18+ only, MDNI. Alex, she/her, 31: I can't be in love if it's plastic To live on my own just seems tragic But we'll raise our swords high when our day comes You thought it was gold but it was bronze
If Only - Hucklerabbot/AFAB!Reader (mostly Michael “Robby” Robinavitch/AFAB!Reader) Robby loses control, and neither Jack or Dennis is there to save you. - Dark!Fic, Non-Con/revoked consent, S/M, D/S dynamics, angst, hurt/comfort.
Animal Kingdom:
Andrew “Pope” Cody x Reader blurb
I’ll Take You For a Ride Part 1 Part 2 - Andrew “Pope” Cody/AFAB!Reader. Andrew finds out about your kidnapping and rape fantasies. - Established relationship, CNC, BDSM, bondage, D/s dynamics, kidnapping roleplay.
One Piece:
Ecstasy: Part 1 Part 2 - Mihawk/Shanks/AFAB!Reader. Shanks and Mihawk put something in your drink. - Non-consensual drug use, dubcon, fisting, DP, filthy threesome.
Suck - Mihawk/Shanks/AFAB!Reader. You and Shanks bend to Mihawk’s will and service him together. - Sub!Shanks, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mihawk, fingering and blowjobs.
Led Back to the Ocean - Shanks/Benn Beckman/AFAB!Reader. Shanks and Beckman take turns. - Kinktober 2024: Watersports, piss kink, ye be warned.
Protégé of the Blade - Mihawk/AFAB!Reader. You’re Mihawk’s favorite student at his academy for swordsmanship. - Kinktober 2024: Humiliation/Praise, student/teacher relationship, dubcon, torturous teasing.
Supernatural
Get in the Backseat - Dean Winchester/AFAB!Reader. Dean punishes you after fucking up a hunt. - Kinktober 2024: Spanking, fingering, anger and feelings.
Bunker Kitten - Dean Winchester/AFAB!Reader. You surprise Dean after he comes home from a hunt. - Kinktober 2024: Pet Play, kitten roleplay, sex toys.
The Sandman
Lucidity - Morpheus(Dream)/AFAB!Reader. Morpheus spies on you having a sex dream, and is driven into a jealous rage. - Jealousy kink, Dominant/submissive, bondage and punishment.
I've been plagued with more knight!andrew thoughts...
Andrew watching princess!reader skinny dip in the small pond that's towards the back of the estate/forest.
It's late and he hadn't really expected anyone to be awake at this time of night, so when he saw a figure moving across the lawn he had to follow. Couldn't risk anything getting to his princess. He hadn't even realized it was you until you had gotten to the pond, the unmistakable brush of your hair against your back giving you away.
And he couldn't look away from you as you pulled off your nightgown, what would happen if something got to you when he wasn't looking!? No, he was just watching to keep you safe. That was his job after all!
You were just so pretty, the water hugging your curves and making your skin glow in the moon light as you slowly dipped yourself in. He couldn't help it that his hand moved to his pants, having forgone his usual metal armor entirely after the first week after your exile when he realized that you were truly alone.
He watched as you swam for a while, just floating around, enjoying yourself. His hand on his cock the entire time, not exactly tugging just yet, that felt wrong. He would rather you know when he touches himself, it's just respectful.
Caught up in his guilty thoughts, he doesn't realize that his princess has finally caught sight of him, leaning against the tree that gives him a direct view of you. And you don't mind, he does so much to keep you safe after all!
summary. The world loses its' shit when you, their beloved popstar princess, stumbles out of a pink limousine looking absolutely fucked by a nameless lover. Jack Abbot and Robby, famed rockstars of the infamous band 'NIGHTCRAWLER' of the late 90s, are the main suspects.
word count. 11.3k
content warnings. fluff, smut (cockwarming, fingering), TMZ and trashy tabloids are used as a plot device here, some slut-shaming, agegap (reader is in her mid 20s, rabbot is in their mid to late 40s) !!
notes. afab!reader, mainly based in los angeles, i took lots of creative liberties for this au. i won't be tagging robby x reader 'til later on but you might see some if you squint. fully recommend listening to the playlist in order rather than on shuffle!
POPSTAR DARLING 'STAR' CAUGHT DISHEVELED EXITING A PINK LIMOUSINE ON SANTA MONICA BLVD WITH A NAMELESS LOVER.
—
The photo of you stumbling out of a pink limousine is plastered all over the tabloids sold in kiosks along Hollywood Blvd. Your stomach drops as you catch the headliner, your pristine reputation torn within minutes.
It isn't like you're a prude; your songs of shitty ex-boyfriends and unsatisfactory situationships have spoken enough to the world that you aren't some naive virgin. But your reputation is clean for the most part, adored by the general public for your class.
Being caught stumbling out of a limo at 3 AM after riding Jack Abbot, famed rockstar of the late 90s and early 2000s, did not match the public's general expectation from you. Except they didn't know it was Jack, at least. The world finding out that you've been regularly fucking a man that may be old enough to be your dad would just add fuel to the fire of your tattered image.
The news had broken the night before but the brunt of the damage didn't hit 'til this morning as you sit in one of the many conference rooms in the company building. Your schedule had only consisted of recording a few tracks, maybe a brainstorming session with some of your writers. A last-minute meeting with your agent, publicist, and a representative of the recording company you're signed under at eight in the morning hadn't been expected.
But neither has been bumping into Jack at a friend's birthday party at a bar in Silver Lake last night. With the private venue and the strict 'no phones' policy enforced, the both of you had thrown all caution to the wind when the older musician had pinned you against the exposed brick walls of the bar. His hands had wandered in the places you needed him most, artfully drawing out sweet moans in time with the bass drops of the DJ hyping up the small crowd. While the two of you might've garnered some interesting looks and playful whistles, there's no question that most things that go on in parties like these stay hush-hush.
And yet Jack had taken your hand, his graying curls flashing purple under the colorful lights, as he dragged you out of the side door and into the empty street where the garishly pink limo that your friend had arrived in a couple hours ago is sitting, abandoned. The two of you exchanged a single look before he's hustling you inside the backseat, snorting laughter when the zebra-print walls greeted you upon entering. But even with the tacky decor, it didn't take away the building lust the two of you held as Jack had all but ripped your panties aside, shoved his cock in you as your knees bracketed his hips.
It had been filthy and quick, sloppy drunk kisses exchanged in the dim lighting while your hand had slammed up against the roof of the limo for some balance while Jack fucked up into you. He finished fast and quick right after he made sure you did first, pressed a careless kiss to your lips while you returned the favor with a bright red lipstick stain on his collar. He exited one side, you went the other. Your hair askew, your dress rumpled and crooked to reveal more leg as you're half out of the limousine. Hickeys littered your neck.
Just in the perfect view of a paparazzi pack (hiding in the literal bushes across the street) awaiting for the perfect shot.
The shot is staring up at you as your publicist slides it across the glass table. You feel juvenile in your comfy hoodie and yoga pants, sitting across your team who's dressed in business casual. Your sleeves fall over your fidgeting hands.
"I didn't think anyone was out there," you mumble as you push the glossy camera shots of you back to your publicist, Dana. The older woman sighs. She's all hard edges, a no-nonsense attitude crammed in her petite 5'3" frame, but she's soft towards you.
"It's alright, hon. You're not a kid anymore, the company knows that," she says, her Pittsburgh accent still as strong as it has been since she relocated to Los Angeles decades ago, with a gentle pat to your hand. "So what— a grown woman like you had some fun at a party, no big deal. Our job here is to lessen the public outcry but we won't know that 'til we see how the internet's feelin' about all of this."
Her face is unreadable as she pulls out her iPad from her bag, flicks it open with a few sharp taps, and hands that over to you and your manager, Cassie.
@mariasont : god forbid a WOMAN wants to get fucked!!! in a pink limo, no less!!!
user1: where's her class? it's demeaning
@pearlessance: she's not a child anymore!!! people forget she's literally in her 20s jfc
The comments are plenty and while the negative ones are what steal your attention first, there's a flicker of hope that lights within you when you catch more people defending your actions rather than reverting to full-on slutshaming. You release a shaky breath as you return the iPad.
"See?" Dana hums. "Not so bad. Just gotta redirect the narrative, sweetheart, all there is to it. You just gotta help us out a bit, give us somethin' to gnaw on. Think you can give us the name of your Romeo?"
Your cheeks burn as you avert your gaze elsewhere.
—
ROLLING STONES PRESENTS: NIGHTCRAWLER, THE PRODIGAL BAND RETURNS.
NIGHTCRAWLER HAD BEEN THE 'BOY' BAND OF THE EARLY 2000S, REIGNING SUPREME ON THE RADIO DESPITE THEIR UNCONVENTIONAL IDENTITY OF OSCILLATING BETWEEN HEARTTHROBS FOR TEENAGERS OR SERIOUS MUSICIANS FOR THE OLDER DEMOGRAPHICS. DESPITE THEIR REFUSAL TO LABEL THEMSELVES, IT DIDN'T TURN AWAY THE GENERAL PUBLIC FROM DIALING THE VOLUME UP WHENEVER THEIR ADDICTIVE GUITAR RIFFS COME ON THE RADIO.
WHILE THEIR IDENTITY HAD BEEN IMPOSSIBLE TO PIN DOWN, IT WAS UNDENIABLE THAT NIGHTCRAWLER HAD STAR POWER.
MICHAEL 'ROBBY' ROBINAVITCH, FRONTMAN AND RHYTHM GUITARIST, WASN'T AFRAID TO SHARE THE SPOTLIGHT WITH FELLOW BAND MEMBER, JACK ABBOT, WHO PLAYED LEAD GUITAR. ALTHOUGH THE POSITION OF DRUMMER AND BASSIST WAS ALWAYS FULFILLED BY A NEW FACE ALMOST EVERY OTHER ALBUM, THEY WERE NEVER FORGOTTEN BY THE FANS.
(PICTURED: ABBOT, ROBINAVITCH — CIRCA 2006, GRAMMY AWARDS AFTERPARTY.)
NIGHTCRAWLER DIDN'T BLOW UP OVERNIGHT— ROBBY AND JACK HAD BEEN CHILDHOOD FRIENDS, MOMENTARILY SEPARATED WHEN ROBBY HAD PURSUED A MASTER'S DEGREE AND JACK HAD ENLISTED AFTER THEIR COLLEGE GRADUATION— BUT AN EXPLOSION OF TALENT IN THE MAKING. WHEN THE SIMPLE LIFE HAD PROVEN NOT TO BE ENOUGH, ROBBY AND JACK REUNITED UPON HIS HONORABLE DISCHARGE FROM THE MILITARY TO FORM NIGHTCRAWLER.
AFTER ONE RELEASED ALBUM (YOUNGBLOOD), THEY RECEIVED THEIR FIRST GRAMMY NOMINATION IN 2006 BUT WON THE YEAR AFTER FOR CALM IN 2007. FROM THAT POINT ON, NIGHTCRAWLER WAS A HOUSEHOLD NAME.
A FEW DAYS AGO, I SAT WITH ROBBY AND JACK AFTER THEY HAD ANNOUNCED A SUDDEN REUNION ALBUM AND TOUR AFTER NEARLY FIVE YEARS OF SILENCE WHEN THEY HAD RELEASED THE SINGLE GHOST OF YOU IN COMMEMMORATING IRIS— JACK'S LATE WIFE AND BELOVED ACTRESS— AND THE FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF HER PASSING.
Q: IT'S BEEN SOME TIME SINCE GHOST OF YOU, HOW HAVE YOU TWO BEEN?
J: WE'RE DOING ALRIGHT. TOOK SOME TIME OFF FOR OURSELVES.
R: COASTING ON THOSE ROYALTIES KEPT US AFLOAT.
Q: THAT'S WONDERFUL TO HEAR, DID YOU TWO PICK UP ANY NEW HOBBIES?
R: GOLF, BUT— (LAUGHTER.)
J: I HATED GOLF. I ENDED UP WRITING LYRICS IN THE GOLF CART WHILE THIS ASSHOLE PUTTED AWAY.
THE TWO MEN CONVERSED LIKE NO TIME HAS PASSED AND ALTHOUGH THEY'VE STARVED THE WORLD WITH THEIR FRIENDSHIP AND MUSIC, IT WAS LOVELY TO SEE THAT THERE HAD BEEN NO LOVE LOST. AFTER SOME SMALL TALK AND HAVING BROKE THE ICE, WE DOVE RIGHT INTO THE MOST AWAITED TOPICS.
Q: SO. A NEW ALBUM AND A TOUR. HOW THE HELL DID THIS COME AROUND?
J: (SOFT CHUCKLES.) IT'S ALWAYS BEEN SOMETHING WE TALKED ABOUT AFTER THE SECOND ANNIVERSARY OF IRIS PASSING, WE NEVER DID STOP WRITING MUSIC.
R: THAT'S RIGHT, WE JUST FINALLY HAVE ENOUGH TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. IT'S BEEN TEN YEARS SINCE WE DID SOMETHING LIKE THIS AND WITH HOW THE MUSIC INDUSTRY'S CHANGED SO MUCH, WE DIDN'T WANT TO DEAL WITH THE BULLSHIT OF PROMOTIONS AND TEASING SPOILERS OR HOWEVER THE FUCK ARTISTS DO IT NOW—
J: WE THOUGHT TO KEEP IT SIMPLE. ANNOUNCE OUR NEW SELF-TITLED ALBUM AND OUR PLANS FOR A TOUR, SIMPLE AS THAT. WE'RE A COUPLE OF OLD MEN NOW, WE CAN'T KEEP UP WITH THESE YOUNGSTERS.
Q: SPEAKING OF NEW ARTISTS, HOW DOES IT FEEL KNOWING YOU'VE INFLUENCED A WHOLE GENERATION OF SINGERS? MANY OF THEM HAVE NAME-DROPPED YOU BEFORE, ONE NOTABLE AS 'STAR' WHOSE PREVIOUS ALBUM HAD ELEMENTS OF PUNK WITH HER USUAL POP GENRE. SOME MIGHT EVEN SAY IT HAD A HAND IN HER FIRST GRAMMY WIN IN 2022, AN UPSET WIN WHEN SHE HAD BEEN NOMINATED AMONGST THE EXPECTED WINNERS.
R: AHEM, YEAH. IT'S INSPIRING FOR US, TOO, YOU KNOW. NOT TO STROKE OUR OWN EGOS BUT IT'S NICE THAT WE CAN LIVE ON IN OTHER WORKS RATHER THAN JUST OUR OWN MUSIC. STAR'S A GREAT SINGER, SHE'S ONE OF OUR FAVORITES.
J: … DEFINITELY, SHE'S BEEN LIVING IN MY PLAYLIST FOR AWHILE NOW.
Q: COULD WE BE EXPECTING A COLLAB ANYTIME SOON?
R: NO PROMISES.
BEFORE THE TOPICS GOT AWAY FROM US, THE CONVERSATION WAS REDIRECTED BACK TO IRIS TAYLOR-ABBOT, JACK'S LATE WIFE. SHE HAD BEEN A PHENOMENAL CHILD STAR, GROWING UP IN THE PUBLIC EYE AS SHE GREW INTO HER OWN SHOES OF ONE OF THE BIGGEST NAMES IN CINEMA. HER LOVE STORY WITH JACK HAD BEEN ONE FOR THE AGES, ONE THAT PEOPLE TODAY STILL TALK ABOUT WITH REVERENCE. IT WAS A WHIRLWIND ROMANCE, HOW SHE TAMED THE INFAMOUS ROCKSTAR WITH A SIMPLE WINK WHEN SHE HAD WON HER FIRST OSCAR AND HE WAS IN THE CROWD FOR NIGHTCRAWLER'S SCORE FOR HER FILM.
THEY HAD BEEN THE NATION'S IT COUPLE OF THE EARLY 2000S.
J: I LOVE HER, THAT'S NOT GOING TO CHANGE, AND TIME DOESN'T HEAL ALL WOUNDS BUT IT SURE MAKES THE PAIN LESS. I CAN THINK OF HER WITHOUT WANTING TO LIVE IN THE BOTTOM OF THE BOTTLE.
Q: THAT'S WONDERFUL, JACK. WE CAN SEE THAT SHE STILL LIVES THROUGH YOU, AT LEAST, IN THE MULTITUDES OF LOVE SONGS THAT YOU'VE RELEASED.
R: SHE'S ALWAYS GOING TO BE A PART OF US.
HER UNTIMELY DEATH IN 2016 HAD BEEN A BLOW TO THE ENTIRE WORLD, ULTIMATELY LEADING TO NIGHTCRAWLER'S HIATUS. ON THE FIFTH ANNIVERSARY, GHOST OF YOU WAS RELEASED WITH LITTLE FANFARE BUT IT CHARTED ON TOP FOR MONTHS. PEOPLE HAD SPECULATED THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL BAND BUT CAME TO NO FRUITION.
UNTIL NOW, NEARLY TEN YEARS AFTER THEIR DISAPPEARANCE FROM THE PUBLIC EYE.
—
The ceiling spins above Jack's head as he reclines in his office chair, drumsticks loosely grasped in his hand while Robby messes with the soundboard. There's staff inside the recording booth, readjusting mics and filters.
"Did you see that TMZ article?"
Jack snorts. "Since when did you pay attention to gossip, brother?"
"Since your girl's plastered all over the front pages."
The chair releases a loud creak before Jack tumbles onto the floor, unceremoniously lifting himself off his feet with as much grace his prosthetic leg allows. "What the hell did you say—?"
Robby chortles as he hands his phone over, the obtrusively red logo of TMZ splashed across the top of his screen. Jack settles onto the leather couch pushed against the far wall of the room with his bandmate's phone in hand, shoving his readers on before he scrolls.
Sure enough, it's a photo of you exiting the pink limo from the night before. His concern for you (along with the feral instinct to protect you from wandering eyes) is momentarily silenced when pride grows at the sight of you wearing his marks. It isn't until his eyes snag onto the blunt and crude headline meant to clickbait, ultimately tearing down your character to the public.
His grip tightens before he hands the phone back. He leans back against the couch, head tilted backwards with his eyes shut.
"Can't do much. TMZ didn't name anyone and talking about it would just prove me guilty."
Robby releases a hum, half-distracted now as he turns his attention to the soundboard and the files he had just opened. The album's half complete now with just mixing and final changes needed before they hand the whole thing over to the company's in-house producers.
Although the album was supposed to be done half a year ago, you had entered Jack's life, kickstarting nearly five new songs from the first evening he spent with you. Robby doesn't mind, he likes you well enough. You're younger, maybe a little too young to be messing with old men like them, but you've got a love for music that reminds them both of their own start all those years ago.
"Did Star text you?"
Jack shakes his head as his gaze returns to the back of Robby's head where it's slightly bowed as he fiddles with a few chord progressions. "No. Also, she's got a name. You don't have to keep calling her by her stage-name."
"Habit," Robby shrugs while he hits the save button. A half-lie, he knows your name but Jack is possessive, moreso with you than anyone else. It almost feels like an intrusion, a false sense of familiarity that hasn't earned, to use your given name. He turns in his chair, grabs the acoustic guitar to absentmindedly strum a few riffs. "You heading over to her place?"
"I don't know, maybe. It's her first scandal, not sure if I'm what she needs right now."
"She'll always need you." The simple remark has Jack looking up in mild surprise, searching for any kind of jab there from his bandmate (maybe something about your age again), but nothing but sincerity lives upon Robby's features. "It's been six months, brother. Your past flings never lasted this long."
Something uneasy settles into his stomach then, his mind nearly splintering to try and skip over the almost-revelation there to stitch something half-true about your importance in his life. He shifts in his seat instead, grabs the other guitar by its neck as he keeps his hands busy by tuning it. "I'll call her later. Make sure she's okay."
Robby nods in slight approval. "Maybe lay low a little. I know you two like hitting up your usual bar but with the article out…"
Jack hits a sour chord. He didn't realize Robby had been keeping tabs of their 'usual' places. "Yeah— yeah, good idea. Or maybe I can stop by, pick up her favorite before heading over." He readjusts the tuning peg, misses the way his best friend shoots him an incredulous look at the blatant domesticity. Jack looks up then. "What?"
"Nothing. Just don't forget her fried pickles."
"… Right."
—
The bar in question is Barney's on Santa Monica Blvd, nestled deep in West Hollywood. To both of your closest confidants (Robby for Jack and Trinity for you), Barney's had been the 'usual' hangout— a perfect meeting point between your house and Jack's home. It's out of convenience, you told Trinity. Traffic's a bitch in Los Angeles and the shorter the commute, the better. Nothing more, nothing less.
No one knows that it's the first time Jack had met you in person, where he had roguishly hit on you about two old fashioneds in. No one knows that you had also been a tad bit tipsy, spinning wildly off of a strong margarita that you pounded down when your writers' block had become too much to handle. And no one definitely knows that you had giggled your way through Jack's cheesy one-liners, nearly tearing up and toppling off your barstool and into his lap when he asked you if you had a map because he kept getting lost in your eyes.
—
… SIX MONTHS AGO.
You're gnawing at the end of your pen, brows furrowed and nose scrunched up each time you scratch a line through a lyric. The bar is sticky beneath your notebook but you can't find it in you to give a fuck as your heels shift and resettle against the footrest under your stool. The bartender, Queenie, gives you a tender look before refilling your glass of water and placing a fresh margarita beside it. Despite the raucous cheers from the other patrons watching a football game, you're focused enough to follow the melody that's been knocking around your head all day.
But not enough to write a single cohesive lyric that wasn't actual dogshit.
So you reach out for the sweating glass near you, ice clinking as you lift it up to chug the rest of your margarita down. The room spins a little but you power through. There's movement on your left, silver gray curls catching your peripheral view.
"I have to say," a gruff voice sounds beside you. "You caught my attention the moment I walked in."
The cheesy one-liner coaxes an incredulous laugh as your spine straightens and you turn to face him. At least he's hot in that DILF-way, you muse to yourself. You didn't realize you had said it aloud until he's chuckling, takes a swig of his glass.
"Thanks, sweetheart. Glad to see I haven't let myself go."
Recognition would've kicked in earlier if aren't two margaritas in but it comes anyways and a flush creeps up your neck as your eyes widen when you take him in. Jack Abbot, lead guitarist of NIGHTCRAWLER. Widowed to Iris Taylor— a favorite actress of yours, if you recalled your younger days. Even though you've established yourself as a musician, considering some other artists that you've admired as a peer and colleague now after you've won your own Grammy, you still get a bit tongue-tied when you're faced with literal legends.
"You're Jack Abbot."
"And you're Star..?"
You chuckle at the stage name you picked out so long ago and offer your actual name instead. When Jack tries it on, you fight the urge to shiver at how sweet your name rolls of his tongue. The thought has you turning back to your notebook, scrawling the line in as a potential lyric.
"So, I had to come by and let you know you owe me a drink." Your brows fly up, absolutely shocked as you turn to face Jack again who swirls his drink. "Because when I saw you, I dropped mine."
A very ugly snort escapes you at the absolute shit-show of a pickup line, devolving into giggles. "That can't be your best line."
He chuckles and hides his bashful smile against the rim of his glass. "Alright, alright. Hold on, I have more." He pauses and you wait patiently. "Look, I'm just trying to drink here. You're very distracting."
The line isn't as funny as it should be but you're at that point of tipsy where everything is hilarious and you're nearly pitching forward, cheek brushing against Jack's chest as his warm hand settles on your waist to settle you. "Careful, sweetheart," he chuckles. "Here—"
In the midst of your giggles, Jack's arm carefully reaches out between your knees to grasp onto the underside edge of your stool and drags you closer to him. The easy strength of it silences you momentarily and you find yourself gripping his bicep for stability. "Oh, that's unfair."
Jack laughs, raspy and low as he retracts his hand and takes another swig of his glass. "What's unfair?"
Your hand wavers slightly as you gesture to his entire face and chest. "You— your whole… gentleman shtick. And I'm not dumb, y'know. I know the rumors about you and your manwhore ways. You and Robby—!" You might've been concerned with being a touch too crass, possibly offending Jack, but his easy and amused grin never falters as you babble adorably in his space. You haven't noticed yet but your bare knee is loosely slotted between Jack's and he's starting to crave the momentary brush of your skin against his denim jeans every time you shift.
"My manwhore ways…?" He repeats with a half-grin, hoping to coax you on to spill more.
"Yes, don't act coy, Mr. Abbot. I've seen the tabloid pages, the blind items." You sigh softly and regard him in a way that Jack feels almost exposed. Vulnerable. "If I didn't know any better, I thought I might've found my husband here in this bar in Silver Lake."
"It's concerning to think you're in Silver Lake, sweetheart. We're in West Hollywood."
"Irrelevant," you dismiss with a wave of your hand. "As long as my uber driver knows where I am, I can do anything I want."
"Alright, superstar. Maybe with how your words are slurring, it's time for that uber driver to know where you're at?" When he gently guides you off the stool, helps you with your jacket and purse, you go easily. He tips his head at the bartender who knows you by name, gives your manager a heads up while Jack leads you to the curb. He pays for your uber with just the regret of not giving you his number.
The regret goes away when he sees you at the same bar a few days later, this time stone cold sober.
—
The doorbell ringing draws you from your thoughts as you stare at the rerun of the TMZ soundbite where they have you splashed out on the screen, a half-step out of the pink limousine as an abrasive male voiceover eagerly dives in on your exaggerated exploits. Slamming the mute button, you look over your shoulder towards the door while tugging your stolen hoodie lower down your thighs.. You tug the hood over your head, harshly pulling at the strings until just a glimpse of your eyes and nose are revealed, while you drag yourself to your front door.
When you peek through the peephole, you relax and open it to see Jack with a baseball cap on, a greasy paper bag that smells faintly of your guilty pleasure snack in hand. A relieved smile curls upon your lips as you pull him in. "I didn't know you were coming," you say in greeting, shutting the door firmly before you're dragging him down by the nape of his neck for a kiss.
He smiles against your lips, reaching behind you to lock the door. "Wanted to check on you. You were trending again. Robby said so."
You groan dramatically and take the paper bag with Barney's logo on the front, turning to pad barefoot to your kitchen while Jack follows. You hear his keys jingle, settle into the bowl beside your keys, and his hat landing quietly onto the coat hanger you have by the door. "If your chronically off-line best friend knows about it, then it's definitely viral."
"Robby's getting better with the internet," Jack defends with a short laugh, leans against the threshold of your kitchen where you tear into the bag and lay out his treasure along your island counter.
"Mm, for a fifty year old."
"Sweetheart, we're forty-five." Your dramatic wince has him barking out a playful chuckle, crossing the distance that has you squealing and rushing around the island. He circles it, long legs striding with ease to catch and lift you to place you on the counter. "Glad to see the gossip circuit hasn't snuffed out your spark, superstar."
Your bare legs hook around his waist, feeding him a fried pickle. "It's not so bad. It could've been a leaked sex tape."
Jack frowns as he chews. "We don't have a sex tape."
"Not with you." When he gives you a shocked look, your face cracks and you burst into an amused cackle. "God, you should've seen your face, babe. And no— before you start to spiral, I don't have a sex tape with any body. I just—I need to joke about this otherwise I'll overthink."
His lips snag onto the corner of your lips, cradling your jaw on the opposite side. "You'll be fine, sweetheart. The general public loves you, your fans would go to literal war for you. The world will adjust." When he sees the slight wrinkle that always settles between your brows finally smooth out, he knows he got you. "Mm, there's my girl."
A flutter grows in your stomach but you stifle it. Jack's too good with his words, means it just as much as a throw-away comment, and you're too clever to let yourself get lost in it. It's been six months of bliss and if you get to have that a little longer without the security that comes with a label, then you'll gladly coast this situationship until it crashes and burns. `
"Well, your girl is exhausted and it's been too long since I was given even an inch of attention—"
"You don't have to convince me, I'll stay the night," he says as he shuts you up sweetly with a kiss. "You have anything for me to wear?"
You give him a sweet hum, sharp eyes sparkling with mischief which he responds with a roll of his eyes.
"If you want me naked, sweetheart—" He picks you off the counter, his low rumbling chuckle harmonizing well with your playful giggles, and brings you to your bedroom. He tosses you onto the mattress, unbuckling his jeans as you prop yourself up by your elbows.
"Your leg, Jack," you interrupt before you sit up smoothly, padding over to the attached closet to pull out a pair of crutches. He falls silent, looking gobsmacked with a look you miss as you set them down by the ottoman at the foot of your bed. "Jack…?"
"Right. Sorry—" He snaps out of his throughts and leans down to steal a kiss. The action of removing his prosthesis in front of you no longer carries the odd sensation of shame or embarrassment but rather frustration out of a chore that's interrupting what he wants. With his leg set aside, he's back to joining you in bed just as you tug the stolen hoodie off to leave you in just an old t-shirt and cotton shorts. It gives him pause. "Baby, was that mine?"
You bite back a smile. "You left your hoodie in my dressing room a week ago. I told Cassie that I thrifted it. Did you want it back?"
He shakes his head, takes the shirt he must've left behind at your place too because it's folded nicely and smelling like you and pulls that on next. In just his boxers and a fresh sleep shirt, he joins you into bed while you reach over to your bedside table to flick the TV on. "No TMZ," you promise while you put on a streaming app instead. "I just want to turn my brain off a little."
"I can help with that," he murmurs, lips grazing along your bare shoulder while he spoons you from behind. He drinks up you soft laughter, basks in how it shifts into something breathier when you feel his bulge prod against your underwear.
"Jack," you murmur but you part your thighs, pulling your knee up just enough to give him room to grind his clothed cock against your core. The TV continues to blare but you're only giving it part of your attention when you feel Jack's hand slide between you two to tug your underwear aside. A broken whimper falls from your lips as he presses kisses into the nape of your neck.
"Shh, it's alright, pretty girl. Just missed you." His hands are soothing as they coast along the planes and curves of your body, reverent and nearly worshipful, while his cock starts to press against your folds. It isn't filthy the way it usually is, fast and dirty while he presses your face against the mattress, but it's nearly gentle and domestic. You banish the thought before it can take root and force yourself to focus on the rerun of a show you put on, allowing tiny gasps and whimpers as Jack sheathes himself completely inside you. When he doesn't move, you glance over your shoulder with a little pout.
"Why aren't you moving?"
He chuckles, heartbreakingly fond when he leans over to kiss your pout. "I'm not trying to tire you out tonight, superstar. I just want you to rest. Unless, this isn't—"
"No, no, it's fine," you interrupt with a shy grin of your own. "Didn't think you were into cockwarming."
Jack gives you a deadpan look. "You think me sticking my cock in your pussy throughout the night isn't gonna turn me on?"
"… good point." You turn back around to the show, sighs as you sink deeper into Jack's arms while he presses more lazy kisses into the nape of your neck. "S'kinda nice. Feels good… feeling comfy and full."
He hums, chest rumbling as his grip tightens around you. "Good. Get some rest, sweetheart. You've got a long day ahead of you tomorrow, right?"
You nod, half-asleep now as you trace little shapes along Jack's forearms. "I have a brainstorming session with the writers, recording… mm, but that's all after my brunch with the girls."
"That's right," he muses as he gives a little, shallow thrust. "I'll try to get out of your hair early, let you get ready."
Your eyes fly open (when did you even close them?) and release a quiet huff of protest. "No, you can stay— I like it when you make me breakfast." His laughter is warm against your shoulder, warm and sweet.
"I thought you were going to brunch, sweetheart."
"Let's be real, Jack, it'll mainly just be Trinity and I pounding back mimosas."
He sighs. "Your best friend's an awful influence. Make sure you drink water in between, baby."
Your tone is wry but thick with sleep, already nodding off but not without slipping in one last bratty little remark. "Yes, daddy."
His cock throbs inside you but neither bother to mention it.
—
Morning comes with stubbly kisses to your cheek, a kind beginning to buffer the sun's cruel rays that are most definitely not being shielded by your usual curtains. You groan, shove your face into your pillow before peeking above to see your blinds and curtains open.
"Jack—" You whine pitifully but he merely chuckles, circles the bed with his leg already on to settle on your side of the bed. His large hand smoothes back your hair, his calloused fingertips tracing along your jaw. You nuzzle into his touch like a cat. "Are you leaving already?"
He nods and lowers herself down to kiss your forehead. "Robby called. Our producer flew in early and they're calling for a recording sesh."
You sigh dramatically and lift your head up, lips pursed. "Tell Robby he owes me for stealing you away."
"You got it, sweetheart," Jack smiles against your lips, pinching your chin before he releases it to rise to his feet. "I'll call you later, yeah?"
Mumbling into the pillows to catch on some more sleep before one of your girlfriends call you up, you wave Jack goodbye. His footsteps fade into nothing and it isn't until your little security camera at your front door beeps with activity, letting you know that Jack has left your property. You sigh and roll over, shamelessly shoving your face into his side of the bed to inhale his shampoo and aftershave. It's an addicting musk, something clean but woodsy, something that reads 'older man' rather than some male manipulator's basic odor of Dior Sauvage.
In the privacy of your bedroom, you release a swooning sigh and allow yourself to daydream about Jack. It's dangerous territory, you know this, and yet you let yourself think up scenarios of simple domesticity. No one can blame you; your tumultuous relationship with Jack had gone from one night stands and stolen quickies in dressing rooms to picking up your shampoo on the way home or sharing pizzas on hotel rooftops.
Before you can sink even deeper in your fairytale thoughts, you drag yourself out of bed and stumble into the shower for a fresh start. You play your colleague's music rather than the demos you've been hoarding, all of them meant for your latest album that you've been working on. Nearly all of them about Jack.
As you sit at your massive vanity, Trinity facetime calls you without warning. You prop your phone up, accept the call with a soft sigh.
"Bitch, tell me you're ready."
You set the powder brush down and bring your setting spray within view of your camera in answer. Trinity rewards you with a bright grin as she shoves her sunglasses up her forehead to settle in her sleek updo. Despite the group chat claiming it to be a 'chill' brunch to catch up (now that all of you are finally in the same timezone), everyone is far too media-trained to ever be caught dead without looking effortlessly put together.
"We're on our way to you, get your ass to the front door!" Trinity crows as she turns the phone around, panning to the other girls in the car. Samira's glowing beside Trinity, the wonderful benefits of having wrapped up filming in Malta, and Victoria looks clean cut yet practical as if she's trying to demand the whole world to take her seriously as a filmmaker (even if she's one of the most famous nepo babies in Hollywood). The phone's passed down to Dove Tala, another singer-turned-actress that's been added into the fold of your friend group after sleeping with Trinity.
(As of now, you still have no idea what relationship they even have for each other.)
With a final swipe of lip gloss, you slip into a pair of kitten heels that match your sundress. Even now, your professional life bleeds into your personal as you slowly adopt a more girly style, something your team and creative partners had insisted on as you begin to build your next album release. They want more immersion, they said, especially with a fanbase like yours that follow your every move.
Already, some of your fans have begun to wonder if you're seeing anyone (aside from the pink limousine fiasco) due to the way you seem to be 'glowing' (a class effort from Tatcha's Luminous Dewy Skin Mist Finishing spray).
When Trinity's driver pulls up to the front of your house, the door swings open and you climb in where you're immediately greeted by a chorus of sweet 'hello's and gasps from your outfit.
"Okay, you're giving girlfriend material," Samira grins as she scoots down to make room for you. "Who's the lucky guy?"
Your eyes roll. "Jesus, I haven't even buckled in—! Can we please save the interrogation until after the mimosas?"
Dove's eyes glimmer with mischief. "I'm holding you to that, babe."
—
The car takes your group to Beverly Hills, rolling to a stop in front of a podium where a gloved valet opens the door. With your glasses firmly placed on your nose, everyone schools their expression into one of neutrality before you're inside and the host guides you to your table near an open window for some natural light. While it leaves all of you exposed to any possible photos taken, none of you have any concern for it.
"Your server will be with you shortly," the host says serenely as you all scoot into your booth, purses set aside and sunglasses carefully placed upon the tops of all your styled hair. While your friend group aren't the only celebrities frequenting the infamous brunch spot, you still garner a fair amount of looks. Mostly awe but many are of sick curiosity.
Your cheeks burn and you recall the nasty exposé that TMZ had dropped the night before. Trinity takes your hand beneath the table and you immediately understand the silent question in her eyes.
"I'm fine," you murmur and squeeze her hand gently in affirmation. She holds your eyes a beat longer before she nods. The girls around you immediately notice the small interaction. You wave away their concerned looks. "Honestly. It's my first trashy tabloid photo, I'm just being a baby about it."
Dove tsks. "Still doesn't excuse them to blow it all out of proportion, especially with just one photo! Fuckin' deuxmoi's making it sound like you dropped a sex tape."
"Wait, what?"
Victoria elbows Dove and while a silent conversation passes, you turn to Trinity with a question on your tongue. However, the other girls interrupt. "It's fine, it's nothing—!" Victoria cuts in, snatching your phone off the table with a slightly frazzled grin. "It's the same bullshit, these blind items are never accurate."
Panic brews but Trinity squeezes your hand before you can completely spiral. "No one is insinuating that you had a sex tape. It was a theory that your fans shut down immediately. However— the most common thread here is who the fuck you were with in that limo."
Four pairs of eyes land on you and while you've performed in front of tens of thousands of people, you feel an irrational sense of stage fright in front of your closest friends. But your server comes with a polite smile and you can sink into the plush velvet seats in relief.
"What can I get you ladies?"
"Let's start with a pitcher of Tommy margs," Dove smiles and her charm is blinding, eliciting a shy laugh from the poor server who nods. The rest of you rattle off your orders (the usuals, really— the five of you frequent this place so often that it's an open secret with your fans that it's the best way to catch a glimpse of you) before relaxing back in your seats when your server leaves with the promise of returning quickly with margaritas.
Samira slides her phone towards you, screen displaying the TMZ article that's been haunting you alongside the photo that's shown you at possibly your worst: your black cocktail dressed ruched up one thigh in the stolen moment, one strap sliding off one shoulder where a myriad of lovebites are painted across your collarbone and neck, lipstick smeared and your hair mussed.
It's almost theatrical if you stare at it long enough. Maybe even purposeful if it had been taken with your consent.
"You look good," Dove murmurs with a light shrug. Your eyes cast up and her easy admission soothes the panic that's been simmering in your gut. She's kind but not always the most gentle with her words. Compliments are rare but it makes the ones that spill from her tongue even more precious. When she compliments, she states it like fact.
"Of course she does," Samira cuts in. "It's just awful that it was taken with the sole intent to defame her."
Victoria's nails tap away at her screen. "Some of these blind items say so. But lots are disagreeing." She hands her phone over to you.
Popstar princess snuck away from a party. Not so innocent now.
— she's a grown adult, let her have fun.
Popstar princess caught filming a sex tape in a limo. Call it a wild ride.
— if it was a real sex tape and we're thinking of the same singer, it would've been leaked by now. this is false.
And there were more, multitudes of comments defending you or demanding proper proof before any kind of accusations can be flung onto your name. It softens your racing heart as you give Victoria her phone back. "Thanks, guys."
Your friends all send you a smile, reaching over to rub your shoulder or hand or refilling your glass. "Of course," Samira coos.
Dove nods and takes a sip of her drink. "Now that we've got that out of the way, it's time to spill. Who's the guy, babe?"
As if on cue, your phone buzzes with a text, the table vibrating slightly.
J ♡ : Robby's driving me insane. Rooftop pizza later tonight?
The girls gasp and dive for it, eyes snagging onto the blatant red heart that's tagged right after Jack's initial. Before you can scramble for your phone back, Victoria's unlocking the text and blanching at the contact photo.
"You're dating Jack Abbot," she whisper-yells, remembering they're still in public settings and making sure to mouth his name at the end. The girls struggle to take the phone from Victoria who has a terrifyingly large grin. When you do not deign to confirm or deny, Dove deems this your silence as answer enough before her sharp gaze lands on Trinity.
"You aren't reacting." Her eyes narrow. "You knew, didn't you?"
Trinity's grin is wild. "Of course I did. Best friend privileges."
Victoria's expression is a touch hurt when she asks, "why didn't you tell us?"
"It felt so surreal, I wasn't sure if he was just gonna leave me high and dry after that first night," you share with a bashful smile. "We didn't even sleep together for the first couple of times we ran into each other at Barney's."
The food arrives, artfully decorated, and plates land quietly on your table. Your group give the server a distracted word of thanks before their attention is fixed on you once more. You drag out the moment as you grab your phone to text Jack back.
To J ♡ : Serves you right for picking him over me.
To J ♡ : But yes to pizza ♡
When you hit send and lock your phone, you glance up to see them staring at you with patient expression. (Almost patient, Victoria looks like she's about to dive out of her seat.)
"So he joined me at the bar that first night—you know how I like to write at Barney's—and he tried the most stupidest pick-up lines on me." You recall the evening with a smile, telling a shortened version before you continue on to tell the next time you'd seen him. "I didn't give him my number then and I was fully regretting it until I saw him again a week later at Barney's."
—
… SIX MONTHS AGO.
The loud music and wild cheers is a comfort that doesn't deter your concentration as you try yet again to continue writing lyrics. While you manage to tune out the surroundings of Barney's, you can't quite tune out your own thoughts. You're better than this, you think to yourself as you set the pen down with a little groan in favor of sipping at your glass of cherry coke.
Jack Abbot has been living at the forefront of your mind since he had helped you get home a week ago. You scoured the internet for any trace of him at two in the morning, stalking his non-existent socials only to come up with just their last release of Ghost Of You about five years ago.
The song itself is heartwrenchingly beautiful, the ache interlaced within the chords and harmonies, it had driven you to your piano and write a short melody you can't quite put a name to. It's the same melody filtering through your mind, one you've been trying to write lyrics to.
"You'll end up scratching a hole into the page if you write so hard."
You nearly fall off your stool when Jack settles into the seat beside you. Effortlessly handsome, his silver curls are messed roughly atop his head, crows feet deepening in amusement.
"Are you stalking me?" You blurt out but he chuckles and shakes his head.
"No, I just wanted a beer. But seeing you's a nice surprise." He takes the open bottle with a nod, takes a swig without losing eye contact with you. When you don't speak, a silent challenge, he gives in with a slightly bashful grin. "Alright, I might've… been coming every night to see you again."
The immediate confession floors you, flattery blooming in your chest. "Seriously?"
He laughs and it's such a boyish sound that he nearly looks ten years younger. "Seriously," he confirms. "Didn't feel right though since you weren't sober the last time I saw you."
A smile rises up your lips, unbidden. "I'm sober now. Still want that number?"
"Yes, but I was hoping for more now."
Your brows raise in playful surprise. "And what did you have in mind?"
His eyes flick up and down but rather than feeling like a piece of meat, he makes you feel like art being appraised. It sends a shiver down your spine. "One evening with you."
Maybe if it were anyone else, you would've made him work for it. Beg a little. Drag the moment until they're drooling for just a touch. But Jack's good at making you chase for it and make it feel like it's your idea.
"Take me home, rockstar."
No one bats an eye when you walk out of the establishment with Jack's arm around your waist, the other patrons turning a blind eye. His cologne is addicting when he tugs you into his side, effectively shielding you from a few stragglers taking a smoke break by the curb. When the car rolls up, Jack's got a hand at the top of the entrance as you slide in to avoid any accidental head bumps.
The drive is quiet but filled with a tension neither of you knew how to name. His hand is warm on your thigh and when you two make it to his place deep in the 'burbs of Holmby Hills. It takes your breath away when Jack helps you out of your sweater in the receiving foyer of his home.
It's massive and beautiful without seeming pretentious.
"So, be honest," you say as you follow him to what seems to be the main lounge, a plush brown leather sectional with a private bar hugging the far wall. "Do you use that line often to get women home?"
He circles around the bar, picks out a few glasses with a knowing laugh. "What—? No, I don't just hang around bars to pick up women. That's more of Robby's prerogative. Haven't you seen our tabloids? He's the manwhore between the two of us."
You laugh and lean against the opposite side of the bar, nearly bending over to flash Jack a hint of your cleavage. "That doesn't help your case! Those same tabloids that talked about Robby also talked about you, you know. You two are one in the same."
He shakes his head with another amused chuckle before he gives in, narrating his tried and true methods. "… I start off with making mocktails. Makes it look less sleazy than me using actual alcohol." He does a few tricks with the cocktail shakers, indubitably impressing you despite your attempts to remain indifferent. When he finishes, he pours the mocktail espresso martini into two glasses, adds a coffee bean in the center.
"I hate to say it, rockstar, but I'm a little impressed," you say after taking a careful sip, noting the way Jack's eyes track your tongue catching the foam left behind on the corner of your lip.
"Thank god, I don't think I'd live with myself if I ended up disappointed you," he teases as he circles the bar to join you on the same side, leaning one elbow upon the dark wooden counter as he appraises you yet again. No hesitation in checking you out and you let yourself be put on display. He watches you look around, never taking his eyes off you as he absentmindedly reaches up to brush back your hair over your shoulder to trace your collarbone.
"You have a lot of decor…"
The touch is light and undemanding, the backs of his knuckles feather-light as they brush along the remnants of glitter from your previous photoshoot. "I traveled a lot. And with the royalties, I have too much money I know what to do with— yeah, I know," he laughs at your blatant eye roll but he continues on when you sink deeper into his space. "I bought a lot of stupid shit with it. I even got talked into buying a gold massage chair."
You gasp dramatically. "No fuckin' way. Those are literal scams."
"I was out $10k, of course I knew it was a scam," he laughs as he shakes his head. The hand that had traced your jaw and collarbone travels down to your waist, skimming a thumb along your hip bone. The space between you two is nearly nonexistent but before you follow the natural progression to kissing, he tips his head to the side. "Follow me."
His hand nearly swallows yours as he guides you to the leather couch, sits you down before he wanders to the corner of the room where a gorgeous turntable sits. The room's filled with slow crooning and instrumentals, maybe something from the forties if you had to date it yourself, when he drops the needle. The plush seats dips beside you as Jack's arm stretches out across the back of the couch, effectively curling you into his embrace. You aren't complaining as your shoulder brushes his chest, lifting to move your legs onto his lap while you sip at your mocktail.
"Your age is showing," you tease. "I didn't think you listened to Frank Sinatra. Were you two classmates?"
"Har har," Jack laughs dryly, pinching your side lightly while you lean over to set your empty glass down onto the coffee table. "You're real cute, sweetheart." In your effort to escape and wriggle from his ticklish touch, he uses your movement to his advantage to pull you even closer for a kiss that steals your breath away.
You kiss back immediately, a low whimper spilling between your lips that Jack swallows immediately. He kisses you like he's starving. His touch is warm and demanding as he coasts along the expanse of your ass and hips, drawing you closer. At one point, your hips rise, grinding slightly while you hover above him and his head tips back with the force of your kiss. It's hungry and messy now, your hair cascading down that he uses the back of his hand to sweep back your tresses before tucking it behind your ear.
The gentle touch brings forth a broken giggle before you full on start laughing against his neck.
"Sweetheart. This is kinda killing my ego," he says as his large hand splays out along your spine while you bow over to stifle your laughter in his shirt.
"I'm sorry," you manage to say, your giggle dying down as you lift your head while you smooth out the creases upon his collar and chest. "I just— it was tickling me and then I just remembered— you have a massage chair? Like for real?"
He gives you an incredulous look but nods. "Yeah."
"Can I see it?"
"Not right now."
...
You sit in the massage chair with a blanket wrapped around your frame while Jack stands above you, fiddling with the remote control. The chair kickstarts and your eyes roll back with a quiet moan. Jack's eyes darken before you look up with a half-grin.
"This is great but this was definitely not worth ten thousand dollars, rockstar."
—
You're pulled back into the present when your phone buzzes in your hand. A red heart from Jack in reply to your text.
"You tried out his massage chair before you tried him out?" Dove interrupts with a bright giggle. "Did you guys fuck that night?"
When you shake your head, the girls gasp. "No, we spent the whole night talking. He took me back to bed and we made out some more but we kept laughing. At one point, we just fell asleep together."
You didn't realize you had been staring out the window with the dopiest smile until you snap out of it, glancing back to your friends who are watching you with varying looks of fondness and slight concern.
"You look smitten, babe," Samira murmurs gently. You startle and before you can deny it, Dove cuts in with a firmer squeeze to your hand.
"Just remember, honest love can be a cage that'll trick you into feeling like you're free."
Victoria smacks her shoulder. "Jesus, you're a bigger cynic than Trinity."
You shake your head and trace shapes into the condensation of your glass. "I never said it was love, guys. It's… We aren't labeling anything. And I'm not about to scare him off by asking the stupid 'what-are-we' question, I'm being cool. Chill. Relaxed and indifferent."
"Indifferent suddenly means your not-boyfriend coming around for pizza?" Trinity remarks with a sharp brow. "Be honest with yourself, he's doing boyfriend things, you're doing girlfriend things. I think six months is a little too long for a situationship—"
Victoria snorts into her glass. "Look who's talking."
Dove and Trinity share a look and an awkward silence falls on the table. Despite feeling sorry for your best friend and her own messy love life, you're grateful that the attention is finally off you.
The conversation shifts onward to different topics, Samira bemoaning the strict thematic approaches the higher-ups are placing on her next EP, Dove gushing about the last episode of Euphoria, Trinity rambling eagerly of a break after wrapping up filming for her latest movie, and Victoria complaining yet again of her extraordinarily famous director of a mother.
You sit in the midst of the beautiful chaos with a soft smile, nibbling absentmindedly at your friends before your phone buzzes again. Trinity glances over—you wonder if it's her innate overprotective best friend role—until you wave her away. It's just your manager, Cassie.
"I've gotta go," you sigh regretfully as you show the screen of Cassie calling you. The girls boo dramatically but you give your customary cheek kisses before you stumble out of the booth, answering the call and tucking your phone in between your ear and shoulder. "Hey, Cass."
Your heels carry you to the front, sunglasses back on your face. The valet approaches you but you politely wave them away just as your own driver pulls up to the curb.
"… yeah, Antoine just got here," you tell Cassie on the phone as he steps out to open the door for you. "… yup, absolutely." When you hang up the phone, you let your driver know to take you straight to the recording studio.
As you sink into the backseat, you let out a quiet huff as you brace yourself for the packed schedule that'll take up the rest of your day. In the midst of LA traffic, you mindlessly scroll through emails and correspondence to shift your brain into work mode.
Even so, your attention falls to the leather cord that's wrapped loosely around your wrist. A guitar pick dangles at the end, matte black with a red 'J' scrawled in the center.
Your smile never fades even as you enter the building upon arriving.
—
The outside world falls away when you envelop yourself into the bubble with the other writers and producers. Before you even step into the booth, you settle onto the couch as you're surrounded by a few of the other staff. Cassie had brought you your notebooks from your house for you, along with a few changes of clothes in anticipation of having no time to go home and change.
"I do have potential lyrics for one of the b-sides."
You flip through your notebook and the raw vulnerability that greets you nearly has you slamming the pages shut. But you keep it open and hand it over to Brendon, one of your harsher critics and fellow co-writers. It always feels like peeling your skin and exposing the muscles beneath when Brendon looks over your work; he may not know it's about Jack but he'll see the yearning that's been burrowing deeper and deeper in your bones.
"Not bad." Brendon nods and turns where he sits on a piano bench, testing out the chords you had scrawled above the lyrics. "Slower tempo, though. Might keep this as an opener if you want to build the storytelling to something bigger…"
The afternoon continues on like this, testing out melodies and harmonies while locking in the lyrics. Something comes to mind from the brunch and you lean over Brendon to scribble an extra line in the first verse.
He reads it over, sings it in the melody. "Honest love is a cage that makes you feel free…" the final chord echoes in the room. "That's cynical for a love song."
You shrug. "That's why it's titled 'stupid song'."
Another producer behind you chuckles at your smart wit. The progress is slow and steady but you've got a demo recorded at least and soon Cassie's hustling you out for your next schedule to the dance studio a few blocks down.
Fortunately, there's only a few dancers already there and the choreographer and performance director is close behind; you hate making people wait, fully negating the diva persona the internet tries pushing on you.
The choreo is something you're already familiar with and rehearsal goes by swiftly, blocking out your entrances as you follow the marked tapes that's meant to mimic the stage for the festival you're headlining next month.
"We'll end here today. Thanks, everybody." Everyone disperses for water, stretching out while you head over to your phone where it's been ringing.
You thank everyone as you cross the room to your bag, rummaging to bring out your phone. When you answer, a smile immediately blooms upon your lips.
"Hey, baby."
Jack's chuckle is slightly overtaken by the roar of winds and you figure he's driving with the windows down. "Hi, sweetheart. Did I interrupt something, you sound breathless."
"Oh, absolutely. I was just riding Robby," you retort with a snappy giggle.
"My best friend? That's cruel," he whines dramatically before he breaks off into a laugh. "Our recording sesh finished early, thought I could swing by and wait for you at your place."
"Actually…" Your conversation with the girls begin to weigh heavily on your mind, missing the way some of the dancers start to glance your way. "Rehearsals just finished. Do you wanna pick me up instead?"
"Depends. Where's the dance studio?"
"Are you near West Hollywood? On Melrose?"
Jack chuckles. "I am. I'll be there in ten, alright? Don't come out 'til I pull up."
You hum, not bothering to stamp down your bright smile. "I know. I'll see you soon."
"See you, darling."
Jack's G-Wagon is excessive yet blends right in with the rest of the vehicles that roll along Melrose Ave. He's shamelessly double-parked in front of the studio, hazard lights flashing, as you walk briskly to hop into the front seat. You don't relax until the door's shut behind you, safe behind tinted windows, to lean in and kiss Jack across the console. Despite the obvious traffic he's causing, his hand grasps your jaw to deepen the kiss that has your thighs clenching together.
"Mm, Jack… the cars—"
He nips against your lower lip. "Can't help it. Missed you today."
You giggle, traffic be damned, and lean in for another. "You saw me this morning."
"Not enough time," he says simply before he drops a kiss to your nose and shuts off his hazard lights. "Buckle up."
You obey immediately before a tantalizing smell steals your attention. Like a bloodhound, you sniff the air and look over your shoulder to see the familiar box in the backseat.
"You got me Vito's?"
Jack chuckles at the sharp squeal that follows, landing his warm palm onto your thigh to settle you when you attempt to turn and crawl into the back for an early slice. "It's your favorite, sweetheart, of course I did. Now quit moving and behave for me."
You retaliate with a sharp nip to his earlobe instead, dragging his hand higher up your thigh which he squeezes. "I'm giving you the sloppiest head later."
"Just for pizza?" He barks out a laugh as he turns onto your street.
"For Vito's," you correct. He rolls into your driveway, the gate shutting behind him. Once the security system is locked in place, you squeal as Jack's hand shifts higher to rub your clothed clit. His mouth finds yours, swallowing up your moans as he rubs you through the soaked fabric until you're cumming in your seat.
You're panting against his mouth when he reluctantly breaks the kiss, retracting his hand to lick his fingers clean while you watch with a burning gaze. "Always taste so sweet for me, sweetheart," he remarks casually before he steps out, circles the car and helps you out next.
The indifference he has is a ruse, you know that much, but it turns you on even more, whining playfully as he grabs the pizza and heads inside without another word. "Jack—!"
His resounding cackle only has you huffing, playfully stomping your feet as you follow him inside. "Go shower, pretty girl, I'll meet you on the rooftop."
—
(INSTAGRAM — @STARSARCHIVAL. (fan account for STAR!)
2 min ago. — [caption: THROWBACK TO WHEN STAR DID LIVESTREAMS.]
VIDEO: A screen recording of an old livestream of you that aired a few months ago. It's late morning or early noon, birds chirping. You're sitting in your backyard patio at the table, an acoustic guitar on your lap and dressed in a matching pajama set. A bowl of unfinished greek yogurt and parfait is sitting on the table beside you.
"This is a demo, not really sure if this'll ever be released but I finally figured out the chorus. Hope you like it."
A sweet melody rings out, mingling with the occasional songbird that flits in and out of frame behind you. It's likened to a lullaby.
"And it's too hard to describe thisIn a way that feels honest, but even when I'm quietI adore you, baby, I promiseAnd I hope I never see what your face looks like goin'A face, I swear, that I could spend my whole life knowin'Here's to hopin'."
—
By the time you're showered, the sun has begun to set, painting the skies a strawberry pink tinged with orange. One of Jack's old NIGHTCRAWLER shirts hang off your frame, the black dye faded into a crackled gray, and conceal the cotton shorts beneath as you climb up the stairs that lead to your house's roof.
It had been the sole reason of purchasing this home, the gorgeous view that overlooks the neighborhood with an artifical ivy wall to create a semblance of privacy. With some renovation, you had another wall put up to project movies off of with a mountain of beanbag chairs and plush couches to sit on at the other side of the roof. A low coffee table sits nearby as well, occasionally pushed aside or dragged closer for whatever the evening requires.
But tonight, Jack has the lanterns turned on, casting the roof in a warm glow that'll replace the sunset's natural light. The coffee table is tugged close to the couch that Jack's already occupying, the pizza box open and a couple of cherry cokes already set out for the both of you.
"That mine?" He chuckles in greeting as he opens his arm for you to slide into.
"It's mine now," you grin and tuck your legs beneath you, fitting perfectly in his arms while he hands you a plate. Music is playing faintly; you may not own an exorbitantly expensive record player like Jack but you have a handy JBL speaker that's currently playing an old R&B track you might've introduce him to.
The two of you eat in comfortable silence as you assume your usual position: legs tossed across Jack's lap, his hand stroking along your thigh, and your head resting on his shoulder as you chew. While he'd been technically on hiatus with Robby for the past several years, he understands the chaos and demands of a life lived in the public eye.
Sometimes, just existing with Jack is enough to find your anchor.
"Day's been okay?" He asks quietly, plates set aside as he presses a kiss to your forehead. When you nod, a voice that sounds eerily like Trinity whispers in your ear: boyfriend activities. You bat it away.
"Just busy," you answer as you set your cherry coke down to tip your head up to meet his eyes. Your fingertips scratch along his scruffy beard, traveling up to play with his silver curls. "This is nice, though. I love our rooftop pizza nights."
Jack hums in agreement, head tipping to chase your touch. "Best way to end the day. Made any progress with the album?"
"A bit. We got the verse down but we're still playing around with the chorus," you murmur. His hand smooths up your thigh without expectations, basking in the domesticity of the evening while you ramble on about your day. He listens with a few nods and hums slipped in. "But how about you? I saw the Rolling Stones article about you and Robby. Are you excited to be back in the limelight?"
"I think so— I know Robby is," he chuckles. "Most of the album is recorded but it's shorter than we planned it to be. Either we just drop it as is or we would drag out the release by dropping singles."
"That's what my company wants me to do. Don't tell anyone but I have something slated to release for my music festival next month. Oh— that reminds me! Will you be coming?"
Jack already has trouble denying you anything but when you pair a question (that you ask oh so sweetly) with a bat of your big doe eyes, he's saying yes before he could even consult his schedule. He's rewarded with an eager squeal from you, nearly knocking him backwards as you hug him tight. "Careful, sweetheart," he laughs as he braces you against him with a hand on your back, effectively holding you like a clingy koala with how your legs hook around his waist.
"I'll have my team send over badges so you can get through security," you state while reluctantly releasing Jack so you can draft up an email to Cassie while perched comfortably on his lap. "Should I get Robby one too?"
Jack pauses before he nods. "Sure, why not."
"Good, I already requested for two." The email's sent and when you toss your phone aside, you catch your lover's questioning look as you settle back down in his arms.
"Don't give me that face— you and Robby are like a set, I know better than to separate you two."
—
Hot off the press, a stack of US WEEKLY magazines are dropped off by the kioks on the Walk of Fame a few days later. Your face amongst a few other male celebrities are splashed across the cover, garnering more attention by passing pedestrians.
US WEEKLY: STAR-CROSSED LOVERS?
NATION'S POPSTAR PRINCESS 'STAR' WAS FOUND EXITING DANCE STUDIO ON MELROSE AND GETTING PICKED UP BY A MYSTERY MAN.
MANY HAVE BEEN SPECULATING EXACTLY WHO WAS IN THE LIMO WITH STAR THE NIGHT BEFORE BUT SOURCES CLAIM TO KNOW WHO PICKED HER UP IN THAT G-WAGON. SOME SAY IT'S DENNIS WHITAKER, UP AND COMING COUNTRY SINGER OR MATEO DIAZ, CURRENT HEARTTHROB OF THE BIG SCREEN.
BUT MANY CLAIM IT'S JACK ABBOT OR ROBBY FROM NIGHTCRAWLER.
—
thank you so much for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are heavily appreciated and welcomed!
contents: fem/afab! reader, daddy kink, watching porn, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, hint of breeding kink, porn with no plot whatsoever
note: this might be absolute dookie but i had to get it off my chest, save me daddy pope!!! <3
pope cody was not difficult to please during sex. whatever you liked, he liked too. it was rare for him to ever discover any kinks on his own. but right now, you're splayed out in bed with him. back pressed to his chest as he sat up against the headboard, your feet placed on his knees as he's knuckle-deep in your aching cunt. his chin rests on your shoulder as you two are watching porn on your laptop together, which is conveniently sitting right between your legs. it wasn't one of those stupidly overdone professionally-filmed videos either, it looked like it had been recorded on someone's phone. you were almost in a trance between how hot the video was and the way pope's fingers stretched you out deliciously. soft moans were pouring from your swollen lips, plump and red from making out with your boyfriend every five seconds. this time as you turn your head to kiss him again, your eyes meet his. "i need more, daddy." you mumble against his lips. after hearing it so much in the video, you couldn't help but want to say it to him and see how he'd react.
he pauses for a moment, pulling back just enough to see the need in your gaze. you're confused as to why he pulled away, the frown forming rather quickly on your face. that's when you feel something warm against your back. you'd felt his erection against you since before the video had even started, but this… this could only mean one thing. you pull back now, taking in the grimace on his face as a startled groan escapes his lips. "did you just-" you face forward to pause the video, shutting the laptop and sliding it off the bed. it landed on the floor with a soft thump, something you could worry about later. pope feels himself starting to panic, thinking that you were upset with him for coming too early again. instead, he's met with your curious gaze as you turn around to face him completely. you sit back on your heels between his legs, eyes traveling to the large wet spot in his gray boxers.
"did i do this to you?" your tone was teasing, running a fingertip over the wet spot. his hips jerk upward in response. "you made a mess, daddy." you lean closer, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. he practically whines when you don't give him anything else. "stop…" he croaks, grabbing your waist, fingertips digging into your skin. "you don't like it?" your pout made him shake his head furiously. "n-no… i like it." he pleads, pulling you closer. you relent, straddling his lap. you intentionally plop yourself down on his bulge. you grind against him, watching as his jaw hangs open. "i'll put it in for you." he pants, warm breath ghosting over your lips. "you're so good to me." you hum, lifting your hips up as he shoves his boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free.
"you gonna- take daddy's cock?" the words don't come out as smoothly as he'd hoped, but that only made it more attractive to you. "yes, please." you smile, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. he lines himself up with your entrance, easing you down on his messy cock while simultaneously licking into your mouth. "you're so big, daddy." you moan in his ear, burying your face in his shoulder as you start to bounce on him like your life depended on it. he's grabbing handfuls of your ass, forcing you to take him deeper with every thrust. the overstimulation had him whimpering endlessly, but he wasn't going to stop until you came. his lips start attacking your neck, the vibrations of his moans traveling right down to the heat in your core. you grab him by the jaw, tongue invading his mouth as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge.
"come on daddy's cock… please, fuck-" he mutters against your mouth, tongue tracing over any inch of skin that was close by. "oh god, 'm so close, daddy." you cry out, forehead resting against his. it was impossible to kiss him at this point as you were just too fucked out. that didn't stop him from kissing at the corners of your mouth, holding you close as he feels himself ready to come for the second time. "y-you'll fill me up, right?" you pleaded, fingernails digging into his shoulders. "yeah… gonna stuff you full, princess." he grunts in response, staring into your eyes as you fall apart around him. he slides his hand down between the two of you, rubbing your clit firmly. he can feel your walls flutter around him as your orgasm comes crashing over you. "'m coming, daddy!" your cries fill the room as you crumble in his arms.
"look so pretty, baby." he murmurs into your hair, rubbing his hand up and down your back as you come down from the high. although, he stiffens a bit at the sound of your chuckle, looking at you with confusion when he sees the giddy smile on your face. "what's so funny?" he faltered. "didn't realize you liked being called daddy so much." you cup his face in your hands, taking in the adorably flustered look on his face. "i like anything you say." he tries to play it off, but you knew that this one in particular affected him more than usual. "mhm, i bet you do." you kiss his cheek, running a hand through his unruly auburn curls.
Dennis isn’t quite there yet with his self-expression, so he holds off on getting any tattoos or piercings
Trinity doesn’t wanna have a needle in her skin that isn’t in her ears, but she’d love to have a tattoo
So, they get non-permanent sticker tattoos that you can put on with the whole water procedure. They're ultra-realistic and are only supposed to last for around two weeks with no residue. It's perfect for a test drive
It’s just for a fun night on the town, twin tramp stamps that make everyone’s heads turn when they walk past
So many free drinks, so many numbers they never intend to actually call back, and getting into sections for free just cause they're gorgeous
Unfortunately, the tattoos haven’t rubbed off the next day (which, duh, they just didn't read the instructions all the way through). No matter, their scrubs cover their lower back
Unfortunately, the world seemed to hate them, and there was a lot of bending over on the shift. Dennis swears that he could recite the differences in each tile due to the amount of bending over he's done
Robby catches sight of the tramp stamp and gets so hard his knees buckle, and he has to hold onto the table in order not to make an absolute fool of himself (Dana sees him and he does indeed make a fool of himself)
Robby takes immense pleasure in having Dennis in the doggy position for the next two weeks, just to see his tramp stamp move. And if he pulls out just when he's going to come so he can release all over Dennis's back and mark him, well, Dennis likes it, so it's fine
Jack Abbot’s got one hand on the steering wheel, and the other is two fingers deep in your pussy as you claw desperately at his muscly arm for support. Neon reds, greens, and yellows cast themselves across your faces as you move through the busy downtown Pittsburgh traffic on a Saturday night. If they wanted to, the drivers on the right of you could definitely see what’s going on behind the windows of Jack’s truck. He looks sooo handsome tonight in a dark, tight fitted tee with jeans and boots - black Rolex on his left wrist. You’re coming from a double dinner date with Robby and an obstetrician he’s been seeing.
Your legs are spread wide, unashamedly slick with your juices as he fucks his fingers up into you. Your hair’s falling in your face, your brows are screwed up in pleasure as you whine and whimper. Your cheeks are pink and flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Jesus, baby, you’re soakin’ the passenger seat. Fuck,” he growls.
“Oh Jack, please don’t stop! Gonna make me cum, daddy,” you sob. Your legs shake as you further drench the seat, nails digging into his arm.
“Aw there you go, fuck. Look at you, jus’ fuckin’ soaking my fingers, honey. Yeah you are,” he cooes while pumping them in and out of you, eyes glossy as he goes back and forth between your weepy cunt clenching his thick digits, and the flow of traffic in front of him. “Yeah you areee, such a good girl. Fuck me, need to get you home.” You collapse breathlessly against his bicep, clutching for dear life as you come down from your high. “I got you, there you go angel. Daddy’s got you. Daddy’s got you, always. When we get home I’m gonna take care of you proper, baby,” he whispers into your hair as he presses a tender kiss to your head.
thinking about sitting on jack abbot’s thigh, lazily rolling your hips and leaning into his chest, just enough for stimulation but not enough to actually get anywhere.
jack’s wearing his dumb cargo pants, his work phone shoved in the pocket you’re currently sitting on. you learn rather quickly that jack (the old man he is) has his phone set to vibrate. you also learn that someone is very intent on getting a hold of him.
jack realizes his phone is trapped under you, undulating and grinding into the new sensation. grins when he discovers, yes, you are wanton enough to treat his vibrating phone like a pseudo sex toy, grinding harder every time a call or text comes through.
“i should probably get that.” he murmurs, not actually making any effort to dislodge you from his thigh. you just double down, arms around his neck, pussy directly on his dumb cargo pants that you hate so much, clit catching on the rough fabric and the corner of his phone, chasing the periodic vibrations.
“gonna let me get that baby?” he teases, grabbing your hips to lift you up. you retaliate by sinking your teeth into his shoulder, fighting his grip to get your wet cunt back on his thigh.
“oh, she’s feral today,” he comments, smacking your ass once in response to the bite - jack knows it’s gonna leave a mark.
you don’t even react, focused on wiggling your way back down onto his thigh and phone, which is still vibrating through his pants. you were so close, and jack is being so mean, making you hover over the embarrassingly large wet spot you left behind.
“you’re gonna water log my phone,” jack notes, following your eyes to the wet patch. “gonna have to stick it in rice after this. how am i gonna explain to IT that my work phone is broken? tell them it’s because i have a very demanding little girl at home with the world’s wettest cunt? and that she sat on my phone like a little slut, using the vibrations to get off?” jack paused, grinning at the long whine you made, embarrassed and turned on by the idea, hips still wiggling. “is that what i’m gonna have to tell them?”
you don’t respond, mainly because you’re not sure if you can form words at this point, and finally win the war against his grip to drop back down to his thigh, cunt once again pressed hard onto the cargo pocket. you immediately start humping, only further proving jack’s point. you don’t care - you’re so close.
jack leans forward, stubble brushing your ear as he growls, “maybe i should make you tell them. call them and apologize for ruining my phone with your wet, selfish cunt. what do you think about that?”
you come - embarrassingly hard, hips stuttering against him as you continue to soak his pants, vaguely aware that jack is cooing and encouraging you as you do so.
“atta girl, so easy for me. coming just from a few calls and texts from robby,” jack rubs your back, letting you collapse into his shoulder, bright with embarrassment and exhaustion.
after a couple of minutes, jack works his hand into his pocket, slowly removing his phone, making a point to wipe the sheen off on his shirt before checking it.
“hm. lucky girl. robby said they got a hold of shen,”jack tips your chin up so you look at him, stupid smirk on his face, “he apologizes for all the calls.”
boyfriend jack abbot who always lets you touch but never lets you come. not unless he’s around to give you the express permission or to force it out of you. says he likes the sounds too much. the squeaks and the whines and the nails digging into his shoulders when you repeat his name. his not name, too. the begging and the pleading, the muffled ‘daddy, daddy, daddy’ as he fucks into you, your pussy sloppy and wet, your burning face hidden against the curve of his neck.
he makes the argument that waiting is the very least you can do. ‘for me,’ he says, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone, leaning down to press warm, knowing kisses to your mouth. ‘just want you to try for me.’
so you agree, hesitant at first but also excited. like the prospect of denying yourself orgasm is a shiny new toy that’s been dropped in your lap, ready to be turned over and inspected for possibility, for layer and depth. you touch yourself when he’s not around and you don’t let yourself come. let yourself teeter on the edge and text him sweet, vague nothings, like ‘miss you’ and ‘thinking of you’ and ‘can’t wait to see you later.’ and he responds in kind, when he can, when he’s not elbow deep in traumas.
over time, the messages grow bolder, less vague. messages he has to hide his screen to read lest his ears and the back of his neck flush bright red. and that makes it even better, you think, of having a dirty little secret. of being one too. jack abbot’s needy, desperate girlfriend who can’t go a single day without him giving her an orgasm. who has to bother him at work like a child would their guardian. ‘can i go to the park? can i watch a movie? can i come in our bed thinking of you?’
‘so empty, it hurts,’ you text him with one hand down your pants, and, ‘i almost came, but i didn’t! didn’t want to disappoint you. but now my pillow’s all wet :(’ and once, memorably, because he calls you almost directly after, ‘i need you to take care of me, daddy, where are you?’
a cute, flirty little game that makes the distance apart more bearable. connects you through space and time and a digital footprint that should most definitely be wiped clean before you die. it evolves into slow, delicious torture over the course of the relationship. as you find it exceptionally more and more difficult not to come on the days you’re ramped up, near impossible during ovulation.
days like today when you’re at home, naked in your bed, the past who knows how many hours spent with your hand between your thighs, rubbing mindless circles around your clit and thinking of jack. of his voice and his hands and the thick circumference of his waist you absolutely adore, that you love to wrap your legs around when he’s deep inside of you, holding onto him with all four limbs like a koala.
you still stop when you get too close, breathing fast and hard and squeezing your thighs together at the achy, empty feeling but you hate it, think you might actually vibrate out of your skin soon if he doesn’t come home and take care of you. in an act of desperation, you send him a voice note that he sees twenty minutes later, ducks into the bathroom to listen to, phone pressed to his ear.
it’s almost two minutes long. begins with the slick, wet sounds of your pussy he knows so well, realizes with a hot pulse of desire in his stomach that you’re fingering yourself and then your voice starts up, pleading. you sound wrecked, completely out of it, like your entire world has been shrunk down to your cunt and what you can fit inside of it.
‘i’m sorry—i’m sorry, i just need it so bad. need something inside me, 'cause you’re not here to—,’ you cut yourself off on a moan and then the slick sounds get faster, more urgent. ‘fill me up. i’m so empty, all of the time ‘n i need it, daddy, need your big cock inside me, stretching me open, oh—,’ a squeak then loud, audible breathing, the slick sounds of your pussy ending, ‘almost came. fuck, fuck, i almost came.’ there’s muffled rustling, the bed maybe, the phone, and then your voice again, sweeter, closer to the microphone, ‘i need you to come home and fuck me. i’m so wet, you have no idea. i'm getting the sheets all dirty. i would feel so good inside when you—,’ more shifting, a high, soft moan. ‘stuff me full. you wouldn’t even have to ask for permission. you could just bend me over and take what you want. nng—you could fuck me on the floor.’ you were touching yourself again. he could hear it, his own fingers white knuckling his phone. ‘in the hallway, and i w-would beg for it. beg for you to come inside me, so, so deep, daddy and—,’ you let out a delirious giggle as the slick sounds grow louder, ‘it would probably stick 'cause i’m—fuck—'cause i’m ovulating.’
jack is slowly but surely banging his forehead against the solid door to the bathroom.
‘don’t you want that? to become a real daddy? you could hold my legs open and make me take all of it. your cum, pump a load inside of me.’ he hears a squelch and then a moan. ‘you could stay like that until i’m pregnant. please, please, please, i’m made for it, made for you. jack—oh my god—,’ you make a guttural, unintelligible noise that abruptly cuts off as the message ends.
what the fuck?
jack pulls his phone away from his ear, breathing hard, and texts you. ‘did you come?’
you respond back almost immediately. ‘no >:( i stopped’
then he groans as an image comes through. fingers of your right hand spread apart, shiny, wet string connecting them. evidence of what they’ve been doing. and then another of your face, smushed cheek into the bed and beaded tears on your eyelashes.
fuck. jack rubs the aching skin on his forehead and hopes there isn’t a red mark.
‘good,’ he texts, ‘that’s really good, sweetheart. i’m proud of you.’
he receives back a long row of frowny faces that make him huff a laugh and then words. ‘i’m tired of being good. it hurts.’
‘i know, baby,’ he says, ‘but you’ll do it for me?’
a brief pause as three dots appear then disappear and then appear again.
‘yes, daddy, i’ll do it for you.’
he squeezes his dick as it pulses between his legs.
‘good girl. i love you.’
‘i love you too. home soon?’
‘home so soon, baby. just be a little more patient for me.’
and then jack spends the next five minutes splashing cold water on his face and the back of his neck, willing his erection to die down enough to leave the fucking bathroom.
it’s always ass vs. tits and most people can’t choose but for him it’s an easy answer.
it’s any outfit, any time of day, and especially any position.
making dinner in the kitchen? smack. he’s walking past you in an aisle of a store? lighter smack. even during patient handoffs when he passes you. smack.
it’s not his fault the tightness of your scrubs shapes the curve of your ass so well.
god help him when you’re making out and you’re in his lap, legs slotted to press up against his outer thighs. jack won’t hesitate to grab the plush of your ass and pull you down flush against him. it’s possessive.
and his hands are just so big and calloused.
or finally when you’re bad and mean!jack bends you over his knee bare. he’ll rub the bare flesh before bringing his hand down with a satisfying smack. he does this over and over till one of three things occurs: you tap out, he decides you been good enough, or the flesh is your ass is just getting a little too red.
but seeing that hand imprint mark is such a big turn on for him as much as you.
and of course he’ll pepper you with a thousand kisses after, cooing about how “just so perfect for me. perfect ass, god. you did so good, baby.”
because at the end of the day if jack abbot is known for one thing, it’s that he is 100% an ass man.
If you're a new writer and you're asking yourself "is this too personal, is this too much, will people think this is weird" that feeling is the exact location of your actual voice. The stuff that makes you want to close the laptop is the stuff nobody else could write. The safe version is always worse. Always. I have never once read something and thought "this would have been better if it was a little less honest." go further. It's always go further.
content warning: crazy ex bf! sammy bryant, reader still misses him despite everything, fem/afab! reader, dubcon! (it's a lot so pls read carefully <3), stalking, breaking and entering, somnophilia, cheating, reluctance/coercion (for reader), unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, mating press
word count: 4.3k (holy moly)
author note: this is definitely the most insane thing i'm gonna write on here for a LONG time, but pls pls pls read the content warnings!!! <3
minors do not interact, 18+ only
things were coming to a head in yours and sammy's relationship. he was starting to ask too many questions about where you were and what you were doing, to the point that you felt annoyed by the idea of leaving the house. one night, you were planning on going out with friends. you got all dolled up, putting on a dress that had probably been collecting dust in your closet for close to a year. you finish doing your hair and makeup, ready to leave, when you hear your front door open. you had a sneaking suspicion of who it could be, since he was the only one with a key to your house at the moment.
you head down the stairs, where you find sammy already waiting for you in the living room. he takes one glance at your outfit and immediately gets a sharp tone. "that's not happening." he motions to your outfit, to which you roll your eyes. "i'm just going out with the girls, sammy. it'll be fine." he steps right in front of you as you try to move past, arms crossed over his chest. "i said it's not happening, sweetheart." he repeats himself, eyes boring into yours as if it were supposed to be intimidating. you'd long gotten over sammy's little power trips that he got every now and again.
a lot of people questioned why you were still with him, and your answer every time was that you weren't exactly a saint yourself. you were quite reactive, often being the one to start arguments with sammy. although anyone else in your situation might have said that sammy is the one that brought out that reactive side in you. but regardless, you still loved him and he loved you. the relationship was dysfunctional at best, but you figured it would be something that could mellow out over time. well- at least that's what you thought before the next words that came out of your mouth.
"get the fuck out of my face, sammy. i want to do this one thing and you're already trying to ruin it for me." you snap at him, which actually causes him to falter for a second. but as soon as you open the floor for an argument, sammy is more than willing to oblige. "i'm not letting you leave the house looking like some hooker i see every day on the streets." he claps back, and you feel your blood begin to boil. "it's a good thing i don't need your permission then." you shove past him, knocking his shoulder as you grab your phone and purse. just before you can walk out the front door, he reaches over you and shuts it.
"you walk out of this house and see what happens." he speaks lowly in your ear. normally, it would have done the trick and gotten you to stay. not necessarily because you wanted to follow his orders, but because your body always felt weak when he was so close to you and using that tone of voice. "what are you gonna do sammy, really?" you turn around to face him, watching the anger grow in his expression when he realizes you're actually willing to walk out that door. the door to your own house, mind you. as soon as that realization dawns on you, you step out of the way and open the door. "actually, i think you can walk out of this house instead." you speak flatly, watching as he stiffens.
"i'm not going anywhere, and neither are you." he tries to shut the door, but you hold steady. "get out of my house sammy, we're done." your voice was cold now, finally having had enough of his bullshit. you weren't sure why this was the time where everything had boiled over, but you were ready to be done with him. "the fuck do you mean we're done? you don't get to say that to me." he snaps at you. you hear your friend's car pull up outside, and you knew sammy wasn't going to stick around in the off-chance that she'd help you gang up on him in an argument. your glare doesn't waver, but you feel a hint of satisfaction when you watch him deflate and grab his jacket. "we may be done, but this is far from over." you feel a twinge of something in your chest when he says your name after that last sentence.
you watch him walk out, not missing the way he refused to look up at you as he got in his car. you decided to reflect on all of that later, locking up your house and then getting in your best friend's car. you head toward the bar with her, ready to drink yourself to sleep for the night. hopefully the alcohol would help take your mind off of everything that just happened. so you did, you let loose with all of your friends and absolutely crashed when you got home. you couldn't lie, it was nice coming home to complete silence and being able to go right to sleep without an argument happening right before. that night, you went to sleep finally feeling like you could breathe. however, what you didn't know, was that sammy's last words to you were not a bluff.
it's been about a year since you and sammy split up, now. you were pleasantly surprised at the way he just seemed to disappear from your life. well- you were a bit wary of the immediate silence, but eventually you accepted it and moved on with your life. things were going well and you felt stronger, mentally and physically. you'd even met a new man, whom you'd officially entered into a relationship with about a month ago. he was like a breath of fresh air compared to sammy, at least... that's how it felt in the beginning. that feeling didn't take long to wear off, the honeymoon phase coming to a rather abrupt end. regardless, you kept him around because he didn't pester you about every little thing. then again, he didn't really seem to care about anything.
it began to feel like he just enjoyed the idea of having a girlfriend, or maybe just the social status that came with being in a relationship. whatever it was, he really didn't do much but sit on his ass and play video games when he got off of work. you were kind enough to let him bring his xbox over to your house, so he could play while spending time with you. you hadn't thought much of it then, figuring that he'd use it sparingly. instead, he'd just sit there on your couch all night long, not once even asking if you wanted to join him. you would just sit next to him, scrolling through social media on your phone. you often found yourself falling asleep next to him, and he couldn't even be bothered to cover you with a blanket before he went to bed in your room.
while you enjoyed the silence that came from your current relationship, you came to realize that you were starting to miss the way sammy actually cared about what you did. he may have been a controlling, incredibly overprotective dick, but he cared and he loved you. you weren't sure if your current boyfriend would even be willing to stand up for you if he heard someone call you out of your name. sammy would have already pounced on the aggressor before you could blink, likely cussing them out or even throwing punches. one night, your boyfriend had actually bothered to give you some attention. you weren't sure what the special occasion was, but the two of you had hardly even kissed in the past week.
you were currently straddling his lap, your lips colliding and tongues battling for dominance. your boyfriend has his hands on your bare breasts, kneading them haphazardly. you ignored the way you could barely feel it and just kept kissing him. you were so desperate to be touched that you didn't even notice you'd left the blinds to your bedroom open. it was late at night, and your lamp was on, meaning anybody could see inside. tonight, similar to many nights for the past year, anybody mostly referred to sammy. who sat in his car across the street, white-knuckled grip on his steering wheel as he watches that imbecile try and make you feel good. he can tell, even from here, that it wasn't working. he could tell by the way your back wasn't arching into him, and your hips weren't rolling against his, desperate for friction.
this guy was a fucking idiot if he thought he could ever make you feel as good as sammy could. sammy scoffs to himself when he sees your boyfriend pull away and take you off his lap. he can see the way your shoulders deflate and you draw your knees up to your chest to cover yourself. sammy doesn't even want to know what happened as he sees your boyfriend leave the bedroom. all he knew was that time was up for this dumbass. sammy was way better for you, anyway. he was going to make sure you knew that, too. so he puts his final plan into action, getting cozy in his car for the night. keeping his promise that he told you that last night before he left, sammy didn't disappear like you thought he did. he was always there, lurking in the background.
he spent more time living in his car than his own house these days, always wanting to see where you were and what you were doing. he was happy to see that you hadn't done much to move on from him. you'd only been back to the bar twice since your last night together, and he never watched you bring another man home. probably because he'd be in that same bar, intimidating any man that even bothered to look in your direction. telling them that you're not available, and if they tried, they wouldn't be around to see the sunrise. but what he did see every now and again, was when you'd get home from a long day, march right up to your room, strip yourself naked, and get cozy with that hot pink toy in your bed.
naturally, he was upset when he found out about that toy in the first place, back when the two of you were together. he saw it as him not being good enough to please you, that you had to take matters into your own hands. he thought you got rid of it, like he'd asked, but obviously not. he was grateful for it recently, watching like a hawk through his binoculars when your pretty legs would be spread wide and your head would fall back against the sheets. he noticed that after you and your new boyfriend got together, you started to use it more often. a clear indicator that your boyfriend wasn't shit at pleasing you. all the more reason for him to get you back, right?
sammy continues to let his mind wander as he waits for the morning, thinking about all the ways this plan could work out. you could take him back, admit that nobody ever made you feel as good as sammy did. you could get angry at him, maybe even threaten to hurt him, though that really wasn't like you. you could call the police, even though he technically is the police, and he'd be forced to flee and leave you alone. regardless, sammy needed you to know that he was far from gone. you'd never be able to get rid of him, and you shouldn't want to. so, when the sun begins to rise, and your poor excuse of a boyfriend leaves for work, he exits his car. he doesn't bother to check his surroundings, knowing your quiet neighborhood like the back of his hand.
he makes his way to your front door, fishing out the key that you'd never asked for him to return. oh, his clumsy and silly girl, if only you knew how much trouble that one little detail would get you into. he slides into the lock with ease, gently turning the knoband pushing open the door. thanks to sammy, your doors were quiet when opening. he'd bought you plenty of house and hardware supplies in case you needed to fix things when he wasn't around. he just wished that you could have remembered stuff like that before you broke up with him. all he did for you, the ways he helped you, the way it all showed that he cared for you.
he slips off his shoes and jacket, padding his way up to your bedroom. he makes it to your door, gently opening it and peeking through to see you curled up, fast asleep. you looked as beautiful as ever, especially since he hadn't been able to see you this close in a long time. he walks over to your side of the bed, freezing when he sees you flip onto your back. when you don't stir for a few more seconds, he smirks. you don't even realize it, but you've completely opened yourself up to him and his evil little plan. he carefully pulls the covers off of you, breath hitching slightly when he sees you in nothing but your panties and a flimsy t-shirt. it'd been too long since you were sleeping next to him like this.
he knew damn well that other guy didn't deserve to see you like this in the slightest. especially when he had no idea what to do with all of your beautiful curves and soft skin. but sammy knew every little thing that made you tick. he knew just the right moves to make those plush thighs tremble, to have your back arching off the bed, to make you cry out enough that it could potentially concern the neighbors. he needed you, in his life, in his bed, on his cock. he couldn't stand another minute of you not being his. so he finally takes what he's been missing as he carefully spreads your soft thighs just enough to slip your panties down.
he moves carefully, eyes trained on your face for any sign of you waking up. when he finds none, he moves to the end of the bed and begins to climb on top of it. he maneuvers himself carefully, brining his face between the warm of your thighs. he doesn't waste a second, knowing that any moment now, he'd either be screamed at or kicked out. he delves into your slick cunt, tongue greedily lapping at you. he wondered if maybe your body already knew he was there, because he wasn't sure how you'd gotten so wet when you were supposed to be asleep. he licks at your clit, watching the way your body twitches ever so slightly. you must have been really tired, because you barely flinched when one of his chubby fingers pushes inside you.
it's clear that you can feel something, given the way you're starting to make gentle noises and squirm even more. he's looking up at you through his lashes as his nose catches against your clit and his tongue gratefully accepts your slick courtesy of his finger. you taste just as good as he remembers, and he quickly feels himself getting dizzy from how amazing it felt to be right back where he belonged. he's snapped out of his trance when he hears you slowly coming to. your little noises get a bit louder the more you gain consciousness, but he can tell the exact moment you realize what's happening because your entire body locks up and your breath hitches. but he doesn't stop moving, he even adds another finger inside you. you're frozen in place for a moment, glancing down between your thighs to see soft auburn curls and hazel eyes peering up at you.
"s-sammy?" your voice is raspy from sleep, but you're still incredibly confused and groggy as well. "yeah, pretty girl. i came home to see you." he hums against you, using his free hand to gently rub your thigh. much to his frustration, you finally seem to realize what's going on and you immediately wrench yourself away from him. "what the fuck are you doing?!" you shout at him. you try to scurry off the bed, but sammy's faster and he pins you down to the bed. "hey, hey... calm down. i'm not gonna hurt you. just relax, it'll all be okay." he speaks calmly, too fucking calmly for the situation you're in right now. "how did you- what- what the fuck is going on?" you feel your breathing become shallow, your brain still struggling to catch up. your eyes go wide with horror as you watch sammy get up and walk over to you.
"'s alright, baby. i'm here to save you from that sorry ass you call a boyfriend." he chuckles softly, takings your hands in his and pulling you closer. you lay there stiffly, but you don't push him away. you don't fight him off because the rational part of your brain has apparently stayed asleep while the rest missed the warm touch of your crazy ex-boyfriend. "saw that he can't even fondle this pretty body the right way. fucking pathetic..." he smirks when he feels you start to relax in his arms. he lifts your chin with a finger, forcing you to look at him. "want your real man to make you feel good?" he swipes his thumb over your bottom lip. normally, you'd be all fight and nasty words, but you couldn't deny how terrible your current boyfriend was, even compared to sammy.
"need to hear you say it, sweetheart. i won't do anything else until you tell me to." he speaks softly, watching you slowly become pliant beneath him again. "now you care about what i want?" you scoff at him, gasping when he leans down and starts to press kisses along the side of your neck. "you know i've always cared, you just don't like the way i show it." he replies as his hand slides back between your legs. "you're not gonna push me away this time, sweet girl?" he smirks, watching your eyes flutter when he starts to rub circles into your aching clit. you were currently in a huge dilemma. one part of you has been craving the things that only sammy can give you, but the other is still freaked out by the fact that your crazy ex-boyfriend broke into your home and woke you up from being nose-deep in between your legs. you haven't heard from him in almost a year, and this is his idea of a reunion?
"sammy, this isn't the way to get me back." you sigh, a futile attempt at reasoning with him. "you need to go, you can't be here." your resolve was finally starting to rebuild, but you notice that sammy hasn't wavered and his smirk has only grown stronger. "i can't be here? baby, i still have my key. i have every fucking right to be at home with you." he's so damn smug about it that his tone grates on your nerves, just like it always did. this isn't how you wanted the reunion to go. you wanted it to be something sweet where sammy professes that he can't live without you, that he'll change his ways, do better for you. but you knew that wasn't what he wanted, he just wanted to have control over the one person who was consistent in his life.
"you're gonna tell me that dork is a better boyfriend than me?" he scoffs at you. he withdraws his hand from between your legs, but it just stops at the waistband of his sweats. he unties the strings and yanks down his pants quickly, followed by his boxers. you don't make an attempt to move even though he's not exactly pinning you down anymore. "come on, baby. he can't even keep you safe from intruders." he chuckles, dragging his tip through your slick folds. a soft whimper escapes your lips, betraying any sort of defense you might have had against him. "bet he's got a fucking shrimp, probably can't stretch out that needy pussy like she deserves." he rolls his eyes, lining himself up with your entrance.
"yeah, he's also not a control freak and doesn't make me feel like a prisoner in my own house." you clap back at him. he has the decency to pause at your words, forcing him to reflect on his behavior for the first time in a long time. all this time, sammy really wanted to keep you safe from all the dangers he truly knew existed in this world. his method of doing so was less than ideal, coming across as controlling and not willing to respect your autonomy. he saw it as better that way than seeing you get hurt by someone else. he'd never truly considered the fact that he might be the one hurting you. but now wasn't the time to reflect any longer, he wanted you and he wanted you now.
"tell you what, baby. you come on my cock the way you need to, i'll do whatever it takes to get you back." he finally speaks up after an awkward moment of silence. "what the hell are you even saying?" you don't get another word out when he roughly shoves his entire cock inside you, causing you to cry out. your back arches off the bed, a mixture of pain and pleasure coursing through your body. "don't overthink it, sweetheart. just make a mess on me and we'll talk it out later." he grunts as he starts to thrust in and out of you at an even pace. his cock is hitting all the right places inside you, your jaw slack as you dig your nails into his shoulders.
"still squeezin' me just right. d'ya really think anyone else would fit in this pussy like me?" he smirks down at you, leaning down and shoving his tongue into your open mouth. you moan loudly, letting him lick against your tongue in the way that had you clenching around him. he then lifts your legs, hands scooping under your knees then pressing them toward your chest. your loud moans mingle with his when he manages to reach even deeper. "that's it, pretty girl. feel good on me. fuck- just like that, taking me so fucking good." he pants against your neck, pounding into you. he can't wait to see all the scratches you're leaving on him later in your bathroom mirror. because of course he wasn't gonna leave you again after this. your punk ass boyfriend can find somewhere else to be boring.
it was starting to show, just how long it'd been since you'd had proper, fulfilling sex. you were already close, but so was sammy. "don't forget this, baby. nobody can keep you safe like i can. only i can protect you the way you fucking need." you can't ignore the way his batshit crazy words brought you even closer to the edge. "look at me while you come. need to see that pretty face you've only let me dream about for the past year." he grabs your jaw and forces you to look at him. instantly, your coming around his cock and clenching him so tight he grimaces. he drinks up every ounce of your expression, watching you tremble beneath him as he fucks you through your orgasm. seconds later, he's spilling deep inside you with one final thrust. he rolls over to your side, pulling you against him and burying his face in your hair.
your phone rings, the caller id shows up with your boyfriend's name. sammy glares at the phone like it's personally offended him. but then a thought comes to his head. "answer it, baby. tell him to never show his ugly ass face around this neighborhood again." he reaches over you and grabs the phone, answering it before you could protest. "hello?" you answer quietly. the phone was on speaker, so sammy could hear everything. "hey, uh- i'm not gonna make it home tonight. the boys want to go to an e-sports comp." your boyfriend speaks lamely, not even trying to sound guilty about the fact that he's ditching you for gaming bullshit once again. "don't bother coming back at all. we're done..." you say calmly before hanging up the phone and blocking his contact. you made a mental note to take his xbox out to the backyard later and smash it to pieces.
sammy's slightly surprised at how willing you were. but he didn't know that you'd been dying for a reason to break up with your boyfriend anyway. he wasn't even a warm body to you anymore, he was just completely useless. you sit your phone back on the nightstand and turn back to sammy. "this doesn't mean you're in the clear." you give him a knowing look, and he just nods. "you weren't gonna listen to me any other way." he argues, running his hand over your bare waist and pulling you closer. you couldn't argue with that, but it still doesn't change what he's already done. "alright, i'm sorry for the way i treated you then, baby. you know i hate the thought of something happening to you. i just- sucked at showing it." he sighs heavily, his eyes softening the way you'd longed for them to. you could tell he was fully aware that healing your relationship would take time. luckily for him, his words and his dick were quite the convincing combination.
alex's thoughts 𓈒∘☁︎: this one came to me in a daydream hehe... was meant to be a short blurb, didn't mean for it to be a damn essay T-T butttt, longer fic means one thing and one thing only >:3
divider creds: @/thecutestgrotto and @/mfrgraphics
pairing: pope cody x bambi!reader ( no use of y/n )
summary: pope wishes he was your favorite cody brother.
content warnings: fem!reader, mention of how pope gets mistreated by everyone else in his life, mention of drugs + alcohol, they share a bed, too many mentions of smurf, they're kind of loneliest guy in the world x loneliest girl in the world
a/n: hai my lovelies! this is me introducing bambi reader to you!!!! the link leads to a pinterest board, which i'm still working on, but i hope you like her as much as i do. gif credits to @wesandresons !! <3
wc: 4.4k
No one was exactly sure why you were friends with Craig. Not even Craig, but he liked you. And though he tried his best to get you into his bed, it never worked. And god, he tried. Annoyingly so. Your resolve never wavered, standing with not being interested in Craig whatsoever.
At every party he threw, you were the girl hiding in the living room or in the kitchen. Anywhere where strange, drunk and high, people couldn't talk to you. It was almost impossible to find you, yet you also seemed to never go home, instead deciding to remain at the loud party surrounded by people you didn't like.
It was strange for Pope to watch you, know that you feel the same things he did, but do nothing.
You had every right to disappear, leave this haunted house, go back to your own.
Instead, he'd find you in the living room, remote in hand. You'd usually shoot him a sweet, knowing smile, aware that he was feeling just as uneasy as you did. Not fond of any loud noise, or drunk people. And he wished he had the courage to ask you if you wanted to leave the house with him, if you wanted to just drive around, sit at the beach and watch the waves.
But he'd always turn on his heels and go back outside and hate himself for it.
If he asked you to sit with him, you probably wouldn't even bother him, wouldn't try and force him to drink alcohol or get high like everyone else. You probably wouldn't even talk to him, knowing he liked his silence. He always regretted not asking you the moment the smell of beer hit his nose, and the moment water splashed onto his clothes, while people laughed around him. It made him feel lonely and different.
Still, he couldn't figure out why you were always at their house. Smurf wasn't good company, obviously, though she tolerated you just barely. Mostly because you kept to yourself. She knew you wouldn't blab to anyone about the Cody's jobs or that you never intended on going against her.
You were just there.
And no one complained, because you were like a fresh breath of air. You smiled and within two minutes you'd have J smiling too. You stayed around a lot, but never for too many days. If you went over, you were there for a long time, but the moment you disappeared, you were gone.
There seemed to be no specific reason for it. You seemed to be just overly concerned that you were being too much and bothering people. He knew you were a lonely girl, but he was also aware that your fear of being too much overpowered your grave sense of loneliness that you were never able to hide.
It was a bad habit of yours, always apologizing, even for existing seemingly. Craig had shot you numerous perplexed looks, never having heard this many sorry come from one person ever. But Pope knew he liked it, enjoying the fact that someone saw him as important enough to feel bad for him, that he was worthy enough to receive the sweetest girl's ever apologies.
Pope on the other hand, hated it. He hated the word sorry, and he especially hated it coming from you.
Whenever you apologized, whether it was accidentally brushing his arm while you were in the kitchen, or speaking, what you thought was, for too long, Pope would shut you down. And he'd always do it in a cold tone, knowing that was the most effective way to stop you completely from ever uttering that word around him again.
He knew his voice would startle you, not expecting Pope who was always kind to you, to speak to you that way.
His plan worked, and you started biting your lip hard the moment the word slipped out. You'd look up panicked, and that would usually be enough for him. He'd shot you a dry look, bored even. And you'd shake your head and mumble, 'I take that back.' and he'd drop the look immediately, resorting to his normal soft look that he always wore around you.
The word didn't completely disappear from your vocabulary, but now you uttered it almost never when he was around, and it made Pope feel less worried about being in your presence.
Everyone adored you and sometimes he hated it. It worried him that everyone felt the same adoration he did for you, that somehow you'd never pay attention to him. Given his brothers were much better at being affectionate, it made him feel like he was behind. Like it was a competition to be your favorite brother, and he was last, not even having started the run, because he didn't know how to. That the moment Craig brought you into the house and introduced you, a starter pistol went off, and everyone started running.
It didn't stop him from seeking you out all the time. Whenever the question 'Where's Pope? popped up, the answer was the same. With you. Always with you.
Mostly, because you followed him around. When he'd reject your offers to sit with you on the couch at parties, you'd get up and follow him.
There the two of you would stand somewhere and observe the party together, both with the same repulsed expression. For him, it was the dirt and the carelessness, for you it was the loudness of it all.
When you caught Pope in front of a dark TV, staring at himself in the reflection, you'd tap his shoulder softly. Just two taps, never wanting to overwhelm him. "My car's making weird sounds," you'd say softly, and he'd get up and help you.
Sometimes you'd tell him something was broken in your home, and he'd drive to your place without a word. You'd always try to drag out his stay, offering him cookies (because you were absolutely terrible at cooking) or offering sodas.
Sometimes, he'd catch you looking around the room nervously, looking for new problems he could fix. So he'd grumble out a "Sink sounded weird earlier," and you'd smile so wide, it was like the sun came out from behind the clouds.
Things like this made him doubt everything.
Maybe you didn't dislike him as much as he thought, maybe he did have the potential to be your favorite brother.
But then he'd watch you light up when Deran would tell you he finally figured out how to make your favorite mocktail. (Obviously, you never had to pay a cent. If not for Deran shaking his head as you handed him money, then it was Pope who paid for everything you ate and drank.)
Even Craig offered to teach you how to surf. The shy expression you always wore around Pope would disappear and your smile would be so radiant Pope wouldn't be able to look away, never having gotten the privilege to see such an open expression from you.
Things like these made Pope doubt everything, consider that maybe the shy expression was just your uncomfortable one, that when you needed help at home, it was simply because you needed help and nothing else.
He knew Deran and Craig were absolutely terrible at fixing things, and he feared that, just like everyone else, you too viewed him as a tool, something to use and throw away. That he was just waiting for the throw-away part, and that it was coming sooner or later.
But he couldn't help but have all his worries vanish into thin air, whenever you decided to grace him with your big thankful eyes and an even wider, dazzling smile.
The first time he felt like too much for you, so much he wanted to run away, was when you joined him in the garage.
You softly knocked against the doorway. "Andrew?" you always said his name so sweetly, it made him want to record it and listen to it like a lullaby until he fell asleep, which didn't happen much these days.
He looked up at you. "You're awake." He furrowed his eyebrows in concern. It was pitch dark outside, and he figured you were asleep in the living room.
You shook your head. "Couldn't sleep." you smiled softly, your eyes telling him to please drop it. He did, turning his head back to what he was working on.
You stepped closer, and he could smell the perfume that he loved so much. Before he knew it, you were towering over him, lightly brushing up against his shoulder. "What are you working on?" you titled your head, staring down at whatever it was you were looking at.
"Part of the car. Stopped working last night," he replied in a low voice, not raising his head, even though he really really wanted to see your pretty face.
You glanced around, spotted what you needed and sat down. You pulled the chair closer to him, setting your elbows on the table in the process. "Mind if I watch you?"
Pope glanced at you, and his eyes darted all over your face, trying to gauge what exactly the point here was. You seemed sincere, so he hummed.
You laid your cheek in your palm and watched him. Your big eyes stared at his hands with so much interest, they started to tremble a bit.
The silence between you was filled with the sound of an owl and the ticking of a broken clock somewhere in the garage.
Five minutes must've passed by now and Pope had never understood until now how silence could be nice even with someone else in it. It wasn't like he couldn't feel your presence. No. He knew you were here, but he enjoyed it. More than enjoy, he craved it. He wanted to stay in this little room forever, hearing nothing but your soft breaths and the sound of you tapping your foot restlessly on the floor.
He didn't hate the silence like when he did with Smurf, who sat with him in silence at breakfast and watched him eat.
No, he loved the feeling of your soft eyes watching him work, knowing he was good at what he did, and that you were admiring him.
"You're not tired?" you asked after a while, careful not to be too loud, not wanting to disturb his work.
"No." When Pope looked up, he met your eyes immediately, like you'd been watching his face rather than his eyes, and your lips lifted into a flustered smile.
Embarrassed, like you'd been caught. He wasn't sure what it was, but he almost felt the need to gloat about it. Sweetest girl he knew was caught staring at him.
Stupid.
He looked away again, almost in shame, because how dare he think that you were admiring him. You were sleepy and he was awake. That's it. Had Craig been out here, you probably would've joined him too. He was nothing special.
"S'nice watching you," You brushed a hand over your face, rubbing your eyes tired.
Pope looked up, because surely he'd misheard, but you shot him a sweet smile, soft hair falling over your shoulders as you rubbed your eyes, hard, again.
People couldn't even stand to utter his name, and you were telling him that he was nice to watch. Like his presence was worth acknowledging. Like it was something good, like his presence wasn't to be feared, like he didn't hear the rumors in town about how people feared the thought of him.
Horrible, awful Pope who hit and hurt people, who made a mess of people and things, of everything.
A kind girl like you liked to watch him in the middle of the night doing things that his brothers called weird, made them shake their heads as they looked away in disappointment and shame, wishing they'd had a normal brother, one more like them.
He must've stayed quiet for too long, because you froze. "Sorry, did—did I say something wrong?" nervously, you toyed with your heart necklace.
"No—No you didn't." Pope shook his head quickly, eyes darting back down to his car part. His fingers twitched nervously. "You should try to sleep." And he could sense he'd said the wrong thing, because your eyes widened for a second, and worry overtook your face.
"Oh—right, yeah you're right." Stumbling over your words nervously, you stood up, and Pope regretted it.
He hadn't meant this. He was just trying to tell you that he appreciated your kindness, but surely he wasn't that interesting. "I meant— it's not healthy to stay awake," he managed out, eyes darting back up to your face and back down. "It's not good for you." he managed out nervously.
You looked down at him, and you stood there for a bit, before sitting back down slowly, understanding he didn't want you to go. "Yeah— I know." You toyed with a bolt on the table, rolling it in between fingers before you looked back at Pope who was still watching you. "Craig keeps yelling in his room about his video game, and Smurfs still awake by the Pool." You dropped the bolt. "It's distracting."
"You can sleep in my room," Pope said, and given your reaction, it wasn't exactly something you expected him to say. But it made sense to him. "You can't hear Craig in there."
You stared at him, your eyes wide, making them bigger than they already were. "You want me to sleep in your room?"
Pope wasn't sure what was so confusing. It wasn't like his room was bad. Sure, it was a bit empty, but he took care of it, it was clean. He pushed the car part away, getting up from his chair. "I'll get you new bed sheets," and then he just walked out of the garage. You stood in the empty garage, mouth open, before you scrambled to follow him.
To your luck, Smurf was fast asleep, bottles of alcohol next to her, and you hurried to follow Pope. Inside, he led you to his room, grabbing clean bed sheets out of one of the closets in the hallway, before walking into his room.
You stood in the doorway watching Pope fix the bed for you. Were you dreaming? Was Pope actually fixing his bed for you?
You looked down and pinched your skin. "Ouch." you muttered to yourself. Not a dream, officially and definitely not a dream.
Pope turned his head to you. "You need pajamas?" he asked, but you shook your head.
You never took, unless you were outright suffering and Pope's eyes slowly darted down to the goosebumps across your skin, which were visible even with just two night lights on.
You were wearing a simple white lace tank top and California nights weren't exactly known for their heat. Even Smurf outside, was sleeping with at least two blankets. He turned, opened a drawer and grabbed a hoodie. When he handed it to you, you didn't take it.
"Is that yours?"
Pope nodded, almost worried. "I—You can have one of Deran's if you want."
"Nope, I—I'd like yours." you managed, grabbing the hoodie and letting it swallow you whole. It was warm, and it smelled nice, so very nice. You couldn't help the way your head just lowered a tiny bit, letting yourself smell how nice Pope's scent was.
Pope had already looked away the sight too much, and was now awkwardly staring down at the bed, fingers twitching nervously at his sides. "Okay, have— have a good night."
In all of your years of living, you'd never been this bold before. You weren't even sure what overcame you. Your hand reached out, and you grabbed Pope's bicep lightly before he walked past you.
You felt him freeze up, eyes locked onto your hand around his bicep, and you had to resist the urge to squeeze, to test how really hard and warm his bicep was. "Will—" you bit your lip, already regretting starting the sentence. "Don't you wanna sleep?"
"I have to work." His eyes flickered back down to your soft hands around his bicep.
You had pink polish on with brown polka dots. It was sweet. He'd seen you paint them once, you'd even helped Lena with hers. Lena had been so happy, and hadn't stopped talking about you the entire afternoon after you'd gone home. He had been glad to know that someone else felt about you the way he did.
You dropped your hand, disappointment flickering across your face. Pope's eyes darted around your face, noting how close you were but also how you were still trying to find your words. He waited.
"I'd like you to stay," you phrased it so sweetly, the way you always did, but for the first time you told him what you wanted. There was no if it's okay with you, you don't have to, no it's okay.
No, you straight up wanted something from him and God would he be stupid if he said no to you.
His eyes darted back to the bed and his eyes stayed there for a while, thinking. "I have to turn off the lights in the garage."
"I'll wait here!" You looked like you were about to start bouncing up and down from excitement.
Pope watched you for a second before turning and walking down the hallway, wondering what on earth led him to commit to this.
Meanwhile, you were in disbelief, palm to your mouth, as you muttered. "Oh my god. Oh my god." Oh my god, you were going to die. You glanced at the bed, deciding to get in now, before you were stuck in the awkward moment of having to argue with him about what side to take.
You pushed back Popes clean blue covers, slowly settling down in bed, and god was it was warm and soft. And it smelled nice.
You pulled the hoodie sleeves down over your wrists, nervously squeezing your eyes shut. You couldn't believe he'd agreed to this.
Pope walked back slowly, boots thudding on the floor until he stood in the doorway looking at the top of your head. Not to seem like a creep, he didn't linger, quickly stepping in. He could feel your pretty eyes watching him as he grabbed a set of fresh boxers, shirt and a towel.
"Gonna take a shower, won't take long," he said, barely looking at you. The sight was too much for him to handle.
"Okay," you said softly, eyes following him until he was in his bathroom.
You passed the time by opening every drawer of his, checking out what he had in there. Barely anything. You sighed, Pope wasn't much of a talker, so you'd hoped you'd find out more about him in his room.
He wasn't joking when he said he wouldn't take long, because just as you were checking out his bottom drawer, he showed up. You shut the drawer with the loudest bang! possible before scrambling back into a horizontal position, embarrassed.
Pope's eyes darted down to the drawer before lifting to your embarrassed expression. He was more endeared by anything. Any other person and he would've gotten suspicious, but you were toying with his sheets nervously, avoiding his eyes, and he knew you'd just been curious.
He'd caught you walking around the house, staring at every picture more than once. He was more than aware of your curious nature.
He brushed a hand through his curls as he walked to his side of the bed, and you lifted the sheets for him.
You somehow managed to still surprise him with your small sweet gestures. He'd lived his whole life in Oceanside, and with his reputation, people had stopped granting him kindness, even as simple as receiving a thank you.
He felt so endlessly grateful that one person on this earth was able to be kind to him, that maybe he wasn't as evil as he thought, that there was a chance for him. That if someone like you looked at someone like him and thought he was worth it, worth spending your time and sweetness on, he might actually have a chance in life.
He slipped under the sheets, and you dropped them, making the warmth hit him all at once. He liked to sleep on his side looking at the wall, but it felt almost insane to miss out on seeing your pretty face all night, so he stayed on his back, view narrowing to the ceiling.
You, on the other hand, turned to your side, palm under your cheek. "Your bed's soft." You whispered, and he turned his head to you, eyes darting away shyly when he noticed your intense stare. He figured his bed was nice enough, almost relieved it was up to your standards. He'd been worried in the shower that you'd make some excuse, and he'd come out, looking like a wet puppy, to an empty bed.
"What?" he asked after he felt you stare for a little more.
"Your curls are nice," you whispered. "Always wanted to tell you that, but was too scared."
"Of me?" It just slipped out of Pope's mouth. He didn't want to know the answer to that question.
"What? No." Confusion was written all over your face, your lips curling into a frown. "I'm just— it's a weird thing to say. That's all."
Pope stared at you. Not scared of him. You weren't scared of him. ’S'not weird." He held your stare for a while until his nervousness overtook his entire body, leading him to glance away again, eyes focusing back on the white canvas above him.
"Thanks for dinner tonight."
Smurf hadn't been up for it for some reason and Deran or Craig didn't care, so Pope had made food just for you. You hadn't even told asked, and maybe that's why he made it, because he knew you never would.
He turned his head, happy you were giving him an excuse to look at you. "D'you like it?"
"Loved it." you smiled softly. "You could be a professional cook."
Pope's mouth almost lifted into a smile at that, but then you scooted closer, and he froze up. His arm, which had been resting on the side of the bed, almost touching your stomach now. You were so close, he could see how pretty your eyes were up close.
They had always been his favorite part about you. When Craig had first introduced you, Pope knew his brother had warned you about him, told you he was crazy and weird. His brothers did that with everyone they brought to the house, and their friends would always eye him weirdly, and he'd never be given the chance to show them that he was capable of kindness. That he could be as normal as they wanted him to be.
But you, you, had smiled, lifted your hand in a wave and looked at him in a way that no one had looked at him in years. Soft, kind, and open-minded.
He stared at you, and you stared back, and then you slowly lifted your hand.
"Can I—?" you whispered softly, and he was startled by the fact that you asked, so he nodded.
People never asked before they touched him. The only touches he received were involuntary ones from Smurf, or punches from his brothers and strangers. Never ones from sweet girls that asked before they settled their hand softly at his temple, toying with one of his curls.
The bottom half of your hand touched his cheekbones, and you brushed over his hair, thumb catching in a curl. He watched you, eyes big, before finally turning to his side, deciding that he'd make it easier for you.
He saw the smile you suppressed, absolutely delighted that he was so open to you touching him.
He took a second to absorb and analyze the expression. His hazel eyes darting all over your face, looking for any lie, that this was just a game to you. That maybe you'll look at him in the morning with pity in your eyes. But your eyes were glowing, and even with his insecurities choking him when he was with you, he could tell that no lie was in your eyes.
"They're wet," he provided you with the most unnecessary information, already wanting to smack himself for pointing out such an obvious thing.
You just hummed, too distracted to be touching his hair to focus on his awkwardness. You looped a curl around a finger, thumb brushing right above his eyebrow.
Your eyebrows were furrowed like you were studying his hair, but he knew you weren't as relaxed as you seemed. Your breath was going quicker, he could feel it against his face. He could smell your perfume, something floral and vanilla and felt the need to press his face into your hair and just stay there.
Your eyes traveled back to his face, and you observed him, before your hands went back down to his bicep. "You can relax," you whispered. "I won't do anything you don't want me to."
Pope stared at you, hazel eyes wide, never once leaving your face. "You have to sleep too."
"I will." Your hand already back in his curls. He let the feeling of your warm hands overtake every other feeling. Every sense of fear, insecurity and worry.
As much as he knew you wanted him to, he couldn't sleep. Whether it was because of his nightmares or because of you being here, he wasn't sure. His eyes continued to track your face, and it didn't take you long before you let your hand drift from his hair to his cheek, brushing your thumb lightly over his cheekbone one first and last time, before dropping it back in between you.
Your eyelashes fluttered lightly like a good night to him before you closed your eyes. Pope let himself watch you, let himself feel the phantom feeling of your hands. Your perfume continued to linger, and he wished his room would absorb it forever, that every time he walked in, he'd smell your perfume. He knew his bed would smell like you for at least the next couple of days now, and he hoped so desperately that the next time you came over to the house, you'd sleep in his bed.
Maybe next time he'd be the courageous one and ask you to stay.
I’ve been thinking about Jack babying reader and stroking her hair while Robby spanks her and it got me thinking about Jack being away for a work trip or smth and reader being a brat so Robby punishes her with his belt with Jack on the phone and all he can hear is reader sobbing and begging him to stop like Robby’s just laughing and degrading her. I feel like Robby would love that jacks not there to comfort her and she just has to take it, I think he’d FaceTime Jack to show him her snotty tear streaked face too.
OH YES
rabbot x female reader, cw: fauxcest, spanking, degradation, dadbf!robby, dadbf!jack, robby is dad and jack is daddy, 1.8k words
jack had been invited to an emergency medicine conference in new york to present some research that he had helped one of the med students get published. he was very proud of it. you and robby and jack all went out for dinner before he left. daddy had even let you have a few sips of his scotch, which got you all buzzy and touchy. robby let jack have all the fun last night. poured himself a drink and sat on the bed reading a book while daddy took you apart, occasionally reaching over to pinch your thigh when he felt like you were enjoying yourself too much.
then the morning of comes around. you’re crying on the couch and jack is comforting you, holding you in his lap. “hon. it’s only gonna be for four days. you have dad. you’ll be okay.” your face crumples. you love dad. of course you love dad. but you also love daddy and he’s leaving and dad can be so mean. you try to interject “but,” as if reading your mind, jack bounces you. “hey, i already talked to dad about being gentler when i’m away. he knows you need that. he agreed.”
the first day goes without incident. robby comes home from work. he notices you’re feeling poorly. he teases you a little. a few kisses. he ruffles your hair. “oh, c’mon. you’re not really scared of your dad, are you? oh, i know, i can be strict. but it’s cause i care, kid. you know that.” you nod. of course it’s because he cares. he tells you all the time. “i know! not trying to make you feel bad… just really miss daddy.” robby coos. “poor thing. i know. you’re really close to him, he dotes on you. i know, baby. it’s real hard. but guess what? we’ll call him tonight after he’s finished presenting.”
he holds true to his word. you have dinner, and he makes you eat all your vegetables, even though jack only ever makes you eat half. “no can do, kiddo. eat it up. then you can have that strawberry milk you like.” you whine. strawberry milk doesn’t count as dessert. “but daddy lets me have ice cream after dinner!” robby exhales through his nose, as if fighting to keep his calm. “well, that’s daddy’s business. dad says no ice cream unless you’ve had a vaccine.”
after dinner, robby gets you upstairs. he takes you into the big steam shower in his bedroom. he even makes you cum in the shower! dad is being really nice! he’s still him, still firm and strict and “okay, time for bed, kid. we’ll call daddy now.” he facetimes jack, who picks up with a cheery “hey, brother. how’s our girl?” robby scoffs, but there’s no heat in it. “fought me about wanting ice cream after dinner, but other than that she’s been real good.”
robby hands off the phone to you. you squeal. “daddy!! how was presenting? how’s the hotel? do you miss me?” dad gives a little eye roll, but daddy replies, “of course i miss my perfect girl. presenting was fine,” robby lifts up your nightgown, spreading your legs, lowering his face to your cunt. your eyes flick down. “dad..?” he doesn’t respond, just immediately dives in to lap between your folds. “what’s dad doing, honey?” jack is already smiling. he knows. “he’s… eating me.” jack coos, “oh, yeah? he’s got that beard on your pretty little pussy, doesn’t he?”
you whimper as robby works you. jack smiles. “see, michael. knew you could be sweet with her.” robby grumbles and lifts his head up, “i am her dad, you know? ‘s not like i want to be a dick to her. just trying to keep her well behaved.”
jack nods sagely and hums. “i know. behave for dad, princess. you know he tries.” you nod, extremely close now, and throw your head back. “yes, daddy.” you tip over the edge when you feel robby’s tongue slide into your hole. “ah—” the phone tips onto your chest. “‘m gonna—” robby pinches your thigh. you are done for. you whine out “loveyouloveyouloveyou.” jack laughs. “oh, it’s happened.” you claw at the faded hebrew tattoo on robby’s shoulder. surprisingly, he doesn’t scold you, just pulls his head up, kisses your cheek, and mutters. “go to bed, now.”
the next day, robby goes to work early in the morning. he leaves oatmeal, an egg, and covered orange juice on your placemat. you decide not to do any class work today. you just miss daddy so much.
you spend most of the day texting daddy, who does not ask if you’ve done your work. you send him pictures of you in the shower, then a video of you spinning around in a new dress.
when robby comes home, he makes dinner. chow mein and spring rolls, because you wanted chinese food, and robby doesn’t trust restaurants to make healthy food. he puts in a lot of effort. you sit on his lap while you eat. he kisses the back of your head. “want your strawberry milk?” you grumble. “ice cream.” he cocks a brow. “you’re not getting ice cream right now. and you better fix your attitude, kid. i’m really not in the mood.” he’s never in the mood, you think bitterly.
you mumble, “fine. i’ll have the stupid milk.” robby swats your thigh. “absolutely not. we do not behave like brats in this house. wanna try it again?” you refuse. robby lets out a long suffering sigh. “fine. gimme your computer. gotta make sure you did your homework.”
your blood runs cold. this is not good. this is beyond not good. “um, my computer died after i finished the work. it’s dead now.” robby gives you a blank look over his glasses. “bring it here.” you fidget with your fingers. “i left it upstairs. don’t wanna walk up.” robby takes a breath in, trying to remain calm. “kiddo, is there something you want to tell me about the computer? is there anything you maybe didn’t do?” you shake your head vigorously. “no! god, dad. you always think i’m hiding something. shouldn’t think like that.” robby lets out a disbelieving huff. “oh, you definitely didn’t do your work. deflecting like that.” you try to protest, but his hand cracks against your face.
“tell me the truth. did you, or did you not, do your homework?” you clutch your cheek. “didn’t do it….” robby laughs. “okay. and instead of telling me, ‘dad, i mismanaged my time. i didn’t do my work.’ you lied and deflected and acted like i was being unfair to you. right?” you nod, tears gathering in your eyes. now would be the time that daddy jumps in, where he pulls you to his chest and says “ease off, man. she gets distracted easily,” but daddy is not here. dad is here. and dad is pissed.
robby holds out his hand. “give me your phone. let me see what you were doing when you were supposed to be working.” you hand it over. any resistance will be used against you. you know that. besides, maybe he’ll take pity on you when he sees you were just texting daddy.
he opens your phone. the messages app. literally your entire day has gone to texting jack. “of course he didn’t think to ask if you’ve done your work. of course. i always have to be the bad guy.” you whimper, “i don’t think you’re a bad guy.” he sneers “shut up. you knew you were already disobeying. and then you bratted at me about ice cream.”
he takes your wrist and drags you over to the couch. you try to squirm, but he’s tall and broad and holding you entirely in place. “wait, please.” robby clicks his tongue. “sorry, kid. you earned this.” you can hear the facetime ringing. jack picks up almost immediately. “hey—”
“guess who didn’t do her homework.”
jack winces. “angel, this true?” you open your mouth, but robby cuts you off. “yes, it is. she was too busy texting you. and you didn’t even ask if she’d done her work.” you whine miserably “was just missing daddy.” you can feel jack’s sympathy through the screen. “oh, honey. i know. i know you miss me so much. daddy misses you too. but you can’t be shirking your schoolwork like that.” tears well up again, and this time they actually fall. “i know…” jack sighs “come on, man. she’s learned her lesson. she feels awful. lay off.” robby snaps. “no. this is exactly why she keeps misbehaving. you coo and coddle and make all the consequences of her actions go away.” jack raises an eyebrow. “first of all, calm your tits. second of all, i’m her parent too. i’m allowed to not punish her.”
robby rubs the crease between his brows. “well, you’re not here now. guess i’m gonna have to teach her a lesson she won’t forget.” jack’s voice goes thick with alarm. “robby? come on, man. let’s not.” robby laughs. “nope. we’re doing this. hold the phone if you want daddy, kid.”
he pulls up your nightgown and pushes you over the arm of the couch. you clutch the phone, desperate. “daddy, make him stop!” a thick leather belt meets your ass, and you scream. jack grimaces. “oh, my sweet girl. daddy’s here. daddy’s here.” robby scoffs. “no, he isn’t. dad’s here. and dad’s not letting this fly any longer.”
you sob into the couch, smacking robby’s phone against the leather at one point. he smacks you again. “we do not disrespect dad’s belongings, do we?” you scream. “no, daddy!”
the entire time, jack is pacing the hotel room. “oh, baby. you can do this. show dad that you’re so brave, he doesn’t even get to you.” snot and tears cover your face. robby takes the phone and tilts it so jack can see properly. “i don’t know, brother. looks like i’m getting to her.”
jack slams his hand against the wall. “robby. come on.” the taller man taunts him. “come on, you said she’s so brave, remember? she can handle ten more.”
the last ten are almost merciful in their quickness, but evil in their strength. robby puts his entire bad back into it. you scream against the couch. “can’t!!! stop, please!” robby smacks you again. “will you do your homework.” you struggle, trying to catch your breath. another smack. “yes! i’ll do my homework!”
when robby finally stops, you are crying uncontrollably. jack is cooing at you over the phone. “poor baby. sweet little girl. daddy’s sorry this happened.” robby rolls his eyes. “yeah, yeah. think she just needed some of dad’s special touch, didn’t she?” you don’t answer immediately. he smacks the back of your head. “didn’t she?” you sob. “yes! needed— needed dad’s special touch.”
robby smiles. “well, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I was wondering if you would maybe do a dadbf rabbot fic with reader deciding to sneak and buy a toy and use it while Jack and Robby are gone for the day and how they’d react?
well yes!
rabbot x female reader, cw: fauxcest, spanking, overstim, dadbf!robby, dadbf!jack, robby is dad and jack is daddy, 3.3k words
you had bought the toy from a prepaid 150 dollar visa gift card that jack had given you for fun. he’d noticed how your eyes lit up when robby or him let you swipe their card at a register, and he thought it was sweet. of course, you had access to his and robby’s cards. it was on your apple pay. but they saw the bill for those. you knew that. in fact, robby had told you multiple times, “don’t even think of buying anything you don’t want us to see, kid. we both have the app on our phone. and we check it. often.”
but jack was out with the swat team for the next couple hours. and robby has his own 12 hour shift today. which left you with the perfect, three hour window to get in your car. you don’t have a job, of course. you tried once, because you wanted to have work experience, but robby shut that down immediately. said your only job was to get good grades in university and be their good girl. jack had just given a shrug and said “sorry, sweetheart. i agree with dad here.” you’d had sense enough not to pout or whine.
they did allow you your car, though, which jack pushed for, much to robby's reluctance. you could still remember the way robby said "she's just a kid, man. she'll wreck it and get hurt. or she'll wreck it, be completely fine, and then cry for a week." but jack pushed, "come on, brother. she already goes to online school. we're always working. don't want her to be cooped up inside all day. 's bad for her health. she could go to the bookstore or something. make some friends."
now, you find yourself at the cash register at spencer’s, shakily handing a pink vibrator to a cashier with dyed purple hair, your face hot. you swipe your visa gift card against the register. the cashier bags your vibrator and you hurry out of the store, behaving like you’ve just committed a crime against humanity. “have a nice day?” the cashier calls out. you don’t answer. you check the garage app. no one’s come in or out since you’ve left. good. good. this will be fine.
once at home, you hurry up the stairs and head straight to your room. then, realizing you don’t have anything to open the box with, you go to jack’s room and take out his swiss army knife. you grapple with the edge of it for a second, your fake nail not allowing it to open easily. the blade nicks you as it emerges. you don’t care. you slice the box open and press on the power button until it starts buzzing.
you close your door and briefly wish you had a lock. but dad and daddy made it very clear that that wasn’t happening. so a simple closed door will have to do. you remove your leggings, then sit down on your pink duvet and stare at the clit sucker for a moment. you check the time. 2 pm. jack shouldn’t be home till at least 4, robby till 8. you open your phone, set it to do not disturb, and close it. jack and robby never text at work anyway. well, they do, but it’s more reminding you to eat and with jack a few sappy messages about how much he loves you, but they don’t expect instant responses. you should be fine. you prop your ipad up in front of you, then open it to the private video album jack and robby update every night. all your sex tapes. some with just daddy. some with just dad. some with both, one at each end of you, splitting you open completely.
you slip your hand, clasped firm around the vibrator, under your cotton panties. you tilt your head to see the screen and press play on a thirty minute long video. both your dads touching you. you remember this one. it was after a hard day for both of them, a mass casualty, jack had to go in early, just a mess. you were whining as robby fucked into you roughly. jack was behind you, with one hand on your mouth and another rubbing your clit.
the vibrator suctions your already swollen clit. you know there are rules about this. you don’t touch yourself without supervision. dad had said that you’d end up hurting yourself without knowing it. daddy agreed. the only toys in the house are locked in jack’s gun safe, kept there until whenever they decided to tease you during play.
your pussy is completely slick with fluid. your panties are damp. you realize with horror that you cannot operate a washing machine, and therefore will not be able to clean them without your dads knowing. that’s okay. it’s okay. robby often says that vaginal discharge is normal. that it’s healthy. that it’s healthy to be aroused, just as long as you don’t do anything about it without telling them. you’d just say you were really turned on during the day. easy peasy.
you raise the volume on your ipad in an attempt to drown out your own thoughts. you can do this. you can cum like a normal girl who doesn’t need her dads to watch her every second of the day. you are an adult, damn it. you can do this!
you push your hips down onto the toy as you feel your orgasm starting to build. you squeeze your eyes shut, whining out a mix of dad and daddy. “please, please, please, lemme have it. please. please. ‘m a good girl.” you cum in an intense wave. panting, immediately working for your second orgasm.
unfortunately for you, because your phone is on do not disturb, you do not hear the garage app chime with jack’s arrival. because your ipad is on so loud, you do not hear jack’s boots against the hardwood floor. you do, however, hear your door open, the vibrator still pressed uselessly against you. jack clicks his tongue and lets out a disappointed sigh “oh, honey bunny…”
you scramble up, desperate to make it go away. you toss the vibrator to the floor, as if throwing it will make it so this never happened, will make it so you never disobeyed or deceived.
“pick it up.”
jack’s voice has gone strict in a way you’ve almost exclusively seen from robby. jack doesn’t get strict. jack lets robby be the mean parent. jack gets to be the fun daddy. the one who says yes to ice cream and getting a car and letting you go outside.
your eyes well up with tears. “please don’t tell dad.” jack cocks a brow. “not worried about me? just dad? think i’ll let you get away with this bullshit?” before you can protest, jack is calling robby. 4 rings later, he picks up. jack puts him on speakerphone. “hey, brother. we got a problem on our hands.”
robby sighs. “like the house is burning down or misbehavior?” you’re sniffling on the bed now, looking down guiltily at your hands. “somehow, bunny over here got her hands on a vibrator. caught her getting off to one of our videos.” you can practically feel robby’s glare through the phone. “kid. that true? daddy walked in on you acting fucking desperate?” you don’t respond. jack smacks your ass. “answer him!” you squeak out. “yes! ‘m sorry.”
robby takes in a deep breath. he exhales. “alright, then. jack. i’m not supposed to be off for another five hours. i’ll come home earlier if i can. deal with her till then. just make sure she’s conscious and not too fucked out by the time i get back.”
jack laughs. “oh don’t worry, man. she’s not gonna be blissed out like that any time soon. see you later.”
you whine from your spot on the bed, hugging your stuffed bunny to your chest. “please don’t spank me… i said i’m sorry” jack laughs. “oh, baby. that’s dad’s job. daddy’s just gonna give you what you need. now drink some water. this is gonna be…” he smiles, as if this whole thing is some humorous incident “intense.”
jack takes the vibrator from the bed. clears his throat. puts his real knee against your comforter. “lay back.” you obey. “thought you could disobey us? fucking hell, look at ‘cha.”
you try to protest. “didn’t think it was disobeying…” jack barks out a laugh. “really, hon? didn’t think you were disobeying? christ, that’s what we’re going with? drove your pretty little ass to the store, picked it up, drove back, hid in your room, used it, and you didn’t think you were disobeying?”
you try to guilt trip him. “well, maybe if you were home to take care of me instead of working all the time….” a heavy palm cracks down on your face. “don’t you dare. you know me and dad work so you have everything you could possibly want. don’t be an ungrateful little girl. ‘s ugly on you. say sorry.”
“sorry!” you cry out. “so sorry, daddy” jack rubs his thumb over where he hit you. “good girl. just gotta correct your little notion about being allowed to disobey.”
he walks over to the ivory colored dresser and pulls out thick silk ropes. he turns on the vibrator. “spread your legs, honey bunny. there we go. attagirl.”
your legs are shaking as he ties the vibrator in between your thighs. “since you wanted to use it so much, we’re just gonna wait until the damn thing dies.” your eyes roll back and you grab his hand. “aw. poor girl. wanting daddy to make it feel better. shouldn’t have done all that then, should you have?” he pats your thigh.
your chest is heaving uncontrollably as he ties your hands above your head, connecting them to your headboard. “learned that knot way before you were born. back in the army. you remember your old man was in the army, right? that’ll hold.” you try to kick. “daddy please. love you so much. loveyouloveyouloveyou.” he pats your face. “love you too, kiddo. you know i do. but we’re your parents. gotta nip bad behavior in the bud, y’know? don’t want you doing anything dangerous because you got it in your pretty little head that you could just do whatever.”
he kisses your forehead, deceptively sweet. “now, i’m gonna take a shower. be good!” he gives you a faux stern look. “oh, you can handle it, i’m sure. such a big girl. went out and bought herself a sex toy.” the door clicks shut.
you struggle against the binds. it’s no use. you’re voice comes out garbled, thick with tears and exhaustion “daddy, come back!!” no please, you were spoiled that way by jack. dad insists on manners. “yes, please,” “no, thank you.” daddy doesn’t.
jack smiles from where he stands outside your door. good. it really pains him, having to do this to his kid. but, robby always says, kids need discipline.
you hear him walk away, the shower from his room turn on and start crying. you’re close again. you feel awful for disobeying. you want to hold your bunny. the cries get louder. he winces. this fucking hurts. but he reminds himself he needs to work on following through with consequences. that’s parenting.
you cum again fingers curling and uncurling. what you wouldn’t give for daddy to just stroke your hair right now. tell you you are doing so good. so, so good. the vibrator doesn’t let up. you try to escape, to rock, to pull, nothing stops it. you think you pass out, then wake up to another orgasm, scream, pass out again, over and over and over.
two hours later, the vibrator dies completely. the past 30 minutes were relatively low sensation. jack walks back in. he taps your cheek. “aw, pretty girl. you took that so well, didn’t you? stayed right where i left you.” he rubs his hand across your cheek. “so good. i think you deserve a reward.”
yes, god yes, you need a shower and pajamas and a cuddle. but jack doesn’t move to untie you. simply removes the vibrator from between your thighs, and, in its place, his face.
your voice is insanely hoarse as you shake your head. you can barely muster words. “no. please. please, no.” jack smiles and tilts his head. “but you always say that you just love when daddy gives you head. that i’m so much better than dad.” you try to shake your head again, but are cut off by jack’s tongue fucking into your cunt.” you try to grab at his curls, but are still tied. you cry, “wanna touch!” jack lifts his head and sucks in a breath, his face doing that stupid, infuriating expression. “sorry, hon. you’re not exactly in the position to be making demands.” his stubble rubs against your oversensitive, puffy pussy. you try to squirm away. he purposely drags his face down again. “what, you don’t like that? don’t like that? does it burn?”
you sob out. “please. daddy. ‘s too much.” he drags his nose between your folds. “this hurts me more than it hurts you, bunny.” you black out.
when you come to, jack is finally untying you. he hauls you across his lap, sitting on the edge of the bed. “oh, sweetheart. you’re okay. did so well for daddy. come, let’s get food in you before dad comes home. and he is pissed.” your head goes to his shoulder, shaking uncontrollably. “no. nonononono! tell him ‘ve already been punished.” he runs his hand down your back. “you know how dad is. he’ll probably spank you. make you write some lines. but he won’t fuck you. daddy’ll make sure of it. you’ve had enough of that for the night, haven’t you?” you nod weakly. jack picks you up, and you blearily realize he put back on his prosthetic after his shower. you rub your face against his. endear yourself to him, and he just might save you.
jack sets you down on the couch and takes a photo of your tear streaked face. your skin must be angry and red. you try to cover it. he sends it to robby
attachment: 1 image
look who’s been punished
when jack brings the egg back, he ruffles your hair. “eat up, bunny. gotta get you refueled.” you collapse into his lap. “please, don’t let him punish me too bad.” jack gives you a stern look. “i’m not going to interfere with whatever consequence he gives you,” your face dims, and he quickly strokes your hair again “but i will stop him if he’s being unfair, okay? you’re not gonna pass out. daddy promises.”
the moment robby walks through the door, you bury your face in jack’s chest, your hand moves over his stomach, attempting to soothe yourself. “you’re okay, sweetheart. it’ll be fine. you’ll be all done and tucked into bed in two hours tops.” no matter what, your dads don’t let anything go past bedtime. no matter the punishment, you are always washed, brushed, kissed, and tucked in by ten pm.
robby doesn’t speak when he comes in. he gets into the shower. washes himself. changes into a pajama set. he comes back downstairs fifteen minutes later.
“i told you we made a mistake getting her that damn car, jack.”
jack rolls his eyes, stroking your back still. “i stand by the car. but we should take her keys for a week.” you whine. ‘spposed to be on my side.” jack kisses your hair. “baby, i am. i didn’t say shit about taking it away permanently, did i?”
robby rolls his eyes and pulls at the back of your tank top. “on your feet, kid.” you try to keep a grip on jack. robby glares at him. “a little help, man?” jack gently removes your hand from his shirt, kissing it. “less than 2 hours to bed, angel. daddy believes in you. my brave girl.” you sob. robby spins you around, grabbing your face. “haven’t even fucking done anything yet. relax.” you shake your head, your face covered in fresh tears now. “gonna spank me” he nods “yeah, i will.” you wail “gonna make me write lines!” he nods again. “yeah, kid, i will. you made some pretty awful choices today.”
your face crumples, and jack grimaces “ease up, brother. she knows she fucked up.” robby pushes you so that you’re bent over. “we’re gonna do thirty smacks with the belt. you don’t need to count tonight.” a small mercy, but a mercy all the same. jack working his magic. robby pulls down your panties, pinching your clit. “this little thing just controls you, doesn’t it? takes all the sense out of your goddamn head.”
you try to breathe over the couch. robby picks up a thick, leather belt. he turns to jack. “wanna grab yourself a beer? you’ve done a lot today.” jack shakes his head. “i’m good, man. we’ll have one after she goes to bed. i wanna be sober to put her to sleep.”
the taller man shrugs. “suit yourself.” he brings down the belt on your bottom. you scream. jack rubs your hand. “doing so well, baby. beyond proud of you.” robby scoffs, bringing it down again, “you always coddle her.” jack grins. “she’s a little girl, dude. our kid. she needs some coddling. and she just loves her daddy.” you sob out “love you both equally!” robby raises a brow, and your daddy laughs. “look at her, being so awfully sweet.” again the belt comes down. you clutch at the leather. jack does his best robby impression, looks down as if looking over glasses, points a finger at you. “this couch is expensive. don’t go tearing it up like a kitten.” robby brings the belt down harder. “i do not sound like that.” jack smiles. “whatever you say, brother.”
robby gives you the smallest amount of praise at the twentieth smack, if you could even call it that. “well, look who can follow directions.” it’s punctuated by another. you beg, “please just get the last few over with.” robby tilts his head. “oh, you think you can decide how your punishment goes? that’s how we do things in this house?” you try to shake your head, to explain that you didn’t mean it that way. it is no use.
the last ten are excruciatingly slow. “you disobeyed us,” smack “you broke an explicitly set rule,” smack “a rule we set for your own safety,” smack “you definitely emotionally blackmailed daddy, i can feel it,” smack “you acted as if you knew better than your parents,” smack “you behaved as if your parents don’t take good enough care of you,” smack. finally, he takes mercy on you. he does not comment on the fact that he stopped four smacks short. you collapse against the couch, sobbing uncontrollably, blinded by tears. “you understand what you did?” you nod. again, mercifully, he does not make you repeat it.
jack comes up behind you. “oh, there we go. our good girl again. so sweet. you’ll never misbehave again. daddy knows. dad got a little mean there, didn’t he.” he’s peppering your head in kisses, reaching in front to rub your tummy. “oh, i know, you poor girl. let’s get you cleaned up. sleep in daddy’s bed tonight, c’mon.” robby sucks air in through his teeth. “well… not yet.” jack glares at him. “you cannot possibly be serious.” the older man sighs. “rules are rules, jack. i said she’d be writing lines. she’s gonna be writing lines for thirty minutes.”
“dude. look at her. she can barely breathe. she can barely see. how in the ever loving fuck is she writing lines.”
“i’m not grading on handwriting. she’ll be okay.” robby goes to the basement, emerging with the dreaded stool. scratchy, with a bathmat attached to it. you buckle again. jack brings a cool cloth to your face. “it’s okay, baby, stay with me. you’ve been so brave. so good. you can write a few silly little lines. show dad what a good girl you are.” you tremble. robby picks you up anyway. jack sighs. “michael.” “no, jack, she’ll be okay.”
when robby sits you on the stool, you nearly collapse onto the bar counter. he pulls you back up, steadying you. “don’t be difficult, kid. listen to your old man. you’re going to write ‘i will not touch myself without either dad or daddy approving it.’” he takes a legal pad and writes out a sample sentence. “you’re going to write this as many times as you possibly can, until the timer runs out.”
jack puts a hand at the back of your neck. he lowers his head, whispers in your ear. “you got this. and you know, dad’s gonna feel so guilty after, i can tell. he’ll probably want to cuddle you all night too. won’t that be fun?” you whimper. the timer starts.
your entire body feels like it’s made of rocks. you are pushed on by jack’s constant and robby’s sporadic praise. robby whispers “knew you could do it” and your heart soars.
the timer goes off. you were only able to write ten sentences. robby doesn’t comment on it. you collapse like a house of cards. he catches you, picks you up, and brings you to the couch.
“that’s my girl. knew you could do so much better. you’re not gonna lie again, are you?” your head lolls against his neck, eyes already drooping. he pinches your thigh. “i asked you a question.” you’re immediately shocked back into yourself.
“n—no, dad”
jack tilts your face up, kissing your lips. “that’s our perfect little girl. best daughter we could ask for, right, robby?”
robby sighs again, but this time it is thick with affection. “yeah,” he smiles, “best daughter ever.”
Unfriendly reminder that if you're displeased with a piece of fanfiction your courses of action are:
Read something else
Bitch PRIVATELY to friends
Write your own take on the premise (strongly recommend!)
All of the above
Under no circumstances should you try to "politely" critique the author who put the story up as a hobby. For free. Especially if the story in question is multiple years old. Ao3 is not Goodreads
Snuff Box @headcaasefiction - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
