making a sex tape with pope on of those shitty old cameras because he will take absolutely no risk of anyone getting to see you like this but him. filming it on a phone is just to risky! what if he slips up and looses it? or what if someone hacks it?
but in the video it’s grainy footage of him zoomed in on your cunt that’s sucking him in, moving in and out of you slowly, you can hear him softly behind the camera “ohhhh yeah baby, feels good hm?” he’s pushing his fat thumb onto your clit after letting a glob of his spit fall to it, rubbing you slowly in circles. “feel you clenching up around me, you feeling good bunny? gonna come on my cock?”
you’re whining below him, head tipped back against the pillows as you claw at his arms and nod “please-andy fuck” he smirks above you, “that’s alright sweetheart, daddy likes making you feel good”. the audio is crunchy and sputtering out every now and then, but fuck as you rewatch it you swear it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
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.
riding poor pope after a long day, his big hands sliding up and down your soft body, not knowing where to rest them. his moans are breathy, high pitched, and whiny as tears slide down his cheeks, he’s nodding and whimpering “please please please” for what? neither of you knows.
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.
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!!
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!!!
mean!pope cody mocking you and then giving you his babies <3
mdni, 18+ only
warning: popes just being an asshole, crying during sex, breeding
your sitting on your bed hands palm up while you argue with him. “i just don’t understand where this is coming from andy.” he’s asking about having a baby, you’ve been together a little over three years now and to say it’s never crossed your mind would be a lie, but you can’t figure out why he’s so worked up about it.
he’s standing in front of you, arms crossed against his chest. “last night. you said it, that you wanted a baby.” you rack your brain trying to think of when you said that but come up empty handed. “what? i never said that.”
he tilts his head and bends at his waist to become eye level with you, in a mocking tone, “oh andy, fill me up please!” your face drops. “make me a mommy andy, please baby” his voice is high pitched mocking yours, your bottom lip wobbles a little at it. “yah? you gonna cry now? cause you were a whore last night? guess you were to fucked out on daddy’s cock to understand what you were saying.”
“pope stop” your voice breaks a little, sitting on your hands now. “no.” his voice is scoffing and deep, leaning in closer to your damp face. “stop being such a fucking baby, and give me one.” he pushes you back against the bed roughly, kissing you hard, hands moving to squeeze at your ass as you whine, tears still slipping out of your eyes.
“stop fucking crying” he’s growling against your lips, shoving down your shorts and tugging his own off, pumping himself a couple times before stuffing you with his fat cock. you cry out at the stretch with no prep, the burn stinging. pope grips your chin between his fingers making you look at him while he slams in and out of you.
“i’m gonna fill you till your leakin’” he drawls out, kissing you roughly again. “gonna pump your belly full of me.” you’re clenching around him, whining. “you may be crying but my best girls not lying to me.” he spits on your pussy, and starts rubbing your clit with his thumb, still pumping in and out of you.
“yeahh” he chuckles “she wants my babies.” he’s slamming into you so hard your sure your cervix is going to be bruised tomorrow. “andy” your whining, tears still falling. “shut up, wasn’t talking to you.” he’s not even looking at you but at your puffy red cunt.
a/n: whew girl omggg WROTE THISUHH 😒😒😒 hehehe ily mean!pope
