“jesus christ,” you mutter dramatically, as if you’re looking at something so obscene.
“what?” andrew stops what he’s working on his table to look at you.
he finds you looking down on something, and he can already guess what it is that got you so astonished.
“nothing, it’s just your ass is just… wow…”
not again
“quit it, won’t ya?” he huffs, turning his back to you once again. this happens almost every day.
not that he’s complaining, of course. he loves that you love every part of him— he just doesn’t see why you fixate on his ass so much in every chance you get.
a brief moment has passed, and andrew feels your hands around his cheeks, giving his cute butt a tight squeeze.
“mmmhm, fits perfectly in my hands like it’s made just for me,” you giggle.
he sighs in defeat, letting you knead his ass as like its your favorite stress ball.
being the loving boyfriend that he is, he just lets you have your fun, after all, he does the same to your tits whenever he can.
you cry out as your nails dig into the meat of pope's biceps. he's got you out by the pool again, nearly breaking the chair beneath the two of you as he pounds into you like an animal.
"hah- a-ahh."
that's the closest thing to a word he could even get out when he was buried deep inside you, especially at an angle like this. your knees were pushed back as far as they could go against your chest while he leans all of his weight into every last thrust.
"don't stop, andy."
you gaze up at him, completely enamored by the way he managed to look even more fucked out than you did. guess this is exactly what happens when the two of you end up alone at smurf's house while his brothers do god knows what.
little baby drabble while i'm in the midst of a writing funk... hope you all liked it :3 love you lotssss <333
honeymoon with sammy bryant in greece. he almost has an emotional awakening of sorts, he just realizes that this is what happiness and love are supposed to feel like! AND as a bonus he has two BEAUUUUUTIFUL views (reader + greek scenery) 😼
Warnings: post divorce sammy, tammi mention (nate is not sammy's son), sammy eats it for breakfast like a true man
Sammy didn't want to wake up. Surely, he would. Surely, this was a dream. Because there was no way that he was actually sitting on a balcony in Greece, feeling the early morning wind ruffle his shirt and the warm weight of your hand in his. A hand with a new addition: a ring on your finger that retained the coolness of the air. A ring that he had put there only a few months before and put its match on his own hand last week. Was it bad to say he didn't remember the wedding? Of course he remembered it, but the small details had blurred at the edges of his mind, fully pushed out by the visage of you in your dress, beaming at him and reciting your vows. You only said them once, but he would remember every syllable for the rest of his life. He'd never tell you. You spent so long planning each centerpiece and tablecloth. But really, all he could think about when he recalled his wedding day was Nate's brotherly hug and fond declaration of their friendship and forcing himself not to cry when he saw you walking down that aisle. He never thought he'd make it this far. Shit. After wasting away his teenage years behind the football concession stand getting high off his ass, conjuring images of his dream life. Some sales job that paid well, probably. That's what his dad did. A wife who adored him and would sit next to him as he went to his four (or five) kids' sports games or recitals or whatever they wanted to do. How much love he could put into his family. Small things. Attainable things. Or so he thought. Before he got fired because of a failed drug test and applied to the Academy as a joke. Before his first marriage failed and Tammi cheated on him. Before the paternity test came back as negative. And yet, here you were. Everything he had ever wished for. And he just couldn't get enough.
"Hey," You called softly, squeezing Sammy's hand in yours. He was looking at you with that wistful, half-dazed look you often found him with. "You okay?" Your words seemed to snap him out of it, and a soft smile pushed up his cheeks. He bounced your joined hands.
"Yea," He hummed "I'm good. Just love you." Even though you'd heard it a million times, the sentiment still made you smile and dip your head sheepishly.
"What do you want to do today?" The sun was still kissing the horizon, spilling pinks and oranges across the mountains in the distance. Sammy tilted his head, resting his temple against the glass door the led to the hotel room. The sheets on your bed were still rumpled from the night before. Sammy had come back from walking to the convenience store down the street to get more wine. He opened the door with a light sheen of sweat and his tropical shirt half-unbuttoned. One glimpse of his damp chest hair and you were a goner. The bottle of wine still sat unopened on the TV table.
"Thought we could find a beach and and a local market," He offered. "I saw signs for one when I went out last night." You nodded eagerly. After a few more moments of sitting in blissful silence, Sammy ran his thumb over the ridges of your knuckles. His gaze dropped to them. "Should probably have breakfast first, though."
"Yea," you agreed, stretching your neck. "Did you have a craving for something specific?" Sammy didn't answer. He caught his plump bottom lip between his teeth. You watched as his gaze traveled down your body. His fingers left yours and fiddled with the knot of your robe. You gave a small huff of amusement. "Sammy," you warned, but didn't move to stop him as he tugged on the sash around your waist. The knot fell through and the flaps of your robe began to flutter, exposing your skin to the cool air. Your breathing became uneven when Sammy's fingertips ran along the center of your chest, stopping above your belly button. He settled his heavy palm on your hip and scooted off his deckchair. He settled between your knees, gently parting them to accommodate his size. "Sammy, we're technically in public," You reminded him. Your husband rolled his eyes and kissed up your inner thigh.
"S'fine," He assured you "I'm a cop."
"In a foreign country."
"Shh," he whispered, placing a kiss to your clothed cunt. "Just relax. Enjoy it. Watch the sunrise." You sighed in contentment as he moved the fabric aside. Your eyes squeezed shut at the sensation of his wet tongue on your skin.
incubus!jack abbot x reader | 800 follower special
summary: a dark, lonely night. a book on occult rituals. your morbid curiosity. you told yourself the rituals in that book wouldn't work, that it was all make believe. but you have awoken a demon taking the likeness of your colleague, jack abbot. ready to feast on your untouched desire.
tags/desc: 18+ MDNI—explicit sexual content , fem!reader, afab!reader, mentions of occult rituals & mythology ⟶ may be inaccurate!!! minimal research was done, medical inaccuracies, one-sided crush, porn with plot, freaky ahh dream, i think this counts as monster fucking, dubcon, brief somonophilia, oral sex (f — TWICE couldnt help myself lol), biting/marking, unprotected piv (no hat no cat!), masturbation (f), pantie gagging, pet names (sweetheart, kid, sweets, etc), i used [lastname] ONCE pleak spare me, brief mention of vomiting, taco bell slander
wordcount: 10.7k (oops LOL) minimally proofread
a/n: when i had this idea i wasnt even at 700 followers yet and now im over 800!!! tysm everyone for sticking around and reading all the freaked out ideas that come from my mind LOOOL. more fics are to come ILYSMMMM FREAKY PEOPLE!!! this one also highkey got away from me so if it feels....a mess thats why LOL | requests are open—!! reblogs are a writers best friend
recommended listen: in your fantasy - ateez
"come take a bite, like it's what you need
i pull you in closer till it's hard to breathe"
The package sat at your front door step when you arrive home. Your scrubs look more worn on your body than they did in the beginning of the day. The features on your face sag from the strain of the day. Your hair is noticeably more frizzy and ruffled from constantly running your hand through your hair, a nervous habit you can’t seem to break. Anymore and you’ll start balding, as your mother would say. Speaking of the devil, as you pick up the package and read the sender name and address. Your mother, sending you one of her infamous random ‘thinking about you’ gifts.
After shedding the work day off of you, an alright meal of chicken and rice on a plate, the box sits next to you on the table. You told her not to send you anything anymore until you can find a bigger place. There’s no space in your apartment to house whatever could be in the box. You dig your nail into the tape, dragging along the seam to open the box. The phone is balanced between your shoulder and cheek as your mother raves on the other side of the line.
“I know, sweetie but I saw it at a garage sale and know how much you like that… sort of thing. Think of it like a gag gift, you don’t even have to read it!”
Inside the box is a book, dark purple, faux leather cover that still had years of dust crusted on it. The gold lettering of the title glimmered in the dimmed light of your kitchen/dining room.
The Book of Lilith : Occult and Pagan Rituals.
You sigh, picking it up in your free hand and grimace at the feeling of heavy dust on your fingers. Quickly putting it back down and moving to get something to wipe it down.
“Mom, I haven’t been into that kind of stuff since I was 16.” You sigh, thinking about how your mother manages to be ten years behind on everything. “What would I even do with this?”
“It could be a great conversation piece!” her voiced beamed through garbled over the speaker. Sweet, sweet mom. Always managing to find a way to turn something out of nothing. “I think your friends at work would love hearing you go on about ghosts and goblins. What's that one’s name— Tiffany?”
“Trinity, Mom.”
She hums over the line, falling into a tangent about how important it is to get yourself out there and make friends. You have friends, work friends and friends in the city. It’s hard to make plans anymore, working in the emergency department keeps you and everyone around you busy. You’re lucky you basically see them everyday. The wet paper towel squishes in your palm as you wipe away a heavy layer of dirt. The purple cover becomes deeper in color, and a sudden life blooms from the book. The new clean look gives the words on the title an even brighter glow. Eyes locked into a daze on the book, your mothers words turning into a muffle in the background.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Mom. I need to eat.” Quickly hanging up the phone and settling back into the dinner table chair.
Yeah, you grew out of the weird kid, emo phase a long time ago. So keen and interested in the occult and supernatural. Your mother, bless her heart, has always tried to be supportive in your interests. Sometimes going a little overboard and it manifests as unsolicited packages from across the state. Placing the book in front of you, a space where the plate of food should be instead, you can’t put a finger on why you suddenly feel so intrigued by it. The pad of your finger traces the corner, a dull edge seemingly cool to the touch. The smell of dust and moth balls clung to the faux leather cover, somehow the embossed text managed to keep its shine over however many years this book has existed. A swift motion of your hand flicks the cover open to a blank page. The corner of the page almost disintegrates between two fingers. The paper is browned with age, ripped around the edges. The slightest touch can cause the paper to break away, further tattering the book. At its age and condition, it should be kept as a displayable antique rather than something to open and actively read.
The next couple of pages are ripped out or worn enough that the text is unreadable. Probably all that publishing mambo-jumbo at the start of every book— because this is just a gag book after all. The first readable page is the table of contents; conjuring the weather, manifesting material needs,vanity affairs. A soft smile crept up your lips, growing amusement warms your heart. This is something you definitely would have read as a teenager, convinced every word in this stack of pages would fix little parts of your life. Your eyes are drawn to the very last section of the table of contents— calling upon the others. Ominous as fuck. The edge of your nail splits the stack of pages to the approximate page that would lead to the last section. Skimming the headers, the words blur as boredom starts to swirl in your mind. Of course you weren’t actually going to read all of this, you haven’t thought about this kind of stuff in over a decade. Right as you are about to shut the book, the final page catches your eye.
Calling Upon The Incubus
An incubus (plural: incubi) is a demon that enters the dreams of women with the means to seduce them. The Incubus is just as beautiful and desired as his female counterpart the succubus. The Incubus is a race of demons, many set in their own desires to plague humanity and revel in the deviancy of modern women. Repeated interaction with an incubus may result in an other-worldly bond, leading to sexual intercourse. The Incubus’ life force relies on vaginal ejaculation in order to sustain itself.
Without intention set during this ritual, an Incubus may target the performer. Locking onto their deepest desires and shame, often manifesting as someone the performer has a deep emotional or sexual attraction to. If an Incubus is strong enough, they may manifest in the physical realm. Side effects of encountering in Incubus may come as: fatigue, deteriorated physical health, hallucinations, death in the most extreme cases.
An Incubus will never approach with positive intentions. They live to feast on humans. This ritual is not meant to be performed by novices or the faint of heart. Proceed at your own risk.
Under the passage is a picture of a mock up of a pentagram. A materials list right beneath it: five candles, salt, a sexual offering. What possibly could constitute a sexual offering? The tip of your pointer finger drags against the dry paper, following the instructions that are specific about the incantation. The slightest mistake will render the ritual useless. You have chalk, salt, five various bath and body works candles that were on sale… do panties count as a sexual offering?
The palm of your hand slaps against your forehead, dragging it down your face as a scoff exhales from your lips. You must really be bored tonight. Entertaining something that you surely have grown out of the moment your frontal lobe started to gain sentience. You can thank your mom for the ‘present’ tomorrow morning, the only thing you should be focused on is shoveling the cold dinner into your mouth. The draining work day must be pushing you to indulge in fantasy, a warm bath and wine is the next best remedy.
As you trudge into the bedroom, belly full and satisfied, you don’t think twice about the book in your hold once again. It sits heavy in your hands, like a force that drags you to sit on the edge of your bed, holding it in your lap. The edge your thumb finds solace in between your teeth, nipping at the nail as you struggle to stop thinking about the ritual. Images of the pentagram danced around in your mind. The fascination that came with the concept of an incubus. It had been a long time since you've properly been in bed with anyone. How funny would it be to lay with an incubus. That is such a stupid idea, childish really. What grown adult would actually entertain this.
Which is what you were telling yourself moments ago, before you went back to the kitchen to find the large bottle of salt and hunt for five candles. You tugged away the rug that occupied the open space of your bedroom, it folds up against the foot of your bed. And now, shaking your head in disbelief, as you hunch over to trace the five pointed star on to the hard wood floor. Five candles sit at each point, god you hope your apartment does not catch on fire. Or you hope doing this very fake ritual won't burn out your winter candy apple candle— those three wick candles are expensive you know!
"At the center of the pentagram, the performer must sit in a circle of salt…" you speak out loud while imitating the instructions.
The candles are lit acting as the blooming source of light in the pitch black of your bedroom. Only small slivers of moonlight peak through the curtains. The book sits on the floor, outside of the circle of salt wide enough to seat your body. The final piece of the process, the sexual offering. You thought about what could possibly count, and really there was nothing of use to you like that in your apartment. That muffled voice in the back of your mind cursing you for chickening out at the sex shop way back when. Standing in the middle of the circle, you tug cotton shorts down your legs and toss them into the void of your room. In a creeping anticipation, your finger tips pull at the soft fabric of your panties. The loose article of underwear slides down to your ankles, leaving you bare from the waist down. A shiver trickles up your spine when the cool air hits the exposed skin of your core. Sitting down, crossing smooth legs, you hiss at the frigid feeling of the floor on your thighs. You place the underwear next to the book. It sits open to the page of incantations.
You take a deep breath, closing your eyes. "This is so fucking stupid…"
Trying your best not to speak in broken Latin, your voice hangs on to vowels as you peak at the book to follow the words. The prose is long, it twists your tongue and forces your mind to juggle focusing on the words while keeping a plain slate. Suspense settles deep inside of you when a final come to me is spoken to the empty room. You wait for the metaphorical time stop, looking around your room expectantly. The lights don't flicker , no gush of wind bursts your window open, the book doesn't start floating, and there is certainly no one in the room with you.
This is nothing like The Craft, you think to yourself.
That was fun while it lasted. A goofy little story to talk about with your friends when you need something to laugh about. You won't ignore the feeling that you wanted something to happen, for someone to appear. A sign that there is more out there in the world other than the mundane struggle of adult life. Maybe it's all the stress talking, a barren social life. It must be hospital brain. There is nothing to get upset about though. For the umpteenth time you tell yourself, it's just a book. Lifting yourself off the ground and resuming your nightly routine.
You pick up a towel and retreat into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. As the door shuts, a deep hush settles in your bedroom. The kind that is deafening, can't even hear the air circulating from your air conditioning, a black void with five lit candles. All but one candle suddenly blows out. In the weak illumination of that candle, a dark figure emerges from the depths of the shadows. It picks up the offering off the floor, dark claws seizing the panties in its hold. Lifting the fabric to it's face and taking a deep waft. Exhaling in satisfaction.
"Really? Not even for just an hour? I feel like I haven't seen you all week." Trinity whines into the phone.
A steamy fog fills your bathroom, fogging up the mirror and covering you in a suitable humidity. Reclined on your back in the tub, knees peaking out over the water. A half empty glass of wine sits on the edge and your hand carefully presses the phone to your ear.
"You have seen me, we see each other everyday."
"Yeah, but that's at work. We haven't had a normal conversation in forever. Hurry up, get out of the damn tub and come to the bar with us!" Trinity tries to sing song her voice as sweetly as she can, but it comes off curt.
You sigh, looking at the glass of wine. The good box wine from the grocery store, the one that doesn't taste like complete sugar water. I'm pretty sure whatever shitty drink I can get at a bar will be better than bath-time wine, you think to yourself. But, you just weren't in a going out mood tonight. And if you know Trinity Santos, you know she will turn one hour into five hours of bar hopping. On a work night no less. The water splashes as you readjust yourself against the slippery floor.
"You wanna talk so bad— talk to me over the phone!" you say.
The line is quiet for a few seconds. "Ooookay… Want to tell me how you feeeeel about Doctor Abbot?" You can hear that sick grin right through the phone.
Typical Trinity Santos. Her only form of interest and affection is poking fun at your not-well-hidden crush on the older attending. You knew she caught on at some point, hoping she had no interest from how long she went without throwing it in your face. The longer you can keep it hidden, or go without talking about it, the longer you can go without anyone jesting you about a workplace crush.
"Jesus christ Trinity, what are we, 13? I don't have a crush on him!" you protest.
"Ah— I didn't say it was a crush, I just asked how you felt about him." she makes a 'gotcha' huff of air, "You know it's so obvious right? You look like a puppy about to get adopted every time he walks into a room."
Your words sputter as heat rises into your cheeks. "T-That is not true! I look at him like any normal resident should."
"I don't think residents are supposed to look at attendings with 'i want to suck you—"
Groaning loud, cutting Trinity off while she snickers into the phone. "OKAY— I get it, I get it. I'm not subtle. But can you blame me? Look at him."
"You need to remember who you're talking to, I don't bark up that tree." she sighed
"And he really… really must not know what personal space means." Chewing on your lip when your mind wanders.
Hunched over a patient with advancing pneumonia, trying your hardest to will the sweat to drip down your cheek and not off your body.A thoracentesis was ordered to prevent anymore fluid from going into the best cavity before you could complete better treatment. Jack stood closely behind you, peering over your shoulder. His face eerily close to yours, any closer and a gust of wind is going to brush his cheek against yours. A nurse slips the fully engaged pig tail catheter into your hand. Everything was all happened at once, yet you could only think about the feeling of his warm breath wafting against your skin.
"Doctor Abbot I said I've seen a thoracentesis before— not that I've done one." trying not to let your voice waver.
"Well then now is a good time to learn how to do one then."
You flounder on your words, insistent that it would be better if he did it— you'll catch the next one, or maybe the one after that. Jack's hand reaches for your shoulder blade, grazing to the center of your back and up to give you a comforting squeeze on the base of your neck. A large wave of chills wafts of your skin and you squeeze your eyes shut, shoving any thought that isn't hospital related away. It didn't help that Jack Abbot happens to be hospital related in a way.
His voice drops low, sounding like a volume quiet enough for just you and him. "Listen, you're not going to learn anything if you sit back and let me do all the work. Take it, and show me how it's done."
You heard is spinning, only able to focus on the double meaning of that entire sentence. Jack definitely does not realize what he's saying and how he's saying it. But the way your mind takes it is enough to squeeze your thighs together. Nodding your head, the tip of the catheter pokes into the small incision. You pause, waiting for Jack's approval.
"Good, that's good. Go slow. All the way in." Jack's voice slows in your ears. Emphasizing the words slow.
Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck, you chant in your thoughts. The hand on your neck feels heavy, thick fingers weighing into your skin. And hot, red hot. A thick gulp rolls down your throat when his fingers brush softly on the little bit of skin.
You pull back on the large syringe, drawing out a large amount of thoracic fluid. The quicker you finish, the faster you can take a much needed deep breath. You lock the catheter and hand the freed syringe to a nurse.
"Uhm— take this to the lab for a test. A-and hook in a fluid collection bag, replace it every two hours before it overflows."
"Good job, kid. Knew you could do it." His voices hums through a lazy grin. Giving your back a pat before pulling away from the room.
And you remember, crystal clear, going home that night and snaking your fingers into your panties. Replacing the setting with Jack talking you through taking the entirety of his length.
"… Hello? Did you drop your phone into the tub again?" Trinity huffed over the line. It went spotty for a second, cracking into a uncomfortable screech. Nothing a few slaps of your palm could fix.
"No! Sorry I was thinking about something."
"Gross, do not masturbate when I'm on the phone."
"I was not!" you whine.
"Just ask him out. Spare me the nausea at work." Trinity drones.
"You know I can't do that Trinity! That would go against so many HR violations. And people might think I'm trying to sleep my way to the top."
"Are you?"
"NO."
"See. Then no problem with asking him out. Or maybe you just need to fuck him to get it out of your system."
"Oh my god— Listen Trin, I'm tired as fuck and the shift today actually made me want to roll into my grave prematurely. I just want to finish my wine and sleep long and hard. I promise I will go out the next time."
"Pinky?"
"Pinky."
"Ok, fine. You're off the hook this time. I'll see you in the trenches."
Your lips disappear under the surface of the water, keeping your nose right above the surface. It has definitely been longer than an hour now, at some point bubble baths loose their therapeutic touch. Now you're just sitting in water. As you open your eyes slowly, vision blurry from the buzz of wine, there's something in the water with you.
A vanta black figure, it's head peaking just above the surface of the water. It's eyes are beady black irises in yellow scleras. No other discernible features. You could of sworn it blinked at you. Forgetting that your mouth is under water as you gasp, accidently inhaling a large gulp of water. You shoot up straight, coughing up water and rubbing your eyes. Your chest heaves for new, pure air. When you open your eyes again, it's gone. Just waving water between your thighs. Something cold settles deep in your stomach, a chill in your spine, it gave you goosebumps. The warm bath water turned frigid, prompting your body to emerge from the water. The entire bathroom felt cold, having to close your arms around your body to ease the shivers. A plush towel is able to give you just enough warmth to stop the shivering. Droplets of water trickle down your bare skin as you step out of the bath and in front of the mirror.
"No more drinking a full glass of wine after work…" you mutter.
Settling at the sink, the mirror still have a sheen of condensation over it. As you look into the mirror, you still can't shake off the chills. It's a feeling you can't put a finger on what it is exactly. Cramping? Nausea from the wine? You can't be that drunk, or maybe you are. It made your stomach twist, like a hunch you feel while hovered over a patient. The reflection in the mirror is blurred. It's an unclear picture of you, and something behind you. Not something, someone. Taller figure, with more distinct features. Broad shoulders and a mess of graying hair on top of its head. Your hand reaches forward, swiping away the condensation. A clearer view of yourself and the towel hanging on the wall behind you. There is nothing there, and there was nothing in the bathtub. You're drunk.
The alcohol rushing through you system put you to sleep easy. Wrapped in your blankets and nestled into the warmth of slumber. The alarm clock on your nightstand reads 3:13AM. You have managed stay down the majority of the night. Your dreams cause your sleeping body to toss and turn. One moment you're standing in the middle of your room, right in the middle of the pentagram you scrubbed away before bed. Then in a blink of an eye, you were in the middle of an empty trauma room. Through the glass door, there is nothing but an empty emergency department. Not a soul in sight. A voice calls out for you, deep and husky. You whip yourself around, worried who is seeing you in such a vulnerable state, half naked.
"Jack?"
Black scrubs and all, standing on the other side of the room is Jack Abbot. Half curled smile and a slight rosiness to his cheeks. He makes slow advances towards you, it feels like the room is a million miles wide with how long it take him to become toe to toe with you. His chest grazes against yours as he looks down at you with uncharacteristically dark eyes. His hands reaches for your cheek, drifting down your neck and giving it a soft, almost comforting squeeze.
"Come to bed, Sweetheart." He whispers in a low register that echoes.
And in another snap, you're back in your bedroom. Nestled into the cushion of your pillows and Jack notched between your legs. The situation is surreal, but his face and touch feels real. You can even smell his scent of musk and sandalwood.
"W-Wait— Jack!" You yelp as he quickly latches his lips onto your clit.
An intense suck with his lips, then he licks a long stripe from bottom to top. As you peer down, his tongue is warped. Abnormally long, he takes slow, slithering licks at your already weeping slit. It's like with every moan that comes from you, he purposely slows down the motions of his tongue. The pleasure brewing inside feels raw, and achingly real. Your thighs start to shake and your hips jolt.
"Jack… you feel so good…" You moan out.
He freezes in place. He pulls himself away just enough so that his lips ghost against your pussy. But you can feel him smiling. Not smiling, he's leering into your pussy as he starts a deep laugh. He stopped eating you out, but you can still feel it. That bubbling desire deep withing your core is still building up. You're still humming and whining, you were responding to no stimulation. You look down to meet with Jack's eyes. The air catches in your throat as you see his eyes had turned beady and yellow, just like the figure in the bath.
"Wake up." he mutters.
"W-What? Jack—"
"WAKE UP."
A sudden gush of air fills your lungs and your chest heaves. Eyes flickering open, the abrupt stimulation of the light made your vision blurry. You didn't leave your lamp on. You blink rapidly, rubbing your eyes to clear your vision. Your mind can't register the feeling of pleasure shooting right into your spine. It's that same feeling you felt in your dream. Arching your back from the bed, it hits you like a train the more intense quiver of your pussy. You feel like you're going to burst at any second. And it feels so good. Is this spontaneous orgasm? That's supposed to be rare, and it has never happened to you before… Your tired body musters the strength to lift yourself on to your elbows. Even though you move slow, you felt dizzy. Another stint of pleasure is blown on to your clit. Closing your eyes and singing another moan. When your head slacks forward, you're met with the true source of your pleasure.
Slotted between your legs, hooking his arms around your thighs and forcing you open, Jack Abbot has his lips attached to your clit, suckling at the sensitive bud. You want to scream, you need to scream. Push him away and ask him how he got inside your apartment. Nothing but a whimper can leave your lips. Your toes curl when he presses his tongue flat on to your clit and drags a long swipe on it.
"W-What the fuck!" You finally manage to yell through strained moans.
His eyes dart up, meeting yours and smirking. "Well look who decided to wake up. Morning, kid."
There is an allure in 'Jack's voice that lowers your mental defenses. His tone is so smooth, your shoulders relax as it fills your ears. It doesn't take long for you to realize that there is something different about him. Somewhere in between unsettling and dreamy. Dreamier than usual. Just like in your dream, his eyes don't have that gleam like they typically have. They're dark and glossy. The gears start turning in your mind. Jack should be at PTMC, he is at PTMC, you were with him at handoff. There's no way he would be here right now, in your bedroom, eating you out like you were his last meal. It's not like you tossed him the key and told him to waltz in whenever he felt like it. His expression changes, like he knew exactly what you are thinking. Jack bites into his smirk and pulls away from your cunt. It pains you to lose the pleasure, as much as you're startled, it felt too good.
"What's wrong, sweetheart? Cat got your tongue?" he purrs.
He sits up on his knees, giving you a much better view of him. It's a carbon copy of Jack in his black shirt and camo printed pants. From the curls on top of his head down to the freckles that painted his arms. You sputter and trip over your voice, struggling to get out a proper word, let alone a sentence.
"You're not Jack." There's a shake in your voice you can't cover up. Knowing of this person in your room is stealing Jack's likeness.
"Yeah, kid? What makes you say that."
"He would never—", it stung to say never, "He wouldn't do this. The real Jack is at work right now."
Jack— if you should even be calling him that— hums as his hand reaches the top of your knee and glides down your exposed skin. He had gotten your underwear and sweatpants off in your sleep. Your stare moves with his hand, it reaches right at the joint of your thigh, then to your soaked cunt. He presses the pad of his thumb on to your clit. Only adding pressure, no small movements, enough to get you to squirm under the small touch.
"Then what am I?" he asks, but he already knows the answer.
It's not hard to conclude back to the ritual. You didn't want to believe that it actually worked, that you summoned an incubus into your life and you didn't know how to get rid of it. What's more sick is that it peered deep into your mind and plucked your need for Jack. It could of picked anything else, Hugh Jackman of all people maybe. This is what an incubus does, it picks the person that feels so out of reach that you become more willing to give yourself up to them. It worked just a little bit, the brief lurch of your heart at the picture of Jack indulging in you.
"You're… the incubus. From the book."
"I'm a incubus, not the incubus. I'd be flattered if anyone wanted to write a book about me. Let alone live to tell the tale." His grin grows wider and he licks his bottom lip.
"This isn't real. You're not real. I'm still drunk." You babble to yourself, starting to shake your head in disbelief.
"Oh I'm real, sweets. I'm as real as it gets." 'Jack' tuts as he leans in closer.
"You called upon me and I answered. There are always warnings to heed. You saw them, yes?" He sneers, following your slow nod with his own. "Then you know, this is exactly what you asked for."
"B-But… but why Jack?" you ask.
"Why Jack? I heard your phone call, I looked deep into your thoughts and saw how bad you want him. How much you want to show him your love and receive his love. You know it won't ever come true…" The tips of his fingers danced along your skin as he muses over the idea of unrequited love. "But I can make that all better. I will fill the gaping holes of your need. Why does it matter that I'm not actually him. He's still here, right?"
'Jack'— if you should even call him that, looked at you with a hunger. The thumb on your clit pressed down with more pressure, making you squeak and grab at his wrist. It's painful and satisfying all in one touch. Your thighs instinctively try to press together, blocked by his body. You should have the will power to give yourself a fighting chance and run away. But it feels like an invisible hand is forcing you to stay in place. There is a likely chance that there is no ominous presence forcing you to stay. Your subconscious is reveling in the sight of 'Jack' in between your legs. Whether he was real or not, it starts to fill that vibrating need deep within your core in a sick, manipulative way.
"Now… are you going to stop shivering like a scared kitten and let me finish my meal?" He asks lecherously.
A meal. That is what you are to him. It's a charade to steal your essence away and devour it. This isn't real. But he looks so real. The same crinkle of his crows feet, gray scruff that made his chin feel prickly. The same bulge of his arms through his shirt. It's one night, one night where Jack can be yours Biting on your lip, you offer him a slow nod. Jack hums in approval, ducking himself down between your thighs again. He peppers kisses along the skin inside your thigh. It's almost heartwarming how gentle his soft lips feel on your skin. That gentle feeling it immediately ripped away, replaced by a raring bite into your flesh.
"Soft and supple skin… I haven't had someone to gorge on in ages. I got lucky to be summoned by someone with so much meat and life in them." He prays into your skin.
Licking, kissing, and biting. It leaves bite-shaped bruises and indents into your skin. With each bite, you can't help the mewls that leave your lips. The act of chewing on you like you're a piece of meat should not be as hot as it is now. It reintroduces that growing ache between your legs. His lips find its place back on your clit. He leaves a teasing peck on to the little bud, then tonguing his way through your folds. 'Jack' makes sure to leave no part of your slit unconquered. It's dizzying how good he is at eating pussy. Of course he's good at it, this is his whole point of living. You wonder if the real Jack is good too…
His mouth travels back to your clit, circling his tongue around it and letting his spit mix with the juices that soaked your skin. The exposed skin starts to feel raw and burnt from how much 'Jack's scruff brushed against your cunt. You fall deeper and deeper into pleasure. The motions begin to blur together; his tongue darting into your hole turns into mouthing at puffy lips, then flicking his tongue on your clit. Back arching and singing moans into the room. A certain ringing in your ears deafens you when the knot deep inside you is close to snapping.
"Come on, kid. I can taste how close you are… Cum for me." He drones into your cunt, savoring the way your pussy gushes in response to his tongue.
"Fuck— I can't… I can't hold it. Jack!" You panted out as you started to tip over the edge.
"That's right— say his name." His voice vibrates against your clit and it's that tipping point the releases the floodgates of your orgasm.
Bucking your hips into him, riding out your high against his mouth. He laps up your slick from pussy. Making en effort to not miss any drop. The most intense kind of euphoria whirls in your mind. You feel like you're floating in the clouds. You've never finished like this before in your life. Walls spasming around nothing, squeezing every ounce of your orgasm until you deflate back into the bed. 'Jack' kisses up your body, briefly over your stomach, to your stern, settling into the crook of your neck. Licking at spot of skin and sucking, marking you. There's a struggle to keep your eyes open, fluttering and slowly feeling yourself drift back into sleep.
"Jesus, honey, you ok? You look like you just got hit by a truck." Dana observed as she instinctively put the back of her hand against your forehead.
And she's right, while there were no outright harm to your body, the circles under your eyes were deeper and darker than usual. You felt so groggy waking up, you barely managed to get yourself clean and presentable for the day. You couldn't bother to put on any makeup or do anything other than brush your hair into a manageable state. And you're pretty sure your scrub pants might be on backwards.
"Dana I'm fine. I just didn't get good sleep last night." you yawn.
"Yeah, I think I can tell…" Dana's lips once flat curled up into a smirk as she gives your shoulder a pat. Wittingly looking at the exposed bruise that was peaking out from the fabric of your scrubs.
You pull the hem up, feigning to readjust your shirt. "T-That's nothing— I burnt myself with a hot spoon— spaghetti!" rambling as you attempt to steer the conversation away from the very obvious hickey on your skin.
Excusing yourself, you can tell that as soon as you turn away, Dana chuckles quietly to herself and shakes her head. You were very, very aware of the mark on your neck. You're happy that only the bruise is showing, and not the very prominent bite mark on your shoulder. Putting a bandaid over it would look more suspicious to a room full of doctors and nurses. The marks on your body are a striking reminder that something very real happened last night. When you woke up, you weren't sure what to make of it. You had woken up alone, your room back to the state it was originally in.
The fatigue the book had mentioned hit harder than you expected, hoping that a cup of coffee is enough to give you some pep. It didn't really make a difference, but it's the thought that counts. You did your best to keep yourself up and steady throughout the day. There were some triumphs and more fails. You begged Robby to let you work triage so that you can work with a slower pace and not look like you're falling behind. You almost bombed two high risk cases from how delayed your thinking became; Robby agreed, he didn't need another problem to have to hover over constantly. Instead of eating your lunch, you fell asleep face first into the break room table. Everyone believed that you had a case of bad sleep (when you regulated how much of your hickey was showing). You were a zombie walking in day light.
He really ate the life out of me, you thought to yourself.
"Good Evening Mister Bryant. I'm Doctor [last name] and this is Doctor Javadi, we will be checking you out today. What seems to be the concern?" Stifling your yawn as best as you can.
The man groans about feeling violently nauseous and feverish. You go through the motions, checking his temperature, blood pressure, pupil reactivity.
"Mister Bryant what did you eat in the last 24 hours?" Victoria asked while you lazily typed into the chart.
"I had a taco bell burrito I was saving for a rainy day in my fridge. I-I forgot how long it's been in there."
Your lips press thin and you exhale through your nose, side-eyeing to Victoria. Who the fuck is leaving a burrito in their fridge for more than a day, let alone a taco bell burrito. You rub the tiredness away from your eyes, and making a deep sigh. Grabbing a vomit bag from the bin and handing it to the patient.
"While it would require more tests, you definitely are developing food poisoning. I'll have a nurse bring over some anti-nausea medication but in the mean time please keep this bag with you in case you—"
Like clockwork, the man retched and leaned forward to empty the contents of his stomach onto your legs and shoes. It all happened so quick that it gave you the small boost of adrenaline you needed to finish out the last hour of your shift. Victoria's eyes widen, waving over for more help. Cursing and jumping back to keep him from making a mess all over you even more.
"I think you're going to need new scrubs." Victoria grimaced at the sight of vomit slowly dripping down your scrubs and dripping on to your shoes.
"God, I fucking hate Taco Bell."
The biohazard bin closed with a thud in the locker room, having just thrown away the sealed bag of vomit covered scrubs and shoes. You thank the stars that you keep spare sweatpants and shoes in your locker for moments like these. Even though they smell a little dusty, that was the least of your worries. There is only 30 minutes left in your shift, hoping to reserve it for the last of your charting. The incident in triage gave you new rush of life, but you quickly became fatigued again.
You sat on the bench in front of your locker, left in your scrub top and panties as you lazily hold the sweatpants in your hands. Hair damp from taking a shower. Behind you is a full body mirror that you stand and turn to look into. The color of heat on your cheeks is faint as it blends into the dark circles. Your eyelids are noticeably more hooded than usual, it was becoming difficult to keep your eyes open. Stare moving down to your bare legs. More bites and bruises littering your skin, they are darker and more profound. You graze a finger tip over the closest bite mark and all the memories of the night before come back to fruition.
That thing, that person, 'Jack'— could be waiting for you in your own home. Or maybe he finally got his fill and moved on to the next unsuspecting victim. His voice echoed in your mind, a voice that replicates Jack's perfectly. No discrepancies to make it distinct and remind you it wasn't really Jack. A perfect carbon copy that made the lines blur even more seamlessly. The door pushes open and you're pulled away from your thoughts. You're too slow to react and forget you lack any kind of pants. Only widening your eyes to whoever walked into the locker room.
"Whoa— sorry. Guess I should of knocked first." Jack apologizes for entering so suddenly. He tries to keep his eyes down to the floor or up to your face, dodging your exposed body.
There's a brief moment of silence before you realize why he came in with a soft blush on his cheeks. You stiffen your shoulders, like you've been caught in some type of indecent act.
"Should of seen me earlier. I'd rather you see me like this than covered in throw up." you laugh weakly. To save yourself some dignity, you hold the folded sweatpants in front of your pelvis, shielding your underwear.
The corner of Jack's mouth twitches as he returns a low chuckle. He closes the door behind him and takes a few strides towards you, keeping a respectable distance.
"Robby asked me to come check on you. He said you've been out of it all day." Jack shoves his hands into his pockets and mutters to himself, I only just got here but…
"I'm fine Doctor Abbot. I just want to finish my charting and go home."
"You sure? You don't look like a million bucks right now."
The softness in his tones reminds you that this isn't the same 'Jack' as last night, not the same 'Jack' that gave you the very marks he is looking at. His voice isn't sexually charged, nor does his eyes have a hunger to them. They're soft, worn in with wrinkles, and his voice is low with his own kind of lived in exhaustion. You still can't shake off the feeling of alarm around the real Jack. What if he's actually the incubus playing a trick on you. Of course that's not true, but the lines feel so blended it's hard to decipher what's real or not.
"Who does after a full shift here?" you counter with a shrug.
There's more silence, thick and awkward. You notice how Jack continues to struggle with keeping his eyes up and not down at your bare legs. He already notices the bites, he isn't sure if those are from an animal or a human. Scrunching his face he takes another prying look into your eyes. You widen as you realize the bites were too noticeable to ignore. He sits on the bench, grumbling from taking the weight of his legs. He's at an ideal height that puts the bites in his line of sight without having to be accused of looking in the wrong place.
"Rough night?" he put a particular emphasis on rough. Teasing at the love bites littered on your thighs. Why do your seniors always have to catch you in the truth?
Rough night is only half of it. What's the best way to explain to him that a demon used his appearance to eat you out. And that you didn't exactly try to stop it, nor feel guilty about it afterwards. Maybe regretful that it led to the immense amount of weariness you felt, and embarrassed that you were standing next to the real Jack and all you can think about is his lips glued to your clit.
"These— they're nothing." a weak smile pulls your lips. Failing at keeping a cool expression on your face, it doesn't mix well with your exhausted features.
"They don't look like nothing. Did you get into it with a vampire?"
Something like that. An incubus could technically be classified as a vampire if you think about it. Shifting on your weight, your thighs squeezing together as you suddenly grow more self-conscious of the bites. Nervous that Jack might think you're some kind of freak in bed that he doesn't want to be associated with. Or worse, that you belong to someone else. Before you can speak up, Jack grabs your hips and guides you to stand in front of him, the same hips that just so happened to only be covered by your panties. He looks right at your thighs, finger tips moving down to pull the skin and check the bruises. He pokes a finger tip at the closest bite, causing you to wince at the slight sting it brought.
"You got these checked out yet?" He asked clinically as he checks the other thigh. Lips relaxed into a soft line and his brows knitted together in focus. You curse at yourself for feeling the trembling in your core, sincere concern is his sexiest trait after all.
"I told you Doctor Abbot, they're nothing. If they were infected I would of known by now." Your eyes stay down following his fingertips.
"But you, as a doctor, should know the human mouth can carry thousands of diseases. And infection can take up to a week to manifest." He gives the side of your thigh a light tap before he lifts himself back on to his feet.
It accentuates the height difference. Having to stare down his nose to view you, and you craning your neck. The grip on your sweatpants tighten, holding the air your throat for the remaining time he stands this close to you.
"Make sure to clean it, it will heal faster that way."
When jack steps away from you, you a take a much needed inhale of air. It felt like he had been standing toe to toe with you for ages. Not even the haze in your mind could distract you for the prick of slick that would soon form into a pool in your panties. Pulling the sweatpants over your legs quickly and making you way out of the locker room to an open computer. Resting your head in your hands, there's a nagging idea that whatever happened in the locker room could of been made up in your head. The incubus able to reach you all the way to the hospital. The possibility he played tricks on your brain to make you imagine the real Jack touching your bare thighs, only a few inches are from your pussy.
You struggled trying to get yourself to sleep when you got home. The moment your back touched the mattress, it's like your senses expected something to happen. For the incubus to show back up in your bed and lull you in to a nights worth of ecstasy. Tossing and turning didn't help, neither did chugging warm milk or letting a video play in the background. Your run in with Jack in the locker room made your insides twist, so desperate to feel more of his touch. That little person in your mind telling you maybe if you wait up long enough, the incubus will appear again to indulge in you. To revel in the feeling of his inhuman tongue dancing on your skin. And the way he made you orgasm in a way you hadn't in a long time, or maybe ever.
Your last resort to keep your eyes shut long enough that your body is convinced that it's asleep. The more you stayed up, the more you sat on the fact that this felt wrong. The real Jack Abbot knows nothing of this, and how he might be upset or disgusted that you let your lust for him go on this long. You try to counter that thought, is it not just the same as having a wet dream? That is how it all started the night before. Wondering what would of happened if you were honest about how the marks appeared on your body. Standing in front of him perched on the bench, confessing about how an occult ritual conjured an incubus to take his form and use your body for his energy. Jack would probably have you admitted to check if you had a concussion. Or…
He smirks as his thumb lovingly strokes the plush of your thigh, slowly moving inwards to between your legs. His fingers brushing against the spot of slick in your panties. Tutting as he chides to you about partaking in something so risky.
"You could of gotten really hurt, sweetheart. Needed me so bad you had to get a demon to touch you. Why didn't you just ask me, hmm?" he coos.
Making the pressure of his fingers harder, pushing into the fabric to feel your clit. It moved more of your juice around and spread to your thighs. Jack would pull your panties down and slip two fingers between your folds. Watching and feeling how well you responded to the thick digits; walls fluttering around him as each knuckle disappeared deeper within you. Jack pumps himself into your cunt while his free hand holds your hip steady, preventing your shaking body from falling backwards.
"You like that baby? Like the way my fingers make you feel? 'M I better than a demon?"
"Yes… Yes Jack." you moan with a hand over your mouth to prevent anyone else from hearing.
Not realizing that your hand had found it's way past your shorts and panties. Just placed on top of your weeping cunt, grinding yourself into your palm as your face contorts from the creeping feeling of pleasure.
The feeling of a hand pushes under your scrubs, pawing at your tit over your bra. Thumbing at the hardened nipple makes you moan through a gasp for air. His touch is hot on your breast, you feel it under the fabric like it didn't exist as a buffer. Jack gave it an uncharacteristically harsh squeeze. Wincing at the blunt pain you try to grab at his wrist to control him, but there is nothing there. Then realizing you still feel his guiding hand on your hip.
Your eyes open from the REM induced daydream. A shadowed figured kneeling next to you in bed had your tank top pushed up and a hand groping at the exposed skin of your breast. Ripping your hand from your pants in an attempt to raise it against them, it catches your wrist. Eyes widen when you get a scent of musk makes you dizzy.
"You! Y-You're back?" you managed to squeeze, voice hoarse.
"Why wouldn't I be, sweets? After last night, I knew I was going to come back for seconds." he purred as he released another grope on to your chest. "Quite a dream you were having, glad I interrupted before you fell completely asleep. It's more fun to enjoy my girl when she's awake."
My girl, the incubus is really good at playing up the character of Jack being yours. Your paralyzed under his stare, more so you're afraid of what the possibilities could be if you moved. The moonlight shifts just enough to illuminate the side of his face, making 'Jack's scruff shine. The hand on your wrist pulls your palm closer to his face. The gleam of your slick covered your palm. He took a deep whiff of it, groaning as it riled up his senses. Another tug of your wrist pulls you to sit up and watch as his tongue makes a long swipe at your palm, licking up your need. He shivers at the taste.
The tip of Jack's nose tickles your wrist before his lips press fleeting kisses into the warmth of your skin. The sight sets your heart into a flutter and your mind into a spiral. Thinking about if the real Jack was pulling you into this position, pulling you into the bedroom and peeling scrubs of your body. Working his way around your bare body as you scratch into his skin. Lost in your daydreams, the present Jack— the imposter Jack— the incubus— kisses up your arm into your shoulder. The bed dips as he leans in closer. He takes a deep inhale of your skin, moaning low as he relishes in the scent of your well-worked body. It's sweet to his senses. He sticks out his tongue to paint a long, wet stripe on your collar bone and into your neck. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in tight. His spell on you compels you to wrap your arms around his neck and cage him into your neck as he attacks it with more bites and kisses.
You had really gone off the deep end, so enthralled with pleasure that you convince yourself this is just as good. Better even. You don't have to deal with the massive red tape and possible embarrassment that comes with trying to prospect an attending. Jack is here at your disposal. Giving you a night with Jack without even needing to ask. It causes a sudden realization that it felt wrong in a way. Your arm moves from around his neck and tries to push him away by the shoulder. He stops and groans impatiently into your skin, you can feel him roll his eyes.
"What now?" he grumbled.
"It's hard to not think about how you're not actually… him." speaking softly and averting your eyes and when he pulls up to look at you.
Unamused, he sighs and puffs air from his lips, the change in your mood quickly boring him.
"The look 's not enough for you, sweetheart?"
"It's not that—" you're cut off by the act of him pulling the black shirt over his head. A delicious sight of 'Jack's firm stomach and a tuft of hair sprouting from the depths of his pants. Clearing your throat, trying and failing to not look at his torso for too long. "Trust me, you've proven yourself to look very realistic…"
"Then what do you need?" he asks.
Answering through the bite on the inside of your cheek, "Could you maybe… like— act more like him? Or talk more like Jack…" a sheepish heat floods your cheeks.
Pursing his lips, a hand caresses your cheek then he nods. Whatever gets to doing the deed fast and renders you more compliant. You start to think it's a silly request, what could this demon possibly know about Jack Abbot enough to make you feel emersed enough—
"Let's check on those bites again. Yeah, Sweetheart? Had me worried in the locker room that you weren't being safe." tilting his head, looking for your permission. It made something deep inside you pulse. That bond that formed between the two of you strong enough that the incubus knew exactly what happened in the locker room. He knew enough to know that the concern that laced 'Jack's words made you drip.
Scooting himself down your body, he settles between your legs and pulls on leg over his shoulder and keeping his attention to the other's thigh. Pressing his thumb into deep red teeth marks, he grins at your flinch in pain.
"Did that hurt, baby? 'M sorry… guess I have to be a little more gentle next time, yeah?" Looking up to you for an answer when he presses down on another mark. Squeaking and nodding your head.
Soft lips graze the bruised skin, traveling from mark to mark. Kissing up to your the hem of your shorts, fabric so rudely baring him from the prize he's been seeking. And incubus' don't like waiting— placing open lips over your clothed cunt, mouthing at the growing wet patch. You hum as his mouth brushes fabric up against your clit, creating a friction satisfying enough to lure you in for more.
"If you needed someone to touch you so bad… you should of asked me. 'M your attending, I have to look out for you." his words are muffled into your shorts and pussy. "No need to go out 'n getting in to trouble with strange monsters…" he says with a provoking chuckle.
'Jack' pulls away and takes your shorts with you, tossing it away from the bed. Going back down on your clothed core again, able to suckle at the juices that had soaked the fabric of your panties.
"Taste so good, all for me. 'Knew you would, could practically smell the taste of you in the locker room." his words alone makes your jaw drop into an O shape with a moan.
You feel his lips and tongue so close to your clit, longing for real contact at last. He keeps on toying with you, a long stripe of his tongue from the bottom all the way to the top where you clit is hidden. Your hips start to roll into his tongue to get more direct friction. He lets you, wanting you to unleash yourself to him. Your panties are ruined at this pointed, drenched in your need and his saliva.
"Please— stop making me wait. I need more, Jack." you pant out.
He bites at the thin hem of your underwear. Pulling at it with his teeth down your legs and holding it like a treat after it falls off your ankles.
He speaks through his clenched teeth, "What more do you need, sweetheart?"
"A lot more."
"Ah ah— I see how you look at me at work. I know there's a better answer inside that pretty little doctor's head."
Eyes flickering from his eyes, to the panties between his teeth, to his bare chest, to the large tent in his pants. This is how all of your late night fantasies play out. Spread out open and bare for Jack while he looks at you with an unimaginable hunger. An incubus' best work, making it all become a reality in one way. His hand trails down the center of his navel and rests at the waistband of his pants, leading right to the correct answer.
"I want you to fuck me… Jack." feeling breathless in calling him 'Jack'.
Smirking and a quick nod of his head, he unbuttons the pants and shove it down enough for his cock to spring out to freedom. You were hoping he truly was imitating Jack in every way viable; his cock thick and veiny, a small drip of precum slipping down the skin. You have to remind yourself to keep your mouth shut and not drool. He moves to sit on his knees closer to you. His broad body pushing your legs back and opening you up further. His cock rests on top of your wet cunt, it's unimaginable size compared to you made your head spin with need.
"I'll make you feel so good. You've been wanting this so long and I've been depriving you. How much do you need me?" instigating by moving his hips slow to run the base of his cock against your slit.
"A lot— s-so much, Jack."
"Come on, sweetheart. Need to be more specific than that." he pulls his hips back and prods the tip of his cock at your folds.
A sharp inhale as it spreads you open a little bit. "I need you so bad, it hurts. I fantasize about it every night. I need to feel your cock inside me." whimpering when he slips in just the tip.
He takes the panties that managed to stay in between his teeth and holds it close to your face. The scent of your slick filling your nose. The fabric is forced against your nose and mouth when he grabs and squeezes both cheeks in his hand.
"Smell it, sweets. How wet he makes you, how much your body craves his cocks." a devious chuckle leaving his mouth. Taunting your need for the real Jack.
His cock pushes into you deeper, slick walls stretching around his girth to take in all of him. Your moans are muffled into the wet fabric. 'Jack' cranes his head back as he buries himself deep inside your pussy. The fabric bunched under his cock rubs against your skin when he starts shallow thrusts. Just for him to get familiar with the feeling of your walls adjusting to his size. Making you groan at the aching stretch it created. His other hand grabs your ankle and hikes it over his shoulder, leaning in to pry you open and create a deeper angle. He starts more intentional thrusts, slowly building his pace up to something agonizing. The tip of his cock bullies up into the sensitive spot inside you, making you cry into the fabric muffling your voice.
"Your cunt is responding so well to his cock, sweets. Fuck— you've been needing this old man's cock that bad, huh?" he says as he completely drops the 'Jack' act.
All you can do is nod your head, eyes rolling back when his pace picks up faster, inhuman.
"Can't speak, baby? Is he fucking you too good? Just like you wanted right?"
The hand that held the underwear to your face starts to push the wet fabric between your lips, and you welcome it. Words suppressed to be barely coherent. Your wetness spreads and makes a sinful wet slapping sound when his cock drives deep inside you. The heat in your tummy is building up and you can feel it in your clit as you get closer and closer to your end. Pussy clenching around his cock and feeling the twitch of bulge of his veins. He's getting lost inside you, the grip on your body faltering as he focuses on coaxing your orgasm out of you.
You don't even think about how you'll have to face the real Jack tomorrow at hand off; how you'll have to look him in the eyes and pretend he wasn't up in your guts all night.
"Cummin'— 'M gunna cum!" you cry into your panties. you back arches up, your stomach rubbing against his. Your grip onto the blankets beneath you as your body starts to shake and brace itself to finish.
"Do it, sweet girl. Cum all over his cock. 'M jealous, should keep you all to myself— drag you back to hell with me and keep you as my little pet." he threatens.
Tempting. Blinded by bliss when you start to unravel under him. Thighs shaking and your hips rutting against him to ride out your high. Juices flowing from your pussy and soaking anything in contact with you. You bite down hard into the bunch of fabric and it drowns the sound of your strained cries. He's able to keep a smug face when he grunts and pulls out quickly, shooting a load of hot cum all over your stomach. He chases down his high by running his cock against your cunt. His tip catching against your clit, overstimulating you and making your whine.
He looks down between your legs, the flow of your juice compelling him to feast again. Latching his mouth to your cunt and sucking what ever he can catch on his tongue. With each movement of his mouth, it's like he is drinking the energy straight from your body. Your eyes get heavy, too hard to keep them open. Lulling into sleep, you catch one last look before you're completely gone.
The image of Jack is gone. Only seeing that same, dark shadowy figure that you saw in the bath tub. It's beady, glossy eyes peering into your soul as it laps up your arousal clean from your pussy. The waving of a tail behind it. Not able to react as your eyes close for the last time.
a/n part 2: thank you again for reading and sticking around everyone! i was worried that fan fic writing was going to be one of those hobbies i dropped quick but im so happy ive stuck to it and really enjoy it!!! im so grateful for everyone liking, reblogging, n commenting!!!
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After your fiance cheats on you, you break off your engagement. Your father tries to cheer you up by taking you to the Danforth Country Club. Unfortunately for you, he introduces you to someone you know all too well.
Warnings: age difference implied (never outright stated), SMUT (18+) with a little plot, oral (f receiving duh), unprotected sex, titus is so down bad, secret-ish relationship
A/N: yet another dream turned into a fic. i wrote this at 2 am el oh el
w.c. 2.6k
You could forgive your father for dragging you along with him. He meant well. But did he have to take you here? The ram statue protruding from the Danforth Country Club entrance peered down at you. You stood hesitantly beside the car as your father handed the valet the keys. Your fingers fiddled with the charm on your purse as you took in the state of the building behind your sunglasses. A building you had spent quite a lot of time in. Your father had been a member for as long as you could remember, bringing you to lounge by the pool while he had some business lunch, or attempting to teach you how to be good at tennis. You hadn't come back since you got engaged. An entire year without hearing the cries of the peafowl that roamed the gardens. Your fiance- well, ex-fiance- belonged to a different club and he had been adamant that you shifted your integration from the DCC to the one his family was a part of. You weren't exactly in love with him. The engagement felt more like a business deal than genuine romance, but he was a nice enough man who you thought was going to take care of you for the rest of your life. So you obeyed his command and handed in your membership card.
That was before you walked in on him fucking the chef. A simple mistake of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you had seen her bend over the kitchen island, and that had been enough for you to throw your (very expensive and slightly gaudy) engagement ring right against his bare chest. One plane ride later, and your father greeted you back home with open arms and a mission to make you feel better. Starting with a good lunch and a massage. You had been excited, until he turned onto the all-too-familiar brick drive.
Your heart skipped when you walked into the main building. Memories from the years came rushing back. The coin machine you and your friends had been able to swipe quarters from. The ballroom where you first kissed- No. You were not going to make your chest hurt even more by thinking about him.
Your father's touch pulled you from your thoughts. He rested his hand on your shoulder and gently guided you to the dining room.
"I'm glad you came back during the summer," He mused "They have a good seasonal menu this year." You mumbled out something in return as you stepped into the restaurant. A too-bubbly host greeted you by your names and gestured for you to follow him. You sat at a table by the window overlooking the golf course. The ninth hole. Because the universe was funny like that. If you craned your neck, you could see the secluded spot you had driven the golf-cart to only a year prior. Stolen kisses and marks on your thighs from the hot plastic seats. You tore your attention away and focused instead on the menu placed in front of you. Your eyes vaguely scanned the descriptions until you found something that sounded good.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite member," The gravelly voice made your blood still in your veins. Your shoulders tensed and you held the breath you had just taken. You knew that voice. You hated that voice. The voice that you still remembered vividly enough to dream about. The voice that was making your stomach flip even after a year of not hearing it. You swallowed the saliva that pooled on your tongue and looked up. Sure enough, there he was. Titus Danforth. With a hand on your father's shoulder and a smirk that you could never discern as amicable or hostile. Your father grinned up at him.
"Ah! Mr. Danforth, so nice to see you!" He said cheerily. "Wasn't expecting you to be out on the grounds now that you're in charge of the place." Your eyebrows raised slightly. That was new. Titus had told you about how he would eventually be in charge of the club, but he talked about it like it was a distant goal. Something promised but just out of reach. Titus saw your expression change and he puffed out his chest a bit. He wanted to impress you.
"I saw you checked in and just wanted to say hello."
"Well, I'm honored," your father nodded. He seemed to remember that you were there, too. "Oh! Right. Mr. Danforth this is my daughter, I'm not sure you've met before." He turned his eyes to you. "He took over for Chester." You nodded, trying to swallow the lump that hardened in your throat. "We're celebrating the fact I no longer have to fund a wedding." Your lips turned up weakly and you saw Titus' eyes narrow slightly. He blinked.
"Pleasure," Titus grinned, reaching out his hand. You gave yours to him, breath hitching at the familiar scuff of his callouses against your skin.
Twenty minutes later, your tongue was down Titus' throat. Your back was pressed against the wall of some empty service hallway. Titus explored your torso with his hands, pinning you against the beige brick with his hips. You could feel his hard cock grinding into the plushness of your thighs. He nipped at your lips, running his tongue along yours in the dirtiest exchange of saliva you'd ever participated in.
"Missed you…so much," he panted between kisses. One of his hands groped at your chest, running under your shirt to memorize the lace of your bra with his fingertips. "Wh…fuck, where have you been? Haven't seen you since-." Since he'd fucked you in that golf cart on the ninth hole a year prior.
"Got engaged." You responded, tugging on his silver curls. The way you knew he liked. He growled, half at the sting of his hair and half at the pain of your words.
"Why?"
"Because," You rolled your eyes, pulling away enough to actually talk. Titus' pupils were blown wide, black consuming the hazel circles that haunted your daydreams and your nightmares. "I'm the oldest. I have a lineage to continue. I needed a husband."
"But," He licked his red and kiss-bitten lips. "You had me. You could've-"
"Titus, be serious," You scoffed, trying to cover the twinge of yearning that tugged at your heart. "There's no way my father would approve of that. You're-"
"I'd make him." Titus assured, eyes searching your face desperately, eyebrows pinched up. "We'd figure it out. I'd treat you so much better than that asshole. He didn't deserve you. "
"You don't even know him or what he did."
"I don't care. It doesn't matter. I would." You sighed and brushed a curl away from his eyes. You didn't have the proper words to express your objections in the moment, so you just kissed him again. Softer. Slower. But not for long. All it took was one involuntary buck of his hips into yours and a soft whine from his throat and your fingers found the buckle of his belt. The expensive leather unclasped easily and you popped the button of his slacks. Titus broke your kiss and turned his gaze down to where you slowly pulled the zipper over the prominent bulge in his pants. His torso heaved with every second as you taunted him, pushing the fabric over his hips tantalizingly slow. Titus sighed as you dipped your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. You wrapped it around his aching length, grinning when you felt him twitch in anticipation. You leaned in again, brushing your nose against his.
"Fuck me, Titus," You pleaded, eyes half-lidded and not even trying to cover the desperation you were feeling. "Make me forget about him." Titus was always good at following orders. Something in him snapped and he grabbed your wrist. He pulled your hand out of his boxers and tugged you a few feet down the hallway to a lone bench that rested there.
After pushing you down to sit, he dropped to his knees. He gathered the hem of your dress in his palms and pushed the fabric up around your hips to give him better access to what he wanted. He transferred the bunch to one of his hands, using the other to rip your underwear down your thighs. As if they personally offended him for covering his most coveted treasure. Titus held your eye contact as he licked the first stripe between your folds. It was obscene, open-mouthed and running along the entire expanse of your sex. His nose twitched up with delight at the moan that he pulled from you. The movement pulled up the corner of his top lip. A sneer in any other circumstance. Your hands found the crown of his head, needily pulling his face further into your pussy as he began to settle into his rhythm. The patterns surprised you. Somehow, after a year of not even seeing your face, he still remembered the perfect combination of licks and suckles to have you whimpering and whining and squirming under him. Something your ex-fiance could never accomplish. You didn't bother smothering your noises. You knew how much Titus loved to hear them. With every moan, he just worked harder. When you shifted your hips to try and get different friction, he followed dutifully. Anything to make you feel good. He had made that clear the first time he was between your thighs. And it wasn't long before you felt your orgasm catch behind your navel. It slithered around your abdomen, cinching the muscles tight as Titus tongue-fucked you like it was the most important thing he'd ever done. When it finally crashed into you, your thighs snapped around his head and your fingers pulled harder at his hair. He groaned against you, the vibrations only augmenting the intensity of your release. You rode your orgasm out against his face, rolling your hips along his mouth. And Titus stayed put, looking up at you with reverence as you used him to make the most of your pleasure. When you stilled, chest heaving, Titus pulled back from your core. He licked along the insides of your thighs, gathering every last drop of your arousal before wiping his chin with his fingers and sucking those clean, too. Like a man who didn't know when his next meal would be.
When he was fully satisfied, he stood. He stifled the grunt as his knees popped and you were too fucked-out to make an age-related quip. Titus reached over his head and pulled off his polo. Your eyes trailed down his torso, catching on the firmness of his shoulders and the greying trail of hair that accented his stomach. He kicked off his pants and hoisted you up from the bench. You grumbled in protest, but you were soon sat on Titus' lap. Your thighs bracketed his and he adjusted your arms around his neck. He helped you peel off your dress. You shivered at the sudden rush of cool air that surrounded your bare body. Titus was never one for wasting time. He guided you over his cock and helped you sink down onto him, inch by inch. Expletives filled the small gap between your faces as he stretched you open. You raked your nails over his shoulders, gripping onto him as your cunt struggled to accommodate him.
"So big, oh my…shit, Titus," You gasped, walls fluttering as you forced yourself to relax. Once you had taken him fully, Titus gave you a moment to adjust. One of his hands planted itself on the cold plastic of the bench. The other remained firm on your hip. When you nodded to him, Titus braced himself against the bench and began to move.
"Fuck," He hissed as he rolled up into you. His guiding hand pulled you up and down to meet each thrust. "Squeezin' me so tight, sweetheart." He went at his own pace, pulling halfway out and then pounding back into you. You accepted that you were simply along for the ride. His to use. Your head fell back and your hands pulled him closer to you. Titus' chin rested on your chest as he watched your face with devotion, committing each furrow of your brow and twitch of your lips to memory. When he shifted the angle slightly, pure pleasure shot up your spine and you let out a high-pitched keen.
"Ti-itus!" you gasped. He huffed and his pace quickened, hitting the spot over and over and over again.
"Feel good?" He cooed. Only a bit condescendingly. All you could do was whine and dig your nails in deeper. "Bet he never fucked you like this, huh baby?" Titus panted, eyes crazed. "Never fucked you so good?" Your pussy clenched around him.
"N-Never," You hummed "Feels so good, Titus. You're so good. Fuck you're so good!"
"Yea," he chuckled, unblinking eyes locked on the way your tits fell with each of your quick breaths. "Best you ever had, right? S'why you came back? Came back for me? Gonna cum on my cock the way you always do?" You nodded enthusiastically, weakly trying to bounce your legs to chase your second orgasm. "Yea, baby, c'mon. Cum for Titus." You obeyed with a shriek, thighs tensing as your release ripped through you. You felt a gush of liquid coat the junction of your bodies. Titus let out a mangled groan at the sensation. He didn't last much longer, fucking up into you with tiny whimpers as his face pinched together and he emptied himself as far as he could into your warmth. He gulped down quick breaths, jaw hanging loose as he blinked away the fuzziness at the edges of his vision. You couldn't have possible known that he hadn't cum since he last saw you. That your pussy was the only place worthy of receiving it. A year's worth of build-up finally released. His head fell back against the wall and he shakily wrapped his arms around you. He pulled you into him so that your cheek rested against his. Blood roared in your ears and you felt the pulsing of your heart in each muscle. You came down together, Titus pressing kisses to your neck as you scratched against his scalp. You had missed this, missed him, more than you had realized. And you suddenly felt stupid for even considering spending the rest of your life with another man. Titus, it seemed, was having similar thoughts.
"Will you at least think about it?" You barely heard his voice above the sound of your heartbeats. You took a deep breath, exhaling with a sigh and swallowed.
"Okay." You relented. Titus' eyes lit up with hope. He parted his lips to say something, but a ping from your phone interrupted him. You groaned as you pulled yourself off him, wincing as his softened cock slipped from you and caused a rivulet of his cum to make its way down your thigh. You hobbled over to where your dress was pooled on the floor, already feeling the soreness begin to settle between your legs. You found your phone and cursed when you saw the notification. "Shit, I gotta go." You searched briefly for your underwear before giving up and just tugging on your dress. "My massage starts in fifteen minutes." You turned back to Titus. Something tugged at your chest when you saw him. He sat there, hands nervously fiddling in his lap. He looked so…small. Not physically, of course, but there was something in his expression that made guilt gnaw at your ribcage. You crossed the hall and pressed a kiss to his sweaty forehead. He leaned into your touch and sighed. As you began to pull away, Titus caught your wrist. He pressed his thumb into your pulse point.
"Will you have dinner with me?" He rasped quietly. Not speaking too loudly out of fear that you might reject him. But you didn't. You gave him a kind smile and nodded.
this pic is so husband!titus when he's getting his new portraits taken for the walls of the council grounds. and you're sitting there watching him do these fuck ass poses and you start to laugh at him and he gets all mad and red in the face. then later fucks you while taunting "thought i looked stupid, huh? if i look so stupid why are you this wet huh?"
god he's so insecure i have to bite him
you thought he was being goofy!! because, despite popular belief, titus could be funny. funny in the way that made you laugh because it was unexpected.
so when he showed you the finished portraits, you couldn't help but let a giggle slip past your lips. you thought that it was a silly one that he had taken among the other business portraits, all of which were very poised and had the usual stern glare he gave the camera. really, who could blame you? but it had been a mistake. immediately, titus' face reddened, signature frown deepening into a true scowl. he snatched the portrait away from you and looked it over again.
"what's funny?" he grumbled, brows pulling together as his gaze scoured the paper. you sucked in a breath when you realized your error.
"nothing!" you assured him, crossing over to his side of the table and placing your hand on his shoulder. "nothing, they're...it's really good. very serious." you clenched your jaw to force another wave of humor away. titus glared at you.
"you laughed." he huffed, nose twitching. "what were you laughing at?"
you tried to think of something, anything, to say. "it's just..." you swallowed and itched behind your ear. "um, this one's just different. from the other ones."
"you think i look like a fucking idiot." he tossed the paper onto the table.
"titus, please-"
"no." he shook his head. he turned away and crossed his arms over his chest. "you do. everyone does."
"titus." you rolled your eyes. you were used to his little...well, there was really no word for it besides a tantrum. you rested your chin on his shoulder. "i don't. it just surprised me, that's all. i think you look powerful." you felt his back muscles tense beneath you. after a few breaths, he spoke again.
"really?" he whispered, eyebrow raising.
"really." when he turned to face you, you watched his expression change. his eyes weren't frustrated, but rather held a different darkness. a darkness you knew all too well. he placed a heavy hand on your shoulder and gently lowered you to your knees.
summary: summary: everyone always saw him as the weird cody brother, the guy who stared a few seconds too long at people nearby. but what happens when he meets a woman that is just as much of a looker as himself, maybe even more so? does he like the taste of his own medicine, or will he do everything in his power to avoid the one woman that actually makes him feel something other than lonely?
general tags: slow burn(ish), eventual smut, eventual romance, forced proximity, fluff and hurt/comfort, mutual pining, developing relationship, OCD (pope), protective pope cody, age gap/age difference (reader is 25, pope is 40), violence, gun violence, mentions of murder, near death experiences, implied character death
summary: everyone always saw him as the weird cody brother, the guy who stared a few seconds too long at people nearby. but what happens when he meets a woman that is just as much of a looker as himself, maybe even more so? does he like the taste of his own medicine, or will he do everything in his power to avoid the one woman that actually makes him feel something other than lonely?
chapter contents: THE FINALE !!! so much sweet and domestic fluffiness you might get a cavity, mentions of drinking (reader) and substance use (deran/craig), pool party!!!, pope takes care of you while you're drunk <3
chapter word count: 2.2k
series masterlist
after your first night back together, pope refused to leave your side. if you thought your cats were clingy, pope was worse. every time you turned over your shoulder he was right there beside you. on top of that, he refused to be near you without touching you in some way shape or form. it could have been as simple as your legs touching while sitting together in public, all the way to having his hand somewhere under your clothes, but never in a sexual manner. despite this, not a single night went by where he wasn't dragging you to the bedroom and burying his face between your thighs. you didn't seem to mind, you really felt the opposite, so he just made a routine out of it. eventually, a couple weeks went by and deran finally mentioned to pope that he should just move in with you. pope didn't need to be told twice, he immediately takes out his phone and calls you, obviously the only person he'd been calling recently. you pick up the phone right away, despite the fact that you were mid-shift at your new job in the cafe a few blocks away from the house. "hi, andy. everything okay?" you spoke in that soft voice you saved just for him.
"wanna move my stuff into your house." he responded flatly, but his tone didn't seem as cold as usual. it never did when he spoke with you. "i have a couple hours left, would you rather wait until i get home so i can help?" you offer, some rustling in the background as you grab a fresh bag of coffee beans. "no, i don't have enough to move for two people." he shook his head while walking back to his bedroom to start packing his clothes. "okay, guess i'll see you tonight then, my hot new roomie." you chuckle. "you're weird..." he sighs in amusement, before adding. "see you later, love you." "love you, handsome." you hang up the phone, blushing like an idiot. pope packs up his things in less than an hour and moves them over to your place. meanwhile, you're starting to feel more restless than usual. you knew that pope had basically been living with you for the past couple weeks, but now that it was official, it made your brain feel a bit fuzzy. this domestic side of pope was your new favorite, especially when he's fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but boxers. he did it all on purpose, enjoying the feeling of your borderline perverted gaze all over his body. you shake out of your daydream and get back to work, hoping this new thing to look forward to would make the day go by faster.
when you return home that night, you smile when you recognie pope's truck, your truck, as he'd call it, in your driveway. he'd been kind enough to find you a new car since j had your old one scrapped, but you still begged him to drive the truck at every opportunity you got. little did you know, pope was heavily considering giving you the truck and taking the little sedan, just because he'd do anything to see that giddy look on your face that you always felt embarrased about later on. you step through the front door, expecting to be greeted by the cats. instead, you're greeted with silence. you kick off your shoes, leaving your bag by the door as you lock it. you quietly walk toward the living room, freezing when you see possibly the cutest sight known to humankind. there, on the couch, your boyfriend, fast asleep with two furballs curled up on his tummy. you fought not to melt into a puddle right there on the floor. you whip out your phone, snapping a quick picture before bending down and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. the cats wake up, their harmony of meows kickstarting immediately. pope groans as the cats climb all over his chest in an attempt to reach you. "morning, sunshine." you smile warmly at him, rubbing a hand over his hair before petting the cats.
"was i asleep?" he sits up, looking a bit disoriented. "yeah, came home to the cutest thing ever." you smirk, breath hitching as you're yanked into his lap. you curl up against him, resting your head against his. "you all moved in, roomie?" you tease him. "'m not your roomie, i'm your boyfriend." he rolls his eyes. "i know, diva. i just like bringing out that sass in you sometimes." you cup his cheek, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. he melts instantly against the kiss, holding you tight against him. "by the way, deran and craig are having a party in your honor at smurf's." he sighs quietly, running his hand over your knees. "bullshit it's in my honor." you laugh out loud. "to deran, it is." he shrugs, chuckling a bit to himself. "you saying we should go?" you ask him curiously. "free food, right?" he looks at her. "sold... i'm gonna go get ready." you hops out of his lap and walk off toward the bedroom. he gets up to follow, but you hold a finger out to him. "we are never gonna make it to this party if you try to help me get dressed." he really couldn't argue with your logic, so he flopped back onto the couch. the cats curl back up on his lap for the time being.
once you emerge from the bedroom, pope's eyes immediately travel to your exposed legs in your jean shorts. wasn't a bathing suit, but he was grateful for being able to see any part of you. "relax, it's underneath." you smile knowingly at him, standing in front of him. his hands rest on your hips, rubbing his thumbs over the denim material. he stared up at you for a moment, thanking all of his lucky stars for being able to call you his girlfriend. he stands up to his full height, pressing a kiss to your forehead. he then walks over to the cats' food bowls to make sure they were full. he went through his mental checklist: lights off, doors locked, food and water bowls full, etc. you watch him in silence, a soft smile on your face as he walks back toward you. "ready?" he looks you up and down one last time. "as i'lll ever be..." you chuckle softly, taking his hand as you walk out to the truck. he opens the passenger door for you, holding your hand all the way up until you were ready to shut the door. no sooner than he's in the driver seat, he's already got your hand back in his. you head out toward smurf's house, albeit reluctantly, but neither of you could resist free food.
pope maneuevers the truck into a snug spot between some cars in the driveway, hopping out to open your door. he scoops you out of the seat, setting you gently on the ground. "you know my legs work fine, right?" you joked at him. "so...?" he shrugs, taking your hand and leading you toward the backyard. the music was already turned up to a mind-numbing volume that made your bodies vibrate the closer you got to the speakers. "we need to find the alcohol, fast." you huff out a breath. pope smirks and ushers you inside, making you a drink and keeping you close with a hand on your hip. he knew that you weren't great with crowds, especially crowds of intoxicated people. you take a generous gulp of the drink, pressing a kiss to his cheek. the two of you then walk over to the food, grabbing plates when deran's voice echoes through the house. "hey! you made it." he smiles, clearly already high out of his mind. he slings an arm around your shoulder, pressing an affectionate kiss to the side of your head. "you really do all of this for me and then start without me?" you tease him. "you're here now... that- should be what counts." deran pokes your cheek before pulling away. he ruffles pope's hair, which earns him a playful, gentle blow to the side. he groans, but keeps walking toward the backyard before pope could try to land another.
"does he bother you?" pope looks over at you. "no, why would he?" you look at him with a hint of confusion. pope is cut off by the sound of hooting and hollering, you both catch a last-second glimpse of craig full sending it off the roof of the garage and into the pool, splashing everyone within a ten-foot radius. "you have neanderthals for brothers." you mutter in amusement, taking a bite of food. "you're telling me." he rolls his eyes, watching as you lift the forkful of food to your mouth. you sit down at the counter and eat, pope's hand resting protectively on your bare thigh, massaging it gently. once you're finished, pope stands and takes your plates to the garbage. he stops, looking around the kitchen and taking in the mess. he feels his face get hot with anger before you speak up. "hey, don't get us kicked out before i see those new trunks i bought you." you smirk at him from the counter. he snaps out of it immediately, walking back over to you and grabbing your hand. you both head out toward the pool, stripping off your covering clothes. pope can't focus on anything but you in your swimsuit. he'd seen you in every form of clothing, including none, but he seriously could not get enough of seeing your body.
sensing wandering eyes on you, pope pulls you against his bare chest. you grin shamelessly as you look him up and down. "they look better than i imagined." you kiss his cheek, rubbing a hand over his side. without hesitation, you pull away, jumping straight into the water, earning yourself some cheers from people in the pool. pope follows suit as the cheering continues, already wrapping his arms around you under the water to keep you close. "your floaties are bigger than mine." you giggle, clearly feeling a bit tipsy now as you turned around to face him. "what are you-" he's cut off as you place your hands right over his chest. you start squeezing his pecs without a care in the world. then, your hands move to your own chest, squeezing her breasts. you frown, meeting his gaze. "what the fuck, man? why can't you share?" you pout at him. pope, still completely lost at what on earth you'd been talking about, just rubs your arm reassuringly. "we can both use mine to float." he spoke calmly, not enjoying the genuine frown on your face. you nodded, content with his answer, as you rest against him and wrap your arms around his waist. the rest of the night consisted of pope holding you close to him, and you just resting against him and letting your thoughts roam freely. turns out this pool party wasn't terrible after all.
pope lets you rest in his old bedroom while he helped deran and craig clean the house up a bit. when he finished, he wrapped you in a fresh blanket. scooping you into his arms, he heads out to the truck and carefully sets you in the passenger seat. he drives you home in silence, still holding your hand that he'd intentionally left out of the blanket. once you arrived at home, you began to stir awake, mumbling incoherently. pope helps you out of the truck and inside the house. ushering you to the bathroom for a quick shower, he strips you and himself down. the warm water causes you to nearly go limp in his arms. he grunts as he holds you up and tries his best to wash the chlorine out of your hair. you had both been cleaned enough to pope's liking, so after he dried you off, he peeled back the layers of bedding and helped you into bed. he shuts off the light before crawling in next to you, immediately pulling you against his chest. as soon as your back touches his chest, you're out like a light. the cats manage to wander their way into the bed, curling up against your head as you snore lightly. pope stayed awake for a bit longer, admiring his all-time favorite view. he pets the cats before allowing his hand to fall back on your waist. he soon falls asleep on his own, now fully willing to take advantage of the fact that things felt okay; he could honestly say they even felt good, again. as he's lulled into sleep, he thinks of how just a couple months ago, he was wondering what it was about this woman, you, in his arms that made him tick so easily. now, he knew, it was because you were just as unusual as he was, and the thought of that brought pope enough comfort to last a lifetime. a lifetime he'd already willingly committed to spending with you, and of course, your two fur babies, all in your home.
alex's thoughts 𓈒∘☁︎: i'm getting sad again at the thought of being done with this (for the second time). THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE, IT GENUINELY MEANS THE WORLD TO ME!!! i hope you all loved reading this series as much as i loved writing it. i'm a pope girlie until the day i DIE. hope you'll read more of my stuff in the future. lots and lots of love <3333
