casey

23 writing whatever comes to mind

[corusc4nts]

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hi! i'm casey! i'm 23, she/her.

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[agnireed]

EASY CHOICES

PAIRING ➩ sammy bryant x reader

WC ➩ 7.8k

SUMMARY ➩ You and Sammy have been best friends since middle school and you’re both struggling to find room for your friendship within his marriage

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ honestly guys im in a major slump but afraid everyone will forget about me if i don’t write so hopefully this isn’t auto pilot garbage lol

You were never shocked by the knock on your door, no matter how late or how randomly placed in the middle of a boring week.

The sun would be set, dishes washed and put away in their respective places, and your feet still lingering near the doorway as you waited for the inevitable sound of knuckles against wood.

It had been a few days since the last time you heard it so you knew it was becoming overdue, skin slightly prickling as you waited and waited in your front hallway far too patiently. You felt a bit foolish for standing there for so long, in a slight trance whenever you thought about who was coming.

Thirty minutes of you hovering passed before you were sighing and retreating to your room.

Your feet froze in place when the noise echoed from behind you, making your chest tighten and a surge of adrenaline hit you so hard you felt a bit dizzy when you hurriedly spun back around and made your way to the entry again.

Sammy looked melancholy when you pulled the door open, hand raised in a fist like he was about to knock again. His shoulders deflated when he saw you and you figured it must be in relief considering the way he was surging forward and pulling you in.

You sighed when he tucked his forehead down against your shoulder, instinctively wrapping your arms around him. You rubbed up and down his back softly, your other forearm securely pressed to his side reassuringly as you both swayed from the force of the embrace.

It took awhile for him to let you go, you had to coax him back just enough for you to be able to walk.

He followed you fully into the living room with a distant look on his face, sitting down on the cushion and getting a panicked expression when you made a move to walk away.

“Relax.” You say as softly as you can, pressing your hands against his shoulders to keep him sitting. “Just going to get some water for you.”

He didn’t look too pleased by it but he let out a breath and settled back against the cushions long enough for you to go to the fridge and fill him up a glass.

It was pointless considering he ignored it once you came back, barely getting his fingers around it before he was setting it down on the coffee table in favor of wrapping his hands around your middle and bringing you down to sit in his lap sideways.

You sighed but leaned against his chest and let him tuck against your neck again, breathing you in deeply and holding you so tight you felt a little dizzy.

“Bad day?” You kept your voice quiet but it was enough for him to hear you and pick up his head, eyes full of hurt that was reflecting off the dim lighting in the room.

“Couldn’t have been worse.” He answered honestly and you gave him an empathetic look, running your hand over his jaw and feeling the way he rest against it and shuts his eyes. “I needed to see you.”

“Did you even go home?” Your eyebrows furrow and he looks at you again, the guilt on his face making the answer obvious. “Sammy we talked about that. She goes crazy if you don’t at least stop by.”

You never would shy away from talking about Tammi because there was no point. She was the main thing you thought about when you were with him, his wedding ring currently pressing against your waist and the knowledge of his wife hanging over your head like a weight.

You admittedly had very little empathy for the woman.

You’d gone to high school with both of them but you’d known Sammy a few years before. You were always drawn to him, even before you could even really understand what that meant.

You just wanted to be around him, a young and sweet boy with an adult like patience that you didn’t get to see at home. He was always extra kind to you when you came to school tired or bruised, sharing his lunches and then pressing soft kisses to the side of your mouth once you got a bit older.

He’d been stricken with Tammi the moment he had seen her as you entered high school, fixated on her loud voice and extreme personality.

There was no other option than to watch him fall in love with her and then watch him lose that lightness he always carried trying to keep her happy.

What started as soft complaints on the phone after a shift turned into meeting up on his breaks to have lunch and absorb all his worries silently. Then he started to come over late into the night, something Tammi had forbid a few years ago.

She had tried to pretend to be civil with you when you were teenagers although grimacing at your kindness whenever you greeted her or made an attempt to bond. It was clear she didn’t like that Sammy had a girl best friend and she drew the line firmly once you were all adults.

There was no longer a need to try and seem friendly because Sammy was wrapped around her finger both metaphorically and legally in the form of the metal band she rarely wore.

He had called you a few years back to tell you that he couldn’t be around you anymore unless it was a group setting, absolutely no alcohol could ever be involved and he was definitely not allowed at your house.

It had sent you in a bit of a spiral, wondering if Tammi was just being as insane as she always was or if she had somehow seen deep down into the hidden part of you that had loved Sammy since you were practically children. And if Tammi knew, did that mean he did too?

“I dealt with her all day on the phone.” He was complaining softly and bringing your attention back to the present, still sneaking around and crossing boundaries just enough to make your head spin.

You never talked about it but his big hands would run over your waist, pulling you far too close to be friendly and taking deep breaths of your hair and skin like he was addicted to it.

Sometimes you caught him looking at your lips when you spoke, eyes a little distracted and then embarrassed when you’d clear your throat to try and get his attention.

You tried not to think about how Tammi would react to you being in his lap right now, holding his jaw and leaning down to kiss his cheek softly in comfort as he complained about her for the hundredth time.

“What’s she upset about now?” You know you’re playing into it, feeding the flame that never seems to burn hot enough to actually make him recoil.

He’ll talk about it endlessly and you can tell he really wants to leave her but he always goes back home at the end of the night with his tail between his legs.

“I mentioned your birthday.” He sighed and then gave you a look when he saw the automatic frown. You’d had plans with him for your birthday, beyond excited when he invited you out to dinner but you figured you should have known it was too good to be true. “She didn’t want to come but then she found out she wasn’t even invited and she lost her mind.”

“I don’t want to go at all if she has to be there.” You say immediately and you feel a little guilty for being so selfish with his time but you decide you deserve it considering the way she acts around you.

Admittedly you also just want him all to yourself and you know he won’t give you the same amount of attention if she’s around because it’ll without a doubt piss her off.

“I know sweetheart.” He breathes out and you hate the tone of his voice, the premature disappointment like he knows there’s no solution to the problem already.

And the petnames always break you, another old habit he had abandoned years ago that seems to be making an appearance more and more often lately.

“It’s fine.” You run a hand through his hair and he blinks tiredly up at you. You don’t want to add to his ever growing stress even if your throat feels tight at the let down. “I’ll see if Alex can come instead.”

You felt Sammy tense underneath you and his hands tighten around your middle. You stopped rubbing his hair in favor of sighing and resting harder against his chest, knowing exactly what was on his mind.

Sammy had always been the same way, patient and gentle to a fault. The only thing that really seemed to set him off was sharing you with other people.

He could tolerate your girl friends, he’d easily encourage you to go out and have fun and listen to your recaps the next morning while he drove to work. Guys, however, were a completely different battle.

You remember one of your first ever fights, only starting after you told him and your other friends that you finally had your first boyfriend. It had taken you until your junior year of high school to be over Sammy enough to move on, accepting by then that him and Tammi were more solid than you realized initially.

He’d been quiet the rest of the day and then pulled you to the side before you could walk home, lightly pressing you back against a tree and slightly interrogating you about the boy you were seeing.

It felt like a fresh memory, the butterflies in your stomach when you saw how serious he was and how wanted you felt as he told you that you deserved better. Sammy was jealous, there was no point in denying it and you knew you weren’t being delusional just because you had feelings for him.

He spent the next fifteen years getting the same expression whenever you talked about a guy or brought one to group cookouts, his glare fixated on a hand around your waist or the way you’d softly kiss the guy in thanks when he brought you a drink.

You knew Sammy found the same comfort in you that you got from him but that was the first real time you considered that Sammy might feel something more for you too.

Alex had started at your office a few years ago and just like always, Sammy had gotten that serious expression as soon as you started mentioning him casually. One of your mutuals friends had joked over drinks a month or two ago that you should make a move and Sammy immediately excused himself to stomp his way up to the bar.

Now his big hands were softly kneading into your side like you were a stress ball, staring past you to instead burn holes into your coffee table.

“Don’t do that.” You attempt to scold him but it comes out overly fond, a soft teasing whisper that makes him slightly scoff in amusement.

“I’ll figure it out.” He says a bit sternly and you give him a long disbelieving look. “I mean it. Don’t go out with him.”

“That’s not fair Sammy.” You try to be more serious so he can really understand but you can almost see the way your words fall on deaf ears.

He’s turning his head so he can press soft kisses on your skin, one laid against your cheek and then moving further until his lips are against the side of your mouth. It’s torture for you but you’re a willing participant, letting your eyes close and your body relax so he has no reason to stop.

And he doesn’t, peppering you in affection like he’s trying to erase the memory of Alex himself.

You feel his hands rubbing from your sides to your back, sliding under the hem of your tank top to rest on your shoulder blades like it’s a completely normal way for two friends to be touching.

You’d never deny Sammy anything but especially when it involved him fawning over you like this. You almost wanted to push it further, talk more about Alex and really exaggerate the nature of your relationship just to see how much it took for Sammy to decide he needed to lay a real claim on you.

He wasn’t yours so by default you couldn’t be his, that ring pressing against your hot skin an endless reminder of your situation.

“I know and I’m sorry.” His voice was soft and quiet like he truly meant it and part of you thought that he might.

You didn’t think his selfishness came with any malicious intent but it was still there, still pulling him towards your door after a fight with his wife and making him touch you in that confusing intimate way.

You didn’t go out to dinner with Alex for your birthday, you couldn’t stomach the thought even if Sammy hadn’t been so upset by it.

Instead you ended up sitting across from Tammi, trying to ignore her glare as you did your best to make small talk. You’d invited a few other friends so it felt less like third wheeling but you still had to make a point to not look at Sammy for too long.

She had a perfect view of your face from this angle and you knew exactly what she would see. The way your eyes softened when they met his and the obvious longing in your gaze when it was directed at her husband.

Sammy was staring holes in the side of your face anyways, maybe thinking he was being more subtle about it than he actually was. His ankle was crossing yours under the table every few minutes and you had to routinely send him a small glare to get him to stop.

You took the opportunity for a smoke break as dinner transitioned to drinks, placing your order and making your way outside before anybody could object. You figured you were leaving them to awkward small talk, your other friends barely knowing Sammy and unable to tolerate his wife, but you needed to breathe.

It wasn’t really possible considering the door was pushing open almost as soon as it shut behind you.

You sighed softly when you saw Sammy coming out into the small dark alley but you didn’t object when his hands were sliding over your sides, back and forth for a few seconds before resting on your lower back and pulling you closer.

“You’re not having a good time.” He said softly, not a question but a statement.

“How could I?” Your eyebrows furrow in frustration as your palms wrap around his biceps. “Your wife is glaring at me everytime I speak at my own birthday dinner and you’re trying to play footsie under the table.”

He frowns and you feel bad for how harsh you’re being, especially when he’s brushing your hair behind your ear and softly kissing your jaw a few times. He knows exactly how to unravel you, lower those walls and keep you melting against him.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is slightly muffled against your skin so he picks his head up and his nose brushes yours. “I just wanted to see you and she wouldn’t let me go without her.”

“It’s fine, she’s actually not being that terrible.” You sigh and it’s the truth. Tammi hadn’t said much of anything which was almost scarier than her making snappy or inappropriate comments. You felt like she was observing you closely, noting your every micro expression. “You’ve got to stop looking at me like that though.”

You didn’t need to clarify because you both knew what you were talking about, the same look he was giving now as his head tilted slowly in amusement.

More than longing, something deeper and heavier. You would have thought you imagined it a few years ago but you knew better now and you were more than aware of the fact Sammy wanted you in some capacity.

“Can’t help it. You look so beautiful tonight.” His voice had dropped and he leaned back down to kiss your skin again, this time a lot closer to your mouth than before.

You sighed and leaned further against him, trying to ignore the heated sensation in your stomach when he lightly guided you backwards so you were against the wall. His hands stayed on your lower back for the most part but he occasionally moved them to rub against your waist and hips, leaving you a little dizzy as he kissed down your neck.

“Sammy.” Your voice was breathy and he hummed against your skin in question. “This is so unfair.”

Normally that was enough to pull him out of it, sober him to the fact that you were getting hurt by his actions. He either didn’t register your complaint or maybe didn’t care, thinking he could make it up to you if he kept going.

You couldn’t deny him this, not when his big hand was rubbing up your back and his mouth was moving softly across your neck towards yours.

You were holding onto him tightly and trying to keep the breathy noises to a minimum, getting harder when he was shuffling even closer and fully pressing you against the brick behind you.

It was brief when his mouth finally pressed against yours, only a fleeting second before he was moving past it to kiss the other side of your face.

He tensed suddenly like he had only just now realized what he was doing so you prepared for the coldness that would hit you when he backed away. Instead, there was suddenly a lot more warmth as he pecked your lips again softly.

He pulled back for a few seconds, chest slightly heaving as he looked down at you in question. You thought he was an idiot for that because you’d never dream of objecting to this, even if it was so risky and stupid to be doing something so damning right outside the building his wife was inside.

“Unfair.” He mumbled, repeating your words as he kissed you lightly again. “Unfair is you wearing this outfit when I can’t touch you.”

His hands tightened against the fabric like he was emphasizing and this time you were less surprised when he kissed you. It lasted a little longer than a brief peck, just enough time for you to move your mouth against his before he was pulling back again.

“You can touch me.” You insisted softly, wondering if you told him what he wanted to hear he’d maybe keep kissing you. “You can always touch me.”

It worked, enough for him to really press against you and let you kiss him back. You’d gone nearly two decades without kissing eachother despite the tension floating over your heads and it was obvious in how filthy it got so quickly.

You were both eager and desperate, gripping anywhere you could reach and refusing to come up for air as you kissed him deeper and deeper.

You made no objections to his tongue smoothing into your mouth, tangling it with your own and savoring the sound he made at the taste of you. You’d never crossed this line despite the little things you did potentially being worse, the intimacy of the way you moved around each other almost comparable to the heat you felt now.

Sammy was insatiable now that you’ve broken the illusion that you were able to be just friends, tugging you closer and closer and licking into your mouth like he was starving.

It took a long few minutes for either of you to pull back and even then, he was still surging forward to kiss you softly like he was afraid to let it end. You understood the fear, stomach twisting at the thought of him gaining some clarity and regretting what you did.

Sammy was a good man despite how it may seem in his desperation and he wasn’t the type to cheat on his wife, no matter how cruel and detached she was.

“We fucked up.” You breathed it out in anticipation, assuming if you got to it before he could then the upcoming rejection would land better on your already damaged heart.

“What?” His eyebrows furrowing surprised you, fully expecting him to agree with you and let you chalk it up as a stupid mistake you could forget. Instead he was shifting closer again so you weren’t able to look away from him even if you wanted to. “No we didn’t. It was my fuck up all those years ago when I married Tammi.”

You had to get some space from him then or you wouldn’t be able to breathe, softly pushing at his chest and being beyond thankful that he easily moved backwards and let you shift away from the brick wall.

“That is so shitty of you to say.” You wanted it to come out more frustrated so he would really let it process but you just sounded tired.

He looked like he wanted to object, maybe apologizing judging by the way his face softened with guilt. Luckily the door was opening then, one of your closest friends stepping out into the alley and giving you a scolding look when she saw the way his fingertips were grazing your waist and the swollenness of your lips.

“You should come in.” She said it softly but you knew she’d be scolding you once you left the restaurant, subject to your Sammy fueled rants for years now. “I’ve got your drink ordered.”

You gave her a thankful smile that didn’t reach your eyes and she turned her stare towards Sammy, hardening as she scanned over his guilty stance, a hand rubbing over his mouth.

“And your wife is looking for you.”

You both tensed up at the obvious call out and you followed quickly behind her when she went back inside so you didn’t have to deal with his reaction to that targeted comment.

It was instinct to avoid Sammy after that even though it tore your heart out of your chest. You figured you might as well get it over with because he clearly had no plans to leave Tammi any time soon and you weren’t going to magically get over him after you spent the majority of your life following him around like a helpless fawn.

His calls went unanswered on your own phone and some others, your friends reaching out to let you know he’d been getting ahold of them too so he could ask where you’ve been.

You ignored the knocks on your door, putting a pillow over your ears and trying to keep your crying quiet enough that he wouldn’t be able to hear you.

There was the obvious defect in your plan, the fact that Sammy knew you better than anybody possibly could.

He stayed away for a few days and you thought it had worked, he’d finally given up and manage to read your silent message that you couldn’t do this with him anymore.

Instead he was sitting on your porch when you got home from work two weeks later.

You were coming home late, you’d stopped at your nearest library and then the liquor store to give you two distractions to get through the night with, so you figured he must have been sitting for a while.

You let out a sigh at the end of your walkway and he was shooting up off the cement, eyes full of that annoyingly sweet hope and hesitation as he stepped aside to let you pass him by.

He was standing behind you as you unlocked the door and you spent the time it took to get your key in the doorknob trying to build up the courage to tell him to go fuck himself, but all you could manage was to lightly hold the door open for him behind you.

You could hear it shutting and locking as you set your bag down in the kitchen, the obvious sound of the glass bottle clicking against the counter making him raise an eyebrow.

“You’re avoiding me.” He spoke softly as you kicked off your shoes, lingering near your doorway and watching your every move as you followed your usual routine after getting home and made yourself comfortable like he wasn’t even there.

“Wow amazing conclusion. Congratulations detective Bryant, you figured it out.” You felt slightly bad for how cold your voice was, so out of character for you that you knew it must be throwing him off.

He proved that when he was moving closer and lightly touching your hips to get you to stop wandering around, your breath hitching as you looked up at him and the pure desperation on his face.

“Please don’t do that, let’s talk about this. I get enough of the passive aggressive shit from-“ He cut himself off with a deep sigh, lips pursing so he didn’t say it even though you typically didn’t avoid the topic.

“From your wife.” You finished it for him, eyes cold as you glared at him. “You can say it Sammy.”

“I just don’t understand. It’s never been an issue before.”

You pushed him away from you at that but he was persistent, following you as you walked closer to the couch and grabbing you again. You felt his fingers digging slightly into your hips as he tugged you backwards against him, your back hitting the softness of his stomach as he crowded your space.

His chin hooked over your shoulder, large fingers splayed across your belly button to keep you in place against him.

You naturally settled backwards, sucking in a deep breath as his familiar scent instinctively calmed your nerves. You were suddenly very aware of how hard the two weeks without him were, the longest you’d gone in a long time being apart from each other.

“You’re an idiot if you think it wasn’t an issue for me.” You’re whispering now, afraid if you speak too long he’s going to be able to pick up on the undeniably heartbreak in your voice.

“Let me fix this.” You can feel him moving his mouth closer and you mentally brace for the impact, still feeling unprepared for how good it feels to have him softly kissing up your neck as he starts to rub your stomach and waistband. “I hate when you’re mad at me. It’s eating me up.”

You let him continue for a few seconds before you’re spinning around, seeing the disappointment and light panic on his face before he realizes you just want to face him, his entire body relaxes as he holds your lower back.

Your hands go to his cheeks, pressing on the soft skin and feeling the light stubble he’d built up in your absence.

“There really isn’t a way you can fix it Sammy.” You say honestly and his face falls, lips parting like he wants to object. “Other than the obvious.”

There’s no need for him to say it, you can tell by the look in his eyes when you add that on that he can’t give you the answer that you want. It feels so far out of the realm of possibility that you don’t even feel disappointment, much less resistance when he’s ignoring your suggestion completely in favor of leaning in to kiss you.

It’s different than the kiss you shared at your birthday dinner, lacking the heat and desperation as you soaked up the small amount of time you had before you got caught.

Now it’s slow and deep, much more like the first kiss you’d always imagined with him.

His hands are so gentle as he rubs up your sides, keeping you tight against him as your mouths move together like you’ve done this a thousand times. You can’t help but mentally compare this kiss to the way you’ve seen him be with Tammi, feeling a bit smug at how obvious the difference is.

There’s no awkwardness between you, no stiff and routine hard press of lips like you’re checking it off a to do list.

He’s clearly wanting, craving almost as he pulls you impossibly closer and tilts his head to make sure the kiss doesn’t stop or lose its rhythm.

You’ve missed him so much and you’re such a fool in love that you don’t even think about stopping him and asking him for real answers.

Instead you’re softly licking into his mouth like the needy teenage version of you that used to fantasy about this, soaking up the soft hum he lets out at the feeling before he’s matching the action. You’re playing with the hairs on the back of his neck as your tongues tangle together and you go with him easily as he backs you up towards the couch.

It takes landing in his lap for you to sober back up, pulling back from the kiss just enough to catch your breath.

His eyebrows pull together when he sees the hesitation on your face so you hide in his neck so he can’t keep looking at you, wanting to spare his feelings even though you can quite literally feel your heart suffocating in your chest.

He’s warm underneath you and smells so overly familiar that you could cry, staying with your chin resting on his shoulder and closing your eyes for a brief moment so you can pretend you’re in a different timeline with him.

Maybe you’re still fifteen and laying in his bed together, holding hands on rides home from the beach when your moms aren’t looking. Or you’re twenty four and it’s the first time him and Tammi break up, his sullen frame taking up space on your couch until you quietly pad out there and insist he come to bed with you instead.

You think about being in your fifties, a reality where he never met Tammi and instead spent the rest of his life with you. It felt like the world you were supposed to be living in, just you and him like it always used to be until the love eventually built up into something real, something that came with growing grey hairs together and building a family.

He seems to know what you’re thinking, possibly going down the same list of all the missed chances. His hand runs through your hair on repeat like he’s trying to soothe you and you don’t understand why until you realize that you’re crying.

You try to go back to avoiding Sammy after that but it’s impossible.

You can’t bring yourself to stay away from him and each late night conversation ends up the same now that you’ve crossed that line, your mouth pressed against his and his hands all over you.

He’s nearly insatiable even though you can tell that he still feels terribly guilty over the entire thing. It’s like he’s just as powerless as you are, unable to keep your distance for each other despite how awful you’re both being.

Currently he’s with you in your kitchen, two months after your birthday and two months of sneaking away to get to have him for a brief moment. He’s completely lost in the taste of you, mouths moving together slowly with his hands under your shirt and tracing patterns on your spine.

His fingers feel calloused but you remember when they were smooth and youthful, remember loving him before the lines on his face appeared or the light ash colored strands of hair you occasionally saw when he was under the sun.

You were growing old with Sammy despite it not being in the way you wanted.

You’re kissing him back because of course you are, holding tight to his biceps and letting yourself get swept up in the way he feels pressed against you. It’s deep and almost filthy if it wasn’t for how romantic it all seems, the lights in the kitchen dim and some slow jazzy song playing from your radio in the living room.

“You have to know by now.” He’s whispering as he kisses down your neck and you sigh at the feeling, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side to give him full access. “Tell me you know how I feel about you.”

“Sammy.” You’re meant to sound like you’re warning him, not wanting to hear him talk about feelings in these circumstances, but it comes across breathy and wanting.

Clearly he thinks so too because he lets out a low groan, letting his hands leave your shirt until he’s got them pressed against your back pockets. He tugs you closer and you gasp softly at the sudden feeling of him touching you like that, immediately soothed by the way he’s still kissing your skin carefully.

He’s not leaving any marks even though you’re not the one who needs to worry about that.

“You’ve got to go.” You say back and he lets out a frustrated breath even though he clearly knows you’re right judging by the way he stops kissing your neck in favor of resting his forehead against your shoulder.

You’ve been half distracted by his phone vibrating on the counter behind you for the last thirty minutes, no question in your mind about who is relentlessly trying to reach him.

“Did you not go home today after work?” You ask him softly, touching his jaw until he’s picking his head back up to look at you. “You know you have to stop doing that.”

“I can’t take it.” He says back and your shoulders deflate with light frustration. “It’s endless arguing with her.”

“You know I get what she’s like but I’d be pretty pissed too if my husband wasn’t coming home on top of your already long hours.” You’re trying your best to talk some sense into him but it’s easy to he distracted when he’s back to touching you.

He’s rubbing up and down your back, dipping under your shirt again and smiling softly when you shudder at the feeling of his skin on yours. You smack at his forearm when you catch sight of the near smirk and he does his best to school it although the efforts don’t do much.

“It would be different if it was you.” He says quietly and you tense up before he can elaborate, already knowing exactly what he’s trying to say. “If you were my wife.”

“But I’m not your wife.” You snap as soon as the word leaves his mouth and he lets out a frustrated breath.

He’s kissing you again like he thinks that will make you forget the truth of your situation and it nearly does, kissing him back eagerly because you’re never sure when it’s going to be the last time you get to.

You’re interrupted by the phone buzzing again and you pull back to lean against his chest, hiding your face in his neck and trying to ignore how good it feels when he rubs your sides in comfort.

“Go home Sammy.” You whisper and you look up in time to see his face fall, eyebrows furrowing in hurt when you lightly push against his chest to get him to back away from you.

You use the small space between your bodies to leave the kitchen, his footsteps following you into the living room. You let him pull you back, hands on your hips and then your stomach when your backs against his chest.

He kisses the back of your neck and then the side of your head, soft and parting before he’s letting out a deep breath and backing away from you.

You lean against the front window as you watch his headlights pull out of your driveway, blinking a few times before he turns to fully leave your street and head back to his house, back to reality.

The thought plagues you when you get into bed by yourself, daydreaming of the version of your life where he wouldn’t have to leave each night. You let yourself think about having your own ring on your finger, his things on the empty bed side table and his hands on you as you fall asleep.

You know it’s not healthy and, quite frankly, you know it makes you a terrible person.

Your friends tell just as much when you finally break down and tell them everything, crying about the night he kissed you and confessing that you’d spent almost every night with him pressed against you and making promises he can’t keep.

“He’s an asshole.” Cathy is stern with her tone, stirring her coffee in pointless circles and fixing her glare on you and your upset face. “I can’t believe you’re putting up with him still.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Victoria is quicker to be sympathetic although pouting in your direction. “He clearly loves you and just doesn’t know what to do about it.”

The topic of love makes your stomach turn a little and you try not to think about it after you leave your brunch, ignoring his calls for a few hours even though you’re well aware it will end with him knocking on your door.

There’s no surprise when it happens but you try to hold your ground with him, turning your head to the side when he tries to greet you with a kiss. His lips press against your cheek instead and then downturn into a frown.

“Are you mad at me?” He asks softly as you walk to your bedroom, sitting down on the foot of the bed and blinking at him when he stops in your doorway.

“No Sammy.” You breathe out even though you’re not sure that’s true, not really able to put a label on how you feel about him right now. The love that sits heavy on your chest muddies everything else around it. “I’m just tired.”

He’s coming closer and then going down to his knees in front of you, hands on your thighs as he stares up at you almost pleadingly. It’s such a vulnerable position that it makes you a little sick and you grab at his arm to try and tug him back to his feet.

He takes your hand and holds it instead so you can’t pull at him, kissing your knuckles briefly.

“I want to fix this.” He whispers and you feel teary almost immediately. “I can’t lose you because I’m being selfish. I’ll do whatever you want me to do but I can’t leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” You say back, voice small and defeated. You wish the statement wasn’t as true as it feels, the thought of not having him at all being so much worse than the twisted relationship you’re stuck in. “But I want that all the time, I want you to just be here. I want to have a home with you Sammy.”

“I love you.” He says it quietly and he’s said it before, in passing or casually when he hangs up the phone, but it lands a lot different now.

Realistically, you’re not at all surprised by the confession. You know Sammy, regardless if you can have him the way you want or not, you know him better than anybody and you knew he wouldn’t be doing something like this if it wasn’t because of something genuine like the same love you have for him.

The kind of love that makes you awful and selfish, devoted in a twisted way and blind to the consequences if it means you can have a few more hours together.

He’s standing up finally but only to gently push you backwards until you’re laying on the bed, climbing over you so he can kiss you softly as you melt against the comforter.

“I love you so much. It should have been you.” He’s murmuring the confessions between kisses that are getting deeper and deeper with each minute that passes. “I’m so sorry that it wasn’t you.”

“I love you Sammy.” You say back and it shocks you how easily it rolls off the tongue, the weight of it feeling a little lighter in your chest now that it’s out there.

He’s kissing you more feverishly after you say it, tongue pressing against yours as you make a soft pleased sound.

He’s holding himself up above you but you wish he wouldn’t, wish he would just press the full extent of his weight down on you until all you could feel was the softness of his stomach and his chest rising and falling. You want to feel his heartbeat racing like yours is and what it’s like to be completely his for a moment.

Sammy’s kisses are feverish and he finally does press against you, pulling your leg to the side so he can slot between them and lower himself down right where you need him.

You’re softly breathing, a bit shy when he starts to take off your clothes and then fully flushed when he’s kissing your chest and whispering how beautiful you are. You’d spent a lot of years imagining what being touched by Sammy would feel like but you hadn’t even came close to the euphoria, the undeniable thought that you were finally complete after being so empty.

He made love to you the first time, it was slow and gentle and nearly bringing you to tears when he told you how beautiful you were and how much he’d wanted this.

You felt good with him, like something had settled in your chest after rattling around for a long time. Everytime he said that he loved you seemed like it was the first, sending a warm rush through your blood that made you shiver.

It was more desperate in the weeks after, kisses turning rough and almost angry when he’d come over smelling like Tammi’s perfume or leave early because she wouldn’t stop calling him.

You felt like it became an outlet between you but you didn’t necessarily mind, a large part of you having fantasized about this version of him too. You liked when he got rougher with you, hands moving you around to his liking and fucking you harder whenever you purposefully brought up his wife to try and get under his skin.

Sammy and you didn’t fight with each other, you would get into tense conversations because you were both hurt, but you’d never fight. This was the closest thing you had to it, bruises on your hips and his back so scratched up he had to avoid taking off his shirt the next week when he went to the beach with Tammi.

He was good to you, always double checking after if it was something you enjoyed. He made you swear over and over again that you actually liked it and weren’t just doing it because he did, only stopping when you got embarrassed and had to bluntly admit that you were really into it.

You were into him, obsessively and all things about him. Tammi had gotten on him to eat more healthy and it nearly made you sick, the thought of him changing in any way outside of his own wants making you dizzy.

And you didn’t feel insecure about how much he loved you back because despite the obvious issue, you knew that he truly did.

His hands were never off you, rubbing your thigh while you watched a movie or kneading your stomach while he kissed the back of your neck at the kitchen counter. He liked to run you warm baths, sitting in the room with you while you soaked just so he could hear about your day at work.

You sometimes wondered how much of this he was doing for Tammi. A part of you accepted that it was probably just as much as he did for you because that was just the type of man he was, but you selfishly let yourself enjoy being spoiled by his affection.

You didn’t go a day without flowers even if he wasn’t able to come and see you, he sent coffee to your work before you even got there, and he’d travel across town on his lunch break just to come and eat with you.

There wasn’t a night that you didn’t cry in bed and wish things were different. You’d stopped talking to your friends about because you were getting paranoid about the possible judgement in their eyes, unable to explain what it felt like to love somebody so much that you’d disregard your character for them.

But you did love Sammy that much.

So much so, that when he was coming over on Christmas Eve with an arm-full of gifts for you, you didn’t hesitate to pull him inside and kiss him until he lost the chill in his cheeks.

He disregarded the boxes in the entryway, lifting you up and bringing you to your bedroom before you could even greet him properly.

“Stay the night.” You breathed against his mouth and he tensed up a little ontop of you, brushing your hair out of your face so he could get a perfect view of your eyes and expression. “Wake up with me on Christmas morning. I’ll make us breakfast and we can open our presents by the tree together.”

You both knew what you were describing, a clear cookie cutter image of a husband and wife in your heads as you spoke.

He was hesitating, looking like he was unable to deny you despite how difficult the circumstances were. You weren’t just asking him to stay with you for the holiday, you were giving him a clear choice between the two of you.

Tammi wouldn’t be able to forgive him not coming home on the night before Christmas and you’d never forgive him for leaving. You were sure of that now, even though you felt so happy just to look at his conflicted face that you weren’t sure where you’d put all that love if he did leave.

You were happy to even be an option to choose from and that understanding almost made you crawl out from under him just to get some space.

Maybe he saw the pain in your eyes at the idea or maybe he came to the conclusion all in his own, but either way, he was leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your lips before letting one linger on your temple.

“Okay baby.” He whispered it but it felt like the loudest thing he’d ever said to you. “I’ll stay with you.”

[macabrebatz]

Look at my stupid fuckass satanist husband

[80sfilmclub]

♡ɞ✦ ┆・ DOLL'S CORNER.

summary. After Jack treats you at the emergency department, he learns that you're a camgirl — a very popular camgirl with a public SFW account. Curiosity has him subscribing and he finds himself falling into a very addicting trap of you. word count. 16.5k (this got away from me) content warnings. nsfw content, excessive use of 'bunny', medical inaccuracies (of literally almost everything, big shout out to healthline and mayoclinic for iud info), mentions of vaginal bleeding and pain, easter eggs/cameos of other readers from a previous robby fic (👀) notes. so this was the most absolute fun to write !! i've got a few easter-eggs in here (including other readers from a previous robby fic (👀) and some of my lovely mutuals mentioned) so i hope you like it, my inbox is open for more blurb requests or ideas you have for the dolls-verse! photos above are from pinterest and @deathreverse made the amazing website mock up i included below! (thankyouthankyouiloveyourmassivebrain)

As someone who's made a living off of exposing every inch of your body to the world, you feel horribly exposed sitting on an exam table in just a hospital gown that you had changed into from the cliche trench coat and lacy negligee you had on earlier.

Despite the late hour, the waiting room had been packed and any glance your way felt like something intrusive and prodding. You had been fully ready to wait the whole night before you could be seen but after your vitals had been taken and triaged, the doctor had pushed you to the front of the line and into the next available room.

So here you sit, the paper beneath you crinkling every time you squirm and try to find a far more comfortable position before giving in entirely and leaning over to your side. You support yourself with your elbow and try to ignore the prodding pain in your backside.

"Good evening, I'm Dr. Abbot, what seems to be the problem?"

Your stomach drops; just your luck that the doctor assigned to help you fish out your newest toy is panty-dropping handsome. A silver fox through and through, he looks downright delectable with those large freckled arms that seem to be bursting through those black scrubs. If it had been any other day, you might've turned on the charm, flirt your way to a dinner date or more.

But it's 1:37 AM, you have a fuzzy, bunnytail plug stuck inside you and you're desperate to just get home without your asshole gaping.

"Um." You glance at the iPad in his hand, hoping that whoever saw you first recorded it in your chart so you wouldn't have to repeat yourself. But the handsome doctor is waiting patiently. "I have something… stuck inside me."

"Ah. I'll see what I can do. Roll over for me, sweetheart."

The night shift always brings on the weirdest cases that after all his years of working, nothing could phase him at this point. Seeing you, looking so uncomfortable and startled on the exam table, ranks so low on said weird cases that he misses the note Crus had left on your chart and went right in on the usual greeting.

"… what seems to be the problem—?"

Butt plug lodged in anus, patient reports mild pain and heavy discomfort.

Jack rereads the sentence a few times before he looks up at you. Pretty albeit shy, your cheeks flushed and your gaze seemingly land anywhere but him. When you listen and roll over onto your stomach, he swallows the instinctive 'good girl' that threatens to spill from his lips.

He tugs on a fresh pair of gloves, strengthening his spine and fortifying the usual mask of professionalism he wears. You're laid out on your stomach now, the blankets of the exam table tugged down to right below your ass. Before he could ask you to lift your hips, you do so on your own, knees spread apart.

Face down, ass up.

He swallows thickly as he gently nudges the seam of the hospital gown apart at your spine. What greets him has heat boiling in his gut: a fuzzy pink, bunny cottontail buttplug nestled right in between your asscheeks.

"Alright, I'm gonna touch you back here, see how deep it's in there before we try extraction," he murmurs. You whimper when he gives an experimental but gentle tug. "Is there any stinging sensation?"

"Nuh-uh," you mumble into the pillow.

Jack swallows again as the cottontail plug gives beneath his grip, his other hand pushing your left asscheek aside. "Let me know if I pull too hard, alright?"

You nod and he sees the way your moves against the pillow.

"Words, please."

Your thighs clench as you fight off the simmering heat that your frustratingly hot doctor starts with those two simple words. "Yes, I will." An honorific sits behind your teeth (daddy? sir? whichever, it seems to fit him regardless of what you use) but you swallow it down.

Meanwhile, Jack tries to ignore the tell-tale sheen between your thighs, keeps his gloved hands where they need to be. His mind races through horrific, bloody accidents of the week prior to keep his other head from wandering. "Good," he mutters.

Silence falls between you two as Jack gently adds medical-grade lubricant, apologizing at the cool temperature of it against your heated skin. After a few rotations of the plug, you clamp your teeth around the hospital gown to stifle any wayward moans.

"Mm—" You whimper anyways and Jack stills. "I'm okay—! Just, uh— is it almost out?"

Jack clears his throat; he's grateful you can't see him or the creeping blush up his neck. "Almost. I gotta take it slow to avoid any possible injuries."

The thought makes you lightheaded but you ground yourself back into reality before your mind can start jumping to worst case scenarios. "That makes sense."

He twists the plug and a flare of arousal blooms in your core, more pleasure than pain now. "So," he clears his throat again, an attempt at normalcy. "What do you do for work?" He mentally pats himself on the back at the inane question, hoping it'll be enough to distract you as he attempts at another tug.

You squeak anyways as your ring of muscles expand at the widest part of the plug. Jack adds more lubricant. "This," you manage to say.

Jack's dick gives a willfull throb but he forces it down with the degloving case from the night before. "O-Oh?"

"I… stream? I'm an adult streamer, oh fuck—!"

Your ass is gaping slightly as Jack inadvertently tugs the whole plug out with little warning, an involuntary reaction from your reveal. "Shit— sorry, sweetheart. Don't move—"

The silicone toy hits the metal tray beside you in a dull thud, the fluffy end of it peeking above the lip of the tray, while you feel his gloved digits gently probe around the ring. "Just making sure there aren't any abrasions, any cuts or irritation before we finish up here." He sees your head nod against the pillows so he continues on with his examination.

Your ass is firm beneath his touch. Pilates, maybe. Or strength training. His jaw clenches as he forces his mind to the present again, resumes the exam before carefully covering you up with the hospital gown again. "You're all good, sweetheart, you can turn onto your back now."

A part of him feels a sick sense of satisfaction at the way you squirm from the easy use of petnames. He's always been a natural flirt, that roguish charm that calms patients enough for him to diagnose, but it's a touch more fun when it works on someone as pretty as you.

"Thank you, Dr. Abbot."

But the gentle cadence of your voice cuts through him and shame trickles in like molasses. When did he turn out to be such a perv? Maybe the night shift is getting to him. He clears his throat, assuming his professional stance, but your smile turns wicked and there's something mischievous in your gaze that he can't quite place.

"Really, I can't thank you enough," you say as you carefully roll over to settle in an upright position. "But, um… is it possible if I can keep the toy?"

He lets out a little laugh and nods. With his hands still gloved, he retrieves a plastic bag from one of the cabinets and places the toy in before handing it to you. "'course you can. Just make sure you prep yourself better next time."

Jack nearly winces at the crass statement but you reward him with a bemused giggle. "Don't worry, I learned my lesson. It's a good thing I'm testing it out first before a stream. It'd be so embarrassing if I got it stuck inside me while I was live," you share and he tries not to look too eager as you share more about your unorthodox occupation.

"Do you… do that often?" The question falls flat and he makes up for it with an embarrassed chuckle, discarding his gloves in the nearby waste basket. "Jesus, tell me if I'm overstepping here."

You laugh again and Jack's positive he isn't as funny as you make him to be but he'd gladly make a fool of himself if he got to hear that sound again. "You're fine. Trust me, I've heard worse."

"What if I want to be the best you've heard?"

Your brow rises up in mild surprise. "Was that a line, Dr. Abbot?"

"Maybe."

"It's not very good."

"It's also 2 AM, sweetheart."

You cross your arms, tilt yout head to the side and it feels like he's being taken apart. "Do you make it a habit to flirt with your patients?"

"Just the pretty ones— oh, yikes. Yeah, that one was bad," he concedes with a light laugh. "I may be a flirt, but you're trouble. Now… think you can behave while I go grab your discharge papers?"

Your smile is saccharine sweet. "Of course."

He chuckles and shakes his head, nudging the door open with his hip before he exits. The rest of the evening goes by routinely: you sign off on a few papers before changing back into your clothes. Dr. Abbot is nowhere to be seen until you're walking towards the exit, your gait a tad bit crooked, and he's leaning against the counter by the nurses' station.

"Thanks again, doctor."

The wink you give him nearly stops his heart, your easy demeanor returning now that you aren't battling the embarrassment of having a butt plug stuck inside you. When the door shuts behind you and the chaos of the emergency department resumes around him, Crus Henderson cackles behind his chart.

"What?" Jack frowns.

The smile Henderson gives him is downright sinister. "You're not slick, old man."

"It's fine." Shen materializes beside him with an obnoxiously loud slurp of his perpetually full iced coffee. "Technically, she isn't your patient anymore. And Crus and I won't tell."

"There's nothing to tell—!"

The two share knowing grins before walking off. "Sure, Abbot. Sure. Wait 'til you're off to look her up though."

Jack splutters. "I'm not going to look her up—"

In the quiet of his bedroom, Jack looks you up.

The sun's already filtering through his window blinds and it feels like some social transgression to be searching up porn during the day. But he's showered and clean with his prosthetic off, tucked under his covers and leaned against his headboard. The cursor's blinking up at him, taunting him. He doesn't even know where to begin but he's got your full name, wonders if it's enough to even catch a trace of you on social media.

He types your name in anyway on instagram and his breath leaves him in a rush when your profile sits at the top of the search results. Your profile pic is innocent enough, smiling brightly, but upon further inspection, your shoulders and collarbone is exposed right where the photo is cut off; an implication that you've got nothing on below the edge of your profile. Once he manages to tear his gaze away, his eyes snag onto the amount of followers you have. Four million. An impressed whistle escapes him as he starts to scroll.

Your photos are still pretty tame, nothing more risque than a bikini shot of you at the beach. To anyone that isn't regularly watching adult streamers, you look like any other influencer of the modern age. Wholesome photos of you are attached as well, displaying your interests and hobbies that has Jack falling deeper and deeper into your orbit.

It's nearly noon when he realized he may have spent the previous hours just looking up your social media sites. One thing that did stick out like a sore thumb (aside from your jaw-dropping photos) had been the lack of use of your real name. He understands the reasoning, knows its for safety especially with the kind of career you're in, but the affectionate nickname you use for yourself and what your subscribers use has a lick of jealousy flaring in his chest.

Dollface. Doll. Dolly.

He scrolls back up before the little monster in his chest grows and a nondescript url catches his eye, the hyperlink sitting pretty beneath your bio. Before he could secondguess himself, he taps it and his phone brings him out of instagram and into his browser app where your website loads on his screen.

While Jack isn't some tech-savvy genius, he's confident enough to say that your page must've been done by a professional. Summer pastels greet him, a variation of your profile pic on instagram (more skin, more sultry—) sitting on the top left of the screen with 'DOLL'S CORNER' splashed on the top of the page and a drop down menu that he decides to explore later.

It's arranged like some sort of blog, your most recent status marked as eight hours ago where you're complaining about some ache. He bites back a smirk before he scrolls down your older posts. There's many videos, ranging from 'get ready with me!'s and 'shopping hauls' with pretty thumbnails, but the one that steals his attention are the ones that are grayed out — almost pixelated with a pink heart-lock graphic in the center.

[ UPGRADE YOUR TIER LEVEL TO ACCESS THIS VIDEO! ♡ ]

His thumb hovers over the lock-graphic before he gives in.

The screen loads and he's taken to a new page, marked by different tiers and different price points.

BESTIES — free! access includes: - get ready with me - weekly vlogs - shopping hauls SWEETHEARTS — weekly subscription. ($) - everything besties has to offer! - short-form lewd content - locked photos from the vault - audios LOVERS — monthly subscription. ($$$) - everything sweethearts and besties has to offer! - midnight live-streams - personalized short-form videos - personalized audios

Jack blinks twice. He continues to scroll before he catches a three-day free trial for all the paid tiers. He bypasses it and taps a single month purchase for access to the LOVERS' vault (after creating a profile and naming it simply with his initials). His dick stirs in his pajamas as the screen loads before it confirms his payment.

All the grayed-out videos are unlocked but rather than an aesthetic thumbnail with pretty collages like your free content, they're blurred out images of you within the video — enough to imply exactly what's going on in each one.

He scrolls on to see another video of you trying on outfits, specifically lingerie. Figuring this is as close as it'll get to dipping his toes in the metaphorical pond of your NSFW content for now, he hits play.

The video starts off with your pretty face adjusting the camera before you settle back on a white rug, surrounded by opened boxes. You greet the camera and it feels like a blow to the gut to see you in your element. If he thought you were pretty in the emergency room, under the garish lighting of the bright fluorescents, you're a goddamn bombshell with perfect makeup and flattering lighting.

As you address the camera, he begins to wonder how exactly you could be an adult streamer when you have content like this until you bring out the haul for the video. White ivory boxes detailed with cream ribbons, baby pink boxes wrapped nicely with ebony lace and tulle. He catches a name on one of the boxes: La Perla.

Jack shifts in his seat, bats away the creeping guilt of watching a young woman try on lingerie, but the charge was confirmed on his card already; it's too late for regret.

(He fears there isn't any regret in the first place.)

Fortunately for his heart (or unfortunately for his twitching cock), you had edited the videos to cut through the actual process of changing into them and rather just show off the full sets.

You didn't seem to have a preference for color, each piece ranging from a monochromatic black to butter yellow lace. Either way, you look gorgeous in all of them and Jack isn't ashamed to admit he's about to blow in his boxers, untouched, at just the sight of you in lingerie.

When the video ends, he replays it but makes it a point to keep his hands out of his pants for now. Instead, he drops a like and a simple comment:

@.swatdoc. — You're magnificent.

Confident in the anonymity of his profile, he puts his phone away to finally catch up on sleep.

Across the city, your phone buzzes with a new notification as you have breakfast on your island counter. Despite the waves of engagement you get on your content, you still keep the notifications on and the newest one brings forth a flutter in your stomach. Compliments are a nickel apiece when it comes to your career but the simplicity of this one and the lack of crudeness that follows steals your attention.

You take a bite of your food as you tap the notif, bringing on the new account profile. While most are kept blank, this man has a profile pic of his back facing a gorgeous sunset. Despite the fact his face is unseen, you recognize those salt and pepper curls.

In the following days, Jack begins to make it a habit to check on your daily statuses. You don't post daily on instagram but you post stories and he enjoys your little activities, likes how everyone seems to be so kind to you. It makes him wonder if your followers are aware of your evening activities, of your content tucked safely away behind a paywall.

Even in the comments section in both the SFW and NSFW side of your content, he realizes you've amassed a loyal following comprised of women that it nearly hides the lewd and desperate remarks from your male subscribers.

@deathreverse : that top is gorggggg!!! ♡

@pearlessance : your makeup is stunning, drop a routine next babes!!

@enam3l: absolutely obsessed w you!! ♡

@mariasont: that shade of pink suits you BEAUTIFULLY

In your last NSFW video, it's you in bed, a thin blanket draped loosely along your frame. There isn't an intro like your lingerie haul, just getting right into it as if the viewer catches you in the middle of the act: your hand sliding beneath the fabric, the camera shaking slightly as you rearrange your position to lay back against the mountain of pillows.

Jack's mimicking the position on his day off, his own back cushioned against his headboard as he watches in rapt attention. His readers are sliding off his nose but he adjusts them as he hits the volume increase button twice. He wants to hear you, addicted to the way you sound so sweet whimpering around your fingers.

Obsessed with the way your moans can sound so goddamn endearing.

He doesn't let the video play on, his hand still sitting obediently above the waist band of his sweatpants as he tries to catch his breath. He scrolls onward instead, stops at a tamer video of you shopping at a boutique.

@.swatdoc. — Gorgeous as always, bunny.

The cursor blinks as he secondguesses the petname. No one's called you anything other than 'doll' or 'dolly' or some iteration of baby or babe. Bunny's innocuous enough, Jack decides, and taps 'comment'. It'll be an inside joke for himself, for the evening you may as well tipped his world upside down when you'd come into the pitt for a stuck bunny buttplug. You get thousands of comments a day, the likelihood of you recognizing him is abysmally low.

The little pep talk he gives himself soothe the minor anxiety spike as he continues to scroll on, amusing himself with the way your bright personality seems to shine through even with the nasty videos that has his cock twitching to life.

He distracts himself with the comments section instead of exiting the video.

@.deathreverse — jesuuus christ, ur so fucking hot

@.deathreverse — let me rip that gorgeous top off you plsplspls

@.pearlessance — let me make your moans my ringtone and i'll never miss a call

The women commenting are far more entertaining to read through, the creativity of it all always taking him aback, despite the usual stab of jealousy. At this point, his parasocial streak of possessiveness is something he's learned to ignore, to let sit beneath a layer of faux indifference.

He's just a fan now among millions, he'll bask in the anonymity your popularity affords him.

You might be obsessed with your most latest subscriber. A Mr. Swatdoc with the silver curls.

Realistically, it may be the hot doctor that had seen you through the most mortifying ordeal of taking out a buttplug at two in the morning but the profile pic doesn't give you much and his profile is blank aside from his chosen screen name (swatdoc) and his age (48).

Regardless, your heart does a funny little twist whenever he appears in your notifications (only on your SFW posts, interestingly enough) whether it's a like or an extra tip but your stomach drops when his newest comment adds a new petname.

Bunny.

You sit up in bed when the notification comes through. Gorgeous as always, bunny. The fucking bunny, cotton-tail buttplug. The same one that Dr. Abbot had all but talked you through it as he gently removed it from your asshole. You glance up to see the damned toy sitting on your dresser right across from your bed, mocking you.

The bed dips beneath as you shift your weight, rolling around in bed as you reread that goddamn nickname over and over again. Bunny.

As your eyes bore into your screen, your phone buzzes.

[@.swatdoc liked your vlog!]

[@.swatdoc commented: Can't get enough of you, bunny.]

A sudden wave of confidence (or perhaps impulsiveness) washes through you and you tap his comment. And in quick succession, you like his comment and tap on his profile. Then his inbox. And finally:

doll : doctor abbot???

Jack drops his phone like it burned him. He sits up, nearly kicks off his blankets in his chaos as his heart falls right out of his ass. He didn't even know there was a messaging system on your website but there it is, that red notification bubble on the top right. He taps it and there's the chatbox.

He contemplates on lying, on playing dumb but he respects you far too much to lie to you. A heavy sigh escapes him as he resettles back into his bed and his cock sheepishly sits limp against his inner thigh.

swatdoc : How did you know it was me?

doll : i'd recognize those silver curls anywhere ♡

Huh. The little heart emoticon blinks up at him, maybe even glows. His cock gives a hopeful twitch.

swatdoc : Let me get this right. You aren't weirded out by me finding your website?

doll : you pulled my buttplug out of my ass, doctor. i think we're even.

swatdoc : Sounds fair.

doll : i do want to ask, strictly as a survey yknow, just to make sure i'm reaching subscriber satisfaction expectations. but is my nsfw stuff not hot enough?

swatdoc : I don't know how to answer that.

doll : you aren't liking any of my nsfw videos…….. am i not your type?

He can imagine it, that wry little grin when you tease the camera, makes him want to fuck it out of you—

swatdoc : Just trying to be respectful. Or as respectful as I can be given the circumstances, sweetheart.

doll : i think you're super respectful, i see the tips you've been leaving….. thank you btw ♡

swatdoc : You're welcome, bunny. doll liked your message!

The activity light near your name goes off and he figures you might've logged off. His thumb drags up the screen to exit the page, sets his phone down and attempt at sleeping. But in the midst of his dark bedroom, there's a stirring in his gut that he can't seem to shake. An itch he needs scratching.

Time fluctuates, slips through his fingers as he finds himself on a popular porn website, the light of his phone illuminating his hazel eyes. He scrolls and scrolls past countless videos, the thumbnails made to entice anyone in his position, and yet frustration starts to grow larger than the lust that's been simmering beneath his heated skin.

None of the actresses look like you.

The thought floors him and he pauses when he finds a woman with a similar body type as you, wears her hair the same way you do. Her moans are a bit too pitchy but he punches the volume down and when his hand slides beneath his sweatpants, he doesn't feel guilt. And when he cums, it's your name spilling from his lips.

"You seeing anyone?"

Jack doesn't look up from the iPad as Robby settles in beside him, ready to take over for day shift as night shift starts to filter out. "What are you talking about?"

"Y'know. Dating? Getting out there? 'cuz Peaches has someone—"

"Not interested, brother, but I thank you for your service." Jack smiles but it's forced, halfway towards a grimace, and places the iPad down with a little too much force. He stomps off to the locker room. Robby and Dana watch his retreating back before they share a look.

"What's his problem?" Dana mutters, her glasses sitting low on the slope of her nose.

Robby chuckles and shakes his head. "No idea."

The truth is— Jack does have a problem. That problem is you.

He thought he'd been good, kept his hands to himself when he gets to his usual routine of stalking your website, and lets his fantasies run wild when he switches over to another porn site to find an actress that looks like you.

But then you had kept texting him, messaging him on your website that the line he's drawn between staying respectful and admiring you from afar against his baseless desire of wanting to fuck you 'til you cry is starting to blur. Of course you have no idea of this line, no clue of the existence of the boundaries Jack's made for himself.

You have no idea that Jack wants more than a physical interaction with you and he has no idea how to ask you out without coming off like a complete pervert.

doll: dr abbot?? swatdoc: You know you can call me Jack, sweetheart. doll: take me out first then i'll feel comfortable enough to call you whatever you want.

Jack nearly shortcircuits at your reply and he fights the urge to hide his phone, shove it in his pocket to deal with later. It'd just look too suspicious and with Shen's eyes on him, he knows he'd blab straight to Lena who'd definitely gossip with Dana. While Dana's known to keep a secret, anything involving him and a potential partner is a surefire way for her to tell Robby.

swatdoc: You mean it, bunny? doll: spending time with you? of course ♡

Jack chuckles and swipes his palm across his stubbly mouth, absolutely incredulous at your gumption.

swatdoc: I meant a date. Not just one night. This old man isn't built for casual. doll: okay old man. take me out to dinner then ♡ it'd give me a chance to redo the first impression you have of me swatdoc: I think it was a perfect first impression, bunny. doll: you saw my ass, of course you thought so!!! swatdoc: I was actually enamored by your charming personality. Your ass was a bonus. doll: … flirt. you're smooth dr abbot. doll: so when's our date? swatdoc: My next day off is in a couple days. How's saturday night looking for you? doll: i'm free !!! gonna come pick me up? swatdoc: If you're comfortable with it, I'd love to. So, saturday at 7? doll: i trust you ♡ and yes, i'll see you then.

He gets a text from you the following day (you'd admitted filching his number from the profile he's made on your website) and after a brief facetime call to prove your identity, he receives your address with a playful tag of: don't be late, dr. abbot.

Saturday's only a couple days away and yet he's fidgeting. He's got a night shift to get his mind off things but even Lena can see he's distracted. While he managed to wave away his colleagues' concerns, he wonders if he's the only one this anxious or nervous for the date.

[ Doll updated her status! ] — 2 secs ago. — Butterflies. ♡

A wave of notifications flood your phone despite the simple status update but you couldn't care less— not when you've got every possible combination of a date outfit laid out on your bed and nothing looks good. You have time, of course, there's nothing stopping you from going out shopping but the extra options might just exacerbate your indecision.

A pitiful whine escapes you as the paralysis of all your options land you flat on your back atop your mattress, clothing wrinkles be damned.

Whether or not the both of you are ready, Saturday evening arrives quickly.

The only information Jack had given you about the date aside from taking you out for a nice, classic dinner was to 'look nice'. As charming and handsome as he is, you resent the fact that he's like every other man his age: allergic to details. Somehow you manage to put on something simple but flattering, a black cocktail dress with a hemline that skims above your knee and a sweetheart neckline that teases your cleavage along with a bold, red pair of stilettos. Pairing it with a matching clutch, you deem yourself ready after a final swipe of lip gloss across your pouty lips.

"Here we go…" you murmur to yourself. Just as you dab at your lower lip with the pad of your ring finger, your doorbell rings. Seven on the dot.

Your heels click against the floor as you open your door to be greeted with Jack in slacks and a navy blue button down… as well as a bouquet of your favorite flowers. You gasp first, greetings momentarily forgotten in favor of taking the offered bouquet for a sweet sniff. Jack's compliments die on his tongue when he truly sees you, nose buried in the petals.

"How'd you know these were my favorite?" You ask as you step back, head tipping to wordlessly invite him in as you seek out a vase.

"I watched your vlogs," he shrugs with a shameless little smile. "I picked up a few details."

Maybe he shouldn't be as stunned as he is now — he's seen you in various states of dressed and undressed at this point — but you've truly left him speechless when you had opened the door, wearing that little black dress that hugs your body perfectly.

He's grateful that you notice the flowers first, cooing and gasping at the curated arrangement rather than noticing his thunderstruck stupor. It gives him a moment to clear his throat, admire the way you smile at the bouquet.

"You look divine," he murmurs as he follows you inside, watches you putter around your open space kitchen to place the flowers in water. And maybe it's his ego that's got him this taken by you; knowing that perhaps only he alone gets to see this side of you, bashful and charming. When you blush at his compliment, he feels like the king of the world.

"You don't look so bad yourself," you tease with a playful wink, taking his offered hand as he leads you out the door.

Jack's a gentleman when he helps you into his car, glancing aside momentarily when your dress rides up upon seating. He's a gentleman when you make it to the fine-dining restaurant ("Heard the new executive chef just received two Michelin stars!" you share excitedly), opening doors for you and keeping a respecful hand at the small of your back. He pulls your chair out for you, too. Perhaps the bar is in hell but you're undoubtedly impressed and giddy, basking in his undivided attention as you wear your heart on your sleeve for the rest of the evening.

"… and they all looked at it like it was something alien. It was a fax machine—!" Jack laughs, regaling you with the infamous July 4 analog nightmare from hell at the pitt. Dessert is lain between you two, half-eaten and momentarily forgotten as the two of you had been lost in conversation. He'd been worried that he might gross you out or bore you with his job as an ER physician but you had asked and prodded for more gory details, nose scrunching adorably when he explained what a degloving was.

"Okay, fax machines are basically obsolete," you counter with a giggle, lips parting as he feeds you a bite of cake. He waits patiently for you to chew before you continue on. "No one uses them anymore!"

Jack shakes his head in mock disappointment before you return the favor and feed him a bite from your own fork. "Sweetheart, these are vital skills!" Something warm flutters in his chest when you reach up to absentmindedly wipe away a bit of frosting from the corner of his lips, your painted nail skimming across his skin with the movement.

"How about this, I'll call you on the off chance I'll ever need to use a fax machine," you say dryly. A chuckle escapes Jack, low and grumbly that it has your thighs clenching together beneath the table.

"Sure. Or call me whenever, I'll always answer."

The ease of his flirting never fails to make you flustered and Jack capitalizes on it whenever he gets the chance. Like clockwork, you giggle and glance aside, a pretty blush on your cheeks as you look anywhere but his eyes. It's a wonderful side of you that he's steadily growing obsessed with. Yes, your online persona in your SFW space is charming and enchanting while you're essentially a succubus — sex incarnate — when the sun drops low.

But this is you, unabashedly you, and Jack can't get enough of it. He wants more than what you probably expect from him, a warm body to occupy his bed (judging from the stories you've shared about past experiences), and he's ready to go above and beyond to prove to you that he's willing to do whatever it takes so that he could call all of you his.

"Hey, how are we doing? Dessert's good?" The head-of-house manager of the restaurant cuts in seamlessly; he seems to have a good sense of when to enter a conversation.

You smile brightly and Jack nods. "It's delicious, thank you. Every dish has been fantastic," you gush.

"Wonderful, that's what I like to hear," the manager crows before he straightens out his tie. "You two are a beautiful couple. Are we celebrating an anniversary?"

Now it's Jack's turn to get bashful. "Uh, no, a first date, actually."

The manager looks taken aback but he bounces back with a low chuckle, two hands on his chest in subtle apology. "If it helps, the chemistry you two have is undeniable. Truly. But anyways, I came by to ask if you two would like to join us in the garden party out back or maybe a nice little kitchen tour?"

Your eyes shimmer with excitement and Jack gives a yes, offering his hand for you to take. The manager smiles and claps once. "Perfect, let me take you to where the magic happens."

After meeting the famed head chefs and even sampling a few of the desserts at the pastry station, you're positively glowing as the two of you step out to where a small get together of other guests mingle by picnic tables. A few guys that may be the line cooks are handing out beer and soda, giving off a more relaxed vibe than the one inside. It's pleasant and when you feel a chill, Jack's draping his jacket along your shoulders without a word.

"Thanks," you hum, eyes fluttering as you take in his warm and musky cologne that seeps in from the collar. He chuckles and places a hand on the bottom of your spine.

"Of course," he murmurs then tips his head to wear the drinks are being passed around. "Did you want any—?"

"No, I think I'm stuffed. Did you…?"

Jack shakes his head and the nerves from before the date nearly come back in full force. You aren't naive, you know what kind of expectations your job gives people whenever you go on dates. While Jack's been a gentleman the entire evening, you can't deny the fact that him being a subscriber to your NSFW content does skew the way he must see you.

The drive back to your place is quiet and calm, your hand folded delicately in his as he drives. He walks you to your door but much to your surprise, he doesn't step past the threshold.

"I had an amazing time," he says first, his lined eyes crinkling as he gives you a warm smile. "I'd really like to see you again."

You nod, leaning against your doorway as you realize his hand has found yours again. Your joined fingers sway slightly. "Me too. I… I really liked tonight."

He smiles wider as if you've erased any doubts he's had. "Good. I'll, um. I'll let you get some rest. I'll call you when I get my next day off, alright?"

"Yeah, sounds good."

"Great." And with a smooth and unhurried motion, he leans in for a kiss to your cheek, chaste and sweet. "By the way, I want you to know I'm all in. I'm not trying to waste your time or make you think I'm here for the physical aspect. I like you, sweetheart. Truly."

And with a final pinch of your chin, he steps away and bids you good night before walking off. Later that night, you realize you haven't stopped smiling until you climb into bed, alone but completely content.

When morning comes, Jack sends you a good morning text before he cleans up around the house, settle in before his shift later that evening. He doesn't check his phone 'til noon and when he does, he sees a text back from you and a notification from your website.

[Doll just posted a video!] — 3 hours ago.

His stomach drops. While he truly has no issue with you continuing your camgirl career, something twists inside him at the thought of you getting off the night before without him. Is it that feeling of missing out or is it the fact that he hadn't been there to fulfill that need of yours?

Regardless, his heart is pounding when he taps the notification. The video loads and a breath of relief leaves him in a rush.

[New video!] Get un-ready with me! — Skincare Routine.

He chuckles and leans against the kitchen counter, turns his phone sideways to see you fill his screen in the same dress from the night before. You must be in your bathroom, he notes, as you relay your steps carefully to your audience.

"I know everyone will be asking but I just came back from a wonderful dinner. Food was absolutely divine, I'm already considering going back soon. But…" A bashful smile curls onto your lips and Jack's beaming. "The company was even better. Anyways— moving onto the foam cleanser…"

Your routine ends after you apply your serums and creams, signing off on the camera. The comments section pop up immediately.

@.mariasont — your skin looks so good but you look GLOWINGGG

@.pearlessance — were you on a date?? that dress is fantastic!!

Jack chuckles when he sees that you've dropped a like on that commenter about a date but nothing more. Fan the rumors without confirming anything, looks like you're a tease in more ways than one.

Unable to help himself, he scrolls down his contacts and taps yours. The phone rings once, twice, then—

"Jack?"

"Hey, sweetheart. Is this a bad time?"

You sound a tad bit out of breath but you reassure him nonetheless. "No, no, you're fine. What's up?"

"Well, I—" He interrupts himself with a shy laugh. "I don't know if it's too soon but I'd like to take you out again. My next day off is next week on Friday."

"Oh!" You sound positively pleased and Jack can picture you biting your lower lip to hide that smile he's obsessed with. "Yeah, I can make that happen. Are we doing dinner?"

"No, I was thinking of visiting the aquarium this time around."

"The aquarium…"

He bites back a grin, can picture the excitement simmering beneath the slight trepidation of your words. "That's right. Unless there's something else—"

"No, it's perfect!" You cut in with a little giggle. "Jack, did you watch all my vlogs?"

"Of course I did. And it truly can't be that much of a hardship to learn how much you love the place when you've got vlogs of you there nearly every month," he teases. "But if it's something you like to do on your own—"

"No, no, it's fine, Jack, I'd love to." He can hear the way your voice softens. "I can't wait."

"Alright, it's a date. I'll see you next Friday, sweetheart."

Friday doesn't come fast enough this time around. You've got an outfit bought and ready to go, a simple skirt with a blouse that you might've picked to match his eyes. Jack's on time yet again, two PM on the dot, and while he still keeps his hands to himself, he basks in the way your hand constantly seeks out the crook of his elbow.

You regale him with fish facts throughout each wing of the aquarium and he watches with besotted eyes when you basically glow at the sight of the jellyfish. Conversation ebbs and flows and he's pressing soft kisses into your hair like he can't quite help himself.

By the time you've both made it back to his car, he helps you in while placing the massive jellyfish plushy he bought you at the gift shop onto your lap. It's silly and absolutely wholesome.

It's made you undeniably horny for him.

You appreciate it though, you see how he's gone above and beyond to show you that he wants a relationship out of this. He doesn't expect you to be 'easier' because of your job as a camgirl nor does he think he's entitled to anything more than a kiss on the cheek because of what you show online.

And it's making you want him so bad that you feel like the pervert in this situation.

At your doorway, he's got a hand on your waist this time and your arms are draped loosely around his neck while still holding onto the jellyfish plush that's dangling behind his back.

"Today was lots of fun," you say first, nearly chest to chest with him. He nods, feeling the way you shiver when his thumb rubs circles against your hip bones. Above the fabric of your shirt.

"It was," he agrees as he basks in the sweet scent of your perfume. This close, you're practically intoxicating. "I enjoyed the little fish facts too, didn't know my date was a lovely encyclopedia—"

Your eyes roll playfully at the teasing jab, exaggerating your movements as you unwind your arms to step out of his embrace. "If you hate me, just say so—"

"Now hold on, I never said it was a bad thing," he chuckles and you let out a quiet squeal when his grip tightens, pulling you back into his arms. "Thought it was cute."

"Sure you do," you tease back and you realize he's pulled you even closer now. His voice is a rumble, low and gravelly as the distance between your lips is beginning to diminish.

"I do." He murmurs, his nose brushing against yours. "This okay?"

You nod, throat bobbing. "More than okay," you whisper.

His gaze drops from your eyes, back to your lips, before they close the distance. Your heart thunders in your chest as your arms tighten around his neck to pull him lower. He goes easily, smiling against your lips. He doesn't deepen it, though, just steals a handful of more feather-light kisses that elicits a string of giggles from you, your foot popping up and your back bending slightly backwards as he dips you and showers you in affection.

Eventually, he reluctantly pulls away but not without giving you one more kiss. "Have a good rest of your evening, sweetheart," he murmurs. "Make sure you lock the door behind you, yeah?"

You nod, sighing dramatically as you lean against the back of your door as he steps out to the hallway. "I will. Can I see you again soon, Jack?"

His poor little heart thunders wildly at your adorable expression, half-pleading and half-fond. "Of course, princess. Maybe we can do something like this again, maybe a museum or that fair?"

You perk up with a nod. "That sounds like fun."

"Good. I'll see you soon, darling."

You sigh dreamily and blow him a kiss before shutting the door. You lean against the paneling and groan into your hands.

In the silence of your apartment, you wail— "Why won't he fuck me?!"

The time between your last date to the aquarium to your next one at the museum, you and Jack continue to text. Whether it's you giving him advice for a dish he's making or asking his opinion on which top would look well for a brunch you're attending with your girlfriends, the conversations never slow nor do they ever bore.

And in between those texts, Jack is happily gorging himself on your content while only getting off on actresses that hold resemblance to you. It's twisted and he knows it's wrong but he pictures your face in the shower sometimes, thinks of the way your teeth sink in your plush lower lip as his hand tugs at his cock.

You, however, hold no qualms as you drive the dildo deep in your cunt on late evenings, whimpering for the camera you've got set up. You always make it a habit to just plead, whine and beg more than you might naturally would with a partner, but when Jack's on your mind, you have nothing to exaggerate; you just get way more vocal as you think of his strong hands on your waist. The way he had commanded that kiss without being overbearing.

That kiss alone had wrung out three orgasms from you without the camera on.

Maybe it should've been enough to tide you over but as you start your usual midnight livestream the evening before your next date with Jack, a new title spills past your lips in the throes of your first climax. It shouldn't be a surprise at how easily the name comes to you, especially with how natural it seemed for Jack to take care of you—

"'m cumming, daddy—!"

The pings on your laptop nearby that you use for monitoring the chats go wild, the bell ringing that signified the amount of tips that just flooded your inbox from the title alone. You slump over as you catch your breath from where you've been riding your suction dildo, whining softly to yourself as the toy slides out of you. Your inner thighs are quivering as you lift your gaze to the laptop screen.

"Thanks for stopping by," you croon to the camera before shutting off the stream.

Across the city, Jack palms at his bulge, mouth slightly agape as he tries not to cum in his sweatpants like a teenager. "Fuck."

"I didn't really take you to be a museum kind of guy."

"I'm not. Not really… My friend's fiancée recommended it to us, thought we might like the new exhibit," Jack shrugs as he keeps you near with a hand around your waist. The new exhibit had garnered a sizable crowd and the last thing he wants is to lose you. Especially since you seem preoccupied with the information pamplet, both hands holding it open to read while relying heavily on Jack's firm hand. He likes it, the thought of you trusting him so readily.

You hum in acknowledgment before peering above the page. "The map says the new Caravaggio exhibit is that way… I think." Jack chuckles and peers over your shoulder, both of his hands firmly on your waist. You hold the pamphlet up higher for him.

"You aren't wrong," he muses as he reads over the map. You swallow nervously, you can feel the heat of his body seep against your backless top, the way his voice gets all low and gravelly when he's talking just to you. "It's past the abstract wing. Can you fold that up for me, sweetheart? I wouldn't want you to trip over your feet if you can't see where you're going."

You nod instinctively. "Yes—" You swallow back that title that sits at the back of your throat whenever Jack gets so… passively dominant. "Yeah, of course."

He chuckles and lets his arm fall along your lower back, a hand at the dip of your waist as he leads you towards the exhibit. The entire time as you two parade around the wing, Jack keeps you close. It sparks a light in your core, your inner thighs clenching with need when he unwittingly turns on your desire to be taken care of. But he seems so unbothered by it, humming to himself as his thumb slips beneath your blouse to rub your skin while he reads the information beside the painting.

The two of you are admiring Caravaggio's Narcissus when something comes to mind. "Why'd you call me 'bunny'? In my comments?"

He glances down at you, taken aback by the sudden question. "I… thought it'd be nice to have a nickname of my own for you. It reminded me of our first meeting."

A fond smile curls upon your lips. "Why haven't you called me that since we started dating?"

Something fond crosses over Jack's face, leaves as quickly as it came. His hand squeezes your side. "I didn't think it was appropriate. Thought it might make you uncomfortable if I called you that in public."

"I liked it. Like it. I still do," you trip over your words with a flustered smile. "It's like our own little inside thing. Um—no pun intended."

Jack chuckles and that wide smile he gives you has you pushing against your toes to press your lips to his. He hums fondly, nips at your lower lip. "Alright, I'll keep that in mind, bunny."

You kiss him again.

For the next couple of months, you start to see Jack regularly. Dinner dates (whether it's at the first restaurant he's taken you to or he cooks for you at his place) or movie nights, or even him just coming over to unwind after a long shift. Your posting schedule doesn't shift, only rearranges itself to make room for Jack.

A month in, you'd sat him down and tentatively but firmly told him that you wouldn't be stopping just because of your dates. Jack had accepted it without question, took it as if it was what he expected in the first place.

So you continue your usual schedule. Vlogs and short-form content for your SFW socials and full streams for your NSFW audience. Suggestive photos to tide your subscribers over 'til the next full video.

Jack, on the other hand, looks positively giddy with himself. Sure, he's cumming in his fist nearly every night but he's determined to make sure you know that he wants more with you. Fuck. He sounds like a broken record but he's obsessed; the last thing he wants is his dick to ruin this for his heart.

But his good mood is translated into his night shifts, cracking jokes even with angry patients. It has Shen watching over in confused concern, always taking a double-take when he has the chance. Parker and Crus decide that it's just Jack going through a new wave, a new fixation that's probably tiding him over.

Or a girl— but that's Robby's problem to mull over, not theirs.

They get their chance when Jack's scheduled for a double (something he makes up to you with another extravagant VIP dinner the day before), dropping a hint to their chief that their night-shift attending's been weird all week.

The ambulance bay doors slide open in a 'whoosh' for Dr. Robinavitch, passing by Javadi who's talking to Trinity about making mutuals with some big-shot on her Tiktok and Dennis catching up with Perlah about his weekend, to get to Jack in the locker room.

"So. Shen's said you've been weird."

Jack chuckles lightly, throws his stethescope around his neck, and shuts his locker. "I'm seeing someone."

Robby startles. "Oh. That's— brother, that's great."

"What, didn't think I'd admit it so quickly?" Jack grins and pats his shoulder as he steps around his friend.

"No, not really." Robby follows him out, tugging on both ends of his stethoscope. "I'm happy for you. What's her name?"

"Nah, that's all you're getting out of me, Robinavitch."

The sun's setting as Jack turns the page on the novel he's been reading to you. You're sitting between his legs and your back against his warm chest, stretching out on the gingham blanket you've brought as the two of you find cover beneath the large tree.

Today's date had been completely spontaneous. When his schedule had been unwittingly cleared up, he had driven straight to you to take you out for a late lunch picnic at the small fair that's set up for the weekend. With the sandwiches finished off and you'd run off to buy cotton candy for the both of you to share, Jack had fished out a novel in his back seat to pass the time and enjoy the nice weather.

His hand is absentmindedly rubbing your exposed thigh, the skirt of your sundress riding up just enough for him to explore the smooth skin. His cheek is pressed against the top of your hair while you absentmindedly trace shapes atop his jean-clad thighs.

"Feelin' restless, bunny?"

"Hm?" Jack's question draws you out of your stupor, so content in his arms that it takes him a few attempts to get your attention. "No, just… really cozy."

"Yeah?" He presses a line of kisses down your jaw and neck, eliciting a soft squeal from you. Jack would've continued showering you in kisses but he grunts, reluctantly pulling away to rub at his aching prosthesis.

You frown. He's mentioned losing a limb before, knows that he wears a prosthetic leg, but you've never seen him this uncomfortable. "Jack, we could head home if it's hurting—"

"I'm fine—"

"Jack." He pauses and turns his attention to you, your brows furrowed and your lips in a line. "Come on, we can just take it easy at your place. You said you're more comfortable in your crutches, right?"

"Yeah." You can see when he finally gives in, his shoulders rounding out as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. "Yeah, alright. Let's go."

Once the both of you get to your feet, you hold out your hand. "Gimme the keys, I'll drive to give your leg a break."

"I don't think so."

"Jack."

"Bunny."

It takes a second but he concedes there too, pulling you in by the shoulders for a swift kiss to your lips. "You're lucky you're cute, sweetheart."

Jack's place is almost as familiar as yours now. He watches you saunter around his place, dropping his keys into the dish bowl on the table by the door, place your things on the loveseat before rummaging through his fridge for a beer.

When you reach him where he's seated on his couch, prosthesis set aside to hand him a beer, he gently tugs you onto his lap before popping the tab open for your can first. "Thanks," you hum, taking a sip while he opens his. His arm is strong around your waist and the easy strength he holds for you, the possessive touch he's got whenever you're near... it sparks a flicker of heat inside you and as you turn, straddling his lap to kiss along his jaw. His scruff is rough against your glossy lips but it only has you mewling.

"Bunny…" he groans as his large hand splays along the expanse of your back, supporting your weight while you tip back just enough for him to place his beer behind you on the coffee table. His eyes flutter shut, basking in your sweet kisses, as temptation guides his hand lower to cup your perky ass. It's your moan, drawn out and desperate, that pulls him out of the heat that's settling thick in his head. Reluctantly, his hands rise back up and an indignant whine spills from your throat—

"Jack, why won't you fuck me?"

He nearly chokes on his spit at your question and when he looks up, you look adorably put out, lower lip jutting out. Your gaze is glassy, lips kiss-swollen. His thumb comes up, presses against your mouth to drag down your lip slowly. "Bunny, why do you think I won't fuck you?"

"You— you've only ever kissed me. You've only liked my non-sexual content. You—"

"Baby," he shushes you gently, releases your lip to cradle your jaw. "It's not that I'm uninterested in you. Trust me— I am. I just didn't want you to think this was all some ploy to just get you in bed with me."

Another whine rises up within you. "But it's been months, Jack."

"Sweetheart, I wanted to make sure you know I was serious. It wasn't just for you, but for me, too. Had to make it known to you that I'm here for the long haul," he murmurs and when you nod in understanding, his lips find yours for a kiss that's got you clenching your thighs. Your back arches back when he leans further in, lips parting to let his tongue probe against yours.

"Gonna… mm— fuck me now?" You pant against his mouth, lashes kissing the tops of your cheeks when his lips drag down your neck to mark your collarbone with marks.

His chuckle is raspy against your skin. "I'm gonna make love to you, bunny. Come on—"

"Why not here?" You whimper, giving your hips a slow roll against his. You can feel his bulge, stiff through his jeans, against your panties.

"I'm not having you on my couch, darling. Not for our first time. We can defile the rest of my house later."

You giggle as you reluctantly get to your feet, knees nearly knocking together while Jack goes for his crutches. "Do you promise?"

"I promise," he chuckles, following you into his bedroom. His mouth goes dry, easy dominance deflating momentarily when he watches you crawl onto the center of his bed, your sundress hemline rucked up to reveal the pretty white lace panties you've got on beneath. His eyes follow the fabric, disappearing in between your ass cheeks, before they flit back up when you turn and lean against his headboard.

You're in your doll mindset now, your hands dancing across your body to give him a show. But while your videos are choreographed, almost clinical to a certain degree to entertain an audience, Jack sees the way your hand trembles just before you drag the neckline of your dress down, tempting him to just rip the fabric off you.

But he's a patient man, understands that this is just as much for you as it is for him. He can see the way your arousal heightens with each teasing touch. "Take it off for me, bunny, just for me."

He must've said the right thing because a broken moan spills from your lips, nodding as you cross your arms and drag the hem of your dress up to reveal a matching bralette to your panties. The bed dips beneath his weight when he joins you, settling down onto the mattress just as you toss a leg over to straddle his waist again.

"Ah, shit," he hisses when he glances down, sees the way the fabric of your panties are nearly translucent with your slick. His hand creeps down to rub your swollen clit through the damp fabric, tilting his head back up to watch your reaction. He doesn't shut his eyes when your open mouth drags along his cheek, a poor approximation of a kiss as you shut your eyes to savor the way his fingers deftly tug the panties aside to dip within your folds. A pathetic moan escapes you. "This all for me, bunny?"

"Mhm, yes—"

"She's drippin' just for me, fuck," he chuckles as his middle finger teases your entrance, enamored by the way your hips rock clumsily against your palm. "Mm, look at that."

It's filthy, the way Jack leans back against the headboard with his head ducked down to watch your cunt practically suck in his fingers, his other hand keeping your panties tugged aside for his viewing. "Please, I wanna feel you," you beg, voice hitching high in a way he's never heard before.

"You sound so sweet for me, bunny," he murmurs as he redraws his fingers from you, tasting you with a voracity that makes you even wetter. "You've been so good for me, pretty girl, don't worry… I'll give you what you want."

And while Jack sounds so benevolent, your lips finding his in a grateful kiss before you're scrambling off to lay on your back under his guidance while he undresses next, it's all a facade to conceal the way he's barely able to hold it together now that he's got you: heart, soul, and now body.

He settles on top of you, lips finding your shoulder for a brief moment of sweet affection despite the filth that's fallen from his lips from earlier, and makes a home between your thighs. You might've teased him for picking missionary as your first time, giggle at how insistent he is on keeping things old fashioned despite your unorthodox relationship, but then the tip of his cock prods against your entrance, mouth dropping slightly as your head falls back against the pillows— he's huge.

"Ngh— Jack…" you whimper as the stretch leans more towards pain than pleasure at first, eyes shut as you feel Jack's lips skim across the side of your neck. "S'too big…"

His chest rumbling, he chuckles in your ear, nips at your jugular. "Don't worry, bunny. I can make it fit."

Lust and adoration intertwine in your core as he pushes deeper, your walls adjusting for his girth while your nails dig into his freckled shoulders. After what feels like an eternity, Jack's fully sheathed in you, pressing kisses along your brow and temple.

"So fuckin' tight—" he grunts, attempting a shallow thrust that has you two moaning in unison. "You ready for me, bunny? Gonna start movin'."

You feel absolutely full, can feel Jack in your gut, but you nod, legs hooking around his waist. "Ready," you manage to say, releasing one shoulder to cradle his jaw for a searing kiss. He pulls out and thrusts in without hesitation, his lips parting for his tongue to taste yours. The two of you make out like teenagers, sloppy and uncoordinated, while his cock drives into you slowly, your body shifting higher up the bed until his hand comes up to cradle the top of your head before it hits the headboard.

He swallows your moans with a grunt of his own, tasting your desperation with each rock of his hips. But when his lungs start to burn for oxygen, he reluctantly pulls back only to be rewarded with your vocal cries for more. He's heard your noises before, almost four million people have, but he's never witnessed you like this, so gorgeously needy on his cock, your moans more like broken whimpers and hiccups interlaced with his name. So unbelievably vulnerable, laid out just for him.

It has him driving his cock even deeper into you, eager to hear the way your mouth sounds around his name whenever he hits that specific spot.

"No, no, no— don't get shy on me now, bunny," he coos, dropping a hand to cup your cheek to guide your eyes on him. "You sound so sweet for me, let me hear you…"

His words elicit another gasp of his name as one particular thrust has you seeing stars, the coil in your core tightening as his hand comes down to rub your clit in time with each rock of his hips. He can feel his own climax but he keeps it at bay, laser focused on your own pleasure.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck… Jack—!" You wail as the coil snaps, his cock buried to the hilt before he fucks you slow and deep to carry you through your climax. With you taken care of, he chases after his pleasure next, hips snapping against yours in a brutal pace that has your toes curling in sweet ecstasy.

His forehead drops to rest on yours, breaths mingling while his own moans pitch into a needier grunt, veering into whimpers while he talks you through it. "Feels so fuckin' good, bunny… s'like your pretty cunt was made just for me… oh fuck— she's just sucking me in," he pants.

The string of dirty talk kickstarts something inside you and you feel that familiar tightness in your core, hiccuping moans bubbling past your kiss-swollen lips as he drives his cock deeper. "Jack— 'm… hah— gonna cum—!"

"Yeah?" He huffs, a cocky half-grin in his lips as he drags his scruffy jaw along your cheek. "Gonna give me another, bunny? Come on… gimme one more," he coos while his pace starts to falter, losing its steady rhythm as he gets closer and closer to his own edge.

When you cum for the second time, he's quick to follow right after, your convulsing walls eliciting his own release right into your waiting cunt. A part of him panics — he didn't wear a condom nor did you say anything about being on any kind of contraceptive — but he feels your heels dig into his lower spine to keep him from moving. The concern still sits at the back of his mind but he lets himself get lost in the sensation of finishing inside you, his thrusts slowing to a halt before carefully laying on you.

"Holy shit," you breathe out, a blissful smile on your lips with your eyes fluttering shut. When Jack pulls out, you offer a slight wince but curl onto his chest as he rolls over onto his back. Your head nestles onto his pec, his arm winding around your bare shoulders. When you turn your head to kiss his freckled collarbone, he chuckles and squeezes you gently.

Jack hums wordlessly. Basking in the moment, he lets himself sink into the warmth of you beside him. There really isn't any need to talk for now and the both of you would've been content to let the moment settle in…

Had it not been for your growling stomach.

His laughter cuts through your embarrased whine, rolling over to hide your face into his chest completely. "Don't laugh—" you pout but he just jostles you gently, gets you to look up at him where he can kiss your nose.

"Stay here, I'll clean you up first," he promises and rolls out of bed. Grabbing his crutches, he heads over to his attached bathroom for a warm, dampened towelette. He cleans you between the thighs, gentle and careful as he drops a kiss to your knee. "About earlier—"

"I'm clean," you interject. "I don't have any partners and I'm on the pill."

He nods, relieved as he tosses the towelette into his laundry basket. "I'm clean, too. I haven't… not since my late wife."

Your smile is heartachingly tender. He's spoken about his late wife before, wears the ring on a chain close to his heart, and how he and his therapist have decided that he's in the right place to move on.

"We can both get tested if you want," you offer. "I don't want anyone else but you."

It's an invitation to a conversation he's been waiting on for a month now and he dives right in. The bed dips as he sits at the edge, a warm and calloused hand on your thigh. "I only want you, bunny. That's not ever gonna change." He cups your jaw, warm and possessive in a way that'll never fail to light a fire in your heart. "Can I be yours, sweetheart?"

You nod with a giggle bursting past your lips. "Yes—! Of course, yes," you swoon with your arms around his neck, his hand releasing your jaw in favor to hug you 'round the waist.

"Yeah?" His pretty crows' feet deepen when he smiles at you, chuckling when you nod again with an eager bob of your head as you gently scratch at his scruffy jaw. "Gonna go steady with me, bunny?"

A laugh escapes you, nose scrunching up at his dated language. "Always and forever, old man."

Although the months you've spent with Jack before the both of you made it official had you feeling like cloud nine, the next following weeks could only be properly labeled as the honeymoon phase now that you're officially his girlfriend. With Jack's night shift schedule and your unorthodox posting timelines, the two of you manage to make it work.

Speaking of work, you had been adamant that because he's your boyfriend, you had no plans on stopping the camgirl site and told him so the morning after. Jack had blinked and nodded as if it'd been something he had already expected. His only caveat was that you'd at least make your new relationship status public knowledge to your subscribers whether it's as simple as a status post on your website. You went above and beyond by posting a selfie with Jack's arm around your neck, his bicep smushing your cheeks while you grinned dopily at the camera.

While your followers had fawned over your new man, occasionally posting faceless boyfriend pics of Jack, you made sure to keep his identity secret as your highest priority whenever he'd make some sort of cameo in your SFW videos.

"Babe, you gotta stop jumping in the frame, I'll have to edit you out—!" You laugh in your most current video, holding out the camera high and up just enough to capture your hand crooked around Jack's arm as the two of you walk the aisles of the farmer's market.

He chuckles and dutifully stops ducking his head. "Just move the camera when I kiss your cheek, bunny. And even if my face shows, I thought you could just slap on an emoji or something on my face when your assistant edits them."

The camera captures the way you look up, a playfully deadpan expression on your features. "You wanna put more work on Francine?"

"You're right, I'll behave."

The clip ends there and the views skyrocket, nearly matching your most infamous videos on your NSFW side. It's gotten so popular that Victoria's talking about it during work hours, in awe of the fact that she's mutuals with you despite the fact that she's gone viral on Tiktok herself.

For once the pitt has a handle on chairs and triage, allowing Victoria to show Dennis her newest editing style, inspired by Doll's Corner. He perks up, recognizes the voice through the walls of the apartment he shares with Trinity.

"Oh, I think Santos is also subscribed to her," he grins.

Victoria frowns. "Subscribed…? Her website's free, Dennis."

Trinity walks past before circling back. "What's free?"

"Oh, um— Doll's corner." Victoria holds out her phone, displaying your instagram profile. "She has her own website but Dennis mentioned that you're subscribed to her…?"

"She avoids her SFW content, probably because it'd feed the parasocialism since Doll seems to be exactly her type," he grins, always eager to have something over his lovable but prickly roommate.

"She's not my type, she's just hot—"

"Hold on, what do you mean SFW content? Isn't all her stuff SFW…?" Victoria cuts in, eyes wide as she scrolls up and down the webpage. Trinity snatches the phone and taps the top right menu button of the page, scrolls towards the 'PRICING' tab before offering the phone back.

Dennis interrupts. "She doesn't really advertise her adult content, it's more of a… if-you-know-you-know situation. You're cool with that, right?"

Victoria swallows, goes through the 'free' content of your camgirl side while her mind races with the blurred and suggestive content, before nodding with a wide-eyed grin. "'Course I'm cool with it. Just— I didn't expect it. Yeah, I'm cool. Dennis, are you subscribed—?"

"No, no—" Dennis startles with a flustered laugh. "It's not really my thing, but I know Dr. Ellis had found her account too. She's popular."

The youngest MS4 merely nods and wanders off, looking very scandalized. Dennis and Trinity watch her go before shrugging, unaware that the true reason why Victoria's so shocked is that she had suspected Doll's newest boyfriend might be Dr. Jack Abbot.

Your SFW content views continue to skyrocket (especially the shortform video where you had Jack flex his bicep for the camera before placing a piece of dessert on top, eating right off his freckled arm before he's pulling you out of frame for a kiss).

There's already been a few questions asking if your boyfriend (lovingly dubbed as Mr. Doll by your subscribers) would ever participate in your content. You haven't gotten around to answering them, leaving them untouched as you post your usual photos and videos for your loyal subscribers.

The truth is, you aren't even sure how to bring up the topic to Jack nor would you know how to figure out the logistics of including your boyfriend without jeopardizing his identity. But the problem is solved a week later where you're in your bedroom, filming a toy haul with a new PR package from a sex toy company.

You're in the throes of your orgasm, nothing on but a bunny tail plug nestled in your ass while you ride a massive silicone pink dildo with some device that literally creampies you. You've got your back to the camera, the cute plug front and center, when your knees drop and you bottom out on the toy with a final moan.

You'd been so lost in your 'review' that you didn't realize Jack had come by early, leaning against the doorway with a dark little grin that you've come to associate with 'playtime'.

"Havin' fun, bunny?" he asks, the camera picking up on his voice sounding like velvet over gravel.

Your giggle is breathy and sweet. The camera captures the way your neck arches, looking over your shoulder to meet Jack's eyes who stays firmly out of the shot. "Mhm, I am."

"Did that thing… finish in you?" When you give him another resounding giggle and nod, he shakes his head with a fond chuckle. "I'll give you five minutes to catch your breath before it's my turn, sweetheart."

When you'd given the video to Francine, your assistant, to edit, she had sent over the last clip where Jack had come in and asked if you wanted it out. Deciding that it seems safe enough to keep since he's not even within the frame and that people have heard his voice before, you told Francine to keep it in.

Later that night, you receive an tsunami of positive comments, most of them fawning over the way Mr. Doll seems to adore you even while making content for the rest of your depraved audience.

@.pearlessance: holy shit HIS VOICE???

@.deathreverse: i bet he talks you through it omfg

@.mariasont: i just KNOW your man is fine

@.enam3l: give us one audio file of him cumming PLEASE

You're wrapped up in Jack's arms later that evening, your back settled against his chest as you read over the comments with him. He's got his strong arms around your middle, lazy kisses pressed to your bare shoulder as the cold edge of his readers bump along your jaw.

"You're stealing my fans, Jack."

"No, they like the way I make you flustered, bunny. There's a difference."

"Maybe," you hum as you swap apps to your instagram, scrolling mindlessly before you pause. "Jack?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Would you… want to be in my cam videos? Just as your voice," you clarify with a shy smile. The curve of his smile is pressed against your neck.

"I'd be honored," he croons. "Maybe you could play with yourself for the camera, let me talk you through your orgasms."

Your cheeks burn, thighs clenching as you rub them together. "Mhm."

"Use your words, bunny."

"I'd like that a lot, sir."

That had been a new revelation. You've called Jack 'daddy' jokingly outside of the bedroom before, just something to steal his attention whenever you're particularly needy (whether it's for something sexual or not). And while he liked it, judging by the fond and flustered grin on his lips, he had sat you down and told you what title actually does it for him.

Sir.

It never did anything for you, thought it might've been too simple or even too formal to ever be used in bed, but it fits Jack perfectly. An older man with his experience and status along with a natural inclination to dominance doesn't need something as desperate as 'daddy' to insert control in the bedroom.

"Good girl," he rasps and takes your chin to turn your head, planting a heated kiss onto your lips. "How about we pick a day for it, hm? Put it on your calendar."

When you nod again, he chuckles and nips at your lower lip. "Can we do it now?"

Despite your eagerness, you and Jack had decided on a Sunday evening the following week, opting for a pre-recorded video rather than a live show.

Like always, you've got your tripod set up at the foot of your bed with you front and center. You have mood lighting set up, nothing too garish and bright and classically 'porno' but rather something warm to get you comfortable. The only difference is Jack seated behind the camera, manspreading like it's his fucking job in those grey sweats you've moaned about a week ago.

"You ready, baby?" Jack's voice is caramel sweet but you know it'll dip lower when he hits the record button. When you give a nod, he reaches up to press the button.

The red light blinks at you but Jack clears his throat. "Eyes on me, bunny."

Your gaze is magnetized to your boyfriend's, feeling deliciously exposed with the way his eyes drink you in. Tonight, you've got on a lingerie set he had bought just for you: a babydoll pink bralette with a matching thong and garters. In the hollow of your neck is a delicate, cursive 'j' on a chain.

"You look gorgeous, sit up for me, sweetheart. Let the camera see your new outfit," he drawls lazily and your eyes drop down to his large hand, gripping his bulge through the sweats.

The camera captures the way you look behind it, your gaze unfocused and your cheeks flustered, but you never disobey sir's words as you sit up on your knees. Your hands dance along the lacy straps, brushing across the sheer panels that hold up your tits. Jack's attention is fixed on you, his teeth digging into his lower lip as he strokes himself through his sweatpants.

"That's it, bunny. Play with those pretty titties for the camera," Jack murmurs.

He continues to take the lead and it's almost alarming at how good he is, how easy it is for you to completely forget you're still filming. He eventually has you propped up against your mountain of pillows, knees bent and thighs spread out.

"Add another finger for me, bunny."

You've already got two in, your middle and your ring finger, while your other hand is groping at your exposed tit. "Sir, I can't—"

"Sure you can, pretty girl. You've taken my cock, haven't you?" Jack chuckles meanly, his hand tugging at his cock now. Your eyes are locked on his length and he capitalizes on it, rubbing his thumb across his tip.

"Yes, but—"

"Come on, bunny, one more. You can do it."

The camera captures the way you whimper, gasping around nothing when you add your index finger into your sopping cunt. Even the lighting catches the shine of your slick against your inner thighs; Jack's got you edging yourself and you're ready to beg.

The stretch burns in the best way, not in the same breadth as Jack's cock, but enough that it has you plunging your fingers so fast that it sounds lewd against the camera.

"Can I cum, sir, please—" You choke out, hand beginning to cramp from the speed and angle you have that Jack notices it immediately. If you've been a bit less preoccupied with your own impending orgasm, you would've noticed that your boyfriend had been staving off his own climax, gripping the base of his length until he's finally given you permission.

Behind the camera, he continues to talk you through it but his voice isn't as measured, it's strained and a tad bit pitchy — his tell-tale sign that he's about to cum soon.

"Cum for me, bunny, let me see you make a mess on yourself," he coaxes and once you take the final fall, he's quick to follow, white ropes of his release painting his thighs and the floor beneath. "So fuckin' hot, Jesus Christ—"

Your cramping hand drops from between your legs as you slump against the pillows completely, legs splayed out for the camera to watch the way your clit throbs from the overstimulation. Jack tucks himself back in and takes the camera, detaches it from the tripod mount to approach your bedside.

"Let's see the mess you made, gorgeous," he murmurs, his voice wrecked as he props a knee up to hover above your overstimulated frame. You giggle up at the camera, taking his free hand (the same one that had been wrapped around his cock moments ago) and gently lick the traces of his release clean off his fingers. He curses under his breath before he affectionately pinches your chin. It elicits a soft laugh from you and the look you give him beyond the camera does something to his chest, a word that tastes something sticky sweet (and maybe starts with the letter 'L'), that he suddenly wishes this part is just for him.

But he moves lower, the camera panning down to where your panties are tugged loosely aside where your puffy, slick cunt is on display. It's lewd and nasty, the way his free hand strokes through your folds before he's bringing up his fingers for a taste. The satisfactory moan he lets out sends a thrill up your spine.

His hand travels to the swell of your thigh, to your hip where he tugs your panties off. The camera jostles as he shoves the soiled, lacy fabric into the back pocket of his pants, before he pulls away.

"I think your fans earned enough of you. Say goodbye, bunny, it's my turn for a taste."

The last thing the camera sees is a wave of your hand before it's set aside roughly, filming your ceiling and capturing the way your giggle melts into a breathy moan before the video and audio cuts.

—

"So when are we meeting the lucky lady?"

The sun sits high as Jack lounges on the roof on a chair that he's brought up a few months back. Robby had brought his own chair a week later, pleased to see his best friend behind the railing this time. The two are relaxing, stealing a few moments of solitude before handoffs are completed.

"Not yet," Jack grunts as he takes a sip of the pressed juice you've packed for him. You've been given a massive PR package of some health brand and he'd been willing to take half of the crate off your hands. "Soon."

Robby gives him a sidelong glance. "Are you ashamed of her or somethin'?"

"No. No, definitely not. I just want to keep her to myself a bit longer before you and Peaches poach her off me." Jack chuckles. "Relax, brother. I'll bring her around soon."

"Alright, I'm holding you to that," Robby chortles before he gets to his feet, back cracking while he stretches. "Go home, Abbot."

Before, Jack would've kneedled, maybe dragged his feet a bit longer to keep from returning to an empty house. He's always craved company, even moreso at the passing of his late wife. But this time, he grabs his backpack and rucks it over his shoulder, offering a casual wave of his hand.

"Ain't gotta tell me twice. I got a pretty girl waiting for me at home."

—

Later that evening, Victoria Javadi's sitting outside on the benches with the rest of day shift, drinking a beer she hopes would taste better after every sip. After turning twenty one, she still didn't see the appeal of drinking beer but after her sneaking suspicion that her night shift attending might be dating the influencer she's admired for so long, she realizes she might need it.

Her thumb punches the 'low' volume button on the side of her phone as she pulls up your tiktok account. Your account has only grown since you've started including your mystery man; the tiktok trends that center around playful pranks or cute videos snipped from longer vlogs with your partner are the ones that hit a million views first.

She takes a deep breath and taps your most recent one, a clip that looks like it had been cut from your last get-ready-with-me vlog, judging by the outfit you have on. You greet the camera as usual, holding out two different purses before leaning this way and that to get all angles of your outfit. Your attention is stolen, however, when the voice of 'Mr. Doll' cuts in from behind the camera.

"You ready, sweetheart?"

You pout, your gaze looking beyond the camera. "I don't know which bag to bring."

"What do you need a bag for?"

"My lip gloss…" you reply sheepishly and a throaty chuckle from Mr. Doll follows, soft and fond.

"The second one, bunny. Come on, let's go."

The video loops and Victoria lets it play before her thumb rewinds the video back herself, listening to that voice before her gasp gets caught in her throat.

Mr. Doll is Jack Abbot.

—

In another apartment across the city, Trinity takes advantage of the empty home and hunkers down in bed. It's a guilty pleasure, she knows, but with the stress of residency along with Garcia's emotional unavailability, she figures a bit of her wage going to one of the most hottest camgirls couldn't be the worst vice in the world.

She scrolls through the paid content of yours with a soft sigh, sinking deeper into her mattress before opting for one of the newer POV content. It's a new series you've started, something that kicked up in popularity from a couple weeks ago when your partner had taken the camera to film you himself after he talked you through your orgasm.

Trinity hasn't had the chance to check it out herself, a bit hesitant considering the POV shots may ick her out if she actually sees a penis when she's been thinking of inserting herself as the viewer on top of you. But curiosity kicks in as she plays the most recent one, heat simmering low in her core as it starts out with you undressing as always, straddling your partner this time as he films you from below.

"I can feel you—" you gasp, your hands braced on the stomach beneath you as it pushes your tits together. Your hips roll, sinfully smooth while the strap of your sheer tanktop drops off one shoulder. It keeps falling, revealing a single breast, but you pay it no mind, too busy dry-humping the body beneath you.

"You're soaked for me, bunny… am I gonna feel you through my boxers?" The man grunts and something tugs at the back of Trinity's mind, a sick sense of deja vu or familiarity. She ignores it, eyes straining to try and focus only on you.

You giggle. "Maybe… can't help it, daddy gets me so wet—" You pause, eyes wide at your little slip.

"'Daddy'?" The familiar male voice repeats and the camera catches the man's hands travel up, sliding between the valley of your breasts to curl around your throat possessively. A ditzy grin spreads across your lips, eyes nearly rolling back as you lean your neck forwards into his palm.. "Is that my name now, bunny? Want me to be your daddy?"

The video plays on but Trinity couldn't focus, not when horror sets in alongside disgust and mortification when her brain finally places where she's heard that voice before. Once it clicks, she gags and pauses the video, tosses her phone across the room as full-body shudders wrack her whole frame.

When Dennis comes home late, it's to find Trinity on the couch, spacing out with a security blanket swaddling her prone frame. Panic sets in and he rushes forward, his fist rubbing her chest out of habit tp see if there's any response to pain—

"Ow, fuckin' quit it—!" Trinity snaps, smacking his hand away as she glares up at him.

He lets out a sigh of relief before crossing his arms. "What the hell happened to you? Was it Garcia—"

"No." A haunted look passes over his roommate's eyes. "Worse. I think I found Dr. Abbot's girlfriend."

—

With your six-month-iversary fast approaching, you and Jack are running out of excuses to keep putting off the inevitable 'meeting of the friends' ceremony. Your own friends are eager to meet the older man that's been starring in most of your content and Robby's starting to threaten break-ins and impromptu dinners if he doesn't get to meet the woman that's made his best friend so happy.

It isn't that you're scared Jack's friends and colleagues won't like you or that he's ashamed of you— it's just the fact that the two of you are becoming grossly codependent, refusing to let the other one out of each other's sight for too long. Inviting friends into your circle would only lessen the amount of time you two have for each other and the two of you would much rather prefer extending your honeymoon period first.

Unfortunately, the decision is taken out of yours and Jack's hands when you wake in the morning to an abnormal amount of bleeding. Your period's supposed to start soon but with the sudden heavy flow and the sharp pain in your abdominal, fear licks up your spine.

Something isn't right.

You carefully bring yourself out of Jack's bed, whimpering at the massive stain you've left, before hobbling over to your phone. What awful timing— your actual doctor boyfriend isn't in to check you out himself but rather he's stuck at the ER working a double.

With the amount of time you've spent with Jack, he's ingrained it into you to always listen to your body, to get help rather than attempting to self-diagnose or to undermine your pain level, so you call 9-1-1 with a shaky voice.

When the operator confirms that an ambulance is on the way, you remember to add one final thing: "Can you take me to PTMC, please?"

—

"Female, mid to late 20s, heavy vaginal bleeding and sharp abdominal pain. Reports of nausea and vomiting with a fever of 102 degrees," the EMT barks out, pushing your gurney through the ambulance bay as the cacophany of the emergency department greets you. When the ambulance had arrived at Jack's place, you'd been barely able to stand upright, chills racking your frame.

Your mind is fuzzy, the fluorescent lights above you spinning like soup while you're pushed into an available room. A couple of nurses trail after a doctor, a penlight flashing in your eyes as said doctor introduces herself.

"Hi, I'm Dr. King, are you taking any kind of birth control or—"

"My IUD," you whimper, eyes squeezing shut as you try to fight through the pain that seems to steadily increase with each passing moment. "Is it—I heard it can be displaced?"

Fast paced conversation erupts around you, swapping differentials and possible diagnoses before scissors are cutting through your pajamas to reveal your bloody panties. A hand presses against your upper abdomen, a gentle palpating movement that tears out a cry of pain from you.

"Order a CT," a doctor barks. "Can't do much until we see what's going on in there."

Dr. King nods and promises to take care of you after you've been pushed some painkillers to tide you over until it's your turn. As you get wheeled off, she notices a delicate cursive 'j' tattooed right above your hip bone.

—

After some time, you're dressed in a hospital gown, waiting for your CT results as the painkillers they've given you keep the pain at bay for the meantime. Your phone sits in your lap, screen on to your text thread with Jack. You know he's somewhere in the department, most likely saving lives, but your texts are unread and it's gnawing at the pit of your stomach.

"Hi," a voice calls out and it's a sweet looking young man, around your age as he rubs in the hand sanitizer. "I'm Dr. Whitaker. We have your CT results and it looks like a displaced IUD. Did anything happen recently or…?"

Your cheeks burn bright red. "Um. Rough sex, I guess?"

Dr. Whitaker's face colors red as well. "Oh—! Um, well, yeah. That'll do it. The CT scans revealed some slight perforation in your uterine lining so we'll go ahead and get that out for you, it'd be a minor procedure so you'll be up and walking in just a few hours."

"Great, thank you," you sigh in quiet relief but as you ponder something, Whitaker sticks around, like he knows you've got a request. "Um, is there a Dr. Abbot in?"

He nods. "Yeah, he's one of my attendings. Has he treated you before?"

"No, actually—"

"Bunny—?!" The curtains slide open and Jack rushes in, concern choking up his syllables when he sees you looking slightly gaunt and exhausted in a hospital gown. Dennis' eyes widen as he steps aside; he's never seen his attending look so disheveled and unkempt. "What happened?"

"Jack, I'm fine, it was my IUD," you explain, looking up while he checks over your vitals. "It… got displaced. I wonder whose fault is that." Your dry tone has Jack looking sheepish and Whitaker looking everywhere but the both of you. It's already taken all of his professionalism to keep from reacting when he recognized you as Trinity's past obsession. She still wouldn't say why she unsubscribed until he realizes the secret boyfriend is Dr. Abbot.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Jack murmurs into your hair as he kisses your forehead. "I'll make sure they'll bump you forward so you can get out of here faster."

You nod and your lower lip juts out, slipping into that sweet mindset that Jack can't get enough of; cotton candy delicate and adorably delectable. "Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise, bunny." His voice takes on that gravelly tone that you've become obsessed with and when you tip your head up, he closes the distance and kisses you briefly.

At that moment, the curtain slides open again. "Whoa— sorry for interrupting, folks." You pull away, fiery cheeks on display, to see another taller doctor enter. "Dr. Whitaker, can you go help Dr. Santos in Central 13? I'm Dr. Robinavitch, you can call me Dr. Robby. You must be the infamous 'Bunny'."

Jack groans and playfully hides his face into the top of your hair as the name registers as your boyfriend's best friend. You smile prettily and offer your hand to shake when Dr. Robby approaches, giving your name instead. The man seems nice but only Jack has the privilege of calling you 'bunny'. "It's nice to meet you, Dr. Robby."

"Just Robby," he insists before he flips through your chart. "Looks like you're up next for the laparascopy. Do I wanna know what happened?"

Your blush deepens. "No, not really. This is an awful first impression."

Robby chuckles, scratches the back of his head. "It's not so bad, all things considered. But now that I finally have both of you here, what do you say to dinner with my partner and I? She's been eager to meet you."

You give Jack a sidelong glance. "Who else did you tell about me?"

"Nearly everyone," Robby cuts in while Jack gives a shrug.

"I didn't give details. I just liked talking about you, sweetheart. That so bad?"

A pleased smile curves upon your lips. "Not at all. I love how obsessed you are with me," you tease. Your boyfriend's eyes roll before patting his friend's chest.

"Alright, come on. Let's get her rolled into the OR so I can take my girl home."

—

As promised, recovery goes by swiftly and a new IUD is put in place. Discharge is expedited when you're dating one of the attendings and soon, Jack's coming into your room with a fresh set of clothes from his locker.

"I liked those panties," you huff as you step into Jack's black sweatpants, leaning against the bed as he kneels down to roll the legs up for you.

When he stands to full height, he helps you into the faded 'ARMY' sweater. "I'll buy you more, bunny." He tugs you in by the waist to steal a few more kisses. "Just glad you're okay. You almost gave me a heart attack when I saw your name on the board."

"Sorry," you pout as Jack sweeps a thumb across your cheekbone. "I tried texting but I—"

"No, baby, you're fine." He hushes you with another soft kiss. "It's good you came in when you did. Come on, I'll take you home."

His arm is thrown around your shoulder as he guides you out through the ambulance bay. The both of you are lost in your own little world, exchanging soft laughter and playful kisses, that you don't see the haunted look in Santos' eyes as she scurries out of the way or Javadi watching in the way someone can't look away from a car crash.

When the ambulance doors shut, Dana leans over the counter to address Robby.

"That the girlfriend?"

"Sure is."

An amused grin curls onto the nurse's lips. "I think I remember her. I see where the nickname 'bunny' comes from."

"What's it mean?"

"I'm not saying a damn thing, Robinavitch."

thank you so much for reading! likes / reblogs / comments are highly appreciated! if you guys want to see more of bunny!reader in this dolly-verse, my inbox is open for blurb requests and ideas! ♡

[deerfawnn]

i want you to stay

pairing: pope cody x bambi!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: pope wishes he was your favorite cody brother. content warnings: fem!reader, mention of how pope gets mistreated by everyone else in his life, mention of drugs + alcohol, they share a bed, too many mentions of smurf, they're kind of loneliest guy in the world x loneliest girl in the world a/n: hai my lovelies! this is me introducing bambi reader to you!!!! the link leads to a pinterest board, which i'm still working on, but i hope you like her as much as i do. gif credits to @wesandresons !! <3 wc: 4.4k

No one was exactly sure why you were friends with Craig. Not even Craig, but he liked you. And though he tried his best to get you into his bed, it never worked. And god, he tried. Annoyingly so. Your resolve never wavered, standing with not being interested in Craig whatsoever.

At every party he threw, you were the girl hiding in the living room or in the kitchen. Anywhere where strange, drunk and high, people couldn't talk to you. It was almost impossible to find you, yet you also seemed to never go home, instead deciding to remain at the loud party surrounded by people you didn't like.

It was strange for Pope to watch you, know that you feel the same things he did, but do nothing.

You had every right to disappear, leave this haunted house, go back to your own.

Instead, he'd find you in the living room, remote in hand. You'd usually shoot him a sweet, knowing smile, aware that he was feeling just as uneasy as you did. Not fond of any loud noise, or drunk people. And he wished he had the courage to ask you if you wanted to leave the house with him, if you wanted to just drive around, sit at the beach and watch the waves.

But he'd always turn on his heels and go back outside and hate himself for it.

If he asked you to sit with him, you probably wouldn't even bother him, wouldn't try and force him to drink alcohol or get high like everyone else. You probably wouldn't even talk to him, knowing he liked his silence. He always regretted not asking you the moment the smell of beer hit his nose, and the moment water splashed onto his clothes, while people laughed around him. It made him feel lonely and different.

Still, he couldn't figure out why you were always at their house. Smurf wasn't good company, obviously, though she tolerated you just barely. Mostly because you kept to yourself. She knew you wouldn't blab to anyone about the Cody's jobs or that you never intended on going against her.

You were just there.

And no one complained, because you were like a fresh breath of air. You smiled and within two minutes you'd have J smiling too. You stayed around a lot, but never for too many days. If you went over, you were there for a long time, but the moment you disappeared, you were gone.

There seemed to be no specific reason for it. You seemed to be just overly concerned that you were being too much and bothering people. He knew you were a lonely girl, but he was also aware that your fear of being too much overpowered your grave sense of loneliness that you were never able to hide.

It was a bad habit of yours, always apologizing, even for existing seemingly. Craig had shot you numerous perplexed looks, never having heard this many sorry come from one person ever. But Pope knew he liked it, enjoying the fact that someone saw him as important enough to feel bad for him, that he was worthy enough to receive the sweetest girl's ever apologies.

Pope on the other hand, hated it. He hated the word sorry, and he especially hated it coming from you.

Whenever you apologized, whether it was accidentally brushing his arm while you were in the kitchen, or speaking, what you thought was, for too long, Pope would shut you down. And he'd always do it in a cold tone, knowing that was the most effective way to stop you completely from ever uttering that word around him again.

He knew his voice would startle you, not expecting Pope who was always kind to you, to speak to you that way.

His plan worked, and you started biting your lip hard the moment the word slipped out. You'd look up panicked, and that would usually be enough for him. He'd shot you a dry look, bored even. And you'd shake your head and mumble, 'I take that back.' and he'd drop the look immediately, resorting to his normal soft look that he always wore around you.

The word didn't completely disappear from your vocabulary, but now you uttered it almost never when he was around, and it made Pope feel less worried about being in your presence.

Everyone adored you and sometimes he hated it. It worried him that everyone felt the same adoration he did for you, that somehow you'd never pay attention to him. Given his brothers were much better at being affectionate, it made him feel like he was behind. Like it was a competition to be your favorite brother, and he was last, not even having started the run, because he didn't know how to. That the moment Craig brought you into the house and introduced you, a starter pistol went off, and everyone started running.

It didn't stop him from seeking you out all the time. Whenever the question 'Where's Pope? popped up, the answer was the same. With you. Always with you.

Mostly, because you followed him around. When he'd reject your offers to sit with you on the couch at parties, you'd get up and follow him.

There the two of you would stand somewhere and observe the party together, both with the same repulsed expression. For him, it was the dirt and the carelessness, for you it was the loudness of it all.

When you caught Pope in front of a dark TV, staring at himself in the reflection, you'd tap his shoulder softly. Just two taps, never wanting to overwhelm him. "My car's making weird sounds," you'd say softly, and he'd get up and help you.

Sometimes you'd tell him something was broken in your home, and he'd drive to your place without a word. You'd always try to drag out his stay, offering him cookies (because you were absolutely terrible at cooking) or offering sodas.

Sometimes, he'd catch you looking around the room nervously, looking for new problems he could fix. So he'd grumble out a "Sink sounded weird earlier," and you'd smile so wide, it was like the sun came out from behind the clouds.

Things like this made him doubt everything.

Maybe you didn't dislike him as much as he thought, maybe he did have the potential to be your favorite brother.

But then he'd watch you light up when Deran would tell you he finally figured out how to make your favorite mocktail. (Obviously, you never had to pay a cent. If not for Deran shaking his head as you handed him money, then it was Pope who paid for everything you ate and drank.)

Even Craig offered to teach you how to surf. The shy expression you always wore around Pope would disappear and your smile would be so radiant Pope wouldn't be able to look away, never having gotten the privilege to see such an open expression from you.

Things like these made Pope doubt everything, consider that maybe the shy expression was just your uncomfortable one, that when you needed help at home, it was simply because you needed help and nothing else.

He knew Deran and Craig were absolutely terrible at fixing things, and he feared that, just like everyone else, you too viewed him as a tool, something to use and throw away. That he was just waiting for the throw-away part, and that it was coming sooner or later.

But he couldn't help but have all his worries vanish into thin air, whenever you decided to grace him with your big thankful eyes and an even wider, dazzling smile.

The first time he felt like too much for you, so much he wanted to run away, was when you joined him in the garage.

You softly knocked against the doorway. "Andrew?" you always said his name so sweetly, it made him want to record it and listen to it like a lullaby until he fell asleep, which didn't happen much these days.

He looked up at you. "You're awake." He furrowed his eyebrows in concern. It was pitch dark outside, and he figured you were asleep in the living room.

You shook your head. "Couldn't sleep." you smiled softly, your eyes telling him to please drop it. He did, turning his head back to what he was working on.

You stepped closer, and he could smell the perfume that he loved so much. Before he knew it, you were towering over him, lightly brushing up against his shoulder. "What are you working on?" you titled your head, staring down at whatever it was you were looking at.

"Part of the car. Stopped working last night," he replied in a low voice, not raising his head, even though he really really wanted to see your pretty face.

You glanced around, spotted what you needed and sat down. You pulled the chair closer to him, setting your elbows on the table in the process. "Mind if I watch you?"

Pope glanced at you, and his eyes darted all over your face, trying to gauge what exactly the point here was. You seemed sincere, so he hummed.

You laid your cheek in your palm and watched him. Your big eyes stared at his hands with so much interest, they started to tremble a bit.

The silence between you was filled with the sound of an owl and the ticking of a broken clock somewhere in the garage.

Five minutes must've passed by now and Pope had never understood until now how silence could be nice even with someone else in it. It wasn't like he couldn't feel your presence. No. He knew you were here, but he enjoyed it. More than enjoy, he craved it. He wanted to stay in this little room forever, hearing nothing but your soft breaths and the sound of you tapping your foot restlessly on the floor.

He didn't hate the silence like when he did with Smurf, who sat with him in silence at breakfast and watched him eat.

No, he loved the feeling of your soft eyes watching him work, knowing he was good at what he did, and that you were admiring him.

"You're not tired?" you asked after a while, careful not to be too loud, not wanting to disturb his work.

"No." When Pope looked up, he met your eyes immediately, like you'd been watching his face rather than his eyes, and your lips lifted into a flustered smile.

Embarrassed, like you'd been caught. He wasn't sure what it was, but he almost felt the need to gloat about it. Sweetest girl he knew was caught staring at him.

Stupid.

He looked away again, almost in shame, because how dare he think that you were admiring him. You were sleepy and he was awake. That's it. Had Craig been out here, you probably would've joined him too. He was nothing special.

"S'nice watching you," You brushed a hand over your face, rubbing your eyes tired.

Pope looked up, because surely he'd misheard, but you shot him a sweet smile, soft hair falling over your shoulders as you rubbed your eyes, hard, again.

People couldn't even stand to utter his name, and you were telling him that he was nice to watch. Like his presence was worth acknowledging. Like it was something good, like his presence wasn't to be feared, like he didn't hear the rumors in town about how people feared the thought of him.

Horrible, awful Pope who hit and hurt people, who made a mess of people and things, of everything.

A kind girl like you liked to watch him in the middle of the night doing things that his brothers called weird, made them shake their heads as they looked away in disappointment and shame, wishing they'd had a normal brother, one more like them.

He must've stayed quiet for too long, because you froze. "Sorry, did—did I say something wrong?" nervously, you toyed with your heart necklace.

"No—No you didn't." Pope shook his head quickly, eyes darting back down to his car part. His fingers twitched nervously. "You should try to sleep." And he could sense he'd said the wrong thing, because your eyes widened for a second, and worry overtook your face.

"Oh—right, yeah you're right." Stumbling over your words nervously, you stood up, and Pope regretted it.

He hadn't meant this. He was just trying to tell you that he appreciated your kindness, but surely he wasn't that interesting. "I meant— it's not healthy to stay awake," he managed out, eyes darting back up to your face and back down. "It's not good for you." he managed out nervously.

You looked down at him, and you stood there for a bit, before sitting back down slowly, understanding he didn't want you to go. "Yeah— I know." You toyed with a bolt on the table, rolling it in between fingers before you looked back at Pope who was still watching you. "Craig keeps yelling in his room about his video game, and Smurfs still awake by the Pool." You dropped the bolt. "It's distracting."

"You can sleep in my room," Pope said, and given your reaction, it wasn't exactly something you expected him to say. But it made sense to him. "You can't hear Craig in there."

You stared at him, your eyes wide, making them bigger than they already were. "You want me to sleep in your room?"

Pope wasn't sure what was so confusing. It wasn't like his room was bad. Sure, it was a bit empty, but he took care of it, it was clean. He pushed the car part away, getting up from his chair. "I'll get you new bed sheets," and then he just walked out of the garage. You stood in the empty garage, mouth open, before you scrambled to follow him.

To your luck, Smurf was fast asleep, bottles of alcohol next to her, and you hurried to follow Pope. Inside, he led you to his room, grabbing clean bed sheets out of one of the closets in the hallway, before walking into his room.

You stood in the doorway watching Pope fix the bed for you. Were you dreaming? Was Pope actually fixing his bed for you?

You looked down and pinched your skin. "Ouch." you muttered to yourself. Not a dream, officially and definitely not a dream.

Pope turned his head to you. "You need pajamas?" he asked, but you shook your head.

You never took, unless you were outright suffering and Pope's eyes slowly darted down to the goosebumps across your skin, which were visible even with just two night lights on.

You were wearing a simple white lace tank top and California nights weren't exactly known for their heat. Even Smurf outside, was sleeping with at least two blankets. He turned, opened a drawer and grabbed a hoodie. When he handed it to you, you didn't take it.

"Is that yours?"

Pope nodded, almost worried. "I—You can have one of Deran's if you want."

"Nope, I—I'd like yours." you managed, grabbing the hoodie and letting it swallow you whole. It was warm, and it smelled nice, so very nice. You couldn't help the way your head just lowered a tiny bit, letting yourself smell how nice Pope's scent was.

Pope had already looked away the sight too much, and was now awkwardly staring down at the bed, fingers twitching nervously at his sides. "Okay, have— have a good night."

In all of your years of living, you'd never been this bold before. You weren't even sure what overcame you. Your hand reached out, and you grabbed Pope's bicep lightly before he walked past you.

You felt him freeze up, eyes locked onto your hand around his bicep, and you had to resist the urge to squeeze, to test how really hard and warm his bicep was. "Will—" you bit your lip, already regretting starting the sentence. "Don't you wanna sleep?"

"I have to work." His eyes flickered back down to your soft hands around his bicep.

You had pink polish on with brown polka dots. It was sweet. He'd seen you paint them once, you'd even helped Lena with hers. Lena had been so happy, and hadn't stopped talking about you the entire afternoon after you'd gone home. He had been glad to know that someone else felt about you the way he did.

You dropped your hand, disappointment flickering across your face. Pope's eyes darted around your face, noting how close you were but also how you were still trying to find your words. He waited.

"I'd like you to stay," you phrased it so sweetly, the way you always did, but for the first time you told him what you wanted. There was no if it's okay with you, you don't have to, no it's okay.

No, you straight up wanted something from him and God would he be stupid if he said no to you.

His eyes darted back to the bed and his eyes stayed there for a while, thinking. "I have to turn off the lights in the garage."

"I'll wait here!" You looked like you were about to start bouncing up and down from excitement.

Pope watched you for a second before turning and walking down the hallway, wondering what on earth led him to commit to this.

Meanwhile, you were in disbelief, palm to your mouth, as you muttered. "Oh my god. Oh my god." Oh my god, you were going to die. You glanced at the bed, deciding to get in now, before you were stuck in the awkward moment of having to argue with him about what side to take.

You pushed back Popes clean blue covers, slowly settling down in bed, and god was it was warm and soft. And it smelled nice.

You pulled the hoodie sleeves down over your wrists, nervously squeezing your eyes shut. You couldn't believe he'd agreed to this.

Pope walked back slowly, boots thudding on the floor until he stood in the doorway looking at the top of your head. Not to seem like a creep, he didn't linger, quickly stepping in. He could feel your pretty eyes watching him as he grabbed a set of fresh boxers, shirt and a towel.

"Gonna take a shower, won't take long," he said, barely looking at you. The sight was too much for him to handle.

"Okay," you said softly, eyes following him until he was in his bathroom.

You passed the time by opening every drawer of his, checking out what he had in there. Barely anything. You sighed, Pope wasn't much of a talker, so you'd hoped you'd find out more about him in his room.

He wasn't joking when he said he wouldn't take long, because just as you were checking out his bottom drawer, he showed up. You shut the drawer with the loudest bang! possible before scrambling back into a horizontal position, embarrassed.

Pope's eyes darted down to the drawer before lifting to your embarrassed expression. He was more endeared by anything. Any other person and he would've gotten suspicious, but you were toying with his sheets nervously, avoiding his eyes, and he knew you'd just been curious.

He'd caught you walking around the house, staring at every picture more than once. He was more than aware of your curious nature.

He brushed a hand through his curls as he walked to his side of the bed, and you lifted the sheets for him.

You somehow managed to still surprise him with your small sweet gestures. He'd lived his whole life in Oceanside, and with his reputation, people had stopped granting him kindness, even as simple as receiving a thank you.

He felt so endlessly grateful that one person on this earth was able to be kind to him, that maybe he wasn't as evil as he thought, that there was a chance for him. That if someone like you looked at someone like him and thought he was worth it, worth spending your time and sweetness on, he might actually have a chance in life.

He slipped under the sheets, and you dropped them, making the warmth hit him all at once. He liked to sleep on his side looking at the wall, but it felt almost insane to miss out on seeing your pretty face all night, so he stayed on his back, view narrowing to the ceiling.

You, on the other hand, turned to your side, palm under your cheek. "Your bed's soft." You whispered, and he turned his head to you, eyes darting away shyly when he noticed your intense stare. He figured his bed was nice enough, almost relieved it was up to your standards. He'd been worried in the shower that you'd make some excuse, and he'd come out, looking like a wet puppy, to an empty bed.

"What?" he asked after he felt you stare for a little more.

"Your curls are nice," you whispered. "Always wanted to tell you that, but was too scared."

"Of me?" It just slipped out of Pope's mouth. He didn't want to know the answer to that question.

"What? No." Confusion was written all over your face, your lips curling into a frown. "I'm just— it's a weird thing to say. That's all."

Pope stared at you. Not scared of him. You weren't scared of him. ’S'not weird." He held your stare for a while until his nervousness overtook his entire body, leading him to glance away again, eyes focusing back on the white canvas above him.

"Thanks for dinner tonight."

Smurf hadn't been up for it for some reason and Deran or Craig didn't care, so Pope had made food just for you. You hadn't even told asked, and maybe that's why he made it, because he knew you never would.

He turned his head, happy you were giving him an excuse to look at you. "D'you like it?"

"Loved it." you smiled softly. "You could be a professional cook."

Pope's mouth almost lifted into a smile at that, but then you scooted closer, and he froze up. His arm, which had been resting on the side of the bed, almost touching your stomach now. You were so close, he could see how pretty your eyes were up close.

They had always been his favorite part about you. When Craig had first introduced you, Pope knew his brother had warned you about him, told you he was crazy and weird. His brothers did that with everyone they brought to the house, and their friends would always eye him weirdly, and he'd never be given the chance to show them that he was capable of kindness. That he could be as normal as they wanted him to be.

But you, you, had smiled, lifted your hand in a wave and looked at him in a way that no one had looked at him in years. Soft, kind, and open-minded.

He stared at you, and you stared back, and then you slowly lifted your hand.

"Can I—?" you whispered softly, and he was startled by the fact that you asked, so he nodded.

People never asked before they touched him. The only touches he received were involuntary ones from Smurf, or punches from his brothers and strangers. Never ones from sweet girls that asked before they settled their hand softly at his temple, toying with one of his curls.

The bottom half of your hand touched his cheekbones, and you brushed over his hair, thumb catching in a curl. He watched you, eyes big, before finally turning to his side, deciding that he'd make it easier for you.

He saw the smile you suppressed, absolutely delighted that he was so open to you touching him.

He took a second to absorb and analyze the expression. His hazel eyes darting all over your face, looking for any lie, that this was just a game to you. That maybe you'll look at him in the morning with pity in your eyes. But your eyes were glowing, and even with his insecurities choking him when he was with you, he could tell that no lie was in your eyes.

"They're wet," he provided you with the most unnecessary information, already wanting to smack himself for pointing out such an obvious thing.

You just hummed, too distracted to be touching his hair to focus on his awkwardness. You looped a curl around a finger, thumb brushing right above his eyebrow.

Your eyebrows were furrowed like you were studying his hair, but he knew you weren't as relaxed as you seemed. Your breath was going quicker, he could feel it against his face. He could smell your perfume, something floral and vanilla and felt the need to press his face into your hair and just stay there.

Your eyes traveled back to his face, and you observed him, before your hands went back down to his bicep. "You can relax," you whispered. "I won't do anything you don't want me to."

Pope stared at you, hazel eyes wide, never once leaving your face. "You have to sleep too."

"I will." Your hand already back in his curls. He let the feeling of your warm hands overtake every other feeling. Every sense of fear, insecurity and worry.

As much as he knew you wanted him to, he couldn't sleep. Whether it was because of his nightmares or because of you being here, he wasn't sure. His eyes continued to track your face, and it didn't take you long before you let your hand drift from his hair to his cheek, brushing your thumb lightly over his cheekbone one first and last time, before dropping it back in between you.

Your eyelashes fluttered lightly like a good night to him before you closed your eyes. Pope let himself watch you, let himself feel the phantom feeling of your hands. Your perfume continued to linger, and he wished his room would absorb it forever, that every time he walked in, he'd smell your perfume. He knew his bed would smell like you for at least the next couple of days now, and he hoped so desperately that the next time you came over to the house, you'd sleep in his bed.

Maybe next time he'd be the courageous one and ask you to stay.

[peachjellyy]

Gym Crush

Description: After joining your local gym, you notice a handsome man arrive in scrubs. You give your all into flirting with him, but it seems he never catches on. He finally figures out your feelings after a confession of his own.

Inspired by this post!

Warnings: clueless!Jack, fem!reader, no use of y/n, cursing, mention of smut, MDNI 18+

Word Count: 2.3k

Ever since the new year you had been trying to go to the gym regularly (regular being 4 times a week). Yeah, it can be seen as corny to have going to the gym as your New Years Resolution, but you wanted to move your body more and liked the effects you were starting to see at 5 months in.

You typically went in the mornings before work at around 7:15. You felt like it energized you for the day and cleared your mind for the day. Working an office job unfortunately kept you on your ass for a better part of the day so it felt important to come each morning.

By your 2nd month attending, you noticed the same silver haired man walk into the facility in a pair of black scrubs, slip into the locker room, and walk out on to the gym floor in a new outfit.

Typically, you didn’t notice any of the guys that walked in as you were too focused on straining through each rep or because you were too caught up in hyping yourself up with your music blaring through your headphones.

However, this man was way too attractive to not notice.

How could you not notice his sweaty peppered curls sticking to the back of his thick neck, his veiny biceps bulging with each curl of the dumbbells, and his meaty thighs at work when he did a deep squat.

It had been a while since you had dated or been with anyone and he was just your type so you thought fuck it and tried to give him signals that you were interested.

You started out with flirty fleeting glances from across the gym floor. You did this for about 2 weeks hoping that he would see this and approach you, but often he was too focused on his set to notice the attention you were giving him.

You managed to even make eye contact with him sending a flirty smile his way. Like the polite man he is, he sent one back. It was clear he was oblivious to your attraction because his smile held no weight. He simply sent a closed-lip smile before returning back to his deadlifts.

So, you adopted a new strategy.

Any time, he walked near the dumbbells you would quickly approach and reach for a weight near his letting your soft hand brush against his heavy one.

But still no flirting back. He just murmured out a quick “Oops I’m so sorry” and then quickly grabbed his weights before walking away quickly.

Is this dude on another planet or is he just not interested? Like I can’t be more obvious!, you thought to yourself in frustration.

Since the smiling, eye-fucking, and touching didn't work you thought you'd amp it up even more, and you saw your in. You approached the bench press he was near and began loading your weights. Before beginning, you sauntered your way over to him once he was in between sets.

“Hi sorry to interrupt but I was wondering if you could spot me” you questioned with false innocence, “I’m trying for a new PR and I don’t wanna drop it on me.”

“Yea absolutely” he replied.

As you both walked to the bench, you finally pried some information about him out of his soft pink lips. "Thanks for helping me out...uh sorry, I don’t know your name" you say with a nervous smile.

"Jack...my name is Jack. And it’s no problem at all!" he offers with a smile.

You give Jack your name as well as you spit and prepare yourself to lift the bar. As you begin to lift, it took everything in you not to stare at Jack’s bulge that was above your sweating face.

The current position you’re in would be more preferable if it was taking place in your bedroom rather than the gym. Especially with Jack encouraging you from up above.

“C’mon you can do it.” “You’re almost there” “Atta girl” “Finish it fr’me…yeaaaa that’s it”

Your body began to heat up and your focus began to wane as you finished your last rep.

Before you realized the bar was slowly starting to fall closer and closer to your chest. But before the bar could fall and crush you, Jack lifted it for you, “I gotcha…you’re okay”

“Oh my god! Thanks for spotting me! I thought I had it but I don’t know my form felt off. Do you mind showing me how you do it?”

Ugh your mind! Getting him to teach you? There’s no way he wouldn’t pick up what you were putting down!

“Yea sure.” Jack laid down on his back on the bench and began to explain his form, all you could hear was blah blah blah as you honed in on his pecs protruding, his veins pulsing, and his groaning and grunting.

God you needed to get laid quick.

Even with letting him teach you and correct your form, Jack still didn't seem to acknowledge your advances. He simply checked if you needed him for any other tips and then returned to his chest day routine.

This routine went on for months of you asking him to spot you, correct your form, or model the best way to get the best results.

Eventually you both had become accustomed to stopping to chat with each other during your workouts, building a small friendship.

“Hey Jack, how was your shift today?" you asked with a smile.

"Oh the same as usual. Except we did have a frat bro try to jump off his balcony to prove he should be chosen to pledge. His "fraternity brothers" didn't want to foot the bill and just left him."

"That’s cruel! Well, he's lucky that he got you for a doctor. I mean you’re always so helpful and kind." you say with a shy demeanor.

"Oh thank you but. I'm sure he could care less about me. He was too busy trying to flirt with the nurses." he laughs out.

No matter how much you tried and tried it seemed like you were the only one harboring feelings.

So, you just stopped.

Well, you weren’t super dramatic and stopped talking to Jack entirely, but you stopped asking for help, you stopped the ogling, and you definitely stopped flirting. You did genuinely like Jack’s company and figured if he wasn’t interested then you shouldn’t make him uncomfortable with any unwanted advances.

Despite his lack of flirting with you, Jack had become enamored with you. He enjoyed coming to the gym to let off steam from his nights at PTMC, but mostly because he'd see you. It had become part of his gym routine to spend the better half of his hour workout chatting with you about anything and everything under the sun.

He didn't just enjoy the conversations you shared, he loved the way your face flushed during a particularly hard part of your routine and the way your eyes seemed to brighten when you finally managed to correct your form just the way he told you to.

He especially loved the way your body looked during your workouts. He could always see the curves of your hips and perky ass through your leggings. And if he was lucky and you wore and this sports bra he could see the pebbling of your nipples due to the gym’s cold AC. He kept that part quiet to himself, not letting him explore those ideas until he was somewhere more private, like at home in bed after he left the gym.

Jack had always wanted to flirt with you or ask you out but was always worried that he'd face ridicule from the other gym-goers or more importantly make you feel uneasy.

The last thing Jack needed was to seen flirting on video and be announced to the entire world via social media that he was one of those creeps who use the gym as a place to pick up women.

Old Pervert Caught Hitting on Ladies at Gym in Pittsburgh!

Jack shuddered at the idea of being seen as a man like that.

But ever since you had pulled away and started speaking to him less, he felt obligated to share his true feelings for you. He figured either he tell you and you'd both go out somewhere there was no smell of perspiration or sounds of grunting from bulky men straining to lift weights. Or he'd never hear from you again and would only make awkward glimpses towards you from across the gym floor.

The next day after Jack walked in that morning, Jack had made up his mind. He marched over to you where you were jogging on the treadmill.

He called your name softly, repeating it as you were captivated in keeping your pace.

You paused your music and turned off the treadmill to turn your body and face towards Jack.

"Hey Jack," you say out of breath, “What’s going on? You got another crazy story from your shift?" you smile toothily.

"Ah...not today " he smiled towards the floor "I-uh actually wanted to ask you something."

You tilted your head in confusion before uttering, "Oh o-okay go ahead. What's your question?"

Your heart began to pound at the what was yet to come. You racked your mind at the idea of what he would say. Even though you stopped flirting with him, it still could be a possibility that he would complain. Or maybe he would tell you that he was going to come at a different time, you knew that his friend had gone on sabbatical and that he'd be helping the day shift more. Your brain hoped and prayed for the latter. Even if that meant seeing him less.You knew if he complained you'd have to switch gyms and you'd come to love the proximity of the gym to your job.

The sound of Jack's husky voice brought you out of your thoughts.

"Well I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime. I know we haven't been talking as much as we used to but I've had a crush on you for a long time." Jack caught a glimpse of the deadpan look upon your face before trying to diffuse the situation by quickly explaining, "I promise I don't mean to be a creep! If you’re not interested you can say no and I won't bother you no more."

"Jack…are you for real right now," His eyes widen and his breath becomes shaky as his worst fear is coming true. "I've been flirting with you for months now."

Jack stood still and blinked at you in confusion. "When?" he asks with a twitch of his brow.

God, how could a man so smart be so clueless?, you thought to yourself.

"Every day for like the past 3 months"

"I thought you just wanted help with your routine?"

"No," you laughed out in astonishment. " I just wanted to have a reason to talk and look at you without seeming like creep."

"So then why'd you stop talking to me?"

"Well…I thought you weren't interested since you never made a move. I figured I'd let you be." you say with your gaze now at your feet.

Jack calls your name softly to bring your eyes to his, "I was always interested. I didn't want to come off weird or creepy to you."

Jack then gives his knowing smug smile, "Is that why I'd see you looking at me from across the building?”

You blushed and tried to hide your face in your hands. Jack reached with his and pulled your hands away as he ducked to find your eyes. "Stop hiding from me,” Jack grinned. “So...are you gonna let me make up for being an idiot these past few months and let me take you to dinner?"

You nodded shyly as you bit your lip.

"Yea? Okay well why don't we finish our workouts and we exchange numbers so we can talk and find a day that works for us. I don't wanna make you late for work." Jack said with a coy smile.

"That sounds good to me" you agree with a nod.

As both of you return to your workout, you don't hesitate to let your eyes drift to the freckled man. In fact, sometimes when you looked up, you'd find his hazel eyes peering right back into yours. You both would blush before giving a shy wave. It felt nice to know that your feelings for Jack was mutual even if it took three months for him to catch on.

After finishing your workout, freshening up, and changing into your work clothes, you scanned the gym to find Jack. When you spotted him, you walked over with a paper with your number written on it in tow folded neatly inside the center of your palm.

Jack lifted his one of his headphones and turned in your direction as you neared.

"I'm leaving for work now, but I wanted to make sure I gave this to you," you passed the paper delicately to Jack. Almost as if you approached to strongly it would somehow disrupt your reality. You couldn't believe after months of effort you finally managed to unearth his feelings towards you.

“I wanted to make sure I got this to you before I left. Y’know just in case you thought I wasn't interested." you teased with a wink.

Jack huffed out a laugh as you turned and walked off.

He couldn't believe that within this time of not wanting to look like a creep he instead looked like a big idiot to the woman he liked. He wishes he could have smacked himself upside the head for not noticing all the little signs that look like billboards as he replays moments inside his head.

Even though Jack did look like an idiot, he was glad he was able to bring back the sparkle in your eye and your sweet laugh while you both talked. Even if it was at his expense.

a/n: i had so much fun writing this! thank you to @drhobby for the inspo and asking me to write this! i hope it lives up to your wishes 🥹🫶🏽! pls let me know if you like it!! if you have an idea you’d like me to write send me an ask or you can inbox me! 😽

[barnesdreamcatcher]

Nothing’s quite enough

jack abbot x f!reader

summary: another anniversary spent alone makes you spiral. jack comes home and is faced with how his neglect is ruining you.

cw: heavy angst, alcohol intoxication, vomiting, small injury (glass cut), implied depression/(brief) suicidal ideation, non-sexual nudity

wc: 2.4k

a/n: not beta-read yet, we die like, uhh, robby’s will to live

now playing: begged – Olivia Rodrigo

All that I want Is to sit here silently And watch movies on TV

What a shame you're not here Here to witness my devotion And my endless well of needs

I'm an anchor in the ocean You know I could never leave So I'm patient, you're learning Pretend it's not hurting

And they say it's a virtue To not let good love slip away 

Your makeup has faded. Black mascara smudges around your lash line, having bled from tears that fell like gravity itself demanded it. 

This is hardly the first anniversary you’ve spent alone. Far from it, actually. 

Anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, Christmases—you name it. There is a story to be told about each one of them, a story of how you sat on the couch, nursing a glass of wine while waiting for Jack. 

If he wasn’t saving lives in the ER, he was risking his own. It doesn’t matter that you’ve knelt in front of him, the hardwood cool and unforgiving, as you pleaded for him to take a day off. Just one. 

There is always something. A colleague who has children and needs that day to take them to Disneyland. Or a patient who only trusts him. A shift he just has to cover.  

You’ve heard nearly every excuse possible and smiled like it didn’t matter, like you didn’t matter, because maybe you didn’t. 

When you and Jack first started dating, he warned you that surgeons are the worst kinds of doctors to date because of their pretentiousness. He seemed to have forgotten to mention that ER doctors came in second on that list. 

It wasn’t the desire for fame or hubris that made Jack so careless about your feelings. It was his devotion to everyone but you. 

Sure, he’d kiss you and make you feel special—on a day when he could afford it. When he wasn’t chasing the high of being needed by strangers who’d maybe not even remember his name once he had saved them. 

You know the placement of every freckle on his body, and still, it doesn’t change anything. 

The third glass of wine doesn’t taste as bitter as the first. You don’t particularly like this brand or year or anything about it—you just know that Jack had bought it for today, back when he was still telling himself that he’d be home to celebrate with you. 

As the cap of the bottle dances between your fingers, the metal now warm from your body heat, you glance at the clock. 

Three hours and twelve minutes.

God, you’re a fucking loser. 

Maybe it would be a different story if you were married. Maybe you could forgive yourself for your desperation, your constant attempts to convince yourself you mattered to him as much as he mattered to you. If there were a little bit of proof of his commitment, you’d be able to look into the mirror without feeling sick with shame. 

But there is no ring on your finger or the promise that one will come one day. Jack doesn’t want to get married again. He says you two don’t need that. 

Three hours, thirteen minutes. 

You slosh the wine in your mouth while the darkest of thoughts creep in. It’s just a little fantasy you’ve curated and perfected over the years, and it’s an insane one, but you love to lose yourself in it every now and then. 

Jack comes home. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Goosebumps creep up his arms and neck as he calls out your name. When no answer comes, he runs up the stairs and finds the bathroom door ajar. Light seeps out under it, along with a small pool of water tainted light pink. 

Fine. You’re a little melodramatic. Maybe Jack’s neglect has driven you to regress into your teenage self who also fantasized about this whenever her dad yelled at her. 

Once the fourth hour starts, the wine bottle is empty, and you’re so drunk it feels like time has stopped. The tears certainly have. They’ve been replaced by this hollow laugh that echoes through the house while you watch the trashiest TV show you could find. 

While the alcohol courses through your veins, your eyes zero in on the women’s lip and cheek fillers. It stands out to you like black ink on white paper. 

You wish Jack would’ve been a plastic surgeon instead. You wouldn’t care that he sees women’s naked breasts and gives BBLs on a daily basis if that meant that he was home in time for dinner. 

Once you stand up to get a new bottle, you feel all the blood rushing to your head. Your legs are unsteady, and your forehead and nose feel so heavy, like they’re pulling you forward. 

You find out just how firm the fridge is when you knock against it. 

It’s not like you feel it anyway. 

The next bottle of wine is closed with a cork stopper. You’ve seen Jack open this kind of bottle with that metal apparatus that looks like you could find it in a gynecologist’s office. You have no idea how to use it. So you take a knife and start hacking away. You only miss your fingers by pure, dumb luck. 

That luck runs out when you try to pop out the cork stopper by hitting the bottom of the wine against the kitchen counter. 

What used to be the bottle is now a bunch of shards and a cold, wet feeling seeping through your socks. 

You laugh hysterically and drop to your knees, not half as careful as you should be. Something pierces your big toe, but you don’t care. 

The front door opens. Jack steps inside. And his eyes widen. If anything, Jack has always had one hell of a timing.

You’re a fucking mess. 

“Jackie,” you slur. 

You try to get up, but your muscles protest. 

“Jesus, what the fuck?” he hisses. 

He is by your side in an instant, stepping over the glass carefully. It crunches underneath his boots when he picks you up by your underarms and puts you down on the counter. 

“Baby, what the fuck happened?”

You giggle. You fucking love it when he calls you baby. 

“Oopsie,” you whisper. 

Jack stares at you with disbelief. His fingers catch your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his.  For a second, his mouth opens, and you await the lecture that never comes. Instead, his eyes dart over your face, taking it all in—the smeared makeup, the heat radiating from your cheeks, the glassy, far-away look. 

“Are you drunk?” he asks, his voice trembling slightly. 

You try to bite back a smile as you reply, “As a skunk.”

He lets go of your chin and takes a step back, running a hand through his hair.  You let yourself slide off the counter, trying to close the distance again. 

“Stop,” Jack yells.  His arm snaps forward, pushing you back. For a moment, you stumble. Your back hits the counter, and you look up at Jack with a hurt expression. Then your eyes follow his, and you realize that you almost stepped into the glass. A stupid smile spreads over your face.

Jack’s expression falls. 

“Hey,” he says sharply. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What are you doing, huh?”

He grabs you by your biceps and pulls you away from the sharp mess on the floor. You only feel the closeness as his fingers dig into your skin. 

“I missed you today,” you murmur dreamily.  Even to you, your own voice sounds far away. Or maybe only to you? You can’t tell. 

Jack stares at you, his eyes searching for something. Anything. 

“Talk to me,” he demands. “What is going on? Why are you wasted on a fucking Thursday?”

Oh, that one blows.  On a Thursday. Yes, a random Thursday.

You giggle so hard your throat hurts. 

“You’re never gonna believe this, but—” As you pause dramatically, Jack’s eyebrow twitches, “—it’s kinda an important Thursday. Like… really important.”

It’s almost visible how the wheels in Jack’s head start turning. They spark, creak, and squeak as he searches for the answer that’s written all over your face in the runny mascara and that look bordering on insanity. 

 His face falls when the wheels come to a stop.

“Fuck,” he whispers. 

As his eyes dart to the calendar pinned to the fridge, you feel your stomach turning. 

“Yeah,” you say.  Your mouth feels dry now, and nothing’s quite as funny anymore.

Jack looks at you, but you don’t meet his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” You believe him. That’s the worst part. But it doesn’t matter how sorry he is, because you’re sorrier. To the little girl you once were who thought she’d be happier than her parents ever got to be.

You shift your weight and wince softly. 

Jack’s eyes widen.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.  His voice comes out rough. 

“No,” you murmur. 

Jack pats you down anyway, his hands searching alongside his eyes as he inspects your legs. At the end, he finds a small shard of glass stuck in your big toe.  You're holding onto Jack’s head as he looks at your foot. His ears have grown red. 

“You are hurt,” he mumbles. “I—Lemme…”

Torn between another apology and his worry, Jack picks you up. His arms slide under your back and your knees. The room tilts dangerously—you had almost forgotten that the contents of an entire wine bottle were coursing through your veins. 

“Rollercoaster,” you whisper.

He shushes you as he carries you to the upstairs bathroom where you keep the first aid kit.  The bright, white light flickers to life and hurts your eyes, making you groan. Jack only glances at you with more concern before he sets you down on the bathroom counter. 

“Hold still,” he instructs.  His arms keep you in place for a few seconds, like he is trying to show your body how to keep balance. “Don’t fall, please,” he adds, a little gentler. 

Then he crouches down, grunting a little as his knee pops. Somewhere through the haze of the wine, you remember that he just worked for sixteen hours. But then again, it’s your anniversary, and your empathy for his exhaustion is outweighed by your own misery. By far.

 He finds the first aid kit and takes a pair of tweezers before he catches your foot with his other hand. 

“It’s not too deep,” he says quietly. “Maybe that’s why you didn’t feel it until you moved.”

Yeah, you think to yourself, that’s definitely why. 

“Spoken like the doctor you are,” you answer. 

Jack looks up at you for a second, his lips pressed together. He murmurs something you don’t quite catch and then pulls out the shard.

You gasp as the pain shoots from your toe to your knee and pulls up high into your hip. 

“Ow, what the—?” you hiss. 

Jack keeps your leg still and rubs your shin slightly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“Not for that.”

The air in the room grows cold.  Jack straightens up, and his knee pops again. 

“I’m sorry for today, too,” he begins.  He doesn’t get very far because you immediately hold up your hand. 

“No,” you bite out sharply.

For a few seconds, you just sit on the counter, your legs swinging slightly. Jack watches, fumbling with his fingers as he searches your face. 

“Can I clean your cut, please?” he asks.  You shake your head vehemently. 

“It could get infected if I don’t,” he retorts.

You open your mouth to argue, but the words don’t come out. Instead, a wave of nausea hits you. 

“’m gonna be sick,” you mumble. 

Jack’s eyes widen before his hands land on your waist.  He half-carries, half-drags you to the toilet and makes it just in time as the wine comes back up, tasting ten times as bad as it did when it went down. 

“Shit, baby,” Jack curses. He gathers as much of your hair as he can save and rubs your back as you throw up once, then twice. 

It’s all liquid, too, because you haven’t eaten in a few hours—you were planning on having a big dinner with your boyfriend after all, as one does on their anniversary.  As your stomach cramps, you think about the muffins that you ordered, lemon batter and raspberry icing. 

The third time your tummy revolts, it’s just dry-heaving. 

Spit dribbles down your chin, and your hands tremble. You’re somehow sweating and shaking simultaneously. Jack whispers and shushes, but you don’t want his comfort. You want to keep drinking until you pass out. 

“Leave me alone,” you murmur, your hands flailing weakly. 

“And let you knock yourself unconscious? No, thank you,” he replies. “You’re so fucking drunk, you’re lucky you haven’t given yourself alcohol poisoning.” It’s clear he’s aiming for dry and sarcastic, but you hear the fear in his voice. 

“Get out,” you rasp. Your throat might as well be on fire.

“No,” he snaps. 

“You don’t care if I crack my head open,” you accuse. 

His grip on your arm tightens. “Hey,” he says sharply, “That’s not true. I care very much.”

You groan and rest your chin on the toilet seat as your head begins to spin again. 

“Then why are you never here?”

The silence that follows is only broken by your renewed retching. 

Once you’ve emptied your stomach, Jack leaves you by yourself on the bathroom tiles for a few seconds. His eyes keep flickering back to you as he turns on the shower, testing its warmth with the tips of his fingers. 

He returns to your side and flushes the toilet for you. 

“Can you stand?” he asks.  You’re surprised at just how soft his voice is. 

You shake your head. He doesn’t sigh. 

Instead, he nods quietly and maneuvers you against the wall. 

“Put your arms up, baby,” he instructs quietly. 

Piece by piece, he removes your clothes. You feel how his fingers tremble as he unhooks the clasps of your new bra, all black lace and clearly bought for today.  Once you’re down to nothing, he starts undressing, too. He leans his prosthetic against the wall and then manages to get both of you in the shower. 

The tiles are cold underneath you, but the warm spray from above keeps you quiet. Jack doesn’t say anything as he sits next to you, his grey curls slowly growing darker as the water hits. He doesn’t reach for you either, but his knee presses against yours. 

“You love me?” you whisper. 

Jack braces next to you. You feel the tension travel up from where his leg touches yours. 

“I do,” he murmurs. 

You swallow hard. “Then why do you never choose me?”

❤︎ just a quick reminder that the best way to support authors on here is to comment and reblog ❤︎ ☆ find my masterlist here ☆

[jackabbotcult]

[mast3rbait3r]

sammy is the only one who can protect you ♡

content warning: crazy ex bf! sammy bryant, reader still misses him despite everything, fem/afab! reader, dubcon! (it's a lot so pls read carefully <3), stalking, breaking and entering, somnophilia, cheating, reluctance/coercion (for reader), unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, mating press

word count: 4.3k (holy moly)

author note: this is definitely the most insane thing i'm gonna write on here for a LONG time, but pls pls pls read the content warnings!!! <3

minors do not interact, 18+ only

things were coming to a head in yours and sammy's relationship. he was starting to ask too many questions about where you were and what you were doing, to the point that you felt annoyed by the idea of leaving the house. one night, you were planning on going out with friends. you got all dolled up, putting on a dress that had probably been collecting dust in your closet for close to a year. you finish doing your hair and makeup, ready to leave, when you hear your front door open. you had a sneaking suspicion of who it could be, since he was the only one with a key to your house at the moment.

you head down the stairs, where you find sammy already waiting for you in the living room. he takes one glance at your outfit and immediately gets a sharp tone. "that's not happening." he motions to your outfit, to which you roll your eyes. "i'm just going out with the girls, sammy. it'll be fine." he steps right in front of you as you try to move past, arms crossed over his chest. "i said it's not happening, sweetheart." he repeats himself, eyes boring into yours as if it were supposed to be intimidating. you'd long gotten over sammy's little power trips that he got every now and again.

a lot of people questioned why you were still with him, and your answer every time was that you weren't exactly a saint yourself. you were quite reactive, often being the one to start arguments with sammy. although anyone else in your situation might have said that sammy is the one that brought out that reactive side in you. but regardless, you still loved him and he loved you. the relationship was dysfunctional at best, but you figured it would be something that could mellow out over time. well- at least that's what you thought before the next words that came out of your mouth.

"get the fuck out of my face, sammy. i want to do this one thing and you're already trying to ruin it for me." you snap at him, which actually causes him to falter for a second. but as soon as you open the floor for an argument, sammy is more than willing to oblige. "i'm not letting you leave the house looking like some hooker i see every day on the streets." he claps back, and you feel your blood begin to boil. "it's a good thing i don't need your permission then." you shove past him, knocking his shoulder as you grab your phone and purse. just before you can walk out the front door, he reaches over you and shuts it.

"you walk out of this house and see what happens." he speaks lowly in your ear. normally, it would have done the trick and gotten you to stay. not necessarily because you wanted to follow his orders, but because your body always felt weak when he was so close to you and using that tone of voice. "what are you gonna do sammy, really?" you turn around to face him, watching the anger grow in his expression when he realizes you're actually willing to walk out that door. the door to your own house, mind you. as soon as that realization dawns on you, you step out of the way and open the door. "actually, i think you can walk out of this house instead." you speak flatly, watching as he stiffens.

"i'm not going anywhere, and neither are you." he tries to shut the door, but you hold steady. "get out of my house sammy, we're done." your voice was cold now, finally having had enough of his bullshit. you weren't sure why this was the time where everything had boiled over, but you were ready to be done with him. "the fuck do you mean we're done? you don't get to say that to me." he snaps at you. you hear your friend's car pull up outside, and you knew sammy wasn't going to stick around in the off-chance that she'd help you gang up on him in an argument. your glare doesn't waver, but you feel a hint of satisfaction when you watch him deflate and grab his jacket. "we may be done, but this is far from over." you feel a twinge of something in your chest when he says your name after that last sentence.

you watch him walk out, not missing the way he refused to look up at you as he got in his car. you decided to reflect on all of that later, locking up your house and then getting in your best friend's car. you head toward the bar with her, ready to drink yourself to sleep for the night. hopefully the alcohol would help take your mind off of everything that just happened. so you did, you let loose with all of your friends and absolutely crashed when you got home. you couldn't lie, it was nice coming home to complete silence and being able to go right to sleep without an argument happening right before. that night, you went to sleep finally feeling like you could breathe. however, what you didn't know, was that sammy's last words to you were not a bluff.

it's been about a year since you and sammy split up, now. you were pleasantly surprised at the way he just seemed to disappear from your life. well- you were a bit wary of the immediate silence, but eventually you accepted it and moved on with your life. things were going well and you felt stronger, mentally and physically. you'd even met a new man, whom you'd officially entered into a relationship with about a month ago. he was like a breath of fresh air compared to sammy, at least... that's how it felt in the beginning. that feeling didn't take long to wear off, the honeymoon phase coming to a rather abrupt end. regardless, you kept him around because he didn't pester you about every little thing. then again, he didn't really seem to care about anything.

it began to feel like he just enjoyed the idea of having a girlfriend, or maybe just the social status that came with being in a relationship. whatever it was, he really didn't do much but sit on his ass and play video games when he got off of work. you were kind enough to let him bring his xbox over to your house, so he could play while spending time with you. you hadn't thought much of it then, figuring that he'd use it sparingly. instead, he'd just sit there on your couch all night long, not once even asking if you wanted to join him. you would just sit next to him, scrolling through social media on your phone. you often found yourself falling asleep next to him, and he couldn't even be bothered to cover you with a blanket before he went to bed in your room.

while you enjoyed the silence that came from your current relationship, you came to realize that you were starting to miss the way sammy actually cared about what you did. he may have been a controlling, incredibly overprotective dick, but he cared and he loved you. you weren't sure if your current boyfriend would even be willing to stand up for you if he heard someone call you out of your name. sammy would have already pounced on the aggressor before you could blink, likely cussing them out or even throwing punches. one night, your boyfriend had actually bothered to give you some attention. you weren't sure what the special occasion was, but the two of you had hardly even kissed in the past week.

you were currently straddling his lap, your lips colliding and tongues battling for dominance. your boyfriend has his hands on your bare breasts, kneading them haphazardly. you ignored the way you could barely feel it and just kept kissing him. you were so desperate to be touched that you didn't even notice you'd left the blinds to your bedroom open. it was late at night, and your lamp was on, meaning anybody could see inside. tonight, similar to many nights for the past year, anybody mostly referred to sammy. who sat in his car across the street, white-knuckled grip on his steering wheel as he watches that imbecile try and make you feel good. he can tell, even from here, that it wasn't working. he could tell by the way your back wasn't arching into him, and your hips weren't rolling against his, desperate for friction.

this guy was a fucking idiot if he thought he could ever make you feel as good as sammy could. sammy scoffs to himself when he sees your boyfriend pull away and take you off his lap. he can see the way your shoulders deflate and you draw your knees up to your chest to cover yourself. sammy doesn't even want to know what happened as he sees your boyfriend leave the bedroom. all he knew was that time was up for this dumbass. sammy was way better for you, anyway. he was going to make sure you knew that, too. so he puts his final plan into action, getting cozy in his car for the night. keeping his promise that he told you that last night before he left, sammy didn't disappear like you thought he did. he was always there, lurking in the background.

he spent more time living in his car than his own house these days, always wanting to see where you were and what you were doing. he was happy to see that you hadn't done much to move on from him. you'd only been back to the bar twice since your last night together, and he never watched you bring another man home. probably because he'd be in that same bar, intimidating any man that even bothered to look in your direction. telling them that you're not available, and if they tried, they wouldn't be around to see the sunrise. but what he did see every now and again, was when you'd get home from a long day, march right up to your room, strip yourself naked, and get cozy with that hot pink toy in your bed.

naturally, he was upset when he found out about that toy in the first place, back when the two of you were together. he saw it as him not being good enough to please you, that you had to take matters into your own hands. he thought you got rid of it, like he'd asked, but obviously not. he was grateful for it recently, watching like a hawk through his binoculars when your pretty legs would be spread wide and your head would fall back against the sheets. he noticed that after you and your new boyfriend got together, you started to use it more often. a clear indicator that your boyfriend wasn't shit at pleasing you. all the more reason for him to get you back, right?

sammy continues to let his mind wander as he waits for the morning, thinking about all the ways this plan could work out. you could take him back, admit that nobody ever made you feel as good as sammy did. you could get angry at him, maybe even threaten to hurt him, though that really wasn't like you. you could call the police, even though he technically is the police, and he'd be forced to flee and leave you alone. regardless, sammy needed you to know that he was far from gone. you'd never be able to get rid of him, and you shouldn't want to. so, when the sun begins to rise, and your poor excuse of a boyfriend leaves for work, he exits his car. he doesn't bother to check his surroundings, knowing your quiet neighborhood like the back of his hand.

he makes his way to your front door, fishing out the key that you'd never asked for him to return. oh, his clumsy and silly girl, if only you knew how much trouble that one little detail would get you into. he slides into the lock with ease, gently turning the knoband pushing open the door. thanks to sammy, your doors were quiet when opening. he'd bought you plenty of house and hardware supplies in case you needed to fix things when he wasn't around. he just wished that you could have remembered stuff like that before you broke up with him. all he did for you, the ways he helped you, the way it all showed that he cared for you.

he slips off his shoes and jacket, padding his way up to your bedroom. he makes it to your door, gently opening it and peeking through to see you curled up, fast asleep. you looked as beautiful as ever, especially since he hadn't been able to see you this close in a long time. he walks over to your side of the bed, freezing when he sees you flip onto your back. when you don't stir for a few more seconds, he smirks. you don't even realize it, but you've completely opened yourself up to him and his evil little plan. he carefully pulls the covers off of you, breath hitching slightly when he sees you in nothing but your panties and a flimsy t-shirt. it'd been too long since you were sleeping next to him like this.

he knew damn well that other guy didn't deserve to see you like this in the slightest. especially when he had no idea what to do with all of your beautiful curves and soft skin. but sammy knew every little thing that made you tick. he knew just the right moves to make those plush thighs tremble, to have your back arching off the bed, to make you cry out enough that it could potentially concern the neighbors. he needed you, in his life, in his bed, on his cock. he couldn't stand another minute of you not being his. so he finally takes what he's been missing as he carefully spreads your soft thighs just enough to slip your panties down.

he moves carefully, eyes trained on your face for any sign of you waking up. when he finds none, he moves to the end of the bed and begins to climb on top of it. he maneuvers himself carefully, brining his face between the warm of your thighs. he doesn't waste a second, knowing that any moment now, he'd either be screamed at or kicked out. he delves into your slick cunt, tongue greedily lapping at you. he wondered if maybe your body already knew he was there, because he wasn't sure how you'd gotten so wet when you were supposed to be asleep. he licks at your clit, watching the way your body twitches ever so slightly. you must have been really tired, because you barely flinched when one of his chubby fingers pushes inside you.

it's clear that you can feel something, given the way you're starting to make gentle noises and squirm even more. he's looking up at you through his lashes as his nose catches against your clit and his tongue gratefully accepts your slick courtesy of his finger. you taste just as good as he remembers, and he quickly feels himself getting dizzy from how amazing it felt to be right back where he belonged. he's snapped out of his trance when he hears you slowly coming to. your little noises get a bit louder the more you gain consciousness, but he can tell the exact moment you realize what's happening because your entire body locks up and your breath hitches. but he doesn't stop moving, he even adds another finger inside you. you're frozen in place for a moment, glancing down between your thighs to see soft auburn curls and hazel eyes peering up at you.

"s-sammy?" your voice is raspy from sleep, but you're still incredibly confused and groggy as well. "yeah, pretty girl. i came home to see you." he hums against you, using his free hand to gently rub your thigh. much to his frustration, you finally seem to realize what's going on and you immediately wrench yourself away from him. "what the fuck are you doing?!" you shout at him. you try to scurry off the bed, but sammy's faster and he pins you down to the bed. "hey, hey... calm down. i'm not gonna hurt you. just relax, it'll all be okay." he speaks calmly, too fucking calmly for the situation you're in right now. "how did you- what- what the fuck is going on?" you feel your breathing become shallow, your brain still struggling to catch up. your eyes go wide with horror as you watch sammy get up and walk over to you.

"'s alright, baby. i'm here to save you from that sorry ass you call a boyfriend." he chuckles softly, takings your hands in his and pulling you closer. you lay there stiffly, but you don't push him away. you don't fight him off because the rational part of your brain has apparently stayed asleep while the rest missed the warm touch of your crazy ex-boyfriend. "saw that he can't even fondle this pretty body the right way. fucking pathetic..." he smirks when he feels you start to relax in his arms. he lifts your chin with a finger, forcing you to look at him. "want your real man to make you feel good?" he swipes his thumb over your bottom lip. normally, you'd be all fight and nasty words, but you couldn't deny how terrible your current boyfriend was, even compared to sammy.

"need to hear you say it, sweetheart. i won't do anything else until you tell me to." he speaks softly, watching you slowly become pliant beneath him again. "now you care about what i want?" you scoff at him, gasping when he leans down and starts to press kisses along the side of your neck. "you know i've always cared, you just don't like the way i show it." he replies as his hand slides back between your legs. "you're not gonna push me away this time, sweet girl?" he smirks, watching your eyes flutter when he starts to rub circles into your aching clit. you were currently in a huge dilemma. one part of you has been craving the things that only sammy can give you, but the other is still freaked out by the fact that your crazy ex-boyfriend broke into your home and woke you up from being nose-deep in between your legs. you haven't heard from him in almost a year, and this is his idea of a reunion?

"sammy, this isn't the way to get me back." you sigh, a futile attempt at reasoning with him. "you need to go, you can't be here." your resolve was finally starting to rebuild, but you notice that sammy hasn't wavered and his smirk has only grown stronger. "i can't be here? baby, i still have my key. i have every fucking right to be at home with you." he's so damn smug about it that his tone grates on your nerves, just like it always did. this isn't how you wanted the reunion to go. you wanted it to be something sweet where sammy professes that he can't live without you, that he'll change his ways, do better for you. but you knew that wasn't what he wanted, he just wanted to have control over the one person who was consistent in his life.

"you're gonna tell me that dork is a better boyfriend than me?" he scoffs at you. he withdraws his hand from between your legs, but it just stops at the waistband of his sweats. he unties the strings and yanks down his pants quickly, followed by his boxers. you don't make an attempt to move even though he's not exactly pinning you down anymore. "come on, baby. he can't even keep you safe from intruders." he chuckles, dragging his tip through your slick folds. a soft whimper escapes your lips, betraying any sort of defense you might have had against him. "bet he's got a fucking shrimp, probably can't stretch out that needy pussy like she deserves." he rolls his eyes, lining himself up with your entrance.

"yeah, he's also not a control freak and doesn't make me feel like a prisoner in my own house." you clap back at him. he has the decency to pause at your words, forcing him to reflect on his behavior for the first time in a long time. all this time, sammy really wanted to keep you safe from all the dangers he truly knew existed in this world. his method of doing so was less than ideal, coming across as controlling and not willing to respect your autonomy. he saw it as better that way than seeing you get hurt by someone else. he'd never truly considered the fact that he might be the one hurting you. but now wasn't the time to reflect any longer, he wanted you and he wanted you now.

"tell you what, baby. you come on my cock the way you need to, i'll do whatever it takes to get you back." he finally speaks up after an awkward moment of silence. "what the hell are you even saying?" you don't get another word out when he roughly shoves his entire cock inside you, causing you to cry out. your back arches off the bed, a mixture of pain and pleasure coursing through your body. "don't overthink it, sweetheart. just make a mess on me and we'll talk it out later." he grunts as he starts to thrust in and out of you at an even pace. his cock is hitting all the right places inside you, your jaw slack as you dig your nails into his shoulders.

"still squeezin' me just right. d'ya really think anyone else would fit in this pussy like me?" he smirks down at you, leaning down and shoving his tongue into your open mouth. you moan loudly, letting him lick against your tongue in the way that had you clenching around him. he then lifts your legs, hands scooping under your knees then pressing them toward your chest. your loud moans mingle with his when he manages to reach even deeper. "that's it, pretty girl. feel good on me. fuck- just like that, taking me so fucking good." he pants against your neck, pounding into you. he can't wait to see all the scratches you're leaving on him later in your bathroom mirror. because of course he wasn't gonna leave you again after this. your punk ass boyfriend can find somewhere else to be boring.

it was starting to show, just how long it'd been since you'd had proper, fulfilling sex. you were already close, but so was sammy. "don't forget this, baby. nobody can keep you safe like i can. only i can protect you the way you fucking need." you can't ignore the way his batshit crazy words brought you even closer to the edge. "look at me while you come. need to see that pretty face you've only let me dream about for the past year." he grabs your jaw and forces you to look at him. instantly, your coming around his cock and clenching him so tight he grimaces. he drinks up every ounce of your expression, watching you tremble beneath him as he fucks you through your orgasm. seconds later, he's spilling deep inside you with one final thrust. he rolls over to your side, pulling you against him and burying his face in your hair.

your phone rings, the caller id shows up with your boyfriend's name. sammy glares at the phone like it's personally offended him. but then a thought comes to his head. "answer it, baby. tell him to never show his ugly ass face around this neighborhood again." he reaches over you and grabs the phone, answering it before you could protest. "hello?" you answer quietly. the phone was on speaker, so sammy could hear everything. "hey, uh- i'm not gonna make it home tonight. the boys want to go to an e-sports comp." your boyfriend speaks lamely, not even trying to sound guilty about the fact that he's ditching you for gaming bullshit once again. "don't bother coming back at all. we're done..." you say calmly before hanging up the phone and blocking his contact. you made a mental note to take his xbox out to the backyard later and smash it to pieces.

sammy's slightly surprised at how willing you were. but he didn't know that you'd been dying for a reason to break up with your boyfriend anyway. he wasn't even a warm body to you anymore, he was just completely useless. you sit your phone back on the nightstand and turn back to sammy. "this doesn't mean you're in the clear." you give him a knowing look, and he just nods. "you weren't gonna listen to me any other way." he argues, running his hand over your bare waist and pulling you closer. you couldn't argue with that, but it still doesn't change what he's already done. "alright, i'm sorry for the way i treated you then, baby. you know i hate the thought of something happening to you. i just- sucked at showing it." he sighs heavily, his eyes softening the way you'd longed for them to. you could tell he was fully aware that healing your relationship would take time. luckily for him, his words and his dick were quite the convincing combination.

alex's thoughts 𓈒∘☁︎: this one came to me in a daydream hehe... was meant to be a short blurb, didn't mean for it to be a damn essay T-T butttt, longer fic means one thing and one thing only >:3

divider creds: @/thecutestgrotto and @/mfrgraphics

[corusc4nts]

Not really a question but I am begging for you to make a pt 2 to or make a series out of "turn it down" !!! And Im pretty sure other people feel the same way about this beautiful story ❤️

i’m gonna be so real with yall i have absolutely no motivation to write for hayden right now. like none at all. if i write for hayden again it won’t be for a while hate to break it to yall. things could always change but as of rn… i have no motivation for that lol.

[fatallattetwirl]

Thinking about the 2000s aesthetic reader and Boyd fowler....👀

"Boyd can you go get my perfume?" He rolls his eyes at that and huffed getting up from the couch "which one you have like a thousand." He says clearly uninterested but doing it for you anyway, you groan and huff at his antics and brace your hand against the bathroom countertop in annoyance "the one in my bag. My favorite one." He just snorts and walks his way over to your room rummaging through your bag that's full of things, lipgloss , keychains, house keys , a belt , makeup , bracelets , a playboy magazine?

"when'd you get this ?" He called out from the bedroom "what is it ?" You pop your head out fully questioning what's in your bag too since you honestly didn't even know. He walks out of the bedroom rolling up the magazine and hitting you in the head with it making you push his hand away

"stop it you idiot-- let me see." You reached up for the magazine which he held far away from you making you even more annoyed "what do you say pretty?" You roll your eyes and huff "give me the fucking magazine." You snatched it from his hands watching as he laughed "that wasn't very nice."

"yeah well your face isn't very nice.." you toss the magazine to the side and continue doing your makeup in the mirror.

[corusc4nts]

shawn hatosy characters:

stan rosado purely accidental - stan rosado x reader (ghostface inspired au)

[corusc4nts]

purely accidental - stan rosado

stan rosado x reader summary: when a student is killed about a block from a frat party, everyone on campus starts to freak out. nobody knows it was stan rosado that did it. content: college au, drinking, physical violence (not towards reader), murder, almost a stabbing, vomiting. wc: 3.8k

this is 100% inspired by the stan rosado ghostface agenda on twitter. and yes this will be multiple parts don't you worry.

Stan Rosado wasn’t a violent guy. At least, for most of his life he wasn’t. Not until he’d noticed the way you’d run to him for comfort every time another kid on campus was killed.

Now the first guy, that really was random. Purely accidental. It wasn’t Stan’s fault that guy was psychotic.

It all started when his friends had noticed he hadn’t been going out as much. He used to go out with them every weekend up until the break up a few months ago. He just didn’t have the energy anymore.

“Yo, Stan,” his roommate, Carter, called out from the living room.

It was around nine on a Saturday night, meaning his friends were all getting ready to go to the bar or some frat party. With a heavy sigh, Stan poked his head out of his bedroom and into the hallway of the apartment. He raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue.

“You never come out anymore, man, come on,” Carter crossed his arms over his chest.

Stan straightened up and fully stepped into the hall, rolling his eyes as Carter continued.

“Go get ready, you’re coming with us tonight. Kappa’s throwing a massive party, Brad’s getting us all in.”

Stan let out a groan and ran a large hand over his face. “Dude, I’m not in the fucking mood,” he shook his head.

“You’re never in the fucking mood, go get ready. I’m not asking.”

The two of them stood staring at each other until Stan eventually sighed and turned to go back into his room. He supposed he could go out for an hour or two. Make them happy so they’d stop bugging him.

Ever since you’d broken up with him, Stan had been moping. He’d only ever leave his bedroom to go to class. It was pathetic the way he groveled over you. His friends were fucking sick of it. The way he’d find a way to bring every conversation back to you, the way he’d use the break up as an excuse for everything, the way sad 2000s rock would be blasting from his room daily, the way he’d constantly ask if anybody had heard from you or seen you on campus.

They needed to get him back out there before they went insane.

The frat party was exactly the way Stan had expected it to be. Loud, packed, and honestly kind of awful.

He stood in the kitchen, nursing a beer and looking around as he leaned back against the counter. He picked at the label on the bottle as he thought about how much you’d hate a party like this.

The beers were room temp, the whole case just sitting on the counter. The music was absolutely horrendous. Whoever had made this playlist couldn’t stick to one vibe. One second it’d be some nineties rap song, then it’d be a modern country song. And most importantly, there was no food! Not even a few bags of chips. Absolutely nothing.

Carter and a few of his other friends were playing beer pong in the living room. While they were distracted, Stan knew it was now or never. It was time for an Irish goodbye. They wouldn’t be too mad at him… probably.

He swallowed down the rest of his lukewarm drink with a disgusted expression, wiping a drop that spilled onto his chin with his thumb. He looked around for a place to throw out the bottle, but the only trash can nearby was already overflowing from people attempting to shove more garbage in it. He decided that wasn’t the hill he was going to die on and left the bottle on the counter.

As he slipped through the crowd, some girl tripped over her own heels and fell backwards onto him. He instinctively held out his arms to grab her before she hit the ground. She giggled as she drunkenly grabbed his bicep to stabilize herself.

“You okay?” Stan shouted over the music, ducking his head down so she could hear him.

“Yeah, sorry!” she smiled up at him.

He didn’t even give her a second look. He simply gave her a small nod before he turned to leave.

He made his way out of the house and took a deep breath. He looked around for a second before deciding to take the long way home, turning down the sidewalk. Maybe some fresh air would do him some good. He ran a hand through his curls as he made another turn in between two buildings.

It was a little alleyway that was a shortcut back towards Stan’s apartment building. He’d taken this way home from a thousand Kappa parties.

But he didn’t make it very far before a voice called out after him.

“Yo!”

Stan turned to see a guy he’d never met in his life. He bit down on his bottom lip as the guy continued to approach him.

“Yeah?” Stan asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“You hit on my girl in there?”

Stan’s frown deepened. What girl? Stan didn’t even look at a girl.

“Don’t give me that stupid fucking face, I saw you,” the guy continued.

Then, it hit him. That girl that fell on him.

“Oh…” Stan’s eyebrows slowly raised. “Oh… nah, I wasn’t hitting on anybody.”

“Didn’t look like that,” the guy tilted his head, taking another step forward.

“I didn’t hit on her, man, she tripped. I caught her and asked if she was okay, that’s it,” Stan shook his head.

“Not what she says.”

Stan froze in place. What the hell could she have said? Who the hell was this dude?

“W-what’d she say?” he asked nervously, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Says she was pushing you off of her.”

Stan narrowed his eyes. “What?” he scoffed.

“She knows better than to touch another man, and my homeboy saw her grabbing on your arm. She says you grabbed on her first, and she was trying to push you off.”

Awesome. Stan had managed to help some girl who just so happens to have a psychotic boyfriend. This was all Carter’s fault. This never would’ve happened if he hadn’t forced him to go out with everyone tonight.

He stood there, dumbfounded. “I… I didn’t…” his voice trailed off as the man took another step towards him. A little too close.

For every step Stan took back, the guy took two steps forward.

“You callin’ my girl a liar?” he spat in his face, shoving Stan hard.

Stan stumbled back and shook his head, holding up his hands. “No, man, I’m just-”

“You just what?” the man cut him off.

“Dude, I don’t want your girl! She fell, I caught her, I asked if she was okay, she said yes so I walked away! That’s it!” Stan tried to verbally defend himself as the man shoved him again. This time, Stan shoved back even harder.

“You wanna fucking go?” he yelled. He had a crazy look in his eye. Stan took in a deep breath as he mentally prepared himself to fight this guy… until he saw something glint out of the corner of his eye. His gaze flickered down to see he had pulled a knife.

“What the fuck?” Stan shouted, looking around frantically to see any way out. There was a dumpster behind him, but other than that, the alley was clear for him to make a break for it.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly what he expected Stan to do. He stuck his foot out, causing Stan to go straight down to the pavement. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and started to crawl backwards when he saw something under the dumpster. A brick.

He rolled over and grabbed it. Just as the man leaned over him, Stan whipped back around, his arm swinging.

A loud crack resounded when the brick made contact with the side of his head. Another when he hit the concrete.

Stan stared at him for a moment, panting from the adrenaline rushing through him. He could feel his heartbeat in his eardrums, pounding a million times a minute. The man didn’t move. Blood began to pool under his head.

Pushing himself up, he crawled over to the man. He stared for a moment before nudging his shoulder. The body was completely limp. Dead.

Stan felt his stomach churning and his mouth filling with saliva as a wave of nausea went over him.

Now he was kind of grateful the party had absolutely no food. There was nothing for him to throw up.

He scrambled to stand up, breathing heavily. The brick was still in his hand as he took a few steps backwards. Should he drop it? No, if they found it, it has his fingerprints on it, he’d be fucked. He can’t go to prison because some crazy fucker tried to stab him. It wasn’t fair. He held the brick in both hands as he slowly turned to leave the alley.

Should he call the cops? No, then they’d have his number. They’d investigate why he was there. They’d find out he was the one that did it.

Stan figured the best thing for him to do is just… leave. Someone else would find him. Let someone else handle it.

When Stan got home, he dropped the brick onto his nightstand. He stared down at it with a blank expression before running to the bathroom. He hunched over the toilet as he emptied the contents of his stomach, which was really just beer. Looking at himself in the mirror, he could see how bad he looked. He looked ghostly white. His hands were shaking. His whole body was shaking. He felt drained.

He very slowly kicked off his shoes and took off his jeans. His jacket and shirt came next until he was just in his boxers. Even though his heart was pounding way faster than it ever should, everything felt like it was moving at a snails pace.

He lowered himself onto his bed. He didn’t even bother to get under the covers. He was still sweating.

Stan sat there all night, staring at the wall. He couldn’t sleep.

He had fucking killed someone. Someone was dead because of him.

The front door of the apartment opened around three in the morning, temporarily pulling Stan from his thoughts. A pair of voices were heard whispering and giggling. Carter and whichever companion he’d brought home for the night. Once he realized it wasn’t the cops coming for him, he settled back down as the spiraling continued.

He killed someone. He was a murderer. But the guy deserved it, right? He shouldn’t have tried to stab him. It was technically self defense, wasn't it? Would he be able to prove it? That guy should’ve believed him when he said he didn’t hit on that girl. And why did that girl say he’d hit on her? Was she that scared of her boyfriend? Maybe he shouldn’t have been so crazy. Maybe this whole thing really wasn’t Stan’s fault. Maybe that was meant to be that dude’s ending. The consequences of his own actions.

Stan had just been the unlucky son of a bitch that had to deliver them.

There was pounding on your bedroom door, it only rivaling the pounding in your head from your hangover. Your first instinct was to grab your phone, and you weren’t happy to see that it wasn’t even seven in the morning yet.

“Get up!” your roommate, Alex, was yelling through your door.

“Hmm… what?!” you yelled back.

The door swung open as you rubbed at your eyes with the heel of your palm.

“You know Eva?” Alex asked, jumping onto your bed. You yawned as you looked her up and down, noticing how she was already dressed for the hot yoga she did every Sunday morning. You’d never understand how the two of you could be out until three, and she’d somehow always make it to that class.

“Jesus… yeah, what about her?” you sniffled, sitting up slightly.

“You know her psycho ass boyfriend, Robert?”

You hummed in affirmation, waiting for them to continue, trying your best not to fall back asleep on the spot.

“He was killed last night.”

Your eyes shot open, any remnants of sleep gone in an instant.

“Robert was killed? Like murdered? Like dead?”

“Yeah, that’s what being killed means. Everyone’s talking about it, someone bashed his fucking head in!” Alex scoffed.

“Christ… they know who did it?”

“Nope, they don’t have a single goddamn clue. Those idiot cops, they couldn’t even find a murder weapon.”

After sitting up against the headboard, you grabbed your phone to actually check your notifications. Your group chat had been blowing up, you’d gotten texts from pretty much all of your friends. Almost every student on campus already knew that there’d been a murder, and everyone was freaking out.

“Hey,” Alex said softly. You looked up. “Um… apparently Carter was at the party down the street from where it happened. So, uh… Stan was probably there, too,” she put a hand on your knee. “Maybe you should, like, call… check up on him. That’s scary shit.”

The thought of checking up on Stan Rosado made a pit form in your stomach. It’d been a little over two months since you’d broken up with him. That was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do. Things just felt… different.

You guys had been together since high school. Went off to college together. For the first two years of college, you even lived together. Then Stan decided he wanted to try living with Carter for a bit. They’d been friends forever, and Stan would end up crashing with him a lot of the time anyways. It was fine with you.

As time went on, you realized you were talking less and less. While he went out and partied, you stayed home and watched a movie, and eventually that became a routine. You were simply drifting apart. It was bound to happen one day, right? You can’t stay with your high school sweetheart forever.

Then, you finally worked up the courage to talk to him about it. There was no fight. Stan never raised his voice at you. You told him you thought it was over, and he just… gave in. If that’s what you wanted, he’d give it to you.

So, yes, the thought of checking up on him made you anxious. But just the thought that something could’ve happened to him? You couldn’t handle that.

Alex caught the look on your face. “You guys ended on good terms, right?”

“I guess, yeah,” you pulled at your bottom lip with your teeth. “We’re just… we kind of agreed to not talk to each other.”

“Why?” Alex raised an eyebrow.

“Alex, I was with him for, like, years. And I know if that line was open… I’d abuse it and call and text him all the time,” you chuckled. “And he would let me.”

“He’d let you?” Alex looked even more confused. “Why’s having a good relationship with your ex such a bad thing?”

“Because,” you huffed as you began to ramble. “It’s not gonna work between us. If I’m calling Stan every time I have a minor inconvenience, or if I have good news, or if I need help with something, or if I just wanna talk, he’s gonna pick up every time and I’ll never get over him!”

“Okay… well some scary shit went down last night, and there’s a good chance Stan was there for it. All I’m saying is he’d probably appreciate you checking in on him. I’m not saying to go fuck him, I’m just saying… maybe call him,” Alex shrugged. After a few seconds, you sighed.

“Yeah… yeah, I’ll call him,” you said quietly, once again pulling out your phone.

As Alex shut your bedroom door, you stared at his number in your contacts.

He picked up on the second ring.

“…Hello?” he sounded hesitant, almost confused.

You hadn’t heard his voice in a while. Taking in a shaky breath, you pulled your knees up to your chest. “Hey… Hey, Stan.”

“It’s pretty early,” he reminded you. Shit, had you woken him up? After all, it was pretty early. “Are you okay?”

“Um, yeah… yeah, I’m okay, I just… sorry, did I wake you?”

“No. It’s fine. What’s up?”

“Were you at a party with Carter last night?”

The line went quiet for a moment before he hummed. “Mhm.”

“Alex just came and woke me up… someone at the party was killed last night. I just… wanted to make sure you were okay, I guess,” you spoke quietly.

If only you’d fucking known just how not okay he was. But hearing your voice made it a whole lot better.

“Oh. Yeah, um… I heard about that,” Stan croaked out before clearing his throat. He sounded exhausted. The line went quiet again before he broke the silence. “Do you wanna grab a coffee?”

You blink a few times. “Like, now?”

“Yeah, I can come pick you up… or- or you can just meet me there, whatever…” he spoke quickly, like he was nervous.

A small smile pulled at the corners of your lips. You knew you shouldn't go... but it was Stan. Besides, getting one coffee with him wouldn't kill you.

“I’ll meet you there. Where do you wanna go?”

“You remember that diner we used to go to?”

“Mhm, yeah.”

“Meet you there in twenty?”

“Meet you there in twenty.”

The beat up leather of the booth squeaked loudly as you sat down across from Stan. You got your first good look at him in a while.

His curls were a bit puffed out, like he’d been running his hands through them. Speaking of his hands, he was fidgeting a lot, picking at his fingernails. His undereyes were puffy and looked almost purple. He clearly hadn’t slept.

“You look like shit, Stan,” you said in a sympathetic tone.

“You look beautiful,” he shot right back, not missing a beat.

Your gaze immediately diverted to the menu in front of you, trying to hide the way you instantly blushed. Chewing on your bottom lip, you finally looked back up at him.

“Thank you… are you okay?”

“Mhm,” he simply hummed and nodded.

But you weren’t stupid. You’d known Stan better than anybody for years. You could see the way his Adam’s apple bobbed like he was trying to swallow down a lump in his throat. He was lying.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” you asked, noticing how bloodshot his eyes looked.

He raised his eyebrows as he took in a deep breath. As he exhaled, he shook his head.

“Did you… see what happened?”

“No,” he replied quickly. “No, I didn’t see it, I wasn’t there. I didn’t see what happened.”

“Then why didn’t you sleep? Something else bothering you?”

He didn’t wanna say why he didn’t sleep. He couldn’t tell you he had just killed someone.

“I just… it freaked me out, you know?” he gave a small shrug. “Knowing that some guy our age… was murdered like that. I was at the same party. It’s freaky.”

His voice broke on the last few words before he looked down at his hands. You quickly got out of your seat and moved over to his side of the booth.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” you said softly, wrapping your arms around him. He hid his face in your neck and let out a shaky breath, finally relaxing a bit. You could feel his tears wetting your skin. His arms went around your middle, his hands resting on your lower back. Acting on instinct, you put a hand in his hair before pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head.

It was almost too easy to slip back into how it used to be with him. This was exactly why you’d agreed to not speaking. You still loved Stan with everything in you. It was almost impossible not to. He never did anything wrong. It was just time. The relationship had run it’s course.

When you were a teenager, if you thought of your future, there was Stan. Even when you had no clue what you wanted, Stan was still there.

Now that you were an adult? You still had no clue what it looked like. You just knew Stan wasn’t there anymore.

But sitting here with him wrapped around you, crying into your neck because he could’ve died last night… you don’t know what to think. If Alex had come in and told you Stan was the one who’d been killed? You had no idea what you’d do. You just knew you’d regret agreeing to not speaking.

“I’m really glad you’re okay, Stan,” you whispered, pressing another kiss to his head. He sniffled and picked his head up.

His eyes were glazed over, tears spilling out. You tried to give him a small smile as you wiped the tears from his face with your thumbs.

“You are?” he asked in a small voice. It broke your heart. You felt your nose burning as you began tearing up.

“Yeah,” your voice cracked. “Yeah, of course I am. If you… if something had happened to you, it would kill me.”

“But I’m okay,” he reassured you.

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded, taking your hands off his face as you cleared your throat. “It’s just… scary as hell that something like that would happen here. I hope they catch the fucker that did it.”

Stan went quiet for a moment before nodding. “Mhm, yeah. Me, too. I hope they catch the guy.”

He hesitated before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You gave him a small smile. Sniffling, you moved to put your head on his shoulder. He slowly rubbed his hand up and down your back.

For the first time in months, Stan felt okay. Like everything was going to be okay. Maybe he had you back. Maybe the murder had scared you enough to come back to him.

Maybe he’d have to scare you more often.

[h4yden-skywalker]

i have absolutely nothing appropriate to say about these two.

[corusc4nts]

hiii

i was going through your page and found a comment of mine on one of your fics, the video store sam monroe one? it’s from months ago, i know, but i had asked if you’d do a part two and you said yess? i would really reallllyyyyyy love to read a part two of that fic, it was so so good.

hope you can make it!

(love u)

literally every ask in my inbox is about writing a sequel to one of my sam fics LMFAO i will try my hardest to crank something out

[pushingitdownnpraying]

[silverslipstream]