Andrew catches your wrist and pulls you close to his chest. You allow him to hold you for a second, breathing in your shampoo, letting his restless heart slow. But you stop short of meeting his lips when he chases them for a kiss. “You’ll kiss me when you’ve earned it.” You lead him into your primary sweet and point toward the bathroom. “Shower. You’re not getting all that dirt and blood on my sheets.”
Andrew nods tightly, making himself scarce right away. He knows your apartment like the back of his hand. At this point, he’s here more nights than not. You’ve stopped taking other clients because of him, paying another 50% on top of your rate and always treating you like gold. What he gives you in a week is enough to pay your bills for a month. You don’t charge for the hours he stays in your bed after, talking openly the way he can’t with his family and asking questions about you the way no other clients had. Frankly, you would’ve stopped charging altogether long ago if he’d ever had the courage to speak it into existence instead of leaving you both in limbo. If he dozes off in your bed, you both pretend it wasn’t a conscious decision in the morning.
While he showers, scrubbing himself fast and hard, you take his clothes, remove his wallet and phone, and toss them into your washing machine with some things of yours. The gestures are familiar, intimate, simple. Routine. Then you recline in your bed and wait for him, adjusting your pillows and blankets so that you can prop yourself up, legs parted just enough that he’ll be able to see right between your legs the moment he’s out of the shower.
When the water cuts, you take a second to steady your breathing and drape your body just so. You listen to the soft sounds of him toweling off and hold your breath when you know his hand’s hovering over the doorknob.
Setting your phone down, you look over his naked body as the bathroom light floods your room. God, he’s so beautiful, even covered in bruises. You’ve told him a hundred times during aftercare and sometimes it aches how much you mean it. He knows you do, too, even if he can’t believe it for himself.
He approaches the end of the bed and stands obediently, waiting for you to speak first.
Your voice is firm. Calm. There’s no anger, no chaos, no judgment. Just order. Just structure. “Kneel.”
Pope drops to his knees like he’s been shoved. He stares up at you with wide hazel eyes and slightly parted lips. You curse whoever told him he couldn’t make this innocent, boyish, wonder-filled expression every damn day.
When Pope’s with women who meet him during his regular life, they expect him to take charge. For him to growl at them the way he snarls out orders. For him to be intense the way he has to be to survive in his world. But you know that what he really needs from a woman is the exact opposite. He needs someone to take control of him, to make the decisions, to dote on him, to give him the space to let go.
You smile sweetly at him, present your feet, and order, “Say sorry, Andy.”
Pope nods, not saying a word. At the beginning, he’s always quiet. It’s your job to create the space for him to open up. As you watch, he cradles your foot – freshly showered and lotioned to be nice and soft right before bed – in his hand with breathtaking reverence. He takes a deep breath before he presses a kiss to the top of it, nuzzling slightly at the first taste of you. He worships over the skin, planting kisses from your toes up to your ankles, massaging your calves as he does.
When he switches to the other foot, he murmurs, “I’m sorry. You deserve to sleep and I interrupted you. Thank you for letting me in.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” You scoot to the end of the bed and lean down so that your faces are even. “Now you may kiss me. But don’t be greedy.”
The whine in his throat as he stretches up slightly to kiss you is needy and delicious. It shoots straight to your throbbing clit. He waits for you to part your lips before invading your mouth with his tongue, sighing into you when you suck on his lower lip. Hard. As you pull back, he shudders out, breathy and wanting, “Thank you.”
At the edge of the bed in front of him, you spread your legs and reveal your slick pussy. His eyes lock on and the need in his face almost makes you drop your role to satiate him immediately. But then Pope leans toward you, desperate and loving, his eyes trained forward, and that snaps you out of it. You know what he needs.
So you wrench him back, using his curls as a handhold. Your nails dig into his scalp and he gasps from the pain. “Where are your manners? Say please.”
“I’m sorry,” he says right away, looking up at you through unfairly long eyelashes. He lifts your other hand and kisses it over and over. “Can I taste you? Please?”
Your hand roves from his downy hair around to his face, softly brushing his cheek with your thumb. Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, you murmur, “There’s my sweet boy.”
Then you spread your legs wider, hold him by the hair, and pull his face into your cunt. He lets out a long, muffled moan as his lips part around your clit. His tongue slips down to your entrance, tasting your tart wetness, and drags back up to your clit. As you reward him with a string of moans, you keep a hand in his hair; he doesn’t need guidance when it comes to getting you off because Christ does he know what he’s doing in that department, but you know the added intimacy and care always make him happy.
As he sinks into the rhythm, you tell him, “Fingers, too.”
He hums contentedly, reaching his dominant hand up to slip two of his thick fingers inside of you. The stretch is absolutely perfect and you grind against his face to make sure he knows it. You keep your eyes glued to him. Watching all the stress dissolve from his expression – watching him go from Pope to Andrew – is almost as good as the urgent flat of his tongue on your clit, pumping right alongside those expert fingers of his.
When he curls his fingers forward and hits your G-spot, you can’t help the high-pitched, needy sound that escapes your lips. Your composure slips for a second as you let yourself do nothing but enjoy the way he works you up. As pleasure tightens up in your body, you breathe out, “That’s it, darling. Just like that.”
He knows better than to change a thing, but you feel him clinging to you closer, his free hand gripping your hip possessively to keep you tight against him. The way he holds you says so much about how he feels; you both sense it as your thighs tremble and his eyes open to meet yours. The view of your lips falling open with ecstasy and your chest turning pink as you moan his name turns Andrew into mush, the dark parts of his brain shutting off, taken over by the lightness that comes with being around you.
You cum on his face without warning and he groans, lapping at you, greedy for your taste as it changes, becoming milder, perfectly calming to his brain. He doesn’t let up until you give him two firm taps to his shoulder; he'd stay between your legs forever if you wanted him to. Then he smiles back up at you with wet, shiny lips and chin, and you melt just a little. The hardness has left his brow and his hazel eyes look young and kind, like they should.
He kisses along the insides of your thighs, soft as a wispy summer cloud, so affectionate it makes your heart pound, and murmurs into your skin, “Thank you.” Then his eyes go up to yours and he asks, “Can I fuck you tonight?”
Condescendingly sweet, you order, legs still held up by his strong shoulders, “If you beg. Use your words, Andrew.”
That’s his biggest challenge. Pope’s never been encouraged – often not even allowed – to express what he’s feeling, what he wants, what he needs. On the few occasions you’ve met the Codys (you run in the same circles, after all), you’ve always noticed his brothers and mother cutting him off, calling him ridiculous, clipping his wings. Part of what you want to give him is his own voice back.
“Please, use me,” he rasps after a minute. “I need to feel you. I’ve been thinking about you all day, about how much I want you, how much I lo- Please.”
You both pretend he didn’t almost say what he almost said. That kind of thing happens a lot between the two of you. You tell him, “Up on the bed. Sit back.”
With a thrilled, grateful smile, Andrew stands, rolls his glorious shoulders in a way that really lets you ogle his chest and arms, and then climbs onto the bed behind you. You turn to face him and slowly pull your slip up over your head, discarding it on the floor next to you.
Andrew’s eyes devour you. He whispers, like it’s a secret, like he’s afraid, “You’re so beautiful.”
“Thank you.” You approach him like a cat on the prowl and swing your legs over his. You sit back on his thighs and lean forward. He’s expecting you to take him, to drown on his cock and get yourself off, but tonight you press your lips to his and let softness permeate his being. Your hands explore his torso, slow and gentle, and you murmur, “You give the best head I’ve ever had.” As he inhales a quiet, sharp breath, your lips drag down to his neck. “I love the sounds you make when you’re with me.” You kiss across his collarbone and over his shoulder. “You’re perfect, Andrew.”
You slide your wet folds along his shaft until he’s whining beneath you, using all his self control to stop himself from gripping your hips and fucking up into you. That’s what he’d do with any random girlfriend or hookup. But not with you. Never with you.
This time, when you move to kiss him, you also rock your hips so that the tip of his cock notches inside of you. He feels so spoiled getting to have you like this. Once you stopped seeing anyone else, your relationship catapulting into this beautifully nebulous mystery of love and money and unspoken thoughts, you also stopped using condoms. Feeling you bare is the greatest honor of Andrew’s life, by his estimation. You trust that he’s not going to sleep with anyone else (even though, theoretically, he has every right to) and you trust that he won’t take advantage or hurt you.
“There you go,” you mutter against his lips as you slide down further, still not allowing him to have all of you the way he so, so desperately wants you. Making him go through the agony of his spit and your arousal dripping down to the base of his cock. He whimpers again, whiny and needy, shaking with the resolve it takes not to thrust into your perfect cunt. You slot your lips with his again, soothing him with your collective breath, “Shh, love, it’s okay, just a little more left. You’re being so good.”
Finally, you take Andrew as deep as possible. His thighs twitch and strain beneath you and his head falls back against the headboard, lips open with desire as he feels you completely. You wrap your fingers in the hair at the back of his neck and bring his head forward to look at you. “Don’t look away. You know I like to see you.”
Andrew nods, biting his lower lip, struggling with the intimacy that comes with eye contact while he’s at his most exposed. Your nails graze down his chest as you speed up slightly. He sighs with relief and you know that he needs more. So you dig your nails in properly, scratching up his sides until you see his muscles spasming from the mix of pain and pleasure. “You feel so good, Andrew. So good for me.”
“Faster,” he requests, quick to add an earnest, “please.”
You grip around his neck, forcing his eyes up to center once more; he has a habit of dropping eye contact when he feels vulnerable for more than a moment. “Take what you’re given. I know what’s good for you. Don’t forget that.”
He whimpers softly, “I know.”
“Do you?” You apply pressure to his neck, making his head swim, and slow the pace of your hips to almost nothing. As Andrew’s toes curl from the billowing pleasure of judgment, you go on, “When I’m not there, you go out and get dirty, beaten up, feeling like shit. It’s pathetic. That’s why you come home to me, sweetheart. Because I always take care of you. Because I only punish you when you need it, not just to take my anger out on you like your family does. Right?”
His eyes flutter. He can’t speak when you talk to him like that, so completely domineering and firm. And right. Like you can see beneath his skin to the tension roiling beneath. That’s why he keeps falling for you even though he knows he shouldn’t. Not the feel of your velvet walls clenching around him or the delight of your nipples between his teeth or the way you make him see stars when he cums, edging it out of him for hours or forcing it fast depending on your moods. No, it’s the way you see right through him. Through all his bullshit, through the exterior he puts on, through everything. You give him the opportunity to be known.
You snap him from his stupor by letting go of his neck, sending oxygen and blood flooding back through him. His hips buck upward without his control and he lets out a long, unabashed moan. You grab his hand with yours and order, “Make yourself useful and touch me.”
He nods eagerly, loads his thumb with spit, and drops his hand between your bodies, easily nudging up the hood of your clit and touching the over-sensitive bud with the pad of his thumb. Knowing your body, he matches the pace of your rocking hips. Pleasure jolts up your spine and, at the corresponding twitch of your pussy, Andrew groans low in his throat.
“That’s it,” you praise. The stretch of his cock combined with his thumb’s gentle pressure is nothing short of divine for you. “Nice and slow. Perfect.”
You thread your fingers in his hair and tug him into a kiss that tastes a lot more like love than money. It tastes like mercy. One of your hands drops down to his back and turns to a claw, scratching him up, making him gasp and grunt as you bounce incrementally faster on his cock. You tug his head to the side and bite down his neck, sucking purple hickeys alongside the other bruises, mixing the results of the night’s brutality with marks of absolute, uncomplicated adoration.
When you realize he’s not going to last long, it sends a thrill as good as another orgasm through your core. Andrew’s the kind of man who can fuck for hours if he’s not fully engaged, not 100% present, not deeply and madly and wildly in love with the other person. So the heavy ragged breaths and the tensing muscles and the moans turning high are all a perfect symphony for you.
You stroke his cheek with your thumb, press your forehead to his, and urge, “Let go for me, Andrew.”
He looks at you like it’s Christmas morning. “Inside?”
“Inside, pretty boy,” you confirm, licking along his jaw and nibbling up to his ear. You let your voice go breathy and low, hot against the curve of his ear, as you tell him honestly, “Wanna feel you spilling inside me. Wanna be yours.”
His free hand splays across your lower back, the move downright possessive, and a moan breaks out from his throat. His balls tighten and you keep him right at that agonizing edge where his breaths speed up and his cock begs. The orgasm that crests over him is a perfect wave that you make him ride out until it’s overstimulating and shattering and tears bite at his waterline.
You press feathery kisses across his face as you slide off him so he can start to catch his breath. His hands cling to your waist, though, not ready to let go of you quite yet. So you indulge him, kiss him warmly, and praise, “Good job, sweetheart.”
When his hold on you finally loosens, you slip away and quickly clean yourself up in the bathroom, admittedly rushing so you can get back out to him. Post-sex Andrew is soft and kind and emotional. He’s real. You never feel safer or more seen than when you get to hold him after you’ve been together.
The moment you’re back in bed with him tonight, though, Andrew tugs you into his lap again and holds you so close that you have no choice but to bury your face in his shoulder and squeeze him back. His strength is pure comfort, but you can feel a desperation in the way his arms stay wrapped around you for so long it feels like the sun might start rising.
You run your fingers gently through his hair and kiss his neck in the shallow hollow just beneath his ear. “What is it?”
His big body trembles slightly and his hold on you doesn’t lift. “I’m leaving Oceanside.”
That lingers in the air. You’ve both lived here your entire lives; Pope’s only been away to spend time inside. You hated the time he was away. The idea of him not being a constant in your life aches. You whisper against his skin, “When?”
“Soon.”
“Oh.”
Then you realize something.
Pope doesn’t tell you when he’s going to be away for jobs. He doesn’t show up and make desperate love to you. He doesn't beg for you or hold you or agonize over your presence.
So you pull back and carefully study his features. You’re not sure it’s possible to understand all of Andrew Cody's thoughts, but you can definitely read more of him than anyone else.
Trying not to let any emotion into your voice yet, you ask quietly, “You want me to come with you, don’t you?”
His voice goes stern. Defensive. Pope. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you came here to ask, didn’t you?”
“I came to get laid.”
“Don’t do that. Not with me.”
The tension snaps. Andrew deflates. His expression is innocent and tender as a playground crush. His fingers drag up your arms and you can’t help the goosebumps that rise despite the warm room. He won’t meet your eyes, but he manages to whisper, “Would you?”
You swallow hard.
And think.
There’s nothing tying you to Oceanside anymore, not really. A few friends and a mortgage. You’ve been on your own nearly as long as you’ve been alive and Andrew is the only real anchor you’ve had the last handful of years. You can imagine a life with him. A real one.
But one question remains: “Do you love me?”
“I think so.”
“I need better than that, Andrew.”
“I know you do.” He rests his chin on the top of your head and speaks into the night, “But I don’t know what love is. I don’t know how to tell you. How to say it.”
Breathless now, you reply, “Just try. Be honest with me.”
Andrew chews on it for a long time. His eyes roam over your still naked body with no lust in them. Instead, there’s a softness. He looks at your lips a while and then gazes around the room at all of your things, at the pieces of your life that he wants in his own home instead of miles away.
And, at last, he tells you, “You’re the reason I think I deserve to leave it all behind. You make me think maybe I’m worth a damn. That I shouldn’t take shit from my family all the time just because they expect me to.” He shakes his head to himself as a shy smile takes over his face. “You’re kind and you’re gorgeous and you’re funny and you’re every fucking good thing that I want to figure out how to be – with you by my side." His thumb brushes your lower lip. "That's what love is, isn't it?"
The smile that spreads your lips is extravagant. It feels bright and warm like the sun on the sea. “Where are we gonna go?”
Andrew grins, then, and the next kiss tastes of possibility. “Anywhere you want, angel.”
