one time I went over to a friend's house and their housemate was making paper in the living room, and we saw this big tub full of water they were using to dissolve old scrap paper into a slurry, and everyone was immediately like "oh, you need scrap paper?" and started turning out their jacket pockets and producing expired coupons and bus tickets and crumpled receipts and old shopping lists and whatever else they'd been carrying round with them for no good reason, and passing it all to the paper-making housemate to make sure it was suitable before it got torn up and dropped into the tub, while people took turns stirring the slurry with a big wooden stick. it was strangely ritualistic, like presenting an offering to some kind of temple elder for inspection before placing it in a watery shrine to be devoured and reformed. pulp for the pulp god.
── .✦ SAMMY BRYANT comes home to find his usually obedient little wife losing a fight with a cabinet
★ˎˊ˗ CONTENT 18+ MDNI sammy bryant x younger!housewife!reader, established relationship/marriage, housewife kink, husband-knows-best dynamics, domesticity kink, consensual power imblanace, soft dom!sammy, pet names, mrs. bryant, manhandling, implied punishment, rough sex references, reader is eager to please
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The cabinet is even prettier in person.
Sammy, who ignored every one of your “just window-shopping” protests, had shelled out an eye-watering sum for it, and now the carved-oak beauty waits dead center of the living room, lead-lined drawers practically begged to be tucked into the spot you picked out for it.
You, however, are not supposed to touch it. Sammy had made that perfectly clear last night, your face mashed into the pillows while he drove the point — and his cock — so deep you’d have signed away state secrets.
“Leave it there until I get home.” “Yes, Sammy.” “You understand?” “Yes, sir.” “That’s my girl.”
You are, generally speaking, a very obedient wife.
Happiest when orbiting Sammy’s daily needs. Coffee made the way he likes it. Shirts folded and stacked in his drawer. Lunch packed with a little note tucked beneath the napkin, be safe, handsome! written in bubbly ink with three hearts and a lipstick print beside it.
And every day when he came home, you abandoned whatever you had been doing and hurried toward him. He expected nothing less. One second you were leaping into his arms; the next, his hands were around your waist and your feet were dangling several inches above the floor as he carried you toward the kitchen.
“What’d my girl do all day?”
And it's never suspicion. Sammy couldn't sound suspicious if he tried with his face buried against your neck and one palm already migrating beneath your dress to cup your ass.
He just wanted the daily briefing — what you grabbed at the store, who had called, what you streamed while folding laundry, whether you finally watered the basil — best delivered while you perched on the counter and he kneaded your backside, answering each fact with a thoughtful little mhmm.
Obedience, unfortunately, becomes a far shakier virtue when the forbidden object is parked dead-center in the living room, looking off center.
You manage a disciplined twenty, maybe twenty-two, minutes before drifting back to it. Pacing a circle, you judge the distance to the wall and scoff. Barely three feet. Not worth bothering Sammy. Plus, you weren’t going to lift it, merely scoot it across the rug. Scooting seems perfectly reasonable.
Sammy said leave it because you might hurt yourself. You’re not going to hurt yourself. Which means, technically, his concern is already handled.
The key turns in the front door lock at the exact moment you wedge your shoulder beneath one corner of the cabinet.
You don’t hear it. You’re far too busy making a series of tiny, pathetic noises through clenched teeth, one foot braced behind you while the other slips uselessly against the rug.
“What are you doing?”
You freeze mid-shove, cheeks hot.
“Nothing,” you answer quickly.
“Looks pretty fuckin’ strenuous for nothing.” His boots stop inches from your bare foot. You peek up from beneath the cabinet, hair sticking to your forehead, dress bunched at your waist. Sammy sets his keys aside with exaggerated calm, then crouches, forearms on his knees, meeting your eyes at floor level. “Gonna try that answer again?”
You ease onto your knees, fingers fussing with the bunched cotton until it skims halfway down your thighs. Sammy’s eyes track the motion, lingering where the dress refuses to fall any lower.
The lift of his brow tells you he’s remembering exactly what color those panties were, and how little they covered when you were half-under the cabinet.
“Sammy, listen, I was being so safe.” You plant both palms on the hardwood, as if proving stability. “I slid it on the rug so the floor wouldn’t scratch, kept my knees bent, no twisting, no overexertion.” You point at the hulking thing. “It’s practically in the same spot, honest. I just wanted it to look… finished.”
Sammy nudges your forehead with his. “What did I say last night?”
“That you’d handle it.” You chase his mouth with a soft peck. “I know, but you work so hard and I didn’t want you to have to —”
“Baby.”
Your lips skim his cheek again. “I just figured if I moved it now you could relax later and maybe we could order take-out and —”
“Mrs. Bryant.” His voice dips, a velvet warning. Two fingers tilt your face up so you have to meet the steady, disciplined gleam in his eyes. “One more word and you’ll be explaining it bent over that cabinet instead of under it. Clear?”
You swallow, gaze dropping to his mouth, and manage the softest little “Mm-hmm,” the sound barely a syllable, insurance against making the mistake of actual speech.
He accepts the tiny assent with a nod, then folds his fingers around your wrist and pulls you upright. The instant your balance steadies, he gives your backside a sharp, proprietary smack that makes you yelp and bite your smile.
“Atta girl. Now scoot over to the couch and sit pretty while I do the heavy lifting, yeah?”
It takes him only ten minutes to shove the cabinet into place. The oak kisses the wall while he wipes his palms off his uniform and crooks a finger.
“Come ‘ere.”
You pad over, contrite and already trembling. He folds you against his chest, broad hand sifting through your hair in a slow, soothing rake.
“Scared me,” he murmurs against your crown. “Didn’t like picturing my girl pinned under two hundred pounds of wood.”
“‘M sorry,” you whisper, suddenly feeling very guilty as your fingers fists the back of his shirt.
“I know.” His tone softens, but the command that follows is pure authority. Knuckles brush the hem of your sundress, nudging it higher. “Why don’t you show me just how much.”
MARIA NOTE popping my sammy cherry everybody be nice im nervous
tags: chef!jack abbot x fem!reader, based on The Menu, suicide (not reader), off page murder, canon movie violence, misogynist (not jack), power imbalance, small age gap, pet names, morally gray reader, dark!jack abbot, smut, oral (fem!receiving), piv (unprotected), afab reader, 18+ NSFW MDNI
notes: big thank you to @oxalaia-quilombensis for co-writing this with me!! please go follow her, she has amazing jack abbot fics that I just eat up! I hope you all liked reading this as much as I liked planning and writing this and, like always, if you'd like to join my permanent master list, please comment here! enjoy!
word count: 8.2k
Each wet smack of food in between teeth and tongue slathered with too much saliva grated against your bones and made your skin itch.
Your knuckles stretched white against the table’s edge, and your fingernails molded crescents into the table cloth. Your eye twitched continuously in a manner that made it impossible to ignore. With each minute that ticked by, you found yourself wishing you hadn’t accepted the food smacker’s invitation to dine at the exclusive North & Vine, the restaurant ran by word famous chef, Jack Abbot.
The man wasn’t foreign to you; his face was pretty much on every cooking magazine you could get your hands on. With his salt-and-peppered curls and no-fucks-given attitude paired with a highly seasoned and awarded background for serving the country on the battle front, Jack Abbot was a spectacle for Instagram foodies and middle-aged home cooks alike. His smile being easy on the eyes also didn’t help the flutter of your stomach when he flashed you a quick one on the way in from the tour of the island.
However, you couldn’t help but feel unsettled as the courses went on, especially when murmurs picked up when the third course was handed out. While people shifted in their seats, you stared at your “date” while he wolfed down his course without a second thought. Your hands did not move; your stomach did not hunger. No matter how fancy or how insane the courses were, you couldn’t find it within yourself to pick up the fork. Each deconstructed course that was gently settled before you twisted your stomach into knots. Your hindrance to dine also didn’t go unnoticed.
“Are you going to eat that?” food smacker—Tyler’s—voice sounded louder than necessary, but it was enough to tear your eyes away from the heavy door that not one person went in or out of the whole evening.
You glanced down at the plate and glared at its circulatory shape filled with a sauce and two scallops. “No.”
His fork grated through the last wipe of his food as he wiped his face. “Can I have it then?”
“Be my guest.” Your glare turned as sour as the first lemon course smelled when he rolled his eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“You’re acting like a child,” he hissed, small specs of food flying from his lips. “Do you know how much I paid to have us here?”
You scoffed. “I wasn’t even your first choice, Tyler.”
“Shouldn’t have been my second either.” His hand reached over the ornate center piece and snatched your plate, carelessly letting it fall in front of him. “Everything I do for you, you hate it.”
“That’s because you never ask me what I think before you use your card,” you shot back in a whisper. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“You’re so fucking ungrateful. You finally have someone cooking for you, and you’re being wasteful. Maybe next time I’ll leave you in the kitchen so you can complain about your own cooking.” He stuck your scallop into his jaws and clamped down with an overexaggerated moan. “Oh, that’s good.”
Even if you wanted to hide your disgust, your face said it all. Here he was, moaning and ass-kissing a chef who didn’t even know his name, belittling you for something he couldn’t even do himself. Before you had given him the benefit of the doubt, he was living off of microwaveable meals while stealing stock photos for his own blog.
The red flags were there, but the loneliness that bubbled in your chest had you chained to this . . . beast of a man. There was nothing sophisticated about him, contrary to how he portrayed himself online. Every like he got on his sad posts was somehow so ego boosting, he claimed he was better than the chef standing a few yards away. The thought had you scoffing. And unfortunately, he thought the sound was meant for him.
He thrusted a fork in your direction. “Oh, shut up. You haven’t eaten a bite, so keep your mouth shut.”
Your teeth caught your tongue. He wasn’t worthy of your building anger.
“Is there a problem here?” a new voice asked before being followed by a full choke.
You looked over your shoulder and followed the tan apron up to a crows-feeted grin. If you leaned in close enough, you’d accidentally brush against the head chef. To your utter surprise, he was looking at you instead of the one currently gobsmacked even if he thought Jack Abbot was talking to him.
Tyler smiled widely to the point you spotted a small stem of green stuck in teeth. “There’s no issue here. My date just isn’t—”
Chef Abbot held up a hand, effectively silencing Tyler. “I wasn’t asking you.” He turned his body so that you were the only one on the receiving end of his attention. “Is there a problem here, miss?”
A thick swallow slid down your throat. “No, chef. We were just talking.”
You hoped he didn’t catch the way you broke eye contact halfway through speaking; if he did, he didn’t say anything either, only choosing to hold out a hand.
“Then let’s just have a nice talk. Come with me please,” he said, voice deep and borderline sultry it went straight to your core.
Hesitantly, you placed your hand in his, instantly surprised by the sheer warmth of his skin. You didn’t look back as he softly guided you toward the kitchen, the noise of the chefs growing with each step. When you got closer, he dropped his hand, and for a moment, you missed the feeling before it planted itself in the middle of your back, his fingers slightly gripping the small pudge of your sides.
“I was not aware you’d be attending this dinner,” he said close to your ear. “And I make it a priority of mine to make sure that I know exactly who is eating my food.”
Your shoulders hunched in on themselves. “I guess I was a last-minute surprise.” You shook your head. “Or maybe a last-minute disappointment. I wasn’t exactly the first choice to accompany the man at my table for tonight.”
He stopped you midway, allowing the heat and chaos to blend beautifully into your skin. “I’ve noticed you don’t seem too fond of my cooking.”
A bashful smile spread onto your face. “I’m sure it’s great, Chef, but . . .” you trailed, eyes lighting with the fire from the grill.
He shifted behind you, subtle enough to not show how much he was affected by the sound of Chef pushing through your lips. “But it’s not for you, is it?”
The softness and understanding almost surprised you. Your hair swayed softly as you shook your head in backwards agreement to his words.
“It’s not.” Your gaze lingered behind his shoulder at your table. “I thought maybe it could be if I tried hard enough.”
“That’s the thing about food,” he started. “You shouldn’t have to try to like it. Food is so moldable like that. We make it into something that we know we’ll like. When force-fed, it becomes rotten and sour on the palate.” He leaned over and ran a fingertip through an off-white sauce before presenting it close to your mouth. “Try for me?”
Your body tensed under the command, but you couldn’t help but follow his words, tongue peeking out to run hotly across his finger. Your eyes widened at the perfect blend of salt and tang and cream.
“Oh,” you breathed.
His smile widened. “Is that more to your liking?”
“Yes. I think that’s the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.” A heat bloomed across your face as your mind caught up with what you just said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he responded, reassuring you with two large hands on your shoulders. “I’m glad I’m capable of making something you’d actually enjoy.”
“I knew you were more than capable,” you softly said, your looks melting into one of embarrassment. “It was my fault; I apologize for being so picky.”
Short tsk, tsk, tsk clicked against his cheek while he shook his head. “Please. You’re hardly the pickiest eater I’ve had the pleasure of serving in my restaurant.” His eye caught something behind your shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, darling, the next course is about to be served. Will you please make your way back to your table?”
You fought the pout that tried to make its way onto your face and simply nodded. “Yes, Chef.”
His eyes stayed trained on your figure the entire walk back to the corner table where Tyler looked a mix between rage and burning jealousy. Once you were seated, his greasy hands splayed across the table cloth as he leaned forward.
“What the fuck was that?” he spat. “Is this some sort of ploy to embarrass me? You’re such a bitch, you know that? You can’t eat his food, but you can give him bedroom eyes? How pathetic—”
An echoing clap cut him off, and all eyes in the room turned toward Chef Abbot, who stood tall before his kitchen.
“Let’s begin our next course, shall we?”
___________________________
Jack couldn’t quite hold back the smile that spanned across his face when he looked right at the pig sitting across from you—the diner who had managed to sneak her way onto the island. He clearly had a list of just a few, simple rules, and somehow Tyler fucking Ledford had broken all of them.
The first had been inviting you instead of his first choice; Jack wasn’t ever keen on changing his guest list up. The second had been taking his phone out during each course in the most non-discrete way known to man; he hadn’t even been smart enough to turn the damn shutter sound off. And the third had been the way he belittled you when nothing Jack made tickled your fancy; the customer was always right.
Tyler had been running ramped for far too long, so Jack, in all his spare time (which was none) walked right over and didn’t even spare him an eye.
And oh how much more beautiful you were up close; he could hardly contain himself. His mind raced with ideas of what he wanted to do with you, all ranging from making you the best meal you’d ever tasted to laying you across the table and taking you right then and there.
Instead, he had to be smart.
Jack offered you his hand, which you took almost immediately, yours slightly smaller and fitting so well in his palm. Unconsciously, his fingers tightened around yours while you stood, and he had to fight back the biggest smirk when Tyler’s jaw dropped. As long as Jack was breathing and acting as head chef, that pig wouldn’t get an ounce of his good graces. To throw oil into the flame, he guided you by the waist right into his kitchen knowing he shouldn’t be toying you at all since he planned to kill everyone in the room by the end of the night.
But the way you leaned into him, the way your dress hugged your figure, the way your cheeks heated under his gaze made him yearn for you the way all chefs yearned for their best recipe.
And he just had to go and let you lick sauce right off his finger like he was in his own personal kitchen at home. A moan had threatened to rumble through his chest at the fleeting warm and hot feeling around his digit, and Jack tried to rid himself of the thoughts of his fingers in other places that belonged to your body.
However, nothing would touch the feeling of the way your eyes lit up when you finally enjoyed something he had made. You were teachable; you just needed the right chef to open your eyes to a whole new world of flavors and textures. Jack would make sure it’d be him to do so. He almost hated the way he had to send you back to that table like he was banishing you to the edge of his kingdom.
Yet, good things come to those who wait.
This time, he couldn’t help the shiver that wracked his body as all eyes turned toward him even if he was only looking towards you. His hands firmly clasped together near his front.
“Guests, so far tonight, you’ve taken a culinary journey through our island through each course I have prepared for you tonight. However, for this next course, I want to switch things up a bit.”
Everyone seemed to shift at his words. Jack Abbot did not just switch things up. Never once since North & Vine opened did he ever stray from his two-Michelin star menu. Top chefs kept everything the same so that the customers got the consistency they deserved. But tonight, his customers did not deserve his consistency, did not deserve Jack at his best. His hazel gaze shifted to Tyler.
“I keep tabs on all my customers because as much as you all know about me, I wanted to know about you.” He took a small step forward. “Mr. Ledford.”
Tyler looked pathetically like one of those stupid crusty, white purse dogs that old women loved to fawn over as he perked up at the sound of his name.
Another step. “I’ve been following your page, your ratings, your own recipes you like to flaunt all over your social media.”
The man looked close to wetting himself out of excitement when he stood. “Chef Abbot, you don’t know how much that—”
“So,” Jack interrupted, “tonight you will cook for us, since in your last post you boasted that you could recreate my famous pommes purée. Because according to you, no one can . . . fuck up simple mashed potatoes.”
Jack’s chest puffed when his ears caught the small sound of a giggle from your direction when Tyler froze in his spot. Jack looked over his shoulder at his staff.
“Come. We even have a coat for you.”
Begrudgingly, Tyler shuffled across the way until he stopped near the front of the kitchen. Jack didn’t turn his way, instead staying facing his guests.
“Please.” He opened his arms, hands widespread. “Join us in the kitchen so we can watch this bright, young talent follow his dream.”
The scrapes of chairs against the floor were music to his ears, because Tyler was now just moments away from utter humiliation, his punishment for breaking each and every one of his rules. Jack wetted his lips as you seemed to be extremely eager to be the first to get close. Your heat had him inching closer, wishing his bare arm could press against your open skin. The dress that dripped from your body had him itching to tear it off.
Patience.
It was time to revel in the way Tyler was about to make himself a fool.
Jack let his sly smile slide right onto his face each time the man burnt his hand on a stove before quickly giving him faux pouts and an overly saccharined tone that held zero ounces of actual concern. His chefs, on the other hand, couldn’t hide their disgust when Tyler burnt the butter or all but beat the potatoes instead of gently folding them through. Even you seemed to know better.
“It’s the motion supposed to be folding and clockwise?” you whispered, lips dangerously close to his face.
Goosebumps raced across Jack’s arms at the feeling of your hot breath against his hear. His eyes stayed forward, face not moving an inch, when he responded just as quietly.
“You know my method.” He hadn’t plated it as a question.
You shied again under his shadow. “I watch your “Yes, Chef” on Food Network when I’m bored. Clearly someone lied about doing that too.”
“How much has he lied about?”
Your chin jutted out. “His photos are either stock images, or he pays people to get him pictures if he can’t get into a restaurant.” You crossed your arms. “I do most of the cooking when we’re together. He burned pasta the other week.”
Something surged deep in his chest at your blatant honesty and willingness to spill everything about the fraud you were supposedly seeing. Jack wanted—no—needed him gone. He stepped half an inch closer to you, finally letting his skin brush against yours. It delighted him to feel the small response that your body gave him.
He wanted to reply, wanted to feel your words against his chin, but the loud, unceremonious clatter of a plate against the steel counters had everyone flinching and drawing their attention back to the horrible mess that was happening before them.
Jack raised an unimpressed eyebrow while Tyler acted like he himself was about to earn a Michelin star. Jack’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding down on each other at the thought of putting a small bite of that burnt mess into his mouth. No one could make him do that either, so, he took one look at the slop and leaned in.
“Everyone,” he announced, “come look at what Tyler has made for us.” His spine straightened, back stretching the white shirt he wore beneath his apron. “Come see this absolutely pathetic attempt at what he has deemed simple mashed potatoes.”
Tyler deflated visibly with splotchy red cheeks and tears lining his already droopy eyes. Jack didn’t hide his smile this time. He slowly stalked toward the man and leaned in close, lips barely an inch away from his face.
His tone was low and dangerous as he whispered. “You came into my restaurant with pants too big for your wretched ass. You broke my rules, you insulted your woman in my presence—” Jack didn’t dare to let his eyes drifted over to where you were watching. “You are a sorry waste of space. Why don’t you do us all a favor and use that bucket in the closet wisely.”
A loud sniffle whistled through Tyler’s nose. He didn’t nod, didn’t make a big deal about it. All he did was step back, shed the white coat from his shoulders and leave the small area, seemingly heading toward the men’s room.
Jack turned back toward his guests. “You may all return to your seats for the next course.”
However, when they all turned to move, Jack gently reached out and tugged you back into him. Your breath hitched at the movement, only returning to a semi-normal pace once you were settled into his side.
“Is something the matter, Chef?” you asked.
Jack shook his head. “I seem to have misplaced an ingredient I need for dessert, and I was wondering if you’d be so kind to go get it for me?”
Normally, you wouldn’t have been so eager to please, but with the way Jack was looking down at you with heat and season in his eyes, you couldn’t help but nod with wide, wanting eyes.
“I’d be honored.”
His lips stretched into a grin. “Good girl. What I need is the bottle of vanilla that I keep in my cabin—you know the one?”
You gave him another nod.
“It should be in my pantry; middle shelf,” he listed. “The door is unlocked.”
“Pantry; middle shelf,” you repeated, and the verbal confirmation made Jack’s soul sing.
He was going to love every second of devouring you. His hand lightly tapped your behind as he shifted past you. “Get to it, darling.”
Jack let his eyes trail your back while you walked away, his tongue running along his bottom lip before sinking his teeth into the plush flesh. The only way he stopped looking at you was when you slipped out of the door and out of sight.
With a heavy and almost relieved sigh, Jack turned back towards his diners and clapped loudly once again. All eyes turned his way, and an unexplainable pleasurable feeling bloomed in his chest.
“Let’s continue with our final course: dessert.”
___________________________
Your kitten heels clicked softly against the concrete path, casting a small echo in the vast forest. You kept your arms wrapped around your middle as a chill hugged your bare skin. Each step further into the trees had your heart skipping beats. Whether it was the unnerving want to obey Jack’s instructions or the feeling of being so exposed with no one around, you weren’t sure what you were feeling during your walk while your stomach flipped.
The cold had you missing Jack’s heat even if you had barely brushed against him. His warm palms and sturdy mass had you wanting more, had you dreaming of what it’d be like to belong to him. Surely, he’d never let you go hungry. Surely, he’d speak kind words. Surely, he’d never make you doubt his intentions.
You’d been so lost in your head, glimpses of Jack’s hands dragging along your body, that you almost missed the small cabin you’d seen hours earlier on the tour. The structure reminded you of something out of a horror film. Nothing gave a good plot like a lonely woman coming across an empty cabin in the woods. However, even with the frightening feeling, you continued on, hand reaching out to open the door when you got close enough.
You expected the hinges to creak under your push, but it seemed like Jack didn’t just take care of his kitchen; he seemed to take care of what he was given by the looks of the well decorated interior. A lamp in the corner had been left on, allowing the living room to bathe in yellow light. A rug silenced your steps as you walked through and straight to the kitchen where the pantry wasn’t hard to find at all.
When the pantry door opened, you were hit with a warm aroma of spices and herbs. Bundles of dried leaves hung from the ceiling while neat containers filled with various grains and powders lined each shelf. And right where Jack said it’d be, the middle shelf was lined with clear bottles topped off with vanilla beans suspended in ambery liquid. Your weight shifted onto your toes as you reached up, fingers curling firmly around the closest bottle before holding it to your chest.
Since the job had been done, you took your time walking through Jack’s house, only stopping once to look at the singular framed picture hanging on the wall. You smiled when you realized that the young, auburn-haired man in the photo was none other than Jack. He held an award at his front and was surrounded by a few people. What you couldn’t look away from was a smile that seemed so much more genuine than the ones he gave to cameras for magazine photos. This smile was filled with crooked teeth and paired with squinted eyes. You even allowed yourself to gently trace a finger down his face.
You could have stayed there all night, but the soft chime of a clock down the hall had you jolting. With the vanilla still closely clutched to your front, you swiftly left the cabin with the door clicking behind you. This time, the trip went by faster with your heels clicking in a speedier pattern. Soon, the restaurant came back into view, and a surge of anticipation raced through your body, causing your heart to flutter. The thought of possibly getting to see Tyler after getting humiliating had you skipping a few steps on the way up.
However, when you opened the door, you paused at the sight of a completely, empty restaurant. Your eyes trailed the empty tables and chairs, mind struggling to come up with any logical explanation for why everyone must have left. You took another step in and let the door close behind you with a loud thud. You didn’t stop walking until you got to the middle of the floor. Twisting, you tried to find at least one person, yet, the whole place remained strangely dead and quiet.
That was until you heard a small shift in the kitchen.
Your eyes immediately caught the origin of the noise. Jack was standing there, back leaned against the stainless steel of the prep table island, arms crossed over his broad chest. His apron was gone, leaving him in his crisp white shirt and dress pants. You drank in the sight before your eyes shifted behind him.
Scanning the open space of the kitchen and dining room, you found his missing apron, the article of clothing hanging from a hook over Jack’s left shoulder. Something dark was splashed across it, staining the tan leather. You didn’t dare allow yourself to imagine what it was.
“Where is everyone?” You took a few tentative steps forward, stopping just before the single step that led up into the kitchen. “Where did everyone go? Where’s Tyler?”
Jack’s eyebrow quirked as he looked down at you, now only five feet away. He looked almost disapproving of your choice of questions. Your stomach twisted into a knot. You weren’t exactly sure why his disappointment gave you such a visceral reaction, but you didn’t want to feel it again.
“Is that really your first concern?”
His arms uncrossed, hands settling on the reflective counter behind him. Your eyes greedily tracked the flexing of his forearms when he shifted. The muscles moved tantalizingly under that warm skin that you just wanted to reach out and touch.
“I—” Your jaw snapped shut.
Honestly, you weren’t really sure what else you should be focused on at this moment, standing in the eerily deserted space that had only minutes before been filled with your fellow diners and the veritable army of staff.
“Give me the vanilla, darling,” he ordered with his hand reached out, palm open and waiting for the bottle still clutched in your hands.
You eagerly complied, feet rushing up the step until you were face to face with him. Gingerly, you placed the bottle in his hand. It was difficult not to let your mind wander to how his fingers dwarfed the jar, wrapping around it in a way that your own small hands hadn’t been able to.
A smirk quirked at his lips. “Good girl.”
The warmth that shot through you from head to toe at Jack’s words of endearment was almost pathetic. Just two words had you preening at the slightest bit of praise from this man, ready to roll over and present him your belly like a loyal dog.
His torso twisted as he placed the vanilla down before straightening when he looked back at you with a hungry blaze in his eyes.
“Are you ready for dessert?” he asked while pushing off the counter to close the already miniscule space between you.
“Yeah,” you replied, all soft and breathy, eyes locked on his.
One of those big, capable hands settled on your waist and gently maneuvered you until you’d taken his place with your back against the cold steel and your thin dress acting as the only thing to protect you from its chill.
“Up.”
His command had you rushing to comply, palms pressing into the metal and lifting yourself up and onto the table. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you wondered if sitting on the workstation broke a few health codes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as Jack crowded into your space. His hips found their place between your open thighs, legs spreading them wide to accommodate himself.
“Do you know what the worst part about being a chef is, honey?” he muttered.
All the air left your lungs as he bent down, his head nosing at the sensitive skin of your neck. Goosebumps broke out across your body as his breath ghosted over your pulse.
When you didn’t respond, his hands gripped the pudge of your thighs hard enough to bruise.
“Answer me.”
Jack tugged your hips closer to the edge, allowing the hardness hidden by his jeans brush between your legs. You melted at the feeling.
“I-I don’t know,” you finally answered, eyes fluttering and lids threatening to close as the anticipation of what he was about to do to you burned through you.
“My food always smells so good,” he continued. His hands were hiking your dress up now, fingers pushing the flimsy fabric up your thighs. Once the fabric bunched to his liking, he dragged his nails lightly over the bare skin as he went, only stopping when the silky skirt was pooled around your waist, your entire legs bared to him. “And I get so hungry, but sadly there's never any time for me to eat.”
A breathy whimper fell from your lips as his tongue darted out to lick a stripe up your neck. He blew against the wet spot, and a delicious shiver wracked down your body. The cold air of the restaurant stiffened your nipples until you were sure they were visibly poking through your dress.
“Jack—” You shifted forward, body aching for more.
“Uh-uh, that’s not my name, pretty girl,” he corrected with his face was directly before yours, lips almost touching as his hand slid halfway into your hair. “In my kitchen, you call me Chef or Sir. Do you understand?”
You nodded frantically, eyes wide and staring up at him.
“Use your words like a big girl.” His hand tightened fractionally, lightly pulling at the roots of your hair to keep your head still.
A thick gulp of saliva slid down your throat. “Yes, Chef.”
“That’s my sweet girl.”
His lips finally met yours in a gentle almost teasing way. The kiss was chaste, entirely too soft and modest for the position you had found yourself in. It was nothing more than the careful brush of his lips against yours, yet, his grip in your hair and the commanding aura he exuded kept you from pushing for more.
“Now,” he said after parting from you. His hand still on your waist dropped to the top of your thigh. “Since I am utterly famished, are you gonna let me eat my fill?”
Your mind was working at maybe a quarter of its usual capacity. You weren’t sure exactly what he was asking of you, but you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his disappointed glare again. Not to mention, you were pretty sure you’d do anything this man asked of you. Even the briefest touches of his skin against yours had you ready and leaking.
“Yes, Chef.”
“Good girl.”
Jack pulled back, his hands leaving your body as he kneeled before the table. Your brain finally caught up to just exactly what he was planning when his hands found the hem of your most certainly ruined panties.
“Wait, Jack—”
His eyes were hard and dark as he looked up from where he sat. You swallowed hard, realizing your mistake.
“Sir—”
He was slowly growing tired of being kept from his meal. “What’s the matter? You gonna make me go hungry?”
His head titled, and his soft curls tickled against the soft, plush skin of your inner thighs.
You shook your head as an embarrassed burn grew across your face. “That’s—Tyler never—I haven’t—”
Jack’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Tyler, glancing between your soaked underwear and your face. Bringing up your waste of space boyfriend at this moment probably wasn’t a wise move, but your mouth had worked before your brain.
“What about him?”
Your whole body jolted against the table after Jack’s index finger ran over the lace of your underwear, brushing a feather light touch against where you needed him the most.
“H-he wouldn’t—if I didn’t—”
It was impossible to get the words to come out in a coherent sentence when his finger wouldn’t stop applying that maddeningly soft touch. He kept it just enough to have you wanting and needy, but nowhere near to supply any real, substantial pleasure.
“C’mon, pretty girl,” Jack encouraged. “You can do it. Tell Chef what that piece of shit did that’s stopping me from enjoying the best meal of my life.”
“H-he wouldn’t go down on me,” your voice trembled, and the sound had Jack mercifully stopped his teasing.
The tip of his finger settled right over your clit, though, lightly touching the bundle of nerves through the soaked fabric.
Your eyes slipped shut, forcing the words out and trying desperately not to focus on the barely-there sensation. “If I didn’t shave. He s-said it was dirty, and it would ruin his palate, and I didn’t shave this morning—”
Jack’s grip on your hips tightened. “Hey, look at me.”
Your eyes peaked open, meeting his. His pupils were blown wide, nearly swallowing the hazel iris that danced with shades of green and gold. He was impossible to look away from.
“I’m not him, and you need to forget about him. I want you, exactly as you are.”
His hands once again trailed down to the waistband of your panties, and this time you didn’t stop him. Lifting your hips slightly, you let him pull down the ruined scrap of lace, face heating even further when he pushed it into his back pocket.
“And don’t worry; my palate is a lot more refined, sweetheart.”
You let Jack move you to his liking. He tugged you closer, until your ass was nearly hanging off the table. Then both of your legs were lifted with your thighs settling over his shoulders as he leaned in.
The first touch of his tongue was tentative and exploring. He traced it through your folds almost reverently, all the while humming in satisfaction at the taste. But—much to your chagrin—he avoided your clit, choosing instead to lap up as much of your wetness as possible.
“Sir, please,” you whined, dragging the last syllable out in a high pitch. Your right hand slipped through his curls while the left extended behind you, bracing against the table to hold you up. “Fuck, I need more.”
“Yeah? S’that not enough for you?” he slurred, face staying buried against your cunt. His fingers came back and stroked downward over your entrance. Slowly, one pushed inside, sliding in down to the knuckle and curling upward. The pad of his finger pressed against the sweet, spongy spot inside that had your hips jerking against his hold on you. Quickly, a second joined the first, both of them incessantly pushing against you. “How’s that, sweet girl? Does that feel good?”
“Yes, yes, please!” Your eyes were fluttering closed again while your hips rocked mindlessly as they chased the high that the pleasure he brought you promised. Already, you started shaking against him, thighs clenching shut around his head.
“Fuck, you taste so good.” His tongue flattened and licked from where his fingers were working right up to where you really needed his mouth. “Can’t believe that manchild tasted this and still treated you like that. Fuck, I’m never letting you go.”
You didn’t have very long to unpack his statement before his lips were closing over your clit. His tongue traced tight, quick circles over the bud while he sucked and kissed.
It wasn’t long before his fingers, his lips, his tongue, all of it was throwing you towards a cliff: one that you feared you might not make it back from.
But you couldn’t fight—didn’t want to fight that rising tension, that rubber band of pleasure that was growing incredibly close to snapping. Your hips continued to rock against his face. You moans echoed out across the deserted dining room and mixed with the filthy wet noises and groans coming from between your legs.
If Jack could tell you were almost there, he gave no indication. He did not speed up or change his tempo at all and instead kept his fingers and tongue steady and consistent.
“Oh-oh!” your voice broke as the climax crashed through you. It ripped ragged, gasping moans from your mouth, every muscle in your body contracting, your walls pulsing around his fingers. Your eyes pinched closed while your arms tried to keep yourself upright as the pleasure tore through your every cell.
Each wave crashed over you, unceasing as Jack kept up that same pace. He didn’t stop, even when your hand scrambled at his head and words begging and whining when the sensations teetered on the edge of too much.
“One more,” Jack growled out, husky and demanding and spoken into you with his mouth a fraction of an inch off of you before he went right back at it.
“No, no I can’t, sir, please!”
Your cries fell on deaf ears.
The biggest waves had died out, dissipating as the orgasm steadily ran its course, but the aftershocks wracking your body were still jerking through you at random intervals. Combined with the way that Jack still has not stopped his ministrations, you were quickly becoming a mess.
Your hand that had kept your upright gave out, leaving you to fall flat on your back against the metal surface. The shock of the cold caused your back to arch, pushing your hips even further into his grasp while he built you up again.
Embarrassingly fast, you were back on the edge again and nearly there as Jack just stayed steadfast and methodical, never deviating from the rhythm he’d honed. He handled your body like he’s known you for years, not hours.
You were pretty sure you were crying, but you were already so lost in the sensations of him that you couldn’t even tell if the wetness on your face was tears, sweat, or drool. All you knew was that this man, this strange, magnetic chef, was tearing you apart and building you back up again.
The second orgasm hit just as quick, if not quicker. Your vision grew black for a nanosecond before your hips jerked and twisted, body trying to simultaneously get away from his hot tongue while also getting more of the feelings he’d thrust upon you. The orgasm burned through you, visceral and violent in a way the first hadn’t been. It felt like every nerve in your body had been set alight with searing hot pleasure.
Your legs shook, and your arms were too weak to lift yourself back up. All you can do was lie there and try to learn how to breathe again. Finally, Jack came back up for air. However, you didn’t have long to recover before he pulled you up and crashed his lips against yours.
“Taste so fucking good,” he muttered the words into your mouth, letting you swallow them, along with the taste of yourself still on his tongue. He felt filthy and so fucking hot. “Gonna let me fuck you now, honey?”
You nodded before you could second guess yourself, already craving even more of him.
Jack pulled his white t-shirt over his head, and for just a second, your eyes tracked a spot of something dried and red that crusted on the hem. You didn’t have long to consider it, though, because his hands were yanking your dress up and over your head, leaving you completely naked before him.
“Move back,” he directed you, large hands guiding you to scoot further up the empty table until you were laid out fully on the surface.
The table was longer than you were tall, and it stretched almost the length of the kitchen like some kind of altar. And here, laying on the same space that his team had worked on just hours before, you felt like some sort of offering. To what entity though, you weren’t entirely sure. All you knew was that Jack wasn’t going to stop until you’d been thoroughly fucked and spent.
The predatory hunger in his eyes as he stripped off his jeans and boxers in one go, now baring himself completely to you, reignited your own hunger. The length of his body was beautifully tanned and freckled with soft edges curving around hard-earned muscle.
His cock was nothing to scoff at, either and definitely more than double the size of Tyler’s (although that wasn’t saying very much). He was fully hard, tip resting against his lower abdomen, shining with precum in the low lighting of the kitchen.
Jack’s movements were steady and sure as he climbed onto the table, nudging apart your knees again to make room for himself while he hovered over you. His weight settled onto you in a mouthwatering way. He held back just enough to not crush you but to instead allow you to feel every inch of his body against yours. Your legs bent at the knees and curled around his lower back to anchor him in place.
“If I fuck you,” he breathed, his head dropping down to let his breath fan over your cheek, then lower still until he was laying soft, brushing kisses against your neck. “You’re mine. Forever. I’m not letting you go.”
Your breath hitched at his words. Forever was a long time, especially considering you barely knew him apart from magazines and your guilty pleasure cooking show. But in the time that you had, he’d shown more interest and care than any other man you’d been with. Your body was certainly screaming at you to give in and take everything he was willing to give.
So, before you could really consider the consequences, you agreed.
“Yes, sir, I’m yours.” Your legs tightened around him, dragging the thick length of him through your dripping folds. “Please, fuck me. I’ll leave Tyler; I’ll be yours.”
He chuckled darkly as he guided the head of his cock to your entrance. He pressed in slowly, and you could feel everything. Each and every centimeter of his length felt like it was splitting you apart, right down the middle.
For once, Jack took his time, letting you get used to the heat and weight of him with his bare skin on yours as he pushed deeper than anyone had ever been inside of you. When his hips were finally flush with yours, you felt impossibly full. His head settled just below your cervix, and every tiny rock of his hips grazed your sensitive depths. One of his hands gently brushed a stray piece of hair away from your face before settling on your cheek.
“You don’t have to leave Tyler, pretty girl.” Jack looked immensely satisfied, his hips pulling back slowly as he braced his forearms beside your head. He laughed again at your confused expression until it melted off your face as he drove back into you, hard. “He’s already been taken care of.”
“Jack, what—”
In the mix of pleasure and confusion, you’d forgotten the honorifics he’d demanded, and he punished you with a hard thrust in, his hips jolting your body up the rapidly warming metal and punching a whine deep out of your throat.
“Don’t forget your manners like he did, sweetheart,” he tutted as his pace settled into lazy, grinding thrusts that had your head spinning even more than the brutal ones had.
“S-sir,” you sputtered, though your mind was still focused on figuring out exactly what had happened to your now ex-boyfriend. “What did you—fuck—what did you do to him?”
“I didn’t do anything but give him a little motivation.” Jack’s hand grasped your jaw before forcing your head towards the closed pantry door, just off to the left. His tongue darted out to trace over the shell of your ear. “He made the choice to . . . remove himself from the equation.”
“O-oh fuck, he’s-he’s dead?”
Your eyes were wide as Jack finally turned your face back towards his. You desperately tried to scour his face, searching for any sign he might be messing with you. But with half-lidded eyes filled to the brim with pleasure, and your mind struggling to come up with a good reason to be saddened over Tyler’s apparent suicide, the need for an explanation swiftly melted from your body.
“Want to know a secret?” Jack asked as he hovered over you, eyes dragging down your face. He leaned back in close enough that his hot breath wafted over your face. A smirk stretched across his face while he spoke. “They all are.”
Your almost closed eyes shot back open, and your jaw dropped to gape up at him. Jack just continued smirking back at you, his mouth dropping onto yours as his hips picked up the pace, tongue twisting around yours between your teeth.
You let him kiss you, offering no resistance even as his words replayed in your mind. The way he’d said it made it sound like he had killed them. All the guests, maybe even his own staff. But the more you thought about it, the more you found out that you simply didn’t care. You didn’t know those people, so, why should you care if they were dead?
You had known Tyler, but he was a piece of shit, and no part of you wanted to grieve him.
“All of them?” you whispered before licking your tongue across his lips.
Jack grunted into your mouth, pulling back just enough to break the kiss. “All of them. You and I are the only living humans on this island.”
“Oh fuck.” Your back arched into him as he struck a particularly sensitive spot inside you. The perverse, dark little part of your brain also blamed your reaction on his confession. Sure, it didn’t necessarily bother you that he’d killed them, but you weren’t ready to admit it might have even excited you. “W-why?”
“Why, what?” Jack moved faster now, his polished demeanor falling away as he began to chase his own climax.
“Why did you—oh shit, right there, please! I—” You were interrupted by Jack pulling one of your legs from around his hip, sliding it up and over his shoulder to pin you wide open beneath him.
“Why did I kill them?” he provided between the swing of his hips.
You nodded frantically as your head fell back against the table. You were writhing against the surface, on the fast track for your third orgasm of the night.
Jack laughed breathlessly; his hand that wasn’t braced on the table moved between your legs to find your clit. “You really want to know?”
“Yes!”
You were meeting his thrusts against him now, the pressure and friction almost too much for you to handle.
“I didn’t like them.” Jack’s teeth grit together as he pushed the words out, but you got the sense that had more to do with the exertion of his own approaching climax. “Some of them were rude, some of them fucked me over once or twice,” he panted, hips pounding into yours, clearly chasing his own ending, and yours in the process.
You were right there, almost ready to snap once again.
He continued despite his slipping restraint. “Some of them were—oh fuck—fucking annoying, and all of them, especially your p-precious little boyfriend,” his voice dripped with venom as he brought up Tyler, “were too fucking self-absorbed to appreciate the beauty right in front of them.”
With that, you came, the sensation less intense than your second, but still powerful enough to have you gasping for air, mind going blank as the heat of it flowed through your veins with the initial wave. You came snapping back, air filling your lungs as your body pulsed around Jack. Each rhythmic clench of your walls sent sparks flying up your spine and your legs jerking and twitching.
Jack finished soon after, his hips finally losing all rhythm. His whole body went still for a moment, before he was pressing as deep as he could, spilling into you and falling down with a hand splaying near your shoulder, just barely holding up his weight to avoid crushing you entirely, but he still had you bent nearly in half underneath him, leg still slotted over his shoulder.
His lips found yours, the kiss slower and sloppier than before as you both panted and moaned through the radiating pleasure. You stayed that way as you came down. The kiss slowly grew more coherent, less panting and licking to more lips and tongues dancing. If he didn’t just fuck you three ways till Sunday after murdering a handful of people, it could have been almost romantic.
He gripped your hips firmly when he pulled out, the both of you lightly hissing at the feeling of parting. Your chest heaved while he quickly pulled his pants back on before helping you sit up, his hands finding the sides of your hips like they were magnets. Without much want to do anything, you draped your arms across his shoulders, fingers finding the small curls at the base of his neck. Jack reveled in the feeling of your bare skin against his naked chest. He gently brushed a hand across your forehead.
“Did you enjoy your meal, Chef?” you asked with a sly smile. “Was it to your liking?”
Jack shook his head and chuckled. “It was fucking delicious, sweetheart. But—” He leaned in and pressed another chaste kiss to your lips. “I think I didn’t get enough to satisfy my hunger.”
You pouted playfully before biting your lip. “Well, we can’t have Chef Abbot go hungry; can we?”
His right hand slid from your waist and splayed between your breasts. “Lie back down, sweet girl. Let Chef have his second course.”
I just read your Andrew with reader who is a student doctor and get this. Reader and Andrew are husband and wife and it's her first day at the Pitt so why is there a man who looks exactly like her husband ( and they are not related ) ..
Seeing double
tags: andrew "pope" cody x ms4!reader, implied age-gap relationship (late 20s reader/early 40s andrew), jack abbot is there and confused, even more confused reader, quiet and awkward andrew, stare-y reader, medical inaccuracies, the pitt chaos, robby robinavitch (always), season 1 the pitt, pittfest, reader's nickname is slugger (explained in fic), 18+ MDNI
notes: thank you @nocturnalrosey for requesting! I hope I did this piece just how you wanted it to go! I love getting to add pieces to my doppleganger collection so keep the requests coming! if you'd like to join my permanent master list, please comment here! enjoy!
word count: 3.5k
To say you were nervous for your first day at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was an understatement. As you waited for your shift to start, you couldn’t stop rocking on your heels with your hands held behind your back, fingers twisting at your wedding ring, as you waited near the nurses’ station promptly at 6:55 am.
The ED bustled around the small, eager and probably equally nervous group that you were a part of. To your left, a brunette woman and a blond man held similar poses while a raven-haired, dark-skinned girl took the place next to your right, looking almost too young to be there. The urge to introduce yourself to the other three was swiftly put on hold when a rather tall, sad-looking man, probably your new attending, Dr. Robby, approached while talking to what you would call already-veteran doctors.
“Alright folks, listen up,” Robby announced before stopping. “As you can see, we have some new faces this morning. Starting with second-year resident Doctor Melissa King, fresh from the V.A.”
The happy-looking blond woman next to him smiled and slightly waved her hands. “Everybody calls me Mel. I’m super happy to be here.”
He nodded sat her before looking at your group. “And one new intern, three med students.”
You pursed your lips, waiting for him to start the introductions, but apparently it seemed like he had other ideas. He crossed his arms and continued to stare expectantly.
“This is where you introduce yourselves.”
Again, none of you spoke until the brunette to your left spoke up. “Trinity Santos. Intern.”
The raven-haired girl went next. “Victoria Javadi, M.S. Three.”
Then the blond. “Dennis Whitaker, M.S. Four.”
And that left you to finish out the group, finger still spinning your ring with nervousness. “Y/n Cody. Also M.S. Four.”
A redheaded woman with a fringe leaned over to a brunet male. “Would you look at that rock,” she whispered, but her voice carried enough that you were able to hear it.
You bashfully put your hands behind your back again. It wasn’t like you weren’t proud to be married, but the unwanted attention had you shrinking into yourself. Thankfully though, their eyes shifted away from you when a bleach blond older woman joined the group. Robby gestured toward her.
“For you new people, this is the most important person you’re going to meet today. Dana is our Charge Nurse; she is the ring linger of this circus. Do what she says, when she says it. Now, as you can see, the house is always packed.”
Your eyes drifted from the attending to look around. However, because of the motion, you weren’t able to get a good look at the person who spoke next.
“The ER is the gift that keeps on giving.”
Robby’s voice filled your ears again. “Most of our department is clogged up with boarders. Those are the admitted patients waiting for a room upstairs, sometimes for days. Beds are a precious commodity, so be quick and efficient with your workups. Half of your cases will be discharged from chairs. And while we treat the sicker patients back here, keep an eye on the waiting room to be sure no one’s about to die out there.” He turned to Dana. “Ready to rock and roll?”
Dana smiled. “To quote Wu-Tang, Bring the mother fuckin’ ruckus.”
Robby turned to the residents, and you finally turned your eyes back to him.
“Senior residents got sign outs?” he asked.
Two of them—the brunet man and a dark-skinned woman—nodded, their hands both holding tablets.
“Alright, let’s do this,” Robby said before turning away, already moving further into the department.
He quickly began to integrate your group into their daily routine. First stop was an exhausted-looking mother holding an even louder and exhausted-sounding baby. You kept quiet while they worked, wanting to more take in everything instead of jumping the gun and calling the wrong diagnoses. After Dana walked away to get some Nair for the baby’s hair tourniquet, Robby continued on, each of you following him like a lost duckling.
After the small moments of calm in the morning, the following hours ascended into madness. The first traumas had been a woman who’d been pushed down onto subway tracks and ended up with a degloved foot. The second adjacent trauma had been the man who’d tried to save her life.
During the procedure to reset the woman’s foot, you were unfortunate enough to be closest to Victoria, who had been looking sick since the wrapping came off. Not wanting her to hit the ground, you stepped into her freefall and stuck your arms under hers, keeping her semi-upright while she became dead weight.
Trinity looked over with a smirk. “Med students are playing dominos.”
“Just didn’t want her to hit her head,” you grunted, easing her down until she was flat on the ground. “That’d be too much paperwork that I absolutely do not want to deal with on the first day.”
An echo of “preach” followed your statement.
“You’re certainly a good catch, slugger,” Trinity quipped. “Ever think about playing for the Pirates? I’ve heard their outfield has been struggling this season.”
You shook your head and flashed her a sarcastic smile. “Sadly, I think my hand eye coordination is better for catching my peers instead of balls flying at 90 miles an hour. And I really don’t think my husband would been too keen on me switching careers this fast after one day.”
You knew she wanted to say something back, maybe ask a question or throw another snarky remark, but you were quickly called away to help another resident.
By noon, your brain was quickly getting overwhelmed with the sheer number of patients in the halls and the number still waiting to be seen. Thankfully, charting gave you a small moment to catch your breath, the tying quickly getting your mind off the panic that’d been building for a small while. While you sat there, you wished your phone would buzz even though you knew you wouldn’t.
Andrew was out for the day, and that normally meant you wouldn’t see him until you got home after shift. But that was fine; you really didn’t need any distractions on your first day, mind too focused on making a good enough impression that they might consider you for residency after you graduated.
The thought had you sighing, which somehow caught the attention of Dana just behind you.
“Why the loud sigh, hun?” she asked, coming into your line of sight. “Shift treating you that bad already?”
You winced, smile slightly slanted as you met her gray eyes. “It is bad I’m already ready for it to be over?”
She smiled sympathetically. “Welcome to emergency medicine. This is how it’ll probably be for the rest of your time here.”
“Should have gone into cosmetology then,” you joked. “Maybe the assholes there would be different than the assholes here.”
“Ha!” Dana barked, hand coming down gently on your shoulder. “I like you, kid.” She turned back towards her board. “So, what’s your story. Why you here?” Her accented twang sounded lovely in your ears, comforting you in a way.
“My husband, actually. We needed a fresh start; Pittsburg seemed like a good enough place to do so. We just moved from California.”
She cocked her head. “Beaches not enticing enough for you to stay?”
“I’m more of a mountains girl,” you responded. “Plus, I didn’t pick here. My first thought would have been Kentucky. But the gloom here was enough to satiate me.”
“Well, we’re glad to have you here. The Pitt can’t be a teaching hospital without people to teach.”
You folded your hands on the desk. “I’m excited to learn.”
Apparently, that had her handing you a tablet. “Then Room 4 is all yours, slugger.”
A groan rumbled your chest as you stood. “Did Santos already blab about that?”
“News travels fast everywhere, but it travels even faster in a hospital.” She tuned back towards her board. “Better get to your patients. Robby’s available for when you need him or find Samira; she’s probably looking for someone to help.”
You looked down at the tablet. “Thank you, Dana.”
“Don’t mention it, hun. It’s my job.”
Your eyes trailed the tablet as you left the hub in search for your new attending or one of the senior residents. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for you to find Samira, the tablet still clutched to your front.
“Dr. Mohan?” you asked as you walked up to her. “Dana handed me the chart for Room 4, and I was wondering if I could tag along with you for it?”
“Samira is just fine.” Her deep brown eyes gleamed, matching her shining smile. “But sure! Mrs. Thompson is one of our regulars,” she began while walking in the direction of the room. “Her husband died a couple of months ago, and she has a history of OCD and hypochondria.”
You hummed. “So for her, do you normally listen and bring her down?”
“We at least try to. Sometimes we’ll give her plain saline but say it’s a medication so she believes she’s getting treatment.”
“Isn’t that lying though?” you asked with pinched brows.
Samira, in return, gave you an understanding look. “That’s just sometimes the best thing for her when she gets stuck inside her head.” She gave one knock on the door before entering with a large gin. “Hi, Mrs. Thompson. I’m Dr. Mohon, and we have one of our med students here if you’re comfortable with that.”
Mrs. Thompson was exactly how you imagined her: graying hair, wide and scared eyes that roamed the room, and nervous hands that rested on her skirted lap. You stayed next to the door just in case she asked for you to step out.
“No, that’s fine,” she answered, looking right at you.
“Thank you, ma’am,” you answered before pulling the privacy curtain shut.
You stayed close to Samira as she sat down on the edge of the bed. While she talked to Mrs. Thompson, you let your eyes roam while staying alert to any questions. However, once your eyes landed on the small side table, you noticed how the instruments weren’t that straight. Another thing you noticed was how Mrs. Thompson kept glancing towards them as well, and the twitch of her finger had you guessing that she too wanted to straighten them. Without saying anything, you shuffled quietly over and rearranged them from shortest to largest, also making sure that they were evenly spaced out while staying as straight as possible. When they were to your liking, you stepped back behind Samira in time to see Mrs. Thomspon take a large inhale, her shoulders relaxing just a bit more as she went over why she was in today.
It wasn’t until you left the room that Samira put a hand on your shoulder.
“What was with the instruments?” she asked. “
You took another glance back at the room. “You said Mrs. Thompson has a history of OCD, and she kept looking over at them. Her fingers would twitch each time she did. I thought I’d just go ahead and put them in order, thinking she might be able to focus more on what you were saying instead of overthinking about them.”
Samira cocked her head. “Oh; I didn’t think about that. Great catch then.”
“What did Slugger catch this time?” Trinity asked as she walked right up to the two of you, hands deep in her pockets, a wide smirk on her face. “Did your patient fall over this time?”
“Our patient was showing non-verbal signs of an OCD tick,” you replied. “I just wanted to make her more comfortable.”
“How’d you even know to look for stuff like that? Did you take a specific course in school?” Trinity asked.
You shook your head. “Not really. Uh, my husband has OCD, and if you live with someone for long enough, you pick up on the little things.”
Samira handed the tablet back to you. “Like I said, good catch. That was actually the smoothest conversation I’ve had with Mrs. Thompson before.”
“Glad I could help,” you said. “Should I give this back to Dana since she’ll be discharged soon?”
“That’d be great. I’ll find you when I get my next patient.”
“Common, Slugger. Let’s see if there’s any other fun patients to grab,” Trinity said while taking your wrist. “Maybe the next one you can show of your catching skills again.”
“Ha, ha.”
_______________________
The one rule you should have paid more attention to was that if everything seemed to go well in the ER, it wouldn’t stay that way for much longer. With only one hour left of your shift, Robby announced a Code Triage alter, and your stomach sunk so deep you feared it’d disappear into your feet.
“Okay, everybody listen up,” Robby yelled over the growing panic. “There is an active shooter at Pittfest. As the nearest trauma center, we are going to be getting the majority of the victims. We don’t know yet how many we are getting, but we are instituting hospital-wide emergency protocols. We need to move every patient out of here. They either go home, they go upstairs, or they go to Family Medicine. Call you loved ones now if you need to. I can guarantee your cell service will soon be overwhelmed. Eat something. Stay hydrated. Use the bathroom while there’s time and meet back here for a full briefing in five minutes.”
With that, you quickly turned away, hand already digging for your phone. Your heart clenched at the screen that indicated you still hadn’t received any notification from Andrew, but that didn’t stop you from pulling up his contact and pushing the call button. When his voicemail answered instead, you closed your eyes and sighed sadly.
“Hey, Andy. Um, listen, I’ll probably be home late tonight unless you want to come pick me up. There’s a shooter at that festival, and pretty much all hell’s about to break loose. If you try to call back, I probably won’t be able to answer. Just know I love you, and I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
You ended the call there, hoping and wishing the cell service would hold enough for it to go through. Your hands were already slightly shaking as you put your phone back into your pocket, also sliding off your rings so they wouldn’t get lost. However, the moment you looked up, you froze completely.
Because, for some odd reason, Andrew was currently talking to your attending like they’d known each other for years. You wanted to go up to him right then and there, but your feet kept you from doing so. Honestly, after a few moments, you were glad as it gave you enough time to figure out that, no, that man wasn’t Andrew at all. While they shared the same hazel eyes and muscular build, this man’s curls were salt-and-peppered where Andrew’s was still holding onto bits and parts of auburn. You also didn’t realize how long you were staring, brain desperately trying to separate Andrew and whoever this man was.
Across the way, Jack could feel a pair of eyes on him, and one quick look had him finding your wide and confused eyes.
“Brother, you hiring med students with staring problems now?” he asked with furrowed brows.
Robby turned around and also caught your surprised look. “Cody,” he called out, breaking you from staring at his friend. “Everything okay?”
You shook your head. “Sorry, Dr. Robby. I'm just trying to figure out if my husband has a twin he never knew about,” you nervously laughed, eyes finding the man's ID tag. “I didn't mean to stare for so long, Dr. Abbot.”
Jack waved a dismissive hand. "No trouble. You were just looking at me like you'd seen a ghost. And last I checked, I haven't died just yet."
That earned a small snort from your nose. "Thank goodness for that, yeah? However, I think if I see you and my husband in the same room, I might explode."
He smirked widely. "Well, we don't need that happening."
“Okay, party people, our first ambulance in on its way in, so let’s get moving,” Dana announced while walking right between the three of you. “Cody, go help Whitaker with the disaster bins.”
“On it.” You paused. “Again, sorry for staring, Dr. Abbot.” Without waiting for an answer, you turned away and began searching for your fellow M.S. 4, leaving the two attendings by themselves.
“So, do you think her husband really looks like me?” Jack questioned after a short moment while his eyes followed where you were walking away.
“Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing we’ve seen, brother.”
_______________________
By now, you were sweating more than a sinner in the middle of a Southern Baptist choir special. Blood dripped off your arms, your front, and onto your shoes. Everywhere you stepped squished with the thick liquid, and you knew you’d still smell the iron scent hours after you’d gone home. Thankfully, though, the worst was over, and like Dana announced, the Pitt would be opening back up soon to take in regular patients.
Trinity shoulder nudged you slightly while you leaned on an empty gurney. “That was fucking exhausting.”
“I can’t wait to get in my bed,” you replied with a groan.
“With your husband that looks just like Dr. Abbot, right?” she teased.
“Fucking fast traveling news.” You pushed yourself up, back protesting at the sudden change. “Hey, I need to go change, and I don't know if he's coming to pick me up or not. In the event that he does, if you happen to see him, can you let him know I'll be back soon?”
Trinity smiled and nodded. “Oh, I definitely will!”
"Thank you, Santos," you replied, hand coming up to cover a yawn as you walked away in the direction of the locker rooms.
Trinity turned and ripped the smock off and pushed in down into the nearest bin. Around her, the ED gave a large sigh of relief, and everyone slowed down for the first time in hours. As she waited by the nurses’ station, she watched a few regular patients start to trickle in, but one in particular caught her attention.
The man was tall and rocked a head of auburn curls that were just starting to gray near his ears. His hazel eyes were narrowed as he looked out of place in his civilian clothes in a sea of scrubs and gowns. Trinity noted the amount of freckles that spanned across his face, and for one tiny moment, she saw a vision of Jack Abbot in his face. Not even a breath later, it clicked that the man was probably one who put that rock on your finger.
Her lips stretched into a smile, and she itched to walk up to him and ask if he was your husband. However, Samira, still in the adrenaline rush with a wide eyes, hastily walked up to him. Trinity didn't even think she knew that the man she was approaching was not the night shift attending she'd been stealing glances at between blood transfusions and saving lives.
"Dr. Abbot!" Trinity heard her all but yell right in the guy's face, voice a little too stretched. "I was hoping I'd catch you. I have a patient who's about to go up to the OR, but I need an attending's sign off on it first."
As she rattled off, Trinity watched the man looked at her with the most confused expression she’d ever seen someone have. His eyes had widened just a fraction, but that didn't stop him from looking around every so often like he was desperate to find someone who wasn't in the room. His mouth parted in an attempt to say something, but Samira, bless her heart, wasn't even looking at him. Her eyes stayed glued to the tablet in her hands.
“Oh, this is absolute gold,” Trinity muttered before turning to the charge nurse. “Hey, Dana. Look at this.”
Dana’s attention moved from her board over to where the man was standing awkwardly while Samira continued to talk at him. “Did Abbot dye his hair?”
“Not that I know of,” Jack responded, suddenly appearing at the nurses' station, brows pinched at Dana's question. “When would I have had time to dye my hair?”
The sound of his voice must have caught Samira, because in the next moment, she looked up at the man like a dear caught in headlights. Horrified, she turned her head and met Jack's confused gaze that had moved from her and to the man she had been talking to.
For once in his life, Jack didn’t know whether to start laughing or run away. Because staring right back at him was a man that looked like him in pictures from 10 years ago. His brain struggled to comprehend until he remembered what you had said earlier before the chaos of the casualty.
"Oh."
By now, the commotion had drawn eyes from everywhere, and everyone who looked over wondered if they were truly seeing double.
The man, who did look exactly like a younger Jack Abbot, walked quietly over to the station and stopped right in front of Jack, chest puffing slightly even if both of them were the same height. His hazel eyes scanned behind Jack's shoulder before he met hazel hues that mirrored his own.
“I’m looking for my wife,” Andrew finally gruffed, hands curling into fists by his side, and obviously not liking the number of eyes that were on him. “She works here.”
Trinity stepped into his line of sight. “You must be Mr. Cody; damn, I was not expecting this. Slugger wanted me to let you know that she's changing, but she should be out soon.”
His brows somehow furrowed deeper, and the corners of his mouth tugged downwards in a matching frown. “Slugger?”
“Your wife has an affinity for catching people. Baseball might be her actual calling.”
“Trinity, I told you that I have no want to switch careers, thank you very little," you announced after you walked out of the hallway. Your eyes gleamed when they landed on a very, uncomfortable-looking Andrew and equally confused coworkers. "Hi, baby."
Andrew looked over and down at you. “Hi.”
“You didn't have to come pick me up,” you said. "I didn't mind driving home."
“Wanted to,” he muttered while taking your hand into his. "Knew you'd be tired."
You warmly smiled up at him. "Well, I'm glad you're here then." Your face turned as you looked over at the small crowd that had gathered; their jaws wide open. "I guess I should explain. Everyone, this is my husband, Andrew. Andrew, these are my coworkers." You gestured towards Jack. "And I guess this is your secret twin."
Andrew stayed silent for a second too long. “Hi.” He offered nothing more than a fleeting moment of eye contact with each of them before turning to you with what people could only call puppy-dog eyes. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah. Let's go home.” But before Andrew could tug you away, you quickly waved at everyone. “See y’all in twelve hours!”
They all stayed silent as Andrew led you out of the ER with you babbling the entire way while he seemed to not say anything, just looking happy to be the center of your attention after a long day.
Finally, Jack broke the silence. “I should probably call my mom and see if I had a twin she gave up and never told me.”
Robby patted him on the shoulder. “You do that, brother.”
summary: tired of reading fanfics based on your newest obsession, you give in to peer pressure and use a seemingly harmless gimmick from a metaphysical shop. you quickly find out that you should have been careful what you wished for.
tags: dark!jack abbot x irl!reader, fiction breaks the fourth wall, based on the movie obsession, USE OF Y/N CAUSE NO ONE CAN STOP ME, vivid descriptions of violence, mentally unstable!jack, blood, murder, self!harm/mutilation, dd:dne, smut (non-con, oral-fem!receiving, piv-unprotected sex), afab reader, no happy ending, 18+ NSFW and ABSOLUTELY MDNI
notes: this fic is based on this TikTok by @m1yuk1washere, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE know that this is a very dark fic and please be aware of the tags before reading below the cut. I am in NO WAY romanticizing this movie at all. this is not a reflection of Jack Abbot's actual character, but he needed to be ooc for this to work. again, there is no happy ending and nothing is romanticized about this fic or the movie. I highly suggest watching the film once it releases on streaming services.
author's note: 82 of you asked to be tagged, but due to tumblr's 50 limit and me not wanting to get nerfed, half will be tagged in this post, and the other half will be tagged in my co-author's reblog!
word count: 11.5k
And Jack couldn’t stop staring at you like he’d found the love of his life. His hazel eyes trailed along your body, and a deep blush painted across your face. You’d caught him staring across the ER, but instead of looking away, he kept eye contact while his hands moved across a tablet. In one blink, he was moving toward you like a man on a mission. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe under the weight of his gaze.
In fewer than five steps, Jack closed in on you, and his hands lifted just to grip your hips and pull you into his orbit. Your breath hitched high in your throat at his closeness. Around you, the Pitt melted away, and all you could feel was Jack, Jack, Jack—
“Earth to Y/n!”
A snap near your face had you leaning back away from your phone. Your eyes widened as you stared at your small friend group. Suddenly, the entire world around you came crashing down in overlapping voices and the distinct smell of mall food, an odd combination of Japanese, Pizza, and sub sandwiches. Your phone stayed open to the latest chapter of your favorite Jack Abbot fanfic, and now looking at your friends, you knew you’d been caught. You quickly shut off your phone and placed it face down on the sticky table.
“Sorry,” you muttered. “What were you saying?”
Your best friend, Sarah, rolled her eyes. “You’d know what we were saying if you weren’t nose first in your phone. What was it this time? One of those smutty fanfics you’re so into these days?”
“It’s definitely one about that silver-haired doctor,” your other friend, Haley, chimed in. “What’s his name again? Jake?”
“Jack,” you shot out before realizing your mistake. You’d come off too strong, and your friends ate it up like vultures. “I-I mean—”
“You really need to get laid,” Sarah told you, voice dipping into a border-line condescending tone. “Your daddy issues are showing, babes.”
“I don’t have daddy issues.” You rolled your eyes before taking a bite of your now-cooling food, slimy noodles sliding down your throat in one swallow. “And I don’t want to get laid. I’m perfectly content where I’m at; thank you very little.”
Haley hummed. “You’re telling me that you’re happy reading hours and hours of fictional worlds while you could be out and about meeting new people. What if your future husband looks like this Jett?”
“Jack,” you corrected—again. “And I don’t want a future husband unless he looks like Shawn Hatosy dressed in a SWAT uniform.”
“You are so down bad for a fictional man. When was the last time you had an interest in someone who was actually . . . real?”
You pursed your lips when no names came to mind. To get them off your back you could have mentioned the two-second crush you had on Luke Davis way back in ninth grade. But he had been eliminated from the list the moment you got back home and pulled out a Bucky Barnes fanfic where you found out you wouldn’t mind an older man calling you doll. And plus, ninth grade was almost fifteen years ago. Confessing that while currently being in grad school at the ripe age of 24 would have been more embarrassing than saying nothing at all.
“A while,” you spat after settling on a response. “But the modern online dating field is not for me. Every time I try one of the apps, I either get insulted or an unsolicited 3-inch-dick pic like it’s supposed to impress me. Unless you two have a magical solution to find me the picture-perfect man, I’m perfectly okay spending my time reading fanfiction.”
You went to spoon in another bite, but you noticed the way they glanced at each other. The corner of your lips tugged downward. “What? Why are you two looking at each other like that?”
Sarah sucked in a breath. “We weren’t going to say anything but—”
“But you look like you need it,” Haley finished the sentence before turning, hands already deep in her purse on the chair next to her.
You tried to not be offended by her words, but an ugly feeling bloomed in your chest. You hated the way they judged you. Fanfiction had quickly become a paradise away from the ugly world you lived in. If a few chapters and one shots here and there helped your mental health stay regulated, you saw no harm in divulging into the world of fiction. It also helped that most of the fics you read were tagged with “x-reader;” the idea of getting to put your name mixed in with iconic characters kept you feeling alive. Authors let you live lives you could never do in the real world. How could you give up that kind of mental freedom?
“Here,” Haley finally said as she pushed something towards you.
You eyed the red and white packaging with the words One Wish Willow written in fun lettering along with two cartoon drawn people. Hesitantly, you grabbed it and brought it closer to read.
“The guy at the store said they actually work,” Sarah explained. “You state a wish and break it, then tadaaaa your wish comes true.”
Looking at it while spinning it in your hands, your nose crinkled. What Sarah just said sounded way too good to be true.
“There’s no way,” you said, a bit awestruck. Your thumb ran across the words on the back of the package: Spark the middle and break in half. “I think you both got scammed.” You placed it back down on the table, but one look at the two of them gave you a sinking feeling in your stomach. “You two actually believe this shit?”
“Look, Y/n, we just want to look out for you,” Sarah said slowly as if she were talking to a child. “And if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work, but there’s no harm in trying. But we can’t sit here and let you go on like this. Before you know it, you’re going to be fifty, living alone, and still reading stories about fictional characters. I mean, look at yourself.”
To your surprise, Haley nodded along. “Grad school is killing you. And you can’t say that you’ll find a man once you graduate. Because by then, you’re going to find another excuse.”
You eyed the thing as their words sank thorns into your soul, and for some odd reason, you felt compelled to pick it back up again. You don’t know if it was the idea that any wish you made would come true or the desire to prove them both wrong, but instead of leaving it there for them to take back, you grabbed it and pushed it deep in your purse.
“Whatever. But when it doesn’t work, I’m totally rubbing it in both your faces,” you said.
Finally, you shoved the last bite of your food into your mouth, but your mind was racing with the possibilities of what you could use the one wish willow for. Sure, Sarah and Haley wanted you to use it to get a boyfriend, but honestly, that seemed boring. The world, hypothetically, could be at your fingertips. What was stopping you from using it to become a millionaire, change everything you hated about yourself, stop world hunger.
The possibilities seemed to endlessly swim around your brain while you drove back home from the mall, the sky already dimming the closer you got to your destination. You sighed in relief once you pulled into your driveway and leaned your head against the steering wheel, eyes flitting towards your bag. Your fingers itched to pull the One Wish Willow out, and you, against everything, obeyed them. You picked at the heavy paper packaging, and the branch slid out right into your palm.
It was dark and hole-filled, and it barely weighed anything. You guessed that was necessary for easy breakage when you used it. You read over the instructions one more time before taking each end, holding it a few inches from your face.
Outside, the night was quiet. There were no joggers, no late-night walkers, no one to witness what you were about to do. You inhaled sharply and lowered the branch.
“This is stupid,” you mumbled to yourself.
You almost put the branch back in the packaging, but your phone screen lighting up stopped you. You glanced over and caught the notification. A quick read told you that another author had updated a Jack Abbot series. Your heart panged.
Were you truly going to be alone forever, stuck reading fanfiction well into your fifties while pretending you lived in a different universe?
Before you could second guess yourself again, you took a hold of the branch.
“I wish Jack Abbot was real and would love me and do anything for me like he does in fanfiction.”
The branch snapped in two.
You squeezed your eyes shut, and your body tensed as you waited for something like a huge explosion to happen and for Jack to appear like some mythical genie. But when everything stayed quiet, you slowly opened your eyes. Frustrated tears welled in your lash line, and you threw the two pieces of the branch somewhere deep in your car. You jerked the door open and all but slammed it closed. Each step you took to your house reverberated into the concrete walkway. The automatic lights turned on while you unlocked the door with shaking hands, and the key missed twice before finally going in. With a harsh shove, the front door gave way into a dark home. By the looks of it, your mom probably wasn’t home, or every light inside would have been on.
An eeriness crept over you, but through your glossy eyes and overwhelming feelings of loneliness, you brushed it off. The One Wish Willow was an absolute joke, and you knew you should have texted Sarah and Haley that it hadn’t worked. Your chest tightened once you realized exactly why you didn’t want to rub it in their faces right away. In the car, you’d given yourself the smallest morsel of hope that it would actually work. The idea of having your own Jack Abbot had taken over quicker than you would have liked. Even with all your constant reassurances to Sarah and Haley that you didn’t want a man, that you were happy with being alone, you were beginning to feel the crux of being the last single person in your friend group.
Even the promise of a new chapter once you shuffled into bed wasn’t enough to lift your mood. But as you tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep, you reached for your phone in need of familiar comfort. Your thumb pressed on the white T icon, and you scrolled until one caught your eye. The tags used xreader, but as you scrolled, you couldn’t help but notice something peculiar.
Instead of the normal “Y/n” whenever Jack would “say” the reader’s name, your actual name stared back at you in every paragraph.
You blinked a few times, wondering if you’d gotten to the point where “Y/n” automatically became your given name. But when the words didn’t change, your brows pinched. You didn’t have any added mods, and the author stated that they hadn’t given the reader a special nickname or anything of the sorts. You scrolled up until the page refreshed.
Surely there was a glitch you thought.
However, after the loading symbol went away, your name continued to be written in the fic. On one hand, you knew you should have put the phone down; obviously you were tired and sad and currently hallucinating. Yet, you continued reading on, already sucked deep into the story.
Jack didn’t know what to do; you’d disappeared on him after an argument. His calls went unanswered, his messages left unread. His heart raced below his sternum in a panicked rhythm. He couldn’t lose you, not after he already lost his wife. He refused to lose you. With a sharp inhale, he turned and faced an empty space to his right, hazel eyes boring into the reader’s—wait.
You pulled your phone away from your face as you sat up. Had you read that correctly?
—hazel eyes boring into the reader’s. He stood still, seemingly knowing that there was a presence he couldn’t see but could always feel.
“I’ll be there soon, sweetheart,” Jack spoke to no one. “And when I find you, I’m going to make you so, so, so, so happy. I’m exactly what you need and want. I—”
Your phone screen went black after you pushed in the power button. The eerie feeling from earlier grew at the base of your skull, and your skin pricked with the sensation that someone was watching you. Your face whipped to the far corner of your room, the one that was always half-cast with a shadow after the sun went down. Logically, you knew no one was standing there, but you turned your flashlight on anyway. A quick scan around the room settled you some but not entirely.
You slowly lowered back down into your bed and pulled the covers up to your chin. Thankfully, sleep was already licking at the edges of your mind. But as you lolled into its grasp, you couldn’t rid yourself of what the author made Jack say at the end.
—I won’t hesitate to do anything to make you mine.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Two loud knocks at the front door followed by your mom screaming Y/n! Get your ass down here and answer the fucking door! had you shooting up from your bed.
Without even looking at yourself, you scampered down the stairs in just a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. You had no time to even think about what the person on the other side could even want before you wrenched the door open, and all reminders to look through the peep hole first failed entirely. Sun spots swirled in your vision, but once they settled enough for you to see who had been knocking, you froze entirely.
“There you are, sweetheart.”
You knew that voice. You’d heard that voice clearly through your TV speakers.
Your eyes widened, and a breath hitched high in your throat. You gripped the sides of the threshold with white knuckles. For a split-second, you wondered if you were still dreaming before wondering if you’d died in your sleep, because there was absolutely no fucking way the man standing on your doorstep was actually who you thought it would be.
Your body jolted under a firm hand, and you whirled around to see your mother’s figure standing behind you. She eyed you carefully before putting on a smile that only you knew to be very fake.
“Hi there,” she said loudly, voice too chipper for 8:15 am. “How can we help you?”
The salt-and-pepper-curly-haired man smiled warmly, and his hazel eyes never left yours. “Baby, you didn’t tell your mom about me?” he chuckled like this was all some inside joke.
Your mom glared at you from the side of her eye. “Baby?”
“I really should have called beforehand that I was on my way over,” he explained before thrusting out his large hand. “Jack Abbot. It’s nice to meet my girl’s mom.”
The way he said my girl had your heart racing for more than one reason. The main one being you’d never met this man in your entire life, unless you counted the multitude of fics you consumed to the point you felt like you did know him—Jack. But that was all fiction uploaded to multiple websites, yet the man standing less than a foot away from you looked real and not a figment of your wild imagination. Hell, even your mom saw him, so to some degree you knew you were hallucinating or weren’t dead upstairs.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Jack. I’m sorry you’ve seemed to slip my daughter’s mind,” she hissed the last bit out. “Come inside please.” She yanked you away from the door and whispered harshly in your ear, “You could have told me about this.”
Your jaw dropped before snapping back shut when your mind refused to catch up to the situation. Jack—if you could even think of him as your beloved fictional character—stepped forward and placed a hand to the small of your back. His touch felt like electricity, white hot and zipping up your spine. He softly pushed you along until he fully got inside your hours.
“Jack, let’s get you into the kitchen! I’m sure I can make a quick breakfast for us while Y/n changes upstairs,” your mom stated, but the suggestiveness in her gaze wasn’t as subtle as she thought it was.
Jack clicked his tongue against his cheek. “That sounds lovely, but I’m afraid I already made plans with Y/n to go out for breakfast.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in like a rag doll. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart,” he cooed.
As if a spell had been cast over you, you nodded numbly. “Yeah,” you managed to croak. “We’re going out for breakfast.”
“Let’s get you changed, baby, and then we’ll get heading out,” he said. “It was nice meeting you.” With not another glance toward you mom, he walked you over to the staircase and motioned for you to go first.
Once the two of you made it into your room, you closed the door before pushing your back against the grain to put some space between you and supposedly Jack Abbot.
“Okay, what the fuck man,” you sneered. “Is this some stupid cosplay? Did Sarah and Haley put you up to this? Because coming to my house and pretending we know each other let alone dating is downright creepy and stalker behavior.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said while cocking his head to the side. “Did you hit your head? Should I look at it for you?” He stepped forward and raised his hands, but you were quick to shake your head.
“No; I’m fine,” you said. “I’m just . . .” You closed your eyes. “I don’t know why you’re here. You don’t exist here.”
Jack paused for a minute before laughing loudly. “Baby, are you taking the piss? Of course I exist here; you know I exist only for you.” This time, he walked until your fronts were almost pressing. The warm, spicy scent of his cologne hit your nose. His hands did not touch you, but the twitches in his fingers told you he wanted to. “I told you last night that I’d come find you, baby.”
“Huh?”
Jack’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head? You asked for me last night after the mall. I know I’m old, but how could you forget so soon, baby?”
His words hit you like an 18-wheeler to the stomach.
The broken-in-two One Wish Willow that remained in your car filled your thoughts. You swore it hadn’t worked, because last night nothing had happened. And then you remembered one of the fine print warnings.
*Wait up to 24 hours for your wish to come true.
It was as if it all made sense now. The fucking gimmick worked; you couldn’t rub it’s failure in Sarah and Haley’s faces anymore. Jack fucking Abbot was in your bedroom acting like the two of you were romantically together.
Your wish—against all odds—had come true.
Happiness washed over you like a tidal wave, and you stepped right into Jack’s orbit, arms coming up to wrap around his middle. You couldn’t believe the way you fit right into his chest, and you were elated to hear his heart beat so fast at your closeness.
“There you go, pretty girl,” Jack whispered against your temple. His hand gently rested against the back of your head. “I’ve missed you so, so, so, so much. I’m yours forever; I’ll do anything for you.”
In the throes of his whispered promises, you forgot about the smallest warning buried within the fine print of the One Wish Willow Packaging.
*Side effects of a wish may include violent tendencies, self-mutilation, and unexpected behavior. Please wish responsibly.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Life with Jack was infinite bliss, and you’d be a fool to look a gift horse in the mouth.
He was the perfect man and exactly the type of person you’d been secretly wishing for the entire time. If you were truly honest with yourself, all the times you said you were happy were lies upon lies upon lies. You hated how Sarah and Haley went on double dates with their boyfriends all the time while leaving you behind. Their happiness just showed that if you didn’t have them, you had no one.
No one to laugh with; no one to be around; no one to love. Jack filled in those spaces like glue holding your life together. Suddenly, you didn’t have to wonder who you’d take to the movies to see the latest film. You didn’t have to sit alone in your bed while hoping for someone to come along and sweep you off your feet like men did in stories. You didn’t even have to worry about feeling scared when you slept. Jack apparently had an affinity for watching you rest.
When Jack was around—which was pretty much all the time—you were never alone.
A few weeks after he showed up on your doorstep, you made plans to introduce him to Sarah and Haley at the local bar the three of you frequented. You’d been excited for them to see what had happened, to see how Jack made you happy. Jack seemed to be passive about it, but one smile his way had him melting to your every whim.
“What makes you happy makes me happy,” he had told you before pressing his lips deeply against yours. “Do I make you happy, sweetheart?”
“So much,” you had whispered back against his lips.
However, now that you were seated next to Jack and their eyes were filled with skepticism and doubt, an ugly feeling settled inside your chest. You tried to focus on the game of Jenga, but the weight of their gaze pressed heavy on your mood that continued to sour the longer the night progressed.
As you tried your best to shuffle another block out, Sarah leaned forward.
“So . . . Jack . . . where do you work?” she asked.
Jack rubbed at his jaw while he thought, and your focus shifted to the way his bicep bulged in the short-sleeved shirt he wore out.
“I’m a senior attending at an ER up in Pittsburgh,” he stated.
Haley raised an eyebrow. “Then why are you here? Surely your hospital keeps your leash a bit tight.”
You pulled the block out successfully and held it up for Jack to see. He mouthed a good girl and winked, sending you into a blushy mess before answering.
“I’m on a well-needed sabbatical right now. My girl needed me here, and I couldn’t think of being anywhere else.” His hand came to rest at your nape, and his fingers squeezed.
“What happens when your sabbatical is up? Y/n’s in grad school right now, and I doubt she can do the long distance,” Sarah explained, and that ugly feeling roared inside your chest.
Jack pursed his lips and sat back against the couch. “I’m sure that we’ll work something out when we cross that bridge. I’m not opposed to long distance, but I’m also not opposed to her moving close to me either.”
Haley let out a soft scoff to which you looked at her strangely.
“Do you have something to say, Haley?” you questioned.
She looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I-I just think that moving in with someone you’ve been with for a few weeks is a bit fast.”
“I’m not getting any younger,” you tried to joke, but the tone of your voice said that you were anything but joking. “And it wouldn’t be too terrible. After this semester I’m changing to online classes anyway.”
Sarah’s face pinched tightly. “What happened to moving onto campus with us next semester?”
You shrugged lazily. “The thought about moving was getting to be too stressful.” You linked your arm into Jack’s. “Jack suggested online classes, and it was like a weight lifted off my chest.”
Your friends stared widely with their jaws unhinged.
Sarah waved a hand around. “Hold on. Just because he told you to do something, you just did it without discussing it with anyone else? Y/n, we won’t be able to afford the deposit for the apartment if you pull out.”
“Plus, what if he dumps you halfway through the year?” Haley suddenly asked in a stage whisper, not caring if Jack heard the question.
Next to you, Jack’s entire body tensed. “I’m sorry—what?”
She at least had some decency to understand that her question was invasive. “Ya know . . . what if y’all have, like, a really bad argument or something? Some relationships don’t end up lasting long enough for a couple to live together. Plus, with your age gap it’s inevitable that—”
Jack suddenly stood from the couch, and his towering body cast a shadow across the Jenga tower. He frowned deeply, and his darkening eyes narrowed down at your friends. His fists curled at his sides while his head tilted very slowly.
“You don’t know anything about our relationship,” he hissed. “So I wouldn’t be so presumptuous if I were you.”
Sarah leaned back enough to look him in the eye at an angle. “Dude, we’re just looking out for our friend.”
“Yeah,” Haley said lightly. “No need to get so upset about it.”
He ran his tongue along his teeth. “I’m upset because you had the gall to even think I’d break up with her.” He bent in slightly at the waist. “I’m in love with her; she is my everything. Whatever she asks me to do, I will do it without hesitation.”
His voice rose with anger on every word, and soon, the entire bar was looking towards your small group. You nervously shifted on the couch, but the annoyance of their questions kept you seated and stopped you from pulling Jack back.
Jack turned his head and spotted an empty beer bottle. He turned back to look at your friends, and without breaking eye contact, he grabbed the bottle. In one fluid motion, he swung it down, and the glass shattered against the side of the table. At the sound, you, Sarah, and Haley stood up. They backed away slightly while you stepped forward to be at Jack’s side. Yet, he paid no attention to you.
“No one on this earth will ever comprehend what it feels like to love someone as much as I love her,” he said, timber dark and serious. It sent shockwaves through your soul. “I’d rather kill myself than ever hurt her or be without her. Every ounce of my blood that keeps my beating heart alive belongs to her and her alone.”
Before you could do or say anything, Jack dragged the jagged edge of the broken bottle from his wrist and towards the inside of his elbow, and dark blood welled and dripped from the long gash. Sharp, surprised and horrified gasps rang through the air.
When your eyes caught the red thick smear, you reached forward and yanked the bottle out of his hand. “Jack!”
At the sound of your voice, Jack’s eyes softened instantly, and all tension in his body melted away. Any glimpse of the Jack moments ago was gone, but the damage had already been done. Everyone, including Sarah and Haley, watched on with scared eyes as you gently set the bottle down. You said nothing and grabbed your (Jack’s) jacket and purse. Your hand found Jack’s quickly, and without saying anything to your friends, you tugged him out of the bar and towards his car. Thankfully, he didn’t fight for the keys, and you took off, leaving the bar to turn into a speck in your rearview mirror.
The ride back to your house was oddly quiet. Jack stared out the window the entire time, never once looking over at you. When you parked the car in the driveway, you shifted in your seat and turned to face him.
“Jack,” you said softly. “Why’d you do that?”
Not being on to deprive himself of your face, Jack turned too with hunched shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
You rested a hand on his cheek. “I know you’re sorry, but you scared everyone. And you hurt yourself.”
“I know. I don’t know why I did that, but I couldn’t let them keep talking about us—about you like that. I love you so much; that’s why I did it.”
“Jack, I don’t need you to cut yourself because you love me, I—”
“Do you love me?” he interrupted.
You paused. “I do.”
Jack leaned back into his seat. “You never say it like I do.” He sat up straight again in a jerky motion, and he placed his hands on your cheeks and held your face there. You watched his hazel hues melt into something darker. “Do you love me? Say you love me. I need to hear you say you love me, sweetheart.”
Your throat bobbed in a thick swallow. “I love you, Jack.”
Like at the bar, he all but melted back into his seat before leaning forward to kiss you. You let his lips languidly move against yours in sloppy motions. His hands tightened around your face, and with a small gasp, your mouth opened just enough for him to shove his hot tongue between your teeth. You moaned at the taste of him.
Before you could go any farther, he pulled back and licked his lips. “Are you going to listen to them?”
Your head reeled at the sudden change of events. “Who?”
“Your friends,” he spat bitterly. “They won’t change your mind about moving with me once I need to go back to work?”
You hummed and tried to lean back in for another kiss, but Jack stopped your motion. His eyes bore into yours deeply in almost a pleading manner.
“Tell me you want to move with me. I can’t be without you, baby. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d rather kill myself than not be with you. Do you want me to kill myself? I’ll tell you how I’d do it. Instead of my wrists, I’d take one of my scalpels and drag it along my throat.”
Your heart beat wildly at his words, and concern corroded any love you felt for Jack in that moment.
He looked at you through lidded eyes. “Is that what you want? You want me to die? Want me to commit suicide just to show you how much I’m obsessed with you?”
You shook your head between his hands.
He grinned stretched impossibly wide, but his eyes stayed dead and unmoving. “Then say what I want to hear, sweetheart. It’ll all be so, so, so much better when you say it.”
“I want to move with you Jack. I want to follow you to Pittsburgh or wherever you go after this.”
You were rewarded with another deep, invasive kiss that left you gasping for air. Instead of fully pulling back, Jack breathed heavily while his nose nuzzled into your face.
“Maybe it’ll be good when I don’t have to listen to Sarah and Haley anymore,” you softly mentioned.
Jack froze near your hairline but didn’t say anything.
“They were kind of rude at the bar. To think they were the ones who wanted to push me to get a boyfriend in the first place. Like, imagine if you hadn’t shown up.”
“You’re no one else’s but mine,” he growled, chest beginning to heave at the thought of you with someone who wasn’t him, kissing someone who wasn’t him, fucking someone who wasn’t him. “I’m never going to leave you.” His eyes fluttered closed. “I’m going to make sure your friends have no impact on your life again. I promise.”
You giggled, not fully knowing the meaning of his words. “We’ll be in Pittsburgh. I’m sure they won’t want to make the drive. Don’t worry about them putting any more unsolicited input into our relationship.”
Soon after Jack gave you one more kiss, you slipped into your house knowing Jack would be back in the morning to pick you up for another breakfast date. You paid no mind to the sound of Jack pulling away from your house or the way his car suddenly passed by in the opposite direction moments later.
Because if you had, you would have realized he wasn’t driving to his house, oh no, he was driving back in the direction of the bar to make sure he kept his promise.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Waking up during the night wasn’t uncommon.
Most times, you never fully managed to sleep deep enough to stay asleep for more than four hours, always having to get up for a drink of water or a bathroom break. But tonight, you woke up for a completely different reason. From the corner of your room, a noise reached you through a deep dream in a wet, continual plat, plat, plat, plat.
With bleary eyes, you looked around the room through barely slotted eyelids. Nothing seemed to jump out at you until you glanced at the shadowed corner. There, someone stood, their outline barely visible against the black background. You blinked rapidly in a desperate attempt to get your eyes focused.
A sigh of relief wheezed through your chest when you realized that the person was just Jack; although you were confused as to why he picked the corner when you had already set up a chair near your bed the first time you found him watching you sleep. You knew he liked to take his prosthesis off after dark to give his limb a break. The least you could do was make sure he was comfortable.
“Jack?” you called out, voice scratchy and slurry with sleep. “What’re you doin’ in the corner?”
When he failed to answer, you pushed yourself up halfway with your arm. You reached for the lamp on your bedside table, but the floor creaking beneath his weight made you stop.
Plat, plat, plat, plat, plat.
“Don’t turn on the light,” he whispered.
You slung your legs over the side of the bed and reached out a hand. “Could you at least come and sit down? Your leg must be killing you.” By now, your eyes had adjusted to the dark atmosphere, and you peered over at him when you noticed something splashed on his face. “Did you get mud on you?”
Jack took a step forward, and his shoes squished against your hardwood floors. He stopped a few feet away from you, and that’s when a thick, metallic waft hit your senses. You urgently rubbed at the skin between your lip and the bottom of your nose in an attempt to disrupt the onslaught of iron. Your brows pinched as you looked up at him with utter confusion.
Plat, plat, plat, plat, plat.
“What are you covered in, baby?” You reached out to touch a large stain on the hem of his shirt. Your fingers game back slick. “What the fuck,” you whispered. Jack’s words be damned; you reached over and turned on the lamp.
As the light drenched the room, horror seized your chest with large hands at the sight in front of you. The noise that had awakened you from your sleep was the steady drip of blood that trickled from Jack’s pant leg. The stain you’d touched was larger under the light, and the lower half of his shirt was drenched in the bodily fluid. His arms that were normally tanned and freckled were covered in blood like cleaning gloves, a harsh line of red cutting around his bicep.
Bile rose from deep in your stomach, and the acrid taste coated your tongue.
“Jack,” you whispered in terror. Sleep’s effect had been ripped from you the moment you realized what he was covered in. “W-why are you . . . covered in blood?”
Jack’s mouth twisted in an elated smile as he looked down at his lower half. “Do you not like it, sweetheart?” Despite his leg, he kneeled between your legs, and his dripping hands rested against your thighs. He looked up at your face with a pinched expression, similar to one you’d see on a sad puppy. “Do you not like it?”
“It’s blood, Jack. Why are you covered in blood?”
“Not like I don’t deal with blood on the daily.” He licked his lips. “You should be asking whose blood it is I’m covered in, baby.” He leaned in closer to your face, and your eyes burned with the smell. “C’mon; ask me.”
You swallowed a frustrated groan before whispering, “Whose blood are you covered in?”
His head lolled to the side. “Remember when I promised you that no one would ever speak out against us again?” Jack moved in closer and pressed his cheek against yours so that his lips were right near your ear. “Let’s just say I made sure that wouldn’t ever happen again . . . permanently.”
It felt like all the blood drained from your face in an icy instant; a complete contrast from the way Jack licked a hot strip up from your pressure point to your ear. Your mouth dried up completely.
“Don’t worry, baby. Those girls are never going to bother us ever again.”
“Jack,” you whimpered, suddenly scared of the man between your legs.
He hushed you softly. “And I made sure that your mother was also removed from the picture. I couldn’t have her waking up to find me like this.”
Your shoulders caved in, and the smallest whimper pressed through your lips. At the sound, Jack lurched back to look at your face. Within three breaths, all emotions washed from his face as he realized that you were scared—scared of him.
Now, he couldn’t have that, could he?
His hand rushed up to your face, and his fingers crushed your cheeks together. He stood to his feet, but his face stayed close to yours, his warm breath fanning across your nose and lips.
“There’s nothing for you to be afraid of,” he said calmly as if he hadn’t just implied that he’d killed your best friends and your mother. “Besides, isn’t this what you wished for?”
Even with his strength, you managed a small shake of your head.
He pouted. “No? But I could have sworn you said I wish Jack Abbot would love me and do anything for me.”
“I d-didn’t ask for you to kill my friends and mom,” you cried through smushed lips.
Jack nodded along like he agreed with you before barking out a laugh. “But you said it’d be good when you wouldn’t have to listen to them anymore. That’s what you said!” his voice thundered in your face. “I did exactly what you told me to, so why don’t you FUCKING LOVE ME?”
You tried to jerk your face out his hand, but his hold tightened, fingers digging into your teeth through your cheeks. Your eyes shut closed, but that did little to appease Jack’s anger. This wasn’t what you wanted; you never wanted your wish to turn into him harming people for you.
“I-I do-do love you, Jack,” you cried while tears traced down your cheeks.
He frowned intensely, lips forming an upside-down u. “I don’t believe you.” His unoccupied left hand gripped onto the pudge at your hipbone. “I can feel you shaking like a leaf. It’s okay, baby. I would never hurt you.”
Somehow, you knew he was telling the truth, though it didn’t help you feel less scared. Your thighs rubbed against each other in a nervous manner, and Jack’s eyes tracked the movement. However, he thought it was for a different reason.
“Oh,” he breathed, eyes widening at the idea formulating in his sick, twisted head. “You want to show me that you love me? Is that it, sweetness?”
His left hand released your hip and trailed lower and toward the right, and you inhaled sharply when he pressed his fingers to your core. You reached out and gripped his wrist, halting any other movement from his appendage.
“No,” you stated. “Jack, this isn’t-this isn’t normal.”
He pressed his hard chest forward, and the cooled blood began soaking through your sleep shirt. You cringed and shuddered when the wet fabric clung to your skin.
“Your heart is racing,” he whispered in awe. “For me? Is your heart racing for me, sweetheart?” He dropped to his knees this time and pressed his ear right to your heart. He exhaled breathily at the sound. “Yeah; that’s for me.” His next inhale was sharp. “I can smell you. You’re utterly dripping.”
“I’m not,” you argued. “I’m—” A wince turned whine cut you off after Jack squeezed your sides painfully.
“You know better than to lie to me.” His matted curls pushed against his forehead as he twisted his face to look downward. “Remember,” he muttered, “you wished for this.”
His hand planted itself in the middle of your chest and pushed you down to your bed, your spine hitting your mattress so hard it pushed out a small oomph.
“Wait- stop-”
Jack shushed you, his hands, still covered in blood, yanked the sleep shorts you’d been wearing down your legs. Your legs kicked and twisted, trying in vain to stop him, but he had them down and hanging off one ankle despite your efforts.
“You just need to remember why you love me,” those big, calloused hands pushed your thighs apart, keeping them pinned open despite your efforts to close them. His hot breath against your core shocked you, your wiggling and writhing halting for a moment. He licked a stripe through your folds, humming in satisfaction. “No one can make you feel as good as I can. No one.”
“Jack please!” Your hands were pushing at his head, trying to get him away from you, but he barely budged, not even acknowledging your efforts.
“Already begging for me and I’ve barely touched you,” his chuckle vibrated through your traitorous body as he laid kisses over your mound. “I told you, you love me.”
“You have to stop! I don’t want this!”
“Yes you do,” Jack wrapped both of your wrists in one of his hands, holding them down against your stomach to keep you pinned. “You want this. I don’t know why you’re trying to lie to me when your cunt is being so honest, sweetheart.”
Humiliatingly, he was right. You could feel how wet you were, practically dripping down onto the bedsheets below you, your hole clenching and begging for something deep inside it. But you didn’t want this. Right? No, of course you didn’t. This was the man who had just admitted to killing your mother and best friends. Their blood was still on the hands that held you open and in place as his mouth descended on you.
But it was hard to stop the whine you let out when his tongue began tracing around your clit. The pressure was firm and insistent, sending bursts of pleasure coursing through you against your will.
You fought through the sensations, trying to focus on wiggling out of his grip, but inevitably your focus was drawn back between your legs. Jack was unrelenting, repeating the motions and keeping a steady pace, like he knew exactly how to push your buttons. You supposed he did, having been created by some sick force of nature just for you.
Belatedly, you realised exactly what his tongue was spelling out against you:
J-A-C-K A-B-B-O-T
His own name, again and again, all at the same speed and intensity.
Gradually, your desperate attempts to flee were being tempered by the pleasure rocketing up your spine. Your twisting and writhing to get away had turned into rocking and grinding against his face, using his bruising grip on your wrists as leverage. But while your body betrayed you, your mind didn’t.
Through the gasps and whines and moans he was yanking out of you, you tried your best to keep up the protests. Your increasingly weak protests of “No!” and “Please stop!” fell on deaf ears, until, right as you neared your peak and, fearing what the impending orgasm might do to your psyche, you got through to him. But not in the way that you’d hoped.
“Stop! Stop, Jack, or I’ll never love you!”
He froze, pulling his face away from your folds but keeping his hold on you firm. You were gasping for air, eyes firmly shut. You were afraid to look at him, afraid he’d see just how close he was to breaking you.
“You want me to kill myself?” His grip around your wrists tightened even more and his fingers holding your thigh open tensed, nails digging into your skin. He didn’t let up, despite the yelp that left your lips. “Is that what you want? You want to watch me slit my fucking wrists right now? Wanna watch me bleed out all over you? Because I will. I love you more than anything - more than life itself - and you are breaking my heart.”
“Jack, I-”
“Do you want that?” His voice raised, eyes wide and manic. “I’m all you need, baby. If I die, you have nothing. You made me kill your mom, your friends, and if I’m gone, what do you have left? You need me just like I need you.”
“No, no I didn’t make you-”
“You said you didn’t want to have to listen to them anymore,” Jack stood from the floor, his blood stained figure looming over you as you cowered back against the mattress. “I did exactly what you asked for, and now you don’t have to listen to them anymore.”
You were shaking, trying to look away, trying not to think about how everyone you loved had died because of a poor choice of words and Jack’s instability.
Jack’s hand grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes on his. His expression had softened, the lines on his face deepening as he stared down at you.
“Don’t make me kill myself because I did what you wanted,” he was begging, the whiplash from his rapid change in demeanor taking a moment to register in your mind. “Don’t make me, please.”
“I-I won’t,” you swallowed around the lump forming in your throat. “I won’t make you kill yourself, Jack. Please don’t do that.”
“Then tell me you love me,” his eyes darkened again and the frown fell from his face.
“Jack-”
“Tell me,” the tone of his voice dropped, practically growling at you as his fingers tightened against your jaw. “You love me.”
“I…”
The words stuck in your throat. The love you’d felt for him from before was still there, but your terror and grief was overshadowing it, making it impossible to verbalize.
Jack sighed, his expression once again changing, this time to disappointment. He tutted at you, like you were a small child failing to follow directions.
“I guess I just have to remind you how much you love me.”
There was no time for you to question what that meant, but you found out quickly. Jack’s hands wrapped around your waist. Before you could even gasp at the rapid change, his thighs were straddling yours, his palm planted between your shoulder blades to hold you down.
“I’m going to make you tell me you love me,” you could hear clinking and shuffling behind you, but it took a moment for it to connect that he was undoing his belt.
“Wait, Jack!” Bucking your hips and trying to push yourself up was futile, his weight and the strength of the muscles cording his arm simply too much for you to fight back against. This wasn’t what you wanted for your first time. You’d been hoping for a romantic dinner with him, followed by sweet, slow sex, not him covered in your loved ones blood as he took you by force. “Jack please, I’m a virgin!”
“Oh, sweetheart,” the heat of his chest, pressing against your back as he leaned down, was scalding. His fingers gently tucked your hair behind your ear, his lips pressing a kiss against your cheek. You didn’t realize you’d been crying until his tongue darted out to lick up the droplet. “Don’t worry. I’m all you need. I’ll be the only man to ever have you like this. I’ll take such good care of you.”
And then he was sliding in, stretching your traitorously wet walls around his length. Fuck, he was thick. You felt every ridge and vein as he sunk into you as deep as he could, until the tip was pressing against your cervix. It was impossible to stop the moan you let out, the noise mixing with his grunt as he ground against your ass.
“Jack, please…”
“You feel so good around me, baby,” He let more of his weight fall against you, pushing you even further into the crumpled sheets. One of his big arms slid around your neck, pressing your throat into the crook of his elbow.
“You need to sto-”
You choked on your words when Jack’s arm tightened, his bicep and forearm cutting off your air supply.
“The only thing I need,” his voice was low and gravely, his lips pressed against the shell of your ear. “Is for you to stop pretending this doesn’t feel good, and let me make love to the love of my life.”
Your whole body tensed, walls trying to push him out, as he began to withdraw slowly.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he was panting against your ear now. His little groans and sighs rattled around in your head, clouding your already conflicted senses. “Squeeze me just like that.”
You felt yourself flutter involuntarily around him as his thick cock bullied its way back inside of you. Fighting against his hold to get air into your lungs, your own breathing picked up in pace, each exhale forcibly pushed out when he sunk in.
Jack’s pace was slow. Each thrust was long, pausing to grind against you when he bottomed out, his head pushing hard into the deepest parts of you. You’d never considered yourself a masochist before, but the little jolts of pain mingled with the pleasure, pushing you even higher. The confusing signals sent to your brain were sapping your willpower. You needed to fight him off, needed him to get away from you, but your body was tightening around him, pulling him in.
God, it felt good, but you had to hold out. You still needed to find a way to break free and to get rid of him.
But it was growing increasingly hard to focus on anything other than the sensations between your legs when your head grew fuzzy from the lack of air and your clit was dragging against the sheets as every move he made rocked your body. He’d gotten you close before with his mouth, but now the dizzying pleasure of his cock had your eyes crossing.
“You’re doing so good, my sweet girl,” his words were whispered into your hair as his pace gradually increased. He never fully withdrew, but his hips were bouncing against your ass as his slow, grinding rhythm transitioned into hard and fast thrusts. “Doing so good for me. I can feel how close you are, I want you to tell me you love me when you cum, ok?”
You tried to shake your head no, trying your hardest to beat back the ever rising pressure of your impending orgasm, but Jack’s hold around your neck stopped you from moving. The only noises you could squeeze out through his hold were little whines and whimpers.
“You’re going to say it,” he pulled you in tighter, leaning all of his weight onto you. His hand not around your neck slipped between you and the sheet. “Say it, say it, say it.”
The first brush of his fingers against your clit was all it took for you to shatter in his arms. You spasmed and clenched around him, your eyes rolling back into your head. Your trembling hands scrambled for a hold on the sheets when he pinched the little bundle of nerves between his fingers. It was overwhelming, the intensity of your orgasm squeezing you so tightly around him that you nearly pushed him out.
Jack responded by thrusting even harder inside of you, all the while mumbling, “say it, say it, say it.”
But you didn’t. You weren’t sure if it was your willpower that kept the words from falling from your lips, or the debilitating pleasure that was rendering your mind nearly blank, but you didn’t say it.
Jack roared in frustration as the last waves of your orgasm faded, leaving you shaking beneath him. You were unprepared for him to rip himself away from you, leaving you completely free of him for just a moment. Your brain cleared slightly without his skin on yours. There was only about a second for you to try to will your still trembling body to get up and run, but you ran out of time.
He flipped you over onto your back, spreading your legs wide and forcing himself between them before you could snap them shut. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving with every breath.
And, for the first time, you saw his cock, pointing up and out of where his jeans were just barely pulled down. He was big, even bigger than you’d pictured when he’d first slid inside you. Long and thick, flushed red and dripping with your juices. In any other situation, you’d be reaching for him, eager to get your hands on him. Even despite the position you found yourself in, against your will, you felt your mouth water and hands itching to reach out and touch him.
But you managed to hold back, trying to squirm away from him up the bed. He stopped you before you could put any meaningful distance between you, though, his hands found the back of your thighs, pushing them up and pressing them down, folding you in half.
“I gave you everything,” Jack looked close to tears, but you couldn’t tell if it was from anger or sadness. “I would do anything for you. Why don’t you love me?”
You didn’t have an answer for him. How do you answer when the man confessing his undying love to you killed your family and then took your virginity against your will? What do you say to the man taking off his shirt, revealing the bloody mess of his chest, slashes covering the skin on his left pec?
There were certainly no words to be found when it clicked that those lines were your initials, carved into the skin over his heart. They weren’t bleeding anymore, but the skin was red and angry, blood still smeared over his skin. The more you looked, the more you realized the incisions were much more precise than you’d realized. Jack specialized in trauma procedures, of course the self inflicted modification he’d given himself would be perfect.
Your first instinct was awe, quickly followed by disgust at yourself and fear at the sight of his dedication to you. But you couldn’t help tracing your eyes over the split skin, admiring the clean lines. It sparked something deep inside you, to see him declare your ownership over him so blatantly on his skin, despite the fact that you still told yourself that you didn’t want to hold his leash.
“All I want is to be yours, sweetheart,” Jack’s intensity hadn’t dimmed, but his anger seemed to be gone for the moment. He sounded miserable, literally begging on his knees before you “Please let me be yours.”
“Jack . . ..”
“Please,” he still had your knees pressed to your chest, his fingers flexing and digging into your flesh.
You didn’t know if it was the pathetic way he was begging for your love or the devotion in his eyes that broke you. You could tell yourself that you were playing along, trying to go along with it to get away from him, but you didn’t know if that was true.
“Ok.”
Jack lit up immediately, all traces of his despair disappearing in an instant. The wide and handsome smile that split his face was at odds with the blood still smeared across his body. The juxtaposition was jarring, adding to the warring feelings rising in you.
“Can you say it for me?”
“I love you,” your voice was barely above a whisper. You didn’t know if you meant it - you weren’t sure you wanted to know, either - but Jack took you at your word.
“I love you, too.”
And then he was sliding back in, pushing through your folds and sinking into you up to the hilt. With your legs still folded up and resting over your shoulders as he bent forward, he felt even bigger than he had before, filling you completely to the brim. You swore you could feel him in your throat.
When he pressed fully into you, he leant down, his lips connecting to yours. You didn’t bother to fight him, returning the kiss as he fell into a rhythm. His tongue pushed between your lips as his hips pulled back from yours.
Jack sheathed himself back inside you, thrusting hard and punching a broken sound out of your mouth. He swallowed the noise, continuing to devour you as he continued. Every slow withdrawal was followed by a brutal thrust in.
“I love you,” Jack broke the kiss. His lips traveled down over your cheek until they reached your neck. His teeth scraped over a spot just below your jaw that had you keening, arching up into him.
He continued to work the spot, kissing and sucking and biting until he was satisfied with the blooming bruise before he was moving onto another, unblemished section of skin. It hurt, your skin burning from the contact of his lips, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything besides cry and moan.
“Fuck!”
You couldn’t help the expletive when his hips shifted, his thrust pushing directly against a spot inside you that had your back arching into him. It shot sparks through you, the sensation tightening into a knot in your stomach. Jack adjusted his angle to hit that spot head on again and again. A strangled groan vibrated through Jack when you clenched around him as a result.
“Take me so well,” Jack disconnected from your neck. His forehead rested against your shoulder, looking down to where you were connected, but the bulk of his body blocked your view.
Jack pushed back, sitting up to kneel between your legs. His large hands kept your legs over his shoulders, holding you in place, even though you weren’t sure you’d be strong enough to get away from him, even if you wanted to. He felt too good buried deep inside you.
Your brain felt foggy, the combination of sensations washing away your self preservation and critical thinking. When Jack had you on your stomach, you were being taken, but here, you felt like you were being worshipped. There was still fear simmering under your skin, but it was taking a backseat to the orgasm rising in your gut.
“God, look at you,” Jack was panting, his pace increasing and his eyes focused down between your legs. You didn’t realize what he was looking at until one of his hands let go of your thigh to press down on your stomach against the visible outline of his cock. “Can see how much I'm stretching you out.”
Your body seized, the breath flying out of your lungs. That added pressure made him feel even bigger. It triggered your orgasm, pleasure crashing through you unexpectedly. It caught you off guard and unprepared. Your head lolled back, eyes fluttering as your mind went blank. Jack kept his hand there, pinning you down as he kept thrusting into you, his rhythm faltering slightly as he battled his way through the continued clenching of your walls. He wasn’t letting you come down, giving you no reprieve from the waves of pleasure wracking your shaking body beneath his.
“Oh, fuck,” Jack finally took his hand away from your lower stomach, but you still didn’t get a moment to breath. His fingers found your clit again, rapidly circling the small bud. “One more, baby, one more.”
“No, Jack, no,” you started to try to wiggle away. Through your addled brain, deja vu struck you. It made you almost want to laugh. You didn’t want to get away from him out of fear - although fear was certainly still there - no, instead you were trying to get away from the rapidly building overstimulation. “I can’t, not again!”
“Yes you can,” his rhythm picked up, hips moving even faster against you. The squelching and slapping sounds filling the room were obscene. “I know what’s best for you. Trust me.”
You were chanting; “No, no, no!” even as your core tightened, the rapid build up of your third orgasm contradicting with your words. You were sure Jack could feel it, too. The way your walls clenched and fluttered around him was telling.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” sweat was beading on his chest, mixing with the blood on his skin and dripping onto you, leaving small splatters on your stomach. “Cum for me and I’ll cum for you.”
“Jack!”
You broke. This orgasm hit you like a truck. You felt it physically snap inside of you, the tension releasing a flood of endorphins into your blood. Through the haze wiping your mind blank, you heard Jack cry out, hips stuttering and pushing into the hilt. You could feel the heat as he spilled deep inside of you. It felt like a brand, burning you from the inside out and soaking your depths in him.
The waves of pleasure mounted, consuming you until you couldn’t take it anymore. Your eyes rolled back into your head and everything went black.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Jack had fallen asleep, and you were far from turning over and snuggling into his side after you'd been ripped from the consuming darkness.
You ached in ways you didn’t know were possible. Every limb felt heavy like you’d been shacked to a ball and chain, and you knew every step would be agony. The bruises he’d left behind would mottle your skin for weeks as reminders of what he did to you, to your friends, to your mom. Staying next to him in bed would ease the pain, but you needed to get up. The thought of waking Jack sent your heart into a panicked rhythm, and you were sure the sound alone would wake him up. Soft snores and grunts sounded from his lips every few seconds.
Centimeter by centimeter, you pushed up from your lying position. You thanked anyone who was listening for the fact that he hadn’t slung an arm around your waist to hold you down further. Instead of your normal wake-up routine, ten minutes must have passed by the time you stood from your bed. You could not let Jack wake up under any circumstances. You took another glance back at Jack.
Still asleep.
Gingerly, you grabbed your phone off the side table and began to shuffle towards your bathroom. You held back the urge to throw up when your foot slid through a puddle of thickened, coagulated blood. With trembling hands, you closed the bathroom door, mentally cursing yourself when it gave off the tiniest click. You held your breath and listened and listened and listened for any sign that Jack had woken up. When you caught another puff of steady air, you pushed in the small lock carefully. Not daring to turn on the light, you powered on your phone and Googled “One Wish Willow Customer Service” and clicked the first number that showed up.
Your phone rang quietly three times before a bored voice filled your ear. “Hello.”
“I need to cancel a wish . . . please,” you pleaded in a whisper.
“I’m sorry, we don’t really do that.”
Your stomach dropped, and the room tilted. “Please; you have to do something. I need my wish to go away.” Your mouth pooled with bile-tasting saliva.
“If you had read the back of the box, you would see that wishes can’t be canceled or altered. It’s all in the fine print.”
A whimper slipped through your lips. “He killed people, don’t you understand? And I’m scared he’ll kill me eventually.”
Static crackled from the speaker before the guy on the other line sighed heavily. “The only way a wish can go away is if the wisher or the wished-upon passes. Sorry, but I can’t do anything else for you.”
The call ended, and all you were left to do was stare at your phone.
A flash of pills or your razor against your wrists crossed your mind briefly, but that meant Jack would still be in your world. And there was no telling what he’d do if you died. You could practically envision the city drenched in red and violence. But not doing something wasn’t an option. You couldn’t force yourself to go back into the room, get back into bed, and sleep like your world was perfect.
Your guilt wouldn’t silence enough for that.
With a tight chest, you called a second number and waited.
It wasn’t long before you heard the sirens wail down your street, and you pressed your back against the door. By now, you were certain Jack was either close to waking up or he was now fully awake. You didn’t know which terrified you more.
“Sweetheart?” Jack called out, and your lungs seized. “Where’d you go, baby?” His tone was soft and gentle for now.
You wondered if the blue and red flashing lights poured through your blinds and illuminated his enraged face. Besides the sirens, your bedroom and bathroom were silent. On the other side of the door, Jack made no movements that caused any sound. It was as if he had disappeared, giving you an opportunity to think about opening the door. The golden knob felt cool against your palm and–
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
You squealed loudly in terror and backed away immediately from the door only stopping when the backs of your legs hit the side of the tub.
“What did you do, sweetheart?” Jack’s loud voice carried through the door in a hollow manner. “Y/nnnnnn,” he drew out your name. “WHAT DID YOU FUCKING DO?”
Downstairs, another blam! sounded and was followed by many footsteps and cries of Police! and We’re coming up!
A glimmer of hope raced through your chest, however panic engulfed it when Jack began rattling the door so hard you feared he’d take it off its hinges.
“You think you’re so smart? You think the boys in blue will keep me away from you?” Jack screamed through a raw throat. “You’re so dead wrong, baby. I’ll never be apart from you. You’re mine for the rest of your life. I—”
His voice cut off from the slam of your bedroom door. Following, grunts, the Miranda rights, and the sound of struggle echoed into the bathroom. You attempted to block it out with both hands on your ears, but Jack was too loud, too impossible to suppress. All went quiet a few moments later until his empty laugh began to stutter out in broken barks.
You were going to be sick.
“We aren’t over, sweetheart!” he continued, though his voice was waning. “I’ll find you again soon enough! We’re going to be together until the end of time! We—”
“Ma’am, it’s safe to come out,” another male’s voice covered the rest of Jack’s taunts.
You ripped the door open and a sob of relief sputtered from your lips. You stepped back through the smeared blood–a result of Jack’s struggle–and sat back down on your bed. Your spine bent as you hunched forward in an attempt of self-comfort. You gripped your arms with white knuckles, and the bruises Jack left behind didn’t even compute through your twisted emotions.
One of the officers stepped close to your knees. “I know this has been very traumatic for you, but when you’re ready, we’ll need to take you down to the station to get your statement.”
You nodded wordlessly.
Two officers stood in the corner where Jack dripped the most blood while he stood watching you.
“What the fuck happened in here,” one of them whispered, but without much other conversation, you heard him clear as day.
“I wish I knew, man,” the other responded.
Your soul tensed at his wording and the way he tossed it out so casually. Because you’d wished for something you thought to be so trivial, and now look at where it got you.
Alone and traumatized where you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.
summary: another anniversary spent alone makes you spiral. jack comes home and is faced with how his neglect is ruining you.
cw: heavy angst, alcohol intoxication, vomiting, small injury (glass cut), implied depression/(brief) suicidal ideation, non-sexual nudity
wc: 2.4k
a/n: not beta-read yet, we die like, uhh, robby’s will to live
now playing: begged – Olivia Rodrigo
All that I want
Is to sit here silently
And watch movies on TV
What a shame you're not here
Here to witness my devotion
And my endless well of needs
I'm an anchor in the ocean
You know I could never leave
So I'm patient, you're learning
Pretend it's not hurting
And they say it's a virtue
To not let good love slip away
Your makeup has faded. Black mascara smudges around your lash line, having bled from tears that fell like gravity itself demanded it.
This is hardly the first anniversary you’ve spent alone. Far from it, actually.
Anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, Christmases—you name it. There is a story to be told about each one of them, a story of how you sat on the couch, nursing a glass of wine while waiting for Jack.
If he wasn’t saving lives in the ER, he was risking his own. It doesn’t matter that you’ve knelt in front of him, the hardwood cool and unforgiving, as you pleaded for him to take a day off. Just one.
There is always something. A colleague who has children and needs that day to take them to Disneyland. Or a patient who only trusts him. A shift he just has to cover.
You’ve heard nearly every excuse possible and smiled like it didn’t matter, like you didn’t matter, because maybe you didn’t.
When you and Jack first started dating, he warned you that surgeons are the worst kinds of doctors to date because of their pretentiousness. He seemed to have forgotten to mention that ER doctors came in second on that list.
It wasn’t the desire for fame or hubris that made Jack so careless about your feelings. It was his devotion to everyone but you.
Sure, he’d kiss you and make you feel special—on a day when he could afford it. When he wasn’t chasing the high of being needed by strangers who’d maybe not even remember his name once he had saved them.
You know the placement of every freckle on his body, and still, it doesn’t change anything.
The third glass of wine doesn’t taste as bitter as the first. You don’t particularly like this brand or year or anything about it—you just know that Jack had bought it for today, back when he was still telling himself that he’d be home to celebrate with you.
As the cap of the bottle dances between your fingers, the metal now warm from your body heat, you glance at the clock.
Three hours and twelve minutes.
God, you’re a fucking loser.
Maybe it would be a different story if you were married. Maybe you could forgive yourself for your desperation, your constant attempts to convince yourself you mattered to him as much as he mattered to you. If there were a little bit of proof of his commitment, you’d be able to look into the mirror without feeling sick with shame.
But there is no ring on your finger or the promise that one will come one day. Jack doesn’t want to get married again. He says you two don’t need that.
Three hours, thirteen minutes.
You slosh the wine in your mouth while the darkest of thoughts creep in. It’s just a little fantasy you’ve curated and perfected over the years, and it’s an insane one, but you love to lose yourself in it every now and then.
Jack comes home. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Goosebumps creep up his arms and neck as he calls out your name. When no answer comes, he runs up the stairs and finds the bathroom door ajar. Light seeps out under it, along with a small pool of water tainted light pink.
Fine. You’re a little melodramatic. Maybe Jack’s neglect has driven you to regress into your teenage self who also fantasized about this whenever her dad yelled at her.
Once the fourth hour starts, the wine bottle is empty, and you’re so drunk it feels like time has stopped. The tears certainly have. They’ve been replaced by this hollow laugh that echoes through the house while you watch the trashiest TV show you could find.
While the alcohol courses through your veins, your eyes zero in on the women’s lip and cheek fillers. It stands out to you like black ink on white paper.
You wish Jack would’ve been a plastic surgeon instead. You wouldn’t care that he sees women’s naked breasts and gives BBLs on a daily basis if that meant that he was home in time for dinner.
Once you stand up to get a new bottle, you feel all the blood rushing to your head. Your legs are unsteady, and your forehead and nose feel so heavy, like they’re pulling you forward.
You find out just how firm the fridge is when you knock against it.
It’s not like you feel it anyway.
The next bottle of wine is closed with a cork stopper. You’ve seen Jack open this kind of bottle with that metal apparatus that looks like you could find it in a gynecologist’s office. You have no idea how to use it. So you take a knife and start hacking away. You only miss your fingers by pure, dumb luck.
That luck runs out when you try to pop out the cork stopper by hitting the bottom of the wine against the kitchen counter.
What used to be the bottle is now a bunch of shards and a cold, wet feeling seeping through your socks.
You laugh hysterically and drop to your knees, not half as careful as you should be. Something pierces your big toe, but you don’t care.
The front door opens. Jack steps inside. And his eyes widen. If anything, Jack has always had one hell of a timing.
You’re a fucking mess.
“Jackie,” you slur.
You try to get up, but your muscles protest.
“Jesus, what the fuck?” he hisses.
He is by your side in an instant, stepping over the glass carefully. It crunches underneath his boots when he picks you up by your underarms and puts you down on the counter.
“Baby, what the fuck happened?”
You giggle. You fucking love it when he calls you baby.
“Oopsie,” you whisper.
Jack stares at you with disbelief. His fingers catch your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his.
For a second, his mouth opens, and you await the lecture that never comes. Instead, his eyes dart over your face, taking it all in—the smeared makeup, the heat radiating from your cheeks, the glassy, far-away look.
“Are you drunk?” he asks, his voice trembling slightly.
You try to bite back a smile as you reply, “As a skunk.”
He lets go of your chin and takes a step back, running a hand through his hair.
You let yourself slide off the counter, trying to close the distance again.
“Stop,” Jack yells.
His arm snaps forward, pushing you back. For a moment, you stumble. Your back hits the counter, and you look up at Jack with a hurt expression. Then your eyes follow his, and you realize that you almost stepped into the glass. A stupid smile spreads over your face.
Jack’s expression falls.
“Hey,” he says sharply. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What are you doing, huh?”
He grabs you by your biceps and pulls you away from the sharp mess on the floor. You only feel the closeness as his fingers dig into your skin.
“I missed you today,” you murmur dreamily.
Even to you, your own voice sounds far away. Or maybe only to you? You can’t tell.
Jack stares at you, his eyes searching for something. Anything.
“Talk to me,” he demands. “What is going on? Why are you wasted on a fucking Thursday?”
Oh, that one blows.
On a Thursday. Yes, a random Thursday.
You giggle so hard your throat hurts.
“You’re never gonna believe this, but—” As you pause dramatically, Jack’s eyebrow twitches, “—it’s kinda an important Thursday. Like… really important.”
It’s almost visible how the wheels in Jack’s head start turning. They spark, creak, and squeak as he searches for the answer that’s written all over your face in the runny mascara and that look bordering on insanity.
His face falls when the wheels come to a stop.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
As his eyes dart to the calendar pinned to the fridge, you feel your stomach turning.
“Yeah,” you say.
Your mouth feels dry now, and nothing’s quite as funny anymore.
Jack looks at you, but you don’t meet his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
You believe him. That’s the worst part. But it doesn’t matter how sorry he is, because you’re sorrier. To the little girl you once were who thought she’d be happier than her parents ever got to be.
You shift your weight and wince softly.
Jack’s eyes widen.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
His voice comes out rough.
“No,” you murmur.
Jack pats you down anyway, his hands searching alongside his eyes as he inspects your legs. At the end, he finds a small shard of glass stuck in your big toe.
You're holding onto Jack’s head as he looks at your foot. His ears have grown red.
“You are hurt,” he mumbles. “I—Lemme…”
Torn between another apology and his worry, Jack picks you up. His arms slide under your back and your knees. The room tilts dangerously—you had almost forgotten that the contents of an entire wine bottle were coursing through your veins.
“Rollercoaster,” you whisper.
He shushes you as he carries you to the upstairs bathroom where you keep the first aid kit.
The bright, white light flickers to life and hurts your eyes, making you groan. Jack only glances at you with more concern before he sets you down on the bathroom counter.
“Hold still,” he instructs.
His arms keep you in place for a few seconds, like he is trying to show your body how to keep balance.
“Don’t fall, please,” he adds, a little gentler.
Then he crouches down, grunting a little as his knee pops. Somewhere through the haze of the wine, you remember that he just worked for sixteen hours. But then again, it’s your anniversary, and your empathy for his exhaustion is outweighed by your own misery. By far.
He finds the first aid kit and takes a pair of tweezers before he catches your foot with his other hand.
“It’s not too deep,” he says quietly. “Maybe that’s why you didn’t feel it until you moved.”
Yeah, you think to yourself, that’s definitely why.
“Spoken like the doctor you are,” you answer.
Jack looks up at you for a second, his lips pressed together. He murmurs something you don’t quite catch and then pulls out the shard.
You gasp as the pain shoots from your toe to your knee and pulls up high into your hip.
“Ow, what the—?” you hiss.
Jack keeps your leg still and rubs your shin slightly.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
“Not for that.”
The air in the room grows cold.
Jack straightens up, and his knee pops again.
“I’m sorry for today, too,” he begins.
He doesn’t get very far because you immediately hold up your hand.
“No,” you bite out sharply.
For a few seconds, you just sit on the counter, your legs swinging slightly. Jack watches, fumbling with his fingers as he searches your face.
“Can I clean your cut, please?” he asks.
You shake your head vehemently.
“It could get infected if I don’t,” he retorts.
You open your mouth to argue, but the words don’t come out. Instead, a wave of nausea hits you.
“’m gonna be sick,” you mumble.
Jack’s eyes widen before his hands land on your waist.
He half-carries, half-drags you to the toilet and makes it just in time as the wine comes back up, tasting ten times as bad as it did when it went down.
“Shit, baby,” Jack curses.
He gathers as much of your hair as he can save and rubs your back as you throw up once, then twice.
It’s all liquid, too, because you haven’t eaten in a few hours—you were planning on having a big dinner with your boyfriend after all, as one does on their anniversary.
As your stomach cramps, you think about the muffins that you ordered, lemon batter and raspberry icing.
The third time your tummy revolts, it’s just dry-heaving.
Spit dribbles down your chin, and your hands tremble. You’re somehow sweating and shaking simultaneously. Jack whispers and shushes, but you don’t want his comfort. You want to keep drinking until you pass out.
“Leave me alone,” you murmur, your hands flailing weakly.
“And let you knock yourself unconscious? No, thank you,” he replies. “You’re so fucking drunk, you’re lucky you haven’t given yourself alcohol poisoning.”
It’s clear he’s aiming for dry and sarcastic, but you hear the fear in his voice.
“Get out,” you rasp.
Your throat might as well be on fire.
“No,” he snaps.
“You don’t care if I crack my head open,” you accuse.
His grip on your arm tightens.
“Hey,” he says sharply, “That’s not true. I care very much.”
You groan and rest your chin on the toilet seat as your head begins to spin again.
“Then why are you never here?”
The silence that follows is only broken by your renewed retching.
Once you’ve emptied your stomach, Jack leaves you by yourself on the bathroom tiles for a few seconds. His eyes keep flickering back to you as he turns on the shower, testing its warmth with the tips of his fingers.
He returns to your side and flushes the toilet for you.
“Can you stand?” he asks.
You’re surprised at just how soft his voice is.
You shake your head. He doesn’t sigh.
Instead, he nods quietly and maneuvers you against the wall.
“Put your arms up, baby,” he instructs quietly.
Piece by piece, he removes your clothes. You feel how his fingers tremble as he unhooks the clasps of your new bra, all black lace and clearly bought for today.
Once you’re down to nothing, he starts undressing, too. He leans his prosthetic against the wall and then manages to get both of you in the shower.
The tiles are cold underneath you, but the warm spray from above keeps you quiet. Jack doesn’t say anything as he sits next to you, his grey curls slowly growing darker as the water hits. He doesn’t reach for you either, but his knee presses against yours.
“You love me?” you whisper.
Jack braces next to you. You feel the tension travel up from where his leg touches yours.
“I do,” he murmurs.
You swallow hard.
“Then why do you never choose me?”
❤︎ just a quick reminder that the best way to support authors on here is to comment and reblog ❤︎ ☆ find my masterlist here ☆
pope cody who asks you to give him a haircut, not expecting you to take in a dramatic gasp and climb into his lap, straddling his thighs, resting your hands on his broad shoulders.
"you want me to cut your perfect curls?" you say, running your fingers through his hair, tilting his face up towards you, "i don't think i can do that my love,"
"J said his girlfriend cuts his hair," pope says, looking up at you with a glimmer of confusion in his eyes, gripping down on your waist, "i just thought because you're mine..."
"i am yours," you say, leaning forward, placing a soft, sweet kiss on his lips, "but you look so handsome just the way you are,"
popes eyes flick down to where his hands rest on your waist, a small blush spreading across his cheeks.
"are you gonna ask me to cut of a toe next?" you say dramatically, twisting one of his auburn coils around your finger, "like, where does it end?"
"it's just hair," pope says, a small smile playing on his lips at your antics, "it'll grow back,"
you smile back at him before pulling his head to your chest, burying your face in his soft curls, breathing in his warm smell.
"i'll miss you," you mumble against his head. pope smacks your ass playfully.
"i don't want you to buzz it," he says as you pull back with a mischievous grin on your face, "just a little trim,"
"ok," you sigh, leaning forward, brushing the tip of your nose against his, "only because I love you so much,"
"i love you so much," pope says before connecting your lips in a gentle kiss.
summary: med school had gotten boring to jack abbot and michael "robby" robinavitch. in an attempt to liven things up, they settle on two things: serial killings and making you theirs no matter what.
tags: ghostface!medstudent!rabbot x reader, possessive!boyfriends!rabbot, med school scream au, dark!rabbot, ooc rabbot, no age gaps!, violence, medical inaccuracies, murder, improper use of medical tools, morally gray reader (idk fam she finds out but doesn't turn them in), 5.6k words of pure smut (threesome, coercion/slight dubcon, degradation, blood kink, fingering, piv-unprotected sex, blow job [when in Paris], sloppy seconds, overstimulation), small time skip at the end NSFW 18+ MDNI
notes: I feel like I am very qualified to write this as someone who has scream in their top 4 on letterboxd and has written stuilly x reader fan fiction before, so I am well versed, I also love horror and have been wanting to write a few more darker fics on the side (still throwing around the idea of a saw inspired jack abbot fic), MY TAG LIST IS CLOSED, please enjoy!
word count: 14.9k (making this the longest one shot I've ever written)
You set your coffee down with a small thunk on the long classroom table somewhere in the middle of the lecture room. Your binders and notebooks joined next, placed down more carefully to not tip the cup over, because spilling your caffeinated beverage before 8 am would have been a tragedy in and of itself. Your backpack sat nicely in the seat to your right, and to your left you placed one textbook exactly in the middle.
One for Jack, and one for Robby; just as you'd been doing since you met them during orientation of your first year. Because where one of them was, the other wasn't too far behind with you, their added third to their duo, falling somewhere in the middle.
Even though Robby was already an MS4 whereas you and Jack were MS1s, he'd known the curly-haired redhead during childhood and scooped you up right along with him. Now halfway through your second year where Robby wasn't as around as either you or Jack would like, he promised to at least sit with you when he got called in to assist during the few lectures of the ACLS provider course. Today happened to be one of those golden moments where all three of you got to be together again.
Normally, you liked to be the first one in the room to get a feel for the atmosphere and not be rushed to find a nice seat. Doing so had grouped you and Jack in Gross Anatomy and Histology last year, and you would have liked to keep the streak going, however, as you looked around the room, your eyes caught on a male student sitting front and center with his hands folded.
You fought the urge to scoff. Who fucking picks front row?
Taking a seat, your head ducked closer to your backpack, and your hands dug around to find at least one of your good pencils before Jack decided to use them all for himself.
"Are you looking for something?" the guy's voice echoed from the front.
You didn't even look up over the desk when you answered. "Just needing to find a pencil."
He fell quiet for a few moments, and you were sure he was watching you struggle to reach the bottom of your backpack, hoping that he'd stay quiet or at least look away. When you failed to grasp anything pencil-shaped, you straightened back up and squeaked when you came face to face with the guy, jolting at the sheer suddenness of his presence. He was holding a regular number 2 pencil out near your face, sharp end almost between your eyes. If you'd been any closer, your nose would have tapped it.
"You can have one of mine," he said, more insisting for someone you didn't even know.
You eyed him carefully. He was taller than you, you noted, and that even if you were still sitting down, he'd probably tower over you the way he was doing as he waited for you to take the yellow pencil. Your lips pursed together.
"I'll be fine," you answered. "My friends probably have extras."
"But I'm offering you mine. It'd be rude not to take it."
Your stomach flipped. This guy probably wasn't going to stab you with the pencil in broad daylight right before class was about to stop, but your mind went sailing right back to last night's news that yet another student had been murdered while studying in the top floor of the library, and a chill raced up your spine.
"You just go ahead and keep it; I think I'll wait," you muttered, eyes tearing away from him to look at your coffee, the steam rising steadily through the hole in the lid.
He scoffed loudly. "Well, if you're not going to take my pencil, can I at least get your name," he said as though you had to compensate him for "wasting" his time.
"Why would I give you my name if I don't even know yours first." You paused before adding with a smirk. "We're not supposed to give out our names to strangers."
From your peripheral as you turned to look toward the door, you saw him physically contemplate your words.
"Stephen with a ph," he pushed out, and you swore little droplets of his spit hit the cover of your binder.
You desperately wanted to drag a sleeve over it for good measure, but that would just open another can of worms.
His name didn't ring any bells. He certainly wasn't a part of your friend group, and you knew he wasn't the type of guy that Jack would go out of his way to befriend either.
"Now, tell me your name."
Your fingernails curled into your palms, mind willing for either Jack or Robby to walk right through the doors in some divine intervention. You were more than capable of telling the guy off, but why would you when either one could do it for you.
Women in STEM you always told them after you managed to get them to do something for you.
When you failed to answer and give up your name, Stephen hunched forward and placed both hands on the desk. Sadly, his weight and abruptness made the entire thing shake, and before you could reach out, your coffee tipped over and spilled in the opposite direction, right onto his shoes and pants. Your lip automatically slipped between your teeth in an attempt to not laugh as he yelped and cursed loudly. Yet, when he turned back towards you with fire in his eyes and out stretched hand with the pencil curled between his fingers, your face dropped.
"You bitch," he growled while shoving the pointed end in your direction. "You ruined my shoes!"
This time, you were the one to scoff. "You shouldn't have shaken the table like that, so really, you ruined your own shoes all by yourself."
His face flushed red, and his eyes practically bulged out of the sockets; he looked as though he were less than a second away from exploding and going off on you when the door opened wide, reviewing the two you had just been manifesting.
Your head whipped so hard in their direction that you winced at the twang in your neck, and your chest heaved in a sigh of relief.
"No, dude, I'm telling you, this class absolutely sucks," Jack loudly announced, hands gripping his backpack straps as he waddled in. "Just be glad we get here early because by 8 all these seats are fill—"
His words died in his mouth when he finally looked away from Robby and over to where you normally sat, and his expression dropped at the sight of Stephen still towering over you with the pencil in your face. He halted abruptly, causing Robby to follow his line of sight. You tried your best to smile and slightly wave when you met their hazel and deep brown eyes, but the damage had already been done.
Jack scowled something fierce, and his knuckles turned white. He took no time in resuming his walk over. Robby stayed close behind, height feeling more dramatic than normal.
"Heeeyyyy," you drew out before pushing up out of the seat.
Neither said nothing in return, opting to take their normal spots at your sides. Jack's hand planted in the middle of your lower back while Robby slung an arm around your shoulders, large hand squeezing gently when it rested against your upper bicep.
Jack's chin jerked out at Stephen. "Who're you?"
Stephen straightened slightly and puffed out his chest like that was going to do anything. "Stephen Miller."
"Stephen Miller," he echoed before turning to you, his eyes softening. "Do we have a problem here?"
"I was just trying to be friendly man—"
"He wasn't talking to you," Robby cut in. His eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them.
In response you raised your head slightly. "No problem. Just having a conversation."
"Didn't look like a very friendly one," Jack muttered. "You sure, sweetheart?"
"Yeah." The corner of your mouth twitched slightly, but you knew both of them could see right through you. "I'm sure."
Jack and Robby wanted to press more. Their chests had tightened the minute they saw this boy standing over you with what looked like intent to harm. For all they cared, they'd go straight to the dean and report him for violent tendencies, but the look in your eyes and normal want for no animosity kept them close. However, they did share a knowing glance over your head, something that you missed completely as you began to gather your stuff from their seats.
The door burst open a beat later, and students began filling the classroom. Stephen finally sulked back to his chair but not without one more heated glare in your direction.
"What the fuck was that about?" Jack muttered as he slung his backpack down to the ground.
You rolled your eyes. "I guess my search for a pencil was louder than I thought, so he asked if I wanted one of his. When I said no and that I'd probably just steal one of yours, he got . . . angry? I don't know; it was weird. And then he knocked my coffee over," you retold, the last little bit coming across as more whiny than you would have liked, but you were a second year med student for fucks sake.
Coffee kept you sane, and that asshole had taken your morning dose away from you.
"Sorry we didn't get here sooner," Robby stated while getting his papers out, and you fully turned his way.
This had been the first time in months that you got to see him. Between his countless hours as an R1 over at an ER a few towns over, about a two to three hour drive one way, and dealing with his own personal shit, he'd been gone long enough that a short beard covered his jaw and space between his nose and lips. You couldn't help yourself as you reached up and lightly scratched at it.
"When did this get here?" you asked, desperately trying to change the conversation.
His facial hair was soft beneath your fingers, and you felt the way he slightly leaned into your touch.
"I already gave him shit about it; don't worry, sweetheart," Jack announced loudly. "He leaves us for—what?—three months and comes back with a face blanket?"
Robby chuckled and leaned away to look at his friend over your shoulder. "Laugh it up, kid. You're just mad because all you can grow is that upper lip caterpillar."
"Please, let's save the bickering until the clock hits at least ten o'clock," you laughed.
Jack opened and closed his jaw while he made a talking motion with his hand, to which you lightly smacked hip upside the head before taking a seat. Almost instantly, Jack's left hand found the top of your knee.
"But seriously," he muttered, leaning closer so his voice didn't carry much, "are you okay, though? That guy . . ."
You placed your hand on top of his. "He's fine. I doubt he could do much damage with a pencil."
"You never know," Robby huffed. "I'll be back soon; gotta check in with Professor Barlowe." He leaned down and pressed a very light kiss to your temple, something he'd started doing recently, and then clapped Jack on the shoulder as he passed.
Your brows furrowed slightly when you noticed the way Jack let his eyes trail Robby, but you kept your thoughts to yourself. The two had always had a stronger bond than you would ever realize, and if they wanted to let you know if anything changed, you'd let them come to you first before asking invasive questions.
So, instead, you settled on asking about the homework. "Were you able to get it all done? I was up forever."
Jack pulled out a small stack of papers. "Yeah. I finished them this morning. Had a bit of a late night but managed to get a decent amount of sleep." He smiled widely, crooked teeth on full display. "How about you?"
"Uh, I don't know if you listen much to the radios but there was another stabbing last night," you murmured.
His eyebrows rose. "No shit?"
"Yeah." You swallowed thickly. "Miles Pennington. He was found by the janitors in the library. No one knows who did it since all the cameras have been out since last semester, but he had five stab wounds and thirteen clean incisions."
"How do you know all this?" he asked, shoulders hunching slightly.
"My friend works the late night desk. She's the one who called the police and stuff. I'm surprised you didn't know any of this Mr. I have a police scanner and listen to it for fun."
His head leaned back as he barked out a laugh before he looked back toward you, mischief gleaming in his eyes. "You're trouble; you know that?"
You let your eyes quickly trail the freckles that dotted his outstretched neck. "Yeah, yeah. Anyway, it kept me up most of the night, because—" You looked around before leaning in closer. "They think all the recent killings are all connected."
Jack choked on his spit. "What?"
"Every single one of them had calls from an unknown number on their hand-held mobiles that ranged from five to ten minutes."
Under the desk, Jack's fingers tightened and curled into a fist. Through the adrenaline high, they'd, once again, forgotten to grab the fucking mobile.
He hoped he was able to keep a calm expression to hide the way his heart was beating wildly beneath his sternum. However, his breathing must have quickened, because he watched the way your brows furrowed with concern.
"Are you okay?" you asked, scooching forward in your chair to give him a once over.
"Fine," he managed to get out. "Just . . . I think I forgot one of the questions."
"Oh, that's okay," you said, hand already sliding your copy of homework over without a second thought.
Jack's heart clenched at your kindness that he definitely didn't deserve. Not when he was the one to give Miles every single one of those incisions with a scalpel Robby swiped from work. The guy was so close to graduating and becoming a resident, but he just had to go and flirt with you last Christmas, blatantly asking if you had plans to "stay warm" during the break. He had almost killed him then, already envisioning the way the blade would sink deep into his gut, before Robby had given him a look, eyes screaming to be patient.
He only had to wait until midterms, get him alone, and have Robby make the call and give him what they dubbed "The Test" over a call before he could pin him to the ground. It had been easy with very little struggle, even with his vision clouded with that white opened-mouth mask they'd found in a going-out-of-business Halloween store. Cash payment; no trail, no evidence.
Jack was already starting to itch again, that vein deep need to spill blood instead of stopping it from flowing, to cause harm instead of protecting.
You snapped in front of his face, and he blinked rapidly.
"You're spacing out again," you said. "Do you need to take a break? I doubt we'll get in trouble if we sneak out to get more coffee."
He shook his head. "No, I'm fine." His finger tapped on your homework. "Thanks for this . . . again."
Your hand rose and covered your mouth as you giggled. "No problem. I cannot have you flunking this class, Jack Abbot. I don't think I'd survive without you."
"Nah, you're smart enough," he said after lightly flicking your temple. "You'll probably match your first try with whatever hospital you choose."
"You think so?" Shyly, you tucked a piece of fallen hair behind your ear.
Jack met your eye with a ferocity you hadn't seen. "I know so."
Heat flushed to your cheeks and spread down your neck into your top, and you quickly looked back down at your papers and binder. You took one glance toward the front, eyes locking onto Robby where he stood discussing something with your teacher.
"Guess I just need to survive the next two years and hope I don't get a phone call myself," you whispered loud enough for Jack to hear over your scratching pencil and the beginnings of the lecture.
It was almost like you'd been put under a trance every time the lesson began to not miss anything important. Because of this, you missed the way Jack locked eyes with Robby over the tops of the students' heads. His older friend barely glanced in the direction of Stephen, and the slight nod he got sent a pleasured chill racing over his skin.
Jack couldn't wait to feel the slick of Stephen's blood and organs against his black leather gloves as he cut him up once clean slice at a time.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The phone's cord tangled around your finger as you giggled into the chunky receiver while Robby told you about one of the pranks his attending played on him because he fell asleep in an on-call room.
"And then, they had the fucking audacity to page me, and I went running before I fell face first into the hub!"
"And then what?" you laughed breathily, leaning back until your head hit your pillow.
"Then so many casualties came in after, and I was stuck with the cast on and unable to help! I had to wait hours before they could get it off."
"Did it teach you not to fall asleep?" you questioned with a smile that he couldn't even see, but Robby could definitely hear it in your voice.
He smiled as well, lips practically kissing his phone. "For a bit, but then I managed to find an excellent napping place."
"Did Benton tell you off for it?"
"Nope." Robby looked down at the paper in his hand, fingers playing the frayed edge. "He actually woke me up with my acceptance papers."
You sat up straight and gasped loudly. "Michael Strausser Speer Robinavitch! You got accepted into their emergency surgery program, and you didn't fucking tell me in person! You ass!"
"It just slipped my mind."
A scoff flew from your lips and echoed in his ear.
"It just slipped my mind," you mocked, voice dipping into a lower tone that didn't quite match Robby's all the way. "Did you tell Jack?"
"Yeah," he breathed.
"And how'd that go?"
Robby pursed his lips at the memory of Jack screaming at him before kissing him right on the lips. "As well as you could imagine."
"He just . . . worries about you, I think," you tried to console with your lip between your teeth. "Worried about you several hours away, worried that he won't be able to catch up."
"Did he tell you about his plans after med school?"
You nodded on instinct before catching yourself. "Y-yeah, he did. He's brave for it."
"Only Jack could want to be an Army field medic," Robby grumbled while running a hand across his jaw. "He's insane."
A low hum rumbled through your chest in agreement. "He wants to help people, but I don't understand why he thinks he needs to do it under active fire."
For some reason, tears pricked at your eyes, and you rapidly tried to blink them away. To keep them away, you did your best to sniff quietly, but the sound was louder through the phone than you thought.
Robby frowned, and his brows pinched. "Hey, why're you crying?"
You chomped down on the inside of your cheek before replying, "I don't want him to get hurt, and he's going to be so alone over there. It breaks my heart every time he wears that stupid Army crewneck he got at the recruitment office."
He knew exactly which one you were talking about; he pulled the damn thing off Jack's freckled body earlier that morning right after he got back from slicing the kid in the library with blood still crusting at his shoes and at the stretches of skin the robe didn't cover. Robby had licked it all off before taking Jack's cock in his mouth.
"Did I lose you over there, Robinavitch?" you asked when you could only hear heavy breathing.
Robby raised his brows and smirked. "Oh, am I simply Robinavitch to you now?"
"It's what you get for keeping important information from me!"
"Okay, baby, okay," he mused, laying it heavy on the small pet name. “Have you decided what you’re wanting to do after school? We could always use you over at Sacred.”
Nervously, you twirled the phone wire around a finger. “Actually . . . I’m thinking about looking into an endo fellowship.”
Your words hit him right in the stomach. “What?”
You huffed. “Yeah, I know I said I might go into emergency med, but Robby, I don’t think I can keep up with that life. Seeing all those traumas would fuck me in the head.”
“So, Jack’s leaving me, and now you’re leaving me?”
“Don’t put it like that. You’re a big boy; you’ll be fine.” Your eyes glanced around the room before widening when you caught the time. "Fuck, Rob, I gotta go. I'm supposed to meet my roommate for breakfast tomorrow before my 8 am." You paused before adding. "Thanks for talking to me. I've really missed you, ya know?"
"I've missed you too," he confessed, "a lot."
"It's not the same without you. I have Jack, but I think I can say we both feel incomplete when you're not here."
"Feel the same out there," he whispered. "I'll let you go, but I'll give Jack a plan for lunch so we can all meet up, yeah?"
"Sounds good, Robby. Sleep well," you said before ending the call.
Your hands raised high above your head, and a soft moan slipped through your lips as you stretched. Needing to use the bathroom one more time, you softly slipped from the bed and padded toward the connected suite. You still had no clue how you managed to get a room with a bathroom, but you were never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
However, only a few feet away, your phone screeched a loud shrill into the air. Your cheeks puffed as you blew out air, mind thinking that Robby probably forgot to tell you something important. Your hand curled around the receiver and raised it to your ear.
"Robby, I swear if you forgot about something again I'll—"
"Hello?" a distorted voice cut you off, and your stomach dipped ever so slightly at the unfamiliar caller.
"Um, hi?"
"Would you like to play a game?"
You frowned deeply. "No thank you. I think you have the wrong number. Goodbye."
The phone clicked back into the stand, and you turned away once more, ready to get peeing over so you could get some sleep. Yet again, your phone rang, and you jumped at the noise. This time, you stomped back over and ripped it right out and up to your ear.
"You shouldn't have done that," the voice tsked. "Because now, if you hang up again, I'll have to kill someone for you."
Your blood ran ice cold. "How is this?"
"Uh, uh, uh, I ask the questions here, sweets. And you still haven't answered my first one: would you like to play a game?"
"Fuck you," you spat. "Is this Stephen from class, because I swear if this is just some elaborate prank, I'm going to report your sorry ass to the dean."
"Oh, she has a mouth on her," he—because this had to be a man—laughed. "What fun you and I are going to have."
"I'm not going to play whatever stupid game this is, Stephen."
"Sorry to tell you, but this isn't Stephen," he growled, and the sound had you shaking slightly.
Knuckles turning white, you gripped the phone tightly. "Then-then who is this?"
"Can't tell you that or it'd ruin the surprise!" He sighed and clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Now, I will ask for the last time, do you want to play a game? Or should I start killing your friends? What are their names again? Jack and Michael?"
"If you hurt them—"
"You'll do what? You don't even know my name? But I know yours, Y/n."
Your skin itched, and you whirled around, almost like you swore that you felt someone's eyes on your body. You stepped up to your window and cracked the blinds open with a finger. When no one seemed to be standing outside, you let the slat fall back down.
"Will you play now?"
A thick glob of saliva fought back against your attempt to swallow it down. "Fine. I'll play. What are the rules?"
"If you can answer my questions, I won't kill poor Stephen here."
In the background, you heard muffled screams and cries that matched the student who had held a pencil to your face. Tears slowly streamed down your face as it fully settled that the man on the other end wasn't playing around, that a life was in your, a mere med student's, hands.
"Don't hurt him, please," you whimpered.
"Such big emotions for a stranger. Oh, you're going to be such a good doctor one day." He cleared his throat. "Question one: a twenty-three-year old comes rolling in after being involved in a motorcycle accident. Her BPs seventy-eight over forty, heart rate’s one-forty. She has absent breath sounds on the left, and her trachea’s deviated to the right. What kills her first?”
“How am I supposed to know that? I’m only a MS2, fucker.”
“You’re smart enough to know it. All that time spent with that emergency resident, and you can’t remember anything?”
“Just give me a second!”
“I fear Stephen doesn’t have ‘a second,’” he taunted, and in the next moment, a pain-filled wail muffled through your phone, causing a sob to rip right from your throat.
“Okay, okay, just—” You pinched your eyes shut as you tried to think through the question. “Tension pneumothorax,” you settled on before holding your breath.
“And your treatment to keep him alive?”
“A-a needle decompression followed by a ch-chest tube.”
The distorted voice paused on the other line. “Correct. See, I knew you would get it. You’re so smart, Y/n.”
You unsuccessfully tried to wipe the tears from your cheeks, but your eyes kept replenishing them. “Okay, I answered your fucking questions, now let the guy go.”
“I’m sorry. Was I not specific? We still have three more to go before I think of letting Stephen here see another sunrise. Next question: A trauma patient arrives talking to you. Five minutes later, they’re confused, then unconscious. What do you suspect is happening?”
A frustrated groan bubbled through your chest. “I need more information.”
“If your patient is unconscious, you don’t get more information. Tick, tock, sweets, Stephen’s counting on you.”
“It-it could be something like an epidural hematoma?”
“And what would be the classic artery?”
“The middle meningeal artery.”
“I’m so proud of you for getting that correct.”
Instead of feeling elated, you were so close to throwing up that you could taste the tang of bile on your tongue. “What’s the next one?”
“Feeling confident, are we?”
“Ask the fucking question.”
“You’ve got penetrating trauma just left of the sternum. Blood pressure is dropping. Neck veins are distended, and the heart sounds are muffled. What’s the diagnosis, doc?”
“Cardiac tamponade,” you answered instantly. It had been one of the homework questions from the ACLS provider course you had with Jack.
“Treatment?”
“Emergency thoracotomy if they’re crashing. Pericardiocentesis only if it’s the bridge.”
“I guess you really can stay awake during your classes. Now, for the final question: your last trauma patient just received a massive transfusion after losing too much blood like poor Stephen will if you get this wrong. All seems to go well until the monitor suddenly shows a widening QRS, peaked T waves, and then ventricular tachycardia. What is killing the man on your table?”
Your stomach dropped to your toes. This should have been the easiest one. You should know this.
“It’s hypocalcemia,” you stated.
The line went silent.
“Did I get it? I got it, you mother fucker,” you growled.
However, all you got was a click on his tongue. “Wrong.”
All blood drained straight from your face. “Wha-what? No, I’m certain it’s hypocalcemia. It’s the textbook definition of it.”
“The diagnosis you’re looking for is actually hyperkalemia. You would have needed to administer potassium instead. Well, the calcium would have been the protocol, but it wasn’t the answer I asked for.”
“N-no,” you stuttered out with another sob wracking your body. “Please don’t hurt him. Let him go.”
“I gave him a fighting chance like all good doctors do. But sometimes, in the real world, we can’t all save our patients. Say goodbye to Stephen. He’ll be missed in class.”
Your throat constricted in a gag as wet slashing sounds echoed through your phone speaker. You should have turned it off, but you stayed frozen to the middle of your room, mind fuzzy and close to dissociation as Stephen’s wails rattled and echoed in your brain. He gave a particularly loud screech that followed almost a ripping sound, something you’d heard before from medical tapes used in surgical classes, the tell-tale noise of someone wrongly cutting through skin and tendons.
In a few moments, he quieted before the line went fully quiet, save for the heavy, distorted breathing from the assailant. All you could manage to do was whimper and tremble.
“Thanks for playing, sweets. Better luck next time.”
The drawl of the dial tone echoed in your ear until the receiver slipped from your hand and landed in a loud thunk against your carpet. Your knees almost buckled as you tried to make your way back to your bed, bathroom break far forgotten. It didn’t even cross your mind as you sat shaking on the comforter, hands clenching the blanket.
All you could hear were Stephen’s moans and cries, and if you could get past those, the man’s words rang freely.
Say goodbye to Stephen. He’ll be missed in class.
The killer was in the ACLS provider course. One of your classmates just murdered Stephen and probably all the other guys too.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
“What’s so important that we had to meet before your first class, baby? Thought you had plans with your roommate,” Robby’s voice sounded behind you, and you flinched violently at the suddenness. “Woah, it’s just me.”
Your red-rimmed wide eyes looked up at him from the empty space at the small coffee table in the on-campus cafe, and his cocky smirk dropped as he took in the paleness and horror that had been plastered on your face since that phone call late last night. Robby grabbed the top of the chair and dragged it out to sit. His knees bumped against yours while his hands gently rested on your cheeks, fingers tilting your chin in order for him to look you over, ever the doctor.
“What’s wrong?” he questioned. You sleepily watched his eyes flicker down your face in an obvious fashion. “What happened?”
You jerked out of his hold and looked back down to the table. “Let’s just wait for Jack.”
Almost as if he were waiting for you to say his name, Jack plopped down into the seat opposite of Robby, the three of you making a triangle around the table. He too was wearing a smile that dropped just as quickly as Robby’s had moments earlier. At least he didn’t start going full doctor on you, but his concern was evident in his pinched expression.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, eyes glancing over toward Robby.
“That’s what I asked,” the brunette responded without looking away from your shaking form.
“I-I wanted to tell you both before the n-news got out,” you stuttered between shaking breaths.
Jack leaned forward and placed both his hands on the table. “What news? I think you’re scaring us a bit, sweetheart.”
“Stephen wa-was murdered,” you squeaked, “last night, right after I finished talking to Robby.” Your pointer finger picked at your thumb, loose skin catching with every scrape.
“Did your friend have to call in another one in the library?” Jack asked.
You shook your head. “No. I did.”
“You did?” Robby echoed, and his concern morphed into confusion. “Was he murdered in the girls’ dorms?”
Another shake of your head. “No.” Tears welled in your lashline, and you squeezed your eyes tight as another wave of Stephen’s cries rang through your memory.
Jack licked his lips and leaned back in the chair. “Well, didn’t you say the killer calls his victims? So, unless you’re a ghost, you should have been far away from whatever happened.”
“You two don’t understand!” you screeched, not caring if a few people turned their heads toward you. “He called me. I had to listen to-to—” Bile burned up your throat as you slapped two hands over your mouth in case it decided to spew between your teeth.
“Jeez,” Robby muttered as he dragged a hand down his jaw. “You had to listen to him getting . . . ya’ know.”
“Murdered,” Jack filled in casually, like he wasn’t concerned at all about what you’d just confessed. Although, he did do a good job at looking a bit surprised. “But why would he call you?”
“I don’t know,” you whimpered, arms coming to wrap around your middle as you hunched in on yourself. “One minute, I thought I was talking to Robby, and the next I thought it might be Stephen because of the pencil incident, but then I tried to hang up again, and . . .” you trailed off right as you remembered what the distorted voice had told you.
“And what?” Jack pressed.
“He said if I hung up and didn’t play his game, he’d kill you two.”
From the corner of his eye, Jack looked over at Robby for the briefest moment before scooting his chair closer to you to wrap you in a hug. Your pliant, shivering body went willingly right into his embrace, and he couldn’t help the smirk that stretched onto his face.
Everything was going to plan better than they had expected. Sure, calling you hadn’t been their first line of action, but looking at you now, so scared, so terrified that they were in danger, made them feel like they should have called you first. Robby initially had been the one who wanted to call and hear your panicked little whimpers, but he’d been the last caller. At least Jack had the decency to record everything, and Robby didn’t remember the last time they had both cum so hard while fucking as they played your delicious sounding cries, its echos joining the perfect symphony of their moans. It was almost as good as having you there with them, but they had to get you willing.
And right now, you seemed on the verge of being just that. They’d planted the seed of doubt in your mind that they weren’t untouchable, that they might be the next victims.
Jack ran a hand up and down your back in soothing motions, and you pressed into his chest, eyes meeting Robby’s worried-looking brown hues across the table.
“Did you already give your statement?” he asked.
“Yeah; last night,” you sighed. “My roommate found me crying, and she was the one to call. Everything happened so quickly.”
Jack pressed his cheek into the top of your head. “Did you recognize the voice?”
“No. It was all distorted.” You tensed suddenly. “But he did say something weird.”
Robby eyed Jack wearily. “Yeah?”
You nodded. “He said that Stephen would be missed in class, but—I mean, wouldn’t that imply that the killer was in the same class as us?”
Jack mouthed a quiet fuck and closed his eyes. He hadn’t meant to say that; he needed himself as far from the scene and victim as possible. Robby normally got away with it since he was supposed to be three hours away while Jack made sure his alibi of being in his dorm room stayed air-tight.
“Did you tell that to the police?”
The corner of your lip turned downward. “I-I think? I don’t know; I can’t remember.” Your words started to slur into a whine, and a single tear slipped down your cheek in frustration.
“That’s okay, sweetheart,” Jack cooed, hand never stopping in soothing circles while he held you. “Tell you what. Why don’t you and I go down to the station after class if you’re feeling up to it.”
Your stomach gurgled at the thought of having to retell what you went through for the sake of adding one more detail, and you swallowed thickly even if your mouth had gone dry.
“I don’t think I want to go to class. Seeing the empty seat . . .” If you thought about it for long enough, you knew you’d start crying all over again. “Can we just stay here? Or go to the fountain outside?” You’d been looking at Robby, but you pulled back from Jack enough to look him in the face. However, when neither of them answered right away, your stomach sank. “Oh.”
Robby cupped a hand at his neck, a familiar thing you’d seen him do for a year straight when he got stressed or nervous.
“Jack and I promised that we’d help out with an advanced simulator today for the fourth year students after you two’s first lecture.”
That was utter bullshit; they hadn’t been asked at all, but they needed to get away from you for a couple of hours to really let you sink into helplessness and paranoia. The longer you went without them with the thought that any moment they might be stabbed and sliced, the more you’d run into their willing arms no matter how they decided to break the news about their late-night activities.
You pulled fully out of Jack’s embrace, and the freckled boy had to stop himself from bringing you right back in, hands already itching to grab onto your arms. But he pulled himself together; he would have all night with you once they got you right where they wanted.
“Will I at least see you both before Robby has to go back tonight?” you asked, finger going back to pick at your thumb, face wincing when a spark of pain shot up your digit. You looked down in time to see blood well under the flap of skin.
“Of course. I’ll be at Jack’s dorm after I finish up with the final night class,” Robby said and finally smiled. He leaned over and softly pinched your cheek. “I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to my favorite girl.”
A rush of pleasure crept up to his chest at the sight of your heated cheeks, and somehow, evening couldn't come soon enough. After you stood and left, probably headed toward your dorm to try to get some sleep, Jack turned towards Robby with a flick of his head.
“Tonight?” he asked, lips stretching into a wide smirk.
Robby didn’t even look his way, eyes still planted on your figure. “Tonight.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Three raps of your knuckles against the wood door and a muffled Come in! from Jack had you pushing the creaky thing open and stepping right into his dorm. You eyed the small piles of clothes that you tried not to step on as you made your way toward his bed. Jack was leaned back against his headboard with a sleepy look on his face and pajamas on his body: a pair of much-too big sweats (that you guessed probably belonged to Robby) and that fucking Army crewneck.
“Would it kill you to clean once in a while?” you asked while taking a seat right at the edge of the mattress.
“There’s a system to it. Left side of the room is for clean clothes, and the right is for dirty,” he responded with a shit-eating smirk.
You rolled your eyes and turned to face him as much as you could without lying stomach down on the bed. “You’re such a boy.”
“At least my room’s not dripping in makeup,” he shot back, face scrunching in disgust. “It’s almost like I can smell it from here.”
“No, that’s your hairspray.” You reached out to ruffle his curls, but his hand darted out and wrapped around your wrist before it could get any further.
Jack pulled slightly, and you followed, knees digging into the comforter so he could bring you closer. “You know better than to touch the curls.”
“Then don’t make fun of my makeup,” you muttered before ripping your hand out of his hold. Using your hands, you pushed yourself further up the bed and mirrored Jack with your shoulder against his and back against the headboard. “How’d that simulator thing go?”
His lip curled. “As well as it could be. Fuck, I hope we’re not going to turn out to be like those stuck up know-it-all assholes. They think they know every damn answer.”
You nudged him slightly. “As long as we study and actually know the answers, we can act as asshole-y as we want to.”
He ran a hand through his hair and scoffed. “That’s the thing. We asked the question for the mock-up ER, and one of the guys in there—total douche—didn’t even know the protocol for hyperkalemia.”
“It’s potassium instead of calcium,” you rattled off mindlessly before pausing.
Jack turned slightly. “Yeah. How the fuck did you know that?”
Your eyes locked onto your feet. “It-it was one the question I got wrong before Stephen—” Your mouth quivered. “Fuck, it’s all my fault.”
“Don’t say that.”
“But it’s true, Jack,” you muttered. “I killed him.” Panic began to lick at the edges of your mind, and your chest started heaving in pants. “I killed him. I killed him.”
Jack pushed up off the headboard and hovered halfway over, hands raising like he didn’t know where he could touch you without sending you over the edge. “You gotta breathe, or you’re going to pass out on me.”
His words were like he was talking underwater, and you couldn’t even process what he was telling you to do. This was not a part of their plan, but Jack had to make due with what he could before Robby got back from killing one more student, a guy who had looked at you way too long in your pharmacology class. Before he could really think things through, Jack cupped your face, leaned in, and kissed you deeply.
The feeling of his lips broke you out of whatever hysteria threatened to take over, and you found yourself mimicking his movements as you kissed him back, lips moving against the other while your hands found purchase in his crewneck. Your eyes fluttered shut before snapping back open when Robby popped in your mind. You pulled back instantly and wiped your lips as though that would get rid of what just happened.
Jack took in your debauched look, you clearly liking that he kissed you, but the worried look you had sent his heart racing the wrong way.
Had they read you wrong the entire time?
“Jack,” you breathed. “We can’t.”
He cocked his head. “Why can’t we?”
“Robby.”
“What about him, sweetheart.”
You looked at him earnestly. “Aren’t you two . . .” You left words unsaid in case you were the one to get this wrong.
Jack almost looked bashful as he replied. “You’re always too damn smart. Catching onto things before we could even tell you.” He leaned back in though and pressed another kiss to the side of your mouth. “We are . . . together, but—” He dragged his eyes over your body with a heated look. “But we want you too.”
His words had you blinking rapidly. “What?” you laughed out, but one look from him said that he wasn’t joking around. “Are-are you serious?”
He clicked his tongue against his cheek. “Deadly.”
You weren’t too sure who moved first, but you met his mouth once more halfway. You moaned loudly at the feeling of his lips and teeth mushing against yours. His hands rose and planted on your hips, fingers curling into the small pudge against bone and pulling you into him, hips dragging along the blankets until you were seated on his lap. Your knees dug into the mattress on both sides of his thick thighs as you held onto his face.
Jack shivered with glee at the feeling of your grinding weight on top of him, cock already stiff below Robby’s pair of sweatpants hugging his legs. He bucked up slightly into your dampening core, and your jaw dropped enough for him to slide his wet tongue right into your hot mouth. He languidly licked around your teeth before playing with the tip of your tongue. You couldn’t help but think that if he was this into your mouth, you wanted to imagine what it’d feel like against your clit. At the vivid picture popping into your imagination, you ground down harder against his bulge.
Jack being large wasn’t surprising; not with the amount of tight pants he liked to wear, but you never imagined yourself being able to feel it nestled against your clit through your thin pajamas. As you continued to rock back and forth, he let go in order to play with the hem of your shirt before lifting it over your head and tossing it to the ground. His eyes widened slightly when he realized you’d foregone the bra.
“Fuck,” he muttered after pulling back to really look at them, hands rising to cup your breasts.
With his pointer fingers and thumbs, he pinched your nipples into soft peaks, drawing a higher-pitched whine from behind your teeth. By now, your underwear were soaked with slick arousal. Without warning, he leaned in right as your back arched and took one bud into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed, and a loud sucking noise squeaked out of his lips. You jerked at the feeling and sank your hands into his hair.
“Jack,” you breathily sighed.
“That’s me, sweetheart,” he retorted after letting your nipple go with a wet pop just to do the same to your other one.
You normally weren’t one to cum just from stimulation to your breasts, but the hazy feeling from grinding on Jack’s cock and his lips and tongue circling your nipples started to well in your stomach. Your jaw dropped again as a loud moan shuddered out of you after he bit down on the sensitive peak before running a soothing, wet stripe over it. He pulled back again to lightly blow on the heated flesh, and his cooled breath made goosebumps race up your skin.
He dropped a hand to play with the waistline of shorts, and you lifted your hips to allow him to get your sleep shorts and underwear off in one go. They quickly joined your shirt at the floor, and his hand had just started to trail between your thighs when his bedside phone gave off a loud shrill into the air. Jack acted as though he didn’t hear it, lips still suckling away at your chest.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” you panted between the grinds of your hips.
“Just let it ring,” he responded, but the sound had already ripped your attention away from between your legs.
With a smile, you reached over and picked up the phone, mind too full with pleasure to even think of the last time you picked up a phone without knowing who was on the other line. Really, you should have been more careful, but with Jack under your naked body, all caution was out the window.
“Jack’s busy right now,” you giggled into the phone, “but I can give him a message—”
“Hi, baby.”
Your hips stilled, and your blood froze at the sound of the distorted voice. A dizzying feeling replaced the warmth of pleasure in your system, and you could barely get out a response that wasn’t a small, terrified noise.
“Has Jack left you that speechless already?” he continued, voice sounding louder than it had last night over the phone. If you really thought about it, it felt as though he was right next to your ear. “Go on, baby. You were looking so pretty getting messy over him. I was really enjoying the show,” he growled, voice suddenly right over your shoulder instead of through the speaker.
You dropped the phone and whipped around right off Jack’s lap, and panic seized your chest, because right by the door, a tall man draped in black fabric and a hollowed-eyed white mask stared back at you. You started to scramble as a small scream ripped up your throat, but Jack was quicker. He grabbed your hips and brought you back to this lap, this time facing the masked intruder. His arms wrapped around your middle and held you through your struggles and tears.
“Jack, what the fuck!” you sobbed, hands wrenching and nails scratching at his arms. “Let me go! We’re going to die! Let me go, please!”
Instead of doing what you demanded, Jack tucked his chin onto your shoulder as the man started stalking toward the bed. With each step, your struggles grew. By now, Jack’s arms were littered with bleeding stripes from your desperation to get away, but that only added to his pleasure, cock never failing to fade into softness against your back. Your chest heaved and tightened the closer the man got before he stopped at the foot of the bed.
You watched with wide eyes as he raised a small box to where his lips would be under the mask before his empty gloved hand suddenly lifted the stretched-chin until the mask slipped from his face, and Robby’s dark brown eyes locked on yours.
His lips curled into a devilish smirk. “Surprise, baby.”
For a split second, you thought you’d pass out, suddenly overwhelmed with everything in a dizzy sensation.
“What?” you sputtered.
Jack hummed over your shoulder and ran a finger down your tear-streaked cheek. He pouted when you met his eye from the corner of yours.
“Aw, sweets, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Not enjoying our little surprise?” he taunted before a chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Awww, Mikey, look at her. The poor thing’s shaking.”
Robby let the voice modulator fall to the floor with a dulled thunk that kept your heart racing against your ribcage. In a desperate attempt to keep a distance between you and Robby, you tried to fling yourself to the side, but Jack just tightened his arms around you more.
“Not so fast,” he said. “Not when we haven’t gotten to the best part yet.” One arm let go so his hand could grip your chin to keep you facing Robby. “Go on and spread her legs for me.”
Without hesitation, Robby kneeled at the edge of the mattress and crawled until he reached where your feet planted against the comforter. His brown eyes, the hues almost black with lust, watched you intently as he placed his gloved hands on your naked knees. Yet, when he tried to part them, you swung a foot and connected it right between his legs, drawing a grunt from deep in his lungs.
He shuddered, his hand reaching down to palm himself over the long black robes he wore. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he fought to get air back in his lungs. As his hand pressed down harder, he groaned, looking up at you through his eyelashes. The inky blackness of his pupils swallowed the brown of his irises entirely.
The motherfucker liked that.
Jack’s hand slid down from your jaw and wrapped around the front of your throat, and his fingers squeezed lightly against the sides of your neck, sending a fuzzy wave to your brain, and your breath hitched, body stilling in his grasp. His lips softly grazed your ear as he whispered, “Be a good girl and stay still for us. You’ll like it, I promise.”
He jerked his chin out towards Robby, and you could only watch him finally grip your knees. In one fluid motion, he wrenched your legs apart, revealing your glistening cunt to both of them. Robby hummed lowly in amusement.
“You’re so wet for us, baby,” he mused and lowered his face until he was inches away from your core.
An embarrassed heat flooded your face and neck when he inhaled sharply. If you bucked your hips to get him to move back, you’d just shove his nose right into your folds, and if you withdrew them, you’d grind right into Jack’s cock. You were stuck, and neither seemed to be concerned with how you felt.
“Please let me go,” you pleaded with a whimper and squeezed-shut eyes. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Jack tutted against your ear. “It’s not that we don’t believe you, sweets, but . . .”
“We’ve already waited this long to have you like this,” Robby finished his sentence, finally pulling back from between your legs to look down at you as he ripped the gloves off. “We can’t let you go after we’ve worked so hard to get you right where we want.”
“You fucking murdered people,” you spat, body beginning to shift unconsciously as a result of your fear . . . or something closer to simmering arousal that you didn’t even want to admit to. “And now you think I’m just going to sit here and enjoy this?”
“Well, yeah,” Jack smacked his lips. “Cause even though you’re putting on a big show of being brave even if you’re terrified—” He reached down and ran a fingertip through your cunt from hole to clit before holding it up to the light to show just how wet it was. “Your body is still begging for us.”
You shivered against him. “It’s not—I’m not begging.”
Jack sighed loudly. “That’s okay; we know you will once we get started.” His hazel eyes met Robby’s gaze. “Go right ahead, Mikey.”
“Robby, please don’t,” you whispered as he leaned back down, bare fingers coming to grip at the soft insides of your thighs. “Don’t do this. I—”
You bit down on your lip to stifle the first moan that threatened to burst out as Robby’s tongue began to lick at your puffy folds, fingers curling into Jack’s freckled forearms and thighs jolting at the feeling. He held them down. His tongue moved inward and stiffened into a point to drag upward to your throbbing clit, the texture of his tastebuds adding to the buzzy stimulation. He toyed with you, going from circular motions to biting down gently with his front teeth. As he tilted his face to get a better angle, his beard rubbed against your inner thighs, and the scratchiness of it added to the burning pleasure from your core.
If he continued, he’d leave a lasting reminder of beard burn for you to remember this night.
Above, you refused to look down at him, lip staying between your teeth as he tried to break you. Jack was having none of it, and the hand around your throat pressed harder into your pulse points, cutting off your circulation to flood your brain with a hazy feeling that made the pleasure from Robby’s ministrations grow tenfold.
It was only when he licked around your sopping entrance that a keel ripped from your throat, and the sound was like music to their ears.
“Good job, sweetheart,” Jack muttered as he let go to allow oxygen to rush back in. “That’s what we want to hear. Keep going, Mikey. I wanna hear more.”
“Just keep her steady,” Robby responded against you, and his words sent vibrations tingling through your cunt, drawing out another heady moan. He continued to go back and forth from your clit to your hole before the first finger breached the tight entrance. “Oh, fuck, she’s tight,” he groaned, cock throbbing as he imagined sinking deep into you.
“Yeah?” Jack breathed. “Saved yourself just for us, sweets?”
“No,” you moaned out, hips slightly rocking to alleviate the stretch. “Nooooo shit!”
Robby sucked your clit as he began to pump his finger in and out, your innermost muscles clenching in uncontrollable spasms around the digit. Slowly, he felt you begin to loosen and suck him back in. Your head tilted back against Jack’s shoulder when he curled his finger upward, expertly finding your soft spot. Your back arched, and your hips raised into Robby’s face, making his nose catch against your clit.
A wave of pleasure washed over you. Your once tense muscles had relaxed as endorphins fought to replace your terror, leaving you close to putty and pliant between them. Your legs widened instinctively when Robby added a second finger.
“Oh—fuck!” you wailed out when both fingertips rubbed along your walls, slick gushing out with each thrust. “Robby!”
“There we go,” Jack gleefully said, voice filled with nothing but content as he felt your body drape against him, all fight draining the closer they got you to cumming. “I told you that you were going to like it.”
Somehow, Robby managed to get his fingers to reach further, and stars dotted your vision by how deep you could feel him. You didn’t want to imagine how deeper he could get with his cock—wait.
You were giving in. You couldn’t; this was wrong. They killed people. You needed to get away fast.
“Robby!” you parroted and followed with a moan as your lower belly simmered with something that was about to snap. “Gonna cum! Wanna cum!”
Finally, you looked downward and met his lidded gaze through his eyebrows, lower face hidden behind your soft mound as he continued to lick and suck and graze your bundle of nerves with his teeth. He was close to sending you right over the edge, but there was one thing they both wanted to hear.
They wanted you to beg for it.
Jack finally unwrapped his arms from your middle to start palming at your breasts again. “C’mon, sweets. Mikey’ll make you cum, but you need to ask nicely for it first. Just say the magic words and—” He pinched and pulled and twisted your nipples, and a cry ripped right out of you, “—he’ll give it to you.”
Your eyes burned with unshed tears, and somewhere deep, the need to push back flickered before being doused with a rush of arousal. Robby added a third finger and quickened his thrusts, causing a squelching noise to fill the room.
Finally, after feeling the heat about to boil over in your core, you whimpered out the smallest, “Please.”
Robby groaned against you, and bit down hard on your clit while curling upwards with stiff fingers. You came instantly, walls clenching rhythmically while Robby kept his pace steady to draw out your high for as long as possible. He watched the way your thighs shook and the way your arched beautifully, stomach curved out high as Jack continued to pull and grab at your breasts.
You all but collapsed back against Jack’s chest when Robby finally pulled away, your sticky arousal coating his lips and chin and also the three fingers that he stuck in his mouth. He held eye contact with you as he swirled his tongue between the slots. Jack huffed behind you.
“I want a taste,” he demanded, and Robby quickly leaned over you, robes draping across your heaving chest, and kissed Jack.
The loud slurping noises coming from over your head made you groan when your hole clenched around nothing.
“Tastes good,” Jack muttered before licking across Robby’s lips. “Tastes so fucking good, sweetheart,” he addressed you even if he was currently occupied. He bit down, and Robby whined as a metallic tang filled their shared saliva.
You lied there, and for a moment, your mind caught up to the situation at hand. Robby and Jack were the murderer—murderers? One to make the call, and the other to kill the student. Through the initial shockwaves of your orgasm, your stomach dipped, and you pushed up slightly, hoping they were both too into the other to miss the way you tried to inch across the bed. Jack pulled away suddenly and reached across, hands planting on both sides of your hips. Air rushed from your lungs at the sheer amount of his strength as he flipped you in one fluid motion and put you on your stomach.
“No, fuck you,” you whined against the covers. “I’ve never—”
Jack’s hands maneuvered you like a personal doll: knees pushing into the mattress and hips high in the air. He used his knees to knock yours wider to fit behind. You tried to push up on two hands, but he sent you right back down with a strong enough push between your shoulder blades. He held you down and pulled down the waistline of his sweatpants just enough to pull his cock out, lips parting in a hiss at the cold air enveloping his heated flesh. He sighed when he got a hand around himself, and the tip spurted out a line of precum. He used his palm to spread it across his length before he notched it at your entrance.
Your body tensed at just the feeling of the large head already barely fitting even if Robby had managed to get three fingers in you.
“Wait,” you said and gripped the comforter. “No, no, please wait, please, Jack, I’m a virgin, wait—”
As though your pleas fell on deaf ears, Jack slowly started to sink into you. He shuddered when your warmth sucked in the first inch like your cunt needed him even if you thought you didn’t.
“Fuck, sweets,” he hissed. “Robby said you were tight, but fucking—can’t believe I get to be your first.”
You gasped at the stretch and intrusion, and he kept feeding himself into you even after the first bit of resistance. You’d mold perfectly around him soon enough. Your inner thighs shook and tensed as he pushed in further, and sweat collected at your brow line as your body heated under the pressure. You shut your eyes tight, but that only made it difficult to concentrate on anything but the feeling of Jack’s massive cock bullying its way into you.
Jack pulled back slightly, and the drag of the head along your walls had you gasping for air.
“Too much for you?” Jack cooed as your whimpers hit his ears. “Shhhh, it’s okay, sweetheart, you can take it; I know you can.” He slowly pushed back in. “Take a deep breath for me, yeah? Big streeetch,” he drew out until the entirety of his length sat inside you.
Your chest heaved as much as it could into the mattress, and your jaw dropped to take in lungfuls of air. You felt too full, like one wrong move and Jack would rip you in half. It only got worse when he started to thrust, and his tip started tapping against your cervix with no more room to push into.
“J-Jack, f-fuck,” you stuttered, and tears once again streamed down your cheeks. “Please—fuck!”
He rocked his hips against yours to the point that his balls slapped against your ass with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am inside you?” he grunted while his hands tightened around your hips. “Fucking taking all of me. Such a needy girl for my cock.”
You bit down on the comforter, muffling your whines in an attempt to keep how much he was affecting you to yourself.
“Oh, sweets, that won’t do,” Jack tutted and sank a hand into your roots, fingers curling around the strands and yanking your head upward with a yelp. Your hands scrambled to get under you to relieve some of the pressure, but Jack didn’t stop thrusting, and the motion had your breasts swinging in the air. “Mikey, give her mouth something to do.”
You eyes widened because under Jack’s fucking, you somehow completely forgot about Robby. But now as he shrugged off the robe and unbuckled his pants to get his cock out, you started sobbing once more.
“Please don’t do this. I loved you two,” you weakly confessed, mind warring against your needy body, but all that did was make Jack angle his hips on an upward thrust to hit that spot that made you wail.
Robby fisted his cock while he raised your chin up, and his eyes softened for a split second. “You’ll just have to learn to love this version of us, baby, because we love you just like this.”
His words hit you in the pit of your stomach, and suddenly his words broke something inside you.
This was Jack and Robby, your two best friends who’d do anything for you. You couldn’t keep fighting against them if you tried.
Your jaw chomped shut hard enough that your teeth clicked together, but both of them were one step ahead. Jack let go of your hair and snaked a hand between your thighs to start circling his fingertips against your clit as he continued to fuck into you at a slowed pace, really wanting to draw this all out.
You couldn’t help the moan that flowed freely at the double stimulation attacking your cunt, and your jaw unhinged enough to let Robby slip the tip of his cock between your teeth. Instantly, the salty tang of his precum coated your mouth. He held the sides of your face and pushed in deeper.
“Another deep breath, baby,” he groaned before he thrust into your mouth, giving you barely any warning to brace for his cock to fill your mouth.
Your throat constricted in a gag, but a flick of Jack’s fingers around your bud paired with a harsh thrust pushed you forward until your nose right into Robby’s navel, his wiry happy trail filling your senses with his deep musky scent. Above you, Robby arched into the feeling and groaned into the air. You were now filled on both ends as you desperately tried to breathe in through your mouth.
Robby’s cock nestled against your tongue and a few inches down your throat. He was definitely longer than Jack, but the redhead had a much thicker girth than the brunette. Jack planted both his hands on your shoulders and pulled you back until Robby almost slipped right out. You sputtered and coughed from the lack of air, and a string of saliva wiggled down from your mouth to the bed.
In just a breath later, they resumed, and you moved upwards and backwards on them like a pig on a spit. You felt dizzy between the white-hot pleasure Jack gave your cunt and the fuzziness that took over when Robby slipped down your throat. Both men moaned and grunted when you seemed to clench down on them at the same time.
“Fuck, you weren’t kidding when you said she was—shit—so fucking tight,” Jack moaned when your walls spasmed around him, nearly cumming from the feeling. “You any close, sweets? Wanna feel you cum on my cock.” His words went straight to your body, and your pussy tightened. “Oh, you like when I talk to you? Is that right?”
You whined in response and nodded. .
His fingers picked up against your throbbing clit to meet his thrusts, and your stomach flipped with the onslaught of never-ending ecstasy flowing through your lower half. He could tell you were close when you started leaking around him, inner thighs sticky and wet enough to transfer onto his when he pushed into you with wet plap, plap, plap, plaps.
At your front, Robby continued lazily thrusting into your mouth with jerky motions, knowing that once Jack filled you, he’d have his turn to sink deep into your pussy. His head leaned back when he managed to make you gag, and your throat constricted and caught his tip. His large hand basically covered the back of your head. He kept you tucked against his navel even when you tried to jolt back to get more air. His soul thrummed at your panic, and he wondered if you could feel him get harder between your teeth.
“Uh, uh, uh, uh,” sputtered around Robby with every draw and snap of Jack’s hips.
“Just give in, sweetheart,” Jack whispered into your ear after slotting his stomach into the dip of your back. “Let us know that we’re making you feel so good.” Using two fingers, he pinched at your clit just as his hips began to stutter, a tell-tail sign that he was about to cum as well. “Fucking—shit—give it to me.”
With a muffled cry, your body shook as your second orgasm ripped right through your body. Jack could barely fuck into you with how hard you were clamping down on him as your cunt wept and dribbled onto the bed.
“Good—fucking—girl,” he punched out with three forceful thrusts. His hands planted back onto your hips, and his fingers curled white-knuckled into the skin so hard that you knew you’d have his fingerprints bruised into you by morning. His lower stomach pulsed when you began to whimper from overstimulation, and the sound had his cock throbbing. “Fuck, gonna fill you up, sweets. Gonna cum, gonna—fucking shit!”
He thrusted hard once, twice, three times before he stilled, cock spurting release into your fluttering hole. He had squeezed his eyes shut, but he peaked through his eyelids to see Robby lean over with a hand between your legs. The air knocked right out of Jack’s lungs when your cunt clamped down on him again near the end, and he guessed that Robby had rubbed right against your clit. Jack’s chest heaved through his high.
“Good job, sweetheart,” he muttered, giving little rocks of his hips to prolong his own pleasure, dick already softening just a bit. “You took me so well; so well.”
His hands loosened from your shoulders, and without any strength left in your wobbly arms, you fell right back into the bed, body twitching in the aftershocks. A whimper climbed from deep in your chest when he finally pulled out. Your hole clenched and pushed out a thick glob of the mix of your rapidly cooling slick and his cum from your walls.
You felt his finger drag along your folds to catch it just to push the mess right back in, drawing a mewl from your lips. Too tired and fucked out to care about what they did next, you let your hips lower until they rested against the bed. You heard some shuffling through the haze, and the next moment, your body flipped over. Each of your limbs tingled with warmth, and you let out the smallest giggle.
You enjoyed that more than you’d ever admit to it.
“What’s so funny, baby?” Robby asked as he took off the rest of his clothes just as Jack was taking off his crewneck but leaving his sweats still on.
Your eyes fluttered shut. “Think it’s funny that you said you loved me, but you killed people,” you slurred.
Jack and Robby shared a look before the taller took his place near your feet.
“Stephen deserved it, baby,” Robby darkly muttered. “And all those boys who came before him.”
Jack ran a soothing hand up and down your leg. “You’re our girl. We couldn’t let them live after how they acted towards you.”
Like he did earlier, Robby parted your legs, leaning down for half a heartbeat to press a small kiss to your twitching clit before trailing open-mouthed kissed up your stomach until he reached your lips. As though all fight drained out of you with the last climax, you matched his advances and kissed him back, legs absentmindedly parting to let him hover over you.
You were the one to break the kiss when he rutted his cock through your sopping, overly-sentivie folds. Your breath hitched high in your throat before breaking to give way to a shuddering moan. You tried to push him off, but his lips stayed glued to your neck.
He reached down and positioned his cock head to your entrance, and he slipped in with no resistance, the added lubrication of Jack’s spend and your relaxed muscles adding to his eased thrusting. The back of your head pushed deep into the mattress, and you swore you could feel Robby all the way up into your throat. Through lidded eyes, you caught the sight of Jack already hard again in his hand, his hazel eyes watching intently as Robby started to fuck you.
“Hnnngggg,” you moaned through your teeth. Robby’s tip hit your cervix with each forward movement. “Oh my—fucking—please, Robby!”
“Only took two orgasms to get you begging, hm?” Jack asked, and he reached over to pet at your face while simultaneously fucking up into his hand. His fingers traced your lips before he plunged them into your mouth. His breath stuttered when you started softly sucking on his digits.
“Whatever you’re doing up there,” Robby grunted, hips snapping into the heat of your walls, “she likes it. Her cunt’s clenching—shit—around me like a fucking vice, man.”
Your high-pitched whine came out all muffled through Jack’s fingers. Without someone holding your hips down, you began to meet Robby’s thrusts in shallow grinds. Where Jack’s cock stretched you out to the point of bliss, you wanted Robby’s length to stay buried deep to constantly rub against your walls. He must have understood what you wanted, because he stopped with the full thrusts and ground against your hips. The thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbed deliciously against your swollen clit, and you whined at the added stimulation.
After having climaxed twice so fast, it didn’t take long before you started to writhe under Robby’s frame, close to cumming without needing much.
“Gonna—” You gagged when Jack pushed his fingers in farther. “Gonna,” you warbled.
“Gonna cum already for us, baby?” Robby grunted. “Well, when you do, I wanna hear you cry my name, okay? Want your pretty mouth to spit it out.”
You nodded shakily and tried to respond, but Jack’s fingers were too deep for anything eligible to come out. After thrusting them a bit more and getting them slick with your saliva, Jack pulled them out of your mouth. You squealed loudly when his fingers rubbed between your clit and where Robby was rutting into you.
“Ooohhhh,” you breathed. “Jack! Feels good!”
“Yeah? Does it feel better when I do this?” Suddenly, the pressure inside your walls exploded as Jack nudged his pointer finger into your hole, digit brushing against Robby’s cock to make you feel fuller than you ever had. “I bet that feels really good for you, sweetheart. Got your hole all nice and filled to the brim.”
He tried to angle his wrist as best he could to press upward, and your thighs tried to close around his hand, but Robby’s hips kept them spread wide open. Needing to alleviate the pressure, you dug your feet into Robby’s lower back and arched into his chest. In one more movement to grind against Jack’s hand and Robby’s cock, you came instantly in a soundless scream.
Robby folded over as your walls suddenly clamped down on him without warning. Your chest shook in a deep sob as the pleasure almost became too much. But through the shivers and pinpricks of euphoria, you remembered what Robby had asked.
“Michael!” you screamed, hips jolting uncontrollably against him. “Micahel! Michael!”
Like some Pavlovian effect, Robby groaned loudly with stuttering hips, cock spurting with hot waves of cum deep inside and fusing his and Jack’s cum to your cunt. No matter who you else might fuck in life, they’d always know that their cum was in you first.
“Such a good baby,” Robby spat, mind barely keeping up with the feeling of your warmth entrapping his cock. “So smart for remembering. Fucking love it when you say my name. Fucking love you.”
Your eyes had squeezed shut yet again right before you felt splatters across your face and heard a plethora of curses and moans from Jack above you. Some of his cum painted across your eyes, and you could only lie there and take his spend to your face.
For a moment, you ceased to exist on the bed, mind floating blissfully somewhere else as you stewed in the slowing waves of your probably final orgasm. It wasn’t until you felt a warm, wet towel against your face did you open your eyes again. You blinked rapidly to clear them of the gloss that had taken over, and Jack cooed softly as he wiped his drying cum from your cheeks.
“There she is,” he whispered. “There’s our girl. You did so well for us, sweetheart. Can’t believe we got to finally do this with the girl we love.”
There it was again: their declarations of love.
You wondered if it was all a ploy, but with their soft touches and slow roll of your pliant body to settle between them as sleep licked at your body, something settled inside your chest. Sure, they’d killed people, but they’d been right about what they said. Stephen deserved it, deserved what they did to him along with all the other boys who’d made you uncomfortable before meeting their ultimate demise.
They’d done it all for you . . . because they loved you.
Your lip twitched into a soft smile as you relaxed into the blanket Jack tossed over the three of you.
“I love you both, too.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Morning light was the first thing to cause your closed eyelids to glow as your body slowly woke up. Instead of gently being lolled from your sleep, you became instantly aware of where you were and more importantly who you were between. Sometime after falling asleep, you’d managed to tuck yourself under Robby’s chin while Jack clung to your back, their shared heat making the bed feel like a furnace. You shifted. One leg slipping from between Jack’s, and your hips tilting away from Robby’s.
Yet, you’d barely moved a few inches when Jack was the second to wake up. He muttered something sleepily before tightening his arms around your middle.
“Don’t go,” he slurred, voice still thick with sleep.
“I need to pee,” you whispered back, but all you really wanted was to retreat to the bathroom to wrap your mind around what had happened last night: their confessions, them fucking you, you confessing your love for both of them. If you stayed any longer, the dream of last night might become reality, and you weren’t ready to face the possibility that you might become their next victim.
Robby shuffled slightly at your front and nuzzled his cheek into the top of your head. “Pee here. Pretty sure Jack’s into that,” he sighed, almost like he was seconds away from falling back asleep, however, his eyes shot open when Jack whacked him in the face with a spare pillow.
“I don’t have a piss kink,” the redhead groaned, not even opening his hazel eyes. “I just think it’s hot.”
“Then it constitutes as a piss kink, kid.”
Jack pushed up with one arm while rapidly blinking the sleep away. “Can we not kink shame your boyfriend, please? We get one morning with her between us, and you start spouting bullshit nonsense.”
“Guys,” you whined. “Enough.” Your head tilted down until your forehead connected with Robby’s chest. “Let’s just get this all over with.”
Jack paused with another pillow mid-way in the air, fingers letting go to let it drop down to the bed. He slightly curled around your shoulder and tried to meet your eye. “Get over with what?”
Robby twirled a piece of your hair around a finger. “What’s going on in that head, baby?”
“I already know what will happen next. You’re going to tell me that last night was a fluke, and I’m about to show up on the news as another dead body,” you spat. “So, please, make it painless and get on with it.”
Over your head, Robby and Jack shared a look of concern before Jack plastered himself along your back.
“No, sweetheart, no,” he cooed. “That’s like the exact opposite of what’s going to happen. We weren’t lying when we said we loved you.”
You shook your head and closed your eyes. You didn’t believe them. How could you after all they’ve done?
“Listen, baby,” Robby started as he pushed back to make you look at him, “Jack and I love you so much, and the thought of us never being able to have you pushed us over the edge. It’s like an itch we can’t scratch unless we get rid of the problems.”
“And the problems were all those boys who either thought they had a chance or made you uncomfortable by thinking you wanted them back,” Jack growled, and the noise went right to your core. “We fucking love you so much, and it was agony to see them hurt you, so we hurt them in return—like, take them out entirely.”
“No one messes with you unless they want to mess with us,” Robby stated. “But we’d never hurt you, baby. I think we’d both rather kill the other if we ever did.”
They both waited in silence for you to answer, and for a moment, they thought that you were able to push away, grab your clothes, and run out the door with how heavy you were breathing. But then, they both noticed the way your thighs shifted together, and it dawned on them that you were into this—them killing men just for you.
“You really mean that?” you finally asked, voice meek and scared for them to laugh and yell psych!
“We’d let you kill us if we didn’t, sweetheart” Jack said, voice steady and strong. “Our hearts beat only for the other and you.” He placed a kiss on your bare shoulder before lightly biting into your skin.
Robby inhaled sharply. “We’ll stop . . . if you want us to. No more games, no more murders—”
“Unless you want us to,” Jack added. “Say the word, and you’ll have a heart on a platter if you wish.”
A loud groan rumbled through your chest, and your hips jutted back against Jack’s front. “You two can’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not?” Robby asked, and you could hear the smirk in his words.
“Becasuse—” You squeaked when Jack suddenly palmed at your breasts under the covers. “Because it makes me feel . . .”
“Good?” Jack filled in, but you shook your head.
“Loved. It makes me feel loved, and it’s fucking crazy to say that, because you’re willing to murder people if I ask for it.”
Your thighs parted when you felt Robby try to prod between them, and a lazy sigh exhaled from your lips as he slowly started to circle your clit through your puffy folds that were still slick from last night’s activities.
“We’re willing to do a lot more than murder,” he muttered, lips pressing into every inch of your face. “But we have you now, and unless anyone thinks they can get through us, we won’t need to put any more bodies in the ground.”
“Promise?” you asked with a pant catching the end of the word.
“Promise,” Jack grunted, hips bucking into your ass.
“Promise,” Robby echoed.
“Okay, okay,” you said. “I was also telling the truth when I said that I loved you both. Just wanting to make it clear that this goes both ways.”
“Good,” Jack said as he placed two hands on both sides of your hips. “Now, flip on your front. I wanna feel your cunt cum on my cock again.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ ·
Night was not the best place to be hanging around a parking lot in the middle of Pittsburgh. Unfortunately for Brendon Park, he found himself doing just that around an hour after his shift ended at 9 pm, eyes narrowed at his slashed tires on his brand new Porsche. Someone had done this, and all he needed to do was wait for the stupid tow truck and security officer to come help him out. He could have left it for the morning and gotten an uber, but Park was a proud man.
And yet, what did they say about pride? It commeth before the downfall.
He was so busy huffing and puffing while stalking back and forth along his car that he failed to hear the twin footsteps rapidly approaching behind him. He didn’t even know he wasn’t alone until a white-hot pain in his side froze him in his tracks. His torso twisted, but that just dug the scalpel in deeper. He stumbled to get away, but all he was met with was another parallel stab to his other side.
Automatically, Park applied pressure over the blood already soaking through his scrub top. He looked down and hissed before looking for his assailant. He squinted into the dark, and his breath hitched when twin robed figures stepped out into the small bit of light coming from a close to burning out lamp. It was almost like the two were from a slasher movie in the 90s with their hollowed-eyed halloween masks and glittering robes that donned their bodies, keeping Park from knowing who had just stabbed him twice.
“What the fuck?” he hissed as he backed up into his Porsche’s driver door, hand trying to grip the handle but failing because of his blood’s slickness. “I’ll give you money or whatever the fuck you want but stay right over there or I swear I’ll call the cops.”
One of them tilted his head, and Park felt the dead eyes stare right through his soul.
He watched as the other—the taller one—raised a box to where his mouth would be behind the mask.
“You wanna know what we want, Brendon Park?” he asked, voice distorted through the modulator.
“I’ll give it to you,” Park grunted, the pain blooming up his sides and into his chest. They must have hit one of his kidneys and possibly an organ with how fast the anguish was spreading, making it hard to breathe in and out.
The taller looked down at the shorter, and their eyes met before they nodded. Park’s eyes widened when they both produced longer knives than the shorter ones they stabbed him with. The modulator rose again, and what he said next sent a chill right through Park’s stomach.
“We want to see what your insides look like.”
Without a beat, the two robed figures pounced on him, and in just a few minutes, Park slunked down to the concrete, leaving a painted bloodied smear across his car’s door. With satisfaction pumping through their veins, the two watched as he took his last wheezing breath before dying in a puddle consisting of almost all his blood. His body wouldn’t be found until the morning with stab wounds littering his body. His fault for parking away from everyone else in fear of his car getting scratched.
Only when the two were sure they were the only breathing beings in the lot, they ripped off the masks, and Jack huffed loudly.
“Murder was so much easier in med school when I wasn’t missing a fucking leg,” he grumbled while shifting his weight onto his real leg. He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked salt-and-pepper curls.
“Tell me about it,” Robby answered. “If he were any shorter, my knees would have given out if I had to bend down.” He kicked at Park’s leg and smirked when the body recoiled slightly. “But man did that feel good.”
“I’m kinda glad he decided to go off on her. Last mistake he’d ever make, but nothing beats the rush of this.”
The memory of Park berating you in the middle of their ER flashed through their minds. They'd seen the way you flinched under his words in a way they hadn't seen in decades. They'd wanted to kill him right then and their, but Robby and Jack weren't ones to break their promises, however, the next time all three of you had the day off, you told them what you wanted between moans as Robby sandwiched you between his and Jack's chest.
"I want him gone," you had whimpered out, forehead pressing into Jack's collar bone while Robby rocked you back and forth on his cock.
"Want who gone, sweets?" Jack questioned before grunting loudly when his tip notched against your clit.
"Park—shit—I want him gone."
You wanted them to kill Park, and they were never ones to disappoint.
Robby went to say something, but the shrill of his iPhone had him digging and floundering through the drapes of robes. When he managed to bunch the fabric, he reached into his pocket and took out his phone, answering it without a second glance.
“Hello? Michael Robinavitch speaking.”
“Do you want to play a game?” a voice answered from the speaker, and the two glanced at each other with devilish, knowing smiles.
“Depends on what type of game it is, sweetheart,” Jack responded, crossing his arms against his chest.
“I wanna know how much it’ll take to make you two scream.” Your small laugh followed, you not being able to take this as seriously as the two had back in school.
Robby brought his phone up closer to his mouth. “I don’t know the exact answer, but I think you can start with being naked and face down on the bed by the time we get back.”
“I think that can be arranged. Get home soon, or I might have to play the game myself.”
cw: fem!reader, 18+, phone sex (a little dubcon-y but girlie is into it), daddy kink
You’re a little hazy when you wake up. Your lashes stick together, and your lids feel so heavy. The sunlight has only just begun to filter through your curtains, and you can’t quite piece together why you’re awake at this hour.
Until you register your phone ringing.
Now, the list of people able to call you through your sleep focus is very short. Jack is right at the top.
You reach for your phone immediately, but your movements are still rather sluggish. Just before the call is about to go to voicemail, you manage to answer.
“Jackie?” you murmur drowsily, “What’s wrong?”
You hear a faint shifting at the other end of the line and a sigh of relief.
“God, it’s good to hear your voice, baby.”
Jack sounds a little breathless and more tired than you.
You sit up and brush the fine hairs from your forehead, your brows pulled together in worry.
“You okay, Jackie? Bad day?” you ask.
“Something like that, bun. Just finished my shift. I’m in the parking lot right now,” he answers. “Did I wake you? You sound sleepy, I’m sorry.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” you insist.
He’s quiet for a second, and you hear another rustling sound.
“Tell me something, bunny,” Jack requests. “Anything. What did you dream about?”
With your bottom lip pulled between your teeth, you hum as you try to remember.
“I don’t know, Jackie,” you admit, “I think you were there. You usually are. In my dreams, I mean. I think we were at the beach… or at a lake?”
You pull the blanket up to your arms. It’s still much too early to think about so much, but if Jack asks, you deliver.
“Sounds nice,” he mumbles. His voice is hoarse, almost rough like sandpaper. “Keep going.”
Something about the way he speaks makes your tummy flutter.
“Well,” you go on, “There were birds. Green ones.”
“Mhm…”
“They kept circling over us. I don’t think I know any green birds.”
“Me neither.”
You hear him shift again, and this time there is another sound. Like… like fabric moving.
You’re about to question this when Jack suddenly groans.
“Keep talkin’, sweet girl,” he croaked.
“Jackie…?”
“Please. Just talk. That’s all I’m askin’.”
His words are followed by a wet, filthy sound.
You immediately feel the pull in your lower tummy as you begin to realise.
“There- we went swimming,” you go on, a little shakily now, “and saw fish. A bunch of ‘em. Little ones, which were— “
Jack moans softly, which makes you press your thighs together.
“Um…” As you grow more flustered, it gets harder to speak. “They were like rainbows, their scales. The sun made them change colours.”
“Uh huh,” Jack mutters, his voice thin and strangled. “Keep goin’, baby. Just a little longer."
You can’t really focus as you hear the way his hand begins to move faster, slick sounds coming out of the speaker of your phone.
“I… uh, we… we… I don’t remember, Jackie.”
“C’mon, bunny,” he encourages, “You can. Use that pretty little head of yours for me. For Daddy, hm?”
Liquid heat collects at the base of your spine, and you sneak a hand down between your thighs, only applying pressure for now. You’re not allowed to touch without him there.
“Daddy, I don’t remember,” you whine.
“Yeah, you do,” he retorts. “Baby, you do. C’mon, talk to me. Help out your Daddy.”
“We- we sat at the shore,” you continue. You weren’t even sure if it was true or just desperation making you invent things now. “And we saw dragonflies. And you held my hand and told me about your day at work. It was… it was a good day, I think.”
“Mhm.” He inhaled sharply, and you heard fabric rustling again. “So close, bunny. Just a little longer. Daddy’s almost done. Oh, fuck.”
You clench around nothing as he curses, all breathy and needy.
“You.. we just kept sitting and talking. You, um, you kissed my cheek. And then you held me.”
The last word has barely left your mouth when a godless noise spills from his mouth.
“Fuck, bunny, yes. Yes, keep talking with that sweet voice of yours. Please, baby.”
“Daddy,” you whimper, your cunt pulsing now. “I don’t remember anything else. Just you and me at the water and the fishies and the dragonflies and—”
You’re interrupted by the deep, throaty moan that claws itself up from his chest only to fall from his lips like a tidal wave.
“Oh, fuck,” Jack gasps. “Yes. That’s my bunny.”
It’s quiet for a moment, only his heavy breathing and your needy little gasps as you rock into your hand, your hips moving almost involuntarily.
It always takes Jack a few seconds to catch his breath when he cums like that.
“Bunny?” he murmurs then.
“Yeah?” you whisper.
“Get that hand off your cunt right now. She’s mine. And I’m coming over right now to take good care of her.”
❤︎ just a quick reminder that the best way to support authors on here is to comment and reblog ❤︎ ☆ find my masterlist here ☆
when pope tries to protect you from his family's crude conversations, he ends up having to answer your uncomfortable questions about sex
PAIRING pope cody x bunny reader
WARNINGS suggestive content, explicit talk about sex, obsessive behavior, innocent reader, craig being a dick, mention of crying during sex, pope has dirty thoughts about reader, possessiveness, coercive undertones, age gap, emotional dependency, crude language, if u don't like it don't read!!!!
WORD COUNT 1.9k
The Cody house can be a very uncouth place to be.
Loud in every way possible, in volume and temperament too. Filthy-mouthed. Mean for the pleasure of it.
Craig says something disgusting every third sentence just to hear himself say it, just to get a laugh, just to see who flinches and who doesn’t. Deran’s no better when he’s in the mood to needle. And Smurf, when she wants to, can make a whole room feel dirty with one lifted eyebrow and six words.
Pope has never minded crude things. Never saw much use in pretending to. This place is what it is. He’s used to it. This is his life. This is simply the way he grew up.
But now you’re here, Smurf’s latest little acquisition, her new ornament to polish and put in the window.
Another pretty doll in her crooked collection. All polished and docile and good manners, brought in to handle the things Smurf considers beneath her. Logistics. Errands. Paperwork. Loose ends. The harmless-sounding parts, at least on the surface.
Pope can’t decide how much you actually know. About any of it, really — where the money comes from, whose hands get dirty, which names to never mention again.
He bets you don’t ask, though, and Smurf must love that. Probably loves that you move through the work the way you do everything else: sweet and unassuming, smiling vacantly like you’re still asleep, floating somewhere in the middle of the ocean, eyes closed, nothing beneath you but endless dark water.
Open-hearted, oblivious, too easy and good to survive here.
So now the vulgarity of the Cody house grates on him. Makes him tense. Makes his shoulders bunch up near his ears.
“So this chick tells me she can take it, right? Says she can handle anything. Five minutes later she’s cryin’, tellin’ me it’s too good.”
You stand against the fridge, spoon paused midway to your lips, yogurt abandoned as Craig’s drunk slurred chatter hangs in the air.
Pope watches closely, your expression a cloudy haze, eyes soft and curious and unaffected by words that should shock you into silence.
Pope’s fingers twitch at his side, the urge rising like nausea to shake you awake, to wrench you away to somewhere safe.
He stays rooted instead, his muscles aching from the strain of keeping still as your curious voice cuts through the air.
“Why would she be crying?”
Craig looks at you blankly, his mouth hanging open as incredulity colors his face, like he’s never encountered something quiet so baffling.
A clueless girl in the Cody kitchen. It’s almost funny. It’s definitely not funny to Pope.
Deran, at least, thinks it’s funny, he makes a garbled choking sound and swivels away, a strangled laugh breaking through his arm.
Craig continues to gape, finally managing a long breath, punctuated by hard edges: “Are you fuckin’ serious?” He tries again, mouth twisting into a smirk as he attempts an explanation, “I mean sometimes people cry when they’re gettin’ fu —”
Pope moves before his brain can catch up. His body knows something his mind hasn’t yet processed, and one second he’s pressed flat and invisible against the wall; the next he’s behind you, palms cupping over your ears.
Your startled intake of breath dies softly under his touch, your confusion vibrating delicately against his fingertips.
“Don’t,” he growls, gaze sharp, locked onto his sibling’s stunned face. “You finish that sentence and you’ll spend the afternoon putting your jaw back together.”
Craig shakes his head. “The fuck's wrong with you? She's a grown woman. What, you think she's gonna burst into flames if she hears the word sex?”
Pope’s eyes darken, narrowing into slits as he tightens his hold ever-so-slightly around your ears.
“Maybe she will. Either way, you won’t be around to see it.”
Craig lets out a low laugh, running his hand through his hair like this whole standoff is just another joke, palms upraised like he’s dealing with a wild animal.
“Alright. Relax. Whatever you say, man.”
Pope watches him retreat out of the room, Deran trailing not far behind him, likely to finish his story elsewhere.
And that’s fine. As long as he stays over there and out of ear shot of you.
The tension lingering in his tendons only just starts to loosen when he’s out by the pool.
He feels your hands reach up to pull his wrists away from your ears, fingers tentative around his rough palms. Rough palms that make him notice just how soft you feel, petal-pink nails sinking into the course terrain of his own skin.
The contrast is jarring. Scarred knuckles, raised veins, and a web of old cuts meeting hands that have never know real violence.
You pivot in his space, turning to stand toe-to-toe with him.
You smell like whipped vanilla and candied pears. He forces himself not to lean closer, not to draw in another desperate breath because he wants to pin the scent down, memorize it, peel it apart note by note until he knows exactly what clings to your skin and your hair and your clothes.
“What was that for?” you ask.
Pope looks at you. “You don’t need Craig ‘splainin’ things to you.”
“Does that mean you’d rather explain things to me?”
Is that what he meant? Pope isn’t sure, and the uncertainty bothers him more than he wants to admit. The idea of you coming to him with your honest confusion, earnestly asking him to explain the gritty specifics of things he can hardly voice — no, that sounds like a terrible idea.
You have to know the basics, surely. Isn’t that enough? Pope thinks so. He thinks, really, the less detail you know, the safer your carefully maintained sense of self remains. The longer you stay wrapped in that protective bubble, unblemished by knowledge you shouldn’t have, the better.
Pope doesn't want to be the one who breaks it open.
“I’m no good at explaining things like that,” he says finally. “Just don’t need Craig putting ideas in your head either. Or anyone else for that matter.”
You take a small step back, and Pope feels like he’s finally getting air into his lungs again. It’s short-lived. You scoop another spoonful of yogurt into your mouth, pretty lips pursed around the spoon, before you tilt your head and look at him thoughtfully.
“Then… how am I supposed to learn anything?” you ask.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, aware of the incremental tightening of his pants. Fucking pathetic, he thinks.
He clenches his jaw tight before speaking. “You don’t need to know everything. Some things you’re better off not knowing, yeah?”
Your brows knit together. “But wouldn’t it be better if I at least knew —”
Pope cuts you off sharper than he intends. “No. You heard me. Drop it.”
You look away from him, nodding as your shoulders sink a little. “Right. Sorry.”
The frown on your face settles like a shadow Pope desperately wants to wipe away.
It sits wrong there, out of place, disturbing, even. He realizes, abruptly, that he hates seeing you even the tiniest bit upset. He’s not used to it; your smiles come so easily that your unhappiness feels tangible, something he’s placed there.
Something he’s responsible for. It’s rare to see your features drawn up like this.
God, he’s really fucking this up, isn’t he?
He’s always been a little awkward, always a little too blunt, and no good at smoothing things over. He doesn’t know what comes next, doesn’t understand how to mend whatever he’s broken. Maybe that’s always been the problem, that hollow feeling at the back of his brain, the missing part, the empty gap everyone else seems born knowing how to fill.
“Shit, listen, kid,” Pope clears his throat, running a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean anything by it, alright? I just meant Craig talks a lot of bullshit and there’s stuff said around here that you really don’t need to learn. But —” He sighs, glancing down at his knuckles. “You’re an adult. If you wanna know things, it’s your call.”
You lift yourself onto the counter, legs swinging gently as you bring another distracted spoonful of yogurt to your mouth.
“So if I do decide I wanna know something…” You pause, eyes turned up to the ceiling as if testing the air, probing at an unknown territory. “You’ll tell me about it?”
“Yeah,” Pope says slowly.
He can’t quite meet your gaze, his eyes tracking the linoleum pattern like it’s the most compelling thing in the room. He knows he has no real choice in the matter. Better he’s the one who delivers the hard truth rather than you seeking answers elsewhere. With someone else.
“So…” you say slowly, voice dipping into something quieter, almost shy now. You lift on foot onto the counter, unthinking, the fabric of your skirt slipping upward. Soft pink underwear flashes at the edge of Pope’s vision. “Why exactly was that girl crying — with Craig?”
He takes two steps towards you, broad shoulders angled slightly to shield you from the rest of the room should someone walk in.
He keeps his eyes steadfastly fixed on your face, even as his fingers curl tense at his side, nails biting deep into his palms.
It’s torture, but he doesn’t glance down. Not even for a second.
He hesitates at your question, searching for words that fit just right. He’s not sure he’ll find them, but he forces himself through it anyway.
“Craig was, uh — he was tryin’ to say she was crying because the sex was good, I guess. But, it’s not always just that. People cry for all kinds of reasons during sex. Could be physical, emotional, whatever. It’s complicated sometimes.” He pauses again, clearing his throat. “People have complex reactions to physical stuff like that.”
“Have you ever —?” Your teeth press carefully into your lower lip. He can see the follow-up question forming in your eyes. “Have you ever cried, you know… during?”
“Yeah.”
Your eyes widen slightly. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, uncomfortable already. “Happens.”
The word feels too small for it. Happens. Like it’s the same as catching a cold.
“Oh.”
And then his brain takes a turn and he’s picturing you. A common theme. You with glassy and wide eyes, dark mascara streaking down your cheeks in inky lines as he pounds inside you.
He can almost hear your breath catching, a soft sob, the slick slide of tears along your face for him to kiss away.
Given your question, Pope doubts you’ve ever felt something so intensely vulnerable. Probably never cried during sex.
Maybe you haven’t even had sex, though he tries not to assume things. Still, it seems likely, given your blushes, your hesitations, the way your eyes widen at even the most indirect innuendos. You could have some scattered experiences, maybe, fragments of intimacy without ever fully grasping how it all works.
He doesn’t like the sudden flare of possessiveness he feels; he doesn’t want to imagine anyone else ever seeing you like that.
Pope clears his throat, banishing the image away. “So, uh, did that… answer what you wanted to know? You satisfied now, or?”
Your fingers move to twist the hem of your skirt. You look up through your lashes.
“Yeah,” you murmur finally, a little unsure and entirely too sweet. “I mean, I think so. For now.”
“Yeah,” he says. “You let me know if that changes, then.”
Craig’s voice cuts through the kitchen before either of you can say anything else, his footsteps heavier than usual as he strides back inside from the glass doors.
Pope reaches out and pulls your leg down, adjusting the hem of your skirt in the process.
His skin burns from where he touched you.
“I’m tellin’ you, if she can’t fit both —”
Pope interrupts him by stepping forward, giving him a swift shove against the wall. Hard. Craig smacks shoulder-first into the wall with a loud thunk.
“Jesus, Pope. What’s your damage today?”
Pope steps back with a neutral expression, shaking out the tension in his knuckles. “Just doing everyone a favor.”
He avoids your eyes, heat still burning up the back of his neck.
A/N - this reader series will be a lil different than my usual i think... will end up being pretty dark and twisty!!! read at your own risk! and to reiterate!! if you don't like, don't read!
the way he just lays his head down in your neck, his cheek squished against shoulder.
sometimes, he doesn't even think to wrap his arms around you. he just walks over and lays his head against you, blinking his big brown eyes at nothing.
it endears you so much. when he does it you are instantly wrapping your arms around him, snuggling him closer and murmuring little things like "awww puppy," or "my sweet andrew" which makes him melt further into you.
pope can't help the strange way he hugs, but it only makes you love him even more.
he didn't get many hugs growing up or as an adult, not real ones anyways, unattached to some manipulation tactic. so when he finds out he can just get affection from you freely? that he can just come up and get a hug any time he needs one? he can't seem to stop himself.
he needs hugs so often. he always gets one in the morning, waiting for you to wake up to give him one. then he gets one before bed too. and yeah, you hold each other at night, but that isn't a hug. he needs his weird squished into your shoulder hug where he can just stare and get your arms squeezing him tight.
before jobs he always needs an extra long one. he'll first give you your hug, which of course he considers different from his own hug. he'll take a moment alone with you, hold you to his chest, kiss your hair, stroke your back as he closes his eyes and memorizes your scent. he'll whisper how he'll be back real soon, ask you to do some nice things like lay in the sun and read or take naps in his clothes until he gets back.
once you're soothed is when he drops his head to your shoulder, cheek squished against you, shivering when your arms wrap around him. you'll squeeze him tight and rub his back, play with his pretty curls. and for the first time in his life he goes into jobs really believing he has something to come home to.
summary: pope comes home from prison and meets craig's new gorgeous friend, you. you're quiet and a little odd, in an adorable way he becomes obsessed with. and he wonders how a sweet girl like you could be friends with an idiot like his little brother. one night, he learns about your little stingray obsession and uses that as a way to try and get closer to you. and it works.
content/warnings: lots of em dashes (only because I've always used them, I swear this isn't AI), a whole ass book before they even kiss (really just me yapping), age gap (reader is like 20-21, pope is late 30s), s1 pope (because I think his haircut is cute), i'm sorry if everyone is ooc (i'm new here), reader isn't described as a specific race or weight but does have a specific style, all the cody boys are here & my girl cath, reader is kinda a stoner, mentions of sm*rf & b*z, switch!pope, pope's a bit of creep (he likes to smell you and touch your hair and watch you and touch your body when you're sleeping or when you're not looking, it's okay you like it), dry humping (yum), cumming in pants (yummier), biting, chasing, finger in mouth, mentions of male masturbation, a bit of fluff, nicknames for reader by Craig include pet/bug/shorty, nicknames for reader by pope include honey & baby, baz catches you and is pissed but craig to the rescue, pansexual tendencies, 18+ ONLY!
note: this is my first fic on tumblr... it's kinda long and not proofread, so please be nice and thank you. muah!!
Your brother sold weed, that's how you met your best friend. Craig Cody, or El Craigo as he's tried to get you to call him. Of course, you don't. He came onto you, thinking you were hot. But every time he tried, womp womp. He eventually gave up yet couldn't stay away from you, you were fun— in a quiet way.
You often prefer books and embroidery to actual human interactions but he prefers surfing to anything else (sometimes even parties), so friendship went smoother than dating would have. And the one thing you had in common was really what kept you guys together, weed. You two would smoke up to three blunts and just laugh about nothing before ordering too much food and/or annoying deran.
His family loved you, even the wicked witch herself. She liked how you just did what she wanted (though you only did because you could tell she was awful and wanted her off your back). Deran thought you were great, he loved having you around. J liked how colorful your vibe was compared to the Codys. And Baz... you hate Baz. asshole. No real reason to, you just do. Cath could do better, you thought every time you saw him.
Then came Andrew.
The day you met was a few days after he returned, a week after his sister died. You walked behind Craig like you were his little tail. Dressed in a little green 60s mini dress, tights with little bugs on them, and ballet flats— an outfit that was considered toned down compared to your usual fashion.
"Yo." Craig called out as he walked into the kitchen, everyone immediately ignored him as soon as you appeared.
"Hey!" Cath practically squealed, happy to see you. You liked Cath, she was kind. Everyone greeted you, having not seen you in almost two weeks.
"Y/N, this is our brother, Pope. Pope, this is my pet bug, Y/N." Craig says, using the same joke he always does when he introduces you to someone. You turned around and there he was. my word... Immediately you could feel how different his presence felt compared to others. And how much you liked it. And how pretty fucking hot he was.
You weren't someone who had a partner or felt much interest in dating. It was easier to be alone, though it was lonely at times. But here he stood, the mysterious older brother. Andrew, who they called Pope for a reason you didn't know. Deran had told you about him but you never saw a picture. God... how you wished you knew how handsome he was. And as you felt his unsettling aura, your mind wandered to places it only would when you were alone— in the darkness of your room.
"Hi." You whispered. You were always so soft-spoken.
"Hi." He spoke back. He voice was nice, raspy. You began to pick at your fingers as the conversation went on with everyone talking about things you didn't care about.
You tried your best not to look at him. Andrew. You tried to look at Craig or your hands but Baz was standing too close for comfort. He always tried to put his arm around your shoulder, even in front of his wife. And you hated that. You weren't big on touch, especially not with Baz. ewwwahhh
You liked physical touch, lots of it. But it had to be with someone you've accepted into your soul family. You were a strong believer in that we all have more than one soulmate. And Baz was NOT a part of your soul. So when he tried again, you stepped aside and bumped into someone. Andrew. He was already looking at you when you looked over.
"Sorry..." Even though you were barely audible, he heard you. You looked away again, but he didn't and you felt it. He looked down at your tights. How they hugged you thighs...
"Alright, Smurf. Come on, bug." You ears heard Craig say as he left, you followed close behind but not before taking a peak back to the oldest Cody. Still, he stared at you... and you didn't seem to mind.
"Your brother is very handsome." You tell Craig as you enter his room.
"Ew! Don't tell me Baz finally got to you." He replied, you immediately pretended to gag.
"I'd rather have my skin be peeled off little by little." You joked, he laughed loudly as he plopped down onto his bed. You never went near his bed unless you knew for sure his sheets were clean, thankfully today it was clean— or clean enough.
"Then who? J? Cause he's not my brother, he's my nephew. And Deran is gay, remember?" He asks as he begins to roll a new blunt, you lay back on his headboard.
"Not J or Deran. The other one, Andrew." You say, Craig pauses. He slowly turns to look at you, expecting you to laugh or give him some type of sign you were joking. But you didn't.
"Pope?" He sat up, "Pope!?" Any louder and they would've heard him in the kitchen.
"Yeah." You answered softly.
"Please tell me your joking. You can't actually be saying you wanna fuck Pope." He said, you rolled your eyes at your best friend.
"I said he was handsome, not that I wanna fuck him." You told him as you chris crossed your leg.
"I've known you for two years— you wanna fuck my creepy brother, it's all over you face. You want him all over your face." He teased, you laughed. Oddly enough, as stupid as he can be, he was usually the only one who could make you laugh and smile. He knew you quite well.
"Would it bother you if I did?" You ask. The question came out before you could stop it. You were a virgin, you never actually wanted to have sex with anyone. No one ever caught your eye. But Andrew...
"I mean you can if that's what you really want. You body, your stupid choice— or whatever the fuck. Just know I'd throw up tho." Craig replied. He didn't care who you slept with or dated, not as long as you were happy. Even if it was his weird older brother.
The next time you saw Andrew was a random Thursday, the next week.
You were back at Smurfs, sitting on the couch with Craig. It was late. You wore purple patterned shorts and a blue tank top, blue spiders on your white knee-high socks. Your legs were draped over Craig's lap, a bowl of M&Ms on your lap, both of you laying back as if you had worked for hours on end all month. You guys had just smoked two blunts and were laughing at horror movies. Deran and J had joined you somewhere into the marathon, not really taking your attention.
Then you felt it... his presence.
"What are you guys watching?" You heard him ask, your heart almost moonwalked out of your chest. You looked back and again, there he was. His eyes never seem to look at anything else, just you.
"Scream 1." J answered his question. You looked away, pressing your thighs together. Thankfully Craig was so high he probably didn't know he was still alive let alone that you were sexually attracted to his older brother's unsettling aura.
"Come on." Deran calls him over, Andrew sat down on one of the chairs. Specifically the one that was next to you since you were on one of the ends of the couch. You looked again, you can't help yourself. He's so handsome.
He stares at you still, you're getting used to it quickly. You gave him a small smile before turning away. The chair was close. He was close. Andrew got an unbearable urge— he wanted to touch your hair. It was just there, hanging perfectly down your back. He wanted to cut off a piece and keep it in his pocket so he could smell it when you weren't around... of course he wouldn't actually do that he definitely would.
He just liked you. It was weird for him to admit that but he did. His own family was scared of him. They found him strange. But you? You smiled at him. You fucking smiled at him. That's all it took for him to pick you out of everyone. He picked you, he wants you. You will be his. Maybe you'll fix him. He thought about that. Maybe someone like you could be kind enough to fix someone like him, if he can be fixed.
You didn't think there was anything wrong with him. You didn't think like others, like him. He seemed normal to you. So he liked to stare at you, so what? It's so easy to just let him. He's not hurting you. He was just released from a cell, let him stare at whatever he wants. As the movie ended and J put in the next one, Craig groaned.
"I'm so tired." He whined, shoving a handful of M&Ms into his mouth.
"So go to sleep." J told him.
"Don't wanna." Craig whined while picking up M&Ms and gently throwing them at you. You tried to catch them with your mouth and failed a couple times. You chuckled as he tried to got up, defeated by sleep.
"Fine, whatever." He whispers, "'Night, shorty."
"'Night." You replied as you leaned away to take your legs off him.
That's when it happened. Your hair... it touched Andrew's hand. You didn't notice, it was just for a second. But oh... Andrew notice. He almost came grabbed it. He couldn't believe how soft it was. He'd bet his life it smelled nice too, like you. He remembers the day you met, how when you got closer he could smell you. Like vanilla and rose petals. He wanted to lick the scent off you... Who said that? Are you not hearing that? Whatever.
You planned on staying for the rest of the other movies, until Baz arrived. why is he here!!?? go home!! He immediately sat next to you, reaching out to touch your shoulder. You pushed his arm away as you sit up straight and placed the bowl in-between you and him. You could feel the uncomfortable-ness built in you when you realize he was looking at your exposed thighs. dickhead.
"I think I'm gonna go too." You say softly as you stand up.
"Hey, if Craig kicks you again, you can sleep in my bed. I'm gonna head over to Adrian's in a few." Deran informs you, the quietest little 'thanks' escaped your lips as you left.
"'Night." You whispered. And there it was again. His voice.
"Goodnight." Andrew replies, it was small and sweet. You smiled widely but thankfully you were already out of sight when you did. Oh... you've made up your mind. It's him. He will be the one to take your virginity. You don't know when or how, but it will be him.
It was the middle of the night. 3, maybe 4, am.
You laid on Craig's bed, him next to you. Well... actually he was almost on the floor but still. You didn't mind sharing beds with friends, you liked it. It was fun. You would shower with your friends if they wanted, TMI is non-existent to you. But tonight, you couldn't sleep. You couldn't stop thinking about your decision. Andrew Cody will take my virginity, the thought danced in your head like a drunk cowboy.
You stood up off the bed, your white Lolita style nightgown falling down to hang just above your mid thigh. It was almost see-through if you looked hard enough. Enough to see the orange polkadot panties you had on, and maybe your bare chest too. You walked out of Craig's room and out to the living room. You hoped you could just watch something until you felt sleepy. What you didn't expect was for Andrew to be there too...
It almost scared you, to see someone else awake this late. He simply sat in the same chair, watching tv. Little jellyfish swimming on the screen, a man narrating quietly. He looked so peaceful. Andrew. Just doing mundane things. You've only seen him twice, both times he seemed so tense and uncomfortable but he looked relaxed now.
You almost just wanted to leave him alone but your body moved before you could control it. You looked away from him as you approached, head turned to the tv. You took a glance at him, he's looking at you again. Or... he's looking at your nightgown. You didn't mind. It flattered you. Maybe he thought you were pretty.
"What are you watching?" You ask.
"Documentary." He answered. You liked his voice like this. So gentle, it almost cracks when he speaks.
"Can I watch it with you?" You asked him, finally looking at him. He stares up at your eyes for a good second, and you stare back.
"Yeah." He whispers. You smiled slightly as you sat down where you had been, close.
You're not sure how long you were there for, watching the fishes on tv. It wasn't until a big stingray appeared on the screen that you almost jumped up. You straighten yourself and leaned forward, once again chris crossing your leg. You listened to every word the narrator said, looking at the beautiful creatures. Andrew noticed.
"During mating season, the male ray will smell his prey from afar. He'll pick her without even interacting, immediately beginning the chase before she knows what's happening." The man in the tv said.
"He'll follow the female ray, chasing her for up to days— trying to bite her fins. Once the male has a good grip, he works to maneuver the female so they are positioned belly-to-belly. The male then bends his body over her, inserting a pair of tube-like sex organs called claspers into the female's body by rubbing himself on her— to transfer his sperm and reproduce." He explained, you chuckled as you leaned back again.
"Sounds fun." You joked. You turned to Andrew, unsure of what you wanted from him. The corners of his lips very slowly rise up. It was almost a smile. Almost was enough for you.
You scratched yourself out on the couch, a sweet smile on your lips. You've expected that what you feel is a crush, a big one. That tiny smile of his just made you confident in your decision. He's the one. But you had to get to know him better. It can't be just a stranger in your bed, in you. You picked someone, now you have to make sure it was the right choice.
All the thinking and the pretty stingray images made you finally slip into sweet, sweet slumber. zzzz You were fine with sleeping on the couch, but I guess Andrew was not. In the state of halfway asleep, you felt him pick you up bridal style. You were very tired to move and you thought it was kind of him, so you let him. He ever so gently placed you back on Craig's bed, your best friend now laying on the floor with a towel as a blanket.
Andrew hovered for a moment, you felt his heat over you. His hand landed ever so slightly on your cheek. You felt how his rough palm pushed your hair back and caressed your neck down to your chest, just above your breasts. His hand made its way down to your legs. His knuckles lightly brushing up and down on your thigh for a few seconds before pulling your nightgown down.
You should have mined but you didn't. What is wrong with you? You don't know him. You met him twice. But he touches you in your sleep and all you think of was how easy it might be to convince him to take your virginity. If he liked you enough to touch you like this, he'd do it. Maybe. You reach over and grab his hand, he pulls away.
Andrew's heart drops. He thought you were sound asleep. He wasn't going to hurt you or touch you beyond the great 'no-go' line. He just wanted to feel your skin. Your young, soft, clean, perfect, untouched skin. You have to be an angel sent from heaven because you're completely unreal to him.
"Thank you, Andrew." You whispered out. It went straight to his cock, truthfully. You saying his real name and not the nickname that made him hate himself... It turned him on enough for him to practically run away. to spend the whole night in deran's empty room, stroking himself dumb as he thinks of you saying his real name. Who is saying these things?? My god...
Three days later, you were back. He felt so guilty after that night. Embarrassed, having done what he did to himself while thinking of you. Especially now, after seeing you again. Perfect little you. He had woken up late, a rare thing— but he had been jerking off to the image of you in his head again and got tired thinking of you. WOAH!! anyways...
He stood behind you, almost next to you. Just looking... You had on a bright yellow 60s mini patterned dress on, matching ballet flats, and those adorable bug tights. They're your favorite, you wear them with everything. Andrew wants to rip them off you and buy a hundred more. *sigh* this is getting out of hand...
You looked like you came straight out of a movie. He was so taken aback by your style every time he saw you. No one he's ever known has ever been so bold. But here you are, embracing the fact that anything goes in California. And you rocked every piece you wore. You sat so fucking pretty on the couch.
You were embroidering on the hem what he guessed is another one of your little dresses, this one in blue. You're so cute. Watching the nature channel, lions on the tv. Something he would watch. The closer he gets the more he feels like running back to deran's still empty room to continue his inappropriate shenanigans. for fuck sakes I need her on me, he thought. These voices need to relax!!
You hadn't noticed he was there, watching you, until a lion started to eat a baby deer on the screen and you turned your head away. That's when you saw him. You didn't jump or get weird out or tell him off. You smiled, again. that's like three, he's counting. Your shoulders relaxed as if he was everything you were searching for.
"Hi, Andrew." You say quietly, as if he was your little secret or something.
"Hi." He doesn't know why his voice changes for you when he speaks. He only ever does that when he's talking to his Lena. The voice of a man trying to show that he means no harm, that he only wants to interact.
"You wanna watch it with me?" You asked him.
"Sure." He says, nodding. You move your bag to the chair he was on the other night so he can sit right next to you on the couch. You wanted him closer. You wanted to feel the heat you felt when he carried you to bed. Andrew sat down, very aware of your thighs touching.
"Where is everyone?" He questions. The house was quiet, very uncommon.
"Deran is at Adrian's again, J just left with Nikki, who cares where Baz is, and Craig was supposed to be here but one of his girlfriends told him she might be pregnant— third time this year." You explained as you very carefully pinned the needle through the fabric.
"Smurf?" He asked, you shrugged. The wicked witch had apparently found someone who can tolerate her enough to take her on a date and she was barely around anymore, according to Baz. *gags*
"Maybe you have a new dad." You joked. Instantly you regret it. It was a dumb joke and you can tell he didn't like it.
"Sorry..." You whispered as you basically hid in your embroidery.
"It's alright, honey." He replied. Honey... holy fuck. no way. no fucking way. somebody sedate me!! The voices are valid right now.
Because your cunt actually had a reaction. Like a physical fucking reaction. Like a heartbeat, just thumping. You pressed your legs together, wanting her to relax. He noticed. You noticed he noticed. fucking mother of mary-kate and ashley... The corners of his lips turned upward, the tiny smile returned. It returned for your very inappropriate behavior.
"Did you hear about the new stingray at the aquarium in Carlsbad?" He asked you, you looked back up at him.
"There's a new one?" You sounded so small as you asked.
"They say it's the biggest one to ever exist, 14 feet." He tells you, he could have drowned in the excited look on your face. He did his research and it was paying off.
"Ugh... and Craig's not here to take me." You complained softly as you looked down again.
"I'll take you." He says.
"Really?" You ask as you try not to look at his beautiful eyes.
"You wanna go now?" He questions.
"Yeah." You said, looking up a little. He stood up so you placed your things aside and stood up too. He stayed there, in front of you, for a few before he moved aside to let you walk ahead. He was fighting the urge to touch you.
The drive there was about 20 to 30 minutes of silence. Andrew didn't play music or talk, not that you minded. You felt comfortable around him, knowing you didn't have to talk as much as when his brothers are around. When you arrived, he opened the door for you. Very gentlemanly of him. When inside, you practically ran towards the big sign that told you where the new arrivals would be.
"They're outside." You said. He gladly followed you around, enjoying how you stop and look at every fish you pass on your way out.
Once out there, you followed the crowd. Next to a big pool, everyone stood on little steps. They looked in as a man with an english accent talked into a microphone. You grabbed Andrew's hand and stepped on, there it was. It was insanely huge like andrew and it swam around gracefully. Did you hear that? No? Okay...
"This beauty came straight from Southeast Asia. 14 feet long, 730 pounds. Record breaking." The English man told everyone. "We've named him BB, for Big Boy."
You laughed. If Andrew could bottle the sound, he would. He'd keep it on his bedside table and hug it when he sleeps. Not that he really does. But if he was holding you, he might sleep forever. Though you probably hadn't even noticed, he did— you were still holding his hand. Yours small compared to his. Skin so soft...
"Now that doesn't mean he's nice. BB here is quite a rude boy. So please be careful not to touch him or the water." The man explained, you leaned back a little. Your left shoulder lightly pressed on Andrew's chest. He wasn't even looking at the stingray, just at you. He leans in a little and smells his hair, he was right. It smells just like he dreamed it would. Sweet and clean.
"We're thinking of getting him a girlfriend, maybe see the mating ritual done in person." The man said. Andrew couldn't get enough of your face and how lovingly you looked at BB.
You spent the rest of the day together. You explored the rest of the aquarium, touching sea stars and watching seahorses grip seagrass. Andrew even bought you a stuffed stingray from the gift shop, even though you told him he didn't have to. He wanted to. He saw how you lit up when you saw it.
You two ate pizza before he took you to get ice cream, vanilla with chocolate sprinkles— your favorite. He got plain vanilla, which said a lot about him. But it was cute. He was almost confused when he saw all the flavors, and the tops were too much. You barely even talked the whole time, you just enjoyed each other's company.
He drove you back to the house. Surprisingly, it was still quiet. The sun was setting and no one had come back yet. Just a text from Craig an hour ago, 'false alarm, no baby'. That's it. Usually Andrew would maybe worry a little but he wanted to be alone with you. He needed to be, for what he was planning next. He felt like a creep. He was about to take a bold step and he was actually praying you wouldn't react in a negative way.
"You wanna play the stingray game?" He asked you as he watched you gather your things on the couch.
"The what?" You question as you look up at him. His heart was about to combust.
"The stingray game." He repeated, his voice cracking.
"What's that?" You ask with a smile, genuine curiosity in your eyes. Oh god, it was working. He caught you on his hook. Now he has to reel you in carefully.
"Someone chases you around and if they catch you, they bite you. Like the mating thing." He explains. You were silent for a moment... please don't leave please don't leave please don't leave, he thought.
"Okay." You said. victory!!!! You stood up and waited for instructions, he couldn't believe this was working.
"I'm gonna chase you, okay? If I catch you, I get to bite you." He told you. you're wet, thinking about his teeth on you ENOUGH!!
"Okay..." You whispered as you took a step back. He smiled. Not a tiny one, a regular closed lip smile.
He could tell you were already playing so he took a step forward. You chuckled as you took off running around the house, he was faster than you thought. You made it all the way out to the backyard and to J's his room. He caught you at the door, his big arms wrapped around your ribs. He lifted you a little as you laughed.
"I got you." He breathes on your ear.
"How are you so fast?" You ask as you try to catch your breath. Your back was pressed against his chest, his racing heart on your shoulder blade.
"Where can I bite you?" His voice was quiet, maybe giving you the chance to ignore him. But you didn't. You held out your right arm, he swallowed deeply. You were actually going to let him bite you. Twilight style.
He gently grabs your wrist and bites down on your forearm. And the unthinkable happened. You moaned... out loud. He stopped, looking at you as he licked his bottom lip. Your eyes were wide and you had no other choice but to laugh, as if it was a joke. It wasn't. You knew that, he knew that. You turned your head away, embarrassment crawling on your face.
"You like that?" Andrew whispers. ahhhhhhhhhh!! fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme I'm getting there, chill!!!
You looked back, stunned. You couldn't talk, you tired. You just slowly nodded your head yes and he leaned down again. This time digging his teeth into your upper arm, again you moaned. You slapped your other hand over your mouth and closed your eyes, you could feel his smile on your skin.
"Yeah?" He asks as he grabs your other hand, taking it away from your lips. "Can I bite you here?"
His fingers softly glazed the crock of your neck. You sighed, knowing it was happening. His mouth was gonna be on you, it was happening. finally! You laid your head back on his shoulder and nodded. He leaned in as close as he could to your neck, his breath sending chills through your entire body— cunt included.
"Words, baby." He whispers. Baby... fuuuuckuhhh!
"Please bite me, Andrew." You say oh so nicely. He wasted absolutely no time, sinking his teeth into your neck. Like a vampire who hadn't eaten in decades.
You stopped fighting yourself and let the moan that was in your core slip out loudly. The sound made his cock twitch and with how hard he was holding onto you, you felt it. You reached back and grabbed a handful of his short hair, pulling as you slightly rubbed your ass on his crotch. He pulled away and turned you around, roughly bringing your lips to his.
He lifted you again, just a little. Enough so the tippy tips of your feet brushed against the ground as he walked into J's his room. You had your arms completely wrapped around his shoulders/neck. You could feel his tongue against your teeth. He tasted like the vanilla ice cream he had and it mixed with the taste of the chocolate sprinkles you ate.
"Andy." You moaned into his mouth, the back of your legs hitting the bed. His head ached at the sound. Andy. Not Andrew, not Pope. An-dy. God, he needed you.
He pushed his knee in-between your leg as he laid you down, your head hitting the plush of the pillow. He laid his entire bodyweight on top of you, pushing your dress up. Now belly to belly, you wrapped your tights covered legs around him as he kissed down your neck. You reached your hands under him and undid his jeans, just pulling them down a little— he let you. You didn't want to have sex, not now— not yet. But you wanted to feel him. You grab onto his ass and push him forward, he groans into your skin.
"Like that, Andy." You told him, feeling just how hard he is. Andrew was more than happy to just let you use him. He would lick the ground you walked on if you asked.
"Yeah..." He breathes out as he grinds against you. He can feel how warm you are through your panties and tights.
He places his hands on either side of your head, smelling your hair without shame this time. You moaned loudly again when he bit your jaw, not hard enough to mark but enough to make you leak through your tights and into his underwear. You move his shirt to try and kiss his neck. He stops for a second, sitting up and ripping open his button up. You smile at the sight of his freckled body.
He lays back on top of you, crashing you but you're not complaining. You kiss and lick and bite all over his neck and shoulder. His hands are all over you, from your ankles to your face. Kissing him felt like seeing the holy ghost in person. He was such a great kisser. His grinding, his touching, his kissing— it made your stomach turn. You had barely kissed others before let alone this. You felt like throwing up, but in a good way.
"You're so perfect." He groaned into your ear, going harder now. The headboard rocked against the wall, he was pushing himself so hard on you... you swear this might just count as losing your virginity.
"Faster." You whined, he happily obeyed.
You've never had an orgasm before. You tried to give yourself one but failed more than once, simply because you didn't have anything to think of. Porn wasn't really your thing, erotic books were great but not enough. But now here's Andrew, just what you needed. And it was the same for him. The only women he slept with were the ones his family paid for. And Cath, but he'd rather not talk or think about that.
"yeahyeahyeah!" He moans softly on your lips. He was close. But he wasn't even gonna think about cumming until you did.
And you were. You felt it. Or at least you felt what you think is an orgasm. Like a rush of pure heat making its way up from your cunt to your chest, your stomach tightening. You placed your hands on his face, looking into his eyes as the heat became worse. You ran your thumb across his mouth. Unexpectedly he took it into his lips and sucked.
That's what drove you over the edge. You threw your head back and ached your back, your vision whitening. You moaned louder than before. Clinging onto Andrew as your legs shake, feeling it pool in your underwear. His arm around your waist, keeping you close. He made sure to ride you out before he let go. Moaning your name as he came, resting his head on your chest.
Neither of you moved. Why would you? This was heaven. Him on top of you. You under him. You had gotten used to his weight, you didn't need oxygen. You stroked his hair, he rubbed your outer thigh. Your cunt and his cock still closer than ever, just letting each other's cum wet the other's underwear. You felt so sleepy. Until he slapped the side of your ass, making you laugh. He kissed your chest, up to your neck. Gentle and sweet.
"Andy." You whispered. The nickname stuck. You couldn't call him anything else and he didn't want you to.
"Yeah, honey?" He replied. You might just have to change your name to honey so he can call you that every hour of every day.
"If this is a one time thing for you, that's fine. But I don't want it to be. I want you. I wanna get to know you. See the good, see the bad. I want you to take my virginity." You told him, he lifted his head and looked you into your pretty eyes. For a moment, he wondered... how did he manage to get a girl so perfect and beautiful and kind, and untouched?
"It's not a one time thing. You're mine now. And I'll take your virginity if you want me to. I promise I'll keep it safe." He says back. You felt your heart flutter like a butterfly.
"I'm yours? Does that mean you're mine?" You ask.
"Yeah." He whispers, another real smile on his face.
"Yeah?" You teased as you ran your thumb across his mouth again. And again, he took it into his lips with a little 'mhm'. He rested his forehead on yours, sucking your thumb slowly.
"Are you fucking joking!?" You both jumped up when you heard someone else talk. Baz. ewwwww!!! fuck off!!!
He stood at the doorway, shocked at the scene. You quickly pushed Andrew off you, just to pull your dress down. You didn't want him seeing something that now belongs to his older brother. Andrew pulled his pants up but left his shirt open.
"Out of everyone, you choose him? I've been trying to get you to let me just touch you for the last two years and the moment our psychotic brother comes home from prison, you open your fucking legs." Baz spat out, Andrew stood up off the bed.
"Go away, Baz. I don't wanna hurt you." He tells him as nicely as he can. Not because he actually didn't wanna hurt his brother but because he didn't wanna scare you.
"Fuck you, Pope!" Baz shouted in his face.
"Yo! What the fuck is all the yelling about?" You all heard Craig from outside, coming over. He saw you on the bed with your hair all frizzy and your lips red, and Andrew's shirt and pants open. He was an idiot but not that dumb.
"Back off, man." He immediately said to Baz.
"You're okay with this?" He asked, Craig shrugged his shoulders.
"Don't be pissy 'cause it wasn't you. Go home to your wife." He answered, Baz scoffed.
"Un-fucking-believable." He cursed under his breath as he left but not before kicking a chair into the pool. Craig turned back to you and Andrew.
"You sure 'bout this?" He questions you, you nod your head with a smile.
"Alright..." He whispers before taking a step closer to his brother. "You hurt her, I'll fucking kill you. I don't care how big and scary you can be."
You chuckled quietly. That's very adorable. He was your best friend and he wanted nothing less than to protect you. You're very grateful for Craig, despite wanting to choke him out most days.
"I won't." Andrew whispers back, Craig nods. He turned to leave then stopped.
"Is that a bite mark on your neck?" He asked then held up his hand, "Forget I asked."
He was quick to run away.
"I don't think you're big and scary." You tell Andrew, he turns to you.
"No?" He asks as he comes back to you, you shake your head. He kisses you sweetly, pushing you back to lay back in the position you were caught in.
husband!Jack who ADORES it when you sit on his lap, no matter the location. Even if that means you’re sitting on his lap while he’s on his shower chair.
husband!Jack who loves spoiling you every chance he gets, ignoring your protests. He’d much rather spend his paychecks on you, someone he loves, than himself.
husband!Jack who doesn’t just say he loves you, he shows it in everything he does. Every week he’ll go through your makeup bag looking for what you’re low on and get you more of it before you even notice you’re out.
husband!Jack who whenever he has a day off, completely dedicates the day and his attention to you and puts his phone on silent.
husband!Jack who becomes glued to your side after a bad shift. He’ll wrap his arms around your waist and press his face into your chest while you run your fingers through his curls.
husband!Jack who used to deal with his nightmares on his own when you first moved in with him, not wanting to wake you. But now goes to you for comfort the second he wakes up.
husband!Jack who’s your biggest supporter and never hesitates to remind you how beautiful you are whenever you’re feeling insecure. He also often reminds you that marrying you was one of the best decisions he’s ever made.
husband!Jack who occasionally finds himself taking a moment to roll his wedding ring between his fingers to ground himself whenever he’s having a particularly bad shift.
pope cody who hates baz’s stupid and complicated espresso machine. he just wants coffee. but as soon as you start staying over he teaches himself to make cappuccinos, practicing pulling the shots and frothing the milk dozens of times so he can wake his girl up with her favorite drink.
of course, you’ve never brought it up, always happily sipping on your cup of regular coffee whenever you’re at the cody residence in the morning. so when pope wakes you up on a random tuesday with a perfect, frothy cappuccino, dusted with cinnamon just how you like you can’t help but set the hot mug down on the bedside table and pull him into a long, sleepy kiss, smiling into him as your heart flutters.
he’s anxious for you to try it, watching your face closely as you bring the cup up to your lips, your eyes locked on his over the rim of the mug. he feels his chest loosen when you let out a low moan, closing your eyes at the rich, creamy taste.
“good?” he says, fingers twisting into the duvet where its rest on your thighs.
“mm,” you hum, pulling back from the cup, a little white mustache of foam on your upper lip, “sooo good, my love.” and he just beams, leaning forward kissing the frothy milk from your lips.
