hi random q but has anyone watched both animal kingdom and succession?? bc i haven’t seen anyone talking about it but i see so many parallels. like i could actually talk about it all day.
no one asked but an incomplete list of the parallels i’ve noticed:
smurf and logan; abusive + impoverished childhoods, built their own empires; kind of a complex about being better than their children since their children had things “handed to them”; AFTERMATH OF THEIR DEATH
j and tom; outsiders; [SPOILERS] end up “winning” in the end; goes back to the smurf/logan thing: they won BECAUSE they had to work for it. smurf and logan each equally respect and feel threatened by them.
incestuous undertones; sexuality used as a control mechanism
constant attempts by the children to leave; never works, always sucked back in; no one ever believes them when they threaten to leave
identities reduced to work
craig and roman; fuckup siblings, constantly undermined, look for connection more than the others do
manipulation tactic of isolation/alienation: making ALL siblings feel like they’re the “odd one out”
prof!cassie mckay with student!victoria as her little deskpet... victoria curled up on her knees underneath cassie's desk, all trembly, cheek resting against cassie's knee. trying to swallow back her quiet whimpers every time cassie's fingers slide into her hair, scratching gently, a moment of the attention victoria is always so desperate for.
tucked away for hours, cunt achy and dripping between her legs, fuzzy-headed, just wanting so badly to be good for cassie. if she's good, cassie says the nicest things to her... my favorite student, my smart girl. such a precious little pet, keeping me company, huh? shh, shh, good girl...
sometimes cassie has her strapwarm or cuntwarm. silicone stuffed down her throat, making her drool and cry, all sniffly and messy— just the way cassie likes, groaning quietly whenever she glances down at the debauched sight of it. or cradling the back of victoria's head, keeping her buried in cassie's pussy, grinding lazily against victoria's soft little tongue. that's it, baby, fuck— perfect little mouth for me, jesus...
victoria knows, in her gut, that it's wrong. the icky curl of being cassie's little secret, the guilt of knowing exactly why she's cassie's favorite student. but she can't help it, not when it's so addictive, the soft praise crooning so sickly sweet from the older woman's mouth, the blissful haze that takes her over. she's under so much pressure to be smart, to be the smartest, but cassie just lets her be stupid. small and fuzzy-headed.
and when she's allowed up into cassie's lap after being so good while cassie did all her work, victoria is sure it's the best thing she's ever felt. cassie kissing at the top of her head, sliding a hand into vic's soaked panties, tucking two fingers inside her pulsing hole. theeere you go, does that feel nice? yeah? my good girl deserved a little treat. mm, little pussy feels so soft, bunny, what a sweet thing... that's it, let me in. <3
honestly, reader cheating on robby bc she work nights with him and robby is always shrugging of her attempts to FUCK and jacks just being a good friend by taking care of her every night >_<
this was supposed to be small. i had a lot of fun with this i got reeeally carried away. multiple positions, kinda referenced his quinn audio?? sue me. downtalking Robby, cheating obviously, Jack finished in you. fuck that Robby guy tho he can’t fuck you like Jack does
venting to him one day about it between patients on like your break, “he just..i dunno he won’t touch me anymore, i think it’s because of what’s happening up in that head but he won’t talk about it with me either..” you’re all pouty, Jack can’t help himself. “i’ll talk to him slugger, you wanna catch a bite with me after work?”
a bite turns hanging out at home after work, which isn’t anything crazy, because you’re all friends. known each other for years. and Jack isn’t a pushy guy, but you notice the way he rubs up your knee, or how he looks at you when you change into comfy clothes.
“is robby still..dodgy?” Jack asks, rubbing at your leg that’s slung over his thigh. your smile fades and you sigh. “yeah. i mean..i just don’t know how to talk to that guy anymore. he feels so far all the time.” “and you’ve been initiating, right? like we talked about?” “yes! i wear fucking sexy, expensive lingerie, i-i touch on him, rub him. nothing.”
you’re closer now, arm to arm with your body turned into his. his brows furrow, rubbing at the growing stubble on his cheek. Jack wraps his arm around you now, palming at your hip lovingly and allowing you to lie on his chest. “and toys don’t..i mean is that still on the table for you?” “i use them..but it just..gets boring after a while. tiring. i wanna have sex, not just..play with myself all the time.”
the image of you with your legs spread, using a dildo or wand on yourself is front and center of his mind. he sees you whining with frustration, bucking your hips needily. jesus. “i mean is it me? did i do something, am i just not sexy anymore? you’d tell me if he told you that, right, Jack?” you’re looking at him with big, tear brimming eyes while you paw at his chest. Jack is a weak man, sweetie.
“of course i’d tell you sweetheart, he’s..Robby’s somewhere else right now. don’t blame yourself you’re..you’re so sexy. sexiest girl i know, that’s for sure.” he gives you a gentle smile, but you’ve still got that pouty, needy look on your face. “really?” “yes really honey, robby’s bein’ real stupid…”
he’s gazing into your eyes, mind racing as he licks at his lips. “he’s being mean too.” “real mean. i’d..never be mean to you.” he can’t help himself when he closes the gap between you two, pushing his lips onto yours. you moan upon impact, fisting his shirt as he grabs at your body, rubbing down your hips before hoisting you fully onto his lap.
he feels how much you need this in the kiss, pushing your tongue in his mouth, your hands snaking up his neck and into his hair, yanking it slightly. the way your body arches into his, legs raising slightly to kiss him harder, pushing him deeper into the couch. you moan when you feel your clothed cunt drag along his bulge, brows furrowing hard before grinding down, getting a sound out of him.
“fuck.” he whispers, still messily kissing you, hands now grabbing at your warming love hands under your big shirt. your ring twists into his curls, making him wince, which makes you pull away. “are you ok??” you pull your hand away, letting him take it softly in his. “your-your ring, got my hair.” your ring. your wedding ring.
“oh my god. Jack i..” you put your hands on his chest, scooting down off his lap, though still straddling his thighs. “i can’t do this with you, oh my god..” you rub your hands down your face, the cold metal against your hot skin feels like a zap. “wha..why not?” he breaths, brows pinched with confusion as he pulls your hands away from your face.
“Robby, Jack. i..he’s my husband i can’t do that to him! i’m so terrible!” you scoff, eyes wide with fear. “you’re not terrible, what’re you scared of? betraying him?? what the fuck has he been doing to you, then?” he pulls you back closer, so close your hands roughly land on his chest.
you pull your head from his gaze, keeping your hands down for distance, but he doesn’t let you. “that’s different Jack, he’s..disembodied right now he’s just distant..” “that’s still neglecting his wife. shutting you out, which is the last person he should be doing that to. i never once shut out my wife. you said it yourself. he’s being mean.”
you pout, whining at the words that sting to your heart. Robby is being mean. he’s being mean to everyone, but you especially. “Jack i..” you scoff, you can’t even find the words, “it’s not right, i mean i love him too much.” “you can still love him, it’s not like im some guy. you know me, sweetheart..” you don’t fight when he kisses down the shell of your ear, trialing slowly down your neck in a way that makes you shiver.
your arms end up at his shoulders, eyes shutting in his touch. “i just wanna help you. been so long for you.” his stubble tickles your neck as he speaks low, almost a whisper. you’ve only heard this sugary tone once before. “been wanting this, right? to be touched like this? kissed like this?” he moves slowly down your comfy shorts, cupping your ass as the cotton slides off at the knuckles of his huge hands.
“yeah..” it comes out more pathetic than you could control, but your heart was pounding out your chest. “yeah..” he nods, kissing back up your jaw and taking your lips in his. “i know. let me do this for you.” you raise up to let him pull off your shorts, and the heat turns up in an instant. the kiss turning passionate, moans and groans trading under tongues as you lift his shirt over his shoulder, “can’t..” you pant, eyes hooded.
“cant happen again,” your hands move faster than you can think, untying and pulling down his scrub bottoms. “only one time. this time.” “this time.” he repeats, and you squeak when his big hand cups your pussy over your underwear, a throaty hum exiting him as he feels how fucking wet you were.
you can’t remember the last time you were so fired up to fuck. grabbing at whatever you could while he fingered you open, accidentally scratching at his biceps as your hips move greedily against him. “you’re so fuckin’ wet sweetheart, want this real bad.” he pants, eyes locked in you as you moan into the air. “please just…Jack please.. need it.” it almost comes as a sob, and he couldn’t ever refuse you. not like this, especially.
“lemme take it out. gonna get it sweetie, promise. gonna give it to you.” there’s that sugary tone again, and you find yourself moving at his command without a second thought, throwing your shirt off your sweaty body and reaching for his leg. you help him pull off his boxers and then his prosthetic, hearing a sigh of relief above him as you set it down.
he moves you back over him, and your eyes widen slightly at the sight of his hung, veiny dick. “jesus you’re..so big,” and he wants to say something cocky. he really does. but he just thumbs at your hip, nodding with a small smirk. “you can handle it.”
your eyes are big on his as you lift yourself over his cock, letting him guide you onto his tip, then his girth. he goes slow, gripping your hips as he rocks you lower and lower, drinking in the little gasps and squeals you let out. “Jack you’re-fuck you’re so big, you’re so fucking big,,” you whine, shaky breaths as you squeeze your eyes shut.
“you’re taking it.” his voice is rasped, quiet watching your pussy engulf him. “you’re taking it baby i promise, you’re fuckin’ takin’ it. so good too, holy shit.” he wants to let all his greedy, jealousy induced thoughts out. can’t believe robby’s missing out on this, fuck. should’ve bagged this pussy forever ago, clearly Robby wasn’t putting it to good use. but it doesn’t exit his mind, not wanting you to feel worse about it all.
“oh yes, oh my god yes,” you moan out, head thrown back as your hips take over, his hands guiding you ever so gently as you bounce on his cock. “fuck you’re..fuck Jack it’s so good,” he moans under you, your pleasure making the butterflies dancing in his stomach as you fuck yourself on him.
“that’s it sweetheart, there you fuckin’ go. y’like that? yeahhh baby, feels soo good.” his eyes roll back, hands grabbing at every curve he could before the moment was over. pawing at your tits, smacking at your ass, squeezing at your belly. you’re everything to him, sweetie.
he can’t help but let himself submit to you in this time of need, in this sweet notion of helping his friend. because that what it really was. just helping his friend blow some steam, she’s just pent up. losing the same amount of calories as if he took you boxing. nothing wrong with it. “yeah sweetie, let it all out. just like thaat, fucking god,” he feels dizzy watching you hump him. your body’s consumed with greed, with a mission in mind.
latching onto him, filling your house with high shaky moans. and he was doing so much for you, and more. grabbing you, holding you lovingly close to him as you ride him into the couch cushion he was leaning his back into you. letting out sweet words to you, praise, helping you through riding him. groaning loudly into the room, the sounds alone coming from him fueling you, swelling your head.
sounds Robby never made. never talked you through it unless it’d been a long time, or till he was close. barely made noise either, no matter how many times youve told him you liked it. you were jelly in Jacks touch. he was pushing you steadily over your edge, whether he touched you or not. he filled you completely, inside and out.
his left hand started shoving you down on his cock, your moans coming out in sharp, quick gasps of air, eyes wide watching yourself slam on his dick and feeling his tip kiss that sponges spot in you. his right hand sucks on his thumb, getting it nice and wet before bringing it to your puffy clit, flicking it in a way that makes you suck in a harsh breath, dragging your nails down his shoulder, a high moan exiting you as you throw your head back.
“fuck ohmygo-Jack!” your moans are bordering on pornographic. and you look fucking delicious. hips bucking up to his touch all jittery, sweat gleaming your tits as they bounce with every move. your nose is scrunched slightly as the side of your mouth sneers upturned, and your brows sitting hard and tightly pinched, so overturned with pleasure you can’t control how loud you are. and Jack is straight up drinking it in.
“you’re so good, you’re fucking me so good Jack, better than i’ve ever fuckin’ felt..!” your words come up high, it’s music to his ears. to get that out of you, to know you’ve been with Robby almost half a decade, and Jack barely moving his hips is the best you’ve felt in that long?
“you’re fucking me, sweetie, and you’re doin’ so good. look at you, takin’ it from me..” his eyes are hooded over your body, his soft puppy eyes working over you in your vulnerable state. “keep using me baby, just fuckin’ take it. haven’t gotten dick like this before, haven’t had this in so long, right? you deserve this. say it.”
it’s barely getting through your ears honestly. your stomach is heaving, your ears are almost ringing, eyes rolling back as you fuck yourself on his thick cock like a toy. “i deserve it..” you slur in heavy pants, eyes rolling back as you feel your heated orgasm approach. “yeah you do. yeah you fuckin’ do sweetheart,” he’s quick to hold you in his grasp when you collapse into him, mushing into his shoulder while you grind lazily.
his arm wraps around you, turning in his place to keep you close, keeping his pace on your throbbing clit as you shudder against him. “there we fuckin’ go, cmon you can do it. been talkin’ about gettin’ fucked for weeks i know you can do it. use me sweetie, use me like you fuckin’ mean it,” there’s a rough, almost degrading tone in his words, and your body submits to him at the impact.
he fucks into you from the side, your leg coming up immediately to let him in deeper, and as he groans in your ear, your dam breaks. “ohhh Jack, oh god, Jack!” it’s one big breath before you’re gasping out again, shrinking into him as your pussy flutters around his dick, stomach so tight as you practically burst under him.
“don’t stop, please don’t stop im..im—” you can’t even finish your words, and Jack doesn’t mind a bit. nodding to your words, his mouth echoing yours, agape with his own groans as his eyes roll back. “let it alll out baby, take it fr’me it’s all yours..” you feel you leg cramp up from how hard your orgasm had hit you, your body falling limp on Jack as he continues fucking into you, removing his hand from your shaking pussy to hold your leg up.
his lashes feel weighted, glittering as he takes in the sight of you, your fucked out face as your eyes rest, down your sweaty body, to where you two met, the creamy ring around his cock glistening and cresting rather nasty strings of cum as he thrusts into you. heat builds in his chest, his cock twitches inside of you and his hips stutter. that cold sweat rolls over him, and he looks to the ceiling with an oh god before back at you.
“that’s it baby, that’s it, that’s fucking it,” his praises to you turn into revelations of the immense pleasure weighing on him. hunching over you and pushing you on your back on the couch, finding the balance to slam into you. you moan in tandem at the new position, the way he lays all his unbalanced weight on your thighs he’s keeping up, slamming into you like it’s beyond his control.
with your back arched off the cushion and your hands fisting st it from the side, you watch his face as he loses his composure, bitting his lip before letting groans spill from him like a music box, eyes rolled to the ceiling as his brows flex to the hairline. “oh my god, can’t even..aghh can’t fucking believe you gave this pussy to Robby,” he rolls his eyes, “did so fucking good, scratching me up and shit you-you’re fuckin’ everything..”
his mouth moves faster than his mind. poor guys lost in the sauce, chest heavy as it turns that familiar red you’ve only seen a few times in the sun. “god you’re so good, gimme a kiss sweetie, so prouda’ you,” you practically yank him down onto you, kissing so sloppily you think drool is getting everywhere because of how over the moon you guys are.
you gasp sharply, feeling his tip kiss at your cervix. you dig your nails into his neck, a high, almost pained moan exiting you through his lips. “Jack you’re—Jack hold on,” you mewl, though feeling him shake his head frantically. “i know sweetie i-im sorry i just-fuck i can’t, icanticanticant,” he moans, and his following groans come up higher, weaker as if he’d been yelling all night (which..he probably has).
“can’t stop, fuck you’re so good, m’gonna cum, baby m’gonna cum,” he doesn’t even try to kiss you anymore, “you’re so good, doin’ so fucking good baby i..” you hear the slapping of skin from between you, feeling impossibly split open as he slams into you, groaning like he couldn’t breath.
with a final loud groan he grabs at the cushion next to your head, eyes tightly screwed as his hips come to a halt, and you feel his dick twitch into you as he finishes hard, the following groans coming out as weak whines. Jack lets his body collapse over you, reaching behind himself to caress at your shaking legs, still panting into each other’s mouths.
“did i..hurt you?” he whispers, you feel his lashes against your crows feet. “no, no. just..was a lot. is your leg ok..?” look at you. all the more worrying. all the more caring, loving. it makes Jack chuckled breathily, shaking his head as he kisses at your cheek. “i’m ok, sweetheart. been through worse.”
he pushes himself off you, giving you a once over for any damage before pulling out, sitting upright next your body. speeding your pussy with his thumb and pointer, in the blink of an eye he’s watching his cum seep out of you and onto your ass, and almost onto the couch cushion had he not cupped his hand under the leakage, stuffing it back in you. “fuck i..i didn’t mean to uh..just got carried away.” he gives you a remorseful look, that he also looks away from to gaze at your beat, puffy pussy.
“are you on birth control?” “no..i stopped a few months ago. we wanted to try for a baby.” your cheek quirked to the side before you pout a little, and Jack feels his heart break a little. “ok. i’ll get you plan b, then.” you nod and lift on, crawling into his lap once again, but this time, you give him a slow, gentle kiss.
“thank you..Jack..” you sigh, feeling him wrap his arms around you. “don’t gotta thank me. just wanted to help you, sweet thing. s’what friends are for.” he joked, making you scoff a chuckle. you nod, “yeah. what friends are for.” for fucking so hard you see stars. of course. “lemme get my foot awake, then we’ll clean up.”
if you’ve sent be a Pope Cody request, trust me i have it, i’m not neglecting! i pushed this forward bc i haven’t formally written for Jack in sooo long, and this was so fun. thank u for the ask!
hi random q but has anyone watched both animal kingdom and succession?? bc i haven’t seen anyone talking about it but i see so many parallels. like i could actually talk about it all day.
how do you think pope would react to a girl with pain/degradation kinks?? like if his girl asked him to slap her or call her things do you think he would be in to it or maybe because he engages in such violence for "work" he wouldn't want to do it in the bedroom???
truthfully i feel like he’d only do this if you wore him down lol
it comes about one day when you’re play fighting & he gets a lil serious as he pins you down. like he’s sitting on your chest and you giggle and whine out and he is just stone faced “what was that?”
later on i feel like you’d be begging him to slap you while you fuck and he’s just still thrusting “no.” but you keep asking “please andrew, please please please just hit me please” and listen… he’s had a long day. blood, violence, death, fighting with his brothers. the last thing he can take is hearing his sweet pretty girl wanting to get roughed up by him. but oh, the sins of the flesh, i guess🙂↕️
your begging comes to a halt when he grips your cheeks in one hand, big and calloused. you’ve got the cutest little fish face when he grits out “you want me to hit you? want me to fuckin hit you, huh? don’t even fuckin’ know what you’re askin’ for.” and slaps you across the cheek.
but tbh it’s never hard, like a genuine slap. he’d die if he ever seriously hurt you! more just like a lil tingling love pat <3
Okay so i was thinking robby x avoidant!reader. Robby might have a seven week itch but reader has a 5 week one and robby is in kind of disbelief cause he’s usually the one on the dumping side, you can decide if you wanna give it a happy ending or not
wait i kinda fuck with this LOL
but honestly, these days robby pisses me off so bad i find it hard to write for him :/ but if i get motivation for it id love to this is a very fun idea
tags: co-parenting, exes, lots of texting, angst, ermmm idk what else
wc: 2.8k
ao3 link
previous
You've been standing at the doll aisle for close to fifteen minutes now, trying to will the price to go down. C'mon. Just ten dollars cheaper. Do it for me.
When other customers start giving you odd looks, you finally drag a hand down your face and angrily snatch up the doll your daughter had longingly gazed at a few days ago. It's fine, you tell yourself, I'll just tighten my belt a bit this week.
Normally, the $60 wouldn't have set you back that much. Sure, it's a steep price for a toy, but you would've been able to manage it. However, you had recently recieved an infuriatingly politely worded email informing you that your next semester at Santa Ana College would include one less course. Meaning $3,500 less. Three and a half thousand dollars, gone.
So. You've had to do some budgeting lately. Restructuring of your life, you might say. But you're determined not to let it get to Daisy. As a kid, your parents had constantly put their money troubles on you. Asking for a second serving at the dinner table became a calculation in front of your eyes. You learned to want less, to need less. To be as small as possible so that your siblings didn't have to go without. And while you'd never blame your parents, you hate the thought of Daisy growing up like that. You can work around it. You'll just do the same thing you'd done as a little girl: force yourself to be okay with less so that someone else could have more.
At the checkout, you tap your fingers nervously as the clerk rings you up. When she asks, with a shy smile, if the doll is for your daughter, your anxiety breaks a bit.
"Yeah," you reply with ease, "she's four."
"She'll love it," the clerk assures you. The reminder almost makes you forget about the money being drained from your bank account as you swipe your card.
As you're leaving the store, your phone vibrates in your pocket. Panic spikes immediately. Daisy is with Pope this weekend, and no matter how many weekends you spend away from her, you're always gripped by the terror that she's in danger. A hundred possible messages run through your head as you slip into your car and unlock your phone.
You sigh in relief when none of them meet you. Instead, a picture of your daughter having a tea party with Lena makes you break into a grin.
Andy: Playdate.
You: adorable. tell Lena i say hi.
The little updates throughout your days are an unspoken agreement. Both of you understand the deep ache and constant fear that comes from being away from your daughter, and though it can never come close to having her with you, getting a picture or video or just a text detailing her day eases that pain just a bit. It's a small mercy that you both give each other, even after your most heated arguments.
After a moment, a thought brings a frown to your face.
You: Baz there?
You're choosing your words carefully, trying not to spark his defenses. You couldn't really object if your daughter's uncle was spending the day with them. But the idea, in all honesty, makes your hackles raise. What if he's there to talk about a job? What if he yells at Lena in front of Daisy and it scares her? Or worse, what if he yells at Daisy?
It had been one of the more uncomfortable conversations when you were working out a co-parenting agreement. Pope understood your reservations, but family was important to him. You both agreed without question on Smurf, but it bothered him to imagine that his daughter's uncles would be totally absent from her life. And you couldn't really argue against that. But it didn't change how you felt.
Andy: No. He's in Mexico I think. Dropped her off a couple hours ago.
Andy: Lena says she misses you.
You: figures.
Then:
You: :(
You: I miss her too. maybe she could spend the night at my place at some point?
He responds, in typical Pope fashion, with a "thumbs up" reaction to the message. It's stupid, but it sends a little pang to your heart. Against your best instincts, you open a photo album fittingly titled "DON'T OPEN" in your phone. Inside is dozens of screenshots of text exchanges and pictures from when you and Pope first started dating.
In the weeks immediately following your breakup, you had found yourself scrolling for hours through your chat to try to find those precious early messages. It became a nightly affair, and an incredibly time consuming one. This was a way to access them without devoting an entire afternoon to the process. It also saved you from having to scroll past the slow deterioration of your relationship: the repeated conversations, the apologies you'd give each other following fights that never really seemed to fix anything, the patches of coldness between the two of you.
You hadn't saved whatever you had initially texted him in the image you pull up, but he'd responded with a—at the time—devastating:
Andy: Ok.
You remember groaning before responding.
You: do u hate me or something
Andy: ????
You: ur such a dry texter
You: srsly if u don't want to talk to me just tell me
You: I don't want to annoy u :/
Andy: You never annoy me.
Andy: Don't stop talking to me.
Andy: I don't know how to text normally. Is this not normal.
You: LOL
You: I'm sorry Pope
You: I forgot what a weirdo u are
Andy: Yeah. I know.
Andy: Sorry.
You: it's not a bad thing
You: I like how weird u r >:)
Andy: 👍
You snort at the screenshot as you pull out of the parking lot. Later, much later, he told you he had been absolutely panicking during that entire interaction. Apparently, he even asked Craig what to say. You could never avoid giggling like a teenage girl at the image: Pope standing in his brother's doorway, phone in hand, asking "Can you teach me how to text a girl?" with a completely straight face.
There's a reason that you return to this particular brand of torture so often. It's a delayed sort of pain: for a few blissful moments, you're transported to when you sent those messages. You can almost hear the Pixies album you had on in the background as you grinned at your phone. You had clutched it to your chest when he said You never annoy me, turning over in bed and screaming into your pillow. You had even kicked your legs in the air, far too old to be acting like a giddy fourteen year old with a crush. It didn't matter. You couldn't find it in you to feel embarrassed. You were too smitten.
Those few moments are addictive. You're there again, in an apartment you moved out of years ago, texting a man you were still trying to act coy around. It's delicious. It eases the hurt constantly in your heart for just a moment.
Then it all comes crashing back. That, as much as he made you feel like the most special person in the world, it wasn't enough. You weren't enough, your brain whispers. Not for him to leave it behind. Not for him to give you and your daughter—his daughter—a safe and normal life. That twenty-five year old had spent the next eight years of her life falling devastatingly in love with someone whose life she simply did not fit into. She had tried, tirelessly, to endear herself to his mother, before finally accepting that she would always be the one at the end of the table being glared at for the crime of taking Smurf's guard dog away from him for an evening. She had cried herself to sleep on more nights than she could count out of fear and anger and the dreadful, buried knowledge that this wasn't working. She had walked out and regretted it every day since, despite knowing in her heart that it was what she had to do to survive.
You don't realize you're crying until the road in front of you is blurring. Sobs rack your body as memories swim through your head. You're not really crying at the bad ones, though; you're crying at every moment of happiness and laughter and love that had filled your old life to the brim. Moments that you can now only barely grasp at during Daisy's tragically brief handoffs.
Yeah, you should probably pull over. Pope would be fuming if he knew you'd endangered yourself by driving while crying that much. He'd also be completely unsure how to respond to your crying. When you were pregnant and tearing up every other hour, his favorite phrase had been "Please don't cry. Do you want ice cream?"
Sunday night rolls around and you watch Pope's truck pull into your driveway. You gave up on offering to do the drive to Oceanside after a couple months; he refused it every single time, always slightly offended you'd even ask. You close your computer and pad to the doorway in your slippers, approaching the car with a smile. Daisy runs up to you to give you a hug as always, and you laugh as the force of it sends you back a few steps.
"Hi, honeybun. Didja have a good weekend with Daddy?" you ask, petting her hair. She looks up at you and nods with a smile.
"Yeah! Lena slept over," she exclaims. You hum.
"I heard! I bet that was so much fun." When you look up at Pope, you're expecting his usual tired and slightly pained smile—well, "smile" is generous, but there's usually a noticeable upturning of his lips—but you're met with a confused glare instead. It's pointed at your hands. Your smile falls as you follow his gaze, giving him a "what's up?" look.
"Where are your nails?" he asks gruffly. You give him an even more puzzled expression.
"What?"
"Your nails. They're not done."
You look down at your hands again to see your unmanicured nails and huff slightly at the realization. Of course Pope would notice that.
"Just… forgot to get them done this week."
Pope scowls at that. "You never forget. Is something wrong?"
You roll your eyes. "Andrew, everything is fine. I skipped a manicure. It's not the end of the world."
Your eyes lock on his hands, clenching and unclenching at his sides. Pope-speak for something is wrong, something is out of place, and I need to fix it.
"You're lying," he mutters. You drag a hand over your face. This is turning into a thing.
"Why don't you get unpacked, Daisy? I'll be up in a second."
Daisy's face falls a bit, and you wince. She probably thinks the two of you are about to start fighting, again. Which might not be entirely untrue. Still, after hugging and saying goodbye to Andrew, she grabs her sparkly purple backpack from the car without complaint and trudges into the house. When she's out of earshot, you run a hand through your hair.
"I'm lying?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. He nods, not elaborating. Finally, you relent.
"S.A.C. cut one of my classes next semester. I'm just being more practical, is all. It's not a big deal."
His expression shifts at that, from confusion into worry. "You're havin' money troubles?"
You shake your head quickly. "It's not like that. Daisy will be perfectly fine, I promise. Her life won't change a bit. I just need to be a bit more conservative."
Pope's jaw ticks, and he shakes his head. "No."
You scoff. "'No'? Yes, Pope. I will be making less money. I can't afford bi-weekly manicures anymore. I promise, I will live."
"No. I'll give you the money."
Yeah, there it is. The reason you didn't tell him in the first place. "Don't. Please believe me when I say that it's not a big deal."
"You love your manicures. I have the money. You know I have the money."
"I'm also well aware of how you got the money," you mutter. His breathing turns heavy at that, the air turning sour as an eight-year argument rears its ugly head for the thousandth time. He purses his lips.
"Just let me give it to you. Please."
"I do not want that, Andrew. I do not need your money, and I feel uncomfortable taking it."
"Why?" he asks, and you almost laugh, because it's such a useless question at this point.
"Because I don't want you putting yourself in danger for me, Andy. I don't want you taking on an extra job or doing something stupid because you can't accept that I'm not yours to take care of anymore."
Knife twist. For both of you. You're not his anymore. He's not yours. Both of you still sit at the bottom of a deep well of loyalty and love for each other.
He's silent for a few long moments after that, and if you hadn't devoted nearly a decade to loving this man, you might think that meant he was letting it go.
"3500?"
You blink. "What?"
"You make 3500 per class, right?"
You groan. "I feel like that's a trap."
He nods slowly. "I'll get it for you."
You nearly scream. "Pope, no, don't—"
He's in his truck, pulling away from your house, before you can finish your sentence.
When he's out of eyesight, you bunch your shirt into your hands and muffle a scream into it.
When you enter your house again, it's with a forced calmness.
"You wanna watch a movie, bug? I'll make popcorn."
It isn't until Thursday that you find the money. Daisy is trailing you around the house as you try to get a bit of cleaning in, babbling about her day at pre-school. You're… mostly listening.
"Uhuh. What color was the butterfly?"
She hums, contemplating the question with the intensity of a scientist pondering a new hypothesis. "Umummm I think orange. Maybe."
"Oh, yeah? Orange and black?"
Out of the corner of your eye, you see her nod. "Hm. Maybe a monarch butterfly? That's awe…some."
Your voice goes small when you open a drawer to find a thick wad of cash in it. You immediately know where it came from. You're not sure exactly when he dropped it off, since you don't often use this drawer. Daisy peers curiously at it.
"What's that, mama?"
You suck in a breath. Her life is so filled with lies, so you try to be as honest as possible when you can. "Um… Daddy left us some money."
She perks up at that. "Daddy was here? Is he still here?"
Ow. Ow ow ow. "No, bug, I'm sorry. He… he just dropped this off."
She humphs at that, crossing her arms. "Why?"
You sigh, muttering "great question" under your breath before plastering on a smile. "Because Daddy loves us very much and wants us to buy some nice things for ourselves. Why don't you color for a bit while mama finishes up in here?"
Still sulking a bit, Daisy huffs and toddles over to her coloring book to angrily scribble.
After carefully counting out the money, three times, you realize that you are holding five thousand dollars in your hand. You're seething as you pull out your phone.
You: did you break into my house
Sometimes, when you say things like that, you half expect Andrew to lord over your head the fact that he bought your house: say something like it's my house, actually or whose money paid for it?
He never has.
Andy: Sorry.
Andy: I used my key if it helps.
Andy: Is that enough?
You: christ
You: no, I needed ten thousand
His response is nearly instantaneous.
Andy: Okay.
Andy: I'll have it in a few days.
Andy: I can come by your house after I pick Daisy up.
You: oh my god
You: I was kidding
You: please, please do not give me ten thousand dollars
Andy: Are you sure?
You: jesus yes Pope
You: what would I even need that for
Andy: I don't know.
Andy: Can I still come by your house tomorrow?
You sigh and set your phone down. You should say no. At the very least, you should ask him to give you a reason. You know he'd give you something. You know it'd be a lie. You also know that being away from Pope's smell—clean linens and sawdust and the faint, lingering scent of gunpowder—for this long of a stretch is akin to torture for you.
summary: When Jack and Robby first proposed "sharing" you, so to speak, you hadn't anticipated how competitive the two would get. Or how often you'd be the one facing the consequences.
tags: f/m/m, hard dom robby, soft dom abbot, degradation, face slapping, choking, rough oral sex (m recieving), spitting, age difference, power imbalance, humiliation kink, praise kink, manipulation, sexual overstimulation, bondage
wc: 3.5k
ao3 link
previous | next
You don't need to be told to strip naked. You shed your clothes quickly, without much fanfare; Robby was never a fan of the strip-tease. You settle nervously on his queen bed, smoothing down the blanket and kneeling while you await further instructions. You try not to feel embarrassed, sitting naked while Robby is still fully clothed. He stands in front of you for a moment, assessing you like you're a patient. You bite back the urge to quip what's the diagnosis, doc?
After a painfully long and silent moment, he steps toward the top drawer of his dresser. You know that drawer well.
"Lay on your back."
You oblige, nerves dancing through your belly. When he turns around, he's carrying silk restraints and a wand.
Yes, Robby and Jack each have separate wand vibrators. Because of course they couldn't share. And yes, they both bought ridiculously expensive ones, just to watch you squirm when you saw the price tags.
Before he can tell you to, you've spread your arms and legs to allow him to tie them to the bedposts. For a moment, you expect him to give you just a morsel of praise — a good girl — but he doesn't even acknowledge it. Dammit.
The bindings are… noticeably tighter than usual. You had thought that he got out the brunt of his anger on you earlier, but that seems to have been false. You can feel his frustration in the way he pulls the ties, a small huff escaping him as he does it. The knots aren't painful, but they're not not uncomfortable. You pout, twisting your wrists to try to loosen them a bit, but still your movements at the warning look he gives you.
"Sorry," you whisper. He nods, still eerily silent, and moves to your ankles.
Spread like this, with no way to close your legs, you become increasingly aware of how… obvious your arousal is. You can feel wetness trickling down onto the bedsheet, and from Robby's smirk, you'd guess he noticed it too. He chuckles.
"Got you all worked up, didn't I?" he coos. You flush but give a small nod. He reaches up to pet your hair, and you lean into the touch
"That's okay, baby. Gonna make you feel better soon. Much better…" he lets his hand trail down until it's resting on your neck, then slowly squeezes until you can barely draw a breath, "than Abbot ever could, hm?"
Something between a whimper and a squeak falls from your lips. Robby smiles, eyes drifting to your core, and finally takes his hand off your neck. You gasp, gulping air in desperately, before moaning loudly when you feel his thumb run over your swollen clit. Without warning, he plunges two fingers in you and curls in harshly. You whine at the sudden and painful stretch, trying — failing — to pull away from him. He wordlessly places a hand on your lower stomach to still your movements before curling his fingers inward, making you moan again.
"You can pretend," he starts rubbing light circles on your clit, "all you like, that you're a good girl."
You mewl and shake your head. "I am! I am a good gi—"
"Shut the fuck up. Christ, you just don't stop, do you? An adult is speaking, little girl. Keep that filthy mouth closed." He's growling, now thrusting into you harder and faster; the pain mingles with pleasure and makes you go a little empty headed. But you're acutely aware of how mad you've made him: you've disappointed him; you've done something wrong. You press your lips together and try to hold back the moans and whimpers he's pulling from you. He sighs in relief at your silence.
"Much better. You think I give a shit what you have to say? Think anyone does?" He laughs at how slack you've gone. "That's right, sweetheart. Just lie back and take it. This is what you're meant for. Not talking. Not trying to be a person." You're trembling, trying to focus on his words but his thumb is pressing harder now, and he just doesn't stop and you're fast approaching your peak and God you hope he lets you cum. He notices.
"That turns you on, doesn't it? When I tell you how worthless you are? It's okay, you can tell me."
You gasp and let out a whine, looking down at him pleadingly before nodding. "Yes, sir, it does," you whisper, burning with shame.
"Wanna cum, doll? You real close?"
You nod furiously, and he puts on a show of pondering the question. "Hm… tell me what you are, and I'll let you cum."
You pause, unsure of what exactly he wants you to say here — he's called you a lot of things just in the last hour — and flounder. "I-I-"
Robby chuckles, putting you out of your misery. "Too dumb to even know what you are, huh? That's okay, I'll tell you. Say, 'I'm a useless whore," and you can cum. Just four words, I think you can manage that."
You suck in a breath. "I'm a useless-useless whore— fuck!" Your orgasm crashes through you. Your entire body trembles as Robby keeps finger-fucking you through the aftershocks, until your moans turn to soft whimpers and he retracts his hand. You're starting to wonder how this is a punishment when you hear the buzz of the vibrator that you'd forgotten about. Your eyes widen, and you start shaking your head.
"Wait-wait-"
You're cut off by the wand being pressed to your oversensitive clit. You cry out and thrash as much as the restraints will let you, pain and overwhelming pleasure colliding into each other. He tsks and shakes his head.
"'Wait'? I don't recall you calling the shots here, dummy. I'm in charge, remember?"
You whine, trying desperately to pull away from him, but he only presses the vibrator harder into you. Tears start pooling in your eyes. He shifts the angle of the wand slightly, and you let out a high pitched whine despite yourself. Slowly, slowly, the pain starts to subside. Pleasure takes over again, and your sobs turn to moans. Robby clicks his tongue.
"God, you're fuckin' insatiable. So goddamn needy. Whore already got one orgasm — didn't even thank me — and she wants another so soon? Christ. You're lucky you have me, 'cause no one else would put up with this shit."
"Ab-Abbot," you gasp out, before snapping your eyes open. Why the fuck did you say that? You really don't know what spirit possessed you. You knew, of course you knew, that the single worst fucking thing you could do right now is bring up Jack. But you fear all brain cells have been killed off by the vibrator against you. All amusement disappears from Robby's face. He flicks the setting on the vibrator up and presses it directly against your clit, making you cry out. Overstimulation sears through you again, hot and unrelenting.
"Dumb fucking cunt," he snarls, "you don't know when to keep that fucking mouth shut. Do I need to gag you? Shut you up for good?"
You shake your head, the words tumbling out of you before you can think them over. "No, no, I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean it."
His jaw ticks. He lifts himself up to be above your face and slaps you hard enough that you go dizzy for a second. You barely have a second to cry out in pain before he's slapping you again, calloused hand colliding with your soft skin. Your body doesn't know what to focus on: the pain in your face, or your clit. You sob.
"Please sir, it hurts…" Your voice is shakey, and tears have started spilling over your cheeks. The sound of your voice, all wavery with barely-restrained crying, begging for relief, nearly makes him forgive you for that Abbot comment. He can't stand how pathetic you look right now.
"Fuck, baby, say that again," he groans, eyes locked on the fear and pain on your face. Your lower lip wobbles.
"Please, Robby," you whisper desperately. He sighs and smiles down at you.
"Fuckin' love it with you beg me like that. No, doll, this is what you get when you act like a fucking brat. You're gonna cum like this and you ain't gonna complain."
You want to protest, to tell him that you can't, but you think better of it. Maybe if you focus real hard you can feel pleasure rather than pain. You take a deep breath and try to will yourself to feel good.
"Aw, look at the dumb bitch, trying so hard to please me. What's wrong, whore? Can you not do it? I'll stay here as long as it fuckin' takes. You think I got somewhere I'd rather be?"
You're ashamed to admit it, but his words send a spark through you. Pleasure starts to build again.
"I don't think you knew what you were gettin' into when you knocked on my door, baby. If you knew what was good for you, you'd stay away from men more than double your age with nothin' to lose."
You moan, finally starting to relax again, and he laughs.
"That's what fuckin' does it? Me reminding you how fucked this is? It is, you know." He leans in closer, and your eyes flutter open to see the predatory grin on his face. "You know how sick you are for enjoying this? I'm old enough to be your father," his hand reaches up, and he chokes you again, eliciting a strangled moan from you, "and I could fire you without a second thought. I could make your life hell if I wanted. But you just keep coming back, like a kicked puppy going back to its owner."
That sends you over the edge. It's a violent orgasm, if such a thing exists. Ripples of pleasure and overstimulation run through your body. Your skin is now coated with sweat, and you raggedly pant when he loosens his grip on your neck. Finally, he moves the position of the vibrator — but doesn't turn it off, because of course not.
He pulls out two more orgasms from you — violent, jagged, brutal orgasms — before he finally switches the vibrator off and sets it down on the bed. For a foolish moment, you think that's the end. At this point, your mind is so empty that you find it difficult to conjure up words. He's pleased, of course, at your relative silence, though his mocking has only increased. But just as you're relaxing into the bed, waiting for him to undo your restraints, he licks a stripe through you.
You nearly scream. Your nerves feel like they're on fire, and his tongue is moderately better than the vibrator, but it's still overwhelming in a relentless kind of way that makes you want to cry. But it isn't until he sucks on your clit, hard, that you shout "Yellow!" desperately, before your brain can even catch up to the word. Immediately, Robby lifts from between your legs, and you sigh in relief at the break from stimulation. All anger or malice has disappeared from his face, replaced by concern and softness.
"I'm sorry, I just — I just need… it's too…"
Robby shushes you, shaking your head. "It's okay, you don't have to explain. Don't apologize. It's alright. Here, you want some water?" His voice is soothing, none of the earlier cruelty in it. You nod, and he lifts a glass of water from the bedstand to your lips. The feeling of it sliding down your parched throat, cool and fresh, is heavenly. He gives you a moment to catch your breath before speaking, soft and slow.
"Do you want to stop?" he asks, setting the water on the bedstand again and squeezing your shoulder. You pause before shaking your head.
"I don't— I don't think so. It's good, just intense. I think…" your eyes drift to the bindings on your arms and legs, and you bite your lip. "I think maybe if you untied me? Is that — is that okay? I'm sorry." You avoid his eyes, terrified of the prospect that you'll disappoint him. He takes your chin and shakes his head.
"That's fine, baby. Don't worry about it, I can undo them. And stop apologizing. Every time you do, I'm gonna make you cum again."
Your eyes widen, and he laughs at the terrified expression on your face. "Relax, kid, I'm joking. Here." He gently unties the restraints, letting them fall to the bed. You sigh in relief and rub your wrists. After another big gulp of water, he raises his eyebrows.
"Ready?"
You take a breath and nod, smiling. "Ready."
He leans down again and wastes no time tasting you. After four consecutive orgasms, your cunt is drenched, and he doesn't think he's ever tasted something sweeter. He groans against you and attacks you expertly, flicking his tongue over your clit before flattening it down. You moan, your short break making the overstimulation recede a bit, and relish in the ability to tangle your hands in his hair. Once he's satisfied with how much he's built you up, he lets his teeth drag against your abused clit, and you cry out, jerking your hips away from him. He looks up at you and glowers, pulling away for a moment.
"Did I make a mistake untying those restraints? You need me to re-do them?" he growls. He never would, of course, but the threat is enough to make your breath hitch. You shake your head insistently.
"N-no, sir, I'm sorry. Please don't."
"Better stay still, then," he says, his jaw set in something like anger.
Each time he nips lightly at your clit, it takes everything in you not to pull away. You shake, more tears spilling from your eyes, at the pain. You end up panting from the effort it takes to stay still. You've long been drenched in sweat. He's thoroughly and completely broken you down.
When he thrusts his fingers into you again, you tremble. He hits your g-spot, over and over again, curling inward while his tongue continues its attacks. When your… fourth? Fifth? Sixth? orgasm arrives, it's without much fanfare. You tighten your grip on his hair, let out a long moan, and tense up your legs. With how loud you usually are, he wouldn't have known you'd even cum if he hadn't tasted you gushing into his mouth.
Robby pulls away and stares at you, lips twitching into a smile. You're panting hard, eyes half-lidded and glassy. A string of drool trails from your lips; your legs are shaking slightly. You're essentially a breathing puddle on his bed. He thinks you've never been this beautiful. He whistles low and leans in, brushing sweat-dampened hair from your forehead.
"Look at you, sweetheart. Twelve hours ago you were one of my best damn nurses," he murmurs, his voice softer than earlier but just as piercing, "You were an intelligent and capable woman who put herself through nursing school and didn't take shit from anyone. Now…" His eyes trail down your body, from your parted lips to the sheets stained with your arousal mixed with sweat. He tsks lightly, as though in disappointment, and shakes his head.
"Now, you're nothing. Not a thought in that pretty little head, is there?" He smiles down at you and taps your forehead mockingly. You shake your head dumbly, barely aware of what you're agreeing with. He chuckles and nods.
"That's right. Just a toy for me to play with, hm?" He cocks his head to the side, and you nod, entranced. He clicks his tongue.
"I asked you a question, honey. You can still form words, can't you?" God, he thinks, you look so fucking pathetic. Just a dumb little girl who fell into his lap and doesn't know what's good for her. You furrow your brow, trying to conjure up a sentence to appease him.
"Ye-es, sir, yes… 'm your fucktoy… you can do — can do whatever you want to me, sir." Your words are slightly slurred. The crack of his palm against your already over-sensitive pussy makes you cry out in pain, your legs snapping closed on instinct. He shakes his head disapprovingly.
"Fucking liar. Thought I could do whatever I wanted to you, isn't that right? Now open your legs like a good whore and let me play with my toy."
Your lip trembles, but you nod weakly and open your legs again. You press your hands into your knees to spread yourself wider, giving him as much access as he wants. He barely seems to notice it. He slaps you again, the sound of your juices making it an obscene sound that drowns out your sob, and though your thighs twitch, you manage to avoid closing your legs this time. The small smile of approval that he gives you in response — not even out loud, God, how pathetic could you be? — makes the pain worth it.
Robby would praise you, would tap your cheek and thank you for being his good girl, but this is oh-so-much more fun. Where Jack gives his praise freely, enjoying the look on your face when he tells you how good you are for him, Robby knows that withholding his praise is far more effective. This way, you chase it like a damn dog after a bone, eagerly eating up whatever little morsels of affection he doles out. You're much more obedient when you're aching so deeply to be called good that you'll keen and light up at something as small as a well-timed smile or nod of approval from him.
He planned on holding out more, but Robby doesn't think he can wait any longer before fucking you. He undoes his belt buckle and takes his cock out. Your eyes, half-open, lock in on it. You wince in preparation for the pain to come. He doesn't exactly seem to be in the mood to wait for you to adjust.
"On your stomach. Ass up," he commands. You try to lift yourself, but your limbs feel like jelly, and you can barely hold up your own weight. His jaw ticks in anger.
"Jesus, you can't do anything," he mutters before roughly picking you up with a grunt and positioning you how he wanted. You feel like a doll. He presses your face into the mattress and, without warning, presses into you with a groan. It's hard to breathe fully with your face at this angle, and you feel like the wind is knocked out of you by him fully thrusting into you so quickly. You mewl, but he ignores it, grabbing your hip with his free hand to keep you up and pressing into your skin with enough force to bruise. It hurts, but you're glad for it; you don't think you could keep yourself up without it. He wastes no time, setting a punishing pace without much build up. He can barely contain the urge to tell you how velvety you are, how warm and tight, how good you're making him feel — but that would be far too much praise for a night of punishment. His pants and grunts mingle with your whimpers and whines. You moan when he slaps your ass.
"Tell me what you are," he pants out. You desperately try to remember what he'd said earlier.
"A-a useless… fuck… I don't-I don't—"
"A dumb fucking bitch, that's what. Can't remember four words? You're a useless whore, doll. You're my fucking whore, and no one else's. You're a filthy slut that needs to be put in her fuckin' place. You let me do whatever the hell I want to you because you're so desperate for attention that you'll take it from anyone, even a dirty old man like me. You're nothing."
You can hear how close he's getting from his voice — it starts to take on a more frantic, urgent tone, like he needs you to know exactly what you are. Your mouth is wide open and pressed against the blanket, blissful moans spilling from you. You feel like you're floating; you aren't aware of anything other than the feeling of his cock inside you and his deliciously cruel words. Through the fog, though, you're aware that he had asked something of you. You're desperate to be good for him.
"I'm a... fuck... I'm your whore... your dumb slut, your-your toy, your-" your words are interrupted by your own loud moan as another orgasm washes over you like a wave. You clamp down on him, and he spills into you with a groan. He keeps fucking you through both of your aftershocks before slowing and reluctantly pulling out of you. He moves his hand from your hip, and you collapse on the bed, exhaustion suddenly crashing into you all at once. You don't think you can move or speak.
Robby leans over you with a light laugh, pressing a kiss to the base of your neck.
"Six orgasms in one night. Still think Jack takes better care of you than I do?"
If you had the energy for it, you'd come up with a good quip in response. But all that you can muster up is a weak, "You guys… suck," through pants. He laughs, and you feel him nod against you.
"You know I couldn't let that shit slide, baby."
He has to keep a close eye on you to make sure you aren't falling asleep in the bath. You nearly do, many times, and he gently shakes you each time. After the fourth time that you start to slip down his chest into the water, he laughs and shakes his head.
"Maybe this wasn't the best idea."
You shake your head and yawn. "No, 's perfect… so good."
You wish, for a fleeting moment, that this moment of intimacy could be stretched further — that you could stop pretending you weren't developing feelings too strong to call 'hooking up'. The same thought runs through Robby's mind before he brushes it away.
summary: When Jack and Robby first proposed "sharing" you, so to speak, you hadn't anticipated how competitive the two would get. Or how often you'd be the one facing the consequences.
tags: f/m/m, hard dom robby, soft dom abbot, degradation, face slapping, choking, rough oral sex (m recieving), spitting, age difference, power imbalance, humiliation kink, praise kink, manipulation
wc: 2.8k
ao3 link
next
It all started with that damn video.
You, splayed on your back with your feet dangling off the edge of the bed. Hands desperately gripping the sheets like you'd float away without them. Sweat coating your body, face flushed red. Tits bouncing, hair mussed and partially covering your eyes. Moans and whines falling from your swollen lips.
And Jack, standing at the foot of the bed, pounding into you — into that spot — with enough force to make you see stars. Just how you liked it. A wand in his hand, pressed to your clit at just the right angle. He was panting, growling curses under his breath every so often. Your eyes had fallen closed some time ago.
"Eyes on me, baby," he muttered, and you obliged, fluttering open your eyes obediently. You weren't surprised when you were met with his phone positioned above your body; no doubt he was filming a video to be sent to Robby the minute you were finished.
They'd brought it up back when all of this started, and the three of you were nervously establishing boundaries and how this would work. How you'd feel about pictures. How you'd feel about videos. You'd paused, thinking it over, before shrugging: "As long as it stays between us. If anybody else sees shit, you're both getting castrated."
So. Jack filming was not foreign to you. You even offered a small smile to the camera, arching your back off the bed just a bit more than you would naturally. You liked performing for them.
"Feel good, doll? I take care of you, don't I?" Jack rasped. You nodded insistently, too fucked out to form a real answer. Jack didn't like that. He clicked his tongue before shifting the angle of the wand just slightly so that it pressed directly against your clit, making you cry out in overstimulated pain.
"I asked you a question. Am I making you feel good?"
"Y-yes, yes, you're making me feel good," you babbled, pleading with your eyes for him to make the pain stop. He obliged, as always. He could never resist giving in to you. Then, almost imperceptibly, his mouth curved into a smirk.
"Better than Robby can?"
Your eyes flicked to the camera, a small gasp escaping from your lips. Fuck. What were you supposed to say here? After a moment's hesitation, you shook your head desperately.
"N-no, I didn't say that."
Jack's jaw ticked. Wrong answer. His thrusts slowed, the pressure of the wand letting up just a bit. Just enough to keep you from cresting the wave of an orgasm that had been fast approaching. A warning.
"Might wanna rethink that decision, sweetie. I might just not let you cum unless you admit that I take better care of you than Robby." Your eyes flashed wide at that, and he laughed.
Jack was, to be sure, far more lenient with you than Robby was. Robby would call him soft. He called himself a giver. But still, in moments like this, he couldn't help but revel in the panic evident in your face. There was a sinister glint in his eyes. He knew what the fuck he was doing. He knew exactly how Robby would react to a video of you saying what he wanted you to, and he knew exactly how desperate you were to cum in this moment. You whined, shaking your head again.
"Please, please, he'll be mad…" It was a pathetic attempt, you knew, and one that he'd never listen to. But it was difficult to think of anything in this moment, Jack's cock still deep inside of you, much less an argument that could actually convince Jack Abbot to change his mind about anything. He chuckled.
"Guess someone doesn't want to cum," he sighed, starting to retract the vibrator. You shook your head vehemently, feeling that crest recede again.
"No! No, I'm sorry, I…" You trailed off, eyes drifting agian to the camera. You tried to communicate, silently, that you didn't really mean it. Maybe Robby would take pity on you.
Yeah, fucking right.
You sucked in a breath and nodded. "You take better care of me than Robby," you whispered, moaning as soon as the wand was returned to your clit. Jack's pace sped up again, a triumphant grin plastered on his face.
"Atta girl. That's right, just lay back. Let Jackie take care of you. Hear that, Robinavich? Our girl likes me better."
Before you had a chance to say anything, he'd stopped the video and tossed his phone on the bed. His newly free hand reached out grab your hip, giving him better leverage to thrust into you. It wasn't long before you were gasping and damn near writhing on the bed as your orgasm again approached.
"Yeah, baby, cum for me. That's it. Good girl." Jack's praise sent you over the edge. Your vision blurred at the edges as you finally reached that crest.
An hour later, the two of you were cuddling in bed, eating takeout and watching 10 Things I Hate About You — your choice. Jack's hand absentmindedly stroked your spine as he did something on his phone. When you glanced over, you saw his text chain with Robby. You could feel the anger radiating off of him in his curt reply: I told you not to send me that shit when I'm working.
A flimsy response. Both men sent each other pictures and videos of you at all hours of the day — or night. In fact, they seemed to prefer sending messages while the other was working.
You pouted at the messages, poking Jack in the arm. "You're a dick, you know that?"
He glanced over at you and shut his phone off, an easy smile on his face. Moments like this made you forget that this was meant to be strictly sexual.
"Kid, I just bought you seventy dollars worth of Indian food. How am I a dick?"
You rolled your eyes. "Robby's gonna be pissed about that video. And you're not the one who'll get punished."
He just grinned down at you and shrugged.
Fucker.
Five hours later, you and Jack came into work separately. You could come straight from his house — you had all your stuff there, just in case — but, aside from keeping suspicions from being raised, you liked having some time to yourself before going from fucking Jack to working with him. It helped draw a line between the two worlds, which was an integral part to this whole thing.
So you were already talking to Robby, nodding at his request for Central 15's bandages to be replaced, when Jack sauntered over cockily. You rolled your eyes at the look on his face, and Robby crossed his arms over his chest.
"Hey, brother," he said casually, leaning against the counter. Robby gave him a nod.
"Long day?" Jack asked. Robby shrugged.
"They're all long."
Jack nodded, "Heard that. I had a damn good day, myself. Spent the whole time in bed. How 'bout you, kid? What'd you do today?"
Robby looked like he was about to strangle his friend. He was about to say something when you grit your teeth, squinting at the two of them.
"Rule one, fuckers," you reminded them before turning on your heel, ignoring their bashful apologies and "won't happen again"s.
Rule one was, to you, the most important rule of your dynamic: none of this enters the hospital. You turned a blind eye to their habits of sending videos to each other while working since they always did it when you were off, but if you were working? It never got brought up. Not even a little bit. Not even a sideways glance. No checking you out, no "harmless, subtle" flirting, and definitely none of whatever the two of them were just doing.
Partly this was to make sure no one caught on. Mostly, though, it was to make sure that none of what you did in the bedroom ever clouded their judgement of you as a nurse. If you ever had an inkling that they were favoring you, or withholding criticism at the expense of a patient, you'd promised yourself you would shut it down immediately. And weirdly, it worked. Work was work and sex was sex.
Most of the time. Sometimes you each slipped. Right now, for example, you were thinking about the buzzing of a vibrator as Jack fucked you rather than the patient you were making your way towards.
The rest of the shift was absent of anymore slip-ups, though. Jack became your attending rather than your partner. And when, hours later, day shift showed up to relieve you, Robby's gaze was free from the anger that had been there last night. For a moment, you thought maybe he'd slept it off.
As you were getting ready to leave, he approached you. "You're off tonight, right?"
You stiffened, shooting a warning look at him, before nodding. He leaned in and lowered his voice.
"Good. Don't think I've forgotten about that video."
Your breath hitched, but before you had a chance to reply, he was gone.
Bringing us to the here and now. You, standing outside your attending's door on a cold October night, trying to muster up the courage to knock. You, in an outfit that you hope will maybe lesson your punishment just a bit: his favorite jeans of yours mixed with a low-cut shirt, and some light makeup to top it off. Him, on the other side, probably drinking a beer with some half-eaten fast food next to him. Not a care in the world, while you've been thrumming with nervous energy all damn day. And horny energy. You'd never admit it, but you're more turned on than ever in this moment. You heave a sigh and knock hesitantly. As always, his response is a gruff "It's open" yelled out from inside — apparently, standing up from the couch is too much effort for Doctor Robinavich. You walk in meekly.
"Hey, doct—"
"Don't speak." It isn't said with anger, not exactly; more certainty. Quickness. He doesn't even get up as he says it; just glances over at you with a set jaw. It feels like the air's been knocked out of your lungs. You gasp quietly and close your mouth, staring at your feet. He stands, finally, and drags his eyes over you. Normally, especially in an outfit like this, he'd say something about how damn good you look. Not tonight. His eyes are hardened. He walks towards you slowly, enjoying the nervous look in your eyes as you glance up at him.
"I've been waiting two goddamn days for this. Look at me." You snap your eyes up at him obediently. He pauses for a moment, hand flexing at his side. "Color?"
"Green," you murmur. He nods, satisfied.
"Uh-huh. On your knees," he orders, crossing his arms over his chest. You comply, looking up at him with those doe-eyes you know he loves. Then: sharp, stinging pain. It happened so quickly that it takes you a moment to process that he slapped you, hard. Tears prick your eyes.
"Think Abbot's better than me? Think he knows what the fuck you need, huh?" He's practically growling, jaw set in anger. You wince and shake your head.
"N-no, I don't—"
"I didn't say you could talk, dummy. Bitch can't even follow one simple order." He laughs, and you burn with shame. More shameful than his words, though, is how fucking soaked you are. Thoroughly. You can feel your clit pulsing with need, crying out to be touched. You rock back and forth, grinding into the seam of your jeans. You're trying — desperately — to be subtle, but Robby catches it. Of course he does. He shakes his head slightly, like he can't believe what he's seeing.
"Fuckin' knew it. Knew you'd turn into a needy goddamn mess the second I started calling you what you are. This," he grips your hair at the root, making you wince as he pulls you in close to his groin, "is what your precious, soft, sweet Abbot doesn't understand. That you need to be treated like the dirty whore you are."
You can't help but moan at his words. You're practically salivating, face pressed against what you can feel is a very hard cock.
"Whore just can't keep quiet, can you?" he mutters before shoving his fingers in your mouth. You gag, eyes widening a bit, but suck them obediently. When you start rocking back and forth again, he clicks his tongue and shakes his head.
"No. Fuckin' stay still. You think this is about you? You're gonna take what I give you and nothing more." You still your movements and try to communicate an apology with your eyes. He thrusts his fingers in and out of your mouth, groaning at the sight. Still, it's not enough. You need more. You need him. You look longingly at the tent in his pants. He pouts, all faux-sympathy, and removes his fingers from your mouth to unbutton his jeans.
"That what you want, doll? Want this cock in your mouth? Wanna be useful for once?" His free hand still has a vice grip on your hair, and he pulls you away to be able to remove himself from his briefs. The second his cock springs out, your eyes are locked on it. But you're pulled out of your trance when he slaps you again, harder this time.
"I asked you a fucking question, whore," he growls. Normally, you might argue the hypocracy: earlier, when you'd tried to answer him, he'd gotten mad at you. Tonight, though, you are playing it extremely safe. You answer in a meek and small voice.
"Yes, sir, I want it."
"Then fucking take it."
He grabs the sides of your head and shoves himself into your mouth all at once, not giving you the usual few minutes to get adjusted to him. As soon as he hits the back of your throat, he groans, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. You panic, sputtering and gagging on him immediately, and push against his thighs on instinct. He glances down at your hands, watching for the three taps that mean stop. They don't come. You don't want this to stop.
"You can take it," he mutters, pulling out halfway before thrusting all the way in again. Spit drips down your chin. With each thrust, you gag harshly; tears start to prick at your eyes, and soon enough they're spilling over. So much for your mascara. He uses your head like a toy, fucking himself on your mouth without a moment's consideration for your comfort.
He pulls out all the way and you cough immediately, gasping to catch your breath. Your throat is already sore. When you bend over, bracing yourself on your hands, he tuts.
"Nope, try again. Look at me, bitch."
With shaky arms, you push yourself up to face him. He groans at the sight: lips swollen, spit covering the lower half of your face, tears covering the other half. Red-rimmed eyes with runny makeup. Aw, he thinks, the whore dressed up. Your hair is tousseled, and you have that look in his eyes that makes him rock fucking hard: slightly scared, eager to please, eyes a bit glazed over from arousal. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and shoves the camera in your face.
"Say cheese, whore!" He taunts, laughing at the look of slight confusion on your face. To your surprise, after he's put his phone away, he tucks himself back into his waistband and cocks (ha) his head to the side.
"Get up." He starts walking before you've even had a chance to scramble to your feet, and you can't help the word from spilling from your lips: "But—"
He stops in his tracks, turning around like he can't believe you'd dare contradict him.
"But what?"
You stare at your feet, feeling like the most idiotic person in the world. Guess that's why he always calls you a dummy.
"You didn't… you didn't finish, sir. I thought… I thought that was…" you trail off. There's a moment of silence, and then he laughs, walking over to you. He takes your chin in his hand and roughly pulls your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. He towers over you, and you cower under his piercing eyes.
"Oh, honey… did you think that was your punishment?" he mocks, a grin plastered over his face. Like it's the funniest thing in the world that you could think that. Like he can't believe you'd be so naive and idiotic. Your brain might short-circuit from how turned on you are. You give the tiniest of nods, and he taps your cheek lightly.
"No, baby, that was just the warm up. Now get on the bed."
crashtos and trinity is annoying as fuck and victoria's conversation starters are so nerd autistic like vic is asking trinity "do you think water is wet" (classic debate) but trinity is replying with "idk but this pussy is 😛😛😛" and then victoria just keeps going with "water MAKES things wet. water itself is not wet." ...and then trinity hits her with the "I'll make you wet 😛😛😛"
summary: you left with your daughter six months ago. neither of you can really let it go.
tags: co-parenting, hurt/comfort, exes, mentions of sm*rf, mentions of injury (not detailed)
wc: 1700
ao3 link
next
The pounding on the door isn't actually what wakes you; it's the crack of thunder. But slowly, your brain processes both sounds distinctly: it's raining, and someone is at the door. You struggle to tear your eyes open, face crinkling into confusion as you tap your phone to see the time: 12:42 a.m. At first, you're afraid: what if it's a murderer? Could Smurf have sent someone? You wouldn't put it past her. But your phone is lit up with two texts from Pope, one after another: It's me, quickly followed by Please open the door.
You suck your teeth. Fucking Pope. Of course he'd show up at your house in the middle of the night, during a thunderstorm, with no warning. You drag yourself out of bed, shivering at the sudden loss of warmth, and tiptoe to the door. When you open it, Pope is standing in the opening, soaking wet and panting. He moves to come in, but you stop him.
"Pope," you whisper-yell, "what the fuck? What are you doing here?"
He clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides, jaw tensing in discomfort. After a moment of silence, he grits out, "I need to see her. Please."
His voice cracks on the please, and you almost give in, but you swallow down the emotion you feel rising in you.
"Just-just hold on, okay? What happened? Are you okay?" You scan his body, picking up on the all-too-familiar pained look in his eyes—the one he'd get when he got hurt on a job, but wouldn't let himself show it. Fucking Pope, fucking Smurf. Fuck this family.
He shrugs noncommittally. "Job went bad." You sigh and step aside.
"Come in. Let me see."
He sags a bit in relief and steps inside. You note absently that he's shivering from the cold, and feel a prickle of guilt at making him stand in the rain for so long. When he shirks his jacket, you see the red blooming on his side. You gasp, a hand fluttering to your lips.
"Shit, Pope, that looks bad," you whisper, blinking back tears. You always hated seeing him hurt. It made it worse that he never cried about it; you used to joke that you were crying his tears for him. He gives you a reassuring look and shakes his head.
"I'm fine. I stitched it up before I left. I just-I just need to see Daisy. I need to see her. Please? I know-I know it's not the weekend but—"
"Okay, okay, slow down, Andy. You can… you can see her. If you need to that bad. But you need to clean up that blood. If she wakes up and sees it, she'll get scared. She-she hates seeing you hurt."
"Takes after her mom," he drawls, and you can't really tell if it's a joke.
In the bathroom, he perches awkwardly on the tub, back ramrod straight despite the clear pain in his side. It's all so familiar that you sort of want to cry. You hand him your first aid kit, but he ducks his head, whispering, "Can you do it? Clean me up?"
You roll your eyes, moving to turn away with a dry refusal on your lips, but he grasps your wrist. "Please?" he adds, and he's looking up at you with those puppy dog eyes and he just looks so sad, so it's not really your fault that you can't help but give in, is it?
You know it's dumb. It's crossing lines that you worked so hard to establish. It's falling back into old habits that will only bring pain to both of you. It's looking for comfort in the past, only to be reminded, once he's left, that you'll never get that past back. It's dumb. You do it anyways. Peel off his shirt carefully, wince at the gash on his abdomen. Wipe the blood away as gently as you can. Blink back tears when you hear the small, pained breath he takes.
"What happened?" you murmur, eyes fixed on your work. Save for a nearly inaudible grunt, he's silent.
Right. You'd forgotten about that part.
He always said it was for your benefit. Well, both of your benefit. He liked to keep his worlds separate. There was his family, the jobs, all the ugly and cruel and terrible things he'd done or had done to him, and there was you. You were separate. You were his pool of sunshine in a brutal winter. He hated when the sunshine touched the winter.
Of course, it always did. It was a noble effort that you both made, but ultimately, it was futile. The Andrew who woke you up with pancakes, or rested his head on your lap at the end of the day, could not be detached from the Pope who went and got himself stabbed on jobs. You couldn't live without him, but you were slowly dying with him.
Once you've finished cleaning his cut, you apply some ointment to it. You know he won't have done it himself; likely, he gave himself a rushed and haphazard treatment to try to get here as fast as possible. You clear your throat after a long stretch of silence.
"Please don't do this again," you whisper, though it hurts to say. "It isn't good for her. She needs structure."
"I know," he grits out, "it's… I thought I was gonna die. And all I could think about was that I wouldn't see her again. Wouldn't see you. I needed… I needed to fix it."
You tighten your jaw to avoid crying. You've cleaned Pope's cuts through tears enough for one lifetime.
Why do you have to hurt me, Andrew? Why does loving you hurt so much? Why does it feel like I'm bleeding out every time I look in your eyes?
Pope stands nervously in Daisy's doorway. You can tell he's being careful not to wake her, his breath uncharacteristically quiet and his footsteps light as he approaches her bed. It feels almost wrong to watch, like you're intruding on a private moment, but you want to be there in case she wakes up.
And it always makes something twist in your gut to see him with her. Good-bad. Bad-good. Good because it looks like he was put on this earth to care for her. Bad because you took that away from him. It's a good-bad something addictive.
She doesn't wake up. He leans over her, smoothing down her hair, and lightly kisses her forehead. It looks like he's restraining himself. Probably, he wants more than anything to squeeze her tight and never let go. He's murmuring something to her, or maybe to himself, but you can't quite hear it.
When he closes the door behind him and steps into the hallway, he looks a little softer. Not quite as jagged as when he first walked in. You look at the floor.
"She misses you. When she's here. She misses you."
His eyes widen a little, surprise and hurt written plain on his face. He nods slow. "She misses you too."
After a beat, he speaks again. "She shouldn't have to. You should just—come home. Come home. This isn't right."
"Andy…" You pinch the bridge of your nose. Sometimes it's like you're both reciting a script. You could almost lip-sync his next words.
"Please, sunshine, just… reconsider."
You scoff and shake your head. "I'm not the one who needs to reconsider, Andrew. You think I don't want to be with you? You think I want to keep us apart like this? I just—you can't keep me in that life. Not after—"
The word sticks in your throat like glue. You can't speak it. It makes you feel like a coward.
Not after Cath.
His jaw tightens, his hands clenching and unclenching again. His lower lip juts out. "It's not—it's not good for her."
You almost laugh. "Right, and Smurf is? Being around you when you're doing a job is? Get a grip, Pope."
"There are—there are things we could do. I've been keeping her away from Smurf. And I could stay—"
"No, you don't get it, Andy. I gave you weekends because she loves you and because I couldn't bear for you to not be in her life at all."
(And because, selfishly, you still want to see him. Even if it's only for an hour a week. It alleviates some of how deeply, deeply you miss him.)
"But if it was really up to me? She wouldn't be within 50 miles of Oceanside for the rest of her fucking life."
"She's—" he starts to raise his voice, but catches himself, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. "She's my daughter too!"
"Yeah?" You step forward, not breaking eye contact. "Then act like it. Put her first. Put us first. Your real family, Andrew, not the ones that get you stabbed or put fucking drugs in your food. We'd still be together if you could just say no to mommy for once in your life."
It's low. It's all low, and mean, and you hate yourself for saying it, especially when you see how he shrinks in on himself as soon as the words leave your lips. You wish you could take it back, but it's all true, isn't it?
When you step forward again, he tenses. It breaks your heart. You rest a hand on his shoulder, and he shudders at the touch.
"Look… you should stay here tonight. I'll sleep on the couch."
He shakes his head immediately, face contorting at the thought. "No, it's bad for your back. You take the bed."
You roll your eyes. "Andy, I am not letting you sleep on a couch with a stab wound in your stomach. It's fine, I'll bring a couple pillows out."
"Is it really that awful to imagine sharing a bed with me?"
You purse your lips. "Andy…"
"No, just—for one night. Please. Just one night."
You drag a hand over your face. You wish you were harder to convince. "Fine. Just one night."
But when he's lying next to you, his arms caging your body in like he can't bear the thought of you leaving, his scent and skin filling your senses, you don't know how you'll have the willpower to hold yourself to that in the morning.
i really need sleazy pervy next door neighbor mckay in my life :/ paying me $20 to do her yard work just so she can palm herself over her jeans each time i bend over in my tight little shorts :// calling me kiddo and pointing to my bedroom window, asking whyre the curtains drawn, u should let the light in, yknow vitamin d is good for you just so she can watch me play with myself :///
santos who isn’t especially kinky in bed, most of the time. finds it a little goofy and can’t help but snicker when people try. however:
santos who had a very bad shift and just needs to take out her frustrations on you! and you’re happy to oblige, splayed out under her looking so pretty w her strap buried in your soaked cunt, that blissed out dazed expression on your face. and she just has to slap you silly, you understand, don’t you baby? it just feels so fucking good and you’re certainly not complaining — hell, she can’t remember the last time you moaned so loud.
santos who actually starts getting a little fed up with how loud you’re being, even after she tells you to shut the fuck up because this isn’t about you, so she reaches down and squeeezes your neck and holy fuck the sound that you make could make her cum untouched
ORRR ALTERNATIVELY this with crashtos. victoria just wants to be good for santos :(( it helps that her pretty pretty pussy seems to get wetter with each slap :)
santos who isn’t especially kinky in bed, most of the time. finds it a little goofy and can’t help but snicker when people try. however:
santos who had a very bad shift and just needs to take out her frustrations on you! and you’re happy to oblige, splayed out under her looking so pretty w her strap buried in your soaked cunt, that blissed out dazed expression on your face. and she just has to slap you silly, you understand, don’t you baby? it just feels so fucking good and you’re certainly not complaining — hell, she can’t remember the last time you moaned so loud.
santos who actually starts getting a little fed up with how loud you’re being, even after she tells you to shut the fuck up because this isn’t about you, so she reaches down and squeeezes your neck and holy fuck the sound that you make—a strangled, pathetic sort of moaned out guh—could make her cum untouched
