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22

[bluetimeombre]

I TOLD YA !

synopsis you and Robby had been going casual for a while now, but when Jack comes into the picture and wants your attention Robby has to share, but with how much the two of them talk about each other while with you, you suspect they might be more than happy with the situation... (7.3K words)

warnings smut MDNI. Three ways kinda. fingering, breast play, handjobs, making out, p in v sex, pussy eating, getting frisky at work, three way kissing? langauage, age gap but no specified

author note consider this my sorry for no part two to golden girl.... there probably won't be a part two to this though either....

the pitt masterlist! other rabbot x reader work!

You had never known two men to be as competitive as Jack and Robby.

Two men who admitted to themselves they were both good doctors- great even, though they had different styles. They could look past each other's ways of doing things in order to support each other. One could lead with authority and drive, the other moving round his leadership with kind steps and guidance.

Except when it came to you.

When it was you, they were two teenage boys on the pitch trying to impress a field of girls.

When Jack had asked you for drinks you'd been overjoyed that your lingering glances and petty touches had been enough to convey your interest. However, you then had to explain yours and Robby's arrangement.

You'd been fucking quietly (as in on the down low, nothing about the way you fucked was quiet) and needed to make sure Jack was okay knowing that wouldn't be stopping just because he was taking you on one date. As much as you'd been looking at Jack, hoping for his attention, you couldn't stop the attraction you had to Robby. It had come first, afterall.

You'd said as much to Robby with his cock deep inside of you. Your hands on his shoulders as you bounced, the plap plap plap of skin bouncing off his bedroom walls. “Jack- Jack asked me for drinks,” you gasped.

Robby's skin glowed in sweat. His hands dug into your hips, helping you move up and down at a brutal pace. “My Jack?”

Something about the way he insisted Jack was his had you moaning out, your walls tightening around him.

“Fuck, don't do that,” Robby grunted, head thrown back on his headboard with a whack.

“Your-your Jack. Yes!” Your hands reached back to his thighs, fingernails digging into his skin.

It thrust your chest in Robby's face and he didn't miss a beat to trail his tongue messily across your chest, tasting your sweat and groping at your breast to take your nipple and swirl his tongue around the bud. He moaned around it, sucking like a baby and sending stimulation through your body.

“Fuck-fuck, Robby,” you moaned, dragging your core over him in delicious circles.

He hummed and watched you with encouraging nods. He pulled away from your breast and took your neck, bringing you in to him sharply. He nodded along with the movements of your body. “Come on my cock, scream my name, then we can talk about your date with Jack.”

Come on his cock you did, body shaking, mouth hung open soundlessly as Robby held you close into his chest and rutted up into you till he finished, painting your walls and biting down on your shoulder.

Moments later you were tucked into his side, Robby twirling bits of your hair with his head rested against yours.

“So Jack, huh?” he'd asked. “You want to go.” He wasn't looking at you but at the empty space at the bottom of his bed. There was a chest at the bottom with the essentials for such activities: towels, wipes, condoms, lube, maybe even some toys you'd slipped in as a joke all well within reach for him.

“Yeah I do,” you said. “We're only casual right, I'm within my rights to see who I want, aren't I?”

It was all teasing. You knew Robby didn't really want to share you but couldn't commit either so until then you'd be exercising your freedom.

Till he broke, because you knew he would.

That's how you ended up at a bar with Jack, crowded together in a small booth in the corner just days later. A few empty glasses sat around you, as well as an empty basket of chicken wings you'd shared earlier in the night.

Jack's arm was thrown around the booth, finger so close to touching, thigh almost pressed to yours but he kept just beyond touch. Either out of respect for yours and Robby's arrangement, or to drive you crazy.

“How long's this thing with you and Robby been going on?” he asked.

“Few months. We both needed a release with no strings attached kind of thing and it just happened that way.” You weren't ashamed of it. Not embarrassed that you'd given in to Robby the way you'd always wanted to. You didn't care that he was your boss or older than you by some decades. If stuff like that bothered you, you wouldn't have been sitting in the bar with Jack.

“You ever thought of asking me?” he asked with a smirk.

“If you were there that day, I just might have.”

It wasn't like you could ever ignore how attractive Jack was. Just as you couldn't ignore how attractive Robby was.

“And if I wanted to take you on more dates,” said Jack. “How would that work with you and Robby?”

You took your time in running your fingers over the rim of your glass.

The fact of the matter was you thought it wouldn't get better than Robby. Same hours and the same needs bled into sex that had your body shivering and never left you without pleasure. You liked it. You hadn't thought about changing it. You didn't know if you could find as deep a knowing as you had with Robby.

“I-I don't know,” you said, frowning to yourself at your own admission.

“Hey-hey,” said Jack, hand brushing back your hair and cradling your cheek. “I'm not asking you and Robby to stop.” Jack shuffled closer, finally touching you. “I'm just asking if you had room for one more.”

That's how you ended up in the back of Jack's truck pulled around to the dark corners of the bar, sprawled naked along the backs of his seat, legs spread and his mouth hot and heavy on you.

He'd got an orgasm from you pressed up against the wall, fingers curling and circling in the ways you liked like he'd been studying for this.

“Yeah... yeah...” Jack talked down to your pussy, your arousal coating his lips and almost dripping down before he dove back in, fingers spreading you wide and tongue slotting in.

“Jack! It's-it's too much!” you cried, desperate to close your thighs but his hands darted out and kept one high up on the back seats and the other limp on the floor. “Jack!”

His tongue fucked into you. “Just come. Come for me baby and I promise I'll stop, I promise-”

Condensation rolled down the windows of his truck, your body moving against the seats as you withered in pleasure. You had come on his tongue, not that it stopped Jack as he promised it would.

You had to explain to Robby the next time you saw him why there were bruises he definitely didn't leave at your thighs and why the pussy he'd memorised the taste of had something different to it.

That's how the challenge started.

Your time was split three ways: Work, Robby and Jack. Downtime was spent in Robby's apartment or Jack's place. You had a perfectly divided sets of your favourite clothes in each wardrobe, had given enough hints for each of them to get in your favourite snacks and a toothbrush in each bathroom.

You had, you would say, perfectly trained them.

They knew it. They knew they'd somehow become your toys. They knew if you weren't with one of them you'd be with the other and they used your body like a telegram to read each others messages, but as far as you knew they'd never brought it up with each other in person.

“What are you doing tonight?” asked Robby, hovering next to you, looking down at the tablet in hand.

Around the two of you the Pitt carried on moving. The doctors and nurses conversed and walked, the patients complained and crashed and nobody looked twice at the boss talking to a resident. If they'd looked too close they might have realised how often the two of you did speak in work.

You stood, staring at the board, trying to find a blank spot to slide into. “Uh, dinner with Jack.”

From the corners of your eyes you spotted Robby shifting his weight, head lowering as he huffs.

“Dinner with Jack, second time this week, huh,” he said. “Wonder how this place can manage without him.”

A smirk graced your lips as you turned to consider him.

“Someone feeling neglected?”

“Noooo,” he said, dragging it out and finding something on the tablet cover that was much more important than staring at you. He quipped his head to the side. “Just... you and Jack been going on dinners a lot, this week.”

“Our second one?”

“I could take you for dinner too.”

“But you never do.”

“Do you want me to?” he tried to sound casual but his brows rose at once.

You shrugged. “Ask me.”

“Got to book in time to see you now?” Robby asked. His head bent lower to your ear until you could smell the mint on his lips and feel the heat of his breath ghost the shell of your ear. He blew on it lightly, knowing how it sent shivers down your spine and made your body curl closer into his. “I was here first.”

You tried to hold back a smirk as you stepped back, turning to him. “Is someone jealous?” you teased.

Robby pulled his lips into a frown and shook his head, but he couldn't meet your eyes.

Casual was what Robby wanted, what he thrived on and the only thing he thought he was consistent at. So consistent it was his only relationship. Really, he had no right to be jealous and yet you saw the way his eyes narrowed when patients flirted with you. You knew he felt it when he fucked you hard after doctors on higher floors came down and stared too long at the way you leant over a computer. Casual was what Robby was good at, so he'd never admit he was getting it wrong.

“I'm a single girl,” you reminded him.

“That you are,” he trailed every word longer than it needed to be, saying it as if he didn't quite believe himself.

“And I'm allowed to have dinner with whoever I want?”

“It's not about the dinner,” he said, eyes following a nurse that walked a little too close to the two of you. “It's the fact that I want you in my bed tonight and you tell me you have plans.”

“If you wanted me in your bed more you could just make me your girlfriend?” you said, biting down on your lip to stop your smile.

You watched a glimmer of panic flash in front of his face before it gave way to relief. He knew you weren't really asking because casual worked for you too. Not having to remember dates, or buy anniversary presents or text constantly. It was what you needed. And yet, you loved to tease him with the G and B words.

“I don't have to. You'll come around,” Robby shrugged. “You always do. Tell Jack I said hi.” He walked past you then, hands grazing your elbows as he shuffled by like there wasn't plenty of space.

The small touches he teased you with through out the day was never enough to sustain you. That's why he did it: to keep you coming back for more.

Your dinner with Jack ended how it did almost every night, you in his lap in his apartment, lips moulding against yours, hands running up your back.

Jack always took it slow like the pleasure of you was something to savour, like he didn't believe he'd ever get the chance again. But it had been three months of going back and forth between the two, three months of your body bathed in their kisses and walking around with your head in the clouds.

As much as you loved being with Robby, Jack was new and you were still learning.

“Grinding down on my lap?” he teased slightly breathless, pulling back enough to speak.

You hadn't even realised you were until you felt your panties dampening, till you felt the tension in your hips and the smirk on his lips.

Jack seethed in a breath and went back into you, hand catching the back of your head to draw you in as he encouraged your movements. “Does Robby not satisfy you?”

You smiled against his lips, nipping. “You boys,” you muttered, shuffling closer into his hardening cock, hidden behind his jeans. “Really want to out-do one another, huh?”

“Just want to make sure you're not wasting your time,” he said. Jack pecked your lips over and over again as his hands found the buttons to your jeans, deftly popping them. “With either of us.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

It didn't take long for Jack's fingers to wriggle themselves into your jeans, running lines against your clothed pussy that cried for him. He loved to watch how you moved against his smallest of touches, how you reacted slowly, needy.

“Jack,” you gasped, tilting your head back as his thumb pushed down on your clit, circling slowly. “Robby-Robby says hi.”

Jack hummed. “Does he?” his middle finger slid past the elastic of your panties, finding a home in the warmth of your walls. “He can come say it to me, no good using our girl for messages.”

His lips kissed sweetly at your temple, his endearing move that would catch you off guard in the dirtiest of moments. When he was coaching orgasms out of you through curling fingers or driving into you with your cock, his lips would find your forehead and stay there, mumbling encouragements and compliments that had your body grow fuzzy in a different way.

It was the same way Robby pulled you into his side, fingers twirling around your hair or knuckles grazing your forearms.

They had ways of surprising you, still.

“I got you something,” said Jack, pulling back to get a look at you.

“Oh?”

Jack nodded and tilted his head to nudge against your hose like some horse begging for attention before he withdrew his finger from you. He patted your thighs and you climbed off, falling back into his sofa and letting the cushions swallow you.

You watched as he put his finger in his mouth, licking off the taste of you as if it was a taste of his favourite dish.

Your eyes trailed down his body as he disappeared. The swing of his hips, the pull of his pants over his crotch and the veins that pulled in his arms that had you drooling.

When Jack returned there was a small box in hand and he settled down next to you, throwing an arm around the back of the sofa and offering you the box.

“What is it?” you asked without taking the box. The instinct to sit on your hands to not reach out was a hard one to fight against.

You didn't do gifts, at least not with Robby. His gifts came in litters of kisses and drawn out pleasure throughout long nights. The only present he'd ever got you was a set of lingerie that had only ended up in strips and tears of fabric sprawled along his bedroom floor.

Jack shrugged. “A puppy. You want him to suffocate?” he teased.

With a roll of your eyes you pulled the lid open as Jack tugged your legs into his lap, running his hands up and down.

A thin chain lay on a small velvet, black cushion, a delicate J hanging on the end.

You could feel Jack's eyes on you, watching and waiting for a creation. You were scared to reach out and touch it. Terrified that you'd reach out and the lid would snap shut, that the chain would strangle you. It was as if you'd never been given a gift so beautiful. You hadn't. “Jack, I... I don't know what to say.”

Was it too much? If you and Jack were as casual as you and Robby how could you wear his initial on a necklace?

But you didn't want it to disappear.

You thought about the J hanging over your heart, the chain dangling when you slowly sank onto Jack's cock. You imagined Robby finding it, the way his fingers would push down on the letter till J was etched in there. Or when you rode him, lingering over him to watch his pleasure, would he take the metal letter into his mouth and keep it warm?

“I think you should say-” said Jack, taking up the chain and slowly moving, resting it around your neck. “I love it.”

You moved your hair aside, allowing him to clasp it and relishing in the cooling metal against the flush of your skin. “I do. I love it.”

Jack kissed over the clasp against your skin. “Yeah?”

When your head turned his lips were there, waiting and kissed yours sweetly, hand crawling up to your neck to lay you flat against him. He tested the taste of you with his tongue. His hand ran down your front, pulling at your shirt and exposing the skin only just healing from your last night with him.

“This way,” he said, lips moving against yours with enough time to find words. “When you're with Robby, I'm there too.”

Robby caught sight of the necklace a week later.

“Hey,” he said, eyeing Samira who stood over your shoulder. “Can I borrow you? Ten minutes? Fifteen, tops?”

Sometimes with how well you and Robby played co-workers you couldn’t tell the difference between needing to see a patient and him needing you.

“Course.” Your chair scraped back as you bid a see you later to Mohan and followed after Robby.

He was making a hard line through the department, wearing out his trainers as he didn’t once look back to see if you were hot on his heels. You were.

“Everything okay?”

He led you out the doors and past the stairwell where the on call room was tucked in a corner. It was a room you’d grown familiar with. You knew the desk was rickety and wasn’t best for the kind of activities you and Robby got up to in the room. You knew it was best to cushion the headboard with a cushion, not because there were neighbours to worry about, but to stop anyone else passing by from hearing the thud.

Robby pressed his key into the door and held it open for you, checking the coast was clear before nudging you in and slamming it closed behind the two of you.

His hands were on you, fisting your scrub top, lips claiming yours like he wanted to share his very breath with you.

In spite of the patient you had waiting on discharge, the chairs that you never seemed to quite catch up on and the monitors still ringing in your mind, you held onto Robby with just as much fever. Your hands gripped his shoulders, finding his scruffy hair and pushed your tongue against his.

“You know better than to tease me at work,” he said.

You bit down on his bottom lip, tugging it out.

Robby guided you back to the bed with steady hands on your hips. “Or at least I thought you did.”

When the back of your knees met the bed frame you fell back, dragging Robby with you.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” you mumbled, hands winding under his top, scraping at the roundness of his belly and feeling the bristle of his hairs.

He hummed, pressing his weight into you. “No?”

“Nuh-uh,” you said.

Robby pulled back enough for you to catch the darkness in his eyes, your slightly tinted lip balm smudging his lips. “I thought you were clever, huh?”

Teasing. You'd only been leaning over charting, maybe jutting out your hips a little more. Maybe grazing against Robby more than you needed to.

There was little time to reply before Robby was licking into your lips again, groaning at the taste and the push of himself into you. He opened your mouth and sort your tongue, hands pushing and pulling up your scrub top until skin gave way to skin and he could feel the plains of you, the warmth you were giving off. He tugged and moved at the skin and pulled off your scrub top.

You knew how it would go. In ten minutes Robby would work you up, have you teetering on the edge of insanity and want then send you back out to the ward. He'd demand you to double up on patients and get them all discharged before you left. He'd get you begging by the end of the night.

Your scrub top was thrown to the corner and Robby's hands grabbed your breasts, groping and moving, licking over what spilled from your bra and nipping.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, tugging him in closer-

Then- he grew cold and still, his lips moving away from his chest.

“Huh? Robby, what?” You shook yourself out of your haze and looked at him.

“What's this?” his voice was low in his throat as he pulled back.

There was cooling metal rested on your chest. Your spine tingled as a finger traced the letter there.

Robby was staring down at the necklace with a frown, eyebrows pinched together and mouth twisting.

You'd imagined Robby finding out about the chain a dozen times, but you didn't expect the look of hurt or anger there. “It's nothing. It's just- Jack, a gift.”

“Gift?” he questioned.

You nodded and gulped, suddenly worried. What if Robby said he couldn't do it anymore? He couldn't share you? Would he insist upon you ending it with Jack to have you all to himself, or would he ditch you and leave you to Jack's capable hands.

The both of you shuffled. Robby swung his legs over the bed, running a hand through his hair as he hunched over and you sat up.

“It's nothing, just a gift, I promise, Robby. I promise,” you said, holding onto his shoulders and pressing a kiss into his shoulder.

Robby stared down at his hands. “It's pretty,” he grumbled.

“You're prettier,” you said, resting your chin on his shoulder.

Robby turned and pulled a face at you.

You smiled and kissed his shoulder again. “Don't think anything of it.”

He inhaled, body moving against yours as he did. “Hard not to. His fucking letter of his name is sitting in between my favourite place.” His eyes flickered down to where your chest was lying in temptation.

You stilled as his hand darted out, picking up the J and fiddling with it.

There was an odd look to him. There was a clench in his jaw and you could feel his body tense but that familiar darkness was still in his eyes. He still licked his lips like he wanted to take a bite from every bit of your flesh and he wasn't letting go of the initial at your chest.

You'd seen the ways your boys acted. When you mentioned the dinner with Jack and watched Robby try to act like he didn't care. When Jack stripped you bare and eyed the bites Robby had left the nights before. Jack would give time to making those marks worse, deeper in colour and mixing Robby's dried spit with his own. How even with his cock deep inside of you Robby would go the lengths of asking for excruciating details on your dates with Jack.

“Well, I have a theory,” you said, swinging yourself into his lap. His hands fell upon you, working like velcro. “You quite like it, the challenge.”

His brows rose, hands casting up and down you. “Challenge?”

“You and Jack. Sharing me.” To test the waters, you rolled your hips against him and felt his cock answer. “The back and worth. Wanting to do better than the other.”

“Don't I?” he asked, kissing over the chain between your shoulder and neck. He picked it up between his teeth and dropped it back down.

“You both have your talents,” you whispered, tilting your neck back and grinding down on him.

“Yeah?”

“Your favourite things... your favourite parts...”

“Parts?” Robby's eyes were wide and pleasing, looking up to you.

You nodded and closed your eyes, chasing the feeling of him. “Jack... he likes to be down there more,” you said with a particular roll down on your hips. “You like to be up here.” You brought your hands up and squeezed at your breasts to bring them together.

Robby's eyes practically bulge out his head and he latches himself between them, groaning into your skin like this was the only rest bite he craved. The only place he needed to be.

“Jack's staking his claim,” you moaned. “Making sure... you see him.”

His tongue left a trail of his saliva over your chest. “Then I guess I better stake mine.”

Three days later, Robby's head was between your thighs, nudging his tongue in deep, rubbing his nose into your wetness.

You were calling his name, moaning his name when a new smaller cold chain wrapped around your ankle. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, looking through the haze of pleasure to see a band around your ankle, a delicate R hanging there.

Robby's eyes flicked up to you, smirking and your arousal wetting his lips.

“An anklet, huh?”

“You started it,” said Robby. “A necklace?”

Jack shrugged. “It was something nice.”

“It was a dig.”

Jack shook his head innocently. “No.”

The two of them were leant casually over the counter, stealing a few minutes of relative peace before Robby had to lead him room to room and tell him who was going home and who was not. Who had good chances of living a normal life and those that did not.

Their idea of peace was staring at you from across the floor, where you lingered with Dana. You were talking, just talking with the occasional smile but it was enough for the two of them.

They kept their conversations timid regarding you. They could say everything they needed to say by leaving little bits of each other on your skin.

It seemed the new gifts suddenly sprang on you was encouragement enough.

“So what do we do about it?” asked Jack.

Robby was reluctant to tear is gaze away from you as he slowly dragged his gaze to check on Jack. “On what?”

Jack nodded toward you. “We gonna do this forever?”

“Seems to be working,” said Robby.

“Forever?”

Robby nerves grew on him. He turned his body to Jack, considering him as he considered you. “Has she... said something?” Robby knew he wasn't what made boyfriends or husbands, but were you not happy with what you had?

“No,” said Jack, moving to look down at his hands. “We just gonna keep sharing her? I don't like the idea that I'm stealing your guys time from you.”

“We make it work,” said Robby.

The both of them returned to observing you.

“I like her,” said Jack.

Robby agreed. “Yeah. More than me?”

Jack's eyes ran up and down from you. “Only time will tell.”

“If you're worried about her time we can work something out,” said Robby.

He had the feeling you'd like something like that too. Your time together exhausted him in the best way possible before work so he wasn't sure how you managed splitting your time between him, Jack and work and supposedly getting some rest all between it.

“Work something out?” asked Jack, frowning at the words. It seemed the both of them were stubborn about you. “What? Like a schedule?”

Robby's head fell side to side. “Something like that.”

It took two more weeks of shared dates and beds before you, Robby and Jack could finally be in the same room that wasn't the hospital.

You'd noticed the two of them were talking about each other more. It wasn't unusual for one to bring up the other with arms firm around you, lips etched to your neck.

“Has Jack found that little spot that gets you whining yet?” Robby would ask, sucking on said mark with thick fingers curling into you.

Jack had but you didn't need to answer that for him to know.

“Mmh, mmh, I love this pussy,” Jack said one night when he'd already spent fifteen minutes in lucking and sucking up your pussy. “Can fucking taste Robby in here.”

It was becoming apparent to you, even if it wasn't them, that they really, really liked seeing each other in you. Liked kissing over the same marks and tracing the same path.

Robby had invited you over under the pretence of just casual drinks. You'd said you had plans with Jack (his nights off getting increasingly more likely) and saw the tick in Robby's jaw that you had plans again. Plans that meant his time with you was limited to what he could steal in the staff lounge and on-call room.

Which was why Robby had invited you and Jack around to his. For drinks. Casual.

It didn't stay casual for long.

“Oh, come on,” said Jack taking a swig of his beer, all sweaty from how he'd held it most of the night. “If both of us approached you at a bar, who you picking?”

“I'm not answering that,” you laughed.

You were sandwiched between the two of them on Robby's sofa, curled up between the meat of their thighs that were spread to touch you. Around the back of the sofa, Robby rested his arm while Jack watched you with his head rested on his arm propped on the back of the sofa.

“What? You have to,” said Robby.

“No, I don't,” you said again with a laugh, taking a sip of beer.

“We're big guys, we can handle it,” said Jack with a shrug of indifference.

You doubted they could, whoever you picked. The other would take you to bed and fuck you into the mattress and lick their name against your spine.

Robby's finger prodded into your shoulder for an answer.

“Okay,” you said. You leant forward and ditched your can on the coffee table before settling back with their bodies closer to you. “How does it work?”

“How does what work?” asked Robby, very intrigued by the prospect of who you'd go for.

You rolled your eyes and flattened your feet on the floor. “Dress it up for me. What's the bar like? Who am I with? What are the two of you doing?”

Robby made some sort of pfft sound and laid back.

Jack rubbed a finger over the bottom of his lip and dedicated time to think about it. “The bars dark, low, that kind of thing you'd find downtown,” he recited like he'd thought about this a hundred times. His hand comes to your knee, circling it till you jerked at the tickle. “You'd come with a bunch of your girlfriends and Robby and I-”

“- at the bar,” interjected Robby. His eyes drifted from Jack to you. “We met for a couple drinks, tired from work.”

“Oh, this is very realistic,” you smirked.

Robby gave his own back. “And then you walk in. Little dress, like that black thing you wear sometimes.”

“Practically begging to be noticed,” said Jack. “How could we not? Two old men, down on their luck and a pretty, young thing like you walks in.”

The tingle down your body ran deeper, fuzzier than ever with Jack's hand on you and Robby's eyes lingering. Their breaths and heat co-existing drove you slowly mad.

“Then you start throwing down favours? Is that it?” you asked quietly.

“Rest of the night carries on a bit,” said Robby, drawing your attention to him. He shifts his head side to side as if weighing up the different ways this hypothetical night could go. “Jack and I are having drinks, keeping an eye on you all night.”

“Some of your friends decide to call it early but you want to keep having fun,” said Jack, his hand travelling further up your leg. “Wild girl.”

You had no time to retort before Robby was reaching for you, talking again.

“Jack and I had been waiting for you all night, watching, thinking about buying you drinks every time you got out your card out.” His voice was low, body leaning into you.

“I approach you at the bar, some cheesy line I know you'd secretly like-” added Jack.

“You come sit with us,” said Robby, “Stuck between the two of us just like you are now.”

Robby's breath fanned your pulse thumping in your neck and Jack's hand travelled to the height of your thigh, rubbing his hand up and down. You could imagine it. The bar with the lights down low, catching the eye of the two men who leaned in to talk to each other. Maybe Robby would spot you first as he was saying something to Jack and un-able to take his eyes from you Jack would just have to take a look also.

From there you'd dance with your friends, swing out your hips more than needed, brush back your hair with every sway. You'd check they were watching, enamoured by you every once and in a while and of course they were. How could they not?

“I'm sitting with you now?” you ask, voice breathless as you struggled with knowing who to look at.

Jack's head nodded as his hand came up, popping the button of your jeans. You didn't rise to meet him, nor did you try and stop him.

Neither did Robby.

“Just like now. A good girl, sat between two men who are just slowly, slowly trying to get a taste.” Robby's voice dropped lower and lower, head ducking until he brushed hair from your neck and pressed light kisses along there.

You could feel your own chest heaving, see the the quick moves of it under your hooded gaze.

Jack's hand had slid down your pants and was making a slow observation of your clothed pussy, wet like he'd never known it to be.

You leant your head back for Robby as another warmth spread along the other side of your neck. “Do I let them?” you asked. “Get a taste?”

“Oh yeah,” said Jack, on the account of Robby finding a home in your neck and kissing and licking over his favourite spot. The spot that had your panties growing wetter. “Yeah you let them try, you're so sweet like that.” He pressed a kiss onto your clothed shoulder.

“Whose do we go back to?” you asked, your hands coming up to cradle each of their heads.

“Mine.”

Both of their voices were muffled from lips pressed to different parts of you, but both were just as possessive.

Your fingers curled delightfully around the backs of their heads.

The two of them retreated, looking to each other.

“No cat fights now, boys.”

You leant into Jack first just to grate against Robby's nerves. You pressed your lips into his, holding his face to yours as your lips parted his and you swallowed the sound of surprise he gave you. He groaned and moaned into your lips as he fingers prodded at the gate to heaven under your panties. You were sure he was making more of a noise and more of a show of it because Robby was at your other side.

You didn't know if you'd expected Robby to groan and complain about the show the two of you were putting on. Whether or not he'd get up from his sofa and demand you both leave, ending what you'd been teetering on for months.

Instead, you felt him remain steady and close behind you, his eyes burning into your skull.

You pulled back from Jack slowly, the wet smack of lips leaving the room.

Robby eagerly took you in his arms when you leant back into him.

He sighed at the taste of your lips but as soon as your mouth opened up he moaned at the taste of you mixed with Jack, some forbidden fruit he'd taken the first bite of and become addicted to.

“Oh my god,” Jack groaned from behind you, finally slipping two fingers past your panties and into you folds.

You gasped against Robby's mouth, teeth clashing with his. He held your neck, holding you in to draw out the kiss as his tongue flicked against yours.

You felt Robby's arm stretch out and you expect the feel of his warm embrace, of his hands cupping your chest or pulling back your hair. Instead, he moved past you and wrapped his fingers around Jack's wrist, urging him to move his fingers inside of you in a steady pace.

“Oh-” you moaned, back arching up into Robby was he dropped his head to your neck.

“You're squeezin' me like that, honey,” Jack mumbled against your ear. “Feel like you're already gonna come, huh?”

Robby made a noise into your neck. “We got her excited.”

With your eyes closed in bliss and focusing on not rocking into Jack's hand you blindly reached out. A hand gripped onto Jack's thigh that tensed under your claws digging in and the other to Robby's cock that strained against his jeans.

“Please,” you said, breathless.

Any other time maybe Robby would have put up a fight, make you work for just a glimpse of himself but he smiled and clicked his tongue before he shifted in his seat and started to pop the buttons slowly.

Jack bit down on his lip, his finger working you open and curling but eyes on where Robby's hands fumbled for the belt. “Yeah, that's what you wanted? Wanted Robby's cock?”

“Yes,” you said with a lick of your lips.

Jack brought out his fingers and spread you arousal all around you before circling that small bundle of nerves.

Your head was thrown back, stretching out the skin of your neck. “J-Jack!”

His teeth scraped your neck.

“Gonna come already?” asked Robby, amused at the state of you. He'd never had a front row seat to the effect Jack had on you and by what you'd felt through his boxers and jeans, he was enjoying it.

You shut him up when you bypassed his layers of clothing and wrapped your hand around his cock.

Robby seethed and laid back as you reached around for him, taking what arousal was leaking for the head and dragging it down him.

“You're so good at that, aren't you, baby?” asked Jack as set a steady rhythm upon you. “So good.”

“Jack,” you panted. “Please, I wanna- I wanna-”

He nodded against you.

“You wanna come?” asked Robby from behind you, a hand running up and down your back. “So soon?”

“Let her finish,” said Jack pulling back and staring at you. He worked his fingers over your clit faster, dipping into your heat to drag up your want and repeat it until you were starting to tremble. “Not her fault she's excited by the both of us against her.”

Robby grumbled but couldn't find the words to say much else as your thumb swept the tip of him repeatedly.

“J-Jack!” you came onto his hand with a breath of a moan, your hand squeezing Robby.

“Fuck!” he groaned as he watched you come down from your high.

Jack sent a smirk over your shoulder. “What? Gonna come so soon?” he teased, licking a finger into his mouth and cleaning you from himself.

You caught your breath, slowly taking away your hand from Robby's cock and sitting up straighter. Your heart hammers, your ears were left ringing like you'd just gone through something life changing. You think you had.

Both of the men at your sides shuffled to sit up on either side of you.

“What's up?” asked Jack. “No regrets?”

You looked between the two of them and shook your head.

Before you knew it Robby took to one side of your neck, Jack the other. You were left sitting there as they held you up for them to do their diligent work.

Your eyes closed as you focused on the rub of Robby's beard as he sucked a deep mark onto you. On the other side Jack's slight stubble grazed as he scraped his teeth against different spots of you, unable to settle.

Their hands were hot as Robby's ran over the length of your back, coming around to squeeze at your breasts and earn noises of relief as reward while Jack focused on pulling down your jeans, on pulling open your thighs, desperate to be slotted in between them.

You guided Robby up by his chin, kissing him with a heavy tongue and eager lips writing everything you wanted him to do to you. His cock was still out, protruding and begging for attention with every messy swipe of your lips.

Jack was still on you, making a work at your neck.

You pulled away from Robby, his eyes still almost black from need when you moved to Jack, to kiss him and give him a taste of Robby.

You didn't know if it was just the adrenaline of the two of them kissing you, working you open and apart but you swear you'd never felt the two of them kiss you like they did then. With the other watching, with the other just within reach and with their lips still on the soft skin of yours.

You kept like that for a while, in between them, kissing each one moment, the other breathing hard on you. At some point Jack had gotten his own hardening cock out, rubbing it up and down leisurely as if you had all night to enjoy everything.

Delicately, you dragged your nails down their necks, cupping their chins and kept them steady and like putty in your hands.

Enamoured and under you spell neither realised when there wasn't just one tongue but another. When your smooth skin gave way to stubble neither blinked and when the hands became gruff and coarse, they relished in it.

All until you could guide Robby and Jack's mouths in together, settling back on the sofa like you were about to watch your favourite show.

You watched as Jack's grey and Robby's brown brows furrowed in as they focused in on the new taste, the rougher lips and hotter tongue. Their hands were searching these new bodies with grips and grasps.

Their cocks bobbed with their movements and you watched, mouth salivating.

Noises you'd never heard them make before left them but you weren't even jealous. You were wet and trying to remember what they looked like caving into each other to keep in the back of your mind for months to come.

Only when their faces were reddening and you feared they might fait from suffocation and you'd have to call PTMC and explain why their cocks were out, you clapped your hands once.

Their eyes opened, mouths still against each other as they caught their breaths before looking to you slowly, eyes hazy and faces red, lips swollen.

“Well, this has been fun,” you said, patting their thighs and wedging yourself out from between them. “But I should call it, work tomorrow, early night and all.”

The two were frozen, dumb-founded like teen boys realising they might like their guy friend a little too much.

You were already at the door, throwing your hair over your shoulder and showing the beautiful litters of marks they'd left on you. “See you in work!”

You left gratified. You'd got to come by Jack's hands once and had watched them make out. And even though you were accustom to a drawn out night of pleasure, you were more than set up for the rest of the night with the image of the two of them safely stored away.

taglist (if you want to be added or took off just say the word!):

@oldbaddies, @mafercita101,@tiddieshakeshownu, @mismwaa, @annabethpotter221b, @elizamoe133, @delicatedragonflower, @mysatnin, @cherbicdollie, @macbaetwo, @cod-guys-slvt, @rach2602, @beebeechaos, @generation-zero, @sofianotvergara, @berrybisous, @pinkpantheris, @lacy1986, @marquiserose, @myworldrightnow, @zoobabystation, @thesandbeneathmytoes, @moonlitblossomsofthesun, @ilovemybbgalexg, @madprincessinabox, @sillybillydillywilly

[whichwayisthebeach-seabass]

this fic is literally !!!

[fangirl-dot-com]

⋆｡°✩ NSFW MDNI 18+

just thinking that jack abbot, having been so long without touching a woman in respect for his wife, doesn't realize that women these days desire to hear men be loud in bed. he's always thought that the most he was allowed to do are small grunts and puffs of air.

so when he happens to finally give into his carnal needs and falls into your bed after throwing caution to the wind, he's very confused as to why you literally stop him mid-thrust and ask if he's enjoying fucking you as much as you are. he knows he's doing a good job; all that's been flowing through your mouth are high-pitched keens and breathy sighs and his name dancing around a moan when his tip manages to brush the deepest parts of you.

his eyebrows furrow and he painstakingly admits that he's always been quiet even if whimpers and cries fight against his teeth each time you clench around his length. and now you're telling him that you, the gorgeous young resident that managed to get him out of abstinence, wanted him, an old, grumpy attending that didn't know the difference between living and being alive, to scream your name? he can hardly believe it.

well, that is until you manage to hook a leg around his hip, flip the two of you over, and start moving up and down his cock in grinding motions, your clit rubbing deliciously on that thatch of gray hair leading up to his navel, with the need to hear your name fall from his pretty, plushy lips.

"c'mon, jackie," you whimper into the room as wet squelches flow from your sopping pussy and around his dick. "wanna hear you be loud for me. wanna hear it all. I'll ride you all night if I have to. just wanna know I'm doing a good job too."

🏷️ permanent tags: @dumb-fawkin-bitch @nofinnn2 @books-thingys-andstuff @nyxmoretti @glitterquadricorn @itzpixiebabe @xoxoloverb @macbaetwo @cerberus101 @thorfemmes @goddess-of-spring @staygoldsquatchling02 @obi-wansgirl @phantom-101 @fly-me-away @xblackcatx @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @aoi-warrior @keepingitundercover @sofianotvergara @shawnhatosysrightbicep @straykids1011 @vicky066 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @sepidehmoafiglazer @multiversalfandomwriter222 @bellamys-girl1 @violet1661 @damoclesdarling @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @fancyvoidtragedy @hoffmanfan13 @lostfallenangelsblog @teenwolfbitches28 @isuckcigbuds @kaorisakamotofan @alexaplayldr @mszeitxt @darknessofhell666-blog-blog @yapeez @riseabovethorns-blog @thedivinegirlyp0p @sl33ping-sir3n @toxicwasteee @chanelwidag @cloudrisens @ravenwtfbro @ra-ven-124 @rainaris-ac @glamorizethechaos

[cutiedrpepper]

jack abbot, who finds it adorable when you're always trying to get his tongue in your mouth when he's fucking you, your eyes completely unfocused as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to smash your lips onto his

a line of shiny drool leaking down from the corner of your mouth and onto your cheek, the kisses are so messy, but you love when his mouth is on yours, not letting him get back up now that you're licking into his mouth

his heart aches when he pulls off, and you whine! he just wanted to see your fucked out face, and now you're pawing at his meaty pecs, trying to pull him back down to your face

and when you do get him to finally make out with you fully, his cock still hitting deep with every thrust, your pussy gets wetter, shining in the lowlight of his bedroom with your slick forming a small puddle beneath your ass, wet plaps echoing in the small space between your bodies

when he feels like teasing you, he'll sit back on his heel, keeping himself away while still fucking into you and taunting you with:

"does my sweet baby want a kiss?"

"look at this greedy pussy and even greedier girl begging for me"

"you look like you want something? what're you whining for, sweetheart?"

if you're being a brat and fussing, he'll flip you over onto your tummy and shove your face down into his expensive sheets, not letting you see him or have access to his lips

he'll press your hips down into the mattress and fuck you hard, knocking the wind out of you so you can't whine anymore loudly for his kisses, even though he wants nothing more than to flip you over and make your pussy wetter by simply kissing you

but you need to learn, and he's okay with being your big mean daddy if it means you'll quit acting up so he can give you sweet little kisses again <3

[julytrees]

Nina Simone performing at the Beacon Theater in 1974.

[pinkandblueblurbs]

mr. abbot

dad!bf robby bro!bf frank and dbf! jack x fem!reader. poly relationship, daddy kink, penetrative sex, oral sex (m receiving), praise, light degradation, d/s dynamics, teasing, riding.

word count: 2.7k

You put on a pretty little sundress when Robby tells you his buddy Jack is coming over for dinner.

Robby's starting the grill while you make lemonade and Frank sets the table. You're so focused on Robby, as usual. You always find him so attractive like this, wearing an old t-shirt and sunglasses and manning the grill. You try not to let it distract you from your tasks-- putting out a vase of flowers, fetching Robby anything he forgot from the kitchen. You're eager to be good and helpful, desperate to make sure everything is perfect to welcome his friend.

But then in walks Jack through the gate of the yard. Your heart skips a beat and your pussy clenches at the mere sight of him. The way his t-shirt strains around his chest and arms, his grey curls and stubble. You stare dumbly as he walks over. He greets robby with a brief on-armed hug and Frank with a nod, and their mouths are moving but you don’t even hear them.

Then, suddenly, you realize Jack is looking right at you, brows raised expectantly and mouth curled in an amused grin. And his hand is out. “Oh,” you quickly take it, trying not to fixate on how big and warm it is wrapping around yours. You let him move it in a firm shake.

“I said it’s nice to meet you, sweetheart.” Jack repeats. Frank chuckles somewhere behind you, and your ears burn with embarrassment.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Abbot.” You smile at him. He angles his head back, chin out, and studies you from down his nose. The eye contact feels so intense that your knees threaten to buckle and you can’t help but look away.

You’re awkward and ditzy the whole evening. Stuttering over your words, mishearing things, bumping into the table and almost dropping your plate.

At one point you’re so distracted staring at Jack’s lips while he eats that Robby has to snap at you to get your attention. “Jesus christ, honey.” He laughs and shakes his head. “You back now?”

Jack’s kind enough to stifle his chuckle and smirk down at his plate, playing it off like everyone didn’t just catch you ogling him.

Soon everyone's plates are cleared. You and Frank stand up to take the dishes to the kitchen, and you know what’s coming before he even starts talking.

“You’re really subtle, you know that?”

“Oh my god, shut up.” You grumble, putting the stack of plates in the sink.

“No, seriously.” He says, of course, not shutting up. “I mean I know you, so I can tell that you’re undressing Abbot with your eyes— but I’m sure he hasn’t even noticed.”

You groan and thump your forehead against the cabinet dramatically. “Frank. Please. I already wanna crawl into a hole.”

Frank’s sarcastic snark turns into an equally irritating coo. “Don’t worry, princess.” He reaches out and pinches your cheek. “He probably thinks you’re the cutest thing.” He just laughs when you smack his hand away and shoot him a hard glare.

You guys bring out icecream and more beers after washing the dishes. Robby beckons you over and pats his thigh, summoning you to sit in his lap. Your cheeks are so warm as you do it, hyper-aware of Jack's presence next to you while you settle into Robby's chest. He's not even 5 feet away.

The three men keep chatting while you’re eating your icecream. You try to keep your head down, hoping not to embarrass yourself any further. But then you feel something pulling your gaze towards Jack. It's his eyes on you-- fixated on your mouth. Watching the spoon disappear then come back out clean, the white cream lingering on your bottom lip that your tongue darts out to swipe away. Your heart hammers in your chest.

When you finish your icecream Robby's quick to take your bowl from you and put it on the table. Then his warm hand finds your thigh. Rubs up and down in what starts as a soothing gesture, but soon his touch moves higher and higher…

“Da-“ the word catches in your throat as you spare a glance at Jack. He’s watching you like a hawk. You shift nervously in Robby's lap.

Robby leans forward, smirks against your neck then presses a kiss there. “What was that, sweetheart?” His voice rumbles against you through his chest. His big hand cups your pussy over your skirt. “It’s okay, you can say it in front of Jack.”

“Daddy,” it’s barely above a whisper. Jack curses under his breath, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs to accommodate the blood rushing to his dick. Frank’s grinning from across the table.

“Attagirl." Robby presses another kiss to your cheek, his facial hair leaving a scratchy tickle. You curl back further into him. "Don't be shy, honey. Jack's practically family."

You let out a small squeak at that. All actual words seem to escape you as Robby presses his fingers firmly against your clit. You can’t help but raise your hips in search of more delicious friction.

“That feel good, pretty girl?” Jack voices, soft and gruff and just a bit teasing. You turn to hide your face in Robby’s neck. He chuckles while Jack clicks his tongue. “C’mon, sweetheart, look at me. I don’t bite.”

Your gaze hesitantly finds his. He’s careful to keep his smile kind and reassuring despite the intense hunger looming behind his eyes. “There she is.” He crooks two fingers, gently beckoning you towards him like you’re a small animal threatening to bolt. “C’mere, babygirl. Why don’t you sit with me.”

That open invitation is enough to override any shyness you’re still feeling. Robby releases his hold on you and you’re on your feet in an instant, practically tripping over yourself in your haste to get into Jack’s lap.

Robby laughs at your eagerness. “That’s more like it.” He reaches over to where you’re now straddling Jack to grope your ass through your dress then delivers a solid smack. “Needy fuckin’ girl.”

Jack’s grinning up at you, hands running up and down your sides while you smile shyly back at him. You loop your arms around his neck. He tilts his head up. “Gimme a kiss, honey.”

Your smile widens to show your teeth, exposing your giddiness. Jack mirrors it and brings a finger up to tap his lips.

You take your cue, leaning down and giving him a sweet peck. He chuckles against your mouth, murmurs “you’re cute,” then his hand finds the back of your neck to urge you closer. He uses the gasp you let out as an opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth.

He kisses exactly how he presents— confident, measured, smooth. Everything is intentional despite the obvious passion behind it, from the way his teeth graze your lip to the way his hips rise up to meet yours.

When you finally pull away you’re breathless. Your head is swimming, your cheeks are hot, arousal swirls in your stomach, and you’re craving more of him.

“Oh my god,” you mean to whisper, but it comes out more like a moan.

Frank laughs. “Baby, he hasn’t even touched you yet.”

“Don't be an asshole,” You snip back before you can think better of it. Jack purses his lips with a quiet ooh, amusement twinkling in his eyes— but it earns you a low warning to “watch that mouth” from Robby.

“Uh oh, letting the good girl act slip already?” The younger man taunts again. He looks so fucking smug, and you really could smack him— but you know the better angle to play.

“Frank,” you’re whining now, gripping Jack’s shirt and throwing in a pout for good measure. You know it's working when you feel Jack's hand rub your back soothingly.

“Ignore him, babydoll.” Jack coos. “You’re doing great.”

Robby lets out a low whistle. “Careful, man. She’s gonna have you wrapped around her finger.”

Jack just shrugs and clicks his tongue. “She already does.” He shoots you a little wink, like the two of you are colluding and this is some shared scheme. You giggle and lean down for another kiss.

You’re far more comfortable now, rolling your hips against his bulge shamelessly and whimpering into his mouth. Somewhere to the side you hear Robby grumble “I’m gonna regret this,” and you can practically feel Frank roll his eyes.

“Heard so much about this tight little pussy, sweetheart.” Jack says gruffly into your mouth. “Gonna let me feel it?” You’ve never nodded so fast. “Yeah?” He voices. “C’mon, pretty girl. Tell me.”

“Wanna ride you,” you breathe out, reaching down to fumble with his belt. “Please, Mr. Abbot, wanna feel you inside me.”

“Good girl, honey. Such nice manners.” Jack’s eyes flit to Robby, who returns the look with a smirk. Jack’s own hand replaces yours on his belt, unclasping it with ease and then working open his fly. “Your daddy taught you well, didn’t he?”

“Mhm,” you affirm. You bite your lip and cast a smile in Robby’s direction, swelling with pride when he gives you an approving nod.

When you look down next, Jack’s cock is out, thick and heavy against his abdomen, already leaking. You suck in a sharp breath.

“Here, doll.” Jack’s hand finds your ass and urges your hips up slightly, allowing him to reach under your skirt and pull your panties aside. “Now sit down, let me inside you.”

You tilt your hips forward and let him angle his cock against your entrance. You moan as you sink down on him, your cunt stretching deliciously as you accommodate his size.

“Thaaat’s it,” he groans out, fingertips digging into you hips. “Shit, Mike, you weren’t kidding. Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever felt.”

You pause once your thighs meet the top of Jack’s, breathing heavily and adjusting to the fullness. One of Jack’s hands trails upwards and kneads your breast— you’re braless in your dress, and the thin fabric of the bodice is the only thing separating his fingers from your nipple as he pinches gently. You whimper.

“You like that, babygirl?” Jack asks with a smirk before leaning forward to press a heated kiss to your neck. He ruts his hips upwards, driving his cock further into you and grinding his pelvis against your clit. That action alone is enough to make your head collapse against Jack’s shoulder. He does it a few more times, gripping your hips and thrusting up into you, and the pleasure is overwhelming.

“Get moving, sweetheart.” Robby’s low command pulls you back to reality. You glance his way and are surprised to see Frank kneeling at his feet, palming the bulge in his jeans— you hadn’t even noticed the younger man move. “Don’t make Jack do all the work.

You stare at the two of them, watching Frank free Robby's hard cock from his pants, and roll your hips absentmindedly. You startle to attention when Robby says your name, short and commanding. "Yes, daddy, sorry."

You start moving your hips with intention, lifting up off Jack's cock and coming back down in a steady rhythm. “Look at that.” Jack murmurs appreciatively, his eyes raking over your body as you ride him. “So pretty, aren’t you?”

“Thank you,” you say with a breathless little smile. You distantly hear Robby exhale to your side, a familiar tell that Frank has his mouth on him. Jack pulls down the rouched cups covering your breasts, hooking the neckline under them so he can watch your tits bounce. You whimper when you hit the right angle and Jack’s cock sponges over your g-spot. Your rhythym falters. “Oh my god, feels so good.”

“I’ve got you, babydoll.” Jack cups one breast in a warm palm while his other hand grips your waist, guiding your movements and helping to support some of your weight. “Keep going, just like that. Want you to make yourself cum on my cock— can you do that for me, sweet girl?”

“Yes,” you respond in a rush, gripping his shoulders and rocking his dick against that perfect spot. You can feel your release building in your core, tingling in your stomach and pulsing through your cunt. Jack starts to jerk his hips up to meet you. “Please, please, right there.”

“There you go. Good girl.”

That soft, gruff praise spilling from Jack’s lips sends you over the edge. Nearly blinding pleasure shoots through you, making your thighs shake and your pussy clench and a lewd moan catch in your throat.

Jack groans at the vice-like grip of your walls, and he brings his other hand to your waist, continuing to lift you up and down on his cock as you tremble through your orgasm. “Fuck.”

“Not inside, man.” Robby warns, voice rough with arousal as Frank takes his cock down his throat.

“I know, I know.” Jack thrusts a few more times, letting you ride out your pleasure. Then he’s patting your hip. “C’mon, baby, get on your knees for me— lemme cum in that pretty mouth.”

You struggle to obey, moving gracelessly off his lap on shaky legs. Jack helps you, steadies your movements with a strong hold on your waist.

You take his head into your mouth immediately with no prompting. Jack makes a choked sound that eggs you on, makes you suckle needily, humming at the taste of your own pussy mingled with the precum leaking from his tip.

"Fuck, that's it. You're so fucking good at that, babygirl." Jack grits out. The sensation along with the sight of you-- hands in your lap, lips stretched around his cock, bleary eyes gazing up on him through your lashes-- is enough to get him there. "Good girl, here it comes--"

You moan when the first rope of come hits your tongue. You push down deeper, allowing him to shoot down your throat, and the effort is rewarded with a long, low groan from Jack.

"Swallow it all, sweetheart." Robby urges from the sidelines-- as if you'd ever dare to waste a single drop. You swallow two big mouthfuls and don't stop until Jack sucks in sharply through his teeth. You pull off with a lewd pop.

"Goddamn, honey." Despite sounding breathless Jack is reaching for you immediately, picking you up under your shoulders and coaxing you back up into his lap.

"Show him." Comes another command from Robby.

You open your mouth without second thought, allowing Jack to see the broad pink expanse of your tongue. He blows out an impressed breath, reaching up to grasp your chin and sliding his thumb past your lips. You smile around the digit as he strokes your tongue. "You really have got the best girl, Mike."

Robby lets out a huff, half assured half humored. "Sure, when she wants to be."

You pout at that, nuzzling into Jack's chest and making all three men chuckle. Jack's arms wrap around you, rubbing your back and holding you close.

You blink sleepily, finall taking in the scene of Frank, still on the ground, leaning with his head on Robby's thigh. Robby's pants are back on-- he must've cum somewhere along the way-- and there's a wet spot on the front of Frank's jeans. You look at his face to find him already watching you, and when your lips curl in a jeering grin he narrows his eyes and mouths don't say a fucking word.

Normally you wouldn't be able to resist, but Jack's dick left you feeling calm, satisfied and floaty, so all you do is stick out your tongue at him. Frank rolls his eyes.

"So, you wanna come over for the game tomorrow night?" Robby asks after the short stretch of silence, fingers carding through Frank's hair. Jack hums, as if considering, and gives your clothed ass a couple hearty pats.

"Sure," he deadpans, "how could I say no to that?"

[rottndeer]

PLEASING YOU ━━╋━　mdni .ᐟ sub!clark, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie mention, cockwarming...

clark likes when you're mean.

when you sit on top of him grinding yourself down on his cock and all he can do is grasp at your hips and your spread thighs, panting needily with his head thrown back across the pillows. he loves the feeling of the hot, wet connection between the two of you and the sloppy noises that can be heard under his heavy breath and quiet groans.

"c'mon sweetheart please move— properly—"

"just take it clark.", you whisper amused at the little whines escaping his lips, letting your hand strokes over his smooth chest soothingly, feeling his heartbeat flutter under your touch. you let your hands wander slowly, down over his tensed stomach and the hard ridges of his muscles, stroking over the trail of thick dark curls that lead down to the base of his dick. your smile widens as he twitches inside of you at the feeling, so sensitive.

"be patient baby…"

you'll coo into his ear pressing sweet kisses along his jaw as he furrows his brow trying not to buck up his hips into your slick soaked cunt. he wants to be good, wants your praise and that little proud smile you give him when you finally let him cum and stuff you to the brim, rutting up into you to his needy hearts desire.

you could spend hours on top of his cock, giving him the occasional teasing squeeze or biting down onto his collar. he looks so pretty, flushed with his dark curls all messy and his pupils blown up.

the both of your bodies are pressed together so perfectly, covered in a thin layer of sweat. you watch as he groans, feeling the low rumble in his chest as your cunt flutters around his thick and achingly hard cock.

sometimes he'll cover his face to hide the heat of it when you say something particularly lewd. but when you're in charge he he knows it. knows to do as told and please because that's what he likes.

pleasing you.

© rottndeer 2026. please do not repost, copy, translate or use any of my work for ai. i post only on tumblr.

[pinkandblueblurbs]

Frank and Sweetheart dropping into subspace together home alone. Jack or Robby returning to find the two of them dripping with sweat and rutting against eachother and whimpering because they can’t quite cum without Daddy or Mr. Abbot there 🥴

18+ mdni omg :(( it starts as normal fooling around, making out on the couch and dry humping while robby and jack are out for some drinks… but then you start teasing one another….

frank reaches down to open his fly but you click your tongue and catch his wrist. “C’mon, hotshot, not yet. Gotta earn it.”

n he returns your taunting grin. “Oh yeah? Gonna make me work for it, princess?” He presses hot kisses to the spot on your neck that he knows makes you shiver. “Wanna play bein’ in charge? Huh, pretty girl?”

and even though frank talks a big game, you guys end up going back and forth like that n it slowly devolves into you both getting too worked up and floaty to keep up the teasing… eventually you’re just whining and humping one another </3

jack and robby walk in and are greeted by you two sweaty and writhing on the couch </3 frank’s shirt and pants are discarded on the floor but his boxer briefs are still on, wet and sticky in the front from your combined arousal. your sleep shirt and panties are both strewn out on the floor too, leaving you naked and balmy.

“Frank, please,” you’re practically sobbing, “Need your mouth.”

“Jesus, kid.” Robby addresses Frank, alerting you to their presence and making your head snap in their direction. “How long have you been messing with her?”

“Daddy,” you whimper out, reaching out for him. at the same time frank whimpers into your neck, giving Robby pause.

“Frank. Look at me.”

Frank turns his head against your clavicle, and his blue eyes search the room for a moment before landing on Robby, gaze unfocused.

Robby and Jack each let out a soft chuckle. “Both of you?” Robby intones. “Huh?” he reaches out to scratch frank’s scalp, and the younger man keens softly at the touch. He shakes his head and mutters “What the hell am I gonna do with you?” but there’s only affection behind it

“Daddy, please,” your watery cry pulls robby’s attention back, frank’s hips still rolling mindlessly against your pelvis n driving you insane. “Need to cum, daddy.”

“Poor thing.” Robby croons. “Need us to help you? Yeah?”

You wiggle under frank, trying to escape his weight, gripping Robby’s arms in your desperate attempt to get closer. Robby coos.

“Back up, Frank— there you go” when Frank sits back on his haunches to free you robby grasps under your arms to guide you into position on your hands and knees.

“But—“

“You’ll get attention too, pretty boy.” Jack cuts off Frank’s whined protest, reaching out to scratch the man’s scalp then trail his fingers down the hair at the nape of his neck. Frank shivers.

Robby plants a knee behind you and draws you close, big warm hands feeling up your the fat of your hips and breasts as he lets out a groan. “You’re fucking burning up— how long were you two going at it like that?”

“Dunno,” you murmur uselessly. Your hands reach back to grope desperately at Robby’s bulge through his pants, eyes wide and glassy as you gaze back at him in a silent plea. His lips quirk.

“Alright, sweetheart.” His fingers deftly work the button of his fly and pull down the zipper. “You can have it.”

You grind back against him the moment his cock is freed, letting out a keening moan that’s all need n desperation.

Frank watches from in front of you, practically drooling, cock red n angry n leaking against his stomach. His hips jut up fruitlessly into nothing, and a soft low whine escapes his lips at the lack of friction.

Jack coos n reaches down to grasp frank’s cock, making him gasp and thrust up again, quick and clumsy into jack’s thick fist. “Shh, attaboy.”

Jack looks at you just as your jaw drops open n your eyes roll back when Robby grips your hips and slides ball deep into your pussy.

“Think you can multitask, babydoll?” Jack asks gently, free hand reaching out to tuck a sweat-slicked strand behind your ear. You look at him, bleary and confused for a moment, before your eyes fall to Frank’s cock. Your eyes turn hungry, and Jack chuckles. “Yeah, honey, that’s what I mean. Get that dick in your mouth, go on. Let the poor kid cum.”

You dive forward n robby follows you with his hips, never letting his cock slip out. Your mouth is around frank quickly, sucking n licking n moaning like his dick is the best thing you’ve ever tasted— and right now, you’d say that it is.

“Good girl.” Robby praises. He runs a hand across your back as he fucks into you, deep n steady. Your pussy pours slick around his cock, n you’re too far gone to even feel embarrassed by the way it’s dripping down your thighs. “You two couldn’t even function without someone telling you what to do, could you? Such useless little brats.” He grits out, voice low n strained with arousal.

jack and robby indulge you, spoil you both with attention until robby’s cumming inside your pulsing walls as you orgasm, frank’s spilling inside your mouth, and jack’s shooting ropes across frank’s chest as the younger man sloppily jerks him off <3

in the aftermath you and frank are gone. totally floating through clouds, limbs heavy with exhaustion and heads swimming with endorphins.

jack and robby get you both cleaned up with gentle hands and lots of soothing coaxing— “shh, i know, kid. almost done.” “stay still for me, sweetheart. that’s it. you’re doing such a good job.” — and eventually you’re all settled on the couch, frank leaning into robby’s side and you cradled in jack’s lap

You’re playing with Jack’s fingers, tracing the thick expanse of them and feeling them bend at the joints. Jack smiles down at you, reaches up to thumb across your jaw, then your lip, then slide his fingers into your mouth. You practically melt into him as you suckle gently, and he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“You did so well, babydoll.” Jack murmurs. “You’re so good. Both of you.” He casts a glance at Frank, who smiles lazily at the praise. His blinking grows slower by the minute as Robby rubs a big warm hand up and down his side.

Robby hums in agreement, giving Frank’s flank a couple hearty pats. “Gonna have to keep a close eye on you two. Invest in some cameras, maybe.”

Jack chuckles. “The kind pet owners get when their dogs keep chewing up the furniture and pissing on the floor?”

It’s a joke, but you fucking moan, start squirming in jack’s lap, and the two men let out surprised laughs.

“What, hon, you like that idea?” Robby teases lowly.

Jack stills your rocking movements with a tight arm around your middle, shushing you and kissing your temple, stroking your tongue w the pads of his fingers. “Easy, sweetie. Don’t get worked up, you don’t have another round in you.”

[daddy-time]

[pearlessance]

Cross My Heart

Pairing: Andrew Cody x sweetheart!f!Reader

Summary: Andrew's girlfriend volunteers to be Lena's camp counselor. During a secret, late night meet up at the edge of the woods, she confesses a dark fantasy to him. Andrew fulfills it.

Content: +18 MDNI, established relationship, codependent tendencies from both pope and reader, size difference, slasher summer vibes, unprotected piv, dry humping, semi-public sex, fingering, oral f! and m!receiving, choking, facefucking, finger sucking, masked sex, knife play, predator/prey primal play, dacryphilia, pussy slapping, fem edging, bondage with zipties, rough sex, creampie, aftercare

Note: this is part two of of my fic sweetheart but can be read as a stand alone!! just written with the same shy freaky reader in mind! i hope you enjoy this new edition to the sweetheartverse <3

WC: 9.5k

[masterlist][AO3]

You are, single-handedly, the best thing to ever happen to Andrew Cody.

And he's painfully aware of it that day you pick up the phone to selflessly put an end to his anxiety. You don't hesitate or think twice. You see a solution even at the expense of yourself and you don't consider anything else.

The first week that school is out, Lena mentions summer camp no less than twenty times. So, Smurf finds one just out of town and signs her up.

She doesn't think about all the problems Lena's had with other kids this year. She doesn't think about the fact that they'd be dropping her off in the middle of nowhere with kids she's never met in her life.

They might be mean. They might exclude her or laugh at her or pull awful pranks. And no one would know until the four weeks were up, until summer camp was over, until she'd already endured it.

Andrew confesses his fears to you late one night, and the following morning he wakes to you making breakfast in the kitchen with your cellphone pressed to your ear, talking animatedly.

And when you're done, you tell him that you'd signed up to be a counselor at the camp Lena's going to. "So she has someone looking out for her," you explain.

Four weeks of your life, stuck in the middle of the woods with a handful of kids, all to protect Lena. All to give Pope a little bit of respite.

He doesn't understand what he did to deserve you, his sweetheart, but he promises to keep you. Happy, safe, satisfied—to keep you his.

The ache starts the moment you step out of his truck, encumbered by your duffel bag and Lena's backpack.

And even though you look back at him over your shoulder as you walk to the camp office building, hand in hand with his niece—even though you stop completely to run back to him for one last kiss, much to Lena's disgust—Andrew misses you the second you're gone.

He tries to busy himself by cleaning your shared room and color coding your dresser drawers. He pulls small jobs with his brothers and runs a few errands for Smurf and hires a new pool cleaner.

But the loneliness begins to suffocate by the second night.

He wasn't used to this. To the absence of your hand around his elbow, to the lack of warmth from your breath whenever you hid your face behind his shoulder, to the silence that presses in on him late at night.

He misses your quiet giggles and your whispered questions and the weight of your hand in his.

He misses the way you look up at him with wide eyes from down on your knees and the way you roll around restlessly in his sheets every night before finally giving up and admitting, "I can't sleep."

And he'll smile and kiss you sweetly and say, "I know, sweetheart. Take your shirt off."

Pope hadn't realized just how reliant he was on his nighttime routine of fucking you to sleep until he no longer could.

Sure, he could stroke himself to the gallery of photos he has of you split open on his cock, but it's not the same. It's not the same, and sleep evades him the same way it used to before he'd met you.

Before he'd been absolved of his sins by the sweetest little girl. Before you'd stuck your fingers between his ribs and taken hold of his twisted and mangled heart for yourself; without flinching, without hesitance—only a claiming.

And now you were gone, loving him in a different way, a way he had never experienced before.

On the third day, Craig is the first to point it out.

Pope is sitting in the same pool lounger you always lay on. His spine is straight and he doesn't speak, he only stares at the glimmers of reflection in the aquamarine waters.

"Dude," Craig says, lifting a joint to his lips and cupping his hands around the end to light it. "You've gotta get a hobby or somethin' man. I've got a girl coming over in twenty minutes, you can't just sit here all creepy and woeful cause you haven't gotten any pussy in a few days."

Andrew's lip curls. "Don't say that."

His brother shrugs dramatically. "Well, man. I'm just being honest. We're all thinking it, I'm just the one saying it."

"Saying what?"

"That this—" Craig sweeps his hands outwards, motioning to Pope and the state he's in. "It's not healthy. She's a real sweetheart and you love her, I get it. But this, like, codependency you've got going on is just sad, bro. Seriously."

Andrew doesn't respond, but the words stick with him.

He gets in his truck and drives himself to Deran's bar, knowing there's probably a hundred and one things to clean in the kitchen. A hundred and one things that will keep his mind busy.

But while he's reorganizing the back stock, he can't help but think about Craig's little speech.

Codependent?

Andrew Cody. Codependent.

No, he thinks. It's not that bad, is it?

Sure, he misses you. And yeah, it's hard to sleep without you. And he might be going a little stir crazy, not being about to take care of you in his day-to-day routines, but…codependent?

He's drinking a beer, sitting at the bar at the end of the night while Deran resets the register and wipes down the countertop one final time. Pope stares hard at his brother and carefully asks, "Do you think I'm…codependent?"

"Craig talk to you?"

The clarifying question comes immediately, and it does nothing to soothe his concerns. Andrew just levels his stare.

Deran lets out a sigh and says, "Uh…I wouldn't use the word codependent. Isn't that, like, a one sided thing?"

When Andrew speaks, the words come out monotone and rehearsed. "A codependent is someone who forms a dysfunctional, one sided relationship by prioritizing another persons needs over their own, often enabling harmful behaviors."

His brother stares blankly at him.

"I looked it up."

Deran sighs deeply and mulls over the definition for a moment, silence hanging between them while he counts the twenties in his hand. "I guess…maybe it's more like separation anxiety or something," Deran says. "You know, like a dog gets without it's owner."

"That's not helpful."

"You asked," he counters with a shrug.

Pope drops the subject.

And it doesn't matter, anyway. Because an hour later he gets a phone call from an unknown number and when he answers it, the sweetest voice speaks.

"Andrew?"

"Sweetheart? You okay? What's wrong?"

"I…I'm sorry for calling so late, but…"

He can hear it, even through the phone. The anguish in you. Pope hates it. Hates it so much that the words are rushed and desperate as they spill from his mouth. "Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it, okay? Talk to me."

A ragged sound leaves you, an almost-sob. "I—I can't sleep. I need to see you, to kiss you, to…please."

Oh—sweet girl. He knows what you need, even if you're a little shy with the asking. He knows because he needs it, too.

Pope's been fantasizing about this exact scenario for the last forty eight hours. So when he gives instructions, they're crystal clear.

"There's a…a trail. Into the woods, a little bit away from that cabin on the east side of the property, do you know which one I'm talking about?"

He's already got his keys in hand, halfway to his truck before you answer. "They call it Cabin Frog."

It makes Andrew laugh. He'd gone in the middle of the night two days before he'd dropped you and Lena off to scope the place out, and he does recall the cartoonish frog painted on the front door.

"Yeah, that's the one," he says, the faintest trace of amusement still in his voice. "Want you to take that trail through the woods, alright? All the way. It's gonna feel like you're walking a real long time, but once you get to the end you'll be at the side of that winding road we took to get to the camp."

"And you'll be waiting for me there?"

"Yeah, sweetheart," he answers gently. "Of course I will be."

"Do you promise?"

"Cross my heart."

By the time you hang up, Pope's almost out of Oceanside. The bustle of the city falls away behind him, allowing for the tall, towering trees to replace the lights.

He likes it out here. Thinks about one day finding some land away from all the chaos and noise and building a home for you there. Someplace that doesn't belong to his brothers or his mother. Someplace that's just yours.

But maybe it's wishful thinking. Maybe he's just excited and eager for the first time in days, fueled by the promise of seeing you.

Pope arrives at your spot before you do. He parks his truck on the shoulder of the empty street and gets out.

With his arms folded and his back pressed to the passenger door, he waits. It doesn't take long, though. He hears crunching leaves and cracking sticks beneath your feet seconds before you emerge from the darkness of the brush.

And the moment you see him, you melt into yourself. Shoulders relaxing, a long held sigh leaving your pretty mouth. You're dressed in nothing more than a pair of pajama shorts and one of Pope's old t-shirts.

That tightness in his chest dissipates right then and there. The tension bleeds from his muscles and everything settles in him as you run up the small, grassy bank at the side of the road and throw yourself into his waiting arms.

Pope smiles. For the first time in what feels like a long time. He smiles and presses his nose into your hair, inhaling the scent of you deep into his lungs. "Oh, sweetheart," he muses, hands squeezing you tight.

"I missed you so much," you mumble, face pressed into the crook of his neck.

Pope feels the wetness of your tears against his freckled skin and pulls back just enough to see your face. "Hey, don't cry. M'right here. Okay? I've got you."

His sweet girl.

When he slips his big hands beneath your shirt, pressed to the small of your back, it's not a sexual caress but instead a grounding one. Feeling the softness of your skin, warming the cold away with his heat.

Pope opens the passenger door of his truck, brackets a hand around your waist, and sets you on the edge of the leather seat. He pushes your knees apart to make room for him between them and rests his head against your chest.

He hears the steady thumping of your heart and feels himself finally, finally relax.

You card your fingers through his hair, messing up the structure of the ambery curls. Your nails scratch lightly at his scalp and he can't help the low groan that leaves him, the sound vibrating against your sternum.

When you tug lightly to pull his head back and press your mouth to his, he can taste the desperation on your tongue.

Andrew reaches up and grips your face just beneath your chin, holding you in place to lick into your mouth. He's moaning already, sounds mirrored in you, wanting to be impossibly closer.

Your hands grow fevered and he matches your every movement, fingertips pressing into the softness of your hips and the curve of your jaw.

He takes you right then and there; pushes your legs up to your chest and sinks his cock deep inside.

It feels like relief, like forgiveness, like coming home.

Andrew hadn't realized just how much he longed for the taste of your mouth. A craving satisfied only by your sweet sighs against his lips.

Even when he's finished, when he pumps you full of his release, he stays fully seated inside you. Not moving but simply feeling you, pulsing around his cock, sensitive and alive and his.

He traces the features of your face and feels like he'd taken his time with you for granted before. This closeness, the feeling of your skin beneath his fingertips—he hated being without it.

After some time, he helps clean you up with napkins from the glove box and climbs into the cab of the truck with you.

Only then, when you've got your head in his lap, looking up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, does he ask, "How's Lena?"

"She's good," you answer, sleepy grin widening. "I think she's having a lot of fun. And there's this girl her age—Caitlin. They've been making friendship bracelets the last few days. So many of them they're halfway up her arm now."

Hearing it makes Pope crack a smile. She deserves it. After the rough year she's had, he finds peace in knowing she's at least having fun and being a kid for a few weeks the way she should be. "Thank you," he says, voice quiet and a little melancholic.

"For what?"

"For taking care of her," he answers. "And me."

You reach for his hand at your hip and take it in yours. Pope lets you move his fingers of your own will, flattening them before placing them against the side of your cheek. "I love you, Andrew," you say.

It makes his chest pull tight. It's different when you say it. Not like when Smurf tells him she loves him, not like his brothers.

It's painfully different, because it's something you choose.

Even knowing all you know about him and his family, even seeing all you've seen, the things he's never been able to fully shield you from—you still choose him.

He brushes his knuckles against the side of your cheek. And because he doesn't quite know how to explain his own devotion, he says, "I'd do anything for you. Anything."

Andrew means it. Lie or cheat or steal or kill. Anything.

But you don't ask for much. You never do. Just his time and his affection. "Will you rub my back? I haven't been sleeping very well without you."

He nods, eyes shining bright with adoration. You turn on your side with your head still in his lap, and Andrew spends the next several hours stroking his hand lazily up your spine.

Not sleeping, because he doesn't want to miss this precious time with you. Holding his sweetheart close, smelling the scent of your shampoo and the cedar of the trees.

He wakes you a little before sunrise, giving you just enough time that you can sneak back onto the camp's property and back into your cabin undetected.

But before you go, you press your forehead to his and give him that pretty, warm smile of yours. You brush your noses together and peck his lips and say, "Same time tomorrow night, okay?"

"I'll be here," Andrew says.

"You promise?"

"Cross my heart."

This time, when the sun begins to set, Andrew brings a few things with him. He's in less of a rush because there's a routine created now that he can expect.

He's got blankets laid out in the truck bed and a cooler full of your favorite snacks and your favorite movie downloaded on his phone. Everything to make you comfortable, to keep you coming back through the woods every night to find him.

Craig is the first to notice the change.

They're both standing in the kitchen. Pope is making himself something to eat and Craig and Deran are piling leftovers from yesterday onto plates and popping the caps off a couple of beers.

Craig offers one to Pope, and even though it's only eleven in the morning he takes it. Because he's got no where to be until nightfall, and the weather is nice enough out today that he won't be scorched by the sun. He could use a little time to unwind.

His brother's eyes widen in surprise when he takes the bottle from his hands. "You're in a good mood today," he says.

Andrew just shrugs. Knows good and well what's gotten him out of the slump he was in, but doesn't want to give either of his brothers another reason to believe he's codependent. "What? I can't just be in a good mood?"

Deran narrows his eyes and lifts his beer to his mouth. "Seriously, man. Something must've changed."

Whatever relaxation Andrew had hoped for disappears with the conversation at hand. "Stop," he says simply. He wants to argue, but has no ground to stand on that wouldn't collapse under the smallest amount of pressure.

So, Pope leaves it. Gathers his perfectly made sandwich and his beer and leaves the kitchen, trying to ignore the look of concern on their faces.

He chooses not to speak when he overhears Craig saying confusedly, "Therapy, maybe?"

It doesn't matter to him what they think. Not when he shows up on the side of the empty road each night to you bouncing on the balls of your feet, more excited to see him than anyone else has ever been.

So, yeah—maybe he's a little codependent. But none of that matters when you tilt your head back to smile up at him.

None of that matters when you're sitting in his lap, kissing his cheeks and nose and forehead, feverishly rocking your hips against his thigh and making a big wet mess on the denim of his jeans.

Pretty, desperate girl. Always so needy for him, never fully satisfied. And of course Andrew understands, because he's just as insatiable for you.

He does start to wonder if maybe it's a little perverse, though. What he's doing to you.

It clicks in his brain one night when you emerge from the trees in nothing but a bikini top and a pair of jean shorts. The ends of your hair are wet, and when he tilts his head curiously you explain, "The camp counselors had a swim race tonight. And guess what."

Andrew struggles to guess much of anything because he can't stop staring. Rivulets of water still drip down the center of your chest, just between your breasts that are held up beautifully by the polyester ribbon tied behind your neck. When he speaks it's a single word and it's low and slow and raspy, eyes locked on yours. "What?"

"I won! Fastest swimmer out of everyone. Lena was so happy. Seeing her giggling and jumping around—God, Andrew. She's so cute."

"You're cute," he says. "Come here."

And you do, of course. Let him pull you in by the belt loops on your shorts, talking and giggling all the while. So excited to recount your whole day to him that you hardly notice what he's doing until you're on the hood of his car and he's pulling your shorts down your legs and pushing your shoulders back.

It hits him then. With his head between your legs, staring up at you to watch your nipples pebble beneath your bikini. The rubber soles of your high top sneakers make little scuff marks on the black chrome paint as you writhe under the gentle ministrations of his tongue against your clit.

Andrew Cody's got the sweetest, filthiest girl in the palm of his bloodied hands. Wrapped real tight around his finger.

A sweetheart who'd do just about anything for him, and here he is indulging your every whim when in truth he should be protecting you. From himself especially. From the raging monster that lives between his ribs, from the guard dog he'd been molded into by the harsh edges of his life.

Andrew's too weak, though. Could never in a million fucking years deny you anything.

Especially when you set those cute little sneakers over his shoulders and beg so prettily, "Please, Andrew—more. Want you to be—hmm—be mean to me, make it—oh, god. Want you to make it hurt."

And he will, of course. Shoving your legs against your chest, squeezing the back of your thighs hard enough to bruise.

Later in the month, nearly through the final week of your new routine now, the thought crosses Andrew's mind again.

He wonders if the state of your desires has been subconsciously shaped by him. Wonders if maybe, somehow, that darkness inside has started to seep out of his heart and stain your sweet one.

Andrew's given the opportunity to confess these worries to you late one night in the back of his truck. He's got you tucked tight beneath his arm, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over the muscle of his pectoral, right over his heart. "Can I…ask you something?"

You turn your head to look up at him. "Anything. Always."

He chews nervously on the inside of his bottom lip, mulling over how he can approach the subject without coming across insecure, despite the fact that he is.

"Do you…you don't…pretend to like the things we do for—for me, do you?"

A crease forms between your brows, and you prop yourself up on an elbow to fully look at him now. "What do you mean?"

Pope swallows hard, casting his eyes away, feeling suddenly as shy as you get around anyone other than him. "When we…when I…hurt you," he says. "You're not asking for those things just because I want them, right?"

"Andrew, what?"

"I just want to make sure I'm not changing you or….or corrupting you." He takes your face gently in his hands, stroking his fingers softly over your cheek. "You're so—so good. Such a sweetheart. And I'm…"

You wrap your hands around his wrists, pulling him away. It feels like a loss, like rejection, and he can feel his heart beginning to crack clean in two.

But then you look him right in the eye, voice more sure than he's ever heard it.

"I want you, Andrew. Not half of you. Not parts of you." You lean up further, on your knees now, a surety in your movements. "Do you…does it bother you? That I want those things?"

"No—no. Not at all. I…" The words get caught, stuck in his throat, horrified and exhilarated all at once to be so honest about the part of himself he's been taught to hate. The part of himself he knows is bad. Andrew is terrified of losing you, of scaring you.

But even as shy as you are, often hiding your face behind his shoulder, voice always timid and unsure, with this you seem certain. Unwavering.

With him, you've always opened your chest fully, willingly, your heart a soft feast for the darkness inside him.

And what is a man who's been denied softness at every turn of his life to do but devour it?

"Pope."

He stops, the spiral in his mind going quiet.

Not Andrew, but Pope. The worst of him. A name given to a boy with blood beneath his fingernails, a boy who'd already been molded.

You take his big hand in yours and bring it to the side of your neck, pressing his thumb just over your steady pulse.

His own heart hammers, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for you to realize you deserve better than this. Softer than this.

When you speak, the words are a whisper. A secret meant for him only. "I want you to violate me."

And because it's you who asks—his soft spoken, timid little sweetheart, who's never once flinched at the hard grip of his bloodied hands or shown an ounce of fear at a glimpse into what lives inside him—Pope does it.

Unleashes the worst of himself and lets his fingers tighten around your pretty neck. He presses you down and crawls on top of you, knees bracketing the top of your ribcage. Your hands come to steady themselves on the big expanse of his thighs, and the touch is so gentle that it grounds him. Helps him stay in the moment, reminding him that this is what you want.

Pope's hand on your throat moves up your jaw, cradling your face. He circles the shape of your mouth with the rough pad of his thumb, squishing your pretty lips beneath the pressure. "You have such a sweet mouth," he murmurs, his eyes dark and molten. "D'you know that?"

You can't answer, because he's shoving two fingers behind your teeth before you can inhale again. Your tongue swirls around them, between each digit, moaning around the thickness of his knuckles. He pushes them in deeper, deeper, until you're choking and gasping for air.

Pope doesn't pull them out, not right away. He lets those tears well in your eyes, lets your fingers flex at his thighs, nails scratching against the rough denim. But not once do you look afraid.

Instead, your glassy eyes hold a certain sort of magic in them.

When he does finally pull back, Pope's fingers come away slick and glossy with your saliva. You greedily suck in lungfuls of air that he'd denied you, lips turning up at the corners, forming the happiest looking smile he's ever seen.

Pope unbuttons his jeans and pulls his cock out, already hard and aching. He grips the back of your neck and guides himself between your swollen lips, letting out a sigh of relief when you swallow him down.

Your mouth is soft and smooth, warm velvet around him, tongue gentle but seeking as you swirl it around the tip. He pushes himself to the back of your throat, humming when you choke on his length.

His other hand joins the first, cradling the back of your head, holding you firmly in place so that when he snaps his hips forward your mouth stays in perfect position.

It doesn't take long. Pope fucks your mouth with reckless abandon. Violates you, just like you'd asked. When your eyes go all cloudy, he pulls back just enough to let you breathe. To let the oxygen return to your blood cells, groaning low at the way his cock looks covered in your spit, webs of it clinging to his length and snapping against your lips.

Pope slides himself back into your mouth, down your warm throat, until your nose is pressed up against the trimmed hair at the base of his cock.

He steals your air and you stare up at him with so much adoration in your eyes that it makes his heart constrict. He's never felt a love like this—unconditional and absolute. His own devotion met with equal and devastating totality.

That familiar coil winds tight around his spine, and before he can stop himself Pope is spilling his release at the back of your mouth with a heavy groan.

You swallow him down until he's finished, his cock twitching between your lips. And when he finally pulls out, assessing the fucked out state of you, guilt begins to creep up around the edges of his psyche.

But then you giggle and wipe the back of your hand across your messy, spit-covered mouth, and Pope can't help but mirror the sound.

You cling tight to him for the remainder of the night, and Andrew presses gentle kisses to every inch of exposed skin he can reach with your head on his chest.

It makes him a little sad when sunrise comes and you have to leave him again, but the feeling is soothed by knowing you only do so only to protect Lena.

Still, the final week comes as blessed relief.

On Tuesday night, you come bounding out of the treeline more excited than usual. There's a wide grin on your face as you fall into his embrace, arms wrapped tight around his neck.

"You're in a good mood," he observes, hands resting against the small of your back.

"Mhm. After we put the kids to bed today all the adults got together to watch a movie. A scary one. You wanna know what it was?"

Andrew opens the passenger door of his truck for you, relieved just to hear your voice. "Tell me."

"It was Friday the 13th. You know, the one where the killer goes around and murders all the camp counselors."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't that scary. Some of it was even a little silly. But…there was this one part."

Andrew helps you up onto the leather seat in the cab and stands tall between your knees. He urges, "What part?"

"Well, it just…"

He sees it happen in real time; that slight embarrassment taking hold of you. You twist your fingers in your lap, fidgeting nervously. "Just what, sweetheart?"

Bashfully, you admit, "It got me thinking of you."

And he knows, before you even explain, that this particular scene had you thinking of what he does to you. Pope wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, breath growing a little slower. "Did it?"

"Mhm." You nod. "The killer is, like…super strong. He's tall and broad and big, you know? Like you are."

Andrew feels his face heat when you say it. "Big, huh?"

You giggle softly and press your forehead against his chest that is, in fact, big and broad. Corded with muscle beneath a masculine softness.

He nudges you back up with a shoulder. "Keep going," he says. "I'm still listening."

Your eyes shine brightly when your gaze finds his. When you continue, your voice is just a little lower, quieter—but that shy smile still persists. "He wears this hockey mask, too. Which got me thinking about that mask you wore for that one job—the one I helped with, remember?"

"Mhm."

"And the killer, he was…well, he was chasing one of the camp counselors through the woods. And it was late at night, and the actress was wearing the same shoes as me."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. Same color and everything. And then she trips, and he catches her of course—"

"Well, of course."

You laugh at his dry attempt at a joke. "Of course. But then…I don't know. He has…he carries this big knife with him, too. Like a machete kinda. And…" You swallow hard, raise your index finger to his neck, and slide it across the crease in his skin. "He holds it to her, you know? Right here. And she looks so scared but…I don't think…if it were me. If it were…you."

Andrew picks it up then, what you're inadvertently asking him for. He knows you. Knows his sweetheart like the back of his hand, in fact. Can hear your desires even before you form the words around them. "You don't think you'd be scared? If I chased you through the woods and held a knife to your throat?"

Your breath stutters when he puts it plainly. But you don't speak, you just slowly shake your head.

He asks, holding eye contact so he'll know if you lie, "S'that what you want me to do to you?"

"I think…maybe…" You sigh, trying to fight of your shy demeanor. "Yes."

Truthfully, he's not sure what to make of it right away. Because Andrew would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it before. Or an adjacent thing, anyway. Chasing you down, tying you up. Seeing that look in your eye when you're not sure what happens next. Seeing just how far he could push, seeing how much he could take.

But it's all only fantasy. Buried beneath his own shame, his own guilt, practicing the learned behavior of suppression. Because it's you, and he's fire holding fragility in the palm of his hand, and Andrew Cody thinks he would die if he ever managed to hurt you. To truly hurt you.

He would die. Should die.

But…he's not taking, is he?

You're offering up your trust, your safety, your life. For him. For pleasure.

No, Andrew thinks. He's not taking, and it's not something as simple as surrender.

You're giving. Eagerly. Wishfully.

The weight of it overwhelms him.

Andrew lifts his hand to your face, brushing the back of his knuckles gently over your cheek. "And you're—you're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Do you promise?"

"Cross my heart."

A smile pulls at his lips, hearing a phrase of his own echoed in your mouth. Vowing this time not on his darkened heart but on your sweet one. And because he'd give you anything, anything—even the very worst of him, Andrew nods stiffly. Says, "I think I want that, too."

Your shoulders slump just a little, relief bleeding the tension from your bones.

"But you'll tell me if you change your mind, right? Even during. If you…if you do get scared, I won't be upset or mad or—or anything. You just tell me, okay?"

You wind your arms and legs around him, pulling his body against yours, head resting at the crook of his neck. "I'm not afraid of you."

Only then does he feel himself relax, melting beneath your touch. Andrew lifts your face to his with a finger beneath your chin. But as soon as he presses his mouth to yours, his phone begins to ring.

With a sigh, he fishes the pesky device out of his pocket and presses it to his ear, listening to his brother fill him in on the situation going on back home, outside of the perfect bubble of devotion and safety he's created here with you.

When he hangs up, there's melancholy in his voice as he admits, "I've…I've gotta go. Scouting something for a job next week. And I won't make it tomorrow, either. But…Thursday night. Alright?"

"It'll be the last night before summer camp is over," you say with an excited smirk. "So we can…"

Pope nods. "Just don't—don't come all the way off the trail. alright? You find someplace to hide an' I'll…I'll find you. Yeah?"

He doesn't miss the flash of excitement as it flickers through your pretty eyes. But you only nod in agreement, press a kiss to his cheek and say, "Be careful. And come back to me in one piece."

Far sooner than he'd like, you're turning to walk back to camp and Andrew is turning the key in the ignition.

But even knowing he won't see you for two days, the unsettled feeling is soothed in knowing what comes next.

And when he swaps Craig and Deran out at the scouting spot, Andrew is left alone to his own thoughts and they're filled with only you.

Of how lucky he is that of all the people in the world you could choose to shower in your affection, you choose him. It makes Andrew feel lucky and blessed and perhaps a little undeserving.

He thinks about how pretty you always look and how much harder he'll be standing over you with a knife in his hand.

The thought does occur that maybe this whole thing is fucked up—that he is fucked up for wanting it as much as he does. But then he remembers the brightness in your eyes when you'd asked this of him, and it settles something heavy in his chest.

He moves through the next few days in a sort of haze. Unfocused, because his mind is stuck on you. Not an unusual thing, but more intense than any given day.

And by Thursday morning, Andrew feels like he's buzzing with excitement. A little nervous, too, because he wants this to be perfect for you.

He even picks out an outfit. Andrew isn't the type to typically care that much about how he looks, as long as it's neat and clean and comfortable.

But for this, he picks out a pair of black jeans and a black hoodie, an attempt to blend himself into the shadows where he'll be hiding in wait.

He doesn't own a hockey mask, but he does own an all black ski mask, and…there's a part of him that thinks maybe you'll like it even more.

It takes longer to pick out a knife than an outfit, though.

He has quite the collection, in truth. Mostly smaller ones, easily concealed in a pocket or a boot.

But the one he settles on is a little flashier. Sharp around the edges. It's got a heavy, four knuckled grip and a chrome blade. Serrated with a saw back and a glint at its point.

It's pretty, like you are.

Andrew packs his truck with a few extras for afterwards, too. Your favorite blanket. A thermos full of icy water. A towel and a change of clothes and the t-shirt he'd worn to bed the night before just in case you ask for one to sleep in.

He stops at Deran's bar before he goes. Sets a stack of cash on the table and says, "I'm busy tonight. So don't bother me."

His brother asses him, trying to unearth an answer he won't be telling. Because this is something meant for Andrew only. Deran might know about your shared codependence, but all he needs to know apart from that is the truth; that you're a sweetheart.

"O…kay?"

Pope's jaw flexes. "I mean it. Don't call me unless one of us is dead."

Deran laughs nervously. "Somethin' going on I should know about?"

"No."

"Okay, well…you're acting weird, Pope. I mean, what? I'm just supposed to agree and not ask any questions?"

"Yes."

"You pullin' a solo job or something?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a solo job."

Deran levels his stare. And then asks with the smallest trace of amusement in his voice, "You breaking in to a summer camp tonight?"

Pope's jaw flexes. He blinks, and points at the cash. "That's for whoever takes my scouting shift," he says. And because he doesn't trust himself to say nothing more, he turns and leaves.

It takes more effort than he'd like to admit to ignore his brother's laughing in the background.

But none of that matters, Pope tells himself. Not now. Not tonight. Not when dusk falls, and he parks his truck in the familiar spot on the side of the road.

Not when he slides the freshly-polished knife into the leather sheath at his hip or when he pulls the black ski mask over his face.

Andrew's heart beats fast as he steps into the woods. The trees here are tall, the underbrush thick. The air smells like soil and rain and there's a faint aroma of fresh blossoms beneath it all.

His steps are careful. Meticulous. He's silent as he disappears into the cover of thick branches and green leaves. Darkness begins to descend, and Andrew lies in wait, knowing any minute now you'll come.

Knowing you'll run.

He's off the trail. Not far, but enough that you'd never spot him without knowing exactly where he's at. He breathes in deep, shedding free of that veil he wears of a righteous man, letting the his own darkness breach the surface of his psyche.

Pope hears you before he sees you. The branches breaking beneath your sneakers, the subtle shift of your feet. And when he does see you, coming into view just up on the trail, the thought crosses his mind that you got all dressed up for this, too.

Your hair's done up all pretty, and there's glitter on your eyelids and mascara on your lashes. There's even a shimmery gloss on your lips, and Pope can't help but think of how nice your glittering mouth would look around his cock.

He doesn't approach, not right away. He just follows close behind, observing the way you move when you think he's not watching. You're a little more stiff—more aware than you are with him. Like his presence alone puts you at ease, letting you become the sweet girl you are with the protective predator at your back.

You're wearing a pair of shorts and a black tank top over a bikini, the straps thin. Easily cut away, Pope thinks.

He steps deliberately on a stick, the sound loud and echoing in the silence of the forest.

Pope watches you turn towards it, your eyes wide and searching. But he's too well hidden in the shadows.

Yet still, you know he's there.

You turn and run.

Pope gives you a head start. Counts to ten in his head before chasing after you, a dark shadow that meets yours all too quickly.

You look back over your shoulder and stumble when you see him catching up, your balance faltering for only a second.

The trees blur at the edges of his vision as he closes the space between you. When he's close enough to hear your panting breaths, Pope flings his hand out to grab your elbow.

You give a yelp and wrench your arm away, slipping out of his hold.

A raw, animalistic sound of frustration rumbles deep in his chest.

Pope forces himself forward, breathing hard beneath the knit wool of his mask. His heart pounds in his ears, hands itching for another touch of your skin.

You're fast. Faster than he'd though you'd be. A sweet little gazelle slipping fluidly through the brush.

But he's the hungry wolf nipping at your heels, and it doesn't take long before he catches up with you again.

Pope surges forward, this time waiting until he's close enough to enclose his arms around your waist.

You let out a cry, loud and echoing in the trees, squirming in his hold that you'll never free yourself from. He's too strong, too big, too mean.

He holds you tight against him, trying to wedge his leg between your thighs as you struggle. Pope reaches for the knife at his hip and unsheathes it, gripping the handle hard as he brings the blade to your throat.

Your squirming settles.

Pope smiles when he sees you swallow hard. "Yeah," he whispers, breath warm against your ear. "You know what that is, huh?"

He pushes you forward, sharp blade pressing against your neck. You let him maneuver you, forcing you over to a tree a few feet away.

The bark is dark and rough, the trunk thin enough for what he intends.

Pope grabs your shoulder and turns you around, pressing your back against the tree. He lifts the knife and presses the point of it to your chin, lifting your head so you're looking right at him.

Your shimmery lips are parted, your eyes wide and zealous and wanting. Andrew doesn't think he's ever seen you this needy before. So filled with desire that your eyes are glassy with tears.

"Aw, sweetheart," he says tenderly. "You gonna cry? Shh. S'okay. You can cry if you need to, hm?"

A whimper stutters out of you, a single tear sliding down your cheek as you close your eyes.

Pope leans forward and licks at the wetness, drinking in the saltiness of your overwhelm. "You're pretty when you cry," he whispers.

He rights his blade, pressing the edge against your throat again. And then he caresses your arm, fingers sliding all the way down to your hand.

"Don't move," he orders, rounding the tree. Andrew sets your hand against the back of it, reaches for your other arm, and brings them together. He takes one of the black zip ties he'd stashed in his hoodie pocket and wraps it tight around your wrists, the plastic sliding noisily over the raised notches.

Pope comes back around the tree to face you, standing just a few feet away so he can get a good look at you. Sweet and pretty, completely at his mercy.

He could do anything to you, anything. And you'd let him. Perfect, perverted girl that you are.

The muscles in your shoulder flex as you fight against your restraints, trying to free yourself.

Pope smiles beneath his mask and steps closer, bringing the tip of his blade to your face. Carefully, he slides the cold steel down your cheek, over your pulse, across your chest.

"Please," you cry, shifting frantically from one foot to another.

He hooks the knife beneath the straps against your collarbone and pulls, cutting them clean.

You whimper, and Andrew feels the adrenaline in his blood peak. His skin buzzes with the power he holds, watching you twitch in fear and arousal alike.

He shifts the blade over, to the other side of your chest. He cuts away what remains of your straps and feels his cock pulse as your breasts bounce, released from their confines. With his free hand, Pope yanks the fabric down your chest, baring you to him, letting the polyester gather just above your hips.

A whimper escapes your mouth, and then his name, and Andrew pauses.

But then you say, "Touch me, please. Please, please, I can't—"

He sees the way your thighs press together. The way your hips move, chasing what little friction the seam of your shorts allows.

Pope tilts his head. "Filthy thing, aren't you?" He slides his blade down your chest, over the swell of your breast. He gently presses the tip of it against your hardened nipple, smiling at the way you squirm in response. "Got everyone fooled, hm? Always acting so shy. Embarrassed so easily."

His hand comes to your center, pressing hard between your legs. You moan at the contact, the sound desperate and guttural.

"But how pretty you sound when you're afraid," he whispers, rubbing his hand over your clothed cunt. He drags the tip of the knife across your sternum, laying the cold metal flat against your other nipple. "Begging me to touch you. To fuck you. To hurt you."

"Yes, please. I need it, I need it, Pope, please—!"

"Shh," he coos, bringing his hand up to cup your jaw, squeezing hard. "Open your mouth."

You do, and Pope sets his blade between your teeth.

"Hold it," he orders. "Don't drop it. Understand?"

You nod frantically, biting down hard.

"Good." Pope unbuttons your shorts and drags them down your legs. He tugs them off over your sneakers, leaving you in nothing but your cut top around your belly and bikini bottoms.

He drops down to his knees and hooks his fingers around the strings tied at your hips. And as he slowly lowers them, a groan leaves him as he sees just how wet you are.

Sticky and slick, webs of arousal clinging to the polyester fabric as he pulls it away. Pope doesn't think he's ever been this hard before in his entire fucking life.

"Sweet girl," he mutters, discarding your bottoms. He wraps his big hands around the backs of your thighs and pulls them apart. "This where you need me?"

A cry escapes from between your clenched teeth. He thinks you look real cute like this. Squirmy and needy, all for him.

He brings his hand to your cunt, sliding only the tip of his index finger through your syrupy folds. He collects your wetness, dragging it down to press his finger into your entrance.

Pope curls it upwards, stroking that soft spot inside of you, and watches as you struggle to hold the knife in your mouth. Drool begins to collect at the corners of your lips, slowly leaking down your shin. There's a crease between your brows, frustration manifested.

With his free hand, Pope spreads your cunt open. "Pretty pussy's just crying for me, huh?" He pulls his finger out of you, painfully slow, and drags it back up to your swollen clit. He circles it gently, watching it twitch beneath his touch.

And then, with no warning at all, he brings his hand sharply down against your cunt.

You gasp, teeth parting just enough that you drop the knife.

It clatters to the ground between your feet, and Pope looks up at you with a darkened look in his eye. "What did I say?"

Your clit throbs beneath his hand. "M'sorry, m'sorry, I know—"

Pope picks up the knife and wipes both sides of it on his jeans, cleaning the dirt and spit from around the blade. "It's alright," he soothes. "I'm gonna give you one more chance. Okay?"

With a frantic nod you say, "Okay, okay—I'll be good—I promise I'll be good."

He stands, slides his knuckles tenderly over your cheek, and smiles sweetly at you. "I know you will be, sweetheart."

Pope sets the knife back between your teeth and lowers himself down to his knees again

This time, he pulls his mask up just enough to expose his mouth. He leans forward and slides a pointed tongue through all your wetness, drinking deep. You moan in tandem with him, satisfied fully for the first time all night.

He licks every inch of you, tongue hot and wet against your clit. He slides it up and down, up and down, circling your opening that flutters around nothing, begging to be filled.

Pope eats at you like a man starved for it, chin messy and covered in your slick. He presses his face against you, hardly breathing as he licks and sucks feverishly. You taste so sweet, a blend of ambrosia made all for him.

His pretty girl. His sweetheart.

He can hear it in your moans when release threatens. Can feel the way your clit throbs when he sucks it deep into his mouth, tongue flicking over it, ratcheting your pleasure higher and higher.

Pope doesn't let it happen. Pulls his mouth away from you at the very last second, ignoring your whining to slap your cunt again. Not as sharply this time, yet still no less forgiving.

You cry out, thighs trembling, drool covering your chin.

He taps your clit with his fingers. Not quite a slap this time, but not meant for pleasure, either. Just a quick rhythm to keep you right there, right on the edge.

Pope sucks in a breath through his teeth. "So fuckin' wet," he muses. "Does it hurt, baby? Does it burn right here, right in your belly 'cause you need to cum? Hm?"

You try to grit out a response, but it's muffled by the steel in your mouth. Pope stands to his feet and wraps a hand around your neck.

He licks your mouth, right over the blade you hold, cock leaking now behind his zipper. Your eyes are so full of lust and adoration and love that it makes him feel high on it.

The taste of metal and drool and strawberry lip gloss coats his tongue. Pope gently eases the blade from your mouth, smirking when your shoulders slump in relief.

He returns the blade to the leather casing at his hip and palms himself through his jeans.

"I need—fuck, Pope—I need you to fuck me. Please. Please."

It makes him laugh. All those shy, sweet words gone completely now, overshadowed by your desperation. "Yeah," he says. "I know it."

Pope undoes the button of his jeans, watching you watch him.

Your eyes are so eager as he slides his zipper down and reaches in to free his cock, thick and so hard that just stroking it has him fighting back a sigh of bliss.

He closes the small distance between you, lifting one of your legs and setting it up over his hip. Pope lines himself up at your entrance, sliding his cock through your spit-slick folds once before pressing inside.

It feels like solace. Satisfying, blessed solace as he sinks fully inside your cunt, filling you up, spreading you open.

"Oh god—"

Andrew thrusts his hips into you. Hard and unforgiving. The bark of the tree scrapes against your spine, but there's nothing but euphoria on your face.

He slams his hips up into you, fucking you as deep as your anatomy will allow, the head of his cock pressing right up against your womb.

"That's it," he mutters. "Look so fuckin' pretty taking my cock." Pope sets a punishing pace, finding your clit with his thumb and circling it.

Your head falls back, and your sweet moans echoing in the trees. Each wet slide of his cock reverberates in the open space, and the pleasure buzzes beneath you skin. "Don't stop, oh god—please—"

Pope loves the sound of the word in your mouth.

Please.

You beg so beautifully, music to his sick and twisted heart. He knows what he does to you is perverse and wicked and he knows that he shouldn't want to hurt you like this.

But he does. God, he does.

And what's worse is that you want it just as bad. More, even.

He fucks his cock into you, grunting low at how tight and wet you are around him. "You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Hm?"

"Yes, yes yes—fuck, Andrew, please. Love you so much, I love you so fucking—hmm—"

The words send a shiver down his spine. To hear it now, while he's fucking you like this, rough and cruel and without mercy—it's euphoric.

He's never been loved by anyone else. Not like this. Not so true or so raw. You ask to be given the very worst of him and when he does you love it still.

The velvety walls of your cunt squeeze tight around him.

"Cum for me, baby," he orders. "Give it to me. S'mine. All mine. My fucking girl. My sweetheart. There you go. That's it."

He fucks you through it, even when his own releases crashes into him. Even when his cock grows too sensitive as he pumps you full of his cum, Pope doesn't stop the rhythm of his hips until your thighs tremble. Until your body twitches, balance faltering, pulling tight at the restraints around your wrists.

He's gentle when he pulls out of you to tuck his cock back into his jeans, and quick to grab his blade, reach around the trunk of the tree, and cut the zip ties away.

Your knees buckle, but Andrew is there to catch you. The way he silently vows he always will be. "Hey," he murmurs. "You're alright. Here, hold onto me."

He places your hands on his shoulders, and grabs your shorts from the forest floor. He shakes the dirt out of them and carefully pulls them back up your legs, righting the denim at your hips.

He then removes his ski mask completely, then his hoodie. Pope pulls it over your head, helping you get your arms through the too-big sleeves. When he's satisfied you're warm enough, he wipes gently at your face with careful fingers, cleaning away your tears and spit.

The entire time, you wear this sated, sleepy smile. Staring up at him through your lashes, mascara smudged now.

When he speaks, his voice is quiet. Soft. The words break a little in his mouth. "Are you…okay?"

You nod immediately. "I'm really good," you say. "Are you okay?"

Andrew kisses your forehead, cradling your face in his big hands. "Course I'm okay. Just wanna take care of you. Will you let me do that?"

An easy giggles leaves you, and Andrew wraps his arm around your shoulders.

He leads you back to his truck, where he hand feeds you your favorite snacks and urges you to drink water. He holds you close, your back to his chest, stroking his fingers delicately over your arm.

Your wrists are tender and beginning to bruise already, and Andrew thinks he'd hate himself for it if you hadn't told him how pretty they make you feel.

He tries to massage some of the tension from your shoulders, and wraps you up tight in a blanket. You fall asleep in his lap, safe and sound with his arms around you.

Only in the silence does Andrew admit to himself just how much he enjoyed the night. Only to himself does he admit that maybe he does want to hurt you.

Just a little bit. Just enough.

And he thinks it's not so bad, is it, if you want it too?

He gently wakes you just before sunrise. Just before the alarms back at the camp will start to go off, just before your fellow counselors will notice your absence.

Andrew hates to see you go, but the ache is soothed by knowing you'll return to him later tonight, just after five when he comes to pick up both you and his niece.

You kiss him hard before you start back down the trail in the woods. Look up at him through your lashes with a playful smile and embarrassment in your eyes.

Pope laughs when he sees it. Thinks it's a little silly, after all you've done together, to be shy about anything with him. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing…just—well…" He waits. Gives you the time to gather the courage. "Maybe, I don't know…maybe sometime, we could…do it again?"

A grin stretches wide across his face. "Of course we can, baby."

Your eyes brighten. "You swear?"

He thinks he'd promise you just about anything, as long as you keep looking at him like that. Like he put the stars in the sky. Like you're so unfathomably in love.

Andrew smiles. Kisses the tip of your nose and promises, "Cross my heart."

[groovyangelkisses]

wearing a short dress out with your gfs and jack’s pacing around you and lightly pinching the hem introspectively. pulling back and staring at the dress with hands on his hips & a slightly stressed face, “it can’t go any longer, baby?”

[farmgirlfromkansas]

AMERICA HAS A PROBLEM

pairing: butch!clark kent x reader

summary: in the midst of trying something new in bed, your girlfriend, clark, manages to fuck you better than she ever has—if that’s even possible.

word count: 595

tag list: @punksnotdeadbutiam, @unabashedlyinlovewithyou,@whotfisthatsblog,@wildernessmuse, @starwarsbian, @lilacsandlavenderhaze, @florayli, @gingerfemme22, @peachyvillehorror, @cerezzzita, @kryptidfiles, @garrettgr4h4m, @rynwritesstuff, & @bellathebookdevouer | wanna be added?

content warning: 18+ only!!! clark fucks you with your head hanging over the edge of the mattress. not sure if there’s a term for that certain thing. strap on sex (reader receiving) and plenty of praise. strap being referred to as her cock. not proofread like always, i apologize.

a/n: hi guys. I KNOW I KNOW that i just posted like two days ago, but i had to get this idea out of my brain so enjoy. go read suga mama if you haven’t yet since that one took me almost two weeks to finish 😭😭😭

listen to the song for the full experience

“I wanna try something new,” Clark told you before she guided you to the edge of the mattress, your head hanging off it while your body lay flat against the cotton sheets.

Now you’re watching yourself get split in two as the position sends blood rushing to your head, breasts bouncing with each deep thrust of Clark’s strap.

She hovers over you, hot breath fanning your face as she pumps in and out.

“Golly, sweetheart. Look at you… so pretty.”

She leans in to mark your neck with more hickeys, as if you already didn’t have enough of them.c

You cry out when the tip hits that sweet spot of yours, legs wrapped around her waist.

Her fingernails dig into the sides of your thighs as yours sink into her shoulder blades, slightly fearful that you might still fall, despite her tight grip on you.

Clark watches your back arch while you choke on your own moans, her pace completely and utterly relentless.

You try lifting your head to see her, but she shakes her head no. She wraps one of her hands around your neck, fingers pressing into your skin, attempting to keep you down.

“No, sweetie. Just let yourself go and feel it for me, alright?”

You nod, the dizziness returning as she continues to stretch you out.

The wet sounds of your whimpers and skin slapping together echo throughout your bedroom.

“Oh, fuck, Clark!”

She spreads your legs wider, causing your brain to short-circuit before pulling out just to push back in harshly.

Clark buries herself in the crook of your neck, her kisses becoming sloppier, groaning as if she could feel you tightening around the toy.

“Come on, pretty girl… can feel you milking me…”

Your body reacts to each surge she gives you, letting out a loud cry when the strap hits so profound that you feel it in your lower gut.

“Y-yes Clark, please, it’s so good.”

She nibbles on your earlobe, sensually whispering into it, “Yeah? Are you close… Can you do that for me?”

A gasp escapes your lips in response, your mind hazing as the tension within your core dares to snap—washing over you like a wave.

Clark hovers over to your mouth to kiss you, swallowing your soft cries as she doubles down on her pace, driving the strap further into you.

You close your eyes momentarily and see nothing but stars, but then her hand lightly grips your jaw, forcing them open again.

“No, sweetie… Eyes on me when you come.”

The tension heightens, making it almost impossible to breathe. “Oh, Clark— I’m so close… please.”

She smirks, her eyes darkening with affection.

“Oh, I know… I got you, just come for me, alright?”

You shudder as she orders your compliance, fucking you harder. The pleasure finally breaks, and your world shatters into pure, blinding color. You sob into her mouth as the orgasm crashes over you, melting your body into warm jelly.

She lets out a low, gravelly groan at the sensation, her pace faltering as she slowly rides out your climax.

She keeps you completely still against the mattress, holding you through your heavy tremors beneath your thighs.

In your afterglow haze, you whine at the feeling of loss as the strap slowly draws out of you.

Clark teasingly pouts, her face flushed and her blue eyes incredibly soft.

“Don't cry, babygirl, I'm right here.”

She presses a gentle, lingering kiss to your sweaty forehead, brushing back loose strands behind your ear.

“You did so good for me, sweetheart. Just breathe.”

[imnolongerasullengirl]

reader and jack who sabotage all robby’s situationships bc they want that cookie real bad. scaring off the women he is dating, loudly fucking in the room next to him, inviting him over so much he practically lives with them. eventually he wakes up to jack playing with you while you are moaning robby’s name and they have to fess up.

[di1fluvr]

all bark, no bite | j. abbot

jack abbot x fem!reader

summary: a bad shift doesn't allow you the right to give jack attitude. someone has to teach you a lesson.

tags/desc: 18+ MDNI, afab!reader, fem!reader, R2!reader, minor medical inaccuracies but who gaf, rude!reader as a plot device, mom and dad are fighting, established relationship, implied age gap, maybe mean!jack, brat taming/angry sex (it lowkey got away from me LOL), unprotected piv (no hat no cat!!), hair pulling, fingering, dry humping, spanking, name calling/pet names (baby, sweetheart, brat, etc), slightly proofread

wordcount: 5.8k

a/n: finally posting a regular jack one shot its been MONTHS HELLO!! this one lowkey made me blush and run laps around my room and also my first time at writing full on brat taming LMK IF ITS BUNS!!!!! 💚 requests are open—!! reblogs are a writers best friend

“Donnie, what the fuck is this?”

“Toxicology test.” 

“Yeah, without any heavy metals tested…”

“Yep… your student must have miswrote the order and it got tested wrong. You have to write another.” Donnie pursed his lips and handed you a new, fresh lab order sheet. Already knowing of the massive fuse you were bound to blow at any second.

Fucking med students, slipped under your breath as a war path led you to a frazzled med student. The crease between your eyebrows grew deeper and the heat in your neck rose to your cheeks. Nails digging into the skin of your palms as your only form of decompression to keep you from screaming profanities in their direction. Something about the lab today caused a massive delay, so you were already waiting two hours for a simple heavy metals test.

“You.” Tone seething as you grab the thin fabric of black scrubs. A rough tug, yanking a startled med student from the counter of the hub. 

Not giving them a moment to process what is happening, a soft jab of your finger into their chest. As if your touch has enough power to make them cave in on themselves. The twitch in your eye is enough to tell them they are in deep. It’s either all that frustration pent up inside of you, or the less than optimal four hours of sleep that you were running on. 

“What did you do with the order for Rebecca Washington’s lab?”

They stutter, you cut them off before they can explain themselves further.

“Because all I have in my hand is a toxicology test— Last time I checked, we did not test for blood alcohol and opioids in a god damn heavy metals test.” Volume rising louder than acceptable and venom dripped from your lips as you waved the paper in their face. It was long gone from neat, crinkled in your grip. Giving it one last shove into their chest, before stepping away.

“Redo it or stay out of my face for the rest of your fucking med school career.” Your eyes finish your thoughts with a sneer, turning yourself away.  “And fix your fucking handwritting, my four year old niece has better hand writing than you.” You had a particularly heavy sailor mouth today. 

The air is thick as you march away, turning your breathing ragged. Your trail could have left burn marks on the slippery linoleum.  A few nurses and CNAs eye each other at the fresh eruption that occurred in front of them. By the next shift, everyone is sure to know how you blew up at a med student.

You thought getting the chance to teach med students would be fun, fulfilling even. You loved being taught and having a mentor. You anticipated it being a bit stressful, but this— it was a different kind of stressful. No one warns you of the strain that forms in the back of your head when you have to focus on patients and babysit a small group of 26 year olds for twelve hours. The day had been piling up on you. Mistakes from med students, entitled patients, losing a patient, lack of a full meal. You were at your wits end. The only way you were able to properly emote your frustrations was onto other people.

Your charged stomps slowed down as you leaned against the counter of the nurses station. Catching your exhausted body on the edge, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. Two more hours, and then you can go home, is your mantra of choice to get through the rest shift.

“Maybe wanna lighten up on the interns? Before you scare them away into a different department. Or profession.” Robby’s sudden interjection pulled you back into reality, he leaned against the counter with you. Arms hugged around his chest and glasses hanging low on his nose bridge. A pitiful smile curled onto his face. He was just as tired as you were, but in comparison, you are winning the crash out olympics today. 

“Want to tell me what happened? Because I’m not quite sure what constitutes cursing out someone in front of their colleagues.” He asked, tilting his head to try and meet your gaze. 

A deep huff left your chest, straightening your posture for your attending. Fingers running through your hair and giving your scalp a brief massage to ease the headache. His eyes had that look— one that said: chill the fuck out. Or, that’s the only way your mind could interpret it. Your brain is stuck in fight or flight mode; everything feels like a constant jab at your competence. The tight thread holding you together can’t take an infamous Doctor Michael Robinvitch lecture. 

“They fucked up the order! I mean it’s med school 101 to know how to properly write a lab order and send it away.”

“True, but it’s their first week. Things happen. That’s the ups and downs of teaching. Can’t teach well if you’re always blowing up over the small things. It’s important to remember—”

“Oh blow me Robinavitch.” Turning away from him with a scoff. He really was one to talk; you could have sworn of the countless times he had to give you a stern talking to.

Never in your time working at PTMC have you ever had that kind of bite. Especially with Robby, on a normal day you were obedient under his words. Robby turned to look at Dana, who shook her head and never broke her focus on the ipad in her hands. 

“Well she’s got quite the potty mouth today.”

Robby sighed, watching as you walked into another trauma room. Picking up your next case, terrorizing your next med student. His hand reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Swiping through the screen to bring up Jack’s messages.

Robby: Your girlfriend is on a rampage today.

Jack: What the fuck? What happened?

Robby: Well, she told me to blow her after she verbally abused a med student.

Robby: And you know I like to be wined and dined before going to the bedroom.

Jack: Jesus. I’m picking her up, I’ll be there tonight.

The last hours had flown through the emergency department. Night shift staff steadily trickled in to relieve the day shift of their duties. It is a rare night off for Jack. He posted himself up at the nurses station, chatting up with Lena and Dana as he waited for you to emerge from the locker room. Jack kept his eye on the locker room door, just so he can be the first to see for himself how to day put you through the ringer.

“You’re kidding?” He asked, keeping his voice low to avoid the chance of you walking into their conversation.

“Mhm— told them to fix their hand writing and everything. I caught the poor kid writing their ABCs in the breakroom.” Dana recanted the events of the day to Jack with a small, amused smirk on her lips. 

“That’s not really like her…” Jack pressed his lips in a straight line, already thinking of the lecture he was to throw at you about respect. He tries not to be that guy in your relationship, knowing you want a partner not a father. But at a time like this, it gets away from him and he feels the need to remind you of the importance of respect and humility within the profession.

“Go easy on her, it was a rough day for her.” Dana’s eyes and eyebrows jutted to point in the opposing direction behind Jack.

He’s quick to turn around and face you, crossing meaty arms over his chest and putting on a happy smile for you. He’s not surprised you were not returning his smile. The corner of your lips drooping down and your eyes had lost most of their glimmer. Trudging to Jack with your backpack hung over your shoulder lazily, he could see how tense you were.

“Hey baby, how was your—”

First stopping at Jack, shoving the bag into his arms, and beelining for the ambulance bay doors. Dismissing his presence as if he was any other person on the side of the street. Blazing a path of wrath. His eyebrows knit together, surprised you had to gall to ignore him like that. Poor Jack, he is no exception to your attitude today. 

“Good luck with that.”

The beginning of the car ride is quiet, only the hum of the engine and click of the blinker filling the void of silence. Jack wanted to make an attempt to talk to you again. Ask what he can do to make it better, offer an olive branch to spare him from your claws. But he knew how you were, you need to decompress. He let the silence stay, opting for silent forms of his affection by opening the door for you and taking your bag. As he let the door close behind him, you already disappeared into your apartment. Left alone in the living room, dimly lit by the floor lamp. Slipping his boots off, discarded neatly by the door compared to your sneakers, as if you had thrown them away when you walked in. Jack thought this was how the rest of the night would go, even though you knew he wasn’t keen on ending the day with silence or bitterness. He was very clear in every argument you had, neither of you is going to bed without talking it out.

Jack placed your bag on the bench by the door, sitting to massage the area around his prosthesis. You emerged from the lit bedroom, scrubs removed and changed into your normal house clothes. One of Jack’s old shirts and cotton shorts. He figured now is better than never to talk about how you’ve been acting all day. Pulling himself up, he moved to the kitchen counter, the one that overlooked the sink. He leaned onto it, watching as you floated around the kitchen. You were trying to avoid as little eye contact as possible, but he is searching intently for your eyes. He took a deep breath to talk first, in hopes your mind was clear enough to have a proper conversation.

“So, I heard you had a little run in with a med student. And Robby.” 

You stop what you’re doing, grabbing on to the edge of the counter. You lull your head back and take a long, irritated breath.

“Why? Did your boyfriend tattle on me?” You quip. 

Obviously, you didn’t clear your head enough, or at all. His head hung low, developing a headache. Taking a long, deep breath to engage with your temper. 

“No— he didn’t tattle,” yes he did. “He expressed… some concern about your performance today.”

Shaking your head, refusing to answer as you fill up a glass of water. The little angel in your head agreed, you were rude to that med student. You’re sure you made the same mistake before. And you knew you didn’t have enough tenure in the ED to be given a pass of the ‘bitchy’ teacher, you were only an R2. But this isn’t about you, it’s about how everything around you chose today as the day to be inconvenient. Is it too much to ask for one day of the year to go in your favor? It’s the principle, although you were most likely using that justification loosely.

“You can’t talk to an attending like that. If it was anyone else, you could have gotten written up. HR meetings aren’t all that fun you know?” Jack ducked his head to try and meet your eyes. Keeping your stare down at the very interesting cup of water. 

“Boohoo, it’s not like I cursed him out.”

“You told him to blow you.”

“Exactly. Not a swear word said.”

Before Jack could try to get another word in, you turn yourself away and shuffle into the bedroom. Closing the door behind you with a louder thud than necessary. He puffed, frustrated that you weren’t giving him the time to actually talk things out with you. It’s not to say he’s caught off guard by your behavior. You’ve had your off days, you weren’t always sunshine and rainbows. And you especially aren’t so mouthy with him. Something about today was getting on his nerves quicker than he should let it. He wasn’t the one that messed up your lab order or tried to lecture you during a heavy shift, so why can’t you spare him?

Jack follows you into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. It also let out a loud thud, his irritation coming out in little pieces. That strain formed in his head, handling the door with unnecessary power, grinding his teeth with his clenched jaw. Jack did not want the first interaction of the day with you to be brewing into an argument.

“Honey, you can’t walk away from me when I’m trying to have a conversation with you.”

“Really? Because I did right now.” Your voice comes out steady, that little hint of bitterness hot on your tongue. It becomes a stand off in the middle of the bedroom. Hands on your hips and narrowing your eyes at him as he steps a little bit closer to you. “And from what I remember, you used to be just as bad too, so I don’t know why you’re coming at me on such a high horse!”

Jack tensed his jaw, any more he was going to need to go to the dentist for teeth grinding. That stung a little bit, maybe a lot. Jack isn’t proud of how he used to be, pre-therapy and post-the loss of his wife. But he grew from that, and you saw how that growth turned him into the man he is today. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips thin, holding back from letting your words get to him.

“I’m not lecturing you. You have to understand— yelling at med students and your attending. That’s not something we do.”

“Not what we do? Last time I checked Jack, you aren't my attending! I don’t have to listen to this or you.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m your attending or not, it’s my obligation as an attending to help you learn that throwing a tantrum—” His voice gets rougher, less collected than he typically is. Jack attempts to put a caring hand on your shoulder, but you swat his hand away.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child Jack!”

“I have to because you’re acting like one! But what else should I expect from my immature girlfriend, hm?” 

You took the highest offense being called immature, especially when Jack knew that was a sore spot in your relationship, being immature compared to him. The anger bubbles over, the heat of the work day follows you into your own home, unwelcomed. Without thinking, you raise a hand to the air. Quickly, just want to give him a taste of how his words make you feel. Before it can even come close to his face, Jack’s hand catches your wrist and puts it into a tight hold. The pads of his fingertips press down deep enough to feel your racing heartbeat. He yanks you towards him, chest on chest, closing the gap that has existed between you for hours. 

As you try to get the next words out from your lips, a rough hand catches the back of your head and pulls you in for a deep, sloppy kiss. Teeth hitting and drool starting to leak from the corner of your lips as Jack carries out an attack on your lips. Tongue forcing your lips apart and invading the wet cavern. It erupts a moan from your throat that you wanted to keep secret. Jack knew exactly how to render you speechless. The hand on the back of your neck tangles into your hair, keeping a tight grip. Your hand that started out balled into a fist relaxes and rests on his chest, slowly running up to hook around his neck. When he pulls away, panting for air, his gaze is heavy on you. It turned dark and vicious. Those barbed-wire lined walls you had up all day were crashing down around you. And Jack had a sledgehammer.

“Jack…” Melting into putty in his arms as you whimper as he pulls away.

“What happened? A little kiss made you all soft?” He flips you around his hold, pinning the held wrist behind your back. He guided you to the bed, shoving you to bend over the soft mattress. That rough grip in your hair pushes the side of your face into the mattress, only able to see just over your shoulder.

You whine when he presses his crotch into your cotton covered ass. The tent in his pants prodding at the curve of your ass and rutting up. You are sure Jack could feel that drip in your panties forming a little wet spot. He continues to rub his bulge up and down your ass, catching it occasionally on your increasingly wet mound. Taking his hand away from your hair and moving it next to your head, keeping himself up as he leans over you. 

“Who do you think you are… trying to slap me— fuck. After all I do for you…” His hot breath floods the back of your neck, panting like a dog. You want to respond, tell him he’s wrong, but you choke on moans.

You try to move your hips up, feel more of him on your aching cunt. But his hips and hold on your wrist keeps you still. When he pulls himself away, the grip on your wrist is free, feeling the ache slowly blur into your body. You want to move, whip yourself around and give him a piece of mind for being so forward with you. But the raw, agitated energy emanating from Jack was enough to keep you down, growing compliant. Jack grabs the hem of your shorts, tugging them down your legs. A large hand kneads the skin, pinching and watching the heat manifest as color from his touch. Humming, you lean yourself into his touch. A finger loops around the fabric of your panties that bars him from seeing your leaking pussy. Coating his knuckle as he pulls the fabric down and away from you. You close your eyes in hopes of getting a blissful night to alleviate the stress of the day. One sudden strike at your ass brings you back down from the clouds. Crying out Jack’s name as he rings another slap on to burning skin. 

“I pick you up from work, pay your rent, make you cum whenever you ask— ‘n you can’t even give me the decency of respect when I talk to you?” Another harsh, personal, spank to your abused flesh.

You bury your face into the sheets, muffling the painful gasps that mix with needy moans. Soaking up the little tears that prick the corner of your eyes. You twitch in response to his hands on your body, your nervous system preparing to feel swipes at your bare ass. He pauses, must be taking in the sight of your skin littered with the faint outline of his hand. The result of your moody spirit. You lift your head away from the bed, sniffling a little as you bite your lip to wish away the pain. 

“Jack… please..” Ground your elbows into the bed and try to bring yourself up. You couldn’t bear to not be able to look him in the face. Even though you struggled to confidently make eye contact.

“Now you want to be nice? ‘S too late for that honey…” Jack clicks his tongue disapprovingly. One hand now holding your hip while two fingers swipe up the slick on the folds of your pussy. You gasp, relaxing your body back into the mattress.

He doesn’t wait for you to catch up with him, plugging his fingers into your cunt. Your walls immediately flutter around him, wanting to suck him in deeper. He holds off, wanting to go at his own pace. Only reaching to the second knuckle, and pumping thick fingers shallowly inside you. You hum with this pace, it was just enough to scratch that growing itch in your core.

“Look at you… all happy I’m playing with your pussy. Could have had this way earlier if you cooperated, brat.” His hand on your hip left to swat at your ass again. Eliciting a cry of his name with a moan as the pain mixed with the pleasure brewing inside you. 

“There she is— my good girl. God, you’re so easy.” He loves the sounds you make for him. The words brewed inside your head, because you haven’t been good at all. You were being a pain all day to anyone within the vicinity. And it got you to this position, bent over the bed at Jack’s mercy. 

His fingers slide deeper past your lips, the palm of his hand flush with your skin when he reaches as deep as he can. Shaking beneath him when his pace grows faster, the sinful sound of your wetness squishing on his fingers. It really is punishment, pay back, the way the tip of his fingers brush over that sensitive spot inside you. But he doesn’t bother to stay there, saying hello and quickly leaving. You groan, frustrated that he’s toying with you and not giving in to what you want. Not that you’re asking, more so expecting it. Pushing your hips back to deepen his pace, he quickly slips his fingers away from you. Shaking his head in disapproval. 

“You just can’t be patient, can you?” You can hear his belt collide with the hard wood floor, and the sound of heavy fabric falling.

A tingle goes up your spine, like a spidey sense. Because you have been in this kind of position before; where he picks you up by the thighs and fucks into you while you hang over the edge of the bed. Your feet once flat on the floor, press up on to tippy toes, waiting for him to use his strength on you. A few seconds go by, and he hasn’t moved. Your eyebrows knit together, looking over your shoulder and seeing him standing behind you. Arms crossed, looking down at you with an expectant expression, his cock so casually stiff in the air. 

“Jack, what are you waiting for?” you ask with a frown.

He leans over you, arms caging you in as the brace onto the bed. His lips dip close to you, giving you words for only you to hear.

“You’re going to come at me with an attitude— when I did nothing to you by the way— and expect me to do all the work?” humming into your ear, expecting one of your smart ass responses. He looks down to your glistening slit, he wants to dive in so bad and show you a good time. But there is a lesson to be taught here.

You stutter over yourself. You never had to ask Jack to do anything to you; he knew how to treat you and what you liked, what made you feel good. You felt silly having to plead to him to fuck you properly.

“You can reach baby, I’m not doing any of the work for you— since you think you know better than me.” 

I never said that… is all you can mumble. Jack thought you would put up a fight, but so easily compliant in this state, he watches as you push yourself up by the toes more. Your slit that had been weeping from the lack of attention, glistened in the bedroom light. It brushes the tip of his cock ever so slightly, making you hiss at the small amount of friction. You struggle to even catch him between your folds, constantly bouncing on your toes. Jack bites through his smirk, enjoying the sight of you. Helpless and impatient, willing to do as much as it takes just to feel him inside of you. It’s pitiful, the comparison from earlier in the night to now. Defiant of Jack, ready to slap him when he threw it back at you. Now you’re a dripping, whimpering mess, so eager to feel the slightest touch of his cock against your pussy.

“I— I can’t do it Jack… I can’t reach…” You deflate into the bed, sad whining muffled in the sheets.

It is pathetic, you are a doctor for christ's sake. You should be demanding him in this instance to fuck you right now. But Jack loves to watch. The way your ass jiggles with the bounce of your toes, trying to rock back to try and catch his cock between your folds. He let this go on for what felt like 30 minutes (it was only 3 minutes). Jack let out a deep sigh, a once stern hand turned comforting on your hip. Brushing his thumb against the skin and cooing to you. He moves his hips forward just a little pit, the tiniest tough of his tip against your cunt. It was nothing but everything at the same time. It sent that buzz of anticipation up and down your spine. As you start to rock yourself again, both of Jack’s hands press down your hips pressing you into the bed again. He is still in control here, he’ll go in when he’s ready. In a tortuous pace, his cock slips in between the folds. He holds in a deep groan from finally feeling your warmth enveloped around his cock. You cry out a soft whimper from the slow stretch of your pussy. Even with how slow Jack was going, his girth is like retribution. A brutal size you thought you have gotten used to by now. He reaches the halfway point and stops, prompting another frustrated groan from you. Clearly have not learned about the stakes of your predicament yet.

“How bad do you want it, sweetheart?” He asks. You mumble into the mattress.

He pulls out just a little bit. “Ah-ah, I said— How bad do you want it?”

Lifting your head away from the sheets, your head slumps over. Jack can see you weren’t in the mood to be good still. But he doesn’t have to act anymore, he knows the more you wait, the more time spent not getting pounded.

“I want it really bad, Jack...” you whine. 

“Yeah? What do you have to say then?”

“God, not this now, Jack. Just fucking—” cut off by that same swat on your ass. It shuts you right up.

“Wanna try that one more time?” you nod. “What do you have to say to me?” from the tone of his voice, you can tell Jack does not want to ask again.

Shamefully keeping your eyes down, “I’m sorry that I tried to slap you and argue with you, Jack. I won’t do it again…”

Jack hums but doesn’t answer. Making a show of him considering your apology. He should really make you work for it; force you on to your knees and show how sorry you are with his mouth. But he can’t deny, Jack is growing just as impatient as you were. This night should have ended with sex without all the fighting and huffing. His hand glides down to your thigh, brushing the skin.

“You gonna apologize to Robby and the med students too?” giving you a warning squeeze. If you answer correctly, everyone will be happy. Nodding your head, you peak over your shoulder. Eyes damp from tears and hopeful to get the proper kind of release. It is enough to make Jack crumble for you all over again. At last, Jack hums with approval. A happy tap on your skin as he scoops his hands under your thigh and hoists your legs up. He grips right under your hips for the best leverage. Jack is really testing how much strength and stamina he has left at this age. You yelp as the sudden pull moves your hips up, meeting Jack at a better, and deeper, angle. Pushing himself so deep it punches up into that sensitive spot. He finally gives in to that satisfying rock of his hips, letting out a deep groan.This is all both of you wanted. Impaling you with such a force you felt like Jack was going to split you in half. Sweet moans spur him on more, releasing all of the night's irritation on to your helpless cunt. 

Jack revels in the feeling of your velvety walls dragging along the veins of his cock. Squeezing down and taking the shape of his girth, like you were made to be filled by him. The whole predicament— arguing, him mandling you, and fucking you with such punishing force, it made your pussy drool and tighten for him. He can tell exactly what you’re feeling just by the way your walls clench around him. 

“Such a good girl, you love getting your pussy filled by my cock, huh?” He says through gritted teeth and low groans.

You can’t give a coherent response, too caught up in the motions all you can do is offer him slutty moans. The tips of his fingers dig into your plush skin, an iron grip dragging your body like a toy on his cock. Jack musters enough strength to lift every so slightly. The new angle makes all the difference as the top of his cock bullies up on your soft spot. The impact forces you to see fireworks in your hazy eyes.

“Shit— Jack!” Your body lurches forward from the force of his hips.

“Fuuck, sweetheart. Feel so good around me, need you to cum f’me.” Jack occasionally had to adjust his grip on your hips, trying so hard to not get lost in the pleasure that he drops your legs on accident. “I know you’re close— rub that pretty little clit for me.”

Your hand snakes under your body, delicate fingers shakily running small, fast circles are the bud. Eyes pressed shut and moans pouring from your lips. That knot deep down came rushing to the surface with each thrust of his hips. Your release is slowly coaxed from deep within you, your thighs and knees pressing against Jack’s, locking him in place. It feels like a wave rushes over your body, your orgasm crashing through you in ripples. Body shaking while your hands grip on to wrinkled bedsheets.

“Ooooh god, Jack!”

“That’s it baby, make a mess on me.” 

Jack’s hands slowly let go of your hips and help in letting your feet meet the floor. As soon as you limp in bliss, he lets his pace become self-indulgent. Cock pistoning in and out of your pussy while your walls still clench around him in post-orgasm glory. Pushing himself deep, right to the hilt, he lets his seed slip inside you. Flooding your silky walls with hot, white cum. It leaves a satisfying warmth with you. Jack moans and crones through his release, a thrust or two to push all of his load deep within you. He tries not to fall on top of you when the fog clears from his head. A little drips of cum leaking from you as he pulls out, half-limp cock slick with a mixture of your desire and his cum. 

“Jesus, Jack.”

“I should be saying that to you. All that huffing, puffing, and yelling. If you wanted it so badly baby all you had to do is ask.” He teased, a lazy smirk on his lips.

Crawling up the bed a bit, you manage to turn yourself over for the first time supporting your weight on your elbows. Panting heavily as you take in the sight of a sweaty, fucked out Jack. It is an insatiable sight; little beads of sweat dripping from his neck to his chest, the tuft of hair above his cock damp with body fluids. Jack eyes the scheming smirk on your face. Lifting your foot to poke at his stomach.

“I don’t know if I learned my lesson yet. You weren’t the most… convincing.” Pursing your lips and trailing your eyes from his firm stomach, all the way up to his lingering eyes.

“Yeah? I guess I have some more gas in the tank to teach you, brat.”

Jack grabs your ankle and yanks your body back towards him, a high and excited squeal coming from you.

“Hi.”

The med students whips around, eyes widened and already shaking. A trauma response from the incident a couple of days ago. You had a basket in your hand, filled with muffins, fruit, and a random energy drink you picked up from the story. Holding it out from them, you try to come off with a gracious expression rather than guilt.

“I’m sorry for how I spoke— treated— you earlier this week. I was out of line and you’re still getting the hang of things around here. I was stressed and I should not have taken it out on you. ‘Sorry for yelling at you’ basket?” Giving them a crooked smile and handing the basket to them.

It follows with a short conversation, exchanging necessary apologies and coming to an agreement it was an off day for everyone that day. You felt embarrassed having to apologize for behavior that could have been completely avoidable if you remembered what emotional regulation skills are. In the end, you are glad no bridges were burned. An ease settled over your body as the med student walked away with a softer smiler than before.

“And where’s my basket?” Robby pipped in.

“Jack said you would rather have an eight pack over a basket. And I think I would be in more trouble if I brought beer into the workplace.” 

Robby didn’t care to cover up the deep huff of laughter. Bringing a pat to your shoulder as he shook his head. 

“I need to know what Jack did to get you to come to your senses. Could use it on you if you ever feel like shooting at me again.” Robby said contently. 

You scrunch your face, “No you don’t, Robby.”

“Why not?” he asks, les confused more intrigued.

“You’d have to ask Jack for permission. I know you guys are close, but I don’t know if you’re close enough to share.” 

You turn on your heels and walk away quickly, trying to stifle the little giggle inside your throat. Robby runs his hand over his mouth and beard, slowly catching up with what you were putting down. He scrunches his own face, shaking his head to clear away the dirty thoughts.

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[bloodnguts17]

casually sexting jack abbot while you’re on the couch eating snacks with a face mask on, barely paying attention but still amused by how excited he was getting. lazily lifting your shirt and snapping a pic of your tits from a low angle, smirking, quite satisfied with yourself. and quickly returning your attention to the tv.

and he’s at work, hunched over in the bathroom and trying not to whine your name while he jerks his cock at a frantic pace. his other hand braced against the wall while he grips his phone, trying not to drop it. alternating between that and sloppily typing out the dirtiest things with his chubby thumb. it takes a while for him to type what he wants — some versions of “need that little pussy so bad” “so fucking hard right now” “please send another pic baby” you ignore the typos.

he’s imagining you touching yourself too, back arching, body glistening with sweat, moaning like a whore for him. he grits his teeth and closes his eyes, imagining his cock enveloped by your drooling pussy instead of his rough hand. in reality you’re fully clothed, immersed in your newest reality tv obsession.

another message from you. he scrambles to read it, his orgasm approaching.

“can you pick up food on the way home”

and he cums all over his fist anyway, the thought of taking care of his sweet, sexy girl pushing him over the edge.

[romantic-insomniac]

LANEEEEEEEEEEEW I HAVE AN IDEAAAAAAAAAA 😝🌸

So, reader being polite all the time and in bed and Jack just loving her so much

I’m talking she uses her please and thank yous, practically will cry if someone’s mean to her LIKE YES THATS DADA AND HIS BABY YESSS

WILLOW! this idea is so gorgeous shmorgeous !!!!! MDNI !

being jack abbot's sweet girlfriend who doesn't work at the PTMC, but visits for the first time early on in the relationship. you meet everyone one morning when you pick jack up after a shift, a bright smile on your face with your absolutely best behavior on so they all get a great first impression.

everyone is raving about you the very next day. jack nods and agrees with the praise all shift until dana says, "she's an absolute sweetheart abbot. the manners on that girl could get you into buckingham palace."

and jack just blinks for a second. he had never really thought about your manners before. he knew you were polite, sure. but he hadn't realized that it's a chronic sort of sweetness that follows you everywhere. even into the bedroom.

which jack realized the next morning, after you made him breakfast and added a "please" and "thank you" every time he passed you something or refilled your coffee, then said your first "thanks jackie" when he pressed a kiss to your lips on the couch afterwards.

the embrace quickly melted into need when jack shifted to lay beside you, hitching your leg around his waist without breaking the kiss. jack rocked his hips against yours and you whimpered when his tongue slid into your mouth. he had to bite back a smile when you mewled, "take off your shirt please?" he cooed "such nice manners baby. good girl." then did as you asked.

just to see if you'd keep it up, he grunted "what d'ya want honey?" as he kissed your neck. your nails scraped down his bare chest as you moaned softly, "w-want you inside me jackie. please!"

well aren't you just a sweetheart!

[insomniac-jay]

CHRIS BROWN IS GOING TO JAIL

[astarlinggirl]

take my hand

odysseus x fem!reader

summary: after months of solitude, odysseus finds you washed up on the shores of his island, and a quiet yearning begins to fester between the two of you.

wc: 1.2k words

warnings: 18+, brief scene of him killing bad men, piv, unprotected, we have a bush, choking, headlock, #biceps

a/n: firstly there’s 1000 of you guys now, i am so gagged and emo lowkey, ily. genuinely need to be put in a headlock by matt damon's arms. and yes this will become a fucking 15k word fully fleshed out fic eventually where i reignite my greek mythology hyperfixation that has lay dormant for years. divider credits: @strangergraphics | soundtrack: everytime by ethel cain

Odysseus was living on an island alone, lost, with only the sound of waves and the wind surrounding him for months. 

And you were from a nearby island, taken captive by a conquering king after his army had ravaged your village. But the ship carrying you across the sea was swallowed by a storm, splintered into pieces, and you washed ashore on his island. Odysseus saw you half buried in the sand, the first human after rotting in his own solitude for months, alone in the middle of the ocean, and is enamoured by you immediately. 

He gathered you into his arms, holding you against his chest with desperation. You were warm, real, alive. For a fleeting moment, he closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of salt and seawater clinging to you, simply revelling in the press of your skin against his, the touch of another human. A beautiful one at that.

He carried you back to the small hut he'd built with his own hands and nursed you back to health.

You were a shy little thing, shrinking away from his touch at first, horrified and untrusting of men after having trusted the wrong men before.

So he never pushed. Instead, a companionship formed in the quiet spaces between you.

Words spoken in hushed whispers under the shade of trees stabbing at the sky, nights spent lying side by side on the cool sand, watching the moon. He’d always be the one going out to hunt, and cooking it, not letting you lift a finger. 

Occasionally you wake up pressed against him, seeking comfort in his arms. Odysseus would lie perfectly still, scarcely daring to breathe, afraid that even the smallest movement would break the beginnings of the trust you'd placed in him.

He did, though, eagerly await the day the thread would snap, the thread that grows precarious with every instance of you tending to his wounds after a bad hunt, every time your fingers brushed his as he handed you food.

Every morning he caught sight of you wading into the shallow water to wash yourself, rubbing the salt and sand off, the thin dress draped over you clinging to your skin. He would look away almost as quickly as he'd looked, ashamed of the longing and the lust growing heavier under his ribs, wondering how much longer that thread could hold before it finally gave way.

It snapped the day another ship washed ashore. A handful of men stumbled onto the beach, their laughter turning vile the moment they saw you. Odysseus was watching you from the corner of his eye as you bathed in the shallows below. The moment he saw them leering, he ran from where he was buried in the trees hunting for food. Grabbed his spear, the only weapon he had carved from wood, and met them before they could reach you. Striked them down with the fury he was certain not even Ares himself would possess, the God of War himself, as he killed them off, one by one, brutally. 

He did not stop until the beach fell silent once more.

When it was over, you stepped out from the water, the hem of your dress dripping seawater onto the blood-soaked sand. You found him standing among the bodies, blood streaking his arms, his chest rising with ragged breaths.

And that’s when you know – he would protect you forever. 

Slowly, almost timidly, you reached a hand out to cradle his face, wiped the splatter of blood on his cheek gently, before leaning in, and pressing your lips against his. For a heartbeat Odysseus stood frozen, unable to believe the warmth against his mouth was real. Then his hand free of the spear found your waist and drew you impossibly closer as he kissed you back with desperation, groaning into your mouth, breaking months of restrained longing.

Now after you carefully washed the blood off his body, Odysseus finally has you. 

You sit on his lap, his chest pressing into your back, impaling you on his cock. His thighs are pressed into the sand, your waist gripped in one massive arm as he moves you up and down, face buried in your neck. His other hand is gripping your neck loosely, holding you upright as he pounds into you.

“Fuck, this what you wanted hm? To be sittin’ on me, milkin’ my cock?” he grits out, feeling you tighten around him, your slick dripping down to his thighs.

You only whine, “fuck-yes, yes,” grip him tighter, one hand coming up to hold his, pressing his palm harder against your neck. You writhe in his grasp, trying to grind your clit against something, anything, before he grips your waist even harder in warning.

He grunts against your neck, moaning your name. His beard rubs against the side of your face as he lifts his head up.

“Yeah, my girl needs to be choked? That’s what she needs to stay. Fuckin’. Still.”

He pounds into you harder between each word. You’re reduced to a mess, can only whine and blubber out soft begs, “please.”

Instead of choking your neck with his hand, Odysseus shifts. Still thrusting into you, the wet sounds of your slick echoing through the island, his arm slides across your chest, gripping your shoulder, one thick bicep pressing against your neck. He traps you in a headlock while he moves his hips faster. You moan, loud, at the weight of him. 

“Try gettin’ out of this now,” he grunts against you. Everything is warm and fuzzy as he brings you closer to the edge, pounding into you with slower, deeper thrusts now. His hand slides down your waist, to your mound, rubbing at the patch of hair there.

“Please- fuck, please touch me,” you whine, desperately.

Then he pulls, hard, and you let out a whimper. 

“You take what I give you, yeah? Don’t be fuckin’ greedy,” he groans against your ear.

You blabber out apologies, gripping his arm tighter. He feels his balls tighten when you claw your nails into his arm, leaving red marks.

“S’okay pretty girl, shush, just let me do all the work yeah?”

You nod, or try to as much as you can while wrapped in a headlock, as he peppers kisses to the side of your face. His beard scrapes you deliciously as he fucks his cock into you deeper, the perfect amount of coarse and rough. 

After a harsh thrust, Odysseus finally takes mercy on you, and brings a finger to your clit, rubbing slow circles. Pleasure sparks up your spine.

“Fuck- yeah, just like that,” you moan softly, closing your eyes as you get closer and closer to your peak.

“That feel good?” He pants against you. You whimper out a yes, writhing in his grip.

“You gonna be my good girl and come now?” 

“Fuck- yes,” You moan, loud, your voice echoing in the island as you finally reach your peak. Your body grows limp in his grip as you close your eyes, pleasure washing over you. 

Odysseus jerks up, once, then twice, before spilling into you, groaning your name. It trickles down your thighs as you lean your weight against him, practically sitting on him. 

You’re still wrapped up in his massive arms as he pants against you, loosening his grip slightly. 

“Stay with me, on this island,” he whispers, tilting your head to the side. 

His eyes bore into yours.

 “Stay, forever. Please.”

You lean in, press the gentlest of kisses against his lips. 

“Forever.”

 And at last, Odysseus had found his way home, not to Ithaca, but to you.

u will not believe the state i wrote most of this in (hungover with five hours of sleep after hallucinating matt damon at the club)