im obsessed with pope cody that spoils wife!reader rotten.
a pretty diamond ring? you got it. big vintage fur coats? you go it. clothes? money? wanna get your nails done? buy cotton sheets for your shared bedroom and house decorations you two don’t need? you got it.
he loves seeing you happy and fulfilled so his whole life mission is now spoiling his beautiful partner. he wants to give you something he never felt: security.
no matter how many gifts, how expensive they are and how many times he suprised you, he’ll always be awkward about it, never fully confident in his pleasing ability since it was never really praised by anyone.
you…like it? i got it for you but we can return it if you don’t andrew says quietly with his puppy eyes on your face always expecting a punch to his hopes as he holds the box with a necklace you said you liked a month ago
andy… you could give me a leaf and i would still love it, of course i like it you whisper holding his sweet face, and kissing it all over sweetly, his cheeks, nose, corner of his mouth. put it on me? pretty please? you pout as little joke as he hangs the delicate necklace around your neck locking it with a small almost imperceptible smile.
i might get myself an A pendant… you know to wear your initial around my neck you say quite shy for someone that shares a whole house with him for a few years now.
he can’t help but kiss you, a tender kiss full of love, admiration and a quiet thank you for loving me exactly the way i am.
oh to be sleepily riding jack abbot, tummy to tummy, chest to chest. your soft arms thrown over his strong shoulders, chin hooked over the freckled skin. your head tilts against his, your rich hair rubbing against his silver strands as your ears kiss.
he’s got you in a bear hug— actually stops your movements just to hug you. to feel you in his arms and cuddle for a second because, at the end of the day, jack loves you. tells you every single day… he even tells you now.
left arm wrapped around your torso while his right crosses over to press a hand to the back of your sweaty hair. holding you to his shoulder, you mouth at jack’s skin, sucking and kissing and rubbing your cheek against him as he pulses inside of you. a slow grind, your favorite, causes you to whine out against him.
“i love you, honey. love you so much, my comfy girl. can’ya keep takin me? hm? keep takin’ jackie’s cock? love you so much.”
his eyes are screwed shut as he lifts his hips into you, still holding your head to rest against him. “‘m always gonna take care a’you. never have to worry about anything. know why? daddy loves you, sweet, pretty girl. gimme kiss”
you whine against his mouth, a pathetic, weeping sound, and he loses it more. moving both arms back to your torso, he’s got you in the tightest bear hug, arms squeezing for a second in affection. he rests his cheek on your back, mirroring you, surrendering to all of his intrinsic need.
“say it.” “d-” “say it baby, c’mon. tell daddy.” “love you!” “yeah? you love me?” “yes daddy,” you cry out, slobbering down his back without a care as he fucks up into you. your nails scratch down his back as you hiccup, your tummy sticking together from the heat of the room, you can feel his happy trail rubbing against your lower belly. “i love you so much jack” “i love you- oh my god- i love you more. come on baby, cum for daddy, that’s it… fuck, that’s it.”
afterwards you stay seated in his lap, falling asleep as he lightly rocks you both back and forth. gently, he whispers into the moonlit room, “hey.. lemme see you.. lemme see that pretty face.” and when you pull back to look at him, swaying a bit in exhaustion, his green eyes glitter. a fondness etched into the very fabric of what it means to be a man like jack who loves a woman crosses over his face.
warm eyes, a little smirk as he holds your cheeks with both hands. “you feel how much i love you?” “yeah” you agree, blushing and keening under his attention. he smiles, laughing in the enchanting way only an older man can. “good. can i hold you a little longer? love you so much, kid, can’t get enough of you.”
despite the definite headache and backache waiting to come, you both doze off just like that. with jack’s love leaking out of you as you cuddle into his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you <3
Thank you all so much for the love on the last part. I’m having such a blast thinking of all these so I’m glad others are loving this concept as well ♥️
No TW that I can think of. Pt. 1
Pt. 3 coming soon!
💵The day Pope gets released from Folsom he’s at your house. He’s spent too long behind bars to waste any more time. It obviously scares the living shit out of you. “Pope what the fuck are you doing here?!” You nearly scream when you walk into the nursery to find Pope standing over your daughter’s crib. Your mind jumping to the idea that his idiot brothers somehow broke him out rather than he got out on good behavior.
🐾 “We should get locks on the windows…” is all he says his eyes glued to the little bundle of joy in the crib. Pope ignores your huff of annoyance and grumbles about how this is technically breaking and entering. He spends the entire afternoon and evening holding your baby girl, asking you questions, and plotting how he’s going to make you all little family again.
💵Ex baby daddy Pope who randomly comes over to take over parenting duty so you can get some sleep. When you wake up the streetlights are twinkling and Pope has your daughter on his chest. “Dinner’s wrapped up in the fridge for you mama.” His voice is soft as he gently rocks back in forth still straight backed in the comfy rocking chair in your daughter’s nursery. What’s the big deal if he ends up spending the night? It’s late when your daughter finally drifts off to sleep he can’t drive home in the darkness. He strips down to his boxers as he slides into bed behind you.
🐾The next morning you sleep through the little pitter patter of your daughter’s feet as she sneaks into your bedroom. You’re still fast asleep your face nuzzled into Pope’s bare chest. His arm slung low across your waist. His large hand resting on the curve of your sleep short clad ass. She pauses her tiny brows furrowing as she stares at the two of you peacefully sleeping. “Daddy?” Her confused voice penetrates through your sleepy haze. Pope had woken up the second she had walked into the room.
💵 Ex baby daddy pope who stays still allowing you to wake up. You look so beautiful with your hair a mess, eyes full of sleep, your body clinging to him as you slowly realize whose chest you’ve tucked yourself into. Not to mention the fact that your ex baby daddy is wearing nothing but boxers while you’re in your usual oversized shirt and tiny sleep shorts. You’re about to push Pope away when his arm tightens around you as he pushes himself up halfway. He gives your daughter the warmest smile as he extends his free hand out to her. “C’mere Pumpkin you wanna snuggle up with us?”
🐾 You can’t say no to your daughter especially when her face lights up the way it does and she nods excitedly. “Alright pumpkin come on up.” Her brown curls bouncing as she launches herself onto the bed. Pope catching her in his strong arms easily plopping her down on the mattress. Your daughter giggles, wiggling into the tiny space between you and pope. You let out a small sigh giving pope a look that he just shrugs off. “What? It’s important to have family bonding time.”
💵 Ex baby daddy Pope who always gets your daughter what she wants. It doesn’t matter if you said no. He wants your daughter to have the best childhood and it doesn’t help that he feels a massive amount of guilt that he wasn’t there during the first three years of her life and your entire pregnancy. He believes in spoiling his girls. So whenever your daughter walks in ice cream in one hand and a massive stuffed animal in the other running up to show you what her daddy bought her he already has a plan. “Don’t worry I didn’t forget about you.” He murmurs in your ear an arm wrapping around your waist from behind as he pushes a small velvet box with a golden necklace and ruby pendant inside. “Here let me help you put it on.”
🐾Ex baby daddy pope who lets your daughter paint her room whatever color she wants in his new home. Of course she picked baby pink and lavender. He holds her little hand as they walk through the bedding isle. “Daddy can we get this one please?” She pouts holding a comforter set that has little fairies and unicorns all over it. He lets her sit on the plush rug as he builds her new bed frame and hangs up the baby pink canopy above it. When you stop by to pick her up the next morning you can’t help but notice the framed picture Pope has of you and your daughter that sits on her bedside table. It’s wrinkled and folded but your heart softens when you see how you holding your daughter shortly after giving birth to her.
💵Ex baby daddy Pope who always steals something out of your purse to get you to stay longer. He watches you dig around in your purse “where the hell is my wallet? I know it was in here earlier.” You mumble in frustration Pope places a solid hand on your shoulder giving it a slight squeeze. His other hand is on your hip as he pulls you back into his solid chest. “Let me help you look for it Baby.” He murmurs into your ear.
🐾 God forbid he forgets to pack your daughter’s favorite stuffie so he can come back to the house. “Why don’t I just stay for dinner? Traffic is bad and I’m already here.” Your daughter whips around to look at you in excitement grabbing his hand. “Mama please can Daddy stay?” You feel the argument die in your throat as the smirk crosses Pope’s face as he raises an eyebrow. “Well? Can I stay mama?” His voice is a deep gravel bringing a flush to your cheeks.
💵Ex baby daddy Pope who constantly asks your daughter if she wants a sibling. Planting the idea in her head of how good of a big sister she would be. “But how do I get a sibling daddy?” She’d pout causing Pope to shrug casually his voice not giving away anything as he continued to cook dinner. “Go ask your mama. You came out of her tummy after all.”
🐾 The next day after your daughter was dropped off you’d be bombarded with questions about where babies come from and your daughter begging and crying for a little sibling. Pope would raise an eyebrow and look at you. “You know if we started trying now she could have a little brother or sister by her birthday.” You shoot him a glare as your cheeks heat up.
Normally I don’t do pregnancy but this idea popped into my head so I bent my own rule.
Stay on the look out for a part 2 based of when pope gets out of Folsom!
🐾 You and Pope had been on and off again for years before you got pregnant. It had been a total accident and frankly scared the living shit out of both of you. “I’m not ready for this!” Pope snapped pacing back and forth hands running through his hair. “Oh and you think I am Andy?!” Your voice loud overwhelming in the small space. All of Pope’s childhood trauma and insecurities bubbling to the surface at the prospect of being a parent.
💵 “I’m done.” He mumbled turning his hand on the doorknob when he heard your voice soft but more sure than he had ever heard it before. “Andrew Cody if you walk out that door you and I are done. I fucking mean it this time.” There’s a pause as time seems to stop and everything seems to freeze. You think for a second that the ultimatum was enough but just as the thought forms it’s snuffed out as the doorknob turns and the oldest Cody boy stalks out into the warm California night. Leaving you completely heartbroken.
🐾 Ex Baby Daddy Pope who got booked a week later after robbing a bank with his brothers. The trial was swift and brutal as Pope took all the blame, refusing to snitch on his family. The muscle in his jaw tight as the judge sentenced him to six years in Folsom state prison for armed robbery. Right before he was taken away you were able to talk to him. Your eyes wet with tears that you refused to let fall. “I just thought you should know I’m going to keep the baby.”
💵 Ex Baby Daddy Pope who writes you letters every single day asking about how you’re doing. How the baby is doing. Asking for pictures of the sonograms and summaries from the doctors. Apologizing for how things ended. Promises for what’s to come when he gets out. Every time Baz visits him he asks about you even when Baz begs him to leave it alone. It doesn’t take much convincing for Baz to promise to keep tabs on you for Andrew.
🐾You’re so thankful for Cath who reaches out to you a month into your pregnancy asking if you need any help. You’re way in over your head and immediately accept the help from her. Sure it’s a little uncomfortable with her being married to the brother of your ex but Baz has always been so kind to you and continues to do so that you brush aside the discomfort. You’re completely unaware that Andrew is behind this little arrangement.
💵Baz and Cath finally wearing you down and you give in writing a letter to Pope. It’s a peace offering the chance to coparent because you believe your child has the right to know their dad. Additionally no matter how angry you are at Pope you know that he would want to be in your kid’s life. He’s watched every single one of this siblings dad’s be absent including his own. There was no way in hell he was going to do the same. You make it incredibly clear in the letter that you’re not looking to get back together. Despite the ache in your chest telling you otherwise you let Pope know that if there’s any sort of funny business you won’t hesitate to leave.
🐾Ex baby daddy Pope who cries when he sees the first sonogram of his beautiful baby. Who is overjoyed when at twenty weeks he learns that he’s having a little girl. He calls you after every appointment, check up, ultrasound. He apologizes for him not being there. Promises that things are going to be different when he gets out. He stays quiet every time you remind him you aren’t getting back together. That’s what you think anyways.
💵Ex baby daddy Pope who nearly loses his shit when Deran calls to say your water broke. “What’s happening?! Are you with her?! Is she in a lot of pain?! He hears Deran yelling for Craig to get in the car. The lack of answers and control he feels eating away his self restraint. Pope lashes out his fist connecting with the wall next to the phone. “Fucking answer me!” He yells so loud that Deran drops the phone.
🐾Craig’s voice comes through to pope a few seconds later. “Jesus man she’s fine! We’re meeting Baz and Cath at the hospital they’re with her now! Baz called us while he was driving a minute ago…” there’s a pause and then Craig’s sarcastic mocking jab comes through the phone. “God who would have thought that fuckin’ Pope would be any sort of daddy.” That’s the last thing he hears before the line goes dead.
💵Ex baby daddy Pope who’s up all night either pacing his cell or sit straight back and looking straight ahead. His mind is racing with possibilities of what could be happening. His feeling are scrambled an amalgamation of pride, joy, anger, fear, and sadness at what was going on. All the while an overwhelming sea of emotions was threatening to drown him.
🐾It’s Baz who finally picks up the phone waiting until Pope’s wall of questions and accusations finally fall silent to speak. “They’re both perfectly fine Pope. Mama’s doing good and your little girl is healthy and already quiet.” Pope who lets out a choked sigh of relief. His eyes stinging from trying to hold his tears back. Baz laughs at the silence “Congratulations brother you’re a dad now. You can’t fuck it up more than any of our dad’s.”
💵Ex baby daddy Pope who keeps a photo of you and your beautiful baby girl on him at all times. It’s sometime after you had given birth. Your baby is cleaned up wrapped in a soft pink blanket. She’s tucked under your chin and you’re smiling down at her. It’s wrinkled and folded but it brings a smile to his face and reminds him of what’s waiting for him when he gets home.
🐾A few weeks later you show up to Folsom for a visit. Pope who cries silent tears when he finally gets to hold his bundle of joy. She’s so little in his arms. Fast asleep a small pink cap pulled over her round head. Tiny brown curls that match Pope’s stick out the back. “She’s so beautiful baby…” Pope whispers he’s looking at you with awe and a devotion that borders on obsessive. “She’s so perfect…Thank you.” He rasps as he ducks his head back down. His gaze soft as his finger gently caresses her chubby little cheek.
content: pope and reader are in highschool | pope has a fat crush on reader | baz being his usual wacky self | bullying | angst with comfort | poor pope just wanted to impress you | happy ending
🟡 author’s note: this was inspired by that one unreleased ethel cain song that’s trending… i was going to make it completely angsty, but i had to give andrew a happy ending
—
“…what the fuck is that for?” baz barked out, amused by the half-finished poster that sat in the middle of pope’s bedroom.
pope instinctively moved to hide it from his pestering step-brother, but it was too late as baz stepped in, swiftly grabbing the poster board from his grasp.
“will you go to…” baz began to read out aloud, “oh, pope, don’t tell me you’re planning on asking that girl to the dance…” he cooed condescendingly.
pope stiffened, his jaw clenched tightly as baz teased him. “put it down,” he mumbled, biting down the sense of humiliation that always followed after baz’s words.
“alright, alright… no need to get yourself worked up,” he scoffed, carelessly setting it down.
pope let out a relieved huff the second baz left the room, moving to lock his bedroom door before carefully smoothing out the creases that his brother left. he looked down at the poster, his eyes glazing over the colorful letters.
he had been planning to ask you to the homecoming dance for the past few weeks. he even strung julia into it, asking for her guidance and girlish opinion when it came to preparing his homecoming proposal.
sure, he felt incredibly out of place; even borderline foolish for attempting to craft something like this.
but he wanted to do it for you.
he wanted to be someone charming, someone who could impress you, similar to the male leads of the romcoms you adored watching. that reason alone was why pope spent the rest of his night locked away in his room as he finished up the poster, obsessively making sure that every detail was executed just as he planned.
you two had met in science class. your teacher had assigned you as lab partners for the semester at the beginning of the school year. initially, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at not being paired with one of your friends, but pope had turned into a pleasant surprise. despite your peers warning you of pope’s unsettling demeanor, the two of you collaborated well, and eventually it gave way into an easy friendship. it was something that pope held protectively, especially when everyone seemed to prefer baz over him. besides you, there were only two other people in the school who would tolerate his company.
once the day to ask you to the dance finally arrived, he spent the whole class watching you with butterflies flooding his stomach. each time you’d flash him an easy smile or make eye contact with him, he’d feel the mix of nerves and anticipation worsen as the time ticked past.
the bell rung for the final time, dismissing students for the day. pope hurriedly rushed downstairs, his feet carrying him to his locker. “do you… would you want to go to the dance with me?” he muttered to himself, practicing the grand question as he opened his locker.
he reached for the poster and bouquet of crochet flowers he carefully prepared, before heading towards the lobby where he requested you to wait.
as he rounded the corner, he didn't see baz and his football friends waiting, grinning as they prepared to spring their trap. before pope could even take a step towards your direction, the group ambushed him, catching him completely off guard.
he felt his shirt become wet, drenched and slimy with a sharp, pungent smell.
“holy shit, i can’t believe you were actually planning to ask her,” baz scoffed, cracking up at the sight of pope holding the items.
the other guys followed suit, thinking his efforts were some kind of joke.
pope shifted slightly, his heart pounding out of his chest as he felt the halls close in on him.
he felt ridiculous and humiliated, the buzzing in his ears blocking out their continued remarks until something else hit the side of his face.
he looked down, realizing it was a discarded frog leg from the dissection earlier that day.
shit, how was he supposed to face you when he had animal guts splattered over him?
when the poster he had prepared now reeked of formalin?
would you laugh at him as well?
what if he accidentally embarrassed you by asking?
what if this entire time, you had been tolerating him out of sheer politeness?
“it’s bad enough she’s stuck with a nutjob like you. i heard mr. smith had to assign her as your partner because no one else wanted to volunteer,” one of them snickered.
pope couldn’t bear it anymore, quickly turning to rush away from the obnoxious bunch. his vision was too tunneled to realize that he had ran past you in the hall, your brows furrowed at the sight of his distress. he faintly heard you calling his name as he left the building, not realizing that you had picked up the discarded poster and flowers.
pope was thankful that the following day was saturday, at least then he’d be able to hide away from everyone, especially from baz.
he wanted to wring his brother’s neck for orchestrating something like that, but his embarrassment kept him cooped up in his room, not moving an inch even after craig and deran’s attempts to invite him to the skate park.
he only slipped out of the cody compound when he knew nobody would notice, his feet dragged as he walked to the cathedral, the only safe place that he had left. as he reached the entrance, his eyes spotted you seated on the steps.
he almost turned around and fled until he heard your voice, “andrew, wait!”
you were sweating slightly from waiting on the steps for hours, your hands holding onto the poster board and flowers.
“i knew you’d show up,” you sighed happily, flashing him a small smile.
he stiffened as you stopped right in front of him, awkwardly glancing around before his eyes uncomfortably settled on your face. he swallowed nervously, his mouth feeling incredibly dry as he watched you hold up the crochet bouquet.
“you… made these for me? to ask me to homecoming?” you asked.
he gave you a brief nod, his fingers drumming against the side of his thigh. “…it’s a gift. my sister told me that you’d like it,” he mumbled.
that earned him a wider smile from you, your eyes lighting up.
he cleared his throat, before replying, willing himself to speak a little louder. “i’m not going anymore,” he clarified, the sound of their teasing laughter still ringing in his ears. “you… you should go with someone else.”
“…well we don’t have to go to the school dance. we can just do our own thing,” you suggested. “i didn’t really wanna go anyways. it’s just gonna be a bunch of sweaty teenagers packed into the gym,” you shrugged.
pope’s brows furrowed, the thought of you choosing to spend time with him rather than attending a special event seemed out of reach.
“oh! how about the science museum? it’ll be open late if we go on a friday night…” you continued, rambling on and on about other potential options, other things that included you spending time with him.
pope quietly stared at you, his mind struggling to catch up with the sudden shift in reality. he had been ready to crawl into a hole and never come out, but now, you were standing right in front of him, casually pitching a night at the museum as if it were the most obvious choice in the world.
“the science museum?” he repeated, the tension slowly bleeding out of his shoulders.
“yeah! unless, you think looking at fossilized bones and learning about our solar system is too lame for a friday night?” you teased.
a tiny, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of pope’s lips. “i heard they’re also opening a new wing for exotic bugs and insects,” he informed.
“so… is that a yes?” you asked softly, leaning in slightly, your eyes searching his. “andrew, i never cared about the dance. i just wanted to go with you,” you added, sensing his hesitation.
the lingering sting of embarrassment finally vanished, replaced by something warmer, something steady fluttering in his chest. his drumming fingers went still against his leg. he looked down at the handmade gift in your hands, then back up at your face, realizing you meant every word.
“yeah,” he said, a shy, but genuine smile breaking across his face. “…i’d really like that.”
without thinking, you reached out and gently squeezed his wrist. “it’s a date, then.”
pope felt his cheeks heat up, but for the first time all week, he didn’t mind at all. “it’s a date,” he agreed.
nothing could have prepared pope cody for the first time you asked him to do cowgirl position. typically, you guys would stick to missionary because that's what he was comfortable with. who were you to complain when he was incredibly well-endowed, AND he knew how to use that monster cock he was blessed with. you were always completely spent and satisfied after sex when it came to pope, but you also wanted to start experimenting with him a little bit.
so, you finally pop the question. naturally, pope goes along with whatever you want because he just wants to feel you around him. the noises you made when he was inside you were the best bonus he could ask for. it's late at night, you're both already cuddled up in bed. his chest is pressed up against your back, one of his arms wrapped snugly around your waist, and his head buried in the nape of your neck.
you were having trouble sleeping, which happened more often than you cared to admit. but you knew pope was awake, since he slept even less than you. he'd never dare to move a muscle once you finally fell asleep, though. regardless, he was more than aware of your restlessness even though you hadn't so much as stirred. he gently rubbed circles into your soft tummy, kissing your hair.
"you okay?" he mumbles against you. you nod slowly, turning over your shoulder a bit to look at him. he can see the look in your eyes, recognizing what was going through your head in that moment. "i need you…" you sigh quietly, not-so-subtly pressing your ass back against the half-baked erection in his boxers. his breath hitches at the contact, but he obliges instantly. you turn over and move to straddle him, his hands catch your hips and help you get settled. his eyes travel up your body as you sit flush against him.
his cock is straining almost painfully hard against the fabric of his boxers now. you slowly roll your hips against him, a soft sigh emitting from your parted lips. he couldn't decide where he wanted to watch first as you start to become more confident in your movements. "does it feel good?" his thumbs stroke over the skin of your waist. "want you inside me." you pant, shivering at the sensation of the mutual wet spot seeping through your panties. he responds with a strangled 'okay' as he yanks down his boxers and pulls your panties to the side for you.
he lets you do the honors of sliding yourself down on his cock. although he'd long grown out of his phase of coming too early when you first started having sex, in this moment, he swore he was a goner. watching the way your face tenses in pleasure while you split yourself open on top of him was easily one of the most beautiful things he'd ever witnessed. then, you actually start moving. bouncing on his cock so enthusiastically, head falling back in pure bliss. he's gasping out your name, mesmerized by the sound of slapping skin mixed with your loud moans.
the louder you got, the closer he got to blowing his load before you were ready. he moves one of his hands lower, furiously rubbing at your clit with his thumb so he could get you there faster. "fuck, andrew…" you cry out, hips stuttering at the overwhelming stimulation. he's groaning loudly now, using every technique he'd ever learned to not come until you do. "yeah- fuck-" he mutters, his voice cracking slightly. "feels so good." you whimper, leaning over to slam your lips against his. that was his undoing, he instantly explodes, full on moaning like a girl while he buries himself deep inside you. his grip on your ass is tight as he holds you against him, making sure you weren't going to spill a single drop.
before you could even try to think that he forgot about you, he resumes toying with your clit and starts bucking his hips up into you. soon enough, you're clenching around him so tight he's forced to slip out of you. although every bone in his body wanted another round, he saw the way your eyelids became heavy with exhaustion. he was like your own personal melatonin, the way he could fuck you to sleep without trying. he gently lifts you back onto your side of the bed, grabbing the supplies to get you cleaned up. once you're both freshened up, he gets back into bed, pulling you tight against him and burying his face in the crook of your neck once more.
alex's thoughts 𓈒∘☁︎: period horny hits different i just want my popey in bed next to me someone FUCKING SEDATE ME AAAAAAAAAA
you know how iphones have that feature that sync photos you've received and upload them to your photo album? well jack abbot certainly doesn't know how to turn it off. all i can think about is sending cleavage shots, teasing pictures that were only ever meant for him to see when he's in the confines of the ED bathroom trying not to rub one out there.
he is trying to show robby something about a motorcycle he saw the other day. slow swiping fingers on his screen as he tries his best to make out each image without pulling out his readers. he takes too long of a pause, a blown up photo of you in skimpy lingerie, spread across his bed leaving little to the imagination. jack doesn't rush to swipe away, having momentarily forgotten what he was doing.
"jack–" robby groans looking anywhere but the screen knowing this image will flash in his mind the next time he see's you.
"right! sorry... she looks great, doesn't she?" jack says looking over his shoulder at robby.
Summary: After an unfortunate mixup of pain medication and your friend's party substances at Pitt Fest, you're rushed to the Pitt and placed in the care of Jack Abbot. As he oversees your care, you get a little too touchy, and a little too honest.
Word Count: 6.6k
Content: accidental drug use (MDMA), mention of alcohol consumption, age gap (reader is mid 20s), fluff, comfort, a hint of smut (18+ MDNI) - literally like two seconds of thigh riding, mention of ovulation
A/N: listen… I’ve never done MDMA. I did a lot of research, but I had to fudge some stuff for plot. don’t do drugs kids
Pitt Fest was not your idea. When your friend Beth offered you her spare ticket, you waffled at first. You're not really a crowds person, or a partying person. Beth was always the partier in college. But you do like live music, and she pointed out that your top Spotify artist from last year is in the concert lineup.
So you’d caved.
That decision is coming back to bite you in the ass, and bite hard.
It’s hot as balls outside. You’re covered in sweat, which mingles in a sticky and unpleasant mix with the sunscreen you’ve been dutifully applying since the afternoon to avoid frying like an egg. When the sun finally set, you no longer had to worry about the burgeoning threat of skin cancer, but the heat doesn’t break. In fact, it almost seems to get worse, because more and more people arrive to crowd you as night descends and the bigger names with larger fanbases grace the stage.
You’re waiting for Beth outside of the bathroom facilities. She's been ingesting a steady stream of margaritas since sundown, so she leaves you holding the bag, literally. At least it's a nice excuse to separate yourself from the throng of jumping, sweaty bodies gathered by the stage.
It’s nearly two in the morning. You’re hungry. Your feet are killing you. You have a headache from the festival’s sugary cocktails. You’re sweating through the top Beth lent you. And on top of everything else, your ovulation cramps are kicking in like a motherfucker.
Growing desperate, you dig through Beth's bag, searching for the little Altoid tin that she always keeps her pain meds in. At long last, your hands make contact with the metal tin at the bottom of her tote. Nearly crying with relief, you pop an aspirin in your mouth and wash it down with the tepid bottled water you’ve been clutching for the last hour.
Beth's voice rings out from behind you, talking over the din of the nearby DJ set. “What are you doing?”
You turn towards her, and see Beth staring at the tin in your hand. “I have cramps,” you explain, and just as you’re about to shove the tin back in her bag and hand it to her, she grabs your wrist.
“…please tell me you didn’t just take one of those,” she says urgently.
You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because those are not aspirin, babe.”
Your blood runs cold. Your brain quickly does the math — Beth had told you how much she’s looking forward to meeting up with her rave friends tomorrow for the second night of Pitt Fest. Beth has always been quite the partier. And she often partied with her good friend Molly.
Your eyes widen in horror. “Oh no.”
Pitt Fest, as always, is a huge pain in the ass for the night shift.
Handoff gets messy. There's a shit ton of substance cases, even more of heatstroke. Robby stays longer than he should and snaps at everyone, clearly in his feelings remembering last year’s Pitt Fest. Understandable, yes, but it also makes everyone’s life that much harder when they’re within sniping distance of him.
Needless to say, Jack is already over this shift, and it’s not even halfway done. It doesn't help that his favorite resident happens to have the night off, which deposits his mood firmly in the hospital basement. Which, coincidentally, happens to be the location of the morgue.
Now that Robby has been politely ordered to go the fuck home, Jack feels like he can finally focus on his job instead of doing damage control with the med students. As he walks down the hall, Lena catches his attention from the hub desk.
“We have an ambulance two minutes out with a mid-20s female, collapsed at Pitt Fest,” she informs him. “Probable dehydration, likely drug-related, because, well… Pitt Fest.”
This festival truly is the gift that keeps on giving. Jack cracks his knuckles and eyes the ambulance bay doors. “All right. Let's get ready to receive the party girl.”
A few minutes later, the gurney is wheeled in by two paramedics and received by Lena and Parker. Parker shoots an alarmed and confused look over her shoulder at Jack, who steps forward to supervise.
“Dr. Abbot!"
Of all the things Jack expected to see tonight, this is at the bottom of the list. You're strapped to the gurney, scantily clad and gleaming with sweat, a goofy smile on your face and your pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow your irises.
Jack scrubs a hand through his hair. “You're shitting me.”
This is quite the surprising turn of events.
After Lena sets you up in South 16, Jack discreetly shoos away Parker so he can handle your examination himself. He doubts you would be comfortable with one of your fellow residents seeing you like this, considering your condition and your current state of dress.
Jack closes the door behind him and saunters over to you. His eyes snag on your tight, strappy top, and the strategically placed cutouts baring sections of your midriff and chest. He’s holding onto his professionalism by a thread, especially with the way you’re shifting around on the exam table, causing the hem of your miniskirt to ride up.
He has no choice but to focus up. You need medical attention, not the kind of attention his brain and body really want to give you right now. First, Lena takes your temperature and shows him the number on the display. 100.2 degrees F. It's coming down from what the paramedics recorded in the ambulance, and not so high that he’s still worried about heat stroke. But you’ll need cooling down regardless.
“That’s quite the outfit you got on,” he mutters as he gently raises your chin and shines his penlight into your pupils.
“Do you like it?” you ask, beaming up at him even as you squint. “I borrowed it from my friend. She’s so nice.”
Your pupils are so dilated that your eyes are almost completely black.
“Yup.” Jack clicks off the light and sighs, turning to Lena. “She’s rolling, all right. Let’s get a tox to make sure there’s nothing else to be worried about.”
You don’t seem to even register the pain of the needle prick, but you let out a delighted little hum when Lena smooths a bandage over your arm and adds gentle pressure over top of it.
“That feels good,” you murmur with a lazy smile.
“I bet.” Jack crosses his arms and tries to give you a stern look. “Can I ask what my best resident is doing taking ecstasy at a music festival?”
“I didn’t take it on purpose, I swear,” you protest, your eyes widening in a brief panic. “It was my friend’s. I thought it was aspirin, for my cramps.”
“You’re menstruating?” he asks, picking up his tablet and sitting in the edge of the exam table next to you to amend your chart.
You shake your head and say matter-of-factly, “Ovulation cramps.”
His eyebrows shoot up towards the ceiling in surprise.
You continue babbling, unaware of the grenade you just lobbed at Jack. “She tried to get me to throw it up, but I couldn’t because I don’t really have a gag reflex.”
Jack takes a deep breath to prevent his brain from completely short-circuiting.
Your face breaks into a sheepish smile, and you giggle, “Oops. Sorry, that was probably too much information.” Leaning forward on the exam table, you bring your face inches away from his and observe with a sigh, “Your eyes are really pretty.”
From behind him, Jack hears Lena snickering under her breath. He clears his throat and straightens up to standing.
Avoiding Lena's eyes, he instructs her, “Let’s, uh, get her some fluids and cooling packs, huh? Maybe a Saf-T-Pop, too. Keep her mouth occupied, so she won’t say any more nonsense she’ll regret in the morning.”
Lena just shoots him an amused look and heads off to gather supplies. Nurses, he thinks ruefully to himself. They see everything.
Movement and sound draw his attention back to you. You're laid back on the exam table, eyes fluttering closed. And you’re running your hands through your hair, letting out a pleased little noise like the sensation is better than sex.
Jack breathes carefully through his nose. He needs out of this room with you, before this becomes mortifying for everyone involved. His phone buzzes in his pocket, giving him the perfect excuse for escape.
His voice is thin when he speaks, and for a moment, he’s glad you’re too high to notice. “You sit tight, sunshine.”
As he turns to leave the room, your hand catches the edge of his scrubs.
“You’re leaving?” your mouth turns down into a pout, those huge eyes shining up at him. He very nearly gives in, very nearly reaches out a hand to stroke a thumb across your cheek just to hear the kind of sound it would pull from you. But his phone buzzes insistently, so he briefly pats your knee instead.
“I have other patients to see. But I'll be back before you know it,” he assures you, pulling open the door and diving headfirst back into the glorious chaos.
At least it’ll be a convenient distraction from the thought of you, eagerly waiting in south fifteen for him to return.
He shakes his head in disbelief. Ovulation cramps. You’re gonna be the death of him.
An MVA, a ketamine overdose, and a cardiac event later, the Pitt finally slows down enough for Jack to breathe. Enough to check your tox screen and sigh with relief that the MDMA you mistakenly took wasn’t cut with anything. Alcohol is the only other thing in your system, in levels not high enough to be concerning. Although, combined with the ecstasy, it means you probably won’t remember much of this exciting little escapade.
At long last, he manages to find some time to check on you.
In his absence, Lena had set you up with a gown to preserve a little more of your modesty. You’re laying on the exam table amongst the cooling packs, an IV attached to your arm and a Saf-T-Pop in your mouth that’s turning your tongue red.
A smile breaks like sunrise over your face as soon as you see him.
“Hey there, sunshine,” he greets you, approaching you with a little more warmth now that Lena's sharp eyes aren’t here to observe.
“Hi. I missed you,” you sigh.
Jack smirks. “Did you now?”
You nod happily. “Mm-hmm.”
“How are you feeling?” he asks, his gaze attentive, checking you over.
“Cold,” you answer, wrapping your arms around yourself.
He reaches up a hand to feel your forehead. Still warm, but still steadily coming down over time. He’s satisfied enough with your progress. You'll be out of here in no time.
The prospect disappoints him just a little.
“Yeah, your body is having trouble regulating its temperature,” he explains, his thumb stroking delicately along your hairline. “We’ll need to keep these cool packs on you a little while longer.”
Just as his hand retreats, your hand catches his wrist. You press his palm to your cheek, almost nuzzling into it like an affectionate kitten.
“Your hands are so warm,” you murmur, eyelids slipping shut as you revel in the sensation.
The gesture catches him off guard, but he doesn’t pull away. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, and he certainly doesn’t want to.
“Easy there, gorgeous,” he chuckles softly. “I need that hand for doctoring.”
Your eyelids flutter halfway open, and you look up at him with a lazy grin, clearly pleased as punch. “You think I'm gorgeous?”
Jack freezes for a moment. The word had slipped out without him even registering it, familiar and endeared and entirely too revealing.
“I plead the fifth,” he replies, warmth creeping up his neck.
You giggle again. God, that sound does things to his heart that are medically concerning.
“I think you’re gorgeous,” you mumble dreamily.
Jack blinks in surprise.
He’s been a little too fond of you for a while now, been staring a little too long when you brush past him in the halls. And he’s suspected before that it might not be completely one-sided. He sees how you receive his attention and praise differently than the other attendings, how you look at him with more than just the admiration of a mentor. But suspecting it and having it be confirmed are two different things. Especially since you wouldn’t be saying any of this if you were sober.
He tries to laugh it off before his ego can run away with the compliment. “I think you’re high.”
You shrug. “Maybe. But I always think you’re gorgeous.”
Removing his palm from your cheek, you examine it with fascination, running a finger along the deep set lines. “I think about these,” you say thoughtfully. “All the time.”
Jack is a little ashamed at how quickly that comment goes straight to his cock. His favorite resident, fantasizing about his hands, maybe even touching yourself to the thought of them, wishing your own fingers were his—
He drags his free hand over his face and mutters, "Jesus Christ."
“Can I tell you a secret?” You peer up at him again, that goofy, starstruck smile returning. “I’ve got, like, the biggest crush on you.”
Unfortunately for Jack, there is very little time to process this very interesting information before his phone buzzes again. Just beyond the doors, he can hear the familiar sound of what is likely a high-priority trauma heading into the bay. Voices overlapping in urgent tones, gurney wheels on tile floor, grunts and yelps of pain from a patient.
Jack crosses to the door in two steps, and speaks over his shoulder to you. “Hey, baby, I gotta handle something. Stay out of trouble, okay?”
As the door swings shut behind him, he just manages to catch the sound of you happily mumbling to yourself, “He called me baby.”
Which is how he heads into Trauma 1 with a smile on his face, entirely too cheerful for a man facing down a compound femur fracture.
The shift that would never fucking end is almost fucking over. And all Jack can think about is you. You and your moony, lovey-dovey eyes and your wide, childlike smile. You gazing up at him and crooning I have the biggest crush on you. You giggling and telling him point-blank that you’re ovulating.
As he rolls out of yet another demanding trauma, Lena updates him on your condition. You’re rehydrated and back to a normal temperature, pretty much ready for discharge if you can be released to someone who will take care of you. He returns to your room, finding you unhooked from your IV and cold-pack-free, happily set up with another lollipop.
“Jack, you’re back!” you exclaim, and then laugh at your accidental rhyme.
Still rolling, he thinks. He checks his watch. According to your best guess of when you took the ‘aspirin’ in your friend’s purse, it’s been about four hours. You'll be due to start coming down anytime in the next two hours or so. He's due to head out, but he can’t bring himself to go home until he knows you’re leaving in capable hands.
“Hey, sunshine.” He offers you a tired but warm smile. “Seems like you’re in pretty good shape here, and you should be tapering off pretty soon. You got anybody to take you home, keep an eye on you?”
A little crease forms between your brows as you think hard. “I don’t know where my friend went when the ambulance came. And I think my phone died,” you add pathetically, gesturing to the device in your lap and its terminally black screen.
Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. He can’t in good conscience leave you to your own devices, especially when you’ve never taken ecstasy before. At worst, there’s still a chance you could have some kind of reaction. At best, the comedown is sure to knock you on your ass.
He can only think of one thing to do. It's not the best idea. It might not even be a good idea. But his brain is too addled from the long shift to come up with anything better. And you need someone to take care of you.
“Jesus. Okay,” he mutters to himself, then sits on the edge of the exam table, bringing his face level to yours. “Listen up, sunshine.”
You gaze at him intently, attention vacillating occasionally between his eyes and his mouth. Jack has a feeling that what he’s about to say will go in one ear and right out the other. But there’s a chance you’ll retain it, so he says it anyway.
“You're gonna have a pretty serious crash when you come down. All those happy little chemicals that are making you feel good right now?” He gives you a soft little tap against your temple, and you giggle softly. He continues, “They’re gonna go on vacation for a day or two. I don't want you dealing with that on your own. So I'm gonna take you to my place, just to watch out for you until you’re feeling a little more like yourself.”
You’re quiet for a minute, your brain catching up and computing the meaning of what he just said. When it finishes, the lightbulb goes off behind your eyes, and you ask excitedly, “We’re having a sleepover?”
Of course that would be your takeaway.
He chuckles as he helps you to your feet. “That's right. You got it.”
When Jack drapes his hoodie over your shoulders and guides you out of the Pitt to his car, he’s reminded of all the reasons that this is probably a terrible idea.
He sees the watchful eyes and the knowing smirks of the nurses. He sees Parker and Crus snickering behind their hands. He sees Shen counting up his winnings from the betting pool, because he wrote down molly and tripsitter Abbot.
And he feels your hand clinging to his bicep, sees how you gaze up at him with a dreamy expression as he walks you out to his car. He’s knows he’s really going to need to behave himself for a few hours, because there’s a very good chance that you won’t, and Jack doesn’t want to accidentally take advantage of your… impaired judgement.
You spend most of the ride with your face by the cracked car window, feeling the wind on your face, eyes blissfully closed. Jack thanks his lucky stars that he thought to give the apartment a once-over before shift, so he isn’t bringing you into a total mess.
He walks you into his bedroom and gestures to the en-suite. “Bathroom’s there, if you want to take a shower. I'll find you something a little more… comfortable to wear,” he adds, peeling his eyes away from your tiny little shirt and how you’re already fussing with the straps.
As he turns to his bureau to find you a t-shirt, he feels arms wrapping around his middle, your body molding to his back as you embrace him with a sigh. “Thank you for being so nice to me.”
Jack swallows and delicately removes your hands, stepping out of your embrace and ushering you in the direction of the bathroom.
“Go on, then,” he instructs you. “While you’re still upright.”
You barely even register it as rejection, heading towards the shower and wiggling out of your top before Jack even has the chance to close the door behind you. Which he does, quickly and with his eyes glued to the floor.
His instincts were right. He will very much need to behave himself while you’re here.
He busies himself while you shower by changing out of his scrubs and assembling a meal. It's a humble offering — just a couple of sandwiches and frozen french fries heated up in the oven, but it’s better than nothing.
After about twenty minutes, you emerge from the bedroom with damp hair and your face scrubbed clean, clad in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers, smelling like his soap. You lean on his kitchen island with a contented little sigh.
Jack repeats it to himself like a mantra — behave yourself.
“Time to eat something,” he says, sliding one of the plates toward you.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I know. But I'm trying to set you up for success here, so you don’t feel as awful when this is out of your system. When's the last time you ate?” he asks.
You rest your chin on your hand as you think back. “I had… lunch.”
“Thought so.” He puts the plate into your hands and steers you in the direction of the couch with a hand on your lower back. “You and I are gonna eat these sandwiches, drink some water, and watch Planet Earth.”
You gasp in delight and plop down onto the couch. “I love Planet Earth!”
He knows you do. You'd gushed about it being your favorite docuseries at work, and he’d bragged about owning the box set. It had been the first day you and he had really started to bond.
Once the tv is on, it thankfully keeps you occupied. You chew your food slowly, enraptured with the beautiful imagery on the screen. Managing a decent effort with the meal, you eat half the sandwich and most of the fries before you start to lose a little steam.
You abandon your plate on the coffee table, then take Jack completely by surprise as you lean over to lay your head in his lap.
He goes still for a moment, unsure if he should be allowing this. But he doesn’t have the heart to push you away, so he puts his plate aside and lets a hand come to rest on your shoulder.
You sigh happily and snuggle closer.
It's been so long since Jack has taken care of someone like this that he’d almost forgotten what it feels like. How good it feels to be needed. The easy intimacy of sharing a space, sharing a meal, of letting someone melt against you after a long night.
Affectionately, he brushes a stray lock of hair out of your face, and you practically purr in response, leaning into his hand. So Jack keeps doing it, keeps gently stroking his fingers through your hair, preferring to watch your relaxing form instead of the polar bears on screen.
The two of you spend nearly an hour like that, until your breath starts to take on that even, drowsy quality and Jack’s own brain starts calling for rest. He gently eases you off his lap to sit up, takes you by the hand and leads you to bed, already resigning himself to the aching back that a couch nap is going to earn him.
Jack sets you up with a glass of water and the best blankets in the linen closet. As he turns to head back to the living room, your hand grabs his arm, pulling him back.
“Stay.”
Your voice is low and warm. You're sitting up in his bed, his sheets pooled around your knees. Your eyes are dark, tempting, pleading.
Jack knows dangerous territory when he sees it.
Still, your serotonin is due to start dropping any time now, and hurt feelings are only going to be worsened once it does. Jack sits carefully on the edge of the bed, maintaining a few inches of distance, his other hand gently cradling your cheek.
“Sorry, sunshine. Not a good idea.”
You move closer, your gaze fixed firmly on his mouth. “Why?”
Best behavior, Jack.
“Because you’re still tapering off. Plus, I just worked a long shift and I need to sleep.” He takes in a deep breath as he feels your hand slide across his shoulders. “And I've got a feeling I won't be getting much rest next to you.”
In a move so surprising that Jack is momentarily powerless to stop it, you rise up onto your knees and shift to straddle one of his thighs.
“What if I promise to be really, really good?” you murmur sweetly.
Jack knows he should stop you, and he almost does. But then you rock your hips on his thigh, the tiniest little life-ruining movement, and you let out the softest, neediest little sound. Suddenly, Jack is hanging onto his sanity and self control-by a thread. And that thread is fraying rapidly.
“Baby,” he whispers, half warning and half plea. His hands come to your hips, torn between stopping you and spurring you on.
Your hips rock again, more purposeful this time. “Please,” you beg quietly, so close now that your lips just barely brush against his.
For a few shameful moments, Jack forgets about his fatigue and the ache in his leg and he wonders… how morally reprehensible would it really be to just let you get off on his thigh? You’d said yourself that you’re ovulating, probably making you even needier. Fuck, he can feel how badly you want it, wetness soaking through the boxers you’re wearing and Jack’s sweatpants. Would it really be so awful of him to sit passively as you hump his leg to get the relief you’re clearly so desperate for? To take pity on you and let you use him for your pleasure?
But he knows it would be wrong, because he’d be getting off on it even if you didn’t touch him. You're not in your right mind, and he doesn’t want to make you come for the first time when you’re whacked out on MDMA.
Summoning the will from deep inside himself, he stills your hips and eases you off of his thigh, ignoring your whines as he nudges you back onto the pillows.
“It wouldn’t be right. I'm not touching you until you’re sober,” he says firmly.
Jack gets to his feet and tucks the blankets around you. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Wake me if you need anything.” He laughs softly at the pointed pouting look you shoot his way. “Other than that.”
“You’re no fun,” you call after him as he retreats into the living room.
Once the bedroom door is shut behind him, he collapses on the couch and wrestles off his prosthetic, punching a throw pillow a few times to soften it before going horizontal. Even after what felt like the longest shift he’s had in months, he’s unsure how much sleep he’ll actually manage to get knowing you’re in the next room. Probably snuggling one of his pillows as if it’s him, probably squeezing your thighs together until the last of the drugs leave your system.
He groans and rolls over, willing his body and his still half-hard cock to go to sleep.
You wake feeling like death warmed over.
You’re in a bed that doesn’t belong to you, but smells familiar and comforting. Same with your clothes. A few memories make it through the fog, blurry and out of order. Planet Earth. Jack’s hand, warm and pleasant on your cheek. An ambulance ride. Lena ruffling your hair and handing you a lollipop. A shower with a chair and a grab bar and soap that smells like Jack.
You’re at Jack's apartment, you realize with a start.
Checking the time groggily, you observe that you've slept from the early morning until late afternoon. Thank god you’d asked for tonight off as well, anticipating you’d need recovery time after Pitt Fest.
You can vaguely recall the warm, fuzzy feelings you’d experienced last night. In the abstract, at least. Now, you feel mostly guilt and shame and embarrassment and anxiety. How could you have been so stupid?
Sounds of life echo from the kitchen, which means Jack has woken up ahead of you. Your guilt sharpens. Jack is spending his hard-earned downtime taking care of you, because of your own carelessness.
Fatigue clings to your bones as you shuffle to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror is less than kind. Dark shadows frame your eyes, worse than the usual bags worn by the night shift crew. Your hair is a mess, and you sigh as you comb your fingers through to tame it.
Time to face the music.
You trudge out into the kitchen, where Jack is wearing an apron over a t-shirt and sweats and cooking an omelette, looking awfully chipper for having slept seven hours on the couch. He looks so good that it briefly makes you angry. Fuck him for looking so good, while you look and feel like utter dogshit.
Of course, that annoyance turns to guilt again when he looks up and smiles.
“Hey, lover girl,” he greets you warmly as you lean on the kitchen island. “How are you feeling?”
You rub your eyes and groan, “Like I got hit by a Mack truck.”
He squeezes your shoulder fondly and grabs a plate from an overhead cabinet. “Let’s get some food and water in you.”
“Thank you,” you mutter sheepishly. “I’m sorry about… all this.”
“Don't even worry about it, sunshine.”
Jack hands you a glass of water and starts making you a plate. You accept it with a grimace. “I'm not feeling very sunshine-y right about now. I can't remember half of what happened after I went down at the concert.”
“I hope we’ve learned not to go digging for meds in that particular friend’s purse.” He smirks and sets a plate in front of you. A vegetable omelette and buttered toast. Your appetite hasn’t yet returned to its normal levels, but your doctor brain knows that you really need to eat, so you reach for the toast first.
“Never again,” you vow as you take a bite.
In the light of day and out from under the influence of Beth's ‘aspirin,’ you get a good look at Jack's apartment for the first time as he assembles his own plate. It's not spotless, but it’s generally tidy, and it’s a very nice place. Good furniture, great windows with better blackout shades, a nice floor plan. Its niceness only makes you feel smaller.
You poke at your omelette, stewing. “Jack?”
“Yes?”
“Don't take this the wrong way, but…why am I here?”
He plates his own omelette and leans a hip against the kitchen island. “You’d never taken MDMA before, and I knew you’d be in for a hell of a drop. I didn't want you to be on your own.”
You resist the urge to frown. This whole saga is doing nothing to remedy your tragic crush on him. Did he have to be so nice and caring on top of everything else? It feels a little unfair at the moment.
“That’s… very considerate,” you mumble.
“What can I say? I'm a considerate guy.” He pops a bite of omelette into his mouth with a wink.
A thought occurs to you that briefly makes your stomach turn. “Does the whole Pitt know?”
Jack's expression tells you everything you need to know before he even speaks. “There… might have been a betting pool on the subject. Shen cleaned up.”
You drop your face into your hands. “Awesome. That's really awesome.”
Every single one of your coworkers knows that you spent the night rolling. Tears prick at your eyes beneath your palms, which only worsens your humiliation. The last thing you need right now is to cry in front of Jack Abbot. Even if it’s just because the chemicals in your brain are out of whack, it doesn't make it any less embarrassing.
“Hey.” Jack's hand finds your shoulder again. “Don’t worry about it. They're good people, no one is judging you.”
Despite your best efforts, a mortifying little sniffle slips out at the kindness in his voice.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Come here.”
You can’t bear to look up, but your breath hitches in surprise when Jack pulls you into his arms. Instantly, your brain begins to quiet, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the reassuring weight of his arms around you, the slow arc of his thumb rhythmically stroking your shoulder blade.
It's medicine. Oxytocin and dopamine, feel-good chemicals produced by physical touch, bolstering your brain against the sapped well of serotonin the ecstasy left in its wake. It also makes your heart flutter pathetically in your chest.
He holds you for a long moment, his grip tightening when you finally loop your arms around his waist and return the embrace.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper, allowing the comfort to sink into your skin and fill your lungs.
“Of course.”
Jack only pulls away when you do, gently swiping a calloused thumb underneath your eye to banish the straggling tear that managed to escape.
“Let’s get comfortable on the couch,” he says, a hand settling on your back to guide you. “You’re still on the comedown.”
You worry you might be overstaying your welcome. But Jack seems to be in no rush to get you out of his apartment, content to let you rot on his couch as long as you need to. Surely he must have better things to do on his night off than take care of you, but he sits sentry at your side without complaint.
After some consideration, Planet Earth is tabled for the time being — even if you’ve seen it before, animal death is sure to bring back the waterworks in your current state. Flipping through channels, you settle on a cheesy mid-2000s rom-com that you’ve seen before and snuggle back into the couch cushions.
Through it all, you feel the comfort of his steady presence, his hand rubbing idle circles on your back, like an IV drip of Vitamin Jack straight to your brain. You give into the feeling, too worn out to fight it, curling into his side. Eventually, you feel a gentle graze at your scalp as he idly plays with your hair. It surprises you for a moment, but you’re not complaining in the slightest. You melt into it, eyes fluttering closed until you’re slipping in and out of a light doze.
Afternoon fades to evening, to dinnertime, to nighttime, to bedtime. Even after your intermittent sleep, your fatigue is still bone deep, and Jack insists you can stay the night. You really try to convince him to let you take the couch, but he refuses, insisting that your body needs proper rest to return to baseline. At the end of the night, he sends you off to bed with a smirk.
When you wake up in Jack's bed for the second time, it’s much less disorienting. It helps that you’re much clearer than you were seventeen hours ago. The clock reads 9:05 am — you have the whole day ahead of you to shower, change, and steel yourself for the humiliation ritual that is bound to be your shift tonight.
You stumble into the living room, bleary-eyed. Jack is reclined on the couch with a laptop and readers perched on the end of his nose. Ugh, fuck him again for looking so good.
His eyes find yours over the edge of the screen. “Hey there. You sleep good?”
“Mm-hmm,” you reply, stretching. “I'm feeling much better, I think.”
His mouth curves at the corner. “Good.”
Leaning on the edge of the couch, you sigh and glance at the clock on the wall. “I should probably head home soon, get my life together before shift tonight. Would you be able to drive me home?”
“Sure thing, sunshine.”
After you eat breakfast and shower off the cast of bedrotting from the day before, you change back into the clothes you arrived in, which Jack took the liberty of washing for you. As much as you appreciate the gesture, you blanch at the idea of Jack handling your underwear, and try very hard not to think about that mental image.
As the quiet car ride progresses, you ponder your looming fate, mentally preparing yourself for the teasing you’ll get from the nurses and other residents. It's disorienting to not know what you’re walking into, to have been mentally absent for most of it.
You can’t resist the urge to ask anymore. “Was I a total mess?”
He nods, amused. “Yes. But a very cute mess.”
“God, this is so embarrassing,” you groan. “What did I say?”
“Are you sure you wanna know?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
That makes you pause, glancing at him warily. “…was it bad?”
“You got a little fixated on hands for a while.” Jack pauses, like he isn’t sure how much to reveal, if you’re ready to handle it. “Said you think about mine all the time.”
Suddenly, you feel a bit sick, even though the car is headed in a straight line down the road. If that's just where it starts… if that’s not the worst of it, then what is?
“Oh god,” you whisper in horror.
“You said you think I'm gorgeous,” he continues, voice thick with amusement. “And that you have a big ol’ crush on me. And… you might’ve tried to seduce me a little at bedtime.”
Your cheeks flare hot. This is quite possibly the worst outcome of the situation aside from death. At the moment, death feels preferable.
You stare straight ahead, sinking in your seat and pressing your hands to your forehead to try and keep your brain from exploding. “Excuse me, I'm just gonna open the door and go lay down in traffic.”
He laughs, the sound warm and fond and doing absolutely nothing to temper your embarrassment. “It's okay.”
“It is completely not okay, Jack,” you protest, turning your body away from him and towards the passenger side door, like that will save you from this conversation.
Jack places a hand on your thigh.
All the systems in your brain go down simultaneously.
His palm rests just above your knee, not high enough to be too inappropriate, but it’s intimate. Especially because your choice of garment for Pitt Fest leaves your leg bare and exposed to his touch. Never once does he take his eyes off the road.
“It was flattering,” he says coolly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knee. “And extremely cute.”
He lets the assertion hang in the silence, and he doesn’t move his hand, letting it rest warm and comfortable against the soft skin of your thigh.
After some considerable effort, you remember how to breathe. Once the oxygen makes it to your brain, you manage to peel your hands away from your face and peek sideways at him.
“…really?” you ask, because you need the confirmation. Does Jack Abbot — your mentor, the object of all your desires, and the man who just babysat you through an unwitting MDMA trip — really think you’re cute?
He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. “Really.”
There isn’t much else to say for the rest of the car ride. Jack keeps his hand on your thigh until he turns down your street and throws the car in park. You try and fail to suppress a smile the whole way, and allow him to walk you up to your building’s front step, palms tingling with anticipation.
“I’d like to do this again sometime,” he says as you unlock the main entrance. “Minus the party drugs.”
You grin up at him, slightly emboldened by the revelations that occurred in the car. “You wanna have another sleepover?”
“Very much.” His eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles back. “See you tonight?”
“See you tonight.”
You turn to head inside, but Jack catches your elbow. “Hey. One last thing.”
Before you have time to register his closeness, a hand slides along your waist, another cupping your jaw, and Jack is kissing you.
A warm, pleasant feeling floods you from top to toe, a high rivalling the chemical one you’d experienced twenty-eight hours ago. He kisses you like he’s been thinking about it that entire twenty-eight hours. It's tender and hungry at the same time. By the time he pulls away, your lips follow after his and you almost stumble forward into his arms.
You open your eyes and blink up at him, feeling a little dazed and starstruck again.
“Had to wait until you were level,” Jack murmurs. He gives you a lingering peck at the corner of your mouth and descends down the front steps to his car.
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
