Summary: Everyone knows that Pope Cody's girlfriend is a real sweetheart. What they don't know is that, behind closed doors, you're a real fuckin' freak, too.
Warnings: +18 explicit content MDNI, porn without plot, established relationship, shy!reader, unspecified age gap, size difference, pope teaches you how to shoot a gun and touches you at the same time, face slapping, face fucking, reader has hair that can be styled, messy blowjob, reader helps complete a job, praise, car sex, reader makes out with pope over a mask so masked sex, restrained hands, creampie, overstimulation kinda, only barely lightly edited
Note: take that p w/o plot tag seriously cause uh....yeah. this is just me wanting to fuck pope cody bad
WC: 2.3k
[masterlist] [AO3]
Everyone thought Andrew Cody was a pervert.
And, really, how could they not?
They see him; all big and brooding, with wrinkles around his eyes and rough hands. And beside him stands you; soft and innocent, all shy smiles and quiet words. A sweetheart by every definition of the word.
He's older than you. Bigger than you. Meaner than you. All it takes is one glance at your manicured fingers around his broad bicep and your cheek pressed to his shoulder to know that, yeah. He's probably (definitely) taking advantage of you.
A girl your age doesn't know any better. Naive little thing. All you see is the handsome man that stands in front of you, who foots the bill when he takes you out to a nice restaurant or on a shopping spree. You see the way he stares down a guy who looks in your general direction a little too long and the way he walks just a step in front of you in a public setting, clearing a path of safety.
What young girl wouldn't want a man like that?
But what they don't see is the way you don't even flinch when you're riding shotgun in his truck and Andrew sets his pistol in your lap. They don't see the blade he'd bought for you—sharp and small, wedged right between your breasts every time you leave the house without him.
They don't see the way your skin prickles when he teaches you the proper way to shoot a gun, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, pointing the barrel at your reflection.
His hands are at your hips, thumbs resting at the elastic band of your pretty, red panties. Andrew's voice is low and slow in your ear. "Mm. Tuck your elbow in. Squeeze the handle a little harder. Yeah, there you go. Now put your finger on the trigger, baby. Just like that. And when you're ready, you just gotta pull it."
You breathe in slowly, and your finger presses down on the exhale.
The gun clicks.
"Yeah, that's it," he says, sliding his hands lower, beneath the crimson fabric. What he finds is unsurprising to him, of course. Arousal pooling between your thighs, your clit slick and swollen and desperate to be touched. He circles it slowly, tentatively, lovingly. "Again, sweetheart."
Andrew doesn't speak much on the rumors that go around about the two of you. He's sure even his brothers believe some of them.
It's to be expected, really, with that mousy demeanor of yours.
You put your hair up a different way one day and when Craig compliments you on it you get all shy, hiding behind Andrew's shoulder with your cheeks flaming.
He thinks it's real cute. The way you act all timid in front of them, murmuring a thank you with that soft voice of yours, unable to meet Craig's eyes all because he complimented you.
But only an hour later, Pope's undoing the clips in your hair while you look up at him from down on your knees, saying—begging, "Hit me."
And Pope does. Smacks you hard, one good time with his palm against your cheek. The sound is like lightning through the open air. He doesn't do it because he wants to, he does it because of that misty look in your eye, because of the way you moan at the impact.
Because of the way you look up at him through your lashes and smile real wide, giggles falling off your kiss-swollen lips, like there's no place you'd rather be.
He gives you just what you need, fucking your mouth until you're crying for it, burying himself at the back of your throat.
Each little gasp for air you make pushes him closer and closer to release, but what really does him in is the way your hand finds his thigh, tracing a little heart-shape into the denim of his jeans while you choke on his length.
Andrew finishes at the back of your mouth without warning, filling you until his release spills from the corners of your plush lips.
His cock still aches when he pulls himself out of you. Your pretty makeup that you spent all that time doing this morning runs down your cheeks now, and sticky webs of saliva and cum connect his cock to your tongue.
"You look so pretty, swallowing me down like that. My beautiful girl. Say it."
Your eyes are bloodshot and watery but filled with love as you look up at him. "I'm your beautiful girl," you say, smiling wide, sticking out your tongue to show him the mess he's made of you before swallowing hard.
"Yeah you are," he murmurs. "My sweetheart."
You've even got Smurf fooled.
They're having a family meeting one afternoon, planning out the details on how to rob a marijuana dispensary that pays its employees exclusively in cash.
While you're moving around easily in the kitchen, Smurf watches you from the living room with a drink in her hand.
Craig and Deran are bickering, trying to figure out a way to distract the night shift security guards that stand watch at the front entrance.
And then Smurf suddenly says, pointing with the rim of her crystal glass, "Her."
Pope shakes his head. "No. Not happening."
"Think about it," Smurf says. "You go in right as the last employee walks out. She walks up, begging to be let in, and says she'll pay extra. Girl like her? They won't expect anything. Just a pretty sweetheart looking to end her day with a little indica."
His brothers are quiet, looking between you and Pope, toeing the line of choice.
In the end, Andrew lets you choose. Makes it clear that if working a job with them makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, they'll figure something else out. He lays out the risks and the reward and reminds you to be honest about your feelings.
But you agree almost immediately and no amount of talking on Andrew's part sways you. It's over the moment you take his big hand, press his palm to your cheek and say, "I love you, Andrew. Even this part of you. Especially this part."
It melts his heart and fills him with this almost uncomfortable level of tenderness. He would kill for you, die for you—all to keep you here by his side.
The job goes perfectly. Andrew and his brothers are able to slip through the ceiling vents unseen, all because you're batting your eyelashes and making your shy little jokes to the guards out front.
They leave the warehouse with duffel bags full of cash and get away clean and undetected.
You're waiting three blocks away in Pope's truck, sitting casually behind the wheel, coating your lips in that pretty lipgloss while looking in the rearview mirror. But your phone is clutched tight in your hand waiting on a text of confirmation.
Pope makes Deran drop him off so he can set his eyes on you sooner rather than later.
And the moment you see him, your eyes light up in this way he knows all too well. Pope nods, adrenaline high as he lifts the clear plastic mask over his face just enough to set it on the top of his head. "We're good," he says.
The hesitant look on your face turns into a grin, soft giggles flitting off your tongue. You slide back across the cab to make room for Pope behind the wheel. You look past him, to Craig and Deran in the car with no plates full of stolen cash. "We'll see you at home," you tell them.
And maybe they don't understand at first, but Pope does. Of course he does—he can feel the way that wanting, lustful energy buzzes beneath your skin.
He puts the truck in drive and pulls out of the lot, but he doesn't make it two blocks before you're wrapping those sharp, painted nails around his bicep.
Pope just smiles as you kiss his shoulder repeatedly, nuzzling the cords of muscle through the fabric of his black hoodie. It seems like such an innocent, sweet touch. But he knows the truth—knows it's not only sweetness in your heart, it's hunger.
"Hang on, baby," he says, hand resting on the inside of your thigh, squeezing tightly. "Lemme pull over."
He finds a secluded alleyway that offers just enough darkness to remain undetected. And the minute he puts his truck in park, you're climbing into his lap.
Pope welcomes the taste of your hungry tongue. Lets you slide it into his mouth, over his teeth, licking and sucking like your life depends on it. He's already half hard in his jeans, but the second you tilt your hips, grinding yourself down against his bulge, he's done for.
"You look—god, you look so good," you whimper, hands around his neck. You don't squeeze, but rather just rest them there, thumbs feeling the quickening beat of his pulse through his jugular.
"Did such a great job today," Andrew says, fingers flexing hard around your hips. "My perfect girl. Such a sweetheart."
You whimper at the namesake, a term he'd coined just for you, his shy, gentle girl. "Andrew, please."
He knows what you're asking for. And who is he, after all, to deny a girl like you? Someone good and soft and so very desperate.
He reaches beneath you, between your legs to find the buckle of his belt. In one swift movement, he undoes it with a clink, and pushes his jeans and boxers down.
"Wait."
Andrew freezes.
At first he fears he might've done something wrong. Assumed wrong or maybe gone too far or pushed too hard. Like usual. Like usual.
His mind starts to spiral, because who could ever hurt you if not a monster? Sweet girl. Sweet heart.
He's a monster. He's a fucking—
And then you smile, and those invasive thoughts disappear as quickly as they'd manifested.
You bat your eyelashes at him with this innocent look on your face, and tug the plastic mask on the top of his head down.
Pope understands then. Of course he does—because you're his filthy, sweet girl. His.
Your clit pulses and he can feel it against his cock, even through the cotton barrier of your underwear.
Andrew tilts his head, watching you through slightly plastic-obstructed vision. He waits for you to move first.
And you do so by leaning forward and laying a wet, open-mouthed kiss against the mask, right over his lips.
It's the most erotic thing Pope has ever experienced.
Because he knows you want him—the awkward, quiet Andrew.
But right now, you're asking for a different version of him. A much more violent version of him; you want Pope.
The part that thieves and breaks and kills. The very worst of him. And not only do you want it, you're twitching for it. Breath coming out like a sigh, hands clutched tight, pussy aching for him.
And the realization—God. He could die. He could fucking die from how much he loves you.
He takes you right then and there. Pulls your underwear to the side beneath your skirt and sinks his cock into you in one hard, claiming thrust.
Pope holds your wrists together tightly behind your back and makes it hurt, because he knows good and well that's what you want. All the while your tongue laves against the plastic of his mask, breath fogging up the surface, a sick, perverted indulgence that drives him insane.
He circles your clit with his free hand, reveling in the way it throbs beneath his rough hands.
It doesn't take long. It never does. He feels the slick velvet of your center squeeze his cock like a vice. Pope doesn't let up, rubbing your clit until you lean back with your eyes squeezed tightly closed, chasing the release you've needed since the moment he'd asked you to help them on this job.
"Look at me," he demands. It's not a request but an order.
You do, mouth open to make room for the cute moans that echo in the cab of his truck. "I'm gonna—god, please please I'm gonna fucking cum—fuck—"
He doesn't say anything. Just tilts his head and watches you.
It hits a second later, and it's beautiful. The way you fall apart in his lap, thighs shaking, fingers flexing beneath his hold, fighting desperately to keep your brain tethered to the earth.
Andrew fucks you through it. Circles your clit until you're squeezing your thighs together, running from the sensitivity.
He finishes inside you a moment later, cock twitching as his orgasm settles low in his belly. And when he's finished, spasming with the aftershocks, you lift the plastic mask from his face and discard it on the floor of the passenger seat.
You smile and kiss him softly and say, "Let's go home. I'm hungry now."
Andrew knows the two of you will take one step into that house and they'll all know what you've gotten caught up doing. They'll see the mess of his curls and the flush on his face. They'll see your swollen lips and the spit drying at the corners and they'll think, 'Jesus, Pope. You can't get off that poor girl for even ten minutes?'
And he won't say anything, of course. He'll just let them go on believing the rumors, believing that he's the one who's insatiable for the shy girl who's gotten caught up in his gravitational pull.
Pope will let them keep on believing you're just a sweetheart.
thinking about how the cody compound backyard is so hot that the concrete around the pool almost burns under bare feet.
so she swore that she was “just gonna tan for twenty minutes.”
but that was over an hour ago.
and pope… he’s sitting at the kitchen island near the sliding doors cleaning one of the guns to prep for another job, but his attention keeps drifting outside.
his gaze lingering onto where she’s curled up on the lounge chair, her baby blue bikini— the one with the white ruffles is hugging her curves just right. and her sunglasses slightly crooked, one arm dangling lazily at her side.
asleep.
his eyes narrow slightly and then he stands.
the screen door slides open so quietly as he walks outside, freckled shoulders catching the sunlight while he stalks towards her. up close, he can already see the pink starting to blossom across her shoulders.
“hey,” he says lowly.
nothing.
his brow furrows.
“hey.”
she stirs, nose scrunching sleepily. “mmm?”
“you’re burning.”
her eyes barely crack open. “m’not.”
“you are.”
“five more minutes.”
pope stares at her for a second and then, without another word, he bends down and slides one arm behind her knees, the other around her back.
she lets out a sleepy noise immediately, eyes opening wider. “andrew—”
“shh.”
like that explains everything.
she melts against him almost instantly even though she doesn’t care that she’s getting burnt. the sun just feels so good.
she’s warm to the touch from the sun as he carries her across the patio toward the house like she weighs nothing.
“i can walk,” she mumbles weakly against his warm shoulder.
“you’re half asleep.”
“c’mon baby.”
he ignores her plea.
inside, the air conditioning hits her skin coolly and she sighs into his chest, fingers curling lazily into the front of his shirt.
pope glances down at her and sighs at his view— her breasts are perfectly perked beneath the cotton as she breaths in and out in his muscled arms.
“sun’s too hot for you.”
the way he says it makes her smile sleepily and caress his chest with her index finger.
because what he really means is— all i do it worry about you.
summary: andrew loves it when you call him andy instead of pope.
pairing: andrew “pope” cody x fem!reader
word count: 1.1k
content tags: 18+ MDNI, reader is super sweet, kinda pervy!pope, reader calls pope andy (obviously), use of pet names (sweetheart, baby, good girl, sweet girl), pope is down bad, probably bad writing but idc, no use of y/n, smut – m!masturbation, unprotected piv (don't try at home kids), praise kink
a/n: my first fic ever!! (well, technically this is more of a blurb, but still). i apologize if it’s written badly, i truly don’t know what i’m doing <3 also i’m only on season 2 of animal kingdom, so this is more based off of seasons 1 + 2 pope.
andrew cody who loves it when you call him andy, not pope. your sweet nature is such a far cry from any member of his family, and the fact that you don’t know him as pope like everyone else in his life but as andy, your andy, makes his chest feel tight. he likes the softness you bring to his life, it makes him feel normal for once.
andrew cody who loves it when you wander out to the kitchen in the morning after you stay the night with him, looking all sleepy, mumbling “andy, you out here?” and rubbing your eyes as you round the corner. he loves when his brothers eyes fall on you standing in the doorway, looking shy in your – his – shirt and boxers, arms hugged around yourself. loves when deran and craig pause eating their scrambled eggs to look at each other with raised brows before looking to andrew with the silent teasing question of andy?? in their eyes, not used to anyone calling him names other than pope and definitely not used to pope of all people bringing pretty girls home to smurf’s.
he’ll give you a small smile, the type of smile that he reserves only for you, and mumble “‘m here sweetheart.” he subtly reaches for you as you pad over to him, sidling up next to him where he stands in front of the kitchen island. you smile shyly at craig and deran as andrew’s hand settles comfortably on your lower back, and deran offers eggs, gesturing vaguely to the pan cooling on the stove. before you’ve even responded, andrew’s already moving to grab a plate from the cupboard, his form silent and intense as usual even when his task is as simple as serving breakfast to his girl. he especially loves when you give him the sweetest smile as you take the plate from him and say “thank you andy.” and as you lean up to kiss his cheek affectionately, he’ll attempt to keep his usual stoic expression, eyes intense and lips pressed into a thin line, but his brothers won’t miss the way his cheeks and ears redden ever so slightly.
andrew cody who loves it even more when you call him andy when you’re alone, because without the eyes of his brothers on him he can let himself relax in your presence, melting into your hand as you cup his cheek and give him a kiss on the nose. “andy, sweetie, c’mere,” you murmur, grinning as you pepper his face with kisses for no reason other than you think he’s so cute – your words, not his. he doesn’t understand how he got so lucky, how someone like you could care so much about a man with as much baggage and problems as him, but he lets you coax him into laying his head in your lap while you watch a movie together. he lets you run your fingers through his hair murmuring “oh, my andy,” with a warm expression on your face. he lets his eyes close, letting the nickname soothe him.
andrew cody who occasionally lets your phone calls go to voicemail. not because he doesn’t want to talk to you, he calls you back immediately with a lie: “sorry sweetheart, left my phone in the truck.” he just wants a recording of your bubbly voice saying “hi andy its me!” or “andyyy, please pick up” that he can listen to whenever he’s away on some job for smurf. the way the syllables roll off your tongue, even through the tinny sound of a phone call, does something to his heart. and to his cock. he tells himself he saves your voicemails so he can hear your voice as a simple, innocent comfort when he misses having you around, but more often than not he finds himself alone in his motel room at the end of a rough day, listening to your little whiny andyyy, please in his ear as he ruts into his hand, picturing his girl’s pretty face scrunched up in pleasure as he cums with a grunt. he always feels guilty after, telling himself he won’t do it again, but he always comes back to those recordings, unable to resist. once, when he was lucky, he had found an old pair of your underwear in his suitcase, probably from that time you borrowed it for a girls trip with your friends, tucked into the side pocket and forgotten. by the end of the night, your voicemails have gotten a workout and the lacy black garment is painted in white.
andrew cody who eases his conscience by fucking you into the mattress the second he gets home, telling himself that making you feel so good you cry will make up for his perverted behaviour. not that you even know about his little voicemail situation, or that you’d care, but still. “fuck, andy, oh my g–” you whimper, clutching his freckled biceps as he hitches your leg over his shoulder to sink deeper into you. “that’s it baby, you’re doin’ so good f’me, sweetheart, takin’ me so well,” he groans, voice rough. he knows the praise will go straight to your head – it always does – and you let out a choked sob, your brain going completely blank as his cock nudges that sweet spot inside you that only he’s ever been able to reach. his sights narrow down to one thing as you start to tighten around him: you. he loves to draw all those sounds out of you, needs to hear you cry his name. it doesn’t take long before the white-hot tension in your belly reaches a searing peak, and you cry out a nearly incoherent string of andyandyandyandyandyandy and fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, nails clawing at his skin. he doesn’t care if it marrs his back, the scratches are evidence that he made you feel like this. he fucks you through your orgasm, not slowing down for a second, muttering “good girl, such a sweet girl, fucking made for me,” until you’re twitching, the feeling becoming too much. the sight of you beneath him looking absolutely wrecked, skin flushed and tears glistening on your cheeks, mixed with the sound your breathless chants, soon makes his hips stutter. in no time, he’s collapsing on top of you as his cum fills you up, his guilt over the voicemails and the panties long forgotten.
later, you’re curled up against his chest, fucked-out body soft and warm and sleepy in his arms, and andrew silently kisses your temple and thanks his lucky stars that he doesn’t have to be pope all the time, he can just be your andy.
dividers by @strangergraphics and @somebitchprobably-graphicdump !
reader trains her new boyfriend, pope cody, how to kiss!
mdni, 18+, intense make out session with pope cody, dry humping, based off season one and two pope cody!
your boyfriend, pope, is a bad kisser.
like, really bad.
his lips are all stiff, head tilts the wrong angle, and teeth clash into yours all clumsy. it's like he's forgotten basic anatomy, like he doesn't know where his nose is supposed to go without smashing it into yours. his hands hover awkwardly at his sides, fingers twitching, like he doesn't have anywhere else to put them.
the first few times you kissed were endearing, cute even. you told yourself it was nerves, that he just needed time.
and you get it. you really do. it’s been a while for him since he got out of jail, and this, him and you, is new.
but now, as he leans in again with all the confidence of someone about to absolutely miss the mark—
yeah. it’s time to train him.
that's how you end up splayed across his lap in his bed, bare thighs resting on either side of him, your mini skirt riding up, as you teach a grown man how to kiss. you place your palms flat against his chest, pushing him back gently, murmuring against his jaw to relax, to breathe, to let you take the lead.
and he does.
he listens to you like a lovesick puppy, eager to please.
your fingers drag through those soft auburn curls at the nape of his neck, tilting his head at just the right angle. his thumbs press into your bare thighs, drawing these shaky, absent circles into your skin, gripping tight enough to bruise, like he's terrified he'll lose control and just pounce on you if he doesn't hold onto something.
"just follow me, andrew. 'kay?"
"yeah." he swallows hard. "yeah, okay." his voice comes out rough, unsteady. his warm brown eyes are fixed on you, wide, intense. focused entirely on your mouth like he's trying to memorize whatever you're about to show him.
you lean in to give him a small peck first, soft, barely there then look at him. he looks back at you before he copies you, leaning back in, and this time his lips aren't so stiff.
progress.
then you part your lips carefully, slanting your mouth over his until they're molding together, until his warm breath seeps into yours.
you swipe your tongue slow along his bottom lip and he sighs, low, shaky, his fingers dig harder into your thighs.
"you like that?" you pull back just enough to ask, breathless.
he stares at you. eyes heavy-lidded, mouth slightly parted, breathing ragged. "yeah."
so you do it again. and again. slow and patient, until he catches the rhythm, until his jaw unclenches and he stops thinking so damn hard about it, until his mouth finally moves with yours instead of against it. his hands skate over your thighs higher, trembling, squeezing the soft of them harder.
"andrew, stick out your tongue for me." he does it. listens to you without a second thought, without an ounce of shame, just pure, raw trust. "yeah, just like that, such a good boy."
you watch his pupils blow wide at the praise, his cheeks flush all the way to the tips of his ears. cute.
you lean in again and lave your tongue over his, slow and hot. tasting him, him tasting you, and he lets out this broken, pleased groan that vibrates deep in his chest and against your body. his hands spasm on your thighs, trying to tug you closer.
you push him back immediately and he actually chases your mouth for a second before yoy press a finger over his lips. "uh-uh. slower, baby. follow my lead."
"sorry." he mumbles, a little shy.
then, when you give him the go ahead, he leans back in, kisses you exactly as you showed him, setting the pace real slow. he breathes through his nose while he does it, groaning all ragged and needy, as your tongues swirl together, like you've been edging him for hours instead of kissing him for minutes.
and then pulls back just a fraction, his eyes desperately searching your face for approval. "am i doing good?" his face is trying so hard to stay flat, face blank, but the dark flush blotching down his neck like a fever and wrecked voice gives him away completely.
"mhm," your pussy pulses at the sight of him so desperate, so utterly helpless beneath you.
your fingers scratch fondly at his scalp, nails dragging through the auburn strands and he whimpers. "doing really good, popey."
he gets all twitchy when you call him that and his hips jerk up as he starts rutting against you like a dog in heat. and, oh, you can feel him. the growing bulge through the rough denim, pressing right against the damp seam of your thin panties.
he's so huge that the thick, heavy outline of him drags deliciously between your folds through the clothes, catching right on your puffy clit, and a embaressingly loud moan slips out of you before you can stop it.
the sound flips a switch in him and he moves before you can blink.
his hands clamp down on your waist, and suddenly you're the one being flipped down into his mattress, the breath knocked clean out of your lungs. the sheer strength of him makes something warm and desperate pool low in your belly.
his heavy body settles on top of yours, all solid muscle and desperate heat. the new angle has him pressing right against your pussy, the rough seam of his jeans dragging over your soaked panties, and you both groan at the friction.
"ah—popey, wait—" but he just kisses you again, muffling your protests, arms wrapping tight around your torso.
the air gets thicker, heavier and you realize not only is your boyfriend a fast learner but he's terrifyingly observant too—those sharp, dark eyes of his catching every micro-expression, filing away exactly what makes you whimper, what makes your spine arch, what makes you grind up harder into him. you can feel him learning your body in real-time, using your own reactions against you.
you’re whimpering against his tongue now, making pathetic, wet sounds you didn’t know you could make, melting into the mattress and rolling your hips up, chasing the friction against your aching clit, completely at his mercy.
and the sounds only spur him on.
"'taste too good." he whines as he sinks his tongue deeper into your mouth. turning the kiss sloppy and wet as he laps at you, licking into the roof of your mouth like he's starving, swallowing every needy moan he pulls from your chest.
he sucks at your bottom lip until it throbs, biting down just hard enough to sting. you let out a high, reedy whine before he licks over the hurt, obsessive and soothing.
"mmnh—'s too much, popey—"
he can't hear you or either he does and just doesn't care. his hands just slide down, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties, rolling them down slowly, too slowly, all the way to your ankles. and you hear the rustle of him unzipping his pants, the metal teeth parting loud in the quiet room before he presses his still clothed bulge against your bare pussy.
"oh."
so much for him being a bad kisser. huh?
but it's overwhelming, all too much, and you can hardly breathe. so you pull at his curls, hard, weakly pushing at his shoulders but he only groans low pleased at the feeling and presses you deeper into the mattress instead, one hand fisting in your hair to hold you exactly where he wants you.
he continues to tongue-fuck you stupid, devouring you until your eyes are rolling back and your lungs are burning, swallowing all your protests.
and his hips won't stay still either.
he's basically rutting against the slick folds of your pussy now, grinding down in these desperate, clumsy thrusts that bump against your clit every few seconds, making you jolt and whine each time. you can feel how wet you're making him, the fabric of his briefs damp where you're leaking through, and the filthy thought of it—of him wearing your slick, of marking him that way—makes you clench so hard your thighs shake.
only after what seems like hours, just when you're dizzy, about to black out from lack of oxygen, he finally pulls back. a thick string of spit connects your swollen, ruined mouths. he immediately leans in to lick it from the corner of your lips, greedy and hungry, panting heavily against your cheek.
"did– did i do good?" he asks all needy for praise, chin slick, those pretty brown eyes wide and utterly wrecked above you, his curls stuck to his sweaty forehead.
"mhm." is all you manage. a breathless sigh. your brain is mush, entirely fucked out from just the kiss.
he grins, a little too proud of himself. then he grinds into you. once.
After reading your pope and jack fic, I was wondering if you could do one where reader is a student doctor at the Pitt but is married to Pope who in this case could be like..jack’s nephew or smth..and he just gives off such Doberman energy when he comes to pick her up at the end of her shift oh and and you best believe he kind of just stares Robby down cos he knows how mean he can be to his wife in shifts.
Also I think Dana would be such a nice person to pope.
A good husband protects without biting
tags: andrew cody x fem!doctor reader, jack abbot x cousin-in-law!reader, jack and andrew are cousins, doberman energy andrew, guard dog andrew, andrew cody doesn't mess around, mean robby, protective jack, the pitt doesn't think andrew exists, 18+ MDNI
notes: thank you @mei-vis for requesting! I hope I did this ask justice! I chose for jack and andrew to be cousins instead of an uncle/nephew since I believe they look a bit too similar for that familial relationship!, like always if you'd like to be added to my permanent tag list, please comment here! please enjoy!
word count: 2.6k words
The end of your shift couldn’t come soon enough.
In the span of twelve hours, you’d been doused in bodily fluids twice, hit on by a creepy old drunk who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, passively dismissed by Robby after he deemed you “too slow” for a trauma (when in reality, the med student next to you was the one who wouldn’t hand you the damn tube), and had your lunch stolen when it clearly had your name written on it—four times might you add.
To top the whole very bad day off, your husband hadn’t responded to the messages you had sent hours ago asking if he’d be back in time to pick you up because the forecast called for rain, and like all bad days had gone, your car basically gave up the ghost the moment you parked it in the employee lot.
So, you were almost scrub-less, uncomfortable, embarrassed, and so starving you almost thought about paying an insane price for a small Uber-ed meal before you also realized that the app hadn’t saved your information and your card was currently sitting on the kitchen counter.
Just what you needed.
The groan, along with the rumbles of your stomach, caused many heads to turn.
“Is there a stampede in here? Or is your stomach in the process of eating itself,” Dana asked, though her eyes didn’t leave the nurses’ board.
Your head landed next to the keyboard with a loud thunk. “I think my stomach tried to eat itself a couple of hours ago before realizing that it was completely empty.”
“I saw you brought lunch. Where’d that go?”
If glares could put someone six feet under, the one you were giving your computer should have imploded it. “Currently being digested in the stomach of a med student.”
“Good Lord. You poor thing.”
“Tell me about it. I’d been dreaming of those leftovers since last night!”
Dana gave you a knowing look. “Did your husband cook it?”
“Yep.” Your chair squeaked as you leaned back. “And I didn’t even get to enjoy it for the second time. He’s going to be pissed.”
“Who’s going to be pissed?” Trinity asked, already leaning on the counter like getting closer to you would make the gossip flow over. “Cause if you’re talking about Dr. Robby, that ship sailed around 2:30.”
You closed your eyes and ran a hand down your face. “Trust me; I already know he’s pissed off at the world. I’ve been on the receiving end of that way too much today.”
She gave you a sympathetic wince. “I heard about that.”
“Who hasn’t,” you muttered with a harsh snort.
That was the other thing that had added to your humiliation. Robby hadn’t just quietly dismissed you or corrected you after the trauma, no, he rather loudly decided to spew his personal thoughts about your work ethic in front of not just your coworkers but also the patient’s family who were there for moral support. Blatant strangers had a front seat to watch your attending rip into you all while it hadn’t even been your fault.
Just thinking about it brought another heated flush up your neck.
“To answer your question, her husband’s the one who’s going to be pissed,” Dana filled her in while rewriting a name. “He’s very particular about who gets to eat his food.”
Another groan rumbled your chest. “Med student didn’t even return the Tupperware. Now he’s going to be extra pissed at that.”
For a small second, Trinity looked almost nervous. “Will you be okay?”
Her concern made a small feeling of comfort and pride bloom in your chest. If there was one person you could count on other than your family and Dana, it was Trinity, never hesitating to step in if she even thought someone didn’t feel safe. You shot her a grateful smile.
“Oh, I’ll be perfectly fine. He’ll be mad sure, but not at me. We’ll just pray that he won’t spot the student that did it.”
“Amen to that,” Dana muttered. “He’s like your personal guard dog.”
“Are we going to add that guy who tried to touch your ass earlier?” Trinity teased, and your eyes widened.
“Definitely.” You nodded along. “Might as well add Robby to it too. My husband isn’t that fond of him already. I just wish he’d respond to my messages.”
Dana gave you a knowing look. “He at work today?”
“Yeah. There was a problem with one of the houses a few hours out, and he left before I was even out of bed. Said there was a contract breach, kissed me good morning, and drove off.”
“That’s oddly sweet,” Trinity added.
You couldn’t help the fond smile that grew on your face. “Even made my coffee for me. I found it with one of those little post-it notes stuck to it.”
“Didn’t know he was into doing stuff like that,” Dana said with a small laugh.
“You know how he is,” you replied. “The man’s love language is acts of service.”
Trinity smiled. “What does he do for work?”
Your fingers found the keyboard again while you answered. “He’s a relator and contractor. Usually, he works from home, but like today, he sometimes has to go out and inspect the houses or make sure the paperwork is in order.”
“Sounds like you got yourself a stay-at-home husband.”
You couldn’t help but snort. “Yeah. He actually really likes to do the house work. Plus, when I’m home, all I’m doing is sleeping.” Your eyes caught your wedding band. “He’s really good to me. Plus, he’s Jack’s—”
“Ladies, if we have time to chat, we have time to work,” Robby’s voice interrupted the conversation, loud and on the very edge of condescending. “Especially you, Dr. Cody. Let’s focus on getting patients in and out instead of sitting around, yes?”
You swallowed down an annoyed sigh, instead choosing to stand up without a word. Hating the way you felt under Robby’s glare almost made you want to put in a two-week notice and move departments. However, emergency medicine was your life; it was the sole reason you met the people who quickly became your family, the reason you met your husband. Your fingers quickly found your wedding band, specially made of the number of diamonds that symbolized how long you and your husband had been dating before he proposed.
Grabbing another tablet quickly, you forced yourself to hold your head up high as you passed him. Robby wasn’t worth your fear or submission. Plus, it wasn’t like he never talked around; you’d caught him and the hospital’s case manager making small talk way too many times to count. The man was a hypocrite that couldn’t see past his own faults and projected them onto his employees.
By the time you rounded the corner, and Robby had vacated the station, Trinity leaned in toward Dana a bit more.
“Is there any way to contact her husband? She mentioned her car died, and it’s raining.” Trinity looked in the direction you had disappeared down. “If I were married and my boss talked to me like that, I’d want my partner to know.”
Dana had already picked up her personal cell after Trinity’s first question. “Oh, I’ll make sure he knows.”
_______________________
When you exited the patient’s room, you paused a few feet into the hallway, rubbed your eyes, and continued to stare at the nurses’ station.
Dana being there with Trintiy and Dennis was nothing out of the ordinary. However, the added presence of Jack Abbot and your husband was. You hastily crossed the gap between you and the station, concern etching itself in your eyebrows and lips.
“Andrew?” you called out. “What are you doing here?”
At the sound of your voice, Andrew Cody turned his head so rapidly that it added another wave of worry that he might have pulled something. He stayed still, even when you stopped in front of him, as your hands gently ran up his arms and stopped at his face all while the small group watched on with small smiles (from Jack and Dana) and genuine curiosity (from Dennis and Trinity).
“You’re supposed to be in Altoona right now. Did you get hurt?” you questioned when your eyes couldn’t find any visible injuries.
He stayed silent while his hands quietly found yours, fingers threading between the gaps and holding you steady.
“I’m fine,” he finally said, hazel eyes boring into yours. “Just missed you.”
A relieved exhale escaped from your lips. “Thank goodness. I was worried there for a second.”
His crooked teeth poked through a smile. “I could tell.”
You softly pushed him before taking his hands again. “Shut up. You went hours without responding and just show up at the end of my shift. God forbid I’m concerned for my husband.”
“See, man, I told you she’d do this,” Jack grumbled, patting Andrew slightly on the shoulder.
“Um, not to interrupt, but did Dr. Cody marry someone who looks exactly like Dr. Abbot?” Dennis squeaked out a question, obviously trying not to step over a boundary.
But like a sister, Trinity nudged him harshly with her elbow. “Use your brain, Huckleberry. It’s obvious they’re related somehow.”
The two continued looking between the Pitt’s night shift attending and your husband who looked like Jack if he were ten years younger.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you early, Trinity,” you said. “My husband is Jack’s cousin on their moms's side. Andrew, this is Dennis and Trinity.”
Andrew didn’t reach out to give them a handshake, but the appreciated nod he gave them was somehow enough. “She talks about you two a lot.”
Trinity looked smug by the news. “All good things I hope.”
“Definitely,” he answered. “I can tell she likes working with you two.”
“Which is more than he can say about Robby,” Dana muttered.
The change in Andrew, just by mentioning Robby, was so visceral that Trinity and Dennis were both shocked.
In the few moments, the two could see how soft this hunking-fridge-of-a-man was for you. They saw it in the way he was quick to hunch over slightly when you looked him over with worry. They noticed it in the way he held onto you when he reassured you that he was only there for her and not because he had gotten hurt. They noted the way his soft smile was only for you and not even for when his cousin jested with him.
Dana’s words from earlier rang in Trinity’s mind as she watched Andrew’s muscles tense beneath his polo.
He’s like your personal guard dog.
Andrew shifted his weight, shoulders now seemingly broader than they had been. “Did something happen today?”
Your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “It was nothing. He’s just being Robby.”
Surprisingly, Andrew’s eyes flitted over to Trinity like he knew she’d tell him exactly what he wanted to know. “What’d he do?”
Trinity looked at you once, and when you looked toward the floor, she answered. “He blamed her for a med student’s slow pace. Practically yelled at and belittled her in front of the other doctors in the trauma room and the patient’s family.”
Even Jack couldn’t hold back the wince splashing across his face at the news, mind already knowing that in five seconds, his cousin might be on a war path for his friend. However, all Andrew seemed to do was take in a deep breath and hold onto your hands like a tether.
“All right,” he finally said, body still tense. “Okay. Anything else I should know?”
“Someone took her lunch,” Dana added, drawing your eyes from the floor to her, hues flooding with betrayal.
Et tu, brute?
“Dana,” you hissed.
Andrew’s grip on your hands tightened.
In an almost attempt to throw more gas onto an already raging fire, Trinity ended with, “And she had a patient try to grope her earlier this morning.”
Andrew’s eyes closed slowly like he was bracing for a fit of rage to overtake his senses, his mind already racing with the fact that you probably hadn’t eaten, because when he stopped by the house to change, he saw your forgotten card. Add in you almost getting assaulted, and he was one wrongly pulled Jenga block from collapsing.
You closed your eyes and braced for impact, already feeling the brunt of the day push down on you. They only fluttered open when Andrew didn’t move, his chest the only thing heaving in an out and in motion. Somehow, that didn’t ease the queasy feeling bubbling beneath your skin. And at that moment, Robby decided to round the corner. Like most men, you guessed that he hadn’t picked up on the tension cloud that was currently circling around the station and—more importantly—Andrew’s head.
When Robby walked into his field of view, you swear you saw the lovely hazel of his eyes darken. It should have scared you how quickly Andrew could go from your sweet and doting husband to a very possessive animal, but instead, the change had you relaxing and relieved. If there was someone you could count on for anything no matter what, that person would always be Andrew.
And maybe (finally) Robby sensed enough tension, because his body went stiff after he looked up from the tablet in his hands and met Andrew’s eyes.
Trinity and Dennis really thought that your husband was going to stalk over there, throw a punch, menacingly bark curse words and insults at Robby (a man who had a few good inches to tower over Andrew), and walk back over like nothing happened. But when he stayed put, only giving a beady stare that never wavered, they realized that he didn’t even have to talk to Robby or punch him for his words to get across.
They knew that Andrew was making Robby uncomfortable by the way Robby shifted, the way he broke eye contact first, and the way he left the station looking like a dog with a tail between its legs.
Jack let out a low whistle. “Damn, that never gets old.”
Dana smirked. “He ever use that on you?”
“All the fucking time.” Jack scoffed. “Do you know how many family gatherings I spent trying to get away from those eyes.”
“We have the same eyes, asshole,” Andrew grumbled.
“But yours are scary as hell,” Jack shot back. “Might be a good time to say that my night shift needs another resident.”
“Fuck no,” Trinity instantly said. “You can’t have her, or we’d be left with him.”
Dennis nodded. “I’m in full agreement.”
Jack looked over at you expectantly but visibly deflated at the apologetic look you were giving him.
“Sorry, Jack, but I enjoy getting to spend my evenings at home.” You paused and smirked. “I know Samira’s been looking for a change of scenery if you want to ask her.”
The small crowd couldn’t help but smile or chuckle at the now vivid flush across Jack’s face as he tried to sputter out an answer.
“All right, get out of here kids before it looks like you’re staging a mutiny,” Dana said with a wave of her hands.
“Aye, aye, captain,” Trinity responded with a salute of her own.
Andrew grinned widely, finally showing the smile around more people than just you. “If we’re turning into pirates, Jack already has the missing-leg thing down.”
“Hey!”
You giggled loudly while Andrew wrapped an arm around your shoulders, bringing you into his side. Your hand gently rested against his chest as you hugged him back. He felt your body melt into his after he pressed a quick kiss to your temple.
“Ready to go home?” he quietly muttered just loud enough for you to hear. “Dana already gave me your bag.”
“Yeah,” you breathily sighed. “Let’s go before a trauma comes in, and I’m stuck in here until I wither away.
Andrew hummed. “We can’t have that now, can we?”
“Absolutely not. I still want to have leftovers at least one more time before I’m buried. And this time, I’m putting a padlock on the container.”
Omg i read you jack abbot x younger gf squirting fic and i cant stop thinking about how mean!pope would react to you accidentally squirting? Will he make you do it again over and over cuz he's all icky abt it?? :(
𓏵 ┊ accidentally squirting with mean!pope . 18+
after you squirt the first time mean!pope makes it his mission to make you do it again. scissoring you open on his two of his rough digits, sliding in and out of pussy as you’re back to the mattress with your thighs spread open by with his knees.
“shit… didn’t think you’d actually do it.” pope curses to himself, beneath his breath. his eyes fixated on the obscenely, wet mess you’ve made — creating a puddle right underneath yourself as your pussy gushes to every stroke of pope’s fingers.
“i— i told you to stop,” you suck in your bottom lip, face rising in temperature as the embarrassment started to creep in. your tummy all soaked, there’s even a tiny puddle sitting inside your bellybutton. and if the humiliation wasn’t already enough, you feel pope’s free hand drag over your skin with his palm flush against your belly, rubbing the liquid into your skin. “wha- what are doing an—”
“fuckin’ disgusting.” he cuts, watching the slick slide down his arm and across you skin making your insides tighten around him, which earns a low — almost tranced groan from andrew. his eyes dart from your lower half, up towards you and that makes another noise come out of him.
the way your eyes are glossed over with tears, and the sweet pout displayed on your lips from utter mortification. it wrecked something inside him — something that made him need more… something that urged him to take more.
he ducks down, his frame caging you in as the hand soaked in your wet mess grabs at your jaw, before running his thumb across your soft lips. “why are you crying?” his brow furrow, watching your mouth for an answer but there’s nothing. “it’s your mess, baby.” his other hand is trailing back down to your cunt.
his fingers dipping into your folds, sliding between your folds gathering your slick before dipping a finger into your hole as you whine. “but it’s your fault…” you protest before feeling him insert another finger into you, nudging his fingers directly against the spot that had you squirting the first time.
“yeah?” pope responds with a dismissive hum, his eyes flickering toward you, studying your face as he adds in a third finger stretching you completely on his digits to get a reaction out of you. as your face is twisting in pleasure, feeling his fingers dig directly against your sweet spot.
“guess we can make it my fault…” he thrusts his fingers deep and rough, instantly building pressure on your g-spot as your toes curl and back arch off the mattress. you’re squirming, legs trying to kick away and hands attempting to swat away pope’s hand that’s fucking into your pussy knuckles deep.
“andy— please! ‘s too much, ‘m—” you’re pleading with those built up tears finally trailing down your cheeks. but it’s no use because andrew has no intentions on stopping — not whenever he’s already decided that you’ll be making the abhorrent mess of yourself right on his hand.
“you’re just gonna have to blame me again.” he groans , looking right into your glassy eyes as he feels your insides swell around his fingers, signifying that you’re close to squirting for the second before you’re involuntarily spurting warm liquids from his words, “cause im not stopping.”
Summary: Reader gets jealous and Pope reminds her who he belongs to - 5k words
Based on this request:
Anonymous asked:
I need Reader to be equally possessive and or obsessive or even more. And pope just being utterly in love with them cause no one has ever been that devoted to him.
Warnings: Jealous and possessive!Reader, obsessed!Pope, established relationship, sex, breath play, Pope wants reader to baby trap him (+18 mdni). Read at your own risk
To the anon who requested this, I hope you like it! I am aware you never mentioned smut, but the more I wrote this, the more I wanted to write it.
This is my first time writing smut in years, so I apologise if it's not great 🙈 I such at coming up with fic titles, so if you can think of an alternative name, feel free to suggest one.
I am writing the requests currently sitting in my inbox, I promise! Animal Kingdom requests are open. Please ask away. 🥰
Trust Craig and Deran to act like two teenagers and throw a party when Smurf was away on one of her trips. There were people everywhere, in the pool, on the patio, even on the other side of the couch. While everyone else seemed to actively seek out the chaos, you were more than content with being glued to Pope's side. Hiding in plain sight inside your own bubble was more exciting than playing stupid drinking games in front of everyone. His attention was the only one that mattered.
“Do you want another drink?” You asked as you sat with your legs nonchalantly across Pope's lap.
Pope tapped your leg, his way of asking you to move. “I’ll get them.” You shook your head as you pushed Pope back down and stood beside him. You ran your hand through his hair, tightening your grip as you made your way towards the nape of his neck. You pulled on his hair, forcing his head backwards and a growl to sound in his throat. “I’ll be right back, pretty boy.”
You placed your lips within touching distance of his, but kept enough space between you that the only contact was a fleeting brush as you walked away. He groaned in disappointment, always desperate for your affection.
He was extra clingy lately, and you couldn’t figure out why. Nothing had gone wrong with a job, at least not with your knowledge. Everything seemed perfect. The only thing that sprang to mind was the approaching one year anniversary of his release from prison.
The whole time Pope was locked up, you never missed a visit. Every time the phone rang, you jumped to answer it just in case he somehow earned extra phone privileges. The postman knew you by name due to the infinite letters you sent back and forth. He even somehow managed to send you origami flowers for special occasions like birthdays and anniversaries. He never forgot a single one. You kept everything. Every letter, every flower, every card.
For one visit, you decided to make it special by buying an expensive perfume you thought he would like. You made sure to spray it all over you, but one look at him and you knew something was wrong. He appreciated the gesture, and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings, especially when you did it all for him, but it wasn’t the same. He missed the smell of your old perfume. He missed the smell of you and the way it lingered on his skin after your visits. It was the same smell you made sure to spray all his letters with, the one that reminded him of home and what was waiting for him when he got out.
When he was released, he became extra possessive, if that was even possible. In his mind, he was trying to make up for lost time, the time that was stolen from both of you. Neither one of you could keep your hands off the other. Whoever said the honeymoon phase didn’t last was a liar. Here you were, many years later and still insanely in love.
The search for more drinks had you gone for less than 30 seconds, and you already missed him. You tried to get back to him as fast as possible, dodging drunk couples dry humping in the kitchen to whatever music was playing from a speaker.
When you returned, the sight in front of you stopped you in your tracks. Pope had tensed up, his shoulders square and ridged. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk to the girl in front of him, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. It was the way she placed her claw like hand on his knee. She had her back to you, so she couldn’t see your slow approach, like a lion hunting prey.
Pope was intrigued to see what you would do. The anticipation of your next actions excited him, causing his jeans to grow tighter. The way you didn’t take lightly to someone else flirting with him, or showing him any romantic interest, always led to you being jealous.
Knowing your natural instinct to be territorial over him was one of the things he loved most about you. You always need to be within touching distance, and the way your hands ran all over him in search of bare skin set his body on fire. He played into your primal need for his attention and your obsession with reminding everyone he was yours. You wouldn’t let anyone, and especially not Pope, forget who he went home to every night.
“You're in my seat.” The tone in your voice was blunt and impolite. You didn’t want to leave any room for misinterpretation. She was in your way, and you made light work of letting her know.
The girl barely turned her head as she looked you up and down with a scowl etched on her face. “Excuse me?”
“You're excused.” When she still didn’t move, to either stand up or remove he hand from touching up on your man, whatever restraint you had left exited your body. “Move.”
The only moment she made was to shift closer towards Pope. The sickly sarcastic smirk on her face was giving you another reason to smack her and put her back in her place, but the lustful look on Pope's face stopped you. The fucker was enjoying this. You knew he loved you when you would stake your claim on him, but you really weren’t in the mood. This bitch was pissing you off beyond any desire to kiss Pope desperate and silly in front of everyone.
The grip you had on the two glass beer bottles was dangerous. Any harder and you were sure they would shatter. You placed both bottles down on the coffee table, but your eyes never left where her hand lingered. It was either that or you would smash one over this girls head. “I’d move if I were you. This is not a fight you will win.”
Before the girl could reply, Craig appeared. He could sense the tension from the far side of the pool, and being the good friend he is, he knew you were one more second from jumping on her and pushing her into the pool. That, and the fact he didn’t want anyone to call the cops. “Just a warning, she doesn't play about her man.”
The girl wrapped her fingers further around Pope's knee and pushed herself up from the couch. When she reached her full height, she made sure she was way too close to you. To Craig's credit, he got it spot on. You didn’t mess around when it came to Pope, and you didn’t take lightly to some random bitch trying to glare you down.
With a tilt of your head, you dared her to make a move. You knew she wouldn’t actually do anything, but you half hoped she was more stupid than she looked. Just as you thought, she backed off. She scoffed and mumbled something under her breath about you being a psycho. You blew a kiss at her to send her on her way as she walked towards the patio.
When he was certain you weren’t going to follow her, Pope pulled you back down to sit beside him by the wrist. “You need to relax, sweetheart. I'm all yours.” Once he was content with you snuggled back into his side, he kissed the palm of your hand in an attempt to calm you down. The reassuring gesture wasn’t meant to be sexual, but you would be lying if it didn’t turn you on.
You pouted at him. “I mean, I can't really blame her. You're so handsome.”
Pope shrugged his shoulders at your comment as if he thought you were lying. He looked away from you, suddenly finding something over your shoulder very interesting. You had to force him to look at you, taking his chin in between your fingers, demanding his full attention. You knew he had issues with his self-worth and made a point to remind him of how much he meant to you. “I'm serious, Andrew. You're beautiful.”
He wasn’t expecting you to straddle him, a thigh on either side of him. You trapped him beneath you as your hands returned to his hair. He stared at the delicate chain that lay against your dainty neck. The ‘A’ you so proudly wore every day, marking you as his. It let everyone who dared to look know that you were taken. It let them know that you were owned by someone else. They couldn’t have you.
You were Popes girl. Your heart, mind, body, and soul belonged to him. Every time he looked at it, it made him feel warm. You were willingly his. The person he loved willingly loved him back. You had given every inch of yourself to him. He had never been loved this good before, and certainly not unconditionally. No matter what he did or what he had done, there were no strings attached. Your devotion to him was something he never thought he would find, much less deserve.
Pope was just as equally devoted to you, if not more so. He worshipped the ground you walked on. In his eyes, you were a goddess, someone who deserved to be taken care of and adored beyond all human comprehension. Popes world didn’t just revolve around you, you were it. Your being was his reason for living. You were the reason he kept breathing.
If he anticipated that something would be an issue, it was sorted before it even popped into your pretty little head. He believed it was his mission to keep you safe and happy.
He tucked his pointer finger beneath the chain and tugged you closer to him. The sound of your voice catching in your throat sent sparks straight to his dick. He loved that he could coax sweet sounds from you. “You're the pretty one, angel.”
Once he said that name, you knew it was game on. Every time he called you that, it always ended the same way, with you on all fours and begging. He would do the dirtiest of things to you and have you say the most depraved things ever whispered, but to him, you always looked so innocent and sweet.
You crashed your mouth onto his while you grinded into him. Your hunger was evident in the way the tip of your tongue flicked at his top lip, demanding he open up. He gave you what you wanted, allowing your tongue to slide over his.
You might have orchestrated this, but Pope controlled it. Every one of your movements was sanctioned by him. Even when you thought something was your idea, it originated from Pope. He was always three steps ahead. He knew everything about you and your body. He knew how you would react if he touched you a certain way. He knew how to rile you up, how to push your buttons. The worst part was that he knew you knew. You were a puppet on a string, and he was the most masterful puppeteer to ever exist.
“Maybe you should remind me whose name I scream every night.” His hands controlled your movement in his lap, only allowing you to move the way he wanted. You fought back. You gripped the front of his shirt, attempting to pull him even closer to you.
Your words woke something within him. The reminder that he was needed, and that he was the only one who could give you what you wanted always twisted something inside him. It made him feel important, desired even. And if there was one thing you were sure of in this life, it was that you desired Pope above everything and anything else.
If you were being honest with yourself, your favourite part was when you caught him off guard. The groan he held in his throat or the breath that caught in his lungs were the most delicious of sounds. Yes, you followed the script he gave you, but you loved throwing in a plot twist every now and again. You couldn’t let him have all the fun all the time.
He slid his hands over your ass to the back of your thighs and stood up from the couch. You automatically wrapped your legs around his waist and giggled at the feeling of his hands squeezing at your soft skin. You giggled into his neck, nipping at the exposed skin just above the collar of his shirt.
He walked towards his room, taking the floor in long strides. He wanted to get there as quick as possible. Once inside, Pope took full advantage of the privacy the room provided and released his grip on your thighs to place you on the ground. It took a second for you to remind your brain how to stand and support yourself. You used Pope as something solid to ground yourself on, and once the memory returned, you could feel his rough hands tearing your clothes off.
He left you in your underwear before removing his hands. You knew he had a thing about seeing you like that. Not undressed in the sense you still had something covering you, but also not leaving much to the imagination.
As he took one step forward, you took one back. His eyes raked over your body, taking it all in as you increased the distance between you. You continued stepping back until you felt the bed behind you. There was nowhere for you to go, and Pope stood there on the other side of the room, just watching.
You slowly reached around your back to unclasp your bra, dragging the straps down your shoulders with the opposite hand. He groaned at all your teasing, palming himself through his jeans. When you finally removed your bra, freeing your tits, the sight made him want to wrap his mouth around each nipple and suck.
You next went to take off your panties, but before you could, he grabbed you by the throat. The quick movement of his hand caused whatever noise you had wanted to let out to get trapped and die in place. Pope loved being the one to take your panties off, and the idea of anyone else doing it, even you, killed him.
Pope pulled you towards him more gently and slowly than you had ever experienced. You were helpless as he controlled your every breath. He could end you right there and then if he wanted to, but you knew he wouldn’t. The way you gave him full authority over your entire being made Pope feel vulnerable. You were the only person on the planet who wasn’t afraid of him, not even when he held you with such roughness.
He squeezed the sides of your neck, restricting your ability to breathe. The mixture of possession and obsession displayed on his face as he stood over you at the foot of the bed should have scared you, but his actions had the opposite effect. You were turned on beyond comprehension. You squeezed your thighs together, noting the wetness pooled between them. You were almost sure Pope could hear the squelching sound they made as you desperately looked for friction to release the ache between your legs.
Your hands automatically went to his waist. The neediness in your trembling hands was something you couldn’t deny. You thought that if you undressed him quickly, he would stop teasing you and give you what you desired. You had only managed to pop the button of his jeans open before Pope turned you around, crashing your back to his chest so he could kiss the side of your cheek.
“Need something, Angel?” He didn’t expect an answer, he didn’t need one.
With his free hand, he pushed the flimsy fabric of your panties over your hips and down your legs agonisingly slow. You stepped out of them and, with one last squeeze, he released your neck, pushing you onto the bed face first.
Pope crawled over your limp body, trapping you beneath him on the mattress with his full weight. He used your positions to his advantage, pushing his ever growing bulge into your ass as he grinded against you. The roughness of his jeans against the back of the soft skin of your legs contrasted beautifully with the clean sheets under you.
Pope weaved his hand through the stands of your hair and tugged, forcing your head to fall back against his shoulder. The angle gave him full access to kiss up the side of your neck, grazing his teeth against your jaw. “On your knees.”
There was no pet name, nothing to suggest it was a suggestion. No, it was a raw demand. He was telling you, not asking. The speed at which you complied should have been embarrassing, but you knew what was waiting for you. If you weren’t so desperate for him to fuck you sore, you would have fought back. Any idea of teasing him and drawing this out wasn’t on the table.
You heard Pope make light work of undressing himself. The buttons of his shirt hitting the floor excited you. You needed him now. You needed him inside you.
The sound of him undoing his zipper made your hips buck against nothing but air. He noticed, of course he did. Pope knew every micromovement you made, and he was especially aware when it came to sex. He was always eager to pleasure you, even if he teased you first. “Look at you, begging to be filled.”
An audible sigh left your lips as you felt the bed dip under Pope's weight. He was right there, but so far away at the same time. You wished he would hurry up, but you knew this would all happen when he was right and ready to give it to you.
The feeling of his hands running over the back of your thighs and up your back made you shiver. Pope let his hand rest against your shoulder as he ran the head of his swollen dick through your folds, gathering your wetness. Once he was satisfied with how wet you were, making sure he would slide in with ease, he lined himself up with you.
You were more than enthusiastic, desperately pushing back against him, wanting to hurry him up. Pope pulled back and used his free hand to slap the full cheek of your ass. The sound of your scream echoed against all four walls of the room.
“Behave, sweet girl.” He tutted at you as he ran his rough hand over the hot mark he just made. Your skin felt tender, but the sweet sting made you wetter than you wanted to ever admit out loud. He had marked you, and the reminder would stay with you for days on end.
He stayed still, only moving his hand in soothing circles against the forming welt. His hips were hauntingly still. It took everything in you not to repeat your mistake and push yourself closer to him.
You were unsure what he wanted. You didn’t want to give him cause to drag out his teasing, but you didn’t know how to get him to hurry up either. Settling on seeking forgiveness as a way to placate him, you muttered an apology. “I'm sorry, Andrew.”
Your plan seemed to work. You turned your head back to look at him over your shoulder to find him already looking at you. The image of him touching you delicately contrasted beautifully with the primal look in his eye. He held you there in his stare, listening to your breathy whines. “Eyes on me.”
You nodded weakly, trying your hardest to keep your eyes open and focused on him. He gathered saliva in his mouth and spat it on you. It wasn’t like he needed the extra wetness; you had never been wetter in your life. He did it just because he could, because he knew you would take it and thank him for it later. He did it as a warning that you and your pussy were his. The feeling of it dripping down your ass and across your lips to where you wanted him was a symbol of possession.
He lined up again, and this time you didn’t dare move. You didn’t want to think about what he would do if you misbehaved again. He pushed just the tip in and stilled his hips. “Who is the one who screams my name?’
Your eyes fluttered closed, and you didn’t answer. You were too focused on the feeling of his wedging his cock into you. He pulled out slightly, a form of punishment you loved to hate. You were now further away from having him fully inside you, but it also meant you got to feel him push back in.
“I, fuck, I do.” You stuttered.
Happy with your breathless reply, he fully bottomed out inside you. You weren’t expecting him to push in all in one go, he normally went slow and gentle. This was something new for both of you. Pope grunted as the wide o expression on your face let the mewl you held escape you easily.
He didn’t still his hips for too long, but he still gave you a brief second to adjust to him. No matter how many times he fucked you, you always needed a moment to stretch yourself out on him. Before you fully realised he had moved, Pope pulled out of you and thrusted himself back in just as quick.
The rapid thrust of Pope's hips against yours was something you wished you would never have to go without again. That feeling alone was enough to satiate you for the rest of your life. Nothing could ever compare.
Pope knew you were lost in the feeling, and as much as he loved the fact you were cock drunk on him, you were enjoying it a little too much for his liking. He wanted your complete attention. He slapped your ass again, this time on the other cheek, causing you to moan his name.
“Who owns me?” The grin on his face was one that didn’t come naturally to him, but the image of you desperate to take his thick cock stirred something within him. He always knew you were the only one for him, but seeing you like this, bent over in front of him at his mercy, ready to give him everything, made him want to give you his whole being in return. “Who do I belong to?”
Normally, he would be asking you who you belonged to, but seeing you get jealous over some girl made him want to remind you that he was yours. He needed to remind you that you were the only one who could take him like this, that you were the only one who could give him everything he needed.
“Me.” Your voice was weak, not that he could hear you, even if your head wasn’t buried into a pillow.
He pulled on your hair again, making you let go of the pillow. He wanted to hear you, loud and clear. He hated it when you tried to hide yourself from him. Every sound you made belonged to him. He earned every single one of them, and he was determined to make sure you gave them to him. The sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with your pornographic moans was his favourite thing in the world. “Sorry, I can't hear you, Angel.”
“You- you're m-mine.” You muttered in between thrusts, voice drawn out and scratching at the air for breath.
“That’s right. I'm yours.” Another tug to your hair caused you to arch your back. The new angle gave him more room to ruin you, if that was even possible. You could feel him deep in your lower abdomen. “And you will never forget it, will you?”
You hummed a response. Even if you wanted to, you never could, nor would, forget that Pope was wholly and completely yours. The feeling of him pulling fully out only to snap his hip back against you was hypnotising. How he hasn’t broken you in half, you will never know.
You reached a hand around to rub your clit. The lazy and rough circles you made, mixed with the feeling of his swollen tip opening you up each and every time, were slowly bringing you to the edge. Just as you were getting lost in the unavoidable wave of your impending orgasm, the sound of Pope howling a question in your ear brought you back to reality.
“You gonna let me cum in you? Give you my baby so I can never leave?”
Your knuckles were white under the grip you had on the sheets beneath you. You hadn’t expected him to say that. Pope wasn’t the most verbal in bed. He normally communicated through grunts and harsh whispers when you were being good for him or did something he liked. And yet, here he was asking to have his baby.
You had talked about it briefly, on and off, over the years, and you thought the right time would present itself whenever the universe thought it was right. Other things kept getting in the way. The jobs, his family, everything, but in that moment, there was only one answer you could give him. You weren’t even sure you had let him finish his question before you screamed your answer back at him. “Yes, Andrew. Fuck, cum in me, please.”
“You sure, Angel? There's no going back once I make you full with my kid.” In between filling you with his dick and giving you some of the best sex you have ever had, he was still giving you an out. He didn’t want to force you into something you weren’t fully committed to. If anything, it made you even more sure in your decision.
You wanted to scream out yes. Yes, yes, yes. The words wouldn’t come, caught in the bottom of your lungs. The idea of Pope being your baby daddy was the sexiest thing you could imagine.
“Better hurry up and decide, shit - ” His rhythm faltered slightly, as if he was holding himself back. He was close, so close that you knew it was now or never. You had to make sure he knew how serious you were. “I'm so close, sweetheart”
“Please, Andrew. Let me make you a daddy, please.”
That was all he needed to hear. The sound of your fucked out voice begging him to get you pregnant, to permanently tether your lives together, caused him to roll his eyes back with pleasure. Pope let the little restraint he had left go, and with whatever energy he had left, he went all out.
You had never been fucked so hard or so fast before. If it wasn’t for the grip of his hands on your hips, you were sure you would have fallen flat against the bed. You had no confidence in your legs or arms to hold you up.
The feeling of him rutting into you as he came was something you would never forget as long as you lived. His hot cum spurted into you, painting you white as he spasmed like a man possessed. His hands clawed at you with a bruising grip as he tried to keep you in place, making sure you took everything he had.
Pope opened his tightly shut eyes and released his grip on you, gently placing you down onto the bed, all while keeping himself inside you. He didn’t want to waste a single drop. You were caged beneath his warm body as you felt him soften inside you.
Pope rolled off of you with care, aware of how sensitive both of you were after what had just happened. He hissed, feeling your walls trapping him, not wanting him to pull out. The feeling of his cum dripping out of you made you giggle. Your legs trembled with pleasure. In that moment, you had fully accepted that there was no possibility of you leaving your bed anytime soon. You bit your lip, turning to look at him lying beside you, staring at the ceiling. He was still trying to regain a normal breathing rhythm as his heart audibly thumped against his chest.
Once he snapped back to reality and his breathing began to slow, he shifted onto his side. He was so proud of himself. Never did he think he would be able to make someone as happy as he made you. His hazel stared back at you with all the love he couldn’t verbally say to you out loud. And in that single look, there was no doubt for either of you. You had just been knocked up.
As Pope brushed his fingers against your smiling face, the ‘A’ of your necklace caught his attention. He brought his fingers down towards it, wiping the sweat of your neck away in the process. He placed the delicate letter in between his fingers, running his thumb over it.
He never thought he would be so willing to share you with anyone, but in that moment, he promised himself that he would get you another letter for every child you gave him. Their initials would hang from your neck with pride, just as you so proudly wore his.
Pope losing steam mid conversation because he thinks you’ve stopped listening/don’t care..
Like, you two would be at the pool or beach and he’s absentmindedly digging around and finds a cool black rock with white lines. You look over and see him examining it as you’re reapplying your sunscreen.
“Whatcha got there, honey?” You ask curiously.
“It’s a quartz-veined shale..” He answers softly, moving it in his hands as if wanting to really take in its beauty. “You know, they only form because silica-rich fluids flow through fractures in sedimentary shale, and…”
His voice trails to a halt as he sees you rummaging through your bag. He quietly looks elsewhere, setting the rock down quietly as if telling himself that it was stupid..
You look over. “Keep going. I’m listening.” You nod certainly as his shoulders slump a bit. He looks at you for a moment before he softly goes back to talking while you rub sunscreen on him..
