Jan. 24. London. she/they. aquarius ☾ cancer ☼ libra ↑. ☆ anti ai. please do NOT feed my work into ai. 18+. MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT.
hi, i'm jan! ˚⊱🪷⊰˚
this is the rooftop. the place you climb to when you just need some air. no noise, just string lights, a lukewarm drink, and whoever else wandered up here
a little about me before we settle in ᢉ𐭩 i'm a psychology student, which probably explains why i can't just watch a show, i have to sit with it, pick it apart, understand why a character did what they did and what that says about them (and maybe about me too!!!!). i've been a lurker for years now, silently existing on tumblr and pinterest, reblogging and consuming things quietly without ever really creating. i also spend an unreasonable number of hours on letterboxd logging and reviewing everything i watch, so there's a good chance i'll bring that same energy here. anything i'm consuming and thinking too hard about will end up here eventually, 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚.˚
pull up a chair. the view's decent and (hopefully!) the company's better ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆
my favs ꕤ fleabag ❁ the pitt ❁ when life gives you tangerines ❁ normal people ❁ animal kingdom ❁ ER ⋆｡°✩ ❁ fred again ❁ harry styles ❁ bad bunny ❁ ariana grande ❁ doja cat⋆ ❁ sufjan stevens ❁ fleetwood mac ❁ mac demarco ❁ billie eilish ❁ lana del rey ❁ the strokes ❁ hozier
PAIRING: Michael Robinavitch x Pedes Fellow!Reader
WC: 6.5k
SUMMARY: Robby hasn’t spoken to you in three months, since he left for his sabbatical. So why should you care when he walks into a PTMC charity gala with another woman on his arm?
CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, unprotected p in v sex, robby finishing early, oral (f receiving), semi public sex (on a secluded balcony), angst to smut to fluff (? kind of), brendan park and noelle hastings being used as plot devices </3, they're lowkey toxic but also trying, alcohol consumption, very briefly proofread, horribly rushed ending like always, lmk if i missed anything!!
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Low lights dangling from an extravagant chandelier greet you as you arrive at PTMC's annual charity gala. Pairs of eyes burn through you as you make your way through the crowd. It'd mostly men, wearing an eager expression that begs the question— what are you ding here alone? Many of them have their own dates on their arms, and the expressions they wear are much less inviting.
Thus, you're quite eager to find the E.R. table. A wave of relief washes over you as you spot Dana, waving you over, a glass of champagne in each hand.
"I can only hope one of those is for me," you tease, though you're hopeful.
"Right on, darlin'," she croons, passing you the full glass and polishing off her own.
There's a light clatter in your glass, and you spot a small cube at the bottom of the fizzy liquid.
Furrowing your brows, Dana jumps in before you can even ask.
"Sugar cube," she explains, continuing when you still don't get it. "It's an old wives' tale, protects you from the devil, so he doesn't prey on your happiness. Got it from Moonstruck."
You smile, though your heart sinks at the thought of who she's protecting you from. Robby's supposed to be here tonight, the first time you'll see him in three months. He's not here yet, though, his burly frame a blatant absence from your department's many tables.
"You're a godsend," you redirect your focus to Dana, eyes twinkling with what you hope looks like appreciation.
"He's not here yet," Dana supplements, and your cheeks flame.
You couldn't have been that obvious, could you? Nevertheless, you lean into your main coping strategy of the last three months— repression.
"I don't know what you're talking about, I was looking for Park," you say, the defense immediate.
Guilt bubbles in the pit of your stomach, not only for lying, but lying by using the man that's been a rock for you these past few months.
"Huh, didn't realize he joined the E.R.," she quips, your sick tummy twisting. "Ortho's that way, babe," she nods her head to a group of tables across the ballroom.
Your eyes scan the area to find Park, already looking in your direction. Your heart skips at his intense gaze, and though you wish it was out of desire, it's just…average. A plain jolt of someone watching you. Nothing more, nothing less.
Guilt prods at you once more, a fire poker to the ashy emblems of your heart, though it's soon replaced by a buzz— the one you'd kill to gt from Park, the bartender, anyone other than the man who just walked in.
You feel his eyes the second the find you, burning a hole through the back of your head. You're not brave enough to face him, even less so when Dana mutters a pained, "Shit," under her breath.
You keep your eyes trained on Park, who's undoubtedly spotted he-who-shall-not-be-named. A slight crease to his ever-lax brow gives him away.
If you heart had sunk earlier, it's now swirling in an aggressive tide, clamoring for shore. You're finally brave enough to flit your head towards the door. Immediate regret washes through you, as he's not alone.
Your eyes adjust to the sight of Michael Robinavitch with Noelle Hastings on his arm. Your heart's an anchor now, hopeless at the bottom of the ocean.
Your mind latches on to the little details— the ones that bear the evidence of three months away. Shaggier hair, longer beard, kinder eyes.
The sight of him is a car wreck, a nasty, 40-car pile up that sends your hazards flashing. In every universe, he's a nuisance, your biggest distraction.
He makes his way over to the table, a wolfish, proud grin turning your insides. The sight of him turns you inside out, raw, vulnerable, and full of want.
The rest of the room melts away in favor of the man in front of you— the endless chatter of party-goers like a sad song underwater, muffled and melodramatic. His eyes find yours, and it's instant mesmerization.
Everything you'd pushed to the side for the last three months comes roaring back— the love, the desire, the consuming anger, the utter fury. He feels it too, you can tell. The shine of his brown eyes give you deja vu- back to the day he left, the day he let you go.
He pats Noelle's hand, the rest of the ballroom roaring back to life. Your heart pounds, leaking venom with each smack against your ribcage. Eyes darting to where they connect, your body moves before your brain can catch up.
Slamming your champagne on the table, you ignore the stares, the liquid sloshing over the lip of the glass, and walk away. So much for keeping the devil at bay, Dana.
Saddling up at the bar, you lean your forearms on the hardwood, a slight arch in your back. You don't miss the bartender's eyes, the way they drag over your frame, the deep neckline of your dress.
"One second, sweet thing," he croons, your tummy twisting.
As you wait, your eyes scan the other patrons. One so happens to be a man, one you can place to radiology, though you don't know him super well.
"Hi," he mutters, a shy smile on his face.
Your heart picks up at the sight of him, the sudden onslaught of attention a mix of sugar and spice, and absolutely nothing nice.
"Hi," you respond, giving him your name and department.
"I'm Nick Barker," he supplements, offering his hand to shake. "Radiology."
"I thought I recognized you!" You chirp, giving him your own name. "You came and helped us out when we went analog this past summer, you saved our asses."
"Ah, yes, I remember," he thinks back with fondness. "It was chaos down there, I don't know how you guys do that."
"If I had a nickel for every person who's told me that, I'd be able to give my two weeks," you quip, tapping your nails on the bar.
"Isn't that the dream," he replies, and your heart picks up at his sweet smile.
"What can I get ya, gorgeous?" The bartender asks, a sinister smile curling his lips.
"Oh!" You gasp, your gaze snapping back to the bartender.
The heat of their gazes burns through you like a laser, an animal hunted for prey. There used to be a time where you'd revel in this attention, pop your hip and bask in it like a cat would the sun.
Now, all you can think about is-
"Dirty Shirley with tequila," a voice calls from behind you.
Your eyes widen, heart nearly dropping out of your ass at the low timbre rumbling behind you. Whipping your head around, you find Robby, his forearm resting against the bar, mirroring you.
It's instant, the way you straighten your spine, dropping your arm from the wood. Cheeks aflame, palms sweaty, and heart racing, you turn back to the bartender and stumble out a pathetic, "Uhm-yeah, yeah, that."
You feel his smile, cocky and shit eating, from beside you. You refuse to look at him.
"Barker, good to see you," he croons across you, and his voice is enough to bring tears to your eyes.
"Robby, hey!" He exclaims, reaching a hand over to shake his.
You stumble back, incredulous at the clear disrespect. Digging your heels in, you inch toward Barker, desperate to give the false impression that you're there together. The Cheshire grin on Robby's face shows that you're wholly unsuccessful.
"You got a really sweet girl on your team, we were just reminiscing on the Fourth of July, felt flattered someone so pretty remembered me," he says, and your cheeks heat from the attention.
Your eyes lock with Robby's, the mere mention of the Fourth an alarm bell ringing between you two. The last day you saw him, the last day you spoke. The day he broke your heart.
All the hurt comes rushing back, a tsunamic wave of heartbreak. You lean into it— the nastiness, the pride that swells in your tummy at Robby's wide eyes, his flared nostrils.
Adding fuel to the fire, the bartender comes back, placing your drink on the bar for you.
"Dirty Shirley with tequila," he rings out, a slight wink in his right eye. "Enjoy, beautiful."
Robby clears his throat as your hand reaches for his, fingers brushing as you accept your drink.
"Thank you!" You chirp, swirling your tongue around the straw and taking an appreciative sip.
The earthy sting of tequila makes its way through your bloodstream, the throb in your heart ever so sensitive. Damn it, your drink was supposed to repress those feelings, not exacerbate them.
"Well, it was good to see you. Robby." Barker shakes his hand, and, if your eyes don't deceive you, goes slightly pink as he turns to you. "And you, as well, beautiful."
You smile at the compliment, though it sounds grating compared to the names Robby peppered over you in your most intimate moments.
Every man over the past three months has existed in this dichotomy— Robby and Not Robby. The Not Robbys fell short, every single time. This time is no different, and your heart wrings itself out like a dirty dish towel.
Baker's words elicit an ache that you could only wish was born of an aggressive fondness— the lurch in the heart coming home to a pet after a long day, the patter in your chest when you're kissed for the first time.
No, it's none of that. It's darker, more sinister. The gut punch when you're told devastating news, the sickly twist that pools in your stomach when you've told a lie, inflicted damage onto someone else. Guilt wracks you, desperate to be different, to love someone, anyone else.
Then, it's just you and Robby.
His proximity is a toxic waste, exuding between you until you feel green. The soft sniff of his nose, his same old woodsy aftershave, his thick thigh in your peripheral— it's overwhelming.
"You do look beautiful," he mutters, and your heart falls deep into your stomach at his rich timbre. "They're not wrong."
Your heart pulls, and there it is, that tingle, the pang that only seems to appear when you're around Robby. It triggers your deepest endorphins, releasing them through your whole body until you're warm and fuzzy.
"I wasn't doubting them," you quip, taking another desperate sip of your cocktail.
"Good," he replies, his gaze lingering on you a moment too long. Your eyes are focused on the many party-goers, but you can tell. You always can with Robby.
Scanning the party, you lock eyes with Park, a look of concern etched in his brow. That familiar guilt returns, the collision of both men in the immediate vicinity dizzying.
"You come with him?" He asks, pointing his beer in Park's direction.
"Wha-" You whip your head towards Robby, cheeks burning at his small smile. "No, uhm- no. I didn't. I came by myself."
"That's a shame," he remarks, tipping his beer bottle to his lips.
You're stuck on his mouth, closing around the glass, the liquid traveling down his thick throat. You swallow, hard, grabbing your drink and standing.
"Though, I'm no stranger to coming by myself. Story of my life, right?" You joke, letting him choke on the fizzy drink as you walk away.
You make a beeline for Park, swaying your hips as you feel three sets of eyes follow you. A prick of confidence pokes at your belly, a childish glee replacing your sorrow with each sip. Park's got a sardonic smile as you approach, propping your hand on his forearm.
"Hey!" He coos, a soft smile on his face. "How'd that go?" He mumbles, nodding his head back to the bar.
You're feeling a little brave, whipping your head back to where Robby still stands. His eyes are dark, almost mean as he continues to clear his throat. He pumps his fist against his chest, refusing to tear his watery gaze away from you.
You smirk, just a little, before turning your gaze back to Park. He clocks your expression immediately, your soft eyes, supple mouth. It snaps you out of the haze Robby seems to always put you in, and you feel so, so idiotic.
Your mouth twists downward, a sickly feeling bubbling in your stomach as you fight the pounding of your heart. Each beat reverberates one name throughout your whole body— Robby, Robby, Robby.
Tears gloss your eyes, holding your head down to hide it from Park. There's a guilt that never seems to go away when you're with him— an ache born from crying over the same man for months, from his never-ending patience, his arm that always finds its way around your shoulders.
Like now, his soft smile finds you, even when you do everything in your power to avoid it. You can't help but smile back, ears perking to the song that the band strums up. The Way You Look Tonight.
Memories flood your mind— chest to chest with Robby, soft socks on separating your skin from the cold hardwood of his kitchen, the refrigerator light your only company. You hear his voice in your ear, the gentle way he sang each lyric to you.
You allow yourself the briefest moment to wonder if he's thinking about this, too. When you turn, though, you see him, beckoning a gleaming Noelle to the dancefloor, and you're back at square one.
"Come on," Park says, and you snap your head to find his hand extended. "Let's go. Don't wanna see you cry over him anymore. Let's have a good time tonight, yeah?"
You nod, accepting his offer. Your belly is a firepit, sparking and cracking at your indifference to the man before you. You have a lot of love for Park, but not the kind he's looking at you with now.
His eyes shine as he spins you around the floor, warm hands riding along your calloused skin. Your heart twists, lurching and desperate to love him instead. To love anyone else.
If you were a better woman, you'd have accepted his date proposal months ago. Instead, you'd given him a phony excuse, something about how you're not ready for another relationship yet.
He'd been so gracious, has been ever since. Happily biding his time with your friendship, never any pressure to push things further.
You know, though, that his patience is wearing thin, that there's only so many times a man you're not sleeping with can pick up these pieces.
This still doesn't stop your eyes from finding Robby, swaying to the beat with Noelle over Park's shoulder. Instinct pulls you closer to Park, your nails clutching his suit coat as you rest your chin on his shoulder.
He huffs out a surprised chuckle at this, his chest shaking with the action. You smile against him, giving him a light squeeze. The whole time, your eyes burn into Robby.
Your heart lurches at his tall frame, broad and soft and well lived. The smile on his face fills you with enough rage to burn down a small city. This was your song, many moons ago.
His eyes meet yours over Noelle, and the earth stops on its axis. White noise drowns in your ears, the exhilaration of him flooding your fiery veins.
It's embarrassing, how much you missed him— his gaze, his attention, his love. He doesn't deserve it. He hasn't earned it.
Your heart simply refuses to accept this. Refuses to accept that he's dancing with another woman, refuses to accept that it's this song, that he'd do this to you.
This wasn't the Robby you thought you knew. You can't believe how wrong you were.
Sinking your teeth into your glossy lip, your eyes start to well with tears. His brows furrow ever so slightly, and your shoulders shake with a quiet cry.
Park goes still against you, pulling you away from him just so.
"What's going on, hm?" He mutters. "Let me get a good look at you."
You're frozen, unable to tear your eyes off him. Park sighs, and your heart sinks. It's only then you whip your head to him, tears finally spilling over your lash line.
"I'm so sorry," you shake your head, lip trembling with the pressure.
"It's okay, it's okay, I know," he mumbles, pulling you to him.
He palms at the back of your head, shushing every now and again.
"You love him," he admits, pulling you away from him once again. "You always have. I'm not an idiot," he remarks with a sad smile.
"I hate him," you breathe, and he lets out a sardonic chuckle.
"No you don't."
And with that, you're alone on the dance floor, a sort of final chapter in your relationship with Park.
You watch Park retreat to his table, a small fraction of your heart cracking as he goes. You choke on a breath, remembering the real problem at hand.
Whipping your head back to Robby, you find him talking to Noelle— kissing her on her temple and making his way to you.
Panic courses through you, eyes going wide as you act on pure instinct. Flitting your head the other way, you find a large door that leads to a balcony. Darting across the dance floor, you twist the knob and step out into the night.
The early November frost sends a chill down your spine, your heavy breath echoing in the night. Goosebumps prick your skin, your arms flying to protect yourself, soon regretting your decision.
The door behind you clicks, and your heart sinks. Your chin sits on your shoulder, feeling Robby's presence even though you refuse to look at him.
"Take a hint," you choke out, sniffing hard through your nose. "I don't want you out here."
"You should've locked the door, then, sweetheart," he muses, and you feel the sudden urge to deck him in the face.
"I didn't know there was a lock, jackass," you snap, turning to face him. "And how dare you call me sweetheart?" You poise, your finger pointed right at him.
His eyes widen, a cocky smirk stretching his lips.
"We're getting right into it, huh?" He asks, and you roll your eyes.
"You broke my heart, Michael," you insist, his eyes shining with something sad that you can't quite place. "You come back, you order my drink for me, compliment me like nothing's wrong. What do you expect me to say?"
"I don't know," he shakes his head, taking in the view behind you. "I didn't mean to break your heart, honey."
There's a nail in your heart with each pet name, bleeding poison into your belly.
"You have to stop that, Robby," you croak, wiping your damp cheek.
"Back to Robby now, huh?" He asks, and you scowl.
"How can you be so nonchalant about this?" You pose, tossing a hand out in disgust. "We were together for three months, you told me you loved me," you choke, the memory threatening to suffocate you.
"Then, you left. Never told me why, dated Noelle, then took off for three months."
Your voice is small and petulant, words tapering off into a pool of shame.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, his own eyes glossy now.
Gritting your teeth, you flit your eyes away. You can't stand to look at him, to take in his tears.
"After all of this— leaving me, coming back and bringing Noelle, chasing me out onto this fucking balcony, you have the fucking nerve to cry?" You're shouting now, thankful for the thick wooden door separating you from the rest of the party.
"You're right," he croaks, running his tongue over his bottom lip. Your eyes follow the action, desperate and hungry. "I'm sorry. I've been crying a lot more since I started therapy. He says it's healthy for me."
Your heart drops, getting stuck in your throat.
"Therapy?" You choke on the words, tears falling at a rapid pace.
A shiver runs down your spine at the revelation, your numb nose sore and uncomfortable. He leaps into action, slinking his jacket off and placing it around your shoulders.
You let him, resigned and sad, but too cold to deny it. He revels in this a little, you can tell by the small quirk in his lip.
"Thank you," you mutter, turning away from him and facing the open greens that greet you.
"You're welcome," he croons, and your heart aches.
You know that voice. The low timbre that rasps in the morning, praises you in the E.R., coos at you in his bed while he drives himself in and out of you.
His eyes burn a hole in the back of your head. His gaze is inevitable, it could follow you across the earth if you let it.
"It's beautiful," you mutter, too wiggly from the silence to let another moment pass.
"Yeah, it is," he's looking at you the entire time he speaks, taking a few steps closer to you.
"You're an asshole," you reply, not daring to look at him.
"So I've heard," he remarks.
"Noelle's probably missing you," you lean forward, arching your back in his line of sight.
He clears his throat, and you smile, your heart rate picking up.
"And Park won't be missing you?" He poises, and you shrug.
"We were never together," you admit, the truth bitter on your tongue.
"But he likes you," he supplements, and your heart sinks.
"Don't remind me, I feel bad enough already," you groan, letting your head fall into your hands.
"Yeah, well, I'm not much better. I took Noelle as a friend. Well, an ex. We broke up a while ago," he shrugs, and you finally look at him.
The sight of him is like a gunshot— rugged and broad and oh, so handsome. It knocks the breath clean out of you, catching in your throat on its way.
"A while ago?" You poise, and he just shrugs.
"Didn't last maybe a week into the sabbatical," he says, now parallel with you against the rung of the balcony.
"And you asked her to be your plus one to this?" you scoff, disbelief coloring your words.
He nods, and you can't help but laugh.
"God, you're the worst!" You chuckle, and he can't help but do so himself.
"Is that really bad?" He asks, pursing his lips.
"Yeah, really bad," you tease, a soft smile playing on your lips.
A foreign warmth spreads between you two, a buzz you haven't felt in months. It's soft, like a homecoming. You've felt at home with Robby for longer than you'd remember.
"Your smile is so pretty, I missed it," he murmurs, and you scoff. "I'm serious. I missed you, so much."
"You're not allowed to say shit like that to me," you snark, and he chuckles. "At least not until you tell me why you left."
He looks down, heavy breaths racking his broad shoulders. The temperature between you two drops again, plunging into ice.
"I was scared," he admits.
You roll your eyes.
"No shit."
"Ha, I deserved that," he scruffs, a sad chuckle leaving his lips. "I was, though. Scared. I know it's a shitty excuse, but you were real. I wasn't ready for it."
"But…you are now?" You supplement, daring to look at him once more,
He's so pretty, you want to throw up.
"I am. If you'll have me," he stands up straight, hands in his pockets.
You ponder his offer, the anger you've carried for months now dissipating at the idea of having him in your arms again. Frustration pricks at your stomach, a burning rage in your stomach.
"You make me feel like such an idiot," you spit, and he shrinks.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to-"
"You don't mean to?" You cut him off, eyes wild. "You break my heart, date someone else in front of my face, take off, come back with her, and I still love you. How am I supposed to feel?"
His eyes shine, and he takes a deep breath before he says, "You love me?"
"Of course I do, Robby!" You flail your arms. "What did you expect?"
"I'm sorry, I'm so fuckin' sorry," he pleas, tears spilling from his big, brown eyes. "You deserve so much better than what I put you through, and I'm an idiot."
"I won't disagree," you deadpan, though your breath is shaky. "Why did you ask Noelle? Why didn't you ask me? If you're so sorry."
"Wasn't as scary. I told you, I'm a fucking coward," he laughs, sardonic and poisonous. "You scare me. I love you, and that fucking terrifies me."
"So, what's different?" You ask, taking a step closer to him, his breath mixing with yours in the cool night air. "You come back, tell me you love me, spin me this whole story about how you're in therapy now, and- and what? I'm supposed to just- fall to my knees and take you back?"
"No, God, no, of course not," he coos, brows furrowing. "I guess- I don't know what's different," he admits with a scoff.
What he does next simply knocks the breath out of you. He sinks to his knees, his hands coming up to rest along your hips.
His touch scorches you, his sad, wide eyes shooting through you like stars.
"I don't know what's different, I can't promise that I'm fixed, or I'm better, I don't even know how much I've really changed," he starts, and you roll your eyes.
He grips your hips tighter, forcing you to look back at him.
"What I do know, is that I love you. I thought of you everyday I was gone. I'm sorry I didn't message you for your birthday, but I went and got you diamonds. They're in the car," he whispers, your heart throbbing at the gift— both the diamonds, and a grown man on his knees before you.
"I'm going to regret this tomorrow," you murmur, crashing your lips to his.
He's smoky, lips soft and smooth as they devour yours, his body slowly rising to full height again.
You positively melt into him, arms wrapping around his neck, leg popping out behind you.
His big hands trail over your skin, eliciting a shiver ripping through your spine. He slides his jacket off of you, tossing it on the patio furniture littering the balcony.
Wrapping his arms around you, he keeps you warm from the chill that permeates your skin. Hands finding your ass, he lifts you against him, dress riding up in accommodation of the large man now between your legs.
His warmth between your legs sends a jolt of heat through you, punching a sweet "oh!" out of you. You squeeze your eyes, clinging to Robby tighter than before.
"Ooh, feels good being back in my arms, hm?" He asks, pressing you deeper into him.
You whine, burying your face in his neck, a quiet nod laced with shame. Your pussy pulses against his tummy, stretched taut over his white dress shirt.
He feels it, you know he can, purely from the shine in his eye, the darker hue to them. It makes you whimper, rocking your hips against his stomach.
He coos, patting the back of your head as he carries you over to the white, acrylic couch set against the railing.
He groans as he sits you both down, wiggling your hips to get comfortable. His eyes shut, he sucks in air through his teeth, and you smile.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" You ask, lacing your arms around his neck once more, rocking your hips against his.
"Hah!" He huffs out, head falling back and eyes squeezing shut as you maneuver above him. "Baby, baby, fuck, feel so fucking good on top of me, y'gotta stop."
"I missed your rambling," you slow your movements, pressing a kiss to his Adam's apple.
"I don't ramble," he grumbles, pinching your ass before giving you another sweet kiss.
You stay there for a moment, at home in his arms, tongues rolling over each other. You'd missed this— his smell, his taste, the way he took his time with you,
A wave of desperation rolls over you, all these sensations hitting at once, and you pick up your hips once more.
"Baby, stop," he orders, gripping you tight.
"Mmph!" You whine, throwing your head back, wriggling in his grasp. "I want you Mikey, please, been so long."
"Jesus fucking Christ," he grits under his teeth. "Alright, up." He motions for you to move with his hands, raising a brow when you pout, stay put on his now hard cock.
"What, you think I'm gonna put you through all this then make you ride me?" He asks, wide eyed. "I'm not a total asshole, babe. Up, c'mon. Bend over the railing."
A rush of excitement rolls through you as you finally listen, a quiet "good girl" echoing in your movements.
Flipping your hair over your shoulder, you rest your chin there, slipping your strap down, the other one following suit. You let the silky fabric fall to your feet, stepping out of it so you're left in a black bra, matching panties.
"Fuck, oh my God," he groans behind you, and you lick your lips as you approach the railing. "God I missed this, missed this fucking body so much."
You hear his breath hitch, a sardonic smile on your lips as he grips your hips with his large hands. He pulls you into him, shoving your bodies together.
Pressing a gentle hand on the small of your back, he encourages you to bend, to rest your arms on the cool metal rail.
"Good job, such a good listener when she wants to be, yeah?" He teases, moving your hair to the side, fastening his grip on the back of your neck.
"Yes, Mikey, God," you whine, wiggling your backside into his fully clothed front.
He chuckles at this, a sweet coo on his tongue.
"Sorry, honey, not super fair of me," he says, and you can hear his jacket being shed behind you. "And it's so cold, too. Left you all alone half naked for me without giving you a thing. So mean, aren't I?"
You shake your head in a playful nod, resting your cheek on your arms so you can look back at him.
He's unbuttoning the bottom of his shirt, exposing his belly, his hairy chest to the cool night air. He shivers, and you roll your eyes.
"Such a baby," you joke, and he smiles, cracking a hand down on your ass.
"Ooh!" You whine, lurching forward at the contact ever so slightly.
He grips the back of your sheer panties, bunching them up, sliding them as far between your ass cheeks as they'll allow.
"Thereee we go," he croons, and you can practically hear the sardonic smile on his lips. "Now you're remembering how to act right, hm?"
Your cheeks burn, head nodding a desperate yes.
"Good girl," he says, smacking your ass once, twice, thrice more before letting the fabric go.
The panties rest between your cheeks, the skin there still sore from his rough hand. His cold hands stroke up and down your back, calling forth a shiver all through you.
"Hands are cold," you mumble, reaching for your panties, yanking them down and sliding them over your heeled feet.
"'m sorry, baby," he rasps, fingers finding your bra clasp. "You can't complain too much when I'm getting you naked, though, no?" He teases, bending over you so his smooth voice is in your ear.
You shake your head against him, leaning back on his shoulder.
"Love you, Mikey. Do you love me?" You ask, eyes big and wide and burning a hole through him.
"Of course I do," he whispers, pulling you in for a kiss.
It's sloppy, rough and messy, not unlike your relationship with this man. He pulls back, just enough to husk against your lips,
"Love you so fuckin' much, can't believe I ever left you," he confesses, placing his big hands over your tummy, squeezing the excess skin there.
He uses the newfound pressure to sink into you, the head of his cock intruding your tight pussy.
"Fuck!" He nearly shouts, throwing his head back as his tip slots inside of you. "God, how did I go without you for three whole months? Even before that, Jesus, I'm a fuckin' idiot, love you so much."
Your nails grip the rail in front of you, knuckles aching from the pressure. A gasp rocks through you as he sinks in another inch, then another, and another.
"I love you, Mikey," you whine, arching your back as he bottoms out inside of you. "Better not leave me again," you demand, craning your neck to look back at him.
The sight that greets you is only one you've imagined in these past couple months. Robby, eyes bright and shiny, full of love, as he slams his hips into you.
"God, I dreamed of this for months, Mikey," you mewl, a fire brewing deep in your belly. "Would rub my clit and think about this, about you."
He groans, picking up his speed inside of you. The slaps his skin lets out against yours is lewd, unmistakable as he moves at full speed.
The tip of his cock nudges your special spot with each thrust, rolling your eyes back in your skull at the building pressure, going limp in his arms.
"Fuck, say more, baby, keep going," he nearly begs, cracking another spank onto your skin.
A strangled noise wrestles itself from your throat, your pussy tightening around him at his actions, his words.
"I did," you whine, squeezing your eyes shut as you take in the sensations, your impending orgasm. "Every night, thought about you and how you made me feel. Even before you left. Sometimes I'd even rub my pussy thinking about you, while Brendan was on my couch."
This confession takes you by surprise, eyes shooting open as that reality crashes down on you. At the same time, Robby snaps.
He growls, throws his head back in a strangled, "FUUCCCKK", his hips stuttering as his cock throbs inside of you.
"I'm sorry, baby," he utters, your pussy still milking his orgasm. "I'm so sorry, fuck. Oh my God, you can't say shit like that to me, gonna make me go fucking insane."
You giggle at this, squeezing extra tight around him, encouraging the last few drops from his weeping tip.
"Fuck, fuck," he presses a hand into his forehead, a disbelieving chuckle on his tongue. "Get on the fuckin' couch and spread your legs. I mean it," he demands, spreading his jacket over the patio furniture.
You clamor over on shaky knees, keeping them apart as Robby settles between them. You lift them up as he does, the spike of your heels resting against his back.
"Mmmm. God, missed this pretty cunt," he exhales, running his nose from hole to clit.
You gasp when it attaches to your bundle of nerves, even louder when he wiggles himself into you.
"Mikey! Please! I wanna cum so bad," you beg, shameless and desperate. Wiggling your hips in his face, you chase the friction that had you so close just moments ago.
"Shhh, shhh," he coos, circling his lips along your clit. "Calm down. I got you, never gonna let you go again, y'hear me?"
You nod, sinking your fingers into his hair as he makes out with your cunt, wet and sloppy and loud. It's lewd, the smacking sounds, the grunts that omit from his lips. You love it.
You tell him so, again, and again, and again.
"Love you, God," you throw your head back, the coil in your belly springing up once again, tighter than ever. "Oh! Love you so much," you whine, flinching as he adds a finger.
"Mmm," he groans against you, vibrations running through your whole body. "Cum for me, please?" He mumbles into you, big, brown eyes boring into yours. "Missed the way you taste, can you show me again?"
He laps you up, plays with your wetness as he continues to slide his long digit in and out, in and out.
He's got you right at the edge, and you allow yourself to teeter there for a brief moment before fully letting go.
Your vision turns to black as your orgasm creeps over you, the earth stuttering on its axis as the high hits you.
It's overwhelming, relentless heat surging through you, trails of fire rippling in your veins.
"Michael!" You cry, lurching forward, grinding your hips into his face.
"Yeeeessss," he drawls out, pulling you closer into him, helping you ride out even more of your orgasm. "Keep cumming, I got you, don't worry about a thing and just keep fucking cumming."
You obey, because of course you do, tiny explosions still reverberating through your body. Your body finally relents, shivering at the smallest hint of overstimulation.
"Mikey, Mikey, 'm good," you giggle, breathless. "I'm good, 's too much, God! It's too much."
He finally lets up, a wave of relief washing over you as you fall back into the couch.
Your eyes focus on the night sky, though you feel his on you. Turning your gaze downward, you think Robby is the happiest geezer you've ever seen in your life.
"Hey, beautiful," he rasps, resting his cheek against your thigh.
"Hi, handsome," you coo, reveling in the shiver that sends down his spine.
"Wanna get out of here?" He asks, placing a kiss to your sensitive skin.
"More than anything," you breathe, turning to find your panties.
"Ah!" He tuts, followed by a light smack of your thigh. "Got 'em right here," he admits, pulling them out of his pocket, and sliding them up your thigh.
"Michael Robinavitch, you are a pervert," you tease, sticky love dripping from your lips.
"Maybe, but you love me," he repeats your earlier confessions, eyes wide and shining.
"I do, love you so much," you murmur, cradling his face in your hands.
"Here's what I want to do," he starts, sitting up on his knees and beginning to redress you.
"What's that?" You poise, a cute smile on your face. He melts at the sight before continuing.
"I want to get you all nice and dressed and comfy again," he says, slipping your dress over your head, your bra going into his back pocket. "I want to take you home," he continues, pulling his own pants back on. "I want to put you in those diamond earrings I got you for your birthday," his shirt follows, shaky fingers buttoning himself back up. "And I wanna fuck you while they glow in the moonlight. You hear me?"
You nod, eyes wide and full of want.
"Good," he smiles, sliding you off the couch and onto your feet. "Go get your stuff, we have many months to make up for."
summary: med school had gotten boring to jack abbot and michael "robby" robinavitch. in an attempt to liven things up, they settle on two things: serial killings and making you theirs no matter what.
tags: ghostface!medstudent!rabbot x reader, possessive!boyfriends!rabbot, med school scream au, dark!rabbot, ooc rabbot, no age gaps!, violence, medical inaccuracies, murder, improper use of medical tools, morally gray reader (idk fam she finds out but doesn't turn them in), 5.6k words of pure smut (threesome, coercion/slight dubcon, degradation, blood kink, fingering, piv-unprotected sex, blow job [when in Paris], sloppy seconds, overstimulation), small time skip at the end NSFW 18+ MDNI
notes: I feel like I am very qualified to write this as someone who has scream in their top 4 on letterboxd and has written stuilly x reader fan fiction before, so I am well versed, I also love horror and have been wanting to write a few more darker fics on the side (still throwing around the idea of a saw inspired jack abbot fic), MY TAG LIST IS CLOSED, please enjoy!
word count: 14.9k (making this the longest one shot I've ever written)
You set your coffee down with a small thunk on the long classroom table somewhere in the middle of the lecture room. Your binders and notebooks joined next, placed down more carefully to not tip the cup over, because spilling your caffeinated beverage before 8 am would have been a tragedy in and of itself. Your backpack sat nicely in the seat to your right, and to your left you placed one textbook exactly in the middle.
One for Jack, and one for Robby; just as you'd been doing since you met them during orientation of your first year. Because where one of them was, the other wasn't too far behind with you, their added third to their duo, falling somewhere in the middle.
Even though Robby was already an MS4 whereas you and Jack were MS1s, he'd known the curly-haired redhead during childhood and scooped you up right along with him. Now halfway through your second year where Robby wasn't as around as either you or Jack would like, he promised to at least sit with you when he got called in to assist during the few lectures of the ACLS provider course. Today happened to be one of those golden moments where all three of you got to be together again.
Normally, you liked to be the first one in the room to get a feel for the atmosphere and not be rushed to find a nice seat. Doing so had grouped you and Jack in Gross Anatomy and Histology last year, and you would have liked to keep the streak going, however, as you looked around the room, your eyes caught on a male student sitting front and center with his hands folded.
You fought the urge to scoff. Who fucking picks front row?
Taking a seat, your head ducked closer to your backpack, and your hands dug around to find at least one of your good pencils before Jack decided to use them all for himself.
"Are you looking for something?" the guy's voice echoed from the front.
You didn't even look up over the desk when you answered. "Just needing to find a pencil."
He fell quiet for a few moments, and you were sure he was watching you struggle to reach the bottom of your backpack, hoping that he'd stay quiet or at least look away. When you failed to grasp anything pencil-shaped, you straightened back up and squeaked when you came face to face with the guy, jolting at the sheer suddenness of his presence. He was holding a regular number 2 pencil out near your face, sharp end almost between your eyes. If you'd been any closer, your nose would have tapped it.
"You can have one of mine," he said, more insisting for someone you didn't even know.
You eyed him carefully. He was taller than you, you noted, and that even if you were still sitting down, he'd probably tower over you the way he was doing as he waited for you to take the yellow pencil. Your lips pursed together.
"I'll be fine," you answered. "My friends probably have extras."
"But I'm offering you mine. It'd be rude not to take it."
Your stomach flipped. This guy probably wasn't going to stab you with the pencil in broad daylight right before class was about to stop, but your mind went sailing right back to last night's news that yet another student had been murdered while studying in the top floor of the library, and a chill raced up your spine.
"You just go ahead and keep it; I think I'll wait," you muttered, eyes tearing away from him to look at your coffee, the steam rising steadily through the hole in the lid.
He scoffed loudly. "Well, if you're not going to take my pencil, can I at least get your name," he said as though you had to compensate him for "wasting" his time.
"Why would I give you my name if I don't even know yours first." You paused before adding with a smirk. "We're not supposed to give out our names to strangers."
From your peripheral as you turned to look toward the door, you saw him physically contemplate your words.
"Stephen with a ph," he pushed out, and you swore little droplets of his spit hit the cover of your binder.
You desperately wanted to drag a sleeve over it for good measure, but that would just open another can of worms.
His name didn't ring any bells. He certainly wasn't a part of your friend group, and you knew he wasn't the type of guy that Jack would go out of his way to befriend either.
"Now, tell me your name."
Your fingernails curled into your palms, mind willing for either Jack or Robby to walk right through the doors in some divine intervention. You were more than capable of telling the guy off, but why would you when either one could do it for you.
Women in STEM you always told them after you managed to get them to do something for you.
When you failed to answer and give up your name, Stephen hunched forward and placed both hands on the desk. Sadly, his weight and abruptness made the entire thing shake, and before you could reach out, your coffee tipped over and spilled in the opposite direction, right onto his shoes and pants. Your lip automatically slipped between your teeth in an attempt to not laugh as he yelped and cursed loudly. Yet, when he turned back towards you with fire in his eyes and out stretched hand with the pencil curled between his fingers, your face dropped.
"You bitch," he growled while shoving the pointed end in your direction. "You ruined my shoes!"
This time, you were the one to scoff. "You shouldn't have shaken the table like that, so really, you ruined your own shoes all by yourself."
His face flushed red, and his eyes practically bulged out of the sockets; he looked as though he were less than a second away from exploding and going off on you when the door opened wide, reviewing the two you had just been manifesting.
Your head whipped so hard in their direction that you winced at the twang in your neck, and your chest heaved in a sigh of relief.
"No, dude, I'm telling you, this class absolutely sucks," Jack loudly announced, hands gripping his backpack straps as he waddled in. "Just be glad we get here early because by 8 all these seats are fill—"
His words died in his mouth when he finally looked away from Robby and over to where you normally sat, and his expression dropped at the sight of Stephen still towering over you with the pencil in your face. He halted abruptly, causing Robby to follow his line of sight. You tried your best to smile and slightly wave when you met their hazel and deep brown eyes, but the damage had already been done.
Jack scowled something fierce, and his knuckles turned white. He took no time in resuming his walk over. Robby stayed close behind, height feeling more dramatic than normal.
"Heeeyyyy," you drew out before pushing up out of the seat.
Neither said nothing in return, opting to take their normal spots at your sides. Jack's hand planted in the middle of your lower back while Robby slung an arm around your shoulders, large hand squeezing gently when it rested against your upper bicep.
Jack's chin jerked out at Stephen. "Who're you?"
Stephen straightened slightly and puffed out his chest like that was going to do anything. "Stephen Miller."
"Stephen Miller," he echoed before turning to you, his eyes softening. "Do we have a problem here?"
"I was just trying to be friendly man—"
"He wasn't talking to you," Robby cut in. His eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them.
In response you raised your head slightly. "No problem. Just having a conversation."
"Didn't look like a very friendly one," Jack muttered. "You sure, sweetheart?"
"Yeah." The corner of your mouth twitched slightly, but you knew both of them could see right through you. "I'm sure."
Jack and Robby wanted to press more. Their chests had tightened the minute they saw this boy standing over you with what looked like intent to harm. For all they cared, they'd go straight to the dean and report him for violent tendencies, but the look in your eyes and normal want for no animosity kept them close. However, they did share a knowing glance over your head, something that you missed completely as you began to gather your stuff from their seats.
The door burst open a beat later, and students began filling the classroom. Stephen finally sulked back to his chair but not without one more heated glare in your direction.
"What the fuck was that about?" Jack muttered as he slung his backpack down to the ground.
You rolled your eyes. "I guess my search for a pencil was louder than I thought, so he asked if I wanted one of his. When I said no and that I'd probably just steal one of yours, he got . . . angry? I don't know; it was weird. And then he knocked my coffee over," you retold, the last little bit coming across as more whiny than you would have liked, but you were a second year med student for fucks sake.
Coffee kept you sane, and that asshole had taken your morning dose away from you.
"Sorry we didn't get here sooner," Robby stated while getting his papers out, and you fully turned his way.
This had been the first time in months that you got to see him. Between his countless hours as an R1 over at an ER a few towns over, about a two to three hour drive one way, and dealing with his own personal shit, he'd been gone long enough that a short beard covered his jaw and space between his nose and lips. You couldn't help yourself as you reached up and lightly scratched at it.
"When did this get here?" you asked, desperately trying to change the conversation.
His facial hair was soft beneath your fingers, and you felt the way he slightly leaned into your touch.
"I already gave him shit about it; don't worry, sweetheart," Jack announced loudly. "He leaves us for—what?—three months and comes back with a face blanket?"
Robby chuckled and leaned away to look at his friend over your shoulder. "Laugh it up, kid. You're just mad because all you can grow is that upper lip caterpillar."
"Please, let's save the bickering until the clock hits at least ten o'clock," you laughed.
Jack opened and closed his jaw while he made a talking motion with his hand, to which you lightly smacked hip upside the head before taking a seat. Almost instantly, Jack's left hand found the top of your knee.
"But seriously," he muttered, leaning closer so his voice didn't carry much, "are you okay, though? That guy . . ."
You placed your hand on top of his. "He's fine. I doubt he could do much damage with a pencil."
"You never know," Robby huffed. "I'll be back soon; gotta check in with Professor Barlowe." He leaned down and pressed a very light kiss to your temple, something he'd started doing recently, and then clapped Jack on the shoulder as he passed.
Your brows furrowed slightly when you noticed the way Jack let his eyes trail Robby, but you kept your thoughts to yourself. The two had always had a stronger bond than you would ever realize, and if they wanted to let you know if anything changed, you'd let them come to you first before asking invasive questions.
So, instead, you settled on asking about the homework. "Were you able to get it all done? I was up forever."
Jack pulled out a small stack of papers. "Yeah. I finished them this morning. Had a bit of a late night but managed to get a decent amount of sleep." He smiled widely, crooked teeth on full display. "How about you?"
"Uh, I don't know if you listen much to the radios but there was another stabbing last night," you murmured.
His eyebrows rose. "No shit?"
"Yeah." You swallowed thickly. "Miles Pennington. He was found by the janitors in the library. No one knows who did it since all the cameras have been out since last semester, but he had five stab wounds and thirteen clean incisions."
"How do you know all this?" he asked, shoulders hunching slightly.
"My friend works the late night desk. She's the one who called the police and stuff. I'm surprised you didn't know any of this Mr. I have a police scanner and listen to it for fun."
His head leaned back as he barked out a laugh before he looked back toward you, mischief gleaming in his eyes. "You're trouble; you know that?"
You let your eyes quickly trail the freckles that dotted his outstretched neck. "Yeah, yeah. Anyway, it kept me up most of the night, because—" You looked around before leaning in closer. "They think all the recent killings are all connected."
Jack choked on his spit. "What?"
"Every single one of them had calls from an unknown number on their hand-held mobiles that ranged from five to ten minutes."
Under the desk, Jack's fingers tightened and curled into a fist. Through the adrenaline high, they'd, once again, forgotten to grab the fucking mobile.
He hoped he was able to keep a calm expression to hide the way his heart was beating wildly beneath his sternum. However, his breathing must have quickened, because he watched the way your brows furrowed with concern.
"Are you okay?" you asked, scooching forward in your chair to give him a once over.
"Fine," he managed to get out. "Just . . . I think I forgot one of the questions."
"Oh, that's okay," you said, hand already sliding your copy of homework over without a second thought.
Jack's heart clenched at your kindness that he definitely didn't deserve. Not when he was the one to give Miles every single one of those incisions with a scalpel Robby swiped from work. The guy was so close to graduating and becoming a resident, but he just had to go and flirt with you last Christmas, blatantly asking if you had plans to "stay warm" during the break. He had almost killed him then, already envisioning the way the blade would sink deep into his gut, before Robby had given him a look, eyes screaming to be patient.
He only had to wait until midterms, get him alone, and have Robby make the call and give him what they dubbed "The Test" over a call before he could pin him to the ground. It had been easy with very little struggle, even with his vision clouded with that white opened-mouth mask they'd found in a going-out-of-business Halloween store. Cash payment; no trail, no evidence.
Jack was already starting to itch again, that vein deep need to spill blood instead of stopping it from flowing, to cause harm instead of protecting.
You snapped in front of his face, and he blinked rapidly.
"You're spacing out again," you said. "Do you need to take a break? I doubt we'll get in trouble if we sneak out to get more coffee."
He shook his head. "No, I'm fine." His finger tapped on your homework. "Thanks for this . . . again."
Your hand rose and covered your mouth as you giggled. "No problem. I cannot have you flunking this class, Jack Abbot. I don't think I'd survive without you."
"Nah, you're smart enough," he said after lightly flicking your temple. "You'll probably match your first try with whatever hospital you choose."
"You think so?" Shyly, you tucked a piece of fallen hair behind your ear.
Jack met your eye with a ferocity you hadn't seen. "I know so."
Heat flushed to your cheeks and spread down your neck into your top, and you quickly looked back down at your papers and binder. You took one glance toward the front, eyes locking onto Robby where he stood discussing something with your teacher.
"Guess I just need to survive the next two years and hope I don't get a phone call myself," you whispered loud enough for Jack to hear over your scratching pencil and the beginnings of the lecture.
It was almost like you'd been put under a trance every time the lesson began to not miss anything important. Because of this, you missed the way Jack locked eyes with Robby over the tops of the students' heads. His older friend barely glanced in the direction of Stephen, and the slight nod he got sent a pleasured chill racing over his skin.
Jack couldn't wait to feel the slick of Stephen's blood and organs against his black leather gloves as he cut him up once clean slice at a time.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The phone's cord tangled around your finger as you giggled into the chunky receiver while Robby told you about one of the pranks his attending played on him because he fell asleep in an on-call room.
"And then, they had the fucking audacity to page me, and I went running before I fell face first into the hub!"
"And then what?" you laughed breathily, leaning back until your head hit your pillow.
"Then so many casualties came in after, and I was stuck with the cast on and unable to help! I had to wait hours before they could get it off."
"Did it teach you not to fall asleep?" you questioned with a smile that he couldn't even see, but Robby could definitely hear it in your voice.
He smiled as well, lips practically kissing his phone. "For a bit, but then I managed to find an excellent napping place."
"Did Benton tell you off for it?"
"Nope." Robby looked down at the paper in his hand, fingers playing the frayed edge. "He actually woke me up with my acceptance papers."
You sat up straight and gasped loudly. "Michael Strausser Speer Robinavitch! You got accepted into their emergency surgery program, and you didn't fucking tell me in person! You ass!"
"It just slipped my mind."
A scoff flew from your lips and echoed in his ear.
"It just slipped my mind," you mocked, voice dipping into a lower tone that didn't quite match Robby's all the way. "Did you tell Jack?"
"Yeah," he breathed.
"And how'd that go?"
Robby pursed his lips at the memory of Jack screaming at him before kissing him right on the lips. "As well as you could imagine."
"He just . . . worries about you, I think," you tried to console with your lip between your teeth. "Worried about you several hours away, worried that he won't be able to catch up."
"Did he tell you about his plans after med school?"
You nodded on instinct before catching yourself. "Y-yeah, he did. He's brave for it."
"Only Jack could want to be an Army field medic," Robby grumbled while running a hand across his jaw. "He's insane."
A low hum rumbled through your chest in agreement. "He wants to help people, but I don't understand why he thinks he needs to do it under active fire."
For some reason, tears pricked at your eyes, and you rapidly tried to blink them away. To keep them away, you did your best to sniff quietly, but the sound was louder through the phone than you thought.
Robby frowned, and his brows pinched. "Hey, why're you crying?"
You chomped down on the inside of your cheek before replying, "I don't want him to get hurt, and he's going to be so alone over there. It breaks my heart every time he wears that stupid Army crewneck he got at the recruitment office."
He knew exactly which one you were talking about; he pulled the damn thing off Jack's freckled body earlier that morning right after he got back from slicing the kid in the library with blood still crusting at his shoes and at the stretches of skin the robe didn't cover. Robby had licked it all off before taking Jack's cock in his mouth.
"Did I lose you over there, Robinavitch?" you asked when you could only hear heavy breathing.
Robby raised his brows and smirked. "Oh, am I simply Robinavitch to you now?"
"It's what you get for keeping important information from me!"
"Okay, baby, okay," he mused, laying it heavy on the small pet name. “Have you decided what you’re wanting to do after school? We could always use you over at Sacred.”
Nervously, you twirled the phone wire around a finger. “Actually . . . I’m thinking about looking into an endo fellowship.”
Your words hit him right in the stomach. “What?”
You huffed. “Yeah, I know I said I might go into emergency med, but Robby, I don’t think I can keep up with that life. Seeing all those traumas would fuck me in the head.”
“So, Jack’s leaving me, and now you’re leaving me?”
“Don’t put it like that. You’re a big boy; you’ll be fine.” Your eyes glanced around the room before widening when you caught the time. "Fuck, Rob, I gotta go. I'm supposed to meet my roommate for breakfast tomorrow before my 8 am." You paused before adding. "Thanks for talking to me. I've really missed you, ya know?"
"I've missed you too," he confessed, "a lot."
"It's not the same without you. I have Jack, but I think I can say we both feel incomplete when you're not here."
"Feel the same out there," he whispered. "I'll let you go, but I'll give Jack a plan for lunch so we can all meet up, yeah?"
"Sounds good, Robby. Sleep well," you said before ending the call.
Your hands raised high above your head, and a soft moan slipped through your lips as you stretched. Needing to use the bathroom one more time, you softly slipped from the bed and padded toward the connected suite. You still had no clue how you managed to get a room with a bathroom, but you were never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
However, only a few feet away, your phone screeched a loud shrill into the air. Your cheeks puffed as you blew out air, mind thinking that Robby probably forgot to tell you something important. Your hand curled around the receiver and raised it to your ear.
"Robby, I swear if you forgot about something again I'll—"
"Hello?" a distorted voice cut you off, and your stomach dipped ever so slightly at the unfamiliar caller.
"Um, hi?"
"Would you like to play a game?"
You frowned deeply. "No thank you. I think you have the wrong number. Goodbye."
The phone clicked back into the stand, and you turned away once more, ready to get peeing over so you could get some sleep. Yet again, your phone rang, and you jumped at the noise. This time, you stomped back over and ripped it right out and up to your ear.
"You shouldn't have done that," the voice tsked. "Because now, if you hang up again, I'll have to kill someone for you."
Your blood ran ice cold. "How is this?"
"Uh, uh, uh, I ask the questions here, sweets. And you still haven't answered my first one: would you like to play a game?"
"Fuck you," you spat. "Is this Stephen from class, because I swear if this is just some elaborate prank, I'm going to report your sorry ass to the dean."
"Oh, she has a mouth on her," he—because this had to be a man—laughed. "What fun you and I are going to have."
"I'm not going to play whatever stupid game this is, Stephen."
"Sorry to tell you, but this isn't Stephen," he growled, and the sound had you shaking slightly.
Knuckles turning white, you gripped the phone tightly. "Then-then who is this?"
"Can't tell you that or it'd ruin the surprise!" He sighed and clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Now, I will ask for the last time, do you want to play a game? Or should I start killing your friends? What are their names again? Jack and Michael?"
"If you hurt them—"
"You'll do what? You don't even know my name? But I know yours, Y/n."
Your skin itched, and you whirled around, almost like you swore that you felt someone's eyes on your body. You stepped up to your window and cracked the blinds open with a finger. When no one seemed to be standing outside, you let the slat fall back down.
"Will you play now?"
A thick glob of saliva fought back against your attempt to swallow it down. "Fine. I'll play. What are the rules?"
"If you can answer my questions, I won't kill poor Stephen here."
In the background, you heard muffled screams and cries that matched the student who had held a pencil to your face. Tears slowly streamed down your face as it fully settled that the man on the other end wasn't playing around, that a life was in your, a mere med student's, hands.
"Don't hurt him, please," you whimpered.
"Such big emotions for a stranger. Oh, you're going to be such a good doctor one day." He cleared his throat. "Question one: a twenty-three-year old comes rolling in after being involved in a motorcycle accident. Her BPs seventy-eight over forty, heart rate’s one-forty. She has absent breath sounds on the left, and her trachea’s deviated to the right. What kills her first?”
“How am I supposed to know that? I’m only a MS2, fucker.”
“You’re smart enough to know it. All that time spent with that emergency resident, and you can’t remember anything?”
“Just give me a second!”
“I fear Stephen doesn’t have ‘a second,’” he taunted, and in the next moment, a pain-filled wail muffled through your phone, causing a sob to rip right from your throat.
“Okay, okay, just—” You pinched your eyes shut as you tried to think through the question. “Tension pneumothorax,” you settled on before holding your breath.
“And your treatment to keep him alive?”
“A-a needle decompression followed by a ch-chest tube.”
The distorted voice paused on the other line. “Correct. See, I knew you would get it. You’re so smart, Y/n.”
You unsuccessfully tried to wipe the tears from your cheeks, but your eyes kept replenishing them. “Okay, I answered your fucking questions, now let the guy go.”
“I’m sorry. Was I not specific? We still have three more to go before I think of letting Stephen here see another sunrise. Next question: A trauma patient arrives talking to you. Five minutes later, they’re confused, then unconscious. What do you suspect is happening?”
A frustrated groan bubbled through your chest. “I need more information.”
“If your patient is unconscious, you don’t get more information. Tick, tock, sweets, Stephen’s counting on you.”
“It-it could be something like an epidural hematoma?”
“And what would be the classic artery?”
“The middle meningeal artery.”
“I’m so proud of you for getting that correct.”
Instead of feeling elated, you were so close to throwing up that you could taste the tang of bile on your tongue. “What’s the next one?”
“Feeling confident, are we?”
“Ask the fucking question.”
“You’ve got penetrating trauma just left of the sternum. Blood pressure is dropping. Neck veins are distended, and the heart sounds are muffled. What’s the diagnosis, doc?”
“Cardiac tamponade,” you answered instantly. It had been one of the homework questions from the ACLS provider course you had with Jack.
“Treatment?”
“Emergency thoracotomy if they’re crashing. Pericardiocentesis only if it’s the bridge.”
“I guess you really can stay awake during your classes. Now, for the final question: your last trauma patient just received a massive transfusion after losing too much blood like poor Stephen will if you get this wrong. All seems to go well until the monitor suddenly shows a widening QRS, peaked T waves, and then ventricular tachycardia. What is killing the man on your table?”
Your stomach dropped to your toes. This should have been the easiest one. You should know this.
“It’s hypocalcemia,” you stated.
The line went silent.
“Did I get it? I got it, you mother fucker,” you growled.
However, all you got was a click on his tongue. “Wrong.”
All blood drained straight from your face. “Wha-what? No, I’m certain it’s hypocalcemia. It’s the textbook definition of it.”
“The diagnosis you’re looking for is actually hyperkalemia. You would have needed to administer potassium instead. Well, the calcium would have been the protocol, but it wasn’t the answer I asked for.”
“N-no,” you stuttered out with another sob wracking your body. “Please don’t hurt him. Let him go.”
“I gave him a fighting chance like all good doctors do. But sometimes, in the real world, we can’t all save our patients. Say goodbye to Stephen. He’ll be missed in class.”
Your throat constricted in a gag as wet slashing sounds echoed through your phone speaker. You should have turned it off, but you stayed frozen to the middle of your room, mind fuzzy and close to dissociation as Stephen’s wails rattled and echoed in your brain. He gave a particularly loud screech that followed almost a ripping sound, something you’d heard before from medical tapes used in surgical classes, the tell-tale noise of someone wrongly cutting through skin and tendons.
In a few moments, he quieted before the line went fully quiet, save for the heavy, distorted breathing from the assailant. All you could manage to do was whimper and tremble.
“Thanks for playing, sweets. Better luck next time.”
The drawl of the dial tone echoed in your ear until the receiver slipped from your hand and landed in a loud thunk against your carpet. Your knees almost buckled as you tried to make your way back to your bed, bathroom break far forgotten. It didn’t even cross your mind as you sat shaking on the comforter, hands clenching the blanket.
All you could hear were Stephen’s moans and cries, and if you could get past those, the man’s words rang freely.
Say goodbye to Stephen. He’ll be missed in class.
The killer was in the ACLS provider course. One of your classmates just murdered Stephen and probably all the other guys too.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
“What’s so important that we had to meet before your first class, baby? Thought you had plans with your roommate,” Robby’s voice sounded behind you, and you flinched violently at the suddenness. “Woah, it’s just me.”
Your red-rimmed wide eyes looked up at him from the empty space at the small coffee table in the on-campus cafe, and his cocky smirk dropped as he took in the paleness and horror that had been plastered on your face since that phone call late last night. Robby grabbed the top of the chair and dragged it out to sit. His knees bumped against yours while his hands gently rested on your cheeks, fingers tilting your chin in order for him to look you over, ever the doctor.
“What’s wrong?” he questioned. You sleepily watched his eyes flicker down your face in an obvious fashion. “What happened?”
You jerked out of his hold and looked back down to the table. “Let’s just wait for Jack.”
Almost as if he were waiting for you to say his name, Jack plopped down into the seat opposite of Robby, the three of you making a triangle around the table. He too was wearing a smile that dropped just as quickly as Robby’s had moments earlier. At least he didn’t start going full doctor on you, but his concern was evident in his pinched expression.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, eyes glancing over toward Robby.
“That’s what I asked,” the brunette responded without looking away from your shaking form.
“I-I wanted to tell you both before the n-news got out,” you stuttered between shaking breaths.
Jack leaned forward and placed both his hands on the table. “What news? I think you’re scaring us a bit, sweetheart.”
“Stephen wa-was murdered,” you squeaked, “last night, right after I finished talking to Robby.” Your pointer finger picked at your thumb, loose skin catching with every scrape.
“Did your friend have to call in another one in the library?” Jack asked.
You shook your head. “No. I did.”
“You did?” Robby echoed, and his concern morphed into confusion. “Was he murdered in the girls’ dorms?”
Another shake of your head. “No.” Tears welled in your lashline, and you squeezed your eyes tight as another wave of Stephen’s cries rang through your memory.
Jack licked his lips and leaned back in the chair. “Well, didn’t you say the killer calls his victims? So, unless you’re a ghost, you should have been far away from whatever happened.”
“You two don’t understand!” you screeched, not caring if a few people turned their heads toward you. “He called me. I had to listen to-to—” Bile burned up your throat as you slapped two hands over your mouth in case it decided to spew between your teeth.
“Jeez,” Robby muttered as he dragged a hand down his jaw. “You had to listen to him getting . . . ya’ know.”
“Murdered,” Jack filled in casually, like he wasn’t concerned at all about what you’d just confessed. Although, he did do a good job at looking a bit surprised. “But why would he call you?”
“I don’t know,” you whimpered, arms coming to wrap around your middle as you hunched in on yourself. “One minute, I thought I was talking to Robby, and the next I thought it might be Stephen because of the pencil incident, but then I tried to hang up again, and . . .” you trailed off right as you remembered what the distorted voice had told you.
“And what?” Jack pressed.
“He said if I hung up and didn’t play his game, he’d kill you two.”
From the corner of his eye, Jack looked over at Robby for the briefest moment before scooting his chair closer to you to wrap you in a hug. Your pliant, shivering body went willingly right into his embrace, and he couldn’t help the smirk that stretched onto his face.
Everything was going to plan better than they had expected. Sure, calling you hadn’t been their first line of action, but looking at you now, so scared, so terrified that they were in danger, made them feel like they should have called you first. Robby initially had been the one who wanted to call and hear your panicked little whimpers, but he’d been the last caller. At least Jack had the decency to record everything, and Robby didn’t remember the last time they had both cum so hard while fucking as they played your delicious sounding cries, its echos joining the perfect symphony of their moans. It was almost as good as having you there with them, but they had to get you willing.
And right now, you seemed on the verge of being just that. They’d planted the seed of doubt in your mind that they weren’t untouchable, that they might be the next victims.
Jack ran a hand up and down your back in soothing motions, and you pressed into his chest, eyes meeting Robby’s worried-looking brown hues across the table.
“Did you already give your statement?” he asked.
“Yeah; last night,” you sighed. “My roommate found me crying, and she was the one to call. Everything happened so quickly.”
Jack pressed his cheek into the top of your head. “Did you recognize the voice?”
“No. It was all distorted.” You tensed suddenly. “But he did say something weird.”
Robby eyed Jack wearily. “Yeah?”
You nodded. “He said that Stephen would be missed in class, but—I mean, wouldn’t that imply that the killer was in the same class as us?”
Jack mouthed a quiet fuck and closed his eyes. He hadn’t meant to say that; he needed himself as far from the scene and victim as possible. Robby normally got away with it since he was supposed to be three hours away while Jack made sure his alibi of being in his dorm room stayed air-tight.
“Did you tell that to the police?”
The corner of your lip turned downward. “I-I think? I don’t know; I can’t remember.” Your words started to slur into a whine, and a single tear slipped down your cheek in frustration.
“That’s okay, sweetheart,” Jack cooed, hand never stopping in soothing circles while he held you. “Tell you what. Why don’t you and I go down to the station after class if you’re feeling up to it.”
Your stomach gurgled at the thought of having to retell what you went through for the sake of adding one more detail, and you swallowed thickly even if your mouth had gone dry.
“I don’t think I want to go to class. Seeing the empty seat . . .” If you thought about it for long enough, you knew you’d start crying all over again. “Can we just stay here? Or go to the fountain outside?” You’d been looking at Robby, but you pulled back from Jack enough to look him in the face. However, when neither of them answered right away, your stomach sank. “Oh.”
Robby cupped a hand at his neck, a familiar thing you’d seen him do for a year straight when he got stressed or nervous.
“Jack and I promised that we’d help out with an advanced simulator today for the fourth year students after you two’s first lecture.”
That was utter bullshit; they hadn’t been asked at all, but they needed to get away from you for a couple of hours to really let you sink into helplessness and paranoia. The longer you went without them with the thought that any moment they might be stabbed and sliced, the more you’d run into their willing arms no matter how they decided to break the news about their late-night activities.
You pulled fully out of Jack’s embrace, and the freckled boy had to stop himself from bringing you right back in, hands already itching to grab onto your arms. But he pulled himself together; he would have all night with you once they got you right where they wanted.
“Will I at least see you both before Robby has to go back tonight?” you asked, finger going back to pick at your thumb, face wincing when a spark of pain shot up your digit. You looked down in time to see blood well under the flap of skin.
“Of course. I’ll be at Jack’s dorm after I finish up with the final night class,” Robby said and finally smiled. He leaned over and softly pinched your cheek. “I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to my favorite girl.”
A rush of pleasure crept up to his chest at the sight of your heated cheeks, and somehow, evening couldn't come soon enough. After you stood and left, probably headed toward your dorm to try to get some sleep, Jack turned towards Robby with a flick of his head.
“Tonight?” he asked, lips stretching into a wide smirk.
Robby didn’t even look his way, eyes still planted on your figure. “Tonight.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Three raps of your knuckles against the wood door and a muffled Come in! from Jack had you pushing the creaky thing open and stepping right into his dorm. You eyed the small piles of clothes that you tried not to step on as you made your way toward his bed. Jack was leaned back against his headboard with a sleepy look on his face and pajamas on his body: a pair of much-too big sweats (that you guessed probably belonged to Robby) and that fucking Army crewneck.
“Would it kill you to clean once in a while?” you asked while taking a seat right at the edge of the mattress.
“There’s a system to it. Left side of the room is for clean clothes, and the right is for dirty,” he responded with a shit-eating smirk.
You rolled your eyes and turned to face him as much as you could without lying stomach down on the bed. “You’re such a boy.”
“At least my room’s not dripping in makeup,” he shot back, face scrunching in disgust. “It’s almost like I can smell it from here.”
“No, that’s your hairspray.” You reached out to ruffle his curls, but his hand darted out and wrapped around your wrist before it could get any further.
Jack pulled slightly, and you followed, knees digging into the comforter so he could bring you closer. “You know better than to touch the curls.”
“Then don’t make fun of my makeup,” you muttered before ripping your hand out of his hold. Using your hands, you pushed yourself further up the bed and mirrored Jack with your shoulder against his and back against the headboard. “How’d that simulator thing go?”
His lip curled. “As well as it could be. Fuck, I hope we’re not going to turn out to be like those stuck up know-it-all assholes. They think they know every damn answer.”
You nudged him slightly. “As long as we study and actually know the answers, we can act as asshole-y as we want to.”
He ran a hand through his hair and scoffed. “That’s the thing. We asked the question for the mock-up ER, and one of the guys in there—total douche—didn’t even know the protocol for hyperkalemia.”
“It’s potassium instead of calcium,” you rattled off mindlessly before pausing.
Jack turned slightly. “Yeah. How the fuck did you know that?”
Your eyes locked onto your feet. “It-it was one the question I got wrong before Stephen—” Your mouth quivered. “Fuck, it’s all my fault.”
“Don’t say that.”
“But it’s true, Jack,” you muttered. “I killed him.” Panic began to lick at the edges of your mind, and your chest started heaving in pants. “I killed him. I killed him.”
Jack pushed up off the headboard and hovered halfway over, hands raising like he didn’t know where he could touch you without sending you over the edge. “You gotta breathe, or you’re going to pass out on me.”
His words were like he was talking underwater, and you couldn’t even process what he was telling you to do. This was not a part of their plan, but Jack had to make due with what he could before Robby got back from killing one more student, a guy who had looked at you way too long in your pharmacology class. Before he could really think things through, Jack cupped your face, leaned in, and kissed you deeply.
The feeling of his lips broke you out of whatever hysteria threatened to take over, and you found yourself mimicking his movements as you kissed him back, lips moving against the other while your hands found purchase in his crewneck. Your eyes fluttered shut before snapping back open when Robby popped in your mind. You pulled back instantly and wiped your lips as though that would get rid of what just happened.
Jack took in your debauched look, you clearly liking that he kissed you, but the worried look you had sent his heart racing the wrong way.
Had they read you wrong the entire time?
“Jack,” you breathed. “We can’t.”
He cocked his head. “Why can’t we?”
“Robby.”
“What about him, sweetheart.”
You looked at him earnestly. “Aren’t you two . . .” You left words unsaid in case you were the one to get this wrong.
Jack almost looked bashful as he replied. “You’re always too damn smart. Catching onto things before we could even tell you.” He leaned back in though and pressed another kiss to the side of your mouth. “We are . . . together, but—” He dragged his eyes over your body with a heated look. “But we want you too.”
His words had you blinking rapidly. “What?” you laughed out, but one look from him said that he wasn’t joking around. “Are-are you serious?”
He clicked his tongue against his cheek. “Deadly.”
You weren’t too sure who moved first, but you met his mouth once more halfway. You moaned loudly at the feeling of his lips and teeth mushing against yours. His hands rose and planted on your hips, fingers curling into the small pudge against bone and pulling you into him, hips dragging along the blankets until you were seated on his lap. Your knees dug into the mattress on both sides of his thick thighs as you held onto his face.
Jack shivered with glee at the feeling of your grinding weight on top of him, cock already stiff below Robby’s pair of sweatpants hugging his legs. He bucked up slightly into your dampening core, and your jaw dropped enough for him to slide his wet tongue right into your hot mouth. He languidly licked around your teeth before playing with the tip of your tongue. You couldn’t help but think that if he was this into your mouth, you wanted to imagine what it’d feel like against your clit. At the vivid picture popping into your imagination, you ground down harder against his bulge.
Jack being large wasn’t surprising; not with the amount of tight pants he liked to wear, but you never imagined yourself being able to feel it nestled against your clit through your thin pajamas. As you continued to rock back and forth, he let go in order to play with the hem of your shirt before lifting it over your head and tossing it to the ground. His eyes widened slightly when he realized you’d foregone the bra.
“Fuck,” he muttered after pulling back to really look at them, hands rising to cup your breasts.
With his pointer fingers and thumbs, he pinched your nipples into soft peaks, drawing a higher-pitched whine from behind your teeth. By now, your underwear were soaked with slick arousal. Without warning, he leaned in right as your back arched and took one bud into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed, and a loud sucking noise squeaked out of his lips. You jerked at the feeling and sank your hands into his hair.
“Jack,” you breathily sighed.
“That’s me, sweetheart,” he retorted after letting your nipple go with a wet pop just to do the same to your other one.
You normally weren’t one to cum just from stimulation to your breasts, but the hazy feeling from grinding on Jack’s cock and his lips and tongue circling your nipples started to well in your stomach. Your jaw dropped again as a loud moan shuddered out of you after he bit down on the sensitive peak before running a soothing, wet stripe over it. He pulled back again to lightly blow on the heated flesh, and his cooled breath made goosebumps race up your skin.
He dropped a hand to play with the waistline of shorts, and you lifted your hips to allow him to get your sleep shorts and underwear off in one go. They quickly joined your shirt at the floor, and his hand had just started to trail between your thighs when his bedside phone gave off a loud shrill into the air. Jack acted as though he didn’t hear it, lips still suckling away at your chest.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” you panted between the grinds of your hips.
“Just let it ring,” he responded, but the sound had already ripped your attention away from between your legs.
With a smile, you reached over and picked up the phone, mind too full with pleasure to even think of the last time you picked up a phone without knowing who was on the other line. Really, you should have been more careful, but with Jack under your naked body, all caution was out the window.
“Jack’s busy right now,” you giggled into the phone, “but I can give him a message—”
“Hi, baby.”
Your hips stilled, and your blood froze at the sound of the distorted voice. A dizzying feeling replaced the warmth of pleasure in your system, and you could barely get out a response that wasn’t a small, terrified noise.
“Has Jack left you that speechless already?” he continued, voice sounding louder than it had last night over the phone. If you really thought about it, it felt as though he was right next to your ear. “Go on, baby. You were looking so pretty getting messy over him. I was really enjoying the show,” he growled, voice suddenly right over your shoulder instead of through the speaker.
You dropped the phone and whipped around right off Jack’s lap, and panic seized your chest, because right by the door, a tall man draped in black fabric and a hollowed-eyed white mask stared back at you. You started to scramble as a small scream ripped up your throat, but Jack was quicker. He grabbed your hips and brought you back to this lap, this time facing the masked intruder. His arms wrapped around your middle and held you through your struggles and tears.
“Jack, what the fuck!” you sobbed, hands wrenching and nails scratching at his arms. “Let me go! We’re going to die! Let me go, please!”
Instead of doing what you demanded, Jack tucked his chin onto your shoulder as the man started stalking toward the bed. With each step, your struggles grew. By now, Jack’s arms were littered with bleeding stripes from your desperation to get away, but that only added to his pleasure, cock never failing to fade into softness against your back. Your chest heaved and tightened the closer the man got before he stopped at the foot of the bed.
You watched with wide eyes as he raised a small box to where his lips would be under the mask before his empty gloved hand suddenly lifted the stretched-chin until the mask slipped from his face, and Robby’s dark brown eyes locked on yours.
His lips curled into a devilish smirk. “Surprise, baby.”
For a split second, you thought you’d pass out, suddenly overwhelmed with everything in a dizzy sensation.
“What?” you sputtered.
Jack hummed over your shoulder and ran a finger down your tear-streaked cheek. He pouted when you met his eye from the corner of yours.
“Aw, sweets, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Not enjoying our little surprise?” he taunted before a chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Awww, Mikey, look at her. The poor thing’s shaking.”
Robby let the voice modulator fall to the floor with a dulled thunk that kept your heart racing against your ribcage. In a desperate attempt to keep a distance between you and Robby, you tried to fling yourself to the side, but Jack just tightened his arms around you more.
“Not so fast,” he said. “Not when we haven’t gotten to the best part yet.” One arm let go so his hand could grip your chin to keep you facing Robby. “Go on and spread her legs for me.”
Without hesitation, Robby kneeled at the edge of the mattress and crawled until he reached where your feet planted against the comforter. His brown eyes, the hues almost black with lust, watched you intently as he placed his gloved hands on your naked knees. Yet, when he tried to part them, you swung a foot and connected it right between his legs, drawing a grunt from deep in his lungs.
He shuddered, his hand reaching down to palm himself over the long black robes he wore. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he fought to get air back in his lungs. As his hand pressed down harder, he groaned, looking up at you through his eyelashes. The inky blackness of his pupils swallowed the brown of his irises entirely.
The motherfucker liked that.
Jack’s hand slid down from your jaw and wrapped around the front of your throat, and his fingers squeezed lightly against the sides of your neck, sending a fuzzy wave to your brain, and your breath hitched, body stilling in his grasp. His lips softly grazed your ear as he whispered, “Be a good girl and stay still for us. You’ll like it, I promise.”
He jerked his chin out towards Robby, and you could only watch him finally grip your knees. In one fluid motion, he wrenched your legs apart, revealing your glistening cunt to both of them. Robby hummed lowly in amusement.
“You’re so wet for us, baby,” he mused and lowered his face until he was inches away from your core.
An embarrassed heat flooded your face and neck when he inhaled sharply. If you bucked your hips to get him to move back, you’d just shove his nose right into your folds, and if you withdrew them, you’d grind right into Jack’s cock. You were stuck, and neither seemed to be concerned with how you felt.
“Please let me go,” you pleaded with a whimper and squeezed-shut eyes. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Jack tutted against your ear. “It’s not that we don’t believe you, sweets, but . . .”
“We’ve already waited this long to have you like this,” Robby finished his sentence, finally pulling back from between your legs to look down at you as he ripped the gloves off. “We can’t let you go after we’ve worked so hard to get you right where we want.”
“You fucking murdered people,” you spat, body beginning to shift unconsciously as a result of your fear . . . or something closer to simmering arousal that you didn’t even want to admit to. “And now you think I’m just going to sit here and enjoy this?”
“Well, yeah,” Jack smacked his lips. “Cause even though you’re putting on a big show of being brave even if you’re terrified—” He reached down and ran a fingertip through your cunt from hole to clit before holding it up to the light to show just how wet it was. “Your body is still begging for us.”
You shivered against him. “It’s not—I’m not begging.”
Jack sighed loudly. “That’s okay; we know you will once we get started.” His hazel eyes met Robby’s gaze. “Go right ahead, Mikey.”
“Robby, please don’t,” you whispered as he leaned back down, bare fingers coming to grip at the soft insides of your thighs. “Don’t do this. I—”
You bit down on your lip to stifle the first moan that threatened to burst out as Robby’s tongue began to lick at your puffy folds, fingers curling into Jack’s freckled forearms and thighs jolting at the feeling. He held them down. His tongue moved inward and stiffened into a point to drag upward to your throbbing clit, the texture of his tastebuds adding to the buzzy stimulation. He toyed with you, going from circular motions to biting down gently with his front teeth. As he tilted his face to get a better angle, his beard rubbed against your inner thighs, and the scratchiness of it added to the burning pleasure from your core.
If he continued, he’d leave a lasting reminder of beard burn for you to remember this night.
Above, you refused to look down at him, lip staying between your teeth as he tried to break you. Jack was having none of it, and the hand around your throat pressed harder into your pulse points, cutting off your circulation to flood your brain with a hazy feeling that made the pleasure from Robby’s ministrations grow tenfold.
It was only when he licked around your sopping entrance that a keel ripped from your throat, and the sound was like music to their ears.
“Good job, sweetheart,” Jack muttered as he let go to allow oxygen to rush back in. “That’s what we want to hear. Keep going, Mikey. I wanna hear more.”
“Just keep her steady,” Robby responded against you, and his words sent vibrations tingling through your cunt, drawing out another heady moan. He continued to go back and forth from your clit to your hole before the first finger breached the tight entrance. “Oh, fuck, she’s tight,” he groaned, cock throbbing as he imagined sinking deep into you.
“Yeah?” Jack breathed. “Saved yourself just for us, sweets?”
“No,” you moaned out, hips slightly rocking to alleviate the stretch. “Nooooo shit!”
Robby sucked your clit as he began to pump his finger in and out, your innermost muscles clenching in uncontrollable spasms around the digit. Slowly, he felt you begin to loosen and suck him back in. Your head tilted back against Jack’s shoulder when he curled his finger upward, expertly finding your soft spot. Your back arched, and your hips raised into Robby’s face, making his nose catch against your clit.
A wave of pleasure washed over you. Your once tense muscles had relaxed as endorphins fought to replace your terror, leaving you close to putty and pliant between them. Your legs widened instinctively when Robby added a second finger.
“Oh—fuck!” you wailed out when both fingertips rubbed along your walls, slick gushing out with each thrust. “Robby!”
“There we go,” Jack gleefully said, voice filled with nothing but content as he felt your body drape against him, all fight draining the closer they got you to cumming. “I told you that you were going to like it.”
Somehow, Robby managed to get his fingers to reach further, and stars dotted your vision by how deep you could feel him. You didn’t want to imagine how deeper he could get with his cock—wait.
You were giving in. You couldn’t; this was wrong. They killed people. You needed to get away fast.
“Robby!” you parroted and followed with a moan as your lower belly simmered with something that was about to snap. “Gonna cum! Wanna cum!”
Finally, you looked downward and met his lidded gaze through his eyebrows, lower face hidden behind your soft mound as he continued to lick and suck and graze your bundle of nerves with his teeth. He was close to sending you right over the edge, but there was one thing they both wanted to hear.
They wanted you to beg for it.
Jack finally unwrapped his arms from your middle to start palming at your breasts again. “C’mon, sweets. Mikey’ll make you cum, but you need to ask nicely for it first. Just say the magic words and—” He pinched and pulled and twisted your nipples, and a cry ripped right out of you, “—he’ll give it to you.”
Your eyes burned with unshed tears, and somewhere deep, the need to push back flickered before being doused with a rush of arousal. Robby added a third finger and quickened his thrusts, causing a squelching noise to fill the room.
Finally, after feeling the heat about to boil over in your core, you whimpered out the smallest, “Please.”
Robby groaned against you, and bit down hard on your clit while curling upwards with stiff fingers. You came instantly, walls clenching rhythmically while Robby kept his pace steady to draw out your high for as long as possible. He watched the way your thighs shook and the way your arched beautifully, stomach curved out high as Jack continued to pull and grab at your breasts.
You all but collapsed back against Jack’s chest when Robby finally pulled away, your sticky arousal coating his lips and chin and also the three fingers that he stuck in his mouth. He held eye contact with you as he swirled his tongue between the slots. Jack huffed behind you.
“I want a taste,” he demanded, and Robby quickly leaned over you, robes draping across your heaving chest, and kissed Jack.
The loud slurping noises coming from over your head made you groan when your hole clenched around nothing.
“Tastes good,” Jack muttered before licking across Robby’s lips. “Tastes so fucking good, sweetheart,” he addressed you even if he was currently occupied. He bit down, and Robby whined as a metallic tang filled their shared saliva.
You lied there, and for a moment, your mind caught up to the situation at hand. Robby and Jack were the murderer—murderers? One to make the call, and the other to kill the student. Through the initial shockwaves of your orgasm, your stomach dipped, and you pushed up slightly, hoping they were both too into the other to miss the way you tried to inch across the bed. Jack pulled away suddenly and reached across, hands planting on both sides of your hips. Air rushed from your lungs at the sheer amount of his strength as he flipped you in one fluid motion and put you on your stomach.
“No, fuck you,” you whined against the covers. “I’ve never—”
Jack’s hands maneuvered you like a personal doll: knees pushing into the mattress and hips high in the air. He used his knees to knock yours wider to fit behind. You tried to push up on two hands, but he sent you right back down with a strong enough push between your shoulder blades. He held you down and pulled down the waistline of his sweatpants just enough to pull his cock out, lips parting in a hiss at the cold air enveloping his heated flesh. He sighed when he got a hand around himself, and the tip spurted out a line of precum. He used his palm to spread it across his length before he notched it at your entrance.
Your body tensed at just the feeling of the large head already barely fitting even if Robby had managed to get three fingers in you.
“Wait,” you said and gripped the comforter. “No, no, please wait, please, Jack, I’m a virgin, wait—”
As though your pleas fell on deaf ears, Jack slowly started to sink into you. He shuddered when your warmth sucked in the first inch like your cunt needed him even if you thought you didn’t.
“Fuck, sweets,” he hissed. “Robby said you were tight, but fucking—can’t believe I get to be your first.”
You gasped at the stretch and intrusion, and he kept feeding himself into you even after the first bit of resistance. You’d mold perfectly around him soon enough. Your inner thighs shook and tensed as he pushed in further, and sweat collected at your brow line as your body heated under the pressure. You shut your eyes tight, but that only made it difficult to concentrate on anything but the feeling of Jack’s massive cock bullying its way into you.
Jack pulled back slightly, and the drag of the head along your walls had you gasping for air.
“Too much for you?” Jack cooed as your whimpers hit his ears. “Shhhh, it’s okay, sweetheart, you can take it; I know you can.” He slowly pushed back in. “Take a deep breath for me, yeah? Big streeetch,” he drew out until the entirety of his length sat inside you.
Your chest heaved as much as it could into the mattress, and your jaw dropped to take in lungfuls of air. You felt too full, like one wrong move and Jack would rip you in half. It only got worse when he started to thrust, and his tip started tapping against your cervix with no more room to push into.
“J-Jack, f-fuck,” you stuttered, and tears once again streamed down your cheeks. “Please—fuck!”
He rocked his hips against yours to the point that his balls slapped against your ass with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am inside you?” he grunted while his hands tightened around your hips. “Fucking taking all of me. Such a needy girl for my cock.”
You bit down on the comforter, muffling your whines in an attempt to keep how much he was affecting you to yourself.
“Oh, sweets, that won’t do,” Jack tutted and sank a hand into your roots, fingers curling around the strands and yanking your head upward with a yelp. Your hands scrambled to get under you to relieve some of the pressure, but Jack didn’t stop thrusting, and the motion had your breasts swinging in the air. “Mikey, give her mouth something to do.”
You eyes widened because under Jack’s fucking, you somehow completely forgot about Robby. But now as he shrugged off the robe and unbuckled his pants to get his cock out, you started sobbing once more.
“Please don’t do this. I loved you two,” you weakly confessed, mind warring against your needy body, but all that did was make Jack angle his hips on an upward thrust to hit that spot that made you wail.
Robby fisted his cock while he raised your chin up, and his eyes softened for a split second. “You’ll just have to learn to love this version of us, baby, because we love you just like this.”
His words hit you in the pit of your stomach, and suddenly his words broke something inside you.
This was Jack and Robby, your two best friends who’d do anything for you. You couldn’t keep fighting against them if you tried.
Your jaw chomped shut hard enough that your teeth clicked together, but both of them were one step ahead. Jack let go of your hair and snaked a hand between your thighs to start circling his fingertips against your clit as he continued to fuck into you at a slowed pace, really wanting to draw this all out.
You couldn’t help the moan that flowed freely at the double stimulation attacking your cunt, and your jaw unhinged enough to let Robby slip the tip of his cock between your teeth. Instantly, the salty tang of his precum coated your mouth. He held the sides of your face and pushed in deeper.
“Another deep breath, baby,” he groaned before he thrust into your mouth, giving you barely any warning to brace for his cock to fill your mouth.
Your throat constricted in a gag, but a flick of Jack’s fingers around your bud paired with a harsh thrust pushed you forward until your nose right into Robby’s navel, his wiry happy trail filling your senses with his deep musky scent. Above you, Robby arched into the feeling and groaned into the air. You were now filled on both ends as you desperately tried to breathe in through your mouth.
Robby’s cock nestled against your tongue and a few inches down your throat. He was definitely longer than Jack, but the redhead had a much thicker girth than the brunette. Jack planted both his hands on your shoulders and pulled you back until Robby almost slipped right out. You sputtered and coughed from the lack of air, and a string of saliva wiggled down from your mouth to the bed.
In just a breath later, they resumed, and you moved upwards and backwards on them like a pig on a spit. You felt dizzy between the white-hot pleasure Jack gave your cunt and the fuzziness that took over when Robby slipped down your throat. Both men moaned and grunted when you seemed to clench down on them at the same time.
“Fuck, you weren’t kidding when you said she was—shit—so fucking tight,” Jack moaned when your walls spasmed around him, nearly cumming from the feeling. “You any close, sweets? Wanna feel you cum on my cock.” His words went straight to your body, and your pussy tightened. “Oh, you like when I talk to you? Is that right?”
You whined in response and nodded. .
His fingers picked up against your throbbing clit to meet his thrusts, and your stomach flipped with the onslaught of never-ending ecstasy flowing through your lower half. He could tell you were close when you started leaking around him, inner thighs sticky and wet enough to transfer onto his when he pushed into you with wet plap, plap, plap, plaps.
At your front, Robby continued lazily thrusting into your mouth with jerky motions, knowing that once Jack filled you, he’d have his turn to sink deep into your pussy. His head leaned back when he managed to make you gag, and your throat constricted and caught his tip. His large hand basically covered the back of your head. He kept you tucked against his navel even when you tried to jolt back to get more air. His soul thrummed at your panic, and he wondered if you could feel him get harder between your teeth.
“Uh, uh, uh, uh,” sputtered around Robby with every draw and snap of Jack’s hips.
“Just give in, sweetheart,” Jack whispered into your ear after slotting his stomach into the dip of your back. “Let us know that we’re making you feel so good.” Using two fingers, he pinched at your clit just as his hips began to stutter, a tell-tail sign that he was about to cum as well. “Fucking—shit—give it to me.”
With a muffled cry, your body shook as your second orgasm ripped right through your body. Jack could barely fuck into you with how hard you were clamping down on him as your cunt wept and dribbled onto the bed.
“Good—fucking—girl,” he punched out with three forceful thrusts. His hands planted back onto your hips, and his fingers curled white-knuckled into the skin so hard that you knew you’d have his fingerprints bruised into you by morning. His lower stomach pulsed when you began to whimper from overstimulation, and the sound had his cock throbbing. “Fuck, gonna fill you up, sweets. Gonna cum, gonna—fucking shit!”
He thrusted hard once, twice, three times before he stilled, cock spurting release into your fluttering hole. He had squeezed his eyes shut, but he peaked through his eyelids to see Robby lean over with a hand between your legs. The air knocked right out of Jack’s lungs when your cunt clamped down on him again near the end, and he guessed that Robby had rubbed right against your clit. Jack’s chest heaved through his high.
“Good job, sweetheart,” he muttered, giving little rocks of his hips to prolong his own pleasure, dick already softening just a bit. “You took me so well; so well.”
His hands loosened from your shoulders, and without any strength left in your wobbly arms, you fell right back into the bed, body twitching in the aftershocks. A whimper climbed from deep in your chest when he finally pulled out. Your hole clenched and pushed out a thick glob of the mix of your rapidly cooling slick and his cum from your walls.
You felt his finger drag along your folds to catch it just to push the mess right back in, drawing a mewl from your lips. Too tired and fucked out to care about what they did next, you let your hips lower until they rested against the bed. You heard some shuffling through the haze, and the next moment, your body flipped over. Each of your limbs tingled with warmth, and you let out the smallest giggle.
You enjoyed that more than you’d ever admit to it.
“What’s so funny, baby?” Robby asked as he took off the rest of his clothes just as Jack was taking off his crewneck but leaving his sweats still on.
Your eyes fluttered shut. “Think it’s funny that you said you loved me, but you killed people,” you slurred.
Jack and Robby shared a look before the taller took his place near your feet.
“Stephen deserved it, baby,” Robby darkly muttered. “And all those boys who came before him.”
Jack ran a soothing hand up and down your leg. “You’re our girl. We couldn’t let them live after how they acted towards you.”
Like he did earlier, Robby parted your legs, leaning down for half a heartbeat to press a small kiss to your twitching clit before trailing open-mouthed kissed up your stomach until he reached your lips. As though all fight drained out of you with the last climax, you matched his advances and kissed him back, legs absentmindedly parting to let him hover over you.
You were the one to break the kiss when he rutted his cock through your sopping, overly-sentivie folds. Your breath hitched high in your throat before breaking to give way to a shuddering moan. You tried to push him off, but his lips stayed glued to your neck.
He reached down and positioned his cock head to your entrance, and he slipped in with no resistance, the added lubrication of Jack’s spend and your relaxed muscles adding to his eased thrusting. The back of your head pushed deep into the mattress, and you swore you could feel Robby all the way up into your throat. Through lidded eyes, you caught the sight of Jack already hard again in his hand, his hazel eyes watching intently as Robby started to fuck you.
“Hnnngggg,” you moaned through your teeth. Robby’s tip hit your cervix with each forward movement. “Oh my—fucking—please, Robby!”
“Only took two orgasms to get you begging, hm?” Jack asked, and he reached over to pet at your face while simultaneously fucking up into his hand. His fingers traced your lips before he plunged them into your mouth. His breath stuttered when you started softly sucking on his digits.
“Whatever you’re doing up there,” Robby grunted, hips snapping into the heat of your walls, “she likes it. Her cunt’s clenching—shit—around me like a fucking vice, man.”
Your high-pitched whine came out all muffled through Jack’s fingers. Without someone holding your hips down, you began to meet Robby’s thrusts in shallow grinds. Where Jack’s cock stretched you out to the point of bliss, you wanted Robby’s length to stay buried deep to constantly rub against your walls. He must have understood what you wanted, because he stopped with the full thrusts and ground against your hips. The thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbed deliciously against your swollen clit, and you whined at the added stimulation.
After having climaxed twice so fast, it didn’t take long before you started to writhe under Robby’s frame, close to cumming without needing much.
“Gonna—” You gagged when Jack pushed his fingers in farther. “Gonna,” you warbled.
“Gonna cum already for us, baby?” Robby grunted. “Well, when you do, I wanna hear you cry my name, okay? Want your pretty mouth to spit it out.”
You nodded shakily and tried to respond, but Jack’s fingers were too deep for anything eligible to come out. After thrusting them a bit more and getting them slick with your saliva, Jack pulled them out of your mouth. You squealed loudly when his fingers rubbed between your clit and where Robby was rutting into you.
“Ooohhhh,” you breathed. “Jack! Feels good!”
“Yeah? Does it feel better when I do this?” Suddenly, the pressure inside your walls exploded as Jack nudged his pointer finger into your hole, digit brushing against Robby’s cock to make you feel fuller than you ever had. “I bet that feels really good for you, sweetheart. Got your hole all nice and filled to the brim.”
He tried to angle his wrist as best he could to press upward, and your thighs tried to close around his hand, but Robby’s hips kept them spread wide open. Needing to alleviate the pressure, you dug your feet into Robby’s lower back and arched into his chest. In one more movement to grind against Jack’s hand and Robby’s cock, you came instantly in a soundless scream.
Robby folded over as your walls suddenly clamped down on him without warning. Your chest shook in a deep sob as the pleasure almost became too much. But through the shivers and pinpricks of euphoria, you remembered what Robby had asked.
“Michael!” you screamed, hips jolting uncontrollably against him. “Micahel! Michael!”
Like some Pavlovian effect, Robby groaned loudly with stuttering hips, cock spurting with hot waves of cum deep inside and fusing his and Jack’s cum to your cunt. No matter who you else might fuck in life, they’d always know that their cum was in you first.
“Such a good baby,” Robby spat, mind barely keeping up with the feeling of your warmth entrapping his cock. “So smart for remembering. Fucking love it when you say my name. Fucking love you.”
Your eyes had squeezed shut yet again right before you felt splatters across your face and heard a plethora of curses and moans from Jack above you. Some of his cum painted across your eyes, and you could only lie there and take his spend to your face.
For a moment, you ceased to exist on the bed, mind floating blissfully somewhere else as you stewed in the slowing waves of your probably final orgasm. It wasn’t until you felt a warm, wet towel against your face did you open your eyes again. You blinked rapidly to clear them of the gloss that had taken over, and Jack cooed softly as he wiped his drying cum from your cheeks.
“There she is,” he whispered. “There’s our girl. You did so well for us, sweetheart. Can’t believe we got to finally do this with the girl we love.”
There it was again: their declarations of love.
You wondered if it was all a ploy, but with their soft touches and slow roll of your pliant body to settle between them as sleep licked at your body, something settled inside your chest. Sure, they’d killed people, but they’d been right about what they said. Stephen deserved it, deserved what they did to him along with all the other boys who’d made you uncomfortable before meeting their ultimate demise.
They’d done it all for you . . . because they loved you.
Your lip twitched into a soft smile as you relaxed into the blanket Jack tossed over the three of you.
“I love you both, too.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Morning light was the first thing to cause your closed eyelids to glow as your body slowly woke up. Instead of gently being lolled from your sleep, you became instantly aware of where you were and more importantly who you were between. Sometime after falling asleep, you’d managed to tuck yourself under Robby’s chin while Jack clung to your back, their shared heat making the bed feel like a furnace. You shifted. One leg slipping from between Jack’s, and your hips tilting away from Robby’s.
Yet, you’d barely moved a few inches when Jack was the second to wake up. He muttered something sleepily before tightening his arms around your middle.
“Don’t go,” he slurred, voice still thick with sleep.
“I need to pee,” you whispered back, but all you really wanted was to retreat to the bathroom to wrap your mind around what had happened last night: their confessions, them fucking you, you confessing your love for both of them. If you stayed any longer, the dream of last night might become reality, and you weren’t ready to face the possibility that you might become their next victim.
Robby shuffled slightly at your front and nuzzled his cheek into the top of your head. “Pee here. Pretty sure Jack’s into that,” he sighed, almost like he was seconds away from falling back asleep, however, his eyes shot open when Jack whacked him in the face with a spare pillow.
“I don’t have a piss kink,” the redhead groaned, not even opening his hazel eyes. “I just think it’s hot.”
“Then it constitutes as a piss kink, kid.”
Jack pushed up with one arm while rapidly blinking the sleep away. “Can we not kink shame your boyfriend, please? We get one morning with her between us, and you start spouting bullshit nonsense.”
“Guys,” you whined. “Enough.” Your head tilted down until your forehead connected with Robby’s chest. “Let’s just get this all over with.”
Jack paused with another pillow mid-way in the air, fingers letting go to let it drop down to the bed. He slightly curled around your shoulder and tried to meet your eye. “Get over with what?”
Robby twirled a piece of your hair around a finger. “What’s going on in that head, baby?”
“I already know what will happen next. You’re going to tell me that last night was a fluke, and I’m about to show up on the news as another dead body,” you spat. “So, please, make it painless and get on with it.”
Over your head, Robby and Jack shared a look of concern before Jack plastered himself along your back.
“No, sweetheart, no,” he cooed. “That’s like the exact opposite of what’s going to happen. We weren’t lying when we said we loved you.”
You shook your head and closed your eyes. You didn’t believe them. How could you after all they’ve done?
“Listen, baby,” Robby started as he pushed back to make you look at him, “Jack and I love you so much, and the thought of us never being able to have you pushed us over the edge. It’s like an itch we can’t scratch unless we get rid of the problems.”
“And the problems were all those boys who either thought they had a chance or made you uncomfortable by thinking you wanted them back,” Jack growled, and the noise went right to your core. “We fucking love you so much, and it was agony to see them hurt you, so we hurt them in return—like, take them out entirely.”
“No one messes with you unless they want to mess with us,” Robby stated. “But we’d never hurt you, baby. I think we’d both rather kill the other if we ever did.”
They both waited in silence for you to answer, and for a moment, they thought that you were able to push away, grab your clothes, and run out the door with how heavy you were breathing. But then, they both noticed the way your thighs shifted together, and it dawned on them that you were into this—them killing men just for you.
“You really mean that?” you finally asked, voice meek and scared for them to laugh and yell psych!
“We’d let you kill us if we didn’t, sweetheart” Jack said, voice steady and strong. “Our hearts beat only for the other and you.” He placed a kiss on your bare shoulder before lightly biting into your skin.
Robby inhaled sharply. “We’ll stop . . . if you want us to. No more games, no more murders—”
“Unless you want us to,” Jack added. “Say the word, and you’ll have a heart on a platter if you wish.”
A loud groan rumbled through your chest, and your hips jutted back against Jack’s front. “You two can’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not?” Robby asked, and you could hear the smirk in his words.
“Becasuse—” You squeaked when Jack suddenly palmed at your breasts under the covers. “Because it makes me feel . . .”
“Good?” Jack filled in, but you shook your head.
“Loved. It makes me feel loved, and it’s fucking crazy to say that, because you’re willing to murder people if I ask for it.”
Your thighs parted when you felt Robby try to prod between them, and a lazy sigh exhaled from your lips as he slowly started to circle your clit through your puffy folds that were still slick from last night’s activities.
“We’re willing to do a lot more than murder,” he muttered, lips pressing into every inch of your face. “But we have you now, and unless anyone thinks they can get through us, we won’t need to put any more bodies in the ground.”
“Promise?” you asked with a pant catching the end of the word.
“Promise,” Jack grunted, hips bucking into your ass.
“Promise,” Robby echoed.
“Okay, okay,” you said. “I was also telling the truth when I said that I loved you both. Just wanting to make it clear that this goes both ways.”
“Good,” Jack said as he placed two hands on both sides of your hips. “Now, flip on your front. I wanna feel your cunt cum on my cock again.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ ·
Night was not the best place to be hanging around a parking lot in the middle of Pittsburgh. Unfortunately for Brendon Park, he found himself doing just that around an hour after his shift ended at 9 pm, eyes narrowed at his slashed tires on his brand new Porsche. Someone had done this, and all he needed to do was wait for the stupid tow truck and security officer to come help him out. He could have left it for the morning and gotten an uber, but Park was a proud man.
And yet, what did they say about pride? It commeth before the downfall.
He was so busy huffing and puffing while stalking back and forth along his car that he failed to hear the twin footsteps rapidly approaching behind him. He didn’t even know he wasn’t alone until a white-hot pain in his side froze him in his tracks. His torso twisted, but that just dug the scalpel in deeper. He stumbled to get away, but all he was met with was another parallel stab to his other side.
Automatically, Park applied pressure over the blood already soaking through his scrub top. He looked down and hissed before looking for his assailant. He squinted into the dark, and his breath hitched when twin robed figures stepped out into the small bit of light coming from a close to burning out lamp. It was almost like the two were from a slasher movie in the 90s with their hollowed-eyed halloween masks and glittering robes that donned their bodies, keeping Park from knowing who had just stabbed him twice.
“What the fuck?” he hissed as he backed up into his Porsche’s driver door, hand trying to grip the handle but failing because of his blood’s slickness. “I’ll give you money or whatever the fuck you want but stay right over there or I swear I’ll call the cops.”
One of them tilted his head, and Park felt the dead eyes stare right through his soul.
He watched as the other—the taller one—raised a box to where his mouth would be behind the mask.
“You wanna know what we want, Brendon Park?” he asked, voice distorted through the modulator.
“I’ll give it to you,” Park grunted, the pain blooming up his sides and into his chest. They must have hit one of his kidneys and possibly an organ with how fast the anguish was spreading, making it hard to breathe in and out.
The taller looked down at the shorter, and their eyes met before they nodded. Park’s eyes widened when they both produced longer knives than the shorter ones they stabbed him with. The modulator rose again, and what he said next sent a chill right through Park’s stomach.
“We want to see what your insides look like.”
Without a beat, the two robed figures pounced on him, and in just a few minutes, Park slunked down to the concrete, leaving a painted bloodied smear across his car’s door. With satisfaction pumping through their veins, the two watched as he took his last wheezing breath before dying in a puddle consisting of almost all his blood. His body wouldn’t be found until the morning with stab wounds littering his body. His fault for parking away from everyone else in fear of his car getting scratched.
Only when the two were sure they were the only breathing beings in the lot, they ripped off the masks, and Jack huffed loudly.
“Murder was so much easier in med school when I wasn’t missing a fucking leg,” he grumbled while shifting his weight onto his real leg. He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked salt-and-pepper curls.
“Tell me about it,” Robby answered. “If he were any shorter, my knees would have given out if I had to bend down.” He kicked at Park’s leg and smirked when the body recoiled slightly. “But man did that feel good.”
“I’m kinda glad he decided to go off on her. Last mistake he’d ever make, but nothing beats the rush of this.”
The memory of Park berating you in the middle of their ER flashed through their minds. They'd seen the way you flinched under his words in a way they hadn't seen in decades. They'd wanted to kill him right then and their, but Robby and Jack weren't ones to break their promises, however, the next time all three of you had the day off, you told them what you wanted between moans as Robby sandwiched you between his and Jack's chest.
"I want him gone," you had whimpered out, forehead pressing into Jack's collar bone while Robby rocked you back and forth on his cock.
"Want who gone, sweets?" Jack questioned before grunting loudly when his tip notched against your clit.
"Park—shit—I want him gone."
You wanted them to kill Park, and they were never ones to disappoint.
Robby went to say something, but the shrill of his iPhone had him digging and floundering through the drapes of robes. When he managed to bunch the fabric, he reached into his pocket and took out his phone, answering it without a second glance.
“Hello? Michael Robinavitch speaking.”
“Do you want to play a game?” a voice answered from the speaker, and the two glanced at each other with devilish, knowing smiles.
“Depends on what type of game it is, sweetheart,” Jack responded, crossing his arms against his chest.
“I wanna know how much it’ll take to make you two scream.” Your small laugh followed, you not being able to take this as seriously as the two had back in school.
Robby brought his phone up closer to his mouth. “I don’t know the exact answer, but I think you can start with being naked and face down on the bed by the time we get back.”
“I think that can be arranged. Get home soon, or I might have to play the game myself.”
When Did You Get So Hot? - Animal Kingdom SMAU Masterlist
+18 MDNI
summary - you've been friends with deran and craig for forever. andrew "pope" cody has always intimated you, until one day you start to see him in a new light.
pairing - fem!reader x pope cody
content - (varies by chapter) reader is an awkward mess around pope, reader is both scared and horny, lewd conversations, age gape relationship (reader is around deran's age), characters are ooc, the plot is not going to follow the show (we're having fun here), my cringe sense of humor.
from what we've seen in the show, you can't convince me that jack doesn't live a good gossip session. and he's so messy with it too. like he does not care who's around, whether they're the victim or just an innocent bystander, he's talking about the latest gossip with you.
you were sitting at your desk, typing up your latest chart, when jack comes rolling in on a chair beside you. "did you hear about the latest girl of robby's?" he asks you, not even bothering to whisper. that catches your attention almost immediately. far more interesting than the information on screen in front of you.
"no, who?"
"do you remember shannon? she's one of the on call psychiatrists here." you nod. "well, apparently, she and robby hooked up last night and he left in the middle of the night. didn't even bother to leave a note. just up and left."
"how do you know all this?"
"because he's my best friend, sweetheart," he says it in that 'duh' like tone. "he told it to me himself. oh and the tension between them when they ran into each other earlier? it was uncomfortable as hell. you should've been there."
you snort, looking back at your charts. "god, i wish. no offense to your best friend, jack, but he's got a terrible track record with women. and she's so nice too! i can't believe he would ever do that to her."
"trust me, i've tried telling him that. but he just won't listen. no matter how many times-" jack's voice gets cut off with a sharp clear of someone's throat. it's almost comical the way you both simultaneously turn around, only to come face to face with gloria.
"are you two working or gossiping?" she asks with a stern look, crossing her arms.
nothing but a squeak comes out of you. jack might be an attending, meaning he's practically invincible to gloria and her punishment. but you were just starting your residency here at ptmc. she could easily write you off and send you away. but the man comes to your rescue without a second thought.
"don't get mad at her, gloria. she was working and i interrupted her. that's on me," jack says smoothly, shooting her his charming smile. it works well enough for her, since she accepts his answer with a soft hum before walking away.
"we'll finish our discussion later, sweetheart," he whispers to you, shooting you a wink.
flash forward a couple months to a year, and you're both dating. over time you had learned that jack was partially deaf due to his time in the army, so he occasionally relied on sign language to communicate. which he obviously taught you. your movements were a little more rusty and slow compared to his, but he was patient whenever you tried to talk to him using your hands. having this silent way of talking made it so much easier to gossip when at work. because now you didn't have to worry about others hearing you.
ellis and shen stand by the charge nurse's station, watching as you two talk by signing accordingly. "are they gossping in... sign language?" shen asks, taking a sip from his seemingly never empty dunkin cup.
"yeah, abbot started teaching it to her shortly after she got here," ellis answers.
"he never taught us sign language after we started working here."
"true, but we didn't start dating or move in with him either."
shen shrugs, taking another sip. "that's fair."
a loud laugh escapes you at something that jack signs, to which a huff of laughter comes from him in return. there's a small smile of admiration on his face, as well.
"i'm kinda jealous," shen speaks up after seeing that display.
"...yeah, me too. maybe she'll teach us so we can all gossip together."
Content warning; MDNI public sex, squirting, degradation, fucking at work, breeding kink, praise
A/n: I don’t support or use Ai, don’t copy my work and feed it into that bs please🙏
"Such a good girl, you like getting fucked in public?," he mocked you, his cock deep inside of you and making your stomach bulge. He was pressing you face first into the wall of the on call room, one leg held up by his hand, making him fuck you so so much deeper. To say that Jack was fucking you stupid in the storage closet was an understatement, the man was fucking your soul at the same time.
His hips were slapping against your ass, his belly pressed against your back in a perfect angle. "Jaa- oh fuck," you shrieked as he kept fucking into your spongy and sensitive g spot, your eyes rolling back hard, your lips parted in a silent scream. "Shh, come on, baby, you don’t wanna get us caught, yeah? Or do you want the whole ER to know what a desperate slut you are for me? Wanna let everybody know how much she loves my cock?," he taunts, his hand cupping your pussy while he fucks into you hard, the wet slaps of his hips against yours echoing in the small room. The more he talked, the more he could feel your desperate and achy cunt squeeze him, choking his heavy cock.
"Oh-ho, she definitely loves this, don’t you?,“ he coos and bites down hard on your shoulder as you start nearing your orgasm. You could feel your pussy strangling him and the desperate urge to pee as he kept hitting that oh so sensitive spot inside of you, opening you up for his own pleasure.
"Jack please, you‘re gonna- please," you sob and cry into the wall, before your orgasm consumes you, squirting out of you and wetting his thighs and stomach. "Fuck, such a good fucking girl, squirting on my cock like a slut," he groans, his own orgasm taking over and filling your begging cunt up.
He kept fucking you and himself into overstimulation, before finally pulling out and quickly pulling your panties and scrubs back up. "Keep it all inside of you, want you full of my cum," he whispers in your ear, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you. You try to catch your breath and lean into him, happy and satisfied. You were his little brat after all.
pairing: jack abbot x f!reader
summary: a blurb about reader and jack’s escapades in bed. With filming mini sex tapes being one of their favourite ways to spice things up in the bedroom.
tags/content: smut 18 + MDNI, sex tapes, dirty talk, pet names, idk its pretty self explanatory, softdom!abbot, established relationship, freak4freak.
a/n: if you think you have seen this before you may have! my old account imabbotbeliever was deleted by the tumblr gods so i am reposting my old work! back to regular a/n! explicit writing eeeek! luv the idea of freak4freak gotta meet each other on the same page, implied previous conversations on kink/boundaries etc. Healthy boundaries and communication is important and hot u guys!
There is really something about how Abbot loves to film you. He really is obsessed with you, the way you squirm under his gaze, under his touch, and of course under his filthy habit of filming little snippets of your sex life. You can see it in his eyes, he’d be all sweet and loving on you rubbing down your tits, whispering sweet nothings into your ears as he bites down on your ear and jaw. You’d see the glint in his eyes when you moan a bit louder at the contact of his teeth with your jaw and he pulls back quickly, pushing into you deeply. Without missing a beat (or thrust), Jack reaches over you to get his phone from the nightstand, telling his pretty girl to keep going, just like that, with you taking over, rocking your hips up towards Jack with a level of determination you reserve only for the bedroom. He takes his phone in one hand, and drills into you just the way you like it, eyes rolling back and whimpers running out of your mouth. Oh it’s like he is so obsessed with catching you mid orgasm, clawing at him to pay attention to you, but no, he is too busy with his phone,
“Sush, this is for us - for when we aren’t together baby”.
And you stretch more, over exaggerate like the good girl you are, tits up to the camera, desperate for him to tell you how well you are doing, a firm hand landing on the side of your hip, squeezing the soft flesh, half moons from his nails pressing into your skin.
“oh Jackie please, please, oh please - yes!”,
exclaiming as he aids you riding out that wave, thumb of his freehand swirling around your clit, laughing smugly at your desperation. As much as Jack loves to see you like this, his favourite part, to catch on camera, more than your desperate moans or your hips rocking harshly against his, it is his ropes hitting your chest with you all blissed out, pussy pulsing from the sudden loss of him inside. He murmurs over and over as he cums -
“oh god yeah, such a pretty girl for me - oh god f-uck”.
He makes damn sure to zoom in on how his cum looks on your plush tits, capturing the obscenity of it all. As you both come down from it all, heavy breathing and deep kisses, Jack puts the phone down beside you turning it off. With one deep kiss on your jaw he tells you that he doesn’t think its possible to love you anymore, telling you in between laboured breaths that your his -
“Sweet, sweet angel, I love you so much baby”
If anyone found out what the two of you got up to in the bedroom, you’d be mortified, you think you’d have to leave the country from embarrassment, but in the moment Jack makes you feel so good, so safe and so loved that you couldn’t care less that he takes out his phone, in fact, you secretly love putting on the performance of a lifetime for him as he shines the camera light in your face. Afterwards, you are lying in bed, water in hand, chest cleaned with the precision only he could have, head on his chest curled in as if you’d die if you didn’t have as much surface area contact between your bodies as possible, asking Jack -
“You would never show anyone these videos would you?”
the post sex clarity and anxiety slowly seeping in. Jack sweeps the messy strands of your hair off your forehead, looking down on you with a level of softness that makes your legs weak. A look of concern washes over his eye, as he pushes those gorgeous, now damp, curls off of his forehead, trying to gauge how serious you are being right now. You know he wouldn’t ever actually do anything with the video or spread it around, but you need to be reassured anyways.
“No sweetness, why would I ever do something so cruel to you?”
And you hum sleepily against his side curled up, and god, you would do anything to stay like this forever. As you sink further into his side, Jack thinks of all the times he’s looked at the select few videos he has of you, tucked away in a private password protected folder, made especially for when your schedules don’t align and god the sound of your moans nearly give him a heart attack with how much it makes him want you. It leaves him counting down the hours until the next time he gets to hear you keen “Jackie” at him again. He sighs in sync with you, wondering what he did to deserve a woman like you in his life, his sweet, sweet girl.
Kiss Me and I Might Drop Dead - Stan Rosado College!Au SMAU Masterlist
+18 MDNI
summary - reader is less than thrilled when she gets paired up with stan rosado for a biology project. stan, though? he may or may not have a crush on our little weirdo.
pairing - weird!fem!reader x stan rosado
content - (varies per chapter) no aliens, everything is normal. modern day setting. everyone is aged up. college!au. reader is awkward, weird and nerdy. stokely & delilah are girlfriends in this. jock x nerd. does not follow the plot of the faculty.
⊹ jack abbot makes you ride him while you finish fighting
warnings: 18+ minors dni! unprotected piv, established relationship, multiple positions ( spooning, prone, cowgirl ) fingering, dirty talk, overstimulation, biting, jack jealousy-bating, jack provoking overandover again, angry sex!!!! lots of name-calling, hair pulling/tugging, light spanking, literally them using sex to take out frustration ⊹ notes: ANDDDDD POST BYE !!!!!! queued her
pettiness was your strong suit. it was – in fact – one of the reasons why jack had fallen for you in the first place, back when it had been aimed at anyone but him. he’d found it utterly delightful, his little menace that could hold grudges like a steel trap. it’d turned on him now.
you’d folded into the far side of the bed, facing the wall, your spine all stiff. you’d stormed in here twenty minutes ago mid-argument and claimed the bed like a fort, and you’d been lobbing grievances over your shoulder ever since, even as jack finished getting ready in the bathroom, even as the water shut off and his footsteps came and went.
“and another thing,” you announced in the direction of the wall. “if it were my work thing, you would not call that a date. you’d call that watching me work. which is what this is. so don’t act like you’re being romantic – ”
“are you done?”
you were, in fact, just getting started. if all went according to plan, you would’ve continued this after the event (you weren’t that petty) and been mad in his ear allllll night long, lullaby-ing him to sleep with a list of all his wrong choices; you would’ve named a problem for every hour in a sweet sing-song voice.
you made your first mistake by glancing over your shoulder at him; shirtless, slacks open and belt dangling, hair still slightly damp, standing in the doorway like he had all the time in the world and no fight to lose.
it was, frankly, a cheap shot to show up looking like that in the middle of an argument you were winning.
he raised a brow, then shook his head before he crossed the room in three long strides and climbed in behind you. his fingers went straight to the hem of the t-shirt you’d put on after finishing your makeup and pulled it over your head. you made a sound of protest, but lifted yourself up just slightly to let him do it. answer enough, you supposed.
he tossed it aside, and his hands were immediately on you, sliding down your ribs until one hand settled on your hip, fingers splaying, while the other dipped lower, cupping the curve of your ass and giving it a squeeze that made you inhale sharply.
“still mad?” he asked, leaning in for his mouth to brush against your shoulder blade. his hand kneaded at your hip, moving to the soft inside of your thigh.
“yes,” you said, but it came out weaker than before. “jack – ”
your words stopped as his hand moved from your hip to your breast, gathering the weight under his palms before his thumb came up to brush against your hardened peak.
“hello? cat got your tongue?” he said through a snort, pulling you flush against him, chin going into the curve of your neck. he ground his hips against you then, letting out a low breath through his mouth. he pushed a fist into the mattress by your ribs, caging you in. “what d’you wanna talk about?”
“i’m serious, jack,” you said, trying to force your voice even. “you wouldn’t call it a date.”
he hummed, fingers shamelessly sliding down as he said, “come on, baby. if you wanna keep talkin’ about this, you gotta do better than that.”
“do better – ” you let your neck turn back to face him, and he immediately tilted his head down, his tongue peeking out as he tried to bite back a grin. “ – my points are good enough.”
he ducked and caught your mouth, teeth nipping at your lip the same second his fingers slid under the lace. he smiled into the kiss, fingers running down your folds. you pulled away immediately, going to face the wall again.
“did this happen when you called me a smug asshole?” he circled the pad of his finger once over your clit, causing you to shudder slightly against him. “or when you decided i’m a liar?”
“jackass,” you muttered.
“real creative.” he shifted behind you, other hand going to shove his slacks further down his hips, freeing his cock. he pulled back slightly, and wrapped his hand around himself, stroking once – twice – before pressing the head of it to the curve of your ass. he exhaled once through his nose, intertwining his fingers through yours and moving them around him.
“i’ve been like this for the last twenty minutes,” he supplied casually, then groaned when your fingers instinctively moved around him.
“i’m still mad at you,” you said, but you were already moving your hand because you did also want him inside you. it’d been too long.
he rocked himself into your hand. “yeah – okay. let’s fix that, too, while we fix this.”
he moved to his side, lining himself up between your thighs before fitting himself in between. his fingers slid down your underwear again, fingers grazing over your folds before pressing down on your clit.
his fingers continued circling, while two others slid lower, the hard line of his cock pressing heavy against your ass each time he rocked forward.
“can’t call this a date,” you muttered, even as your breathing picked up.
“no?” he murmured. “this won’t do?” he nodded absentmindedly behind you, then his fingers came up just to slide down your underwear over the curve of your hips and down your thighs until the lace was sitting at your knees.
“two weeks – missed this,” he muttered, more to himself than you, and immediately pressed back into you, sliding his cock fully between your thighs now, the head of him dragging through your folds with every roll of his hips.
“also, it is a date – i’m takin’ you – ” he said, angling his hips so his head notched against your entrance. “ – as my date.”
“it’s not.” you pushed your hips back against him.
he tutted softly, hand holding the base of him as he pressed his tip against you, just enough to make you feel the pressure of the stretch starting, then pulled back.
“impatient,” he murmured, doing it again.
“we don’t have time,” you shot back. “just put it in – ”
“yes, ma’am,” he breathed out, amused, and angled himself to sink into you with one slow, sharp push. his entire body went rigid the second he bottomed out, a groan rumbling in his chest as the stretch hit you.
a broken sound came out of your throat before you could swallow it, after two weeks of nothing. your walls instinctively clenched around him, and his grip on your hip went bruising-tight.
“fuck, been so empty haven’t you?” his forehead dropped to your shoulder blade. “sorry, sweetheart. forgot you just needed me like this.”
you tried to glare, albeit at the wall, but your hips pushed back to take the last inch of him. “shut up.”
he just laughed softly, already pulling back to go again. “i know i’ve been thinkin’ about this every night.”
your teeth grit together to hold back the moan, your fingers twisted into the sheets as your body clenched around him on instinct, spine arching even while you fought to stay rigid.
“so mad at me – shit, huh?” his fingers came up with some tremor to your shoulders, pulling you into him even further as he slid in. “just ‘cause you missed this, baby? should’ve asked hours ago instead of arguin’ with me about tonight.”
your hips moved back to bury him to the hilt, causing his palm to tighten on your shoulder with a groan. “no, i missed you,” you said sharply. “you, asshole.”
his breath shuddered, and you felt him nod against your skin. “makin’ such sweet words sound so mean.”
he punctuated his words by moving his hand down to your spine and shoving you forward, forcing your chest flat against the mattress. he followed you down, pinning you completely – chest-to-back, hips locked tight against your ass – prone. his knee nudged yours wider, letting him sink even deeper on the next stroke.
he blew out a sharp, deliberate breath into your ear. “can’t run that mouth so easy when i’ve got you like this, can you?”
“are you trying to shut me – ” you started, words coming out into the pillow.
“huh?” he dipped his head to the side to meet your smushed face, brows rising in amusement. his forearms came up to rest at the curve of the back of your neck. “sayin’ something?”
you twisted just enough to glare at him over your shoulder, still trying to form the argument – something about obligations and dates and missing him so much – but the words stayed half-formed when he pointedly drove in particularly deep and your breath left you in a sharp, broken sound.
he watched your face with a small, smug smile, not slowing.
“yeahhh, that’s what i thought,” he muttered and kept fucking you. his mouth brushed the shell of your ear. “poor thing, can’t even finish a sentence. needed this, huh?”
“i did not – ”
“mhm, lying now, too – ” his forearm flexed, fingers coming out to absentmindedly brush your hair out of your face. “thought i was the liar.”
“don’t touch me,” you muttered, turning your face into the pillow again.
“stop squeezing me so tight then,” he said through a rough pant, thrusting up once meanly.
“i’m not kidding – ” you said, firmer now. “it was a – fuck – shit thing for you to do.”
“mhm.”
“i’m not being unreasonable.” you had to grit your teeth together when one of his palm came down to knead the side of your hips. “a date is you and me – your being a shit boyfriend when i haven’t – ”
your words cut off with a sharp gasp as he rolled the two of you in one irritated motion, keeping himself buried as he put you on top. his hands clamped hard on your hips, pushing you down until you were seated fully on his cock.
the sudden shift punched the air from your lungs, and before you could steady yourself, he was already driving up into you.
“jesus, you just can’t let up,” he muttered, eyes locked on where you were taking him. “wanna look at you ride me while you keep running that mouth.”
“getting tired, old man?” you raised a brow.
he shook his head softly, fingers reaching out to rub over your clit.
“old man, shit boyfriend – m’fucking you and letting you argue.” he pressed a harder circle, pausing only to come down on your ass in a sharp slap suddenly, making you gasp. “giving you everything you need at once, and i’m a shit boyfriend.”
he reached out to press his palm flat just below your navel.
“can’t take me on a date – ” you used his chest to pull yourself up, then come down, “ – though.”
his eyes flicked up to your face with a small, strained smirk as his fingers pressed down firmer on your stomach.
“it is a date,” he said, as he drove up hard to meet you on the next downward slide. his other palm flexed on your hip to keep you down as he pushed up even further. “fuckin’ – nice event. you. me. dressed up.” he took in a sharp breath through gritted teeth as your nails dug into his chest. “sounds like a damn date to me.”
“it’s work,” you shot back. “you’re just calling it a date so you don’t have to feel bad about cancelling.”
“i didn’t cancel – anything.” his hand came up to push into your hair, pulling your face closer. “i invited you. you want me to leave you home, huh?” his jaw was tight as he tugged your hair back slightly. “things happen. plans change.”
“i don’t want to watch you work, i want to spend time with you,” you managed, surprised by how even your voice came out, considering.
“christ – ” he used the grip on your hair to keep you close, foreheads nearly touching. “actin’ like i signed us up for a week in the desert. it’s dinner. you don’t wanna go?”
he leaned to press your forehead against his. “don’t. imagine alllll the women who’ll try to talk to me, huh?”
“asshole,” you breathed out, nails digging into his shoulders now as you lifted and dropped again. “asshole.”
he snorted through his nose, tugging once on your hair before letting go, leaning back down onto the pillow. “keep ‘em coming, baby. keep punishin’ me for havin’ a job while you’re sittin’ on my cock.”
his hand went to your thigh, spreading on wider so he could push up even deeper.
“you want time with me?” he muttered. “this is time. right now. i’m in you. you’re on me, and you’re still finding ways to be pissed.”
he tilted his chin to catch your lips between his teeth. “you want me to yourself at dinner? i’ll fuck you in the bathroom if you want that, too.”
“this isn’t the same and you know it.”
“isn’t it?” he sat up further, both arms going around your back so your chests were flush. “because from where i’m at, i’ve got my girl riding me, calling me names, and still taking inch like she’s been starving for it. feels pretty damn close to spending time together.”
“principle – ” you tried to say, words cutting off as your hands got distracted to tug at the short hairs at the nape of his neck harshly.
“principle’s pretty shit when i can feel you’re close,” he murmured, mouth brushing yours.
“yeahhh,” he breathed out, feeling you clench on him as your thighs started to shake. “we’ve got ten minutes and if you wanna finish this fight, you finish it on my cock.”
“won’t make it better,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to push through the building pressure – chasing it, pushing it away. “you still – jack – made this whole thing about you – ”
your sentence broke off into a sharp, helpless moan as the orgasm crashed into you. jack didn’t let up, if anything he held you down tighter, hips rutting up against you as you came.
his eyes were trained to your face, pupils thoroughly darkened. “aw, i’m sorry,” he cooed, fingers coming up to brush the hair off your face. “you were in the middle of tellin’ me off. don’t let me interrupt you.”
you opened your mouth to keep going, voice still shaky, and jack’s arms slid up your back to pull you down flush against his chest, crushing you into him so your face was buried in his chest.
“please finish what you were saying,” he muttered against your ear, one forearm caging you in. he let out a soft snort when you only whimpered, then added, “i’ll help. you were saying i was making this whole thing about myself.”
“you always – always do this. make everything about you and then act like i’m being difficult,” you – well, lied.
jack groaned low at your words, only spurred on even more.
“i do? y’really think so?” he mused, almost conversationally. his hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit and pressing there, holding the pressure while driving up in one-timed strokes that made you gasp. “i make everything about me?”
“you do – ” you started, but the words dissolved when he pressed his palm flat against your lower belly, the pressure from both angles sudden and overwhelming, making everything tighten impossibly.
you groaned into his neck, and he tilted his face to the side to press his lips along your hairline.
“yeahhh, clearly i do.” he pressed a kiss to your ear, almost tender. “it’ll make me feel better to know you’re sittin’ all mad throughout the dinner you don’t wanna go to filled with me.”
SUMMARY: Jack Abbot is not an overly-neighborly person. He has secret nicknames in his head for most of the people on his floor and actively avoids any and all types of neighbor politics. However, he can’t deny his growing fondness for the single mom and toddler in apartment seventeen. (Nor his burning hatred for your baby daddy).
WARNINGS: this series includes a very chaotic reader with an even more chaotic toddler, mentions of abandonment, Jack's inability to consider anything good and worthwhile for himself, eventual smut, friends to lovers, mentions of previous abusive relationships, mentions of mental health struggles, miscommunication, age gap (reader is around 27 and Jack is in his 40's), medical inaccuracies and more.
A/N: I am very very excited to share this series and bring it to life. It started as a very random idea that quickly transpired into a huge story in my head within a matter of minutes. It does touch on some potentially triggering topics but warnings will be given in each chapter!
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader
STATUS: Completed!
Alternatively, you can read on Wattpad or Ao3!
─── ⋆ CHAPTERS ⋆
PART ONE 𖤓♡ — Jack Abbot values his routine and structure. Work, SWAT, gym... and for the past six weeks, spending his Sunday mornings admiring the enigmatic single mom who's apartment balcony sits across from his. [3k]
PART TWO 𖤓♡ — A scuffle in the hall causes Jack to accidentally take Phoebe’s wallet to work instead of his. He gains himself a new nickname amongst the Pitt and finally learns a thing or two about you and your daughter. [7.3k]
PART THREE 𖤓 — A trip to the ED, a retirement meal, and a phone call with Robby. One leaves you up close and personal with your neighbor, one has Phoebe spilling secrets like it's an Olympic sport, and another has Jack realizing he's got a fucking crush on the single mom in apartment seventeen. [7.1k]
PART FOUR 𖤓♡ — Phoebe's birthday party consists of four sets of eyes ogling Jack from the second he enters your apartment, screaming children, your mom noticing something rather interesting, and a night on the balcony that changes the trajectory of everything. [8.7k]
⤷ PART 4.5 𖤓 — You don't hear from Jack for three days after the kiss. But despite being swamped at the hospital, after he reaches out via text, he doesn't stop. [SMAU]
PART FIVE 𖤓★ — When Jack offers his company in the form of a date to celebrate your book release, he gets to understand the inner workings of your mind a bit more. Unfortunately, it does leave him with an ache he has to tend to using nothing but his own imagination. [7.8k]
PART SIX 𖤓★ — Three months of dating with no label and no real sense of security has you spiralling a bit when Tom demands to meet Jack. And you quickly start to realize that despite your attempts of keeping Phoebe and Jack apart, some bonds form whether you intend for them to or not. [8.2k]
PART SEVEN 𖤓★ — When the double date from Hell roles around, you're left with a new friend while Jack is struggling to come to terms with the type of person Phoebe is stuck with as a father. But despite that, it doesn't stop you and Jack from ending your evening with a bang. [12.2k]
PART EIGHT 𖤓★ — Pizzas, karaoke, movies and a sleepover. All at Phoebe’s request, of course, for Jack to spend Saturday night with them. And when Sunday morning rolls around, she’s got some things that she needs to get off her chest. [7.1k]
PART NINE 𖤓♡ — When Phoebe's field day goes nowhere near as planned, Bella is left to pick up the pieces of your broken heart while Karis goes into labor and Jack and your father have a heart to heart. [10.1k]
PART TEN (FINALE) 𖤓♡ — Jack Abbot was a creature of habit. Structure and routine were infused within the very makings of him, written in bloodwork and DNA if anyone looked close enough. But that was before he met you and Phoebe. Before he fell hopelessly and irrevocably in love with the chaotic girls in apartment seventeen. [13.4k]
─── ⋆ BONUS CONTENT ⋆
TBA
─── ⋆ MISC ⋆
#APT.17 (a tag for anything related to this series)
hi everyone, this is my first attempt at any sort of fic writing, a bit nervous about putting this out here but i hope you all enjoy it!!! feedback is very welcome :)
jan's roof ✩ learn more about this space
──────୨୧
jack abbot has seen it all in that godforsaken trauma bay in pittsburgh. codes, chaos, the worst nights of strangers' lives. but at the end of his shift, he comes home to his wife, their twins remi and luca, a house that's always a little bit loud and a little bit messy in the best way imaginable.
author's note: english is not my first language! (please be kind)
this is slightly self-indulgent, but jack has a nickname "vera" he only uses for his wife just something he started calling her early on that stuck. vera means faith in russian, and after everything life has thrown his way, she's the reason he still has any left 𖧷₊˚˖𓍢ִ🍓
cw: domestic fluff, dad!jack abbot x afab!reader, age gap (reader is a clinical psychologist in her 20s, jack abbot is in his 50s) medical inaccuracies, suggestive content but nothing explicit, mentions of pregnancy/childbirth, general soft chaos. no use of y/n. minors do not interact, 18+ blog
you had been awake since 3:17 that morning.
remi had wanted jack. luca had wanted remi. and, somehow, you had ended up with both of them curled against your chest while she stared at the ceiling and wondered whether coffee technically counted as breakfast.
you decided to text jack at 7:45am.
true to his word, jack was home at 8:30am.
you were happy to have your husband back home. every time he comes back, jack has this rare ability to leave work at the door, most days. it all stays outside so he can be there for you and the twins in whatever capacity that you need. you are so grateful for a man who shows up fully for your little family, pulling twelve hour shifts and carrying the weight of raising twins alongside you, never once treating it as a burden, only ever as the biggest blessing of his life. a gift to him from his wife, his very own vera.
as soon as jack is settled back, has had his coffee and freshened up, he tells you he's happy to stay with the twins while you take some time to yourself. as grateful as you are to have him home, you hesitate at first. he has just pulled an all night shift and you would much rather he get some well deserved rest. but he insists, and you cave, savoring the scalding hot shower doing a decent job of unburdening the knots in your shoulders, the scent of your favorite lavender soap regulating your nervous system the way it always does. you decide to skip your coffee, already feeling a bit frazzled from having barely slept, and opt for earl grey tea instead, just enough to carry you through the rest of the day. you sit for a while by the window perch in yours and jack's room, trying to compose yourself, reading a few pages of the book you haven't been able to finish since the twins were born nine months ago.
the bubble is short lived. the twins get fussy and need a feed. jack coos at luca while you feed remi, who is taking longer to wean than her brother, a fact that worried you at first until the pediatrician confirmed it's completely normal.
while you feed her, jack sets up some breakfast for you and the twins before heading off to nap, not without a peck on your forehead and a quiet word to the twins that dada will be back soon, and to be good for mommy. they hum unknowingly, in better spirits now that they've had some time with him and a full feed. you entertain them for a while with their toys, squeezing in a few pending chores before putting them down for a nap. just as you're about to doze off on the couch yourself, jack is up again, ready to take over.
that's when you carve out time to work on your client referrals. you had originally planned to start seeing clients again once the twins neared ten months, but since jack hasn't been able to cut down his shift hours until gloria finds another night-shift attending for ptmc, the two of you mutually agreed you'd take on caring for the kids full time in the meantime. which means your previous clients need referrals and handover notes to their new therapists.
after finishing up, you realize you're in desperate need of some air and decide to run to the shops. you're about to tell jack when you catch him on the floor, soaking in time with the twins, who look like they're about to doze off in his arms again. not wanting to ruin the moment, you text him instead.
luckily, jack isn't working tonight. taking jack’s advice, you decided to stay out longer - windows down, music low, having taken some extra time for yourself driving around town. however, once you’re pulling into the driveway, you are glad to be home with your family. jack helps you put the groceries away and insists on starting dinner, the kids occupied on their playmat within eyeshot of the kitchen so he can keep an eye on them while he cooks.
dinner is cooked, and bath time comes next. the kids are in a playful mood tonight, insisting on getting bubbles all over you and jack. before kids, a soaked bathroom floor would have irked you to no end. now, hearing their soft giggles and the sheer, unsummonable joy in the room, all you feel is grateful for this little life you've built.
you put the kids to bed, and jack and you shower together, sharing quiet intimacy, lathering soap and your new shampoo through your hair gently before slipping under the covers. you both read for a while, until the day finally catches up with you, and you give in, cuddling into his broad shoulder, head resting on his chest, his heartbeat steady and rhythmic, lulling you to sleep.
a window into jack abbot's domesticated life, through his wife's instagram
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part oneᵎᵎ ⋆ part two ⋆ part three ⋆ part four ⋆ part five ⋆ part six
pairing — jack abbot x fem!reader
summary — loving jack always had a price. you just assumed you’d seen the worst of it.
warnings — 7.1k words. MINORS DNI!! explicit sexual content (unprotected piv sex), divorce, ex-spouses with a major case of unresolved feelings, toxic relationship dynamics, codependency, alcohol use, unexpected pregnancy, discussion of abortion and reproductive choice, crying, emotional distress, also the past relationship details are left vague
author’s note — whipped this up bc i could not stop thinking about this plot 😬 yk i love a gooood angst + this one should be multiple parts!!
If you knew your ex-husband was going to be at the bar, you would have gone straight home. The only point of getting drinks after a shift was to stop being a person who’d had that shift—to sit in a sticky booth with people who’d seen the same bad day and let it dissolve into something cheap—and Jack’s presence anywhere had the effect of making you more yourself, not less; a woman performing being completely okay for an audience of one who’d seen you cry over burnt lasagna on your two-year-anniversary and had the terrible indecency to remember it.
But you didn’t know. Dana had said a few of them were going to the bar after the night shift took over, and you’d heard it would only be a few of them and not done the thinking on who’d be working the night shift—you’d assumed him, because he was always there, always fucking there. So you walked in already loosened, your badge clipped to your waistband, and you were three steps into the warm beery dark before you saw the back of his head in the corner booth.
He was nursing a bourbon he’d probably make last the entire night and he was half-listening to Langdon tell some story, his leg stretched out into the aisle, and he hadn’t seen you yet. You had a second. You could have turned around and texted Dana some bullshit excuse of getting the full eight hours and walked back to the parking lot to go home to your dog and half your bed.
You never did, though. You told yourself afterward it was because the leaving would’ve told the table something. But the truer thing, the one you didn’t want to look at directly, was that an evening without Jack had started to feel like a room with the bulb burned out. You’d gotten that bad.
“There she is,” Dana said, twisting around in the booth, already sliding to make room. “Sit. I saved you the good side. It doesn’t wobble.”
You sat, and the good side put you diagonal from Jack, close enough that his stretched-out leg was a fact you had to arrange your own legs around under the table. He hadn’t acknowledged you yet. He was letting Langdon finish; Jack always let people finish, it was something that made patients trust him and made you, toward the end, want to put a plate through the wall because he’d let you get to the bottom of sentences you’d have killed to be interrupted out of.
But you watched the back of his neck change as his shoulders went from loose to aware. When he turned, his eyes found yours like a bad number on a monitor, faster than he could’ve chosen. For half-a-second, before his face caught up, he looked so completely undefended. Then it was gone and he looked at you like you were weather he'd been told about.
“Huh,” he breathed, picking his bourbon back up. “They let your department fraternize with the help now, or are you slumming?”
“Dana kidnapped me.” You reached over and took the lime off his rim. He’d never once in his life used it—he hated citrus in bourbon—and only got it because Marlene behind the bar had been putting it in each time. Jack had decided somewhere around your wedding that debating her on it was more than what the lime was worth.
You bit it and set the rind into his napkin where it went, where it had always gone.
His eyes tracked you as you did it without any comment. The better half of five years of the lime and he’d never once said anything, only bought you the garnish on his own drink.
“How was your floor?” you asked.
“Slow.” He turned the glass a quarter-turn on the table, an old tell, the thing his hands did when he was trying very hard to keep his words scarce. “Knock on something.”
“But I like watching you suffer,” you drawled.
He huffed at that. “I know.”
That was it. He was good at letting things sit, it was the worst of his habits, the way he could absorb a thing you said and just hold it instead of returning it. Half your sentences to him used to end in a silence you'd eventually have to fill yourself. You'd forgotten how much work it was. You'd forgotten you used to do all the talking and call it conversation.
“You got Kevin this week?” Dana asked from beside you.
Jack, without a beat of hesitation, said, “She’s got Kilo this week.”
Javadi, the new and curious med student in the ER, looked between both of you with furrowed brows. “Sorry. Kevin or Kilo? Is that—are those two dogs?”
“One dog,” you said.
“Yup. One dog,” Jack agreed.
“Then why—” Javadi started.
“His name’s Kilo,” Jack said.
“No, his name’s Kevin.”
Javadi’s head went between you as though she was watching a tennis match. The table laughed because they’d heard this a hundred times and it never stopped being funny to them; the divorced two doing their oldest bit, the one argument that had outlived the marriage that spawned it.
“His papers say Kilo,” Jack said in Javadi’s direction.
Robby, who’d been completely invested in his own drink, said, “And your papers say divorced.”
“And we very much are, thank you,” you said, picking it up before the laugh had finished.
Jack stayed silent then. Robby, he’d have something for. But this was you saying it, easy and completely certain in front of everyone. The leg that had been stretched into your space this entire night drew back slowly, a small retreat nobody at the table except you could’ve felt. He turned the glass a quarter-turn.
You’d done it on purpose. You’d felt the whole night immediately tilting into the warm dangerous fiction of it and you’d reached for the one sentence that would shut it, and you’d swung it at the only person who’d actually feel the blade.
The facts of your divorce were no concern to anyone but the two of you at the table, but you could feel Jack flinch inwardly by the announcement that blanketed it all; that you now lived in separate homes, that the dog was scheduled like a custody hearing; that the word ‘we’ had a tense and it was past. None of it was news. He’d signed the same papers you had in the same flat conference room, with the same pen the mediator kept clicking until you'd wanted to scream. He knew the facts better than anyone. And still you'd watched him wince when you said it out loud.
He'd built a whole life on the difference between a thing being true and a thing being spoken; it was how he ran a trauma bay, how he told a family the worst news in the world in a voice that never broke, how he'd ended your marriage without ever once saying the words that would've made it real, just withdrawing by degrees until you were the one who had to say them for him. He'd made you do that too. He made you do all the saying. And now you'd said this, and he was sitting there absorbing it the way he absorbed everything, quietly, like he'd decided long ago that taking it without a sound was the least of what he had coming.
“Just fucking do it, Jack.”
And he did—finally, finally—push into you with a single long stroke that dragged a sound out of both of you, his coming out through his teeth, and yours into the pillow. His forehead came down between your shoulder blades. He stayed there for a second, breathing, one hand splayed wide over your hip and the other braced into the mattress beside your hips. His weight settled onto the left leg the way it always settled, a decision his body stopped having to make years ago. You could feel him shaking with the effort of not moving yet, of dragging it out, because he always did this, he always made you ask twice.
“Christ,” he breathed into your spine. “You feel—” he started, and let the words die as his teeth gently pressed into the bone at the top of your shoulder. It was then he started to move.
He fucked like he did everything else with his hands; he was methodical, attentive, and so devastingly present. He went in believing there was always a correct rhythm, and he intended to find it just to ruin you with it. He’d learned by repetition until it stopped requiring thought, until he could play you without looking, and the worst part—the one you’d never say out loud—was that it worked. It always worked. He knew the exact angle that made you stop being a person with opinions about him.
That long stroke dragged slow on the way out and snapped deep on the way back in, and your whole body misfired around him whether you’d given it permission to or not.
His palm slid up from your hip to flatten between your shoulder blades and pressed, folding you down into the mattress, taking the choice out of your spine. And the new angle had you gasping into the sheets because he’d done it on purpose; he always did everything on purpose, and now he was hitting that place that made your fingers curl and your thighs shake and a thin embarrassing whine climb out you that you’d have died before making it sober.
Jack felt the exact second your control went and he leaned into it, hips grinding deep and unhurried, holding you right there on the edge of too-much like he was reading everything under your skin.
“That’s it,” he drawled out, his voice low and even, the bastard, like he had all night, like he wasn’t already wrecked behind the voice. “Yeah, I’ve got you.” And he did. He had you exactly where he wanted you and you let him, because no one had ever taken you apart this precisely, this patiently, like your falling apart was the only thing on his list and he intended to do it right.
The dog tags swung forward and dragged close across your back when he leaned over you, then warm when they settled against your skin, and you thought—stupidly, with the part of your brain that should’ve been offline—that you used to fall asleep listening to that chain shift when he breathed. You thought there had been a version of this where afterward he stayed. You shoved that thought down. You arched your back into him instead and he made a punched-out noise, low in his chest, his grip going tight on you to leave the marks.
“Slow down,” he muttered more to himself than you, but he didn’t. His hips stuttered out of their careful rhythm because this was the one place his composure failed; it was the one place where the sealed-up, gallows humor, watching-you-over-the-glass version of him came apart at the seams.
You’d figured this out over the months. This was the only place Jack was honest. He’d never say the things across a table, in daylight, with his clothes on. But here, with his cock buried inside of you and his composure shot, the truth leaked out of him in fragments he wouldn’t be accountable for later.
“Missed this,” he got out, ragged, his mouth at the back of your neck now, words pressed into your hairline like he could bury them in there. “Missed you, fuck. You’ve got no idea, sweetheart, the things I—”
“Don’t.” You didn’t want it. You wanted it so badly your chest ached and that was exactly why you didn’t want it, because you knew what it was worth in the morning, which was nothing, which was a text about whether you’d remembered to walk Kevin. “Jack. Don’t talk. You can’t—” You let out a gasp as he pressed his hips completely flush against yours, chasing you to the hilt, as if he could physically expel the words out of you. “Can’t fuck me into being with you again.”
You felt him falter at the words, just for a beat, the rhythm catching like you’d reached back and put a hand flat on his sternum. He slowed, dragged himself almost all the way out and held there, trembling, his whole weight coming down over your back so his mouth was now at your ear and you could feel everything against the shell of it.
“I know,” he said, words ragged. “I know I can’t. Doesn’t mean I can’t try.”
His hand moved around the dip of your waist, and he pulled out of you slow, the loss making you bite down on a sound. Then he was rolling you, one palm flat and insistent on your hip, turning you under him onto your back like it was the easiest thing in the world.
“No—” You got an arm up, forearm against your own eyes, because you knew what he wanted, and you weren’t going to give it to him. The face, the looking. From behind, you could keep it what it was; turned over, you’d have to be there for it. “Jack, leave it. I don’t—”
“Hey.” He held your wrist, thumb working into the soft inside of it where your pulse was going stupid. “C’mon. Move the arm.”
“No.”
“You won’t even—” He let out a low laugh, disbelieving, almost wounded. “You’ll let me do every other thing but you won’t even look at me?”
“That’s different.”
“Yeah.” He went quiet for a moment, and his hand slid up the inside of your thigh, holding you open, patient as anything. He knew exactly what the looking was and exactly why you were hiding from it, and he was going to wait you out. “I know it is. Move the arm anyway.”
He braced over you on his arm, the other hand drawing slow idle circles high on your thigh, his cock notched against you and not pushing in, just there, the threat and promise of him, while he looked down at the arm over your face. You could feel him watching.
So you did move the arm, mostly just to spite him by giving him exactly what he wanted. His face was right there—jaw tight, eyes gone dark and fixed on you like you were the only lit thing in the room—and the second you met it, the slight smugness melted clean down the middle and there was just the wanting underneath, naked and his.
“Thank god,” he breathed before pushing back into you. His eyes tracked your face scrunch up at the familiar—too familiar—pleasure like he’d been starving for exactly this. His hand left your jaw and found your knee, hooking it up higher over his hip. He’d always known your left hip sat wrong, that this was the angle that didn’t ache after; the same way you knew, without ever being told, to take the weight off his right side, the two of you arranging yourselves around each other the way you always had. “Knew you were in there somewhere.”
“Don’t get sentimental, Jack” you said, breathless. “You’ll pull something.”
He huffed a laugh against your jaw. Your hand had gone to his left shoulder and you pressed your thumb into the knot that always sat under the blade after a long shift, working it slow while he moved in you. He groaned low and helpless at the unexpected mercy of it.
“Mouthy,” he managed to say. “Even now.”
“You’re so—so insufferable.”
His mouth found the corner of yours and his hand slid up your ribs so his thumb could catch the underside of your breast exactly where he knew; your back came up off the mattress for him. “You married me anyway. What’s that say about you?”
You got your fingers to his hair and scratched once at the base of his skull, the thing that used to put him to sleep in under five minutes, something you’d done about a thousand times in a bed you no longer shared. You watched his eyes go briefly unfocused with how much his body remembered it meant being safe. You hated that you’d done it.
The easy heat in him went somewhere graver, and his hand came up to cover yours where it rested in his hair. He pinned it there, keeping the touch on him, like he couldn’t bear for you to take it back.
“Why’d you—” His hips stuttered. “Why’d you have to go, huh?”
“Don’t,” you said quickly, and your hand came out of his hair—you made it come down, fighting the pin of his fingers—and you planted your palm against his chest to put an inch back between the two of you. “Don’t talk. Just—shut up. Jack, shut up and—”
He took in a breath, lips still parted like he wanted to talk. You’d expected it. Jack was fabulous at saying everything important while inside you or when he was halfway asleep.
“Yeah.” He nodded shakily. “Yeah. Okay.”
He got an arm under the small of your back and hauled you up into him, and the next stroke was just deep and selfish, like he’d stopped trying to make his point and now was only trying to get somewhere. The slow ruinous tenderness burned off into something with no thought left in it, and your body surged up to meet it—God—yes, this, you could do, this didn’t ask you for anything you’d sworn off. This was just the white-hot animal fact of him and you could be all the way in without losing a single thing.
“There,” he ground out, forehead dropped to yours, both of you breathing into the same inch of air. “There—fuck—there you go.”
Your mind went black. That was the mercy of getting it like this; the part of you that counted the times he’d said your name, that totted up what the morning had cost, went quiet, drowned clean in the simple overwhelming good of him. You grabbed at his back and pulled him in past where there was room and made a strangled noise.
His hand found yours where it was fisted in the sheet and laced through it, knuckles white, pinning it down beside your head—needing the anchor—and you gripped back just as hard. The bed was loud. Neither of you cared. You'd gone past the place where you could have stopped even if the smarter version of you had walked in and ordered it, both of you just chasing the finish now with a kind of grim mutual desperation, like if you got it done fast enough you wouldn't have to deal with what it was.
“Close,” you breathed. “Jack, I’m close—”
“I know. C’mon, let me feel it—” His hand let go of yours and dropped between you, fingers finding you without a second of searching, the muscle-memory of you deathly absolute. “Been thinking about this all night.”
He worked you up to the edge with his face buried in your throat and his hips snapping. The whole thing finally cresting into something neither of you could've talked through if you'd tried.
You went over first, the peak tearing through you with your nails dug into his back and your spine bowed clean off the mattress. He fucked you through every second of it, hips ramming, dragging it up past the point you could stand. And right at the end of yours his rhythm broke and went erratic, deep and grinding and graceless, and you felt the exact moment it caught him.
His arms hooked tighter under the small of your back and hauled you up into him so there was nowhere for him to go but deeper, like the thought of any distance between the two of you right now was a thing he couldn’t tolerate. Your legs wrapped around the backs of his thighs anyway, your heel pressed into the base of his spine.
“Gonna—” His voice came out shredded, into your throat. “Sweetheart, I’m gonna—fuck—”
With a low broken sound, his whole weight crushed down and his hips gave those last helpless grinding pushes, burying himself to the hilt, spilling into you with his face shoved into your neck and his hand fisted in your hair. He continued moving even then, small, greedy rolls of his hips, working himself deeper through the aftershocks, wringing every second out.
“God.” He shuddered out the word against your pulse, hips still flush, seated as deep as he could get. His arms came around you completely—there wasn’t any inch he wasn’t holding—and he stayed there long after he finished, unwilling to give up the last of it. Greedy even now, especially now. Jack would take every second he was handed and a few he wasn’t.
His heart slammed against your ribs. His breath dragged itself slowly back down. For a moment, you let him have it. You let him stay heavy on and inside you, and you stared at the ceiling.
After a minute—because that’s all you could grant him, a mere sixty seconds—you put your palm flat on his chest, over the spot where the dog tags had settled cold against his skin, and you pushed.
He came up on his forearms and he looked down at you. That was the hundredth mistake of the night, letting him be that close to your face with the lights of the street coming through the blinds in stripes across him. He looked at you the way he looked at you in the one place he ever did, like you were something he'd been allowed to hold and was already being asked to set back down, and the wanting in it was so total and so useless that you had to look at his collarbone instead.
Then his fingers came up to your chin, tilting your head up gently to meet his eyes again. “I wish you weren’t so cruel to me in front of people.” he said, voice coming out so rough.
You knew exactly which part of the night he was talking about. He’d carried it the whole way here—through the parking lot, through the drive, through all of this, your body still humming with him—and he’d held onto it the entire time, only to let it out now because now was the only time he could.
“It’s not cruel if it’s true,” you said. “Nobody thought it was cruel.”
“No, nobody thought anything.” He caressed your jaw just slightly, and you stilled under the grazing touch. “I still felt it.”
Maybe it was the hour, or the drinks still thinning in you, or just the unbearable fact of him looking at you. Regardless of what it was, the lid you kept on the old thing slipped, and you didn't get it back down in time.
“Don’t talk to me about cruelty, Jack,” you said quietly, holding his eyes even though you could feel your own burn. You could do it for once, because he was the one that looked like he needed a collarbone to fix his gaze on. “It was your cruelty that did this.”
His thumb stopped at your jaw. And then, instead of the stillness you’d expected, his hand slid back into your hair and his arm came around you and he pulled you in, the whole weight of him bearing down. His face went into your neck.
You froze under him, suddenly hating him all over again for making this harder and harder each time.
“Go home,,” you said, and it came out lower than you’d wanted it to.
He let out a shaky breath against your skin. “I’d like to stay with you for one night. If you asked.”
Your hands came up to his shoulders. You gently pushed. “I’m asking you to go.”
He came up off you slow, by degrees, and the cold rushed into every place he’d just been. He never argued; he only gave you offers where with the condition of you having to ask welded into them. He sat up on the edge of the bed with his back to you and reached for his shirt off the floor.
People at the hospital had a word for you and it was ‘difficult.’ You’d made peace with it years ago. What you didn’t have a word for was the tired. You’d been tired before; this had a different grain to it, bone-level and sitting-behind-your eyes. Twice this week the floor had gone soft and far away when you stood up too fast. You’d put a hand on the counter and waited it out and told no one.
You hadn't eaten, either. The granola bar was still in your bag. So when you stood up from the workstation to walk the corrected units down yourself, the room didn't gray at the edges this time. It dropped. The whole thing tilted bright then dim, your hand reached for the counter and missed it by an inch, and the next clear thing was the floor being closer than it should be and a hand hard around your arm.
“Okay—I’ve got you. Sit.” Dana, you recognized. Of course it was Dana; she had a sixth sense for the exact second a person stopped standing upright. She steered you down to a chair before you’d finished falling. “Head down. Between the knees. You’ve told a hundred people to do this—do it.”
“I’m fine,” you said, voice coming out depleted. “I just got up too—”
“Yeah, you’ve been getting up fast a couple times this week.” " Her hand was on the back of your neck, two fingers at your pulse, and she wasn't looking at your face, she was looking at her watch, counting, and the professionalism of it—the way she'd switched you from colleague to patient without asking your permission—made something cold go through you. “When’d you eat, hon?”
“I ate.”
“When?” When you stayed silent, she said, “That’s what I thought.”
She straightened up and you heard her turn. “Hey! Somebody grab Robby. No, he’s not—just grab him.” She turned back to you, and gentler than you wanted, in a way that told you exactly how bad you looked, she said, “We’re gonna put you in a room. Don’t make a face. We’re gonna put you in a room, run some fluids, check a couple things. If it’s nothing—thank god—then it’s nothing, and you can be insufferable about it for weeks. But you went down, sweetheart, and I’m not arguing with you about it.”
You wanted to argue; you wanted to refuse the chair and go back to work instead of occupying a bed at work. But you were so tired. You were tired, and some animal part of you had already known that for two weeks and had been waiting, with a patience that frightened you, for someone to make you stop.
So you let Dana walk you to the room. You let her pull the curtain. You sat on the edge of the gurney in a department you'd worked in for over a decade and let a colleague put a line in your arm, and you stared at the corner of the blood pressure cuff and did not let yourself think the one thought that had started, very quietly, somewhere underneath the tired, to assemble itself, and would not finish assembling until Robby came in twenty minutes later with your labs and a look on his face you couldn't read, and asked you, carefully, like a man stepping onto ice, when your last period was.
You’d seen him tell a people about death with more steadiness than he was managing right now, standing at the foot of your gurney with a tablet he wasn't looking at, asking you about your cycle like the answer was already on the screen and he was just giving you the courtesy of arriving at it yourself.
“Why?” you asked flatly.
“Just humor me. Tell me.”
You told him and he had no reaction, and that was how you knew. Robby’s face had gone completely neutral.
“Okay,” he said, setting the tablet down. “Your labs came back. Everything’s—the anemia’s mild. That’s the lightheadedness and not-eating. We’ll sort that out.” He paused, took a breath in, and the cold thing that had gone through you on the floor came back and sat down in your chest and stayed. “Your hCG’s elevated.”
You felt your body run cold then.
“That’s the pregnancy hormone,” he said gently. He was a teacher before anything, and that reflex was still on, even with you.
“I know what hCG is, Robby,” you said, the words coming out sharp, voice cracking the last word in half. You saw him nod sharply as he decided to ignore it. “I—I know what it is.”
“It’s early,” he said. “Numbers are consistent with early, which means you’ve got time. That’s what I’m saying. You’ve got time to think about whatever you need to think about.” He was being so careful. “I didn’t put it into anything yet. I wanted to talk to you first.”
Early. You’ve got time.
He picked the tablet up—done being a doctor about it now, the official part handled—and leaned a hip against the counter, and his voice changed, going off-duty.
“Hey,” he said. “Congratulations.”
You nodded, your mind already distant.
“You gonna tell Jack?”
Your mind sharpened. For a second, you genuinely didn’t understand the sentence. Your brain refused it wholly, turned it over to look for the trick. There was no way Robby knew—there was no way anybody knew—because you’d been so careful, the whole thing happened in the dark precisely so it wouldn’t seep into the light, so nobody could say a sentence like that. Your stomach dropped through the gurney.
“Huh?”
Robby looked at you, then shrugged. “I just figured, because you two still talk. He’d want to know. Big life thing.” Then, he added softer, misreading your face completely, “I guess it’s really over between the two of you then?”
You felt your breath hitch in your throat. That was what people would think when it got out, that the door has finally shut. They’d think you were getting clear, a baby with somebody new means the Jack-of-it-all was finally done, mercifully done. That you’d moved on and met someone, that you were building a thing past the divorce you survived. This was supposed to be proof of it. The sad civilized arrangement nobody named, ended at last by a life you were starting without him.
Robby had it exactly backwards and he had no way to know it. It was the furthest thing from over. It was likely the most permanent thing that had ever happened to you, and it had Jack’s name and only Jack’s name. The thing Robby believed to be your way out was the thing that could mean there’d never be a way out. Not anymore, if you chose to have this child. Not ever. You’d be tied to Jack Abbot. A year and a half of getting clear by inches.
You realized Robby was still standing there and that he’d asked you something. He was waiting for an answer you didn’t have the throat for.
“Can you give me a minute?” Your voice came out hoarse. “Just—a minute. Please. And don’t put it into anything yet. Just—don’t let anyone know.”
Robby nodded, probably thinking you needed a beat to let the good news settle, to feel something private and large before the world got its hands on it. “Course. I’ll hold the room, keep people out. Take your time.”
His hand found your shoulder on the way past, squeezing, and then the curtain rings scraped along the rod and he was gone.
It all came up at once, fast and without warning. Your hand was flat on the edge of the gurney and you watched it shake, and you made it stop. You could always make your hands stop. What you couldn’t do was make the rest of it stop. The rest of it was the thought you wouldn't think of, thinking itself anyway, and the worst part was the voice it came in, your own, flat, professional, the one you used to walk a frightened patient through their options without ever letting it shake. You could end it. It's early. Numbers consistent with early. You knew exactly how early early was. You knew the window, the way you knew the shelf life of a unit of platelets down to the day. You knew how clean it was, how legal, how completely nobody's business but your own. There was a door. Right now, there was still a door.
There was a door. There was, right now, still a door; it was the realest door, the one that actually led all the way out that would let you walk back into the life where you got clear of Jack Abbot for good and never had to share a child or a custody calendar or a name with him. He would give you Kevin, you knew that. Over would mean over, for good, where in five years you’d be a woman the hospital remembered being married once, to the ER’s night shift attending, you know the one.
You could take that door. It was yours to take. Nobody even had to know.
You sat in the small bright room and made yourself look directly at the door and waited to feel the relief of it, yet it didn’t come. What came instead, rising up under the grief like a second tide, worse than the first, was a thing you had no word for and no right to and could not, would not, look at straight on, was that it was Jack’s.
You wished you could see it as a curse, and somewhere in the last thirty seconds it had turned over in you and come up as something else; a small, traitorous, and warm thing. It was the exact warmth that had locked your ankles around him, the same warmth that had opened the door for him every night. A piece of him you could get to keep, that no amount of divorce could put back in its box. The one version of forever you two were going to get. And a part of you, a part you despised with everything you had, wanted it. More than the baby in the abstract. His, specifically and unforgivably.
You put your hand over your mouth as you felt it all come up, and you cried—the real way, the way you hadn’t since the lawyer’s office. You cried a cry that came up from the root and shook you apart, alone, in a place where you worked, with only a curtain covering you.
You couldn’t have heard the shift change happen on the other side of the curtain. The hospital had kept turning around your little curtained box, that somewhere out there it had ticked over into evening and the day people were handing the floor to the night people. You hadn’t heard any of it.
You hadn’t heard Dana catch him at the board, and she would have—you know she would have tried—put a hand flat on his chest the second she saw which way he was moving. You only heard the curtain rings scrape against the rod.
You looked up—ruined, mid-breath, your hand still pressed over your own mouth with your face holding an expression no one had ever seen you do. And there was Jack with one hand still fisted in the curtain he'd thrown back, stopped dead in the gap of it.
He’d come in braced, almost with the same register he came in when there was a level 1 trauma, except this one was a case of lightheadedness. His sleeves were shoved to his elbow, jaw already set, and he’d walked in expecting to find blood or something else equal to that, a thing he’d be able to clean up and fix. He had a hand half-raised for it, and it stayed there, hovering, for it had nothing to fix.
You knew his face better than your own; there’d never once been a thing he could’ve kept from you, not even when it felt like he was hardly your husband, especially then. You watched the readiness dissipate off of Jack’s face, watched the doctor leave him by degrees until what was left standing was just Jack.
Just Jack had no protocol for this; there was nothing he’d been taught to do with his face when you were crying because you didn’t cry.
He of all people knew so. He’d sat at a conference table with you while a mediator clicked a pen and you signed your name with a hand that was too steady. He’d carried his own boxes down to the truck while you watched from the upstairs window, dry-eyed, because tears would have made it all real and you refused—out of spite, out of the last thing you had—to make it real where he could see.
His mouth opened, and his throat worked around words, any word. When he finally spoke, it was just your name, and it came out cracked down the middle, like a plea and a prayer.
He had no idea. It made you sob slightly louder than you would’ve liked, the realization that he was standing there gutted with fear for you, scared past the edge of himself, and he did not know. Jack could not have known that he was the answer, that you were the answer. If he’d asked you what had happened, the whole truth would have been his name and your own; it would have been the thing you’d done together in the dark a couple dozen times and called nothing.
“I hate you,” you said, because the only thing you’d been capable of doing was throwing up a wall, driving him out with your own two hands. And it didn’t work, because the words had come out between sobs, wet and wrong, the cruelty falling apart on the way out.
He didn’t argue it. He never argued the ones he thought were true. He just took it the same way he’d taken every other blow you’d ever landed, without ever lifting a hand to stop it, as though he’d decided a long time ago this was the least of what he had coming.
Still, something moved through him when the words hit, a flinch, a wince that started behind his eyes and pulled his whole face down with it.
He came the rest of the way to you anyway, and your hand came up between you—far from a hit, there was nothing left in your arm to make one, just the heel of your palm landing against his chest, more sob turned outward than strike. It pushed against nothing. Jack didn’t even rock with it. And then your fingers were curling into the fabric over his sternum instead, gripping when you’d wanted to shove, the same failure of your hands as two weeks ago; pushing him away and hauling him in, your body unable to decide which.
“You—” Another blow, glancing off his chest. “Why did we have—”
“Okay.” He let you continue, letting the first ones land, face stricken and bewildered as he absorbed the blows for a crime he couldn’t name. “Okay. Okay, hey—”
You drew back, and when your hand closed in again, his own came up and closed around your wrist. You could’ve pulled free—he’d left you room for it—but you let him keep holding it there against his chest where you’d been striking him.
“What happened,” he said, words coming out quietly, not even a question. “Whatever it is. Talk to me. What happened?”
He started to move into you, closing the space between you by inches, his other hand coming up to your face, your shoulder, somewhere, anywhere, his whole self trying to fold into your orbit the way it always had. “Just tell me,” he said, closer now, voice dropped lower, into a register it stayed it when it was only the two of you. “Let me—”
“No.” You twisted your wrist in his hand and turned your face away from the one coming toward it. “You can’t just—I won’t let you—”
His forehead had dropped down to hover over your temple, the warmth of him crowding into every place you’d been trying to wall off. “I’m not. I’m not doing anything. I’m just here—let me be here.”
Here. He’d said the word so softly, with so much surety, like it was a small thing to ask, like it had been a place he’d ever once been. The wall you'd been holding with both hands didn't come down so much as it went out from under you, the way the floor had two weeks ago, all at once and without your permission.
You stopped twisting away. You felt him feel the fight going out of your wrist under his fingers and felt the new alertness move through him.
“You want to be here,” you said into his chest, where your fists were still knotted in his shirt, the words coming out muffled aimed at the fabric. Then, through a disbelieving laugh devoid of any humor, you said, “You want to be here?”
“Yeah,” he breathed out. “Yeah. I’m here.”
“Fucking—” The laugh that tore out of you was anything but one. “Congratulations, then.” Your forehead pressed down hard against his sternum, your eyes squeezed shut, because you couldn’t say it and knew you were going to anyway. At least you wouldn’t have to watch. “Fuck—You’re gonna be a father.”
Everything that had been moving stopped all at once; the hand at your jaw, the thumb that had been working slow along your wrist, the whole restless warmth of him trying to fold into you went motionless. For a second, he didn’t even breathe.
You forced yourself to look up. You wanted, somewhere mean and small and ten years old, to see it touch Jack. You wanted to finally watch something get all the way through.
You got it, and it was worse than you’d let yourself imagine.
The first thing that fell of was the part that told you he was ready to fix this, fix you. It fell clean off, his brows furrowing in worry, a tell that looked too tiny for something this large.
For a second—less than that, before he could pull the reins on it—something that had no business being there moved under the fear. You knew it because you’d felt the exact same thing only a few minutes ago, alone, the warm traitorous thing rising up under the grief. It was there, on his face—unguarded, naked, wanting—and you watched him catch it. You watched his whole face wilt as he understood, in real time, that he wasn't allowed to feel it, that the wanting was obscene standing next to your wreckage, and you watched him put it away. He got it back behind the wall fast, the way he got everything back behind the wall.
Only his hands gave him up. The one at your jaw had started to shake.
He let out a choked sound, like he was trying to lift the words out of his chest but they kept getting stuck halfway.
“You’re—” He stopped himself and swallowed, not being able to get the back half of a sentence out of his own throat. “We’re—?”
“Yeah.”
His fingers around your wrist pulled it closer to his chest, as if he could press it through his body and into wherever the words wouldn’t come from.
“Let me—” he said, and stopped. Every possible word was too big to get a mouth around. “Just—let me.” His forehead came down against yours, and his eyes shut, and you felt the whole of him shaking now, not just the hand. “Please.”
NSFW ⟡.· ft. jack abbot + fem. reader. he loves his babygirl. no doubt about it, but he’s always been strict about you not teasing him while he’s at work, you’ve always liked pushing his buttons though, and when you disobey, someone has to put you in your place. abbot mocks you through it, implied age gap, mean! jack abbot, brat taming, pussy spanking, daddy kink, dumbification, slight dacryphilia. 3.8k.
shawn hatosy hyperfixation is like an infection and i have been infected. first time writing for papa abbot, reblogs + comments are always appreciated. ^_^
abbot isn’t known for his patience. he wasn’t level-headed or calm; sure, he doesn’t crack easily under pressure—any feelings of unease or stress he keeps close to his chest. jack could offer advice; he could talk a resident through a complicated procedure because surgery was taking too long to respond to their page; he could talk about hard and complicated issues using his personal experience, but he wasn’t patient.
you’ve recently developed the frustrating habit of pushing jack’s buttons: you teased, you pushed, you wanted, and while he was more than willing to give, that sentiment only stood when you listened.
you knew better than to send him that. jack knows you do, but knowing doesn’t take away the want to do it.
jack had felt the vibration of his phone inside his pocket as he spoke to ellis, though he didn’t open it then. working night shift in the emergency room meant dealing with the shit you don’t see during the day. it was hard finding time to answer a message from his girlfriend mid-shift, but jack knew you well.
you got pouty if your message sat unanswered in his phone for too long. the last thing he wanted was to come home to see your doe eyes glittering with hurt.
once he finally had a moment to spare, he stepped away from the traffic of the floor, intending to check his phone quickly, expecting a sweet message from you. once his screen lit up, your notification sat on top of a mountain of unnecessary email notifications from newsletters, appointment reminders, and useless travel deals he wasn’t going to take. you had sent him a picture captioned with: ‘i miss you so much, daddy. i couldn’t help myself :(‘
that alone made jack’s shoulders tighten. while he was all for fun and teasing, he had always told you not to send him risky texts when he was at work. not simply because the lives of others sat on his hands; no, he could handle the weight of the world while making sure a person had the best chance to live. he was simply impatient, and if he got turned on while you weren’t there, he disliked the action of waiting.
if all goes to shit mid-shift, he would have to stay for much longer than intended to try and help the transition from night shift to morning shift, which meant spending more time away from you.
after a second of trying to think of what you could’ve possibly sent, he found himself opening the text, despite knowing it would just piss him off. once the picture loaded, the sight of your heavy tits spilling from under your shirt filled his screen, with your hand reaching down between your thighs.
jack felt his body heat up, warmth coming to his neck as he tightened his grip on his phone, jaw clenching tight as he stared at all the little details of the picture, noticing his sheets, your lack of panties, and the small smile curved on your glossy lips. with a frustrated breath, he typed back a quick response.
‘You know I don’t like it when you tease me at work.’
your reply came quick; you had learned early on that if you message him back fast enough, there’s a higher chance of maintaining a brief conversation another before he had to get back on the floor.
‘what are you going to do about it?’ your reply read.
an amused scoff left jack’s lips. who did you think you were? a brat, that’s for sure. of course you just wanted to irritate him; he could see right through you. jack knew you better than anyone else you knew, and he was no better, so your little bratty scheme was effectively working.
‘Just you wait until I come home.’
he typed back with a heavy breath, leaving his lips before shoving his phone back into his pocket, both hands moving towards the back of his neck as he laced his fingers together and rolled his shoulders before he spared a quick glance at the floor. trying to focus on his job while the mental image of you needily rubbing your clit remained in the back of his head felt like his own personal purgatory. he could imagine it vividly: you nuzzled against his pillow with your hand between your thighs, practically humping nothing to soothe the warm ache inside your belly.
bratty girl, eager for daddy, but painfully insolent.
you knew how to push jack’s buttons so well you could be considered an academic with the level of skill that goes into riling up your older boyfriend.
you only wished you could see him, with his jaw locked tight as he continued his work in the emergency room while the idea of you festered inside his brain. jack always looked so good when he was irritated; it only made you miss him more.
his bedroom was a constant reminder of him, from the prescriptions littered around his nightstand down to the yellowish-brown boots he wore when he volunteered for the pittsburgh swat team. with a soft sigh, you plopped down against the bed, curling up against his worn bed sheets before you moved to press your head against his pillow. the smell of his shampoo, sweat, and cologne occupied the air; you moaned to yourself. your delicate hand moved down your stomach before pressing between your thighs as you waited for jack.
already fantasizing about what he would do to you when he arrived back home.
“j—jack—!” you cried out, your tone high-pitched and desperate.
you lay on your side, his sheets rubbing against your sticky skin as the pad of his fingers worked vigorous circles against your sensitive clit, his touch making your body feel feverishly hot. jack lay behind you, his body warm against your back while his free arm lay beneath you, his free hand gripping your breast tight as he kept you pinned against him while he groped you.
his firm chest and soft belly pressed against your back as he nuzzled his face against the curve of your shoulder, his scruffy stubble rubbing against your soft skin as he glanced at your side profile. jack savored the sight of your pretty face while his fingers toyed with the sensitive ball of nerves between your thighs, feeling your body twitch and jolt against his, considering the proximity between you two.
his fingers were thick, his skin coated glossy with your slick, while your hips rolled against his hand desperately, from both the want you had for him and the desperate need you felt for more friction.
“you’re so wet, baby.”
jack cooed, squeezing your chest while applying more pressure against your nub, making your body jolt from the increased pressure applied to your poor clit. you let out a soft sound, barely a gasp, before a breathy moan left your glossy lips. “jack..” you whined; the sound of his name on your lips made his body feel hotter than it was.
“what’s wrong, baby? isn’t this what you wanted?” he taunted, watching you squirm as he continued to toy with your slick pussy, glossy from all of the attention it’s been receiving through the night.
your eyes were shining, sparkling under the dim yellow light of jack’s lamp, his curtains drawn to keep the sunlight out.
as you mewled, your hand moved to rest above his over your chest, fingers shaky as you tried—pathetically—to pull yourself together. the difference in hand sizes was painfully obvious at such a stark comparison. you babbled small words, mostly whimpers of his name, while he made more of a mess from your aching cunny.
jack knew you like the back of his hand; he knew how you bounced your leg when you sat still for too long, how you fiddled with your fingers if you wanted to ask him something but you were too shy, and how you bit your lip when you were deep in thought. he knows he knew you better than anyone, which meant that he knows exactly where to touch to make your brain feel fuzzy.
his hand remained firm, squeezing your chest, fingertips brushing against your hardened nipple to make you tense, before he pulled his other hand away from your cunt. the loss of touch earned an immediate sound of disapproval from you.
“w—what? — why did you stop?” you grumbled, squeezing his hand to accentuate your frustration.
“you really think you’re going to get off after not listening to me?”
jack rasped, the hand that left your clit moving to rest briefly on your stomach before he moved it towards the back of your knee, pushing your leg up to spread you open for him, his heavy dick sitting against your inner thigh as he shifted slightly from behind, angling his body to get better access to your drooling cunt. pushing his available knee up, he tugged you closer, moving his arm from beneath you to rest under the nape of your neck while his hand moved to tangle itself in your hair.
you kept yourself spread open for him as he threw his thick arm over your stomach.
“w—what?” you stammered, for a moment not understanding what he meant.
you were so turned on that it made your memories feel distant, and for a second you forgot how you had gotten yourself into this situation. the memory of your brattiness hours prior refreshed in your mind slowly, and before you could babble out an excuse for your behavior, a sharp spank hit your drooling cunny; the stinging pain that followed afterward made your body jolt.
“what?” jack repeated, drawling out his words mockingly.
“ow!” you yelped.
your thighs twitched; your first instinct was a meek attempt to close your legs to ease the lingering sting.
jack was quick to stop your motion, though. his strong hand caught the back of your knee, then forced your leg up as before.
“jack—!” you wanted to argue, telling him this wasn’t fair.
“what’s wrong, baby?” he mused. “i thought this was what you wanted?”
before you could think of a reply, another sharp spank was landed against your aching pussy, making you wince from the sting.
“please,” you whimpered; the words that had come to you just a second earlier were forgotten under the touch of his hand.
“please? for what?” he replied, uninterested in your whines. “what have i always told you?”
you frowned; he was scolding you, like he always did when you acted out of line. biting your tongue, you huffed, letting your silence be enough of an answer. you didn’t want to get scolded; you were a big girl, and despite wanting to act as if the resistance was because you wanted to seem independent, the true reality was that you wanted to egg jack on.
your little act of defiance didn’t impress the older man, which earned you another spank on your cunt, harsher than before. this time, your body acted faster, and as you cried out from the sting, your thighs slammed shut.
warmth came to your eyes as the sting made your nerves surge, jack tsked, his hand wrapping around your thigh once more before yanking your legs open.
“you asked for this, sweetheart,” he reminded, keeping his grip on the back of your thigh tight as you squirmed.
“m’sorry, daddy,” you said quickly, hoping to butter him up to lessen his tension.
daddy could be so mean sometimes.
“it’s too late for sorry now, baby.”
he crooned, moving his hand away from your leg, trusting you would keep yourself spread open for him, to wrap his fingers against his hardened dick, his hand working up and down his shaft in slow pumps.
his words earned a whimper from your lips.
he could be charming, clever, and pampering, but if jack wants to be mean—or if you push his buttons far enough—he can be really mean. while you loved getting out of your place by your daddy, you always seemed to forget how harsh he could really be.
feeling his dick press against your drooling cunt made your stomach flutter; his cock was big, almost too big. the first time he fucked you, he made you cum twice while he stretched you out, just to make sure your pretty little cunny was ready. the girth of his cock was almost unfair too, with pretty veins curling around his shaft that make your brain melt when they rub against your walls.
jack pressed himself against your back, making sure to keep you close as he peered over your shoulder to glance down between your spread thighs.
“what has daddy always told you?” he repeated, tone softer, though you knew better than to think he was going soft on you, the older rasp of his voice making you squirm.
finally deciding to stop misbehaving—mainly because you wanted to feel him inside you—you pouted, leaning your head back against his thick arm. you glanced to your side to look at him.
“you tell me not to tease you while you’re at work.”
your tone was muted, the words spilling behind your pouty lips, because you don’t like admitting when jack is right.
“and what did you do today?” he asked, clearly rhetorical.
“i teased you..” you answered begrudgingly.
“and what happens when pretty girls want to act like brats?” he continued, tone authoritative, as if he was teaching a kid a lesson, before leaning closer to press a kiss against the side of your neck.
“they have to be put in their place,” you replied softly.
“good job,” jack praised, voice rough despite his tauntingly soft tone, as you reveled in his praise—you let yourself believe maybe he would let your behavior tonight slide, settling to fuck you while babying you the way you liked. feeling jack slap his hardened length against your pussy, you felt a shiver go down your spine in anticipation.
those hopes of getting let off easy felt possible as jack brought the tip of his cock against your aching cunt, pushing your glistening folds apart before aligning himself carefully.
that hope came to a crashing stop as you felt jack’s thick, heavy cock slam deep inside you.
bratty girls don’t earn gentleness.
the sudden intrusion dragged out an involuntary cry from your lips. the force of his hips making your ass made your body jolt, his dick was girthy, pushing apart your warm, slick, walls to make room for him. as his cock settled inside you, the tip pressed against your spongy cervix, the fibrous organ warm and welcoming despite his force, your cunny has taken his cock too many times to count, by now your body was conditioned to take his length without much stress. though when you and jack first started having sex, he used to coax you gently, sliding in inch-by-inch while your eyes got glossy from the stretch.
a heavy groan left jack’s chest as he felt the firm grip of your walls around his girth, moving his arm to rest over your abdomen. jack caged you in against his chest before drawing his hips back and shoving himself inside.
his thrusts set the tone. his cock rubbed against your gummy walls as he pushed his hips back; you let out a breathy sigh before his length was shoved back inside you. jack’s dick hit your cervix again, and again, and again; his breathing became heavier, his eyes shutting tight, the creases of his crow's feet deepening at the motion.
you were putty in his hands; the idea of being silent was laughable as his cock battered your sensitive pussy.
the sounds that left your lips were a disarray of moans, pants, and cries of his name.
“ja—jack, m’so full!” you whined, lips parted in an ‘o’ shape while your body bounced with every sharp thrust of his hips. his cock made your brain numb; every ridge, every vein that pressed against your spongy walls made your toes curl.
at your cock drunken words, jack felt his stomach tighten hard, hearing you mewl such desperate lewdities turned him on more than he wanted to admit.
hearing his baby girl cry out because of him was one of the greatest pleasures he got when he fucked you.
“yeah?” he panted, his face pressing against the hollow of your shoulder, your skin sticky against his as he continued to slam his hips against your own.
“i thought you didn’t mind when daddy filled you up?”
he taunted, moving his arm from your stomach down to your slick clit, pressing his finger against your hardened bud to see you shudder. you nodded at his words, despite knowing he was actively making fun of you.
“that’s what i thought,” he crooned, sucking in a heavy breath as he continued to toy with your clit, your leg spread, making sure jack had access to your messy cunt as he fucked you.
your eyes felt warm as he continued to use you, your body shivering from the overstimulation that came from his attention. jack glanced over at you, shifting you so he could get a better look at your pretty face as your eyes glossed over with tears.
his lips curved. “what’s wrong, baby?”
you whined, your eyelashes clumping together from the wetness in your doe eyes. “it’s too m—much,” you babbled, words tumbling past your lips.
“too much?” he pressed. “poor baby, can’t handle daddy?”
you nodded, eyes glazed over as his cock battered your cunt, his tip knocking against your cervix over and over. “mmm,” you whine, too cock drunk to reply; you felt your mouth salivating while warm tears bordered your lash line.
jack’s hand moved from your overworked clit to your face, reaching over your body to turn your head to the side, making you face him properly. “use your words, baby; you know daddy likes well-spoken girls,” he cooed, voice soft despite the harsh shove of his hips. your tearful gaze met his, your eyebrows furrowed upward while your lips parted, trying to find the words to express yourself.
“you’re too big ‘n’ s’rough, my cunny can’t take it—!” you finally said, words slurring like a drunken sailor as he stared down at you expectantly.
fuck, you always sounded so pretty like this, practically incoherent from his cock.
“yes, you can. you can take daddy. you’ve done it before, haven’t you?” jack murmured, pressing a kiss against your tear-stricken cheek.
you whimpered, your walls tightening around his heavy dick at his softened words. while you loved when jack was mean, you couldn’t help but melt when he babied you while he shoved deep inside you. yours cunt tightened around jack hard, making the older man grit his teeth.
there was a knot in your belly you hadn’t noticed before, tight and warm, straining inside you with every push of jack’s hips against your ass.
gasping, your body tightened as a sudden push of his hips led to his cock pressing hard against that gummy little spot inside you that made you see stars. a long, drawn-out moan of his name left your lips as your back arched against his torso.
seeing this, jack let out a heavy breath, his grip on your body tightening to pull you closer as he continued to hit that spongy spot harder, harder, and harder, and before you could even try to mutter a warning about how close you were, that tight knot inside you snapped. your eyes shut, eyebrows pinching together as you cried out his name.
your already tight walls squeezed around jack’s heavy cock, the squeeze felt unforgiving as your hips rolled against him, your body instinctively twitching as you rode out your much-wanted orgasm.
locking his jaw, jack let out a grunt beneath you, pushing your hips forward to better his angle into your drooling cunt before working his cock past your tense walls.
“did i say you could come?” jack berated. “since when do brats get to come before daddy lets you?”
your eyes were half lidded, your body shaking from the aftermath of such a hard orgasm. your nerves were on overdrive, and your brain was foggy; the only reply you gave him was a shaky moan.
he moved his arm, the one he had under your head, to wrap around your delicate neck. putting you in a headlock as he continued to abuse your cunt.
his arm was heavy, his freckled skin brushing against your face as you rested your head against his forearm, your hands moving to pathetically grab at his muscular arm.
“is your head that empty?” he grunted. “can’t even speak, huh?”
you shook your head, a little whine leaving your lips as jack pumped himself inside you, your pussy milky from all the slick. the sight of you like that made jack’s body tense; you were so messy, so dumb over his cock, and seeing you like this—cock drunk and stupid made his body feel sensitive, his dick twitching inside your messy insides.
keeping your body molded against his own, jack chased his orgasm with more vigor than grace, his pace becoming less concentrated and more desperate with each pump of his hips.
with a choked groan, jack’s hips pressed against your ass, burying himself deep inside you as ropes of sticky cum left his twitching dick. his breathing shook as he rolled his hips against you slowly, savoring the feeling of his orgasm as he made sure to fill you up with every last drop of cum.
you moaned; the warmth that filled your belly made your stomach flutter with butterflies as your legs shook, jack’s arm loosened around you, and your hand found his, fingers intertwining as you felt warm in your belly.
jack let out a heavy breath, shuddering as he moved his hand to grip your thigh, keeping your legs spread as he finally slipped out of your cunt. finally he guided your thighs together before he pushed himself up by his elbow. his hand moved over your breast, guiding your body to lie on your back to see your glazed-over eyes.
“how are you feeling, baby?”
he softened, giving your chest a small squeeze before his hand pushed some of your hair out of your face.
you looked over at him, eyes half lidded and shimmering, before you nodded, still too drunk on his touch to think of a verbal response.
jack’s lips curved before he pressed his lips against your forehead, his kiss soft against your skin before he pressed his lips against your own. “you’re still a brat, y’know?” he mumbled against your lips, earning a soft noise from you before you reached up to rest your hand against his shoulder, squeezing the muscle before you kissed back.
“m’sorry,” you finally answered, words raspy after the cacophony of noises you made earlier.
jack pulled back, looking down at you knowingly. no matter how many times you whimpered apologies for your behavior, jack knew it wouldn’t last long. you were always finding ways to push his buttons, but he would be lying if he said he disliked it.
after all, jack would always love his bratty girl.
popebride, 2026 ⧽ i hope you enjoyed! ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ tags: @aangelheartt @xom4yy @tearsofjoyandsorrow1
