this is a masterlist of sites for movies/shows for all the girlies who wanna watch southland/animal kingdom/the pitt/any obscure shawn hatosy movie or show!!! i mostly use the hydrahd one but ive tried a lot of them and most of them work
Three, almost four nights a week, he comes in, dressed in his black scrubs and Carhartt jacket, and sits himself in your section. Every night, he orders a black coffee, a slice of chocolate pie ("And can you put an extra dollop of whipped cream on that, hon?"), and stares at you like it's his damn right.
"Robby," he finally introduces himself as one rainy night, making you almost drop the notepad in your hands.
You're too stunned to repeat it back to Robby so you merely smile politely. The one he returns is marginally less cordial. It's tight, tired in the way that he never seems to sleep off.
The silence between you begins to feel impossible. You pull your pen from your apron.
"Black coffee and a slice of chocolate pie?" You ask, just like every other night. Tradition is nice. Comforting.
"Yes," he says. "With an extra dollop of whipped cream, please."
You nod the second the words are out of his mouth, throwing your notepad shut and turning on your—
“Oh, hon?”
You freeze. That’s not part of our regularly scheduled programming.
“Yes?”
Robby clears his throat, eyes scanning the diner behind you. He leans in and says, “They don’t pay you enough here.”
You shift. “Well—“
Robby puts his hand up, and for some reason you shut up. “Don’t argue. I know they don’t.” He scratches his beard, observing you. “You should quit.”
You laugh because it feels like your only option. It’s beginning to feel hot, and the few other people in the place are noticing you two. You’re sure if it wasn’t empty tonight, you’d get an earful about wasting time from your manager.
“I can’t,” you say. Your skin is buzzing— you should go. “I can’t pay rent without it.”
Robby smirks. “Okay.”
Your face twists at Robby’s tone. You press, “I can’t.”
“You’d be surprised.”
That’s the last word he says all night. Not even a thank you when you drop off his coffee and pie (along with the check). You stick behind the bar, wiping various coffee mugs with a rag.
When Robby eventually leaves, you stay behind the bar longer still. You check on all the pies in the case, counting each and every slice left, and then doing that twice more before deciding it's about time to go grab the twenty dollar bill Robby always leaves.
Except, it's not a twenty– it's a fifty. Twenty of them.
You choke on nothing, nabbing receipt only to find something scribbled hastily in pen on the bottom– a phone number and a message.
Jack reveals too much about his obsessive tendencies for you at an inopportune time.
WORD COUNT: 2.6K // SMUT - 18PLUS - MDNI // fucking n' cock teasing, descriptions of gaping holes and semen seeping, the hottest thing about this is Jack exposing himself, unhealthy relationship, possessive tendencies, bad ways of going about telling your partner about said tendencies // ABBOT MASTERLIST // ROBBY MASTERLIST // AUTHOR MASTERLIST //
When Jack's finally allowed to have you, and projects all his filthy perversions onto your relationship with him. He has years' worth of fantasies and absolute horndoggery from your tight-fitted scrubs and flirtatiousness that he was only able to live out in his dreams and blurred moments of zoning out while thinking of your tits and the way your mouth moves when you talk.
And now, sleepy, he's entitled to you. You're his God given right. There is no God, but you get the point. You're at fault for the overload of filth, but now you love him enough for him to not want to blow his brains out for blaming you.
“You know, I don’t think you actually understand how bad it is.”
Jack says it almost idly in his groan, even though he’s trying not to blow his load. That’s routine with you every other day. That’s your little, soaking cunt’s fault as much as it’s your flirtations and claims that you love him, kiddo.
You do. What a tragedy that is for sleepy.
You glance at him, confused with teary eyes as you press your nose into his cheek. Your bare, sticky folds make filthy, wet noises as his thighs slap against your rounded ass.
There was a time when he could only imagine what it looked like, let alone felt like. Hell on earth.
“What’s…bad?”
“My head about you.”
You huff at that, like he knew you would, because no. You don’t know how bad it is.
You don’t know how bad it could get.
Soft steps. Easy steps. This is how you take care of her. Stop it from getting as bad as it could be if you can’t fix how bad it already is.
“Jackie, do–don’t be dramatic, not now—”
Jack manages to slip his cock out at your quip, because even though his cock practically rages at not being inside your warm, gripping, needy insides…he doesn’t appreciate that. He’s trying to talk to you.
You choke out a noise that might be a sweet sob when he leaves the inside of you. Who’s the dramatic one now?
“Jack—”
Jack’s leaking cock butts against your quivering entrance. His lips curve into a half-smile when you squeak.
“Yes, okay. I know, I know—I know you’re crazy about me.”
You place your palm on where he gropes you to the point of a bruise, your tit. You squeeze his hand, and it’s a warm comfort that Jack knows very well is manipulation. You’re not as sly as you think you are, Sleepy.
It’s the most obvious, perfect form of desperation that Jack’s undeserving of—the way you slip his hand down to his cock, trying to push his thick tip back inside of you, like it's his idea to move past this.
Nice try, baby.
He pulls his hand back up, arm flattened across your waist and tits as his fingers curl over your shoulder.
“No, I don’t think you do.”
“Well, fuck—explain it to me, then.”
You whine, back arching away from his stomach. Most of the time, your filth and need to fuck outmatch his. It’s only that you’re cute enough to get away with it. Not not obvious enough to deny it, though.
Jack exhales through his nose, like he’s bracing himself.
“I think about where you are when you don’t answer your phone, I map.”
He places his face in the crook of your sweat-laced neck, breathing in. He thinks your brows are furrowing, and he hopes it’s only with confusion, because he won’t be able to handle anything else once you’ve drained him.
“Like…if you say you’re going to the store, I picture which one. How long it should take. Which streets you’d use.”
He murmurs it low against your skin, jaggedly wincing when you rub your thumb over his tip.
“You’re…you’re a control freak. Duh. I’ve known that since forever.”
Jack sighs. Everything’s a joke to kiddo.
“When you come home quiet, I replay everything I said to you that day. Not just the mean things. I look for the moment I tipped it.” He flings his cock so its head meets your swollen clit, holding you tighter when your body trembles at the touch. “I know, sleepy. I know. It’s bad.”
You manage, even in the tremble and quivering moans he hears in his dreams, to nudge his arm with your elbow.
“You’re–you’re intense. That’s it. You’re…focused.”
“Focused.”
Jack scoffs. He drags his cock against the wet, pulsing length of your cunt. Not being inside is an awful thing to do to both of you, but being tucked under it is the next best thing.
“I know when you’re aroused before you do. You stop fidgeting, you lose yourself. And I think you’re gonna call that observant to make yourself feel better about the way I study you.”
Silence. The room feels smaller.
Jack takes in a deep, deep breath before rolling his tongue over your beads of sweat.
Music. Meal. Mine.
“I think about how easy it would be to make you dependent on how I touch you. On how safe you feel when you’re with me. Pressed against me. Hell, sleepy. You tell me enough—”
He blinks when he feels your throat bob.
“Jack?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Why are you telling me this?”
It’s the first thing you’ve been able to say without your voice shaking the way your body does when you're bouncing on him. He swallows.
Let him say it out loud instead of letting it rot in his head. If you’re afraid. That’s okay. That’s better, because if you indulge, kiddo, he’ll never let you go.
“I think about who takes your attention from me. But you know that.”
“Jack—”
“And when you’re upset with me, for things like this—things that barely scrape the surface of my filth—”
You’re so wet that the sound of Jack rubbing his cock against your pussy has become downright obscene, and his hand is soaked with a sticky layer of your arousal from guiding his shaft through it again and again and again.
“My first instinct isn’t to apologize. It’s to figure out how to make you dependent again so you won’t leave. Because…there are too many ways for you to realize you don’t deserve this.”
He kisses your neck that’s licked clean, nose pressing in deeper.
“It’s always too damn easy to mold you into what the worst of me wants, baby. I think about keeping you home all day, where your—”
Jack chokes on the burning of his truth.
“Your only thought is how to love me even more than you already do. I don’t deserve that. I deserve awful goddamned things for wanting that, but I think…I think about asking you.”
His tongue flicks as he feels your sticky cunt beat against his thigh.
“And you know what I think? I think you’d do it for me. I’ve imagined conversations where I tell you what you need. Not suggest. Tell. And you listen. Because it would be easier. You already do. But you shouldn’t. And if I ever ask you, you should—”
Jack’s nose flares with another choking at his throat. What he says would end in his brain on a tree somewhere, but he knows it’s true. He knows he has to say it.
“You should leave me. If you ever feel like you need to become smaller so I can stay sane, then I’ve already failed.”
Silence.
It’s suffocating.
It’s realization.
I’ve said way too fucking much. No. No.
Jack tries to push his thick head back inside of you, but he can only hold you tighter when you squirm.
Where the fuck are you going? Somewhere you actually deserve to be? Somewhere safe? Somewhere where he’s not unloading the worst onto you? Absolutely not, kiddo. Sorry. That’s not happening.
He straightens his spine against the couch, leaving the crook of your neck to kiss the back of it, staring deep into the skin he’s licked and bitten and bruised and made bled onto him.
Your name sounds out against his lips when he hears the sharp breath escape you.
Rebellion. Nope. Not now. Not when he’ll always need you in the worst way.
“Sleepy, I—”
“You’re scaring me.”
There’s a thick pause where Jack decides you need comfort, that you need what you’ve been whining for, so he presses his thumb against your fat clit, rolling deep, slow circles. It’s a sticky, sticky comfort, isn’t it, kiddo?
“That’s fair.”
Doesn’t he take care of you?
“I’ve been dragging back on it, okay? I remind myself you’re not something I get to manage. I remind myself that wanting you doesn’t give me jurisdiction to be engulfed by these thoughts and these claims—”
“You said you were getting better.”
Jack shudders at your cries.
“I-I have…sleepy. That’s what I’m telling you—”
“Has it been getting worse?”
Jack doesn’t answer right away; he only quickens his pace on your clit to break your soft cries, because there’s only so many truths he can handle.
Even with the ones he can, he would much rather do it with you leaking juices and clenching around nothing, because that means you still want him, and that, even in the worst of who he is, it’s still too easy for him to comfort you, whether he’s inside you or not.
She deserves the truth, Abbot. Just as much as she deserves you getting better for her. You can only allow yourself to give her one or the other.
“Just a bit, sleepy. I promise.”
“You promised it wasn’t as bad as you’re saying it is—”
“I know!”
His voice goes loud in the depths of his throat. He shuts his eyes against the back of your head.
“I know, okay? That’s why I’m saying it out loud,” His voice is softer in the gravel. “So it stays where I can see it.”
He smooths his palm against the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, cock throbbing as hard as it did the first time he got to fuck you, as he readies himself with one last kiss to your neck.
“Jack…”
Jack’s heart folds in on itself at your hiccupped breath. Every time you cry, it’s worthy of his own suicide.
His body feels that, at least. Now, he knows you need him inside you again as much as he needs a reminder that you’ll never leave him.
Your warm, squishy thighs are nearly that as they caress his naked, hot skin. He pumps his cock against your cunt, and he eyes the way your hips twitch each time his head catches your clit. He tries remembering how he almost burst at that the first time he noticed it. It wasn’t funny then.
Your breath grows heavier as Jack’s free hand comes to bruise your perfect tit. He rolls his neck at his soft whimpers escaping your lips.
Let him get away with the truth tonight, and then he’ll get better. He promises, baby.
“Sleepy. I’ll keep myself in check.”
His cock, veined in the throbbing and the need to find you clenching around him with those familiar, whorish cries, slides back into your hole, shaft shiny and wet with your juices again.
“Ah! Do yo–you mean that—ah!”
He does. That’s the worst part. He means it, and he doesn’t know if it’ll be enough, because—
God, you feel so fucking good, kiddo.
Jack bears his teeth, straining and grunting below you as the muscle in his leg stretches to buck up into you with an already impossible speed. His balls smack against your ass.
“Jack!”
“You know how it feels? Your cunt wrapped all around me, sleepy?”
Jack’s hips only thrust more violently.
Do you know how it feels for you to be wrapped around him, knowing that he—
That he can do whatever he wants to you, and you’ll stay? Because you love him. Because you’re an indulgent whore who thinks the deepest parts of his obsession can be fixed? And even when you figure out they can’t be, you’ll still be here, shivering on his cock and making sure he takes care of you because He loves you.
He does. God, he does, kiddo, he’ll only get worse; you’ll love him anyway.
And he’s just waiting for the day it’s not that you’ll love him despite the worst of ways he needs to keep you, but you’ll love him because of them.
Doomsday. It’ll come soon enough.
Jack’s balls begin to contract as your cunt spasms out. He doesn’t blink, because he doesn’t want to miss any second of the way your tear-drawn face crumples in sweet agony.
Here comes sleepy’s orgasm. It’ll tear through you, and then the real care begins. He can call the Pitt for you.
“It feels like I’m fucking the prettiest cunt in the world—”
Jack lets out a strangled groan on a particularly burning, tightened thrust. He stops trying to say anything at that, tongue slipping into your mouth as he pauses.
He changes his pace, entering you with hard, long strokes—pulling all the way out before slamming himself back inside. He knows that’s your favorite.
And he’s only proven right when you come hard, milking him to the goddamned bone as your cunt flutters—as she flutters with fucking death grips.
Every other day. For the rest of his life. It better not be any other way.
Jack bucks wildly into you. You let out a shrill that finds the groan that tears out of him, and after he feels his face redden to the goddamned brim…
He feels his cum pool in your contracting, winking hole. Still hungry, even as you breathe out in drooled exhaustion.
Jack heaves to catch his breath as he runs a hand over his face, and you fall off of him, going limp and spread out across the sofa. He turns to you.
“Let me see, sleepy.” He leans inward, opening your thighs up. “Open up your cunt.”
He doesn’t ask nicely. He never does. He promises that’s because you like that way more than he does.
He counts the seconds, waiting for the moment the first drop of his cum blooms out of your filthy, well-fucked hole like a…you once described it like a gleaming white pearl. He likes that. It’s romantic. His a little romantic.
He watches it drip, getting caught in your labia until it separates and streams, bit by bit, down your crack until it pools at your asshole and down onto the couch.
His brows twitch as he blinks fast.
“Sleepy, I said—”
You finally listen, spreading your legs further and making your tight slit open into a gaping round hole. More of his cum drips out.
There you go.
Jack leans inward and kisses your thigh.
“We should buy you a plug.”
He doesn’t say it with much humor before he gives you a light slap on your slit, and he’s glad he didn’t, because you quickly close your legs when the last bit of white seeps out of you.
“You promise, right?”
Jack nods, eyes never leaving yours as he runs a circle on your knee.
“I’ve been trying. I’ll try harder.”
…Even if he goes back on his word, he promises he’ll figure it out, kiddo. He will.
18+ mdni robby is so smart… robby is so knowledgeable and skilled at what he does and its so hot…
thinking abt asking him for help on some homework— “Robby, where would you expect the injury site to be for a patient who suffers from prosopagnosia post TBI?”
and it’s a genuine question!! but then.. the way he comes up behind your chair, puts on his readers, n leans over your shoulder to look at your paper… the low, steady tone he uses as he explains it to you, pointing out different things in your diagrams to help you visualize it… “Temporal lobe, sweetheart. Right about here.” he raps his pointer finger against the right spot twice, and you swallow thickly as you nod
“Right. The fusiform gyrus.” You pull your lower lip between your teeth. “Would there have to be damage bilaterally?” You already know the answer.
Robby raises a brow at you. You blink at him, as innocent n earnest as you can muster, and he schools his expression as he shakes his head. “No. Each side is specialized. Only the right fusiform gyrus mediates facial recognition.”
“Right.” You nod. “So damage to the left fusiform gyrus wouldn’t cause prosopagnosia, it’d cause….”
“Reading difficulties.” Robby finishes for you. “Possibly pure alexia.”
“Pure alexia…?”
Robby has to bite back his smirk. He talks nice and slow as he explains, “The inability to read while still being able to speak and understand language.” Then he leans closer to murmur in your ear “Any other questions, sweetheart? You want me to explain papercuts, or would you prefer I just fuck you now?”
n he’s soooo mean about it while he fucks you… when he thrusts into you he patronizes “Gonna cum on my cock like a good girl, honey? Hm? Want me to teach you how?” n when you start to roll your hips to chase his dick he lowly praises “There you go, what a quick learner. Such a smart girl.”
The older i get the more i understand why some people become obsessed with privacy, not because they’re hiding something, but because being constantly perceived starts to feel spiritually exhausting.
