Nosferatyou

18+ pls // bisexual disaster she/they I write things sometimes

[evilgrl-ssn]

Main acc is @vampirewhoress

So if u see likes or comments from that acc it’s me :)

[rollerskategirl]

being sammy bryant’s girlfriend includes hanging around with nate and tagging along for hand-off…

you’d been seeing sammy for awhile, met him at a party in castaic that one of your friends dragged you to. you had whined about it being too far, but her cop boyfriend had been throwing it and she didn’t want to show up alone.

you never considered yourself a badge bunny, not really— until you met sammy. he had been eyeing you from across the room, and eventually, you had come and sat by (on) him. the rest played out with you happily following him home.

it was little lunch dates, walks in your neighbourhood, and usually spending the night at either of your places after work. things didn’t really become official until about a few months ago, when he introduced you to his son. he had nate for the weekend, and you were glued to him ever since.

sammy absolutely adored that you were so taken with nate. he had been afraid that having a kid would scare you off, but to his surprise, you and nate just clicked.

he had still been a baby but you were absolutely enthralled. you gave nate your full 100: attentive when he felt sick, have nonsensical conversation like he was socrates, buying him ice cream, and playing pretend like it was the most important thing in the world.

although you had been in nate’s orbit, you hadn’t known much about or even met tammi. it was your surprise that sammy had so subtly dropped that he had to get nate from tammi, while peppering kisses on your face and waiting for the morning to start.

clinging onto sammy’s bicep, you two had been waiting on a bench in front of the park. he insisted that you didn’t need to come, but you insisted that you’d go to the diner that made nate’s favourite waffles afterward.

tammi’s silver suv had pulled up in front of you, and she was not much of what you expected (not that you really had any expectations). tiredly coming out of the car, her hair was a disheveled bun of blond kinks and her tired eyes were lined haphazardly with black and shimmery purple. she looked absolutely exhausted, then absolutely irritated when her eyes met you.

“you should’ve told me you were bringing your badge bunny.” she spat, shutting the driver door behind her as you two approached the front of the car.

“hey, don’t call her that.” sammy rolled his eyes. “and it was a last minute thing.”

with hesitation, you stuck your hand out and introduced yourself, “hi, tammi, so nice to meet you.”

she scanned you up and down and shook her head with a sarcastic chuckle, “let’s get this over with.”

rounding the car, sammy led you to the passenger size with a reassuring grin and a hand on your lower back. tammi, with a glare at you, swung the door open and reached for the carseat.

she cooed at nate and sammy slipped in a hey, bud. you stood off to the side, unsure where to put yourself. fiddling with your jacket sleeves, you watched the two argue about the carseat as sammy rested nate on his hip.

“are you bringing her around nate?” she scolded, hand on her hip, voice attempting a whisper but failing.

“she is my girlfriend, so of course i am.” sammy said definitively, fixing the tiny collar of nate’s shirt.

“well, i don’t want your little girlfriend around our son.” tammi snapped.

although you were only a few feet away, they acted like you weren’t even there. it felt like when adults would fight in front of you. standing wide-eyed and half-guilty, you thought you should say or do something, even though you weren’t involved.

“you should’ve thought about that before you cheated on me and had that man play nate’s stepdad.” sammy responded before heading to your direction.

tammi scowled as sammy handed nate to you. he trekked back to her to get another word in about you and his home and how it wasn’t tammi’s business anymore.

when rested in your arms, nate’s eyes met yours with a smile and a giggle. your bewildered face switched to bliss as you bounced him on your hip.

“hello, nate, you want some waffles?” you teased, pinching his cheeks lightly. he babbled, hands playing with your hoop earrings— the inexpensive ones you made sure to wear around him. “yeah? we can get you some waffles from tony. you remember tony?”

as sammy and tammi’s argument came to a wavering finish, nate’s eyes stayed on you, arms dancing in the wind. with the crinkle in his eyes, a word that you shouldn’t have been there for slipped through his mouth, “mama.”

your face dropped, eyes darting to tammi, who grew even more furious.

“did he just say his first word?” sammy asked, an amused smile on his face as he looked at tammi’s anger.

just a little blurb i had to get out after seeing evil tammi at hand-off in episode 1 of season 5. i don't want kids but i yearn for playing wife with sammy bryant and domesticity

[evilgrl-ssn]

oh that was tooo good

[homesickly]

sammy bryant x moretta! reader were her dad, sammy’s partner had her a bit too young so he wasn’t a present father. but now he’s trying to fix it as he’s older and more mature now, even though reader is an adult he still wants to parent her and take care of her, so she lives with them while she’s in community college.

he has his new family and reader hates him because if he can be a good dad and change now that means he was always capable of changing and being a good dad and she wasn’t worth it <\3

what better way to get back at him then to fuck his partner who’s been sleeping on their couch after he split with his wife ?

[evilgrl-ssn]

yes please.

[evilgrl-ssn]

i can’t remember if i saw it here or on twitter but someone was like how did Joy know about Whittaker living in the hospital? My thoughts under the cut

Like did people know, I don’t think we know where Joy is from but Ogilvie is from California so she might not even be a local. My personal theory is that Santos told Garcia and then Garcia told Joy and told her to ask Whittaker for a picture to get back at him for using her toothbrush.

[sugartalkingwrites]

18+ MDNI

blah blah i know sammy bryant is just a total and utter sweetheart baby but i want to see him manhandle reader.

i was scrolling through twitter or x (whateva you wanna call it) saw this tweet about wives asking their cop husbands to try to take them down in 30 seconds and now just imagining asking husband!sammy to do it.

he doesn't want to hurt his sweet girl but they way you're looking at him doe eyed, pleading and tugging at his arm has him chubbing up in his jeans. he had come home, still in uniform when you blocked his way to the shower, shoving your phone to show him the video. "sammy, c'mon please? just once, i wanna what all these bad guys get when my husband is takin em down" your chin on his chest as your looking up at him.

"let me just go shower first and then–" "no, baby you gotta do it uniform! how am i gonna take you serious when you're trying to pin me down in some sweats huh?"

now standing in the living room giggling like a school girl as he tries to size you up, trying to play serious cop now. "you know how fast you were going?" "mmm nope!" "i don't like your attitude, little lady. c'mon gonna take you down to the station for some more questions." sammy's reaching to grab your wrist but you're pulling away giggling, it's cute but now he's too into it. he's got you by the waist hoisting you up and taking you down onto the carpet. the sudden force has you gasping, squealing when he's managed to get both your wrist behind your back, his foot already hooked around your knee as he's pinned you down.

your giggling and squealing like a mad woman but he's rock hard now as he presses himself into. your giggling is cut short when you finally feel his hard length pressed against you through his uniform. his work belt was laid out on the couch beside you so there was no mistaking this for his gun. he's panting and pressing his lips into his ear, one hand is holding both wrists and his other hand has snaked between your legs toying with your slick panties.

"and here i thought my pretty little wife was a good girl... no, good girls don't get this soaked from having an officer man handle em like this. so what are we gonna do about that huh?" he's taunting you as you hear his pants begin to unzip, already pulling out his cock to rub his leaking tip over the wet mess between your legs.

[evilgrl-ssn]

YES!!!

[mcthsman]

*TASMANIAN DEVIL: a pope cody x reader story.

Pope gets mauled by the devil in the middle of the night. (Your cat likes Pope's big chest almost as much as you do.)

click here to join the TAGLIST. / click here for my MAIN MASTERLIST.

warnings: established relationship, pure fluff, cats, awkward!pope, sadboy!pope, he doesn't know how to handle softness but he needs it, no use of y/n or any description of reader other being a loud snorer, domestic bliss, mentions of smurf being the worst mother ever.

rating: 18+. (there's nothing explicit in this but i dont want kiddos on my blog sorry!)

word count: 1.1k.

fox says: hi friends, thank you for reading! this is just a short little thing i wrote bc i need andrew to be happy, i wrote this in like forty minutes and i almost didn't post it because of how short it is but i hope you guys still like it! as always pls let me know how we feel!

also available on archiveofourown.

Pope had to learn how to sleep with one eye open a long time before going to prison. His home had never been safe and, even as a child, he was always a light sleeper simply because it was a survival mechanism he developed to survive growing up under Smurf’s thumb. So he wakes instantly to the weight shifting on his chest, entire body locking in place as he tries to figure out what is happening. It’s not you, he can hear you snoring like a truck to the side — Pope would always be surprised that such a delicate woman could make so much noise while unconscious —, and the weight is too light and too concentrated to be a person. 

He opens his eyes slowly, just a little, not wanting to let the intruder know he is awake; the element of surprise always does wonders for him— attacking fast and hard before your opponent can understand what is happening is what has saved Pope’s life time and time again. On top of him there is a small pile of black fur. The thing is moving, little arms stretched over Pope’s pecks, tiny claws opening and closing, tugging at the cotton of his shirt. The animal blinks, slowly, and Pope can only tell that its eyes are open when the moonlight coming through the window hits it just right. 

The Tasmanian Devil. You told him the cat’s name had been Tweety at first, because he was tiny and seemed kind— He grew up into what you call a ‘terrorist’ with a sweet voice and fond smile, so you renamed him. Tweety to Tasmanian Devil. Sweet to sour. 

You did the opposite with him. He was Pope when he first met you— Angry, violent, unstable. You’d taken one look at him and started calling him Andy. A new name, a new identity, a facet of his personality that has always been there but has never been allowed to shine through. Sour to sweet.

The cat never seemed to like Pope very much. And it’s fine, Pope doesn’t like the thing either. He has never owned a pet, Smurf never allowed animals inside the house— Julia had made that mistake once, when they were eleven and an old mutt followed them from school. Pope didn’t see what happened, Smurf had dragged both Julia and the dog outside when she finally came home, but he had held his sister in the aftermath, arms around her shoulders as she cried and cried and cried. 

Pope never saw the dog again. 

Tec. Tec. Tec. The rhythmic sound of the devil ruining his shirt, its attack slow and coordinated as it keeps digging its claws into his shirt and tugging harshly. It doesn’t hurt— The thing can’t even do that properly, it seems. Pope pokes you on the shoulder twice and is only rewarded with the revving engine sound of your snores. You go quiet by the third poke but you don’t say anything, clearly awake enough to understand something is happening but not enough to realize it is him. 

“Honey?” Pope calls out. The devil stops moving on top of him for a moment at the rumbling of his chest before it restarts the assault. “Your devil is trying to kill me.” 

You slowly turn around then, hair mussed with sleep and eyes squinting. The cat doesn’t seem bothered by the movement, still clawing at Pope’s chest. 

“He likes you.” You say, and Pope frowns at how big you’re smiling. “Just wants to make some biscuits on those big titties of yours.”

You’re making fun of him. Pope is getting attacked and you’re making fun of him. 

“Wh—”

“Pet him.” You cut him off. Your own hand comes up to scratch behind the cat’s ear. The thing vibrates, then, a soft crooning noise taking over the silence of the bedroom. 

“It’s clawing at me.” Pope says, his hands still firmly by his sides. 

“He’s making biscuits.” You say again, just a little more forcefully but he can tell you’re having way too much fun. “Cats only do that when they like you and feel safe. When they’re kittens they do that while they’re nursing to help get the milk out.”

“I don’t have any milk.”

You snort. “Don’t I know it.” 

Pope’s face flushes, the reminder of how much attention you’d given his nipples earlier that evening crawling to the forefront of his mind. He raises a hand, carefully, patting his index finger on the top of the devil’s forehead. It keeps crooning, still making biscuits on his chest. 

The devil feels safe with him. It’s an odd feeling, but not an uncomfortable one— No one ever feels safe with him. People fear him, and he protects his family with his teeth and bare knuckles, but they don’t feel safe around him. You do, he thinks. He never asked, afraid of the answer, but you shield behind him whenever his brothers get too physical with each other, and you climb on his lap and hide your face on his neck whenever you’re watching a scary movie. 

He likes that. It makes him feel useful in a different way. When he protects his family he feels dirty, like a crazed guard dog that is going to be put down the second he is no longer useful. With you, he feels like he matters, like he belongs in your bed and in your house and in your heart. 

The devil headbuts his finger and you giggle, pressing a kiss to Pope’s bicep. 

“He likes scritches.” 

So Pope follows through, gently scratching behind the cat’s ear like you’d done before. His nails are shorter than yours, always trimmed down to the point where he’s one wrong angle away from bleeding, but the cat doesn’t seem to mind. The cat crawls a little closer to his neck, a loud mrrrp sound escaping it. 

“He hates me.” Pope says, heart thundering at the noise but you just snuggle closer, your leg thrown over his thigh. 

“He’s happy, Andy.” Your eyes are drooping, sleep is about to drag you back. “He would’ve bitten your finger clean off if he hated you.” 

The cat stands, its little paws digging on his chest and the softness of his stomach. It twists twice before it plops back down on his chest, fluffy tail swiping over Pope’s face. It’s uncomfortable and so unsanitary that any other day Pope might’ve jumped out of bed but he remains as still as he can, the cat’s purring being drowned down by your snoring, his fingers running along the cat’s spine. 

He doesn’t say it but, with the Tasmanian Devil’s weight on his chest, your leg over his and your cold hands gripping his bicep like a lifeline, Andy feels safe too.

taglist: @ptolemaea444 @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @shadowqueen2024 @daniel-bruhhl @ohtiramisuu @honey-moon-13 @pearlessance @mytearsricochetm @taniamiller @pedroncigarettes @clocksonthewall79  @speaktothehandpeasants @msboblikestoread @h-the-comet @goodvibesonly421 @iloved1lfs0 @deathbyvex @callsignmagnolia @amourflores @madmelz @lunavelho @damoclesdarling @cosmosnkaz @desuidesu @realultracunt @angelbunny222 @realwhoreforfictionalmen @uhhhhokayyyyy @dmclazybread @peachiestevie @laylasyce @xoxoloverb @franche06 @vicky066 @aoi-warrior @bedbugism

[somethingeh]

From the Start

from the start by laufey

pairing - jack abbot x reader

word count - 4.6k

summary - you're running the flower gram booth fundraiser. this poses a bit of an obstacle for jack.

a/n - medschool!jack abbot!!! awkward idiots in love!!! did i get the idea for this from an episode of bobs burgers? yes. but its rlly cute your honor. it took me so long to write this because my writers block has been BRUTAL and i kept starting and then scrapping stories before i got here. agh pls send in any requests it rlly helps, and im going to start cranking on the ones in my inbox!!! enjoy <3

---

“Shit! Shit!”

You flapped your hand madly to rid it of the sting the pruning had shears caused. You paused to examine it; blood was blooming along a thin, short slash mark, but it wouldn’t need more than a bandaid. Still, you thought grumpily, just another way to make your arduous valentines-carnation journey more unpleasant. God, you hated the stupid holiday.

It was against your wishes that your school’s chapter of the AMWA decided on doing a flower gram for the annual fundraiser, but alas, you were outvoted. And, stuck with no other option than to do what you do, you embraced the campaign one hundred percent. You were never good at half-assing things.

You had your pride, but it also left you with the responsibility of gathering one thousand red carnations and organizing a campus-wide exchange, ensuring delivery of flowers to the intended recipients.

It had taken you longer than you expected to find a place to sell you that many flowers wholesale. Then, of course, once you got your hands on them, there were the flowers themselves. They were obviously cut rather roughly, made for the hands of experienced florists to turn them into beautiful bouquets, but that was a far cry from you. You were an overworked, overtired year two medical student, desperate for this to go well and somewhat in over your head.

So you found yourself, a week from the fourteenth, sitting on the floor of your apartment, surrounded with heaps of stems, working feverishly into the night in a hope that all would be trimmed and somewhat presentable to be delivered by the deadline. As the clock struck twelve, you became a little more rushed, and a little less careful, as evidenced by your bleeding hand.

Still swearing like a sailor, you carefully stepped out of your petal nest and creaked your way towards the bathroom, joints snapping along the way. Your roommate, Chelsea, was brushing her teeth at the sink with a ginormous volume propped up on the faucet in front of her. As you ruffled through the drawers, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You looked exhausted, if the bags under your eyes were anything to go by, and flyaways framed your droopy face in an odd crown. Chelsea didn’t look much better, a lawyer in training. You often lamented together about your inexplicable choice to put yourselves through more expensive and rigorous schooling.

“What’d you do?” asked Chelsea, muffled over the buzz of her toothbrush.

“Just a nick,” you said, finally locating and retrieving a box of Disney bandaids. “What the hell are you still doing up, Chels?”

Chelsea spit into the basin and turned on the tap, eyes not leaving the pages.

“I’m not up, I’m not up, I just wanted to finish this chapter,” she said. “What are you doing up? Can’t those fucking flowers wait another day? V-day isn’t until next Monday.”

“Yes, well, I have other commitments, believe it or not,” you said, slapping an iron man bandage on your finger.

“Actually, I don’t really,” said Chelsea, grabbing the floss. “You spent the whole weekend volunteering at a clinic, like a goddamn hero. And I know Jack asked you to come to his little friend’s housewarming party with him.”

You had been teased one too many times about Jack for your face to immediately heat like it used to, and you rolled your eyes.

“Not with him, just — you know, with him,” you said exasperatedly. “As a group thing.”

“You are so determined not to see that man’s crush on you,” said Chelsea. 

Tired of your friend’s repeated attempts to make you see something that you were sure wasn’t there, you regurgitated your own repeated defenses.

“If he liked me, he would have asked me out ages ago,” you said. “I mean I’ve known the guy since our year one cadaver lab.”

“Aw, he’s just shy,” said Chelsea sweetly. “Cut him some slack!”

You huffed slightly and stalked back to your post on the living room floor.

“Goodnight, meddler!”

“Goodnight sweetums.”

What bothered you most about Chelsea’s pestering was that she acted as though you wouldn’t take the chance if offered to you. Well, the idea scared you slightly. You had never had a real relationship, never even a true fling, only messy, intoxicated hookups in bars and trucks. You were far too busy with school and work to be fussed much about boys.

Jack, though, you had to admit, was special. He was just as steadfast as you, however less fiery. He got good grades, and worked hard to achieve them. You’d never known him to drink or smoke more than the occasional party, similar to yourself, and he was often joining you in your role of designated driver. He understood your overzealous nature, though he didn’t copy it, and he never once dampened your spark. On the contrary, he seemed to admire it.

And he was just oh so pretty. Dark auburn curls, and a crooked smile, and let’s face it, pecs for days. You’d never really gotten over the group beach day your friends forced you to attend over break; he had glistened in the sun like a statue carved by Michelangelo.

But with all of that, he still seemed unaware of his own beauty. He blushed and stuttered when people flirted with him. You knew it spread all the way down his pale, freckled chest because there were a few lifeguards who had taken a liking to him that same day.

You picked up your shears again and resumed your chopping with a little more force.

Silly though it seemed, sure though you were that Jack held nothing more than friendly intentions for you, you had thought through the scenario on several occasions. If he asked you out, would you say yes? Surely he could only prove to be a distraction? But it was Jack, so perhaps not… 

God, this was all Valentine’s Day’s fault. The stupid holiday had everyone feeling overly susceptible to harmful, heteronormative ideals blasting out at you from every advertisement, sign, decoration, and rom com displayed. You needed to ground yourself. The facts were that Jack was not going to ask you out, and you would never be tempted to say yes.

In the end, you only made it some halfway through your carnations before you were practically falling asleep right there on the rug, and you forced yourself to bed. After class the next morning, bright and early, you took up your station at the flower booth, placed in the very middle of the quad, with students rushing to and fro in a constant buzz.

You were bundled up against the wind, with two sweaters, a coat, a scarf, a wooly hat, and matching mittens that made it exceedingly difficult to set up your signs. They instructed the public that it was two dollars per carnation, five dollars if you wanted a fancy ribbon. Luckily, the ribbon responsibility fell to your co-organizer, Janice. One less thing to worry about, though you would have swapped her for the flowers any day.

“Need some help?” said a familiar voice.

You looked up, braced for the harsh wind, but found it blocked by Jack’s solid body. You couldn’t help but smile in return; his was warming you from the inside out.

“Thanks, Jack,” you sighed, sitting down at last while he fiddled with the plastic legs of your sign. “What are you doing out here?”

“Can’t I just want to visit you?” said Jack, and you told yourself the pink in his cheeks was from the cold.

“I guess,” you said, working hard to combat your widening smile.

“Can I sit?”

“Um, sure,” you said, waving a gloved hand. “Liz is never on time, anyways.”

He took the empty seat next to you, then shoved his red hands in his pockets. You allowed yourself exactly three seconds to admire his curls in the breeze, before you forced your head forward to face the front. 

“So how’s it going out here?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s great,” you drawled sarcastically. “Yeah, I really love freezing my ass off so that people can come up and ask me dumb questions and never buy a flower. Do they not see the signs?”

Jack chuckled.

“Well, you know, charity and all.”

You hummed noncommittally.

“I just love how everyone who voted for the stupid idea magically became swamped when it came to organizing the damn thing,” you grumbled. “I should have done that.”

“You couldn’t possibly have,” said Jack, matter of factly.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you sighed. “Jesus, sometimes it’s exhausting being the way I am.”

“You’re better for it,” said Jack, so genuinely you had to avert your eyes.

You were distracted momentarily when a group of giggling freshmen approached the table, and one in the middle sheepishly asked for a carnation. They twittered away excitedly, and you slumped back with your stiff legs crossed. You shook your head. Jack looked fondly after them.

“I feel like I know how that one will turn out,” you said glumly, scribbling on your clipboard.

“Oh, come on, don’t you remember what it was like to be out on your own for the first time?” said Jack. “The first crush, or girlfriend you’d had when you didn’t need to ask your parent’s permission to go out?”

Your lips turned slightly down.

“Not really,” you said honestly. “I’ve never had many crushes. And when I did, they were never all consuming like that, never strong enough to pull me away from a night of studying.”

You glanced Jack’s way and found that he was already watching you, though upon being caught, he turned quickly to a lone dead leaf on the ground, crushing it with his shoe.

“So… do you — what are your Valentine’s plans?”

You could practically hear Chelsea in your head, but you shook her off.

“Well, I’m going to wander around res all day, delivering love carnations from a wagon,” you said in a monotonous voice, “and then I’m probably gonna go to the library and study for Ratliff’s. Which reminds me, I need to book a study room. Though I hardly think they’ll be in high demand on Valentine’s Day.”

“Yeah, right,” said Jack, scratching his cheek. “No, yeah, I should probably do the same. Um… mind if I join you? Next week, I mean?”

You’re brow furrowed, and you stared at the side of Jack’s curly head.

“You want to study the names and properties of medications with me… in the library… on Valentine’s Day?”

The ear you could see was quickly reddening. He coughed.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I feel like no one else’ll be around — all my friends have dates, at least.”

“You don’t have a date?” you asked, accidentally aloud, and it was your turn to avert your eyes.

“No,” he said hurriedly. “Not unless you count all the alone time I spend with the Principles of Pharmacology.”

You chuckled lightly, heart picking up a bit. Spending the most romantic day of the year, alone, in a secluded library with a gorgeous guy sounded almost too good to be true. A little dangerous, even. But, you firmly reminded yourself, he was right. No one else would be around anyways, and you could quiz each other. And when your friends woke up the next morning with hangovers, you’d be waking up with a productive night of studying under your belt.

“Okay,” you said, and he grinned at you. “Sounds fun. I can stop by the library later today.”

“That’s okay, I’ll do it!” said Jack happily. “I’m headed that way anyway.”

“Alright,” you said, heart fluttering madly. “Oh, here comes Liz.”

Your friend and peer, with a head of curls not dissimilar to Jack’s but in a shade of darkest brown, was dragging her feet in your direction. There was an iced coffee in her hand, and sleep in her eyes. Jack immediately jumped up from her folding chair, and all she could offer him with her mouth around the straw was a nod of thanks.

“Liz, what the hell are you wearing?” you said sharply.

“A hoodie,” she said.

You shook your head, then began removing your jacket.

“Here you go,” you said, shoving it into Liz’s hands without waiting for permission.

“Babe, I don’t want —”

“Just take it, you stubborn asshole,” you said, sure that she would be moaning about the cold in ten minutes time, and wishing to avoid that all together.

Sighing like you were doing her a great disservice, she set down her drink and shrugged the coat over her shoulders.

Before you could make another move, another jacket was now being shoved, this time to you. Jack was standing in the courtyard in nothing but a crew with your university’s logo on it, no gloves, no hat, no scarf. You blinked.

“That’s okay, Jack.”

“But you’ll be cold without a coat.”

“I’ve got two sweaters on, I’ll be fine.”

“Please just take it, I’ll be inside anyways —”

“Yeah, don’t be a stubborn asshole,” quipped Liz with a grin around her straw.

Sending her a glare, and Jack a shy smile, you pulled on his puffy coat. You were suddenly overwhelmed with the scent of him, and it was all you could do not to stick your nose into the collar and inhale deeply. Only when it was zipped all the way up did Jack look satisfied.

“Thank you,” you said in a small voice.

“No problem,” said Jack. He wasn’t shivering, but his cheeks were turning rather pink again. “Um, I’ll see you Thursday, for the patho study group?”

You nodded, and he smiled again, and disappeared into the crowd. You could feel Liz’s eyes on you, but were spared a confrontation by the approach of a student.

It was a pretty good day for the booth. You got to see Chelsea come to order some flowers for her girlfriend, Tara, then saw Tara later that day to do just the same for Chelsea. There were a couple guys you recognized and were sure they were only sending flowers to dates to increase their chances of sex. A young, and rather brazen girl, who boldly addressed a red carnation to a professor, which technically there was no rule against, though you made a mental note to ask your advisor about it later.

You left around two for a class, and when you got back, Liz was happily reporting the day’s haul as close to five hundred dollars raised. All in all, it wasn’t so bad. The booth did pretty well, and you actually got some studying done at the table.

As the week progressed, flower sales steadily grew and your locked tin box of money was filling up. It meant great things for the association, and helped you accept that maybe, despite the injuries to your fingers and lower back, the hours slaved over the flowers were worth it.

You also kept getting preoccupied by your not-date with Jack, which was drawing ever nearer. You didn’t dare breathe a word of it to any of your friends, especially your despicable roommate, who already had a thirty minute freakout when you walked through the door wearing his coat. You knew that if you confided in her, she’d go overboard and get in your head.

At the Thursday study group, the combination of handing back said coat to its original owner, plus his confirmation of the study room number for Monday, caused some more suspicious looks. Fortunately, Chelsea didn’t tend to run in the same circles, being of a different major, so you were subjected to her preaching.

On Monday, after class, you were needed back at the apartment to help her pick out the perfect Valentine’s outfit. Then the two of you parted ways on the street. Chelsea off to her date, and you off to the library.

You got to the room before Jack did. You compulsively checked the sign up sheet outside the door, but you weren’t surprised to see it, and the rest of the library, almost totally empty that night.

You set up your books, index cards, notebooks, and pencil case, while trying hard not to pick over your outfit. After hours of agonizing, far more agonizing than Chelsea had spared, you had rested on your regular jeans and a zip up hoodie. Cute, comfy, and most importantly, casual. Still, your mind was running over hundreds of scenarios in which Jack in some way, shape, or form, disapproved of this outfit. Ridiculous, you reminded yourself.

You tried to focus on pharm. Which main infections are treated by Penicillin G? You tapped your pencil against your notebook, thinking. Strep, definitely, and meningitis… but beyond that you were drawing a blank. You glanced out of the window, but you couldn’t see anyone else in the library.

Focus. Strep, meningitis, pneumonia, gonorrhea…

Maybe he changed his mind, and he found a date last minute. There might be a message waiting on your machine back at the apartment right that second.

You rested your forehead in your hand, hunching over your notes, trying not to glance at the door every five seconds. Strep, meningitis, pneumonia…

But you know what? Screw him if he was going to bail. Kinda shitty, not too crazy, though, for friends. Acquaintances, even. Maybe you were never really as close as you had thought, maybe you were reading into everything because of your stupid, school girl crush. No matter. Since he was just your friend-slash-acquaintance, it wasn’t that big of a blow. You weren’t about to miss out on your studying. It didn’t bother you…

Suddenly, the door burst open, and in came Jack. He was slightly winded, as though he had been running, the tips of his ears and nose pink with cold. He looked a little anxious, and he straightened up awkwardly, with one hand on the silver handle, and one bent behind his back.

“Sorry I’m late!” he panted. “I — I got… caught up…”

He trailed off, looking worried. You glanced at your watch: it was only two minutes past your agreed upon meeting time.

“You’re not late,” you dismissed, “I just get everywhere early.”

“I know! That’s why I wanted to — um, I just didn’t account for…”

He trailed off strangely again, and stepped into the room. He kept his back squarely to the wall, shuffling inside like a crab so as not to reveal to you whatever he was attempting to conceal. As you took him in, you realized he was dressed nicely, definitely nicer than you. He wore jeans, but not his usual, everyday jean with the holes and fading — these were dark wash, and they looked new. On his top he wore a button down, nothing too dressy, but certainly a step up from the usual college attire of t-shirts and hoodies.

This display made you confused; insecure though you now were that your fears of underdressing seemed to be true, you couldn’t help but enjoy his appearance. Most of the time you saw each other, it was under a haze of exhaustion and stress. This was new.

You fiddled with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, unsure whether or not to break the brief silence. Eventually, you decided you should.

“So — do you wanna sit? I can quiz you,” you said briskly, defaulting to your comfortable business tone. “I was just going over antibiotics, but I also wanted to review muscarinic agonists and antagonists.”

He didn’t budge. In fact, it appeared as though his body was tensing more every second. His face turned from pink to deep ruby red, spreading past his cheeks, down his neck, and you knew, despite not being able to see, down his chest. Just that thought had you heating up a bit too.

“Right,” he said. “Yes.”

Unable to handle the tension, you blurted out the first thing on your mind.

“Are you gonna show me what’s behind your back, or are you gonna stand like this all night?”

You hadn’t thought it possible, but his blush deepened even more, and you regretted the bluntness of your words. He visibly swallowed, staring at the floor like he would very much like to sink into it.

You looked away too, hoping perhaps to take some pressure off of him. Your eyes landed randomly on a bit of orange peel someone had left behind. You didn’t even have the time to be annoyed that someone had been sneaking snacks in the library, before there was a rustling and movement out of your peripherals.

Your eyes widened as you looked up and were faced with a large, truly gorgeous bouquet. It was clearly professionally done, beautifully spaced with mainly lilies and tulips, and spotted here and there with sage and little tiny daisies.

Unable to tear your eyes away from the bunch, you muttered, “is this for me?”

“Um, yeah,” he said nervously, letting you take the bouquet carefully, like he was desperate not to let any of his skin touch yours. “I — I wanted to get you carnations, but I couldn’t very well order them from you, that would kinda be counterproductive — besides, I know you don’t even like them —”

You finally broke away from the flowers to look into his cherry-red face.

“How do you know that?”

He blinked.

“You said so,” he said sheepishly.

“I did?” you said faintly, racking your brains.

A hand moved to the back of his neck, and he turned to face the ground so much so that all you could see was the top of his head and the tips of his maroon ears.

“At the start of the semester,” he said quietly, so quietly you had to strain your ears. “When the fundraiser was chosen.”

You remembered then, with his prompting. You had been sitting in the library, complaining loudly with Chelsea and some other friends.

“I mean, can we please be practical?” you had spat. “Flowers are messy, they wilt, they die, they’re expensive.”

“Use fake flowers,” supplied Chelsea.

“That would be disgusting,” you said. “I couldn’t possibly expect anyone to pay money for a plastic flower.”

“Okay, use real ones, then,” said Chelsea.

You groaned dramatically, attacking the calculator you were supposed to be using for dosage calculations.

“Why couldn’t we use, like, candy canes, or something? They do that in Mean Girls!”

“Because that was for Christmas, this is Valentine’s Day,” said your friend Bree. “There’s nothing lovey-dovey about candy canes.”

“I’d still rather get a candy cane then a fucking carnation,” you said. “That’s another thing stupid about this! Carnations! They’re such a boring flower. And red? I mean, be original.”

“People don’t want originality, they want classic romance,” said Sarah.

“I think lilies or tulips would be classic!” you argued. “Classic, familiar, but more elegant. I’m telling you, if everyone just did what I said, we’d have no problems left in the world.”

You were shocked that he recalled that. He had been there, but you didn’t think he’d been listening. He was buried in work, reading a textbook; you didn't know he’d even been aware of that conversation. But he had not only been listening, he’d carried the information, such inconsequential information, for almost a month.

You wanted to tell him how much you loved them, see that easy smile spread across his cheeks, but you seemed too shocked to find the words. You just stared between him and the bouquet, speechless, not that he was looking to notice. At your lack of response, he spoke again.

“I know it’s stupid,” he said. “I’m sorry, I mean, you don’t even have like a — like a vase, or anything, to put them in, and what are you gonna do, hold this massive bouquet when you’re trying to study? I probably should have just brought them to your apartment, huh? But then — I guess showing up on the doorstep with a bouquet is a little too forward — or old-fashioned — or maybe this whole idea was old-fashioned —”

You had seen him flustered on many occasions, where he’d blush, look away, and press on. This was different… you hardly recognized this stammering, jittery mess of nerves before you. It was honestly a good look on him.

“Jack,” you interrupted him, and he quieted at once. “I love the flowers.”

He let out a harrowed breath, looking at least somewhat relieved. His arm fell, though his hands met behind his back and you were pretty sure they were twisting with anxiety.

“Really? I tried to get anemones, I know you love the ones outside the gym, but they didn’t have any at the shop,” he breathed.

“Is that why you were late?” you asked. “You were getting me flowers?”

He nodded regretfully.

You raised your flowers to get a proper whiff of the dreamy aroma. Then, again, with apparent loss of your filter, “Why?”

He struggled for a second.

“I — I guess I —” he cleared his throat, shuffling his feet. “I didn’t want you to go without flowers on Valentine’s Day, just because you were the only one dedicated enough to run the booth.”

You smiled.

“That’s… very nice,” you said, taken aback. “But I feel like I should tell you, working a booth or not, I’ve never gotten Valentine’s flowers.”

“All the more reason,” he said.

You admired them for a few more minutes, while he admired you outside the scope of your vision, then you asked another question.

“What did you mean, ‘too forward’?”

“Huh?”

“Before, you said showing up on my doorstep would be ‘too forward’,” you explained. “Too forward for what?”

What little color he’d lost upon your assurance that you liked his gift came rushing back at that. You saw him glance at the window and then the door, as though hoping someone would come in and save him from your query. When no one did, he took a deep breath, as though steeling himself.

“I was thinking that maybe — if you had the time, of course, and if you had any interest whatsoever — maybe you might want to… go out? With me?”

Your heart, suspiciously tame up until that point, suddenly made itself known, galloping against your chest with a million times its usual power. You brought your bouquet up towards your face again, partially for the calming scent, partially to hide your face.

Jack Abbot was asking you out. Jack. Abbot. In front of you, hands tied, face red. Asking. You. Out. Chelsea’s voice was once again in your head, now screaming I TOLD YOU SO!

Just as Jack opened his mouth, perhaps to take it all back, you spoke.

“Okay, Jack.”

He took a step closer.

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll go out with you. I’d love to go out with you.”

You thought he might have melted right down to the floor, the way the tension left his bones. Finally, that favorite smile of yours spread across his glowing face. You matched it.

“I’d invite you over now,” you said, “but I promised Chelsea I’d be out of the apartment until at least eleven.”

“That’s okay,” he said cheerily. “We should really get some studying done, right?”

“Right,” you said giddily as he unpacked his bag, though you really didn’t want to release your lovely gift to hold a pencil.

As you were figuring out how to balance it in the crook of your nondominant arm, yet another thought struck you. If Chelsea was right… all those times, starting over a year ago, she nudged your shoulder, or sent you a look…

You glanced over at Jack as he pulled out the Principles of Pharmacology, and decided you wouldn’t prod him for a timeline. Because perhaps if you did, you’d have to admit that for as long as he’d been waiting to ask you out, you’d been waiting to say yes.

---

requests open!

[j4ckr4bbits]

Would you be interested in writing something for perv Jack (or even sub jack) where he’s getting a massage or in physio for an injury from a SWAT mission or his prosthetic and the massage gets him excited… smut ensues…

saw this ask and smiled soooo hard. i was olivia wilde gif irl. anon you're a genius harvard is calling!!!

perv!older bf!jack abbot x fem!reader.

18+. content warnings: reader gets called "little girl" once, massage gone sexual, grinding, praise

"baby, this is.... not necessary," jack grumbled, casting you a withering look over his shoulder as you nudged him towards the bed. "i just pulled a muscle or something. it'll fix itself."

you'd transformed your bedroom into a serene space, laid out fluffy towels, even lit your favourite scented candles and put on some calming music.

you just shook your head and glared at him. "shut up, peepaw. you've been making old man noises ever since you got back from your SWAT thing, just let me take care of you for once."

with a sigh, jack laid stomach-down on the bed, resting his neck on a pillow. "fine. and you'd better stop calling me that."

"no," you replied simply, uncapping a bottle of lavender scented massage oil.

a couple of minutes later, you had straddled jack's back, your fingers deftly working into his tense muscles. you watched as his freckled skin glistened with oil in the candlelight. "oh, yeah, baby, right there..."

"right there?" you replied, grinning as you dug your thumbs in harder.

"yeah, fuck, honey... my god..."

you paused. you'd thought he was just writhing from having his knots worked out, but his hips were now noticeably rutting into the towel beneath him, causing you to bounce where you were situated on his back. "... are you humping the bed?"

jack's voice came back muffled and breathless. "...yeah, baby."

you rolled your eyes, exasperated. "you're such a fucking pervert, jack. this was supposed to be soothing!"

his head turned to the side then, voice playfully indignant. "my little girl's straddling my ass and oiling me up, sue me for getting a little turned on."

"... fine. turn over," you murmured, sliding off of his body to stand at the edge of the bed.

jack let out a soft groan as he flipped onto his back, the towel sliding slightly beneath him. his dark hazel eyes locked onto yours, half-lidded with the exhaustion-tinged arousal of a middle-aged man who’d been working nonstop for 16 hours.

"you're mean, baby," he said softly, reaching up to brush a thumb along your jaw. "teasing me like this when I'm basically one step from passing out."

the candlelight flickered across his face, casting a golden glow across his features. his bare chest was heaving. his cock was hardening under your gaze against his thigh, the tip flushed pink.

"i think i need more massage, honey," he added pointedly. "my front hurts."

"oh, it does, does it?" you deadpanned, your eyes running down his body. "soo... just like, your chest?"

"mhm. chest... arms..." jack said, voice gravelly and slow, like he was reciting symptoms on a patient chart. "also my shoulders. and maybe... other places." he didn’t look away from you once, even as his breathing deepened just a little more than it should have for someone allegedly relaxing. "gonna come help?"

you exhaled from your nose and straddled him again, the soft cotton of your panties nestled over his dick. grabbing the massage oil, you squeezed a generous amount into your palms. you warmed it between them before working it into his broad chest. when his breathing started to get heavy, you picked up the oil again and squirted some directly where you were sat over his cock.

jack sucked in a sharp breath the second the cool oil hit his bare skin, right over where he was already hard. "jesus, baby," he muttered under his breath, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before snapping back open to watch you. "you're really going all out on this massage today, huh?"

"uh huh," you murmured in agreement as your hips started to roll over him, the massage oil seeping into your panties as his hard cock slotted between your pussy lips. your hands continued kneading circles over his broad chest. "feeling relaxed yet?"

jack exhaled shakily, chest rising and falling beneath your hands. his hips twitched upward slightly on their own accord, seeking more friction where you were pressed against him. "relaxed?" he chuckled darkly. "i am anything but relaxed right now. you're sitting on my dick with lavender oil all over me like this is some kind of spa day."

"it is a spa day," you replied matter-of-factly. "ever heard of a happy ending?"

jack's breath hitched as you continued grinding down on him, the heat and friction building with every slow roll of your hips. his voice was deeper now, laced with both amusement and something more primal. "baby, do you even know what it means when a woman says 'happy ending' like this?"

"it means i'm trying to make you cum," you purred, teasing your thumbs over his nipples. "is it working?"

"fuck yes," jack groaned, his back arching slightly into your touch. "you're really good at this spa treatment," he panted with a strained smirk. "best goddamn massage therapist i've ever had."

"yeah?" you replied breathily, rutting the head of his cock against your clit through your panties. "would you recommend me to a friend?"

jack's hand flew up to grip your hip as he grumbled, shaking his head. "never. i'd lock the door and never let anyone else have this treatment." his hips lifted slightly beneath you, chasing the friction as his cock throbbed against your clit. "fuck... baby... you're gonna make me come just like this... grinding on me in your little panties..."

his hands slid down to grip your ass through the thin fabric. "my sweet girl taking such good care of me." jack's breathing turned ragged, the pleasure coiling tighter in his stomach. his eyes locked on your face as his hips moved with yours now, bucking up into your heat. "i'm gonna come, baby, gonna come..."

his body tensed, thighs clenching as the first hot pulse of release shot through him. "jesus fucking christ, honey..." with a low groan that came straight from his chest, he spilled onto your panties, his cum soaking into the white cotton.

for a few blissful seconds he just laid there beneath you, boneless and breathless. "that... was not relaxing."

[bbuuunnyyy]

How would (one of) Shawn’s characters feel when her bush is gone or very trimmed because they’re going to the beach? <3333

omg i love this bc why the fuck would they all be pissed HAHAH

pope cody would look at you changing, just staring and staring and staring and staring—until you finally snap, “andy, what?” he’d huff, annoyed as he crosses his arms, “you shaved.”

you roll your eyes, “yeah, so? we’re going to the beach.”

“so—don’t do that.” you sigh, “pope, ‘s just a little trim. it’ll grow back, i promise.” he’s not convinced, glaring a little at you until he finally nods, leaving the room to pack up the rest of your stuff. <333

jack abbot would notice when you’re on the towel in front of his chair, on your back as you get some sun. he’d shift, putting his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose to make sure he’s lookin’ at you right.

“baby? come here—“ he calls out to you and you smile, sitting up to perch yourself on his lap. softly, he takes his hand to move your bottoms to the side a bit, causing you to yelp.

“jackie!” you try to scramble off as he grabs you harder, keeping you seated on his clothed dick. dipping his fingers in, he strokes your now silky folds—you lean your head back, trying not to cause a total scene.

“you shaved? when? this morning?” you nod against his shoulder as he clicks his tongue, removing his hand—you pout.

he looks at you all stern, “tell me why.” you shy away a bit.. mumbling, “just feeling a little insecure having it all out in public ….”

grabbing your face he turns you to face him, “hair is beautiful baby, and natural. you know how much i love it, and you’re so confident with it—i like you that way.”

you nod, give him a little kiss on his cheek, “mkay”

sammy bryant sees you putting on your bikini bottoms, letting out, “the fuck?” you pause, eyes wide as you look at him glaring, tongue in his cheek. “jesus, what sammy?”

walking over, he kneels down in front of you, putting his finger through the string to see your pussy. “whadya do to her, baby?” you laugh a little, head back as you gasp in disbelief, “shaved! jesus i thought there was a spider behind me or something!”

leaning forward, he kisses your trimmed mound, mumbling into her, “i’m sorry, baby. i’m sorry she did this.”

grabbing his hair you giggle, shoving his face harder into your pussy, “give her a real apology, baby. like you mean it.”

[groovyangelkisses]

Happilymarried!Pope who makes everything a onesided competition on who treats their wife best. He just wants to brag how he kisses the ground u walk on because how are they criminals but Cath has to work at a bar??? Uh uh not Pope's wife, she's lapping up the sun by the pool in their house or busy spending his money around, not a care in the damn world hair done nails done in a cute lil car...his card has never graced the leather of his wallet cause its always in her purse

oh my gosh yes, absolutely. oh he's so husband ohhhh i'm sick!! i especially love this with ditzy, bimbo!reader <3 i got a little carried away but it's andrew so it fits! :)

everyone's at the house waiting for dinner to be made, just standing around and chatting. it's hot, bordering on nauseating humidity, and all andrew wants to do is see his pretty wife before dinner. he needs alone time, quiet time in his old room to just sit and gaze at you as you chatter.

but now? andrew's engaged in a mindless conversation with craig, hearing him drone on about his latest hook-up while he stands with his hands on his hips nervously. you're due at smurf's house at any minute, a promise you made as you laid out on the beachfront of your home, waving at andrew as he got in his truck to meet up with the boys earlier that day.

he couldn't stop himself from kissing you. he was 15 minutes late. big fuckin' deal. andrew's family knew he needed his "you time".

deran's cooking tonight, much to pope's chagrin, and the cody's are all a bit anxious to eat the food. "oh no i literally have the pizza place down the block on speed dial" j expresses in between sips of his beer, before deran angrily chimes in from inside the house "jokes on you, dickhead, i catered."

baz sits on a lounger with cath, holding her to his side as he talks to j about an upcoming job. she's sticky with bar-soda stains and exhausted with the sheer movement of a work ethic. staring down at her ring, she runs her thumb over the diamond, wondering how life could've been different. her eyes flicker over to the oldest cody, and she can remember a time when she'd always find him looking back at her. but that hasn't happened in a long time. her shoulders crack with resignation and envy.

a horn honking, a happy squeal from the driveway, and andrew's straightening up his miserable stance. the thick gummy sole of his jordans rub against the concrete as he, quite literally, walks away from craig mid conversation. "bro-" craig shrugs, turning to look at baz in confusion as baz smiles "his girls home bro, you lost him the second the tires pulled in the driveway." craig stomps into the house, but he's not really angry, never could be at pope, "fucker has super hearing, man"

andrew walks to the driveway, shoulders losing their hunch the closer he gets to your bubblegum pop music and toothy smile. it's hard for andrew to smile, he'd often tell you, late in the dark of your bedroom, "'it's like it hurts a bit. hurts my face, i guess" but right now? his smile is beaming; crooked, endearing teeth on display with a light flush. it's probably because his brothers are inside, he never liked smiling with his teeth before you.

"andy!!" you cheer, wide smile and bouncing in lightly between your left and right foot. andrew doesn't even slow his steps, just keeps trudging towards you until you're in his arms. one big hand hooked behind your head for a long, sloppy kiss. waaaay too much of a display for normal public settings. his breath hitches as your hands drag under his t-shirt, nails lightly scraping his sides.

breathing in through his nose, andrew pulls back to look down his nose at you, "missed you. where you been? how was shopping?" "good! really good andy, wanna see?" "later. lemme get a feel for you. missed you so much" with more kisses to your cheeks as he pushes the hair away from your eyes <3

when you go into the yard, you're smiling and waving at the cody's as you hang onto andrew's arm. your ring glistening in the reflection of the pool, cath can't help but swallow bitterly. andrew trails next to you, head fully turned to listen to you rant and rave about the latest sales and the cute clothing you bought for yourself and him. he looks like he could and would eat you whole at the nearest convenience. it's been years, and he still looks at you the same way.

at dinner, you sit on andrew's lap, legs swinging as you bring the fork to his mouth. craig can barely look but deran smiles into his food; it's nice to see pope happy (even if it is gross to witness at dinner). when his iced tea needs to be refilled, you lean forward over the table, his hand resting on the side of your ass to stabilize you. he's not comfy until the weight of his pretty wife is resting on his thighs.

later that night, when you are all cozy and chatting on the couch, you lift your feet into andrew's lap. he doesn't even bat an eye, moving like it's routine.... because it is. slipping off your lil platform flip flops, starting with a massage at your ankle, andrew massages your foot lovingly as he watches the conversations around him. "'s that good?" he speaks lowly to you, and you nod excitedly.

it's almost torture for cath to watch. she was on her feet for probably 9 hours today, and here you are: shiny toe ring, perfectly, freshly manicured toes. begging andrew for a massage, "think i twisted it after i ran out of victoria's secret." his voice sounds alien to her "'s no good baby, gotta watch your step, we talked about this" soooo husbandly and earnest.

[rollerskategirl]

young jack abbot who’s your best friend’s older brother…

fem!reader (“girl”, described as being girly)

not that they’re necessarily close, but jack is always concerned about his younger sister and the friends that might be a bad influence on her. it’s parties every weekend, staying out late on school nights, and the over-use of the abbot residence for your group. he was sick of it.

chatter ran all around the house, because some reality show was on and you all had been hooting and hollering. he was in the kitchen, attempting to study for a french quiz. you padded in, tanktop and sweats with an empty glass in your hand.

with a smile his way, you turned to open the fridge, “hey, jacky.”

his eyes darted up, shifting in his seat. then, he was relieved it was you and not one of rachel’s more uppity, obnoxious friends. he kept his mouth shut anyway, turning focus back on his book.

there’s always been a soft spot for you. sure, you ran with that group, you were the mastermind behind a few harmless shenanigans. however, he tolerated— even liked you. maybe it was the way you spaced out your drinks, how you kept an eye out for allergies among the group, how you stuck around when someone felt sick. you were more… responsible.

after filling your glass with water, you moved to where jack was sitting and peered over his shoulder. immediately, he felt your presence on his back and your hand stable against the back of his chair.

“doing some reading?” you smirked, eyes moving to scan his face.

“i have a test,” he mumbled before turning to look at you. he was blushing, like really blushing, face hot and cheeks pink. you were leaned only inches above him, after all. face above his and arm around his chair.

“madame fowler?” you raised an eyebrow. slowly, he nodded. you continued, “cool, i have her for french 3.”

“you wanna help me study?” he watched as a grin danced on your mouth, terminating with a bite down on your bottom lip.

shaking your head, “i don’t know a lick of french. you’re on your own, buddy boy.”

with a harsh pat of his back, you made your way out of the kitchen. your pants rode low on your waist, creating a sliver of skin between your top and your sweats. eyes surfacing over your back, jack watched you sway away, shaking his head.

that's kind-of how it began. you'd slink around their house, around school, the neighbourhood, parties, anything to catch his attention. of course, he'd been watching, exhibiting perfect restraint.

when it started to get hot, though, something in him begged to differ.

the abbot pool was another go-to spot for your group. it was another excuse to prance around jack half-naked. this particular friday in may, it was you and naomi who joined rachel in her quest for tan skin. 

jack had been coming home from playing pick-up basketball with his friends. shirt stained in sweat, red curls pushed back, biceps pumped out of his sleeves. if you hadn’t been wearing those huge sunglasses, it would’ve been obvious you were ogling at him. you weren’t sure why you came through the back, though.

he looked right back at you, eyes piercing at that turquoise bikini on your lotion-glazed skin. your head was tilted back, exposing your neck. you had a book in hand, jane austen from what he could see on the cover. It rested over your stomach, both hands on either side. your ankles were crossed, legs glistening in the sun.

he had never really stared at anyone like this. You were blinding in the best way, shiny and beautiful. it was embarrassing how his mouth hung open, embarrassing how his eyes softened at the sight of you, embarrassing how he just stood there like an idiot. he wasn't usually like that, he was known as a classic charmer.

naomi, sitting furthest most from the gate, tilted her head over and caught jack, “gawk much?”

quickly, he adjusted his position, rubbing the back of his neck. “uh, rach, mom wants to know if they’re sleeping over.”

rachel, who had been laying so still for 20 minutes that you thought she was asleep, opened her eyes and scrunched her nose, “yeah… now, buzz off.” she waved her hand in the air, “i can smell you from here.”

jack nodded, looking away and trekking to the house with a sarcastic yeah, sorry. he caught a glimpse of you before going through the patio door.

with a smirk, you closed your book and placed it on the ground. sitting up, you were ready to follow him inside. slipping your t-shirt over your head, your legs fell to face naomi and rachel. you slipped your flip flops on as you stood, prepared to move out.

“don’t even think about it.” naomi spoke, unmoved from her position.

“w-what?” you furrowed your eyebrows at her. turning her head towards you, she lifted her sunglasses. hand over your hip, you gasped defensively, “i was going to get water.”

“mhmm, thirsty as hell,” naomi shook her head sarcastically, “i see the way he stares at you, like he wants to eat you up like the little tart you are.” she laughed, the joke being more for herself than you.

“ew, guys, are you talking about jack?” rachel whined, turning over to face down. her voice muffled in her towel, “that’s disgusting. keep me out of it.”

"need anything?" you raised an eyebrow at naomi before you made your way inside.

"you clearly do."

in the kitchen, jack had been biting into an apple, sifting through the mail on the table. he was still in his workout clothes, dampness slowly fading from his shirt. you shut the door behind you, making your way over to him. his eyes darted up, and you pressed a finger to your lips.

“hey,” he said lowly, cheeks flushed as a slow smile grew on his face. 

you neared him, palm pushing on the cold marble of the counter as your body entered his atmosphere. you nodded your chin up at him, only inches away.

"so." you began.

"so," he nodded back at you.

you saw jack press his lips together and his gaze fall to your mouth. his hand found your waist through the big t-shirt you'd thrown over. your skin was hot, but he didn't seem to mind.

leaning in, he was delicate with you. his mouth grazed over yours, kissing you softly. you giggled into it, not expecting him to be a good kisser. his body went flush against you, like it was meant to be there. it was soft little presses, the push of your head away, then the rebound back into him.

your hands met his chest eventually, patting lightly as you pulled away from him. his eyes eyes grew soft and wimpy, like he'd been available for you if you called.

"'kay, thanks." you whispered with a smile, moving away from him to return to the backyard.

you rendered him speechless, leaving him in the middle of the kitchen without explanation. he stood dumbfounded, embarrassed as he was when he had come home.

later into the evening, the girls had fallen asleep through dirty dancing, but you stayed awake. sneaking away from rachel's bedroom, you shut the door slowly as you spotted the light on in the laundry room.

knowing it was far too late for their parents to be awake, you toed your way over, catching a glipse of jack, who was messing with the dryer settings. in a t-shirt and his flannel pyjama pants, he caught your eye through the doorway and grinned.

"it's late," you said as the dryer started up.

he nodded, a smug, mocking look in his eye, turning to you, "'kay thanks? i don't think a girl has ever said that to me."

you got closer, resting your hands on his shoulders, batting your lashes at him, "well, how else was i supposed to thank you?"

he grinned, pressing his hands on your sides and caging you against the rumbling dryer. your fingers found their way up to his curls, running through just like you daydreamed of.

"i could think of a few things." he mumbled before pressing his lips to yours again.

note: this was definitely supposed to be a shorter drabble, but i think there will be more to this #soon ... stay tuned (thinking… of jack in the summertime… beach… pool… tanning… your back, beneath the sun, wishing i could write my name on it)

[nightpitt]

Contemplating prejac!pope on this fine afternoon…that man could get off just having his girl sit in his lap while they make out and YES he would whimper about it. Luckily his girl thinks it’s the hottest thing in the world

YESSSSSS! need that boy cookie so bad.

MDNI - 18+

CONTENTS: andrew "pope" cody x f! reader, smut, prejac! pope, slight foot fetish mention

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ prejac! pope... who would pull you into his lap while watching a movie and slowly rut and grind his hips into you. you wouldn't even notice as you focused on the television. you'd feel the wetness pool against your center.

"pope, did you-" "m'sorry"

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ prejac! pope... who would be sucking and lapping at your center while he pumped his fingers in and out of your entrance. you'd beg for his cock to stretch your insides, you would pull yourself to where your frame would be propped on your elbows. he'd be oh so embarrassed as you looked at the wet spot in his boxers.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ prejac! pope... who would hug you from behind while you made dinner, kissing and nibbling at his shoulder. he would press his junk into your hips, sometimes digging into your ass. he'd feel his cum spill into his boxers as you plated his meal.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ prejac! pope... who would have a hold on your thigh during a family meeting about the latest job. sometimes you'd pull your foot and drag it across his length, making his cock jerk and place hot spurts in his pants.

[dirtygir1]

maybe i’m too overly freaked out but the idea of sniffing sammy’s pits after his shift sounds heavenly to me (frankly jack too)

like the smell of his deodorant mixed with their natural musk and sweat really does something for me.

ugh sniffing Sammy’s pits and kissing/licking his chest while stoking his cock is like the ultimate fantasy.

this all came to mind after seeing Sammy’s pits in the episode where he takes off his shirt after shooting the dog.

im the biggest pitt sniffer their is also Shawn just gets. so sweaty in his productions and I looove that like come home to me please and let me wring out your sweaty clothes into my mouth. Sammy being all, "baby, that's so gross..I probably stink.." uhh idc take off your goddamn shirt boy!!

[agnireed]

‘hooking up regularly with elvis but not letting him tell any of his friends because that’d be bad for your reputation (he’s a loser)’

please please pleaseeeee can we have some more thoughts on this cause you’ve awoken something in me now

IN THE SHADOWS

PAIRING ➩ elvis schmidt x reader

WC ➩ 8k

SUMMARY ➩ Elvis knows he’s a fool for obsessing over the rich girl from high school but he can’t help but think it’s fate when he runs into you again.

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ this had a whole different ending that involved johnny and reader offering to pay off his debt and blah blah blah but it was meant to be a drabble and clearly was getting a life of its own lol so i ended it early and left it open to interpretation NOT PROOFREAD

WARNINGS ➩ idk if it even needs to be said but i obviously don’t condone the real life story this movie is based off. this is my own interpretation of elvis who is clearly alot less extreme than the version we see and the events of the movie DONT happen in this fics universe. reader is slightly awful sorry

Elvis hadn’t thought much about high school since he left it but he did think about you fairly often.

It seemed pointless considering how far removed he was from it all, an entirely different person now living a life style his graduating class couldn’t relate to in the slightest. He hadn’t gone to college like the majority of them, didn’t have daddy’s money to fall back on, and he definitely wasn’t working an office nine to five.

So whenever he thought back to the brick walls and skipping lunch to smoke below the bleachers, you came to mind.

Not because you and him were necessarily close, in fact he was pretty sure you’d only spoken to him a handful of times. You were simply somebody who was not easy to forget for a multitude of reasons.

It had been almost four years since he last saw you and he still had yet to find anybody he found as attractive as you were to him, so radiant in your beauty that he would go to classes just to get to stare at you.

His friends would tease him for being so infatuated by you but still refusing to talk to you but Elvis knew better even as a stupid teenager.

Girls like you did not bother with guys like Elvis.

You’d probably be really sweet about it atleast, like you always seemed to be regardless if you were interacting with the nerdier kids or giving pity laughs to teachers attempting to crack jokes and bond with disinterested students. He figured you’d be gentle when you rejected him, smile at him pitifully and tell him you just didn’t have the time for a relationship right now.

You wouldn’t mention the fact his jeans were a size too big after being handed down from his older brother, his shoes had holes in them that he’d duct taped over to keep his socks dry, and he lived on the side of town you weren’t even allowed to drive through in your friends fancy cars.

You were just as aware of all this as he was but you were just too good to bring it up.

Elvis thought about you occasionally, whenever he was at a party to sell and caught a glimpse of somebody with your hair color or watched a commercial that had a pretty girl on a beach somewhere tropical.

He wondered what you were up to after graduation, if you’d gone to college far away or maybe worked in that fancy office your dad did. There was nobody in his life that talked to you either so he had no real way of finding out any of this, left to wonder forever and zone out thinking about what might have happened if he tried to talk to you back then.

That’s what he was currently doing, inbetween crooked shelves in a dusty liquor store that probably lost its license to sell half a decade ago.

Johnny preferred it here because they gave him discounts, most likely due to that slight fear on their face whenever him and his group approached the counter. Elvis didn’t really concern himself with things like that, keeping to the back of the crowd and waiting to speak when spoken to.

Somebody Johnny knew had come in about half an hour ago so now they were all stuck waiting for him to decide he was ready to leave, leaning back against the fridge doors and staring down at his dirty shoes.

The chime of the door bell ringing didn’t catch his attention, neither did the soft clack of heels against the peeling tile or the sound of perfectly manicured nails drumming against glass bottles in the next aisle over.

Elvis only looked up when he heard the guys around him whistling and hollering obnoxiously, the barbaric way they attempted to catch the attention of a pretty girl. His gaze shifted around the convenience store with curiosity and then froze when he landed on you.

You were already at the counter with a singular bottle of vodka, rolling your eyes at his friends catcalling you and paying them no further attention. He was completely stiff as he stared at you in a daze, taking in your appearance and trying to decide if you were really standing there or if his almost obsessive daydreaming about you had finally driven him fully crazy.

But you were real, he knew that was true when he saw you pop your gum in the same way you used to when you were bored in class.

He’d almost forgotten about the small habit until he saw it again so he knew he couldn’t have made it up.

He still hadn’t moved by the time you turned around and that same stupid feeling was hitting him again as you started to walk away, sending one more glare in the group’s direction before you were faltering as you passed by.

“Elvis?”

Your voice was just as soft and honey like as it had been back then although he’d never heard you say his name before so he had very little to compare that sound to. A wave of shock ran over him and he cleared his throat as he stood up straighter.

“Hey.” He couldn’t say anything else and it came out a little breathy, his friends around him half mumbling in confusion and half fully making fun of him out loud.

You didn’t seem to mind the noise anymore although it was far more disrespectful things being said now than they’d been spewing when you walked past. Elvis had half a mind to tell you that it wasn’t because of you, explain that they always made fun of him like that, but he figured letting you know how much of a loser he was probably wasn’t the biggest turn on.

“It’s been a while.” You’re smiling and tilting your head at him, almost everything he’s ever dreamed of yet he’s silently willing you to just keep walking. “You look different.”

Elvis doesn’t think he does, doesn’t think you even believe that either but he just gives you a small nod and purses his lips.

If he wasn’t surrounded by the people he is now then he’d probably have the courage to try to actually talk to you. He’s not a stupid teenager with a crush now and he’s imagined this conversation in his head a hundred times in the last few years but he can’t get himself to say anything personal in front of Johnny, definitely not anything that would make it obvious how much he thinks about you.

You stiffen for a second at his silence before you’re glancing towards the door and smacking your lips to break up the awkwardness, giving him a small wave and tucking your bottle under your arm as you leave.

Elvis feels the cold of the refrigerator against his back as he slumps down, running a hand over his face and groaning from the embarrassment of the encounter.

“You’re a fucking pussy.” Johnny shakes his head at him, surprisingly not as degrading as Elvis had expected for him to be.

He finally seemingly deems it time to stop loitering around the small shop as he heads to the counter, the entourage of idiots following behind him mindlessly. He knows it’s hypocritical to judge considering he’s normally right there alongside them, most likely the one having to balance all the bottles that they buy.

That exact thought stops him from moving anywhere, taking a few seconds to let the hot skin on his shoulders linger on the cold glass before he’s moving towards the exit.

You’re just opening your car door by the time he makes it outside, sun setting now but still perfectly complimenting the pretty tone of your skin and the shine to your hair as you push it over your shoulder.

“Hey.” His voice cracks and it’s a little too breathy, the accidental loud volume making you tense for a second before you whip around and see it’s just him. Your shoulders relax just as he makes it even worse for himself and almost trips off the curb.

He lands a little too close to you and looks up at your face to see your eyebrows raised in light amusement. He considers turning around and going back inside to avoid humiliating himself further but he’s already here now, standing in front of you and your car that’s way too fancy for this neighborhood.

“I’m sorry about that.” He finally manages to get out and your eyes lose the humor, softening at the apology. “Those guys are…”

“Disgusting?” You finish the sentence for him and lean back against the drivers side door, a little thrill going through him when he realizes you plan to talk to him for atleast a second.

“Yup.” He agrees easily, wincing a little at the bluntness of it. He wonders if that’s what you thought about him too when you saw him standing there like that, surrounded by their hungry looks and gross calls.

He wasn’t a saint, he’d been twenty and trying his best to fit into a crowd that didn’t see him as anything but a joke. There’d been half a dozen times he’d yelled something obscene at a girl on a sidewalk and some things Johnny had asked him to do in private that he still didn’t like to talk about but Elvis didn’t think he was a monster.

And he especially didn’t want you to think that about him.

“So those are your friends now?” You ask curiously and he’s distracted for a second by how pretty you are.

Either he had somehow forgotten the full extent of your beauty or you had just gotten prettier and prettier with age. You were practically radiant and he knew for sure he had never been so stricken by somebody before, barely able to think of the words he needed to respond.

“I wouldn’t call them my friends.” He replied and he was a little shocked by how true that statement felt.

He could call Johnny in an emergency but he’d only end up throwing it back in his face later on, making him run a risky errand or adding on to his debt for his help. They didn’t have anything in common other than the mutual blackmail they had on each other and Elvis could barely stomach the rest of the guys at all.

You hummed softly in contemplation, eyeing him for so long that he started to feel hot around the neckline of his shirt.

Loud voices behind him made him sigh, knowing the others had finished up and were seconds away from being back in your proximity. You looked over his shoulder at them and clearly made the decision you wanted nothing to do with that, opening your car door and getting in.

Elvis felt the defeat hit him hard and clenched his jaw, taking a few steps back so you didn’t accidentally run over his foot and mentally cursing himself for somehow fucking it up so bad twice in a ten minute span.

Then your window rolled down right as he was about to start walking away fully, your pretty polished hand sticking out at him with a paper between your fingers.

He hesitated for a second in confusion, long enough that you impatiently shook it in his direction. He moved quickly to grab it, feeling your skin brush his and send a shockwave up his arm as he glanced down at the scribbled down numbers.

“Call me?” You said softly so the others didn’t hear and he was nodding immediately, earning a small smile from you as you rolled up your window and pulled away.

Elvis didn’t have much time to bask in the amazement he was feeling, hands on his back and shoulders shaking and slapping him obnoxiously as they mimicked his voice in a higher pitch and called him unrepeatable words for fumbling his chance with you.

A part of him wanted to shove the sequence of digits in Johnnys face just to tell him to fuck off but he didn’t, stuffing the paper deep into his jean pockets and shoving them off of him as he rolled his eyes.

-

Elvis hadn’t expected to even keep communication with you let alone to be where you were at.

You’d hung out a few times casually after he finally worked up the nerve to make use of the number you’d given to him, going out to eat together a town over or walking your dog in a park closer to your house after the sun had started to set.

It progressed naturally from there into something more and he figured he must be the luckiest guy alive to have caught your attention somehow. You were perfection to him, his sole focus was on making sure you knew how much he liked you and doing whatever he could to prove he was willing to be the person you needed him to be.

You were sweet and gentle with him always, kissing him softly outside his beat down car and clinging to his warm skin when you’d go to the beach together.

He knew it was obvious he was distracted to anybody else, barely spending any time at Johnnys place and only ever picking up his phone calls when the messages started to get threatening. He still had a debt to pay off and he wasn’t stupid enough to try and skip out on it considering Johnny knew where he lived but that was as far as their relationship went now that he had you.

You hated everything about his life style and you made it clear, scolding him constantly whenever it interfered with your plans and begging him to find alternatives that didn’t involve him breaking the law.

Elvis would do anything you’d ask, similar to the hold Johnny had over him but coming from a much warmer place.

You were currently in his apartment, somewhere you hadn’t come for the first few months of hanging out. Both because he didn’t invite you often out of embarrassment and because you didn’t like the side of town he lived on.

The other week you had ran into one of your friends while leaving one of the fancy grocery stores near your house, your hand that had been holding onto his arm falling down to your side immediately. You didn’t introduce him, didn’t even address him at all even when your friend was sending curious looks in his direction.

You started to ask to come over more after that and Elvis tried to convince himself it wasn’t a big deal, figured you were just private with your relationships.

It was hard to feel any type of hesitance when you looked the way you did, laying on your stomach on his small twin sized mattress while you flipped through a magazine. You were just wearing one of his old band shirts and your underwear, smooth skin of your legs on display as you kicked them back and forth in the air.

He was drying his hair with a towel as he left the bathroom, tossing on a tank top and crawling up beside you, nearly on top of you as he softly kissed the side of your face.

You smiled at him and set down the magazine, rolling onto your back so he could kiss you properly.

Elvis had imagined a million different scenarios with you in high school, a lot of them involving a lack of clothes, but actually being with you was so beyond anything he could possibly make up.

You were the most beautiful human he’d ever seen in his life and for some reason you wanted him, soft noises leaving your mouth when he started to really kiss you the way you liked. His hand smoothed over your calf until he could hook it under your knee and hike your leg up near his waist, shifting so he was slotted down between them and pressed against you.

Your hands were in his damp hair, mouths moving eagerly as the wet sounds of your tongues drowned out the humming from his run down fridge and the static of the TV playing in the living room.

It was easy for Elvis to forget the unfortunate state of his life when he had you here with him. He didn’t care how hard things got financially, what kind of trouble his debt brought in his direction, as long as he got to have you like this for just a little bit longer.

He slowed down the kisses so he could look at your face properly, pecks here and there that made you giggle softly as you rubbed his bare arms.

Your face was overwhelmingly fond as you smiled up at him, nose rubbing against his soothingly.

“I was thinking.” He says quietly and you raise an eyebrow and hum in anticipation, slightly interrupted when he can’t resist kissing you again for a moment. “Maybe we should go out on a real date. There’s this place downtown I think you’d like.”

He’s pressing his lips down against yours as soon as he finishes the thought and you respond enough that he doesn’t notice the way you’ve stiffened up. It’s only when he pulls back to breathe that he registers it, the confusion on your face and the fact your hands have stopped rubbing him.

“What?” He falters at the expression and shifts on top of you.

“Elvis you know we can’t go on a date.” You say and you sound so casual about it that his stomach turns, eyebrows furrowing as he goes to sit up so he can focus better.

“Why wouldn’t we be able to?” He questions and now it’s your turn to furrow your brows.

You also sit up, leaning back on your palms with your legs still straight out across his bed, head tilting in that same cute way you did back in school. You’re watching him for a long few seconds like you’re trying to decide if he’s serious before your lips part in realization.

He tries to ignore the way his heart is racing when you shift closer to him, kissing him softly and being patient when he doesn’t immediately reciprocate.

It doesn’t take long for him to fold and start to move with you, deepening the kiss and letting his hands slide back over your waist so he can tug you closer. Your shirt had ridden up while you’ve moved around and he takes advantage of it, palms under the fabric to rub against your ribs and back.

He’d be stupid to ever deny you anything, especially when it involves getting to taste your tongue in his mouth and feel your hands tugging him back over you as you settle down against the pillows again.

You’re desperate, more than he’s ever seen you be despite the fact you can barely go half an hour without touching each other when you hang out.

His leg slides back between yours as he hovers over you again, pushing your shirt up until it’s bunched around your chest so he can rub the span of your stomach with his rough palm.

You’d told him before how much you liked the feeling of his calloused hands all over you, compared them to the boys you’d been with before him that hadn’t worked a single day in their lives.

He had laid there in bed quietly while you kissed each of his scarred knuckles and asked him to tell you the stories behind the marks on his body. You didn’t shy away from any of the scary parts, kissed his jaw lightly when it was hard for him to get some of it out and stayed the night for the first time when you realized his mood was a bit heavier after saying it out loud.

Elvis had never had anything like you in his entire life and he was terrified to ever be without you again.

The thought made him tense on top of you, kissing you for a few minutes longer until he was slowing it to a stop. You frowned and cupped his jaw lightly but didn’t try to force it, eyes darting all over his face as you rubbed his stubble with your fingertips.

“Why?” He breathed out again, a little airy after the make out session. “Why can’t we go on a date?”

You sighed like this conversation was just an inconvenience to you and his stomach turned uncomfortably, like his body knew something was wrong before his heart could accept it.

“Because we aren’t dating Elvis.” You finally broke the illusion with the simple statement, voice casual like you weren’t shattering his entire world. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

He was already getting off of you before you could even get the second part of it out, standing off the bed and dragging a hand down his face roughly like he was trying to wake himself up.

You stared at him blankly while he paced in front of the foot of the bed, sitting up with your back against the wall. You waited patiently for him to get his shit together but the sight of your impassive face only made him spiral more.

“I don’t think I understand.” He said suddenly and you sighed again at how hurt he sounded, bringing your knees up to your chest. “What are you even talking about right now?”

“You know we aren’t dating Elvis.” You scoffed and gestured in his direction like it was somehow supposed to be obvious.

He stopped pacing to stare at you in disbelief, eyebrows furrowed and body frozen in shock.

“You’re here all the time, we talk all day long on the phone, and I fuck you like I’m your boyfriend so please explain to me how I should know we aren’t dating.” His volume is louder now, something he would never even consider around you on any other occasion, but the slap of reality is so harsh that he can’t even think clearly.

Elvis figures for a second that he should have expected this, could have prepared himself if he had just realized that this was clearly too good to be true. He’d known since he was a preteen that girls like you didn’t fall in love with guys like him and he wasn’t sure why he had somehow convinced himself things were different now.

Even now, looking at you and how beautiful you were as you sat surrounded by his mess and sorry excuse for a life.

You looked ten times more expensive than anything he could even dream of owning, simply sitting in one of his shirts and staring at him with those eyes of yours.

Elvis had been saving up for weeks to even take you to that restaurant he had tried to casually mention, studied the menu and the prices based off of what he knew you liked to eat and slowly took from the amount he would give Johnny so money wouldn’t even be a thought when he finally took you on a real date.

“Elvis.” You were sitting up on your knees and scooting down to the end of the bed so you could reach out and grab his arms, tugging him towards you and wrapping yourself around his middle.

Your face was buried against his stomach that was heaving from the breaths he was taking, the embarrassing urge to cry hitting him hard.

It takes a few minutes for him to relax enough to make any sense of things, sinking back down on the end of the bed beside you. You’re still sitting on your knees and frowning as you lean against his side, kissing his jaw softly while he stares blankly ahead at his crooked dresser drawer.

He has a hard time feeling upset with you, he actually can’t remember a time he’d ever felt anything negatively about you in his entire life. Not even the same jealousy and stomach turning bitterness he’d get towards the other rich kids at school, never for you.

You deserved every bit of easiness in your life and he’d willingly live the same sad existence over and over if it met you got to have a warm house with a full fridge and two loving parents.

But Elvis was hurt.

And embarrassed because realistically, he should have known this was what was happening and maybe he did deep down.

You never let him meet any of the friends you talked about constantly, kept the polaroid photos of the two of you at the bottom of your magazine pile, and you’d practically thrown yourself away from him that time you bumped into your friend at the store.

He hadn’t seen you during the day in weeks, you snuck out before he woke up whenever you slept over and you’d been conveniently busy whenever he had tried to see you during a time you hadn’t decided.

Elvis had decided a long time ago that he would take whatever he could get from you so he couldn’t really blame you for only wanting him in private.

“Talk to me.” You whispered softly, rubbing his chest as you spoke and still kissing his skin like you’d be able to coax the words out of him.

“Why?” He tried not to sound so hurt and bitter but it laced the word, shaking his head and starting to shift away from your touch. “I don’t even think there’s a point in talking about this.”

You make a sudden dejected noise when he tries to move so he stops immediately and leans against you, his heart burning even more at the thought of upsetting you even though he’s seconds away from asking you to leave just so he can cry without feeling pathetic.

You cup his face with one hand and turn it so he’s facing you, kissing him softly as soon as he’s looking in your direction.

He can’t resist you, never has been able to, so he’s eagerly returning the gesture.

The kiss is heated and desperate despite the mood of the conversation, your leg sliding over his so you’re sitting in his lap instead. He sighs against your mouth and holds you tightly as he flips you both over so you’re back in the middle of the bed with him on top of you.

Your tongues in his mouth, hands tugging at the bottom of his tank top like you’re about to rip it off and you’re making these sweet little sounds that drive him crazy.

The combination of it all makes him inclined to tell his feelings to fuck off and just keep letting you use him in whatever way you need. He debates his choices and imagines a future where he only gets to see you when you decide, in the dark of night where nobody has to know you’re screwing around with a scum bag like Elvis Schmidt.

He wishes so desperately that the idea was less appealing to him but the alternative is somehow bleaker, to not have you at all and to go back to living by himself without the warmth and light you brought to his empty life.

“I love you.” He breathes it against your mouth without meaning to, wanting for you to know it if this is the last time he’s going to have you like this. You don’t stiffen or push him off of you and he figures it’s because there’s no surprise on your end.

You know Elvis loves you because of course he does.

You don’t say it back but you don’t stop kissing him and he decides right then and there that that’s enough for him.

It’s pathetic and he is well aware of that but he’s madly in love with a woman universes out of his league so he figures that’s pathetic within itself already.

You stay with him that night and come back again the next, almost every day for three weeks while he tries to forget about the idea of a real future with you.

He subtly adds the money he’d stolen back to his payments to Johnny, figuring he might as well keep working off his debt if he can’t take you on a date like he had planned.

Everything goes back to normal, or whatever normal was now, and you seem relieved that he doesn’t bring up the concept of being together again.

Elvis thinks he’s just beginning to get used to it too when a silent rule is broken between you.

He hadn’t known you’d be at the party because you called him hours ago saying you couldn’t come see him until later tonight because you were helping your mom with something around the house.

Maybe if he had some warning then he would have asked Johnny for a different task, gotten himself stuck in some shady apartment packing up inventory instead of strolling into a nice house on the good side of town with a backpack full of party favors.

Johnny didn’t typically send Elvis to deal and especially not at parties, telling him he scared off the customers or didn’t have the necessary social skills.

They were short handed enough that the job fell in his lap and he was so determined to get his mind off of you that he had accepted.

Except there you were.

Standing in the corner in an outfit straight out of his dreams and laughing with a girl he didn’t recognize, carefree and at home surrounded by other trust fund kids and the knowledge of a safe neighborhood outside the walls of the house.

His jaw tenses and he makes a mental note to be in and out as fast as possible, plan immediately halted when one of your friends locks eyes with him.

He vaguely finds her familiar and then sighs when he realizes it’s the girl from the grocery store who had eyed him suspiciously after you dropped his arm like he was diseased. Clearly she remembers him too because her lips curl up into a smirk before she’s nudging you and the other girl you’d been laughing with.

Whatever she says makes you freeze and you’re clearly hesitant to look in his direction.

He’d seen you with a lot of different expressions.

Soft and teasing was the most common one, sometimes irritated when you scolded him about his life style, and lost in pleasure when he was on top of you or between your legs. There was a handful of times he’d even thought he’d seen something more on your face, something closer to love than was probably true.

This one you had now was completely foreign to him. Your eyes were wide and your mouth parted in shock, panic going over your features when you met his eyes and only worsening when your friends started to drag you over.

“I know you.” One of the girls was speaking in a slurred voice, presumably the one from the store but he wasn’t sure because he was staring at you blankly.

You looked almost embarrassed, another new emotion and he felt the low heat of anger building in his stomach.

“Yeah?” He waited a few seconds after speaking to finally look at the girl next to you. “And how do you know me?”

She giggled obnoxiously, nothing like the soft one you’d give in his ear when he touched your sensitive skin or told you an embarrassing story to get you to laugh.

Her glassy eyes went to the backpack hanging off one shoulder before she was touching his arm. You tensed at the movement and he almost scoffed at the ironic reaction, the light show of jealously like you hadn’t given up any type of claim on him when you practically broke his heart a few weeks ago.

“You run with Johnny.” She said in a softer voice and he figured it was her attempt at being seductive. His eyes went back to you and found them to be pleading now. “I heard you’re a good salesman.”

He was confused for a second before she glanced at you and burst into a fit of giggles again.

Realization hit him hard and he felt like he was about to throw up when he understood what she was saying, why you were looking at him like that.

You’d clearly lied to her after being caught with him in the parking lot that day and the thought that you’d rather her think he was selling you drugs than just admitting to being with him made him nauseous.

It was more believable for you to be using hard drugs than to be actually enjoying his company, reducing him to a low life dealer so easily just to save your own reputation.

“So can we get some?” Your other friend was speaking up when he didn’t reply, tone bored and drawn in that strange way the wealthier girls all did (you as an exception).

“No.” His voice was flat and rough and surprise was passing over your face when he finally got the nerve to look at you again, never hearing him speak so sharply.

“What?” The grocery store girls high tone was back, eyebrows furrowing at the denial like she’d never heard the word before. He figured she might not have and got a little satisfaction from potentially being the first one to deliver it.

“Come on Elvis.”

Any smugness he was feeling was immediately sucked out of him at the sound of your sweet voice, a little more detached than normal like you were playing the part of somebody who didn’t know him as well as you did.

A painful pit in his stomach tightened at how desperate you looked, clearly wanting him to just go along with it and give you guys the drugs so he could leave and not make this turn into something more complicated.

He didn’t have a way to reply to you, couldn’t get himself to pretend he didn’t know you and definitely wasn’t going to hand you anything that could ever harm you. He tightened his grip on the backpack strapped and turned to push back through the crowd.

There was a thought in the back of his head about how Johnny would react to him bailing on the party, wasting the opportunity to sell to a bunch of dumb rich kids who didn’t know the difference between good shit and overpriced dirt.

But he knew he had to get away from you, so brainwashed by his love for you that he didn’t want to slip up and make your friends suspicious for your sake.

He was halfway across the lawn and back towards his car when he felt himself tugged back, defensiveness hitting him hard and then immediately fading when he turned to see you.

You had followed him, friends left behind inside and a guilty look on your face.

“Since when do you do drugs?” He snapped and you sighed at the sound of his voice, frustrated and hurt.

“I don’t okay?” You took a step closer to him and he immediately shook his head and put his hands out to stop you. “They wouldn’t shut up about it and they thought I had a hook up with you but I wouldn’t have done anything.”

He glared at you for a few seconds, almost unable to recognize the person in front of him.

“Don’t do that.” You moved closer again and this time he let you, folding the second your hands touched his face and pulled him down for a soft kiss. He knew you were only doing it because you were hidden in the shadows of the trees around you, far enough away from the party full of drunk people who wouldn’t pay any attention to two silhouettes kissing.

There’s a tense silence when you pull away and for the first time, he thinks you feel it too by the way you keep holding him like you know it’s the last time. The roles have reversed for once with you being the one who’s afraid you’re losing him.

“I can’t do this anymore.” He says it as softly as he can and tries not to backtrack the second your breath catches. Your hands tighten around his skin where they’re resting on his arms, forehead pressing against his shoulder as you start to shake your head when he tries to pull away.

“Elvis don’t.” You’re almost begging and he feels even more confused at the sound.

He knows you like being around him, you clearly enjoy the sex, and he’s seen parts of you he’s pretty confident you don’t show to anybody else but you’re still the one who refuses to let this be more.

So how can you stand here and beg him not to leave you when you’d just pretended he was a stranger like he wasn’t the one who knew you best in that house full of people.

“Tell your mom I say hi.” He knows it’s a little more than petty to throw your lie back in your face, both of you fully aware your mom has no idea he even exists, but his hurt has turned into anger at least for a brief moment and he’s using the momentum of it to make a decision he’d never be able to push through any other day.

Your face falls as he moves away and you go to grab for him again but he’s already out of reach, getting into his car and trying his best to not look out his mirror and run back to you as you stand there in the yard and watch him drive away.

—

The two weeks without you is torture to him.

He doesn’t even remember what his life was like before running into you again because there was nothing ever worth holding onto.

You’d been the only good thing in his life and now he was wrapped right back up in bad habits, passing out at Johnnys parties and waking up just to go on another bender in an attempt to drown out any thoughts of you that managed to creep through the haze.

He dreamt of you every night and he couldn’t even stomach the smell of your shampoo on his pillowcases, resorting to sleeping on his shitty couch and dealing with the pain in his back it would bring.

It’s even worse to sit there and think about the fact you probably aren’t bothered at all, maybe a little lonely now that you don’t have him at your every beck and call but he decides there’s no way you’re as destroyed by this as he is.

He only starts to rethink this when he wakes up to hard knocks at his door, a groggy glance at the clock on his living room coffee table tells him it’s far past midnight and he feels a sense of dread wash over him.

“Elvis?”

Your voice yanks him out of his sleep, pleading and breathy from behind the wooden barrier.

He’s on his feet immediately, getting tangled up in the small blanket he’d had thrown over his leg and nearly tripping over some empty beer bottles as he rushes to the door. You’re turning to walk away once he rips it open, both of your eyes wide as you look at each other.

“I’ve been coming for three days.” You breathe out and push past him to enter his apartment. He stands there for a second, still a little dazed from sleep and from seeing you outside his door. “Where the hell have you been?”

Elvis doesn’t want to explain the fact he’d been sleeping at Johnnys, too drunk or high to get himself home and not really wanting to be surrounded by reminders of you anyways. He stays quiet as he locks his door to turn and face you, staring at him as you wait for him to answer.

“You could’ve called.” He says calmly, voice a little too soft as he moves to go and sit back on the couch.

He buries his face in his hands, rubbing at his skin to try and get himself to wake up fully.

“You blocked me.” You accuse and his head shoots up at that, searching the messy coffee table for his phone and grabbing it once he spots it.

He goes to search for your contact but finds the answer sooner than that, the lack of service making it obvious what the issue was. He knew he had been out of it since you split up but the fact he hadn’t even remembered to pay his phone bill makes him feel sick, sighing and setting it back down without saying anything else for a long moment.

“Why are you here?” He sounds a little hopeless, definitely defeated and you come and join him on the couch although keeping your distance.

“I just… I needed to see you.” You whisper and your eyes stay locked on him.

He finally really looks at you, taking in how tired your eyes are and the messy state of your hair. You were still the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen but you were far less polished than normal, maybe a bit more affected than he had assumed you’d be.

“Are you sleeping with someone?” You ask suddenly and he freezes at the question, sending you a sharp glare that doesn’t ease your curious eyes. “You haven’t been home.”

“And that’s what you jump to?” He scoffs and you roll your eyes, scooting closer to him until your knees touch his thigh. You lean the side of your body against his couch cushions and only just now seem to notice the pillow from his room on the arm rest and his throw blanket on the floor.

“Why are you sleeping on the couch?”

“Did you come here to ask me twenty questions about my sleep habits?” His voice is sharper than he’d ever taken it with you and you flinch a little at the sound of it.

He falls silent from the guilt of snapping, sinking further back into the pillows and wishing they’d just swallow him whole at this point.

“I said I needed to see you.” You repeat and now you’re even closer, dangerously so considering he feels himself immediately and instinctively leaning towards the sound of your voice and the warmth of your skin.

Relief wracks through him when you’re finally touching him, just a soft hand on his chest as you rub it gently but it’s all he needs for the excruciating pain of the last few weeks to melt away. You’re like a calming palm to both his heart and the actual physical anguish he’d been feeling in your absence.

“I miss you Elvis.” You’re whispering but it lands like a scream and his eyes flutter shut just in time for you to lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth. You’re like a siren and he is so beyond willing to drown if it means you don’t leave his couch just yet. “You miss me too right?”

“You miss getting fucked.” He assumes and he wants to open his eyes just to see your reaction to that, to know if there’s any truth to the statement or if you’d be offended by him thinking that way.

But he can’t handle both looking at you and feeling you kiss his mouth lightly again so he keeps them closed for a few more seconds.

“That’s part of it.” You agree with a hum and he hates how easy this all seems for you, feels like he might be wrong judging by the state of you but wishes you’d just say it. “No one makes me feel like you do.”

He tenses at that and you stop kissing him so you can stare at him, eyes meeting when he finally opens his again.

“You tried with someone else?” He makes no attempt to sound less hurt than he feels at the idea.

Thankfully you immediately frown and start to shake your head, holding his face in your hands and pressing a soft kiss to his lips like an apology.

“Of course not.” You say and he relaxes at the quick answer, nudging his nose against yours until you kiss him again. “I wouldn’t do that Elvis. I… I do care about you.”

“You care about me.” He repeats it and you nod, holding eye contact. “I love you and you care about me.”

You sigh now and let him go, shifting away so you’re both sitting with your backs against the couch as you stare ahead at the muted TV.

“Does it make it any easier if I tell you I love you?” You ask blankly and he doesn’t really have a good answer. He selfishly feels his heart start to race at the words even leaving your mouth even though the context isn’t exactly romantic. “Because it makes it worse for me.”

“What can be worse?” He says back and he can feel you staring at the side of his face, only turning to meet your eyes when you don’t respond for a while.

You look sad, the first thing he notices after he has the looping thought about how beautiful you are. You even look pretty like this, eyes full of something he doesn’t understand and a small pout pulling your lips downwards.

“I don’t want to not see you Elvis.” You whisper and turn your body back in his direction, knees pulled up to your chest and looking so small and vulnerable as you finally have this conversation for the first time. “It kills me to not see you.”

“That’s exactly my problem. You see me and I don’t get to see you.” He isn’t sure how to explain it and all he can do is hope you understand what he means, judging by the way your face falls he thinks you just might have grasped the gist of it.

Elvis sits around like a dog waiting for your attention, comes when you call and sulks back to his cage until the next time you decide he’s worthy of praise again. Even now, weeks passed and he’s the one who walked away this time but he still is fully aware he’d do anything for you.

He would fall right back into the same cycle that was killing him before so you didn’t decide he’s wasn’t worth the effort anymore.

You’re shifting again and he lets you crowd his space, holds you gently when you rest your head against his chest and curl up in his lap. Your body relaxes to the point you let out a deep breath of relief, one that makes it seem like you’ve had just as many sleepless nights as he has.

He tries to not let himself hope that’s true because he doesn’t know how much more disappointment he can take from this.

“I want to see you okay?” You finally whisper, hands clenching into fist and bunching the fabric of his shirt up in them. He rubs your back and sighs, lets the words seep in and continue to foster that love for you he can’t get to die down no matter how hard he tries to stop nurturing it.

Elvis doesn’t need to hear you say that you love him back, will live the rest of his life in the shadows with you and never dare to complain again.

He can be happy, as long as the day ends with you like this, curled up on his chest and making promises you have no intention to keep.

[evilgrl-ssn]

hey siri, play Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter

[angelitairis]

pope n his girl be stimming tg. up in his room hooting n hollering. making all types of noises.

[evilgrl-ssn]

this made me giggle

[midnightgardentales]

🍃Tags/Warnings🍃: fluff, Worried!Pope, Lena and Pope cuteness ( do not separate🥹 ), AU where Pope has full custody of Lena ( and nothing bad happens ever… ), not just friends/not yet lovers trope

🍃Plot🍃: Lena’s feelin sick, Pope needs Y/N’s help…

🍃Characters🍃: Andrew “Pope” Cody x Fem!Reader

🍃Title🍃: Sick Days

🍃A/N🍃: based off of this request -> “I love Pope with Lena, there aren't many fics with them. ( only if their dynamic is something you want to write about) can do x reader too” oh honey, Pope and Lena are on my mind 24/7 lol! Hope you like it!

((Requests are ALWAYS open))

Masterlist

Pope stands in the office looking as out of place as a preschooler at a bar. His sunglasses stay on, head held high, and ignoring the glances he keeps getting from the lady running the front desk.

The buzzer to the main entrance rings out, and Pope’s shoulders slouch as Lena walks over with a school nurse following.

“What happened?” Pope asks the seven year old girl who sheepishly looks down.

“I felt sick in class..” She mutters quietly, not looking at her uncle. He frowns and glances at the nurse who looks just as lost as he is.

“Did you eat something?” Pope asks.

Lena mutters something that he can’t make out. He frowns, dropping the interrogation for now. “Let’s get you home..” He sighs, already grabbing at her bookbag so she knows to give it to him. She shrugs off the bag and follows him out to his car.

The ride home is silent and for once, the quiet worries Pope. He steals glances at Lena in the backseat of his car, watching with hands gripping the steering wheel as the little girl keeps her big brown eyes glued to the passing scenery outside her window.

As soon as they’re pulled into Pope’s driveway, he’s already making his mind up over who to call.

Y/N.

She was a newly hired medic at the underground center he fought at. Something about their first ever meeting had stuck with him. Now, he only trusted her to patch him up. And.. He definitely trusted her around Lena. He moves around the car, getting Lena out and carrying her inside as he practices in his head how he’s going to call Y/N.

“Can I lay on the couch?” Lena asks, voice soft. Pope pauses. He’s no expert, but he’d been on his way to instantly put Lena in bed, assuming she’d rather her comfortable mattress instead. But he doesn’t argue with her. He sets her on the couch and instantly grabs a throw blanket for her and tucks her in, wanting her completely snugged.

“Can I watch tv?” Lena asks innocently, looking up at Pope. He hums and hands over the remote.

“Nothing inappropriate..” He says. She nods certainly, smiling a bit as she gets comfortable. He watches her worriedly as he backs away outside into the backyard so he can openly make his phone call.

The phone rings a good two to three times before it stops. Shuffling is heard on the other end. “Andrew?” Y/N asks gently. Pope sighs shakily at hearing her voice. He doesn’t speak for a moment.

Crap, he forgot the script he’d planned out in his head…

“I need…” He pauses and clears his throat roughly. There’s a long pause. As if he’s rethinking his sentence.

Rethinking this call.

Last time he spoke to Y/N, she made it very clear that she liked him. Had kissed him good luck before his fight that night. And that kiss… His brain had damn near short circuited because of that kiss.

He didn’t know kissing could be so… Intimate.

“Need what, Andrew?” Y/N asks slower now, wanting him to remember how she’d told him multiple times before, him reaching out wasn’t a bother.

“It’s Lena.” He finally says. “She’s..” He paces his backyard a bit. “Sick.” He says. “I… I need you to.. I need you to fix her.” He finally mutters.

Y/N smiles a bit at the terminology used but.. He was getting the hang of it, at least. “I’ll be there in 15..” She assures certainly.

*

*

*

“Stick out your tongue. Say ‘ahh’…” Y/N smiles as Lena sheepishly does just that. The young girl had been so excited to see Y/N when she first got here, but when she saw the med duffle bag on her shoulder, she’d instantly grown quiet again.

“Hm..” Y/N mumbles softly as she turns the flashlight off. Pope paces the area behind the couch. “What was hurting again?” She asks gently. She’s only known Lena for maybe two weeks now. Hell, she’s only known Pope for about a month, but she was instantly getting the gist of what was actually going on here..

“My stomach…” Lena mumbles, her voice so soft and quiet it actually melts Y/N’s heart. She nods for the young girl to continue. “And… My head.” She says slower.

“Anything else?” Y/N asks curiously.

“My… Throat.” Lena says, watching Y/N closely. It was almost like Lena was hoping to see if Y/N was buying this or not. “And my… Uh…” Lena shifts a bit.

“You think maybe your fingers too?” Y/N suggests, scrunching her nose a bit as if understanding the pain. It was a trap though. And when Lena nods fast, she knows she’s got her.

“Okay. I’m gonna talk to your uncle real quick, honey. You rest.” Y/N says. Lena nods and settles back down on the couch.

Y/N steps outside with Pope following close behind. “What’s the plan? Hospital?” He asks instantly after shutting the sliding glass door. Y/N presses her lips together as she turns to face him fully.

“I… Andrew, I don’t think Lena is sick..” Y/N begins softly.

“What? Of course she’s sick, she said she’s sick.” Pope says as if that’s the only evidence needed.

“Yeah. She said she’s sick, but.. She has no temperature, no flushed cheeks, no irritability..-” Y/N lists gently.

“My niece is not a liar.” Pope says quickly, instantly getting defensive. Y/N doesn’t even blink. Most would shudder at his tone of voice. His dark eyes.

She didn’t.

Because she knew who was standing in front of her right now. And it wasn’t Pope. It was Andrew.

Y/N knew only two things about ‘Pope Cody’. It was rare she got to see him outside of the cage. He could be dangerous, and he was quick to anger.

But she also knew a lot about ‘Andrew Cody’. The main two things being he’s a good man.

And he’d never even dream of hurting her.

She softly steps closer, placing a hand hovered above his chest as he reels himself back in. “I’m sorry.” He mutters. She gently touches his chest only when he gives a very slight nod to do so.

“I’m not calling Lena a liar.” She assures softly. “But… I am saying her symptoms are making no sense. And that maybe she wanted to come home for a different reason.” Y/N says simply.

“Like what?” He asks, completely lost now.

“Well… Why don’t you ask..?” Y/N suggests gently. Pope hesitates for a second before nodding. He steps back inside, finding Lena engrossed in her cartoons.

“So… Good news is it’s not bad. What you have..” Pope begins. Lena looks over at her uncle and her eyes narrow slightly.

“That’s good..” She says quietly, hands kneading at the blanket on her. Pope walks over to sit on the edge of the couch by her.

“Bad news is… You aren’t sick.” He says gently. “Are you..” He whispers as he watches her face. She opens her mouth fast to defend herself before just giving up on the lie now, her bottom lip trembles. Pope wants to end the conversation right here. Apologize for upsetting her, assure her that he believes her. But he stays strong.

“I’m sorry I lied..” She gives in. Lena was a good kid. Pope knew this was probably crushing her to lie.

“Why? What happened?” Pope asks quietly. “I… Roo…” He seems at a loss of words honestly. She sits up more, staring down at her hands.

“I…” She sighs. “I had a quiz...” Lena finally admits and Pope blinks a bit, shoulders slumping in relief that it wasn’t anything like a bully situation. He didn’t wanna have to attack a kid..

“A quiz?” He asks. She nods fast.

“Science.” She sighs. “I wasn’t ready, so I… Said I was feeling sick. I’m so sorry, Uncle Andrew..” She says as she finally looks up at him with her brown eyes already glossy with tears. She always resembled a puppy when she did that. And it always melted Pope to bits.

“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?” He asks.

“I thought you’d make me go back into school..” She admits sheepishly. He chuckles at that.

“Roo… I am the last person to force someone into school.” He snorts, remembering his childhood before shaking his head. “I mean… You are smart. You can, and will, handle school.” He quickly corrects as she looks down with a soft frown.

“But..” He continues as she looks up at him again. “Everyone deserves at least one sick day.” He nods, letting her know she’s not in trouble. She sighs in relief and quickly wraps her arms around his neck to hug him. He smiles slightly as he holds her close.

“But you will be studying for that quiz. And I’ll help you.” Pope adds. She groans at that, tossing her head back. “You thought those eyes were gonna make me forget? Nope. Go get the text book.” He smirks as she playfully pouts getting up from the couch.

She pauses though. “Can Y/N stay? To help me study?” She asks hopefully. Pope pauses and looks towards the glass sliding door at Y/N.

She’s standing by the pool, arms around herself as she gives them the space needed to work this out. He smiles a bit. The last time they saw each other, they spent the entire night just kissing. It was the best Pope has felt since… Well, since first getting custody of Lena..

Lena smiles as she watches her uncle watch Y/N. He notices and chuckles a bit. “I’ll ask. You go get your bag.” He says. She giggles and runs off to her room.

Pope walks over and opens the sliding glass door. Y/N looks over. “All good?” She asks.

“It was a quiz. She was nervous to take it. Tried to get out of it..” Pope explains softly as Y/N walks over to him, chuckling softly.

“Classic move.” She nods, understanding.

“It is?” Pope asks.

“Yeah. You never acted sick as a kid to get out of something?” She asks and he shifts a bit on his feet before simply shaking his head. She hums softly.

“I told her I’d help her study.” He explains. Y/N nods at that, assuming that’s her cue to leave until he continues. “If you…” He looks down. “If you wanna stay, you can.. Help us both. It’s science.” He admits. She chuckles softly at that and bites her lip as she moves a bit closer to him.

“I can happily help teach you and Lena science.” She teases softly as he smiles sheepishly. She eyes him as she slowly wraps her arms around his neck. He instantly grips her waist. It’s second nature to him at this point.

“You know,” She begins. “All these favors, and I’m still waiting for an actual date..” She points out playfully.

Pope smiles slightly at that as he somewhat looks away. “Think you can… Take a sick day tomorrow, then?” He finally asks softly.

Y/N paused for a split second before she giggles softly. “You know… Now that you mention it..” She trails off as she looks up at him and makes a show of timidly covering her mouth. She begins to fake cough before over-dramatically batting her eyelashes at him. “I might be coming down with something.” She whispers.

Pope smiles, completely smitten as he leans in close to kiss her. Y/N gladly kisses back, just as tender as that first night.

Lena watches from the doorway of her bedroom, covering her mouth as she smiles at her uncle’s happiness before slyly and silently shutting her bedroom door…

!!The End!!

[lunarbre4th]

Warning: slight NFSW

Hockey player! Andrew Cody x reader

-

You’re typically good at making sure you don’t leave your stuff laying around Smurfs house.

If you do it’s only a jacket left on the couch or a pair of shoes taken off at the sliding door. You knew Andrew hated mess so you always tried your best never to leave one for him.

Recently when you started reading more, somewhere in the house you could always be found with a book in your hands silently reading to yourself. Andrew knew that you enjoyed reading but in the last week he hasn’t even gotten you all to himself unless it was going to sleep.

He wasn’t going to admit it but he was jealous of fucking books. Words on paper had more of your attention than he did.

It wasn’t until you left it sitting on the kitchen table did he finally understand why it had you in a trance. He was just going to pick it up and put it back in his room for you for later, but instead he let the curious side of him win choosing to take a peak.

The page you left off on had his jaw slacked, he knew you were a dirty girl but this just left out for anyone to grab would let them know too.

It was funny to him that it was a hockey book based off of the summary on the back he had to instantly read before taking in more of the story you had gotten too.

Smirking to himself Andrew just continued to read making sure to leave your book mark on the original page because god knows he doesn’t want to face your wrath for that.

Making his way to his room, He lost track of time. He finally understood why this has held your attention.

It was captivating and fucking hot.

It was 5pm by the time you got to the house it was basically home at this point. You opened the gate to pool entrance and head towards the sliding door.

No one else besides Andrew is home you can tell from the truck being the only vehicle in the driveway, so you announce yourself before continuing to walk in the whole way.

He doesn’t reply though, it isn’t till you reach his door do you realize why.

Sitting back on his bed Andrew is engrossed by your book. Your book. The one you left by mistake in the kitchen.

Walking in to the room he doesn’t even acknowledge you at first he just continues to read. It’s evident that the book is doing something to him based off of the buldge that has formed in his jeans.

And that image does something for you. Slowly walking over to where your boyfriend sits you slide the book out of his hands.

He doesn’t argue just stares at your face before breaking out into a goofy smile and just like you thought the teasing begins.

You try to look away from him as you put the book on the side table, but Andrew has other plans.

He pulls you over into him and on his lap. Embarrassed you head finds its way to the crook of his neck mumbling words he can’t figure out. Andrew doesn’t want you to feel this though he wants to make you feel how the girl in the book was feeling. So he grabs your hips and grinds you down on his hardening member.

This was the start to the best sex of your entire life and it was all thanks to a smutty romance book.

Andrew would never admit it but he is very glad you left it.

[evilgrl-ssn]

i love these! give me more young!pope people!