cw - nsfw minors dni, implied afab reader but can be read as gender neutral
short and sweet (only one of those applies to langdon)
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Dr Frank Langdon who will beg you to let him eat you out. It's his little ritual after he finishes inside you. He gets on his knees in front of you, whispering soft pleads while his head rests on your upper thigh. He'll happily lap up his own cum, making your legs shake with overstimulation. He moves your hand to hold his hair. Partially to keep it out of his face but mostly so he can feel you tug on it when you're close.
Dr Frank Langdon is so vocal during. He mumbles sweet nothings into the space between your ear and your neck while he pounds into you. His words will melt into each other because you're making him feel so good he just can't concentrate. He'll moan prettily when he bottoms out and get louder and louder as he gets close. If you're loud in bed, he will bite his lip to stop himself from drowning you out. He wants to hear every little noise out of that mouth. Granted, he's terrible at keeping quiet and it will always end in him burying his head in your shoulder and moaning.
Dr Frank Langdon just wants to make you cum one more time. He rarely begs for this, he's more on the side of "come on, i know you can give me another" or "you just look so pretty when you cum, i have to". He's helping you ride out your orgasm and giving you slow, small strokes. Your eyes are a little glazed over and you're making such beautiful sounds for him. He just has to see that over and over again. Fucking it into you that he loves you so, so much.
Dr Frank Langdon is so eager to please that his own pleasure is a second thought. Seeing you under him, moaning and mewling, because of him is already stimulating. Being inside you, touching you all over, hearing his name leave your lips. Anything he feels from you is just a bonus. And god forbid you offer to go down on him. He'll indulge you and let you lick it a little but he'll pull you off and insist he has to return the favour immediately.
Dr Frank Langdon falls asleep almost immediately after. He can have all the stamina in the world to make you cum over and over but as soon as busts he's out like a light. He's expelled all his energy with his seed spilling out of your hole.
i want a very specific type of titus fic so i must write it myself
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The farmer's market is perfect this time of year. Springtime means good growing conditions and therefore the best produce. You wander around aimlessly, enjoying samples, and constructing a receipe for dinner in your head. The pleasant scent from the flower stalls meddles well with fresh baked bread and pastries. You treat yourself to a drink to sweeten your errands.
You collect the ingredients for tonight. Checking vegetables for crispness using the old wives tales your mother told you. Thinking of how she'd try to haggle if she was here. You debate making the investment in fresh cream top milk. The stall owner is showing other buyers the cows that helped produce it and it's tugging at your heart strings. You pull yourself away from images of cute milk cows and focus on finding the perfect loaf of bread.
The smell of yeast and carbs is persuading you to spend more than you should. The stall has a banner with a charming cartoon chef on it. Despite the markets only being open for an hour or so, the shelves of bread are quickly depleting. The round loaves of bread with decorative scoring looks appealing. You will most definitely have a fresh bread and butter appetiser to dinner tonight. You select two loaves: one with a daisy scored into it and one cut to look like a pumpkin. You leave the baker a tip and shoot them a compliment on their work.
The stall next to the baker stand is a selection of antique silverware. Not in your budget by any means but the metal is catching the sun in such an appealing way. The stall owner greets you and begins their pitch. You listen to their schpiel with an absent-minded smile. The dishes look like something your grandmother would keep locked in a glass cabinet. Your eyes catch the reflection of a man in one of the silver plates.
He's tall with a stern face. The silver of his hair mirrors the silver of the place you're staring at him through. Dressed for colder weather, with a fleece vest over a sweater. There's an embroidered crest that you can't quite make out on his breast pocket. He looks expensive enough for cream top milk. You break away from your trance. Hurriedly, thanking the stall owner for their time.
You're still holding one of the loaves in your bare hands and try to shove it into your bag without turning it into croutons. The bags you brought are much too small for the amount of ingredients you had planned. It does give you a good excuse to buy a new tote bag. You scour the markets for an appropriate stall and sense something in your peripherals.
The man is to your left by a mobile coffee shop. He's casually leaning against the side of it. You could swear his head is turned to you but blame it on a trick of the light. You dismiss it and head towards a handmade clothing stall that has matching bags hung on one of their walls.
The bags are arranged in rainbow order. You chat away happily with the stall owner while you finger through their wares.
"You should get the blue one," A voice says from behind you. "it'll bring out your eyes."
You turn so fast you could've drilled a hole in the ground. It's the man from the silvershop, and the coffee place, and now the clothing stall. His eyes look much more piercing close up. You can make out the word 'Danforth' under the crest on his vest. He has a slight smirk on his mouth and his head is slightly tilted back. Mr Mystery himself.
"Oh, thank you." You offer him a smile before turning back to the stall owner. You grab the closest tote and tap your card. As you walk past him to leave, his mouth opens as if he's about to say something. You make a beeline for the last stall on your list before he has the chance.
There's a butcher set up right towards the end of the markets. Close to your parked car. You great the butcher with, no doubt, a terrified smile. They offer you a small cut of salami while you browse. You gladly accept and add it to your mental list. You pick a few choice cuts and accept another piece of salami while you pay. You can see the man in the reflection of the meat fridge. He's not too far but close enough to make you sweat. He's probably still following you. You probably pissed him off by snubbing him. But, if you get out of the markets quick, he won't follow you out. Probably.
What you don't know can't hurt. You distribute your groceries into your bags, only slightly crushing the loaves. You barely balance the totes enough to wrench your car keys out of your pocket. Your knee leans against the trunk for stability.
"Would you like a hand?" You can feel him standing less than a metre away from you. His cologne is meddling with the scent of fresh bred and flowers.
"Are you following me?" You ask bluntly, turning to face him.
"Do I need to repeat myself?" He cocks an eyebrow.
"Yes, please." You give in. He snakes beside you and takes both bags in one hand. He grabs your keys and pops the trunk. You stay at an arms length just in case you have to snatch them back and wack him in the head.
"Are you?" You repeat.
"Am I what?" He doesn't look up as he loads your groceries.
"You know what I mean." You cross your arms across your chest.
"So what if I am," He turns to face you. "it looks like you need someone tagging along with you."
"I can handle myself." You huff.
"Like you handle those bags?" He cocks an eyebrow.
"Do you follow every one around the markets or am I just lucky?" You close your trunk.
"You're definitely lucky." He says smugly.
"You need to find a more effective flirting method." Your brow furrows.
"Call me the next time your at the markets," He hands you a card. "I'll carry the bags."
You read his business card. His number is written on the top in pen.
Titus Danforth
Heir, Entreupeneur, Businessman
You get a closer look at the crest that adorned his vest and his card. A crest you'd seen at your doctors office, on your insurance card, and at the bottom of every news website. If you didn't call him, it's likely he could fuck up your life. Probably.
It's an arrangement you suggested. Your schedules had a nasty habit of conflicting and dimishing your one on one time. Dates were easy to plan around your days off but intimacy was much harder. You two were spur-of-the moment types. Spontaneity was part of the thrill. Free use was a way to keep that. Jack was, naturally, more than happy to oblige.
When you first broached the subject, he didn't really understand the appeal. He loved being able to hear you, see how your face contorts under him. You explained to him how hot it is to wake up to an orgasm. How much it turns you on to know he's having his way with you and making you his. You may have mentioned how lonely you can get during the day when he's napping. How many times you've fantasised about helping yourself to him. Grinding on his cock until its stiff and ready to split you open. Or taking him in your mouth until his hips stutter subconsciously.
The first time he took up your offer was after a long shift. Everyone had scurried off before he could hang around and chat. He missed you too much to brood on the roof so it was straight home. He was in desperate need of a decompress. You were laid out in your shared bed, tangled in the sheets. Wearing nothing but one of his shirts and a pair of panties. The tight fabric of your underwear to accentuated every curve. Your scent meddled pleasantly with the cologne on his shirt. You looked perfect.
You mewled in your sleep, rolling over to reveal a small wet patch right at your core. If he was any harder, it would've popped right out of his scrubs. He drank up the sight of you. Your hair was messy from tossing and turning. A little drool down your chin. So comfortable and so inviting. Gently, he pulled the sheet away from you and spread your legs open. The cool of his hands on your thighs brought up goose bumps.
"Shh, baby," He cooed. "it's just me."
He held his palm against your crotch before rubbing your clit through the fabric. Slow, concentrated circles. Your hips bucked upwards into his hand. He could feel the heat radiating off of you, pulling him in. He added more pressure. Your breath hitched. His digits worked your clit in response to your body's movements. A groan. A little faster. A pull away. Back to slow and steady.
Your head fell back on the pillow, exposing your throat. His shirt rode up above your navel. You writhed under his touch. He moved his attention upwards. He pulled the shirt off of you, being met with more goosebumps and a quiet mumble. Your tits bounce slightly with every rise and fall of your chest. Propped up his arm, he took your tit in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around your nipple, listening to your heart beat steadily faster. He pulled away with a small pop. His tongue licked a stripe between your cleavage and up towards your neck. Followed with kisses trailing up to your jawline.
"Missed you so much today, baby," He groaned. "gonna make you feel so good."
He placed one tender kiss to your lips before lowering himself to your pelvis. You tasted of toothpaste and lip balm. He licked you off of his lips and swallowed. He grabbed the waistband of your panties and pulled them off, stuffing them into his back pocket for later. Your slick made your pussy glisten in the dim lighting.
"Is this all for me?" He mumbled, grinning to himself.
You babbled incoherantly in response. Your eyebrows furrowed at the cold air hitting you. He smirked even more. You were right, it is hot to have you at his mercy. He stared breathlessly at you. Normally, you don't let him admire you for long before you're begging. Your back was slightly arched into him. Your thighs laid open around him. So, so perfect.
He licked a fat stripe from your hole to your clit. The taste of your slick tasted so much more sweet and addictive. Working you up through your panties had soaked up some of your juices but he could still feel it drip down his chin. He lapped his tongue at your swollen clit. Starting fast and hard. He grabbed your thighs and pulled your pussy as close to his face as possible. His hands dug into your plush flesh, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. Determined to drag out your pleasure, he slowed down at any sign of coming close. Any movement of your hips or moan and he'd pull away for a moment.
He indulged in teasing you. He can be too nice with you, letting you cum to your heart's content even when you're being a brat. But now, he could work you up as much as he wanted. He sucked love bites into your thighs between eating you out. Deep red and purple marks that screamed his name. He could feel his dick straining against his pants and pressing into the mattress. He grinded his hips in time with the strokes of his tongue.
He groaned into your pussy. He tried to keep teasing you but the friction to his cock made his stokes sloppy. He sped up subconsciously, rutting harder. He could feel your heartbeat through your clit. Your hips were grinding against his face, his grip now loosened and his focus lost. Completely in his own world of pleasure. Having a face full of you only made the whole thing hotter. He could feel himself getting close to cumming in his pants. He moved his tongue at a punishing pace, determined to finish with you.
"J-Jackie!" You moaned, starting to wake.
"Hey, baby," He grinned, his chin wet with you. "how did you sleep?"
"Like someone had their tongue in me." You pulled him away from your pussy.
summary: after a chance encounter, you become all andrew thinks about while he's in prison. once he's released, he does whatever is necessary to make you his
pairing: andrew 'pope' cody x reader
words: 4k
chapter tags: 18+, stalker!pope, pervy!pope, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, andrews special interest is no longer crime - it's you, stalking, breaking and entering, clothes sniffing, male masturbation
authors note: this is part 1! also PLEASE read the tags, and also let me know what you think!!
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One moment of kindness, that's all it took for Andrew to become obsessed with you.
It happened just one day before Andrews disastrous bank robbery that landed him in federal prison. He was at a flower stand, buying a bouquet for Cath and he was stuck between two options. Cath had been cold to him ever since their drunken one night stand and he wanted to smooth things over with flowers. Somewhere in his mind, he was buying the flowers in hopes of wooing her away from Baz.
"Can't decide?" A beautiful, almost melodic voice said. Andrew turned to his left to see you standing there, a small bouquet tucked in the crook of your arm and a kind smile on your face. Andrews eyes moved over you quickly, methodically cataloguing everything. You were wearing a long flowy dress in a light blue colour that complimented you perfectly. Your hair was out of your face so he could see your brilliant eyes and full lips clearly. You were staring expectantly at him and he looked back down at the two different bouquets in his hands.
"I'm not sure which one she would like more."
"Tell me about her." You said, offering some help. Andrew paused for a moment, thinking, before he told you about Cath. The way she looked and her personality, and with a few curious questions from you, he told you what kind of a mother she was and how she decorated her home.
"That one." You stated confidently as you pointed to the flowers in Andrews left hand. "They're as bright and strong as she is." You gave him a smile before moving over to where the flower stand owner was with his money box. Andrew stared at you for moment as you talked to the owner before looking back down at the bouquets in his hands. He decided you were right and placed the other bouquet back where he'd grabbed it.
"She's a lucky woman," You called out to Andrew as you moved away from the stand, walking backwards. "Have a nice day!" You walked off with a happy skip in your step and Andrew watched you go as he stepped up to the owner, his hand reaching for his wallet in his coat pocket.
"It's already been covered buddy." The owner said, making Andrew look at him.
"What?"
"That lady paid for your bouquet for you." He replied nonchalantly.
"Why?" Andrew asked, genuinely confused. Why would you do that? You didn't even know him.
"She said you looked down and upset," The owner said, gesturing at Andrews face. "She thought paying for your flowers would make you smile." The owner shrugged, not interested in the act of kindness in the slightest. Andrew turned around looking for you but you'd disappeared into the crowd. He stood there for a moment, scanning the street for your blue dress, hoping to see you. But you were gone.
Andrew didn't know what to think of your kind gesture. He'd never experienced something like this before. Every nice deed done for him was always followed with the expectation of a favour in the future. Nice deeds were conditional and transactional in his life, they were never given to Andrew without strings attached. Nice deeds were never actually nice.
But what you'd just done for him was.
You had no ulterior motive, you left the stand without even waiting for a thank you from him or an acknowledgment of a good deed done. You didn't even know Andrew. You did something nice, not knowing you'd affected Andrew deeply. You'd just been another costumer, someone picking up a bouquet of beautiful flowers on your way home, who decided to show Andrew some kindness just because you felt like it. Who paid for his flowers because you thought it would make him smile. Who thought he was deserving of a nice gesture.
Andrew thought about you for the rest of day, even when he gave Cath the flowers, even when he and Baz went over the details for the robbery. Andrew thought about you after he was arrested, arraigned and sentenced. He thought about you all 1,123 days of his prison sentence, about your smile and your eyes and your voice. He imagined you as he fell asleep and you were his first thought in the morning. He created a fantasy to help him through the tedious days, the madness of solitary confinement, the torture from the guards. He told the other prisoners about his kind girlfriend who loved flowers and making people smile who was waiting for him on the outside. Andrew thought about you so much until he genuinely believed that you were his, that he was meant to meet you right before he was arrested, like a guardian angel who would help him survive the last 3 years. Even if you didn't know it.
And Andrew vowed that when he was released, he'd find you again and make you his.
And that's exactly what Andrew did. Find you that is.
After reuniting with his family and getting set up in a motel for the foreseeable future, Andrew returns to the street he first saw you. He even finds the flower stand and the owner, but the man is less than helpful and doesn't want to do Andrew any favours.
So Andrew wanders up and down the street, day after day, for a whole week, looking for you. He stays in the area and sits for hours on a bench in view of the flower stand, his eyes scanning the street for your beautiful face. As the days dragged on Andrew tried to not get discouraged by all the different possibilities in front of him. You could have moved away, you could be in the hospital, you could have dyed your hair and made yourself unrecognizable to him. Your trip to the flower stand might have been a fluke instead of something you did in your weekly routine, meaning Andrew probably wasn't going to find you again.
On Friday he decided to branch out, combing the adjacent streets for your sparkling eyes and bright smile. Around three in the afternoon he decided to stop inside a diner on the corner to grab a quick bite to eat before returning to his search. A bright red haired woman in her fifties behind the counter told Andrew to sit wherever he wanted as she busied herself with refilling the napkin dispensers during the mid afternoon lull. Andrew sat at a booth in the corner, his back to the wall and the whole room visible to him. He glanced down for a second at the menu already on the table and was disturbed a moment later by a beautifully familiar voice.
"Do you need a minute, or can I get something started for you?" Andrews head snapped up to look at the waitress standing next to his table and saw that it was you. The girl of his dreams, the topic of all his thoughts and fantasies for the past three years, the person who'd kept him going through all the pain and agony in prison was standing in front of him, real and alive.
Andrew was staring, he knew that he was, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. You were wearing a yellow waitress uniform, which you were of course pulling off well. Your hair was away from your face like last time, probably for hygiene purposes at work, and you stood ready to take his order with the tip of your pen resting on an open notepad. Your fingernails were manicured and well maintained and there was a freckle on the back of your hand that he'd never noticed before.
"Sir?" You prompted, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Andrew blinked, probably for the first time in a full minute, and swallowed hard, doing nothing to sooth his incredibly dry throat. His eyes flickered to the neckline of your uniform and he could see a heart shaped locket around your neck. Were you a romantic? Was it a family heirloom, something sentimental? Or was it a gift from an old boyfriend? Or worse, a current one?
"Coffee, black," He managed to say, his heart beating rapidly against his ribs. "Please." He added on, remembering his manners. You gave him a tentative smile and nodded.
"I'll go grab that for you and give you some time with the menu." You spun around on your heel - you were wearing sensible, rubber soled shoes - and headed to the coffee machine. Andrew watched you go and noted the spring in your step that was identical to the one you had when he saw you three years ago. Was that how you walked all the time or did you only do that when you were happy? Were you happy right now?
You moved around the diner with ease, clearly comfortable here, and Andrew realized that you must have worked here for a while. You snagged a white coffee mug from behind the counter and poured Andrew a mug of hot coffee. He knew he only had about sixty seconds before you returned to the table but he couldn't bring himself to pull his eyes away from you.
This felt like fate. Andrew had loitered near the flower stand for almost a full week and the first day he explores the adjoining streets, he walks into your diner when you're on shift and sits in your section. There were so many things that could have happened differently and he would have missed you completely. But that hadn't happened. Instead he found you, and it felt the universe or God was telling him this was meant to be. That he was meant to find you again.
You set the coffee down in front of Andrew and raised your notepad again, smile on your face.
"Know what you want?"
"Um," Andrew clearly his throat as quietly as he could. He looked lamely down at the menu, unsure what to get. He decided to take a risk. "What do you recommend?"
"Oh I'd recommend any of the breakfast items, but that's because I love breakfast food. If you're looking for more lunch options I'd say the classic burger or the club sandwich is a good bet." Andrew glanced down at the menu and picked the first breakfast item he saw.
"I'll have the classic breakfast." His choice seemed to delight you, your smile transforming from a tentative one reserved for customers to a real one, big and bright. Your smile warmed Andrew like the California sun and he felt it all the way into his toes.
"Excellent choice, I'll get that started for you. Just flag me down if you need anything else." You spun around again and headed off the the kitchen, the skirt of your uniform swishing as you walked. Andrew blinked once you were out of sight, coming back to himself. He turned his attention to the steaming mug of coffee in front of him and played the interaction with you over and over in his head.
The way your eyes crinkled as you smiled. How you tapped the tip of your pen on your notepad when you answered his question. How you liked breakfast food.
Andrew filed all of this information away in his brain. There was still a lot that Andrew needed to learn. Your name was one thing. None of the waitresses were wearing nametags so Andrew would have to ask you for your name or figure it out some other way. Andrew also needed to learn what your work schedule was so he could return to the diner on a day you were working.
You brought out Andrews plate of food after a few minutes and ended up making his life easier by offering your name up voluntarily to him. You told him your name and told him to raise his hand or call out to you if he needed anything. And just like that you were gone again, off to refill coffees for the handful of other people in the diner. Andrew said your name softly to himself, rolling the letters around his tongue and lips, getting used to the feeling. He liked how your name sounded, he felt like it fit you well.
Andrew ate slowly over the next hour, doing what he could to prolong the meal and keep observing you. After getting over the initial shock of seeing you he started to regain his composure and watched you the same way he would case a joint before he robbed it. He was careful to not look too long or draw attention from you, the staff, or other costumers. He made note of how the other staff interacted with you and how you behaved with the other costumers. When he needed coffee refills, he called you over by catching your eye and raising his hand, and he kept the small talk light and short. All the information was filed away and stored for whenever Andrew might need it.
By the time Andrew finished his meal the dinner rush was just starting to trickle in and he knew he'd have to observe you from outside the diner for the rest of the evening. He stood, pulling out his wallet and dropping a wad of bills on the table while you were seating an elderly couple and hanging up their jackets for them.
Kind as always. Andrew thought to himself.
Andrew passed you as he walked towards the exit and your head snapped up towards him, probably concerned he was dining and dashing. You looked over at the table he'd vacated and saw the stack of bills, your concern evaporating. You wished him a good day and headed to the table to grab the money.
Andrew moved to a spot across the street where he could see you through the diner window but you couldn't see him. He watched as you counted the bills three times, your brows furrowing more and more with each count. You looked up and out the window, your eyes scanning the street for Andrew but you didn't see him.
He'd left a fifty dollar tip on a fifteen dollar meal.
Andrew wanted you to have it. Pretty soon he'd be paying for everything for you and you wouldn't have to worry about making ends meet, he'd take care of you. But for now he could help you out with some cash.
Andrew spent the rest of the day watching you from a spot that couldn't be seen by security cameras in the area or by people passing by. He didn't want anyone to notice him or question what he was doing. At the end of the night when the diner closed at ten, you walked to your car alone in the dark. Andrews mouth twitched in annoyance, his feet begging to move forward and escort you to your car but he stayed put in the shadows.
You shouldn't be walking alone in the dark anywhere, much less in the parking lot after work. Anyone could be waiting for you in the dark, hiding just out of sight. Andrew would fix this habit soon enough. He'll walk you to your car after every shift, hell, he'll pick you up after every shift and drive you home himself. You shouldn't have to drive yourself home after a long day spent on your feet. If you'd let him, Andrew would carry you around after your shifts so you could rest your aching feet.
Andrew noted the make and model of your car and committed the license plate to memory. The next day he was back, but he didn't go in the diner, he didn't want to draw attention to himself just yet. Andrew watched you from his truck the whole day, making note of the time you arrived at work and when you left. He did this for two weeks to get a good sense of your schedule and on the second night he followed you home, at a discreet distance.
You lived in an apartment complex that required a key fob to get in, which Andrew appreciated. Any obstacle he ran into was one that a predator would also run into if they were trying to follow and hurt you. But a determined man could get around any obstacle if they were smart enough and Andrew proved this when he was able to enter your building by following closely behind another resident who was going inside.
You'd entered the lobby moments before Andrew had and he watched from a distance as you walked onto the elevator. He watched the electronic numbers above the elevator go to the sixth floor so he slipped into the stairwell and ran up to the sixth floor to follow you, taking the stairs two at a time. He watched from the tiny window on the stairwell door as you turned right out of the elevator, passing by Andrew, who ducked down to avoid being seen, and opening the apartment door that was two down from the stairwell.
Andrew stepped out into the hallway and took note of what door you'd gone into - 628. He stopped dead in the hallway, the numbers sending a spike of shock through him. If Andrew wasn't already sure that the two of you were meant to be, this confirmed it for him.
Your apartment number was his birthday. June 28th. 628.
At the soonest opportunity, Andrew broke into your apartment.
He knew you were at work and he simply picked the lock on your apartment door to gain entry. He was quick about it, making sure to not be seen by any other residents. The cameras in the hallway didn't bother him, he knew from his canvas of the building that they were fake and just there as a deterrent.
Andrew slipped inside your home and took a deep steadying breath at being in your personal space. Being here in your home, in your private space, felt very sacred. Andrew knew from watching you the past two weeks how important this place was to you. You spent most of your time here, rarely going out except to work or to grab a meal with friends. As far as Andrew had observed, you didn't have a boyfriend, so most of your evenings and weekends were spent in your apartment. Being here in your apartment was new for Andrew, he was going to take his time and be respectful of your space.
Your apartment was like looking into your brain and Andrew was overwhelmed by the information he was learning. It was a small, one bedroom apartment, with a little living room area, kitchen, bathroom, and one bedroom. The place was neat and orderly, not quite up to Andrews standards but you were far from a messy person and you'd done your best to brighten up the place as much as you could.
Posters and framed pictures covered the walls above a small, two seater couch. The books stacked on your coffee table were worn and well loved, with bookmarks sticking out of them and a peppermint scented candle sitting next to them. There was a homemade, crocheted blanket on the couch next to some decorative pillows. Andrew wondered if you'd made the blanket yourself or if it'd been a gift.
Moving to the kitchen, Andrew spotted another peppermint scented candle - must be a scent you liked - and a vase of fake flowers on the counter that separated the living room and the kitchen. Andrew would make sure you had enough money for fresh flowers, he knew they made you smile. He noted the food in your cupboards and fridge, cataloging the snacks you enjoyed most. There were post cards stuck to the fridge door and when Andrew lifted them carefully to read the other side he saw that they were from you. You'd written and sent yourself a post card from each trip you'd taken in the past few years. That told Andrew you were sentimental and you liked to receive things in the mail, considering you could have bought the post cards and just brought them home instead of mailing them.
In the bathroom he found dark coloured towels that matched the bath mat and shower curtain. That told Andrew that you planned ahead and were thoughtful about your decorative choices. He found mild scented shampoos and conditioners in the shower, with various body washes, soaps, and lotions lining the tub. Andrew was suddenly struck with the thought of you standing naked in the shower, lathering your soft skin with the body wash and he felt lightheaded thinking about the bubbles sliding down your body.
Backtracking out of the bathroom and making sure not to leave a trace behind, Andrew had one room left to explore.
Your bedroom.
Andrew pushed the door open carefully with his black gloved hand, a precaution he took to not leave fingerprints. Your room was a little messier than the main area of your apartment, with sweaters hanging off the back of your desk chair and makeup scattered across the desk pushed in the corner. But your bed was made and your other clothes were hung up in the closet. Andrew brushed his hand across the shirts in the closet, the hangers clinking together. There were two pairs of shoes haphazardly thrown into the closet and it took everything in Andrew to not straighten the pairs. He had to leave everything where he found it.
He turned away from the closet and moved to the dresser. Your university degree was framed and displayed neatly above the dresser, surrounded by photos of family and friends. Andrew felt pride bloom in his chest, of course you were a university graduate, you were smart and beautiful. With a smile tugging at his lips Andrew looked over the jewelry covering the top of your dresser, making a note of which type of metal you preferred and what kind of jewelry you had most of. He pulled the drawers open, just planning on glancing through them for anything noteworthy when he came face to face with a drawer full of your panties.
Andrews breath caught in his chest, his mouth going dry as he stared at the wide array of pairs. Like with the bathroom, his imagination assaulted him with images of you putting these panties on - the flesh tone pair, the black lacy pair, the light blue pair with bows - sliding them up your bare legs and pulling them over the curve of your ass to settle the elastic at your hips. Andrews cock throbbed in his pants as all the blood in his body rushed south. Andrew pinched his eyes shut and tried to push the images away so he could stay on task.
Andrew shut the drawer a little harder than necessary, making the dresser shake. He turned around and crossed the room to go to the desk, putting distance between himself and the drawer of temptation on the other side of the room. He looked over the desk, a little frantically since the images of you in just a pair of panties still spun around in his head. He noted that you had an older laptop, something he could replace for you easily. You had a whiteboard calendar with some scheduled tasks and outings above the desk that Andrew took a picture of with his phone, something to analyze later.
Andrews eyes fell to the sweaters on the back of the desk chair and before he knew what he was doing, he picked the top sweater up and pressed it to his nose. Andrew took a long, deep breath in, filling his nostrils with the intoxicating scent of you. He'd seen you in this sweater yesterday, you'd worn it to and from work in lieu of a jacket and you clearly had deemed it still clean enough to stay out of the laundry hamper. But Andrew could pick up a very light tang smell of sweat, just under the floral scent of your deodorant. The strongest smell was one that was entirely you and Andrew could feel himself getting addicted to it. It was fresh and bright, like grass and mint, but heavy, coating every strand of the fabric, making his mouth water and his cock twitch.
Before Andrew could think better of it, he turned around to look at your bed, so perfect and inviting. He knew better than to lie down on it or do anything else that mess up the covers but he couldn't help sinking to his knees and pushing his face into the edge of the mattress, breathing deeply. The sheet smelled like your laundry detergent and that fresh smell that was all you. Andrew groaned into the bed, his voice muffled against the sheets.
His cock was painfully hard in his jeans and Andrew, surrounded by your scent and your things, couldn't stand it any longer. Against his better judgement, Andrew undid his belt and pulled his aching cock from the confines of his pants. He sighed in relief as his hand ran over the shaft, the pad of his thumb grazing the top of his cockhead and smearing his leaking pre-cum back down the shaft.
Armed with his imagination, Andrew began pumping his hand up and down his cock furiously as he thought about you and your perfect smile. He did his best to make no noise but it was hard, you filled his head and all his senses and his moans threatened to come out of his throat as he jerked off at the foot of your bed to the thought of you. He pressed his forehead against the edge of the mattress and panted as he quickly stroked his cock.
It didn't take Andrew long to build to his orgasm, it was always quick when he thought about you. He fisted his cock desperately and lifted the sweater still clutched in his other hand to his face so he could breath in the scent of you as he came over his hand.
And for the first time since he met you three years ago, Andrew finally knew what name to say when he came.
Dr Jack Abbot will hold you close during. He wants you pressed up against him at all times. He'll be taking you from behind with your head buried in the pillow. Then he'll decide he needs more skin to skin contact. One hand will push your hip down to keep it nice and deep while the other will pull you up so your back is against his chest. If there's space between the two of you, he's not doing it right.
Dr Jack Abbot cannot go round after round with you, much to his dismay. As fit as he is, he is also older and just can't bounce back as quickly as he used to. Any time his dick is too exhausted to go for round four and up, he just uses it as an opportunity to flex his mouth and finger skills. Either that or he'll edge you until he's fully recharged.
Dr Jack Abbot who loves making you go dumb on his cock. He will fuck you until your brain is fuzzy and you can only moan and beg him not to stop. He is so sweet but he can get really mean in the moment. He'll ask you questions he knows you can't answer because you can only think about the tip of his dick kissing your cervix.
Dr Jack Abbot can't decide between making out with you or watching your beautiful face as you take him. He'll stare at you with the smugest expression on his face. So proud of his work. When he kisses you, he tries to be nice but it always ends up being a sloppy makeout that will travel down to your neck. Ending in the inevitable love bites.
Dr Jack Abbot tries to make you cum as many times as possible. If he's just made you finish, he'll fuck you through your orgasm and onwards into overstimulation. If he can make you cum right after, he gets insanely smug and will continue to try and do it over and over. On the flipside, he'll through in some denied orgasms to keep you needy and desperate for him.
Dr Jack Abbot will shower with you after. Under the guise of getting you cleaned up but mostly so he can admire your body. If he can slip it in one more time he's overjoyed but he's truly happy just gently rubbing soap into your curves. You'll have to help him keep focus or he'll just keep groping your ass. He loves how the scent will linger on your skin while you're cuddling in bed afterwards.
Dr Jack Abbot who lets you trace his scars with your fingertips during aftercare. He'll tell you a story or two if they aren't too traumatic. He'll move your hand to the marks he knows he can explain sometimes. It takes some time to open up that part of himself but he wants you to truly know him.
cw - drinking, one gendered term for reader (girl)
i was gonna write this for abbot but i feel like sharkie fits it better
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You are beginning to regret your choice of housemates. Foolishly, you listened to the people who said you shouldn't rent with your friends because you would start to hate each other. You took that to mean Craigslist was the better option for roomie recruitment. Admittedly, it was a great house, in a really convenient location with only one true downside.
They typically kept to themselves and not too bad at mild small talk during shared chores. Quiet creatures. At least quiet enough to pass the compatibility screening you did before you signed the lease. However, their personalities would dramatically shift whenever they had their friends over. One sip of beer and a couple personality-less white guys would turn these housemates into inconsiderate assholes. Assholes who loved stealing your beer, drunkenly eating your takeout, and leaving the empty carcass of your unborn good night for you to clean up.
Their conversations would penetrate through the flimsy sound-dampening foam in your bedroom. A few times wafting out into the neighbours leading to complaints from the neighbours. Surprisingly, their friends were not total nobodys or finance bros like themselves. The large majority of their little group were actually doctors from your local trauma centre. You had discovered through chunks of conversation while trying to relax, or sleep, or do anything other than eavesdrop. Every now and then you would hear a gnarly surgery story slipped into typical 'dude bro' chattering.
You bought a six pack of some pretentious beer brewed with raspberries that had huge potential. You were going to enjoy one or two with a cheeky takeout for dinner. A delicious reward for a hard week. The six pack rested in the fridge getting ice cold for you while you hit a quick workout. You bribed yourself mentally that the extra movement would make the meal hit even harder. With a quick 'don't fucking drink my beer' to your housemates, you were out the door.
After an hour or so of your usual exercise routine, you rehydrated and called up your local Chinese restaurant. A fast-talking lady answered and you spat out your order as quickly and coherantly as you could. The water in your mouth immediately dried up from your clammering. Another swig of water. You shuffled to the showers. Between debating showering and putting on another layer of deodorant, your neighbour texted you:
please tell your housemates to keep it down.. i need sleep
i'm sorry i'm not home rn, i'll deal with it in a tick
You exhaled deeply through your nostrils as you hit send. You dipped into the restaurant, grabbed your order and left a five to the hostess. Pittsburgh's loudest and rowdiest were now inserting themselves into your perfect night in. At least you went with a six pack so you can get drunk and numb to whatever they have to throw at you.
You fumbled your keys into the lock, trying not to drop your takeout. The noise hit you from the driveway but it grew grating at the door. You bit your lip to hide the groan. Yes, it reeked of beer but a faint tinge of raspberry reeked in the background. Of course, they didn't listen. Of course, it wasn't enough to directly tell them not to drink something they hadn't even bought themselves. You were an idiot for not hiding it in your room or better yet buying your own separate fridge with a lock.
The group was smaller than usual. Strewn through the living room and all of them held a can of your beer. You could have bitten someone's head off. You were tempted to do so but the damage wouldn't be nearly as lasting in a room full of medical professionals.
"Is that my beer?" You asked. Not even to them at this point. They're clearly beyond listening. You repeated yourself into the void only to be met with tipsy chuckles.
"Ah shit, is it?" One of your housemates giggles.
As much as you want to tell them off you settle for a scoff. Some of the guys quiet down, hopefully realising their contribution to your misery. Instead of enhancing your buzz, your workout has now made your legs start to ache.
"Hey, is that takeout for us?" Before you can snap back, your other housemate snatched it and started opening the boxes on the coffee table. They started digging in, offering forkfuls to the now fully embarassed off duty MDs. Rice got into the carpet and into the couch cushions.
It's awe-enducing. Their evil alter egos made your mouth hang slack. Clearly getting nowhere excruciatingly slowly, you gave one last groan to their deaf ears before heading back out the door to your car. It's not too late to get another takeaway or beer. You comforted yourself with the notion that the lease will be up soon enough. The thought of having drinks and Chinese food with your semi-tortured neighbour crosses your mind but it's better to let them sleep.
You sat in the driver's seat, wallowing a little before you tried to ammend your night. Quick glances to the clock on the radio to ensure you don't fuck yourself more than you already have been.
"Hey," Someone knocked on your window. You had half a mind to pretend your asleep but the knocking continues.
You expected an angry neighbour or an incessant housemate asking for more food and booze. You blushed at the surprise. It's one of their friends, the first to go quiet. He leaned on the car, the outline of his bicep practically blocked your view. His eyebrows slightly raised in apology. Intense brown eyes bored into your soul through the window. You rolled it down and poked your head out.
"Hey," You said tentatively. "why aren't you inside?"
"I thought you were going," His voice is pleasant. Deep but a little rough. "I wanted to say something before you left."
"Say what?" You replied.
"Say that I'm sorry," He shifted his stance. "I didn't know the beer was yours, I would've never."
"It's fine, really," You shook it off. "I'll just go out and buy some more. I'll deal with those dicks later."
"Let me pay for it." He said bluntly.
"What? No," You dismissed. "You drank one beer."
"I can't let a pretty girl think I'm one of 'those dicks'" He started to get out his wallet from his back pocket.
"I-I don't," He's flirting with you? "just...it's fine."
He holds out a hundred dollar bill. The beer was less than thirty. You hadn't even seen a hundred in person before. Is he trying to be your sugar daddy?
"I can't possibly take that." You pushed it away, still flustered from the compliment.
"Just hold out your wallet and I'll put it in the bill fold for you." He said plainly. You laughed before you could stop yourself.
"Okay, but I'm donating it straight to the hospital." It was his turn to laugh at that. You gingerly took the bill from his hand. His fingers stayed on yours for a little too long.
Your brain felt fuzzy from the mental gymnastics it had just performed. From hungry to seething to romantically confused. Not to mention your legs still ached. You were worried he could see what was going on in your brain. From this distance you could smell the subtlety of his cologne mixing with your beer.
"Are you okay?" A slight smirk braces his lips.
"I may need some medical attention." You tried to match his flirting.
"You really want to earn that hundred?" He leaned in. You could've sworn you were on fire. He really is trying to be my sugar daddy.
"Let's get takeout together," He said, walking over to the passenger side. "I could hear more of that laugh"
some angst for a change with canon divergence. with some hollanov too.
˗ˏˋજ⁀➴ _ _ _ _ _ _ . .
You weren't just a thrilling affair for Illya Rozanov. You weren't the son of a coach or a risky quickie in an unlocked club bathroom. You felt as normal as you could be sneaking around with him. No matter how time puts distance between you two, you will never forget the loving heat of his body meeting yours. The gentle pull of his fingers against the roots of your hair and the scrape of his chapped lips on your skin.
You've never been a big hockey guy or even sports in general. Something pulled you to that game. Red lines in the ice and red lines tying you closer and closer to him. It's a home game because that's where you met. That's where you can always find him. Married to the thrill of each goal in the net.
You take extra care getting ready for the game. Under a spell, you combed your hair and steamed your clothes. Your legs move you from your apartment, into your car, and to the hockey rink. It's something you'd been dreaming about ever since you called it off.
He's an amazing athlete. You watch his body move and collide with the others. You would kill to be on the ice with him, even just to be pushed aside. It suits him to be in this profession, even without his father's insistence, he was made for this. His curls barely peek through his helmet and his smile covered with a mouthguard but you can see him just as clearly as the day you first met.
Your breath catches in your throat when the game ends. Of course, he wins. It's a close match. You almost jump out of your seat, making a beeline to the door outside the locker room. His smoke spot. Where you had your first kiss. You hide yourself away, to give yourself the opportunity to sculk away in case your feet turn cold.
The soothing scent of cigarettes sizzles from all the discarded butts on the ground. You had kicked the habit not long after you'd kicked Illya. It still smells tempting. Footsteps patter up the hallway inside. The door opens. You could start a car with the speed your heart was beating.
It's him. He's grinning in that same smug way he always is. You can barely make out his face.
"I told you I'd win, Hollander." He's talking to someone. You hear a second set of footsteps meet him outside. Hollander.
His lighter flicks, and the strong smell of nicotine almost makes you want to relapse.
"Does that mean I lose the bet?" Hollander says. "And, do you really have to smoke, dude?"
He's a good person, trying to stop him. Or maybe Illya will turn him into a smoker too. You know that they're probably sneaking around. You know that this Hollander is just like you were. But you want to be proven wrong. Desperately, you want Illya to call him his friend and scoop you into his arms. Desperately, you want him back.
"Yes, now you have to suck my cock." You can hear his smirk. He can probably hear your heart drop through the floor and straight to the centre of the Earth.
"Hey! Not here." Hollander giggles. They're shuffling around, kissing and touching no doubt.
"It's my reward, I get to decide."
You can't move, let alone breathe. If you really wanted him, you should've stayed. You should've fought harder to keep him. You shouldn't be hiding in his smoke spot, playing the voyeur to him and his new piece. You drink in his smoke and his dirty words. Things he could've easily said to you and cigarettes you could've so easily shared. Love you could've shared.
yeah idk anything about hockey so sorry for any discrepancies. also it IS a male reader idc.
˗ˏˋજ⁀➴ _ _ _ _ _ _ . . .
It's colder than it should be. Even in the middle of winter, in the middle of hockey season. You're so rugged up you've become cylindrical in your layers of thermals and coats. There is still a gnawing cold that seems to be eating at you from the inside out. You're contemplating walking to a coffee shop for something hot to drink but there's something much quicker that requires a lot less effort.
You push through the door of the stairwell out into the loading dock. The brick wall you lean on is so slippery in the cold you can barely hold yourself up. It's feeding your addiction, every part of it. The bite of the cold. The itchiness of each layer of clothing. The slip of your boots meeting the ice on the ground. All to be remedied with your very own pacifier.
Your cigarette case, buried under a mountain of coats, mercifully opens. You've been smoking on and off since eighteen and have been building up your own collection ever since. One from your first ever pack. One handroll from an old friend. One blunt from an ex. So on and so on. You select your favourite - your own hand-rolled blend of tobacco and rose petals.
The flick of your lighter imprints little teeth marks into your thumb. The pain is immediately numbed by that first hit of nicotine. You can feel your body heating up slowly. The iced floor seems sturdier. You run your fingers across your rolls before closing the case and securing it back into your coat.
"I didn't know you smoke."
The hauntingly familiar voice of Illya Rozanov. It almost makes you jump out of your skin. You bring your fingers to your lips and take out your cigarette. It rests against the yellowing stains of its predecessors.
"Yes you do", you exhale smoke through your nose. He's grown accustomed to interupting your peaceful smoke breaks to the point where you've tried to cut back just to avoid his smugness. His eyes hold the same stony mischief as his slight smirk.
"God forbid I try to make conversation." He scoffs. "Now are you going to lend me a cigarette?"
"That depends, are you going to give it back?" You take another drag.
"Only if you ask nicely" He grins. The heat from your cigarette transfers to your cheeks. You cock your neck away to hide your blushing.
"You owe me, Rozanov" You huff. Your hand disappears back into your coat and you dip into you case.
"What are these?" He gestures his finger to the collection.
"Other cigarettes?" Your brow furrows.
"Why do you have so many different ones?" He cocks his head to the side. "I didn't know you were that into smoking."
"I keep the cigarettes some people give me." You say shyly. "It's just a sentimental thing."
"Like who?" He teases. "Another guy? You trying to make me jealous?"
You were going to offer him something special but he's such an asshole you don't want to waste it on him. A plain handroll will do. You hold your hand out and he pushes it away dismissively. He looks at you like a disappointed puppy.
"No." He crosses his arms over his chest.
"No?" You pull out your case to put the handroll back. "Don't bitch about it later then."
"I want one like you have." He says matter-o-factly. Like you should have known. "I like the way it smells."
"You can't have one like mine. I didn't roll any more."
He pouts for a second then, as if the gears in his brain clicked into position, smirks once more.
"Then I guess we'll just have to share, won't we?" His grin widening.
You let your mouth fall open and he snatches the cigarette out before you can protest. As childish as the line of thinking may be, but swapping a spit-covered phallic object is a little too much for your blushing face to bear. You already know that you're red to your ears and he's loving every second. He takes a long drag. All you can do is watch as the lit end comes closer and closer to his lips.
"Hey!" You snatch it back.
"Hasn't anybody told you that 'sharing is caring'?" He retorts. "Besides I like the way it tastes."
"You just like to fuck with me." You frown, filling up your lungs. "You owe me double now, Rozanov."
He feigns a pout.
"Don't worry," He grins widely. "I always return a favour."
joost has a collection of polaroids of you. a lot of candids from dates, some of you sleeping or just whenever he wants to capture the moment. they all have little captions of his thoughts written in your favourite colour. he rotates his favourite every so often and keeps them in his wallet behind his id.
he's a sucker for coordinated outfits. even better if you're wearing something from his wardrobe, or if you let him dip into yours. he thinks it's so cute even if you're both just in jeans and tshirts. if you let him style you, he will 100% make you match him down to the shoes.
doing small acts of service for you feeds his ego so bad. he loves it when you ask him to tie your shoelaces or open a jar. not to mention, he'll totally tease you about needing him. it's so corny but he loves knowing that you depend on him, even if it's just the little things.
he secretly sprays his cologne on some of your clothes whenever he knows he'll be away for a while so you have some trace of him. he does the same with your fragrance before any trip apart. particularly on his pillow/bedsheets, so he can always have sweet dreams of you.
is always willing to share an earbud with you. most of the time it's an excuse to have you closer to him but he enjoys being able to share his music so much. you'll tug on the cable and he'll wrap his arm around your waist and offer you an earbud. he has to be in control of the music though, his headphones, his rules.
Hiii! Can you do a Joost x Hungarian! Reader , where Reader makes Joost a Hungarian dish(like goulash) and he actually really likes it?
Thank you in advance❤️🤍💚
thank you so much for the ask anon! i'm not hungarian so apologies if this isn't the most accurate but this is what my research has told me.
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i don't think joost is a massive picky eater but i do think he's a little hesitant to try new foods. he does really enjoy being involved in the process, so he'll watch you in the kitchen intently and help whereever you let him.
i imagine you'd be prepping this meal for the rest of the week, having to start in the afternoon to get it all done in time. joost would poke his head in the kitchen and ask you why you're cooking dinner so early. then, you'd explain to him the process of making goulash. he's a little unfamiliar to this style of dish but he really wants to cook with you.
he'll help you cut up the vegetables and chew on the scraps while you fry the good bits in the pan. by the time you're up to cooking the meat he acts like he's starving. he almost dies when you tell him it has to simmer for another two hours or so. even though he's eaten pretty much every ingredient individually, he constantly asks you how it's going to taste, the texture of things, how spicy it'll be, etc.
eventually when you're over his impatience, you'll send him to get bread or noodles from the store to eat the goulash with. he will send excessive texts asking on the status of the meal while he's out because he's secretly really excited to try.
you fix him a plate and he pokes at it a bit with a fork first but he does try it. you can see every cog in his brain turn to decide whether he likes it. he does end up really enjoying it though and asks you to share some of your meal prep. expect goulash-flavoured kisses for the rest of the week.
i firmly belive joost is legally blind or at least on a downhill slope towards becoming such. he keeps a collection of all the glasses he's had over the years and you can see them getting thicker and thicker. he refuses to wear them if they mess with his style though + his contact lens game is intense.
a man of a million nicknames. he likes to see how far he can stretch your name before you stop answering to it. for receiving, i like the idea of you calling him 'jo' pronounced 'y-oh'. though, he goes weak at the knees anytime you say his name so use with caution.
when he gets bored he'll draw his tattoos on you with washable marker. he loves seeing your matching knuckle tatts. especially if you don't plan on any tattoos, it's his own little imprint on you.
the absolute most doting boyfriend you could ever ask for. he treats you like his life mission is to take care of you. if you're ever unsure of what you want or overwhelmed with options, you can trust him to make the best decisions for you.
he loves taking you dancing. whether its a massive rave or an intimate party with friends, he loves to move his body with yours. as long as theirs good music and you're happy, he could die and be fulfilled.
always has to have a hand on you. he loves having his hands in your hair to soothe a headache or slung across your shoulder to keep you close. the reverse is true. placing your hand in his for a moment of comfort or your arms around his neck to pull him in for a hug.
uses you as his own personal jewellery box. whenever he's around you and needs to wash his hands, he'll slide his rings onto your fingers. necklace making his throat go green? now its your problem.
as much as this man enjoys a good party after a show, he has a strict bedtime when you're not in attendance. he's made it a part of his post-performance rituals at this point. he finishes his set, drinks a bottle of water and calls to let you know he's on his way home. please pick up quickly or he will cause several car accidents to get home to you as soon as he can.
my name is jovie, i use she/her & it/its pronouns (you can use them interchangably or just pick one i don't mind) and i'm a libra. i love to read and write so feel free to request.
