I post drabbles and maybe an occasional fic or drawing!
I adore all things Shawn Hatosy and Star Trek
I will most often post about Pope being icky<3
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Fics
Drabbles
Pope cody x reader (thumb sucking)
Andrew "Pope" Cody x Reader (overstim)
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Im still trying to find a good breaker, line break, thing, so if anyone has recommendations let me know!!
Also my requests are ALWAYS open! Unless specifically it states otherwise. Everybuddy is always welcome to give me drabbe or fic ideas or just yap at me !❤️🩹
Summary: When Katerina walks into the Cody family's lives, her life changes, whether for the better or worse, she is still trying to figure out. From ages fifteen to twenty-six she had been 'set free' by Janine Cody, only to be given a new life in a different kind of hell. Katerina struggles with her views on faith, family, trauma, and what it means to walk away. Especially when she has grown to love some of them, confusing her need for safety with fear. She is drawn to danger, but its in the eye of the storm she feels the safest.
Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Fem!OC
Warnings: MDNI!!!!!, Very rough draft, Slowburn, Religious trauma, implication/discussion of childhood abuse and SA (Canon characters and noncanon character), canon typical drug use, canon typical violence and gore, etc.
There is intense discussion of childhood abuse and SA in this chapter, please prioritize your mental health.
“So explain it to me.” It wasn’t a question, rather an order. Baz’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the teen in front of him.
Darren sat next to Pope, anxiously bouncing his knee while the latter sat still, his posture pin straight. Pope has allowed the fifteen-year-old a whole month of ‘recon’, or stalling as Pope would say, which has allotted only a vague schedule of when the next donation drive will be. He pitied his youngest brother who clearly was struggling within his new friendship with the girl named Katerina, he knew what it was like wanting to keep something to himself and away from his family.
“Shouldn’t Smurf be here for this?” Craig had asked lazily, having woken up ten minutes before the start of the meeting.
“No.” Darren snapped, looking at his older brother. “We can handle this for now, I don’t want to involve Kat in something she can’t handle. But,” He looked back into Baz’s blue eyes. “She will help us, they abuse her man, she can be our person on the inside.”
Baz cut his gaze to Pope, who had yet to say anything but instead just shrugged.
“You think this is a good idea? Seriously, you are gonna let a kid dictate this job?” Baz scoffed and leaned back as Pope shrugged again. “So what? Darren and his little girlfriend fuck this job up royally and we end up in prison when she turns us in as soon as the first cop arrives?” Darren gritted his teeth as Craig got up and patted his shoulder at ‘little girlfriend’ with a smirk.
“You. Don’t. Get. It.” Darren looked irate, taking a deep breath as he composed himself, he thanked whatever fate was at play that day that allowed Smurf to be at the doctor’s office… getting botox and filler. “I know I haven’t been getting much out of her, but I will once I get her to tell me what's going on in that house.” He motioned at his neck and wrists. “She has these marks on her, she thinks I haven’t seen ‘em, but I have. They’re torturing her! I can’t think of any other explanation, except that she and her foster siblings need help… I mean, shit, you’ve heard the stereotypes around those churches… and there’s these rumours going around about the Gayles-”
“I’ve heard those.” Craig said, piping up while sitting up to look for his nearest stash. “That family has been fostering for….. I have no idea, but a long time, and those rumours were around when I ‘went’ to school” He used finger quotes like a dope and Darren rolled his eyes at his brother’s light tone, he couldn't see the levity of the situation. Darren suddenly thought of Christie, Kat’s foster sister who briefly dated Craig in high school.
“Didn’t you date Christie, Kat’s foster sister?”
“Who?” He asked before the sound of sniffling took over, his bent frame over the substance on the table and Darren turned his nose up.
“Julia knew a few who passed through there,” Pope’s quiet voice filled the room and Baz’s eyes stuck to him once more, a look of surprise slightly in the blonde’s eyes at the mention of Julia Cody. “She said Ben Gayle was a monster.”
“She will help us, just give me a little more time to talk to her and-”
“How exactly are you going to ask her to help? Telling her about us, then getting Smurf involved again, how do you think that will go down?” Baz questioned the teen. “Don’t be stupid, Darren.”
“She doesn’t have to know everything, Baz.” Darren leveled him with a glare. “And about Smurf…”
“I’ll handle it when it’s time, don’t worry about Smurf.” Pope looked at Darren and attempted to give him a comforting look, however his face contorted slightly before screwing his mouth to the side at Darren’s look of confusion. “Just hurry up, no more waiting, you said the next drive is just after Christmas?”
Darren nodded.
“And at a booster club meeting two weeks before that, Kat will be at both and she has full access to the safe in the treasury room… which is just a back room where they keep a bunch of old books.” Darren provided the information as cleanly as he could, looking between the two eldest men in the room. “You both said you want me to help out more, this is the way I found… It just so happens to help her too.”
“Wait, she doesn’t get a cut of the money does she?” Craig looked up, wide eyed.
“It’s only fair.” Pope never cared about how much money he got on jobs, so he didn’t see why they couldn’t all have equal shares. Though, he knew Craig didn’t save his money well and often went to Smurf. “If this isn’t a total fucking mistake.” It was a risk, and he didn’t like risks.
But ever since actually meeting Benjamin Gayle, he understood why his sister said he was a monster. Pope knew what predators looked like, what monsters look like when the lights are on and off. He could take this risk if it meant the possibility of snuffing him out.
“She can have my cut.” Darren said immediately. “Besides, this isn’t a mistake.”
Baz took an audible exhale and thought for a moment, crossing his arms while seemingly having a nonverbal conversation with Pope using expression only. Baz stretched and stood suddenly.
“Alright, but if you fuck this up you own it. Got it?” Darren nodded in response and Baz patted his shoulder as he passed. “‘Kay, we’ll switch our attention to the Gayles then, Pope?”
“On it.” The man stood, stalking out of the room without an explanation.
“Craig?” Baz kicked the younger man’s foot. “Get your ass up and go get the rent payments.” Craig groaned but complied. Then it was just Baz and Darren, the latter suddenly having a sense of accomplishment. “Hey.” Darren cut his attention towards his adoptive brother, who stood at the top of the stairs. “Don’t let this distract you from what’s important here, the family and the money."
The time had passed blissfully for Katerina, she had never felt more at peace then when she was with Darren; the activities he would coax her into were the perfect distraction from the reality of her life, for a few hours she could just be herself and free. Darren, on the other hand, had never felt more stress in his short life.
Soon it was December, Christmas was right around the corner but all Kat could think about was The Nutcracker. She had been a part of the local shows every year for the better part of her life, from a small ballerina who could barely Jeté to who she was now. Capable. Strong. However, most importantly, she was Clara this year; something Kat has been dreaming about since she first watched the classic ballet herself. As she moves into adulthood, her focus will naturally steer towards becoming the annual Sugar Plum Fairy.
This year her two young foster sisters will be joining her, becoming extras in the show. Mia, being six and Mia wanted to be a rat in the show, is officially over ballet and has been sulking all month. Sadie has taken to the hobby much like Kat did growing up, however as the eleven-year-old approaches a want for independence and uniqueness has started gathering flyers for cheer and gymnastics. Kat found the evidence of this in Sadie’s backpack while attempting to locate her crumbled up worksheets to correct and sign, writing a frowny face in the corner and a quickly written note to the teacher that said, ‘I swear she has a folder! Sorry!’.
Those hours she spent with Darren made her feel seen and heard, she thinks he may feel similar or she hopes at least. Kat curses being a teenage girl and the countless amount of romance books she's picked up over the years, because a familiar flutter filled her chest when it was just the two of them and he asked her questions and wanted to make her laugh. She had never had male friends, definitely never best friends,
so she had no idea what was normal in situations like this. She has a feeling he doesn’t like her like that, as she had seen Darren speak to Adrian when he thought it was just the two of them; however, there was this nagging thought at the back of her head that his friendliness had ulterior motives. It didn’t help that Sadie and Mia snickered from the backseat anytime Darren made Kat giggle, nor when Sadie had to pour salt in the wound.
“Is your boyfriend coming to see us dance in the show this year?” Kat squirmed in her seat as Darren laughed out loud, she sent her younger foster sibling a glare while the young girl smirked while little Mia hummed and played with her dollar store Barbie Doll. “They have discounted tickets for family, but I think I heard Ms.Stowe tell Kelsy that her boyfriend counts as family.”
“Sadie shut up.” Kat mumbled while she eyed Darren’s profile, his expression relaxed as he drove. “Would… Would you wanna come? Watch the Nutcracker? It’s usually just the Gayles that come and watch, but it could be nice to see you and Adrian there.” The question was clear, even if she wasn’t explicitly asking for it.
Please come.
Darren looked over and saw her hopeful face, sighing as he smiled softly in the rearview mirror at Sadie.
“I would love to see you guys, sure, where do I buy tickets?”
Katerina tried to keep a straight face and disguise the elation that overtook her at the prospect of her friends coming to see her, that this boy was making an effort. Then again, there was that thought…. Why?
“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry, we’ll ask Ms.Stowe for an extra two tickets.” Kat waved her hand and looked out the window, feigning as much composure as she could muster. “Get there fast though, cause it fills up fast and there's no assigned seating. I’ll have the tickets by Thursday and opening night is Friday, Stowe keeps at least five seats open just in case so we should be good.”
“Thanks, I, uh, can’t wait.” He smiled and Kat shot him an amused look.
“I know, cause you are so clearly a fan of classical ballet.”
Darren was practically bursting at the seams at the next family meeting without Smurf, his teenage patience waning the more conversation passed without it being directed to him and his updates. His knee bounced anxiously as he sat next to Craig, whose disposition did not match Darren’s, while Baz and Pope discussed logistics and reiterated what Smurf had ordered them to do. The tickets Kat had acquired were burning a hole in his back pocket, one for him and the other for Adrian.
Pope had noticed his youngest brother’s odd behavior, but thought it best to allow Darren to advocate for himself in situations like these where more is expected of him. Darren had to make the case himself, act like a man and not a fifteen-year-old boy going through an ethical crisis with his closest girl friend.
“Darren, we need an update, time is running out here.” Baz started, before running home the point. “We will move forward with Smurf’s original plan if you cannot-”
“Jesus Baz, let him speak first before you start laying it on thick.” Craig was very hungover, he would prefer this meeting to end as quickly as possible, so he patted Darren on the shoulder to signal him to talk. Baz sent him a quick glare before making a show of acceptance and leaning back, motioning with his hand for Darren to pick up where Baz had ended.
Reaching into his pocket as he stood, Darren flapped the two pieces of paper in the air to make a show of importance.
Taking a deep breath he suddenly felt really young, like a little kid who is about to have the shit beat out of him by his older brothers… which isn’t out of the window completely if he were to fuck this up.
“The Gayles will be out of their house tomorrow from 6:30PM to 9PM. It's a friday after a booster club meeting so I am guessing they take home some pretty important shit. I watched Kat’s foster mom carry a couple of boxes into the house after I dropped Kat off, they looked like labeled file boxes, heavy too.” Taking a breath he caught Pope’s gaze, his brother nodded with a stoic expression, encouraging Darren to continue. “They will be at the local theatre, watching Kat and her sisters dance in….” He read the tickets with his eyes squinted. “The Nutcracker. Kat got me tickets and I’ll keep watch, making sure they don’t leave too early. During which you guys will break in and gather as much information as possible, making sure you leave everything the same as you came. They have no security alarms enabled and no cameras. It's a small house so I think it can be done between the three of you.” He ended his points with an exasperated exhale, looking anxiously between the three men sitting. Pope’s expression hadn’t shifted, yet Baz seemed relaxed with the information as he allowed it to process in his brain.
“Alright, that’s all?” Darren nodded and Baz gave him a curt nod before standing and clapping him on the shoulder, he gave the young man a small lopsided smile. “It’s a start, good job kid, welcome to the business officially.”
“Thanks.” Darren wasn’t sure how to feel. “So what now?”
“Smurf will want to know why we’re looking through the guy’s house.” Craig pointed out. “Wasn’t she threatening him before this? He’ll know it’ll be us.”
Pope shifted, rolling his neck as he stood; coming to his full height, he was the shortest brother yet he had the aura and broadness of that of someone much taller and much more dangerous.
“She’s got me tailing him, sending him messages and threats…. He’s gotten them and he knows my face.” His hazel eyes caught Darren’s blue ones. “He’s scared.”
Darren internally winced, as the thought of this was both comforting and terrifying. On one hand, Benjamin Gayle is scared of Pope them, but on the other, this couldn't have been easy on Katerina. He thought she seemed especially skittish lately, her eyes pleading with him to come to see her dance or maybe to be a barrier between herself and Benjamin Gayle.
“I need to talk to Kat, we need her help on this.” So I can help get her out. “I’ll talk to her after the show-”
“You can’t seriously still be thinking about involving her?” Baz scoffed. “Dude, if you just want to get some-”
“Shut the fuck up Baz, do not even think about finishing that sentence.” Darren Glared up at his adoptive brother, the look in his eye lethal. “My friend is getting the shit beat outta her, and probably forced to-”
Pope had blocked the next part of Darren’s loud speech out, going stiff at the descriptions of the type of sexual abuse that had been in the rumour-mill for all the years the Gayles had been foster parents. His fingers twitched at where they brushed the sides of his legs, swaying slightly as he shifted from the right foot to the left. He watched as Darren passionately got in Baz’s personal space, ending his point with an emotional shove to the chest. Darren was just a kid afterall who saw someone in a similar fucked up situation, who found kinship in the darkness that clouded houses like the Cody’s and the Gayle’s. Pope truly sympathized with Darren’s predicament, as he himself had thought he had found kinship once in Cath but had lost that to the perils of teenage heartbreak. However, the flame he kept lit for Cath was one of unrequited romantic love while Darren’s protectiveness came from elsewhere. Pope was proud of his youngest brother at that moment, noticing how Darren has grown into someone whose morals haven’t been totally clouded by Smurf.
“Woah man, you got it bad.” Craig snickered, never seeing the seriousness in the situation, but the look in his eyes told the rest that he wasn’t grasping the situation the same as everyone else. Whether that was due to his inhibition or his lack of understanding and attention.
“Fuck all of you guys, man!” Darren bit out before gritting his teeth and grabbing his things before storming towards the door, he turned last second and directed his attention towards the ringleader at the center. “I will tell her, end of discussion, and I swear to god if any of you make her uncomfortable or scared when she’s here, I’ll-” His words died in his throat, what would he do? He was physically weaker than the rest of them and honestly had the least amount of wisdom in the field. “I’ll leave, then you will have to tell Smurf what happened.”
It was childish, ineffective, and proved Baz right for not taking him seriously. However, the anguish in the young boy’s voice made them remember when he was younger and the most spoiled one of Smurf’s boys… if that was the right word to describe her attention. Instead of making him feel bad or weak, they relented to the fifteen-year-old and his emotions.
“Jesus, goldilocks, pipe down will you.” Baz smirked at how Darren’s young face went red, framed by his long blonde tendrils. Walking forward he held a cooler, calmer demeanor than before. Like calming a wild animal, he approached the boy, much like how he would with Pope when they first became friends. “Listen, if you feel that strongly about this plan then prove me wrong.” He smiled and shrugged. “But I need you to understand what happens when you let people in and they disappoint.” Baz reached behind him Darren, opening a drawer and handing the fifteen-year-old a pistol with a heavy hand. “You take care of it.”
Darren looked down at the gun in his hands, looking back up at the rest of the men and he expected them to take it back and joke with him, telling him he wouldn’t ever have to press the barrel of it to Kat’s head. Baz then spoke again, startling Darren from his thoughts.
“Though, if you can’t do it I would understand. She seems like a sweet girl, who's been through a lot. Maybe someone like that is best put out of their misery-”
“Woah Baz,” Craig seemed to get the seriousness of it all, sitting up and wanting to engage. “Too far, man.”
“So when it gets to that point, Darren?” Baz bent to look him in the eye. “Most likely it will get to that point, do you think you can pull that trigger? I can assure you that I can, Pope can.”
At that a strong hand grabbed Baz’s shoulder, Pope’s stoic face appeared and he grabbed the gun from Darren and shoved it back into the drawer.
The plan was simple, simpler than any other recon job they had done before. Darren himself even got to hang with Adrian on lookout, he even wore a suit his mother picked for him. Darren thought he looked very handsome and suddenly was very self-conscious of his attire as they entered the theatre and noticed everyone else was dressed similar to Adrian. Darren tried to mask his nerves with aloofness, but Adrian knew him better than that. When they sat down towards the back of the house, grabbing a pair of dark plushy seats in the corner, Adrian quickly grabbed his sweaty hand and patted it twice with his own. He told Darren he looked fine and to relax, his hand lingered in Darrens, and it was the highlight of his week.
When the Gayles arrived, Darren's attention pinpointed. Benjamin Gayle was a man who always looked angry, while his wife always looked nervous or constipated. He tried to listen to Adrian as he read through the pre-show pamphlet, but his attention couldn't drift from the way the couple also chose seats towards the back near the exit. Darren clutched his flip-phone in his left hand, keeping it close in order to make contact with his brothers.
“Hey, did you know that Kat wants to study in Paris after school is done?” Adrian whispered to his companion, who hummed in response. “Is everything okay? What’re you looking at?” Adrian shoved the pamphlet into Darren’s lap to sit up and follow his line of sight, his posture straightening.
“Sit down!” Darren hissed as quietly as he could, however an old lady passing by gave him a glare and then a look of disgust once she saw his attire. He glared back. “It’s… just that Kat’s foster parents are here.”
Adrian made a face of surprise and then understood before sitting back down, mirroring Darren’s body language and scooting down to lean back in the theatre chairs. It was an awkward angle, but Adrian thought Darren looked very nonchalant and cool so he decided to match his demeanor.
“Damn, did you not know they were gonna show? Do you think Kat knows?” Adrian’s concern for Katerina was genuine, as the two of them had gotten on quite well after Kat started hanging out with Darren and him. They bonded on normal things teens their age enjoyed: GPA, future careers, books, movies and shows. Darren was surprised how happy he was to see the two of them get along as well as they were, finding himself two forces of good in his life. “Should we tell her? I mean, I would hate for her day to get shit on.”
“Yeah... I mean, no! I didn’t know they were, Kat told me they weren’t gonna come this year.” He lied through his teeth as he watched the Gayles settle in their seats and pass tense words back-and-forth. “She doesn’t have a phone, I might try and catch her after-”
The lights started to dim and the conversations started to silence as old ladies shushed their families and friends, and a baby started crying somewhere near the stage.
Darren's line of sight wasn't great, but he could still make out the shape of Benjamin Gayle's head. After some time, Darren grew very bored, he swapped between checking his phone and watching the Gayles.
Suddenly Adrian gasped silently and smiled, his hand grabbing Darren's leg to help push himself into sitting upright. Darren's attention diverted at this and suddenly he was watching Adrian's profile as he watched the Ballet dancers prance around on stage, soft and pretty music filling the room, and Darren's chest flooded with feelings.
"Darren, look," Adrian looked over, catching Darren watching him, and he smiled before looking back at the stage. "It's Kat."
Darren finally looked at the Ballet, and he saw his close friend, Katerina, dressed in a white nightgown and ribbons. Her hair was loose and followed her movements as she twirled and leaped, looking like a traditional ballerina. She was talented, he could tell that, but what caught his attention the most was Kat's face. She looked perfectly at ease and happy, happier than he has ever seen her.
“She’s beautiful.” Adrian commented with a smile, looking at Darren at the corner of his eye to see his reaction. “What do you think?”
“That she’s going to Paris.”
As act one came to a close, Darren’s phone buzzed with a series of texts from Pope and Baz, Darren went to look at them but suddenly Adrian was hitting his shoulder lightly.
“He’s going!” He hissed silently at Darren, careful to not anger the lady in front of them. “He’s going the wrong way for the bathroom and concessions… where do you think he’s going?” He asked quietly, but jumped when Darren jumped up to follow. “You got fifteen minutes before intermission ends!” He Whisper-yelled after the blonde boy.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Darren cursed at himself as he maneuvered around seats and people towards the exit Gayle had taken, a darker and lesser used emergency exit door that led towards the catwalk ladder and backstage rooms. “Fuck!” He had a feeling which way the man had taken.
Darren barreled through the door that took him backstage towards the dressing rooms and closets, the hallway was filled with people dressed in tutus and leotards; many jumped and yelled as Darren pushed through, him not caring to be polite as he searched for one of two people.
“Where’s Katerina?” He asked no one in particular. “There was a guy who came this way!”
“That was her dad, you creep, get out!” Some girl snarled at him from his right and he practically growled as he bounded forward.
“Kat!”
He was running at this point, his flip-phone buzzing with texts from his brothers who were finding lots of valuable information. Though, not only were they finding information pertaining to the church's donations, but also some other, much darker things.
“Katerina!”
“Darren?”
The boy stopped in his tracks when he spotted Sadie and Mia, dressed for the show and looking terrified, they clutched the watcher bottles in their hands as they looked at him with knowing eyes. Sadie’s arm was wrapped around Mia, who clutched her stuffed bunny.
“Where is she? Where did he take her?” Sadie didn’t respond, instead she shook her head violently as tears welled in her eyes as she clutched Mia to her and shifted to the right. Darren furrowed his brows as he looked behind the girls to find a darker alcove of the hallway where a door was, it was a lesser used office labeled Choreographer. Putting his hand on the door, it began to swing inward and he peered inside.
“What are you?” Gayle’s voice echoed through the small, cold room, where he stood over a knelt Katerina. His voice was venomous. His hands were shaking from where one clutched a ball of Kat’s dark hair, forcing her into a painful bend, and the other hand forced her mouth open. “Tell. Me. What. You. Are.” He punctuated each word with a rough grip and pull at her scalp, each time Kat let out a small, painful groan.
“A slut.” Pull. “Trash.” Pull. “The devil”. He shoved her to the ground and she wheezed.
Though before anything more could happen, Darren pounced. A crack was heard as his fist connected with the middle-aged man’s cheek, causing him to stumble back with a garbled groan.
“Get the fuck out of here, you absolute piece of dog shit!” Darren screamed in his face, shoving him towards the door. “You are so dead, man. Go enjoy your last days.” He ended his sentence with a spit to the man’s bald head as he shoved him out of the room and onto his ass.
A crowd had gathered, as the main cast member was missing when curtain had been called. The man huffed and had gone red in the face before scrambling past the dancers, out through the exit doors towards the main house seats. The dancers peered into the room at the two teens, Mia had gotten towards the front of the group and had run in to comfort her foster sister.
“I’m okay, bunny, go get ready for your part.” Kat tried to smile, but her hair covered most of her face as she gently pushed Mia back towards the door where Sadie waited. “Give me five more minutes, please.” The last word quivered and broke, the girl’s tears spilling.
When the door had shut again, leaving the two alone, Darren had a hard time turning to look at Kat in this state. Sniffles filled the silence and he slowly turned to see her crumbled on the floor, holding her sobs in physically. Her hair had been tangled, the ribbons had fallen out in the tussle as well, and tearstreaks lined her face. Darren wanted in that moment to reach forward and hold her, cradle her and never let her go.
“It’s okay, I’m here, he’s gone.” He whispered softly, settling down in front of her to gently ease her into comfort. “You are safe.”
With that she erupted into sobs, she shook violently. Because at the end of the day, she wasn’t safe.
Darren’s phone buzzed and he finally took it out and read through them.
All done. Got the file boxes.
A promising last text from Pope. However, Darren opened the full thread as he held Kat to him as she descended into quieter sobs. Darren clicked on the photo file labeled in pixelated letters: OPEN. The photo took a long time to digitize on the small pixelated screen, but when it did Darren felt bile rise in his throat. In the photo was a small, closet-like room with chains connected to the walls where hundreds of crosses covered them. On the floor was a pad, a small pad that could barely be called a mattress.
“Kat?”
The girl was still sniffling, but she nodded her head as she sat up to look at him with glazed over eyes. She was mostly in shock right now, so he needed to just get it out.
“We need to talk, okay? It’s important.”
“I need to go, finish the show,” She made an attempt to get up, but her body failed her as she began to shake again and fall into Darren. “NO, NO, NO! Not now, I have to go. I NEED THIS!” She sobbed out.
“Breathe Kat, Breathe. They can wait.” He rubbed circles on her back as she hyperventilated.
“We’re gonna fix this, I promise, okay?” He grabbed her shoulders to look into her eyes. “But you have to listen to me, okay? You trust me?” Darren was happy to see Kat nod vigorously at that question, her trust in him could not be questioned. “And I trust you. So please, listen to me.”
So she did.
Authors note: AHHHHH, it's like 2 am when I'm posting this, so its rough! I will edit more I promise!
headcanons of younger!reader sending jack hot photos of herself while she’s on a girl’s trip and he’s stuck at work :))
Jack Abbot x reader
He is so pissed that he is at work while youre having fun!
Constantly checking his phone to see if youve texted him, if youre in any kind of trouble.
-> Goes to the point where someone from work points it out.
He likes that youre having fun. He trusts you completely so he isnt worried about you cheating or anything.
He is worried about you drinking tho. What if your friends dont take care of you while drunk? He has met them a few times but he does know that they are quite party animals too.
He wishes he could be with you but! He also knows its a girls trip and no boys allowed.
Then you start sending him these photos...while he is at work...
Innocent outfit checks right!
If you want more of these kind of headcanons, request!
you tell jack abbot you can’t cum without a vibrator and he proves you wrong. not proofread btw
“i didn’t sit through all those anatomy classes for nothing,” he grumbles, one hand holding your hip and the other keeping his dick in line with your pussy.
“that was what? like fifty years ago?”
he starts shoving himself in before replying, “very funny.”
“ah, ah! i’m—jesus—telling you, jack. it won’t work.”
“you know i have to try, at least once.”
he hasn’t let up on it ever since you told him. you can’t have an orgasm without some sort of toy. of course that simply can’t be true.
he always just assumed it was a preference. the few times you’d slept with him so far, you’d always had a vibrator ready on the nightstand.
“just—let me try, huh?”
there’s a pillow beneath your lower back, and your legs are tensed up around his hips.
“you need to relax, though, honey.”
you exhale a deep breath and nod shakily. “okay, i can try.”
“good, just listen to me. do you feel me here?”
he pushes down on your stomach, just above your pubic bone.
“sort of,” you say to be nice, appreciative of his efforts. you expect him to pull out and give up, suddenly decide you’re not worth the effort.
“okay, tilt your hips up towards the ceiling a little bit. good, hold it right there.”
he rolls his hips back and forward again, dragging against your upper wall and hitting something that makes you yelp.
you slap your hands over your mouth and stare at him with stupid, wide eyes. he ignores you, just keeps rolling his hips up into you with his hand pressing into your stomach.
“good girl, focus.”
one hand leaves your mouth to dig into the linen sheets. expensive sheets. the ones you liked in the store, that jack had to insist you buy.
the other hand stays covering your mouth to keep in all the noises you’d never made before.
“how’s that feeling?”
“pressure—there’s pressure, jack. i don’t know what—”
he shushes you, “you don’t have to do anything, just feel it. feel me taking care of you.”
he runs his big hands up and down your sides, keeping the same rhythm with his thrusts, not speeding up or going harder.
“jack, i think im gonna cum. i’m gonna—oh, jesus christ!”
you sit upwards, instinctively tensing your entire body up. jack pushes you back down with a hand on your chest that moves up to curl around your neck. no pressure, only a firm, reassuring warmth.
your stomach drops into that familiar buzz you thought you could only achieve with a toy.
“c’mon, breathe through it,” he grunts, letting himself go as you clench around him so tight he tips his head back and groans like an animal.
when all is said and done, you’re panting and glistening with a sheen of sweat.
“look at that. didn’t even have to play with her,” he says with a smirk, giving your clit a light slap.
jack abbot's heart is breaking because he went too rough with you, bruised your cervix too hard after you begged to be taken prone. now the effects are hitting you post sex; you're usually emotional in general afterwards but you're pressed face down against the pillows, hesitating to look at him even after he asked.
"please baby," he starts. "lemme see your sweet face."
if his heart was broken before, it's absolutely shattered now. you've got your bottom lip poking out as you sniffle softly, looking up at him with wet eyes and tear stained cheeks.
"it's okay sweet girl i've got you." he lunges forward to cup your face in his large hands, brushing the tears beneath you eyes wit his thumbs. this is what always breaks the dam for you unfortunately, and the tears start to flow freely. it's like his acknowledgment gave you permission to finally let go of whatever was holding you back.
jack's hushing you now, rubbing soothing circles all over your body just the way you like. he should've known to go a little easier on you, it's just that sometimes he gets lost in you and doesn't realize his strength.
in the morning, he'll make it up to you with a nice breakfast just the way you like it. but for now he'll hold you close, wrapped around you tightly as you finally drift off to sleep.
august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good august will be good
Description: Recently broken up, you end up drunkenly crying from watching teenage girls doing karaoke to sad Olivia Rodrigo songs. Cue your hot attending comforting you, who only hates two things: 1. Incompetence 2. His favorite nurse looking sad
Tags/warnings: idk why i included santos, drinking, r is drunk, age gap (r is in 20’s, abbot is 50), very much flirting, tons of teasing, jack refers to himself as daddy at one point (non sexual context), this man is a sweetie pie, and also as protective as a guard dog, slightly suggestive themes, many OR references, no allusions to r’s gender, petnames: sweetheart
Note: Not my best, but it’s pretty cute. Like you all. My cuties fr.
“I wish I was 13 again,” Santos murmurs, wistfully eyeing the pack of teenage girls who are currently moving in flashes of glitter, dancing uncoordinated steps on the karaoke floor.
You lean back in your seat, watching your friend with curiosity. “Really? Thought you had a dark past,” you playfully whisper the last part, so as to not accidentally trigger a serious conversation. That is not the mood you are in. You are in a floaty wonderland: surrounding loud, chirpy, noises kept at bay — thanks to the long island iced tea you're sipping on.
Trinity finally tears her gaze away, though it's impossible to ignore the delighted, uninhibited singing coming from the other side.
GUESS YOU DIDN'T MEAN WHAT YOU WROTE IN THAT SONG ABOUT MEEEEE….
Before she can expertly dodge your question, everyone — Shen, Walsh, and Mateo — come back with their drinks. You slowly rise to your feet and take a sidestep, so Mateo and Walsh can slip into the booth. Having already been squished enough, you're willing to take only the corner this time.
You settle in again, next to Walsh, the leather under you creaking with every drag of your thighs.
“Are you both always so fun at parties?” Emery sips through a straw, eyes darting between you and Santos.
“This one —” Shen points a thumb at you “— is already uptight as it is. And Santos is just a poor influence. Don't think I've ever seen her smile, actually.”
“Yeah, she only smiles on her day shift when huckle– Dennis gets pissed on. Or, something of the same sorts,” you join in, ignoring the dig at you.
However, everyone's attention is quickly stolen away by the lives of the party again.
‘CAUSE I STILL FUCKING LOVE YOU, BABE OOoooOohhhOOO
You cannot stifle your laughter anymore when Mateo cheers them on, hooting with his palms cupped around his mouth. The best part is that he looks genuine and sincere, rooting for them no hint of mockingness.
Yeah, you wish you could be 13 again.
It's your turn to miserably and longingly watch the teenager birthday party taking its full swing, completely drowning out the overlapping conversations — and petty arguing — of your colleagues.
You smile at one of the young girls on stage, giving her a lazy wave. Suddenly, she's flushing and whispering in her friend's ear, presumably about a “cool adult” that interacted with her. You wish you could tell her that even though you might look the part — the sitcom adult who sits in a booth with a friend group and drinks — your life couldn't be less boring.
You work at the PTMC, go home, watch TV, fall asleep in front of the said TV, and daydream of a certain honey-eyed doctor. Maybe he's your rebound crush after your recent breakup. Not to mention, a deeply inappropriate one, both work and age wise.
Speak of the devil.
Your face snaps up when you hear your name in that low, raspy, voice. You register his face, tired under the dim lights, and his perfect salt & pepper curls frazzled from the ride over. He's in a white t-shirt stretched taut across his pecs, and a simple pair of black jeans. Though, nothing about how he looks is ‘simple.’
“Doctor…” you speak slowly, narrowing your eyes, and making a show of thinking very, very deeply. You snap your fingers in front of your chin, Before pointing your index at him, “aha! Doctor Abbot, attending of the nightcrawlers. What will you drink?”
The corner of his lips quirk up, amused by your liquor-induced playfulness. “Two of whatever you're having,” he replies, smoothly stealing the glass right out of your hands, holding it in front of his eyes to examine the brown liquid.
“Long island?”
“Yep. L-I-I-T, it's pretty L-I-T. Lit. It means cool.”
“I know what lit means.” He takes in your sluggish blinks, the drop in your usually tight shoulders, and the almost giddy smile on your lips. “How many have you had?”
You hold up one digit, wiggling it back and forth for emphasis.
Jack tuts, “L-I-G-H-T-W-E-I-G-H-T”
“F-U-K-C-Y-O-U,” you proudly smile at your mature retort, mind completely unbothered that your mouth just sweared at your boss.
He shakes his head, contemplating if he should tell you that you spelled your insult wrong.
“Jesus…” he watches you carefully for a second, before handing your cocktail back to you. His thick fingers brush against yours, sending a jolt up your arm.
“Jack! Man, we thought you abandoned your children,” Shen exclaims, realising along with everyone the presence of the new arrival, and bringing you out of your head.
“Well, Shen, daddy's gotta come home.”
Daddy.
Well, technically, he is the attending, so he is the daddy. Daddy of the department, daddy of the floor, daddy of your–
Getting a little off-track there.
You clear your throat, trying to push the sinful thoughts away, putting them back in the compartment that only opens itself in sleepless, late, horny, nights.
“Do you wanna sit orrrr…?” Trinity trails off, jutting her chin towards the karaoke stage.
You bring your glass to your lips again, savouring the citrusy taste on your tongue. You expect to hear the scrape of a chair's legs dragged along the floor — Jack, as always, hauling an extra seat to sit at the head of the table. You always thought it was a way to maintain boundaries even outside the workplace, to make sure there's a tangible difference to avoid misuse of power dynamics. Your attending was quite easygoing, as far as bosses went, but that never deterred his ability to be responsible.
Instead, “Yeah, there's some space here.”
You don't realise you're being spoken to, until you look and everyone is staring expectantly at you. “Wha– oh.”
You try to visibly measure the space next to you, barely larger than your hand. You look back up at the towering man, raising his grey brows in impatience.
You move your ass.
As soon as he's shifting next to you, your senses are overwhelmed by his dominating presence. Your entire side is pressed against his. And he must've showered before coming here, because you can smell the soap he must use — cedarwood. You're thankful for the alcohol in your system, calming your nerves enough to not send a body-wide emergency signal.
“So…” you begin, taking in his face, which is so, so close to you. The disco lights of the place dance on his features, and you try not to chase the shine with your fingers.
“Sorry for crashing. Must be a bummer to have your boss here,” he speaks louder than usual, voice trying to carry over the singing, though his attention is on waving over a server.
You wait until Jack orders a whiskey for himself, continuing after the waiter leaves, “oh, you're not a regular boss. You're a cool boss.”
“Yeah? Is it because I yell a lot less than Robby?”
“No.” You lean forward to catch the view of the little pop-stars again. It seems they've moved on from Olivia Rodrigo to…more Olivia Rodrigo. It's a song you've only recently heard — something about higher standards and expectations.
THEY SEEM SO DESPERATE FOR LOVIN’, BUT BABY, I'M NOT…
The loud singing must have called for his attention too, because now he’s focusing intently on the concert since the first time he came here.
NOW I TAKE CAREFUL CONSIDERATIONS
I'M NOT KISSING ANY BOY THAT IS PASSIVE…
His eyebrows draw together in concern, and almost to himself, he murmurs, “they shouldn't be kissing any boys right now.”
“They're 13, grandpa,” your voice snaps his gaze to you again, “kissing at that age is normal.”
“I'm 50. Anyone under 25 is a kid to me. They—” he gestures to the pack, “—are practically toddlers to me.”
“To remind you, you also have staff in their 20’s working for you. We, very much, aren't kids.”
That makes him pause. If you would've blinked, you would've failed to notice how his gaze dropped to your lips for just a second, before flicking up.
The server brings his order, and Jack is quick to take a swig. “That's what I try to remind myself, too.”
“Do you think Stacy would mind if I join them?” you whisper in Jack's ear with the eager expression of a dog waiting for its owner. You're practically vibrating in your seat, knee bouncing from the third drink you definitely should've refused.
But it's not like you're the only one stupidly drunk. Santos and Mateo are at the pool table, losing to strangers. Shen is in a corner on a facetime with his wife — like, just go back home — and Walsh is nowhere to be seen. So, it’s a thing to wonder why you and your senior are still sitting glued together. You are drunk. What reason does the most rational man you know have?
“Who is Stacy?” He shifts, trying to maintain some semblance of a physical distance between you both, but you just end up closing the space again.
“The birthday girl, Dr. Abbot!”
“The 13 year-old on the karaoke with her friends?”
“Yes!”
Jack sighs, “you don't have to exclaim everything, you know.”
“YES, I DO!”
He physically recoils at your sudden raise in pitch. He takes in your erratic energy: the restless leg, the speedy talking, eyes blown wide. His palm slowly reaches out, firmly cupping your knee, bringing the bouncing to a halt. “Okay, exclaim away. But–”
“But?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, taking the deep breath of a man who wasn't expecting to babysit his drunk colleague today.
“Okay, this time, we let me finish talking. Yeah?” You immediately nod your head. In reality, you have no idea what he just said. You only heard the “yeah?” in his authoritative voice, and agreed.
“I'm very concerned you know her name.”
“Who? Stacy's?”
“Exactly. You're referring to a random teenage girl as if she's a close, personal, friend,” he explains carefully, like he's talking to a child.
“Nooo! She's not a friend, doc.”
“Of course, that would be creep–”
“But I want to be her friend sooo bad,” you whine, staring adoringly at Stacy and friends like they hung the moon. “Just look at them! They did Olivia, moved to Glee's soundtrack, and are now doing Olivia again. They're sooo cool.”
Jack shoots them a quick look and lets out a small huff of laughter when he sees the deep longing in your eyes, a pure look of awe.
He says your name, and your gaze darts straight from the stage, and into his eyes again. It always steals your breath when he calls you by your first name, anchoring you completely to him with just one word. One person should never have so much power.
“I'm cutting you off.”
“What?” Your mouth hangs open, words blurting out from shock, “like, from your life?”
“What? No–” he uses his free hand to pry the drink out of your hand. He lifts the glass, swinging it in front of your eyes, before setting it far on the table. Out of your reach. “From drinking. No more alcohol for you.”
A huge sigh of relief leaves you, and you dramatically clutch your palm to your chest. “That's nice. It would've been hard to work together with beef between us.”
“It's already hard to work with you, sweetheart,” he says under his breath, scanning your face for any signs of distress.
Your brows draw tight in confusion. Huh, what does that mean?
OH BECAUSE MY HEAD IS FULL OF POISON
AND MY HEART IS FULL OF DOUBTS…
The sound of collective cries panics you before you realise sad girl hours have started. You look from Stacy to her other two friends, fortunately not knowing their names. They're clutching the mics tightly enough that you're sure one of them ought to break the device. The singing is a little uneasy on the ears, but you find yourself softly smiling.
Then frowning.
And next you know, your eyes are welling up with tears when the song comes to an end.
IT'LL NEVER BE THE CURE
IT'LL NEVER BE…
Poor girls. They're crying thinking about their eighth grade crush, but they have no idea what's coming for them. One day, they'll be in their 20's and a stupid man with a stupid name will tell them he loves them, and they will believe him, even though he does nothing to prove it. Poor, poor, girls.
You're not sure if it's them you're upset about, since you feel like the only poor, poor person in this entire room.
“Are they okay?” Jack has forgotten his drink, attention fixated on the young girls. His hand unknowingly slides off your knee, hovering near the edge of the table, as if he's about to get up any second. “Why is the girl in the green dress crying? She can't possibly relate to this. Where are their parents?”
“I'm gonna go make sure–” He turns to look at you for assurance, but he sees a fat tear rolling down your flushed cheek. Suddenly, the concern in his eyes is replaced by panic. “Woah, hey, what's wrong? Do you feel dizzy? Overstimulated?”
His head tips down to map your face. You were fine just a few minutes ago. Now, you're tearing up, and your breath is hitching, and his hands are hovering unsurely near your face.
“It's just,” you sniffle, “it's just so…”
“Sad…?” He prompts.
“Yes!” Your eyes flash like he just invented a new word. “Exactly! See, you have the heart of a teenage girl.”
He shakes his head, “I'm 50, but thank you.”
“Why do you tell me you're 50, like 50 times a day? We get it, grandpa.” You sniffle again, trying to look at the stage. But Jack effectively blocks your view with his sturdy frame, instead offering you his handkerchief like some sort of a gentleman from a 60's rom-com.
You wipe your nose in what you hope is in a dignified fashion, barely hiccuping a thank-you to him. “Is it that you forget it too? And you have to keep reminding me so you don't forget it yourself?”
He sighs, finally swiping his thumb under your eye to brush the wetness away.
“Believe me, I try to forget it.”
As if catching up to what he just did, his hands rush towards the safe territory of your upper arms.
You nod thoughtfully, “that makes sense.”
“Yeah?” You watch as hope flickers in his eyes. He worries his lower lip between his teeth, as if contemplating if he should say something. “You understand why?”
“Mhm,” you nod again. “If I was 50, I'd be trying to forget my age too,” you say completely sincerely, eyes swimming with sympathy.
His head falls forward, and his shoulders shake. For a second, your drunk mind makes you believe you made him cry. But when he looks up at you again, he's flashing an amused grin, shaking his head at you.
“Real funny.”
“I wasn't trying to be funny.”
WENT TO THE DOCTOR AND SHE SAID I WAS FINE
BUT EVERY MOVIE THAT I SEE MAKES ME CRYYYyyYY…
Oh, no. When did they start singing this one? It's that song. The one you've had on replay since your breakup, the one you've been singing in showers, in cars, and in the kitchen.
You feel a fresh wave of tears clawing their way up again. Your lower lip juts out in a pout, and you flush in embarrassment when Jack's laugh dies. “I'm fine.”
He gently squeezes your arm, “up.”
Before you have any mind to be confused, your world tilts when you're suddenly hauled off your seat. You sway on your feet for a moment, before Jack steadies you, firmly planting his hands on your elbows.
“Are we finally going to join Stacy?”
“No. Not while you're doing your best impression of a kicked puppy.”
I CAN'T SLEEEEEP
I CAN'T EAAAATTTT
I THINK YOU'RE WHAT'S WRONG WITH MEEEE…
A soft sob escapes your throat. What is wrong with you?
“Nothing. Three-drink-you is just not as fun as two-drink-you,” Jack assures you, his fingers twitching at your elbows without his permission, stuck between staying noble and wiping away the hot tears that are rushing from your ducts again.
Oh. You hadn't realised you'd said that out loud. You can't believe you're breaking down in front of your attending. Because of a breakup song. Because you're drunk. That's, like, top 3 tell-tale signs you need some help. Or, another drink. But you're quite sure that four-drink-you is a horny you, so, maybe not.
The surrounding noises get muffled when Jack spins you around, and starts walking you towards a hushed corner. He swiftly steers you away from any table, chair, or a group of people that comes in your way, before you even register it.
You're disappointed when his hands drop to his own sides, when you're both tucked away in a corner. You look around, and the lights are even dimmer in here, painting everything a dull shade of yellow. There's a door behind you, presumably leading to a bathroom, because you can see the universal signage for a male. Before you can ask Jack to move from here, you notice a lock on the door.
“No one's gonna come here. Talk.”
You clear your throat, managing to speak through your watery throat, “It was just really–”
“Sad? Yes, we covered that,” he catches the sharp edge in his tone, and quickly smoothes it over, gentling himself for you, “but as sensitive as you are, I know that you're not really sobbing because some little girls are crying along to a sad Taylor Swift song.”
“It's Olivia, not Taylor.”
“They're all the same.”
You immediately gasp, narrowing your eyes at his disgusting comment, “I take my words back. You have the heart of a cold, unfeeling, man.”
Jack bites the inside of his cheek to not burst out laughing. “I'm sorry. Will you please tell me why you're worrying yourself over an Olive song?”
“OLIVIA!”
He raises his palms in surrender, but instead of giving up like you'd expect anyone to, he apologises again. Now he's looking at you expectantly, as patient as a saint, and you feel your sob story tumbling out of your mouth.
“I had a break-up recently. And it's,” you click your tongue in frustration, “I don't even miss him. He was a mistake. A big one. But…”
“But?”
You sigh, “I don't know. It's humiliating. Can we go back?”
“What's humiliating?”
You scramble for words but all that comes out is, “this! You! Here!”
“I'm humiliating?”
“Gosh, no. You're– you're not. You're anything but. You're sweet and patient and kind–” you immediately lock your lips when you realise you're verbally fawning over the man in front of you. “That's not what I mean.”
“So, I'm not sweet and patient and kind?” His eyes are crinkling with amusement, and you would want to wipe that smile from his face if it wasn't so goddamn beautiful.
You take a deep breath, “what I am trying to say is, It's humiliating because we work together. You're my senior. Like, super, super senior.”
“And that makes me unempathetic towards one of my staff having a meltdown in a public place?”
“Okay, I think we're throwing the word ‘meltdown’ a little too easy here.”
Jack pretends to ponder for a moment, observant brown eyes scanning your face slow enough to make you squirm. “I think not. Look at yourself.”
You immediately straighten up. “Huh, do I look like a mess?” Your hands rush to your face, trying to harshly rub the messy tears away.
His eyes immediately soften. “No, hey, that's not…You just look so upset is all. Otherwise, you look fine. Good. As always.” He says it like it's obvious, like it's a rule he learned in medical school.
Almost hesitantly, he pries your wrists away from your face, leaving them in his grip, hanging between you both. You have no option but to look straight at him.
“I'm sorry. You've just caught me on a bad day.”
“What do you mean? I'm having a really good time.”
You let out a watery laugh. “You don't have to make me feel better.”
“Gloria is always on my ass about keeping staff happy. Consider this a part of my duty.”
You have a good couple of inches between you, but the distance seems really, really little right now. You're not sure if it's him or you who takes a step closer. Probably you, since his thumb is stroking the side of your wrist, and you're feeling floaty again.
“I'm not sure this is what duty looks like, Jack,” your voice comes out barely more than whisper.
He tuts in disapproval when you use his first time, voice dropping an octave lower. “No, it doesn't. You should be thankful. Robby just yells at people and tells them to pack it up.”
“Don't joke.”
“If I stop joking, I'll have to tell you that you have no reason to cry for a fuckin’ idiot who owned forty different colors of the same polo t-shirt.”
For a second, you're taken back enough to not speak. “How…how do you know that?”
“Used to see him everyday when he would pick you up, remember?” He reminds you as you watch irritation flare up in his eyes, “and he was 20 minutes late. Every single day.”
“20 minutes is not a lot. He was, after all, picking me up.”
“If you're gonna do something, do it right. I wouldn't even be 2 minutes late for someone who spent the entire night working their ass off.”
You downcast your gaze to avoid his sharp eyes. “Shame you're not the one picking me up, then.” You try to play it off as a joke, but it only comes out as wistful.
“Shame,” he murmurs. “So, you don't miss him?”
You shake your head. “No, but it gets lonely.” You sigh before continuing, admitting with a hint of shame, “I like the whole routine — the dates, the places, the high while it lasts.”
“So? Go on a date again.”
“Right,” You laugh in self-deprecation, “It's not like I've queues outside my door, people waiting to take me out.”
“Impossible. Look at you,” he replies, without missing a beat. You examine his face, trying to gauge the intent behind his words. Mindless affirmation or meaningful compliment?
“You're just saying that,” you whisper.
“What reason do I have to lie?”
“Getting me off your hands, and back to your whiskey again.”
His breath mingles with yours when he tips his face forward, gaze locking in on your soft lips. “I'm not so eager to get my hands on whiskey. I've got better things going on for me,” he speaks, voice dropping low and intimate.
“Like me having a meltdown?”
“Like you allowing me to be here for it.”
“Of course. You're sweet and patient and kind.”
“Pray tell. Don't let me stop you from singing my praise.”
“And…calm and funny and…” you pause, trying to even out your shallow breaths, “incredibly, stupidly, frustrating.”
“Careful. Still your attending.” Irony is that right as he's saying it, he's letting go of your wrists to cup your hips instead — long fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt, settling heavy and firm, grounding you in place.
“You're not acting like it.”
He playfully squeezes your hips, “why am i frustrating?”
“Because…sometimes, I come to the shift, and I get to hear from Santos that somebody decided to play the hero and got shot. And I'm obviously never there, because it all happens during the day shift.”
“You worry?”
“You're not a man with ill styling choices. I can worry.”
“As long as you don't cry.”
“Are you one of those people who don't like people crying? You get all awkward and uncomfortable?”
His hand drags up your arm to swipe across your cheekbone, brushing over the dried tears. “I don't like when you cry. It makes me frustrated and insistent.”
“Insistent to do what?”
“To fix whatever caused it. Or whoever.”
Your throat dries up, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “It's not recommended to go causing trouble in the name of nurses.”
“What if it's a pretty nurse?”
Red rushes to your cheeks, and you feel yourself warming up. You urge the alcohol in your system to deliver you courage, but all you feel is like wet noodles in front of him.
“That's not a valid reason,” you murmur.
“My floor, my rules.”
“Careful. Next thing you know, it's 20 missed calls from HR.”
“Shit,” he says, not sounding concerned in the slightest.
You clear your throat, “now that I'm not actively sobbing, we should head back. Somebody will notice we're gone.”
“They're all too busy being idiots. Besides, there's nothing to notice. I'll just tell them–” your eyelids flutter when he lightly blows air into your right eye, “–there was something in your eye.”
“And you were helping me while using your bedroom voice?”
Jack sputters a small laugh, “oh, this is not my bedroom voice.” His hand on your hip moves, leaving a trail of fire up your side, settling high on your waist. “Or my bedroom hands. Or my bedroom acts.”
Your eyes flutter close, and heat melts low in your belly, leaving an ache between your thighs. Your thoughts wander, trying to imagine his ‘bedroom acts.’
You snap your eyes open before your body can take control from you, and start acting on its own accord.
“HR. 20 missed calls,” you breathily say, not sure if it’s him or you you’re trying to remind.
He sighs as he backs away from you, and you feel sharp dissatisfaction at the loss of his burning, comforting touch. He holds his arm out towards the small hallway from where you both entered. “Pretty nurses first.”
I KNOW THAT THE BAR CLOSES AT ELEVENNN
I HOPE YOU NEVER FINISH THAT BEEEERRR…
What do you know? Your colleagues were indeed too busy being idiots to notice any change. You sit in the booth again, next to Jack, watching the girls be happy and bright again.
You on the other hand feel disappointment settling deep in your chest. You're suddenly wishing that you hadn't urged Jack to come back out here. Something could've happened. Something you had been wishing and hoping for. And now you have let the moment pass.
OOOO, ONE NIGHT, I WAS BORED IN BED
AND STALKED YOU ON THE INTERNET…
“So, I'm gonna leave.”
You turn to look at him, trying very hard not to let your dismay show, instead sweetly smiling at him and nodding your head a little too quickly.
A pause.
“You can leave 10 minutes later. I'll be in my truck.”
Your brows snap together in confusion, lips parting to say something, but Jack is already getting up, grabbing his leather jacket from where he kept it in the booth.
“They're idiots, yes, but it's better if they don't see us leaving together.”
You scramble for words but nothing comes out.
‘CUZ I ALWAYS HAD A VISION OF US STANDING LIKE THIS
ALL PRESSED UP IN THE BATHROOM LINE…
“Where will we go?” you dumbly ask.
Jack shrugs, “dates, places, chasing the high while it lasts.”
Your heart leaps out of your ribcage, body unable to do anything but watch his back as he walks towards the door. Your lips open. And close again.
What.
Deep breaths. It’s chill. All good. Just a normal hangout with Dr. Abbot. Surely, nothing will happen.
Fuck.
You give a final glance towards the cheerful trio of girls, a luminous grin finally breaking out on your face.
They'll be okay. So will you.
You take out your phone and tap the screen awake. One minute passed, nine more to go.
KISS MEEE AND I MIIIGHTT
KISS ME AND I MIGHT DROP DEAD.
Sigh…i missed my husband. Now everyone say, “thank you, stacy” and then everyone who liked this, please glaze all over me. Likes, comments especially, and reblogs increase one minute of my lifespan.
his biceps are almost as big as his goddamn neck, his thighs are like tree trunks, his chest is broad like his shoulders, the muscles that plane his back something you love to run your fingers over and watch twitch when he's overstimulated or when he's trying to relax under your watchful eye after a hectic shift
his freckles add to the playground his body becomes the moment he's home and safe from the outside world, the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes, above his brow on his forehead that lend to the fact that he makes so many expressions and feels so openly sometimes for someone who's been through so much
his fingers tangle in yours when you hold hands, out and about or simply sharing space on the couch. out on the back patio he's curated just for you once he found out how much you like to spend time outside. watching the movement of his arms as he put together a simple sun shade with a few posts and a swatch of thick canvas proven and reviewed to have uv protection woven into it had been the highlight of a hectic week
and then he'd gone above and beyond to hang up new plant and beautiful patterned shawls all around the space to make it the comfiest and coziest second living room for you basically. a new couch and lounge table were the second things you watched him expertly put together. his thick fingers twisting screws and bolts into place in order to get them secured properly with the tools had you standing there like a moth entranced by a porch light
his fingers are tangled in yours now as you sit atop his lap, his cock buried deep as the back of your thighs rest atop his, 'easy, baby, take a breath for me, you're taking me so well'
and of course he's thick here too, stretching you in the best way, in the way that only he can. he knows it too, knows how to provide- how to communicate- how to be the perfect partner for you and you love him, god do you love him. you wiggle your hips now, pulling a whining sound from him through a punched out breath, you lean into him and kiss him full on the lips, hands cradling his face as you do so. he looks up at you with those gleaming hazel eyes, bright with pleasure and your heart melts just as your stomach flips and your core tightens. he groans this time, brow furrowing as his hands tighten on your waist
'c'mon, move for me, please, baby'
and who are you to deny the man who does so much for you?
warnings: written passage. cursing. inappropriate humor. ooc behavior. flirting. intoxication. sexual tension. wolf stare pope. canon typical violence.
The party is in full swing when you and Pope arrive, later than all the other cars piled into the open back gate. Seas of conversation flow through the gates, splashes and echoed squeals harmonizing the loud music blaring beyond the back of the house. Pope's truck jolted to a stop outside the gate, gear shift placed into park, a bemused expression settled on his otherwise stiff features. Despite not even going inside he looked less than pleased to be in attendance.
“Are you sure you want to stay?” Popes eyes flitted over to you, thumb hooked into the steering wheel as you shuffled against the seats, “It just doesn't seem like this is your thing.”
“Does it have to be?” he gravelly mused, eyes flitting down to your fingers settled atop your smooth thighs.
You sunk a bit into the leather seat, suddenly anxious under his heavy set gaze. Despite your combativeness, you had taken Craig’s advice. Seeing as you had no other choice but to change into something a bit more appropriate for the event, you were showing much more skin than you had been when Andrew picked you up from the bar. A sliver of your hip peeked out from the hem of your shorts, tank top gathering at your hip to expose the soft skin. The haze of the fluorescent back lights shone off your exposed thighs and Andrew's gaze flicked down to the top of your tank where the fabric hugged your chest and then back out the front window.
“You like these parties,” he rasped, fingers wrung against the leather steering wheel. The short rise and fall of his chest and his overall effort to not look at your body again made you swirl with subtle pride.
“You don’t need to stay just to take me home,” you replied softly, leaning forward in an attempt to meet his gaze.
“I know,” he rumbled. His fingers reached for his keys, tugging the jangling metal from the engine, “Come on.”
Summer heat strung across your skin under the colored lights strung across the Cody pool. The wind moved slow through the crowd, your own having body settled long ago on a cushioned lounge chair beside Deran and Adrian, Craig making a disaster of inflatable pool toys he had clambered into a pile which he had unsuccessfully been attempting to use as a makeshift boat for all of thirty minutes, splashing the three of you in the process on more than one attempt.
Andrew sat stiffly upright on the other side of your body, nursing a beer bottle he had hardly touched, glaring at the mess of Craig splashing his converse in rambunctious belly flops onto an inflatable orca he had leveled on top of a lounge boat and donut. His thigh remained hard and tensed against your thigh and crossed knees, temple rested on Deran's shoulder as you sipped a cup of tequila and lemonade—a potent mix that you swore tasted like juice in your quick intoxication.
Liquored heat bubbled under your skin in a sweet flushing warmth, dim eyes and honeyed lips echoing the laughter around you. Squealing from another splash of water spraying across your hot skin you flinched from the scene of Craig’s lengthy body toppling back into the water, Deran and Adrian goading him into going once more as he climbed like a child from the deep end, rolling onto his back on the slick deck with a heaving chest.
“Give me a minute—fuck. I think I went longer that time,” he huffed, slicking back the mop of hair covering his face.
“Come on, man, you can’t give up,” Deran patronized, not that Craig would notice in his state. Derans lips curled up around his beer bottle, “What’s this, attempt thirty?”
“Fucking at least,” Craig panted, sitting upright with a shake of his head, your legs peeling up when the water flew across your thighs. “Alright I have an idea—let me grab the noodles.”
You all chucked watching Craig skimp off to the garage, nearly slipping on slick pavement as he did so. Adrian’s anxious chuckle drew your attention momentarily.
“He’s going to give himself a concussion.”
Deran snorted, nudging his elbow into Adrian’s side, “It’d probably knock something upright.”
The three of you laughed, your gaze shifting to Andrew whose stare was off somewhere into the crowd. His handsome unruly curls sat black in the shadowed light of the pool. The muscle of his face smoothed into angles, sharp and angular in the dim light, hard jaw clenched tight and nose subtly scrunching with each flick of his gaze. His black shadowed eyes flitted back to your face, just as you were surveying the wide set of his heavy shoulders.
“What?”
“Nothing,” you hummed with a warm smile. Andrews lips pulled into a crooked sort of grin, looking over your hazy expression with light amusement.
“You’re drunk.”
“Little bit,” you exhaled deeply, head lulling to the side, uncaring to whatever conversation Deran and Adrian were having behind you. “Are you having fun?”
“Are you having fun?”
Your nose scrunched as you frowned, “I asked you first.”
“Are we twelve?” Your brows pinched and Andrew copied your expression. “Yes. I’m having fun. Don’t I look it?”
You shook your head with a light laugh, "Not even a little bit.”
Pope is just about to respond when a sudden slosh of liquid sprays across your legs, foamy beer collecting in droplets down your exposed calf, a crushed can rolling under the lounge chair you had been seated on. A drunken curse spits from your lips in a startled high pitch, looking up to a chorus of drunken reactions from the strangers surrounding the pool ledge. A guilty looking surfer type, blonde and shaggy, who had been standing with an unfamiliar group is biting his fist as the can spills its contents in a puddle around your feet, “Oh, fuck, I am so sorry, I swear it just got away from me. Are you alright?”
“You got beer all over her, asshole, what do you think?”
Pope's broad back was suddenly to you as he stood, shadowed dark shoulders leering over your seated form as you tucked your sticky legs further into yourself, letting Deran and Adrian fuss over you with a towel tucked behind the tikki bar. Fluorescent lights gleamed over Andrew's heavy set shoulders, the muscles of his arms soothing into stiff ridges, dark black eyes looming over the flustered surfer who had drunkenly stumbled back from his halfheated apology. An indignant scoff left the blonde's lips, chest puffed out to mimic Pope's natural stature.
“It was an accident, man,” a spherical haze of smoke from shared cigarettes dissipated across his scrunched face, blue eyes rolling subtly to the midnight sky, “Whatever, like I said, shit got away from me. Sorry.”
The surfer turned back to his friends who were vacantly perceiving the interaction, gazes set between the pool deck and the necks of their forgotten beers. There was an eerie silence cornered to the end of the pool where the altercation had settled, before abrupt reactions filled the air as Pope's legs took broad steps to the ledge of the pool, palms shoved into surfers back, flinging him into the water.
“Holy shit,” you heard Deran murmur under the gasp that had lurched from your throat, watching the blonde scramble up to the surface of the water, hair clinging to his forehead as he whipped it back.
“What the fuck, man!”
“Accident,” Andrew shrugged. Your own mouth curled up in shock, giggle seeping through you as Pope turned back. Your wide eyes peered up at him as he reached a palm out to you, “Come on. Get you cleaned up.”
Yellow orange light casted a warm hue over the two of you sitting on Pope's old bed, the noise of the party seeped through the walls. The cool air conditioning made you shiver but feeling Pope's calloused hands holding your ankle, damp rag soothing up and down your calf to cast away the sticky residue of beer made you flush, skin burning red hot under the dim lamplight. You grew antsy, bobbing your ankle lightly in his palm, fingers pulling at the threads o =f a throw blanket tossed at the end of the bed.
“Cut that out,” he grumbled, no irritation in his tone, just a quick instruction you easily followed, teeth digging into your bottom lip.
“Sorry,” you murmured. “Tickles.”
“I’m almost done.”
You nodded, ignoring the subtle disappointment that settled in your gut.
“I could have done this myself, you know.”
“You’re drunk,” he said gruffly.
“Not that drunk,” you replied indignantly.
“Sure,” Pope hummed, lips hardly curling at the edges.
Above your head cool air comes in through a small vent, blowing across your burning collar. You’re dissolved in your state, spray of chlorine water in your hair, mascara surely smudged under your eyes from the hours of laughter in the sweltering hot evening air, graying in purplish shadows. There was a sheen of sweat across the curves and valleys of your skin, hair stuck to the back of your neck. You wondered if you looked nice. You wondered if Andrew thought you looked nice.
The room is dark except where the lamp light sneaks a short yellow gleam up and across the wall to the ceiling. It would be a votive romantic light in any other circumstance, this one too if you had any sort of idea what the man beneath you had been thinking. His room smelled good. You sighed. You were still drunk.
His thumb grazed the underside of your knee and you flinched again, a stifled hum leaving your throat as you pulled back to tuck your heel onto the mattress. Unlike before he didn’t let your foot slip from his hold, the thick calloused grip of his palm and spread fingers caught your ankle before you could reel back, tugging you forward with such a startling use of force you felt your hips scoot down the edge of the mattress, hands flattening against the methodically tucked sheet to keep your body upright.
Your lips parted, chest rising and falling as his dark gaze settled back on your face, hand still wrapped securely around your ankle, “Tickles?”
You shook your head quickly, staring down at the taut stalky muscle of his forearm as he held you in place. A hum rumbled through his chest, thumb grazing the arch of your ankle, eyes catching on the swell of your thighs spilling from the tight inseam of your shorts, muscle flattened wide on the bed. His brows pinched together, a heavy breath inhaled deeply through his nose, chin tilted down as his wolfish stare remained settled on your thighs. Your heart hammered in your chest, flinching when he suddenly stood up, throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly.
“There. Clean,” he rasped without looking at you, hands flexed against his thigh. “We should go. It’s getting late. You work tomorrow, you should get some sleep.”
“Okay,” you replied meekly, watching him step back once you stood up.
“You should say goodbye. I’ll wait in the truck. Five minutes.”
And you watched him take broad strides out the door.
woke up thinking about rabbot and puppy reader she’s so needy in the mornings :(( and because the men are so tired and exhausted from work she has to do all the work herself :)) please do what you will with this i love your pitt fics <333
18+mdni cw pet play omgggg omg….. she does not understand the concept of morning wood, to her it seems like most mornings her daddies are just as needy as she is!! so of course she’s gonna help, she’s a good dog!
she clamors up onto the bed and noses at the big bulge in robby’s boxer shorts, tongue lapping against the thin fabric n face nuzzling into his warmth… the smell of him has her dripping down her thigh in an instant </3 but robby’s exhausted, and groggy, and his hand finds the crown of her head to push her away— “quit it,” he grumbles in a low, tired voice, “bad dog.”
jack wakes up to that, and to your sad little whimpers that follow. he stretches with a soft groan then pats his thigh, draws your attention to the hard-on hiding behind his own briefs. “c’mere. let the old man sleep.”
Robby grunts in disapproval before he drifts back off, n you scamper over to jack to start mouthing clumsily at his dick.
“Attagirl.” Jack rasps, voice just as low with sleep as robby’s had been. “Just need some attention in the morning, dontcha? Yeah?” His lilting coo drives you wild, making your tail whip and your heart thrum and excited little yips leave your mouth. “Shhh. Easy, puppy.” He keeps his voice steady now, for once not really wanting to rile you up. “Relax. You’re gonna get what you want.”
he takes himself out of his boxers and lets you clamor on top of him and sink right down on his thick hardness. “Shit. There you go, that’s it. Hump daddy’s cock.”
