honey

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎, 𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌.🤍 reblogging all of my favourite reads.

[mysatnin]

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘’𝐒 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 & 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐒. 𐙚⋆°🦢.⋆ᥫ᭡

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. 𐙚⋆°🦢.⋆ᥫ᭡ — to be added soon.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒. 𐙚⋆°🦢.⋆ᥫ᭡ 18+ only. — please give all of these incredible writers the love and support. 🍯 the divider below, and in all parts was made by @cursed-carmine.

— part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten, part eleven, part twelve, part thirteen, part fourteen,

Seven Week Itch, 𝐌.𝐑, @lovebugism

Unpunishable, 𝐀.𝐏.𝐂, @inbred-eater

The Dark Wedding, 𝐓.𝐃, @hotdocsandcowboys

Craig’s Friend, 𝐂.𝐂 & 𝐀.𝐏.𝐂, @girthgrudgefear

Apartment Seventeen, 𝐉.𝐀, @deathreverse

Karma, 𝐀.𝐏.𝐂, @alvfr

How To Disappear, 𝐌.𝐑 & 𝐉.𝐀, @lovebugism

Shared Custody, 𝐌.𝐑, @cinnxmxngxrl

Daddy’s Favourite, 𝐌.𝐑, @bluetimeombre

Missed Cues, 𝐌.𝐑, @blinded-by-the-lightz

Sunshine & Midnight Rain, 𝐌.𝐑, @dearwalker

Pope’s Girl, 𝐀.𝐏.𝐂, @evancelinewrites

Sweet Nothing, 𝐌.𝐑, @rhaenyras-crown

Necessary Arrangement, 𝐓.𝐃, @tumbleweedstillhaspanic

House Tour, 𝐉.𝐀, @filmetcs

Daddy, 𝐌.𝐑, @rr-after-dark

Untouched, 𝐀.𝐏.𝐂, @thykingdoncome

Sugar, 𝐀.𝐏.𝐂, @mytearsricochetm

Thing’s Men Provide, 𝐉.𝐀, @annsfics

All For Something, 𝐌.𝐑, @theetherealbloom

Special Privileges, 𝐌.𝐑, @cinnxmxngxrl

Bet On It, 𝐌.𝐑, @bluetimeombre

Savior Complex, 𝐌.𝐑, @lovebugism

Hold Still, 𝐌.𝐑, @geminiwritten

Softer, Harder, In Between, 𝐌.𝐑, @ceriseangels

Casual, 𝐌.𝐑 & 𝐉.𝐀, @lovebugism

Bambi, 𝐀.𝐏.𝐂, @miasvelvetvoid

Irresistible, 𝐒.𝐑, @callme-holly

Could Be Me, 𝐁.𝐑.𝐁, @geminiwritten

Mafia Wife, 𝐒.𝐂, @melis-writes

Human Resources, 𝐌.𝐑, @rr-after-dark

Summer Time, 𝐀.𝐏.𝐂, @taknbythewind

Helping Hand, 𝐉.𝐀, @rynwrites4fun

The Ache Of Obsession, 𝐀.𝐏.𝐂, @pearlessance

Loaded Gun, 𝐓.𝐒, @bullet-prooflove

Young, 𝐓.𝐒, @myboipracticallyimagines

Sweet Creature, Smau, 𝐀.𝐏.𝐂, @p1ttlings

Off The Record, 𝐉.𝐀, @bittersweet-daydreams29

Ex’s & Oh’s, 𝐌.𝐑, @cinnxmxngxrl

Dinner At The Shelby’s, 𝐉.𝐍, @sansaorgana

Mrs. Danforth, 𝐓.𝐃, @rr-after-dark

Nightshift Nurse, 𝐉.𝐀, @sleepingbeautiiies

You Have No Idea, 𝐉.𝐀, @geminiwritten

Whipped, 𝐀.𝐏.𝐂, @rr-after-dark

Eye Of The Hurricane, 𝐀.𝐏.𝐂, @romantic-insomniac

Sweet Girl, 𝐂.𝐂 & 𝐀.𝐏.𝐂, @groovyangelkisses

No Other Heart, 𝐌.𝐑, @rhaenyras-crown

Show Me How, 𝐌.𝐑, @cicadasexfest

Companionship, 𝐌.𝐑, @asxgard

[whiskey-thorns]

Wedding Night

18+ NSFW Titus Danforth x Reader: It's your wedding night (or rather the ritual to join yourself and Titus in front of the council) and Titus cannot wait to consummate the marriage, especially after getting a taste of your blood…

Nasty Smut, blood play, wound licking, daggers, injury, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, demon worship, cursing, Titus being an utter brute, rough sex, reader is just as bad as Titus (let me know if I've missed anything!)

(also full disclosure I wrote this on the road so apologies for any spelling/grammatical errors!)

Nominee, Satani, Lucifer, Excelsis

Bestow your blessing upon these.

In the name of Satan, Lucifer, Baliel, Leviathan

The Lawyer's voice echoed throughout the chamber to the family councils surrounding yourself and Titus as you both stood opposite one another. The joining of your house and Titus’ was almost assured the moment he witnessed your strength and rage during your first hunt alongside him and the others, successfully claiming countless victims and relishing in their demise.

Titus adored you, he would sacrifice many for you with a simple flick of a finger should you desire it.

You had always admired Titus, for his brutality and ruthless cunning, but also his wit and dry humour, of which he would use upon anyone, the council members or otherwise. Titus answered to no one, he was a force of nature, brutal and unstoppable.

"I now ask the betrothed to take up blades, and sacrifice their blood as payment in the name of our Lord and Saviour, Satan." The Lawyer announced, raising both hands out to either side of himself as he looked to you and Titus.

Each blade was a family heirloom, given only once, and exchanged once. The handle of Titus' mirrored his infamous medieval style war hammer and mace, a fist enclosed around a spike. The blade was dark, sculpted from obsidian and gleamed in the flickering light from the wall torches and fires hung upon the chamber walls.

Yours brandished the head of a horse, sculpted from silver and inlayed with gold filigree. You remember your Mother handing it down to you when you came of age, and how your father had brandished it to her on their wedding day.

You looked to Titus, and tried to contain your excitement as you observed the wry grin fighting to pull at the corner of his mouth. He was desperate for you, warring within himself as to follow the line of tradition and procedure, or rip the burgundy wedding dress from your body and consummate the marriage in front of the council then and there.

"Now, we ask for your payment." The Lawyer said, beckoning for the pair of you.

Titus kept his eye on you as you both side stepped towards the plinth whereupon a bronze bowl lay, ready to receive your blood. Standing at opposite sides and facing one another, and raised your hands, palms facing upwards.

The razor sharp blades of the daggers lay against the open palm of either right hand.

"Together." Titus said, gruff and husky as he smirked at you.

"Forever." You smiled, your heart fluttering madly for your beloved brute.

Swiftly, you both nodded and slipped the dagger against each others palms, releasing a sharp inhale from you both as blood seeped from your wounds. As expected, you immediately clasped your bleeding hands together, and allowed the blood to mix and drip down collectively into the bronze bowl.

You winced at the stinging sensation of your wound rubbing against Titus', but were comforted when you felt his fingers squeezing into your hand, as if to reassure you he was pleased and proud of your commitment to him, to your marriage.

Mine. You’re mine.

Forever.

"With your bloodlines interwoven, I instruct both parties to write their names within the book." The Lawyer said, producing the large, dusty book from behind himself, then two strips of black linen to wrap up your hands.

Titus allowed you to take the pen and dip it into the bowl first to write out your full name in blood upon the yellowed paper. Then, with his free hand, he took the pen from you and did the same, writing his name opposite yours.

"You may now exchange your blades." The Lawyer instructed, bringing his hands slowly together gesturiatively

Carefully, you handed one another your family's daggers, Titus' significantly heavier than yours it seemed.

"I now pronounce you, before the councilmen and families of our Saviour, man and wife." The Lawyer declared and looked to Titus, who managed to break his hungry and mirthful expression from you. "You may now kiss your bride."

Without hesitation, Titus stepped closer, his freshly bandaged hand still tightly grasping yours, his spare reaching up for your jawline, and kissed you. As he claimed your mouth, the council members and families along with the Lawyer merrily cheered.

Hail Satan

Hail Satan

Hail Satan

----

The ceremony concluded, though it didn't matter if it had done so officially or not. Titus was leaving with you now to be alone and enjoy the wedding night, not even waiting to see everyone off the property.

Let Ursula deal with those morons. Titus thought dismissively as he hauled you through the estate from the chambers beneath the property, upwards into the body of his family house and upstairs towards your bedroom.

As soon as the door to the door closed over, Titus was upon you, pushing himself into you and kissing you with fevering hunger.

"Stand there, let me look at you." Titus instructed as he moved your shoulders to the side before stepping back a little to look you over like a sculpture scrutinising his latest work.

Look at you

A vision in wine red.

And absolutely mine.

Titus waved away the notion of traditional black lace and satin for your wedding dress. Reds and burgundies adorned your body, it was Titus' favourite shade against your beautiful skin tone. He stepped closer to you, circling you as his eyes shamelessly raked over your form, savouring how delicious you looked in your wedding dress.

"You won't walk until next week, you understand that, right?" Titus grumbled into the crook of your neck, enjoying the way your soft laugh rumbled up from within you and against his mouth as it continued to explore your neck and shoulders.

"You look very handsome yourself." You said as your eyes roamed over Titus' wedding apparel. "I'm torn as whether I want you to fuck me with clothes on or not." You salaciously grinned at Titus as he took your hand and kissed your finger tips, his eyes briefly admiring the family signet ring now adorning your left hand.

"You can have me either way, but one things for sure-" Titus said as he licked across your bloody stained fingers. "You're getting out of that dress."

Titus' hand reached out and gripped the back of your wedding dress before twisting and tugging it asunder, ripping the zipper in the back and freeing your chest and soft stomach to him. The dress itself pooled a little, and with Titus' help, he roughly pushed it off your body.

"No underwear?" Titus smiled proudly as he looked over your familiar nude figure. Countless times he had seen you, naked as the day you were born and spoiled your flesh a hundred times over. But it never lessened the impact he felt in seeing your natural form.

"Would slow us down." You answered coyly, feeding off Titus' grin as he stepped into you, kicking the dress to the side with his polished wedding shoes.

He took your face in both hands again and kissed you, hungrily claiming your mouth and nipping at your lips with his sharp, crooked teeth. You moaned unashamedly against Titus as he continued to kiss you, his head turning to deepen it and press his tongue into your mouth to seek out your own.

Titus walked you both in the direction of the bed, delighting in the way your hands clawed and gripped at his waistcoat, either for stability or to remove it, he wasn't sure, but he appreciated your strength on him.

"Titus...I need you." You pulled back with a gasp, your head tilting backwards as your husband sunk his lips and teeth into the sensitive flesh upon your throat.

"Say it, say what you want." Titus grunted against your collarbones as his hands squeezed and pulled at the abundant curves of your hips, digging his fingers in so deep you were certain he'd leave marks again.

"I want you to fuck me. I don't care how, I don't care if you keep your clothes on, or lose them...but I need you...I need you Titus...please." You panted and gasped as Titus bore his teeth a little deeper into the crook of your neck and shoulder, a wet chomping sound coming from Titus' mouth as he held you with his teeth.

"Take what's yours." Titus said as he brought his face back up to yours, the tip of his nose brushing against yours as he smoothed his hands upwards and across your soft breasts. "Take it all, show me how badly you want me to fuck you."

You grabbed Titus by the back of the head and pulled him into another frenzied kiss, all the while slipping your hands to his waistcoat to undo his buttons. As soon as he was free, you tossed the waistcoat to the side, and curled your fingers around the collar of his shirt.

"Show me." Titus repeated against your mouth, his hands reaching up to cup your elbows before holding the back of your biceps.

You gripped Titus' collar, and sharply pulled at either side, sending buttons flying across the room in different directions. Titus felt his cock twitch and press against the front of his slacks when your biceps tightened under the skin, a reminder that beneath your sweet and soft exterior, you were just as powerful as he. That your body was trained to kill, and had done so many times before as he had witnessed hunt after hunt.

Titus grinned from ear to ear as you both kept eye contact whilst pushing the ruined shirt off his body and down his thick arms. He enjoyed the game you both played when making love, as if daring one another to look away first, neither one to falter. Evenly matched in the bedroom, at least...for the most part.

"So perfect." You whispered as you finally broke eye contact and looked over Titus' naked torso and arms, your nails scratching upon his raised traps and rounded shoulders, sampling his thin little scars and marks from his own hunting injuries.

"You're not done." Titus criticised, his voice raspy with need.

"I'm taking my time." You argued, raising a brow at him.

"Hurry up." He said, snatching at your hand and bringing it to the front of his pants.

You let out a shameless moan as did Titus when you squeezed his erection through his pressed wedding slacks. Whilst you fumbled and undid his belt, button and fly - you kissed, mouth to mouth, to chin, to jawline, anywhere you could find Titus you kissed and nipped.

Titus' eyes looked down to where your hands were busy rubbing him through his boxers, noting the wrapped bandage around the hand he had wounded in your palm. A symbol of your union, his claim to you.

"Gimme your hand." Titus huffed as you squeezed him just right, forcing a tick from his jaw.

He had already seized your wrist and had brought it up to scrutinize the black bindings. He unknotted the wrap, and allowed the fabric to flutter down to the floor, revealing your bloody wound. Parts of it were already dried over with congealed blood, yet other sections looked fresh with deep ruby beads welling up from where Titus had pulled the fabric as it stuck to the wound itself.

"Titus." You smiled knowingly, recognising the familiar glint in your husband's eye.

"Let me have my pleasures." Titus gruffed as he leaned in close to inhale your palm, smelling the faint metallic and warm scent of your wound.

Just as you pulled Titus' cock from his boxers, he licked a long lingering stripe across your palm.

"Oh...Titus." You moaned and hissed, a mixture of arousal and sharp stinging in the hand mixing together deliciously.

Titus held your hand to his mouth as he continued to lick and sample your blood, cleaning your skin of the mess whilst enjoying the fresh warmth of the wound. Your blood turned Titus on something awful, particularly in small doses; a love bite, a tiny scratch here and there. He had sampled it after hunts where you had sustained injuries, nicks and cuts after hunts. It was akin to certain snake venoms, less always meant more.

"You won't last like this." You teased, amused at how drunk Titus seemed to be, what with your hand cupped around his hungry mouth and your other tightly wrapped and stroking at his thick cock, already feeling your hand grow warm and slick with his precum.

Titus glowered over your hand, his hazel eyes glinting in the warm light of the bedroom. Suddenly, he took his mouth off your palm and pushed carefully at your soft stomach so that you fell backwards onto the bed in a heap.

"Pick a position, I don't care which." Titus said as he began pushing his boxers and slacks down the length of his legs, his cock swaying and twitching now that he could see your entire anatomy upon the bed.

"Such a romantic." You playfully criticised him.

"Maybe I should fill that mouth first?" Titus reasoned, quirking a dangerous brow your way.

Titus crawled onto the bed, pausing as you reached to push on his shoulder and turn you both over so that he lay flat on his back, his cock erect and pointing up to the bed's canopy. Titus allowed you to swing your right leg over him and effectively straddle his thighs, his cock resting against your stomach. Whilst you looked down at him, you noticed your blood decorating the corners of Titus' mouth.

"I want your hand." You said, nodding down at Titus' palm which you had cut open.

"Thought it was my dick you wanted?." Titus grinned when you smacked his shoulder. You chuckled deep within your chest and shook your head. Titus adored the way your hair, messy and free from your bridal hairpins, fell around your face and shoulders.

"Hand. Now." You firmly demanded, smiling down at your husband and watching as he held out his palm to you.

"Gimme yours." Titus muttered childishly as he began to undo his own bandage around his palm.

As instructed, you gave him your hand, and immediately he applied it to his mouth, eager to taste your blood again as if he were a man taking his first sip of water in weeks.

You watched for a moment, listening to the wet snuffling sound Titus made as he lapped at your wound. Then, you looked into the palm of Titus' right hand, noting your mark you had made and the dried blood clinging to his skin. Your family's dagger was indeed the smaller of the two, and despite leaving a mark in Titus' palm, it was a thin and significantly less crude mark compared to Titus' heavier blade. Perhaps you would mention it to the offspring whom would eventually inherit the family blade, perhaps not.

Titus' hips bucked against you as you ran your tongue along his wound, licking him clean of blood. You felt yourself tip forward a little as Titus bent his knees, sliding you a little closer towards his aching cock, his thick thighs supporting your ass and lower back.

"Sit on it." Titus growled against your hand, sending a ticklish vibrating up your right forearm.

"So demanding." You smirked with a purr, briefly turning your head from Titus' palm to smile at him.

Titus felt his heart stutter as you looked down at him; naked, wild hair, straddling him and his throbbing cock, with his blood on your lips and chin.

"So fucken beautiful" Titus mused as he took his free hand and cupped your cheek, smoothing his thumb back and forth across your face.

You practically purred and sighed as Titus fawned over you, whispering sweet nothings as he sat up a little more with you securely in his lap still.

So beautiful

So fucken beautiful

All mine...you're all mine...forever

You were made for me

My violent little muse

I’ll fuck you so good n thorough

You felt a swell of pride overcome you as Titus muttered his words into your chest, his gray stubble contrasting with his plush bloody lips as he kissed across your collar bones as well as the tops of your breasts, licking briefly at your soft nipples.

As Titus muttered his devotion and claims to you against your anatomy, you lifted yourself up a little higher, positioning your slick entrance above the tip of Titus' cock. He looked up at you as you slowly sank down onto him, feeling the way his body stretched and filled you in the only way you ever needed.

"Fuck" You whine, your brows knitted together and your confidence waning a fraction as your mind unravelled with pleasure.

Thankfully, Titus knew to take control, he allowed you the illusion of it when being physical and intimate, but ultimately - he controlled all.

"Good girl." Titus sighed as you finally sunk him to the hilt, your ass pressing against his lap as the tip of his cock nudged the deepest part of you.

"T-Titus." You whimpered, keening as Titus' fingers clawed at your as to roll your hips around upon him.

"You know what to do." Titus reaffirmed. "You've done it before, s'no different, show me how much you want my body."

As if to help you begin, Titus took his free hand to grip your waist, and moved his hips. You immediately moaned out his name, turning your attention into his bloody hand and rubbing your face into it.

Look at you, utterly divine.

"Good girl, take it...take what's yours..." Titus praised you, once he felt you begin to regain some control of your body and swivel your hips against his, he took back your bloody hand and pressed it to his mouth.

The sensation of tasting your blood and flesh, as well as having his cock buried deep inside of you as you moaned his name, was enough to make Titus' head swim with euphoria. Indeed, lasting under such circumstances would be a task.

You looked between Titus' thick, calloused fingers to observe his face; his brows tight and his eyes half shut as he mouthed against your palm, groaning and snuffling as he licked hungrily at your wound. It stung and tickled at the same time, a sensation on the nerves to say the least.

"You...fuck...look so...ugh-beautiful." You groaned, committing Titus' expression and naked body to memory.

You had fucked in every sense of the word. The first night you two had met during one of Ursula's council parties, you did it, hidden away from prying eyes in one of the many rooms to the Danforth estate. From that point on, your bodies were drawn to one another, as if two pieces of a puzzle.

"Mine...all mine..." Titus muffled into your palm as he fucked his hips upwards into you.

"Shit! T-Titus I...I can't...I...fuck." Your whimpered pathetically, your walls were crumbling as you continued to fuck Titus, anchoring your body with your hand wrapped across his mouth for stability.

Titus pulled his hand away from you, sitting upright swiftly and flipping you both over so you fell under him against the mattress. You barely gasped for air between your moans as Titus pressed his mouth against yours, bloody and saliva coated. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, with Titus ultimately hooking his arms under your thighs to keep you in place as he re-aligned his cock with your pussy.

"Titus...Titus..." You repeated his name, as if nothing else could be fathomed in your mind.

"Now look who’s messy" Titus mused as he smoothed his cock through your slick cunt, frotting himself against you. "Hmm? Is this all you want? My dick…my blood…my love"

You shivered and trembled at the thighs as the head of Titus' cock nudged against your sensitive clit, sending a ripple of pleasure through your nervous system.

"Titus...please...don't tease..." You sobbed as your body practically ached for him inside of you again.

Titus grinned, he always did at this point - when you couldn't bare to be without him, as if a minute longer without his body would kill you. It was a feeling similar to the one he felt when hunting nobodies through his estate. The rush and thrill of being begged to for mercy before giving his victims the sweet release.

"You're so pretty when you beg." Titus said, barely above a whisper and in a condescending tone he knew you hated to love, before leaning down to kiss your forehead.

"Titus" You hissed, chewing your lip and tasting the residual blood from Titus' palm as well as your own from your lip.

"I've got you." He wolfishly smirked. “Dig your nails into me.”

Like an animal with retracting claws, you angled your fingers to sink your nails into Titus biceps, listening to him huff out a strangled breath of pleasure at the sting. As if spurred by it, Titus began rutting his hips into you, skin slapping against skin mixing loudly with your cries and moans.

“Thats good…don’t be shy…don’t ever be shy, not like this.” Titus gruffed. “I want to hear you…I want everyone to hear…how much…you want this.”

“T-Titus! Oh fuck! O-Oh!” You cried upwards towards Titus as he fucked you, his hands at either side of your body balling and gripping at the sheets.

“Gimme your hand” Titus grit through his teeth between firm thrusts.

You understood that he wanted your bloody hand, and unlatched your nails from his arm to hover your palm at his mouth. Titus glowered down at you as you smeared your palm across his stubbly chin and lips, messing his mouth with your blood.

Titus’ hips stuttered as the deliciously intoxicating taste of your wounded flesh met his tongue again. Your blood was richer and more addicting than anything he had ever sampled, and seemingly enhanced the experience of fucking you.

“Such a mess” You panted with an utterly blissed expression, your tone warbling with the impact of each of Titus’ thrusts.

“Speak for yourself” Titus snuffled against your hand as he nodded down to where your bodies joined, an arousal slicked mess of both your bodies coating one another. The practically pornographic wet sound of your lower halves meeting, filled the bedroom.

You laughed, heartily and drunk from Titus and the euphoria of him pleasuring you. He adored you like this, messy and feral, tangled in his limbs as he ruined you. You were his, only his, marrying you was non negotiable after his first encounter with you, it was as if a switch flicked in his brain, that prey drive within Titus' brain to chase and latch his teeth into what he wanted. And you were all to happy to let him.

He snapped his hips suddenly, carving through your erotic hysteria and watching your face turn from amusement to pained bliss. You were close, Titus knew it well, that way your face scrunched up, eyes pleading for him and your mouth parted, moaning and gasping little ‘oh’s.

“T-Titus! I…I’m…I-“

“Do it. Come on my dick and show me that beautiful face, I want it.” Titus demanded as he increased his speed as much as his body would allow, his muscles taught as he slammed his hips into yours.

Sure enough, with three more thrusts, you came hard, gasping and screaming your voice hoarse, followed with Titus’ name as you chanted it like a prayer. You were swiftly silenced as he cupped his bloody hand over your mouth, proud of you as your trembling hands covered his large paw and held it against your face. Your eyes fluttered as Titus fucked you through your orgasm whilst you licked and tasted his wound.

That's it...taste me...

I'm a part of you in every way my love

Woven together...forever...

“F-Fuck…Im…-“ Titus barely formed his words as he thrust himself deep inside of your pulsing cunt as it continued to sporadically tighten around his slick cock.

You muffled a moan into his palm as he grunted out your name, his brows raising momentarily as he was awash with bliss, spilling deep inside of you as he ground himself from side to side, circling his hips against yours.

Titus took his hand off your mouth to keep himself stable as he remained atop and above you, panting and sweating against your equally spent body. Both of your mouths were a midden of saliva and blood, sweat coating your skin and your thighs coated with release.

“Still alive?” Titus huskily muttered as he looked you over, nuzzling your cheek and pecking you.

“What a way to die.” You breathlessly chuckled as your head turned to rest against Titus'.

“M’not letting you go that easily.” Titus warned as he kissed the shell of your ear.

You trembled as Titus licked along your neck, up your jawline, nuzzling at you to turn back to face him before kissing and lapping his blood from your chin and lips. You caught his mouth with the tip of your tongue, and cupped his face with your good hand to bring him closer, his weight bearing down onto you as he rested against you.

“Don’t” You whispered against Titus' lips as you felt him try to slip his slowly softening cock from you. “Don’t leave me. I want to savour this.” You admitted as your eyes roamed over Titus’ messy face.

Titus grinned crookedly at your request, and was more than happy to accept. He shuffled around a little and began to lower his weight. He watched as you removed the hand that was resting against his chest, leaving a light and bloody handprint upon his skin.

You.

“Together” You sighed, reaching your arms to wrap around Titus’ head and hug him to your body.

Titus mirrored you subconscious gesture, and flattened his palm into your chest, leaving his own faint and bloody handprint upon you.

“Forever” Titus grumbled as he rested his weight against your, his hands scooping under your body as he softened against you in your embrace.

[hotdocsandcowboys]

The Loophole: A Dark Wedding

Titus Danforth x Le Domas Bride!Reader

A/N: I cannot stress enough how much spoilers for Ready or Not 2: Here I Come this has. Like to the point I'm putting the description and tags under the cut! Please be aware I lift entire surprise plot points of the movie for this! Couldn't stop thinking about this while sitting in the theater!! GO SEE THE MOVIE IT IS SO GOOD!!!

this thing is 15k words.

AO3 Link if that's your preference

Summary: You survived your wedding only to be hunted by the most powerful families in the world. The monster awoken in you intrigued Titus Danforth, who would do anything to have The High Seat and you as his as well. Thankfully, a hidden rule might make that all possible.

Tags: violence, blood, descriptions of bodily injury but i don't think i made it too bad, morally gray!reader, horny for violence reader and titus, slightly OOC Titus for the sake of sicko romance, slightly OOC ursula, the tiniest hint of weird sister/mother things with Titus (like so small i dont think you'll notice), SMUT!, BLOOD KINK!, BITING!, SLAPPING!, ROUGH SEX!, unprotected sex and they don't even talk about it he just does that :), multiple positions, light choking, like not even choking, they are crazy for each other, slightly subby Titus for like a second

Part Two: A Solstice Sacrifice Part Three: The Debut Little Bite One: Spend. His. Money. Part Four: Mating Rituals Little Bite Two: The Nightmare Part Five: A Danforth Wedding Tradition Little Bite Three: The Twins, 2000 Little Bite Four: White Feather Hawk Tail Deer Hunter Part Six: Ultimate Revenge

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is not how the day after your dream wedding was supposed to go.  

You’re supposed to be in first class on a plane to some remote Le Domas family home in the countryside of France. You’re supposed to be sipping wine and giggling with your new husband as you both conspire to find a way to sneak into the bathroom together to join the mile high club.  

You’re not supposed to be fighting for your life for the second night in a row, as Satan worshipping rich assholes hunt you for sport and their place on the top of the food chain of the whole goddamn world. 

But as you kick in the face of the man in the gold mask and knock several of his teeth out, as a guttural scream rips from your throat, as you shove him into a high powered industrial wash machine, as you listen to his desperate screams as he drowns and is cooked from the steam, you can’t help but feel, for the second night in a row, more alive than you’ve ever felt in your life. 

+ 

When he first watched the footage of your ill-fated wedding night, Titus Danforth saw something in you. 

The way you choked your new sister-in-law, taking her to her knees, the way you crashed a car and rolled it before beating the Le Domas’s trusted servant to a pulp, the way you took out the matriarch with the very game box that had damned you. It was monstrous, it was raw, it was bloody. 

You had a look in your eyes after killing Mrs. Le Domas, wide and black and...hungry. Titus knew that look well. He’d seen it in the mirror many times. 

It was a look he hadn’t seen on anyone else, not even his own sister, his twin. Why now? Why her? Why would Mr. Le Bail present him with someone whose soul so clearly aligns with his own, just to have her be the one they must hunt and destroy? Hadn’t he been faithful? 

Ursula had clicked her tongue when the final video ended; you laughing as your husband exploded in a mess of blood and guts. “She’s fierce.” 

Titus had nodded, jaw tight. “She’s smart...she’s a fighter.” 

“It’s a shame.” 

Something heavy formed in the pit of his stomach. A lock of rage and need and anger forming like a tumor in his body, weighing him down. His heart grew to a painful size in his chest, the beating of it thumping in his ears. His breath came out in tiny, rushed bursts through his lips. Sweat formed on his brow. 

His sister knew that look. The festering smoldering embers of Titus yearning for something, and knowing there was nothing he could do to have it. It was a look he’d given their father many times through their lives. “Titus...” 

“I want her.” 

His voice was a rough mumble, rocks stuck in his throat that threatened to cascade down in a landslide of a scream. 

“You can’t have her. The By-Laws have been triggered, we have to fight for our seat. This is father’s final wish. Your needs cannot—” 

“I have never needed—” he stopped himself, taking in a deep breath, eyes closed. “I want to keep her. She’s...” 

“You’ve never met this girl, my dear brother.” 

“And yet I know everything I need to.” 

+ 

When you were sitting in the main room of the Danforth Lodge as The Lawyer explained the rules of your second night of torment, gag over your mouth, still bloodied wedding dress itching on your skin, you did your best to take in every word. 

It was simple. 

Survive the night of human hunting until sunrise again, and you were free to go. Whichever hunter from the High Families managed to kill you, would win the High Seat. The hunters are not allowed to kill each other, not even by accident. If none of them were able to catch you and wear Mr. Le Bail’s ring at the end of the night, he would be very unhappy. You assumed the fate of your in-laws is what awaited these people as well. 

As the rules were being explained, you took a mental survey of the room. Only a few people looked like they could be real threats to you, so if you found a way to mow through the strong ones, you could easily hide from the idiots. Though, a voice that had been awoken last night was begging you to just end them all, in whatever sick way was available to you. 

You studied each of their faces, engraining them on imaginary wanted posters in your mind, eyes moving across the room, until you settled on...him. 

The man sitting in the middle table, next to the woman who had greeted you when your blindfold was first removed here. Titus and Ursula Danforth. The twins. And Titus wasn’t looking at the lawyer as he went over the oh-so-important and sacred rules. No, he was looking directly at you.  

At first you noticed how handsome he was. Significantly older than you, but with a ruggedness that drew you in. His hair was silver, soft looking curls, there were slight wrinkles around his eyes, and silver stubble on the lower half of his face. But what really started the race of your heart, what made you suck in a deep breath even through the gag in your mouth, were his eyes. Dark, hazel eyes bore into yours, and instead of holding the smugness and envy of everyone else in the room, his were filled with...sadness? 

That couldn’t be right. He was here to kill you, just like all of them. He has no reason to be sad. 

But.  

That’s the only way to read his expression. While his lips were twitched up in a smirk, the smile didn’t reach those eyes at all. He kept contact with you deeply, like he was trying to search into your eyes and into your very soul. Like he was trying to find something in there. No. Like he’d already found it. The sadness was from the knowledge he was going to lose it. 

When it was time for the game to begin, you didn’t even flinch. You were exhausted, you were frustrated, but you were determined to win again. You’d come this far. 

A needle was presented with some sort of drug that would knock you out so you could be taken to a secret location on the grounds. Before the Lawyer’s assistant could even lift a finger, Titus was on his feet.  

“I’ll do it,” he’d said.  

The low tone of his voice rumbled in your ears, sent a shiver up your spine. Not fear. A thrill of excitement. 

The heavy contact between your eyes remained the entire time he walked up to you. You even tilted up your face to look at him as he grabbed the needle. 

He brought it to your neck, and leaned down to whisper in your ear, in a voice that felt gentler than you’d have thought him capable, “It’s going to be me that gets you.” 

It should have sounded like a threat. It was a threat. He was going to kill you. That’s what he was saying to you.  

But. 

In the promise of his words, something underneath felt like more. 

You watched as his face faded from your vision as everything had gone black. 

+ 

It’s been hours since you’d been let loose on the golf course. You had two kills under your belt, and had only suffered a cut to your hand and some shrapnel in your arm from an explosion that you hadn’t caused.  

The first kill was easy enough, and the next person to join the hunt from his family hadn’t bothered to show up. The other ones you saw looked like idiots anyway, it would have been almost boring to have to fight them. 

Your second had been particularly fun. The father of your former husband’s ex fiancé. You’d managed to trick him into shooting himself with his own gun. And that new small, sick part of you was thrilled at the idea that the annoying, bitchy girl you had stolen Alex from was going to be joining the field. 

You had run into Titus and Ursula a few times, but instead of trying to fight them off, upon seeing Titus again, you both froze at the sight. Ursula yelled something at him, and tried to shoot you, but she missed and you ran. He let you. You didn’t want to fight them. You were happy you didn’t have to. 

The thrill of the chase filled Titus like a drug in his veins, and he tried to ignore the fact that this chase was to end in your death, and not with you shoved against a brick wall, melting in his hands as they ripped at your clothes, his mouth latched onto every inch of your blood covered skin he could get. 

His head wasn’t in this game, even though he knew he had no choice but to win. 

Your next opportunity to run or kill comes when you are hiding out in the dancehall of the Danforth Casino. The sophisticated Chinese woman, who you’d noticed looked utterly bored by the explanation of the rules, has cornered you, holding you back with a sword pointing to your throat. 

“You need to listen to me!” she yells desperately. “I don’t want to kill you! I don’t want to do this! But there is a loophole to this whole game!” 

Your eyes, which have been darting around the room looking for an escape, stop their manic wandering. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, I had my lawyers scour the By-Laws of the High Seat, and they found that if you, the winner of your High Family’s game, were to willingly join another, then that family would automatically gain the High Seat, and have complete control of everything. You wouldn’t need to die.” 

“I just need to marry another one of you people?” 

She nods her head frantically. “I-I know it’s not ideal. But what choice do you have? I can offer that chance to you. M-My son is an idiot, but you can just marry him, give me all the power, and live life however you please.” 

“Give you all the power?” you ask, but more as a quiet question to yourself. 

Maybe it would be worth it to just give up on the fighting and the running and just...settle. Maybe giving yourself to this other family, selling your soul to live would be easier than all of this. 

Suddenly an image flashes in your mind. If you can just marry your way out of this, if you can just pick one of the litter to tie yourself to, to sell your soul for, and to win all of the power in the world for... 

The image your mind constructs is of the man staring sad and longingly at you in the lodge. The man who has probably trained his whole life for this, letting you run away in the woods.  

Why can’t you have Titus Danforth? 

No. That’s crazy. It doesn’t matter what you think you saw in his eyes, or if you think he let you go in those woods. They have gathered to kill you. He is here to hunt you. You’re going to leave tonight a widow, and nothing else. 

The woman has been rambling on as you think, saying something about how she would be better than everyone else with this power. You don’t care. You don’t want her son. You don’t want to settle. 

You let out a piercing scream, as you run at her, hands aiming for her sword. Her eyes go wide as you manage to catch it and rip it away from her. 

+ 

“Is that fucking true?” Titus spits into his phone. 

Ursula is pacing angrily, grumbling to herself about the incompetence of the rule writers. 

They’d been watching you on cameras in their effort to catch you, and heard the whole conversation over the security microphones. 

On the other end of Titus’s cell is the Lawyer, who responds in his eerily jaunty voice, “Yes. Technically as the catalyst of the vacancy, if she were to join a High Council Family willingly, in other words marry into them instead, well then there would be no Spousal vacancy, and therefore no need to fight for the High Seat.” 

“So if I—” Titus’s voice catches, sounding just a little too hopeful. “If she married into our family, we would keep our seat?” 

“Yes, Mr. Danforth, precisely.” 

“FUCK!” Titus yells, angrily ending the call and slamming his phone repeatedly onto the nearest counter. “All this fucking time wasted! She got fucking hurt again! And I could have just—" 

“Titus, stop it!” Ursula yells, grabbing his arm in a strong grip to stop his violent movement. “This is a good thing! You wanted her, right? Well congrats my darling brother, if we can get to her, then maybe you can actually have her!” 

His breath comes out in heavy huffs, eyes wild and angry. But he nods, slowing himself at her words. He can have what he wants, what his black heart is telling him he needs. He just has to catch her. 

“We have to save her. We have to get to her before—" 

“Wait a second, Ti,” Ursula cautions, letting go of his arm. “If I let you do this—" 

“Let me?” 

“I could still kill her.” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

“I don’t want to, not now, so don’t make me,” Ursula hisses. “If I let you do this, if we can convince her to marry you, then I need you to promise right now, on Le Bail’s name, that you will share that power with me, as Father intended.” 

“You don’t trust me?” 

“It’s not about trust, dear brother, it’s about making sure we keep our words. I will swear it too. On Mr. Le Bail’s name, if the Bride joins our family and we hold the High Seat, I will share that power with you, Titus.” 

His jaw clenches. “On Mr. Le Bail’s name, I swear it.” 

+ 

You manage to slam the hilt of the sword into the woman’s face, the crack of her nose breaking makes a sick satisfaction fill your blood. You smile maniacally and laugh as she falls back, still doing her best to hold the sword. 

“What is wrong with you? You stupid fucking bitch! I’m offering you a way out!” She screams as she spits a spray of her blood into your face. 

You shake it off, fighting for control over her weapon. You’re just about to finally rip the sword from her grasp, when the double doors of the hall slam open, and Alex’s ex stands in the opening. She lets out a scream as she sees you, and your eyes go wide as the sound of gunshots fills the room. 

You and the other woman manage to dart out of the way, as the Ex runs towards you, fire and zero control in her eyes. An opportunity is about to open up, that twisted part of you begins to smile as you realize you can hit two birds with one stone. You yank the older woman around, and just as the Ex reaches you both, you slam both your hands holding the sword into her. 

The Ex chokes, blood coughing out of her mouth as she shakes and falls to the ground, sword sticking straight up. 

“What have you do—” the woman is cut off by the explosion of her body, raining blood and guts all over you for probably the dozenth time this weekend. 

With a cough, you wipe the blood from your face, matter of factly blinking and shrugging. 

That’s four people down. Only the dummies and the Danforths left. 

The Danforths. 

You shake yourself out of those ridiculous, wishful thinking ideas again, and make a mad dash to the door, out to the dark of the night again. 

+ 

“Thank fuck she got out!” Titus exclaims, a swell of pride in his belly as he watches the security footage on his phone. His now chosen future bride is clever and vicious. His pants start to tighten at the thought of it. 

“Yes but she’s going for the woods again! She could get away and then we get nothing but death!” Ursula urges. She’s speeding as fast as she can on their golf cart in the direction of your approximate location. “She’s heading north, when we get to the tree-line, you go get her, and I’ll make sure no other hunters follow. I’ll send them on a goose-chase away from you.” 

Titus nods. 

When reach their destination, before he can jump out and chase after you, Ursula grabs him one last time. “Hold on!” She reaches down to her right hand and pulls off one of the pieces of jewelry. A silver ring with a purple gem, sitting in a crescent moon frame. “It was mother’s. If you’re going to propose, you might as well do it right.” 

He snatches it from her, laying a quick kiss on her cheek as a thank you, and runs into the woods. 

+ 

It’s dark other than the faint glow from the Danforth property, and the light of the moon above you, but just past the trees you can see the stone fence of the property line. Your feet are heavy but they carry you as fast as they can go to your freedom.  

It’s going to be over soon, the only way you can make sense for it to. 

As you approach the wall, you slow down, head darting back and forth as you try to find some way to climb over it.  

In the silence since you’ve stopped, the only sound is your stilted breathing and the wind blowing through the leaves. 

And a crack of twigs behind you. 

You gasp, turning with wide eyes as the imposing silhouette of Titus Danforth emerges from the trees. He looks like he’s glowing with the orange property lights coming from behind. Your first instinct is to find the beauty in it. Your second is to remember what his purpose here is. 

He approaches slowly, and as your back hits the stone wall, you notice that he hasn’t brought his weapon. Maybe he dropped it in his haste. Maybe he finds it more pleasurable to kill you with his bare hands. You know you certainly did when it had been your chance to snuff out a life. 

“You look like a lost little lamb,” Titus says, voice once again softer than you’d expected.  

“Like a lamb to the slaughter, you mean?” You snarl at him. 

He lets out a short laugh. “Hmm. You’re funny. You don’t sound scared.” 

“I’m too angry to be scared.” 

“Oh yeah? What’s got you so angry?” 

You roll your eyes. “Other than the obvious multiple attempts on my life? Well, I thought I found the love of my life, and then it turns out he was a secret Satan worshipper whose family tried to kill me.” As you speak, one of your hands starts to feel around for any fallen branches that might be strong enough to play the role of a weapon. “And then when I needed him the most, when I stood up for myself and killed his psycho bitch mother, he turned on me. As though any of this is my fault!” 

“That sounds awful, but you’re not the first to meet this fate,” Titus says casually, hands going into his pockets. His right hand feels around for the ring, as he searches for the words to make his offer. But it’s so fun to play with you. You’re tough, you’re truly not scared of him, you’re up to this challenge. All things that make him want you more. “You know, my sister and I watched the whole thing. We were given the security footage of your wedding night. I saw everything you did to those moron Le Domas’s, even the mother. Tell me about that kill.” 

Your hand manages to grip onto something strong, but the words of his confession and question hit you just as you get a good grip on it. “What?” 

“When you killed the Le Domas mother, what did it feel like?” Titus asks again, taking a step closer, voice dropping an octave. 

You can feel your heart start to beat in your ears, the memory of her kill flooding into you. It felt powerful. It felt enriching. It felt...good. Too good. And he saw it. He saw all of it. Your most violent acts. Your thighs squeeze together, and you know he sees it by the way his eyes flash to them and widen just slightly. Your chest heaves, as he licks his lips, and you don’t know what this is. The moment nor this feeling. But you know you can’t just stand here and wait for it to be a trap.  

“How about I show you?” You bark out as you swing the heavy stick towards him. 

A look of excited shock comes over him as Titus dodges your swing, and then again as you swing the stick back the other way. He has this wild smile on his face, like he’s inviting you to try again, to actually hit him. He wants to see how far you’ll go, how deep you’ll fall into violence. 

But he’s not fighting back. He doesn’t want to hurt you. 

You throw the stick as hard as you can at him, then rush forward to try to take him to the ground. Your much smaller body only manages to push him back a couple steps, but you take a swing with your fist at his face instead. The first one misses, but the second lands with a loud thud right on his mouth. 

“Ahh!” He grunts as the hit rocks him, but when he turns back to you, the slightest bit of blood trickling from his mouth, he only looks more pleased.  

You try to get him again, but he manages to catch your arms, twisting you so you’re turned around, back to his chest, with your arms subdued between your bodies. You twist and jerk and turn and struggle, whimpering and screaming to get out, eyes laser focused on a path to run towards, all the while he’s trying to say something to you. 

“Hold on, little lamb, you don’t have to do this,” Titus insists. “I know about the loophole!” 

That stops you in your tracks. A shaky breath escapes from your lips. He knows? He knows about the marriage clause? He’s not attacking you, he didn’t bring a weapon to this fight, and he knows... 

“What about it?” You ask, just the slightest bit of hope in your tone. 

Titus tilts his face into your hair, taking a long inhale of your scent. The faintest bit of whatever’s left of the expensive perfume Alex Le Domas had bought you, mixed with the blood of your kills.  

“Marry me.” 

The request is so soft, it’s almost inaudible. You gasp, body beginning to warm from your chest and shake. “W-what?” 

“Marry me, Lamb,” Titus says again, with more authority this time. “Be my bride, be my wife, end this whole game, and I will literally give you the world.” 

You swallow a lump, shaking your head. “Y-You just want that High Seat. H-How do I know you won’t do this and then lock me in some dungeon, or...or...kill me later.” 

“I do want that seat, I will not lie to you,” Titus says, then suddenly turns you in his arms, gripping you tightly by the shoulders, looking down at you with a newfound intensity. “But I want you. I don’t need you to tell me how those kills felt, because I know. I know the surge of power and control, the sick delight in ending someone before they can do the same to you. You liked it. You liked how it felt, didn’t you?” 

Unconsciously, you begin to nod. Your mouth drops open, and your eyes flutter at his words, at the sound of his voice, you can feel it everywhere. You can feel the heat and the wetness between your thighs, and you forget to be ashamed about it. 

“Yeah. I know. I can see it in you. That’s what I want. That strength, that hunger, I feel it too. My sister and I are meant to rule this whole world, and I need someone by my side who has that strength, your beauty, your hunger for blood, your ruthlessness,” Titus purrs, pulling you closer to him. His hands slip down from your shoulders, as he feels your body start to give in to the arousal caused by his words. He slides them around to the small of your back, fingertips pressing into the blood-soaked fabric of your torn and desecrated wedding dress.  

“I-I don’t know...” 

“Beautiful little lamb doesn’t know her own strength. I see the monster in your heart and it looks like mine.” Titus brings one of his hands up to your cheek, where a tear has fallen. He wipes it away, and hopefully with the last of your shame for who you truly are. His perfect soulmate. “Be mine, and you’ll never have to do this again. You’ll never have to give up your power again. You'll never have to feel unsafe again.” 

The arousal fully takes you over, and your eyes shut as they roll back in your head for just a moment. When Alex proposed, he did it deceitfully. He didn’t ever want to reveal the true nature of his family, and then he cast you out once he saw yours. Power was never in his offer. True love apparently never was either. 

When your eyes open again, they look upon Titus Danforth with only one determination. 

You surge forward, capturing his lips in a brutal, biting kiss. The taste of his blood fills your senses, metallic and addicting, you reach your long out to lick it from his chin, before connecting into a kiss again. 

He welcomes it, moaning into your mouth, as your arms wrap tightly around each other. He loses himself in the kiss, swallowing all your breaths and whimpers, backing you into the stone wall, lifting you just slightly, so his hips can rut against your core. 

You can feel how hard he is under his pants, and you moan at the feeling, at the fantasy of pulling them down and letting him fuck you out here like this, make you his under the moonlight.  

“Yes,” you moan, both from the feeling of his strong body against you, and as your answer to the proposal. “Yes, Titus, I’ll marry you. I want that, I want everything.” 

“I’ll give you the whole fucking world,” Titus pants into your mouth, rolling his hips to get any kind of friction.  

It’s been so long since he’s been intimate. He’s got his select hook ups, women to satisfy his needs and gratify him, but true intimacy is not something he invites into his life often. But here under your touch, the feeling of your lips, he can’t get enough. He’s been starved for more than blood. 

But there isn’t much time left in the night. If you’re not married by sunrise, this will all have been for nothing. 

So regretfully, reluctantly, he tears himself away from you. You let out a needy whine at the loss of his heat, and he watches as your body contracts and shakes from the arousal. 

“Oh my sweet lamb,” Titus coos, taking pity on you. He reaches back into his pocket to finally pull out his mother’s ring. His heart swells with pride at the excited gasp you let out when he slips it onto your finger. “We can’t give in to that now. We have to make it official, we have to win the game.” 

The glow from the property looks like fires in your eyes, as you break into a genuine, bright, happy smile for the first time since you said your first set of vows to Alex Le Domas. 

+ 

The drive back to the Lodge is filled with an undercurrent of buzzing tension between you and Titus, as Ursula chatters the whole way there about how excited she is. 

“Don’t get me wrong, it was very fun watching you rip everyone apart, those other families have been so fucking annoying, but I prefer the glamor of a wedding over a hunt any day,” she rattles on, delightfully unaware of you and Titus mostly ignoring her in the back. 

They aren’t worried about staying quiet, as most of the other eligible hunters are dead, and the ones who are left know they could never stand a chance at winning a fight against the Danforth Twins. 

Once back at the Lodge, the Lawyer approves of the new plan, and begins calling upon extended family members of the High Council, as well as lower families under Mr. Le Bail’s contract, to attend the ceremony. It won’t be as grand or as long as your first wedding, only a few hours until sunset and all that, but Titus and Ursula assured you it will be twice as romantic. 

Ursula takes you up to one of the guest quarters, and passes you to the care of servants. “I have the perfect dress for a Dark Wedding you can borrow! Well, you can have it, actually, I have a feeling I’m not going to want it back after you and Titus are done...doing whatever weird shit you’re going to do later.” 

She leaves with a cackling laugh, as the group of servants help you strip out of your blood covered clothes. Your shoes are sent downstairs for cleaning, they start to toss your tights and your underwear into the lit fireplace, but you stop them before they can throw your dress into the flames. 

“Wait! I-I want to keep that,” you say, earning a raised brow from the girl holding the dress. You shrug. Maybe it’s silly, but that dress...it was meant to represent your happily ever after, the end to your life of living paycheck to paycheck in loneliness, the start of having a real family. But now...as much as the sight of it should sicken you, it represents your ability to survive, your resilience. “It has sentimental value.” 

She simply nods and drapes the dress over the back of one of the Victorian chairs.  

Your bare feet patter into the bathroom across the cold, dark tile, to the gold, footed bath that waits on the other end. The servants help you step into the warm water and turn on the overhead faucet. Water rains down on you, as servants begin to clean away the blood and grime from the last two days. Lavender and Gardenia scents fill your nose, and you hum pleasurably as for the first time since your rehearsal dinner, you feel your body completely relax. 

After your bath the servants dry you off, massage lotion onto every inch of your skin, as well as healing salves onto your wounds, and fix up your hair and makeup, while you sit in a white robe made of the softest material that has ever graced your skin. Underneath of which you’re adorned in a black lace and satin lingerie set, which is probably more expensive than any underwear you’ve ever owned combined. 

It’s not long until Ursula returns, wearing a long black strapless dress, with a garment bag in one hand and a large hatbox in the other, shooing the servants out of the room for your privacy. Her smile grows as she sniffs around the room, eyes widening when she realizes the sweet smell is coming from you. 

“Well, that certainly is an improvement!” She chirps, tossing the box on the bed and clapping her hands excitedly after you take the garment bag. “You smell like Mother’s garden, no doubt Titus’s choice.” 

“Thank you?” 

“Oh, trust me, it’s a very good thing. We don’t have many memories of Mother, she died when we were so young, but her garden at the Rhode Island estate has been kept up to her standards and preferences by our groundskeeper all this time. Father...” Ursula’s voice trails off as the smile falls from just her eyes for a moment. But after a quick twitch of her neck, it reaches her eyes once more. “Well, I’d like to keep it that way.” 

“I don’t think I’ll have any say over how to upkeep your family’s home,” you say. 

“It’s your family home now too, Little Dove,” Ursula reminds you.  

A small breath gets caught in your throat. “I-I’ve never had...” 

As your voice fades, Ursula’s ever present smirk turns down into something more sincere. “A family home? A family?” 

You nod, giving her a shrug. “I haven’t lived the easiest life. I mean, don’t get me wrong, this weekend has been the worst of it, but...I guess that’s why I got through. I always just...get through it all, no matter what, by any means necessary.” 

“You fight.” 

I win. Is the thought that crosses your mind and...it’s so much more direct of a voice than you’re used to. What is this thing that has emerged from the darkest recesses of your heart? 

“I do what I need,” You say instead, stepping behind a partition to change. “It will be nice to, um, just do what I want.” 

“Oh, and you will.” 

As you change, Ursula starts to pace around the room, fingers running over the dark wood of the molding on the walls. She clicks her teeth nervously, eyes darting to the door, before she locks it. “That actually brings me to something important I wanted to talk to you about. Before the ceremony and all that.” 

“Okay,” you say nervously, shoulders tightening from the change in her tone. 

“It’s my brother, you see. I love him very much, we’ve been together our whole lives, but he’s...he’s not the kindest of men,” she starts to explain, approaching the partition so she can lower her voice. “You don’t have anything to worry about, trust me when I say I have never seen him react to any woman the way he did the first time he saw you. No, see...he can be quite the violent man. He wasn’t allowed to release that side tonight, but after you officially join the family, you’ll learn everything. You’ll be able to watch footage of past rituals, if you wanted.”  

A sick thrill shoots up your spine at the idea. He was holding back today, only got to see you at your most monstrous, and the thought that there could be footage of him. Your hands start to shake as they pull the dress up your body.  

What kind of sounds does he make when he lands a killing blow? What does the flex of his arms look like when he swings a heavy weapon at his prey? How handsome is he covered in someone else’s blood, chest heaving, looking down at them like a bug he’s about to squish... 

“Anyway,” Ursula continues, breaking you out of your thoughts. “The reason I’m bringing all this up is because, well, I want you and I to be a team, of sorts. Truthfully, I will admit I was a little worried about the whole ‘running the world with my psycho brother’ thing. Don’t get me wrong, I do love him, but I’ve had to reign him in our whole lives. Now with you...I think that job will be much easier.” 

“You want me to help you control him?” You asks suspiciously. A tightness forms in your chest. You don’t want to control this man who has just seen you at your own least controlled and loved it. He wants to save you, even after seeing your darkest of tendencies. How could you turn on him and not love him the same in return? 

“No! No it’s not about control!” Ursula says, frustration in her tone. Her fingers grip at her temples, as she lets out a ragged sigh. “It’s the opposite, really. I don’t want to have to keep him in check anymore, but now that we have you, I don’t think we’ll have to. You’ll give him some light in his life, someone to care about do the right thing for, without having to be told to. 

We are about to control everything, have the most power in the world, do you have any idea what that means? Tides will rise and fall at our whims, wars will begin and end at our words. Titus...well, before you, I thought he could use this power to possibly just destroy the world, which would be so boring and pointless.” 

You brush down the fabric of the black dress, pulling it into place around your body, as you let out a sigh. When you step back around the partition, Ursula’s hand falls from her face, and her jaw drops.  

“Wow, you clean up very good,” she says as her eyes rake down your body.  

The black wedding gown fits you perfectly, long bell sleeves and mermaid tail making you look like some sort of demonic beauty from an old painting. You get a look at yourself in the long mirror at the other end of the room, and you know all at once that this is so much better than the white lacy thing you’d worn yesterday. You feel yourself stand up straighter, hold yourself higher. This is right. This is your true self. 

Ursula has the lightest tears pricking the corners of her eyes, as she takes your hands in hers, thumb tapping her mother’s ring that sits fitting perfectly on your left hand. 

“How do you want me to help with Titus then? Just when I can be free, I have to live my life only for him?” You ask expectantly. 

“Live your life for yourself, but don’t be afraid of him. Show him what the point of all this is, what happiness truly is. He sees something in you, and I think I'm starting to understand as well. That ruthlessness I saw from you on the field? Fuck, even I was kind of into it. I have never seen him give a shit for anyone outside our family like I have seen him care for you tonight.  

He was distraught at the idea that we would have to kill you, and when that loophole was revealed, I saw a fire ignite in him I have never seen before. I truly don’t think anything will quell the brutality that he has in his soul, but maybe you can help me direct it. You're getting a piece of this power too. Embrace it.” 

You’re taken aback by her words. You barely know this man. You don’t know him at all really, but from what she describes...you know you feel that way too. He has seen inside your soul and loved it, and with the tiniest glimpses of his, you know you could love him as well. This is the life meant for you. Everything before, all the hurt and the pain and the loneliness, the drifting through aimlessly, all the questioning of it all has been answered by him. With this offer of joining and creating the most powerful family in the world. 

“I can do that, I want to... I want to be happy, for once. And Titus...” You squeeze her hands tight, biting your lip to hold in your smile. “I think we can make each other very happy.” 

“Good,” Ursula says with a satisfied smile. “Here,” she reaches behind her neck to unlatch the silver pentagram pendant that sits there. “You need something borrowed.” She steps into your space, nose to your cheek as she secures the clasp around your own neck, before settling her hands on your shoulders in a tight hug. “I always wanted a sister. Between Titus and Father, it’s been difficult being the only woman at the top of the family. You and I are going to make a great team.” 

You give her a kiss on the cheek as a thank you, as she finally lifts the lid of the hatbox. Your eyes widen as she lifts a black crown, encrusted with red jewels, and attached to a long black veil. The final piece to complete your ceremonial ensemble.  

The time for the Dark Wedding has come. 

+ 

Ursula leads you down to the basement of the Lodge, where floor to ceiling dark wood doors, engraved with a giant pentagram, are opened by two servants in dark purple robes, the hoods covering their faces. You’re lead down a stone stairwell, into a dark Chamber, lit with orange fire on pilons carved into the shape of goat heads. 

The witnesses, members of other families, are all in their own purple robes with hidden faces, but you can still feel their eyes on you as you walk past. You can feel the envy radiating from them. Some want to kill you for their own seat on the High Council, some want to steal you away to marry you themselves. Several of the women wish it was them who would be called Titus Danforth’s Bride. But they knew there was nothing they could do when you and Titus had Mr. Le Bail’s blessing.  

You had won the game. At last. 

At the other end, sits a lavish alter complete with a statue of Mr. Le Bail hanging from above, goat head motifs carved into the stonework of the wall, and an alter table covered in books, black candles, and several ceremonial supplies. The Lawyer stands behind the table in an ornate black gown, wearing a smile and a horned headdress. 

In his hands is the contract book the Hunters had to sign. The book of rules Mr. Le Bail set forth for his rituals and games. He gives you a nod as you descend toward him. 

Next to him is Titus, who sucks in a breath, eyes soft and needy at the sight of you.  

“You’re beautiful, Little Lamb,” he says in a low voice. 

He’s in dark layered clothes, a gray ascot around his neck, and black hunter’s boots, with his hands crossed in front of him. His mouth drops open, eyes wide, chest visibly rising and falling as his eyes never leave the deep, penetrating stare into yours.  

You feel your heart beat speed up, you imagine the sound of it echoing off the walls. Your tongue darts out to lick at your bottom lip, and that’s the only moment that Titus’s eyes linger to anywhere else. 

Ursula guides you up the steps of the alter, taking her place behind you as, the Lawyer hands you and Titus matching silver bands. The Lawyer instructs you both to put them on each other, then takes your left hand in his. 

“We gather here under the light of the full moon, surrounded by the fires provided by Mr. Le Bail, so join these two souls in eternal connection.” 

He brings your hand close to him, and with a sharp, black blade he etches a small cut on the lower part of your palm. Your eyes stay on Titus who looks on with delight as you don’t even flinch. A few droplets or your blood are spilled into an ornate gold goblet, and the Lawyer directs you to keep your hand out as he repeats the action with Titus’s left hand. 

One the blood is mixed in the goblet, the Lawyer brings your hands together, matching the wounds so your blood joins his, and you hiss at the touch. Not at the pain, no. There is no pain. 

You hiss from the sudden electric spark that bursts out as your soul is connected to his. Your lips drop open, your eyes flutter, and Titus gently jerks you closer to him as his fingers intertwine with yours. 

The Lawyer wraps a black silk scarf around both of your hands and ties it off, keeping you two locked together, before picking the goblet up and holding it above you with both his hands. 

“Do you swear on Satan’s name to take Mr. Titus Chester Danforth to be yours, through fires of hell in this life and the next?”  

“I swear.” You say without hesitation, your voice barely yours, distant and echoing as your eyes hood over, and you feel Titus tug you ever closer, until your breath mixes with his. “I promise to be yours.” 

You watch his lips twitch up in a smile, almost like a little boy who opened the one singular present he wanted on his birthday. Has he been dreaming of you? Have you been his wish since before he knew you were waiting? 

“Do you swear on Satan’s name to take the former Mrs. Le Domas to be yours, through the fires of hell in this life and the next?” 

A needy squeal escapes your mouth as you are suddenly jerked forward, hard, so your body is met right up against the hard muscle of Titus’s. He towers over, looking down with a hunger he knows is finally going to be sated. His lips are hairs away from yours as he says his vows. “I swear. I will never let another person touch you, harm you. I will never let your power be taken again. I swear to give you the world. All of it.” 

The Lawyer hands you both a matching set of black and gold pens and opens Mr. Le Bail’s book to an empty page. You watch as flames appear on the paper, writing out your contract to both Le Bail and the Danforth family. You feel a stinging in your hand as you bring the pen down to the page, a moment of hesitation. 

You’re about to sell your soul. For all the power over the world. For a marriage to a man who sort of scares you but thrills you more than anyone you’ve ever met in your life. 

But what even was your life before, anyway? Lonely, poor, an upbringing of abuse, no sense of a real family or home? You can have everything. You will have everything. 

You sign the page. Titus signs immediately after, with much less hesitation. None, actually. 

“By the all mighty powers of Satan, Lucifer, Mr. Le Bail, you two are now one. The Danforth Family is therefore restored to the High Seat, to be shared by you three.” 

A surprised smirk flashes over Titus’s face. It doesn’t even fall when the Lawyer hands Mr. Le Bail’s gold ring to Ursula, who slips it onto her middle finger with a pleased expression. 

You hadn’t been expecting that. Of course the twins would share as they are both head of the family, but you...of course. You’re the matriarch of the Danforths. If heirs to the family are to be made, they would come through you. In giving yourself to Titus, to the contract of Mr. Le Bail, you have gained all the power of the world. 

“You may kiss your Bride. Hail Satan!” 

Titus surges forward, capturing your lips in his with a deep moan, as the other families chant in celebration of your dark union. His grip on your hand tightens, as his other one slips around your back, sliding down to the curve of your ass. You whimper into the kiss, biting at his bottom lip, as your own hand goes to the back of his neck, tugging roughly at the little curls of his hair. 

The sound of Ursula’s excited clapping breaks you from your stupor, reminding you both of your audience. In truth, Titus would take you right now, tear your clothes into shreds and fuck you on the alter right in front of everyone and Mr. Le Bail himself. 

He and Ursula never thought they would marry. It all seemed too complicated with the deadly rituals involved. Why get attached to someone outside the family when they may have to hunt them? When they had each other anyway? Father always emphasized the importance of keeping power in their family’s hands. 

But now Titus has you. Truly has you. You belong to him and he belongs to you as well. 

His hunger has only grown. His need to show you what a good husband he can be, how you have given this power to the right man, to the right family. He wants to take you in every way, show you what true pleasure can be. Erase any memory you have of that stupid Le Domas boy who couldn’t find the wits to see what value you hold. Who was afraid of the monster you have inside. 

Titus has no desire to tame that monster. He wants to free her. 

You breathe into each other’s mouths as the kiss is finally broken, and he turns triumphantly to the witnesses. 

“Hail Satan!” 

The chants continue, as Ursula giggles behind you. “Awe, you two are so cute. And kind of gross. But I’m happy for you!” 

“I’m happy for all of us,” you say, taking one of her hands in yours. 

The Lawyer unwraps you and Titus from the silk, and offers the scarf to Titus, who takes it with a slight wink your direction. You can only imagine the dirty plans he has for that later. You want to know. You wish you could read into his mind and see everything he wants from you, to show you all over your most depraved fantasies as well. 

Titus leans down, placing a kiss just under your ear, the scratching of his stubble sends a tingle of excitement through your skin. “Are you ready, Little Lamb?” 

You don’t trust your voice to not give away to everyone just how needy and desperate you are for him, though that kiss might have been evidence enough. You bite your lip and nod as your response, and allow him to whisk you away. 

+ 

Your journey to Titus’s quarters on the top floor is buzzing with promise and arousal. You can feel yourself dripping between your thighs as he pushes you up against the wall of the elevator, and you lean up expecting a kiss, but are met with his hand to your throat instead. 

The way your eyes light up is like you’ve passed some test with him. He isn’t squeezing or anything, just holding you there with a strong hand around your neck. His breath is hot on yours, lips just out of reach for a kiss, his eyes blown out dark but hooded. You can see him holding back, can feel it in the tension of his body up against yours. 

His free hand trails down between your bodies, petting down the soft fabric of your wedding dressing over your belly, then between your legs. Your breath hitches, then releases in a soft moan as he presses two fingers forward, and even through two layers of fabric he can feel how wet you are. His face breaks into a smile 

“This new, or have I left you like this since the woods, my little Lamb?” His voice is rough, a deep, sexy tone filled with teasing. 

“S-since the woods,” you say honestly. Why lie? When you know you’re about to get exactly what you want? 

“Fuck,” Titus groans. “What a terrible man I am, leaving my sweet girl in this state for all this time.” 

You let out a breathless laugh, reaching between your bodies to grip at the hard bulge you’ve felt against your leg. “And what a terrible wife I am to have left you like this.” 

He grunts, pushing his hips into your hand, curving his fingers up at the same time, and catching your whine into his mouth.  

The elevator dings, interrupting the heat of the moment.  

His hand leaves your neck and before you know it, you’ve been swept up in his strong arms, as he carries you to the bedroom. You laugh, peppering kisses all over the side of his face, and once you’re through the threshold, you squirm out of his grasp, grabbing at him anywhere you can to take him to the bed. You yelp as the backs of your knees hit the end, sending you toppling backwards on the soft mattress. You ruck your dress up to let him step between your legs, but he stops you once it reaches your waist. 

“Don’t rush, my lamb, don’t rush,” Titus says with an amused laugh, kneeling with one leg on the bed. “We can go slow. We have forever now, and you...you’ve been through a lot in two days.” 

“Fuck that,” you scoff, scratching your hands up his chest. “Last night, well the other night, after the wedding with Alex, I was expecting to get fucked good. And instead, I got almost killed. A lot. Now I’m a newly wed again, and I won’t have this wedding night unsatisfied again.” 

Titus’s brow raises, Amusing. His fingers brush into your hair, gentle at first, until they grip tight and pull your head back, exposing your neck to him. “You want to get fucked good?” 

“Yes.” Your voice is desperate, broken, filled with a desire you’re pretty sure you’re experiencing for the first time. Your nails dig into his jacket, fuck all these stupid layers, and you shove it down his shoulders. You rip through his clothes, delighting at the sounds of seams tearing, tossing fabric every which way until you’ve got him in nothing but his pants, finally giving you a view of his strong body. 

He’s built exactly as you thought, all toned muscle and thick arms, light skin littered with freckles like stars in the night sky. He’s beautiful. You want to bite him all over, latch your teeth to every part of his chest until the indents never leave, until you’ve scarred him as your own. You want him to do the same to you. 

He pulls you back into another biting kiss, his sharp teeth latch onto your bottom lip, you moan at the feeling of the skin breaking, and the metallic sourness of your blood fills your mouth. Titus groans, sucking on your lip to drink it, as his hands slide up your back, to the clasp on your dress. It catches, and he lets out a frustrated sound halfway between and grunt and a whine, as he starts to tear the dress apart. 

“Mmm!” you whine, pulling back from the kiss, lips red and swollen and eyes wet, your eyeliner and mascara starting to run. You’re filthy already, and Titus meets your look with an animalistic grin. But you simply pout. “Don’t ruin the dress, Ti.” 

“I can buy you ten more exactly like it, it’s in my fucking way.” 

“You’re not ruining this one,” you spit back. He doesn’t get it, but you know you have the old wedding dress, stained with a dozen people’s blood, waiting in your room. Maybe you’ll put them both on display in wherever it is you’re going to live now, as a shrine to your power, your win of both games. “It has sentimental value to me now.” 

Before he has the chance to argue again, you use your strength to lock your legs around him, and force him around on his back on the bed. You sit up straight, straddling his lap, and you can feel his dick twitch even through his pants below you. His chest rises with a deep breath, wild smile breaking out on his face, tongue darting out to lick his lips. 

“Fuck, you’re so strong, that’s the girl I saw out there,” Titus says in amazement.  

You look down proudly. No man you’ve ever been with has looked at you like this, spoken of you like this, like you’re something sacred, something to be worshipped. Hell, you’re not even the same person any of those stupid boys dealt with. Something awoke in you over this weekend, something can never be sent to slumber again. 

“Do not ruin my wedding dress, Mr. Danforth.” 

His lips purse together, holding down a smirk, and he looks up at you through his brow, impatiently, boyishly...bratty. “Whatever you say, Mrs. Danforth.” 

The name excites you more than you thought it would. 

You reach up behind your back, finding the clasp of your dress, and your nimble fingers are able to easily break it open. You grin as you watch Titus’s mouth fall open. He looks simply parched. There’s something very arousing about having such a powerful and dangerous man hungry and desperate beneath you. 

“Help me with the zipper? Gently.” You ask with a pout. He gives a subtle nod to his head, sitting up straight as his hands find their way to your back, sliding the zipper down slowly.  

Titus groans at the sight of your tits nearly spilling out of the satin bra, and he can feel the drool start to form under his tongue. He wants to bite them, he wants to suck on your nipples while you bounce on his cock. 

You shimmy the sleeves of the dress down off your arms, and then direct his hands to pull the dress up off of your body, before you carefully toss the dress to a chaise off to the side. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Titus says, almost unconsciously, voice soft and breathless as his eyes wander over the view of your body. His fingertips trace over your skin where dark bruises and healing cuts are littered. The evidence of your ability to survive, proof that you are the woman worthy of Titus Danforth, of the whole world. Still, it bothers Titus to see such damage done to his bride. “If I could kill them all over again for doing this to you, I would.” 

“Careful, this one,” You warn in a playful tone, pointing to a light scratch on your rib, “was caused by your sister.” 

Titus cringes. “Well, it will never happen again, not by our hands.” 

You pout. “But what if I want you to mark me up?” 

His eyes snap up to yours, hips jerking up unexpectedly. “Lamb...” 

“What?” You whine. “What if I want you to scratch me, and bite me, and mark me as yours?” 

He doesn’t give you a chance to continue, before you know it, you’re the one on your back again, with Titus kissing and licking his way down your body, over every remnant of your fights. He bites his way through your bra, sharp teeth ripping it in half, and you gasp, cunt aching at the show of desperation. The sound he lets out at the sight of your bare breasts, can only be described as devastatingly hungry.  

He licks his lips before latching onto your left breast, sucking on your nipple, biting it lightly, pulling needy whimpers from your lips. When he pinches the other one between his fingers, you release a high pitched moan, and you can feel a spike of heat between your legs, juices drip on your thighs. 

“Oh fuck, Titus,” you whimper, one hand flying to grip onto his curls, the other slamming on the bed, fingers twisting in the soft sheet, doing anything to find purchase to ground you.  

He moans around you, and your back arches up into him as he tugs your nipple with his teeth before releasing, only to repeat the same actions on your other one. He’d stay here all night if he wasn’t so desperate to fuck you, to devour you in every way. 

His hand dips between your legs when he feels them start to shake, slipping into the lace panties, and he groans into your skin at the wetness he finds. It coats his fingers, already dripping through your panties and practically pooling on the bed. 

It takes him a second to rip your panties to pieces, unwrapping his prize.  

“There she is,” he mumbles, voice filled with awe. 

“Titus,” you groan, sitting up on your elbows. “You said you were going to fuck me.” 

And he loves your impatience, your petulance. You’re so much like him. 

Titus doesn’t quicken his actions, though, he’s not ready to get rid of that frustrated fire in your eyes. He doesn’t feel like it. Instead he slinks down the bed, grabbing you roughly by the ankles to yank your body down with him. He laughs at the small yelp you let out, at the widening of your eyes at his show of strength, and then throws your legs donw to grab your wrists instead. 

“You think you’re going to tell me what to do?” His voice isn’t as playful as before. 

But he’s not met with fear from you, exactly as he expected. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

You look up at him with even more hunger and determination than before. When he releases your wrists, you make quick work of his pants, nipping and biting at his lower stomach, humming into his skin. 

He helps you strip him of the last of his layers, and your heart skips when you finally get the full look at him, at his thick cock that’s already leaking at the tip. Your pussy clenches, your nails scratch hard down his strong thighs, digging into the skin enough to leave angry red lines, and you kind of want to run them down again, cut him open, lick up his blood on your way to his cock. 

But he tips you up with two fingers under your chin, waiting until you look into his eyes again before he wraps that hand around your jaw. He brushes his thumb over the cut on your lip, then dips it into your mouth. Your pupils are blown black as you suck on him, wishing it was his cock filling your throat instead. 

“I’m not a gentle man.” 

“Good.” And you hardly recognize your own voice, wanton and syrupy and needy. You’ve only just learned how much you love when it isn’t gentle, when you’re pushed to the limits of your body. You need him to make you feel that way again. “Don’t be gentle. Take me, Titus, like in the woods. I know you were holding back. Fuck me like you want to, like I’m yours.” 

“You are fucking mine,” he snarls, shoving your head back, then follows it up by quickly turning you onto your stomach.  

He crawls over your body, kicking your legs apart, and pushing down on your lower back until you’re arched beautifully for him, ass in the air, pussy dripping and clenching from the emptiness.  

There’s fresh scabs on your back, from where you’d scratched it open on the metal gate as you’d tried to escape the Le Domas property in your first wedding. Titus’s hand covers them completely, and you moan in a combination of pain and pleasure as he grips you hard enough to leave a bruise. The shape his hand covers the marks caused by others, he’ll reshape every wound into a mark of love from him 

“Please,” you whine, voice muffled slightly by the sheet. “Please, Titus, just fu—ahh!” 

He cuts you off with the rough slamming of his cock inside, every inch filling you instantly, until you feel his hips against you. “What was that, Baby?” 

You don’t have it in you to snark back to him, not when you finally feel so full. All you can respond with is a stilted, broken scream into the bed, as Titus pulls out and then fucks back in, slow rough strokes that take your breath away. 

But that won’t do for Titus, he wants to hear you, wants to know how good he makes you feel. As he starts to fuck you harder, quicken his pace, he grabs you by the back of your head, turning so your cheek is pressed to the bed instead, and every sound you make echoes around the room. 

“That’s it, little Lamb, let me hear you,” Titus groans. His fingers rake down your back, over every bruise, as he fucks you at a brutal pace. 

All you can do is scream, eyes running with tears, body on a sweet, delicious fire, as you allow yourself to be used, to just feel, everything. 

With one hand, Titus grabs your arms and twists them behind your back locking you in, completely at his mercy. With the other he reaches between your legs, rubbing at your clit. “Tell me how much you like it.” 

“Fuck,” you whine, the new angle it creates on your body sending bolts of pleasure up your spine. You still don’t really know what’s come over you, what thing has woken inside you, what insatiable hungry envelopes your very soul, but you feel in this moment that Titus is the only one who could ever feed it. “Fucking, love it.” 

You don’t have to look at him to know he’s smiling, can feel it in the tone of his voice when he responds, “Yeah, that’s fucking right. Tell me.” 

He rubs circles on your clit, leans down to kiss up your spine, settling on your shoulder where his teeth bite down, hard, the skin breaking as you moan. He licks at the wound, sucking on it until a red and angry mark is left. 

“Love the way your cock feels,” you whimper, “Feel so fucking full. Feel...oh fuck I’m gonna—" 

Your legs start to shake, vision blurring as ultimate pleasure over takes you, and with a shout of his name, you’re coming, cunt clenching down on his cock as he fucks you through it. Your shouts turn into light grunts, Titus doesn’t let up for a second, as wave after wave of your orgasm rushes through your body. 

For a moment, you think you might pass out, only his voice comes in close to your ear, anchoring you to reality. “That’s it Little Lamb, give in to me.” 

The warmth of his body leaves as you start to come back to yourself, and he sits up, fingers leaving your overstimulated clit to grab your ass instead. His eyes dart down, watching where his cock enters your body, mesmerized by his own movements.  

He’s distracted, you can tell, studying the way you feel inside, how your pussy welcomes him, warm and wet, fitting him like a glove. Has he ever had it this good? 

You start to struggle against his grip, and finally manage to get your arms out of his grasp, and you twist your torso, grabbing him by the chin to pull him into a snarling kiss. You want to show him you can fuck him good too, you can free all the tension from his body with pleasure. 

Your hand comes down on his cheek in a crackling slap! and the shock of it sends him reeling. He pulls out, falling back with a wild smile, mouth red from your blood, and your body shivers with glee. You go to hit him again, but he catches you, pulling you towards him, mouth latching onto your neck. You let him kiss you there, suck another mark into your skin over one left by someone else, but when he goes to move again, you scratch down his chest. 

The nails finally break the skin and he groans at the feeling, puffing out his chest for you to do it again. He’s just as much yours as you are his, after all. 

“Yeah, Baby, mark me up.” Titus pants, an adorable pink blush crawls up his skin. 

But you have other plans. You slap him again, giggling at the petulant smile he gives you. Instead of scratching him up, like he so clearly wants, you use all of your strength to shove his body down on the bed. 

He looks absolutely delighted when you climb on his lap, and he reaches up to grab you, but you fight to press his wrists to the bed. His hips jerk up, cock leaking out, your strength driving him wild. This is what he wanted, this is who he imagined watching the footage of you besting your would-be murderers.  

“Stay,” you command, voice low and dark, as you release his wrists. 

The expression on his face as he willfully does what he’s told, as you sink down onto his cock again, can only be described as animalistic, devoted.  

You whimper as you sink down, until you’re all the way on his lap, and the tow of you moan in unison. You test a roll of your hips, gasping at the feeling, pressing your hands onto Titus’s strong chest for balance. 

“Touch me,” you request in a whisper, starting a slow pace. 

Titus doesn’t need to be told twice, hands flying to your hips as he plants his feet, meeting your every movement. He grunts at each upward thrust of his hips, eyes darting between yours and the slight bounce of your tits. There’s already hickeys forming around your nipples, and he licks his lips at the thought of making more.  

All he wants is more, wants his hands everywhere, his mouth and his tongue and his teeth, wants to devour you. A small part of him wants to tear up every shrine in the Danforth homes to rebuild them all to you. 

“Love the way your hands feel,” You whimper, guiding those very hands to grab your breasts, as you roll your hips down onto his cock. “So strong, so rough, wish I could see what you can really do with them. Wish you were allowed to kill those fuckers out in the game today.” 

“Believe me, fuck,” Titus groans, snapping his hips up into you. “I would have torn them apart to get to you. Would have ripped their limbs off and bathed in their blood to get to you.” 

“Fuck,” your body speeds up, pussy clenching at the thought. Your mind races and your voice is breathless as you moan out, “I want to see it. I want to see you feral and brutal. Fuck, Titus, wanna see you fight for me.” 

He rears up at your words, bringing your chest to his face as you bounce on his cock. “I’d kill a hundred people for you, my baby.” 

You rake your fingers through his hair, whimpering when his mouth finds your nipple again, and you hiss when he bites down. You claw at his back, and you know the skin is breaking at the way Titus hisses into your skin. You kiss his temple, down his cheek, and then dip your tongue into his mouth. 

And there’s a moment, the two of you breathing deep into each other’s mouths, eyes blown dark and wide and staring deeply into each other’s souls, where everything fades away. It’s nothing but heat and fire and blood and you feel...powerful. You feel valued. You feel loved. 

Titus licks up from your chest to your neck, the trail of his tongue leaving goosebumps in its path. “I’d burn this whole world down for you.” 

You suck in a breath, body going still. Those words more than anything, with the real power behind them, should terrify you. They should be the final straw to break you out of this trance, to stop all this and fucking run. 

But you kiss Titus instead, moaning and whimpering into his mouth, holding him tight and close, as your bodies mold into one. He flips you over, back landing on the bed, and he pushes your legs practically up to your ears. 

Everything from there is a blur of biting and licking and screaming. He leaves angry marks all over your neck and your chest, while you bite and scratch him all over in return. Your cries of pleasure echo through the halls of the Lodge, probably keeping up every single person who dared to stay the night. Your throat is filled with a scratchy pain from the screams, but there’s nothing you can do to stop them. 

Titus’s hand roughly grasps your face, keeping your eyes on him as he fucks you harder. “Wanna come again, little lamb?” 

“Yes, please,” you cry out, body contracting, back arching.  

And he cracks a satisfied grin at just how lost in it you are. But Titus knows he hasn’t got much more hold left in him, it’s taken everything in him to hold it out this long. He reaches his hand down between your legs, fucking your harder as he rubs your clit, swallowing every whimper and moan you release into his mouth. 

“Come on, baby,” Titus grunts, losing his rhythm. “Come for me. Give me what I want.” 

Your vision whites out again, hands gripping hard to his biceps, leaving moon shaped indents into his pink skin. “Titus—”  

“Yeah,” Titus pants into your mouth, hand slipping to wrap around your throat, pride and pleasure swelling in his belly when you clench around his cock. “Yeah.” 

With one final scream, your body convulses, juices spurting from your pussy as your second orgasm of the night rips through you, heightening every touch that remains from your husband. Your eyes roll back until they shut, tears prickling the edges. 

“Fuck, that’s it, that’s what I fucking want,” Titus moans. He can’t stop the loud, whiny chants that escape from his mouth as he fucks you through it. “Gonna come, little lamb, gonna make you mine.” 

He braces himself with one hand on the bed, as he suddenly pulls out, crying out your name as he jerks his cock, moaning as he finally lets himself come, thick ropes of spunk decorating your tummy, marking you for the final time. 

The whole world slows down for a moment, only the sounds of your breaths filling your ears. When you finally open your eyes, he’s looking down at you the same as he has all day, like you are the answer to every prayer he’s sold his soul for. 

Titus leans down, placing an almost too gentle kiss to your cheek. “Told you I’d be the one to get you.” 

Tears flow down your cheeks, tracks circling around the sleepy, giddy smile you’re left with. You feel absolutely spent, almost floating away, every part of you that was marked by Titus’s teeth and hands and tongue is glowing.  

He’s still holding himself above you with one hand firmly on the bed, bicep flexed from the effort of strength, and he looks just as fucked out as you. His gaze glides down your body, taking inventory of every place he made you his.  

“Titus,” you finally whine, wanting his full attention back. Your voice is raw, throat sore from the screaming. “That was—" 

“Shh,” he hushes, finally letting himself fall to the side, resting on his elbow, while his fingers ghost over your skin. “I know, Baby, but take it easy for me.” 

You hum and nod, curling up into his side. You feel him turn away for a moment, and look up to see him on his phone, expression impatient and stern. 

“Run a bath, hot but not scorching, same things you used before, and I better not see any of you in there. Set it up then get the fuck out. Thank you.” 

You raise a brow. “What was that?” 

“Wanna take care of you, but don’t wanna be disturbed. They don’t get to see my new wife like this,” Titus says, and at first you think he’s playing, but the look in his eye says he means business. He’s not sharing any part of you with anyone tonight. 

“You’re so considerate,” you say, sitting up to give him a kiss. “I don’t think I’ve ever been fucked that good.” 

His lips press into a proud smirk. “Well, get used to it, Little Lamb. I don’t ever do anything halfway.” 

It’s not long until he gets the notification that your bath is ready, and he carries you all the way across the hall to the lavish bathroom, even fancier than the one you’d been bathed in before your wedding.  

He carefully places you down in the water, in bathtub that might as well be called a mini pool, and grabs the same soaps and salves that had been used to clean away your wounds earlier. His rough, calloused hands, that had held you down and gripped you so hard they left heavier bruises, were miraculously gentle as they wiped you down.  

You’re both quiet as he cleans you, stripping away any final remnants of injuries you’d acquired from the others, leaving only memories of the ones he’d left in pleasure. You almost wonder how this man, who touches you like some precious treasure, can do such brutal things. You can’t wait to see how. 

As he finishes up your care, and takes you back to bed, the final lingering thought on your mind, as you fall asleep in his arms, is that this brute, this dangerous, violent man, is all yours. 

+ 

You can’t think of the last time you had a full service breakfast in bed. 

Actually, no, you’ve never had this. 

Just as you were waking up, nude body covered in bruises and scratch marks and love bites, hidden mostly by the black silk sheet of Titus’s bed, a row of servants trailed in with silver serving carts of just about every classic breakfast food you could imagine. 

The smell is what stirs you, and you hum as you rub the sleep from your eyes, smiling up at Titus who is already sitting up against the headboard. His body is mostly on display, modesty only barely covered by the corner of the sheet, but he’s got a leg propped up, elbow resting on his knee, and he’s lighting a cigar as he directs the servants where to leave everything. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Danforth,” Titus muses, tapping the ashes off the end of the cigar into a crystal plate sitting on his bedside table.  

“Good morning, Mr. Danforth,” you smile sleepily up at him, left hand crawling up his chest.  

The sheet slips off your body, so more of your bare back shows to the last servant still on his way out of the room, and Titus’s smile falls into a scowl when he catches the servant’s eyes rake up and down your bare skin. “Leave.” 

The servant’s eyes widen in fear, and they scurry quickly out of the room, shutting the door behind them. You chuckle, tapping your fingers over the still angry bite marks on Titus’s neck. “You know, I’m pretty sure everyone in the whole compound heard us last night—well, this morning.” 

“Fine with me,” Titus says triumphantly, then echoes his words from last night. “But that doesn’t mean they get to see it.” 

“You’re a very jealous man, aren’t you?” You ask, settling up next to him, peppering kisses to his neck and cheek. “Don’t like it when others play with your toys?” 

He blows out the smoke of the cigar away from you, smirking. “You’re not a toy, Little Lamb.” 

“Don’t you forget it,” you hum. You plant a quick, chaste kiss to his lips, before rolling over to survey your many breakfast options. “Wow, it’s so fancy, it’s like I’m at a hotel.” 

“It is a hotel, my dear,” Titus chuckles, but he’s not teasing or patronizing you, no, he’s showing off.  

“Oh right,” you say with a shrug, settling on a piece of toast with strawberry jam to start with.  

Titus’s eyes watch the way the jam runs down your chin, and how your tongue licks it up, a chill running through him as it reminds him of your blood filled kisses from last night. 

“So, where should we go tonight?” He asks. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well,” he grunts, stamping out the cigar on the plate, and scooting down the bed to join you, to take back some of your body heat again. “We’re newly weds,” he starts, pressing soft kisses to the back of your shoulder. “And as unconventional as our matrimony may be, we still get a honeymoon, don’t we?” 

“What did you have in mind?” 

Titus clicks his tongue. “No, no, no, this is about what you want. We can go anywhere you wish, and we can honeymoon for as long as you like. Let Ursula handle the exchange of power, that’s the boring part anyway.” 

A giddy smile forms on your face. “Well, I was looking forward to the Le Domas ancestral home in France that Alex was going to take me to. And I believe it is legally mine now.” 

“Little Lamb, even if it wasn’t yours, I would make it.” 

“Hmm,” you smile, licking some of the jam off your spoon before meeting his lips in a kiss. “There is something else...Alex had promised we’d join the mile high club on our way there. I know you just said you’re not much into public sex...” 

“Actually, I said I don’t want people to see you,” Titus retorts, licking the little bit of jam that had trickled onto your chin. “So, thank the devil you now own several private jets, I think that wish can be fulfilled.” 

Your cunt pulses at the thought, thighs twitching and rubbing together. The fact that only days ago, the idea of you on a private jet, sipping champagne and getting fucked out of your mind by some hot, rich older man would have just been a fantasy. Now it’s your whole itinerary for the evening. 

“I’m so glad I chose you,” you muse, running your fingers into his soft, silver hair. Not just for the riches, but the freedom. The ability to do whatever you want, be whatever you truly are, and have a man who is obsessed with you for it. 

“As am I,” Titus says, as though he can read your mind. Giving you the world isn’t a metaphor for him, after all. 

“I’m so glad I won that stupid Hide and Seek game. There was one second, when Alex had me on the alter table, about to sacrifice me, when I thought, fuck, I should just give up,” you confess. “But then something just...something was roaring inside me, telling me I can’t let them win. I had to make it, I’d come so close. And even after all the shit last night, you make it so fucking worth it.” 

A small muscle in Titus’s cheek twitches, and his smile drops into a frown. He had seen on the security footage that it was indeed Alex Le Domas who was the final one to try to sacrifice you, and you’d fought back like hell to win. What an idiot, that stupid boy was. But his mistake is now Titus’s triumph. 

Yet still, there is a pit in Titus’s stomach that hasn’t been resolved. He’s known inside and out the rules of the Le Domas’s Hide and Seek his whole life. He knows the ins and outs of every High Council Family’s rituals, his father made sure of it. Titus and Ursula trained from early childhood to be winners of any violent game they were put in, especially their own. 

It’s part of the reason he and Ursula never committed to serious relationships, and put all their focus into keeping the family strong as it is, as their birthright as twins.  

But looking at you, entering this new state of being, finding your true self because of another High Family’s failing, and yet still in the dark of this world you now rule. Titus doesn’t like complicated, he doesn’t want to twist you in a web. He wants to respect the person whose soul aligns with his. Whose monster wants to embrace his. The one person who could love all of him and his demons. He cannot lie to you. He wants to worship you. 

“There was another way for you to win your game with the Le Domas’s.” 

“What?” Your fingers stilling where they’ve been twisting into his short curls.  

Titus clears his throat. “Your husband could have chosen you, just like tonight when we chose each other.” 

“But...” your mind starts to race. “But I thought if I lived they would all die, even him?” 

“Well,” Titus takes your hand in his, kissing your palm, lips touching the place the Lawyer had cut, the place where your blood mixed with his. “Mr. Le Bail likes loyalty, that’s why he plays these games with the families under his power. But loves contracts. Marriage is a contract.” 

You can feel your heartbeat skip as realization dawns on you. All that trouble. All that death. And your heartbreak at the hands of Alex Le Domas... 

“If your husband had chosen to honor his contract to you, if he had chosen to help you and save you, then at sunrise, he could have sacrificed the head of his family, his father, and with you, become the new head of the Le Domas family under the contract of Mr. Le Bail. One reason Ursula and I never married is to avoid that. If we chose to save our spouse, we’d have to sacrifice Father, or each other. We couldn’t bare it.” 

You shake your head in disbelief, breaths coming out ragged. “M-Maybe he didn’t know that.” 

“Maybe not,” Titus says in a voice that isn’t completely reassuring. “But he gave up trying to save you. He gave up his loyalty to you, the one he had chosen, the one he signed a contract with. And so at sunrise the offer was never given by Mr. Le Bail. You could have even killed Alex and married that brother that helped you instead. Didn’t you notice Mr. Le Bail didn’t do anything to him when that brother helped you get away?” 

“H-How do you know all of this?” you ask. 

“We all have our rituals, my Lamb,” Titus shrugs. “Every family has their way of welcoming new members. The Danforths are duelers and gamblers. When you marry into our family, you pick a card from a special deck, and if you pull a number, then you simply are welcomed into the ranks. But if you pull a face card, you must fight a corresponding Head Family member to the death. My father represented the King, my mother before her death was the Queen, a spot now taken by Ursula, and I am the Jack.” 

“I’m assuming the times this has happened, they’ve pulled your card more than anyone else?” You ask, licking your lips at the thought. 

“Yes well, when I was younger they pulled the King almost every time, but yes, since I’ve become a man, the times a face card has been pulled, it has been mine,” he explains with a smile that is a mixture of amusement and pride.  

“Fuck, I wanna see that,” you say hungrily. “Ursula said there is footage.” 

“Oh yes, we keep all the security footage of our rituals,” Titus smirks. “You want to watch me duel to the death? Want to see how strong your husband is? How ruthless? How brutal?” 

Your eyes flutter shut, heat sparking in your belly as your pussy pulses. “Yes. Fuck I want to see that so fucking bad. You’ve gotten to see my monster, I want to see yours.” 

You connect your lips to his in a kiss, breathy and hard and desperate. You open to allow Titus’s tongue to lick into you, to deepen the kiss, but after a moment you pull back for air and another question. 

“How often does this happen? Like, how many people are in the Danforth family?” 

Titus chuckles breathlessly. “My father was the oldest of seven boys and four girls, and after my father won the High Seat, they all signed their souls to follow him. And they all had way more children than him, and then most of those children have had children. It’s come up quite a bit. Mr. Le Bail probably enjoys trying to thin out our herd.” 

“So it’s probably going to happen again, then? This ritual?” 

“Most likely,” Titus says with a shrug. “There’s a Danforth wedding every couple of years.” 

“And so then, since your father is dead, and we’re married, does that make you the King? And so would I be the Queen now? Or is Ursula still the Queen, and I’m, like, the Jack? How will we kno—" 

“You are my Queen,” Titus grunts, forceful and stern. His hands come to your cheeks, holding you steady. “The rest we will let the Lawyer figure out, and he can tell us when the time comes. But I am the King. And you are my Queen, little lamb. No matter what.” 

You smile into the kiss this time, as Titus pushes your body back down the on the bed, using his legs to shove yours open to make room for him. A spike of pain elicits the smallest squeak as you feel Titus’s teeth reopen the bite wound on your mouth. It only spurs you on. Your hand trails down his bare chest, but before it can reach its destination, you have a terrible realization, and push him back. 

“Wait. We just got married. Don’t tell me that means I’m going to have to pull a card and do this all over again.” 

“No, Little Lamb,” Titus assures you, chuckling. He raises your left hand, kissing over the rings he’d placed on your finger last night, and looks down at you with a darkness, a deep adoration, in his eyes. He wipes the new blood droplets from your lip with his thumb, sucking the dark liquid into his mouth like a nectar from the gods. “The contract is reset. No more games to play. You’ve already won.” 

FIN. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: welllllllllllllllll I cannot believe i let that get as long and lore heavy as i did!!! the last little bit does incorporate a personal theory of how Le Bail's game worked in the first movie, a theory that i think can still hold with the added lore from the second! loved coming up with the Danforth marriage ritual because they didn't say what it was in the movie and im so curious!!! also got to make a Titus is Jack joke that possibly only amuses me and that's okay :)

anyway reblog and lemme know if you enjoyed! idk if i'll do another long fic but perhaps tiny little spurts of scenes from this world if you ask nicely :)

[heavenlybarnesss]

❀ s(cream) on it ❀

Andrew “Pope” Cody x curvy f!reader - I have no idea where this came from??? I thought of it while I was in the shower, and once I got to writing it just started pouring out of me. MDNI, 18+

Andrew “Pope” Cody who very quickly takes advantage of the fact you’re the first ones in the hot tub on a slow night in at the Cody’s. The other guys were inside changing into their trunks and let’s face it - pregaming for even a chill night in the jacuzzi. You climbed in first, smiling at Pope as he held his hand out for you to hold while you got in. You sighed at the feeling of the warm water against your skin, oblivious to Pope ogling the itsy bitsy bikini on your body. If this was the last sight he saw before he died - the way your nipples peeked through your top from the contrast of the cool night air, and the warm bubbles against your skin…the feminine way the bottoms hugged your soft lower belly and cushy upper thigh - he’d die a happy man.

Pope loved the parts of you that you thought were ‘pudgy.’ You reminded him of those white, marble statues of Greek goddesses draped in the finest linens and adorned in lavish necklaces and head pieces. He loves laying his head on your tummy as you run your manicured nails through his auburn curls. He loves driving down the road, windows down, with his freckled hand on the meaty part of your bare thigh.

And speaking of bare thighs, he loooves when you wear those teensy denim shorts where your ass hangs out a little. You get insecure about the cellulite under your ass cheeks, but he reassures you by constantly grabbing and smacking your ass whenever you walk around with them on. Doing laundry? He’s coming up behind you and grabbing both cheeks in his hands while putting his head on your shoulder. Prepping lunch for him and the guys? He’s walking by and giving it a hard smack on his way to grab a beer from the fridge. You + daisy dukes = a man possessed.

He climbs in after you, and before you can even get comfy he’s on you like a fucking jungle cat. He’s grabbing at your plushy hips and spinning you around so your back is to him. He pats the side of your left thigh, gesturing for you climb up onto your knees on the jacuzzi bench that runs around the inside. You’re confused but obliging, always eager to please him. And before you can ask what the fuck he’s doing, he’s pulling at the strings of your bikini bottoms and yanking them off. He ignores the way you squeal and scoots you so you’re facing one of the jacuzzi jets.

“C’mere, I wanna show you something.”

“Andy, what are you doiiing? They’re gonna be out here any minute.”

“Good, they can watch.”

“Huh-?” He cuts you off, positioning himself behind you and wrapping his arms around you. He slides his right hand down between your legs. He spreads your pussy lips with his thick fingers so the jet hits directly on your clit. You gasp and immediately throw your head back against his shoulder, your eyebrows scrunched together as you look at him. He rubs slow circles on your clit, the combined pressure from the heavy stream of water and his fingers making your brain foggy. You grab onto his beefy arm for support.

“Fuckkk Andy, feels s’good. But what if they-?“

“What’s wrong baby? You don’t want ‘em to see you like this? Bare pussy in the hot tub, using the water and my fingers to get off?”

You whined and squirmed against his arms, the outside breeze and the overwhelming feeling of warmth blossoming all over your body making you restless. You wanted to moan and curse but were still too shy at the thought of his family coming out any second. A sudden loss of contact snapped you out of a very frustrating - but also toe curling-ly blissful - internal dilemma. You felt Pope shift behind you, his muscular arms dropping from your sides. He stands up straight and presses his hand against your upper back, making you lean on your elbows over the outside of the jacuzzi. At some point while he was making your brain cloudy and thoughts sticky like cotton candy, he had removed his swim trunks.

You could feel his hard cock against your ass. He grabbed the base and aligned it with your glistening pussy, using his thumb to pull your left cheek to the side to see better. He rubbed the tip up and down your entrance, practically drooling from the shiny mix of the water and your own wetness. He slid into you, slow at first while you adjusted to the sensation, and then picked up a consistent pace. He was in no hurry at all, and he certainly couldn’t care less about the fact his family was so close he could hear them from out here.

He moves a large hand up to your right tit, sliding it beneath the wet fabric and massaging it. He rolls the nipple between calloused fingers and does the same to the left. He pumps in and out of you slowly, the only sounds besides the crickets being your joint groans and moans and the splashing of Pope’s hips snapping against the water. Your pride falls apart and before you know it, you’re begging him to fuck you faster and harder without giving a shit about who sees. You’re quite literally matching his freak, if you will.

“Andy, please-“

“Please what angel? Big girls use their words to get what they want. You know that.”

“Please, please fuck me harder. I need you.”

“Aw. My pretty, needy baby. Doesn’t even care that her boyfriend’s family’s about to see her bent over and fucked out of her mind in their hot tub. Needs my cock so badly that she’s willing to be a nasty girl. Shameless.” He moves his hand from your breast to up around your throat. He squeezes it firm but gentle, nearly making your eyes cross. He begins pounding into you. His eyes are closed as he leans forward and licks along the side of your face where your jawline meets your neck.

At this point you’re a fucking hot mess, clawing at the edge of the hot tub and garbling out moans that would make a porn star jealous. It’s all so much. The weight of his heavy dick inside of you…the weight of his hand, veiny and always sprinkled with cuts and bruises from jobs, squeezing your throat…the breeze picking up, causing the water to ripple and the palm leaves to rattle. Your thighs were shaking, and a hot spring of Yellowstone proportions was bubbling inside of your lower belly and ready to burst. Goosebumps kissed your arms and lower back. Your lips were puffy and sore from biting down before to stifle the noises you were now making, tossing all caution to the wind.

“Andyyy. Andy, I feel like I’m gonna-“

“Uh-uh.” He clicks his tongue. “You can’t come until they get out here.”

“What??? Andy, no. I can’t, I have to-“

“I said no. You’re gonna show them how much you love this cock…how you wish you were molded to it.”

“Fuck, please Andy. I can’t hold it any longer, need to come on your cock so badly.” And he really could tell you were close, based off the way your thighs were quivering and your pussy was clenching around him.

“I know you can hold it a little longer, sweetheart. I know you can be a good girl for me.” He was seriously underestimating you because with the way he was currently railing you and the way he was talking to you, you weren’t going to last long. You were in the front cart of the coaster clicking up and up the tracks, reaching your peak and about to tumble over the edge. Your eyes screwed shut, your calves and feet tensed up, You were biting your lip so hard trying not to cum that you might’ve drawn blood. You couldn’t hold on any longer, you were losing your grip on the edge. At the same time a distant screen door flies open and slams shut, every single cell in your body explodes.

The guttural moan you release is otherworldly. You slip in and out of reality, multicolored static and stars buzzing behind your closed eyes. Fireworks erupt in your lower belly and you shimmy and press your ass as far back as you can go, aching to be as close to him as possible. You didn’t give a fuck if you were on display for the world to see if it meant Pope made you feel this fucking high for the rest of your lives.

“Aw Jesus, what the fuck Pope?” Baz’s voice cracks through your hazy euphoria. Almost immediately Pope loses control too, hips stuttering and rutting against your backside. You feel him twitch and you both groan at the feeling of him spilling inside of you. His grip on your neck tightens and he’s sloppily kissing and nipping at your bare shoulder while you both ride out your highs.

“Fuck, you guys. There’s eight fucking bedrooms here. You can’t pick one?” Craig chimes in. Him and Baz both shake their heads, turning on their heels to head back inside. They warn Deran and J before they can even step out the door, both of them reacting with disgust at Pope defiling you in the jacuzzi they all shared. The door slammed shut again, and you both sat in silence while continuing to breathe through the aftermath of your shared orgasm. You’re the first to speak, pink returning to your cheeks after the brain fog had cleared and you realized what you had just done.

“Oh god. I can’t believe I just did that,” you started. “I’m never going to live that down.” Pope straightened up again, sliding out of you reluctantly and reaching for his trunks.

“Live what down?” he asked, as if he was completely unbothered by the fact his family just saw him plowing you.

“Andy are you serious? The fact the guys just saw us fucking in here…”

“So what? Let ‘em see who fucks you this good. It’ll teach Baz and Craig a lesson about staring at your ass when I rub sunscreen on it by the pool.”

“Andrew Cody. Was this all because you were trying to teach your brothers a lesson about eye fucking me?” you questioned, feigning disbelief. You pressed the palm of your hand to your chest, mouth agape but slightly turned at the corners.

“I am the only one who gets to eye fuck you. Ever. And if they can’t get that through their thick fucking skulls, they’re gonna watch while I actually fuck you.”

[angelitairis]

sammy bryant kisses away his girl’s tears <3

“don’t cry sweetheart, too pretty for all that” he thumbs away the salt on your face. he smushes your cheeks. you’re emotional. irrational. littlest things have been setting you off, sammy hasn’t complained not once.

your eyebrows furrow, into a scowl, on your bunched up face. “you’re being annoying.” it comes out slurred as sammy’s got your face in his hands. his pupils are dilated, as his gaze pierces you with love.

you shouldn’t have said that - now he looks like a kid on christmas. “oh yeah?” he releases your face, to pepper you with kisses. “my gorgeous girl, crying for what?” he pulls away and pinches your chin. he holds your face tight. his thumb stroking the ends of your face. “i gotta arrest someone?” he squints. you give him the smallest satisfaction of a smile. another mistake. “ah so that’s a yes, who is it?”

“no one samuel.” you huff. your attitude bears no weight on the officer.

he scoffs, “you told me you’d only use that when i’m in the doghouse.”

“better start barking then.”

“woof,” he placates. he licks a stripe on your cheek. “woof woof” he placates once more.

you roll your eyes but you can’t help yourself from laughing, “you’re the worst.”

he smiles into your face. “that’s my pretty girl,” he presses a kiss to your temple. “there’s the pretty smile i know and love.”

[popecodysgirl]

Taking care of Jack | Dr. Jack Abbot x f!reader

Summary: As much as Jack loves taking care of you, it warms his heart to see you care for him. 

Warnings/tags: None, this is pure domestic fluff!

Word Count: 673

Author’s note: Jack Abbot is getting me out of writer’s block! Thanks for reading and I hope you guys enjoy it! 

Jack loves to take care of you, his sweet perfect girl. Since being with him, you’ve always been so well taken care of, never wanting for anything. He’s always one call away (because he prefers calling over texting, like an old man), all you have to do is dial his number and he’ll come running to you, no matter what the situation is. You’ve never had a more attentive, devoted, and ardently loving partner. 

But as much fun as it is letting Jack take care of you, acts of service is one of your love languages and you love taking care of him. 

The second he comes home from work, you have his crutches ready by the door, dinner heating up on the stove, and you’re ready to support him in any way he needs. There’s an unspoken connection between you and Jack, an instinctual bond that goes beyond words. Just by taking in the energy he comes into the house with, you understand immediately what he needs, whether it be physical touch, soothing words, or just giving him space to process the events of the day. 

After particularly difficult shifts, you lead Jack towards the couch, letting him sit down while you take off his prosthetic and massage his residual limb. Once you sit down beside him, you gently guide his head to lay in your lap. Your fingers start stroking his hair, running through the salt and pepper curls that you love so much. You press your fingertips into his scalp, massaging his head while his eyes softly flutter close. Every so often, you’ll reach for your hand and softly kiss the calloused skin of his knuckles and inner wrist while whispering sweet words, “I love you, Jackie. I’m so proud of you. I'm gonna take care of you, baby.” In the safety of your lap, the side of his face leaning against your soft plush thighs, Jack finally allows himself to decompress, cherishing the sacred time he has with you, his safe haven. 

Every night, as soon as you get in bed, you reach over to the nightstand and open the drawer, taking out a small silver tin of ointment. You pull the blanket down slightly and start massaging the ointment over his residual limb. After you finish, you lean down and place a tender kiss on the stump. The first time you had done it, Jack had flinched and pulled away, slightly uncomfortable with you touching such a vulnerable part of him but now he loves that small yet meaningful action of care, one of the many ways you show your love for him. 

“Thank you, baby,” Jack smiles as you lean back beside him. He puts his arm around you and pulls you towards him, bringing you closer to him until you rest your head on his freckled chest. 

The two of you lay like that for a while, simply enjoying the comfortable silence and warmth from each other’s bodies. A soft breeze flows into your bedroom through the open windows, the white curtains blowing softly inwards, keeping you cool in the summer heat. 

Before finally drifting off to sleep, you softly mutter one more, “I love you, Jackie.” Your head is against his warm chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and breathing in his familiar scent. 

“I love you, sweetheart,” Jack whispers, kissing you softly on the forehead. As his own eyes start to flutter closed, blissful sleepiness taking over, he spends those last waking moments of the day watching you sleep wrapped up in his arms, head laying on his chest. There’s a soft, content look on your pretty face, you look so safe, so warm, and so loved. He wonders what he could have possibly done to earn such a perfect beautiful woman who loves him like it’s breathing. Even after all these years, he can’t figure out how he got you, but all he knows is that he’s the luckiest man in the world to be able to call you his.

Dividers by @robinavitchslut

Taglist: @ficcyyfics @simonsbluee

[agnireed]

RESISTING TEMPTATION

PAIRING ➩ sammy bryant x reader

WC ➩ 8.6k

SUMMARY ➩ sammy is beyond tested when nate’s new babysitter gains interest in him

WARNINGS ➩ LARGE age gap! reader is under 21 and sammy is mid 30s. reader is a little deranged and determined to get sammy one way or another. sammy cheats on his wife (a lot)

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ tried something different and wrote this mostly in sammys perspective! hope it was worth the wait! NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL

Sammy considered himself to be a pretty tolerant man, you had to be with a wife like his and a job that required endless patience and levelheadedness.

He tried not to let anything get under his skin and he prided himself on his ability to keep calm in tough situations. Clearly he had not properly prepared himself for the sight of you on any given day, especially today as you greeted him from across Nate’s pool.

You’d started to babysit for the Moretta family when you had just turned eighteen, needing to make some quick money for the summer without wanting to do any actual hard work.

Sammy had laughed at the sight of you when he first came over to one of Nate’s cookouts and saw you in the front yard with Petey, wearing these ridiculously tiny shorts and squealing with laughter as you threw water balloons at each other.

“No way you’re having that in your house all summer.” He had scoffed at the thought and nudged Nate with his elbow knowingly, eyeing you from where they’d been working on the new grill in the garage.

“Shut up it’s not like that. Pete loves her and she’s flexible.” He said back, shaking his head and doing his best to avoid looking at you considering you were pretty close to his daughter’s age and he was apparently a bit more morally sound than Sammy at the moment.

Speaking of, he was currently raising his eyebrows at Nate’s choice of words which earned him an eye roll and a wrench tossed in his direction.

A year had passed and you hadn’t gone anywhere, getting a part time job somewhere else but asking Nate and Mariella if you could still babysit occasionally. You liked the kids and the house but, admittedly you also liked the rare occasions you got to see Nate’s partner.

He didn’t come over often and if he did it was always brief outside of the occasional backyard barbecue he managed to get forced into attending. You weren’t a stranger to older guys looking at you but you didn’t mind it at all when it came from Sammy.

All the curious and half longing stares made more sense to you when you finally met his wife on one of those weekends and saw the way they interacted, how tense and unhappy they both seemed. You figured she must have something severely wrong with her to look at Sammy in the disgusted way she did for the entire evening before disappearing into the house with some of the other wives.

“Officer Bryant.” You greeted with a smile and your amused eyes gleaming beneath your hand that you were using to block the sun, hip cocking dangerously as you stood in front of him. “You look lonely over here.”

He was leaned against the house with a beer he was barely sipping, raising his eyebrows at the title you used and smiling.

“Shouldn’t you be watching Petey?” He was only teasing back, both of you well aware the little boy had been following his mom around the entire party. You’d helped set up and then been invited to stick around as a courtesy and a thank you.

You rolled your eyes at him and reached your hand out for his beer, sighing when he sent you a warning glare and pulled it further away from you.

“Your wife seems nice.” Your attempt at a compliment fell flat and you both heard it.

“You don’t mean that.” He replied easily but thankfully he still looked amused even if he had tensed a little at the mention of Tammi.

And even if she was nice, you wouldn’t have meant it. You didn’t feel much guilt towards being attracted to him regardless but it certainly helped your small moral dilemma that the taken man you were lusting over was married to a gigantic bitch.

Just like you weren’t a stranger to the way he looked at you, Sammy was well aware of your goal when you came over to him. You liked to flirt with him when Nate wasn’t paying attention even though his presence sometimes wasn’t enough to stop you either, although you kept it more PG when he was around since he was technically your boss still.

You pulled all the typical moves that almost left him wondering if he was being pranked, if one of the guys at the station who came over for food sometimes had put you up to it.

You’d bat your eyelashes and ask him about his day, run your finger along his belt buckle and pout whenever he said it had been a rough shift. Your constant innuendos and scandalous outfits were poison to any man let alone one as desperate as Sammy.

He hadn’t even really considered himself deprived until he met you. Sure, his marriage was basically a hostile roommate agreement and you were certainly the hottest woman he’s ever had so openly flirting with him but you were also young and he had figured he was a better man than that.

Assumed he wasn’t the type of guy to be in his late thirties and getting all warm at the sight of you in your wet bikini top and jean shorts.

“I don’t, you’re right.” You say and take a few dangerous steps closer to him that make him audibly sigh. “You staying long tonight?”

“Cut that out.” He said and his tone was still light but bordering scolding now, eyes less amused the closer you got to him with a yard full of people around you.

You hadn’t been drinking considering you were underaged and surrounded by cops, off duty or not, but you still had a natural flush to your neck and chest from the sun and he selfishly let his eyes trail down it now that you were so close.

“What?” You replied softly and your head tilted a little at him in question even though you both knew you were well aware of what you were doing to him. You had that effect on most people but especially Sammy.

You liked that he was a little awkward, nervous and good at pretending he had game but still stilted and out of practice in his delivery. You could tell he was married before you even subtly asked Nate, knew it had been a long time since he had tried to flirt with somebody casually.

Even though he really didn’t do it often in his defense, he tried his best to just be kind to you but it was almost impossible to make small talk around your constant advances. You certainly weren’t as shy as him and you only laid it on thicker when he squirmed.

“You know what.” He sighed back and you frowned at the tone of voice he’d taken, hand sliding over his to take the beer bottle and set it down on the outdoor table beside him. He tensed at the feeling of your skin on his but surprisingly didn’t immediately shut it down.

“Tell me Sammy.” You whispered and shifted closer, way too close for anybody who looked over to consider it remotely casual. Especially considering you looked like that and Sammy definitely had the expression of somebody about to lose their mind from a simple hand touch. “What am I doing?”

Luckily he was halfway saved by the slider door opening and Nate poking his head with a tray full of hotdogs, his relief fading when his partner furrowed his eyebrows at the sight of you nearly caging Sammy in against the wall. You took a step back and sighed a little at the much needed interruption, Sammy’s face turning a little red as he straightened up and pushed off the house.

He grabbed his beer on his way past you and you felt his palm run across your stomach, regardless if it was intentional or not you still felt a burst of heat hit you hard at the feeling of his fingertips on your bare skin. You were half tempted to follow him inside but you decided against it very quickly when you remembered Tammi was in there.

Sammy managed to avoid you for the rest of the night and he tried his best to focus on Tammi. Despite their problems that seemed to have no end in sight, she was still his wife and once upon a time he had loved her.

She used to be nice and she’d even flirt with him too even although he couldn’t remember ever feeling as affected by her as he did with you.

Maybe it wasn’t a far comparison considering you were quite literally walking sin and he was sure no girl your age could even hold a candle to you let alone somebody twenty years older like Tammi.

Had a younger version of her even made him feel like that?

He told himself that when Tammi was ready to leave a few hours after arriving that he only stayed to help Nate clean up after. He also told himself that he wasn’t half expecting it when you came into the kitchen only a few minutes after his wife’s car pulled out of the driveway, a more serious look on your face than he was used to.

“Trouble in paradise?” You said softly, leaning against the counter as you eyed him putting untouched fruit appetizers into a container for later.

Thankfully you were wearing a shirt now but the tiny tight tank top did little to help him, almost worse than your bikini considering it was still wet underneath and causing the fabric to cling to your sun kissed skin.

“Wouldn’t necessarily call it that.” He tried to keep his voice gruff and uninterested but he was already aware you knew better than that.

“Trouble or paradise?” You smile and move closer as you say it like putting down his marriage gives you a free pass to nearly invade his personal space.

He hates that you’re not exactly wrong either, his marriage so dull and lifeless that there isn’t even enough care to argue from either of them. He would almost prefer screaming matches with Tammi than how completely stale they’d become.

His hands stop moving, pretty sure he wasn’t doing anything productive anyways since you walked in the room, and he turns his head to look at you more directly. It’s a mistake on his part because you’re so devastatingly pretty that he feels like a sixteen year old boy seeing a pair of tits for the first time again.

“I don’t want to talk about this with you.” He says back to your invasive teasing and he finds himself genuinely meaning it.

Partially for all the right reasons, you have clear intentions with him for whatever purpose you’ve decided and discussing the cons of his marriage with you felt shady enough within itself. But also because he could barely remember Tammi’s name whenever you got that look on your face.

Pleased. Like you had won something that he didn’t even know you had been competing for.

“That’s fine.” Your voice was low, nearing a whisper and Sammy was suddenly very aware of the fact this was the first time he’d been truly alone with you. “I have better ideas for conversation.”

You’d moved fully into his space now and he made the mistake of facing you, back to the counter and his eyes pained as he watched you get closer. You might as well have been slithering, your expression like one of a satisfied predator even though he was sure the roles were typically reversed.

It was straying incredibly far from the stereotypical dynamic of a pervy older guy trying to seduce a cute young girl but you seemed more than comfortable in the part you were playing.

He wondered for half a second if he was the only pathetic married man you tried to seduce like this and then mentally scolded himself for sounding like a jealous high schooler.

“Bad idea.” He eventually replied in reference to your innuendo but it was paired perfectly with your hands brushing against his belts leather. “Terrible.”

“You always say that.” You pout and it would have been extremely cute if it wasn’t for the look in your eyes, completely mocking and almost gleaming the more he denied you. “It’s not fun Sammy.”

“I’m not supposed to be fun. I’m married.” He said it simply even though you didn’t need the reminder.

You made a show of widening your eyes slightly before looking over both of your shoulders in an exaggerated scan of the room. Then you were back to staring up at him and letting your hand brush his stomach next, stopping and applying light pressure just under his ribs.

“I don’t see your wife.” You concluded and he couldn’t stop the huff of laughter that left him at the audacity.

His hand landed ontop of yours that was still on his shirt, confusing you for a second as he pressed down before you realized he was rubbing his wedding band against your skin. You glanced down between your bodies and wanted to sneer at the sight of it but instead you smiled and his eyebrows raised in question.

It was clearly a mistake to try and assert himself like that because your fingers wrapped around the metal and you tugged it off slowly, letting it loosely hang around the final knuckle before you were removing it completely.

He halfway watched as you stretched behind him to set it down on the counter, your bodies pressing together for a few seconds as a result.

“She doesn’t wear hers.” You pointed out to him and his shoulders deflated, knowing you were right.

Tammi hadn’t been wearing her ring for over a year now, giving him some bullshit story about it clanking uncomfortably against her camera as she held it. He’d demanded to see it for weeks while he slept on the couch, knowing in his gut she probably pawned it for that new lens she carried around.

Eventually he stopped asking and it never made an appearance again.

He wondered for a second if you were the type of girl to flaunt a wedding ring, eyes shifting to your pretty hand that was now resting against his chest.

“Such a shame Officer Bryant.” You frown again, the same mocking one that brings heat to his neck, and rub up and down his chest. “I bet you make a good husband.”

“I try my best.” He replies in a lower tone and he knows he means it, or maybe meant it before he met you and apparently threw all of his vows in the trash can.

Technically he hadn’t done anything wrong, he always turned you down when your advances got further than light touching and flirty lines. But the way he thought about you was a sin within itself, maybe worse than if he had actually just cheated.

He lets out a deep sigh when your hand rubs his chest softly over his shirt, your eyes peering up at him with the same level of desire you always seem to have. It makes no sense to him that somebody who looks like you would want him that bad and he’s still not convinced he’s not being pranked by somebody.

“You should go back outside.” He whispers and he really means it because it’s getting harder and harder to keep his hands off of you.

You hesitate and he’s shocked when you actually take a step back and give him a long look, hand lingering on his chest for a second before you’re retracting that too.

It’s perfect timing because the slider door is opening and Nate is appearing again, interrupting like he had earlier and mirroring the expression too. He looks between you both with suspicion, narrowing his eyes at Sammy specifically when you smile and go back outside.

“You’re an idiot.” He tells him simply, shaking his head and moving to put away unopened beers in the fridge.

Sammy can’t even defend himself to his partner, still stuck on the feeling of your hands on him a few seconds ago.

He’s well aware of how idiotic he’s being and he isn’t sure if it’s because he’s so bored and withdrawn from his marriage or if he was secretly that depraved and perverted this entire time. He wonders if maybe it was just dormant until you arrived but the thought makes his stomach ache so he tries to forget it.

There’s a strong effort that goes into avoiding you for the next few weeks, refusing any opportunity to go to Nate’s house and keeping his distance when he has no choice. He stays out in the car or only comes around when he knows you’re not babysitting, hair on the back of his neck standing up whenever he hears your honey voice from the backyard.

He feels pretty proud of himself for resisting the pull to you, the magnetic energy you have constantly calling to him even when he’s at home in bed.

That is until he walks in after work and sees you sitting at his dining room table with Tammi.

He freezes in place and feels like all his worst fears are coming true, a crossover episode straight out of his nightmares. He’s hit with a moment of panic and certainty that you’re here to tell his wife about all the times he’s stood there uselessly and let you flirt with him or touch him lightly.

There aren’t any real stories to tell where he actually participated but he never stopped you and his wandering gaze was bad enough alone.

But Tammi is smiling at you and turning her laptop further in your direction, pointing at something on the screen and talking about coloring and editing in the obnoxiously pretentious way she does. It’s a lot of buzzwords without any real meaning so she can attempt to sound professional and normally it would drive him crazy but he can’t even hear the words she’s saying currently.

You’re looking at him as soon as he enters the kitchen and you have the same expression as always. It’s dangerously wanting and a little smug now.

“Hi Officer Bryant.” You say softly while Tammi doesn’t even glance in his direction, rarely acknowledging him when he comes home.

He stares at you as he takes off his jacket and sets it down on the counter, eye contact not waning for even a second as Tammi continues to talk to you.

“What’s going on?” He finally speaks and he hates how hoarse his voice comes out. If Tammi was ever paying attention to him then she’d probably realize something was going on internally.

“Mariella said she’s in photography club at school and wanted some pointers.” Tammi says and her excitement is palpable, clearly proud that somebody had thought of her when it came to mentorship.

His eyes narrow at you and your smile brightens, shrugging your shoulders innocently like he would believe for a second you had actually wanted Tammi’s help with anything.

He knows he’s right when you softly tell Tammi that you were interested in seeing her variety of lenses and cameras, his wife jumping out of her chair at the opportunity to show off. She tells you to just wait there for a few minutes while she goes and gets them all to present to you.

You’re standing and coming closer to him the second she leaves the room and he sighs automatically, knowing he should have expected it.

“How was work?” You ask him in a soft tone as you fiddle with the buttons on his shirt, his eyes tired as he stares down at you in light disbelief. The sheer audacity of trying to make domestic small talk with him when you lied your way into his kitchen and were sitting rambling about hobbies with his wife.

“Why are you here?” He asks and he knows how pained it comes across but he can’t be bothered to rein it in.

“You were avoiding me.” You pout up at him like it makes perfect sense to you, as if this was the only logical next step after he stopped coming around.

Your hands stop playing with the buttons in favor of rubbing over his chest and shoulders until your arms are looped around his neck. He sighs and lets himself rest his on your waist, feeling the warmth of the sliver of skin your shirt doesn’t cover.

You smile at the rare touch from him, clearly not expecting it and it takes everything in him not to rub your sides curiously.

“This is exactly why.” He tells you and shakes his head, upset with himself already.

“Because you want me?” Your head tilts and he thinks you might be teasing him but he can’t stop himself from nodding his head in quick agreement. That only seems to excite you more, fingers playing with the hair that touches the back of his neck.

You shift even closer if it’s possible and stand on your tiptoes so you can press light kisses against his jaw. It’s the first real time you’re touching him and he visibly melts at the sensation, doing nothing to stop it as his hands clench around your sides and instinctively tug you even closer.

Your lips are warm and moving so softly across his skin as you cling to him, careful not to leave marks but still sucking enough to bring a stir of heat to his gut.

He knows he should be stopping you, should shove you away and confess to Tammi your true intentions coming here but clearly he’s not as good as he can pretend he is because the thought of ending this barely crosses his mind.

“She’s not right for you Sammy.” You whisper softly in between kisses, moving down his neck which he easily bares for you. “I’d make you feel so good.”

His big hand rubs from your side to the small of your back, skin on skin as he pulls you tight against him and keeps you in place. You smile against his skin at the clear show of need, kissing further down until you’re stopped by the collar of his shirt.

“You’ve got to leave.” He sighs and you pull away from his neck to frown at him, the most disgruntled expression he’s ever seen from you.

You look genuinely upset by his rejections this time around and he wonders for a second if maybe this is actually more to you than just some fun.

“Let me do something for you Sammy.” You pout up at him and press closer again, hand rubbing down his stomach and stopping at his belt. “Can I suck you off atleast?”

His hand grips your wrist and he groans lowly, beyond conflicted just from lewd words like that leaving your mouth. It takes everything in him to remove your hand and shift you backwards so you’re not leaning against him anymore.

“We aren’t doing this.” He tries to sound firm but it comes out as weak and nearly desperately. “You’re a nice girl.”

“I’m not.” You shake your head immediately and he has to bite his lip and look away from you and your wanting eyes. “I’m really not.”

Clearly that’s the truth because you’re rocking forward to kiss him lightly and he instinctively melts into it, mouth moving with yours for a few seconds before he’s making a pained noise and moving your backwards with his hands that are still on your waist.

His thumbs press into your stomach until he releases you once you’re on the other side of the kitchen and your eyebrows furrow before you’re turning around and placing your hands behind your back. Your wrist cross each other and you look over your shoulder at him and smile at his confused stare, raking up and down your body.

“You should cuff me Officer Bryant.” You say softly and your voice has taken that low seductive tone you liked to use when you were really testing him.

He wishes he could stop himself from stepping forward and moving your hair over your shoulder so your neck is exposed, pressing a light kiss against it and drinking in the deep inhale you take. His hand goes down to hold your wrist in place, keeping them pinned there like you’re fantasizing about.

Sammy shifts closer until he’s pressed against you from behind and you rest your forehead against the wall.

His free hand slides around your body until he can rub the smooth skin of your stomach softly, his thumb teasing the edge of your tank top.

He’s as close to a man losing control as somebody has probably ever been, his hands nearly shaking from how bad he just wants to touch you. You’re so desperate for him it almost feels comical on his part, not understanding how he possibly got so lucky and cursed at the same time that a pretty girl like you would go this far just to make him feel good.

You make the prettiest sound when he first really presses himself against you, intentional in the way his hips rock forward to feel the curve of your shorts.

“Sammy.” Your voice is so sweet and he knows he can’t handle it so he moves his palm to cover your mouth, resting his forehead on your shoulder blade as he shushes you.

You seemed to like that, either the direction or the feeling of his hand on you because your back arches and you push back into him.

You’re both quiet as you can be aside from some soft noises, muffled and choked on your part. He’s shutting his eyes tight as he moves against you to try and rid himself of any guilt while also being hyper aware of Tammi coming back any second.

You feel so small pressed into the wall the way you are, hands still pinned behind your back like you’re cuffed. He thinks about how much he’d actually like to see you like that, maybe down on your knees for him and unable to touch him other than with your mouth.

He considers bringing it up to you but he knows you’re a live wire and probably wouldn’t hesitate to drop down despite his wife being a few rooms over.

The reminder of how limited time you have spurs him on and he manages to completely forget how wrong this is in favor of letting himself feel good.

Sammy has you pressed against the wall even harder as he ruts into you, grunting low in your ear with his hands leaving your mouth and wrist to press bruises into your hips. He seems almost pained as he moves but your soft whimpers and the way you press back against him makes him unable to think clearly.

“God Sammy you’re so hard.” You whine as you arch your back enough to feel him even more, the way he’s using your body to get off clearly driving you absolutely insane. You feel almost dizzy as his frame crowds yours against the wall, knees weakening but being stabilized by his grip on you.

“Fuck, you know exactly what you do to me.” He groans as he keeps rubbing himself on you, one of his hands sliding from your hips to where your zipper sits. He pulls you further backwards with a hand on your shorts and you made a pleased noise. “Walking around here dressed like that.”

“Just for you.” You whimper and he already knew it but hearing you say it out loud is a whole new beast. “Only you Sammy.”

He can hear Tammi making disgruntled noises from the bedroom, complaining about not being able to find a certain piece of equipment and he somehow finds it in himself to push away from you.

He’s running a hand over his face to attempt to sober himself up when she comes back, glancing at you and being glad to see you had turned around and managed to present semi normal other than the wild look in your eyes.

The signs are obvious to him, the way your shirt is slightly pushed up to your ribs and how your thighs rub together when you sit back down by Tammi. He can’t stand the sight of you so needy still, left unsatisfied but still turning your head to watch him with that same adoring look.

Tammi thankfully never pays attention to anyone but herself and certainty doesn’t notice the dent in his pants or how tense his jaw is when he leaves the room in a hurry.

-

Sammy feels guilty about it for days afterwards, laying in bed with tears in his eyes as he thinks about how wrong it was.

How terrible it is that he still wants you so bad, consumed by the thought of you even more now that he’s felt your skin and heard you whine so desperately for him. The taste of your mouth is haunting him and he can barely stomach arguing back with Tammi when she creates a problem because he feels so torn.

He knows it’s the worst choice to make when he seeks you out but he tells himself it’s about closure.

You’re leaving Nate’s house later than usual after they had a date night, something he’d casually mentioned to Sammy on their way out of the station. He’d been parked outside for almost an hour waiting for you to come out, watching you and the unfamiliar tired look on your face as it turns into recognition at the sight of his car.

He starts the engine as soon as you notice him, letting the headlights turn on and illuminate your figure, painting an image of a spotlight that seems fitting considering how beautiful you look even after a long day.

You take the hint and make your way over to the passenger side of his car, opening the door and getting in quickly incase Nate or Mariella look out their window.

It’s quiet when Sammy pulls away even though he can almost feel the excitement radiating off of you, your hands fidgeting together in your lap and your gaze constantly on the side of his face.

He has half the urge to scold you for getting into a car with him when you barely know him but he can hear how paternal that sounds and quickly decides against it, stomach turning a little at the thought.

He sighs when he pulls into an empty parking lot, some old restaurant that closed down a few years ago in an area that saw little foot traffic. You angle your body towards him expectantly and he finally looks at you directly for the first time that night, how wide and hopeful your eyes are reminding him that this might be more than fun to you.

“What we did was wrong.” He starts softly and your face falls before it hardens, eyebrows furrowing as you start to shake your head in denial. “It was wrong and I need you to know that.”

“It wasn’t.” You say quickly as soon as he’s done and sit up straighter, shifting forward so your stomach is almost bent over the middle console in an attempt to get closer to him. “It felt good Sammy, you know it did.”

“That’s not the point.” He scoffs in near disbelief even though he figures he should have expected you to react like this. “It’s not about it feeling good.”

“But it did?” You ask and he pauses at the sound of your voice sounding almost insecure. He’d foolishly built you up as this sex driven vixen wanting to destroy his marriage out of teenage boredom but he was realizing more and more with each encounter how wrong he was about you.

He stares at you for a long few seconds in the silence of his car, the smell of your perfume mixing with the familiar leather and creating a whole dilemma of its own.

There’s a small awareness of how wrong the sight of the two of you is, how much younger you look when your hair is a little messy and your eyes are searching for his reassurance.

He hates that it doesn’t deter the want still steadily building inside of him.

If anything it just makes it ten times worse, the want to praise you and soothe all of your insecurities away hitting him hard. He’d never been very in control when it came to Tammi, her sharp demands and pickiness bleeding into their intimacy too.

He’d simply settled for shutting up and doing whatever she said made her feel good no matter how vanilla or repetitive it got to avoid an argument afterwards.

But now here you were, sitting sideways in the darkness of his car and bringing a level of excitement to his veins that could rival foreplay.

“Of course it did.” He says softly after the silence starts to settle almost uncomfortably, your shoulders relax and you lean almost naturally closer to him.

He convinces himself he feels bad for you and that’s why his hand reaches out to brush your hair behind your ear. You let out a breath and nuzzle into his palm for the brief moment he keeps it there before it’s dropping back to his lap.

“Why are you doing this?” He doesn’t know why he asks, why he feels that same need in his chest he gets when he sees a helpless victim or a kid going down the wrong path. The urge to help you and steer you away from any wrongdoings, even if he’s included in that.

“Because I want to.” You say it firmly and you sound a little bit more like the version of you he was used to before this, self assured and confident. “I’m not a little girl Sammy. I’m choosing this.”

He almost asks you why, demands you give him some sort of backstory or trauma lore that would explain why you are making these choices.

The chance is stolen by your lips pressing against his and he folds immediately, mouth moving against yours as he shifts closer to you. His hand goes back to cupping your face to keep you near him, kiss heated from the beginning and not slowing down.

You kiss for a long time, your tongue running across his bottom lip for a while before he actually lets you in to taste him. And then it’s even worse, wet and sloppy as you sit up on your knees and nearly climb over the middle console to get to his lap.

He stops you with a firm hand on your hip and you whine into his mouth, clearly not liking the distance between your bodies that he knows is for the best. It’s bad enough he has you panting and squirming from a simple make out session but he definitely doesn’t need to feel the weight of you on top of him.

His hand tightens around your face, holding your jaw so tight your cheeks puff a little in a pucker look. You look so beyond cute and helpless like that but he forces himself to focus as he pushes your face back away from his.

You whine his name and he sighs, shushing you and shaking his head to try and get some clarity knocked around.

Sammy hadn’t kissed anyone like that since high school, long before Tammi even. He sits back in his seat and puts the car in drive as you frown and hesitantly put your seatbelt back on.

“Gonna drive you home.” He says gruffly and you don’t even try to protest when you hear the strained tone he’s taken on.

You come around more and more after that under the guise of getting help from Tammi but he knows better so he tries to stay out of your way.

It never works, you either corner him in the kitchen or pretend you need the bathroom just to make your way down to their bedroom.

That’s the worst place for him because he can’t resist the sight of you in the dimly lit room, hands tangled in your hair as you make out desperately. Your back hits the dresser and a wedding photo topples over and lands on its front aggressively, a soft giggle leaving you when he pulls back and sees what the sound was.

He can’t help the laugh that comes out of him too, head pressing into your neck and kissing lightly, a little dazed from the absurdity of it all.

Sammy was already addicted to you, to your teasing and your eyes locked on him but now it’s so much worse and he can’t resist it anymore. He takes any opportunity you give him and goes out of his way to bring things over to Nate’s house or offers to carpool to work despite the fact it’s actually out of his way completely.

It’s pathetic and his partner knows it too but luckily he’s stopped calling him out on it after the first few times Sammy walked past him looking a little too flushed to be normal.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Nate had asked him one day at lunch when Sammy was engrossed with his phone, eyes locked on a selfie you had sent him that was far from appropriate.

“Nope.” He answered easily before turning the screen off and shoving it into his pocket.

It was an all over consumption that easily ate away at the guilt and replaced it with a thick level of excitement. He’d pick you up almost every night now, parking his car somewhere and spending hours just kissing and touching in the protection of the dark.

He knew your age gap wasn’t small, even if he wasn’t married it wasn’t going to result in small side eyes and the occasional disapproval. It would be a full out scandal if anybody found out how he had you panting in the backseat, begging him to go further while he tried his best to resist you gently.

That didn’t last long either and it was only a few weeks of the sneaking off late at night before things were escalating.

Sammy was sure at some point Tammi would notice the nights he didn’t come home at all, maybe even check his credit cards and see the random charges to hotels downtown. She never once seemed to bat an eye when he was a bit more frazzled then normal after she’d return from the bathroom, your skirt pushed up on your thighs and a hungry smile plastered on your pretty face.

He liked you best when you were alone in the hotels, wrapped in a robe and kissing down his neck like you were his wife instead. You could be so sweet when you weren’t desperate and pleading, learning to take it slow the more he insisted.

He wasn’t sure who in your life made you feel like you needed to be so rushed with it all the time, so quick to jump to quick meaningless sex. You seemed almost emotional whenever he kissed you gently and whispered how good you were doing, how patient you were being for him.

He’d asked a few times, demanded during others.

You wouldn’t give him any names but you would nuzzle in his neck and curl up against him in the large beds that somehow felt more comfortable than the one he shared with his wife at home.

Sammy liked you like that but he liked the darker side you brought out of him too. When you’d get really needy and slide down onto your knees, rubbing your hands up and down his thighs like you were self soothing and bumping your nose and mouth against his boxer covered hard on.

You’d beg him so desperately, voice high pitched and sometimes on the verge of tears when you thought he was going to deny you.

It was your favorite place to be, something you’d told him countless times when he tried to tell you that you didn’t always need to do that for him. You’d say how much you liked it and then prove it but how eagerly you took him in your mouth each time.

He even got to use the handcuffs like he had been daydreaming about those months ago.

The favor was always returned because Sammy just short of worshipped you, your body left his head spinning everytime he got you undressed and he’d lose himself in the taste of you. You’d been surprisingly shy the first time he parted your legs and got between them, tugging on his hair and trying to close them around his head.

He liked you in the shower too, sometimes quiet and in a floaty headspace after an intense night. You’d cling to him as he lathered soap all over your body, paying special selfish attention to your ass and using the tender moment as an excuse to grope at your chest.

You never would mind, panting softly and often times bending over so he could slip right back inside. You made him feel insatiable, like a new man.

You gave him purpose all over again, something he had lost a long time ago when he accepted his role as the silent and forgiving husband. He couldn’t react to Tammi’s outburst because she’d get more upset and he couldn’t speak his mind because she’d take it as a direct insult.

That was never a problem with you and it was bad how much he loved being around you, being with you in every sense of the word.

He found that he liked taking care of you in any way he could and you were always so appreciative, even if it was as simple as getting you a coffee or giving you money for lunch.

Things felt so easy despite how impossible the situation was.

He’s currently got you pressed into the mattress after a hard day at work, a rough fight with Tammi leading him to book a room and call you immediately. He would always feels so guilty about using you until you would beg for it, pleading for him to take his stress and anger out on your body instead of anything else.

And it’s clear that you mean it, genuinely want it. You’re nearly sobbing as he fucks into you and he knows it’s not because of the brutal pace, it’s because you absolutely love the feeling of him ramming into you like he doesn’t care about you.

It’s something else he wants to unpack eventually but for now he’s just as lost in the sensation of it, how tight you are around him and the way your breast move when you’re panting for air in between sobs.

“There we go baby, you’re so pretty.” He’s grunting as his hips move, his hand sitting around your throat but not applying any real pressure. The other one is holding you down by your stomach after you’d tried to squirm away from the rough thrust on instinct. “So slutty for me. Look at you letting me use your hole like this.”

You nearly scream out a sob at that and nod your head, hair a complete mess and nearly drooling. You’d told him before how much you loved it when he held you down, how you liked to fight back against his strength and find out just how useless it was to try.

“Fuck Sammy.” You can’t say much else, clearly so dazed and out of it.

It drives him crazy, makes him feel capable in a way he didn’t even realize he was lacking. It’s like he’s stepping back into manhood after years of it being so dormant just because of a band around his finger, a band you had taken off with your teeth after sucking his finger down to the last knuckle.

You’d giggle while you did it and he’d smile almost boyishly the entire time he watched you, spitting it back out into your palm before placing it on the dresser.

You didn’t shy away from talking about Tammi, if anything it seemed like you liked the fact he was married. Like everytime he actively chose to see you instead was a win in your book, overriding any jealousy you might feel.

Sometimes you’d get upset with him if she kissed him when he got home from work or if you saw the two of them in a rare good mood together. He’d watch your face fall and have to try and make it up to you with soft kisses to your face while you ignored him with a pout.

More often than not though you were the one to bring her up, making him tell you how much better you were than her.

At first he hated doing it, feeling like he was somehow doing worse than cheating despite the fact he would be deep inside of you. It felt wrong to insult her so openly like that but you’d get so excited over it, eyes wide and pleased whenever he told you how much he preferred you.

And it was worse because it was the truth.

He preferred you in almost every way, not just when you were underneath him. Even though he couldn’t deny how much weight the soft high pitched sounds you’d make pulled in the one sided competition.

But he also liked the way you smelled in the morning and how you made his coffee on the rare times you got to spend a few hours together after waking up, your attentiveness to his schedule and the way you’d kiss him extra soft when he’d seen something hard to cope with on the job.

You were perfect in every way other than how morally criminal it was to feel like that.

He tried to forget about it like he always did, thrusting into you and kissing your mouth sloppily since you were too fucked out to even respond. You’d cried the first time you had sex and he had insisted on wearing a condom so he had stopped, not ever wanting to make you more upset than he had to.

He’d been telling Tammi he wasn’t in the mood for weeks and solely giving himself to you, barely thinking about it each time he filled you up and then cleaned you with his tongue after.

The same routine happening now as he finished deep inside of you, your legs twitching around his waist as you followed shortly after. He could feel your nails on his back when he slumped down against you, being careful to not lay too much weight on your small frame.

He wasn’t used to being so rough still despite how much you liked it, kissing your neck and chest softly and rubbing your sides like it was a silent apology.

“I love it when you get like that.” You’re whispering and he thinks it’s more for his sake than anything, knowing he sometimes beats himself up after getting particularly intense with you. “You make me feel so good Sammy.”

He hums in acknowledgment and picks his head up to kiss you, slow and bordering dangerously close to romantic.

He slips himself out of you at the same time and you immediately whimper at the loss, tightening your legs around him. He can see the look on your face and knows you’re about to beg for more even if that means he just keeps himself inside you without actually moving.

You frowned against his mouth when he kissed his teeth to scold you.

“You okay baby?” He said lowly back and now you were smiling at the sound of his voice. You were quick to nod and kiss the corner of his mouth in double reassurance. “Didn’t hurt you?”

“Not in any way I didn’t like.” Your face is beyond pretty coated in after glow and he almost has to look away. “You’d never hurt me Sammy, I know that.”

You’re kissing again and it’s all softness now, staying that way when he’s shifting your bodies so he can pick you up off the bed and bring you to the shower.

It’s full of wandering hands and the sounds of your giggles, his phone no doubt vibrating somewhere out in the main room and being ignored like it is every other night lately. You get out before him this time with the excuse that you want to get your robe ready, one of your self appointed favorite perks of the hotels he gets.

You’re gone for long enough that his chest starts to feel weird, the same ache it gets when he’s too busy to see you for days at a time.

He shuts off the water and halfway dries himself before he’s wrapping the towel around his waist and entering the room you’re standing in.

In your defense, you are wearing your robe but you have a guilty look on your face that makes his eyebrows furrow.

For some reason, maybe his detective instincts kicking in, his eyes automatically go to the dresser his ring had been abandoned on. He hates that he’s not surprised to find it barren, the metal band no where in sight.

Next he spots the phone in your hand, too big to be the one he’d bought you a month ago when yours started to slow down. Also noticeably lacking the cute case you insisted on at the store, a picture of the two of you with your faces slightly cropped out in the back of it.

“Sammy.” You whisper it as your face falls in premature devastation like you know how upset he’s going to be.

Your fingers are hovering over the end call button and he doesn’t know how he just knows what you’ve done.

“Tell me you didn’t pick it up.” His voice is lower than even he recognizes and you take a step back when he inches forward.

“I’m so sorry Sammy. I thought it was mine I swear to god.” Your eyes are wide and you place the phone down in favor of holding both of your hands up like you’re torn between reaching out for him and surrendering. “It wouldn’t stop ringing and I wanted us to have a nice time and..”

You trail off like you know how weak your defenses sound and he pinches the bridge of his nose to try and calm down.

“Who was it?” He asks slowly because he knows the answer and doesn’t really want to hear you say it.

The look on your face is very telling and he can’t even be bothered to remember to ask what you’ve done with his ring, to inform you of how much more damning that makes the accidental phone call seem.

You look so sad and he can’t escape the urge to make you feel better, to accept your touch when you finally step forward and rub his biceps soothingly. You kiss him gently like you’re scared he’ll reject you now and you let out a deep breath into it when he returns it.

“I’m so sorry I just love you so much.” You’re whispering into his mouth and he wants to tell you to stop but it’s too late, you’ve already said it. “I love you and didn’t want this to end like it always does.”

Sammy can’t even tell you that you’re wrong and you don’t know what love is because he’s positive you fully do believe that’s what you feel for him. You’re too young to fully understand the consequences of what you did and he’s not moral enough to try and teach you, a selfish warmth at how far you’d really go just to have him.

So he kisses you back deeply and repeats the phrase.

[robbyscoffee]

OUR LITTLE SECRET. SMUT. mdni! workplace sex. mean!robby. fem!reader. throat-fucking with fingers. allusions to choking. praise. big dick robby. use of pet names 𓂃˖ ࣪⊹

thinking about seeing robby in secret and teasing the hell out of him on shift. robby groaning his usual disgruntled “fuck me” after dealing with a particularly frustrating patient to which you cheekily mutter, “i mean…” with other doctors in earshot. robby’d just look at you with a face akin to disbelief, though this wasn’t the first time you’d hinted at your secret arrangement just to fuck with him, so that wasn’t quite right. the look was more predatory than anything.

so that little comment would end with you bent over the breakroom counter while he bullied his large cock into your pussy, groaning at how well you clenched around him. he seldom fucked you on shift for fear of getting caught, but he was not past putting you back in your place when you were clearly in need of it.

“robby, mmph, s- slow down! too big,” you whined helplessly, his heavy balls slapping your ass with every thrust. robby covered your mouth with his hand, sticking two fingers down your throat. “ah-ah, baby. you were asking for this, weren’t you, baby? you wanted my big cock. now take what i fucking give you.”

you could only whimper and submit to him as he pounded you into the counter, efforts nothing short of relentless until he was cumming into your pussy, pulling you in by the waist to make sure you took every drop. robby wasn’t usually a quickie kind of guy, but certain circumstances allowed for it.

he leaned over your shoulder and spoke right into your ear, placing his hand on your neck not to squeeze but to warn. “you gonna behave the rest of my shift, baby?” he rasped, to which you nodded. “yeah? gonna be my good girl again?”

“m- mhm. so good, robby, promise,” you said meekly, too fucked-out to speak any louder. robby pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, a stark contrast to his earlier ministrations.

“there’s a girl. now, clean yourself up, honey. we’ve got a job to do.”

the way he’d look at you before absolutely destroying your pussy ‹𝟹

[groovyangelkisses]

content warning– somno (ish), daddy kink, fingering (fem receiving), not proofread well, jack is needy <3

jack knows you hate being asleep when he comes home from a shift. you hate not greeting him at the door, or sitting in his lap and kissing him in between bites of his breakfast. hate not being able to feel his heartbeat against your back as you snuggle to sleep. jack is an angel in the mornings, sleepy eyes and tense, protective shoulders only just beginning to droop at the sight of your cozy home atmosphere.

he knows you hate it, but that doesn’t stop him from gazing down at you right now. you’re splayed across the queen sized bed, the top half of your body actually on jack’s side. the smell of his cologne, you swear his side is softer just from holding him each night. the white linen of your sheets glow in the soft sunlight spilling from the slightly raised black-out blinds on the nearest window.

to jack, you look like an angel in the morning. warm skin on cotton, messy hair and puffy lips– sometimes you frown in your sleep when he pulls away for work, and it breaks his heart everytime. but now, a sweet little smile rests on your lips as you huff.

jack’s still in his scrubs, he just wanted to see you before he showered. it was a long night, not so much overwhelming as… well… boring. he thinks he should be more thankful for slow nights, but he is always just waiting for the ball to drop. and when it doesn’t? he just… sizzles and feels an awkward sensation in his belly.

is this peace?

it must be from the way he feels right now. bringing his large hand down to swipe some hair off of your forehead, his touch his gentle as he gazes at you. in your sleep, you cuddle further into his touch, before getting huffy and flipping on your back with a pout.

jack giggles, “brat.” before leaning back to go shower. your arms extend above the fluffy comforter, revealing that you are topless as you sleep.

this is jack’s favorite way to come home to you, breasts spilling and warmed from sleep. he licks at the leftover maple syrup on his mouth, and peeks underneath the comforter with a deep swallow at the sight.

a soft, cotton pair of panties rests on your hips, a little splotch of damp kissing over your clit in the center of the fabric. your round thighs spread across the bed, left foot pressed to the side of your knee as your hips stretch.

jack remembers doing yoga with you, and how deeply unbearable it was for his balls to watch you stretch your hips.

fuck, he chubs up in his scrubs just thinking about it.

his hand slides to rest on your tummy with a coo of “oh, baby.” jack’s large hand stretches across as his pinky nail briefly dips into your belly button.

you stir, a whine blossoming out of your chest as you look up at him through sleepy eyes. he’s so tall, the sunlight only illuminates the outline of him. broad, thick, masculine. it almost moves you to tears with want.

“hi jackie,” your voice is low and unused from sleep as you smile up at him. “hi babygirl,” he delivers in the same register with a smile; feeling so tender-hearted it makes him a bit dizzy.

but you’re sweet & spice, fire & ice as your brows furrow in brattiness. “why didn’t you wake me when you got home?” you whine as jack’s hand dances down to your panties, thick knuckles stretching the fabric as he casually chats.

“didn’t wanna wake you, you looked so peaceful.” his middle finger drags through your sloppy folds as he talks, heavy aged fingers forming their favorite positions. the knuckle of his pointer finger pressing against the side of your lip, as the two other nudge at your clit from the side. his thick thumb presses down on the hairs at the top of your cunt, a subtle sensation that makes jack swallow, again.

sighing at the pressure, your tummy pushes out as jack slips his finger into your heat. he’s still casually talking, asking you questions like he isn’t swirling his thick finger inside of you at 7:30am.

his ring finger soon joins in the affection, nudging inside of you with yet another gasp. “you relaxed, sweetheart? still sleepy right?”

nodding, you gaze up at your husband “yeah jackie ‘m still sleepy.” his other hand comes to the back of your neck as he leans down with a crack of his knees and a slight hiss. he kisses you, a nasty, slow push of his tongue against yours as his fingers press up against your walls.

you’re nearly crying into his mouth when he pulls back with a firm kiss & an adoring declaration of “look so pretty. love you.”

a blissful chant leaves your lips as he pulls back to stand, head tilting at the bounce of your breasts as he presses harder, “love you jackie. loveyouloveyou.”

his nail drags against your clit as you shake, cumming with shudders and a loud whine, relaxing into the pillows behind you. “mmm. my good girl, so good.” he whispers, leaning back down to kiss your forehead as he slips his fingers out.

going back to his full height, he takes them into his mouth, thick & aged skin sucked between his teeth as he watches you. jack brings his other hand to rest on your clavicle, softly rubbing at the goosebumps as your eyes flutter shut, “daddy’s gonna shower, then i’ll be right back. okay?”

“mmhmm shower” you agree, once again falling asleep as jack smiles and preps his shower.

definitely angelic, tastes it too.

[deerfawnn]

drunk confessions, tender hearts

pairing: pope cody x bambi!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: craig tells you things about his family and you gradually realize how much you don't fit in. how much you don't fit in with pope. so you get drunk and pope's left to deal with the mess craig made of you content warnings: reader's drunk & dizzy, pope's abandoment issues, reader's very insecure, mention of reader braiding her hair, craig slander, shirtless pope bc i love shirtless pope, pope carries reader for a bit a/n: hai my lovelies! i am back with another bambi!reader and pope fic that is also sort of a pope cody character study!! also my favorite trope ever!! bc i love it when reader gets so drunk she says and does things she really shouldn't. gif credits to @wesandresons !! <3 wc: 5.9k

Pope didn't plan on showing up at Craig's bar. 

He wasn't up for it, but he had nothing else to do, and you were nowhere to be found. He tried texting you, just checking on you (or so he told himself; in truth, he really just wanted to talk to you because he felt so inexplicably lonely in Smurfs house), but you didn't respond to any of his messages.

So he decided to pay a visit to his brother and ask him if he had any fresh information on the job they were currently working on. When he stepped in, the bar was packed. Obviously, at 10pm no one would anticipate anything different. 

Pope looked around, examining each face. No threat, no threat, no threat.

This is why he disliked going places without you. When you were with him, all he felt the need to was to focus on you, think about you, and hope that you were okay and feeling safe. He didn't have to think about hundreds of people crammed into a tight space, drinking and yelling right in his face. 

Pope headed to the bar and waited for Deran to notice him. He drummed his fingers restlessly on the counter, his ears ringing from the loud and drunken sounds around him. It felt like his brain was buzzing from the volume. It almost hurt, and as much as he envied Deran's bright future sometimes, he despised being in here. 

He quickly withdrew his hands, noticing how dirty the counter was, a scowl forming between his brows. Disgusted, he looked at his fingertips, briefly considering going to the bathroom to wash them. But the bathroom was much filthier, so Pope just dropped his hands to his sides, fingers twitching with discomfort. 

"Pope!" Deran sounded surprised as he finally spotted his older brother. It wasn't too often that Pope showed up around here, especially on busy Friday nights.

"Hey," Pope was still distracted by the filth on the counter and his hands. "You really have to get this cleaned." He grumbled, and Deran just shrugged. 

Pope was usually unhappy with the state of his bar when he came in. He was accustomed to it by now.

"Did she call you?" Deran asked, having finally grabbed a small towel to mop off the mess that Pope was pointing at with a frown.

"Did who call me?" now pointing at a different stain, and when Deran said your name, Pope's head shot up, his attention finally on his brother. "She's here?"

Deran's eyebrows furrowed. "Has been. For hours, actually."

Pope's head turned, how did he miss you? He'd practically looked at everyone when he walked in. Deran pointed at a corner, and without missing a beat, Pope was off in that direction. 

You were sitting in a booth opposite of Craig, pushing a tiny glass back and forth back and forth across the table, leaving a water stain. Craig had been talking for a while, Pope could already tell from this far. You only acquired that spaced out look, after Craig had spoken to you for more than five minutes. He'd seen it your face several times, as well as on his own. 

Pope stepped up to your table, announcing himself simply by standing there, mute. Craig lifted his head from where he'd been staring at you intensely while talking. "What are you doing here?" was the first thing he directed at his brother. 

But Pope wasn't even looking at him, eyes locked onto you, worried.

You weren't meeting his eyes. At all. It's like you didn't even hear him. Pope continued to ignore his brother and bent down to your eye line. "Hey."

You turned your head slowly from where you'd been staring at the table. "Andrew!" you sounded surprised, but not unhappy as you finally locked eyes with him.

Craig hit the table with a groan, startling you. "Thanks dude, really." He shot his brother a look that held thousands of insults for ruining his 'game', but Pope didn't even glance at him as he slid in next to you and grabbed your glass, looking into it.

"Beer?" he asked with a frown, setting it back. 

You shrugged and lifted your legs, bending them until your kneecaps hit the table. There was sweat at your temple, shining, and your eyes weren't really focusing on him. 

"Hey," he said, trying to get your attention back on him. You barely raised your head, vaguely looking into his direction. "Look at me." He felt you startle by the sound of his voice, your eyes lifting to him. "Did Craig do something?" 

"No." The way you weren't looking at him, again, exposed your lie.

"I'm taking you home." Pope wanted to storm up to his brother and drag him to a corner, until he finally told him why you were this upset, and why you had seemingly not stopped reaching for more beer since the second you've stepped foot into this bar.

You stared at him for a second, really staring in a way you had never had before. Pope allowed you to, subtly dropping his gaze to check if you had any marks on you, if you were actually okay. 

His mind was always believing in the worst case scenarios since they were typically true in his life. In his instance his biggest nightmares always came true, so he learned to anticipate the worst, to give himself time to react rather that to process.

"'S'okay." You turned your head away. "Crag will take me home."

Pope's lips formed a frown, and the rejection settled hard in his heart. This was the first time ever you'd chosen his brother over him. Anytime, Any place, you always chose him. Car ride? You're going with Pope. Couch empty? You were still choosing to sit next to Pope. 

His hand twitched against his sides and curled it into a fist, trying to get control of his body back. "Craig won't be out of here for at least a few hours, and you're tired."

"I'm not tired," you mumbled, now drawing a heart in the condensation over and over again.

"Yes, you are," And you wanted to object even though he was right. "Get up."

You stared at him and you seemed taken aback by his insistence. You glanced back down at your glass, considering, and Pope waited, because he'd wait all night. Even if you decided to go with Craig, he'd still wait. You were drunk, too drunk. He'd never seen you like this. You'd never been like this. 

Pope was itching to get his hands on Craig, forcing him to spill out the words that had clearly led you to gulp down so many drinks.

You finally stood up, shaky and when Pope reached out his hands, he felt you flinch, and he felt sick. His hands shot back to his sides, straightening by his sides as he stared at you. Craig said something about him.

There was no other explanation for your rapid switch in behavior. You'd never flinched away from his touch. Never. 

You supported yourself on the edge of the table, waiting for the dizziness to pass. When you appeared to be okay, you finally glanced at him. He was looking at you patiently and extended his hand, pointing towards the exit. And you stepped ahead of him without another word. 

Pope looked back over his shoulder back to where his youngest brother stood, but Craig was already distracted by another girl, and Pope's sole justification for not stomping over there and punching him in the face was you. 

He hurriedly opened the door for you and you muttered a brief thank you, still incapable of ignoring etiquette.

Pope led you to his car, which was conveniently parked nearby. He wasn't sure how you'd have walked over there with your unsteady legs. 

He opened the passenger door for you, and you climbed in, just barely, still incredibly inebriated. You then sat there with your hands politely in your lap like you usually did. Even your drunken state, you were polite. 

Pope was almost irritated by it. You never let your guard down. He wanted you to be comfortable, to just be yourself, let yourself loose, move your hands the way you wanted them to. To just do something…. stupid.

"Buckle up," he mumbled, still holding the car door wide open. 

You grabbed the seat belt and attempted to buckle yourself, but you didn't have the strength. Your arms were too weak, so Pope stepped closer, gently removed them from your hand and strapped you in. All while he felt you back away from him as much as you could, your back pressed firmly against the seat, head up right up against the headrest. 

He pulled back quickly, not giving you one more look, not wanting to see your facial expression anymore. It hurt him too much. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, why you didn't want to look at him or touch him, and he didn't want to know.

The car ride was quiet. It wasn't until five minutes, at least, had passed that Pope couldn't bear the silence anymore. "What did Craig say to you?"

You turned your head slowly towards him. "A lot." At least you'd changed your answer to something truthful this time.

Pope curled his lips into a straight line, almost angry. But he didn't bother saying anything else, he knew he wasn't getting anything out of you now. 

When you arrived, you swiftly unbuckled yourself and sought to exist the car, but he locked the door immediately. "Don't get out. You're drunk. I'll help you," he said quietly, waiting for you to take your hand off the handle. 

You withdrew your hand to your lap slowly, still not looking at him. He unlocked the doors, hurrying to your side, before you'd try to get out on your own again. When he opened the door, you locked eyes with him for the first time tonight. You stared at him for a while, as he extended his palm waiting for you to take his hand.

"You're nice to me," you whispered. 

Pope furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn't sure if he was nice to you, but he knew he treated you differently than he did other people. He was glad to know that you considered it to be nice. But the sentence appeared rather random and anxiety flooded his veins.

"Everyone should be nice to you," he replied quietly, as you gently grabbed his hand, your hands slowly capturing his big one. He helped you out until your feet were on the floor, at which point your other hand came out and held onto his waist. Your finger wrapped tightly around his shirt, nails digging into his waist, and you forced your eyes shut. "Sorry. Dizzy," you whispered.

"You're fine." 

It took you a while, but you finally weakened your grip before dropping it altogether, followed by the other. Pope clenched his fist and then opened it again, missing your warmth. He gently grabbed for your waist, moving you away from the door, before swiftly abandoning the contact as he shut the car door. 

You were still standing there watching him with your big eyes, when he turned around, pocketing his car keys. 

"Do you have your keys?" he asked, trying to stop you from staring at him this intensely. It was scaring him, almost like you were staring right into his soul.

"No," you mumbled, shaking your head with genuine sadness. "I lost them." 

Pope glanced down at your bag. "They're in your front pocket." 

You looked down, eyebrows furrowing. "How do you know?" 

Pope didn't respond, allowing you to search through the bag yourself, until you finally heard the clinking of your keys and lightened up. "Oh! Not lost."

"Not lost," Pope repeated, as he slowly stepped towards you, palm on your back, and led you towards your apartment door. You followed without another word. 

Pope wasn't sure if this was your typical drunk self; you'd never been drunk around him, so he didn't know if your lack of words and smile were normal.

It took you a bit to get the keys into your lock, but Pope was patient, spending the wait, just watching you. 

You looked pretty; You were more dressed up than normal. Your hair was in two braids on either side, and you were wearing a white dress. You looked beautiful. 

He wished he'd arrived earlier, hung out with you, spent time with you and mustered up the courage to tell you how pretty you looked. He knew Craig had gotten the privilege of that first, Deran may have as well. He would've given anything to see your shy smile.

When you managed the door open, you glanced back. "Thank you for driving me."

It sounded like a goodbye, so Pope shoved his foot into the door. "You're drunk," he said, and a guilty expression immediately formed on your face. 

"I know," you whispered, ashamed.

"You shouldn't be alone." 

You opened the door further without another word. It appeared like you opened the door to avoid arguing with him rather than to actually welcome him into your apartment as you usually did. 

Pope hesitated, it felt almost like he was trespassing, despite the fact that your apartment had always seemed more like a home than his own ever had.

He stepped in, locking the door behind him before looking at you. "You should change." He walked past you towards your kitchen. "I'll get you water."

You walked past him without a word, wobbly and slow, heading towards your bedroom, leaving the door open. Pope remained in the kitchen, hands twitching nervously. He could still feel your warmth lingering on his fingers and he felt jittery and uncomfortable in his own flesh. He had never felt this way about you before; you soothed him like no one else. His head only quieted down when you were around. The buzzing in his brain ceased as soon as your vanilla scent struck his nose.

But tonight, something was wrong. He didn't know what it was, but he knew it wasn't you simply being drunk. Something was seriously wrong.

He filled your favorite cup, a small blue one with seashells all over it, with water and carefully headed towards your bedroom. "Are you dressed?" he called out, halting just before he could see inside.

You hummed, and he came in to see you seated on the side of your bed. This time in a tank top and some shorts, your dress from earlier on the floor. He stared down at it, before setting the water on your nightstand. He bent down and retrieved the dress, before placing it in your laundry basket, which was already beginning to pile up. He frowned; perhaps he should do your laundry, but out of the corner of his eye he saw you rub your eyes tiredly, smudging whatever makeup you'd been wearing.

You rubbed again and again, until Pope finally turned to you, bending down lightly, and gently encircled his fingers around your wrist. "Don't do that," he muttered, and you looked down at him. Eyes shining brightly despite the dim nightlight on your nightstand. It was silent as you stared at him, not uttering a single word.

"Why are you here?" you finally whispered after a while.

Pope stared back, lips still curled into a frown. He just wanted to take care of you. "You're drunk." 

"I know that," you retorted, almost angrily, but still in a quiet voice. "Why are you here?" Your eyes were filled with desperation, like there was a right answer to the question. 

Pope didn't know it. He didn't know what the right answer was, and he felt panic creep up on him.

"I—I'm making sure you're okay." He decided on the safest answer. It sounded like the most reasonable to him. It sounded better than I don't like being away from you. I don't want you with with Craig. I'm scared you'll leave me for him. I'm scared he'll tell you about the things I've done. I'm scared you'll leave.

You stared down at him for a long time, before your eyes fell back into your lap, staring there for a while, fingers twitching nervously. "Craig said stuff." 

Popes ears perked up. Finally. "What did he say?" He had to bite down hard on his tongue to not let the angry tone escape him, but you noticed it anyway.

You waited, almost doing it on purpose, like you knew this was what he needed, and you wanted to take it and keep it from him. This was your version of cruelty. This is the worst thing you'd ever do to him, and he hated to tell you that this was nothing. That he considered this to be grace, because at least he was in your home. At least you were letting him touch your knees gently. At least he was allowed to look at you. That whatever you considered to be his punishment was mercy to him.

"He told me about—" you pinched your eyes tight as if recalling something awful, like it hurt you. And Pope couldn't wait to get his hands on Craig. "Just—" you couldn't get the words out and your lips were pressed so tight together that Pope was terrified you were going to start crying.

"Come on," he said, making you finally look up, and he was right, your eyes were wet. "We have to get your make up off," he muttered, and you seemed grateful for the escape, nodding, as you stood up and headed to the bathroom.

You immediately reached for one of your drawers, grabbing the wipes, but Pope gently took them from your hand. "You're shaking."

You lowered your hands to your side, turning to face him, and he motioned towards the counter. You turned your back on it, and Pope placed the wipes on the counter, before placing his hands on your waist, helping you up. You could hardly stand let alone get on your bathroom counter, so you were grateful for his warm hands assisting you. The moment you were seated, he let go as if burned.

Opening the box, he hesitantly grabbed the first wipe. But you were already scooting farther on the counter, opening your legs, and he carefully stepped between them before slowly reaching for your face. One hand rested on your while while the other began cleaning your face. You stared at him and with your bathroom light, his hazel eyes were nearly green, and he looked so pretty, your chest ached.

"I don't know why we're friends," you whispered, and Pope froze, his brain just catching on to the word friends. His hands dropped from your face as he stared at you.

"What's that supposed to mean?" was all he managed, almost breathless with hurt. His voice cracked. He didn't even bother to hide how much that question hurt.

"I just—" you realized, even in your drunken state, that you might've phrased this in the most horrible way possible. "Craig told me so much. "

You leaned forward slightly, causing his hand to travel to your hips and push you back on the counter so you wouldn't fall off. He held it there, desperate to know that you didn't despise him, and you wouldn't push him away.

You didn't. Instead, you reached down, gently grasping it and turning it over in your hand, as if you needed to hold onto him as well.

You stared down at his palm. "He said a lot," you repeated. "And I just—I don't know why you're here." 

It sounded like a rejection of him, of who he was, and Pope felt cold and warm all over his body. Nauseous too. 

Here it was. Of course, he couldn't have you. Of course, you'd be taken away from him. He didn't expect it to be Craig to take away the most precious thing in his life. He'd thought it would be Smurf, crawling her way into your life, gripping you with her demon like nails, hurting you like she hurt everyone he's ever cared about before damaging you in a way that made you never want to look at him again. He figured in a way it was her fault anyway. She made him like this. He could've been a guy you liked.

Pope stared down at your soft hand that was brushing his with gentle fingertips. 

"We're so different," you whispered, and Pope squeezed his eyes shut. Right, like he didn't think about that every day. It hurt him to have you say it out loud.

Pope brushed a thumb over the back of your hand and then closed his hand around yours, almost desperate to hold on. Please don't leave me. Please. Please. Please. He wanted to beg so badly, the panic curling in his chest, making him sick with desperation for you to keep holding on.

"I don't want to get hurt," you whispered, and Pope looked up finally, to see you biting your lip hard. You were close to bleeding.

"I won't hurt you," he whispered back, practically pleading. He really wouldn't. He needed you to know that.

"You can't know that," you said quietly, now watching his big hand engulf yours. "Craig said so many things. You like— you like so much stuff that I'm not." you whispered, hurt making your voice crack.

"You're not what?" he asked, confusion replacing the sadness in his face. "Not what?" he asked again, face tilting until he caught your eyes.

You allowed his eyes to meet yours and you waited. Once again, torturing him with the wait, and this time he did think of it as cruel.

"Craig talked about the girls he liked, told me about every girl he's ever hooked up with," you replied slowly. "And he told me about your parties, the strip clubs, the bars. He wouldn't stop talking, it was like I—I was there." Frustration crept into your voice. 

You went quiet again, looking down at your lap. "Talked about you too," and it was as if a bomb went off.

Pope couldn't be sure what his youngest brother had said, but based on your reaction, he knew Craig had opted to go with the crudest version imaginable, perhaps even in the hopes that would deter you from liking Pope and instead go for him.

There'd been lots of times in the past, before he met you, where he did what his brothers wanted him to. He followed them around, prayed that they'd stop calling him strange and weird, and hoped that if he acted the way they wanted him to, they would stop paying so much attention to him and his behavior. That perhaps he might convince himself too, that he enjoyed these things. That drinking beer, getting high and picking up a girl at the bar, was what he wanted. Reminding himself that this was what he should want. That he certainly didn't dream about a girl choosing him, liking him, and sticking around. 

None of his brothers did that and neither should he. He needed to be like them, so he wouldn't feel like he was going out of his mind half of the time.

Pope stayed silent, and you huffed a weak laugh, now removing your hand from his, making it lay in your lap empty and cold. "I just— I guess I'm too drunk, but i just figured—" you shook your head. "I don't know."

You stared over his shoulder at the wall. "I know I don't exactly fit in. I mean—" you gave him a weak smile. "I don't even know why Craig approached me in the first place." Pope knew why, but he didn't want to tell you, hoping you'd never really ask. "I just— i thought maybe— you'd—" and then you stopped talking. 

Like me. 

That's what you wanted to say. You hoped one day he'd like you. But you'd said too much, and you weren't ready to expose yourself this much, just yet.

Pope stared at you. "I'd what?" he asked, but you were already shaking your head, regretting having started the sentence.

When you didn't say anything else, he lifted his hand again and started wiping your make up off. He brushed gently across your eyes, whispering for you to close them. He was gentle, too gentle, making the cleaning take longer than it should have.

"I like that you're not like—" he wanted to say me but he wasn't sure if that would be just too much. "Us."

You opened your eyes slowly, face finally bare, and you looked prettier than ever, making Pope just want to stand here forever and look at you. "Craig is friends with you because you're not like us." he said, throwing the wipe he was using away and setting the box away. He went back to standing between your legs, staring at you. "You're—nice. That's why he likes you."

You huffed a laugh. "I'm pretty sure that's not all," you said quietly, and Pope made a small grimace, lips frowning, eyebrows raising. 

"Never is with Craig," he mumbled, and you giggled, and he felt his shoulder fall with relief. He can still make you laugh. That's good.

When your giggles subsided, you glanced back down at your hands, seemingly the most interesting thing today. To be quite honest Pope did think your nail polish was interesting. It was pink today with brown dots.

"What about you?"

Pope furrowed his eyebrows. "What about me?"

You stayed quiet and it's like the question was forced out of you, like you didn't mean to ask it, but your drunken state forced you to. "Do you like me?" 

Pope froze. The moment he allowed you to know how much he truly cared about you was the moment you'd be in danger. Whether that was because of him or Smurf.

Despite all of it Pope couldn't help but give in. You were looking at him with such big and trusting eyes, like deep in your heart you knew he'd say yes. So he did. 

"'Course i do," he responded, watching your face light up, like you'd still had doubts. Like you hadn't known the answer before. 

He hated that. He thought he'd shown you enough how much he adored you. 

"Good," you whispered, and before he knew it your arms were around his neck, and you were pulling him in hard, in a way you'd never done before. 

You'd never hugged him before and his hand hovered above your waist in fear. He stared at himself in the mirror behind you, but as he felt you pulling him even more, he finally wrapped his arms around your waist. He placed his cheek against your shoulder, refusing to look in the mirror anymore and see how soft you had made him. Your arms were soft. You were soft. And warm. And you smelled really nice and Pope turned his head to the other side to drown himself in your scent. The vanilla in your hair was the only thing he could smell as his nose pressed against your shoulder and his lips touched your collarbone. 

Pope worried you'd let go, because he really needed this. So badly it almost hurt. But you didn't.

You just stayed there, and Pope tightened his hold around your waist. Eventually, you gradually shifted closer, until one palm was just barely in his hair, and he hummed the moment your fingers got entangled with one of his curls. Even in your intoxicated state, he could feel your senses come alive, the senses that knew everything about him. You entwined all of your fingers in his curls and scratched once to see how he'd react. When he pressed closer, you repeated the movement again and again, until Pope practically melted like butter in your arms.

Pope wasn't sure how long he stood there holding you and letting you hold him, but eventually he loosened his hold and only then did you let go, your hands removing themselves from his hair. Your hands went to his face and you gently brushed a thumb across his cheekbone. 

Whatever beer did to you, he didn't dislike it, and he felt awful for thinking it. He knew there was a reason you didn't enjoy drinking. But you touched his face so lovingly he fought the urge to cry. 

He wasn't sure when, or if ever, he'd received such a tender touch from someone. He wanted to be in your arms forever; it made him feel like nothing could reach him there. Not his mother, not his nightmares, not his jobs, nothing. Everything was so far away when he was close to you. There was only ever you and he always wanted there to only be you.

When you pulled back, you looked tired, really tired. You rubbed your eyes again, letting a yawn escape you before looking up at him and asking quietly. "Will you stay?" 

Pope didn't hesitate. He just wanted to be close to you. 

"I'll take the couch," he mumbled, reaching for your waist and helping you off the counter. 

When you were on the floor again, you looked up, frowning. "No," you said. "Can't you sleep in my bed?"

Pope's teeth ached from how hard he gritted them against each other. He guessed drinking also made you want to make decisions. He was certain he didn't dislike that either, just the contrary. 

He looked down at himself. "I don't have clean clothes," and he most certainly wasn't getting into your bed with these dirty ones, the ones that have lived and experienced the filth that was Deran's bar.

" 'S'okay." you mumbled. "You sleep in your boxers, don't you?" 

You reached for his hand, pulling him back to your bedroom. He followed without another word, watching you slip under the covers and, almost immediately, turn to your side, exhausted, but well aware of how a drunk person should sleep.

Pope watched you, and for a second, just for a second, he thought you might've turned around for him, knowing well the privacy he'd been stripped of by his mother all his life. That you were turning, to let him know that he didn't have to ask you for privacy, that you'd always be here to give it to him. But then he shook his head, getting rid of the thought. He couldn't handle this much kindness in one night.

He slowly lifted the bedcovers and, without a word, you scooted further, not turning around until he was under the covers and only then did you turn around. 

You didn't turn around on purpose. 

"Hi," you mumbled, eyes barely open.

"Hey," he mumbled back, feeling you entangle your legs with his.

"You're not cold, are you?" you mumbled, glancing down at his collarbone peeking out from under the bed sheets. 

He shook his head. "No." You're here to keep me warm. I can't feel any cold when I'm with you.

You nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Hold me?"

Another request you would've never dared to ask had you been sober.

And Pope was terrified of doing it. Even in your drunken state, you saw the hesitation. "'It's okay," you mumbled, but Pope let out a startled "No," making you flinch.

"I just—" he hesitated, looking at you. "Yes. I can hold you," he said in such a detached tone it almost made you smile.

You slid closer, til your head met his bare chest, and you let out a relieved sigh. "You're warm," you whispered, and Pope wanted to tell you how he was never warm, always cold, how everyone complained about it. How he had never felt genuine warmth until you.

His arm slowly went down to your back, pulling you closer, palm resting on your hip. 

Your hand lifted to his chest, resting it there. "Okay?" you whispered, and he slowly nodded.

He could feel your eyes watching him, but he didn't dare meet your gaze, afraid you'd see something in his eyes, like too much love, too much emotion that was allowed for a moment like this, and move. 

Maybe this was nothing for you, maybe he was making a bigger deal of this than it actually was. He hoped he wasn't.

Pope stared at the ceiling before he spoke, fingers tightening around your hip like announcing that he was going to speak, and you tiredly opened your eyes, waiting.

"I—" he started, before starting over. "Don't listen to Craig's stories," he said quietly, still staring at the white canvas above him, while your fingers curled at his chest, fingernails now grazing his chest. He could feel you getting nervous and he rushed his next words, hoping to get rid of that emotion. "Those things they—they did happen, but not the way he told you."

He stared upward, before carefully letting his eyes drift back down to you. You were watching him with such patient eyes, it almost hurt. He wasn't sure he'd ever had someone wait for him so patiently to get his words out. Never had anyone wait for him to explain himself and his behavior. Everyone just ran with whatever they wanted to believe he'd said, not even bothering for him to start explaining.

"I didn't—" he thought about it. He wasn't sure he should actually tell you, but your fingers softly traced his collarbone, and he thought, why not? He'd already given you everything he had. His soul and his heart.

"I didn't want to do those things," he finally admitted. "I did them because I thought I had to." 

It was his way of telling you he liked you a lot, and that whatever you heard and made you insecure was nothing to worry about. That he only ever wanted to be with you, and that you didn't fit in with the Codys, but you fit in with him and he fit in with you.

You looked back down at his chest, staring right where his heart was. "I wished you didn't have to," you mumbled quietly. "Do things you didn't want to," you explained quietly, and Pope's heart ached. 

He couldn't believe that the stranger Craig had introduced oh so long ago, was seemingly the only person in the world who had put in the effort to hear him out and understand him. He stared up at the ceiling, trying hard not to just let tears spill.

"It's fine," he managed out in a rough voice, but you shook your head, against his chest.

"'S'really not." you whispered. You stayed quiet for a while and Pope thought he'd lost you to sleep. "I hope you know you never have to do anything you don't want to with me." 

Pope looked down at you, watching you tap your fingers nervously on his chest, and he gathered the courage to squeeze your hip lightly, watching you smile to yourself.

"I know," he whispered against your hair. 

[dollsonlyhurt]

The Right Thing- Sammy Bryant 

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Summary: One reckless decision. One traffic stop. One officer who should've walked away. After answering yet another manipulative call from your toxic ex, you make the mistake of driving home buzzed—only to find yourself pulled over by Officer Sammy Bryant. Expecting judgment and handcuffs, you're met instead with an unexpected kindness that neither of you is prepared for.  

What begins as a routine DUI stop quickly unravels into something far more dangerous as compassion gives way into something far more complicated, boundaries blur, and one terrible decision leads to another. 

Sometimes the worst mistakes don't happen on the road. 

Sometimes they begin with, "Thank you, Officer Bryant." 

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Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Abuse of Authority / Power Imbalance, Dubious Consent, Infidelity (Sammy is married... and boy, is it mentioned), Toxic & Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics,EmotionalManipulation, Corrupt Cop!, Dacryphilia, Possessive Behavior, Moral Corruption, Alcohol Use / Intoxication, DUI / Impaired Driving, Psychological Themes, Intoxication Kink, Praise Kink, Oral Sex, Fingering, Female Orgasm, Pet Names, Ethically Compromised Characters 

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Authors Note: Guys... this was supposed to be a DRABBLE. God, why must I do the absolute mosttttt?😭 My goal was under 2k words... ended up at 3,500. I still wanted to add more smut- but I finally forced myself to stop. Whateverrrrruhh.   

When I wrote Take Care (Super Dark Jack Abbot) that was more fun then challenging- I struggled with writing a darker version of Sammy. I kept telling myself “no no that’s so wrong-“ like the entire time. he just seems like a sweet potato to me ugh- i was doing : delete, add a line- go back to google “what’s a good word for this?”- for HOURS. sigh.

so if it sucks... no it doesn't. I'm choosing delusion. 

Love y'all! Enjoy! 🩵🤍

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It was a mistake. You knew it before you ever slid behind the wheel.  

You let him get to you again. Tony, your ex. He’d called. 

He pulled the same old card he always did.  

“Baby, please. I think I'm gonna hurt myself. I just... I need someone here." 

He knew it would work. Knew exactly which strings to pull. And every goddamn time, you let him. 

You reluctantly grabbed your keys and hauled yourself over to his small, shitty apartment. 

Against every ounce of common sense. Against what little self-respect you still had.  

His place hadn’t changed. The stained mattress sat directly on the floor. Crushed beer cans littered the carpet, crunching beneath your shoes. Boxer briefs hung from the bathroom doorknob, dirty socks abandoned, sprawled about. The stench of sweat, beer, and old pad thai clung to the walls.  

It looked less like the apartment of a man in his 30’s and more like a teenage boy's room who’d never been told to clean up after himself. 

Disgusting. Pathetic. 

No.  

You're pathetic. Because you came. Again.   

That's how you found yourself here.  

Drunk, the booty call over, and more than ready to go home. Humiliated.  

You couldn’t bear the thought of staying the night. 

You’d disgraced yourself enough by letting him touch you. So, you made the stupid- very fucking stupid- choice to drive home, buzzed from the beers Tony kept pressing in your hand.  

You made it maybe a mile down the road before the flash of red and blue exploded in your rearview mirror. 

Fuck. Fuck me.  

Your stomach dropped. Tears welled in your eyes.  

-------

Sammy Bryant had already watched the sedan drift over the center line twice before deciding he’d seen enough. 

Great. 

Drunk. Or texting.  

Neither ever ended well. And after another fight with Tammi before shift, he wasn't in the mood for either. 

He climbed from the patrol car, adjusting the flashlight against his shoulder as he approached the driver's window. His knuckles rapped against the glass you hadn’t dared put down.

Maybe if you ignored it all it long enough, he’d just—  

Another knock. Sharper this time. Impatient.  

You couldn’t fight the tears falling from your eyes.  

God.  

You were going to get a DUI. Over Tony. Jesus Christ, how the mighty have fallen. 

With trembling fingers, you lowered the window.  

"Evening, ma'am." He leaned down to the open window, flashlight angled toward the floorboard, not your face.

His eyes flicked over you. Tear-streaked cheeks, trembling hands wrapped around the steering wheel, mascara smeared beneath bloodshot eyes.  

You watched his stern expression shift. Dropped slightly— softened.

Just for a second. Then recovered. 

--------------- 

Female- Mid- twenties- Crying- 

Smelled like beer. Hands locked around the steering wheel...  

She was beautiful. A mess, but still... 

Beautiful. God, he couldn't look away. 

Another tear slipped down your cheek. Broken. Something about those tears made his chest tighten in a way it never should have. 

He’s seen plenty of women riddled with tears— Seen them beg.  

But the way your bottom lip trembled and your tears fell... 

That made this harder. It shouldn’t, but it did. 

------------------ 

“Good evening, ma’am, Officer Sammy Bryant...” He cleared his throat, trying to keep his attention where it belonged. 

“Ma’am, do you know why I pulled you over?”  

“N-no,” barely a whisper. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, your eyes fixed on your white-knuckled hands gripping the steering wheel. 

“Have you had anything to drink tonight” He already knows. 

Your silence answered before your words ever did.  

“...A few beers.” Slowly, you lifted your gaze. 

The man standing beside your window was unfairly handsome. Not polished or boyish- weathered in all the right places, softened only by the concern in his eyes. Kind eyes. It caught you off guard. 

Sammy held your gaze for a beat longer than he should have. Christ— focus. 

His jaw worked. “I’m gonna need you to step out of the vehicle for me.” 

Your breath hitched.

You were going to jail. This was really happening.

With shaking hands, you fumbled for the door handle before finally pushing it open. The moment your feet hit the pavement, your knees threatened to give out.  

Instinct had him taking a half step forward—“Easy—” his hand came to yours, steadying before you could stumble. She looked like she’d fold in on herself if someone breathed too hard. 

“Alright.” His voice softened. “I’m gonna have you do a couple field sobriety tests for me, okay?” 

------------------ 

"Can you follow the tip of my pen?" 

She tried. Another tear slipped free.  

The tiny point of light blurred until there were two of them. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't apologize," he said quietly. "Just keep following the pen." 

Another pass. Her eyes tried to follow the pen, but another tear spilled over before she made it halfway. Sammy slowed his hand. 

Whatever had happened before he'd lit her up had done a number on her. Sweet girl. 

"You're doing alright," he said, keeping his voice even. "Stay with the pen." He soothed 

She nodded quickly. Too quickly. "I'm trying..." 

"I know." He finished the test, capped his pen, and let out a quiet breath. 

"We're gonna try another one. Okay? You got this"  

Her shoulders sagged as though she'd already accepted the outcome. 

She couldn't have been more than twenty-five. Too young...  

His warm hands on her shoulders led her to the painted shoulder of the road. Her skin- so soft.  

Stop. Stop it, Sammy.  

------------------ 

"Place your left foot on the line. Right foot in front of it, heel touching toe. Keep your arms at your sides while I explain." 

You tried to mirror him, but your feet wobbled before you'd even settled into position. 

"Don't start until I tell you to." 

"...Okay." voice shaking as much as your hands. 

He demonstrated the turn, then stepped back. "Nine heel-to-toe steps. Turn the way I showed you. Nine back. Count them out loud." 

You took one careful step. "One..." The second landed inches off the line. 

Three. Four. Arms drifted away from your sides. Five. You stopped walking altogether, wiping furiously at your eyes. 

"I-I'm sorry..." 

"It's okay," Sammy replied gently. "Just keep going if you can." 

You tried. On the turn, lost your balance entirely and caught yourself before falling. 

------------------

Sammy marked another clue in his mind. The alcohol. The driving. The smell lingering on her breath.

The admission that she'd been drinking.

The missed steps. The balance. 

It all pointed in the same direction. 

He hated that. 

Looking at you now, all he could think was how scared you were.

But scared or not, he couldn't ignore what he'd seen... 

He knew you'd do almost anything to keep a DUI off her record...

Christ. Where the hell had that come from? 

No. Stop Sammy.  

He was not like the other pigs he worked with. 

He'd worked with enough cops who blurred that line. Who mistook a badge for permission. Who took advantage of people on the worst day of their lives because they knew they could. He can’t do that.  

Even if she keeps looking at me like—

"Alright." His voice interrupted his thoughts. "Based on what I've observed tonight, you didn't successfully complete the field sobriety tests." 

Your head snapped up. "...I failed?" 

He gave a small nod. "You showed several signs of impairment." 

Your face crumpled. “Please..." Your voice cracked. "Please, Officer... I-I can explain." 

Another tear slipped free before you hurriedly wiped it away. "I know how this looks."

Sammy watched your shoulders begin to shake. 

"I'm not a bad person." 

…

That sentence again. 

He'd heard it a hundred different ways over the years. Usually, it came wrapped in excuses. Tonight, he wanted to listen. 

To her.  

He kept his tone even. "I'm listening..." 

"I know I shouldn't have been driving." Your words dissolved into tears.

"I know... I know." You dragged a shaky breath into your lungs, trying and failing to steady yourself.

"My ex called me." 

Sammy didn't interrupt.  

"He..." you swallowed hard. "He does this all the time." Another sob escaped you. 

"...He calls and says he's gonna hurt himself if I don't come over. Says he needs me. Says I'm the only person he'll answer the phone for." 

You laughed bitterly through your tears.

"I'm so stupid." 

Sammy's expression softened. He gave the smallest shake of his head. 

"No," he said quietly.  

"You made a bad decision tonight." He paused. "That doesn't make you stupid." 

Your shoulders shook. "I went over there. Again... He kept handing me beers. I should've left…

I should've called someone, 

should've called an Uber..."

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Instead, I got in my car." 

Sammy’s face fell. His grip loosened around the citation book, tucked beneath his arm. She looked so small, standing there. 

He wanted to reach out. He wanted to hold her.  

God, he couldn't hurt this girl.  

"I just..." You wiped helplessly at your face. "I wanted to go home." 

Silence stretched between them. Sammy stared at the pavement for a long moment. Then he looked back at you. Tears still falling, you met his gaze. 

He let out a slow breath. “Fuck...” he exhaled. "I'll take you home." 

You blinked. "...What?" Unbelieving. 

"Come on." His head nodded to the car as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.  

“What about the DUI...?” your voice meek. 

Sammy shakes his head softly. He won’t dare say it out loud. His sense of duty failing him now...  

This wasn't the job.  

It wasn't the right call. He knew that.  

"Come on," he repeated sternly. "I'll take you home." He opened up the passenger seat to his patrol car and guided you in. You followed now, not knowing how to say no. How could you? 

------------------- 

…

You sat with your hands folded tightly in your lap, eyes fixed on the passing streetlights. Every few minutes, you quietly apologized again. 

"I'm sorry." 

Sammy kept his eyes on the road. "You already said that." 

"...I know." 

Another stretch of silence. 

"I just..." You swallowed. "Thank you for listening." 

Sammy's grip tightened almost imperceptibly around the steering wheel. He didn't answer. He wasn't sure there was a right answer anymore. 

…

“Why are you doing this...” You finally say it.  

Sammy let out a tired breath. He'd been asking himself the same question. 

His eyes stayed on the road. "I don't know." 

Silence settled between you. 

"Maybe..." He hesitated. "Maybe because I've spent enough years making the same mistakes to recognize one when I see it."  

You frowned. "What do you mean?"  

He gave a humorless laugh,

"People get stuck," He said. "They tell themselves, 'Next time it'll be different.' Then they wake up and realize they've been saying that for years." He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. 

"Doesn't matter what you're stuck on—

A person... A place... A habit... 

You just keep convincing yourself the next time will be the one that fixes it...”  

He gave a tired shake of his head. "You keep going back anyway." 

You looked back out the window, letting his words settle between you. 

“...Maybe I've been making the same mistake for longer.” His thumb brushed absently against the wedding band on his finger. His jaw tightened. 

You didn't know what to say. 

So you simply nodded. 

-

“Thank you.” you say softly. He doesn't reply. “I’m sorry...” 

“I know... it’s okay.” 

----------------- 

The car settled into park with a quiet rumble before the engine clicked off. For a moment, neither of you moved. 

The porch light over your townhouse’s front door cast a warm yellow glow across the driveway, catching the edge of Sammy's profile. 

Up close, the sharp edges of him softened. Dark hair cut short, a jaw dusted with the day's stubble, and warm brown eyes that somehow managed to look gentle even in uniform.  

One hand still rested on the steering wheel while the other drummed absently against the center console. 

The silence felt strangely fragile. "...Thank you." Your voice still hoarse from crying. 

Sammy kept his eyes on the windshield. Silently, he waged a war between the badge on his chest and the ache in his heart. His duty. His wife.  

The cop in him knew exactly what he should do.

The man in him wasn't so sure.  

Finally, "You don't have to thank me."  

You swallowed hard. "I do." 

He didn't answer. He couldn’t look at you.

Not like that. Not now.  

You weren't sure what to do next. It had been a long time since someone had listened without interrupting, and longer since someone had looked at you with genuine care. 

With understanding. The kindness almost hurt.  

You reached for the door handle, hesitating. You paused. 

“Would you... like to come in?” An offer.  

His eyes dart from the door to you. Yes. 

He didn’t dare give the answer a voice. But the moment you placed your hand over his, he found himself following anyway. One touch was all it took.  

-------------------- 

You ushered the respected officer into your home. It was small but charming, decorated with soft cream walls, little potted plants lining the windowsill, and shelves filled with books and candles. 

You guided him toward the couch, waiting until he sat before taking the armchair across from him. Here, the exhaustion he'd been hiding behind professionalism was impossible to miss. The faint shadows beneath his eyes and the tension lingering in his shoulders spoke louder than he ever would. 

You offered him a glass of water, he accepted it with a grateful nod. 

He shouldn't be here. 

The right thing was to stand, walk out the front door, and forget this ever happened. That he ever caught you swerving along Interstate 81.

That he ever saw you.  

The problem was, he didn't want to.  

He didn't want to forget the way you'd looked at him like he was the first person to listen.  

He didn’t want to forget the way you were the first person to listen to him.  

When you returned, your fingers brushed his as he took the glass, touch lingering a moment longer than necessary.  

"I don't know how to thank you—" 

His eyes looked to the floor. You watch him exhale shakily. Oh, God. 

He’d fought it. Pushed off this feeling the moment those puffy eyes found his, desperate with pretty tears rolling down your cheeks. 

He’d been good. So good. 

He damn near won the battle...  

But then you stepped into the space between his legs, close enough to steal the air from his lungs. You gently took his hand. 

He let you.

Watching in quiet silence as you lifted it to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles before lowering yourself to your knees before him.  

A shy smile on your face as you repeated, “Thank you, Officer Bryant,” he relents. The last thread of his restraint snapped like a wire under too much pressure.

Your hands reach for him. Before you can touch him, he gently catches one in both of his, grip careful but trembling slightly...

He doesn't say a word. 

Your eyes lift to his.  

Everything passes between you in that single glance—complete surrender.  

He nods softly

You pawed at his belt, the metal clinking as you fumble with the fastening of his jeans. Your heart hammering. 

You pressed a soft kiss to the bulge in his pants, desperate and eager to please. Sammy’s cock springs from the constraints of fabric, already hard. He'd been hard the moment he saw the tears in your pretty eyes.

You look up at him through your lashes, and the sight of his face.

Jaw clenched. Eyes dark with want.

Wedding ring catching the light on his calloused hand, making your breath catch.

His other hand finds the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair with a gentleness that masks the urgency in his touch, the way he's silently begging you without words.

He's starved, you realize.

Years of being invisible have left him hollow, and you're the first thing that's made him feel seen again.

You want to give him everything he's been denied.

You peered up as you take him into your mouth, trying to push his full length in. 

His eyes, filled with adoration, thankful. For you. He groaned as you gag, nose now flush against his belly, brushing the soft hairs that adorn his skin.  

He watched as you bobbed up and down, swirling your tongue around the tip. His head lulls back.

You felt so good- better than anything he remembered. God, he'd needed this.  

His breath comes ragged, uneven “...Fuck.” Sammy groaned as his hand finds your hair. His fingers gentle, but needy as he guides your mouth, like he's trying to memorize the feeling of you.

You continued to take him in fully with each motion, tears streaming down your face as you gag around him.

His hands tightens in your hair, trembling, and then suddenly he pulled you back— guiding you off him with urgency.

His chest heaves as his eyes find yours. Hungry and pleading. There's a raw need there he makes no effort to hide anymore, one born from years of restraint finally crumbling.

“Come here— please.”

His voice broken. He reached for you, hands already grasping before you've even moved, like he can't bear another second without you closer.

You rise from your knees and he immediately pulled you toward him, guiding you onto the couch beside him. His hands shake as they find your face, your shoulders

Anywhere he can touch—

Like he needs to confirm you're real.

The moment you settled, tucking your legs beneath you, his hand slides to your jaw. His thumb traced your bottom lip, breathing unsteady as he stares at your mouth.

Then he pulled you in, capturing your lips in a kiss that's surprisingly soft at first, gentle, like his eyes with a tremor of desperation beneath it.

He kissed you like he's been starving for this, like he's afraid if he stops you'll vanish.

His hands trailed down your body, now at your hip, pulling you onto him. You straddle him, not breaking the kiss. His touch becomes increasingly needy as he feels you shift.

You whine at the feeling of his cock against your thigh, now pressing against your clothed cunt. Your hips rut against him. He groans.

“I can’t hold myself back anymore, I’m sorry...” His hand slid to your waist, gathering the fabric of your dress wrinkling beneath his grip.  

“Off?” He checks.  

You nod. He discards the dress, pulling it off your small frame. He drinks you in, with you bare before him.   

“Beautiful...” He sighed, his thumb grazed your cheek. He closed the distance between you, leaning in to kiss you again.  

You moaned into the kiss as you feel him grind his hips up against your core.  

“Mr. Bryant—” You gasp. His hands fumbled with the waistband of your underwear.  

“Look at me.” His eyes locked onto yours, dark and searching.

“Y-yes, Mr. Bryant,” You stutter, your gaze lifting to his, brows furrowed as his fingers dip below the flimsy fabric. 

His eyes soften at your compliance. He leaned in close. 

“Just Sammy...” He whispered, a gentle correction that somehow feels like a promise.  

“Be good for me and pull these to the side, okay?” You fumbled with the material, now pulling and stretching it. His right hand now around your waist, the left dropping to where you needed him most. 

He grunts as his fingertips brushed your clit, and the answering wetness makes his breath catch.

A desperate, relieved sound. His touch settles there, feeling as the slick coat his hand. 

A low groan escaped his throat. "God, you're so—'" he breathes, unable to finish. His fingers circled slowly, almost reverently, before traveling down to your entrance. 

“Sammy—”

“Shh, shh. Easy...You’re okay….” He shudders.

“You’re gonna be good from now on, right?” He toyed with your slit, rubbing back and forth.  

“Y-yes, Sammy, I’ll be good—” You cry as he now pressed his chubby fingers in. The thick pads reach deep, in places your own cannot, causing your back to arch.

“I’m not gonna find you down my highway pulling some stunt like that again, right?” He teased, though his eyes searched yours for a real answer.  

All you can manage is a swift nod as you whine. 

You wouldn’t. 

Satisfied, he flexed his fingers and curled them against your soft, sensitive spot. Your breath catches as your mind goes blissfully blank. 

He’s dreamed of touching a woman like this. You’re perfect, with your head dropped on his shoulder. Panting. Just for him. 

Tammi hadn’t done this in years. 

She hardly let him touch her, let alone touch him. 

The silver ring on his finger branded him, but he couldn’t care less with the way your pussy was greedily taking his fingers—

Ring still gleaming.

He loved how you coated his ring, your cream forming its own ring around his. You gave new meaning to the band around his finger.

Rewriting its purpose entirely.

He feels you tighten around the chubby pads of his middle and ring finger.  

“Look at you... You gonna cum?” 

“Mhmm, Y-yes Sammy-” Is all you can offer as response, as your orgasm shakes you. Your vision blurs around the edges, drenching his hand in your slick. 

You press your forehead to his, breathing uneven. His eyes met yours. A tired, relieved smile found him.

For the first time that night, the knot in his chest began to loosen, years of tension easing at last in a single breath.

His thoughts snagged on something unexpectedly light.  

“Where’s your manners?” Sammy teased. 

You blinked, caught off guard.   

“Come on. Say it for me.”  

It took a second, then it clicked. 

“Thank you, Sammy.” You sigh blissfully.  

"There you go." He breathes against your temple, his voice rough with relief. "Atta girl."  

-------------------- 

The front door clicked shut behind him.  

Officer Bryant adjusted his duty belt one notch tighter as he crossed the driveway. He still had the highway to patrol for the night. As he climbed into the car, his phone lit up on the center console. 

Three unread texts. Tammi. 

He ignored the inevitable fight waiting for him at home and reached for the ignition. He stopped once more when the phone buzzed again. 

Unknown Number: Thank you again, Sammy. 

Sammy.

The corner of his mouth twitched before he caught himself. He turned the key, starting the car.  

…

It was wrong.  

He knew it, down to his bones.  

He'd have to bury the traffic stop. No citation filed, no record. Just a gap in his patrol log he'd explain away if anyone asked. He'd have to lie.

But when he thought of you... 

So thankful. So impossibly sweet… So giving.

Someone gave to him for the first time in years.

His chest tightened. The guilt became easier to ignore.   

She needed someone— Tony had failed you.  Let you drive recklessly, didn’t care if she made it home. 

His wife had stopped needing him years ago. Or maybe she'd simply stopped trying. 

Either way, he'd stopped asking. 

Funny how life worked. Some people spent years searching for the right person. 

Maybe they'd simply found each other at the wrong time. All he knew for certain... 

There was no letting you go now. Couldn't even if he wanted to.

And God help him, he didn't want to.

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[tumbleweedstillhaspanic]

Titus Danforth is a bit stunned by how much he loves his children. Yes, he assumed he'd care for them as they are his heirs after all...

He doesn't anticpate he'll love them though...like genuinely fully love them with his whole chest.

Titus Danforth is selfish after all. People never fail to remind him that he is a petulant brat who only cares about himself. He has been told that he has no good in him.

His wife seems to disagree, but he's certain his wife is an outlier when it comes to his ability to feel affection.

He falls for his wife on the hunting field when he witnesses her take down a man twice her size with all the grace of a capable killer.

He works hard to woo her after witnessing that hunt, and though he's certain her father is not pleased with the age gap between Reader and himself, Titus manages to not only gain Reader's affections but take her hand in marriage.

He loves his wife.

So, he guesses it should make sense that he loves their children.

He doesn't anticipate the love he feels though.

He feels himself cry when his first born is placed in his arms and he's shocked by the tears. He stares down at his newborn and is certain he'd not only kill for them but he'd burn down the world for them.

The feelings are the same with each child born after that.

The Danforth children are the apples of Titus' eye. They get every little thing they want.

His daughters have hand crafted intricate doll houses, little miniature versions of the Danforth family estate. They have tea parties with real china. They have a massive collection of stuffed animals and always seem to acquire more.

His sons have more legos and hot wheels than any child should reasonably have. Reader has to talk Titus out of buying an actual dinosaur skeleton when his sons have a dinosaur phase.

The Danforth children are permitted to interrupt any business meeting Titus may be having or any serious meeting he's having with the high council.

There have been more than a few occurrences of a child entering the room during a serious meeting and Titus reaching down and pulling the kid into his lap without missing a moment of the meeting,

He's rocked and bounced cheerful chubby little babies in his arms while discussing the logistics of the latest hunt to honor Mr. Le Bail. He's discussed kill pits and goat sacrifices while cuddling a drowsy sweet baby in his arms.

Titus carries pictures of his children in his wallet.

Titus trains his babies to hunt because they will survive and will be victorious on the hunt.

Titus would shatter the bones of anyone who dared to lie a hand on any of his children.

The man is overprotective to a dangerous extreme.

Titus does everything in his power to be nothing like his own father. He does not raise a hand to his children. He tells them he's proud of them every day. He tells them what fine Danforths they are and how they bring honor to their family name.

When his kids reach the teenage phase where they want to argue with him and push his buttons, Titus is beyond frustrated...even more so when Reader points out they get their impulsive tendencies and stubbornness from him.

Even when there's slammed doors and snark thrown at Titus, at some point during the night Reader will find the man sitting with the teenager he was bickering with just earlier in the day looking at a photo album from when they were babies and acting as though they weren't at each other's throats hours ago.

Titus Danforth might be a petulant brat, but the man does genuinely love his babies.

Titus might do anything to gain power, but his wife and children make him want to gain that power all the more.

His family deserves to have anything they want. Titus intends to make sure his place on the high council ensures his family will have everything they deserve.

[fluttervoid]

drabble synopsis 𓂃 ໒꒱ you accidentally kick jack in the crotch while you’re asleep, and he’s left questioning whether he’ll ever recover. (0.7k)

pairing 𓂃 ໒꒱ jack abbot x fem!reader.

content 𓂃 ໒꒱ established relationship, fluff, sleepy antics, dry jack humour.

Jack had come to the conclusion that you somehow became an entirely different person once you fell asleep.

Awake, you were always looking for him. Whether it was your hand finding his while you watched a movie or absentmindedly leaning against him while you brushed your teeth, you always seemed to gravitate towards him without thinking.

Asleep, however, you were a genuine hazard.

It never started that way. Every night, you’d curl into his side, stealing his body heat and mumbling something incoherent before drifting off. He’d lie awake for another ten or fifteen minutes, listening to the steady rhythm of your breathing until he was certain you were asleep.

Then the adventure began.

Sometimes you stole every inch of the blanket. Other nights, you’d somehow end up lying across the mattress at an angle that defied basic human anatomy. More than once he’d woken up with your arm thrown over his face or your foot pressed into his ribs, leaving him wondering how someone so peaceful looking could move so much without ever waking.

Jack usually found it amusing.

Usually.

Tonight was no different.

You’d fallen asleep tucked beneath his arm, one hand loosely gripping the front of his shirt as if letting go wasn’t an option. Jack smiled to himself, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face before settling back into the pillows. The apartment was quiet, the only sound the occasional hum of the heater and your soft breathing against his chest.

It didn’t take long before he started drifting off himself, but then you moved.

At first, it was nothing more than a sleepy stretch, your shoulder nudging against his side before your legs shifted beneath the blankets.

Jack barely noticed.

The next movement came out of nowhere.

Your knee drove straight up between his legs.

The air disappeared from his lungs so quickly he wasn’t even sure he’d made a sound until a strangled groan escaped him. Every muscle in his body locked as he instinctively curled forward, one hand gripping the comforter while the other clamped over his face.

“Jesus…”

The sound startled you awake almost instantly. You blinked blearily into the darkness, pushing yourself up on one elbow, your hair sticking out in every direction as you looked over at him.

“Jack?” you mumbled. “What’s wrong?”

He stayed exactly where he was for another few seconds, taking one slow, painful breath before finally answering.

“…You got me.”

Your brows knitted together in sleepy confusion. “Whhat do you mean?”

“You kneed me.”

You frowned, still trying to wake yourself up, “where?”

Jack slowly cracked one eye open to look at you. “If I have to answer that, I’m even more concerned.”

It took a second before the realisation crashed into you, “oh my god.” Your hand flew to your mouth as your eyes widened. “Jack, I’m so sorry.”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” he said, finally managing to lean back against the headboard. He let out a slow breath, still wincing. “Doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

You were already reaching for his arm, your brows pinched together with guilt. “I was asleep, I swear. I didn’t even know I moved.”

“I know.” He turned his hand over so your fingers laced together, giving yours a small squeeze. “You’re okay.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’ll survive.”

You searched his face for a second, trying to figure out whether he was saying that just to make you feel better. “Are you sure?”

Jack glanced down at the blankets, then back at you, one corner of his mouth twitching despite himself as he shrugged. “I’d still like to have kids with you someday, babe,” he said dryly. “So maybe we retire the flying knees.”

A horrified noise left you before another apology could tumble out, but Jack was already chuckling under his breath.

“Hey.” He brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear before tugging you back against his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m kidding.”

“You better be.”

“I am.” His hand resumed its lazy path up and down your back, waiting until he felt you finally relax against him. He let the room fall quiet again, listening to your breathing even out as you settled against him.

After a moment, he looked down at you with a smile he couldn’t quite hide. As much as he knew he probably shouldn’t, he couldn’t help slipping in one last joke. “I’m still trying to cope with the fact my girlfriend nearly ended my bloodline in her sleep.”

“Jack,” you murmured in warning, your eyes still closed.

He only laughed, pressing another kiss to the top of your head before settling comfortably back into the pillows with you tucked against his side.

[agnireed]

PRINCESS PROTECTION

PAIRING ➩ stan rosado x reader

WC ➩ 13.8k

SUMMARY ➩ You’re convinced the boy next door is your soulmate and the feeling hasn’t faded even after ten years apart

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ yay i love this one even though the ending was a struggle! Stan and reader are both 18 in the past section and 28 after the time jump! pls note that any crying or upset from reader at the end isn’t because of regret she just loves him so much so she feels sad T-T NOT PROOFREAD!

Stan had spent almost his entire senior year trying to rid himself of labels.

He wasn’t sure when he started to hate being labeled as a jock, something weird and foreign tightening in his chest when he overheard a joke about him failing classes or every time he was completely overlooked when it came to anything academic.

He knew he wasn’t a genius but he wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t only good for throwing a ball around a field.

There was a week period where it felt almost constant and he’d decided by the end of it that if he could only be one thing or the other, then he didn’t want to be a football player anymore.

It came with a sort of instant regret, hours spent laying flat on his back and staring at his bedroom ceiling just wondering if he had done the right thing or not.

He only got to self wallow for the first half of the night before he was hearing familiar soft taps at his window, growing louder and more consistent when he tried to ignore them at first. Eventually he was groaning and pulling himself out of his mattress and self pity, making his way over to the window sill and yanking it open with a scowl.

Your expression was the opposite, smiling brightly at him like you always seemed to be.

Stan had liked being your neighbor when you were growing up because being an only child in a seemingly endless suburbia was overly depressing. You’d moved in when he was around the age of eight and you had been on his front porch asking his parents if he could come out and play before your mom had even gotten the first box out of the moving truck.

You liked to play together despite how different you were.

It helped Stan was secretly a lot more sensitive than he’d ever let his dad or friends at school see and he could easily get lost in your imagination fueled games instead of roughhousing or getting dirty. You’d run around the woods near your neighborhood with sticks for swords, cardboard crowns you’d spent hours making the night before and royal titles you would strictly refer to eachother as.

He had never felt as important as he did back then, being the strong and loyal knight who would protect the kingdoms princess against any and all things evil.

Then he had turned sixteen and it started to be less fun to have somebody you went to school with right next door. You’d be able to overhear his parents fighting late into the night, watch him sweat as he was forced to do chores outside in the hot sun, and his mom even invited you to his grandmas ninetieth birthday where her dentures fell out during the candle blowing.

Your entire neighborhood was cookie cutter houses that were a little too close together and lacking a lot of privacy.

If you stretched enough then you could reach out your window and be able to graze his with your fingertips. Or, in the method you preferred, easily toss a few loose marbles at his glass until he talked to you.

“Stop looking so grumpy.” You were still smiling at him as you rested against the windowsill, propped up on the wood with one of your legs dangling outside.

He hated it when you did that and he told you as much almost every single time up until you teased him about caring for you. After that he just decided to let you do whatever you wanted.

“I’m really not in the mood.” He meant for his voice to sound harsher than it came out, similar to the tone he’d used on his mom when he got home or his coach when he’d pressed him about quitting because he was just lazy.

Stan always had a really hard time being mean to you.

“I heard about football.” Now you sounded more serious too, still soft and overly concerned for something as trivial as a high school sport but you knew it was important to Stan so it was important to you.

He preferred it when you were bubbly and a little empty headed, your flat face always giving him a bit of anxiety deep in his stomach.

Back when he was a little younger there was this thought in the back of the head that he just didn’t like to see you unhappy. Maybe even some left over bravado from his days as a knight that would willingly jump in front of a dragon to protect you, cover your scraped knees with the last of his band aids even if they had his favorite characters on them. He had decided that was ridiculous around the same time you stopped hanging out as much.

“Yeah.” His response was short, clipped and making it obvious to you he really didn’t want to discuss football anymore today. “It’s not a big deal.”

You were quiet for a long few seconds and he thought it might be the biggest gap of time you’d gone without speaking in his presence, always filling any silence with excited rambling or nonsensical questions.

“I think you’ll be good at whatever you do.” You said back simply and you said it so confidently that he faltered for a second to look at you, the way you were watching him and so easily hanging halfway outside the window like you didn’t have a care in the world. “Goodnight Stan.”

You were pulling yourself back in the window and closing it softly, your pink curtains following immediately after. He stared at the side of your house for a bit before closing his own with a sigh and dragging himself back to bed.

There was large gaps of times you didn’t talk to each other at school but you were at his window almost every night, and occasionally he was the one knocking on yours.

He’d come to you when his parents separated for the first time and you’d clung tightly to the fabric of his letterman jacket as you helped him into your room that same night. Maybe you were able to see the despair from across the small gap between your houses or maybe the fact he had even reached out first was enough for you to know something was really wrong.

You didn’t talk much but you did hold him for a while, arms wrapped around his neck as you let him cry against your shoulder.

Anxiety had filled him the entire way to school the next morning thinking everyone would suddenly know that Stan Rosado was not as tough as he seemed but nobody looked in his direction, nobody except for you smiling softly across the hallway as you waved in greeting.

Stan didn’t think you were dumb necessarily but you didn’t seem to put any thought to all of the trivial things him and other people your age did.

You never got upset over a bad grade and you always had this light giggle that would fill the classroom after your teachers bad puns, a slight confused look around when nobody else would laugh. You asked too many questions during simple conversations and occasionally he’d peak over at your test and see you were just doodling between the questions instead of actually filling them out.

But still, despite what others said behind your back, Stan didn’t think you were dumb.

You always seemed to know exactly what to say and you were endlessly patient where others would lose their cool, level headed and mature when he’d honestly expect you not to be.

And you had the most active imagination he’d ever experienced in his life. He remembered sitting in piles of leaves as you stood in a makeshift cape and told him engaging stories of universes he could barely comprehend and he also remembered getting the same feeling when you’d stand in front of your English class and read your poetry.

But you’d shut down whenever somebody asked you something serious and get this big smile on your face, shrugging your shoulders and twirling your hair like it was supposed to be obvious you wouldn’t have an answer.

If he was being honest, Stan really didn’t understand that part of you.

Your perfumes were always so sweet he could tell you were in a room before he saw you, heeled shoes clicking through the hallways as you hurried to classes you weren’t going to pay any attention to, and clothes so bright he sometimes felt a little dizzy if he looked at you for too long.

Which he always seemed to be looking at you.

Atleast ever since you had suddenly become very very very extremely pretty, seemingly overnight if you asked him. It was like you transformed from just his childhood friend in the neighborhood, content with mud on your cheek and spending your days arguing over who gets to ride your shared bike next, to something entirely new.

Stan never thought you were ugly even though he didn’t really think about that stuff much at all until high school.

He knew that the role of princess fit you extremely well.

But now you were distracting and he clearly wasn’t the only one who thought so. Almost every guy on the football team talked about you, especially since you had joined the cheerleading squad. He’d watch the nerdy boys ogle you as you passed in the hallway and flush bright red whenever you’d wave or smile in their direction, girls giving you judging looks for dressing up each and every morning like you were going to a magazine photo shoot.

He got the weird urge to defend you in those moments, to inform them that you had been wearing flowing skirts and glitter heels long before high school.

But instead Stan would face his locker and pretend he didn’t know you at all.

He wasn’t sure why he almost felt embarrassed to be seen with you. The feeling didn’t go away even though he was fully aware he’d be a source of envy if he ever responded to your attempts at conversation with something actually engaging instead of just shutting you down with a short reply and walking off before you could continue.

There was a very cruel part of him that wanted to tell you what everybody thought of you just so you could prove them wrong.

You weren’t stupid or trying to get better grades with your short skirts and your soft giggle was as real as anyone’s could be.

Sadly gossip held a power over high schoolers like nothing else so you entered your senior year with the far fetched reputation of the stuck up bimbo.

He would get a weird feeling in his stomach when he’d see you eating alone at lunch because he knew how much you liked to talk during meal times. The same sensation building up anytime you’d cheer at a football game and not have any girl friends to laugh and small talk with to fill the gaps between routines.

They all liked you in their own ways, lust or jealously, but you felt untouchable to the general public and you were possibly too optimistic and naive to try and correct it by yourself.

You never acted like anything was different when you were back home at your windows.

Sometimes he’d wait for you to bring it up, to ask him why he ignored you in the hallways or acted like he’d never heard of you when you were paired for an assignment.

But you never did.

You’d smile at him and ask him how his day was like you weren’t around for almost all of it, sitting a few rows over and doodling in your glittery journal instead of actually taking any notes.

One of the rare times you approached him at school was on the final game of your senior year, finding him during halftime. He was resting against the gate on the less crowded side of the field, away from the bleachers and curious eyes of students who knew he should be playing instead of standing around watching.

He almost didn’t come but he figured he should be around to see it and also his mom had not so casually mentioned to him that you and the other cheerleaders each got a solo performance section to celebrate your final season.

That explained why you looked a little nervous as you jogged over to him, big bow in your high ponytail and your cheer uniform looking as bright as the day you had gotten it.

Stan liked when you wore your uniform, it reminded him of the way you used to play dress up and walk an imaginary runway made out of cardboard for him, showing off your different costumes and princess dresses.

“Hey.” Your smile was just as cheery as ever and he could hear the soft rattling of your pom poms as you pressed against the gate right where he was standing. You would have been touching if it wasn’t for the metal between you. “You came.”

He had the instinct to tell you that he hadn’t come for you and he was just checking in on the team, maybe bitterly hoping they wouldn’t be as good without him, but the excited expression on your face took that idea away as swiftly as it came.

“Yeah you were really good.” He replied instead and apparently it was uncharacteristic for him to compliment you because now you were really beaming, dropping the poms so you could reach over the gate and touch the sleeve of his jacket.

There was a split second where he wanted to look around and make sure nobody was watching but he decided how stupid that was too, just like the reflex to disappoint you and tell you he wasn’t there to see your performance.

Stan had already quit football and he knew most of the school was talking about it, or at least that’s how it felt. He didn’t really care what anybody thought about him at this point but he realized he still didn’t want you to be upset with him.

“I’m glad you came Stan. I know it must have been hard.” Your frown was immediate and if it was anyone else he would have thought you were making fun of him but not you, of course you weren’t.

He was suddenly overly aware of the fact you were clinging to his jacket and how nice you smelt, floral and feminine in a way he had only experienced while being forced into shopping for perfume with his mom.

It was like he was hit with the realization that you weren’t only just extremely pretty but he was also very attracted to you. You were still watching him with those soft eyes of yours, blinking up through long lashes and tilting your head in that cutely confused way you always did when you didn’t really understand something (more often than not).

“It wasn’t.” He answered back. “But it was worth it.”

Things shifted quickly after that and he was feeling very stupid for the way he had treated you in his teenage years.

He couldn’t believe he had ever seen you smile at him in the hallways and ignored you, your presence now a stable for his mornings. You walked to school together most days, arms brushing and laughing softly as you joked and caught up on the things you didn’t talk about hanging outside your window.

You were every where all of a sudden, bringing him a snack in the library during his study period and waiting for him by his locker before lunch time.

Stan was very knowledgeable to the power you held now and he wasn’t minding it nearly as much as he used to. Maybe he had just needed to grow out of that stupid teenage rebellion phase or maybe it was possible football and the guys on the team made him even duller than he already was but regardless of the reason, he was glad he had gained his senses back.

It was an honor to be seen with you, to feel the glares from the other guys when you’d hold onto his arm and smile up at him like he was the single most interesting person around, even without the title of being the star quarterback.

He’s currently feeling the jealousy in the hallway around him as you lean back on his locker, pressing a piece of paper against his chest as you explain its contents.

“If it’s stupid you don’t have to come.” You’re saying and you have a lack of confidence to your tone which is rare from you.

He takes it from your hands and flips it over so he can read it, scanning the details and a brief description of a poetry club performance that day a few hours after school is over. His eyes go back to yours and you’re bouncing in place a little as you anticipate his reaction, nervously biting your lip.

“Of course I’ll come.” He says easily, soft even, and you immediately relax which makes him grin.

Your hand is back on him now without the paper in the way, resting on his bicep right where his shirt sleeve stops and his bare skin begins. Stan, not for the first time, remembers just how beautiful you are, and feels his arm heat up under your touch a little.

“Really?” You’re smiling brightly and squeezing him gently. He lets his hand rest on your side and tries his best to be casual about it even though he’s getting increasingly distracted by your skirt the longer you stand there. “Stacy said you probably wouldn’t want to.”

He scoffs at that, shifting and feeling the way his shoe brushes against yours. He’s not very fond of any of your cheer ‘friends’ and especially not that one although he’s a bit pleased that you talk about him with them.

There’s a part of him that knows it’s hypocritical considering how he acted in recent years.

“Of course I’d come.” He shakes his head in annoyance and now you’re thankfully back to smiling at him. “Stacy’s a bitch to you.”

“Stan.” You smack his arm lightly in scolding as your eyebrows furrow, rubbing it soothingly after when he apologizes under his breath. “Don’t be rude.”

“I’m not trying to be but she really could be nicer.” He tries to reason with you and you give him an attempt at a stern look even though it just makes you look like a frustrated bunny.

“Keep that to yourself tonight okay?” You suggest and he reluctantly nods even though the soft rubbing you’re doing to his arm makes him feel like he’d agree to anything at this point. “Will you come over beforehand?”

Stan is quick to accept the invitation and then he spends the rest of the school day thinking about obsessively.

He used to spend alot of time in your room, movie nights or sleepovers when his parents were out of town. It was just you and your mom next door and he always liked the energy your house had, similar to the one you carried with you daily.

It was warm and peaceful, relying on natural lighting and soft orange lamps instead of the bright whites his own mother was so fond of. He hadn’t been over in a long time, since that night his parents separated and even then he was too busy crying on you to really process the fact he was in your bedroom alone.

Now he was overly aware of it.

Your mom had looked ecstatic when she saw him at the front door, pushed aside lightly by you as you appeared and took his hand. You dragged him up the stairs towards your bedroom and he tried not to flush as she warned you to keep your door open while he was inside of it.

She had a similar energy to you so he knew she was only joking, laughing a little as she said it like she found herself more humorous than the people around her did.

But it still planted the idea in his head.

Stan didn’t think you saw him like that at all and he wouldn’t really blame you considering he hadn’t been the biggest charmer since you were kids.

Sure, you were pretty much always touching him in some way and you spent almost every single day with each other for a portion of time, but he couldn’t tell if that was simply because you had been friends for so long and you were a bit lonely under the facade of the glitter and shiny lip gloss.

Your room smelt as good as you always did, candles in random places and your clothes strewn across your vanity chair and along parts of your bed. You were clearly in the middle of trying to pick an outfit and he was thrown right back into your childhood games, sending you a fond look to see you were already watching him with mild embarrassment.

“Don’t judge me.” You shake your head as you let go of his hand and he laughs a little as he shifts closer. “I bet your room is worse.”

“It’s cute.” He reassures you and you get that little pout that you like to pull out and weaponize at will. “And you’re not wrong, mines a disaster.”

For every band CD he has next door, you have a pile of magazines. Your cute pink decor is the complete opposite of his darker aesthetic and he almost laughs at the absurd amount of pillows you have on your bed.

You’re shifting closer and despite how typical it is for you to evade his space, he’s for some reason highly aware of your bedroom door being open and your mom being right downstairs in the kitchen.

His breath hitches a little when he feels your fingers playing with his, wrapping them around each others occasionally as you stare up at him.

“I’m a little nervous for tonight.” You admit and he softens, momentarily forgetting his own inner turmoil.

“You’ll be perfect.” His response sounds strictly genuine because he means it, knows you’ll get up on any stage and captivate an audience with what you’ve wrote. “And I’ll be right there if it’s scary.”

You sigh softly and shift closer, the small space between you nearly gone now. You’ve stopped playing with his fingers and are full out holding his hands, squeezing them and rubbing his knuckles with your thumb

“I’m so glad you’re coming.” Your voice drops to a whisper now and he suddenly feels very nervous, heart racing as he stares down at you and tries to not let it show on his face too much.

But you are impossibly beautiful and he’s once again remembering that he’s in your bedroom with you, practically alone and able to have enough warning of either of you heard your mom come upstairs. He’s just starting to think he’s delusional and seeing things that aren’t there when your eyes drop down to his mouth.

You’re kissing him before he can even catch his breath from the shock of the look, soft and hesitant as you rock up on your tiptoes and press your mouth against his.

You pull back immediately to give him a second, maybe thinking he’s going to reject you or just wanting to check his expression.

There’s not much to see because now it’s his turn to move in and kiss you much more eagerly than you had him, releasing your hands so he can hold the small of your back and tug you closer to him. Your arms go around the back of his neck as you respond to the pace perfectly, mouths moving in sync like you’d kiss each other a hundred times before.

It feels a bit like coming home, his chest warming when you make a soft noise and lean against him further like you can’t help yourself.

You kiss for a long time, heads tilting and his tongue teasing your bottom lip until you’re letting him in. He really starts to feel it then, a low heat in his gut from the taste of you as it deepens and gets more sloppy.

He had imagined a lot of things with you and kissing was a frequent one but this was something out of this world entirely, the softness of your body and the smell of your hair when you kept pressing closer and closer so you didn’t have to stop kissing for even a second.

“Leaving soon sweetheart.”

Your mom’s voice from downstairs was sobering but not even enough to make you stop right away, giggling against his mouth and kissing for another long minute before you were reluctantly pulling away.

The back of his neck was hot as you beamed up at him, bouncing in place excitedly and squeezing him in a tight hug almost like you were thanking him for kissing you.

Your poetry performance was amazing, only stuttering once before your eyes found him in the front row and you visibly relaxed. You took a deep breath and continued and he felt a feeling of pride that was entirely unfamiliar to him before now.

Stan wasn’t a football player anymore and he still wasn’t exactly a model student but now he had something more important to focus on.

He got to be your boyfriend.

He had officially asked you a few weeks after your first kiss with a dozen more filling the gap, lying in his bed and staring at his ceiling together when it just slipped out.

You’d rolled over onto your stomach so you could see him properly, smiling brightly and telling him how you’d like nothing more than to be his girlfriend.

And he could tell you meant it even though he figured there was a million other things you should probably be more focused on. You never paid much attention in classes to begin with but you’d practically sworn off any of the little studying you would do to spend time with him after school, ignoring your less annoying friends when they’d invite you over on the weekends.

Stan felt a little guilty that your life seemed to suddenly revolve around him and then a little worse when he realized maybe it always had.

But you still never brought up those years he treated you like any other peer in the hallway.

You’d been dating for a few months when he finally decided to ask you about it. You were on a camping trip with him and his extended family, spending time about two hours from home at the small log cabin his dad had obsessed over building when he was younger.

Stan had been having a perfect trip with you, feeling almost out of body from how amazing you were. You got along with his mother since you were a child, filling the slight desire she had for a daughter occasionally when you’d come over and ask her to do makeup or nails with you.

Even his dad, a hard ass who he truthfully wished would’ve followed through with the brief separation from his mother, seemed to adore you and Stan wasn’t confused on why.

You were sweetness in human form, smiling at him while you cooled off in the lake and holding hands during hikes. You’d kiss him softly each night under the stars before retreating to your own room (his mom was quick to inform him you wouldn’t be allowed to sleep in his bed).

Now you were currently curled up in his lap outside as you both silently watched the fire, the crackling of the burning wood the only sound outside of your quiet yawns and the animals in the woods around you. His parents had gone to sleep an hour ago but it was the final night and he wasn’t quite ready to go inside yet which meant neither were you since you had a tendency to go where Stan went.

That was one of the reasons he felt the sudden urge to have the weighted conversation with you.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” He tried to whisper but his voice broke the silence loud and you sat up a little in his lap to face him and furrow your eyebrows in soft confusion.

“Why would you be sorry?” You cupped his jaw and leaned in to kiss him which distracted him immediately, kissing you back and getting lost in the sensation for a few minutes before he pulling off to get back on topic.

“I wasn’t nice to you at the start of high school.” He said and his hand went to the small of your back to rub soothingly incase you got upset but he was yet to see you anything other than positive and almost ditzy.

Even now, this soft pout of yours was the closest thing to an unhappy expression you’d ever shown. And he knew you were more concerned about him feeling the need to apologize than over what he was apologizing for.

“You weren’t mean either.” You reasoned and he knew you were right but that didn’t make him feel any better about it.

“I just didn’t want you thinking I believed all those things people said about you.” He says softly, brushing some of your hair behind your ear and getting a little lost in the way your eyes sparkle at him, saying a bit more than he had meant to in his distraction. “I knew you weren’t dumb or shallow and I didn’t defend you when I should have.”

He realizes his mistake as soon as you tense up in his lap and anything he had thought about not seeing an upset look on your face before was thrown out the window. Your expression had completely shifted into one of confusion and then hurt.

“People think that about me?” Your voice sounded so pained that his entire chest tightened with regret.

Stan for some reason hadn’t realized that you weren’t aware of the terrible things people said about you behind your back. He should have known considering you always thought the best of everybody, trying your hardest to be friends with the bitchy girls on the team and missing the social cue of them laughing every time you turned your back.

The first time you hear the cruel labels came from his mouth and he couldn’t feel more guilty about it.

“I think I want to go to bed.” You whispered softly as you kissed him briefly and slid off his lap, wandering off to the cabin before he could shake the stupid out of his teenage brain and follow you.

Things changed about you after that and Stan felt terrible over it.

You didn’t treat him any different, still so soft and attentive, but your demeanor in general shifted. You’d stopped wearing such bright colors, spent less time on your hair in the mornings, and even started to study instead of hanging out with him after school.

He was proud of you for wanting to focus on your academics but he hated the reason for it and it was breaking his heart to watch you suddenly obsess over getting good grades and focusing less on things you enjoyed like dressing up and writing your poems.

Even now, pressing him against the brick wall beneath the bleachers, you seemed distracted.

He almost felt bad for still letting you kiss him the way you were when you were so clearly somewhere else mentally but you liked to kiss about as much as you liked dolling up and he was still an eighteen year old boy she wasn’t able to resist you when you got like this.

Your mouth was eager as it moved against his, tongue tangling with his and your chest pressing him harder into the wall as you made out. He liked you so much more everyday and he was more than happy to be nothing but the guy you kissed when you were stressed out, his hands rubbing up and down your sides.

“I have to go.” You pecked his lips repeatedly as you spoke and he frowned. “Study group at the library.”

“Can’t you stay with me?” He requested softly, kissing your neck and keeping you held tightly against him so you couldn’t pull away just yet. You giggled lightly when his hand pressed against the small of your back, playing with the back of his hair and sighing softly. “Come have dinner at my house tonight. My mom said she misses you.”

“I can’t Stan, I have an exam on Monday.” You explained gently and the words still felt foreign coming from you.

He wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to get good grades to prove yourself to anybody but especially not him, you were perfect as you were without keeping yourself up late with too much coffee. But he didn’t, young and too immature to say something meaningful even when he meant to.

Instead he was just kissing you again to try and distract you and it seemed to work thankfully, especially when he was letting a hand slide down off your back to where your tiny skirt turned into the smooth skin of your thighs.

You made a pleased little noise when he was rubbing the back of it for a second before going back up and cupping your ass gently, lifting you off the ground enough that you were falling fully against him.

The kiss heated back up after that, even more so when he kept groping and squeezing your flesh over your panties. You and Stan hadn’t done much yet even though your kissing sessions often got pretty intense, wandering hands and desperate noises that he definitely could have gotten off to if he wasn’t so focused on keeping his cool and impressing you.

It was sometimes torture having such a pretty girlfriend and especially one who dressed like you, barely in any clothes at all the times you tugged him across the windows into your bedroom.

“Stan.” Your voice was whiny and he had to suck in a breath to calm himself down, kissing your neck again a few times before stopping to let you speak. “Don’t get me all needy before I meet up with the group.”

“You’re always needy baby.” He reasoned and smiled down at you, kissing the corner of your mouth as you rolled your eyes and lightly smacked his chest in scolding.

“I mean it Stanny.” You sigh softly but don’t step away from him at all and immediately melt into another round of your tongues rubbing together.

You keep kissing for another few desperate minutes, his hand that’s under your skirt lightly bunching up your underwear and tugging it upwards so it applies some pressure to your core. The noise you make into his mouth is heavenly and he swallows it eagerly.

Finally you do take a step backwards and he lets you even though his chest is rising with sharp breaths and his jeans feel a lot tighter than they had a few minutes ago.

“You’re evil.” You smile at him but peck his mouth one more time, thighs rubbing together for a second and he audibly groans at the movement. “I’ll come over after we are done okay?”

He nods his head eagerly and lets you slip away from him, another mistake to add to the list he looks back on in the future.

You don’t come over that night and you don’t even answer your window when he lightly knocks against it. The next morning you tell him that you’re sorry and you fell asleep after studying but it becomes a pattern quickly.

You stop walking back home with him after school because you get a tutor, dinners with his mom are completely out of the question since you never have the time anymore, and you fall asleep during almost all of your late night calls despite it being the only chance you have to really speak to each other uninterrupted.

Stan can’t be mad at you for wanting to focus on school especially with graduation in less than a few weeks but he misses you more than he thought possible and he still feels the guilt for slipping up and making you feel this insecurity in the first place.

The end comes in the same exact way you began.

You’re laying in his bed together after your final exams, staring at his ceiling and thinking about he almost positively failed the majority of them. He thinks he’ll still be able to graduate and it’s a little relief to know you aren’t having the same anxieties.

He expected you to seem a lot lighter now that you didn’t have the weight of studying on your shoulders anymore but you’d been tense all day long.

He feels like an asshole for missing the version of you that would giggle and ask him common sense questions, knowing that’s his own insecurities coming into play. That’s not something he’d ever say to you but he’s still thinking it now as you lay next to him and hold his hand tightly.

“I have to tell you something.” You start softly and his head turns to the side to look at your profile and the way your eyebrows are a little furrowed as you stare holes into his ceiling.

It’s like he can sense it before you even start, before the words college and accepted leave your mouth. His chest tightens and aches when you finally look at him with that sad expression, lip quivering a little as you wait for him to react.

Stan had heard you talk about colleges in passing but he wasn’t sure you were actually serious, especially about the ones further away. Your small town had a tendency to keep people trapped in it and he wasn’t ever planning to have to cope with you leaving, another big mistake of his was not taking you seriously.

“That’s far isn’t it?” He whispered back and you hesitated for a second before nodding, rolling onto your side so you could be closer to him when he let out a shaky breath.

Stan wanted to tell you that distance didn’t matter and he would stay with you even if your relationship dwindled down to two phone calls a day but you were already so busy the last few months and that was just high school, still in his time zone and right next door if he desperately needed you.

You were going somewhere that he couldn’t even travel to by car, where letters and care packages would take a week or more to reach you.

He knew what the outcome realistically was and he was sure you did too considering how upset you looked.

“I love you.”

It filled the quiet room and you sucked in a sharp breath after he said it. He didn’t confess it because he thought it would make a difference in you leaving or because he wanted you to feel bad about him being left behind in your town but more so because he didn’t know how to properly convey how proud he was of you.

Your hand squeezed his and you gave him a soft smile that didn’t quite meet your glossy eyes.

“I love you too Stan.”

You spent the night laying together in mostly silence like you were too scared to say the wrong thing, eventually kissing him deeply as if you were attempting to apologize and making love for the first time in his quiet bedroom that felt suffocatingly small all of a sudden.

—

High school wasn’t something you put much thought into now that a decade had passed by.

You’d spent a few years feeling like you were completely lost, missing how simple things were when you were in your teenage years and thinking you were much further behind everyone else at your university than you actually were. But eventually you gained your footing in the new city and started to feel like you actually fit in.

You made friends that would never have thought there was a time you were widely regarded as stupid, talked to people from all walks of life who were shocked you’d been a cheerleader like it hadn’t been your entire brand back then.

And you had a rotation of non serious boyfriends who would never know about the freckled boy who lived next door to you.

You spent the first few years thinking about Stan every day, calling him a handful of times every few months and trying to catch up but eventually the pain of the distance outweighed the benefits of hearing about his life back home. It would leave you shockingly bitter when he’d boast about a promotion at his job, a sick feeling in your stomach anytime he sounded happy and god forbid when he’d casually mention the name of a girl he worked with.

Stan was trying his best to be normal with you despite the fact you had broke up the week you moved away, the night full of tear flavored kisses and quiet confessions that felt much more serious than high school sweethearts.

He was more than that in your eyes and always had been, even before you started dating each other. You’d always found comfort in the boy next door, your first friend in town and the only person who ever seemed to really understand you underneath all the pink fabric and hairspray.

You’d been hurt when he had accidentally told you about your reputation but not because you felt like he insulted you. It was more so the fact he didn’t necessarily seem like he had disagreed, maybe a little pleasantly surprised that you weren’t completely shallow.

Still, you paid more attention after he had slipped up with that.

Sometimes he explained things a little slower to you like he thought you needed more help understanding basic concepts. He’d praise you when you did something simple as if you had exceeded his expectations and you knew in his mind it was all innocent, genuine pride and him just trying to make things easier for you, but it settled weirdly in your chest.

You didn’t think that he thought of you as nothing but an eye candy girlfriend but for some reason you thought that of yourself.

But you still had let your entire life revolve around him since you were little, doing your best to catch his attention when it was fading away and getting focused on other things like the rotation of sports he did or his parents separating. Stan always felt like something you had to put a lot of effort into and you were ecstatic when it was finally returned.

You’d never been happier than the months you were together before he brought up the gossip surrounding you. It was the brightest days of your life, the last time you can remember living and not caring about anybody’s opinions.

It took a long time for him to leave your system but you still thought about him every time a certain song came on the radio or the trees started to brown for fall, thinking of him and his letterman jacket draped over your shoulders as you kissed outside on the football bleachers.

The small of the beach reminded you of him and so did hot coffee, anybody with a similar curl pattern or that little squeak to their voice when their volume increased. Stan was a passing thought that never fully faded even when it had been almost ten years without seeing him and a handful since you’d as much as heard his voice.

Your mother had moved with you when you left for college so you had no real reason to ever be back in that small town you grew up in, your childhood house sold and your existence practically erased.

It gave you a small satisfaction to know you were probably one of the few in your graduating class that had branched off into the world, gone further than those girls who thought you were good for nothing but applying lip gloss in English class.

You were turning 28 soon and it had been months since you thought of Stan yet he was still the first one on your mind when you opened up your email and saw the most recent notification.

‘Come join us to celebrate the 10 year anniversary of our class of ‘98.’

A high school reunion back in your home town, hundreds miles away and full of memories you still hadn’t fully shaken.

Your first instinct had been to send the email straight to the trash and forget you’d ever seen it but then you thought about Stan again.

The vague memory of his face alone was enough for you to pretend the mean girls and judgmental peers didn’t exist, turning your laptop off and sucking in a deep breath as you really contemplated making a trip like that just to rub your amazing life in the faces of some bitchy high schoolers.

And admittedly, you got a little flutter in your stomach at the idea of seeing Stan again.

You didn’t know if he would even be attending, had no clue if he was still living in the town or even in the country. You got the sickening thought that you weren’t even sure he was still alive but your mothers still kept in contact occasionally and you were sure she would’ve been somebody who got a call if anything had happened to him.

As soon as your mind went to him, you knew the choice was made for you because now you were spiraling down the same hole you’d been in your entire life.

You’d taken the time off work and asked your mom to apartment sit for you before the night had even ended, sending back an RSVP email and booking a flight immediately after.

—

Stan wasn’t really sure what he was expecting when he arrived at the reunion but it certainly wasn’t this.

The gym looked exactly the same as he remembered it, smelled familiar and was decorated with streamers he was almost positive had been used at his prom all those years ago.

He hadn’t gone far from home at all in the last decade, only about half an hour from where his dad still lived in his childhood home. His mom had finally gone through with the divorce and took her retirement funds to a much warmer climate, a bit bittersweet but he was too relieved for her to really feel upset.

The faces around him were either familiar because he hadn’t lost touch with them, frequently seeming them when he was in town grocery shopping and going out for drinks after work with a few of the guys from the football team, or because they really hadn’t changed all that much.

Ten years felt like a much longer time than it actually was. There was a handful of wrinkles, some protruding stomachs and a couple of babies being balanced on hips, but other than that it felt like he was thrown back in time.

Although his focus was a bit all over the place because there was only one person he was really interested in seeing tonight.

He wasn’t sure you were going to come at all, last he knew you were still across the country and doing extremely well for yourself which his mom loved to remind him. She also couldn’t help herself from throwing out the fact you were possibly still single despite knowing Stan had completely blew any chance he had with you a decade ago.

But he still spent the entire evening half listening to conversations and watching the gym doors so he would be able to see you as soon as you entered.

Hours of sipping bad punch and listening to throwback songs passed and he realized you weren’t coming. Of course you weren’t coming, you probably had no time to spend on their little boring town that you were always much bigger than.

Stan excused himself from talks of football highlights and loser jocks bragging about their office jobs, heading outside the back exit and sucking in a deep breath of the night air.

He could see the bright lights of the football field off in the distance and he was half tempted to make his way down there, deciding against it as he pulled a pack of smokes out of his jacket pocket.

He had barely started lighting it when he heard the soft clicks of heels coming in his direction, his body tensing in anticipation like he somehow already knew exactly who it was before he even looked up.

You froze when he did, your eyes meeting as your lips parted in surprise.

You looked as beautiful as the day you had left him standing in the airport with teenage tears streaming down his face. It was like you hadn’t aged a day other than the new maturity in your gaze and the slight sharpness where old baby fat had softened you before, the bright colors you used to wear a bit duller now but still just as fashionable as always.

Stan couldn’t move, couldn’t catch his breath and definitely couldn’t stop the cigarette from fumbling out of his fingers and landing in a puddle near his feet. He broke his trance then, cursing lightly under his breath and glancing down at where it was sinking under the water.

You were closer when he looked up again and had a slightly amused look on your face, sending a wave of anxiety down his spine that you were possibly judging him before he’d even gotten to say anything embarrassing.

“Those are bad for you.” Your voice was the biggest change about you so far, deeper and much more mature now. You’d lost that airy tone that he liked so much, especially when you’d giggle and say sweet things to him.

“Bad habit.” He said back and now it was your turn to look a little thrown, eyes flashing with a hint of surprise that made him feel a little better.

Stan had taken good care of himself in the last ten years, not wanting to be one of those guys who peaked in high school and spent the rest of their adult lives talking about how much potential they had. He was still lean and fit, shoulders a little broader now and chest fuller. His voice had deepened both naturally over time and from his admittedly terrible habit of smoking.

The light rasp clearly shocked you but your expression was neutral again swiftly, barely noticeable if he wasn’t paying so much attention to your face.

And it was still a very pretty face.

“Didn’t think you were coming.” He continued when you didn’t reply and your head tilted, leaning your shoulder against the brick wall his back was pressed to.

“Figured it would be a good break from work.” You shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, like you hadn’t had to rearrange your entire schedule and get on a plane for hours just to make it to a town that barely had a motel you could stay in.

“What’s work for you now?” His body shifted so he was fully facing you and you let your eyes drag down his frame without any hesitation, a light heat filling him at the action.

You looked at him like he still belonged to you and there was a big part of him that agreed with that. He’d never been able to keep a girlfriend for more than a few months and he knew in the back of his mind that he was accidentally comparing them all to you.

From the way you loved him wholeheartedly and your kind nature that couldn’t be replicated down to the more trivial things, the way your perfume smelt and how his skin buzzed with electricity whenever you touched him.

Standing here with you, feet apart and barely even speaking, was the most chemistry he’d felt since the last time he was with you.

He always felt bad when he would eventually break up with the women he’d been seeing, giving them a cheap excuse about not having the time or feeling like he wasn’t in the right place for a serious relationship. They’d look at him like they knew it was something else, a few of them outright asking him if there was another woman.

That was hard to answer.

Technically there wasn’t, he hadn’t even heard your voice in years, but he still remembered the way you kissed him and your prom photo was hidden in the top drawer of his dresser to this day.

Stan had always believed the concept of one true love was something silly, a fairy tale and more fitting for one of your made up stories than reality, until he tried to move on from you. It was like his heart refused to forget you no matter how hard he tried to get you out of his head.

“I write children’s books.” You say softly and he snaps out of his whirlwind of thoughts, posture softening at the revelation.

“That’s amazing.” The pride is obvious in his voice. “Truly, that sounds perfect for you. I bet they’re fantastic.”

It’s so sincere that you’re a little visibly taken back for a second and he wonders why. Maybe you had not expected him to be happy about your successes or it was possible it had it just been a long time since somebody had complimented your work.

“What do you do?” You’re quieter now.

He sighs automatically and his hand goes to rub the back of his neck awkwardly, a habit he’d had since he was a preteen that makes your lips curl up a little at the sight of it. There’s a split second of silence where he considers lying to you but he knows immediately how stupid that would be.

“Nothing interesting. Worked my way up to owning a mechanic shop a town over.” He shrugs as he answers like he’s trying to convey to you he knows it’s nothing to boast about before you can form that opinion on your own.

“That’s great Stan.” You sound so earnest that he has a hard time doubting you even though it’s instinctual that he does. His name leaving your lips distracts him momentarily from any job insecurity he might have though. “It’s nice you’re still local.”

“Is it?” His eyebrows raise and he scoffs a light laugh. “I’m sure you’re already bored of our town again compared to where you live.”

You watch him for a few long seconds, scanning over his frame again slowly and he hopes you can’t see the way he visibly shudders under your gaze.

“It’s got its benefits.” You’re nearly whispering now and he has to really take a breather, wondering if he’s reading your tone wrong or if you might be flirting with him subtly.

There’s a moment where you’re both just watching each other like you’re trying to figure out what the other’s intentions are. He has a feeling, maybe a little too optimistic, that you had come here for the same reason he did.

He can’t think of anything else you’d be traveling down memory lane for, pretty positive you hadn’t kept up with anybody from high school after you left so abruptly.

His gaze went down to your hands, pretty and adorned with a few pieces of jewelry but empty in the spot he had hoped they would be.

“Not married?” He still asked just to be safe even though he knew deep down he wouldn’t have cared if you were, not with the way you were looking at him now. You shook your head slowly, bottom lip pulled between your teeth like you were trying to resist an amused smile. “No boyfriend?”

Now you faltered a little and he felt a flare of jealously that had no real basis. You weren’t his anymore, hadn’t been for a long time and it would be stupid to expect somebody as gorgeous and amazing as you to still be single after all these years.

Still, he selfishly felt a little beyond hostile at the thought of you having somebody you were going home to. Even worse, picturing you underneath anybody who wasn’t him.

“It’s not serious.” You said as a loose confirmation and it came out a little quickly, like you were trying to pitch an idea to him.

“Does he know that?” He pressed but he was shifting closer to you and smiling, just a little bit smug at how quick you were to reassure him about your boyfriend. You hesitated but shook your head again and then let out one of those light giggles he had missed so much, beyond relieved you were still capable of them.

Stan wasn’t sure how it had escalated to the point where he was right in front of you, his hand sliding to the still familiar position on your waist. Yours landed on his chest and you rubbed softly, eyes locked in the swell under his shirt like you were appreciating the new definition that came with him being a grown man and not a teenage boy.

“What’s his name?” He was asking in a whisper and his nose bumped against yours, clearly teasing you now with both the action and the gesture.

“Stan don’t.” You said back and it was breathy, a little shaky like you were already slipping away from any control just from a little touching. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

He didn’t blame you for the state you were in and how quickly you got there because he felt like he was absolutely insane, never once thinking he would ever be in a room with you again let alone holding you like this. He figured he had to be the luckiest guy in the world to have such an undeniable chemistry with a girl like you, drawn to each other even after a decade.

“Why not?” His hands slid up your sides now, noticeably rougher from years of blue collar work. “You don’t love him?”

Truthfully, you didn’t.

You had been with Alan for almost three years and you still felt like you were preforming every time you were together. The same act you put on for coworkers and book companies, everyone you interacted with your entire adult life other than the person standing right in front of you.

You’d refused to let him move into your apartment when he had asked and luckily he was head over heels for you and willing to live apart if it’s what you wanted but that was just one part of keeping him at an arms length.

You told him you loved him because it felt like an obligation when you’d been together that long but it left your mouth tasting like tar every time you had to say it.

“It doesn’t matter if I love him.” You whisper which is an answer within itself and your breath hitches when he cups your face.

“I’ve never loved anybody other than you.” He says immediately after your statement ends and now the heat in your stomach is replaced with a nearly painful amount of longing and despair. “So it does matter to me.”

You can’t bring yourself to say something like that to him because unlike Stan, you have a lot to lose when you leave town again in two days. It’s the same dilemma you had when you broke up in high school, unwilling to settle for a boring suburban life even though you felt unfulfilled anywhere without him.

So you didn’t speak at all, instead pressing your mouth against his gently.

It was slow at first, like trying to remember an ancient language, but it didn’t take long for your bodies to remember just how in sync you naturally were. You kissed him deeply and he returned it eagerly, still holding your face as your heads tilted to taste more of eachother.

You felt like you’d come back to yourself finally, that weird feeling that a piece of you had been missing suddenly voided just because you had Stan’s hands on you and his lips moving against yours. You smoothed over his chest until you were holding his shoulders and then down to his biceps, squeezing softly in experiment as the kiss got more desperate.

There was a lot of time that passed before you pulled away from each other and it was hesitant, soft kisses still being pressed as you tried to stop. They were lingering and insistent, entire body tingling with butterflies that had been dormant for so long you thought they’d died off.

“I’m sorry if this makes things hard for you but I missed you more than you could possibly imagine.” He was whispering it against your mouth and pressing another light peck to the corner of your lips, your eyes nearly teary from the sincerity of it.

“I promise you I know.” You said back and his eyes flickered back to yours at that, looking a little shocked that you returned the sentiment so easily.

“Where are you staying tonight?” His hand that was on the small of your back pulled you a bit closer and you took a break from the eye contact to halfway nuzzle into his neck.

It was ridiculous how familiar he smelt after all this time, a scent you probably couldn’t have described in the slightest only a few hours ago even though it lingered in the back of your mind. You’d been searching for it and not able to come close to the real thing until now, surrounded by it as you clung to him.

“The motel off Main.” You answered in a muffled voice, the fabric of his jacket pressed against your throat as you hooked your chin over his shoulder. He rubbed your back softly as you practically hugged him, both of you dizzy with relief that you weren’t alone in your feelings.

“Stay with me.” It was a statement and not a request but you sighed softly and pulled back just enough to shake your head and be able to blink up at him again.

“I can’t do that Stan.” You touched his cheek gently, a little transfixed by the stubble you could feel that wasn’t there in high school. He was such a man now, the image you’d held onto of that boy you loved so much slowly blending with what was in front of you. “You know I can’t.”

His gaze saddened but he kissed you again, short and sweet but still more passionate than any amount of sex or intimacy you’d experienced with anyone else after him, including your boyfriend of three years.

“Tell me why.” He practically begs against your mouth and now you really feel like you’re going to cry. “Give me a good reason and I’ll drop it, I swear I will.”

“It’ll already kill me to leave again.” You say instantly and now you have to take a few steps back because you don’t think you’ll follow through on the rejection if he’s touching you the way he is, so gentle and familiar like he still knows his way around your body. “Just with this alone. It would be so much worse if I spent the night with you Stan and you know that.”

“Worse than you leaving now?” He asks and takes a step closer which results in you moving backwards again.

He says your name like a plea and reaches out to grab your hands and stop you from going any further away, squeezing them gently as they connect and hang in the space between you.

“One night with me.” He tries again and you can almost hear the younger version of him in his voice, higher pitched and a little less confident as he begs for you to sneak out with him to go star gazing. “We can go to the motel, you don’t even have to see where I live.”

You flinch at that even though you know that would actually make it a lot less painful for you. You don’t want to see the life he had built in your absence, the bed he had other women sleeping in and the pictures on his walls that showed all the years he had lived without you around.

As much as you tried to fight it, there was little convincing needed before you were giving him a soft nod and a parting lengthy kiss before swiftly walking away to your car before he could say anything else to you.

You cried the entire drive to the motel and you found that it was mostly out of relief.

You’d been almost positive you’d see him here so it wasn’t necessarily about that but more so how you felt so assured to know the connection you still had to him wasn’t just in your head. You weren’t some silly woman obsessing over a high school sweetheart who had never paid her a thought after adulthood.

Stan had missed you too, he couldn’t love anybody after loving you and he was begging you for even a few more hours together.

You got yourself together just as you got to the motel, thankful that he was still a few minutes behind you so you could go to your room and splash some water on your face and try to look presentable.

You figured you looked normal by the time he knocked on the door and you were opening it but his face fell immediately and he was stepping in to pull you into a tight hug. You returned it and took a deep breath against his chest, holding his back like it was a life line.

“Please don’t cry.” He whispered against your hair and you felt struck by how easily he was able to read your mood. “I don’t want this to hurt you.”

“I’m happy. I promise.” You said back as you clung to him but he didn’t look like he believed you when he pulled back to see your expression more clearly.

You stared up at a him for a few seconds before you were listening to your desires and kissing him.

Stan was kissing you back eagerly despite his wants for conversation, knowing this could comfort you just as much as anything he could say would.

Your hands were eagerly pushing his jacket off his shoulders and then sliding under the fabric of his shirt before it even hit the ground, tugging it upwards without breaking the kiss. You made an impatient sound when he had to pull back for half a second to get the shirt fully off but then your eyes dropped down to scan his bare chest and you seemed to forget all about kissing him.

You rubbed over his stomach with your nails making a shudder rip through him as his own hands went to the bottom of your shirt too.

He selfishly wanted to see you undressed for him, needed to feel your skin pressed against his so you could get as close as possible.

There was this urge to take his time and really appreciate every inch of your body that was overtaken by your mutual desperation to just be with each other already, to have you underneath him and full of him to the point you weren’t going to ever want to be without it again.

You immediately understood his want as he tugged at your shirt and pulled it over your head too, your hair flowing softly over your nearly bare shoulders as your hand went behind your back to try and unclasp your bra. He pulled the straps down onto your arms as you did that so that when it finally released, it fell off your body easily.

He was mesmerized by the sight of you, so beautiful and so much more woman than he had experienced before. His hand was on you immediately and you made a softly shocked but pleased sound at the groping, followed by a genuine whine when he kissed across your chest alongside his exploring hands.

Stan was gentle with you because he loved you too much to ever make you uncomfortable but there was the primal urge still lingering under the surface, the need to throw you on the bed and make you regret leaving him there in your frozen town.

Instead he kissed his way back up to your mouth and lifted you off the ground enough to carry you over to the bed.

You watched him once he laid you down on your back, sitting up on your elbows so you could observe the way he removed your heels and gently set them on the floor.

“Stan.” You said softly when his hands rubbed over your thighs to get inside of your skirt, innocent for now as he simply felt around for the waistband of your tights and started to pull them down. He stopped halfway to raise an eyebrow at your interjection. “You’re so sweet.”

“I’m trying to be sexy.” He countered but it was with a light smile and you laughed at his retort, the sound better than anything else he’d ever heard.

He continued to pull off your tights but he left the skirt on for the time being as he finally climbed over you and kissed you again, softer this time.

“Yeah that too.” You mumbled against his mouth. “But you’re sweet.”

“Other guys weren’t sweet to you?” He can’t help himself from asking even though he really hates even thinking about you with anybody else, hand brushing your hair out of your face to soothe both you and himself.

“Don’t want think about other guys Stan.” You scold softly, blinking up at him and looking so beautiful he almost feels dizzy. “Didn’t think about them then either.”

That settles low in his gut and he feels that heat, having been slightly lessened during the soft conversation, come back with a vengeance. He’s sure his eyes must have darkened at your gentle confession because you’re suddenly looking all over his face, your chest rising and falling a bit quicker now.

“Yeah?” He whispers and you nod immediately, leaning up to try and kiss him again and making a disappointed noise when he doesn’t let you. You fall back against the bed with an impatient sigh. “Tell me what you were thinking about.”

You both knew exactly what you had been implying but he just wanted to hear you say it directly. You eyed him for a long few seconds before you were cupping his face and bringing him down closer to you.

“I was thinking about you Stan.” You said it so softly he barely caught it.

“You were still thinking about me when they fucked you?” His voice is low and he finally kisses you although much slower than you were craving, clearly still teasing you even though you’d told him what he wanted to hear.

You tried to deepen it but he wasn’t allowing you, the hand he wasn’t holding himself up with softly rubbing up and down your side.

It was clearly frustrating so you didn’t respond at first, instead shifting your body underneath his so your hands could slide between your chest and tug at his belt buckle. He surprisingly let you do it, only stopping you after you’d gotten it unfastened.

“I want you to talk to me baby.” He said sweetly and kissed the side of your mouth, trailing down your face until he was sucking marks into your neck.

You hadn’t gotten a hickey in a long time and the slightly juvenile showcase of possession made your stomach twist with even more desire, remembering how you used to feel when he’d mark you like that. It made you smile a little that he still had the same habits when it came to your body.

“You still make me nervous.” You confess and it’s a dizzying mix of sweet nostalgia and an intense level of need shooting through you as you stare up at the ceiling of the motel room, wishing so bad you were back in that childhood bedroom of his so you could stop yourself from ever making the decision to leave him behind.

“I don’t remember you being nervous.” He’s back to looking at you now, your neck feeling colder now from his spit on your skin. His nose brushes yours as you let out a breath of anticipation. “I remember you driving me crazy.”

“Don’t lie.” You’re kissing him again and thankfully he lets you, tongue licking into your mouth just in the way you like. You respond to it eagerly, holding onto his back as he shifts and lets his core fall between your spread legs so you can feel him pressed against you better. “I could barely think the first time you touched me.”

He shifts his hips at that and the way he swears under his breath makes you think it was purely instinctual, your throat tightening at the same time you spread your thighs more around his frame.

Your skirts bunching up on your waist the more you move but you ignore it, reaching back down for his dangling belt right when he kisses you again.

He uses his free hand to help you get it out of his belt loops, tossing it somewhere to the side of the bed and immediately sitting up so he can get your skirt off finally. You giggle a little when he taps your hip to signal he wants you to lift them, biting your lower lip and smiling as you watch him pull it down your legs.

There’s a shaky breath that leaves him as he takes you in entirely, sitting up on his knees and scanning over your frame for a quiet gap of time that makes your heart race painfully.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” He says softly but there’s a clear desperation in his voice, calloused hands rubbing up the soft skin of your thighs under he’s going over the fabric of your underwear and stopping at your lower stomach so he can go back down. “Nobody could ever compare to you.”

You’re both quieter when he finally gets himself to the same level of undressed as you, laying back down over you and kissing you softly as he helps spread your legs again for him to fit between.

He’s so gentle as he moves you, the same type of affection he’d given you back when you were teenagers and experiencing so many firsts together. Stan had been just as nervous and inexperienced as you then but you never would have known by the way he took care of you, talked you through it and comforted you when it felt painful or too unfamiliar.

It makes your eyes well up in tears at the same time a soft whine leaves your mouth, his body shifting so he’s pressing right against your core. You’re already so sensitive just from the build up and kissing him, being with him again like this, so the feeling of how hard he is against you nearly sends you to insanity.

You’re grateful for the fabric barrier between you to help keep you a little bit stable but it’s not doing much, automatically chasing after the feeling with your own hips until he’s giving you what you need and slowly grinding down against you as you kiss deeply again.

It’s not going to take you long to be ready for him, willing to bend over and let him take you as soon as you saw him standing outside the school if that’s what he wanted from you.

There was no time to even feel pathetic about your devotion to him never wavering, that same want for his approval that you’d carried around since you were a kid still so prominent in your heart. Luckily, even after all the years, he never made you feel like you were stupid for wanting him so desperately.

After only a few minutes of the soft desperate grinding and your tongues tangling, filling the motel with gasps and wet noises that made your stomach tighten, he was tugging off your underwear without breaking the kiss.

You only pulled away once his boxers were off, glancing between your bodies and sucking in a sharp breath of air at the sight of him.

“You okay?” He said in a whisper and your eyes shot back up to lock with his, full of concern and an emotion you were scared to name.

“You know what this is to me right?” You said quietly back and your voice shook a little from the overwhelming feeling you were getting the longer you looked at him. “I need you to understand before we do anything.”

He watched your face for a few seconds before he was kissing you sweetly.

“I love you more than what is possible.”

His voice was barely audible as he spoke but the words landed just as heavy as they did the first time he spoke them to you. You’d felt the same sensation then, a burning desire around your chest and a comfort in knowing he felt the same way about you.

You liked that he was never too full of himself to tell you it first, to make sure you knew how much he cared about you any second you started to doubt it. Stan wasn’t just responding to your confessions out of obligation but making them himself in earnest.

“I’ll be okay with whatever this is for you because I just want to be with you.” He continues on and you almost want to tell him to stop before you really start to cry. “Even if it’s only for tonight. If that’s what you can give me, then I will take it.”

“I wish I could give you more.” You whisper back and your voice is tight and pained, he furrows his brows and shakes his head at the sound of it. “I’d give you tomorrow and the next day. I’d give you the rest of my life and those ten years we lost if I could.”

“Don’t think about it sweetheart.” He says softly and you try to let that comfort you but it barely even scratches the surface, although a bit soothed when he kisses you again.

It’s deep and distracting and so him that you barely register the fact he’s shifting and pushing into you slowly until it hits you all at once, that full feeling and the light pain from being properly stretched for the first time in a long time.

You’re trying your best to keep up with the pace of the kiss to distract yourself from the slight burn, both where he’s rocking into you softly and deep in your chest. You can almost feel yourself reconnecting what that version of you you’d left behind a decade ago, the character you’d adopted in your adult life dying off to make room for the rush of memories feeling him inside you brings.

Stan is as gentle as he was back then because he still loves you just as much, more if it’s even feasible.

There’s a part of both of you that could easily be unearthed, that feral need and intensity you feel every time you’re near him from the sheer chemistry you have together. But you’re grateful he’s deciding to make love to you instead for tonight, kissing your cheeks softly when he realizes you’d finally started to cry.

He stops moving for a few seconds just to make sure you’re okay and that immediately makes you grip tightly onto his arms and shoot him a panicked look.

“Sorry baby, just checking in.” He says in a tight voice, nearly a groan as he buries his head down into your neck now that he knows you’re alright.

You wrap your arms around his back, practically hugging each other as you whimper and softly whisper that you want him to keep going.

He’s just as sweet when it’s over, even as you lay there on your side and let the tears fall freely. He keeps checking on you every few seconds, wiping you down with a warm rag after he unsuccessfully attempts to convince you to take a shower.

Eventually he settles for making sure you’re cleaned up before he’s pulling his shirt over your frame which causes you to visibly relax a lot more. He waits beside you, softly rubbing your back until you’re finally sitting up and crawling into his lap.

He breathes a sigh of relief when you kiss him softly and lean against him comfortably, clearly grateful you’re alright.

“I love you.” You finally whisper it after you’d sat in silence for nearly an hour, just holding eachother and pretending this didn’t all end when the sun comes up. “I’m not sure if that’s enough but I do love you.”

“You could stay with me.” He says back and you wince immediately, knowing he was going to suggest something like that but still wishing he wouldn’t have anyways. “I have plenty of space and…”

He trails off and you don’t think he can even see your expression with the way you’re pressed into his chest, maybe just realizing within himself that there is no point in trying to convince you to stay.

You and Stan are both overly aware of how this is going to end, torn between feeling like this was a mistake because of how much worse it was going to hurt now and understanding this was something you needed to do.

Loving Stan was not something you were ever going to get closure to because it was never ending, deep in your veins and apart of your soul from the moment you knocked on his front door. He’d been your person long before you’d gotten together, starting from the second he stood up on a boulder and announced to the entire forest that he would protect the princess with his life.

There was no keeping you safe from the pain of losing him again but you couldn’t possibly regret getting to have him for one more night, even if it was the last one.

[in-ky]

╰☆╮ 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑓𝑡 ╰☆╮

andrew 'pope' cody x f!reader

Being the Cody’s on-call emergency nurse isn’t easy. A dislocated shoulder turns into late night gunshot wounds and before you know it, you’re part of the family. After a rough night, Pope needs some TLC. And who else can help him if not his favorite nurse? You’re the only one who can stitch him up, physically and emotionally.

masterlist

Word Count: 12.3k (was supposed to be 5k. oops.)

Warnings: existential crisis, does this count as a slow burn?, plot points from seasons 3 and 4 (just some dialogue and a job that goes bad), pope “kicked puppy” cody shows up on your door step, medical inaccuracies probably idk, descriptions of medical care including needles and stitches, poor craig literally cannot catch a break lmao, Smurf™, porn with feelings, reader smokes weed, cannon typical violence and pope being used to do the family’s dirty work, angst, he’s referred to as pope until one scene and then he’s andrew, pope lowkey has a competency kink, SMUT (18+), oral (f receiving), squirting, missionary, pope just wants to make you feel good, unprotected piv sex, pope has a praise kink and likes to suck titties (shocking, i know), breeding kink if you squint, cockwarming, no use of y/n for reader, can you tell my favorite trope is 'you take care of him when he's hurt and he falls in love with you'

A/N: pope fic time!! i need you to know that i called my mother about how to do stitches for this btw (she works in healthcare). I really really hope it’s enjoyable for you all! I’m sorry if I wrote anyone a little OOC. I need my man :c i wanna give him a kiss on the forehead and a bath and clean clothes and tell him its gonna be ok :c.

You walked into the ER waiting room with irritation already stirring in your stomach. You were supposed to be at home, taking a scented bath, drinking wine and reading your new book an hour ago. But one of the night nurses called out and his replacement wouldn’t be there for another two and a half hours. You drew the short straw, having to stay behind. Mainly because the rest of the nursing staff had lives, kids, responsibilities. And you didn’t. You had moved away from your hometown of Oceanside back when you went to nursing school, and all the responsibilities that remained there. You got tired of seeing the same people, hearing about the same couples break up and get back together again. So when you got a scholarship to go to a different nursing school out of state, you took it readily. Too bad when you graduated the only clinic to offer you a job was an ER in Wildomar. Only an hour away from the life you tried to leave behind. You didn’t hate it. It was close enough that you could go home and see your parents’ dog, far enough that you could have your own life. But if it were up to you, you’d be long gone by now. At least you never saw any of the unsavory characters from high school. 

That’s what you thought, anyway, until you looked at the next name on the call list. Your steps faltered. ‘Liam Broker.’ You knew that name. A shiver crawled up the bottom of your spine. Liam didn’t exist. He wasn’t a real person. It was their alias. The Codys. Whenever they needed to fly under the radar, especially when they needed medical care after some dubious activities, they used that name. Sure, it could be a real guy, you really hoped it was, but when you turned around to call the name, all hope was lost. There they were, Deran and Craig, sitting in your ER. Your mouth went dry and you pressed your eyes shut. You took a deep breath before making yourself known to them. Deran was slumped in the shitty ER chair, bouncing his knee and nibbling on the skin of his thumb. Craig’s head was tossed back, counting ceiling tiles and trying not to move his arm. 

“Mr. Broker,” you made a point to emphasize the name. “You can come back now.” Both of their heads snapped to look at you. You stood in front of them, death grip on the clipboard Craig had filled out. 

“No shit.” Deran huffed, raking his gaze across you. Craig furrowed his brow. Like he kinda remembered you, but not from where. You and Deran were friends in high school. You ran in the same circles, smoked on the beach with the same people, and even rode along in the car he stole for his 16th birthday. You weren’t best friends, but you were close enough. He was a formative part of your teen years. You had an argument three days before you left for school. You couldn’t remember exactly what was said, but you remembered feeling so distraught that you never wanted to see him again. You walked them back to a room. 

“Alright, dislocated shoulder?” You murmured, eyes scanning the chart. Craig was perched on the table, swinging his feet absentmindedly. He nodded.

“Yea,” He scratched behind his ear. “I’ve had it dislocated before, but it’s not going back in.”

“That happens,” You acknowledged, washing your hands in the sink before putting on a pair of gloves. “After so many home alignments, you’ve gotta have a professional do it.” Your eyes flicked to Deran. “Do I want to know how this happened?” They both hesitated for a moment and then shook their heads. You sighed. “Alright, take off your shirt, Craig.” The man startled slightly, looking at Deran. Surely confused about how you knew his real name. Deran just gave him a look and a small nod. Maybe easing his nerves, telling him they weren’t about to be arrested. Craig did as he was told. You gently examined the shoulder. “No wonder it didn’t work,” you muttered “It’s a posterior dislocation. You gotta get a different angle.” You readjusted your position and grabbed onto Craig’s bicep. With a quick push, you heard the joint slot back into place. He sucked in a breath, but exhaled in relief after a moment. You peeled off your gloves and tossed them in the bin. “I’ll tell the doctor we were able to get it back in. She’ll prescribe you some pain meds. For your use only.” You quirked an eyebrow and Craig nodded. “She should be in shortly.” You pulled back the door and left. Your heart was hammering against your sternum. The first time you had seen any of the Codys in years. You had survived. But you weren’t done yet. You made it a whole five steps down the hall before you felt a gentle hand pull you back by the wrist. You whirled around, ready to throw a punch, but you were met with Deran’s face. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was parted slightly, like he hadn’t quite decided what he was going to say yet. 

“Hey,” was what he settled on. You shook your head in amusement. 

“Really?” You scoffed, but you felt a smile dawning “That’s what you’re going with? Hey, Deran.” 

“I, uh, didn’t know you worked here.”

“Clearly.”

“How was school?” Deran’s arm fell from yours and he shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders rising slightly. 

“It was good,” you answered honestly. Your voice didn’t hold any anger or resentment. “I’m a nurse now, so…y’know, I’d consider that a success.”

“That’s awesome.” Deran grinned.

“What about you?” You asked “How’s surfing? I know you wanted to go pro. You were really good.” Deran’s face fell slightly. A momentary lapse in his facade before the mask was up again.

“Yea, I, uh. I just do it for fun now. It got too stressful.” His words didn’t convince you. You sensed there was a lot more to that story, but you didn’t ask. Didn’t really want to. It wasn’t your business. “I’m working in, um…I work for…” He gestured to the air around him. You understood.

“Family business?” 

“Yea.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You knew that Deran and his brothers were doing some shady shit in high school. Sometimes their mother would pull them from school for a few days. The next time you would see Deran, he would have bruises on his arm. He always said he was surfing and a rogue wave caught him. But after the third time, you had a hard time believing him. After you saw Smurf tucking a gun into Deran’s waistband in the school parking lot, it made you question if they were involved in gang activities. You brought up your concerns to your father, who had some connections to a few of the neighborhoods, but the moment the Cody name was said, he clammed up, made you promise you wouldn’t get yourself too involved with them. The night of prom, when you and Deran had snuck away from the main afterparty to smoke a joint, he had confided in you that he was scared he’d be stuck in Oceanside forever, working for his mom (he never elaborated what that meant, but you guessed). You assured him that he was talented, and he was. He was by far the best surfer you’d ever seen. But it seemed that his fears had come true and you truly felt sympathy for him. You had been lucky, getting out when you did. Of course, you had ended up back where you started, but you technically could leave whenever you wanted. You sensed that Deran didn’t have that luxury. 

Deran nibbled on the inside of his cheek. “Listen,” He inhaled, setting his gaze anywhere but your face “I’ve…I’ve missed having you around. You’re, like, one of the only normal people in this place. I’m sorry for, uh, our fight before you left. I really am. I actually own a bar down in Oceanside. If you’re ever in the area, I still owe you that drink from when you stole that handle of Tito’s for me.” A smile twitched onto your lips.

“Yea,” you said softly, “Yea, I’ll stop by when I’m in town next.” Deran let out a laugh of relief. 

“Yea?” He seemed genuinely happy “Okay, cool. Yea, sick I’ll, um, I’ll see you around then. I should probably make sure Craig doesn’t raid the cabinets.” He gave you a nod and slipped back into the room. You stayed put until the latch of the door clicked. You took a few deep breaths. Your mind swirled with thoughts. Did you really want to get yourself re-involved with them? You shook away the existential crisis that crept into the edges of your mind. You still had three hours left of your shift, and you heard elevated voices from the waiting room. You had other things to think about.

Sure enough, as the weeks went by, the encounter with the Codys drifted to the back of your brain. You hadn’t been back to Oceanside since their visit. You weren’t exactly avoiding Deran, you just really didn’t have the time between shifts to make the drive only to sit at a bar. So the sun rose and fell and you didn’t pay any attention to the tug in your heart that you couldn’t put a name to. It was an emotion you were familiar with, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was. It felt like a pulling sensation, like there was a string connected to your soul urging you down a path. You’d felt it frequently when you were in school. You had once considered it homesickness, a feeling that you didn’t belong in your current position in life. But a trip back home never quelled it for long. The feeling had been tamed for months, but Deran’s visit stirred it up again. You needed something different. You were pretending to be normal, with a normal job, a normal apartment, a normal life. But it just wasn’t cutting it anymore. 

Some nights it was all you could think about. You were cuddled up on your couch with a beer sweating untouched on your side table. You stared out your window at the streetlamps flickering. You remembered that night, a few days before you left for school, when you had called Deran to hang out one last time. He pulled up to your house with a car you knew didn’t belong to him. You had rode down the highway for hours, picking up some shitty burger and talking about anything you could think of. When he dropped you back at your house, you had said what was lingering between you. You vaguely remembered how the fight started. You had told him you found an apartment just off campus and that he had a spot on your couch whenever he needed it. He was confused and you said you knew his family was…different. If he ever decided it wasn’t for him, he could call whenever and you’d pick him up. Deran had gotten defensive. He took your words as saying he didn’t belong in his family. You tried to soothe the flames but it was too late. He exploded. You couldn’t remember what exactly he said, what you had said in retaliation, but you did remember slamming the door of the car and running to your room, crying until your throat and eyes were raw. You hadn’t seen him since. The truth was you always missed Deran. He was kind. He was real, unafraid to talk about the realities of growing up in a town like Oceanside- whereas everyone else you knew tried to wave off any criticisms saying it was a ‘unique’ place to live. You needed his friendship in nursing school. During the long nights and even longer mornings. You missed the way he could make you laugh in any situation. He was the one who got you through your first breakup by baking you (burnt) brownies and only half-joking to beat the kid up. When your ex walked into school the next day with a black eye, you gave Deran a hug, even though he denied knowing anything about it.

The internal battle of whether or not to let him back into your life was raging in your mind. You wanted your friend back, but you had decidedly left Oceanside for a reason. Your skin crawled when you were there for too long. Like you were trying too hard to fit into a sweater two sizes too small. Reaching out to Deran felt like a betrayal to yourself. You had worked so hard to get out, just to go back. But then again, you weren’t the same person you were as a teenager. You had grown in inexplicable ways and just because you wanted to reconnect with a friend did not mean you were throwing everything away. You tossed your head back onto your couch and took a swig of the room-temperature beer. You watched as a cat trotted down the sidewalk, dipping into the bushes. If only the universe would give you a sign or some-

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

Your brow furrowed. Was your…phone…ringing? When was the last time that happened? You scrambled to find it, flipping your blanket onto the floor and searching the couch. You heard your phone clatter out of the blanket and you tentatively grabbed it. An unknown number. Maybe it was one of the new night shift nurses needing something again. You pressed the accept button and raised it to your ear.

“Hello?” You heard your name gasped out on the other side. Your body stiffened. “Deran? How..How did you get this number?” He ignored your question. He just said your name again.

“I really need your help,” his voice was shaky “I…fuck, something happened, something went wrong. Craig he’s, he was shot, I don’t know if… I can’t help him. He needs help.” “Okay, take a deep breath,” You tell him, already scrambling to get your shoes on. “Send me your address. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Deran sent you an address and you plugged it into your GPS. “I’ll be there in forty minutes, okay? Keep pressure on the wound and do not let him fall asleep. Can you do that?” 

“Y-Yea I can do that. Please hurry.” 

“I’m leaving now. I’ll see you there, it’s okay, I’m on my way.” You hung up and rushed to your bathroom, throwing open one of the cabinets and grabbing the make-shift triage kit your mom made you buy when she learned you’d be living by yourself. You had thought it was stupid at the time, but it seemed that mothers really did know best. You were in your car in less than a minute, tearing down the streets as fast as you could.

You pulled into the Codys’ driveway thirty-two minutes later. You were thankful no cops were out because you were going at least twenty over the speed limit the entire time. You had never actually been to the Cody house. You had heard about the intense parties they threw, but you were never invited (as if your parents would even let you go if you were). It was a gorgeous house, but you decided you would admire the architecture after Craig was stable. You turned off your car and grabbed your kit. A young man you didn’t recognize was waiting for you. Nervous energy rolled off him in waves. 

“He’s in the kitchen,” The kid said, bringing you through the front door and into the house. You took a sharp inhale when you walked into the kitchen. There were bloodied rags scattered around the floor. Craig was sprawled across the island, his jeans in a pile on the ground. Deran was pressing a fast-saturating kitchen towel against the side of Craig’s thigh. Deran’s eyes were panicked. Craig was taking short breaths. Deran seemed to relax slightly when he caught sight of you. You blinked at the scene. You didn’t know if your skills were that good.

“Well, baby, aren’t you going to do something?” Your eyes shot up from Craig to the woman who was leaning against the stove. You recognized her. Smurf, dressed in a floral silk robe, hair perfectly pressed, leaning with her hands crossed over her chest. The woman’s voice was smooth and unhurried, like her dying son was more of an inconvenience than a tragedy. You snapped yourself out of your daze and gave a curt nod. You placed your kit on the kitchen island, next to where Craig was laid out. 

“Hey, Craig,” You said, voice a touch louder than it needed to be, but Craig’s eyes were glassed over. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, man.” A small smile cracked his ashy lips. Okay, that was good, he could hear you. “I’m going to look at the wound, alright? Might be a bit uncomfortable.” He gave a weak nod. You shifted down to where Deran was pressing against his brother’s leg with all his might. “Good job,” You told him, quiet enough just for him to hear “I’m going to lift the towel, okay?” Deran nodded, but didn’t move his hands. You gently loosened his fingers and lifted the towel in a way that would shield Craig’s view. You saw one entry wound on the outside of Craig’s thigh, about six inches above the knee. You rolled his leg slightly and let out a breath when you saw an exit wound. “Okay,” you sighed, giving a nervous smile “Good news is that it’s through and through. And it missed the bone. So no surgery for you tonight. You’re still bleeding, but it doesn’t look like the femoral was nicked, so we’re going to do a tourniquet before I start doing anything, okay? S’not going to feel nice.” You felt Smurf’s burning gaze on you. You ignored it. You asked Deran to get Craig’s belt from his jeans on the floor. You wrapped the leather around Craig’s upper thigh, tightening it until the bleeding slowed. Craig spat out in pain and Deran rushed to his side, grabbing his hand and mumbling something into his ear. Thankfully, the tourniquet worked. The blood slowed to a trickle. You wiped the sweat off your brow with the sleeve of your shirt. You muttered to yourself, forming a treatment plan. You wiped your hands free from blood on the kitchen towel. You opened the triage kit and got the saline solution. You worked quickly, flushing the wound before dressing it. You noticed that Craig’s face was starting to regain some color. When the wound was properly wrapped, you loosened the tourniquet. When blood didn’t soak through the bandages, you let out a sigh of relief. You turned to the sink, washing your hands and watching the red water swirl down the drain.

“Okay,” you said, hands only shaking a little bit. “That dressing should be good for the next few days. Lots of rest, obviously, and keep your leg elevated when you’re sitting. Don’t get it wet until it’s scabbed on both sides. Showers only when it does.” You turned to Deran. “Come by the hospital tomorrow, I’ll get you some antibiotics. If he gets a fever or you notice a lot of swelling or he bleeds through the bandage, hospital. Immediately. Got it?” Deran mumbled his agreement. You stood there for a moment. You noticed a man standing on the other side of the kitchen. His jaw was set, eyes locked on you. Assessing you. Sizing you up. You suddenly felt very self-conscious. Your gaze met his and a spark tingled your lower spine. Had he been standing there the entire time, just staring at you? You felt your chest tighten, but you forced yourself to remember your patient. You placed a calming touch on Craig’s non-injured knee. “I don’t want to be your nurse again, okay? Stay safe. And drink some water.” Craig laughed and relaxed his head against the island.

“No promises.” He croaked out. Deran laughed airily, like it was more of a stress reliever than actual amusement. The kid who had let you in clapped Craig on the shoulder and Smurf hummed before leaving the kitchen, the kid following her. The man at the other end of the kitchen tilted his head. 

“Drive safe,” he said. His voice was gruff but pleasant, like gravel crushing under tires. He blinked at you once more before pushing himself off the wall and walking away. You looked at Deran but he shook his head. Don’t ask. You collected your things into the triage kit and clipped it back closed. Deran walked you back to your car. You shivered in the night air, but you couldn’t tell if it was because it was chilly or because of the high-adrenaline situation you had just handled.

“I really appreciate you coming tonight.” Deran said, opening the door to your car. 

“Does this happen often?” You asked. There wasn’t any judgement in your voice, just strict curiosity. Deran lifted his gaze behind you, bouncing slightly on his feet. 

“Sometimes,” he allowed, “Usually if it’s bad we go down to Mexico.” You nodded, chewing the inside of your lip.

“Next time, call me,” You told him. “I’ll be here.” Deran looked as surprised as you felt. Did you really say that? 

“You sure?”

“I don’t want you to die. Not after I just got you back.” Your eyes found your sneakers. You noticed then that you had mismatching shoes. You put them on too quickly to care. Deran put a hand on your shoulder.

“Okay,” he smiled. “I will.” 

“Goodnight, Deran. Keep an eye on him.” You climbed into your car and closed the door. You pulled out of the driveway and began the drive home, riding in silence with nothing but your thoughts. A very dangerous feeling was swirling in your body. You loved that he called you of all people. It was something dangerous, almost (definitely) illegal, but you were the correct choice for the job. You noticed that the tugging feeling in your chest had vanished. You had never felt so alive. You wanted to do it again. That also happened to be the night you first met Pope Cody.

═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═ 

A year passed. True to his word, Deran called you about a month later. The kid, who you learned was his nephew J, got into a fight with some gangbangers and needed stitches. So you were on their step an hour later, suture kit in hand. That was the dance. They called, you showed up. You treated all of the boys, except one. You heard Pope was, well, an ‘interesting’ guy. More animalistic. He preferred to slink off by himself when he was hurt than have someone help him. Which was odd considering he was the one who got hurt the most. At first, it hurt your feelings. You had felt like they didn’t trust you. You noticed a truck following you a few weeks after the night Craig got shot. It lingered outside your apartment building a few intersections down. You saw it in the parking lot of the ER when you worked late. A grey Ram with the same license plate. You had seen it in the driveway that night. You knew they were doing recon on you, but you didn’t mind. You knew you were clean. The tail lasted a few weeks and then you didn’t see the truck again.

Most of your calls weren’t necessary, checkups after alley fights or disinfecting small cuts. You could tell the guys enjoyed having you around. The more you were there, the more you let your personality show and over the course of a year, you considered yourself friends with the Cody boys. One night at Deran’s bar, he slipped you a wad of cash. He told you to find a new apartment. One closer to them. They didn’t always have an hour to wait for your services. You scoffed, rejecting the money. But you moved into a new apartment anyway, halfway between the Cody house and the hospital. You had been adamant that you would not be accepting monetary exchange for your triage skills. That was too illegal for you. You preferred to say it was like doing a friend a favor. Craig always insisted on finding a way to pay you back for your work on his leg, so you had settled on an agreement. Weed. High quality, too. And when you smoked the premium bud on your porch overlooking the ocean, the thought of patching up criminals under the table felt a lot less stressful. Your social life improved, too. You finally received your first invitation to a Cody party in the form of a text from Craig, followed by a cat picture with its thumbs up. You laughed and immediately accepted.

You sat on one of the loungers by the pool. The music echoed through the yard, bass vibrating your bones in an enjoyable way. Deran flopped onto the wicker couch beside you. The arm candy on Craig’s left scoffed slightly and nestled closer to him. You took the last sip from your beer and relaxed against the chair. The party had a good turnout, people splashing around in the pool and dancing by the speakers. But you weren’t looking at them. Your eyes only had one target: Pope. He fascinated you. The way he would linger at the edge of gatherings, much like he was at that moment, eyes scanning the crowd. He was always alert, twitchy in the most adorable way. You had gained a fondness for Pope. The way he held his arms tight against him. The way his mouth twitched when one of his brothers said something stupid. And especially the way he would clench his fists when he caught Craig running his eyes over your body. 

You knew Craig found you attractive, but you had made it clear that it would never result in anything. Craig respected it, but you still caught him looking at your ass when you walked past from time to time. You didn’t mind it. You considered it a confidence booster. But Pope, for some reason, wasn’t exactly thrilled with his brother ogling you. And you thought it was endearing. You figured it was probably just some code of honor. Pope seemed like a man who stuck to his own moral code, and maybe the objectification of women was something he strongly opposed. Deep down, though, you hoped it was something more. At first, you cared for him the way you might care for an abandoned dog. You wanted to clean him up and give him a warm meal. And you still did, but your increasingly frequent encounters with him turned your pitiful admiration into something more akin to a crush. Pope was a handsome man. You had caught him in the bathroom trying to stick a bandaid on the back of his shoulder a few months ago. It wasn’t going well. His beautifully plump biceps got in the way. You clicked your tongue at him and applied the bandage. He just blinked at you before giving a gruff ‘thank you’ and pushing past you into the hall. The sight of him with his shirt off was enough for the physical attraction to settle in your abdomen, but you really wanted to get to know him more. You could sense there was a lot more to him than met the eye. He was the muscle of the family operation, you knew that. Of all his brothers, he was always the one with the most bruises, the bloody knuckles. It should have scared you, but it didn’t- it only made you more curious because you saw the gentleness in him. You had gone surfing with the brothers one morning (technically they were surfing and you were watching them on the beach) when Pope saw a kitten stuck in a tidepool. He ran from his brothers and scooped up the tiny scrap of fur, only putting it down when the people he called from the ASPCA showed up to collect it. That showed you he wasn’t an evil man, just misunderstood. You were determined to understand him. 

Pope was no different at the party, gaze flicking from the people in the pool to the people by the gate. He gripped the throat of his beer bottle tightly enough that you could see his knuckles begin to whiten. He sat on a low line of stones belonging to a fountain. A small stream of water trickled behind him. You tilted your head in curiosity. Pope hadn’t blinked in over a minute.

“Does he always do that?” You asked to no one in particular, but Craig followed your gaze. “The staring, I mean.” Craig just chuckled and took another drag of his joint. 

“Yea,” He confirmed “Pope’s got a bit of a staring problem. I can tell him to knock it off if you want.” You shook your head. Part of you wanted to laugh. Craig tell Pope to do something? Unlikely.

“No, it doesn’t bother me, I was just curious.” Your eyes flicked to the beer bottle in his hand. It was empty, and had been for a while. You rose to your feet and went to the cooler on the other side of the couch. You dropped into a squat as you dug around and pulled out 2 beers. Deran watched you closely. He leaned over the arm of the furniture to talk to you under the noise of the party. 

“Careful,” he warned. You looked up, brows furrowed in confusion. Deran bounced his leg. He had a serious look on his face. “He can be…unpredictable.” You didn’t need to ask who he was talking about.

“I thought he liked me.” 

Deran chuckled and looked out to the party. “Especially if he likes you.” You let out a noise of amusement.

“I’ll be safe. Promise.” You held out your pinky to him. You made several pinky promises in high school. Only some of which you broke. The man smirked and reached out his hand, linking his finger to yours. You stood up and grabbed the two beers, giving Deran a nod and weaving your way through the party. It was packed, bodies swayed and fused together, neon necklaces blinking in the night. You genuinely didn't know how Smurf had so many connections with the younger people of Oceanside. She had a lot of issues, but damn did she know how to throw a good party. 

You emerged on the other side of the mass of people. Pope was still sitting on the rocks, eyes glazed over. “Mind if I sit?” Pope’s eyes snapped up to you. He looked surprised, like he hadn’t expected the question to come from your mouth. He blinked at you and shook his head. You plopped yourself beside him. You handed him one of the beers. “That thing’s been empty for, like, an hour. Figured I’d get you another one.” Pope looked at the bottle. His fingers tightened around the glass in his hand. His eyes went back to the party. With a purse of your lips, you set the fresh beer on the stones between the two of you. You took a sip of your drink. “Who are these people?” You asked him.

“Fuck if I know.” He scoffed. “They always just…show up whenever Smurf has a party. Word moves fast in a town like this.” You hummed in agreement and looked over your shoulder to take in a better view of the fountain you were sitting on. A little stream of bubbles caught your eye. You gasped and whirled around fully to face the water. The movement made Pope jump slightly. He clutched his beer closer to his chest and looked at you with wide, startled eyes.

“There’s a turtle!” You cooed, smiling widely at him. “Look!” Without thinking, you grabbed his bicep to get his attention. You pointed at the corner of the fountain, where a little pointed nose poked from the water. You watched as it ducked back under the surface. You turned to see if Pope had seen it, but his eyes were locked on you. Or rather, your hand, where it was still gripping the meat of his arm. It was hard to tell in the dark lighting, but you could’ve sworn you saw a twinge of red blush creeping up his neck. You realized your mistake at once. Pope had a thing about personal space. You removed your touch quickly. “I’m sorry,” You tucked your hands into your lap. “I got excited. There was this pond in my backyard growing up. I loved seeing what kinds of critters would show up.”

“S’alright.” He murmured, voice annoyingly monotone, blinking away whatever he had been thinking. A beat passed. “Do you like it? The fountain?”

“Oh, yea!” You grinned “I like the whole ‘overgrown’ vibe it gives.” The fountain was made of mossy stone bricks, with algae and a few water flowers skimming the surface. You knew it had to be a curated look. The Codys were never sloppy. 

“I made it.” Pope said. “When I got out of prison. I took a sledgehammer to the old one and built this one from scratch.” You sensed pride in his words. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought he was trying to impress you. He set his empty bottle down in the grass and picked up the one that had been waiting for him. 

“It’s nice to have a project,” You agreed. “Sometimes you just need to forget the real world and dedicate yourself to a task.”

“Is that why you patch up felons for fun?” Pope took a sip of his beer.

“Yea, sure.” You giggled “Something like that.” But it was exactly like that. Your work with the Codys gave you a purpose outside of work. You had something to do now besides just trudging through work and collapsing face first on your bed, just to repeat it all again the next day. A weird hobby, but a hobby nonetheless. “I just like having patients who don’t complain about every little thing I do. It’s not like you have much of a choice. ” You had meant it as a lighthearted comment, but Pope’s brow furrowed. 

“People complain?” His face was a picture of confusion. “About you?” You shrugged.

“Sometimes.” “Why?” He huffed “You’re a great nurse. You’re smart and capable and…nice.” His voice got quieter at the end and his fingernails scraped at the label on the sweaty bottle. 

“Well,” You sighed, “when people are in pain, they don’t always think before they speak. It’s not personal.” You bumped your knee lightly against his. “It’s nice to know I’m appreciated here, though.” 

“We’d be dead without you,” Pope continued. “And that’s not even flattery, that's just fact.” You held out your beer.

“Cheers to that.” You clinked your bottle against his and the two of you drank. You could feel him relaxing a bit next to you. Still looking out into the crowd, but not as jumpy. “Deran says you’re usually in your room during these things.”

“I don’t like parties.” Pope confirmed. 

“Why are you out here then? What’s so special about tonight?” His eyes briefly moved from the party to your face. His lips moved a bit, like he was thinking of an answer.

Pope couldn’t tell you it was because of you. He knew you’d be here and he had hoped to talk to you. He wanted to make sure you were doing okay, that none of his brother’s asshole friends bothered you. Because he liked you. More than liked you. You were all he thought about while he stayed up at night, sometimes looking at the ceiling, sometimes with his hand down his pants. Pope wanted to get to know you, learn if he consumed your thoughts the way you consumed his. But he couldn’t tell you that. So, instead, he said, “The weather’s nice.”

═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═ 

You had been dead asleep when your phone’s ringtone tore through the haze of your dreams. You scrambled to groggily accept the call and when you heard Deran’s voice, you were instantly awake. The job had gone bad. Well, technically, the job itself was fine. The boys had cosplayed EMTs in order to rob soundboards from a music festival. One their drive home, the ambulance was hit. And they were hurt. Bad.

You got to the Cody house the same time as they pulled into the driveway. Deran opened the driver’s side door and practically fell out of the truck.

“What the fuck happened?” You hissed, wrapping Deran’s arm around your shoulder to help him up. 

“Semi truck ran a stop sign,” His voice was wet and bloody. His lip was split down the middle and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. Must’ve bit his tongue. 

“A semi truck hit you?” Your eyes were wild. You deposited Deran on one of the pool chairs. You helped him sit back and looked up to see Pope and Craig helping each other follow behind you. You shook your head in disbelief and took a deep breath. Your eyes immediately went to Pope. He had deep gashes on his arm and neck. Blood darkened the hair at his temple and you could tell it hurt to walk. He looked so disheveled, so raw. So hot. The uniform clung to his body and you felt desire curl in your belly. You shook it off immediately, shame burning in your veins. You were objectifying a man who needed medical attention. Your medical attention. Pope and Craig sat together on another lounger next to Deran’s. You wiped your forehead of the sweat that was already beginning to gather there. “Okay,” You huffed, mainly to yourself “Okay.” You did a quick inventory. Craig looked superficially fine, but he had that dazed look in his eyes that told you he probably had a concussion. Deran got the worse of it, glass stuck in his nose and several lacerations all over his body. You assumed he was driving. 

Suddenly, Pope wasn’t on the chair anymore. You looked around for him. He was limping toward the house. “Pope!” You called after him “You-”

“I’m fine!” He growled, teeth bared. “I’ve gotta make a call.” His voice was deep, almost sinister, and final. He tore the sliding door open and practically fell into the kitchen, disappearing from view. You pressed your eyes together and let out a frustrated grumble, but returned your focus back to Deran. You worked quickly, picking the glass from both Deran and Craig’s wounds. You had to give Deran a few stitches in his lip and several bandages across his face, but he was a good sport about it. Craig just needed a sling for his arm, which was broken and would need a cast from urgent care in the morning. He hadn’t vomited and was generally aware, so you weren’t too worried about the concussion, but you still made him talk to you while you worked on cleaning the scrapes on Deran’s shoulder. 

Headlights pulled you from your conversation. You looked at Deran, silently asking if they were expecting someone. From the way he tensed beneath you, you assumed they were not. Before Craig could get up, the sliding door opened. Pope emerged from the house, bandages on his arm and neck. A fine enough job, but the bleeding hadn’t been contained. He walked towards the gate, steps uneven and face furious. J appeared from the driveway. His brows shot up as he saw the state of his uncles.

“Holy shit.” He whispered. 

“Nice of you to join us,” Pope bit out, words laced with venom. “Have a nice drive back?” 

“I couldn’t just leave,” J reasoned, shrugging with his hands in his pockets “It would have looked suspicious.” Pope let out a humorless laugh.

“Suspicious.” He echoed, slinking into J’s personal space.  “You know what looks suspicious, J? The fact that the driver of the semi knew who you were.” He pressed an accusing finger into J’s chest. “Told me to ‘say hi to my nephew.’ You know anything about that?” To J’s credit, the boy looked genuinely taken aback. 

“No.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Pope hissed, shoving J away from him. “I told you what happens when you lie to me.” After the push, Pope swayed slightly, staggering before catching himself. You were on your feet in an instant, approaching him from behind in case you had to stabilize him. He shot you a look over his shoulder that told you to back off. You didn’t. 

“You’re still bleeding,” You said calmly, pointing at his back, where a dark patch had begun to seep through the clean shirt he’d put on. 

“M’not.” He grumbled, but he seemed less sure. More dazed. Pope took another step. And almost fell to the ground. You were able to tuck your arm under his armpit, hand splayed on his chest, and hold him up long enough until J got his other side. The two of you pulled him to the nearest chair. J gave you room and you began tugging at his shirt. “Get off f’me,” He barked at you, starting to get up. You put your hands on his chest and pushed him back into the chair.

“Andrew. Sit. Down.” Your voice was firm, commanding. Your jaw was set and you held his gaze steadily. Pope blinked up at you in surprise. You had used his name. His real name. He swallowed and nodded. Pope straightened his spine, flinching as he slid one of his hands across his lower back. When he pulled his hand away, blood coated his fingers. Suddenly, the earth shifted beneath him and he gripped the table beside him, breath coming out in short huffs.

“I think there’s some broken glass,” He rasped out. “I didn’t feel it before.” J got the triage kit while you helped Pope get his shirt off. 

“Next time,” You growled at him, eyes still harsh, “let me take a look at you before you go sulk in the bathroom.” Pope’s gaze fell from you and he gave a little nod. You scoffed and shook your head, directing him on how to get the best angle and removing the tiny shards of glass that were embedded in his skin.

By the time you finished making sure everyone was cared for, you were exhausted. You were standing in the kitchen, washing your tools and hands of the blood that stained them. The overhead lights were too bright, your vision was a little fuzzy, and the entire night felt like a strange dream. But that was okay, because all three men were stable. Craig and Deran had left to fake a car accident that gave them plausible reason to go to the hospital in the morning. J had slipped out a few minutes after Pope’s attention was no longer on him. And Pope was sitting at the dining table outside, staring at the reflections that danced across the pool. You let your eyes follow the curve of his shirtless torso. You had told him to keep it off for the night, to let his wounds breathe. His bandages were fresh (you had replaced the shoddy ones he’d put on) and you didn’t see any blood blooming across the gauze. A good sign. If only he had let you do it in the first place. Your nose twitched with irritation. Stupid, stubborn man. You scrubbed harder at the skin of your hands, only stopping when they were rubbed raw and the blood was washed from under your fingernails. You sighed and turned off the faucet. The embrace of sleep called to you and you felt your eyelids droop. You leaned back against the counter and rubbed at your eyes. When you brought your hands down, Pope was standing inside, giving you one of his looks. You hadn’t heard him come in. You really tried to grasp what emotion he was trying to convey, but it was lost on you.

“What?” You asked, harsher than you meant to. He flinched. Barely, but enough to notice. Pope just stood there, wringing his hands and looking at you with those large, sad eyes. You exhaled through your nose. “I should go home.” You pushed yourself off the counter and grabbed your keys. Pope moved to block your exit.

“No.” His voice was soft, almost intimately so.

“No?” Your eyes crinkled in confusion. “What do you mean, no?” “It’s late,” he said simply “You can stay here. If you want.” You looked behind you to see the time on the microwave. It was 4 am. You rubbed a hand over your face. Pope had a point. You were falling asleep washing your hands. You probably shouldn’t drive. He seemed like he had his mind made up and, honestly, you really didn’t have the energy to fight him on it. You gave him a small nod. Pope’s eyes lit up, half expecting you to refuse him, and gestured for you to follow him. You did. He took you down an unfamiliar hallway and turned into a room you instantly recognized as his. You’d never seen it before, but it was so unmistakable Pope’s. No clutter, not even a wall decoration. Just a bed with neatly tucked in sheets and a dresser that had a picture frame laying face-down on it. You were too busy taking in the space to notice that Pope had begun striping the bed. A new pair of sheets rested on the bedside table. 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” You protested weakly. You could hear the exhaustion fraying the edges of your voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous, everyone needs clean sheets.” He tucked in the corners of the fresh white linens before standing back and admiring his work. You couldn’t tell him that you didn’t want clean sheets. You wanted to be able to smell him as you fell asleep. Having your skin against the same fabric as his made your legs tingle. But that was probably just the sleep deprivation talking.

“Thank you.” you said instead. He gave an acknowledging noise and gathered the old sheets in his arms. He began to walk out, but you brushed your hand against his shoulder. “Hey, I’m…I’m sorry I was so rude earlier. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. It was unprofessional.” You took a deep breath, debating if you should continue. “I just don’t enjoy seeing you hurt. I hate watching you suffer. Knowing I can help you but not being able to. I hate it. I get it if you have a hard time asking for help. But it’s what I’m here for. I want to help you, Pope.” I want to take care of you. That was what you wanted to say. I want to be there for you. Please let me be there for you. A tense moment of silence expanded between the two of you. Pope’s bottom lip disappeared under his teeth. 

“Don’t be sorry, I…” He trailed off. You could tell he had a lot he wanted to say, but didn’t quite know how to string the words together. He shook his head. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight.” 

Pope walked out of the room. You realized then that you had taken his bed. You were about to follow him and ask where he planned on sleeping that night, but the hall lights turned off, plunging the room into darkness, and you took that as a sign that Pope was done with you for the night.

═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═ 

Several weeks passed and you didn’t hear anything from the Codys. Based on Pope’s interaction with J that night, you assumed there was some family tension. And you were happy with staying away from that. You had texted Craig and Deran to check up on their healing progress and it was going well. But outside of that, life had been normal. The California summer was in full swing, and you were sprawled out on your bed, comforter kicked to the floor and starfishing under your ceiling fan to keep as cool as possible. A task that was working fine enough until you heard a knock at your door. Your head snapped up and adrenaline shot through your body. You checked the time on your phone. It was only 9 pm, but it was still an odd hour for visitors- especially considering you never got any. Pope had warned you about this, that enemies of his family and other dangerous people might come seeking you out in the dead of night. But would they knock? You swallowed your anxiety and crawled out of bed. Quietly, you tiptoed across the floor of your apartment to look out the peephole of the door. You relaxed instantly when you saw the familiar face. You unlocked the door and gently swung it open. The warm night air brushed against your thighs and you could smell the dew beginning to collect on the grass. 

“Pope?” You said groggily, rubbing at your eyes. “What are you doing here?” You noticed that his car wasn’t anywhere to be seen. “How’d you get here?” You lived at least three miles from the nearest bus stop. Pope didn’t say anything and you were able to get a look at him as awareness started to sweep sleep from your brain. His cuts on his neck and arm were almost healed, but he had a new gash above his eyebrow. Blood painted the side of his face. A face that was contorted in despair. His eyes were massive dark spots and they were fixated on you. You were suddenly hyper aware that you were only wearing a large t-shirt and sleep shorts that barely covered your ass. You shifted self-consciously. Pope’s chest was rising and falling with quick, panicked breaths. One of his hands was pressed to his abdomen and the other was clenching and unclenching rapidly. He looked beaten, physically and emotionally.

“I’m sorry,” He choked out. His voice was shaky and wet. His eyes darted around and his body was tense. “I…I didn’t know where else to go. I can’t go back to that house. You’re the only one I…You’re the only one I trust to help me.”

“What happened?” Pope didn’t reply. His lip quivered and a sob shook through him. His free hand rose to his face to cover his mouth. Tears welled in his eyes and he let out another sobbing breath. “Oh, Andrew.” Your face fell and your heart swelled. You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him close to you. His face fell to the crook of your neck and he cried against you. You felt the wetness of his tears on your skin. You held him tightly, running comforting strokes over his back and his hand gripped onto the fabric of your shirt. “It’s okay,” You soothed. “It’s okay.” You stood there for what could have been minutes or hours, in the doorway of your apartment, just holding him. The only sounds were his sniffles and the occasional car driving past. When he was ready, Pope pulled back, but his hand still fisted the back of your shirt. Shiny streaks of tears stained his cheeks and his breathing was still hiccuping. Your hand gently disentangled him from your back and you walked him inside your apartment. You closed the door and locked it. You led him by the hand to your couch, where you told him to sit while you got your medical supplies. After you deposited him, he sat there for a moment, blinking and arm still outstretched. He flexed his hand, confused that your warmth was no longer in his palm. 

When you returned, you were holding your kit. You unpacked it on the coffee table. Nylon threads, a hooked stitching needle, disinfectant, water, a washcloth, bandages, and a dose of lidocaine that had been too easy to snatch from the medicine cart at the hospital. After mixing some water and disinfectant solution, you sat back on your knees, looking up at him from your position on the ground. Pope was pressing his hand to his side and you could see the deep red that was beginning to slip through his fingers. You laced your fingers around his and gently removed his palm. 

“Gonna take a look, okay?” You told him and he nodded. Sweat was beginning to bead at his temples. You lifted the side of his shirt with care and sucked in a breath when you saw the slash that cut through the side of his abdomen. Likely a knife wound of some kind. You put on your gloves and disinfected the cut, running your fingers along the edge of the wound to assess its depth. Pope shivered beneath you. “Okay,” you breathed “Looks pretty straightforward. You’ll need stitches, but it didn’t cut deep enough for more than one layer.” You gave him a tight smile “Doable.” Pope’s eyes were half-lidded as he looked down at you and his jaw was slackened slightly. He really was beautiful, even with the bruises and blood and despair splashed across his face. You took the dose of lidocaine and took the cap off the syringe. You offered him one of your hands to hold. He took it without hesitation. “Squeeze if you need to. You won’t hurt me. It’s gonna sting a bit, okay?”

“Okay,” his voice was breathy, ragged, and he squeezed your hand tighter. You pressed the needle below the wound and plunged the syringe down. Once he was sufficiently numbed, you prepared the sutures. It took some convincing to have Pope let go of your hand, but after assuring him that, yes, both hands were needed for the stitches, he grumbled and released you. 

You stitched him up quickly and efficiently, looping the thread over the gash and pulling tight. At the half-way point, Pope’s legs were shaking from the shock. You squeezed his knee reassuringly. “We’re about halfway done, alright? You’re doing so well for me.” Pope froze beneath you and his breath hitched. He blinked hard and turned his face from you. You noticed he was holding his breath. “Breathe for me, Pope. In and out. I’m almost done, I promise.” His neck reddened and his jaw clenched, but he did as you said. 

“Good.” You soothed. Pope looked at you. He had the same look in his eyes as he did when he was on alert, like he was trying to read you. You ignored it. After another line of stitches, you tied off the thread and shucked off your gloves. “All done!” You tossed your gloves and the needle into a red biohazard bag. You pulled yourself up onto the couch and grabbed the washcloth from the coffee table, wetting it with the water and disinfectant solution. You gently turned his face to get a better look at his temple. “You gonna tell me what happened?” You used your pointer finger to dab at the cut above his eyebrow.

“Smurf’s usin’ me as her little…attack dog again.” His voice was shaky, coming down from his adrenaline high caused by the stitches. “That’s all I am to her. I mean just look at me.” His gaze settled heavy on his knuckles and he flexed them. They were bruised purple and scabbed over. “Everything I touch gets mangled and bloody. And the worst part is I don’t even know why I do it. At some point I did but…the more I think about it, I can never remember a reason. It’s what I’ve always done. It’s just…who I am. That's all I am.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“It is.” he bit back “And if you keep…if you keep getting close to me you’re gonna realize that one day. You’re gonna realize what I am. I…I hurt people. She sent me after this guy ‘nd I beat him in front of…in front of his kid. Who does that? I’m a monster!” His voice was gravelly, growing louder with each word. Pope’s lip quivered and his anger morphed into a kind of despair.

“You’re not a monster.” Your voice was unwavering. “You don’t scare me, Pope,” You told him. And you meant it. Your free hand went to rest on his forearm and he flinched slightly. But he didn't pull away. “You could never scare me. You’re so much more than that and it kills me that you don’t see it.” His lips pressed together and his brow twitched. The muscles at the corners of his mouth pulled upward and then relaxed, and you saw him swallow. He looked like he was on the verge of tears. He took a few deep breaths.

“Please,” Pope choked out, voice barely above a whisper. His gaze moved from where it was burning a hole in your carpet to capture your eyes in an equally blazing way. His eyes were wide, pleading, dark, and wet. His eyebrows tilted up ever so slightly, the way a dog would when begging for scraps at a table. He clenched his jaw and swallowed, pressing his palms together tighter. As if it was the only way to stay grounded in the moment. “Call me Andrew.” You tilted your head, lowering your hand from his face. 

“Andrew,” Your voice was equally as soft. You raised the washcloth again, gesturing for him to turn his head so you could regain your angle. But he didn’t move, keeping your eyes locked with his. You could feel the heat radiating from his bare chest. Maybe caused by the adrenaline crash after fighting for his life. Maybe caused by the way the air had shifted slightly between you two. Not too intense, just enough to notice. It shifted from the simple relationship of patient and nurse to something more charged. Something more intimate. You swallowed. He stared into your soul, searching for something with his eyes. Those eyes. Big and wet and dark as ink. You knew Pope- Andrew- had a staring problem. And from a distance, you didn’t mind it, but up close, it was intimidating. His face was blank and you couldn’t tell what was churning in that mind of his. Andrew’s gaze held the normal edge that you were used to, like an animal unsure of its next move. But underneath it, there was something softer. Squishier. A hesitance that was so unlike the man you knew. Like he was waging a war with himself and he wasn’t sure what outcome he preferred, whether he won or lost. 

Suddenly, his lips were on yours. It was a cautious kiss, slow pecks testing the waters. You inhaled sharply. Surprise jolted through you, but soon melted into bliss as you pressed your face against his. You dropped the washcloth to the ground and brought your hands to his face, holding his cheeks. They were still sticky with dried tears. You felt the stubble against his skin. You hadn’t really noticed that it was there until just now. He was usually so clean-shaven, neatly kept like the rest of his appearance. But he must not have shaved that morning and the thought of seeing him disheveled, seeing him broken down to his most intimate forms, made your heart tumble with yearning. Andrew slowly raised his hand and traced his fingers down yours, as if he was checking to make sure you were real. Like you were actually touching him like that. 

You poked your tongue out, testing the waters even further, giving him a chance to back out if all he needed was something gentle. Andrew exhaled sharply as he opened his lips and let your tongue into his mouth, breath fanning across your nose. You felt his fingers dance across your waist and settle on your upper thigh. Your kisses became more open and less controlled. Your lips worked against his and he nipped at your mouth before soothing the bite with his own tongue. The kiss got sloppy fast, both of your breathing becoming shallow and more needy. His tongue ran against yours and Andrew whimpered slightly as he sucked on your bottom lip. His grip became harsher, digging into the meat of your thigh and pulling you closer to him. You ignored the burning in your lungs for as long as you could, but you eventually had to pull away from him, gasping for breath and feeling a string of saliva still connecting the two of you. Your eyes fluttered open. Andrew was looking at you, hungry, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen and red. Pants were coming through his parted lips and his nose twitched. The sight sent a shock of arousal down your spine before pooling as heat in your lower abdomen. You needed him. Your hands slid down his face and neck before settling on his chest. Andrew sucked in a breath at your touch. He tensed slightly under your fingers, and something told you it had been a long time since he felt a touch like this. Gentle. Nonthreatening. Needy.

Andrew held your gaze as he slid off the couch and onto the floor, kneeling between your legs. His fingers slid up your thighs and hooked into the waistband of your shorts. You could see the painfully hard outline of his cock pressing against the fabric of his jeans. He looked up at you with reverence, lips parted and eyes wide. Like he was about to start praying at an altar. You wiggled your hips forward and felt the wetness beginning to collect between your folds. All you wanted was to feel his tongue in you. Feel his lips suckle on your clit and watch his face as he tongue-fucked you to your release. But you reigned yourself in. Your hands rested on his. 

“Wait,” You whisper. Andrew let out a frustrated whimper. How could you deny him this? When it was so clearly the only thing he wanted? “Andrew, we don’t have to. You had a rough day a-and I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret. We can just talk if that’s what you want.”

“Won’t regret it,” He insisted, gripping the fabric of your shorts in his fingers “I’ve wanted to do this for so long. Needed you for such a long time.”

“But your stitches. I-” “Shut up.” He sighed, tugging on your shorts. “Please. Let me taste you.” You opened your mouth before closing it. You had run out of excuses. You lifted your hips and let him pull your shorts down. Andrew lifted your ankle and pulled the garment off you. His eyes darkened when he saw you weren’t wearing underwear. They felt too constraining in the heat of the night. You shimmied forward on the couch so that your pussy was level with his face. He licked his lips and you felt like you were about to die from how badly you needed him. He pulled you down closer to him, burying his face between your folds and taking a deep inhale. The first swipe of his tongue against you made you toss your head back against the couch with a sigh. Andrew flattened his tongue and dragged his jaw upwards, licking a broad stripe up your entire sex. He wrapped his lips around your clit and gave a harsh suck, making your thighs clasp against his ears. His hands pressed your legs closer to him, urging you to squeeze his head between your legs- a position he would die in if you’d let him. He teased you, swirling the point of his tongue around your bundle of nerves until you were gasping before swiping the muscle down the length of your cunt, dipping into your hole just enough for you to feel a pleasant burn then letting it slip out and flatting it against you. The cycle was brutal. The band in your belly tightened and loosened. It was like he knew exactly how to work your body right up to the edge and how to let you down gently while still sending bursts of pleasure through your body. You were completely lost in the pure bliss Andrew blessed you with. Your hand flew to his hair, tugging lightly on his curls and pressing your thighs tighter against him as he moaned into your wetness. You could see a wet spot forming on the tent in his pants and he bucked against the air. And yet Andrew was so lost in you, too- your taste, your feel, your smell- that he really didn’t notice his own discomfort. 

When he finally slipped two of his fingers into your hole, curling up against the spongy spot, while also furiously licking at your clit, your moans grew louder. Your juices ran down his knuckles and he pressed a third finger into your heat. Your breathing was more ruined, eyes screwed shut as you chased your release. You didn’t notice, but Andrew’s gaze was locked on you, memorizing every little twitch of your mouth, every little noise that fell from your lips. A moment he’d like to relive every night for the rest of his life, if you’d let him. Even if you didn’t, he’d be jerking himself off to it for eternity, only imagining how you looked in that moment. You were glowing, a light sheen of sweat shining on your face and a mix of spit and slick coating your inner thighs. He curled his fingers again and reveled in the way you clenched against him. You rutted against his face. It wasn’t intentional, really, just a primal need. You used his face to get yourself off, and Andrew’s eyes drifted closed, immersed in the sensation of being reduced to an object for your own pleasure. It wasn’t long before you felt your abdomen tighten. You pressed your legs even tighter against him. The feeling of his fingers, his tongue, and his other hand rubbing soothing circles on your thigh was too overwhelming. You came with a cry, throwing your head back and pulling Andrew’s face deeper into you. You felt a wetness rip from your pussy, squirt coating Andrew’s face. You were too lost in your pleasure to care. You shook against him, riding out the last traces of your orgasm on his tongue. You breathed heavily, eyes slowly opening to look at him. Andrew sat back and looked at you, swiping a finger through the squirt that coated his chin. Embarrassment rose in your chest, and you shifted so that you were sitting up.

“I’m…so sorry,” You gasp, still slightly out of breath. “I didn’t mean to…do…that.” Andrew made sure you watched as he sucked his fingers clean. His eyes were dark with lust, lips puffy and slicked. You could see the curls at the back of his head plastered against the column of his neck by sweat. He didn’t say a word, just wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and crawled up on top of you, laying you down on the couch. One of his arms braced himself next to your head and the other fiddled with the button on his pants. You helped him pop it and tug the zipper down. Andrew kicked off his jeans and pulled his boxers down just enough for his cock to jump out. You licked your lips hungrily as he guided his length to your entrance. He slid his dick through your folds, coating his tip in your juices before slowly pushing into you. The burn was instant and you sucked in a breath, grabbing his biceps to steady yourself as he pushed deeper into you. You both groaned in unison as Andrew bottomed out and his other arm came down, caging your head beneath him. He kissed you again as he rolled his hips slowly, swallowing your moans. 

“You okay?” He asked, drawing your bottom lip between his teeth. You nodded.

“You’re just…” You gasped “You’re so big.” He kissed up your jaw and behind your ear.

“M’sorry,” He whispered, “Jus’tell me if it’s too much.” 

Andrew set a slow pace at first, like he was scared that releasing his full strength would hurt you. The slow drag of him against you was sinful. Addictive. Dangerous. You wanted- no, you needed more. You wrapped your legs around his waist and dug your heels into his ass, urging him to fuck you harder. He obliged, shifting from rolling his hips to snapping in and out, forcing moans from deep in your chest. Andrew’s breaths were coming out in short puffs, sweat dripping down his face as he put all of his energy into fucking you into the cusions of your couch. After a particularly loud moan spilled from your lips, he shoved two of his fingers in your mouth. You realized instantly that they were the same two fingers that had curled inside of you only moments before. 

“Shhh,” Andrew grumbled “Don’t wanna wake the neighbors. You gonna be a good girl f’me and keep quiet?” You nodded emphatically and Andrew swirled his fingers against your tongue, gathering your spit before withdrawing and immediately rubbing circles around your clit with the wettened digits. Your core tightened around him at the feeling and your nails clawed down his back. He shuttered and groaned at the sensation, humping harder against you. His hip bone was grinding into yours, and your shoulder was beginning to ache from the awkward position, but you felt so full and so content that you didn’t dare complain. You would rather die than lose the sensation of Andrew inside of you. Andrew looked down at you with pure awe. You were his Goddess beneath him, allowing him the highest honor of being able to not only touch you, but to bring you to the verge of inexplicable pleasure for the second time. Each one of his thrusts purged a small, high-pitched moan from him.

“Feels so good,” You whine, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder. Your second orgasm was building fast. You could tell Andrew was getting close, rhythm becoming uneven. 

“Yea?” He whined. The sound was heartbreaking, high pitched and broken and small.  “I make you feel good? ‘M I doin’ a good job fucking you?” It wasn’t dirty talk, but a genuine question. He needed to hear it, the sounds coming from you weren’t enough.

“So good. You fuck me so good Andrew.” He mewled at your words, burying his face in your neck and moaning into your skin. 

“Gonna fill you up. Wanna have you squirting on my face every day for the rest of my life,” He rambled “Wanna feel you come around me over and over again. Squeezing me so tight. S’like you were made for me. Only me.”

“Fuck, please, Andrew!” You moaned, words coming out breathy with every thrust into you “Only you!” Your words spurred him on. He pulled your shirt up just high enough where one of your breasts was on display. Andrew bit his lip at the sight, eyes locked on the smooth curves of your tit. His mouth captured your nipple, tongue swirling and lips sucking as he snapped his hips into you. Andrew’s teeth grazed the bud and the band in your belly snapped, causing a squelching sound to fill your living room as you came on his cock. Andrew wasn’t far behind, small whimpers and moans mixed in with short pants as he emptied himself into you while still latched onto your nipple, gasping out small ‘thank you’s as he did. He pushed as far into you as physically possible, emptying his seed right against your cervix. 

Andrew collapsed on top of you, face nuzzled into your neck and peppering kisses against your sweaty skin. Your fingers scratched at his scalp, grounding both of you as you came down from your high. Your legs were shaking and your walls were still fluttering. Andrew began to pull out but you let out a needy whine and squeezed your heels into his rear, begging him to stay put. He let out a little huff of amusement and lifted his head, pressing kisses to your forehead, eyelids, nose, and eventually mouth. He swiped an eyelash from your cheek and looked down at you with a glowing smile. The two of you stayed there for a few moments before he broke the silence.

“Thank you,” he croaked out, voice raw from his moans. “For letting me in tonight.” You smiled at him, pressing your lips to his in a series of short kisses.

“Any time.” You hum. “Seriously, though, no strenuous activity for a few days. I don’t want to redo your stitches. I’m pretty proud of them.”

“No promises,” He mumbled. “Might just have to pop one so I can come back and see my favorite nurse.”

 “Y’know,” you drawl “I do offer a bedside service. If you're interested.”

“Yea?” He laughed airily, “What’s that gonna cost me?”

“Dunno,” you shrugged, pressing another open-mouthed kiss to his lips. Your hands ran up his shoulders and nestled into his hair. You felt his cock twitch inside of you when you started playing with the curls. “But I’m sure we can get creative with the payment plan.”

[thatfanficstuff]

That's my Girl - Brett Richards

Brett Richards x Wife!Reader

synopsis: The new recruit says something stupid when you come to visit

warnings/notes: reader is a girly girl cuz that's what goes with the square. just pretend. Bad joke i got from reddit. part of my 9k celebration.

wc: 1k

You were used to people making assumptions about you. It came with the territory when you were still a “girly-girl” at your age. Who cared if your favorite color was pink, or you always made sure your makeup and nails were perfect? Or if your favorite scent trailed you wherever you went? Every woman should channel her inner Elle Woods in your opinion.

One place you hadn’t needed to worry about it in some time was your husband’s firehouse. He traveled a lot for his work, helping other stations get into shape as needed, but this was his home base. His family. His people. As such, you took care of them in little ways. Today, that meant a big pot of chili and dessert. The crew always liked when it was Brett’s turn to cook as most of the time that meant dessert from you, along with the occasional meal.

You walked in, kitten heels clicking on the floor, drawing immediate attention. “Food’s in the car,” you announced and left them to it. You didn’t notice a new set of eyes trailing you as you made your way to Brett’s office.

You knocked on his open door and he looked up, a smile covering his face as he took you in. He slid off his glasses and put them on the desk. “Hey, baby. What are you doing here? I thought you had that client meeting today.”

He pushed back his chair and opened his arms for you. You moved over to get a hug and then leaned against the desk in front of him, standing between his legs. His hands found your hips as he looked up at you.

“It’s not for a couple of hours yet. Brought dinner.”

His hands tightened briefly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You huffed and ran your fingers through the curls on top of his head. “I know. But I did it anyway.”

“You have time to eat before you go? The crew always likes it when you stick around.”

You nodded and hummed in agreement. His smile grew impossibly wider as he stood and linked his fingers with yours. “Well, come along then, Mrs. Richards.”

As the two of you headed toward the kitchen, snippets of conversation drifted toward you. Brett pulled you to a stop when he heard his name.

“I have to say I’m surprised. Richards doesn’t seem the type.”

Brett leaned down to speak in your ear. “Kennedy. New recruit.”

The was a beat of silence then you heard Rhodes speak, “The type for what?” You’d always liked Rhodes.

“You know, that.”

Brett’s brow furrowed and you mirrored the gesture. What the hell was this kid on about?

“Afraid we don’t know. You want to clarify?” That was Jenny. She sounded irritated to say the least.

There was a low laugh. “Dating a groupie, a fire hoe.”

Oh.

“A what?” Rhodes’ voice was low, sharp. If the kid knew what was good for him, he’d shut up.

He didn’t. “Women that chase firefighters. Fire hoes. Get it?”

Brett released your hand and strode forward leaving you to trail behind him. The room was silent, everyone glaring at the new guy who seemed to still be waiting for the laughter he expected. Idiot.

“You want to repeat that?” Your husband’s raspy voice cut through the air and Kennedy spun to face him, looking like his soul just left his body.

“Chief! It was just a joke. Didn’t mean anything by it. Just trying to lighten things up.”

Brett crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at the man in front of him. “That woman, as you put it, is my wife.” He took a step forward. “She is intelligent, beautiful and takes care of this firehouse like family. Most importantly, she’s mine. Everyone here respects her. Do I make myself clear?”

Kennedy wouldn’t meet your husband’s eyes. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

The kid glanced at him briefly before settling his gaze on you. “Sorry, Mrs. Richards.”

You nodded but said nothing. The likelihood he would have apologized if Brett hadn’t overheard was slim to none. You’d never cared for insincere apologies.

“We’ll keep him busy, chief. Don’t worry,” Rhodes said, dropping a hand onto the younger man’s shoulder to steer him away.

“I thought we were getting ready to eat,” Kennedy protested.

Rhodes scoffed. “You think you can insult her and then eat her food? There’s bologna in the fridge.”

The scowl was still firmly on Brett’s face as he pulled out a chair for you. You placed your hand on the side of his face and pressed a kiss to his lips. “He’s an idiot. Your crew will teach him better manners. Don’t let it ruin your day, handsome.”

 He hummed beneath your lips, snaking an arm around your waist to pull you into him and deepen the kiss. Only when the firefighters gathered at the table started to whistle and cheer did he pull away. A wide smile covered his face as he laughed. He guided you into your chair before taking the seat beside you and pulling you close enough that your thigh was pressed against his.

The normal easy-going banter rose up around the table as the meal was served and food passed around. Brett’s hand found yours under the table, tangling your fingers together. You let yourself sink into the feeling of belonging, of being part of the crew even if you’d never ran into a burning building.

A small part of you felt sorry for Kennedy and what the coming weeks would undoubtedly look like for him. The rest of you decided it was a lesson better learned here and now than at the expense of someone that didn’t have the support you did. Some other woman who thought her partner had her back only to find out she was horribly wrong.

You leaned into Brett’s side, smiling when he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Kennedy entered the room and sat at the far end of the table, frowning at his bologna sandwich. You laughed at his disgruntled expression then turned to kiss your husband again.

Brett Richards Masterlist

[abbotsmyhabit]

Show Me Where It Hurts Masterlist

With Lena struggling in school after the loss of her mother Baz hires a tutor to manage Lena for him, you. Andrew 'Pope' Cody finds himself infatuated.

contains: MDNI! no use of y/n, smut, violence, fluff, angst, violence, death, editing of canon

♥️smut 💗fluff ❣️angst 💖sexy

Show Me Where It Hurts: Part One Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Two Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Three Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Four Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Five Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Six Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Seven Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Eight Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Nine Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Ten Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Eleven Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Twelve Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Thirteen Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Fourteen Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Fifteen Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Sixteen Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Seventeen Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Eighteen Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Nineteen Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Twenty Show Me Where It Hurts: Party Twenty-One Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Twenty-Two Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Twenty-Three Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Twenty-Four Show Me Where It Hurts: Part Twenty-Five Show Me Where It Hurts: FINALE (Part Twenty-Six) Show Me Where It Hurts: EPILOGUE (Part Twenty-Seven) Show Me Where It Hurts: Father's Day (Bonus Chapter) ♥️💗💖 Show Me Where It Hurts: The Birthday (Bonus Chapter) 💗❣️💖