Dewdrop 🔭🪐🛰️🚀

25yrs old 🇭🇳 🇺🇸|| Blog dedicated to occasionally posting my puppy Nala and liking/commenting/reblogging content 🙂 FIFA CUP ANYONE BUT ENGLAND OR SPAIN!!!

[the-quasar-hero]

It’s extremely fucked up that some ppl try to make you feel stupid and immature for hoping for a better world. You say you want world peace and mfs think you need a pacifier; dawg, I just don’t want ppl dying from violence. This idea that ppl simply must die as casualties of war is misanthropic to say the least.

[dilfgifs]

CHRIS EVANS PEOPLE’s 2022 Sexiest Man Alive

[icutw-writing]

Indifferent

Desc: You've been a friend of the Cody's for years. All that time pretty much, you've been crushing on Andrew. It hurt when you were friends and you didn't say anything. It hurts more when he stops treating you like a friend and you can only pine from a distance.

Everytime you do see Pope, he always gives you the cold shoulder. There's just no way he likes you back the same way. Right?

Tags: Pope codyxfem!reader, set pre-canon (a couple of yrs b4 popes arrest), eventual smut, porn with plot, pervy Pope, unrequited crush (supposedly), handjob (Pope resesving), vaginal fingering (r reseaving) reader has a foul mouth (raised by the Cody's what can I say), reader is desc as wearing a bikini, r uses she/her pronouns, reader has a pussy, little other reader desc, r is pretty strong headed and impulsive, r has a hook up with an other character (oc) (dw it's rlly bad), minor use of oc for plot (not reader), pervy!Pope (you'll see), shy!Pope during sex, r takes the lead

A/n: trying to post this while on a train isn't smartest thing I've done. But I've had loads of time whole travelling to write this and now I'm too excited to post

Read on ao3

Masterpost

8k

...

The water is cool at the Cody residence. It sends a welcome chill and washes away the heat from the day. You're in one of your nicer bikini's, the one you only wear at the pool and not the beach because you don't want to ruin it. The one you often wear to the Cody's because there's a reason you want to wear something skimpy and eye catching.

"Enjoying our pool?" Darren calls, as he walks into the garden.

"Yep."

"I swear that's the only reason you come here anymore."

"So what if it is? I think it's a good enough reason."

"Maybe." Derran shrugs as he takes a seat on one of the outdoor chairs.

It is better that he thinks the pool is the only reason you keep coming to their house. And there isn't a certain older brother with curled, auburn hair and a mean face that hides a much softer soul that keeps leading your legs back to this house.

A house you spent a lot of your childhood in, playing with that older brother. Until, he began to push you away and you became less important to him. Until your friendship with him vanished.

It doesn't help that the feelings you developed for him as kids, never really faded. A hopeful part of you wishes that Andrew will go back to treating you how he did before. A pragmatic part just wishes he'd explain what changed between you. And a small, but persistent, cynical part of you just wants to hurt him back. That on one visit you'll just snap, and you'll break him apart. But for now, you'll just swim gentle laps of the pool, and hope to catch even a glimpse of him.

"So, how's dating going?" Darren chimes in, breaking you from thought.

"As bad as ever." Pinning over Pope hasn't gotten you anywhere. In attempt to move on from him, you tried to put yourself out there. Predictably, it has been terrible.

"Oof. I don't envy you."

"You can't be a bachalor forever, you know?"

"I don't know, I think I've got many more years of singledom ahea-"

A clatter from the gate cuts Darren's speech off. He shoots up, high on alert, attention towards the gate.

Stumbling towards you both, comes Pope. One hand clutches his side, there are cuts up his arm and his face is bloodied and swollen.

"Jesus! Pope, what happened?"

Darren rushes over to Andrew and slings the injured man's arm over his shoulder, supporting his walk and leading him to a chair.

Alarmed, you leap out of the pool before rushing over to where Andrew now sits. It's not the first time you've seen him like this, and your sure it won't be the last.

His arms are flexed and pusling, daring to split out from his shirt. His jaw is deep set and ripples with tension. One eye is bloodied a bruised, a deep purple stain beginning to form on the eye socket. There are crimson streaks of blood on his face from the bleeding wound. But there are also splattered on blood across his knuckles and stained on his dark shirt, that aren't from his own injuries.

"Errand Smurf sent me on. Went a little sidewise." Pope hissed through his pain as he answered Darren.

"Really. A little."

"I'll be fine." Pope dismissed.

You stand there, a couple of paces from Pope. Dripping wet from the pool. You desire deeply to reach out and cradle his face. But thats not what he wants, you restrain yourself, digging you nails into your palms. Instead you say.

"I can get the med kit. From inside."

Andrew turns his head to look at you. Seemingly processing you for the first time since he arrived. There's a deep frown on his face. Not from the injuries but one that formed the moment he saw you. It sets a feeling of unease in your gut. His squinting gaze travels from your head and your dripping hair that clings to it. Then down the whole length of your body, reminding you that you're still only dressed in a skimpy bikini. His gaze makes you go red hot and your stomach does a flip. When he stares at you like this, he doesn't hide what he's looking at, hes looking at your body, all of it. Finally, he drags his eyes away from you and turns to Darren.

"She shouldn't be here." He grumbles out the corner of his mouth.

As if you had swolled a lead weight your gut plummets hard. You are reminded of the cold shoulder Pope has been giving you for the last few years. You are reminded that he still doesn't feel the same way as you.

"I'll be in my room." Pope groans as he gets up but refuses help from Darren. He shuffles his way into the house.

Darren turns to you sympathetically.

"He is right. It's probably best if you-"

"Yeah that's fine. I get it." You've been around the Cody's enough to know when it's time to leave. "But can I use your shower first?"

"Go ahead. You'll be out before everyone gets here." It's a statement as much as it is an instruction.

"Yeah, no problem."

You collect your bag before making your way to Darren and Craig's joint bathroom.

"I swear he hates me." You mutter. Mostly to yourself, but Darren still hears you.

"You think?"

"He is always so short with me." You turn back to look at him.

"I think he's just like that." Darren shrugs. "He's the same with everyone. I think he's indifferent to you at best."

That word hits harder than it should. It hits harder than if he said hated.

...

As if trying to undo the cool swim, you turn up the shower as high as it'll go. The scolding water almost grounds you as your head spins. Indifferent. Indifferent. Indifferent. From childhood friends to developing a crush in you late teens to slowly and painfully watching as he creates a bigger and bigger void between you until you can barely hold a conversation with him. And for that to not be motivated by hatred or another strong emotion but indifference.

Your head is dipped under the fall of the hot water. You let the near boiling liquid pour down your naked body. You've shut both the doors to the bathroom, you'd lock them but they don't have any. Relating to Smurf and her shocking lack of boundaries with her kids. But Craig and Darren know you're here and they always respect your privacy. Even if now, the only quiet moment you are taking is to brood.

You should be over this man. This is why you're dating. And yet everything he does, even the cold shoulder, drives you totally mad. Your 30 second interaction plays over in your head. The worry you feel deep in your core from seeing him so injured. The heat, that you can still feel inside of you, when his percing gaze travelled the length of your body. That had to mean something. That wasn't how you looked at a person if you didn't care for them. But maybe you were just clutching a straws.

"Ugh!" You call out into the empty bathroom in frustration.

Suddenly, you see movement. Your heart rate spikes. A figure out the corner of you eye drags your attention. You head swivels to get a better look but through the mist of the bathroom but nothing is clear. You turn off the shower.

"Darren?" You call out. Maybe he's trying to hurry you along.

There's no answer.

With one hand, you wipe off the gathering of thick condensation on the glass. You scan the room. You can't see anyone in the bathroom. However, looking in the reflection on the mirror you can see into Darren's bedroom. That can't be right. The sliding door is pulled all the way open, and you can see a view of his bed and desk chair. But you can't see anyone.

You step out the shower and immediately go over and shut the door. It probably just swung open. As for the figure you saw, you can't quite explain that.

Once you're dressed, you enter Darren's room to leave again. Darren enters the room at the same time.

"Did you just talk to Pope?" He asks.

You brow furrows. What is he talking about?

"No. Why?"

"I just passed him, leaving my room. You didn't see him."

"No, he must've grabbed something and left."

"Yeah, it was probably that."

It was probably that. But then again, it could have been the figure you saw. The figure that snuck into Darren's room. Who opened the door to the bathroom and tucked into the side and watched you shower.

The idea that it might have been Pope gives you more thrill than it should. A random figure watching you would be wrong. But Andrew, taking a peak while you showered. Too shy to do anymore. That was exciting, it made your stomach knot. Even if it was just a fantasy only you could entertain.

...

A few weeks later, you're sat on the couch waiting for Darren, so you can leave for your night out. While you wait, you think you might as well have a quick check on your dating app again, see if anything has changed (you know it hasn't). As your swiping through blury selfies, awkward poses by sports cars they definitely don't own and so many photos with fish. Darren finally make an appearance.

"I thought you were done with the dating apps."

"I was. But then the perfect man didn't magically fall on my lap since. So I downloaded it again."

"I thought the guys on there were all creeps." Darren walks down the steps to stand in front of you on the couch.

"They're not. Mostly." You dismiss, standing up and gathering your things. Turning it off and placing your phone into your bag.

"Apart from that guy who followed me back from the date the other day."

"What!" Darren stammered, grabbing your arm so your facing him again, his eyes fierce.

"Relax I was fine. I left after one drink because I got weird vibes." You coax Darren's grip off your arm as you speak. "But he followed me out the bar. He was pretty obvious though. Anyway so I walked to Chicks, you know Chicks?"

"Yeah, I know of Chicks"

"Well I know the bouncer there, Tony. So I pointed him out. And honestly he didn't make two steps until the creep runs off." Your laughing but Darren's brow is still creased.

"It's fine, he's not following me anymore."

"Or he just got better a stalking." A voice says unexpectedly, from the hallway.

Both you gazes snap over to see Pope hovering from the raised platform. He wears a dark button up that sits tight around his swollen chest and biceps. You can still see the reminence of the mess he got in the last you saw him, a yellowy-green shadow coveres one eye. An uneasy atmosphere settels between the three of you. There's a beat of tense silence before Darren speaks.

"Stop snooping on our conversations, man." He turns to you. "Are you ready to go?"

"One minute, I think I need to pee again."

"Seriously." Darren fusses.

"I won't be a minute." You throw your bag back onto the couch and rush over to the guest toilet.

"I'll see you in the car." Darren calls.

You skip up to the hallway to the guest bathroom, but you're stopped by Andrew who remains firmly planted on the floor, his eyes boring into you.

"It's okay, I know how to stay safe." You brush your hand across Pope's bicep. He makes a small grunt in response, his gaze focused on where you hand brushes him. You can't quite make out what that tone indicates. As soon as you feel like you've found his core, you find out he's still hidden behind more locked doors. But he steps aside and you leave him standing there.

Once you're out of sight, his attention turns to the bag you've left on the couch.

...

The night out was fun, even if it didn't sport any suitable bachelors. There was one guy that brought you a drink, but then he did the same to three other girls immediately after you. And a couple of others who you shared moments of flirty eye contact with, but with no results. In the end you enjoyed drinking, dancing and laughing with friends. Enough to call it a successful night.

But the feeling of loneliness, or the desire to quickly have a not-rebound rebound from Pope, quickly takes over you. As soon as you're snuggled in your bed, you search for the dating app. But, it's not in its usual place on your home screen. You blame your inebriated head for you slip of memory and search up the app. It doesn't come up. Your check the spelling. Nope, all correct.

With a sigh, you re-download the app. Sometimes that happens, apps crash and then uninstall themselves. You just have to reinstall it, and you'll be back on track, you hope. It's a slow wait until the app returns and you almost drift off to sleep when a ping jolts you awake. App installed.

The app prompts you for your login and you type on your email. Account not found. That's not right. You retype your email. Account not found. This is becoming more hassle than it's worth. You try your back up email, thinking maybe you'd used the other one before. Account not found. You try again.

Account not found.

You try your number instead.

Account not found.

You retype it.

Account to found.

And again.

Account not found.

Exasperated, you slam your phone down on your bed. Maybe your app deleted on its own, but there's no way your account did. You'll endeavour to email customer service. But not now, you're way too tired. Perhaps then, it's a good idea your not scrolling on it now. You don't really trust your taste in men, drunk at 3am, nor your ability to talk to them. Maybe it's for the best. At least for tonight.

...

Its not long after that, you find your way heading to another one of the Cody's parties. As you round the last corner to the Cody residence, the sounds of the party can already be heard. The immense speakers blast music that echo's down the street, sure to cause many noise complaints from neighbours, if they were anyone other than the Cody's. There's a cacophony of shouts, a mixture of shrill shrieks and encouraging yells. Judging by the words you can make out, they've already reached the roof jumping stage of the party. Always so predictable.

You walk all the way to the gate that leads into the garden and hover at the entrance for a moment. There you are greeted with the party as full swing. A jumble of bubbly, drunk guest weave in and out of each other. All dressed in bright, revealing bikini's or shirtless, only sporting long board shorts. Each with a drink in hand. The attention of the party is mostly focused on the far end of the garden, where a small group of men gather on the shed roof that over looks the pool.

"Jump you pussies!" Craig calls from beneath the shed. His wet hair and slightly reddened skin, indicate he'd already jumped many times into the pool. Nothing changes, you think.

You scan the party, looking passed drunk couples making out sloppily on deck chairs. Past groups of miscellaneous guests standing in groups, many whom probably don't know any of the Cody's but know you don't need an invite to be at one of the Cody brothers infamous parties. You sweep past them searching for a mop of ragedy blonde hair. Much harder than you'd think as the party mostly consits of surfers. But then you spot him, hands on hips, shaking his head to himself in reference to the three men who still haven't jumped off the roof yet. You make your way over to Darren, squeezing past the crowded party guests.

Three consecutive splashes draw your attention to the pool, and then up to the shed roof. Standing triumphant is Craig, his hands fists in the air as he cheers. Below him, three begrudged men, slowly swimming out of the pool and not without a few pointed words. Clearly Craig had taken matters into his own hands.

"Fuck you man!" One swimmer shouts through mouthfuls of water.

You watch as he shoots the men, and everyone else as the party, the middle finger on both his hands, before front flipping into the pool and narrowly missing one of the swimmers.

Craig's shenanigans are a refreshing sight in a way. It sets up the night for a crazy party, with reckless drunk actions and a night that seems to go on forever. It's what you need, a distraction from Andrew and your insistent pinning. If feels ironic to go to Pope's house when trying to get over the man in question. But you know he avoids his brothers parties like the plague.

Finally you navigate your way to Darren and he turns to greet you.

"Fancy seeing you here." He has a warm smile, the one you only get to see when he actually likes the person (which isn't a lot) "You're like a snake, always slithering back." He jests. You give a nod to Cathy and Baz who are sat beside you. Cathy is curled up under Baz's arm that wraps around her.

"Well as long as you keep throwing mediocre parties, I'll keep showing up." You say, turning back to Darren.

"Mediocre is it!" He feigns offence.

"Well the grounds are a bit small." You highlight the area with gesture. "And you always run out of beer before the end of the night. But other than that." You shrug.

"You're always welcome to leave."

"Hmmm... I'll see how the night goes." You joke, as if your not going to crash on the couch like you do after most parties.

"And in regards to the beer, that's always Craig drinking it."

As if on queue, Craig appears behind Darren, he signals to you to stay silent as he creeps towards Darren. He attempts to scare him by grabbing his shoulders and giving a loud yelp in his ear. Predictably, Darren doesn't finch and shrugs him off.

"Talkin' about me?"

"Only bad things." Darren responds.

As if in answer, Craig shakes himself dry, slapping Darren with his hair and sending a spray of water all around him. You stumble backwards and hold your arms up to shield yourself. You take about two steps before you crash into something firm. Two solid hands grip your waist. Your strain your neck to see who has a grip of you.

"Sorry man. I-"

Your voice trails off as you realise who's holding onto you. He looking back down at you, from this view you can see his numerous freckles in detail, each a gentle golden brown.

"Be careful." He says in a gruff voice, his face too close yours, you can feel his hot breathe tickle your ear. You tense up, your stomach bubbling from the contact as you can feel his rough hands on your bare waist. As well as his strong grip, he's also close enough that you can feel the firm muscle of his chest pressing into your back.

All to quickly he lets go, almost dropping you back down on the floor. Darren and Craig stop their squabbling to focus on Pope, who remains silent until all three pairs of eyes of his brothers focus on him. You shuffle away from him slightly, you're sure your blush is already too obvious and you're not trying to make it worse. The ghost of the contact on your waist still lingers. Even with the physical distance, you eyes still focus on the swell on his pec that's accented by the tightness of his black t-shirt.

"When's the party over?"

"Bro, it's still light." Craig throws his hands up exasperated. "Not anytime soon."

Andrew grunt and turns his gaze to the floor. "I need to prepare, for later this week." He looks up at Baz, hoping to appeal to him.

"Look man, that's ages away." Baz sighs as his stand up. "Let us have some fun first." He guides Pope out of the party, talking quietly in his ear as they go. You watch as Andrew shrinks himself as they walk through the crowd, he's always been uncomfortable in crowds. A part of you wants to follow him out and sit with him, away from the party, as you used to as kids. But thats not the reality anymore. Somehow, no matter how short he is with you, you always find away to be sympathetic towards him.

No matter how much he ignores you. No matter how much he's pushed you away, until your childhood friendship is unrecognisable. Until, he's become 'indifferent' to you. You still want to make sure he's okay.

That's it, you think, there's no way your pining over a man who doesn't care the same way you do.

"Fuck it."

You march over to the bar and reach for the first beer of many.

"That's the attitude." Craig cheers you on, oblivious to your motivations, he clinks the neck of your bottles together.

...

It'd been dark for a while now, the festoon lights that criss-cross the garden shine wildly in the dim. The numerous beer's buzz around your body, making you warm and fuzzy. You jitter with energy, you're just wating for some more excitement. And yet, the energy of the party is starting to simmer. The first few people have already left, making the garden feel much larger with their absence. Most people are now sat on the deck chairs some in small groups but many more coupled up and sucking each others faces' off. To your great annoyance, as you'd decided you're either going to have so much fun you forget about Pope or meet someone tonight and move on. But, so far, neither had happened. Instead Pope had stood behind the glass doors, snarling and grimacing as he scanned the party, which was not helping you keep your mind off him.

"Fuck this!" A few people swivel their heads in your direction.

"What's wrong with you?" Craig exclaims.

"Your mediocre party is getting boring Darren." You call to him as you march past him. In the direction of the shed.

Its not an easy climb up the shed, they never installed a ladder. Not because they couldn't but because Craig always insisted that it ruined the fun. As you scramble up, your fingers numbed slightly from the alcohol making it harder to climb, you start to draw a bit of a crowd. That's better, you think, as you hear a few voices all start to chime up. You can hear Darren and Craig cheering from below. Its actually a familiar climb, perhaps if you didn't know it so well, you'd already be flat on your ass, but you where there when Darren first had the idea to jump from the roof. Although, Craig always insists it was his idea first.

With wobbly legs, you straighten up on slanted roof. Looking across the garden, you can see most people have turned to look at the show. Craig, Darren, Cathy and Baz are all up on their feet now. Craig and Darren cheering you on and Cathy clinging to Baz's arm nervously, she always thought you were more fragile than her, being her younger.

Most people at the party don't know that regardless of who was first up the roof, you where second. You know how to land without getting a red burn. You know that when you peer over the ledge, the edge of the pool looks too close to your landing spot but when you actually land you are a good meter away from the edge. But most people don't know that. Maybe you can ham it up a bit, you think to yourself, get some excitement back.

Overcautiously, you push one toe over the edge on the roof, before quickly curling back into yourself. You look nervously across the crowd.

"I don't think I can do it."

You see Darren roll his eyes but you also see Cathy step forward slightly.

"You don't have to do it!" She calls up to it. "You can always come down!"

"You climb down that shed and I'll kick your ass, coward!" Darren shouts back, always interested in letting things get exciting.

And exciting it does get, more people get up onto their feet and the crowd is divided between shouts of encouragement and calls for you to climb down. You're about to fake another spell of nervousness when a loud voice cuts through the shouts.

"Get down. Now!"

Your head whips to the source of the sound and there, close to the shed, looking up at you, is Pope. His hands balled into fists and his brows furrowed.

"What!" You should back. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"You'll hurt yourself"

The crowd had gone nearly silent and all attention is on the two of you.

"You seriously haven't spoken to me all this party. Not counting the time before that." Your chest puffs up and down with you heavy, angry breaths. "And the first time you do, is to tell me what to do?"

"You're being careless. Get down."

This cements everything now. He really is indifferent to you. Until you're disturbing him and then he'll talk to you. Fuck him.

"If you don't want to talk to me. Don't think you need to now."

You copy Craig's move from earlier, you stick both fingers at him before taking one powerful leap off the roof. It was perhaps a bit childish but your head is fuzzy from both drink and anger.

There are two feelings that hit you as soon as you land in the pool. First, is the rush of adrenaline that pumps through your body, and the awe that washes over you as all that emotion is held under a dampener under the heavy weight water, a moment dragged out into slow motion.

The second is a slight twinge of regret when you are reminded of why you don't usually do this at parties. You feel the fabric go, but its all too fast for you to catch it before your bikini top is whipped of above your head. Gently you continue to sink to the bottom of the pool, with the full knowledge that you top is now floating at the surface.

The moment you break the water barrier, you are greeted with cheering. The crowd clearly excited from the eventful jump. Amongst other things. You just hope the refraction of the water is enough to cover you up a bit. The first thing you search for, is Pope. He's not getting away that easy. But as you head swivels on it axis, you can't see him anywhere. The coward.

"Looking for this?" An unfamiliar voice draws you attention. Standing on the edge of the pool, with your bright bikini top hooked over one finger, it a man you don't recognise.

"Why, did I loose it?"

You swim closer to him and take in the pleasant site before you. The hand that holds you top it attached to a thick forearm that leads way to a pumped bicep. He has a sweet smile and he doesn't take his eyes off yours as you make your way towards him. A warmth blooms in your chest from the attention.

As you adjust the top back on, still under the surface of the water, you can admit he's cute. And maybe after working a bit of your magic, you can find your fun and your rebound all in one night.

You move to sit on the deckchairs, you lay out and let the evening breeze dry you. And the man, Damien, sits across from you. He'd been decently respectable so far, but now he struggled to keep his gaze on you eyes without it magnetising to the whole length of your body in stuttered breaks. But that was good, you didn't want respectable.

"Who was that then?" He asked, clearly referring to you argument with Pope. "An ex?"

"I wish." You sigh.

He shoots you a confused look. Admittedly that was probably the least clear answer you could have given.

"I just mean, if he was, then he'd actually have a reason to hate me. Instead he just dislikes me for no reason." You give that answer instead of the truth. At least if you were ex's you would have had him at one point.

"Oh." He shrugs. You decide to drag the conversation away from Pope, before you lose this one.

"So, tell me about yourself."

...

Bate. Snare. Trap.

Men where easy (well the majority of them) and by the time you were dried from the pool, you were stretched out on the couch with Damien pressed on top of you. He was clumsy at first, you had to guide his touch. Show him that he could grab handfuls of your breast or ass, that he could press wet, hot kisses to wherever he wanted. He remined you of Pope, maybe a little too much so. You'd imagined him being shy, unsure. And you'd imagined telling him where to place his hands and where to dot kisses. You had one hand in Damien's hair. It was thick and straight but you wished for curls. With that hand, you guided him down your body. You lean into the warm tingles that spread across your neck where he kissed a sensitive spot. You grind into the pressure, where his pelvis meets your crotch, smiling as the pleasure builds in between your legs. Looking down, you're met with broad shoulders and rippling back muscles. But you can't escape the idea, that you wish that back was splattered with golden freckles.

"Mhmmf."

You drag out a moan, hoping to convince yourself as much as Damien, that you want this. It's not that you hate it, Damien was certainly hot. It was just you couldn't shake the feeling that Andrew was looming off in the distance. That was probably it, he was too near, you needed to be somewhere else.

With you hand still in his hair, you guide him up to face you. You a see his swollen lips and blown pupils. Well at least someone is having fun, you think. Before you can invite him back to your place he dives in for another kiss. His mouth meets your, wet and sloppy, he pulls you in for a heated kiss. You let yourself melt into it, allowing his weight to cover you. His tongue explores your mouth and you allow is uncoordinated attack. You let him overwhelm your sense, so at least for one moment you don't have any thought of Andrew.

Something draws your attention away from the kiss. A mummer and shuffle of sorts. You crack one eye open and see him immediately. Standing about a meter away from you, hands splayed out at his side and shoulders hunched. Damien continues to kiss you as you just watch Pope. Unmoving but breathing deeply through his nose. His drooping eyes hold your gaze for a moment of thick, hot tension. Once, Damien realises your not kissing him back, he pulls back and then follows your gaze.

"What the fuck man?!" Damien nearly completely jumps off you in shock.

Andrew rocks back and forth on his feat, undecided if he wants to march forward or run away. He tears his gaze from you to the floor.

You just watch him. His fingers flicker and fidget and he's mumbling to himself. You've seen him like this before; he's anxious. He's reached the point where there are too many thoughts in his head, racing around, and he doesn't know which one is right. And somehow it's you that's made him this anxious. This isn't indifference. It can't be.

You stand up, taking a couple of steps forward before a hand grabs your wrist. You turn back to Damien.

"Don't bother with him. Freak."

You snatch your hand away. Anger boils inside you, heat rising.

"Fuck you!"

"Okay Princess." He holds his hands up mockingly.

Your anger spills over.

"You know nothing. Nothing about him. And you won't learn anything more about me now."

You turn back and Andrew is already gone. You run up the steps and into the kitchen, passing Crag on the way.

"What happened there?"

"Where's Pope?" You ask, ignoring his question.

"Uhh, he just walked off. That way." He points out of the kitchen, towards the garage.

You race of out the sliding doors and through the gate. Just in time to see Andrew's car drive out of the garage.

...

The rest of the night muddled into a blur; more drinks, more music, more chatting. You want to forget your embrassing almost hookup. You want to try and have some fun this party still. And you want to understand Andrew. At some point you staggered your way to the bright, red couch.

The daylight wakes you up, your eyes slowly blinking open, adjusting to the bright light that makes your head pound. You groan into the cushion, before you drag yourself upright. Your head spins, and you sit still as you slowly let yourself adjust.

Standing up with a stretch, combing you bed hair with your fingers and rubbing the crust off that had formed on your cheek. A shiver runs through you, despite the summer morning. You realise you'd slept in your bikini again. But its not such an issue because this is not your first party at the Codys. You have a change of clothes in a bag and you quickly switch over to the soft, dry clothes. A soft top and comfortable, loose fitting shorts. Leaving the bikini on the floor with your bag, you make your way to the kitchen.

It was still abandoned, which you favoured, as the Cody boys did not wake up early. You help yourself to the coffee and lean on the kitchen counter as the sleep dissipates from your body and you begin to wake up.

A shuffling catches you attention and you turn to see Pope. Walking across the room, a black bin bag in a gloved hand. He spares you the smallest of glances, a pitiful look is drawn on his face. Quickly, he grabs some empty bottles from the kitchen counter and strides off.

You had barely slept last night, replying your last events over and over. Is he really that non-plus about you, or is a part of him that cares? As long as you hold feelings to him, you'll always hope he wants you back.

You want to talk to him but you hardly know where to begin. You take the time to collect your thoughts, because when you next see him there will be words.

Walking back to the couch, you notice something strange. The bikini you'd left on the floor is gone. You search around, under the bad, around the sofa but it's gone. Just another explained mystery in the Cody house. But you'll have to sort it later, first you need to talk to Andrew.

However, Andrew proves harder to find than you'd like. He always manages to disappear every time you want to see him. You'd just seen him beginning the clean up but as you search the garden, and the kitchen again, and throughout the house, you can't find him.

You're in the back of the house now, stepping closer to Pope's room. It been a while since you'd been there. The door is open a crack and the light peaks through it. You can't imagine hes there, but you can atleast have a look.

As you edge towards the door, you hear a sound coming from inside. It's muffled and you have to strain your ears to hear, but is sounds like groaning. You lean closer to try and identify the sound. It's still unclear, just a sporadic muffled groaning.

Creeping towards the door, you peak through the gap. You can see Pope's bed and lying ontop of it is him. It's hard to believe what you're seeing. Around his ankles are his pants, revealing his thick, muscular legs that strain and tense as he writhes on the bed. In one hand he holds his cock, that he pumps fiercely. In the other, your missing bikini, it's clutched in his grip and smushed into his face.

You whip yourself away from the door and pull yourself tight to the wall. There's no mistaking what you saw, or what you're hearing. Andrew is still groaning, the sound now more lewd now you know what he's doing. He takes deep inhales of the bikini, that you'd worn all the night before, followed by shaking moans. The sounds make your head spin and an intense warmth bloom between your legs. Pope pulls himself away from the swimsuit, you can hear a loud gasp before he calls out into the room.

"M'sorry. M'sorry."

That pitiful cry, almost sends you bursting into the room, but you stop yourself just shy on the entry way. Instead, peering again through the crack of the opened door.

You see his reddened cock, thick and heavy in his palm. The angry tip leaks a few pearlescent beads of pre-cum. His belly is flushed red at the base on his cock and it makes his freckles a deeper brown. Freckles cover his legs and belly, all places you've never seen before but it only makes you wonder if all parts of his skin are splattered with them.

Andrew wriggles in the bed, searching for more pleasure, aching to feel more. He bring the bikini bottom from his face down to his cock, he wraps it around the throbbing member, before he begins pumping again. Another wave of pleasure rolls over his body, arching his back and sending his head backwards. In a slurred voice, he calls out your name. Muffled under the throws of his pleasure but distinct enough to you.

Unable to contain yourself futher, now throbbing from pleasure from the sight before you, you creep into the room. You push open the door and then gently shut it behind you. Andrew doesn't react to your presence. So you continue, stepping light footed into the room. You make it all the way to the edge of the bed before Andrew sees you.

As soon as he notices you from one peaked eye, he reacts instantly. He throws the bikini aside, as if to hide the evidence. And then he sits up on the bed and curls his legs into himself.

"M'sorry. M'sorry." He mumbles again, repeating the sentiment over and over. His face is hidden from you, looking anywhere but up. His lips are drawn into an almost pout.

"It's okay." You comfort him. And for the first time, since you'd wished to do so, for longer than you can remember. Since you hands ached for it, time and time again. You reach over and cradle his face.

"It's really okay."

He leans into the touch. His face is rough but only where his stubble comes through but at his cheekbone, where your thumb reaches, the skin is softer.

A small whimper leaves his lips. It send your head spiraling but one though takes hold; you need him.

"Will you let me. Will you let me help you?"

He finally looks up at you, his eyes wide and deep brown. With your other hand, you reach your hand down his abdomen. You watch his face intently, looking for signs of hesitation. But he doesn't give you any, instead he opens up his legs, allowing you entry. Your hand brushes across flushed skin until you make your way to his hard cock.

It's warm to touch and throbbing when you wrap your fingers around it. Andrew squirms to the sensation and his whimpers return, faltering under your touch.

"It's okay. I'm here." You voice comes out as barely a whisper, strained from the tension that builds in you. Is this really happening?

Your hand that was cupping his cheek, moves to rake through his curls. They so much softer and thicker than you'd ever imagined.

You pump his cock slowly, from the base to the tip, drawing out each whimper and involuntary flinch of his body. Using the ever increasing pre-cum to slicken the cock and pump faster and faster.

"Aha! Mmmf." Andrew's head falls back onto the pillow and his hips begin to buck as he chases his orgasm further.

You stop your pumping for a moment as you climb onto the bed and straddle his body. He lets out a small whimper from the lose of contact but you comfort him with gentle words. As soon as you're comfortable, you continue the motions, you hand now behind you. His reaction is immediate, his body squirming under you. Chasing your own pleasure that's been building, you begin grinding on his soft belly.

"Andrew." You moan.

He looks up at you, his gaze less sheepish than before.

"Do you think you can help me too. Do you want to help me?"

He nods. So, you guide one of his hands up from his side and to your belly. His finger tips brush the lower part of your abdomen, just at the base of your shorts. His fingers flinch as if your skin is electric. You keep your steady hand on his shaking one and pull it closer until it's flat on you.

"Okay?"

He nods again, his gaze remains fixed where his hand is placed. His brushes the soft skin of your belly, tickling you slightly. He's transfixed by you, his hand exploring as if he'd never touched a person before. You continue to guide him, this time dragging his hand down past your waist band and into your pants. You're watching his face for any change, his eyes remain wide and he bites his lip. You guide the hand so the palm lies flat against you and slowly you push one finger tip through you slick folds.

Andrew takes a sharp intake of breathe as for the first time he feels your own pleasure and they way it has built inside you. The way it's has made your dripping wet and throbbing painfully for attention.

"Okay?" You ask again, your voice more tense as Andrew gets closer to you than ever before.

All he seems to be able to do, is nod. Again he gives you a curt nod but his gaze remains transfixed on your crotch. He becomes more confident now, no longer needing your guiding hand. His fingers explore further into your velvety walls. Tentivaley, he reached your sensitive spot and even with the lightest of touches pleasure barrels through you and you let out a languid moan.

"Ohh yes! Yes Andrew, just like that."

Andrew forms slow deliberate circles with his finger tips. They are firm and calloused against your soft, sensitive pussy. The sensations sends ripples of pleasure throughout your body. You can't help but to begin to grind on his fingers. Seeking out even more pleasure as your body begins to ache for release.

As if in response to your desperation. Andrew moves further down your throbbing pussy and curls two fingers inside of your aching hole.

"Oh God! Oh God!"

Your hole sucks on his fingers, stimulated by the increased sensations. His two fingers push as high up into you as they can and then curl downwards. With the back of his hand, he uses his palm to put pressure on your clit. You're body quivers from his touch.

Andrew's dedication to you, reminds you of your neglected duties. Your hand had stopped rubbing him a while ago and while he fucks you with his hand, you resume your pumping. He squirms and bucks and the immediate sensation and as you keep stroking a breathy moan is drawn out of him. You feel his fingers stutter inside of you. He's so close to release.

"It's okay. You can cum."

His moans become more sporadic as you increase the speed. His cock twitches in your hand.

"Cum for me Andrew."

It's the final permission he needs. His hips buck and jerk as the orgams rips out of him. Hot liquid shots from him. You continue to pump, cum slickened, as you draw out the last of his orgasm. Breathy moans fill the room as Pope strains from the release.

Once his hips drop to the bed and his cock begins to soften in your grasp. You head spins with adrenaline and pleasure, it's hard to think clearly. Andrew still has his head rested heavy on the pillow, his eyes shut as he rides the waves of the afterglow.

But his hand reminds tense and allows you to ride him. Your too desperate to ask for anything else from him, not that you would change a thing about this moment. The time you finally got him. Your thrusts are wild and uncoordinated as the pleasure builds within you. His hand is slickned with your own juices and riding him is easy and smooth. You cum on his hand, pussy clenching around his thick fingers.

After the orgasm has finished ripping through you. You take long heavy breaths and you stare up at the ceiling, letting your heart rate return to normal.

After you pull Pope's hand from inside you. You lean closer to Andrew and bring both hands up and cup his face. You absorb every last detail before you. The soft, gentle expression he wears on his blissed out face. His long, fluttering lashes that tickle his face. And the splattered, golden brown freckles that create constalations on his face. The same freckles that you'd spent so much time thinking and dreaming off, finally infront of you. It feels like a gift to be this close to them, to be able to count each one.

Andrew's eyes flutter open and his hazel eyes look at your own. His head shakes in your hand. You feel your heart twang.

"I'm sorry. M'so sorry."

"Why Andrew? You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I fucked up. I hurt you. You don't deserve me." He tries to pull his face away but you grip it between you hands and force him to look back at you.

"I pushed you away and ignored you. I was scared. I was just scared."

"Scared of what?"

"That you'd leave me."

"Andrew I would never."

"And then I fucked it all up. I- I I watched you shower."

"What? It was you."

"I"m sorry."

"Pope, its o-"

"I deleted your app because I didn't want you getting hurt."

"Pope. I don't mind-"

"No, no. I tried to stop you doing what you wanted. I couldn't tell you how I felt. I stole your bikini." His voice trails off at the last confession, his eyes trailing to the discarded bikini beside him.

"Andrew! You think I'd be here if I hated you?" He snaps to attention. You can't help the small laugh that falls out your lips. This whole situation is so absurd. He looks at you, confused.

"I forgive you. I'll forgive you a hundred times. If it means I can have you. If it means I can have you like this."

Andrew's eyes flicker across the room, you relax your grip on his face, allowing him to process. His brows furrow, he looks back up at you.

"So you don't hate me?"

"No Andrew, I don't hate you." You reach with your thumb and stroke the crease out of his brow.

"Do you hate me?"

Andrew brings one hand up, tentivaley he brushes a couple of fingers through your hair.

"Not at all."

You seal his words with a kiss and you finally get to feel his lips on yours. Theyre soft, wet and generously warm.

[cloverleaf20]

It’s been awhile since a fanfic has had me going back to a profile looking for updates like a crack addict 😞

[pittmebabyonemoretime]

are we too late? are we too far? // jack abbot pt. 2

At nineteen, you told Jack Abbot that you’d marry him someday. He laughed it off and disappeared from your life for eleven years. Now, you’re months away from marrying a safe, stable man. Until you lock eyes with Jack across a bar, and your perfectly curated life completely shatters.

genre: dad's ex-best friend!jack x reader, age gap, forbidden romance, mutual pining, smut nsfw mdni

word count: 12k+ (holy shit i'm sorry lmao)

(a/n: ahhh thank yall so much for waiting. i've been working so hard on this one. and honestly i feel like it's my weakest, but i'm proud of this little story. i really hope you enjoy it. also totally forgot last time i was going to explain the title lol. it's a line from the song Death & Romance by Magdalena Bay. A banger and I thought about Jack whilst listening to it, so naturally I wrote an almost 15k fic. so it goes. anywhoooo thank yall again. i hope you like it. plz let me know. )

part 1

Jack decided the universe was run by an absolute sadist.

When he’d left years ago, you had been just a girl he couldn’t save. No matter how much he had wanted to. Beautiful, sure, but dangerous. You had looked at him like he held the keys to the kingdom, completely oblivious to the fact that he was barely holding his own life together.

I’m going to marry you.

He hadn't corrected you back then. Not explicitly. He’d just gently steered you away from the edge of that particular cliff. 

Driving home that night, he had tucked your confession away in the darkest drawer of his mind as an impossible fiction.

But the person standing across from him now was entirely different. 

And, frustratingly, exactly the same.

Adolescence had turned into something elegant, but the defensive way you crossed your arms over your chest and the stubborn tilt of your chin was identical to when you were nineteen.

The familiarity hit him in the chest. Nostalgia making a wave over him. He’d cry right now if he wasn’t so emotionally constipated. 

His eyes tracked your hand as you reached for your glass and that's when the light caught it. 

Everything inside him ground to a halt.

Slowly, he pointed the drink and the hand that held it toward your hand. "What's that?"

The color drained from your face so fast it made his stomach drop. You pulled your hand back, tucking it close to your body. "Oh. I'm getting married."

Well, fuck. 

Jack made sure to keep his features normal. Even though some part of himself (stupid and utterly selfish as it is) feels like something has just been taken away from him. 

He just let out a breath, an only slightly tortured smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Oh yeah? Thought that slot was reserved for me."

You tore your gaze away, looking at anything but his face as heat crept up your neck.

He didn't look away. He couldn't. He just stared, tracing the line of your face, waiting out the silence until you finally forced yourself to look back. "Yeah, well." you muttered, your voice tight. "That's the kind of shit you say when you're nineteen and stupid."

"Stupid?" Jack countered, leaning an inch closer. "You wound me."

"Oh, don't act like you actually believed me back then."

He tilted his head, locking his eyes onto yours. "Well..you are here at this bar with me right now. After years of never seeing each other. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the universe is incapable of keeping us apart."

Instead of answering, you flagged down the bartender, your knuckles rapping against the sticky wood of the counter as you ordered another drink, completely shutting him out.

Jack watched you take a sip. 

He needed to stop. He needed to be the adult in the room, to play the role of the supportive, well meaning ghost from your past.

"So," he said smoothly, "who's the lucky guy?"

The name David slipped past your lips, followed by a laundry list of details. His job, how you met, the stable life you’d built. Jack nodded in all the right places, but truth be told, he wasn't processing a single syllable.

Fuck that guy.

Fuck David and his immaculate timing. Fuck David for being the one who got to see you grow into this version of yourself, and fuck David for having the absolute privilege of taking care of you.

But as he watched the animated way your expression softened when you spoke, a bitter ache settled deep in Jack’s stomach.

By the time the bartender did last call, the room had thinned out to a handful of stragglers.

You stood up, sliding your purse over your shoulder and Jack was up a second later, tossing a stack of crumpled bills onto the counter without looking at them. "It's late. I’m walking you home."

You blinked up at him, shifting your weight. "Jack, I'm fine. I live right around the block. It’s a four minute walk."

He didn't say anything back. He just snagged his jacket, throwing it over one shoulder with a lazy shake of his head. "Don't fight me on this, sweetheart."

The walk was quiet at first, the pavement damp from an earlier rain, but Jack had never been excellent at staying quiet around you. He kept his pace slow, matching yours perfectly, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Your shoulders brushed with every third step.

Gradually, the conversation slipped back into its old rhythm, as if the lost years never existed. He looked down at you, eyes crinkling at the corners, and for a fleeting moment, he felt completely unmoored.

God, you were sharp. You were quick, funny, delivering lines with this effortless charm that made him want to pull you into the nearest shadowed doorway and never let you go.

Before he could entirely lose his mind, you stopped in front of a brick building with a heavy iron awning. "This is me." you said, turning to face him on the steps.

Jack braced his weight on one foot, looking up at you. The easy bravado finally dropped from his shoulders, replaced by something more exposed. "Can I have your number?" He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. Jesus, now who was the one acting like a nervous teenager? "I, uh..I texted your old one a few times. Over the years. But I think you had it changed."

Your expression softened, a flicker of something complicated crossing your eyes. "Yeah, I changed it once I got to college. So my dad couldn't reach me."

The mention of your father made Jack’s jaw tighten, a protective anger flaring in his chest. He just nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket.

...

Against your better judgment, you took it. Your fingers brushed his with a brief shock of heat, as you typed in your new digits and handed it back.

"There." you whispered. "Goodbye, Jack."

You turned, key already in hand, reaching for the glass door of your building. You took one step into the warm lobby, but you turned back, looking through the open doorway at him.

He hadn't moved an inch. 

He was still standing exactly where you left him.

"I missed seeing you, Jack." you said, the confession slipping out before you could think better of it. 

And before he could answer, before you could see exactly what those words did to him, you turned and walked inside, letting the door click shut between you.

…

"There was nothing wrong with any of them." you said, stepping onto the sidewalk as the boutique door clicked shut. You stared blankly at a crack in the pavement. "They were beautiful dresses, Meg. They just didn’t feel right."

Meg sighed, throwing an arm around your shoulder as you both started down the block. "You’re just overwhelmed. Wedding dress shopping is less about the fabric and more about the reality of the fact that you're actually doing this. It's a lot to process." She checked her watch, her face twisting into a grimace. "Crap. Speaking of reality, I have to run. If I don't meet the florist in fifteen minutes, she's going to take several liberties that I definitely will not approve of.” 

"Go, go." you urged, waving her off with a weak smile. "I'll be fine."

"Are you going straight home? Do you want me to call you later?"

"No, don't worry about it." you said, gesturing toward the diner across the street. "I think I'm just going to go sit in a corner, get a slice of pie, and read my book for a bit. Decompress."

"Good. Unplug your brain." Meg said, giving your arm a quick squeeze before jogging toward the subway.

The diner was louder than usual, packed with the early dinner rush escaping the incoming rain. The bell above the door chimed as you walked inside, and a quick scan confirmed your worst nightmare. Every single private booth was taken. The long counter was packed shoulder to shoulder.

The only available spot in the entire place was a tiny two person table near the back window, and it was currently occupied by a very large man with a leather jacket draped over the back of his chair. His head was turned toward the window, watching the starting drops of rain streak against the glass.

Curls. 

Familiar curls, is all you saw first. And you should be embarrassed how much your body reacts to them. Even after all these years, he’s got your heart beating into your throat. The only thing that has changed is that he grew out of the red and exchanged it for grey. 

To your disastrous conclusion, it only made him more handsome. More something. Magnetic? Maybe, but you’d always been drawn to Jack. 

You should turn around. You should walk back out into the rain, go to your apartment, and eat whatever stale crackers were left in your pantry. Seeing him once at a bar was a fluke. Seeing him twice felt dangerous.

But your feet didn't move toward the door. Instead, driven by that same pull, you navigated the tight maze of tables until you were standing right at the edge of his space.

"Hey." you said softly.

Jack’s head turned immediately. The distant, checked out expression on his face instantly vanished, his eyes expanding as they locked onto yours. He took you in all at once. Your windblown hair, the slight line of stress between your eyebrows, the book clutched tightly against your chest.

A smirk slowly tugged at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remained entirely intense. He leaned back in his chair, gesturing casually with his chin toward the empty seat across from him.

You swallowed the ridiculous spike of nerves in your throat, sliding into the chair. 

Jack caught the eye of a passing waitress and raised two fingers. He looked back at you, eyes tracking the way you clutched your book like a shield. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice low.

You had spent the last twenty minutes dreaming about a thick slice of cherry pie, but suddenly, the thought of him buying it for you made your stomach do things you didn’t like. It felt too intimate. It felt wrong, like you were allowing him to fill a need he no longer had the right to.

"Oh, I'm just reading." you lied smoothly, offering a dismissive wave. "No food."

He didn't say a word, but he leveled a look at you. His eyebrows pulling down just a fraction in that knowing way he used to when he caught you in a bluff. An ache of longing bloomed in your chest. You had missed the way he had looked at you. 

You missed when someone knew you so completely that you didn’t even have to say a word.

"Really?" Jack murmured, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. "So was cherry pie just a phase, or is that still happening?"

A smile broke across your face before you could stop it, your shoulders dropping their defensive posture. Jack caught the change instantly. "We'll take a slice of the cherry. Two forks. And a black coffee."

When it arrived, you didn't fight him on it. Instead, a comfortable silence settled over the table. The only sound was the clinking of forks against the ceramic plate as you shared the slice, both of you staring out at the rain turning the streetlights blurry. 

It was nice.

It was terrifyingly easy.

"So," Jack said, breaking the quiet as he pushed the last bite of crust toward your side of the plate. "What did you do today?"

The lingering warmth from the pie evaporated, replaced by white satin and tulle. You let out a defeated sigh, leaning your chin into your hand. "Wedding dress shopping." you admitted, your voice miserable. "With Meg. It went horribly."

You expected a retort. Or for him to make a joke about you looking like a cloud or to tease you about being difficult. But when you didn't hear a reply, you looked up.

Jack wasn't smiling. He was watching you, his eyes focused on the sadness radiating from you. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." he said softly.

Your eyes screwed shut instantly, a shock running straight down your spine at the cadence of his voice. You forced them open, aggressively pointing your pie covered fork directly at his chest. "Don't call me that."

That smirk slowly worked its way back onto his face as he watched your cheeks flood with color. "Why?" he challenged, leaning an inch closer. "You like it too much?"

You tore your gaze away from him, turning your head toward the window and grumbling something under your breath just to avoid the smug, insufferable certainty in his eyes.

Then your phone buzzed against the table. “Oh, I have to take this. I'm sorry."

…

Inside, Jack was working double overtime just to keep his features flat. His jaw clenched so hard his molars ached. 

God, he needed to see his therapist. 

This was stupid. It was childish. It was entirely unhinged for him to feel this surge of possessiveness over a woman who wasn't even his. He had no claim over you. None at all. He was the one who had walked away eleven years ago.

But logic didn't do a damn thing to stop the way his chest constricted when you brought the phone to your ear.

Then came the blow, delivered in the sweetest tone. "Okay. Love you too."

Jack bristled. The words hit him with white hot jealousy.

You hung up, sliding the phone back into your pocket with an apologetic sigh. "Gotta go. David needs some help with something at the apartment."

You stood up, immediately reaching for your purse and unzipping it to hunt for cash. "Let me just grab some money for the pie."

Jack reached across the small distance, his hand came down over yours, his fingers completely covering your knuckles and pinning your hand to the fabric of your purse, stopping you instantly.

He would think about it later. Hours from now, lying awake in his bed, he would analyze the exact feel of your skin, the way his palm seemed to memorize the curve of your knuckles, and the buzzing that went straight up his forearm. 

But right now, he just needed to keep you from drawing another boundary between you.

"Don't even think about it." Jack said, leaving no room for debate. He didn't let go of your hand right away, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of your wrist. "You don't pay for anything when you're with me."

You blinked down at his hand, then up at his face. You couldn't help the little smile that broke across your lips. "Oh, I see. Got that doctor money now and suddenly you're a big deal, huh?"

Jack laughed, his fingers reluctantly sliding off yours as he leaned back into his chair. "Are you kidding? I've always been a big deal."

You snorted, and to Jack, it was easily the best thing he had ever heard in his life. It was a sound he wanted to bottle up and keep. "Bye, Jack." you said softly, your smile lingering.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, standing by his seat. And then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you reached out. Your hand closed briefly over his shoulder, a firm squeeze that pressed through the fabric of his shirt.

Then you turned and walked away.

He sat completely frozen, slowly bringing his left hand up to press over the exact spot on his shoulder where your fingers had just been, trying to trap the lingering warmth against his skin. 

…

It had been a week since you sat across from Jack in that diner, and your brain had spent the last several days thinking of absolutely nothing else.

Even now, with the late evening sun filtering through the trees of the park near your apartment, you were miles away. You were walking hand in hand with David. The gravel of the path was crunching beneath your sneakers, and his voice was steady beside you.

You weren't listening to a single syllable.

Instead, your mind was drifting back to a particular night a lifetime ago. You remembered the feeling when Jack had pulled his truck up to your house, the shouting of your dad’s latest explosive fit still echoing through the thin walls behind you.

Jack had taken one look at your face, grabbed your wrist, and thrown you into his passenger seat. 

He’d driven straight to the nearest Olive Garden and the two of you had proceeded to eat an ungodly amount of breadsticks. 

Looking back, you had probably been falling in love with Jack Abbot since the very first moment he’d ever shown up at your house, but watching him sit across from you under those tacky restaurant lights, making terrible faces just to make you forget the dark world you lived in, that was the exact moment your heart had stubbornly decided it wanted him.

But you had David now. Safe, stable, predictable David. Whose hand was currently wrapped around yours. He stopped walking, tilting his head down to look at you. "Hey. Did you hear me?"

You blinked, the memory dissipating as you forced yourself back into the present. "Hmm? No, sorry. I got completely lost in thought. What did you say?"

David didn't get annoyed. He just let out a patient laugh and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. "I was asking about our first dance song. I was thinking about it on the drive over. What do you think about Kiss Me?"

You couldn’t stop it then. Another memory slotting its way into your mind. You sitting shotgun  flying down winding back roads with the windows cracked wide open. The radio blasting that exact song, the wind whipping your hair across your face while you and Jack screamed the lyrics at the top of your lungs, completely off key.

"Maybe." you forced out, the word catching uncomfortably in your throat. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your expression from cracking.

"Ah, that's okay." David said smoothly, entirely oblivious. "Don't stress. I'll make a running list of options tonight and we can go through them later..oh, shit!"

David’s foot caught on a deep lip of concrete where the park path intersected with a dirt trail. His ankle rolled inward with a crack. He pitched forward, his grip ripping away from your hand as he went down hard on his side in the grass.

"David!" You dropped to your knees beside him instantly. "Are you okay?"

He was pale, his jaw clenched tight as he clutched at his left leg, a groan escaping his teeth. "My ankle." he gasped out, his forehead breaking into a sweat. "I think I just broke the damn thing."

…

You hadn't thought anything of the location when the driver pulled up to the emergency room. It was simply the closest trauma center. Your only focus had been helping David limp through triage until they finally rolled him back into an exam room.

David was lying on the gurney, his face tight with pain as he stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the doctor on staff to see him. You stood by the edge of the bed, your hand holding his.

"Alright, let's see what we're dealing with here." The fabric of the curtain was pulled back and your eyes flew upward. Standing in the entryway, a chart clutched in his hand and a stethoscope slung casually over his shoulders, was Jack.

Of course.

Jack’s eyes were locked onto the chart as he stepped into the room, his pen clicking once, and then he stopped. He raised his head and his gaze swept over the gurney, over David, and landed right on you.

"Sorry." David panted from the gurney, his knuckles white as he gripped the metal rail. He forced a strained smile. "Didn't mean to crowd your ER today, Doc. I think I completely destroyed my ankle on a rogue piece of park pavement."

"Let's take a look." Jack said. His voice was lower than usual. You could feel it rattle all the way down to your toes. He deliberately kept his eyes on David as he rolled a stool over, snapping on a pair of gloves.

As he knelt by the foot of the bed, his shoulder brushed right against your arm. It was a fleeting contact, but it sent a jolt straight up your spine. "So,” Jack said, his large fingers gently probing the swollen, purple bruising on David’s ankle. "How exactly did it happen? Lose your footing?"

"Yeah." David groaned, flinching slightly as Jack manipulated the joint. "I was totally distracted. We were just walking, talking about our wedding, and I didn't see the drop off."

Jack’s hands stayed perfectly still on David’s leg, but slowly, his head tilted up. His eyes locked dead onto yours, carrying a challenging spark that trapped your breath in your throat.

"Right." Jack said softly, his mouth curving into an almost smirk that was entirely meant for you. "Distractions will get you. Sometimes you think you're on solid ground, and then the universe completely shifts right out from under you. Isn't that right?"

You gripped the strap of your purse so hard your fingers turned numb. "I...yeah. I guess so."

David let out a painful laugh, completely oblivious to the suffocating layers of subtext heavy in the room. "Man, you can say that again. One minute you're picking out a first dance song, the next you're in a gown."

"A first dance song?" Jack repeated. He stood up, ripping off the gloves, his gaze still pinned to your face. He stepped closer, forcing you to slightly tilt your chin up to maintain eye contact. "What was the contender?"

"Oh, I was thinking Kiss Me." David called out from the pillow, letting his head fall back with a tired sigh. "You know that old nineties track? I think it's romantic. y/n was a little unsure, though."

A wicked gleam flashed in Jack’s eyes. A look of insufferable amusement mapping itself across his handsome face. He knew exactly what that song meant to you.  "Unsure? That’s surprising. Not a big fan of long drives and loud music?"

You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted copper, glaring at him in a stare. "It’s a bit cliché." you managed to squeeze out, your voice tight.

Jack’s eyes dropped briefly to your mouth before snapping back to David, his professional demeanor slotting back into place like it was nothing. "Well, David, the good news is I don't think it's a fracture, but the bad news is we definitely need X-rays to check for a hairline break or ligament tears. I'm going to order them and have the tech come grab you."

"Awesome. Thank you, seriously." David said. He looked up at Jack like the man had just personally parted the sea. "Man, honey aren't we lucky? This guy is fantastic. I gotta say, Doc, your bedside manner is incredible. Super attentive."

Jack laughed and stepped back toward the door and gave a polite nod. "Don't mention it." Just before he left, he cut his eyes back to you, leveling you with one last look. "I always make sure to take extra special care of things that are important."

…

You kept running into Jack.

Not on purpose, but for a few weeks after that night at the diner, the universe just seemed entirely incapable of keeping you separate.

You were roaming through your favorite bookstore, losing yourself in the new releases, when you turned a corner into the biography aisle.

He was leaning against the wood paneling, casually flipping through a massive hardcover on the French Revolution. Typical, honestly. It made you want to roll your eyes, but before you could look away, he raised his head. 

Did you proceed to sit at the tiny coffee shop inside the bookstore and talk for two straight hours? Yes. But it didn't mean anything.

Then there was the afternoon you got caught in a downpour. You stood on the sidewalk, cursing under your breath as you shoved at your umbrella, which yeah was completely broken.

A familiar truck pulled up to the curb, the passenger window sliding down smoothly. Jack leaned across the console, eyeing the way the rain was already plastering your hair to your forehead.

“Get in.” he called out over the thunder.

When you started to refuse, shaking your head and gesturing toward the short walk home, Jack didn’t argue. He just killed the engine, threw his door open, and stepped straight out into the rain. 

He just reached out, his hand wrapping gently around your elbow, and guided you toward his passenger side. He practically hovered over you, using his own body to protect you from the worst of the sheets of water while he got absolutely, completely soaked.

Did you sit up until three that night thinking about the way his hair looked all messy and plastered to his forehead? Did you think about the way his shirt had been completely soaked through, clinging to his shoulders? Yes. But it didn't mean anything.

All of this was pure coincidence. A series of flukes. Not on purpose at all.

Until it wasn't.

…

David was away at a work conference in Boston. You were pulling books off your overflowing bookshelves, doing some late night reorganizing, when the banging on the front door started.

It was pounding that rattled the wood in its frame and sent panic right through you.

"I know you're in there, baby girl! Getting married without telling your old man!!"

The words through the door were slurred, thick with alcohol and malice. You froze on the spot, a book slipping from your numb fingers. How had he found you?

You frantically dialed David’s number, your hands shaking so much you almost dropped the phone. When he finally answered, you poured out the words in a breathless rush, begging him to come home, begging him to fix it.

But David was three hundred miles away, and he simply didn't realize the severity of the situation. He didn’t know the history, not all of it, so he didn’t know the monster on the other side of that door.

"Call the police." David said through the line, his voice calm and practical. "I can't leave right now."

He meant well. He really did. He just didn't know.

You hung up, the slurred shouting outside your door growing louder, followed by another heavy kick against the door. 

Without thinking, you dialed Jack and he answered on the very first ring.

"My dad's here." you whispered. You didn't even say hello. Your voice fractured on the last word, and you were sure Jack could hear the muffled yelling through the background.

It took Jack no time to speak. "Stay right there. I'm coming."

David had retreated when you most needed him, hiding behind work responsibilities and distance. But Jack Abbot?

He would walk right into the fire.

…

Jack broke every speed limit getting there. He took the stairs two at a time, his feet pounding against the concrete, and when he rounded the corner into the hallway, he saw him.

Your father was swaying on his feet, one fist raised against your door, his knuckles already split and bleeding from the force of his own pounding. The smell of cheap whiskey hit Jack before he even got close.

"Hey!" Jack's voice cracked down the hallway. "Get away from that door."

Your father turned, bleary eyes struggling to focus. He blinked hard, swaying backward on unsteady feet as he took in the man closing the distance between them. "Who the hell are you?" he slurred, his words mashing together at the edges.

Jack stopped a few feet away, close enough to block him from the door, his jaw tight, hands curled into fists at his sides. There had been a time this man had known his face well. A time Jack had sat at his kitchen table, had shaken his hand, had been introduced as his friend from AA.

None of it registered. Not a flicker of recognition. Just glassy, unfocused eyes trying to place a stranger.

"Doesn't matter who I am." Jack said evenly, though his pulse was pounding in his ears. "You need to leave. Now."

Your father squinted at him a moment longer, some drunken calculation happening behind his eyes, weighing whether this stranger was worth the fight. Whatever he decided, it wasn't in Jack's favor to test. He muttered something incoherent under his breath, waved a dismissive hand through the air, and turned, stumbling back down the hallway toward the stairwell and the door banged shut behind him.

Jack stood there another few seconds, listening until the sound of uneven footsteps faded completely. Only then did he let his shoulders drop, some of the adrenaline bleeding out of him. He turned and knocked twice, soft. "It's me."

The door opened and Jack’s heart twisted. You were pale, your hand trembling on the frame, eyes glassy with barely held tears.

Jack stepped inside without a word. 

You shut the door behind him, the deadbolt sliding home and the second you turned around, whatever was holding you together gave out completely. You crossed the small distance and folded into him, your face pressing into his chest, your fists curling into the fabric of his shirt. A sob broke loose, shaking through your whole body.

Jack's arms came around you immediately, one hand splayed wide across your back, the other cradling the back of your head, holding you together at the seams. "I've got you, sweetheart. You're okay."

You just shook against him, gripping tighter. "He's gone." Jack said quietly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "He's not coming back. I promise you that."

"I was so scared." you choked out, your voice muffled against his chest.

"I know." His hand moved in steady circles against your back. "I know, baby. But you're safe. You hear me? You're safe. I'm not going anywhere." 

…

You didn't know how you'd ended up like this. Flat on your back on the couch, feet in Jack's lap, his hand wrapped loose around your ankle, thumb tracing slow circles against the bone there. His other hand rested just below your knee, warm, doing absolutely nothing except being there.

Somewhere in the deep, buried recesses of your mind, nineteen year old you was losing it. 

Screaming, actually. 

He hadn't said much. Just steered you gently toward the couch, dropped down at the end of it, and flipped on your favorite show without asking if that's what you wanted. You let the noise of it wash over you, let your heart rate go back down out of your throat, and for a while, neither of you said anything at all.

"I don't know how he found me." Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to. "We're 3 hours from where he lives."

Jack turned his head to look at you, his hand stilling against your ankle.

"I honestly thought he was dead." You sat up then, pulling your feet out of his lap, curling your knees against your chest instead, wrapping your arms around them like a shield.

"A neighbor called a few years ago. Said he'd been evicted from the house. The city shut it down because he let it get too run down." You sighed, staring at the carpet. "And so I just thought to myself, that's it. I have to let him go now. For real. And it was over for me then. Even if he's still alive somewhere."

Jack was quiet for a moment, just watching you, something soft and aching behind his eyes. "You did what you had to do to survive him." he said finally. "That's not something to feel guilty about. You were trying to keep your head above water with somebody who should've been protecting you instead of drowning you." He shifted closer, his knee brushed yours. "Letting go of him wasn't you giving up. It was you finally choosing yourself. That takes more strength than most people ever have to find."

You didn't say anything, just picked at a loose thread on your sleeve.

"You're doing so well." he continued, quieter now. "Look at you. You built a whole life he doesn't get to touch. And tonight, when it got hard, you didn't fall apart. You're still standing." His mouth curved, just barely. "You're gonna be okay. I mean that."

You didn't fully believe it. Not yet. But something about the way he said it, like it was fact and not comfort, made it easier to breathe.

Before you could stop yourself, you sat up and threw your arms around him.

Jack didn't hesitate. His arms came around you instantly, pulling you in tight against his chest. You tucked your face into the crook of his neck and breathed in, deep, the way you used to when you were younger. 

You'd thought you hid it well back then. Some guilty part of you had always known he'd caught on anyway.

When you pulled back, you just stared at him. 

For one long moment, the apartment, the show still playing, your father somewhere out there in the dark, none of it existed. There was just his face close to yours.

You cleared your throat and looked away first, scooting back to the opposite end of the couch, eyes fixed on the TV.

…

You didn't remember falling asleep.

You did vaguely register the sound of the television clicking off. You felt strong arms slide beneath you, lifting you and cradling you against a solid chest as he carried you down the hall. He laid you down in your bed and pulled the blanket up over your shoulders. You reached out before he could straighten, catching his hand. "Please don't go." Your voice was thick with sleep, barely above a whisper. "Don't leave me."

Jack went still, but then his fingers curled around yours, and he crouched down beside the bed so you didn't have to strain to see him. "I'm here. I'll always be here."

…

Jack was up before you.

He'd wanted nothing more than to climb into that bed, pull you against his chest, and hold you until the sun came up. But he wasn't that guy. Not with you asleep and vulnerable and still shaking from the night before. So he'd taken the couch instead, folding his tall frame onto cushions clearly built for someone half his size, and told himself it was fine.

Your coffee machine looked like it belonged on the bridge of a spaceship. Jack stood in front of it at six in the morning, squinting at a control panel with more buttons than his car dashboard, trying to figure out which one didn't require a PhD to operate.

That's when he heard the key turn in the lock. David stepped through the door, travel bag still slung over one shoulder, and rounded the corner into the kitchen before he saw Jack standing there. He let out a yelp, jerking backward, one hand flying to his chest. "Fuck!"

He squinted, still catching his breath, confusion slowly replacing the alarm on his face. "Dr. Abbot? What are you doing here?"

Jack had a few answers loaded and ready. 

Oh I don’t know, taking care of your fiancee. 

Doing your job for you. 

Petty, satisfying, and exactly the kind of thing he shouldn't say out loud to the man about to marry you.

"David?" Your voice came from the hallway. You crossed the room fast, wrapping your arms around him, and Jack watched David's shoulders sag with relief as he held you. "Thank god you're here." you said into his shoulder.

Jack kept his face carefully blank, ignoring the way that sentence sliced through him. 

"I know, I'm sorry. I left as soon as I could." David pulled back, and you both turned to look at Jack, still standing there with an untouched mug in his hand.

"Oh! Right, David. This is Jack." you said. "I didn't get a chance to tell you when we were at the hospital, but we've known each other a long time. He was friends with my dad briefly. He got him to leave last night."

And held her while she cried and shook until she fell asleep, Jack thought.

David's whole face opened up. "Oh, wow. Small world!" He crossed the kitchen, hand extended. "Thank you, man. Seriously."

Jack took the handshake, grip firm, and let it go. "Don't mention it."

You excused yourself to the bathroom, leaving the two of them alone in the living room. Jack figured that was his cue. He set the mug down and grabbed his jacket off the arm of the couch.

But before he headed for the door, he stopped, and let some of the easy charm drop out of his voice. "Hey. David." He waited until he had the guy's full attention. "Last night, her father was pounding on that door drunk enough to put his fist through it."

David's expression faltered.

"I get that you didn't know the whole situation." Jack tried his best to keep his tone civil. To not let the way his blood was boiling come through. "But you need to understand what you're marrying into. That man is dangerous, and he's not going to stop just because he struck out once. If he shows up again, you don't wait it out on the phone. You call me first, because I know exactly what he looks like and what he's capable of. Then you call the police. And then you get home as fast as humanly possible. She should never be alone behind that door with him on the other side of it again."

David swallowed, nodding slowly, all the earlier warmth gone out of his face, replaced by something more sober. "Of course." he said. "Yeah. You're right. I..I didn't realize how bad it was."

"Now you do." Jack said simply.

He gave the guy one last look and let himself out the door.

…

You'd decided to try veils this time, some last ditch effort to actually picture yourself walking down the aisle. You stood in front of the three way mirror, tulle pinned into your hair, and felt absolutely nothing shift into place.

You weren't sure what possessed you to do it, but you pulled out your phone. The lighting in here was stupidly flattering, if nothing else. You angled the camera, snapped a picture, and before you could think too hard about who you were about to send it to, your thumb had already done it.

Too much?

The one person on the entire planet you probably shouldn't be sending bridal photos to.

"This isn't the one either." you called out to Meg, already reaching for the zipper.

You thought you heard her sigh from the other side of the curtain.

Twenty minutes later you were back in your jeans, walking to the coffee shop around the corner to debrief, like you always did. You ordered, sat down across from her, and Meg leveled you with a look before you'd even taken a sip. "You've tried on twenty dresses this month." she said. "In the grand scheme of things that's not that many. But you'd think by now you'd have some idea of what you actually want."

You shrugged, staring into your cup.

"What's going on?"

You looked up at her, and the excuse died in your throat. You couldn't lie to her. Not about this.

So you told her. All of it. 

Meg's mouth had fallen fully open. "Okay, wait." she said, holding up a hand. "Jack. The Jack? From when you were a teenager? The one you used to talk about like he hung the moon?"

"That's the one."

"And he's been what, just reappearing in your life this whole time you've been dress shopping?"

"It's not like that." you said, too fast.

Meg just stared at you, unblinking, waiting.

"It's not." you said again, weaker this time.

"So you're not going to leave David?"

"What? No." The word came out of you immediately and it was unconvincing even to your own ears. You heard it yourself, the way it hung there in the air between you.

Meg didn't say anything. She didn't have to. She just reached across the table and squeezed your hand. "I'm not going to tell you what to do." she said finally. "But I've known you a long time, and I've never once seen you struggle like this. You need to actually sit with why nothing about this is feeling right.”

She gathered her bag, dropped a kiss on the top of your head, and left you sitting there. It was only once you were alone that you remembered your phone. 

You'd almost forgotten you'd sent that picture at all.

Jack: You can't just send a man a photo like that with zero warning

Jack: I had to set my phone down and collect myself.

Jack: You look stunning, sweetheart. Take a picture in every single dress you try on if it looks anywhere close to that good.

You sat there staring at the screen, feeling something warm and inconvenient bloom in your chest, right where it absolutely had no business blooming at all.

…

Jack was still staring at the picture, thumb hovering uselessly over the screen, when John's voice came from directly behind him. "Ooh, who is that?"

Jack locked the phone so fast he nearly dropped it, shoving it deep into his scrub pocket. "Someone I can't have. That's who."

John just stood there, genuinely stunned into silence. Jack Abbot didn't talk about his personal life. Ever. The man was a vault.  "I have so many follow up questions."

"And I'm not answering any of them." Jack clapped him on the shoulder as he passed and left him standing there, already halfway down the hall before John could get another word out.

He took the stairwell up instead of the elevator, needing the burn, needing something physical to focus on besides the picture still branded behind his eyes. The door to the roof access swung open onto cold air and the first thin streaks of orange bleeding up over the skyline, the city still mostly asleep below him.

He braced his forearms against the railing and just breathed.

You cannot have her.

He'd known that fact for years. Had built an entire life around avoiding the truth of it, had buried it under residency and fellowships and every double shift he could volunteer for, until the burying had just become who he was. 

He was so fucked.

Because the truth was that he'd never stopped. Not for one day. Somewhere in the back of his mind, you'd always been the one. The girl who told him she was going to marry him when she was young and terrified and had no business making promises like that, and he'd been arrogant enough, or maybe just honest enough with himself, to believe her.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. You had a life. A good one, from what he could see. David was steady. David showed up, mostly, and when he didn't, well, that one was on David to figure out, not Jack.

Jack was the disruption. He was the thing crashing back into your orbit and tearing it apart at the seams, one diner pie and one rescued night at a time. He didn't have the right to do that to you. Not when you'd fought so hard to build something that didn't look anything like the wreckage you came from.

He thought about the way you'd grabbed his hand last night and asked him not to leave, and he hadn't wanted to. 

God, he hadn't wanted to at all.

You were supposed to be mine.

Maybe you were. Maybe in some other version of this, some world where he hadn't left, where your father hadn't been the kind of man he was, where the timing had lined up right, maybe there was a version where it was his ring on your hand and his name you said into a phone with that same soft affection.

But this wasn't that world. In this one, you were engaged. 

In this one, he had a job to walk you back to your life and hand you off in one piece, not to unravel it because he couldn't get over you.

He loved you too much to be the reason you didn't get your happy ending. Even if it wasn't with him.

Stop seeing her. 

The thought was simple. Easy to think and impossible, apparently, to actually do. Not when you'd called him first last night, not when your name lighting up his phone did something to his pulse he couldn't explain away as friendship.

He had to be the one to put the distance back. You wouldn't. Not with the way this thing between you kept pulling you both back together like gravity, like the two of you were simply incapable of staying apart no matter how hard either of you tried.

So it had to be him.

He just wasn't sure if he actually had it in him to do it.

…

David had been quiet all through dinner, pushing his food around his plate more than actually eating it. 

It wasn't until the dishes were cleared and you were curled up on opposite ends of the couch, the TV playing something neither of you were watching, that he finally spoke.

"Can I ask you something?"

You looked over at him. "Of course."

He was quiet for a second, turning something over in his head, and when he finally looked at you, there was none of his usual easy calm in his face. Just something tired. "When's the last time you were actually excited about the wedding?"

You sat up. "What?" you managed.

"I'm not trying to start a fight." he said gently. "I just..I've been watching you for months now. Every time we talk about the venue, or the flowers, or the song, you get this look on your face." He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "And I told myself it was stress. Wedding planning is stressful, everyone says that. But it's been going on so long now that I don't think that's it anymore."

You opened your mouth to argue, some defense already forming. But nothing came out. Because he wasn't wrong, and some exhausted part of you didn't want to keep lying about it anymore.

"David."

He shifted to face you fully. "I need you to be honest with me. Do you actually want this? Do you want to marry me? Or have you just been going along with it because I'm safe, and easy, and I never gave you a reason to say no?"

The tears came before you could stop them, blurring the outline of him sitting there so patiently, waiting for an answer you didn't know how to give without breaking something neither of you could put back together.

"I don't know." The words scraped out of you. "David, I don't know. I love you. I do. You've been so good to me. You've never once made me feel unsafe, or scared, or like I had to brace myself for anything, and after everything with my dad, that meant more than I think I ever told you." You wiped at your face with the heel of your hand. "But I don't know if that's the same thing as being in love with you. And I think some part of me has known that for a long time and just didn't want to look at it too closely, because looking at it meant I had to admit I was about to marry you for the wrong reasons."

David's face didn't crumple the way you thought it might. He just nodded slowly, like some quiet piece of him had already made peace with hearing this before you'd even said it.

"I think I've known too." he admitted. "I kept telling myself it was just cold feet. That everybody gets like this before a wedding." He let out a breath that shook slightly on the way out. "But cold feet doesn't usually last eight months, does it?"

You shook your head, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

"Is there someone else?" he asked. 

You thought about Jack's hands wrapped around your ankle on this exact couch.  "I don't know what he is." you said honestly. "But there's someone from a long time ago who came back into my life a few months ago, and ever since he did, I haven't been able to feel the same about anything. Including this."

David nodded again, slower this time, and reached out to take your hand. "I'm not going to pretend that doesn't hurt." he said. "But I'd rather know now than stand up in front of everyone we love and marry someone who's not sure I'm the one she wants standing there." He squeezed your hand once. "You deserve to be with somebody you don't have to talk yourself into loving. And so do I."

You cried harder then, not because it was cruel, but because it wasn't. Because David, steady and safe and undeserving of any of the mess of the last few months, had just done the bravest, kindest thing anyone had done for you in a long time.

"Go figure out what you actually want." he said softly. "I hope it's good, whatever it is."

…

The evening sun was dipping below the tree line, painting the park in golds. You walked along the path, hands shoved into the pockets of your jacket.

It was beautiful out and for the first time in what felt like forever, life had been good.

It was a strange kind of good, but it was yours. You had a new apartment now, entirely of your own making, filled with half unpacked cardboard boxes. Meg had been over earlier that afternoon, helping you put everything in its place, handing you coffee, and keeping the silence from getting to be too much. 

She had a stack of dinner plates balanced in her hands and looked at you with that no nonsense gaze of hers. "Are you going to tell Jack you aren't engaged anymore?" she had asked

You had only shaken your head, looking down at the bubble wrap in your hands.

How could you? He’d been radio silent for weeks now. Almost a month had passed since you sent him that photo of you in the wedding dress. 

You had figured that he was deliberately putting space between the two of you. It only made sense. Why would he ever see you as anything more? He hadn't back then, when you were nineteen and stupid, so why now?

You exited the park, taking the familiar path back toward your apartment, still turning the thoughts over in your mind. 

He had probably noticed you getting too attached to him. Jack, with his observant eyes, had likely seen the way you leaned into his touch, the way you clutched his shirt when your father showed up, and decided to remove that trouble from your life before you got hurt.

But the damage was already done.

Except, as you crossed the threshold of the park and stepped onto the concrete sidewalk, you realized it wasn’t really damage at all. It was more like clarity. A newfound, stubborn sense of self. 

Even if Jack wasn't going to be yours, you still had this new life. It was entirely yours. You had chosen yourself, just like he said you could.

You really shouldn't have been listening to music while walking along the busy street. The volume was up just high enough to drown out rush hour traffic. Because of it, you didn't hear the screech of tires peeling at the crosswalk.

You had the right of way. The pedestrian walk sign was white, glowing steadily, but someone wasn't paying attention.

You didn't really know what happened until the world tilted. There was a sickening impact of metal against bone, and then you were slammed down onto the pavement, hard.

Fuck, it hurt.

The breath was knocked completely out of your lungs, the cold asphalt pressing against your cheek as the music in your earbuds suddenly cut out. Your head felt dizzy, but you didn't think you’d hit it. But within seconds, shouting voices were closing in, and shadow after shadow fell over you as people rushed to your side.

"Don't move! Stay still, honey, don't try to get up!"

"Someone call 911!"

You tried to blink the blurriness from your eyes. Your right side felt like one throbbing bruise, but there was a wet warmth trickling down your shoulder. Dazed, you reached up with your left hand to touch it, your fingers brushing against the fabric of your collar.

When you pulled your hand back, your palm was bright, slick red.

The ambulance felt both like a split second and an entire lifetime. Paramedics were kneeling in the dirt beside you.

"I'm fine." you croaked, your voice sounding small and raspy even to your own ears. You tried to brace yourself on an elbow, pushing against the hands holding you down. "I can just..I can take myself to the ER. It's just my shoulder."

"Lie back." one of the medics said, his voice firm as he stabilized your neck. "We have to immobilize you. It's protocol."

You let out a defeated breath, the fight draining out of you as you nodded and let them carefully shift your body onto the rigid plastic of the stretcher.

The moment they lifted you, the shock finally caught up. Your vision began to gray out at the corners, the faces of the paramedics blurring into soft shapes. The pain in your shoulder and ribs began to fade into a dull numbness as your body finally decided to pass out, retreating into the dark.

As the darkness pulled you under, your mind clung to only one desperate thought.

I hope I'm going to see Jack.

…

Jack was standing at the nurses' station and John was going on about something dumb when he heard the incoming call being answered by Lena. When she hung up, she turned to the room. "Pedestrian was hit on the sidewalk by a car. Female. In and out of consciousness but vitals good. One minute out."

God, he had just clocked in and things were already ramping up. 

"Here we go. I feel like it's going to be a spicy night." John said.

"Don't say that." Jack frowned. "You know every night is spicy when I'm here."

John just gave him a look of disgust as he sipped his coffee.

Jack snapped some gloves on right as the patient was being wheeled through the double doors. But he barely got the second glove on when his heart felt like it stopped.

You on the gurney, bleeding from your neck from a scrape, dripping down your shoulder. You, blinking slowly at John’s light that he was already flashing in your eyes.

Fucking hell, it was you.

It was all Jack could do not to grab you in his arms and yell for everyone else to get the fuck out of the room. 

"Jack? Hello? You with me on this one?" John’s voice cut through the ringing in his ears.

Jack shook his head, physically forcing his brain to lock back into place. Gathering himself, he walked into the trauma bay alongside the gurney as the ambulance crew relayed their information. He didn't even realize he was doing it, but his hand found yours. He held onto it, tight, his thumb automatically brushing over the soft skin of your knuckles.

And while he was doing all this, John’s eyes darted from the monitor, to Jack’s white knuckled grip, and then back to Jack's face. The puzzle pieces were rapidly clicking together in his mind. "Uhh, is this the woman from the picture on your phone?" John asked quietly.

"Yes."

That was all Jack could say. Fuck whatever they thought about him and you. Fuck the hospital gossip, fuck the onlookers. He was staying with you.

You were slowly rousing, your eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks. The paramedics had said you hadn't passed out but the one time, but you were hurting, so you weren't saying much. Your fingers twitched weakly against his palm, and when your eyes finally found his, the quiet words that slipped past your lips almost broke Jack to pieces. "I hoped it was you."

Jack’s throat closed up. He grabbed your hand, lifting it to press it flat against his chest, right over his racing heart, needing you to feel him. "I'm here, sweetheart. I'll always be here."

John was watching you, his expression softening, well and fine with the moment, but he was already stepping toward the curtain, yelling for Parker to come in.

Jack's head snapped up, his eyes turning dark. "What?"

John shrugged. "You clearly know her, you can't work on her. Sorry, boss. Rules."

And fuck that. 

Fuck that. Every protective instinct inside Jack screamed at him to push them all away and tend to your wounds himself. But the rational side of his brain knew John was right. If he stayed as your physician, his judgment would be clouded by the terror of losing you.

Jack swallowed the bitter pill, his grip on your hand never wavering. "Fine, but I'm staying."

John just held his hands up in surrender. "Not going to argue with you there."

…

When you woke, it was in a quiet room in the hospital. A warm light was coming from the lamp on the desk beside you.

Jack was sitting laid back on the chair near the wall. His eyes were closed, and he had his arms crossed over his chest. Was he sleeping sitting up?

You couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh at the sight.

His eyes opened, the sleep clearing from them quickly. The moment he saw you awake, the tension in his shoulders melted, and his eyes softened.

"Hi honey." he said.

Even in the bruised state you were in, that greeting caused your heart to feel like it was going berserk. Thank goodness you weren't actually hooked up to any heart monitors anymore, or else he would know exactly what it did to you when he called you that.

"Do you know what happened?" he asked, pushing himself up from the chair to come stand right by you.

"Yes, all of it unfortunately." you grimaced, trying to sit up. 

Jack eased you back down against the pillows. "Keep laying down. They gave you pain meds, so that's why you've been out for a few hours."

"What time is it?" you asked, squinting toward the dark window.

"4 a.m." Jack said softly.

Your eyes widened. "Oh my god. I didn't mean to pull you from work. Please, go back on shift. I will be fine."

Jack just shook his head, a smile playing on his lips.  "No way. I'm not leaving you. Shift or no shift, there is nowhere else in the world I'd rather be right now."

This time when you sat up, he didn't try to stop you. You reached out and grabbed his arm, tugging him down slightly so that he was close to you, your eyes locking onto his. "Thank you, Jack."

And he just smiled at you, covering your hand with his own for a brief second before gently squeezing. "I'm going to see about getting you discharged. Then we're going to my house. That sound okay?"

You didn't think you would have any words if you tried to speak, so you just nodded.

…

Jack tucked you into his bed and closed the door to let you sleep. You slept for a while, which he knew you would because of the pain meds. While the house was quiet, he’d called in a favor with Robby to help get coverage for his next two shifts.

He just wanted to be with you. He never wanted to leave your side, never again.

When you finally woke up, he was standing in his kitchen, making some tea. Your hair was a little mussed from sleep, but even then, you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. You'd always been.

"Can I have some?" you said, pointing toward the steaming kettle.

He pointed toward the two mugs already sitting on the counter. "Was already making you one too."

You smiled and walked toward him. Still sleep brained, you had to be, because that was the only reason you would have come right up to him and folded yourself into his chest.

Either way, Jack didn't care about the reason. He let his arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him, and he couldn't help the contented hum that came from his chest.

"My hero." you whispered against his shirt.

He laughed a little. "Hardly."

You leaned back, tilting your head up to look at him. And god, he wanted to kiss you. He’d wanted to kiss you for a while, but everything felt so intensely domestic right now, the way you were just holding each other in his kitchen. This felt like some sort of future that the two of you could actually have.

It wasn't until later, when the two of you were sitting at his kitchen table and you brought your mug up to your lips, tilting it back, when Jack noticed it.

The lack of a ring on your finger.

The rush of adrenaline made him almost choke on his own sip of tea. He set his mug down and reached out, completely unable to stop himself. He gently rubbed his thumb over the exact area where the ring used to be.

You set your tea down, your gaze dropping to the table. "David and I are no longer getting married." you said softly.

When Jack didn't say anything, too stunned, too frozen by the words, you started rambling, the nervous heat creeping up your neck. "Well, actually, we're no longer anything. We broke up."

…

The confession felt terrifying and freeing all at once. You swallowed hard, staring down at your bare knuckles because looking at his face right now felt like staring directly into the sun. "I broke it off with him."

Jack didn't blink. He sat perfectly still across from you, his eyes focused on your face, tracking the slight tremble of your lower lip. "Why?" 

You met his gaze then. And all you could do was smile. "Because of you, Jack." you said softly. "It's always been you. The second you crashed back into my life, everything else just completely unraveled. I couldn't stand up there and marry a good man when my entire heart was somewhere else."

Taking a shaky breath, you kept going. "When you left, I tried to bury it, I really did, but seeing you again, having you in my life again, it just made me realize that I don't want a life that doesn’t have you in it. I want.."

Before you could even finish, Jack leaned in.

His large hand came up to cup the side of your face, his thumb catching the edge of your cheek to tilt your head up.

The kiss was a breaking of a dam that neither of you could have stopped if you tried.  

Jack’s fingers tangled into your hair to hold you steady as he drank you in, making up for every single day he had forced himself to stay away. You melted into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt.

When you broke apart, he kept his forehead pressed against yours. "God, you have no idea," Jack breathed. He let out a small laugh, closing his eyes tightly for a moment before looking back at you. "I felt like such an asshole watching you with him. Sitting in that ER, listening to him talk about your wedding. I wanted to rip the walls down. I wanted to tell him to get his hands off what was mine."

He paused, a bitter smirk twisting the corner of his mouth. "I know I was a menace these past few weeks. I know I was pushing every single boundary you tried to set, but god, why wouldn't I be?" He leaned down, his lips brushing yours again, softer this time but no less desperate. "I love you so much. I've never stopped. Not for a single day."

…

True to his word, Jack took the whole weekend off to take care of you. He completely ignored your protests that you were totally fine and could go back to your own place to heal.

"Jack, I'm fine!" you said as he was walking out the door on Monday night to head back to the hospital for his shift.

He paused at the threshold, turning back to look at you. "I know. But stay here. Please?"

Looking up at him, you couldn't say no. You leaned in, and he caught your lips, kissing you again and leaving you breathless and wanting more.

To be honest, you had grown a little restless over the past two days. Even after everything that had been confessed, Jack still slept on the couch while he stubbornly insisted you take his bed. You were well enough after that first kiss to let thoughts start swirling in your head, keeping you wide awake in the dark.

You wondered if he was wide awake too those nights. You just kept getting woken up by visions of him, thoughts of him between your thighs, your hands tangled tightly in his curls. You wondered if he was eventually going to take that step with you, or if you’d have to be the one to make that leap first.

You didn't have to keep wondering for long.

When he finally got home in the morning you were already up. You were sitting in his living room, curled up in his comfy chair with a book in your lap.

You softly said hi, but the greeting completely died in your throat as he dropped his bag by the door without a word. His eyes were dark and fixed on you as he walked straight toward your chair. 

Instead of pulling you up, he sank directly to the floor.

You parted your legs and allowed him to slot himself right in between them, he fit perfectly. "What are you reading?" he asked, his voice low.

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Nothing yet. I just started it."

"Ah." Jack murmured, his gaze dropping to your mouth before locking back onto your eyes. "Can I interrupt?"

You closed the book and set it aside blindly. He slid his hands slowly up your thighs. The warmth of his palms seared through your clothes, and you couldn't help the way you sank down a little in the seat, tilting your hips to make it even easier for his hands to roam.

He reached up, his movements unhurried as his fingers hooked at the waistband of your shorts. He paused, holding your gaze. "This okay?" he asked.

You nodded so fervently it got him to laugh, his thumbs brushing against your skin.

He pulled your shorts down and tossed them carelessly over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving yours.

Then, he leaned down, and his mouth was on you. He started low, his lips pressing warm kisses up your thighs. He took his time, kissing a slow trail up your left side before shifting over to the right, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin and leaving a wake of shivers behind. 

He moved inward, placing small hot kisses right over your underwear. His breath was hot through the thin fabric, sending a wave of anticipation straight down your spine.

He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his chest heaving. "You're so beautiful." he breathed, his voice rough and undone. "Is this real?"

A breathless laugh escaped you. Instead of answering, you reached up, burying your hands deep into his hair and pulling him down to your mouth. When you finally pulled back for air, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, tossing it aside.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought you’d be a bit more nervous for a moment like this, but you wanted him so bad the anxiety didn't even have time to grow. 

Jack reached up, his hand cupping your breast, his thumb brushing slowly over your nipple as you leaned back into the chair again, letting out a soft sigh. His fingers trailed a path down your stomach, moving lower until they found the edge of your underwear, tracing a line right over the seam of you, before pulling them off.

He just sat there on the floor between your legs, drinking you in, his eyes mapping every single inch of your body. You felt an ache pool in your lower stomach, your hips involuntarily wanting to squirm under his undivided attention. 

Having Jack Abbot look at you completely naked in the middle of his living room was somehow even more erotic than whatever was about to come next.

…

Jack’s hands reached up to frame the insides of your thighs, spreading you open for him. He leaned in close, his hot breath brushing over your sensitive skin before he pressed his tongue flat against your center. 

His mouth worked over you with greedy focus. He took his time, sweeping his tongue up the length of you, sucking softly, his stubble scraping lightly against your thighs.

He gripped your hips to keep you still whenever you tried to squirm, humming low against your skin when you arched into him. You whimpered his name into the quiet living room as you came against his face.

When he finally pulled back, he stood up and pulled you up out of the chair. Without a word, you followed him down the hallway into his bedroom.

The moment the door swung shut behind you, Jack turned, but you didn't give him a chance to lead. You pushed him backward onto the edge of his mattress, your hands pressing against his chest until he sat back. You stepped between his legs and swung a leg over his lap, straddling him.

Jack groaned as you settled against his hips. He grabbed your waist, pulling you down into a desperate kiss. His hands roamed up your back, pulling you closer, his mouth open and hot against yours. 

The taste of you was on his lips as you rocked your hips against him, feeling his cock pressing through his scrubs. You stood up then, and he shifted so that you could pull them down and off. Then he scooted back and you resumed your straddled position on him. 

When he guided himself to your entrance, you paused for a second, looking down at him. You wanted to commit this to memory. 

You sank down onto him in one slow push.

Jack threw his head back against the pillows. “Fuck, sweetheart.” 

It was overwhelming and hot. Eleven years of ache and longing. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his as you began to move.

"You feel so good." Jack said, rolling his hips up to meet your thrusts, taking you deeper. His hands slid up your spine, tangling in your hair to pull you down into another kiss. 

…

You fell asleep with your head on his chest only to be woken a few hours later by his mouth pressing kisses down the slope of your neck.

By afternoon, you ended up in his shower, the steam filling the small bathroom as the hot water cascaded over both of you. Jack pressed you gently against the tile, his hands slick with soap as he washed you before pulling you back against him once more.

Every touch felt like finding solid ground after years of drifting.

…

One Year Later

Jack kept one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh in the passenger seat and he genuinely could not have told you where he was driving to. It didn't matter. 

The window was down on your side and your hair was whipping across your face and you didn't even bother fixing it, just let it happen, eyes closed, singing along to whatever was playing on the radio. The sun caught the side of your face through the windshield and Jack thought, not for the first time, that he had no idea how he'd survived all these years without seeing this exact sight.

God, he loved you. It still hit him sometimes, stealing the breath right out of him completely.

You must have felt him looking, because you turned and the smile you gave him was so easy and happy that his hands nearly slipped on the wheel.

You leaned across the console then, one hand braced on his thigh and pressed your lips to his cheek. Your other hand slid up the back of his neck, fingers curling into the hair there the way you always did. You just couldn’t help it.

The small, cool press of metal against his skin from your finger thrilled him. He'd slid it onto your finger three weeks ago in his kitchen, badly rehearsed. You'd said yes before he'd even gotten the whole sentence out.

He hadn't been surprised, not really. After all, you'd always known. You'd told him so yourself, once, a long time ago, before he'd been ready to hear it.

He was the one playing catch up. 

Your fingers were still tangled at the back of his neck, that ring cool against his skin, and outside the window the fields blurred in the last of the light and Jack thought that he could drive like this forever and never once feel like he was in a hurry to get anywhere else.

(taglist: @callmefatherr @proudlyvastlake @hotnhatosy @lunaleah @orodaeh @monsieurmorpheus @lovekk2plus @thehockeynerd30 @qpiiee @anna97almeida @textinwho @isuckcigbuds @holyhozierwp @jesskidding3 @oceansandstreams622

[opulentpeony]

amateur hour - stepfather!titus x stepdaughter!reader

word count: 3.8k warnings: dead dove: do not eat, extremely dubious consent, fem!reader, fauxcest (you call him “dad” and he calls you “kid”/”kiddo”), age gap, mean!titus (he’s very angry with you…), spoiled brat!reader, sex work/stripping (but you're doing it to piss off your dad!), brat taming, unprotected sex, bdsm, sex toy usage, dry humping, breeding kink, forced orgasms, rape baiting (you really want titus to fuck you oop!), cnc/rape roleplay, squirting, fingerfucking, cockwarming, spanking, pussy slapping, one face slap, hair pulling, public sex (in the middle of the strip club!), exhibitionism, masked sex (titus wears a mask bc it's theme night at the club!), voice modulation, humiliation/degradation kink (he calls you a whore!), size difference, mass murder (you've been warned lmao…), blood and gore, gun violence, arson, again this is just fucked up porn, titus really is just such a great father isn't he? summary: what happens when your dad catches you stripping during amateur night at one of his clubs?  he reminds you that you're his kid to play with… 

a/n: this one is for my exhibitionist lovelies bc he will be fucking you in the middle of the strip club for all eyes to see! I will say this one is very cnc/rape roleplay heavy so beware for those who are squeamish! 

hope it's a sick read ♡

Titus Danforth has told you time and time again to stop being a spoiled fucking brat and to quit testing his patience but you keep pushing him. 

Because again, for the fifth time in a row, you decide to strip at one of the amateur nights at one of his clubs. 

And he decides he's done being the understanding stepfather figure. 

He's going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget. 

Which starts by letting you strip for the very last time in front of an audience before he makes sure you never want to do it again. 

But he doesn't know that what he's about to do will only make you want him more… 

Your stepfather has no idea how much you enjoy pissing him off. 

It's been one of your favorite pastimes, especially once you became an adult and were allowed to enter his clubs. 

Of course, you weren't supposed to. And it always led to every bouncer mysteriously disappearing after they were dumb enough to let you through the doors. Titus had to take care of them. They were recklessly ignoring direct orders after all. He had instructed all his employees not to let you in and yet it still happened, even after the rumors spread of how he was willing to off them for doing so. 

But you were such a smooth talker. 

A rebellious little pain in his ass. 

You always found your way in, one way or another. 

It only got worse when you started joining in on these amateur nights. You'd show off all those dance lessons the Danforths paid good money to put you through all your life. 

In real life, you were some rich kid who was listless and had no real purpose since everything was handed to you on a silver platter. But on that stage, you were just a girl who liked to dance and show off the body that your devilish mother forced you to curate your whole life. 

If you had to maintain this body for the sake of appearances, why not let the world see it? 

Even if it meant making your dad very angry…

The first time he caught you, he scolded you for hours and you smiled the whole time. You liked the attention. You liked his attention. 

You liked seeing how his brows would furrow and those wrinkles on his face would grow ever present. You liked the flush of red he'd get when you'd spread your legs, giving him a clear view of your pussy through the thin little g-string you were wearing at the club. 

He never had you get dressed. He always yelled at you while you were still wearing your stripper outfit. 

And he always got hard. 

And he always jerked himself off after to the thought of pinning you down and fucking the smirk off your face.

That's why the second time you did it, he did exactly that. 

“You didn't understand the last time I told you to stop, kiddo? Then don't scream for me to stop now, because I won't listen, just like you didn't.” 

Titus grabbed you off that stage and threw you into the back of his limo and sunk his fingers into your tight pussy and fingerfucked you until you were screaming for him to stop. 

But he didn't stop. 

And you didn't want him to. 

“My kid is such a fucking whore.” He said as he smacked your clit until it was swollen and you were dripping between your legs. “Look at you squirting all over my nice leather seats. Do you cum like this for anyone?” 

No. You definitely don't. 

Only for your dad… 

Because you've always wanted to fuck Titus. 

Ever since he killed your mother for trying to marry you off to some scumbag on your 18th birthday. You've wanted him since then. He has always protected you, even from himself. 

You were grateful he was no longer holding back. 

But he wouldn't cross the line. 

Even the third time you disobeyed him and stripped in his club, he only tied you down and made you cum until you couldn't squirt anymore. He wouldn't fuck you, not with his cock. 

The fourth time he strapped you down and had a dildo thrusting into you so agonizingly slow using a sex machine. He made you beg for him to fuck you if you wanted to cum.

“Please, dad, I want you to fuck me. I want my dad’s cock inside of me, please.” That's what he made you say over and over again, all night long while that dildo pounded inside of you.

But he wouldn't give you his cock. 

He just wanted to hear you say it for the recording device in his pocket. 

Titus has cum to that recording every night since then. And he debated for a long time if he should finally give into his urges of fucking his stepdaughter. 

He refrained because for some reason, at least for a few months, you were well behaved. You didn't strip anymore. You even went with him on trips and actually enjoyed yourself. 

You acted like the perfect daughter to him, greeting his business partners with a smile on your face, talking about how much you love your dad and how good he is to you. 

He wondered why you were being like this. 

There had to be a catch. 

And there was, of course. 

Because on the trips where you and Titus shared a room, you would slide into his bed and bother him. You would get all handsy and he'd have to tie your wrists together to get you to stop. You’d get all whiny and pouty and he'd have to eat you out until you promised to behave like a good little girl again. 

He just had to, it wasn't his choice! 

Positive reinforcement! 

But it only made you more greedy…

You started climbing onto his lap every time he sat down anywhere in the Danforth Manor. You'd grind yourself against him, moaning in his ear, begging him to unzip his pants and just fuck you already. 

He wanted to. 

He desperately wanted to. 

But he felt like this was all a game to you. 

That none of this was real desire and that the moment he gave into your advances, you'd throw him away. 

He needed a guarantee that you'd be all his, forever. 

He wasn't going to fuck you for any less. 

So, Titus let you be a needy little girl, dry humping him until you cum on his lap, making fun of you for making such a mess. You reveled in his degradation, in the way he made you feel so small and filthy. 

But it wasn't enough. 

You had thought that behaving well would get you what you want but your dad seems adamant on keeping you at arm’s length. He'll make you cum like crazy but he refuses to let you touch him. You beg for him to at least let you suck him off or even just jerk him off but he won't let you. 

And you're slowly getting tired of his bullshit. 

Which is why when you hear that there's a themed amateur night coming up at one of the clubs, you decide it's time to be a brat again. 

It's a masquerade theme. Everyone is wearing masks in the club, including the strippers. You have on a mask that covers your whole face but an outfit that leaves nothing to the imagination. 

That's why when Titus sees you grinding on the metal pole in the center of the club, he starts fucking fuming. 

He'd know that body anywhere.

He has fantasized about you enough to know exactly what pretty little girl is twirling on that center pole right now. 

You knew he'd be there at this club tonight. He loves masquerade night because he can check up on his employees without them knowing. 

But he has to reveal himself to a singular employee, the DJ, so that they can make an announcement for him. They wouldn't dare say a word about what Titus is about to do, or they know their life is over.

The music cuts out of nowhere and you're a bit confused. Everyone else in the club is too. The lights dim a little darker and now there's a spotlight pointed directly on you. 

You're stunned, wondering what's going on. 

Then, the DJ says, “we have a very special performance tonight. But be warned, it's going to get more than just a little graphic. So if you plan on being a buzzkill, please leave now!” 

Of course, no one leaves. Why would they? It's very rare that people get to see something like this, something unexpected and out of the blue. The same reason people can't peel their eyes away from a car accident. 

Curiosity rules them. 

But what exactly is it that they're about to be shown? And why are you still on stage? 

You go to get off the stage but a familiar voice stops you. 

It's Titus, saying through the headset microphone he's wearing, “wait a second kiddo, don't get off the stage. You're the star of this performance. You need to stay put.” 

What the hell is he planning—

His voice modulates all of a sudden, growing eerie, robotic, scary, “I need you to spread your legs for the audience.” 

You shake your head, watching as he weaves through the crowd to approach you. He's wearing a very creepy mask. 

It's like an android’s face has melted off… 

It goes on theme with the way his voice cuts in and out with every word, “did you hear what I said? Spread your legs.” 

You shake your head again, staring at him as he climbs on stage with a headset for you. He tugs you towards him by your throat and puts the headset on you, pinning it in place.

Now the whole audience can hear how heavily you're breathing… 

And your breath gets caught in your throat when he says, “you're just a sex toy, kiddo. Let the audience see what you were made for.” 

Titus has you pinned to the metal pole and he waits for you to spread your legs for him. You don't want to listen, so you shake your head and he slaps you, which has you looking at him with wide eyes through your mask. 

“I won't ask again.” He says all low and the modulator has it coming out all creaky. 

“Please don't do this, dad.” You whisper even though it doesn't stop the audience from hearing every word. 

“You've wanted me to fuck you for so long and now you're acting like you don't want this?” He lets out such a menacing laugh in response.

“Not in front of all these people…” You glance around, seeing how many eyes are on you. 

How many phone cameras are trained on you. 

How your life would be fucking ruined if anyone figures out who you are and who Titus is. 

“You don’t get to pick where your dad fucks you, kiddo.” He nudges your legs apart with his own, forcing them to stay open. 

You realize that now. You definitely are not in control. 

And it's the hottest thing you've ever experienced. 

Is your stepfather really going to fuck you in front of all these people?

You might as well make him work for it. 

So, you shove him and try to run, screaming, “please help, he's going to rape me—!”

Titus grabs you by your hair, tugging you back towards him, his strength showing when he tosses you back towards the pole with ease. “Don't make me cuff you to it.” 

The moment you hear the metal of those handcuffs, you scramble, trying to get away again, but he pins you to the pole with his body before grabbing your wrist and cuffing you to it.

“Please, help me.” You look out into the audience, giving them all pleading eyes, staring into all those camera lenses pointed at you. “He's actually going to rape me. Are you really going to film this?” 

The audience whispers amongst themselves. They're unsure if this is part of the show or not. Little do they know, none of it is choreographed. 

It's all just Titus wanting to fuck up his stepdaughter until you're so ruined that you won't ever want anyone else but him. 

“They're not going to help you, kiddo.” He yanks your chin over, forcing you to look at him with that creepy mask on. “Quit begging for help and give them the show you always put on for me.” 

“What are you talking about—!” You let out such a surprised yelp when you feel Titus's fingers rubbing your pussy through the thin fabric of the sheer panties you have on. 

Oh god, is he going to—

Titus pushes the fabric aside and dips two of his fingers inside of you. Everyone in the audience gasps because you're certain they were not expecting this kind of show…

Especially when Titus curls his fingers and you start squirming and pleading for him to stop. But he doesn't stop. He knows you're about to cum. You're tightening so much around his fingers. 

Do you really expect him to ignore how needy your pussy is for an orgasm? What kind of a father would he be if he ignored his daughter's needs!

“Please dad, stop, you have to stop!” You cry out as he starts fingering you faster. “Please, you're going to make me cum in front of all these people!”

“Good.” The creakiness from the modulation strikes fear into you as he says, “show them how much you like getting raped by your dad.” 

You cum so hard on his fingers then that you keep squirting as he continues to fuck you roughly with his fingers and everyone watches it pool up in a puddle at the base of your stilettos. 

You plead for him to stop fingering you but he doesn't listen to you. 

“Maybe you should quit squirting like a fucking whore for all these people.” Titus berates you so harshly, you feel dizzy at his words. “You might slip on your own cum, kiddo.” 

He pops his fingers out of you and you grab onto the pole for leverage, trying to quell the full body shakes you're feeling from how intense your orgasms just were. The sound of the handcuffs scraping the metal of the pole echoes through the club. 

It's so quiet in here that all anyone can hear is Titus laughing and you panting. 

“Look at the fucking mess you made.” He points at the evidence of how hard you came. “And she wants to claim I'm raping her. What a silly girl she is, isn't she?”

The audience is too stunned to respond, which only draws more menacing laughter from Titus. 

“In case you need a reminder, you all consented to watching.” He looks around the crowd, acting as disturbing as ever. “No refunds if you get traumatized this evening!”

That's when you decide to ask, “are you seriously going to rape me today?” 

Titus turns to look at you and the look in your eyes is not one of fear. 

It's almost…pleading.

Because you've wanted him for so long that you're unsure if he's actually going to give you what you want. 

Not until he lifts his mask just enough to expose his lips and does the same to yours before telling you, “I'm going to rape you until you can't cum on any other cock but mine.” 

And Titus seals that promise with a sloppy kiss that has you moaning more than you should over a threat like that. 

He chuckles at your reaction before whispering, “is it really rape if you like it?” 

Titus pulls his mask back on and does the same for you before he unbuttons his slacks. But then you stop him before he can pull out his cock and say as quietly as you can, “grab a chair and let me give you a lap dance.” 

“I like the way you think, kiddo.” He nuzzles your mask with his own in a weird kind of affection gesture before he moves away to grab a chair from one of the nearby tables, bringing it onto the stage. 

Titus goes to uncuff you and then instructs, “show me a good time and maybe I won't rape you.”

He will either way, but if he's going to give the audience a show, he might as well throw in a little plot. 

And you dance for him like your life really does depend on it. 

You have the audience gasping and cheering at every motion you perform, and as much as it turns Titus on, it pisses him off even more. 

Because no one else should be seeing you like this but him. 

He may be using this to teach you a lesson, but it boils his blood more knowing that the people here are getting off to you as much as he is. 

So, Titus needs to remind them that you belong to him and only him. 

That's why when you turn around and shake your ass for him, Titus pulls out his cock and grabs your hips before sinking you down onto him. You gasp so loudly when you feel the tip of his cock push past your entrance, the thickness of it filling you up immediately. 

“Sit down on your dad's lap, kiddo.” Titus snaps at you to obey. 

You try but he's much bigger than you thought and you can only get him halfway before you need a break. The audience is staring with such intensity at you and Titus. Especially when he grabs your hips and rams you down onto his cock, splitting you open and making you cum so much harder than you thought you could. 

“See, wasn't that easy?” He coos into your ear, the modulation of his voice still sending shivers down your spine. 

“Too big…” You whimper out, wriggling on his lap, trying to slip away but he holds you steady. 

“Just stay still and keep your dad's cock nice and warm while I make you cum again.” Titus slips his hand between your legs and starts rubbing your clit. 

You're bracing yourself for another orgasm, your hands gripping the fabric of his slacks so tightly, your heart pounding in your ears as he tortures your swollen clit with his fingertips. 

“Oh god, I'm going to cum.” You try to hold it in but it feels impossible. “You're going to make me cum in front of all these people again…”

“Don't act like it doesn't turn you on.” He smacks your clit in retaliation, making you quiver all over. “I know that's why you like to strip. You love being a little show off. My daughter is such a whore. So, cum like one.” 

You do. You cum just from his fingers playing with your clit because the whole situation is enough to get you heated to your very core. You never thought you'd do anything like this in your life… 

It's incredible. 

It only gets better when Titus starts fucking you. He lifts you off his lap and throws you onto the chair. You cling onto the back of it, kneeling on the seat as he lines his cock back up to take you from behind, letting everyone see him ram his cock so deep inside of you that you cum instantly. 

“You must really love getting raped, look at how much you're cumming already.” He tells you with such menace in his tone that it has you reeling, clinging to the back of the chair as he fucks you hard enough that the chair is shifting beneath you. 

You're unable to hold back anymore. You just let him take you in front of all these people exactly how he has craved all this time. 

And you love each and every second of it. 

“Do you all like hearing my daughter moan like a whore?” Titus asks the audience as he smacks your ass hard, causing you to cum again from the roughness. “I think she likes knowing you all are watching. Give her a little cheer, will you?” 

The audience listens, cheering at Titus spanking your ass while he continues thrusting so deep inside of you. 

He smiles under his mask, feeling elated that the audience is just as sick as the two of you are. 

Why else would they be so ready and willing to enjoy this kind of show? 

Titus grabs your hair and yanks you back so he can tell you in a low whisper only you can hear, “beg for my cum, kiddo.” 

“Please give me your cum.” You plead to him desperately. “Please get me pregnant. Please fuck me up for life, dad.” 

And that's all Titus needs to hear for him to rip off your mask and his own before grabbing your face and kissing you while he pumps all of his cum as deep into you as he can. 

You're left panting, pleasure and fear coursing through you. 

Because everyone here has now seen who the two of you are. 

A problem Titus quickly fixes when he pulls out of you and opens a hidden slot in the stage, grabbing an automatic rifle. 

And you duck while he sprays down everyone in the audience with a mirage of bullets until the entire magazine is empty and everyone in the vicinity except for you and him are dead. 

Your heart pounds so loudly in your chest when you see the aftermath. All the bodies, blood, bullets. You can't believe your eyes. Did your dad really just…

“I wasn't going to let them live.” He already killed the service in the club so it should be easy to wipe everyone's phones. “You should've known that, kid.” 

You look up at him and much to his surprise, you nod, saying, “they weren't good people anyways. They watched my dad rape me and did nothing.”

“Exactly.” He gives you a big smile before pulling another rifle out from the stage, sliding it over to you. “Now help me clean up any stragglers.” 

You and Titus light up the rest of the club before setting the whole place on fire. You both leave through a hidden exit and jam the doors from the outside so it looks like no one could get out even if they tried and everyone died because of the fire. 

And Titus will pay off anyone he needs to for the police to ignore the bullet casings. 

He'll do anything to protect his daughter, after all. 

Since you're all his to protect now. 

a/n: idk how I came up with this but lowkey I was craving writing something batshit crazy (and some fauxcest…gah!) plus I missed stepfather!titus sm!! this one was so fun to write bc I tried out kind of a new style hehe ~ 

hope you enjoyed the read ♡

[nostalgiclory]

Predator and Prey (Titus Danforth x Reader)

synopsis: your dad is a part of mr le bails council, and owns the high seat. after he passes, you are forced back into a life that you left for a good reason.

warnings: canon-typical behaviour, swearing, dark comedy, kidnapping, unresolved sexual tension, toxic dynamics, drugging, blood and injuries, canon-typical injuries, weapons, titus is delulu and lowk mental, pet-names, no smut.

authornote: please find me on ao3 at nostalgiclory! this is my only account!!! credits to @chrisssiren for the divider!

w.c: 3.7k

The first thing you noticed was the pain. A brutal ache settled deep in your jaw and behind your eyes, blooming stronger the more consciousness clawed its way back into your body.

Another hangover, fucking great.

Unfortunately for you, this was not a hangover.

You tried to move - to roll over, stretch, bury your face back into your pillow and allow slumber to take you for a measly ten more minutes - but your hands wouldn’t budge. Rather, sharp metal bit into your wrists hard enough to make you hiss around whatever had been shoved into your mouth.

Your stomach dropped and awareness came rushing back all at once. There was something tight around your jaw – a gag, forcing your mouth painfully open – and your clothes clung awkwardly to your skin.

Then something rough shifted against your face. A bag, one you hadn’t even noticed in your half-conscious state, was ripped violently from over your head.

Light hit you like a boulder. You squeezed your eyes shut instinctively, hissing as brightness stabbed through your skull and worsened the pounding already building behind your temples. Tears burned at the corners of your eyes as your vision adjusted in painful increments, your heartbeat climbing fast enough to make your chest ache.

What the hell is happening?

Shapes slowly sharpened around you. Dark wood, stupidly expensive looking velvet furniture and way too many people. Then recognition hit, you were in the game room in the Danforth mansion.

Your breathing turned ragged as panic settled hard and ugly into your chest. Four separate groups filled the room, gathered in quiet clusters like this was any ordinary evening. Faces you recognised sat among strangers you didn’t, likely additions to families that had grown in the years since you ran, wealth dripped from every inch of them. Families that had sold their souls to Satan for a chance at world domination.

You pulled violently at the restraints, the chair scraping beneath you as panic finally exploded. A muffled scream tore from your throat around the gag, desperate and useless.

Movement at the front of the room pulled your attention. The Lawyer stood calmly behind his podium, placing the gargantuan book of Mr Le Bail onto the stand with unsettling care. The sight of it made nausea twist sharply in your stomach.

Then he said your name. “I am sure you are aware of why your presence was requested today.” His tone remained maddeningly even, untouched by emotion, even as you shook hard enough to nearly tip the chair over. “Your father has recently passed, assuming you know, and you are now next in line to become the head of your house.”

You barely listened, instead, your gaze darted frantically around the room, desperate for an out, a familiar face – someone who might actually help you. Then your eyes landed on the person sitting directly in your eyeline. Older, bigger…much bigger.

Broad shoulders stretched beneath dark fabric, posture relaxed in a way that somehow felt more dangerous. Time had sharpened him into something intimidating.

Titus Danforth.

Fuck.

“However,” The Lawyer continued. “Due to your unfortunate departure from our company, and your father previously holding the head council seat, this is a very special circumstance.” The blood rushing through your ears made his voice feel distant. “When succession is contested without direct inheritance, Mr Le Bail chooses a game, for that the successor will win the head council seat.” His lips twitched faintly. “Hide and seek.”

The sound that escaped you came out somewhere between a scream and a sob. No, this couldn’t be happening. You had only ever seen hide and seek happen during marriages. You knew what it meant and you knew what happened to people who lost. Your head dropped as tears spilled freely, shoulders shaking violently enough to hurt. You had just gotten your life together. A tiny apartment in New York that you paid for yourself, not your father. A job you actually loved. Friends who cared about you, not your money or your family name.

A low chuckle cut through your panic. Titus. Of course it was Titus. The sound rolled low and dark through the room, entirely too amused by your terror.

Your father and Chester Danforth had been close growing up, which meant you spent far too much time around the Danforth twins. They were at least ten years older than you, but back then, being included by them made you feel impossibly grown up.

What definitely hadn’t helped was the stupid little crush you developed on Titus.

It had been harmless at first. Embarrassing, maybe.

Then you turned twenty and found out what the meetings actually were and more importantly what your family really was…so you ran like hell and whatever childish feelings you had dissolved into nothing like smoke. Except, Titus is smoke and smoke never really leaves.

“The game will commence at 3:21 p.m.” The Lawyer continued, as though he were discussing dinner plans instead of your impending murder. “You will have until dawn to survive. If you succeed, you will be granted the seat of head of the council. If you do not, the seat will be awarded to the head of the house responsible for your demise.”

Your breathing came ragged around the gag, saliva pooling painfully in your mouth as panic made it harder to think. As though sensing your distress, The Lawyer flicked his hand dismissively. You were forced upright as footsteps approached from behind. The gag loosened suddenly and you gasped in air so fast it hurt, the breath escaping in a broken sob.

“Any questions?” The Lawyer asked.

“Oh, fuck you!” You screamed immediately, voice cracking as you tugged violently against the cuffs, pain shooting through your wrists. “Let me go, you crazy pieces of shit!”

“He said to ask questions, Bunny.” His voice settled over you slow and dark, his gaze feeling molten against your skin. “Fuck off!” You snapped, panic making your voice shake. “Please, I left my family ages ago! I haven’t seen my father in over ten years!”

“You have to play.” The Lawyer replied calmly, gesturing toward the ancient book. “Those are the rules.”

“Fuck the rules and fuck all of you lunatics!” Your throat already burned from shouting. Desperation clawed at your chest as your eyes darted frantically across the room. “I’m not playing! Please, Ursula, help me!”

The woman you once adored didn’t even look at you. Her silky blonde curls framed her neutral expression, hands folded delicately in her lap as her eyes stayed fixed firmly on the floor.

“Ursula…” You tried again, weaker this time, your voice cracking around the edges. “Please.” Nothing, not even a glance and no acknowledgment that she had once been the person you trusted most in this room.

“Pernillia, if you could.” The Lawyer’s voice sliced cleanly through the silence. Movement stirred somewhere behind you.

“Wait.” Titus spoke, the single word making your stomach drop. “I want to do it.” Titus stood slowly, broad shoulders rolling as though he had all the time in the world. The faint amusement on his face somehow made everything worse, his expression too calm and comfortable for someone discussing your inevitable suffering. The room shifted around him subtly, attention moving as he approached.

You pulled harder against the restraints on instinct, panic clawing violently up your throat. “Get away from me, you dick!” You snapped, voice sharp with fear, though it trembled despite yourself. The metal cuffs bit painfully into your wrists as you twisted away from him as much as the chair allowed.

Titus only chuckled. “Still got that mouth on you.” He mused, crouching slightly until he was eye level with you. Up close, he looked impossibly different from the boy you remembered. There was something unreadable in his expression as his gaze dragged over your face, lingering long enough to make heat and dread twist together uncomfortably in your stomach.

“I want you to know something.” Titus said quietly, voice lowering enough that it almost felt private despite the room full of people watching. Your pulse thundered painfully in your ears. “When this starts…” A faint smile pulled at his mouth. “I’ll be the one to get you.”

“No!” You jerked violently against the chair. “Stay the fuck away from me!” Pernillia stepped behind you, her hand catching your shoulder. Something sharp pierced the side of your neck, pain flared suddenly.

Your hand instinctively tried to move, but the restraints held firm as panic surged all over again. The edges of the room blurred. Your heartbeat slowed strangely, body turning heavy all at once. Titus stayed in front of you, maddeningly calm, his face becoming harder to focus on with every passing second. The lights smeared into something dizzying, voices turned muffled, darkness crawled at the edges of your vision. The last thing you saw was Titus watching you and then everything went black.

You awoke groggily on the lush green grass of the manor gardens, dampness already seeping through the thin fabric of your shorts.

For one blissfully disorienting second, your mind stayed blank. Then it all came rushing back, your eyes snapped open, you sat up too quickly, dizziness crashing over you hard enough to make your stomach churn. The world tilted unpleasantly as you pressed a shaky hand into the grass to steady yourself, your breath catching in your throat.

Birdsong drifted faintly overhead, carried lazily through the breeze as leaves whispered against one another in the trees. Somewhere nearby, water trickled softly from one of the garden fountains, the peaceful sound almost mocking in comparison to the panic clawing up your chest. The manor stood behind you, towering and dark against the early afternoon sky.

So the hunt had begun.

Your body scrambled to catch up with your mind as you shoved yourself off the ground, only for your socks to immediately slip against the slick grass beneath you. The freshly watered lawn gave way under your feet and your stomach lurched as you nearly hit the ground again.

“Damn–”

You caught yourself clumsily and forced your legs to move. Your lungs burned as you bolted across the gardens, pulse hammering violently against your ribs hard enough to hurt. You needed to get to the woods, remembering enough from childhood to know the grounds were too open. Your breaths came sharp and uneven as you sprinted, damp socks soaking through almost instantly. Gravel dug painfully into the soles of your feet, twigs snapping beneath hurried steps as adrenaline pushed you faster.

Had they locked the gates? Could you even make it to the road? Did you have enough time?

The second you crossed into the treeline, branches clawed at your bare arms. Sharp twigs scraped angry lines against your skin while leaves snagged in your hair. You shoved deeper into the woods without direction, without a plan beyond away.

Your lungs screamed, legs burned, tears blurred your vision, hot and humiliating as panic made it harder to breathe.

Get it together. Think! You knew the estate…sort of.

Enough summers spent dragged here as a kid had to count for something. There was the greenhouse somewhere east of the gardens, the lake deeper in the woods or hidden servants’ paths woven between trees.

Could you hide? Your stomach twisted. No, Titus knew this place better than you.

'I’ll be the one to get you. 'The memory of his voice settled unpleasantly in your chest.

God, you hated him. Hated how calm he sounded, hated the amusement in his voice, hated the way he looked at you before you blacked out like this was inevitable or that he already knew how it ended.

A branch snapped hard across your cheek. “Shit!” You stumbled, grabbing desperately at a tree trunk to stop yourself from eating dirt. Your chest heaved painfully, lungs burning as you fought to pull in enough air. Think, actually think. Running blindly wasn’t sustainable. You needed somewhere to hide where they wouldn’t immediately look.

Then voices, faint and distant, but right behind you. You moved before your brain could catch up. Branches whipped against your bare legs as you shoved deeper through the trees, lungs burning hard enough to feel raw. Every breath scraped painfully against your throat, panic keeping your body moving long after exhaustion had started clawing at your muscles. Somewhere behind you came the distant crunch of footsteps, low voices carried through the wind.

“Crap–”

You clocked it. The resort. The Danforth-owned monstrosity built at the edge of the estate. Technically separate from the manor, though everyone knew it wasn’t really. Wealthy guests stayed there during gatherings, investors rented the top floors and council members used the private conference spaces whenever the mansion wasn’t enough.

More importantly you knew that place, like really knew it. Not the polished guest-facing version with crystal chandeliers and overpriced champagne. The back hallways, employee corridors because when you were younger, bored out of your mind waiting for your father to finish meeting after meeting, you used to disappear there. Sometimes to avoid the endless ‘how is studying?’ or ‘do you have a boyfriend yet?’, other times to feel like a rebellious teenager by sneaking one of your fathers cigarettes. Mostly because no one ever looked for you there.

Your pulse kicked harder.

If you could get there –

A sharp crack split through the air. Something slammed into the tree beside you, bark exploding in a spray of splinters. You flinched hard, stumbling sideways as the sound finally caught up to you. A gunshot, another rang out somewhere behind you.

“You bitch!” A voice echoed faintly through the trees.

Panic nearly stopped your heart. “Oh, fuck this!”

You took off running once more, branches scratched at your skin as you shoved through the undergrowth, adrenaline hitting hard enough to make your hands shake. You barely registered the shape stepping into your path before you slammed straight into a solid chest.

A hand caught your arm hard enough to stop you.

“Bueno, ahí lo tienes, chica.”

Ignacio El Caído.

Even in the middle of a fucking manhunt, he looked absurdly expensive. Gold flashed at his wrists and fingers, rings catching the fading sunlight while his silk shirt sat half-open like he’d wandered out here for cocktails instead of murder. You remembered him vaguely from childhood dinners; loud, flashy, perpetually dramatic. Unfortunately, he had also somehow raised the most insufferable children known to mankind.

“Pequeña puta,” Ignacio sighed, almost disappointed. “You’re making this difficult.”

The knife appeared fast, you reacted faster. Pure instinct sent you ducking as metal flashed through the air where your face had been a second earlier. You stumbled backward, slipping against damp leaves before crashing hard onto your back, air punching from your lungs.

“Puta madre, stop moving!” Ignacio snapped, already moving toward you.

Oh, absolutely the fuck not.

He raised the knife overhead again, sunlight glinting cruelly against the blade. Your body moved before panic could freeze it, you rolled. The knife plunged deep into the dirt where your chest had been.

“Shit – !” You lashed out blindly, your sock-covered foot connecting hard with Ignacio’s knee. He swore, stumbling just enough. You scrambled upright, slipping once before forcing yourself forward. Branches tore at your clothes as you bolted deeper through the trees, lungs screaming, pulse hammering wildly against your ribs.

“Get back here!” Ignacio shouted somewhere behind you.

Something caught, a sharp sting ripped across your side. You gasped, nearly folding in on yourself as pain bloomed hot beneath your ribs. Your hand flew instinctively toward it and came away damp.

“No, no, no – ”

The knife, he must have clipped you. Panic threatened to overtake reason entirely, but you forced your legs to keep moving. Your breathing turned ragged as you pushed harder, ignoring the ache spreading through your side and the dizziness beginning to creep in around the edges.

The trees finally began to thin. Stone pathways emerged first, then decorative hedges, then lights. Warm golden light spilled from the towering windows; the hotel.

Relief hit hard enough to nearly buckle your knees. You ducked low, cutting around the side of the building toward the employee entrance tucked near deliveries and staff parking, still smelling faintly of cigarettes and industrial cleaner. Thank God. The door gave beneath your shaking hand. Warmth hit you immediately, the buzz of fluorescent lights overhead felt strangely comforting after the chaos outside. Cleaning carts sat abandoned in corners, boxes stacked haphazardly beside supply rooms, everything looked painfully normal.

You stood there for half a second, swaying. Then instinct kicked back in; left down maintenance, past laundry, past the old break room, down the narrow corridor no guest had any reason to know existed. Your corridor.

Only then did your legs finally give out. You slid against the wall until you hit the floor hard, wincing as pain caught up all at once now that adrenaline had stopped drowning it out. Everything hurt. Your hands shook as you looked down…blood.

“Oh, God. Okay,” You whispered hoarsely to yourself. “Okay, just…deal with it.”

Your fingers fumbled with the hem of your shirt before you tore a strip free, wincing at the sound. You worked clumsily, jaw clenched as you pressed fabric against your side and wrapped it around your waist as tightly as shaking hands allowed. You leaned your head back against the wall once it was done, chest rising unevenly.

For the first time since waking in the gardens, you stopped moving which made everything worse because now your thoughts caught up. Your apartment, job and your stupid little life in New York. The plants you always forgot to water or friends expecting texts back. Tomorrow morning that suddenly felt impossibly far away.

A broken laugh slipped out before you could stop it. “This is so unbelievably fucked.” You muttered shakily.

“Well.” A voice drifted lazily down the corridor. “At least you’re still funny under pressure.”

Every muscle in your body locked.

Slow footsteps echoed against the tile, unhurried and certain like he already knew exactly where this ended. Titus stepped around the corner.

Your stomach dropped.

He looked unfairly composed for someone who was actively hunting you. Dark clothes untouched by dirt, broad shoulders crowding the narrow corridor before he had even fully stepped into it. One hand dragged absently against the wall as he walked, calm in a way that immediately made your skin crawl.

“There you are, Bunny.”

The nickname landed like a slap. “Don’t call me that.” You snapped immediately, shoving yourself upright despite the pain tearing through your side.

His mouth twitched faintly. “God, you still hate it?”

“I said don’t fucking call me that.”

Titus stopped a few feet away. Then his gaze dropped, the blood and your ruined shirt and y our shaking hand pressed hard against your side. Something in his expression shifted fast enough to make your stomach twist.

“Ignacio?” He asked, voice quieter now.

You blinked and shook your head slightly. “What?”

“The cut.” His jaw tightened. “Did that fucking prick touch you?”

For a second, you just stared at him, then a sharp, disbelieving laugh escaped your mouth. “Oh, are you serious?” You gestured wildly. “You’re hunting me!”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“You drugged me, kidnapped me, dumped me in a garden to be murdered, and now you’re asking if I’m okay?”

“You’re being dramatic.”

You actually laughed, a horrible, hysterical sound. “Oh my God. You people are genuinely fucking insane.”

His expression softened in a way that immediately made you want to scream. “Bunny– ”

“Stop calling me that!” You grabbed the nearest thing without thinking – a heavy metal flashlight abandoned on the cleaning cart – and launched it. Titus barely turned in time. It slammed into his shoulder with a loud crack.

“Fuck– Jesus Christ.”

You moved instantly, past him. You barely made it two steps as a hand caught the back of your shirt. The world tilted violently as Titus yanked you backward before you could wrench free.

“Absolutely the fuck not.” He snapped.

“Get the hell off me!” You twisted hard, elbow flying blindly. It cracked into his chest. Didn’t do much. Great. You tried again anyway.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Titus barked, grip tightening as you fought him. “Do you have any idea how many people are tearing through these corridors looking for you right now?”

“I don’t care!”

“You should!”

You shoved him hard enough for his back to hit the wall. His hands caught your wrists before you could swing again, pinning them long enough for panic to shoot violently through your chest.

“You disappeared.” He snapped suddenly.

The words caught you off guard. “What?”

“You fucking ran. You vanished for ten goddamn years.”

You stared, actually stared. “I was twenty!” you shouted. “I found out my family was satanic and homicidal!”

“Fair.”

“FAIR?”

“But you still fucking left.”

“You cannot possibly be making this about your feelings right now!”

His jaw flexed hard. “I looked for you.” He said quietly.

Your breath caught. Nope. Absolutely fucking not unpacking that. You slammed your foot down on his.

“Fuck!”

You ripped one hand free and shoved him as hard as you could. “You’re insane!” You ducked under his arm and bolted and made it three steps. Then he caught you again, this time around your waist. You yelped as he physically hauled you back against him.

“Nope.” Titus muttered, breath uneven for the first time. “No, fuck that. Not happening.”

“Let me go!” You kicked backward, missed, tried again. Connected hard with his shin.

“Christ, Bunny – stop fucking fighting me!”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!”

You grabbed a stack of folded hotel towels balanced on a maintenance cart that was next to you and shoved the entire thing into him. Titus stumbled just enough and you were able to slip free, you chest heaving, blood soaking warm against your side. You backed down the corridor quickly, shaking.

“You said you’d be the one to get me?” You snapped breathlessly.

Titus straightened slowly, something dark flickered across his face, almost thrilled.

Blood rushed loud in your ears. “Then catch me, asshole.” And you ran.

[cherryambition]

Love to Keep Me Warm

A/N: No one look at me I'm sweating my ass off wishing it was colder and here we are just a little blurb about taking Popey to the Midwest

~18+ MDNI please~

"Andrew, I don't think you're gonna need all that," you smile, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe of the bathroom.

Pope has his clothes laid out on the hotel bed. A thick coat, gloves, a scarf, and he's even considering those hand warming packets to stick in his pockets, all on top of the thick hoodie he's already wearing.

"Are you kidding me? I saw my breath on the way in," he glances back at you.

You walk up behind him and slide your hands around his midsection, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

You thought it would be fun to bring Pope back to your hometown for a visit. Show him where you grew up, let him experience the magic of a Midwest winter. But Pope was not built for this. He's being a trooper, strong and stoic as usual, but you can tell he's missing the California sun.

"Don't worry, baby," you say, your lips still pressed into the material of his hoodie, "I'll keep you warm."

"D'you know that skin to skin contact is best for transferring body heat?" he says, tugging on your arm.

You round in front of him, sliding your hands into the pocket of his hoodie. "Yeah?" you raise an eyebrow.

Pope plays with the zipper of your jacket, tugging on it gently. Not enough to drag it down, but enough to imply as much. You wrap your hand around his, gently lowering the zipper down, down, down, until your jacket falls open.

“This weather has you wearing too many clothes,” he mumbles.

“Do something about it,” you say, spurring him further.

And while it's 38 degrees outside with a 25 degree windchill, you're inside, hot and sweaty, with Pope pressed completely against you from behind. He has one hand in a bruising grip on your hip, and the other reaching around between your legs, his dick sliding in and out like it's his job.

Pope buries his face in the crook of your neck, breath hot and kisses wet. You're completely surrounded by him, his voice, his touch, and every gruff, bitten off noise in your ear makes your heart race and your core heat up even more.

You reach behind you, gently scratching at his scalp to bring his face closer.

"See? S'not so bad," you say, breathy and blissful.

Pope pistons his hips inside you a few more times before finding release, your bodies pressed completely together as he empties out inside you.

You're both panting, coming down from your shared high. Instead of pulling out immediately, Pope just wraps his arms tighter around you, pulling you closer, licking salty sweat from your neck.

"Yeah, the cold is fucking great," he grumbles, "as long as we stay in here, like this."

[bluetimeombre]

WITH OR WITHOUT YOU

synopsisJack and you have always been ying-and-yang and until a few months ago, the love of each others life. but when thing start shifting and you start drifting from Jack for the worse he doesn't know how to stop it, until he can stop it in the most brutal way possible (request) (7.9k words)

warnings this is heavy, heavy angst, it deals with mental health, not necessary suicide but also a not caring to live. reader has a dnr. so heavy angst with a HAPPY ending. language. typical hospital stuff. not accurate medical things. blood. stabbing mention, death. younger reader, age not specified.

authornote this is heavy angst but with a happy ending. i really liked the request and wanted to explore the idea of dnr's and stuff but if your sensitive to death please don't read (but nobody dies!)

the pitt masterlist! another jack fic!

It was a good day if you were working, Jack had decided that a long time ago.

It was the sort of rule he lived by. Like reading at least one hundred pages of a book a day kept him intelligent, his yoga in the morning kept him calm and limber. A shift working with you, was a good shift.

Most of the day shifters had gone home, but you were still at the nurses station, talking with Lena.

“Hey,” said Jack. It was the first word he'd said to you, un-able to do hand offs with you when Shen decided it was his turn to be at your side, throwing a testing grin in Jack’s direction. “Aren't you going? Here- take this for the road, you might need it.” He was all but forcing a granola bar in your hand. The special ones he reserved for you.

You took it. “Sorry to disappoint, Ellis had a concert she really wanted to go to, I said I'd cover. Beyonce.”

Jack leant over the counter at you, peering through squinted eyes. “Disappointment? I think you've just made my night.”

There was a blush on your cheeks as you looked away, studying the Pitt to find something to distract yourself with.

“You might regret that. We've got a lorry car collision, ETA ten minutes out,” you explained, dropping the granola bar into your scrub pocket. “I might just be your bad luck charm.”

Jack loved working with you. He loved getting your opinion on cases that didn't need a second opinion. He liked the quiet moments in the night shifts you covered where it was just the two of you and the night sky. He liked being able to make you blush, to make you laugh in the middle of the darkness.

Because there was a darkness lingering in you. The sort only the Pitt could latch onto a person.

He'd seen it in Robby.

He despised seeing it in you.

There were some nights you covered- because you were always the first to volunteer to do a double- you started with a sparkle in your eyes and ending the night in despair, dragging yourself home. You'd return hours later, not at all long enough to have had a good sleep.

Jack worried, but he liked having you around to keep an eye on you.

Jack shook his head. “Nah. The bad luck is this place. You're the good.”

You laughed, hesitantly.

Lena patted your arm, kindly, the way a mother did. “I'll go get the guy from trauma two moved.”

“You want some help?” you offered.

“No, sweetie, I got it.”

You looked around like you needed to make myself busy. Like you couldn't be alone with Jack. He'd seen it in the ED many times, even in the military, the need for people to stay busy instead of succumbing to a sort of numbness.

It had been him some years back before he managed to deal with his demons.

“Any interesting cases in the ED today?” Jack asked, following you around with his hands behind his back, restraining himself from guiding you through with a hand on your back.

“Well, we had a woman who didn't realise she was eight months pregnant who gave birth today. A priapism-”

Jack seethed. “Ouch.”

“- and a man with a toothbrush stuck up where the sun don't shine.”

“Double ouch,” he said, checking the side of you. “So you had quite an interesting day, huh?”

“You could say that,” you mumbled. “There's also a girl in five with Fancomi anemia. She came in four hours again and we're still waiting to hear from her parents. She has a half sister half way across the country that might be a bone marrow candidate that they've never tried.”

Jack nodded, listening and catching the far away look in your eyes. “You're doing everything for her,” said Jack. He didn't even have to ask to know you would be doing everything possible for the girl. Even if it meant exhausting yourself.

Jack nodded to himself, debating with himself if he wanted to know the answer to his next question. The devil and angel arguing on his shoulders. “A little birdie told me you had a date,” he said, the both of you knowing the little birdie was, in fact, Robby. “How'd it go?”

You sighed and stopped in the middle of the corridor.

He cut you off before you could start. “I'm just asking to check you're okay. That... that he was nice.”

You nodded slowly, not meeting his gaze as your hands rested at your hips. “He was- he was fine.”

Jack ignored the wince of pain as he crouched to get a look at you. “Just fine?”

If Jack couldn't have you, he loved you enough to just want you happy.

It was only four months ago you'd broken up with him, after seven months of beautiful moments. Of coming home to you in his sheets, making a coffee and waking you up to it. He wanted to steal every moment with you, choosing sleep when you went to work, spending the morning just watching you get ready. The lunch dates where he'd turn up to the ED, the place he could never escape, with a delicious home made lunch for you and sometimes extra for Robby who kicked up a fuss that he got nothing and had known Jack longer.

Jack missed the kisses in the night and the morning. He missed holding you when he had a night off. He missed when you'd think he was asleep and map his freckles, tracing I love you into his skin.

Because the tender moments were always there, yet gradually they began to hide themselves in the cover of night, when you thought he was sleeping.

Jack knew things weren't perfect. With both your schedules it was hard to balance but you tried to make it work. Then the light in your eyes started to fade and when you told him it isn’t working anymore, I love you, I'm sorry, he hadn't thought to keep your relationship alive. He'd just been fighting to keep you.

He was terrified he'd lose you.

Then what would he do?

He wouldn't survive it.

“Just fine?” he asked again.

“Don’t sound too pleased.”

“I’m not,” he denied but bit back a smile.

You looked up to him, shuddering a deep breath. “He was just... whatever.”

“Just a whatever kind of guy?”

“Why are you asking so much?” you asked, mildly annoyed.

Because he still loved you? Wasn't it painfully obvious? Weren't you just trying to act like you didn't know he was helpless for you to spare him embarrassment.

“Just, checking in on you.”

You looked down at your shoes, scuffing them on the floor. “It- he was nice but... I dunno, not what I wanted.”

Jack hummed. “No?” did you still want him? He'll be honest, he didn't think he'd hear about you going on a date. Least of all with some guy from Pedes. When you'd broke up with him he expected it had something to do with you wanting to focus on you. Rest up. The sort of stuff like that. Then he had to hear from Robby that you were going out for dinner.

There was only a small bite of anger before Jack felt sorry for himself.

“No,” you sighed.

There were deeper circles under your eyes than usual, sharp half moons dark in colour lingering there. Your eyes were dark and lifeless, scrubs hanging off you.

“Is there anything else going on?” he asked, tugging at your arm slightly to hide yourselves at a corner.

You looked up to him, lips pulled down in a frown as you shook your head. “Nope.”

His brows rose, eyes looking at you, pleading. “You can talk to me if there is, h-” the pet name he had no right to almost slipped from his lips. He gulped it down and felt it sting down his throat. “You can tell me.”

“We're...” you hesitated. “We're not together anymore, Jack. You don't have to do all this chivalry thing.”

“Can't help it,” Jack shrugged. “Not when it's you.”

Your hands wrung together and Jack looked down. There was flakes of dry skin on along your fingers. He knew the sanitiser in the ED could be harsh on your skin, but he also knew he'd replaced your hand moisturiser in your locker just two weeks ago and that you should have plenty. It was a nervous habit you had, to rub your hands together like so.

Jack remembered it from your first date. He’s used it as an excuse to reach over and take your hands.

“I'm just tired,” you mumbled.

Jack nodded, slow and listening. “That it?” he prodded gently.

He'd heard countless doctors slip those words out in answer to the everything okay type questions. He'd seen Robby break as the words chocked in his throat. You said them without emotion. Without even trying to prove your lie.

“Why don't you go home? Get some rest-”

“Ellis is-”

“- we'll manage,” he insisted. His hand had un-consciously started to move up and down your forearm in comfort.

You winced as you turned your head aside, thinking about it.

Jack didn't know how much he really wanted you to go home. He wanted you to rest, yes, but preferably in the family room with a blanket thrown over you where he could drop by and check in on you. Check you were okay.

Check you weren't doing something stupid.

He knew that not everyone felt like a ticking time bomb. That not everyone's mind would wonder as dark as his did sometimes.

But he feared you weren't far off.

“Go rest-”

At the same moment Jack spoke the ambulance doors were pushed open and two bodies were pushed through on gurneys, bloody and broken. Stats were yelled out and Jack was called for.

At the same time, Matteo popped out of five, calling for you.

“She's crashing!”

You rushed over, falling into the room with the young girl and Matteo.

With a heavy sigh, Jack followed the other path of emergency responders and doctors.

He and the team worked on them. A father and son involved in a lorry crash that ploughed right into the side. The kid was only seventeen with a broken leg and collapsed lung. The father was much better off. The boy would need surgery and Walsh was already down and wheeling him up.

It was all done in a quick blur of thirty minutes. He took care of it all clinically like ticking through a to do list, not looking to close at the kid to remember shades of hair or lines of the face.

By the time Jack was stepping out the trauma room, Crus at his side, you still had not returned to the floor of the ED.

“How does she seem to you?” Jack asked Crus, the two of them pulling off their gloves and gowns. He said your name in clarification.

“Hot!” said Crus with a shit-eating grin.

Jack glared at him. He should have known not to expect a serious answer from Henderson. Or at least he hoped that wasn't the serious answer.

“I don't know man, how do you want her to seem?” asked Crus.

“She seems tired. For a while now,” Jack noted.

“Aren't we all chasing sleep?” he asked him, leaving his side with a pat on his back.

Jack found himself at the nurses station, leaning over.

Lena's glasses slid down her nose, a chart in hand and her red hair messily pulled back. She ditched all efforts to seem busy however when he beckoned her over. “She's been in there the last thirty-five minutes,” she told him. “The little girl she'd been looking after crashed.”

“Nothing back?”

Lena shook her head.

Jack shook his head. “Shit.”

With a heavy heart he dragged himself to room five, already hearing the stillness of the monitor, the hard breathing and orders.

“Push another round of epi and charge to two hundred.”

The room smelt of septic cleaning products and the faint aroma of sweat. There was a faint burn smell from the defibrillators that had apparently already been charged and used.

Jack lingered in the doorway.

Your body was curved over the small girl, knees denting into the crappy hospital bed that hadn't been updated in years. Your hands were cupped over her chest, pumping down as Matteo pushed another round of epi. Catching Jack's eyes, he shook his head.

Jack tutted, quietly to himself. “Hold compressions, check for a rhythm.”

It took you a second but you stopped, looking to the monitor in hope.

There was nothing but a flat line.

Jack didn't tell you to resume compressions but you did anyway.

“Charge to three hundred,” you said to Matteo.

He was caught in the middle, looking toward Jack for confirmation.

Jack nodded and Matteo got the paddles, warming them and handing them to you.

Your grasped them in an all too familiar hold. “Clear!”

The small girls body lurched before flopping back on the bed. Everyone in the small room waited for a rhythm. There was nothing in answer.

Jack had no time to tell you not to carry on before you were. He took a slow step in, patting Matteo on the shoulder, in a silent gesture to have him leave.

The nurse gave a sad look before leaving, closing the door gently behind him.

There was Jack and you over the girls body.

He said your name, slowly.

You didn't react.

“Honey, come on,” said Jack. “She's gone.” He could see the tremble in your arms from the compressions you hadn't given up on.

One. Two. Three. Four.

“Her parents aren't even here,” you said. “They didn't even pick up their phone when Dana called. We-we left a message. They deserve to see their daughter one last time.”

Jack nodded. “They will.”

You glanced up at him. “Alive.”

He clocked his head to the side. “That's not gonna happen. It's been forty-five minutes. She's gone.”

Losing kids were the hardest. Losing anyone was hard but kids weren't supposed to be found in hospital beds, tubes poking out of them. If they had to be found in a hospital, they deserved loved ones around them. Not strangers in black and blue.

Jack knew you were trying to do the right thing. Sometimes there was no right thing to do.

“Come on.” Jack was slow in moving around the bed to your side. He gave you time to slow down, to feel the exhaustion in your arms. His own hovered over you. “Come on.”

You shuddered when his arms fell over you, holding you softly as you slumped back into him, falling from the bed on feet that weren't ready to catch you. His arms were; strong where you were weak.

“It's okay, it's okay,” he mumbled into your hair, peppering kisses there. “You did everything you could.”

Neither of you knew how long you stood there in his embrace. Somewhere between the consoling you and you slowly leaving his arms- like it was paining you physically to do so- Jack called the time of death so you wouldn't have to, pulling the plug on the monitor to kill the sound of dying.

When he turned back you were stuck at the door, eyes downcast as if you couldn't bring yourself to look at the small body he pulled the cover over.

He returned to your side, hand gentle on your arm. “Go take some time in the family room.”

You shook your head, a tear betraying your words. “I'm fine.”

Jack reached up and cupped your cheek in the palm of his hand. He looked at you like you were still his whole world. You were. To him. His thumb delicately wiped the tear away as your gaze reached his. “Ten minutes, please. For me.”

It took some time, some great mental calculations sparring inside of you but you nodded and Jack led you from the room, closing the door behind him.

His hand was a gentle breeze against the small of your back as he led you out, giving a gesture of a nod to Lena about the room. It was enough for her charge nurse bells to go off as she nodded and sent someone over.

“Take all the time you need, okay?” Jack whispered to you.

You nodded, stepping out his hold and slowly walking to the family room.

Jack waited and watched closely, marking every step you took to the room. He only let out a sigh when he saw you close the door behind you.

“Everything okay?” asked Lena as he slouched over the counter.

His face scrunched up as he fought his own pain. Pain for the little girl but a greater pain chocked at him as he closed his eyes and pictured the heartbreak marring your face, taking over your entire body. He sniffed back his own grief. “No. No, not really.”

Slowly he explained the situation to Lena. He re-encountered the break up that had took the night crew by shock. They were all so sure it was happy ever after for the two of you. When Jack had to slowly explain the break up (he lied and said it was mutual, it was very much not) there were distraught faces as if the night-crawlers were all going through a parental divorce. He told Lena he knew something was going on with you. He told her about the girl that had just died.

“And I just-” said Jack, chocking on a cry that threatened to escape the lodge in his throat. “Sometimes when I see her, it feels like I'm gonna be seeing her for the last time.”

“Hey,” Lena whispered and reached for his hand, squeezing it. “None of that. She'll be okay.”

Jack nodded, repeating the words to himself. “Yeah, she'll be okay. Keep an eye on here?”

“Already on it.”

By the time Jack next had the spare moment to check his watch he found thirty minutes had flickered by since he last saw you. When he passed by the family room you weren't there. Instead Caleb was, talking to a family.

Jack went in search of you, checking the board for your initials. He didn't see anything up on there, nothing that jolted his heart with the usual sparks.

“Shen!” he called in passing. “Have you seen her?”

“Er, no, sorry.”

Jack cursed. He was turning around the ED, spinning on his heel and looking around every corner for you. You weren't by the lockers, weren't out in the ambulance bay. Trauma one was empty and trauma two had a large team in there already, devoid of you.

His heart beat like a drum in his chest, growing louder and louder, the thud of the bass growing the more time went on and he couldn't find you. Had you gone home without a word? Were you hiding away somewhere else?

Jack was losing hope, running on anxiety when he pushed back the curtain to fourteen hard enough to almost tear the thing.

You looked up at him from your place on the stool next to your patient, a middle aged woman with an ankle not as it should be.

“You're here,” he said, breathless.

“Er, yeah?” you said with a small chuckle. “I'm just telling Mrs Greene here about the surgery to reset the bone in her foot.”

Jack nodded, looking from you to your patient.

He wasn't an idiot. Your eyes were scratched and red, cheeks flushed. Yet you'd tried to put yourself back together. You'd scraped back your hair in a neater pin up, had clearly splashed cold water on your face, maybe even dunked your face in a bowl of it. You sat with your hands in your lap, a leg kicked over the other, caving in on yourself.

As soon as you left the room, chart in hand, Jack was hot on your heels.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

You startled, looking at him. “Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?”

“You lost a patient,” Jack reminded you, a small frown pulling at his lips. “It's tough on all of us.”

You glanced down to the chart, lifting your shoulders. “We lose people all the time. It's the job.”

He surveyed you as you slid into a seat, logging into the computer in front of you. No eye contact, distractions pulling at you. Jack knew your tactics; they were everyone else's. Ignore the pain till it went away before mounting up and crashing down at the worst time possible. Heck, he was chair of the club.

“Sure,” he mused. “Doesn't make it any easier.”

You sighed, pulling your lips up into a strained smile. “Jack, seriously, I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me.”

Jack leant over the counter. “Well, you want to know a secret?”

“What?”

“I'm always worried about you.”

“I don't think it's much of a secret,” you said, moving your fingers quick over the keypad.

He wondered if your hands were steady. Or even if you were writing anything with meaning, or just trying to occupy yourself. “If you need to go home-”

“- I don't-”

“- take some time-”

“- I don't want to take time,” you huffed.

“You’re starting to sound like Robby.”

“Now that’s insulting,” you huffed. There was a moment were you fell silent, your body slumping under the weight of the argument. You dragged your hands down your face. “Jack, please.”

When you're a kid they teach you that manners are an important basis in the human condition. A show of respect. A nicety. They don't tell you the effects the simple words hold when used on the tongue of a loved one. When someone you love is begging you to leave them alone, even against your better judgement.

Jack never liked to hear you beg as it was.

He hung his head in surrender. “I'm staying close.”

“You'll be loitering.”

“Observing,” he corrected.

He loitered around you the rest of the night. He checked your name on the board every time he passed. When the parents of the young girl arrived five hours later Jack spoke to them, he didn't even tell you they had arrived but somehow you knew. A silent nod of thanks was passed. The sun started to rise and Jack had counted three coffee's, two over your usual. The granola bar he'd handed you was left abandoned at your station and before Jack could find you to make sure you eat the rest, Crus had taken it in one bite.

Six am was a blessing. The night hadn't been full of patients, no more than usual at least but it had been more stressful to Jack.

Every time you moved and he couldn't find you he was worried. Even if it only lasted a minute or two. It was the same blind panic he'd felt the day Robby left for his sabbatical, yet the relief when he saw you didn't last.

Jack had left to go to the bathroom in the morning. When he came back Robby was there, fleece pulled up and talking to you. He couldn't tell what was going on, only that Robby's hands were clasped together in a prayer like motion.

Then he saw you nod and Robby sigh before giving you a high five and leaving.

“What was that?” Jack asked, falling at your side.

“What?”

“What were you and Robby talking about?”

“Er,” you hesitated. “Langdon can't make it, there's something at home, I don't know his kids are sick or something, Abbey's away visiting family.”

Jack was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “So?”

“He's asked me to stick around for a bit, help him out-”

“You've just pulled a double,” Jack snapped.

“It's only a few hours,” you shrugged, as if you weren't the walking definition of sleep. “Beats going home.”

“I'll cover.”

“Then you'll be pulling a triple,” you pointed out. “I'm younger, more spry.”

His jaw pulled tight, hands falling on his hips. “I'll talk to Robby.”

“I've told him I'll do it,” you said, firmly. “I don't want to go home and sit with this, I'd rather be here.”

“For how long?” he asked. “You gonna stay here forever now? You can't run away from this.”

“I can't sit with it either,” you snapped back, heat rising up your neck. “I'm not like you, Jack. I can't leave the shift at the door and go home and just sleep it off. I need to... I need to do something.”

Jack stood and listened. He knew you all processed things differently. He knew that you were never good at staying still, always rising early in the mornings even if you weren't working, cooking before he'd even said he was hungry. Siting still and thinking didn't work for you.

You took a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut. It took you a couple moments to drag your eyelids open. “I'm gonna go sleep through hand over. I'll see you soon, okay?”

Jack didn't bother saying anything as he watched you go.

Your place was taken up by Robby. He looked down the way you'd walked.

“You had no right to ask her to stay,” Jack argued.

Robby chuckled low in his throat. “You have no right to be mad that she said yes. She's not yours anymore, Jack.”

“She's exhausted!” he grit.

“Then she wouldn't have said yes.”

“She wouldn't have said no, either!”

Robby grit his teeth and backed up a step. “Brother, I know you care about her. I'm only asking a couple hours to figure things out. She's a grown up. She knows what she's doing. I don't think you do.”

Robby walked off then, leaving Jack to it.

The worst part was, Jack knew he was right. He had no idea what he was doing.

It was two days later and Jack wasn't even supposed to be in.

It was only three in the afternoon, he had at least three more hours of snooze time, lying back in his bed, counting the flecks of paint in his ceiling- if he hadn't been out on the SWAT team.

A bunch of boys- punks really- were holding hostages for a total of six thousand dollars and a PS5. Considering the wars and losing his leg and the shoot outs it was a relative easy thing to deal with. Still, when the larger one of the trio took a run at him and landed his shoulder square in the chest, pushing Jack to the floor, it still hurt.

He'd pulled up his shirt, caught a glimpse at the bruising and thought it better safe than sorry. Best to get it checked out by your hands.

Any excuse really to feel your hands touch him.

“Hey,” he greeted, walking through the ambulance doors.

It was like walking into a morgue.

Dana and Javadi were at the nurses station, both turned to look at him in shock. “Jack, honey, what are you doing here?” she asked without her usual smile.

Jack clocked his head aside. “I took a tumble, thought I could get a look at, you know.” He was hoping she'd catch just who he wanted examining him without saying your name.

Javadi gasped at her side, hands flying over her mouth. “Oh my god.”

Jack looked to her. “What?”

He glanced around the Pitt.

Princess and Perlah were in the corner, talking in Tagalog quietly while glancing at him. Others were looking at him but Robby wasn't. He wasn't around. He counted: neither Samira, Whitaker, Santos or McKay were there.

Nor were you.

Dana slowed around the counter, lifting an arm to him. “Why don't we get some coffee? I can take a look at you-”

But Jack had already found trauma two, where all the doctors he was looking for were.

Robby stilled, gloved hands and gown covered in blood. At his side Samira was much the same, behind him Whitaker too. “Jack! Get out!”

It took him a minute to realise why everyone was looking at him, why the ED had felt colder than usual. Why you'd been missing from the floor.

The blood surrounding everything was yours.

“Jack!” Robby yelled.

You were on the gurney too still, so un-natural for you. Had he not been complaining you wouldn't take a break just forty-eight hours ago?

Jack looked to each face that was frozen, wondering what to do. Whether they should work on saving you or work on getting rid of him.

Jack made their choice for them, throwing off his jacket and pulling on latex gloves over the sweat of his palms. “Talk to me!” he yelled to anyone in the room.

Robby gave one un-impressed shake of his head and a groan. “We found her in the bathrooms. Stab wounds to the left chest, two to the belly, right and left upper quadrants.”

Jack was over you know, looking down.

You were pale, eyes dark and closed and not opening as he pressed a hand to the top of your head, feeling around just to be able to touch and know you were there. It was a relief to know as much as it was a nightmare to see you. He inhaled but it was shaky.

“She- she was stabbed?” he asked.

“We think it was a patient,” said Santos from behind him. “Or-or a relative of a patient, we don't know.”

Jack shook his head, brows creasing. “Oh god.”

“Pule ox eighty-two!” called out Donnie.

Jack snatched the central line tray away from Robby, lying it out and doing it all himself. He looked at you and saw a patient. For the sake of your life he was looking at you and cutting you open like he didn't love you. “Call- call someone,” he said.

“What?” asked Whitaker.

“Robby,” said Jack. “Call- call her emergency contact. A friend. A family, I don't know just get her someone! She-she doesn't like patients being alone so for gods sake, call someone!”

Robby was adamant to argue. It was evident in the lines in his face and the frown on his lips but Jack heard the sharp tug of elastic and the sound of him giving up.

He remembered how distraught you'd been when the little girl had no family with her. You weren't going to die- you weren't. But Jack wanted someone you trusted to be with you.

“BP's ninety over fifty!”

“Okay, c'mon, c'mon, honey,” said Jack as he carefully and skilfully intubated you, the bag going on. “Don't do this to me.”

Robby had pulled over the computer, logging in and typing away.

“Pulse ox is dropping!”

“Belly is distended,” said Whitaker. “Probably an intra-abdominal bleed!”

“Get four more units of O-neg in here!” ordered Jack.

“Pressure's down to sixty!” yelled Samira.

“Oh... god,” Robby uttered, staring intently at the computer screen.

There was a harsh beeping screaming through the room and everyone looked.

“We've lost her pulse!”

By the time Mohan had finished announcing it Jack had already climbed up, compressing down on your chest.

“No. No,” he said, harshly. “You are not doing this to me. You're not! Push a round of epi!”

There was another beeping that would haunt Jack for the rest of his life.

“She's in V-fib!”

Jack grunted. “Charge to one hundred!”

“Stop!” Robby called out. His head was hung low between his shoulders, one hand held up. “Stop.”

Jack did not stop pushing down to your chest. Over you, Donnie did not stop pressing down on the bag. Nobody was stopping. “Robby, What the fuck do you think you're doing?” he snapped.

Robby was pale, his eyes down cast as he turned his body to the room but didn't have the strength to look at anyone. He rested a hand on his hip, the other stretched out to the cart with the computer to steady himself. “Her chart. She's DNR.”

Jack didn't hear him, not right away. Or he did but didn't want to. He knew the letters DNR. Sometimes a mercy for the elderly that had lived a long, good life and wanted to go out on their terms. For the terminally ill who didn't want to live the rest of their life in pain.

You were young. You were healthy. You were not dying.

“What?” said McKay.

“You're kidding,” said Denis.

Robby shook his head, spinning the computer to them.

“Doctor Mohan!” Jack called, a silent plea for her to take his place. With steady hands, she did and Jack stumbled down next to Robby.

He stared at your name, your birthday. Your file sat there staring at him, the DNR mocking all the love he held for you.

“She's DNR, Jack, I'm sorry,” said Robby, a hand on his shoulder. “We have to respect that.”

His fingers moved around the keyboard till he highlighted the DNR.

You'd signed a DNR. You'd never said anything. Why had you signed a DNR?

Jack moved around on the keypad and did the only reasonable thing. Everyone behind him waited with bated breath.

Jack dragged his finger to the bin icon and deleted your file.

Robby stared at him in shock.

Jack looked away from the now empty computer screen and didn't so much as glance at Robby as he returned to your side. “Charge to one hundred.”

A wave of shock rippled through the doctors and nurses as Jack marched back to your side. There was disbelief that you, someone so young, would ever be a DNR. That Jack- who they'd all argue was a little bit more responsible than their own Doctor Robby- would erase a file!

Jack looked around at them all. “Charge to one hundred, now!”

Santos and Whitaker were the first to jump to attention, charging and handing over the panels.

“Clear!”

The waiting room was colder, quieter and whiter than Jack was accustom to. He was used to working down in the Pitt, with its white walls and ghosts but there was always noise. Always monitors going off and names being called, usually there were wails or cries of relief.

In the waiting room there was nothing.

Only lines and lines of chairs, a fish tank that last time he'd counter had a dozen or so goldfish and a clock that ticked by every second you lay under the knife.

Every second ticked away and nobody came to fetch him, to update him.

Every second Jack was left alone to guess why you'd have a DNR order.

The door creaked open and the only other waiting woman and child in the room looked up. As did Jack.

Robby walked in, boots shuffling, lips tilting up into an apologetic smile as he raised a hand to the mother and daughter. He found Jack. “Anything?”

He shook his head. He learnt almost two hours ago not to trust his voice from shaking anymore.

Robby settled in the chair next to Jack, stretching out his legs. Not to impose but just to press his boot next to Jack's and assure him he was there. It was a small move but none the less appreciated. “The guy was only came in for a headache,” he explained quietly in the silence. “We were waiting on a psych consult from some erratic behaviour-”

“- he should've been restrained,” said Jack, through eyes that were heavy in tears. He knew that most patients came in erratic, that they didn't always have to be tied down but he still he remembered your blood all over the trauma room, your blood on everyone's gloves.

Jack had to get a change of scrubs from the lockers just to get out of his clothes stained in your blood but as he looked down at his boots he found a spec of your blood.

“The guy had no infection, we've no idea how he got the knife. He ran after the attack. Word is he's at Westbridge being treated for schizophrenia.”

“How long?” Jack asked, a shake in his voice as he angled his head down to Robby. He gulped. “How long do you think she was lying there, alone, bleeding to death before anyone found her?”

Robby's own inhale was shaky, his body wracked with it. “I don't know.”

Jack's breath shuddered. He hunched over himself, resting his elbows on his knees.

Had you been conscious? Aware of the fact litres of your blood were leaving without being able to call for help. Were you trying to call for help but un-able to find your voice? The thought had Jack's stomach churning.

“What if-”

“Don't-” warned Robby.

“What if she doesn't make it?”

“She will.”

Jack tried to imagine a world without you but he couldn't. He tried to picture walking into work and not finding your face, smiling or on the verge of collapse. He imagined not being able to text you just to say he was thinking about you and for you to just reply, don't. He couldn't imagine the last photo he'd have of you on his phone was the morning you broke up with him, when you were sleeping and he thought you looked so beautiful and at peace that he had to capture the moment.

He wanted to tell you there'd be no peace on the other side. Not if you left him.

“Two stab wounds to the belly,” Jack sniffed. “Could've been the spleen.”

Robby didn't try to sugar coat it. He only nodded and listened. “It could.”

“It could've got the heart, she was stabbed in the chest.”

“Maybe.”

They sat in silence.

Jack saw Robby watch the clock for an entire minute.

“Do you know why?” asked Robby. “Why she had a DNR?”

Jack winced at the memory. The stamp standing out to him. It was offensive to him, that you'd do such a thing. He rested back in his chair. “No. She.... she never said anything about it, not to me.”

Robby nodded.

“She's healthy,” said Jack.

“Maybe... maybe it's something else,” Robby uttered.

Jack didn't need to ask what he might have meant. They knew it better than most.

Maybe it wasn't a want to die, but an indifference to live.

Yet, a DNR wasn't an indifference. It was a choice that if anything happened to you you'd never want to come back from it.

“I can't do it,” said Jack, looking down to his boots. He struggled to put the rest of it into words. “I can't... without her- I can't. And I want nothing more than for her to wake up. But... I'm so angry she's done this.”

There was grief, despair also behind that anger but the fury masked it.

“So am I,” said Robby. He was the closest thing to a mentor you had, someone to look out for you when Jack wasn't around. “When she wakes up-”

Jack shook his head. “We don't know that.”

Robby's body hunched over, focused on Jack. “When she gets out of that OR you get to argue with her first.”

Jack dared to hope in the silence that paraded between them. “You think she knows?” he asked. “That we brought her back?”

It seemed Robby didn't even have to think about it.

“She knows.”

There was another tick of the clock before the door opened again.

“Doctor Abbot.”

He shot up at the call of his name, pushing through the door with Robby following behind. Out in the hallway the lights radiated a ghostly white and Jack felt haunted already.

Garcia stood there, a mask lose around her neck.

“How-how is she?” he asked.

Garcia looked between them. “Recovering. There's a long road ahead of her, but she's stubborn. Far more stubborn than the two of you combined. She's going to make it.”

Jack let out a shudder of a breath of relief, his entire body curling. He felt the need to throw up all the words he'd wanted to say to you and hadn't. That coil in his stomach released and his last good leg trembled.

He felt Robby's hand on his shoulder and dully heard him and Garcia talk about what had gone on in the operating room but it was as if Jack was under water.

A score of surgeons started to wheel you out, pushing you into recovery.

Jack saw you in a new gown without blood, bandages around you. You were still asleep but that's all it was, a sleep. Your skin was still pale but there was the smallest bit of life in your cheeks. You moved so slow, or maybe that's how he was seeing you, trying to slow it down to memorise you.

When you disappeared Jack came back to with enough time to thank Garcia and rush off after you.

By the time you woke up Jack had gone through his mind a thousand times, trying to think of a way to approach the topic of you seemly wanting to die without coming off as angry and afraid as he felt.

You woke slowly with flutters of your eyes and your hand coming up to rub at the sleep only to be held down by the IV in your hand.

Jack jerked at the movement, claiming your hand and holding it in his, squeezing. “Hey. Hey, you're okay, it's okay,” he said, coaxing some comfort into you.

You turned to find him, eyes groggy as you blinked at him. Your lips parted, dry and chapped, just barely mumbling his name.

“Yeah, yeah, it's me,” he said with a watery smile as tears sprung to his eyes. “It's me, you're okay, you're safe.”

You glanced around the room in post-op. The blank walls with cards about various health hacks, at the monitors all around you, then down to yourself in a gown, the blanket that Jack had asked Robby to bring from his place gently tucked close to you. Selfishly, he'd wanted to keep just one thing when you left. You gulped. “What-what happened?”

Jack steadied himself. “You were- you were stabbed, one to the chest. Tw-two to the belly.”

You blinked, taking in the information. Slowly, your free hand rose and rubbed over your heart. “My-my chest-”

“Does it hurt?” asked Jack, ready to begrudgingly let go of your hand and rush to get someone.

You shook your head, closing your eyes and resting your head back in the cushions. “It... aches, a little.”

Jack knew the pain from other people winces. From the jutting of chests when they were shocked to the burn marks left there after. He'd seen your wince on hundreds of other patients, often described as a pain like being kicked in the chest.

He wondered if his heart breaking was a similar pain.

“Your- your heart stopped. We lost your pulse. We had to bring you back,” he said slowly, studying your face for any sign of grief. “We had to shock you.”

He waited.

You only slowly closed your eyes and opened them again. “Oh.” Your hand gave his a little squeeze.

Jack gulped down his troubles, shuffling closer and resting his arms on the bed, caressing your hand close to his chest. “We had to go against the DNR. Your DNR.”

You looked at him, a small knot of confusion between your brows before it quickly smoothed over. He watched you slowly avert your gaze, turning away to stare at the ceiling instead. You didn't cry- in rage or relief- you didn't say anything for a while leaving Jack to guess if you wanted him to bring you back.

“Why?” he asked, a crack in his voice. “Honey- why was there a DNR order on your file?” deep down he knew he should have been letting you rest, taking care of you and whispering soothing words but he couldn't see past the order on your file. He couldn't forget the way he watched your body lie still and bloody without breath and the dread that filled his chest when he found out you didn't want to be brought back.

You blinked a tear. “I don't know.”

Jack shuffled closer still, his knees digging into the bed. “Baby... honey, please. You-you can tell me,” he begged, holding the back of your hand to the stubble growing in stress. “Please, honey. I... I thought I was gonna lose you forever.”

His salty tears rolled onto the back of your hand and like it was acid, you cried, the sort that had your bottom lip jittering.

“I-I really don't know,” you uttered. “I guess I was young and-and stupid. I didn't want to die... didn't care much about living either. I just put there as a.... as....”

Jacks thumb slowly soothed your hand, resting it on his cheek as he listened. “As a what, honey?”

You glanced his way before your expression turned pain and you stared down at the blanket instead. “A failsafe. I didn't think anything would happen to me... but if I did I guessed it was life's way of telling me to be done.”

Jack took a deep breath that didn't reach deep in his lungs, it sat and burned. He knew it wasn't about him and he wasn't trying to make it so but he'd had a long time to think about life without you while waiting for you to come out of surgery.

Who else was he supposed to talk to if he didn't have you?

Who else was he supposed to laugh with if you weren't there?

Who else would take up all the love he had if you didn't have it?

“I did it ages ago, Jack, I swear, I forgot about it. Things were different, when-when I was with you. I just... I...”

He nodded, trying to hide his tears. He turned his head to wipe his cheek against his shoulder.

You squeezed his hand again.

“You didn't- you never said anything,” he mumbled.

You lips parted and hung open lamely. “I'm sorry.”

Jack shook his head again and looked at you with his best, un-stable, smile. “I just don't know what I would've done without you.”

Your finger tapped his hand, almost pityingly. “You'd have been okay.”

He scoffed. “Like fuck I would have,” he said, looking at you. “Do you realise how scared I was when I saw you in trauma? Do you realise what my life means without you? Nothing. Nothing, it means nothing.”

You frowned. “But I... I broke up with you?”

Jack shrugged. “So? You think I was gonna stay away long?”

You looked down at the blanket again, the one you'd picked up at a store- Jack couldn't even remember what store- he just remembered you'd seen it and said it would look good at home. At his. It was the first time you'd said his place as home and the first time he realised it could have been just that. “I dunno, I'm kind of a mess.”

Jack looked at you like you were the stars in the sky. “So am I, baby. That doesn't change anything.”

He thought to how sad you'd looked breaking up with him, like you didn't want to. All the extra shifts you'd been carrying, the silent pain. “You can't carry on like this. Being distracted, running from the pain. You have to... talk about it, face it.”

You swallowed, bitterly, as if even thinking about doing just that was the last thing you wanted to think about.

“If I hadn't been there today, I... I don't even want to think about what could've happened,” he admitted, quietly.

“How- how did you do it?” you asked. “Go about the DNR?”

Jack looked up sheepishly. “I deleted your file from the records.”

There was the smallest hint of a smirk on your lips.

“Gloria's not gonna like that,” you warned, pulling at his hand.

Jack chuckled to himself. “Gloria can kiss my ass.”

You laughed. It was small and pained but it was the first laugh from you Jack had heard in months.

He smiled at the sound.

“Jack?”

You pulled on his hand, beckoning him closer.

Jack hovered over you, checking where he could rest as to not hurt you. He rested his arm over yours, gently stroking back your hair while keeping your hand in his, resting it over your chest where the firm and promising beating of your heart lay.

“Thank you,” you said. “I don't... I don't think I'd want to have died. I know I act like it some times with... with all the work and the distance-”

Jack nodded along. It was a good start, a fresh one that he could build with you.

“But I want to be alive. With you.”

“Well that's good,” he said, tasting the own salt of his tears on his lips that were bitten down on in anxiety. “Because I want you to be alive. With or without me.”

You smiled up at him.

Jack stroked back your hair again. “But I'd prefer with.”

“So would I.”

Jack kissed you gently and slow, letting you set a pace of push him off. You did neither. Your lips puckered and were light against his but he grew solid then, an un-moving block at your side.

And you'd start again with each other, gentle and slow.

if you need help or related to the dark ideas in this fic, please talk to someone!

taglist (if you want to be added or took off just say the word!): @oldbaddies, @mafercita101,@tiddieshakeshownu, @mismwaa, @annabethpotter221b, @elizamoe133, @delicatedragonflower, @mysatnin, @cherbicdollie, @macbaetwo, @cod-guys-slvt, @rach2602, @beebeechaos, @generation-zero, @sofianotvergara, @berrybisous, @pinkpantheris

[mcybank]

omg this hurt sooooooo goood

[mcybank]

⋮⟢ drabble: pope cody who was your scary best friend before he became your scary boyfriend

── ✦ pope who you’d probably met in a very normal, mundane setting. something like a park, somewhere the wood chips got into your socks and gave you a splinter. you’d been walking on the side of your foot for a while, trying to ignore it, until you asked the boy sitting in front of you on the bench for help with the wood chip stuck to the bottom of your foot.

he’d take your foot in both hands the way you’d hold a bird, turn it toward the sun, and get the splinter out with his thumbnail. he acted like he did this all the time. and then he’d have no clue what to do when your face crumpled, because it still stung.

“it’s out,” pope’d say dumbly, holding up the splinter to show you. and when just the mere fact of stating the removal of your pain didn’t work, he’d awkwardly pat your ankle once.

and when that also didn’t work – dramatic you – he'd sigh through his nose and just put your sock on for you. he’d put on your shoe for you, too, tie the laces in a knot, tight enough that you’d have to cut it off later, and give it one firm pat.

and then you’d just keep materializing over and over again to the point that pope was confused. all he'd done was help you take out a splinter and now it felt like you lived here, on this bench, next to him. forever, seemingly. he’d definitely realize you were the only person in the whole wide world that wasn’t anything like his family and had given him a semblance of attention. sure, he was confused why you’d done it in the first place. but i imagine that earlier – before he’d started dabbling further in his violence and the cody family work – he’d be more prone to accepting a stranger-turned-constant in his life. he still had some trusting instinct in him, choosing to believe you when you honestly told him you liked hanging out with him.

── ✦ pope who was sometimes very strange and didn’t know he was. he’d bring you rocks because you once said – while walking past an enormous house in oceanside – that the quartz gravel in somebody’s driveway was pretty. so naturally he picked up a random little rock from the gutter two streets over, wiped it on his shirt, and gave it to you.

he did it again and again and again because you found that you were more endeared than anything and had started keeping these rocks first in your pocket, then in a shoebox, and finally on your windowsill. you could’ve told anyone which came from where. so even if you didn’t particularly have a fondness for random rocks when you noticed the quartz gravel, you definitely grew one!

(pope who also later replaced said rocks with the real thing when he came into money he had no idea what to use for, only ever remembering how your older tastes had sometimes made you look through the window at the jewelers and your eyes had lingered too long on a little diamond necklace. he never saw the necklace, really, only noticed you wanting it. he knew how to take care of that)

pope who wasn’t really sure how a simple hangout worked, so when you’d asked him to come over later on saturday without specifying when, he sat on your porch step for two and a half hours. when your mother asked him if he wanted to come inside and eat something, he’d say no, because he was supposed to be hanging out with you, not your mother.

when you finally came, you just sat next to him on the step and stayed there, finding it all so natural.

── ✦ and when he’d begrudgingly agree to hang out with your other friends, it’d accidentally lead into him drawing them away from the both of you. he hadn’t even meant to do that (not at first, at least).

he’d watched your friend hand you some shitty snack and said something like “don’t give her those,” without any explanation, smacking the snack away from your hand gently (though the explanation was that you’d ate one of those and promptly threw up on the ferris wheel, and it’d put you off of them for life).

if someone asked if you wanted beer, he’d say “she’s driving.” you were?

if someone asked you if you were cold, he was already handing you his jacket, mentally beating himself up for not having noticed sooner.

he’d move his chair to face the door wherever he was sitting, because ever since he’d watched people break into their little trailer as a kid – smurf, always tangled up in some shit – he’d learned to stay alert. so people always thought he was rude when he randomly turned his chair away from the group while someone was speaking and they were forced to stare at his back.

── ✦ pope who during your surprise birthday party (that he was only invited to because everyone knew how mad you’d be if they didn’t invite your best friend since you were a kid) would just stand in the corner and watch everyone with a frown, and when it got too late he’d tell everyone that the party was meant to end at ten even though that was never decided. and everyone would leave because you’d just stand there beside pope being like “yup!”

and then you and pope would spend the next three hours bagging cans, wiping down corners, finding a nickel or two between the couch cushions because of how thorough the two of you were. that was the good part. he’d wait for that.

after, he’d say, “that was fun.” and you’d think he was talking about the party.

── ✦ pope who kept saying “i can take care of it,” whenever one of your friends mentioned someone bothering them. at first, they thought it was a turn of phrase – ugh, i’ll beat him up for you, but in pope’s language – until pope started asking where he worked, where he lived, and what his car looked like.

pope who had punched a guy for you, a boyfriend-of-a-friend, when he’d said something about you while you were in the bathroom. he’d asked the guy to go outside to smoke a cigarette, decked him, and come back with his hands in his pockets.

you were a little confused when your friends told you pope had gone out for a smoke, because pope doesn’t smoke, and because the six of them had squeaked it out at once.

he knew your friends knew, so when he came back, he’d just looked at all of them as he stood behind your chair as you and your friends sat in silence, tilting his head to the side to confirm whatever social contract he’d expected from them. then he’d simply shrugged and said, “he had to go home.”

── ✦ and when pope started noticing that you were being invited to hang out less with your other friends, consequently meaning he was being invited by you less with your other friends, he’d ask, “is it ‘cause of me?”

you’d immediately say “no!”

because even you hardly believed that it was because of him; pope was so good. he read the manuals for everything you got, peeled oranges for you – handed over in an unbroken coil, because a torn piece would've bothered him – fixed your bike chain, and made you the perfect sandwiches.

sure, he had a tendency to sometimes growl when a stranger got too close to you or a little puppy barked at you. sureee, he always had bruises on his knuckles without ever having a story for them (or rather, without giving one). and he sometimes glared when your girlfriends asked you to go on a double date. or appointed himself as the designated driver when they specifically asked you to have girls night.

on the occasion you actually did go, he’d sit outside in the car watching you through the window of some restaurant or bar.

he’d come in just once – after he saw a guy linger at your table for nineteen minutes and thought it was fucking girls night, waiting until the guy went to the bathroom – and when you gave him a questioning look he just pointed toward the bathroom, forcing an embarrassed shrug like he just wanted to take a leak.

maybe it was just a coincidence that you nor your friends saw the guy come out of the bathroom! pope stopped at your table on the way back, hands in his pockets, knuckles freshly pink, and said, “want anything?” and when you said no, he went back to his car.

“isn’t he so sweet?” you’d say to your friends, misty-eyed and dreamily, watching him sit in the parked car like he was a pretty sunset.

“the sweetest,” they’d say, three of them in unison like they’d been trained. you were completely unaware that they were in the midst of realizing you were a lost cause.

so obviously you could not, for the life of you, imagine that people wanted to not hang out with you because of pope. it was their loss, anyway, you thought.

pope was so relieved once he realized he wouldn’t have to spend time with other people, just so he could hang out with you.

── ✦ pope who took over their vacancy so quickly that you didn’t even consider it as a loss even for a day.

if you wanted to get drunk at a bar, he’d go with you and get a beer while you slammed three cocktails within an hour. he’d try to gossip with you when you asked him to “tell me something fun.”

“craig and renn had a fight.”

you’d light up because that was interesting. “good. he’s bad for her anyway.”

“yes,” he’d simply say.

and when you’d press for the details (what did they fight about? who started it? did anyone cry? on a scale of one-to-ten, how bad?), and he’d have none, he’d noticed how you’d slumped slightly, ever the nosy little thing he’d been hauling around for years, he’d frown. he genuinely had no more details to give you because he hadn’t cared enough to listen to craig’s tangent. but clearly you cared, so he’d say, “i’ll ask him.”

after he managed to get the hang of it – and found he liked it, talking shit, the whole nine yards of "but you didn't hear it from me – you’d both end up laughing.

and when you’d ask him for another story (because he had so many; the cody house was so weird), he’d say, “smurf woke up so late this morning,” thinking it held the same value as baz breaking up with his girlfriend at the time.

when you opened your mouth without saying a single word, stumped, he'd double down, "like ten," like you just didn't get it yet.

pope who somehow started filling every single shoe of the people in your life. pope, your girl best friend. pope, your mother (“did you eat?” “yes.”). pope, your dad, apparently, at some point (making it his mission to check your car).

pope, your dog (waits by the door and knows the sound of your car pulling in). pope, your bodyguard (constantly scaring away everyone, threat or not). pope, your financial advisor (“you don’t need to spend that kinda money on that.”) pope, your sugar daddy, immediately after (“fine. give it to me.” “what?” “i’m getting it.”)

pope, when you’d run him through the list, just looked at you confused and said, “someone’s gotta.”

once again, he was right. you’d gotten so lucky with pope, what were the odds of that? astronomical, you’d think, cheerfully. and then you’d wonder if he’d like one more shoe to fill.

[llhowlett]

baby daddy!pope who’s super protective of his kid. he doesn’t let his brothers hold your guys’ baby for too long, taking him back after a couple of minutes with a gruff “alright, that’s enough,” leaving craig and deran sharing a look.

baby daddy!pope who’s always the first one to wake up (and he’s glad he is because you do so much already) whenever your baby’s crying and fussing during the night. he’ll walk over to his crib and carefully pick him up, rubbing and patting his back gently as he tries to soothe him back to sleep. if it’s not working, he’ll carry him downstairs and make him a bottle of formula with his free hand while perfectly balancing your son with the other.

baby daddy!pope who’s always keeping an eye on your little one even when he’s in the midst of a conversation. if he sees him crawling towards an unsafe place, he’ll walk away from the person who was speaking to him- without so much as a word, to go pick him up.

baby daddy!pope who insists on feeding his baby each time because watching them trying to feed themselves is too much for pope’s ocd as they’re getting more mushy peas on their face than in their actual mouth.

baby daddy!pope who often just watches his baby sleep with a mixture of adoration and disbelief that something so pure and innocent was half a product of what he did.

baby daddy!pope who definitely cried the first time he ever held his son.

[peachjellyy]

Feel My Love

Description: Pope catches feelings for the one person who’s shown genuine care for him…his prison counselor. After being released he knows he needs to show that love to you in order to make you his.

Warnings: Pope Cody x prison counselor!reader, stalker!pope, obsessive!pope, perverted!pope, pet names (angel, baby) (andy), cursing, OCD thoughts, narcissistic cycle mention, mentions of sm*rf and b*z, smut, oral sex (fem receiving), p in v sex, MDNI 18+

Word Count: 6.6k

a/n: i tried to research a bit into the narcissistic abuse cycle and rumination, so i hope i did it justice. I AM NOT A THERAPIST, COUNSELOR, OR PSYCHIATRIST!

You had met Pope about 6 months into his 6-year bid. His reputation had preceded him as every guard who came to bring another prisoner to see you had warned you of his seemingly violent tendencies.

Watch out for Pope man, he’s crazy. He’s a freak. Don’t turn your back on him he’ll kill you.

Occasionally he’d even be brought up by other prisoners.

I don’t know Ms. he’s just off. Stay away from him if you can.

It wasn’t unusual to hear these types of comments as almost all of the men that were kept behind these prison walls were violent in some capacity. You tried to shake the comments off knowing that if he did become a client, you couldn’t show any biases.

Plus to these men, fear was something they could sniff out, like a bloodhound searching for a dead body. You knew if they could smell fear dripping off of you you were better off dead.

When you got to work that day, you had a manila folder on your desk with Pope’s name and information. When you had asked the warden why he was becoming a client of yours, he barked out in a gruff manner “He was mandated by a judge” before returning to whatever unimportant matter he was invested in.

2:15 on every Tuesday and Thursday became you and Pope’s designated time. So that next Tuesday, Pope was escorted to your office, shackled at his hands, waist, and feet. You tried hard to not flinch at his unwavering stare and rigid posture as he walked outside your window.

You stood from your chair, smoothing any wrinkles that formed on your pants. You opened the door, greeting both the guard and Pope before moving back to let them into your office.

The officer nudged Pope forward, showing him into a seat, shackling him to the hooks underneath your desk. You twitched your brow at the rough treatment, but decided not to say anything to the guard.

You walked to sit behind your desk ready to start your session when you noticed the guard still standing behind the largely built man in front of you.

Again you quirked your brow, “Is there anything else?” you said, confused.

“It’s protocol to stay in the room. Especially for an animal like him.”

Your face shriveled in discontent at the choice of words, you looked at Pope who sat rigid, his body refusing to make eye contact with you, “He is a client and all clients get confidentiality for any and all things that are said in here. He is also a human who deserves to be treated as such, Officer Lyncook.”

The officer squinted his eyes in disdain then slowly walked out of the room, closing the door and staring menacingly through the window.

You turned your attention towards Pope taking a deep breath before introducing yourself.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you. I figure we can spend most of the time of our session introducing and getting to know each other.” You smiled expectantly.

Pope’s eyes still faced his lap, and he merely grunted at your words.

Feeling the unsettling energy he was emitting, you chose to speak mostly about yourself and what you focus on during the session.

“I’ve been a counselor for about 5 years, the last 2, I have been a counselor in the prison. I work with a lot of clients so I’ve heard just about everything.” You laugh to yourself. “Um…the point of our sessions will be to work through some of the things that are weighing us down. That could be anything…stresses, mental illness, substance abuse…family.”

Pope’s head and eyes rise to meet yours then flicker back to the floor. Clearly you had touched a nerve with the last example. That was something you would store for later.

“My purpose is to help establish and plant good healthy habits so when you’re out of this dark place you release some of those negative habits and people and move forward. The biggest hope and wish from this is to not come back, I think both of us can agree on that.”

Silence filled the room , all you could hear was his deep shallow breaths and the occasional sharp yell of a prisoner from the echoey hallway.

“Well Pope is there an-“

“Don’t call me that…please” he interrupted.

“I’m sorry…what would you like to be called?”

He takes a beat looking around the room nervously then responds, “Andrew”.

“Okay…Well, Andrew is there anything you’d like to ask or share?”

“How long do I have to keep coming here?”

“According to the judge and warden, we’ll continue sessions until the end of your sentence. I know it seems long but I promise the more we talk and work together it’ll go by fast.”

Andrew nodded lowly taking in that he would be forced to sit in his discomfort longer than he had hoped.

Andrew hadn’t developed feelings for you quickly. It was something that festered inside him despite how much he tried to fight it.

His upbringing had cemented the distrust of any counselor or therapist. And so after several sessions despite everything in his body screaming no he had finally let you in.

“My mom visited me on Saturday.”

You cocked your head in shock, in the short two weeks of seeing Andrew, he had never mentioned anything regarding his family. Well, at least not his mom. He had mentioned his love of his niece, Lena, and his relationship with his three brothers Baz, Craig, and Deran.

He mostly focused on the former and her mother, Cath.

But the one person he refrained from going much further on his relationship was his mother, Janine, or Smurf.

“Oh…how did that go?”

“She mainly talked about my brothers and her…”Pope looked up at you hesitantly. “Businesses”

“Hmm…did she ask about you at all?”

Andrew shook his head, “Nah, she never asks about how it’s going.”

“Does she visit you or call often?” Andrew shook his head again. “No letters?” you pouted. Andrew didn’t respond but the answer was written on his face.

“Can I ask how it makes you feel that she doesn’t ask about you?”

He shrugged lightly, “I’m used to it. She always wants to talk about herself or Baz. She only asks about me when she wants something.”

Instantly alarms start going off in your head. You immediately recognize the narcissistic tendencies from how Andrew describes his mother. You’re more used to the men sitting in the chair presenting those traits, so it’s shocking to see the ‘big bad scary man’ in front of you to be affected (as much as he tried to shield it) by his mother's actions.

“I noticed you said she mainly talks about Baz aside from herself, can I ask why?”

“Baz has always been her golden boy. Does whatever she asks without asking why. She says jump, he says how high. The day I started to question things is the day I stopped being her ‘baby’.”

“Her love and appreciation for you shouldn’t be dependent on your willingness to devote yourself to her.”

Andrew had never had anyone tell him that he deserved love without anything in return. His breathing starts to pick up lightly, he’s trying to hold in the dam that carries the weight of his emotions.

He refuses to let anyone see that side, even himself.

“Are we almost done here? I want to go back to my cell,” he says with hostility.

“Unfortunately, you can’t leave, but if you are feeling uncomfortable we can end this conversation. I won’t force you to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

Andrew’s hand fidgeted in his lap, tapping his fingers on his leg in a sequence of threes trying to settle his nerves. “Thank you.”

You gave a soft smile, “Of course. And I hope you know that if there is anything you want to tell me, I won’t share it with anyone else. What we say here will stay in these four walls.”

The rest of the session went the same as before where you had asked Andrew questions and he had vaguely answered them, not giving you too much to interpret.

3:00 hit the clock quickly. The guard outside the door tapped a few times before unlocking the door, signaling the end of their session. The guard unchained Andrew from your desk and walked him back to his cell.

On the way back, Andrew had a lot of things racing through his mind. He had questions about why you were so nice, why you wanted to help him, but most of all why did you make his heart flutter in his chest?

He wasn’t oblivious to the feeling of a crush, he had felt it not long ago for Cath. Seeing her smile at him, talk to him without fear, or smile at the flowers he left for her. But all of those things she did were quiet gestures.

Your gestures were loud and purely selfless. You cared for him and his comfort without any ill intent. Something he wasn’t used to for a very long time.

Even though he enjoyed that feeling, his mind wouldn’t let it last. His mind reminded him of all the dark and twisted shit he’s done and proved to himself that he wasn’t worth comfort or love or any other happy emotion.

While his mind reminded him of his past, you were intent on focusing on his future.

“Today, I wanted to talk, or more so ask about something I’ve noticed,” you asked hesitantly.

“Okay, have at it.”

Now a year into your sessions, Andrew had become slightly more trusting and was even open to learning some skills to use with his family and outside of prison.

“I’ve noticed you have a slight compulsive thought. Specifically, you tend to see a fracture in a relationship as a distinct fault within yourself.”

Andrew was rubbing his hands, nodding his head, processing what you were saying.

“With these compulsive thoughts, I’ve noticed you tend to get ‘stuck in’ for days on end and it has a direct correlation to your mood, self-esteem, and interaction with others. Am I okay to continue?”

“Yes,” he said with minor discomfort.

He wanted to oppose but how could he, you were the only one besides Julia who saw past his tough bravado and was willing to help him.

“I wanted to use Cath for an example.” Andrew’s face tightens at your mention of his brother's wife. “You mentioned that you had sent her a letter and she had blocked you from sending anything. Why do you think she chose to do that?”

“Clearly she’s scared of me. I mean I saw the way she looked at me before I came here.” his eyes flitted back and forth between his lap and your eyes as he spoke.

“Let’s change our thinking on this one. What else could she be scared of? What does she have to lose?”

“She could lose Lena, she could lose…I don’t know…Baz.”

“What does Baz provide for her?”

“I mean he provides a house, money, and I guess family. Her parents are gone so she doesn’t have anyone else.”

“It sounds like Cath has a lot to lose. She could lose almost her whole life. To me, it seems deeper than just that she’s scared of you. Plus have you ever been violent with her or intimidated her?”

Andrew’s eyes locked onto yours giving finality and honesty to his answer, “I would never hurt her. I would never hurt you either.”

Why did he mention you? Have you been showing signs of fear?, you thought to yourself.

“Why did you say that you’d never hurt me? Do you think I’m afraid of you?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowed still puzzled by his thought process.

“Everyone is. I know what everyone says about me, I’m not stupid.”

“Of course you’re not stupid. Yes, people have told me stories about you” Andrew’s jaw clenches; his body tightens he’s visibly uncomfortable with the way the others have portrayed him. He knew this would be the catalyst between you and him and begin the cycle he was used to once again. Someone tries to get close to him, they hear the awful shit he’s done, and slowly but surely they break any and all ties that they have to him, and see his mere existence as a threat. “But I’m not concerned by any of them. I wanted to judge your character on my own and I’ve found that you are calm, kind, respectful, and have only inched towards violence when you feel backed into a corner, which we are still working on.”

Something within the air shifted. Andrew was still stoic and brave-faced, but it was like he now had an unreadable look behind his eyes.

The end of the session was near only 5 minutes remained. Andrew didn’t say much, but as he was leaving he whispered something that was almost impossible to hear.

“Thank you…for today.”

When Andrew was back inside his cell is when he knew. You were the only person who cared for him, who knew who he really was. It instantly sparked an interest and want for you.

He would be lying if he said he didn't think you were gorgeous. He knew he was attracted to you from the start, but he's not like most men where attraction leads to the entire want for more. For Andrew, he needed to feel a deep connection. He thought he had felt that with Cath, but after today the only person he could think of was you.

He managed to find a connection, outside of Smurf to dig up information about you.

He found that you grew up in Nevada, attended a college nearby, and moved to Sacramento when you accepted your position at Folsom.

He no longer cared whether Cath, Smurf, or any other person in his life because he just wanted to be near you.

He figured once he was out he’d either move to Sacramento or he’d move you to Oceanside. Either way, he’d make sure to watch you closely before doing either, so he could know even more about how to impress you and make you his.

Years had passed, and finally Andrew was up for parole. He was eager but scared that it wouldn’t be granted.

“You’ve got this…Think of all the things you’ve learned. I mean you’ve found some skills for your OCD, you’ve found some strategies on dealing with Smurf. You’ve come such a long way! Just be honest and whatever they choose we’ll handle it.”

Andrew’s hopes weren’t too high, he was prepared for the disappointment. All he could focus on was how you centered him no matter what.

Whatever they choose we’ll handle it. Like you were placing him in your future. Even on the outside.

So, when they granted him his early release, Andrew felt like he had a new lease on life. He was not only excited to be free but he was ecstatic to start a new chapter with you.

That ended up being the last conversation you had with Andrew but little did you know, he planned on having much more very soon.

It started with letters and a single white rose at your doorstep. Your doorbell was rung and when you opened it, you found no one, but you did find the note and the white rose.

You skimmed the letter and it had described how gorgeous and passionate you were and how this person couldn’t wait for your time together.

You tried to look to see who may have left this strange not but no one was in sight.

Suddenly, the rose and note became a daily occurrence. It should have scared you more, but never in any part of the letter did the person express any want to harm you for their feelings. In fact, it seemed the opposite, as if your mere existence was keeping them afloat.

You couldn’t explain why, but you didn’t call the police on them. Even if you could, what would you say? Each one of their notes felt so personal. It was almost familiar, like you knew them.

Occasionally, you’d get a client who would seek out your session outside of prison. You’d get a call from their parole officer and you’d try to help them find another counselor who could help them continue their practice.

It was very rare for you to accept any clients outside of prison since your caseload was so high, but when you got the call that Andrew Cody was seeking services, you were more than surprised.

The man who hardly spoke to you wanted to continue? Of course he had made some progress but it seemed as if he only made it so he could get out of prison.

Regardless, you accepted and agreed to meet with Andrew on Saturday afternoon at a cafe. You chose to make the drive down to Oceanside, so you could keep professional boundaries and he didn’t know where to find you, but little did you know he already knew everything about you.

When Saturday arrived, you woke up early got ready for the day, and made the long drive to Oceanside. You arrived at the café finding Andrew already seated at a booth towards the back of the building, near the large window facing the ocean. His eyes locked onto yours when he sensed your movement.

"Hi Andrew" you greeted him with a soft welcoming smile. Rather than the typical stiffening of his body during your sessions, it almost seemed as if his body eased.

Andrew felt weak hearing your voice, granted it had only been two weeks since you last spoke, but it felt like a lifetime to him. You were like a saving grace for Andrew, something that kept him going when his mind or the guards had begun their torture.

"Hi," he said in return.

"Can I ask why you wanted to meet with me? John didn't say much."

He could have told the full truth. He could have said that he felt that he was dying now that he couldn't see you anymore, but he was too afraid to see your reaction, so he chose to share the partial truth. "She's been drugging my food," he grunted.

You didn't need to ask who you knew he meant Smurf. “You know why she’d do that right? Do you remember what we talked about?"

Of course he had. He remembered every little thing you said.

He nodded stiffly, took a deep breath, and recited the words that he committed to memory. "She needs control over me to ensure I stay hers. She doesn't see me as her son but as a tool, a weapon that she can use at her mercy." He looks up to your eyes once more, “I just don't think I can do it much longer I'm sick of the lying, the pushing me away just to pull me back in."

"It's her cycle. Narcissists have their cycle and it will just continue until you remove yourself from it, from her." You reached out hesitantly to Andrew's tightened fist that rested on the table. You unfurled it and placed your palm inside of his hand. Andrew's breath hitched feeling your touch for the first time. It took everything within him to not rub his thumb soothingly over your knuckles.

You squeezed his hand encouragingly and said, "I know it's hard to think of a life without your brothers, without Smurf, but I think you’d be happier, you might have a shot at a normal life." You check your watch noticing the time is nearing the end of your session. "If you want out, I'm here...always."

Andrew's heart clenched, he felt that this was the sign he needed to finally pack up his old life in Oceanside and begin his new life with you. As you went to pull your hand away from his grasp and gather your things to leave, he held onto your hand gently not letting you pull away.

"Andrew?" you ask with confusion. Your voice held no fear, just genuine confusion. This was the man who self-admittedly hated physical touch, reminded him of the 'games' Smurf would play. So why is he accepting-no-begging for more of your touch?

His eyes flitted between the connection of your hands and your eyes, then finally stopped to stare at his lap. He pulled his hand away from your hand and into his lap. His hand felt cold at the loss of warmth. “I’m sorry,” he said apprehensively.

“It’s okay” you eased dipping your eyes to meet his and giving a kind smile. “I do have to go, but if you want to set up another session just let John know. He’ll call me and find a day for you. Okay?”

He nodded in understanding. You stood up gathered your things, and gave a polite wave goodbye before leaving the cafe and making your way back towards your home.

Andrew stayed in his seat and watched you the whole way. Even after you had left, he had stayed and filed every moment of your session with him in his brain.

He began thinking of how he would begin to remove himself from Smurf’s grasp without her or any of his brothers knowing where he went to and what was the motivation behind leaving.

That night he got his plans set. He had one more month of his parole and after that, he wouldn’t be required to answer questions to John about what he was doing and where he was going, he would officially leave his old life.

Sessions with Pope continued for the next month until suddenly after the last session he wasn’t heard from again. When you asked John, he said that Andrew had finished parole and didn’t think he needed to continue his sessions with you.

It was slightly upsetting anytime a client no longer needed sessions, especially when you knew there was still work that needed to be done. With Andrew, it was even more distressing.

Somewhere within the time of being his counselor, you had developed feelings for him. If you were honest, describing how you felt as feelings felt too juvenile, as it didn’t quite capture your true emotions. Somewhere in between right before his release and now, the line started to fray.

You tried desperately to contain it, hoping to keep those professional boundaries you tried so hard to build up, but it felt the more you both spoke with each other the more those walls seemed to crumble. So when you had the chance to see him in the free world, happy, and uncontained; it felt like you had no choice.

With you no longer meeting with him every Saturday, your mind started to race and wonder what pains he may be experiencing

However, eventually, you began to worry less about him and more about the secret admirer who seemed to amp up his infatuation with you.

The love letters that he left on your doorstep soon turned into someone, always conveniently walking a few steps behind. You started to receive phone calls with no voice at the end, only a soft breath breathing through the receiver.

The last straw was items within your house moving and going missing. At first, it would be something simple like the pillows on your couch being straightened, the dishes in your sink being cleaned, or even your laundry being washed and folded. This turned into your underwear that was in your hamper disappearing.

You started to piece all of those things together and realize who was behind the sudden changes in your life.

Andrew had done extensive tracking of your schedule. You typically left your house around 8:15, so he would break in around 8:30, giving extra time in case you'd turn around and come back home. One time he was almost caught when you left your work badge on your kitchen counter.

Andrew had begun making his way into your home while you were at work. He enjoyed seeing and learning a different side of you that He hadn't seen before. In your sessions, you rarely shared anything about yourself, especially anything personal. But now, standing here in your living room, he's inspecting the photos you have hung on the walls (he was very pleased to not see a man in your life, though Andrew would have made sure that that problem was eliminated), he feels so happy to see your head thrown back in laughter and childhood photos.

He regretted to find out that you were much less tidy than he would have liked, but he figured that he would happily handle any and all chores around the house from now on.

Today, he arrived a little later than normal, so he didn't see you leave but thankfully didn't notice your car on the street or in your driveway. He made his way in through your back door, heading into the living room to tidy up, when he went to the kitchen, he was happy to find no messes on the counters and no dishes inhabiting the sink, so he made his way into his favorite part of your house, your bedroom.

He didn't even make it past the threshold of your bedroom before he noticed you sitting calmly on the edge of your fluffy purple bedsheets. He felt the blood drain from his face. He was caught.

"Hello," you said while giving a wave with a wiggle of your fingers. "Come sit", you motion to him and pat the spot next to you.

Andrew wordlessly sits beside you, but refuses to make eye contact, too afraid of what he may see. You take your hand and hook a finger under his jaw to make him look at you. His eyes are misty and afraid, you need to choose your next words carefully to make sure he wouldn't shut down or worse, leave.

“Do you wanna tell me why you're in my house? I promise I'm not mad."

He took a few deep breaths, gathering words and his emotions to respond. "I'm in love with you". This was the first time he was admitting this truth even to himself. Whenever he was alone in his hotel room and fisted his cock raw while smelling your panties, he had always written it off as intense feelings, obsession, or perversion. Now that he was in the moment he recognized it for what it was. Love. He knew his version of love was askew and a little fucked but he didn't care, he'd do anything to prove his love for you.

You knew he was capable of love, you saw it in the way that he cared for his brothers, Julia, even Smurf until the end. You were just shocked that you were on the receiving end of his love.

"Why… why do you think you love me?" Your entire body was turned to face him and give your full attention.

"No, not think. I know I'm in love with you. You're the only one who cares about me, truly cares. You want me happy for me not for what you'll gain or what I'll give you. No one has loved me past all of the dark and twisted shit I've done. If you can't love me then I have no purpose.”

You closed your eyes and shook your head softly, “No, Andrew you do have purpose. You're worth so much with or without me.” Andrew’s eyes started to well at the anticipation of your rejection. He pushed himself up to leave but was stopped by your soft hands pulling his hand, encouraging him to sit back down. "But I do love you a lot." You smiled looking up to meet his eyes.

He turned his head at your words. His once tightened pursed lips had now parted, jaw slack in shock. “Wh-What? You do?”. Andrew had always assumed that his feelings were one-sided, thinking any relationship between the two of you would be forced. He’d have to kidnap you, isolate you from the world and you’d eventually develop feelings for him due to Stockholm Syndrome.

“Of course! You are such a generous person and you love people deeply no matter who they are or what they’ve done. Those qualities made me want more with you.”

The mix of feeling the touch of your hand and the confirmation of your feelings towards him made him feel dizzy. Too dizzy for him to reply until you say his name with concern, “Andrew?”

“Can I kiss you?” he rushes out.

You barely have time to nod before he surges forward and presses a hard and impassioned kiss to your lips. His hands have now left yours and are cradling your cheeks.

A light gasp escapes you as your lips meet, Andrew takes that opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. The feel of his tongue exploring your mouth makes your body melt into him.

You pull away for a breath, Andrew grumbles in protest. You chuckle breathily, “Wow". Andrew's hands still reside on your cheeks but his thumb is toying with your bottom lip as he speaks in a kiss-drunk tone, “You have no idea how long I've thought about that."

Your mouth parts slightly, enough for him to slide his thumb inside. You lick and suckle on his thumb, a low moan leaves his mouth. The feeling of you sucking on his thumb makes him picture the way you'd suck on his dick.

You kneeling on the floor, his meaty hand fisting your hair in a makeshift ponytail. Your warm mouth enveloping his thick cock. Even just imagining you swallowing his seed made his dick swell more.

You reach up and grab his hand lightly, pulling his thumb away from your mouth and rest in his lap to ask, "You have? Tell me what you've been thinking about?''

A hint of red brushed over his freckled cheeks at having to voice his lustful thoughts to the very person he imagined committing these filthy acts with.

He nervously cleared his throat then said, "I always pictured you sitting on my face, licking into you. I pictured you taking my dick down your throat." He paused but it was evident he had more inside of his head.

"What is it, Andrew? What else did you think of?"

He relents, ignoring every voice in his head. Ignoring the memories of Smurf trying to control any sexual interaction he's had, any memory of Baz making him feel as if he was inadequate or off-putting.

"When I was in my cell…I would dream about fucking you on your desk. Letting you ride me with my hands still cuffed to your desk, not letting me touch you.”

“I want you to touch me.” You grab his hands again and guide them to your body.

Noticing his apprehension, you remove yourself from your bed and plant yourself in his lap facing chest to chest. You grab his hands and place them on your hips. At first his hands are stiff and unmoving, you guide them to squeeze intently at the fat of your hips and ass. With feeling you give permission, and he begins to squeeze on his and rut your clothed core into his lap.

You both grab at the feel of each other on your most sensitive areas. Your faces are merely inches apart, panting hot breaths on open mouths. You lean forward and pull him into a deep kiss, the mint from his toothpaste still lingers on his tongue.

Without breaking the kiss, you pull both of you off to pull off his dark clothes. The clothes that accurately represent the outward projection of Pope, but not the real Andrew that you’ve come to know and love. You see it now that his asking you to call him his birth given name was a way to open a piece of himself to you, without putting all his cards on the table.

He begins to shed your clothes, hands wandering to explore every inch of your body that he had so desperately craved to touch. He felt the buttery softness of your skin, the weight of your breasts, tweaking the peaks of your nipples, squeezing the pudge of your belly. The both of you stood face to face completely naked, drinking in the sight of each other in this moment.

Andrew had dreamt of this for three long years, he almost felt be was back inside of his cell dreaming about the angel that cared for him.

You grabbed Andrew’s hand as you lay on your bed, you guided him to kneel over you. “Andrew…I want you to show me how much you love me and let me show you how much I love you.” He nodded, although the only thing he could care about was showing his love to you. He felt your love, now he wanted you to feel his.

He dipped down, bringing his head to your core, he peered up at you to ensure that it was okay to continue. At seeing your head nod fervently and caress his cheek, he began to press feather-light kisses down your thigh trailing towards your wet folds. Before reaching it he lifted his head again and gave the same attention to the other thigh.

His kisses end at the valley of your thighs before he slowly gives kitten licks to your weeping hole, he moans in delight at your taste. "Angel, you taste so fuckin sweet, oh my god." he continues and splays his tongue flat against your entrance and licks a slow stripe from your entrance to the top of your clit. You gasp deeply and clench the bed sheets beside you. Andrew sees the pleasure written on your face, your pussy too, so he guides your hands to his hair and lets you grip his auburn locks instead.

With the feel of your hands in his hair nudging him closer to your puffy lips, he picks up his pace losing himself in you. Your hips lift from the bed to rut your face into him, your moans increase. "Andrew it feels so good! Don't stop!" his lift and see your head thrown back with your mouth wide open. His nose nudges your clit and his tongue licks into you with more intensity than before to bring you to your peak.

“God Andrew, I’m so fuck- m’so close!”

“Cum on my face angel” he whispers.

You rock your hips into his face even more, letting yourself fuck his face. With the last final nudge of his nose, your thighs clamp around his head and your release streams onto the lower half of his face. Andrew keeps licking until you finally come down from your high.

He lays one last kiss to your clit before peppering kisses up your body until he reaches your neck. Between pants you say, “Thank you Andrew…do you want to keep going?”. His face is still tucked into where your shoulder and neck meet. “Can you fuck me Andrew? Can we show each other how deep our love is?”

He pulls his head away from your neck to look at you, “Yes angel. Please I need it so bad.”

You bite your lip as reach down to grab onto his veiny length, he shuddered at the feel. He grasped his cock and helped you collect your slick on him to help make his first thrust easier.

“You ready angel?”

You nod, “Yes Andy.”

He pushed in slowly stretching you out deeply, you both released a sigh. His initial thrusts were slow and soft too afraid of hurting you. But you knew your Andy, he’d never do anything to hurt you.

“Andy baby?”

He stopped, worried that the contact was unwanted, “I’m sorry, we can stop!”

“No I don’t want to stop! I just want you to enjoy this…I know you’re scared of hurting me but I promise I’m okay. I want you to fuck me hard I promise.” You look deep within his eyes to prove you were honest.

He nods, “Okay”. The slap of his hips begins again but with a much more impassioned energy. His face tucks back into your neck, the tip of his pink tongue licking any part he can reach.

“Yes Andy, it’s good… make me feel so good.” you moan out.

His heavy balls create a thunderous clap against your ass on each thrust. Your already worn body is reaching closer and closer to your orgasm. After spending three years behind bars, without any release, you knew the same could be said for him.

“Angel you feel so fucking good baby. I’m gonna cum”

“I’m gonna cum too Andy…wanna cum together”

Andrew uses the rest of his strength to piston in and out of your pussy at an unbelievable pace. You wrap your legs around him pulling him deeper into you as you both finally tip over the edge.

“Shiiiit Andrew I’m cumming”, you cry out.

“Tell me you love me I need to hear it” he whines. He reaches down and rubs your clit bringing you closer.

“I love you Andy…so much! I love you so fucking much.”

Andrew’s pace stutters before giving one last push of his hips, groaning loudly into your ear. “I love you too angel!”

His warm seed pulsed into your womb. You had never felt so full. Andrew came down from his high but kept himself pressed deep inside of you.

You pulled his head away from your shoulder and gave him a peck to his plush lips. Tears were welling up in his eyes, this moment was worth so much more to him. This moment was trust, love, and acceptance. Something that wasn’t transactional.

You wiped away at his misty eyes, wrapped your arms around his neck, and pulled his body to yours.

“You okay Andy?”

“…yea I’m okay. m’just happy”, You can feel the slight pull of his smile on your neck.

“Can I ask…how did you know it was me? How did you know I was following you?” he asks.

“There’s only one person I know that would tidy my house and do my laundry for me.” You laugh. This causes him to snicker as well.

“Yea…I guess that’s true.”

You rub at the nape of his neck, playing with the sweaty hairs that are splayed against it. “I meant what I said. I do love you and I want no one else but you. You’re it for me”

Andrew picks his head up again, “I know…you’re the only person for me too. I only want you.”

The rest of the day was filled with quiet reassurances from both of you. Andrew continued to “show his love” for you multiple times for the rest of the day. When night came, you fell asleep to his heartbeat. Your legs tangled under the blanket. Andrew gazed at your calm face and peace settled deep into his bones.

His once cracked and fractured heart was now plump and full of love. The feeling pumping within him was strong and something he had craved for a long time, and now it was finally his.

a/n: omg i’ve had this one cooking for so long! thank you to @mushy420 for the inspo (and for being patient)!! this was so much fun to write 🤓!! i really hope you enjoy, feel free to comment, like or reblog if you did! if you have a prompt feel free to inbox me or send me an ask :) 🐛💗

[mast3rbait3r]

pope cody likes being called daddy

minors do not interact - 18+

contents: fem/afab! reader, daddy kink, watching porn, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, hint of breeding kink, porn with no plot whatsoever

note: this might be absolute dookie but i had to get it off my chest, save me daddy pope!!! <3

pope cody was not difficult to please during sex. whatever you liked, he liked too. it was rare for him to ever discover any kinks on his own. but right now, you're splayed out in bed with him. back pressed to his chest as he sat up against the headboard, your feet placed on his knees as he's knuckle-deep in your aching cunt. his chin rests on your shoulder as you two are watching porn on your laptop together, which is conveniently sitting right between your legs. it wasn't one of those stupidly overdone professionally-filmed videos either, it looked like it had been recorded on someone's phone. you were almost in a trance between how hot the video was and the way pope's fingers stretched you out deliciously. soft moans were pouring from your swollen lips, plump and red from making out with your boyfriend every five seconds. this time as you turn your head to kiss him again, your eyes meet his. "i need more, daddy." you mumble against his lips. after hearing it so much in the video, you couldn't help but want to say it to him and see how he'd react.

he pauses for a moment, pulling back just enough to see the need in your gaze. you're confused as to why he pulled away, the frown forming rather quickly on your face. that's when you feel something warm against your back. you'd felt his erection against you since before the video had even started, but this… this could only mean one thing. you pull back now, taking in the grimace on his face as a startled groan escapes his lips. "did you just-" you face forward to pause the video, shutting the laptop and sliding it off the bed. it landed on the floor with a soft thump, something you could worry about later. pope feels himself starting to panic, thinking that you were upset with him for coming too early again. instead, he's met with your curious gaze as you turn around to face him completely. you sit back on your heels between his legs, eyes traveling to the large wet spot in his gray boxers. 

"did i do this to you?" your tone was teasing, running a fingertip over the wet spot. his hips jerk upward in response. "you made a mess, daddy." you lean closer, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. he practically whines when you don't give him anything else. "stop…" he croaks, grabbing your waist, fingertips digging into your skin. "you don't like it?" your pout made him shake his head furiously. "n-no… i like it." he pleads, pulling you closer. you relent, straddling his lap. you intentionally plop yourself down on his bulge. you grind against him, watching as his jaw hangs open. "i'll put it in for you." he pants, warm breath ghosting over your lips. "you're so good to me." you hum, lifting your hips up as he shoves his boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free.

"you gonna- take daddy's cock?" the words don't come out as smoothly as he'd hoped, but that only made it more attractive to you. "yes, please." you smile, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. he lines himself up with your entrance, easing you down on his messy cock while simultaneously licking into your mouth. "you're so big, daddy." you moan in his ear, burying your face in his shoulder as you start to bounce on him like your life depended on it. he's grabbing handfuls of your ass, forcing you to take him deeper with every thrust. the overstimulation had him whimpering endlessly, but he wasn't going to stop until you came. his lips start attacking your neck, the vibrations of his moans traveling right down to the heat in your core. you grab him by the jaw, tongue invading his mouth as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge.

"come on daddy's cock… please, fuck-" he mutters against your mouth, tongue tracing over any inch of skin that was close by. "oh god, 'm so close, daddy." you cry out, forehead resting against his. it was impossible to kiss him at this point as you were just too fucked out. that didn't stop him from kissing at the corners of your mouth, holding you close as he feels himself ready to come for the second time. "y-you'll fill me up, right?" you pleaded, fingernails digging into his shoulders. "yeah… gonna stuff you full, princess." he grunts in response, staring into your eyes as you fall apart around him. he slides his hand down between the two of you, rubbing your clit firmly. he can feel your walls flutter around him as your orgasm comes crashing over you. "'m coming, daddy!" your cries fill the room as you crumble in his arms.

"look so pretty, baby." he murmurs into your hair, rubbing his hand up and down your back as you come down from the high. although, he stiffens a bit at the sound of your chuckle, looking at you with confusion when he sees the giddy smile on your face. "what's so funny?" he faltered. "didn't realize you liked being called daddy so much." you cup his face in your hands, taking in the adorably flustered look on his face. "i like anything you say." he tries to play it off, but you knew that this one in particular affected him more than usual. "mhm, i bet you do." you kiss his cheek, running a hand through his unruly auburn curls.

alex's thoughts 𓈒∘☁︎: yum yum yum yummmmm :D

[lovaeir]

Riding Pope is so crazy cause you’ll have your hands planted on his hard stomach, moving against his cock and he’s just grunting, stiff as a board trying not to blow his load inside you to soon, his stomach tensing up and his body moving beneath you as you grind on his cock.

His eyes moving from your pretty face to your tits to your cunt that’s sucking him in. His mouth is hanging open and soft airy whimpers are flowing out of it. The mattress squeaking beneath you.

His hands are grabbing at your hips, thumbing at them softly. A soft “ffuuuucck sweetheart” coming out of his mouth. “feels so good andy” you moan, grabbing at your tits and letting your head drop back onto your shoulders. “yeah?” He whispers, cock twitching inside you.

You nod, moving faster. He lets out a sharp breath, head tipping back against the pillows as he nods subconsciously.

[hollowhuntress]

⌖ out of sight.

andrew “pope” cody x fem!reader

➶➴ summary: after days of silence, you break andrew’s only rule and walk straight into the cody house.

➶➴ tags: nsfw/mdni/18+, established relationship, secret relationship, protective and possessive andrew cody, emotionally vulnerable andrew, fear of being caught, dirty talk, praise kink, light humiliation kink, power dynamics, tiny amount of angst.

wc: ~3.9k

you killed your engine three houses down. you always parked out of sight. it was a secret thrill that tasted entirely too childish for a grown woman, but it kept the paranoia at bay. andrew had made it painfully clear from the beginning: his family ruins everything they touch. they tear through good things like a brushfire. so you keep in the shadows, slipping through the gate when the coast is clear, ducking into his bedroom like a dirty secret.

except you haven't heard from him in days. no check-ins, no cryptic texts, nothing. and the quiet has finally driven you crazy enough to risk it.

you start walking down the cracked sidewalk, pulling the dark cotton hood of your sweatshirt up to cast shadows over your face and blind the security camera at the gate.

when you reach the cody house, the gate stands wide open. a massive semi-truck idles in the driveway, kicking up a low rattle that vibrates through the soles of your sneakers. you keep your head down, stepping past the cab, and catch movement out of the corner of your eye inside the garage.

andrew stands by the workbench, the thick leather welding mask pushed up onto his forehead, sparks flying in a shower of white and blue as his torch hits metal.

“andy,” you murmur, slipping past the threshold.

he freezes. the torch hisses out, dying instantly. in half a second, his head snaps up, his eyes widening in a sharp panic you rarely ever see on him.

“you shouldn't be here.”

he crosses the concrete in two long strides, his hand wrapping firmly around your upper arm and yanking you behind the parked car in the garage just as heeled footsteps echo out from the house. he nudges you down to crouch.

“smurf,” his jaw clenches.

right on cue, she appears, barking orders at craig as they march toward the idling semi.

“what the hell is all this?” craig yells over the roar of the diesel engine.

“kegs. we’re throwing a party tonight, baby,” smurf calls back, her voice dripping with that sickening sweet poison. “invite everyone you know, have them come over as soon as possible. wouldn't want this to go to waste.”

smurf’s sharp eyes pivot away from craig, scanning the garage before landing on andrew standing near the workbench.

“andrew, stop what you’re doing and go help your brothers move these out by the pool,” she orders, waving a hand toward the barrels on the truck bed before turning her attention back to the clipboard in her hands to sign the delivery driver's paperwork.

that split second of distraction is all he needs. andrew looks down at you, his eyes flashing with urgent command.

“my room. now.”

you scramble up from the floor, keeping your hood pulled low, and bolt through the side door off garage to the kitchen. the house hums with familiar, chaotic energy. you hurry down the narrow hallway, slip into andrew's bedroom, and quietly shut the door behind you.

the moment the door clicks, your legs give out. you slide down the painted wood, hitting the floor with a soft thud, your chest heaving as a breathless, nervous laugh quietly slips past your lips—the sheer stupidity of the rush—the danger of being caught.

then, the door handle rattles quicker than you anticipated.

the wood nudges against your thigh. before you can register the movement, the door swings inward. andrew steps through, his broad shoulders filling the frame before he shuts the door and turns the lock with an echoing click.

“stand up.”

his voice is a low rumble. he looks down at you, his chest rising and falling in uneven surges, his lips pressed into a flat line.

you push yourself up to your feet. your pulse races so hard you hear it pounding in your ears, your limbs feeling too weak to support your weight.

“andy—” you start, using your normal tone, forgetting the cardinal rule of the house. your eyes lock onto his before drifting down to the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

before you can finish, his palm clamps over your mouth, cutting off your words, while his other arm pushes you back against the solid wood of the door. he leans in close, trapping you, his breath hot against your neck.

“you know better,” he mutters, his frustration flaring hot. he turns his head away for a split second, his jaw ticking.

you close your eyes, a wave of heat pooling deep in your stomach. you give a small shake of your head against his palm, acknowledging the truth of it.

slowly, seeing your eyes shut, his hand slides down from your mouth, resting lightly on your throat.

“you’re shaking,” he says, his tone blunt, though his eyes darken. “did i scare you?” he steps back an inch, giving you just enough room to draw a ragged breath.

“no,” you whisper, your gaze dropping to the floor. your thighs instinctively press together, a desperate attempt to soothe the ache lighting up your core.

his eyes track the small movement, dropping down.

“i missed you. that’s why i’m here,” you admit, the confession sounding small and exposed in the quiet room.

“i see.” his gaze lingers lower, his breathing hitching just enough to fuel the humiliation burning up your neck.

from somewhere in the house, a bassline kicks on. music starts to bleed through the walls—the party is beginning early. it adds a jolt of shock, though it means you don't have to whisper quite so carefully anymore.

andrew steps back into your space, his weight pressing you flush against the door once more.

“what were you thinkin’?” he murmurs, a shadow of disappointment flickering across his harsh features.

“use your head,” he mutters, a calloused hand sliding down to grip your hip, his words and touch forcing a shaky gasp straight from your lungs.

“yeah?” he whispers, leaning in beside your ear.

you nod, helpless beneath him.

“tell me.”

“i’ll use my head next time,” you breathe.

his mouth finds the sensitive curve of your neck right beneath your ear, his lips grazing the skin and forcing your head to tilt back. your lips part, a soft moan slipping out into the dark air.

he trails his lips up your jawline, hovering over your mouth. he doesn't kiss you—he stays there, centimeters away, teasing the edge of your patience. when you shift forward to bridge the gap, he pulls his face back. his hand slides down from your hip, running his fingers along the sensitive skin at the waistband of your pants.

“this what you were missin’?” he asks, giving you zero time to answer before his fingers slip down inside your pants and underwear.

his fingers find you soaked, slick and desperate, and a low groan tears from his throat.

“i missed this too,” he whispers against your skin, finally crashing his mouth down onto yours in a breathless, bruising exchange.

his fingers swipe over your center once, making you squirm against him. he pulls his hand away, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your pants and underwear, shoving them down your legs entirely as you kick your shoes off against the floor.

his eyes rake down the length of your bare lower half, a harsh breath blowing out of his nose. through the denim of his jeans, the outline of his erection strains upward, demanding.

you reach out, pressing a trembling hand flat against his chest.

“can you touch me again?” you plead softly.

he grabs your hand, pulling you across the room toward the mattress. he sits down hard, his back hitting the headboard, his legs parted wide, and motions for you to sit between them.

you take off the rest of your clothes and crawl over the bed, settling into his lap with your back to his chest.

his hands snake around you, one sliding up over your ribs to cup a breast, while his other hand drops between your legs right back to your wet core. your thighs part wider at the possessive grip.

he starts slow, rolling his fingers in even circles over and over again.

you squirm against him, feeling the frantic rhythm of his heart beating against your spine. a string of broken moans falls from your lips as his thumb sweeps over your hard nipples, pinching the sensitive flesh while his other hand drives you out of your mind.

the door handle rattles again—harder this time, testing the lock against the persistent vibration of the bass outside.

andrew’s movements stop cold.

“—is this the bathroom?” a loud, unfamiliar voice booms through the thin wood, cutting right over the music.

andrew doesn't flinch, but his fingers resume their slow circles, sending a fresh wave of heat to your core that forces an unabashed moan from your throat.

“shhhh.” his hand keeps moving down below, while his bicep comes up to clamp firmly across your mouth, muffling you completely. “answer them,” he commands, his voice dark.

you shake your head wildly against his arm, hot tears of overwhelming humiliation and pressure stinging your eyes.

“they’re waiting,” he murmurs into your ear, easing the pressure of his arm just enough for you to speak.

“no, this isn't—fu—” you raise your voice, trying to answer, but andrew’s pace spikes, cutting your sentence off with a sharp gasp as his bicep slams back over your mouth to swallow your cries.

outside, the footsteps shuffle away down the hallway.

you twist away from him, turning to face him, and eagerly reach for his belt, popping the button and dragging his jeans and boxers down. you waste no second, lifting yourself up and sliding down over him. you are so slick, so ready for him, that you take every inch of his length with a smooth, devastating ease.

“shitt,” you breathe, your voice breaking as your hips begin a slow, deliberate rock, pulling him deep inside and pushing him back out as you hold onto the headboard.

his mouth falls open, his dark eyes staring up at you with raw awe. his hands lock onto your hips, his thumbs biting into your skin, guiding your rhythm, forcing you to move faster.

your hands move to tangle in his dark curls, tugging the strands hard enough to tilt his head back.

suddenly, andrew’s hands slide down to grip the backs of your thighs. with a swift heave, he shoves you back onto your back away from the headboard, shifting his weight until he looms directly over you while still inside of you. he rips his shirt over his head in one motion, tossing it aside.

“thought you were my good girl,” he rasps, staying buried deep inside you, holding still while the friction makes your skin burn.

the name hits you like a physical blow, making your hips twitch helplessly against him. his eyes track the exact spot where your bodies lock together.

“you can’t help yourself,” he whispers, his voice dripping with slight amusement.

“n-no, fuck. it’s so—i just can't,” you sob out, your brain melting into absolute mush as his hand reaches down to press against your lower stomach, starting to move again, driving him deeper inside you, hitting angles that make the pressure in your core unbearable. your fingernails rake down the sweat-slicked skin of his back.

“turnin’ that brain off again.” he states, his thrusts turning deep and relentless.

you clench around him hard, the sheer humiliation and pleasure mixing into a blinding haze. your desperate moans make his eyebrows furrow, watching the way your body unravells for him—how wet, how utterly out of your mind you become just to take his body.

“are,” he starts, but his eyes squeeze shut, his mouth falling open as the intensity of his own strokes threatens to break him. “are you going to—”

you look up, and for a second, your breath catches. his eyes are shimmering with moisture, and the next second, hot tears break free and track down his flushed cheeks.

for a heartbeat, the relentless noise of the house outside fades into a suffocating vacuum. the raw panic in his expression isn't anger anymore.

“are you okay?” you gasp, lifting a trembling hand to his face, but his driving thrusts knock the wind straight out of you.

“yeah,” he chokes out, wiping the moisture away with his fingertips. “i just can’t lose you too.”

he admits it so quietly it barely cuts through the air. before you can process the weight of the words, he shoves his wet, tear-stained fingers to your mouth, parting your lips and forcing them inside.

you take him in instantly, sucking hard on his fingers, wanting to remove the evidence of his pain until your cheeks hollow out and they pop free.

his thrusts turn brutal, consistent, twisting the pit of your stomach into a blazing wildfire. the tears on his cheeks are gone, replaced by a deep crimson across his face, sweat beading at his hairline.

your climax is climbing fast, right at the jagged edge, when he pulls his other hand away from your stomach. he grabs your knees, hooking your legs up and over his shoulders, wrapping his arms securely around your legs, hugging them with his biceps to anchor you flush against him. the altered angle drives him impossibly deeper, hitting a completely overwhelming spot that makes your vision swim.

“are you gonna show up like that again?” he demands, his previous question, his pace turning frantic, looking down at you like he wants to devour you whole.

“no, i promise—i promise, andy, i won—”

you are cut off mid-word as a blinding orgasm rips straight through you. your back arches off the mattress, your hands flying out to grip the cotton sheets, tearing them away from the edges of the bed in white-knuckled desperation.

seeing you shatter, andrew loses whatever control he has left. he buries himself inside your convulsing body, holding you down as he pushes past his own edge, pulling out just enough to grip himself and spill across your stomach.

he collapses forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in ragged gasps that match your own against the vibrating thrum of the bass outside.

after some time, he shifts, pulling away to clean you up before collapsing onto the mattress beside you. you both lie there in the dark, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom as the muffled thumping of the party continues down the hall.

you turn your head on the mattress, looking at his profile in the shadows.

“why haven’t i heard from you?” you ask softly, the quiet question breaking the hum of the house.

andrew turns his head, his dark eyes meeting yours in the dark, before he lets out an exhausted huff of air.

“it’s a shitshow around here.” he looks toward the bedroom door before he looks back at you.

[laluhlove]

💋　﹕𓏼 　the power of lust. — andrew 'pope' cody convincing you to stay home 　. .

಄　﹕𓏼 　brought to you by laluhlove || not beta-read, we die like real men. Summary: pope was just a man at the end of the day. a possessive, jealous man who never wanted you to stray away from his sight. so maybe he could convince you to stay home instead of going out with your friends he keeps telling you were “all trouble”. Tags: SMUT!! overly jealous pope! possessive behaviour, established relationship, dub-con/cnc(consent is given prior to this piece), controlling behavior, oral(f receiving), creampie, multiple orgasms, pope being a certified munch, fingering, pope separation anxiety(at the start), slight cockwarming at the end, condescending/mean pope, overstimulation, manhandling Pairing: andrew ‘pope’ cody x fem!reader Word Count: 1.4k Author's Note: nnnghhh controlling pope one chance PLEASE. this is kinda a thing that wormed into my head shh.. also first smut fic in a while, kinda nervy im scared.. wrote this with s1 pope in mind. also pope might be a bit ooc im SAUR sorry </3 ⤷ reqs: OPEN || masterlist

“gonna go out with the girls later tonight after my shift! xoxo”

that was it. one text message to trigger this clawing sense of panic in pope’s gut. he had never sped home so fast.

sure, smurf was telling him about a job. sure, his brothers joked about him being whipped like a fucking dog. they didn’t know how much he needed you, so who gives a fuck about them?

by the time he got to yours, the sound of your shower running met his keen ears. the sight of your deep red dress—revealing and absolutely gorgeous on you—laid out on the bed along with the black heels you planned to wear tonight met his eyes next. his brows furrowed… you would be wearing that.

outside.

at the club.

where other people could see you.

now he couldn’t have that, could he?

—

you had only taken a few steps outside from the steamy shower you just had—your hair up in a towel with another around your body—when you felt two buff arms wrap around your waist, lifting you up.

“wha- hey!-” you yelped, immediately feeling whomever’s arms it was tighten around your core, lips finding your neck, planting kisses and soft nips that made you shudder.

“‘s me, babe.” pope whispered into your ear, his other hand moving up to cup your breast while the other kept you pressed against him. “who else would it be, hm? you not cheatin’ on me, right?” he murmured as he moved you two to your bed…

—

well shit.

the moment your back hit the soft fabric of your silken sheets, you knew it was over. 

he was on top of you immediately, not giving you even a moment to get your bearings together as he pinned your wrists on either side of your head. his lips were on yours, firm and unrelenting in their roughness that resembled a starved man in its fervor.

then his lips drifted.. down your jaw, to the crook of your neck, down to your collarbone while he adjusted his grip, his hand now pinning your wrists above your head as his other hand moved to yank your towel off roughly.

“wont be needing this anymore, pretty.” he hummed against your skin, pulling back a moment to take in the sight of you.

breathless, flushed, and his.

he couldn't hold back his smirk as he leaned down to meet your eyes while his free hand traced down your body, roaming over your curves and settling for the space between your legs. he traced your inner thigh, tracing up and down before he went to your now-wet pussy.

“you goin’ somewhere tonight, yeah?” he cooed, almost mocking in the way he gave an almost feral grin at the sight of your parted lips giving out sighs and moans while he drove his fingertips in slow circles over your clit. “anythin i can do to make you stay w’me.. or is my baby all set in her decision?” he spoke, voice gruff as he felt himself grow harder at the way you reacted to his touch.

“mmgh- andy.. p-please theyre w-waiting f-f’me-” you gasp out, eyes widening as he slips a finger in.. going at a slow and steadily torturous pace. teasing you.

“yeah? your friends waiting on you? for what.” he spoke through grit teeth, as if the thought of you leaving him tonight was unacceptable. “you know me well, dont you babe? you think im gonna let you doll yourself up and slut yourself out for them, hm?” he growled out, adding another finger as he sped up his pace, eyes never leaving yours as you moan, letting out whimpers and sounds that made his head spin. 

“fuck.. look at you. you’re so set on going out like a big girl, yet you're blissed out on my fingers. gonna go out there lookin’ all blissed out, babe?” he drawled out.. feeling your hands budge against his as you protested.

“f-fuck- andy- please w-we cant-” you cry out. he hummed, shaking his head.

“the hell we can't." he grumbled as he leaned down, kissing you once more and swallowing each sound you made.

his hands continued working. his mind set on one thing.

hes not letting you leave this house until youre fucking dripping of him—if you even had the energy to leave once he was done with you.

after you came undone on his fingers, he leaned back up, looming over you as he took his fingers into his mouth, tongue swirling as he reveled in the taste of you.

“all perfect. all mine.” he chuckled, leaning down and giving you a kiss.. one that drifted once more down the column of your neck.. down your chest, then your abdomen.

as he kissed down your body, he felt your legs try to close… he pried them open with ease, whispering against your skin in annoyance.

“do i have to tie you up or are you gonna let me eat you out, dolly?” he glared up at you, which you caught through the haze of pleasure he gave you.

as soon as you relaxed, letting him spread you open with ease, he smiled.

“there's my girl.” he praised as he continued the worship of your body like it was something sacred. his hands kneaded into the flesh of your hips and waist, down to your thighs where his head found its home between them.

he let out a slow breath as he took in the sight of you… dripping cunt all spread out and wet. all for him.

the sensation of his breath caused your legs to buck. he was such a fucking tease.

not for long, though.

he gave a slow lick, drawing a stripe up your slit, before his tongue dove in.

god, he always ate you out like he was starving for you. that with his fingers pumping in and out of you, drawing out your sounds of pleasure he took in like a trophy.

your hands went to his hair, tugging and causing him to give a whimper. 

“j-jesus christ.. andy..” you moaned.

“youre not fucking leaving me, [name].” he whispered, kissing and lapping like a man starved having his first 5 star meal. “not tonight. not fucking ever.”

at his words, you were embarrassed to admit the fact that you came. you came embarrassingly quick. the shaking of your legs, the quick pants of “andy!” as if they were a prayer meant to save you, and the way he felt you clench around his fingers.

but no, he wasn't done. of course he wasn't done.

he had given you a minute or two to recover, kissing you and just making out.. before you heard it.

the clink of his belt being undone.

he quickly undid his belt, shedding his pants as the weeping tip of his uncut dick pressed against your entrance. prodding.

you barely had time to process before he slammed in, bottoming out. it had taken you a bit to adjust to him before, he was a girthy one.

he moved slow, trying to keep the semblance of self control he had. but shit, you felt so fucking good.

“fuck.. fuck.. s-so good.. so good for me. so fucking good.” he panted out, grunts escaping him as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, pistoning in and out of you with a pace that seemed to increase with each thrust.

“s-slow down, andy-” you cry out, holding onto him, he gave a quick grunt, forcing himself to slow down even if he wanted to just go until he couldnt help but to cum in you… maybe he should.

“I-im not leaving- f-fuck-” you spoke through breathless pants, to which he chuckles at.

“yeah.. youre not leaving.. mmhm..” he hummed, kissing your neck and giving a bite. “gotta fill you up.. gotta fuck you till you have m’baby in you.”

it only took a few moments more of straight feral thrusts for him to slam into you, cock pulsing and twitching as he came straight into your warmth.

you moan at the sensation as he plopped down beside you, pulling you into him… grumbling.

“pull out..” you whisper… but he didnt, closing his eyes as he wrapped his arms around you, keeping his dick in you.

“waste of my cum. rather not.” he spoke… before he whispered.. “you still leaving?”

you pause.. thinking for a moment as you caught your breath.

“uh.. dont think so.” you chuckle.

pope chuckled in turn, smirking. “did too good?”

“legs feel like jello. you did fucking amazing.” you hum with a kiss to his cheek.

[lovaeir]

Husband!Andrew Cody who sets it in stone in your house that Sundays are for cleaning.

MDNI 18+

He's pounding on your kids doors, waking them up while holding a dirty laundry basket. "Hey get up! Help your momma clean this house." He's shouting at the closed doors.

You're smiling, wiping down a counter as a fall breeze floats through an open window. Soft halloween beats playing from your TV in the living room. Andrew's kissing your cheek in passing on his way to the laundry room.

Your kids emerge sleepily from their rooms, groaning and sitting at the island where you put plates of breakfast in front of them. Andrew comes back and you pop a strawberry into his mouth before he kisses you.

Your kids groan and whine with a couple "gross"s and that only makes you kiss him harder and they groan again, making you pull away giggling. It smells like pumpkin candle you have burning in your living room all through the house.

He smiles and stands behind you as you watch them eat and talk about their Saturday nights. Your husband cages you in from behind hands setting against the marble of the island as he leans his chin on your shoulder, listening in too.

"You" he points to your son, "are gonna vacuum the living room after you eat, and you", he points to your twin daughter, "are gonna mop this kitchen after you eat, hm?" He rounds the island, grabbing the sides of both their heads and kissing them before nodding towards your shared bedroom.

You pour them some orange juice and then follow him. He pulls you in, closes the door and presses you against it, kissing your neck. "Andrew" you giggle, hands landing on his shoulders, he grunts into your neck.

"Love you s' much." He says lowly, nipping at your earlobe. "Love the life we've built." You swallow thickly pulling back and cupping his face in your hands. "I love you too" you frown in adoration, pecking him on the lips.

He growls and picks you up by the bottom of your thighs, and laying you back against the bed as you giggle kissing him. He crawls over you just as you hear the vacuum start in the living room.