[seadoesnotchange]

First time I hold you - A.C

part I: Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby - Fresh Out The Slammer

content/warnings: MDNI no smut but kind of mature content, established relationship, pregnancy, mental health, soft!Andrew, girl dad!Andrew, pet name Angel, flashback from later seasons

summary: you found out you’re pregnant after Andrew got arrested (pre s1)

wc: 3.6k

a/n: My first time writing ever, didn’t think it’d took 2 weeks it’s a lot harder than I thought but I’M SO GLAD I FINISHED THIS. Anyway I hope y’all enjoy this fic, idk if it make sense or not kinda just my excuse to write yearning fic tbh. Plus I know the playlist is much longer than the fic but I just like making em. So let me know what you think or content/warning i left out or if you wanna be tag for the next part (gonna take a while). Also check out fanart on my blog!

dividers by @uzmacchiato

One thing Andrew Cody does to keep himself somewhat sane is count, whether it’s the steps as he paces around the room, the boxes of cereal or even days. When he’s not taking his meds, sometimes he’d mix up imaginary with reality. Counting days often helps or simply keeping track of important days so he won’t lose them in the sea of illusion. He could remember the date when you first met, the first time he asked you out and most importantly your anniversary. Though there’s one day he wishes he could erase from his memory.

3 years and 19 days ago, the California sun was rising as he stood in front of your house, a waterfront house with a beautiful view (he bought it for you just last month after he asked for your hand). He’s been standing there for quite some time, making sure for the 10th time the door’s lock properly before he leaves for the job. It’s still early, you were sleeping and he just can’t risk anyone breaking into your house when he’s gone.

He’s out on a job with the Baz, sitting beside his brother in the stolen car as they scout the area, see how the land lies before going in. The street is quiet, not many people wandering around, which is great. His eyes still fixed on the bank when he brought up Cath and how Baz needs to do better with her and Lena, sure he’s engaged to you but it doesn’tchange the fact that she was his friend. Baz didn’t look too happy when they got out, striding across the street to the building. Andrew followed close, shotgun in hand as he threatened the clerk to put money in the bag. Things were going just like they planned, it didn’t take long for the alarm to go off, he looks down at his watch to see how much time they have left. He then tosses Baz the money bag before telling him to go get the car while he collects more money from the civilian. Before Baz could step out suddenly everything is going sideway. He tripped. The guard tried to reach for his gun. Andrew has to pull the guard away for Baz to get the car. They take turns punching for about half a minute, and soon the guard’s lying face down, blood on the floor. By the time he rushed out, the car was driving away almost out of sight already. All it takes is 16 seconds for Baz to leave him behind, 16. Last thing he remembers before he got busted is that he was running, as fast as he could while Baz saved himself. It’s not the first time Baz bailed on him either. It wouldn't matter that much to him before but now he has you to come home to, it shattered him just to think about how long it’ll be until he sees you again if he got caught, it made his chest boiled how could Baz just left?. Even then as he sits on the back of the cop’s car, all he worries about is how you’d be waiting, cooking his favourite meal maybe curl up on the couch, fell asleep while you wait. He missed you already.

When he realised Smurf couldn’t help him out, part of him was full of anger from the betrayal. On the other hand, he couldn’t help but forgive her, she’s his mother after all. He could almost accept the state he was in until a week later you sent him a letter. You’re pregnant, 2months. It changed everything. How is he supposed to take this? He’s in a fucking prison while his fiancée is pregnant with his child. One, two, three, four, five, six, he counts his steps as he paces around the cell, your letter clutched in one hand, all of a sudden the room felt smaller like it’s shrinking around him. That night hedidn’t sleep, didn’t even try, he has too many thoughts that needed to be processed. He just sits on the metal thing they call bed, eyes fixed ahead at the wall. What is he gonna do? What can he even do being in prison like this?

38 days gone by, he has never responded to your letter. No, you deserve better. He's sentenced for 6 years, the kid would be 5ish by then and they wouldn’t know their father. They shouldn't, he’s a criminal. No, he can’t have that, that’s his decision. The guilt would gnaw him alive not being there for you and the kid. But for your sake, he has to let you go. He knows you loved him, though it still surprised him that you kept sending him letters after letters, eager to tell him about your day, about the baby, and also send him the ultrasound after you went to your first appointment alone. He keeps everything you sent him. He’d look at them every night, take time memorising each small details. A few hours later he’d get tired, then he’d hold them close to his heart before he goes to sleep (if he did sleep at all and not just stare at the ceiling).

Then you came, he looks at you through the glass, it’s so close yet so far away. You managed to give him a small smile, he always wondered how you have that smile when you’re with him. The room’s poorly lit with the dark wall around it but with you here it’s radiant enough.

“Hey, Andy” You greet him first. One hand rests on your belly, still not that noticeable but he could see you’re changing, glowing. He avoids your eyes, he’s having a hard time adjusting to this horrible place and a hard time trying to let you go. He can’t bring himself to speak, he’d break as soon as he does. But god, if he wouldn't trade his soul just to whisper sweet nothing to you as he holds you in his arms in this moment. So he just listens to you talk, only responds with a mumble “yeah” and “okay”, his eyes fixed on your belly. It's getting harder and harder to comprehend what’s really happening. one, two, three, four, five, six, he counts your breath, it calms him down a little to know that you’re here with him.

92 days, another ultrasound with a letter. The size of a banana you say? Then it’s almost like he’s choking his own spit, his chest tightened as he sees the word, Girl. He can’t tell if this is really happening or if he's just made it all up, his mind is playing tricks on him lately. Sometimes he’d hear Smurf’s voice or your voice telling him how he’s not good enough for the baby nor deserve to have good things in his life. He knows he’s a sinner, not a saint and definitely not a pope, but he doesn't need reminders. He recalls when he was little, holding that boy under water after he persecuted Julia, remembers the look she gave him after, what would his daughter think of him?

“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” John 1:9 is what keeps him going. It gives him hope that whatever he did, it could be forgiven, he’s desperate for forgiveness and a chance to rinse himself clean for a new life. Hopefully with you if you’d still have him.

165 days, when Andrew went to prison, you had to take more jobs since you didn’t want to take money or anything in general from Smurf. It takes a while for you to be free enough to send a request to visit him face-to-face in prison and a whole month to get the approval. You can’t wait to see him. The day you finally visit him you choose a light purple maternity dress on purpose, you know he secretly loves purple (lavender) and it’d be good for him to see some colour apart from the same old uniform every day. You were pacing around the room when the guard took him inside. Your eyes light up immediately at the sight of your man. You take a step closer, so does he.

“Hey angel” He greets you first this time, his hand clenches into a fist beside him at the urge to reach out, to feel your body underneath the palm of his hand. He needs to know your real.

Almost as if the baby could hear his voice, you feel the sudden kick. You let out a small laugh before reaching for his hand, bringing it to rest against the bump.

“Can you feel that? I think she knows her daddy's voice.” And you smile. He loves your smile, the way your eyes seem to brighten the world (his world), the way your lip curls up, you seem to belong in heaven not in a hellhole like this place.

“Yeah..I could feel that” He murmurs before reluctantly removing his hand.

You both sit down and you start rambling about your life while he just sits there happy to hear your voice that didn't come from inside his head.

“You know I'd come sooner but I've been taking more jobs, people're getting married a lot these past months.” As a floral designer, it's a golden opportunity for you and he knows it, but still.

“You shouldn't be working too much. Didn't Baz pay you my cut? I told him to” He frowns. Every cent of his cut should go straight to you, he told Baz that.

“Easy, honey. I told him to save it for you after you got out. You know I don't want Smurf money.” You let out a sigh.

“It's MY money, I earned it” He said sharply, giving you a glare.

“Well, you can use it for our daughter after you get out, but i won't take any money from Smurf's hand or Baz.” You stand your ground and now it's his turn to sigh. He knows you're stubborn but that's one of millions of reasons why he loves you.

You stay for about an hour, after you leave he spends all day with you on his mind, at least it’s better than counting things or making bed again and again even if it’s already tidy.

210 days, this time is not an ultrasound but rather a picture of your newborn baby girl, lying on your chest. Shit, he could get on his knee for you again if it’d express how grateful he is for you giving him another reason to live. You’re smiling but the tiredness in your eyes mixed with trace of tears could be seen. He wishes he could at least hold your hand while you give him a miracle, a perfect mix of you and him. Under the picture have your handwriting that says “Audrey.” On the other side have a short note “She got your eyes. Anyway I hope you like the name, kind of sounds like yours. Love you, always.” After everything, you still tell him you love him, his heart almost gave out at the thought. He’d dig his way out of this place and knock off anyone who got in his way back home to you if you just say the word. The only thing holding him back is that he knows you wouldn’t want that. So he just keeps his head low, maybe he’d have a chance of getting out early.

Later that night when he looked back at the picture, it made him think of Julia. How long has it been since he last saw her? Too long. Suddenly, all the memories float through him like an old film, pictures blur and fading. All those timetogether, he protecting her from the outside world while she protecting him from the inside, from himself and Smurf. She has a kid too, Josh. Maybe he could visit her, take you and the baby with him too. It’d be nice after a long, long time.

365 days, one year passed in blur, memories mix with reality. You didn’t send him letters as frequently as before, busy taking care of the baby. It’s tearing him apart day by day. He wants to reach out, his heart burns trying to resist the urge. It’s better this way, maybe you will start to forget him, bury him with the past as you move on with your life. But even when he try to be reasonable, the deepest part of his heart still hopes that when he gets out you’d take him back. He’d do anything for you, he’ll try to be the best husband and dad, hell he’d even find a way to move the ocean for you if you ask him to. But you wouldn’t, you love the ocean, the air, the sound of waves crashing, that’s why he bought a 2 mil house by the beach for you in a heartbeat after you said you liked it.

1 year and 117days, things are getting dark for him, late at night as he lay on the hard metal bed, walls surrounding him while thoughts consumed his mind. Too much thought, too many voices that didn’t seem to go away no matter how hard he tried. The counting and the ordering didn’t do much help either. He’s not doing well. Though when the morning comeshe receives your letter, it’s almost like a light pulling him out of the darkness of his soul. You told him that the baby started babbling already. It makes his heart clench when you said you show your baby pictures of him and tell her it’s her daddy. “I don’t want you to be a stranger in your own home” is what you said. Oh, Angel, only if you knew how much it means to him, he wouldn’t survive this long without you. He imagines hearing the word dad as he enters the house, itsounds foreign yet it sent spark of joy through him, he never had a dad growing up. Baby, his baby girl, what’d she be like? Does she cry a lot or all smiley like her mom? What food would she like? She could eat solid food now right? He’d need to learn a lot about how to be a dad after this but he’d be more than happy to.

1 year and 210days, the baby is one year old already. He wants to be there, he needs to be there for her first birthday, apart of him got ripped apart as the day goes by being away from you and the baby. If he has a chance to be there he’d buy her toys, books anything for his baby girl. He’d read her bedtime story as he tucked her in for the night. He’d watch her sleep, count her breath just to stop the voices in his head, to make sure it’s all real and that she’s safe and sound. But that’s just happened inside his head, his mind didn’t know that though, it’s real enough for now.

The reality kicks in later when the guard tells him he has a visitor. When he entered the small room his eyes immediately found you, sitting on the chair across the table with your baby on your lap. You’ve been wanting to visit him again after the birth but you waited for the baby to grow enough so you can take her here too, it’s a special day after all. He doesn’t know what to do, his eyes bore into yours as he stands there, frozen. You could feel your eyes burn, throat tighten, what has this place done to him? What brings the two of you back is the sound of the baby babbling “dadaa” as she points at him. Shit, this is real, he’s not dreaming and now his world is crumbling. He inches closer to you as you get up, then there goes a hug. He wraps his arms around you, pressing a gentle kiss on your temple. He could smell the scent of your hair, feel the softness of your skin. He then looked down at the baby in your arms. God, she’s so tiny, his heart leaps when she reaches out for him. He looks back at you like he’s asking for permission before he hesitantly takes her from you when you nod. Fortunately, the guard that accompanied him were paid by Smurf, almost everyone is paid by her so you get to have this privilege.

The first time that the weight of the baby settled in his arms, his whole world changed, almost like someone woke him up from a nightmare with cold water, it’s real. He could see her eyes, hazel just like his, her tiny nose, suddenly he’s hyperaware of everything, it’s too much for him to process. You look at him with the baby, notice the feather-light kiss he pressed on her head, he wouldn’t want to hurt her in any way. The sight fills the void in you, you missed him terribly.After a few moments he hand her back to you before sitting down on the chair across from you. When you’re seated with the baby, you reach out for his hand, hold it in yours, thump rubbing his knuckle before you start talking.

“We missed you, Andy.” You smile softly at him. He’s now glancing away, guilt written all over his face.

“I miss you too, Angel.” He mumbles before finally looking back at you, giving that desperate gaze that makes your heart flutter. “I-I wish I could be there for you.” He let out a shaky sigh, pausing for a moment then he blurted out. “Do you think it’s possible for me to start over? I’ll do everything you asked, I promise. It’s just- you’re the only one who really cares about me. I can’t-.” His voice cracked, shaking his head before looking down at the ground.

“Hey, Andrew look at me.” You squeeze his hand gently. “Of course, we can start over together, alright? I’ll be waiting for you no matter how long it takes and I’m sure our baby girl will want you back too.” You assure him. He smiled, it’s small almost unnoticeable but it’s the first time in months.

The conversation continued for an hour or so, during that time you never let go of his hand, you kept him grounded. He didn’t want this to end, neither do you but when the time comes you both have to say goodbye and go back to your own world.

1 year and 238days, on this exact day is the day he asked you out, not knowing his life would change for the better. Years ago he was obsessed with Cath and the fault love he feels for her. He went to buy her flowers, maybe it’s fate considering that at the time you didn’t have much event to work on, so you opened your small flower shop to keep yourself busy. You always thought whoever he buys flowers for must be the luckiest woman ever since he came back week after week for 3months.

He didn't know since when his feelings for Cath shifted but the day Cath told him it was weird for him to give her flower she didn’t feel as hurt as he thought it’d be. It takes him all night staring out the window to know the reason he keeps buying her flowers is because he wanted to see you, to hear your words telling him how nice it is for him to get flower for the woman he loves or he thought he did. The next day he comes back to your shop, though not for flowers but to take his chances and ask you out. You were surprised but you said yes.

It makes him smile thinking about the good old days, he could still hear your words echo in the deep chamber of his memory, your scent too but it’s fading, so is the warm spread through his body where your hand once held. The small piece of you he has with him now is your letters and his engagement ring. He’s grateful they let him keep his ring.

2 years 3days, for the first time ever, he called. He can’t bear pushing you away any longer, the precious part of him still clings onto you and every time he pushes you away he’s back to Pope. He just wants to be your Andrew.

When you pick up the phone the panic in your voice is obvious. You ask him if he's okay, if he’s hurt. “No, just talk, please” Was all he said. It confuses you, he never calls, why would he call now if it’s not emergency, yet you keep talking.You hope he’d call you more, the sound of his voice is something you never want to forget.

Sometimes when you couldn't sleep, you’d ask him to talk. You’d lie your head on his chest, listen to the steady heartbeat and the way his chest rumbles as he speaks. It was something he learned to love. For him it’s not as simple. At the beginning of your relationship when he couldn’t sleep he didn't dare to ask for your comfort, he’d rather lie there and watch you sleep than be vulnerable. But after 6months in he’d grown comfortable enough to ask for it, then he realised it’s better than he could imagine.

3 years and 19 days, he’s out. The smell of fresh air has never been this good. He had been waiting for this day for so long and he knew the only place he ever wanted to be after this was back home with you.

[mjpens]

Happy Mohabbot Monday :)

[holdmelikeagrudgee]

fresh out the slammer

about: andrew cody has been locked up for three long years and all he wants to do is see his wife

warnings: 18+, smut, slight sub!pope, slight dom!reader, canon divergence, 

word count: 1833

a/n: every time I hear this song I think of him 

Sixteen seconds. Sixteen seconds behind his brothers that ended in three years away from you.

You and Andrew had grown up in each other’s orbit. Since you were kids he’d been a constant in your life, an ever steady presence in your life. It had always been Pope and you, attached at the hip. 

In a way you seemed to balance each other out. He was quiet, a bit awkward (which you’d always found endearing) while you were outgoing, playful even. 

When you had gotten older and he’d been thoroughly sweet-talked into leaving the nest he’d agreed. He’d put a shiny rock on your finger too. His wife. He loved being able to call you that. His.

Three years away from you had been hell for him. 

All he seemed to do was think about you. Talk about you. Wait for your visits, for your letters. You had plagued his thoughts even when he had been at home, sharing a bed with you, spending nearly every moment you could together. It was even worse now. 

You had just gotten home, car pulling into the driveway of your beach front home. You trudged up to the front door. Ever since he’d been gone the place had been off. Just something that wasn’t quite right (but this time it felt wrong for a different reason). 

The first red flag was when you stepped into the front room. You dropped your keys into the bowl and hung your purse up. You hadn’t even noticed that the shoe rack had been organized, something you never bothered to do. You just toed off your sandals and left them in the middle of the walkway. 

What you had noticed was the change in the rest of your house. The kitchen counter, which had once held your mug of leftover morning coffee, was empty. And all the dirty dishes in the sink were clean. The place was practically spotless. The living room blankets had been folded neatly. Even the coffee table books were straightened out. 

You just assumed it had been Smurf. Your mother-in-law had always been the overbearing sort, showing up unannounced and letting herself in even if she didn’t have a key. But every time she did, she tidied up. A habit, you figured. Her boys were a bit helpless when it came to taking care of themselves. The only one who was neat was Andrew. 

Living with him, he had always been the one to clean up the house. He always grumbled about how messy you were but even if you did attempt to help him, it never met his standards. So the place hadn’t been spotless since he’d gone to prison. 

That should’ve set the alarm bells off in your head, but it didn’t. Smurf had never been so thorough. 

Blissfully unaware of the surprise waiting for you, you made your way through the house to your bedroom. 

You froze in the doorway. Your heart pounded in your chest as you saw him sitting, on a crisply made bed. Your first instinct had been to panic, seeing a man in your bedroom. But you had quickly realized the ‘him’ in question was your husband. 

“Andrew?” you breathed out. 

He stood. It was like he stole the breath from your lungs. He didn’t have to do anything. He was just there. 

His movements seemed hesitant as he stood up, shifting his weight from side to side as he waited. His hands were curled into first, hanging awkwardly by his sides. He didn’t seem to know what he was doing. He felt out of place in his own bedroom after three years. But it wasn’t like anything had really changed (except for him). You still left your coffee on the counter and dirty dishes in the sink without rinsing them. His side of the bathroom was untouched, closet too. And you still looked at him like that – like he was worth looking at.

When you closed the distance, arms wrapped around him, he finally knew what to do. His eyes closed as he buried his face against your neck. He inhaled deeply. 

For a moment all that’s all you did. But soon enough, you pulled back. His fingers instinctively tightened around your hips to keep you close. You hadn’t planned on going far, just enough so that you could see his face. 

“When did you get out?” There were a thousand questions on the tip of your tongue. “I-I mean, you didn’t even tell me you were up for parole. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He frowned. “Didn’t wanna disappoint you,” he mumbled. 

Oh. 

Of course he was worried about you. He’d always been thoughtful when it came to you, always prioritizing your feelings (even when you told him he was important to). 

“I would’ve been fine.” 

Lie. You both knew you would’ve been heartbroken if he got denied parole again. You couldn’t help but get your hopes up every time he was eligible, like maybe he’d get to come home. And he couldn’t bear to see those hopes get crushed again. So he didn’t tell you.

He just shrugged, tucking his face in the crook of your neck once more. All he wanted was to be close to you. He’d been craving you for three years now – your touch, your scent. Your visits, letters sprayed with perfume, had tided him over. But he needed his hands on you. Needed to drown in you. 

He slipped his hands under your shirt, skimming up the bare skin of your back. 

You wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, nails scratching as the base of his scalp. Internally, you mourned the loss of his curls. You’d always adored raking your fingers through them, scratching his scalp as he laid his head in your lap. Or tugging at them just to hear what noise you could get out of him.

He pulled his hands from your shirt, only to begin pulling the material over your head. You lifted your arms up to let him. He tossed it to the side and moved on to your jeans. He fumbled with the buttons in his haste to get them off of you. 

“Relax, ‘m not going anywhere,” you crooned.

You covered his hands with your own, assisting him in getting your jeans off your body. You stepped out of them before gently pushing him backwards. The back of his knees hit the bed and he immediately sat, letting you crawl into his lap. 

His sharp inhale as you settled over the growing bulge in his pants, sent a pang of satisfaction through you. You leaned in to finally capture his lips in a long awaited kiss. His hands pawed at you, hands cupping your ass, as you pushed your tongue past the seam of his lips and he gladly let you. 

You couldn’t resist rolling your hips against his. That only pulled a ragged moan from his lips. You pulled back from the kiss, admiring the way his eyes had screwed shut, teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

You repeated the motion. His fingers dug into the plush skin of your ass. 

“D-don’t tease,” he finally managed to grit out. 

“Why?” you drawled, not stopping the movement of your hips. “Don’t you like it, honey?” 

“Yes,” he said, choking on a moan. He was panting, his chest heaving as he tried to hold onto his semblance of self control. But you were making it difficult. 

You smiled. If it were any other time, you might keep teasing him, just to see how far you could push him. But right now – even if you were acting like he didn’t affect you – you needed him just as much as he needed you. 

“Okay, okay.” You finally stalled as his own hips jerked helplessly chasing more frictions. You tugged at his belt loop. “Let’s get you outta these, yeah?” 

He nodded vigorously, lifting his hips to help. You tugged them down as far as you could in your current position. But before you couldn’t even process what he was doing, he had you on your back on the bed. He quickly took his shirt off and shoved his pants all the way down. 

He settled between your parted legs, tugging your panties harshly to the side. He was practically in awe as he looked down at your glistening cunt. He groaned softly. He had missed this. 

Normally, he’d have taken his sweet time with you, worshipped your pretty pussy thoroughly before ever worrying about his own pleasure. But fuck, it had been so long. Three years since he’d gotten the chance to get off. He hadn’t been able to even get it up in prison, too aware of his surroundings to relax enough. Yet the moment he saw you, his cock was stirring back to life. 

With one smooth motion he was filling you up. You winced at the stretch. It had been too long since you’d taken something as big as him and you hadn’t been prepared. 

He whimpered at the feeling, dropping his head against your shoulder. “Can I-I move?”

Your nails grazed his shoulder. “Yeah, honey, you can. Take what you need..” 

It didn’t take any more encouragement for him to rut his hips against you. His movements were sloppy, fueled by pure want. And it didn’t take long for the burn of the stretch to give way to something toe-curling. 

Your head fell back against the pillow. Your fingers dug into the muscle of his shoulder, digging into the flesh. “Andrew,” you let out a soft moan of his name. 

“Fuck, feels so good. Y’feel so good,” he babbled out a string of praise. So perfect. Missed you. Needed this. The words continued to tumble from his lips, the movement of his hips stuttering as you clenched around him. “C-can’t, ‘m gonna cum.” 

His tears were hot, wet against your shoulder. He trembled as he spilled his load inside you. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He hadn’t meant to cum so fast. He hadn’t finished so quickly since you guys were teenagers. But after so long of waiting, the feeling of your warm, wet, tight, cunt was just too much for him. And he hadn’t meant to start crying but the emotions had just overwhelmed him. 

“Shh,” you hushed him gently, rubbing his shoulder.

He sniffled. “Didn’t make you feel good.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him. 

You didn’t stop rubbing his back until he’d calmed down. As he did, he finally pulled out of you, shifting his weight so he wasn’t crushing you any longer. 

“Wanna make you feel good.” 

You nodded, giving him permission. He settled between your thighs.

It was exactly where he wanted to be – with you, in your bed, the home you shared. Tomorrow he could deal with the rest of the world. He’d tell his family he was home. But right now you were the only thing he was focused on. He was home.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[oxalaia-quilombensis]

give it to me, baby

part two

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.”

[sonarspace]

content. pope cody x pregnant!reader. p in v. oral (f!receiving).

pope cody who has done his research. too much research. has read every article, every forum, every reddit thread about sex during pregnancy and has come to the very serious conclusion that he is simply not going to risk it.

you have explained to him, multiple times, that it is completely safe. your doctor has explained it to him. he nodded very seriously both times and has not changed his position.

it's been four months.

you're five months along and sitting on the edge of the bed with your arms crossed and andrew pope cody has made a lot of mistakes in his life but the look on your face right now might be the thing that finally does him in.

"i'm carrying your baby," you say. very calmly. "and you're not being very nice to me."

he blinks. "what— i'm not— i've been—" he gestures at the apartment, at himself, at everything. "i've been very nice to you."

"andrew."

"i bought you those crackers you like. the specific ones. i drove to three stores—"

"andrew."

"what." he sits down beside you, genuinely panicked now, hands finding yours. "what did i do. tell me what i did."

you look at him. "it's been four months, andy. since we found out."

he opens his mouth. closes it. the tips of his ears go pink.

"i just don't want to—"

"your doctor said it was fine," you say. "my doctor said it was fine. i am telling you it is fine and i am five months pregnant and i am asking you nicely." a pause. "please, andy."

he looks at you for a long moment. at your face, at the round curve of your stomach, at the way you're looking at him like he's the most frustrating person you've ever loved.

"okay," he says quietly. "okay. i just— if anything feels—"

"it won't."

"but if—"

"andrew." you take his face in your hands. "i love you. please."

he is gentle about it. almost unbearably so. his hands careful on your hips, mindful of the bump, taking his time finding an angle that works, his eyes on your face the whole time checking, checking, always checking.

"andy," you breathe when he finally pushes in slow, and the sound that leaves him is quiet and a little wrecked.

"okay?" he murmurs.

"so okay," you manage. "please don't stop."

he doesn't stop. moves slow and deep, one hand splayed warm over your belly like he's protecting you both, pressing his lips to your temple, your cheek, murmuring against your skin. his breathing uneven, being so careful when you can feel exactly what it's doing to him.

his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow easy circles, and your whole body arches into it.

"andy—" your voice comes out wrecked. "i want to last—"

"yeahh," he murmurs. "i know, just—"

but then his hips stutter. just once, just slightly, the careful rhythm slipping, his cock pressing deep against that soft spot inside you and oh. oh you've missed that. your walls clench around him involuntarily and he makes a sound into your neck that's completely undone.

"sorry—" he breathes. "sorry, i just—"

"don't apologize," you manage. "please don't stop—"

but his hips are moving now, less careful, chasing it, four months of holding back dissolving all at once, and he's murmuring something against your skin that sounds like your name and sorry and god you feel so good all tangled together. he doesn't last long. a few more strokes and he's shuddering, hips stuttering to a stop, coming with a low broken groan pressed into your shoulder.

the room goes quiet.

"i'm sorry," he says immediately. "i'm so sorry, i didn't—"

"andy."

"i was supposed to—"

"andrew." you take his face in your hands. "it's okay. just fix it."

he nods, earnest and a little frantic, and his thumb finds your clit immediately, rubbing tight circles while he pulls you into a kiss. his tongue slides in, kissing you languidly, his hips rolling just slightly, cock still buried inside you, pressing against that spot with every small movement. the combination of his thumb and the slow drag of him has your walls fluttering, and you moan into his mouth and he swallows it like he needed it, hips nudging deeper, until you're clenching around him and coming apart against his lips.

he pulls back and looks at you.

"better?" he asks.

"getting there," you say. "i'll really forgive you if you make me come one more time."

he slides down without another word.

his mouth finds your clit and he suckles at it soft and slow, lips closing around it and drawing it in, tongue circling steady and devoted like he has nowhere else to be. your thighs press against his shoulders, fingers twisting in his hair, hips rolling up against his mouth until you're shaking and coming apart properly, his name spilling out of you.

he presses one last kiss there and climbs back up.

"forgiven?" he asks quietly.

"completely," you breathe.

[sleepingbeautiiies]

When Did You Get So Hot? - Animal Kingdom SMAU - PT. 3

+18 MDNI

pt. 2 / pt. 4

summary: reader attends an infamous cody family party!

content: pope cody x fem!reader, age gap (reader is around deran's age), reader is a little tipsy so she loses a bit of her filter, reader is still scared and horny for pope (a little less scared this time around), punching!, baz full on being a creep (we hate baz fr), pope being protective, craig trying to get with reader (as a joke), baz trying to get with reader (actually)

a/n: NO TAG LIST RN! this is the start of me using instagram posts! i highkey love them. okay fr the next 3 chapters are sooooooo good, im beyond excited for you to read them. chapter 6 in particular is BEEFY.

ps: no tag list right now, theres some blog termination talk in regards to tag lists, so i'm holding off. also if you dont like the outfit i chose, consider it a placeholder for something you do like!

[keenanmcateerart]

low honour arthur

[rr-after-dark]

CONGRATULATIONS 👏👏👏👏

my humble request:

🍕🍻🍼 for Titus !

hurt/comfort//possessiveness/protectiveness//pregnancy//titus danforth

married, pregnant reader, on-screen violence against a would-be attacker

2.5k

oops turned into pretty much a whole fic!

"What a beautiful venue," you coo, twirling the sheer petal pink parasol over your shoulder as you take in the grand estate where your husband's cousin is having her wedding. You've been staying in one of the main house's wings since last night, but your arrival was late, so this is your first time getting to see all the stately old stone and bright blooms up close. Reaching the ceremony space, mostly full with waiting guests, you murmur, "Not as beautiful as ours, of course, but pretty."

Titus chuckles under his breath and guides you forward, toward the ushers, by the small of your back, his large hand sturdy and commanding. "Careful, darling, they don't have our means. Wouldn't want to come across as haughty given the company."

"Oh, I wouldn't?" You give him a teasing grin. "You're the one who insisted we land the helicopter on the grounds yesterday."

"That was just practical," he replies, trying to conceal his smile as you wait for other guests to be seated. "Can't have my pregnant wife traveling to and from airports like some pauper."

You step onto your toes and kiss his cheek. "You spoil me."

He touches your chin to keep you a moment, tilting you into a proper kiss. "Always."

The usher waits patiently for him to stop showing off

"Mr. Danforth, Mrs. Danforth, welcome," the usher greets, clearly prepped on all the guests. You vaguely recognize him as an existing employee of Titus' extended family. "Let me take you to your seats on the bride's side. And, if you don't mind my saying, congratulations on the pregnancy. Everyone in the family is thrilled."

"That's very sweet," you reply politely as he directs you to your seats at the very end of the second row. "We're finally having our boy."

"After three girls? How exciting." The usher smiles and he's doing a good job making it look earnest. "Here are your seats; enjoy the ceremony and don't hesitate to find me or another members of staff if you need anything through the day."

Titus tilts his head, debating offense as he looks at the two chairs. "Darcy didn't place us on the aisle?"

That's the sort of thing that really, really matters in the Danforth family -- Titus is the wealthiest, the most successful, the most powerful, so he ought to be front and center -- but it's the kind of thing you couldn't care less about. As you sit yourself down at the end seat and discreetly remove your too-tight kitten heels, you rub the back of Titus' hand to encourage him to drop it.

The usher lowers his voice to complete deference -- he's definitely been told that Titus is someone he ought to be nervous around -- and replies, "The bride and wedding planner thought that, perhaps, Mrs. Danforth, being in the final few weeks of her pregnancy, might be more comfortable with quicker access to the ladies' room, which is just past this closest door. If they were incorrect in that assumption, then-"

Titus holds his hand up, cutting him off. He rolls his shoulders. His annoyance fades as he accepts the act of thoughtfulness, something out of place in the stuffy environment all about appearances. "Of course. Thank you."

As the usher scampers anxiously away, Titus sits on your other side and presses a kiss to your temple. You bat your lashes sarcastically at him and needle, "I thought we didn't want to look haughty and here you are complaining that your cousin didn't seat you on the aisle at her own wedding."

Titus nips your earlobe affectionately. "Don't forget that you're the woman with the most social status at this thing. You ought to be in every photo -- for Darcy's sake. Your presence elevates the entire affair to a level of celebrity that would benefit her and her new husband while they try to make their social debut."

You turn your head and kiss him again. "Right, always so magnanimous. Nothing to do with wanting everything to know how important you are and how virile your seed is keeping me pregnant half of the last six years."

"You're vulgar," he hisses, trying hard not to laugh. You're the only person allowed to tease him like this and he loves you for it, but it's still not good form at a wedding. "Put your shoes back on, sweetheart, or we'll never hear the end of it."

You pout but slide your swollen feet back into the adorable pastel heels. "Fine, but I want a foot massage before bed."

"You know I'm going to be up late tonight," he says quietly, alluding to the festivities to come tonight.

You cross your arms across your chest and push out your lower lip. "Then hire someone in."

"Whatever you want," he assures softly. Then he takes your hand, folds it with his, and chuckles, "Who made you such a spoiled brat?"

Resting your head on his shoulder as the officiant strides down the aisle to begin the service, you murmur, "That would be the man who proposed with the million-dollar pink diamond. Now hush and smile and pretend you like weddings and not just the bloodbath afterwards."

The wedding is absolutely gorgeous, a tear-jerker followed by a reception grand and star-studded enough to draw a small flock of paparazzi trying to crane their cameras over the tall stone fences. It stretches into the night, but you retire early because your back is aching and the baby wants junk food. You give Titus a kiss on the cheek, embrace the bride and groom, and accept a myriad of well-wishes from the countless people who'd been waiting for your attention throughout the afternoon and evening. Titus had been right about one thing; whenever you attend these events, your status as Mrs. Danforth makes you a hot commodity. It can be thrilling and fun and energizing, but tonight it's just exhausting.

You head into the west wing of the main mansion on the estate, where cousin Darcy reserved a spacious and comfortable suite for you and Titus over the weekend. After a long bath and a foot massage from a masseur Titus managed to order over the phone, you crawl into the king-sized bed in a fluffy robe and scroll through streaming services for a while. The night will probably be loud with gunshots and screams, so you want the background noise to distract you.

A few minutes into the romantic comedy you picked out, you see a large torch light up on the far side of the property, signaling the start of the hunt. You draw the curtains and turn up the volume. You spend the movie half-dozing and half-watching, not quite comfortable enough to sleep but not quite awake enough to do much of anything else.

Right before the big love confessions, your stomach growls and you pause the movie. The baby rolls around against your ribs and you mutter, "You want moose tracks again, huh? You're just like your father."

Then you haul yourself out of bed, put on your slippers, change into a pastel blue silk camisole and shorts set, and tiptoe through the house toward the kitchen. Darcy had made it clear you had free rein of the place, but you're still careful not to disturb since you don't know who else might've been invited to sleep in any of the other wings.

You're six large spoonfuls into a tub of ice cream that you're sure Titus had ordered in just for you when you hear a door open and shut nearby. Your heart rate starts to climb. Titus assured you that nobody would be in or out of the guest wing of the estate during the hunt and that had always been the case at every event you'd attended thus far.

Something is wrong.

Someone is inside.

You don't doubt your instincts for a second. You take your phone from your pocket and text Titus all the information he needs: Kitchen.

And then a hand is covering your mouth, the other slapping your phone away. You can taste dirt on the man's fingers and you know it must be the groom, Darcy's new husband, trying to survive his hunt. He whispers against your ear, sounding frantic and sincere, "I'm not gonna hurt a pregnant lady, but you've gotta stay quiet, okay?"

You nod against his hand. You aren't scared, but you're practical. No need to make a scene or put yourself at risk. He lets go of you. You try to scramble a few steps back, but he holds onto your wrist. Keeping your voice low and firm, you tell him, "Let me go."

His flighty eyes scan from you to the door and all around the large kitchen, peeking through windows and trying to come up with a path out. "Mrs. Danforth, right? You're- you're Titus' wife. I remember you. You can- you can help me, can't you? I mean, you don't think all this is right. You can't. Or you'd be hunting too, yeah? Let's just- You can help me. Please help me."

You look him up and down slowly. You're not unsympathetic to his situation, but you're honest: "I survived my wedding night hunt fair and square. You can do the same. Find somewhere to hide and wait out the sunrise. It's worth it to be a part of this family. This world." He's still holding onto your wrist a little too hard for your liking. "Let me go back to my room. Things are going to be a lot worse for you if they find you in here."

He scoffs and shakes his head. "Worse than dying?"

"There are things worse than death." You try to tug your arm away but he keeps his grip. From the crazed look in his eyes, you know he's trying to figure out how to use you as a chess piece. "The only way out of this is to hide out and make it until morning. You only have a few hours left. But if Titus sees you with me, then-"

Down the hall, a glass door shatters. Hurried footsteps approach.

You urge him, "Go on. It's your last chance to do the right thing for yourself."

"So we're gonna have to do this the hard way," the groom grunts. As the footsteps reach the other side of the kitchen door, he grabs you tight, using you as a human shield. His free hand snatches up the closest kitchen knife, which he holds flat against your neck, eliciting a whimper you wish didn't sound so pathetic. Against your ear, he orders, "Stay calm and help me get out of here and we'll both be okay."

Setting your jaw, you inform him coolly, "You just signed your death certificate."

The door swings open. Your husband, broad and tall and silhouetted like the angel of death, stands there with his oversized pick catching the light. God, he's beautiful with his silver curls and his tuxedo.

It's not like a police show where there's a negotiation with the hostage taker. Titus doesn't grow scared and wide-eyed and hesitant when he sees your position. From decades of experience, Titus knows that the best way to take control of a situation is to never lose it in the first place. He strides confidently and quickly across the kitchen, knocks the groom's elbow hard enough to make him drop the knife -- it nicks you superficially as it clatters down -- and then yanks you away from him. He manhandles you behind his tank of a body and then descends on the other man.

You almost feel bad for him. Almost. There's no fighting with or against Titus. There's only being attacked by Titus. You've never seen him take so much as a punch from an opponent, too brutal and forceful and sure in his movements to let them have even a split second of dominance.

"One fucking rule," Titus growls as he holds the man against the wall by his throat. "If you'd followed that one goddamn rule, you could've walked out of here in the morning." He smashes the man's head back into the exposed brick. Hard. "All we said was 'don't go in the residential wing.' That was the only instruction. A hundred acres of property for you to hide away on and you still-" another bash to the head "-come in here and scare my poor wife." The next strike against the wall makes the man go limp. He's groaning and gurgling, but he slumps onto the ground instead of fighting. Titus spits on him. "Pathetic urchin."

For good measure, Titus hefts his pick and swings it into the groom's knee, certain to completely incapacitate him. With the writhing, bloodied, agonized figure hobbled on the ground, Titus turns around and scoops you up into his arms. You're perfectly fine, really, but he still hoists you into a protective bridal carry and takes you back toward your suite. In the hall, his sister Ursula appears, the rest of the hunters a few paces behind her, having followed Titus far behind.

Titus orders, "He's in the kitchen. Take care of it."

Ursula nods and raises her gun.

That's all there is. Your husband takes you to the suite, locks the door behind you, and carries you into the bathroom. Setting you on the countertop, he cradles your face between his hands and looks you over. "Did he hurt you, princess?"

"Just this," you reply, bringing your hand to the small cut at the front of your neck. It's small with only one drip of already-drying blood, but you see anger flare in his eyes regardless. You place your fingers over his on your cheek and soothe, "You kept me safe, like always."

Titus shakes his head and seethes, "He made you bleed. I ought to slit Darcy's throat for choosing such a juvenile, weak, pathetic excuse for-"

"Honey." You lean forward and kiss him. Firm. Deep. You feel his shoulders relax and he wraps his arms around you, stepping between your legs. You twine your fingers in his curly hair, press your forehead to his, and say, "I'm okay. Baby's okay. I wasn't scared for a second."

"Of course you weren't," he says with a sigh somewhere between proud and upset. "My brave girl." Then he kneels down, lifts your camisole, and kisses the swell of your stomach reverently. He's always been especially soft with you when you're pregnant, elevating you from his princess to his queen. When he stands, he rubs your back and says, "I love you so much. More than life. The thought of someone wanting to hurt you…It makes me sick."

"I know," you coo lovingly. "But you'd never give anyone the chance." You drop your hand to your bump and remind him, "And I'd kill someone before I let them hurt our babies. If you hadn't shown up, I was going to throw my elbow into his gut to distract him, disarm the knife, and shove it through his eye so I could run away. I had a plan."

Titus chuckles, showing off his cute pointy canines, and affirms, "Good girl."

"But you always show up," you go on, slipping off the counter and into his arms with a grin, "so I never have to do things like that."

[pope-codys]

Red rosses, brown tulips, rainbow (arrange marriage)

titus danforth / hurt/comfort / arranged marriage

"You've been crying." Titus stated. You looked up from where you sat at the vanity to see your future husband standing in the doorway with a bouquet of white roses. He strode into the room, dropping the roses unceremoniously onto the bed as he approached you. You stared up at him, your eyelashes wet from your tears, and he clicked his tongue before cupping under your chin to tilt your face up more.

"What's wrong?" He asked, his tone a bit more annoyed than caring.

"This isn't how I imagined my wedding day." You explained with a melancholic sigh. Titus dropped his hand and clasped them in front of himself, waiting for the rest of your explanation.

"I've dreamt about the dress and the flowers and the colour scheme since I was young, and there was nothing in my plans about being told one morning that my marriage had been arranged for me and I was expected to be married by nightfall. I thought I'd have some choice in the matter. Is it too much to ask that I pick who I marry?" Your eyes went up to Titus' face and you saw him bristle a bit at your words. You sighed, not meaning to offend him. You knew Titus through the Le Bail cult, you'd spent time together at parties and other cult weddings, and maybe if you had been given a choice of men to pick from you'd have landed on Titus, but that wasn't what happened.

"I'm sorry, it's not about you. It's that my family sold me off like cattle and took away my choices like I don't matter. I just feel so powerless." Titus paused for a moment, mulling over your words before he extended a hand to you.

"Come with me." You took his hand and followed him without protest, all the way down to the storage rooms in the basement of the Danforth Estate. Titus walked down the endless rows until he stopped at a large cabinet and threw the doors open. Inside was multiple weddings dresses, perfectly preserved in their bags and temperature controlled cabinet.

"They might not be the dresses you dreamed of when you were young but at least you can pick the one you want. All the dresses in the cabinet should be your size." You stood there stunned for a moment, overcome with the kindness of the gesture. In a moment of courage and gratitude, you turned to Titus, took his face in your hands, and drew him to you for a kiss. Titus' hands went to your waist, holding you close as you kissed him determinedly on the lips. You pulled back after a moment, resting your forehead against his.

"I didn't want our first kiss to be something else my family arranged for me." Titus nodded slowly in understanding, his dark eyes pinning you with his stare. Titus cupped your face firmly, making sure you were listening.

"Starting today you'll never be powerless again. You'll be a Danforth and I'll be your husband. We'll rule the whole world together if it suits us. You'll be completely untouchable and your family will have to answer to you. If they think this marriage guarantees them favour or safety, they have another thing coming. I can wipe them from the face of the Earth, you just need to ask." Most people would have found Titus' words terrifying, but you found comfort in them. You never had to worry about anything again, never had to watch your back or look over your shoulder because Titus would be right there.

Maybe this marriage wouldn't be so bad after all.

[slytherclaw1978]

the way I’d low-key bounce on it after he threatened the entire world for me

[harrisonknott]

[mcthsman]

pope cody sleep headcanons.

i keep thinking about that one scene in s1 where pope cuddles with smurf and just… urgh.

andrew 'pope' cody who doesn’t sleep very well but goes to bed at the same time as you, and doesn’t get up until you do. it’s his favorite part of the day, really, getting to hold you while you sleep, your warm body pressed to his side or his chest or his back. 

andrew 'pope' cody who wouldn’t touch you the first few times you share a bed, afraid of overstepping — afraid you’d go rigid at his touch like smurf does — and it always feels like nothing short of a miracle when you grab his hand and pull it to you: his palm between the valley of your breasts, his chest pressed to your back, your hair tickling his nose. it’s comfortable and not at the same time, half of his body going numb but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

andrew 'pope' cody who doesn’t get this sort of quiet and softness anywhere else other than your bedroom. he fights off sleep as long as he can to keep watch over you and, even though he always wakes up at the crack of dawn, he keeps his body incredibly still until your alarm goes off, just feeling your body on top of his, your head on his chest or your nose pressed to his bicep.

andrew 'pope' cody who whines and clutches to you when you try to get up in the middle of the night. you chuckle when you push him away, telling him you’re about to pee yourself— he relents and lets you go, eventually. he almost wants to ask to tag along, but he doesn’t voice those feelings, always afraid you’ll finally see him as the creep everyone else does.

andrew 'pope' cody who always loved summer but now resents it because heatwaves make you crabby and you don’t let him crowd you in his sleep anymore. so he buys an ac and blasts it in your room every night so you’re cold enough to cling to him again.

andrew 'pope' cody who will sometimes shimmy down the bed and put his head on your chest to feel your heartbeat, who wraps his legs around yours like an octopus and who counts your breathing instead of sheep when he has trouble sleeping.

and then you, who doesn’t sleep all that well afterall. who wakes up in the middle of the night when pope is fast asleep and traces his face with your fingers, memorizing the way he looks so carefree, how his lips don’t purse and his brows don’t frown while he’s unconscious.

you, who pretends to sleep in even in the mornings you wake up before your alarm just to feel andrew’s body pressed against yours, his nose on your shoulder and his arms caging around you.

you, who can tell pope is having a nightmare by the way his muscles tense, who will pull him out of it and then hold him for the rest of the night, peppering kisses between his shoulderblades as he clings to this new, happy reality with blood-soaked fingers.

taglist: @ptolemaea444 @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @shadowqueen2024 @daniel-bruhhl @ohtiramisuu @honey-moon-13 @pearlessance @mytearsricochetm @taniamiller @pedroncigarettes @clocksonthewall79  @speaktothehandpeasants @msboblikestoread @h-the-comet @goodvibesonly421 @iloved1lfs0 @anqieluv @deathbyvex @callsignmagnolia @amourflores @madmelz @lunavelho @damoclesdarling @cosmosnkaz @desuidesu @realultracunt @angelbunny222 @realwhoreforfictionalmen @uhhhhokayyyyy @dmclazybread @peachiestevie @laylasyce @xoxoloverb @franche06 @vicky066 @aoi-warrior @luluskye @artsymaddie @infiremejoon @cliffsideileen @paleberrystargirl @bedbugism

[groovyangelkisses]

“and where do you think you’re going?” andrew jokes, holding his widespread stance against the kitchen island as his head swivels to follow you. his tight, gray t-shirt clings to his arms that bulge as he watches you flit about the living room. “my nail appointment” you chirp out happily, jingling your car keys as you look for your sunglasses. “baby, have you seen my sunnies?” “here.”

andrew pulls a wad of cash out of his jeans, the stack held together by a pink rubber band. pulling out a few $20s, he puts them in your hand before straightening his stance as he stretches his neck and body. his shirt rides up, exposing the tanned freckled skin of his belly, and your face heats at the fading hickies.

you’re well versed in how to respond to your generous husband. he hates when you refuse money, hates it even more when you look guilty taking it. so you smile, a genuinely happy toothy grin, and lean forward to kiss him. “mmmmmwah! thank you baby! ”

andrew’s ears are tickled pink, his strong, veiny arm coming around your waist to cuddle you to him as you peck his cheek over & over. settling on his lips, he whines, holding you close before smacking your ass as you walk out. shaking your excessive keychain, you squeal happily as you walk out.

before continuing his conversation with his brothers, pope calls out “do you have enough gas?” “um… yeah! it’s like one notch-ish above E!” you continue walking out, oblivious to his anxieties.

if the ac works & the radio & gas & brakes, what else could be wrong? it’s a luxury to be so unbothered, a luxury only andrew can afford his girl to have!

shaking his head with a smile, he sighs, grabbing his keys and following out after you, “go wait by my car princess, ‘m driving you.”

on the way out the door, he has you tucked into his side with his arm thrown lovingly around your neck. tickling you with his whispers as you walk, he tells you “gonna give me a fuckin heart attack one of these days, you know that?” and when you giggle in response to his teasing, he squeezes you tighter to him, “what color are you gonna get? you doin’ your toes too?”

[k1tk4ttt]

How I feel reading smut while being scared of intimacy in real life

[richeeduvie]

When Jack takes off his prosthetic, he has no time to prepare himself for how his daughter looks at the most complicated part of his body with her toddler curiosity.

Chubby has seen her father without his leg before, obviously. There are only so many ways to preserve mystery when she doesn’t believe in closed doors, and Jack’s routine of (slight and tight) relaxation involves removing Leggy, his prosthetic. Leggy is her friend, and sometimes it needs cleaning. She gets to put stickers on the thing and tries feeding it yogurt. 

But even with all the familiarity she has with her dad’s lack of leg, you and Jack should’ve expected the question to be asked at some point.

“Chubs, c’mon. You need your pajamas.”

“No pee-jams. No!”

Sitting on your bed in her diaper, Chubby keeps escaping your attempts to pull pajamas over her head. 

“You’re naked.”

She looks down at herself, considering your accusation. 

“I get diaper. Not naked.”

…Well. She got you there. 

“She got you there—”

“I know, Jack.”

Jack sits at the edge of the bed as he unfastens his prosthetic, and you glare at him. He pulls it free. 

“She sleeps between us half the time. The body heat of two parents and enough blankets to suffocate a horse works well to keep her warm. But sweetheart, listen to your mother—”

When he sets his prosthetic against the nightstand, Chubby stops trying to crawl away. She sits between the pillows and looks at Jack’s residual limb. The sudden stillness gets your attention first. 

When Jack notices, his hand moves to rest over the end of his thigh, as if there’s something indecent about her seeing too much of the part of him that she has literally helped you clean before. 

She tilts her head. 

“Dada, where leg go?”

Jack glances at his prosthetic, propped up. “Right there.”

“No. That’s Leggy. Other leg. Where it go?”

You lower her pajama shirt into your lap as you know Jack too well to understand that the muscles in his jaw settle in a way that tells you he doesn’t want to answer the question. That he’s arranging his body around her question, and you can’t stop him. 

Even if you could, you wouldn’t, because if you know your daughter well enough, too, she’ll know how to charm the hurt into something beautiful. 

“I don’t have it anymore. I lost it. You know that.”

He’s been better than good about his leg long before you. He’s let Chubby knock on the socket like it was a door.

...He pretended to answer. But this ain’t a joke. His daughter is looking at him and realizing that his body is different. 

He goes still, but he doesn’t stop her when she reaches out and presses a hand to his thigh. 

“Does it hurt?”

“No, not right now.”

She plops down next to him, criss-cross-applesauce style. Jack looks at you, but not to plead, which is obvious. He’d probably chew off his other leg rather than ask to be rescued from a conversation with his little girl. But…you see the clear uncertainty, because you’re so good at making big things fit inside small, soft words. 

You just nod. 

Go on. Tell her there was a world where you existed without either of us and almost stopped existing altogether. Maybe leave the parts that still visit you in your dreams for when she’s older. All she knows is that you kiss me too much and sometimes uses a scary voice when I accidentally leave the door unlocked. 

“My leg got hurt pretty badly.”

“Mommy fix with Leggy?”

Oh. That’s a heartkiller. Jack looks at you again, swallowing. 

“No, baby. I didn’t know Mommy yet.”

Chubby turns to stare at you. She’s disturbed by this. You understand totally. A world in which you and Jack did not know each other feels unreal to you, too.

“Mommy not there? Who fix you?”

“Doctors helped me. They tried to fix the hurt leg, but it was hurt too badly. So they had to take it away to help the rest of me get better.”

Chubby stares down at the rounded end of his thigh, her small fingers curling into his shirt.

“You were sick like me? Like Mommy when she cough?”

“Sicker than that. I was in the hospital for a while.”

“You cry?”

…Oop. That is also a heartkiller, the way she says it. The way Jack sighs.

“Probably.” 

“You were scared?”

Jack lowers his eyes at Chubby’s question. He feels as much as he feels he should lie. He could easily…well, not easily, but he could tell her that Dada knew everything would be okay and that he was brave. 

But she deserves more than that. She may be too small for the truth of fear, but she doesn’t deserve some false version of her dad. That’ll make the truth harder to take down the line. He doesn’t know if he could handle that. 

“Yeah, I was scared.”

Chubby’s face goes blank before it twists at the fact she’s just learned that her father can hurt. Of course, you should expect a tantrum or a wail for her dada, the immovable object of her life. The broad chest runs into, and the deep voice that makes the monsters beneath her bed dumb for even trying. 

Her eyes begin to tear up. Her lips begin to pout. You instinctively shift closer, but Jack rubs her back first. 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay.”

Anyway, Jack should think it beautiful and flattering that his being scared is harder for her to understand than his having one leg…considering it’s the most his heart can do before it dies on itself at her cries. 

…The way yours is right now. 

“Dada scared!”

“I was, but that was a long time ago.”

Her lip trembles as she sniffles.

“Your leg gone, you almost gone?”

…You’re not sure if Chubby even knows what she’s asking. Gone to her usually means work, or when you have to use the bathroom, and she can’t handle it. Or when she throws bun-bun under the couch. 

But, apparently, she’s put enough of the pieces together, and when you look at Jack, you think he’s the man that must’ve been in that hospital bed. 

You lay your hand over his before your tearducts can follow your daughter’s.

“I’m here now, baby—”

“No! Don’t go Dada! No Dada go!”

Chubby scrambles into him and locks her arms around his neck. Jack hugs her, which is too easy considering how tiny she is. 

“I’m right here, baby.”

“No go.”

“I’m not going anywhere right now.”

You hear the care he takes with the last two words, because Jack never promises forever, not with the future that he watches like a hawk. And as annoying as it is, you understand his point. 

But when your baby girl lifts her head and looks into his eyes, you understand the way he breaks in on himself. 

“Stay, Dada.”

And jeez, how can he not at that? You, though? Breaking inward—silently, that’s not your style. 

“...Dada’s not going anywhere. Can’t. I’ve got two girls to take care of.”

You sputter, rather.

[stanrosadosgirl]

Stan Rosado

MoodBoard <3

[mcthsman]

pope runs away with his girlfriend and leaves his family behind. Years later he reconnects with deran bc that's his baby brother, he's shocked to see a little army of kids when pope invites him to visit

GIRL the way i could not stop thinking about this… i was just going to write a lil’ paragraph and then suddenly it got way too long so i put everything under a read more.

warnings: mdni, pure domestic fluff, pregnant afab reader, silver fox pope cody.

word count: 1.2k.

you’re the one that convinces andrew to track down his brother. he tells you a lot of stories — both the good and the bad ones — about their childhood and you think it’s a shame that deran isn’t around to meet his nephew and niece; you understand why they broke contact, of course you do, but you really believe that now that they’re both out from underneath smurf’s thumb, things will be different. so, because andrew would do literally anything you ask, he tracks down deran and gives him a call. deran is in bali with adrian and it takes them a while to set up a proper meeting but the two of them talk every week after that initial call— it’s stilted and awkward, both of them wanting to reconnect but unsure how to go about it; they were never close, pope tells you one evening after a particularly uncomfortable call. no. deran and craig were close. pope was just… their big brother. the one they ran to when they needed someone beat up, not the one they would go to for small talk and human connection. 

deran flies home three days before christmas. you don’t live in oceanside anymore, but you’re still in california: up north, where the beaches aren’t as crowded and twice as beautiful; deran comes by himself and he makes a joke about not wanting to spend the holidays with adrian’s parents but you’re fairly certain he was just looking for an excuse to be with his own family for the first time in years. 

to say he is surprised when he steps through the airport lounge to find three little kids waiting there with a WELCOME UNCLE DERAN sign is an understatement. The sign is big and messy, much like your home life— there are hand prints in red and green adorned around the words, crudely drawn christmas trees adorned in glitter and the ‘e’ in deran is written backwards because each kid wrote one of the words and julia is still learning her letters. 

you’ve never met deran before. pope kept you away from his family when the two of you first started dating and, while you’d been offended at first, it was easy to see the level of damage that his childhood had done to his psyche, so you stayed away. it’s been almost a decade since then though and, apart from andrew, deran is the only one alive— so you pull him into a hug as if you’ve known each other for decades before introducing each of the kids: the twins, theo and ethan, who are both six and absolute menaces and then julia, at just four years old, that looks so much like your andrew as she shies away from deran’s greetings. 

“andy told us so much about you.” you say, unable to hide your smile when andrew himself pulls deran into a long hug; you know how hard it is for him to initiate contact and, although it has mellowed out with the children, it still takes a lot for him to stiffly wrap his arms around his younger brother’s shoulders.

“three kids, huh?” deran asks that evening, long after the children have gone to bed. the three of you sit on the back porch of your home, pope and deran side by side while you sit perched on pope’s lap. deran is on his second beer while you and pope share a glass of iced tea— andrew stopped drinking years ago, before the twins, after he finally managed to find a psychiatrist he could trust. 

“four.” pope says, big hands sprawling over your stomach. “her due date’s in may.”

“holy shit.” deran shakes his head, but the smile that curls around the bottle is a fond one. “pope cody, family man. who would’ve guessed.”

“i knew from the day we met.” you say, then, turning a little from your spot so you could look down at your husband. andrew’s head tilts back against the beach chair and you bring a hand up, tucking a stray curl — more grey than ginger, now — behind his ear. “knew it from the moment i saw how good he was with lena.” 

andrew’s face blushes hard, bright red as it always does whenever you compliment him. he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist and whatever he’s about to say is drowned out by a loud, whiny ‘daddyyyyyy’ coming from the living room. pope is out of the chair before you can even register julia’s voice, his hands gently cradling your hips to guide you back into his seat before he disappears into the house. 

“he’s happy.” deran breaks the silence the two of you fall into. you bite your bottom lip, watching through the window as andrew throws julia over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “i don’t think i’ve ever seen pope unclench his asshole before.” 

you giggle, finishing your tea, knees to your chest— as much as your hardening belly allows you to, anyway. the night sky is bright with silver stars above you, the ocean breeze just enough to make it chilly. you know what deran means, you’ve met the uptight, overvigilant version of andrew, but it’s so far in the past you can barely remember what he was like before.

“he’s loved.” you say, eventually. “i think that’s the main difference.” 

“thank you.” deran tells you. you take your eyes from the stars to look at him, blinking in confusion. “for loving him.” 

you don’t know how to answer that. it doesn’t seem like the sort of action that requires a thank you, it’s not the sort of thing you could ever stop and it surely isn’t labor; but you think you understand, deep down, what deran means. pope hasn’t had people love him — truly love him — before. 

“pope didn’t even tell me he has kids.” deran groans when you don’t say anything, rubbing his forehead. “i’m gon’ have to run around the mall on christmas’ eve to get gifts for the damn brady bunch because the motherfucker didn’t warn me.” 

you bark out a laugh. “it’s alright, deran.” 

“no, it isn’t— i can’t have these kids thinking i’m a shit uncle on our first christmas together.”

“i’m sure you’ll find a way to get him back for it.” 

“oh, i will.” deran turns his head to you, a small grin on his lips. “did he ever tell you about the permanent marker incident?”

“he did.” you point a finger at him. “and you will not ruin my christmas pictures, sir. go sow all of his leg pants shut or something like a normal brother.”

“what’re we talking about?” andrew says, coming back through the sliding glass door. 

“julia alright?” you ask, getting up just so you can crawl back onto his lap. 

“blankie went awol, she dropped him in her sleep. ‘s all good now.”

“we were talking about how much of an asshole my big brother is for not telling me there would be kids in the house on christmas. do you have any idea how much cheaper it would’ve been if i bought their presents from home?”

“deran’s going to get revenge on you for making him fist fight all the other deadbeat uncles that are buying kids toys on christmas eve.” 

andrew snorts, a hand running up and down your thigh. “i know where all the permanent markers are in this house.”

“absolutely not.” you waggle a finger at the both of them. “no permanent markers anywhere visible on photos.”

“your woman’s damn bossy, pope.”

andrew grins up at you. “yeah, she is.”

taglist: @ptolemaea444 @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @shadowqueen2024 @daniel-bruhhl @ohtiramisuu @honey-moon-13 @pearlessance @mytearsricochetm @taniamiller @pedroncigarettes @clocksonthewall79  @speaktothehandpeasants @msboblikestoread @h-the-comet @goodvibesonly421 @iloved1lfs0 @deathbyvex @callsignmagnolia @amourflores @madmelz @lunavelho @damoclesdarling @cosmosnkaz @desuidesu @realultracunt @angelbunny222 @realwhoreforfictionalmen @uhhhhokayyyyy @dmclazybread @peachiestevie @laylasyce @xoxoloverb @franche06 @vicky066 @aoi-warrior @luluskye @bedbugism @anqieluv @artsymaddie @infiremejoon