oh to get pulled over for speeding by your husband sammy <3
shrugging your shoulders and forming a wince when you see the officer sammy bryant rolling up to your window. eyes squinted shut a bit at "okaaaay, license and registration."
when he finally gets a good look at you, he's cooing "baby... what the fuck? this is a 30, you were doing 45. what's the rush princess? whatsa matter?"
you're pleased to find out that crying does, indeed, still get you out of a ticket. you're hyperventilating as sammy watches, "shh, shhh okay, okay honey c'mon outta the car."
he opens the door for you, helping you stand up and hugging you, a gentle rock back n forth as he tuts into your hair "gotta be careful baby, you're precious cargo, you know that? huh?" sammy holds you for a few more minutes, big soothing hand running down your back to help even your breaths. you never did like getting in trouble, and it's even worse when you disappoint him.
after a few minutes and a call over the radio, sammy pulls back with thumbs rubbing at your arms. he meets your eye level, putting on that soft dominant voice you love so much, "now get your pretty lil ass back in the car, drive home- slowly now, okay? and go lay down for a little, you're too worked up sweetheart. i'll be home soon, kay? okay baby? alright.. g'head" tapping your butt as you get back in the car, closing the door for you on the way.
when you pull away he smiles at you, making the "i'm watching you" signal with his pointer and middle finger and flashing you his million-dollar, crooked, charming smile.
laying with pope in bed, sides pressed together, relaxing and cozy on a rainy, spring night. he’s shirtless, only wearing black sweats as you watch tv, the candlelight casting a warm orange glow across his chest. his hair is still wet from his shower, and his deodarant smells so good & musky when his arm is up. you’re tucked under his arm, cuddled into his shoulder as you watch tv. andrew’s arms look so vascular in this light, raised veins pulsating as he lays his palm flat on your tummy. he’s soooo big, his hand spanning across your belly and lightly gripping to hold you closer.
eventually, the rain gets heavier & pope gets touchier. a once sleepy night results in you two playing with eachother while watching the movie 𑣲
your hand in his sweats, squeezing him tightly at the base; pulling back the hood of his foreskin with a gentle thumb to his creamy, pink tip. his lips are puffy as he pouts, eyes fixed on the tv and your heaving chest as he works his hand down your panties.
pope cody is a clit LOVER, okay? rubbing his thumb sideways over your button, the tips and nails of his other fingers dragging through your weepy slit. he knows you love to cum this way, knows your eyes well with tears & your hands shake when he grazes your clit with his teeth when he eats you. the friction of the calloused pad of his finger is an instant stress reliever, his grunts in your ear pulling you closer.
kissing your hair, right above your ear, his eyes never stray away from the movie. andrew shudders “i’m gonna cum, okay?” you nod frantically, toes curling at the press of his fingers at your little clit. “ffuuuuuck, okay, okay, oh fuck” his eyes clench shut, legs lightly stretching as he cums all over your pretty hand and in his sweats. his thumb picks up the pace, lightly scratching over your clit before giving it a little squeeze between his thumb and pointer finger. (on inspections after a long “work” trip, he calls those “kisses”)
you cry out, gripping his arm laid flat down your torso and cry. your legs squeeze shut, trapping his hand there, as andrew lets out another groan himself.
afterwards, you stay in your same position, blearily watching the rest of the movie in silence. before you both drift to sleep, you hear his gravelly voice again “love you” and who are you to deny him the safety of a well-loved sleep? “love you too andrew”
✶ pairing | andrew pope cody x f!reader
✶ word count | 1.3k
✶ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, boyfriend pope, inexperienced pope, certified eater pope, premature ejaculation, size kink
✶ summary | Pope accidentally cums too early when you're fucking but it's okay, he knows how to make it up to you.
✶ notes | aw shit here we go again with my oral fixation lmao. but lowkey the thought of pope cleaning you up with his mouth just 💀 something random and smutty, the poll i made still counts for anyone who's voted so far 😅 that gif does things to me.
masterlist | ao3 | inbox | requests, taglist, submissions: open
It's well known Pope isn't the most experienced of lovers when you first get together besides a few relationships (too raw - too painful to touch, an ever present aching bruise) and some quick, dirty fucks that left him filled with more sweat and regret than satisfaction.
In the beginning, he might not have outright declared as much but it was adorably - endearingly - obvious in how hard his fingers clenched into the soft give of your sides or the sharp exhale of his breath rushing from him whenever your lips slid together wet and messy.
When he finally divulged why he got so jumpy any time your hand grazed his thigh, why he broke off your kisses before they got too heated - "Want you so bad but... don't want to hurt you" - you were charmed.
Utterly smitten. Besotted. Twitterpated.
Ugh, got you so giddy you felt like a goddamn school girl with a crush.
Besides, he needn't have worried about his performance in the bedroom, having more than made up for any shortcomings with his eager to please attitude and boundless enthusiasm (plus you like it a little rough, a little rude).
The number of times you've fucked since becoming official can be counted on one hand, but he's leaps and bounds ahead of where he was when you first started being intimate.
It certainly helps he's a dedicated student; throwing himself, as he does with everything, full throttle into any and all efforts to learn the secrets of your body.
A quick learner, it isn’t long before he can make you cum with a skillful twist of his fingers, a harsh rut of the hips that settles him so deep inside your pussy, your thighs tremble.
Not only is he able to wring orgasm after orgasm out of you, his stamina is insane. Almost to the point where you’re having trouble keeping up with him, having to take little breaks between rounds to gulp down water and catch your breath.
So… when it happens, it’s altogether unexpected.
But so fucking filthy hot you’re pretty sure you astral project to a higher plane of existence.
You’d been teasing him all day: the brush of your hand across his ass, the skim of your knuckles over the crotch of his pants, pressing close against the wide berth of his back and whispering soft, nasty little nothings into his ear.
Delighting in the blush that crept up the sides of his neck. The cherry red burn of his ears as he gulped, readjusting himself before shooting you that deadpan stare of his.
Pope lasts longer than you give him credit for, though that’s most likely due to his competitive streak. He breaks all the same; however, shoving you into his bedroom as soon as the door closes behind you.
So needy and desperate he can’t wait any longer, even if the rest of the boys are due to arrive at any moment (though getting caught in the middle would be a novel concept in the Cody household, Pope prefers when your noises are kept to, and for, himself).
You only just got undressed, the bed creaking under the combination of your weights when he cages you beneath him. His chest flexes with every hurried breath, his ribs expanding with labored puffs of air as his cock bullies its way inside your pussy, hips slotting into place against yours.
“P-Pope,” you whine, your toes digging into his sides as your thighs fall open across his. “So deep, I - haaah -”
The fat head of his cock nudges against your cervix with every little rut, sparks of pain fissioning out and deepening the warmth fizzling behind your belly button.
Thick and long, he stuffs your pussy to the brim every time without fail, stretching you wide until tears cling to your lashes and your nails dig into his shoulders. It hurts no matter how long he spends prepping you, but you like it better this way.
The pain only enhances the pleasure; deepens, and darkens.
And knowing he has to force his cock those last few inches because your pussy can’t take it without assistance always riles you up. Makes you needy and desperate to take everything he can give like a good girl.
“Yeah, I know,” Pope's breath hitches as his teeth tug on his bottom lip, his eyes half lidded and greedy as they track the hard bounce of your tits, “Feels so - hnn - good inside you.”
“Mm!” Your fingers inch up the corded muscles of his forearms, caressing over the lattice of veins as they shackle themselves to his elbows as he bends you in half. “Right there, right there. Jus like - ohmygod! - like that.”
Pope grunts, rocking into the cradle of your hips harder, the shaft of his cock dragging almost completely out only to slide to the hilt in one thrust. His pelvis grinds against the swollen bud of your clit as he holds himself there, your slick smearing into his skin.
He curses under his breath when your walls flutter, trying to milk him for all he’s worth. “Fuck! Don’t - don’t do that. I can’t - I can’t -”
And then his cock throbs hard once, twice.
A litany of soft, breathy exhalations of pure pleasure accompany the slick echoes of your bodies crashing together. Then his head bends low, the tangled briar of his curls clinging to his damp temples. His jaw drops slack, and a devastated moan punches out of his throat.
Muscles ripple into a full body shiver, Pope's sharp hips stuttering against the backs of your thighs. Sticky warmth floods your cunt, and his hazy, lust-blown eyes stare into yours as he pumps you full of cum, a breathless, unspoken "I love you," hovering on his lips.
You groan, blinking up at him, “Did you just-?”
Pope's arms buckle.
Flopping down onto you, a sweaty, panting mess, he tucks his hot face into the crook of your neck. Moist breath puffs across your skin, a ticklish awareness skittering down your spine like spider's legs. Goosebumps rise along your arms.
His heartbeat hammers against your ribs.
“Yeah, I - I…” Pope huffs, his nose dragging over the length of your collarbone, inhaling the scent of your skin as his tongue flicks over your pulse point when he licks his lips. “I did. ‘m sorry.”
Breathing in through your nose, you card a hand through his sweaty hair. Swallow down the pleading whines sitting on the tip of your tongue. You don’t want to embarrass him any more than he probably is. He hasn’t cum this quick since the early days, and you’d rather not ruin the evening by making him spiral.
So even when your pussy flutters, trapped on the edge of an orgasm as his cum leaks out of you, you bite down on your impulses. Resign yourself to being horny for the foreseeable future until you can sneak away and take care of yourself with a vibrator.
“It’s alright, baby. It happens.” Your eyes close, and you breathe through your nose, trying to calm the gallop of your heartbeat. "I still had a good time."
Relaxing seems almost impossible with Pope's constant shifting, but you try your best to get your body on the same page as your mind. Only for all efforts to go to waste when he pulls back his hips, his cock slipping free with a sticky gush, and shimmies down between your thighs. Damp curls tickle your skin, your lower belly jumping at the sensation.
Furrowing your brow, you peek down at your boyfriend. “Pope, what’re you--?”
Broad palms caress your hips, Pope using his thumbs to trace over the jut of bone. His chest glitters under the light, the muscles shifting beneath his skin almost mesmerizing as he settles on his belly. Forearms hook over the tops of your thighs, and his dark eyes flash with hunger.
His mouth pulls up into an impish smirk. “Can I?” he asks, dropping his gaze to the apex of your thighs. “Please?”
He chuckles low and warm when he sees how flustered you get. Syrupy sweet, boyish; altogether too endearing for the current circumstances.
“...Are you serious?”
You can’t deny the fresh wave of desire the thought brings - Pope with his thick fingers, his tender mouth and soft tongue stroking over swollen, abused flesh - but flap a hand between your bodies in a vague gesture all the same.
“Isn’t that kind of - you just, y’know?”
You aren’t the only one affected by the idea, Pope's cock jerking feebly where it rests against his thigh. A pink tongue flicks out to run along the length of his red-bitten bottom lip as he regards you with predatory anticipation.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I’ve always wondered what we taste like. Please let me.”
andrew and gf who cant get their hands off each other no matter the circumstance (aka footjob in the dining room) (18+)
series masterlist
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had you moved in?
if so, when? because as far as craig was concerned, there had been no announcement or even warning about the newest member of the cody household.
and if not, then craig couldn't help but wonder why you were at his home at all hours of the day. was breakfast not sacred anymore?
now, craig was no adversary to pretty girls. but he usually only enjoyed them when they were perched under his arm, not ... doing whatever the fuck it was that you were doing with andrew under the table.
he could see it from his place on the kitchen island.
the kitchen and the dining room where far enough that he couldn't really hear your hushed whispers all that well, but they were close enough that he could see what you were doing.
and despite his high endurance when it came to annoying shit, he was almost at his limit with you two.
hunched over, he reclined on the island that was just a little too low for his high stature, getting the lateral view of the dining table from across the room. the same table you were currently sitting at with pope.
making mooney eyes at his brother was one thing, but playing footsie with him? it made him sick. it was far too lovey-dovey for him, not to mention that seeing his brother slowly fall into your saccharine trap annoyed him.
(though he wasn't entirely sure if it was out of sheer disgust at getting yet another glance of his brother's sex life or something entirely unknown to him).
your foot began by gracing andrew's shin, slowly going up and down, toes pointed as you teased at the skin.
this had pope coughing out whenever he felt the sudden contact, making a surprised face that you'd be toying with him while his brothers were around.
craig appreciated pope's decorum for a moment.
but only for a moment.
because within seconds, your foot aimed higher, soon landing on his crotch and beginning to toy at that space instead. your foot swirled in circles, teasing in its movements as you remained completely nonchalant from the waist up.
pope, in the meantime, dropped his fork, coughed out some of his drink and cursed under his breath.
and from where craig was standing, he had the perfect view of the moment in which pope reached underneath the table and grabbed onto your ankle, grip tight as he hesitated for a moment.
once the short moment of hesitation was over, pope began to guide your foot against his crotch, pressing it harder against him and huffing under his breath.
craig couldn't look away. it was like a car crash.
but his gaze mostly remained on you. it remained on the sultry look in your eyes, on the two top teeth digging into the plush of your lower lip as a tiny, minuscule, moan left your lips at how easy it was to get pope to get in on your depravity.
you were a little hunched over in your chair now as pope pulled at your foot. his brother slowly humped your foot, movements discrete enough to keep anyone else unaware, except craig had the perfect view.
your eyes remained strictly on pope, gaze thirsty, chest heaving. it was as if the mere sight of pope getting off had you on the verge of coming.
craig could somewhat understand, as the sight of you made him shift uncomfortably on his feet, hand itching to go south in order to readjust himself at least.
only a few moments of your footjob went by before you spoke up.
"andy?" craig heard you whisper, "take me to your room?"
within seconds pope was already getting up, reaching across the table to grab at your hand and lead you away. you went with no complaint, giggling as you did so and even snorting a little when you passed craig on your way out of the room.
pope threw craig one of his looks, but craig was too distracted by you to notice.
when he heard a door slam shut, he knew the noise was only bound to get louder.
and without realizing it, craig somehow found himself now leaning against the kitchen counter, abandoning the island altogether and as close to the connecting wall as possible.
he was nonchalant about it. or at least as nonchalant as he could be as the muffled noises from the bedroom began to fill up the silent house.
craig could only make up some bits and pieces from the thin wall separating you from the kitchen, especially with the telltale sound of the bed's springs squeaking in a familiar rhythm.
"think you can tease me like that, baby? gonna fuck the brat out of you."
to which you just replied with a wail of "please, andy!"
after that it was unintelligible sounds and gasps of 'andy—!' or 'don't stop!' that occupied craig's ears. and he stood there to take in every sound.
when it was all over, he could only imagine you laid back on the bed, belly stained with cum, or maybe your back.
craig shuddered and kicked the thought away. pope would kill him if he knew.
andrew and gf being soooo loud they make it everyone else's problem
series masterlist
-
craig finally understood why his brothers acted the way they did. why they gave him looks and cursed him out any time he stepped out of his room in the morning, hickeys to be found all over his neck and shoulders and red lines trailing down the length of his back.
because last night he'd learned just how thin the walls at the cody house were.
he'd learned that, yeah, maybe he should've been a little more considerate of his brothers when staying up all night with a new girl in his room every other day.
but, to be fair, there was no way for craig to know that this was what his brothers were hearing through all hours of the night when his promiscuity got the best of him.
"i swear to god, if i hear one more 'andy-!' i'm going to march in there with a shotgun."
deran could only chuckle into his mouthful of cereal, clearly way less impacted by the noise than his brother.
he was used to it. courtesy of craig himself.
"what, not as fun when it's not a girl screaming your name?"
before craig could answer, the slam of a headboard hitting the wall that separated the kitchen and pope's room began to accelerate once more, interrupting anything he could've said.
and when he opened his mouth after a short pause, he was interrupted once more, except this time by something worse — wails of his brother's name.
"a-andy, fuck! please, fuck, andy—!"
"you've gotta be fucking kidding me," he muttered under his breath before addressing his brother, "no. in fact, sex completely loses its appeal when i'm not the one on the receiving end."
"shit! oh, andyandyandy- don't stop!"
craig rolled his eyes, movements brusque as he took out a few things to make himself breakfast. he could feel a headache coming in.
"hey, be happy it's only her you can hear. i can't even imagine what pope would soun-"
craig grimaced, "don't finish that sentence, man. i don't wanna know what fucking pope sounds like during sex."
deran shrugged, continuing to eat his soggy cereal. nonchalance seethed out of him.
some moments of silence passed between the brothers, with the occasional eye roll from craig and the snicker from deran as the noises came and went. both brothers shared a fleeting thought, which was just how long could the two of you go for?
"i mean, there's no way pope's that good, right?"
"dude, you just said you didn't want to think about pope having sex."
"okay, but listen," craig interrupted halfway through making himself a sandwich, "do you hear that? there's no way she's not faking it. pope can't be that good. he's way smaller than me, his dick can't be that-"
"dude."
"i'm just saying—!"
unfortunately, the hammering at the wall reached its crescendo just then, halting any further conversation that could be had.
your screams increased in volume, and now a few sounds could be heard coming from the other party involved. andrew's pained groans joined your wails, making both guys share a look of terror between one another.
and then a very loud grunt from pope was followed by silence.
craig felt some heat reach his neck, but he shook his head in a shudder in order to snap out of it.
meanwhile, deran felt weirdly shocked. he was happy that his brother had found what seemed to be the one and trusted them enough to bring her back home, but this was way more than he'd ever expected to hear from a brother. and this was said with craig's sexcapades in mind.
"okay, i'm gonna kill him-"
"that'll just make him go harder next time."
"fuck, you're right."
and so they found themselves at an impasse.
after the silence began to invade the next room over, it didn't take long for the eldest cody brother to walk into the room, breaking the awkward and defeated silence that had formed in the kitchen.
as expected, be was almost fully nude, with only a tight pair of boxers covering his manhood and a variety of marks adorning his upper body — although craig's nosy eyes noticed a faded trail of hickeys to be found on pope's inner thighs, making him gag internally.
andrew immediately took notice of the weird silence and the shared looks behind his back as he neared the fridge for some cold water.
slowly turning around, he asked, in a somewhat pointed tone, "what?"
settled on opposite sides of the kitchen island, his brothers looked to him with different expressions.
deran seemed mostly incredulous. craig was just frustrated — either jealousy or annoyance, not even he could tell.
"'andy'?" was all craig said.
"got a problem, craig?"
"maybe keep it down next time, yeah, brother?"
deran sighed, continuing to occupy himself with his cereal. pope could be a bit of a ticking time bomb if poked just at the right moment. this was uncharted territory, so he wasn't very sure how much craig could push before making pope blow up.
but craig continued.
his crown had been toppled a little, maybe.
"you're saying that to me?"
with a scoff and an incredulous chuckle, andrew turned back to the fridge, grabbing himself two water bottles before closing it back up and facing his brothers once more. to him, the conversation must've been over.
"i'm just saying, it's a shared space. i don't need to hear your girlfriend, or whatever, screaming your name all fucking night."
pope's eye twitched at the tone in which the word girlfriend was said, but he let it slide.
there was a certain, uncharted, sense of pride he felt at the comment.
his girlfriend screaming his name all night long.
yeah. this could easily become the new normal to him. he had felt a slight surge of confidence upon leaving his room that morning, somewhat aware of how much noise you'd been making, but just completely careless about it. it had been at the back of his mind, but every thrust just buried the thought deeper. up until the point where it became completely insignificant.
(how could he think about decorum when he had you under him, clawing at his back, crying out 'andyandyandy-' in the prettiest voice he'd ever heard, going higher and higher the more he lost himself in your pussy—)
but when he turned around, craig continued to glare at him as if he'd personally offended him.
and normally andrew would've been perfectly fine with decking him, telling him to get fucked, and walking past him. but a very welcome interruption entered the room before he could.
"baby?"
it came from behind craig, leading to the hallway that connected the walls of the kitchen and his room. the soft sound of your voice caused all boys to face you. deran offered a smile, albeit a little forced and awkward. craig scoffed to himself and nodded in semi-polite greeting, hands in pockets as he leaned against the counter in order to create space for you to get to pope.
there you stood, hair disheveled, makeup running slightly down your waterline and donning only one of pope's plain pajama shirts.
with a little extra attention, it would've been easy to spot the matching trail of hickeys up your thighs. and some x-ray vision would've provided the life-ruining sight of your hidden skin filled with marks made by andrew's teeth.
"you were taking too long, what's wrong?"
and, fuck, andrew almost went hard again at those simple words.
pride swelled in his chest, a weird sense of superiority invading him at having his sweet, pretty, gorgeous girl standing in front of his family in such a state.
andrew didn't need to argue with craig any longer. no words were needed as the appearance of his sweet girl said everything that needed to be said.
"sorry, sweetheart, just saying good morning to the guys."
andrew took the few steps that separated you and held onto your hand with one hand as the other held the two bottles of water (swoon), beginning to lead you back where you came from.
at that you smiled at them, sleepy demeanor leaving you a bit as you mumbled 'morning,' seemingly unaware of craig's earlier complaints.
as andrew passed in front of craig, he smirked to himself, twice as much when he noticed craig's annoyed scowl.
"might wanna get some earbuds or somethin'" he mumbled under his breath as he walked away.
once he was gone, craig groaned to himself, speaking up one last time.
pre-shift rituals
or: jack takes to semi-motorboating you before taking on the night.
Instead of simply clocking into the night shift like the very competent medical professionals you and he are, you're perched in Jack's lap in the driver's seat of his truck. The heat's cranked high, just to egg on the way you two sloppily make out with each other.
Jack gets even sloppier when you begin to grind on him, a wetter, swirling tongue as he mashes his lips into yours while your ass moves with your scrubbed-clothed cunt.
But somehow, what started as tongue dancing softens into something worse. Less filthy. Just as?
Even more so, with how serious your old man boy takes it.
"You're a good man, Jackie."
Jack buries his face in your tits with his arms locked around you.
You feel his breath smothered against your chest. You wonder if he takes your praises just as seriously. He damn well should! This is the pre-game ritual, what you and Jack do before the ER sinks its nails into him.
"You're gonna be good tonight."
You cup the back of his head as he scoffs. His mouth purses against the top of your tit when he does.
God, you love this in a way that's too horny for how routine and calming this is for him.
...Not that there haven't been moments where the ritual ends with him trying to find his way up inside your cunt, forcing you to moan quietly as you bounce between his belly and the wheel. But tonight, you think he just needs you settling him before the battle of the Pitt.
"M'good, baby."
You smile at the smushed, gruff assurance. It tickles. You smooth your hand over his curls.
"You’re gonna be gentle. You're gonna drink water. You’re gonna take your meds when your alarm goes off."
Jack just sits there, taking your praises like he's been starving for your voice all day...even though you've been with him all day. And you're about to spend a 12-hour shift with him. Funny doctor.
My Jackie.
He rubs his cheek against your breasts, pressing down further.
"Okay. I'll do that. I always do that."
He does whatever the hell you want him to, kiddo. With how many times he's engulfed you in the seat of his truck with his face nuzzled in your tits, you should know by now.
summary: “I will pay for your coffee,” you add quickly, stepping forward and leaning into his space. He keeps shaking his head, so, in a moment of pure madness, and lacking better ideas, you just say: “I’ll go down on you.”
word count: 4k (smut and fluff mainly)
a/n: i know i'm supposed to work on the part two of my andrew story, but...yeah, episode 7 was really something for my brain
❤︎ Thank you so much for reading!
One of the few undeniable advantages of the apartment is its location.
A single block separates your front door from the ER, which means: no subway delays, no buses filled with people’s germs and no waisted minutes that could be spent studying.
The apartment itself, however, is less impressive. It’s small, a fifth-floor walk-up with a radiator that only works every other day in winter, but it saves you from many issues, especially after a twelve-hour shift. Like most attendings say: efficiency is survival in third year. And this place is efficient.
The other perk is Jack Abbot, who objectively is a good roommate.
He pays rent two days early, every month, without fail. He wipes down the counter after he cooks, because apparently, in Jack’s mind, you could be an M3 and have the time to cook (Oh, fuck off, is your main and consistent thought every time he sets a plate of actual food in front of you at breakfast and dinner). He rewinds the VHS before returning it, and he even agrees to 4am study sessions when you are doubting yourself with the tracheobronchial tree structure.
The only problem with Jack Abbot is…he does not bend. For anyone.
It’s a mistake people make about him at the hospital. They assume that because he listens more than he talks and doesn’t talk the loudest in the room, he must be easygoing. They’re all wrong because in ‘easygoing’, there’s the word easy. And Jack is many things – observant, funny, annoyingly competent - but easy is not one of them. Right now, for instance, he’s being impossible.
Sprawled at the dining table, legs stretched out, hair still damp from the shower and curling at the nape of his neck and a gray shirt clinging enough to make you look away, Jack is in the middle of Sabiston Textbook of Surgery, annotating it.
You pause in the doorway for a second, watching him read before clearing your throat.
“Jack.”
He doesn’t even look up. “No.”
“I haven’t said anything yet!”
“Don’t need to,” he replies, flipping a page. “If it’s prefaced with my name in that tone, the answer is no.”
You step closer and place your hand flat over the open page of Sabiston, earning a mildly annoyed look from him.
“I just need a small, tiny favor.”
“No.”
“Please at least listen to me!” you implore.
One corner of his mouth lifts, and there it is, that smirk that you want to either punch or kiss “You want to switch our trauma shifts tomorrow.”
You hesitate just long enough for him to catch him, his eyebrow lifting slowly. “Why do you need it?”
“I…” you exhale, a little embarrassed. “I haven’t completed my procedure log. I’m missing one intubation and I really need it to pass the rotation.”
“One intubation,” he repeats, a little judgy, closing the book with his pen marking the page. “Haven’t you been on three different procedures already?”
“I know,” you snap, heat creeping up your neck. “I know. But Meyers took the first one because he is an asshole who can’t stop himself from playing mister Know-it-all, the second one went to Patel because he hadn’t logged one either, and the third…”
“You froze.”
I hate you for remembering this, I hate that you noticed, I hate how right you are, you thought.
“It was just…one second.”
“In trauma,” he replies, leaning back in the chair and hands folding behind his head, “one second is the difference between life and death.”
You glare at him. “Jack…I am missing one intubation. Just one. If I don’t log it, Reyes will tank my evaluation, and I’m not repeating this rotation, I physically cannot handle doing another six weeks of this while pretending I don’t care when he calls me ‘sweetheart’ in front of the interns like I’m a pretty accessory instead of a med student. So yes. I want your trauma shift cause I need it. You can’t even fathom the depth of my despair right now.”
“Oh, I think I have a pretty vivid imagination,” he replies.
“I’ll do the dishes for a month.”
He snorts.
“I’m serious!”
“You can’t be trusted with my plates.”
“I will pay for your coffee for a month,” you add quickly, stepping forward and leaning into his space.
He keeps shaking his head, so, in a moment of pure madness, and lacking better ideas, you just say: “I’ll go down on you.”
That gets his attention. “You…You’re not going to go down on me.”
“I’m sorry, which part of ‘despair’ don’t you understand with your so-called vivid imagination?”
He frowns, with that tiny crease between his brows that you want to kiss as much as his smirk, his throat moving as he swallows. “You’d actually…do that?” he asks carefully.
You hadn’t expected that answer and for a moment, the weight of what you just offered settles in. The apartment suddenly feels too quiet, and you become acutely aware of the fact that you are standing very close to Jack, that his hair is still damp and you want to run your hands through those curls, and the way the lamplight catches in his hazel eyes and turns them warmer, almost golden.
The fact is…you like Jack. You’ve liked him for the past few months, and quite frankly, being his roommate has not helped with your massive crush problem.
You shrug, forcing your voice into something light and easy. “Yeah. I’m okay with it. If you are, I mean.”
His fingers flex against the edge of Sabiston, not looking away from you and saying quietly. “So, um…we do this and you get my shift?”
“A privilege for another,” you clarify, voice steady even if your pulse is sabotaging you. “You help me log the intubation and I… return the generosity.”
He nods once, and to your quiet, personal satisfaction, a faint blush creeps across his freckled cheeks, like a tell he can’t suppress. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay,” he says again, quieter.
You reach for the back of his chair, gently turning him toward you, your faces now inches to each other. “How about now Jack? Or are you too busy studying…let me guess: the saphenous vein?” you murmur, with a teasing smile.
“It was the VSD actually,” he breathes, his gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before snapping back up. “But…yeah. Now is fine.”
You drop to your knees, his knees parting quickly, confirming your personal theory: it has been a long time for him. Probably as long as it’s been for you. Third year is not exactly fertile ground to start having relationships: no time, no personal life, no sleep and not to mention that you have never seen him bring anyone back here. Not once. He’s never acted on any nurses’ or classmates’ flirtations. The apartment has always been just the two of you.
You hook your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling it down as he lifts his hips. “I’m not entirely sure that I haven’t passed out on the table and this is all just a hallucination,” he continues, a groan escaping his mouth when you let your palm graze over his half hard cock, eyelids shutting completely the moment you wrap your hand properly around him.
“I don’t know…” you joke as you start moving, enjoying the view of Mr. Perfect Grades keeping his hands diligently on his legs and pressing his teeth on his lips. “You look very awake to me.”
You wet your lips lightly, running your tongue over them as his gaze finds yours. You’ve always loved that part: the control, deciding when and how it happens, to go slower or faster, feeling someone react under your hands and mouth, but still…you’re a little nervous. It’s been a while and you hope you haven’t lost it in…oh my god a year ago now? Yeah, it was definitely a year.
Either way, you don’t give yourself more time to think about it before dipping your head to take him in.
Multiple things come up to your mind: first, he’s not the kind of guy to put his hands on your hair to get you to move faster or deeper – which you appreciate - second, he’s vocal, muttering your name and profanities each time you manage to fit him entirely in your mouth - you still don’t know how you do that, the guy is huge - and third, you are officially on your knees, blowing your roommate, crush and student rival.
Once he’s done, you stand back up, knees numb and wiping the back of your hand over your lips, both struggling to catch your breaths.
“6am. For tomorrow. But get there at 5.30,” Jack says, closing his eyes briefly before putting his pants back on. “And you better do this intubation.”
──────────
Two weeks later, he’s the one standing in the living room.
“Hey.”
You don’t look up from your notes. “No.”
He exhales sharply through his nose, dropping onto the couch beside you. “Please.”
“No,” you repeat, turning a page calmly even though the corner of your mouth is threatening to betray you. There’s something so satisfying about denying Jack Abbot anything.
He drags a hand through his hair, mussed from the shift at the hospital, and puts his hand on yours (don’t freeze over that, it’s stupid anyway). “It’s just one procedure.”
You raise an eyebrow, finally looking at him. “Doctor Abbot missing something on his log?”
“No,” he starts before hesitating, his pride wrestling with the request, “it’s about the thoracostomy. Reyes is letting one M3 take lead tomorrow and I need someone to cover triage so I can stay in trauma long enough to be picked.”
You let your gaze drag slowly over him, pretending to think. “No.”
“You’re enjoying this,” he sighed, his hand still clasps around yours.
“Oh, immensely.”
“Please. I’ll make it up to you.”
You snort softly and close your notebook, setting it aside before turning fully toward him, your knees brushing his. “How, doc?”
“I’ll go down on you.”
“What?” you ask slowly.
He shrugs, trying for casual, one hand still loosely wrapped around yours, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. “One privilege for another. That’s…that’s our thing, right?”
“Um…yeah. You really want to do this thoracostomy?”
His lips pull into that maddening kissable half-smile that you love more than anything, the one he gets in the ER whenever he answers correctly to one of the residents’ questions. “I really want to do it and erase Meyers’ smile once and for all. So, what do you say?”
“Okay,” you reply, parting your legs (oh yes, Jack, you’re gonna have to kneel for this one, no way I’m passing on an occasion to let you do everything) “but be quick, I still have to read the biological markers of…”
The words don’t get out of your mouth when he kneels in front of you, pulling off your pajama short and underwear, the leather of the couch making you feel hotter than you were already.
“I’ll be very quick and thorough, I promise,” he replies, amused – probably because you were now completely silent – before working his tongue on you.
And wow, you have received plenty of good cunnilinguses in your life, even if it’s been some time, but this one…is miles from the rest. You can recognize it happily… Jack has some wicked knowledge of the human anatomy and how to get you there in a few minutes.
“You better be fucking great for this thoracostomy, Doctor Abbot,” you say as you’re try to catch your breath, Jack picking up your notes, ready for a new study session (you don’t comment over the fact that he doesn’t go rinse his mouth or put distance between you and just…drags his thumb across his lower lip and then licks it clean).
“You know me,” he replies with a smug smile that makes you roll your eyes.
And yes, you know. The next day proves it. You’re buried in triage when you hear from your resident, the Doctor Robinavitch – a young, tall man, barely a few years older than you who keeps trying his best to be half your friend, half your boss – that Jack had been an example of calm and solid, earning a fist bump from both Reyes and Robinavitch.
You nod slowly, pretending you don’t feel the faint flare of something warm under your ribs, travelling down your body. Pride. You are so proud of him, and you want to reply to the resident, of course he was solid, of course he didn’t choke, this man is great and kind and…actually is also a great giver, but you don’t need to know that.
You catch sight of him later in the hallway, walking toward you with a protein bar in hand, a little smile on his face. And that smile, Jesus, all warm and bright and unguarded…it’s definitely a second privilege he doesn’t need to know about.
──────────
Four days after, you get behind on your charting.
Because you’d rather slit your wrist than stay late in the ER with Reyes breathing into the back of your skull, you make another deal with Jack.
“If you stay up with me until it’s done,” you murmur to Jack in the CT-Scan room, “I’ll give you a very nice orgasm.”
He checks to his left and right. “Define ‘very nice’”.
“You’re insufferable.”
“Hey, I’m the guy who’s gonna stay to help you, so be a little more grateful.”
You salute him with your pen. “Aye aye doc.”
Late that night, steam fogs the bathroom mirror, the water running hot. He’s already under the spray when you step into the doorway, taking off your clothes (after all there’s almost nothing he hasn’t seen already). You step closer before putting your hand on him, his palms ending up on the tiled wall behind you and muttering a “Jesus fucking Christ.” at the combined feeling of the water cascading on his body and your movements who only grows faster, making him come in a few minutes, your name on his lips.
“You know…it’s stupid to waste the water,” he murmurs after a while.
“Oh, really.”
“I mean, we’re two broke med students, it’s cost-effective. And we’re already in here anyway.”
Surely you can’t disagree with this idea.
Efficiency, after all, is very important in medicine.
──────────
“Hey kid.”
You look up, the Doctor Robinavitch standing there with that expression – the one who wants to gossip but tries to refrain himself from it.
“Um,” you say cautiously, pen lingering over the chart. “What?”
He glances down the hall then back at you. You follow his gaze automatically.
Jack is at the nurses’ board, talking to one of them, arms crossed and sleeves rolled up. He laughs at something, shaking his head. You look away, glancing back at the resident, who’s already staring at you, leaning over the table just enough to meet your eye level.
“…What?” you repeat, sharper now.
“How long?”
You blink. “How long what?”
“Whatever that is,” he replies, gesturing vaguely between you and the air.
You scoff lightly, going back to writing your charting. “There is no ‘that’, Doctor Robinavitch.”
He sighs deeply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Listen kid, you realize the entire staff has a betting pool, right?”
Your pen freezes mid-word. “On what?”
He just stares at you until you break (my god how you hate when he does that, condolences to all the future doctors who’ll get him as an attending).
“We’re not together. It’s…it’s not like that,” you try to explain weakly instead of saying we’re just roommates who are the type to perform oral sex to get what we want, no big deal there. oh, and now we take showers together every night to save the planet, not to…give the other a freebie.
His smile widens. “Oh, so there is a ‘that’.”
You look back at the nurses’ station. Jack is still there, but now he’s looking directly at you, an eyebrow raised with a small, knowing smile – like he can feel that your mind is turned to this morning and the two orgasms he gave you before going to work.
You can’t help but smile back at him.
Robinavitch follows the silent exchange, then looks back at you with open disbelief. “That,” he says slowly, “right there, is definitely a thing.”
Before you can gather your words to get a more convincing denial, a monitor alarms from down the hall.
“Go, kid. And try not to share lovey-dovey looks over the patient.”
You shove his shoulder as you pass him, heat rising in your cheeks.
“I hate you, Robinavitch.”
“I know that’s not true!” he calls after you.
Annoyingly…he’s right. You don’t hate him.
And there is a thing.
──────────
It happens after the code blue.
You and Jack are walking home in silence, refusing to mention how, when you had stepped into the patient’s room, he had handed you the laryngoscope without hesitation – you, not himself – like there has been no other option in his mind.
Your hands brush every few steps, neither of you pulling away.
By the time you reach the apartment, your body feels heavy, exhausted, dumping your bag on the hallway floor and ripping of your jacket as you go straight to the bathroom.
The light is too bright. It exposes everything: the smudged mascara under your eyes, the dark circles who can’t be hidden well by the foundation, the way your eyes are reddened by your need to cry.
You grip the edge of the sink and stare at yourself, murmuring “You did well, don’t worry. The woman is alive. The baby is alive. You did well.”
The door opens quietly behind you.
“If you’re about to tell me I did great, don’t.” you mutter, voice flat, refusing to meet his eyes in the mirror. If you look at him, you might crack.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, you feel him step into your space, listening to him opening the cabinet and the rustle of cotton pads. He reaches around you, close enough that his arm brushes you before gently turning you by the shoulder so you’re facing him instead of your – miserable, pathetic – reflection.
“Hold still,” he murmurs.
His face is close to yours – barely four inches away. Close enough that you can see the freckles across his nose. Enough that you could close that distance with the smallest tilt forward and drown your thoughts in something easier than this ache sitting in your chest.
The cotton pad is cool against your skin. He wipes slowly beneath your eye, careful, his thumb steadying your jaw. “Can you do me a favor?” he asks quietly.
“I’m not in the mood tonight,” you reply automatically.
He rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat in it. “No, not like that. Not…” he exhales, dragging the pad gently across your cheek, “not everything is about having sex.”
“I wouldn’t call exactly what we’re doing ‘having sex’,” you say, sharper than you intend.
He stills and for a fraction of a second, something flickers across his face in between surprise and hurt. “Oh. Um…Okay.”
His throat bobs as he switches to a clean pad, focusing on your eyes.
Eyes closed, you try to explain yourself better, words coming out before you can filter them. “That’s not what I meant,” you murmur. “I just…I don’t want this tonight and I don’t want this to be another thing that happens because we almost lost someone. We…we can’t keep doing this.”
Fuck, you don’t even know what this is anymore.
You feel him getting even closer – so close that his breath brushes your lips when he exhales. He finishes wiping up your face. “Can you…” he starts, voice lower now, uncertain like you’ve never heard from him, “can you let me just be here? With you?”
You open your eyes slowly, now seeing everything: the faint traces of tears at the corner of his eyes, the way his curls have fallen messily over his forehead from running his hand through them too much. He looks younger like this.
“I’m sorry Jack. I didn’t mean to make it sound like…like what we do doesn’t matter. I just…” your voice breaks, “I don’t want it to be the only reason we touch.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “It’s not.”
You study him, skeptical.
“Fine,” he admits quietly. “It started that way because we’re two massive idiots who don’t know how to say what we want without turning it into…a mess. But it’s not why I continued doing that.”
He sets the cotton pad down in the sink and brings both hands to your face now, his palms feeling warm against your cheeks.
“I don’t want this to be about that. I…I want to be the person you come home with after something like tonight. Not just the guy you’re giving blowjobs to who turns out to be your roommate.”
“Great blowjobs, you mean. Wonderful. Fantastic,” you reply, trying to smile a little.
“Yes, sure. All of the above and more,” he nods, matching your grin with that crooked, infuriatingly gorgeous one before leaning in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you want to. He waits until you give the smallest eager nod before his mouth brushes yours.
Oh. Oh. Okay. You should have started here weeks ago.
The kiss is nothing like the moments you’ve shared before. It’s unhurried and soft, his lips moving against yours like he’s learning a part of you he doesn’t know.
And God, he’s a good kisser too – good doctor, good giver, does this man know how to be bad at something?
He tilts his head slightly, deepening it and learning to read every small reaction: when you sigh softly against his mouth, he runs his tongue against yours, when your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, he pulls you closer.
Out of breath, he rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing.
“I like you, okay? I like you when you study until four in the morning. I like you when you are right about a diagnosis and high five me. I like you when you’re scared. And stubborn. And exhausted,” he whispers against your mouth. “You’re my person. In the ER, here, everywhere.”
You swallow. “My god, how didn’t you get with, like…all the girls of the hospital?”
“Well, you see, I was a bit busy trying to get the attention of a certain woman,” he replies, chuckling.
“Oh, do I know her?”
“Hm. I’m not sure,” he murmurs, lips still close enough that your breath mingles. “She’s obstinate. Overworks herself and pretends she doesn’t need anyone. Terrible at dishes.”
You pinch his side. “Rude.”
“Oh, and she rolls her eyes when I’m right,” he continues. “Which is very often.”
“Unbelievable.”
“And,” he adds, softer, “she has this look she gives me every time there’s an alarm. Like she’s checking if I’m okay.”
You swallow. “Oh. Her.”
“Yeah.” His mouth curves, his nose brushing yours deliberately. “Her.”
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you love that.”
You hesitate before nodding. “Yeah,” you admit. “I do love that.” I love you, I love you, I love you.
“Yeah?” he asks, a smile spreading across his face as his hand slides to the small of your back. “Good.”
You don’t give him time to get smug about it before kissing him again, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you. His breath catches against your mouth, a surprised sound that makes you press him against the bathroom’s door.
Against his lips, still holding onto his shirt, you murmur, “Shower?”
“Shower.”
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I was thinking about jack and chubby and remembered that moment in modern family when jay asks the worker where is the diapers and the worker shows him adult diapers
Jack's already chronically aware that he's much older than you. He believes he's older than the idea of having a baby with you in the first place. This is probably the worst thing that could happen when he's at Target with Chubby in the shopping cart.
She's sitting in the baby seat (that Jack thoroughly wiped). Her chunky legs are sticking out while she's holding a toy that she doesn't need, but he gave it to her anyway.
"You chew on it, you buy it."
You asked Jack if it was okay for him to stop by for one or two things. Of course, you already know, by the way he and your baby aren't back home yet, that he's probably turned the trip into a supply run.
At his girls will never go without, right?
He made a list on his phone of diapers, wipes, food, and ignored your request for Alani energy drinks. Not because of the rats. Jack's not on the internet enough to know about them. Energy drinks are just unhealthy for the heart. Chubby doesn't need two parents with a bad pulse.
He huffs low when he can't find the diapers. He hates looking confused in public.
"Hey, where is the aisle with the diapers?"
Jack asks the twenty-something employee who looks like he's been awake for a week. As twenty-somethings are. As Jack is.
The kid takes a brief glance at him, and maybe that's why his answer is so...comedic. Because he doesn't care to comprehend the baby in the shopping cart as she munches on her to-be-bought stuffed animal.
But hey, he's doing his job. Trying to be helpful, really.
"Uh, yeah. Adult diapers are aisle twelve."
You know, it's a good thing that Jack doesn't think to immediately berate the kid. It's just silence that follows, his unblinking stare stiffening.
Chubby babbles happily.
"Bab...baba. Da-ba."
Unfortunate that it takes this long for the employee to finally notice her. His soul probably leaves his body through his ass.
"Oh, God. Sorry, man. I didn’t---I thought---"
"Do I look like I need adult diapers? She's the one who can't wipe her ass by herself."
There's no safe answer for the poor guy. If he denies Jack too quickly, he'll sound fake. If he says yes, Jack will kill him.
"Baby diapers. I need baby diapers."
"Right. Yeah. Sorry, baby diapers are aisle eight...with all the baby stuff."
Jack gives him a curt nod before he veers the cart off and away.
There's no right reaction for you, too. When he tells you the kid at Target thought he was asking for adult diapers. If you try to laugh it off like it's some funny moment, Jack might throw himself out of the window. If you try to soothe him and pretend the grey on his head isn't just as noticable as the large, large age gap between you, he might throw himself down the stairs.
"Jackie, you are a very hot, old dad. You are so....virile. That's why you're a dad in the first place---"
craig comes across andrew and his gf's homemade videos (18+)
(not proofread)
series masterlist
-
as per usual, craig could totally justify himself in his actions.
it wasn't like he'd walked into pope's room in search for the tiny little digital camera that now resided in his hands. he had an iphone at his disposal, what the hell would he use a digital camera for?
but it was the content of the tiny screen that had caught his attention.
pushing aside his search for the baggies nicki had misplaced somewhere around the house, he was now onto an entirely different mission.
pope's was usually the last room he liked to go into. it was eerily clean, with every single one of his possessions perfectly laid in its assigned spot. which was why the camera had stuck out like a sore thumb. it was an odd thing for pope to leave lying around, specially on his bedside table.
and so he picked it up.
and then he fell into a trance.
displayed on the small screen was a paused video.
you were sat back on the side of the bed, elbows digging into the plush of the mattress as you supported your weight on them, looking up at the camera with wide eyes and a tiny, pleased smile. your body was barely covered by a pink negligee falling off your shoulder and your tit peaking out. your hair had a little more volume than usual and your makeup was slightly different. you'd done yourself up for this.
with the click of a button, the enticing thumbnail began playing.
the quality was somewhat shitty, which annoyed craig a bit.
it was shot from pope's perspective, he noticed immediately. he towered over you as you sat on the bed looking up at him.
"hey, handsome," you spoke at the camera, cheeky smile on your lips.
your hands went up to pope's body, disappearing from frame but clearly beginning to paw at pope's chest off-camera.
similarly, pope's hand entered frame, cupping your cheek as you leaned into the touch. your face turned slightly to the side, mouthing at pope's palm until you caught his thumb in your mouth.
the angle of the camera raised a little, giving craig the perfect angle as you looked up at the camera, eyes wide and mouth suctioning at pope's thumb. he could pretend it wasn't his brother's.
"fuck, baby. so fuckin' perfect for me," pope interrupted.
after some moments, you finally slipped the thumb out of your mouth, licking at its length once before kissing the back of pope's hand.
with some coaxing, you laid back on the bed as pope drew himself closer, straddling your body on the bed.
"let me get a good look at you, angel."
this was followed by pope somewhat shakily panning into every inch of your body. he started with your face, planting a kiss on your lips before you showed the camera a toothy smile. his hand came out once more to caress at your cheek, trailing down to your neck, to your half-uncovered tits. there, his thumb circled your nipple through the thin fabric, drawing a sigh out of you.
below him, you squirmed and moaned for pope as his hand traced down every inch, feeling every supple inch of barely-covered skin. occasionally he'd lean down and kiss at whatever part of your body laid in front of him at that moment, making it so the camera drew too close for craig to see anything, but he could still hear that tiny intake of breath you did every time he kissed you.
"andy... want you."
"i know you do."
again, he panned out, hovering over you and showing your needy self under him. there was some silence, only filled up by some low grunts of pope's.
"do i look pretty, andy?" you giggled up at him after some moments of silence, eyes drawing below the lens every so often.
"so pretty, baby," he grunted.
craig could guess what was going on off-screen as pope watched you.
"you gonna fuck me, or what?"
a breathless chuckle could be heard off-screen, and then some unbuckling and ruffling of clothes.
a hand appeared, digging into your hip as pope drew himself closer. while one hand shakily held onto the camera, the other aided in turning you over and onto your hands and knees.
from behind you, pope adjusted you, pressing deep into the small of your back to get your ass further up and your arch a little deeper.
teasingly, you swayed your hips at him, smiling at him as you twisted your head to look back into the camera.
the tiny thong you had on hid absolutely nothing, much less did the negligee pope had pushed up to fully uncover your ass.
the next few scenes were a little unfortunate for craig.
they consisted of pope pulling out his dick, stroking it as he pressed it into you, circling at your clit as you mewled out his name and pushed your ass up against him.
craig was conflicted. on one hand, he didn't want to see his brother's dick, but on the other, he really wanted to see you getting fucked from behind.
with a mental coin toss, he decided to do some mental gymnastics to remove pope from the equation and solely focus on how breathless your wails sounded as soon as pope made his way inside you.
he had a perfect view of the recoil of your ass, groaning inwardly when you'd push back, when the sound of skin slapping joined in with your tiny, high-pitched moans.
sometimes pope would grip at your hair, making you sit up on your knees and pressing your back to his chest. craig couldn't really see much from this angle, but he'd hear the kissing and your muffled cries.
he wasn't sure when this was recorded, whether he'd been at home when it happened, but you'd been careless in the volume of your noises. an endless stream of sounds of pleasure left your lips as pope pounded into you.
"m-more, ffuuck, please."
"right there- fuck, don't stop—"
"andy- oh, fuck, andy!"
these were all sounds he'd grown familiar with through your relationship with pope. you were never shy in expressing yourself in the bedroom, but seeing it? and from this angle, where he could pretend it wasn't his brother who was dragging these noises out of you?
fuck, he could just-
"what are you doing in my room?"
craig felt his body go completely still. every hair in his body stood up and his muscles tensed.
he couldn't dare look behind him, to look at the source of the voice as the video continued to play in his hands.
"and what the fuck are you doing with my camera?"
slowly, craig twisted his body, camera still in his hands as he looked to find pope's erect figure standing by the door of his room.
"hey, man, i was just-"
"fuck are you doing looking at my videos of my girl?"
with a single move, pope's hand landed on a tight grip around craig's wrist, making him groan out as his fingers relaxed around the camera, letting it fall onto pope's other hand.
mutely, the sex noises could still be heard emanating from the digital camera. pope turned the volume down, not once taking his threatening eyes away from craig's guilty ones.
"i just- i was looking for my baggies and-"
"they're not in my room."
craig sighed at the interruption, "yeah, man, i noticed. i just saw the camera and i got curious, that's all."
"you got curious for," he took a moment to check the screen, "twelve minutes and fifty-five seconds?" he read off the time lapsed of the video.
craig winced.
"it's not like that, okay?"
it was pure denial, but if craig knew anything, it was that the best remedy was always to lie your way out of trouble.
pope nodded to himself, unconvinced. with one step forward, he was in craig's face, looking up to him with that same threatening expression pope reserved for anyone but you.
"i catch you looking at my girl again, i'm going to break your legs. this is your last warning, craig."
even as he towered over him, craig gulped with a nod, eyes wandering away from his. it was kind of embarrassing how easily he folded under his gaze. he knew pope would be good on his words, specially with this being his second warning.
"understand?"
"yeah- yep, got it, pope."
taking his chance, he rounded pope and practically sprinted out of the room. outside, he let out the breath he'd been holding, relieved it didn't escalate this time around.
but even then, he found himself making a mental note.
he'd have to come back when pope was out of the house.
sammy's hosting some barbecue for the squad. he's elated. went all nine yards. sausage link, ribs, spare steaks. the man stuffed your fridge full with meat, and made it near impossible to get to your oat milk. you grit through your agitation, cause sammy is excited. he can't wait to show you off to his colleagues. gonna show off my pretty girl tonight. that's all he kept saying.
over the course of the afternoon, people are trickling in. sweat is warm on your brow. you've been a good host all day. you've socialized and smiled. you've shown off sweet baby nate. he can sing his abc's and one, two, threes, now. he's more than happy to show off all his newfound motor skills.
sammy's been on the grill all day. he looked so sexy. hawaiian shirt, sunglasses perched, and tongs in hand. jesus. you’re getting old. you’re into a home maker now. sammy bryant has ruined your youth, very cruel of him.
the night is slowly coming to a close. sammy's in the corner of your yard, with some of the other members of the squad. they're all getting ready to light up some cigars.
you've already put nate up to bed, given him his bath, made him brush his teeth. he hated toothbrush time, until you introduced baby nate, to an electric one that plays music. who would've guessed? row row row your boat, gets the boy eager to scrub his little teeth.
sammy's lucky to have you. him and his boy. you're coming back to the yard, from the house. your is hair tossed up, shoes long gone, toes extended into the grass. the yard cleanup is going to be a bitch tomorrow, you can see empty cans for miles. sammy calls you over.
"c'mere baby," he looks over to his boys. he's showing off his zippo lighter that you got him. it's gold, got your anniversary date scribed in it. your initials underneath the date.
you pad on over. "what's up? i put nate up for bed. he's wearing those dino jammies you got him." you got close to him. you wrap an arm around his neck, and you're inhaling the heavy smell of his cigar.
"that's real cute, hon." he smiles. he kisses your cheek. "was showing the boys the lighter you got me." you smile. "you want a hit baby?" he sucks in the tabacco. your hand strokes his chest.
you shake your head no. warm summer breeze, shifting your dress. "don't wanna get nic sick," you bat up at him. sammy reaches behind you, pinches your ass, and your body tenses up. "not nice," you whisper to him.
"i'm nice" he tells you. he blows some smoke in your face. there's chatter in the background you're not taking in. your brain is going fuzzy from the lust you have for him.
"you're kinda mean," you pout up at him teasing.
he scoffs, looking down at you, "i'm not." he presses another kiss to your cheek. you inhale his scent of burnt charcoal and macallan somewhere on his skin. you could take a bite out of him if he'd let you.
“you are too.” you smile up at him. he places a hand on your lower back. he shakes his head.
"you get all my sweetness, promise." his thumb runs upon your spine. you lean into his body, an arm wrapped around his waist. you're ready for the night to end. you want to lay next to your man and talk about all that you observed today. your ears were perked. completely. you soaked in a lot of hot gossip in-between your socializing.
murphy's wife is cheating on him. she told you this, three seltzers in. practically pulled you into her lap, to tell you all about her hushed affair. mind you, she lacked all volume control, inebriated.
murphy,himself, is actually fucking a badge bunny. but, you're pretty sure sammy told you about that before. however, you sneaked a peek at the girl. it was your fault. you were listening in on a conversation you weren't invited to. no one paid you any mind. murphy was showing off some young chick on his phone. big blue eyes, long blonde extensions. you had to walk away before your face opened a can of worms before your tipsy mouth did.
then, sherman. sherman, sherman, sherman. you were actually elated he left early. the guy gave you total skivs.
you poke sammy's stomach lightly, grabbing his attention. he's wrapped up in some conversation. cop talk. gun mags. all sounds the same to your tired brain. his eyes quickly snap to yours. "i have newsss for you tonight." you usher into his chest.
he smiles down at you, eyebrows raised. "good or bad?" he whispers into your ear.
your face wrinkles, "good for our nosy asses, so bad for everyone else." trouble is splayed all over your face.
his face lights up. your man, the gossip, he is. "alright, go inside, come back. come tell me nate's crying. i'll kick 'em out."
you chuckle, padding away. sammy slaps your ass, winking as you walk through the back door. "gonna go check on nate baby," you announce walking into the house.
it wouldn't be long before he'd be upstairs in your spilling his share of news. sammy's trained ears and eyes caught everything. he can already imagine the mess you're waiting to spill for him.
genuinely want to play wifey rn idk what's going on w me
Jack spends an entire post-sex cuddle session emotionally suffering from the fact you’ve figured out he used to be ginger because…despite all the silver curls and stubble, there is a very incriminating copper color that still exists south of the border.
Or, to put it frankly, you realize he used to be a ginger from his pubes that haven’t gone fully gray.
You’ve been brushing up against them enough to notice.
“Jack Audrey Abbot, You seriously expect me to find out my silver fox boyfriend used to be ginger and not demand evidence? This is the best day of my life!”
You, naturally, react like you’ve found God. Jack wants to die, because you become obsessed with the idea of young ginger Jack. He gets gruffly, pathetically flustered in ways you’ve never seen before.
“You know what, you wanna talk about pubes? Let’s talk about how you thought shaving down there would be a fun surprise for me. That was stupid.”
“Shut up. I want photossss!!”
Fuck. Apparently all it takes to reduce him into a blushing mess is his hot girlfriend nurse young enough to be his kid is her being too delighted by the fact that he used to look like a fucking stocky Irish farm boy.
“I have some…I have some photos. Hopefully you’ll stop sexually harassing me.”
“Yay!”
But unfortunately for him, the more embarrassed he gets, the much more attractive you find him. Which, that should be impossible by now.
Summary: Andrew being clingy when he's sick
(I KNOW he gets all clingy when hes sick)
You’re standing by the window, looking out at the backyard pool where Baz and Deran are arguing. The Cody brothers were out for two days because of a job. It seems like it didn't went too well.
You hear footsteps behind you. You don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him.
Andrew steps up directly behind you. He doesn't say a word. He just leans forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder.
"Hi. How did it go?" you murmur, reaching back to find his nape.
His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back until you’re flush against his chest. He buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, taking a deep breath.
"Come to bed," he rasps. "Miss you."
You turn around in the circle of his arms and your heart aches at the sight. His eyes are bloodshot. His hair is pushed back and there’s a tension in his jaw that looks painful.
"Are you okay?" you ask softly, cupping his face. "Hey," you reach up to steady him. "You’re burning up."
"I'm fine," he rasps, though a harsh cough into his sleeve suggested otherwise. He doesn't pull away. He leans into your palm, closing his eyes tightly as if your touch is the only thing keeping the noise in his head at bay. "Too much noise," he mutters. "Too much... Smurf. Just... I'm just... cold."
"You're sick, baby," you say firmly. His skin is flushed and slick with a light sweat. "Maybe you caught a cold. Come."
He let you lead him toward his room, his footsteps heavy and uncoordinated. Usually, Andrew was the one watching over everyone else but right now, he looks like a man who had completely run out of fuel.
When you got him to the bed, he collaps onto the edge of the mattress, his head hanging between his shoulders. You knelt between his knees, unzipping his hoodie and peeling it back.
"Smurf's gonna want a debrief," he mutters.
"Smurf can wait," you counter, pulling a dry shirt over his head. "You can't form a thought in this state."
You stand up to check his temperature again, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. He winces at the contact, but then he reaches out and grabs your wrist, holding your hand against his skin. He closes his eyes, a long breath escaping his lips.
"Hands... cold," he whispers. "Feels good."
"That's the fever, Andrew."
You manage to get him under the blankets. As you turned to go fetch some water and medicine, his hand catches your shirt.
"Don't go," he whispers.
"I'm just getting you some aspirin. I'll be right back."
"No, stay," he insists.
Your heart squeezes.
"Okay," you whisper, softening. "I'll stay."
You climb into the bed beside him. He immediately rolls over, burying his face against your chest, his hot breath soaking through your t-shirt. He lets out a long sigh, his body relaxing.
"You’re staying here until that fever breaks. No jobs, no Smurf, no debrief." you say, running your fingers through his messy hair.
He humms a tired sound of agreement.
"Strict," he mumbles against your chest.
"I know, mh" you lean down to press a kiss to the top of his head. "Rest, my baby."
He doesn’t respond, his breathing already deepening into a feverish sleep.
Later, as you try to shift to reach for the glass of water on the nightstand, his arms tights around your waist.
He groans, a pathetic sound that vibrates against you and buries his face deeper into the crook of your neck.
"Andrew, let go for a second," you whisper. "You need to drink something."
"No," he mumbles, his voice muffled by your skin. "Don't move."
He was acting very clingy. Every time you move an inch, he follows, dragging his body across the mattress to close the gap.
He was completely submissive to the sickness, letting you handle him.
"You're being very needy," you tease softly.
"Hurts," he admits, a rare confession of pain that made your chest ache. "Just... keep your body here."
He reaches up, his hand trembling slightly as he guides your palm to his cheek. He nuzzled into it. In this state, he was completely yours to take care of.
"Does a tea sounds okay?" you ask.
"Maybe." He whispers, his arms locking around your back again.
"Okay. I have to go to make the tea—"
"No," he insists, his grip becoming a permanent fixture. "Stay here. Hold my head."
You laugh quietly, finally giving in and curling up against his burning side. The second you settle, he lets out a long breath of relief. He tuckes his head under your chin, his nose pressing into your collarbone, and finally goes still.
"Tea later," he humms, his voice trailing off into sleep. "Don't... don't leave when I'm asleep. Promise."
"I promise, baby. I'm right here."
He doesn’t answer, his body finally going slack as the fever exhaustion takes over. Even in sleep, his arms stays locked firmly in your body.
andrew cody who is there ten minutes early to pick you up. Idling the engine with the doors locked until he sees you. The moment you slide into the passenger seat his hand is on your thigh.
andrew cody who puts a dark towel on bed because he doesn't want to make a mess when he eats you out while you're on your period. Likes the taste of your blood, helps you with your cramps making you come lot of times until your brain is blank.
andrew cody who looks for things for you, as a way to express his feelings. "Saw this. Thought of you." When you ask why, he just shrugs with his intense stare. "Girls like shiny things. You should have nice things."
andrew cody who the second someone raises their voice or snaps at you, he physically shifts. But if you step up first and hold your ground, his reaction changes and he, "accidentally', gets hard by knowing you have teeth, and he’ll stand just an inch behind you like a silent shadow, trying to hide how hard he is.
andrew cody who waits until he hears the shower head click off before he starts the kettle. By the time you’re dried off and in your pajamas, there’s a steaming mug of tea on the nightstand. He knows exactly how much honey you like.
andrew cody who needs the physical contact the second he gets back after a job. He’ll strip off his clothes in the hall. He needs to press his forehead against your shoulder blades and wrap his arms around your waist, or wrap his arm around you with one hand on your clothed pussy feeling the warm between your legs.
andrew cody who hates when you roll your eyes to him. ’ll close the distance in a single stride, his hand coming up to cup your face, his fingers pressing firmly against your cheeks to tilt your face up to his. He doesn't hurt you but his grip is strong, forcing you to look. "What did I tell you about this attitude, huh?" he’ll murmur, his voice dropping low and his breath warm against your lips.
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