Summary - Your roommate, Andrew 'Pope' Cody, just can't seem to help himself around you - you have no idea what you do to him - until you do!
Warnings - Pervy, creepy, manipulative, subby (if you squint), big dick, roomate!Pope Cody x overly trusting, naive roomate, fem!Reader, Pope is a peeping tom, somno-noncon (he fondles you in your sleep), noncon/dubcon; oral, unprotected piv. pre ejaculation, dacryphilia, nicknames; sweetheart, doll, baby
You moved in with Pope a few months ago, you needed a roomate because rent was just getting too much on your own. He seemed sweet, if not a little awkward, in your initial interview. You know it's not smart to make decisions like 'who you live with' based on a cute, pudgy tummy and some crooked teeth but - selfishly you wouldn't mind looking at him every day. You're convinced that he's completely harmless. So, now you're roomies and good friends.
Pope doesn't talk much, he mostly listens. He listens to you complain after a long day at work, his eyes tracking you as you flitter around your shared kitchen. He listens to you talk about your hobbies when you drag him out to try on clothes. All your friends think he's just cute enough to not be creepy, so they're nice when you bring him on outings. But truthfully you have a little crush on your awkward roomate.
Pope only moved in with you because he didn't like the idea of someone else in your space. Other than himself of course. After your initial interview he'd become a little obsessed with you. You're so kind, your eyes gentle and your body utterly enticing. He went home that night and humped his mattress to the thought of you. He knew it was wrong, especially because he'd just met you but he just couldn't help himself. He hasn't really been able to since moving in. He's a stealthy man who rarely ever sleeps, so he spends his free time with you or watching you.
You have a bad habit of leaving doors open even when you probably shouldn't. You don't think much of it, getting changed, showering, sleeping, even touching yourself with the door cracked. In your mind Pope wouldn't hurt a fly, he's like the best roomate you've ever had. So, you don't even give it your time of day.
Pope on the other hand spends most of his days watching you. He peers through the cracks when you get dressed for bed, palming his hard on while you crawl into the sheets. Once he's sure you've fallen asleep he creeps farther in, finally taking his cock out now that he can see all of your face. He strokes himself even though he knows he shouldn't, he feels guilty as he touches your foot; his cock twitching. He feels guilty as he runs his hand up your calf and thigh, precum oozes from his tip because of how smooth you are. He reaches to your shoulder where the strap of your silk nightgown sits, tugging it down your arm until your plump breast spills out. He whimpers at the sight, even though he's done this many times before; he truly can never get enough of you. It makes him feel guilty, especially when he gropes your flesh, kneading gently until your nipple hardens against his palm.
You stir when he kneels next to your bed and gently licks your taught nipple with his burning hot tongue. Your shoulders shift as a large breath is forced out of your chest. Pope watches your face closely for signs that he's woken you but he can't stop stroking himself. So, he holds his breath to keep in any noises until you're fully settled. He licks your nipple again, unable to stop himself because he just loves the way you taste. He can't stop himself when he toys with the bottom of your dress to drag it up your thighs, exposing more of you to him. When his eyes land on an exposed, wild bush at your pubic bone he grunts a little too loud and comes in his hand instantly.
His teeth sink into his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood as he holds in his sounds and tries to aim his cum on himself. He's never seen this part of you before despite the number of nights he spends in your room. He has to physically restrain himself from burying his face between your legs, from inhaling your scent so he can memorize it, from threading his fingers through the spares hairs there.
You tempt him by just existing. He's getting weaker by the day.
Especially when you're cooking breakfast in a long shirt and no panties. You do it because you're comfortable around Pope, you don't think he'd even be looking. So, you bend down and move around with little care, too trusting in the length of your pajama T.
Pope sits at the island, feeling grateful for the marble between you. Despite what you may assume, he can see enough of you to make him feel feral. He nods politely as you speak but he's not listening like you think he is. No, his mind is running wild with perverted thoughts, thoughts that if you knew about you'd kick him out and file for a restraining order.
"You are coming, aren't you?" Your voice snaps him out of it, his eyes zoning in on your face as you slide a few slice of French toast onto his plate.
"Where?" He asks, making you giggle and squint at him.
"To Smurf's party tonight, silly. Everyone else is." You remind him, rounding the corner of the counter to slide into the stool next to him. You keep your legs crossed tight as you cut up your breakfast and pour some syrup and powered sugar over it.
"Did she invite you?" Pope asks, looking at you straight on with that scowl you're still trying to get used to.
"Umm, yeah. Is that okay? Thought I'd stay close to you though."
"Sure." Pope grumbles before turning to his food. You watch him for a quick moment as he picks at his plate, jaw ticking like it does. You take a slow bite, deciding you need more syrup as you chew.
"We don't have to, you know. Could have my friends over instead, you don't mind them, right?" You offer, noticing how uncomfortable he is. He cranes his neck back to you, glaring in the way you've come to know means he's thinking; not so much upset or angry.
"I'll think about it." He murmurs.
You smile and nod, taking another bite before reaching for your glass of juice. Somehow your elbow hits your plate on the way back and it flips into your lap, syrup smearing all over your bare thighs. You squeal a little, the juice slipping from your hand and soaking Pope's pants.
"Fuck, fuck! I'm so sorry, Andrew!" You apologize profusely, getting all the dishes back on the counter before ripping off a few paper towels and going to dap off his pants.
"It's fine." Pope grunts, hands gripping the edge of the stool as you pat down his thighs and crotch. His jaw is clenched as he tries extremely hard not to get hard.
"M'so sorry!" You continue, cursing yourself for your clumsiness, ignoring the syrup running down your legs. Your little hands are all over Pope and it drives him crazy, you have no idea the verge he's on, the urges he's fighting. He's trying to protect you from himself but you make it so hard.
He snatches your wrists and holds you still, you look up to his face apologetically. "It's fine, doll." He grunts out, stern in that way you sort of like. But it doesn't calm you, you feel so bad for being so clumsy.
"No, it's not, c'mon." You manage to get a hold of Pope's hands, tugging him out of his seat despite his small protests. He's a little uncomfortable because of his wet pants but he's not upset with you by any means. You on the other hand feel like you have to rectify the situation asap.
"What're you doing?" Pope asks when you pull him into the bathroom. You close the door behind him, reaching for his shirt to start tugging it over his head. "Doll...what're you doing?" Pope asks a little more seriously this time. You smile at the nickname he's given you, you've loved it ever since the first time he said it.
"Let's get cleaned up, we'll be too sticky to sit anywhere or do anything if not." You explain earnestly, pulling his shirt over his head and he lets you. He's stiff and rigid, not sure what to do with himself as the two of you get naked in your shared bathroom.
"You can go first, I'll wait." Pope offers, standing like a stone as you tug innocently at his sweatpants.
"It'll be quicker together. - Unless, you don't want to." You offer, realizing maybe you should double check with him first. He stands in only his boxers with your fingers tucked in the elastic. Pope clenches his fists so tight he breaks skin just to keep from getting hard in front of you.
"It-It's not weird?" Pope asks, staring at you with hesitance and lust. The only thing you pick up on is his hesitation, petting his biceps for friendly comfort, not knowing what you're doing to him.
"I don't think so, you're my friend. - I've showered with my friends before." You shrug casually. "I can trust you, can't I, Andy?" You ask sweetly, batting your eyelashes and twisting a few of his curls in your fingers.
"Of course." Pope nods, looking at you with a softer, gentler expression now.
Guilt knots in his gut because he knows he's lying. You can trust him to protect you from others, to watch you get to work safely, and that no one will ever bother you or your friends on your nights out, etc. But in this situation, with you and him, alone - he can't seem to help himself. Whether it's fucking the pair of panties you wore to the gym, watching you ride your favorite big, pink dildo when you forget to close your door, or tucking his cock between his legs to have something to fuck while you talk his ear off - Pope is not trust worthy.
"Good, get in with me then." You chirp at him, spinning around as you slide your t-shirt up your torso. Pope watches the movement of your spine and arms, blood rushing to his crotch. You turn the hot water on and step into the porcelain tub, letting it soak your hair and back first.
Pope hesitates, sliding his boxers down slow and walking to the curtain even slower. He stands there naked and unsure of himself as he grips the flowery curtain in his hand.
"Andy?" You call, sounding needy despite your friendly intentions.
"Y-Yeah?"
"You comin? Need help getting all this syrup off my legs." You whine a little, missing the proximity of him because you've just gotten used to it.
He doesn't waste anymore time, stepping into the tub with you. He awkwardly covers himself with his hands, trying to hide that fact that he's growing against his will. He's trying to be respectful but - he can't. The sprays of warm water bouncing off of you start to dampen his skin, which entices your eyes. You look down to his hands, giggling a little as you run your hands through your hair. You don't mean to stare but he's so muscular and taught you can't help it. So, it doesn't bother you much that his eyes wander too.
"You can use your body wash if you want." You offer, nodding to his bottle and then down to your sticky legs.
"I-I shouldn't." He stutters, gripping himself tighter in hopes of restricting blood flow.
"It's okay, Popey." You assure him, stepping closer to tug on his wrists. "It's natural, I understand. No need to be embarrassed." You continue on until he lets you pull his hands away.
When his hardening cock flops down against Pope's thigh your eyes get big for a moment and you gulp, it's the biggest cock you've ever seen. You snap your head away out of respect, looking back up to his worried, angular face.
"Here," You hand him the bottle before lifting your leg up, resting your foot on the ledge next to his knee. Pope gulps, biting down on his tongue as he squeezes some soap into his palm.
His gruff hands massage your thigh and calf where the sticky syrup dried to your skin. The warm water and musky soap work together to clean you up. Pope is red faced and aching, fighting against every urge in his body to stay calm, to not just take you the way he dreams so often about.
"Thank you, - feels kinda good." You sigh, closing your eyes a moment before switching legs. Pope works the mess off your other leg just the same, meticulously making sure you're squeaky clean. Once he's satisfied he reaches around you to rinse his hands off before stepping back with them in fists at his side. His cock stands at full attention now and you can't keep your eyes off of it now matter how hard you try.
"Wanna get in and clean off now?" You offer. Pope nods yes, looking down to his feet as you two shuffle past each other to switch sides of the tub. Slick parts of your bodies brush together, igniting a fire under his skin.
He rinses himself off as you start lathering up your hair. You pass back and forth one or two more times as you work through your normal shower routine. When you're in the water facing away from him for the last time, Pope gets overwhelmed, the desire pulsating through his veins clouding his judgment. Not to mention the painful ache in his cock.
You feel a large, gruff hand between your shoulder blades and it makes you shudder. Pope massages his hand higher until he's got a hold of the muscle between your neck and shoulder, so he can pull you closer to him. You can't see it but Pope already has his other hand wrapped around his cock, stroking lazily.
"A-Andrew? What're y-you doing?" You ask timidly, glancing over your shoulder where his big hand is giving you goose bumpers.
Pope uses his hold on you to drag you back to his chest, you can feel his knuckles brushing your bum every other moment. "It's okay, sweetheart. It's natural, - just like you said." He explains softly, grunting a little as he continues stroking himslf against your ass.
"Popey, - a-are you touch-touching yourself?" You stutter worse when you feel his fat tip between the dimples at the base of your spine.
"Yes." He whispers, his fist quickening when he sees your ass cheeks jiggle from the impact. "I got too hard while cleaning you, m'sorry - but I have to take care of it. You understand, don't you, sweetheart?" Pope babbles, his manipulation working as you start to take pity on him. You know sometimes men can't help when they get hard, and you did put him on the spot a little this morning. So, you feel like it's the least you can do to help him - right?
"I didn't know you thought about me like that." You whisper, pressing your palms to the wall in front of you as Pope gets closer and puts more weight on you. The feeling of his hand hitting your ass and his cock writhing against you make you quiver. You can't deny that Pope is an attractive man, he's so much man. But you were certain that you weren't Pope's type.
"Think that you're attractive? Doll, everyone thinks that about you." Pope grumbles, stroking himself faster. You feel his blunt tip swipe through you're ass cheeks and you whimper a little. Your spin naturally arches for him, instinct kicking in as his free hand holds a death grip on your side. "Yeah?" He hums.
"Andy..." You whimper, unsure of what's going on with your mind and body.
He continues stroking himself around the base, aiming the top part of his cock to slide farther down between your ass cheeks until his tip meets your dripping entrance.
"Oh my god." Pope sighs, his chest collapsing and curving around your back. He's teases your entrance a little more seriously and it makes you gasp, clawing at the wall in front of you for balance. "Sweetheart, please say this is all for me." Pope whines, nudging himself forward which makes you flinch. The pressure feels more serious now, he's so hard against you it makes you dizzy.
You're not sure what to do or say, you're not sure you recognize the Pope behind you. Maybe you've imagined him once or twice while bouncing on your pink dildo but you never imagined him so gruff and needy.
"Andy!" You squeal, your spine arching further as your hips jolt.
"It's okay, it's okay." He soothes, kissing your shoulder, gentle and coaxing. "We both need it, baby. Just feel how wet you are - how hard I am." Pope kisses your temple, his large hand engulfing one of your breasts to grope you. You make whiny noises from his movements, gasping for air and trying to think clearly.
"I-I'm not sure..." You hesitate, looking over your shoulder at him to see his needy face.
It morphs into an expression of pain and pleasure colliding as you feel him pushing into you. It's a sharp stretch at first but your pussy welcomes it.
"No no no, please don't say that - please, sweetheart. I know you need it." Pope whines, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he nudges your noses together. "Promise I'll make you feel you, - just don't say no, baby." He continues pleading with you, all the while sinking in inch by inch at a steady pace.
Your pussy flutters around his girth, sucking him in despite the hesitance in your mind. You know this isn't something that friends are supposed to do and it makes you worry...
"Thought you were my friend, Andy..." You whimper, your breath hitching in a moan as you arch deeper for him. His fat cock feels good enough to make you loopy right off the bat.
"I am, sweetheart, I am!" Pope defends himself, thrusting in and out of you. One hand wraps around your middle while the other grabs at your hip. "You're just helping me out, yeah? We're friends helping each other out, - it's normal to do that." Pope encourages, nodding his head in your face as he speaks to convince you. "Yeah?" He asks with urgency, raising his brows at you.
"Y-yeah." You nod slowly, moaning louder than you expect as Pope finds a brutal pace inside you. Your hips shift back against him, making sure he hits that perfect spot inside you over and over. Pope growls at your answer, sinking his teeth into your shoulder as he starts pounding into you harder and harder. He's relentless, sloppily kissing your mouth and face as he gets a little carried away.
Pope loses himself in the misdt of it all, pressing your face into the wall as he forces your spine to arch more while slamming his fat cock in and out of your pussy. He's grunting and moaning, sounding delirious as he pounds into you.
Even in your confusion about the whole predicament you feel every last delicious thrust echo through you. Pope knows how to use his huge cock, knows how to make sure it doesn't hurt, how to reach new places. You were nearly as delirious as he was, cock drunk because you've never been stuffed so full before.
Pope starts grunting extra loud, his breath constricted as his thrusts turn devilish. You force your glossy eyes open to glance back at him, his gaze heavy and mouth open as he humps you.
"D-don't come in me." You stutter out, trying to wiggle away when you notice him losing control. Pope pins you in place, keeping you perfectly balanced between the wall and him.
"I-I have to sweetheart, that's a part of sex." Pope groans, leaning forward to try and kiss the pout from your lips. "I won't be able to otherwise." He whines, his pupils blown out as he gives you his best puppy dog eyes. And it works, you can't deny him when he's this deep inside you. When you stop protesting and start moaning again, Pope takes his chance and fucks himself into you until he's filling you with his cum. He's a loud, whiny, grateful mess as you feel his warmth fill your belly.
"Thank you s'much, doll - make me feel so good, what a good friend - such a tight girl, you spoil me - that's right suck me in, take all of it."
You're dizzy when he's done, barely able to hold your head up on your own. It's a good thing Pope keeps such a tight hold on you when he slowly pulls out because your knees buckle.
"Don't give out on me yet," He coos, spinning you around so you're leaning against the wall and he's propping you up by your hips. "Gotta do my part." He grins at you, pecking your mouth before sinking to his knees.
"W-what do you mean?" You huff, running your fingers through his hair as he massage your thighs.
"What kinda friend would I be if I didn't make you come, sweetheart?" Pope asks as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. You gulp when he lifts your leg over his shoulder, giving himself full access to you. "Would never do that to you." He whispers, his eyes locked in on your dripping cunt.
Pope takes a handful of your bush and tugs until your squealing and trying to stop him. Before you can get him to stop he's wrapping his mouth around your entire cunt, lapping up his come mixed with your arousal like it's his last meal. His eyes roll back in his head as he presses himself as hard as he can into your cunt. His nose nudges your clit and he inhales deeply, a feral moan escaping him.
"Andy! Oh god, just like that!" You cry out, bucking your hips and pulling at his hair for more, more, more! "Please, Pope, m'so close!" You continue blubbering, chasing your high like it's the only thing that matters.
Pope moans into your pussy just like he did when his cock was inside of you. The vibrations make you quiver, your palms flat behind you for better leverage. Pope pushes your thigh higher up his head to sink his tongue in. He's somehow even more feral; he's growling and scratching at your thighs, devouring you like a man starved.
You're screaming by the time you come, so overstimulated and worked up that it tears through you. It's every bit of violence as it is euphoric. You feel your body give out, knowing Pope is the only reason you haven't fallen over.
When your eyes open Pope is looking at you with his stern face, brushing hair from yours so he can kiss clear lips. He's gentle, like he's searching you for something.
"You can't let any of your friends do that to you but me, you understand?" Pope demands, looking so serious, like he could flip to anger in a second.
"Why not?" You pout playfully, still catching your breath as you cling to his big biceps.
"Because sweetheart, they won't know how to touch you like me." He assures you, rubbing your noses together as his big hands caress you carefully.
Deep down you know he's right.
You two sort of fall into a routine after that day; where anytime you're pent up or need a release - you just go to one another. Neither of you ever say no, always so eager and ready to help out your friend.
Summary: Three years ago, Andrew Cody saw you while he was serving his sentence at Folsom State Prison. Although his interaction with you was brief, you stayed in his mind the entire time and unbeknownst to you, he pledged his devotion to you. Now that he’s out of prison, he’s going to show you just how far his devotion goes for you.
Warnings/tags: 18+, smut, minors do not interact, smut, age gap (reader is in 20s and Andrew is late 30s), freak 4 freak, season 1!Pope, perv!Pope, toxic!Pope, limerence, yearning, parasocial behaviour, stalking, voyeurism, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), masturbation (m and f), breeding kink, praise kink, degradation kink, erectile dysfunction, controlling behaviour, angst, mental health issues, toxic behaviour, obsessive behaviour, obsessive compulsive behaviour, unhealthy attachment, jealousy, prison, violence (related to Cody family business), toxic families, Smurf, mention of death, unhealthy coping, swearing, drinking, smoking, strip club, stripper, mental anguish, childhood trauma, family trauma, fluff, comfort, no use of y/n
Author’s note: Going back to my roots and writing for Pope Cody again! If you’ve read my other Pope Cody series, Cody’s Girl, and notice that I’m kind of reheating my nachos (just for some parts), it’s okay because I made the nachos. I also took some scenes I had written for Cody’s Girl and added it to this series instead. Also, thank you guys so much for 800 followers! I love you all so much! This community means so much to me and you truly make every day so much better for me! I hope you guys enjoy it and thanks for reading!
Chapter 1: Instant Attachment
Summary: The first time Andrew Cody sees you is within the confined walls of Folsom State Prison. You’re volunteering with a prison library program, helping inmates read and providing educational support. One look at you is all it takes for him to become instantly attached to you and he’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.
Chapter 2: Obsession (coming soon)
Summary: The first thing Andrew does when he’s out of prison is track you down, the object of his obsession. At first he tries to stay away from you, observing from a careful distance, but when his desire to be close to you gets too strong, he gives in and makes contact with you.
Chapter 3: Party 4 U
Summary: It’s the day of Andrew’s birthday. His brothers take him out to a strip club where he overcomes a personal issue he’s been dealing with since he got out of prison. That evening, you go to the Cody house for the first time for Andrew’s birthday party.
Chapter 4: Tempest
Summary: After a tumultuous birthday, all the emotions Andrew has been harbouring finally comes to a head and he learns how well you understand him.
Chapter 5: Reciprocation
Summary: Andrew finds out how you feel about him when the truth comes out.
Last updated: July 26, 2026
Dividers by @strangergraphics and gif by @wesandresons
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Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody does NOT play about Shark Week.
He has every premier memorized and which days they come out. Once it hits 8:00pm best believe his ass is sat in front of the television and has been for the past 15 minutes to make sure he doesn’t miss anything.
Shark Week is a religious holiday at this point, and everyone around him knows. It’s harder for him to focus, engage in conversation, and do pretty much anything. It’s not incompetence, or straight ignorance, but he’s so completely in his head about the new shows and documentaries, constantly replaying them or picturing what tonight’s show would be like.
Although he only has one foot in the water at all times (pun intended), it is a very calm time for him. When he is engaging, he isn’t as reactive, or aggressive. If you’re in a relationship with him, he’s much quieter than normal. He’ll stick to you far more than he would normally in social interactions, trusting you to take over for things while he checks out. It’s a subconscious thing, but would be a very large indicator of the trust in your relationship.
Description: Alexa, play ‘manchild’ by Sabrina. Or, 3 times Jack notices the incompetency of your new boyfriend and gets annoyed, and 1 time he does something about it.
Tags/warnings: big age gap (r is in 20's and abbot is 50), "ive got tattoos older than you" gets said, yes he has tats bcos i said so, size diff, mentions of concussion, medical inaccuracies (idk shit), (1) allusion to reader having a choking kink (💀), r has a used to have a massive crush on him, made ellis a lesbian bcos ofc, abbot life's goal is to make fun of r's bf, flirting (so much), bit of yearner!jack & dom!jack vibes, gets dialogue heavy at the end, angsty fights & confessions, suggestive themes, mentions of sex, sexual innuendos, i use loads of em dashes (dont even compare me to chatgpt bcos im better), pet names: kid, kiddo, sweetheart
Note: tysm for the love on my first ff, it means the world to me. Writing something longer made me lose all objectivity, and I genuinely cannot tell if it's good or great or whatever. Please give me feedback (PERSONALLY). Again, I tried to keep r neutral but you might see mentions of r having hair.
Enjoy. This is for the ones with a competency kink. And for the ones who def wanted him to call you “kid.” and the ones who love silver foxes (get checked) (ur girl incl)
1
“I told him not to take me here,” you mutter to Jack, who's checking for tenderness in your neck, his thick fingers pressing against the side, while you try not to think of his hands on your neck in a very different context.
“Let him. Something the boy can do right, hm?”
After checking for initial symptoms — making you walk in a straight line, and balancing yourself on a single foot, you're subjugated to the very hands-on physical examination. You're suddenly wondering how other patients remain composed when Dr. Abbot touches them like this.
Well, usually, attending physicians don't do a history check or a physical exam, but this one does. For you. Probably because you're his staff.
Focus.
You clock into the reality, realizing the dig he made at your “boy.”
“Yeah, she didn't wanna come, I kinda dragged her here. I was like, ‘babe, it may just be a light concussion but you're a nurse, not a doctor’ so, like, thanks, doc. We needed the big guns,” proudly speaks Noah standing against the wall, checking time on his phone for the 5th time since you've been in this room.
Jack's jaw tightens and he shoots him a look so dirty, Noah actually takes a step back.
“Watch it, kid, if it wasn't for nurses, American healthcare would be even fuckin’ worse.”
Abbot looks back at you, and raises an eyebrow as if to say “really? him?”
You should speak up in your boyfriend's defense, something — anything — to wipe that perceptive look on Jack's face, the smugness he isn't trying hard enough to hide. You might as well be in your birthday suit right now, for how bare you feel. How bare you always feel in his presence.
God knows how much you'd actually like to be — no, you have a boyfriend. A perfectly handsome, competent, and a caring one.
Handsome. Not rugged.
Competent. Doubtful.
Caring. Well, caring enough.
“Doctor Abbot…” you begin, voice stripped raw, breath coming uneasy, when his index brushes right over your thrumming pulse.
“Focus on the examination. Tsk, thought we taught you better here. Well, I at least did. Don't you agree, nurse?”
The air leaves your mouth in a little puff, leaving your throat dry, your lips soon following. You need a glass of —
“Need some water? You've been here a while,” Jack asks, tone becoming gravelly and intimate, eyebrows drawing closer seeing how pale you look.
He immediately turns to Noah — hands leaving your neck — without waiting for a response from you. His voice takes on its normal cadence. “Hey, son, grab her a bottle, would you? Vending machine is at the end of the corridor. Thanks.”
His ‘Thanks’ comes out in a slow drawl that makes you squirm in your seat.
Your attending has not even fully turned back to you yet, when your partner speaks up, “Uh, bottle of what?”
“A Pinot Noir, perhaps. Which one do you prefer?” His eyes find yours again, brows raising in deep amusement. Is he getting a kick out of humiliating your boyfriend — and by extension, you?
“Uh…” noah looks utterly confused. You feel almost bad for him. Almost.
“Water, son. Get your girl a bottle.” Noah makes a move to leave, complying immediately to the doctor. Has he ever even listened to you so quickly? God, men are such dicksuckers for each-other.
“A chapstick while you're at it, maybe,” Jack mutters, trying to keep the humour out of his voice. Noah stops in his tracks again, clearly deaf to the sarcasm.
Jack huffs. “Just go.”
You honestly don't understand why he dislikes Noah so much. You've only been dating him for 3 weeks.
Well.
Noah did try to make a “romantic” gesture by coming to pick you up from your shift. Except, he arrived an hour early as a “surprise” and cribbed because you couldn't leave early. And he did just undervalue your job as a nurse. And…of course, an hour ago, he accidentally hit you your head with a football while he was showing attempting a trick.
As Noah leaves, Jack lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Don't worry, I'll get you a chapstick,” he says, staring shamelessly at your trembling bottom-lip before making a slow way up again.
“Penlight. Incoming.”
You've barely had time to react when a sudden light shone in your eyes. Your face instinctively tries to move back, only to be stopped by a feather-light touch on your jaw. Jack's finger retracts as soon as it comes, leaving you starved for more. More than just the pad of his index.
You hold still for him, letting him sway the torch alternatively between your eyes. When the light is kept back with a soft clink, there are no more distractions as he stands up straight again.
The creases in his scrubs only increase when he folds his arms over his chest.
“So.” You mutter, your gaze trying to find something interesting on the floor.
“Nick seems like a good guy.”
“Noah.”
“Right. We should thank Nick for bringing you here right on time. Wouldn't wanna lose one of our best nurses.”
You scoff at his words. Your feet are moving in a slow back and forth rhythm, your eyes fixated on them.
“Let's not say things we don't mean for good staff satisfaction scores.”
“If you're trying to insult me by implying I care about that shit, good job. I'm slightly more offended than the time you implied I am too old for karaoke." He's slightly rocking himself back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“Didn't imply, actually. I think I was pretty direct.”
A huff of laughter leaves his lips. You don't want huffs or sarcastic laughs. You want his full belly-laugh. His happy laugh that you've only seen Robby drag out of him.
“I don't care about staff satisfaction scores,” he lightly shakes his head for a moment.
“Yes, you just sai —”
“Only care about yours.”
That makes you look up at him again with widened eyes and parted lips. Little shit, off-handedly throwing around words that gives you butterflies.
Dead butterflies, of course, just like your affections on him. Former crush. Yes.
You quickly regain your senses to retort.
“Satisfaction with your services? If so, thank you for checking me for a concussion.” The formality in your words completely betray the flush creeping up your cheeks.
“Of course, what else?” You hate the way he says your last name. The way it rolls off his tongue. The way it reeks of intent, and not casualty.
The sharp noise of metal rings dragging across a rod brings you out of your trance. Nic — Noah emerges from behind the privacy curtain, a bottle of water clutched in his right hand, and a simmering cup of black coffee in left. “Got you choices, babe.”
You smile thankfully at him, perhaps more grateful for the distraction. You extend your hand, your pointer gesturing at the water. You don't feel the same electricity when Noah's fingers brush against yours in the hand-off.
Jack takes a step back. He nods at you. “Rest. Hydrate. You know it.”
"Mhm, no big brain activity, limited screen time, don't avoid if symptoms worsen."
"Impressive. How does a civvie like you know the drill?" he asks, eyes widening in mock-surprise.
"Oh, I'm very smart. Could've easily been a nurse at your hospital," you can't help but smile.
"Shame. I'm sure you would've been terrific."
He nods at your boyfriend next, “Nick.”
“Uh, it's actually Noa —” but Jack's right hand has already caught the edge of the curtain, swiftly pulling it out of his way, and disappearing shortly after.
“She prefers lattes, by the way.”
2
Bzzzzzzz
“Doctor Ellis, I didn't know you allowed your staff to bring phones in a trauma bay. I would've brought mine to play some music while we inserted a chest tube inside this man.”
Ellis only grunts, too focused on work at hand.
Your cheeks heat at Doctor Garcia's comment, feeling the loud buzz against your thigh for the nth time today.
“I'm sorry — ” you had only just begun when Dr. Abbot's voice cut in, deadpan and dry.
“Yolanda, you listen to music?”
“Doesn't everyone?”
“Yeah, well, normal people do. Why?”
Garcia's sharp glare to the attending does nothing to his demeanor. His hands — controlled, precise, and so fucking practiced — don't stop for even a fraction of a second.
“Not everyone can have eccentric hobbies like nude yoga, Dr. Rabbit.”
Nude yoga? Nude? You force your mind to not conjure up an image of that. Especially not with your attending — who you have used to have a schoolgirl crush on — as the main character. Or, you'll be the one on the operation table instead of observing, breaking out in hives.
“I'm sorry, Dr. Garcia,” you complete.
“Apologise to the man on the table; It's not my life on line. No matter how much I wish whenever I work with you boy scouts.” You always cringe at the bluntness in her tone, but it's worse when directly aimed at you.
“Easy, Garcia,” Jack commanded, tone instantly gaining its authority, pausing a moment to shoot her a look. Yolanda doesn't deter, and two of your most-respected, highly-competent seniors seem to engage in a silent eye-conversation. It ends with a twitch of Garcia's lips as she glances at you, and your attending muttering, “shut it.”
Huh, Strange.
***
The biohazard bin shuts with a snap, and you rub your clammy hands, trying to get the feel of rubber gloves off them. Trauma bays are always stress-inducing, no matter —
Bzzzzzzzzz.
You're about to kill someone tonight. It's gonna be your boyfriend. And you're gonna enjoy it. And you're gonna go online, talk about it, and watch a number of supportive women tell you, “I support your rights, but also your wrongs. You go, bitch.”
The constant vibration against your thigh, the baby crying in pedes, and looking like a fool in a trauma bay…you heave a sigh. Has the ED always been so bright? It's like the lights are directly in your eyes.
You hate loud. So much.
You un-pocket your phone, letting it unlock before you start typing furiously, your mouth instinctively murmuring everything you're typing. Your feet carry you forward, muscle memory taking you to a quiet corner, where you can peacefully argue. And bang your head against the wall, if you're lucky. But you're not sure if there's a staff discount at The Pitt. And frankly, you're already struggling with rent and groceries.
Look at you being fiscally responsible.
“Fuck, sorry,” leaves your mouth as soon as you accidentally collide with someone. A single calloused palm settles on your hip, steadying you.
Your lips part to say something, but no words come out. It seems the entirety of blood in your body has rushed towards your hip to greet Dr. Abbot's hand, before it retracts.
“Been apologising a lot today. Forgot your training or have you rejoined pre-school?” His body moves to your front, effectively blocking the view of rapid-paced staff, and people in wheelchairs and gurneys.
“Just…one rookie mistake after another.” Your body sags sideways, taking support of the wall. As if on instinct, his posture mirrors yours, his entire side leaning against the wall as well. You deposit your phone back in your pocket.
“For what it's worth, you started out not too long ago. You are, technically, still a rookie,” he speaks.
In this slow corner, the lights seem dimmer and noise quieter. Your shoulders drop just a bit. You're not sure if it's the location or him. Your bet is on location.
You wonder how you must look to the others, a junior nurse and the person with the most seniority on this floor, tucked away in a hushed hallway. What would they think of you? Certainly not co-workers.
Your lips curl in a tired, soft smile. “Trying to make me feel better again, sir?”
“Trying to tell you trauma surgeons have a permanent stick up their ass. Shen and I have bets on whether she lives in an ice castle or a secluded cave.”
Your smile grows bigger, and his eyes crinkle. “It's not just her. In fact, I admire women with a mean mouth.”
“Only women?”
“Men already are. I can't think of any situations where they'd need to be more mean.”
“I can think of a few,” his voice dips even lower, rocks coated in honey. Your eyes find the fluttering pulse on his throat, and travel up his face, to find his gaze fixated on your lips. He looks up again. Slowly. Not in a rush.
In this low-lit corner and his head tilted down to adjust to your height, his curls — salt and pepper and presumably soft — brushed his forehead, creating shadows across his face.
You clear your throat, trying to erase some of the tension. “It's Noah. You met him the other day, if you haven't forgotten."
“Oh, I tried.”
You click your jaw, “He's a nice guy, sir.”
“Uh-huh. Is he blowing up your phone? What's wrong?” His brows furrow in concern, and you find his worry comforting. You're about to open your mouth to explain —
“Did he forget his Roblox password?”
You slightly shake your head, looking down at his shoes. “You…Dr. Abbot,” you trail off, looking up at him again to see the corner of his mouth twitching, eyes wide as if he's seriously expecting an answer.
“How do you even know what that is? And no, that's not it. He…sprained his ankle, hewasdoingaparkourjump,” you mumble the last part as quickly as you can, cheeks heating and eyes wandering.
Jack pauses, expression caught somewhere between humour and exasperation, “Wow, didn't know your boy was still in middle school. Tell me, were you trying to find a boyfriend or a son?”
You throw your head back, a light groan escaping your mouth. While you rub your eyes, you feel your attending move. After a second, he has a bottle of water in his hand.
You give him a look of gratitude and hold your fingers out. But before passing it to you, he twists off the cap with ease. For a moment, you let yourself enjoy the sight of his biceps straining against his scrub top.
You empty almost half the bottle, throat working the liquid down, flushed under the heavy gaze of the man standing in front of you who is currently shamelessly oggling your neck. He's quick to take the bottle off your hands once you're done.
You mutter a quiet “Thanks.” He holds out his free hand forward. You shoot him a confused look, your fingers come up, hovering centimeters away from his palm.
Does he want you to hold…?
“Your phone, nurse.”
Your eyes blink, realisation creeping with a smudge of cringe, “Oh, that makes more sense. Yeah.” But the embarrassment is quick to vanish when you think about what he said.
“What? No. I feel naked without my phone on me.”
His eyes drop to your chest the moment the word “naked” leaves your mouth. You're not sure you've stopped blushing in the last 2 minutes.
“You're not a teenager.”
“Well, I love my phone like one,” you defensively say, standing up straighter. Your right hand moves towards your pocket to protect your mobile.
Abbot rumbles your last name like a warning, his husky voice settling low in your belly, and your traitorous hand is fishing the phone out without a conscious thought.
Before you can even hand it to him, he slightly bends, prying it out of your fingers.
“Now, I feel like a teenager,” you pout.
He uses her corner of your phone to tap against your nose, “Then don't make me go all authoritative on you again, kid.”
With that, he pockets your phone and walks away. You watch him twist the cap off the bottle again and drink directly from the mouth of it. The mouth you just had your own lips wrapped around.
Kid.
You need a chair.
3
“Okay, instead of using this job as an excuse for a sad dating life, how about you guys just admit…y'all got no game,” Mateo knocks back the last sip of his drink, making this very, very bold claim.
“First of all, nobody was talking about dating life. We were talking about sex. Forget dates, when was the last time any of you got laid?” Ellis asks, using her glass to gesture vaguely around the table, a few droplets falling on the wood.
Your shift was hell. Well, everyone's was. Really, every shift is hell, so this one was no different. The only thing was that today, everyone decided to grab a drink. Not in the nearest park, no. Instead, they're all here, the nearest bar that's open at a time when a person should be doing a morning walk, not shots.
You're tucked between Mateo on your left and Jack on your right, in a worn-out brown leather booth, with Shen and Ellis across the table.
“I don't feel comfortable talking about the personal details of my married life with my colleagues,” replied Shen, sadly nodding his head.
Jack's voice, raspy from his whiskey, cuts in, “Oh, shut it, Shen.”
“I'd say 6 weeks since we slept together,” Shen gave up quickly. A series of sympathetic groans and nods went around the table.
Mateo juts his chin towards Ellis, raising his brows. “Hooked up with someone last week. Left before she woke up,” replied the woman.
“Didn't know you were a player, doc,” laughs your fellow nurse, before his head turns to you. “And you? Come on, we're the youngest and hottest, we gotta rub it in their faces. Besides, you have, uh, what's his name...”
You laugh nervously, tracing the rim of your glass with your index. While everyone’s lazy and heavy-lidded all around, you feel Abbot's fervent gaze burning a hole into the side of your head.
“Noah. And hate to disappoint, but it's been some while,” you admit. Not being able to hold back any longer, you finally turn your head to the right. Not taking his eyes off you, your attending takes a long sip of his whiskey.
“How much is a while?”
This is inappropriate. Your attending physician shouldn't be asking you this, you're sure of it. But nobody but you looks alarmed.
“I would say…none of your business, doc,” you softly murmur, the liquid courage making your tongue sharper.
“And what about you Dr. Abbot?” Mateo jumps in again.
It's your turn to look at Jack with the same intense gaze. He doesn't take his eyes off you, “been a while for me too,” he mutters so low, like he's only referring to you.
You lose. You lose the staring contest and let your eyes fall back to your glass. Thank god, you have some of your drink still left.
“Why, is it…old man stuff?” Mateo asks, and your eyes widen at his question. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold back your laugh. Ellis's rich chuckle fills the quiet bar. You finally bring your cup to your lips.
“I'm an attending, Mateo. We're always at the very top of our performance. Here to serve well. In or out of trauma bays.”
Your drink goes down the wrong pipe, and you break out into a violent cough. Why would he say it like that? You're pretty sure you look like a tomato.
You feel a strong hand on your back, beginning to rub small circles through the thin fabric of your shirt. “Easy,” Jack whispers into your right ear.
Is nobody watching this?
You look around to see Shen, Ellis, and Mateo have deeply engrossed themselves in a completely different conversation. You wonder for a second if it's intentional.
His heavy hand stops rubbing, instead patting the small of your back softly and rhythmically. Your coughs start dying down, and you wipe the underside of your watery eyes with your knuckle.
“Have trouble swallowing, kiddo?” His voice is right next to your ear, every breath rustling a tiny bit of your hair.
Oh. Oh. OH.
“Think I need some air, sir,” you mutter, voice dried. You feel floaty, and it has nothing to do with alcohol.
Jack rises from his seat with a low grunt, “Think we're gonna step outside for a moment,” he announces.
You quickly follow suit and walk out after him before you can see anyone's expressions. You're pretty sure you hear Shen's giggle.
***
You welcome the morning chill that greets your face as soon as you step out, double doors falling shut behind you. You close your eyes, tilting your head upwards, and take a deep breath, easing the night's tension out of your body.
“Hot date yesterday?” You're quickly brought back to reality, turning sideways. Abbot has his hands in pocket and hair ruffled from the wind.
“Oh, uh, yes. How'd you guess?”
“You clocked in yesterday wearing something…different.” His eyes drop to your chest, before lingering on your lips, and then meeting your eyes again.
Your cheeks burn. You didn't realise he saw you in your fancy clothes. It was bad enough that you were running late, and worse that you didn't get to change before clocking in with your date outfit still on.
“Yeah. Noah took me to dinner. I just signed a new lease. I'm moving out of my current dumphole to another dumphole, but it's nearer to work. So.”
“Congratulations, glad to have you close.”
“Thanks, sir.”
A comfortable silence falls over for a minute before he speaks again, “was the place nice and quiet?”
“Hm?”
“Where he took you. Nick.”
“Ah. No. It's kinda trendy right now, so, super loud…” you trail off with a sigh. Jack keeps looking at you, as if wanting you to say more, as if finally expecting you to spill the truth out: Noah doesn't know you.
“Hm. Didn't peg you for a gold person, either.”
“What?”
He gestures with his chin towards your neck, where a sliver of chain is peeking out from under your shirt. A new one, gold colored, gifted by your boyfriend yesterday.
“I'm an anything person, really.”
Jack doesn't say anything, only waits. And this time, it works.
“Well, silver, if I had to pick. I like silver,” you speak, your voice bordering on a whisper.
Jack finally stops looking at you, and with that, you finally breathe. He casts his gaze towards the sky.
“I know.”
He says your name.
Your first name that he rarely says. Your heart stutters. Every bit of fresh air you inhaled seems to leave your lungs all at once. Instead, a family of butterflies — so fucking alive — have swarmed in there, rendering you speechless.
Please say my name again.
“I know, kid.”
“I'm not a kid, Jack.” For a second, you watch his eyes get darker. He takes a step closer to you. Then another.
You crane your neck to look up at him. Suddenly, he turns his back to you. One of his hands peeks from his side, and tugs at the lower back of his shirt, pushing it down by an inch or two.
You stand confused, until you notice faint black ink — now visible — just below his neck. You suck in a sharp breath.
By the time Jack turns towards you again, you're barely holding yourself up. He leans forward, his nose only inches away from yours.
“I've got tattoos older than you,” he breathes, “kiddo.”
Your knees turn to jelly. A sharp heat travels straight into your belly, increasing the buzz between your legs. Your lips part, teeth sinking into your plush lower lip.
You can only numbly turn your body towards the door as he holds it open for you. There's not a hint of teasing or smugness in his expression. There is something else, though.
Desperation.
You walk in through the gate, mind already trying to think of a reason to break up with Noah. Unfortunately, or fortunately, it finds plenty.
+1
“Oh, honey, just take this right now. The doctor has told your mom the rest. You're gonna be just fine!” You give your brightest smile to the 6 year-old girl, looking all sad and tiny on the gurney.
You stand up straight again, your back protesting. For someone still “young”, you definitely have an old-person back.
The mom gives you a thankful smile that still doesn't hide her tiredness, “Thank you so much.”
“She's gonna be alright, mom.” You flash one last smile and turn to pull the privacy curtain. When you step out, you see Lena, your charge nurse, and Jack in a conversation at the charge nurse station.
Lena calls out to you, “All done in there, hun?” You nod and give a thumbs-up. You expect your attending to say something, a joke, or even glance at you, but he doesn't.
Your heart sinks. After the morning at the bar, you went home and planned how to break-up with your boyfriend. On the other hand, Jack apparently went home and came up with, “10 ways on how I will ignore my co-worker who I occasionally flirt with on purpose.”
For the past week, there have been no lingering looks, no cornering you to check in, and no making fun of you.
No point in dwelling. You start going on about your usual business, entering through another curtain, all while the back of your mind still calculates how to leave Noah.
You had prepared your speech and your reasons. But then, Noah lost his job the same day you were planning to have the talk. And 2 days later, he was leaving to visit his parents in California. Shouldn't you just wait until after the trip? It will be so much easier.
Yes, you're definitely delaying it because it makes sense, and not because you're scared that Noah will absolutely take it the wrong way. He's been miserable lately as is, and while you were trying to be sympathetic, you couldn't find it in yourself.
Noah had always been unobservant and insensitive to your needs, not doing anything till he's told. All while, he expected it all from you — emotional support, moral support, and now, financial support. You saw nothing wrong with being “needy” but didn't you deserve the same treatment from him?
As you leave another exam room, still conflicted, you see Lena waving you over, the telephone receiver pressed against her ear. You quickly walk over.
Lena brings down the handset, palming the mouthpiece so the other person can't hear. “Sweets, it's your boyfriend, he's all panicking over something. Do you wanna take this, or should I make an excuse?”
The color from your face drains. This is humiliating, Noah calling at your work because he can't take care of himself. You quickly un-pocket your phone, tapping the screen awake.
9 missed calls from Noah.
“Uh, I'll take it. Thank you, Lena. Sorry too.” She gives you a sympathetic smile and hands you the handset.
“Noah, you can't be calling me at work.” You whisper into the mouthpiece.
“Babe, did you think I wanted to? I called your phone like 3 times, but you didn't pick it up. It feels like you're ignoring me.”
“It's because I am ignoring you. I am at a fucking hospital, working the emergency department,” your voice is straining with the effort to keep it low.
“Oh, I knew you'd throw your job in my face because I'm unemployed. You're a nurse, not a doctor, babe. See, I remember things.”
You take a deep breath.
“What do you want?”
“I locked myself out of my house. The locksmith will come by in the morning. Can you swing by and drop your keys? You know, I lost my license recently, and my ankle is still not good enough to take the subway.”
“No.”
“Jesus, I'm stranded, just be a good girlfriend for once.”
That sends you over the edge. You put the telephone down with more than necessary force, cringing when a few people turn to look at you.
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes.
“You okay, kid?” Lena asks sweetly, coming to stand closer to you. You're only able to nod at her. If you open your mouth, your voice will break. When your charge nurse finally steps away, you clear your throat, and blink back your tears.
When you look up with clear eyes, there's Dr. Abbot standing about 20 feet away from you, in a conversation with a nurse that he's not listening to. Because he's looking directly at you.
You quickly move your head, “Lena, mind if I take 5?”
“Take 10, hun.” You flash her a grateful smile and start walking towards the supply closet.
You twist the doorknob and walk into what must be a 6×6 feet room, and close the door behind you. Your phone is still in your hand, clutched tightly enough to be used as a weapon. You open Noah's chat.
This isn't working out. When the locksmith figures out your door, pack my things in a box and leave them outside my door. Have fun folding your own bedsheets. I'm changing my Netflix password!
Your thumb hovers over the send button. Is the message too unkind? Too cruel for you? You drop the phone in your pocket, with the text still sitting there.
You force yourself to take deep breaths, pressing the heel of your hands against your eyes, turning around to face the organized racks.
“Fuck, fuck, fuc —”
The door slams open, and then shuts behind you, making you jump around, your hands falling to your chest.
“Jesus, Jack.”
“Did you forget your manners?” His voice comes out stern, low enough to drop the temperature of the room.
Your hands fall to your side. You're not in the mood for this. You don't want him in here, no matter how quickly your body is gaining color in his presence.
“What do you want, sir?” your question comes out breathless.
“You know, we pay you to work, not to hide in supply closets when you have fights with your childish boyfriend.”
“I asked Lena first, and I should be out in 5.”
“A patient can need you in 1,” he deadpans.
“Good thing there's Mateo and a bunch of fucking nurses already out there! I'm not the only one, sir,” you frantically wave your hands around, voice rising in pitch.
“Yeah, you're the only one yelling at your attending,” he leans back against the door, looking like he's enjoying a goddamn show. His calm pisses you off even more.
In your frazzled state, the true words spill out before you can filter them.
“Yes, my attending who has spent the last couple of days icing me out, keeping his distance, like I broke into his house and stole his leg.”
He's eyeing your motioning hands cutting through the air. You must look like the crazy one, while he stands there all frickin’ composed, his lips twitching.
“That's dark. And I'm your attending, nurse, as you mentioned. I'm not your boyfriend,” he shakes his head slowly like he's talking to a dog.
“I know that. Do you?”
“Oh, I know I'm not Nick,” he snickers.
“FOR THE LAST —” your voice booms throughout the small room before you stop yourself. You pinch your nose, chest heaving up and down.
Deep breaths. In and out. You're not the only two people in the hospital, no matter how much it feels like that.
Nurse, there's people that are dying.
“For the last time, his name is Noah,” you calmly say, voice shaking with the effort of controlling your pitch.
“Right, sorry. I just forgot because he forgot to fill his name out on your discharge papers when he brought you in. It's okay, children make mistakes like that all the time. Even when the forms are very easy to navigate, and the font size is very large,” Jack mocks, laughing sardonically.
“Why do you care so much?”
“Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. I care about all my staff.”
Sweetheart.
“You're killing me.”
“Trauma bay 1 is empty,” he deadpans, shrugging his shoulders.
A humorless laugh escapes you. Oh, he thinks he's so funny.
“Staff. Is that what I am? Then why do you look at me differently than you look at others? Why do you catch me in the hallways? Why are you always seeking me out? Why have you not walked out of this —”
You flinch at the sudden motion, hand moving towards your temple where something just knocked against it. You look down, where a box maybe twice the size of your hand, lies on the ground.
The rack behind you is still vibrating from when your right arm collided with it 2 seconds ago. You shouldn't have been waving your arms around so much.
“Ow,” you mutter, the heel of your impacted hand rubbing your temple, and eyes downcasted at the box, looking at it like it personally wronged you. Which it did.
Jack quickly moves towards you, his left hand shooting up to take hold of your fingers that are kneading your head — same fingers that smashed against the rack — and brings your conjoined hands down.
“Careful. Are you hurt?” With only inches between you, he bends his head down to examine where you took the hit. His free palm brushes your hair back gently, and you shiver at the touch of his warm skin.
Trapped between your torsos, your hands are still joined, his thumb stroking against your knuckles to soothe any pain you felt on the impact.
“I asked you something, kid.”
You've lost your voice. You look from your connected fingers to his eyes.
And, oh.
His eyes have softened, looking at you with concern. This man sees lacerations, head traumas, hematomas, and fractures every single day. You've never seen him look this worried, and all for a pathetic clash that didn't even leave a bruise behind.
He switches positions with you, and suddenly, his back faces the shaky rack, his form protectively towering over yours. All of your body protests when he moves back, his hands dropping to his own sides.
“You can continue yelling at me now.”
In and out. Deep breath.
“Why have you not walked out of this room yet? And why have you kept me at an arm's distance?” you say but your voice is anything but loud, it's small and quiet, breaking at the end.
“As I said —”
“Stop, stop, stop. Stop, Dr. Abbot, and don't lie to me.” You instinctively take a step forward, closing all the distance again.
A pause.
“I really thought you were gonna break up with him. That morning, I thought you finally regained your senses, and were gonna cut off the dead weight,” he admits, running a hand through his hair.
“Jac —”
“Shut up and let me speak. I thought you were gonna end it with him, and you would come to the next shift looking happy and bright again. Just like you used to before you let that boy date you. You.”
His eyes are boring into yours, and he looks breathless and affected, so opposite to how he was just a minute ago.
“Me? What about me?”
He laughs humourlessly, “let's not fish for compliments. You know what you are. And if you don't, it makes me wonder what kind of limpdicks you have been with.”
You suck in a sharp breath, at a loss of words. Your cheeks burn, and your heart does a backflip.
He thinks that?
Jack turns around, so his back is facing you. Both his hands brush his hair back, and you can see the expansion and contraction of his back as he takes deep breaths.
“What if I had broken up? Nothing would've changed. It's not like you would've done anything. You would've continued to eye-fuck me across gurneys, and flash a smile once a day,” you speak up, voice rising in pitch again.
He turns back sharply, walking even closer to you, his chest colliding with yours.
“Oh, you know it's more complicated than that,” he retorts, eyes narrowing.
“What? You're my senior, you're older —”
He says your name. Low. Authoritative. You feel a traitorous sensation between your thighs.
“I'm not just older, I am old. Period. And I know just how old I am, because I feel it everyday when I strap my leg, and wake up with a new pain every day."
You don't know how to respond. Your gaze falls to his lips, and before you know what you're doing, you're withdrawing your phone from your pocket.
You take a tiny step back to make space, and tap your screen awake. It directly opens to Noah's chat, your message still sitting there in the type box.
You turn your screen towards Jack. His eyes move back and forth, reading your draft. When his eyes meet you again, they're intense, frantic, and what do you know…excited.
“Why haven't you sent it?”
“Because he's already going through a lot. He doesn't have a job, or a car, or…okay, I get it.”
Jack's fingers come up to grab your chin, holding it up. He looks like he's just had a shot of espresso and topped it off with another 3.
“Do it. Do it right now, in front of me, or you'll chicken out. He lost his job, his car, the next thing he loses is you. The one that's worth the most.”
With his breathless voice, taking the edge of desperation as every second ticks, you know you've lost. You bite your bottom lip.
His thumb moves from your chin, to your lower lip, freeing it from your teeth, “don't worry yourself over him.”
Deep breath. In and out.
You slowly look down at your screen, your thumb hovering over the little arrow.
Send.
You put the mobile back in your pocket and look up at Jack with hope, like a kid waiting for approval. Jack flashes you the biggest smile you've ever seen on him.
You did that. You.
“You did so good, sweetheart,” his thumb strokes your cheekbone, and you can't help but lean into his palm. You're high watching him smile, a similar one takes form on your lips.
He's so beautiful. He's the most beautiful man you've ever seen. He should be on TV, winning Emmy's for his grin.
But then you falter, “My…my minutes are up.”
“You can take another 5,” his face leans closer, and the tip of your nose kisses his.
“Patient might need me in 1,” you helplessly whisper, your breaths mingling.
“Well, consider me a patient, then. Your patient.”
You gulp. Your knees are growing weaker by the second and you can't stop staring at his soft lips. You let out a little pathetic whimper before lifting your chin, brushing your lips against his softly.
Fuck.
Your heart tries to escape your ribcage, palm operating with a brain of its own and landing right over his heart. His fluttering, excited, nervous heartbeat greets you, and your lips curve upwards.
Just as you try to move your lips against his —
“Not like this,” he murmurs against your mouth.
You let out an entirely pathetic whine, forehead crashing against his neck with a soft thunk. Your affectionate graze on his sternum turns into a punch — also, pathetic — and it makes him chuckle.
“How, then?” your mutter into his neck.
His arm comes around your waist, holding you up for him so you can let your weight go. His arm tightens as soon as he feels you melt.
“When I'll get you all the silver jewelry in the world,” he breathily replies in your ear.
“That's a lot.”
“What can I say? I like paying for things.”
His free fingers travel to the back of your neck, deftly working the hook of your golden chain with a single hand. You catch as the necklace falls down your chest, reluctantly taking your face out from his neck.
Note to self: Ask him what perfume he uses later.
“One hand, wow.”
“A lot of things I can unhook with one hand.”
He captures your wrist that you've held against his chest — index hatefully scratching, trying to harm him for not kissing you — and brings it to his lips.
He doesn't break eye-contact when he kisses the inside of your wrist. Then the middle of your palms, and finally the tips of your fingers.
You're grateful for his arm around your middle, otherwise you'd be on the floor, shrieking and screaming.
“Don't want to see that on you again,” he points with his chin towards your fist with the necklace inside it.
“Yes, doctor.”
He nods, heat swimming in his gaze. He finally extracts his arm from around your midriff, using it to pull out your phone from your pants and swiftly slipping it in his.
“No more worrying, hm? In return…” He empties his other pocket, taking out a set of keys. He brings your palm down from his face and puts them in it.
“Sit in my car at the end of the shift. You know which one. Turn the heating on, and wait for me,” he raises his eyebrows, awaiting confirmation.
“Yes, okay,” you gulp, closing your other fist as well. One holds your past, another, your future. Or, so you hope.
“Yes, what?” he asks, already side-stepping you and moving towards the door.
“Yes, doctor”
“Good girl,” he shoots you a wink, the door falling shut behind him.
Look at that, your 10 minutes are up.
I enjoyed writing this sm, and i hope you lovely people do too. again, feel free to glaze me in asks, comments, and dms. likes and reblogs appreciated much <3 i also need to know if yall blushed reading this, if yes, WHEN
You know you shouldn’t. It’s only one more night. Buttt quite frankly, you’re a little high maintenance when it comes to Pope’s cock. You can’t help yourself. No, like, you literally can’t help yourself. Neither your bright pink vibrator, nor your fingers felt even remotely close to the real thing. His real, big, hard thing.
Pope and the guys left the day before to scout out a potential job in San Jose. They’d spend two nights and be back tomorrow afternoon. So, to your chagrin, you’re left alone and very sexually frustrated. Craig sent you a group selfie earlier of the four of them at lunch in some sports bar and grill. Your man looks veryyy unamused but sooo very sexy. He’s wearing black on black with the aviators to match, his auburn curls in messy tufts from the wind. He’s got a tight lipped, somewhat smile while sitting next to J, both of them nursing cold beers in frosty glasses. Craig’s text reads ‘Only way I got him to pose for this was bc I told him I was sending it to u.’
Your pussy fucking flutters, and your stomach does a little somersault. Fuck, he’s so handsome. Such a man. A buff, strong, older man who was respectfully railing the fuck out of you just over twenty hour hours ago. Without even realizing, one hand slides down your stomach and into the waistline of your floral panties. You’re rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, rubbing slow circles into your clit while still staring at Pope in the picture. You close your eyes and play back the night before he left, when he fucked you deep into the mattress, legs hiked around his hips with a pillow under your lower back so he can fuck you deeper. He was pounding into you so hard and deep that you could feel his balls slapping against your asscheeks. ‘F-fuck…gonna miss this pussy so much. Don’t wanna leave you,’ he’d said, relentless as he railed into your sopping cunt while placing wet kisses all over your face.
You get lost in the memory, your head’s in outer space. It’s the reason you didn’t hear the front door open and click shut. And it’s the only way you didn’t notice Pope standing in the doorway until he cleared his throat. You freeze, mortified from head to toe. Your eyes tear up from both the embarrassment and the accidental edging you just gave yourself. Pope looks from your guilty face, to your glistening pussy, to your phone on the bed. Your heart is racing, and you’re unsure if you should say something or let him speak first. You can’t muster up the courage to get even a syllable out, and your shoulders finally drop a little when he starts.
“What’s going on here?” His eyebrows raise in an expectant pause. When you don’t say anything, he continues. “What? I don’t satisfy you, sweetheart?”
“No! No, no, no. Andrew that’s not it. I-“
“Do I neglect you so much that you can’t even wait two days without touching yourself? Huh? Is that how you feel?” he asks provactively.
“No, Andy. It’s not that. Craig-“
“Craig??? Why is fuckin’ Craig in this conversation?” His voice is raised and tight.
“Fuck, Andy please let me finish!” you say, frustrated tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.
“Oh, you wanna finish? Should I leave the room?” Ouch. Your cheeks have to be scarlet at this point, and a prickly heat spreads all over your body.
“No! Andy, want you. Nothing feels like you,” you whine. “I’m sorry, it’s jus’ I missed you and Craig sent me that picture and-“ He walks toward the bed and grabs your phone, eyeing the picture you’re referencing to. He looks from the picture to you, a glittery amusement present in the inky blacks of his pupils. You had zoomed in quite a bit on him in the picture.
“You were touchin’ yourself to that picture of me? You shake your head ‘yes.’ Sure you weren’t looking at one of them?” When he says this he means it as a jealous jab at you, but his eyes deceive him. His eyes are insecure; vulnerable. Worried about what he’s always been insecure about - that he’s not enough for you.
“Please help me Andy. Can’t do it without you.” You give him your biggest puppy dog eyes and the poutiest bottom lip you can. You spread your legs open further. And he can’t resist. Who was he to deny his baby when she missed him so much she got herself all worked up over a blurry picture???
He steps out of his boots and peels his shirt off. Your pussy clenches around nothing at the sound of his belt clinking as he gets his jeans off. He pulls his boxers down, heavy dick slapping against the swell of his firm belly. You lick your lips, hungry like a jungle cat.
He grabs your legs to pull you toward him. He brings you to the edge of the bed, hiking your hips up and legs around his waist. He grabs the base of his cock, sliding it up and down your slick pussy. He taps it against your clit teasingly. Your brows scrunch and you whine at the sensation, impatient and eager to feel him inside of you.
“Tell me you missed me,” he whispers huskily.
“Missed you so much Andy, thought about you all night last night, and all day today, and-“ Your babbling is cut off by the feeling of him pushing into you. He can’t help it, his cock was just throbbing at the sound of your sweet voice going on and on about how much he occupies your thoughts when he’s gone. You both moan as he bottoms out, your chest arching up into him, desperate to feels his skin pressed to yours.
“Tell me you need me, honey. C’mon, tell me I’m the only one who can make you feel this good,” he whispers huskily into your ear while thrusting deep into you.
“F-fuck, need you Andy! You’re the only one, nobody could ever make me feel the way you do,” you whine, nails pressing into his taut back muscles. You can tell he’s been tense, and that he needs this too. Two days of surveillance in a truck with Craig, Deran, and J could not have been ideal for him.
“Shit, if she keeps grippin’ me like that I’m not gonna last long,” he grumbles, eyes screwed shut and brows pulled close together. His cheeks and chest are rosy, and the constellations of freckles dancing across his chest feel warm beneath your hands. You got yourself fairly wet before he came home unexpectedly, so you’re already on your way to an orgasm. And let’s face it, Pope is always needy for you - all the fucking time - so he doesn’t last too long as it is 👀 Which you never mind of course, when the way he fucks you is this fucking good.
He snaps his hips harder, heartily chasing his high and desperate to get you to yours. Needy little thing (as if he’s not), can’t wait two days without him. But he loves that you need him. He loves the way you fall apart on his cock, squeaking and squealing beneath him each time his mushroomy tip hits that special, spongey spot. He loves getting you so fucked out that you can’t even form a single thought in that pretty brain of yours. It’s all ooey gooey mush, just melting and melting until it’s like laffy taffy on a hot day. His hips stutter and his thrusts get sloppy. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his groans and whimpers muffled against your skin. You completely wrap your legs around him, taking him as deep as you possibly can.
“Tell me again,” he grumbles into your shoulder. You’re so high above your body it takes you a second to register that he’s even fucking talking.
“Huh?” you ask.
“Tell me again - oh f-fuck - tell me that you need me. Tell me you want my fuckin’ cum in this pussy baby.”
“Oh Andy, need you sooo fucking bad! Need your cum in my pussy honey, wanna feel you leaking out of me,” you whine. And the bubbles of white, hot heat in both your lower abdomens burst - you’re a a mess of trembling and tangled limbs. He kind of collapses on top of you, but is careful not to crush you. He lets his bottom half rest against you but doesn’t put his full upper body on you.
“Fuck, fuckin’ love you so much,” he says after a quiet moment - filled with nothing but the sound of your rapid breaths slowing down and evening out; falling back into rhythm with each other.
“Oh Andy I love you too. Don’t ever want you to leave again.” You know there’ll be other jobs he has to leave for, and that he can’t promise you that. But hey, what’s that saying? Distance makes the pussy grow wetter? Because if every time he gets back he fucks you like this, you might be able to cum around to the idea.
andrew cody with mommy kink for your 1000 follower special 🧘♀️🙏
Gonna be so honest, that prompt was specifically for him lmao. I go crazy for calling him Andy
this one is dedicated to the anon who wanted to see lactation
18+
“Shhh,” your fingers ran through Andrew’s hair, cradling his head to your breast as he sucked. His lips were wrapped around your nipple, his hands cradling your stomach and his baby inside. “That’s it, good boy.”
It was a struggle to keep yourself quiet. You tried your best, biting your lip to keep your little whines and sighs contained while Andrew sucked down the steady stream of milk leaking from you. It felt good, like a weight lifted off your chest, twinged with the pleasure of your devoted baby daddy’s attention.
Andrew’s hips were rutting against yours, both of you just wearing underwear. You could feel the hard line of his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers.
“I want you,” his head lifted from one breast, shifting to the other. His lips latched before you could answer him. He sucked, pulling a gasp from you involuntarily.
“Ask nicely,” your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling his head away from your breast. Andrew didn’t want to let go, fighting against your hold before giving in and allowing himself to be separated from you.
“Please,” his voice was hoarse and raspy. “Can I please fuck you mommy? Make you feel good.”
“Yeah sweetie,” you pulled him up for what was supposed to be a quick kiss, but Andrew got lost in your lips. His tongue swiped over your lips, greedily licking into your mouth when you opened to him. Andrew moaned into your mouth, his hips stuttering against you.
“C’mon, Andy,” your lips separated from his reluctantly. “Make mommy feel good.”
Andrew reluctantly removed his hands from your baby bump before gently peeling your underwear down and tossing it to the floor. He didn’t show his the same grace, shoving them down to free his bobbing cock.
You couldn’t reach him around your stomach, but you stretched your arms out anyways, grasping for him. He settled back down between your legs, arching his body over yours and connecting your lips again.
His lips moved languidly on yours. The kiss was wet and uncoordinated as Andrew grabbed his length, lining himself up and pressing in. Both of you cried out as he slid deep, his tip settling right against your cervix.
You’d become insatiable since you got pregnant, craving Andrew inside you or on you at all hours. He had also grown hungrier, constantly half hard anytime he laid eyes on your swelling form.
“So good,” you gasped out. “So good to me.”
“Feels s’good,” Andrew pulled out, setting a slow rhythm. His lips left yours, head dipping back down to latch onto your nipple. You hadn’t realized, but you were leaking. Pearly white milk trailing down your skin. Andrew traced one with his tongue when he broke for air. “Taste s’good. S’all for me.”
“For you,” you tightened around him, trying to draw him back in on every backslide. You were sensitive, already on the edge just from a few minutes of him buried inside of you.
Andrew hummed, swapping breasts again. He sucked harder than before, shooting off stars behind your closed lids as he pushed you over the edge. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, clutching at him as he humped, pushing through your clenching walls.
He groaned, picking up speed and continuing to drink. Your orgasm wasn’t slowing down, still rushing through you. Andrew kept it going longer than it should have. He wasn’t stopping, desperately chasing his own release.
You finally started to come down, whining and moaning his name as he got closer and closer.
He pulled back from your breast. His eyes were glassy and hazy, mouth dropped open as he panted and groaned.
“Can I cum?” Andrew’s hands held your hips, pulling your body against his with every thrust. “Please, mommy, please.”
“Cum for me,” you were panting and shaking, rocking with him and matching his rhythm. “Cum for mommy.”
Andrew’s eyes stayed locked on yours as his hips stuttered before he buried himself completely inside you. He groaned again, hands shifting up to cradle your still leaking breasts as the flood filled you. Over and over, the ropes filled you up, leaving you warm and blissfully full of his cum, exactly like how he did 7 months ago when he made you a mommy.
So like… had this idea of Sam W helping you with camps.. but gets mesmerized by the way you gush like a faucet when he pulls out… seeing red and his seed trickling out… working you up then pulling out so he can see the pretty cherry syrup leak down your bum…
If you’re not into this don’t feel the need to respond!! I just have this image in my mind that Sam loves to help you with your menstrual cycle…
𑣲┆Helping you ˚.⋆ֹ
aka.. period sex with sam w.
cw :: period sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, shy sammy just wants to help :( he gets pretty mean in the end tho ://
a/n :: just thinking about demon blood sam and ruby on her period wow im jealous. this is one of my first full smut pieces so it might be a little awkward..
Sam could tell you weren't in a good mood. Your usual calm expression was replaced with a light frown, and you winced once in a while when you thought he wasn't paying attention. He knew what the reason was, of course, he kept track of your cycle like clockwork. He'd already researched for hours about how to relieve your pains, but seemingly everything he tried only worked for a few minutes before the cramps inevitably came back.
Well, he'd tried everything except one thing. Pretty much every expert said sex during menstruation could ease cramps and even shorten the length of said cycle, but poor sweet Sammy was just a tad shy to introduce the idea. What if you weren't into it? Maybe you found it gross?
But watching you squirm on the couch while he searched for a movie to watch was making his leg bounce with nerves. He could mention it offhand, a casual question of "hey, i read somewhere that fucking makes your pain go away, you wanna go at it?" .. but he ultimately decided to be a bit more careful.
"Hey, honey.." He started, glancing at you once before looking away. When you hummed in response, he cleared his throat awkwardly. "You're on your period, right?" Once he got a nod of confirmation, he sighed. "I did some more research on how to fix your pain, and i read that.. orgasms can help."
Once you turned to him with a furrow of your brows, he started rambling. "I mean, only if that's alright with you, completely fine if you're not in the mood, just thought it'd help the pain-" You cut him off with a firm kiss as you climbed into his lap. This was not how he thought this would go.
"Of course I'm okay with it, baby." His shoulders loosened immediately, all the tension in his body slowly easing. He cupped your cheeks with his hands before pressing his lips against yours again. One of his hands slid down to undo the buttons of his flannel you had on, revealing more and more of your bare skin until the fabric slid down your arms. You pulled away to shuffle out of it before tossing it on the ground. Your hands moved quick, tugging the hem of his shirt up, revealing his bare chest littered with moles. You both undressed eachother until you were just your underwear.
"Sammy.." you breathed against his lips, "don't tease." That earned a low chuckle from him as he pulled himself out of his boxers, giving his cock a few pumps. "Yeah? You want it that bad?" Once you nodded, he pushed your panties to the side, revealing that leaky pussy he loved so much, dripping with red. He slid his tip against your entrance, once, twice before slowly pushing in. The sudden stretch made you gasp, but he shushed you while stroking your cheek gently. He kept his gaze down, watching the way he slid in and out of you, the red coating his cock.
His thrusts quickened, his tip sliding against that sweet spot that made you squirm and yell out his name. "Sammy- 'm gonna cum-" you threw your head back, but right when that knot in your stomach was about to snap.. he pulled out completely, watching your hole pulse and flutter as blood dripped down to your ass. He might have just discovered one of his favorite sights.
You whined immediately, hands grabbing at his waist to pull him back. "You said you wouldn't tease!" He chuckled at that, shaking his head and pushing back inside, resuming his cruel pace. He fucked you into the mattress, finally letting that coil snap as your walls fluttered around him, squeezing him endlessly tight. He came soon after, stuffing you full of his warmth. He stayed inside you for a moment, watching you pant before slowly pulling out with a hiss, watching his cum leak out, mixing in with your blood.
"You okay?" He scooped you up into his arms, resting your head against his chest. You nodded against him with a hum. "You were right.. it worked."
can't stop thinking about season 1 pope and his old cellmate talking about how pope kept referring to cath as his wife but instead of cath he kept telling everyone one that you were the wife waiting for him at home. you, deran's friend who is closer to his younger brother's age but who was always nice to him, not afraid to be alone with him, showed him too much kindness. you who didn't shrink under his intense stare, not thinking it was intimidating. he never made a move on you because he was confident you were dating deran - why else would you be around the house so often, around smurf and put up with craig? you sleep in his bed whenever you stay over.
but on his hardest days inside of folsom, he thinks of the times your thumb ran over his cheek, underneath the raised skin of a new scar from fighting with one of his brothers or the feeling of your hands in his hair whenever he built up the courage to ask you to give him a haircut. he remembers the one time you came out of deran's room at two in the morning, joining him on the couch after fetching yourself a glass of water. he's watching a nature documentary he's watched at least three times already, but he doesn't tell you that when you're sitting so close that your thigh is pressed against him and the heat radiating off you is making the tension he always carries in his shoulders melt. that night you fell asleep with your head against his shoulder, your arms clutching his bicep as you curled into him.
smurf didn't put you on the visitation list, which he won't admit out loud but he's grateful for it. he doesn't want you to come in and see him like this and, selfishly, he doesn't want any of the guys in here to see what you look like. they don't deserve to. but he does call you once a week, just to make sure you're doing okay and nobody's giving you any trouble, though he's sure deran's taking care of you. the thought turns into acid in the back of his mind. even though he's convinced you belong to his brother, he can't help the fantasy from bleeding into his new life in prison, telling anyone who'll listen that he's got a pretty, young thing waiting for him at home. that he's going to propose as soon as he gets out. that you two are planning to have a family. that he can't believe you're out there waiting for him.
so he can't help the surge of panic that surges through his body like a lit match when, a month after he's been out, he's out to lunch with you when he runs into his cellmate, vin.
"so, you must be the missus. huh?" he teases in snarky voice, his eyes raking over you in a slow perusal that makes andrew's blood boil hotter than the flush across his skin, his fist clenching to stop himself from lunging at him.
"the missus?" you ask, laughing a little as you glance at pope. your laugh dies down when you notice the intense look he's giving this guy and the red splotches across his neck. your attention is pulled back to whoever this random guy is when you hear your name come from him. "uh, yeah. that's me. sorry, do i know you?"
"oh, i'm sorry. i guess i ruined the surprise," vin lips his lips, nodding toward your hand. "guess popey here hasn't popped the question. just confused. he wouldn't shut up about you in there, only talked about getting back to his girl. he kept talking about finally cuffing you up when we were inside, just thought he'd do it pretty quickly after getting out. still just the girlfriend, then?"
"o-oh," you stutter out, your face flushing as you glance back at andrew. his face is pinched in that way it does when he's trying to calm himself down, remind himself to breathe. his focus on his cellmate doesn't break until he feels your fingers ghost down his arm. when he finally looks at you, your stomach turns at how quickly his expression softens.
you always thought there was something between you and pope. the first time you came to a cody party, you weren't at all prepared for how overwhelming it'd be. you had been hanging around the cody's for almost two months now after meeting deran at one of adrian's local surf competitions. it was also the day you accidentally walked in on him and adrian being... intimate. you reassured deran that you didn't care, you already knew about adrian being gay and you never told anyone about him so his secret would be safe with you, too.
the night of the party, you made it about an hour before deran completely ditched you to jump off the roof with craig into the pool, the activity quickly becoming competitive between the brothers. you decided you were over it before wandering inside, quickly isolating yourself in the one room you knew no one would find themselves in: andrew "pope" cody. you hadn't expected to find him there already, sitting rigidly on his bed, facing the window. his head snapped over toward his door when you opened it, his posture loosening when he noticed it was just you.
"you okay?" he asked quietly, his voice strained from not using it.
"s'too loud out there, and deran ditched me. i don't know anyone else." you walked further into the room, climbing into pope's bed after toeing your shoes off. "do you mind?" you suppressed your smile when he shook his head with no hesitation. he wordlessly grabbed a shirt and a pair of shorts from his drawer before tossing them at you.
"change." he demanded softly, frowning before adding, "please. outside clothes."
since that moment, you and pope had grown attached to the hip. you came over even without deran just to spend time with pope, which confused him at first considering you two mostly just either sat on the couch in silence of laid in his bed after you changed into his clothes. surely you had more fun with deran. but he never questioned you, afraid you would take it the wrong way and stop coming over.
but you didn't realize pope thought of you as his girlfriend. not that it bothered you.
"popey was a little loopy most days in there. was he talking out of his ass about his pretty, young thing?" vin interrupts the look between you and pope, bringing you back to the present.
"if pope said i'm his girlfriend, then that's what i am," you say easily, giving his hand a squeeze. he squeezes your hand back, tugging you a little closer toward him.
"well, s'nice to meet you, sweetheart," he gives you a wink, his gaze returning to pope. "give me a call sometime, pope. we've got some things to catch up on," he says pointedly, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away, his shoulder brushing past pope's.
"vin was my cellmate," he offers quietly. "told him, everyone about... well, you. i-i'm sorry."
"for what?" you say softly, one of your hands coming up to brush through pope's steadily growing hair, the curls starting to take form again, much to your delight.
"you're not mad?" he frowns, his brows furrowing when you shake your head. "you're not gonna tell deran?"
"why would deran care?" you say, laughing a little.
"he's your actual boyfriend. i would care."
"what!" you shriek, rearing back in disbelief. "deran is not my boyfriend."
"he isn't?"
"pope, if deran was my boyfriend i'd be an awful girlfriend. i used to sleep with you in your bed. i'd sneak out of his room to sit with you on the couch whenever i did pass out in his room. i've thought about you everyday that last three years you've been away." you sidle up closer to him again, reaching over to grab his other hand so you were holding both of them. "if i'm anyone's girlfriend," you shrug, giving him a sheepish smile, "i'm yours."
"yeah?" he mumbles, letting you maneuver his hands to wrap around your waist, fighting the urge to pull you flush against him when your arms come up to wrap around his neck.
"yeah," you mumble back, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "now," you continue, your lip still pressed against his skin, "let's go get some lunch." your lips press against his cheek one more time before moving to hover just above the corner of his mouth. "i'm starving."
Sammy Bryant who finds you, a pretty young thing after his divorce with Tammi. You’re well-known around the station as Sammy’s ‘ditzy little rebound girl’, but why should you care? Sammy just takes such good care of you! You’re not his rebound, that’s for sure.
And you’re so obsessed with his arms. The farmer’s tan from his uniform, the freckles.. not even the Los Angeles heat makes you feel as sticky as he does.
Mmnhh and don’t get me started on the way he holds you! Especially as he’s fucking up into you, whining and whimpering about how good you feel. He absolutely loves holding onto you impossibly tight, feeling your breasts pressed up against his chest and fucking up into you. And obviously you love how his biceps feel twitching and tensing with every thrust!
He’ll go for what feels like forever, whimpering out prayers for praise and spilling lust-guided promises of filling you up with his babies and making you a mama.
And it’s not always sexual despite you two having the sex lives of bunny rabbits in the spring. Sometimes he just comes up behind you while you wake up extra early just to make him breakfast before work, pressing his nose into your neck with a little kiss and wrapping his arms around you. If you’re wearing his shirt, he’ll definitely slide his hands up under it just to feel your skin against his.
He runs warm though, so when it’s already pushing 70 degrees Fahrenheit at 6:30, you get a little squirmy at his egregiously long embraces. If you really get too hot, he’ll pull his arms back a little bit and just keep his hands on the dip of your waist.
synopsis: you met deran and craig at a party when you were twenty. flash forward three years, their eldest brother you've never met, pope, is now out of prison. the big shocker? he's hot as fuck. he also happens to be the guy you were anonymous pen pals with while he was in prison
warnings: 18+, age gap (pope is late 30s, reader is 23), cursing, baz being baz, reader being a downbad freak for pope, mention of weed, uhh i think thats it
this was actually sm fun so u guys might get the next chapter later tdy 😛
summary: You always imagined forever would be enough. You never considered forever might end six feet underground. andrew ‘pope’ cody x f!reader / cw: DD:DNE, mental illness, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, self harm, dark, mental torment, nightmares, dissociation, derealization, pope is soooo in love with bambi, soft/sad!pope, self hatred, uhhh water boarding? idk just incase, grieving, reader struggles with the idea of impermanence, abandonment, popes short fuse, violence, fighting, cops, guns, cliffhanger…. word count: 6.9k amalia’s love note: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING!!! you guys are just not ready for the next parts. We’re in the home stretch of this story and it has truly been a pleasure writing this for you all. brb while I crawl into my writing hole and finish the next part! Also pls listen to time, you & me by sienna spiro, her album is literally perfection but when i heard that song i had already written this and it was literally so perfect for them. This was originally called eternal sunshine because i liked the darkness behind the idea of wishing you could erase someone from your mind. so you’ll see hints of that throughout this too. Love you all!! PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART
Morning sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows, washing everything in warm gold. He stood in the hallway, listening. Lena's laugh drifted from the kitchen. High. Carefree. Real.
He followed the sound.
She sat at the kitchen island with a coloring book spread out in front of her, legs swinging beneath the stool. She looked up the second she heard him.
“Daddy!”
She abandoned the crayons immediately and launched into his arms. Pope caught her, laughing. Actually laughing.
“You were sleeping forever,” she said, wrapping herself around his neck.
“I don't think forever.”
“It felt like forever.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I'm sorry.”
“You almost missed breakfast.”
“I'll survive.”
She leaned back to study him. “Mama said you'd say that.”
His heart stopped.
Mama.
He looked toward the stove.
You stood there barefoot in one of his sweatshirts, hair messy, one hand resting absentmindedly on the gentle curve of your stomach while the other flipped pancakes.
You smiled at him. “Morning.”
Pope couldn't answer. He just stared. Your stomach. Round enough now that there was no hiding it. That wasn’t there yesterday.
You caught him looking and laughed softly. “They're kicking again.”
He crossed the kitchen without thinking, Lena still hanging from one arm. When he reached you, his free hand found your stomach instinctively. Carefully. Like he was touching something sacred.
Almost immediately, something pushed back. Pope's eyes widened.
“There.” You smiled. “Told you.” He looked completely fascinated. “They're saying good morning.”
“They?”
You grinned. “The doctor said twins, don’t you remember? Two girls.”
Pope blinked. “Two girls.”
You nodded. “Two little girls.”
He looked back down at your stomach, then up at you. His expression softened into something you'd only ever seen when he looked at Lena.
Pure love. Pure wonder.
He leaned down and kissed your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the side of your head.
You laughed. “Andy.”
“Hm?”
“I'm trying to cook.”
“I know.”
Another kiss. Everything was perfect. Everything was-
The light shifted. Just slightly. The warm gold turning cooler. Sharper. Pope blinked. The kitchen was the same. The table was the same. But something felt wrong.
You were still smiling at him, but the smile looked strained now. Forced.
“Andy?” you said. But your voice sounded distant. Hollow.
He tried to answer but no sound came out. He looked down at Lena in his arms. She was laughing, but the sound was wrong. Too high. Too far away. Like she was laughing from the other end of a tunnel.
Pope tried to move toward you but his feet wouldn't cooperate.
He was stuck. Frozen. The light continued to shift, warm gold bleeding into harsh gray.
Cold. You looked directly at him. The smile was gone now.
“You left us,” you said. But the voice wasn't yours. It was Lena's. Small. Broken. Pope tried to speak.
Tried to say no, I'm right here, I'm not leaving-
But nothing came out. He looked down at your stomach. The curve was gone. Flat. Empty.
“No,” he tried to say. Still nothing.
Lena reached for him from across the kitchen, but she couldn't cross to where he was. Not in his arms anymore. There was something between them now. An invisible wall. She pressed her small hands against it. “Daddy?” Her voice cracked. “Daddy, where are you going?”
Pope realized with sudden, sickening clarity that he wasn't in the kitchen anymore.
He was watching it. From outside. Through glass. Through something he couldn't break.
You stood at the stove, one hand pressed to your empty stomach, tears streaming down your face. “You promised,” you whispered.
The apartment went dark. The warmth bled out of everything. Lena's small hands slid down the invisible barrier between them.
“Daddy-“
Pope jolted awake. His truck. Dark. Cold. The engine was off. The keys were still in the ignition. He was parked three blocks from the apartment, hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles had gone white. His heart was pounding. His face was wet. He touched his cheek. Tears. He looked back toward the apartment building.
The lights were still on in your window. You were up there right now. Probably getting Lena ready for bed. Probably wondering where he was. Probably still believing he was coming back.
Pope closed his eyes. The dream was still there. The kitchen. The babies kicking.
Lena calling him Daddy.
Your smile.
The life he'd just destroyed. The nightmare wasn't the dark apartment or the invisible wall or Lena's voice breaking as she reached for him. The nightmare was this. Sitting in his truck three blocks away.
Knowing he'd chosen this. Knowing he'd walked away from the only thing that had ever made him feel human.
He'd had to look you in the eye and destroy everything. And you'd never know it was to save you.
Pope started the engine. He didn't drive back to the apartment. He drove away. Because the dream was right. He had left you.
Pope was waiting to die. He didn't say it out loud. Didn't write a note. Didn't make some dramatic announcement to Deran or Craig or anyone who might try to stop him. He just knew.
The way you know when a bone is broken. The way you know when something inside you has been severed and can't be repaired. He had nothing without you. He'd never wanted anything the way he wanted you.
Not freedom. Not peace. Not absolution for the things he'd done.
Not even Smurf's approval, though he'd spent forty-three years chasing it like a dog chasing headlights.
Just you. Your laugh. Your hands in his hair.
The way you looked at him like he was something other than broken. And he'd destroyed it. Not because he wanted to.
Because Smurf had given him no choice. Because loving you meant watching you die. Because the only way to save you was to become the thing you'd hate most: the man who abandoned you.
Pope sat in the motel room Deran had paid for, some shitty place off the PCH with water-stained ceilings and a neon sign that buzzed all night, and stared at the wall.
He'd been staring for three hours. Maybe four. Time didn't work right anymore. It stretched and contracted like something living.
Sometimes he'd blink and realize the sun had set. Sometimes he'd close his eyes for what felt like seconds and open them to find hours had passed.
His phone sat on the nightstand. Seventeen missed calls from Deran. Four from Craig. None from you.
He knew you thought he was coming back. You thought he'd just needed space after the photos, after the flowers, after the reality of what Smurf could do had crashed into your perfect little life.
You thought he loved you enough to stay. You were wrong. He loved you enough to leave.
Pope's hands started shaking. He looked down at them like they belonged to someone else. His right hand was bruised across the knuckles. Purple. Swollen.
He didn't remember hitting anything. But he must have. There was a hole in the drywall beside the bathroom door that hadn't been there this morning.
Or maybe it had. Maybe he'd just forgotten. His phone buzzed. Deran again. Pope let it ring. He couldn't talk to Deran. Couldn't explain.
Couldn't say Smurf threatened to kill her so I left because then Deran would want to fix it, would want to fight Smurf, would want to protect you the way Pope should've been able to protect you but couldn't. And Pope couldn't let Deran get involved.
Couldn't let him become another target. Couldn't risk Smurf deciding that Deran cared too much about you and needed to be taught a lesson too.
So Pope said nothing. Did nothing. Just sat in the motel room and waited for his body to catch up with what his mind already knew:
He was already dead. He just hadn't stopped breathing yet.
The sun came up. Pope didn't notice. He was standing in the shower with the water running cold, his forehead pressed against the tile, his eyes closed. He didn't remember getting in. Didn't remember taking off his clothes. One second he'd been sitting on the bed.
The next he was here. The water beat against his shoulders. Icy. Relentless. He didn't move. His mind was somewhere else.
In the apartment. In the kitchen where you'd told him about Philadelphia. In Lena's room where he'd read her Where the Wild Things Are four nights in a row because she'd insisted it was her favorite. In your bed where you'd curled against him and whispered I love you like it was a secret. Pope's chest tightened.
He couldn't breathe. The water kept falling. He opened his mouth and let it fill his throat. Choking. Drowning. He jerked back, coughing, gasping, his hands braced against the tile.
His vision blurred. Not from the water. From something else. He turned off the shower. Stood there dripping. Shaking. His reflection stared back at him from the fogged mirror.
Hollow eyes. Wet hair plastered to his skull. A stranger. He looked away.
𓇬 𓇬 𓇬
Deran showed up at noon. Pope heard the knock but didn't answer.
“Pope. Open the door.” Silence. “I know you're in there. Your truck's outside.”
Pope sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands. The bruises had darkened.
“I'm coming in.” The lock clicked. Deran must've gotten a key from the front desk. The door swung open. Deran stood in the doorway, backlit by the California sun, holding a bag from the taco place you liked.
He looked at Pope. His expression shifted. Concern. Fear. Something else Pope couldn't name. “Jesus Christ.”
Pope didn't respond. Deran stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He set the bag on the small table. “When's the last time you ate?”
Pope didn't know. Yesterday? The day before?
“Pope.”
“I'm fine.”
“You're not fine. You look like shit.”
Pope's jaw tightened. “I'm fine.”
Deran crouched in front of him, forcing eye contact. “Talk to me. What happened? Did you and Bambi fight?”
Pope's hands curled into fists. “No.”
“Then what-“
“I left.”
Deran blinked. “What?”
“I left her.”
“Why?”
Pope didn't answer.
Deran's face hardened. “Pope. Why the fuck would you leave her? You love her. Lena loves you. You were happy-“
“I can't talk about this.”
“Bullshit. You're gonna talk about it because you're scaring the shit out of me right now.”
Pope stood abruptly. Deran stumbled back. “I said I can't talk about it.” His voice came out too loud. Too sharp. Deran stared at him.
Pope turned away, his hands shaking again. “You need to go.”
“I'm not leaving you like this.”
“Deran-“
“No. I'm not doing it. You're my brother and something is seriously fucking wrong and I'm not walking out that door until you tell me what happened.”
Pope's vision went red. He spun around and shoved Deran hard. Deran hit the wall. “Get the fuck out!”
Deran didn't move. He just looked at Pope with something that might've been pity. Or heartbreak. Deran has always deemed Pope as unpredictable, but in this moment he was the most predictable he’d ever been. “Okay,” Deran said quietly. “Okay. I'll go.” He picked up the bag of food. Set it on the bed. “Eat something. Please.”
Pope didn't respond. Deran hesitated at the door. “I'm not giving up on you.”
Then he was gone. Pope stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving, his hands still shaking. The bag of food sat on the bed. He didn't touch it.
𓇬 𓇬 𓇬
Pope drove past the apartment at 2:00 AM. He didn't mean to. He'd been driving aimlessly for hours, no destination, no plan, just moving because sitting still made his skin crawl. But somehow he ended up on your street. The lights were off. You were asleep. Lena was asleep. Safe. For now.
Pope parked across the street, three cars down, where the shadows were thickest.
He told himself he'd leave in five minutes. Just five minutes. Just to make sure you were okay. An hour passed. Then two.
He watched the dark windows. Imagined you inside. Curled up in bed. Lena in the next room. Pope's throat closed. He bit down on his cheek. Hard.
The taste of blood filled his mouth. Sharp. Metallic. Real. He needed the pain. Needed something to anchor him. Because his mind was fracturing. Splitting into pieces he couldn't hold together. He kept seeing the look on your face when he left.
You opening the door to find him gone. Lena asking where Uncle Pope was. You trying to explain that he'd left. That he wasn't coming back. Lena crying. You crying. Forgetting he'd ever existed.
Pope's hands tightened on the steering wheel. He wanted to go inside. Wanted to climb into bed beside you and pretend the last week hadn't happened. Wanted to wake up and find out this was the nightmare. But he couldn't.
Pope started the engine. He drove away before he could change his mind.
𓇬 𓇬 𓇬
The bar was crowded. Pope sat in the corner, nursing a whiskey he hadn't touched. The noise pressed in on him.
Laughter. Music. Voices blending into a wall of sound that made his head throb.
He shouldn't be here. Should be back at the motel. Should be figuring out what he was going to say to you the next time he saw you.
But he couldn't go back. Couldn't sit in that room with the hole in the wall and the uneaten food and the silence that felt like drowning. A guy bumped into Pope's shoulder. Hard. Deliberate.
“Watch it,” the guy muttered.
Pope didn't respond. The guy turned back to his friends, laughing. Pope's vision tunneled. The guy said something else. Pope didn't hear it.
He was already moving. His fist connected with the guy's jaw. The crack echoed. The guy went down. His friends shouted. Someone grabbed Pope's arm. Pope spun and threw another punch. Then another.
He didn't feel it. Didn't feel the impact or the pain or the hands trying to pull him back. He just kept swinging. Kept hitting. Kept trying to make the thing inside him stop screaming.
Someone tackled him. Pope hit the floor. His head cracked against the tile. Stars burst behind his eyes. Voices shouted. Hands pinned him down. Pope didn't fight. He just lay there, breathing hard, tasting blood.
His knuckles were split open. His lip was bleeding. His ribs ached.
Good.
He wanted it to hurt. Wanted the pain to be outside instead of inside. Wanted something he could see and touch and understand.
The bouncer dragged him to his feet.
“You're done. Get the fuck out.”
Pope stumbled toward the exit. The cold air hit him like a slap. He leaned against the wall, his head spinning, his hands shaking.
His phone buzzed. Deran.
Pope answered without thinking. “Yeah.”
“Where are you?”
Pope looked around. He didn't know. Some bar. Somewhere. “I don't know.”
“Pope-“
“I'm fine.”
“You're not fine. Tell me where you are and I'll come get you.”
“No.”
“Pope-“
“I said no.” He hung up. His hands were still shaking. He looked down at them. Blood dripped from his knuckles onto the pavement. Dark. Steady. He watched it fall.
𓇬 𓇬 𓇬
3:47 AM
The beach was empty. Pope sat on the rocks, waves crashing dark and endless in front of him. The gun was cold in his hand. He'd been holding it for forty minutes.
Just holding it. Feeling the weight. The promise. The solution. He'd thought about this before. In the cage.
In the dark hours when the guilt became too heavy to carry. But he'd never been this close. Never held the gun with the intention of using it. Never felt this certain that dying was easier than living.
Because living meant existing without you. Living meant knowing he'd destroyed the only good thing he'd ever built. Living meant watching from a distance as you moved to Philadelphia and raised Lena and built a life that didn't include him. Living meant surviving. And Pope didn't want to survive anymore.
He wanted to stop. Wanted the noise in his head to go quiet. Wanted the pain to end. He thought about you. The way you'd looked at him the morning he left. Sleepy. Happy. Trusting. You'd kissed him goodbye like it was nothing. Like he'd be back in an hour. Like he wasn't about to rip your entire world apart.
He thought about Lena. Her laugh. The way she'd started calling him when she had nightmares. The way she'd grabbed his hand in the courtroom. The way she'd looked at him like he was a hero.
She'd grow up without him. She'd ask about him someday. And you'd have to explain that he had left all over again. That he hadn't wanted her. That he'd chosen to walk away.
You'd never know the truth. Never know what leaving you felt like to him. Never know that loving you had been the best and worst thing he'd ever done.
Pope lifted the gun. Slowly. Carefully. His hand didn't shake. He pressed the barrel against his temple. Cold metal. Final. His finger found the trigger. He closed his eyes.
This was easier. Easier than watching Smurf destroy you. Easier than living without you. Easier than pretending he could survive this.
He took a breath. One more. Just one more-
His phone rang.
The sound shattered the silence. Pope's eyes snapped open. The gun stayed pressed against his head. He looked down. Your name lit up the screen. His heart stopped.
For a long moment, he just stared. Maybe he should let it ring. Maybe dying was still the right choice. Maybe-
He answered. “Hello?” His voice came out broken. Wrecked. There was a pause.
“Uncle Pope?” Not your voice. Lena's. Small. Confused. Innocent.
Pope's hand started shaking. The gun dropped to his lap. “Lena?”
“Bambi was sleeping and I pressed the button and it said your name at the top and I wanted to talk to you.”
Pope couldn't breathe. His vision blurred. Tears. Silent. Relentless. “You-you shouldn't be on the phone, sweetheart.”
“I know but I missed you.”
His throat closed. “I miss you too.”
“Where are you?”
Pope looked out at the dark water. The gun in his lap. The rocks beneath him. The stars above. “I'm at the beach.”
“The beach? It's nighttime.”
“I know.”
“Are you looking at the stars?”
Pope looked up. He hadn't even noticed them. Thousands of them. Endless. Beautiful. Indifferent.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I am now.”
“I drew you a picture today.”
“You did?”
“Uh-huh. It's you and me and Bambi and there's a dog because Bambi said maybe we can get a dog when we move to Phila-Philadel-“
“Philadelphia.”
“Yeah. That.”
Pope closed his eyes. More tears. He couldn't stop them. “What color is the dog?” he asked. His voice shook.
Lena didn't notice. “Brown. With spots. And his name is Kevin.”
“Kevin's a good name.”
“I know. Bambi said it was silly but I like it.”
“It's not silly.”
“That's what I said.”
She kept talking. About her drawing. About the dress she'd worn to school. About how she'd learned to spell butterfly and how her teacher said she was doing really good.
About how she'd made a new friend named Sophie who had the same backpack as her. About how she wanted to learn to ride a bike without training wheels.
Pope listened. He didn't say much. Just listened. His hand found the gun again. Not to lift it. Just to hold it. To remind himself how close he'd come. How close he'd been to pulling the trigger. To leaving Lena without understanding why Uncle Pope was gone. To making you find out he was dead. To destroying you all over again in a way you'd never recover from.
“Uncle Pope?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Are you okay?”
Pope's breath hitched. He looked at the gun. Then at the stars. Then at the ocean. “I…” He couldn't lie to her. Couldn't say he was fine when he was sitting on a beach at four in the morning with a gun in his hand. But he couldn't tell her the truth either. “I'm okay,” he whispered.
“Good. Bambi’s been sad. I think she misses you.”
Pope's chest cracked open. “I miss her too.”
“Then why don't you come home?”
He couldn't answer. Didn't know how to explain that home wasn't safe anymore. That loving them meant leaving them. That the only way to protect them was to become the villain.
“I don't know, Lena.”
“Please?” Her voice was so small. So hopeful. So innocent.
Pope's hand tightened on the gun. Then loosened. Then let go completely. “I'll try.”
“Promise?”
He couldn't promise. Couldn't guarantee anything. But he said it anyway.
“Promise.”
“Okay.” Lena yawned. “I'm sleepy now.”
“You should go back to bed.”
“Okay. Will you come see me soon?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Soon.”
“Okay. Love you, Uncle Pope.”
His voice broke completely. “Love you too, sweetheart.”
The line went quiet. Then dead. Pope sat there for a long time. The gun still beside him. The waves still crashing. The stars still watching.
He couldn't do it. Couldn't pull the trigger. Couldn't leave Lena wondering why he'd disappeared. Couldn't make you bury him. Couldn't take the coward's way out. Lena hadn't saved him because she was trying to. She'd saved him because she existed.
Because she'd grabbed your phone in the middle of the night and pressed his name. Because she'd wanted to talk to him about a dog named Kevin and a drawing and the stars. Because she loved him. And he loved her.
And love, even when it hurt, even when it destroyed, even when it felt impossible, was still worth surviving for.
Pope picked up the gun. Looked at it for a long moment. Then he stood and walked to the truck. He opened the glove compartment. Put the gun inside. Closed it. Locked it. He got in the driver's seat. Started the engine.
He didn't know what came next. Didn't know how to survive this. Didn't know how to live without you or how to protect you or how to fix what he'd broken. But he’d try to find his way back to you.
You woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtains. For exactly three seconds, you forgot. Your hand reached across the bed automatically. Searching for warmth.
For him. Your fingers found cold sheets. Empty space. And then you remembered.
Pope was gone. You lay there staring at the ceiling, your hand still resting on his side of the bed.
There was an indent in the pillow. A ghost of where his head had been. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to reach into your skull and pull out every memory of him like weeds from a garden.
If only I could erase you.
If only I could rewrite the past and make it so we never met.
If only I could forget the way you said my name.
But you couldn't. Because Lena was already awake in the next room, humming to herself as she got dressed for school.
And you had to be strong. You had to be enough. Even when you felt like you were breaking into a thousand pieces.
You made breakfast on autopilot. Pancakes. Lena's favorite. She sat at the kitchen table swinging her legs, chattering about a project she was working on at school. Something about the solar system. You nodded. Smiled. Poured syrup.
But your hands were shaking. Because Pope had stood in this exact spot days ago. He'd kissed the top of Lena's head. He'd wrapped his arms around you from behind and whispered, “I love you.”
And now he was gone.
You remembered watching a movie once in college. Late at night. Alone in your dorm room. You'd cried at the ending. At the idea that you could erase someone.
That you could choose to forget. That love could be undone. You'd thought it was beautiful.
Tragic. Impossible. Now you understood. Now you wanted it. You wanted to reach into your brain and delete every moment. Every kiss. Every promise. Every time he'd looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. Because remembering hurt too much.
“Bambi?”You blinked. Lena was staring at you. “You okay?”
You forced a smile. “I'm fine, sweetheart.”
“When's uncle pope coming back?”
Never.
He's not coming back.
He left us.
“I don't know, baby.”
Lena frowned. “But he promised he'd help me with my project. We were gonna make Saturn together.”
Your chest cracked open. “I'll help you,” you whispered. “We'll make it together.”
Lena's face brightened. “Okay!”
She went back to eating her pancakes. You turned away.
Gripped the edge of the counter. And tried not to fall apart.
𓇬 𓇬 𓇬
After you dropped Lena off at school, you sat in your car in the parking lot for twenty minutes. Just sitting. Staring. Breathing.
Your phone was in your hand. Deran's number was already pulled up. You pressed call.
It rang. And rang. And rang.
“Hey, it's Deran. Leave a message.”
You hung up. Tried again.
“Hey, it's Deran. Leave a message.”
Again.
“Hey, it's Deran-“
You threw the phone into the passenger seat. Pressed your palms against your eyes. And cried. Deran was your best friend. He was supposed to be there. He was supposed to answer. He was supposed to tell you what the fuck was going on. But he wasn't answering. No one was answering.
You were alone. Again. Always. You picked up the phone. Tried one more time.
“Hey, it's Deran. Leave a message.”
“Deran, it's me,” you whispered. “I need you. Please. I don't know what's happening. Pope left and I don't-I don't understand. Please call me back. Please.”
You hung up. Waited. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Nothing. You started the car. Drove home. And tried to figure out how to survive the rest of the day.
𓇬 𓇬 𓇬
The apartment felt wrong. Too quiet. Too empty. Too full of him. His jacket was still draped over the back of the couch.
His coffee mug was sitting in the sink. His toothbrush was still in the bathroom. His scent was still on the pillows. Everywhere you looked, he was there.
And nowhere. You walked through the rooms like a ghost. Touching things. His jacket. His mug. The book he'd been reading. The photo on the fridge of the three of you at the beach.
If I could erase you, would I?
If I could go back and choose not to love you, would I?
If I could rewrite history and make it so we never met, would I?
You didn't know. You didn't know anymore. Because loving him had been the best thing you'd ever done. And losing him was destroying you.
A knock on the door startled you from your thoughts. You weren't expecting anyone.
You opened the door. J stood in the hallway. He looked tired. Older than you remembered.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
You stared at him. “What are you doing here?”
“Can I come in?”
You hesitated. Then stepped aside. J walked into the apartment slowly, taking in the space. He turned to look at you. “You okay?”
You almost laughed. “No.”
J nodded. “Yeah. I didn't think so.”
He sat down on the couch.
You stayed standing. “What do you want, J?”
He looked up at you. “I have a plan.”
“A plan for what?”
“To take everything from Smurf.”
Your heart stopped. “What?”
J leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I'm done. I'm done with her. I'm done with this family. I'm done watching her destroy everyone she touches.” He looked at you. “I'm getting out. And I want you to come with me.”
You stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Philadelphia,” J said. “You got into that program, right? Pediatrics?” You nodded slowly. “I'll go with you,” J said. “You and Lena. We'll leave. We'll start over. We'll be a family.”
Your throat tightened. “J-“
“I'm serious.” His voice was steady. Certain. “You're family to me. You always have been. And I'm not gonna let you be abandoned the way my mom was.”
The words hit you like a punch to the chest. Abandoned.
That's what this was. Pope had abandoned you. Just like your mother had. Just like everyone always did.
“Why?” you whispered.
J's jaw tightened. “Because you deserve better. Because Lena deserves better. Because I'm not gonna stand by and watch Smurf destroy another person I care about.”
You sank down onto the couch beside him. “What's the plan?”
J told you. It was meticulous. Calculated. Brutal. He was going to take everything. The money. The properties. The connections. He was going to dismantle Smurf's empire piece by piece until there was nothing left.
And then he was going to disappear. You listened. And with every word, you felt something dark and hungry unfurl in your chest.
When J finished, you looked at him. “Promise me something.”
“What?”
“Promise me Pope doesn't get hurt. Or Craig. Or Deran. Only Smurf.”
J hesitated. “Bambi-“
“Promise me, J.”
He studied your face for a long moment. Then he nodded. “I promise. Only Smurf goes down.”
You exhaled. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. I'm in.”
J's expression shifted.Something like concern. Something like recognition.
“You know what you sound like right now?” he said quietly.
“What?”
“My mom.”
You froze.
J leaned back against the couch. “She used to talk like that. About Smurf. About revenge. About making her pay for everything she'd done. She never wanted the guys to get hurt.” He looked at you. “It consumed her. It destroyed her. And I'm not gonna let it destroy you too.”
Your eyes burned. “Then what am I supposed to do, J? Just... just let her win?”
“No,” J said. “We take her down. But we do it smart. We do it clean. And then we get the fuck out and we never look back.”
You nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay.” J stood up. “I'll be in touch. Start packing. We leave in two weeks.” He walked to the door. Paused. Turned back. “Bambi?”
“Yeah?”
“You're gonna be okay. I promise.”
He left. You sat there on the couch for a long time. Staring at the jacket. The mug. The photo.
Time waits for no one.
That's what your mother used to say.
Time waits for no one, baby girl. So you better hold on to the good things while you can.
But you hadn't held on. Or maybe you had. Maybe you'd held on so tight that when Pope left, he'd taken pieces of you with him.
Pieces you'd never get back.
Forever.
That's what he'd said. I love you. Forever.
But forever had lasted a year. Forever had an expiration date. Forever was a lie. You stood up. Walked to the bedroom. Opened the closet. Pope's clothes were still hanging there.
His shirts. His jeans. His jacket. You pulled one of his shirts off the hanger.
Pressed it to your face. Breathed in.
God, I want to forget you.
I want to erase every memory.
I want to rewrite history so that I never loved you.
But even as you thought it, you knew it was a lie. Because forgetting him would mean forgetting the way Lena's face lit up when he walked into the room.
Forgetting the way he'd held you after nightmares. Forgetting the way he'd looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. Forgetting him would mean losing what was real.
And you couldn't do that. Even if remembering destroyed you. You folded the shirt carefully. Put it back in the closet. And closed the door.
𓇬 𓇬 𓇬
When you picked Lena up from school that afternoon, she was carrying a drawing.
“Look, Bambi! I made this for Uncle Pope!”
It was a picture of the three of you. Stick figures holding hands. A yellow sun in the corner. A house with a red door.
“It's beautiful, sweetheart.”
“Can we give it to him when he comes home?”
Your chest tightened. “Yeah, baby. We can give it to him.”
If he ever comes home.
If he ever comes back.
If he ever stops running.
Lena climbed into the car. You buckled her in. Drove home. And tried to figure out how to be enough. For her. For yourself.
For the life you were going to have to build without him. Because time didn't wait.
People left. Good things ended. And you had to keep going. Even when it felt impossible.
Even when you wanted to erase everything and start over. Even when the only thing you wanted was to forget. You had to keep going. For Lena.
For yourself. For the future that was waiting. Even if Pope wasn't in it.
J started moving money on a Tuesday. Small amounts at first. Five thousand here. Ten thousand there. Transfers that wouldn't trigger any flags.
Accounts under false names. Shell corporations. Offshore holdings in the Caymans. Panama. Switzerland. He'd been planning this for years. Long before Bambi came along. Long before Pope had walked away. Long before everything had fallen apart.
He sat in his apartment with three laptops open, routing transactions through VPNs and proxy servers, watching numbers shift across screens like digital ghosts.
This was for Bambi. For Lena. For the life they deserved. The life his mother never got.
He told himself that every time his finger hovered over the enter key. Every time doubt crept in. Every time he wondered if he was making the same mistakes Julia had made.
He pressed enter. Another fifty thousand disappeared into an account registered to a corporation that didn't exist.
By the end of week one, he'd moved over five million dollars. Smurf's money.
The family's money. Money that had been earned through blood and violence and decades of criminal enterprise.
And now it was gone. Untraceable. Unreachable. Safe.
J closed the laptops. Leaned back in his chair. And allowed himself one moment of satisfaction. He was winning. For the first time in his life, he was beating Smurf at her own game. But J wasn't just moving money. He was gathering evidence.
Photos of Smurf meeting with known criminals. Documents showing money laundering operations. Bank statements. Property records. Witness statements he'd been collecting for years. Everything was organized in encrypted files on a hard drive hidden in a safety deposit box under a false name. Insurance. That's what he called it. Insurance in case Smurf ever came for him.
In case she ever figured out what he was doing. In case everything went to shit. He sat in his car outside the bank, the safety deposit key in his hand. The weight of it felt heavier than it should. Because he knew what this meant. He was preparing for war.
And in war, people got hurt.
Only Smurf, he reminded himself.
He pocketed the key. Started the car. And drove away.
𓇬 𓇬 𓇬
The call came at 9:23 AM on a Thursday. Deran's voice was tight. Controlled. “She's out.”
J's blood went cold. “What?”
“Smurf. Her lawyer got her out. Early release. Some bullshit technicality.”
J closed his eyes. Fuck.
“When?”
“This morning. She's already at the house.”
J hung up. Sat there in his apartment. Staring at the wall. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. He needed more time. More distance. More preparation. But Smurf was out. And she was going to know. She always knew.
Smurf walked into her house like she'd never left. The same confident stride. The same cold smile. The same eyes that saw everything. Pope was sitting on the couch. He looked up when she entered. Didn't stand. Didn't smile. Just looked at her.
“Welcome home,” he said flatly.
Smurf studied him. Something was wrong. She could feel it in the air. The tension. The distance.
Pope had always been hers. Always. But now he was looking at her like she was a stranger.
“Where's Bambi?” Smurf asked. Testing.
Pope's jaw tightened. “Gone.”
“Gone where?”
“She’s leaving for philadelphia. She got into a residency program.”
Smurf smiled. “Good. That's good, baby. You did the right thing.”
Pope didn't respond. Just stared at her.
And Smurf realized something. He hated her. Her own son. The one who'd always been loyal. The one who'd always chosen her. He hated her.
She turned away. Walked into the kitchen. Craig was there. Jumpy. Nervous. He barely looked at her. “Hey, Smurf.”
“Craig.” She opened the fridge. Pulled out a beer. Cracked it open. “Where's Deran?”
“At the bar."”
“And J?”
Craig hesitated. “I don't know.”
Smurf took a long drink. Set the beer down “Something's wrong.”
Craig shifted his weight. “What do you mean?”
“I can feel it. Something's off.” She looked at him. “What aren't you telling me?”
“Nothing. I swear.” But his eyes said otherwise.
Smurf smiled. Cold. Predatory. “We'll see.”
𓇬 𓇬 𓇬
J spent three days drafting the email. Writing it. Deleting it. Rewriting it. Making sure every detail was perfect. Every location precise. Every piece of evidence irrefutable. He routed it through seven different VPN servers.
Used a burner email account created on a public library computer. Made sure there was no way to trace it back to him. No digital fingerprints. No paper trail. Nothing.
The email was addressed to the FBI's anonymous tip line.
Subject: Organized Crime Operation - Oceanside, CA
The body was clinical. Detached. Professional. Like he was reporting a broken streetlight instead of destroying his family. He included everything:
- GPS coordinates for three weapons caches
- Addresses of five safe houses
- Bank account numbers for money laundering operations
- Names and photos of known associates
- Detailed descriptions of escape routes and contingency plans
- Evidence of multiple felonies dating back fifteen years
Everything they'd need to take down the entire operation. Everything they'd need to destroy the Cody family. His finger hovered over the send button.
He pressed send. The email disappeared into the void. And J sat there in the dark. Staring at the empty screen. Wondering what he'd just done.
The FBI made their move faster than J had expected. Smurf was in the living room with Pope, Craig, and Deran. They were arguing about something. Money. Jobs. The future.
And then they heard it.
Sirens. Lots of them. Pope walked to the window. Saw the cars. Black SUVs.
Unmarked sedans. SWAT vans.
“Fuck.”
Smurf was on her feet. “What?”
“We've got company.”
She walked to the window. Saw the vehicles. Saw the agents getting out. Saw the SWAT team moving into position.
Her face went white. Then red. Then cold.
“How did they-“ The bullhorn cut her off.
“THIS IS THE FBI. THE HOUSE IS SURROUNDED. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP.”
Craig looked at Pope. “What the fuck is happening?”
Pope didn't answer. He was staring at the agents. At the guns. At the end of everything.
Deran was pacing. “We need to get out. We need to-“
“There's nowhere to go,” Pope said quietly.
Smurf's mind was racing. Every escape route. Every safe house. Every contingency plan. All of it compromised. All of it blocked.
Someone had given them everything. Someone had-
“J,” she whispered.
Pope's head snapped toward her. “What?”
“I know J did this. That little shit gave them everything.”
“YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO SURRENDER. AFTER THAT, WE'RE COMING IN.”
Smurf walked to the window. Looked out at the agents. At the guns. At the end of everything she'd built.
“We're not surrendering.”
Pope stared at her. He didn’t want to go back to prison, but he didn’t want to die with you hating him either. “What?”
“We're not surrendering. We fight.”
“Smurf, there's no way out-“
“I SAID WE FIGHT.” Her voice was sharp. Final. Insane.
Pope looked at Craig. At Deran. They were trapped.
And Smurf was going to get them all killed. The five minutes passed. No one came out.
The FBI gave the order. SWAT moved in. Flashbangs exploded through the windows. Smoke grenades filled the rooms. Shouting.
Chaos. Pope grabbed a gun from the safe. Craig did the same. Deran was yelling something but Pope couldn't hear him over the noise.
The front door exploded inward. Agents poured in. “GET DOWN! GET DOWN! GET DOWN!”
Gunfire erupted. Pope fired back. Not aiming. Just shooting. Just trying to survive.
Craig was beside him. Firing. Reloading. Firing again.
Smurf was screaming orders. Deran was trying to get to the back door.
And then a shot rang out. Louder than the others. Sharper.
Craig's body jerked. He stumbled backward. Looked down. Blood. So much blood.
Spreading across his chest. Soaking his shirt. Dark. Thick. Unstoppable.
He looked at Pope. Eyes wide. Confused. Scared.
“Pope-“
He fell. Hit the floor hard. Didn't move. Pope screamed. Dropped his gun. Fell to his knees beside his brother. “CRAIG! CRAIG!”
Blood pooled beneath him.
Too much. Too fast. Pope pressed his hands against the wound. Trying to stop it. Trying to save him.
But the blood kept coming. And Craig's eyes were staring at nothing. Deran was yelling.
Smurf was screaming. The agents were shouting.
And Pope was kneeling in his brother's blood. Watching him die.
“Stay with me,” Pope whispered. “Stay with me, Craig. Please. Please stay with me.”
But Craig's chest wasn't moving. His eyes weren't blinking. And there was so much blood.
i want toxic!jack abbot who knows what buttons to push that get you so hot and tears streaming down your face. the whole relationship should've ended where it began, he was a knight in shining armor slipping into the leathery seat of the dimly lit booth. you'd ended up in the dive bar after a bad date. another guy who was just looking for a casual hook up, beating yourself down further and thinking that maybe this was all you were meant for. trying to drown your sorrows in vodka sodas when he slipped in to the seat beside you with concerned eyes and a gruff voice, "what's the matter dollface? boy break ya heart?"
jack knew what he was doing, only a certain type of girl would take themselves out to drink alone on a friday night, dolled up in a little black dress in a gross dive bar like this. the type of girl that just needed a strong older man to sweet talk her into coming home with him. his arm was slung over your shoulders, tugging you in closer, the smell of his cologne engulfed you as his voice was gravely in your ear as he spoke. the smell of sweet tobacco and cedar flooded your senses, head dizzy from the alcohol pumping inside you was only amplified by the heat his body offered as you settled beside him. glassy doe eyes drifted up to his face, tilting your head back, tracing every fine line and wrinkle. jack eyes flickered down watching the way you rubbed your thighs together, a grin tugged at his lips as he leaned down to your ear "why don't we go back to mine? hm? let this old man take care of you , how's that sound?" the back of his hand caressing gently down your face trailing to the necklace that laid atop your breasts. an easy excuse to watch you shiver as he grazes the skin teasingly.
face smushed against the pillow, hips raised as his collide with yours in lewd wet sounds, broken moans and pitiful whines. he had been at it for what felt like hours, his rough calloused hands gripping your waist and shoulders as he pulled you back into every thrust. his fat cock bullying it's way into your tight slit, his tip kissing the sweet spot inside that made you mewl with pleasure. he leaned himself over you, pushing you down prone bone, his bicep wrapping around the underside of your throat. mouth pressed against your ear letting every grunt be heard. he slammed himself into you repeatedly, overwhelmed gasps for air as you clawed at his arm.
"j-jack—" you sputter out between clamoring for oxygen and the moans he ripped out of you, toes curling and velvet walls clenching around his length.
"dirty fucking girl, letting me fuck you like this," grunting between thrusts, his hand slips under your stomach trailing between your legs as his fingers to circle your clit. "you like having an old man fuck you like this? does it make you feel special? you feel daddy's love yet?"
tears are spilling out of your eyes as he hurls you towards another orgasm. he's kissing away the hot wet streaks that slip down your face as your eyes roll back. something animalistic between a moan and a cry for help as he tightens his brace around around your throat. as you clench around him, a few more haphazard thrusts of his before he pumps you full of his cum. he remains laying on top of you as your pussy milks him for all he's got, freeing your throat from his bicep as your head lays gently on his pillow. still buried inside he'd lift himself up enough to push the hair that was stuck to your face out of the way, kissing your cheek and shoulder.
"don't worry, baby... i know your daddy didn't love you but that's why you got me now. daddy will take care of you now."
“can i open my eyes now?” you asked excitedly, kicking your feet as pope held up the diamond anklet he stole from his recent job with the guys. pope lived for your reactions every time he brought you back something and surprised you with it, his own small smile playing on his lips as he answered with a hushed ‘yeah’. removing your hands from your face, you gasped as soon as you saw the twinkling gems reflect off of the light from your bedside lamp, your eyes widening ever so slightly. “oh, andrew!” you stared in awe, the small ‘p’ pendant catching your attention as pope’s chest bloomed with pride. “do you like it?” he couldn’t help but ask, needing the reassurance that he did something good.
you nodded, a high pitched squeal leaving your lips as you threw your arms around him and littered his face with kisses. “it’s perfect, i love it so much!” pope felt relieved upon getting your approval, his skin flushing as you swung your leg over his lap and straddled him. handing over the anklet, pope watched as you inspected it— fascination written all over your face. “you’ll only be able to wear it around the house for now since people will be on the lookout for it, so don’t forget not to go out with it on or anything.” pope explained, his rough palms skimming the tops of your thighs as you hummed. “can you put it on for me?” you asked, handing the anklet back over. “i’m glad you asked, i was hoping to see it in action..”
at his words, your eyebrows knitted in confusion. “what do you mean?”
“andy—!” you cried, choking out a sob as pope forced your knees to be pinned to your chest, your ankles on either side of his head. hiccuping with each harsh thrust inside your cunt, pope eyed the diamonds clasped around your ankle, a groan rumbling from his chest as the pendant winked back at him in the form of a twinkle. you gripped your bedsheets, your eyes screwing shut at the pleasurable force his cock was hitting your cervix. “ah, fuckkk,” pope drawled out, his chest heaving up and down, “are you sure you like it?” you didn’t know if he was talking about the absolute pounding he was giving you right now, or the string of diamonds adorning your ankle, but to say you loved both would be an understatement.
“yes— i love it so much!” you screamed when he repositioned your knees to the mattress, his body now flushed against your own as his lips rested by your ear. “i thought about you all day.” pope said through gritted teeth, his lips ghosting your earlobe as he spoke. “did you think about me?” he asked, his voice carrying a small hint of insecurity. tangling your fingers in his curls, you made sure to look him in the eyes when you said your next words. “i think about you all the time, andrew.” his thrusts slowed down, his gaze flickering over the features of your face. “you worry me sick every time you go out on a job,” you stroked his flushed cheeks with your thumbs, “i’m scared one day you won’t come back to me.”
pope can’t remember anyone who truly worried for him and cared for him like you did, your words doing more than just tugging at his heartstrings. you gasped when you felt his cock twitch inside of you, thick ropes of hot cum filling you up in no time as pope grew desperate to give you an orgasm of your own. aching with overstimulation, pope shuddered as he continued rocking into you, the long, slow strokes of his hips paired with his rough fingertips on your clit making you tremble and shake. studying you closely, pope watched as your teeth pulled on your bottom lip, your skin growing hot as the coil in your tummy grew tighter and tighter. “andrew..” you whispered breathlessly, gazing up at pope through your lashes.
pope knew that look all too well, his fingers working relentlessly as he brought you over the edge, your thighs clamping tight around his hand. “keep them open, baby, just let it happen.” pope forced your thighs open, his lips ghosting over yours as tears slipped down your cheeks. you could never get used to the size of him, his length hitting you in places you had never felt before he came along. your blood was rushing through your ears, your limbs falling weak as you gave into pope and let him have his way with you. nails digging into his flesh, you tapped out as soon as the pleasure subsided and a dull ache began to form on your sensitive clit. “no more, no more!” you cried out, your hips instinctively backing away.
pope pulled out with a slick pop, a groan leaving his lips as he watched you clench around nothing, the sight of your abused cunt making him curse under his breath. you laid there, fucked out into oblivion and brainless, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. leaving you for a moment, pope went to get something to clean you up with, his hands working gently to put you back at ease. eventually, your breathing slowed and all you can feel was pope tucking you against his chest, his large hands running soothingly down your back as he brought your comforter up to cover both of you. “please don’t get into that pretty head of yours so much,” he kissed your temple, “i’ll always come back to you.”
