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Updated 5-31-2026

[tenseoyong]

Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody x F!Reader

Your relationship with the oldest Cody brother was delicate. Andrew is a very private, damaged man, but you’ll be there to discover what makes him tick.

Masterlist

18+ M!receiving oral He cries. TW: discussions of OCD tendencies. underlined self harming. painful sexual contact. brief brief allusion to CSA/SA. Smurf mention.

You’d met the oldest Cody as just another nameless invite to some chaotic house party. The novelty wore off quickly, your friends abandoning you to chase after another Cody brother, leaving you by yourself. You’d wandered inside in search of another drink, only to be startled by the motionless man already occupying the kitchen. He’d been quiet, staring at the absolute disaster of the room.

Half drunken bottles lined the counter, BBQ smeared plates piled by the sink, milk left on the stove.

And Andrew?

Face pinched in distress, eyes darting around the mess, breathing heavy like he was a minute away from breaking down.

Quietly, as to not startle the imposing man, you moved.

A quick sniff to see if the milk was still good, you returned it to the fridge.

Gently scraping picked at BBQ into the trash, careful not to make that awful screeching sound of utensils against porcelain.

All while Andrew’s dark eyes followed you. Shoulders loosening just a hair with each mess cleared away.

It wasn’t until you grabbed a discarded box of cereal and looked around for its rightful spot that he spoke, “Above the cabinet.”

You met his gaze, seeing a calmness slowly taking over him as you reached to slide the box home, gently arranging them until they matched evenly.

“Thanks.” He barely whispered.

“It’s nothing.” You shrugged. “My mom is—was—the…same.”

Since then, Andrew seemed to be a quiet constant in your life. It was kind of nice, refreshing. He was like a stray cat, drifting in and out of your space, without leaving too much much of a permanent stain.

Anyone could overlook the minuscule details—but you could see the little parts of Andrew he left with you plain as day.

Andrew kept a pair of clean clothes at your place, neatly tucked into the top right of your dresser drawer. A fresh toothbrush found its home in your bathroom cabinet. A singular bar of soap in its designated dish lived amongst your soaps and lotions. A surprisingly sparse amount of shower products for the insanely long showers Andrew took.

You’d learned early on that Andrew wasn’t one to offer a lot of personal information—and you accepted that—considering his time incarcerated, you thought perhaps that had altered his habits in ways you couldn’t understand.

You didn’t mind that he was the only man you’d dated that hadn’t tried to corner you in the vulnerability of a shower—Andrew kept the bathroom door securely locked behind him each time he went in—he was more like a skittish animal than a man most days.

Considering all his…quirks…it didn’t come as a surprise he wasn’t the most overtly sexual partner you’d had, either. Andrew didn’t exactly reject physical contact, but he surely was less likely to initiate. He didn’t pull away or lean closer you when you kissed him. Held you tight to him when you snuggled into his side. Dug his fingers into your hips, while you rocked against his lap.

He was content to let you use his thick thighs to grind on. To fuck you with skilled fingers, play with your clit. To bury his face into your soaked pussy until you were shaking and pleading. But he never seemed to care—or expect—you to do anything in return.

As soon as he got you off, Andrew would almost robotically set about cleaning up—washing his hands, cleaning you off, changing the sheets and dressing you into pajamas—and lay back in your arms as if nothing had occurred at all.

And that was fine.

For a while.

But everyone had their limits.

Andrew had done what he always had—determination clouding his handsome features as he curled his fingers deep inside you, forcing you to cum over and over until you were a sobbing mess of weak limbs—before he shut down, and went to climb off the bed.

But this time, you reached out, wrapping your hand around his thick wrist. Your grip wasn’t remotely restricting, Andrew could have easily shook you off and continued on his routine—but he froze in place all the same, as if your touch alone was enough to immobilize him.

“Andrew?” You called, voice shaky from all the moans he’d worked out of you. “Don’t you…don’t you want me to return the favor?”

“You don’t have to.” He replied. Quickly. Too quickly. “It’s okay—I’m okay.”

He shook his head to himself like he was having a whole separate conversation with himself. Glancing off to the side, towards the bathroom.

“But I want to.” You clambered to wobbly knees, leaning against his shoulder, pressing tender kisses to his stern cheeks. “I wanna make you feel good, too. Can’t I?”

“You don’t have to.” Andrew repeated, softly, a whisper.

“I want to.” You reaffirmed. Gently guiding him to lay down on the bed, you trailed curious hands across the thick, tense muscles of his shoulders, his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your palms, down to the waistline of his jeans. “I wanna touch you, Andrew. Will you let me?”

He looked like he wanted to continue to object. Maybe it was the sincerity in your voice, the kindness in your eyes, the fact that Andrew had never felt unsafe in your company that allowed him to agree.

Andrew met your eyes, his gaze reminding you of an animal caught in a snare. Scared. In pain. But resigning to their fate nonetheless. “Okay.”

His breath hitched when you popped his jean button.

Fingers dug into the mattress as the zipper rang loud in the silent room.

Gaze fixed on a corner of the room as you gently worked the harsh fabric down his thick thighs.

Eyes pinched shut when the concerned gasp fell from your lips before you could help it.

Andrew was painfully hard. Completely bare. Not a hair in sight.

Skin a bright pink.

Raw.

You brushed a shaky finger across the splotchy skin, jumping when Andrew let out a pained breath.

“Andrew?” You tried to steel your expression, not wanting him to shut down worse than he was. “What…”

His chin wobbled.

Tears wet his lash line.

“I’m not clean.” He choked. “She—Smurf—I’m not clean.”

Your heart tightened. You’d barely put together the pieces of the Cody family. Had definitely witnessed how little boundaries the matriarch had with her son. But you would never had thought…

“Andrew, you’re okay, you’re safe.” You stated, voice firm with no room to object while Andrew fought to not spiral. “Andrew you did nothing wrong. You’re not unclean.”

His sobs racked through his body, shaking you and the bed

“Please.” Andrew hiccuped. “Make it go away—I want you to make it go away.”

“Andrew—”

“Please.”

His pleading broke your heart.

You’d never seen the eldest attack dog so broken down.

What the fuck did Smurf do to these boys?

With enough hesitation to give Andrew time to object, you spit in your hand, and reached for his aching length. His cock jerked the second you made contact. Andrew’s cries stuttered. A twist of your wrist had his back bowing off the mattress. The angry tip leaking cloudy tears.

“I need you to talk to me, Andrew.” You shuffled to kneel between his spread legs. Leaning down until your hair tickled his thighs, warm breath fanning over exposed skin. “You have to talk to me, okay?”

“Okay.” Andrew swallowed hard, adams apple bobbing. “It hurts.”

“I know, baby.”

Then you drew the flat of your tongue along the underside of his full length, taking in Andrew’s sharp gasp. Lazily circling the weeping head, tasting the slightly salty pre-cum.

“Hurts—but…feels good.” Andrew whispered.

You hummed, letting the vibration melt through his crotch. Pressing sloppy kisses up and down the length of his cock. Nuzzling your nose against tender skin. All but worshiping the broken man.

Flicking your tongue over the sensitivity little spot just beneath his tip, giving the head a teasing little suck, lapping up each salty pearl that dripped from him.

“This okay, Andy?” Your flicked your gaze up to meet his. That permanent frown was etched on his face again. But his eyes—they bounced between desire and hesitation, like he wasn’t sure he deserved such tender treatment but crazed it all the same—stayed locked on the sight of you between his legs, like you’d disappear if he dared to blink.

“Mhm.”

“Say it, Andy.”

“Feels good.” He corrected, reaching to carefully tuck some loose hair behind your ear.

“Good.” You smiled, and took him in your mouth. Andrew’s jaw clenched tight at the heat suddenly surrounding the raw skin, hips involuntarily bucking at the feeling.

Drool spilled around your lips, dripping down to pool around his base. Unable to take his full length you made up for it with curling your tongue on the underside of his cock with each bob of your head. Obscenely wet sounds of you gagging on his cock mixed with Andrew’s pained moans.

In the corner of your eye, you could see his hands twitching, unwilling to move. You grabbed them, guiding them to your hair, giving him a point look to say, ‘it’s okay.’

Andrew didn’t give any guidance, didn’t alter your decided pace, only gripping at your hair as tight as he fisted the sheets. His head tossed back against the pillow when you snuck a hand down to gently play with his balls, feeling him tightening up the more erratic his subconscious thrusts became.

You tried to keep the steady pace, to anticipate his wild bucking and meet him half way, but Andrew seemed to have completely lost himself on the feeling of your mouth working him over. You almost couldn’t tell if he was moaning or crying anymore, the sound drifting from one to the other, to somewhere in between as his hips stuttered.

Then you took all you could manage, tears burning your eyes, air leaving your lungs as you pressed your nose as close to his pelvis as you could, throat spasming around the intrusion as Andrew thrashed beneath you. Thick spurts filled the back of your throat as you tried to swallow around him and keep up with the flood.

You lurched back, gasping for air, chest heaving in time with Andrew’s.

Andrew didn’t settle—he never really did—but he sunk into the mattress.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” You rasped, climbing off the bed on wobbly limbs.

Andrew nodded.

“Say it, baby.”

“Okay.”

You made for the bathroom, collecting some wipes Andrew kept in the cabinet, and snatched a tube of aloe gel before returning to Andrew’s side. With a tenderness he wasn’t used to receiving, you wiped away all the drool, the residual cum, your collective mess away from his raw skin. Then smoothed a generous layer of aloe on the burning flesh.

“You’re not dirty, Andrew.” You spoke quietly. Threading your fingers through his hair as he leaned into your lap. “You’re deserving of kindness. Softness. You deserve to be loved. Properly.”

Andrew’s sniffles reached your ears as he curled in to your touch. He never replied. But his shoulders were less tense. His breathing evened out. His fingers traced mindless shapes on your bare thighs.

“Okay.”

[thykingdoncome]

The Animal That Therefore I Am

summary: there's something off about the Codys.

|| smut mdni 18+, omegaverse, a/b/o dynamics, werewolf!pope, alpha!pope, omega!reader, heat cycles, rut, no smurf (one mention of her but she's not in the story), bratty!reader, some dub con (not with pope) but only because she's in heat around a bunch of alphas, licking, kissing, monsterfucking, reader is part of the dead dad club, reader had a bad relationship w her dad, established 'acquaintance-ship' with the codys, mean!deran, end of season 4 spoilers!!!! knotting, pinv, f!receiving oral, biting, mating bonds, painful heat, fuck-or-die vibes, mating press / prone bone, bicep choking, possessive!pope, pope is a consent king™  || a/n: cannot believe this is my first pope smut im posting... title from a book by Jacques Derrida wc: 9.5k

There was something … off about the Codys.

For one, they owed you fucking money.

Secondly, they were just…different. They didn't trust easily. They were known for stealing, lying, screwing people over. But they were also immensely private. That part you understood.

Most packs kept their closed doors, kept to their old grudges, their places at the table no outsider was ever going to sit. But the Codys were different even then. Their house always felt locked up tight, even when the gates were open, even when they'd throw huge summer parties.

And ever since two years ago when your father had introduced you, the Codys never gave in. You thought it was because your dad was an asshole, plain and simple. Because he was. And he'd gotten killed because of it.

But there was something else too. Something more curious. They often kept people out like it wasn’t only money they were protecting, careful and uneasy of any outsiders that sniffed too close.

Usually, you understood. But today, it pissed you off.

Because whatever rotten blood pact they had between them as a family, as a pack—it didn't mean they got to keep your cut of the money.

It was why, even though your body was screaming in a noxious, thrumming pain and your pulse was pounding through your head, and your gums felt itchy even as you chewed your wad of bubble gum, and your skin was too warm, and your thighs pressed together tightly in the driver’s seat—you were heading to the house anyway.

The gum had long become tough between your teeth, sugar and artificial strawberry turned flat, but you kept chewing because your jaw needed something to do or else the chattering of your teeth would drive you crazy.

Your cycle thrashed behind your ribcage, a wet and burning omega begging for something or someone , but still early enough where your head was on your shoulders and you could push it down.

Your back felt sweaty against the driver's seat of the Jeep, and you could feel the humiliating slick gathering, could feel the awful little pulse of it between your legs. Every part of your body seemed desperate to make that your problem instead of the dead-father, missing-money, Cody-family problem you were trying very hard to focus on.

But still, you were determined to get to the house.

Because fuck 'em. That's why.

Your dad had given them a job, had found the armored truck, had even gotten the head of security to sign off early for his son's birthday, leaving the coast completely clear for them to take it without being seen.

But he died. On the job.

So technically, the money was yours now.

Next of kin— all that.

The streets up from The Strand were always annoying, which only made your ire grow— flames licking up from your belly into your chest, fueling you as the pad of your foot stepped harder on the gas pedal of your open Jeep. The cooler air did help, if only a little. The breeze off the ocean cut through the hot early summer sun and cooled the sweat at your temples for one brief second before your body burned through it again.

Your Jeep took every climb and sharp turn easily, though it jostled you so hard it sometimes forced a moan from your throat. You did your best to bite the sound off behind your teeth as your thighs clamped together and the worn seam of your shorts dragged exactly where you needed it to—no, no you did not need. You did not. Though, at one point, stopped at a red light with one hand tight on the wheel and the other pressed hard against your lower stomach, you did have half a mind to shove your hand down your shorts right there just to take the edge off.

But you couldn’t. You weren’t quite at that point of humiliation yet, though the fact that there was a yet at all made your mouth twist around the wad of gum. You'd deal with it later. With your toys and your medication just like every other year of this hell.

Eventually you were pulling up to the wide gated house with your brows pulled together and a deep frown.

The gate opened for you without much question.

Huh. Wonder if they were expecting you.

Good. Maybe then they'd have your money ready and waiting, too.

You pulled the car into the driveway, only one Cody there waiting for you—the youngest, J. Smurf's grandson who'd had a lot to say about the family business ever since she passed away. Rest in hell, the mad woman.

You studied him long before cutting the engine completely. His tee shirt stuck to him from sweat and early summer heat, brows set, that usual glare typical of his face, though today it had your teeth clenching around your gum.

"Could smell you from a block away." J called as you hopped out of the seat, "what do you want?"

The dig only made your lip curl up, your teeth bared before you could stop yourself. Josh Cody was a beta, which surprised you, to say the least. Smurf made it her mission to raise alpha men, though you were never sure if it made any difference. Nature versus nurture, who could be sure. She’d barely known him most of his life, and maybe that was why he’d ended up almost normal. He had a normal designation, no biological need for territory or scent or reproduction. No physical need for it like the rest. His body would stay his own.

"Nice to see you too." you snarked. "Haven't seen you around much."

"Yeah, well" he said flatly. "Dead grandma, and all."

You clicked your teeth, "Aw, you seem really cut up about it."

The two of you glared at one another for a long moment. The sun was beating against your face now, your own scent climbing up around you in a way you could almost taste, sweet and cloying and too much. It made you want to crawl out of your skin, made you want to show your teeth at this asshole. Worse, it made you want hands on you so badly that your stomach cramped with it, and then the shame of that made your anger snap back into place even harder.

"Listen, I'm just here to collect my dad's cut. That's it. Then I'll be out of your—"

But then, the back gate was opening, and two of the Cody sons came walking out.

Oh, fuck.

You suddenly realized how much of a mistake this was. Coming here right before your cycle. J was probably right, you thought—that you stunk to high hell—your belly twisting on itself in instinctual glee while your brain still had enough hold on you to know that it was fear too. Three grown alphas lived here, two unmated. Their bodies coming toward you with the sun at their backs making your omega hindbrain—stupid little traitor that she was— lift its head and whine.

J's glare flitted around as they all formed a sort of half circle around you.

Craig came out first, tall and loose-limbed, his hair messy, his chest bare, tattoos showing against his skin. His smell invaded you, uninvited, unmated— smokey with the grain of beer, a heady press of alpha that made your nose want to scrunch.

Deran was beside him in a faded tank, his thick blond mustache pulling down around his mouth, shoulders already lifted with irritation. He smelled like salt water, malt and liquor cutting through the clean surf of him.

"It was my dad's job." you said, trying to force the ire in your voice as your heart began to pound harder in your ears, looking back at J, "and because you jackasses got him killed, the cut goes to me. His daughter."

"Your dad was an idiot who got himself killed." Deran cut in with a hard glare.

"Yeah, Deran?" you snapped, looking over to him. You only half saw Craig and J fidget in your periphery as you stepped into the mated alpha's space, "I think that maybe it's that mommy isn't here anymore to tell you how to actually do a job. Maybe you really are all brawn, no brain after all."

You heard snarls coming from around you, the men bristling at your sharp tongue as their rough, low voices scraped over air. It made you jump, it made your stupid omega brain want to keen and show your belly, but you refused even as sweat began to bead your brow. You needed to get your money and get the hell out of here as your heat blazed in your belly and down between your legs where slick was beginning to pool.

“We don’t owe you shit.” Craig growled from beside you. But you didn’t even hear him. Deran was glaring down at you, his shoulders shaking, his entire body vibrating with fury.

As he was the only one mated to his omega, Adrian, he posed less of a threat. Maybe that's why you pushed it even harder.

“What’s the problem, D?” you said, ignoring Craig. “Being the baby brother make it easy for the others to stand up for you?"

"You should go."

You heard his voice from your right, enough to make you look over to him as he walked up from the garage. Pope—Andrew. Dark, curly hair, broad shoulders under a black t-shirt. That tense way he carried himself. Not pissed like Deran, but ready. He smelled like rain and gunmetal, like fresh air through an open truck window with the leather seats warmed by the sun. But underneath all of that was salt and sweat and a mouthwatering alpha scent. You pulled it greedily into your lungs before you caught yourself.

On his neck were three nearly healed slash marks, as if an animal had fought him. His eyes—his pretty hazel eyes—were on you, his head tilted, pupils blown a little wider than normal.

You swallowed thickly before speaking again, hoping your voice would still sound steady.

"I think I'm owed some money, Andrew."

"God, you omegas really are so fucking stupid." Deran's laughed, and when you looked back at him, he had a mocking smile twitching his beard, "You come waltzing up here, just a little bitch in heat—"

The slap of your palm meeting his face cracked loudly between you.

Everyone was silent.

But Deran—

His eyes were changing almost immediately, blue blowing out wide—his body no longer only vibrating, but shuddering violently. His shoulders rose into his neck, his eyes focused on you with a newfound fury as his lips peeled back from his teeth. For a second, you thought it was just anger, that he was holding himself from hitting you back.

Then his jaw popped. A wet, terrible crack sounded under the skin, and Deran sucked in a breath that seemed too large for his chest.

“Fuck—” J muttered from behind you, and you felt his hand on the cup of your shoulder, pulling you away.

“Here we go—” Craig said with an eye roll that did nothing to hide the way his body had gone tense, “Deran, c’mon, chill, man—don’t be stupid—”

Pope was in front of Deran in an instant, pushing him back.

All the anger, the ire, the attitude you’d just had was fading quickly.

Because Deran was…was changing.

Pope barked over his shoulder, "Get her outta here, J!"

The youngest's hands came up to both of your shoulders now, pulling you back, but you wouldn’t budge. You watched as Pope pushed his brother through the back gates, the bones in Deran’s face shifting under his skin, his body curling up on itself but still getting bigger and bigger. Large, heavy huffs of breath that didn’t sound like him or his voice were heaving from him as his eyes stayed locked on you.

His hands hit the ground first, fingers spread against the concrete, and then the fingers were wrong too—stretching into dark claws that scraped against the patio with a sound that made your teeth hurt. His tank tore across the back. The muscles along his spine jumped in hard ridges beneath his skin, and then fur began to push through, thick and yellowed auburn, spreading over his shoulders and down his arms.

You shoved out of J’s hold as the back gate nearly swung shut, and you pushed through it. Call it instinct, call it the thanatos death drive, call it the worst timing in the world for your body to mistake danger for want—but you had to see.

Deran Cody was no longer between his brother's arms.

Instead, there was a creature. Sand blonde and thick coated with long snout with teeth that dripped with saliva as he snarled. But even as he watched you, you recognized the blue of his eyes. But he was terrifying. He looked close enough to a wolf and yet wrong enough that every other part of you went cold. The fur along his spine stood high. His lips dragged back over teeth that looked made for cracking bone. His ears were pinned flat to his skull, and every breath came out of him in a thick, wet huff that stirred the loose leaves near the pool drain.

He was beginning to thrash around, pushing at his brothers with a heavy shoulder. Enough to knock them off balance. The moment Craig’s head hit the concrete of the poolside, his body started to vibrate too.

“Craaaiiigggg—” Pope called out in warning. He glanced back at the gate, his brows narrowing at you. “You have a death wish, omega? Get. Out!”

His last words hit you differently. One moment, you were staring at Deran's figure as it began to lope towards you, but then as you heard Pope's voice go low and heavy, your eyes found him, your body trying to answer before your brain could. Your knees went soft, your feet beginning to move out towards the driveway again, but—but you couldn't.

Because Deran was already lunging for you.

And behind him, Craig's body was rearranging itself into a black mass of inky fur with bright, terrifying blue eyes to match. His back bowed and his jaw opened on a shout that broke apart into a snarl. Black fur burst over his arms and chest, glossy under the beating sun, and his hands slapped against the concrete, claws skidding before they caught. He was snarling and his back was arched like a cats as he fully morphed into the wolf— longer than Deran, darker, his ribs moving hard beneath all that fur.

You barely noticed sandy blonde wolf's jaw around your ankle before you were being pulled to the ground, dragged against the concrete hard enough to scrape against your back. Your arms flew out, pushing against him as he hauled on top of you, snapping at you. Though your blood surged with fear, there was something worse, too. Something old as time and instinct. That traitorous omega sung for him to take you like this. She loved the chase, the fight of it, even if you were scared for your life.

Your thighs opened instead of kicking him away, heat twisting low and stupid while your brain screamed at you to move, to fight, to get out from under him. He was mated. Adrian’s. That should have meant something to the dumb animal part of you, but it didn’t. It only knew alpha. It only knew the heat of his body, even if he was trying to eat you alive.

The shame of that burned almost as badly as the concrete against your skin.

Because the fever burned worse now, your heat in full effect, making you weaker and unable to hold him back. You cried out as your mind began to slip, the rubber band between who you were and whatever lived inside your body stretching thin. The panic and pain got tangled very quickly with want—slick gathering hotter and thicker between your thighs, humiliation only making it worse as the concrete bit into your skin and saliva dripped from his mouth.

You still forced your fingers to dig into his neck just to keep those gleaming teeth from the sensitive flesh of your face, your nails sinking into the thick ruff at his throat while your heel scraped against the ground, trying to find leverage, trying to remember how to kick.

But then, a wash of mottled gray and brown shoved Deran off of you, knocking him sideways so hard it felt like a train being derailed. You sucked in a breath so fast, leaning up, one hand flying to your chest while the other stayed braced on the concrete beneath you.

In front of you was the most insane thing you think you'd ever seen before.

Wolves, fighting with their teeth, a mess of fur and snarls.

Three True Alphas.

It was a rarity, an abomination.

A fairytale.

Everyone knew the stories—before designations and medical forms and dating apps and certifications. True Alphas—the wolf. The most base, most pure animal version of your kind. Something that had been hunted down in the beginning, tested on, killed, regulated. Too dangerous, too hungry, too close to animal for laws to control. So they became bedtime stories, then horror stories, then nothing at all. An extinct bloodline cut out of the world.

And yet…there were three here, now. In front of you.

Deran and Pope were still snapping at one another by the pool, the eldest on top, seemingly winning against the younger, more brutish alpha. Deran fought with fury, all teeth and shoulder and claws scraping hard against the concrete, but Pope knew how to fight. He drove Deran down with his weight, jaws locked around the thick fur at his neck until Deran cried out and bit at Pope’s legs, twisting under him with a violence that made your stomach turn.

You couldn’t watch.

But your eyes wouldn't look away, either.

No wonder you hadn’t been able to hold off your heat. Even now, your brain was turning molten, your core burning hot as arousal gathered steady between your thighs—you remembered the stories. That True Alphas had something innate inside of them, something old and animal, something omegas were made to answer whether they wanted to or not. And to have three of them around you at once, to have one so close in his truest form only moments before, on top of you with his teeth bared and his breath hot against your skin—it had shoved you into full-blown heat so fast you had no time to stop it.

Your stomach began to churn on itself, cramps threading your blood tight and your veins constricting. You had to leave, you had to go home, that last shred of humanity said. Go home to your toys and your medication. You thought of the cold tile floor of your bathroom. Your perfectly made bed with the pillows just right.

The pain was becoming unbearable in your stomach, your vision pulsing black at the edges. You closed your eyes, squeezing them shut through another bad wave of cramping.

When your eyes opened again to the smell of salt and old beer, you saw Craig standing over you, black fur and blue eyes, his body blocking out a hard slice of sun. Pope and Deran were still by the pool, panting heavily as Pope held Deran under him, thick growls still eminating from both of them. But Craig was pawing closer and closer, his claws clicking against the patio, his nose lifting. Licking his jaws. Black nose twitching and inhaling greedily.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You keened, though nerves flushed a new wave of unease through you. He was so big, so long and lean and terrifying, all black fur and sharp angles and bright blue eyes fixed too tightly on you. His smell wasn’t right though. Too salty, too stale, old beer and smoke caught under the alpha of him, clinging to the top of your mouth wrong.

Your body still noticed him because your body was stupid now, because alpha was alpha when the heat got bad enough, but you had half a mind to know he wasn't for you.

“C-Craig—” you croaked, shaking your head, holding your hand out to try and make him stop in his path. You backed up until your shoulder blades hit the splintering wall of the makeshift bar beside the pool. “No, Craig—”

His head dipped, understanding, though he slowly brought his nose to your open palm, wet and rubbery as he breathed in deeply. His tongue, like sandpaper, licked at your hand. You sighed in relief, even as your belly cramped harder in need. Your head fell back against the bar, neck baring, eyes fluttering shut as he licked at your hand again, between your fingers, his teeth grazing the tip of your forefinger in a careful little nip. It felt so good, just the smallest touch of wet tongue, even if just for the moment.

Your core tightened, hips twitching, searching for more, your back arching a little as his coarse tongue licked carefully at the sensitive web of skin between each finger. You couldn't help the little helpless moans that fell from your lips, and Craig’s tongue pressed heavier with each sound, dragging slower over your palm, between your fingers, across the tender inside of your wrist. But when you mewled and keened, it wasn't for Craig. Or Deran. Or even for J—who stood at the back door, watching.

"An—Andy, please—"

Craig's teeth bit down hard suddenly on the meat of your palm.

You yelped, pulling your hand away, eyes flying open. Your skin felt too hot, your vision bleary and wet at the edges as your feet scrambled against the patio, trying to push yourself farther from the wolf in front of you. His eyes had gone harder now, bright blue and fixed on you, the skin over his muzzle wrinkling into a little snarl from the way you must’ve moaned his older brother’s name.

And soon you heard the crack of a thick growl coming from beside him.

The mottled gray wolf was coming back over to you, his head low, shoulders rolling under all that gray-brown fur. His snarl tore through the air at the same time Craig’s did when he noticed him, both sounds ripping over the pool deck, but neither of them lunged. They only stood there with teeth bared and breathing hard while the space between them and you seemed to shrink.

Across the pool deck, you saw the autumn blonde wolf limping away, Deran, tossing hard glares over his shoulder as he went.

You dropped your hand, your body trembling where you sat. A molten heap of nothing now, only want and need and burning. Your brain felt like mush as you looked at the two wolves, both still showing their teeth, until Pope moved forward and crowded your space, standing across your legs.

His fur of his belly tickled the tops of your knees, and you brought your face into his shoulder without thought, inhaling deeply. Yes, yes. He smelled so good. Gunpowder and rain, leather and sweat, and something you hadn’t noticed before, something clean in the thick of his fur. Almost like… pine. You inhaled so deeply it stuttered in your chest, your stomach pulling tight, your legs heavy beneath you. Your body was so strung out with need that the smell of him felt like the first thing that made sense, and you whined against his fur as the vibration of his growl faded under your cheek.

He turned his head toward you, letting you stay buried in his shoulder, his nose pressing carefully at your leg.

“I’m sorry,” you whined, your fingers curling into the fur at his side. “I didn’t mean—for all this—Andrew, I feel—you feel so warm, I—”

He was moving before you could finish, pushing his head under your arm to lift you up. Your arm looped around his oversized body, fingers digging into the thick fur over his shoulder blades as he helped you through the yard and toward the house. You heard the back gate clink shut behind you, the other two alphas slinking off across the pool deck. As you passed J’s hardened glare, you could barely make out his form through your hooded eyes, but Pope growled softly at him anyway, low and annoyed.

He guided you through until you were in the furthest corner of the house, your steps uneven beside the click-clacking of his claws as you made your way into his bedroom.

You blearily took in your surroundings: there was no laundry on the floor, no open drawers, nothing left out of place except a watch on the nightstand and a pocketknife set beside it, both placed perfectly straight. The room was dim, blinds half shut, every bit of it perfectly done. The bed had been made tight before you were shoved onto it, blanket pulled flat, pillows stacked square against the headboard.

But it smelled so good—like him. You rubbed your face into the pillow as he let you walk to the bed, and there was that pine smell— his detergent, then, you realized—mixing with the intoxicating scent of rain and leather again.

Your stomach cramped as the worst of your heat rolled through you, arms wrapping around your middle as you cried out.

You could vaguely hear Pope whining somewhere in the room—a low, thick sound that began to morph more human, breaking and heaving until it was a man’s breath, a man’s pain. When you opened your eyes again, he was there. Just Pope. Two-legged and naked as the day he was born, crouched on the floor by the door with his hands braced against the hardwood.

Scratches cut across his chest and arms, new claw marks fresh on his neck where Deran had caught him, red and raised beside the older scars you had seen before. Sweat ran down his temples, his shoulders shook. His freckled back arched over the floor as another wave of the turn moved through him, muscles jumping beneath his skin, bones threatening in pops and shifts.

He groaned through his teeth, head bowed, as if trying to hold onto this form with everything he had.

“D-don’t be scared,” he managed to whisper, though his voice was so rough, it was merely a scrape of sound. “I’m not gonna—” He sucked in a breath, eyes squeezing shut. “You can stay here until—until it passes, or until you can call somebody. I’m not gonna touch you. I’m not gonna—fuck, no, no, no—”

His back arched harder, bones rippling under his skin, and for one terrible second his jaw looked wrong—his shoulders rising, hands blanched into fists the floor. He cried out again as you watched his claws beginning to protrude from his knuckles.

But then he dragged in another breath through his nose, shuddered all over, and forced himself back down. Human, even if only barely. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor in front of him.

“Andrew,” you cried, your voice cracking, “I need you—”

You cut yourself off with another whine, your knees were pulling tight to your chest, teeth biting into your own arm as another wave of crippling, cramping pain pulled through you. You hated this part. Usually you prepared. Medication first, toys charged, towels and blankets laid out around the cold tile of your bathroom. You usually made sure to have your water and herbal elixir by the tub, phone plugged in on the counter playing something soothing. You had a whole system for surviving what your body did to you every cycle.

But now you were in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, with a True Alpha on the floor trying very hard not to turn back into the wolf at the sound of your voice begging for him.

And fuck, your body sang for him like nothing you had ever felt before. A deeper heat than you'd ever felt, something ancient and searing opening in you. It moved through your belly and down your legs, slick coating your thighs, staining your shorts. Your mind was slipping from you, you knew that well now, hardly your own, lost in pain—but mostly into need and want. So, so much want.

Every now and then you'd feel the chill of the fever as your skin went clammy and hot again, each breath dragging more of that rich scent from him into your lungs.

“Please,” you whimpered, fingers twisting in your own shirt. “Please, it hurts.”

"Don't—" Pope croaked from the floor. "I won't do that to you."

“I neeeeeeed it,” you cried, rocking yourself against the mattress. “Please, I promise, I promise I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

Tears began pouring down your cheeks—from the pain, the want, the need to make him understand. You writhed in his sheets, body twisting toward him because he was right there, almost close enough to touch, close enough to smell, and still not close enough to stop the awful cramping pull inside you.

Why wouldn't he come to you? The little, desperate omega in you wondered. Had you done something wrong?

Yes, you thought. All wrong, all teeth and nasty temper.

You remembered the driveway, the way you’d snapped at them, teeth bared, shoulders squared, all that ugly anger spilling out of you before you could stop it. You shouldn’t have come in so mean. You shouldn’t have slapped Deran. Maybe that's why Pope didn't want you, after all. Because what kind of omega were you? Not the normal, sweet, docile little things that put on their doe eyes for their alpha. You'd never been that kind of person, never wanted to beg a man for anything, least of all a stupid, ego driven, territorial alpha.

But that wasn't Pope. You knew that. You'd known it for a very, very long time. So, you tried. Tried to be docile now, knew the one way to get under the animal's skin.

"Please, alpha—"

"Stop—" he growled.

"Please, please, alpha—"

"No." it was a deep growl, as if he'd finally caught his breath, using that low, heavy voice that only his kind were privileged to have.

“Yes,” you retorted, voice breaking into a whine. “I swear, Pope. I promise I’ve wanted you. I came here today hoping you would be here—Andy, I swear it.”

His head snapped up to you.

Oh, oh his eyes were so pretty. His full attention on you felt like being bathed in a pretty sunlight, those hazel eyes, those pretty dark curls. You softened only a little, eager, opening your body a little.

You nodded fervently, tears dripping down your temple and onto the pillowcase beneath. “I swear it. My dad—he was an alcoholic, an asshole. He only got you that job because he thought he could steal from you. I hated him. Hated him, Andy. But I knew…I knew you might still be here. So I came over, pretending I wanted the money. But I knew my heat was coming. I knew it was close, and I still came. I’m so sorry—”

He was next to the bed so fast, you gasped.

His hand came to the crown of your head, pushing back the sweaty hair there. The touch was so careful, but it felt so good, your breath shakily exhaling from you.

“You’re okay,” he said roughly. “You’re okay, don’t be sorry."

God, his touch was like a salve. Just his hand in your hair made your eyes flutter, made the pain in your belly loosen for one breath before it came back worse.

Pope swallowed, watching you now with something pained and soft in his face.

“This was a dumb idea,” he murmured, his thumb dragging over your hairline. “Coming over here when you knew better. Didn’t you know better, little omega?”

You nodded again, silent, your eyes searching his face. So many scratches. Fresh red marks along his neck, his shoulder, his ribs. Marks that were there because of you, because of the mess your body had pulled all of them into.

"You smell so good, Andy—"

“We can't do this today,” he said, voice still low. “You're in heat, you'll say anything."

You shook your head quickly, reaching for him, your hand going to his neck before either of you could think better of it. He hissed when your fingers slipped into the curls at his nape, your wrist turning just right so that the soft gland there pressed against the one behind his ear. You hadn’t meant to do it. You only wanted to touch him so badly.

But the contact made you moan anyway, your scent and his folding together between you.

His head fell back on his neck, mouth parting at the feeling, his chest pulling in one deep breath after another. “Fuck,” he breathed.

You keened at the sound, whining for him, trying to use your hold on him to drag him closer. He came willingly, but not all the way. Not enough. His mouth stayed open as he breathed you in from your jaw, down the column of your exposed throat, to your shoulder, and then back up to the tender, spongy gland behind your ear. "You smell so good too."

Your eyes went wide when his tongue dipped out to lick at the mark there, the moan you made slipping out of you obscene and helpless. Your legs opened before you could stop them, docile suddenly, open, wanting, your body begging for him in a way that would have made your whole face burn if you weren't so deep into heat.

You heard him whispering, "Yeah…yeah…" he inhaled, exhaled, licking lightly as your scent flooded the room even stronger, "That's it, good omega."

His voice was warping between man and other, his breath deepening.

"Andy, please, it hurts."

He growled a little, his name on your lips just enough to push him over the edge. You could smell how strong his rut was hitting now, with you in his own bed, legs open and slick shining along your bare skin.

“If you want to keep any of these clothes,” he said, voice rough, “take them off. Now.”

You squirmed where you sat, hands feeling heavy, the air thick around you as you tried to move. Your body felt slow and clumsy with need, every thought narrowed down to him, his mouth, his hands, the heat of him hovering so close and still not close enough.

“Tell me it’s not just this,” he panted, his voice catching back into himself for a moment. “Tell me you want me. Not just because of this.”

“Andy, I’ve wanted you for so, so long,” you whined, trying and failing to push down your shorts with one hand, the other still hooked around his neck. He pulled back so he was looking down at your face. His eyes were blown black, barely any hazel to be seen. For a moment, he was as scary as he was as the wolf—intimidating, serious, the gleam of animal in his gaze.

"Tell me." he ordered.

While you still squirmed, his hand came down to cover yours, stopping your movement entirely. You whined and thrashed a little, impatient. But all he had to do was 'tsk his tongue against his teeth and you laid still.

"Back when—" you inhaled, trying to get your mind to form words, coherent memories, but your heat was so strong now that all you cared about was the fact he was here, and he was very naked, and he was looking at you. Looking at you like that. "Andyyyy pleaseeee…"

“Be a good girl and tell me, omega.”

You pouted, breathing hard through your nose. “When I met J—”

“—That was two years ago.” he said, brows furrowed a little.

You nodded quickly.

“I think about you every time,” you admitted, voice breaking around the words. “Every time I’m stuck dealing with this —this bullshit by myself. M-my toys, when I have to do it alone—”

His face shifted. “You don’t have anyone to help?” he asked, and there was something so genuinely concerned in his voice that it made your chest hurt through the fever.

You shook your head.

His expression softened, the hard animal edge easing back just enough for Pope to look like Pope again. “Okay,” he said, quieter. “Okay, I understand.”

“S’been so long,” you whispered, fingers curling weakly against his neck. “All I do is think about you.”

"Okay," he repeated, "I'm gonna help, it's okay,"

Your heart soared at his words, your legs falling wider, your neck craning to give him access before you could think to be embarrassed. You were helpless to the instinct of your kind now, making yourself soft and open and desperate for him. But you were desperate. You were deep in the haze of want, too far gone to care how needy you looked in his bed, how quickly you answered the smallest kindness from his mouth.

“Ohhh, please,” you breathed, fingers tightening in his hair. “Please, please, please.”

He leaned down then, and though you thought you were feverish before, the first press of his lips nearly broke you. Heat blazed between you like kindled fire. It was not gentle in the way you expected. It was careful, yes, because he was Pope and because he was still fighting himself with every breath, but it was eager too. His chapped mouth pushed against yours, hot and a little clumsy at first, and both of you moaned into the contact.

His shoulders, tense for so long, dropped with one heavy exhale. His breath fanned over your face as the hand holding yours rose to your jaw, fingers spreading to keep you close.

You opened your mouth easily when his tongue pressed forward, and whatever restraint had been left between you began to fray. Your hands pulled at him, his mouth moved harder over yours. He was still kneeling at the side of the bed, but then he shifted, pressing into the mattress, his weight dipping as he hovered over your open body.

He finally pushed your shorts down for you, panties following after, ruined and wet against your skin. He didn't take his mouth from yours until he had to, until your shirt caught at your neck and he pulled back only to drag it over your head. You suddenly realized you could feel him. Hot, pulsing, thick against your thigh, making you undulate where you laid.

"Oh, oh, Andrew—I need, I need it now."

"Sh, sh, sh," he cooed, still kissing you.

You whined and mewled for him, your hands eager now, too eager, needing more of him than his mouth and his weight and the hot press of his skin.

You reached between the two of you, and the growl that came from his throat had your lips detaching from his, your neck craning to the side before you could think better of it. Submission, easy, immediate and instinctual—your body offering it up at the first scary sound from him.

But he felt so good in your hand. Smooth and hot, pulsing against your palm, velvet soft skin over all the thick weight of his cock. Your hand moved up and down gently at first, almost reverent despite the fever, until your fingers brushed something fuller at the base, thicker skin beginning to swell there.

"Is that—?" you whispered.

He nodded, kissing your face like he couldn’t make himself stop, his mouth dragging over your cheek, your temple, the corner of your lips while he hissed and sighed and moaned at your touch. “My knot.”

"Oh," you murmured, blearily blinking.

His face pushed yours to the side, stubble scraping against your skin as he kissed your shoulder and down your neck. You felt the sound he made before you heard it, a low, vibrating groan pressed into your throat as your hand tightened and your wrist twisted, tugging him closer.

“I—” he tried, breath breaking. “I have to tell you—I might—ohhhh, fuck—”

You swept your thumb over the tip of him, thick beads of arousal coating the head, and your whole body clenched at the feel of it. You wanted a taste. You wanted him in your mouth, inside you, against you, anywhere he would let you have him. Anything. You would do anything right now.

“Listen,” he snapped, a rough growl tearing through the word as he pulled his face away from your neck.

You paused, startled, your hand still wrapped around him.

His face changed immediately. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, both hands coming to your hair as he leaned fully over you, his thumbs pressing carefully at your scalp. “I’m sorry, little one. Don’t be scared. I didn’t mean to—shit, I’m trying to tell you something.”

You nodded quickly, eyes wet, both of you burning hot where your skin touched.

“You need to know,” he said, forcing each word out slowly. “If I lose it, if my rut gets too strong, I might change back. I don’t want to. I’m holding it —him—down, but I could—”

“Okay,” you whispered, barely listening as you guided him lower, finally bringing him against the slick folds of your aching cunt.

Your eyes nearly rolled back from the pressure alone, from the hot drag of him through all that gathered slick. He sighed into a long groan, his hips jerking, pressing harder, before he caught himself, one hand tightening in your hair while the other braced beside your head.

“You don’t understand,” he gritted through his teeth. "I could hurt you—"

“It’s okay, Andy,” you breathed, trying to soothe him even as your hips lifted against him, grinding your hips against him, lathering his cock with your arousal. “It’s okay. You don’t scare me.”

He paused, eyes searching yours, hazel swallowed up entirely by the black of rut. His hand moved through your hair again, harder now, almost restless.

"Okay." he finally whispered, kissing you once again.

At first, it was all tongue and hunger in your mouth, the sounds he made almost too much to hear when your body was already wound so tight. You sang for him too, squirming beneath him, needing and needy, your hands catching at his shoulders, his neck, anywhere you could hold. You whined and shifted as his kisses moved from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, licking into the dips of your throat and clavicle.

He kissed your breasts, giving each one a moment of attention before going lower. His mouth dragged down the soft rise of your belly, warm against your skin, then lower still until his breath fanned over your mound. You gasped when his lips touched the top of your hip, already about to whine over the loss of his body against yours.

But then your brain suddenly went white hot as his tongue flattened over your cunt and licked a long stripe from entrance to clit. Your back bowed in on itself, an arch so clean off the bed, your fingers catching for any relief. One in his hair, one on the bed. You moaned loudly, your hips undulating for more. His hands came up quickly, around your thighs, holding you down and open as he did nothing but eat.

The sounds he made filled your ears—rough, animal growls, whimpering moans, the obscene sounds of his tongue against your slick pussy. Slurping, licking, huffing breaths against you like he needed it too. It was too much. Your hips tightened, spine tingling, and it wasn’t long before your jaw opened, unhinging to let out a yelp of pleasure as your orgasm crested and broke.

It wasn't enough, but it brought small relief. You felt your body clench down around the need for more, your breath hissing through your teeth as he continued to lick through your orgasm. His tongue had been the gentle press of something human at first—warm, careful and gentle—but then it dragged rougher, closer to sandpaper, and your whole body jolted beneath him until it returned to the human softness.

He held onto your firmly, and you only just saw the prick of blood on your thighs where his claws were starting to protrude again. When you looked down at him, his brows were threaded so tight, his form not quite turned but the signs were there—his claws, his teeth sharpening when they nibbled on your clit.

When he rose from between your legs, panting, his hands were greedy as they pawed roughly at you, "How was that, sweet little omega? Feel better, hm?"

You thrashed and shook your head because yes, and no, and not enough. But you let him manhandle you until you were on your belly, your ass lifted a little, pushing back into him before he even had to ask.

"Mmmm…" he hummed, his face buring into the back of your head, inhaling, "Fuck, you're so good. What a good girl. Tasted so fucking good."

His hand dragged down your spine, stopping at your hip, holding you still while he breathed hard behind you. You could feel him close, hot and heavy against your skin, his body shaking with the effort of waiting.

“Gonna let me take you, baby?”

“Yes, alpha,” you murmured, voice thick and warbled.

He hummed, content, his hands rough on you, squeezing until you whined into the pillow. But you didn't want him to stop, you hoped he'd never stop. He felt so warm, his smell enveloping you as he laid across your back.

"Down." he ordered. His voice was so thick now, that human and not-so-human growl sitting behind every syllable, and it made you shiver all the way down. You listened. Of course you listened, blood thrumming hard with the feeling of the tip of his cock right at your entrance, gliding through the slick there.

You laid fully down on the bed, wiggling beneath him, trying to push back, but he laid down over you, face into your neck, lips at your ear. His breath hot and thick around the shell as he said, "Settle down."

Instinct had you whining, your eyes rolling, desperately pushing your hips back and then—

And then you were nothing.

His cock pushed into you, and your brain went flat line. Your cunt, so wet and wanting, let him in without fuss, your body opening around him like it had been waiting for exactly this. The stretch, the warmth of his thick cock. Your toys never felt like this. They never made you feel this full, this fevered, this sick relief in your hips and stomach and spine. They never made your body go quiet for one stunned second, all that pain finally given something to hold onto.

"Ohhhhhh, Andy—" you moaned, eyes rolling back.

"Yeah," he breathed, and you could hear how his teeth bared around the word, the vibrating groan that followed as he pushed completely into you, hips meeting yours, balls resting gently against your clit.

He wrapped his arms around you tightly, pulling you into him until you weren't entirely sure where you started and he began. Your chin rested in the crook of his arm, head turned just enough to feel his breath in your ear, to hear the rough scrape of him changing between man and animal as he began fucking you in earnest.

His moans in your ear were no less obscene, no less desperate, than the rhythm of his hips jolting you into the mattress while his mouth stayed at your neck, open and panting. The bed creaked under you, his and your moans harmonizing with the slap of skin that filled the room.

“Good girl,” he whimpered. “Good girl, take my cock. Doing so good, little omega. Fuck.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you moaned, because you had no other words.

Your brain was slack, your mouth parted, drool pooling a little onto his arm where he held you tight. He made a low and pleased sound, his arm tightening under your chin so you could feel the tendon and his muscles flex with every thrust.

"Gonna take such good care of you," he promised through a groan, "Mine, mine now. All mine."

Your heart sang for him, your ass pushing back harder into his lap.

"Yes, Andy, please, please—"

He was whispering into your ear, words broken by his breath, by his teeth, by the animal pressing closer under his skin as he completely gave into his rut. My little pussy. My omega. Gonna keep you. Mine, mine, mine. Each one sank into you worse than the last, until your body answered all of them, slick coating him and you and the bed, your hips jerking back to meet every hard swing of his.

You cried out sharply when his angle changed, his cock pushing deeper, striking something that made your hands claw at the sheets. The headboard knocked into the wall with loud slams of wood.

You felt his teeth press at the back of your neck, the wet heat of his mouth right over the gland behind your ear.

“Oh, please,” you cried, one hand reaching back for his hair. “Please bite me—”

"Sh, sh—no—" he growled, only pressing the flat front of his teeth to the gland instead. Your blood still sang for it as you kicked your feet with petulance. The need to be taken, mated, kept, moved through you so fast it made your throat close. You wanted the bite. You wanted the hurt. You wanted whatever came after it.

“Please!" you sobbed.

“Shut up, little omega,” he growled, voice thick against your neck. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

You whined and kicked your feet even as he fucked you harder, his hips swinging in a desperate rhythm now, rougher with every breath. His fingers dug into your skin where he held you, and you felt the sharp prick of claws again that were not quite the stubby human nails anymore.

“You’re gonna take my knot just like you take my cock,” he said, the words pressed right into your ear. “Like a good girl. Do you understand?”

You nodded against his arm, sobbing around the movement.

“Say it.”

“I understand,” you cried. “I understand, alpha.”

“Mine,” he grunted. “Mine, mine, mine.”

“Yours, Andrew. Yours, I promise—please, please take me. Knot me.”

As his moans grew louder, you suddenly realized the shaking of the bed wasn’t only from the saw of his hips, or the stutter of your own heart in your ribs.

Pope was trembling all over.

Heat blazed off his skin worse now, his body burning against your back. His teeth were still bared along your neck, but sharper this time, the points catching when he dragged his mouth over your gland. His tongue dipped out, rougher than before, no longer the soft press of something fully human, and the scrape of it made you gasp so hard your whole body went limp around him, fully giving in.

You gasped as you heard his breath thicken and change, huffed through a mouth that did not feel shaped the same. His arm around you tightened, restricting your air so that you saw sparks in your eyes, his voice deep and not completely his own as he said, one last time: "Mine."

He came with one hard thrust, so rough it had you pushed deep into the mattress, and you felt too many things at once.

His cock swelled deep inside you, the pressure blooming as his knot caught and locked, stretching you around him until your mouth fell open in a silent cry. Warm ropes of spend filled you, one pulse after another, and your body seized around it, cunt clenching hard as your own pleasure tore through you all over again.

And then something wet pressed against your ear.

Your eyes went wide, spine locking as his breath huffed over the side of your face. His jaw was wrong around your neck, longer, rougher, the shape of him changing where he stayed folded over you. Your slackened brain keened for it anyway. Your body knew him. Man or wolf or whatever terrible place between, it knew him.

A wet, rough press of a nose to your ear. And a snout latching around your neck.

The bite came harder than you were expecting, different from what the other omegas had told you about. They told you it was as simple as teeth to the side of the neck, pain for a few seconds, then warmth, then the bond settling into place.

But this was not that.

This—this was entirely different. You were like a pup in the maw of his jaw, held down, taken, given everything. Held by the same teeth that could have torn through skin if he forgot himself for even one second. His jaw locked around your neck entirely, teeth on both sides, tongue licking long stripes as the gland burst for him.

He growled around your neck, panting hot against your skin as he came down from the high of his orgasm, each sound rolling through you from the bite to the knot locked deep inside. You felt, but couldn't see, the half change. Claws and teeth and snout, but not completely changed.

Pheromones, hormones, scent and sound and heat all burst white behind your eyes as his teeth sank in, flooding every part of you at once. You cried out, pulsing around his cock where he was locked inside you, your hand fisting in his hair as the bite burned and soothed in the same breath.

His deep, baritone growls rolled through your back, through your ribs, through the place where his body held yours pinned and full. They soothed you into stillness better than any words could have. You thought you could feel what he was saying anyway, even as the wolf.

Don’t be scared. Take what I give. Don’t be scared. You’re home now. You’re right where you belong.

It wasn’t until a little while later that Pope’s body was completely his own again. He had talked you through one more orgasm around his knot— voice rough at your ear, promising it would feel good, that it would help, and it did. It took over you slower that time, pulling the pain loose by inches until you were half asleep beneath him, cheek pressed into the sheets while he coaxed and cooed, telling you he knew best, telling you to breathe, telling you he had you.

By the time he pulled his spent, went cock from you, you barely had the strength to whine. He soothed you through that too, one hand spread over your hip, mouth moving along your shoulder in soft, messy kisses until the empty ache settled into something quieter.

Your breaths were even and in sync, chests rising and falling together. Your spine felt embedded in his chest where he stayed over you, his weight warm across your back, his mouth never stopping its little kisses and licks after the intensity of the True Bite. The sharpest part of it had passed, but the mark still throbbed under your skin, hot and alive with every beat of your pulse.

Your blood felt like it went through you, through him, and back to you. A circuit. A loop, always flowing. Your scents had mixed beyond telling now, salt and sweat and sex lingering in the sheets, rain and gunmetal pressed into your skin, your own heat softened just for now.

When his knot finally settled, he still didn’t move far. He only laid beside you instead of on top, pulling you in close as your body crawled toward him.

He took you again, like that. Side by side, facing him, your leg hitched over his hip and his hands holding you close. This time, it was slower. His rut was more controlled, though just as hungry, and face to face it felt even more intimate. More impossible to hide from. You could see every flicker of the change moving through him when his restraint broke—the dark pull of his eyes, the sharpening of his teeth, the way his breath came rough through a mouth that did not always stay shaped like a man’s.

But it didn’t scare you. You hadn’t lied about that.

The wolf was there, right behind his face, but so was Pope. Andrew. With his same careful hands, his certainty in the way he knew he could take care of you. And this time, you soothed him through it, your hands petting at his face gently when his muscles jumped, your fingers tracing over the long snout and through his curls. Even when his body changed, even when the shape of him moved closer to the stories than anything human, your omega brain did not see the thing from childhood warnings anymore. It saw him. Your alpha. Yours.

The second time he knotted you, there in his lap, your face buried in his neck, you breathed him in until your lungs ached with it. Pheromones, sweat, heat, the deep pull of the bond still settling between you. His hands clenched at the flesh of your backside, his body trembling beneath yours, and you turned your mouth to the gland behind his ear.

Your teeth were flat and nothing like his, but still—when you bit down hard, Pope froze beneath you.

His mouth parted in shock as his head tilted back. A whimper slipped through him that felt like it wrapped itself around your heart, constricting.

And then, as his head dropped forward, you felt change take this time, his body shifting under your hands, under your thighs, until your mouth was full of fur and your fingers were buried in the thick ruff at his neck.

When you opened your eyes, he was the wolf.

A Rorschach of gray and brown and shadow, massive beside you, warm enough to steam the air between your bodies. Not quite like the wolves in zoos. Not quite like the monsters from the stories, either. His head was too broad, his shoulders too heavy, his eyes too knowing when they found yours. He whined low in his chest, almost the same sound you had made for him, and you answered without meaning to.

The two of you stayed tangled there, breathing hard, the bond pulsing between your marks. There was no place else for you, nor for him. Not ever.

thank you so so much for reading!!!!

[theweepingangelofcas]

Hi ! I love your works and wanted to ask if I could request Leon Kennedy x reader! who is an extreme cuddle bug. What I'm thinking is the reader being really touch starved and not being able to sleep without being near Leon so she even clings onto him when he has to write reports late at night . Now idk if this also makes sense to you but yeah ignore this if it feels a little weird. Anyways have a great day / night !

Omg yes! Tbh this is so me. I'm always trying to bug/cuddle with my partner lol. This is written with Death Island era Leon in mind, but any older version of Leon works too. Summary: Leon is working late, trying to finish some reports. You decide that he should probably stop for the night. Masterlist

Cuddlebug - Leon Kennedy x Reader

The way your hands slip around him is familiar and warm.

At this point in the relationship, it’s pretty much expected that you’d sneak into his office while he worked on his mission reports. You’ve always adored holding him, something that he’s become quite fond of, and today seems to be no different.

“Done with your work yet?” Your words are muffled as your head nuzzles lovingly into his shoulder.

He gives a small, breathy chuckle. “Not yet. Still got a few more pages to do.”

“Aw.” Your head tilts a little, giving you acces to kiss his cheek. His stubble seems to tickle your skin, judging by the way you scrunch your nose. “That sucks.”

A smirk forms on his face. “It sucks less now that I’ve got you with me. Can’t sleep? It’s late.”

You nod. He can feel your hair brush up against the skin of his neck. “Yeah. It’s hard to sleep without you.”

Blue eyes finally glance up from his paperwork, looking at you. You’re clad in your pajamas, the fabric soft and inviting against your skin. Your hair has been taken down from its usual style, your face washed. Ready for bed, obviously. But he knows that without him by your side, sleep is going to be hard for you.

He hums, tilting his head into yours. “How about we move this to the couch? I can work on my laptop. Sound good?”

Another nod against his shoulder. “Yes, please. That sounds great.”

.

.

.

He has to admit, the plush fabric against him is lulling him to sleep, even as his fingers type lazy words on the old keyboard. 

It doesn’t help that you’re beside him, cuddling up to him with your arm around his chest and your legs tangling into his. Though you’re not asleep yet, he can tell that you’re definitely getting there, your eyes going heavy and limbs settling into him. When your head rests heavier into his shoulder, you let out a cute little yawn. It makes a smile come to his face.

“You’re making it hard to get my work done, Honey.”

A content sigh comes from you, leaning further into him. “That’s a you problem, Dear. I’m not doing anything.”

The words make him chuckle, trying to blink the sleepy feeling from his eyes. The words on his computer screen seem a bit blurrier now, as if his brain is trying to shut off for the night without his approval. When he glances at the clock, it reads as 12:34 at night.

Has he really been working that long? He started at 5 PM. 

He turns his head a little, about to say something to you, when he hears a little snore. 

Your head is against him, slumped in a way that can only mean that you’re deep in REM sleep. Lips parted, you’re sleeping against his chest, just like when you’re both laying in bed at night. He can feel your warmth seeping into his skin.

Leon tries to focus on his screen again, but the words are refusing to unblur. 

Yeah, maybe he should stop for the night.

With a yawn, the laptop gets closed and pushed aside, his body slowly peeling you off of him as he stands. When he picks you up, it’s careful and tender, making sure not to wake you as he starts to walk up the stairs to the bedroom. All the while, you’re asleep in his arms, still trying to cuddle against him, even in your sleep.

He lowers you unceremoniously onto your side of the bed, tucking you in. It doesn’t take time for him to join you on his side, pulling you close to his chest. The way you snuggle into him is automatic. It makes his chest tighten, that sweet feeling of care and love bubbling up in his chest.

His eyes close, adjusting one more time to get comfier before he starts to nod off to sleep. 

In his arms, you stir just a little, one eye cracking open to peak at him.

“Love you, Dear.” Your words are slurred with sleep.

He smiles, kissing your forehead. “I love you too, Honey.”

[resident-kennedy49]

Wingman // NSFW Leon Kennedy x fem! reader

Summary: Leon’s been your perfect wingman, because there’s no way he could be anything else. Right? Right. Tonight, shit’s gonna go wrong. And then it’s gonna go so, so right.

WC: ~4.5k

CW: NSFW, minors DNI, you and Leon are friends, no mention of ages, no use of y/n, bar fight (loosely), mild jealousy, reader put in peril, implied attempted assault, reader is a strong independent woman, reader is injured, Leon patches you up, first time (together), oral (reader receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, smearing fluids, sort of aftercare (Leon is sweet and attentive), showering together

Notes: MINORS DNI

“You got eyes on your six.”

You shift your weight, canting your hip a touch more provocatively, leaned against the bar.

“Please. It’s at least a ten,” you say. Leon’s to your right, casual on a barstool, communication hidden behind his whiskey glass; you’re addressing him but looking down at your drink, stirring your fingers through the condensation. He’s got eyes on the rest of the bar, watching you in his periphery.

At least a ten. But he’s not going to say it. That’s not his place.

You sip at your drink. “Who?”

“Black jacket. Glasses,” he says.

You turn around, leaning your elbows against the bar. Black Jacket & Glasses is definitely watching you. Up and down.

You snag your bottom lip on your glass and watch him back. Up and down.

That'll do.

“Mm. Target acquired,” you say, and push off from the bar.

Leon turns his stool around, setting his whiskey down next to a puddle of beer. He doesn’t need to watch what you’re doing, now. Next initiative; standby, wait for your exit.

He throws the last of his whiskey back, gesturing for a refill. It’ll do nothing to quell the writhing in his gut, but he’s learned to ignore it.

Fucking Black Jacket & Glasses.

Speak of the devil.

The man appears at Leon’s left, flagging down the bartender and ordering something fruity and strong. Leon side-eyes the guy, sour. He knows you can hold your own, but he doesn’t like the zero to sixty of it.

Going for blind drunk, huh? Working with some deficits?

The guy doesn’t order anything for himself. No card, no tab; he pays cash. He also doesn’t tip, folding a thick wad of small bills away before walking off. Leon snorts into his whiskey glass, the golden liquor thick and warm as it slides over his tongue.

What a catch.

He stays at the bar, hunched, a passive observer to the raucous, bustling life around him. He rations his whiskey, rubbing his thumb along the rim of the glass. Once, he catches your reflection in the mirror among the liquor shelves; your arms are up, dancing, Black Jacket & Glasses tight against your back.

He avoids the mirror.

Leon counts two more of the fruity, strong drinks leaving by BJ&G’s hand before he finally spots you heading for the door on the guy’s arm. You glance back, the usual acknowledgement. You’re leaning into Black Jacket’s side like you’re more than a few sheets gone, but your eyes are keen and alert when they meet Leon’s. You’re still in control.

Leon subtly raises his glass in a tiny ‘cheers’ gesture, only half looking your way.

You disappear into the night.

Leon looks down at his watch. He always stays for another fifteen, in case you come back.

He lifts his finger for another drink, shoulders low.

You’ve never come back.

His name is Jon, with no H. Lazy.

The hair at the crown of his head is thinning, but it’s just started, and it’s subtle. He missed a patch at the back of his jaw shaving, and he dances a little stiff, like he’s counting time or remembering choreography. To grind?

But it’s not nothing he’s working with while he grinds. So.

And he’s handsome enough. Athletic. Nice hands. You wish he had some scruff, a ticklish bristle to tease your neck while you were dancing, maybe some broader shoulders. But nobody’s perfect.

As soon as you’re out in the night air, he wraps his arm at your waist. It’s kind of tight. Not supportive, like he's just helping you walk after three (strong) drinks. No, it's a little bit… captive.

Like he expects you to run.

“I’m parked around back, baby.”

He steers you towards the dark alley that flanks the bar. There is parking at the back, but there’s also now a flag waving at the back of your mind.

It’s red.

“Ooo, hold on, hold on,” you say, and you keep it giggly. You stumble to a stop before the mouth of the alley, digging in your purse, making a show of it. “Shit. I think I left my card.” You didn’t.

His hand tightens at your waist, a little clench. Involuntary.

“It’s probably in there,” he says of your purse. “Come on, it’s dark out here. You can look in the car.”

He’s pressing you towards the alley with the bar of his arm. You keep your stance subtly wide, resisting.

“I think I left it on the bar,” you say, less giggly, more serious. “I shouldn't leave it, I’ll be right–“

You start to step out of his grasp and he redoubles it, crowding in close to mouth at your neck.

“Come on, baby. It’ll still be there tomorrow.”

“Jon, just let me–“

He shoves you past the threshold of sodium light, into the heavy shadow of the alley, and follows.

Leon glances up when the bar door swings open. He straightens, watching you push through the crowd, reading your tension, noting the hair fallen loose over your forehead.

You touch the firm, comforting heat of his shoulder, stealing his drink and knocking it back. You’ve put him between you and the door and your eyes are on it, sharp.

His eyes are on your hand with his stolen glass.

Your knuckles are busted.

Leon barely has time to open his mouth before the door swings open again, spitting Black Jacket & Glasses back into the bar.

Black Jacket & Busted Nose. His glasses are broken, clutched in his hand, and he’s holding his stomach, hunched over.

There’s murder in his eyes.

“Oh, fuck.” Leon deftly wraps you around behind him, and the motion draws Jon’s attention. Leon stands up, walling you off entirely. He’s taller than Jon. Definitely broader.

“Looks like she said no, buttercup.”

Jon’s apparently not firing on all cylinders, because he acts like he’s going to square up to Leon.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Your next problem, unless you walk away.”

“That bitch owes me for the drinks.”

“Ooh, keep talking,” Leon says, low and dangerous, just as you step out from behind him, pissed off.

“That’s not how it fucking works, jackass,” you say, putting extra sauce on the fricative. “Take the L and go, you creep.”

Jon smiles, condescending, and there’s blood on his teeth.

“I’m not leaving without my money, sweetheart.”

“Better start selling blowies in the bathroom, then, sweetheart, ‘cause you’re not getting anything from me.”

The confrontation’s drawn a small audience, because of course it has. You’re not being quiet. Some women nearby holler YEAH in dark delight, and some guy whistles.

Jon growls and lunges forward, but you’d read the intention and you’re already in motion.

You step back, pressing Leon up against the bar as you shove his empty barstool forward with your foot. Jon trips over it and goes tumbling gracelessly to the floor, tangled, and voices raise in surprise and curiosity as nearby patrons back quickly out of the way or crane to see what the commotion is.

The bartender’s not having it.

“HEY! Take that the fuck outside! Get out!”

You raise your hands in surrender, heading for the door and shouldering out into the night without looking back.

Leon eases away from the bartop. It leaves a harsh impression at the small of his back. He feels it less than the lingering weight of your body, your heat down his front.

When he steps outside, you’re not there.

Oh. No, you are, you’re just halfway down the sidewalk, doing your Fast Angry Walk.

“Hey,” you hear him say, but you don’t slow down. You’re seething.

“Fuck that guy.”

He catches up, keeping pace beside you. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.”

“What did he–“

“Unlock the car.”

You’re standing at the Porsche parked on the curb, your hand on the passenger’s side handle. Leon pulls the key from his pocket and the lights flash; you get in and shut the door, firm, knocking your skull back against the headrest once. Frustrated.

Contained. You move your hand with the busted knuckles onto your lap. It’s throbbing, hot and stinging. You hide it under your other hand, loose.

Leon gets in on the driver’s side, another car swishing past on the road, uncomfortably close. He shuts out the night and bubbles you both into an intimate quiet.

He glances in the rearview.

“What did he try.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Let me see your hand.”

You think about refusing, continuing to play avoidance, but the adrenaline is waning and you don’t want to pick a fight. Not with Leon. You sigh through your nose and set your hand on his waiting palm.

His thumb is gentle, running parallel to the broken skin. Even in the low light you can see the dark beginnings of bruising.

You don’t regret it. You’d do it again. Harder.

“We should be icing this.”

“I’ll live.”

You both look up when you hear shouting down the street; Leon ducks to see by the rearview and you lean forward to check the side mirror, looking back towards the bar. Jon is out on the curb, arms waving, belligerent. He’s standing in a perfect rectangle of yellow light from the door of the bar, propped open by whoever threw him out. His broken glasses are on the sidewalk; he bends to swipe them up, still raging, but the yellow light narrows into nothing and then leaves him in the dark to yell at the disinterested brick facade, alone.

You sit back, shutting your eyes.

“Fuck.”

“What?”

“What a waste of a night.”

You hear Leon’s clothes rustle; he’s checking his watch.

“Still early.”

You roll your head to look at him, his face in shadow save for a vague streetlight-orange highlight tracing his jaw, his nose, catching the shine on his lips.

You lift your busted hand.

"I should be icing this.”

Leon starts the car.

“Roger.”

So, everything’s gonna be a trial now.

It's your dominant hand you’d busted on that jackass’ face; it’s turning the simple task of unlocking your apartment door into an impossible puzzle of painful workarounds. You give up and try your non-dominant hand. You’ve almost got it, and then you fumble and drop the keys onto the coir mat.

“Come on.”

You hear a car door and then Leon’s coming up the steps behind you, taking them two at a time.

“Here.”

He unlocks the door and swings it open, leaving the keys hanging in the deadbolt. You grab them on your way past but leave the door wide open, heading for the kitchen. You thought it was a clear invitation but Leon isn’t following. You roll your eyes and call out to him.

“Mr. Chivalry. You got somewhere to be?”

You’re carefully arranging your busted hand flat on the countertop, weighing it down with an icepack, when he joins you in the kitchen. He’s left his coat in the foyer.

Thank god. You didn’t want to be alone.

“I’m hungry and I’m not putting in the effort,” you tell him, bending over your phone on the counter and pulling up a delivery app. “What’s good one-handed food?”

“I could always spoon-feed you,” Leon says, leaning back against the sink and crossing his arms. You throw him a look.

“Let’s save that for the nursing home.” You scroll past a menu photo that snags your attention; you scroll back up. “Ooo, fuck. We’re doing that.”

You put the order in and straighten up, lifting the icepack and checking your hand. It’s even more stiff than it was, cold and swollen. You eye the purpling bruises, the cracking scabs, the violent picture it all makes in the bright light of the kitchen, and remember the crunch of the would-be one-night-stand’s nose, the way it seemed to reverberate up your arm.

Leon’s mind seems to be on a similar track.

“Remind me never to piss you off,” he says.

“Yeah, you’re not an asshole,” you say, stashing the icepack and heading down the hall to your bedroom. You wanna get cozy before eating your weight in expensive takeout.

So then of course you can’t get a handle on the fucking zipper of your dress.

Leon’s quietly perusing the exploded gallery that is your fridge doors – photos, postcards, receipts, novelty magnets, save-the-dates, recipes, stupid doodles on post-it notes – when you come back out.

“I’m starting to regret my life of crime,” you tell him, and turn your back. “Help.”

His fingers brush your skin as he gets the zipper started. You keep your head tipped down, holding the front of the dress in place as the sides come apart and gape open at the back.

“Hey,” he says, and you feel his fingers press by your low shoulderblade. It burns and you flinch, turning your head like you can see anything without a mirror.

“What is that?”

He pushes the fabric aside, his thumb tracing a frame around something on your skin.

“That bastard forced you into the wall, didn’t he.”

“Goddamn it,” you mutter. You need a mirror.

He follows you to the bathroom, watching you twist to try to see your back, catching the tiny slump of your shoulders when you see it.

“Great.”

There’s a livid scrape the size of a matchbook where you’d caught the brick wall of the alleyway. It’s red and raw like rug burn.

Leon’s tone is tight, to match his jaw.

“Where’s your first aid?”

“Under the sink,” you say. You’re not going to argue, not going to insist you can do it yourself. It’d be a difficult spot to reach even with full mobility in both hands. You can let him take care of you.

You stand out of the way, still holding the front of your open dress, feeling a bit like a child watching someone else clean up your mess. First aid open on the sinktop, Leon rotates you gently, hands on your waist, to put your back in better lighting. You hear a foil packet tear open.

“It’s cold,” he warns you, and he’s right. You hiss when the antiseptic touches, stinging against your raw skin, but he soothes the wipe over it until the burning fades and all you can feel is the way he’s touching you. Careful, thorough.

Tender.

He rips open a card-sized bandage, places it methodically, smooths the adhesive edges down. You shiver, your skin raising goosebumps under his fingers.

“Okay,” he says, quiet. You open your eyes. When did you close them?

“You’re not gonna kiss it better?”

You go to throw him a smirk in the mirror, because you’re joking.

He must've missed it. He’s getting down on his knees.

Your pulse picks up.

“Leon,” you start to say, but you don’t know where to go with it. You were kidding. Maybe you don’t want to be. Don’t stop?

Don’t stop.

His hands are on your hips. There’s heat coiling low in your belly.

He kisses over the patch of the bandage. It’s not right. You can’t feel it.

“Lower,” you whisper.

His lips are warm and soft brushing your skin, his breath humid, his scruff a pleasant rasp that makes you shiver hard. Your breath tumbles from your open mouth.

He slips his hands under the open sides of your dress, palms dry against your naked skin, fingertips pressing in. He kisses over your spine, follows the low curve of your ribs, climbs to your shoulderblade, his mouth leaving wet impressions. You’re swaying, body warming, your heart thumping wildly.

“More,” you breathe.

He stands to mouth at your shoulder where it meets your neck, his hands sliding over your stomach under the dress, hugging you back against him.

You let go of the dress. He slides his hand up between your breasts, tips your head back. You receive his tongue with yours, meeting his kiss, and your body ignites.

God, you’re already soaked. You can feel the air of the bathroom cold against the wet fabric of your panties. You’re also feeling something else, pressed flush as you are against Leon’s front. You shift your hips, rubbing your ass against his fly, and he breathes hot into your mouth. You smile, grinding firmer on the hardening line of his cock.

“What’s that on my six?”

His fingers slip into the creases under your asscheeks, squeezing you, lifting as he rocks against you.

“It’s at least a ten,” he says, voice smoky and right by your ear.

“Damn right.” The roll of his body is hypnotizing, but he’s still wearing far too many clothes. You reach back, tugging his shirt from his waistband, and he lets you go so you can turn, helping him take it all the way off. He wraps it around his wrists, belting it under your ass, keeping you trapped. Like you want to go anywhere.

“Fuck, look at you,” he says, low.

“You’re one to talk.” The jingle of his belt echoes, your fingers deft as you open it, open his jeans, pushing the sides wide. You run your hand over his shaft, already straining the front of his boxer briefs, and he watches your face with half-lidded eyes, lips parted. You lean in, brushing his lips with your own, stealing his groan when you dip your hand under his waistband and squeeze him, so hot and full and satin-soft.

His hands are back on your ass, twin handfuls pulling and squeezing as he kisses you, and you laugh into his mouth.

“Can I interest you in something?”

You feel his teeth, nipping at your lips.

“Bend over the counter,” he tells you.

“Fuck.” Yeah, you’ll do that.

He smooths his hands down your back, going wide to avoid the bandage, and hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs. You step out of them, kicking them to one side, and feel his hands on your thighs, widening your stance. He kisses the rise of your ass, gently squeezing the flesh in his teeth, and travels lower.

“Hips back.”

You give a breathy moan at the first touch of his mouth to your drenched pussy. He kisses you there, firming his tongue to tease your clit, laving back through your folds and sucking light, releasing with a pop. You cry out when he turns his head, breaching you with his tongue, humming, fucking you with it before easing back, breathing out hot against you. You feel his teeth scraping your ass cheek again.

“Fuck, you taste sweet."

“You’re gonna spoil your dinner,” you gasp out, almost delirious. You moan when he rubs through your dripping slick with his fingers, slowly pushing one inside you. You rock back against it, fucking yourself on it, greedy.

“God. More, Leon. Stand up.”

His second finger stretches you; your hips stutter, breath hitching, then you press back and take him to the knuckles, groaning.

“Fuck.” He’s thrusting shallowly into your grip, your good hand tight around his cock, his waistband shoved down under his balls. You look back over your shoulder, watching the flushed pink head of his dick as it pushes through the tight circle of your fist, his tip leaking. You rub your thumb through it and he drops his head back, the luxuriant roll of his body almost too much for you to watch, his belt buckle clinking, cold against the back of your thigh.

“Jesus, Leon.”

You twist your wrist on the upstroke and he gasps, looking down at you, chest flushed pink, eyes completely blown.

That’s too much.

His back hits the wall; you’re shoving his clothes down his legs and off, his belt smacking the baseboard when you fling his pants away. You grab his shoulders and he hauls you up onto his waist; you belt your legs around him, your hips shifting as you try to catch the head of his cock where you desperately want it to go. He adjusts his grip on you, reaching down to line himself up, and you both gasp as he breaches you.

He lets you sink down on him, easing you, careful, pushing up with shallow thrusts. You take all of him, every throbbing inch until you’re flush against his pelvis. He stays there, letting you adjust.

You stir your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, looking down at him.

“I think you’re fired,” you tell him, a little shaky. He just looks at you, studying you, half his brain too blissed out to function.

“You’re a terrible wingman,” you say.

“Yeah?”

“How is anyone supposed to compete?” You rock your hips, biting off a groan as his cock strokes along your walls. He can reach deep, thick and hot inside you. “Fuck. You’re not supposed to ruin me for anyone else.”

“Oops,” he says without a shade of remorse, and snaps his hips in a short, deep thrust. You cry out, bouncing with it, and he does it again. And again.

“Oh my god, Leon, ruin me,” you whimper.

Your ass hits the cold sink countertop, Leon leaning forward to brace as he starts fucking you in earnest, your legs falling wide from his hips. He gathers them back in, blunt fingernails scraping down your thighs, and you press your hand to the mirror behind your head, body rocked by every thrust, the countertop unyielding against your tailbone. You can’t find it in you to care.

Leon reins it back for a stretch, going slow and deep, dipping his head to kiss the swell of your breast, drag the flat of his tongue over your nipple, circling it, sucking. You keen, digging your heel into the small of his back, sighing as he sucks lightly on your other nipple, scraping his bristly cheek along the skin of your chest to bury his face in the side of your neck, bracing his arms on the countertop again. The sound of skin slapping skin picks up, echoing around the bathroom, obscene.

“Since I'm not on payroll,” he starts conversationally, against your shoulder.

“You volunteered,” you say, breathless.

“I hated it,” Leon says.

“What?”

“Playing wingman.”

You push him back so you can stare at him. “You never said–“

“Yeah. Cuz I'm a quitter,” he says, gruff. “And I'd love to let you down.”

He pulls you up, down off the countertop, slipping out of you. He bends you over, rubbing the head of his cock through your folds, lining up and pushing back in slow. He brings your leg up, the side of your knee against the countertop. You sigh, then moan loud when every new thrust starts slapping his balls against you.

“Oh, fuck, Leon!”

He grips your ass, his breathing harsher, fucking into you hard and fast. You feel the coil start to build, your toes curling, canting your hips just so, pushing yourself back against every thrust.

“God, like that,” you whine, face pinched in desperation as you near the edge.

“That’s it, shit – I can feel you,” he says, and then his fingers are circling your clit and you cry out, clutching at his arm. “Come on, sweetheart, I got you.”

And that’s you gone.

You crash down into a white-out orgasm that has you jerking and writhing beneath him, groaning brokenly, grasping at the countertop, grasping at him. He curses around your name, drapes himself over your back and fucks you through it, slow and rocking, then manages only a few more rapid thrusts before he’s bottoming out and pulsing inside you with a guttural moan, hot cum coating your walls that still convulse with aftershocks.

You both slide down onto the bathroom rug, gelatinous and spent. Leon slips out and you feel his cum following, trickling out onto your thigh, but it’s not on the rug so it’s not worth moving about.

Neither of you so much as twitch when the doorbell rings.

“Food’s here,” you say, eyes closed.

Behind you, Leon hums and drapes his arm over you.

“Don’t get up all at once.”

“Thanks, I won’t.”

He kisses your shoulder. “Shower?”

“Seems excessive,” you say, your eyes still closed. They flare open when Leon drags lazy fingers through the mess spilling out of you, smearing it up onto your stomach.

“You’re a monster.”

He smiles and pulls you to lie on your back, bending to kiss you slow and deep, fingers dipping inside you, gathering more of his cum. He paints it onto your thigh in little circles and swirls, languid and ticklish, and you can’t even be mad. The shower’s right there.

You pull his hand from between your legs and press it flat to his own chest, dragging it down.

“Better start the water. Our food’s gonna get up and walk away.”

The hot water stings your busted knuckles.

You hold your hand clear, smiling quietly while Leon massages shampoo into your hair and then tips your head back against his shoulder to rinse. You sigh when he runs his slippery, soapy hands all over your body, kissing your shoulder, your neck, your mouth.

You turn in his arms, push his wet hair back from his eyes, run your hands down his face. The pad of your thumb fits perfectly at the corner of his mouth; you run it along his bottom lip.

“Can I be honest?”

“Probably unwise.” You can see his eyes tracing arbitrary paths between your freckles; over your cheeks, nose, forehead.

“You’ve always been my metric,” you tell him, quiet. “I was always looking for someone like you.”

His gaze settles on yours, a pinch forming between his brows.

“And where was I?”

“Out of my league.”

He snorts. “You've gotta be shitting me.”

“Don’t give me that.”

He holds your chin, tips your face up to kiss you.

“Couldn't read me for shit, could you.”

“That's not fair, you're trained to be unreadable.”

“Guess I played myself.”

You study him, searching his eyes.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I told you.”

“No, I mean, when the door was wide open,” you say. “When I broached the subject of a wingman. Could’ve saved me a lot of trouble.”

“It wasn’t right,” he says. “You were looking for fun.”

Your brow creases. “What are you looking for?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. Then,

“Keeps,” he admits, quiet.

Your heart does something probably medically suspect in your chest.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You kiss him, winding your arms around his neck, loose.

You’re smiling.

“Good.”

On AO3

Well this was a bolt-out-of-the-blue two-day rabid writing experience,, Fs in the chat for my other WIPs 😔

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[oxalaia-quilombensis]

give it to me, baby

wc: 8.7k

summary: Jack Abbot is many things; a loving husband, a phenomenal doctor, a decorated war veteran, an adrenaline junkie, a lower-leg amputee, and (possibly) a mind reader. But he is not a father. In 4 years of marriage you haven't been able to surprise him even once. But maybe, for his 50th birthday, you can kill two birds with one stone.

warnings: age gap (r is mid 30s, jack is 50), established relationship, afab reader, reader is an attending, brief reference to past power imbalance, minor undescribed medical procedures, IUD insertion and removal mention, gifting someone a used medical device (its sweet and not weird I promise), mention of pap smears, misuse of viagra, slight anxiety, keeping secrets, mediocre communication, BREEDING KINK DUH, trying to get pregnant, mentions of plan b, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms for everyone, doggy style, missionary, biting, reader is a little bit of a brat, cum play, so much love, fast and hard and then slow and loving, I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything

an: we are playing fast and loose with fertility and medicine here guys

I usually do not like writing multiple rounds of sex in one fic because tbh I find sex scenes a little hard to write and I worry that they get repetitive but I really pushed through for this one

Being married to Jack Abbot was a dream come true. 

He was kind, empathetic, passionate, patient, fantastic in bed, and (this is just a theory) psychic. 

Or you might just be easy to read. Either way, he almost always seemed to know what you needed or wanted at any given moment. 

God forbid you wanted to surprise him with anything, either. He could sniff out any sort of deception, even if it was well intentioned, like some sort of emotional or mental bloodhound.

Jack was also always prepared for almost everything. He had supplies and a game plan for almost every situation and scenario that could possibly come up. Mass casualty incident? Camo duffel in the coat closet by the front door. You had a hard day? Bubble bath kit under his sink in the bathroom. 

 Combine all of that together and you’d never been able to surprise him. Ever. 

Things were changing ever so slowly, though. Now, the two of you had been together for 7 years now, married for 4, so the playing field was starting to level out. You found yourself able to sift through his facial expressions and body language, deciphering some of the thoughts that crossed his mind. Some of it was the familiarity of your everyday routine, any deviation clueing you into something festering on his mind. Some of it was just knowing your husband so intimately in a way that could only come with time.

And even though you were as close to an expert as one could be in Jack Abbot, you still missed some of the more subtle things. 

But there was nothing subtle about this. You’d have to have been blind to miss the longing in his eyes anytime the two of you were anywhere close to a baby. It was impossible not to notice how his usually stoic and analytical hazel eyes softened at the sight of their tiny waving hands, the corners of his lips curving up when they cooed, his gaze instinctively snapping towards a crying infant while his shoulders tensed. 

Those signs had given you a rather obvious hint, but the final nail in the coffin had been when your sister and her wife had visited from Philly a few months ago. They had some sort of business to take care of in Pittsburgh, so you’d offered to watch their 6 month old son. Jack had been out running errands when he’d been dropped off. When he walked through the door, grocery bags in hand, you’d watched him freeze out of the corner of your eye. There you were, in your shared kitchen, balancing the baby on your hip, talking to the child about nothing in particular while you stirred a pot on the stove. 

Jack had unfrozen quickly, but you’d noticed. You noticed everything for the rest of the day until your sister came to collect her child. How Jack swallowed hard anytime you held the baby, how he nearly melted when you cooed and played peek-a-boo, how his eyes stayed locked for just a moment too long on the teeny tiny pair of shoes in his hands before he passed them off to your sister.

Jack Abbot wanted a baby.

And you wanted to finally be able to catch your husband off guard. 

 And now his 50th birthday was coming up, and you had a great gift planned. And if everything went according to your carefully crafted plan, you’d be able to give him an even better gift next year. 

Step 1: remove the biggest obstacle.

Being a doctor married to a doctor made the biggest part of your plan both easier and harder. 

You started on Monday. His birthday fell on Friday, and the two of you very conveniently had the following 4 days off. But not before working opposite shifts every day the rest of the week.

That was part luck, part planning on your end. You’d gladly agreed to cover Al Hashimi’s shifts while the ED was down a day shift attending since she was going to a conference. Jack had not been thrilled, but your sacrifice meant the two of you could enjoy an extra-long weekend staycation. He’d grumbled about it for a solid 3 days before finally settling down.

It also gave you time to make a trip upstairs to gynecology while your husband was fast asleep at home and none the wiser.

All it took was a quick lie to Robby about a routine pap smear and a favor called in from a friend upstairs and you were seated with your legs hiked up in stirrups. 

“You know, I really did not ever need to see your vagina,” Joan, your gynecologist friend, was grumbling as she completed the procedure. 

“You’re the only one I could ask who wouldn’t spill the beans,” your eyes stayed glued on the ceiling. “Everyone else is either a resident and not willing to bend the rules, or older and more loyal to him.”

“This is a hospital,” her expression was unimpressed. “There are no sides, no one is more loyal to him.”

“Yes the fuck they are,” you lowered your legs as she gave you the all clear. “Why do you think I told Robby I was getting a pap smear?”

“Becuase telling your husband's best friend, who is your boss by the way, that you were going to get your contraception removed so that said husband can fuck you six ways to sunday for his birthday is inappropriate workplace conversation,” she turned her back to you, depositing the device in a specimen jar before beginning to clean every thing up.

“That is true,” you conceded, “and Robby’s a snitch.”

“I still can’t believe you’re actually going to give him your IUD for his birthday,” Joan shook her head. “Isn’t that a little gross?”

“I’m obviously going to clean it!” You tugged your black scrubs up, wincing a little at the dull ache in your lower stomach. “Plus, it’ll be romantic. And shouldn’t you be more sex-positive? You’re a fucking gynocologist.”

“Romantic,” her voice was deadpan. “And I am plenty sex-positive. Especially unprotected sex. Creates more patients for me. Kinda like a dentist who recommends nothing but sugar.”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling as you watched her move back to the counter. “Glad to see you are faithfully committed to your oath.”

“Here,” she handed you a little cup with two white pills, choosing to ignore you. “Tylenol. You don’t get anything stronger since you insisted on doing this mid shift.”

“Thanks,” you swallowed them dry. “For the pills and for doing this for me. I can’t have him figuring this out before. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“I know I always wanted a used medical device for my biggest milestone birthdays,” she grumbled to herself as she wrote down her notes on a sheet of paper. “I’ll wait to put this in your chart until after your insemination.”

“Now you’re making it gross,” your face scrunched up. “Most normal people refer to that as ‘trying for a baby’ you know.”

“Yeah sure. Now, get out of my department and go back to your zoo,” she waved her hand dismissively, fighting a smile the whole time.

Step 2: stay strong.

Now with the most important part of your plan complete, you simply had to make it through the next week without Jack catching on. Even with your separate schedules, that was easier said than done.

Monday night at shift change you were desperately trying to hide the cramps wracking your abdomen as you walked the night shift through handovers alongside Robby.

Jack noticed immediately.

“You ok, baby?” He’d pulled you aside the second the handover was completed, his hand resting on your hip as he guided the two of you into a semi secluded corner.

“Yeah I’m ok,” you couldn’t fight the grimace as another wave washed over you. You really shouldn’t have skipped that second dose of acetaminophen during the 4pm rush. “Just cramping.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Jack frowned, his eyes sweeping over you more intently. His focus flicked between your lower stomach and your face.

“You’re not supposed to start your period for another 3 weeks.”

“It’s still a little odd that you track them so closely,” you tried to brush him off, shrugging.

“I’m a doctor and you’re my wife,” Jack cracked a grin as your eyes narrowed. “You’re my wife who is also a doctor. An amazing one.”

You gave him a kiss for that, quick and chaste and the most PDA you’d dare express in the ED.

 “My IUD is due for replacement in a few months,” you couldn’t beat back a rising smile, fueled by both his care and the knowledge of what you were planning. “It’s probably starting to go and make me irregular.”

“Get that checked out, ok?” His hands cupped your face. 

“I will, Jack, I promise.”

“Good we-” he swallowed hard, smile faltering ever so slightly. “We don’t want you to be… unprotected.”

The regret in his voice and the twinge of hope in his eyes as he said unprotected only reinforced what you already knew. He really wanted this. 

God, you couldn’t wait to tell him. You weren’t sure if you’d ever been more excited to give a gift before.

Warmth flooded through you at the thought of how he’d react. Would there be happy tears? Maybe he’d simply bend you over the nearest surface, eager to get started. He’d probably double and triple check that you were sure. Jack always did that, no matter how many times you reassured him that you wanted him, you needed him. Like he still couldn’t believe you were his just as much as he was yours.

Thankfully, his mind reading seemed to fail for a moment. Likely because of the cramp that gripped you midway through your rumination, hiding your true expression behind a grimace. 

“I’m ok, Jack,” with one more kiss, you were untangling yourself from him. “I’m going to go sleep for twelve hours. I love you.”

“Alright,” he followed you as you gathered your things and headed towards the ambulance bay. “Text me when you get home. If you forget again, I’m not making that pasta you like for a month.”

“Empty threats,” you pecked his cheek on your way past him. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

“I love you,” the love written so plainly on his face as you walked away from him and out those doors made you almost want to run back and tell him everything.

Maybe that was why you were semi-convinced he was psychic. It was probably less about an alleged supernatural ability and more about your face being easy to read and your lips unable to keep a secret, combined with the fact that you had resigned yourself to your husband being all-knowing. 

In your defense, you’d seen Jack level patients and colleagues and even yourself with that look. Head titled, eyes narrowed, eyebrows lifted, that signature confidence combined with a small sigh of disapproval when he knew he wasn’t getting the whole story. It made everyone spill their guts eventually. No one held out very long.

But he hadn’t used that look on you since you’d been his resident years ago. You were all too aware that the bastard had long since learned that all he had to do was give you a soft smile and tell you he loved you and you melted immediately.

And normally, you didn’t have anything to keep from him. Normally, it was mildly irritating if he managed to figure out 

But you had to stay strong.

Step 3: final preparations.

Surprisingly, you did actually manage to hold out. All the way until Friday.

Jack had the overnight shift from Thursday to Friday, but you were done and clear. A full body shower and shave was followed by a few episodes of the trashiest reality TV you could find until it was officially your bed time. You texted him a simple “Happy birthday baby” at 12:01 am before grabbing what little sleep you could before he inevitably came home just as the sun was rising. 

At just past 7:30 am, your husband was crawling into the sheets, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arm around your waist as the heat of his bare chest warmed you from the inside out.

You were drifting in that blissfully in that half aware state between sleep and wakefulness as he pressed light kisses along the side of your neck available to him. A soft hum left your lips as you arched back into him, body already aching for him. 

But you couldn’t give in.

Not yet, at least. As much as it pained you to deny him the sleepy morning sex you’d grown to crave, especially on his birthday, you couldn’t let him fuck you until you’d given him your present. And you couldn’t give him your present until you had made him dinner and slipped on that beautiful white matching set you’d bought.

So you had to stall. Redirect. Get him to actually get a decent amount of rest for once in his life, so you could ride him off into the sunset.

“Happy birthday, handsome,” your hand reached back to run your fingers through his loose curls.

“Very happy birthday to me, indeed,” his grip on your waist tightened as his front pressed even more firmly against your back. You could just barely feel the faint beginnings of hardness through the thin material of his boxers.

“Uh-uh,” you twisted in his grip. Shifting until you were face to face, you pressed a long, slow kiss to his lips. He sighed into your mouth, allowing you to take the lead as his tongue swiped against yours.

 “You need to sleep. You’re exhausted.”

He grumbled as you pulled away, his half lidded eyes flipping between the exhaustion of a week of 12 hour nights shifts and pure desire as he looked at you wrapped in his arms.

Jack had once told you that this was when you looked the most beautiful. Sleepy, wearing just his t-shirt and a pair of underwear with your hair a mess, snuggled in the sheets of your shared bed. He had called the domesticity of it addictive, had said he couldn’t get enough of the quiet moments like this, tangled together with the outside world locked away. The two of you just existing in that warm, heady feeling of safety and security, wrapped up in each other for hours.

You’d always thought you understood. You’d agreed that the soft moments surrounded by his love in the home two of you had built were the best, but you were starting to think you never really got it until now. The idea of your family, of it growing beyond just the small, two person unit the two of you had become over these years, was electrifying. 

God, you wanted that. You’d already given him your heart. You wanted to give him everything.

“I’m not too tired to make you feel good,” his hand slid from your hip down to dip beneath the hem of your underwear.

It took every ounce of self control to grab his wrist, stopping him. 

“No,” you gave him one more soft kiss before you were pushing him back to lie flat. Throwing one of your legs over his, you curled into his side. He let out a sigh of disappointment as your head rested on his chest, but he was still curling his freckled arms around you to hold you close. “We are going to sleep now. And then, tonight, I am going to make you dinner. Then you get to open your present, and then you can fuck me. However you want, as many times as you want.”

“You’re so cruel,” you couldn’t see his face but you could hear the smile in his voice as he pressed a kiss to your hair. Already, you could tell he was starting to drift off. “But fine. As long as I get to have you for dessert.”

His voice, low and gravelly, vibrating through his chest had your panties growing increasingly uncomfortable. His sturdy thigh pressed between your legs certainly wasn’t helping, but you could do this. You were a grown woman, a doctor of emergency medicine. You had the willpower to make it 10 more hours without jumping your husband.

When you woke around 1pm, Jack was still dead to the world. His lips were parted, hair mussed, and his breaths deep and even. Despite the gray making his curls much more salt than pepper, he looked younger like this. 

You gave yourself a moment to take him in before slipping out of the bed and his grasp.

It was time to make the last few preparations.

Your movements were as quiet as you could make them as you got dressed. With one last glance at his sleeping form, you slipped out the front door.

Grocery shopping went smoothly, the bakery passed off the small bourbon chocolate cake you’d ordered with little fuss, and the jeweler down the road didn’t even charge you for the little black velvet box. They had a million of them, she’d said, no big deal.

You were back home by 3:30pm. Jack was up and awake by then, making himself a cup of coffee when you strolled in, arms laden with grocery bags. For just a second, you let your eyes trail over him. He was facing away, giving you a beautiful view of the freckles dusting his muscled back. The sweatpants riding low on his hips, the right leg tied in a knot to stop the hem from dragging, hid the strength and shape of his ass and legs from you, but your imagination filled in the gaps. 

“Done objectifying me yet?” Jack just barely looked over his shoulder as he continued to fiddle with the machine before him.

“Never,” you set the bags down, giving his ass a slap as you moved past.

He laughed, reaching for his crutches as he moved to follow you back out to the driveway. 

“Let me help you with the bags.”

“Not a chance,” you blocked the doorway. “Go sit down and enjoy your day off.”

He looked like he was going to argue for a moment, but then he acquiesced. With one, chaste kiss to your lips, he moved back to the counter. 

Jack was stubborn, though, so he started unloading the grocery bags, placing ingredients in their rightful places.

You watched him move through the space for just a moment before you returned to your car to grab the last few bags and the box with the cake. The jewelry box was tucked into the back pocket of your denim shorts, hidden by your oversized shirt as you deposited everything else onto the counter, next to the first batch of empty bags. Jack had disappeared from the kitchen, but he walked out of the bedroom just as you began to organize the ingredients you needed, his leg fastened on.

“What are you gonna make me?” Jack had settled back against the counter after you swatted his hands away from the cake box, trying to keep his fingers out of the frosting while he tried to steal a taste. He was lazily sipping his coffee, eyes watching as you fluttered about, retrieving some of the items that you needed.

“Steak,” you held up the meat wrapped in butcher paper as you pulled it from the bag. “Cabbage,” his nose wrinkled and your eyes rolled. For a brief moment, you really considered throwing the vegetable at him. “Relax, you big baby. Cabbage au gratin. Lots of cheese and that cream sauce you like.”

“Hmm, ok,” he was smirking over the rim of his mug. “What else?”

“What else? What, that’s not enough for you?” 

He set the coffee down, closing the small distance between the two of you so his hands could rest on your hips, chest pressing into your back. You panicked for a moment as his lips met your clothed shoulder, hoping and praying that he didn’t notice the box in your pocket. It was still empty, but you didn’t want to give him any hints about your plan.

“I’m gonna need a lot of energy tonight, baby,” his hands slid underneath your shirt to rest against your bare stomach as he nosed at your hair, his breath brushing over your ear. “I’m pretty sure I was promised however I want, as many times as I want.”

You were so close to breaking. Your resolve was hanging on by a thread. 

“And,” his hand slid farther up, cupping your breast through your bra. You could barely restrain a whine. “My dear wife decided to swap shifts. We haven’t had any… quality time in a week. I’ve got a lot of plans for you tonight, baby.”

“Jack,” your voice was weak.

“Not to mention,” his fingers squeezed your nipple through the mesh of your bra. “I wouldn’t be a very good husband if I didn’t help you get your sleep cycle back on track. Gotta get you used to working all night, baby.”

“You’ve gotta wait, Jackie,” you were arching back into him, offering no resistance as his broad hand slid to lay over the span of your stomach.

Fuck. 

The feeling of that steady, callous hand laying against the smooth skin of your lower abdomen jolted you back to reality.

You needed to wait. It wouldn’t be fair or right to fuck him before you had a conversation, plus you’d put so much thought into planning the perfect night. You couldn’t let your incubus of a husband seduce you into ruining it now.

“Jack,” your voice was stronger now. “Patience.”

He huffed a laugh against the shell of your ear, his hands tightening against you just once before letting you go and stepping back. You could very clearly see the hard length of him straining through the fabric of his pants as you turned to face him, back braced against the counter. His hands came up to land beside your hips on the stone as he caged you in.

“I don’t know what you have planned, but I might die if I don’t get my hands on you soon,” his lips laid a kiss on your cheek before he was stepping back. “I’m gonna go shower before you torture me anymore.”

Step 4: the proposition.

Jack behaved himself all throughout dinner, his hand settling at a tasteful spot on your bare thigh, exposed by the dress you’d pulled on over the lacy white set he hadn’t seen yet. Entirely appropriate compliments coming from him as you laid the cabbage, the steak, and the salad and rolls he hadn’t let you tell him about earlier before the two of you on the table.

But dinner was done, leftovers packed away, the rest of the cake returned to its box while two half-eaten slices laid before the two of you.

While he was in the shower, you’d managed to retrieve your IUD (very thoroughly sanitized, thank you very much) and place it in the jewelry box. It fit perfectly. You’d tied the box closed with a short length of red ribbon you’d acquired from the Christmas supplies stored in the spare room. 

That box had been sitting on the counter while you ate dinner and dessert, but now it sat between the two of you on the table. For the first time all week, your confidence in your plan was starting to falter.

Jack was a great man and an amazing husband. That was undeniable. He was great at so many different things. The one area he fell behind in, though, was communication.

He wasn’t necessarily bad at it, but he definitely wasn’t the best. It wasn’t that he couldn’t or didn’t communicate with you. No, it was more that he held certain things back. He didn’t let himself verbalize things when he thought he didn’t deserve them, or when he thought he was asking for too much.

He hadn’t asked you for a baby. Sure, the two of you had talked about it before getting married, as all couples should, but the conversation hadn’t resurfaced since then. That conversation had been the first time he had truly been completely open and laid bare before you. He had told you he wanted kids, more than anything, but he worried about being too old, too broken, too unavailable.

You’d assured him he was none of those things, that you wanted to start a family with him. You could see on his face that he only half believed you.

It hadn’t been a possibility right when you got married, with you just finishing your residency and settling into being an attending, along with the both of you wanting time to really settle into your relationship before broaching that topic again.

But it hadn’t been brought up again.

Suddenly, the box sitting between you felt like a bomb. What if you had overstepped? Sure, you had thought the look on his face when he saw you with a baby was longing, but what if it wasn’t? What if you were about to blow up your marriage and ruin his 50th birthday?

“Hey,” Jack’s hand came to cover yours, jerking you out of your spiral. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” your throat felt full as you looked up at him. “Just… just nervous to see if you like your present.”

He smiled at that. “I’m sure I’ll love it, baby.”

“I really hope you do.”

You could barely breathe as you watched his fingers undo the red bow keeping the box sealed. The few seconds it took for him to unwind the fabric felt like years, the soft sound of the ribbon sliding against the velvet felt like the loudest noise in the world.

The lid blocked your view of the interior of the box, but you knew exactly what it looked like. That thin plastic ‘T’ sticking up out of the slot where a ring would normally go. Stark white against the deep red interior of the little black box.

Jack’s brow scrunched up for a second as he gazed down at the object in his hands.

“Is this your-”

“Yes,” your voice was quiet when you cut him off, your eyes searching his face. He looked confused, eyes fixed on the IUD, before the expression melted into shock as he looked up at you. 

“You-” he floundered over his words, gaze rapidly flicking back and forth between you and the box. “This- you took it- what-”

For a moment, you were concerned he was having a stroke. But then he took a deep breath, set the box down, and scrubbed his hands over his face. Your nerves crept back in, unwelcome and self deprecating as the worst case scenarios ran through your mind.

“I need you to tell me exactly what this means, baby,” his hand was grabbing yours again, squeezing tight. He still looked a little shocked, but you could see his eyes lighting up with what you desperately hoped was happiness.

“I-” your throat locked down, the words stuck as your eyes locked on his.

“Words, baby,” he slipped out of his seat, settling on his knees before you.

“Jack, your leg-”

“I don’t care, I’m fine,” his hands settled on your thighs, just above your knees. His fingers dug in as he looked up at you. 

Hope. That’s what you were seeing written plain as day across his features. Hope and love and yearning.

“Baby, please,” he sounded desperate. “I need to know exactly what you meant when you gave me your IUD.”

“I -” your breath faltered for just a second as his hands squeezed tighter as the first syllable left your lips. “I want to have a baby, Jack. I want your baby.”

“Fuck,” his voice was raw and gutteral, like the curse ripped out of him involuntarily. “I want it. So badly, you have no idea.”

You couldn’t help your laugh. The sound was wet, emotion curling in your chest as the worry and anxiety fled. “Trust me, I know exactly how much you want it.”

The confusion crept back onto his face.

“You’re not subtle, Jack.”

“I’m so subtle. I’m an unreadable pillar of strength,” he was smiling, eyes still full of love and adoration.

“You were anything other than subtle with this.”

“Maybe because I want to come home to you and our child everyday,” his words silenced your laughter, tears threatening to spill as he kept speaking. “I want to watch them grow up, teach them how to ride a bike, be obnoxiously loud and embarrassing at sports games.”

Jack was getting to his feet now, pulling you up with him until his forehead was pressed to yours.

“I want to teach them how to drive, cry at their high school graduation, move them into college dorms,” his own voice was thick with emotion as tears dripped silently down your cheeks. His hands came up to cradle your cheeks, swiping the stray droplets away with his thumbs. Your hands gripped his forearms as you listened. “I want it all with you. I want to be horribly, disgustingly domestic and in love, show our kid what love looks like. I want them to be safe and happy and healthy and so, so loved.”

“Jack,” your voice was shaky as you clung to him.

“I want it. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I want it with you. I want it all with you.”

His lips connected with yours. The kiss was tender and slow, every emotion leaking out as your lips and tongues moved against each other in your dining room. He tasted like the chocolate cake and something so distinctly Jack. It was addictive.

When the two of you parted to gasp for breath, his hands settled on your waist, yours coming up to tangle one in his hair, the other flat against his sturdy chest.

“You know,” you leaned in, tracing feather light kisses over the curve of his throat. “I promised you you could have whatever you want after dinner.”

His head dropped back and he let out a groan. His hands tightened on your waist.

“But do you know what I want?”

“What do you want, baby?” His voice was breathy. One of his hands drifted down to grab a handful of your ass, his leg slipping between yours to apply pressure where you needed him the most.

Your teeth caught the lobe of his ear between your teeth.

“I want you to take me to our bedroom,” your hand in his hair yanked ever so slightly. “I want you to take one of those little pills you keep for emergencies,” your fingers trailed down his chest slowly as his breathing picked up in pace. “And I want you to fuck me until you physically cannot any more.”

Step 5: success.

So maybe you weren’t as good at reading your husband as you thought.

You were so sure as soon as he got you into the bedroom and got an eyeful of the see through lace covering your body, he’d be inside of you immediately, especially with the promise of your uterus open for business.

But he held back, eyes tracing your form, sprawled out on the bed and still covered, barely, by your lingerie. He was moving through the room like he had all the time in the world.

You watched with bated breath as he slowly undid his belt and the button of his pants, leaving both still on. The buttons on his shirt were next, the fabric hanging open and untucked as he approached his nightstand. All you could see of his torso was a thin strip, could just barely spot the light dusting of still auburn hair disappearing in the waist band of his slacks.

His hand dug into the drawer for a second before he was producing the little orange bottle. He held it delicately between his fingers, eyes meeting yours.

“You’re sure this is what you want?” Everything in Jack’s eyes seemed to be begging you to agree, to not dangle this in front of him and then so cruelly rip it away.

“I want this,” you sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed to rest your hands on his hips, his legs between yours as he towered over you. “I want you to put a baby in me, Jack.”

He groaned, his hands fumbling to get the cap off the bottle and one pill in his mouth. 

He didn’t usually need those little blue pills, but between the anti depressants he regularly took and the stress of both your jobs, occasionally they came in handy. Today, however, the outline of his erection, right in front of your face, told you he definitely didn’t need it right now. But both of you knew that one round was not going to be even close to enough.

The temptation of that bulge in his pants was too much as you watched his throat bob while he swallowed the pill dry. Your hands drifted from his hips to the undone button of his slacks. Slowly, your fingers pulled the zipper down.

His hand caught yours before you could start sliding the fabric down his legs.

“Not now,” his fingers pressed into your pulse, your heartrate hammering as you looked up at him. “Take off your clothes and lie down.”

For a moment, you wanted to argue, wanted to insist that this was his birthday, you should be taking care of him. But the heat in his eyes and the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his eyes traced over your body had another idea popping into your head, wondering exactly how far you could push him tonight.

Your hands were a little shaky as you unclasped your bra, if the white scrap of barely there lace could even be called that. It fell from your body as you stood from the bed, crowding into Jack.

He took half a step back to give you some space as he watched. Your hands tossed your hair back over your shoulders, taking the opportunity to trail your fingers down your collarbones, loosely cupping and caressing your own breasts. Your lips parted on a gasp as your fingers tweaked your nipples. With half lidded eyes, you arched into him, almost touching as you continued to play with your breasts.

When you decided he’d had enough, you let your hands move on, dragging down your abdomen only to stop just above the waistband of your panties. You laid your hands over the smooth, bumpless skin. 

“Can’t wait for your baby to be right here,” you were laying it on thick. Eyelashes fluttering, teeth digging into your lower lip, breaths coming a little too deep to lift your breasts even more with every inhale.

Jack was getting impatient, you could tell. That fire burning in his eyes, his fingers flexing, all while you took your sweet time shimmying out of the underwear. 

By the time it hit the floor, he looked ready to pounce, but he was still keeping himself in check. You figured he probably wanted to take things nice and slow, make them tender. At least at first. He usually was attentive and giving, treating you gently especially when emotions were running high. Not like you would break if he didn’t, more like you deserved to be loved softly.

But there was time for soft later. Right now, the tension and knowledge of what he was about to do to you felt explosive. You wanted him to take you hard. To take out the sexual frustration of a week or so of abstinence on your body. To pin you down and have his way with you. Afterwards there’d be time for sweet and tender. And there definitely would be more than just one round tonight given the pill he’d just taken.

You were right about how close he was to snapping. The final straw seemed to be when you reached down, picking your underwear up from the floor. He watched the movement, a warning look on his face, but you didn’t stop. Instead, you took his hand, setting the soaking wet miniscule lace in his palm.

“Happy birthday,” with that, you turned around, crawling onto the bed on all fours, swaying your hips as you went.

You didn’t get very far before his hands were grabbing you by the waist, dragging you back to the edge. Your lower legs hung off the bed as he pressed his hips against your ass. He was burning hot, even through his clothes. You could feel the heat and weight of him as you ground back, smearing the wetness leaking from you onto his pants.

“I wanted to be nice,” behind you, you heard rustling as his shirt finally dropped off his shoulders. The clinking of his belt followed, thudding as it hit the floor next. “I wanted to make love to my sweet little wife, but I don’t think that’s what you want, huh?”

“I want you to fuck me, Jack,” you heard him drag his pants and boxers down, the thick length of his cock springing free to brush agaisnt you. Your hips pushed back, almost involuntarily, craving him inside of you. “Make love to me later, knock me up now.”

“Fuck,” his fingers found your clit, stroking through your folds and finding you oh so ready for him. He was making small, tight circles around the bud, sending small shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“Stop wasting time,” your words were breathy, slowly losing their bite. “At this rate it’ll be another 30 years before I get pregnant.”

“Shut up,” you could feel him lining himself up. “Let me make you feel good.”

“I’ll feel good if you- oh fuck!” 

Jack interrupted your whining by slamming in all the way. Usually, he was slow, guiding himself inside, taking the time to let you adjust. Not now, though, now he barely gave you a second to get used to the feeling before he was pulling out and pushing back in.

“Is this what you wanted?” His voice was strained, his hips working vigorously as he used his grip on your waist to drag you back onto him every time he thrust in. 

The sound was obscene. Wet slapping accompanied by your whines and gasps as he reached deep inside of you, bumping all the way up against your cervix with each push in. His own panting was nearly drowned out, but the groan that escaped him when you clamped down tight as he shifted angles was loud.

“Right there, huh?” Jack tilted his hips, angling towards that spot while one of his hands pushed down on your upper back. Your arms gave way, head meeting the sheets as he continued to pound away.

“Fuck, Jack, right there!” Your cries were high pitched and needy as he kept up the pace. His pounding was rhythmic, barely faltering even when his fingers found your clit again, and you tightened around him even more. The circles he was drawing were fast, matching the speed and timing of his thrusts.

Jack had long since learned to play your body like a fiddle and he was pulling no punches tonight. His hand not on your clit shifted, sliding down to press the heel of his palm right above your pubic bone. The added pressure had you crying out, walls pulsing as an orgasm washed over you unexpectedly.

It came in waves, your back arching and pushing your hips into his even more fervently as the pleasure grew and radiated out from between your legs. It was sudden, overwhelming, and seemingly never ending as he kept fucking you through it, his pace unchanging, his hands never moving from where they lay. 

“Fuck, baby,” he was panting, leaning halfway over you as you twitched. “God, fuck, I’m close.”

“C’mon, do it Jack,” you knew your voice was whiny and breathy, but you couldn’t care less as you begged him. “Please, do it. Cum inside me. I need it!”

This was far from the first time he’d fucked you raw. The two of you hadn’t used a condom since the early days of your relationship. After one broke and forced an incredibly awkward pharmacy run for Plan B, you’d gotten your IUD. Once it was effective, you had never had a barrier between you. Jack was well accustomed to coming inside of you.

But this was different. That protection was gone, sitting on the dining room table where he’d left it after dinner. And now you were begging him to cum inside you, not just because it felt good for both of you, but because you wanted to have his child. You wanted him leaking out of you, filling you up until you had no room left inside. You wanted the consequences of this action, the visible and physical manifestation of him left inside of you.

His hand on your stomach shot out, clutching the duvet beside your head as he leaned even farther over you. Jack’s rhythm grew erratic, faster than before as he folded over you. His fingers never stopped circling but they did hitch, that steady pressure faltering as he got closer.

“Fuck, oh fuck, you feel so good,” he was so close you could feel it. Feel him pulsing and twitching inside of you while his chest, damp with sweat pressed against your back. 

“Please,” the word was tangled with a moan as it left your lips. The orgasm that had seemed never ending was rising again, impossibly fast. “Please, Jack, want your baby, please.”

“Oh shit, fuck, fuck! Oh, I’m cumming, oh fuck!”

You felt the heat inside you, that warmth radiating out as he buried himself deep, hips rutting in grinding little thrusts as he came. It was overwhelming. Your own orgasm, much weaker than the previous one, jerked through your body as you felt him fill you.

The two of you stayed quiet, no words exchanged while you rode out the pleasure coursing through both your veins. Jack stayed buried as deep as he could inside of you, his hand finally leaving your clit when you stopped pulsing around him, only for it to find the front of your thigh, keeping you tightly pressed against him.

“I love you,” he whispered against your shoulder blade while he caught his breath.

“I love you, too,” you couldn’t really reach back to touch him in this position. At least, not without the growing ache in your lower back worsening. “I’m getting sore, Jack.”

“If I tell you to lay down and get comfortable, will you actually listen this time?” The smirk on his face as you peaked over your shoulder made you want to simultaneously punch him and kiss him. He slowly pushed himself up, lifting his weight off your body and pulling out.

“Yes, fine, I’ll listen,” you winced a little as his dick left your body, gasping a little when you realized he was still half hard.

“Shit, stop for a sec,” his hand palmed your ass cheek, stopping you from crawling forward to get comfortable. For a moment, you were confused. But then you felt it. His cum was dripping from you, spilling now that he’d finally pulled out. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

The low groan in his voice had you clenching around nothing, pushing even more out of you.

“Gotta keep it all in there, baby,” his fingers came up, pushing it back inside of you. They curled downwards, brushing against the sensitive skin just behind your clit, your legs shaking as he repeated the motion. “Fuck you’re so wet. So full of me.”

“Jack, please,” you weren’t entirely sure what you were asking for, all you knew was that you needed him. Over your own panting breaths you could just make out the wet sound of his own hand dragging over his length.

“Ok, ok,” his fingers pulled out of you. “Get comfortable, I need you again.”

Your legs were weak and it took you a second to focus again as you made your way to the center of the bed, falling onto your back, your head resting among the pillows. Your eyes found him like a magnet, snapping into focus as he finally pulled his pants all the way down.

He was fully hard again, and you watched with blatant hunger as he sat on the edge of the bed, hastily unfastening his prosthetic before he was climbing over to you.

“Left your hips for me,” you followed his instruction, allowing him to slide a pillow below your ass to keep you propped up for him. “Good girl.”

He settled, kneeling, between your legs, length still glistening from just having been inside you. Jack dragged the head of his cock over your folds, taking in the way your body twisted and undulated, silently begging for him to be back inside you.

“Are you ready?” 

How kind and totally unnecessary for him to check in on you. You were mere seconds away from flipping him over and riding him.

“Yes, please Jack,” your hands reached down for him, trying to guide him in yourself.

“Ah-ah,” he tangled your fingers in his, leaning over you to trap your hands above your head with one of his. “I fucked you how you wanted, now we do it how I want it.”

“Just get inside me, please! I want you so bad,” you had a sneaking suspicion he might have wanted to tease you for even longer, but your husband had never been able to resist you for very long. You could see how much he wanted it, and your begging seemed to have won out over his desire to tease.

“God, you’re still so tight,” Jack buried his face in the crook of your neck as he slid inside. “How the fuck are you always so tight?”

“Made for you!” Your voice came out high and squeaky as he began to move. 

“Fuck yes you were,” his lips landed on the sensitive skin of your throat, sucking and kissing and no doubt leaving countless marks you’d be struggling to cover when you went back to work.

The pace he set this time was much slower than before, but somehow filthier. The slow, insistent grind of him withdrawing and pushing back in had your clit grinding against the neatly trimmed hair at the base of his cock. The sounds this time were quieter but no less salacious. The unmistakable sound of how wet you were filled the room every time he pushed in as deep as he could get, mixed with the whimpers and gasps of his name you let out as you clung to him. He was rather quiet the first time until he got close, but he must have been more sensitive now as his groans and curses vibrated against your neck. 

Those noises only built in volume as the two of you fell into a cycle, pushing each other even higher.

Every time you clenched tightly around him as he hit just the right spot, his teeth would scrape the sensitive skin on your neck or shoulder. In return, your fingernails would dig in tighter against the muscles in his back and his hips would press as deep he could, brushing against the spot that made you clench tighter.

“You feel so good around me, baby,” his movements were beginning to stutter as the two of you got closer again. His hand tangled in your hair as he pulled his head away from your neck, keeping your eyes locked on his.

Jack looked wild. His pupils were blown wide, eyes full of tenderness even as his skin was flushed, his mouth open as he let loose sounds of pleasure. 

“You’re all mine.”

You tried to nod against his grip in your hair, eyes slipping shut as he ground even harder into you. Everything was hazy. The pleasurable feeling of every movement sent zaps tingling up your spine.

“No, no keep your eyes open,” you gasped as he broke his semi-steady rhythm to thrust hard into you. Your eyes opened, locking onto his. “Good girl, that’s good.”

He was getting louder now, getting closer and consequently pushing you there as well. 

“Say it, baby,” you were tightening around his length uncontrollably now, impossibly close. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I-I’m fuck!” You could barely get the first word out as his hand once again found its way between your bodies, rubbing against you as you squirmed. The pleasure was almost too much. “I’m your- fuck, fuck! I’m yours, Jack!”

“All mine,” his lips landed on yours while his fingers sped up. The kiss was sloppy, mostly tongues and teeth while you panted into each other's mouths. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum again, ohhh fuck.”

His hips snapped once, twice and then stilled as deep as he could get. Jack never stopped rubbing your clit, though, pushing you through to cum around him for the 3rd time so far as came inside you again.

You could barely feel the extra fluid. The space between your legs was already messy and your orgasm pushed every last thought out of your head as your body shook. Your legs tightened around his hips as your body arched up into him. One of his arms slid beneath your lower back, his hips burying his cock even deeper inside.

As your body trembled and the pleasure slowly faded, you realised he was speaking to you, the bussing in your ears finally fading enough for you to hear him.

“-love you so much, baby,” his head had dropped back down to the crook of your neck, but his lips hadn’t resumed their attack. The words were quiet. You knew he was talking to you, but the words almost seemed too personal. Like Jack’s filter had been fucked out of him, and the words spilling against your skin were his inner monologue. “Can’t believe you want to make me a dad. I swear, I’ll do my best. I’ll be so good. I can’t wait to hold her and love her-”

“Her?” You finally felt coherent enough to interrupt.

Jack jumped like he had forgotten you were there, even with his length still buried inside of you.

He hesitated for a moment, before lifting his head to look you in the eye. “I want a daughter,” his hand came to rest over your lower stomach. “One of the residents told me I seem like a girl-dad a year or so ago and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. And now, getting you pregnant… I hope it’s a girl.”

You were torn between laughing and crying. You remembered the off hand comment from one of the bolder first year students, along with the look of utter confusion on Jack’s face. He hadn’t understood the comment, simply telling them he didn’t have kids and to get back to work.

But the tenderness in his voice, the absolute love in his eyes as he looked down at you had a lump forming in your throat. 

“You know it’s not that quick,” your hand came up to cradle his jaw covered in that silver stubble you loved so much. “It might take a while for me to get pregnant. And there's no way to guarantee it’ll be a girl.”

His head turned slightly to press a kiss to your palm. “I don’t care how long it takes. I’m happy to keep trying.”

Your cheeks flushed at the insinuation, choosing to redirect. “And if it’s a boy?”

Jack lowered himself back over you, his nose brushing yours. “Then I’ll have a son. The only thing that matters is that the both of you are safe, happy, and healthy.”

“I love you,” the words were tight, barely getting out of your throat around the steadily growing lump of overwhelming emotion.

“I love you, too.”

[thatcorporategirlie]

[luna-azzurra]

If you're a new writer and you're asking yourself "is this too personal, is this too much, will people think this is weird" that feeling is the exact location of your actual voice. The stuff that makes you want to close the laptop is the stuff nobody else could write. The safe version is always worse. Always. I have never once read something and thought "this would have been better if it was a little less honest." go further. It's always go further.

[moodyabbott]

meet cute with pope? maybe at a bank he's about to rob or smth??

this is super short!! but i hope you liked it!! i just needed to add the rest of the cody boys into this, heh <3

—

pope was sitting in the truck across the street from the bank as they scoped out the perimeter of the bank the cody’s wanted to hit next week.

craig was talking, a joint in one hand as deran complained about how he had lit that for himself and himself only.

jay rolled his eyes, checking timestamps of each person walking in and out as pope gripped onto the steering wheel. of course wasn't listening to anything his brothers were saying.

his eyes stayed on the front entrance, mentally mapping everyone who walked in and out— counting them one by one.

a businessman.

an older couple.

one singular security guard.

a mother with a stroller.

but then— he noticed her.

she nearly skipped across the parking lot with an iced coffee balancing in her small hand along with a stack of folders tucked against her chest.

she looked flustered, like she'd left the house late. as she stepped onto the curb, one of the folders slipped. papers exploding across the sidewalk.

"ugh! dammit!" she cried out in panic.

a second passed, and without thinking, pope was already out of the truck.

he ran to her causing craig to cut off deran, “what the hell is he doing?"

the boys watched as pope hovered over her before crouching next down, quietly gathering the papers before the wind could carry them away.

she looked up, clearly embarrassed.

"o—oh my god, thank you." she rushed out

in typical pope fashion, he didn't answer. he just stacked the papers neatly before handing them back to her as she pushed her hair behind her ears.

"you almost lost these." he said flatly.

"I know." she smiled, grabbing the paper out of his hands before placing them back into the folder. "i'm having one of those mornings."

he nodded once.

"happens." he said curtly. it was probably the longest sentence he'd spoken all day.

"thank you..."

she waited for him to say something as he stared back at her.

"andrew." he said suddenly.

"ahh.” she beamed before giving him her name.

once again giving her one small nod before stalking back towards his truck.

deran stared at him, dumbfounded as he scoffed, "bro.. did you just help somebody?"

"yeah." pope shut the door.

"why?"

pope shrugged.

"her papers could have blown away."

the three boys all looked at one another in disbelief.

"he's gone soft." jay let out.

five minutes later they decided it was time walk into the bank to scope out where the safe would be and what the security cameras would look like.

she was standing at one of the tellers, filling out a deposit slip before she glanced up— recognition flashing across her pretty face.

"oh!" she beamed. she waved at pope politely. “hi there, stranger!”

pope froze as jay’s jaw went slack.

craig looked between them and deran rolled his eyes.

she was interfering with the plan!

"what does she want?" deran huffed under his breath.

she smiled warmly, hearing him— catching him off guard as she spoke, “nothing i— i.. he just helped me outside."

deran looked at pope.

pope looked at deran.

"don’t be an asshole." pope snapped.

craig immediately started grinning as jay looked at him in shock. "well this is fucked." craig cursed.

[groovyangelkisses]

canon pope isn’t as sexual as he’s made out to be— in fact he really struggles with sexuality. which is why his most intimate moments are shared in between mutual looks.

sitting on the couch at smurf’s, his brothers berating him about coming home from prison and wanting to jump on the first job they find. craig calls him reckless and stupid. but you jump to his aid. just like you always have. deep gaze held as you state, as simple and in-arguably has possible, “don’t say that about him.” it’s the first time in years someone really looked at him.

or years later, when you’ve long since thoroughly embarassed yourself in front of him with affectionate hugs and smiles, you watch him walk out with amy after their reunion date. clutching your purse as you wait for j to pick you up from your shift, you smile at andrew. you can’t help your tears, they burn your eyes and skew his figure even more in your clouded brain.

he looks back at you, what’s a stranger if not a lover in another life?

you watch amy walk to her car after a sweet hug with pope & you quickly swipe at your cheeks, pushing the tears away. you’d never want andrew to know he made you cry, couldn’t live with the idea of making his gnarled heart throb anymore with guilt. “oh… she’s beautiful andrew.” his head whips around, curls blowing in the sea salt air. stern eyes melt at the sight of your face & he swallows down the terrible feeling of adoration & failure & guilt & the undeniable pull of love. you smile at him, and can’t stop the tears that escape.

to love pope cody, is to suffer the never ending pain of an inmovable object on your chest. he knows it. which is why you just stare, even when amy’s tailights flash red across the lovers; the polarized figurines so fragile that one touch would kill them both.

you realized you’ve never touched him. he’s never touched you. does it matter?

[thetrekkiehasthephonebox]

the best fanfic is the one the author had fun writing actually.

[thetrekkiehasthephonebox]

the second best is the one the author used to work through some issues.

[romantic-insomniac]

at a barbecue right now and i’m a little tipsy and im thinking about how sammy bryant would fucking love you as his little housewife.

uggghhh all afternoon he would feed you fruity drinks he made especially for you to make sure you’re all tipsy and giggly. he’s at the grill smiling to himself while you make all the sides for his burgers and hot dogs.

you give him a fat kiss on the cheek every time you pass him to put a new salad or potato dish on the picnic table in the backyard. he sees you flit around the party checking on everyone’s needs. and he has to start palming himself through his jeans because he’s so turned on by your cutie apron he bought you :(

and when everyone leaves he fucks you raw in the living room cause he can’t even make it upstairs to the bed. he was so hard after seeing you serve food to his friends like the perfect hostess and cleaning up the house he bought for you.

and he begs to come inside you while panting in your ear “p-please babygirl. fuck im gonna come- need a baby on your hip at the next party. please please i need it- oh, oh fuck.”

[cosimads]

IRON LUNG Simon + focus mode

[romantic-insomniac]

for sammy, imagine he has to stop over because your neighbors called in a noise complaint and you open the door in a robe like “idk what you mean officer🩷” and he’s like “well we’ve had complaints of lewd noises coming from your apt” but you tell him it’s just you!!! so he comes in to look around, seeing no one else in the apartment but finds a hitachi wand poorly hidden on your bed, still plugged in oops! which leads to him scolding you and saying you know better than to just use one of these… maybe instead he can help out so you don’t get more disturbance notices eek!

anon what a gorgeous imagination you have!! you already gave a beautiful build up... all i have to add is how i think he'd talk to you while he's telling you to be quiet teehee!

*no cut needed just nasty smut below* ! mdni !

"shhh- gotta be quiet baby. don't want anymore complaints do ya?" he would say as he slaps his free hand over your mouth to stifle your cries. his other hand is occupied with the vibrator that he has pressed in between your bare legs. your loud moans are suddenly muffled by his large palm.

your head lulls back onto his shoulder as tears start to stream down your face from overstimulation. he has your back pressed to his solid chest sitting on the edge of your bed. you're clawing at his muscular forearm that holds the wand against your clit, trying to get him to let up for even a second because you've already come so many times since he stripped you naked and turned on your toy.

he chides you with a 'tsk- cmon shh shh- you have to learn to be quiet honey. don't worry i'll help ya." then starts to press hot kisses to your neck that make you squirm and squeal in his grasp even more. but you can't seem to manage to lower your volume, not that he actually cares. "you gonna be this noisy when i fuck you sweetheart?" not really knowing what he answer he wants, you nod frantically anyway, because its true.

... and god you were right. his hand has to stay over your mouth because you're somehow even louder when he has you in doggy. he let you mindlessly moan for a few minutes as he thrust into you before it got too noisy. he then pulls you back flush to his chest, vibrator still held against your twitchy bud in unforgiving punishment. he grunts in your ear "god you sound so pretty- ah fuck- but you have to keep those moans just for me baby."

his thick length stretching you plus the vibrations on the most sensitive part of you has your eyes roll back into your head. you start sobbing at the overwhelming pleasure flooding your body. he sears hot words onto your neck like a brand. "shhhh i know i know. you can take it- thats right you can." its only when sammy tells you he's so close that he removes his hand from your mouth. only to hear you beg for him to come inside you <3

[mparksy]

For the Pope requests I have been thinking about a tiktok that showed on my fyp of a couple cuddling naked and I just can't shake the thought of Pope's warm body against you for hoursss... only getting out of bed on a rainy day to maybe eat something and then going back to being a mess of tangled limbs AND THE PHONES ARE TURNED OFF!! Making the 'i wish we could stay like this forever' feel a little bit more real

oh i need to see this tik tok… for science of course… this idea is so so sweet ughhhh i need to be rained in and all warm and cozy w him so bad im Sickkk. tysm for the request !! 

Thinking about spending an entire day cuddled up in bed with Pope Cody, bare bodies pressed against one another as rain pelts against the bedroom window. The curtains are drawn shut, keeping the two of you secluded in your own little world. 

It’s one of those rare Saturday’s where you have the day off and Pope’s family isn’t expecting anything from him. No jobs, no meetings, just the two of you wrapped in each other's warmth for the day.

You hadn’t exactly planned to stay in bed all day. You had actually made an effort to try and do something productive. After sleeping late into the morning, waking to Pope’s figure pressed against your backside, holding you to his chest, you’d gotten up. Brushed your teeth. Took turns using the shower. Even made breakfast together, scantily clad in one of Pope’s old t-shirts while he stood at the counter in his boxers, mixing batter for pancakes.

However, once your bellies are full and you let Pope kiss the syrup off your lips, hands trailing up your hips and under your shirt, you find yourselves back in bed. 

It doesn’t take long for Pope to pull your shirt up over your head and remove his boxers, settling himself on top of you and pressing soft, warm kisses on your cheeks and down your jaw.

“Could stay like this all day,” he mutters against your skin between drags of his lips on your collarbone. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, fingers weaving into the curls at the nape, and pull his head up to yours so you can kiss him.

“We could, y’know,” you say between kisses. Pope hums in approval against your mouth, prodding his tongue gently against your bottom lip, asking for entry. 

You let him dip his tongue into your mouth, breath hitching as his kisses become hungrier, needier. The heat of his mouth against yours as your tongues swirl in tandem has you digging your nails into his shoulders, pulling him closer so your chests are flush against one another.

The two of you stay like that, exploring each other's mouths, hands roaming up and down each other's bare bodies until you start growing tired again, your kisses becoming slow and lazy. 

Pope wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you with him as he turns onto his side, your legs tangling with his. You let out a giggle against his mouth, causing his lips to quirk up into a crooked smile. 

“What’s so funny, huh?” he breathes against you, faces inches apart. You bring a hand up to push the curls back from his forehead.

“Nothing, just love you,” you sigh, dropping your head so it’s tucked against his chest, right under his chin. Pope drops his head slightly so he can place a kiss against your hair.

“Love you too,” he whispers, big hands rubbing up and down your backside. The two of you lay there intertwined, silent except for the sounds of each other breathing. You’re so relaxed that you find yourself slowly drifting back to sleep, warm and safe in his arms. 

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You wake slowly, fading in and out of consciousness, aware of Pope’s body still pressed flush against yours, arms still looped around you. 

“Hey,” he murmurs against your hair, already awake.

“Hi,” you yawn, nuzzling your head further into his chest. “Hope you haven’t been awake for too long.”

“Not long. Didn’t want to wake you. Just wanted to hold you while you slept a bit longer,” he admits.

“What time is it?” you ask, attempting to untangle yourself from him in search of your phone on your nightstand. Unwilling to let you go, Pope pulls you back to him.

“Doesn’t matter. Left our phones in the kitchen when we made breakfast. Don’t need them though, just need you here with me,” he says, letting out a sleepy groan as he squeezes you in his arms. It seems impossible to get your body any closer to his, but Lord is he trying. 

You spend the rest of the day repeating the same cycle. Cuddling, sleeping, making out. In the afternoon, when you get a bit restless, Pope settles you down with his mouth against your clit, sucking and kissing it until you come undone for him. 

After another nap you return the favor, circling your tongue around the tip of his length as he tangles his fingers in your hair, letting out a strangled groan when you take him into your mouth fully. When he hits his climax, his cock spasms as he releases between your lips. 

Spent, he pulls you up to him so your naked body lays flat atop his. He kisses you a few times, hands coming up to tuck your hair behind your ears and cup your cheeks.

“You ready to get up?” you ask, unsure of the time. With the blinds closed and the rain still pounding against the windows, unrelenting, it could be evening by now and you’d have no idea.

“Mhm,” Pope sighs. “Just let me kiss you a bit more first...”

wish he was real so bad im taking deep breaths rn

[groovyangelkisses]

pope who knows his dick is big so everytime you makeout and start to put your hand on him, he pushes it away. now you just think “oh okay, he’s not ready for intimacy yet.” understandable!

but it gets to a point where one day you convince him to pull down his jeans and you see his thick, heavy cock slap against his tummy. i mean heaaaaavy, like the crimson pink tip is so big & his balls are spilling out of his boxers and he’s soooo warm.

and you’re just staring— gazing, rather. his cheeks & ears are so red and he’s avoiding eye contact nervously as his fists clench and unclench. bare assed, sitting on the bed sheet and swallowing as he pinches his mouth and looks at you… sweet, doe-eyed you. you coo “oh andrew…” in lust and he’s shakily replying “‘m just… really big, didn’t wanna scare you off… or anything.”

FUCK

[a-daks]

canon: they died

fanfic: fUCK YOU

[andordean]

Canon: and so they never met

Fanfic: here’s a funny story

[namesonboats]

Canon: There was tension and pining, but they never even kissed.

Fanfic: Actually,

[kaeltale]

Canon: Torture the cinnamon roll.

Fanfic: Torture the cinnamon roll.

[conversationswithjohnlock]

Canon: When they traveled they stayed in separate rooms

Fanfic: AND. THERE. WAS. ONLY. ONE. BED!!!!!

[caressthosecheekbones]

Canon: … and they were roommates.

Fanfic: oh my god, they were roommates…

[johanirae]

Canon: They were international assassins who assassinated assassins.

Fanfic: But hot DAMN wait till you hear about this cafe they opened

[captain-ozone]

Canon: they hated each other on first sight, sworn enemies ‘til the bitter end

Fanfic: but they were marked as soulmates, naturally

[titusdanforthslittlekitten]

‘Giving your virginity to Pope’

MDNI!!

slightly established relationship with Andy, aftercare, tease!Andy, resort play kink!Andy, cursing, unprotected sex, not much talking, readers first time!

Andrew wasn’t a gentle man. He’d been described as ‘vicious’, ‘angry’, even ‘unsettling’ along with many other hateful words. But seemingly you ‘changed’ him- or at least that’s what Craig told you.

You had a way with him. Like you were this perfect special person who could do no harm, and could get to him so quickly. Nobody had been able to do that since Julia.

He valued you. So when you had sat him down to tell him you were a virgin he took it deeply and gave you the utmost respect and care for it. Then you dropped the bombshell, you’d like to give it to him.

That’s a huge weight for a man to carry. Even for Andrew. So he very obviously told you that you didn’t have to do that, read you your rights, tried to talk you out of it almost. But you were sure of it. Positive.

So now, the two of you lay in bed, as he slowly works at your pussy. Treating you like he was holding onto a gem that could break at any second. In your apartment, after your a date night together.

It was almost magical. The way he was biting his bottom lip to focus, how he kept asking if everything was okay and if you were comfortable, how he’d simply had you in missionary just so he could keep his eyes on your face for any signs of discomfort.

“Good? Yeah? Not too rough for you, baby?”

He’d only been working you up for about what seemed like forever until he’d dipped his hand down and slid a finger in. Watching your face carefully, you reached up and latched onto his shoulder, as your head tilted back and you closed your eyes. There was a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. He likes seeing you like this, he’d like to see you like this more.

“there we go… you okay? Yeah?”

He’d made sure to rub all over your clit, slide his fingers through your folds, tease the edge of your cunt by sliding a finger over it, ghosting over it like he was going to put his thick fingers into you, but only to move and rub back up to your clit.

By now you had both your hands on his back, digging your nails into his freckled skin, and letting out hushed moans that got cut off as he kept moving his fingers to tease you.

Eventually he had enough of playing with you, he’d gotten hard the moment he saw your pussy, so him teasing you was doing a number underneath the cloth of his boxers.

Eventually he stopped of his boxers, pulling out his cock that looked intimidating as you started at him, jaw slacked slightly, as you looked up as him a silent “that’s going in me?!” He looked at you, as he reached his hands to your ankles and pulled your ass to his hips, making you lift yourself up to arch your back.

He wasn’t going to stick it straight in- that wouldn’t be very nice of him. So instead he ran the head of his already soaking cock onto your clit, making small wet sliding noises as he ran over your pussy. The wetness of the two of you combined could’ve easily filled up your bathroom tub.

He slowly and steadily eased the head of his cock into your cunt, leaning over you with one hand next to your head. His eyes darting down to where the two of you joined, then back up to your face to see any discomfort- he was almost paranoid that you’d get hurt. But that didn’t arise. Instead you only bucked your hips up more to try and keep his length going into you.

Your nails scratching all over his back so rough, you were sure he would wind up needing to go to the ER. But he seemed to be doing just fine- if not better the more pressure you applied.

He’d worked you up enough to the point you were only halfway of his length and already on the verge of losing it. You could feel the pulse of his cock, how his skin felt entering, what it felt like leaving, how you longed for it to be deeper- but knew you may break if you got what you wanted.

Once you seemed to be easier to slid in and out of- due to how wet the two of you were, he began to move his hips up and down, watching your expression as he went slowly.

“Good? F-fuck you feel so incredible… you’re okay? Good. Good girl.”

He slowly increased his pace. Making unholy gushing noises, and his lip started quivering.

“god..”

He saw how your face became more red than blush pink, how your grip tugged on him, how your breath shifted to be more ragged how you were now basically moving your hips with him. He knew what was happening.

“I want you to cum. Don’t worry about anything else… just- fuck, you got this sweet girl. Yeah…”

You came. Almost gushing out of your cunt as the white liquid coated the length of his cock he had inside you, and then dribbled off of him as he stared shamelessly at how you got so messy. He smirked, and licked his lips look up at you briefly before he couldn’t help himself to look at what he’d help make happen.

“you’re so beautiful… just… hmph-“

He eventually grew enough brain to get up and grab you a towel, he didn’t immediately start to clean you up, instead he looked down, ran a finger over your pussy then played with your cum on his fingers before looking at you sheepishly and stuck his fingers in his mouth.

Your breath hitched and you looked at him

“you are a dirty boy, Andrew…”

He nodded almost proud of himself then began wiping off your thighs and what had dropped down to your ass, he made sure you were as clean as possible before he used the towel on himself to clean off your cum.

Once both of you were clean he tossed the towel near your clothes basket then crawled into the bed, pulling you next to his chest and wrapping the two of you in the covers. He had one arm under your head as the two of you laid chest to chest, and started at each others eyes. His other hand tucked some hair behind your ear and smoothed it out for you.

“you did so good, baby… I’ll make sure to take care of it for you. I promise…”

Then you smiled cuddled against his bare chest and the two of you passed out in one another’s arms.

Egh… idk if I like it. It was sooo long. But anyways- I hope you like it.

And I love you guys lot and lots like polka dots. ;3