there are some people on here who, when they followed me back, I got excited about as if they were a celebrity. and when I think about it, it's kinda sweet how we do that here, and so much more special than celebrity crushes. To be starstruck by someone when they're sharing their personal, more private self. You're famous to me for just being you.
you scrape your knees by the pool, pope attempts to fix it
pairings: pope cody x bunny reader
warnings: fem!reader, reader wearing a dress, minor injury, scraped knees, blood, wound clearning, hurt/comfort, protective pope cody, possessive thoughts, pope calls read kid, pope calls reader doll, reader has freckles bc i wanted to be self indulgent!!!!, grumpy caretaker pope
wc: 2k
Pope finds you sitting on the low concrete step out back with your legs folded to one side. Delicate and stunned-looking in the harsh afternoon lift. A figurine dropped by accident and left there because nobody wanted to be the first to check for cracks.
You haven’t been drinking, he knows that much. You don’t really drink to begin with. Not in excess, anyway.
He scans you to find the problem. Head. Fine. Chest. More than fine. Stomach. Normal.
Knees.
Your knees are scraped raw.
The marks are not serious, technically. But serious enough that the skin has split open into two wet little blooms, blood bright against the grit, dust clinging where it shouldn’t. It runs down your shins in thin, crooked tributaries, and he hates it.
Hates the sight so sharply it feels like a physical punch. Hates that the world got its hands on you for five seconds and already made a mess of what it shouldn’t have touched. Someone like you who is so pure and untouched.
Pope stops where he is.
His hand closes at his side. Opens again. That is his first correction. The second is his face, which he makes blank, or tries to, because you’re already looking up at him, head snapping back too hard, and his mind supplies the sound of it hitting the door before it happens.
It doesn’t happen. Still, his jaw tightens. Careless with yourself, he thinks.
You swipe at your face with the heel of your hand, and say, “I’m fine.”
No, you’re not, he wants to say. Who the fuck taught you to say that so fast?
Instead he takes a few careful steps toward you, keeping his face still, keeping everything locked down, even as the agitation climbs up the back of his neck.
If he gets close enough, he’ll be able to see it clearly. Where the damage starts. Who he’s supposed to blame.
“What happened, kid?”
You sniff once and straighten your back. Brave little thing. Ridiculous little thing. “Nothing.”
Pope doesn’t respond. His eyes stay on you, molten enough to become a thing in the yard, another source of heat in the sun, and he can feel himself doing it only after your fingers move to your mouth. One neat pink nail presses into the swell of your lip, picks at it, worries the softness there.
He wants to tell you to stop. Wants to take your hand away from your mouth. Wants too many things, which is usually the first sign that he should do nothing at all. So he waits for you to fold.
He knows the first answer was bullshit. Flimsy as tissue paper and he lets it tear on its own.
“I tripped,” you admit finally.
“Where?” he asks.
Your lashes are wet when you blink up at him, clumped together in little dark points, and your mouth does that small uncertain thing, twitching at one corner like you’re embarrassed to explain yourself.
“By the pool,” you say. “There was, like, a crack. Or something.”
He knows the crack. He can see it without looking, some warped seam in the concrete by the shallow end, something everyone steps over, steps around, ignores because it’s just part of the house being what it is. Broken things everywhere. Broken people too.
But you didn’t know to look for it. You move through the Cody house like bad things are theoretical, like the ground itself wouldn’t dare rise up and bite you. It did anyway.
Pope lets out a slow breath through his nose and drops into a crouch in front of you.
Bad idea, probably. Everything is worse down here. It’s inflamed, scratches packed with dirt, blood drying in jagged lines.
You don’t like that part. The mess. He can tell by way your hands twitch helplessly in your lap, like you want to wipe it away, clean it up, make yourself presentable again, but the pain is winning.
Your dress, meanwhile, is perfect. Some pink little sundress cut high over your thighs. No wrinkles or stray staining.
From where he is, he could see up it if he tried. He doesn’t. He keeps his eyes where they belong, on the blood, on the damage, on the part of you he can pretend is the only thing he wants to touch. For now.
You try to pull your leg back the second he reaches for your ankle, some quick little prey-animal flinch that might’ve worked on someone less ready for it.
Pope catches you easily. His hand wraps firm before you can get very far. Not hard enough to hurt, not gentle enough to suggest he’s asking.
“Quit that.”
“It stings,” you protest.
“Yeah,” he says flatly. “That tends to happen when you eat shit.”
Your bottom lip wobbles. You gather it back up so quickly it almost disappears, smoothing the expression off your face like a ripple flattening on water, and Christ, you’re pretty when you cry.
It’s a rotten thought. He knows that. He knows that, and still his body reacts before morality can catch up, because his body is old violence and bad wiring and appetite with a pulse.
He drags his thumb down the line of your calf, feather-light, careful to avoid the scrape itself, as if gentleness in one place could cancel out the ugliness in another, as if he could make himself clean by touching you like you’re made of glass.
“You cryin’?” Rhetorical. More of an indictment.
“No.”
“You are.”
“‘M not.” A tear slips free and runs down your cheek as you say it.
Pope watches the trajectory, the thin shine over warm skin. He wants to lean in and taste it. Salt. Flesh. Proof. He kills the urge under the toe of his boot.
You stare past him, surely furious with yourself for the anatomical betrayal.
He lets out a short, humorless breath that almost passes for a laugh and shakes his head. “Tough girl, huh?”
You nod right away, stubborn as hell. “Mhm.”
Another tear comes down. That settles it. Pope looks at it, then at you. Tough girl. Sure. Tough like a rabbit holding still under a hawk shadow.
“C’mere,” he says.
“Why?”
“So I can clean it.”
Your eyes widen immediately, suspicious now, all that fragile toughness collapsing into practical fear. “Is it gonna hurt?”
“It’ll hurt more if I don’t.”
He’s not actually sure that’s true, but he doesn’t know how else to sell this to you. He just knows he doesn’t want you leaving gravel in there and calling it day.
This patio has probably seen every kind of gross substance known to man. Beer, mud, oil, spit, ash, drugs, blood. A dozen things he doesn’t want in your skin. Enough random bacteria to make him think infection before anything else. Enough that he can already picture your knees tomorrow, swollen and pink and you still insisting it’s nothing.
It seems convincing enough for you because you let him pull you up, though you hiss when your knees straighten.
Stiff little steps. Swallowed noises. A terrible attempt at limping in a way he won’t notice, as if Pope has ever missed anything in his life, as if he might tease you for it.
He probably will, a little, because sometimes teasing gets you moving better than sympathy does, but not much.
Inside, he sets you on the bathroom counter and starts digging through the cabinet for peroxide and gauze. The bathroom is too small for both of you. It shows in the way he can clearly inhale the flowery perfume you have on. Sprayed at the base of your throat and insides of your wrists, most likely.
When he turns back, you’ve gone very still, hands braced on either side of your hips, shoulders pulled up nearly to your ears, eyes fixed on the brown bottle like it might lunge at you.
“I don’t like that.”
“No one likes it.”
You pull a face, and your foot kicks forward once, restless and nervous. Your heel brushes his side. Barely. An accident. Pope feels it through his shirt like a warning shot. You retract your foot immediately.
“Well, I like it less than most people,” you mutter.
He steps in between your knees before you can fuss any more, the cap twisting loose between his fingers.
“I think you’re being a little bit of a baby,” he says, then, before you can get offended, adds, “which is fine.” The cap clicks against the counter. “You can sit there and look at me like I’m about to torture you if that helps. But I’m still gonna clean it.” His eyes flick to your mouth, to the pout already threatening there. “You can do that too. Still not gettin’ out of it.”
You seem to consider pushing back one more time, then don’t.
“...Kay,” you say, barely above a mumble. Giving in. Like you’ve made up your mind, like you’ve already accepted he knows what’s happening next better than you do and you’re fine with that.
He isn’t sure how to feel about that.
“Hold still.”
The peroxide strikes the raw skin and you jolt under his hand, a soft whimper escaping before you can swallow it back, your eyes pinching shut like that might save you from the burning.
Pope gets a hand around your thigh before you can yank it your leg back, a quick learner when it comes to your habits.
“Easy,” he says, tipping the bottle back. “You’re alright.” Another careful pour, less this time. Another little flinch. “You’re doing good, doll. Almost done with the worst of it.”
Your lips push out further, eyes going a little softer and shinier. You shift toward him, knees parting just a little more around where he stands, one hand coming off the counter to catch at his side, then his shirt, then just staying there.
He wipes away the last of the pink fizz and dirt in slow passes.
“There. See? Survived.” He reaches for the bandaids, peels one open with his teeth, and smooths it over the first scrape with the flare of his thumb. Then the second, just as careful. “Wasn’t so bad.”
“Easy for you to say.” Your hand stays bunched in his shirt, fingers curled into the cotton like you forgot you were holding on or decided not to care.
Pope looks down at it for half a second too long, then back to the bandaid before it can become anything. The corner of his mouth pulls, barely.
“Yeah,” he says. “You’re right. Sorry, kid.” He presses the left bandaid down where it’s already trying to peel at the edge. “Next time watch where you’re going, yeah? Makes my life easier.”
Your nose wrinkles. It’s cute. Freckles dotted across the bridge, fanning outward in a constellation of sorts. “Sounds like victim blaming to me.”
“You can be a victim and careless with your well-being at the same time.”
You cock your head at him, considering this, “So… are you done now?”
“Mhm. Done.” His hands settle at your waist and lifts you back off the counter, steadying you once wobbling feet hit the floor.
You look up at him then, and your mouth softens into a small, toothless smile. It’s already too much for him. Already better than the pinched-up expressions you’ve been wearing since he found you outside.
He almost makes the mistake of pointing it out. Before he can, you rise to your tip toes, light hands still at his sides for balance, and press those pretty lips to his cheek, just off his mouth.
When you pull away, your teeth find your lower lip and you look at him from under your lashes. “Thank you, Andrew.”
He wants, suddenly and stupidly, to tell you not to thank him for things like that, not for basic shit, not for cleaning blood off your knees like it’s some grand gesture. But then again maybe in your life it is. Maybe that’s the part that makes something protective rise in him.
So all he says is, “Yeah,” low and rough, like the word cost him a little. He keeps a hand at your waist a second longer than necessary before he lets you go. Watches you walk away.
Later, when you’re distracted somewhere inside the house, he goes back out and finds the crack by the pool.
He fixes it the next day.
A/N - popping my pope cody fanfic cherry!!!!!! yipee
summary: you're very clingy with your boyfriend, and he's happy to return the favor. until teeth get involved. OR the three times you bite frank langdon and the one time he bites you back.
pairing: frank langdon x girlfriend!reader
tags: afab reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, objectification & destruction of frank langdon's limbs, playfulbf!frank langdon unlocked, nonsexual & childlike wrestling between adults, frank refers to reader as a dog [affectionately], seduction in the form of nipping
word count: 3.2k
notes: this is for everyone that gets something similar to cuteness aggression and just wants to bite people [<- me!] all of these end in dialouge on purpose, i swear...
please reblog if you enjoy!
1. UNCONTROLLABLE URGES
The sunset stretches through the blinds of your apartment, spilling over the harwood floor like liquid gold. Your fingers unfurl to brush through the rays from where you’re sprawled out on your back, eyes watching the shadow that breaks up the light. There’s a slight ache in the small of your back from lying on the floor for so long, but you make no attempt to move.
“You own a couch.”
Your head tilts back to look at the doorway, an almost goofy smile stretching across your mouth at the upside-down view of Frank. He looks the exact same as he does everyday, and you had seen him only a few minutes ago when you had abandoned him in the kitchen to finish making his meal prep, but the sight of him still makes your heart thud a bit harder against your rib cage.
“If I get on the couch, I won’t get anything done.” Your bottom lip pushes out in a pout, hands folding on your stomach.
One bushy eyebrow raises as his gaze trails over you, prowling closer slowly. “And you’re getting things done by laying on the floor?” he asks.
He leans over you, devishly charming with his hair falling onto his forehead. You’re not sure how you got a Disney prince as a boyfriend, but you thank whoever, or whatever, is above you that you did. Now, you get the pleasure of staring at his handsome face whenever you want.
Admittedly, Frank wasn’t incorrect. Originally, you had disappeared into the living room in order to at least begin to organize your vast array of bookshelves, however the task had become larger and more overwhelming the longer you had debated where to start. You had sat down to get a look at the big picture, somehow ending up on your back and distracted by the rays of sunlight coming through the windows.
There’s a huff as you take his outstretched hand, letting him drag you up onto your feet. You take the opportunity to slide your palm along his abdomen, appreciating the soft twitch of muscle that happens in response. As much as you love all of his reactions to your touches, you love the unintentional ones the most.
Noticing your lack of response and the forlorn gaze you have trained on the bookshelves, Frank presses his face into your hair, breath brushing against your hairline. “Do you want some help?” he mumbles gently. The question comes out almost hesitant, aware that you didn’t like to ask for help much.
You stay silent for a breath, eyes glancing over the books you’ve hoarded over the last few years. You debate just giving up on the project completely, leaving the literature to spill wherever it’d like, spine showing or not.
Finally, rationality wins out and you groan, turning to bury your face into his sweater. “Yes, please.”
He holds you for just a moment, thumb brushing along your shoulder from where his arm has curled around your body, before you finally separate to get to work.
The plan is simple at first. Frank grabs the books from the higher shelves while you start on the lower, pulling them out so that they can stack on the floor and await their sentencing. Color-coded or alphabetically by author or separated by just genre - the possibilities are endless.
That is, until your boyfriend pulls off his sweater, revealing the curve of muscles that are his biceps.
You’re quickly distracted by the sight, staring up at him with parted lips. Poor, sweet Frank just continues working, surprisingly focused on the task at hand despite being so blatantly ogled.
Perhaps he’s used to being stared at by you. Perhaps he’s just happy to be allowed to help you out, for once.
Now, you’re on the same bookshelf in the middle of your array, your elbow pressed into his abdomen with every reach forward. His arm is right there, muscles tensing every time he reaches up for another book to place it in the growing stack in his free hand.
You try to push back the urge. You really do. You press your tongue between your teeth, biting down on it just enough to feel the pressure. Remind yourself that it’s not normal to want to consume your partner whole, to cause them pain out of pure love and lust for them.
But then he reaches up again, that dip of muscle stretching from just beneath his elbow all the way to his wrist, and your brain shortcircuits.
It happens quickly. Your chin tilts forward slowly and your lips part, the top set of your teeth finding the juiciest part of his muscle and pressing down. For a moment, you don’t even worry about if you’re causing him pain. The squish of his arm beneath your teeth is satisfying enough to dull out everything else.
Frank yelps in surprise, dropping the book in his hand to press the heel of it into your forehead with just enough force to push your head away. “Hey!”
You give him a sheepish smile as his hand moves to rub at the teeth-shaped indents in his skin. His face is an array of emotions, although amusement and confusion ring out above them all. The only thing missing seems to be anger, or anything similar, which only makes you fall more in love, if possible.
His hand darts out to slide over your head, fingers curling around your skull to bring your head into his chest. His fingertips press into your scalp as he scrunches at the roots of your hair, chest rumbling with a laugh as you wiggle in protest. “That was mean! I’m trying to help you and you bite me!”
“You were the one slutting yourself out, this is not my fault!” Your palm presses into his abdomen, whether out of your struggle or a need to objectify him more, trying to pry out of his hold on your head. “Waving it in my face like a dog with a bone!”
Frank laughs as he finally lets you go, playfully shoving at your shoulder to get you away. “Start organizing your books, puppy. Stay far away from me until you learn how to control yourself.”
2. GAINING THE UPPER HAND
“The fact that you are a doctor and save lives every day never fails to astonish me.” You deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest as you look down at your boyfriend.
It had been Frank’s idea to build a fort. Something about how his parents had never let him make one out of blankets and pillows, too afraid of the mess he’d make, and how he thought it’d be fun to eat dinner.
You had been ecstatic. That is, until you realize that your boyfriend was completely incapable of doing anything that didn’t require too-complicated words and needles.
His brow is furrowed in slight irritation, a lot of confusion, as he stands up, kicking off a throw blanket that had snagged around his ankle. His elbow brushes against your arm as he crosses his arms over his chest, lips pursing as he stares down at the mess he made. “It’s just not staying,” he mumbles beneath his breath.
“Because you’re not anchoring down the blankets. You can’t use pillows to hold up a blanket, babe, they’re not stable enough.” Your fingers point at the decorative pillow he had placed atop the corner of the blanket, glancing up at him through the corner of your eye. “You gotta go find some heavy books or something.”
Frank’s head turns to look at you, wrinkles forming on his forehead as he raises his eyebrows. “Books? In our fort? That doesn’t sound too comfortable.” Then, he steps to the side, curling his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Well, you’re not laying on them, are you?” You tease back, tilting your head to touch your temple to his.
He huffs, breath brushing over your collarbone, before his fingertips are pressing into your ribs. “Oh, yeah? You’re the fort expert now, huh?” He locks one arm around your waist while the other continues poking and prodding, ignoring your squeals and wriggling. “A little fort architect, aren’t you?”
“Frank!” You squeak, laughing as you crouch down to attempt to slide out of his hold. “Let me go!”
Your boyfriend crouches with you until both of your knees are on the ground, his arm loosely locked around your neck now while fingertips dance on the most ticklish parts of your body. Your hands grab at his forearm, attempting to pull him off, but he simply just wrestles you onto the heap of blankets that was his attempt at a fort.
The two of you roll on the floor together in a mess of limbs, Frank curling both of his arms around you at every chance that he could get. The blankets curl around your legs and waist as you twist and wriggle, laughing until your lungs hurt and you’re begging him to let you go.
The wrestling only ends whenever he moves to wrap his forearm around you again. Willing to try to get anything to get out of your predicament, your teeth find his skin easily, sinking in just enough to leave a bitemark.
As any grown man would, Frank squeals, removing his injured arm away from you while his other one just tightens around your waist. “What have we said about biting me?” He scolds playfully, pulling you closer to the curve of his body, until your hips are flush to his.
“You wouldn’t let me go!” You retort, although you make no attempt to pull away from him. Instead, you roll over to face him, passing him an innocent smile.
He softens when your fingers wrap around the forearm you had bitten, your thumb brushing against the indents in his skin. Leaning down, he presses his lips to your mouth, kissing you sweetly for a brief moment before pulling away just enough to mumble. “Can we give up on the fort?”
You laugh, then shake your head. “Nope. But I will finish it for you.”
“Deal.”
3. RUIN THE MOMENT
Frank had to stay late at work. And while you didn’t mind, you had to admit to yourself that you missed your boyfriend more than probably healthy.
Rather than be dramatic about it or just sit wallowing until he somehow managed to find his way home, you decided to do something nice for Frank. He did sweet gestures for you like it was as easy as breathing, and now was the perfect time to do something for him.
In the couple hours it took him to finally get off of work, you had made the relaxation spot of his dreams. The comfiest throw blankets on the couch, greasy boxes of his favorite takeout on the coffee table, the big lights off and only a small orange lamp illuminating your cozy living room.
When Frank gets home, you’re tucked into yourself on the couch, scrolling through something on your phone aimlessly. Your head perks up like a dog at the sound of the front door opening, hanging off the back of the couch to grin at him as soon as he’s stepped through the doorframe.
“Hi, baby.” You greet him, voice quiet. The hospital was always overstimulating, therefore you always made sure to keep calm and gentle when he got home. Like a dog coming home from a shelter.
Frank drops his bag onto the ground to pick up later, hand raising to rub at his face. He shuffles over to the couch at the sound of your voice, plopping down beside you and placing a hand on your thigh to remind you that he’s present. “Hi.”
After a moment of just staring at him, you slowly move to crawl behind him, propped up between the back of the couch and his back. Your fingers find his shoulders, pressing into the tight muscles there and letting yourself smile at the soft hum of relief it draws from him.
“Exhausting day?” you murmur. Your thumbs find a particularly large knot, rubbing firm circles to try and loosen it.
He nods slowly, head dropping forward with a quiet groan. “Just a lot happening. Didn’t have a chance to sit down all shift.” His eyelashes flutter closed as he lets himself relax, sinking further into your touch.
After the knots are nonexistent, you curl your arms around his neck, leaning over his shoulder. Your lips press into the hinge of his jaw first, sweet and chaste. A rush of air leaves his mouth as he sighs, back pressing into your chest.
“I’m sorry you had a long day.” You mumble the words into his skin, pressing a kiss to the space beneath his jaw before along his carotid. You reach the juncture of where his neck meets his collarbone, the rest of his shoulder covered by his scrub top, huffing in playful petulance at the lack of skin.
Frank tilts his head to the side just a smidge, the muscle in his neck tensing at the movement. There’s a small grin dancing across his lips when you spare a glance up at him, causing you to smile against his skin. “Feelin’ better now,” he muses.
A giggle bubbles out of you, moving your arms to wrap them around his waist. Now, you’re fully curled around him from behind, palms pressing into his abdomen and lips traveling along his neck. His body’s a heavy weight pressed into your front, welcomed in the quiet serene of your dimly lit apartment.
Now, one would say that your priority was ensuring that Frank stayed calm and lax, especially with the lengths you have gone to ensure that your home was a place of relaxation. Unfortunately, you love your boyfriend to the point of wanting to consume him, and the way his neck is flexing is way too tempting.
One look up at him and a distracting slow kiss to his neck reveals that his eyes have closed, lost in a trance of your hold and the feel of your mouth against his skin.
It’s your time.
You place a few more kisses along his neck before you nip at his carotid, giggling softly at the surprised gasp that it elicits. Frank groans in mock exasperation, one hand reaching up to cup the side of your face. He turns to look at you, sleepy blue eyes narrowing at your beaming expression.
“This fuckin’ mouth is going to get you in trouble.” He grumbles tiredly, hand sliding down until his pinky hooks beneath your mandible.
His thumb presses at the seam of your lips until you part them, sliding inside your mouth to slide against your top teeth, pushing up gently against the pointed end of your canine. Your jaw raises at the push, lips widening in a grin at the touch. Your bottom teeth move to press up against the skin of his fingertip, laughing when he finally takes his finger out of your mouth.
“Bad dog.” He playfully remarks, fingers patting against your cheek.
“Woof,” you respond.
4. CAN’T BEAT ‘EM, JOIN ‘EM
The best thing about having Frank Langdon as a boyfriend is that whatever clingy level you were at, he would match. If you chose to have your own space, he’d respect it and find something else to do somewhere else. If you wanted to cling to him like a koala, he’d ensure to have two hands back on you at all times. If you wanted a happy middle, he’d be glad to just sit with one hand on your knee while you watched television.
Unfortunately, he had forgotten all forms of boundaries today. The worst part about Frank’s off days is that he tended to get bored and understimulated without the buzz of the Pitt, and therefore he loved to bother you while you were trying to take much needed alone time.
“Honey.” The pet name drips off of his tongue in a purr as he hangs his body around the threshold of the kitchen, pretty face poking in as he grins. “You almost done with lunch?”
You look up from where you’re pushing vegetables around in a pan, eyebrow quirking. It was never very good when he started off any question with a pet name, much less said like that. “No,” you respond, drawing out the word. “What do you want?”
Frank huffs as he steps into the kitchen, almost immediately crawling into your personal space. One arm curls around your waist while he leans on your other side, peeking at the stove like a curious child. Boredom practically radiates off of him, especially with the way his finger taps against the counter.
“Nothin’. Can’t I just ask my girl a question?” He presses a brisk kiss to your cheek, arm tightening around your waist slightly. His palm flattens on your abdomen, pinky brushing the waistband of your shorts. Devilish.
You keep your spine straight, attempting to brush him off. The last thing you need is to get distracted from filling your grumbling stomach, no matter how good your boyfriend smells or how warm he feels behind you. “I know when you want something, Frank.”
His chin tucks into the crook between your neck and shoulder, a hum reverberating from his chest into your neck. “Just to be with you,” he cheekily responds. His thumb brushes along your sternum from where his fingers have splayed further.
“Frank.” You warn, although there’s no irritation in your tone. “Let me finish lunch.”
He whines like a petulant child, pulling you closer with a tighter grib on your stomach. “I’m bored,” he complains.
You choose to ignore him, instead focusing on turning the heat down on the stove. In retaliation at being ignored, his lips find your shoulder, exposed by the thin strap of your tank top.
A sudden pinch spreads across your shoulder as he nips at the skin covering your collarbone not once, but twice, closer to your neck on the second one. Despite the shiver that crawls up your spine at the cool feeling of his teeth against you, you manage to stay strong.
Unfortunately, your boyfriend is stubborn and very attention-seeking.
His next bite is a bit harder, directly on your neck. He soothes the slight sting with an open-mouthed kiss just above where your skin reddens, tongue lathing as an apology. “Too hard?” He mumbles teasingly.
“Don’t be an ass.” It’s meant to be a tough remark, something to show that he isn’t affecting you as much as he thinks he is, but it comes off as more of a whine.
He continues to kiss along your neck, laughing slightly at your remark. When your head tilts and your grip tightens on the spatula in your hand, his hand moves from your abdomen to the knob on the front of the stove, turning it until he clicks. Then, he gently grabs your jaw, tilting your head to kiss your lips.
Despite the fact that he finally has your direct attention, he still nips at your bottom lip, grinning victoriously as he pulls away.
i havent talked about off campus yet on here but fuck i have to because im genuinely obsessed . ive loved this book series for ages and i love the show and i LOVE dean di laurentis
During reader's last week at the PTMC, four experiments were performed to test the level of relationship between Jack Abbot and reader. The main hypothesis was that Jack Abbot cared personally for reader, beyond the normal scope of an attending-MS4 relationship. Our constant was the amount of time these experiments were performed, while our variables were different ways of connection to our main subject, such as: strictly professional, kind, flirty and distant.
The result was inconclusive due to an unforeseen change with one of our variables. Despite this result, all logs related to this experiment can be found below.
total word count: 12.2k
STEP ONE: FORM A HYPOTHESIS.
STEP TWO: DESIGN & CONDUCT EXPERIMENT.
STEP THREE: DRAW CONCLUSION[s].
STEP FOUR: COMMUNICATE RESULTS.
it’s so nice being fond of people on here :-) like yeah maybe we only know each other in a very limited way but i care abt you guys & hearing abt your lives makes me happy & i like listening to the things u have to say & i really truly wish the best for you all!!! sending my love from a couple states, countries, oceans away
About: After his divorce and getting clean, Frank finds himself incredibly horny all of the time. You, being the amazing roommate you are, offer to help your friend out on his problems.
Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, oral (m), kitchen sex, praise, use of good girl, banana bread boners, domestic vibes, unprotected sex, p in v, etc.
AO3 Link
Word Count: 3.0k
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four
Notes: If you see any typos, no you do not. I apologize for the delay in posting. I recently got engaged along with have been focusing on graduating college so it’s been a bit hectic but regardless, here it is! There is a moment (i will not spoil it) where i use a word for a body part that i would not usually use but @clarktologist and @brattyspence have convinced me to use it along with my roommate and i must admit im easily influenced. if it takes you out of the fic, i totally understand LMAO. Hope you guys enjoy part two of the series! Please like, comment, and reblog to support your writers!
Frank was entirely grateful towards you for many things. First and foremost, you helped him through such a tough time. Seeing him when he was at his lowest of lows, when he was his most vulnerable and ugly, as he went through rehab and weeks of withdrawal, and you stayed with him through it all. It meant far more to him than he could ever truly outwardly express. Secondly, you opened your home to Frank and expected nothing much in return other than a clean house and occasionally dinner while he was unemployed.
You were an amazing friend, offered so much more love and support than anyone could ever truly comprehend. And yet, you were also someone who never allowed anyone to take advantage of you.
And so, when Frank complained to you about his ongoing sexual frustrations, while he was surprised, he couldn't say it was entirely unlike you to offer your services. Your love language towards your friends was indeed acts of service and what better way to show you cared than to be the person Frank used when the desire hit him?
Frank knew from the moment he realized you had been serious about your offer, after reading the look on your face and the glint of your eyes, that he would do anything in his power to make it good for you too. You have done far too much for him, including this agreement, and the least he could do was take care of you as well.
Over the last week since that first night, the day you had offered yourself to him, Frank practically worshipped the ground you walked on. He had eaten you out that night and later on, fucked you soft and sweet into the mattress as part of his thank you before you went back to your room for the night. And throughout the week, Frank made sure to pleasure you more.
A rough twelve hour shift? Frank's fingers were buried in your cunt until you were completely spent. You had just gotten done showering and asked Frank if your legs were soft? Well, the only way for him to really find out were if they were on his shoulders while he ate you out. You were frustrated about a situation at work and needed stress relief? Frank was pounding you into the mattress until you were crying of pleasure from his cock.
Frank had been having a rough day. He accidentally spilled a cup of coffee onto himself, even though he had already showered and changed into scrubs. His car wouldn't start which was ridiculous since he had just brought it to the mechanic a week prior for an oil change so he had to borrow yours. And during the day at work, since you had the day off, his whole balance was just entirely thrown off. Especially when he had a patient pee on him in the middle of the day and he had to change into new scrubs. Not to mention the fact that Dr. Robby was still acting cold towards him, despite the fact that Frank had been showing time and time again that he was sober and more than capable of doing his job.
So really, Frank had been having a horrible day.
By the end of the day, luckily a rare eight hour shift rather than a full twelve hours or sometimes even a fifteen hour shift, Frank had come home in a terrible mood. His shoulders were tense, his jaw was clenched, and he overall was stressed out. As he made his way into the apartment, Frank heard the sounds of "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac playing from the kitchen.
He placed his bag by the door and kicked his shoes off, placing them right next to yours. The soft tone of your voice humming along to the music filled the kitchen as Frank approached. You were stood at the counter, mixing together ingredients in a bowl of what smelled to be bananas.
"Hello," You greeted Frank with a smile, looking up from the bowl. You were dressed in nothing more than one of Frank's Penguins shirts and a pair of your sweatpants. Frank licked his lips as he eyed you, his cock stirring in his pants.
"Hi," He replied.
"Rough day?" You asked as you poured the batter into a greased loaf pan. Definitely banana bread, Frank thought.
"You could say that," Frank sighed. "I'm going to go shower and get changed. I can practically feel the germs on my skin."
"Okay," You replied with a soft smile, your focus on the task in front of you.
Frank couldn't help the small quirk of his lips before walking out of the kitchen. The entire interaction felt domestic, as their interactions usually had even prior to their arrangement. He took a deep breath as he gathered his things from his bedroom and went to the bathroom to prepare for his shower.
Frank wasn't known for having extremely long showers but he did enjoy a good soak. Standing underneath the stream of the almost way too hot water, something he was beginning to see the perks of after surprising you in the shower yesterday to bend you over and fuck you, Frank could feel the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. His lower back was still aching, it always did no matter what.
The sound of the door gently clicking filled Frank's ears causing a soft smirk to appear on his lips. "Do you have room for another?" You asked, popping your head to the side of the shower curtain. It looked as though you had already taken your clothes off, judging by the fact that you weren't wearing his Penguins shirt any longer.
"Of course," Frank replied softly. His cock, which was always half-hard around you now, twitched as you stepped into the shower. His suspicions were indeed confirmed, you had indeed already taken all of your clothes off. "I thought you were baking," He murmured as he placed his hands on your hips.
You only hummed in response and leaned in to kiss Frank's jaw. "Banana bread takes an hour to bake," You whispered into Frank's ear, your breath hot against his skin.
That sentence shouldn't have been hot whatsoever, it was banana bread for heavens sake. But with all of his blood rushing to his cock, Frank could hardly find himself caring. You were right there with him, water cascading down you both, naked, and touching his chest, nothing else mattered in this moment.
You kissed Frank's lips which he returned immediately. His hands roamed your body, going from your hips to you ass and massaging the flesh before trailing them along your back. You made a soft noise against Frank's lips, reaching between the both of you to grip Frank's cock. He gasped against your lips and pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against yours as he looked down at your hand gripping him.
"You had a bad day," You murmured, slowly pumping his length. Your thumb swiped over the tip which Frank involuntarily thrusted into your hand. "Let me take care of you."
Frank could only moaned in response. There was absolutely nothing going on his head when you were right there, touching him so good. He felt the water from the shower dripping down his nose but he didn't care, his eyes fixated on your hand wrapped around him.
It wasn't until you removed your hand that Frank finally processed what was happening. You dropped to your knees before him, as if you were a disciple praying to a god. Perhaps it was the fact that Frank had grown up as a devoted Catholic that the thought had occured to him. All that mattered was the manner in which you were staring up at him, water dripping onto your face and body.
You wordlessly gripped his cock once again, giving a few tentative strokes before guiding it to your mouth. You swirled your tongue across the tip, tasting the precum that had already accumulated. Frank felt a bit pathetic with how easily hot and bothered he had been since he got sober. But you never shamed him for it, especially when this arrangement began. In fact, Frank swore you got off on the fact he was horny all the time.
Maybe because you were too.
"Oh fuck," Frank groaned as your mouth eased onto Frank's length, all warm and welcoming. You stopped about halfway before moving your head upwards, slowly getting into a rhythm. Your hand moved to the based of his cock, stroking whatever couldn't fit in your mouth in sync with your movements.
Frank tilted his head back, allowing the water to cover his face entirely. He relished in the feeling of your lips wrapped around his cock. This was the first blowjob he had gotten in quite a long while and god, did it feel heavenly. If you were a disciple then your god was his cock with the way it felt as though you were worshipping it.
But with the emotions Frank felt, the reality of your dynamic was the fact that he worshipped the very ground you walked on much more than he'd ever admit to you or himself outwardly. The thoughts and feelings he felt for you were kept at bay, his very own secret to hopefully never be revealed. This was just sex, a means to an end, it didn't mean anything else.
Frank removed his face from being directly sprayed on by the water and looked down at you. You hallowed your cheeks, causing Frank to whimper at the added pleasure. With each movement upward, you swirled your tongue along the tip.
"Fuck, sweetheart," He groaned lowly, bringing a hand to your head. It was embarrassing how terribly close he was, ready to explode into your mouth. "I-" He cut himself off when your fingers brushed against his bean bags, a rather pathetic whine escaping his lips in response. Frank has always been quite sensitive. "God, baby, I'm gonna cum," He moaned, unable to help the subtle thrust of his hips in sync with your lips.
You simply hummed around Frank's length, encouraging his approaching orgasm. Frank cursed at the vibration, adding to his pleasure. Frank felt his abdomen tightening as he grew closer. And with a few more movements of your mouth, Frank was holding your head in place as he came, filling your mouth. All he could see was white as he moaned your name repeatedly.
When Frank finally came down from his high and loosened his grip on you, you pulled away and looked up at Frank with glossy eyes and swollen lips. You were always such a dream but in that moment, Frank found you to be ethereal, truly a blessing from God himself.
"Fuck," He breathed out as he tried to gain control of his breathing. The water of the shower was still spraying onto his back. He brought his hands to your shoulders and helped you stand up. "You're too good to me," He said roughly as he looked at you, placing his hands on your waist instead.
You only hummed in response as a smile appeared on your lips. "You had a rough day," You said softly. "I wanted to help."
Frank leaned in and kissed you gently on the lips. "Thank you," He whispered.
You kissed Frank in response, your lips moving gently against his. "Anytime," You whispered back.
After the two of you had finished showering, grateful that water was included when you got your apartment otherwise the water bill would be far too high for you alone to pay, you and Frank had gotten yourselves dried and changed. You had thrown on only one of Frank's shirts and nothing else while he had thrown on a pair of sweatpants.
You made your way to the kitchen to check on the timer you had set on the oven. There were still about fifteen minutes left on the timer. The whole apartment was filled with the sweet and beautiful aroma of banana bread.
"God it smells amazing," Frank said as he walked into the kitchen behind you.
"I'm glad," You replied. "Because I even added nutella to the batter."
Really, his cock should not have twitched at the revelation. It's chocolate hazelnut spread for god sake. But here he was, suddenly hard despite the amazing blowjob you had given him just a bit ago.
"Oh I could fuck you," He groaned out. The best way into a man's pants is through his stomach right? That was totally the saying. Or was it? Frank didn't really care, not when the blood was rushing to his cock. It would be embarasssing if you weren't biting your lip and looking at Frank as though you also desperately wanted him.
"Well there is fifteen minutes left on the timer…" You pointed out with a glance toward the oven. "Think we could finish in fifteen?"
"I think so," Frank nodded his head, glancing down at himself. The tent in his sweatpants was obvious and he couldn't help but palm himself through the material.
You let out a breath, your eyes fixated on Frank's movements for just a moment. You cleared your throat. "Let's get moving then," You said before you turned around and bent over for Frank, your forearms resting on the counter in front of you.
Frank allowed himself to just look at you as you bent over for him. You hadn't bothered with putting on underwear after the shower and had only thrown on one of Frank's shirts. Your ass was exposed and now so was your cunt. He licked his lips and dropped his pants to his thighs before making his way over to you.
He first places his hands on your ass, massaging the flesh. A small sigh left your lips in response. The sigh had quickly turned into a gasp as Frank placed a small smack on your left cheek. "You're so perfect," Frank said, his voice rough from being turned on.
"Only thirteen more minutes," You replied breathlessly.
Frank hummed in response as his fingers moved from your ass to your cunt, ellicting a soft noise from your lips. You were already so wet and he hadn't done anything yet. That was the one thing he had realized during this past week since the two of you began this arrangement, you were truly ready for him at any and all times.
His fingers spread around your wetness before he removed his fingers entirely. Frank wrapped a hand around his cock, guiding himself to your cunt. The tip grazed your clit, causing you to moan softly.
You were truly just a sight to behold. Bent over the counter with your cunt glistening for Frank, absolutely a vision. Without warning, Frank began pushing his cock into your entrance. "Oh fuck," You said, closing your eyes as you gripped the edge of the counter.
Frank groaned as he entered inside of you. Your pussy was so wet, so tight, and perfect. It took everything to not just instanteanously blow his load like he had almost done earlier in the shower. "God," He threw his head back as he eased all the way in.
"Please," You breathed out in a whimper, wanting so badly to simply be pounded into.
And who was Frank to deny you when you sounded like that?
He drew his hips back slowly, his cock easing out of you, before slamming himself back into you. A loud moan fell from your lips as the feeling. Your walls instinctively clenched around him, almost clinging to his cock as if to never let go. You felt almost as though you were desperate and perhaps in many ways, you were.
"Fuck, you feel so good, baby," Frank groaned as he continued that pace for a few moments, simply drawing his hips back slowly before slamming into you harshly. He began moving his hips a bit faster, gaining a nice rhythm. He had one hand on your hip while the other rested on your spine.
"Frank," You whined loudly as he thrusted his hips.
The kitchen was filled with the sweet scent of banana bread and the loud sound of skin clapping together as he fucked you hard and fast, uncaring of whether or not the neighbors may hear you guys. It didn't particularly matter, not when his cock felt heavenly inside of you.
"You're so fucking good to me," Frank grunted, his voice rough. "Letting me take you whenever I desire," He gripped your hip a bit tighter. "Such a good girl, aren't you?"
A shiver went down your spine at the praise as you audibly gasped. With a moan, you nodded your head in response, despite Frank being unable to see your face. "So good for you," You replied, keeping your grip on the counter.
Frank's hips adjusted slightly as he continued the pace. With the slightly knew angle, his cock began hitting your g-spot repeatedly, causing you to moan much louder than before. "God, I'm not gonna be able to last," Frank's other hand slid from your spine to your other hip. He held you tightly as he fucked you.
You reached a hand downward to your cunt, rubbing circles on your clit in sync with Frank's thrusts. That familiar heat inside of you was building quickly. "Oh my god," You mewled, meeting Frank's thrusts with your own movements as you began chasing that high.
And with a few more thrusts of Frank's cock and your fingers, you were moaning his name as you clamped down around him. Your body quivered with pleasure as your orgasm hit you hard. You felt Frank twitch before spilling deep inside of you, riding out his own release.
After a few moments, the world came back into perspective along with the beeping of the oven to signal that the banana bread was done. The two of you were breathing heavily, coming down from your highs. Frank pulled out of you and stepped back just enough to pull up his sweatpants. You stood back up, still breathing hard, and turned around to look at Frank.
He smiled at you and leaned in to press a soft kiss onto your lips. "Don't worry about pulling the bread out," He murmured softly. "I'll take care of it. You go get yourself situated," He said before pressing his lips against your forehead.
You couldn't help the small smile that appeared on your lips as the two of you pulled away. "I'll be right back," You whispered before walking away, all while you continued to ignore that clenching feeling in your chest.
