warnings: age gap undertones, condescending jack, medplay, ditzy reader, belly bulge OUU SHII 👀
He’s got you laid out on the bed, legs spread wide just for him, running his bare hands up and down your thighs and calves. “First time without your parents?” He murmurs softly at you, eyes glued to your cunt. You’re nodding bashfully.
He hums to himself with a nod and trails his fingers down to your wetting folds. “Let Dr. Jack have a look hmm?” You gasp softly at the contact, his finger pad right against your bumped up clit. “You’re very pretty, one of the prettiest I’ve seen.” he says in a low voice. He moves to pull his rolling stool over in front of you and sitting down on it, eye level with your pussy.
Moving his left hand to grab at the fat on your thigh roughly, hard enough to leave a bruise later. You bite your bottom lip, whining a bit and trying to pull your leg away. He’s shushing you and running his middle finger through your folds before pushing it in slowly. His own breath hitches in his throat. “Fuck doll, you’re tighter than anyone I’ve ever treated, you a virgin?” He asks in a condescending low growl. You nod again, cheeks pinking.
“Well, there’s no way I’ll be able to fit my tools inside to get a good look at ya so I’m gonna have to stretch you out a bit.” He’s standing now, untucking his shirt and unbuckling his belt. “Dr…Abbot?” Your voice is shaky as your hands are clasped together on your lower tummy.
“Mhm?” He’s asking, cocking his head to the side as he slides his pants and boxers down before pumping himself a few times. “Is this normal, does this usually happen at these appointments?” He chuckles lowly.
“No. You’re tooo shut up, I have to do this or else something could happen because I can’t see in ya.” Your eyes drop to his cock, tip red and angry and leaking. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, it’ll only hurt for a second.” He say moving and rubbing the tip along your wetness.
He lets his cock drop on your clit a couple times to watch you squirm before pushing in slowly, inch by inch. You feel something move under your hands and gasp, pulling them away only to realize it’s him. Inside you. Bulging out through your tummy. Teary eyes blinking up at him as he moves in and out of you, a smug smirk on his face as he looks down at your pussy. “Thereee we go baby, opening up for Dr. Jack now yeah?” He’s asking with a sleazy push of his tounge to his cheek.
You think you’ll be coming back here sooner than necessary.
Husband!Sammy Bryant who you and him are currently hosting a barbecue at your freshly bought house, neither of you knowing you’re harvesting his baby in your belly, it’s early June and the crickets are singing as the suns dropping lower and lower in the sky, his police buddies are there along with your girlfriends.
You decided not to have any drinks tonight because your tummy had been acting up recently, confiding in your friend about it. She’s sitting next to you on a lawn chair as she drops her sunglasses to eye you up and down, talking about her past pregnancy and you’re only brushing her off but you get a hint of excitement in your chest. Your gaze finds Sammy across the yard, his chubby hand wrapped around a sweating bud light and tossing some corn hole with his pals. You think if you keened over and died right now you’d be just fine, surrounded by the people you love on an early summer evening. Your ring slips a little down your finger as you toy with it with a soft smile decorating your face.
a/n: something lighter because I was genuinely going crazy on the fanfic D early yall….my bad!!!
im a little shy because this is my first ask hehe! But im just curious who’s your favorite Shawn character? <3 I love ur writings btw!!!
Hi baby!! Don’t be shy, it’s just me! :)
I probably would have to say pope, he just holds such a special place in my hearttt :(((. I feel like I relate to him in ways so I’m definitely more connected to his character more than Shawn’s other roles but I truly don’t love them any less! Thank youu, your support means everything to me! <3
I know everyone hc’s baran as dominant and yall are absolutely correct but I also can’t stop thinking about just having her pressed against the door of the big stall at work, my hand splayed across her lower tummy just grabbing at her skin as I work her with my mouth. Like I need to watch her come apart for me from between her thighs while her pretty hands tangle in my hair. NEED HER BAD. Ugh my wife, come home.
Thinking about slow morning sex with our Jackie <3
MDNI
When Jack is spoon fucking you, pulling your hips back slowly to meet his, you can feel the small pudge above his cock that’s littered with hair, some auburn mixed with silver. It’s courseee against your spread pussy lips and clit, you can feel his balls smushing up warmly against your inner thighs as he nuzzles deeper.
Big rough hands on your bare hips just moving you where he wants to, pulling and pushing your hips on and off him deeply. The sound is wet and sticky, one of jacks hands is moving to pull your asscheeks and thighs apart so he can see the icky mess you’re making on his sheets. Cunt stretched and dripping on his throbbing cock as he hisses at the sight.
oh and maybe he’s pressing on the front of your tummy with his other hand, feeling his cock poking out a bit, BUT YOU DIDN’T HEAR THAT FROM MEEE
brat tamer!sammy who slaps your pussy—makin’ it all wet and puffy till you’re a fucked out mess, finally kneeling down to press sweet little kisses to your swollen clit, cooling her down. <33
Pope Cody who is lying behind you in your shared bed in the dark room, cooing at you while he pushes his fat middle finger into your cunt. “Ohh yeah, I know honey, you can sleep, just need to feel you a little”. His finger is pushing around your gummy slick walls. You’re squirming, pushing your wetness back onto his hand that lays lazily in between your thighs, finger still inside you as you both drift off to sleep, feeling so full! <33.
wait more Andrew pope Cody on your period. what if you’re asleep together and he wakes up because he feels something wet against his boxers. When he lifts the covers he realizes that you got your period. your blood slightly staining staining waist band and his hair there. you’re dead asleep and unaware as he slides out of bed and slides you across the mattress so you wouldn’t be in the small stain that’s on the sheets now as well. the bed is big enough and he’ll worry about that tomorrow. he wipes himself off and changes his boxers and come back to bed and gently maneuvers you to slide your panties off you so that he can clean you down with a warm rag. when you start to stir a little he rubs your hip and tells you it’s okay go back to sleep. you make a little noise and a gesture of a nod he thinks as you do what he says. there’s a trust between the both of you that Andrew never thought another person would feel so deeply with him. so much that you’re comfortable enough to stay asleep when he tells you. and I think he would put your tampon in for you. using one hand to grip your thigh and the other to push it inside you before sliding a new pair of underwear up your legs. he knows if you woke up you’d be so embarrassed but nothing could ever be disgusting or embarrassing because it’s you.
OKAY I love this! anon this is such a lovely blurb, I agree that pope would do everything he could to ease your embarrassment. I love the part about you trusting him and feeling safe with him to just fall asleep when he tells you.
I couldn’t add to what you’ve written, it’s perfect, but it did inspire me to write something adjacent to this idea because something similar happened to me recently and i had no pope cody to help me.
warnings/tags: mentions of blood, menstration/period/time of the month, supportive bf!andrew cody
You woke up wet. You weren’t sure what had awoken you in the middle of the night but the uncomfortable, concerning wetness between your legs certainly made sure to bring you into a groggy but panicked alertness. You sat up the best you could with Andrew’s arm heavy over your waist and his body pressed tightly to your back. You propped yourself up on your elbow and immediately felt a rush between your legs thanks to your movement.
“Fuck.” You cursed, the panic swirling in your chest kicking you into action. You threw the covers off of yourself and slid across the mattress to make a break for the bathroom. You heard Andrew stir behind you and you cursed internally that you’d woken him but you needed to act fast as gravity worked against you. You spared a quick glance back at him in the bed as you exited the bedroom and your heart dropped at the dark stain on your light coloured top sheet that was visible even in the dim moonlight. You didn’t have a moment to worry about that or warn Andrew because the stream of blood travelling down your leg needed your attention now.
You hobbled to the bathroom and threw on the overhead light as you reached behind yourself to push the door mostly shut. You winced at the brightness of the room, the light stinging your eyes as you felt your way to the toilet and sat down to go pee, hoping the rest of the blood could be disposed of into the toilet. Looking down at your sleep shorts around your knees, to your horror you found them soaked with blood, as though you hadn’t used any menstrual products at all. The patch was fresh, wet, and large, and as you stripped out of your shorts you had a terrible realization that with how closely Andrew had been snuggled against you, you must have bled on him.
Oh god you could have died from embarrassment.
You wadded up some toilet paper to wipe up the line of blood that had run down your leg and sighed to yourself in frustration over the whole situation. This had never happened before, and you’d definitely never bled so badly with your partner in your bed. Why did this have to happen in the middle of the night? Now you’d have to strip the bed and get new clothes to sleep in and if Andrew hadn’t completely awoken, you’d have the mortifying job of waking him to tell him what happened if he had blood on his boxers.
A soft knock on the mostly closed bathroom door startled you and you whipped your head towards it, surprise rattling through your chest. Andrew’s gruff but sympathetic voice came through the crack in the door.
“You okay?” You closed your eyes in mortification and doubled over on the toilet as though you could hide.
“Yeah,” You called out lamely, your tone flat. The fact Andrew was awake and had asked you that question meant he knew what happened. You wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole.
“Andrew I-” You sat up, starting to apologize, but Andrew cut you off.
“I hope these are okay.” Andrew said as his arm slipped through the crack in the door and you realized he was balancing a neatly folded pile of clothes on the palm of his hand, which he set on the corner of the bathroom counter right by the door. Only his arm entered the bathroom so you could maintain your privacy. You were stunned to a loss of words and left to stare at the kind gesture as Andrew retreated down the hallway without another word.
Other boyfriends in the past would turn their nose up at any mention of your time of the month or would make you feel shameful whenever the bleeding or symptoms got unmanageable. Andrew acted very logically instead, providing you with some clothes to change into in the privacy of the bathroom. Your embarrassment wasn’t totally gone but Andrew’s actions definitely soothed the pit in your stomach.
You spent the next few minutes focusing on cleaning up, getting out of your ruined clothes and wiping your skin with a warm, wet cloth to make sure your skin was as clean as you could get without taking a shower. You slipped on the new pyjamas Andrew brought you, including a new pair of underwear that you recognized as a stained pair you only wore during your time of the month. That small attention to detail had a grateful smile creeping its way onto your face. As you were getting cleaned and dressed, you could hear Andrew moving up and down the hallway periodically. Unsure of what he was doing, you replaced your menstrual products with fresh ones and finished getting dressed so you could investigate.
When you left the bathroom you noticed the light was on in the kitchen and you followed it down the hallway to find Andrew standing at the kitchen sink with the sheet from your bed. The sharp tang of vinegar reached your nose as you moved to stand next to him and you saw that Andrew was treating the stain on your sheet with white vinegar and cold water.
“Oh, Andrew you don’t need to do that. I could do that in the morning.” You said, your embarrassment rising back up into your stomach. Andrew shouldn’t have to deal with your mess. Andrew glanced at you, his hands dabbing at the stain with a paper towel.
“The stain is easier to clean if you get to it faster, it would have been tougher for you in the morning.” Andrew looked back down at the sheet and paused his patting to check his handiwork. He tilted his chin up in satisfaction and dropped the paper towel in the garbage before grabbing the stain remover spray off the counter. “You were busy with other stuff so I took care of it.” Andrew sprayed the sheet with good amount of the stain remover, completely oblivious to the gratitude that was soaring through your body. This was something you loved about Andrew, he just handled things without complaint or instruction because in his mind, it was the practical thing to do. Why would he leave things for you to do when he could just do it himself? Your mental load was practically nonexistent with Andrew.
“You can go back to bed if you want. I put new sheets on the bed and I already cleaned up the hallway.” Andrew said as he laid the sheet out on your dining room table to be dealt with in the morning. The last part of his sentence confused you and you took a step forward, following him to the table.
“Wait, what was wrong in the hallway?”
“There was blood on the floor.” Andrew stated simply. Your jaw dropped open as your mind went momentarily blank with shock. In your sleepy stumble to the bathroom you’d managed to leave a trail of blood that your boyfriend cleaned up for you. Oh god, what if he stepped in it in the dark? If you thought you felt shame before, this was tenfold.
“That-that’s never happened before, Andrew I’m so sorry you had to clean that up.” You dropped your face into your hands and groaned. You were too tired for all of this, it was 3am for goodness sake. You felt Andrew’s fingertips graze your elbows and you dropped your hands to find your boyfriend reaching for you gently, his eyebrows furrowed lightly in confusion.
“It isn’t a problem. You’re the one bleeding, you shouldn’t have to bend over to clean the floors or stand around removing the stain, you should be resting.” Andrew’s warm hands rubbed up and down your arms comfortingly and you let yourself fall forward into his embrace. You wrapped your arms around his torso and nuzzled your face against the bare skin of his chest as he pulled you close. Andrew was so thoughtful and caring and knew just what to say to make you feel better. His practically and calmness about the whole thing made you feel like you didn’t have to apologize for getting blood on his boxers, which you knew you did since he was wearing a new pair. Bleeding a few days every month was a part of your life and Andrew knew you didn’t have control over it, it wasn’t something to feel shame about.
You stayed in the hug for only a little longer before you decided that your bed was calling for you. You took Andrew’s hand and headed back to bed, shutting off the kitchen light as you passed it and declining Andrew’s offer of doing the stain treatment on your original pair of pyjamas. You could deal with it in the morning. Tucked into bed with Andrew, all snuggled up close to his chest, you released a sigh and tried to fall asleep. Unfortunately twinges of anxiety began to pull at your mind, disturbing your ability to drift off. Andrew could feel a slight tension in your body and he pulled back just enough to look at you.
“Are you okay? Are you in pain? I can grab the hot water bottle and some meds.”
“No, no, it’s not that, I-” You paused, unsure of how to say how you were feeling. You knew what you needed but you’d already disturbed Andrew’s sleep, which was a precious commodity for him, you didn’t want to make the rest of his slumber unpleasant.
“What?” He prompted. “Are you worried you’ll bleed a lot again?” And just like that, he read your mind. You nodded and Andrew got up immediately, leaving the room and returning quickly with a towel. Your heart soared at the continued expressions of familiarity and love from your boyfriend, how he showed he knew you so well and that he wanted you to be comfortable. You scooted over so he could place the towel down on the bed for you to sleep on top of.
As you got situated again with Andrew tucked behind you, his arms wrapped securely around as he held you close, you let out a sigh of relief and relaxed into his embrace. Andrew truly felt that your time of the month was no big deal and he was concerned for you rather than annoyed or disgusted. You hadn’t realized you’d been doing so much alone in your previous relationships, making your needs smaller and allowing your own mental and physical discomfort to keep your partners comfortable. Andrew showed you how backwards that was and that your partner should be caring for you, not making you feel worse about a natural part of your life.
You fell back to sleep easily in Andrew’s embrace, all your stress nonexistent now that you knew there was nothing to worry about.
Sammy Bryant coming home to you after a long day, kicking his shoes off at the front door of your home and dropping his keys in the bowl. Tugging at his tie as the smell of your cooking dinner wafts to him and he’s following it like police dog to drugs.
He finds you in front of the stove, humming softly, back still to him so you must’ve not heard him come in. He’s on you in seconds, hands wrapping around your pretty little waist giving you a startle! He’s kissing down your neck as you whine “Sammyy! You scared me” and hes murmuring an apology against your shoulder as he kisses at it, hands sliding up the front of your torso and squeezing at your tits. Pulling you back against him as you giggle and keep stirring supper <3.
He just wants to love on you after a long day!! Sue him!!
the one where 🎬; Jack Abbot, your dad‘s best friend has somehow has earned himself and three guest an all expense paid vacation. Of course that means your parents are giddily dragging you onto a plane and sticking you next to Jack, however, once you arrive at the hotel you find only two rooms were covered and booked, great.
warnings: smut, MDNI like genuinely bro, age gap, pet names, one bed trope, pervy abbot, pervy YOU, uhhh if I missed any lmk! :)
wc: 3.3k
You weren't even planning on coming, truly. It was on the same weekend as your boyfriend's birthday and you had planned on going out to dinner, then taking him home allll week since your parents would be away. But your plans got cut short when you two were together last week and a that fucking fire icon app showed a notification on his lockscreen, you probably would’ve just brushed it off as something else had he not scrambled and used the age old “its not what it looks like” line on you. Anyways, now you're here, standing in your dim living room in your pajamas holding your suitcase handle and waiting for your mom to scurry down the stairs. When she eventually shows you greet her through a yawn as your dad playfully pushes your head on the way out the door.
Meeting Jack at the airport is uneventful, he’s in a black fitted shirt and some black sweatpants. You're trying to ignore the way something stirs in your chest while looking at him as you're snapped out of your thoughts by the intercom yelling your all's gate number. You board, moving pushing your bag up into the carry on space above your mom before she speaks up.
“Honey? Why are you putting that there?” She's blinking up at you, her face still a little swollen with sleep. “Because I'm sitting here….” you start before your dad rounds a seat and taps your back softly “”Wrong answer kid.” The way he says it is final, but he can't be serious, right?
“What?” you ask through a scoff “Then where am I sitting?” Your father doesn't give a verbal response, only tips his head towards the row behind them, cursing your overstuffed backpack as he pulls it out of the space above them before handing it to you. Your gaze snaps to the row behind them to be greeted with the sight of Jack, pushing his own backpack into the small space above him. Your eyes move before your brain does, finding a sliver of his stomach poking out from underneath his black shirt, soft, pale, and a little hairy. Your mind seems to finally catch up to yourself as you swallow thickly huff, walking to his row.
Moving to stand next to him, you lift your arms trying to push your bag into the compartment. Huffing a little at the weight of it. You feel a hand land gently on the exposed skin of your waist due to your raised arms. You startle before realizing who it belongs to, head craning to see. It's Jack, of course it's him, always playing hero. “Here kiddo, let me help you.” he says like it's instinct, moving around you to replace your hands with his and push your bag to the back. You move out of the way after muttering a thanks, sitting down and taking some anxiety medication for the flight. Jack takes his spot next to you in his seat, getting comfortable and leaning back.
The pilots murmuring over the intercom of the plane like anyone can understand what he's saying but mostly everyone manages to make out the word seatbelt and clicks can be heard all around. Once you buckle yours you let your gaze trail back up to Jack's face, only to be met by him already looking at you. “Im not a kid anymore, ya know?” you say softly. He seems confused as he smirks at you and raises an eyebrow “What’d you mean?” He tilts his head a little, like a puppy you think. “When you were getting my bag,” you explained, “you called me ‘kiddo’”. “Did I” he chuckles slowly, eyes flickering across your face like he's examining you, your reaction. “Sorry, force of habit.” He shrugs, still smirking. You smile softly and roll your eyes, popping an earbud in. You can feel his gaze lingering on you a couple seconds after…
Some hours later your plane is touching down in Florida, a bit bumpy, but grounded. Like routine everyone jumps off, eager to get their shit and get off the plane. You don't blame them really, your backs aching and you have to pee so bad you could die but you refused to use the plane's bathroom. Jack's standing next to you, opening the compartment and tugging your bag out with a grunt, handing it to you before turning to grab his own. In front of you your dad does the same for your mom, and that feeling from the airport comes back, the one in your chest. You push it down and sling your bag on your shoulders trying to stretch out your back as best as you can for the time being.
Luckily for your bladder, the hotel isn't far from the airport. It’s maybe a 20-25 minute drive with a couple stop lights. When the shuttle pulls up to the front doors you tell your mom you're going to find a toilet. She waves you off and you slip inside. The lobby is nice, far too big and extravagant for the pajamas you're now so aware that you still have on. A gold shimmering ‘restrooms’ sign catches your eye and you head for it.
Once you're finished, you come out into the lobby once more, eyes scanning for your people. You find them but...something's wrong. Your dads bent over the front desk, hand palm up trying to talk to the teenager who looks like he would rather be doing anything but this right now. Jacks standing next to him while your moms behind them with the luggage. You make your way over to the front desk, joining them and catching the last part of your dads sentence. “-just not going to work for us.” You take a spot next to your dad, “What's up?”.
Your dad rubs the back of his neck, a deep, exasperated sigh escaping him. “They overbooked the suite we reserved,” he grumbles, gesturing toward the front desk clerk. “The only thing they have left for the week is a room with one king bed for your mother and me, and a room with one queen bed.” The words hang in the humid air of the lobby. Your brain does the quick math, and your stomach does a sudden, violent flip. One queen bed.
“Wait,” you say, your voice a little higher than usual. “So where are Jack and I supposed to sleep?” “Well, unless one of you wants to spoon with your father, you’re sharing the queen,” your mom chimes in from behind the luggage cart, trying to sound cheerful but looking thoroughly exhausted.
You slowly turn your head to look at Jack. He’s already looking down at you, his expression unreadable, though a faint, amused twitch pulls at the corner of his mouth. He shifts his weight, the fabric of his black sweatpants stretching over his thighs, and shrugs.
The room is undeniably nice, but it feels suffocatingly small the moment the door clicks shut behind you and Jack. Your parents had practically collapsed into their own room next door, leaving the two of you alone.
“You want the bathroom first?” Jack asks, tossing his backpack onto a luggage rack. He’s already pulling his black shirt over his head, completely casual about it. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. Without the shirt, his torso is fully on display. He’s built broad and solid, with a dusting of dark hair that tapers down past his waistband. Your eyes linger on the sharp lines of his hips before you force yourself to look away, your cheeks burning.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks,” you mutter, grabbing your toiletries and slipping into the bathroom before he can catch you staring.
When you come out twenty minutes later, washed and changed into a pair of oversized shorts and a tank top, Jack is lying on top of the covers. He’s wearing just his sweatpants, one arm propped behind his head, scrolling through his phone. The dim bedside lamp casts long, warm shadows across his chest.
“All yours,” you say softly, clearing your throat.
He looks up, his dark eyes raking over you for a fraction of a second, taking in your bare shoulders, your damp hair, before he smiles. “Alright. Don’t steal all the covers while I’m gone.” You climb into bed, sticking strictly to the far left side, pressing your back almost against the wall.
When Jack returns, the room is dark except for the moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains. The mattress dips significantly under his weight as he climbs in. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife. You’re hyper-aware of everything. The steady, deep sound of his breathing, the radiating heat of his body just inches away from yours, the scent of his body wash, something woody and clean that makes your chest ache.
You lie stiff as a board, staring at the wall, wondering how you’re ever going to fall asleep. Every time he shifts, the sheets rustle, and your heart leaps into your throat. You can tell he’s awake, too. The slow, deliberate way he moves suggests he’s being careful not to touch you. It’s a torturous, agonizingly slow burn, a silent acknowledgment of the boundary neither of you is supposed to cross.
By the second night, the unspoken tension has only amplified. Spending the day pretending everything was normal in front of your parents while secretly tracking Jack’s every move, the way his arms looked rolled up in a polo, the low rumble of his laugh, has left you utterly fried.
You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, when Jack walks out of the bathroom. He looks at you, then looks at the bed.
“Look,” Jack says, his voice dropping into a lower, rougher register than usual. “You’ve been tossing and turning all night, and you look like you’re wound tighter than a spring. Go to sleep. I’m taking the floor tonight.”
“What? No, Jack, you don’t have to do that,” you protest, looking up at him. “It’s your vacation too, you shouldn’t have to sleep on the carpet.”
“I’m not asking,” he says softly, but with a note of finality that reminds you of your dad. He grabs one of the heavy comforters and a pillow, tossing them onto the floor on the opposite side of the bed. “Go to sleep.” You bite your lip, feeling a mix of immense relief and intense frustration. You watch him lie down, his large frame stretching out on the thin makeshift pallet.
Hours later, the room is pitch black. Your eyes snap open, your bladder aching. The anxiety medication from earlier has worn off, leaving you feeling groggy and disoriented. You slide out of the left side of the bed, carefully avoiding the side where Jack set up his camp. You slip into the bathroom, keeping the light off so you don’t blind yourself, navigating by the faint glow of the city lights outside the window. When you finish, you open the bathroom door, blinking through the darkness. Your mind is still half-wrapped in sleep. Instead of walking around to your side of the bed, your foggy brain directs you straight ahead, intending to just crawl over the foot of the mattress.
You take one step forward, your foot catching on something thick and solid. “Whoa-” Before you can process what’s happening, your balance is gone. You trip forward, your hands flailing into the darkness, and come crashing down hard. You expect the impact of the carpet, but instead, you land directly on top of something warm, muscular, and very alive. A heavy, breathless grunt knocked out of him echoes in the quiet room as your body slams into his.
Your hands instinctively plant themselves on his chest to steady yourself. Your knees are pinned on either side of his hips.
“Jesus,” Jack groans, his hands instantly flying up to catch you by your waist to stop your momentum. His grip is tight, his large palms pressing firmly into the bare skin of your sides where your tank top shifted up.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you gasp, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs. You try to scramble off him, but in your panic, your knee slips, causing you to slide even lower, your pelvis pressing flush against his.
Jack stiffens beneath you. A low, ragged breath hitches in his throat.
The silence that follows is deafening. Neither of you moves. You are completely pinned to him in the dark, the heat radiating between your bodies instantly turning the room into a furnace. Your hands are still resting on his bare chest, feeling the rapid, heavy thud of his heartbeat matching your own.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice incredibly deep, rough with sleep and something else entirely. “Yeah,” you whisper, your breath hitching. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” You make a move to finally pull away, but Jack’s hands don’t loosen on your waist. In fact, his fingers flex, digging slightly into your skin, anchoring you right where you are.
“Jack..?” you breathe out, your eyes adjusting to the dark. You can see the dark silhouette of his face, the intensity of his stare locked onto yours.
“You’re killing me,” he mutters, almost to himself. The smirk from the plane is completely gone, replaced by a raw, dark hunger that makes your lower stomach clench. “You’re fuckin’ killing me, doll.”
“What do you mean?” you whisper, though you know exactly what he means. The slow burn of the last 48 hours is suddenly collapsing in on itself. Jack’s grip shifts. One of his hands slides up your side, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast, making you gasp. “You’re not a kid anymore. You made that real clear.” His voice is a low, dangerous growl.
Jack lets out a low deep sigh, his hand snapping to the back of your neck. He pulls you down, his lips crashing against yours with a fierce, pent up desperation. The kiss is deep, hot, and possessive, his tongue parting your lips without hesitation. You whimper into his mouth, your hands instantly tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as the sheer heat of him consumes you.
He rolls you over in one swift, powerful motion. Suddenly, you’re flat on your back on his makeshift bed on the floor, and Jack is hovering over you, his heavy weight pressing you into the carpet. He breaks the kiss for a fraction of a second to trail his lips down your jawline, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, making you arch into him with a quiet sob. His hands are everywhere, sliding under your tank top, pushing the fabric up to feel the bare skin of your ribs, his touch searing hot.
“Jack, fuck” you breathe, your hands gripping his broad shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he slides his knee between your thighs, forcing them open. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the airport,” he mutters against your skin, his voice thick with desire as his hand slides down to the waistband of your shorts. “Since the plane baby, you have no idea” he breaths between kisses against your neck.
Every touch from Jack feels like fire, scorching away the last lingering remnants of your messy week. The anger, the humiliation of the cheating boyfriend, the exhaustion of the flight, it all evaporates, replaced by the sheer, overwhelming reality of Jack's weight pressing you into the carpet.
He doesn’t give you time to think. His mouth slides down the column of your throat, biting gently at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder. A sharp, breathless gasp hitches in your chest, and your hips instinctively lift, seeking the solid heat of him.
"Shit- bunny," Jack growls against your skin, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that travels straight through you.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your oversized shorts. In one smooth, impatient motion, he tugs them down your legs along with your underwear, tossing them blindly into the dark room. The sudden rush of cool air on your bare skin makes you shiver, but then Jack’s large, calloused hand is sliding right back up your inner thigh.
His touch is slow, deliberate, and excruciatingly torturous. He strokes the soft skin closer and closer to the center of your heat, his thumb deliberately brushing against your underwear line until you’re writhing underneath him, your fingers tightly gripping the fabric of his black sweatpants.
"Jack, please," you whimpering, your head rolling back against the pillow on the floor. He hitches himself up on one elbow, looking down at you through the shadows. His chest is heaving, his dark eyes glittering with a fierce, possessive hunger. "Please what? Tell me what you want." His other hand stroking your hair softly.
"You," you breathe out, your voice trembling but entirely sure. "I want you." A dark, satisfied smirk tugs at his lips, but it’s heavy with need.
He reaches down, quickly shedding his sweatpants until he’s completely bare. The sight of his broad, muscular silhouette hovering over you makes your breath catch. He positions himself between your thighs, his large hands sliding under your lower back to lift your hips, tilting you up to meet him.
When he pushes inside, he does it slowly, a deep, agonizingly thick inch at a time that stretches you completely. A high, needy sound escapes your lips, instantly cut off as Jack leans down to catch it in another bruising, deep kiss. He tastes like copper and mint, his tongue sliding against yours in the exact same rhythmic, demanding pace as his hips. He starts to move in, each thrust deep, heavy, and final.
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, desperately trying to eliminate any remaining space between you.
"Look at me," Jack commands, his voice tight and strained as he breaks the kiss. You open your eyes, blinking through the darkness to focus on him. He’s staring down at you, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle is twitching, sweat glistening on his forehead. He increases the pace, his thrusts becoming faster, rougher, driving you ruthlessly against the floor.
"You're so tight," he groans, a low, desperate sound tearing from his chest. "So fucking perfect. Fcuking made for me." The pleasure builds too fast, a coiled spring tightening in your lower stomach. You grip his shoulders, your nails digging into the hard muscle of his back as the waves of an intense climax begin to ripple through you. You cry out his name, your body clamping tightly around him.
That snaps the last of his control. Jack lets out a ragged, guttural shout, burying himself deeply inside you one final time as his own body goes rigid, coming with a violent, shuddering intensity that leaves both of you completely spent. He collapses against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in ragged, heavy bursts. For a long time, the only sound in the room is the synchronized, frantic thudding of your hearts and the hum of the hotel air conditioner.
Slowly, Jack shifts, rolling off you but immediately pulling you against his side. He drags the heavy comforter over both of your tangled, sweat-cooled bodies, his large arm wrapping securely around your waist to press your back firmly against his chest.
He plants a soft, lingering kiss on the back of your shoulder, his grip tightening just a fraction.
"Sleep, kiddo," he murmurs into your hair, his voice rich with satisfaction. “Jackk” you’re whining and elbowing him lightly in the side at the nickname.
Pope Cody who purposely finds little bugs and caterpillars and plants them on your shared bedroom floor solely so you will let out one of your cute little yelps and come running for his help, whining and grabbing at his tight fitted shirt dragging him in the room to get it!!! And of course he does, you’re his baby!
you’ll end up thanking him later by using your mouth on him, that he knows.
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