pope runs away with his girlfriend and leaves his family behind. Years later he reconnects with deran bc that's his baby brother, he's shocked to see a little army of kids when pope invites him to visit
GIRL the way i could not stop thinking about this… i was just going to write a lil’ paragraph and then suddenly it got way too long so i put everything under a read more.
warnings: mdni, pure domestic fluff, pregnant afab reader, silver fox pope cody.
word count: 1.2k.
you’re the one that convinces andrew to track down his brother. he tells you a lot of stories — both the good and the bad ones — about their childhood and you think it’s a shame that deran isn’t around to meet his nephew and niece; you understand why they broke contact, of course you do, but you really believe that now that they’re both out from underneath smurf’s thumb, things will be different. so, because andrew would do literally anything you ask, he tracks down deran and gives him a call. deran is in bali with adrian and it takes them a while to set up a proper meeting but the two of them talk every week after that initial call— it’s stilted and awkward, both of them wanting to reconnect but unsure how to go about it; they were never close, pope tells you one evening after a particularly uncomfortable call. no. deran and craig were close. pope was just… their big brother. the one they ran to when they needed someone beat up, not the one they would go to for small talk and human connection.
deran flies home three days before christmas. you don’t live in oceanside anymore, but you’re still in california: up north, where the beaches aren’t as crowded and twice as beautiful; deran comes by himself and he makes a joke about not wanting to spend the holidays with adrian’s parents but you’re fairly certain he was just looking for an excuse to be with his own family for the first time in years.
to say he is surprised when he steps through the airport lounge to find three little kids waiting there with a WELCOME UNCLE DERAN sign is an understatement. The sign is big and messy, much like your home life— there are hand prints in red and green adorned around the words, crudely drawn christmas trees adorned in glitter and the ‘e’ in deran is written backwards because each kid wrote one of the words and julia is still learning her letters.
you’ve never met deran before. pope kept you away from his family when the two of you first started dating and, while you’d been offended at first, it was easy to see the level of damage that his childhood had done to his psyche, so you stayed away. it’s been almost a decade since then though and, apart from andrew, deran is the only one alive— so you pull him into a hug as if you’ve known each other for decades before introducing each of the kids: the twins, theo and ethan, who are both six and absolute menaces and then julia, at just four years old, that looks so much like your andrew as she shies away from deran’s greetings.
“andy told us so much about you.” you say, unable to hide your smile when andrew himself pulls deran into a long hug; you know how hard it is for him to initiate contact and, although it has mellowed out with the children, it still takes a lot for him to stiffly wrap his arms around his younger brother’s shoulders.
“three kids, huh?” deran asks that evening, long after the children have gone to bed. the three of you sit on the back porch of your home, pope and deran side by side while you sit perched on pope’s lap. deran is on his second beer while you and pope share a glass of iced tea— andrew stopped drinking years ago, before the twins, after he finally managed to find a psychiatrist he could trust.
“four.” pope says, big hands sprawling over your stomach. “her due date’s in may.”
“holy shit.” deran shakes his head, but the smile that curls around the bottle is a fond one. “pope cody, family man. who would’ve guessed.”
“i knew from the day we met.” you say, then, turning a little from your spot so you could look down at your husband. andrew’s head tilts back against the beach chair and you bring a hand up, tucking a stray curl — more grey than ginger, now — behind his ear. “knew it from the moment i saw how good he was with lena.”
andrew’s face blushes hard, bright red as it always does whenever you compliment him. he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist and whatever he’s about to say is drowned out by a loud, whiny ‘daddyyyyyy’ coming from the living room. pope is out of the chair before you can even register julia’s voice, his hands gently cradling your hips to guide you back into his seat before he disappears into the house.
“he’s happy.” deran breaks the silence the two of you fall into. you bite your bottom lip, watching through the window as andrew throws julia over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “i don’t think i’ve ever seen pope unclench his asshole before.”
you giggle, finishing your tea, knees to your chest— as much as your hardening belly allows you to, anyway. the night sky is bright with silver stars above you, the ocean breeze just enough to make it chilly. you know what deran means, you’ve met the uptight, overvigilant version of andrew, but it’s so far in the past you can barely remember what he was like before.
“he’s loved.” you say, eventually. “i think that’s the main difference.”
“thank you.” deran tells you. you take your eyes from the stars to look at him, blinking in confusion. “for loving him.”
you don’t know how to answer that. it doesn’t seem like the sort of action that requires a thank you, it’s not the sort of thing you could ever stop and it surely isn’t labor; but you think you understand, deep down, what deran means. pope hasn’t had people love him — truly love him — before.
“pope didn’t even tell me he has kids.” deran groans when you don’t say anything, rubbing his forehead. “i’m gon’ have to run around the mall on christmas’ eve to get gifts for the damn brady bunch because the motherfucker didn’t warn me.”
you bark out a laugh. “it’s alright, deran.”
“no, it isn’t— i can’t have these kids thinking i’m a shit uncle on our first christmas together.”
“i’m sure you’ll find a way to get him back for it.”
“oh, i will.” deran turns his head to you, a small grin on his lips. “did he ever tell you about the permanent marker incident?”
“he did.” you point a finger at him. “and you will not ruin my christmas pictures, sir. go sow all of his leg pants shut or something like a normal brother.”
“what’re we talking about?” andrew says, coming back through the sliding glass door.
“julia alright?” you ask, getting up just so you can crawl back onto his lap.
“blankie went awol, she dropped him in her sleep. ‘s all good now.”
“we were talking about how much of an asshole my big brother is for not telling me there would be kids in the house on christmas. do you have any idea how much cheaper it would’ve been if i bought their presents from home?”
“deran’s going to get revenge on you for making him fist fight all the other deadbeat uncles that are buying kids toys on christmas eve.”
andrew snorts, a hand running up and down your thigh. “i know where all the permanent markers are in this house.”
“absolutely not.” you waggle a finger at the both of them. “no permanent markers anywhere visible on photos.”
Summary: your casual friend with benefits slash sort of sugar daddy, Jack, invites you to meet an old army buddy of his. You end up with far more than you bargained for.
C/W: age gap (unspecified but as per usual, all my reader characters are implied to be in early/mid thirties) / friends with benefits situationship / vague sugar daddy arrangement (Jack likes to spoil you) / threesome (M/F/M) / oral (F!receiving, M!receiving) / dirty talk (they both have filthy mouths) / PIV (unprotected, wrap it up folks) / zero risk of pregnancy / cum eating / enthusiastic consent / graphic description of sexual activity (duh).
Notes: This one might end up with a part two, if requested? IDK, this fic is for my oomfies in the Salt & Pepper discord server.
Word Count: 5.5k
You wouldn’t say that you have favourites, per se. It’s hard to describe a casual situationship as anything but that, but you’d say that Jack Abbot treats you better than every ex boyfriend you’ve ever had.
You’d met him by chance, in the most ridiculous meet cute way. Something you’d write about, in fact.
You had been in your local bookstore, silently celebrating your first traditionally published novella. After three years of self publishing, dealing with Amazon (ew) and indie contracts, you’d scored a deal with a traditional printing house.
It had been kind of surreal, seeing your name on a book in a chain bookstore, something you’d dreamed of since your age had been in single digits. You’d been stealthily signing a couple of copies, hiding them in the stack, too lost in your own world to notice the older man when you’d taken a step back and almost tripped right over him.
Holding a copy of your book to your chest, you’d felt warmth rush to your face, embarrassment almost entirely overwhelming you when you realised he wasn’t not just some older guy, but handsome. Broad shoulders, salt and pepper curls, bright hazel eyes, and, if the black scrubs he was wearing were any indication, a doctor.
“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” you had said, mortified, but he had just smiled at you, a lopsided little smirk that made the creases at the corners of his eyes more prominent.
“Don’t be. Yours?” He had asked, nodding at the book and pen in your hands.
You had been surprised, nodded, half expecting him to say something derisive about chick lit and porn in written form, but he hadn’t. He’d just smiled at you again, told you he’d noticed you signing a couple of the books.
He had been curious, sweet, bordering on flirty, and when he’d picked up a copy of your book and asked you to sign it for him, you’d taken a risk and added your phone number beneath it. You’d never expected anything to come from it, but he’d sent you a text just a few hours later.
Over the next few months, you’d gotten to know Jack better. He was an emergency medicine physician, a senior attending at a level one trauma centre. He worked the night shift. He was an army veteran, a widower, an amputee.
He was your friend, first and foremost, but you were comfortable enough with each other to let that friendship blur into sex without any sort of expectations.
Jack was still grieving his late wife, and you weren't really looking for anything serious; you wanted to primarily focus on your career, on letting your creativity bloom.
It was a good, practical, happy arrangement. Jack was lonely, you were lonely, and he made far more money than a guy who was technically single could ever need, in his words.
So while a lot of your relationship was built on friendship, on keeping each other company, there was also a part of it that was decidedly built on erotica.
Sexts, heated makeouts, long afternoons or, on his days off, nights of multiple rounds of mind blowing sex. You had no idea how a man of fifty had the stamina that Jack does, but you sure as hell had no complaints.
While you weren't together, there was an exclusivity to your arrangement. You both had attachment issues, but the maturity to know it and discuss it.
Said discussion had come about when you'd been discussing the idea of not using condoms anymore; you had had permanent contraception done in your late twenties, so it wasn't like you were going to get pregnant any time soon. Or ever, for that matter, which you preferred.
"Why would I seek out anyone else's company, sweetheart? We get along just fine, don't we?" Jack had said.
Regardless, he'd provided you with a screening to put your mind at ease, even though you hadn't asked.
You'd been pretty upfront; like him, you weren't looking for a label, but you liked the relationship you had. You weren't interested in having this sort of thing with anyone else, not when Jack was so good to you.
He took you out to nice restaurants, occasionally bought you little gifts. Jewellery, books, little trinkets for your bookshelves at home.
For a not boyfriend, he was considerate, too. He'd bought your favourite skincare products and perfume to leave at his place, bought you flowers for each chapter of your next novel you finished.
When your laptop had crapped out on you, he'd replaced it as soon as he'd heard about it.
You sometimes weren't sure if you felt right about letting him spend so much money on you, but he'd just waved his hands.
"Don't exactly have anyone else to spend it on. Besides, I like spoiling you. You deserve it, and you don't expect it. Just like I don't expect anything in return."
Sometimes you accompany him to events if he wants a plus one. You're beautiful, according to Jack, and he likes showing you off.
"My girl's a writer," he would say proudly each time he introduced you to somebody, so open and confident that nobody judged your choice of career.
Tonight is one such night; Jack tells you he has an old army friend coming down from Boston for work. A chef, he says, owns a Michelin star restaurant up that way.
They're catching up for a couple beers and rounds of pool at a bar Jack likes, and he wonders if you'd like to come along.
You don't see why not. This isn’t totally out of the ordinary; you hang out with Jack often enough, have met his best friend once or twice. Besides, you know – and like – the bar he’s talking about.
By around six thirty, you’re stepping into the bar in a pair of high-waist jeans, a deep wine red tee that shows just a peek of midriff, and a washed out black denim jacket. Cute, put together, but casual enough that you don’t feel like you’re trying too hard.
That’s another thing you like about Jack; you never feel like you have to be someone you’re not. He’d told you once – whilst he was inside you, of all times, your wrists pinned above your head in one big, gentle hand – that he didn’t care if you were wearing a casual grungy look or a pretty dress, he was always one step away from pushing you against the nearest wall. That he thought you were beautiful no matter what you wore.
It was difficult to hear things like that and not feel a little something for him, though you knew that was pretty natural, and not something to be explored. Not right now, or necessarily ever.
You spot Jack by the bar, leaning against it casually, looking far too good in a black t shirt and cargo pants, talking to someone you can’t quite see.
You’re not too sure what to expect; he hadn’t told you much about his friend, only that his name was Grant, he was ex army like Jack, they’d done a couple of deployments together, and he was from Boston.
You were expecting another guy around Jack’s age, like his friend from the trauma centre, sure. What you decidedly were not expecting, was for him to so closely resemble Jack.
Grant stands a little taller, has a bit more ease to his posture, which after spending so much time with Jack, you recognise as a trait the latter doesn’t have due to being an amputee.
His hair is a little longer, more of a tangled mess of salt and pepper curls than Jack, but he’s no less built, has stupidly thick biceps that are on the border of obscene peeking out of a white t shirt. White shirt, black jeans, laced up dark boots.
You’re staring and you know it, cough and blink rapidly, completely missing the almost knowing smirk that the two gorgeous older men share.
The bar is a nice temperature, the music loud enough to be heard but not overbearing, so you can still hear each other talk.
You slot into the conversation nicely, find Grant just as easy to talk to as Jack, even if he seems a little more cautious, a little more careful.
Two pints and a couple of games of pool later, and the three of you seem to be getting along just fine, all comfortable with each other, laughing and joking. You can tell they’ve known each other a long time – over twenty years, Grant tells you when Jack goes off to grab another round of drinks after they finally get you to agree to play a round, rather than just watching.
That explains their easy dynamic, you think as you step around the pool table, try to balance the cue properly in your hands.
It’s not that you don’t know how to play – you most certainly do – it’s just been a while and you’re not so confident around this incredibly handsome near stranger. After a couple of failed attempts at lining up a shot, you huff, consider just giving up.
Grant watches you for a moment, as if trying to decide something, then circles the table and tilts his head slightly, before he steps behind you, your back against his chest.
His firm hands are gentle as he adjusts yours, guiding your body into a different stance.
“There you go. Now try.”
His voice is low, raspy, just like Jack, but there’s a little more hoarseness to his. You suppose that’s to do with having to be heard over the sounds of the kitchen, which must be deafening.
Close to your ear, you have to resist the shiver that threatens to run down your spine. He’s so warm and solid against your back, his arms against yours as you line up your shot with his help.
You sink the right ball, look up just in time to meet Jack’s eyes as he returns from the bar; you feel your face heating again, feel almost guilty, until you notice the smirk on his face, the glint in his eyes.
For the first time this evening, you start to wonder whether he has an ulterior motive for inviting you out tonight. More importantly, you realise, you want that to be the case.
You get your wish at around nine, when the bar starts to get busier, filling up with college students, and Jack suggests heading back to his place. Not just you and him. The three of you.
The suggestion isn’t entirely surprising; he’s made a comment or two about the idea of bringing a third person into the mix once or twice. Never another woman, though. Jack gets off on getting you off, on having control of the situation, sure, but he’s not interested in making you watch him fuck another woman.
However, what he does like is the way you look when you’re overstimulated, totally fucked out and needy. He likes spoiling you, after all, and this is no different.
You end up sitting between the two older men on Jack’s couch, feeling a little nervous and giddy until Jack kisses you first, clearly the more extroverted of the pair. That or perhaps he’s simply more comfortable with you.
Regardless, when you break apart, it’s entirely clear that the other man is interested, based on the way his hazel eyes are dark with desire as he looks at you.
Somehow, you get the feeling that he won’t be the one to initiate; he seems kind of shy, at least not the same kind of introvert as Jack. That doesn’t bother you, not in the slightest. In fact, you think it’s kind of endearing. Endearing and attractive.
You lean in to kiss him, brush your lips against his at first; it’s not a case of you being nervous, more the idea of making sure that he’s okay with it too.
At first, he doesn’t move, but then perhaps two heartbeats later and he’s pulling you in closer. Two pairs of big, warm hands roam your body as you lean into him, part your lips and let him lick into your mouth.
He kisses differently to Jack, of course. Jack kisses with a sort of self assurance, a quiet confidence. Grant is a little more cautious, not quite hesitant, but with the air of taking his time to figure out what exactly you respond best to.
Idly, you hope that translates over to everything else, too.
You find yourself pressed between them both, alternating between who you kiss while the other kisses your throat, only pausing when the three of you get to your feet, stumble, all three of you almost giggly, to Jack’s bedroom.
“’s easier in here,” he’d said, nodding down at his right leg, or rather, the half of it that’s titanium. Not like you needed an explanation; you’d long since learned to adapt to the physical limitations that came with Jack’s disability.
Grant doesn’t question it either, but that isn’t surprising – they’ve known each other for so long, you suspect since before Jack lost his leg.
You expect there to be a certain amount of awkwardness, or at least to be a bit uncoordinated, considering there’s three of you. Somehow, though, it just works, and you manage to get both of them shirtless.
That in itself is an achievement, considering they work together to get you naked; you’re gently pushed backwards onto the bed while Jack sheds his pants, sits on the edge of the bed to remove his prosthetic, before he’s settling himself behind you, unclasping your pretty lace bra and tossing it aside.
His warm hands cup your tits as you feel his hardened cock pressing against your ass, making you inhale sharply. You love his cock. Are intimately familiar with the thick, heavy length of him, the freckles at the base, the vein along the underside that, when you drag your tongue along it, always makes him groan.
The mystery here is Grant.
The other man removes the rest of his clothing with that same sort of quiet caution, that same caution finally giving way to blatant desire when he sees the way you look him up and down, slowly.
Fuck, he’s handsome. His biceps and pectorals look like they could be carved from marble, there’s a slight softness to his belly, and like Jack, he’s covered in freckles.
“Beautiful,” you breathe before you can help yourself, and only then do you let your gaze wander further south.
With the physical similarities between the two men, you shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that his cock is pretty, too. Just as thick, slightly curved, achingly hard.
You’re about to say something else, but then he’s joining you on the bed, gives Jack a look before the latter is adjusting you so that the other man can settle comfortably on his belly between your thighs, nudging them apart and settling there.
Slowly, agonisingly slowly, he brushes two fingertips along the damp fabric of your panties, has the audacity to smirk as he looks up at you.
“Soaked,” he all but murmurs, raspy voice soft as his fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear.
He waits for you to lift your hips so he can pull them down slightly, then tugs them the rest of the way down with his teeth.
You whimper softly as the ruined fabric is tossed aside and he settles himself back between your spread legs, planting open mouthed kisses on your inner thighs.
That he’s a tease doesn’t remotely surprise you. What you like is the way he occasionally glances up at you as he kisses inwards, as if silently checking in with you.
Perhaps it’s because you’re so used to Jack, who knows you and your body so well by now that he touches you with a sort of ease that only really comes after months of intimacy, but this sends a thrill through you.
Speaking of Jack…
He resettles himself behind you, leans in to kiss along your bare shoulder, up your neck, his hands still cupping your tits, thumbs brushing back and forth across your nipples slowly.
“You gonna be good for us?” He breathes into your ear, just as Grant presses an open mouthed kiss to your core, making you whimper and nod.
“No, you use your words,” Jack corrects you almost immediately, settling into that comfortable, confident dominance that you adore.
Just as you open your mouth to answer, Grant chooses that exact moment to circle your clit with the tip of his tongue, moaning as he drags his tongue through your slick folds. You whimper again, go to roll your hips without even thinking about it, but then just as quickly as he started, he’s pulling away from you, just a little, looking up at you with a little smirk on his face.
“Jack asked you a question, honey.” His warm breath fans across your sensitive skin. In that moment, you think you might do anything, say anything, so long as it results in getting his mouth back on you.
“Y-yeah, I’ll be good.” You answer shakily, breath catching in your throat as you feel the purr of approval rumbling in Jack’s chest as he resumes kissing your throat.
Based on the way he touches you, featherlight brushes of his fingers across your nipples, smoothing his palms over your curves and back up again, he’s pleased with your answer. He keeps one arm wrapped around you, the other resting at his side.
Meanwhile, Grant resumes the slow, almost languid licks of your folds, intermittently sucking on your clit, moaning into you as you drip slick onto his tongue.
He’s so busy with work, the first to admit he has no life outside of his restaurant. No real hobbies, certainly no time for anything resembling a stable relationship. Hell, he doesn’t even remember the last time he spent a night with someone that wasn’t just a quick hookup.
Grant’s always loved going down on his partners. Loves the way it makes them react, loves the intimacy, and there’s a part of him that just loves the taste. You’re no different, reacting beautifully as he makes out with your pussy, drinking down your slick and teasing your entrance with two fingertips.
He eats you like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted, making absolutely zero effort to disguise the way he moans into you, the obscene slurping of his tongue and the filthy groan he gives you when he finally pushes his fingers inside you.
“Ohhh, god-” you gasp as he presses one last kiss to your puffy clit before he’s wiping his mouth on your inner thigh, sitting up as he slowly curls his fingers inside you. Jack shifts behind you and you realise he’s stroking his cock with his free hand.
“’s okay, baby, ‘s okay to want him, too-” Jack purrs into your ear, the hand that isn’t wrapped around his thick shaft sliding down to circle your clit in time with the warm fingers pressed knuckle deep inside your pussy.
You kind of assumed that was the case, but it’s still almost relieving to hear him confirm it out loud, so blatantly stated.
“Your pussy’s delicious, honey,” Grant murmurs, rests his head on your thigh for just a moment, looks up at you with pussy drunk eyes.
He kisses his way back up your body, pausing to pay more attention to your nipples, kissing and licking them, making you writhe against Jack, who laughs softly in the vicinity of your ear.
“Gonna tell us what you need, honey?” Grant breathes, brushing his lips against yours, massaging your g-spot before he slowly pulls his fingers out of you, making you whine pathetically as he maintains eye contact, licks his fingers clean with an obscene groan.
“Inside-” you breathe as Jack’s fingers circle your clit. “Want you both-”
The older men exchange a look, silent communication, a smirk, before Jack removes his hand too.
“Up you get, sweetheart. Turn over for us, yeah?”
You do as you’re told, turn onto your front, wait for Jack to move back a bit so he can lean against the headboard. Once he’s settled, you crawl up the bed to get closer to him, feeling the mattress dip a little as Grant moves up behind you, runs his palms over your ass as you settle on your hands and knees, giving him a beautiful view of your slick soaked folds, your soft skin.
Meanwhile, you’re very distracted by Jack’s cock. Fuck, you love his cock. It’s thick and fat and the perfect length, a smattering of freckles dusting the base.
You can’t help yourself – you lean in and press little kisses along the underside, from base to tip. Jack looks down at you, brushes his hand over your cheek as you look up at him, keep eye contact as you kiss the fat tip of his cock, already drooling precum.
Behind you, Grant holds your hips in one hand, grinds against you slowly, resting his equally gorgeous cock on your ass for a moment before he shifts again, wraps his hand around his shaft to guide the tip to your dripping entrance.
You’re so fucking wet. He doesn’t remember the last time someone wanted him so badly. In a moment of briefly selfish relief, he’s glad you’re not too preoccupied with blowing Jack just yet, so he can hear the moan you give him as he presses a couple of inches deep inside you.
He lets out an almost whimpering groan at the feeling of your warm, wet walls enveloping him, the way you angle your hips to give him better access.
“Oh, fuck,” he murmurs, his hands on your hips to steady himself as he slowly stuffs you full of his cock. Your attention is back on Jack by now, sucking on the tip of his cock again, before you take him in deeper, flattening your tongue so you can lick him at the same time.
It’s filthy, obscene, the way you moan around him as Grant’s hips finally meet your ass, the soft, breathy groans he rewards you with, the low almost growls Jack gives you from above.
You start to bob your head, trying to silently demonstrate how much you love sucking his cock as the other man starts to move, slowly grinding against you until he’s so deep you think he might kiss your cervix. Your appreciative moan is a little muffled, but it’s enough to encourage him.
They move almost in sync, Jack gently rolling his hips up, just enough that he’s encouraging you, whilst Grant starts to give you slow, shallow thrusts, letting you get used to the stretch of him inside you.
“Fuck,” he groans softly, breathless, “fuck, your pussy is perfect, baby-”
The praise makes you tighten around him, brief and involuntary, which draws a truly obscene groan from him, a rumbling purr that’s almost immediately echoed by Jack as you swallow around his cock.
Jack loves when you blow him, loves how sloppy and passionate you get with it, drooling all over him as you lick and suck, moaning around him as Grant picks up his pace behind you.
He steadily builds up a good rhythm, eventually giving you full, heavy thrusts, shifting to plant one foot on the mattress to give him better leverage. His hands are firm on your hips, but not bruising, guiding you back onto his cock to meet his thrusts.
“Nngh, mmmffff, fuck-”
He’s vocal, raspy voice dropping an octave lower as he grunts and groans, practically purring as he feels you getting tighter around him. The entire time as he works you up to the edge, you keep giving Jack all your attention with your mouth, wrapping one hand around the base of his shaft and stroking him, making him grunt.
“Mmmffff, shit, sweetheart, your fuckin’ mouth-” Jack groans, cups your face in one hand, brushes his thumb back and forth across your cheek.
“Doesn’t she take our cocks so well?” he asks, looks over your shoulder at Grant. Both of the gorgeous older men are a little flushed in the face, hazel eyes dark, pupils blown wide with lust.
“Nnh, such a good girl-” Grant agrees, giving you a particularly deep thrust that has you mewling.
You’re getting so close, hovering right on the edge of your climax, and they know it. Jack can tell by the change in pitch of your moans, Grant can feel you getting tighter around him, the increase in your already copious slick.
“Ohhh, you’re getting close, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Jack coos knowingly, “c’mon, we both wanna hear what you sound like when you cream all over his cock.”
Taking that as permission, you pull back from his cock, albeit a little reluctant; he really does taste delicious, clean and slightly salty, but there’s also a part of you that wants to focus entirely on your own impending orgasm.
Without having to focus on trying to make Jack feel good at the same time, you can give over to your utmost base instincts, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of Grant’s velvet soft cock pressing in and dragging out of your soaked pussy, moaning obscenely when one big hand leaves your hip to circle round, press his fingers to your swollen, aching clit and start to draw tight little circles around it.
That’s all you need, you think, you’re right there, but then he leans down over you, blankets his body with your own, just to be able to purr into your ear.
“There you go, honey, just let go. Let go for me, nnn; I’ve – I’ve got you...”
That’s what finally sends you crashing over the edge, your moans echoing around the bedroom as the tension in your core snaps, your thighs trembling with each wave of the intense, sudden orgasm.
He can feel a little trickle of your cum and slick soaking his cock, dripping out around him and onto the sheets, but all that serves to do is make him throb inside you, just prolonging your orgasm as he holds you against him.
You’re dimly aware of Jack’s familiar grunts; through the haze of your climax, you register him in front of you, one big, freckled hand wrapped firmly around his cock, giving his shaft a few slow, precise strokes as he watches his friend fuck you.
And god, does he.
Grant fucks you through your release, just keeps going, clearly chasing his own orgasm now.
His thrusts become more erratic with each one, grunting on every second impact.
“Mmff – mmm – nnngh -”
He makes no attempt to be quiet, and neither does Jack; their deep, masculine groans mingle with your breathy, high pitched moans as the room echoes with the lewd, wet sound of Grant’s hips colliding with your ass, Jack stroking his cock, matching the rhythm.
You know the tells of when Jack’s close; you lean forward again, wrap your lips around his cock, replace his hand with your ow, stroke him and bob your head, hollowing your cheeks and swallowing around him until he’s groaning, bucking his hips up involuntarily.
“Mmmm, yeah, that’s it sweetheart, suck my fucking cock-”
He runs his mouth when he’s close, so filthy that it makes you shiver, determined to get him there; just as you look up at him, make eye contact, he groans, tips his head back, giving you a beautiful view of the prominent muscle and veins in his neck, before he’s spilling down your throat.
You swallow every drop, lick him clean as Grant works you up to another orgasm; it’s only when Jack’s pulled his softening cock out of your mouth, brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, that his friend pulls out of you, gently maneuvers you onto your back.
He carefully pushes one of your thighs up to your chest, lowers it to wrap around his waist as he presses back inside you, groaning appreciatively at the way your walls almost immediately begin to flutter around him.
“Ohmygod, yes, fuck me-” You beg, your moans almost immediately swallowed in a filthy, greedy kiss, your fingers flying to his broad shoulders, scrabbling for purchase.
Thankfully, he’s merciful, gives you what you ask for, starts to all but pound you into the bed, breaking the kiss to nuzzle into the side of your neck, giving you intimate access to the huffed, breathy, whimpering moans he makes as he chases his release, fucks you through your second orgasm.
It’s only when you’re on the way down that he finally falls over the edge too, groaning a long, drawn out moan as he fucks his spend deep into you in a series of deep, erratic thrusts.
You gasp and whimper, still taking shuddering breaths and mewling softly by the time he eventually starts to go soft inside you. He stays above you, so you wrap your limbs around him, stroke his broad, freckled back as he peppers your shoulder, neck, and face with little kisses.
After he eventually pulls out of you, he follows Jack’s directions to the en suite, brings warm washcloths and a towel to help you clean up. Jack slips his prosthetic back on, heads out to the kitchen to grab chilled water for the three of you, giving you a lovely view of his ass as he goes.
The three of you work together to strip the bed, change the sheets, thanks to you completely ruining the existing ones, before finally, you’re lying in clean sheets between the two men.
“Mm, that was unexpected,” you hum, trailing your fingertips over Jack’s chest, brushing through the soft greying curls that grow there.
“Good unexpected?” Grant asks, and you turn your head to give him a long, slow kiss, breaking it to repeat the gesture with Jack.
They may look alike, but their kisses, confidence and mannerisms are so different. You kind of love it.
“Very good,” you assert, and both men laugh, exchange knowing smirks.
“Well, man, I guess you know what this means,” Jack says, lightly trailing his fingers up your sides, over your curves.
“Mm?” Grant sounds just like you and Jack, exhausted and satisfied. He genuinely doesn’t remember the last time he felt this way.
“No being a stranger.” Jack clarifies, and you giggle as his friend tuts.
“You know I have the restaurant. And you work a ridiculous schedule, too.” Grant hums, “but, I’m pretty sure I can find time. And hell, if you ever find yourself in Boston...”
You nod eagerly, too blissed out to try and be coy. As a matter of fact, you will be in Boston relatively soon for a book tour, and Jack has promised to come with you.
“We’d love to catch up with you again, but you know, she’s a big girl, she can always come visit on her own,” Jack purrs, curls into your side, nuzzles against your shoulder.
Grant raises an eyebrow at you, a silent question. You turn to kiss Jack’s temple before you lean up to kiss the other man again, liking the plush firmness of his lips.
“Mm, it’s a date,” you confirm, and you swear both men give you approving little purrs as you finally settle down to sleep.
Hi! I'm not sure if you take requests, but I have one for Jack Abbot. Sorry if this comes across as a bit dark.
Night shift is approaching, and Abbot is one of the last to arrive. He notices Dana and looks confused, but Dana explains that the Reader and Robby are on the roof. Robby is trying to talk her down, and suddenly, Robby runs down the stairs explaining the Reader jumped..
I Would’ve Helped Kid
Jack Abbott x Fem!Reader
TW: suicide, grief, hospitals, emotional distress, death of a daughter figure. Please take care of yourself before reading and know there are resources to help you if you ever feel like this. My DMs are always open if you need to talk.
Night shift is already settling into its usual heavy pace by the time Jack pushes through the ED doors.
It’s loud in that way all hospitals always are, there’s monitors chiming, phones ringing, the low hums of conversations layered over everything like background static.
Jack shrugs out of his jacket as he walks, already halfway in work mode, eyes flicking automatically toward the board. He’s later than he likes to be, just enough that the shift has already started moving without him.
“Evening,” he mutters to no one in particular as he passes the desk.
Something feels off, it takes him before he even knows why.
Dana isn’t behind the desk.
She’s standing a few feet away from it instead, arms folded tight across her chest, posture stiff in a way that immediately trips every instinct Jack has.
His brows pull together as he angles toward her. “What’s going on?”
Dana looks at him and for just one second, she hesitates.
That’s all it takes for something cold to slide down Jack’s spine.
“It’s Y/N,” Dana says quietly, “She’s on the roof.”
Jack blinks. “…the roof?”
“Robby’s with her.”
The words don’t fully register in his brain at first.
Jack frowns slightly, like he’s trying to sort through static, “…the roof?” he repeats, slower this time.
His expression changes instantly, something cold and alarmed flashes across his face, “The roof? She hates the roof. She hates heights. Why would she be on the ro—”
He cuts himself off because the answer is already forming in the back of his mind, ugly and impossible and hopefully wrong.
Jack is already moving before the thought can finish.
“Jack—” Dana starts but there’s no use, he’s already gone.
—
The stairwell door slams open hard enough to shake the walls of the surrounding rooms.
Jack takes the steps two at a time, breath already coming faster than it should be. His hand skims the railing but doesn’t grab it, momentum carrying him upward with sharp and urgent bursts.
This has to be nothing right? Robby’s with her, Robby’s got her. She wouldn’t- there’s no way she could- Jack’s jaw tightens.
Your voice flickers through his head uninvited, sharp and familiar.
“I hate the roof, Jack. I’m serious. If you ever send me up there again, I’m quitting.” You’d been half joking.
His chest feels too tight.
The stairwell is too loud, footsteps echoing off concrete, his breath harsh in his ears, the building suddenly feeling too big for once.
The door above him bursts open.
Jack halts to a stop.
Robby is coming down the stairs fast, somethings wrong.
Jack notices it immediately.
Robby looks…off. He looks too pale, his breathing is too hard and his hands are shaking and Jack sees it. He sees it in the way Robby’s chest is rising too fast, the way his eyes look blown wide and unfocused.
A sense of cold dread floods Jack’s system in one violent wave, “Where’s Y/N?” he demands.
Robby stops two steps above him, his throat works hard like he’s trying to force the words out past something lodged there.
Jack’s pulse starts to pound in his throat, “Robby.”
Robby drags a hand down his face, breath shuddering, “She…” His voice catches hard. He swallows, like the word physically hurts. “Fuck…”
Robby’s eyes flick up to his, glassy and horrified, “…she jumped.”
—
The words don’t register for a second, “She…” Jack blinks slowly,“…what?”
Robby’s breathing is uneven now, “I was- I was right there,” he says hoarsely. “I was talking to her and she just-” He cuts himself off hard.
Jack is staring at him, his eyes scanning Robby’s face for any sign of lies, “No,” Jack says automatically.
Robby’s face tightens, “Jack—”
“When?” Jack cuts in, voice suddenly sharp, “How long ago?”
“Less than a minute before I came down,” Robby says quickly,“Trauma’s already been called. They’re getting her now.”
Jack’s hands curl slightly at his sides. “How did it happen?” he presses. “She was talking to you?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Robby’s mouth opens again but nothing comes out, almost as if he’s trying to protect Jack’s peace.
Robby drags in a shaky breath. “She said she was tired,” he manages. “I was trying to get closer and she just”
His voice breaks clean off this time.
“She hates heights,” Jack mumbles, almost to himself “Was she scared?”
“Was she alone before you got there?” Jack pushes.
“I don’t know,” Robby admits. “I got the call and went straight up.”
Jack exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s trying very hard to keep himself together.
“Okay,” he murmurs.
Robby watches him for a second, something like concern flickering through the shock on his face.
“Jack…” he says quietly. “Let’s not finish this conversation here.”
“Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “Yeah.”
—
Jack never really noticed how small the family room truly is, at least not until this moment.
The door clicks shut behind them with a soft, click that makes something in Jack’s chest tighten.
Robby doesn’t sit, he can’t sit. He just stands near the wall, like he always does when he gets bad news.
Jack stays on his feet too and for a moment, neither of them speaks.
“How long was she up there before you got there?”
Robby rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Dana said maybe a few minutes. Security flagged it.”
Jack nods, “Was she crying?”
Robby swallows. “No.”
That makes all the muscles in Jack’s face tighten sharply.
Jack looks down at the floor for a second, “When she moved,” he says slowly, carefully, “did she hesitate?”
“…no.” Robby goes very still, “I’m sorry.”
Jack’s head lifts immediately. “This is not on you.”
“But I was right there-”
“And you did exactly what you were supposed to do,” Jack cuts in, more firm now. Steady in that doctor way he slips into when things are threatening to spiral. “You went up, you engaged, you called it the second it happened.”
Jack’s voice softens just a fraction, “That’s not on you,” he repeats quietly.
Robby nods once, but the guilt doesn’t leave his face, it probably won’t and Jack knows that look because he’s worn it before.
—
There’s a knock at the door and one of the nurses stands in the doorway, her expression carefully neutral in that way hospital staff perfect over years.
“Dr. Abbott,” she says gently. “We’ve… finished.”
Jack goes very still and for the first time since this started, something real cracks through the tight control he’s been holding onto, “…finished,” he repeats quietly.
The nurse nods, “They’ve moved her to another family room.”
Jack swallows, “Okay,” he says, his voice barely steady.
—
The walk down the hall feels longer than it should.
Jack keeps his hands shoved in his pockets and holds a stone cold expression on his face as they make their way down the hall.
The nurse stops just outside the room, “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
Jack nods once before he reaches for the door.
—
There you are lying on the bed, clean, covered, still and for just a second. Jack stands there, like his body forgot how to move, how to breathe.
Slowly he steps forward, the chair beside the bed scrapes softly against the floor as he pulls it closer to himself and sits down.
He stares at you for a long time without speaking and when he finally does, his voice is quiet, “…hey, kid.”
His voice is low, it’s the same tone he’s used on you a hundred times before when you were overwhelmed, when you were frustrated, when you were pushing too hard and he had to gently reel you back in. Like some part of him still expects you to roll your eyes and tell him you’re fine.
His hand lifts slowly, hesitates in the air for half a second, then settles gently over yours where it rests on the blanket. It’s instinct, he doesn’t even think about it.
“You were just here,” he says quietly. “You were just on shift.”
His thumb moves once against the fabric, it’s a small, absent motion.
A long breath leaves him, shaky at the edges, “…you should’ve come to me, kid.”
“You didn’t have to do that by yourself,” he continues softly. “You didn’t have to stand up there and think there wasn’t another option. Not when I was right downstairs. Not when Robby was right there.”
His voice catches slightly, and this time he doesn’t quite manage to smooth it out, “I would’ve listened,” he says, quieter now. “You know I would’ve.”
His grip tightens just a fraction around your hand through the blanket, like he’s trying to hold onto something that’s already gone.
“I would’ve done anything you needed. Sat with you all night, dragged you into an office, got you help, hell- I would’ve cleared the whole damn board if that’s what it took.” A weak breath huffs out of him, though it’s not quite a laugh. “You know I would’ve moved mountains for you.”
“…I would’ve traded you,” he admits quietly, “If it meant you didn’t have to feel like that up there… if it meant you didn’t have to be that tired, that scared-” His throat tightens, “Kid, I would’ve taken your place in a heartbeat.”
His head dips slightly, shoulders finally starting to fold in on themselves, the control he’s been clinging to all night slipping piece by piece.
“You weren’t supposed to carry it alone,” he whispers. “Not here. Not with me right downstairs.”
Another long silence.
His thumb moves once more against your hand, “…I’m so sorry I didn’t see it,” Jack says finally, voice barely above a breath. “I should’ve seen it.”
And this time, when his head bows forward and his shoulders shake once, he doesn’t try to stop it.
cw: f! reader, age-gap, face sitting, cunnilingus (because we all know majority of shawn’s characters are a munch), fingering, light nipple play, grant basically getting off to you getting off gulp, reader has no description besides having breasts, big thighs, and female related body parts (that sounds awkward lmao i’m sorry)
thinking about grant reilly, and how when he tells you to sit on his face, he means SIT. ON. IT.
no hovering, no barely putting your weight down. he wants the FULL WEIGHT of you on his lips. and you always hesitate because you don’t want to hurt him! no! you don’t want him to hurt his neck when you set the full weight if your body on his precious face!
so, grant goes and buys one of those fancy neck support pillows, presenting it to you with a playful wiggle of his eyebrows before dragging you off to the bedroom. and now here you are, thighs surrounds his face, panties thrown somewhere on the bed, and grant staring up at your core like it’s the best dish he’s ever seen (which it is!).
his large, calloused hands are holding onto your hips, the faint touch of his hot breath causing shivers the run up your spine and send your brain into a gentle haze, his calming voice reaching your ears as his grip traveled down to your thighs.
“sit baby, you’re not gonna hurt me. wanna taste you so bad. wanna watch you cum on my face- on my tongue.”
he would ease you down further until you finally sat yourself down on your own personal throne, his tongue immediately sliding out to lap at your slick folds, moving up to circle your clit before he began his assault on your weeping hole. tongue thrusting at a lazy pace as his eyes stayed glued on where your head was thrown back, admiring the muscles in your neck with each moan and whimper that flew from your mouth.
one of his hansa slid up to encompass your breast, fingers expertly plucking at the pebble nipple there as electric shocks shot throughout your entire body. your hips began to rock against his mouth, the only thing steadying your motions being your arms that were firmly planted against his solid pecs, feeling the way his breathing kept picking up each time he dug in to capture more of your essence that spilled from you.
“fuck grant, ‘s good, feels so fucking good!”
his lips were dancing along your clit before he captured it, sucking it gently as his fingers traced at your weeping entrance, one sliding in easily, causing your back to arch further and your hips to thrust harder against his stubbled face- beard burn be damned it felt too good to stop.
his lips left your clit, moving to dive back into your entrance alongside his now soaked finger, allowing your sensitive bud to bump at just the right angle against his nose. grant moved his face from side to side, feeling the familiar twitch of your thighs, the clenching of your walls now around two of his thick fingers, his lips capturing your clit once again, drawing harsher circles while the blunt edgers of his front teeth grazed against the bundle of nerves.
“cum for me, sweet girl, let me taste you.”
that’s what sent you over the edge, thighs clamping against the sides of his face, covering his ears as you practically screamed his name- neighbors be damned! grinding your hips harder against his open and waiting mouth, your orgasm washing over your form before you slumped forward, resting your head on your arms that sat on the headboard.
your eyes slid shut, deep breaths entering and exiting in large gulps before you felt the gentle tap of grant’s hand on your thigh, sliding off of his face before rolling along the bed to lay beside him.
“thought you wanted me to sit there, reilly?”
“i did, and i will continue to want you to. just don’t want to suffocate. i mean, who else is going to make you cum like that?”
Finally watched RoN2 and a) Titus is absolutely 100% a virgin he gets so nervous when he's telling Grace to get ready that man has never seen a naked woman in his LIFE and b) he gets slapped in the face often enough that there is a specific 'titus gets slapped in the face' musical sting and it SENT me every time.
My stupid idiot loser virgin chud 50 year old son who came his pants in front of everyone in his cult because he finally got to kiss a real person and not his teddy bears
Salon Owner!Reader who runs a salon in Oceanside across the street from an empty lot. Your clients and coworkers complain about the eyesore until one day you open up shop and notice one Andrew “Pope” “Babygirl” “Has Never Done Anything Wrong Ever” Cody in the middle of the lot, shirtless and sweaty, building what appears to be a small half-pipe. Needless to say, your clients did not have many complaints that day.
distinction that is very important to me: Andrew David Cody aka "Pope" is Sweet Potato and Titus Chester Danforth is Pookie. I will not explain further.
