hi!!! you can call me Ser, i write fluff and sometimes a touch of smut. all my works are × gn!reader unless stated, i mostly write for COD (Johnny/Simon but Gaz is also a fav of mine). currently exploring writing for Andrew 'Pope' Cody from Animal Kingdom!
feel free to submit asks/requests (kindly) and don't be shy to interact, however i will respond at my own discretion!! every comment/reblog is especially appreciated ❤️
t141 + könig and their reaction to sleeping on the couch after an argument
—price
when you banish him to the couch, he could be one of two ways—mature and forces you to talk it out nicely or toxic, flat out refuses, and fucks you back to your senses.
the first way, when the words spill from your mouth, his shoulders slumped with dejection as he steps from the room. no point in arguing when you're worked up. after stewing in your anger for thirty or so minutes, he returns—armed with food—and talks it out with you.
the other way, he flat out refuses to sleep on the couch. i could see him manipulating you with the "I paid for that bed, and I'll sleep in it." you're stubborn, muttering something about you sleeping on the couch then, which is how you end up getting your brains fucked out.
—soap
I imagine soap just pushed your buttons way too much that day. you know how he is sometimes—over the top, hyper, and an all-around instigator. he was looking for a reaction, and he found it—just not the one he wanted.
immediately pouts, acting like a dejected child before he goes on to try and convince you to change your mind. real annoying about it too, doesn't give up until you're at your breaking point.
—kyle
the only one that I see actually accept his banishment with stride. he knows he made you upset, respects the boundary you placed with him and doesn't take it to heart. there's also a big possibility that, by the end of the night, you end up talking it out anyways like mature adults.
he knows you needed to get it out of your system, and you serving punishment to him did just that.
—simon
the second the words leave your mouth, he shuts down. you see the moment he deflates, doesn't try to reconcile, and just accepts it. he doesn't want to upset you further or make you more mad than you already are. simon doesn't respond well to domestic conflict.
the second his back hits the cushions? he's tossing and turning. he barely fits the couch to begin with, and you both learn you need each other to sleep—bonded like a pair of cats.
—könig
he's not fitting on the couch, and that's what makes it more satisfying. maybe he was being too persistent about his horniness, hands wandering too far until you snapped and threw your finger to the couch you know he can't fit.
he whines about it for sure, trying to whip you with puppy eyes and convince you to change your mind. he apologizes until you're sick of hearing it, allowing him back in bed just to get him to shut up.
He'll have you sit on his lap naked, just so you'll get his jeans dirty. Something about it really makes his cock throb.
Or, he'll fuck you on his fingers while wearing his favourite pair of gloves before a mission, just so he has something to lick and smell when he gets lonely—and you do get a helluva fucking when your scent wears off his gloves sooner than usual. As if you can control that.
After one too many punishments for that though, you pushed him down and sat on his face while he wore his balaclava. Practically waterboarding the bloke with your arousal. Simon always loved when you were just as perverted as he was.
The thing that turns you on disgusts you the most? You'll be bent over in your kitchen, garden, laundry; and Simon'll come up behind you, shove his fingers in you before pulling them out before you can properly register what he's doing, walking off and sucking his fingers with a pleased hum.
You've scolded him for it countless times, yet the pervert doesn't care. Smiling at you in a way that from any other man? It would make your stomach twist in disgust. But from Simon? You can't get enough.
And yes, he is in fact the type of guy to pull your asscheeks apart so he can lick his thumb and press it against the spasming ring of muscle,
"If she keeps winking at me like this, I'll have to fuck her too." Growled in your ear while you whine in disgust, as if you don't have a pretty little collection of plugs in the back of your dresser already.
You and Simon just loved pretending like you were being corrupted by him.
⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧
Buy my cat a treat? (•˕ •マ.ᐟ
Might change my divider, and way of colouring text. I dunno guys. Anyway hiiiii lol please don't sound me for not posting until now. Can women be sounded? God I hope not.
pope coming home from a long day and he looks oh so sad so u just sit at his feet and let him play with ur hair while resting ur face on his muscular thigh…..yeah.
Thinking about koala hybrid!reader, who is constantly falling asleep, being free use for the sergeants...
Being a koala, your body just doesn't absorb much nutrients, and you naturally spend your day taking naps around the apartment. It's no issue, given kyle and johnny pay for it so long as you keep it clean while they're on leave. A nice, safe space for you to relax.
Oh, but when they're home? You can't catch a break and it's amazing.
You'll fall asleep scrolling through Instagram on the couch, and wake up to soap grinding against your face post-workout, only offering a "couldn't fuckin' concentrate, thinking o' you." When he notices your awake.
Or when you decide to lie down for your mid-morning rest, and wake up to gaz rutting between your thighs. jerking your body roughly against his hips in a way he never does when you're awake. He gentles a bit when you whine, presses a kiss to your temple "might've left some bruises, sorry love."
Of course, non of that keeps them off you when you are awake. It seems one of them always has a hand on or in you in some way.
"Christ, tight today" soap huffs behind you. two thick, hairy arms wrapped around your torso and bouncing you roughly. You rest your chin on the back of the sofa, rumbling happily.
"Can I get a turn or are you hogging it all night?" Gaz snarks, buy he still plops the bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table and starts the movie.
"Yeah, just give me a second–" soap hisses through his teeth, head tossed back as he savours the orgasm. When he finally goes to help you up, he snorts fondly "fell asleep again. You still want it?"
"And give you a cockwarmer all night? Give it to me."
pope cody rubbing you down with sunscreen, big strong hands running all along your smooth body and groping the flesh greedily as you squirm cuz you just wanna get in the water andy and he’s dragging you back by your wrist when you try to escape—not meanly but definitely manhandling you into place—stay put sweetheart, gotta make sure the sun won’t get ya he’s mumbling and you huff in faux frustration cause as much as you want to dive into the cool water, you love his rough hands gliding along your skin, getting you nice and ready and overpowering you, your sweet and considerate pope
balls pressed against the bottom of your ass as he’s gripping you to his chest and grunting out “i want you to feel me. i want you to feel me so deep in your fuckin’ tummy that you’ll never be able to get rid of me. i’ll be h-here-i’ll be here forever. no one’ll ever touch you here again, you understand me?”
eyes squeezing shut & brow furrowing as his mouth parts in a devastating “oh fu-oh fuck!” at the sound of the squelches :( <3
pope the type to laugh at you struggling under his grip as he chokes you out w his bicep😭😭😭😭😭😭 #ineedthatsobadyoitsnotevenfuckingfunny
sick & twisted because he rarely laughs or even cracks a grin but the second you’re at his mercy, everything is funny …
content <𝟑 .ᐟ 18+, meanie!pope, manhandling / mentions of play fighting, breath play / choking, dirty talk, pet names.
“i wanna try something,” pope grunts above you, in the middle of working you full of his cock. you whimper at the interruption and he squeezes your waist under his heavy palms to settle you. his eyes rake down your bare frame— the arch of your hips, the way you’re laid out on your tummy and waiting for him to make any kind of move. when you peer at him over your shoulder with a pout, he speaks again.
“don’t worry, brat. i think you’ll like it.”
the last thing you’re expecting is one of his beefy arms hooked around your neck. you gasp just as he squeezes a little, eyes fluttering shut and lashes fanning over the tops of your cheeks while you go dizzy. he’s choked you before after you begged him to, but this is different. this is something he’s been thinking about. something that he’s only done a few times during some play fighting, not with actual intent.
his grip tightens. his bicep presses on your throat as his hips finally move against the fullness of your ass once again. deep thrusts that knock the sense out of your brain, all while you’re getting just enough oxygen to remain conscious so he can still hear those mewls and whimpers falling from your glossy lips. you hiccup his name out once, then twice— your hands come up from the sheets to claw at his arm with manicured nails, leaving little scratches and crescents on his freckled skin. only for him to laugh all breathy and deep over your ear.
“hey, hey— what’s wrong, sweetheart?” he grunts, kissing the side of your face as if he isn’t applying more pressure. he gives your throat another good squeeze and although you’re struggling to take in a breath, your cunt flutters around his shaft like silk, “are you puttin’ on a show for me? because your pussy never lies t’me, she’s loving this … think i can make her cum before you pass out?”
Grabbing pope’s ass while he’s fucking you & he comes instantly about it am I right or am I right
oh mine gahdt *little german boy voice*...this is so hot ur so right..this also goes along with my hc that he has sensitive thighs
he'd literally be so overwhelmed with emotions after cumming early when you do it. hes fighting to make eye contact with you, not pulling out as he stares down at your pussy in thought. "you..you ok baby? what got you excited?" you pant, watching his brows furrow as he catches his breath. "i..i-i dunno. m'sorry baby let's keep going."
when he starts back up you see how focused he is, his face tight with concentration. for science, you do it again, bending dow to grab handfuls of his ass cheeks. his hips stutter and he groans again, "baby dont—" he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head, slamming his hips into your cunt. "don't do that, okay? fuck,"
you giggle through your moans, locking your keys around his hips, "you like that andy? hm?" hes pink in the face, eyes squeezed hes soo embarrassed. he wouldn't know what to think.
he'd ask his brothers probably like a week later, ans they wsnt to take it serious so bad but Pope is so stoic. and serious asking about getting his ass grabbed. "has your girl ever done that before?" he asks Craig, who's fighting a smile. "oh yeah, tons of times. I just..I don't think I've came immediately about it." he'd shrug, Pope slugging Darren in the arm when he chuckles.
"i dunno man I think you should just let her fuck your ass and get over it." Pope has left the room.
Tags/warnings: Deran's friend!Reader, touch starved!Andrew (what's new), age gap (reader is mid 20s, Pope is almost 40), slow burn, friends to lovers, touchy reader, physical touch as a love language, injured!pope, a little angst cause it's Andrew, intox reader (she drinks and smokes at one of their parties and gets handsy [cute] with pope, he's a gentleman about it), Pope is just a big ol' simp, cuddling, unprotected piv sex, creampie, [inaccurate show dynamics, mostly cause I didn’t wanna deal with Cath (lover her though)]
Summary: Pope doesn't like to be touched...at least not until he met you.
a/n: my favorite touch starved boy <3
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The first time it happens it's an accident.
There’s people in his house when there shouldn't be.
The music is too loud, the bodies too hot and sweaty.
He’s standing in the kitchen like a weirdo, even he can acknowledge it.
But he truly doesn’t know what to do. Where to go.
He’s been gone for three years. He doesn’t recognize anyone anymore. Where the fuck is he even supposed to start?
It’s your meek “excuse me” that breaks him out of the spell he’s under, gaze finally sharpening as he comes back down to the present moment.
Everything rushes back to him, overwhelmingly. He’s suddenly too aware of it all, especially your timid grip on his bicep as you try to move him out of the way.
The touch doesn’t linger. It’s fleeting, unlike the reality that Pope finds himself in.
You side step around his imposing frame, a shy smile on your lips, one that makes his head spin.
You shouldn’t be nice to him, hell, you shouldn’t be nice to any asshole you don’t know. Did no one teach you—
And then you turn on the kitchen sink, gently cleaning the glass you’ve been using unlike everyone’s disposable, plastic ones.
An air of familiarity courses through him. You’re…comfortable in his home. You’re taking care of the space that no one, not even his brothers, could give two fucks about.
He can’t help but stare, his thoughts rendering him unable to look the other way, to go back to being stoic and uninterested.
If you feel him glaring you don’t let him know it, your body language remaining relaxed all the way through wiping the glass dry and standing on your tip toes to place it back on the shelf above you.
That’s when he moves.
It’s instinctual. His mother’s voice clear in his ear, urging him to help a lady in need.
He steps up, crowds your personal space yet gives you room to escape if you feel uncomfortable.
You turn to him then, your bright eyes meeting his as your fingers barely touch. He instantly forces himself to look away, afraid that he’s going to let the glass fall if he loses himself in your gaze.
“Thanks,” you mumble, shooting him another smile as you settle back down on your feet, the movement shifting you closer against his chest.
It honestly makes Pope dizzy. Feeling your warmth, smelling the faint softness of your perfume.
You don’t turn to move for the millisecond it takes for him to finish pushing the glass into place, perfectly aligned with the others.
It’s only when he too settles back down that you turn to him expectantly.
“You’re welcome.”
Pope guesses that’s what you’re looking for and he’s proven correct instantly as you bless him with another blinding smile.
His stomach does another flip.
Who the fuck are you?
Before he can ask, what he believes to be your name is called because you instantly turn towards the sound.
He commits your name to memory, such a fitting one for such a—
“Angel! There you are!” Daren breaks through the crowd like a lifeline, one that you instantly take, stepping away from Pope and towards him like a magnet.
You settle against his side like you’re meant to be there, his arm leisurely draping over your shoulders in a familiarity that makes Pope’s blood boil with a flurry of emotions he simply cannot pinpoint.
“See you’ve met Pope,” Deran notes and you turn back to Pope with wide eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” you start, tone remorseful. “I had no idea you were Deran’s brother, I would’ve introduced myself.”
You genuinely mean it and it almost causes Pope to snap at you. You don’t owe him anything.
“’s okay,” Pope mumbles instead, his gaze piercing.
“Well it’s really nice to meet you,” you hold out your hand for him to take.
Pope’s jaw clenches. He makes no effort to move, to reciprocate your kind gesture. He can see the disappointment in your face, how it falls instantly. You’re not used to being denied, to being told no, and for a second Pope almost cracks.
But he can’t. He won’t let himself do it.
No, because he knows that the second you give him even an inch of familiarity he will devour you whole.
“Don’t take it personally, angel,” Deran practically glares daggers at him. “He’s not really into that.”
Your mouth curls into a silent oh and Pope shrugs in response.
It’s all he can do to not come across as a complete weirdo instantly upon meeting you, more than he already has.
You copy him, shrugging like you’re unbothered but he knows for a fact you aren’t as your hand instantly retracts back towards you, seeking Deran’s instead.
His fingers interlace with yours like it’s second nature, overly intimate. Pope’s brows scrunch in confusion, barely. Are the two of you…a couple?
“Anyway, I’ll see you around.”
Pope gives you one last grunt of acknowledgement before Deran is pulling you away, back towards the backyard where all the action is happening.
He obviously keeps his eyes trained on you as you leave, on how your jean shorts hug your ass, how your body is sun-kissed and a little burnt from the summer heat wave, how your hair flows effortlessly.
And then you turn to glance back at him for what feels like minutes, your eyes filled with nothing but curiosity.
His eyes force him to blink then and he loses you to the crowd.
Fuck.
The next time Pope sees you, you’re back at the house for a pool day with his family. It’s a small gathering this time around, just their inner circle which apparently now includes you too.
You’re in a striking blue bikini, the color contrasting beautifully against your skin. You’re sitting on one of the lounge chairs, your legs open so a hyper Lena can settle in between them.
You can barely contain your laughter as the young girl tells you a silly story from school, your fingers working overtime to braid her long hair in one of those fancy styles that Pope could never name so that it won’t get too tangled from the pool.
Your laughter hits him like a disorienting grenade. It’s like he's never heard anyone feel joy the way you do. It's infectious, making him wonder if he’s ever actually felt a real emotion in his life.
“There, all done,” you tie up Lena’s hair and give her back a little pat before the girl practically bolts from your embrace, yelling a swift thank you before cannonballing into the pool as everyone cheers.
Andrew’s about to move forward, to settle down beside you, a pull to be near you clouding his senses.
But then Craig has to go and ruin it.
“Me next,” the oaf practically towers over you, settling down between your legs like Lena had, taking advantage of how you haven't moved.
You roll your eyes playfully but don’t complain.
Pope watches as you take his hair out of the messy bun that he’s got it in, gently scratching his scalp. His younger brother moans, causing you to stop and smack the side of his head.
Pope’s lips quirk up into a smirk. Good, set his brother’s straight.
But Craig is not deterred, simply reaching back and squeezing your thigh cockily.
It takes everything in Pope not to lunge forward. He doesn’t understand it, how protectiveness practically flares up in his chest at the sight of someone else’s grubby hands on your soft flesh.
He honestly doesn’t know how Deran lets it happen. They both know his brother so why is he letting Craig be so chummy with you?
Unless…you’re not actually together, together.
Is it possible that you’re just like this with everyone?
You finish braiding his hair then, meanly tossing it over his shoulder so that the tail end of it smacks him on the face.
“There princess,” you tease. “All done.”
Craig flinches as the band hits him, bursting out into a fit of laughter as he stands up and follows Lena’s example, splashing into the pool so hard that he ends up soaking you completely.
Lena laughs as you gasp dramatically. “You meanie!”
“Payback’s a bitch—” Craig starts, quickly correcting himself as you glare at him. “Payback, angel.”
Deran snorts, taking a swig of his beer from his spot at the other side of the pool. A spark of something is set ablaze in your gaze, a playfulness that borders on mischief.
“Oh yeah?” It takes them a few seconds to process what you’re doing as you sprint towards them, throwing yourself in the pool as close to Deran as possible.
Pope audibly snickers as you drench his youngest brother.
The backyard is set ablaze with teasing soon after, every single member of his family sans him and his mother engaging in a water fight for the ages.
Pope settles on the lounge chair that you’ve vacated, your warmth still lingering on the fabric beneath him.
He’s transfixed by you. By the ease in which you can bring lightness to his family, as though you can lift the weight they all carry on their shoulders, even if it’s just for a little while.
Another thought crosses Pope’s mind then — is it possible that you could be like this with him too?
Laughter only turns even more boisterous as you enter the living room, a baking dish in hand.
“Angel!” Both Deran and Craig greet you, your smile beaming as you round the table to say hi to Smurf first. You know the rules of this house well by now, a genuine comfort to Pope who at least doesn’t have to worry about you with his family.
He watches intently as you chat with the older woman, handing her the dish, humble enough to tell her it’s not something as grandiose as the roast she has prepared but you didn’t want to show up empty handed.
His mother smiles at you, her ego fed enough as she stands up and goes to heat it up in the kitchen.
You don’t let her comments get to you, instead you go around the table, saying hello to everyone, your touch always lingering, always soft and playful.
Deran gives you a hug, Craig kisses your cheek affectionately, Baz only gives you a nod in acknowledgement and Pope can’t help but smirk satisfactorily against his beer. You ruffle J’s hair and give Nicky a kiss to her temple.
You’re comfortable, confident, secure in your place within their family. You don’t back down to his mother, you don’t shrink away to Baz’s hesitancy, you—
Your eyes catch him staring from across the room. He’s subconsciously backed away the second he saw you come in, practically hiding in the threshold.
You give him a shy wave over Nicky’s shoulder, a gesture he reciprocates with a grunt and a barely there head bob.
Fuck, he’s even worse than Baz.
But you don’t look at him with the same disdain as you do his half-brother. Instead, something else ignites in your eyes. A challenge, almost, to chip away at the ice around his heart. But little do you know that it’s already melting away, and neither of you can stop it.
You eagerly help Smurf bring the rest of the food out before the entire family sits down around the overflowing table.
You make it a point to sit next to him, to never once let him think that his presence is unwanted, even if he refuses to give you the type of relationship that you want, that you crave.
You fill up his plate without asking him and if you weren’t so damn adorable he’d be angry about it. But he simply cannot be. He just lets you, watching silently as you tell the room a story from a crazy class you had to experience the week before.
Your hands move in tandem with your voice, making it a point to not draw attention to what you’re doing, as if serving Pope food is somehow normal. And for a second he can let himself believe that it is, that you taking care of him is how things are meant to be.
It’s only when Deran whispers something to Craig that has the two snickering that Pope finally breaks free from your spell, mumbling a quick thank you under his breath before you settle down to eat as Lena tells the table what she got up to in school over the week now.
You hum in acknowledgement, listening to his niece intently, like you actually care about her babbling, because you do.
After lunch, the crowd disperses throughout the house, the kitchen settling into a comfortable silence where Pope can finally breathe again.
He’s always relegated to clean up duty, mostly because he likes it that way, it’s something he can control.
“Where do you want these?” You ask, causing him to turn to face you from his spot in front of the sink.
He stammers for a second, blinking away the brain fog that you always seem to bring with you every time you bless him with your undivided attention.
He crooks his head towards the left side of the sink and you move swiftly, placing the stack of plates you’ve gathered into the space.
You don’t linger this time, no, you make it a point to step away as soon as you can but not before Pope feels his body shifting towards you.
Oh, you definitely know what you’re doing.
He shakes his head as he returns to his task of dishwashing. You return periodically, bringing by glasses, cutlery, baking dishes and everything else his family could’ve thought to leave behind like the animals they are.
Once the entire table is cleared, you settle beside Pope, dish towel in hand and begin drying what he's just washed.
It’s…nice.
Pope’s not used to someone actually wanting to help him but he finds himself quickly falling into the rhythm of your comforting presence.
“I never really asked,” you start conversation after what feels like a small eternity, turning to face Pope curiously. “Do you prefer Pope or Andrew?”
You ask as if it’s not a loaded question. Well, to you it isn’t, there’s no way for you to know about the weight his name carries over him. To you it’s just about making sure you’re calling him by the name he wants to be called, nothing more, nothing less.
But to Pope it’s…euphoric.
He stays silent for a while, thinking, and you let him without an ounce of judgment. You return to your repetitive motions, to working side by side, in tandem, coordinated.
Meanwhile, a storm rages waste in his brain. He’s never allowed himself to want, to put himself first, and for the first time in his life, someone is allowing himself to do just that.
But is it real? Do you actually mean it?
It’s only when he’s finished washing the last plate, handing it over to you that he finally allows himself to look your way.
“Andrew,” he mumbles before he loses the courage to. “Call me Andrew.”
You turn to him, setting down the plate atop the mountain you’ve created, nodding your understanding.
“Andrew,” you repeat back to him. “It suits you more.”
He can’t help the blush that creeps up his neck and to his ears, the heat that blooms in his chest, the way his intense gaze falters like a lovesick teenager as his mouth devolves into a dopey smile.
You don’t make fun of him for it, don’t even acknowledge it. You just stay there with him, following through with your help and leaving the kitchen spotless.
A few hours later he finds himself protectively escorting you out to your car, much to the snickers and teasing of his brothers which, thankfully, you’re not privy to as you say your goodbye to Lena and Cath.
“Bye Andrew,” you call out to him, and like a moth to a flame, he can’t help but step towards you, almost expectantly.
You hugged everyone else in his family, maybe—
Your eyes sparkle with delight as his body leans towards your again, a reaction neither of you was expecting.
You close the distance without hesitation, getting back up on your tip toes to plant a soft kiss to his cheek.
It’s over as quickly as it started, no lingering, no invading his space more than needed.
He’s certain he stops breathing, his brain short circuiting as you settle into the driver’s seat and follow Baz out of the family compound.
You’re not special. He reminds himself. She’s like this with everyone.
And yet reason doesn’t quell the pounding of his heart, the way his breathing hitches as he finally wills himself to take in a deep breath, the need to see you again.
He doesn’t see you for a while, exam season taking over most of your time and planning a new job taking up most of his.
He’s just had a disagreement with his brothers, it’s the only reason why he finds himself out by the pier, supposedly clearing his head with a walk like normal people do, but instead the voices are just getting louder and louder.
“Uncle Pope!”
Lena’s voice cuts through the noise. His gaze sharpens towards it, his frame lowering, arms opening, making space for her.
She doesn’t shy away from him, embracing him lovingly because to her, he’s just her uncle, a little weird but never dangerous.
It’s only when she steps back that Pope notices you.
You walk towards them leisurely, not wanting to break apart the cute display happening before you.
“Hi,” it’s the only thing that flows from his lips.
“Hi yourself,” you reply, placing your hands on Lena’s shoulders to keep her close to the two of you. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a family meeting all afternoon.”
Pope blinks back the shock. How close are you to his family? How much do you know?
“Ended early.”
You nod, Lena squirming in your embrace, gasping as realization dawns on her.
“Can Uncle Pope get ice cream with us?”
You chuckle at her impatience, causing Pope to huff playfully at just how adorable his niece is being.
“That’s up to him, sweetie.”
And how is he supposed to say no when his niece looks up to him with the most adorable eyes ever. “Please Uncle Pope!”
He nods. “Okay.”
Lena practically jumps into him out of joy, her tiny hand wrapping around his as she drags him towards the boardwalk shops.
You laugh behind them, jogging to catch up as she pulls you towards them, wrapping her other hand in yours.
Lena’s a bubblegum flavor fiend, extra sprinkles and gummy bears. You’re classic, rich and decadent, chocolate in a cup. Pope almost feels bad for getting a simple vanilla scoop in a waffle cone.
“Tell them to dip it in chocolate,” you whisper to him. “Trust me.”
He doesn’t know how to answer, blinking at you in surprise.
Trust me. Such a simple concept and yet…there’s still something that doesn’t let him take that leap.
But what does he know about ice cream.
So he does, he tries something new.
You smile brightly as you turn to receive your sweet treats, making sure Lena’s sitting down on one of the benches before you go up to pay.
But Pope’s quicker, pulling out a bill from his pocket and taking care of it before you can even ask the cashier how much it’s gonna be.
You roll your eyes at him when she tells you you’re too late and he can’t help but smirk victoriously.
“Thank you Andrew,” you relent, accepting your cup from his outstretched hand, your fingers gently grazing as you do.
The spark of electricity that snaps down Pope’s body is life inducing.
“You’re welcome.”
You settle next to Lena who’s munching ecstatically at her sugary confection, pink already staining her shirt.
Pope takes a seat on the other side of his niece.
He settles into the simplicity of intimacy with ease again, the gentle waves crashing up ahead, the cool afternoon air filling his senses with the comfort of saltwater.
Existing has never felt as easy as this. As something pleasant and unhurried, not having to pretend to be anything other than who he is.
Pope can’t help watch the two of you in complete awe. How you dote on Lena and how she reciprocates the action, something he’s never seen her do in the months since he’s been back.
She feels free here, not like the little girl who’s quiet and reserved with her now estranged parents. No, she’s alert and alive, playful and aloof. It makes Pope’s heart soar as he watches the two of you so effortlessly blend together, his own ice cream melting and making a mess of him soon enough.
The house is uncharacteristically quiet.
He’s the only one there, he’s sure of it. Smurf left the second she got the call that the job had gone sour and they had to split up, rushing to Baz’s because she knows Pope is too spiteful to die on her. Meanwhile J has gotten really injured and Smurf’s new baby comes first now.
It doesn’t matter to Pope. At least he tells himself he doesn’t hate himself a little more the second he hears his mother’s heels retreat down the hall, her car soon only a phantom noise as she speeds off.
Alone in the house, the quiet gets to him quickly. The typically bright and spacious home constricting in on him as he struggles down the hall to his old room.
He tries not to think about how the rough concrete walls feel against his sensitive fingertips, how the familiar pain in his side hums with the pressure of painful memories, how he’s definitely not back in that tiny jail cell after he had another psychotic break in prison and got himself thrown in solitary for another week.
No, he definitely does not think about how he was left struggling with his sanity, floating aimlessly, stuck inside his own head trying to desperately find some comfort to cling to as he curled in on himself to find a position where it didn’t hurt him to breathe.
He swings the door to his room open without thinking twice about it.
It’s early in the morning, no one’s been home since the night before, and yet, the second he comes inside, he instantly notices the way the air smells different, sweeter.
He stills, his hand not clutched to his side slowly sliding to the back of his jeans to feel the comforting weight of his gun handle. Meanwhile his eyes rake over the room, the unmade bed, the clothes—his clothes—scattered on the floor.
“Andy?” Your sweet, sleepy voice calls to him from his ensuite bathroom and he turns to it like an idiot boy with a childlike crush, eyes wide and heart practically beating out of his chest as if he isn’t currently in such devastating pain but he doesn’t dare make you uncomfortable.
Fuck, why does he feel like such a creep?
A sharp inhale springs you into action, crossing into the unlit room to take him in, suddenly wide awake it seems.
He doesn’t have the heart to stop you as your soft hands come up to inspect the gash on his brow, the purpling under his eye. Timid fingertips trace a path down his chest, landing softly over the hand at his abdomen.
You don’t say anything, don’t lash out at him, don’t flinch back in fear as you slowly lift his palm, assessing the damage. He doesn’t know why he lets you, it doesn’t make any logical sense, and yet he just melts into your hands, lets you maneuver him however you desire as he finally lets the dam crack.
You remain silent as tears stain his cheeks, as you gently pull him into the bathroom and sit him down on the edge of the tub, as you wrap your hands on the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head.
He knows you feel the gun tucked into his pants but you don’t let the shock show on your face. Instead, when you turn to discard his shirt behind you, he simply pulls it out himself, placing it on top of the counter, safety on always.
You turn to assess him then. Luckily the switchblade didn’t do too much damage, just one long enough gash that has since stopped bleeding, deep enough to hurt but not deep enough to kill him.
You settle on your knees in front of him and he’s certain his heart skips a beat. You smile up at him, so unbelievably soft, like you’re trying to comfort him without touching him because you know just how uncomfortable it makes him.
And yet, he can’t help but crave your touch, like a reminder that he’s still alive, that he’s still here, with you.
He knows he can just ask. Knows he can put together a sentence, or not, just muster the courage and say please. But how can he? When not even his mother deigned him worthy of fussing over?
“You don’t have to—” another sob breaks through him and it takes everything in him not to curse and scream and scare you.
His body begins to shake, shame bubbling from his stomach across his body until he’s nothing but a quivering mess before you.
He wants to run, to hide away and never have you see him like this ever again. This was a mistake, staying here, letting you see him this vulnerable. He needs—
He’s turned to stone as you pull yourself up from sitting on your heels and lean up towards him, invading his personal space now, all the voices in his head suddenly quiet. Your hands come up to cup his face, thumbs dutifully wiping away the tears that fall.
He feels pathetic, disgusted with himself at the sight you’re beholden to. But then your sweet voice begins to shush him softly, to tell him that he’s okay, that you’ve got him, that he can let it all out, and for a second he allows himself to believe it.
Andrew Pope Cody allows himself to feel, to not hide behind what he’s been groomed to be all of his life. He breaks down and you patiently wait for him to finish so you can help him pick up all the pieces.
It’s only when you no longer feel the wetness drip against your flesh that you pull back enough to take him all in. He forces himself to make eye contact with you, to show you as much as he can that he’s alright, that he appreciates you.
You swiftly rummage through his bathroom cabinets, searching for the first aid kit you know he has. He watches you intently as you clean him up with a wet rag first, removing all the blood from his abdomen, his hands turning white as he holds onto the side of the tub for dear life.
Your tongue pokes out between your lips as you lose yourself to the task, using that glue Baz got them in Mexico to close his wound. He can’t help but smile softly at the sight, finally allowing himself to rake his gaze over your body.
For one, you’re clad in one of his old shirts, the ones that no longer fit him after prison hardened his body into a bigger size. Maybe he’s not special, but he’ll be damned if possessiveness doesn’t boil over at the mere sight of you in his clothes.
He’s already slowly losing his mind, desire threatening to make him take a leap over that invisible line he’s drawn between the two of you in his mind, and then you shift a little, showing off his boxers underneath, your bare things practically causing him to salivate.
The decision settles with him with ease, dragging him down into the depths comfortably, like a sailor that has accepted his fate because it means he’ll at least get to kiss the siren.
“There,” you hum, tracing the outline of the bandage with your fingertips before you turn to look up at him. “All done.”
“Thank you,” he manages to choke out.
“My pleasure, Andy.”
Letting you go is the hardest thing Pope has ever done. You’d insisted he needed to rest after the trauma that he’d experienced and, not wanting to be an annoying patient, he’d conceded, settling down where you had just been sleeping, the sheets still slightly warm and smelling of you.
For the first time in a long time, Pope actually slept and slept good. But the second he’d woken up, you were no longer in the house.
He thought about calling, about making sure he hadn’t scared you off, but part of him preferred it this way. He was scared of his feelings towards you, so he chose indifference.
His mood soured, however. Every little thing his brother did made him snap, every time they brought you up in conversation, every time your name entered his orbit but your body didn’t made him go crazy.
He’s aware that it’s all his fault for not checking in, for disappearing into radio silence. But in his defense, you’ve never texted before, you’ve never even given him your number for fuck’s sake! It would’ve been weird to contact you out of the blue right?
Summer is coming to an end when you finally deign him worthy of your presence again.
Deran and Craig are throwing a party. Big surprise.
The house is packed, hot and sweaty. Everyone is scantily clad, if covered up at all. Even Smurf has left the premises for the weekend so it’s just a cluster of debauchery and substance abuse.
He should’ve left, he thought about it many times. But he knows you’ll show, even if it’s just to say hello, see how quickly things are devolving, and leaving immediately.
His eyes have been trained on the entrance all night, impatiently waiting for you to walk in. It’s nearing eleven and his palms are starting to get itchy with anxiety. What if you don’t show? He hadn’t even thought about that possibility.
It’s been a few days since Deran’s mentioned you. Even longer since you’ve babysat Lena. Could something be wrong? Are you okay?
His entire body bursts with uncomfortable heat. He needs to find Deran right now, needs him to tell him your address so he can go check on you himself, needs—
A loud squeal catches his attention, swiftly turning towards the backyard to catch you swung over Craig’s shoulder, your tiny jean shorts riding further up your ass as he spins you around.
You giggle brightly, not attention seeking, just pulling everyone’s gaze towards you with the ease in which you feel joyful. He watches, entranced, as his younger brother puts you down.
Pope moves instinctively, stalking towards the living room to get a better line of sight on you. You’re at least wearing a shirt over your bikini, your beautiful skin covered from the hungry gazes of those around you. If you realize just how many men are salivating after you, you don’t let it show, not as Craig lights up a joint and passes it on to you instantly.
Something constricts against Pope’s heart as he watches you inhale deeply, a primal urge to burst through the doors, grab the joint from your hand and toss it away before bringing you into the house and hiding you away.
He settles for sitting down on the loveseat. He can keep you safe from in here, from far away, from a distance.
The house only becomes more crowded as the night goes on and he unfortunately loses track of you two hours in, only noticing the second that annoying couple in front of him moves out of the way, the warm summer air hitting him in contrast to the air conditioned interior.
He panics instantly, his eyes jumping through the hazy bodies outside as he desperately tries to find you again. He’s about to stand up, to finally make a move and search for you when your body plops down on his lap instead.
“Andy!” You shriek, an airy happiness enveloping you as you settle over this lap. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Pope swallows thickly, feeling everything all at once, his brain having trouble processing your hands over his chest, your core pressed against the bulge in his pants, your hot breath on his face.
He’s certain he’s blushing crimson but maybe you’re too intoxicated to notice.
“Were you hiding from me?”
He doesn’t answer right away, causing your pretty little mouth to get upturned into a pout.
“I knew it,” you whimper. “You do hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, angel,” the words spill out of his mouth instantly, unfiltered since his stupid brain isn’t working anymore.
Wide eyes stare at him adorably. “You don’t?”
He shakes his head.
“Then…” you huff, clearly exhausted from all the mental gymnastics you’ve been doing too. “Why didn’t you call?”
He opens his mouth to answer.
I didn’t have your number.
I didn’t know I had to.
Why didn’t you call?
But he knows it’s all lies. He knows he deliberately didn’t call.
Didn’t text.
Didn’t anything.
Your eyes flicker down to his open mouth, your own hanging open as you stare hungrily at him, your hips grinding down against him involuntarily.
He hisses at the contact, the sound so broken and foreign to him. His brows scrunch in desperation, his head angling without him noticing. And so you take the leap for him.
Your lips settle on his like a sip of water after wandering in the desert for an entire lifetime.
It takes everything in him not to kiss you back, not to run his hands over your back, not thrust his hips up into you.
He knows how high you are, knows your actions, while yours, aren’t sober ones. And he’d much rather kill himself than take advantage of you.
“Andy,” you whine into his mouth again, needy and desperate. “Please.”
He stiffens beneath you, once again gripping the chair handles like his life depends on it. You frown as the wood creaks, a wicked smile curling your lips as you realize just how much he’s holding back right now.
“You can touch me, Andy,” you whisper, your lips starting their descent from his own down to his jaw and neck.
He shakes his head softly, not cruel, not rejecting, simply stating.
If anything, it spurs you on, determined to prove him wrong, to provoke him.
He can tell as your lips lock into the base of his neck, teeth nipping meanly at his skin, desperate to leave a mark on him.
He should stop you, should pick you up and tuck you into bed. But he doesn’t. He can’t.
Instead, his eyes close in pleasure, his fists practically snapping the wood between his fingers.
You’re hungry, having been kept from touching him for so long. He’s given you an inch and you’ll be damned if you don’t steal a mile. And he honestly doesn’t care, can’t care, when the realization that you were looking for him finally catches up.
You want him.
Desperately.
Your hands roam down his arms in tandem with your hip movements, your lips trailing back up to his mouth, but instead of diving in, taking the plunge, you hover above them, your hot breath taunting him.
“You’re so pretty, Andy,” you whisper. “Need you—” you huff, frustrated. “to touch me, please.”
He shakes his head again, this time accidentally brushing his lips with yours, groaning at the fleeting contact.
“‘M not gonna take advantage of you, angel,” he presses his forehead to your cheek, almost reverent.
You let out a sigh, deep and weirdly understanding, stopping your mindless torture as his words sink in. He stares at you, his heart finally pumping blood to the rest of his body normally as it sinks with your own, the raging storm calming into a consistent thundering.
“‘M sorry,” you mumble against his chest, settling down to rest your head against the crook on his neck. “I just…” you sigh, melancholic, the words not coming to you.
“I know,” he finally lets his hands break free from his self-imposed restraints, sliding them up your legs, taking his time feeling the warmth of your exposed thighs, the comforting weight of your clothes against your skin. You hum contently, like a cat finally being given attention, practically purring against him.
He settles his touch around your body, pressing you tightly against him as you slowly doze in and out of consciousness.
“Is this good enough, angel?” He’s never felt this soft with anyone before, his jagged edges usually too sharp, drawing blood instantly. But it’s as though you’ve smoothed him down, made him into someone that’s worthy of you.
You nod against him, fingers curling into his soft shirt, most definitely wrinkling the perfectly ironed fabric and he could not give two shits about it.
He’s acutely aware of how the two of you ended up asleep together.
All he wanted was to tuck you into bed, kiss your temple and then sit across from the bed, watching you sleep all night, like a messed up version of a guardian angel.
But you’d whined oh so loudly when he tried to peel away from you, your arms wrapping around his neck, your legs tightening around his waist. He couldn’t even get his shoes off, being forced down onto the soft mattress as you rolled over on top of him.
You settled down easy after that, your even breath soothing against his neck, the patterns he kept tracing over your back lulling you even further into the depths of rest.
He’s never fallen asleep this easily before, definitely not after the peak of adrenaline you’d just put him through.
But after exactly one thousand and sixty five seconds of watching your calm face, feeling your chest rising and falling steadily, something pulled him under, his eyelids becoming so heavy he could barely register as he stopped blinking altogether.
Your squirming wakes him up the next morning.
You’ve crawled on top of him, a comforting weight over his body. That is until you started to move, seeking something to put you out of your miserable restlessness.
“What’s wrong, angel?” His voice is deep with sleep.
You lift yourself onto a sitting position, straddling his hips once more, rubbing against the growing tent in his pants.
Part of him snaps awake at the mere inkling that you’re horny, now sober and wanting to torture him for denying you yesterday. But as his eyes focus on you, he finds an even deeper feeling he simply cannot name brewing in your pretty little head.
You scratch at your shirt, the fabric constrictive, your neediness for him overwhelming.
“’s too much,” you whine and he, for some divine reason, understands what you need.
He sits up, causing you to gasp as his erection thrusts up against you.
“Meanie,” you tease, pushing him to action.
He smirks as his hands gently trail over your exposed tummy. His hands grab the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head in one swift movement, quickly untying your bathing suit top and tossing the offending fabric to the floor. He doesn’t give himself the time to stare, not when you’re so desperate and time is of the essence, he’ll have time to properly worship you later.
Your nipples do harden as the cold air hits them, and he cannot fight the urge to take one into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the bud before he detaches so he can pull his own shirt off.
Your breathing gets caught in your throat as you watch him, brain already shutting off at the sight of his bare body. So much more real estate for you to touch, he thinks.
And touch you do, eager hands trailing the hardness of his chest and stomach all the way down to his pants. You make quick work of the button and his zipper and he lifts his hips so he can pull them off, hesitating with his boxers—
“All of it.” You answer for him.
“Yeah?”
“Mhmm,” you whine. “Please.”
And who is he to deny you now?
In one quick movement, he’s complete bare beneath you. But you’re still not content, no, you won’t be until you’re right there with him.
He takes care of your remaining clothes then, urging you up with two quick taps to your outer thigh and just as quickly hooking his thumbs underneath your bikini bottoms.
Your heat is so close to his face, so puffy and needy, he simply must lean forward and place a kiss over your hip bone. You hum contently, body buzzing with excitement as you practically tackle him back down on the bed and return to your earlier position.
At first you don’t want anything other than to feel him, your cheek pressed over his beating heart, legs spread over his lower abdomen, practically purring as his own hands wisp over your back.
You lay like that for a while, enjoying the gentle sounds of crashing waves and birds singing outside his window. But then you turn to look at him with those round, puppy eyes that he’ll be damned to cave to for the rest of his life.
“Andy,” you plead. “Need to be closer to you.”
He knows what you mean without you having to explain yourself.
There’s just one more thing to do.
So he does, grabbing a hold of his rock hard cock and slowly sinking himself into your entrance. You wince at the stretch, eyes quickly becoming watery as he settles inside of you. He shushes you gently, shifting you slightly so he can reach your lips, crashing them with his in a sloppy, wet kiss that has you instantly melting into him further.
It’s only when he’s sheathed within you completely that you finally relax. But while you’ve found euphoria with such a simple action, Pope is anything but.
He lasts fifty three seconds before his hips begin shifting involuntarily. Your brow scrunches in confusion, pleasure shooting up your body when all you really wanted to feel was peace.
He coos at you softly. “I need to move, angel.”
You sigh, dramatically so, and he can’t help but smile brightly at your theatrics.
“May I move?”
You bury your face in the side of his neck, going limp over him. “I guess.”
He rolls his eyes playfully, wrapping his arms around you before he lifts his hips off the bed and begins to piston in and out of you.
You’re so wet it’s absurdly easy, the room quickly devolving into a choir of wet, slapping sounds and his moans harmonizing with your little whimpers. You hold onto him for dear life, relishing in the closeness that he’s affording you, and he…he’s certain that you’ve just unlocked something he’d buried deep in his psyche long ago.
A desire to long for someone.
An allowance to feel.
A chance to love again.
“An—dy fuck,” you choke. “‘M so close.”
He turns his head to press his cheek against your temple, tightening his hold on your body, possessive and claiming.
“Come for me angel,” he urges. “Let me make you feel good, please.”
You moan loudly, your body responding diligently to his plea. He can feel your body convulse above him, your walls tightening around him as a jolt of electricity snaps and you’re coming undone.
You cry against his shoulder, panting feverishly as he continues to pound into you, seeking his own release while also extending you own.
“In me please, Andy, need you—”
He doesn’t need to be told twice, burying himself as deep as he can inside of you before he’s spilling, locking you tightly against him and enjoying the feeling of joy that washes over his entire body.
He can’t stop kissing your cheek, his lips lapping up the wetness that has streaked like a devout man worshiping a gift from the heavens.
You stay like this until both your heartbeats return to their normal, synced rhythm, your nails scratching deliciously at his scalp while his own return to their soothing patterns against your back.
“Was that okay?” You ask him, finally returning to your senses it seems.
popey love clit!!!!!!!! :( :( popey loves ur clit soo much...
it's his fav stim toy. he crawls down the bed and tugs softly at your panties until he can finally get his lips around it, and then he stays there for hours, just gently sucking and licking at it while his mind goes blank!! your fingers tangle into his dark curls, scratching softly at his scalp. sweet pope is in heaven
his hands grip your thighs, tugging them close around his head because he loves the pressure. it barely even registers as sexual for him because it just makes him feel safe and sleepy :( he loves the feeling of ur clit in his mouth, it's so soft and fun to flick with his tongue. it's just an added bonus that it makes you come
when the two of you are at home, he always has a hand down your panties so he can toy with your sweet little bud. he'll come up to you while you're doing the dishes and just silently shove his hand in ur pants, rubbing your clit while he nuzzles into your hair and nips at your earlobe 😵💫 and then when your back starts to arch against him and you get distracted, he murmurs "baby, gettin' soap everywhere..." but he's not really mad <3
sometimes when you're in public and he gets stressed u catch pope looking longingly at your pussy, his fingers twitching towards you before he gives a heavy sigh and pulls them back, turning away from you to avoid the temptation :( pls give him a kiss and promise him he can have clit time when you get back home!!!
Konig in lingerie might be even more of a treat than Simon.
He will go all out. A full lace bodysuit with matching garters and tights. Maybe even some heels if he can find some that match the colours in his size.
The delicate lace brushing against his nipples makes his stomach flip. And god, the way his cock strains at the flimsy silk of the panties gets him so achingly hard.
He'll stand in front of the mirror in the full get up. Maybe even some makeup if his mask is off. Cock leaking so much precum the panties are ruined before he's even started. He loves how it feels.
Konig pretty openly presents himself as a very manly man. He's not insecure in his masculinity at all. He's strong, tall, his whole vibe just screams testosterone and violence.
But all dressed up like this makes his brain shut off. He feels so pathetic. This big, ugly, scarred brute dressed in pretty white lace. Like a fool playing dress up.
And thats what gets him so hard. The thought of someone seeing him like this and mocking him for being so stupid. Stroking his cock through the stained silk he pictures his fellow soldiers teasing him for being such a sissy.
Every single lingerie set he owns is covered in stains. But thats just an excuse to buy another one.
andrew and gf whose foreplay wont be interrupted even if one of his brothers is in the same room (18+)
#notproofread
-
to be completely fair, craig had truly been asleep when it began.
it was a movie night of sorts at the cody house — with movie night meaning craig was doing coke on the far end of the couch while you, j and pope watched some shitty movie on cable tv.
it wasn't planned, but just ended up happening. it started with craig hogging the couch to do drugs, only to be joined by you and pope due to you being bored of lounging at the pool, inviting j along to join you when he'd unsuspectingly passed by the living room.
j had some sort of soft spot for you, craig had noticed. so did deran. something about you being a good addition of normalcy to the fuckery that went down in that house on a daily basis. baz was suspicious of you. and craig was... well.
and as the night progressed, craig got his usual munchies after snorting coke and promptly fell asleep on the couch. he didn't care much for the movie or the company.
when he woke up, eyes squinting, he realized that across from him were you and andrew, with no j in sight. the somber light filling up the room let him know that the sun was rising and that he'd been asleep for at least a few hours.
from his seat, craig had the perfect side view of you perched on pope's lap. your hips were straddling his legs as he leaned back on the couch and your fingers were running through his hair. there was no way for him to really take in the image. he could under no circumstance open his eyes all the way, nor could he alter his breathing lest you realize he was awake.
he wasn't sure what his move here was, but he figured he didn't want to interrupt as he heard the words that had woken him up in the first place.
"andy, wait- your brother's right there," you'd whispered in a scandalized but hushed giggle.
pope's face was buried in your neck, low wet sounds to be heard from the contact.
"'s fine, baby. he's asleep," pope mumbled, his grip keeping you hostage against him, "plus, i don't care. want you."
"yeah?" you mumbled, nosing at andrew's cheek before reaching his lips.
the telltale sound of macking of lips interrupted your whispers. craig could hear you sigh in between kisses. he had to tune out pope, wanting to hear your sounds exclusively.
after some kissing, craig heard your breaths grow heavier, with one last few wet kisses taking place before you spoke again.
"want you, andy," you murmured, sitting up a little on pope's lap.
"i know you do, baby. want me to take you to bed?"
"mhm," you sounded breathless already.
"need you to be ready for me first, yeah?"
craig began to regret his choices, but he was in too deep now.
your silhouette was all the could pay attention to as he tried to discreetly watch.
he groaned internally when your body began to rock against his brother's, head slightly thrown back and your tiny shorts digging into your inner thighs, practically disappearing from sight. the curve of your back was torturously deep and your ass stuck out as you used his brother to get off. he would've killed to be the one under you at that moment.
"like this?"
"yeah, baby, just like that," pope grunted, "use my bulge to get off, c'mon, baby."
and you obeyed him. craig saw you lean forward, hands gripping at pope's shoulders as he slouched back on the couch. your breath picked up. now you were panting and sighing as you ground down on pope.
"feel so good, andy- so big, ffffuck,"
your movements were slow at first. pope's hands guided you, head tilting back against the couch at how incredible you must've felt. the arch of your back only deepened and you threw your head back. you seemed possessed from where craig was looking.
within minutes your desperation reached its peak.
"a-andy, take me to your room- please—"
pope tsk'd, "gotta rub that pretty clit on me first, sweetheart."
"but andy-"
with a forceful move, pope somehow pulled you even closer as he pressed himself against you. the two of you ground against each other noisily. the shuffle of clothes filled up the room as you attempted but failed at keeping your cries of pope's name muffled.
echoes of "a-andy..." and "'sso good, baby" were shared interchangeably between you as pope dragged you against him like a rag doll.
"i need more, andy..."
"i know you do, baby," pope hummed patronizingly, "just want this pussy sloppy and ready for me."
craig was running out of patience by then, but your whines at every word from pope kept him going. he was already half hard under the pillow he'd conveniently left in his lap before falling asleep.
when you pouted, pope's hand found your chin, forcing your eyes on his.
"wanna know what i'm gonna do to this pretty pussy as soon as you come, baby?"
the 'uh-huh' that left your lips was so pathetic craig had to hold back a groan. pope was free to audibly do so.
"'m gonna throw you on my bed," he started, words slow and calculated like all things pope, "'n then 'm gonna bend you over and lick at that pussy from behind til you're begging me to stop."
craig had no time to be disgusted by hearing his brother utter those words. not when you interrupted with a needy gasp. your hips lost their rhythm, now humping at pope with what could only be described as insanity.
"you want that?"
"please—! andy- i need-"
"wanna know what i'm gonna do after that, baby?" you nodded desperately, prompting him to continue, "gonna fuck you til the bed's shaking. gonna make it so good for you, baby, you won't remember anything other than 'andyandyandy-" the last few words took on a mocking tone, pitch a little higher to imitate your previous wails of his name.
those words were enough to make you come. your movements halted with a full-body shudder. you froze and shook and sighed and cried out. all while pope groaned under his breath and moved you against him. fucking bastard.
before you could recuperate, maybe respond to all those threats, pope got up with you on his lap, easily hauling you over his shoulder. you let out a squeal that was a little too loud for craig not to wake up (had he actually been asleep), but he remained with his eyes half-closed.
when pope turned around, he gave craig the perfect view of your ass bent over his shoulder, clad in only a tiny pair of sleeping shorts that had ridden up so much he could see every crevice of your ass and pussy.
they were embarrassingly drenched, panties glossy as they contoured your puffy lips.
on his way out, pope kept muttering dirty shit, clearly careless about whether or not your giggles had woken craig up or not.
it didn't take long for the familiar sound of a door slamming shut to be heard, nor for the loud squeaking of the bed to begin.
craig finally opened his eyes, practically bloodshot at all the restraint he'd practiced.
𓏵 ┊ younger girlfriend squirting with jack abbot . 18+
you tell jack who’s been knuckles deep inside your pussy for the past hour that something feels weirder than usual, as you’re sitting in between his legs — your back pressed against his chest with your thighs parted giving him the perfect amount of access needed to pleasure you.
“what’s wrong, baby?” he murmurs against your temple with a gentle kiss as his calloused digits are rhythmically plunging in and out of your hole. curling his fingers sweet into that spongey spot inside of you, it’s almost cruel the way he knows exactly how to make you lose it. “it feels weird.” you testify, eyes fixated on the recurring disappearance of your boyfriend’s fingers inside of you.
“yeah? tell me what feels weird, hm.” he hums, feeling you shift and squirm against him as he holds one of your legs open by the backside of your knee. and you can barely utter the words from your mouth, “your fingers keep pressing against my bladder, its making me feel like i have to go— go to the bathroom.” you bite down on your bottom lip.
every time jack’s fingers plunge back inside you, it feels as if you’re peeing yourself already. as if the motion of his fingers are forcing that specific release from you. “that so?” you feel his chest rumble against you as he lets out a gruff chuckle, “that’s good then. that’s the feeling you want when it starts feeling good, sweetheart.” he reassures, as your walls pulse around his fingers.
you whine, throwing you head back against his shoulder. each drag of his digits bringing you closer, and closer towards the edge as you let out soft moans.
jack let’s out an impressed whistle once he starts to feel your hips rock into hand. “fuck— it feels good.” you moan warm against the side of his neck, “so good i might actually pee.” which earns a low, amused groan from jack.
“mhmm, you gonna make a mess on my hand?” he lifts his thumb up, before pressing mean against your swollen clit making you jolt. “w—wait!” you stammer, throwing your hands towards jack’s forearm in attempt to halt his movements as he shakes his head in disapproval. “uh-uh, can’t have you telling me to stop now.” he rasps, pressing circles around your nub as it twitches under the pad of this thumb.
“c’mon and show me how messy you can get.” his breath fans warm against your cheek, before your body’s involuntarily letting loose. your body is shaking, and your walls are caving in around jack’s digits as you’re whimpering. “thaat’s it, baby— give it to me.” he groans, targeting that sweet spot inside of you, before you’re making a wet mess all over yourself.
“mmgh, jack— jack.” you’re whimpering as slight humiliation fills your chest, though the pleasure is far too euphoric as he coaxes every last drop out of you. “atta girl.” he nudges his mouth against the side of your head to whisper in your ear. “i love nasty girls.” he groans.
ANDREW "POPE" CODY . . . who struggles with boundaries and gets overly intense without meaning to, he stands as close as possible and just stares at you with no emotion on his face.
ANDREW "POPE" CODY . . . who is so obsessed with you that he's memorized your entire routine just so he can "accidentally" run into you, he also remembers exactly what time you leave your house and what windows you forget to lock.
ANDREW "POPE" CODY . . . who goes to your house just to rearrange your entire house around four times a week, worrying that you'll find him weird for doing so but smiling when you kiss him and praise him for it.
ANDREW "POPE" CODY . . . who keeps the uniforms he wears for jobs because he can tell you get excited when he puts them on, he's also a huge fan of roleplaying.
ANDREW "POPE" CODY . . . who gets jealous easily and has no shame fucking you or doing anything sexual in public to make sure everyone hears how good he makes you feel with a smirk on his face, proud of you and himself.
thinking about pope whose mouth immediately latches on to you any time he wakes up from a nightmare. there's very little that calms him down after them, but sucking on your tits always seems to. especially on the nights when you stir awake from the feeling and jerk him off til comes.
