i know you told me not to wait for you but i will anyway. you have my heart and there isn’t a day that goes by where i don’t think of you and what our future could be once you come home.
i dream of us growing old together in a nice house far away from here because i know that’s what you want to do. you’ve always protected me and that’s one of the reasons why i love you, we’ll get into the others when we’re together again.
i don’t know if you’ll read this but please know that i love you, i care about you and i’ll be here waiting for you to return.
— yours
dear pope,
i’m not sure if you got my letter or if it got lost somewhere. either way, you have no obligation to respond to me.
things here have been tough but definitely not as bad as the stuff you’re going through. i read an interesting book that reminded me of you, you can borrow it when you’re out.
i love you, i wish i could come and visit you but you don’t want that and i respect your wishes.
— yours
dear pope,
a lot has happened since the last time i wrote to you. i finally got a cat!! here’s a photo of us, i hope you find comfort in something familiar.
she’s great company, i named her sally because it reminds me of our first not so date. do you remember that night? you held my hand when i got scared and it made me feel safe. i’ve always felt that way with you.
i hope you’re okay. i love you.
— yours
in total, you sent over 30 letters despite not getting a response from him. it hurt a lot but if he didn’t want to write back then that’s his decision. you were the last to find out that he was home.
you were laying on the couch with sally on your lap when the doorbell rang. the cat jumped up and you quickly got up to answer it.
the door opened and there stood pope. his hair was shorter than the last time you saw him and he looked tired. you were at a loss of words, you went to speak but nothing came out.
“when did you get out?” you managed to mutter, suddenly feeling nervous.
you’d imagined this moment for months but it felt different. he was different.
“a week ago.” he mumbled, his expression staying neutral. “are you not happy to see me?” he asked, frowning slightly.
“i didn’t think you wanted to see me.” pope seemed to be confused by your words.
he was upset that you’d even think that. “what? of course i wanted to see you.” you frowned, “did you at least like the photo? i know it wasn’t a lot but i wanted you to be apart of my life even if you couldn’t see it for yourself.”
“photo? what photo?” sally then walked past, brushing up against his leg. he looked down to see a black cat purring. “you got a cat?”
you shrugged your shoulders. “i told you in my letter.” pope gave you a look, “you sent me a letter?”
you looked up at him, “you didn’t get it? i thought you just didn’t respond.”
“if i’d gotten your letter, i would’ve responded to it.” he said back. his mind went somewhere else for a second before his expression darkened.
pope headed for the door. “where are you going?” you called out to him. he didn’t respond, he left your apartment and got into his car before driving to smurf’s.
when he opened the front door, she was stood in the kitchen cooking dinner for the boys. she was oblivious to what was going on.
he stood still, staring at her until she turned around. “andrew. set the table for me, would you?” she asked, her tone softer than usual.
pope was angry, she knew the look on his face and it wasn’t good. “where is it?” he snapped.
smurf scoffed, “excuse me?” she was livid that he’d speak to her that way.
he shook his head in disbelief. “you fucking know what i’m talking about. the letter. where is it?” his jaw was clenched.
smurf sighed then spoke up. “andrew-“
pope cut her off, “i’ll find it myself.” he made his way to her room, throwing stuff around and checking every drawer for a sign of where the letter could be.
smurf stood with her arms crossed, watching the scene unfold. pope opened the last drawer to see a pile of unopened letters, his heart ached at the sight of them.
there was exactly 48 letters, pope counted them. “why did you keep them from me?” his question made her roll her eyes.
“you don’t need her, pope. she’s not good for you.”
“you have no idea what’s good for me. you don’t even know her.” pope shoved past her, hands clenched around the others.
“i know enough. she’s filling your head with lies.” smurf followed after him, practically chasing him.
pope ignored her calls and got back into his car, driving off before parking somewhere quiet. he picked up the first letter and started reading it.
then the next, the one after that. the photo made him smile and he wished he saw it sooner. when he got to the last letter, he carefully piled them back up.
you said “i love you” in every single one of them. that was enough for him to admit he’d fallen in love with you.
ugh you’re so right, he’s so classic husband in terms of nicknames <3
he’d be making pancakes reaaaalllyy early on a saturday morning, still in his boxers and sleep tee. padding around the kitchen and clapping his hands together to get rid of the excess flour on him. going back to flip the pancakes, flipping the chocolate chip ones that he made for you. calling out over his shoulder, just loud enough to break you out of your sleepy daze upstairs, “babydoll, come down, pancakes are done!”
or calling you after a patrol that genuinely feels like a nightmare, whispering into his phone the second he gets a moment away. his chin tucked to his chest as he paces, one thick hand shoved in his dress-pant pocket when he finds something in it.
one of your hair ties, probably from the last time he came home & plucked it out of your hair to see your locks cascade & hear the relieved sigh you let out. twirling it in between his fingers, he sighs into the phone at the sound of your sweet voicemail; it is late.
“hey babydoll. just wanted to call and check in, today was… it’s just been so shitty. and i miss you, and i love you. i can’t wait to come home and see you. i found your lil hair tie so-so i am feeling better cause now i have a piece of you with me. my little friend through the rest of my paperwork, i guess. anyways, i’ll be home soon. alright, bye.. love you.”
cw: f!reader, pregnant!reader, unspecified age gap, they have a kid
If Jack could go back in time and ask his younger self what his future would look like, he would have never guessed that this is how his life turned out. He was a veteran struggling with his own mind, a widower who missed his wife every day, an amputee, and working one of the most stressful jobs imaginable.
But for all the objective negatives, there were also a ton of positives. He was a home owner, as stressful and awful as his job could be, he did love it and he loved how fulfilling it was. It was where he had met you after all, one of the most surprising yet deeply cherished addition to his life in the last decade. Your night out had unfortunately ended with you joining your friend in the emergency room after a very unlucky catch of her heel in the sidewalk.
You were younger than he was, a lot of people were, but as much as he' tried to dissuade you, and even himself, you were stubborn. You didn't care about his age. You didn't mind his odd working hours and you sure as hell didn't mind how he tried to push you away. You stayed patient, gave him his space when he needed it, and gave him more reassurance than he ever deserved after the useless distance he'd forced between the both of you those first few months of seeing each other.
Five years later and Jack found out there was still plenty of life left to surprise him. You were no longer the woman he was dating with guilt sitting heavy in his stomach, you were his wife. You were the mother of his even bigger unexpected gifts, his kids. A first time dad in the second half of his 40s and soon to be second time dad at 50 years old. Talk about unpredictable life events.
You had waltzed into Jack's life and turned it on its head in the best way possible. For all the bad he'd experienced, you'd shown him that there was still so much good to look forward too — unexpected good, but good nontheless.
Tonight you were waddling across the kitchen, pregnant with your second child, as you worked to assemble dinner for your toddler. He was busy building a castle with his magnet tiles and singing along to Jack's playlist in his seat while Jack walks around the house, gathering his things to head out for his shift.
"Dinner is almost ready, Bub. Ready to set the blocks aside in... five minutes?" You ask the three year old as you slice up his usual serving of berries.
"Five minutes," he nods obediently, eyes focused on carefully placing a triangular tile.
Jack strides into the kitchen, a smile gracing his features at the sight of the toddler at the counter. Jack grabs his lunch bag, one of the many amazing changes you'd made in your time together — making sure he had real food during his shift.
"Alright, I'm off," Jack breathes out, pressing a kiss against his son's temple, "be a good boy for Mama."
"The best boy," the boy nods with a bright smile, leaning in to smack a wet kiss on Jack's scruffy chin.
Jack smiles warmly, ruffling his son's hair before making his way over to you. He presses his lips against your own briefly, "be good, take it easy, get some rest, and do not touch any laundry. I'll handle it tomorrow." He bends at the waist to talk to your bump, hands on either side of your stomach, "be good for your mom."
"Bye, Daddy! I love you!" Your son yells, stacking the magnetic tiles as Jack slings his backpack over his shoulder.
"We love you, babe! Go make—" you're interrupted from your usual farewell by your son.
"Go make that money, honey!"
Jack's eyes widen, his body turning to look at you, but you're looking at him with an identical look of astonishment. "What was that, Bub?" Jack asks with a soft tilt of his head.
"Go make that money, honey!" The boy giggles, eyes alight with pride, "like Mama always says!"
You are hardly doing a good job of holding back your laughter, a hand cupped over your mouth as your shoulders shake while your free hand scoops mac and cheese onto the silicone plate. Jack's face breaks out into an endeared smile of his own, "that's right, Bub. Gotta go make that money for my honeys."
You place the plate in front of your toddler, brushing his unruly curls from his forehead with a gentle hand and a fond smile. You glance up to meet Jack's equally adoring gaze as you lean your cheek against the crown of your son's head, "we love you, Jackie. Be safe."
Jack's heart skips a beat, swallowing down the sudden knot in his throat at the sight in front of him. He nods once, smiling at you lovingly, "thank you. I love you. Both of you."
feedback is appreciated! divider from cursed-carmine <3
thoughts of going to sleep in the cutest nighties, which always makes for morning sex with jack <3
content warnings .ᐟ SMUT. mdni! dom!jack abbot, free use, use of pet names
masterlist ☕︎⋆.˚ | request guidelines
the way you’ll be making a pot of coffee after slipping out of bed, not wanting to wake jack after he’d finally gotten a day off, but he’ll be behind you with his hands in your hips, pressing his lips to your neck five minutes later.
“morning, baby,” he’d rasp, his hard cock pressing against your bottom through his thin pajama pants. like every other morning, you already saw where this was going.
“jack,” you whined with a giggle, pressing the button on the coffee machine to start its brewing. “it’s too early.”
“never too early, honey,” jack said. you didn’t have to turn to know he was already freeing his dick from his boxers, ready to repeat what was now your morning ritual. he pulled your nightgown up slowly to reveal the sweetest sight—no underwear.
“can’t expect me to behave when you dress like this, baby,” jack grunted. without another word, he’d slip inside your needy pussy and fill you to the brim, caging you in with his hands on either side of the counter. “now you have to take it.”
and as he’d start to rut deep inside you, ready to fuck you dizzy like always, it’d occur to you that the coffee might have to wait. . .
Summary: Your last group of the day happen to be doctors from a local hospital. When one gets too handsy, another stands up for you, wooing you in the process.
Contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, unprotected p in v sex, semi-public (secluded) sex, reader faces sexual harrassment (ass slapping, crude comments, etc), lmk if i missed any!
A/N: divider from @thecutestgrotto ! im not even gonna lie i loved this idea but i kind of hate the way i executed it so if this sucks im sorry
The sun is hot, beating down on Jack's scalp, even through his golf cap. Sweat brews underneath, tickling his curls in a way that tells him he's going to have a rough day.
Dread bubbles in his stomach as he reluctantly shuts the door to his truck, taking in the greens before him. They're large, many acres over a large country club, one he's unsure he could pronounce the name of, let alone fit in at.
He spots the pro shop, so large and intimidating he feels like a cartoon character, cowering under an evil giant. An evil giant in white linens and golf gloves.
So to speak, this is not his crowd. All the same, he grabs his golf clubs, and begins his journey into this hellacious day.
As he approaches, he spots the reason he's here— some hospital higher up he's been sent to impress in order to garner some more PTO for his staff.
They're lucky he loves them.
"Dr. Abbot!" The big-wig croons, a plain man aptly named Dr. Alex Smith. Jack's face stretches in a tight smile as he extends his hand for a shake. "How are you? So happy you could join us."
"I'm alright," he replies, a nonchalant air in his tone. "It's a gorgeous day."
He's not typically one for niceties and small talk, but today? It's a bit of a different story.
As Dana so lovingly puts it, he's shit at hiding his feelings, and he needs to fix his fuckin' face. He's going to need all the luck he can get.
"Absolutely beautiful!" He booms, clapping him on the back.
The man's hand is large and aggressive, and Jack assumes the two adjectives will describe today quite well.
Soon, a golf cart rolls down the gravel. a blessing that spares him from more small talk. His relief is momentary, though, because what he sees behind the wheel nearly gives him a heart attack.
You're sitting there, the prettiest thing he's seen in years. Pink manicured nails perch atop the black leather as you slow down, shifting the gear.
His eyes drift from your sweet face, down to the white tennis dress clinging to your curves. It's enough to make him dizzy, and he wills himself to look at something, anything else.
He regrets this, because of course he does, as he takes in the rest of your cart. It's bigger than your average golf cart, and, in his defense, what you've done with it makes it seem a lot bigger.
Jack takes it in, a bright pink explosion assaulting his vision. A pink disco ball swings from the rearview mirror, reflecting off your pretty face in shiny glass shards.
A baby pink tarp protects you from the sun, and the protective urge in him yearns to put a cap on your head. He's seen enough scalp damage in the ED to last him a lifetime.
Jutting out of the side is a little cabinet, filled to the brim with snacks. The counter below has little handles on the side, and he can only imagine the different types of alcohol in there.
In the haze of you, he thinks he hears a low whistle coming from his left, coincidentally where Dr. Smith posts up beside him. Anger burns through him, and he extends his neck, twisting his head from side to side, desperate to shake it off.
You pop up, breaking his bubble with a sweet, 'hi!', and a wiggle of your fingers. Your manicure flashes in the sun at your greeting, and he wills himself to think of dead puppies, his grandma, anything to rid his brain of your beauty.
Smith is first to approach, holding out a hand for you to shake. Ever so polite, you accept, greeting each member of their group with the same level of enthusiasm.
"Last, but not least!" You chirp, holding your hand out to Jack.
He freezes, forgetting he's actually there, and not an invisible passerby. Eyes darting to your hand, it feels robotic, the way he extends his own, letting you lead the shake.
God, what kind of man is he?
Looking past you, Smith has already planted himself in the front seat of the cart, and nothing about that sits right with Jack. The rest of the group is relegated to another, normal golf cart, trailing behind yours to the first hole.
His eyes can't help but burn into the back of you, keeping an eye on Smith, as well. Jack doesn't know much, but he knows damn well that if he touched you, he'd simply see red.
This passion, this fire, scares him. He just learned your name all of five minutes ago, didn't even know you existed when he opened his eyes this morning.
Yet, you've captivated him. Your kind smile, your bubbly personality, it's enough to make a man go weak in the knees.
Though, he supposes that's why you were hired. He can't be the only man who's felt this way in your presence, in fact, he's probably far from it.
The thought makes his stomach twist, and he pushes it down as the cart comes to a stop. He averts his gaze as you swing out of your own vehicle, though you make it difficult, you're so pretty.
With a snap of your sweet fingers, you gather the attention of the men in record time. It's impressive, the way the group flocks to you, and Jack's no exception.
Guilt roils through him as you meet his gaze, a smile spreading your lips in a way that makes his heart pound. You deserve better than his leering, though the way your eyes linger for a moment gives him a sliver of hope.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he snaps his head away from you. Your voice floods his ears, soft enough to lull him to sleep if he really tried hard enough.
"Okay," you start, clapping your hands together. "So, here is how my cart works- any time you're hungry, or thirsty, let me know, and I'll get you taken care of."
I'll get you taken care of. Fuck, Jack, you pervert.
"All of your orders will be put on the tab of an…" rummaging for a small receipt tucked in one of the cabinets. "Alex Smith?"
Jack's heart lurches, stomach turning at his name.
"Doctor, sweetheart," he clarifies, and Jack can't help his eye roll. "Dr. Alex Smith."
Fix your fuckin' face, Abbot, Dana's voice plays in his head.
He sees you tense at the nickname, and his fingers clench in a fist. Desperate to ease your discomfort, he butts in.
"Thank you," he huffs, and your gaze snaps to his. "For- y'know-" he clears his throat, regretting opening his mouth. "Being there for us today."
His breath hitches at the eye contact, the first time he's been brave enough to give your face a proper look. You're so stunning, his heart hurts. You give him a small smile, and somehow his chest puffs on its own.
"Of course! Are you a doctor too?" Your smile widens with your question, and Jack nearly trips just standing there.
"Uh-yeah, yeah, I am," he coughs into a closed fist, holding out his free one for you to shake. "Dr. Abbot."
The regret is instant, once your hand touches his. It's electric, sending shockwaves through his veins. Smooth fingers wrapping around his calloused ones, your firm shake a pleasant surprise.
He can feel his hand clamming up, a small voice in the back of his head chanting, wrong, wrong, this is wrong. Clearing his throat, he brings his hand back like he's been shocked. In a way, he has.
Your smile falters, and he's unsure if he's seeing properly as you return your attention back to the rest of the group.
"Our drink options range from water, to soda, to some beers and hard seltzers. We don't sell hard liquor, just to be clear," you hold up a stern finger, a coy smile on your pretty face.
Your instructions were met with nods and grumbles of approval, and Jack is entranced by how easily you've captivated this group of grown men.
"Okay!" You chirp, clapping your hands together. "Let me know if you guys need anything, have so much fun!"
His heart patters at your squeal, and he tampers it down as best he can. He'll never see you again after today, and it has to stay that way.
The doctors within his group saddle up to the first hole, Jack hanging towards the back. Jack has golfed before, but it's definitely not his preferred activity, especially after losing his leg.
Peeking out of his peripheral, you make it all the more enticing, much to his everlasting dismay. Perched on the bench of your cart, you give a peppy clap, maybe a 'woo-hoo!', if they swing really well.
It makes Jack's stomach hurt, knowing he won't get that from you. Walking up to the hole, his first hit is instantly out of bounds.
"Woah! Bad morning, Abbot?" Smith asks, dripping with condescension.
His heart rate spikes, flitting his gaze over to the man, but he's not looking at him. He's got a thumb pointed toward Jack, wagging it as if to say, 'get a load of this guy.'
This would irritate Jack on any normal day, but with Smith's gaze on you, the way it lingers, like it's a joke he's not in on, it's enough to make him disintegrate.
The rest of the morning, his swing is just as terrible. Silly distractions flit through his mind, the wind rustling through your skirt, the tap of your pretty nails on the beer bottles you keep popping for Smith.
Smith. Jack has half a mind to report him to the board after today. The way he leers at you, flirts with you the drunker he gets, it's enough to make him vomit all over the pristine greens.
You take it all with a smile, friendly enough to keep him at bay, but not too overindulgent, as if to suggest reciprocated interest. The amount of times you've probably had to deal with this is something Jack would rather not think about.
"Woah! You see that, pretty girl?" Smith croons, pointing toward the birdie he just hit. "Not the only stroke I'm good at."
Jack's head snaps up, white hot rage simmering deep in his belly. His mouth moves before his brain can catch up.
"I'm sorry, what did you just say to her?" He asks, and the entire group snaps their heads in is direction.
His ears turn pink, but he refuses to back down.
Smith rears his head back, as if he's never been called out for his predatory behavior. He probably hasn't.
"Uhm-" he chuckles, scrambling for words. "Why do you care so much, Abbot? You wanna find out?"
Jack rolls his eyes, teeing up to his own ball.
"Just want to make sure you're keepin' it professional, Smith," he says, hitting the ball without making eye contact. "This is a work function, you know."
"Yeah, well if you care that much about being a professional, maybe you'd swing better," he condescends, clapping a hand on Jack's shoulder.
He flinches at the contact, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Boys, boys!" Your sweet voice flutters. "Please keep it kosher, or I'm going to have to end our game early."
You approach Jack as you speak, and his heart thumps louder in his chest.
"Thank you, Dr. Abbot," you coo, and his cheeks burn. "But I can take care of myself, I'm a big girl."
He rolls his eyes, desperate to tamper down his desire at the name you've bestowed upon yourself.
"Sorry, 'f course you are," he shakes his head, looking down. "'s just not right. He shouldn't speak to you that way."
Then, you do the unexpected. A delicate hand perches on his forearm, forcing his gaze back to you.
"You're sweet," you whisper, so quiet he can barely even hear it. "I'm okay, promise," you squeeze his muscle, and he expects you to walk away, for that to be the end of it.
But you don't. You stay, saddling up next to him to watch the rest of the group take their turn. The lingering smell of your sweet perfume fills his nose, and he nearly passes out.
He nods, not really wanting to believe you. The instinct to protect you looms large over his head, a solar eclipse of possession that threatens to choke him.
He shifts on his leg, a dull ache starting to settle in where the bone meets prosthetic. He leans on his golf club like it's a cane— the juxtaposition of you next to him, hands on your hips, left one jutting out, clutches his heart.
He's desperate to be as subtle as possible, not wanting to put any more attention on himself, but you notice. Of course you do, your pretty head flitting towards his stance.
"Oh! Do you need to sit? I'm so sorry, where are my manners!" You chastise, and he attempts a self-deprecating wave.
"No, no, gosh, I'm okay, you've been perfectly pleasant," he replies, training his eyes on the ground beneath him.
"Well, let me continue to do so and offer you a seat," you hold an arm out, and he accepts, grateful through the fog of his embarrassment.
Escorting him to your cart, he takes a seat, a long groan escaping his lips at the relief. Maneuvering his bad knee, his pant leg rides up, exposing the carbon fiber of his prosthetic.
A small gasp escapes your lips at the sight, and his heart sinks. The last thing he needed was your pity.
"I'm fine, please, don't," he waves a hand around, avoiding eye contact as embarrassment creeps up his spine.
"Oh! I'm sorry, I wasn't-" you shake your head, and he instantly feels guilty for opening his mouth in the first place. "I just= I should've mentioned this at first, but we have chairs for accessibility! Here-"
He watches as you reach towards the top of the cart, a pull out drawer nestled above the snack cabinet. Your waist stretches as you reach, and he nearly has to palm himself to keep his cool. In it, you reach and pull out a folding lawn chair, wiggling it in the air in offering.
He can't help but smile, despite the guilt relentless in his veins. He nods, the apples of his cheeks pink and pert.
"This will be much more comfortable, Dr. Abbot," you coo, placing your hands on his shoulders as he settles in.
A long sigh leaves him as he sits, his breath hitching at the contact. He's near a blissful state, the bubble of your attention closing in around him.
That is, until, he remembers who he's with.
"Hey!" Smith yells from across the greens. "If I knew losing my leg would get me special treatment, I would've gone with ya to Afghanistan, buddy!"
He cackles, high fiving the men surrounding him. Jack's stomach burns with shame, embarrassment, rage.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Smith," you call, and his heart stops. "That's incredibly inappropriate. It's not special treatment, I'm just making sure he's as comfortable as you guys are, please refrain from making comments like that again."
His heart sings, a symphony conducted by your sweet words. He looks down, tears pricking the back of his eyes. He can't remember the last time someone spoke up for him like that, and God, did he ache.
"Ohhh, c'mon, baby," Smith croons, his unsteady gait bringing him closer to you. "I'm just bein' funny. What? You don't like funny guys?"
Your face pinches as he comes closer, standing proud and strong nonetheless. God, he admires you so much.
"I like it when guys make jokes that don't poke fun at someone's trauma," the pep in your voice is gone, and a chill runs down Jack's spine.
"Pssh, please," Smith rolls his eyes, saddling up beside you. "You can't pretend you haven't been giving me eyes all morning."
Jack watches the scene unfold, tensing up as he wraps his arm around your waist.
"Smith-" Jack warns, but it's too late.
His hand goes lower, until it's reached your backside, a pinch followed by a swat. You jump, your hands instinctively reaching back to protect you. Jack sees red.
He's up, the ache in his leg now next to nothing, nothing compared to the rage he feels on your behalf. Rearing his fist back, he socks Smith in the face before he can think otherwise.
"Oh my God!" You squeal, and he darts his gaze over to you.
Your eyes are wide, scared and glossy. His heart hurts.
"What the fuck Abbot!" Smith seethes, gritting through his teeth and writhing on the ground.
"Smith I-" Jack starts, but he bites his apology back. He's not fucking sorry, so why should he try to save face now?
"You can kiss your position fucking goodbye," he spits up at him
"Uhm- I have to=let me call my manager," you croak, shaky fingers fumbling for your cell phone.
You lift the device to your ear as you run behind the cart. Jack's heart clutches, he swears he can see you wipe away a tear before you fully disappeared.
Jack's heart pounds in his chest the longer he can't see you, adrenaline pumping through his veins as his hands start to shake.
He itches to chase you, to follow you and wipe your tears and ask if you're okay. His heart drops, though, knowing that it's not possible, that he's absolutely fucked it.
You're soon replaced by a man, approaching the group with his own golf cart. You don't take off until he's there, but when you do, you nearly kick up dust with your speed.
Guilt is acid in his stomach, bubbling and popping like witch's stew. His adrenaline is relentless, moving his feet for him as he runs to the spare golf cart.
He thanks whatever powers that be that the keys rest in the ignition. Wasting no time, he turns it, moving the gear into drive and pressing his foot on the pedal.
He finds you in the main hall, nursing a fruity drink at the bar. His heart sinks looking at you, slumped over, head down, quiet shakes rocking your shoulders.
It's only now that the adrenaline eventually subsides, deep breaths heaving his chest. Regret swoops over him, that live long guilt he's wrestled with all day rearing its ugly head.
He doesn't back down, though. He's just slower, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants as he nears your bar stool.
"Hey," he says.
It's slow, careful. His heart hurts when you look up, your glossy eyes meeting his. He watches you snap back into your professionalism, wiping your tears and offering him a watery smile.
"Hi, Dr. Abbot," you croak. "I'm so sorry I took off on you guys, I just- that's never happened to me before."
"No," he waves a gentle hand. "No apologies, if anything, it's me who should be apologizing. I feel like I made it worse. You told me you could handle yourself, and I should have listened."
He hovers by the neighboring stool, not wanting to push your boundaries unless offered.
"No, no, it's okay," you say, sitting up a bit straighter. "You can sit, I won't break."
Your smile lights him up from the inside out, and he slides onto the brown leather. His heart picks up in speed as he settles into the new proximity, his thigh brushing against yours.
"Hey! Josh!" You call to the bartender, a young man who immediately responds. "Can I get a…" you trail off, eyeing Jack up and down before deciding, "a jack and coke. Thanks!"
"My name's actually Jack. How'd you know?" He asks, and your mouth drops in sweet surprise.
"What! No way!" You swat his bicep, and the brief contact gives him enough energy to run to the moon. "Dr. Jack Abbot. I like it!"
He flushes a deep red, one that spreads from his cheeks all the way down his neck. Bringing a hand to his nape, he scruffs once, twice, three times to quell his rapid heart rate.
It's then that Josh brings his drink, and he gratefully accepts. Taking a big swig, he feels your eyes burning into him.
"Hey, Jack?" You ask, your voice tender and sweet. "Wanna go for a drive?"
Your question intrigues him, and he winds up in your passenger's seat, down the back roads of a country club you intimately know.
"This is where my dad would take me when I was little," you tell him, pulling into a cove of willow trees along the path.
"Yeah? You've been coming here for a while?" He asks as you park, the wind rustling the beautiful view in front of you two.
"My dad is now president of the board," you admit with an eye roll. "This job was just to keep me out of his hair."
"Wow," he blinks. "So that's why you didn't care about running off in the middle of your group?"
It's a risky tease, he knows that, but it's so worth it when he sees you smile. He flushes, can't help himself when he says,
"You're so pretty."
Your breath hitches at the compliment, and he'd regret it if your eyes hadn't sparkled. It's so easy for him to get lost in your eyes, to almost forget how you got to this point, but then he does, and his face falls.
"Listen, I'm sorry, I don't want to put myself on you, especially if you don't want it. Not after today," he shakes his head, eyes trained in his lap. "But I think you're incredibly beautiful, and way out of my league. I'm thankful you even looked at me today, let alone-"
He's cut off by your lips on his, a gentle, soft hand scraping his cheek. It pushes a light 'oomph!' from his lips, though he doesn't hesitate to kiss you back.
There's a string of spit connecting you when you pull away, and Jack breathes out a long, heavy sigh.
"I actually couldn't stop looking at you, Jack," you confess, and his heart swells. "Even when you missed every single hole."
He throws his head back in a sweet laugh, grasping your arm as you lean into your own giggles.
"I only missed because I couldn't stop thinking about the prettiest girl in the world only feet away," he confesses, rubbing the fabric of your dress between his fingertips.
"You're too nice to me," you mutter, resting your hands on his shoulders. "I want you, Jack. Is that okay?"
He shoots his gaze up, his mouth slightly parted.
"You do?" He asks, not quite believing his own ears.
His belly burns as you nod your head, leaning your face closer to his.
"And I don't want this to be just sex, how do you feel about that?" You whisper, your lips against his, taunting him.
He nods, his hand finding your waist.
"Yeah, I feel good about that," he chokes out, a Cheshire smile spreading your lips.
"Good," you quip, swinging your legs over his hips. "But we're gonna start with sex. That okay?"
He nods, eager like a school boy, but he doesn't have time to be embarrassed when your mouth meets his.
It's intense this time, deep and passionate, your tongue running over his bottom lip. His hands settle on your waist, a light squeeze encouraging you to put your full weight on him.
It's electrifying, the way you connect. your weight coating him with desire. He feels himself twitch in his pants, a muffled groan escaping him as you roll your hips.
"Feel good, Doctor?" You ask, eliciting a gasp from the deepest parts of his chest.
"So good, you're a dream," he mumbles, grazing his nose against yours.
You kiss him again, rolling your tongue over his at your newfound access. Rolling your hips once more, he plants his feet on the ground, thrusting up into your clothed center.
"Ah!" You whine, throwing your head back. He peppers kisses along your neck, surprised when you press down on his hips with yours, wiggling a little. "You're not doing any of the work, handsome," a coy smile spreads your lips. "Let me, your poor leg's been through enough."
He swears he could cum right then and there. Fully hard now, you continue your motions, now slipping your arms through your sleeves.
The top of your dress falls, exposing your pretty tits to the late afternoon sun. His head darts around, looking for any stragglers. There's no one, and a wave of relief floods through him.
"You're sweet," you coo, fingertips returning his gaze to you. "But nobody comes back here, trust me."
"Oh, so you take all your golf guys here, huh?" He asks. It's playful, but the possibility of your answer makes him seethe.
"Only the important ones, the ones I really need," you mutter, nipping his lobe before sitting up on your knees.
You wiggle the rest of your dress off, sliding it down your knees and flinging it off your ankles. His eyes widen as you mount him again, now in nothing but your panties.
His finger traces the waistband, and your breath hitches in his ear.
"You're so fucking beautiful, Jesus Christ," he whispers, smashing his lips against yours once more.
You fiddle with his belt buckle, moving to his zipper, pulling him out with an eagerness that strokes his ego. He's heavy, his cock flopping against his polo shirt.
Your eyes go wide, and his heart pounds against his ribcage. He can't believe you, sweet, beautiful, stunning you, is interested in him. He feels like a million bucks.
"God, how's this gonna fit in me, Jackie?" You ask, giving him a few strokes.
A shiver unzips his spine, and he throws his head back against the seat. Chest heaving, his stomach burns with desire for you. The curve of your waist under his fingers, the delicate touch on his cock, it's enough to make him insane. You make him insane.
Swinging your legs off of him, you kneel along the bench, ass up in the air. He pouts at the loss of your warmth, and you smile. You pinch his cheek, placing a chaste kiss there after.
"You're cute," you dote, and he blushes. "I'm gonna put your cock in my mouth now, 'kay?"
He nods, still in disbelief this is even happening. Your lips wrap around him, and his vision goes white. Jaw going slack, he lets a strangled groan pass through him.
"Wow, wow, oh God, sweetheart, that's so good," he whispers, hand in your hair as you take more and more of him. "Holy shit."
You wiggle your ass at the compliment, hollowing your cheeks as you reach his base. Your nose tickles the curls that pepper his skin, and he has to hold himself back from bucking up into you.
"Fuck!" He shouts, squeezing his eyes shut as he free hand finds your ass.
It slips into your panties, palming your bare ass in his big hand. You shake into him again, and he nearly blows his load then.
He feels the front of your panties move, then, and he looks to find your hand slipping in them.
"Ah, ah!" He swats your hand away, taking over. "Let me, gorgeous."
Your folds are so slick, his stomach burns. They're silky, smooth with your desire, and if all he does for the rest of his life is make you cum. he'd be happy with that.
He finds your clit, reveling in your little jump, little squeal around his dick. The vibrations rattle through him, and his stomach burns with hot desire.
Pulling off of him with a gasp, you rest your head on his thigh, stroking his cock as he continues to touch you.
"I'm gonna cum, Jackie, feels too good," you squeeze your eyes shut, pressing a sweet kiss to the thick skin.
"Yeah, go ahead, baby, that's such a good idea, hm?" He asks, picking up his pace a little. "Gonna get you nice and relaxed so you can take this cock, 'kay sweetie?"
You nod, squeezing your eyes shut, a few loose moans escaping your lips. It's like a dream, the pleasure etching itself across your face. Fire blooms in his veins, his desire for you almost palpable.
"Oh, Jackie!" You squeal, body tensing as you soak his fingers.
"Thaaat's it," he coos, rubbing you through your release. "That's my girl, good job, good job."
You gasp, clinging to his forearm as you come down.
"Oh my gosh, that was incredible, thank you Jackie," you smile up at him, slowly sitting up.
His hands stabilize you, settling your shaking body back over his. Your tits dangle in his face, and he can't help but pepper kisses along the plush skin.
"You ready, angel?" He looks up at you, and your eager nod is his final cue before he pushes your hips down.
You swallow his tip, your walls tight and slick, his eyes rolling back into his head. It's dizzying, how tight you are around him.
"Oh! Jackie it's already so big, how am I gonna take all of you?" You ask, and his heart pounds.
"God, you can't say that to me, gonna blow my load before you can even do that," he breathes out a laugh, finding your eyes.
Your eyes glaze over as you sink further down onto him, his stomach burning. He grips your hips, pushing you further down onto him.
Once you're seated, he nearly blacks out. He gives you a swift slap to your ass, encouraging you to find your rhythm.
You listen, the good girl you are, bouncing up and down, up and down. It's slow at first, intoxicating and tantalizing as you drag his length through your walls.
"Fuck," he breaths, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Good?" You ask, lips pressed to his temple.
The warm air of your words absorb in his skin, if he could eat them, he would.
"So good, fuckin' perfect," he whispers, hands gripping your ass as you speed up.
Blood roars in his ears, his eyes blazing as they follow your breasts, bouncing with each thrust.
It's overwhelming, almost, the jiggle of your plush skin against his.
"Oh Jackie, 'm gonna cum again," you whimper, planting your hands on his shoulders and speeding up.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he breathes. "Me too, gonna cum. Cum with me?"
You nod, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. Embarrassingly enough, this is what does it for him. The intimacy pushes him over the edge, fire pooling low in his abdomen with his release.
He dissolves into the pleasure, helping you rock against him. Your sweet cries echo through the empty space, mixing with his grunts and groans.
"Jackie, fuck, that's so good, fuck, fuck," you whine, and he presses a quick slap to your ass as he twitches, coming down from his high.
You settle on him with a shiver, relaxing into his chest and wrapping your arms around his shoulders.
Breathing together, he rubs his hand up and down your back, adding a light scratch and invoking goosebumps.
You press kisses all along his shoulder, on each freckle, his tummy burning with something sweeter, brighter than before.
"Hey," you whisper, biting the shell of his ear. "I know this is totally backwards, but hear me out."
Before you get any further, he lifts up your head, boring his eyes into yours.
"What, sweet girl?" He asks, pressing a quick kiss to your smile.
"I say," you start, "we get cleaned up, and you come join me in the Great Hall for dinner. I memorized Smith's tab, we can put it on there," you finish with a wink.
He throws his head back with a laugh, bringing you in for another kiss.
"That sounds amazing," he coos, cradling the nape of your neck in his hand.
"And theennnn," you drawl, slipping off him and reaching for your dress. "We can go back to mine, and I can show you something that no other customer has seen," you wiggle your eyebrows, and his heart skips.
summary: part two of Honeybee...Baz hires you as Lena's nanny but when you fall for Pope, Smurf takes you under her wing. Much to the annoyance of Baz
content/warnings: NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY! violence towards reader, smurf, baz, murder, breeding kink, unprotected sex, thigh riding, oral sex (f receiving), pregnancy, no use of y/n, spoilers for season two of Animal Kingdom
wc: 5k
notes: Set between season one and two...sorry this took like nine million years
Smurf presses her lips together as she looks at Baz. She thought she raised him better than to put hands on a woman. But like father, like son. Now she has to clean his mess again. She pats his face before smoothing his hair.
"She was trying to steal from me, Smurf. I walked in on her finding one of my stashes," he lies.
Smurf tuts and shakes her head.
"I don't care, baby. She's all bruised up. And Lena saw it. We gotta keep her sweet now or she'll take her pretty little ass down to the police and report you for assault. And we can't have that," she cooes at her eldest boy.
Baz rolls his eyes, "A bullet between her eyes would be simpler."
Smurf slaps him, "We're not killing a girl you had on your fuckin' payroll. The people at Lena's school know her because you can't raise your own fuckin' kid. So you're gonna listen to me about your daughter."
Baz snarls and walks to the other side of the kitchen.
"This is such bullshit. Just cos Pope is all heart eyes for her? Not like you, Smurf, to get sentimental," he says.
Smurf bares her teeth like a wild animal.
"We don't kill women because we lose our temper. Get the fuck out of my house," she hisses.
Smurf finds you later, after you've brought Lena for ice cream. She pouts at the cuts on your face.
"Lena, why don't you go to the pool?" Smurf suggests as the little one runs off.
"Now, sweetheart, I can't let you go back to Baz's house. Not after what he did to you. But Lena needs someone to take care of her. I was thinking you could move in here to help me with her," she said, fixing your hair.
You frown. You don't trust Smurf. You've known so many women like her. But you also know not to get on your bad side. Thankfully Pope comes to your rescue, stepping into the kitchen. He puts an arm around your waist.
"She's moving in with me, Smurf," he says in a tone that doesn't leave room for argument.
"And what about Lena?" Smurf asks. "Baz clearly can't take care of his own daughter."
You shake your head, "No. I'll still nanny for her. I just won't be a live in nanny. I...maybe I could take her instead of Baz's? If that's not overstepping. She just loves being with you Smurf. She is always talking about you and the pool!"
Smurf smiles at you, her eyes narrowing for a moment. She's not an idiot. But she'll allow it. You're making Andrew happy.
"Of course, sweetheart," she says softly. "You can sleep here with Lena when Baz isn't around. I think that's for the best."
You smile and nod your head, "Of course, I think that would be perfect. She needs a strong woman in her life now that her mother is...gone."
Later as you sit in Pope's truck, you look at him, "Are you sure you want me to move in with you?"
He sniffs, "Where else are you gonna go? Not back to Baz."
You roll your eyes, "Ain't you romantic?"
But you like living with Pope. He always makes you breakfast in the morning, telling you that you need to start your day with food rather than running on coffee for hours. He likes having you here as well. Pope can't sleep. But with the weight of you on his chest, he sleeps like a baby. Although on the nights he can't, he can wake you up with rough hands and soft kisses.
You adore that as well. Pope could spend hours eating you out, just drowning in your pussy. He makes you cum over and over and over. Until you have to pull him up and away from you. And he'll look at you with his eyes almost black. If he's not between your legs, he's at your tits, kissing and palming at them for hours on end. You don't even think it's sexual anymore, it's like a comfort for him. A soother... And if that's what Andrew needs you give it to him.
But you adore when he's inside you. Hard and deep, slamming his hips against yours. He manhandles you, having you in breeding press, kissing you desperately. Or he'll flip you onto your stomach, you love how he fucks you prone bone. Sometimes he'll hook his thick bicep around your neck, making your eyes roll back on your head. You love riding him on the couch after a long day.
When you stay at Smurf's you tell him sex is off the table. You know she's listening. But Pope can't keep his hands off of you. And Smurf isn't an idiot, she sees how Pope hangs on your every word. So after a few months of you living between her home and Pope's, she does some digging into your background.
You're folding laundry in the kitchen when Smurf approaches you.
"Hey baby," she coos, calling you the name she reserves for her sons and grandson. "Where did you say you grew up?"
You look up at her and smile.
"I didn't, Smurf. But I grew up the other side of San Diego. But I haven't been back since I was eighteen. I started applying for au pair jobs in my senior year of high school," you explain. "So I left a few days after graduation."
Smurf hums, "And no one cared about your time in juvenile detention?"
You freeze and look up at her.
"My records were sealed after I turned eighteen," you tell her. "So no one needs to know."
"I have my people...and my people found that you did 18 months for robbery and breaking and entering," she says with a hum. "Must have been tough for your foster family."
You twist your mouth in annoyance. You hate talking about your past.
"Yes, Smurf. I grew up in foster care. CPS took me away when I was eight. I was still cute then, got a nice foster family," you say with a shrug. "But then they got pregnant. Triplets! And I was thirteen and starting to act out. So I went back to foster care. Bounced around families for a while. You know how many foster dads are creeps?"
You scrub your hand over your face.
"So I learned how to pickpocket. I just wanted enough money so I could get an apartment. I made friends with a few of the rich kids in the area. And I'd case their places when they weren't around. One of their parents found me. I thought they were on a trip...Her dad was a lawyer so I was screwed."
You look at Smurf, "Is that a problem?"
Smurf smiles at you and pulls you in for a hug.
"Oh baby, you're perfect."
You're not stupid. You are very aware how to Cody family get their money. You're not there for the meetings or the jobs, of course. And you like to play dumb for Smurf, although you're sure she can see through you. But both of you play this game, pretending you don't know what the other one knows. And she likes you like this. Still pliant to her.
You know when the boys are doing a job because Smurf will give you the day off. She'll keep Lena in the house. And you will wait patiently for Pope to come home. It is always a variant on the same theme when he finally walks in the door of your now shared home. Sometimes he will take you desperately, needing to be buried inside you. He'll push you onto hands and knees or press you into the couch and just bury his weeping cock in you with rough, angry thrusts. Other times, you can see the tears threatening to fall from his eyes and he'll kiss you desperately. He'll slowly rock his hips against yours, hiding his face in your neck as you can feel soft sobs rack his body. Sometimes, rarely, he's happy. It's gone well, and sex is soft and smooth and gentle.
One day you're fixing Lena's hair and you overhear Baz talking to Smurf.
"People who have nannies have money," he tells her. "You said she used to do this shit. Why can't she scope out a few places for us? Even just fuckin' job interviews. I don't know. Babysitting gigs so it's not too permenant."
You can hear Smurf take a sharp intake of breath, "We only do jobs with people in the family."
You can practically hear Baz's eyeroll at that.
"She's not doing the job she's just-"
Pope cuts him off, "We're not involving her in this. She doesn't need to be a part of this shit."
"What Pope?" Baz suddenly snaps causing Lena to flinch next to you. "You think you can just run off with her into the sunset? You're sick in the head, man. And soon she'll fuckin' see that. She's gonna drain your wallet and then leave you."
On the drive home, you can tell that Pope is withdrawn. You can see the gears in his head working overtime. You hate that Baz can get to him like that. You reach out and run your fingers through his curls but he flinches away from you. You try not to let it affect you. You know it's Baz and his family who have worked their way under his skin. But still, Pope has never been upset with something you've done.
You make him dinner in silence. Pope likes the quiet but when he finally looks up at you, he sees the hurt etched across your face.
"I'm sorry," he gruffs out. "I just...Baz always says shit like that. Says how I'm weird and I'm not weird."
"No baby, you're not weird," you soothe, stroking his knuckle with your thumb.
"I just...You know...With my family, it's hard. I don't know Smurf was never a proper mother to us. First time I saw someone die I was six. She used have sex with these men in front of me and Julia. And we just thought all o' that was normal. And she likes...She likes when I'm angry. I know she wants to keep me angry. But I don't want to be angry. I want a normal life."
He take a deep breath, "But I don't know how to be normal. I wanna be normal for you. I really do. I don't wanna be Smurf's muscle or Baz's fuckin' punchline."
You look at him, watching the tears roll down his freckled cheeks. You brush each away with soft kisses to his flushed skin. You just want to take him away from this, from his family, from Oceanside.
"Baz thinks no one would wanna be with me. That you'll leave. He thinks no one will settle down and have a baby with me," he sobs.
This makes you pause.
"I wanna have a baby with you, Andrew," you tell him ever so gently.
His eyes flick up to yours as if assessing the situation. Were you being serious? A baby...with him?
"You wanna have a baby with me?" he echoes.
You nod your head, pulling him in for a desperate and messy kiss. You moan against his lips which is enough to have Andrew Cody gripping your hips and lifting you onto his lap. Your hips work on their own rolling against his thick thigh, your skirt bunching up around your waist as as your grind on him. Your clit bumps over the rough fabric of his jeans under the cotton of your panties. But Pope never breaks this kiss.
"Put a baby in me, Andrew, please," you beg desperately.
"You needa cum first," he responds.
It's like you can do it on command because after a handful more rocks of your hips you're soaking his thigh. He grunts out in appreciation and then grips the meat of your ass to lift you onto the table.
He falls to his knees, pulling your panties down your legs. His eyes zero in on your sopping wet cunt that is clenching around the air desperate for him. He doesn't give you a second before he starts eating you out. Pope loves giving you head, could (and has) spent hours between your legs. But today he is on a mission. He zeros in on your clit, sucking and slurping desperately. He knows exactly how to pull you apart and he does in record time. You come undone over his tongue to his satisification. He moans out into your cunt. He could cum from this as well, but he can't. Not when you've asked him so sweetly to put a baby in you.
Finally he stands, unbuckling his belt so he can push his jeans and boxers his thick cock finally free. It rests heavy against his black t-shirt that he still hasn't taken off. But he's desperate for you. And getting you pregnant is his number one priority. He presses inside you in one fluid motion. He doesn't let you adjust. He just splits you open. He's worked you over so well, he slips in without an issue. And then he's off to the races.
He hooks your knees over his forearms, spreading you wide and he slams into you. His heavy balls slam against your ass as he fucks you.
"Gonna put a baby in ya. Gonna see you so fuckin' full. And I ain't ever gonna let you leave," he grunts in your ear.
His words go straight to your cunt and you honestly don't know how many times you cum over his cock until he stutters to a stop. Thick walls of cum coat your walls. But he doesn't pull out. He just presses his weight on you for a few minutes. Your chests heaving in time with one another.
When he eventually moves, he presses two thick fingers inside you.
"Can't waste it. Not when I gotta get you pregnant."
And Pope takes his job very seriously. Every morning and every night he's inside you. If you're free in the afternoon, he pounces. If the two of you are alone he's fucking you. And you love it.
"Is Pope tryna eat you?" Deran asks as you sit by the pool in a bikini that showcases all the hickies Pope has left on your body. There are bruises in the shape of his fingers as well around your hips, ass and even the hint of them on your neck.
You roll your eyes at him.
"Don't be jealous cos you're hard up," you say before jumping in the pool and splashing him.
Out of all of Pope's family, you like Deran the best. If Pope's not around, you usually cling to him. He also has a short fuse for Baz's bullshit. Which is ongoing in the kitchen right now.
"Are we still paying her?" he snaps at Smurf who is counting out cash.
Smurf's eyes flick up, "You hired her because you couldn't take care of your daughter. So yes. We are."
"Well she's not doing a good job is she."
Pope grabs a beer from the fridge, "Lena's at school. You'd know if you spent any time with your kid."
He storms out to the backyard with Baz hot on his heels.
"You think you're a big man now cos you're getting your dick wet?" Baz snarls.
Pope doesn't respond as he watches you in the water.
"I mean, it looks like she'll spread her legs for any of us. Number three is right there," Baz says, nodding to where you and Deran are in the pool.
This catches Pope's attention. He turns and looks at Baz then.
"What's that supposed to mean?" his growls, his whole face darkening.
"You think she was living in my house, with me and not givin' it up? Come on. I'm a hot blooded man! You were always obsessed with my sloppy seconds. Ri-"
But Baz doesn't get to finish his sentence before Pope lunges. Pope is on top of him, landing punch after punch. But Baz is sly and digs him in the ribs. Smurf hears the commotion and comes to watch by the door. You're jumping out of the pool immediately.
Smurf sees you and sighs, "That's enough boys."
Usually her word is law but they're too caught up in the fight to hear anything.
"Andrew, that's enough," you bark.
Pope slams Baz onto the concrete once more before hauling himself off him. He reaches for your hand and drags you back to his car. You can get your stuff later, he grumbles. Smurf's eyes narrow as she watches you. It looks like you have your claws in her eldest boy deeper than she thought.
Of course, Smurf doesn't do anything right away. But she'll have to get Andrew away from you. She thought you simply calmed him down. But if he listens to you over her that's not good.
You can sense that something has shifted with Smurf. But you're not dumb enough to delve into that. No you play dumb. Act like nothing has happened.
"When's you're birthday, Smurf?" you ask her one evening as you help her with dinner. "I doubt your boys ever spoil you. And you do so much for them. They should bring you out for dinner."
Smurf smiles, "That's sweet but I like cooking for them."
You sigh as you watch J, Deran and Craig outside.
"I hope I'm half the mother you are. I mean, Pope talks about you all the time. How you worked so hard for him and Julia as a single mother. And in the seventies, that can't have been easy," you coo.
Smurf freezes for a millisecond, too quick to even notice. Unless you're watching...and you are.
"Does Pope talk about his sister?" she asks tightly.
You nod your head as you throw cherry tomatoes in the salad.
"Oh yes, all the time. Such a beautiful name. Maybe if I'm ever blessed with a girl I'll call her Julia. Maybe Julia Janine...JJ! So sweet," you say before carrying the salad out to the table.
Smurf stabs her knife into the cutting board. Oh she fucking hates you.
In the months that follow, you can feel the tension rising in the house. Not just between you and Smurf. But something has happened between her and Baz. You're not sure what and you're not stupid enough to ask.
One evening you're sitting by the pool on Pope's lap. You're nursing a Coke after dinner wondering when you can go home.
"Baby, do you want a real drink?" Smurf asks you as she sips on her vodka cranberry. It's rare she doesn't have one in her hand.
You flush at the question ducking your head before shaking it quickly. Pope is grinning ear from ear.
"Smurf, I can't," you say as Pope presses a thick hand over your stomach.
A few weeks ago, you had woken up feeling...well...like shit. You pulled up your calendar and realised that you were late. Your period was due almost a fortnight ago. But yours was nowhere to be seen. You immediately ran (literally) to the store. You shoulda bought pregnancy tests but you didn't wanna jinx it.
When Pope found you almost an hour later crying tears of joy as you looked at the two little lines on the stick, he couldn't stop himself from crying. You both had your own worries and didn't want to share until you were over the first trimester. But now, at almost fourteen weeks pregnant you decided to share with the rest of the Cody family.
You could see Smurf's face immediately brighten. Yea, she didn't like how you had gotten your claws into her baby boy. But a baby? Well, Smurf loved babies. So she rushed over to kiss both you and Pope.
"You should move back in here, baby," she cooed at Pope.
He shook his head, "Not with the parties, Smurf. A baby needs sleep and not to get into Craig's coke stash."
Craig frowned, but he couldn't argue.
The only person who wasn't happy was Baz. Which you expected. He was rarely at the house these days. And when he was it usually ended in a fight between him and Smurf. J had become a little lap dog for Baz. And you hated that. But it wasn't your place to get involved.
Since announcing your pregnancy, things between you and Smurf thawed. She brought you shopping for baby stuff. Even though you didn't want to be in her debt. But sometimes you liked to be mothered...it had been so long. So you let her brush your hair when you were too tired and make you herbal tea and even slept over when Pope was away on jobs.
You sit, cradling your now swollen stomach, as Smurf tells you about Julia. How she couldn't take care of her when she was pregnant with J. Everyone who talks about Julia tells you a different story. Pope talks about her like she hung the moon, J speaks about a sad, ghost of a woman outcast from her family and Smurf? Well, Smurf talks about a problem child. A bad apple intent on spoiling the bunch.
You're not sure if it's not just the tree that is poison.
But you let Smurf dote on you because you're not stupid. You want to keep her on side. Not like Baz...Baz has seemingly been outcast from the family. Lena is always with Smurf and her father is spending less and less time here.
Pope tells you one night in bed as he strokes your growing belly that he has a mistress in Mexico. That he plans on taking Lena and going to start a new life down there.
"With whose money?" you ask, your eyes flicking up to Pope.
Has Baz been stealing from Smurf? You don't doubt that he has enough money of his own. But you always know that Smurf has a majority of the funds.
They have enough to live very comfortably on. But nothing too crazy. But you don't argue about that.
One night, Pope is out with Craig and Deran. It's not like him, but you tell him to spend more time with his brothers. It's okay. You know he doesn't like parties or loud spaces. But sometimes they just drink in the back of Deran's bar. And you want him to have that connection again. Especially after losing Baz.
Even though you don't know good of a friend and brother Baz was to him. Pope tells you about Baz and Julia's relationship. How he could be J's father. How he fell for Cath when they were teenagers but Baz took her too. How he didn't want to lose anything else to Baz.
"You won't lose me or the baby to him. I promise," you whisper.
So when you hear the door to the house open you presume it's Pope. You hum, shifting in your bed to give him room to join you. But Pope's footsteps are almost silent and these? Well, these are not. You try not to move, hoping whoever it is will just steal some shit and go. They won't try the bedrooms.
But you recognise those footsteps as they come closer and closer. You know it's Baz. And he's not here for petty theft. You lean across the bed to Pope's side and pull open the drawer of his bedside locker. You're trying not to make noise as you fumble in the dark for what you're looking for.
But it doesn't matter because Barry Blackwell has been in Pope's shitty little beachfront condo before. He knows where the bedroom is and he knows where he'll find Pope's girl. He's known that Pope killed Cath. Even though he knows that Smurf put him up to it, it was Pope who did it. And now he can do the same to Pope.
An eye for an eye.
The baby is just the cherry on top of the cake. Baz should care that by killing you, he'll also be ending the life of his brother's unborn child. But he doesn't really care. He slams the door open making you jump.
"Pope isn't here," you tell him, feigning ignorance.
You blink, pretending that you've just woken up.
"That's okay. He doesn't need to be," Baz says as he stands in the door frame. "You know, Lena loves you. She loves when you take her to the beach and that you've taught her how to swim. Craig's got her her own surfboard now."
You smile and nod, sitting up in the bed. You stroke your baby bump, showing it off to Baz as if to remind him that you're just a woman. A pregnant woman. A soon-to-be mother.
"So it's really going to hurt her feelings when she finds out her uncle murdered you," he tuts.
You freeze at this. He's going to frame Pope?
Of course, he is. Pope already has a violent record. The police won't even question it when Baz calls it in. Because he will. He's an upstanding citizen. And when Lena's nanny who got involved with his mentally unwell brother doesn't show up for work, he'll get worried. He'll call the cops. He might even cry.
Smurf'll be pissed but hell, he might kill her too while he's at it. Pope went on a spree. How fun!
"Don't do this," you beg through tears.
Baz shrugs as he takes a step forward. You try to stay brave, strong. But fuck you're scared. But you look at the man who has only ever made your life worse since he came into it in the eyes as you pull Pope's gun from under the covers. You point it straight at his face.
He gives you that shit eating grin. That pretty boy bullshit smile. He thinks he can get away with this. But he can't. He won't.
And you pull the trigger.
You don't expect it to be so loud. Your neighbours definitely heard. You don't expect the blood spray either. It's messy. But you had no choice. You couldn't fight him hand to hand.
You get out of bed, wiping down the gun with your nightie and immediately getting in the shower. You wash off all evidence of Baz from you and change into Pope's t-shirt and a pair of shorts. You drive to the bar you know the Cody brothers are at. You smile at the patrons and pat your stomach.
But when Pope sees you, he knows something is wrong. He soothes you, tells you that you did everything right. Deran and Craig stand behind him as they look at their older brother's now dead body. You know they all loved him. But he was a monster.
"I took Lena's father away," you whisper. "But he was gonna kill me. He was gonna kill us."
Pope presses a hand to your stomach.
"Take her somewhere," he tells Deran. "We need to clean this up."
Deran brings you to his place, to his boyfriend (although you have to pretend he's just a friend), Adrian. He tells him that someone tried to break in and you're freaked out.
"Why not bring her to Smurf?" Adrian asks as you sit looking at the blank wall.
Deran just shakes his head before leaving.
You don't know when Pope comes to get you. But you go home with him. He gets you into the bath, soothing out your muscles.
"I've never done that before," you finally confess.
"And you won't have to do it again, baby," he promises as he massages your neck.
"We're gonna go. We're gonna leave Oceanside. Craig went to Baz's place and found where he's stashed Smurf's money. We're gonna take our share and go. With Lena," he promises.
"She won't let us," you respond.
Pope presses kisses into your hair.
"She doesn't have a choice," he responds gently.
Smurf believes Pope when he tells her that Baz has run off to Mexico.
"And left Lena?" she tuts and shakes her head. "Typical."
She knew it was his plan so why would she look into it any further? What she doesn't expect however, is less than a month later is to wake up and find Lena's bedroom empty.
She rushes to call you. But the phoneline is disconnected. Pope's is too. She calls Deran and Craig who shrug. They don't know where you've gone.
And while they know that you were leaving. Helped you get everything in order, you never told them where you were going.
"Where are we going, Uncle Pope?" Lena asks from the backseat of a car you jacked.
"Somewhere safe," is all he responds, as he rests his hand on your blossoming stomach.
a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! any and all feedback appreciated. requests open
the pitt-verse masterlist | 2k celebration event (open!)
summary: your favorite regular at the farmer's market never fails to leave you weak in the knees
contains: implied age gap, reader has enough hair to fit into two braids but otherwise no physical description
a/n: new reader alert! i wrote this in a whopping 2 hours in a freckle-induced hallucinatory fervor. i hope you enjoy <3 | divider from @strangergraphics
A little girl and her mother thank you for helping them pick the ripest peaches in the pile, then leave you to your booth.
Around you the North Shore Market flows, spray from where the Ohio River meets the Allegheny making for a cool, refreshing breeze. It’s more than welcome in the June heat, which has yet to beat down on the bustling Saturday morning market.
Customers flit from vendor to vendor, filling canvas totes with fresh produce, flowers, and other wares boasting attributes like ‘homegrown’ or ‘artisan’.
For a side hustle, working the booth for your friend’s farm isn’t so bad. The canopy keeps you in the shade, the patrons are friendly, and you’re usually all wrapped up by one in the afternoon, leaving the rest of your Saturday ripe for the taking.
Of course, that typically just means a long, afternoon nap, but that’s beside the point.
You should be reveling in the start of what is meant to be a serene Saturday, but there’s something holding you back.
It’s a buzzy, humming feeling in your chest. Not quite anxiety, not quite excitement, but it's been there all morning. As you set up the canopy and the folding table, stacked your peaches and tomatoes so the ripest end up on top, and even as you tied the crocheted bandana around your two braids — a necessary accessory to keep flyaway from escaping in the early morning breeze.
Anticipation. And as you swipe your hands over the apron looped around your waist, you glance down the aisle of booths, and spot the very person you’re anticipating.
He strides toward you with purpose, ignoring the surrounding booths.
A black scrub top and mocha brown cargo pants, accompanied by work boots that have seen better days. He looks worn down, like he always does when you see him first thing every Saturday morning. But the lines on his face crinkle when he spots you, recognition lighting the smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Good morning, buttercup,” he says when he sidles up, eyeing the pints of strawberries. It's a simple booth: just a folding table filled to the brim with pints of berries, peaches, tomatoes, and a few jars of honey from a local beekeeper. “And how are you today?”
Buttercup. You glance down at the fruit-centric logo on your apron — Buttercup Farms, a locally owned small batch produce farm, owned and operated by your friend just ten miles past city limits. A nickname born out of weeks of shy, sideways glances and small talk, exchanged both ways until it became too late to ask for your name.
But you know his— well, his last name, at least. Spotted it on his hospital badge the fifth consecutive Saturday he came to see you.
DOCTOR, it said, in bolded white letters on a green background. Then, just barely readable from where his shirt covered it, a surname that you know but you’ve never been brave enough to test on your lips. Abbot.
You've found your thoughts drifting on more than one occasion, daring yourself to say his name aloud. Wondering how he might react if you said it to him. Wondering how it might taste on your tongue. Dr. Abbot.
“Good morning!” You chirp, taking your post at the end of the table. There’s some familiarity here — you, standing in the same place each week, and him, making a show of selecting the best produce while making conversation.
You tried to convince yourself he was just being polite, taking pity on the market girl running a booth all by herself every Saturday morning. But after two months of recalled details, week after week, you can’t help but think maybe he might like talking to you just as much as you like talking to him.
“I’m good today,” you pause, daring yourself to insert a cheeky Dr. Abbot into the conversation, but instead suffer an awkwardly elongated silence. You clear your throat. “How are you?”
"Oh, you know. Same shit, different day,” he raises his eyes from the strawberries to shoot you a winsome wink. “No blackberries today?”
You glance at the folding table with a start. Oh, no, no no. He's right. There are no blackberries.
“Shit!” You exclaim, hand flying to your forehead in a resounding smack. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“Woah,” Abbot chortles, extending his hand, but not quite touching you. As if he’s not sure if he’s allowed. “What’s the matter, buttercup?”
“I left the blackberries in the truck,” you drag both hands over your face. “I left the blackberries in the truck!”
“It’s okay,” his voice comes out firm and assured, as though he’s already hatching a plan. “Where’s the truck?”
“It’s—“ your hand flies in the general direction of the parking lot, all the way across the park. It’s probably half a mile, if you had to guess, it doesn't matter. You’re not allowed to drive in the grass. "Oh, my god."
Panic sets in as you rattle off context to the poor man trapped in a predicament he has nothing to do with. “One of the volunteers helps me unload the canopy and the table and all the produce each week, a-and it usually takes two trips, and I must have forgotten the blackberries!" Your voice comes out a puppy whine, reduced to uselessness when you're otherwise perfectly capable of handling things on your own. "Shit, and they’re so ripe, too.”
But it’s the fact that this isn’t your business that will suffer because you forgot the blackberries that sends you down a spiral. It’s your friend’s. Her profits for the week won’t be nearly as high as expected, all because of your thoughtlessness.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse so much before,” Abbot attempts a joke, to which you crumple even more. An exasperated whine is your only response.
“Hey,” his voice evens out again, and before you can register what’s happening, his beefy, calloused hand cups your bare shoulder. You glance up, meeting eyes the color of a carnival kaleidoscope. You can't decide what the dominating shade is: blue or green or gold. “It’s okay. Will you take a deep breath with me?”
With his free hand, he mimes a long breath in, then a sustained, steadying breath out. You follow his lead.
“There you go,” he murmurs, the rumble of his voice shooting electric shocks up and down your veins. “That’s a good girl.”
Your jaw goes slack. It takes everything in you not to shudder.
“How many pints of blackberries are in the truck, angel?” He asks, providing a quick rub to your shoulder before reverting back to his own space. Your skin feels especially cold now that his hand is gone.
“Twenty,” you gulp, guilt clouding over any lust for the older man before you.
Abbot reaches into his back pocket, tugging out a weathered, camo print wallet. “And how much are they going for this week?”
“Five dollars.”
He flips open the wallet, then tugs out two crisp fifties, and a twenty. He extends his hand to you, the bills poised between two fingers.
“What are you doing?” Your brow furrows, eyes dipping to the money, then back to him. The sun peeks out from the bottom of the canopy, striking him over the bridge of his nose. He's all polka dotted with freckles.
“I’m buying your blackberries,” Abbot husks. You swear the sentence sounds a million times more provocative than it should. Your knees give a little wobble. “You can give ‘em to a food bank or something.”
“What?” You blink.
“My arm’s gettin' tired,” he shakes the money at you, though not impatiently. “Take it, buttercup. Please.”
“What’s the extra twenty for?” You swallow, plucking the cash from him. You move with reluctance, your bones heavy with guilt.
“Whatever a pint of these strawberries is worth, and the rest you can use for a coffee or something,” he shrugs.
“That’s fifteen extra dollars,” you mutter, dumbfounded.
“Aren't you smart? Even when you’re stunned,” he smirks. It takes you longer than you’d care to admit to realize that he’s teasing. “Coffee and a pastry then. On me, okay?”
You nod, then shove the cash into the pocket of your apron. On him.
God, your thoughts are veering to a place that would rip the family friendly status away from this farmer's market.
Abbot lifts a pint of strawberries without looking at them, then cradles it close to his chest. “I’ll see you next week, alright, angel?”
A hum vibrates through you. “Okay…” you pause, nibbling your bottom lip. The breeze picks up, ruffling his delicious, greying curls. “Thank you, Dr. Abbot.”
The look of bewilderment on his face is enough to make you wish you forgot the blackberries every week.
He throws his head back in a sharp, heart-shattering laugh. He says goodbye a second time, then stalks off, only stopping to throw you one last grin over his shoulder.
“Hey,” his voice evens out again, and before you can register what’s happening, his beefy, calloused hand cups your bare shoulder. You glance up, meeting eyes the color of a carnival kaleidoscope. You can't decide what the dominating shade is: blue or green or gold. “It’s okay. Will you take a deep breath with me?”
holy trifecta of hot dialogue, beautiful prose, and a thirsting reader!!! thank u jamie 4 ur service this was delish
☼︎ 1.5 k celebration fic for... sammy bryant ☼︎ based on these asks ☼︎
summary ☼︎ after getting cheated on and treated as if he was terrible in bed, your boyfriend sammy has no idea just how good he always makes you feel. how do you remedy that? by having him tell you how good he is while you ride him of course!
cw ☼︎ afab!reader, talks of insecurities/infidelity, established relationship, reassurance af! dry humping for like a second, kissing :3, reverse cowgirl, unprotected p in v, creampie heals all
wc ☼︎ 1.2 k
the first time you and sammy had sex, you thought him asking you "that feel good?" or "is this okay?" repeatedly was just him learning your body. but at three months into the relationship and he's still acting surprised you even want to be intimate with him, you know it's more than that.
it was the same cycle of little things here and there that had you realize sammy was unaware of how good to you he was. it ranged from sending him a dirty text or picture while he was gone only to be met with a response like "you know you sent that to me right?", to trying to get him undressed and in your pants the second he got home just for him to scrunch his face up and say "you don't have to do that for me."
some nights, you even thought you were the problem. because every time you tried to tell him you felt needy for him, he always double and triple checked if you actually wanted to. your confusion came to a head after dinner on his couch one night.
you'd wanted him inside you since the second he got home, but as always, he looked at you like you had four heads when you tried to make a move. so you waited until after dinner and halfway through the movie he let you pick out. you lean over to start kissing his neck and you hear his breath hitch when you sling a leg over his waist to straddle him. "missed you today sammy.." you hum as you reach his lips while trailing your fingers down his soft belly to his pants zipper.
"are you sure you want to?" is what he murmurs when you tug at the metal tab. you huff, pulling back to look at him. "do you.. not want me or something sammy?" his hazel eyes look cartoonish the way they bulge outwards. "w-what? of course i do."
you play with the buttons on his shirt as you whisper, "then why are you always acting surprised when i want to be with you?" his pudgy cheeks redden instantly, a hand carding through his curls as he looks anywhere but you. "cause it is surprising for me. i guess." when your face scrunches in confusion he rubs the back of his neck as he continues. "my ex she uh, she cheated on me. and i- i think its because of y'know.. her not being satisfied with my… abilities."
the frown takes over your face instantly, heart sinking at the fact that his insecurities come from a woman who wasn't even faithful to him. you think for a second, the last few months becoming clearer in your mind. "sammy… you know that i think you're really good at sex right?"
"baby, you don't have'ta lie-" "i'm not lying! i swear, sammy. you're the only guy who's ever made me finish." he blinks up at you, hands tightening on your hips as you rock once on top of him. "i- i am?" you nod sweetly, not being able to help grinding down on him as you feel him fully harden beneath you. a small groan slips out of both of you at the movement.
"mhm.. you make me feel so good sammy. only you" his lips part at your admission before he cradles your face in his chubby hands to pull you down to kiss him. by the time your tongue slips into his mouth you're desperate, rocking back and forth and whining on top of him.
a surge of confidence rushes though your boyfriend as he whispers against your lips, "w-want me to make you feel good right now?" you don't try to fight of your soft moan of anticipation, which causes sammy to buck his hips up involuntarily as you nod.
you both quickly stand up and all clothes are discarded in between needy kisses before settling back onto the couch. you stop him before he can roll you into missionary, his go to position, and you pray that you've reassured him enough that he'll let you try something new.
you scoot around until you're hovering upright on his lap as you face away from him. you glance over your shoulder and bite your lip when you see his eyes glued to your ass. "this okay sammy?" his enthusiastic nod has you giggle, which is quickly cut off by a moan as he guides you to sink down onto his cock.
"jesus- fuck- you feel so good like this baby." sammy babbles already as you start to ride him in reverse cowgirl for the first time. you're crying out his name as he stretches you until you feel him in your throat.
even though you're not face to face, the new position lets you lean back against his soft chest and easily turn your head to kiss him. it's a sloppy kiss that has your hips faltering when he starts grinding upwards to meet each of your bounces. "oh god- so big sammy ooohh god-!" you yelp when he reaches around to rub your clit just how you taught him to, which you reward with a "just like that- mhm-! so good sammy."
sammy starts to whine into your mouth when you clench around him. "tell me that you're making me feel good. say it sammy." he hesitates for a second before you bend down and gently cup his balls that sit just below where he's touching your clit. he chokes out a groan before nodding in agreement. "im makin' you feel good baby- makin' you f-feel so good."
you're tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth as you whimper, "so good sammy- best anyone's ever made me feel." he speeds up his thrusts, his thick tip hitting the sensitive spot inside you relentlessly. he breaks your kiss to stick two of the chubby fingers from his free hand in your mouth, humming in satisfaction at you when you suck fervently and look back at him with glossy eyes.
he releases them with a *pop* and brings them to pinch one of your nipples and your orgasm approaches you like the inevitable drop off at a cliff. you feel him puff out his chest a bit against your back. and when he grunts, "yea.. yea- i'm the best you've ever had- hnng - f-fucking this tight pussy better than anyone else has, r-right?", you're a goner. you spasm around him, reaching forward to grab at his knees when your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure and you free fall with a shaky moan.
and sammy's right behind you, muttering a few "so good baby, fuck- best ive ever felt." and "gonna fill you up jus how you like it- gonna be so full a'me. only me." the next second your insides are flooded with warmth as he whimpers your name. you shiver at his come filling you to the brim, sending lovely aftershock waves through your body.
you sag back against his chest with a sigh, sammy wraps his strong arms around you, kissing your neck softly. you nuzzle your cheek to the top of his head where is curls lay a little sweaty now. you hold his hand in yours as you smile. "told you you were good at that."
Jack Abbot who gets a text from pregnant!reader telling him that her water broke and her sister is driving her to the hospital. He does a sexy, cowboy like howl of excitement that startles a half asleep Santos, and exclaims to EVERYONE in the emergency room, “My baby’s having my baby!!!” And fucking yeehaws up to Labor and Delivery with the overnight bag he’s had ready in his work locker for over a month - the same place he keeps every ultrasound you’ve had throughout your pregnancy, taped on the inside door to look at when he needs hope during a rough shift 🥹
Sammy comes home from a tough shift and you make it all better.
Rating: 18+ MDNI | 1.6k words
warnings: smut, consented free use, domestic fluff, p in v, too many uniform mentions
a/n: little break from the last parts of Before We Knew Better cos Sammy also needs to be treated right. I literally needed to write something for him. Hope you fellow Sammy lovers enjoy.
Sammy walks into the house, sighing heavily as he locks the door and throws his keys on the table.
“I’m home sweetheart.” His voice is tired and you’re not surprised, his shift had yet again gone over. You’re folding clean clothes in the laundry room and before you can call out to tell him that you feel his warmth against your back, his badge digging into your shoulder. His strong arms pulling you back against his broad chest. “Hey baby.” He says so softly as he kisses the side of your head. “Fuck. I’m dead. How was your day?” He whispers as he grabs your hair in his hands, gently placing it all over one shoulder so he can bury his face in your neck, leaving wet lingering kisses.
You sigh and lean back into him as you continue the job at hand. “It was nice…” your’e trying not to get too distracted as you continue folding one of his hoodies.
“Mmm….” He hums against your neck, his hand slowly rubbing over your waist and hips. “You smell good…” his lips move along your shoulder and neck, nipping gently where they meet.
You bite your lip as he reaches down to the hem of your summer dress. You and Sammy had an agreement. You both found it hot when he would just fuck you whenever he wanted. It was something you’d both previously consented to during a long talk about it and always had a safe word. Knowing exactly where this was going you continue to fold the laundry.
His hands slowly push your dress up to your waist as he continues to kiss and nip at your neck. The way you were trying to focus on the laundry only made him more determined, his large hands spread over your stomach pulling you back into his hardening length. You hear the click of his duty belt undoing before he places it a safe distance away from you both.
“I had a bath…” you tell him conversationally. “I went for a little walk…”
“Mhmm… that sounds nice baby.” He says gruffly, his hands sliding up to grab your tits over your dress. He squeezed gently, thumbs flicking over your hardening nipples making your knees weak but he was steady behind you. “You smell like fucking heaven…” you heard his zip and then felt his hard dick against your plump ass. Your breathy moan is music to his ears, he loves how much he affects you, nothing cold or fake like he’d had in the past. When it was a manipulation tactic to distract him from all the fucked up shit going on.
No. This was mutual… this was worship on both parts. He pushes your panties down letting them fall and when he peaks down seeing them pooling around your bare feet he groans deep before pulling out his heavy cock. “Good girl…” He praises, instantly recognising the relaxed way you submit to him.
You try to concentrate on folding the t shirt in your hands as he rubs his heavy leaking cock between your bare cheeks, tapping his thick head against your pussy… you really do.
“So fucking wet…” he breaths as his hand slides between your legs, two fingers plunging inside you. You gasp and lean heavily on the counter, the t shirt in your hands being crushed as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles. “You okay there?” He mutters pulling his fingers from your already swollen pussy. You nod shakily as your finish folding the t shirt and set it aside before grabbing a sweater with shaky hands.
His thick cock pushes into your tight pulsing hole in one slow deliberate stroke, his hips grinding once he’s fully inside you. He moans loud in your ear, hands gripping your hips tightly. “That’s my girl… such a good girl for me.” He murmurs as he starts to fuck you steadily, not rushing, his tired body moving with a loving dominance. The shirt you were folding gets scrunched up in your fists at one particularly powerful thrust of his hips and he chuckles from behind you at your pathetic attempt. He continued driving into you deeply.
“Aww baby, look at the mess you’re making.” He coos as he molds himself around you and nips at your earlobe. His fingers strumming against your clit combined with his rough yet soft voice, filled with exhaustion and pleasure is all too much for you.
You have no idea if the mess you’re making is the fully forgotten laundry or the one on his dick but you fully do.
not.
care.
You begin to push back, meeting his thrusts. He pants as you do, your pussy gripping his cock and he has to squeeze your hips to set the pace himself otherwise he would come on the spot. He breaths your name against your neck as his thrusts get faster. “Fucking perfect…”
You whimper and moan as he pushes you gently to bend over the counter whilst fucking into you. A glance over your shoulder shows you that his attention is completely focused on you. Still in his uniform, his strong arms bulging as he moves. He sees you looking and gives you that crooked half smirk that has you tightening around him.
“There she is…” He moans pressing his uniform covered chest against your back.
“Sammy.” You whimper.
His voice drops to a low gravelly whisper as one hand moves to spread possessively over your stomach and the other keeps moving against your clit. “Right here baby?”
“Yes…”
“That’s it, sweetheart.” He praises, voice thick with obsession. He’s watching your face reflected in the window above the counter, obsessed with how you look and how completely wrecked you are just for him. He’s disappointed when you bury your face in the pile of unfolded laundry in front of you but the scream you let out makes up for it, the fabric only slightly muffling you. The tight clench of you makes his eyes roll back. “God damn, baby…”
He’s close too, his jaw tightening and his arms corded from restraint as he fucks you through it slowing slightly as your orgasm ebbs but your pussy still flutters around him. Still bent over the counter you look back at him adoringly. Completely blissed out and he counts his lucky stars he has you. You make him feel truly wanted, needed, desired and loved. Nothing like the transactional sex he’d been used to for so long. Here he was worshipped. “So fucking beautiful…” he leans forward to press a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “My girl…”
“All yours Sammy…” you gasp as he speeds up again his strong hands gripping your waist.
“Fuck yes. All mine.” He growls low in his throat, restraint snapping with shout. The sound of your sincere reassurance destroys him. His hips snap forward, losing his rhythm. His ragged moans and the way you feel his cum releasing deep inside you as his body trembles around you has you moaning along with him.
His grip on your hips is tight before his forehead drops heavily against your shoulder. “Fuck…” He breaths grinding his hips slowly with the aftershocks of both your intense orgasms, completely overwhelmed.
You sigh happily reaching back to pull his face into yours, nuzzling against him. He stays that way for a while, enjoying how you handle him like he’s something worth having. He kisses you deeply, both of you groaning and sensitive as he’s still inside you. He pulls out of you with a broken laugh, kissing your nose lightly.
Straight away he pulls your panties back to for you. Tugging them back into place gently before fixing his own pants, leaving the top button open so that when you turn around you can see the skin just above his boxers and can’t help but reach out to stroke him. Hand rubbing his tummy under his shirt making him grin stupidly. You can almost see the shift from hell he’s just had melting off of his shoulders.
Despite how tired he clearly is he helps you finish folding the laundry as close to you as physically possible.
You tell him you made his favourite dinner and that it should still be warm in the oven waiting for him and that mischievous smile that lights up his eyes spreads across his face.
“You serious?” He stops mid fold with a towel in his hands, looking at you like you hung the moon. He drops the towel and wraps his arms around you. “Baby… you actually are an angel.”
He asks you to come sit with him while he eats and you do. You talk and laugh and by the heat that fills his eyes every now and again you now he’s loving the fact that you’re still full of him. He’s content as he finishes his meal, watching you talk, the way your eyes sparkle when he says something you like… which he guesses must be everything. He leans back in the chair arms crossed behind his head.
He’s home. He’s finally home. “I love you baby.”
“I love you more.” You tell him as you stand and grab his plate, kissing his head. He grabs your wrist before you can pull away looking up at you with a soft expression that always makes your heart skip.
“Nah, I love you more.”
You just smile down at him with a shake of your head and leave him sitting there grinning like an idiot as he watches you walk over to the sink. He’s completely exhausted but too happy to care as he drags a hand over his tired eyes contemplating having a coffee so he can make love to you until you’re writhing beneath him.
Then you walk past him letting your fingers tickle the back of his neck gently and your perfume lingers as you walk out of the room.
it's 3am and you've gotten up to pee when you notice that your husband pope cody is not in his usual spot next to you in the bed.
you turn on the lamp next to your bed, wake yourself up a bit, and then head out into the hallway to find where your husband has ended up, and that's when you see him.
he's taken a chair from your dining room table and set it up outside of your daughter's door. he's sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, his posture straight, and once he notices you in the hallway he moves his gaze up to you.
"andrew?" you question, "what are you doing?"
"she's been having trouble sleeping," is all he says to explain what he's doing. he's not wrong, the past couple of nights your daughter has inevitably ended up in your bed. you've woken up in the middle of the night due to her cold feet pressing into your legs as she shuffles in between you and pope.
when you ask her in the morning she'll tell you that she had a bad dream, and you don't think the way the light from her window casts a shadow on her closet door helps either.
"so you're going to sit here all night?" you ask.
"i wasn't going to sleep anyway," he says, "i'm here if she needs me." you walk closer to him and run your hands through his hair, taking a second to admire your husband and his heart full of so much love.
"do you need anything?" you ask, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. "i can get you a blanket? a snack?"
"i'm fine," he says, but you disappear down the hallway and towards your living room anyway. when you return, you have a blanket in your hand.
"i could've gotten that myself."
"i know," you put the blanket in his lap. you know he's too stubborn to let you do things for him, but that doesn't stop you from doing them.
"i'll be in bed if you need me," you leave him with a kiss and head back to your bedroom.
