Hi, you can call me Lan, I'm 25 (an Aries baby). I post all sorts and sometimes write. This blog sometimes has mature content so this is an 18+ blog!
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Recent Works...
Ch 7. I Was Born Waiting (Titus Danforth x fem reader)
Ch. 6 What Could I Be (Titus Danforth x fem reader)
Ch 5. There Is a Light That I Can See (Titus Danforth x fem reader)
Ch 4. When There's Darkness in Me (Titus Danforth x fem reader)
Fandoms/Characters
Yellowjackets Masterlist
Lottie Matthews, Taissa Turner, Van Palmer, Misty Quigley, and Shauna Sadecki
Oscar Isaac Characters Masterlist
Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Jake Lockley, Abel Morales, Nathan Bateman, Cecil Dennis, Laurent LeClaire, Basil Stitt, Santiago Garcia, Anselm Vogelweide, Miguel O'Hara, Shimmer! Kane
CONTENTS: andrew "pope" cody x f! reader, s1 pope cody, fluff, smut, protected p in v, fingering, idk he fucks you on top of a washing machine, somewhat proofread.
Summary: Freshly released from prison, Pope feels he can't step foot onto the Cody compound, especially after a job gone bad, leading him to enter your laundromat just to do a simple chore.
Word Count: 4.5k+
a/n: this is inspired by an idea from my good friend, juni aka @baileysinjune ! i hope you all enjoy!
dividers by: @/pixopix and @/divinyae
You were the only one who remained in Oceanside once your siblings moved away. You had always felt at home here, the waves crashing on the shore, the scalding summers followed by mild winters. You liked spending your days off lounging on the beach, getting your tan on, or sipping an espresso at a nearby café. However, most days you’d spend hanging out with your grandmother at the laundromat.
The laundromat had been in your family for over fifty years, your grandparents opening up the business shortly after they got married. Once your grandpa passed and your grandmother grew older, it became harder for her to run the only place she knew. At her age, you watched her struggle, dropping the broom or stumbling along the linoleum. It was something you couldn't make peace with, this place existing without your grandmother.
You decided to help out a couple of days a week when you were off from your office job, mopping the floors, helping her retrieve coins from the countless machines. It felt like you were becoming her caretaker in addition to being an office worker. You hated this; you didn't want any of this. Why couldn't she just be immortal, go back to the grandma you once knew? You’d even go to her home every Sunday for dinner, the only time you’d have a home-cooked meal, the only thing you allowed her to do herself. You sat there in front of her, eating a fresh slice of pie while she sipped her steaming mug of coffee.
“Honey, there’s something I need to tell you.” Her hand settled on your wrist, and you paused mid-chew to look up at her saddened expression. “I can’t run the laundromat anymore.”
“What?” You were spiraling, coming face-to -face with the suppressed feelings. “But why?”
That was the place you spent growing up. You and your siblings were raised by your grandparents. You remember playing tag in the storefront with your siblings, running up and down the aisles as clothes swirled in the machines. Your grandma would even take you all to the nearby ice cream parlor after she finished up for the day.
“I just can’t do it anymore, I’m getting tired. You know it hasn’t been the same since your grandfather died,” she took another swig of her coffee. “I’m going to put it up for sale.”
You knew this was coming; you just couldn't bear it. The concept became forefront in your mind; it broke your heart, knowing she wouldn't be here forever. The thought of her dying in that place, her tirelessly working for over fifty years, you didn't want that. Most of all, you didn't want her to give up the place where you spent your childhood.
The fork clatters down on the plate, your head in your hands, while you try to hold back tears. Finally, a light bulb went off in your mind.
“What if I just take over?”
“Oh, honey, you can’t do that. That would be too much for you with your other job and all.”
“I’ll quit my job,” you said confidently, excitement bubbling in your stomach. “I hate it there anyway. You know I can run it, I’ve been helping you all these years.”
“Y’know what,” your grandma began, a smirk adorning her lips. “It’s a deal.”
Unlike your grandma, who thrived in the early mornings, you loved the night. The business was open 24/7, and the place basically ran itself. Yet, you always people-watched, the stragglers that wandered into the mat with their full hampers after getting off a late shift.
You were mopping the floor the minute a gentleman walked in, short auburn hair peaking from the hood of his sweatshirt, carrying a duffel bag in tow. A dark stain snaking around his sleeve, maybe blood? He looked skittish, a concerned look on his face.
Pope brought in his clothes, knowing he just couldn’t be seen at Smurf’s right now, especially after a bad job. After all, she was paying for his hotel room, where he rarely earned a good night's sleep, which explained why he was here in your laundromat at two o’clock in the morning.
You peeped at the little basket in his free hand, carrying a multitude of different stain removers along with other laundry products. You stared at him while he loaded his clothes in the machine, even watching when he tugged off his sweatshirt. His sharp abdomen briefly peaking below the hem.
It was enough to distract you to where you shook your head, returning to pushing the mop across the dirty floors. Pope sat straight on the bench across from the spinning window, mindlessly fiddling with his phone.
It wasn’t like he didn't notice you: he studied how diligently you swiped the fibers across the floor, ensuring every stain was scrubbed clean. It subtly turned him on, slightly standing to readjust his jeans before he sat back down.
He was the only one in here. While you loved the late hours, they also brought in some strange characters, including the man sitting before you. You dunk the mop head in the water before sweeping the tool in front of him.
“Hey, how are you?” you kindly greeted.
“Fine.”
A one-word response.
You were still learning how to interact with customers, not really being used to the interaction when you used to be a paper pusher. The response sort of took you aback. Your grandma always had a loyal clientele. Did you sound insincere?
“Let me know if you need anything.”
“Alright,” Pope rasped, watching as you passed him, his eyes glancing at your ass.
He wasn’t used to this sort of space, especially because his mom did his laundry for him, not to mention the clothes provided while he was in prison. He scrolled through his phone, skimming articles about recent fossil discoveries and animals that were at risk of extinction, his fixation.
The low rhythm of the music played in the background while you collected change from the drawers of the laundry machines, the clatter of the coins ringing in the metal bucket. It was quiet, yet somewhat comfortable. You’d be doing your usual tasks while the man sat there silent.
This went on like this for a while, every other week with him either coming in with a stereotypical hamper or a sneaky duffel bag full of stained clothes, shoving them in the washer. One day, he came up to you, mentioning that the quarter machine was out, needing to resupply his basket.
“You’re out of quarters,” his head slightly tilting while he spoke.
“Shit, sorry,” you said as you made your way to the locked storage closet where you kept the neatly rolled coins, fumbling with the little cardboard tubes. “Day got away from me.”
“S’okay,” he said, his fingers slightly brushing yours when he took the change. “Thanks.”
“Y-yeah,” you stuttered. “No problem.”
Y
You started taking notes of his schedule. On days he came in, he noticed how you were wearing tighter jeans than usual, maybe even a crop top or a lighter shirt that would show off your bralette.
You were working on one of the dryers one night when Pope sauntered in. A deep sigh leaves your chest while you screwed around on the bare bones of the machine. As usual, he tossed his clothes in before making his way over.
“What’s wrong with it?” Pope asked.
“Dunno,” a heavy breath escaping your chest. “I’m trying to figure it out, and our service guy is on vacation with his kid till Monday.”
“I could fix it, y’know?” Pope mentioned, his hands tucked in his pockets. “Kinda have a knack for these things.”
“Really?” your big eyes looking up at him. “You’d be doing a huge favor for me.”
“Yeah, no problem,” his gruff voice filled the empty space between you two. “I’m Andrew, by the way, sorry I’ve never introduced myself.”
“It’s alright,” you smirked, heat creeping into your cheeks. “Nice to meet you.”
You stepped away while he squatted down beside the toolbox, you filling the vending machines with products while he worked. It was almost domestic, the way he was servicing the machine while he was alone with you. He packed up the tools before swiping the debris from his hands.
“It’s fixed.”
His rough voice made you look over the row of machines. You bounced over, turning on the machine, nodding with approval at his handiwork. You pulled him into a hug suddenly, his hands freezing, hovering at your sides.
“Andrew! You’re amazing.”
“Don’t mention it.”
He started to linger well after the buzz from the dryer rang throughout the mat. Pope always troubleshooting multiple projects around the place, changing light bulbs, clearing the jam in the vending machine, and even taking care of the leaky faucet in the bathroom.
He would stare at you while you worked, constantly shaking your ass to the music that came from the speakers. He'd slightly smirk, slowly getting used to the homely feeling, a deep want forming in the bottom of his belly.
He imagined how it would be, how he could get away from Smurf's jobs forever and live this quiet life with you. He pictured himself coming in at ten o'clock at night, two coffees in hand, setting them down on top of the counter while his hand snaked around your hip and pressed a kiss to your temple. It would always end with him taking you out to breakfast while the sun peeked from beyond the horizon.
He shook his head from the daydreams, snapping the panel back onto the frame of the fluorescent light.
"Thanks, Andy," you smiled up at him while he stood strong on the ladder. "I really appreciate it."
"Yeah," his mouth twitched, hiding a smile. "No problem."
He tucked the ladder away in the closet, shutting the door and staring at the wall for a moment, contemplating the next words that tumbled out of his mouth.
"H-Hey," his hoarse voice making your ears prick up. "Do you wanna get coffee? Like after you're done here."
"Oh, um," you stood there briefly as you checked the clock on the wall, chuckling lightly in disbelief. "Yeah, I would like that."
He folded his clothes neatly while you finished cleaning up for the day. Once you locked up the janitor closet, you turned to Pope, the laundry basket resting against his hip.
"Ready?" Pope asked, a smug smile on his face.
"I'm ready," you said, beaming up at him while you walked beside him.
He loaded the backseat of his truck with the basket before opening the passenger door for you, his eyes briefly glancing at the swell of your ass while you stepped into the cab. Once Pope ensured you were comfortable, he hopped into the driver's side, turning over the engine before shifting the gear into reverse, his strong arm stretching along the back of your headrest. You could feel your pulse pick up speed, his heat and cologne overwhelming your senses. It was enough to make your cheeks flush and clench your thighs together.
He drives you to a coffee shop that's along the beach. It was beautiful, hearing the seagulls sing their song while the billows danced along the shore. He put his truck in park, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before treading to your side of the vehicle.
Pope offered his hand to you as you stepped out of the truck, and you kindly placed your hand in his. Once you were on solid ground, he released your hand, unsure of the contact. You peeped up at him, his face and ears turning crimson. You interlaced your fingers with his once again, and he glanced at the connection, then you, trying to interpret the intention behind the movement. You slightly tilted your head, chuckling at how he was looking at you in utter shock.
"You can hold my hand," you grinned. "I don't bite, you should know that."
"I-I know," he garbled out, rattled by the unexpected affection. "Just surprised is all."
"Don't be," you reassured.
Hand in hand, you both walked towards the coffee shop, only breaking apart for him to open the door for you. His palm hovered over the small of your back while you waltzed in, the warmth from your body radiating across his calloused fingers.
"What can I get you both?" the barista asked.
"I'll just take a latte, thanks."
Pope glanced at you, then back to the barista. His mind totally blanked at the fact that he was here, with you, on a date he presumed was a date. His eyes dropped to how your fingers were intertwined with his own.
"Uh," he paused. "I'll do the same."
You were in the middle of pulling your wallet out of your purse when he swiped his card. Your brows pulling together, giving him a look.
"It's on me."
Pope waited at the counter for the drinks while you found a table by the window, cars passing by on their early morning commutes. His eyes were set on you, watching as your eyes flicked as the cars drove by while you twiddled your thumbs. He picked up the two piping hot cups, not even reacting to the burn that was spreading into the skin of his palms. He set the cup in front of you before settling into his seat, silent for a minute until you spoke up.
"This is nice," you said casually. Pope just stared at you; this feeling was totally normal to you, yet a completely new experience for him. His multi-colored eyes bored into you, his head somewhat tipping to the side.
"Yeah," his response came out rough. "I just thought, y'know."
His mouth twitched to the side, briefly looking out the window before his eyes returned to yours.
"You deserve this, something nice."
You felt your cheeks flush, taking a moment to take a sip from your coffee, trying to hide how flustered you were. Your embarrassed expression made Pope smirk, his tense figure physically relaxing, knowing he could get a reaction like that out of you.
You chatted, giving him the history of your family and the storefront. He was an active listener, always leaning into your words, his steady eye contact almost making you feel overwhelmed.
When you asked about his family, Pope shifted in his seat, fidgeting as he contemplated the question. Your words sank into the background, constant conversations filling the café among the silence between the two of you.
"You don't wanna know," he answered.
Your brows knitted together, losing yourself in thought. You found yourself thinking about the multiple nights he came in with his duffel bag, blood dotting his sleeves. You came to a conclusion then, deciding not to proceed any further. You reached across the table and held his hand.
"I don't want you to share anything you're not comfortable telling me, yeah?" you said as your thumb stroked along his fingers. "Can I know some of your hobbies at least?"
"I like skateboarding," he began, his hand squeezing yours out of instinct, looking down at his cold coffee. "I also like watching animal documentaries, I dunno. I find them interesting."
"Hey," your voice making Pope look up at you. "I like animals, I love going to the zoo. Maybe that can be our next date?"
You studied Pope as he processed the idea, his mind racing at the proposition. This was a date, an actual date. He was used to rejection, never earning someone's trust or love. It hurt, yet he was all too familiar with the feeling. Your admiration was something totally foreign to him.
His hands squeezed into a fist, so anxious about fucking this up. He wanted to keep you distant, away from his mom, his brothers, even his nephew. He knew it would be difficult to protect you, yet he wanted to do everything he could to shield you from the trauma, the unchanging bullshit. He stood up, uncomfortable at the swelling feeling in his tummy.
"I'll take you back," he gritted out, jingling his car keys.
"Did I say something wrong?" you asked, the concerned expression making Pope's heart tighten at your words. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"It's fine."
You hurt him, you must've. It made you sick to your stomach, the unsettling feelings bubbling deep within you. You didn't want to cause harm; you never did. Pope reassured you with a gentle press of his palm to your thigh, a short look shared between you two. He analyzed your wound expression, your face tight in thought. It made his own heart ache.
"You didn't do anything wrong," Pope comforted. "Okay?"
"You sure?" you questioned, your large eyes holding onto his. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable—"
"You didn't do anything."
Your gaze bounced between him and his hand on your thigh, his fingers barely digging into the flesh. It was pure consolation; you never did anything wrong. It was him, scared to be bare and vulnerable before you.
He pulled up to the storefront, his hand once again helping you step out of the cab of his truck, and he was even so bold as to place a kiss on your knuckles. The store was empty when you both marched up to the double doors, you drawing his hands onto your hips, his palms a little sweaty. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, your face cast in a pink hue at the early dawn.
"I had a good time, maybe we can do this again," your pupils dilated, your lips curving into a smile.
"Sure," Pope nodded. "Yeah."
He was terrified, afraid that Smurf would somehow swindle you into selling the laundromat to her just so she could clean her dirty cash. Pope knew that as long as he was alive, he would never let that happen; he was like a damn guard dog.
When he didn't need to do laundry, he wouldn't even step foot into the building, afraid to freak you out with his obsession for you. His truck would be parked across the street, windows down, his attentive gaze being placed on the storefront. His gun dug into his lower back, uncomfortable, yet a constant reminder that he was there to defend you the minute something went wrong.
It continued like this for a while, when Pope came in, he always brought you coffee from the same café where you shared your first date. It didn't matter if he was running late from a job, or sitting there with you till the shop opened, he usually had two coffees in tow. Even though you knew nothing about his family, you became well acquainted with Pope and his consistent routine.
You'd be sitting on the washing machine, the place completely empty as he loaded his clothes into the dryer. Once he started the machine, he'd pat your thigh, shifting over to allow him to put in another load into the washer. He'd stand between your legs, his palms settling along the muscle of your thighs. His rough hands mashed into your flesh as you laid your hands on his cheeks, yanking him into a deep kiss.
This was typical, him making out with you on top of the bobbing machines. No words being exchanged, just hot swirls of salvia running back and forth along your tongues. It was adorable how he didn't talk much, just intimate sounds balancing with the concealed noises of traffic.
It felt comfortable to Pope; he was never good with words. If he could talk less, the better. You assumed enough about his life, his background; no more questions needed. You didn't care either, if he was a felon or worse, you'd take him as he was.
Which you did, making him all the more vulnerable in front of you. He didn't like being interrogated; he just wanted to focus on the girl before him. You were his everything; he would do anything to preserve you from his tainted lifestyle.
So when you held his hand as you trailed through the zoo, or even took him to the aquarium. His eyes were all big while he took in the large creatures before him, while your heart squeezed at the beautiful sight, the wrinkles around his eyes unwinding. The dates were quiet, no talk of any stresses that were plaguing your lives, just concentrated on each other.
He felt at home here, in the laundromat, while fixing things around the building for you. It was steady, something he always longed for. You smiled into his mouth, his lips dancing across yours, his hands digging into the plush of your hips.
You hadn't been fully intimate with Pope yet; he was always hesitant, especially when diving into something new and fresh. Something that could easily fail and be ruined. His fat cock drove into the vibrating machine, making him all the more pent up for you, his hands gripping onto you. The unbalanced load shook at the back of your thighs, your hands lingering along his strong shoulders.
It got hot, you hopping off the lid of the washer, his lips loitering along the expanse of your neck. His breath raked over your prickled neck, him awaiting your next move. Your hands slid below the hem of his shirt when your lips met his again, scratching your nails along his solid middle. The abrupt pauses made Pope falter, trying to follow your lips for another kiss.
"Just a minute," you panted, twisting the lock on the door and flicking off the lights.
"I thought this was a twenty-four-hour business," Pope griped.
"When you're here, it's not."
Your mouth reverted to his own, your hands unbuttoning the lavender fabric that decorated his torso, shrugging the garment off his shoulders, and throwing it to the floor. He did the same, undressing you of your top before fumbling with the clasps at your bra, him so caught up in how your mouth moved that he couldn't remove the undergarment. You giggled as you brought your hands to meet his, undoing the clasps to where your breasts were set free.
The moment your chest was bare, he palmed the soft flesh, groaning as he squeezed your tits. A sigh released from your lips, moaning at his touch as he placed you back onto the unsteady machine. He laced kisses along the stretch of your sternum, him starting to feel confident at how you bent at every touch. Your back arched into his rough palm, showing off your chest even more. You scratched at the nape of his neck, a suppressed groan quivering through the center of your breasts.
He was completely intoxicated at the sight of you, how your perfume consumed his nostrils while your touch teased him even more. His length struggled against the coarseness of his jeans, the inches of his hard-on lying against your inner thigh. You drag his bare chest closer to you, enough for his rigid member to scrape your center. The wetness pooled into your underwear, the slickness between your folds almost becoming unbearable.
You took his wrist into your grasp, sneaking his fingers below the band of your jeans. He was reluctant at first, his digits resting on the slight curve of your abdomen. You pulled his hand further into your pants, his fingers finally finding the drenched spot among the fabric of your underwear. His fingers encircled your clothed clit, his movements somewhat reluctant.
"It's okay," you whispered, your breath spreading across his cheeks. "S'okay."
"Okay," Pope agreed. "This feels good?"
"Yeah," you whimpered.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Okay."
He continued, his fingers toying with your bud, examining every subtle change in your expression. He tugged down the zipper of your jeans, his one hand undoing the button, allowing for more motion from his fingers.
"Andrew," you mewled. "I need you inside of me."
"How do you mean?" he asked, unsure of how to approach you like this.
"I need you in any way, please," you mumbled. "Touch me in any way you can."
His digits hauled the fabric to the side, sliding between your slick folds before one finger shoved into the tight barriers. Your moans bouncing off the abandoned walls, your hips grinding into his hand. The moves of his fingers were incessant, curling into your sweet spot.
"Andrew," you groaned.
"Yeah?"
"I need more," you breathed. "Need another finger."
"You mean it?"
"Just do it already," you hushed.
His middle finger rammed into your soaked walls at your demand, your sopping center meeting his hand. The machine trembled below you, working the movements even deeper into your center. It felt good, so good that you whined against Pope's lips. The sound was so pretty that he couldn't take it anymore, his hands frantically unbuttoning the button of his jeans.
His cock sprang free, his hand palming along the inches while he held you steady on the quivering machine. He combed his member, the milky liquid seeping from the head. He kept watching you, your brows tensing as your pupils grew large. You held onto his tense shoulder, meeting his eyes. Your jaw hung slack, him watching how your hand circled below the hem of your jeans. You had found yourself in this position countless times before, masturbating in front of him to where you both got off. However, you wanted him tonight.
"Andy?"
"Yeah, sweetheart?" his voice wavering at the pet name.
"I need you inside of me," you whispered along the hollow of his throat.
"Fuck," he hissed, his hand still fisting the hardened inches. "You sure?"
"More," you moaned. "More than sure."
Your hips lifted as he pulled off your jeans and underwear, leaving you naked in front of him. He fiddled with his wallet that was kept in the pocket of his jeans, releasing the condom from the pocket. He encased his length in the latex, pressing the head inside of you. Your tightness made him grunt, pulsing the tip in and out of you. Your barriers relinquished, drawing him further into you.
Tears spewed along his eyelids, him never feeling this way before about someone. The rumbling feeling inside of him was unbearable, his hips sluggishly rutting into you. It felt good, his length twitching along your insides while the laundry machine wavered.
His member continued to beat into you, your knees clenching together as his hips grind into you. He took his calloused palm and opened your legs, watching how his length drove into you, your velvety folds fluttering against his movements.
He was muted, memorizing every bend of your spine, every graze of your clit along his cock. Sickening as it was, he loved seeing your seeping silk around his member. The delicate thrums of the machine hummed in your ears all while he thrust into you, his fingertips pressed against your clit. The pulsing metal against your ass drew you closer to your orgasm, making the stirring movements of his hand harder to control.
"What are you doing?" you questioned. "Keep going."
"M'sorry."
His hips persisted into you, steadily stirring into your insides. Your walls gripped onto his inches, the veins of his cock pulsating while you wagged on top of the machine. You tightened around him, damn near bringing him to the edge.
"Andrew, let go for me, please."
When you fell apart, he couldn't help but meet you on your level. His body physically shook at the sensation of your cunt seizing around him. It brought him to his climax, thick ropes adorning the lining of the latex. Pope continued to pump his hips into you, his balls tensing at your grasping walls.
His forehead rested against yours, both of you panting as he stilled inside of you. His softening cock remained inside of you, terrified to go back to what it was like without you around him.
I really loved this! I ate it up so quickly and this was seriously so sweet! I just know they're going to have the happiest life filled with lots of love.
Their dynamic was really nice! I enjoyed seeing how it grew as they became more comfortable and familiar with each other and then developed into having a more domestic vibe.
I really wanted to shout out that I think you characterised Andrew so well! You really captured his awkwardness, mannerisms and his speaking mannerisms with his dialogue. It all felt very true to his character!
Also, I loved that sentence about his current fixation being on animals near extinction - YOU GET HIM!!! I love when his animal special interests pop up in fics, it's cool to see that part of his personality being included. And I think it's cool that you found a way to do it outside of just him watching documentaries.
Thinking of the idea of Pope with a Reader who rescues a cat. He doesn’t like the idea of them walking on counters or the concept of a literbox. But the kitty decides Pope is the best cuddle buddy
(Love this 100% has absolutely nothing to do with the black fur ball that’s currently on my lap)
pope w a kitten is soooooo ughhhh i love him i need him
warnings: mostly fluff, brief meantion of sex idk
ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ
you brought home a kitten that you found on the strand, soaking wet with sea water, flea ridden, and meowing for his mama.
now you knew what andrew would say “that thing probably has a bunch of diseases.” but your were hoping you could change his mind.
thankfully he was out on a job, giving you the entire day to wash, comb, and deworm the sweet kitten.
andrew finally made his way to your shared home, the kitten had been tucked away snoozing in your shared bed.
andrew walked in, his gait heavy. you could tell he was upset. you walked over to him in the front room and placed both hands on his biceps and squeezed, then ran then up to the back of his neck. you gave him a deep kiss.
“hi baby,” you whispered.
“thought about you the entire time. distracted me.”
you giggled. he moved to sit on the couch, pulling you into his lap. you ran your hands into his curls. his broad form enveloped you. you continued to lazy lap you lips over his. when his hands moved from your hips under your shirt, you remembered your true mission.
“andy baby, don’t be mad.” his eyes widened.
“wait ! wait ! not like that. don’t panic.” he was still tense.
“it’s just… i um… theresakitteninourbedroom.” you said nervously.
“what? you gotta speak slower baby, you know i can’t hear when you mumble.”
“there’s a kitten in our bedroom.” you sheepishly smiled.
“no.” his response was immediate.
“baby-“
“no.”
at that, he quickly stood up, taking you with him in his arms and march his way into the bedroom. you yelped and held on to the back of his neck.
when he opened the door he was met with a small black dot occupying the center of the large white bedspread. the kitten looked up at the disruption. blue eyes wide and curious. there was a small mew. andrew dropped you into the bed and you moved to pick up the baby.
“he doesn’t have a name, im actually not even sure it’s a boy. but he needs a home. and he’s already accepted me as his mama so i can’t just abandon him.” you explained
you knew you would get your way eventually. but you also knew pope couldn’t say no when you said,
“please, andy.” with you biggest puppy dog eyes and a small jut of your lip.
he let out a sigh. “fine. but you’re taking care of it.”
you let out a squeal and gently out the cat down to jump back into andrew’s arms. you pressed kisses all over his face and in between kisses muttering
“thankyouthankyouthankyou !”
you only stopped pressing kisses to his face to pull back and look into his eyes and say,
“i’m gonna suck you the fuck off tonight.” in the most serious tone he’s heard you say since that day you yelled at smurf.
while you may be taking care of the kitten in the way of playing with him, snuggling him, and feeding him, andrew made the vet appointments, saying that he should be there to ask the right questions. andrew cleans the litter box because he insists that you don’t do it right, and andrew even names the kitten, ferris from his favorite movie you guys watch together.
he insists that he is not the cats owner, and that he doesn’t care for the cat. but you know better. you come home to seeing ferris being fed a churu ir sleeping on andrew while he sits stick straight and watches a documentary.
one day, you come out of the shower to andrew sitting on the bed with ferris in his lap, reading a book with his glasses on. you giggled at the sight. he looks up at you and beckons you to come over. you lay next to him with your head by ferris, giving him small pets on the chin.
“you’re such a good daddy andy. love you s’much” you mumbled before drifting off to sleep.
hii, congrats on 500 🎉✨ i’d like to claim “only one bed” on the bingo board with pope cody x f!reader! maybe reader is doing a heist of some sort with the codys and pope doesn't trust her (but there's a lot of tension between him and reader)…. they're assigned to a recon mission together or they run together after the heist?? and anyway they end up in a shady motel, very tired… but oh no!! there's only one bed 😔 (i hope this inspires you something, tysm <3)
Only One Bed (No Sleep Edition)
andrew cody x f!reader
black out bingo masterlist | main masterlist
w.c. 3.3 k
Warnings: pope is weird, criminal!reader, robbery gone wrong, a smidge of gun play (not during the sex), only one bed omg, unprotected sex, cum eating, aftercare
A/N: i wrote this while recovering from a biopsy and after a xanax-induced nap so im sorry if it doesnt make sense and it kinda sucks <3
“Why can’t you do it?” You asked as you pushed the eggs around on your plate. You had been driving the 101 for a few days, coming back home to Oceanside after working a few robberies along the coast. You and your sister had a good gig. You were ‘hostages for hire,’ actresses who would be involved with heists to prevent the criminals from getting caught. You’d sob, snotty and ugly, begging and pleading for the bank managers to just do whatever the bad men said so they wouldn’t unload their gun into your head. And you’d leave the bank with them, collateral so that no one would follow you. Then, they’d drop you off on a corner somewhere with a wad of cash and a professional nod. And your mother always said those acting lessons were a waste of money.
“Jerry has a scheduling conflict.” Your sister explained.
“Fucking Jerry.” You scoffed around your bite of breakfast. You watched a car drive past the diner window and switched which hand held the phone to your ear.
“Hey,” She warned, “It’s not a bad job, alright? Simple jewelry store robbery.”
“When has a Cody job ever been simple?” Never.
“Just do it..please? We need to stay in their employment.” You drank from your coffee mug.
“They don’t like me.” You said softly. It wasn’t untrue. You had worked with the Codys once several years prior. The job went fine, you did your duty, but one of the sons just kept looking at you during the planning and the meetings and even during the getaway drive. Pope, you learned, had a staring problem. After that, they only called your sister for their needs. You had conflicting feelings about it. On one hand, you felt a bit jilted. Your sister made good money working for them, and you were cut out because…well, that was the thing- you had no idea what you did wrong. You had asked her once, why they preferred her. She said something about them not trusting you around Pope. Which you took to mean that they didn’t trust you. Pope always made you a little uncomfortable with his intensity, and you were sure he wasn’t exactly fond of you. He always treated you as an outsider. That was the other thing. You weren’t going to force yourself into a space that you clearly were not welcome in. And you didn’t mind not being next to that creep.
“That’s not true.” Your sister countered. But it was weak. You heard her sigh on the other end of the phone. “Dude, please. I’m asking this as a favor, okay? Officially.” Your eyebrows raised with interest. A favor from your sister was valuable. She was the kind of person who did not offer those lightly. She would literally do anything. So, after draining the rest of your coffee, you sighed.
“Yea, alright. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
---------
“We don’t bring in outsiders.” Pope’s mouth was in a hard line, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. His brow was heavy over his eyes and his nostrils were flared. Craig ran a hand through his hair before leaning closer to his brother. You could tell he was getting irritated.
“They’re our only option, okay?” Craig hissed, jaw clenched. “We need drivers.”
“Why can’t I drive?” Pope tilted his head and Craig took a deep breath.
“You know why.” His voice dropped a few notches. And they exchanged a look, the true meaning of which was lost on you. But you gathered that, the last time Pope had been the getaway driver, something had happened. After a few moments of silence, Craig huffed and pushed himself up from the table. The chair screeched on the concrete patio. “I’ll get them caught up on details.” With that, he stomped away, leaving just you and Pope at the iron outdoor table. You could feel the design of the chair digging into your thighs. When you stood up, you’d have an imprint of flowers splashing across your legs. Pope’s gaze landed heavy on you. Searing. Intrusive.
“Why are you here? Where’s your sister?” He bit out, gravelly voice catching on each syllable. You pushed down the annoyed scoff that threatened to spill from your mouth.
“Scheduling conflict.” You tried to make your tone amicable, but you weren’t sure if you succeeded. Pope just blinked in acknowledgment. “Do you-” But Pope didn’t hear the rest of your question. He was already walking back to the house. You rolled your eyes and shook your head.
---------
The job began as normal. You walked in thirty minutes before the planned time, scanning the jewelry display cases. One of the workers came over after a few moments, asking if he could help you. You told your story, how you were looking to get your mom a necklace for her birthday. A realistic story that was forgettable. He was about to take out a cushion of golden pendants when the door slammed open. Craig, Pope, and Deran stormed into the shop, guns up and shouting demands. You let adrenaline crash over your nerves and your legs began to shake. You gave a scared look to the counter clerk, who looked on the verge of tears. You moved to escape, but a strong arm curled around your stomach. It pulled you back into a broad chest. You flinched with the force of it. His grip was a little tighter than you were expecting and you wriggled against him, but he didn’t budge. His thumb brushed the underside of your breast. Fucking Craig and his handsy-
“You press that panic button, I’ll kill ‘er.” The rough voice was right next to your ear. That…wasn’t Craig. It was Pope. Genuine confusion made your performance more believable. The plan was for Craig to take the lead with you as hostage. They changed it without consulting you. But you didn’t have time to think too hard about it. You had a job. The tears came easily.
“P-Please,” You begged the clerk, whose gaze snapped from the gun Pope held, to your wet eyes. “Please don’t let him hurt me.” The clerk nodded frantically and stepped back from the counter. Pope jerked his head to the side, motioning for the man to join the rest of the people in the store lying on their bellies. Pope watched as he moved, pulling you in a semi-circle so that you could both survey the scene. Craig was circling the pile of patrons on the ground while Deran supervised the manager filling up the bag with the diamonds. Your breathing was uneven. Not just because of the performance you were putting on, but because of Pope’s hand, which was starting to slide further down your stomach. An innocent repositioning. So you hoped, anyway. You shifted against him and he huffed in your ear, just low enough that only you could hear.
“Stop squirmin’.” Just to spite him, you thrashed again. Your ass glided against his thigh and a sound purged from Pope’s throat. An annoyed grunt, perhaps. You couldn’t decipher it. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of the patrons squirm on the ground. You sneakily dug your fingers into Pope’s arm, gesturing with your eyes to where he was slowly moving his hand to his ankle. And then people started to scream.
It all happened so fast. The man pulled a gun from his boot and jumped to his feet, aiming for Craig. Pope called out to his brother, who whirled around and shot the guy before he could fire. Unfortunately, the man was standing right in front of you and the gunshot splattered blood all over you and Pope. Horrified shrieks cut through the atmosphere. Deran ripped the bag from the manager and called for everyone to go. Pope dragged him along with you, kicking and screaming. He paused for a moment before exiting the building, turning to face the crowd. His thumb pulled back the hammer. The click sent a shiver down your spine that settled in your belly. Not all of it was fear. But you weren’t going to unpack that. “Anyone follows us, you know what happens.” He threatened. And then, the thick back door closed behind him.
Craig should have listened to Pope. He should not have brought in outside drivers. Because the car was already driving away with Craig and Deran in the back seat. You and Pope had to just stand there, watching the van tear away into the street.
“Oh, fuck.” You gasped. Pope still had a grip on you, but he tucked the gun into his waistband. From inside the building, you heard the alarm. Great. You looked to Pope, whose eyes were trained on where the van turned onto a different street. His jaw twitched and his eyes flicked around, calculating the next best move. He huffed and grabbed your wrist, pulling you into a jog. “Where are we going?” You asked, struggling to keep up with his pace. Pope didn’t answer, just kept moving.
---------
The motel was run-down. With maybe three cars in the parking lot and leaves floating in the pool. Pope had deposited you on the curb while he went in to talk to the owner. You watched a pair of crows fight over a moldy bagel. The sky was getting darker with each passing moment. The door behind you jingled and Pope emerged, room key closed tightly in their fist.
“He said we could stay the night.” He said plainly, gesturing for you to stand.
“Why do we have to stay? Can’t we just find a way home?”
“I don’t have a phone on me, and it’s best to lie low. We can get home tomorrow. Come on.” You rolled your eyes but followed. You figured he had a better grasp on the necessities of this kind of situation than you did. When Pope unlocked the door to the room, you genuinely let out a laugh.
“You cannot be serious.” The room was dingy, peeling wallpaper and green carpet lit by a half-dead lamp. But the worst part about it was there was a single queen bed in the center. “One bed?” You looked at him with disdain. He just shrugged, but you noticed the vein in his neck pulsing harder.
“It’s all he had.”
“Really?” You sneered, pointing to the empty parking lot. “You believed that?” Pope grumbled and roughly shoved you inside the room before shutting the door and locking it. You stood there for a moment as Pope slid past you, hurrying to the sink to immediately wash his hands. You flopped onto the bed, but Pope snapped his fingers at you.
“Get up.” He ordered. You were on your feet instantly, arms behind you, and looking with horror at the comforter.
“Why?” You gasped, trying to see what the issue was. “What’s wrong?” When you looked back up, Pope had shed his sweatshirt and was pushing his jeans down to the ground. “Uh….” you couldn’t think of anything else to say. Not when there was a big, bulky man (that you always found a little attractive) in his underwear standing in front of you.
“Take off your clothes.” He said it clinically, like he was telling you to put away the dishes.
“I’m sorry, what?” You scoffed. “No, I’m…no, Pope, I’m not undressing in front of you.” Pope rolled his eyes as if you were being unreasonably difficult.
“We have to ditch our clothes.” He gestured at you. “They have blood on them.” You looked down at your outfit. Sure enough, the man’s blood was splashed across your abdomen and thighs. Heat rose to your cheeks. Fuck. He was right. You knew he was. “I’ll look away,” he promised, and turned to face the wall. You just stood there for a few moments, staring at his curled head. “Are you done?”
“No!” You almost laughed. “I’m not doing it! I…I don’t have anything to change into.” Your words were soft. Without hesitating, Pope pulled his shirt over his head. You ignored the way your heart kicked when his bare torso was revealed. Freckled skin pulled taught over hard muscle. He held out the shirt to you.
“We’ll get you some new clothes when we get back tomorrow,” He rasped, nodding at you to take the shirt. “You can wear this. It doesn’t have blood on it.” When you tentatively grabbed the fabric, he found a trashbag and shoved his jeans and sweatshirt into it. You sighed in resignation and began to undress. You took off your shoes, unbuckled your pants, and replaced your shirt with Pope’s.
“Alright,” You told him, balling up the clothing and putting it in the bag when he held it out to you. Pope’s eyes flicked down for only a moment. His gaze moved from the sliver of underwear visible by your hips down to your socks. Both articles were covered in little strawberries.
“You’re matching.” Pope said simply. In that stupid monotone voice you could never decipher. Your nose wrinkled in annoyance.
“Shut up,” You bit back, but the heat in your cheeks spread even further with each passing moment. You hurried to one side of the bed and crawled under the covers. Not only because you were ready to sleep, but because you didn’t want to spend another moment under Pope’s assessing gaze.
You patted the side of the bed that was still made, gesturing for Pope to sit. Instead, he looked at the chair in the corner of the room. His fist clenched and unclenched, fingers twitching nervously as his eyes flicked from the torn upholstery to the dark stain that covered half the cushion. He sighed and walked to the wall, pressing his back against it and sliding to sit on the carpet. He pulled his knees tight against his chest. Your gaze lowered.
“Listen,” You sighed, “I know you don’t like me or trust me, or whatever, but-”
“Who said that?” Pope asked, brow furrowed and mouth pinched. You tilted your head in confusion.
“Craig. He said they didn’t trust me around you.” Pope’s nostrils flared with a deep breath and his gaze lifted to look out the window.
“I’m sorry if I ever gave you the impression that I’m dangerous. I would never hurt you.” In fact, you doubted you could hurt him even if you tried. You knew his reputation.
“I know.”
“So will you please just get in the bed? It’s a queen. It’ll be fine. And cleaner than sitting all night on a carpet that hasn’t been cleaned in…who knows how long. At least the sheets are fresh-ish.” Pope’s lips quirked to the side. It took a few heartbeats, but he cautiously climbed into the bed, on top of the covers, and sat with his back straight against the headboard. He pressed his hands together and rested them in his lap. His bare chest rose and fell calmly. He forced his eyes to stare at the wall across the room.
The exhaustion of the day settled over you and it was officially night outside. You shimmied down into the bed further and pulled the covers over your shoulders. You muttered a g’night and closed your eyes. Several minutes passed, filled with the steady hum of the air conditioning and the occasional whoosh of a passing car.
“It’s not that they don’t trust you.” His voice was quiet and you were so close to sleep you almost didn’t hear it.
“What?” You murmured groggily.
“Before,” He continued, watching you as you pushed yourself up to look at him. “You said Craig didn’t trust you around me.” You nodded. “But that’s not true.”
“What are you talking about, Pope?” You were tired, just wanted to sleep. You didn’t have the energy for his little games.
“They don’t trust me around you.” His eyes darkened and it made your throat go dry.
“W…Why not?” You squeaked out. The beginning traces of panic began to pump your heart. Pope remained still, heavy gaze becoming a touch more sinister.
“Because I’d do this.” He leaned forward, pressing his mouth against yours. You inhaled sharply with surprise. The kiss wasn’t rough. In fact, it was little more than his lips simply resting on yours. Pope pulled back after a few heartbeats. He just looked at you. You blinked at him, jaw slack. He worked the muscle in his jaw as he waited for your response, fingers neatly intertwined with each other and resting on his stomach. And just before his face fell with disappointment, you grabbed his cheeks and pulled him back to you. The second kiss was sloppier, clashes of teeth and tongue as you tried to find a rhythm. But it wasn’t long before Pope was resting his weight on top of you, licking into your mouth and only parting for breath and to take off your shirt. You shimmied off your underwear and tossed them to the side. You were so lost in the kiss, you didn’t realize he had taken off his boxers until you felt the hot skin of his head poking at your entrance.
“Is this okay?” He breathed, nose slotted beside yours.
“Please,” You nodded eagerly. “So wet for you. Need you so bad.”
The first roll of his hips punched the air out of your lungs with a breathy moan. The thick length of him pressed against each and every one of your nerve endings, flooding your body with searing pleasure. Your nails dug into the meat of his shoulders as Pope paused to give you time to adjust.
“F-Fuck!” You gasped, eyes wide, “You’re…You’re so big.”
“I know, m’sorry,” He apologized between kisses along your jaw line. “Let me know if it’s too much.” After a few moments and several deep breaths, Pope began to move again. Each thrust sent sparks up your spine. Your toes went numb every time his cock found the most sensitive spot inside you. You were mewling, whimpering, begging for something you couldn't verbalize. And the entire time, Pope held himself up, hands planted on either side of your head, and just stared at you unblinking with his bottom lip caught in his teeth. His abdomen rolled, pulling his cock out of you and then pressing back in with a rhythm that made you see stars. Your arousal matted both of your pubic hair and you saw sweat began to slip down the inside of Pope’s arms from his exertion. One of Pope’s fingers came up to nudge your clit. “Cu…Please cum f’me.” He whispered, rubbing tight circles that had your walls fluttering around him. It didn’t take long for the hot band to snap in your abdomen. You arched into him, cumming with a cry of his name. As you spasmed around him, the lock of his eyes began to falter. His lids fluttered as you gripped him impossibly hard, short breaths pitching upwards into moans. When you rode out your orgasm, he abruptly pulled out, tugging on his dick twice before ropes of cum splashed onto your chest. Pope watched each twitch of his spent cock with half-lidded eyes and a heaving chest. Your head fell back and your eyes closed, trying to regulate your breathing. But you gasped when you felt Pope’s wet tongue drag across your breasts. Your eyes opened, watching as he lapped his spend from your smooth skin. He paused every now and again to suck on your still-hardened nipples, earning a quiet whimper of overstimulation in return. When you were deemed sufficiently clean, Pope pressed a kiss to your sweaty forehead and climbed off you. He tucked one arm beneath the crook of your knees and one around your back. He carried you into the bathroom and started the shower. As the warm water kissed your skin, he murmured in your ear.
“That’s why they didn’t trust me around you.” He said, kissing along the damp ridge of your shoulder. “They know I like you too much.”
Omg enjoyed this so much! But seriously the tension was sooooo well written! You absolutely nailed the trope of he "hates" you (he's down bad and is just weird) so well.
Also, reading your author's note! I'm so sorry, I hope you've been getting some good rest and are doing well. Sounds like a tough time, I have my fingers crossed that everything is okay with the biopsy! 💚
Pairing: Titus Danforth x f!reader and Ursula x f!reader
Words: 3k
CW: explicit sexual content, nsfw, 18+, mdni
Tags/warnings: the Danforth's being weird af, power imbalance, escort!reader, Ursula being controlling, Titus being a perv, smoking, sex work, voyeurism (both Titus and Ursula watch the other with you), oral (m and f receiving), lowkey D/s dynamics, dom!mommy!Ursula, sub!reader and a little inkling of sub!Titus (you'll get it when you read it), impulse control, dry humping, teasing, reader is a little mean, unprotected piv sex, breeding kink (duh)
Summary: In which Ursula hires you for the week to...satisfy her and Titus becomes obsessed with having you too.
a/n: fair warning, this one's...not for everyone.
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.
Titus has never considered himself a patient man.
In fact, he's the complete opposite of it. Proudly so.
He's never had to want for anything, for anyone. He wants something? He buys it. He wants someone? He gets them.
He's used to taking.
It's easy, straightforward, especially when he has the funds for it.
But as he stares across the room at you, engaged in conversation with his father, body hidden away in a very conservative cocktail dress, he's certain if he holds himself back any longer he's going to burst.
Unfortunately for him, Ursula made sure to stake her claim the second you arrived at the Lodge and graced him with your dazzling smile for the first time.
Titus was certain he'd seen all the beauty the world has to over. It belongs to him, actually.
But there's something about you that he can't quite figure out, something that grabbed a hold of him and refused to let go, to let him breathe.
You're here for her.
You are...off limits.
This time, he can't just take.
If he wants you, he's going to have to beg.
The first time he accidentally runs into you after you've arrived, you're in the guest room unpacking. You have a habit of leaving doors ajar, just open enough for him to be able to peek through.
And he does. He's not about to miss any opportunity to ogle.
With your suitcase open on the bed, you pull out countless pieces of lingerie, all varying shades of red, Ursula (and his) favorite color.
His sister calls you from the ensuite bathroom and you quickly follow her voice, leaving the lacy, see through pieces on the bed.
He doesn't even think, he just does, feet moving before he can even think to stop.
Not that he would anyway.
He begins to inspect your panties, one by one. He barely tries to fight the urge to bring them up to his nose, ultimately inhaling the scent of your detergent and the lingering smell of you.
He can hear your giggles filling the room with a lightness he's never felt in his life, his chest fluttering at the sound.
He understands why his sister likes to keep you around now.
It's only when your laughter turns into a throaty moan that he snaps out of it.
He shouldn't...he should leave—
"Master Titus?" Saved by the bell. "Lunch is served."
He adjusts his pants enough to be presentable and tucks your panties into his back pocket expertly as he turns to face Pernilla.
"Best give them a minute."
And with that he leaves.
The second time he has the misfortune of accidentally running into you, he's been tasked by his father to grab his sister for a quick meeting before dinner.
Thinking you'd be in your own room getting ready, he doesn't think to check before he swings open his sister's door.
His heart does a leap in his chest at the sight.
There you are, dotingly, in between his sister's thighs, putting those gorgeous lips to good use as you eat her out.
You're completely naked while Ursula remains in her silk nightgown. Titus cannot stop his wandering eyes, hungry gaze raking across your entire body.
You look so soft, so plump — he wants nothing more than to mark you up, leave bruises he knows will take their sweet time healing so he can marvel at the painting he has created.
Ursula's hands are tightly coiled around your hair, fingers massaging your scalp, encouragingly, as press closer into her.
The two of you are so into it that neither notice he's standing at the threshold.
You do something with your tongue he can't see since Ursula's leg is in the way but the woman wails in response and you shiver, giddy at the praise.
He quickly steps outside, closing the door again before he knocks, loudly.
"Yes?" Ursula yells in response, seemingly calm and composed.
"Father would like a word."
"Now?"
He thinks for a second, jealousy bubbling in his chest. "Yes, now."
Ursula huffs and Titus beams.
A long second later, Ursula slams open the door, heavy robe around her frame, clearly pissed off at her father's terrible timing.
Titus smirks to himself, trying to play it cool as he watches his sister round the corner before his hungry gaze snaps to you.
You're sitting on the bed, trying to cover yourself with your hands as you struggle to steady your breathing.
His sister truly is cruel, leaving you alone in this heightened headspace.
His hands close into tight fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms as he has to practically restrain himself from taking you over his shoulder and kidnapping you to his room.
Instead, he stalks towards you, trying his best to exude a dominant yet protective aura so you won't run away.
Big doe eyes follow his every move as he grabs a hold of the throw blanket at the foot of the king sized bed and gently drapes it over your shoulders.
Up close he can see the wetness glistening over your lips and chin, the way your entire body is flushed crimson in desire and not embarrassment.
His eyes keep yours hostage as he grunts towards your hands to grab a hold of the fabric.
Your fingers brush his, perfectly soft and warm against his rough and cold ones.
Fuck, you are definitely trying to kill him.
The second you're covered, he steps back, dropping to his knees in front of the bed.
Your brow scrunches quizzically and he swallows a moan in response.
You're so beautiful, so innocent, so perfect.
He begins to mimic your breathing, slow and steady, grounding, and you finally understand.
You hum contently and shift on the bed to get more comfortable.
He stays with you for a long time, until your eyes are no longer glazed, until your hands are finally steady, until you smile shyly at him and turn to lie down on the comforter beneath you.
"You should rest, little dove," he coos and you beam. "She'll be gone a while."
You manage a nod, eyelids becoming heavy. The last thing you remember is Titus staring at you, his watchful gaze a comfort as you fall asleep in such a strange house.
The third time he sees you he's accepted his fate.
Their father has just retired to bed and you excused yourself oh so respectfully to go change for a night cap, finally leaving him and Ursula alone.
Titus pulls out his mother's cigar box and preps two Cubans for him and Ursula, expert hands making quick work of the process.
It's Ursula who lights up first, a peace offering so he can sweeten her up before the words practically spill from his lips.
"I want her."
Ursula exhales smoke directly into Titus's face.
"No."
Titus's face contorts into a pout, pathetic and spoiled.
"But—"
"She's mine," she cuts.
Titus is about to whine some more when the door opens again and you step inside.
Both their gazes snap up to yours. The conservativeness is completely gone as you don a pretty babydoll dress that leaves nothing to the imagination.
"Hi," you smile shyly, bare feet shifting as you watch them take you in like two ravenous wolves that want nothing more than to devour you whole.
"C'mere bunny."
The second that Ursula beckons you over, you move, eager and confident.
Titus watches you intensely as he takes another drag of his cigar, slow and obscenely sensual.
It's when he exhales that you audibly whimper, loud enough for Ursula to feel the air shift as you settle on her lap.
The woman laughs under you and you instantly bring your attention back to her.
"Oh you are spoiled, bunny," she mocks. "I gave you clear instructions, do I have to show you just how disappointed I am in you?"
"N-no, no I'm sorry," you whimper. "I didn't mean it—"
"Did he touch you while I was gone earlier?"
"No!"
Titus's heart constricts at your sharpness.
"Good," Ursula kisses just below your ear. "'Cause he wants you."
Your pussy clenches at her words and the older woman can feel it over her pants.
"Ursula—"
"What, little brother?" she snaps. "Because if you don't want her anymore—"
Titus lets out a sharp breath.
He hates this, hates how easy it is for Ursula to rile him up.
"I do." It's barely a whisper but loud enough to make you go still in Ursula's embrace.
You catch his gaze then, pained and sorrowful — pathetic.
You giggle, just enough to be cruel and Titus's mouth hangs open in response.
"He's so needy, mommy," you murmur, pitiful.
Titus Chester Danforth has never been pitied in his life.
A fire ignites in him, sharp and cold, he needs to wipe that stupid smirk off your face.
He's about to leap out of his seat, the air in the room shifting like an omen to an oncoming storm.
Ursula senses it, reacts before he even can.
"Would you like to do something about it?"
You bite your lip, mischievous, and nod.
"Well, what would I get in return?"
Your cheeks blush crimson at whatever thought comes into your head. You hide your face in your hands and she immediately pulls them off, cigar left on the glass ashtray before it burns your skin.
"Tell mommy what you'll give her, bunny."
Titus has been rendered paralyzed as he watches you lean in and whisper something in his sister's ear.
He can barely breathe, can barely think as the possibility of having you is actually becoming a reality.
All he can do is feel the thundering against his chest, the pain against his crotch from the absurd amounts of layers of clothing he's wearing, and the sudden, sweet realization that you want him too.
Whatever you say to Ursula seems to do the trick as she gives your ass a little slap, pushing you off her towards Titus.
You step up to him, shyly, as if you're trying to convince yourself that you're this perfect little angel and not the conniving devil he knows you are.
Titus puts down his cigar, his eyes searing into yours. He's about to pounce when his sister picks up her own cigar and lights it back up.
"You can have her, little brother," she consents. "But you can't touch her."
He audibly groans, a child throwing a tantrum, and you giggle freely now.
You settle between his open thighs, assessing him like you're mentally mapping your plan of attack.
He does the same, but he instead does recon, taking in every single inch of your body.
The babydoll is deep crimson, made of flimsy tulle and lace. There's a matching bra perfectly holding up your beautifully round breasts. But when his eyes wander lower—
"No panties?"
You shrug. "Someone took them."
He blushes at the comment. You knew. You little vixen.
You finally move, gently grabbing his left hand and placing it over the chair's arm rest. You repeat the motion with his right hand as Ursula hums her approval beside you.
Titus wastes no time closing his fists around the velvet lined maple wood until his knuckles turn white.
You smile, satisfied at his reaction, and only then do you bend down, settling on your knees in front of him.
Looking down at you from this angle is definitely messing with his head. You look so beautiful, so perfect, all he wants to do is push you against his raging erection.
But he can't.
He needs to behave.
When he doesn't lose it, you reward him by nuzzling your nose against his crotch, inhaling deeply as you place a soft kiss to the tent that has formed in his pants.
He lets out the most pathetic whimper, causing Ursula to laugh meanly.
"Mommy no!" you sound so small, so fragile as you chide her, effectively putting her in her place.
"'m sorry bunny," she settles back into silence. "I'll behave, promise."
"Thank you."
You look back up at Titus through your lashes and find him looking down at you with what you can only describe as genuine gratitude.
You reward him with a comforting smile, hands softly grazing up his thigh towards his belt.
You take your time undoing it, pulling it out from the loops and throwing it aside, enjoying how he flinches as the metal skids against the cold marble under your knees.
His zipper is much quicker work. You're no longer patient in your teasing. You're hungry now.
It's when you pull down his boxers, just enough for his cock to finally breathe.
He's painfully stiff, tip bouncing off his stomach causing him to wince. You hum at his discomfort, eyes glued to his purpling tip like a psychopath.
Titus's chest flutters. He's never felt this way about someone before, has never had his own darkness reflected back at him, mostly because darkness doesn't have any light, if anything it sucks—
"Jesus fucking Christ," Titus hisses as your lips wrap around him.
"Careful, brother," Ursula teases. "Mr. Le Bail might get jealous."
You hum around him, his abdomen contracting as your tongue swipes over the opening in his tip, eagerly lapping up every drop that has leaked from him.
You start to move down, the back of your throat relaxing around him, taking further down your throat.
He can’t help but stare at you, eyes searing through your skull in what he can only think to be encouragement and devotion.
It’s only when Ursula snaps her tongue that you pull all the way back, finally breathing in, spit dripping from the corners of your mouth down your chin and onto the tops of your breasts.
“He might not last long, bunny.”
You nod, quickly getting to your feet and straddling his thick thighs.
Titus pants desperately beneath you as you bring your hand between your bodies and line him up with your entrance, perfectly wet and lubricated from your spit and his own fluids.
You slowly sink down enough to run his tip through your folds, adding even more slick into the mix.
He groans, eyes glued to the space between your thighs.
You watch him, practically salivating, as you give him exactly what he wants.
You sink down, his thickness splitting you open in a way that perfectly fills you up.
Once you finally settle all the way down, Titus lets out a guttural moan, his fists somehow tightening their grip so much the pain causes a tear to slip past his carefully maintained tough exterior.
You hum again, pitying, only this time he doesn’t feel the blow to his ego.
No, this time he understands you’re doing it because you care.
His theory is further solidified as you lean forward, your tongue gently licking up his cheek to lap up the salty streak.
Your lips press to his cheekbone in a fleeting kiss and he shudders beneath you.
This is what you want. For him to lose control, how him to take what’s his because you belong to him too.
His hips buck upwards, jolting you out of your perceived power over him.
Sure, he may not be able to touch you, but he’d rather be damned than to be rendered nothing more than a whiny toy.
Your hands cling to his shoulders instantly, nails digging into the thickness of his wool coat.
Your moans and whines fill the room as he pistons in and out of you, making good use of just how wet you’ve made the two of you.
Your cheeks are flushed crimson, your body already shivering and quivering, but it’s not enough.
"Mommy—" you whine, desperate. "Need him...to...touch me...please."
Titus turns to Ursula, brows scrunched in agony, pleading.
Her eyes sparkle at the pathetic display before her.
She sighs, anything for you.
"Go ahead."
The second the words process through Titus's mind he becomes ravenous. His hands shoot from the armrests, pressing you even tighter against his clothed chest, as one digs itself into your hip and the other snakes around your neck.
He takes the command as opportunity and wastes no time slamming his lips against yours. You shriek at the intensity but your sounds of protest get swallowed up by his eager mouth, his tongue breaking through your lips to enter as if it's his right.
You become nothing more than a breathing dolly as he continues his relentless thrusting.
"If you don't make her cum first, I won't let you have her again."
Titus growls into your mouth, slowing down his pace but making sure to sheathe himself as far as he can with each thrust.
You’re no longer sharp enough to think, let alone torture him. You’re putty in his hands. His perfect little dove. His, his, his—
"What will you give her?" he grunts in your ear, just for you to hear.
You smirk against his, biting down on his earlobe before you press your mouth over it.
"A baby."
That does him in.
He impales you on his cock, one hand snaking between your bodies to pinch your clit, to force you to come around him as he fills you up with his seed.
You shriek, sparks bursting through you as your core erupts in a tidal wave of pleasure.
You slump down against him, burrowing your nose in his neck. He holds you tightly, possessive and demanding.
"You're gonna look so beautiful all round and swollen, baby" Ursula coos and you clench around Titus, forcing the man to let out a deep groan.
Ursula chuckles at her brother's reaction. You're truly going to milk him for all he's worth.
Because that's all he is to you in that moment.
And to get to do that as much as he needs for it to take?
It is such a hopeless feeling to see someone who is a dear friend, who you care so deeply about living with a constant threat on their life and not be able to help.
It has been 3 years of genocide in Gaza, and people like my friend @mohdayesh are still trapped in Gaza with no escape from their treacherous daily life.
Mohammed's wife is pregnant and to this day dealing with the pain of having a bullet lodged in her chest. And Mohammed is bearing the responsibility of trying to keep his family taken care of to the best of his abilities with the limited resources he can get his hands on.
Mohammad and I often spoke of his desires to start a life for himself and his wife outside of the war zone, away from the genocide, where they can finally have a taste of safety and security. There is nothing more that I want than the ability to snap a finger and help him achieve their dreams, but unfortunately that's not within my power. All I can do is plead with you to help.
Mod'd is my friend and someone I've been working with for the past 3 years to ensure that you can trust where your money is going and weed out harmful actors taking advantage of the crisis in Gaza. And he has worked tirelessly to that end. He often doesn't ask for help for himself because he wants to see others thrive, but now he has a wife and a child on the way and he can't sit and watch as they suffer in this genocide.
He is trying to reach a preliminary goal of £3,000 on his gofundme, and has reached £2,046/£3,000 up until the time I'm writing this post.
But you can also help via his paypal!
And please share this post!!
My name is Mohammed ayesh from Gaza Recently, I started a new chapter in my li… Shelley Gordon needs your support for Support Ayesh’s family
Go to paypal.me/MAyesh674 and type in the amount. Since it’s PayPal, it's easy and secure. Don’t have a PayPal account? No worries.
Andrew never had inside jokes (firstly you have to have friends), so when you introduce him to the topic and explain that they are and how they help build a relationship, they become his next obsession.
The whole concept fascinates him, to the point he would want to turn every single interaction in a joke only the two of you would get.
His family is already used to him saying things that don't really make sense to them, but still, every time Craig or Deran give them a confused look, Andrew would just shrug and say: "Nothing, it's just an inside joke. You wouldn't get it".
Please give us your data 🥺🥺🥺🥺 For the children 😢‼️ all of your legal information 🙏🙏 yes 🥺 your home address? 🥺 Your government issued ID 😢❓social security number and credit card details 🤗 immigration status ❓ racial religious and gender identity 😁😢😢😢⁉️ please 🥺 did you get an abortion this year 🥺 please give us your personal information 🥺🥺🥺🥺 for the children‼️‼️
Under the cut is a vent about a hate anon I had today about my Titus Danforth x reader fic and inclusion in fandom. Feel free to scroll past 💚
I've deleted the ask and won't be answering/sharing it because some of the wording was pretty rude. This anon was complaining about the quality of my writing, how vague details about reader's family are with locations and how much they hated reader's family not having names and instead being referred to as "your father" and "your brother".
Yes, anon! I know, it's clunky! I even found it clunky writing it! But it was an intentional choice!
Fandom spaces are often very white-centric and you can see that both subconsciously and intentionally in many "x reader" pieces. Something that I value and take seriously in fandom is inclusion, BBIPOC (black, brown, indigenous and people of colour) readers and writers feeling seen, safe and respected in fandom spaces is the bare minimum!
I'm purposefully vague about physical descriptions like skin tone, hair colour and texture so that as many people as possible can feel seen when reading a fic. I don't want somebody to read a "x reader" fic of mine and have a physical description take them out of the fic and be made to feel unwelcomed, especially in a space that's meant to be a fun one. Because I personally have felt taken out of a fic, with "readers" that are "pale", that "blush pink/red", are "blonde" and so on.
Names are a big thing too! Names hold a lot of power and are often quite connected to someone's culture. There are some names that are shared across cultures and ethnicities and there are plenty of names that originate and are only used by one ethnic group. If I gave reader's brother a name that someone in my family has, it would give reader a very clear ethnicity and one that would alienate at least 99% of the fandom! There are some names that you hear and know/or can assume someone's background because they link back to one ethnicity or pan-ethnic group or read as a name that is very white. A lot of us that aren't white or have "ethnic" or "rare" names could either make a joke or sigh at an example of a "reader" or their family member having a name we definitely wouldn't have.
Somebody commented on an earlier chapter asking about the location of reader (it wasn't rude just curious, dw) and I replied to them about that being intentionally vague for inclusion too. I'm not American and I don't live in the States, which is part of it, most fics (and many writers) are based there. In case someone mentions this, yes of course, immigration and the diaspora exist! But I didn't want to give reader or her family a specific location because that can still paint a picture about reader's cultural background and physical appearance.
It's important to acknowledge that the world of Ready or Not world is very white! That is a fact. All of the characters in the first film are white, in the sequel we do have Chen Xing, Chen Fu, Viraj, and Madhu introduced but they're also some of the first to go. (Yes, the El Caidos are played by Latine actors but the superimposed titles placing them in Spain makes me assume they're meant to be a European Spanish family). The predominantly white world isn't surprising because of how power, capitalism, and race intersect but it makes it easier for the franchise's fanfiction to be interpreted with a white default. Which defeats the purpose of inclusion. I want people to feel seen in the fics I write and I want to read fics that don't treat the reader being white as the default.
But also, sending in stuff like this to writers also goes against fandom etiquette! I'll end it here though!
I'm sure there's maybe a better way to convey nameless family members for inclusive purposes, but this is what I settled on and hopefully it makes sense. Inclusion matters, send tweet. This was very longwinded and I'm very impressed if you read this far 💚
